Wednesday, February 8, 2012

One Shake at a Time Day 14: Has This Gotten Exciting Yet?

My brain on shakes.
The original title was "One Shake at a Time Day 14: Has This Gotten Boring Yet?". How's that for presumptuous? (The presumption being that it was ever anything less than boring for the first 13 shake-filled days.) The title after that was "One Shake at a Time I Don't Remember What Day it Is and Who Gives a Flying Fuck Anyway?" (there we go with the F-bomb again, the word that we use to try and lamely indicate that we the devil-may-care anti-establishment iconoclasts are so daring and outspoken that we throw the F-bomb around like it's a dirty word and if there are some tender ears out there that may take offense well excuuuuuuse me but...hey...fuck them! Ha Ha Ha!! Perhaps a more accurate measure of the creative intellect might be the words we substitute for the F-bomb.) So the next title was gonna be ""One Shake at a Time I Don't Remember What Day it Is and Who Gives a Flying Squirrel Anyway?"

Tomorrow: And so it begins, needles and pins. In truth though, how could this stupid cleanse begin again when it has already twice begun already? If we buy into the linear and sequential view of the universe then things like dietary cleanses can only have one beginning, one middle, one end. But I think we - that is me and my 4 Various and Sundry blog followers, 2 of whom I've never met but love dearly like we have been having slippery transcendent sex non-stop for years - we have stepped out of line. Quite literally, a line being quite literally a linear thing. (If a line isn't linear then a circle isn't circular and a square isn't squarular - who can argue that? Who would want to bother?) And we, my 4 pals and I, have, with this insufferably tedious cleanse, started, stopped, started, and stopped, and now have the (insert substitute for f-bomb here) nerve to pick up where we left off. I suppose picking up where one leaves off could be considered linear behavior, so I prefer to think of it as neither leaving off nor picking up, but simply stepping out of line. Out of line like we got off the train in some cold forgotten town among the tired, wispy sugar pines and half-past-dead leafless scrub oaks and, seeing that the people there had nothing but were willing to share it with us out-of-liners, decided to stay awhile. Upon our return wherever we had left off was so far away that it was beyond the furthest reaches of our memory. So there couldn't be any picking up where we left off for that place could not be found and besides there was nothing there to pick up anyway.

Which leaves us - me and my 4 Various and Sundry companions (you could be one too if you just followed this stinkin blog by clicking that little button that says follow in the upper right hand corner trust me nothing bad will happen or if anything bad happens it will be so bad as to be good) still out of line - off the linear path - heading into the 14th day of a ridiculous dietary ruse so blatantly and cleverly stinking of capitalistic snake oil that you can't help but lose weight because it's probably the last lick of sense you might of had in that (insert f-bomb substitute here) almost 57-year old dented and rusty skull - how much do you suppose that one of those (f-bomb sub) shakes costs? Does anybody think I am more likely to get laid if I drop 15 pounds? Speak up I can't hear you!! Is that your phone number or your social? Let's face it the answer to that more sex question is no, so what vain non-linear collection of brain cells is behind this cleansing insanity? I'll tell you! It's called fear of eminent wardrobe replacement. That is if another ounce is packed on the pant size will rise, period. I just don't wanna go there folks is that so repulsively vain?

So...we're off track, out of line, out of time, and so completely non-linear as to be considered dangerous in some societies many of them not far from where we're standing now. And we've only got 7 days to go after which God willing I will never ever blog about diets, or cleanses, or shakes, or abstract physical properties like waist size and lines, straight, crooked or otherwise, again. 7 more days. 6 after this. We're just gonna knock 'em down like dominoes! Or to use a tired cliche: bada boom, bada bing.

Let me know if I can make you a shake!

Smart dog. Eats trees.

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