I forget. Is it called “body shaming” or “fat denial”?

Boy, am I pooped. I drove my exercycle around my living room for 45 minutes, went on an angry power walk, and then took another cruise into the sunset on my exercycle. I’m not even fat, in fact I’ve been called a ‘ripped bro’ by my fraternity brothers that live in the quads with me, but I’m trying to get even leaner and lighter because of my fussy back and for the additional sex appeal. And I am getting slimmer because it is known human biology that if less energy is introduced into the body then the body will rely on its own stored energy to make up for the loss, and this happens regardless of whatever words are being unintelligently spewed from that human body’s mouth, like the phrases “I barely eat anything!” or “muh genetics!”


Okay, so the improperly named grapefruit is one of my favorite fruits and I’ve been going apeshit on them this summer, and I went to buy more of them before dropping by Dr. Bill’s office to pick up my liquor prescription. With all of the gorgeous fruits and vegetables in the HIV’s produce section, their grapefruits are rather overpriced and shitty, so I went to Wal-Mart instead. So I grab two bags of grapefruit at Wal-Mart, totally uneventful, and I’m standing in the self checkout line because I always use self checkout when it’s available. While standing in line these two girls that looked to be in their late teens to early twenties got into line behind me.


Height wise I am somewhere between 5 foot 7 inches and 6 foot 3; I’m not sure because I haven’t measured my height in years. Both of these girls behind me were about the same height as me and they were both talking about how they can’t stand short guys. I didn’t really care what they were talking about because I wouldn’t have sex with either one of these girls unless there was money involved, and unlike tall people I can say that I’ve been short my entire life, so I came to terms with it half a lifetime ago. Then one of the girls taps me on the shoulder and asks, “By the way, how tall are you?” And then they giggled amongst themselves for a second. Then she says, “I’m just screwing with you, don’t worry.” I smiled and turned back around.


I wasn’t offended because I lack enough autism to know when someone is joking and when someone is trying to piss me off, and she was just joking, maybe even flirting a little judging by how close she was getting to me. This girl was most likely 15 or more years younger than me and outweighed me by at least 50 pounds and she was buying boxes of macaroni and a 2 liter bottle of Dr. Pepper. So I stood there with my back towards them for a couple of minutes and then I turned around and shattered her world with 5 words. I didn’t even make a comment, I asked her a question. I said, “How much do you weigh?”


You would have thought that I had just pulled out a gun and shot and killed her cheeseburger right in front of her. Both her and her friend’s jaws dropped in obvious emotional distress.


Fat Butt: “Um, excuse me, but what the fuck did you just say?”


Me: “I kindly asked how much you weigh? What’s the problem?”


Fat Butt’s Stupid Friend: “That is none of your fucking business, asshole.”


Me: “You asked me how tall I am. I thought we were getting to know each

other here, what’s your deal?”


(A self-checkout counter or whatever you call it opens up in front of us)


Fat Butt: “Shut the fuck up and buy your fruit, dick.”


Me: “No, we’re becoming friends here and I’m a gentleman. Ladies



Fat Butt: “Whatever.”


(Fat Butt and Fat Butt’s Stupid Friend waddle to the self-checkout counter or whatever you call it and buy the garbage that they’ll manage to finish eating before they get home even though it’s supposed to be microwaved first)


All right, so how weak and insecure are you if someone asking you a question about something that is visually obvious can offend you? And how “proud” of that visual thing are you if you are offended when somebody asks about it? This is why I just can’t buy into this whole big is beautiful crap. And it’s a kick in the tits to the whole feminism thing too. Women are strong and should legally have all of the same opportunities as men, and they do by the way, but if they make a rude comment or physically assault a man then he has no right to retort or hit back because women are too fragile to fight a man and they’re too stupid to know that insults are normally met with insults.


And the being fat thing. It’s what fucking ever. Nobody really cares if you are over weight; it’s the obviously obese people that are growing in size and numbers that has everyone up in arms. And just because you gave up on losing weight doesn’t mean that you can protect your feelings and ailing health by demanding that nobody is allowed to use words like “fat” and “obese” to describe you and then top it all off by saying, “I’m not fat. I’m beautiful!!” Lies do not become truths by saying them louder.


Unlike height, weight isn’t entirely genetic either. Some people are inclined to be a little bigger than others but your body does not make itself out of nothing. It’s made from whatever you put into it and whatever you work out of it. If you are a fat ass that tells people that you barely eat anything, I want you to stop eating all together. You already hardly eat anything so eating nothing won’t require much of a change in your diet. You have proven science wrong by getting larger without excess calories and that starvation is still a hypothesis and not a scientific fact. Unfortunately you’ll continue to get fatter because your body defies all logic but just think of all the money you’ll save because you don’t require food to live.


