Friday, July 14, 2006


Dear Yoga Instructor,
I love you. Despite the fact that you are a granola-eating, hemp-wearin', frizzy-headed, rail-thin specimen of yogi's, you are amazing. I walk into your dim den of nature sounds and am immediately relieved of all the stresses of library life. Last night you assisted me in lifting my body in a way that defied all laws of gravity and nature and didn't even wince when my rolling gunt billowed over my yoga pants. Thank you for that, may your kindness be repayed by increased flexibility.

Dear lady next to me in yoga,
Stop moaning. Stop sighing. Stop groaning. This is yoga, not soft-core pornography.

Dear ugly guy at the front of the room in yoga,
I can see you in the mirror. Even through the dim lights. Oh, were you not aware the lights were dim? Well that's because you didn't take off your aviator glasses during the entire class. For christ's sake man, it was 9pm!!! Also, the skimpiness of your shorts is beginning to cause me some concern. Partly because I sit behind you. And mostly because during certain poses I suspect your ball sack of making brief appearances. Not brief enough. Put that shit back in. And unless you're secretly hiding the fact that you're Bono behind those glasses...take them the fuck off you pretentious twat.

Dear fat lady in green,
I'm sorry for judging you when you first entered the room. Your lack of fashion sense and plethora of body fat threw me. But when I was half-stunted in a pose that required me to bend my body back like a pretzel, and then I looked over at you and saw that you could bend so far back that you were pretty much licking your own ass....I was appalled. And extremely ashamed of myself. For that I am sorry.

The girl in the back with the pretty pants, huge gunt and limbs made of stone.

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