OK, you lazy, inconsiderate fucking pieces of shit who seem to think the world is your own personal garbage can...fuck you. It's not. I know, I know, when you're driving down the Parkway and you finish eating your greasy artery-fuck burger it's impossible to consider just putting the empty wrapper on your passenger seat until you get to a proper trash receptacle. Yeah, I know those little ashtray thingies in the console are made for change, not for cigarette butts. Plus, ash in the car is a pain. It's much better to throw a still lit cigarette onto the side of the road...I mean, it's not like there is any grass or bushes or trees that could burn as a result of your careless fucking stupidity or anything. I know, I'm being judgmental because I am one of those pretentious douchebags who takes the 8 seconds and makes the minute physical effort it takes to put a fucking empty wrapper in a trash can, what an asshole I am.
Are you really that fucking lazy and dumb? Do you just throw trash on the floor of your house because walking to the garbage can in the kitchen is too much of a hassle? It's really not that hard, you retarded shitbags. There are trash cans all over the fucking place, just keep the shit in your car until you get to one. It really is that fucking simple.
Put your fucking trash in a trash can, you stupid fuckmonkeys. It's so easy to do, even you in your obvious mentally challenged state could figure it out. I'm not saying you have to go green or become a hippie and hug porcupines or make love to badgers (100 cool points to anyone who can name the song I referenced there...well...maybe nerd points would be more appropriate, because if you know the song without Googling, you're a nerd) or anything like that, but dammit, have a little consideration for the good of the environment. Or at least the aesthetic of the environment. I know, it's a lot to expect someone of you lacking mental acuity to comprehend thinking beyond the safety of your vehicle or the ignorance of your house or the pressing issue of what off-ramp is going to have a Wendy's, but try it. It's really easy and you may even find that not being a complete fucking waste of skin is enjoyable.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Worst. Show. Ever.
I have seen a lot of bad shows. I have worked too many shows that I wished were over 3 minutes after they started. I have endured small club misery for the sake of watching friends' bands play. Hell, I sat in garages when I was a teenager and listened to friends destroy garage rock. Never have I witnessed an absolute clusterfuck of musical suck like I witnessed last night. I hope I never witness anything like it again.
Let me begin by saying that I am not a huge fan of George Clinton or P-Funk. I know a few of their songs from back in the day, and they're kinda fun. I thought the show would just be an entertaining night of silly 70's groove songs. Well, there were a lot of sounds being made on stage that could potentially have been 70's groove songs...but what was actually happening was a butchering of music that would have anyone who ever played a recorder as a child turning in their graves.
First off, P-Funk is apparently some conglomeration of a bunch of crackfucks George Clinton knows and wants to have up on stage, whether they have any talent or not. Not that they would know they were untalented, as baked as those people were, I doubt they even knew what planet they were on, much less that they were supposed to be putting on a musical show. If you've ever seen the Family Guy where Peter and Lois get high and enter the talent contest and sing that song about God doing the fattest chick you know and they thought they were awesome but in reality, they sucked ass...you can imagine what last night was like.
At one point in time, I counted 19 people on stage. 19. Unless you are a highly skilled orchestra, there is never any need for 19 people on stage. Especially when only 4 of them were playing instruments. The four who were playing instruments apparently have never spent a day practicing together, because at no point in time did they seem to be playing the same song at the same time. The other 15 people who were back-up singers (and I use the word 'singer' very loosely, what those people were doing was more akin to cats mating in a garbage can full of broken glass or something) or dancers or people there to catch George if he stroked out or whatever were a mish-mash of cracked out Halloween failure. It was like a Goodwill store from 1974 exploded all over the stage and left no survivors. Most appalling...the heavy-set black chick with the big ol' ghetto booty wearing hot pants. Oh no, big mama, your ass should never have been anywhere near that rack in the store. Perhaps you didn't see Lane Bryant across the way, but you should maybe go over there. Please.
