Positive Sarcasm Presents: "Welcome Mat"

Walking into a fabric store is not uncommon for me. I like to keep things relatively cheap. No reason to invade Homegoods for a ninety dollar foot stool that'll be stuck in the bathroom, covered in farticles for the duration of it's life. I've seen college students throw out entire department stores into the dumpster shortly after tossing their caps in the air and their beer cans onto the front lawn. I prefer a more frugal approach now that petrol is an average of 4 mortages per gallon. Joanne's Fabrics is the more secular version of the arts n' crafts stores. As the consumerism in me has been running hot lately, my wallet of common sense finally kicked in and calmly begain guiding me towards the exit...but not before my wandering eyes were left stairing at welcome mat...with pronouns on it. She/Her...He/Him...They/Them...The/Fuck?

And right on que, here comes the woke, flat-assed soccer mom with her adorable nose picking daughter.

“Honey. Look, this says She/Her, that's what I am. What are you? Are youuu a she/her? A They/Them? Which one are you?”

Hey Lady! I know exactly what you are, you stupid, weak, bitch! The kids 6 and full of boogers! When you had your ultrasound, did it turn into an argument with the nurse? Granted the nurse was prolly still full of cocaine and gut nut from the night before, but it doesn't it change the results on the fucking screen!

So I left the store. No fabric, no pillows, no footstool. I didn't record anything, I didn't make a scene. I just left behind a confused 6 year old girl and her stupid mother as she ponders how to make her weak husband's life even worse.

I should of known better and planned around the schedule of the Hobby Lobby where they take every Sunday off to go across town and protest in front of Planned Parenthood.

What happened to the good ole days when if a guy wanted some pussy, he didn't need to install it like a water filter. This is why gender and sex are usually connected for a reason. So I can move on with my fucking day and flow with the concept that if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's not a dolphin. Never have I heard a flock of ducks go quack quack, with one bring up the rear goin “Uhhhh Huuuuuuh!” I'm not changing my game plan on biology, just because the chromesomes of some random tribe around India went a little sideways after an overconsumption of curry. It's peanut butter and jelly and soooommmetimes, very occassionally fluff! So don't be tossin your woke bullshit into my lunchtime.

So in conclusion, If you are to place a welcome mat at your front door, don't MAGA me or rape me with rainbows or that new stupid purple triangle one I see sprouting up at some at some garbage churches. You have two options for a mat at the front door: Welcome Home...or Bring a Warrant.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: "The Great Reschlep"

“Schlep”

Verb - To carry or drag rather clumsily.

Noun – A Clumsy or stupid person.

The only way Ukraine President Vlad Zelinsky can gain anymore notority is to be offed like the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary in World War I. So if he or Kiev Mayor (Former Boxing Heavyweight Champion) Vitali Klitschko are killed, it may spark more direct western intervention as Japan and possibly South Korea eye China's ever raising threats towards the Country of Taiwan and it's supporters.

What a time to be alive! As the powerball recently closed out over 1 billion dollars which is 39 less than the most recent donation to ukraine and over 70 billion less than the slush fund the IRS received, the average person in the US is left with gas pump prices finally coming down from one boob job per gallon at the expense of our depleting oil reserves, Fixed energy prices are doubling as early as August; which will cost more to store goods and heat homes.

Everything is a lottery at this point. Maybe they'll be bread and pasta on the grocery shelves today, maybe not!

Maybeeeeee they'll be eggs and beef in the fridge today, maybe not! If there is tho, it'll cost twice as much to buy them and twice as much to refrigerate. I know I love paying 20 dollars for factory burger meat and 8 dollars for a dozen eggs. Everyday is a surprise!

It's so much fun having politicians and global elites telling commoners how to cut back on fossil fuels, to give reparations, how to live our daily lives and how to think, feel and speak....while they do hits off the exhaust fumes of their private jets and doing bumps of sanctioned caviar off some underrage prostitutes ass on an island built off illegal arms purchases and tax payers money. Every year that island seems to getting bigger and bigger and the value of your dollar is getting weaker and weaker. And when I say “your dollar”, I mean the dollar in you struggle to hold on to with superhero like grip, not the elites who preach empathy, their currency hits the American poker table with a defeaning thud, cus we are merely playing cards in this goddamn casino game. oh what a time to be alive, everyday is a fucking lottery!

God forbid you have the courage to flex a little of your first amendment rights, suddenly your online accounts are deleted, your Visa card is cancelled, your electricity is shut off, and the ATF (AKA The Wonders of Waco) invite themselves to your house on a red flag warrant to blast down your door, raid your wives panty drawer, seize your rifles, kick your daughter in the face and shoot the family dog without any concern of repercussions. WHY? CUS FUCK YOU. THAT'S WHY!

But don't you worry, Just as soon as government loans another 100 million dollars to Ukraine and lays off another 50 thousand postal employees just to fund the IRS to “make sure you're spending your hard earned money properly”, they'll mail you a ration of toilet paper every month, sewn with the very fibers of the constitution to mop the blood out of your ass, just as soon your elected officials pull their fists out after they are done controlling your every move down the very end of your bitter existance. “Give me more of your blood, sweat and money, you blue collar piece of shit, President Dementia needs another Tank covered with Transgender Flags and Hookers from Serbia for his cracked out son! AMERICA, FUCK YEAH! LICK MY ASS AND SUCK ON MY BALLS! Sincerely, The US Goverment.

PS – You're being audited next year and your students aren't being forgiven cus Ukraine needs more missles from DADDDYY!

Positive Sarcasm Presents: "New Rules for Congress"

In order to sever the connection between the free market economy and the US political system, these introductory regulations are to be enforced so that the overall benefactor of all polices put in place further the status of the governed populous and not solely the elected official. The separation of capitalism from the elected branches of government is pivotal in deterring corruption and not allowing ones own financial interest to steer away from the interests of the people they swore an oath to serve.

1: Zero stock trading. All wall street based assets must be sold or transferred to another party before taking office. If stocks transferred to another party, they may not be transferred back nor will any dividends received. No one in political office may trade stocks in any capacity. Immediate family members may not be in conflict of or either engage in trading based off pending policy. An elected official will be awarded an introductory retirement portfolio that will be based off the US major indexes as part of your retirement fund and cannot be accessed in any capacity until 3-5 years after you last held office or two years if you are over the age of 80. Any violation of this rule will result in forfeiture of all index holdings, loss of pension, federal health insurance, federal security details and forfeits the ability to run for future office. Depending on severity of violation may also include fines and possible jail time.

2: Cannot have corporate connections that conflict with your political aspirations. (See Cheney, Halliburton) This rules prohibits implementation of policy that benefits elected official’s past, present or future holdings in a company or position within a company. Evidence of such violation will result in an immediate independent investigation and penalties of prohibited actions including vacating office will result.

3: No corporate donations. Person may not receive corporate donations for services performed in any capacity, such as guest speeches, appearances, etc. This rule includes from the time of announcing a campaign to run for office. After leaving office, a congressman will receive a pension based on time in office, level of office and a performance review of time spent in office by the population in which it governed. The performance review will be surveyed and submitted for approval after 60 days of which office has been vacated. Pension and health will be made available immediately upon leaving office and stock portfolio will be made available 3-5 years after. Any corporate donations will result automatic forfeiture of pension and health insurance. If violation is made within 3-5 years, stock portfolio will also be forfeited. All forfeiture of funds are returned to the population in which was governed in full, this also includes future pension payouts and average value of health insurance pension. If an immediate family member is found to have accepted corporate or politically affiliated donations during time in office, member will be ordered to return donation in full to it’s origin no later than 60 days or all applicable penalties stated above will be enforced. If immediate family member accepts corporate or politically affiliated donations and transfers said donation to person who has left office and is receiving a federal pension, member will be ordered to return donation in full to it’s origin no later than 60 days or all applicable penalties stated above will be enforced. If the member is campaigning for another branch of office, then all pensions and services, except healthcare and security detail will be postponed until the campaigning has either completed or additional terms in office have been completed. All applicable rules stated above still apply.

4: (The SuperPAC Rule)No single donations over $10,000. No donor may contribute more than once per term. Rule is also applicable for donations per organization. Candidate may self fund with no restrictions, but nothing other than the funds received may not be from suspected donors above the $10,000 limit. If funds received are over the mininum amount or amount of times donated, then any balance exceeding $10,000 must be refunded within 30 days. Any failure to comply will result in forfeiture of candicacy. If after taking office, you found in violation of this rule, then forfeiture of office proceedings will commence.

5: Any violation of these rules will result in loss of all federal privileges security detail, including secret service.

Without these regulations, the smearing of the line between politics and the economy will continue, allowing for corporate and political corruption to run amok at the expense of the American people.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: "Let It Fly." (My final thoughts regarding the pandemic)

I'm sure some of you quad-less mainstream slurping betas who are hanging off Don Lemons freshly fondled ball sack are cringing at the idea of my existence, but while some woke folk get their endorphins flowing by spending half their day on a Starbucks fueled Twitter rampage, I've been carefully ironing out the wrinkles in my tinfoil hat, so that I may share a few things that I have come to a conclusion on in my G-Rated Mind.

COVID-19 was made in a lab. That's right. Look it up. You see that Bio Lab right in the middle of Wuhan China, you know, the one funded by International money and was filling those flying dumplings with Corona Virus? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. So if you stuff a bunch of animals into a cage with humans poking you all day with fun filled soy sauce, it's only a matter of time before the shit gets stickier than a pile of orange chicken. I mean if you look at the bright side of it all, it only took about a million deaths to get Governor Cuomo fired after filling his face with his secretaries tits. According to him, “That's how Italians talk.”

Was it reeeeaaallly a million deaths from COVID? Or was half of it merely a bunch of “My 600 pound life” stars who were waddling near death's door and haven't seen the sun since High School, cus they couldn't make it from the couch to the front door. Like I said, they were already on deaths cliff, like the ending to Thelma and Louise...they just needed a little nudge from a respiratory virus.

This just in: The next booster shot comes in three different size doses, Small, Medium and Large...because they are probably lacing your McDonald's French Fries with the Pfizer Special Wuhan Sauce. Also comes with a fortune cookie. I'm sorry, but if the market was “wet”, then the Wuhan Lab was “drenched”. That being said, Chinese Food is still my number one guilty pleasure

Anthony Fauci and Francis Collins should be on trial for crimes against humanity. One man who looks like a scientist from a B-Rated horror movie and has a larger salary than our current president who died six months ago and has yet to realize it. The other looks like Captain Sully's stunt double and received over 40 Billion Dollars in funding, a lot of it from your own ever shallowing pocket. Together, these traitors to human existence proceeded to oversee funding to a lab no American had ever heard of, for some research no honest American even asked for. I don't care what Marvel multi-verse you're in, this is never a good idea. We all know by now that if you wanted to play God, you should of hired Morgan Freeman as your CDC Spokesperson.

Speaking of fearing the unknown, how many people lost their jobs,careers, or social status because of a mandate that basically ignored all contradictory data? A little bit of understandable hesitation or wanting to question the narrative and suddenly your friends leave your texts on read, your subaru forester driving, libby dad with pronouns in his work signature, unfriends you on facebook, and your shit job as a “License Nursing Assistant” is no longer available. Guess those bedpans are going to stay filled to the brim with Grandpas regret! It's not like you needed that money to pay for rising rent, fuel and medical licenses anyway, so leave that entry level gig to the less capable nurse who was willing to be stabbed with possible side effects; which may include Myocarditis, blood clotting and shitting in Johnny Depps bed.

This is by far, the weirdest attempt at Communism that I have ever witnessed or read about. What ever happened to a good ole fashioned mass starvation? Don't worry that's coming too, just as soon as Bill Gates buys up the rest of the farmland and Monsanto poisons the shit out of it, we'll be on our way to breadlines and veggie burgers made out of canola oil and raw sewage in no time.

There are plenty of other ridiculous topics as well, like watching a man lap women in a swimming pool and rip trophies, scholarships and dreams from them. Selfish little prick.

But maybe that's a topic for another day, another rant and another moment where I have a few minutes of peace and quiet to chew thru the bullshit that splatters my news feed that's broken so many peoples fragile minds over the last several years.

...Is George Soros dead yet?

Positive Sarcasm Presents: "Will work for Popeyes."

More junk mail showed up today...

Another credit card offer with a low introductory APR that drowns you a year later and a coupon flyer from the new Popeye's Chicken that just opened down the road.

It gets treated all the same by me...crumpled up and thrown in the recycling bin.

Meanwhile a drive thru cramps 30-40 cars deep with an average of two morons per vehicle sitting there, idling in each others pre-indigestion farts, deciding on how much type-two diabetes they're willing to ingest, with an additional line of sheeple heading inside, creating essentially a "Poo-Poo Choo-Choo", I'm such a child.  I would assume that there was some kind of free sandwich promotion going on, but since I have too much respect for myself, I never bothered to look inside the flyer and I'm pretty sure it wasn't for a free rub n' tug.

Now for those who lost their jobs during 2020, I would argue that a free burger wouldn't hurt, it may in fact help lift their crippled spirits that was so unconstitutionally stripped from them. Yet, I can't help but remember this similar line of cars wrapped around Starbucks just a half mile down the road; which just closed for renovations again because it didn't look Orwellian enough. The Prison Cafeteria look is so in demand right now. It would not be foolish at all to assume that many of the same mental gimps that are taking it up the "Louisiana Fast" were also shelling out stupid amounts of currency for a product they could master at home for a fraction of the cost, leaving plenty left over to help purchase a couple pounds of meat or chicken, some brioche buns and pickles.

Here's my not completely developed and possibly flawed point...

Dozens of cars per hour and hundreds of sandwiches later, how many went to our growing homeless population? How many went to our "less-privileged" parts of the population. Was the drive thru line organized by who's been more oppressed over the last 40 years, 100 years, 500 years?

First off, who's to say whether that homeless person needs food or mental health and drug addiction counseling, but that's why we're spending hundred's of thousands of dollars on a Homelessness Director, to virtue signal towards the problem, but never actually solve it.

Suffice to say, I didn't see any chicken sandwich wrappers wafting around the intersections of where homeless people are begging for spare change.

