Posts Tagged ‘health’

I had a bunch of stuff I planned to publish on Yahoo before they made the executive decision to shut the site down. This coming after the Yahoo purchased the site Associated Content several years ago for a couple million dollars only to never really take advantage of it. They own Tumblr too now, a site nobody uses. Tumblr is like the worst of every other site out there and it’s owned by that cunt Marissa Mayer who owns Yahoo. In short, here’s something I had planned to publish there.

Five Least Effective Ab Exercises

We all dream of having six-pack abs, but not all of us have the patience to figure out how to do it. Truthfully I have no idea either. What I do know are the exercises you shouldn’t do if you want to have washboard abs.

Eating a Tub of Ice Cream

By some accounts a gluttonous activity, eating a tub of ice cream does have some health benefits. Ice cream is high in calcium plus the more you eat the more overheating your body becomes which burns calories. Unfortunately the calories they burn are excessive already and really it’s just trying to catch up to normal. You will never achieve six-pack abs if you decide to eat lots of ice cream. Instead opt for some frozen snow peas. They are practically the same thing!

Stomach Punches

It has become common knowledge how ineffective stomach crunches are for abs. The same can be said about stomach punches. Hitting yourself or having a friend give you jabs to midsection is not only a bad way to get in shape, it can also kill you. This is how magician Harry Houdini died. Houdini however was not trying to get in shape for summer. He was merely trying to prove a point, which he didn’t.

Drawing Abs on Your Stomach with Permanent Marker

Don’t let the packaging fool you; permanent marker is only temporary when drawn on skin. Yes you should probably call up the patent office and demand a refund if you are one of the millions of people who draw ab muscles on your belly only to have it wash off the following week when you finally took a shower. The same can be said about t-shirts with fake abs on them. These articles of clothing only offer a temporary solution to your round stomach problem.

Ironing Your Flesh

Never touch a hot iron to your skin! No matter how much your trainer insists this is a quick way to get a six-pack, it is nothing more than broscience. Irons are for clothes and dropping down dumbwaiters onto criminals like in the first Home Alone movie. If you were to try ironing your stomach to tone up your ab muscles you would instead end up in the hospital where you will end up gaining a few pounds from all of the delicious hospital food.

Standing in front of the Microwave

George Washington was the first to warn about the dangers of standing in front of the microwave. As a President of the United States we have to trust him. While there is no proven danger that results from parking your stomach in front of what basically equates to a small box of nuclear weaponry, this is not a way to slim down. Surely a better option would be to, while the microwave is heating up a low-carb meal, lift it up and down over your head while contracting your abs in a forceful outward motion.

Abs 2_7

(Because if your stomach doesn’t look like this you are living a worthless existence)

This past weekend I was completely out of commission due to flu like symptoms. I’m actually not sure if they were flu like. I was so incredibly out of it I couldn’t even bare to look up the symptoms. I felt achy, lightheaded, and was randomly breaking out in sweats despite not having roughs sex of any kind. Well, no rough sex I can remember. It is possibly I fell out of bed and hit my head on something and now I’m suffering from amnesia after incredibly passionate rough sex with many famous and beautiful women. I’m going to go with that. Any fool can catch the flu. It takes a special man to embarrass himself during sex.


(Chris Farley died during sex. Ooo that’s got to put egg on his face)

I noticed myself feeling a little more lightheaded than usual all week long. I thought this was possibly manic depression, suicidal thoughts, or the everlasting desire to kill all of humanity. Apparently I was wrong and it was a virus or whatever the flu is.

I woke up early Friday morning at 3AM or so sweating and having to pee. I piss a lot and it’s rare I can go the whole night without having to get up at least once. This isn’t a sign I’m getting older as much as it should prove I like to keep hydrated. Why I feel the need to prove to you that I’m constantly drinking water is a mystery. I am though. And I’ll tell you, drinking lots of water has done wonders for nothing in my life.


(I drink so much water and I look nothing like this! Those water advertisements are lies)

I tried to get through the first half of Friday by taking it easy at first. I don’t have a busy schedule or anything. I mean, I had a lot of plans scheduled for that evening and all but my imaginary friends understood. They wanted me to get better because they’re imaginary and why wouldn’t I imagine up people who care about me?

On Friday I decided I would take it easy for the rest of the day because my head couldn’t take much moving around anyway. I lied in bed watching Catfish and a few other shows you can get for free online. Did you know you can get every episode of South Park online for free at their website? Why would you buy the DVD ever? Anyway, Saturday wasn’t much different except I watched more stuff on YouTube. I didn’t watch bad cat videos. I watched Penn & Teller Fool Us as well as Penn & Teller Tell A Lie. These are two shows I got really excited to start watching because I figure there would be two seasons and more to come. Both were cancelled after the first season. So I was stuck with trying to find Disney movies to watch for free on YouTube.

(I don’t necessarily expect you to watch this. I hate seeing lots of paragraphs smashed together and couldn’t find a good picture)

Sunday came around and I was insisting to myself I’d slowly ease myself back into my daily routine of trying to write as much as possible so one day when I do meet Spielberg’s daughter and we get married I have such an armory of creative talent that my new father-in-law will pretty much help me out and I can retire early and die young and at peace. Wow, what a long sentence.

