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.