Tales from the Mischief presents
Ten Thousand Reps
The colony fitness committee convenes at dawn, as is tradition, and as is also tradition, attendance is me.
The machine has opinions about my form. The machine has been spoken to.
FOUR REPS. Four glorious reps. Someone alert a historian.
The Rest faction has been asleep since Tuesday and just declared victory through a yawn. THROUGH A YAWN.
Between us, the counter says forty. Between us, I am rounding generously.
TEN THOUSAND REPS. The machine wept. I also wept, briefly, with dignity.
Muttly was not briefed, attended nothing, lifted nothing, and is somehow the only one who needs a sit down. Good girl.
Muttly is resting on my behalf.Tales from the Mischief. A new sketch on Sundays.
Roof rats really are athletes. They are lean, agile climbers that spend the night on the move, far more active than their ground-dwelling Norway cousins.[1]