As I type this it’s Sunday night and I’m still not feeling so hot. Or should I say cold? I’m not sure. My mind is still fuzzy and my head literally will go from really hot to really cold which probably means I’m dying. It’s rare I get sick for more than a day let alone something that makes it painful for me to walk down stairs. And when I say walk down stairs I don’t want you thinking I’m some fancy man who lives in a multiple story home. My apartment is on the third floor so understand the struggle it was to carry everything I own up there.

The only observation I have to make about this whole ordeal is about those medicine packets that come with daytime and nighttime pills. I bought a pack of these and there were six servings of each. Logically shouldn’t there be a proportional amount? It should be a 2:1 ratio really if you are expected to sleep 8 hours. So there should have been eight daytime and four nighttime pills in this package. Maybe the people who put this stuff together never get sick and don’t understand how this makes no sense.

st josephs

(St. Joseph’s does it right. Maybe this is why he was granted Sainthood?)

Oh and one more observation. I watched the new season of Beavis and Butthead that came out back in 2011 and they actually seemed really intelligent when talking about Jersey Shore which was probably intentional but I found hilarious. I heard bad things about the new version. Remember, they were always very hit and miss with jokes on the show. I laughed out loud a few times which I don’t do at many non-live jokes. Just wanted to throw that in there.

Oh and one more thing. For about 48 hours over this weekend I only communicated with one person and didn’t even make my aliveness known to anyone in any way. I didn’t post a single thing online or leave any hints that I had not been abducted. I’m curious if I hadn’t talked to the one person I had if it would have been a shorter amount of time between someone asking me if I was alive or not. I know that’s a mean-spirited thing but I really didn’t intend on making anyone think I died until sometime late Saturday night when I had been sick for two full days already and clearly the only cure was some sadism. But based on this information I believe my body would not rot for more than 5 days tops which is satisfying because that’s a business week. Sorry, the sadism is still here.

What helps you when you’re sick?

To be flawed is to be human. That sounds like something an ancient Chinese person would say. So true and so brilliant. What I really want to know though is at what point did Chinese people stop speaking English? Confucius has all these wonderful sayings and none are in Chinese, at least none of the popular ones. Maybe it’s because typing something in Chinese would require a special keyboard. Every time I go to a website for a language translation my computer nearly gets a virus. What does this say about America? It says we don’t want our own people learning new languages or I need to stop watching German porn online to learn a new language. Maybe that’s my flaw. Maybe I need to finally buck up and buy Rosetta Stone rather than watch a woman get defecated on to learn the most romantic language in the world, German.


(Brag all you want about being big in Germany Hasselhoff. Never forget though that their toilets are the girl next door)

Rather than point out my flaws then have you all lie and say things like “You’re not that stop. You’ve never eaten anything and died so you must have some common sense” or “I’ve seen much smaller ones. Sure, it was an infant and he had a birth defect but I assure you I felt something.” Today I have decided to pass along the knowledge I have gained in life from my flaws. Hopefully after reading this you too can implement these ideologies into your life and stop being such a fuck-up.

The thing about flaws is we all have them and they come in handfuls. I make mistakes all the time and I’m not very good at much. My biggest talent is falling out of a bad situation by accident. I’ve let my flaws get me down over the years and the scary thing is when you do this you might become obsessed with these flaws. People will think they’re not attractive enough to be loved and because of this they take fewer risks when it comes to romance or dating. But really, after the age of around 16 does anyone ever really tell you to your face how much you suck and how ugly you are? Sure people might think it but not everyone will. It goes beyond looks too. If you let a flaw absorb itself into your skin it may be harder to get out.


(Don’t let your flaws turn into these green arrows or whatever this picture says!)

I’ve known other people to go through what I have and sadly they never listened to my advice as people tend to rarely do. This particular person I want to mention had a problem. They told me about this problem after a big hinting phase where I had assumed they were at one point raped or voted for both George Bushs. Or is it Bushes? I’m not sure. As it turned out, their problem wasn’t something that bugged me at all. What did bug me was how once I knew they had this problem it was brought up non-stop. Everything that was wrong in their life was because of this one problem that albeit was a problem, but not something so out of control it should be as evil to them as they let it be.

I told this person I had similar issues and not to worry. I would never judge. I was continuously told I didn’t understand and after a while I gave up on trying to help. This person let what could have been a miniscule issue devour them. We’re all smart enough to know nobody is perfect. It’s a shame we let ourselves be defined by a particular flaw.

What I have come to realize is that nobody likes me for anything other than me. Sure, some people may like a quality about me, but it doesn’t matter unless they like me for who I am completely as a whole which is pretty darn good if I do say so myself. It’s true about everyone though. I may think someone is funny but if they’re a lousy person and not fun to be around I won’t put up with it. Same as with a person’s flaws, I won’t not associate with someone just because they have something wrong with them. I think we’re all that way, at least I hope so.


(Amy Schumer is the exception to this rule. I don’t care how funny I’m told she is. There’s just something about her face that really bugs me)

The best way I find to get over your flaws, hell to get over anything, is to make it known. Let people know you think you’re fat. Let people know you’re unusually tall and have red hair. If you have a learning disability, be open about it. Trying to hide a problem will cause you undue stress. Are people going to really laugh at you because you have something wrong with you? Remember, as much as you’re worrying about your own issues, everybody else is worrying about their own.

