FORT WAYNE, IN—In a potent reminder of the inescapably transitory nature of all that is or ever will be, reports confirmed Tuesday that the sweaty ass print left on a rowing machine at a local Crunch Fitness location was already fading away, much like all of our earthly works and aspirations. According to gym sources, the glittering delineation of an ass left as the vestige of a recent 25-minute cardiovascular workout session had, within seconds of its imprinting, begun evaporating from sight and memory, serving as yet another emblem of the impassive decay that claims all things. The rapidly dimming sweat mark—left by a gym-goer whose name matters not, for it will soon be forgotten like each of our travails—had at press time ebbed into little more than a pale shadow of its original form, soon to be lost to eternity, lost, as if it never was. For nothing is to endure, sources confirmed; empires will crumble, dynasties will be extinguished, ass prints will vanish, one and all in the blink of an eye. What we purport to be—our petty attachments, desires, fears—is a fleeting mirage. We are naught but the fading outline of a butt on the contoured rowing cushion of infinity. And in the face of our impending and necessary annihilation, quaking helplessly in the aerobic equipment room before the boundless vaults of time, what, terrified sources asked, is one to do? Why, one is to live, of course. For what meaning should life have beyond that which you can touch and taste and love at this very moment? Sow your seed, build your temple—whether its cornerstone be laid in Crunch Fitness or Babylon. And when the sands despoil it, when your clammy, temporal ass print is reclaimed by the cosmogonic ether whence it issued, the seraphs will reportedly smile upon you. For you were here, you were holy, you got a workout in. Live for today! Live, damn you. Live.
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