...And if you're thinking about virtue signalling even further to everyone online with buying chicken sandwiches to those less fortunate, remember how twisted the media is...it happens to be a restaurant, that according to the New York Times, "markets towards African Americans". So imagine someone posting a photo of you giving some homeless black guy some fried chicken from Popeyes. It's a nice gesture...that'll get you fired faster than a price drop on Bitcoin.

Over the last few years, I have developed a sharp eye for those being fleeced of their money, time, opportunity, privacy, rights and overall self-development, I've learned not to bring it up in public circles outside of my subscriber base or those stumbling upon my web presence. So how do we plan on helping those stuck in life's gutter? Well first you have to determine whether or not you can...and whether or not you should. Maybe you should start by fixing your own problems first, sorting out your own shortcomings and appreciating the struggle that's about to come in order to get you to a better place in life, that example alone may light a path for others to follow, but at the very least you've bettered your own situation and will reap some of the rewards that come with moving from square one. Many folks that are stuck at square one tend to be there by choice. With less people stuck at one, we'll be better equipped to help those at ZERO...which is a serious percentage of the population and they come in all shapes, sizes, shades and grades.

I may not be able to fix all your problems, but I may be able to help you with some, because I spent a lot of time and energy fixing the majority of mine first.

...Now whose hungry?

Positive Sarcasm Presents: "The Blame Game"

It's all Donald Trump's fault.

Everything that happened from the moment your alarm clock failed to go off to when Alexa forgot to scramble your vegan egg whites, to when Starbucks failed to whip the foam on your unaffordable latte, all his fault. From the moment your weak-ass parents failed to fill up your gas tank making you late for your pointless intership for the fifth time, so you had to stay late and miss your follow up med check visit with Dr Feelgood, so now they won't refill your prescription of Lorazepam.

...Donnie's Fault.

It's easy to blame a notorious real estate con-man even when he shines a spotlight on our Den of Thieves, also known as Congress, so when that fast food eatin fat fuck catches the "Flu-han Virus", CNN "Covid News Network" wished for his death.  Instead the doctors filled him full of vitamin D-Bol or whatever the fuck and sent him off to go steal more gold coins from Sonic The Hedgehog. Amazing that China's managed to Genocide over one million Uigher Muslims with IUD's, make Democracy in Hong Kong dissapear in under one year, but when it comes to America's former fuck boy, they just can't seem to get the lethal dosage right...I'm sure there's a math joke in here somewhere.

When we stopped blaming God for our problems, we started blaming our parents.

When stopped blaming our parents, we started blaming our politicians.

Fast forward to now we are blaming our neighbors. In the hood, they call that being a "Hater". Pardon my whiteness, saw the verbage an episode of Chappelle's Show.

Blues Clues, stupid...it's not your neighbors fault for your shitty life, your massive college debt, your underemployment, your hemorroids from a lack of cruciferous vegetables.

It's never wise to root for politicians like they give you points in a congressional fantasy league, leaving you less time to focus on your Tik Tokking tweener daughter as she cosplays up her followers between the ages of 42 - 57 with another questionable post to "wax their helmets" to.

Now after your your daughter suffers a nip slip in her new Sailor moon outfit and some unhappily married Dad in Pasadena finishes punching his clown for the fifth time cuz he's in day six of COVID quarantine,  all that data is then shoved thru a giant coaxial cable and sent off to a State Fusion Center where this information is processed thru an algorythm created by programming team comprised of diversity hire dumbasses and due to programming error, Sailor Moon is now classified as a domestic terrorist and banned from all commercial airline flights, so she won't be visiting grandma in Westchester anytime soon.

...Grandma died 3 months later of "COVID Complications" because Governor Greaseball Cuomo forced her back inside with her rapey caretaker and no access to fresh air or sunlight.

As my ever increasing anti-social anxiety begins to fray on the edges of my sanity, I will leave you with these final words...

...value the time you have right now at this very moment and ignore every single point of compensated authority that stands to justify their bloated paycheck by keeping you down, cus this freedom of individuality train doesn't seem to be arriving safely at the station. It's about ready to derail and take the entire country with it, all because you decided to blame that one person...that wasn't in the mirror.

Have a great day.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: The Epidemic

Imagine, if you will, a 36-year-old, noticeably unkempt looking lad standing 6 deep at his local bank, because one morning his mother, that he still lives with, dared to ask him to “run” to the grocery store to grab a few items to feed herself and the putrid demon child she picks up after on the daily. Somewhere between his gluten-friendly Doritos, an online session of Minecraft, his greasy iPhone and the self-checkout aisle that’s 1.74 miles away, Fuck-Face manages to misplace his ID along with his debit and Capital One Platinum with the 18 percent interest rate. (How do you misplace an ID that says Fuck-Face?)

So when he is pulled over for rolling thru a stop sign and not using his turn signal, a Rookie cop with short-man syndrome, a year of Taekwondo training wearing Dad Sunglasses asked for the lad’s driver’s license and received nothing but spittle. That’s when the tickets came flying out of the cruiser faster than Jackpot at a Native American Casino, not to mention a phone call to his mother after towing the vehicle and a notice to appear in court for driving without a license. So mom had to leave work early to pick up her woeful son, because dad…well let’s talk about dad…

Somewhere around Fuck-Face’s 21st birthday, Dad’s $80,000 communication degree from “Safe Space Community College” was starting to fail him as he was forced to work two jobs to cover his upside down mortgage and his wife’s complications from Discount Lap Band Surgery. After receiving another astronomical repair quote on his 2007 Toyota Yaris with the “Sport Package”, he felt his masculinity begin to escape thru the follicles of his poorly dyed Brownish hair and so he disappeared into the tool shed with his late father’s dusty “hand-me down”, wrapped his lips around the steel barrel and proceeded to create a skylight just above the broken lawnmower…plus one thru the back of his head for good measure. 

So now that Papa’s out of the picture, the only father figure that Fuck-Face has had in the last 15 years was an overzealous cop sending him to court to explain to some pencil pushing Judge, “why are you such a lazy piece of shit?”

As his days peel away until the dreaded court appearance, Fuck-Face must first visit the DMV to receive a temporary driver’s permit in order to go to the bank and withdraw cash from his disability check that he receives each month for his ADD and severe irritable bowel syndrome; which make it nearly impossible for this champion of basement dwelling to stand in two lines in one day.

So as Fuck-Face teeters in line at the bank, depleting the last 10 percent on his cell phone to delay his Uber pick-up and blast anyone on Twitter who talks shit about Star Wars or Game of Thrones, the Impossible Burger consumed from an 11am breakfast begins to grease the weakest points of Fuck-Face’s fragile digestive track and turn his overly medicated intestines into a soy burger slip n’ slide at light speed.

There wasn’t any time for Fuck-Faces stomach to alert his brain of the pending Holocaust in his sweatpants. Bank employees and patrons turn their heads at break-neck speed with wide-eyed horror to ponder the nostril-bending question of whether this fully-grown adult male had either Jackson Pollacked the inside of his breezy cottons, or if a Caribou had entered the lobby, hoping to open a checking account.

Due to some technical oversight in the bank’s policies and accommodations for “Patrons with Disabilities”, Fuck-Face later filed a lawsuit against the bank and settled out of court for an undisclosed amount due to his trauma…he never did make it the grocery store.

Fuck-Face isn’t just a name, Fuck-Face is a virus. It’s a virus that’s spreading into every home in the United States and other 1st world countries. It comes in the form of fraudulent allergies, pharmaceutical abuse, high-priced corporate liability, over-saturated human resource departments, diversity and inclusion training, triggering and prolonged adolescent behaviors, safe spaces, emasculated dads and whore by-night soccer moms.

Fuck-Face shit himself that fateful day and instead of cleaning himself up, he blamed everyone else for his condition and ultimately took it out on the bank for which only the employees and other patrons suffered the cost of his nihilism. He still receives a check every month from the government for his disabilities.

If you’re a parent, please talk to your child’s pediatrician about having them tested for “F-F”.

“I love all of you, but I hate everyone you know.”

-Positive Sarcasm

Positive Sarcasm Presents: No Excuses - The Long Walk Home.

“I went downstairs and grabbed the box full of her stuff including a painting she did that I liked and the picture of her in Boston Harbor, drove across town in the snow, my heart pounding, my head racing with pure insanity regarding the actions I was performing but with the idea that I never wanted to be taken for granted again, never being gullible or believing in the idea that humans are inherently good. I could no longer help her or myself, but hopefully someone else could; which is why I didn't hesitate when I pulled up to the house...and dropped the whole box of Melissa's crap right on her friends porch...Happy New Year."

-No Excuses: Chasing Dante – Part Two, October 2016

Writing about your successes in life is easy. Writing about your failures is even easier. Writing about your stupidity/insanity isn't. Planning out the approach to this article was like playing mental Ping-Pong with a live grenade. As with the other three articles, this piece will revisit my life between January 2016 to Spring 2017 with my final thoughts on the entire series and the people who greatly affected it. There are no real secrets in this world anymore, so as I close out this article and the series it's attached to...expect shit to fly.

“Everyone has a plan till they get punched in the mouth.”

-Mike Tyson

January 2016:

Holidays have zero meaning to me at this point. Birthdays, Christmas, it doesn't matter in my routine, I'm only left with disappointment as my journey towards crazy town had hit full speed. For three weeks I would barely speak to my roommate, Beth after the messy confession I left on someones porch. It clearly had no effect as in late January I receive a text asking the question, “Do you still hate me?” Fucking really? After I dump all of Melissa's stuff on her friends icy porch, she's still reaching out? At this point, who's the crazy one? If you don't mind, I'll be calling her M for the majority of the article...it helps keep the writing on track and the computer in one piece.

Apparently she wants to talk, why, I have no clue, I agreed to listen to whatever bullshit she has to say on a treadmill somewhere in Goffstown. I don't like how my emotions swing in so many different directions whenever I think of her and at the time when I saw her. She knew what I wanted each time throughout the three years of knowing her, so when I left her at the gym that night after hearing her out, I was left with no real conclusions, other than that the door still may be open, Christ am I fucking stupid. I should of known better considering that if you workout at a Planet Fitness, your not committed to bettering yourself or others around you. She said she still cared about me and I guess that was enough to fuel me for another year of bullshit.

Article writing was spotty at best during 2015 so I found it important to find my style again, but where to begin after a long hiatus and no place to call home. Lying on a makeshift bed on the floor each night didn't offer much inspiration, so I braved the winter cold and booked a lovely spot by the ocean for a “Writers Retreat.” No TV, no friends, just a view of the ocean and a steady supply of coffee. Since the original “No Excuses” dropped in November 2014, I only dropped three articles over a span of one year. After kicking off the New Year with “The Hiroshima Effect”, which was in response my little escapade across town with M's box of stuff, I sat in that hotel room and wrote two sweet little Gems over the course of eight hours. I was pleased with the unapologetic approach my writing was becoming. After M checked in with me to see how my writing was going, I reviewed my spelling and grammar as well as I could, prepared the artwork for Instagram and called it a night.

It seemed at the time that I had found my knack for writing again, regardless of how dark the tone of the articles were, so I was more fearless in the topics I would cover going forward. Generally when life was more hopeful, my writing would tend to come more frequently, but when it was pure chaos, my keyboard would be mostly silent, but I never really was able to rekindle that flare I once had before all this shit went down. Women tend to have that affect on me, especially the ones that are lying, cheating whores...more on that towards the end.

My food prep business was starting to burn out as it was a great strain on me, I always wanted to be available to everyone at all times. I considered myself a great time management person and could achieve anything once I had the time pattern down. However when it came to dealing with people, this was a skill I never really sharpened and this prove to be a major factor in 2016.

March 2016:

I thought it was my moment to shine as someone who could be relied on. The car was clean, the gas tank was full and M's daughter was excited. I offered to drive them down to Boston so they could attend a concert on Lansdowne St where Fenway Park sits. While they were inside, I shot across town to the North end, grabbed a bunch of pastries and had some dinner nearby. When I returned, they seemed to be at odds over a t-shirt or something, I didn't wanna pry too much, so I just gave them their pastries and endured the quiet ride home, I could make out the tears on M's face, what they were from, I'm not sure, but I was insistent upon telling her daughter how much I appreciated seeing her and hoped it wouldn't be the last time. M handed me gas money for the trip...what the fuck? I may need money, but I sure as fuck don't want yours. As she grabbed stuff out of the car, I quietly stood next to her daughter and slid the cash into her hand. I have no clue what impact this may have had on her, if any. It would be the last I would hear from M for a little while, cus I don't like initiating texting with people cus it's just not my thing, I don't like putting pressure on people like that, I'd prefer to call or get together, it feels more human that way. I personally can't stand the winter months, so let's just jump to April.

April 2016:

The whole food prep client thing was dying, my patience was wearing thin and so was my cash. I had become less and less attached to humanity with each passing day. So early on the morning of April 19th, I received a message from M saying that it's best that we don't speak anymore. I asked her what she wanted, she replied that she doesn't want anything from me. I can't go thru all the “he said, she said”, because it would take forever, but our communication obviously wasn't in the same language, I was very clear about what I wanted and was ready for long term whenever it was available to me, her decision making was questionable, secretive and non-committal and that's being kind. Once again I was left with that empty feeling inside my head, but this time with a growing anger that read like a magazine cover across my face. There I was, standing in my front lawn almost coming to blows with my final food prep client, I was becoming more greedy with how I wanted to spend my free time and it led to a tightening of my fist. I was standing there in full view of the public, one snapped twig, one small shove, one cross word away from putting four white knuckles across a woman's face. I put my head down, walked upstairs, locked all the doors, turned my phone off and bled my heart of all emotion. People didn't matter anymore, Chivalry was dead to me, I wrote one final article and tried to disappear. At this moment, Positive Sarcasm and it's entire promising network of content...was dead.

May 2016:

I could go days without talking, not muttering a single word to another human being. No matter where I went, I could accomplish zero human interaction. At the gym, headphones were on, brim was down and I didn't stay very long. At home, Beth was so wrapped up in her now dead relationship and we had very different schedules, so by the time she was home, I was in my room asleep, habitually slept and still do sleep with the door open, she would watch TV and I would be hoping to sleep at least six hours.. At the beach I would set up my stuff and put in my ear buds and lie there all day not saying a word, at the store I would use self-checkout, at Starbucks I would use the app, grab my coffee and go sit outside, I was purposely nothing more than a name on a receipt. People would call, but I wouldn't answer. The Jay Cutler Classic in Boston came and went without my presence.

