Sunday, May 25, 2008
I have this theory about exercise. And aliens. It's not my fault. What else am I supposed to do with my time since "The X-Files" went off the air.
My motto is "Unless it comes in a baggie from a man named Kap'n Chillaxin, everything in moderation." Dipped in vanilla irony and rolled in nuts as we quickly run out of natural resources, there is rarely such a thing as moderation. So my advice for today is that if you apply it nowhere else in your life, make sure to apply moderation to the pragmatic life-practice and survival-tactic known as exercise.
Why? For your own good.
Now, on to the aliens: It's not "if" the aliens are coming, it's "when", right? Sure. So what's my point? Well, you know they won't be coming down to observe or learn anything from us. We can't do anything right except over-consume. But let's admit it, we're good at it now. So you do see where this is going, right. Yes. The aliens will just come down to eat us.
So how fit or fat do you want to be when the aliens come down to the slaughter, sorting through us like scattering, gobbling turkeys fattened for market?
Use your head here. Get out and exercise, but not too much.
Sitting around 99.9% of the time will make you overweight and miserable until the aliens get here, and I'm a good enough friend to tell you neither you nor anyone from the planet Xion wants muffin-tops baked up over a waistband anymore. I know from experience. It doesn't matter what kind of experience, just trust me.
So if you insist on sitting around not exercising at all, then you shouldn't eat healthful foods or take antibiotics to keep yourself sustained in your confines. That'll just make you look like a delicacy for a stringy little green bean of an alien. Everybody knows just like the next person except me, aliens will jump on a quality a piece of self-tenderized man-veal.
On the other hand, you don't want to look too good, too meaty, too lean, too tasty. You can't exercise away all the fat and become pure, mouth-watering, electrolyte-plumped muscle -- so much so that you have to wear a belt just to keep your guts from being crushed by your massive pecs and pieces.
So it's my opinion now that unless you just feel like tempting a travel-weary, slightly ravenous alien into eating your nicely-contoured, beautifully-marbled one-stop-shopping hock or two, then you should keep a little fat stashed here and there. Just enough to just make good sense. That's the only real reason I do it. I'm not a complete idiot, you know.
Plus, it makes me feel better about myself when I skip a day or two of jogging and hit the couch and corn chips hard instead. Gotta get that corn while the gettin' is good, son. Soon enough, we'll all be pootering around in compact little spacey iCars fueled with ethanol and smelling of corn puffs, and you won't be gettin' your paws on a bag of flavor-blasted Doritos® for another three or so eons. Trust me, you will thank me so much for this advice one day when we're all jettisoned to the moon to establish those colonies we've always talked about, away from the aliens invading and munching their way around planet Earth.
I know. I can't wait until "The X-Files" movie either. I sure hope Doritos® comes up with a cool new cheesy-flavor for the premier. If Mountain Dew® is awake, they should, too. Hello, Alien-Green Space Fuel that glows in the dark? I'd drink it.