So I bought an exercise bike the other day.
I don't know what's funnier? That I nearly had a heart attack carrying the 100-pound box up three flights of stairs?
Or that I took three cigarette breaks while I was assembling it?
I'll tell you something, though; you haven't REALLY watched Charlie Rose until you've done so while peddling 20 miles per hour with the really cheap seat of an exercise bike trying it's damnedest to "discover" your colon.
I will never look at the plight of the Palestinians quite the same way again.
P.S. Why an exercise bike? It was that or give-up beer. And since it's a time-tested combination of beer, Zoloft and reruns of M*A*S*H that prevent me from going on a three-state killing spree, I thought it was the way to go.