Can't seem to find my reading glasses or see what I'm typing too clearly but No Mutter!
This "Mind Pimp" book has some good stuff in it and I plan to get some chapters of it up and on here.
Go Nad Go!
Yeah, yeah, yeah brightboy.
More to come once I find them glasses and a pair of near-clean underwear to wander around in over here as a true-blue prehistoric creature with a sour puss and no sense of humor should.
Over where? Under what? Under Where? Pardon me?
Damnit! I got aids but only in one ear.
Every time I cook dinner I wind up spilling corn all over the place
and apparently it's no different with this blog deal.
Can I get a rimjob, Brother and where's them effin' reading glasses.
What's all this? . . . all this crap about masturbating up there?
Whoa! What in hell is wrong with that guy's dick!
Whoa! What in hell is wrong with that guy's dick!
Will get back to the deadly SERIOUSNESS of this
earth-shattering and Universe-changing lifting thing later.
GFY and have a great day!
I blame early exposure to Mister Magoo cartoons for all of it! Puppies unable to understand old-fart references can fuck off back to their cellphone soothers. Others, well, we're too old to give a shit and can't take one anymore without the now-great and seemingly endless resistance protocol of squat, push and pull a few strips of TP off the roll.
ReplyDelete"Just the facts, Man, just the facts! I ain't here for fun . . . this is a grave business of crucial import we're involved in, this sacred lifting game. Why, where would the human race be now without it . . . why I oughta head over there and apply a few right and left combos to that noggin-a yours."
DeleteSorry, I'll be waiting patiently for that but am rather busy right now working on my thesis:
Delete"Proprioception and the Self-Perceived Length of the Mammalian Proboscus (sic)
Chapter One, Improper Placement in the Affairs of Others From Afar,
Section One: Social Media."
Over the last few weeks I attempted to write a book on the life of Norbert Schemansky based on old Strength & Health materials but couldn't for the life of me stay awake long enough to finish a single page.
DeleteMeat. Potatoes. Meat AND Potatoes.
There. Now you have all you need to know on that topic.
"Lives of Famous Lifters: A Sure-Cure for Insomnia."
Damnable reading glasses. Where'd I put that chain I was yanking!
DeleteSTILL YANKING it over here. The thing that seems to be almost always missing from the lifting history in various here-and -theres place and timewise is . . . I mean, COME ON, ALREADY . . . LOOK AT IT . . . just look at some of the oldish photos from say, the YBB, er, York Barbell Club back in that day. Sure, training, lifting, competing . . . note THIS BUTT that warrants your attention (may have misspelled that accidentally and in bold, right?) . . . take a gander at the under-the-bar shots of these guys, the real deal photos taken, not the posed and prepped stuff.
DeleteView the smiles and bright eyes. Not a dead pan in in the lot of 'em, no deadpan oil-burner leaking burned out and boring monotony being spewed. Looks to me like there was JOY and FUN involved more than the odd time and I don't mean 7/4 on top of 3 on the floor with a 5/8 clave-starting-a-16th note-late type of deal, whatever that means to a not-percussionist). No-sir. Hey, perhaps (he acted as if he was guessing as he gushed, perhaps overromanticizing), just maybe they even, horrors, took bets on who could do what that day with a weight moved a certain way. Where's that fun nowadays. Fucking bonehead bozo the clown joy-dick-stick lacking idiots and all their somber and sobering "honor the past" crap flushed empty of emotion human toilet fill and all this seriousness in their view. Fucking FUN! Remember THAT?, you bleached asshats with matching no-color, filled with nothing but stank and no toes to tickle socks fools.
Get over your stupid "self" and enjoy it! Let newbs know this is fun if you let it in and let it happen. Fuck Me! Those guys were just people doing something they loved; I mean Norbert Schemansky found a way to FUNNY sometimes via deadpan short-response answers to questions and I can only imagine some of the stuff he said that wasn't seen as "important" enough to publish publicly.
