By being arrested for killing his model girlfriend (and we don’t mean “perfect” girlfriend but girlfriend who is – heh, sorry, “was” - a smoking hot model) he joins Nike’s esteemed group of ALLEGED cheaters, murderers, and dog killers who are proud to bear the Swoosh (tm I think): Apolo Ohno, Lance Armstrong, Michael Vick, and now South African olympic bouncer Oscar Pistorius, who was arrested this week for shooting his girlfriend dead while in his apartment. I wonder what the gun regs are like in South Africa. Anyway, RIP, Reeva Steencamp, we ‘ardly knew ye’:
Yesterday I’m at the gym
blasting my pecs and I see this guy on a leg machine talking to himself, pretty loudly. Then I realize that he’s talking on his f*cking bluetooth, perpetrating a business call about some shit or other. This is not a thing is it?! Then I recognize this f-er (who’s probably no older than 25 or so) as the same douche who often sits in the locker room and does the same thing – yaps on the phone about this or that. Who is he trying to impress? If you go into a locker room, you get to the business of getting dressed, and get out, end of story.
I say, if you want to talk on the phone at the gym, walk into the entry way by the cubbies, where NO ONE is working out, and you certainly don’t loiter around the locker room allegedly making deals while guys are stepping out of the shower and swinging their dicks all in your face.
Martin’s spending $80 on a parasailing “adventure” right now.
Zing! We’re just barely out of the trees! Happy weekend everybody!
Boston, MA – In an earlier blog about my travels with Squirties the Pug, I said when climbers finished summiting Mt. Everest, the number one celebration on their mind was getting back to base camp and jerking off all over themselves. I stand by this. You can’t do it at 28,000 feet. Your little acorn top will freeze up and pop off like a tiddly wink. You have to wait until you get back to your dome tent, which is where? All together now, “Base camp!” That’s right. How do I know this? Look no further than the journal entries from Sir Edmund Hillary himself, which he wrote after summiting Everest (without oxygen by the way, unlike today’s pussies that pay $75,000 to walk through the turnstile at the top and take a picture).
Here is an excerpt:
“I summited Everest today. Boy oh boy was it was fucking cold. Thought about taking out little Edmund and having a wank, but decided I didn’t want to freeze and potentially shatter the capillaries in my shaft. I simply cannot wait to get back to my whack tent at base camp. People will want pictures and ask a bunch of questions about my stamina, my lung capacity at that altitude, and a bunch of other bullshit, but that will have to wait. I told that asshole from National Geographic to save his questions until after my victory orgasm, and that he could quote me on that. I spent the last 6,000 feet of the climb flipping a coin in my head. Heads I would pleasure myself off with my hands immediately upon return, or, maybe between my wrists using some lubricant from my kerosene lamp. If it came up Tails, I would order Bupep Sherpa to spend the evening in my tent. Like most Sherpa, Bupep is an inbred son of Nepal with the IQ of a donkey, which is actually perfect because he lugs all of my shit up and down the mountain. But, you get him in a tent with a pot of hot tea, some hand lotion, and put a few quid on your zipper? He’ll have you milked off like the family goat before you can take off your gloves.”
Yahoo: Lawyers for a 480-pound death row inmate in Ohio say their client is too overweight to be put to death.
“Indeed, given his unique physical and medical condition there is a substantial risk that any attempt to execute him will result in serious physical and psychological pain to him, as well as an execution involving a torturous and lingering death,” reads the filing made on behalf of Ronald Post, 53, who was convicted of shooting to death hotel clerk Helen Vantz 29 years ago.
Post, who is set to be executed by lethal injection on January 16, 2013, says that his executioners would encounter several problems, including difficulty finding a viable vein for injection and the likelihood that with his unusual weight he would break any gurney used in the process.
Gang, you know that your old pal Red is nothing if not an advocate for fat out of shape slobs like this proven killer Mr. Post. But can we get off the f-ing crazy train for a minute? We’re not allowed to call people “fat,” we’re not allowed to encourage people to get fat by serving them large drinks with sugar in them, we’re not even allowed to charge people extra when their girth spills over into the next f-ing airplane seat. And NOW, they want us to forego killing them by lethal injection. Because they’re too fat. Fat. Because of a “unique physical and medical condition.” I’ve got news for you, it ain’t that unique, you fat f*ck. You know who had a not-so-unique physical and medical condition? Helen Vantz. She was deathly allergic to getting shot. So sit down in that chair and take your medicine, f-er, or we can drop you in a hole & shoot you in the head.
