The other night, I almost hit a Cardioglider with my car. It was in the middle of the lane on a dark street, and as my headlights revealed that I was zooming straight toward the blasted contraption, I instantly recognized it as the low-impact fitness machine that was popular in the nineties even though its name, Cardioglider, failed to come to mind. As I slammed on the brakes, my thought process was something like, “Aghhh! About to hit the pelvic thrust exerciser!” Meanwhile, my mind was pulling up my memories of the informercial for this product, where a dozen beauty queen types in country and western-inspired workout gear performed a synchronized aerobic routine with a dozen Cardiogliders. There was pantomimed lassoing and tipping of invisible cowboy hats galore.
I tell you what, the feeling of bearing down on the breaks and urging your car to just stop already, while the hulking frame of a Cardioglider looms straight ahead is a feeling of pure bewilderment.
I have had near death experiences in my car before. Like the time I was at a stoplight and I thought I saw the grim reaper in another car. Months later, I learned that the grim reaper was actually a pizza delivery girl, but still.
My car came to a stop right before I hit the Cardioglider. It was so close, the edge of the Cardioglider hooked under my bumper. I turned on my hazard lights and got out of the car to move the Cardioglider out of the road. I carried it clear onto the sidewalk to make sure it didn’t fall into the road again. I wouldn’t want it bewildering another motorist.
To the jerk who left your Cardioglider in the middle of the street – I hope you regret your actions. I hope it haunts you. I hope you hear the tell tale heart of the Cardioglider squeaking away when you are trying to sleep. You should be banned from ever owning gimmicky exercise equipment again.
I love the idea of, instead of having your life flash before your eyes, you see a 90s infocommerical with cheesy exercising cowgirls. I don’t even remember that! Clearly, having YOU be the one almost hit the cardioglider was fate. It would have been totally wasted on me.
Fate! I like that. Maybe there is an outdated exercise machine out there that you are destined to hit. The Thigh Master, perchance?
I’m pretty sure the, “jerk” that you are referring to is none other then Tony Little, of the Tony Little Gazelle. That long neglected and little used machine that lived in our basement and was given to someone else who wants to put it in their basement and put wet sweaters on it. Wait… I had to check to make sure it was gone, both for authentication purposes and, of course, to avoid hurting its feelings (If my teddy bear Honey taught me anything it was that inanimate objects have feelings too.). When Tony heard that you passed up his hat-with-the-ponytail-out-the-back style videos along with is horribly awkward machine, he got pissed as only a closeted gay person can. He used all his rage much like Ann Coulter uses her pent up lesbian lust to attack every thing that is holy in this country. This of course includes The Cardioglider (I really want to put a TM sign here but that would require computer skills that I am not willing to look up, and the person I’m writing this to, my wife and tech consultant, is currently sleeping on the couch. Joke lost.) He was likely watching from the bushes waiting on your doom when you thwarted his scheme with your quick brake usages. The only thing that saved you from a flying scissor-kick from his tone and spray-tanned gams was the fortuity of some drunken frat boys passing by hanging off of each other like wet sweaters off a Tony Little Gazelle (She is still asleep so think about that TM joke here.). He no doubt followed them home and attended a gang rape where he pretended to be watching the unfortunate girl who passed out from Yeager Bombs when like all those around him he was thinking back to the locker room after some sport practice where they all raped “this queer” to, “teach him a lesson”. That got a little dark there but if you don’t like the dark then get out of the closet. I’m just glad Sarah, my still sleeping tech wiz is still around to tell the tale.
Do you really think that Tony Little was behind this whole thing? This is why I love you so much…