The longer a person goes without putting effort into certain things, the more perverse and dark their mindset can become, this proves to still be a factor with me, so I figured it best to just stay away from people altogether and not get tangled up in there lives, however the more I ran away from all those people, I would run eventually into others, also less I went out, the more I noticed my body physically changing, as I had just dumped a huge emotional load to the side and filled my entire heart and mind with a more aggressive and point blank approach to life.

One day, while at the ocean, I decided to make a phone call...

June 2016:

I don't fully grasp how he was able to do it, but Bobby had managed to put together a life free of financial stress, a castle in the clouds and a V8 Convertible to pierce thru the highway of bullshit that life tends to throw at the slowpokes. We sat down like men over Cigars, Scotch and I absorbed everything that he told me. The power of a cigar can never be truly measured. It's truth wafts thru the air and with it you can tell right away who is of good moral value...and who is completely full of shit. I only brought a small bit of research to the table that evening, we discussed a new business venture for myself, completely separate from everything else I've done, something I could replicate with little effort at a moments notice. “Just shut up and do it.”, he said. So that's what I did, I set up an entire lab for stuff I could jar and sell, made sure I had all the legal stuff ready to go, took all my prototypes and nailed it down to one easy to make product and quietly started collecting the essentials for packaging. So as the side project reemerged as something more promising, I also made a plan to visit the doctors “unofficially” to see how my body had recovered from all the crap I put it thru. Ever since the debacle of 2014, I had pulled away from family cus it was too much to handle. I treated everything like it was a task, family included. Regardless, I felt it was time to make a trip to Carolina and visit family, but it wasn't my only reason for going there. A quiet little mission had conveniently made it's way into my plans. Since April, my nutritional habits had veered towards a more Keto style meal prep with fewer carbs, and higher amounts of decent fat sources, plus the weather was improving, so I could go for a nice walk in the morning on an empty stomach. This didn't feel like a stress at all, so I maintained to the point where I losing about a half pound of body fat per week. I never stopped food prepping for myself so staying on top of my physique was not a huge task. As long as I kept my stress levels down, competing again seemed more like a possibility with each passing week. I didn't want to do any shows anywhere even near The Northeast for that could bring my stress level up, but with Bobby having done my tan for the New Englands in 2014, my new knowledge of which products to use and an improving knowledge of food, I asked him to fly with me down to Charleston, South Carolina for a show called “The Excalibur”. No one was to know, not even Bruno. I practiced my own posing, did my own diet, (better than last time) ditched all that High Intensity Cardio bullshit and stuck with Brazilian Jiu Jitsu for a nice afternoon beating. Bobby's response to my request was the same one he always gave me, “Yeah, sure just lemme know.”

...fucking Bobby.

July 2016:

My desire to eat any bad foods or talk to anything with a Vagina were at an all time low. I was truly focused on the task at hand. I was gonna start a new company and give the people a product they could truly appreciate and have in their home on the regular all while preparing for a possible return to NPC Men's Physique. All the prep in the world doesn't get you ready for standing in front of hundreds of people on stage in just a pair of shorts. It can be nerve wracking for many, but the NPC is the only league that takes Modern Physique seriously, the other leagues as well as the competitors tend to treat it as more of a joke. Plus the NPC has the best competitors, I would still go in with a natural physique, cus that's just my code. I don't care if the kid next to me is 200 pounds with Steroid Shoulders, I'll stand right next to him at 170 with a legit chance of beating him, I've done it before and I'll do it again.

Yet there was more to be done. If you think starting a new business and prepping for a fitness show will occupy all of my time, we've clearly never met. Since April, my fuel tank had started to fill up, most of my fuel stemmed from anger, but it was fuel either way and I planned to use it. Sitting around and being sad is for fucking pussies and doesn't help anybody. It doesn't help society, but most importantly, it doesn't help me. So it was time to raise the PS flag, It was important tho that if I were to raise the banner that it would stay up for good. No running away, no being taken as a joke, no being afraid of someone being offended or not calling out those who deserved it. I would bring the writing back, I would bring in collaborators for certain projects, I would resurrect and clean up every part of the website and offer my services to whomever required them. It would take a lot of time, equipment and money. I scraped together whatever I could and built a physical and portable approach to each part of the website. For what I couldn't afford or operate, I would have collaborators come in to fill in the gaps. I've already lost a lot in my life...I wasn't losing this...no fucking way. On July 21st, I took to social media and made the announcement. That is when my phone lit up with questions, some people excited to see my content again, others were worried about what I would say.

August 2016:

Flight booked. Show Registered. Everything was set, it wasn't without Bobby that this was all possible. It was the opportunity to see if I had the ability to still compete with all the changes the sport has gone thru. I had certainly made some mistakes thru this prep, but it was far more successful than the last time and I was about 8 pounds heavier than the disaster of 2015, plus no one familiar was around to give me any stress. It also gave my roommate Beth some much needed free time, cus her boyfriend, Nick was driving her crazy by taking off every chance he could get, like a beagle off it's leash, only with half of the brain and a fraction of the loyalty. So time away from my crazy ass would almost certainly be beneficial. I had setup several photo shoots with my newest collaborator Myrina Jalbert for after I had returned from South Carolina. I was pumped to see how my approach would work opposed to how others prep during the week of the show. I packed as much food as I could for the flight down, Bobby is always up for an adventure, so he was ready to rock out to whatever I had planned. Since my diet consisted of almost no carbohydrates, it took a few days for my body to fill out, cus I like to run around in the towns that I visit, a lot of people sit in there hotel rooms and count their macros and all that crap, that can stress anyone out, so I tried a different approach, we went down to Isle of Palms across from Charleston and rented a couple scooters after visiting the Yorktown Museum and drove around the island bare chested like a bunch of idiots for over two hours, we accidentally jumped on the highway and crashed our scooters into each other, causing Bobby's to stall. We didn't care. It was high time in Sushi Town and after trashing the scooters for two hours, we went back to trashing the rental car, fucked up one of the tires, returned it and got another rental car and proceeded to trash that shit box as well. Reasons to travel with Bobby: He's got the money to go anywhere, he's got the open mindedness to try anything...except for Burning Man, not sure what his thoughts are on that. I don't hear no from him often, other than “No Problem” or “No way I'm going to miss that shit show!” We went from not speaking for almost two years to having some serious bro-ventures together. I also need to mention his impressive ability to put on Pro-Tan, the product I use to make myself look darker under stage lights. Who needs an expensive spray tan when you have “Bobby Bronze”? Kid can do anything, if he wanted to be a physique athlete, he would be a class winner, he's just that intelligent. He just chooses to be a Scotch and Cigar Connoisseur...which is probably healthier than most of what we do backstage and the gorging we do afterwards.

Anyways, back to the story. One giant plate of Korean BBQ, three coats of Pro Tan and off to bed I went...

...Saturday Morning came with less stress than I anticipated.

I was lean enough to not look terrible, better than I ever looked onstage. We strolled into the Sottile Theater with a slight Caffeine buzz and made our way backstage to where we would eventually be segregated by division. All the Physique dudes got there own room and we bonded rather quickly. Jason Rapuso had a million dollar smile and was quick to soak in my backstage personality. I get a bit chatty when I'm back there. It helps keep the stress level low and helps pass the time so your not thinking about stupid stuff. I did miss the smell of the tanning products and the odd brotherhood that comes with being behind the curtain, but make no mistake, I want hardware. I didn't fly down to Charleston, South Carolina for a free fucking donut.

Why I didn't register for Novice class as well, I have no clue, cus that sinking feeling when your standing there in 7th place is not one I tend to enjoy, cus at that moment you have no clue how far off you are from being a first call out, your just cast aside like a sock with a hole in it. Novice class would have dropped me right in 3rd place and I would be shipping a Dagger shaped trophy to my old posing coach, Bruno. I still to this day kick myself for not adding that extra class. No trophy for the black boarding shorts today...but they may have a chance in the near future. In my personal opinion, the shows in the Southern Region are run more efficiently and reward competitors with much superior hardware than up in the cheap ass Northeast. I'll be back for that dagger someday, hopefully Bobby will be with me for one final time.

We ran around town buying bread, wine, cigars, donuts, pastries as Bobby chased Pokemon in the park.

After a big bowl of Ramen Soup, we hopped in the rental and crushed two hours south of Charleston to the small town of Conway, where my parents reside. The excitement of today's festivities began to dissipate as my father, once a wrestler, a cop, a stiff necked Sicilian, now rolling on a tennis ball walker and memories of the past. A misdiagnosis had allowed the cancer to spread from his hip and starve him of his ability to be a man. He spent his whole life working towards retirement, but no one ever taught him how to properly live it. He wrongfully assumed that the pensions and all that other bullshit would take care of my mother in his final days, we would later learn that this wasn't the case. So as we would check in with him every day as he watched old movies from his bedroom, Bobby and I took off with my mother's Mustang and blasted straight for Myrtle Beach. Fuck it, we were on vacation.

I realized that week that I could still compete, I could still place well, just needed to tweak my diet a bit and tighten my posing a bit. No more dead lasts for me. I wasn't built for that. So when we returned home from South Carolina, I wanted to really push my creative boundaries, I didn't want the word “no” to be a strong fixture in my vocabulary. However random texts from M would continue to pop up and send me into a desperate rage, always ending with me more confused and pissed than the one before it. It would eventually come to a serious head...how, I wasn't sure yet, it would bleed somewhat into my photo shoots, although I must admit, despite Myrina just getting to know what I was like as a creator, she handled my short temper rather well, but with the colder weather approaching and her having to go deal with some real life shit, we put a halt to the collaboration so that she could go put her life back together, something I have been trying to do for the last three years.

Since I returned home, pretty much everyone I knew was splitting up. Josh Brown was entering the world of divorce, Beth had more complications with that meat head bigot fucktard from Quincy, Bobby called off his engagement, plus Zack and Lindsay split up. So many others had cut ties as well, but I can't name them all, because the body count was just too high. I may have recovered from that little brain issue, but some scars still hurt when you touch them. So all this affected me greatly...hold on I'm getting a text...guess who?

December 2016:

The black truck that hasn't graced my front entrance for just over one year was now idling outside after a phone call made in my direction asked for coffee. I hopped in nervously and sat beside M near the lake as the snow began to fall. I made it clear what she needed to do to get her shit together and that if I don't hear from her, communication with me would become more difficult as I still to this day have a weak heart for past company. I looked at her one more time and walked up the stairs. I had no desire to write, I had done a little bit of video work, so I desperately began to explore the possibility of doing a weekly vlog on youtube, since the podcast was stale and still awaiting consistent guests, I pieced together a small amount of gear and learned how I could put together a decent amount of content in an area that really isn't New York City or Los Angeles. I made do with what I had, to this day, I don't get a ton of views, but its made me money, sharpened my skills and oddly enough, given me exposure with producers at ABC and Good Morning America. My skills have definitely sharpened since that garbage first episode and I haven't wavered from improving all aspects of my website, as the posing music has a true passion and has given me an ever welcoming hand within the fitness community. At this point, it was whatever I could do to keep my brain busy.

January 2017:

4 weeks into my vlog, I get a phone call from my brother, “We have sort of a situation going on with dad in South Carolina, dad is...terminal.”

I packed up my gear and flew down to Myrtle Beach with my brother and sister. The scent of impending death lingered thru the air. Since this whole journey began three years ago, I had distanced myself from all family members as I was embarrassed about being homeless, penny-less and fiance-less. So the deterioration of my fathers condition seemed more rapid from my perspective. Sleep was his hobby now, morphine was his diet. We had an ambulance bring his lingering soul back to the house and made him as comfortable as possible. My mother started handing us stuff like it was spring cleaning, I didn't really want anything. I took one photo of my father when he picked up our late cocker spaniel who passed in December and that was about it.

Imagine watching the sunset knowing that when It reached the horizon, it would never return. That's about as best as I can describe it. We had to catch a flight later that week and as my fathers internal clock was in it's final stages, I looked over his weakening frame as my fathers eyes stared lazily towards the ceiling. I dunno if he heard what I said to him, but I put my hand on his chest, told him with a stone cold face that I would improve upon all his teachings and that I would never let anyone make a fool of our last name again. I glanced over him one last time and walked right out the door, zero emotion on my face or in the words to my mother, “let's go.”

One Week later, my mother calls me while I'm home editing that weeks vlog, “Daddy passed away this morning.”

...The Beautiful Bastard had left us.

February 2017:

I found that the only way I could show emotion was thru my video work, so I allowed for my vlog to have a more dramatic theme at times, deeming it necessary to allow parts of my real life in it and be completely open with the general public as it would most obviously affect how I would write and record video. So when it came to dealing with M (or lack there of), I thought hard about who was there for me and didn't have to be, who wasn't bound by the obligation of blood or law. My niece and I were tighter than a twisty on a loaf of bread, Bobby was clearly a lifetime bro, Beth despite her awful track record with men, was more genuine with me than most women in my life as she was to leave me with the keys to my first home in three years, Zack and I became super tight after January and was the first from my gauntlet of shows to give me a bedroom. Bruno I'll punch babies for, he knows that.

Who wasn't there? Every single fucking time I was in a bad way, who seemed to be off filling herself up with more Booze and bullshit with each passing day. I sat on that infamous park bench by the river and finally used the strength of my brain to compensate for the weakness in my heart...odd that Verizon only allows you to block a phone number for 90 days, but instagram lets you do it for life. I figured stacking the two would do the trick...welcome to Week 11.

March 2017:

This month was full speed ahead, I had no time for bullshit.

I was so focused on putting stability into my life so that I could focus on creating, that was my greatest asset. I could always create and I wasn't afraid to explore any topic or ask any question or go after anyone I deemed to be full of shit. When she messaged me via facebook, it was a slap in the face. “Why is it so hard to just be my friend?”

