Part 2 of the Excerpt from my Book

Please read Part 1 below first

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            His Wulf Brothers stood around him gripping their swords and axes tightly. The inhuman monsters that surround them howled once more in unison. The shrieking noise sent a shiver of fear down Aldric’s back. He looked around to his clan brothers and saw a wave of terror sweep through their ranks. It reminded Aldric of the last great battle they had fought in the Shadowlands.

Nearly a decade had passed since that fateful day. King Novan of Pelador had assembled his entire war host in an attempt to meet the Dark Lords in a decisive battle. Aldric was already a veteran of hundreds of skirmishes but he could not help but be in awe of the muster. Rows upon rows of Knights bearing bright banners and imposing lances seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. Foot Soldiers of Pelador held the center, armored from head to toe so heavily that they did not even resemble men any more. Aldric and the other Wulfmen were held in reserve behind this imposing wall of steel and iron. The Wulf Clans were eager for battle and bloodshed and were to be unleashed upon the enemy once they broke rank.

                When the Dark Lords’ army took the field a sense of dread swept through the King’s army. The Dark Lords had assembled all manner of fell beasts. Their Dread Knights numbered in the thousands and they were supported by tens of thousands of barbarians, naked and wailing songs of battle. Ogres towering into the skies were supported by putrid trolls who numbered into the hundreds. Worst of all were the thousands of twisted man-beasts, once normal men who had been distorted by the arcane power of the Shadowlands. Now they had all manner of deformities turning them into some kind of feral beast.

                Aldric thought back to how terrified he was when the two armies clashed in the center of the battlefield. All across the King’s lines his troops buckled and swayed at the onslaught of horrible beasts. Knights were dragged down from their horses and butchered like cattle. Archers loosed thousands of arrows only for the enemy to keep advancing. Some of the man-beasts had dozens of arrows sticking out of them as they fell upon the archers and hacked them to pieces. Just as the battle looked hopeless a banner was unfurled and a bugle was sounded off. The instrument rang out with such percussion that the entire sky cracked.

                Aldric watched as the host of Great Knights, no more than a hundred strong, charged from behind a hill that had obscured their approach. They tore into the enemy with a ferocity that Aldric had never seen before. The Dark Lords’ army was stopped dead in its tracks and soon fell back from the Great Knight’s relentless assault. A surge of hope swept through the Wulfmen, who began to chant and howl again. Aldric bellowed a deep roar and charged towards the battle. He did not need to look behind him to know his Wulf Brothers were charging as well.

                Axe met axe and sword met sword as carnage surrounded Aldric in every direction. His wild hair was soon matted and covered in the enemy’s blood. His one eye guided him in reckless abandon as he threw himself to the thickest of the fighting. He hacked one man-beast over and over with each strike of his axe tearing off another chunk of its flesh. The accursed thing would not die so Aldric took it apart piece by piece. A hulking Tuskman tried to bury his axe in Aldric’s skull but the Wulfman cunningly dodged the strike and brought his on axe down upon the enemy. Aldric’s weapon buried itself halfway into the primitives head. Aldric had to brace his foot against the dead man’s head so that he could pull the axe free.  He did so only in the nick of time as sword swiped dangerously close by.

                Now that was a battle, Aldric thought to himself. He looked at a scar upon his right arm that he had received that day. A Dread Knight had sought to slice his arm off but only managed to take a small chunk of it. By that point the battle had already been won for the King but the Dread Knights fought till the last man. It had been no easy task to slay them all. The Dread Knight who took a piece of Aldric’s arm had already slain dozens of his Wulf Brother’s and would slay four more before a Great Knight relieved him of his head.

                Aldric had been in countless battles, not all of them were victories, but nothing compared to that day. The horrors he witnessed still resonated deep within him. In the days after the battle Aldric thought that nothing could tarnish the glory of the hard fought battle they had won. Now as he waited for whatever horrors were about to present themselves from the forest, he thought back to how foolish he was then. The greatest battle won by man would be tarnished by the ego of a single man.  A King, who sought eternal glory and in the process allowed his pride to bring the downfall of the Kingdom of Pelador.

                The fear that Aldric had felt a brief moment ago was replaced by a burning hatred deep within his bowels. The Kingdom had adopted Aldric and his Wulf Brothers and it was now in shatters because of greed of glory. Aldric thought to his father again and those lifeless eyes of his that were still open and wide after he had died. The macabre death mask was the only image of his father that he could remember. A once proud warrior extinguished of life and glory.

                The beasts in the forest let out another deafening roar letting everyone know that they were but a stone’s throw away. Aldric’s hands no longer trembled but instead his arms shook with anger and rage. His muscles, though a bit withered with time, bulged and veins popped out from the skin. The whites of his eyes turned a fiery red as he gritted his teeth. Unable to contain himself any longer he finally opened his mouth.

                “Stand tall Wulfmen, my father is ready by the gates of Hel to welcome us!” He screamed as the beasts charged from the woods.

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Excerpt from my untitled fantasy book

Here is a sneak preview of an excerpt from the fantasy book I am writing.

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                Embers from the campfire illuminated Aldric’s wizened face in the night’s darkness. The heavy lines and deep scars were a product of the windswept arctic plains that he called home. That desolate region of the Savagelands was home to the hardiest of men who carved out a bleak existence in the harsh climate. He had propped up his shield against a fallen tree to form a makeshift bed to rest upon. In Aldric’s youth he may have not been bothered by such conditions but now his back ached as he tried desperately to get some needed rest.

                Sleep never did come easy to the barbarian though. As a boy his father had taught him the ways of battle and one lesson hammered home to Aldric was to always sleep with one eye open. He wished his father was still around so that he could ask him how to do that when he had bad one eye left. As he lay beneath the stars he thought back to when his father fell in battle. Aldric was but a boy then really, barely old enough to join the menfolk of his tribe as they did battle with another northern tribe. Too many years had passed for him to remember why they put axe to axe, all the memories that remained were just that of the blood that was spilled.

