Welcome to the Machine

Welcome my friends...welcome...to...THE MACHINE! Query 1: you thought you could escape? Query 2: YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD ESCAPE?!? You foolish...well, fool! Listen to (read) the words that are emanating from my digits: YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE MY FURY!!!! What's that? You have some questions for me? Well, normally I don't take questio...okay, okay, just stop yelling. Holy shit, alright alright! Speak your mind. What's your question? What the hell am I talking about with fury and what not? Fury needs no definition. In fact, to attempt to define all that is fury--in particular MY fury--would inherently fall short of even beginning to describe all that comprises the fury. Not good enough? Well, you know, I don't normally have answers for this shit all the time. Okay? It's not like I sit on the shitter writing down definitions for all the shit I say. I don't care that you are not impressed. I can fuckin' kick your ass in video games! No, not Halo--I suck at that. No, not pac-man, I'm shitty there too. Listen--shut the fuck up. Hear me now: my fury is that of a machine. How so? I'm so glad you asked. Here's how: like a machine, my fury is automatic and NON-STOP! Try and escape and you will be pulled back in. THAT, my mortal enemy, is why there is no escaping my fury. Okay--your question is "why am I supposed to be intimidated?" I'm going to answer that with a question: do you fear the primal scream of the sasquatch? Do you cringe at the hooded stalk of the King Cobra? Do you recoil at the sight of the Serengeti lion stalking you as though you were an injured infant wildabeast? The answer is YES! And the connection is that me, AND MY FURY, are ALL OF THESE THINGS--but way way way way more. I know...it's FUCKING crazy. It really is. This one time, I simultaneously ejaculated, shat myself, and urinated when the true nature of my fury cascaded through my cerebral cortex. Yes, that does bring up an interesting point: NOT EVEN I CAN ESCAPE MY FURY! Welcome to my world--WELCOME TO THE MACHINE!

The Big Cat

The big cat. That's right. The big cat, the large feline, the huge pussy! Hold on. That last one doesn't convey the message I'm looking for here. You see, by calling myself "the big cat" I'm saying I'm the top of the heap--the alpha. And I'm just not seeing it with "huge pussy." Yes, I know that people call cats "pussycats," but I don't give a shit. I am THE big fucking cat and I don't want people to think of me as the big pussy. Well fuck you then. You're out of the squad! What squad?!? Fuck you! That's what squad! Seriously, remember the squad we started a couple years back? "The Bod Squad." That's right. I know we haven't even mentioned it in like, 15 years. I know, dude. Yes, I know we got our asses kicked when some other dudes found out about it in middle school. Shut up. I'm kicking you off the squad and there's really nothing you can do about it. No, you can't just start up a second "bod squad." You just told me you thought it was gay anyways. Then why the fuck would you just start up another bod squad? Why wouldn't you start up a new club with a sweet name, like "the sleeper cell." That's bad ass. But you can't use that name, dick. I really don't care that I'm the only one left in the bod squad and that a single individual cannot constitute a "squad." Well wait. Are you sure about that? I'm not sure I believe you. You have an interest in getting back into the squad, so you might be justblowin' smoke up my ass. But maybe not. How do I get into "Bod Squad II?"

LDP Motherfucker

Wrap that rotten raisin you call a brain around this name: LOU DIAMOND PHILLIPS. That's right ladies, I went there. There may be a few of you out there that don't know who this king of tinseltown is and to you I say FUCK YOU. You can go straight to hell if you're not "in the know" about LDP. Straight to hell. You know, it's people like you that cause species of animals to go extinct and the ozone to be depleted. Well, not really, that's probably more to do with destruction of habitats and deforestation as well as uncontrolled pollution, but you catch my goddamn drift. LDP!!!! BOOOM!!! You probably thought I was going into a different subject or that I'd forgotten what I was talking about, but I DIDN'T. I blind-sided you with another swift, furious strike. LDP!!!!! I did it again. That's how you set the tone, whores. You lie in wait, let the audience calm down and believe that everything is cinco-"c" (calm, cool, collective, calm and cool) and SHBLOOM, you pounce like a fuckin puma. L-D-P! I bet you thought I was done, but that's just another enigma. I diverted your attention by explaining how to divert someone's attention! That's right...I can barely wrap my brain around it either. What? You're nodding your head in agreement that I am barely smart enough to figure out my own tricks? It's on. Here's what happens next: I choke-slam you. It's pretty simple, really. You put me down...I bury you. But to finish my earlier thought, LDP is badass.

How I would handle that crazy chinese guy who cut off that dude's head in Canada.

Okay, okay. Christ. Get off my back. I'll do it. In case you didn't know, my inbox has been flooded by my avid readers' requests for me to address how I, the perennial powerhouse, would handle that crazy chinese dude that sliced the head off an innocent bus rider up in Canada. By "flooded," I mean that no one has asked me and I just want yet another opportunity to talk about how great and strong I am. This, I will do.

