I stared at my chair. You bastard. Look at you, all innocent. Waiting for me to do my triceps push ups. Laughing at me, knowing I can only do six before my arms burn.
Then I lie on the floor with my feet up on the seat, attempting crunches. Grunting like a pregnant pig. Then there's the hamstring stretching, holding your back support and extending my leg. You'd love to tilt over, leaving me sprawled oon the floor.
You pitiful excuse for a folding chair. Jealous of me. I have opposable thumbs. I can type, play the trombone, change radio stations, quilt. All you are is a folded up piece of metal collecting dust.
Where would you be if I joined a gym? Left at the curb with the other garbage.
Now I feel better and am ready to do those hellish triceps push ups. At least I have a triceps. Bitch.
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