Predator Press
[LOBO]
Once again, death and heartbreak has followed on the heels of 'healthy diet' and 'exercise'... and this time it stuck it's icy fingers right into the heart of the Chicago Marathon.
The crowd gathered as is their ritual: early, and positively seething with good health, vigor and Old Spice.
Little did they know that their unclogged arteries would only increase the efficiency of their perspiration.
Fewer still thought maybe they should stay in their air-conditioned cubicles making mediocre money rather than watching the movie '300' too many times and working their asses off for no money.
There was ample water and ice --initially thought to be refreshments-- and every last one of the runners were numbered: all the pieces of a well-organized and hastily preformed good-'ole-fashioned organ harvest were in place.
The parade of pink lungs, pristine kidneys and robust young transplantable hearts began their annual run punctually, too. They waved, foolishly taunting the onlooking sedentary and physically inferior misfits. And while the fans outwardly faked their cheering ever-so-brilliantly, all secretly prayed one or more of those potential collections of upgrades and spare parts would wander from the predictable route, into the wrong dark alley, and could quietly be "mitigated" to death with cinderblocks and pointy sticks.
If you think about it, the fact that the Chicago Marathon had any survivors at all was a miracle.
You health nuts and fitness freaks need some serious help. You mean to tell me nobody decided before running 20 miles to check the weather? Jesus, I check the weather just to get the mail! Try this you vitamin-popping cult-driven bran-pooping charlatans and witch doctor practitioner-types: it's called weather.com. Next time you feel the urge to, oh, climb a mountain, skydive or eat tofu, you might want to check it out.
If you don't know your zip code, somebody else at the office probably does.
Okay?
May God have mercy on your souls.