                Aldric could still see his father on that day. He looked much the same as Aldric does now, big and square with a long mop of hair and a bushy red beard. With his tattooed chest exposed as he wielded a great axe, he looked nigh unstoppable as he cleaved through the ranks of the enemy. Aldric was locked in his own melee at the time so he did not notice when the first arrow sailed through the air and pierced his father’s chest. Such is the chaotic maelstrom of battle that rarely until it is over do you know the full scale of what transpires.

                As Aldric sat by the campfire he could still remember the wild look on his father’s face as he lay dead on the ground. In that moment he saw the mask of death and knew that there was nothing glorious about it. His father, the great warrior, looked no more than a slaughtered stag in the forest. It was a lesson of battle that would last a lifetime for Aldric. Even a great warrior can fall in an instant, death cares not for reputation or skill it takes all with impunity.

                Aldric reached up to his right cheek and felt the deep scar that marred it. He had gotten the scar in that battle, a gift from a fellow clansman who gotten clumsy with his axe swings. He then dragged his hand over to where his left eye had once been. He then thought back to the battle that had claimed that eye. The Clans of the Northern Wulfmen had been united, a great king from the west had promised wealth and glory if they would fight under his banner. Rival clans who had waged war with one another for centuries now stood together turning their destructive might to the east, to the Shadowlands.

                Aldric remembers the scores of battles they fought and the hard fought victory after victory they achieved in the name of the Kingdom of Pelador but that one battle stood out most of all. The Tuskmen, primitive tribes, even by Wulfmen standards, from the Eastern Savagelands had been swayed by the Dark Lords to fight for them. These naked brutes were a mass of muscle and fought with an inhuman fury. The King of Pelador decided to throw the Wulfmen tribes against them, better to waste the lives of barbarians rather than true soldiers of the Kingdom.

                Aldric still remembered that fateful charge into the Tuskmen’s lines. While he no longer held on to the notion of the glory of death in battle, he did accept it with a calm reserve. His axe swung through the air and tore into the guts of one large Tuskmen. The primitive howled in pain as he fell to the ground. Aldric brought his axe around and cleaved the head off the shoulders of another brute. Though the Tuskmen were fearsome in appearance, he found that they died the same as any man. One by one he cut a swath through their ranks as the enemy dead piled up around him. Just as his confidence soared he felt dizzy and then dropped to the ground.

                As he felt where his eye had once been he chuckled to himself that he had not even seen the blow coming. Most of the scars he bore were from blows he never saw coming. He looked to his right and saw his axe propped up beside him. He reached his hand out to it and felt its haft. In his head he reassured his trusty weapon that soon it would taste the blood of the enemy again. Though Aldric was now missing an eye and a finger, and could not longer tell if he had more scars or wrinkles, he still craved battle. He was not mad with bloodlust like some, war had simply become a part of him.

                Not that it mattered whether he craved battle or not fore it was coming one way or another. The enemy had swept through Pelador like a plague killing everything in its path. The Otani Empire had swept in from the western shores while the black dwarfs of the Inferno Mountains had invaded from the east. The Dark Lords of the Shadowlands followed in their wake bringing with them even more horrifying creatures. For men like Aldric and his clan there was only war.

                Off in the distance Aldric and his group heard a loud braying sound. They scrambled to their feet readying their axes and shields. The younger warriors had the false look of bravado while the older warriors like Aldric had a disassociated look of indifference. Whatever manner of beasts had made that sound were not human and they would soon be upon them. Aldric gripped his axe tightly and quietly whispered to his father that he might be seeing him soon.

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How Much of This Is Real???

I am often asked how many of the things I write on this blog are real. And by often I mean I was asked once, by Missy the other night, if a story I posted was real. She was surprised that I hadn't previously told her about an outlandish tale I wrote about. We have lived together for over a year, and for four of those months I was off work, so we had plenty of time to tell each other damn near every interesting story that has ever happened to us.

My initial answer to her was to never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Does that comment mean that the things I write about are stuff that I conjure in my head? Not at all. What the comment means is that often times "true stories" are given a certain amount of artistic licenses to embellish and or distort facts to make for a better story. Do you think I honestly remember every detail of an event that happened a decade ago? Of course I do not, so while the general story is true and in tact, I may have had to invent certain dialogue or reactions.

Other times, believe it or not, I have to alter the facts to make a story sound more believable. This might sound outright absurd but I have found that the more outrageous the story is, the more likely that it is entirely true. The more mundane a story and the more likely I have distorted certain facts. Let me give you an example of a story and you can guess what is true and what I made up.

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In 2003 I shared a one bedroom apartment in Indiana with three other men and one woman for two months. During that time one of my roommates starting dating the woman we lived with. Other than the fact that she had gigantic fake tits and some really horrible tattoos she seemed not too out of the ordinary at the time. Don't get me wrong, she was bat shit crazy and on a ton of psyche meds and seemed to flip out of the mere mention of showing her tits. No I never asked because I thought she was too mannish (she was of Russian ancestry and I believe she had a strong influence of Mongolian blood so she was very stout though not overweight) but I do find it funny that you would get fake tits over the top too big and then get offended when men would comment on them. If I wore tight jeans wouldn't I be absurd to get mad when women commented on wanting to see what was behind my impressive bulge?

