Introducing Vlad the Destroyer…

Posted on September 22, 2011 by bayoubabylon

Whoa. What a menacing name, right? I know you can just feel your knees a-quakin’ just thinking about what exactly is an Vlad the Destroyer. Tremble with fear, peasant, for you are about to make the acquaintance of one of the most feared, most loathsome, most despised, and most irredeemably wicked of fitness torture devices ever thought up by the fitness gods or devils.

But first….

NEW FITNESS TOWELS!!!!

hospitablizing your fitness

I am a member of an elite club. A club that only the finest members of society are accepted into. A club that is so exclusive, that even most people I know are not members. What high society organization is this, you may ask? It is called Amazon Prime, and I probably should not even utter its name here in a public forum, for fear that the Elders may come and whisk me away to be flailed with hot possum tails.

Amazon Prime allows its members, much like the Freemasons, certain advantages. The main one is exclusive deals on hot products like Martex Hospitality Hand Towels. Besides a sweet deal, the esteemed members of Amazon Prime also receive FREE 2-day shipping. It is truly a miracle.

See, the JFZ, while I do enjoy it more often than not, does not provide its members with towels for personal use, like drying off the taint region. The JFZ is not an ancient secret society like Amazon Prime, and it apparently cannot afford luxuries like this to just pass around willy-nilly as though they were jujyfruits.

Unlike a lot of guys, I genuinely love a new towel. The feel (soft, but still just the tiniest bit abrasive), the smell (the new towel smell is almost as recognizable as the new car smell. and it’s definitely easier to acquire), and the overall cleanliness just make me want to get that new towel and put it over my head and pretend that I am Lawrence of Arabia… or at least Clark Griswold in the desert scene of Vacation! where he has his pants on his head. When I was a kid, I’d take towels and put them in my bed to sleep with and wallow about on.

As I got older, the lure of fresh terry cloth waned, but I still like it. The tactile sensations that I thought were so amazing as a kid have been replaced with things like booties, beer, and…. some other B word… …. ummmm….. garbanzo beans.

Still, I like to have a nice little towel to take to the gym to use ot wipe off my sweaty brow and neck, and to wipe down the whirly bird. And it must be a little towel also. You never see someone come (ghost)busting up in the gym with their big Harley Davidson beach towel. Why? Easy. A large towel is a hazard. The large towel must be stored somewhere whilst fitnessing, otherwise you’d hafta have it draped all over the whirly B like some sort of…. drapes or something. Then you might trip on it and hurt yourself and be forced to sue the JFZ outta business. Then where would we be? At the Y or some other beefcake gym, that’s where. A place where us wildebeests would truly be impotent against our enemies.

These towels came in the mail because I used my Amazon Prime membership privileges. At first, while browsing Amazon, I typed in “fitness towels”. Right after the complimentary beejer that comes with Prime membership, it displayed a list of overpriced towels with pictures of Hardbodies on their labels. These types of specialized equipment are targeted at dumbass stay-at-home moms who feel like, since it says “fitness towel” on the label and has a Hardbody on it, that it will somehow help them to lose more weight and look better than us shmoes who must “make do” with just the standard white Martex Brand Hospitality Hand Towels. It’s like the people who useta think a pair of Air Jordans or Pumps would magically make them able to dunky a basketball into the hoop-a-doop.

The specialized fitness towels were priced the same for one that I paid for about ten of my new favorite towels (sorry, Typhoon Lagoon towel). Plus, it’s ALWAYS fun to get a package in the mail. Gifts from myself, to myself. I love myself.

Ok, so…. drumroll please…

It is my pleasure to introduce my personal trainer and Grand Inquisitor….

Vlad the Destroyer!!!!!!!

(I wanted to put an audio file right here for you to play as you were reading this, but I can’t seem to upload music from my computer. I think you hafta pay extra for that. Anyway, crank your speakers up, click the link below, let it open in a new window so you can listen to it while I describe Vlad the Inimitable)

VLAD’S ENTRANCE MUSIC

VLAD, DESTROYER OF SOULS AND MUSCLES

Yes, Vlad is a kettlebell. But not just any kettlebell!!! Vlad is an official RKC kettlebell, and that means that he was born of fire and iron and sweat and blood and the lamentations of the women. I’ll get into how, exactly, Vlad does his dirty work of whooping your flabby, pale, xbox live ass into hard sinewy death at a later date. I really just wanted to introduce him and tell you a little about his history and how he came to reside in my home and in the hole that he left when he decimated my mortal soul.