I wrote this piece like two months ago and have been waiting for the right time to post it. It’s a little long but I don’t plan on posting anything new for a few days so feel free to nurse it. This is basically the shortest autobiography ever written.

I believe in reincarnation. Not some stupid traditional cockamamie thing about good people coming back as butterflies and bad people coming back a Kim Kardashian fan. I think in our own lives we can live multiple lives. Not like secret cell phone hidden in the ceiling or having a bizarro family like we insisted my dad used to have. How does someone work from 7 in the morning until midnight without having another family on the side? His children (Jim, Karen, and Reason) must have gotten such great presents because the children I grew up with (Tim, Erin, and Season) usually had to settle for whatever was on sale at the Dollar Store.

I think each life we live can be divided into chapters. Like a book or a DVD (for those of you illiterates) our lives have chapters too. It’s very easy for me to divide my life thus far into different chapters. Maybe you can too.

Chapter 1: October 9, 1987-September 17, 2000

This was the longest time period of chapters mostly because I don’t remember much of the 80s. I remember someone telling me not to catch the “gay flu” and as a baby I would take large poops into my diaper then in a Ronald Reagan impression say “Mommy, tear off this diaper!” If you’re good at math you can see this chapter goes practically up until I became a teenager. It wasn’t a bad chapter. It was full of innocence and curiosity. I was unaware of my surroundings and I had not until recently known that something called a blow job existed. I had no clue why anyone would ever want one, but I was also 12 and was pretty sure you could get someone pregnant just by staring at them long enough. The big events or activities during this time period I think about are going to school, playing little league baseball, and having lots of hope for the future.


(I chose to have hope for the future. Hope Solo has to live with Hope because you can never escape yourself)

Chapter 2: September 18, 2000-July 31, 2004

If my life was completely a book this would be the chapter when shit hits the fan. My parents got into their legendary fight that included vacuum cleaner throwing to start this chapter. It also happened to be my dad’s birthday and the pizza he got went uneaten and turned cold. I started school the very next day and the new black kid in school used me as the example of how fat he used to be before he got his life together. Things quickly spiraled downward. This time period included grades 7-10 for me. I continued getting fatter and with getting fatter you got a lot more depressed about uneaten pizza. My dad no longer lived with us by the end of this chapter and I was the man of the house by process of elimination. The big events or activities during this period I think about are going to school, losing my interest yet still continuing to play little league baseball, and losing all hope for the future.


(Were they really lost or was it more that they were stranded? Even if they knew their location it wouldn’t have done them any good. Purgatory)

Chapter 3: August 1, 2004-August 30, 2007

This chapter was all about fluctuating weight. On August 1, 2004 I began my journey to stop crying over uneaten pizza. I got terrific results and with a slimmer body means people take you more seriously. I could talk to girls now which was a completely change from Chapter 2. I also started driving during this chapter. I had a newfound confidence about who I was. Slowly I began to put weight back on though because people actually learned to like me for who I was and not what I looked like. I graduated from high school then went to community college. On the first night of my sophomore year my class went out to eat at Applebee’s. I ordered a platter of appetizers. I looked down at it and wondered where my future was headed. I was going backwards. It was time for a new chapter in my life. The big events or activities during this period I think about are getting suspended from school, coming to terms with the idea I would never become a professional athlete, and realizing hope is just a word lazy people use to justify laziness.


(I felt a lot like Oprah during this chapter what with my fluctuating weight and all. The only difference is she has millions of people willing to listen to her. I can’t even get a dog to “come here” when I offer him a treat)

Chapter 4: September 1, 2007-December 31, 2008

This would be a very short chapter. It was also probably the second worst. I began starving myself to knock off some weight, around 70 pounds by the time all was said and done. I finished up with school and my parents were ready to sell our house. Toward the end of the chapter I spent almost every day when I wasn’t working or in class in search of something greater which I could never find. The only thing I think about this time period is eating a salmon sandwich and how everyone I was friends with stopped talking to me for completely different reasons. I know it’s kind of late to say it but I really miss that salmon sandwich.


(In the afterlife my friend. It is there we will reunite)

Chapter 5: January 1, 2009-December 28, 2009

I had already started working at a comedy club in New York City at the end of 2008 but it wasn’t until 2009 that I felt like I belonged. It was a great experience in a thousand different ways. This year was the closest I ever have gotten to being a rockstar. One girl literally asked me if I was a rockstar. Then I gave her my phone number and I never heard from her again. Black bitch. It’s not racist that I’m calling her black; remember I gave her my phone number. I was willing. I was also living in a new apartment with my sister which I absolutely hated. The apartment was fine but the lifestyle I had stunk. By the end I had a girlfriend I actually cared about and the most exciting year of my life I ever had. There were a lot of depressing days and donut binge eating adventures, but it was great overall. There are way too memories from this year to list. My favorite, being a god damned rockstar.

mick jagger

(Rockstars rule because even at this age Mick Jagger could steal any woman of any age of any status away from me)

Chapter 6: December 29, 2009-December 31, 2012

At the beginning of this chapter I move out completely on my own. I’m 50 miles from where I grew up and scared as shit. I managed though. Things were terribly depressing and lonely at first because the only person I had anywhere near me was the girl I had been dating. This is the chapter where I become a man. I didn’t slay any lions or remember some Hebrew, I became completely independent and void of anything. I’d like to say I became a more caring person but that might be a lie. I’m a more confident person and I don’t flinch when people call me sir. I’ve come to terms with who I am and all I have to offer the world. The biggest thing I have now that I didn’t in other chapters is drive. I had too much hope early on. Now I’m running on want. I don’t hope to have a good life with lots of success, I want it. Again, to sum up this chapter would take forever. I had a lot more good memories than I did bad ones. I’m a tougher person more human person because of everything that happened here.