Anyways the male and female roommates soon moved into their own place a few streets over. Based on his track record of never having a successful relationship ever in his life, we all pretty much knew things would be fucked up. He was a bully and extremely violent over those he felt he could dominate and she was a fucking nut case who was so fucked up on pills and booze most of the time she could barely walk. Too say things in that household got overly violent would be a massive understatement. Since he is not a snitch and in prison for life I can safely tell this story without getting anyone in trouble. She had a few guns and a bulletproof vest. Although I can hardly remember exact details I am sure they were her's because he never had a nickel to his name. Seriously, he was content to make 50 bucks a week being a manager at a tattoo shop. Dispel right now any delusions about how great it must be to work in a tattoo shop. It is extremely boring and unless you are an owner or tattooist you are not making shit for money. All these piercers and managers who desperately hang on to those titles make fuck all for money. They are just too lazy and fucked up to work real jobs so they are content to make less than a hundred bucks a week. I made more than that 15 years ago working a part time job in high school. The point of this part of the story though is that he made her put on a bullet proof vest and he shot her with one of her guns 5 times because he was mad at her about something.

Their relationship did not last long before it imploded. I forget how or why the split but split they did and it wasn't long until she moved away. Oh, the best part about the story? We found out months after she moved away that she had previously been a world famous porn star. Seriously, she had appeared in over 200 films in the early to mid nineties. Seriously among the dozens or so guys who hung out at the time, many of them were what could only be described as pornography connoisseurs, but not one of them recognized her.

That is really her

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So can you guess what part of that story was real and what part was fake? I will make it easy on you, the only part that was false was that I only lived with them for a month. After that I moved in with another friend who lived about 15 minutes away because the apartment was simply too crowded. Every other detail is correct and yes that really is a picture of her from her porn days. You can see what I meant by her being "stout". No offense to her because I really have no opinion on her one way or another but I had my chances and never felt one iota of a desire to capitalize and at the time I would say that I was not known for being discerning.

I will never give you an exact run down of which posts I have made that are real and which are distorted and which are just outright fiction. I will say that off the top of my head the only one's I can think of that are outright fiction are fairly obviously meant to be works of fiction, and most of the others are mostly retold as best as I can remember.

One thing I do often do is something common in all "based on a true story" stories. Sometimes for the sake of condensing a story or to make a mundane story more interesting, I will combine two separate stories into a single one. This is done all the time in all forms of media and I admit I sometimes do it. For instance the article about the drink concoction I made to fight the cold I had was mostly true. I did make that drink but the story of having to take a wicked shit and not being able to turn my steering wheel actually happened about a week after I made the drink concoction. I couldn't really make a complete story out of either incidents on their own, there just wasn't enough material, but by combining the two into a single story I had something that I could work with.

Always keep in mind, even the most interesting man in the world's day to day life is probably boring as hell. I worked as a bouncer in a bar for over a month and while it sounds like an exciting job full of a lot of brawls and broken beer bottles it was actually the most boring job I ever had besides the masturbation box job (That is for the next blog entry).

I Can't Believe I Tried This

Have you ever done something for a really good reason that was really fucking stupid. I know that when it comes to getting stronger I have tried about every damn thing under the sun in my quest. Some of these things were actually quite effective and really improved my overall strength and power. On the other hand some of the things I have tried over the years have made me question whether I was borderline retarded.

With the over abundance of fitness guru's and self proclaimed internet stars it is easy to get confused. Everyone seems to have vastly different ideas on how to train and eat and they all seem to contradict one another. This has led me on more than one occasion to follow some pretty shifty advice to say the least. Luckily for myself early on I got to train with some really good people, guys who held world records, and it set me on the right track as far as training is concerned.

Having said that, it doesn't mean that I haven't fallen prey to attempting other things to increase my strength. You see when I am confronted with a problem I try to find a multi-faceted solution to the problem. Many people in the iron game are pretty simple minded in their approach. To them the only thing that matters is training heavy and eating big, fuck science and all that "gay shit".

This could be one of the smartest men in the world but he looks like he is more likely to eat a book than read it.

There is something to be said for this kind of simplistic approach. At the end of the day the desire and motivation to lift and eat heavy will go farther than almost anything out there. I am a big man and I love being a big man and I agree with those two basic tenets wholeheartedly. That does not stop me from attempting other methods though to reach my end goals.

Over the past couple of years these attempts have represented an entire spectrum of ideas. I have tried spiritual means to increase my lifts. I must of prayed to every god of every culture of every time period a time or two. I selfishly demanded that they grant me strength and to forsake all those who are actual believers because I really really really wanted to be strong. If I prayed to Thor one week and missed a lift I  prayed to Jesus the next. If he produced I stuck with him until I missed another lift and it was on to praying to Ares. This might seem like I am making a mockery of religion but ask yourself this, am I the one making a mockery of religion or are the ignorant jackasses who honestly think God gives a shit about the outcome of a sports game the ones really making a mockery of religion.

But this post is not about religious beliefs. It is about the things outside of training and eating that I have done to try and get stronger. One of the more dumb things I tried was to shock myself before a big training session. Due to my job I work around voltages ranging from 60 to 120 volts AC. This is not enough to kill you but unless you are into S&M it is enough to cause you a bit of a jolt. So on more than one occasion I purposely shocked myself with 90 volts to jack me up before a big training day. I have no idea if this helped or hurt my performance but I know that it did leave me feeling a bit weird for a few hours afterward and I don't recall every being dazzled by my progress at the time.

Those things were stupid sure but they really don't hold a candle to what has to rank up there as the dumbest thing I ever did to try and get strong. It started out innocently enough, like a good internet junkie I was surfing the web. This took place in 2009 so at the time I was probably trying to drown out my miserable existence at the time (this was a year before I first met the beautiful Missy [Still want to kick her family's ass for no reason though]). Although I cannot remember the exact circumstances that were going on at the time I am fairly certain I was probably trying to ignore the drunken insults being thrown at me from someone I am glad I no longer have to tolerate. It was under these conditions I found an article online that said that the colder a man's testicles were the more adrenaline his body would produce.