For the love of lifting, a.k.a. chrissake for a non-believer blasphemer who still chooses to say that phrase, have you NEVER had the opportunity to alter a newb's view of the thing we love/hate so much. Steer the poor young soul toward how much fun, joy and elation can be given and gained with this thing and I don't bloody mean when you look in your stupid mirror with your shirt off, sweats dropped, undies just above the short-n-curly hairline (yummy here for some) and certainly NOT via checking your logbook of PRs. F. U. N. Fuckups Nonending in this stuff.
Oh sure, some will get in that shallow end of the humor pool and make a dull-knife stab, miss the kill-spots at being LIGHT and still not escape the HEAVY feel of it through this current internet MEDIUM, and it's almost always a grade three level piece of honks and squeaks with word symbols making a joke of the newb who enters some "real" gym where "real" lifting takes place. The newb is ALWAYS (and this never bloody changes or steps outside the miniscule box of such "hahaha I is also funny like John McCallum, look at me water down and mimic like a trained seal comedic abominations), invariably on a blitz-and-bomb workout affair and it's always of the unrequited no-gainz type.
ReplyDeleteSo What! The guy's trying, he wants to somehow mildly improve his position in life and hopes only for a wee, trivial and superficial change in his ferzeek and sfrength levels, eh. Oh no, we gotta make this guy the fool so we appear the genius. Y.A.W.N. Yet Another Winning Narrative.
Get the fuck outta here with that redundant shite. If you can't be creative with without basically copy-and-pasting a setup and scenario, PLEASE leave it be and move on to the routine already.
Newbs are led to believe, even moreso lately as we near the midday sun point of the internet's eventual data-heavy implosion before the next great thing of wonder comes along, that this game is not a game. More's the pity, because in my view that approach creates more fails and I-fucking-give-ups than the coin's other side . . . a side we all belong on . . . the brighter, sunnier side of said coin's street . . . one of enjoyment not carefully calculated self-imposed slavery to a slogging form of this thing that can be so wonderful when we let it be and get outta the fucking way.
So grab your hat and get your coat, ignore the dead weight of weight-training gurus with lame and boring views of life expressed in their writings and overly serious training manuals, videos, idiot non-nutritionist dietary "plans" and whatnot and head on over to the sunny side of the street, where life can be sweet. Yes, grab yer cack and flasher coat and please do enter the rich and rewarding zone where lifting is a pleasure and not a pain.
Hey, a huge army of rovers have crossed over and set their feet firmly in that zone, have seen the gold dust at their feet and are currently rich as Rockefeller heart-and-soulwise, if that makes any cents, er, sense to ya.
ReplyDeleteI'll get to Mr. Kubistant's version of motivation tomorrow and end mine now.
Oh, I see . . . it's all a cliffhanger affair going on here, an uncertain not yet lover's leap goin' on here. Some sort of hanging on to the thread of an unallowed romance thing, two potential suicides locked in one another's trembling arms while staring down into the abyss deal. Cliffhanger!
ReplyDeleteGo on now . . . I sure as hell do.
Whew, well there went 90 minutes of my precious life's limited time and I enjoyed the hell out of it.
That (w)hole bleached buttcrack thing surprised me the first time. Who don't love the smell of chlorine, but the taste ain't all that great.
Okay, back to pounding beers. I'm almost done my second one, started five hours ago, and best be careful with consumption.
Moderation, after all is KEY. No matter that MY key is not YOUR key, and the rooms we are attempting to enter may be vastly different in this mansion of so many rooms and views that has been granted us for now. Many keys, many rooms, with MANY vast and various roads leading to them.
Till then . . .
ReplyDeletea flasher-coat and cack-grab will do very nicely.
Sorry, Mr. Kubistant. I promise to get your words out there tomorrow.
ReplyDeleteThe line-stacking of words ends right now. Upper case or lower, no more-a that.
ReplyDeleteIt's not right that I do this, I know. Please bear with me for a while, it stops right here.
I honestly promise on my heart I'll DO IT tomorrow and
you can count on my word. That, TO ME
is a solemn vow fer sure from this COWBOY!
