The World's Strongest Man Competition

      Being a non-athlete is veritable cornucopia of non-sex, non-popularity and non-cool. Well, not all non-cool, you do play a lot of video games...that look cool. So, there's that. Actually, shirking athleticism and it's clingy clothed sexiness has gotten me little more than 6 NFL Super Bowl wins and 4 NBA Championship rings, all of which are fake...and therefore very, very sad. I just have no ambition to be more athletic, then, maybe I can shed this fat, shoddy non-awesome exterior and exchange for one I always wanted--a muscular douche' bag.

Then, I can pull off the famed "sailor hatted douche' bag" look. 

A man can dream, can't he?

      Sure, there are countless sweaty fat people shows about losing weight, yet, they don't inspire me to do anything. I often watch those shows while eating Doritos, a big damned bag of them, no joke. I do the exact opposite of what the show intends, not out of spite, surprisingly. I just really, really like Doritos.

      So, what would inspire me, lazy piece of shit to get ripped? If the Olympics, effeminate gay trainers on fat shows and the scorn of skinny people won't do it, what will? Maybe a competition of such epic proportions, it might convince people to throw full beer kegs at each other while simultaneously pulling air planes across tarmacs. Seriously. It's entirely possible with...

The World's Strongest Man Competition!

Notice I didn't say "World's Best Graphic Designers"

      Anyone that has ever seen one of these competitions has always walked away with a sense of both awe...and disgusted shame. How else would seeing a man dead lift eight tractor tires make you feel? Well, I suppose it could ravage your weak, pitiful soul with fiery guilt and self loathing for not being worthy, but, I think that might be an understatement, oh...and it should absolutely make you feel that way.

Every inch he lifts that car should make you want to die a little more.

      How would lifting an pulling random objects of testicle bursting heaviness inspire anyone to get fit, Elton? I trump your ill conceived argument with stinging and obvious fact...because it's awesome, awesome, forearm bulgingly awesome. 

      Sure, some morbidly obese guy losing weight is great. I'm not without a soul. I can feel...sort of. When the fat guy says he eats his pain, I can sympathize with him, because swallowing pain sounds fucking bad ass, but, still, his story just makes for interesting viewing, while I devour a Big Mac. 

No, I said BIG mac...dammit not...child mac. 

      The World's Strongest Man Competition is different, it inspires for the opposite reason. While the sad fat guy loses weight and gets stronger...these grotesquely bulbous men LIFT weight and already strong, which makes you feel sad. 

      Both types started out normal people but, went in radically different directions. One got fat, suicidal and morose, the other guys started throwing extremely heavy shit...a lot. Inspiring as a suicidal binge eater might be, I think people would find the guy tossing around three hundred pound sacks of gravel to be a bit more motivational. Plus, as a bonus, you don't even have to get overly fit. Seriously, look at these guys.

Someone's been working out.

      Two of those guys could pass for bouncers at an upscale brothel, the other guy looks like he stepped off the cover of one of those muscle magazines no one buys. The fact that two out of three of these guys looks like a  semi-tubby out of work contractor gives me hope. 

      I don't have to shoot for washboard abs. I just have to shoot for pulling a steam engine fifty feet or lifting a comically huge log! Then, boom, instantly healthy.  It sounds easy enough. All you have to do is find a train...OOOoooo how about a truck. There's tons of those laying around...and tons is what I'll need. See you on the other side of "Ball Punch Mountain", weaklings. If you make it over, I'll be the guy casually tossing cows...into the sun.

I think I'll pull this one with my huge penis.

My Road Through "Insanity": Day One.

      Fitness has never been my forte. In fact. I avoid it at every opportunity. Immobility is what separates us from the animals. I'm a firm believer in that. Yet, being a stationary human doesn't contribute to the health of said human. So, I've taken it upon myself to get healthier. Not by changing my diet or going for walks and working my way up to a consistent exercise routine. Fuck no! Who has time for that? Quick and dirty, that's the American way, so, that's my way too.