I am an adult and I know that it is mean and unfair to pick on any minority within a population because of basic math. Fat people are now the majority in this country and I am tired of being oppressed by them. So for any fat person to openly disagree and destroy any debate that is offered by a person afflicted with less body mass they are using their majority status to silence the words of the minority. Stop throwing your weight around to abuse the less fortunate that will be paying for your dialysis and orthopedic shoes when you are unable to work due to your beautifully large body. Because big is so beautiful that it’s deadly.


Time Heals All Wounds

My birthday is next Sunday. It sucks that it’s on a Sunday because I’ll finally be able to legally drink and all of the bars and booze stores close early on Sunday. I mention my upcoming birthday because I’m starting to feel like my age is catching up to me within in a very short, in an almost immediate, timespan.


Today was a real doozy. You see, I am a meathead and have accumulated some injuries over the years and they all seem to have chosen to fuck up my life at the same time. My worst injury, the mother and most likely the spark to all of my other injuries, the general of my pains, domino zero, is my lower back injury. When I touched the gates leading into the unknown and less traveled by living man by dying in a fiery car wreck that claimed the lives of 22 women and children but spared my own, I suffered a dislocated vertebrae. This back injury wasn’t even diagnosed for several years because the doctors were more concerned about the fact that I had lost both of my arms in the accident and that I was unconscious for a month. So a few years later when I had these spastic feelings of my back trying to pull my ass into my torso, I decided to go see a chiropractor. The chiropractor took some x-rays and tried to fix it by jumping on my back a few times, but that dang vertebrae just stayed out of place.


Skip to what, like 6, maybe 7 years later. Within those years I had become the biggest specimen of glorious muscled man-beast that wasn’t the leading man in a comic book. So one day, right after I had moved back to Bumfuck Nebraska, I was dead lifting with the gumption of an illegally nitro-rigged cement mixer-dump truck hybrid warship. I’m not even talking about ripping 2 shake weights off the face of the Earth and locking out while heaving them to my hips, I’m talking 2 shake weights in each hand, bitch. So I dead lift these 4 shake weights with perfect form and then set them back down into the craters that they had created on the gym floor. Then these powerlifter guys that constantly watched me with envious and sometimes lustful eyes scuttled up to me and egged me on to do it again. Instead of swallowing my pride and walking away, I chose to prove that I have a small penis by compensating through feats of strength and I picked them 4 sumbitches up again. And as soon as I did it felt like somebody stabbed me in the back with a pitchfork and then that pitchfork was struck by lightning and then when I fell to the floor somebody tazed me repeatedly. Long story short, I ripped that dislocated vertebrae out of the scar tissue and it is now where it should be again. However, every now and then my back muscles spaz out and try to pull that vertebrae back to where it was for a decade, and the shit hurts horribly and makes me unable to walk.


So after that long story, here is how my day went. I have been feeling that my back has been getting worse for over a month now due to playing with my nephews and lifting weights and other random activities. Well I woke up around 8:30 AM. I tried to get out of bed but my back would lock up with spasms and holy shit, you don’t want to know what that feels like. So I laid in bed and did some stretches and I finally got out of bed at about 11:30 AM. I used a Resolve carpet cleaning broom as a cane to go to the bathroom and then go to my kitchen. I frazzled a couple of eggs, ate them with some hot sauce, and then opened the fridge to grab a grapefruit from the bottom shelf. Once again lightning came through my basement window and struck me in the back and I was lying in front of my opened fridge until 1:00 PM. I was comfortable on the kitchen floor and didn’t want to deal with more back spasms, so I ate my grapefruit caveman style on the floor and threw the peel and seeds towards the trashcan.


Finally, I got my self onto my feet with my Resolve carpet cleaning crutch and waddled to my lil’ babby home gym and grabbed this hollow bar that’s supposed to be used for who knows what and I’ve been using that as a cane instead. Then I crawled back into bed because my back hurts the least while I’m flat on my back. I spent the next 8 or 9 hours in my bed playing dumbshit games on my Ipad. I finally got the courage to try to get out of bed an hour ago and now that I’m sipping a sorority girl drink the pain is easing up.


I only tell this boring story because I myself am extremely bored and I would like to share the cruelties that father time can expend on a beautiful soul such as mine. I am currently sitting in a stolen fold out chair because it is the only chair that’s comfortable right now, and I fear getting out of it because of the spazzle attacks when I move. I’ll probably be fine after tomorrow as long as I don’t act like a maroon and try to pray to Lord Arnold through the media of iron. I thought that I would age gracefully because I have always looked young for my age, and I still do, but apparently I was wrong.