Vlad came to me all the way from Russia (I am going to resist a Yakov Smirnoff joke here. send me a piece of gum in the mail if you appreciate that) in a heavy-duty box mailed to me by Odin from the Halls of Valhalla. Or at least that’s what I thought at first. In fact, Vlad came to me via a wealthy philanthropist friend of mine who was more than a tad interested in seeing me get into rock-hard shape. He was packaged with various materials meant to instruct my mind on how to fitness properly with him and not tear myself in half in the process or chuck Vlad through the teevee.

I pulled him out of the box and closely examined his strong, masculine features. My first thought was, “Holy shit, a cannonball with a handle.” Which is pretty much what kettlebells are. My second thought was that this was not something made for metrosexual fitness guys. This was something that was intended for use by Viking warriors, Popeye the Sailor Man, and those Russian guys with handlebar moustaches who are all upperbody and look like an upside-down triangle (on the flipside of that, I currently resemble a mushy upside down apple). Like guys who look like this:

Comrade, your weakness sickens me.

Since Vlad was so obviously a commie russkie bastard, I figured I should name him something vaguely-Russian sounding, especially since we were about to be such close pals and all. If not Russian, at least Eastern European. I quickly scanned my room and saw this guy hanging on the wall.

Vlad the Impaler

Surely a distant cousin, right? Even though Vlad the Impaler was from Romania, he had one thing in common with his future descendant… they both enjoy torturing their victims to death. Where as Dracula may have impaled his victims to death, Vlad the Destroyer tears their muscles to shreds inside their bodies. In Capitalist America, kettlebell throws you. (sorry, couldn’t help that one. feel free to cancel the gum.)

Here’s a family portrait:

the two Vlads, together again for the first time

Somehow their enemy, Punkin Puss, slipped up behind them and photobombed the dogshit out of them. Big Bobber, the floating cooler, just happened to be walking by and looked up at just the right moment, but Punkin Puss did it on purpose. Shame on you, Punkin Puss, you should know better. For that, you will have your guts removed and your shell carved into a grotesque face.

Do people even still collect these McFarlane toys? I never really got into them too much (though I do have this entire line. 6 Faces of Madness or something like that. Real-life killer-dillers like Vlad and Jack da Ripper). I think these things useta be a really big deal amongst Dragon*Con types, but it seems they have fallen from grace or something.

Tomorrow we will put Vlad to work. Or rather, Vlad and his mystery partner-in-crime will rip us a new one.

Posted in About Fitness, General dorky shit | 2 Comments

Grandpa Jones collection

Posted on September 22, 2011 by bayoubabylon

Earlier today (technically yesterday, but since I haven’t gone to bed yet, it’s not today tomorrow until daylight) I mentioned an upcoming “about media” post, even though, at the time, I couldn’t make up my mind about what to post about. Well, while sitting here in the late night special magic gloaming, I am browsing the tubes of you.

Not particularly looking for anything in particular, I decided to check out my “recommended” videos.

This is where I discovered that a new Grandpa Jones Live video had been posted.

Why would I care? Only because Grandpa Jones is one of the most badass mothertruckers to ever plonk the ol’ banjo.

I know most of you geeks out there reading this, who may have stumbled on this site because of some random Dragon*Con-related mess, are thinking, “Banjo? Grandpa Jones? What?”

Just because you love techno or Lady Doodoo or whatever it is the typical D*C attendee likes (I’m assuming some sort of industrial gothic whatsit is in there somewhere too), does not mean that you have terrible taste… but it doesn’t help.

Here is the new Grandpa Jones video I discovered yesterday, followed by some more Grandpa Jones madcap antics and jaunty tunes.

This first video features Grandpa before he was too terribly old. Early in Grandpa’s career, he was not an old man. He was on a radio show (this is pre-tv) every morning and since he had to be there very early for the show, he was a grumpy sumbitch. His fellow castmembers started calling him Grandpa because of this ornery demeanor. It stuck and Grandpa Jones was born, even if it meant wearing makeup and fake glasses to appear old. This clip features him and his wife doing a number together, entitled, “I Wonder Where My Darlin’ Is Tonight”. Creaky Willowtree Funk Monster, take note.

Wasn’t that wonderful, friend? Now, sit down with yer percolator and brew some coffee and watch Grandpa tear up the peapatch with this next tune, called “Are You from Dixie?” this tune will be recognizable to many of you as it has been used in a lot of movies and tv shows (different versions of course). This is from the tv show called Hee-Haw, which may be one of the greatest television programmes to ever exist, the likes of which will never be seen again.

