When I went out to get my recycling bin last night you can imagine how surprised I was to find a tiny little man underneath it. He tried to run but I took off my shoe and pegged him with it. He was only eight inches tall and I was sure I killed him but when I picked him up he bit my thumb. Startled, I nearly dropped him but managed to catch him by the back of his tunic.
“What in the fuck were you doing under my recycling bin?”
“It is the place I call home.”
I held him up to eye level. “Well, it’s a shitty home. You don’t have rabies do you”
He frowned. “No.”
“Good, come on I’ll take you inside and get you a snack.”
“I would most enjoy a snack. I’ve been living off what’s left in your recycling bin. The remnants of peanut butter and salsa from a jar you threw out yesterday. Too bad the garbage men took away my food supply this morning.”
I carried the little man into my home and placed him on the counter top. He sat on an upside down coffee cup and watched as I prepared a pot of boiling water. I added onion, celery, pepper, salt and garlic powder.
The little man stood and tried to peer over the top of the pot but I stood in his way. “Wait until I’m done.”
“No, no I’m hungry.”
I moved aside. “Well okay. Here let me help you. I lifted him up and he peered into the pot.”
“Hey, wait a minute.”
But of course it was too late. I grabbed him by the neck, snapped. I then removed his tunic, skin and gutted him and tossed him in the pot.
It was during the second month of the great famine of 2030—which we all know was caused by the Bush administration’s policies--and although this little man would have normally been a medical curiosity I didn’t have the luxury of passing up a meal. He tasted oddly like pork and after my dinner I cleaned my teeth with his femur.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Some people count sheep when they’re trying to sleep. I count women at the gym that I would sleep with. I usually make it up to eighty some women before I doze off. Does this make me a pig or does it simply say that I am normal? Please advise…on second thought don’t bother, I really don’t give a shit if it does…
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Okay, I was going to promise not to complain about people at the gym but its fun so I’ll keep doing it. Last night, after my workout, I went to sit at one of the tables in the gym. These tables are for eating and sitting to read and drink protein drinks and so forth. Well, since it is winter lazy people in the gym have decided to use the chairs at the tables for coat racks. This is particularly annoying when trying to find a place to eat your dinner, which is what I have to do when I’m done working out and I have clients afterwards. Anyway, I couldn’t find one open chair despite all the tables being open. So, I took a skanky old Eagles jacket off a chair and laid it on a chair next to it.
About five minutes later a 65 year old woman came up and snatched the Eagles jacket and under her breath says, “You could have put the goddamn jacket on the back of the goddamn chair.”
Now, I’m not some puny little punk. I’m not huge, but I am five feet eight inches tall and weighed 194 that day and am very lean right now so I look pretty darn big. Especially to a woman this approximately 5 foot four and weighs 90 lbs.
I get up out of my chair and walk over to where she is standing by the door. I said, “Listen, those chairs aren’t coat racks. You’re supposed to put your coat in a locker.”
She snapped at me, “Well, everyone else puts their damn jackets there!”
I so wanted to go off on her but I had to remain calm. “Well, they’re not supposed to put their jackets there. And for your information I didn’t move your jacket (I lied).”
“Well, someone moved my jacket!”
“Maybe that filthy fucking jacket has so much bacteria on it that it got up and moved itself you old bitch.”
Okay, I only thought that last line. I was smart enough to walk away despite being slightly irritable from dieting down. I want to ask: what the fuck is up with people?
About five minutes later a 65 year old woman came up and snatched the Eagles jacket and under her breath says, “You could have put the goddamn jacket on the back of the goddamn chair.”
Now, I’m not some puny little punk. I’m not huge, but I am five feet eight inches tall and weighed 194 that day and am very lean right now so I look pretty darn big. Especially to a woman this approximately 5 foot four and weighs 90 lbs.
I get up out of my chair and walk over to where she is standing by the door. I said, “Listen, those chairs aren’t coat racks. You’re supposed to put your coat in a locker.”
She snapped at me, “Well, everyone else puts their damn jackets there!”
I so wanted to go off on her but I had to remain calm. “Well, they’re not supposed to put their jackets there. And for your information I didn’t move your jacket (I lied).”
“Well, someone moved my jacket!”
“Maybe that filthy fucking jacket has so much bacteria on it that it got up and moved itself you old bitch.”
Okay, I only thought that last line. I was smart enough to walk away despite being slightly irritable from dieting down. I want to ask: what the fuck is up with people?
Next Please – For several months I lived in the basement of an abandoned building, a church to be exact. Actually, I purchased the church and was fixing up the inside and chose to live in the basement while I turned the upstairs into a place to dwell. It had gone on the market after its congregation had died off and no one was left to attend. I bought it for a dollar at auction. That’s a lot of Jesus for one buck.
