The Yoga Scout

The Yoga Scout enters a wine shop and locates his prey, a handsome white dude, most likely in his mid-thirties, trying to figure out what wine to get. Yoga Scout goes in for the kill and says, “Buying wine for your wife again because you have a hard time expressing how much you’d prefer she do core exercises with her Peloton app instead?” Married white guy says, “How did you know? Wine Shop owner approaches, “Anything in particular, you’re looking for? Yoga Scout’s eyes remain locked on his prey and says, “Ignore the wine merchant of death. She doesn’t care about making your sex life above average again, I do.”

Wine Shop Owner says, “How dare you?” Yoga Scout continues to focus his eyes only on his prey and fires back with, “We’re in the middle of a conversation. I’m in the process of offering a new lease on life. All  you offer is boring talking points from Tucker Carlson. So, with all due respect, I’d like to help save what remains of this man’s flagging sense of independence. Pretend you care about another customer’s interior life while we wrap up our bonding session here. I’m not your sigh heavy husband, who has to act content with your indifference to high stepping out of those spanks from more box jumps in the yard after your done pushing more artificial love juice into sour relationships, which reached their expiration date ions ago lady.”

The Wine Shop Lady rolls her eyes and returns behind the cash register as a new customer enters, who’s a pretty faced gal, most likely in her early forties, who shoots a warm, semi flirty smile at the Yoga Scout as she enters inside, which he feels from behind the back of his head, because his 3rd eye is open to eye sensations from every direction imaginable.  The Yoga Scout resumes his pitch, “Look, I know you’re buying wine for your wife because you strike me as more of an IPA guy for starters, despite your complete lack of facial hair, 2nd hand cloths or visible tats straining for hardcore Indie cred respect. More importantly, I’ve been in your shoes before, married, constrained, worry laden because you share more in common with your 9-year-old daughter than your own wife, who has done everything in her power to depreciate your relationships with your family and old friends because she’s always struggled with accepting how much joy others are capable of giving you without her presence.”

Middle aged white dude says, “Are they doing a remake of Candid Camera again?” How do you know so much about me already? Or am I really that much of an open book on depression? Also, do you realize that pretty face gal who just came inside was giving you the yummy eyes the moment she came in the store? The Yoga Scout says, “Of course I did, my 3rd eye feels all lusty awe. More importantly, do you long for greater flexibility in your life? Do you fantasize about doing what you want to do to satisfy your own shot at fulfillment on this earth, which more often than not, doesn’t include your wife these days?” Middle aged dude says, “Is Coors Light the pounding beer of choice in Daytona Beach on Spring Break because it’s lightweight and easy to inhale in rapid succession like miniature yenta breath sorority girls from the University Of Buffalo. Personally, I wish they’d make a toothpaste that tastes like Coors Light, so I don’t taste anything afterwards.”

The Yoga Scout exudes a booming laugh, which shakes the pricier, magnums of 1st growth Bordeaux on the walls a little bit. Middle aged guy says, “That’s the loudest laugh I’ve ever heard in my life. It was on par with a room full of black guys in the audience on Def Comedy Jam after Bernie Mac came out and said, “I ain’t scared of you motherfuckers, which set off a bomb of cataclysmic motion of high-flying legs and flailing arms in every direction, which screamed touchdown.”

The Yoga Scout says, “My throat Chakra is clear as Times Square on News Years Day. So, I have no problem projecting with mountainous echo feeling.” Middle aged dude says, “Are you a yoga instructor? I learned about Chakra’s when I used to live in LA. My psychic there told me I should’ve been a big-time comedy writer already but had to pay 2 grand to clear my Chakras 1st, because they were more clogged than my freshman one hitter. Although, one unplanned kid later and with me still working as a journeyman IT agency headhunter, whose more of a trickler than a consummate rainmaker, not too much has changed since. Wearing sandals in the dead of the winter in addition to your Spread Eagles tank top should’ve told me you were in the Yoga business. It looks my 3rd eye needs much greater opening than I thought after all.”

The Yoga Scout says, “I do teach Yoga, hot naked yoga after dark to be exact. But I’m also a single dad, who was tired of living in his head, but that desire alone, wasn’t enough for me to stretch myself outside my comfort zone for a change. It took my 7-year-old daughter at the time to buy me some yoga classes from her Lavender cupcake bakeoff sale at school, which made me realize how much I need pretty feet in life for nirvana on earth to help me heal my jaded heart for denying myself that scrumptious, inhalable pleasure for so long. There’s no bunions in my yoga class, Spread Eagles.”

Middle aged dude says, “How can you provide a no-bunion guarantee?” Does your third eye possess x ray vision to? The Yoga Scout says, “You know how normally you can tell if a woman tastes good or not? Well, the more hot naked yoga you do after dark, in a candle lit room with In A Silent Way by Miles Davis on, the more in touch you become with your powers of intuition. Plus, anyone who enrolls in a hot naked yoga class, is most likely bunion free. Plus, I offer a full month membership refund if they do. My Spread Eagles hot naked yoga classes after dark is full of many single men moaning to. I wanted to create a safe space mixer for divorcees to meet without having to go through all the drawn-out time suck charade of having to wine and dine each other 1st, because when you’re a single dad or mom, who has the time for that bullshit anyway. Also, if you sign up for my class it means you no have no problem with your fellow classmates objectifying your body knowing how much my Spread-Eagle line of scented lubes and yoga mats with my signature spread eagle logo of spread legs with picture perfect toes fly off the shelves to.” More importantly, my class helps heal the trauma of repressed rage and latent sexual tension, which has been held imprisoned by shame and guilt for way too long. Our motto at Spread Eagles is, “Moaning Is Good, Sighing Is Bad, because when you moan for pleasure, it means whatever you’re doing, is making your body come alive because it hurt so good. John Cougar Mellencamp lives holla, thank you very much.

