21st century heaving men - part one of one

The pain was unbearable. He grasped his chest and felt the tell-tale numbness in his arm. It was over, and he knew it. Or at least, he feared it.

A lifetime of ignoring prudence had him smoking, drinking, consuming fatty foods, and taking every available opportunity to lounge about his home watching reruns, sports, infomercials, you name it.

As the paramedics bravely crossed the threshold to take him to the doctor, he lost consciousness.

The fuzz in his sight did not erase the heartless clarity that can only be found in the lights that illuminate a place such as an Emergency Room. The attending entered and said, "I'm sorry, sir. Your arteries are blocked. Do you know the best way to end this blockage? A lifetime of dieting and exercise such as running, of course. Since this is ideal, we have brought this." He wheeled around in perfectly imitated Vanna White fashion to show that our corpulent crusader had won the grand prize of a treadmill.

"Up you go, Mr. X. We'll start you off at a smooth pace of 9 minute miles, and see how you feel."

Shocked and in utter disbelief, our friend looks at the doctor with a smirk of hatred and incredulity. "If you say so. I'll do my best, but it's been a while since I've been to the gym."

He ambled slowly onto the treadmill, and the doctor turned it to the speed of 9 minute miles.

He struggled to accelerate in perfect synchrony with the unfeeling machine, and as he did, he stumbled to the floor.

Flatline. Say your prayers, pay your respects, or mumble something about the futility of our human existence, just don't expect to see this man walking on the earth again. The cure was worse than the disease, and now he has left this fragile plane of existence.

FIN


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Postlude I

Now dearest reader, what do you have to say to our attending physician? Could Hippocrates' oath have been trampled on with any more ferocity than to be so callous and unmindful of the situation? Perhaps, but I've never witnessed something on that scale.

But then again, I'm a sheltered lad.


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Postlude II
Like my other posts entitled "fictitious fiction for foul figments", where I discussed a fake war and a fraudulent syndrome, this story completely contrived. Any resemblance to those living or dead is regretful and inevitable, but most importantly, coincidental. In this instance, I think it's worth considering a medical practice that operates in this fashion because it illustrates the insanity of curing a country through immediate application of good principles. It's a big reason why I think the majority of voters cannot understand the greatness of Ron Paul. They are seriously ill with a disease of consumerism and dependence upon the government. It would have been prevented by following the Constitution. The question that I have, which I think is illustrated well in this brief allegory, is how can we go from our political philosophy that has more in common with a couch potato than George Washington, and return to the greatness of our founders? Are we doomed to die, or is there a sensible road back that people can embrace? God, how I hope that the latter is true.