Dear Yellow Cab People:
I loved the video playing in my cab yesterday to instruct me on how to do a work-out while riding in a cab. I really did.
But here's the thing: I didn't need the work-out instructions from the nice lady in the fetching navy blue spandex exercise suit. I got quite a work-out just riding in your nice cab.
First, there was the splendid exercise my calf and thigh muscles got as I jammed on the brakes--repeatedly!--from my back-seat driver's position, when the actual driver of the actual cab seemed not to realize his cab was equipped with that any such new-fangled equipment as a set of brakes. What fun it was to speed up onto the bumpers of cars with their brake lights on and narrowly avoid a rear-end collision! What good exercise for my leg muscles!
And then there were the daring maneuvers in and out of traffic--in, out, whoop-de-doo!--that had every muscle in my torso alternately flenching, flexing, bracing, as I awaited certain doom if the derring do happened to fail. As well it might have, since ironclad laws of physics govern the question of whether two solid masses can occupy the same space simultaneously. And of what happens when two solid masses impelled by force collide.
Even my jaw and tongue muscles got quite the little work-out, as I held my tongue and clinched my jaw for fear of the terrified screams I'd certainly emit if I let my mouth open. And then there was the complementary and unexpected workout for my soul, as I rediscovered ejaculatory prayer and the act of contrition and the prayer to my guardian angel, all on one bright summer's day in sunny San Francisco where a new automobile thrill awaits over the crest of every hill.
Thank you so much for the work-out! You were so kind to make the exercise video available to me as I rode in the cab, too, but you shouldn't have! There was absolutely no need, when I got all the exercise I needed, thank you so much, simply from riding in your yellow cab yesterday.