Other ridiculous things I saw in the crowd last night included the 60 year old black chick wearing silver tights; the 300 pound chick wearing a denim top that barely covered her ample chest...and nothing else; the young chick wearing a very small, very tight tube dress...which might not have been as bad if she had any sort of ass or tits that weren't saggy A-cups; and way too many fucking douchebag guys wearing Cat in the Hat type lids and/or feather fucking boas. This isn't a drag show, dumbfuck, leave mom's feather boa at home. You just look like a moron. No, nevermind, just get up on stage with the rest of the fucking freaks and bark like a dog or make noises like a fucking seagull or whatever the fuck those "singers" were doing. You'd fit right in. Here's your crack pipe.
It was atrocious. At no point did any of the music sound at all cohesive. Never did the "singers" ever find the right tune, key, pitch or zip code of anything resembling musical talent. And the worst part is, they played until one of the managers turned on the house lights (which is the international music venue symbol for 'get the fuck out of the building you douchefucks') and turned down the volume on the stage mics at 1am. Unreal. Never have I so badly wanted a show to be over. Never have I hoped for a stage collapse or random indoor lightning strike or simultaneous crack-induced coma like I did last night. I'm not usually terribly critical of shows I work, even if I don't enjoy them, but this was the pinnacle of suck.
Oh, and my concern about George's age? Well, anyone at any age can probably stand on stage and mumble a few things into the mic and point at everybody else on stage while they destroy the reputation of what you spent the last 40 years of your life building. He didn't do much, certainly didn't sing every song, and unfortunately, didn't realize that the people he had on stage were the worst excuse for musicians to ever annoy a room full of people.
Fuck, it was awful.
Let me begin by saying that I am not a huge fan of George Clinton or P-Funk. I know a few of their songs from back in the day, and they're kinda fun. I thought the show would just be an entertaining night of silly 70's groove songs. Well, there were a lot of sounds being made on stage that could potentially have been 70's groove songs...but what was actually happening was a butchering of music that would have anyone who ever played a recorder as a child turning in their graves.
First off, P-Funk is apparently some conglomeration of a bunch of crackfucks George Clinton knows and wants to have up on stage, whether they have any talent or not. Not that they would know they were untalented, as baked as those people were, I doubt they even knew what planet they were on, much less that they were supposed to be putting on a musical show. If you've ever seen the Family Guy where Peter and Lois get high and enter the talent contest and sing that song about God doing the fattest chick you know and they thought they were awesome but in reality, they sucked ass...you can imagine what last night was like.
At one point in time, I counted 19 people on stage. 19. Unless you are a highly skilled orchestra, there is never any need for 19 people on stage. Especially when only 4 of them were playing instruments. The four who were playing instruments apparently have never spent a day practicing together, because at no point in time did they seem to be playing the same song at the same time. The other 15 people who were back-up singers (and I use the word 'singer' very loosely, what those people were doing was more akin to cats mating in a garbage can full of broken glass or something) or dancers or people there to catch George if he stroked out or whatever were a mish-mash of cracked out Halloween failure. It was like a Goodwill store from 1974 exploded all over the stage and left no survivors. Most appalling...the heavy-set black chick with the big ol' ghetto booty wearing hot pants. Oh no, big mama, your ass should never have been anywhere near that rack in the store. Perhaps you didn't see Lane Bryant across the way, but you should maybe go over there. Please.
Other ridiculous things I saw in the crowd last night included the 60 year old black chick wearing silver tights; the 300 pound chick wearing a denim top that barely covered her ample chest...and nothing else; the young chick wearing a very small, very tight tube dress...which might not have been as bad if she had any sort of ass or tits that weren't saggy A-cups; and way too many fucking douchebag guys wearing Cat in the Hat type lids and/or feather fucking boas. This isn't a drag show, dumbfuck, leave mom's feather boa at home. You just look like a moron. No, nevermind, just get up on stage with the rest of the fucking freaks and bark like a dog or make noises like a fucking seagull or whatever the fuck those "singers" were doing. You'd fit right in. Here's your crack pipe.
