There’s this couple in my neighborhood. I don’t know who they are or what their names are or what street in Pleasantville that they actually live on. All I know is that they run together—a lot. They run in the mornings, afternoons, and evenings. They run when it’s cold, when it’s hot, when it’s raining, when it’s snowing.

Instead of being impressed and *gulp* envious of their determination and commitment, I do what I do best. Because sometimes I can be kind of an asshole.

You see, this couple that runs together? I cannot see the “Oh, isn’t that so sweet? They are doing something great for their bodies and for their marriage!”

No. Because all I can see is their matching outfits.

I speak the truth, you guys. Whenever the two are out running, they are wearing the same thing. Morning, noon, night. Jackets, Lululemon hoodies, night-time reflectors (so jerks like me don’t hit them while I’m lazily driving while they are out getting exercise, obviously) neon track pants, red spandex pants, SHOES. Matching shoes.

Matching shoes.

Well luckily for them, they can’t possibly the worst offenders in my life.

They aren’t the Ed Hardy family.

Nobody tops the Ed Hardy family.

Want more pearls of wisdom (or something)? Come on over here and see what I had to think about the Golden Globes last night. I’ll give you a hint: I was partially confused by a bedazzled belt buckle.