Not nearly as much fun as the "Yoga Boink" edition, https://www.thestranger.com/columns/2006/12/07/115431/i-anonymous

is it like
in those Dept.
stores where they
hang things off pointies
right at EYE Levels where if
you happen to be gazing at
some Treasure whilst walking
you Might get an eye (or two)
poked Out? not. their. Fault! it's
YOURS for being in their Store! it's
all fun games and Sales! til Someone

drops a 2,000lb Bunker Buster on your ass.

oh,
Wait --
they Closed the
Boeing Surplus Store.

musta been thinking
of some where
else

It was a cork block- one of the lightest materials known to humankind- not a slab of concrete- why would the illustrator make it look as if the "bonk" turned the bonkee's head into a bloody mess?

@3 ~ you're right they shouldda
made it radioactive too cum
a nice bed of nails

Y Not Seven?
I go to yoga class twice a week. Except, it’s not yoga. The place I go to calls itself a yoga studio, but it’s not really yoga. You could safely say they have a yoga theme, but what they are purveying in no way resembles yoga other than in name, they call it yoga followed by the number six, Y6 for short.
Basically, they offer what we used to call jazzercise combined with hot yoga. The “instructor” uses terms that vaguely resemble yoga terminology then proceeds to lead everyone through a series of calisthenics like jumping jacks, running in place, squats, often combined with small hand weights, all while blasting bad pop music at a nearly intolerable volume mercifully drowning out the insipid blathering of the so called instructor all done in a room with the heat turned up to a scorching level with no logical explanation from anyone who works there as to a comprehensible rationale as to why it’s necessary to dehydrate you.
Occasionally the instructor throws in something that she calls a yoga move but is done so haphazardly and at such a ridiculously fast pace that is completely antithetical to all precepts of any type of yoga anyone has heard of. Everyone dutifully follows her lead or attempts to all while virtually no instruction is provided other than periodic shouting of encouragement that is barely audible over the blaring music. They have done for yoga what PF-Chang’s has done for Chinese food, put a garter belt and silk stockings on it.
I asked the manager why they call it Yoga-Six and she was unable to elucidate a coherent response until I offered that perhaps it represents the six branches of yoga after which she said, “Oh yeah, that must be it.” I thought it was hilarious that the person who is ostensibly responsible for running the place had no idea what the name of the establishment meant. I suppose I was being overly critical of the limited knowledge of someone whose basic job duty was to sit around and note if someone walking in is a member or not, a task that seems to fully tax her mental capacity.
Although they use the word yoga in the name of their establishment, I don’t think they have any reverence for the practice of yoga, I suspect whoever started the franchise thought it was clever. Yes, like PF Chang’s, Y6 is a franchise chain and seems to be quite popular.
Most of the instructors are bitchy young women who use tattoos and piercings as a substitute for having a personality. The piercings seem to be optional; it reminds me that movie Office Space where there was a restaurant Jenifer Aniston worked in that required their employees to wear 15 points of flare, at this yoga place they require a minimum of 3 tattoos but encourage them to have more. We want you to express your individuality like everyone else.
The manager seems to have the most tattoos and the least knowledge of yoga or anything which is perhaps the criteria for the pecking order there. I can never remember her name, so I call her Tatonya, she asked me why I keep calling her that and I had to explain because you have a lot of tats on ya, she flashed her signature bitchy smirk. But I do like the big dragon tattoo on her shoulder, it looks like that dragon Kwai Chang Caine had burnt on his forearms.
There’s one instructor there that’s a dude, it appears that he got around the bitchy girl with tattoos requirement by instead being a morose gay dude with an inordinate amount of piercings, he is a veritable human pincushion. I can’t remember his name either, so I call him Pierce. Wouldn’t it be cool if his name really was Pierce, it would be like, hey Pierce, how did you get the idea to get all those piercings, oh wait, never mind. I imagine he sits at home writing angst ridden love songs like Morrisey while playing his 12-string guitar, no, check that, a Mandolin, no Dulcimer. Yeah, he is a dulcimer playing human pincushion who has had his heart broken by his gay lovers so many times that he has become jaded and gets piercings so that he can feel something again.
I know, true yoga aficionados would consider what they are doing as sacrilegious. But I’m neither an aficionado nor religious, about anything. I have taken real yoga classes before, I used to go to classes at a naturopathic university called Bastyr University. It seemed they were having an ongoing battle with who I assume were mischievous youngsters in their neighborhood who would routinely paint the letter D after Bastyr on the sign in front of the place. The university would paint over it, but the letter D would appear again within days. OK, it was me doing it.