Men and women can't be friends, that's a horseshit cop-out. They can be acquaintances, but a friendship is more likely to be lopsided. I stood my ground, said that'll never happen, my wants are clear, I've seen no effort and I've done this already a half dozen times. I will not stand by and be friend zoned why they go pig it up on the other side of town. Fuck that. No more lazy social media messages. That's for 12 year olds. When I blocked her, I didn't feel relief, elation nor any other good vibe. I felt anger. How was I so gullible? I know laziness when I see it, but my ability to spot bullshit needed some improvement.

Lesson Learned.

Conclusion:

This is life, it's fucked. I use to have the ability to block things out and not let thoughts get to me, but after all the damage I did to myself, my brain has never been the same, I can't unsee these things. They walk with me wherever I go. Certain things in the background of my eyesight can make me clench my fist. So after three years of being able to properly absorb everything to myself and others around me, these are my official thoughts on this whole journey if that's what you want to call it.

Brace yourselves...

It's one thing to be dumped and sent packing, it happens to all of us. The truth is I was betrayed, deceived and conspired against. I was made to believe that I was solely responsible for my failed relationship with Andrea, that I wasn't a deep enough soul. That I didn't understand her, that I was unknowingly given multiple chances; so I threw all my possessions in the trash, believing I didn't deserve them, sending me on some stupid redemption tour to hopefully win her back by stepping on stage where she once did. Great plan, Joey.

If I would known that there was another man already in her, it would have certainly explained why her pussy started to smell like a traveling carny running a Tilt-a-Whirl at the fairgrounds. He was already there in the shadow; which means every decision made within that home was done with an ulterior motive and once I was out the door for good, he was there where I once laid my head at night. Your new stepdaddy's here! I'll just slide right in, eat at your table, sit in your living room, watch your TV, brush my teeth in your sink and since I'm already penetrating your girlfriend...I'll just keep doing that. So much for that engagement ring. Never mind the fact that this wasn't revealed to me until I was backstage in Boston six months later when Bruno took me aside and brought me up to date of what had transpired.

We all as people think about these things over and over, we generally just don't admit to them, we reveal them to the general public in some unrecognizable way, in a selfie or some bullshit inspirational quote that was stolen from a book they never read or a Rocky movie they never watched. My thoughts are right up front. As far as I'm concerned with Andrea, it's crossed my mind on several occasions over the last few years that if all the adults in the Dalhberg family were to die in a house fire, pissing on the ashes would've seemed to be the suitable ceremony they would deserve. They were either too ignorant or too involved. Both make you guilty. The cover-up is always worse than the crime and as they are a family of deep Catholics, good luck to you at the Pearly Gates, assholes.

Those are my official and final thoughts on that subject.

And what of Melissa? What kind of person was she? Was she just a lost soul trying to pick up the pieces from a troubled past? Or was she just some bruised uterus, a back of the refrigerator carton of Chinese leftovers that aspires to be nothing more than a dent in a headboard?

I can't sum it up any better than saying it was a lie. She was a lie, verbally, spiritually, emotionally, physically, just kept tossing more bullshit onto the pile until there was a wall.

My heart may still be weak, but my brain has now recovered enough to know when I'm about to be fed something with an unsavory aftertaste.

I have made many allies and clearly pointed out my enemies. I've pulled myself and where I sleep off the ground, I chose to not only dive into all the circles of my own personal hell, but I was somehow able to coherently journal most of it and share it with you, the reader. I fully admit that all these people have one thing in common...me. It was my fault. I met these people, I chose to put my trust in them. I decided to take chances with them. I could have just walked away and not given it a second thought. So in the end, I completely absorb the blame. Doesn't make anything right. I will not preach to you right or wrong, good vs bad. This is life, it's insane as well as the choices we make during it. I lived it knowing very well that others have lived much worse, but I'm not them and they're not me.

This is where it ends. My story may not be completely over, but this series is. Whatever version of me surfaces after this is all over, I hope he makes a difference...but, for now, I better tighten my shoelaces... for it's gonna be an awfully long walk home.

'We hustle, we fight, we live and die by the light.
 

We struggle, we claw, we work our hands and minds till they are raw
 

Outside of the norm may be a better life. A car, a home, a yard, a wife.
 

Tho your not meant to chase their dreams only your own, u still work your abilities to the Bone.
 

Then one day it's taken away. You now own nothing so you look to the sky, your quivering mind can only ask why.
 

When no answer arrives, you begin that long trek while recounting the moments from your past lives, muttering the lyrics from a song that last played before it all went wrong.
 

Your armor is gone and without your cloak, you wander thru reality mirroring a joke, whom others choose to question, doubt, prod and poke.
 

Now you want answers, now you seek the truth, you become a detective, an investigator, an emotional sleuth.
 

As u begin to reveal answers, for a life thought to be true, you question the motives of all those now and once around you.
 

The truth is the most expensive item you can buy and the price skyrockets when you realize it was all a lie.
 

A new body and mind are born that fateful day as your previous self will rapidly decay.
 

You now have no master, you have no Lord, for the evidence of truth has become your armor, as well as your sword.
 

For now you are nimble, now you are light, ready at all times will your body and mind be awaken to fight.
 

Now you are dangerous, because your purpose seems true, you seek aggressively to reclaim what has been taken from you.
 

Do not give an inch, go the extra mile, isolate the demons whose acts are so deceptively vile.
 

You were never the norm, but you are now the storm. For without the cold, they'll never be the warm.
 

In such a crusade, you'll make mistakes, at times you'll lose your way, but if you stay true to the path paved during the night, the peace you sought all along will warmly greet you as a brand new day.'
 

FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT,

- Positive Sarcasm

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Positive Sarcasm Presents: The Old Gunslinger

Guys, lets face it. The world doesn't need us anymore. In many cases, the world just doesn't want us. Just think about this for one moment, if the male species just disappeared off the face of the earth, would the human race continue? The answer, unfortunately, for dudes is yes. We have clinics all over the world filled with man-made mayonnaise, scientists are pretty close to being able to alter the gender of the baby thru genetic manipulation and impregnating the mother using in vitro fertilization.

Where do we fit in? Yes, I agree it's important to have a male figure in the home, but at this point, we are fading in the workforce, fading in college attendance, in many cases, fathers are seen as an expendable asset in the home and at a moments notice can be replaced with another dominant figure, while the booted male is left to deal with the loss on his own, while still paying out to a home he no longer can come back to. This may not seem fair, but life isn't fair, evolution isn't fair. We're becoming obsolete.

300 Men, the most skilled and disciplined warriors the world has ever known once stood toe to toe with imminent death at Thermopylae Pass, knowing very well they wouldn't be going home to their wives and children. They knew their time had come. Yet, there they stood, as men, as brothers with duty and honor and gave their lives so that their city of Sparta could live on, so they marched forward into oblivion and they are remembered till this day...as real men.

Sometimes you're sitting at a traffic light and a late 60's Mustang will pull up along side you, certainly isn't the fastest, most nimble machine out there and definitely isn't the most fuel efficient. Yet, you can't help but stare at it's timeless beauty, Even though the Mustang is still in production and has very high sales, that particular model will never be made again and we'll eventually be left with but only a handful of these vintage beauties cruising the streets or in museums. But when Petrol dies, so will they.

We did our part, but as the very idea of being born with a dick now becoming an actual liability, Our fun in the sun is slowly approaching it's September's eve, even tho we tried to modernize ourselves with the times, manscaping, dressing better, full time dads, yet we still forget to do the dishes, take out the trash, not pee all over the toilet seat, not swear when kids are around (although I see women do that quite often). As far as intimacy, once they design an android that can pound a chick for more than 5 minutes and give em a solid cuddle session afterwards, while they're getting screwed silly, men will be straight up fucked sideways.

Humanity won't need us anymore, we'll be missed for sure, but that wont stop the world from pushing us to the point that no matter what skills we may possess, it will be duplicated and perfected by either the opposite sex or by something synthetic. I can't really nail down specifics, as you probably figured out, I'll also be ancient history.

It's the end of an era boys, but hey, look what we've accomplished, despite all the crap that we've been thru, we gave it hell, we founded nations, businesses, and sports! Yeeeeaaahhh....sports. We deserve a beautiful goodbye, in my opinion. Lets raise our whisky glasses to what we are, vintage, classics that cannot be replicated. So men, grab that bottle of unopened brown liquor you were saving for a special occasion, cash out your 401K, grab your dog and let's all buy giant schooners so we can sail off into the sunset like we're at the end of a movie, like a hero, like a man, in peace. We are the old Mustangs, they don't make em like they use to...and they never will again.

Pack a lunch tho, it's going to be a long trip.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: TTYL

It's 6:30AM on a Monday, you roll off your stomach, cus you spent all weekend on your back. When you're able to get the Loreal crusties off your eyelids, the greasy cellphone which houses all of your poor decisions except for that trash can near the computer desk that also doubles as a dinner table for your high faluten Ramen noodles dish that hasn't been washed in three days...yes you're still reaching for your cell phone, cus y'know...facebook.

Like a drug, you need that hit first thing in the morning, you just have to know what Megan is saying about Todd's Saturday night Vodka bender. Who names their kid Todd anyway? Fucking Loser. You can count the likes from your last post on one hand, so you flee to Snapchat to play with one of the filters that makes you look borderline screwable. After posting a seven second video of you with dog ears, glittery eyes, squeeky voice and a frowny face cus you have to go to work in order to support your quest bar and rice cake bill that's overdue from Amazon Prime, you hit the shower (I hope) to wash off your guilt from this past weekend as you pick a wardrobe that you plan to return to Nordstrom by the end of the week after maxing out your Credit Card with an 18 percent interest rate...cus gas money.

Not paying any attention to traffic, you go live on Instagram for no fucking reason whatsoever to complain about God knows what, but when five minutes pass and nobody jumps onto your choppy stream, you angrily toss your phone onto the passenger seat that stinks of old spilled Iced Coffee, just in time to slam on your brakes in order to narrowly avoid bumper humping the White Mercedes in front of you, cus the insurance you have would only cover the damage to their car and not your 15 year old Volkswagen Jetta...Heaven forbid we damage that blocky pile of Emission cheating Nazi Shit.

Now your at work, pulling hard on the straw, trying desperately to bleed your Iced Coffee for all it's worth before needing to deal with the general public, cus y'know...customer service.

You change your profile pic to the only sober selfie you took of yourself that weekend, hoping you'll get more than 3 likes and 2 comments so you can start a dull conversation with that person you would never dream of dating, but will happily accept their compliments in order to boost your deflated self-esteem and your social media status.

It's not your break time yet, but you decide to sneak out of the office to take a phone call from your mom about some pointless bullshit that could probably wait till much later in the day...or even the year, but after being at work for just over 90 minutes, you begin to chew on your nails, as your anxiety medication begins it's cycle of side effects that oddly makes your cuticles taste like blueberry pie. You step into the elevator knowing fully well that as soon as that door closes, your overpriced Iphone will go from 4 bars to behind bars, but you stupidly attempt to hold the signal by talking louder in the elevator, ultimately annoying the piss out of it's other occupants. As the door opens to the next floor, the call drops and you attempt to call her back, but it goes to voicemail and since people apparently don't listen to their FUCKING Voicemails anymore, “The mailbox is full and cannot receive messages at this time...goodbye.” FUCK!!!

Back to work, stupid! All this early morning excitement has depleted your blood sugar levels, so you head to Starbucks for a Seven Dollar Mint Mocha Frappacino with 62 grams of sugar plus whip cream, cus the empty calories you consumed this weekend after being head-boarded obviously weren't enough to satiate your “Flexible Dieting Plan”. After sexting someone from the workplace bathroom, while taking a dump (they won't know, they're probably doing the same thing) you manage to milk the rest of the day by scrolling thru Instagram, liking every photo of Pizza and Puppies, but none of your actual friends, you just creep on their stories...cus lazy.

You hit the gym...sort of. Managing an Olympic record of 25 minutes on the elliptical so that you can get a fitness selfie out there showing off your knew leggings that you claim are Lululemon, but are in fact, cheap knockoffs where if you bend over, people can see your failures. After the stitching explodes on your “high priced” fit gear, you manage to link up with your parents after that dropped phone call earlier. They buy dinner, but insist on guilt tripping you the entire time about never having any money, however you're clearly not paying any attention to them as you peel thru your Twitter and Tumblr feed like a Corvette in the Lincoln Tunnel, saving the other hand to swipe left on Bumble. You post a selfie on your social media, “here with parents, BAF” (bored as fuck). Brandon sees your post and slides into your DM's like a snake in a bucket of KY Jelly. He's got a girlfriend, but their kinda on a break after his Roid Rage left a hole in Sarah's TV set and she hasn't texted him or tagged him on Instagram in over three days and since he's tired of punching his clown, he hopes to fire off a couple splooge rockets into your love tunnel before Sarah stupidly takes him back for the third time...Stupid Sarah.

It's now 7pm and your late to pick up Chase...your son.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: The Day The Music Died.

One night in Manchester, England, 8 year old Saffie Rose Roussos was in attendence for a large concert along with her sister and mother. They were on their way out of the show when two reported explosions sent the 18,000 in attendance running in a full panic for the city streets. The shrapnel pierced through the dreams and futures of 22 people. Little Saffie died that night...and she has forever changed my opinion.

If you've ever seen Schindler's List, the entire movie is shown in black and white, except for the coat of one little Jewish girl was wearing happened to be shown in red. Later on in the movie, you see a pile of bodies being carted away and within that pile of bodies, you clearly see a tarnished red coat...that's little Saffie.

The Islamic State has claimed involvement with the suicide bombing; which ended little Saffie's life so early. A group with a trained army numbering in the thousands, supported by countries with populations in the millions, backed by Middle Eastern Investors with assets in the billions. Their countrymen cheered in the middle east and in the streets of New York the day the planes hit the towers. This isn't terrorism, this is war...against freedom...and freedom is starting to lose ground.

In all my articles, in all my research, in all my efforts spent to possibly offer a softer solution to this threat, I can't hold this opinion in any longer. Little Saffie made it very clear to me that we are now at war with an entire region, a distorted ideal, and with ourselves. Even though the middle east has spent many centuries fighting themselves, the Islamic Alliance is growing and spreading, just like the Third Reich.

