Monday, June 22, 2009

Psalm twenty-three-and-a-half

Wellness, thou art my Lord and Shepherd, and I shalt not want. My stamina shalt be likened unto that of the camels, as I runneth in the sun. Thus shalt I be able to work long hours, never tiring, and make six figures easy.

Wellness maketh me to jog through green pastures along a path of asphalt. He leadeth beside the still waters of Poland Springs. I wouldst pour the healing waters over my head, whilst perspiring profusely. It drippeth down my shirt, it trickleth into my shorts, and, yea, I shalt rejoice.

Wellness leadeth me in the ways of the 3k, also the 5K, and I aspireth even unto the marathon, though the triathalon is for the cuckoo.

Yea, though I mayst trod aerobic mid the valley of the shadow of the pot belly, I shalt fear no snacks, nor even the evil french fries, for now I partaketh not.

Wellness, thou art with me, the carrot stick is my rod, the celery is my tender stalk, and they comforteth me. Though not like a nap after loaded nachos, as in the days of the Gomorrah Club.

No wonder, I doth aver, the Sodomites there didst turn to salt, as their diet verily didst bear so much of the sodium molecule.

Wellness, thou prepareth a table for me in the presence of preservatives. Thou heapeth it with pomegranates, rich in antioxidants, also the lycopene of the dark blue berry. My cup runneth over with green tea, and, lo, it leaveth a nasty ring upon thy table.

Thou annointest my greens with oil of the olive branch, whereupon a little salt of the sea goeth a long way, mixed with fresh cracked peppercorn and vinegar of balsam, maybe some tomatoes dried in the sun.

Surely Wellness and Prosperity shalt follow me all of my days. I shalt live in the mansion of the gated community in Northern New Jersey for all time, or until a subprime mortgage crisis followed by a Democratic administration.

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