I sat there skimming over the first paragraph of the article and was fascinated. Apparently exposing your suede man-bag to frigid cold triggered some fight or flight response in men. Obviously I could see how this could benefit my quest for maximum strength. Powerlifters are always looking for an edge to get more pumped up before a lift. Some guys listen to violent death metal music, others have people smack them in the face, and the really crazy ones sniff ammonia caps.

So just imagine how excited I am that I may have found that secret edge that would give me an advantage over my training partners or fellow competitors. My only problem was how the hell was I going to expose "das boys" to frigid cold temperatures before a lift.

It was October and while not exactly the high sweltering heat of say August it was still relatively warm outside. It was another two days before our Squat/Deadlift training session and I really wanted to get that extra boost as our training sessions were getting extremely competitive at the time. I think the first night I barely slept at all. I was laying on the sofa staring at the ceiling trying to figure out a solution. After much deliberation the only solution I could come up with was to place a baggy full of ice down my pants as I drove from my house to the gym. It was about a 15-20 minute drive so I hoped that would give me enough time to really get the boys nice and cold.

The day of the training session I was amped up all morning. I could barely concentrate on work as all I thought about was the extra edge this would give me. I kept staring at my cell phone counting down the time until finally it was 5 O'clock. I rushed home as quickly as I could and made a bee line for the refrigerator. I grabbed a baggy on the way and as fast as I could I scooped up the ice and placed it in the baggy. I sealed it up and then changed into my training clothes as quickly as possible. Before I even left the bathroom I wedged the baggy of ice down my pants. I had purposely wore some tighty whities, which I never do, so that the bag of ice would stay put.

Howie Long has the right idea

I placed the bag under the balls so that it kind of rested in between the underwear and the taint. The cold didn't really both me as I have a high tolerance to cold. I was now set so I grabbed my gym bag and headed out the door. I rushed to my car and opened the door and flopped into the seat. That is when I heard the distinct sound of ice getting crushed and felt and intense rush of pain shoot straight up my body all the way to the head. That initial pain was nothing compared to the pain that set in my lower stomach about twenty seconds later.

Somehow as I was sitting down I put so much pressure on my balls that they smashed into the bag of ice basically crushing but the ice and testicles. It was honestly the most painful thing I had ever experienced up to that point. I must of sat in my car for nearly ten minutes not knowing whether I should go to the gym or the hospital. I hurt so bad but I just didn't have the mentality to allow myself any option but to still go to the gym.

Let me tell you this now, trying to drive after smashing ice cubes with your balls is one of the most uncomfortable things you can ever attempt to do. I felt all kinds of hurt that I didn't even know existed. Someone must of been looking out for me though because I somehow made it to the gym unharmed. I literally had to hobble through the door and barely made it to the gym lockers. One of my training partners immediately saw that something was wrong but I played it off as having strained a hamstring and that I would be okay after we started warming up.

I sincerely hoped that would be the case but I can't say that I believed it. I was too scared to examine my balls so I just hobbled my way out of the locker room and made my way to the monolift. I got under the bar and set up to do my first warm up set. I unracked the weight and started to sit back and screamed out in pain as I collapsed back on to the box.  My training partners lent hands to help me up but I told them to leave me be for a minute. My one training partner was a physical therapist and asked me what hurt and I told him I smashed my sac on the way down (I still didn't want to give up my secret yet). So there I am in the middle of a gym that is open to the public and he has me drop my shorts right there. I am literally balls out and I can see from the giant gym mirror that my boys were a horrible color of blue and swollen like tennis balls.

I heard him say an audible "what the fuck" when he saw them. I think he was dumbfounded just how the fuck I managed to do this just by sitting back to squat on a warm up set. I was too embarrassed as it was to say I had shoved a bag full of ice down my pants to try and get an edge and smashed my sac in the process. He told me that I should go to the emergency room but I refused. I pulled my shorts back up and hobbled back to the locker room. I sat on a bench in there for some time wondering just how the fuck could I have gotten myself into this mess. I mustered the strength to rise back up and I checked out the gym computer at the front desk. I looked up the article I had read because I wanted to make a warning comment. The anonymity of the internet allowed me the courage to say what I had done to warn others not to attempt my methods. So I opened up Mozilla firefox and found the article. I scrolled down to find the comment section and ended up reading a bit more of the article.

IT WAS A BULLSHIT ARTICLE, A JOKE, A FUCKING FARCE. Yep despite having above average intelligence I failed to notice that the article was a joke written in jest about how people on the internet fall for all sorts of bullshit "bro-science" when it comes to training.

Yes this is true and yes it took nearly two weeks of pain and swollen balls to return to normal but I learned a lesson that will last a lifetime.

I Hate Supermarkets Part 2

So we left off earlier with myself walking into the supermarket with a fuming rage that would impress Yosemite Sam. I touched on the subject in part 1 but I have to reiterate just how much middle aged women transform into barbarians when they have a shopping cart in hand.

They will plow you the fuck over if you get in their way but they have no qualms about dead stopping in front of you on a whim. They will block one side of the aisle with their cart and then block the other side with their big ass as they ponder for 20 minutes which brand of whatever it is that they want to buy.

This picture has absolutely no relevance to this entry

Don't even think about trying to move around them. If you clear your throat and politely say excuse me they will turn and look at you with a scowl on their face that would stop a lion dead in its tracks. Mind you, this wildebeest is the same type of person who would have no qualms about running right into with their cart if the roles were reversed. In any other setting no one in their right mind would treat me with even a minor disrespect let alone basically smack me in the face with rudeness. But for some reason the shopping cart is the source of a middle aged woman's  power. Much like Sampson and his hair, so long as they have the cart they feel that nothing can get in their way.

This brings me to another point of contention that bugs me. Have you ever noticed in a store you can go to an aisle that is completely devoid of any other shoppers and probably has not had one person walk down it for over an hour, but the moment you go down the aisle next thing you know people flock to it. And it doesn't matter that you were their first they want you to move out of their goddamn way before you piss them off.