I learned through neighbors that the denomination had been strange, nothing anyone had ever heard of before or since. Something made up? Or perhaps the dream of a slightly off kilter religious zealot and drunk--this devote bunch worshiped box wine. In fact the building was made of cement blocks poured into the empty boxes of wine.
No, no, they didn’t give communion in the common sense of the word, they EMBIBED quite heavily and were often said to leave the parking lot zigzagging in their Ford pickup trucks. They believed Jesus’ blood (wine) would fortify their souls against the cruel cruel world.
The neighbors also told me that the downfall of the church was no surprise, that there had been a death pool—that the local grocer Mr. Langley had won—and that it took only four years to kill off the entire congregation. It started with the liver failures which were rampant in the congregation and that some died in domestic disputes caused by the wine. Still others wrecked on their way home from the church after service and perished—of course they were completely tanked.
One day I was tearing out the altar and had wrenched it away from the wall when I noticed a secret passageway. The altar had a false side panel and this is how the person or persons must have gained access to the passageway. I got my flashlight and made my way into the passageway. I crawled for fifteen yards or so when I came upon a room. I scanned the room with my flashlight.
“Who the hell is that!”
I nearly dropped my flashlight. There amongst a mountain of boxed wine sat a little old man in religious garb.
I shined my flashlight in the little bastard’s eyes. “No, the question is who the hell are you? You are in my building.”
“Bullshit, this is my building.”
I stepped into the room. “It fucking stinks in here.”
“Well, what do you expect? I’ve been shitting and pissing in empty wine boxes for 10 years.”
“That’s fucking gross…wait, you’ve been in here ten years?”
“That’s right, when my congregation died off I used the last of the offering and bought ten thousand boxes of wine. I’ve been in here ever since drinking them down.”
“What do you eat?”
“Cardboard from the boxes. It has a lot of protein in it.”
“Cardboard doesn’t have protein in it.”
“Well, it sure does taste good with ketchup.”
“You have ketchup.”
“No, I ran out 9 years ago. Now, if you’d kindly take that flashlight out of my eyes you can leave now.”
“No way this is my church now and you’ll have to leave.”
He heaved an empty box of wine at me which landed five feet short of its mark. I laughed. He pulled out a gun but he was slow and drunk and really quite uncoordinated. I dove at him and beamed him over the head with my flashlight and killed him. Blood the color of chardonnay ran onto the floor. I hightailed it out of that place. It was creepy as hell. Also, I’d killed a guy and thought I needed to cover it up, so I covered the secret passageway with brick and never spoke of the ordeal with anyone.
After that incident there was no way I could live in that church so I changed plans. I bought a half dozen flat screen TV’s, hired a couple slutty waitresses and opened a sports bar. I figured its what the previous worshipers at the church would have wanted if they were beer drinkers and not box wine drinkers.
I learned through neighbors that the denomination had been strange, nothing anyone had ever heard of before or since. Something made up? Or perhaps the dream of a slightly off kilter religious zealot and drunk--this devote bunch worshiped box wine. In fact the building was made of cement blocks poured into the empty boxes of wine.
No, no, they didn’t give communion in the common sense of the word, they EMBIBED quite heavily and were often said to leave the parking lot zigzagging in their Ford pickup trucks. They believed Jesus’ blood (wine) would fortify their souls against the cruel cruel world.
The neighbors also told me that the downfall of the church was no surprise, that there had been a death pool—that the local grocer Mr. Langley had won—and that it took only four years to kill off the entire congregation. It started with the liver failures which were rampant in the congregation and that some died in domestic disputes caused by the wine. Still others wrecked on their way home from the church after service and perished—of course they were completely tanked.
One day I was tearing out the altar and had wrenched it away from the wall when I noticed a secret passageway. The altar had a false side panel and this is how the person or persons must have gained access to the passageway. I got my flashlight and made my way into the passageway. I crawled for fifteen yards or so when I came upon a room. I scanned the room with my flashlight.
“Who the hell is that!”
I nearly dropped my flashlight. There amongst a mountain of boxed wine sat a little old man in religious garb.
I shined my flashlight in the little bastard’s eyes. “No, the question is who the hell are you? You are in my building.”
“Bullshit, this is my building.”
I stepped into the room. “It fucking stinks in here.”
“Well, what do you expect? I’ve been shitting and pissing in empty wine boxes for 10 years.”
“That’s fucking gross…wait, you’ve been in here ten years?”
“That’s right, when my congregation died off I used the last of the offering and bought ten thousand boxes of wine. I’ve been in here ever since drinking them down.”
“What do you eat?”
“Cardboard from the boxes. It has a lot of protein in it.”