Here’s another one from Hee-Haw. This time Grandpa flails out his undying love for his most favorite instrument in the world… the banjer. I recently performed this tune live in a pub in a tiny village in Ireland. Needless to say, I think the locals were a bit taken aback. Great tune and fun to play.

Grandpa and his wife Ramona performing “When It’s Time for the Whippoorwills to Sing”. Try not to cry. At this point in his life, Grandpa was clearly genuinely a Grandpa and genuinely old.

Apparently at some point, Grandpa hosted his own television show filled with live music (mostly performed by him) and his own brand of folksy wisdom. This is my favorite video from that show that I’ve found. He’s doing a yodel. The backing band consists of his sons, who played with him on this show and at various other times in his life. I would also highly recommend  THIS VIDEO of him performing the standard “Falling Leaves” and playing guitar, instead of banjo. Also, THIS VIDEO of him and Ramona playing “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean” on cowbells.

In this video, just look at that bastard. I mean, just LOOK. That is one man who truly loves what he is doing and is having the time of his life. A consummate performer.

Tritzem Yodel

(while reviewing this post, I realized that this video won’t play anywhere but on youtube because some mean-spirited rascal never learned to share. anyway, you can follow this link to it over there, it’s well worth it. Plus, as a bonus, you get to leave here!)

There are lots of other Grandpa Jones videos on youtube, but I’m sure if you look for them, they’re not hard to find. That said, I will leave you with this last one, which is my personal favorite. It’s a clip from Hee-Haw featuring (left to right): Stringbean, Grandpa Jones, Roni Stoneman, Roy Clark, and Bobby Thompson.

Stringbean and Grandpa were best friends, having both been proteges of the late Uncle Dave Macon. They lived next door to each other for many years and loved to play music together and go fishing. One night Grandpa came home and discovered a horrific scene of Stringbean and his wife having been murdered and their home ransacked. String was notorious for not trusting banks and, therefore, supposedly had a lot of cash hid in his home. Cheers to you, String and Grandpa Jones, hope yall are catching the big-uns up there in that big cripple creek in the sky.

Roni Stoneman was a member of the incredibly famous and influential Stoneman family, who were intricately involved in country music for many, many years. Get down with that women’s lib.

Stop That Ticklin’ Me.

I don’t know why I like Grandpa Jones so much. I think one reason is because he is just such a great performer. Being taught by Uncle Dave, he had the chops to be a one-man show, like many of the early vaudeville performers. He’s a throwback to a time when a fella like String or Uncle Dave would come out onto a tiny lamp-lit stage and have to carry the show for a few minutes by themselves. He also just seems so pure and good. There’s something to be said for that. I mean, I love dirty shit just as much as the next guy (90’s booty music? give it to me. Black metal from the depths of hell? sure. I love it.), but the opposite end of the spectrum is, many times, just as effective, if not moreso. Everybody these days wants to prove that they are the baddest mofo around, but it takes a great man like Grandpa to just come up and show that purity, goodness, and a simple philosophy on life can be just as moving, and just as much fun, as tearing down the past just to build yourself up and prove how much of a badass you are. But make no mistake, it was this that made Grandpa one of the baddest badasses to ever bad the bad.

I realize that most people who would be reading this blog have no interest in Grandpa Jones, but like I said in an earlier post, it’s our differences that make us kind of geeks in the first place. The fact that we “geek out!” over esoteric shit that no one seems to give a crap about… like random Grandpa Jones videos on youtube.

For the record also, I didn’t upload any of these vids. Thanks go out to whoever did.

Posted in About Media | Leave a comment

Revenge!

Posted on September 21, 2011 by bayoubabylon

344 Days until Dragon*Con 2012…

And that is 344 days that I have to get fit and be able to fit into a great costume. 344… le sigh…. le pant… le oof.

Today this blog realized its destiny. Meaning, I would not have gone to the JFZ if I didn’t feel an obligation to post on this site about what I did for exercise today.

