The other evening I was working out hard on the elliptical machine at the YMCA. Running in place may seem a pointless endeavor, but I am free to run wherever I want in my own mind. I close my eyes, and picture myself running in a plain in Africa, amongst the gentle giraffes and zebra. When I was done with my aeorbic excercise I looked down at my shirt. Staring back at me, was the face of John Candy. A halo hung above his head. Somehow my sweat had been touched by the spirit of John Candy, and had organized itself into his image. I looked up from my shirt, and glanced at the people around me. Had anyone else witnessed this miracle? Just then an elderly man, more bone then muscle walked by. “Oh John Madden” He said, pointing to my shirt. “No, I am sorry it is John Candy” I politely, but firmly replied. “That is John Madden…Don’t you know football?” He said, scowling at me. What happened after this, was to be expected. I put the man in a headlock, and held a barbell above his oversized cranium, the blue veins snaking his head pulsing with blood. His skull was a fossilized egg that I wanted to obliterate. “It’s John Candy motherfucker….., John Candy”. He finally agreed with me. After this struggle, the image was lost in the blotches of sweat. “John Candy” I muttered to myself as I walked away, leaving the old man trembling on the floor.

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