      That's why I've decided to take on the "Insanity Workout"! 60 days of horrific pain swollen joints, sore muscles and lots of non-sex related sweating. Oh, and stinking like b.o. mixed with shit. They don't tell you that on t.v.. Everyone of those people smell like a rarely cleaned bathroom in an Italian bistro,...one that's been freshly sprayed with diarrhea.

Kinda like this...but, with active wear.

      Today was the first day of the rest of my pained but, exercised existence. I want you to know...that it fucking sucked the ass of a thousand asses. What the fuck happened to me? Allow me to recap:

The "Hop Until Your Kidneys Rupture" exercise. 

The Warm Up.

      It starts out like any other t.v. workout bullshit. Ripped people doing a routine that is light weight for them, but, painfully hard for actual people. They act like it isn't shit, while some guy says reassuring words. Fuck all of those people.

      I didn't expect much more than that going in. I still don't. The Shaun T. guy says some things like "remember to breath", "drink water" and such. He also says, things like "fun" and "you're going to get the body that you want". All is good. This is the warm up! Jogging.

      I've jogged before. Not far mind you...and only when chased usually, but, still. It's familiar territory that I'm happy to tread through. Though, my comfort is quickly abandoned, like a turd in a pool,  when Shaun T. changes shit. He moves on to...jumping jacks? What the fuck?. What the fuck Shaun T.?! I'm all about jogging! I'm in that head space. Okay...I'll move on...reluctantly. Okay, jumping jacks. I've done this shit before too. Not a big deal. 

Hey, what the fuck? He wants to do something called "Heismans". I was just getting into the jumping jacks

Heisman!

      Right, Shaun T. "keep breathing" I got it. So, Heisma...wait. What? Add a step into it? Why? I just started to doing the fucking thing. Yeah, I got it, Shaun, I'll get water when I'm good and goddam...Why is my heart hurting? Breathing is labored. Is this because of the exercise or building aggravation? 

"Feel good?", he says. No. No I don't. Your words are starting to sound condescending, Shaun T. Like a dick bag actually. A huge dick AND a bag...full of dicks. 

Now, it's a jog called "butt kicks"? How appropriate. I'm feeling like freshly kicked ass already.

Now, "mummy kicks"! Can't we just stick to one fucking thi...oh, NOW we're stretching. What the hell. 

The Test. 

As long as it's taken you to 

see and evaluate the picture above. 

You should have done all 

of those exercises by now.

      My initial reaction to the workout is fair and just. Shaun T. is an asshole. The workout is what would happen if you put a kid with ADHD in charge of a geriatric retard class. Only, the kid has no soul and the class is fed a diet of sugar and happiness everyday. 

      Now, they say anyone can do this workout. I believe them too. They never said everyone would live to see the end of it, but, technically, you can attempt any one of these exercises and expect to survive unscathed...once. Today, I started with the fitness test portion of the program. It's a litmus test to help you determine how far you are advancing. I managed to get through the first exercise with little more than shortness of breath, a heart beat like a road tested crack whore and a healthier fear of death due to heart attack. Is this how everyone starts out?

Triumph Over The Ever Expanding Ass

      America is a fat motherfucker...and so am I. A lot of people try to quell my self-disgust by saying, "You look just fine". I, however, am hip to people's modesty. No one calls out someone's fat ass for being...a fat ass. That is, unless the person is on television, the internet or a strange person in a magazine or photo. Then it's on.

Yeah, go ahead...say it.

...I'll keep your fatty-ism a secret. 

      Regardless, the lie filled pleasantries tossed my way do little to skew my perception. I am a tubby, fat, fatty fat. I understand that. I accept that and...like most people, I find the effort involved in changing that...motherfucking hard. Physical effort is stupid, hard fucking work. I would have failed as a hunter gatherer. Me and everyone around me would have starved...twice. 

      Therefore, I sit on my fat, fat ass and say...fuck it. Well, my friends, times they are-ah-changin'! Until I  my breath collapses into ragged gulps anyway...and I sweat a lot. Then, after all of that...and ass sweat...I almost forgot ass sweat. Why does our ass sweat? Fuck. Well, after all that, then it'll probably be over, but, until then...DYNOMITE!

