BRENTZILLA

(Testing: Stolen from wherever I last wrote this…)

Because you’re old, fat, flabby and much too much in my way.

No, not you. Them. Those old, fat, flabby Berkeleyians (Berkeleyites?) who insist on wearing spandex bottoms FOR GOD KNOWS WHAT REASON as they walk, stumble, walk, stumble, stumble, stop, walk, stumble, asphyixate, stumble, stumble, stop, walk, stumble, claw for air, stumble around my track.

All this, in the inside lane. Of course.

Forcing us — meaning me, mainly — to run around your old, fat, flabby asses as you turn blue putt-putt-puttering your way through your quote workout unquote. All one lap of it (two if you’re feeling fiesty.)

I’m sick of it.

Bitches, listening: I’M RUNNING. I’m running for time and distance. I’m don’t huff-jog-walk like you — my feet leave the ground. For five miles. In under 33.5 minutes. I breathe hard because I tear my body apart, not because I get off the damn couch once a month and attempt to get some “exercise” in my hot-pink stretchy ick pants.

If the above describes you, you suck.

Quick tips that will help me hate you less:

Stop wearing clothes that show off your deep ass dimples. If you’re hairy, it’s also important to not wear wife-beater tees. All of the above really detracts from my attempts to ignore your useless attempts at exercise, which distracts me from my most holy mission.

Get out of the inside lanes. Consider those passing lanes, like on a highway. And because we’re on the subject: Those passing lanes? Stay out of them if you’re going 35 MPH.

Stop huffing heroically. You’re not working out, so stop trying to convince everyone around you that you are with a never-ending trumpeting of huh-huh-huh-HUH-HUH-HUH OH GOD HUH. If you’re not sweating, you’re not working out.

Parents, reign in your brats and dogs. Don’t let them loose on the track where they’re liable to be trampled under foot (seriously). Don’t let them ride their bikes on the track. Don’t let them defecate on the fucking track. Don’t let them scream, “IDON’WANNA IDON’WANNA IDON’WANNA IHATEYOU” for hours on end. Don’t let them off their leashes so they can chase after me.

(This may be edited later for fun and profit.)