In the late 1930's, Great Britain waited until the Nazi Regime gained majority control of Europe, North Africa, and Western Soviet Union, and had already set plans in place to “eliminate” the Jews. Only when the Nazi's marched into Poland in 1939 did Great Britain declare a state of war against Germany, only to have most of London leveled by German warplanes where over 40'000 civilians died. It wasn't until December of 1941 that the US entered the fight against this “radical ideal” and took over 5 years of nonstop fighting, bombings, invasions and countless amounts of death to defeat this hate. It was ruthless, barbaric and nasty in every conceivable way...but that's war and because the British and The United States waited so long to step in, it was completely necessary. Yet, there sits Israel nearly 70 years later, surrounded by the same kind of hatred, countries full of people that want them exterminated. Why, you ask? At this point, does it really matter?

I've come to the conclusion that we're not going to win the hearts and minds of all those in the Middle East and it's surrounding areas. Not all those in the Middle East are Terrorists or Terrorist Sympathizers, but not all Germans were Nazis either. We still went in and leveled Berlin, it took every man willing and able to defeat this plague of humanity and now it will take every man and woman to do what is necessary again.

Whatever your beliefs are, it's important that your community police itself, cus if you don't, a larger, less forgiving force will have to step in to remind those who commit such atrocities and even those who refuse to condemn them that there will always be a precipice to what someone can tolerate.

Here we sit, just like the British did not long ago, only we are arguing with one another, calling each other racists, bigots and phobic. Meanwhile...Orlando, San Bernadino, Sweden, Paris, Germany and many other places just keep getting added to the list, with the glaring exception of Dubai. We know where they are, we know who supports them, we know who funds them. Just because we didn't sign a declaration of war doesn't mean the world isn't at war. This will be the largest and most important battle that the world will ever face, cus it will challenge the very ideals of our own upbringings, it will challenge families, friends and faith to a point most cannot comprehend and only a few are currently willing to accept. Love will not stop this threat to our way of life, but a lack of funds and a massive air campaign backed by a constant reminder that your only as strong as the resources you possess. Halt this massive flood of refugees who refuse to adapt to our way of life and who instead establish regions in these countries, including our own, under some twisted and archaic ideal known as Sharia Law, a widely debated ideal born from the Q'uran.

If your not willing to accept what has to be done over there in a land filled with hate...hate for gays, Jews, free thinkers, independent women, educated children, and pretty much any other religion, then I suggest you try this exercise tonight with your spouse:

Sit down with your love and let them know that when your son or daughter leaves home tonight, that they are not coming back, because of a large group of people that do not believe in your ideals of how to raise a family, so it's only fair that an improvised explosive pierce through the very fabric that holds the sanctity of your home together. Say goodbye to your child, kiss them one more time, let them know that even though you care for them deeply, you have decided that the world as it is now is the one your willing to accept. No candlelight vigil will ever stop this. No campaign on social media will ever stop this. No singing songs of love will put a stop to what is transpiring as we sit here and allow our culture to be softened before it swallowed. This isn't “Whoville” and we're not fighting the Grinch. They're not stealing our toys, their stealing our children. their hearts won't grow three times the size, but their army and influence will.

22 people died in Manchester, England on May 22, 2017 and yet all I see is little Saffie's face...there will never be another.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: Guerrilla Crusade

Originally I wanted to focus solely on the guidelines of Sharia Law, but I managed to squeeze in one more Youtube video, so I think I have all my bases covered.

For the moment tho, I'll focus on the Islamic Elephant in the room.

You can easily sit at your desk all day and watch video after video, professor after professor, spewing fourteen different interpretations on the present day threat that religion holds over the western population. So that's what I did...cause I'm not very good at reading religious text.

The Muslim religion is certainly the younger sibling of Christianity and Judaism, but is it the misfit child that refuses to listen when it’s out of line? I don’t believe so. Every religion has had a period of growing pains; some still do for that matter. To understand the beauty of what being a Muslim has to offer, one can simply watch or listen to the teachings of Cleric Mufti Menk. Based out of Zimbabwe, he studied Shariah Law and runs an institution that has a more positive swing regarding the controversial topic, speaking publicly on several occasions that women are as equal to men under the guidance of the Prophet and that it’s the woman’s duty to correct the man if he is out of line. However, his comments in 2013 about homosexuality have certainly not gone over well with the progressive crowd. Calling the act of being with the same sex “immoral” according to the writings of the Qur’an. He has since retracted some of his statements and says he is not homophobic. Although his interpretation of the Qu’ran has drawn, in my opinion, some deserved opposition, his level view of how women should be treated under the Muslim religion is certainly a step in the right direction.

However I’m sure the Islamic State would have a different opinion than Cleric Menk when it comes to women. Where Cleric Menk isn’t at all dangerous to the progressive teachings of the modern world, The Islamic State, also known as ISIS, or as I prefer to call them “Dickheads”, would prefer that a woman never sees the inside of a classroom, a homosexual never see the light of day, and the Jews be killed as an example of those going against the teachings of Mohammed, The almighty prophet of the Muslim religion.

Actually in several interpretations, Buddhists are seen as more inferior than the Jews; which isn’t much comfort, but I figured I’d throw that in there so it gives you something else to google later. The thing is Judaism even all the way back in the Dark Ages, had a very high literacy rate for it’s population, rivaling only the clergy. So when it comes to education and religion, both can coexist and are essential for all religions that have since “grown up” over the centuries. With the exception of a few lunatic hokey bible thumpers, Christianity has made many strides to promote happy, healthy and loving families. Catholicism has made a decent effort to move away from it’s “doom n’ gloom” and   “your going to hell!” teachings, not to mention the whole priest pedophilia thing, to welcome a more diverse crowd into it’s churches. The new Pope has certainly played a hand in this recent development of welcoming all newcomers, although many challenges still lie ahead. Judaism still has a rift between the Orthodox and Non-Orthodox members, but this is old news and the assimilation into Western culture has been the key to a healthy Jewish population in the states, although as the older generations begin to die off, you may see a sharp drop in that statistic within the next 10-15 years. Time will tell if that is to be proven accurate though. The Mormons have developed a reputation for being overly kind and have a very healthy population in Utah.

Scientology is out of it’s goddamn mind, but this isn’t news to anybody…sorry Tom.

From the time of the Crusades to modern day ISIS beheadings posted on Youtube, most of the large religions have a solid amount of blood on their hands. During the Conquest of Jerusalem, nearly 2 million people total died. An area of the world that from first glance; has never seen peace. Israel and Palestine constantly at odds, surrounded by predominantly Muslim countries, Iran, Syria, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia.

The average literacy rate of the Middle East is just under 20 percent, meaning religion, oppression, and propaganda reign supreme in a population of well over 200 million people. Now these stubborn ideals are starting to bleed into progressive areas of Europe and North America. Unlike other cultures, they are not assimilating to our cultures, they’re creating large neighborhoods; which the police call “No-Go” zones and the population is managed in many ways against the laws of the country they have shacked up in. The reports of violence went mostly unreported until the 2016 terrorist attack in Paris where a half dozen locations were hit, resulting in 130 people dead and another 100 wounded. The terrorists were also of the Islamic State and amidst conflicting reports of No-Go zones also being in the city of romance, the police suited up and started raiding these areas, resulting in heavy firefights, arrests and more questions arising as to what these locations are and how they were allowed to flourish…if they officially existed at all.

Regardless of how it managed to fall out of Donald Trump’s mouth, Sweden has frequently documented as of late by freelance reporters going head first into new established locations in their own country. Sweden maintains that it’s a safe haven for all refugees from every country; this policy shall be tested over the next couple years as the violence begins to trend upward.

Assimilation and respect for a cultures foundation is key to maintaining the health of a country. If I was to travel to another country, whether it be temporary or permanent, I have a responsibility to learn their customs and attempt to blend in out of respect for their country and it’s people. I don’t land in Great Britain and start telling them what side of the road to drive on. With this silly example, I am an educated person from a first world country raised by Jewish mother and a Sicilian father. If that’s not an example of co-existing, I don’t know what is. More often than not, refugees are not well educated and have trouble assimilating into other cultures, but in this case, it’s from an area that has never seen peace. The violence seen during the early childhood of the United States when all the refugees poured in from Europe should be an example how we should keep a watchful eye on those we let into our countries. Anyone seeking residency in another country needs to learn how to follow the rules. Just like first grade, listen to the teacher or get kicked out of class. This seems like the birth of another crusade, only the leaders seem to be using more guerilla tactics rather than just lining up and charging into battle.

I’m well aware that there are various interpretations of Shariah Law and the Muslim religion, that’s not the point. The point is you’re a human being, in every literate country you have rights, but you don’t have rights over others. If you decide at any point that your beliefs override another man, woman or child’s ability to life, liberty and pursuit of independence, then you have forfeited the privilege of being a citizen in that country and you should be on the first train out of town.

Equality comes first…over any religion, no matter how it’s interpreted.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: RAW THOUGHTS FROM A STRAIGHT CISGENDERED NEOMASCULINE CAUCASION ALPHA MALE

Did you just assume my gender?

You should, cus I'm a dude, not a fuckin calculus question. Confusion starts with the over-complication of how to be identified as a human deemed healthy and sane enough to walk this planet. When the Titanic was sinking, did the deck hands yell out “women, children, non-binaries and gender fluids first!” How are you going to fill out forms at the DMV? A drivers license is meant to be wallet sized, not a goddamn mission statement that you carry around in a plaque like an idiot.

You wanna be a dude? All the power to ya. Just remember the male penis, for all it's glory, is a huge liability. With it comes sexual harassment, rape allegations, child support, foreskin chaeffing (unless your Jewish) and a type of insecurity that can't be solved as easily as women can by simply shoving Jello inside their tits. Females can turn A-Cups into perky cupcakes with a few grand and a couple days of PTO. Men, we just pray at a young age that our dads are packing rocket launchers, otherwise we get beat up in high school cus we aren't developing as quickly as Johnny Steroids who plays fullback on the football team. Go Wildcats!

Lets get real, a true transgender makes the full transition after lots of research, therapy, soul searching and multiple procedures over a long period of time. They receive hormone therapy, plastic surgery, bone shaving, not to mention your mushy bits get a bit of a makeover. This is a lot of money, time off from work, and scraping through your health insurance policy. Those people made the decision and the complete transition from one gender to another. I congratulate them and wish them a healthy journey in their new body and mindset. It's beautiful to see people like that feeling free for the first time in their life. Whats important to note tho is that they are very much productive members of society and when they fill out a job application, they can easily choose between male or female. Welcome to the team Frank! I mean Francesca. However if you fill out your job application as a Genderqueer femme, your interviewers may see you as someone who may not be a team player and will go looking for conflict in the office as soon as you're given security clearance to the building. You are now a liability to the organization and will be overlooked during the hiring process. Without a team effort, a group cannot move forward to whatever goals they set out to achieve. This is what lawyers thrive on, conflict. Anyway they can insert their services and slow down the process in order to suck more money out of the system to pad their own pockets, they will exploit.

Insert the Alpha...

In every team, you have an Alpha. They can be straight or gay, male or female, doesn't matter, but there's always an Alpha. They work hard, they're smart, strong in many different ways, they get what they want and have a dominant personality. They also keep the group together, focused, paid, fed, safe and they also give everyone in the group a chance to step up and play a part. If you cause a problem in the group, the alpha will smack you inline, for the betterment of the group, because if the group gets divided due to weak links, participation trophies will not be handed out by the opposing group. Being divided can cost you your job, your family, your home, your freedom, your life. I'm not going to put my ass on the line, because Gender Fluid Jacob's feelings were hurt. Trigger warnings are a sign of weakness and Alphas can actually smell that weakness and exploit it, because the opposing group can smell it too. That's competition. That's life. No other way around it.

Let's break this down even further. Not everyone gets what they want right away, if at all. This is taught or should be taught at a young age from a structured but supportive family system. Whether its a mom & dad or two moms, there is a support system there. If you lose a game or fail a test, you don't get a medal just for showing up, if that were the case, Ferris Bueller would have been attempting the miracle landing on the Hudson River instead of Tom Hanks, I mean Sully.

This bullshit Soccer parent mentality is starting to stifle the competitive spirit of today's youth and will cripple their growth as a responsible and mature adult, cus they'll believe they should be rewarded every time they show up to play and when they lose or get scored on, they throw a hissy fit, stomp off the field or in some cases, shove the opponent. Sound familiar?

“It's okay Tommy, you did your best. We don't keep score in this league anyway.”

Tommy's a little bitch, fuck Tommy.

You need to step your game up son and put in a little more effort, cus losing isn't fun unless your playing Twister at a nudist colony...well that could go either way...and so could the players for that matter.

Anyways, back to Tommy.

Tommy never loses a game, always get a juice box and a medal at the end of the season, goes to high school, has the same wardrobe as Caillou, gets so uncomfortable when someone argues his point in class, that he yells “hate speech” and retreats to his safe space, then by the time Tommy is 21 and is attending some overpriced university, he joins in on a protest and throws a rock through a Starbucks window; which knocks a patron unconscious. Security tapes record the incident and now Tommy is charged with Vandalism, Disorderly Conduct, Assault with a deadly weapon and is later sued for medical bills.

...Bye Tommy.

What's the real reason of this Gender Pronoun issue that's gaining steam in Canada and making its way into the US through the college system? Superiority. The fact that someone could correct your pronunciation of them is simply to make you look foolish in order to gain power over you. It's a form of control. Its sounds silly, but on a grand scale it's actually quite dangerous, cus it generally stems from someone who has emotional or mental problems...like Tommy. It's championed by douche-bags like Kaitlyn Jenner whose partial transition into a women overshadowed the fact that this idiot got away with that massive car wreck in California which ended the life of an innocent women. Look at the environment this person lives in, surrounded by self-absorbed fame whores and some megalomaniac named Kanye West. So let's see, you had plastic surgery, changed your name, were given woman of the year, called yourself a “Traditionalist” on the Ellen Degeneres show...and you still have a dick. You sir, are a dick. You promote laziness. You are crazier than the last Kate that was on reality TV and that one had eight kids. Whats tougher to live with, eight children or six Kardashians?