It was atrocious. At no point did any of the music sound at all cohesive. Never did the "singers" ever find the right tune, key, pitch or zip code of anything resembling musical talent. And the worst part is, they played until one of the managers turned on the house lights (which is the international music venue symbol for 'get the fuck out of the building you douchefucks') and turned down the volume on the stage mics at 1am. Unreal. Never have I so badly wanted a show to be over. Never have I hoped for a stage collapse or random indoor lightning strike or simultaneous crack-induced coma like I did last night. I'm not usually terribly critical of shows I work, even if I don't enjoy them, but this was the pinnacle of suck.
Oh, and my concern about George's age? Well, anyone at any age can probably stand on stage and mumble a few things into the mic and point at everybody else on stage while they destroy the reputation of what you spent the last 40 years of your life building. He didn't do much, certainly didn't sing every song, and unfortunately, didn't realize that the people he had on stage were the worst excuse for musicians to ever annoy a room full of people.
Fuck, it was awful.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Old Musicians.
Tonight I get the pleasure of working the George Clinton and Parliament Funkadelic show. Not that I'm upset, I like some of their stuff. You know, the stuff they put out 35 fucking years ago? Some of it is classic, timeless, and always fun to listen to. That's the beauty of music, once created, if done well enough, it can live on forever and inspire people for generations to come. Good music lives forever. Unfortunately, so does bad music, but I digress.
Artists do not live forever. No. They get old and then they die. It's the circle of life and shit. Sadly, many artists feel the need to continue to tour until the day they die. Not that they lose their talent, but they definitely lose the ability to do things like move around on stage or perform for more than 20 minutes without taking a break or control their bladder. For some reason, watching people who created music that has influenced and inspired and filled people's lives hobble and wheeze around the stage for a few minutes isn't that appealing to me. I worked George Thorogood recently, and while he was more mobile than David Allen Coe, it was still pretty sad to see someone trying so desperately to keep a grasp on the things that (somehow...I'll not get into my feelings about these artists here) made them famous 30-40 years ago. It's like watching that athlete who once was great flail around several different teams when they've lost 6 steps at the end of their career. Just hang it up.
I can imagine that if you build your life a certain way, giving it up would be hard. Many people have an impossible time accepting retirement after working their entire lives. Many people have a hard time accepting that they can't do at 65 what they did at 35. The human psyche is a bitch. But, it's a little different when some dude who pushed paper from a desk for 40 years has a hard time sitting on his couch watching daytime TV. That dude isn't standing up on stage in front of people who paid money to watch him fill out TPS reports, hoping he can get 6 done in a show when in reality, he can only do 2. Old musicians seem to be content to sacrifice their dignity and forfeit the chance to just let their music be their legacy for the sake of holding on to the good old days. Or to pay bills, because they've wasted their money on hookers and booze and blow.
While I can understand the difficulty in just letting it all go, I still think it's sad. People don't really want to watch old musicians spinning in circles in their Hoveround on stage. People want to listen to the beat of the drums, not the sound of a hemodialysis machine keeping kidneys alive on stage. No one wants to see their musical heroes taking shots of Metamucil in between songs. Or, no one should. But, the shows still sell, so apparently, some people do.
I'm not saying that the show tonight won't be enjoyable, hearing the music will be fun...but watching a bunch of old dudes hobble around the stage might not be. Unless one of them falls and breaks a hip, then I'll be laughing my ass off.
Shut up, people falling down is funny. You'd laugh too.
Artists do not live forever. No. They get old and then they die. It's the circle of life and shit. Sadly, many artists feel the need to continue to tour until the day they die. Not that they lose their talent, but they definitely lose the ability to do things like move around on stage or perform for more than 20 minutes without taking a break or control their bladder. For some reason, watching people who created music that has influenced and inspired and filled people's lives hobble and wheeze around the stage for a few minutes isn't that appealing to me. I worked George Thorogood recently, and while he was more mobile than David Allen Coe, it was still pretty sad to see someone trying so desperately to keep a grasp on the things that (somehow...I'll not get into my feelings about these artists here) made them famous 30-40 years ago. It's like watching that athlete who once was great flail around several different teams when they've lost 6 steps at the end of their career. Just hang it up.