The Blaze: First lady Michelle Obama this week repeated her assertion that obesity is a national security threat:
Dr. Oz: “From my perspective, the number one greatest national security threat that we have is obesity, do you ever think about it that way?”
MO: “Well absolutely,” Obama replied.
Huh. Maybe she or one of her handlers might want to let the FBI in on that fact:
MSNBC, So you know it’s true: Evidence is accumulating that the more sex you have, the better off you are.
I kid you not, ladies. Semen is good stuff. It gives a shot of zinc, calcium, potassium, fructose, proteins — a veritable cornucopia of vitality! Another recent study found that women who gave their men oral sex, and swallowed, had a lower risk of preeclampsia, the dangerously high blood pressure that sometimes accompanies pregnancy. There have been other studies showing that sex lowers blood pressure, and might even protect against strokes because of its stress-relieving ability.
Here are several potential benefits:
1. Easing depression and stress
2. Relieving pain
3. Boosting cardio health
4. Healing wounds
5. Fighting aging
Sometimes in the blogging game, you have to know when to step aside and let the news speak for itself.
I know most of you are going to say “High Fructose Corn Syrup” or “Double Stuff Oreos” or “Biologically Engineered Big Macs” or “Wonderful Deliciously Flavored Vodkas of the New Century” or “this report from Wicked Improper” when I ask you “What made us fat?” But if you dig a little deeper I think you’ll agree that the answer is a little closer to home. We got lazy. But! Thankfully, it’s not our fault. We have this poor bastard, who’s now dead by the way, to thank for it. He invented the Remote Control. (capped)
I can’t even watch tv if the remote isn’t close at hand (preferably IN hand). Hell, I can’t even watch one show at once anymore. Commercial during the TBS-edited version of “Pulp Fiction?” No problem! Turner Movie Classics is showing “A Bridge Too Far!” Uh oh, commerical break! But wait! Another riveting episode of “Chopped” on the Food Network. And so on until I migrate to the computer for some online
porn news of the day. If I lost my remote, I would literally (literally!) get up and go outside and swim/bike/run a f*cking ironman triathlon then go stalk and kill an elk for dinner with nothing but a knife and some fishing line before actually walking to the tv, turning it on, settling on a mf-ing channel to watch, and going back to the couch. Plus how in the world would you vary the volume levels??? F8ck. That. Sh1t.
Do you think when he got around to having a beer with the other inventors he was revered, or ridiculed? I like to think they gave him proper respect, but those inventor types can be pretty catty.
NY Daily News: Swiss newspaper Tages-Anzeiger reports that a woman starved to death after embarking on a spiritual diet that required her to stop eating or drinking and live off sunlight alone. The unnamed Swiss woman in her fifties decided to follow the radical fast in 2010 after viewing an Austrian documentary about an Indian guru who claims to have lived this way for 70 years.
Before you get too excited and think, “Wow, she made it two years, nice!”, don’t. She died in January of 2011, giving her, by my estimate, about a week of life before she shrivelled up in the sun like Spongebob Squarepants and died.
“An Indian guru?!” Let me stop you right there. If’ you’re going to put your lives in anyone’s hands, it should be Martin’s or mine. Not some smelly swami who spends his days pretending to levitate for rice bowls. Their entire existance is predicated on tricking rubes in town into believing they possess magical powers
, like the power to pull out in time. A sunlight diet just doesn’t pass the f8cking smell test. On the other hand, if you want to live on lemon grass, tree bark, and morning dew, go ahead. You’ll look like Edward from Breaking Dawn, without all the cool vampire sex powers or perfectly touseled hair, but as long as you’re eating something, you can probably scrape by long enough to make it to the next Occupy rally.
NY Times, ”where the news is what we say it is even if we have to make it up”: Ariane Friedrich…a police officer by training, publicly rejected a sexually explicit overture from a fan on her Facebook wall, in which she named the sender and gave the city where he lives. She also warned that she had filed a complaint with the police.