Jesus Christ Looks Like a Homosexual Biker

Fucking Facebox during this past month… let’s just settle this right now, okay? It is not a religious issue, it is a legal issue. Getting married provides the couple and the individual with a huge amount of legal rights and tax benefits and it is illegal to deny anyone specific rights due to their race, gender, or sexual preference. It’s 1,138 legal rights to be specific. But whatever, the church fucked itself in its own butt by getting all wrapped up in government matters. Churches are not only tax-exempt but they also receive tax money. That’s money paid by everyone, including the devious sodomites and carpet cleaners. In America, you cannot take money from a group of people without their given consent and then deny them rights, which are quite glorious, such as never having to pay property taxes if your gay lover is 100% bodily retarded due to injuries from fighting in an American war, and other stuffs. And yeah, that’s an actual benefit. Because by being gay, and whatever your personally held belief for someone being gay is doesn’t matter, you cannot deny an entire segment of the population a huge fucking list of rights because they choose to store meat in fart lockers or play hair guitars with their mouths.


And the Supreme Court is right and it is in place for a reason. Because when it comes to the majority versus a minority you cannot have 3 wolves and 1 sheep making a majority vote on what they’re going to eat for dinner; it just isn’t fair. The Supreme Court is that outside party that is able to look at the overall situation and then make a proper decision that isn’t based on emotions or religion or public beliefs that aren’t laws and whatever else.



The church is filled with scandals involving the butt fucking scenarios of underage boys, the butt fuckings of men, illegal money transactions, and random tales of racism. But this, gay marriage, that is the one thing that Christians will go to war for. Pick your fucking battles right you dinguses. You bunch of Chesters want to hate all gays, which really only translates into guys that eat man butt, because really, who hates lesbian porn, am I right? But you really think that two adults choosing to live together while enjoying the rights of all married couples is wrong. I’m not even trying to be super left wing liberal either, I’m just stating facts. If you think that this country was founded on Christian principles then, well, you’re pretty much right. But times change and they change for the better. Stop being a faggot hating faggot and learn to love and live with everyone as a whole instead. I have gay friends and I plan on being in their weddings and eating rainbow cake and being forced to suck dick suckers at gay bachelor (ette?) parties and whatever other gay shit they can think of. I’m not gay so it doesn’t really bother me, it’s all in good fun.


Oh, and after all of your religious preaching’s you worship a gay biker with a perfectly manscaped beard and conditioned flowing hair. Fucking hypocrites praying to a faggot looking Hell’s Angel while they hate on the very people that their “savior” would most likely try to get a phone number from. Spit on it and sit on it you gaylords.

A Lot of People Go to College for 15 Years

Well this has been an eventful week! Last Friday I joined the top 39% of American citizens by acquiring a college degree. Although around these parts it’s considered a “what the fuck you going to do with that?” type of degree, I still graduated college. And wowsers, I sure did like college.


While receiving my college education I was introduced to binge drinking, marijuana cigarettes, stealing, I learned how to operate an internet system, and I lost my virginity.


I vividly remember the night that Radar and Birddawg forced me to get drunk for the first time. It was a Wednesday and I had stopped by their apartment to pick up a book from Furniture class that I had let their roommate Laser borrow. As soon as I walked through the door their apartment hit my face with a stink of incense and ramen noodles. Radar and Birddawg were unable to talk because they were coughing so hard and then Laser vomited on the floor while handing me a bottle of Night Train Express citrus wine. He told me that it tasted like fruit and that everybody was drinking it.


“But I don’t even turn thirty-one until this summer”, I said.

“You either open that bottle and turn it upside-down or you can open that door and upside-outside you ditzy bitch”, said Laser.


“That doesn’t make any sense”, I said.


Then Birddawg held a spatula to my throat in a threatening manner while baby bottling the entire bottle of Night Train down my throat. Apparently I turn into a slut when I’m drunk because I woke up with full makeup on my face and somebody had written “Insert Here” across my top lip and I had a tramp stamp above my ass crack that read, “Coal Train Entrance”. Radar had to explain to me what that meant and I was not proud of it after I found out.


Oh, and to anyone in their early to mid thirties that are still looking for that special person to lose their virginity to, just pick someone and get it over with. The first time is such a let down and vaginas are really weird and a little off-putting at first glance and sniff.


