Oh, body, I've been cruel to you. I'm a monster inhabiting you. One that devours processed sugar cane and wheat like
the earth eats meteors. Foods fly through the air and into the gravitational vortex existing in my mouth at the same
rate that space rocks do the atmosphere. There is a bulge in my equator that seems eternal.
Feet, I stuff you into old sneakers and pound you on the treadmill for hours. As I've gotten bigger from
the accretion of many foodstuffs, you have gotten flatter. So flat that I could slide you underneath the bathroom door
so the cat on the other side can play with them. You used to be lovely and pristine, but now you're just gnarly, gross,
and embarrassing. I no longer wear sandals in public, and if sixty nine virgin foot massage therapists showed up at the door
one lonely night offering me sixty nine free foot massages, I would let them, but only if they agreed to let me wear knee socks.
Eyes, I'm sooooooo sorry. I never let you see far away. I wield a relentless retinal whip, keeping you transfixed
on laptops, phones, books, and TV. In my dreams, you appear to me and get on your eyeball knees and beg me to drive to
the ocean to let you gaze at ships on the horizon. But I never listen. Instead, I stay in this little brick box in Atlanta and
keep the curtains drawn. I won't even let you look at the neighbors' houses across the street. That would take time away
from Reddit, Netflix, and Stephen King's sequel to The Shining. I promise that next week we'll drive to the tallest building
downtown, take the elevator to the top, and look out at the greater metro area, just as long as you agree to let me listen
to Rob Has A Podcast on my old Ipod to alleviate the boredom of staring at the tops of buildings and houses.
Oh, body, thanks for putting up with me. I would promise to be easier on you, but you and I both know that would be
a lie (a.k.a. an empty promise). Just know that I love you, and am eternally grateful for your service, dopamine rushes,
and sensuality. To show my thankfulness, I'm going to reward you with milk chocolate and ice cream. Yeah, that's what you want. Mmmm, yeah.
Creative Stuff I Like
Thanks for stopping by. Occasionally, this comic might not be safe for kids (NSFK). To keep updated, please connect to my RSS feed
Crusted Salt comics by Jimmy Brunelle