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101 Ways To Cook A Yoga Mat PSC2017

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posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 12:40 PM
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101 Ways to Cook a Yoga Mat

"Rectum... damn near killed him!"

The declaration, my declaration, though culled from the ashes of
a gloriously fiery misspent youth, was ill received by my former
significant other, if her flinty glare and ever so slightly curled
upper lip was any indication.

Wait. I should rewind this a bit. I wouldn't want to give the
impression that I'm the bad guy here. (I said rewind - gawd I'm
old).

It all started a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. That galaxy
perished in a flicker as the television remote's off button was pressed,
and said controller thrown into my lap slash crotch slash tender jewels
afterwards; which any man will tell you, is a common trick a woman
uses to make a man flinch and feel vulnerable. Or more to the point,
as a prelude to a tongue lashing.

"You said you were making dinner tonight!" Partypooperwitch
shrieked. (note it may not have been an actual shriek, however,
history is written by the Vicar (or someone like that), so I'm
claiming autistic licence on this one).

"Dinner?" I repeated with a suitably confused look on my face.
Already? Like usual, I'd started my day battling Xbox aliens;
a task so demanding that I didn't even have time to get dressed.
Unless one considers underpants with a hole near the elastic
waistband dressed. How embarrassing. One saving grace- some-
where along the way, I'd managed to pull a sock halfway onto a
foot. Whew.

Despite the brouhaha, I had a solution ready, along with a few care-
fully selected words guaranteed to sooth the soul of a rampaging
witch. "Chillaxe. I ferdot." I said (at that moment I remembered she
hates when I say ferdot instead of forgot... oops).
"I'll just pop over to Subway..."

"I will not eat Subway," Soulkillingharpy informed me after placing
a hand on her hip, with said hip promptly jutting out to one side.
"Their bread is made from the same stuff found in yoga mats."

Now I had read such myself, if only a headline here and there, but
the lack of actual facts left me to wonder: Do they grind up the
old bread to make yoga mats? Do they chop up stale yoga mats to
make fresh bread? Can one assume a downward dog on a layer of
pumpernickel?

"I don't see the problem," I said. "I heard they're going to start
slicing the yoga mats real thin and then add low calorie wraps to
their menu. You tree-hugging-astral-travelling-tarot-staring-
crystal-licking-broom-zooming-wiccans like that. Right?"

See? I'm not the bad guy here.

In the interest of reader engagement, I feel compelled to end the
reminiscing here, but for those enthralled by the constant bickering
and yearning for more, I suggest several re-reads of the above, but
changing the inflections here and there for variety. That should
pretty much sum it up for you.


Skip forward:

This was going to be the weekend from hell.

Even though we were newly but unofficially broken up, I agreed to
drive MoochingDemonSpawn out to a retreat she'd found and signed
up for online. "You haven't heard of Reiki?" She said like I had
just crawled out from under a rock - though I must admit, the query
made my face scrunch up as if seeing the sun for the first time.
Reiki: something about auras. Aura stroking. Whatever.

No, I wasn't going for the Reiki, but for the slim chance that we
might still knock boots, as is prone to happen in such ambiguous
relationship situations. Though in our case, it would be knocking
camo patterned crocs with J.C. waterwalkers.

"We're almost there," said Can'tYouReadTheMapOnThePamphlet-
NoYouDon'tNeedToGoogleIt.

...continued in next post...
edit on 7-7-2017 by shlaw because: (no reason given)




posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 12:42 PM
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Now I was keeping an eye out for a ragged gathering of tents,
probably on someones farm, whose owner had a spare acre for
a bunch of weirdos to squat on for the weekend... for a price.

But what we found was this:



*she made me get out and take a picture. Much later I realized
with some satisfaction I'd forgotten to disable the old timey
filter. Score one for the good guy!*

"Huh," was about all I said from that point on until we reached
the imposing building's front door. Who knew all this new age
garbage paid so well?

Once inside, IgnoreMeLikeIJustHappenedToFollowHerInAndWasLikely-
AboutToAskForSpareChange presented the weekend pass (paid for
with my credit card, printed on my paper, using my printer, not
to mention- my ink, which I will mention because it's so expensive).

