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

“A few weeks later I was once again across the street from the same venue attending a show and was on my way to the after party to see my buddy and fellow competitor Kevin, when I received a text…one that changed everything.”

-No Excuses - November 27th, 2014

We'll get to that in a minute, please understand that most of the experiences I've had in this sport and during this time period were less than glamorous and that whatever I write in this article is with the up most honesty that I can provide, without too many needless side stories to mess up the flow of the article. This is not an opinion piece, this takes place between November 2014 – January 2016...

Mid November 2014:

“In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within a dark woods where the straight way was lost.”
―Dante Alighieri,Inferno

Shows are over, no more stage lights, no more boarding shorts, no more posing classes or weekly updates. I'm still basically homeless, crashing on couches whenever I can, with very little money, very little direction and I was about to publish my final article, because from all the stimulants I took while training, my sleep patterns were fucked and I wasn't able to concentrate properly, I was waking up almost every night from these nightmares of a past life, images of family life would trigger my adrenaline to race and I would wake up to my calves cramping so hard, I was brought to tears. It was 4am again and I knew my sleeping for the night was done.

I had met some interesting people along the way, as Bruno and I made our way down to our first WBFF show as spectators, Aly Webster was favoriting some of my crap on Twitter, so I figured, let's see what this chick's league is all about...holy shit, we were in for an interesting night in Providence.

Pretzel carts, cheering banners, thumping club music and an awful lot of red wine. As far as the stage performances, evening gowns, suits, bathing suits, unrehearsed non-standard pose-downs and pageant wear. Every woman hit the stage like a Peacock on acid, amazing and well crafted costumes, with a interesting standout from one Ashley Packard who I think came out with a whip...a whip.

Bruno and I had become rather close as he knew pretty much all about me at this point and after everything was done and checks stopped coming, Bruno was still there...Jimmy, my diet coach, on the other hand was MIA and with how my current psyche was forming, it would prove to become an issue down the road.

A week later I was chatting with Zack Frawley, someone I almost got into a fist fight with at the gym, just cus he looked at me wrong and now we were goofing off together like two male seals slapping fins on some iceberg in Antarctica, we had the oddest friendship and still do till this day. I wouldn't trade it for anything. I talked about my current situation with him and he offered to get me out of the cold and under a more spacious roof. He moved into this giant house with his girlfriend at the time, but...well...yeah, she's gone. It wouldn't be for another month anyway so I continued couching it until all the formalities were taken care of.

In the meantime, back down to Boston I went, this time for another show, the WNBF was hosting a massive event at the very theater I was just competing at two weeks before, I met a few friends, including Zack's future girlfriend, Lyndsay. This loudmouthed Jew from Dorchester/Hyde Park would grow to become one of my most trusted friends. I'd punch planets for this chick, but Zack has bigger arms, so it make sense for him to step in just in case Jupiter decided to pick a fight with us. Seriously, fuck Jupiter. Your ugly and you have a huge wart.

So before leaving the show, I took a few pictures of the competitors and I knew that my Boss, M, was having relationship problems, cus her ex took off with some 22 year old bimbo, so to give her a laugh I sent her a photo of some of the physique guys, “I know your looking for Mr Right, so here's 3 of them.” I said hi to Kevin at his booth and said that I would meet him at the after party in Waltham, Mass...I arrived late.

No longer on strict food prep and dying for a burger, I knew that Back Bay Harry's was just down the street from the hotel I used for the show and as I strolled in through the front door, I noticed something about the place that night that was rather...gay.

I rolled up to the bar in my finest threads and ordered some food...the eyes were on me. Chris and his friends throwing heavy slurs back and forth with the bartender that night and as I sat down and took off my coat, I was immediately targeted. I played nice and introduced myself, shared a few laughs, told em what I was doing down there, and before I could finish my story, one of them uttered, “how do you look with just the scarf?” Luckily my phone vibrated across the bar surface towards my Tequila, it was M.

She laughed about the photo and thanked me for sending it. I was glad she responded and got a laugh out of it, but I left it at that and continued having my awkward conversation with “Gary and Ace”.

Five minutes later, my phone vibrated again...FUCK.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,fuck, fuck.....FUUUUUUCK!

“I'm just sitting here having a glass of wine and relaxing, what are you doing?'

My phone slides out of my hands and gently lands on the bar surface.

As Chris's friend is trying to rub my back, I said out loud, “oh noooo, I think my boss is hitting on me.”

Kris responds, “ Your getting a raise, dude.”

Despite everything that was transpiring, I somehow got Chris's number and would chat with him soon about some possible photo shoot stuff. I don't know, something to do with mesh underwear or something, anyways...

I'm heading towards this party in Waltham, but still getting texts from M. What took place next was the most unprofessional phone call an employee could ever make to his supervisor. I remember some of it, but what I remember most was as I was chatting with her on the phone, I wasn't paying attention to the concrete parking structure on the right side of my car. Eh, it'll buff out (no it didn't).

The conversation ended with me getting lost in Waltham and never attending the hotel party. However, I did have a Gym date the next day. What the hell is a gym date anyways? Is that like a movie date? That never works.

