Thursday, December 29, 2016

Hanging with the Goon

I found dis here photo on teh inteweb, not sure if it is Uncle Thom after New Years or Nick Nolte.

Greetins and salutations, all you intenet trolls! Dis is teh Goon and I'm here to bring well wishes and sieg heels from teh basket full of deplorables, aka teh wilderness folks. When I last talked to yas, I was bringing up all teh good points fer voting fer teh two candidates, Hellery Clinton, and Supreme Leader Trump. Welp, I ended up making a choice! I voted fer Mr. Trump 'cause he's fer white folks and I don't know no colored people 'cept Snup Dog and Hernando, and teh latter is really an alien from Venus or some place, which explains why he don't know nothin' bout Cinco Dey Mio or any of them udder Mexican holidays. Lest you think that teh Goon is racist, lemme ask yu somethin: Is it racist to be fer ur own particular brand of person? I liek to think taht it ain't, 'cause how can yu be racist against ur own mudder and fadder? I'm sorry, i think I lost myself somewhere out there in teh great blu yonder. I was tryin to repeat somethin Uncle Thom told me, but like most of his gibberish, it went out one ear an into another. It was Uncle Thomm who convinced me taht Hellery was truly teh devil, because she murder some guy named BenGayZee and stole all teh emails in teh world. Also, Uncle Thom said she was a woman an' he ain't know no woman taht could ever operate anything more complicated tehh a toster oven, though usually when he has a woman, he puts her in teh pit till she's good and ready, so I don't think he's really using much of a sample size. Plus, Sumpreme Leader Trump said he was going to give all teh white people teh Meixcans jobs but with better wages and tickets to teh Toby Keith concert. I told Thom he could have my tickets. I think Toby Keith ain't worth a bag of penises.

So now taht Trump is Supreme Leader, I suppose taht makes us teh evil Empire like in Star Wars. I tell ya, I am really lookin forward to becoming a Stormtruppen an havin a blaster rifle. I just hopes it hits something, 'cause in teh movies tehy couldn't hit teh broad side of a barn. I would also kinda liek to be a jedi but I guess I can't because teh jedi are all extinct or something. I talked to Hernando 'bout it an he said taht when his people come in teh space ship, tehy'll beem me up and make me a Force wizard an give me all teh candy in teh world. I said "alright," 'cause I really don't have nothing better to do but watch teh world burn.

Thares been a lot of negitivity in 2016. I hope teh Supreme Leader helps us get over it. Sometimes I have dreams where I'm a giant baby held in captivity. I has orange hair and a poopy diaper and I smell something awful. I wunder what it all means. I wunder what any of it means. Here's to 2017. Let's hope teh rebels don't blow up teh death star an get us all killed.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

The Hillsdale Paranormal Society's Guide to Avoiding Troll Beasts

One way you can tell a troll beast is from the way they flaunt their stolen human skin.

Howdy dudes and dudettes, we're approaching the new year and Christmas is past, which means we're still in peak troll beast season, FYI. For those not in the know, a troll beast is a creature masquerading as a human through the use of a stolen human skin. Pretty gnarly, right? Most people encounter troll beasts every day, yet they don't know it. For all of you nascent monster hunters out there, however, it's pretty easy to detect one if you know what you're looking for. The Hillsdale Paranormal Society has your back, as always, and me and my boy Trent quickly hammered together this guide so that you all don't get assaulted and flayed by a pack of hangry troll monsters when you're trying to return all those pairs of underwear your uncle Larry bought you, the freak.

Numero Uno) Avoid Walmart. Really, this one should be on any person's life guide, 'cause Walmart is a breeding ground for troll beasts and denizens of the night. I've met a couple vampires there, but they were the Hot Topic kind of vamps, which are super-lame, for whatever that's worth. Troll beasts don't understand how to eat like a human, so they frequent big department stores to stock up on things they think humans eat, like boxes of pop tarts and toilet paper. You can always tell a troll beast by what they've placed in their shopping cart. If it's full of ten bags of cheese wiz and an equal amount of tampons, you know you got a live one. Usually they try to get your attention by grabbing your arm and asking for a price check, like you work there. I recommend a full punch to the face, focusing on their teeth. Trolls don't have many teeth, and they're strangely protective of the ones they have, so if you manage to knock a chomper or two loose, they should loosen their grip enough for you to make like Marky-Mark back in his Boston gang days when he was assaulting random Vietnamese dudes and get the hell outta there.

Numero Dos) Watch out for amorphous creatures. Like, I'm not digging on fat people, but if you have a suspicious excess of adipose tissue, like, so much so that you're dragging around your muffin top in a wheelbarrow, then you might be a troll beast. Human skin is elastic, and once separated from the flesh becomes rather stretchy. Troll beasts in general tend to be lumpy and over-fed, so when they stuff themselves into their stolen human skin, they kinda stick out like Donald Trump in a room full of classy people.

