Thank you for your excellent "extreme" product. I have been trying it for five days now. You promised "extreme" changes to my body, and you've already delivered in startling ways. You promised I'd experience "muscle confusion", and, indeed, my muscles are very, very, confused.
I can't move.
Your advertising includes many testimonies: "I've lost thirty pounds and four inches off my waist," and "I've lost ten pounds of fat, and two inches," etc.
Well, I'm not sure about my weight loss, since I can no longer summon the energy to roll across the floor and onto a scale. Nor am I sure about losing any inches. I can't put my pants on.
I have, however, lost a lot: My ability to perform routine tasks. My hopes and dreams.
Control over my bladder.
My will to live.
Thank you, P90X people. Like you say on the videos, I'm just "pumped" to "bring it" every day and it delights me to no end to see your smiling, toned faces as I flicker in and out of consciousness lying on my living room floor. Thank you.
Your product is extreme. Very, very extreme. When I get the energy, and if I get my motor skills back, I'm going to "bring it" -- "it" will be a full-strength "toning band" -- and strangle each and every one of you in sets of 25 reps.
I just had a cool idea: Let's have a Festival of Judgment!
We'll out-judge everybody, and prove our own personal righteousness, by judging everybody who comments on this blog.
Start by judging me. (Say, for buying a $7500 car, when I could have sent the money to Compassion International.) Then, I'll judge you by out-Bibling you, and you can jump in and judge back, and judge other commenters or whatever.
You can do it through quoting the Bible, or just kinda tsk-tsking somebody else with a pithy comment. It's fun, and will establish you as a real serious-type religious person, and will make this blog THE home for Truth, none of that namby-pamby, relativistic, postmod stuff you get elsewhere.
Kamp Krusty offers another in its Point-Counterpoint Series. At issue, the effect of Brant's new car on his public perception.
My New Car Makes Me Look Like One of Those Cool People That Other People Like
By Brant Hansen
My "new" car is cool. I'm the driver of a cool car. I'm a cool-car driver.
Brant Hansen, cool-car driver. "Hi, I'm Brant...yeah...oh, me? -- yeah. I drive that. Why yes, it is cool. Thank you."
I'm going to like this.
I bought it, and friends told me it was out of my idiom. But that just shows I have a dynamic idiom. I am always changing. Now, I can put the top down on my superfast car, and people look at me and I know what they're thinking: "That guy is cool, so let's accept him and offer him affirmation by including him in our social interactions and/or events if possible."
I had a convertible, but it was boxy and old and the ragtop actually blew up like a balloon when I drove on the highway, like a big ballooon, or maybe a bouncy house, or maybe like the helmet from The Great Gazoo on The Flintstones, and I was told it looked stupid.
But this car is cool. Ergo, I am cool. Just like the guys in my high school who people liked. Those people who liked them will now like me.
No, It Doesn't, You're Still a Dork
By Doug Hannah, friend of Brant
No, Brant. No, it doesn't. Your car does not make you look like one of those cool people. You're still a dork from Assumption, Illinois.
I will give you this: what the car does do is demonstrate how dangerous it is for someone with Nystagmus disease whose eyeballs creepily wander all over the place, to be commandeering the highways of South Florida in a convertible.
Oh yeah, let's talk about the convertible. While I'm sure the thought-bubble above your head prior to purchase showed you cruising down A1A looking sweet and hot, the real picture is more sobering: You're pushing 40, you think toasters that cook 4 pieces are cutting-edge technology, and you once got lost in a neighborhood while jogging and had to call Carolyn from a stranger's kitchen to come find you. ITEM! None of this has changed. Except now, you're compensating for it by unbuttoning your shirt a bit and rolling at the posted speed limit in a used Mitsubishi.
Heath "Keith" Evans likes playing fullback for the New England Patriots. I like eating toast and reading "First Things".
Keith Evans also plays kickoff coverage. I told him I didn't think he could stop me, if he kicked it off to me. He asked if it was tackle. I said yes.
Keith accepted. Turns out, Keith is pretty fast. I am not as fast. Keith hits pretty hard.
And Keith --and this is far more worth checking out than my stupid video -- also has a foundation. It is not the typical NFL-player foundation: It offers Jesus-centered counseling to sexually-abused children. www.heathevans.org
Because there's nothing more fun than forcing people to look at your own photo albums, here's an online version.
I can't force you to look at it. I can't even force myself to think you'd want to. But here it is.
Oh, the places you'll go!