So after winning the U.S. Open, Tiger Woods announced that he would not play golf for the rest of the year. The reason: his mangled knee joint. Some people blame it on the five rounds of golf he just played. But the truth is, Tiger ruptured his ligaments while participating in a repulsive practice called running.
Here's a fact, people: Running is only necessary when you're being chased. It is a violent, pointless activity that tortures your joints and bones, not to mention creating a physique that only a vulture would love.
But what's worse is what it does to your mind. You can’t smile when you run. Or laugh. And I’ve never met a long distance runner who isn’t screwed up in the head — the consequences of spending too much time alone, pounding away on the pavement while crapping down your leg.
It’s true. You have to wonder about a sport that encourages defecation. Sure, under different circumstances, it might be erotic. But not here.
Running is a cultish world where training becomes the game, and all it's about is how far you can go, despite how silly you look.
How different is that from, say, hot dog eating contests? At least with that you get to eat hot dogs.
Finally, I hate runners because they talk about running. Incessantly. It’s like they falsely believe their obsession is also ours, so immersed in their own compulsion that they have no idea what they have become: bloated vehicles for nonsensical ravings spewing poop in every direction.
And if you disagree with me, then you probably wear a sombrero to bed.