Middle aged guy says, “Do you have a yoga studio nearby? Croton, Falls NY isn’t a bastion of after hours hot naked yoga studios last time checked on Yelp.” The pretty faced 40 something gal approaches The Yoga Scout and says, “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear you 2, but do you teach Yoga at Spread Eagles in the city. My best friend met her latest and greatest boy toy there at your Tribeca location I think.” Middle aged guy says, “Waite a minute, I thought only divorcees were invited to attend.” The Yoga Scout says “There’s more fucked up feet out there than you’d think. So, in the true spirt of compassion and love for variety, Spread Eagles does everything in its power to spread the love.”

Michael Kornbluth

The Hop Farm Scare of 1852

Once upon a time, there was a family man, hop farmer, who gave the best foot massage in Upstate New York like his father before him, name Farmer Todd. He sang for his local church choir sounding like Neil Young and Al Green had baby, who refused to sell his hops to West Coast Breweries, preferring to make IPA’s from his own locally sourced hops because of upstate New Yorker farmer, pride, represent, represent, represent. Farmer’s Todd always told his 5 sons, “The way to unlock the gene glow in a gal is to rub her feet like a magical genie lamp, which is the most direct passageway to her heart filled embrace of your slowed down metabolism and all your warts inside and out to.”

Farmer Todd like Ben Franklin believed good people, drank good beer, so he dedicated every day of his life, to making the finest IPA beer because just growing hops to sell them like a pushy hop peddlers with nothing else to sell was boring and a not family business he could bequeath to his 5 gorgeous, hard working, ultra chiseled sons with as much innovative pride. Every day before sunset over his hop stud farm, Farmer Todd, would give his Yoga instructor wife Crystal a foot massage, which turned her into orgasmic mush every time, opening her up to the prospect of banging out more kids, to keep their hop stud farm open to tap for more non-stop business.

Until one day, 5 days before Halloween the Whino Witch of Croton Falls, ran through Farmer Todd’s Hop Fields with her green, orange and pumpkin, foot root, which infected all the hop vines on his farm, wiping out any chance of crop growing again because she got banned from a yoga class, when she used to be a famous winemaker in Ithaca, NY known for making Ice Wines because her feet grossed out the clientele, which is Yoga wife instructor wife, Crystal enforced. The Wino Witch of Croton Falls, never got on her feet again until now.

Because of this Farm rot, fungus pandemic caused by the Whino Of Witch of Croton Falls, Farmer Todd had no way to keep a roof over his family’s head, which included 5 boys all named after hops varieties, including Angus, Apollo, Atlas, Bravo and Flyer. So during his morning run through the back trails of his former hop farm fantasy, he’d took notice of a the Whino Witch of Croton Falls, flashing her naked, gross, purple, green and orange feet on a tree swing and says, “Farmer Todd, did you teach your 5 sons to give foot massages like the one you give your wife every day before sunset?” If so, you just need to tell your 5 stud sons to massage my discolored pumpkin size bunions, one for each day of the week during the week of Halloween and I’ll bring your hop farm roaring back to life again.”

Because of that Farmer Todd told his 5 sons to make the Whino Witch of Croton Falls, welcome in their hands, unless they wanted to starve to death or were willing to sell enough blood to buy an apple tree in the hope of turning that into a batch of hard cider to sell at the Farmer’s Market, which was tad girly sweet for their collective tastes.

Because of that, each massage the five sons give makes the Whino Watch of Croton Falls, helped ignite her glow gene inside, which made her feet return to a beautiful, inviting form again as her transformation from Whino Witch of Croton Falls to the Fairy Hop Queen of Croton Falls became complete.

Later, Farmer Todd foots the bill for his 5 sons to open up their own hop brewery farms, knowing they’ll be able to keep growing toward profitability as long as they keep the Hop Fairy Queen’s feet happy during week of the Halloween, when all of her sordid, past emerges, through a disgusting outgrowth of fungus and wart on her feet as punishment from the Tree Spirits of Lake Oswego for making her canoe sink into the water during one her drunken diatribes against the Indians and how their Buffalo Burgers are too bloody for her taste, in addition to being racist against Native American Indians for refusing to dry and cover her wet feet in Moccasins whenever she hopped out of the Waterfall for a midnight skinny dip, and for playing the ultimate Indian giver on Halloween. Who used to give away blue cheese to little Indians trick to inject their Buffalo burgers with funkier, less gamy heft, only to demand they’d give her mini wheels of blue cheese back for her tickling her feet feet with their headdress feathers, lying about being a half-breed, called, “Tickle Foot With Feathers.

The moral of the story is don’t be an Indian giver or you’ll be cursed with ugly feet, which will turn you into a cold, whino witch queen, scaring away any suitor from ever trying to soften your bitter, angry, nasty heart again.

The End

Michael Kornbluth