Fuck yeah!

      Here's my plan...er...lack thereof. Instead of working my way up to my ultimate vision of physical accomplishment, I'm going to fly at it failingly hard. Kind of like the "D-Da" invasion plan, except in my version...Hitler is probably going to win...by a lot. 

My plan is to hit the ground running....awkwardly. I'm doing the 60 day "Insanity" workout. I KNOW, mega retarded right? I get winded going to the bathroom (partly because lifting my enormous genitalia is physically taxing). So, why work smarter, when you can work heart attack harder, am I right? Huh? Well, up yours, Bob Harper. I never claimed to be smart...just...big boned. 

Brooke Hogan big boned. 

(Remember her? Yeah, yeah...me either.)

      How did I come to such a drastically stupid decision? What's the motivation? Well, despite my head injury (which I'm medicating with various prescription drugs I found in a dumpster behind the nursing home) and my inability to distinguish physical from emotional pain, I became inspired. Inspired by an ill-worded infomercial. It was so pretentious and ridiculous. I was compelled to give it a go. A go in my own special education way it makes sense. I hate uppity people and ALL of those people sounded uppity. Plus, they were talking about insanity! A thing I happen to find fascinating. So, I decided to show up those insanity spouting bastards by doing their workout...my own way. With self loathing and internalized ridicule! Plus, it said I can have a ripped body in 60 days. It's practically a diet pill...but, in exercise form!

Look, Ma! No pills!...though 

they probably would have helped.

 Speed always helps.

      It sounds to good to be true...and it probably is, but, there are scientific types that say it isn't. It's all about Max Interval...blah, blah, blah. Who gives a shit. What intrigued me the most was the brain washing aspect. The people in that infomercial are sooo amped about insanity and...well...jumping around. I'm serious. They're fist pumping and singing the praises of jumping around spastically. I'm thinking it's because the exercises give you a form of brain damage. I am hope to combat this, by wearing a helmet and a diaper. Why a diaper? For the outside chance that I do in fact contract brain damage and subsequently shit myself...or piss...I'm open to both possibilities. Everyone knows that's what happens with brain damage. That and drooling.

This is what Google shat out when 

I searched for "drooling person". Thank you Google.

      Monday is my day of reckoning and personal cruelty. If past exercise experiences are any indication as to how I will fair, this will go over about as well as when I asked that a gorilla pierce my taint. That didn't go well either. Having two assholes is no picnic. Yet, if I can forge ahead and beat my own assholes, I can come out the other side a ripped, less fat version of myself. A person that I wouldn't mind masturbating to...though, I am a man, so, if I did that...I would be gay...or insanely narcissistic? Regardless, I'd have a far less substantial gut to reach over in order to achieve the masturbating part of my narcissistic gayness.

Kinda like...this...ugh...

I just threw up in my mouth a little. 

      I hope to put up some inspiring videos of my struggle with "Insanity" (the exercise kind...not the cool kind.). Who doesn't like videos of a post exercise, fat, ass seconds away from a burst ventricle? I digress. After my trials and tribulations, I'm doing a review of the whole horrific process. A really in depth one...with stool coloration reports and all! Get your fecal checklists ready. 

My Increasingly Fat Life

      Getting fat fucking sucks. This isn't a new thing, but, to me a slight revelation. Getting fat is damned easy...and damned tasty. I never quite understood how easy it was to spiral into the chubby depths of fatitude. I would chock up my inexperience in the ways of the fat to my fiery, athletic disposition and a super naturally, high metabolism, but, I'd be lying to you more than I do to myself. Unfortunately, my entire being is whole heartedly American. Right down to my blotchy skin, poor understanding of world affairs and a sense of entitlement toward success. Yep, my blood runs red, white, blue and fatty...cholesterol, heart attack fatty.

So, by your body weight and labored 

breathing while writing...you're American?