It seemed like my humor was lost on them; I guess humor isn’t one of the six branches of yoga. I’m going to make it the 7th branch of yoga and start a place called Yoga-Seven. Instead of instructors we’ll have stand-up comedians who will ridicule your yoga form while insulting you by firing off one-line zingers like, “Hey look at that ugly cow over there, talk about a down dog, am I right?” Two Yoga puns in a single one liner, I bet you didn’t think I could do it.
I’m sure the Bastyrds at Bastyr-d university would not think that was funny. They seem to take the whole yoga thing and themselves very seriously and made fun of places like Yoga-Six. Which is certainly warranted but at least Y6 is self-aware enough not to take themselves seriously, or perhaps they are so oblivious they don’t know to take anything seriously or not and just take people’s money to exercise in a room with the heat and music turned up too high.
What’s interesting is that most of the people who attend the Y6 classes are young women. Typically, there are about 20 people attending the sessions and for the last year, I can only remember seeing one or two men, ever. I noticed that many of the girls continually lament that they are having trouble meeting young men. It’s apparently lost on them that they are frequenting an exercise venue whose clientele is predominately other young women. I know some people call it hot yoga, but my girlfriend and I call it twat yoga because only women go there.
It made me think perhaps they don’t really want to meet a young man but secretly just want to look at themselves in the mirror while working out. I know that’s my favorite part. I like going in there and having the heat and bad music turned way up while a bitchy young girl with too many tattoos yells out incomprehensible things that everyone seems to ignore while doing whatever strikes them at the moment. I like that they don’t actually tell you how to do yoga poses so I can just do whatever I want which is to try to look sexy in the mirror for myself.
But who can blame them, I mean, who wants to go to Golds gym and listen to sweaty testosterone fueled lunkheads grunting over bad pop music blaring when you can go to Y6 and sit in a room full of young women with the same bad pop music while their estrogen soaked sweat evaporates in the heat forming a pheromone cloud that by now has no doubt induced them all to cycle in unison.
I know it sounds like I am being critical, but for me it’s heaven. I fucking love the place, but I also like chicken chow mien and fried rice.
OK, by now you are probably wondering, what got under you skin that you went on this big pissy rant?
It all started when Tina Turner died. The instructor for my regular session put a bunch of Tina into her usual pop music mix, which I have to admit, she actual does a pretty damn kick ass mix.
One of those snotty bitchy young girls I mentioned always comes to the same sessions I do, we always have our same favorite spots on the floor and she is always next to me and always has a sadness in her eyes that could be mistaken for bitchy-ness.
I couldn’t help myself; I broke into song during “What’s love go to do with it”. I couldn’t help it, I had to sing along, and I was not the only one, most of the other girls joined in with me, the instructor was cracking up, and we all goofed around a little.
For the last year, me and snotty bitchy sad eyed girl and I never spoke a single word but I guess I felt we had some sort of fake yoga simpatico going on, a little head nod thing.
But in the next class, I noticed she was on the other side room. I said to my friend Romy, hey look my little friend moved to the other side of the room. She said, “I wasn’t going to tell you but she complained to the manager that you sang and it ruined her yoga experience, she singled you out and said you started it.” That really hurt my feelings I guess and is the reason why I wrote this whole cranky pissy diatribe.
To the credit of the manager, who I never actually called by the wrong name I just said that to try to be funny, she never mentioned it to me.
The next session sad eyes again set up on the other side of the room. I went over and asked her if I could be next to her if I promised not to break into song, I know my singing is terrible. Then I said, just kidding. And went to the other side of the room to my regular spot.
She came over and said she was sorry that she complained about me and said, “I guess I was having a bad day.” I asked her if she was doing OK. She teared up and ran over and grabbed her mat and left. I ran after her and caught up to her outside and said, “I’m so sorry sweetie, seriously, if you need to talk, I ‘m sorry I know I’m a goof ball but I can listen.” We talked for a long time. We missed our yoga class. The manager saw us outside talking and didn’t charge either of us for the missed session. And when I went back in, she had my mat and my stuff all collected for me and smiled.
I’m not going to say what that young girl and I talked about.
It’s just that, really, when I stop to think about it, when I contemplate Dharma, true Dharma, I think I’ve found it, in the most unexpected place.

Beautiful donnapo, thank you

@5 you are a modern Bukowski. Do you write professionally or do you stick to being a comment section raconteur?