Fat-ish

I'm on Green Tea and Lipo-6 this morning, a metabolic enhancement pill that has scientifically proven capabilities of loosing the Demons of ADD upon thee. I feel like I could run through a wall, talk to it, or cry. It's rather liberating. It's only a 1/2 dose, too, which makes me wonder how people make it a full day taking up to 6 of these things. I took 1, and just recently finished bare-handedly gutting a cougar. I took it because, normally, it acts much like other speeders to dial-in my focus. I didn't eat breakfast before taking it, however, so now I'm just sitting here doing some full-body muscle contractions in between fits of upper-lip sweating.

My fat content is in the black, that's one positive way to look at it, I guess. I could drop about 20lbs and cut my bodyfat % to 10, which would be awesome. I have abs, I can feel them every time I suck my gut in to strap my belt on. I've always been big, too. I'm broad. Evolution-wise, I figure I'm one of those who would have been hauling stuff when I wasn't fighting it for the amusement of others. And I exercise a lot, at least 4 solid workouts a week. It's time to quit fooling myself and work more cardio into the mix. Why on earth do I need to work my military press back up to 225? Doctor says I'm in phenomenal shape for a Business Analyst, which means, in the past 30 days, I've eaten upwards of 3 salads.

Much of my life seems to be this weird mix of my being less-than-confident in my appearance, always glancing at the roll sitting on top of my belt-line. I'm starting to exercise more for longevity than movie roles. Don't get me wrong, I'd like to be in the kind of shape where it's a crime for me to keep my shirt on, but sooner or later you have to stop working on your Tris, Back, Hams, and Pecs, and work at least a little on your personality.

Here's a good example. There's a guy at my gym who is in really good shape. He's probably early 40's, drives a Benz roadster, no wedding ring, chats up the ladies quite a bit. Tans a lot. So much so that he always smells like burnt fruit. Recently took a leave from the gym for a broken wrist. Here's the topper; Really Bad Toupee! It's a TouPerm. It's a desperate move, and it really kills the rest of his vibe. Last week I walk into the locker room and notice a bad Toupee outta the corner of my sense of humor. I think "oh hey, he's back from his wrist thingy."

I change-up and head out to warm-up, and see Toupee Regular talking to… Toupee The Sequel! Another guy with a toupee, which stopped about a half-inch above his ears, was over working out, and they seemed to gravitate toward each other. I don't know if they went to the same barber or taxidermist, but it was like they had found their perfect gym-match. It was then that I decided that my longevity was 65% Important, Performance and Appearance mixing in at about 35%. I'm realistic about how I look, and it motivates me to work a little harder, eat healthy, and supplement my workouts with the occasional vodka-colonic.

For me, the shit-end of the stick is that some people have never worked out. So they hit the gym for a month, drink only one Mt. Dew per day, cut back Hot Pocket intake to twice a week, and a month later they're down 15 lard-bricks. I then ramp my cardio up to 3 times a week, 45 minutes a stretch, and switch back to the basic compound lifts, and lose 3 lbs, most of it from not drinking beer. So maybe it's my own "system" that is set up more for hard winters and lack of access to dairy products, and I haven't evolved yet to the Balanced line. Overall, I like me. If someone doesn't like me because of the fat on my waist, then they aren't really the kind of person I want to have cups and cakes with anyway.

So I've got Fat to spare. Even though I wish I didn't have as much as I do, at least I'm not wearing it on my bald spot.

Oh shit, I'm going bald?

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The Big Bus To The Sky

Rosa Parks died on Monday. She was 92. She was in her 40s when a white man on a bus in Alabama got NOT her seat on the bus, but instead a veritable "Suck ass" that sparked a movement we know today as "Funkadelic." Rosa and I shared the same birthday, February 4th. I also share that with Dan Quayle and Alice Cooper. Color me Play-Doh poo-colored.

The Jim Crow laws of the Civil War instituted segregation of blacks and whites. Oddly enough, it seemed to disregard the low-lifes, asswads, turdnecks, fartbrains, and trashbags, not to mention the dipshits and jack-nobs.

The personality of any society can be seen in the microcosm that is its Common Areas. Bathrooms, Eating, and Transportation, for three. Thanks to Rosa Parks, everyone can ride the bus if their car is broken! Other than that, I am the F*CK in my Chrysler, and away from a white girl staring out the window while silently rapping to herself, and her dad, the one knitting an invisible sweater for his dog, which is made from old bottles of Wild Turkey, filled with his urine.

To get to that last bit of attempted funny, one would have to take a bus!

Rosa Parks HAD TO take the bus, because she had trouble walking with her awesomely brass clangers. God Bless her. And stamp out hate, especially those who hate. It will be tough, but we can get rid of hate through the love of violence and oppression of Haters. Slippery slope, people.

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Take Me Home

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