friends don’t let friends miss leg day (an offshoot of the ‘c’mon, man’ sentiment)

Hey peeps! What’s a schedule amirite?

Alright, Imma be honest, (psh, like I’m not already…k, that’s a lie…mostly) but Imma be honest. I didn’t want to write this week…or last week. I didn’t. As I’m typing right now, I’m thinking “this is stupid” (yes, I know how to spell it, I choose not to on purpose…in case you were wondering) I’m thinking “there’s so much going on in the world, that just another dude, bitchin’ about absolutely nothing isn’t REALLY gonna change it. In fact, it might just piss some people off, and, like, not in the good way.”

All of that, I’m thinking all of that. BUT HERE THE. FUCK. I AM. Fuck it, I’ve got nothing else to do…that’s not true, I’ve got tons to do, I just don’t find the time to do them…no…it’s not that I don’t find the time. I don’t MAKE the time…(this will have a point once I figure it out, stick with me.)…ok…ok ok ok

I gotta be honest again, I totally had this whole thing written about how I feel about guns and gun laws. Upon realizing that I have nothing good to say about it, I’m relinquishing the argument to others who care more. I’ve got this whole theory…but I’m the only one who cares about it. If you care, ask me, we’ll get coffee and talk about it.

ANYWAYS HERE”S REEEAAAALLYYYY WHAT I WANTED TO BITCH ABOUT

Can we talk about the Gym Douchebag for a second? You know the dude, or chick who gets all dolled up to go workout? No?…oh you know, the weirdly tanned gym stud wearing the graphic T cut-off showing off all his tribal tattoos? (I maintain, by the way, that if I’m feeling spunky enough and I see a white dude with tribal ink that does not look traditional in any way, I’m allowed to ask him which tribe he’s from. It’s a shame that I can’t tell them that “tribe douche” is not an actual thing. I guess open rudeness is frowned upon or whathefuckever).

On more than one occasion I’ve actually had to LEAVE the gym because I was laughing. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t take anything seriously anymore. My workout was over. I’ll tell you how I happened upon this…thing.
I was looking around, judging people, (cuz that’s what you go to the gym for, right) and my shade-riddled gaze fell upon this one mutherfucker…sky-blue-and-yellow Jordans, MASSIVE basketball shorts, one of those fuckin’ sleeveless hoodies, flower-patterned-flat-brim, and a pair of those over-ear-Beats-by-Dre headphones attached to his iPhone…with which he was taking a selfie.

I can only imagine the face I was making. Something that could be described as a cross between disgust and morbid curiosity. The face you make when you smell something completely ghastly but you still want to know where it comes from. Then, like, you start laughing almost uncontrollably and you need to excuse yourself from a public setting cuz open insanity is “not encouraged,” and staring with your mouth open is “creepy” and “unbecoming.”

Before I lose my train of thought…     ….       ….   what?
Oh…before I lose my train of thought lemme tell ya what the description of the “gym douche” does not include:
People who are PASSIONATE about being fit (Bodybuilders, figure builders, crossfitters, and anyone who comes to the gym with a set agenda, who genuinely ENJOY putting together workouts/eating plans/supplement plans and the like). For those people it’s what they do. The people working out. Not the ones sitting down to do a SET OF FUCKING CURLS.

There are TONS of reasons people go to the gym. I can’t speak for other people (except for the dude whose upper-body is JACKED but his legs look like they’re in serious need of a squat set…or seven, I know for a fact he’s there for a date with the 50 pound dumbbells. c’mon man).

The reasons I  attend the gym are as follows:
1) I’m vain as fuck.
2) I REALLY don’t want to be fat (which may or may not also have to do with #1)
3) To maintain my ability to give awesome hugs

now, allow me to extrapolate on these points.

1) When I say I’m vain as fuck, there’s really no other way I can think to explain the consistent checking of myself in any and every reflective surface this world has to offer. I wouldn’t say that mine is a prominent vanity, but if “obsessed” isn’t the word to describe how I feel about how I look then I’m not sure what the word would be. This, of course, like almost everything I write, might be a tad hyperbolic. Meaning that my exaggeration has been taken to a level beyond any genuine meaning. Of course, my vain might not compare at all to other people’s vain. Maybe I care too much what I look like. But I’m not obsessed with working out so I guess it’a a good thing I’ve got killer genes (did I say that out loud?) moving on.

2) It’s true. I don’t. I correlate fatness with weakness. I don’t hate fat things or people, nor am I scared of it/them but usually what being overweight constitutes to me (feel free to tell me to fuck myself at any time) is a combination of laziness and over-indulgence. Of course, there are those who are born with a genetic predisposition or contract a medical condition and in that case, there’s only so much one can do. But nothing is keeping anyone from being active. And that’s the long and short of it.