      I'm not the only one. According to the World Health Organisation (which does health studies and organizing of worlds?), there are 1 billion fat motherfuckers on the planet. 300 million of those are clinically obese motherfuckers. That means in accordance to official chubby rules, they're all officially "foot in the grave" fat. Which, isn't fun to be, especially if you're rich and have a large family awaiting your fat ass demise.

Eat up, tubby! The family's waiting.

      How did we get this fucking fat? Well, you can blame it on a lot of things: jobs requiring more sitting than physical movement, excessive leisure time, better television programming. Those are all bullshit of course. It's because we have awesomed ourselves into lazy fat, fatty death. Oh, there it is again, "What the hell does that mean, Elton?". I'll explain, dammit. I always explain. Don't get all worked up. You'll have yourself a heart attack. In fact, statistics say, that you'll do just that. 

...and right here, see. You're fucking dead.

      Way back in the cave man days, when all was leafy green and deadly. Mankind had a hell of a time finding food. Plus, he was often bored as shit. Back then, you had to seriously, walk a mile for a camel. Only the camel wasn't a cigarette but, an actual animal and the mile was, like...20. So, the cave man set was actually a pretty fit crew. A six pack ab, super athletic, muscular bad ass, who could run and jump over antelopes and...I don't know...high shit. He was ripped. Bored and ripped. 

Like Fabio here, except desperate 

for food and entertainment.

      A cave dweller's life was largely dependent on whether he would eat or not. There was little time left for other pursuits. Well, other than fucking that is. There's ALWAYS fucking. A majority of his time would have been about finding or tracking food. Being that as it may, it's not like the bison or deer lined up to be slaughtered. It was hit or miss with plants too. It turns out that a lot of them, up and kill your ass. So, he had to go an find things that he could kill or wouldn't kill him...and eat them. As with dating for sex, there wasn't a guarantee he was going to get any. Needless to say, there was a shit load of running and starving involved in finding food. This is why our bodies store fat, so we wouldn't die between meals. There would have been some down time too, but, not much. That time would have been spent fiddling around with weaponry, making clothes and figuring out ways not to die. Oh, and fucking...there's always fucking. 

...and damn if they weren't a bunch of sexy motherfuckers.

      So, fast forward a couple thousand years and we've become ultra bad ass at obtaining food. We farm, we grow and nurture beautiful animals to rip apart for their succulent meat. Here we are all fooded up. We don't have to hunt anymore. So, we pound down food like there's no tomorrow, because our bodies still think that we're going to starve a while, before we eat again. Plus, lo and behold, the food we make is the exact kind our body craves constantly, because our bodies are made for the hunting, not eating cycle. What food do we crave? Sugar, salt and fats were the lusted after fuel of the Cave folk. All of that shit,  is stuff that was hard to come by and (oddly) what our bodies needed and still need to survive. Back then, it was taken on sparingly. Now, we stuff that shit in everything and we don't have to work hard for it. We over supply ourselves and we pay the price. It wouldn't be so bad if we had to physically do something for the food, but, without hunting there's not much to do other than extraneous exercise to burn off the overage. Yeah, who the fuck wants to do that?

Except for whatever it is they're doing...

oh, and fucking...there's always fucking.

      What do we do to fill the time? Masturbate. Duh. Okay, maybe not all the time. We entertain ourselves in tons of ways. We have the internet, t.v., video games, books and more. Coupled with an abundance of food, never before seen in all of human history (TAKE THAT YOU BUFF CAVE MAN FUCKS!). None of which require you to get off your fat fucking ass. So, we don't, hence, the insane amount of fat motherfuckers on this planet. By living out our predecessors dreams we are in turn shortening our lives. What are we to do? Fuck I wish I knew. Uh...pilates? Jog? Hunt each other for sport? There's always fucking...but, you just end up hungry again. Plus, paying for all that weight loss sex get's expensive. Dammit. Why can't dieting be less exhausting? Why does food have to be so awesome? Shit. I'm hungry just thinking about all the available food. Have any weight loss tips that actually work? Feel free to let my fat ass know. Until then, hellloooo sweet, fatty McDonald's. You beautiful golden arch, bitch.

Yum.