Gym-splaining

Note: I dispense, for now, with the “aside” nonsense.  Fiction is difficult. Inane observations which spill over from a semi-odd brain are somewhat easier.  And if I ever resume posting “fictional” chapters, then the “asides” will cease to be nonsense, and will be once again be high art indeed! (Or something.)


I don’t necessarily believe in aliens. But if they did exist, I imagine one of the hardest things to explain to them would be the health club (which, naturally, I would be called upon to do).

Me: Well, what I do in this big air-conditioned building is run in place with a bunch of strangers.”

Alien: Run . . . in place?

Me: Occasionally, I’ll lift heavy things over my head, or climb on stairs that go nowhere.

Alien: Stairs to nowhere?

Me: Nowhere at all.

Alien: And what is that small chamber?

Me: A tiny room that’s really hot. We sit in there on wooden benches as long as we can without dying.

Alien: A hot ‘room’ inside of a cold ‘building’?

Me: That’s right.

Alien: Is it not already ‘hot’ OUTSIDE of the building?

Me: Brutally.

Alien: Could you not ‘sit’ there in your strange attempt to prevent your life force from being extinguished?

Me: Absolutely.

Alien: And can you not run or even lift heavy objects anywhere, and perhaps actually accomplish productive tasks?

Me: Indubitably.

Alien: And are there not actual stairs that lead to actual places, outside of this building?

Me: Everywhere.

Alien: I assume you are compensated for this odd human experiment?

Me: Oh, no. I pay for the privilege.

Alien: I see. Prepare to be destroyed.

Communication Exercise Health Humor

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