3) It’s been scientifically proven that a hug that lasts for thirty seconds or longer releases oxytonins (or some shit) whateverthefuck the bodies natural “feel-good” enhancers are…it does that. and the longer you hug…the gooder you feel…(I know what I said).

So that’s why.
But the truth is (and I might’ve already said this) it’s tough for me to actually get into the gym because of all the people who suck. Their vanity clashes with mine and it makes for this weird anxious energy. Every time I’m there I feel like I should be doing something different. Literally anything.
Which may or may not be a valid feeling, whothefuck knows?
maybe I’m just in a bad mood. Final thought, If you gotta go to the gym, don’t be a shitty person. The gym is already a shitty place to be. Til next time.

cheers, beautiful people,
TOSWG

You can be slutty, I kinda like it (again, the permission slip you DON”T need from the guy who’s going to give it to you anyway)

You can be slutty, I kinda like it (again, the permission slip you DON”T need from the guy who’s going to give it to you anyway)

Ladies, my loves, darlings, beautiful, strong, independent women…this one is for you…you can slap me if you see fit. Now, I know you don’t need to hear it from me, but I don’t know, maybe you do.
but…
Be slutty. It’s ok. I’m telling you it’s ok. People will NOT have the same feelings as me. And you don’t have to go out and do the slut thing if you don’t want to. Neither am I saying that NOR am I saying that ALL females have to be slutty to express their femininity. Different things work for different women and not all ladies like feeling like that. And you never have to do anything you don’t want to do.  BUT if ever you do feel like letting down your hair, putting on your three inch wedges and little black dress, or whatever the alternative is that makes you feel awesome… I’m telling you to fuckin’ do it and don’t feel bad about it, not even a little bit, not even at all.

In today’s society that is crawling with Douchebags who crawl all over you with their eyes (I’m sorry, that’s an awful visual but it’s true) most men are hounds ESPECIALLY when it comes to someone (particularly female, but this works for dudes too, I know I’M a slut sometimes) that they deem slutty.
To them (and to almost everyone) “Sluttiness” is given to a human who (they think they know) will be sexually active without any regard of whom they are sexing with and in that endeavor choose to dress accordingly. Isn’t that it?
Slut equals someone who dresses like they wanna bang and bangs a lot…right?…rightright? ….uugghhh *facepalm*

Let me ask you this…how do you define a hipster? Some dude with a beard and a manbun, right? oh, YOU have a beard and a manbun?…well, are you a hipster? hmm? no?

THEN WHY ARE YOU BEING SO FUCKING SHALLOW
deeper…deeeepppeeerrrr…think haaarrdeerrr (open your mind to me…oppeeenn your miiiinnnddd..[reference? anyone?])
Fuckin OPEN UP DUDE!

*some mutherfucker in the back* {Well what’s YOU’RE definition asshole?}

Me: *pointing* “You wanna know, mutherfucker!? You gotta use the correct form of ‘your’ jackass!”
WITNESS ME BLOODBAG

While the term “slut” might indeed pertain to someone (we’ll be particular in saying that she’s a female. What? I’m straight) who:
1) engages in sex (mutherfucking *gasp* [it’s 2016 people, get with it])
2) dresses like she (k fine, OR he) may or may not like to engage in sex
3) might act/dance/speak/walk/run/exercise/fuddlewuckin promiscuously
4) participate in anything else that someone might deem as “slutty”

Guess what…I kinda like it. And I have a theory as to why YOU (universally, I’m not calling anyone out here…yet) think/feel otherwise.
But lets start with why I FUCKIN’ DIG the SHIT out of you, strawberry-slut-cake. hashtag winky-tonguey-stickey-outey face.

I dig you because you’re doing you and you don’t give a shit what people think, or say about you (unless you bitch about it, then I have my doubts) NEVERTHELESS I dig it. You’re doing what you do, you’re flaunting what you’re given, and you’re kinda hotter when you’re being safe about it and ACTUALLY NOT banging random people who wear too much fragrance because they offered you a ride in their Bentley (that they’re going to be paying off for the next hundred and fifty years, but that’s none of my business).

But your hotness isn’t about the sex you do or do not have, or act like you have. Your hotness comes from your confidence. See, I correlate “sluttiness” with a thing called “confidence” (douchebags know what I’m talkin’ about, only theirs is fake…the fucksticks).
Confidence and a Free-Spirit. Something of a Goddess, even. (Not putting you on a pedestal, you don’t have to fuckin impress me if you don’t want to) I’m saying I admire you.

