Dig you some Jack LaLanne

I cannot afford to die, it will ruin my image.

That's the sort of thing Jack LaLanne says. You ever say anything that cool? Hell no. You're not Jack LaLanne.

Jack LaLanne was the first guy to do exercises on the idiot box for your 1950's housewives. Imagine how those broads swooned over that jumpsuit. Look at the belt on that thing for chrissake!

You have all this crap today, your "Biggest Loser," your Fit TV, your infomercials. What is that crap? It's crap. Jack LaLanne wasn't crap. Jack LaLanne was the genuine article. You can bet Jack LaLanne got his share of trim back in the day. And Jack LaLanne earned every sweet slice of pure-butterscotch-bleeding American ass that was served up to him.

Dig some original Jack LaLanne:



(Your humble hostess does not expect you to watch all eight minutes of the posted vid [although your humble hostess did watch the entire eight minutes and 23 seconds, along with too many other Jack LaLanne YouTube clips to enumerate], but your humble hostess does recommend schlepping through at least the first minute in order to view the opening graphic with the darling little cartoon Jack LaLanne.)

Your 1950's housewife chicks would watch ol' Jack LaLanne. They'd be holding the chair back, doing their leg lifts. Then they'd start thinking about reaching over and unfastening ol' Jack LaLanne's jumpsuit belt with one hand and (ahem) reaching for something else.

Pretty soon, your 1950's housewife chicks were rubbing one out in honor of ol' Jack LaLanne.

(Say "Jack LaLanne" out loud three times, just to see if anything happens. Go on, do it for your humble hostess.)

If you're going to the land of Jack LaLanne, you've got certain obligations, like dropping in on the Power Juicer square, where you'll find ol' Jack hanging out these days.

You go to the organic market? You'll see your stacks of 25-pound bag juice carrots. Jack LaLanne might be 173 years old, but he's down with the contingent that's piling those mothers into their Prius's. (Your humble hostess once had a juicer. The juicer of your humble hostess mystified your humble hostess. Your humble hostess no longer has the juicer, but your humble hostess does not allow her negative juicer experience to deter her from writing an obscure post about Jack LaLanne that is full on nonsensical parentheticals.)

You dig Jack LaLanne because Jack LaLanne is Jack LaLanne. If you had to choose between bedding Jack LaLanne and Hugh Hefner? You'd be down with the Power Juice; and that is what your humble hostess calls justice.

You can pass the carrots anytime now, baby.