Shortly, we met with the Reiki master, Rocko. That was his name,
I kid you not. I won't bother with a description, as you've likely
seen his type before. Let's just go with a checklist:

Pony tail? Check.
Slightly graying? Check.
Sickly with pasty skin? Check.
Round spectacles? Check.
Weird chin hairs that might have been a beard at some point, but
now defied description due to years of suffering a tofu only diet.
Double check.

Wait... I just realized yoga mats and tofu smell suspiciously
similar...

Rocko led us to another room that would put a world class hoarder
to shame. Being not in tune with the universe makes me unqualified
to describe the scene, and its more esoteric contents, but there
were also plenty of dusty books on shelves, crystals on little brass
stands, and larger minerals (make sure you use air-quotes when
referring to minerals in the New Age fashion) laying about.

We followed him to the longest counter I'd ever seen. I drifted
away from them as they spoke in their secret gobbledy gook language,
down the counter, a frown forming on my face. Something was off.
Suddenly I realized there was a deer head hanging behind the counter,
above the many cabinet doors. And peeking out from the far end, a
stuffed wolf. There was even an unidentifiable lump of fur on the
end of the counter itself.

My detective instinct, which I'd gained primarily from too much
Netflix, kicked in. Taxidermy and New Age do not mix! I spun on
a heel to point out the critical fact, only to find Rocko and
WhatsHerFuzz talking about how to do a thorough colon cleanse.

My revelation flew out the window and this spewed forth instead:
"Rectum? Damn near killed him!"

In my defence, a manager at one of my previous jobs had the habit of
saying, 'If you fling enough poo at the wall, something's bound to
stick.' And my awkward relationship status made it hard to determine
what clever one liner would get us back to knocking boots again. So,
flinging as much as possible seemed a reasonable strategy.

Cue the flinty gaze and curled upper lip from WillYouPleaseDropDead.

"Dude," Rocko said as he came over and stared at me. "You're aura
is like, all gibbled."

"It is?" Was all I could say. I'm no expert in how auras should
look, much less how a gibbled one would appear. I suspected he didn't
know either, but between the two of us, the fakir would know the truth
of his lies, whereas the ignorant, me, was lost on the subject. (Note
this is how I argue with IAmAlwaysRight - with clarity and conciseness).

"Absolutely," Rocko assured me. "But don't worry, I have just the
thing to soothe your energy." He opened one of the cabinets, revealing
a plethora of ancient bottles and glass containers.

I took a picture of them:



*Just kidding. I'm not some weirdo that takes pictures of every
mundane thing then posts it on my Facebook or twitter feed. I stole
this picture off the internet from someone else who did exactly that.
I'm sensing an argument that would place me in an even poorer light,
so, moving right along...

Rocko placed a small glass bottle down in front of me. Before he
could say more, Don'tTalkToHimI'mTheCenterOfAttention drew him
away with a rather awkward question about the lower colon which I
shall not repeat here.

I examined the label, which looked like an original from Gutenberg:

Nerve Syrup- A valuable remedy for epilepsy, St. Vitas dance,
convulsions, hysteria, nervous debility, nervous prostration,
insomnia, neurasthenia, and disorders of the nervous system.

Hmm... I didn't appear to be suffering from any of that... but then
again, I wasn't a Reiki master. Whatever. Off came the cap and the
shot went down in one gulp. As a tingling feeling traced its way
along my tongue, down my throat, into my stomach, and, I swear,
right to my giblets, I glanced at the label again. It was a single
dose... right? Right?

...continued in next post...
edit on 7-7-2017 by shlaw because: the cow jumped over the moon.



posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 12:44 PM
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"What are you babbling about?"

"Gah!" I sputtered as I looked around then down. The stuffed animal
on the counter had come to life. It was... a cat. And there was
something awfully familiar about it.

Me: "Mewthuselah?"

Mewthuselah: "Of the endless shedding, no less. What shenanigans
are you getting into now, you skinny simian wannabe?"

I set the bottle down and replaced the cap with three twists of my
increasingly noodle-like fingers. Not a single dose then. Time to
act nonchalant.

"Not doing nothing," I said as flipped a thumb over my shoulder.
"Just waiting for..." I burped. "For..." I groggily glanced behind
me, just in time to see Reiki Rocko and his roaming hands all around
my insignificant other. Not touching, mind, just, roaming.