(This picture may have happened during this chapter but it is not an accurate representation of everything)

Chapter 7: December 1, 2012-?

This chapter has yet to be written. The best way to ensure a new chapter starts is by moving and that’s exactly what I am doing. If I may make a prediction I see myself marrying Malin Akerman within the year, earning the right to have complete control over Hollywood after defeating every executive ever in an arm-wrestling tournament, and most likely I am voted Time Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. All of this happens after I defeated the aliens on the Mayan Apocalypse but you’d have to be an idiot not to see that one coming.


(I wish I got to play Fake Batman in this movie. Or at least the knocked out prisoner behind them. He looks like he has a great view)

It’s important to have your life full of chapters. Would you want to read a book without them? If you can’t divide your life into chapters then maybe you’re stuck in a rut. You may need a change of scenario, people in your life, or something else. Consistency is great but you also don’t want your life to be the same forever. My epilogue would say how important it is to evolve. Your death-bed should be surrounded by amazing people from all walks of life who never met. Live life to the fullest. Nobody wants to be around some bore who settled too soon.

One thing old people like to do is talk about how much physical pain they are constantly in. Maybe there’s some award given out weekly to whoever hurts the most. They’d make it annual but by the way old people make their bad backs sound it’s hard to know if they’ll even be alive that long. As I grow older I too have constant pains in my body. Today I take a page from the book everyone I know over 30 owns. Today I complain about my everyday pains.

(Dedicated to you three and the worst career choice you ever made)

My most common constant pain is in my left hip. It’s not so much painful as it is discomfort. I’m pretty sure it’s just tight or maybe loose. I guess if I knew the problem I could solve it. I can constantly rotate the hip and get it to pop somewhere near my ass cheek and hamstring. I have also noticed I cannot bend this hip as much as my right one. That’s how you know you have too much free time, when you know the range of motion you have on one side of your body as opposed to the other. How am I trying to solve this hip pain? Make it pop as often as I can and hope for some reason that works.

Probably related to my stiff hip is something in the back of my left knee. I’m thinking I either hyperextended or need to hyperextend my knee to make it better. Knee pain has always scared me because not only is that a sensitive and important joint, it’s also a weird-looking one. I mean really, is there anything else that looks like a knee? Knees remind me of unformed fetuses. My knees are also knobby which means I don’t wear shorts in public to avoid public ridicule. How am I trying to solve this pain? I’m posting about it on a blog wondering if anyone has any suggestions on what I should do.

(Apparently these are knobby knees belonging to someone named Brian, so maybe my knees aren’t knobby, just odd)

My right shoulder doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it used to but it does hurt. A few weeks ago it became so painful to the point I started looking up rotator cuff exercises to do. Most involve embarrassingly lying on your side and moving your arm in a motion nobody should ever move an arm. I took a week off from exercising while I was on vacation and whatever was hurting seemed to heal itself up. I’m like wolverine in that way. Like my left hip, my right shoulder is not nearly as flexible as my left shoulder. I tell myself this has something to do with pitching 3 shutout innings in little league when it really probably just has something to do with having poor posture. How am I trying to solve this pain? I stretch my shoulders a lot and whenever possible I stand up. Once I even iced it down with frozen broccoli.

I believe the worst pain a person can ever have is head pain. My head constantly hurts. Well, not really. Sometimes I’ll become incredibly frustrated and say aloud “Why does my head hurt so bad?” when really it doesn’t. I guess this would qualify more as emotional pain than anything. I have had phases in life where I have gotten frequent headaches though. The vein above my right temple will pop out and you can literally see it throb. Why am I such a veiny person? The nurse who used to give me my allergy shots said she liked my arms because they were thick (chubby) and should could always find a vein. I can only think of three other people who said they liked me arms and 1/3 of them were straight male friends, or so they claim. How am I trying to solve this pain? I take frequent hot showers. Too bad that sometimes ends up burning my eyelids. Why am I so gross?

(This is how I look after a long hot shower. I wouldn’t wear that color though. Too light and would clash with my eyes)

What constant pains do you always have? Please, nothing in the bathing suit area. I’m not in the mood to pretend not to be grossed out by you.

Bon Jovi once wrote a song called “Bad Medicine.” Or at least he stole it from someone else. I’m convinced that one man with so much talent couldn’t possibly have come up with all of those great ideas. A cousin of his taught music in my high school. I never had him yet whenever I would see him would be an ass and use Bon Jovi puns whenever I saw him. One day when it was raining I warned him to be careful outside because I heard it’s “slippery when wet.” I think he heard that one before but he slipped and cracked his head open anyway.