Yikes, nineteen hours of this practice crap online and on notepad today with a two-hour break when the girls dropped by. Adult daughters, you lecher. I love it when "content creators" talk about the great effort it takes do with they do, all that setup and editing! It must be very rewarding and challenging, though, much like picking the shit out of the fetid foul tail end a four-days-dead canine heap of stank with a rusty bent spoon and smearing it on a wall in something almost resembling a bland thing barely managing to trigger a not-quite mental image is, I suppose. What the fuck happened to the human race. The great part about it is the way that people just love to lick it off the wall. How cool is THAT! Dead canine feces smeared on a wall, (the idiot elitist word geek who sucks at what he does, that's me, said), are preferred and get more "hits" if they're shorties and quick blips. When it comes to lifting "celebs" the "watch us lift" while I explain the obvious to an equally swollen porcine drug receptacle wheezing for breath all the while are always in vogue. Wha-wha-what the fuck happened to the human race. Responding to a response to a response to any trash-headed dumpster fill of a brain numbing topic are hot too, preferably when spoken in an extremely annoying high pitched voice while wearing a crisp white wifebeater in your living room draw large crowds of shit-off-a-wall detritus devourers as well. Always remember to sprinkle the ads for supplements these lying fillers of bags with dirt are so good at promoting as well, and don't forget the discount code. Wandering about aimlessly in your neighborhood with a selfie stick while providing boring anecdotes about abysmally monotonous bodybuilders past and present seem to play well with the shit for dinner gang year round. He did what? He DIDN'T! Bogus nutritional updates connected to the aforementioned supplement lines with a highly scientific tone complete with matching passionless proven research studies on the one precise way to train for maximum gains never fail. Tens of millions of people who lift crave ALL of this. Wha-wha-what the fuck happened to the human race. I could go on too long with this, but I won't. Ba-dump-bum. Sis boom bah! To each his own! All in a wonderful world.
ReplyDeleteAnd to think I coulda gone the whole other way with my life earlier and now be enjoying the local news and quite happy with how that lawn out front is coming along. A possible 10-minute sex spree with a boring wife because it's Saturday night, a couple of blandly tiresome and well set up adult children, maybe a call from a halfwitted friend centering around "how work is" and such and of course, no dope experiences whatsover and no alcohol anymore at all because that's the agreement me and the misses made decades ago at our standard-fare wedding done by an Ecuadorian import Roman Catholic priest in a clown suit and sequined shoes over shiny silk knee-high stockings who enjoys masturbating into the face of his favorite wee altarboy on occasion and BOY is it hard to turn off once you get going!
ReplyDeleteI live for this and love it.
Hahaha and yuck yuck, now I can't turn it off.
ReplyDeleteFuck health, fuck longevity, fuck all this silly leaf hanging on to the tree desperately for just a few more stinking half-alive dried up moments before the Fall hits hard and hatefully. Give me bloody snow in winter and rolling about in absolute and infinite sexual pleasure with the corpse of the dead and abandoned Doberman under it who dripped the lovely red stain of death, break out the hammer and nails and drive them wildly into my urethra with all the glee of the season, chisel my stone tablet-physicality, write ON me and let my being take on all the meaning of faded pages from a tome long cast aside in disgust by the mass of puss-filled minds surrounding me, drill me, screw me, screw ALL life, raise the dead, kill them over and over again with your rotting bare hands that leak misery onto the Universal slagheap of being conscious of being, estrange me that I may in turn alienate thee from all you love, drag the winged ones from the filth of their hiding holes in heaven, rape angels and fuck the Devil's finest in the ass with the the headless corpse of God's son, lash the combined slop of these fetid foul and lovely remains with harp strings, romance harpees, hate-fuck them viciously and suck the resulting embryo from their eggs spit it in their mourning faces and clean it off with your steaming infected urine, make a noose of piano wire, hang the living stitched together as one forms of Jesus and Satan, beat the blessed Virgin with the severed head of Joseph's donkey, feed slaughtered demons to the apostles, con the Devil and his minions, slash off their feet and eat them raw and let the ooze dripping from their mouths form a cosmos, burn, BURN it all, heaven, earth and Hell, piss on the ashes and wallow in it with onanist sexual abandon, let your mind go free and see its underbelly, rewrite the story of all life and creation above and below on the head of a nail and drive it into the main vein of all things until it surrenders and gives up its secrets, play nice and have a good night.
giveitaname, your lawsuit and banishment from civilized society awaits.
ReplyDelete