Ecce Mortis: Sexy Dancers Groovin’ to The War

The Company Gym. Buff bodies.  Faces taut with grim determination.  Diets optimized by scientific know-it-all know-how proven computer-charted-and-corrected scientific method.  Belief systems built on strong foundations of clinical experimentation repeated for accuracy under stress-increased conditions, peer-reviewed.

Hard labor builds hard selves.

Trainers, experts in the chemistry of lean architecture, human form. Pills, shakes, powders, injections; natural herbs; synthetic wonder molecules. A method. Many methods tried and true. Ergonomic machine-designs for comfort in distress. The latest in physical physics. Electric power pull tension for maximum result. Employees would stay rigorous and young forever.

Nutritionists, physical therapists, an on-call physician. Men and women in accord.  Sex, sweat, hope. Pure mist of ideal.

I tended Bamboo, Palms, Plants of Paradise.

“Faith, purity, mastery. Mind over body, strength of will,” barked passing trainers.

Treadmill biking rowing; walking pedaling boating; nowhere, nowhere, nowhere.

Overhead screens pumped music and The War into their sweating heads. Imagined themselves in jets, roaring fire up the beastly asshole of the Rogue Enemy of The Nation!

Bomb his demon progeny. Bomb the sandbox. Bomb the swing set. Bomb the school where THEY are indoctrinated and trained to hate The Nation. Bomb bomb bomb!

Pause watch listen. War thrum beat of pop music. Work it, work it, work it out. Tension, release. Minds abandon pain-wracked bodies to soar among the bomber jets and scream raw lust at stadium crowds.  Dancing, loving, worshipful masses. Imaginary famous and adored.

Executive-white buttocks, pasty thighs in shorts. Health premiums reduced significantly and productivity increased when workers spend lunch-breaks in the gym watching The War set to pop music on giant overhead TVs. Leave cold sweat cubicles for clean hot muscle action.

Hour-a-day mental space to pump steel, cycle, soar with sexy dancers groovin’ to The War.

I took time tending the few plants scattered about the basement gymnasium of the ominously tall, hermetically sealed, climate-controlled, tower of glass, buff-glossy cement and steel.

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