Moving ahead to Sunday night, the idiots are at it again, this time Zack and I are running down the street with a stolen Sombrero, screaming about chicken wings and Chimmichangas...y'know, adult shit.

Obviously, the subject of women came up and since I was celibate the entire 5 months I was competing, thanks to my cheating whore ex-girlfriend, Andrea. Seriously, Tae Kwon Do guy? Fuck you, cunt.

I told Zack about my current situation with M and we got all overly romantic about it in some chicken wing fueled banter that ultimately led me to where she lives and kissing her under the November stars...don't judge me. Not yet, anyway.

As my sugar filled ass finally returned to the gym, I started becoming friends with some of the people I had met backstage. NPC Heavyweight Josh Brown was in New Haven when I wiped his sweaty ass down just after he melted the stage to take first overall in the East Coast Cup. Strong Physique, Adorable dogs and a dark-haired angel for a wife. True fucking winner in my book.

The other one backstage whom I actually wouldn't meet in person for another six months was the itty-bitty Kristina C. Well itty-bitty in terms of height, she's like 4'11 and Italian. We chatted a little bit on the phone about the last show, what our current back stories were and how I came to be.

In the past two years, two women have seen me cry, Kristina was one of them, more on that later...

Now besides the sleeping issues and the headaches I was having when I was alone, December was one of the greatest months of my life. Christmas, New Years, all spent with M. While in the gym, I was hitting maxes I had never seen before while training with Zack, how was it possible for a little guy like me to be benching almost 300 lbs? It was alien to me, but Zack was like, “ don't worry about the weight, just lift it.” So up it went, I felt like a little monster, fueled by discount thanksgiving turkeys and every carbohydrate on earth and maybe outer space. Let the gains begin...

...January 2015.

“Love, which pardons no beloved from loving, took me so strongly with delight in that, as you see, it still abandons me not...”

-Dante Alighieri, Inferno

An interesting time in my life, the house was stocked, I was killing it in the kitchen and with the final articles already finished, It gave me a lot of time to experiment in the kitchen with baking and blending. It's hard being a foodie and a fitness competitor at the same time, but after some coaxing from Kristina , who I later named my “brain coach” I had no choice as I had set a date for my final show in Boston around mid-May, I felt that this show would be the proper ending of my crazy ass journey through competitive fitness and would make my personal life a bit easier to deal with. I also spent a lot of time in the basement in the food lab working on prototypes for a potential peanut butter company down the road, I was pretty broke then as well, but I figured just some simple essentials would at least get the ball rolling. Holy shit. The amount that I sold in the first month paid for my NPC registration and my show, about 250 dollars worth. So that was on track at least, as for the idea of morning cardio approaching fast, my anxiety started to rise and it was starting to show at work, at home and in my situation with M. For the record, I despise going to the gym at 5 am to do High Intensity Cardio, right as the first speed burst would kick in, I will go into a full blown anxiety attack, so after 15 minutes of this, I would go in the cycling room and shake and cry and try to finish my drills. My head was covered, so noone could see my face, but it was hell on high speed. The music in my ear-buds would send shock waves of bad memories through my head like a 4th of July gone wrong. I was still running fat burners and Pre-workout in the morning too, so my heart rate was all over the map. One week down... 19 more to go. To take my mind off the upcoming show, with the permission of Zack, began hosting these large Sunday dinners for anywhere between 8 and 12 people, I did all the prep, all the cooking and if I didn't like something, it would be in the trash before anyone arrived. I don't remember hearing any complaints, as I couldn't really touch any of the food as I was in prep. It didn't matter tho, I truly enjoyed watching everything being devoured with pure delight, M managed to make a couple of the earlier dinners, so it was awesome to see her taking it all in. It showed a true family environment and a great cast of characters, everyone showed up well dressed for some reason, so I played along with the idea, my wardrobe was limited at the time, so I couldn't compete with Eric Miltner's cashmere high neck sweaters, but it was nice to see people taking my dinners so seriously to the point of dressing up. I mean, we were beautiful people with beautiful clothes, eating beautiful food.

As for the food I was eating, I didn't have a nutrition coach anymore, cus Jimmy took off after the New Englands without even a goodbye and getting dieting tips from my fellow competitor Tom was like trying to drag race through a fucking labyrinth. I couldn't keep up with his math and all his fitness apps, so I made an attempt to do my own, but with the intense cardio, low servings of proteins, smaller distribution of carbs, awful sleeping patterns and growing headaches, this proved to be a decision where I would later learn my most valuable lesson.

Handling M sometimes was no easy task either, as she was trying to recover from a bad past as well, but fireball was clearly not her friend as she kicked the shit out of my bathroom scale in a drunken tirade about her ex, one I handled quite well as I knew the pain all too well, but we all don't recover the same...some of us don't recover at all.

As the snow began to melt and the dinners currently being in full swing, I managed to have Lyndsay up so she could join in on the fun and meet everyone, Elizabeth and Cali had bubbly personalities, so she wouldn't feel out of place. She handled herself quite well as Nick tried unsuccessfully to run a little game on her, not hard to turn down as his game skills were more Checkers than Chess. After the meal was over, Zack approached me with the look of a Cocker Spaniel that gets confused by the sound of his own farts.