More than 10,000 people have posted comments on her Facebook page, split between those who cheered her decision as bold move against sexual harassment, and those who chastised her for “vigilante justice.” The “likes” on her Facebook page have jumped from 8,000 to 12,000. Germany has very strict privacy laws that protect an individual’s right to determine whether their name and address can be published. Newspapers, for instance, do not publish the names of offenders, in an effort to prevent them from being marked after their release from prison.
“Vigilante justice?” So this creep is free to send polaroids (lol, dead) of his hairy bat and balls to her, but she’s not allowed to tell the world that he’s a dirtbag? Just stop sending
(unsolicited, wink!) pictures of your nutsack, you douchebag, and everything will be fine.
Boston, MA – Of the 27,000 people running the Boston Marathon today, I’ll go ahead and say that roughly 30 of them are prepared for the punishing heat they’re about to experience. Am I going to make an obvious joke about how Kenyans can withstand heat better than some asshole from Southie that started training last week with “From Couch to 5K?” You bet your ass I am. There is going to be absolute bedlam on the route today. Anyone other than a world-class marathoner is literally putting their life in danger by running in these record-breaking heat conditions. Who could forget Uta Pippig shitting her shorts and menstruating all up and down Heartbreak Hill? The bad news for the kids is that it looked like someone dragged a deer carcass for 7 miles. The good news is that it was impossible for any of the slower runners to get lost. As embarrassing as that had to be when she discharged all over herself, the fluids, in effect, acted as kind of a natural body glide and prevented chafing. If you’re sitting there, doubting the benefits of frictionless motion, you clearly have never had a chafed asshole before. What does a chafed asshole feel like, Martin? Well, picture yourself just going along, smiling and minding your own business, and then an invisible dwarf takes a floor sander all over your taint. Not to mention the distance she put between herself and the other runners when crows started swarming the streets, pecking away at her entrails. People accused her of cheating, but it was simply an act of some gross and smelly god. I think she won that year, and while I’m sure it’s a day she’ll always cherish as her name is etched in the history books, I’ll always remember her destroyed shorts and discolored socks.
Anyway, the fact is, I could have done the marathon today if I wanted to by pub crawling all up and down Boylston Street, but then I remembered I would rather sit at my desk and look at these.
Daily Mail: Parenting guru Gina Ford caused a storm recently when she said in her new book that women should be having sex with their partners within four to six weeks of giving birth.
US Magazine: “I cannot tell you that I have not thrown up since treatment,” [said Lovato recently]. “I can not tell you that I have not cut myself since treatment. I’m not perfect. This is a daily battle that I will face the rest of my life.” Lovato checked into rehab facility Timberline Knolls in November 2010, where she stayed three months to treat emotional and physical issues.
As much as I’d like to make fun of this, I had a similar problem in elementary school and later in junior high. I was good looking, athletic, popular, and had private tutors. You can see why people hated me. Disney didn’t ever let me fail, because they’re a marketing MACHINE, and once they decided that you
had a featureless and symmetrical face were attractive, you might as well buckle up for the ride, because you’re going to be a hit. Anything they put out is going to be quality, and even if it’s pablum, the kids in the audience were going to eat it up.
Sure enough, they set me up to be rich beyond your dreams (not mine because it’s now in my grasp) before my 18th birthday. I had drivers, a masseuse, my own hairstylist, a full-time chef, a personal trainer, and a couple of cars that most people would spend a lifetime trying to pay off.
My family was totally supportive. Despite that, my lawyers convinced me to draw up the paperwork to sue the cash out of my parents that we know they were hiding from me, and my accountants had set up offshore accounts to protect what assets I’d already succeeded in wrestling away from them. Truthfully I actually had a tremendous support system, right down to my own personal agent who fed me whatever – and I really do mean whatever – I wanted, whether I was on set or off. You should have seen some of the sh1t I had that jacka$$ go through to satisfy my sweet tooth. Ha! What a rube.
Ahhh, my, but wasn’t life grand! Oh sure, there was coke and booze galore, and no nightclub would refuse me entry, and the groupies! Oh! The groupies! They would -
Wait a second. No, no. Hold the phone. That’s not my story at all. No, sorry, my mistake, this is Demi’s biography. wtf. Either eat a salad or get over yourself, chubs.
