Because of @Bob Nelson 35Whelen and @Skinnersblade (you started it 
)
Before my trip to Africa I thought it prudent to at least attempt to get into some semblance of better physical shape. According to my bride, "round" was not the correct shape. I needed to reduce what she referred to as "a bit of a gathering around the waist caused by an excessive and frequent indulgence of fermented beverages." What. Like that sounds better than "beer gut"?!
She thought she'd bring me a bit farther into the tech world with one of those fancy little wrist-worn gadgets that keeps track of your steps, heart rate, and all that "healthy" shhhtuff.
It was the newest latest greatest model that I soon dubbed FitBitch.
I put it on and headed out to pick up a few things at the local fleet store before heading in to work.
I got in the truck and as soon as I sat down it blurted out "Get moving lard ass!".
What the...?!
It's a 20 minute drive. Every five minutes it would say either that, "Get up lazy ass", or "Time to move Plumpo". Wow, this must be the industrial, personal trainer model. Not nice. Can't find the mute button. Ok so, note to self, don't sit down. Got it.
I made it to the store after being harangued 4 times. This is disturbing.
I was strolling toward the front door checking my list when it squealed "Pick up the pace Porky!"
Unfortunately, while I was staring down at my list I had crept up quite closely behind a very nice older lady who, to put it delicately, was not afraid of a good buffet. The look she gave me would make a man eating crocodile slip back into the water. Yikes. Sorry. Can't find the volume button. Note to self, no strolling. Got it.
Inside now, I scurried to an aisle I believed to hold the caulk and weather stripping I needed. Nope. Appliances. I thought I knew this store. A bit confused, I paused to look up at the signs above the aisles to get directions when it barked out "Get away from the fridge Tubby!"
I'm beginning to think this must have been a special order item. She must really care about me. How sweet.
The rather portly gentleman behind me picking out a refrigerator apparently didn't see it that way. I sidestepped just in time to avoid being impaled by one of the steel fence posts he had in his cart. He must not have needed that one.
This thing might not be as good for my health as she thought. And who buys fence posts and a fridge in the same trip anyway? Not judging. Still no mute or volume button. Grrr. Note to self, no loitering. Got it.
Fitbitch has a special feature in which it will occasionally blurt out very helpful suggestions as you go about your day. Tidbits such as “Keep moving chubby, you’re stiffening up”, “A sloth has more ‘git up and go’ than you”, and “Have you ever seen your toes?”. I was amazed at this little gadget’s ability to incorporate sarcasm and reverse psychology. “You really can’t do this can you?” and “Don’t rush, you’ll probably have a stroke” seemed to be odd encouragement.
I had gathered my items and was the checkout line behind a young family that had obviously been fortunate to have never missed a meal when one of these helpful hints came out.
Their young rotund son was busy carefully selecting his handful of candy bars from the convenient location beside the checkout.
From my wrist came the quaint suggestion, “There is nothing wrong with a salad you know”.
As Papa Bear struggled to get around their loaded down cart, I felt the sudden urge to retreat to a secluded area to find the elusive mute button. Arriving in the deserted tool aisle, I removed the FitBitch to better examine the tiny screen. I thought I saw a tiny dot that appeared to read “mute” but I couldn’t be sure. Another surprising feature it had was upon removal from your wrist, FitBitch would attempt to discourage you from doing so via protests like “ Leave me be you fat bastard”. I was a touch startled by the statement and the amped-up volume with which it was produced. I laid it on the floor and touched the tiny mute button with an eight pound maul. Peace at last.
Upon my return home that evening, my beautiful wife asked about my day with my new helpful friend. As I gave her a handful of plastic pieces I quipped that she might want to check the warranty on this FitBitch.
The doc says I can go home tomorrow and the stitches come out next week. In hindsight, I really should have informed her of my pet name for the device. She couldn't have understood that I had slightly lengthened it’s given name and instead perceived that I had referred to her in a derogatory way.
In her defense, a jar of pickled beets smashed against a cranium looks a whole lot worse than it is. I’m going to have to be extra nice for awhile after I go bail her out of jail. Maybe she’ll have a little mercy...I’m the one who will have trouble getting through airports for the rest of my life. And I dropped the charges. That wasn't me anyway, I was unconscious. Maybe this steel plate in my head could come in handy someday.
I hope she understands. The prospect of being slowly poisoned to death over the next couple of years isn’t very endearing.