The biggest thing on my mind today though is a childhood friend, Heather Erickson. I’ve known her since Kindergarten or pretty much as long as I can remember. We were never best friends or anything despite being in many classes together from ages 5 to 18, and at one time we may have been silent enemies because she could always kick my ass at basketball, but we always talked to each other and did all the things that little kids do. Once we entered “adulthood” and bumped into each other at the bar or the gym we’d always be happy to see each other and play catch-up. That’s how childhood friends are; when you no longer see one another on a regular basis, not because one of you did something to ruin the relationship, but just because you separated in the natural drift of life. And when you randomly bump into each other later in life there are no hard feelings for not staying in touch and it’s easy to start up and maintain a conversation about what you’ve missed in their life. Whenever I saw Heather at the YMCA we’d go back and forth about our vast knowledge of fitness and my mental library of supplements and the world of meat-headery, and then we’d go our separate ways.


The most significant thing that I remember about my childhood with Heather was that in my three decades of talking shit and delivering insults, she was the first person that I apologized to out of guilt. It was either Kindergarten or first grade, but I pushed her off the side of the slide that had these two fireman poles on each side. She was trying to slide down one of them and I pushed her, causing her to fall and hurt her leg. She didn’t rat me out like most of the nerdy cowards that I picked on before they grew taller than me, but I always talked to her in school and I felt bad about it, so I later told her that I was sorry. I wasn’t forced to say sorry by an adult or because I feared that I would get in trouble, I told her that I was sorry because I genuinely felt bad about hurting her. That’s rare because I have trouble saying sorry.


Heather died of cancer this morning and I have been thinking about her all day. I haven’t talked to her since last summer and I don’t even remember what the conversation was about. I knew of her fight with cancer and we had skimmed the surface of it in conversations, but nothing too deep. I’ve spent the entire day moping around my poopy basement apartment and even crying a few times, due to my thoughts of her being gone and the reminder of my own mortality and the lives of other friends. It’s an odd coincidence for this to happen right after I finally finished college and have to throw myself back out into the rat race. Life is the strangest thing, you learn how to pick your own battles but sometimes the battle picks you.


I’m sorry Heather, and I hope there are better playgrounds where you are now.

Would You Date a Feminist?

Yes. I would date a feminist because I like the idea of entering a two-way relationship with a woman that already has a victim mentality in which I am the victimizer and I owe her something just because of my very existence. Because she has experienced god awful things that could only be attributed to mine and all other men’s existence. And beauty, ugh. All women have beauty. Whether a woman is pulling poop out of her panties and rubbing it in her hair or if she is wearing a dress with makeup, she is beautiful, and any man that says otherwise is wrong. Because beauty is nothing that should be gained or maintained, women just have it regardless of anything that they do and the ideas of beauty or something being more attractive in comparison to another is a form of primitive thinking.


And for the transexuals and whatever other fantasy sex identities there are, as far as my own sexuality goes, I would like to add that I sexually identify as an Attack Helicopter. Ever since I was a boy I dreamed of soaring over the oilfields and dropping hot sticky loads on disgusting foreigners. People tell me that a human being becoming a helicopter is impossible and that I am mentally retarded but I don’t care, I am beautiful. I’m having a plastic surgeon install rotary blades, 30 mm cannons and AMG-114 Hellfire missiles onto my body. From now on I want everyone to call me “Apache” and respect my right to kill from above and kill needlessly. If you can’t accept me then you are a heliphobe and you need to check your vehicle privilege. Thank you for being so understanding.


And the reason that I said yes, I would date a feminist, it  is because I hate myself for no reason and I am on a life long odyssey to find a woman that can hate me at least half as much as I do, for all the same reasons.


(this is all just drunken rambling after reading bullshit off of Tumblr for two hours)

Losing My Religion

This is… oh geez, um, this is really difficult for me to talk about. You see, I have been shopping at Wal-Mart almost as long as I can remember. I mean, I remember when I was just a wee child and my mother or father would take me to Hinky-Dinky or Alco or even K-Mart to buy food and clothes, and I was known in the village as the kid that went completely ape shit at every store unless my parents bought me the toy that I wanted. Then when I became a man, or maybe it was when I was around ten or so, Wal-Mart came into my life and changed it forever.


Wal-Mart was just a shitty generic store that mostly sold clothes and toys when I was a kid, but I grew and became wiser, and so did Wal-Mart. Until one day I was old enough to drive a car and shave my face and Wal-Mart had grown into a very respectable Wal-Mart Supercenter. It just happened so fast. You get so wrapped up in the daily grind that you fail to see them grow. One day they don’t even have automatic doors and the next time you see them they have self-checkout and motorized carts for the ham planets to drive around the store. The Wal-Mart Supercenter grew up to be so strong that it forced Alco and the gayly named Hinky-Dinky out of town. And who the hell still shops at K-Mart?