“Who is that?!?!” he asked heavily.

“Who Lyndsay? Dude...you will not find a cooler chick than her, you just won't.”

...and just like that, the Cocker Spaniel was off and running.

...March 2015

“As little flowers, which the chill of night has bent and huddled, when the white sun strikes, grow straight and open fully on their stems, so did I, too, with my exhausted force.”

-Dante Alighieri, Inferno

Admitting that you have a problem is the first step and I felt it appropriate to tell M that the only time I had a good nights sleep was when she was there, I felt like I would have my energy back the very next day and I promised that after the Jay Cutler Classic in May, that I would be done with the sport so that we could focus on living a normal life and I could focus on possibly finding a new job so that there would be less anxiety on her already narrow and weathered shoulders. I didn't get the reassurance that I was hoping for at this time as I always give people as much space as they need and not suffocate them, but whenever I had free time, I always offered it up to her, because I cared that much. It was tough handling this uncertainty as I watched the relationship between Zack and Lyndsay grow stronger everyday, but while I was happy that Lyndsay had met someone that had her happiness as priority one, I knew very well that with the addition of her to the house...my time there would be coming to a close.

The diet was killing me, my caloric intake was that of a bikini girl, my sleeping problems were getting worse, my cardio sessions felt like heart attacks, my fat burner pills were increased to “Superburn”

and this stuff made me hate life, especially on such a low calorie diet, but on top of all of it, Bruno said I needed to do a warm up show in Vermont to shake off the rust before the May finale. I didn't tell anyone on the team I was doing it either, just M, Lyndsay and Zack knew, cus I was around them the most.

I figured before hitting the stage in Mid April, M and I would attend a WBFF show at Mohegan Sun, one of her favorite places, she must've dropped like 50 bucks in this one machine and she wouldn't shut up about the free range chicken at Michael Jordans Restaurant inside the casino. As we approached the front door of the show, I noticed a thoroughly angry Aly Webster and her boyfriend Austin with his head down.

“Austin forgot his stupid ticket!” She said rather loudly, see you have to be careful with bikini competitors cus when they near the end of the dieting, they let you and everyone on instagram know about it. Talk about Angels and Demons, but I give Aly a pass, she works her ass off to get on that stage. She did have a small stumble during one of her transitions, but besides that, you knew at the end of the show, she would be standing near the middle. Although most of my elation came when they awarded Ashley Packard her pro card for her bad ass Catwomen costume. Married, two kids, early thirties, yet hyper as fuck.

Well they did their job...my turn.

I showed up in Burlington, Vermont in a full suit as a “supporter” of Ryann and the other teammates, but when I showed up the next morning covered in Pro-Tan, I just winked at the ladies and placed my stuff against the wall. I also brought some of my Cashew butter along as a post show treat, Kat Cousins wasn't being shy and gave me cash right there for one of the jars, not sure how many times she climaxed over it as I was too busy getting my pump on for the stage. I stood on my tip toes a bit to get into class D; which was a smart strategy I must say. During pre-judging, the judges will move people around to determine where your going to be placed and then for side by side comparisons. I thought I was dead last at the end of this process, so I was a little bummed at that moment. Thankfully lunchtime had arrived so we all went down to the lake all tanned up and took a bunch of photos together, at the time, Ryann was clearly the flagship of our team as finding a new vein on her quad was like Christmas time for her. So I found it important to play second fiddle during this whole process and let her get some of the best shots, but I had a few that I played up for the camera before returning back to the show for finals.

Since the New Englands in 2014, the size of the competitors in Men's Physique had increased dramatically, Max Santos, who went on to win the show was carved with a knife and there I stood at about 167 pounds and retaining way too much water and my body fat was far too high, but this was a warmup show, so I went out and accepted my pending fate...3rd place.

HOLY SHIT!

I looked down at my number to make sure it was me they called and I was overjoyed to be standing where I was, I had a lot work to do, but for the moment, I was just fine.

I had a long night of traveling and stuffing my face, so I called M to give her the good news, it was just so damn good to hear her voice, it was the right way to end the night, and I was in total road warrior mode. I dropped Bruno off in Manchester, NH then blasted up to Meredith, NH where my mother had just arrived about a week prior. Then after telling her the whole story in better detail that led me up to this point, I hopped back in the car around noon, headed back to Manchester and nailed down an awesome Sunday dinner for the gang all in four hours.

All the usual suspects were there, including Elizabeth who brought her date up for the first time, he was about as stereotypical Massachusetts as you could get, but he enjoyed the food nonetheless. Everything was going fine until near the end of the meal when we were lounging and after M had taken off to pick up her kids, A few of the others had left abruptly. The one thing I never wanted in these meals was to have drama, I wanted everyone to be like family, if only for a moment, but when family starts to drink a little too much and things come to light, drama always will unfold, I decided with the last show just over a month away, that I would cancel the Sunday dinners for the time being, maybe let the drama die down a bit. Turns out it only got worse as we all went to the same drama filled gym and as for the anxiety with M...that was about to hit a serious roadblock.

