I was outside most of the morning enjoying the sunshine when it occurred to me that my manservant, "Mr Belve-doof" had not seen fit to come and let me back into the house. It had been a beautiful morning here in Burbank - high 70s - so I didn't mind having extra time to bask myself in the glorious morning sunshine. After standing at the backdoor for what seemed about fifteen minutes without any hide or hair of help, I proceeded to the back bedroom sliding-glass door to investigate. As I rounded the corner, I heard the unmistakable sound of Neil Diamond singing, "Sweet Caroline" emanating from the house. Unfortunately, the vision I beheld was neither sweet nor Caroline.
I gasped in shear horror as this despicable sight started attacking my corneas - the owner - wearing only a pair of checkered XL boxer shorts - running on the treadmill! Remember, we're not talking Brad Pitt here folks. Try thinking more on the lines of James Gandolfini from, "The Sopranos" A two-hundred plus pound individual - all muffin topped out - running - gasping between words - and all the while, the jiggle factory operates at full capacity. For further enhancement of this picture, imagine also, milky - I haven't seen the sun since 1989 - legs moving in time while black ankle and knee braces hold on for dear life under extreme duress! Now you know my pain. Sorry if I offend but I just could't keep this bottled up for fear of mental exhaustion. I'm off now to my dog hole to lie down and attempt to recuperate from this ungodly event. Try to have a good day.