“Cardboard doesn’t have protein in it.”
“Well, it sure does taste good with ketchup.”
“You have ketchup.”
“No, I ran out 9 years ago. Now, if you’d kindly take that flashlight out of my eyes you can leave now.”
“No way this is my church now and you’ll have to leave.”
He heaved an empty box of wine at me which landed five feet short of its mark. I laughed. He pulled out a gun but he was slow and drunk and really quite uncoordinated. I dove at him and beamed him over the head with my flashlight and killed him. Blood the color of chardonnay ran onto the floor. I hightailed it out of that place. It was creepy as hell. Also, I’d killed a guy and thought I needed to cover it up, so I covered the secret passageway with brick and never spoke of the ordeal with anyone.
After that incident there was no way I could live in that church so I changed plans. I bought a half dozen flat screen TV’s, hired a couple slutty waitresses and opened a sports bar. I figured its what the previous worshipers at the church would have wanted if they were beer drinkers and not box wine drinkers.
Monday, January 26, 2009
What I do may sicken some people but I assure you I have only a patient’s best interest in mind. You see I am a plastic surgeon and I thoroughly enjoy helping to transform people. Sure, I could have chosen a profession where I “save” lives sewing up hearts or removing arrows from brains but I chose to make the world’s people beautiful, which of course makes it a better place. You have only to look at some of my patients’ before and after photos to realize how much of a better place…
So, you may ask why I am sitting in this jail cell writing to the opt ed column of my local newspaper. I assure you that none of my patients were injured or maimed and that in fact—to my knowledge—I do not have a single patient that is unhappy with the work that I performed on them. The problem lies in my desire to save the environment. Yes, of course this needs explaining and that is what I intend to do.
You see, I had become quite alarmed by all the fat that I was throwing away after doing liposuction on people in my office. So, much energy being incinerated--so many cheese burgers, cupcakes and pieces of pizza simply stored on a person’s hips, stomach or ass-- never to be used. This kept me up at night. How could I use this fat and make a difference in the world? And then it came to me. I was lying in bed one night when I remembered the movie: Fight Club. I recalled how the main character made soap out of the fat from people that had liposuction done to them. Of course this seemed like a waste to me. What else could I use the fat for? This was pure energy? Have you guessed yet? That’s right I decided to make biodiesel out of it and run my Prius on it.
So I set about researching how to make biodiesel and after several months I was producing my own fuel and helping the environment. I did this for over a year and spent almost nothing on fuel—only the cost of processing it but then one of my secretaries found out what I was doing and reported me. The DA hauled me into court and now I sit in jail.
It seems that people don’t like me using their former ass, hip and stomach fat to fuel my car. These gluttons would rather toss out perfectly good energy--energy that they selfishly stored on their bodies while others in the world starved. Was what I did such a bad thing? If I’m driving around town using your former spare tire as fuel is that a crime? Please write the DA and ask him to free me. What I did I did for you…
So, you may ask why I am sitting in this jail cell writing to the opt ed column of my local newspaper. I assure you that none of my patients were injured or maimed and that in fact—to my knowledge—I do not have a single patient that is unhappy with the work that I performed on them. The problem lies in my desire to save the environment. Yes, of course this needs explaining and that is what I intend to do.
You see, I had become quite alarmed by all the fat that I was throwing away after doing liposuction on people in my office. So, much energy being incinerated--so many cheese burgers, cupcakes and pieces of pizza simply stored on a person’s hips, stomach or ass-- never to be used. This kept me up at night. How could I use this fat and make a difference in the world? And then it came to me. I was lying in bed one night when I remembered the movie: Fight Club. I recalled how the main character made soap out of the fat from people that had liposuction done to them. Of course this seemed like a waste to me. What else could I use the fat for? This was pure energy? Have you guessed yet? That’s right I decided to make biodiesel out of it and run my Prius on it.
So I set about researching how to make biodiesel and after several months I was producing my own fuel and helping the environment. I did this for over a year and spent almost nothing on fuel—only the cost of processing it but then one of my secretaries found out what I was doing and reported me. The DA hauled me into court and now I sit in jail.
It seems that people don’t like me using their former ass, hip and stomach fat to fuel my car. These gluttons would rather toss out perfectly good energy--energy that they selfishly stored on their bodies while others in the world starved. Was what I did such a bad thing? If I’m driving around town using your former spare tire as fuel is that a crime? Please write the DA and ask him to free me. What I did I did for you…
Thursday, January 22, 2009
I was in a shitty mood today when I went to the gym. This little cocksucker trainer that I work with took all the fucking clients on the consultation list. He weights 130 pounds and looks like a rooster with a nose bigger than mine on a body 60 pounds lighter than mine. You get the picture. Anyway, he is not only a trainer but he works at the gym so everybody that walks through the door as a potential new client he takes. I don’t hate him or anything. He’s not a bad guy except for the bullshit he pulls with clients. He lives way above his means—as evidenced my his new I-Phone—and now I have to pay the price. If he were I superior trainer to me then I wouldn’t be so angry but he is pitiful and really doesn’t know what he is doing.
