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Treadmills, Tampons And Tea After Sex
Written by: Alex Sandell

I finally got my treadmill today. It was odd how much hatred I initially felt for its gargantuan metal body when it was placed in my incredible shrinking room. As the men delivering it set it down, I nearly screamed, "take it away! Just let me die!" You see, my cholesterol is like 3,598 (and that's not much of an exaggeration) and even the most optimistic family doctor tells me that if I don't reverse it, I have a maximum of five years to live (which, conveniently enough, is the life expectancy of the treadmill I purchased). So, I have this big ass hunk of motorized crap in my room that I can now "jog" on.

After numerous attempts at stepping on the treadmill's intimidating body, and then jumping off -- terrified of the fact that it may possibly cause me to exercise -- I finally took the plunge, set it at 2.5 MPH, put the incline at 10, and walked for 40 minutes, while watching, "Judge Judy," and wondering just how desperate for a good shag I really was. I may convince myself that I'm walking in place on this machine to live past 33 or 34 years old, but what I'm really trying to do is insure that I'm still fuckable property a year or two down the line.

Let's face it; if we didn't care about getting laid, not one of us would live a day past 30. We'd never wash our hair -- causing the whole dreadlocks' trend to come back in full-force -- we'd never wipe our asses, brush our teeth or even bother to shower. As a matter of fact, we wouldn't even have a shower installed in our home. Why bother? It just gets us wet and stops us from being stinky. Not to mention, we can't have passionate sex in the damn thing, being that there's no such thing as passionate sex. If there wasn't an opposite sex to appeal to, what would be the point of spraying liquid all over our naked lathered bodies? "Personal Hygiene" my ass. It's more like, "Person-I'd-Like-To-Fuck-Hard-In-The-Ass Hygiene," and the entire human race is one big collective slut. We're the bloody Borg with condoms and hormones.

I've never had any trouble banging bitches that spend a lot of time reading this page, being that they believe, rather incorrectly, that I'm some sort of genius, simply because I can make them laugh through my grammatically incorrect sentences and "ballsy" comments. Where I need work is with first impressions. Yes, once I've had the chance to elicit a giggle or two from a woman, whether through an email or at a party, she ends up falling for me, even if her boyfriend, who oftentimes happens to be my best friend (sorry Matt, Mark, Steve and Scott), disapproves. Still, I'm a greedy little pisser, and I don't wanna always have to intellectually impress somebody before bumping their box for an hour or two. I want to walk into a club and have women say, "look at the ass on that guy," salivate and suck my dick in the nearest bathroom stall. And that's where the treadmill comes in.

How many times have you heard a woman say she was getting implants for her "own" self-esteem? Or a guy saying he wants a hairpiece to raise his "own" level of confidence? These whacked out lying slabs of horny cuntpaste are talking out of their surgically altered asses. They are performing these procedures for no one other than everyone else that they're performing these procedures for. There's no "me" involved in giving yourself cancer in a tanning bed. There's no "me" involved in forking over your every penny to a plastic surgeon. There's no "me" involved with the hair club for insecure dipshits, which allows you to look like a flippin' Ken Doll with a human stuck under it. There's only a "you" and the "me" spending the cash for this crap is looking to spend a night with the "you" by pretending it's all about the "me" out for "self"-improvement. Nobody puts personality first. Nobody.

Hell, every single day I see another toilet paper ad trying to make wiping the feces off of your bum look attractive. Every single day I see another tampon ad trying to make a bleeding vagina look beautiful. Every single day I see an ad for some herpes cream trying its best to make me sexually aroused by the thought of sticking my dick into a sick Sarlac pit. And the worst thing? Every single day I see that fucking former fat ass Jared advertising Subway sandwiches like they're the second coming of Christ.

To be honest, I buy into it. I've got my treadmill now, and thanks to this little freak of a machine, I'm gonna meet some cute little thing and get kinky with her before we've even had the time to be properly introduced. Who's cumming with me? Of course, afterward, we could always socialize over a cup of tea and pretend that we're both something more than the sexual beasts that we both know that we are.

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Text (Copyright) 2002 Alex Sandell [All Rights Reserved], Copy this, without my permission, and you won't get a fuck ... you'll be fucked!