Sunday, May 11, 2014

Publishing a Childrens' Book

I’m a bastard. I’m a bastard with a heart, but I’m still a bastard. That all said, I’ve been shopping a children’s book the past couple of weeks. It’s been a trying experience since it’s always been a dream of mine to write books for kids.

The main reason why the publishers aren’t interested in my books is because they aren’t sure who I’m writing the book for. I keep telling them I’m writing for the 6-8 year olds and they keep coming back to me and telling me the things I cover are too mature for that age group.

It’s hard not taking offense to that criticism, even though I see their point. I just feel that if I was told certain things when I was in that age group I would have had a leg up on life. For instance one of the topics I cover in my book is what to tell a cop when he asks to search your car. I think it’s utterly important that children know their rights. Now, I don’t think little 6 year old Jimmy Tiwiliger is going to have six blunts in his back pack – I just want to create a foundation of knowledge.

I cover some other racier thing, but again, these things are really meant to inform the kids. For instance I have an entire chapter on parties. I focus primarily on what constitutes sexual assault and rape. Did you know that a drunk person cannot legally consent to sexual intercourse? I don’t want little Tommy Tindersnacker to find this stuff out the hard way in college.

There’s even a section in my book regarding personal appearance. Now, my audience shouldn’t be hitting puberty for another couple of years, but I include some sidebars on the best ways to shave your pubes and what hair removal agents to steer clear of. Again, creating a foundation of knowledge is incredibly important. I don’t want little Danny Diggler getting second degree chemical burns on his scrotum because he decided to use Nair one day.

The publishers seemed interested in the message of the book, but continually questioned the audience. I was adamant that I wanted this book to be published for the 6-8 year old demographic. They countered that it would be best if it was re-written and re-targeted for the 18-30 demographic.

I’m still consistent in my belief that this book is best suited for young children. The kids of today are growing up faster. We’re ingesting hormones that are making our kids hit puberty quicker. Maybe today a 6 year old doesn’t need to know how to shave his balls; and maybe today a 7 year old girl doesn’t need to know how to calculate how many drinks it would take to get drunk. But it’s not the kids of today I’m concerned for. It’s the children of tomorrow. The uber-seed who are reaching puberty before they get out of diapers are the kids for whom I am writing this book.

Just like their ABC’s, cursive and arithmetic, these kids need a foundation of knowledge. I know I wish someone would have told me Nair was going to burn the hell out of my balls. I want to be that guy who can sit down with a kid and frankly say to them, “if a cop wants to look in your car you tell him no. If he persists you ask that fucking pig if he’s got a warrant.”

Tuesday, April 15, 2014


I was beast-modeing it at the Swole-nasium tonight. Just getting wrecked with the weights. It was leg day, and between sets I was screaming at all the hotties, “look at my fucking legs! They’re wrecked. My legs are like the fuckin’ Straits of Gibraltar with the Colossus of Rhodes danglin’ in between them.”

Between shouts and barking at women I noticed a fellow follower of the Swole. The dude was doing alternating dumbbell curls - except he was doing them inefficiently. He was rocking his body, and holding the weights wrong.

I had to help this Swole Bro. Without my tutelage this Swole Bro would get frustrated and give up. Between sets I sauntered over to him and was all like, “bro, look at your fucking shoulders man. We can get you yoked as fuck. What are your goals?”

He was like, “I want arms like yours”.

Immediately I got a slight chub. Damn right he does. I’m fucking jacked.

“Bro, I can help you get there. Let’s look at the form you’re doing for biceps curls. You want to engage your core. Grab a lower weight, and let’s work on different type of curl. This way is just one way to get biceps so big Jesus will come to earth and be all fucking “Over the Top” on your ass. But it’s cool, Jesus was a bro too, so he’ll understand.” So I taught my gym bro how to do bicep shit, and I told him to get his triceps involved in that shit, and what programs to try.

Then I sauntered back to my rack and busted out some fucking deadlifts the likes that no one has seen before. I could feel the gym getting more humid as the cardio-bunnies started to stir and froth in their yoga pants.

Anyone who comes to the gym and has the dick or clit to pick up a weight is my immediate Swole Bro. Weights are intimidating. Before I go to the gym I write two notes. One note is to my family telling them I love them and that I want Danzig at my funeral. The second note I stuff in my shoe. It tells the first responders to delete the browser history on my computer.

Not only are the weights intimidating because they’re heavy, you got fine meaty specimens thrusting every which way. To get over that fear of lifting your first weight you gotta recognize that almost everyone who lifts is the kindest bro out there. They love lifting are in heaven. Like a masochistic heaven, but a heaven nonetheless. They like talking about lifting, form, and programs and shit. But most importantly, bro, they’re there to focus on themselves. Unless you’re doing shit that is going to wreck your back, or you seem lost or discouraged, the bros are going to leave you alone. I swear they won’t notice you. If they’re like me they’re too focused on being too small, and not being the biggest dude on planet earth.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

I haven’t written on this blog in a long while. I realized that the kids today just don’t read long, meandering articles. Kids want things to be fast and easy to consume. Well, you know what? Fuck kids!

Well, okay, DON’T fuck kids. That’s a figure of speech. But screw this whole 140 characters or less crap that I’ve been trying to do. It’s back to long, silly articles about things that interest me:



Getting women on me


Getting women to weight lift

Getting women who weight lift on me

That all said, I’m re-christening this a Brog (Bro-Blog). I’m going to write about the stuff that interests me as well as bro things like:

Lifting Shoes: Can’t I Just Be Pretty?

Free Weights vs. Machines: It’s like comparing sex to getting your foot run over by a moped

Supplements: Why is my pee glowing?

Crocs vs. Sandals: Which one makes a squishy sound more? (Not all are on lifting)

Your Taint: Why you need to keep it fresh

Athletes foot: Your foot is your ankle’s taint

Come join me on this new adventure. Or don’t, you fuck.