Sorry for the whole “going MIA for several months” thing, it’s been hard for me to have a desire to write, as I’m constantly doing it for school these days. At least it seems like it. Whatev. Anyways, I know that everyone gets old and dies and all that shit, and I know that old people think they deserve to have the rights that everyone else in the world does. But get the fuck out of my gym. Please. I know that you finally saved up enough UPC codes and got that sweet new fanny pack from the Mott’s applesauce company to show off, but do it somewhere that I don’t have to trip over you. Fuck. It’s one thing to see your friend Bertha from down the hall in your retirement home at the grocery store, and feel the need to have a half an hour conversation about tapioca pudding and dominos while blocking an entire aisle with your shopping carts that have nothing fucking in them. I get that. I can totally accept that the grocery store is like the elephant graveyard for you fuckers. But for the love of all that is holy – Baby Jesus, Buddha, Zeus, and whatever deity Eskimos pray to – get the fuck out of my gym.
I am almost 30. I had every intention of either dying in a badass explosion or bank heist or something sweet at 40, but recently my friend Tara convinced me that 50 is the new 40. Whatev, so long as I’m dead before I hit the age that I annoy the holy fuck out of everyone else in that comes in contact with me. “Brah, why are you so hostile to old people?”, you ask? Well let me explain to you exactly what I encounter every single day at my gym. There are 3 parking lots to use. The parking isn’t the greatest, but it’s certainly plentiful. And yet, every single day that I get to the gym, no matter what time it is, there is no parking, because EVERY FUCKING CAR IS PARKED IN 2 SPOTS. For some reason, even though these old fuckers obviously have all come from the same graveyard to piss me off, they don’t carpool or take one of those fancy geriatric buses that they get to use for free. So I get to take a quarter mile walk before my workout even starts.
As soon as I walk into the gym, I am greeted by the sight of about 40 fat old ladies, floating around on neon pink pool-noodles, like enormous, horrifying, pale lilypads in the pool that I was excited to use when I first signed up for the gym. Yeah, I think for the 8 months I’ve been a member, I’ve been in the pool twice. Somehow worse is the hot tub. I thought I’d be able to get more use out of it, but it’s like balls soup in there, because the old fuckers that manage to break a sweat from shuffling around the indoor track for 13 minutes don’t shower off before they get in it. I decided that soaking up the hemorrhoid juice bubbling around in the hot tub isn’t in my best interest, so I generally skip that too. I go into the locker room to put my gym bag away, and am immediately bombarded with old scrotums swinging around like fucking pendulums in fast forward. Every old dude is for some reason bending over naked in front of the only open lockers in the locker room, or standing like Captain Morgan and regaling each other with racist stories while drying their balls off. I swear to God, there is a public hair dryer in there – I have seen old guys blow drying their junk after the shower. Now, I don’t use a hair dryer, but I don’t need hot air blowing crusty pubes around the fucking locker room. It’s bad enough that I step on used bandaids in the shower.
On the days that I manage to not puke all over the place and run out of the gym horrified, I go up the stairs to start my workout. There are 2 sides to the gym – one is for cardio, the other is for weight training. On the cardio side, there are probably about 20 treadmills, 15 elipticals, 10 bikes, and a couple other random machines that no one ever uses because they were manufactured in the late ’70’s and will probably scrape you and give you tetanus if you attempt it. There are several clipboards hanging on the wall so you can sign up for a machine and you get to use it for a half an hour before you have to get off and sign up for another one. Annoying rule, but it gets busy in there, so I understand it. Except that the stupidass old people that go there don’t sign up for anything, they just pretend like they didn’t know about it when you say something to them, and get all indignant about it when you start yelling at them. What the fuck are you doing, walking at a 1.3 speed on a treadmill anyways? You can do that on the fucking track you stupid tardos. Fuck.