You feel like putting on a dress and dancing around to Kylie Minogue in your bedroom, that's your business. However, if you plan on telling me to call you by your preferred pronoun, I'll call you a fuckin idiot and consider throwing sand in your face. Just another day in the life of a straight, cisgendered, neomasculin, caucasian, alpha male. I mean white dude.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: The Comet

No more getting offended. No more fake smiles to people throughout your workday. No more watching your biased news. No more overpaying for sweatshop merchandise, no more hash tags like like “#notmypresident”, “#blacklivesmatter”, or “#fakenews”. No more vegan guilt trips. No more social justice.

It’s all gone.

We were so focused on our quick to judge, guilty until proven innocent, recreational outrage that we didn’t see the event coming. We were all too busy looking down at our phones, that we never looked up and noticed the stars.

I would never ask you to be grateful or more appreciative of what you have or will have. That’s not how this works. However you should be generally aware. You have the right to complain, protest, dream, design, build, disagree, and evolve. In my opinion, if you’re an American and your not complaining about at least one thing…then you’re not doing your job. In the same token though, we should always be looking for ways of improvement, for example, this idea of social media is useful when served as a platform for more than just repetitive meme’s and garbage selfies. We’re humanity, we’re supposed to be more advanced than this by now. Or are we? Maybe humanity is just so self-destructive by nature; that by the time a not so distant star connects and sends us towards the upper deck of the Galactic Yankee Stadium, we’ll have already destroyed ourselves. So I guess the flying rock was late to the party.

The idea of a Comet is just as metaphorical though. A life altering experience doesn’t have to come from outside our thinning ozone layer. I was talking with a mother of two, who had to shack up with friends after someone upstairs started an apartment fire which spread to the floor below and eventually took out the entire complex. She lost everything in storage, all her personal possessions, plus she had no renters insurance. For obvious reasons, I’m pretty attached to all my stuff, cuz it took me nearly three years to re-aquire almost a quarter of what I used to have. When life’s comet hit me, I wasn’t prepared. This is why I ask you, the reader, to be more prepared and trusting mostly yourself to achieve your life’s goals, using noone else as a step ladder, cuz what they may want in return may be more than you can afford.

A comet doesn’t discriminate, it merely flies the route that the universe gives it, and makes quick and absolute work of its target, but never in the history of humanity has an individual had more access to information that can financially, physically, and mentally prepare them for a world so unforgiving. It also doesn’t matter your age either. You could be a 10-year-old Youtube sensation or a 20-year-old professional photographer. If you prepare yourself early enough in life, eliminate the distractions and turn every idea into a project, instead of dreaming about being your own boss, you could easily be your own empire. It’s never too late to learn. Your clock runs at the same speed as the rest of the planet, unless your Benjamin Button…then it runs backwards. This world is always seeking specialists in every category, so pick your favorites and dive in as far as you can.

When you ignore a passion, you ignore a comet.

When you ignore a dream, you ignore a comet.

When you ignore a thought, you ignore a comet.

Every time you put something off, you ignore a potential comet.

A comet can be a giant rock traveling at several thousand miles per hour and vaporizing an entire city, it can also be learning in one moment that a huge part of your life was a lie and you can’t understand how to cope with it.

The biggest comet of all…thinking that putting in your precious time busting your ass under someone else’s watch for mediocre returns and very little assurance is the key to getting ahead in life. Don’t be stupid.

If I knew the opportunities I would have from birth, I would have been in Sprinter Blocks from the moment I was yanked from that C-Section. Fuck walking, start sprinting, get it all on tape and add music.

Comets hate Joggers.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: GOOD LUCK

Before this year ends, I would hope to vomit all my remaining thoughts out before digging in for the remainder of winter as it’s far too cold to sit in my sun room and podcast, at the beginning of the episode, i would have a guest, but by minute 45, i would have a Popsicle. I do hope to take the microphones on the road and chat with people from Maine to New York, getting into their interests, feelings and hopes for the future. I think it’s important to scratch out your thoughts onto paper or listen to your recorded self, I guess that’s kind of the idea behind the gym “selfie”, but how many pics do we really need to take?

You do realize while you’re doing that, by the end of the day an additional 93 million other people will have taken a selfie. Congratulations...you’re no longer different or special. Makes sense, considering you still live with your parents.

Since spring of 2015, I have taken one selfie, maybe it’s cus I don’t find myself that interesting or maybe cus I found more interesting things to post. Who wants to see my stress wrinkles anyway? You stand there in a dirty bathroom with your bicep pose like some Dana Lynn Bailey knockoff. An hour later you dump your culinary diarrhea onto the internet with some overcooked chicken and kale abomination, cus your so about that life. If I have offended you, that’s okay. Sometimes I enjoy poking the bear in spandex, plus it’s the end of the year and I’m only emptying whatever unfiltered garbage I have left in this spotty noggin of mine. If your suppose to be “working in silence and letting success be your noise”, why the fuck are you posting nearly everyday? Just admit it, you love the attention and you can’t sit in silence for less than 30 seconds without reaching for your phone. It’s okay, I’m right there with you at times, just be honest about it, just don’t show me a picture of cow shit and market it to me as Vegan Chocolate Cake. Oh my god, you FUCKING vegans...no no no. I won’t. Not today. You get a pass for now. I eat avocados also...with a side of Flank Steak.

I have this little routine of mine, about everyday, i will walk(I’m not lazy) across the street for coffee and sit there for about 20 minutes, i know exactly when the lights are going to change, it’s that beautiful moment in time that I have the universe nailed down to the second. I get there and my coffee is already waiting for me, plus when it’s summer out, i can sit in the chairs outside and listen to ambient traffic noise and i won’t even look at my phone at all. I’ll let everything vent right out of me, just a little wormhole in time where nothing exists. That’s when the Armored Money Truck rolls up next to the building and leaves the diesel motor running, effectively ruining my entire moment of zen. The pure rage I feel at this moment towards the drivers of this big red box of noise is the stuff of nightmares. Can’t you park out back? It’s coffee, not Bank of America. Noone’s planning a hit on Starbucks and making a break for it with a supply of Dark Roast.

I guess 2016 has annoyed all of us in some way. We all are left asking what the hell happened, but I still have questions over a decade old that I’m trying desperately to catch up on, that i haven’t hit all of this years yet. I think that’s what I’m trying to get at. I enjoy asking questions. I prefer to learn new things, it’s important to everything that I do. Here’s what I want you to do. I don't care what age you are, I want you to pick out 5 to 10 questions about anything you want, write them down, then go research them, seriously, anything. From JFK’s assassination to the why you enjoy reality TV so much. A massive segment of the worlds population either can’t learn or simply refuses to learn and if we stop asking questions and pushing for answers, then we’ll never be in a position to understand the ultimate trilogy of questions that are inside all of us, why are we here, how did this all truly happen and where are we going? For a moment in time, i was doubtful that we would never come close as a race of people to asking these questions, now I believe somewhere down the road, before it all comes to an end, we may be able to answers to all three.

So if we could all take a minute and stop with the selfies, political finger pointing, the careless popping of anti-depressants, the popularity of “Fuck-Boying”, garbage memes and video taping concerts that we paid 100 bucks a ticket to go see, then maybe 2017 will have a few more bright spots then originally anticipated. Your complete effort depends on it though. 

My final written words of 2016...get to work.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: American Hypocrite

'Twas the night of the election and all thru the town, not a liberal was smiling; just a wet, sloppy frown.

The ballots were collected and counted with care; and the winner is a man with a big orange face...and infamous hair.'

You idiots were told very distinctly and very recently, not to trust the news. Well, that's what you get for not paying attention to the trend. Every single major US network news channel including FOX News and AP, nearly every major US newspaper and nearly every major US online poll had Hillary Clinton running away with this election. Who do you think actually goes out to get the numbers? CNN? No, stupid. They pay an independent firm who is either, lazy, incompetent, or has an agenda of their own to collect and deliver information or in this case, misinformation. But for some odd reason, everyone had it wrong. Everyone. Even FOX News bought into the majority of what everyone else was doing and assumed that Goldmember had no chance of stepping foot inside the White House, unless he was tagging along for a High School field trip. Then at the stroke of midnight, the sobering tally of electoral votes turned Cinderella into that Herpes pumpkin you fucked after a bad breakup.

Now the crying, in many ways, I can completely understand. Yes, it's very easy to mock and spoof, but hey we all cry for weird reasons, so I'll move pass that. However, rioting I won't. Anyone who thinks the most intelligent protests would be at a major University should be deported to Stupidville. College kids are morons. I know, I was one, I knew how to smuggle booze on campus and yell shit at R.A.'s without getting caught. I was surrounded by a vast majority of similar idiots doing the same thing, but we only cried during sporting events, Yankees/Red Sox, y'know...important stuff.

However the kid who crapped in the Urinal, that was a rogue mission, we had nothing to do with that.

When you say you're going to have a peaceful protest, unless it's a hunger strike, you can bet your ass the morons and professional protesters will cling on to your cause and when the media fixes their cameras on your protest, that's when windows get broken, cars are vandalized, civilians get hurt and your protest meets The Thin Blue Line, this line is very simple, cross it and the Police will then consider you a threat to the general public.

Regardless of what you say during the protest, your catchy slogans such as “Not My President” and “We Hate Trump”, are numb, pointless and hollow.

Here's why: I have five email accounts syncing by the minute to three devices. They go back almost a decade with no gaps and zero administrative staff to organize them, yet you chose a Secretary of State whose job is to be organized (Secretary) as your candidate of choice, who made over 30,000 of her Top Secret Santa emails...disappear. Then she lied about it in front of congress, the congress “We The People” voted for. WHY?!?!?! You had the perfect guy in Bernie Sanders to give you the free health insurance and college education that you happily would have squandered in your own selfish douchery. But instead, you kicked that poor Jew from Brooklyn (Bernie) to the Curb in favor of the house of cards that is Hillary Clinton who couldn't hold a candle politically to Barack Obama or Mitt Romney.

Now you want to move to Canada? Fine, see ya. Just in case you're not aware, we have plenty of other people ready to fill your vacancy, loser. Everyday, from all over the world, people are applying for H-1, H-2, K-1 and Refugee status, this can take months, often years.

First off, why Canada? Are you too good for Mexico? Oh in a rush, you'll fill your fat, stupid face with Taco Bell or Chipotle, but when it comes to the genuine article, you suddenly lose your appetite for Cilantro. Fuck you, Hypocrite.

What's a little drug war and bad water supply to stop you from scoring cheap real estate, stocking up on Boner Pills, plus opening up a nice little coffee shop with a steady flow of tourist dollars? We in the US also have a massive drug war and a water problem. We also have an obesity problem, political corruption, school shootings, an Opioid crisis, an obsolete education system and a mental health problem...especially on Capitol Hill. How's Cancun looking right about now? I bet you could score some real nice ocean front property in Baja for cheap money instead of migrating to that over-populated, over-priced, over-fantasized Los Angeles. Hope you like bloated taxes and higher gas prices! You American Political Refugees seriously believe your better off in Canada than Mexico? It doesn't snow all that much in Southern California, but you might see a snowflake or two in Toronto or Vancouver...who also rioted after their Hockey Team lost in the Stanley Cup Final. Why do you think everyone in New England acts like assholes? Cus we get buried in over six feet of snow; which cancels school and now we have to spend time with our annoying children for another 8 hours before digging our cars out and shoveling the driveway, FUCK!

Mexico...Two Oceans.

Canada...Bears.

Look, I get it. Your fighter lost. The news lied to you and WILL keep lying to you. A lot of Americans (including myself) either didn't show up to vote and if they did, they wrote in Harambe, the dead gorilla.

Your screaming at each other on Twitter and Facebook, like that solves anything. Your venting, you've supported something for so long, only to see it fail. Now you're here, Donald Duck is President and your not sure what to believe in or think, your in a panic. Your guzzling Maple Syrup in hopes that you'll turn into a Canadian Citizen. When you calm down and realize that America is still here, call your friends that you yelled at on facebook and ask them to talk. Tell them that you love them and that your sorry. That's what a country of united people would do. Build a relationship based on common interests and common goals, appreciate balance and diversity, don't force it. Respect a difference in opinion, don't talk over it and call it bigotry.

Please understand that as of today there was just as many stupid people in your country as there was before November 8th...don't make yourself one of them.

By the way...Bernie Sanders just purchased a third house.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: THE REPUBLICAN'TS VS THE DUMBOCRATS...A FORBIDDEN LOVE STORY

Ever seen Romeo & Juliet? It's totally like that. Follow me on this; what if Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton secretly...are lovers. After what I've seen on TV and Social Media, nothing should be ruled out.

All of that hateful rhetoric being thrown around is all a giant distraction from two flawed human beings, who twice a week meet at the Airport Radisson and proceed to sexually overpower each other with breathy campaign slogans while Secret Service guards the door. She checks in under the name 'Fainty McButtercalves' to draw away any possible attention from the media.

Back in the 80's and 90's when Big Willy Clinton was meat-plowing Secretaries and IHOP Servers, poor little Hillary was stuck at home with nothing to do, but to choose what color Tweed Jacket she was going to wear out to her weekly Bilderberg Book Club meeting. Even on her Husbands campaign trail, she was alone, with human needs, just wanting to be cuddled after being throttled like a 1200 CC Harley.

Then one day at a rally in Manhattan, she met a man with more shoulder padding in his suits than most offensive lines in the NFL. His charm was sharpened from all the Miss Universe contestants he smashed on the regular, but he craved something more, something challenging, something of potential power. The calorie deficient runway models were no longer a challenge for him, he had a secret thirst for conservatively dressed women with thick pale thighs. He stared through Hillary like a thin slice of turkey at Subway. You know why Hillary faints? It's whenever she sees The Donald. His musky cologne and pervy orange smile turns her undergarments into a Disney Water park. They had to have each other. No woman has ever dared to run their fingers through The Donald's hair, it has it's own atmosphere that allows it to stay just so perfectly light and fluffy, like Angel Food Cake.

While Bill was crushing donuts for some public relations photo shoot, The Donald invited Hillary to the Plaza Hotel over by Central Park, the sexual tension as they passed through the majestic lobby was mounting with every step of his Italian Oxfords and her modest Ferragamo pumps. “Where are we going, Mr. Trump?” she said with an anxious tremble... “To Heaven, my dear. Ever been there? It's 18 stories up.” He replied with a smirk.

