Satan's Pissing Me Off.

So it’s been a month since I last wrote about yoga. And to be honest, I’m about to crack some skulls. As I’m learning, there are two types of Bikram instructors: one is a total hard-ass hell bent on destroying your soul and sapping you of all precious bodily fluids; the other is Satan. Being the good student that I am, I’ve been working hard to adhere to the mantras of focus, patience and discipline; I’ve also learned that if I get to class early I can usually cheat by scoring a spot next to the window (which is considerably cooler). Unfortunately none of this matters when Satan is teaching. Following class one of my yoga partners, a 60 year-old ex-doctor, went absolutely berserk on Satan. Miffed by Satan’s refusal to open the window throughout the 90-minute death march, the Doc chortled, “I don’t care for your tough guy teaching. It’s literally impossible to breath when 40 people are hyperventilating in a fucking sardine can.” His f-bomb, not mine. As luck would have it, I too was overcome with hostility towards Satan and angrily threw a couple towels around the locker room to prove I meant business. Unfortunately this seemed to scare and confuse my yoga partners. And instead of slapping me on the back, the way my buddies did when I used to get t’eed up in hoops, my sweaty compatriots all fled the locker room in terror.

PS-Btw, the above photo is not of Satan. If it were I would write something clever and potentially illegal and attach it to Satan's Subaru Outback.