On the weight training side, I constantly have to stand guard on the machines I’m using between reps, because those muscle shirt, side boob showing old dudes and unitard wearing Forever 21 grandmas are fucking vultures, and will move your water bottle out of their way and then sit on your machine for fucking 25 minutes if you step off for even a second. Then, when you finally get your machine back, it smells like farts and covered in some kind of filmy residue that is left by snails and the fucking walking dead. WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO WORK OUT YOUR TRICEPS, BERTHA? It’s like some asshole told them that doing tricep extensions with 10LBs is the equivalent of drinking out of the Fountain of Youth. Maybe I’ll go get free weights instead. Oh shit, nevermind. Some fat, super hairy old guy is doing is fat guy ab workout directly in front of the weight rack instead of in the designated ab workout area. Hank Hill would be pissed if he was real. That shit is designated for a reason, sonnnn. Maybe if I started accidentally dropping 25LB kettleballs on the dickholes that I have to reach over to get them, they’d learn. Or die. Either way, my problem would be temporarily solved.
Anyways. This isn’t very nature-esque, I guess. Although, it is nature’s fault that people get old. Or human nature? I dunno. Fuck you nature, regardless.
This isn’t any kind of post, just some pictures I took during the filming of a Brah Vs. Nature video that you will never see.
Hey guys, I’ve been really busy studying for finals and shooting Brah Vs Nature videos, annnnd just found out that some dildo is trying to steal my identity, which is why I’ve been MIA for a couple weeks. I’ll try and make a post tonight/tomorrow, and then I’m going on vacation for a week.
Thanks for your patience, fuck you nature!
When I was in my senior year of high school I moved into my best friend Nathan’s house, because my stepdad and I didn’t get along. By “didn’t get along” I mean, he was a twat constantly, and I got to the point where I was seriously contemplating garroting that motherfucker with my shoelace. I decided that it was better for his health and my relationship with my mom if I just moved out. It was probably also better for my anal virginity, as my ass would’ve no doubt been used as the target for some 400lb inmates bent, freckled flesh battering ram. Anyways, I saved my butthole, but ruined my liver, because after moving in with Nathan, I had a lot more opportunities to drink heavily, which I did. One drunken night, Nathan invited an insane, anorexic bitch named Kayce to our place. I still don’t know why, but she was obsessed with me. Not the cute, shy, yearn-for-you-from-afar kind of obsessed. The kind where she tried to run my sister over with her moms fucking minivan because she thought my sister was my girlfriend or something horrifying like that. (My sister and I were walking down the street near our house, and she and I look nothing alike) So naturally, I drunkenly figured that, in order to avoid being raped and then sacrificed to some fucking emo girls weeping god -which is probably actually just the lead singer of the shithead band, Silverchair- I would lock myself in the bathroom.
My plan worked, because I woke up laying facedown on the floor like a champ with no signs of rape or stab wounds. I crawled from the bathroom to my bed and passed out again. I woke up a few hours later with the worst hangover I ever had – or so I thought. The room was spinning, my mouth was as dry as Courtney Love’s used up, rotten vagina, my head was pounding…the only thing in this world I wanted was water, but I couldn’t move to get it. I looked up, and saw that there was a God and He loved me – the day before I had been drinking tap water out of an empty apple juice bottle. (Not because I was drunk and stupid, but because I was broke and thirsty) I grabbed the bottle and started chugging the water, happier than a homo on Penis Day. I realized that the water tasted funny, but didn’t give a shit at the time, because I was so thirsty. I looked at the bottle and saw a bunch of black squiggly lines all over it. Still didn’t care, kept drinking. Suddenly, Nathan yells from the other room, “Dude, don’t drink the water next to your bed, I peed in there.” God. Dammit. I look closer at the lines on the bottle and realize that they were the scrawlings of a drunk man, and they weren’t random lines – the bottle said “pee” all over it. That was when my hangover was magnified by about 2000%. I puked EVERYWHERE. For hours. Jesus Christ, just writing about this horrible occurance in my life makes me want to puke. And punch Nathan in the taint for leaving that goddamn water bottle next to my bed. And punch apples and apple juice and apple juice manufacturers for existing. Fuck.
Drinking piss aside, hangovers suck in general. And I understand they’re completely preventable by not drinking alcohol, but what fun is that? Humans slapped nature in her balls by creating something amazing out of rotten food -alcohol- and nature had to tamper with it by making our bodies unable to effectively process it. WHY MAKE BEER SO DELICIOUS IF I CAN’T DRINK IT WITHOUT BAD THINGS HAPPENING TO ME? I don’t care about the brain cells I may or may not be losing, or the dude-rape that might happen at that frat party I crash, but I do care that in 8 hours when I wake up after drinking way too much, I can’t see out of my right eye, my head is pounding, I can’t feel my dick, I’m crying blood and I’m vomiting profusely. But, as any badass human does, I drink anyways just to spite that whore Nature. Basically, a hangover is the combination of being dehydrated, alcohol eating through your stomach lining, and your liver acting like a little bitch and not being able to produce enough liver-junk, which causes your glucose levels to diminish. Your brain runs on glucose, and without it you’re dizzy and stupid. Something like that. My friend Lindsay explained it to me once, and she is a nurse and a genius, so I’m inclined to believe everything she tells me about everything ever.