This happened to Missy and I on Christmas Eve. We went to Walmart and knew it would be chock full of assholes. Hell when isn't Walmart chock full of assholes? And lately to make matters worse the local Walmart looks more and more like an African trading village than a shopping center in a suburban city. I must of missed the memo but apparently someone transplanted Ellis Island to the center of our local Walmart. That rant aside this story does not involve those of the foreign variety but rather home grown overweight middle aged women of European decent. You see the store was packed tighter than a freight train heading to Auschwitz. With traffic jams polluting nearly every aisle Missy and I searched for some kind of lightly trafficked aisle to let the jams work themselves out. The alternative was that I was going to go into full on Hulk mode.

Why the hell not?

So we noticed that the school supplies aisle was empty. Doesn't surprise me as based upon the parents who were shopping I doubt education was very important in their households. Much to Missy and I's surprise though the aisle held some real gems for gifts for kids. We found markers and coloring books and all kinds of artsy sort of things that we knew our nieces would love. Well actually Missy knew they would love, I don't really give a shit that much because I am kind of an asshole. Don't get me wrong I love our nieces but I don't really pay much attention to things like family and stuff like that. Hell I fantasize about beating up most of Missy's family for no apparent reason but goddamn in my dreams does it feel good. I guess I am fucked up and you can only blame my family for that so it kind of proves me right.

So we are browsing through the items trying to decide what to get when all of a sudden here comes another shopper following suit. Apparently because we were looking interested at something this piqued others interest because before long another person showed up followed by several more. Before we knew it there was now a traffic jam on our aisle. Mind you it had sat empty for nearly 20 minutes and with in 2 minutes of us going there and now it was packed. And some of these women had the nerve to give us nasty looks because we would not move out of their way. I didn't care at this point and I met their scowls back. Shopping carts or not I was bigger, stronger, and had a bigger penis than everyone in that aisle. If they wanted a war I was ready and able, and armed with my war club of flesh I was going to make my last stand.

This was me but my penis is so big the crotch would be bulging out more

They must of seen the fierce look in my eyes because they fell back in retreat. I looked to Missy and told her to grab what we were buying because we had to get out of there. Shopping Cart Rage Women are easily frightened but quickly return and in greater numbers. We made our way out of the store without incidence but it was truly a close one.

You want to know what else bugs me about supermarkets? Kids and the parents who don't give a fuck about teaching those kids manners. I can't count how many times kids cut me off and make me have to make a sudden stop because they darted across some aisle or did some other asinine thing. I know that some kids are hyper and all but that is no excuse for half-assed parenting. Get control of your fucking kids and stop letting them run wild or act out of turn. It is not hard because plenty of parents do it every single day, but a few bad apples make all kids appear like a bunch of out of control chimpanzees. There is no excuse, it comes down to bad parenting. And you know what, if you are content with being a shit parent then don't blame me when I punt kick your mistake of nature out of my way. My life doesn't revolve around your freak you pumped out of your welfare legs and quite frankly I would gladly squash it like a bug rather than allow it to annoy me. Harsh? Fuck you and your harsh. Fuck your kids too for that matter.

I don't hate kids, at all. I hate parents who are shit parents.

I Hate Supermarkets Part 1

Okay I have to admit this is more of a love-hate relationship. I cannot fully hate any place that is chuck full of food. Strolling by the meat counter I fall in love with the assortment of beef, pork, chicken, fish, and whatever the fuck that crap is they season the fuck out of to hide the rotten meat beneath. If I ruled the world I would just set up a grill in the middle of a supermarket and go to town. Endless ground beef patties, steaks, chicken breasts, turkey sausage, pork loins, and hell I would even chow down on some salmon.

Of course there is also other areas of the supermarket worthy of love. Sweet potatoes, red potatoes, Idaho potatoes, rice, breads, and hell who am I lying to--- Donuts!!! Yep I am in love with the various assortments of good food stuff.

But alas like all true loves, it withers on the vine the moment you introduce other people. Whether they are fellow shoppers or employees they all serve to piss me off. For me it starts before I even walk inside the store. As soon as I pull into the parking lot I am in a blind rage. Ass-wipes are flying through the parking lot like it is the autobahn causing near accidents everywhere. Seriously does anyone stop and think they are wielding a giant metal death machine and when you drive recklessly you are putting people's lives at risk.

If I just decide to punch people in the jaw randomly then I am a big bully who will get locked up in prison but apparently people see nothing wrong with nearly running people over by zipping through a parking lot. Sorry but you will most likely survive a punch to the jaw but you are much less likely to survive getting plowed over a car.

And to be perfectly honest I am a fairly shitty driver. I have detailed my lack of driving skills on this blog before and suffice to say that my skills have not improved over the last year. Combine my shitty driving skills with other people acting like the parking lot is the Daytona 500 and you have one extremely pissed off Spartan.

"Who is the Spartan?" Me dumbass! I just watched the movie 300 again so for the next two weeks I will be a Spartan. Maybe I will watch Man in the Iron Mask next week so I can then be a musketeer for a few weeks. They do wear nice tabards after all.

Is there any chance that this guy has not fingered a dozen boys???

So after cruising through the parking lot for a mini-eternity trying to find the perfect parking spot I finally settle on a spot that is farther away then at least half a dozen ones I passed up. I usually try to cover for my lack of parking skills by claiming I like to park farther away to get some extra walking in. Of course this bullshit, I am extremely lazy outside of the gym and the last thing I like to do is make things harder on myself.

The next act is a real killer though. You see, we own a mustang and it is our daily driving car. On a side note, if you live in Columbus Ohio and see a blue flash of lightning pass by you chances are it is Missy driving. I know she drives because she leaves and then comes back and the mustang is gone when she does but try as I might I never actually catch a glimpse of her driving although I do hear a sonic boom about 4 seconds after I see a hazy blue object zoom by.