First off, let's update those who are unfamiliar with the shit that went down in the CAN (Canada). Some crazed chinese due was on a greyhound bus. He was riding next to this younger guy who was listening to his headphones and sleeping on the bus. From what I understand, these two had never met before and had not spoken the entire time they were on the bus. Out of nowhere, this fucking chinese dude pulls out a large butcher knife and starts stabbing the sleeping guy in the neck. He eventually slices his head off...(that's right, he beheaded him). He then proceeded to parade around the bus holding the severed head. Everyone was evacuated and they trapped the crazy dude on the bus.

As you may have noticed, the Canadians were too fucking scared to confront this brutal bitch. This leads me directly into what you all have been waiting for: how a true legend of the gym and master of the lat-pulldown would handle this matter had I been there. I will summarize the following by saying: it would not be pretty.

First, let me ask you something: how soon after my morning quad-blasting would my encounter with the butcher-wielding chink have occurred? Because I will tell you right now, the level of my fury varies in reference to my last workout. Okay, we'll do it like this, I will give you the scenario for (1) immediately after my last hack-squat clinic (get your notepads out ladies, because each fucking rep. is a lesson. Also, if you'll give me your name and address, I will send you and invoice for my services. Don't fuck with me, I'm really strong--I thought we covered this). Alas, I digress. (2) 1 hour after my last ham-hock blasting and (3) 1 day after upright rowing have the weight of the Milky Way Galaxy (it weighs at least 200kg--that's right, metric BITCH!).

1. The Aftermath:

So let me ask you a couple of questions before I begin describing the methodical way in which I would dismantle a crazy, butcher knife-weilding slant devil. For starters, have you ever witnessed an avalanche screaming down the side of a mountain at 400 mph? Have you ever witnessed the great white sharks of South Africa attacking a weak, useless seal from below, blasting through the surface and soaring into the sky 20 feet? Please, take a moment and visualize the fury of nature. I'll wait... Okay. This is a good start because it gives you about an idea of about .00000000001% of my strength. Needless to say, I'm a big fuckin' dude. Okay, turning back to the crazy chinese guy. So let's say he sees me stand up from my seat and immediately comes at me with a downward chop. FWOMP!!! He swings and immediately his wielding arm is blown off by my snapkick to his armpit. He's reeling from the pain and shock of having his limb blasted off, but he's not finished. Oh no, he's only just begun. Or so he thinks. What he doesn't know is that I once punched a dude so hard in the face, his skin turned from normal flesh to black and blue! Ha. Christ is he in trouble. Realizing his arm has been blown off and the knife is still in his severed hand, he reaches down and attempts to pick up the weapon to launch yet another campaign. And that's when it happens. I pants the bastard whilst he is bending down to pick up his knife. He's stunned. I then proceed to grab his gents and pull them back to give him the meat-tuck of the century. No, fuck it, OF THE MILLENIUM! He has no choice but to give in. This, he does. After a bit, I decide to let him go. I say "alright buddy, get home before I think of more fucked up ways to hurt you." He walks out of the bus, but before he can take one step, I'm on him with my '01 Accord. That's right, I hit him with my fucking car. Naturally, I killed him.

2 and 3. If you were stupid enough to begin imagining how my domination of the chinese guy would differ with 1 hour and 1 day respectively after a rockin' set of hack-squats, you are the dumbest piece of shit ever. Everyone knows I don't go more than 10 minutes without doing squats. That's why I drag the Smith machine behind me. See? You faggot.

Unleash the Fury

Okay. As you may recall, in my last post, I mentioned a number of qualities about myself that make me superior. I also mentioned a number of things that cause people to question my sexuality (I'm bi-curious, by the way). In any event, there are subjects that require further extrapolation. First things first: I have unnaturally large lats. In my last post, I mentioned my ability to fucking rock out bigtime pulldowns and o-ring-blasting low-rows. I thought I made it clear then that when it comes to lat, I'm the big cat, but it appears that my loyal readers don't understand that (actually, I'm just looking for an excuse to talk about my lats again). In fact, some have called me the glider. Why the glider? Oh, I don't know, maybe it's because my fucking lats are so fucking large, they cover a surface area sufficient to cause my body to glide through the air. Or, maybe I have a flap of skin between my arms and legs that allow me to glide between trees like a flying squirrel. Who knows!? Actually, I do. And the answer is that I have big lats. Also, people don't call me the glider, they generally call me by my first and/or last name, which is really not all that abnormal. Alright, I'm done talking about lats.

Onto my second topic of this post: hack squats. Now, I'm pretty sure I made no mention of this in my last post, but I don't give a shit. I'm doing it: I'M TALKIN' SQUATS! Here we go: I can squat one-hundred pounds (100lbs.). Huh? Yes, that's only one rep. No, I didn't realize that was not impressive and something people normally don't brag about. Listen pube-brains. I am not a "normal" person. Actually, in terms of physical size and weight, I'm quite average, but the fact that I post blogs like this and talk about my average physical feats as if they are unique and incredible makes me "not normal," and somewhat of a douchebag. That's right. So, the questions remains: do you want to make out? Strike that. That question remains: Fuck you...? Okay, it's not a question, but still, fuck you. Consider yourself clowned.

Vanquish the Beast

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