I can imagine that if you build your life a certain way, giving it up would be hard. Many people have an impossible time accepting retirement after working their entire lives. Many people have a hard time accepting that they can't do at 65 what they did at 35. The human psyche is a bitch. But, it's a little different when some dude who pushed paper from a desk for 40 years has a hard time sitting on his couch watching daytime TV. That dude isn't standing up on stage in front of people who paid money to watch him fill out TPS reports, hoping he can get 6 done in a show when in reality, he can only do 2. Old musicians seem to be content to sacrifice their dignity and forfeit the chance to just let their music be their legacy for the sake of holding on to the good old days. Or to pay bills, because they've wasted their money on hookers and booze and blow.
While I can understand the difficulty in just letting it all go, I still think it's sad. People don't really want to watch old musicians spinning in circles in their Hoveround on stage. People want to listen to the beat of the drums, not the sound of a hemodialysis machine keeping kidneys alive on stage. No one wants to see their musical heroes taking shots of Metamucil in between songs. Or, no one should. But, the shows still sell, so apparently, some people do.
I'm not saying that the show tonight won't be enjoyable, hearing the music will be fun...but watching a bunch of old dudes hobble around the stage might not be. Unless one of them falls and breaks a hip, then I'll be laughing my ass off.
Shut up, people falling down is funny. You'd laugh too.
Yeah, I Know.
I suck. I know this. I have not blogged in about 10 years or so, and people are getting angry. I've been getting threatening hate e-mails letting me know that if I don't blog I will be unceremoniously mocked, which in the cyber-world is akin to getting your kneecaps badly bruised by some thug who lacks enough strength to break them. Annoying, but not debilitating.
The truth is, Bitches, you've chosen to follow the blog of a very temperamental writer. I am a scatter-brained perfectionist, which is a combination that makes life interesting for anyone around me (and borderline psychotic for myself). I create best when I'm inspired by something (most often anger at someone or something I deem completely stupid), but even then, if I am not happy with the product of my inspiration, I refuse to share it with anyone. As a result, I have about 4 drafts from times that I have started blogging about something in the last few weeks, but didn't like them enough to actually hit "Publish Post." It's certainly not that I've had any lack of the ridiculous in my life, it's just that I haven't been satisfied enough with my musings about the ridiculous to share.
I know, that's not fair to my Bitches. You should know by now that life isn't fair, so get the fu...wait...no...I shouldn't lash out at the people who have made me the blogging celebrity I am today. It's not your fault I suck. I should just shut the fuck up and rant about something so you junkies can slip back into that euphoric state of bliss where nothing else matters but the pleasure coursing through your veins as you read my creative uses of swear words and insulting adjectives. It's the least I could do, right? I mean after all, without my Bitches, I'd be nothing but a guy with a blog nobody reads. That just doesn't sound like a life I want to lead.
I apologize, Bitches, for slacking. I'll stop being such an unreliable dealer.
The truth is, Bitches, you've chosen to follow the blog of a very temperamental writer. I am a scatter-brained perfectionist, which is a combination that makes life interesting for anyone around me (and borderline psychotic for myself). I create best when I'm inspired by something (most often anger at someone or something I deem completely stupid), but even then, if I am not happy with the product of my inspiration, I refuse to share it with anyone. As a result, I have about 4 drafts from times that I have started blogging about something in the last few weeks, but didn't like them enough to actually hit "Publish Post." It's certainly not that I've had any lack of the ridiculous in my life, it's just that I haven't been satisfied enough with my musings about the ridiculous to share.
I know, that's not fair to my Bitches. You should know by now that life isn't fair, so get the fu...wait...no...I shouldn't lash out at the people who have made me the blogging celebrity I am today. It's not your fault I suck. I should just shut the fuck up and rant about something so you junkies can slip back into that euphoric state of bliss where nothing else matters but the pleasure coursing through your veins as you read my creative uses of swear words and insulting adjectives. It's the least I could do, right? I mean after all, without my Bitches, I'd be nothing but a guy with a blog nobody reads. That just doesn't sound like a life I want to lead.
I apologize, Bitches, for slacking. I'll stop being such an unreliable dealer.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Rubberneckers and Traffic Lights.