Boston, MA – It’s time to set the record straight once and for all. I say it is not illegal to jerk off in a commercially-owned tanning bed, and my wife says it is. She can’t understand why anyone would want to anyway, and always recommends that people just take a nap. There’s no way I can nap with those fans blowing like jet engines, the heat is unbearable, and the music is piped in from JAM’N 98.5. The one drawback if you were to jerk off is getting sunburned balls, but you don’t have to worry about torching your shaft because your hand(s) will be on there.
Part of me feels like the Tanning establishment is encouraging this type of behavior, otherwise, why is there lotion, paper towels and a trash receptacle, along with the ability to lock the door? If one were so inclined to wrangle one out, the only thing you should really concern yourself with is launching your jism into the vents. Not only are you running the risk of overheating the machine, but you could possibly get facialed and blasted all over from the other vents. Granted, that is a one in a million shot, and you would have to be well-practiced to accomplish that. So, hypothetically speaking, here are some of the potential cons one could experience when jerking off in a tanning bed.
1. Getting a sunburned scrotum, which is so sensitive that the skin will peel first and then you’ll experience cracking.
2. Scraping your knob against the ceiling, looking down to see what you hit, and then hitting your head on the ceiling.
3. Not knowing where your jism launch ended up, then cleaning the bed but taking so long after your time is up you know the girl at the front desk suspects you’re up to no good in there.
4. Having a heart attack from all the commotion, then the police announce you died from jerking off in a tanning salon. Then, the townspeople laughing behind your dead back, wondering sarcastically if they’ll spend money on a casket or just bury you in the tanning bed.
Hypothetically speaking, here are some of the potential pros:
1. It feels good.
Am I fooling myself? I think I might have microfractures in my metatarsals (yes), but I
went to a licensed doctor checked YouTube this weekend, and came across this miracle tape that will undoubtedly cause pain in other parts of my foot relieve the excruciating pain in my foot and allow me to knock out a 10k tonight. Is this for realsies? Or am I going to have to expend all of my (substantial, wink wink) mental energies to convince myself that this scotch tape cure is legit while holding back tears on mile #2?
Woman’s Day: Is Your House Making You Fat? Discover how your home could be causing you to pack on the pounds… did you know that many reasons those stubborn pounds won’t budge may actually be inside your own home? Whether the type of plates you use is causing you to eat more than you realize or your bedroom isn’t letting you catch enough zzz’s, learn how your house may be sabotaging your weight-loss plans.
Listen gang. Martin and I are here for really nothing else but to make you better people. That’s it. We could be doing 100 other things, but we choose to spend our time on your improvement. So if some miracle cure comes along that allows you to lose weight while you
surf porn sleep, great. And I’m all for those little tricks that keep you in line. But tricks are maybe 10% of the solution, and miracles don’t happen unless you’re a Giants fan.
People are going to read this article and think “Oh, my drinking glasses are too short (YES), that’s why I’m 80 pounds overweight.” If you’re fat, you’re fat because you’re fat. It wouldn’t matter if you started drinking out of a test tube, you’re going to have to stop looking for excuses for your fatness and just get after it. There, I said it.
Daily Mail: A mother-of-two, who thought it was ‘impossible’ to lose weight on her own, has told how she lost six stone purely through exercise after, unbeknown to her, her gastric band snapped. Karren Knight, 47, who tipped the scales at 22 stone, had spent years dieting and in a final attempt to conquer her weight problem saved up £3,500 for invasive surgery. Following the operation, in which she had a gastric band fitted around her stomach to restrict her appetite, she took up dancing to distract her mind from binge eating and was delighted as she noticed her body slim down. “I’d advise anyone who is considering weight loss surgery to really think twice about it. I didn’t realise how dangerous it could be, and as it turns out, I didn’t really need it to lose weight.”
Ok. Let me get this straight: 1) No exercise + years of fad diets = still fat. 2) Exercise + no binge eating = Not still fat? Ok, ok, she’s no Jennifer Nicole Lee, but I think it’s safe to remind everyone that Martin and I have been doling out fitness tips like these for some time now. We are here to help.