Back to the topic at hand and that is getting out of the car. I am a big man, obviously, and getting out of a mustang is a bitch. You can't just flop out like a normal size person, instead you have to have impeccable technique to squeeze out of the fucking thing. I remember when mustangs used to be big muscle cars (actually no I don't because that was before I was born but fuck letting the truth get in the way of a good story) but now a hobbit would bitch about the head room.

So now I am almost in a blind rage and Missy is swearing up and down she will never go to the store with me again (she always relents though because who wouldn't want to be seen with a real life ogre).

I am not sure what it is about giving middle aged women shopping carts but it turns them into maniacs. Seriously the movie Mad Max has nothing on an American supermarket.

I am here to shop and fuck shit up

People think road rage is bad but it ain't got shit on shopping cart rage. I will delve into more of this in part 2 as I now have to go to work. I should get paid just to shit around and be awesome but it just hasn't happened yet.

Part 2: Shopping Cart Rage, Serial Rapist Supermarket Managers, Wandering Eyes, and Blocked Lanes.

A Brilliant Strategy

No I don't fancy myself some great war general because I can snipe people on some stupid xbox live game like Modern Warfare. Hell I don't even use xbox live and barely use the 360 that I own. The only games I have for it are a few years old so that I can buy them for under ten bucks at some used video game store. I would rather spend my hard earned money on mass quantities of food to stay big and yoked. In my experience most gamers should put away the controllers and pick up some barbells and some turkey legs but that is a topic for another article.

Instead, this article is about the strategy I employed to defeat the recent cold that I had caught. If you have been following my recent blog entries you will know that I am a big baby when I am sick and absolutely detest it. In fact I hate any and all physical abnormalities whether they be a cold, poison ivy rash, fever blister, or swollen testicles because I have a big ass set of balls. I have records to break and barriers to knock down and getting sick is just not acceptable.

 

 

I ain't got time to be sick!

As I felt the tickle in my throat grow to very painful and the chest congestion starting to get overwhelming I accepted the fact that I was getting sick. Even though I accepted that I was getting sick I was not going to take it lying down. I would fight the cold with all the strength that I could muster. Weak people accept being sick but I am strong and I would conquer it.

Since at that stage of the cold the worst part of it was an extremely painful sore throat I decided to combat it on that level. I set about searching on the internet to find some kick ass extreme way to beat that fucking cold to the ground. After checking a few sites I found a slew of different remedies. Shit that people swear will knock that stuff out in a day. Almost all of them revolved around gargling different kinds of fluids, and no that is not a homosexual reference.

So one cold ass morning I stood in the kitchen trying to decide which of the remedies I would use to beat the cold. I had read about people gargling salt in water, cayenne pepper in water, green tea with honey, apple cider vinegar with honey, lemon juice, and something else that slips my mind. Not knowing which to decide on I said fuck it I am using them all.

I mean hell if one of them works, then if I combine all of them in one mega cold killing drink concoction it would super duper work. So I grabbed an assortment of ingredients. I heated up some green tea and to this I added half a bottle of haberno sauce. I then poured in a bottle of cayenne pepper sauce (I had no cayenne pepper). I then dumped about 3 tablespoons of apple cider vinegar. Next came a few squeezes of honey along with some onion, paprika, garlic, and black pepper powder. I then added a shitload of pure lemon juice and rounded things off with a ridiculous amount of salt.

All in all the concoction was large enough to fill a 20 ounce bottle. I knew it would taste like a Korean's taint but I also knew that no cold could survive that fucking bombardment. So with drink in hand I trotted off to my work trunk and started my drive. Along the way I took a big old swig and swished it around my mouth a couple times. Much to my surprise it was not that bad. Sure it wasn't exactly as tasty as breast milk but it wasn't nearly as bad as I had built up in my mind.

Then I tried to gargle that motherfucker and the shit hit the fan. My mouth exploded and I quickly slammed on the brakes and opened my trunk door so I could throw up all over the ice covered street. Since I drive a company truck this was especially awesome since most people would not assume I was throwing up from some cold killing drink concoction but instead was probably throwing up from still being drunk from the night before.

So my first attempt was not all that successful but I was not about to let that keep me down. As I started driving again I took another swig. This one wasn't quite as big as before and I swished it around my mouth a little bit longer. Rather than try to gargle this time I just swallowed the drink. Imagine a throat that was already raw and in intense pain and now add in insane heat to that and I was in fucking misery. I cursed life and everyone around me for a few moments before calming myself down with the warm thoughts of a cold that would be gone by tomorrow morning.

Throughout the work day I continued to alternate between swallowing the drink and trying to gargle it. The results were mixed to say the least but I seemed to be ingesting a decent enough amount to do the trick. I would knock that shit out of the park in no time at all.

At lunch time I did my normal routine and went home to eat. I live in my work area and going home allows me to eat big warm healthy meals rather than some crap from a fast food joint. I forget what I had for lunch but I am sure it was something healthy and easy on the stomach. After my allotted lunch time (cough cough) I got back in my truck to go back to work.

I made it to the main road and then it hit me. To say I had to go to the bathroom would be a massive understatement. A full on assplosion hit me like a ton of fucking bricks. I tried my best to hold back the tide but my body wanted to go and it wanted to immediately. My only defense was to rise my ass up off my seat and contort my lower body into a position that I could do a death clinch grip on my ass to hold back the tidal wave.

unfortunately this wedged my body in between the steering wheel in the seat. There is little room as it is between the two and by lifting up and contorting my lower body I had wedged myself so tightly that I could not even turn the steering wheel. I am not joking either, I couldn't turn the fucking wheel without losing my tight ass clinch position and if I did that I knew I was going to fucking lose it. I had no choice but to keep driving straight until I got a break in the pressure. Do you want to know how long that was? It was 20 miles and I am not joking. I ended up driving 20 miles (I was on a major highway) before I could get enough of a pause that I could turn my truck around.

