this is the perfect place to get jumped

Month: June, 2015

steak on the lawn

if you are a dude i am speaking for you and about you. ladies i am talking at you, so take notes:

every guy is under societal pressure to have that perfect asshole. our families. the media. our lovers. the workplace. our children. the state. even lou makes comments sometimes.

when i relax in front of a television i see criminologists with juicy lips and gorgeous eyes. when i’m shackled in a court room and i look at the judge i see the resemblance to Thor: a beefy blonde with chiseled jaw and flowing blonde locks. its clear that his “perfect” asshole was rewarded with a powerful lifestyle that affords him the luxury of shampoo. i can’t afford those anti-vitamins necessary for asshole amplifying, but that doesn’t make me any less masculine than my punishment professional.

at first its like when someone presses their thumbs into your eye sockets while you try to eat a hot stew. annoying, but manageable. however, over the course of a man’s lifetime the pressure mounts. soon it resembles the pressure of the deepest of seas and the blackest of holes combined: an uninhabitable living condition that can have an adverse effect on the health of the asshole that is the source of so much scrutiny.

no doubt that the soul of masculinity is represented by a man’s asshole. but because all men are born unique, and all assholes are different, this superficial perfection is unreachable for most. ladies, spend one day at the beach if you don’t know what i’m talking about.

as a kid i was taught that i needed to be successful in order to support my family. as a teen in sex-ed i was taught that i could impregnate a girl with my penis, and that this ability should be taken very seriously and with proper precaution. but i was never taught to be confident about my asshole’s individuality. they put pressure on my asshole by saying that sex felt great, but they never told me how to get a woman to notice my unique asshole; they told me how to be careful. they never encouraged me, or offered counsel when girls laughed at my acne without ever seeing my asshole. i felt society closing in on me because i was judged by the look of my asshole, a consequence of my unwilling birth.

i never felt more masculine in my life than when i cut off my penis to get worker’s compensation. my penis shackled my asshole to society’s need for me to support a woman and a family, something that was never a fit for my personality. i’m not interested in success. i never liked chores. owning a lawn means mowing a lawn though i’ve always preferred the look of an unkempt lawn. my mother thinks its because i am messy and lazy, but i think it inspires exploration and allows the grass to flourish and take on new forms.

i love my comfy reclining chair, and i think that chinese is better than pizza. someday ill die from an obesity related disease but i don’t care because i have a wonderful nephew that loves me for who i am. this resolve is what makes me masculine, not the media’s concept of a perfect asshole that too often adorns cosmo for guys. i was never interested in that crap as a pre-teen anyway.

look at this steak. its uncooked because im not hungry and don’t feel like cooking it yet. i dont need a wife to tell me to eat a steak simply because she made it and wants me to eat when she thinks i should be hungry. i can order chinese and put it on a pizza when i get hungry, usually around midnight. i didn’t even buy this steak bc i don’t like to cook, and if someone cooks for me they should always be compensated for their efforts.


one of my friends has a lawn that i can admire from afar. he sends me pictures of it before his wife forces him to mow it because he knows how much i love to see the unbridled potential of a healthy lawn.


when my nephew brian was getting teased by the girls at school i offered him some advice:

“brian, the girls tease you because they notice your penis. someday your penis may notice them too. but do not allow others to judge you by your asshole, but rather by what is inside it. your asshole is unique, and should be treated like a window to with which to gaze upon your soul. remember, even if you take away your penis, you can never take away your perfectly imperfect asshole.”

~in response to the flag burning group on fb~

before you burn the confederate flag as a symbol of solidarity against the “racist south” make sure to burn the united states flag to reverse this country’s eager genocide of the native americans, and don’t forget to resurrect eric garner by burning the new york state flag for declining to indict the racist police officers that killed him.

it’s disappointing to see so many “educated” people proving their ignorance by resorting to the mob mentality of a fucking flag burning. if we think about this rationally, how is the confederate flag more of a symbol of hatred than the flags of south africa and rhodesia? and why stop there? why not burn the israeli flag too? bc only after we’ve burned some flags will we have reversed all of the suffering forever…?but if you only feel like cherry picking atrocities why waste good cloth that can be repurposed as a diaper? why not simply burn images of the killer himself?

because hate is always misguided and the killer does not need more infamy. shift focus onto support for the families, who have shown forgiveness, instead of blaming a region for the act of one mentally ill individual; that’s like blaming all muslims for 9-11.

