Your solipsistic thought for the day: Fair is Fowl and Fowl is Fair
While feasting on tender chicken breast in the frosty mist of a Starbucks parking lot, I felt inspired to airmail a chunk of fowl flesh into the morning sky, a tasty treat for a passing seagull. This random impulse ignited new currents that flowed readily through the urban decay rent district of my neurobiology.
Somewhere in the murky electrochemical depths of my right hemisphere, brain juice coalesced into an instant cognitive backslapper, congratulating my own will to survive and thrive during our poopy economy.
For the record, if our jetliner takes a slalom ride across a snow-capped mountain top in the Andes, you have my solemn promise that I will wait till you turn into a Popsicle before I start slicing off fat fillets of your personal protein.
Earnestly speaking, I hope you’re a writer, like John Steinbeck, Raymond Carver, or Barbarella Fokos. Consuming you would taste more like spiritual sacrament than a Scooby Snack for a determined survivor.
Excellent writers boast their own distinct and satisfying flavor. You taste the quality of their craft on every page. Perhaps one may savor them on a palpable and palatable level.
Congratulations to my fellow friendly skies passengers who lived as sofa-bound Solanum tuberosum. All those procrastinated trips to the YMCA are gonna pay off, especially through my guaranteed, permanent weight loss program.
Here’s a resolution for you. Try sucking the marrow out of life while you’re still alive. Make it happen with balanced diet and physical fitness. Rediscover the musky potency of your own precious bodily fluids.
Screw commercial perfumes and breathe in the vital stink of your personal pheromone signal.
Hot babes and beefcake alike will affirm that steamy sweat on a sizzling bod is its own aphrodisiac. Get moving or get none. Your choice, Tubby.
Ladies, think of your improved self esteem. Guys, think of your improved sexual performance and the potential for more hot-blooded, fleshy action. Hell, who am I kidding? Sex is all we think about, just ask Freud. Still, you couldn’t ask for a better source of motivation.
I’m off to the gym to become a tasty treat while my form is still warm. Stay hungry, my friends!