Once turned around I started making my way back towards my house. I was dead set on making it back to my house and for good reason. I absolutely avoid using a public restroom unless I have to. For some reason men seem to make it a goal to get as much shit as possible on the walls, floor, and even ceiling as they can in a public restroom. Not to mention I knew I was going to explode when I finally did hit a toilet and the last thing I wanted was a fucking audience listening in.

So I made it a point to make it back to my house. About 5 miles to go and it hits me again like a ton of bricks. So contorted I go and wedged again I am. I prayed and prayed and prayed that I could get another pause before I came to the turn to my neighborhood. Lord knows I couldn't survive another 20 mile detour. I was sure to have a blowout if I didn't hit a bathroom with in minutes. Hell I wasn't even guaranteed that I wouldn't have a blowout even if I did hit one with in minutes. It took every ounce of my strength to hold the gates against the invasion and they were buckling and about to crumble.

Somehow as if the powers of the universe were aligned in my favor I was able to get a pause to make the turn and make it to my neighborhood. As I stopped in front of my house I texted Missy to make sure the front door was open but that I would have to sit in my truck for a bit to let the next round pass. I sat there waiting and waiting with a look of intense pain on my face. I was contorted and wedged but ready for action. I knew that I had but one brief moment from when I got the pause that I could make a bee line for the house and get to the toilet before a total blowout took effect. It seems that being so close to the finish line made things that much tougher.

I am going to cut out the gory details but I made it, just barely mind you. After finishing I plopped down on my sofa and sat there sweaty and panting with my asshole on fire. I succeeded but only just barely and the price of victory was evident on my face.

Oh yeah, as for the drink concoction it worked about as well as screwing a virgin cures you of the aids. I was even sicker the next day with the added bonus of an asshole of fire. The drink concoction still sits in the cup holder in my work truck, I am afraid to even touch it to throw it out. Maybe one day I will work up the courage to dispose of it but not today.

Dedication

What separates the best from everyone else? A lot of people would say it was great genetics and natural talent. Those at the top would say it is hard work and dedication. The truth is that it is some of both. We all know people out there that were born for athletic talent. Results come easy to them and they are able to excel even with a lazy work ethic and piss poor training. On the other side of the equation there are those who will slave away training and never amount to a bucket of piss in anything.

This transcends sports and delves into all aspects of life. In school I was naturally gifted at certain subjects like mathematics and history. Where as others had to slave away with long hours of studying I showed up to the test late (and sometimes drunk) and turned in the test ten minutes later and would get the highest score in the class. I am sure this pissed off that person who had spent every night that week plugging away hitting the books only to come back with a C+.

Life is not fair. We are told that as children but it really needs to sink in. While I may have been excellent at math and history I had poor grammar and spelling. Where as I could get by with barely studying (and sometimes not at all) for math I could ill afford to do the same when I came to English class. Hell I graduated with honors but failed fucking photography for fucks sake.

Ever seen Mike Tyson in his boxing prime play basketball? He was getting schooled by Don King's old ass. This is one of the greatest athletes in the world at the time with the basketball coordination of a white guy with downs syndrome.

Why am I saying all this? Because while you cannot change what you are born with you do have control over your work ethic and dedication. While it may not make you the best, a strong work ethic will make you much better than what you are. Want to know why I can bench press more than you? It is certainly not because I was naturally strong in the bench press.

There was a time as a grown adult at 250 lbs. and I could barely even bench press 135 lbs. for one rep. That is one freaking 45 pound plate on each side of the bar. It was pathetic and embarrassing. Do you know what secret methods I used to raise my bench press from a paltry 135 lbs. to where it is now? Hard ass work that is what. While I had a strong ass deadlift my bench  press crawled along. I had to fight for every 5 pound increase. It was rough watching guys smaller than me bench pressing the same as me while the big boys left me in a trail of dust.

While this would cause some people to give up in frustration it made me mad. A rage built up inside of me, a fiery cauldron of hatred that boiled over into every aspect of my life. I snapped at every motherfucker around me because anything outside of making my bench press stronger was a distraction I didn't need. You ask me for directions because you are lost and I would lift you in the air and throw you across the side walk.

I was a walking time bomb that had only one goal in life. I slaved away in the gym sometimes being at the gym 7 days a week 3 times a day. Before work I was there, after work I was there, during my lunch break I was there.

Soon I watched barriers fall. I remember the day I bench press 225 lbs. (2 plates per side). Everyone around me was happy for me but I told them to fuck off. I didn't want 225, I wanted to smash them and leave them in my dust. I didn't have time to be happy over a pathetic bench press.

Every milestone I hit after that I remember the same range of emotions. Anger and hatred seething through me even though soon I was beating those around me. People in the gym were now coming up to me and asking me how to get their bench press stronger. I used to be the guy doing the asking (and I still do because there is always someone stronger) and now I was being asked. I gave back what helped me, it is the only way to honor all those world record holder bench pressers who continue to help guide me. Pass on the free knowledge they gave me.

What is funny is I will help anyone who asks but you can see it in their eyes. Some guys have it and will succeed and others you just know will fail. It is not whether they are cocky or humble but it is in their eyes. You can see those who despite their words are a predator at heart and those who are a prey. You have to be a predator in this world. The prey will always curl up and die at the first sign of failure.

Now I pass on all my collective knowledge to Missy. She has been bitten by the Iron Bug and has become obsessed with powerlifting (and is there anything else worth being obsessed over besides Missy herself). I can see in those sexy brown eyes (and brown eye) of her's that she has that fire and passion that will carry her to the top. Even more so than me she has so much dedication I am just simply amazed. She chugs along in the Deadlifter's Fortress despite the fact that the gym's heating system sucks and she freezes her (very nice) butt off. She puts up with my incessant coaching and no nonsense attitude when it comes to training. She does everything I do despite my years of building up a strong work rate and her being new to this.