Yeah, dumbass, we all see it. It's an accident. There are a lot of flashing lights and emergency vehicles and a car that has been hit by another car and a bumper lying in the street. That sucks for those people. Their day is ruined. Please do not annoy my day, motherfucker, by slowing down to 10 mph so your nosy ass can look at busted taillights. It's on the other side of the road, there is no need for you to impede everyone who is traveling on this side of the road because you need to witness someone else's bad day. Just keep fucking driving, preferably somewhere near the posted speed limit. The traffic engineering in this city is bad enough, we don't need your stupid ass further clogging the roadways because you hope to see some blood. But, you won't see blood because it's a fucking fender-bender, you moron. Drive.
Expounding on the traffic engineering issue, here's an open comment to the city of Asheville and Buncombe County: Your traffic engineering skills suck balls. You fuckers are the Detroit Lions of traffic engineering. Except instead of drafting Wide Receivers with every pick of the draft for the past 10 years, you've "solved" every potential traffic problem by putting up another fucking traffic light. Here's a news flash, dumbasses: putting up more traffic lights doesn't fix traffic congestion. Especially if you make no effort whatsoever to synchronize any of the lights. Having a fucking traffic light every 200 yards, none of which are in any way synchronized to each other makes the problem worse. It seems like a simple enough concept for this undereducated bastard to comprehend, how is it that you geniuses who somehow have earned the title of...whatever the fuck they call you retards...can't figure it out?
I understand that you are fighting some unfortunate realities of this being a mountainous area, and I also know that the lack of zoning regulations in this county makes life tough (yeah, no zoning laws, fucking brilliant, right? It's normal to have a bank next to an industrial concrete plant next to a house next to a school, isn't it?). Someone throws up a business in some random spot and then complains that their customers can't make a left turn into their poorly placed establishment, so what are you to do? My idea? Tell them to regret choosing such a stupid fucking place to put a business and accept their fate. Clearly, my idea and your ideas are different. Your solution seems to be "just put up another light." Dumbfucks. The idea could potentially work, if you were to use a technique many other cities mastered about 50 years ago called synchronization.
It's pretty simple, you put all of the lights on staggered timers so that traffic can be allowed to flow at a fairly consistent pace throughout the entire maze of lights. Wow. That's it. It's so fucking simple that I can't even come up with any way to further mock your inability to figure it out. Yeah, you're so dumb that I can't even insult you. Congratulations. In that way, you are nothing like the Lions, because one can never stop making fun of them.
I suppose I could clean up the language in this and maybe actually send it to someone who could make a difference, but like most Americans, I'd rather just bitch about something I don't like. Making a difference and trying to bring about change is a lot of work, and quite honestly, I hate work. Apparently, so do the fucksticks who work in the traffic engineering department.
Expounding on the traffic engineering issue, here's an open comment to the city of Asheville and Buncombe County: Your traffic engineering skills suck balls. You fuckers are the Detroit Lions of traffic engineering. Except instead of drafting Wide Receivers with every pick of the draft for the past 10 years, you've "solved" every potential traffic problem by putting up another fucking traffic light. Here's a news flash, dumbasses: putting up more traffic lights doesn't fix traffic congestion. Especially if you make no effort whatsoever to synchronize any of the lights. Having a fucking traffic light every 200 yards, none of which are in any way synchronized to each other makes the problem worse. It seems like a simple enough concept for this undereducated bastard to comprehend, how is it that you geniuses who somehow have earned the title of...whatever the fuck they call you retards...can't figure it out?
I understand that you are fighting some unfortunate realities of this being a mountainous area, and I also know that the lack of zoning regulations in this county makes life tough (yeah, no zoning laws, fucking brilliant, right? It's normal to have a bank next to an industrial concrete plant next to a house next to a school, isn't it?). Someone throws up a business in some random spot and then complains that their customers can't make a left turn into their poorly placed establishment, so what are you to do? My idea? Tell them to regret choosing such a stupid fucking place to put a business and accept their fate. Clearly, my idea and your ideas are different. Your solution seems to be "just put up another light." Dumbfucks. The idea could potentially work, if you were to use a technique many other cities mastered about 50 years ago called synchronization.
