Two out of five douchebags will describe their hobbies to disinterested women as "a zen thing, you know?" They will go on to clarify that "It's like I'm really at peace when I'm windsurfing/quilting/strangling hobos on the F train. So like, do you do butt stuff or what?"
People who actually say shit like that with a straight face are clearly not spiritually enlightened men. They're callow conglomerations of dick that only want to seem like deep, contemplative people with real thoughts and emotions. But there is such a thing as daily, accessible meditation, and it doesn't have to have any kind of philosophic motivation. Take me, for example: I'm a writhing ball of condensed worry, fury and childish bullshit. If my brain's not mentally giving me cancer or spinning an epic revenge tale about the bitch who cut in front of me in line at the gas station, it's probably running a little skit about a knight slapping a dragon with a floppy dildo. Or else it's a combination of all three. My mind just frantically skipping back and forth from how shitty chemo is inevitably going to be, to stabbing Gas Line Bitch with my IV, to plotting the logistics of modding my hospital wheelchair to look like Optimus Prime.
So that when I back up, it looks like Optimus decapitated a guy and mounted his head on the roof, obviously.