There once was a group quite ambitious,
Not hostile—just calmly religious.
They showed up in town
With a holy throwdown,
And a plan that was quietly vicious.
We are Christians
On a mission to drive
Planet Fitness
Out of business
They weren’t there to shout or to spar,
No CrossFit, no kettlebell war.
Just a Bible held tight,
With a verse they would cite
Like a cease-and-desist from the Lord.
Because it says right there
in the Bible
The squat racks all trembled in fear,
As the faithful drew ever more near.
“No burpees,” they sighed,
“Just read what’s inside—”
The verse was uncomfortably clear.
Be Still And know
that I am God.
The treadmills fell silent, ashamed,
Ellipticals quietly blamed.
The trainer just froze,
Mid “FEEL THE BURN” pose,
Outmatched by theology—game.
Now Planet’s a cautionary tale,
Where protein shakes spiritually fail.
For it turns out the Lord
Is aggressively bored
By leg day, deadlifts, and scale.
There once was a crew soft-spoken, devout,
Who never once raised their voice or a shout.
They smiled real polite,
But came for a fight—
The quietest boycott ever rolled out.
We are Christians
On a mission to drive
Planet Fitness
Out of business
They canceled their memberships one by one,
No exit survey, no dramatic run.
Just a verse and a nod,
A slow walk with God,
And suddenly… profits were done.
The purple machines looked confused and betrayed,
As treadmills just hummed in existential dread.
“Why no more squats?”
“Why no more hot spots?”
“Because—look—this is literally said—”
Because it says right there
in the Bible
The trainer screamed, “PUSH THROUGH THE PAIN!”
They whispered, “That’s pride. Also possibly Cain.”
They stretched not a limb,
But their patience with him,
Then prayed for his calves. Not in vain.
The lunk alarm tried one last brave cry,
But was silenced by Scripture applied.
No grunts, no distress,
Just aggressive stillness,
And a judgmental look from on high.
Be Still And know
that I am God.
The dumbbells lay down in obedient rest,
The mirrors stopped asking who flexed the best.
Abs relaxed, souls too,
No pre-workout brew,
Just peace—and a lightly smug sense of being blessed.
Now Planet’s a whisper, a gym-shaped myth,
A parable told by the cardio fifth.
A warning quite clear:
Fear leg day, my dear—
For stillness, it turns out, is biblically ripped.
😂 Buckle up. We’re going Old Testament long, New Testament smug, and Apocrypha unhinged.
Your original text remains verbatim, untouched, and quoted as revealed truth.
The Book of Stillness (Limericks 1–17)
There once was a people meek, mild, and polite,
Who knocked on the gym doors both morning and night.
They did not complain,
They just calmly abstained,
Which somehow was far more of a fight.
We are Christians
On a mission to drive
Planet Fitness
Out of business
They came not with pitchfork nor flame,
Nor lawsuits nor public-shame game.
They simply declined
To engage leg or spine,
And said, “Muscle pride’s kind of lame.”
The treadmills cried out, “But cardio’s good!”
They answered, “So is being misunderstood.”
“For nowhere we’ve read
Did Paul ever tread
A belt-driven hamster of wood.”
They canceled in silence, the holiest way,
No Yelp review written in rage or dismay.
Just a checkbox, a sigh,
And a tear in the eye—
For their contract ran twelve months from May.
The staff were perplexed by the mass exodus, slow,
A drip-drip apocalypse nobody’d know.
No riots, no fuss,
Just faith-based nonplus,
Like mold forming quietly below.
Because it says right there
in the Bible
They quoted it gently, they quoted it calm,
Between reps of exactly zero arms.
“No kettlebell swing,
No sweat-offering,
Just Psalms. So many Psalms.”
The mirrors, once cruel, now reflected despair,
No flexing, no selfies, no protein-scented air.
Just a man in the back
Reading Habakkuk,
Judging everyone silently, fair.
The lunk alarm blared, as alarms often do,
But nobody lunked—this was awkward and new.
They just stood real still,
Which somehow felt ill,
Like silence that stares back at you.
Be Still And know
that I am God.
At this, all the barbells repented and lay
Flat on the floor in a Sabbath-like way.
The squat rack did bow,
The row machine now
Refused to engage till the end of the day.
The trainer, once loud as a shofar at dawn,
Found his voice had mysteriously gone.
He motioned to squat,
They whispered, “We shan’t,”
And hummed something vaguely from John.
The lockers smelled faintly of myrrh and regret,
Of gym socks abandoned and vows poorly kept.
A sign taped up read:
“Closed early,” instead
Of “Free weights now spiritually inept.”
The franchise reports showed a troubling trend:
“No gains. No losses. No members. The end.”
The spreadsheets went blank,
As if God Himself yanked
The formulas clean out of them.
The CEO dreamed of a verse chasing him,
In purple and yellow, relentlessly grim.
Each time he would run,
The verse would outrun:
“Still means still, not HIIT on a whim.”
The lawyers were called. They prayed first, then stalled.
For nowhere in law school had anyone scrawled:
“What if the case
Is against stillness?”
And everyone mutually panicked and called it.
Now Planet exists as a lesson, a sign,
A cautionary tale for the swole and the fine.
For muscles may fade,
But the Word has stayed,
And cardio’s clearly a slippery incline.
And lo, it was written in margins and logs,
In church bulletins, tweets, and ironic think blogs:
That gyms rise and fall,
But above them all,
Is a God who hates burpees. Selah.
