Your Zen bath is ready.
“Robert! You scared me standing in the doorway like that! Why are you holding your hands like that in front of you? Let me take off my drawers in peace—you’re too much!”
Take your time. Your bath awaits.
“Did you draw me a bath? Aww, Robert, you’re so sweet! I’ll be right there.”
“Here I come … Oh, you weren’t joking. You pulled out my good French Terry towels, and put rose petals in the water! The candles are a nice touch, too—are you playing ‘Enigma?'”
The water is warm. Please enter.
“Ooooh, Robert, you drew this bath perfectly!”
Don’t speak. Don’t think. Let the heat of the water draw you in like hug, and melt into its embrace.
The water gently caresses your body. You feel a tingling sensation over your skin… across your neck… and down your chest…
You are in an open field.
Shhhh. A cool breeze wafts in from the mountains, and tickles your nose. A welcome reprieve from the balmy sun that has been beating on your face. You see a small cottage at the edge of the field–
“A cottage? What is this? A visualization or something?”
The door to the cottage opens. A small child emerges with a handful of seeds as a flock of blue birds descends from the heavens. As the child tosses the seeds, she sees you in the distance. She smiles and waves. You smile back…
“Oh, Robert, this is beautiful.”
You are back in the bath. The tepid water laps against your tranquil body as I rub nourishing cedarwood and eucalyptus oils into your skin. Your pores open to accept the oils’ natural healing, activating your chakras, revealing your third eye…
“Chakras? Third eye? Robert, you’re not going to start playing Sting now, are you? Because I worked too hard today for that tantra nonsense tonight.”
You are at the top of a large sand dune. You wiggle your feet in the cool sand so that its grains—silky yet coarse—seep into the crevices of your toes. A powerful gust of warm air rushes against your face. You close your eyes, but are not afraid…
“It’s like I’m there. This is incredible, Robert.”
You are one with the sand. It cradles you. It comforts you. You take a deep breath… Jar Jar Binks was originally intended to be a Sith Lord, but George Lucas backed off due to poor audience reaction to the character in Episode I.
“Jar Jar who?”
You are back in the bath. Let your fingers wander in its wake. Enjoy the calming scent of lemongrass and black currant, as I help the natural cold-pressed soap softly crawl across your naked body.
“That’s it. It does smell lovely as you bathe me, Robert…”
So peaceful. So calm. The water. The soap.
“Oh, Robert. Can you transport me to the Chanel store next? Mmmm.”
Rejuvenation. Purifying. Nourishment. Jim Morrison and David Crosby were military plants used to popularize drug use and free sex in a characterized hippie counterculture as a means of distracting America’s youth from an economic cleansing of the middle class.
Feel the oils of the eucalyptus seep into your skin…
“You already did that oils bit. What were you saying about an economic cleansing?”
You are on a wooden porch swing. Your hand grips around a cool glass of lemonade. The ice clinks against the side of the glass as you sway in the breeze… modern art auctions are a money-laundering front for the wealthy elite.
“Okay, that’s it. I’m not doing this bath if you’re going to keep spouting your crazy ass conspiracy theories.”
There were at least three shooters involved in the Kennedy assassination.
“Nuh-uh. I’m not listening to this again, Robert.”
Yuri Gagarin was not the first man in space, just the first to return.
“I am done, Robert. I am getting out of this bath.”
Michael Jordan’s flu game–
Ron is time-travelling Dumbledore–
“Get out of my way and let me get to my Terry towel, Robert!”
Chuck E. Cheese pizzas are made up of leftover slices from other pizzas.
“What did you say?”
That’s why their pizzas never form a perfect circle.
Employees take the uneaten slices left on tables, reassemble them into a new Frankenstein pizza, and reheat them for future guests.
“…I knew it! After my little niece’s birthday party there, I told that skinny waitress my pizza tasted funny. Remember that? All that money my sister and I gave to that raggedy singing rat, and they’re serving us old pizza. These big companies think they can get away with anything!”
Starbucks baristas purposely misspell names on cups so people post them on social media as a free viral marketing tool.
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying! I’m over here trying to get in this influencer game, and Starbucks’ profiting off my posts and I don’t see a dime! What else you got, Robert?”
23andMe is a cover for a massive FBI databasing scheme–
“I’m going to stop you right there, Robert. Don’t you take a swipe at my 23andMe. That test told me I was part-French, which explains my luxurious taste, and I am not here for you to slander that! I listened to enough of your nonsense, Robert, now go back to those visualizations. In fact, send me to Cartier. You owe me something shiny for ruining my vibe.”
As you wish.
“Well, don’t just stand there holding your hands in front of you, Robert—splish-splash!”