A few years ago, in response to my future ex-wife’s suffocating obsession with her yoga practice, I made myself a fuck yoga athletics t-shirt. As a gag for her birthday, I made her one. To no one’s surprise, she refused to wear it. I wore mine for thirty-nine straight days and was stopped everywhere I went. Write up’s in The New York Observer and GQ Magazine got the fuck yoga athletics website rolling. An appearance on Sex and the City turned it into a real business. The first on-line sale came from two brothers in Bogotá, Colombia, the second from a cheerleader in Grand Island, Nebraska. Since then, fuck yoga athletics apparel has been seen and sold in every major city around the world including New Delhi and Mumbai. Simon Bolivar did not do yoga. Neither did Emily Dickinson, Winston Churchill, Jackie Robinson, Amelia Earhart, Buddy Holly, Evel Knievel, or any Pope ever, including the new guy. Yoga has survived for thousands of years and will survive for thousands more. It’s just that it has gone unopposed for too damn long.