One of my favorite things to do nowadays is Diamond Dallas Page (DDP, for the sake of brevity) Yoga. Not only does he focus more on conditioning and rehab, his stuff is all contained within a neat little app so I can do my stretching, sweating, and swearing in the privacy of my San Francisco studio. I gotta say—the best part about doing yoga at home is that I can fart without guilt. Going to group yoga is like playing Russian Roulette with a well-oiled six-shooter that’s loaded with five rounds; at some point, you KNOW someone’s gonna let off a deafening cheek-slapper. Funny? Absolutely. Conducive to yoga? Not so much. Who’s it gonna be this time? You? Me? I end up feeling like I’m in a gastronomically themed version of “Saw.”
And here’s another benefit of home yoga: I can get HIIIIIGH (oh yeah whazzup motha nuckas we gettin HIIIIIIIGH) and not have to worry about driving to or back from a yoga place. This time, I’ve opted to gulp down an eighth of shrooms and crack out a “psycho” workout.
So I’m doing my thirty-second pushups, down-dog, side-planks, etc. etc. alongside a legion of intelligent fractals. They morph and shift throughout my sequence, touching me with their acausal love and filling me with interdimensional awareness. I’m fully blissed out, immersed in the heart of All That Is as I push into a deep-side twist.
Suddenly, Diamond Dallas Page looks directly at the camera.
“Help me,” he whispers.
“Uh…what?” I look around. There’s nobody here, but the gesture is instinctive; like when something bizarre AF is happening and you’re thinking: “Is anyone else SEEING this?”
“Help me, Kent.” DDP’s eyes are wide and frightened.
I stand up and rub the back of my neck. “I’m not sure how to—”
oooOOOOOHHH SHIIIIIITTT! In the span of a second, my being funnels into a bright, spark-lined column of light and flows into my phone screen. A moment later I’m physically there with DDP. He slaps a gas mask onto my face, tightens the straps, and instructs me to clear and seal. My old military training kicks in, and I do as he says.
He grabs me by the shoulders. “We’ve gotta get outta here! Everyone here is a yoga farter—EVERYONE! It’s only a matter of time before their aerosolized ass-fog eats through our masks and tears apart our cells!” He shakes me again. “WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!”
I glance around, watching as legions of yoga practitioners knock out poses with blank, expressionless looks affixed to their faces. All the while, bone-crumbling booty bombs erupt around us, ricocheting loudly off the walls and blowing our hair into wild, whipping frenzies. I’ve never been pinned down by artillery, but there’s gotta be a parallel here.
So I reach into my pocket and open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
A herd of unicorns burst through the wall, ejecting giant clouds of rainbows from their enchanted assholes. Their light-charged flatulence nullifies the yoga peoples’, clearing the air and making it breathable once again. DDP rips his mask off, screams in joy, and performs one of his staple moves:
“HULK IT UP!!!” He flexes his arms down to his waist, snarling in triumph.
Goddamn. Thank God for unicorn farts.
Have you eaten too many shrooms, and now face the horrifying prospect of death by yoga fart? Never fear! Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle Vol.4 on Kindle here: Vol. 4 on Kindle Echo Omnibus here: Echo Omnibus Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition If you wanna hear me babble on about anything and everything, and strain my FREAKIN’ BRAIN, then here’s a link to my podcast: Strained Brains! It is on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, and Google Play! Please give it a listen and a five-star review! Here’s the miscellaneous gear that I use to try and become an uber-human: Optimization, and last but not least, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com! Go check out his computer-based wizardry 🙂 🙂 😀
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