Okay, there's a machine at the gym called an elliptical trainer. Basically you put your feet in the pedals and pump kind of like a bike except standing up. I call it the big butt machine, because if you have a big butt and you use this machine consistently, the chances are good that your butt will diminish. I, however, do not have a big butt. I need a big tummy machine. When I reported this to my trainer, Colleen, of the skinny, perky-titted-ness persuasion, she laughed and said, "it's good for you." I laughed, but not in an amused way. Then I commented that only women with shelf-asses should use this evil, archaic torture device designed by a man. (Two twisted men talking to each other: "Hey, my wife has a fat ass." "Hey, so does mine." "I know, let's invent a machine that works off their fat asses." "Great idea. Plus we can make a buck.") Then my trainer said, "I've got a shelf-ass." Whereupon I looked at her sculpted, well-exercised ass and snorted a chicken leg out of my left nostril. (I have no idea where the chicken leg came from.) This woman is like 5ft 8inches tall and weighs probably 120 lbs. She doesn't have a shelf-ass. As a matter of fact she doesn't even have a toe-hold ass. If a climber were climbing her back they would fall to their deaths because they wouldn't be able to catch a toe or a finger on her ass.
So anyway the point of the story was that elliptical trainers are wicked devices contrived by perverse men and that my trainer is insecure. Whoa. Just when you thought life didn't have any morals.
Oh, yes, and that's a picture of the Big Butt Rock just to drive my point home. (Or to kick you in the B***.) Oh, I amuse myself.
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