An odd thing about inebriation: It's like a roiling ocean, waves
a hundred feet high, with most of one's time being spent in the
troughs. But every now and then, one rises to a crest for a split
second, and there, finds momentary clarity.

Ingenious, I thought as I watched the Reiki master at work. While
Reiki claimed to be massaging the aura from an inch or so over
the patient's body, I had ascertained the lurid secret behind it;
Rocko was actually molesting the patient's future body - which was
sure to gain an inch or so as said patient entered his/her early
forties. He's a future perv!

Trough. Crest. Trough. Crest...

Oh Reiki, you're so fine
You're so fine you blow my mind, hey Reiki,
Hey Reiki.

Oh Reiki, you're so fine
You're so fine you blow my mind, hey Reiki,
Hey Reiki.

Trough. Crest. Trough. Crest...

"Having problems with your female?" Mewthuselah chattered.

"Yeah, we've passed the knocking boots phase," I groaned. "And
truth be told, I'm not sure how we ever got together in the first
place."

"Ah yes," Mew purred. "A common problem, but we cats call it
knockin' socks." She licked one of her aforementioned socks then
continued. "It's common for a human to select a mate that reminds
them of a parent, in this case, your mother."

Oh gawd. My mother was a hardcore hippy.

Trough. Trough. Trough. Splash. Blub, blub, gurgle.

Mewthuselah: "...and if she sniffs this flower, sock-knocking is
sure to follow."

I was dubious (amongst other things). "Do you have a picture of this
magical flower?"

The cranky old feline hissed, and flexed her claws. "While I do enjoy
a bit of scrap-booking, which for cats means tearing them up, the fact
is I do not have a picture." Mewthuselah's eyes narrowed. "But I am
laying on one."

Crest (sort of).

Shortly, I found that Mewthuselah's informative statement was not an
invitation. Picking up a cranky cat laying on anything, in this case,
a book, is akin to extreme juggling, only worse, as chainsaws don't
fight back.

The world record for juggling cats is nine - if they're dead. If using a
live cat, then it's only one as duration is more important, and the
record currently sits at two and a half seconds (The juggler died from
his injuries soon after, so the record is currently in dispute).

...continued in next post...



posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 12:45 PM
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Ignoring my bleeding hands and forearms, I slid the book closer and
opened to a random page.



Me: "A chrysanthemum?"

Mewthuselah: "A dahlia."

"Okay, so where's the nearest flower shop?"

Mewthuselah paused from cleaning my blood off her claws, and hissed,
"It's extremely rare, you can't just pick it up in a store! Chrysanthemum
Unobtainium can only be found growing in one very isolated place."

"Right, that makes sense," I said. I didn't point out that the cat had
first claimed it was a dahlia - I couldn't survive more blood loss.
"Tell me where, and I'll google it."

"I can do better than that," the feline said. She furiously scratched
the the wood countertop for a moment. Then, "Tada!"



"Geez, you're pretty good," I muttered. "I especially like how you used
my blood to get all those reddish tones. One thing though. This is
Death Valley, right? That's a long way..."

Trough. Trough. Trough. Trough. Trough.

The next bit was more than a little hazy, but here's what I remember:

Rocko had a flying device hanging from the ceiling. All I had to do
was render the Master unconscious, steal his contraption, fly to
Death Valley, nab the flower, push YouCan'tMakeMe's face into it, and
commence knocking boots.

I had intended to hit Rocko over the head with a 'mineral' that would
impart positive energies - no point in being a jerk, but there wasn't
time. So I grabbed the nearest thing, which was a weird looking lump
with a label that read - Coprolite.

Beached.

Though I felt like a shipwreck survivor, I found myself laying across
a prickly hedge and a flower bed, surrounded by broken glass.

"Are you okay?" A blurry Rocko asked me.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You knocked a bunch of my minerals to the floor, scooped up a stuffed
cat, snatched a DaVinci model off its string, then ran around shouting,
"Get to the ornithopter!" Like Arnie. Then you jumped out the window."

IsHeOkay?HeDoesn'tHaveLifeInsuranceYet sidled into view.

Taking advantage of my pitiful condition, I picked one of the flowers
and held it out to You'reASadExampleOfAManButIThinkICanChangeYou,
which she sniffed briefly.

