Thank Your Heart, You Ingrate

Breathing.
Just nice and slow. In and out. Your heart never stops beating until you die. Pump blood=alive. No pump=dead. As simple as that.
Isn't that an insane thought? This "thing" in your body pumps blood ALL the time. Every day you're breathing is a day that your heart is working for you.
Have you paid it lately? It's working really hard in there! For you!!
How do you reward it? Have you ever thanked it? It works for you all day, you SOB.
Pumping, pum-pumping---pum-pumping---pum-pumping.
Stuck inside your ribcage with a bunch of other weirdly shaped slimey things. I wonder if it even likes it's roomates?
What have you given it lately? Have you rewarded it? Really, how?
Drink a ton of hooch and passed out, only to have it work through the night to keep your drunk ass alive?
Did you thank it in the morning? Most likely not.
You probably went out to a greasey breakfast with the other non-thankers you hung out with the night before and started assaulting it with more of the same, didn't you?
Oh, I'm not pointing fingers. I'm guilty as charged. I've been there. Lord knows how many times.
But, I stand before you, and I tell you that I'm thanking my heart from now on.
Thanks for helping me, Heart. I love you. And I love what you do for me.
Helping me live so that I can type and draw and sing and dance and smile and feel and yell and pay rent. And ya know what?
While I'm at it, I'm gonna throw a shout-out to my lungs, too, cause they're pretty cool, too. And a big-ups to my liver. Lord knows that guy's put in some over time.
Thanks thanks thanks.
I mean it, Fer-crysssakes! I hope they keep working for me for at least 70 more years. Cause I'm a great damn employer! Sure, I'll have the occasional hazardous night or two, but for the most part, I give my employees what they need. Protein, carbs, Vitamins, and other things I can't think of. I give my guys what they need to perform their best.
Cause I wanna be old and dirty. I wanna say whatever I want and have my grandkids go "Grampa!" and then I'd say "Whaaaaaat?" and I'd throw my arms up in the air, acting like I didn't know what I said was wrong, but actually knowing the entire time it was probably pretty dirty.
That's going to be so surreal and I look forward to it very much.
Okay, that's enough.
Thank your heart. That's all I ask.
It's the employee of your life until the day it quits, isn't it?
No matter how big your head gets and how cool you think you are, know that a 12-ounce organism controls your destiny.
That's why I call mine 'Boss.'
So I guess that makes ME the employee.
Huh.

God Bless You.

(This blog was originally posted on Myspace on July 11, 2007. Back when people actually checked Mypsace. I tweaked and re-posted tonight because I felt like repeating myself. There's nothing wrong with that. Comedians repeat their shit every night in a different city. So, if you've read this one before, I apologize. I hope it wasn't as bad the second time. Go buy a mug.)