The only hangover worth a damn is the first “Hangover” movie. I haven’t seen the second one, so I can’t comment on it, but I heard mixed things about it. But the first…That shit was hilarious. Especially when baby Carlos was jackin’ his little wenis. And other stuff. Tigers. Goddamn, I need a beer.
Fuck you, nature.
When I was a kid, there was a big-ass tree next to my house, and it was the perfect climbing tree. It was a rarity for Arizonan neighborhood trees, because it didn’t have massive thorns jutting out of it like the pubes on some demons scrotum, like most of the trees in Tucson do. (Yes, trees. Not the cacti. The trees also have huge thorns on them. Look it up if you don’t believe me, dick) It had just the amount of large branches for me to use to hoist myself up onto the thick top branches about 15 feet up, where I would sit for hours and enjoy the shade from the hot Tucson sun. I used that tree as a refuge from everything that sucked when I was a kid, and I loved it. Until one fateful day, my neighbor Alan came by and told me something badass was happening – probably that he got to the last level of “Kung Fu” on his NES. That black-clad ninja was a real bitch. Anyways, for some reason that I don’t recall, I was stoked, and began my descent of the tree. And then I touched the tree sap. At first I was disturbed because I thought I put my hand in some terribly sticky bird diarrhea, and it was grossing me out. Like a bird with Crohn’s disease or something. After I got a better look though, I realized it was coming out of the tree. I guess my investigation was taking too long, because around that time, Alan threw a rock at me and knocked me out of the tree. I remember falling for what seemed like a long time, and then I landed awkwardly on my arm and broke it. Yes, Alan is a giant vagina, but I still blame the tree sap for my broken arm.
Tree sap doesn’t seem like much of a big deal, it’s not an active threat of nature. It’s more like Mother Nature’s passive “fuck you”, and I hate it with a burning passion felt deep within my soul. And loins. And my right arm when it’s raining out. Have you ever gotten tree sap on your car? It’s like Winnie the Pooh with a bloody dick jizzed on the hood of your car with his honey jizz. You can’t get that shit off, unless you have about $200 to spare. Then you can take your car to some douche-faced local Italian car detailer that wears dirty wife beaters and sweats something that smells like a mixture of pepperoni and baby tears, and have him overcharge you to get it off. And don’t even think that you can just move your car out from under the tree that’s dripping its shit all over your car – the fucking wind can blow sap onto your car too. Yeah, enjoy yourself. Have you ever gotten tree sap on your hands? It doesn’t matter how much you wash that shit, nothing created by man is strong enough to get it off of your skin. You basically have to deal with dead bugs and hair being stuck on your hands until your skin exfoliates itself enough that the sap is gone. And then you’re still haunted by nightmares of your hand being stuck to your face when you wake up in the morning. And pray to God that it’s not your masturbating hand that’s all sapped up, you don’t even want to get me started on that.
It’s true that one of the 3 wise men that was bringing Jesus frankincense back in the day, which I guess makes tree sap holy or something to some people. But really, that’s a dick gift. No one, especially a baby, needs fucking tree sap in a box. Jesus would’ve been royally (haha) pissed had he been old enough and smart enough to know what that jerk was bringing him. Also, if it wasn’t for tree sap, that KFC “Colonel” looking dingleberry wouldn’t have been able to create Jurassic Park. We all know what a bunch of bullshit that ended up being.
Fuck you, nature. (PS- Thanks for the great idea, Amy!)
click on that and watch my youtube video. it’s pretty rad. brah!
…for a once-a-week gig. So, instead of “This Week in F-You Nature”, it’s going to be “Today in F-You Nature”. Won’t be daily, I don’t have time for that. But the hate is going to flow like Michael Jackson’s Jesus juice. (Too soon?)