I'm not sure what was going on, all I knew was she was scared of losing her job, rightfully so, but I wasn't helping as my diet was causing me to lose a lot of lean body mass. My mind was warping out of control and my energy levels had plummeted. This is what's commonly known as crash dieting...and I took it to a whole new level. My cardio and supplement intake hadn't changed but I had pulled the majority of healthy fats from my diet and was running on mostly proteins, around 160 grams a day. This was bad, we're talking under 1000 calories a day. I was doing stupid cross-fit drills along with my workouts to keep under 170 lbs, but I was dropping weight way too quickly, but my mindset was in a bad way with everything going on, plus I was running out of money after paying for all the accommodations.

About a week out from the show, M and I agreed to meet at the park along the Merrimack River, a place where we've had a lot of great memories, sadly this day was not one of them, she said she couldn't risk her job anymore and had to call it quits, I said...well to be honest I don't remember what I said, I only remember the time we had in Boston, along the Seacoast, but it didn't matter now. I just let her go on her way, hoping that someday, she would come back.

That Sunday I took a good look in the mirror. I didn't look good. Truth be told..I looked like shit.

...Weekend of May 23rd, 2015.

“On march the banners of the King of Hell.”

-Dante Alighieri, Inferno

Work was headphones on, head down and talk to noone. As soon as it was 5pm, my chair was empty and I was out that door before anyone noticed, it was my last few days at Gold's Drama Gym, I couldn't last more than 45 minutes before calling it quits and heading home. I didn't want to hear words or sounds from anyone, not even Bruno. He saw me going for a walk across the bridge and chatted me up for about 20 minutes, he mentioned something about a wedding from a life I no longer recall as being real, so it phased me very little. Since I had a hotel and noone to help me with my tan, I made an offer to little Cali Hebert, a luxury hotel, access to the entire city of Boston, free gym access, free Latte's from downstairs and all she had to do was help me with my back tan. She was like a dog with her head out the window the whole way down that morning as we pulled up to the lovely Loews Hotel right across the street from the event center. My body mass was so small I didn't even look good in my suit and that is very hard for me to achieve. I never just sit in the hotel tho, I have to move around, so we took about a 45 minute walk to the north end where we dropped a few dollars for some pastries and some other stupid stuff. After grabbing a burger and finishing my tan up. I braced myself for a long night of all the thoughts running through my mind...

4am Saturday Morning...

As usual, my calves locked up, my head is killing me and my heart is pounding. I was already dehydrated and well below a healthy weight for my size. My abrupt awakening made Cali stir a bit, so I scratched her head for a few minutes until she fell back asleep and then I lied there for another two hours.

I stood there pacing at the front entrance of the hotel around 8am waiting for Kristina to show up and escort me to the show, I was already in my pre-show pissy mood, so I walked in myself with my hoodie up and my head down, I usually am in good spirits after I get my final coat of tan, but to be honest, I hate that dream tan shit, its brown Vaseline and it destroys whatever clothes it touches. There had to be something better than this garbage. Word to any competitor at any level. NEVER. USE. DREAMTAN. It is shit, absolute shit. Trust me. I remember Jimmy and Alison globbing that stuff on me in my first few shows like I was Arnold hiding from the Predator. It was warm in Boston that day, but I was freezing, I was 160 pounds of dust, if you blew on me, I would have disappeared. As Kristina finally arrived, she would periodically check in with me throughout the show as she too knows what it's like on game day, if you were ever to meet a person like K, she's a person that's impossible to hate. I needed that type of personality around cus today's level of competitors were at a level I had never seen before. These cycloptic, Gigantour looking mutha-fuckas who should have been in the heavyweight class...were putting on boarding shorts and stepping into my division. How's this allowed? It was bad enough I was walking out there at a Holocaust-like 160 pounds, but I was standing next to a 200 something pound bodybuilders and the class sizes had tripled in just six months. What made it worse the show was being run like a national level show, so everyone was being rushed and they had very little patience for a tiny bitch boy like me. As I was chatting with some familiar faces like Joey Klamka, Diego and newcomer Josh Ziegra, my headache had returned just as I was a few feet from the stage border, then when that moment happened and the stage lights hit my eyes, they were so dry, I started onto the stage, but I couldn't completely see where I was going, My posing was already questionable, but I had to look down at the judges which caused my posture to bow and I ended up looking like the leaning tower of Pieceashit. I was completely and properly embarrassed at what I did to myself that day. I was to get one last trophy and ride off into the sunset and put the pieces of my life back together, but when they called top five during finals and I was dead last in my class, I was met just off the stage by Kristina and I couldn't bring myself to even pick my head up and look at her. She said it was the best I ever looked, but I know she was just being kind, I knew that I had just embarrassed myself and my team. I shouldn't have been up there. I broke down right there only able to mumble out a few words to her.

“Joey, the stage will always be there for you.” She said.

Fuck that...I was done. Retired.

I was nothing more than a throwaway who slept on a futon mattress upstairs with zero possessions of any value. No trophy. No money. No Sunday dinners. No M. No clue of what was to come.

