"Excuses are the nails that build the house failure."

Paul Bunyan's Beard

Easy With The Weights....Twice Baked BROtato

Easy With The Weights....Twice Baked BROtato

I know, I know.  It's a tale as old as time.  As long as there have been gyms with weights inside they have been populated with muscle-bulging dip shits.  As a matter of fact, if you think about it, lifting weights has been around longer than the invention of the wheel or even fire!  Similarities?  Man grunted back then and weight-lifting man still grunts today.  Back then man had not quite mastered the art of the human language.  Today, weight-lifting man has that very same predicament.  Back then man draped himself in an animal hide, at best.  Today weight-lifting man mine as well sport a loin cloth; what, with his shorts that reach 8 inches past his kneecaps and that nonsensical Affliction tank top.  He appears equally ridiculous.  Differences?  Man eventually created fire.  Today, the only fire you'll find in conjunction with weight-lifting man are the flames he put on the side of his Ford F-150.  DOOOOUCHE.

What is the fucking deal with these jokers?  You do not look good, sir.  You look rather unnatural.  You look like someone jammed a bike pump up your waxed asshole (there's no way these guys have one single follicle of hair on their bodies) and blew you up WAY past the red line on the meter.  And all those veins?!  Jesus man.  It looks like someone threw a ton of spaghetti noodles at you and painted over them to match your skin tone.  From here on out we shall refer to you as Prego.

'Ohhhh, Andy!  Do we sense a nagging twinge of jealousy?'


Your look, demeanor, time spent in the weight room, and your general point of view towards anyone who doesn't lift weights gives me more legs up than a row of fellas at a Lord of the Dance musical.  Allow me to provide a few reasons why you may never have the opportunity to wash the stink of tool off of yourself.  Here we go!  Spot me!

Your Point of View Towards Those Who Don't Lift  I can't understand this one at all.  You act as though everyone is obligated to genuflect when you walk by.  Clear a path everyone!  Here comes the dude who just benched 400 lbs 26 times.  Pay your respects!  Here, let me read you a story Prego, because we all know that you can't read.  Your hobby requires ZERO talent.  The End.  You're lifting objects!  That is literally all you're doing.  People robbed of their arms can even lift!  They just use their mouths or their feet!  Skill is nowhere to be found.  Hell, I can lift things, too!  Everyone morning I take my phone off of the nightstand.  After that I might pick up a pillow off the ground.  Shit, if I'm feeling squirrely I might just take a few eggs out of the fridge for breakfast.  All objects required lifting.  Really you're just in a never ending battle with gravity.  Spoiler alert; you lose.  Having brought all that to light I cannot fathom how you think you're better than anyone else who actually exercises in contrast to lifting.  I swim, bike, run, solve Rubik's cubes, ski, and a host of other activities requiring some sliver of coordination.  I'd LOVE to see you get your oily ass into a pool and go from one end to the other without sinking to the bottom.  I'd REALLY love to see you attempt to ski!  On second thought, I think it'd be entertaining enough to watch you try and put some ski gear on that meets your 'tightness' criteria.  Here's a hint; Affliction doesn't make ski gear.  Bummer BRO.  So before you go hurtling condescending barbells at those who don't have biceps as wide as their legs maybe take a step back from the rack and make sure you've done a complete self-assessment.  Here, I'll help.  You're a talentless assclown.

The Mirrors  Mirror, Mirror, on the wall.  Who's got the largest biceps of them all?  You pray it's you, Prego.  Knock it off with all the mirror gazing.  Maybe that's why you're not dating anyone.  It's because no one could ever love you as much as YOU love you.  You spend more time in front of a mirror than my wife did on our wedding day.  I would bet a tub of whey protein that the inside of you place looks like a house of mirrors at a carnival.  Am I right?  Sure I am.  I mean, no matter where you happen to be or what you happen to be doing you sure as shit are going to have the ability to give yourself a quick flex in the mirror.  Shower?  Mirror.  Ceilings?  Mirrors.  Soles of your shoes?  Mirrors.  Boxers?  Ehhhh, probably a telescope down there.  We know you have a tiny penis Prego. Roids will do that to ya.  Can I make a suggestion?  Please don't put a mirror in your casket.  You'll be dead and vision will no longer be an ability you possess.

The Noises  Cool it with the hissing and the hollering.  We already know you're here.  Drawing even more attention to yourself is hardly worth the effort.  You walked in straight out of a GNC add.  We got it.  Well now wait a minute.  Maybe that's how you weight lifters cry!  Maybe that's your way of expressing your emotions.  You don't actually cry, right?  If you did it would be in the privacy of your own home, and unless you're into flexing the corners of your eyes, then I doubt you even tear up when alone.  Just do us a favor the next time you feel a wail coming on; go ahead and let out a quick 'I'm an asshole!' just so we can all feel a little bit better having seen you acknowledge that fact.

The Appearance  I briefly touched on your shorts-that-could-pass-as-pants and your one of 40 Affliction tanks.  God damn you're fit for the circus my man.  What's even better than the tank you're ripping through in the gym is the backup tank you're going to wear on your way OUT of the gym!  You sir, will never cease to amaze me.  I'm seriously concerned that you believe these sad garments make you more aerodynamic.  They don't.  They will show off considerably more muscle than a standard t-shirt so I guess that's one win for Prego.  Oh, and if I EVER see you wearing a vest over your tank I'm going to hire an elephant to step on your head.  Try lifting that leathery hide off your noggin pal.  Next, the Aviators were slick in Top Gun or maybe on anyone other than you.  I'll give you a pass if you're wearing them to keep the hairspray fumes out of your eyes.  Also, Abercrombie called me and wanted to know where in the hell you found a pair of their cargo shorts!  They stopped selling them years ago.  Bottom line?  You look like every Jersey Shore character rolled into one.

The Spotter  Well well well, what do we have here?!  Did Prego find a friend?  I'll chalk this one up as another win for ya A-BRO-ham Lincoln.  Kind of.  It's going to take me awhile to wrap my head around the fact that you've managed to find ANOTHER you in this world.  He's your evil twin, although he possess one more talent than you do.  This motherfucker can high five like he invented the damn move!  He motivates you juuuust enough to keep that barbell from crushing your windpipe.  Too bad.  At least then we wouldn't have to deal with the grunts.  And right after you seize victory by its cold steel handle The Spotter's there to slap the skin right off of your callused hand.  Maybe a quick chest bump is in order if you surpassed your reps from the previous set.  Either way he's there for you, and he'll be there when you're both shaving your chests in the locker room, and he'll be there when you're both slamming down Jager shots at the club, and he'll be in your truck when you're cruising the strip.  BUT, he won't be there when you're staring in the mirror.  That's YOUR mirror BROchaco.  Your mirror.

Legs??  What ever happened to leg day Prego?  You look like a God damn flamingo.  If I ever see you in the weight room working on your legs I'm going to buy you a tank top dipped in Muscle Milk.  How in the shit can your arms be wider than my neck yet your legs be thinner than my middle finger?  Oh....bingo.  You don't work on your legs.  Why would you?  After all, they're the two things attached to our bodies that get us EVERYWHERE!  Go ahead, walk around looking like the villain from Despicable Me.  Either that or start delivering babies you stork.

Artificial Tanner  You're a man who applies a fake tan by any means necessary.  God dammit.  Just....just....God dammit.

Can we please just get someone to build and run a giant warehouse composed of mirrors filled with weights where these neanderthals can fulfill their simple dreams?  Lock them in while your at it.  The world will turn without that mess.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go iron my tank tops. 

Phish 10/31/1994

Phish 10/31/1994

Richie Havens

Richie Havens