One elevator ride and two sprays of Binaca later, the elevator opened ever so quickly to reveal the two in full chapped lip lock, struggling to unbutton each others Wool Jackets...cus it was cold out. Thankfully, Mrs Clinton had already peed before meeting Donald, so there wasn't that pre-sex waiting period where the chick's gotta use the bathroom before jumping into bed. Hillary was purring like a kitten as Donald removed his pants...but left his socks on...cus it was cold in the Penthouse.

He squeezed Hillary by her once child bearing midsection and pronounced his ever-growing love for the 1984 Arkansas Mother of the Year. “One day I'm gonna make you Senator of New York, so we can screw New Yorkers as hard as we are about to screw each other. “

They made passionate, sweaty, Bi-Partisan love for 7 minutes...she got a cramp in her leg and his acid reflux started to act up so they laid on the bed recovering and planning their affair.

Through the years, campaign scandals, ex-wives, lawsuits and donations from foreign entities, the two Presidential candidates, despite all the public scrutiny regarding Hillary's email server, managed to successfully conceal her love letters to The Donald as they recited movie quotes from 'Sleepless in Seattle' and 'You Got Mail', cus how do you not love Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan? I mean they were just meant for each other, right? I cry every time I see it...fuck, I cry during every movie, actually.

No matter who wins the election, One will financially pardon the other through some federal accounting “snafu”, poor Bill will contract some terminal STD, he's pretty old anyway, so it won't really matter. Then after Hillary suicides the FBI Director, and bankrupts the country, Donald can funnel all his assets into offshore accounts and while filing for bankruptcy for the fifth time, laying off his entire US workforce and after Hillary resigns from office citing health reasons, she will file for divorce from Big Willy, so that finally, the two star-crossed lovers can runaway together to Switzerland, a non-extradition country...and they will live happily ever after.

I'm Bernie Sanders...and I approved this message.

Positive Sarcasm Presents: Interview With a Sociopath

Well here’s something fun for a change! I know I’ve been crazy for quite sometime now, but I feel it’s only appropriate to label what kind of crazy I really am, so here are the red flags for one of life’s more notorious lunatics and see how “well” I do.

1. Narcissism

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-V) notes that sociopaths have an inflated sense of self. They are narcissists to the extreme, with a huge sense of entitlement, Dr. Seth Meyers, a clinical psychologist with the L.A. County Department of Mental Health, wrote for Psychology Today. They tend to blame others for their own failures.

Hmmmm…I have my own website, my Peanut Butter company has my name on the label and so does my license plate...so there’s that. I tend to blame people for stuff anyways, but I’ll normally blame myself for not seeing something coming, like I should be clairvoyant or something. Really, I should be, what store sells it and how can I get it.

2. Lying and exhibiting manipulative behavior.

Sociopaths use deceit and manipulation on a regular basis. Why? "Lying for the sake of lying. Lying just to see whether you can trick people. And sometimes telling larger lies to get larger effects," Dr. Stout told Interview Magazine.

The line between motivation and manipulation is a tricky one, but as I have previously discussed with one of my photographers, whether it’s positive or negative, manipulation is manipulation. So yup, guilty as charged. As far as lying, well I could just be lying to myself; which may be just as dangerous, but I’m going to tell and spread the truth, no matter how roadblocks it runs me into.

 3. Exhibiting a lack of empathy.

”They don't really have the meaningful emotional inner worlds that most people have and perhaps because of that they can't really imagine or feel the emotional worlds of other people," M. E. Thomas, a diagnosed sociopath and author of Confessions Of A Sociopath, told NPR. "It's very foreign to them.”

Never caring and no longer caring are very different, but yeah. If you have a problem and your only going to sit and complain about something and not do anything about it , then I just don’t give a shit, so another point for the Sociopath argument.

4. Showing a lack of remorse or shame.

The DSM-V entry on antisocial personality disorder indicates that sociopaths lack remorse, guilt or shame.

If I don’t know the answer, then it’s yes. I sometimes feel guilty when I have too many carbs or get free meals, but if I’m doing 90 on the highway and your doing 80 in the passing lane…you need to move for me…like now. Not sure if I answered that correctly, but yeah, no shame.

5. Staying eerily calm in scary or dangerous situations.

A sociopath might not be anxious following a car accident, for instance, M.E. Thomas said. And experiments have shown that while normal people show fear when they see disturbing images or are threatened with electric shocks, sociopaths tend not to.

During chaotic situations, I stay very calm and focused; panicking only makes the situation worse. I don’t go out of my way to look at disturbing images and the last time I was jolted by an electric shock, I was licking nine volt’s at the age of 12. Didn’t we all do that?

6. Behaving irresponsibly or with extreme impulsivity.

Sociopaths bounce from goal to goal, and act on the spur of the moment, according to the DSM. They can be irresponsible when it comes to their finances and their obligations to other people.

BINGO!!! Now we’re talking! Just read my articles!!!

This is a very good question. My universe consists of many challenges and objectives, so I’m constantly bouncing from one project to another, but I have timetables for all of them, so a lot of them have to get done. I consider it a plus that I can handle most of them myself with ease. I don’t prefer to do everything myself, I think it’s way cooler to have a team and coordinate with strong and efficient people. Some of my projects can speed up and others can slow down, but the completion percentage is high. I’m very much a spur of the moment kind of person when my routine allows for it. Finances…let’s just say I have a shit ton of reward points.
 

7. Having few friends.

Sociopaths tend not to have friends-not real ones, anyway. "Sociopaths don't want friends, unless they need them. Or all of their friends are superficially connected with them, friends by association," psychotherapist Ross Rosenberg, author of the Human Magnet Syndrome, told The Huffington Post.
 

Okay, I have a problem with this question. I find that everyone is a sociopath when it comes to this one, especially in the fitness industry. I’d personally rather be around people who are useful, then some glob of life depriving shit and if not in the mood to talk to or hang out with people, I won’t drag them over to my place to put the emotional weight on them. It’s my problem, I’ll handle it. If your useless or untrustworthy, then peace out, come back when you have a plan and your shit together.

8. Being charming, but only superficially.

Sociopaths can be very charismatic and friendly -- because they know it will help them get what they want. "They are expert con artists and always have a secret agenda," Rosenberg said. "People are so amazed when they find that someone is a sociopath because they're so amazingly effective at blending in. They're masters of disguise. Their main tool to keep them from being discovered is a creation of an outer personality."

As M.E. Thomas described in a post for Psychology Today: "You would like me if you met me. I have the kind of smile that is common among television show characters and rare in real life, perfect in its sparkly teeth dimensions and ability to express pleasant invitation." 

If I was charismatic and friendly, I’m not anymore, I’m more blunt and focused on the objective in front of me to be wasting my time trying to blend in or smile or create a false front. Granted there some details that I don’t share, but it’s because I’m not reminded of them or I just don’t find them to be that important enough to share. So what you see is what you get.

9. Living by the "pleasure principle."

"If it feels good and they are able to avoid consequences, they will do it! They live their life in the fast lane -- to the extreme -- seeking stimulation, excitement and pleasure from wherever they can get it," Rosenberg wrote in Human Magnet Syndrome. 

I made a cake yesterday. It tasted good. It had sugar in it…still ate it. I didn’t go to the gym that day either. I’m a rebel.

10. Showing disregard for societal norms.

They break rules and laws because they don't believe society's rules apply to them, psychiatrist Dr. Dale Archer wrote in a blog on Psychology Today.

Define society’s rules? Not speeding? Grabbing the check during a date? Faking a smile while at work? Putting up with people’s bad breath?

My car does 140, so I’m getting there faster than you are. I don’t date at all; it’s a waste of time and money. I’m not smiling and laughing at your “is it Friday yet?” jokes. Go write some new material, pig. See a dentist while you’re at it.

11. Having "intense" eyes.

My eyes are more fire than all the memes on instagram and I’ve inherited these baby blues, so when I look at you, better wear sunblock.

…So how’d I do?

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: PHOTOSHOOT FROM HELL

It's a beautiful, crisp Saturday afternoon by the ocean. As always, I show up over-prepared and properly energetic with a slight attitude. I'm a bit of a diva during a photoshoot, I tend to get prickly when things are missing or the process is taking too long or someone isn't prepared. This day was looking promising tho. With the combination of blue skies and my blue eyes...What could go wrong?

It was decided that the next shoot would be of an intense nature, no stereotypical gym scene or loner shots staring stupidly off into nothing like last time. It was time to tear shit up on the boardwalk and in the seaside hotel room. The goal of the shoot was simple, start off by the water in evening wear, then make our way into the city for some nighttime evening gown gorgeousness (not on me), then when we return to the hotel, we would seemingly tear the place to pieces in a champagne fueled, sweat dripping shit-show that would make Vanity Fair look like a children's book. Well at least this Diva was ready to own the camera, the other arrived late...with a headache...which I later contracted.

Rule number one, show up on time.

Rule number two, show up practiced and prepared.

Rule number three, don't go back on your word.

Failure of Rule One: Cinderella was supposed to show up around 3pm; which gave us substantial time in daylight before transitioning towards the evening wear in the city. Well Snow White showed up around quarter of five as the September sun quickly deteriorated into the ether. Now the feeling of being rushed during a shoot is a total mojo killer. The photographer has to adjust their position faster now that the light is starting to dissipate. We still had to travel another twenty minutes to our evening destination, so we were losing precious light during our travels, costing us potential quality shots. I was a pro though, ready to change clothes and hop in the car at a moments notice.

Failure of Rule Two: Sleeping Beauty has some health issues where she gets chronic migraines if she doesn't eat or is overtired. I, of course, showed up like a true Physique Competitor, pre-prepped meals, plenty of caffeine and a little booze to take the edge off, if needed. All my clothes fit perfectly and my shoes were recently polished, plus a fresh shave to top off my readiness. Sadly, Alice was truly in Wonderland when she chose several beautiful evening dresses...that she hadn't worn since prom. So leaning over on the beach or doing anything photoshoot friendly was essentially nullified. You would also think she'd at least throw a burger down her throat before showing up to disappoint us, but her ever-growing headache combined with my rapidly decreasing patience was pretty evident in the photographer's photos.

Failure of Rule Three: After feeding two weeks worth of bullshit to our photographer who had already paid for the oceanfront hotel, Rapunzel laid down the Gauntlet the minute she walked into the room after arriving late, announcing that she didn't feel comfortable doing the underwear portion of the shoot, because she didn't want to disrespect her boyfriend...yeah, because that always stops them. Pocahontas was fully aware of the terms of the shoot and the effort that was put forward to make this shoot a delicious three-layered cake for the eyes to feast on, but instead we were left with a giant pile of shit that exploded in the oven. It would have been amazing for everyone's portfolios and now the photos look less appealing than evidence from a murder scene. Someone call CSI: New England, cus this Little Fucking Mermaid just shot this whole photoshoot to shreds, finally climaxing with our photographer dumping all her camera gear on the ground, signifying an uncomfortable walk back to my Saab...the only reliable thing that whole damn evening.

My take on mastering this collection of photoshoots was to mix reality and plausible fantasy instead of the same old processed cheese that gets easy attention, easy likes, and sympathetic publicity. I wanted to push some boundaries and not leave any ideas on the table, unless the plan was to break or burn the table. Shock is important to an extent, but without back story and attention to detail, your left with just a grainy dick pic. After this disaster had passed, I might as well have gone into the bathroom and pointed my camera phone towards the inside of my boxer briefs.

Your on social media and you see all these perfect photoshoots, with perfect makeup, perfect clothing, perfect editing, perfect posing and perfect emotion. This entire day almost went unused. As I drove back to the hotel fuming, I was desperately thinking about how to salvage this waste of time and resources. Well here you are...

I present to you...a photoshoot from Hell.

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POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: NO EXCUSES: CHASING DANTE (PART TWO OF TWO)

...June 2015.

“My thoughts were full of other things when I wandered off the path.”

-Dante Alighieri, Inferno

My enjoyment of the Refused concert in Cambridge two weeks later was ruined by texts from M. I was falling apart at work, I couldn't even look at people. My sleeping habits had become so bad that I was suffering major panic attacks even after quitting Golds Gym and taking two weeks off from working out. During that time, I indulged on near toxic amounts of sugar, I had ignored all the rules of reverse dieting and shot up to 192 pounds in just under two weeks. My ankles were swollen. I was a glutton. A circle of hell that was reserved just for my fat ass. I showed up to the beach with my friend, Ashley and her friend, Bethany with a swollen stomach and “bitch tits”, I felt so uncomfortable with myself that I had to change my habits. Like usual, I made drastic changes very quickly, this time in the form of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu.

Now my problem then just like it is now, is that I carry anger with me everyday. It's a part of my personality, at least for now. I figured Martial Arts was an appropriate outlet for my aggression as I wasn't like myself in the gym, I'd screw around with the weights for 45 minutes with my hat brim all the way down below my eyesight and once my anxiety reached a breaking point, I'd retreat to the locker room, grab my stuff and head straight home. My first day in Jitsu class wasn't what I had in mind though, as everyone was waiting for me to gas out, then simply applying a few simple techniques and in a matter of minutes, I was submitted. Every submission made me angrier, this wasn't working, I should just quit. Or should I? Maybe I'm not doing enough, so I called Josh Brown and asked him for some advice. He has the education, motivation, patience and honesty to give me some kind of direction as far as what my options were.

After an hour long conversation, I picked right back up from where I left off, I had now set my sights on possibly doing another show in November, but at this point, my health was in serious question, three different Shrinks had spoken with me, and I was going to see a doctor “unofficially” to determine why I was having such rough problems keeping my head on the pillow every night without flipping my shit at 4am. This was a bad idea, but away I went...for a little while.

I was still fielding questions stemming from a June Article “Stories From The Backstage” regarding real scenarios of betrayal, cheating, and stealing, all fitness related. One item was removed pending legal findings, but it was in regards to marital infidelity, just another shitty person doing a shitty thing to another person. My faith in people was dwindling and my ability to mince words about myself and others was deteriorating rapidly. That, paired with chronic dizziness, high anxiety, and deepening loss of physical strength made for a difficult prep. Yet, I continued on with Jiu Jitsu, meal prep, morning cardio at my new gym, plus finding a new job.

