Oh sure since I type a lot and know my way around a can of aerosol cheese, you probably have guessed that I’m a world class athlete from wrists to fingerprints. Sadly it’s just the rest of my flesh that flaps and flags furiously in a stiff wind which makes me pause, not with concern, but to catch my breath. Apparently my wife worries about my cold, stiff, body too, since she routinely tells me where to ‘go’ to warm up, and she wants me to get off my coffin to increase my activity level and exercise routine.
Even during frigid times of the year I try to appease the spouse with a brisk walk together over the dark and cold Midwest tundra to Taco Bell for dinner. I don’t mind following carrots as long as they taste like tacos, and anyway you’ve never lived until you boot your way through recently thawed permafrost into a two inch layer of muddy ‘Mr. Ma-GOO’! Who needs a hot, expensive & sweaty gym when the great outdoors will suck off your shoes and offer-up 10 pound ankle anchors for free? After all bulky Hulks like me need all the help I can get, to lift and separate my Frankenstein gate, and enhance my already cartoon-creature image.
Like satanic thoughts, most of my daily fitness routine is thrust upon me involuntarily anyway, as I try to keep up with the stuff that makes trouble, breaks double, or takes a fall on top of my ‘un-loved’ Amityville shack. Inside this cavern, there is always a cold darkness stalking me, but that might be because I’m just ‘bats’ by pulling the shades and setting the thermostat too low? When it comes to graveYARD work I am taunted by millions of demon leaves and howling, windy, tree-things which need bunching, crunching, and perpetual decomposition. Now you can see I don’t really need to be banished to a gym to get in shape - I just need to be regularly EXORCISED!
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