Look, I appreciate the job you have, but to be honest, everyone seems to be on the same page, except you. What’s up? Knees and Ankles do their work without comment when we go for a jog. Heart plods along 24/7 with only a murmur. Liver doesn’t bitch when he has to filter and clean up a big mess Sunday morning. Even Digestive Tract is pretty calm in the face of an all-you-can-eat Indian buffet.
But not you.
I can’t sit in one position for more than ten minutes without you writhing like some sadistic plumber has you with a monkey wrench. I can’t go for a jog without you creaking and popping like you’re taking sniper fire in Vietnam. Your complaining has gotten so bad that I actually check in with you before I pick up the groceries or tie my shoes, because of the off chance that I move too quickly and you start crying like a little bitch.
Cut it out. We’re all in this together. I know you have a tough job working the middle and carrying all that weight, but that’s what you signed up for, so suck it up. I mean, your work has gotten pretty easy since college as Chest and Arms aren’t nearly as heavy as they used to be. All their weight seems to have migrated to your annoying half-brother, Stomach.
Bottom line: we all have our positions and play them without commentary. They all have their ups and downs. I don’t hear a peep out of Colon. Otherwise you’re going to find yourself laid up on the couch, wearing one of those emasculating braces that make people think you’re some prude eighteenth century matriarch.
Teamwork, buddy. I need you. Get back in the game.