I know it is still early in the game, but this morning felt like extra innings. I like to think that everyone who goes to the gym has to struggle and fight against the will to sleep in, but I really have no clue if that is the case or not. Consequently, when I got to the gym, my legs and body protested crawling my fat ass up onto that whirly bird, and really went bananas when I started whirlying around on the pedals. I picture my legs clamoring like the BAD Mogwai in Gremlins when they wanted Billy to feed them after midnight. (I contemplated linking to a video here, but I’m operating under the assumption that, if you are reading this blog, you not only have seen the film masterpiece Gremlins, but that you know exactly what I’m talking about. Besides, if I linked up every single vague reference I made, it would just not be fun for the people who pick up on them. Not that the Gremlins reference was vague by any means. Quite the contrary, as I simply said it out loud. Or rather, typed it out quietly. Ahem. moving on…)

In other words, chalk one up for the whirly bird. You can’t win them all, but I prefer to win most of the time, and after the asskickin’ the whirly bird took yesterday, I should have expected at least a little retaliation. I made it 30 mins before the gremlins in my legs won the battle (I did, however come home and play around with my dumbbells a little).

I can just see all my friends placing bets, both mental and monetary, on whether I will last the next 344 days, or whether this is just another fad. Of course, like Criswell says, “We are all interested in the future, for that is where we will all spend the rest of our lives.” There is no way of knowing, right now, if 344 days from now I’ll still be doing this blog, still be exercising regularly, still eating as well as I can. There will, of course, be speed humps. For instance, sometime between October 1st and the 15th there will be a reckoning with some buffalo wings.

A couple weeks ago, I went through the Zaxby’s drive-thru and got a lot of buffalo wings. 30, to be exact. When I got my food, attached was a coupon that said, “Bring this coupon and your receipt back to Zaxby’s between October 1st and the 15th and receive this exact same order FREE.”

There is no way I am turning down free buff’lo wangs. No way. I don’t care.

So that is a loss that is in the mail, for sure. Of course, there are other hurdles to clear between here and there, as well. Vacations (always, to me, not just a speed hump, but a full-blown road block with breathalizers and blinky lights and shit), Christmas (what is Christmas without tasty holiday treats?), Halloween (candy candy candy), and Mardi Gras (copious amounts of beer consumption), just to name a few. These are hurdles that I must clear on my path to D*C 2012. Clear, and keep going. It will be tuff, I have no doubt of that, but unlike the past when I’ve thrown in the towel after a week of Mardi Gras or vacation, I must get back on the whirly bird and continue.

I know some of you may say, “the easiest way is just to stay on the horse the whole way.” And you may be right, for you. But I can go ahead and assure you that, when Mardi Gras comes around, I will enjoy it as much as I can. And when Christmas comes around, sure, I’ll have a tree-shaped cookie… but one! Moderation in all things and whatnot.

le Sigh. I am babbling and have no clue what I’m talking about.

I’m just going to go ahead and wrap this one up by saying that tomorrow I’ll sleep until noon, but then I plan on hitting the free weights, kettlebell, and pushsitups. I also will be having lunch with my sister. Eating out is always a challenge when trying to lose weight, so we’ll see how that goes.

I’m now off to the museum, but I may be back later with an “About Media” post which, hopefully, will be a bit more fun to read.

 

Posted in About Fitness, About Me | Leave a comment

Movin’ on up!

Posted on September 20, 2011 by bayoubabylon

To the front of the cardio room! Why?

I have noticed a weird trend at the JFZ. I almost wrote that it was a disturbing trend, but I think that it is really more weird than disturbing. Disturbing would be more like if people who went to the JFZ went home and murdered their families and burned their house down. And I don’t think people who go to the JFZ are doing that, at least not yet, because my COC is there every day.

But before we go any further, allow me to draw you a map of the upper level of this double decker JFZ…

click on this shizz to make it real.

Map of the Upper Level of Hell

Ok, as you can see, when you come up the stairs from the lower levels, everyone who is making it happen on the various devices can see you. You’re right in the middle. Toward the front of the room is a line of mirrors on the wall, so you can examine exactly how fitness you are getting with all your hard work. Above the mirrors is a line of televisions. The televisions are magically connected to a little deal on your torture device that you can plug your headcans into and hear what is going on on the mike teevee. I always bring my personal aural apparatus because what is on those tv’s is usually suck.

As you come up the stairs, to your left and right are the men’s and ladies’ locker rooms (not pictured. also not pictured here is a large “20 minute workout” area to your left as you come up the stairs). I can’t imagine having to clean these locker rooms. It always smells like the Rock is cooking up something that is somewhere between a possum’s asshole and like someone lit a 30-year-old jockstrap on fire. I know it’s a fairly clean joint, I see JFZ employees cleaning up in there every day, but it just must be impossible to get that odor out. Doesn’t really matter to me, as I’m not one of these people who shower at the gym, so I spend as little time as possible in there.