Of course, I’m definitely NOT saying that confidence and free-spiritedness is only manifested in the realm of slutiness. Anyone can be either and/or both of those things. This weird rant is not aimed at those who engage in a relationship and have set guidelines as to how their slutiness is to be expressed. I’m speaking as one straight, single guy to all the single girls who have been berated for being “slutty.”
I enjoy your sluttiness, and I don’t know if I will ever not enjoy it.

The theory that I have about why douchebags try to demean women by calling them sluts is that they do it because THEY”RE PISSED OFF THAT THEY CAN”T BE WITH THEM BECAUSE THEY”RE DOUCHEBAGS. No, that’s not how that works.
She’s a slut (ugggh hashtag heart eyes) and YOU can’t fuckin handle it because you KNOW she’s better than you and YOU CAN”T HAVE HER BECAUSE YOU DON”T FALL WITHIN HER BEAUTIFUL SLUT CIRCLE. YOU. CAN”T. SIT. WITH. HER.
and that makes you mad, so you try to put her down because you’re not confident enough in yourself.
It all comes swinging back to you, douchebags, like the gawddamn tire-swing from hell. And that’s where bullying starts. Especially across the letters of a keyboard, which is what the world has come to. Oh well. If bullies are wolves, that makes me a sheepdog, I suppose.
Imma keep giving love to all the beautiful sluts all over the world and you KNOW WHAT, you. can’t. stop. me. Here’s a little list of all the “sluts” I will always love.
The Suicide Girls, The GirlsonGlass Girls, The Ladies at Jumbo’s Clown Room, The Ladies of The Little Miss Nasty burlesque show and all burlesque dancers for that matter, Exotic Dancers, Strippers, Go-Go dancers, Playmates, Hometown Hotties, any and EVERY female who has ever posed in a bikini, or lingerie set professionally or because they were just feeling hott. Any female who decided to dress in a slutty costume for halloween. Any female who has ever dressed slutty anywhere just for the fun of it. Any female who has ever been called a harlot, hussy, tramp, whore, skank, sloot, foul seductress or ANYTHING pertaining to or relating to that with intent to hurt.
I love you.

I hope your feathers are sufficiently ruffled, tell me if they are, I’ll see you next time.

Cheers, beautiful people,
TOSWG

Just because you want to, doesn’t give you the right: A preface

Just because you want to, doesn’t give you the right: A preface

 

I will preface this by saying a couple things. Cuz shit’s about to get real and I’m not sorry about it. I’m gonna try to cover all my bases here whilst maintaining the openly “less-of-a-shit-giving” attitude that I’ve come to…to…to…FUCK…gimme a second…this intro was gonna be epic as FUCK then I FUCKING blanked on the proper word. Either way, what I’m TRYING to say is something that I feel very strongly about is not any reason to hold back my feelings for the sake of hurting someone else…

…jeezus, that doesn’t make ANY fuckin sense. Let’s try that again shall we? I have very strong feelings about rape and rapists and how they should be handled. Let’s just say, were I The Punisher. I wouldn’t target cartels and gangs first. Fortunately, for all those mutherfuckers, I’m not The Punisher. Unfortunately for those mutherfuckers, if I am presented with the opportunity to prevent a rape, I will not be calling the cops until after I’ve had a say…(use your imagination).  I’m sure there are threads about what EVERYONE would do if they had the opportunity, how they would kick his teeth in blahblahblahblah “vigilante justice” blahblahblahblah “feed him to the pigs” “if it were MY daughter/sister/friend”…but would they? Would they taint their souls with that darkness?

I would…

That was darker than anticipated…maybe it should’ve gone in my journal. Oh well. That being said, lets change gears, cuz I’m tired of being ominous. Onto the sexy stuff…

It’s ok, be an asshole (The permission slip given to guys from the guy who got it from the girl who got it right)

It’s ok, be an asshole (The permission slip given to guys from the guy who got it from the girl who got it right)

http://www.playboy.com/articles/assholes-pussies

Bridget Phetasy is awesome and beautiful and…and…and I really don’t know what she does but she wrote that^^ awesome piece of awesomeness and she inspires me…I told her once online…she still hasn’t responded..oh well, story of my life.

I like to think I’m the kinda asshole that makes being an asshole seem OK…a classhole, if you will. The kinda asshole that James Bond is, you know? No? Am I just talking outta my ass?
Ya, that happens. It’s whatever, we’ll live.

Hey guys!…Whoever is reading! been a while. You know, like, two weeks, I missed you, I promise, and I’m totally not just saying that to get laid…yep, nope, not this time anyway.
If you care, I was in Las Vegas playing a punk rock show, cuz I’m a punk rock drummer.