I don’t take too many bad medicines. Most of the medicines I take are good ones. They help me live longer. Maybe not. None have killed me so they must be good, right? I knew someone who told me Reese’s Peanut Buttercups was her medicine. I think she was serious, not a practical diabetic jokester like she turned out to be. If Bon Jovi ever wrote a song called “Good Medicine” it better fucking be about peanut buttercups. The only thing better than chocolate filled with peanut butter is a sexy woman covered in chocolate filled with peanut butter. I guess you could have sex with a peanut buttercup though. Off to the store to find out!

(If it’s got a hole we can make it work)

Every morning I try to take three different medications. The first I take is a multivitamin. I’ve heard conflicting reports about multivitamins. They say they’re a waste while other people say you should take one. I have them so I take them. How can a multivitamin be bad? It’s vitamins! Multi amount of them! Next in my line of pills (I actually do keep them in a line) is my allergy medication. I take allergy pills everyday. I used to get allergy shots once a week I’m such a nerd. These usually do the trick and help me from sneezing. I’m not a fan of sneezing. I swear one day I’m going to get a hernia from sneezing. I’m getting older which means my sneezes get more violent. I miss my little “achoos” and not my current “blah blah bloos.” You shouldn’t have to drop your pants and cough after a sneeze is what I’m getting at. My final morning pill is a fish oil pill. Like multivitamins, I hear these are essential or a complete waste. It would be kind of an ass move not to take them. Fish were killed for their oil just so I can delay a heart attack. That sounds kind of cruel. Americans are so obsessed with oil. I hope we invade a country filled with fish oil. Even in a buy-one-get-one-free pack they were a little pricey.

There are other medicines that I have stored away in case of emergency/post nasal drip. I have a lot of Mucinex, the most disgusting name of a medicine. It says exactly what it is, yes, but mucus is one of those words that make me shiver. Like supper or Cher. I also have a lot of anti-headache pills. Four straight years on July 4th I would get a massive headache that would last up to a week. The most painful throbbing motherfucker of a headache. It always happens on the right side of my face. You can see the vein throbbing out. I’ve actually cried from this pain and nothing makes me cry. Except dead kittens underneath lost kitten signs. I haven’t gotten one of those horrendous headaches in a little over 2 years now. I think it’s because I eat too much salt. Can you believe that salt actually helps with sinus problems? That delicious goodness will never be limited in my diet.

(What did this fictional character’s relatives do at Ellis Island to get such a bad last name?)

I used to have a lot of trouble sleeping when someone was next to me. I never would have survived marriage in olden days. Well actually, didn’t they not share beds? Or was TV lying? For a good 3 months or so I would pop a Benadryl down my throat to get some sleep. Even if I was sleeping alone I’d do it out of habit. Why is sleeping alone such a “lonely” thing? I sleep amazing whilst by myself. A flamethrower to my face couldn’t disturb me. Unless I drank too much water before bed. For someone my age I sure do wake up a lot to urinate and completely miss the toilet.

Amongst digestive pills I also have many creams. I think I have about 8 different containers of lotions. People come over and find out I’m a professional hand job giver. I’m retired now. The hours weren’t flexible enough. I have simple lotions, Vaseline, anything to help keep me from getting too dry. And boy do I get dry. My face, neck, and arms are the worst victims of winter dryness. Some days I feel like I’m a giant piece of dandruff with arms and legs. I already have the same lack of complexion and personality of one. Not much is known about my family tree. I would like to officially claim myself as a piece of dandruff. Where’s my casino?

(Even this brave chief wouldn’t be able to figure out how you scalp a man made entirely of dandruff)

I can’t imagine a world before medicine was plentiful. I guess it’s not that way everywhere. Some parts of the world would envy me for having moisturizing cream. But they live in climates where they rarely get little red rings near their noses. I should be jealous of them, right? I appreciate my medicine. It keeps me from sneezing, helps me sleep at night, and lets me look more beautiful to people who don’t find me beautiful and never will. Medicine, you’ve done a job well done.

None of what I am about to discuss has any scientific backing. Well, it might. They do some pretty stupid studies. I remember one was something about how fat kids like school the least. Yeah, they do. They get picked on and they have to move around every 41 minutes. There’s only one lunch period too! It’s a fat kid’s hell. I used to make sure to take off at least one Monday a month because I hated school with a passion. I knew another fat kid who chose Fridays as his day to take off. Note to scientists, do not do a study about how fat kids love three-day weekends.

(“I love 3 day weekends!” – fat kid from Modern Family, much better than the Two and a Half Men fat kid)

Onto the science stuff. Remember, none of this has any backing. I believe that radio, television, computer, cell phone, all those devices will eventually kill us and have been for years. I know, I sound like the Unabomber. In the early 90s he was blowing up people via the mail because he was afraid technology was going to take over. 20 years later, he’s been right. I do believe that more technology can be a bad thing. I don’t see how knowing the score of the Seahawks/Raiders game instantly is necessary. I used to love looking at sports scores in the newspaper when I was younger. I would have to wait the next morning to find out how other teams outside of my area did. It was beautiful. The Unabomber had a great point. A poor way of executing his point, but he was right. The machines are going to take over.

What inspired these thoughts? Mostly the idea that I woke up this morning an hour before I should have. For no reason at all I woke up. I looked at my cell phone and I had a text message. Something about “Hey my car broke down and my wife is going into labor, can you help us out?” I deleted the text message but not before looking at the time. It had occurred 1 minute earlier. Before you say that my phone vibrated or made some kind of a whacky sound that woke me up, think again. My phone was on silent. If this had happened once I wouldn’t think much of it. The fact that it happens a lot and even happened twice earlier in the day makes me wonder. Yes Robert Plant, it really makes me wonder.