Anyway, I apologize for the drawings, but you get the idea of where everything is. In the front are what appear to be exercise bicycles, except you sit down on them. I assume they are hard to operate because I only ever see Hardbodies on them.

Behind the sit-down bikes is a row of mechanisms whose purpose eludes me. I assume they are to fitness with, but I don’t know because I’ve never seen anyone hopping around on them. They look like some type of whirly bird hybrid. My guess is that they must be the most hardcore shit in the gym, because no one ever even comes close to them. Either that, or like me, no one knows how they work.

Behind these mysterious mysteries are the treadmills. Walk and/or run in place. I never use these because we have a treadmill at home that I never use either. Using the treadmill is just no fun. The only people I see on the treadmill are either the really fat people who can only walk a little bit before they are winded like the willows, or the really fitfordragoncon people who come in and run on them for eternal amounts of time. Both of which I find inspiring.

Behind the treadmills are the whirly birds, or ellipticals. My personal favorite. I realize that my drawing makes them look like a row of vomiting insects, but just think of them as “symbols” for the whirly birds that exist in that space.

Behind the birds are windows looking out to a lovely view of the parking lot.

And the whole damn thing is colored in this atrocious purply-grey color. The color you got on your leg that time you ran into the coffee table while you were wasted. I hate frackin purple. I use this to my advantage by turning my hatred for purple into energy for destroying my will to live as a fatass.

Now, on to the trend that this entire post was about…

Even in the JFZ, as J-free as it is, what with old folks and tubbies gyrating about on the machines, a fatty such as myself does not feel comfortable. It is just not our natural habitat. If we were allowed to roam free, we’d be most comfortable on a couch somewhere, or in front of a computer. So the tubby species (Fatticus Tubbilaticus Homunculus) just feels out of place and in danger from all the lions roaming about the grasslands of your local gym. But we are not the gazelles. Oh no, we are not. The gazelles, when faced with an approaching lion (or baseball team redneck, whichever you prefer) at least can leap away and run like the wind. We fatties are the wildebeests of the gym ecosystem. When a lion comes, if they are hungry for an easy meal (or an easy fight because that girl at the bar didn’t go home with them last night), we’re just fucked.

That said, I want to point out that there is something to be said for a wildebeest that will willfully venture into lion territory.

The wildebeest slowly comes up the stairs, warily eyeballing the machines available for its use. It thinks, “No, not those fancy sit-down bikes. Those are in the front and everyone will be staring at my fattitude.” Then it thinks, “What the hell are those things? I’m not gonna go near them because they look intimidating and if I get on it and can’t operate it, I’ll look stupid. Stupid and fat! Now there’s a great combination!”

“Ahhhh, the treadmills! Tried and true! Now there’s something a wildebeest can get behind!”

But the wildebeest, having made its decision to get in shape by simulating travel, will not get on the treadmill directly in the center, next to the stairs. The wildebeest, self-esteem decimated by sidelong stares from the lions, will meekly tread to the right or left and go the the farthest treadmill it can find. Out to the outer reaches of lion territory, so as not to be noticed or be in the way of the lions as they go about their mating rituals.

Well, guess what. fuck that.

Today I came up the stairs, fat and proud, and got into the Whirly Bird that was front and center of the pack! I put in my earbuds, pushed a few buttons, and away I went on a 40-minute odyssey to fitness nirvana.

Screw you, lions!!! I dare you to challenge my wildebeest-y wrath!!!

Granted, I didn’t do the sit-down bikes, which are the very front row, or the Mystery Machines, which make lions skittish and wildebeests go into full-blown apeshit panic. But I did get out there and show that whirly bird who was boss in front of all the other whirly bird users.

One day us wildebeests will trample over you lions! We are many and our sheer numbers will overwhelm you into the purple carpet of the JFZ!

At least, once we get off the couch, or leave Azeroth.

Posted in About Fitness, About Me | 1 Comment

I’m a Techno-Wizard, there’s got to be a twist…

Posted on September 19, 2011 by bayoubabylon

The twist is that I am not a techno-wizard. I do not have such a limber wrist.

