The Stalker ran beside me as we passed the gilded-age era Arbotoreum.
“I think you have total burnout, yon Botendaddy.”
She was right. I was running hard but the minutes were roaring past while the miles stood still.
“I’ve go nothing.”
We were joined by the Swole Bro’.
“You run like a woman’s vagina, old dude.”
“Newsflash you moron, only women have vaginas, sort of by definition.”
“Unless you have the surgery.”
Added the Stalker.
“You got thin, but you still run like an anus, brah'”
Noted the Swole Bro’.
“An eleven minute mile. Maybe it’s psychological. It’s cold and rainy. I have no motivation.”
“You have no goals! No drive! You suck!”
The Stalker pushed him and they started slap-fighting as we ran.
“I tried watching motivational sports videos. It didn’t help. I’m just running for mileage now.”
“Ask your readers, Botendaddy, they’ll know. They are attractive, beautiful, athletic, hot and wise.”
Gushed the stalker.
“Flair up, fatty! Ask them!”
Said the Bro’
Peace be the Botendaddy