In conclusion, I can not recommend this product.
) Before my trip to Africa I thought it prudent to at least attempt to get into some semblance of better physical shape. According to my bride, "round" was not the correct shape. I needed to reduce what she referred to as "a bit of a gathering around the waist caused by an excessive and frequent indulgence of fermented beverages." What. Like that sounds better than "beer gut"?!
She thought she'd bring me a bit farther into the tech world with one of those fancy little wrist-worn gadgets that keeps track of your steps, heart rate, and all that "healthy" shhhtuff.
It was the newest latest greatest model that I soon dubbed FitBitch.
I put it on and headed out to pick up a few things at the local fleet store before heading in to work.
I got in the truck and as soon as I sat down it blurted out "Get moving lard ass!".
What the...?!It's a 20 minute drive. Every five minutes it would say either that, "Get up lazy ass", or "Time to move Plumpo". Wow, this must be the industrial, personal trainer model. Not nice. Can't find the mute button. Ok so, note to self, don't sit down. Got it.
I made it to the store after being harangued 4 times. This is disturbing.
I was strolling toward the front door checking my list when it squealed "Pick up the pace Porky!"
Unfortunately, while I was staring down at my list I had crept up quite closely behind a very nice older lady who, to put it delicately, was not afraid of a good buffet. The look she gave me would make a man eating crocodile slip back into the water. Yikes. Sorry. Can't find the volume button. Note to self, no strolling. Got it.
Inside now, I scurried to an aisle I believed to hold the caulk and weather stripping I needed. Nope. Appliances. I thought I knew this store. A bit confused, I paused to look up at the signs above the aisles to get directions when it barked out "Get away from the fridge Tubby!"
I'm beginning to think this must have been a special order item. She must really care about me. How sweet.
The rather portly gentleman behind me picking out a refrigerator apparently didn't see it that way. I sidestepped just in time to avoid being impaled by one of the steel fence posts he had in his cart. He must not have needed that one.
This thing might not be as good for my health as she thought. And who buys fence posts and a fridge in the same trip anyway? Not judging. Still no mute or volume button. Grrr. Note to self, no loitering. Got it.
Fitbitch has a special feature in which it will occasionally blurt out very helpful suggestions as you go about your day. Tidbits such as “Keep moving chubby, you’re stiffening up”, “A sloth has more ‘git up and go’ than you”, and “Have you ever seen your toes?”. I was amazed at this little gadget’s ability to incorporate sarcasm and reverse psychology. “You really can’t do this can you?” and “Don’t rush, you’ll probably have a stroke” seemed to be odd encouragement.
I had gathered my items and was the checkout line behind a young family that had obviously been fortunate to have never missed a meal when one of these helpful hints came out.
Their young rotund son was busy carefully selecting his handful of candy bars from the convenient location beside the checkout.
From my wrist came the quaint suggestion, “There is nothing wrong with a salad you know”.
As Papa Bear struggled to get around their loaded down cart, I felt the sudden urge to retreat to a secluded area to find the elusive mute button. Arriving in the deserted tool aisle, I removed the FitBitch to better examine the tiny screen. I thought I saw a tiny dot that appeared to read “mute” but I couldn’t be sure. Another surprising feature it had was upon removal from your wrist, FitBitch would attempt to discourage you from doing so via protests like “ Leave me be you fat bastard”. I was a touch startled by the statement and the amped-up volume with which it was produced. I laid it on the floor and touched the tiny mute button with an eight pound maul. Peace at last.
Upon my return home that evening, my beautiful wife asked about my day with my new helpful friend. As I gave her a handful of plastic pieces I quipped that she might want to check the warranty on this FitBitch.
The doc says I can go home tomorrow and the stitches come out next week. In hindsight, I really should have informed her of my pet name for the device. She couldn't have understood that I had slightly lengthened it’s given name and instead perceived that I had referred to her in a derogatory way.
In her defense, a jar of pickled beets smashed against a cranium looks a whole lot worse than it is. I’m going to have to be extra nice for awhile after I go bail her out of jail. Maybe she’ll have a little mercy...I’m the one who will have trouble getting through airports for the rest of my life. And I dropped the charges. That wasn't me anyway, I was unconscious. Maybe this steel plate in my head could come in handy someday.
I hope she understands. The prospect of being slowly poisoned to death over the next couple of years isn’t very endearing.
In conclusion, I can not recommend this product.