Which is kinda funny cuz, like, whenever I go out with my band and I say that we’re in a band. I ALWAYS get pinned for the drummer, or if the “What do you play?” question is asked and I answer with a typical classholey “I’m the drummer,” the response is usually “Oh…well that makes sense/coulda guessed/oh, well, duh” kinda thing. I like it. I kinda really like it actually.
Fantastic.
Now that we’ve gotten THAT little tidbit outta the way. I would like to share something with you that not a lot of people know about me…ready? k good.

I. FUCKING. HATE. LAS.VEGAS.
it sux…with a capital UCKS. Cox N Dix…(reference anyone? I’ll give you a hint…greatwhitebuffalo…no one? eh, don’t worry about it)

But yeah, Vegas. Not a fan. I mean, I don’t mind it when I’m with my buddies and we’re being all Vegas’y n shit doin the Vegas thing (whateverthefuck THAT is) but when I get back I feel like the tobacco filler inside a leftover spliff that’s been sitting on the balcony of a frat house for two days; smelling like stale beer and soggy cigarettes mixed a shame cocktail and garnished it with depression and an empty bank account.

wait…WAIT…FUCKIN WAIT…what were we talking about? oh yeah. Being an asshole.
According to THAT^^ list, it’s completely acceptable. I’m here to tell you, me, the random mutherfucker writing shit on the interwebs, telling you,
THAT IT”S OK. cuz there are assholes that are assholes for the right reasons.

lemme clarify something. Assholes are NOT douchebags. Douchebags fall into the pussy category because there is some sort of insecurity that makes them do the things they do.
A pinnacle difference is their treatment of women.
Douchebags fuck anything and everything, well, because they can. Why? because their false sense of security and confidence tells them that getting naked with that woman or this woman will reaffirm their masculinity and blahblahblahblah (fuck, there are books written about this shit, go read one, cuz I’m not gonna write it, I’m just ranting)

Bear with me…this post doesn’t have a point, I promise.

Assholes will fuck with those who will fuck with them and it will be awesome. BUT an asshole, at least one who is assholing correctly will be upfront, actually saying something like “Hey, I really just want to get you naked and make you cum cuz I think you’re hott” which will unfortunately later turn into “hey, um, I’m having trouble committing to you cuz, well, shit I’m a guy and I get stoopid sometimes, I’m sorry for having loved you without realizing I had no intention of loving you. You deserve more. I’m an asshole.”

In that instance are those assholes being pussies? Fuck, maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t write the book about it.
But here, I’ll now tell you a mostly-unrelated-but-relatable story about a time, recently, in Vegas, when I was an asshole.

Guys, I got in a fight. Now, it wasn’t a fight by most people’s standards. More of a scuffle, but this drunk mutherfucker who picked a fight with my buddy and I picked a fight with the wrong assholes.
I won’t give you a play-by-play, that would be exhausting. Here’s how it happened though.

My buddy and I were walking (ok, stumbling) back to our hotel room and we happen to pass this mutherfucker giving shit to a couple of security guards. We laughed at him because what he was saying was unintelligible bullshit. Fast forward three minutes, and this mutherfucker catches up to us (we had a feeling he’d be following). The douchbag steps to me like he’s some kinda tough guy and starts spouting more unintelligible bullshit, only closer this time.
Now, I’m between 215 and 245 lbs depending on which broken 24 hour fitness scale I’m using. I won’t lie, (*pause and wait for intentional horn toot) but I look like I should be playing rugby for Ireland. This dude was a Maltese barking at a Wolfhound. Next thing I know he’s looking me in the eye and throwing a cheap shot at my buddy next to me.
Without hesitation, I shoved this mutherfucker. Hard. Into a bush. He stood up and got in my buddy’s face. It took 1 and a half licks to put him back on the ground. By that time, the original security guards had showed up. The licks my counterpart gave him opened  up a gash in his head and he was bleeding heavily. The guards told us to go. I think they were stoked. Though he was still talkin’ shit, the tussle was over.

Thinking about it afterwards, reflecting on the beating that my buddy and I had given this drunk douchebag (separately, mind you, at no point did we gang up on this dude. We aren’t dishonorable swine). We concluded that it was a good thing he ran into us so we could put him in his place.
What if he had run into someone who was equally drunk but couldn’t defend himself?
What if he ran into a girl?
Growing up I was under the impression that fighting was never an option. I don’t know why. I am glad that I was finally able to experience an instance where it was not only warranted to defend myself but also justified. Nevertheless, I still felt like an asshole…but like, the kinda asshole that James Bond would have been. (oh, wait, did I just make a point? weird how writing works).

You can be an asshole, but be the asshole in the never-ending crusade against douchebags. Be confrontational. Stand up for people. Call people out on their shit. It feels good. I promise.

The next post will be sexier.

Cheers, beautiful people,
TOSWG