Yabba Dabba Doof
what? I am now the proud owner of an Ab-Rocker. As
seen on television!
probably seen the infomercial for the Ab-Rocker, which generally airs between
infomercials for the Ab-Roller, the Ab-Doer, the Ab-Glider, the Ab-Hurter, the
Ab-Honker, the Ab-Abber, and five hundred million other fitness devices that
promise to a) give you powerful and sexy-looking abdominal muscles, b) take up
only five minutes of your time, and c) fit under your bed.
under your bed is a major selling point for these devices, although there's a
commercial for an even smaller ab-workout device called the Abslide, which is so
small, you can take it with you wherever you go, provided you own a gigantic
purse. I'm not sure why you'd need to take it with you, since you only
need to use it for five minutes a day anyway, but I guess if you only get three
and a half minutes done at home, you can take it to a friend's house and put it
under their bed or something.
the thing about the Ab-Rocker that sets it apart from the others is that it's
part of the Body-By-Jake system. You may have seen Jake on his
infomercial, where he shows off his professional knowledge of personal fitness
as well as the fact that he is a complete moron. Jake has specfic rules
for working on your abdominal muscles, and he calls them his "Abba-Dabba-Do's"
and "Abba-Dabba-Don't's." It would seem that the first
"Abba-Dabba-Don't" would be to never, ever use the phrase "Abba-Dabba-Do."
But that's Jake! He's a retarded oaf!
may be wondering why I would spend money on an Ab-Rocker, something I am clearly
skeptical of. Well, I didn't.
found it in a Dumpster!
was taking a cigarette break at work, wandering around in the alley outside the
building. I looked at the Dumpster, and there it was, the Ab-Rocker, in
all its Ab-Rocking glory, and I thought, "Hmm. I want that.
That should be mine."
need to note here that the Ab-Rocker was on top of the rest of the junk that was
filling the Dumpster, so it's not like I went digging through piles of stinking
refuse to find it. Really.)
course, this leads to a much deeper question, such as why would I even touch
something in a Dumpster, particularly something that I am clearly skeptical of,
and something that someone was initially not skeptical of, but is now
skeptical enough of to huck it into the trash. I mean, it could be
broken, and even if it isn't, the fact that it's sitting in a Dumpster isn't
exactly a ringing endorsement for the product.
answer: I wanted it. I thought it should be mine. So,
after work, I moved my car over near the Dumpster, and stopped, leaving the
problem with pilfering garbage near work is that you really don't want anyone
from work seeing you do it, or they will tell everyone in the office about it,
and everyone will laugh at you and call you "Garbage-Picker." I
would, anyway. So, I had to be careful, since it was quitting time and
people were trickling out of the office.
I found out, picking crap out of a Dumpster isn't any easier in front of
complete strangers, and it seemed to be rush hour for meandering teenagers,
elderly sightseers, and other passersby. Four boys walked slowly past my
car, pausing to have a smoke in front of the very Dumpster that held my prize.
When they finally left, I got out of my car, but an old woman in hospital scrubs
was walking her cocker spaniel a few feet away, so I quickly popped the hood of
my car, pretending I had car trouble, which isn't hard because my car rattles
and wheezes more than the Tin Man with emphysema.
pretended to scrutinize the engine while the woman's cocker spaniel had what
must have been the longest and slowest bowel movement in canine history, and
then they left. I started for the Dumpster again, but just then, three
girls moseyed by. They were just cute enough for me to worry about looking
stupid in front of them, a problem I solved by leaning back over the engine and
slamming my forehead into the corner of the raised hood of my car, digging a
nice furrow into my head just above my receding hairline.
somehow remained conscious and standing, and finally, the girls left. No
one seemed to be coming out of the office, so it was time to get my free
discarded Ab-Rocker! Blood slowly Abba-Dabba-Dripping down my forehead, I
hurried to the Dumpster and yanked the Ab-Rocker out of it, causing the lid of
the Dumpster, which the handles of the Ab-Rocker had been holding up, to crash
down on my head, in roughly the same spot that was already throbbing and
like these are why I rarely, if ever, leave my apartment.
angrily wrestled the Ab-Rocker into my trunk, managed to close it, then looked
up as my supervisor's Mercedes slid by. I'm not sure if she saw me
scurrying around, bleeding and stealing trash, but I was beyond caring due to
the multiple head traumas I had sustained, which, as far as I can tell, have
entirely obliterated my memories of grammar school. This is probably a
good thing, because I'm guessing I got beat up and cried a lot.
Ab-Rocker is still in my trunk. I'm waiting until it gets much later and
the streets clear before I sneak it up to my apartment. I've also realized
that if it is broken or doesn't work, or both, as I suspect, it'll be just as
embarrassing throwing it in another Dumpster.
mean, stealing it from the trash is one thing.
just don't want people thinking I paid for it.*
week I stole an Ab-Rocker from a Dumpster and brought it home. I've used
it faithfully every night since. The results?
I know why it was in the Abba-Dabba-Dumpster. It's an Abba-Dabba-Piece-Of-Shit.
Doesn't work. By which I mean, it functions, it doesn't fall apart, and I
can sit on it and make rocking motions and work my abs, but it doesn't actually do
that I was expecting rock-hard abs in just one week or anything. I thought
it might take two or three. But it doesn't even seem to be exercising my
abdominal muscles. Or any muscles. Try to understand, if I have to
jog briskly across a four-lane street to beat the light, I can feel it in my
legs for a week. If I super-size my meal deal, the added weight of the
extra French fries makes my arms ache for the rest of the night. I'm in
really poor shape here. So, an exercise device with even minimal
muscle-working potential should make me feel something the next day. With
the Ab-Rocker, I feel nothing. If only real exercise were this painless!
course, karma took care of me on Sunday. Gambling isn't legal in this
town, so for kicks, I sometimes try to eat seafood from a fast-food restaurant.
I took a chance on a fish-sticks meal from Jack-In-The-Box, and the house won.
I spent most of Sunday periodically vomiting.
about an ab workout! I can hardly move today, my stomach is so sore.
Yarking works all the muscles of the stomach! The upper, middle, and those
hard-to-work lower muscles. Supporting my weight over the can did wonders
for my arms and shoulders, while running to the bathroom worked my thighs,
calves, and buttocks!
know, we always hear about how supermodels are sticking fingers down their
throats to lose weight, but has anyone considered the muscle-toning benefits of
bulimia? You heard it here first!