Survival of the Stillest
(The Anti-Movement Movement)

By James Roundtree


byteing-words_survival_stillesAccording to the health police, who obviously take great joy in announcing the latest thing that will kill us, the latest thing that will kill us is… Wait, are you sitting down for this? Well, don’t because it’s SITTING DOWN! Sounds crazy, right? After all, unless you’re a Mafia snitch or a dental patient, you can’t get hurt sitting down.

To verify this alarmist claim, I called the health police. When a woman answered, I asked, “I have a question about sitting. Is it really a health hazard?”

“Ohmigod, it’s like the worst thing ever!” she cried. “Please don’t tell me you’re sitting right now!”

“Actually, I am,” I said.

“Then, get up immediately,” she said, “before your entire body goes bad.”

I leaped up and asked, “What exactly is wrong with sitting?”

“It’s not the sitting,” she said, “it’s the not moving. You have to move, move, move.”

“Move, I got it,” I said and hung up.

As a lifelong sitter, I was concerned by this. However, I wanted to hear the other side of the story, so I called a group known as the Institute of Sloth and Lethargy (ISL). After about twenty rings, a rather languid voice answered, “ISL. This better be important.”

“It’s about the dangers of too much sitting and not enough moving,” I said.

“Ah, yes,” he replied. “We know all about that, and we don’t buy it.”

“Why not?”

“All of our technical progress has been directed toward less and less movement,” he explained. Clearly, we are headed for an existence in which non-movement will be the dominant paradigm. Therefore, it won’t be the best movers who survive; it will be the people best adapted to not moving. We call it the anti-movement movement.”

“Wow! That makes a lot of sense,” I said.

“I’m glad you agree,” he said, “and if you’d like additional information, we have a series of non-exercise videos that will teach you how to sit, lounge, and lie down more efficiently. You can find them at Now, do you have any more questions?”

“Just one,” I replied. “What you say sounds right in theory, but do you have any evidence to back it up?”

“Yes, I do,” he said. “Look at the dinosaurs. In all the movies and documentaries you’ve watched, have you ever seen one sitting down?”

“Come to think of it, I haven’t,” I said.

“And what happened to them?”

“They went extinct,” I answered.

“Exactly,” he said.

“Boy, that’s a real eye-opener,” I said. “Thanks for the info. I will really have to sit down and think about this. Well, sit down anywa

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Sex Ed By Momma

By Clotilde Aucoin


When my sister and I were in our formative years, our mother worked as an OB/GYN nurse. Her primary mission in life was to teach us everything possible about the dangers of sex, and she’d let loose with her warnings no matter the time and place. We could be strolling down the aisle of the Piggly Wiggly and she’d yell out, “Don’t let boys get to know you by the Braille system!”

“Momma, please! Everyone can hear you,” I pleaded.

“I don’t care. Girls need to hear this stuff!” she’d holler.

Or we could be quietly driving along and momma would blurt out, “Don’t have peanut butter legs!”

“Huh?” I asked.

“You know, they spread easily,” she replied.

“Mother!” we screamed, horrified.

“You girls need to listen. Boys are just hormones with feet; they cannot control themselves.” We stared blankly, pretending not to hear, and she’d say, “You can ask me anything. Go ahead, ask.”

My sister spoke up. “Can we listen to the radio?” she asked.

“I give up,” momma said. Then, she put a CD in the player and hit “play.” I looked at her with a confused expression, and she said, “You’ll like it; it’s new.”

Out of the speakers came an ominous voice, “Genital Warts and You. Genital warts are the most hidden of the sexually transmitted diseases. Cauliflower-like formations, they…”

“Momma!” my sister and I yelled. “Turn it off! It’s gross!”

However, the hardcore training really started when I was ready to go on my first date. Momma began the drill sequence by asking, “What if he goes for the sneaky arm-around-the-waist booty touch, what are you going to do?” she asked.

“I’ll say ‘no,’” I replied.

“I can’t hear you,” she said.

“No!” I yelled.

“Better,” she said. “And if he tries to cop a feel?”

“NO!” I shrieked.

“Excellent,” she said, “I think you’re ready for your date. Call me if he goes insane.”

All we did was go to the movies and grab a bite to eat, but every time he moved even a millimeter in my direction, I let out with a resounding “No!” By the end of the evening, I’d almost lost my voice, but I saved just enough for the big finish. When he walked me to the door and leaned in for a kiss, I screamed out a “NO!” that probably tripped a bunch of earthquake sensors.

Behind the door, I could hear momma applauding. “You got it, girl,” she said.

Her work here was done.

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