Bah! Who needs exercise when you can fly on the back of a dog-faced luckdragon, am I right!? You're goddamned right I'm right. I'm so right that I made you wrong and you didn't even do anything! Now quit listening to me and hop on that fucking luckdragon before I do a tap dance on your jugular, son.

You hop aboard the giant, furry beast and he takes to the sky in an instant.

"This is great! I've never felt to free and alive before! And to think I was going to actually try going for a walk in a sad attempt to get some exercise! Well screw that! Screw exercise! THIS is living!" you shout with childish glee.

"Heheh, what say we go faster then?" Falcor asks.

"YES! FASTER! FASTER! MORE SPEED! MOOOOOORE SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED!!!"

Per your idiotic request, Falcor increases his speed to the point where all the moisture in both his mouth and nasal cavities are unable to fight against the wind.

In an instant, the greatest time of your life is turned into a nightmare as you're blinded with the most godawful smelling (and tasting) dog-faced luckdragon saliva and nasal drip from here to timbuktu. And it just keeps pouring out of him. So much of it pours out that it knocks you off of his back and you fall hundreds of feet to your death. A death involving being impaled on trees and rocks... while covered in a variety of dog-faced luckdragon bodily fluids. Good times!

YO SLIMER! WHAT SAY YOU WIPE YOURSELF OFF AND START OVER!