Could anything be wurst?


What’s up with aqua-suspension massage tanks at the mall? For the seductive price of $9.99, you’re inserted face down and fully dressed into the bottom half of a huge torpedo-shaped glass chamber and onto the bottom half of a turquoise-colored rubber membrane. The hinged top closed, latched tightly, and upper membrane sealed you now look like a large gob of pork stuffed into a life-sized blue sausage skin. Your stubbly looking legs stick out one end, your head and hands the other. You now spend 15 glorious minutes pummeled by “magic water fingers,” a moving track of water spouts with enough pressure to remove car paint. But wait…the real bonus comes for the crowd gathered five-deep around the glass tube that watches, points, and laughs while your 40 plus extra pounds of flubber wiggle, shake and waggle like Jell-O. Which brings up another quandary: why is it mostly people of ample proportions are the ones who pay good money to showcase their flab? So as to not offend any group leading to outcries, protests and death threats, I confess that I was a pork belly for many years. And the LAST thing I hungered for was displaying my fat ass and body blubber jiggling like water in an slopping wave pool.

Whatever. Back to my Bratwurst.
Keep !nking about it.



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