Numero Tres) Be aware of their political affiliation. Troll beasts tend to vote conservative, because most Republican policies weaken the lower classes and make them vulnerable to predation by troll beasts. If you're in a northern state and you see someone sporting a confederate flag on their shirt, then you should automatically be suspicious, not just of said creature being a troll beast, but of that person being a dumbass, because they definitely are. This goes double for Trump supporters, which are almost entirely made up of troll beasts, because Donald Trump is the troll God. So like, don't let him in your house or nothing, even if he is the President. Dude's also half-Reptilian, so that's like another reason.

Numero Quatro) Avoid the local utilities department. Like, I know I had something better for number four, but I had to pay my water bill the other day, and lo and behold, the place was full of troll beasts! There must be some kind of conspiracy or something. From now on, I'm mailing in my bill (if I pay it, that is!).

Happy new year, bros, and watch out for troll beasts and leshens, and try to stay remotely classy, like Marky-Mark and John Cena. Peace.

I think this is just a crazy person, but it could be a troll beast.


Wednesday, December 21, 2016

The Esteemed Critic Chooses Five Songs to Describe 2016

The President Elect likes his baby meat rare, I hear.

Another year has gone and passed, and we all had quite a terrible time of it, I must say. In addition to the loss of musical geniuses Prince and David Bowie, the United States of America elected noted cretin and professional bore Donald Trump to the highest office in the land. It is ironic to the Critic that the political party that is always complaining about the decline of Western civilization threw its ideals to the wind and boarded the Trump train, but what place has irony in politics? What place do reason and thoughtful discourse have in this brave new world? One has to wonder what will happen to art, true art, that is, the kind of art that I have long been a purveyor of, as opposed to the consumerist detritus most of the country consumes. There is little money in true art, and money has been voted to the top of the political food chain. No one will be paid except for those who have plenty, but I suppose if we are not all annihilated during the course of the next four years, some notable art will be produced.


To celebrate the conclusion of this awful year, the Critic has decided to pick five songs that describe what it was like to live through 2016. You all are forewarned: do not listen to these songs in a row unless you wish to accelerate the creeping ennui you feel. Please remove all sharp objects and firearms from your vicinity before enduring the gauntlet I have prepared. The Critic bears no responsibility for lives lost while reading his work. With that being said, let us commence with our baleful task.

Song #1) Limp Bizkit's Nookie

Do you remember what it was like to be teenage boy during the new millennium? This song brings back the awfulness of the Critic's adolescence. In this choosing, Fred Durst represents the angry white male, who in the blindness of his anger, supported an unskilled demagogue out of a misguided assumption that said demagogue would to something to alleviate his pain. They did it all for the nookie, America, so we can take that cookie and shove it up our asses! Unfortunately for them, the Cheeto in Chef enjoys shoving cookies up everyone's anuses. Prince told us what it sounded like when doves cry. Limp Bizkit lets us know what it sounds like when a hemorrhoid bursts.

Song #2) Trace Adkins' Honky Tonk Badonkadonk


I can see you now, gentle reader, saying to yourself "aw, shucks, that ol' Critic just don't like to have any fun!" How perceptive of you, reader. I truly loathe "fun," but if "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" is one's idea of a good time, then perhaps you should get someone to drive you to the mental health ward where they will determine in no uncertain terms what exactly is wrong with you. This song represents the uneducated masses who are barely sentient enough to tie their own shoes, let alone pay attention to politics.

Song #3) The Black Eyed Peas My Humps


"My humps! My humps! My lovely lady lumps!" If our President Elect were not so scared of black people, I could see his liking this song. Of course, when the detention camps are founded, will.i.am and his bandmates will be among the first to be committed. Small justice, that. My Humps represents the glorification of petty vices.

Song #4) Taylor Swift Shake It off


The Critic would like to know when Taylor Swift became an institution. Every single song she has ever written is about a goddamn high school romance or break up. I know it is pedantic of me to critique a pop musician for writing about relationships, but for Christ's sake, give it a rest, girl. I challenge anyone to tell me why this song was a hit. It has little melody, and the chorus is repetitive, incoherent drivel. The Ryan Adams cover was even worse, but I chose to mitigate your horror. You are welcome. The Critic chose this song for its mediocrity, because "mediocre" is my word of the year for 2016.

Song #5) Ween's You Fucked Up


Okay, the Critic takes it back. He actually kind of likes this song. 2016 was a fuck up. It was a stopgap on the road of human progress, a bellwether toward reactionary revisionism. We do not need anymore of 2016. Hope springs eternal, eh? 

Sunday, December 18, 2016

Weightlifting: Overhead Pressing 200 lbs

Olympic weightlifter Bill March strict pressing over 300 lbs.

Since bench pressing became too painful due to a partially-torn labrum, the overhead press has become my main upper body lift. Hitting bodyweight has still eluded me, however; my best strict press is 190 at 205. I'm currently weighing in around 193-195, and my press is somewhere back in the neighborhood of 185-190, so I'm reasonably close to a bodyweight press. There seems to be no magic formula for strict pressing, other than a decent amount of volume and a commitment to form. My current program, which I believe will net me a 200 lbs press very soon, is below.
 
