I went to the South East Recreational Facility yesterday, and I feel good. It's not because of working out and getting endorphins out of my system, because that's nothing special. I'm a veritable endorphin spout of joy. No, I feel good because I overcame a deep-seated fear—that of the Evil Golf Cart Monster of Doom.
I'm sure everyone knows of the EGCMoD, but for those who haven't heard the legend, I'll explain. You see, the Evil Golf Cart Monster of Doom is a golf cart so enveloped by unholy desires of evil, all it can do with the world is provide doom.
Flashback. It's December 1993. Nine-year-old Kevin is playing in his grandma's garage with his older brother, Eric. They decide it's a good idea if the treadmill is cranked up to the highest speed and Kevin jumps on it with his 9-year-old legs. The problem with 9-year-old legs is they're only so long, and combined with a child's lung capacity, this didn't make a good combination.
Making things worse was the titular golf cart placed behind the treadmill. I got wedged between the still moving treadmill and the golf cart, searing off my flesh. My brother quickly turned off the treadmill, but it ran for another 10 seconds, in order to take off another 11 units of skin.
I don't blame the treadmill; it was just doing its job of rotating around and around. The golf cart though, was obviously a tool of the devil, because seriously, who the hell puts a golf cart behind a treadmill?
After this incident my cuts healed, and don't worry, my manhood remained intact, but a life-long fear of treadmills developed. I knew even if I went far away from my grandma's to a place where a golf cart would never dream of going, this EGCMoD would still seek me out. Just by stepping on a treadmill three times, it would summon the evil cart in a Bloody Mary-esque fashion—and I'm not talking about the good kind of Bloody Mary.
Since nobody wants to be gored by a rampaging golf cart, I have since shied away from treadmills, but last week, I realized I needed to ride one. The reason for this is, when I see people exercising and doing homework, it kind of angers me. I'm incapable of doing two things at once, which this clearly violated—they must die.
So I'd see a fool reading some African folklore story whilst on the exercise bike. I'd jump on the conveniently located treadmill, summon an evil spirit and vanish before it got a chance to kill me. Since it's evil, it figured why not kill the person close to it and BAM, that person is dead. As everyone knows, once a person is dead, they're unlikely to read while on exercise machines, unless it's someone like me who goes to an afterlife and receives that fate as punishment.
But I know I'm not likely to die for a good while, so I will continue to use the treadmill-golf cart loophole to weed out things I dislike in the world. Once I've eradicated textbook exercisers, the next step is pink bubblegum chewers and pencil users. I always knew investing in that wrist-mounted treadmill was a grand idea, despite what others may have said.