(He looks terrible. That stairway to heaven he bought will be coming in handy real soon)

I know this can probably be easily explained. Not every silent text message has woken me up. Enough have for me to blog about it. That’s when you know something annoys you, when you blog about it. Something that annoys me that I have never blogged about is when people are wished a happy birthday on Facebook and don’t directly thank the person. Even clicking the “Like” button is fine. Just posting a status saying “Thanks for the Happy Birthdays” is insulting. Fuck you birthday boy. You’re not that busy. You’re not George Clooney. Do it the next day if that’s when you’ll have time. We took the time to post on your page hoping some hot girl from high school you’re friends with will see it and think “Hey, he’s cute now. He probably has bad self-esteem from his older days of looking like shit. Maybe I should contact him and ask if I can hide his penis inside of me.” Birthdays come around once a year and you don’t have the time to thank each person? At least thank most. At least thank me. You’re a prick if you don’t. And I hope your birthday sucks.

My theory with the text messages is that the nearest tower is to the east of my bed. Where I keep my phone, on my nightstand/cup holder/temporary used condom table, is to the west. This is going to sound insane, but I think that the message travels through my brain and then into my phone. It’s not like I know what the message is. But I think that it might be possible that some electrode snaps off in my brain and jolts me. I mean, it has to be possible. We don’t really know what these frequencies and waves do to our heads. It can’t be good. I know that much. I type this all with a laptop inches above my balls. If I ever am able to have children, it will be a miracle. Then I will have to be a dad and that will be a disaster.

Our brains are very powerful. I believe that most of the “unexplained” in this world is our own doing. I think we can create anything with our brains. Events, moments, objects, anything that our subconscious “wants.“ I know, this is deep hippie shit. I don’t take drugs either which means if anything I’m crazy. Frequencies and waves may not kill us, but they’re waking me up from awesome dreams. Isn’t that enough of a crime? That chick was SO into me. Her hair looked like Vitamin C’s hair.

(Vitamin C is okay looking. These are gorgeous!)

30 years from now, we might all have a giant brain tumor from all of these wires and stuff flying around. I know 3 people with epilepsy that live on the same block. Isn’t that a little strange? There are power lines that run across the street from them too. Hmmm I don’t know. That seems a little shady. It doesn’t necessarily help my argument, but it does make it possible. Anything is possible. If we believe something hard enough, it can become true. If everyone believed that I was black then I become black. I am officially black. The color white is now black but the color black is still black. I’m rambling about nothing. I think these cell phone frequencies are really doing some serious damage.

This is a quick story about irony. It’s the story I tell whenever a child comes up to me and asks me what irony is. That happens more than you’d think. I remember in 11th grade a thin blonde girl asking me the definition. The emo kid in the group gave her an answer that didn’t seem to satisfy her flat-chested brain. It was my time to shine.

In elementary school, we had a guidance counselor. I’ll call her Doctor Z because her last name started with a Z and she had apparently been at school for so long that she was a doctor. The principal of the school was a doctor too. I think the whole school was full of doctors. Yet I still managed to break my leg during recess. Doctors love when people get hurt. I think they purposefully put grease on the monkey bars and paid off that kid to kick me off.

(Not Dr. Zaius)

Doctor Z was a very old woman. Fucking ancient would be the most accurate description. She was robust and needed a cane to get around. Still, that wouldn’t save her from the inevitable.

Doctor Z had one thing that she pounded into our heads. It was that we should always look both ways before crossing the street. She would come into our class and say “Left, Right, Left” to represent the direction your head should go when crossing the street. That’s why we all found it incredibly ironic that Doctor Z had to retire from her job after getting hit by a car.

(Not this guy either)

The whole story behind Doctor Z is unclear. She survived her brush with death and made one more appearance a few months later to say goodbye. She wasn’t well-liked by the students. She was a curmudgeon who would yell at the loud kids for being too noisy and the quiet kids for not speaking up. If we weren’t all 7 years old, I would swear that one of us ran her down out of spite while mumbling “Left, Right, Left” as she flew over the windshield.

If everything I heard about Doctor Z was true, she lived a tragic life. I heard that her adult daughter was the victim of a famous urban legend, the guy who hides under the car and slashes your ankles. It had apparently happened outside of a store called “Cost Cutters” whose symbol was a large pair of scissors, representing the fact that they cut costs. After the murder, they had to take down those scissors. Like I said, I don’t know how much of this was true and how much of it was the adults I knew lying. My babysitter told me that taxes were large spikes that came out of the kitchen floor and that was why I should hate George Bush Sr. No wonder Generation-Y’ers are so dumb. These Baby Boomers have been fucking with our heads since we could walk.

That’s my tale of irony. A woman who dedicated years of her life helping to protect children from getting hit by cars ends up getting hit by one herself. I told that story to the blonde girl who was in great need of a pair of tits. She looked at me, chapped her gum and didn’t get it. Oh well. Some people aren’t meant to appreciate God’s sick sense of humor.