If your are confused by some of the plot at this point, believe me, I am too. I'm still trying to piece it all together to this very day...

By early July, I was down to a healthy and lean 178 lbs with Josh's nutrition advice, despite all my ailments, prep was stupidly easy as it was based mostly on a Ketogenic diet and was rather nice to not have swollen ankles or tits anymore. However a small fall down a cliff made everything go sideways. It was early morning up on Rock Rimmon Heights, when a dizzy spell on my descent caused this poor asshole to tumble a decent way down the heavily tree rooted walkway. When I reestablished some kind of balance, there was real pain in my knee, but as I was limping home covered in dirt, I was far more concerned with why I fell in the first place. Growing up, I was more of a Mountain Goat when it came to balance, I was unstoppable and faster than a virgin firing off his first “bullet”. So off I went to see a buddy of mine, who when he wasn't getting hammered and chasing ass with his Kansas City accent, was busy being a hospital surgeon. So I called in a favor...an expensive one.

Chilling out at a health clinic during non-business hours is not the most comfortable feeling, but it was necessary in order to get use of the machines needed to scan my head, cus I didn't have health insurance and I didn't want record of anyone knowing that I was there. My buddy, stuck me under this open CAT scan looking thing, whatever the hell you want to call it, about an hour later, he pinned up some brain pictures on the wall next to my scan for comparison. As a joke, I expected my head to be hollow, but apparently there is something between my ears. The comparison charts were that of brains that were susceptible to seizures, over-active adrenal activity, and another of a brain that was “slow”.

The questions came throughout the whole visit, “take any drugs?”, “have any life altering stress in your life lately?”, “how much sleep do you get?” Normally I cry only during Meg Ryan movies, but now I was so messed up, that even a Life Insurance commercial could send me into a tailspin.

Quick flashback: During the New England Championships of 2014, before I went on stage, I was approached by Bruno, he relayed a massive amount of information to me just before I went on stage, as he was speaking to me, I started to mentally blur out, the next moment I truly remember was seeing Jimmy, Bruno, and Jen Polk behind the curtain. There is no memory of anything that happened in between that. It was later told to me by friends, spectators and fellow competitors. The kicking of the trophy, the phone call to my parents...that was my first memory blackout.

Prolonged use of large amounts of combined pre-workout supplements, plus water depletion, plus chronic sleep deprivation...equals broken brain...well something like that. Suddenly a sprained MCL didn't seem all that bad in comparison. It was a mess in my head and I wasn't sure how to clean it up. I had to shut it all down mentally, so out of desperation, I looked into adrenal cleansing combined with nootropic therapy supplements. No coffee, no stimulants at all. The first day on all this stuff, was like my body and brain was running on reserve power, the brain had a vacation and the effects would begin to dissipate in the evening where I begin another round of this in order to keep myself asleep. This would continue for around a month...felt like a year. Everyday I was like a zombie with the exception of Saturdays during the daytime where I felt like an unleashed rescue dog in a large crowd of people I didn't know. I didn't take certain pills on the designated Saturdays; which allowed my body to sort of reset according to the research I did. So that gave me one day of talking...so for about 14 hours, you absorbed a weeks worth of suppressed, fucked up Joey.

Bruno was unleashing his new crop of bikini girls at the OCB Yankee Classic in Newburyport, so my future roommate Elizabeth and I took a trip down so she could get a glimpse of what she'll be in for come September. This wasn't a big venue by any means, so it's easy to spot friends and potential enemies. I never really was close with Shaina, OCB Bikini, but I was always very cordial with her. Why she sat next to me, still puzzles me to this day. I was forking through another meal as was she and we were casually chatting about nothing really in particular, she asked me about my diet, I told her it was fine, I was eating rather well and I had lost most of the garbage weight I had put on after the last show. She asked why I wasn't on Jimmy's diet...well...away I went. I laid it out very bluntly, since the New Englands, I hadn't heard from his camp with the exception of Alison, Jimmy's now Ex. His communication and monitoring skills were garbage in my opinion, plus in comparison to the plan I was on now compared to his, with everything I had recently learned about his so called “loyalty and commitment”, I verbally flattened his whole prep design to the very girl he was rearranging the insides of...that part I wasn't privy to until later...oops.

The rest of the weekend was rather uneventful, just more pills, a little more sleep and another groggy morning. The surprise text came in I believe two parts, I was in a rough state at work when I read it. Apparently his side slut took all my comments from Saturday and that fueled his “Stevie Wonder” Text message. I was in the last few weeks of my treatment, I was a little rough socially, I didn't want to talk to people, I just wanted everyone to go away. I could of kept my mouth shut, but something felt wrong about not calling people out on their bullshit. “Don't ever contact me again...think on your sins.” This was me strapping a bomb to my chest. Then I went on Facebook with the conversation...and detonated it. At that point, I didn't care about being trusted or relied on, what mattered the most is that I was left alone and never fucked with again. Mission accomplished.

Alison called me later flipping out about the incident, but once she understood why I did it, that I just wanted to go away, she started to deflate her aggression a bit and laugh a little. Like me, she had her own problems to deal with. So after that explosion, everything became very quiet, it gave me time to focus on the last couple weeks of adrenal rehab as I came to call it. The caffeine was slowly being put back into my body, my sleep went from 4 hours to 7, my strength had increased and the seemingly grey color scale that my mind was converting everything into had seemed to allow more color back in. Blue's became extremely blue, red's became seductively red, almost like I was seeing everything for the first time, like a newborn. So on the morning of August 8th, 2015 as I stood on the peak of Rock Rimmon Heights, I was drug free. I had slept all the way through the night, a passer by saw me standing there and snapped a photo before I had a chance to turn around. It felt kinda new.

My friend Bobby took me down to Boston for a little Birthday Lunch, I brought him up to date on everything as he was recently engaged and doing quite well for himself and is far more intelligent than most would give him credit for. He would go on to become my most trusted adviser to all my projects, and always fills me with the right amount of caution to keep me on a better path than the one I had previously planned. Yet, when it came to love, everything he said to me went into one ear and immediately out the other...especially later that week, when M messaged me.

I never asked for much in life, actually for a long time, I was perfectly fine with the white picket fence lifestyle, For all of M's oddities and personal anxieties, none of them ever remotely bothered me. I was up for whatever came down the pike, so when it came to spending the whole weekend together and just chilling over coffee, cookies, movies and some dinner, I felt privileged. I did, however have an uneasy feeling towards the end of the weekend as I know she seemed just as overwhelmed by it all like I did. As I look back at it now, I'm not sure how to really think of that weekend...or the ones to come. Just a week later, she started flaking out like a fucking Psoriasis patient and I, just coming off all supplements was not emotionally tested and was feeling used. I had spent a lot of that summer, seeking people out from my early to mid 20's and apologizing to them if I had mistreated them in anyway. So to be stuck with the emotional check again by M, made me turn hard towards the only useful emotion I had, anger.

The meddling pain of my knee, the recent emotional turbulence I had acquired, tapped with stalled physical progress made me give another call to the doctor.

He agreed that I had treated some of the issues pertaining to poor sleep and adrenal overload, but when I mentioned competing in the 2015 New Englands and what it would require, he was pretty transparent with his thoughts. “If you think your gonna solve all your problems by November, depleting your water and putting all that stupid backstage crap that you told me about into your body all at once, then your body may not ever recover. A knee can be repaired, it can heal, look at all the examples I compared your brain to. These are very real possibilities...as a friend, shut it down.”

Josh, rightfully wasn't pleased about my decision...neither was I. It was over.

...September 2015.

“So many times a man's thoughts will waver, that it turns him back from honored paths, as false sights turns a beast, when he is afraid.”

-Dante Alighieri, Inferno

My Saab, after 5 years of loyal service, was requiring a serious amount of repairs, from fuel pumps to a new transmission, my bills from my credit cards were out of control due to mechanics fees, competing in other states and a previous loan I took out for a $7,000 engagement ring back in August 2013, I was no longer in control of anything in my life, with the exception of finding a new job, because it no doubt was having an effect on my health. That and needing to move for the fifth time in just over a year was taxing my brain beyond its stability point. Not having a place to truly call your home is an incredible deficit on the mind. As I worked out a plan to minimize my debt, I reached an agreement with my friend, Elizabeth, who also used to be my property manager 6 years prior, offered me an idea. She was looking to buy a house sometime in the near future, so for the meantime, I could stay at her apartment until she found a house that she loved. So as the days grew shorter and my time in Zack's house and at my current job were coming to a close, I pulled the plug on everything, I just took my bed; which was just a futon mattress and jammed it into the trunk of my Saab, filled up the backseat with what I had for belongings and started moving at around 8:30 Saturday morning, by noon, I was done and going to get my haircut. The last day at my job was just as much of a blur, noone knew I was leaving except for M. By 5pm the next Friday, I had fulfilled my promise...

...November 2015.

“No greater grief than to remember days of joy, when Misery is at hand.”

-Dante Alighieri, Inferno

So here I am, new job, new apartment, new gym...same anxiety. I went to the New Englands in plain clothes and I was so anti-social that I hid up in the back of the theater during pre-judging, I wished Austin James good luck via text, but that poor bastard needed more than luck to compete against the new breed of Physique Athletes, this was right before the memo about “size” in the Physique division was sent out as setting a poor precedent, that if you didn't have big enough legs, you could just throw on a pair of boarding shorts and murder everyone in your class. This has been remedied somewhat with the introduction of the Classic Physique division and now being marked down for being too big or too shredded, but there are always challenges when you compete so, I was relieved to have not been up there taking punches. Surprisingly after all the turbulence of the past year, I was greeted rather warmly by everyone who knew my face, Max Santos was an awesome Latin Competitor with a thick frame and a smile that would melt Gold Panties in Arctic temperatures. Bethany from York and her adviser Ashley sat with me for a couple minutes before having to go backstage. I actually crashed on Bethany's couch once during the summer and had a nice normal chat about simple stupid stuff. She's a very nice person, but not someone I'd want to vomit all my problems onto. Overall I was really uncomfortable being at the show, but I promised Rick Fortin I would be there, so at least a trip to Boston isn't bad, cus I could stock up on pastries, pesto and cured Italian Meats. Sadly Team Bruno was going to be in for another NPC ass kicking that night, but our Ace in the whole that night was Alison, who for her very first show, fit right in and salvaged the day and the integrity of the team. However I feel like the New Englands and the Jay Cutler Classic have grown beyond capacity, way too many competitors, it looked more like a national show than a regional northeast event. I learned more about the sport that night, than any of the others that I watched or was backstage for. I just sat there with no distractions and took it all in...but yes I left when bikini started, always have...always will.

Besides an article I posted back in Early September, I hadn't posted a single thing to the website since June, I couldn't reach down into what I used to pull from and create something truly original, I doubt I would ever be able to. It required a sense of stability and I emotionally felt like I was chasing Dante through each circle of Hell. It helped that on my side of town, there was no constant reminders of my old life, other than a box full of stuff that I had downstairs. I'm not sure what the future of PositiveSarcasm.com would be, there was too much chaos in my head, yet I had no time to sit idle. I started a small side business of meal prepping for those who didn't have the time, nor kitchen skills to eat properly. I could then use some of that money to pay down my exhausting debt and some of it to fund a potential Peanut Butter business. It was worth the risk, so I put together the essentials for both, set up the schedule and got to work.

...December 2015.

“Turn around, and keep your eyes closed shut, for if the Gorgon Medusa, does appear, and you see her, you would never be able to return upward.”

-Dante Alighieri, Inferno

At this point, my skepticism was on high alert as M had once again reached out, I agreed to setup a meeting at the usual spot, so I could have a chance to hear what her thoughts truly were, now that we were no longer co-workers, how many more excuses could you come up with? I asked her direct questions and demanded direct and immediate answers. For some reason I just happened to have a soft spot for her. Maybe I just had a soft brain, I wouldn't argue that. She mentioned something about bringing some backwoods fuckwad to her company's Christmas party and how he sat in the car the whole time, cus he refused to dance. Nice work, M. Way to make a great impression than dragging that fucking half-wit in front of your bosses. The one thing I never was able to do with M was dance and as Elizabeth came home one night, there she stood surprised to see us two, chatting it up and goofing on the sofa like we had never parted. M always did have a thing for booze; since I knew how to mix a drink or two, I just wanted her to feel comfortable and relaxed in my new home. As we danced to Sinatra around the Christmas tree, her tears and apologies came flowing like a broken damn. It was tough to see her full of guilt, but I knew it was the holidays and she was the only person I wanted by my side. However with the only holiday left celebrating quickly approaching, if New Years Eve went off without celebration, then a purging had to be made. A couple days after an uneventful Christmas with family, I texted M and asked what time I could pick her up for New Years Eve, she said she wasn't up for it...that's when I became truly pissed, explaining how I felt used, after all the back and forth she'd been doing, either step up or fuck off. She quickly retreated and played the anticipated card. When your not able to let out your inner most secrets to your closest friends, they are not your friends. I went downstairs and grabbed the box full of her stuff including a painting she did that I liked and the picture of her in Boston Harbor, drove across town in the snow, my heart pounding, my head racing with pure insanity regarding the actions I was performing but with the idea that I never wanted to be taken for granted again, never being gullible or believing in the idea that humans are inherently good. I could no longer help her or myself, but hopefully someone else could; which is why I didn't hesitate when I pulled up to the house...and dropped the whole box of Melissa's crap right on her friends porch.

...Happy New Year.

“The law of Dante’s Hell is the law of symbolic retribution. As they sinned so are they punished. They took no sides, therefore they are given no place. As they pursued the ever-shifting illusion of their own advantage, changing their courses with every changing wind, so they pursue eternally an elusive, ever-shifting banner. As their sin was a darkness, so they move in darkness. As their own guilty conscience pursued them, so they are pursued by swarms of wasps and hornets. And as their actions were a moral filth, so they run eternally through the filth of worms and maggots which they themselves feed.”

-Dante Alighieri, Inferno

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