once the mainstream media has exhausted this story, i urge readers to do some historical research of their own, since history is never as straightforward as propaganda spins it. the civil war was not begun to end slavery; instead it’s causes were economically rooted: the confederacy wanted to secede from the union after years of unjust tariffs passed by a north dominated congress. additionally, there were slave states that had not seceded from the union, and fought for the north. reconstruction and carpetbaggers favored the north after the war, which is part of the reason why the south is the poorest region of the united states today.

awareness is critical in reversing trends of hatred, which is bred in environments of impoverished and uneducated.

i want to know why


i want to touch every piece of ronnie coleman’s ungodly physique (except for his penis and ass). i want to slide my hands down the veined gorges of his thighs, count the taut cable of firm muscle that’s knitted like fabric across his wide pecs and watch his abs rise and fall while he sleeps, breathing soundly on his back. as i watched smeared footage of him casually lifting in an empty gym i paused the video and stared at his body for longer than i did at van gogh’s The Starry Night.

by contrast, i cannot imagine touching even the shoulder of the world’s fattest woman, let alone her rancid vagina. (when a personality is buried beneath a hide of grotesque velvet the effort of looking past that person’s self inflicted affliction is multiplied by their cholesterol.) the feminine form that is typically attractive to me is also past recognition in female bodybuilders, whom i also find repulsive, though their motivation is admirable. (i would touch slightly more than a shoulder.)

but even if sexuality is a sliding scale, i do not believe a corporeal curiosity changes mine by a single shade. ronnie coleman is a man offended by the word small, and has crafted a lifestyle and a career separating himself from that word as much as possible. this is an obsession that should be admired up close, in person…like a great work of art. despite how small his flaccid penis might look when nestled between two 36 inch thighs, calling any part of ronnie coleman small is also calling yourself a fool.

before all of my role models were replaced by body builders i clicked down a tunnel of overindulgent, obese morons lamenting their bodily prisons while lapping up McDonald’s burritos and ice cream cones. (did anyone else know McDonald’s had a burrito?) my lighthearted flaneur through this internet tunnel went deeper than i expected, past the sappy narratives of TLC docs and into silent, scrolling sessions of lymphedema galleries.

i ate donuts and leftover outback while watching the pasty, clammy physiques of the morbidly obese being rinsed by their beloved enablers when recommended videos changed my course and guided me towards the other end of the ungodly body spectrum.


my meanderings lead to a watershed scene in a documentary of four time mr. olympia jay cutler getting his back shaved like a lion being prepped for surgery. i screenshotted images of ronnie coleman between flexes, watching  every human muscle pop vigorously from the spaces between the “regular muscles” average people recognize. i ate another donut and watched boston lloyd reveal his steroid stack in a 29 min diary detailing the cause of his transformation from stocky, dilettante to shredded freak. when i finally had the sense to compare these physiques to arnold’s mr. olympia winning physique from the 70s i instantly noticed the difference between godly and ungodly physiques. (i was still faced with an urge to grope them all simultaneously.)

today’s mr. olympia competitors are chemists that hunger for hugeness. although arnold is as immortal as the Gods he succeeded in emulating naturally, the era of the competitive godly physique has passed. i never gave a shit about the use of steroids in sports because i was never a sports fan, but the specious argument that “men were never supposed to get this big on their own” disregards the daily, intense training that is still mandatory for the steroids to enhance their user’s performance. steroids are not a miracle drug; they are not for the uncommitted. research is required and options are endless. boston loyd’s 29 min stack diary is a kernel of the proof of steroid’s intricacies. i care about bodybuilding as a sport, and i believe that modern tools do not negatively affect the ethics of being a winner. if steroids were banned, and bodybuilders caught using them were disqualified, they still did the right thing in doing more than everything they could to make themselves as huge as possible. as a fan, there is no such thing as too much muscle, and if arnold was training for the mr. olympia title today the good lord knows he would be juicin’.

as the sun dawned on me so did the realization that YouTube recommended bodybuilding videos alongside the obesity videos to provide two contrasting examples of ungodly physiques, suggesting that the living sculpture of bodybuilding were as genetically enhanced as the bulbous folds of the pathetic obese. bodybuilders work out using steroids, and the obese loaf around eating GMOs filled with preservatives. if a person is committed to getting big/staying big i don’t think it’s wrong for science to lend a helping hand, regardless of how repulsed a prude becomes. let people become what they want, how they want, with all the “help” they are willing to accept, and that should also include free adderall scripts for undergrads.