(Dr. Zoidberg from Futurama, kind of looks like my guidance counselor)

I wrote a whole big thing trying to justify how stupid people with great abs are. It came off as too much of an anti-muscle magazine feature. It was entirely too long to say one simple thing. Trying to obtain abs is a waste of time.

Most people are genetically not supposed to have abs. It’s probably healthier that way too. You have more cushion (possibly for the pushin’) to protect your organs. You never hear of news stories where people with great stomachs survive cataclysmic events. Fat guys are the ones that always survive traumatic falls and point-blank gunshots to the abdomen. Survival of the fittest? It’s really survival of the fattest. Until you get to a certain age. Then you get hypertension, diabetes, and a whole slew of other problems. Plus you’ve probably had depression and a low self-worth from being a fat slob your entire life. Maybe that bullet should have gone into your stomach a little deeper and put you out of your misery.

I exercise and usually watch what I eat. At this point I could really care less about having great abs. All that would mean is that I’d have to buy belly shirts and shave my stomach. It’ll take so long that I won’t have time to train my stomach and will end up getting fat again anyway. How do these chiseled human beings do it? Great genetics, strict diets (starving themselves), and doing boring exercises like planking. Have you ever done the planking exercise? After 10 seconds I think “What the fuck am I doing?” Then I go into the kitchen and get something to eat.

We all have abs, that’s kind of common knowledge now. The people with the visible abs though, are just hungry. That’s all it is. You need such a low body fat percentage to have abs that you miss out on other things like family dinners, Christmas parties, and other things you try to find an excuse not to go to. I don’t know about you, but I’m fine with just not being fat. Nobody sees abs anyway. I hate the beach so it’s not like I’d even be able to go there to show them off. The only opportunity I can see is maybe if I happen to reach for something on the top shelf and my shirt pulls up a little bit. Even then, who’s going to see it? Some stock boy? Doing crunches is a waste of time for me.

The main reason why most people want the abs (I sound like an uncle there) is to attract other people. People with abs are sexy. I can attest to that. Their faces are usually kind of weird-looking, what from all the steroids and not eating normal foods, but that little section in the middle of them is gorgeous. If you never have abs, you may NEVERSHAGAGREEK!!! but is that the end all be all in life? People from Athens usually look funny.

Abdominals, the scientific and politically correct term, is hard to say. I screw it up a lot and it reminds me of the abominable snowman. He doesn’t have abs and he is not a man made of snow. False advertisement! Yet another reason to hate abs and people with them.

I think abs are kind of going out of style a bit. You can be a sex symbol and have a pot belly, at least for men. Even women who 10 years ago would have been seen as fat get some time as being sexy ladies. I think the confusion comes in with fat because in school, people are either fat or skinny. Ten year olds are never in shape. They’re either shaped like sticks or giant balls. It’s hard for me to find a really thin girl attractive. It looks gross. I don’t want to see your clavicle. Eat something. You shouldn’t have that many veins poking out. You look like a gay man’s forearm.

Most people would rather be able to go out once a week and get pizza than to date someone with abs who has to get down on the ground and do some sort of trunk twist every ten minutes. Truth is, for both sexes I believe, abs don’t really matter. They don’t make you a better person. They don’t make you more charming. They most certainly don’t make you better at sex. What makes sex good is cock thickness and pussy tightness. If you don’t eat and have abs, your cock might get thinner from all the lack of nutrients. Okay, that isn’t true at all. But girls without abs, that have been overlooked by others probably have had as much sex. That means they’re tighter than the other girls, the ones with the abs. That must be awful. To have a tighter stomach than a vagina. I can’t imagine either.

The next time you see a hot couple with perfect bodies, more importantly abs, jogging along, laugh at them for the lousy sex they probably have. Yell “needle dick” and “loose lips” out at them if it’ll make you happier. What can they do? Sit-up you to death?

This, all coming from a guy who is convinced that his stomach looks like Mr. Moneybags from the Monopoly Game.

(My stomach looks like this man’s face)

I’m not a fan of doctors. I’ve never had posters of them on my walls. I’ve never purchased a pack of doctor trading cards either. They’re not people who I generally enjoy being around.

Of course, if you’re near a doctor, chances are you’re already sick. But I’m not even talking about that. Instead it’s the personality of these over sung heroes that I would like to discuss in today’s edition of Shitheads I Encounter in Life. It’s not a new edition or anything. More of a summary of my entire life. I meet lots of Shitheads. Doctors always make the list.

My first doctor memory is me lying on a cold metal table, my family all surrounding me looking down, as an older man plays with my nads. I know it didn’t happen that way. In my memory, my family was looking down at me like aliens look at abductees. I’ve read that sometimes people suppress alien abductions and have thought that maybe this was one. But why grab my testicles? Aliens are gross.

My childhood pediatricians were a Jewish couple with their own practice. My mom hated them and I’m not sure why. She would encourage us to pretend to do a drive-by shooting whenever we would pass by them. She especially liked when I used an invisible flame thrower to kill our Jewish doctors. Grenades were my favorite to pretend to throw at them. We all had a RAGE LAUGH!!! about this.

All I remember about the office was that all of the nurses smoked and toads lived in the nearby woods. All nurses smoke apparently. That’s like a stereotype. I usually think nurses are pretty cute. They’re always tuckered out from working 12 hour shifts. Their work uniform looks like my pajamas. It’s adorable! All they need are teddy bears instead of cigarette packets and I’d be all in on nurses. Yellow teeth scare me so that’s why nurses are on me Not-To-Do List.