Time for a clever observation. "Have you ever noticed that sniffing a
flower means sticking your nose right into its botanical genitalia?"

NotAChanceYouCaveMan threw the offering down and stormed off.

"Is it me?" I asked the Master.

He extended a hand, helped me get to my feet. "You're humor could use
some finesse," he said.

"Yeah, that's something I should rectify," I agreed.

Rocko: "Rectify? Damn near killdefy!"

Hmm... Rocko wasn't such a bad chap after all. A pair of attractive acolytes
strolled by and twiddled their fingers at him, chirping their flirtatious
hellos before giggling and moving on.

"Say, can you teach me to be a Reiki freaky? And if so, how much is it?"

"Sure can, dude," Rocko said. "Fifty-eight hundred for a certificate."

Fifty-eight hundred! I wouldn't be able to throw money away on junk food
for a while - or any real food. That required another important question.

"Do you have any yoga mat recipe books?"


End.



posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 01:36 PM
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a reply to: shlaw

Oh man....I so love you for this






posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 01:48 PM
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Leave it to a stuffed dead cat to be giving out all the advice at the reiki retreat.



posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 02:39 PM
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originally posted by: UncleSoze
a reply to: shlaw

Oh man....I so love you for this





Thanks for the read and post, fine chap!



posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 03:48 PM
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originally posted by: JDeLattre89
Leave it to a stuffed dead cat to be giving out all the advice at the reiki retreat.


The cat has a certificate mister!
Thanks for the read and post.




posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 04:48 PM
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Great story! But I have to know, did the vial do the trick to get your energy flow back in the correct form?




posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 06:30 PM
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originally posted by: ClovenSky
Great story! But I have to know, did the vial do the trick to get your energy flow back in the correct form?



Oh, looking for free information/advice are we?
Not a chance - It will cost you $5800 my friend.

Thanks for the read!





posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 06:37 PM
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originally posted by: shlaw

originally posted by: ClovenSky
Great story! But I have to know, did the vial do the trick to get your energy flow back in the correct form?



Oh, looking for free information/advice are we?
Not a chance - It will cost you $5800 my friend.

Thanks for the read!



Well, if you are charging for it, then I don't want it. I find that people who charge for their advice, usually gives out information that is worthless. Those who pass their knowledge for free are the ones I try and pay attention to, especially ones with auras that shine.

But thank you for the great entertainment anyways



posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 08:03 PM
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originally posted by: ClovenSky

originally posted by: shlaw

originally posted by: ClovenSky
Great story! But I have to know, did the vial do the trick to get your energy flow back in the correct form?



Oh, looking for free information/advice are we?
Not a chance - It will cost you $5800 my friend.

Thanks for the read!



Well, if you are charging for it, then I don't want it. I find that people who charge for their advice, usually gives out information that is worthless. Those who pass their knowledge for free are the ones I try and pay attention to, especially ones with auras that shine.

But thank you for the great entertainment anyways


Damnit! Another fish wriggles off the hook...
Cheers mate!




posted on Jul, 7 2017 @ 09:21 PM
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a reply to: shlaw

If it were up to me, you'd win.

Loved it!




posted on Jul, 8 2017 @ 09:27 AM
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originally posted by: chr0naut
a reply to: shlaw

If it were up to me, you'd win.

Loved it!



I thank you for the high praise!


Guess I better get my acceptance speech ready...

"Thank you. Thank you all. No, really. Thank you.
First and foremost, I would like to thank all my
ex-girlfriends whom without this would not have
been possible..."



Thanks for the read and post chap!

edit on 8-7-2017 by shlaw because: the cow jumped over the moon (and snagged an udder)



posted on Jul, 14 2017 @ 12:56 PM
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Bahahaha! I almost spit my coffee out several times on this one. Great story and so very funny! Miss you at the shed Furball!



posted on Jul, 15 2017 @ 09:34 AM
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originally posted by: Night Star
Bahahaha! I almost spit my coffee out several times on this one. Great story and so very funny! Miss you at the shed Furball!


Meow!

Glad I could provide a laugh or two.



posted on Jul, 30 2017 @ 05:31 AM
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a reply to: shlaw

Very, very funny!
I hope you choose to write more and often.



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