i bought the treadmil back in january 2000.
by all best estimates, it probably has logged 4876 miles (or there abouts).
well, it broke last week—the metal base snapped on the left hand side, falling to the floor.
now it just sits there, the tread still turns but it flaps wildly above its twisted broken limb.
so i’ve taken to the great outdoors, but i don’t know how much longer i can do this.
it requires proper clothing—you know, spandex.
i don’t like spandex.
no one should like spandex.
it should be illegal to wear spandex.
my body has enough trouble as it is.
i don’t need to broadcast the problem areas.
spandex, if it's anything, is a broadcaster of the worse sort.
“hey get a load of this unsightly bulge!”
“hey, just in case you missed it, here’s a roll that might make you puke!”
“hey ladies look! no package!”
brutal, cold, heartless broadcasting.
who needs it?
but all i have available to wear are gym shorts from the mid-eighties with the high white socks already.
they’re fine when you’re locked up in the basement, but i gotta tell ya, mothers call there children inside when they see me coming down the street.
the local police have mistakenly returned me to the community mental facility twice now.
i guess, i should just get another treadmill and return to lock-down for another seven years.
i sense keaton prefers that as well.