It's pretty simple, you put all of the lights on staggered timers so that traffic can be allowed to flow at a fairly consistent pace throughout the entire maze of lights. Wow. That's it. It's so fucking simple that I can't even come up with any way to further mock your inability to figure it out. Yeah, you're so dumb that I can't even insult you. Congratulations. In that way, you are nothing like the Lions, because one can never stop making fun of them.
I suppose I could clean up the language in this and maybe actually send it to someone who could make a difference, but like most Americans, I'd rather just bitch about something I don't like. Making a difference and trying to bring about change is a lot of work, and quite honestly, I hate work. Apparently, so do the fucksticks who work in the traffic engineering department.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
No, You Can't.
Happy April Fool's Day, Bitches. I was going to come up with some sort of elaborate post hoax to lay down on everybody, but nothing good came to mind in the 30 seconds I devoted to the idea before I poured a bowl of cereal this morning, so I scrapped the whole plan. I'm lazy like that. It's better this way; far less brainpower needed on my part, far less "What the fuck is this dumbass talking about now?" on your part. Go ahead, thank me.
Hey, douchebag who is 20 pounds overweight and considers carrying a case of soda a workout...no, you can't get rock hard abs in 30 minutes or 10 minutes or 45 seconds with the help of the electro-shock testicle slings invented by a guy who once fought Chuck Norris in a movie or whatever the latest stupid fucking claim made by people getting rich off of the lazy are making today. That guy in the paid advertisement inside Men's Health or Men's Journal or GQ or Maxim or whatever magazine you read while you're getting your hair cut...he's a fitness model. His entire job is to make his body look like that. And, the airbrush artist helps him out a little. That guy spends hours a day in the gym and eats a strict diet that does not include that 64 ounce Coke and the bag of Doritos. He didn't get those abs with any 8 minute program. That actor on the screen with perfectly toned abs that your girlfriend wants to tickle with her vagina...he has also spent hours a day in a gym with a personal trainer and has a personal chef cooking meals for him that aid in the formation of those panty-moistening abs. He did not get those abs with any silly anti-gravitational abgasm 5000 space chair thingy. He worked his ass off. If you want those abs, you're going to have to as well. Stop buying into all of the stupid shit those people are telling you and just do the work, mainly so I don't have to be inundated with 4,000 pics of too-tanned dudes with their shirts of every time I open anything remotely health related.
Hey, yo fat girl. Yeah I called you fat, look at me, I'm skinny...er...where was I going before I got distracted by the sounds laid down by the Underground? Oh yeah...fat girl, no you can't lose 50 pounds by taking that pill. Unless that pill is meth, it's not going to magically reduce your weight while you go on eating the same 5,000 calorie diet. If it is meth, have fun being skinny, the attention you get from having sores all over your yellow skin, no teeth, and stringy hair that may or may not fall out in clumps if the wind blows is far better than being called fat. No, those magic diet pills that have no medicinal qualities whatsoever aren't going to make you thin, no matter how herbal the name sounds or how many washed up Jazzercise instructors endorse them. Those supermodels...well...forget the supermodels, their secrets are eating disorders, and Bulimia is probably worse for you than some stupid pill. Those chicks on the aerobics video you picked up at Barnes and Noble who don't make spandex seem like the worst invention in the history of mankind...they work their asses off to stay fit. They aren't taking the latest green tea supplement proven effective in a "clinical trial" that was conducted in some guy's basement in New Jersey. Those ladies put in a lot of effort, a lot of time, and pay a lot of attention to their diets. They don't just expect some magical cure for laziness. You shouldn't either.
Like it or not, being "in shape" takes a lot of work, a lot of time, and attention to what you shovel in your mouth. Magic tricks don't work. Stop trying them. Stop giving these fuckers your money. Seriously. I'm tired of all of the stupid fucking ads and commercials and infomercials. I don't want to see John Basedow's stupid fucking haircut and freakish physique anymore; I don't want to see that old fucker hanging upside down in that stupid fucking contraption he has; and I don't want to see Tony Little's ridiculous fucking spiral permed mullet flying around while he yells at people on that stupid fucking Gazelle thing. The Ab Circle commercial could probably stay, because watching chicks on that thing is kinda hot...wait...I mean, no, that has to go too. The only thing you lazy bastards are accomplishing is fattening the wallets of these douchebags who are all too happy to let you. Stop chasing the solution from the comfort of your recliner, get up and do something.
