Inappropriate Elvis

Note: This post was written before the gym and I embarked upon our brief trial separation thanks to my wonky hip.

My gym has a juice bar and they sell smoothies billed as "healthy shakes."  At the start of each month, signs all over the gym proclaim the monthly shake special.  It usually has some sort of lame name (in December there was a Grinch shake).  I never buy the shakes and only half pay attention to the signs.

But this month, the shake special is "The Elvis."  I've a soft-spot for the King and when I saw the sign I immediately pictured my favor Elvis:  the one in the white jumpsuit, with the giant sparkling belt buckle, and wearing sunglasses indoors so that no one can see his by-then permanently dilated eyes.  It's the circa '70s Elvis, and he's anything but healthy.  No indeed, he's unhealthy Elvis; the Elvis who loaded up on codeine, Valium, morphine, and Demoral and then expired while sitting on the crapper at Graceland.

For obvious reasons, yet again I took a pass on the monthly shake.