Last night, at the gym (NATCH), I was doing this ab machine when a personal trainer came over. “Hey man,” he said, “do you want to do something much more effective for your abdominals?”
So he sort of does this “come into the back room” hand motion and takes me over to the personal training station and shows me an ab exercise on the inflatable supertights powerball. So I’m trying this new exercise and he’s like “How does it feel?” and I’m like “It feels…good?” And he smiles and nods and walks away.
So I’m thinking, that is so nice of this personal trainer to give me some of his professional knowledge in order to carve my abdominals into a steel washboard made of pure aggression, when I look over and see him talking to whoever is now working out on the ab machine, asking them if they would like to know a much more effective exercise.
I realized he didn’t want to help me, HE JUST HATES THAT MACHINE SO MUCH. He wants that machine to never get used. He sits up at night being like, fucking hate that machine, I am not going to rest until everyone is using the stretchy moistball 3000 and is feeling the stretch in their abdominals, that is your starting position. That machine is totally going to eat it.
In other news, this happened as I was listening to the radio last night:
Radio: Remember when you almost volunteered at a soup kitchen?
Worker #3116: No.
Radio: Remember when you were going to give blood at the blood drive?
Worker #3116: No.
Radio: Remember when you were going to deliver a hot meal to your neighbor with AIDS?
Worker #3116: Hahaha. NO!
Radio: This year, make a promise–
Worker #3116: Wait! My neighbor has AIDS?
Radio: –to help others–
Worker #3116: Can we please go back to the part where my neighbor has AIDS?
Radio: “Smack that, all on the floor, smack that, till you get sore…”