GrubHub Delivers Taco Bell!!!

This information, "GrubHub delivers TacoBell ... for free!" flows directly into my id, effortlessly past my finely honed defenses. Corporate marketing departments don't mess around, the bastards.

I ponder my options as I pluck another Ho-Ho from the bowl. I probably will have to download the GrubHub app now, TacoBell having driven me to my knees.

Steak Rattlesnake Fries?! With nacho cheese sauce AND creamy jalapeño sauce? And Rattlesnake???!

I've never had rattlesnake and ... oh ... it's TacoBell's version of "steak," so snake is probably a nearer truth than one might care to admit, and still my body craves it.

I've been cramming Ho-Ho's and scotch into my body in an attempt to appease it, for today I stumbled across some device that I might even hate more than an elliptical:

The front wheel is actually a fan and the harder you go the more it resists you. Toss on some wings and real wheels and I'm on a nineteenth century flying machine.

After adjusting it and circling it to waste even more time I mount it, crank in twenty mins and pedal, move my arms and the wind from the fan rushes into my face, forcing my mouth open, giving me instant cotton mouth.

artist's rendering 

Sweating, flopping, flailing, dealing with the tradeoff of using more arm to ease the legs or more legs to ease the arms, every time I standup the bike smacks me in the knee for it, wheezing like a locomotive I'm beginning to think that

I don't look dignified at all!!!

How long have I been enduring this nightmare?! Three minutes, super. My mind drifts off to the Australian Outback and these murder mystery books set in that hell hole - I bet even The Lost Man wasn't as thirsty as I am with this endless wind. 

I take solace knowing how sad Lead Trainer and others will be when they find my dead, desiccated ass glued to this "device" - "Oh no!" they'll say, "we should never have left Bill alone with ... anything!"

Too late, but if I'm desiccated then I'm thinner! Still, your loss bitches.

I really should start bringing in a water bottle, but as I glance around I fall into further despair, there is no place for a water batter bottle on Satan's Cycle. Just shut up and keep pumping that wind into your face.

I stumble in the outback and fall ... I can't get up ... I'll die if I don't get up ...

Oh! My twenty minutes are up! I hop off the device and immediately, my whole body starts screaming,

WHAT THE HOLY $$#&!!* WAS THAT?!!! DO YOU WANT TO DIE?

DO YOU?!

ENJOY YOUR LATE NIGHT CRAMPS YOU $$#&!!*

On and on and no amount of scotch or Ho-Ho's seem to be settling it down.

I'd make a great, drunken diabetic, you know until the money ran out but then again we all would make great "hot messes" until the money ran out. Just ask Lindsay Lohan.

That should be on my tombstone,

The money ran out...

Having lost 75% of my frontal lobes through oxygen deprivation I stroll into Lead Trainers office...

Tell me more about this 'love and attention...' 

That happens Wednesday, idiot that I am.