Do you have a lot of unsightly flab? Do bearded whalers follow you around saying things like “Call me Ishmael”? Do you live in Milwaukee? If you answered yes to any of those questions, put down that bowl of ice cream and listen the fuck up: I am going to tell you how to make those pounds simply melt away with the Dogs on Drugs soon-to-be-patented (if the US Patent Office knows what’s good for them) revolutionary workout that will shake the world to its fucking core!
I’m talking, of course, about the 30 Second Twerkout. Yes, you read that right! With just 30 seconds of twerking a day, you can lose so much weight that people will be trying to check you into the hospital. “That kind of weight loss can’t be healthy,” they’ll say. These people are fucking assholes. Screw them.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “But Greg, I’ve been burned by novelty diet and exercise fads before. Like that one time I went on the Urinal Cake Diet and wound up in the hospital.” Let me just say this: I understand your concern, and admire your perseverance. You are clearly a gullible and damaged human being, which puts you right in the heart of the 30 Second Twerkout demographic (as well as the Desperately Needs A Breath Mint demographic, but we’ll deal with that later).
Let me tell you how the 30 Second Twerkout differs from all of those bullshit fads you’ve tried in the past.
- I’m selling it
There you have it! Ironclad, scientific proof! Read it and weep, skeptics. You can kiss my skinny white ass.
What’s that? You need more proof? You fucking douchebag, I ought to come over there and rip you a few more holes for your gastro-intestinal tract, you know that? Ugh. Fine. Here’s more proof. This is Cindy Queeferstein, proud 30 Second Twerkout adherent, who has this to say about the 30 Second Twerkout:
I tried the 30 Second Twerkout and caught a debilitating staph infection while recuperating in the hospital. I dropped 60 pounds, and my doctor says that if they can’t control the infection with anti-virals they’ll have to put me in a coma! Thanks for nothing, Greg!
Hey, don’t thank me, Cindy! Thank that wonderfully defective brain of yours which made doing this seem like a good idea:
By now, you are no doubt intrigued, excited, and more than a little aroused. This is because you are a dirty, filthy whore. But it’s also because the 30 Second Twerkout is just that fucking good.
Simply email me all of your credit cards numbers (with expiration dates and security codes), as well as your Social Security number and birthdate. But don’t delay! Act now! There’s like, only 6 left, or something.