three mutant, half-pig mud-runners pose for a photo

#119 "Rashers"

Mud-running looks like a lot of fun, but I just know if I tried it, I'd snap both of my achilles tendons, break a leg, get an ear-nose-and throat infection, have dirt under my nails for life, tear a nipple, irreparably harm my nasal passages from mud-snorts, irreversibly stain my pristine porcelain private parts, decimate my tailbone, and lose the use of my bum-muscles. Mud-runners have guts. If they have any fear of abandoning themselves to uncontrolled slipping and sliding, it surely doesn't stop them. If a dictator took over the USA and forced all citizens to do a mud run, they would have to peel me away from my precious tar and concrete—those predictable, stable surfaces on which I feel safe and sound. I did trip over a raised manhole cover during a marathon in 2005, but I'll never blame the pavement for that—only mankind.

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Crusted Salt comics by Jimmy Brunelle