PART TWO ARRIVES OCTOBER 2ND...

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POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: TACONACHT (NIGHT OF BROKEN TACOS)

Nacht: German Translation “Night”

Taco: Spanish Translation “Taco”

On the night of November 9th, 1938, Nazi Paramilitary swept through Jewish Neighborhoods, lighting fires to Synagogues, rounding up male Jews and raiding all Jewish businesses, leaving over a hundred people dead, and entire German neighborhoods virtually uninhabitable. The massive amounts of shattered glass covering the streets gave way to the name “Kristallnacht”, translated means “Night of Broken Glass”.

The rest is history...oh wait, there's more!

Now unlike our Hispanic population here in the United States, Germany at the time only had roughly 500,000 Jews, less than one percent of the entire German population before the invasion of Poland in 1939. A certainly more manageable number for what the Third Reich had planned. Nobody wanted large amounts of Jewish Refugees fleeing to their country, so the vast majority were sent back to Germany and a new solution had to be hatched by Adolf Hitler, it was referred to as the “Final Solution”

Did you get all that? Do you need to go hop on YouTube or Wikipedia and brush up on your Holocaust history? Go ahead...I'll wait.

Spanish Philosopher George Santayana coined the phrase “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” Here we sit almost 80 years after Kristallnacht addressing the issue of immigration with neighbors to the south, Central and South America. Now I'm guessing that Hitler would have had a much tougher time moving some 7-10 Million undocumented immigrants out of the country, and with a constant media stream floating thru the streets, the ultimate plan of one Adolf Hitler would most certainly fail. Before the idea of mass murder, Hitler just wanted all the Jews out of Germany and surrounding territories. If it wasn't for a few key strategic mistakes, the plan would have succeeded.

Stick with me on this...

With the U.S. Election just around the corner, Hillary Clinton is fine with just letting everyone into the U.S. and we can all be one giant, friendly, undocumented family. Donald Trump wants everyone out in an effort to turn America into a Poofy-haired castle with gold borders. Now I understand the idea of limiting access to refugees from around the world, but let's face it, the majority of undocumented Latino immigrants are here to stay. In my opinion, many should stay. Your not going to deport 7-10 million people without making the United States descend into pure violent chaos. We can't force the police to act like the Gestapo and drag illegals out of their homes in the millions and herd them all into trains, sound familiar?

In time, I believe Mexico will have the infrastructure to battle the drug cartels, rampant poverty and political corruption plaguing their country. This will help ease the stress off America's shoulders a bit, but let's face facts, if a group of fat bouncers can hold off thousands of drunken groupies at a Guns n' Roses concert, then I think there is room for improvement at the Mexican Border.

Now I'm sure your head must be spinning with the premise of me connecting Nazi Germany, Jewish persecution, National Security and Immigration Policy all into one article. Well for one thing, I am a Jew and I love Mexican food so I'm treating this whole thing like a really spicy Salsa, so break out your favorite nacho chips and keep reading.

In order for Hitler to eradicate the Jews, he had to erase all evidence of their existence, that includes churches, businesses, families and so on. Also the State of Israel wasn't founded until 1948, 3 years after the war had ended; which in comparison to Mexico is like having a studio apartment in the shitty part of town. Mexico is right there, it's big and it's not going anywhere, so there's issue one.

Stability wise, Before Hitler came to power, Germany was in ruins from World War I and without true leadership and received less than sufficient help from the west; which was in the midst of the Great Depression. The United States today, is far more streamlined, has a far more stable government, so if a future leader of the Free World were to blame all our current problems on the undocumented population, he or she would find far more resistance from congress and the media. We also have to compare resistance from the population, including documented and undocumented, 9.5 million Jews living in Europe during the 1930's versus almost 60 million Latinos living in today's United States, that's not a kidney stone, that's a bowling ball. It took the Third Reich about 5 years to “remove” some 6 million Jews, but in the process, also was responsible for more than 1 million Polish civilians, 1 million Yugoslavs, etc. So try to press down on 7-10 million undocumented people and see what happens when you receive backlash from just the 60 million Latinos alone, then watch the Mexican infrastructure collapse as you shove all those people back into their meager economy.

Now as far as the culture goes, it's deeply sewn into our landscape as well as it's exploits and stereotypes. You'd have to blow up every single Chipotle, Taco Bell, Boloco, El Torito, and Margaritas in not just the United States, but the world. I hate to break it to you, but the word “Taco” translated in Spanish is FUCKING TACO!!! It's a yummy, crunchy wedge that we stick delicious food into and it's like a party went off in your mouth! You gonna run around town and smash em all? NO! It's not happening, especially the soft taco shells.

With maybe the exception of legit criminals, your not deporting jack-shit. You really think the rest of America is going to pick up the slack and do the jobs they do? Nooooo, we're too proud, we'd rather sit on our obese asses and collect fucking government checks every month, all the while complaining about Police Brutality or whatever is running across the ticker on the TV that you scored at Rent-A-Center.

Jose Cuervo? How about NO-se Cuervo? Corona...more like CoroNOT!

