Following a slew of irate responses to an article somewhere about six-pack abs. The author conveyed that as a goal in life it's an unworthy one, though he agreed that trying to have them is fine (his ambivalence bothered me a little).
Agreeing that a life led by the wonky want of capitalist-construed imagery the better to sell sell sell and distract distract distract proves unheroic from every perspective I care to have. And having many, I'll approach six-packing thusly:
Assign each of those potential units of six to another aspect of your existence: An ab for sexual prowess; an ab for a spectrum of personality traits whose constellated form paves the path towards enlightenment or depth or joy or all or nothing but sits better as a testament to life when life's about other than putting all of your doubly metaphorical abdominal eggs in one basket. Another ab--kids and bunnies. Ab four clearly bangs hammer to iron in efforts to extract enough material from this o so generous earth to feed kin and self and future generations thereof sprung. The fifth ab is all about you in some way that's uniquely forged; the originality ab. Splinter the remaining ab, post it to the four winds of your body, stay healthy but never in subjugation to the other five abs, which must certainly labour for the sixth as much as each other.
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