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?

Easy Money, If You Don't Mind Crying

      Writing articles is a pain in the dick. Seriously, it's a sharp, lightning bolt of piercing pain...right in the dick. Well, maybe it's just for me. The dick pain, anyway, see. I have been itching to write an article for Cracked.com. A tiny bit for the notoriety of it, mostly because they pay you. Who doesn't like getting paid for typing shit right? The hard thing about writing for Cracked isn't the writing part so much, as they want it to be about something. Which, as anyone who has read this far knows, I am slightly retarded at doing that. In fact, I'm slightly annoying that way. I ramble! That's my "thing", you know. Well, by "thing" you've probably surmised that I mean, "crutch".

This is how I make it through an un-feeling world!

      Being that I can't "ramble" and have to actually come up with a concise premise, with which to slap my stanky funny penis on, I have actual work to do. I, of course, am not used to this. Working at writing that is. I have worked before and damn hard! It was more manual labor and dressing sexy for clients. Most of the jobs I had, I lifted things ...multiple times and they were heavy! Shit, I have even used machines to lift things heavier than I could physically lift. Somehow, this is harder. I have to think of a premise, research items that pertain to that premise, then, submit the whole fucking mess to be scrutinized by editorial strangers. Which, can make anyone feel very vulnerable and naked. These guys are paid to look at crap submitted by half assed morons like myself, then, tell said morons that it's absolute shit. Did I mention that I don't even pay these strangers to do this? I mean, I'm used to paying for degradation. Though what I pay for isn't for my writing but does involve laughing and full frontal nudity...and at least one midget. 

Fuck, that's sexy. Where's the midget?

      After, tearing your premise a new asshole and it's supporting items to shit, it'll be up to me to find better examples and then, maybe they approve it. Once this happens, then, I have to write the fucking thing. This, on average, might take a week or less or more, depending on how irresponsible I am with my time (i.e. porn, Netflix, XBox, porn...). At the end of the whole spiel, I might have an article posted on Cracked AND get money for it. This would be awesome of course, because as I mentioned above, who doesn't like being paid for the shit they do, right?

Oh, no one asked you, you red and white fuck!

      Coming up with a premise seems to be the hardest part for me. I have tons of subjects to write about, I just need to string at least 6 of them together. Devising a compelling thread with which to link them together is where I am having the problem. It has to be interesting, have at least 6 examples and be original. If you weren't foretold this is the dick pain portion of the process. Well, here's an example: Dimebag Darrell, of Pantera fame, came up with the intro guitar part to "Cowboys From Hell" (one of the songs they became famous for) while blitzed out fucking drunk. He was using guitar pedals and want not, whilst also recording himself playing guitar. He played what would become the intro...then, moved on. By move on, I mean, passed out. See, now how the fuck do I come up with 6 examples of some shit like that? I know...2. Keith Richards and Dimebag Darrell offhand. That's it! Years of reading nonsense bullshit facts to end up with 2. What the fucking fuck! I knew I should have devoted more time to becoming a gynecologist. I mean, that's one hobby of mine that I would love to get paid for. No. Instead I read facts. What the fuck is wrong with me? 

Oh, I almost forgot. 

      Why would I put myself through this grief? Mother fucking Christmas. That's right. Buying shit for people, so as to appear nice, if you can fucking believe that. It wouldn't be so bad if everything was free. Can we do that, people? Can we throw a damn switch or make a law that shit is free for one day? That would be great...aside from the mass rioting and the murder of millions due to trampling, looting and crazy people trying to fill containers with human shit. Why would they you ask? Pff...I don't know, but, you know there would be at least one prick doing it! Gross. So, I am off to scour the information super highway in search of subject matter that I might churn, like milk to fine butter, into sweet profits for Christmas presents. Oh, how about I write an article about "6 Reasons Your Dick Will Hurt Due to Writing An Article". Cha-ching! Money in the bank. 

Up yours Christmas!