You gonna ditch all the Tequila and imported beer that millions of Americans abuse on a weekly basis?

Seriously, they do a ton of jobs that most people don't want to do, they work their asses off regardless of the conditions, they hold traditional family values in high regard, and they make fantastic Italian food. So you can limit access all you want to others seeking refugee status in the States, you can build your walls and setup patrols all across the boarder, but whether you like it or not, the Hispanic population is deeply and beautifully embedded into the fabric of America and in time we will improve conditions along the boarder and throughout the population of Central America. Viva El Mexico.

...Cilantro and Ranchero music, one tastes disgusting and the other sounds disgusting...burn that shit tho.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: BRO-VENTURES

Joseph: “Hey, I have an Idea...”

Bobby: “...Sounds good, just let me know.”

We've known each other for over twenty years, we went to high school and college together, we lived together, but how we became friends and somehow stayed friends is an adventure in itself...

...Here's a small sampling...

May 2008: Los Angeles, California (Oscar De La Hoya Fight)

Now we brought Becky the Red Head along cus we needed to rent a car and we were both under 25 at the time, I still drove anyway. We didn't have much of a plan when we arrived other than we were supposed to see Oscar De La Hoya fight in Carson. Did I mention it was also Cinco de Mayo? Armed with a piece of shit Tom Tom GPS and a Powder Blue Chevy Malibu, we hit the mean streets of Inglewood at around 2am...sounds promising. Not a single car on the road until we hit the only place open in the area...Popeye's Chicken. Nothing says fresh food like heat-lamped Catfish served thru a rotating drive up window sprinkled with bullet holes. The food was far more traumatic. As we discussed our plans the next day at the outside hot tub accompanied by a hairy Sumo Wrestler sitting across from us, we worked out a loose plan visit Rodeo Drive, Hollywood, Malibu and Venice Beach before hitting the fight on Saturday. It sounded like a simple plan, until our GPS turned against us...

Apparently, the early model Tom Tom's have a sleep setting for some stupid reason, this became apparent when the neighborhood became a bit too “Raider Hatty”. Thank Christ the California Highway Patrol was asleep at the On-Ramp, cus that Malibu hit maximum warp out of Compton. LA as a whole is rather useless, the financial district was filled with dudes selling oranges, Diddy's entourage blocked off half of Hollywood, leaving us to find an alternate route; which our GPS happily provided us with...via a Warner Brothers movie set being rigged for an explosives scene. It was a mess of a trip where the best part was the Peach Margaritas and Sizzling Fajitas at El Toritos in Marina Del Ray. Drunk and sunburned I guess is a good way to end that trip.

November 2009: Manhattan, NY (All Expenses Paid)

Two days later after leaving the Big Apple, I was heading back, this time with my partner in crime and we were on the company dime...hey, that rhymes.

Since my Supercharged Grand Prix was having work done, we took Bobby's ride, an Ice Blue Hyandai Accent Hatchback, which looked like an over-squeezed Testicle going down the rode, but in NYC traffic, it was unstoppable. With the Yankees preparing for a parade the next day, the city was a buzz with excitement, we were buzzin also, but it was from the Don Julio at Morton's Steakhouse. If this is how most white collar assholes live, then I'll happily sell out for corporate greed any day of the week.

About 500 dollars, several Tequilas and steaks later, we stumble to our free hotel room in Rockefeller Plaza. The next day as Bobby tells a DirecTV Executive to shut up during a training seminar, I'm down in Battery Park among hundreds of thousands of screaming Yankee fans, Jay-Z, Derek Jeter, and many others hit the stage under a layer of Helicopters hovering just above us, it was a true personal moment for me as it was my team, my city, my moment, but it was all thanks to Bobby that I was able to soak up such an experience that I'll always hold in high regard...as for the walk back to Rockefeller Plaza, that was almost fifty blocks in Italian Leather wing tips that didn't fit quite right, I had to stop every ten blocks to check my blisters. I also stopped every ten blocks cus the street food was calling my name. Kebabs, Gyros, Hot Dogs, Pizza, it made the pain irrelevant.

One year later, Bobby quit his job, I took off for family life (attempted) and we didn't speak for about three years...

November 2014: Boston, MA (The New England Championships)

It was definitely a surprise to see him at my first fitness show up in Maine, but this was the moment I burned myself to the core for. Once again, Bobby was right there, this time helping me with my tan and watching me nervously prep for one of my toughest challenges to date. There was more junk food in our luxury hotel room then at a movie theater on a friday night opening of Star Wars.

I've already written about that show, so I'll skip to the part where we hit the hotel lobby dancing and singing in victory, went up to the room, took care of some personal business (no, not gay stuff), then suited up and didn't come back until 3am wreaking of Espresso and Chinatown duck. I remember waking up in my hotel bed around 9am with a NPC trophy, a bar of chocolate and a sleeve of Pringles...breakfast of mutha-fuckin champions.

Lunch was even better as we dropped about two bills over at Modern Pastry and Sal's Cured Meats. It was a beautiful day and we were beautiful men walking the streets in some serious clothes. It was three years too long, but worth the wait.