My Jewish doctors got a divorce at some point. I’m not sure what the divorce was about. Maybe testicular exams lasting too long and the other got jealous. We left there and I got a new doctor, an Indian whose son went to my school. I never really liked him that much. He blamed everything on me being too fat. I hurt my leg during gym class and he asked me how much weight I had gained recently. He’d always end our meetings by saying “I think you vill do very vell” saying v’s instead of w’s. I guess I did turn out okay, so in hindsight he was a smart man. No thanks to him though. Telling a 10-year-old not to eat salty foods isn’t a solution. Especially when he just got a giant container of salty snacks for his birthday. My favorite gift ever of all time still is and always will be a giant container of cheese balls. It had to be 10 pounds of round cheese doodles. If I was to give up salty snacks then I would have to turn down my nice gift. That’s rude. I don’t know how they celebrate Christmas in India, but here in the USA we accept all gifts. Not like those Canadians who have a holiday the next day where they return everything. Pessimistic bastards.

My only other complaint about the Indian man was that he grabbed my testicles too hard. He reached down my tighty-whities and didn’t so much check for testicle tumors, but instead tried to crush my nuts. It really hurt and I wanted to say something. I think he also got some curry in my pee hole because it started to burn. I stopped going to him when he told me I was his oldest patient by 5 years. We said goodbye and I got a lollipop and a picture book before leaving. I got into my car and drove away from my pediatrician. It was time to grow up.

I don’t have health insurance like you Canadians. Healthy bastards. I still guess I have a doctor though. I’ve gone to him twice and I know a lot of people who go to him. He’s never asked to grab my testicles so I guess I like him. He’s also very quick and I remember there was a fat nurse there that was really nice to me. Too bad it would cost me a week’s pay to get headache medicine. Otherwise I’d go there more often.

There are still more doctors that I’ve encountered in my life as I have had a multitude of problems. I had a leg doctor when I broke my leg in back-to-back years. He always had one of those Home Alone 2 devices where he would record whatever it was that he said. He’d end his statements by saying “period” and I always thought that was funny. He was really saying everything the way it should be typed, punctuation and all. There was another Indian man who worked there that would sing “Fill Me Up Buttercup”, the song from There’s Something About Mary. I liked that place. There were pictures of athletes that they had treated on the walls and it made me feel like a real sports star when I went in there after breaking my leg playing baseball. A man in his 30s scared me by saying that if I was his age my leg would never heal. That place was a good place and I’m thinking my subconscious told me to break my leg often in order to go there. They also didn’t make fun of me too much when I didn’t know how to use crutches properly. I assumed you were supposed to walk normally until you got too tired and could use the crutches to lean on for a rest. I’d like to blame that on a mental injury, but I can only blame it on being a dumb kid with no way of understanding physics. I should have had my neck broken to put society out of its misery.

Out of all of the doctors I have had, my favorite was my allergist. He had a lot of pictures of sinuses which always makes my eyes water, but other than that he was great. He was a friendly older man and his nurse said she liked me arms because they had meat on them. Everyone that worked there was always really nice. I was like the cool kid that would come in to give them a break from all the geezers who couldn’t handle being around their cats. I went there for years, getting two shots in each arm every week for my allergies. Eventually my allergies got a bit better and the doctor moved to Florida, as all older people do. His replacement was a young Indian woman, and out of fear of her handling my testicles without a delicate touch, I retired from having allergy shots. I didn’t call a press conference or do any other showboating move. My retirement was quiet and I think the people who worked there that knew me figured that I had died from sniffing pollen.

Doctors are a weird thing. I could never be one. I could never even imagine wanting to be one. They really are a special breed of person. What do failed doctors do though? To be a doctor, you have to be really smart. I’ll probably never know someone who grew up to become a doctor. That’s pretty amazing and shows you how stupid the rest of us are. Such a necessary job is so difficult to learn to do. They make a lot of money and I think they deserve it all. The vacations, not so much. Ease up on the travels buddy, maybe it’s you bringing back mosquitoes that’s getting everyone so sick.

Maybe it’s not doctors that I dislike. It’s the people who want to become doctors that I want to kick in the face. The careers that we all dream of are the ones that usually have effected us personally. Wannabe psychiatrists usually have had rough childhoods. Real special. Like we don’t all have it rough. Wannabe filmmakers usually are nerds who enjoy watching movies alone. Just because you like something doesn’t mean you’ll be good at it, stupid. Medical doctors are people who should want to do the job to help people. Not to make up for a past mistake like not being able to help a sick grandmother, they should do it for all of humankind. Not just their stupid family illnesses. But, who am I to stop someone from becoming something good like a doctor instead of a professional skateboarder? We need doctors. Even if they’re assholes sometimes, take too many vacations, or don’t know how to properly handle little boy scrotum beans, we need them. Unless you believe in Voodoo. Then all you need is a doll, a sewing needle, and a potion that’s 95% shampoo. People still believe that shit! And they drive cars, fly on airplanes, and cry at sad movies. A doll doesn’t control your destiny, a doctor’s competence does.

“Is there a doctor in the house? Yes there is, my son Mort.” – Proud Jewish Mother