“Hey guys! Just got back from the BEST SPIN CLASS EVER with my AWESOME trainer, Julio Hoovenblag!!! OMG, so good. Such a good spin class. Love spin class. Riding exercise bikes harder than usual to Katy Perry songs—so great! So tired. PLEASE READ MY NEXT SEVEN POSTS ABOUT A NEW WORKOUT FAD WHERE I SPECIFICALLY MENTION THE TRAINER’S NAME AND LINK TO HIS TWITTER!!!!!”

“Hey guys. Just had a great spin class with Julio Hoovenblag! Really tired. So tired. I’m really tired today because I took a spin class with Julio Hoovenblag. Spin. Tired. Hoovenblag. Spin class. Penis helmet. Julio Hoovenblag.”

“Morning spin with @JulioHoovenblag at @RandomTrendyGym. I’m gonna be soooo tired. Did I mention how tired I am? If not, please note that I am soooo tired.”

“Hey guys, guess how tired I am? REALLY TIRED! From spin class!!! Spin class with Julio Hoovenblag!!!!!!!!! THERE’S A TINY MIND CONTROLLING PARASITE IN MY BRAIN, AND HE WANTS ME TO TALK ABOUT SPIN CLASS EVERY DAY!!!!”

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First of all, shut up. Second of all, fuck you. Third of all, shut the hell up. Fourth of all, nobody gives a shit about your goddamn spin class. Fifth of all, please “like” my Facebook page about Garfield. No one has liked it yet, and frankly I’m a little “Mondays” about it. Sixth of all, if you ever mention your workout routine four times in four days again, I will beat you to death with my shoe.

Spin class. I don’t know what it is, when it started, or why everyone on my Facebook timeline won’t shut the hell up about it, but using only their posts as evidence, I have determined that spin class is stupid and all the people who take spin classes are boners. I have also determined that the long-term effects of taking a spin class are 1) losing a few pounds, 2) not shutting the hell up about spin class, and 3) being the obnoxious twat everyone blocks on social media sites.

I don’t even know what spin class is, and I’m already tired of hearing about it. That’s pretty phenomenal. It’s a feat only matched by Lana Del Rey and my uncle’s weird foot disease. The only people who actually know what a spin class is are Gwyneth Paltrow’s niece, the pile of dead hippies who invented it as a joke, and very attractive, frosty-haired unemployed people who used to fold shirts at Abercrombie but started teaching spin classes because it’s slightly more respectable than doing porn.

When I think of “spinning,” I generally think of that old insult where you give someone the finger and then tell them to “sit and spin.” I’m not sure if spin class involves placing someone’s middle finger up your butthole and rotating, but if so, I can see why so many people are riled up about it. For those of you who are posting incessantly about your workout, please note that when you say “Just got back from a great spin!”, that is what I imagine you did.

I searched the internet to find out what spin classes are and research the history of them, but all I found were vague advertisements for overpriced gyms that don’t tell me what it is, posts from spin class fanatics who also don’t tell me what it is, and an article from the Tallahassee Democrat that says spin classes put too much pressure on people’s genital tissues. Jesus Christ, man! I’m no doctor, but people should probably be careful with their genital tissues.

I assume spin classes are only a fad in Los Angeles and New York, but it’s hard to tell. These two cities are a bubble of pretty things and obnoxious things and pretty obnoxious things, so sometimes it’s hard to determine whether our poop stays in the toilet or splatters everywhere else as well. If you live in the Midwest but haven’t heard of spin classes, rest assured that you will be annoyed by them six months from now. That’s how it worked with the Atkins diet, pretending you have ADHD to justify your laziness, and pouring vodka into your eyeballs to get drunk, so it should be the same with this fad.

After I publish this column, I’ll likely get 20 invitations from friends to try a spin class. This will not be happening for a number of reasons. First, because being invited to a workout is about as intriguing to me as being invited to a Nazi concentration camp. Second, because I once took a swimming class in eighth grade and got a cold afterward, and I’m not going through that again. Third, because I’ve already promised my genital tissues to science after I die, and I’d hate for them to have to untangle any knots.

Also, I tried riding a real bicycle once as a child, and I didn’t care for it. There was a lot more pedaling than I anticipated. It was a Huffy with blue tires, so I only used it to leave blue skid marks on my parents’ driveway, spelling out the phrase “Buy me a car, you cheap fooks.” (I was eight years old, but I was very mature for my age.) And that’s the same comment I’d give to the fooks who want me to take a spin class. Find me a workout that involves driving a car faster than usual, and I will say yes. Sweating is for bottles of Coca-Cola in my cup holder, not for people.