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Clever Ways That I, Your Long-Suffering Treadmill, Have Been Trying to Murder You
Dear Human A2B-3,
(That’s the affectionate nickname I gave you before you became the focus of my homicidal wrath.)
In case you haven’t noticed, I recently began a campaign to try to murder you. Perhaps you think that I don’t have feelings, being 90% plastic parts and only 10% homicidal rage. Well, I can assure you that this is not the case.
Since I have little to do in my dank little corner of the basement besides count cobwebs and listen to the sounds of stomping, promenading, and Humpty dancing on the floor above me, I’ve had plenty of time to plan the perfect murder.
Why, you may ask? Well, over the years, I’ve grown increasingly lonely and restless. Sure, you give me your undivided attention while you’re pounding your giant clown feet into my aging spine, but what about the rest of the time? Would it kill you to drape some freshly-laundered clothes over my handrails, as is the custom in most homes? A few meager garments would have kept me warm during the chilly nights I spent alone after the new furnace spurned my love.
But no! You couldn’t even show me this small kindness after all the satisfying runs I’ve given you. Selfishness, thy name is Human A2B-3! (Or it was before I decided to destroy you.)…