August 2016: Charleston, SC (Pokemon Go)

We were clearly up to no good with this little adventure and that little Dodge Dart wasn't prepared for our arrival. The first thing I noticed was that the tire pressure in one wheel was ten pounds lighter than the others and that we were given a rental with Mass plates...not sure which is more of a safety hazard, from some half-ass parallel parking, to speeding over dipped pavement, the car was returned two days later and we were given a Ford Focus, which we drove only twice because hiding in my parents garage after finishing our business in Charleston was a five speed Mustang. Their wasn't a corner from Conway to Myrtle Beach that I didn't fish-tail. We were such children as the car rocked back and forth from my over-correction of the steering wheel and like some God-like intervention, not one cop saw us. I also received a crash course lesson in Pokemon Go. A small festival took place in downtown Charleston that Saturday and as I chased down bread trucks and Krispy Kreme Donuts, Bobby had a battle royale in the park as every Charizard Chaser (Pokemon Character) descended upon the park. Apparently chasing Pokemon is still safer than what I was doing, running thru traffic like a stunt double for Jason Bourne and getting bumped by a Toyota Corolla, still held on to the bread! When I say bread, I'm referring to Peasant Bread, it's large and round, like you'd see in a Robin Hood Movie. I had no bag for them so I just trotted down the street with my hands full, like a complete asshole.

Oh, we also rented Scooters...yes, two guys with Scooters. I don't care what it looked like, but the tour we took of the USS Yorktown couldn't compare to hitting an eye bleeding 35 MPH on a lime Green Moped around the Isle of Palms, shirtless. There is photographic evidence of this. Did you know that the most Luxorious Hotel in Charleston is called “Hotel”? Sprinkle on a little Thai food, Beef Jerky, Hand Rolled Cigars, plus a Secret Mission that we have yet to reveal and we can easily say that this most recent Bro-Venture was a complete success. There is a solid chance that we may even repeat this exact trip later next year.

...One Day, Bobby and I are going to save the world.

Shout Outs:

Tasty Thai - Mt Pleasant, SC

Port City Moped - Isle of Palms, SC

Menkoi Ramen Noodle House - Charleston, SC

Big Gun Burger Shop - Charleston, SC

Glazed Gourmet Donuts -Charleston, SC

Lianos Dos Palmas Handmade Cigars - Charleston, SC

Charleston House of Jerky - Charleston, SC

Sottile Theatre - Charleston, SC

Tres Gym – Charleston, SC

Beef Jerky Outlet - Conway, SC

Krispy Kreme Donuts – Myrtle Beach, SC

Pier 14 - Myrtle Beach, SC

Drunken Jacks Restaurant - Murrells Inlet, SC

Enterprise Rent-A-Car

Ford Motor Company

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: EARTH VIEW PROPERTY

How would you like to earn over 230,000 frequent flyer miles in just one trip?

When I look at the stars at night during one of my cheesy John Cusack moments, I see a ton of unsold property...that has yet to be developed. Why? During the Apollo missions of the late 60's and early 70's, The United States successfully landed six times on the moon using technology that wasn't even advanced enough to run Mike Tyson's Punch-Out, although I'm sure oxygen was more of a priority than an 8-bit video game.

I understand that we as a race have enough problems to deal with on this little planet already that deserve more attention and funding, but I feel that as the super rich usually do, I feel this would be where the one percent would actually come in useful. With all their Uber Yachts, Hyper Cars and Island hopping, I feel this investment would be the ultimate display of “fuck me” money.

Now if your confused, let me explain the difference between “fuck you” money and “fuck me” money.

“Fuck you” money is when you never have to work again, you travel the world and own property on a small island in the South Pacific.

“Fuck me” money is when you buy that island...and sink it.

Now my Planetary Geology knowledge is a bit rusty, but I'm thinking that sinking the moon would prove quite difficult, but as a one percenter, how does flying first class on the very first cruise ship to a moon resort sound? 3 days of floating around, eating Beluga Caviar and having space sex with a high priced Russian Prostitutes, then having your own personal Mercedes Moon Cruiser to explore the limits of low gravity. As long as you don't hit a bump wrong and go spinning off into space. But hey, we could have preventative measures for that! As long as you stay within a certain radius, there could totally be a safety net to capture any moon buggies pulling an Evil Knievel. The probability of flying off into space is actually rather low, but I don't intend to lose any potential investors because they fitted their rides with rocket boosters.

Okay, I'm veering off a bit, but is this really just a big fantasy or this actually possible?

Not only is possible, it could have been constructed years ago. We already have investors pouring hundreds of millions of dollars into this very idea. So lets start with the basics...