Sunday: Overhead Press--115*5, 135*5, 145*5, 155*3-5, 165*1-3, heavy single (175, 180)
 
Dumbbell rows for 3 sets, high reps.
 
Thursday: Overhead Press--115*5, 135*5, 145*5, 155*5, 160*5
 
Some sort of arm work, usually for high reps.
 
All of these presses are done out of the rack, yet I think it's beneficial to switch it up with clean and presses on occasion. I've found you can't press quite as much after cleaning, but the increased difficulty of the start position helps when you return to pressing out of the rack. Making sure your lats are tight and your arms are tense definitely aids your pressing when attempting heavy weights. As far as recommending assistance exercises, the push-press isn't bad to add on occasion at the end of a workout. I'll add five pounds to whatever my last set was, and bust out a couple sets of 3. With the push press, you want to make sure your legs are just aiding the initial movement of the barbell; otherwise, it becomes more of an accessory lift for the jerk than the strict press. Back when I benched, I thought the two lifts were intertwined, for when one increased, the other would as well. I've found that dips and triceps extensions resulted in elbow pain, though my elbows suck. Thus ends my pressing recommendations.

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

What They Found After Draining the Swamp


1. Ted Cruz's original form, sans skin (no one returned alive).

2. Several alligators.

3. A voodoo cult, whatever the hell that is.

4. George Washington's wooden dentures.

5. One of Trump's horacruxes (a printout of several years' worth of Tweets that must be destroyed with the tooth of a basilisk).

6. Paul Ryan's stinky running shoes, along with a rotten poster of Ayn Rand that his wife made him throw out.

7. The remnants of Mitch McConell's chin.

8. Piles of poo-poo.

9. Rum-Tum-Tugger.

10. The massive spider that controls the Republican Party through a mix of mind control and sweet, sweet web-milk (web-milk is the most delicious of all the milks).

11. Toby McGuire's career.

12. The Constitution of the United States (thanks Obama!).

13. Trump's tax returns.

14. The hidden gold stash of the Dread Pirate Roberts.

15. The original, unedited version of the Star Wars trilogy.

16. The souls of all who run for political office in Washington, kept in iron chests for safe keeping and future retrieval.

17. Clouds of swamp gas obfuscating a downed UFO.

18. A whole lost season of the X-Files.

19. More stinky poo-poo.

20. The sick, rotten heart of America.

21. Emails, oh so many freaking lost emails.

22. A pair of fake hands for President-elect Trump.

23. More sadness than you can possibly believe.

Saturday, December 10, 2016

What I Want for Christmas


It's that time again! Time to celebrate a now secular but once Christian holiday shoe-horned on the 25th to replace pagan festivals that were probably a lot of fun (but too much fun for Christians). Let's get into the spirit of commercialism by listing all the shit we want people to buy for us. This is my blog, so I'll go first.


Gift #1 (stocking stuffer) A Justin Beaver. This adorable little rodent makes dams out of garbage and gnaws on your eardrums while you sleep. To be honest, I just want one so that I can kill it.

Where to buy--No clue, but you can probably find one down by the river if you smoke enough meth.


Gift #2 A new President. Hey, the joke's on me! Everyone's getting a new President come January! Unfortunately, it's Donald Trump. The high point of his administration will probably be Twitter finally mustering up enough balls to ban him from their terrible service. The low point will inevitably be when we all perish in a nuclear apocalypse. So yeah, can we re-gift this maniac? Is there some small Slavic country that needs a new fascist dictator?

Where to buy--ask either Russia or the God that surely does not exist (otherwise we wouldn't have Donald Trump as President).


Gift #3 Tables, Ladders, and Bears. Look, the tables, ladders, and chairs format is tired. We need to spice it up for a new generation. Vince McMahon views wrestlers as disposable commodities. Lets add some bears in the mix. I know Big Show wants to go out in the death grip of a grizzly bear. Make it happen, WWE. This is Trump's America.

Where to buy--WWE Network (It's just 9.99!)



Gift #4 Dishonored 2. I mean, if you really want to get me something, I really dug the first one.

Where to buy--the Internet.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Writer's Block: The Sandwich





The Sandwich

What is left

In this burned-out bungalow

But scattered crumbs

Tracing a trail

Leading from my room to yours.


I had it once;

Once there was something

I held it in my hands

The impalpable made tangible

A flame lit by the invisible rays of the sun.


You can't start a fire

To save your life.

Similarly, I can't find anything to eat

But a moldy disease someone left

Festering in the corner of your room.


Jesus, take this thing

Divide it amongst the people

Let it nourish and sate

Their terrible, ravenous hunger

And then leave.


Honestly, I don't deserve

The sandwich.

You do; I give credit

Where it is due.

Hallelujah.