My high school friends and I shopped at the Supercenter daily. We even managed to master the art of shoplifting from Wal-Mart before they put in the detectors at the doors and I still don’t know how the cameras didn’t see us. My favorite thing to steal was the “No Shoplifting” signs because the irony made me giggle. There were so many different ways of scamming Wal-Mart back in the day, but now if you bought a new Playstation 3 and replaced it with your broken Playstation 3, they actually check the serial number when you return it. And all of the video games are behind glass and it’s impossible to walk around eating doughnuts from the bakery without having to pay for them first. Oh listen to me, I’m just rambling on about the good old days. I was so loyal to Wal-Mart and I went there so often that I eventually just called it Church.


Times have changed now. Both the Church and I are aging and falling apart. I messed up my shoulder a few weeks ago and I’ll be damned if my left knee hasn’t been fussing with me, all while Wal-Mart stopped selling my omega-3 eggs and their prices have gone up a pinch. Well anyway, I think it was about 4, maybe 5 weeks ago that I realized just how cheap and healthy it would be to make apples the keystone of my diet. This was before I learned the hard way that eating 5 or more apples a day would lead to the most violent and unforgiving diarrhea that isn’t caused by Ebola.


So I was about a week into this apple and protein shake diet and had yet to experience the horrible hot-water shits and I was driving to Wal-Mart late at night to stock up on more apples. Just as I was about to take a right to turn into Wal-Mart, I got a wild hair in my ass and decided to take a risk in life, so I turned left and drove into the Hy-Vee parking lot instead.


The first thing that I saw when I entered Hy-Vee, or the HIV as I call it, were the largest, plumpest, and most gorgeous red braeburn apples that I have ever seen. These things were the size of dinosaur eggs and when I approached the towering pile of gargantuan apples I looked at the sign to the right and it said, “48 Cents a Pound”. I bought 12 pounds of these freakish apples for less than 6 dollars. I had to buy more egg whites and olive oil while I was there because I didn’t want to pay for less than 6 dollars worth of apples using my debit card. Even with the other shit that I bought it was less than 15 bucks. And those HIV apples, oh boy, I gotta tell you that these were the best goddamn apples that this sumbitch has ever eaten. And they’re so damn cheap that I’m having my car engine converted so it can run off of apples. You know what else? The HIV’s egg whites were of much higher quality and slightly cheaper than the Church’s watery white crap. The HIV’s egg whites look like they just came right out of the shell, with their higher viscosity and clearer complexion. And the extra virgin olive oil that I bought there, well it tastes just like Wal-Mart’s olive oil and it’s about the same price so whatever.


Anyway, I have found myself turning left into Hy-Vee whenever I need to buy groceries now. I feel like a traitor or a heretic for leaving my beautiful Wal-Mart. And I thought those leviathan apples at the HIV would go back up to some ridiculous price once they were not on sale, but they’re still just 68 cents a pound. I haven’t bought any more of them though because I am unable to cope with the apple splatters every 2 hours, but still, that’s just so damn cheap. And guess what? The HIV sells omega-3 eggs now and the Church doesn’t. I’m even purchasing my usual Wal-Mart fare like popcorn and Sriracha Sauce at the HIV now. I still buy my generic Mio water flavoring stuff at Wal-Mart though because Hy-Vee water flavoring stuff tastes like cock-snot when mixed in my vodka.


I enjoy myself thoroughly while shopping at Hy-Vee. The people there are infinitely more attractive in both the visual and olfactory senses and I have yet to meet a checkout worker that I wouldn’t want to have intercourse with and they look genuinely happy to be there. But whenever I walk out the doors of the HIV, I am forced to look at my faithful Church staring back at me from across the street. And each time I look, those blue colors on the Wal-Mart sign appear to be just a little bit bluer.

3:05AM – $8 vodka and zero calorie Tang flavor with water

I work my menial job and live what others tell me to be a purposeful life. I have enough money to stave off worry for the month, I have an apartment to call home, I have a car to drive me to required destinations, and I have the necessary clothing to gain approval from the people that are in charge of watching over me. But when I pass that homeless person on my way to the liquor store, I’m not sure if I avoid putting a quarter in his cup because I’m cheap, or because I want him to stay free.


(I like these gaylord emo entries on here when I’m too drunk to think straight. Because i still manage to type well but they’re interesting when I read them in the morning. I’m just hamming some slamdog to knock myself out.)