She will be a top lifter in her weight class. Maybe one of the greatest of all time. What about you? What will you do? It doesn't have to be powerlifting but it sure as fuck better be something in life. Live for something and don't make that something your next fix (and yes alcohol is a drug that is worse than heroin and crack). The glory of success is a better high than any bullshit drug. Live for the moment and be the best you can fucking be in this life. Missy and I will be.

Don't Fall for the Latest Trappings

It is so easy in this world to get lost in the maze of high tech gadgetry and newfangled inventions. Anymore it seems like unless you buy a new television or computer every week you are left behind in the race of technology. I am not even sure if I know the difference between an Ipod, Ipad, PDA,Kindle, E-reader, or any other assortment of high tech gadgets used now. Hell is PDA even cutting edge anymore or is it now in the techno graveyard alongside VCRs and fleshlights?

I feel like a dinosaur anymore. Where as at one time I tried to keep up in the techno race with all the latest cutting edge stuff, I have now accepted that my time has passed. I prefer a good old fashioned desktop computer or laptop to the fancy nancy tablet bullshit I see metro-sexual looking guys with painted fingernails using. I remember  back in the days of the world wide web when only the super dorks and geeks used the thing and if you were chatting with people there was zero chance you would ever meet them.

Now a days you can go online and strike up a conversation and be fucking that person later that night. It is a crazy world we live in I guess.

That is the reason why I love powerlifting. No matter how fancy the world gets there is just something so primal and beastly about lifting heavy ass weights. There is no complicated equations or fancy gadgets that will make you strong, only hard ass work and dedication.

I know some people might take exception to that. You see several decades back someone came up with the concept of gear for powerlifting, squat suits, bench shirts, etc. While at the beginning these were mostly just extremely tight fitting polyester or canvas shirts or suits that protected the lifters from injury when lifting heavy weights, it was quickly found that their tightness provided a certain amount of rebound for the lifter allowing them to lift heavier weights. Of course this turned into a race to see who could make shirts and suits that provided the most amount of carryover in the lift.

So powerlifting gear makers started experimenting by making multiple layers (multiply) and making the shirts open back so you could jack them tighter and also using newer and better material. While at one time you would be lucky to be able to lift 20 more pounds in a bench shirt now a days 200 lbs. or more is quite common. To give you an idea, the current unequiped (raw) bench press world record is 715 lbs and the current equiped is 1075 lbs. That equates to over 300 lbs. of carryover at the least.

You will find about the same numbers in regards to the squat. There is the famous example of a guy squatting 1200 pounds in a multiply meet and then in a raw meet barely hitting over 600.

This has created a big divide in the sport of powerlifting as some people believe in using all the gear they can, while some believe in a moderate amount of gear (like single ply divisions that allow only suits and shirts made of certain materials and only one layer in thickness) and those in raw divisions. Even the raw brigade is divided over whether you should be allowed to wear a belt or knee wraps to be considered raw. And then there is the whole debate over using a monolift for squats verses having to use squat stands and walking the squats out. It is enough to make one's head spin.

But honestly fuck all that debate. No bench shirt or squat suit has ever lifted a goddamn pound of weight. At the end of the day it is human strength and power that does the lifting. I could care less how someone powerlifts I respect anyone out on the platform making personal records. While I think gear has gotten out of hand it is not going to change anytime soon. Most of the strongest men in the world (especially from the USA) lift in multiply gear and it is here to stay.

Back to the topic at hand and that is the simplicity and beauty of powerlifting. At its core it involves the BIG THREE lifts, that is Squat, Bench Press, and Deadlift. Although it is no longer a contested lift at major events some people like myself like to lump in the Overhead Press. While it does not contribute to one's total I like having two upper body strength lifts as well as two lower body strength lifts, plus I think it is just goddamn awesome to lift something over your head like some goddamn caveman.

Powerlifting allows me to channel my anger at the world into something. I am pissed off a lot quite frankly. I feel like this world looked at me on day one and shook its head no and from then on I just never fit in. I have always felt like I walked alone in this world and things would never really make sense for me. I feel like when things finally started to make sense and I started to feel some happiness the world decided to steal my father away from me in revenge.

Underneath it all I am a ticking time bomb of rage and anger. I want to lash out at the person who cuts me off in traffic or the idiot who blocks the lane in the grocery store. I want to unleash my fury on every motherfucker who has ever gotten in my way. I am so full of hatred inside of me I feel it boiling over any minute now.

Powerlifting keeps that hatred in check. I channel that raw emotion into each lift and put it all on the platform. I know every time that I train I leave a little bit of my life behind. It is  not healthy to push your body to its physical limits and beyond but I do it because otherwise my hatred would of consumed me long ago. I was a moody and angry child and grew up to be a moody and angry adult and I need my outlet before I go off the deep end. I have it in me but I keep it down but only barely.

Powerlifting needs not to be complicated. Its beauty is the raw simplicity that it beholds. Men have been picking things up off the ground or lifting things over their heads since prehistoric times. Signs of strength and power meant that you were the one who bred with the beautiful women and passed on your seed. Now all kinds of weak people bred and we have a weak society.

Don't get caught up in the fads of strength training. Kettlebells, barbell complexes, hand stand pushups, and other things are nice but never forget what has made man strong for thousands of years. Squat, deadlift, overhead press, and bench press (if only so you can throw out some big ass number anytime someone asks what you can bench).

Oh and keep in mind if you ask me what I can bench it just lets me know you don't train. Anyone worth a damn knows that deadlifting or squatting are much better representations of strength than benching is. In fact bench pressing is the least functional of all the big lifts. If someone tells me what they deadlift or squat I know exactly how strong that individual is, bench pressing tells me nothing.