Weightlifting is for the birds... the big, scary, sculpted birds

So I'm experimenting with this thing people call "working out."

Verdict: I don't dig it. But it's doctor's orders. While I thought that I was worth my weight in goldschlager, the doc's professional opinion was that I'm a "fat tub of shit who'll be dead by 33." I said, "But that's only a few months away." He said, "I have spoken."

Thus, here I am participating in a lot of movement that gets me nowhere. Lifting things that don't need lifting and putting them right back down. Operating machines that don't generate electricity or anything else for that matter. Shouldn't gyms at least be hooked up to a city's power grid?

I have a sadistic trainer who thinks that repetitive motion is good for me. I say, lifting a dumbbell more than three times is playing with it. Ya feel me?

And the results? Pain. Pain for days. I thought a doctor should, first, do no harm. The caveat apparently is "harm is cool as long the doctor doesn't personally witness it."

Now I'm aching and burning from top to bottom. Even my teeth hurt. I assume that's related.

All the curls have made my biclops sore, not to mention my tridents. I see no difference in my chest even though the trainer insists I work my pterodactyls. But what I hate the most is exercising my legs. There's a reason I have fucking desk job, yo. Thanks to these leg exercises, I can barely stand up and sit down due to the pain in my hamstringcheese. And I have to get up and stretch my cows ever 15 minutes because they get tighter than a virgin vagina coated in alum.

And we haven't even started on my abominables.

I'm working on a theory that if God wanted us to be healthy, he wouldn't have made us in his own fat-fuck image. And he wouldn't have invented pizza buffets or Saved by the Bell marathons.

The power of my mind

My company had what experts would call a "company picnic" the day after Memorial Day.

I was volunteered involuntarily to work. So instead of hanging out at the lake, I sat in my office and willed Mother Nature to send rain. I even thought about conjuring a tornado. But I decided I didn't wish any innocent trees to be pierced with my poisonous co-workers.

And guess what? It fucking rained. No tornado. Exactly what I wished.

That's the power of my mind. You'd better hope I don't wish the new Indiana Jones on you. Because if I do, you will most certainly see it.

Why, Indy? Why, God?

The new Indiana Jones is so bad that I won't even say it's full title. I choose to believe it doesn't exist. Temple of Doom is usually considered the worst of the three, but I have a soft spot for that film. Maybe because the main bad guy kinda looks like Abe Vigoda. Plus, it's heads and shoulders above the new one.

The latest looks cool for the most part. And the ideas and sets and effects are just fine. But the overall package... Jesus. I wanted to cry when I came out of the theater. I've loved the series since the beginning. Indy is a great character (though ripped off from old adventure serials and Allan Quatermain), and the movies were jam-packed with excitement and fun.

So what went wrong here? If I were taking a guess, I'd say, Spielberg and Lucas. Turns out, when you combine two mediocre "talents" who have long since lost the energy that hid their lack of originality, you don't get double the mediocrity. You get a heaping pile of embarrassing garbage.

It's not a believability factor. None of the movies have been believable. I mean, Ark of the Covenant? Holy Grail? God? Pure fantasy. And this time, you get aliens. Or saucermen. Or interdimensional beings. Or whatever they wanna call 'em. And I can dig that, considering the two main men behind this flick and their lifelong fascination with sci-fi. Yet I won't hesitate to call this one of the worst movies in recent history. Denholm Elliott is spinning in his grave.

Maybe that's a little harsh. So let me backtrack (my favorite way to track). If you're the type of person who can find an ounce of joy in everything, the type who really enjoys life and can put a positive spin on any situation, if you're just generally happy... this movie will make you want to have your genitals bitten off by feral dogs just to make you temporarily forget you saw it.

But let's take a moment to harken back to better days:

Vomit ratio

I vomit approximately once for every 50 times I drink.*
That ratio increases to 1:2 when I substitute weightlifting for drinking.
So, good people, without further scientific evidence needed, I declare binge alcohol consumption to be healthier than exercise.

Case motherfuckin' closed.






*Based on 8 or more drinks of various delicious combinations.

On this Memorial Day...

Let's remember all who fought and died to preserve our right to say things like this:



Ha ha! Nothing like having a laugh about assassinating a prominent American political leader.

Here's her bio, which explains everything:
Liz Trotta is the former New York bureau chief of The Washington Times and is a contributor for FOX News Channel.

Review of Radiohead show

I can't say enough about the Radiohead show. In fact, my words will never do it justice.

Instead, watch this clip I recorded with my phone:




Wait. That's not it. Here, try this one:




Dammit. ... OK, here it is:






Well, that's a little closer. What's that dog have against Neil Young?

Almost had a good idea but it turned out to be bad

I've developed a weird habit of cooking at 3 in the morning whilst drunk. I'm sure that's perfectly safe.

I mixed and made pancakes one night. Last night I fried catfish and baked cornbread. I could probably make money off this somehow. Maybe open a window and pass food to the late-night lushes who don't want Whataburger or IHOP. Of course, then I'd have to go out every morning and mop up the piss and vomit in front of my apartment. So scratch that. If I wanted to mop up vomit every day, I'd work at Arby's.

Oh... am I on?

Is this thing on? Oh shit. I wasn't expecting to have to type a blog entry. Wow. This really caught me by surprise. I... I... Ha! Ha! I really don't know what to say right now. Ummm... I guess... you know... the government sucks and stuff. Uhhhhh... that Jesus guy sure is mockable, eh? Let's see... Oh! Look at me! I'm drinking beer, which I do. Because I love it so much and drink all the time. No, that's no good. How about that funny thing that happened the other day? Everybody was talking about it. What was it? Something do with that one guy... Damn. I'm sorry. I'm just incredibly ill-prepared. I haven't won the lottery yet... if that was something you were wondering. Hey, that's an idea. Why don't you ask me questions, anything you want to know about. Oh right. That won't work... Anyway, I think I'm going to slip out of here for a while. Next time I'll try to be ready. Soooo... um, thanks.

She's an angel

I know I'm supposed to be objective about the guests on The Colbert Report and stay emotionally aloof. Rule #3: Never fall in love.

But Dr. Jennifer Hooper McCarty is a vision of beauty and not just because I'm drunk and willing to hit on anything that moves and is bipedal. And she's smart to boot. A little obsessed with the Titanic, which indeed was a disaster. Yet nothing close to the disastrous proportions of the movie of the same name. I'd rather be murdered by an iceberg than ever watch that titanic piece of shit again.

Meanwhile, back in the land of love: I will not rest until I've wooed Dr. JHM into my arms. Well, I'll probably rest a lot. It's really just a figure of speech.

Anyway... behold!

Oh god, this makes me happy