I do, however, have a facebook page which, to me, is the technological equivalent of giving a caveman a slide rule (watch it fizz!). I do realize the irony that I have made a blog to help geeks get into shape, but yet I have almost no clue as to how to operate a computer, other than the basics (checking email, playing games, message boards, porn). I did have a “myspace” for awhile, which I still contend was more user-friendly and wasn’t geared so much to letting everyone in the world know exactly what you are doing at every minute of every goddam day. Much less the way that facebook is so clearly geared toward making every one of us some sort of target market (and if you geeks out there think that we’re not a target market, you’ve been in a coma for the past 10 years).

The main thing that pisses me off about facebook is that they TRICKED me into setting up a personal page in order to set up a page for this blog. One minute I’m filling out information about this site and the next minute it’s asking me my email address. When I put in my email address, it automatically added a bunch of friends and set up a personal page… without even asking! Facebook, I just thought you were the devil before… now I know.

I said all that just to say that I don’t know how long the facebook thing is going to last. I useta just hate facebook on principle alone; now I hate it because it is a treacherous sea witch.

I also have a tweeter, which is the dumbest shit ever. I’ve had it for about 2 days now, and I have yet to see an actual person on there twittering it up. I am quite convinced that tweeter is full of nothing but people trying to promote whatever it is they are selling. (Like me, except fitness is free. Comics and video games and dbd’s and JFZ memberships are not.) It’s like a Taco Bell commercial trying to communicate with a car dealership commercial: neither one is interested in what the other is selling, but by god they are gonna keep getting louder and talking more until the other one buys it, whether they want to or not. I useta think tweeter was full of actual people, typical self-absorbed teenage girls mostly, who just thought that whatever they were doing was just so damn great that the entire world needed to know that they just bought a new Michael Jackson hat at Justice (Justice is a store that I just became aware of Saturday night. It’s basically Wal-Mart for tweens, and if you just sit and ponder that thought for a minute you will get a shiver of fright at how horrible it must be to be in that place.). Now I realize that tweeter is nothing but a bunch of talking heads with no one there to listen. And porn spam.

Now. To get down to the business of losing weight…

I’ve already been to the JFZ today. I got up at about 5:10am and got ready and drove on over there. I am convinced that if I don’t get to the JFZ before noon, that I will not be allowed inside the doors. Afternoon workouts are for teenagers and the real athletes. Everytime I’ve ever tried to go in the JFZ after noon, there are tons of teenage dudes with little shiteater moustaches who look like they are probably on their school’s baseball team. Those guys and a bunch of leathernecks who just got offa work at the mill. And they all look at me like they wanna kick my ass. I have no doubt that the moustache guys probly would, since I have it established in my brain that all little sawed-off guys like that are constantly hopped up on the goofballs.

"BASEBALL BASEBALL KILL BASEBALL GOOFBALLS BASEBALL, etc."

The leatherneck guys are just focusing on not having a stroke.

Slowly but surely, I am developing my COC. COC stands for “Cast of Characters”. You know you have them at your gym. That one guy that is there every time you go to the gym, who looks like there may be some rodent in his DNA somewhere. Or that woman who always comes in smelling like cat litter. You know what I’m talking about. I am sure that if I keep going at the same time every day, I will eventually start to recognize every person in there… and of course have my own nicknames and backstories for them all.

Today the Whirly Bird told me that I had a great workout. If the Whirly Bird says it, it must be true! I tortured that bastard for a solid 30 minutes. And I mean I got after it like a raccoon after an old shrimp shell! I had my workout playlist kicked up and it was throwing some good songs (I really need to edit out the ones that don’t get me going) and gave that sumbitch Whirly Bird hell.

But that is not all, friend! Then, I went downstairs (this particular JFZ is their deluxe model with two stories of fitness torture devices) and lifted weights on two of the three contraptions that I once called the “Trilogy of Terror”. The Trilogy of Terror are three machines that are lined up in a row so that you can hit em fastlike… bam bam bam. Like that.

The first is a push-up machine, which simulates a push-up motion. The second is a pull-down machine, which simulate pulling something heavy down out of the top shelf in your hall closet. And the third is a rowing machine, which simulates sexual tension. And rowing a boat.

I did the first two until I, literally, could not do them anymore. To Failure, as they say. Several guys gave me strange looks as I toiled over my 50-lb load, sweating through my Mickey Mouse tshirt. They were J-ing the T, for sure. No matter, I had bidness to attend to.

I did so much that I was dizzy afterward. Then I came home and took a shower and got Head & Shoulders in my eyeball, which felt like a drop of napalm. And yes, I combat dandruff on a daily basis, along with a lot of other minor maladies other than being a fatass.

See you tomorrow!

Posted in About Fitness, About Media | 1 Comment