Yes, I am just mad because I am not making loads of dollars off of lazy people. As soon as I can figure out a way to mass-market the idea that reading my blog will make you have rock hard abs...my tune will change. Is that wrong?
(The answer is "no.")
Hey, douchebag who is 20 pounds overweight and considers carrying a case of soda a workout...no, you can't get rock hard abs in 30 minutes or 10 minutes or 45 seconds with the help of the electro-shock testicle slings invented by a guy who once fought Chuck Norris in a movie or whatever the latest stupid fucking claim made by people getting rich off of the lazy are making today. That guy in the paid advertisement inside Men's Health or Men's Journal or GQ or Maxim or whatever magazine you read while you're getting your hair cut...he's a fitness model. His entire job is to make his body look like that. And, the airbrush artist helps him out a little. That guy spends hours a day in the gym and eats a strict diet that does not include that 64 ounce Coke and the bag of Doritos. He didn't get those abs with any 8 minute program. That actor on the screen with perfectly toned abs that your girlfriend wants to tickle with her vagina...he has also spent hours a day in a gym with a personal trainer and has a personal chef cooking meals for him that aid in the formation of those panty-moistening abs. He did not get those abs with any silly anti-gravitational abgasm 5000 space chair thingy. He worked his ass off. If you want those abs, you're going to have to as well. Stop buying into all of the stupid shit those people are telling you and just do the work, mainly so I don't have to be inundated with 4,000 pics of too-tanned dudes with their shirts of every time I open anything remotely health related.
Hey, yo fat girl. Yeah I called you fat, look at me, I'm skinny...er...where was I going before I got distracted by the sounds laid down by the Underground? Oh yeah...fat girl, no you can't lose 50 pounds by taking that pill. Unless that pill is meth, it's not going to magically reduce your weight while you go on eating the same 5,000 calorie diet. If it is meth, have fun being skinny, the attention you get from having sores all over your yellow skin, no teeth, and stringy hair that may or may not fall out in clumps if the wind blows is far better than being called fat. No, those magic diet pills that have no medicinal qualities whatsoever aren't going to make you thin, no matter how herbal the name sounds or how many washed up Jazzercise instructors endorse them. Those supermodels...well...forget the supermodels, their secrets are eating disorders, and Bulimia is probably worse for you than some stupid pill. Those chicks on the aerobics video you picked up at Barnes and Noble who don't make spandex seem like the worst invention in the history of mankind...they work their asses off to stay fit. They aren't taking the latest green tea supplement proven effective in a "clinical trial" that was conducted in some guy's basement in New Jersey. Those ladies put in a lot of effort, a lot of time, and pay a lot of attention to their diets. They don't just expect some magical cure for laziness. You shouldn't either.
Like it or not, being "in shape" takes a lot of work, a lot of time, and attention to what you shovel in your mouth. Magic tricks don't work. Stop trying them. Stop giving these fuckers your money. Seriously. I'm tired of all of the stupid fucking ads and commercials and infomercials. I don't want to see John Basedow's stupid fucking haircut and freakish physique anymore; I don't want to see that old fucker hanging upside down in that stupid fucking contraption he has; and I don't want to see Tony Little's ridiculous fucking spiral permed mullet flying around while he yells at people on that stupid fucking Gazelle thing. The Ab Circle commercial could probably stay, because watching chicks on that thing is kinda hot...wait...I mean, no, that has to go too. The only thing you lazy bastards are accomplishing is fattening the wallets of these douchebags who are all too happy to let you. Stop chasing the solution from the comfort of your recliner, get up and do something.
Yes, I am just mad because I am not making loads of dollars off of lazy people. As soon as I can figure out a way to mass-market the idea that reading my blog will make you have rock hard abs...my tune will change. Is that wrong?
(The answer is "no.")
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