The Last Drive-In | Season 1 Week 8 – Street Trash

Art by T.J. Denton @TDenton_1138

The Joe Bob Wellness Regimen

People wanna know, “How do you do it, Joe Bob? Glowing skin after a three-day drunk. Toned abs over your beer gut. A certain aroma about your torso that prevails even after extended sessions in the cigar bars of Jersey City. And that hint of peat-bog detritus in your breath every time you return from either Scotland or Vinnie’s Package Store in Coney Island.”

And I am truly humbled by all the attention, and so in the interest of public health and a vigorous America, glistening like Vin Diesel’s deltoids after being oiled up by a team of Swedish strippers, I’m happy to take you through my Wellness Day.

I always try to rise each morning by 9:45, because this creates the mental confidence caused by “not sleeping til 10” while also creating a 15-minute window to remove the previous day’s clothing and aim a garden hose directly at the eyeballs, thereby removing any blood in the iris. It helps to prepare for this morning ritual by coating the face with raw bee pollen coated with silk gum because this will cause you to throw up immediately instead of waiting until later in the day.

A little after 10 I step into a claw-foot bathtub with a polyethylene mat positioned to avoid pratfalls, whereupon I fumble through several bottles of essential body oils containing cocoa butter, hydrating tangerines, radiant lavender, jojoba and sunflower that were left in my apartment by a gay guy, and I throw all that stuff out so I can find a bar of lye soap made from leftover cooking fat, and I scrub that son of a bitch over everything except my dangling participles, if you know what I mean and I think you do.

Thus invigorated with blotchy red perforations all over my body, I take a sliced pineapple, a handful of minced fresh parsley, three egg whites, one cup of spinach, two tablespoons of organic ground flaxseed, some dried black currants, and pour all of it into a blender that has been prepped with two cups of 130-proof Booker’s Bourbon. You now have all your vegetables for the day.

By the way, I’ve shared this recipe with women who practice vagina-sunbathing, and we know it works for them, but I can attest that it is equally effective when used indoors on a rainy Tuesday by a heterosexual male with a non-tanned woodie. You think I’m lying about that, don’t you? Vagina-sunbathing. It’s a thing. But back to our Joe Bob wellness day.

Now it’s time for a little mid-morning mood shift, using Kundalini meditation. For those of you unfamiliar with Kundalini, it’s a type of consciousness-raising in which a coiled female serpent takes up residence at the base of the spine. To simplify my life, I use a nude Latina masseuse named Luciana who shows up three times a week at 11:45 and coils her entire body at the base of my spine, then proceeds to kunda my lini.

And now let the workday begin. To make sure my memory and cognition are at peak levels, I take fish oil, cocoa flavonols, and turmeric—these are the supplements needed in order to remember how to spell “turmeric”—and then I take choline to avoid early-onset Alzheimer’s, although early-onset Alzheimer’s is an ironclad defense against libel and slander suits, so I go easy on that.

By lunch time I’m feeling the effects of the previous evening’s 2 a.m. pork burrito, so I do a probiotic cleanse of maple syrup, cayenne pepper and organic kiwi juice, followed by a light lunch of sugar-cured ham slabs on a cinnamon bun that’s been sliced lengthwise and soaked in salted Belgian cream. Wash it down with a can of Lithuanian Energy Tonic, which has 2,000 milligrams of caffeine, and you’re ready to conquer the afternoon work schedule.

But first it’s Nap Time! One of the most common mistakes when structuring a holistic physiological regimen designed to produce homeostasis in the chakras is the absence of a sleep plan. All you need is twenty minutes of deep REM oblivion around 2:30, and my preferred method is to have a Watusi girl rub my temples after two shots of Duplais Swiss absinthe, chased with an Ocean Spray cranberry mixer. The resulting quick-sink into dreamland has been compared to shamanistic practices in the Peruvian Amazon in which masticated jungle vines are used to induce visions of jaguars eating your brain. You awaken terrified but rested, as though your medulla oblongata has been massaged with a squeegee.

We are now entering the most productive part of the day. To enhance your mood, don’t be afraid to pamper yourself with soy-candle aromatherapy, a detoxifying pink-grapefruit bodywash, a quick cruelty-free cactus-bristle exfoliation brush, or you can do what I do: scratch your balls and yawn. The important thing here is that this is Me Time, your own personal island of id-caressing luxury.

Dinner depends on whether you’re dieting or not. Women should probably eat clay, either roasted or raw, while men should stick to the finer brands of both boar and goat sausage, preferably dipped in lard. Everything should be accompanied by stevia and cordyceps, unless, like me, you don’t know how to pronounce cordyceps and have some skepticism about ingesting parasites. Reishi mushrooms are de rigeur, but only in countries where they have douches who say the words de rigeur, and shilajit should be included as a side dish if one of your nutrition goals is to be full of shilajit. Use a little barrenwort for presentation and—hey, we can’t live forever—pour some smoky Islay scotch, actually pour a lot of smoky Islay scotch, in fact coat the entire plate with smoky Islay scotch and then throw out the plate and drink the scotch.

Before you go out for the evening, don’t forget a little slow-motion tai chi to frighten the neighborhood children, followed by an electronic mixtape with a drop-out bass line that will give you the illusion of being at a rave. Viola! You’ve gotten your daily ration of exercise and the night is still young.

Here’s the great thing about the Joe Bob Briggs Wellness Regimen. Throughout the day your body has been transmutating. You are now eligible for the Vampire Fetish Ball without needing a costume. Have fun when you’re there, but remember: some of those girls aren’t girls and some of those guys are both. You can have a threesome with one person at those things. Wear a cup. You gotta be up by 9:45.

Next Up: Tiptoe through the bloody tulips…

Joe Bob Briggs

Joe Bob Briggs is the drive-in movie critic of Grapevine, Texas, currently resident in New York City, where his pop culture commentary appears in print, on television and at various dive bars that defy the modern world by allowing the smoking of cigars.

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