Elliptical Man BLOWS GOATS!!!

I'm here to tell you that the baby-raping Communist bastard who invented the elliptical trainer indeed blows goats. Lots of them. Every day of his miserable f*$&^@# life.

The guy who invented the treadmill is, by contrast, a nice sort of a fellow, with a sweet disposition, a kind word to children, and a firm and reassuring handshake for his fellow man. For he hath designed a simple and straightforward device that showeth it's true colors and doth not lie.

Not the a**hole that invented the elliptical. Not this prick. Who in the hell sits all day in the corner of his dank and poorly-lit room, wringing his sweaty hands and dreaming of ways to lure innocent people into lives of torture? I'll tell you who: f*$&^@# Elliptical Man, that's who!

What kind of a sick, twisted f*$& spends all his time dreaming up something so convincingly tame and docile, so seemingly approachable and helpful, and yet so torturously painful and evil? F*$&^@# Elliptical Man, that's who!

Here's the story. You get on this thing and start off slow, gliding back and forth with your feet and pumping smoothly with your arms. You begin to smile, quietly praising the genius who paid attention during college so he could figure out a linkage system that would create such a forgiving, smooth motion.

Then at about three minutes in, it hits you. All at once, right in the hips, calves, thighs, and knees. "Hey, this isn't so nice!" you say as the lactic acid in your lower extremeties begins to build to a crescendo. "Hey, wait a minute!" you exclaim with a touch of panic as you realize you're a complete pussy for feeling this at the three minute mark, so your male pride forces you to go on.

And then, right at about Minute Five, you're toast: "Son... of... a... BITCH!!!"

Somewhere in Hell, Satan is sharing an entire tray of freshly-baked chocolate eclairs with Elliptical Man, and they're both watching me on closed-circuit TV, laughing. "Good one, Elliptical Man!" Satan says. "Thanks, dad" says Elliptical Man.

I hate hate hate hate hate Elliptical Man. I hate him so very much that I'm going to find him and make him gargle his own balls. Gonna tear his sack off with my bare hands, pour its contents into his screaming mouth, and then laugh at the funny funny warbling sound he makes as he continues to scream. Gonna bring a conductor's wand and conduct this beautiful symphony until he bleeds to death, convulsing in the fetal position in the final act.

And in the meantime, I'm going to continue increasing my time on this hellish nightmare of a machine until I lose the weight. Because there's winning, and then there's everything else.