Joggers

Ooh how I hate you random joggers. Blowing past me as I wheeze up the hill, with your ponytail swinging, ipod listening, spandex wearing, expensive shoe pounding, water bottle sloshing, indifferent to the natural element as you put the few calories allowed to work. I just want to hit you with my car as I drive past you to the bakery. It's if you can't beat 'em, hate 'em, right?