I am constantly learning new training techniques and am even working with a nutritionist to lose body fat and gain muscle. I am down nearly 35 pounds, have lost a crap load of fat and gained muscle. In the past I felt I had lost too much muscle when dieting down and my nutritionist’s specialty is keeping and gaining muscle while dieting. I figured I can always learn more and so I hired him. My stance is that I don’t know everything and I can always learn more to help my clients and myself. Unfortunately, some people never grow, they stagnate in many areas of life and are content with what they know which in a lot of cases isn’t much.
I would be fine with every trainer taking a person off the consultation list until all four trainers have a person but this trainer is a greedy little pig. I can’t count how many people have come up to me and complimented me on my training and disparaged his techniques. The problem is they don’t realize this until they’ve hired him and then see me training other people. So, how do I win?
I am constantly learning new training techniques and am even working with a nutritionist to lose body fat and gain muscle. I am down nearly 35 pounds, have lost a crap load of fat and gained muscle. In the past I felt I had lost too much muscle when dieting down and my nutritionist’s specialty is keeping and gaining muscle while dieting. I figured I can always learn more and so I hired him. My stance is that I don’t know everything and I can always learn more to help my clients and myself. Unfortunately, some people never grow, they stagnate in many areas of life and are content with what they know which in a lot of cases isn’t much.
I would be fine with every trainer taking a person off the consultation list until all four trainers have a person but this trainer is a greedy little pig. I can’t count how many people have come up to me and complimented me on my training and disparaged his techniques. The problem is they don’t realize this until they’ve hired him and then see me training other people. So, how do I win?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Annoyed
It is hard work—for most people—to make a significant change in their physiques and health. I know because I have successfully dieted down many times after bulking up. You see as a personal trainer I have noticed a phenomenon that is disturbing but unfortunately predictable. Most people that hire me want to see massive changes in their physiques but they don’t want to do the work to make these changes. They want me to sit them down on machines and cajole them into doing another repetition with a pathetically light weight. They believe the infomercials that tell them they only need to work out 3 times a week for 15 minutes to have a great physique. Bullshit.
You see, they want the result but are unwilling to put in the effort to make significant change and quite frankly to me as a personal trainer it is annoying as hell. Many people after leaving the gym stuff their faces with whatever crap they want. Maybe they will even make it through the week but the weekend will come and they will drink and eat like they are working for a gold medal in the calorie olympics.
On Monday they will come to the gym and not notice any changes in their physiques, which is predictable and frustrating for me. Some of them will blame me, not understanding that THEY are the ones responsible, that no matter how hard they work on the gym or how hard they think they work—which often isn’t very hard—they will not change unless they control their eating. So, what happens to these people? They eventually quit the gym and go back to eating like crap full time and drinking and believing that I failed them, when in reality I had nothing to do with their failure. These people simply want an excuse for why they aren’t what they could be. Well, I’m sorry but the truth of the matter is that many of you are just lazy. A good physique and good health take effort and if you are not willing to give this effort then have no one to blame but yourself.
You see, they want the result but are unwilling to put in the effort to make significant change and quite frankly to me as a personal trainer it is annoying as hell. Many people after leaving the gym stuff their faces with whatever crap they want. Maybe they will even make it through the week but the weekend will come and they will drink and eat like they are working for a gold medal in the calorie olympics.
On Monday they will come to the gym and not notice any changes in their physiques, which is predictable and frustrating for me. Some of them will blame me, not understanding that THEY are the ones responsible, that no matter how hard they work on the gym or how hard they think they work—which often isn’t very hard—they will not change unless they control their eating. So, what happens to these people? They eventually quit the gym and go back to eating like crap full time and drinking and believing that I failed them, when in reality I had nothing to do with their failure. These people simply want an excuse for why they aren’t what they could be. Well, I’m sorry but the truth of the matter is that many of you are just lazy. A good physique and good health take effort and if you are not willing to give this effort then have no one to blame but yourself.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
I want to love…you…and I’ve been thinking about it but the steam from the water on my brain is blinding me. So, I’ve plugged my ears with pipes--yes the PVC variety that may or may not be PC—and harvested this abundant natural resource which I will use to fuel my ambitions. For what is a person without ambition? The ambition to love for one is a worthy endeavor and I have decided it is one I will pursue. Of course this brings me full circle, right back to you. See how complicated these things can be?
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