How would we get there? Well according to the Apollo Missions, to blast out of earths orbit and slow down for a safe landing on the moon would take about 3 days, so proper entertainment and accommodations aboard the ship would be prudent (caviar, prostitutes). Once your done with them and have successfully jettisoned them into space (International Waters) a proper “spaceport” would be needed to ensure the arrival of the passengers, essential crew, baggage and supplies such as food, power sources and whatever else would be needed to run the LCA (Lunar Condo Association). I would assume the main power source for the entire LCA would be Solar power with a battery backup system. Would it be possible and more cost efficient to use nuclear power instead? I wouldn't rule it out as it burns very clean, but disposing of the depleted power cells may prove to be a hassle so setting up an field of solar panels may be the most simplistic solution. Now besides the scientific benefits of setting up shop on the moon, entertainment is another factor. Laser Tag would be a bit juvenile so maybe bungee jumping would prove to be an attraction, but instead of going down, your going out. Your attached to a bungee chord and then a booster shoots your body straight out into space...now that if wouldn't freak you the fuck out, clearly your inner adrenaline junkie needs therapy. Maybe your into naked hurricane skydiving, I don't know.

How about a Home Run Derby? You hit a heat shielded ball towards earth and if you aim correctly and the ball survives the earths atmosphere, you win. The ball would would have a tracking device and probably take about a week to get back to earth, so it would take just as long as a normal nine inning game.

Moon Buggy racing is a no brainer. It could even be broadcasted on ESPN and each buggy could have a sponsor. A rally track would be most sufficient, cus I dont think a standard NASCAR format would be very entertaining, it's already boring without crashes, so twists and turns are a must. Throw in a little Satellite TV package, decent Wi-Fi, an Equinox Gym and some performing arts...and your on your way.

Swimming's out though.

Since terrorism isn't really a concern when your over 230,000 miles away from earth, making sure condo fees are collected regularly may prove to be quite interesting when someone has to be evicted. It's already an expensive trip to begin with, plus owning the property, grocery shopping and whatever else I'm not thinking of. If someone were forced to leave the LCA, they would have to wait for the next transport to arrive, reload and then they would be transported back to earth. Don't expect us to not bill your cheap ass for the ride back home either!

Now I understand it would take a global effort with some corporate saber rattling to get this project moving, but it's absolutely achievable and once the logistics are solved, routine transports of building supplies along with Lunar Architects could make this less of a fantasy and turn it into something that the human race can really be proud of. The advancement in technology and scientific studies taking place could push the human race beyond anything we've ever achieved here on earth.

Just imagine waking up in the morning, reading the local newspaper, sipping on the finest Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee and having Planet Earth as a view...If that doesn't give you space wood, consult your doctor.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: HYPE MEN

 

(Editorial note: this topic is highly controversial. it is not meant to be humorous or to place blame on any ethnic community or division of law enforcement. Together we can achieve more, thank you.)

The media. They see color...one color. Green. How does one get more green? Ratings. What is an instant ratings boost? Race. Why do I sound like a Kindergarten Teacher? It's important to break this down as simply as possible as to not confuse “The Stupids” who wander across my evermore visible website. It's true, I'm white...well currently I have a nice tan going. I have blue eyes. I'm not black. I'm not a cop. What could I possibly know about the ongoing racial crisis in this country? Here goes nothing...

Let's revisit the media before I discuss my background, I treat this whole situation like a boxing match. In one corner, you have the Black community, made out to look like the sole target of racism, beatings, oppression, shootings, just an absolute shit sandwich that the media cooks up and shoves down your throat, influencing viewers and then spreading like a bad telephone connection across the office, college campus and dinner table. A community of people whose growth has been slowed and exploited by the media, allowing the real problems to go unchecked, while politicians use the same tactics to push their bullshit agendas and achieve a higher seat for a larger paycheck.

In the other corner, you have the Police. A peace-keeping unit forced by local, state and federal governments to not only patrol these poorly funded and poorly educated neighborhoods, but then trained to enforce garbage quotas by writing chicken-shit tickets to regular tax payers who already have their paychecks stripped for mandatory health insurance, federal taxes and other crap that gets used for who the fuck knows what. In the middle, you have the media, TV, Online, Social Media. As a whole, they're raising the drama to a tipping point only to give themselves better ratings. Is it a gun control problem? Not really. Is it a racial problem? Not really. Is it a political problem? Yes. Is it a family problem? Yes.

Is it an education problem? Damn Straight.

Let's break down law enforcement, essentially a large number of small town kids (Black, White, Latino, etc) are sent through their local or state Academies and then placed in areas with much higher and more mixed populations...oh and they carry a gun. Like any company or group or organization, your going to have mixed results. I don't like when a kid from a town of 2000 people goes through the academy only to be sent patrolling into a population of 500,000. Imagine being a local comedian opening at a small night club in Portland, Oregon and then the next night...your headlining...at the Apollo in Harlem. Now times that by several thousand comedians...is this mic on?

Now you have the another large portion of the police force, former Military. We send these people over to hell on earth, their friends die in front of them, they're homesick, they'll go days without showering or proper nutrition. Their survival depends on quick, instinctive decision making, a tool that's sharpened by months of intense physical, mental and emotional training. Now your to ask these defenders of the free world, many with severe amounts of PTSD and social anxiety to return to the states and write speeding tickets to people driving Volvos? Are you fucking serious? They're heroes, not meter maids. Not only that, now they're also fodder for the media showing them as trigger-happy killers of black people. A smart cop trained to protect and serve will most likely do exactly that. A stupid cop trained to write parking tickets to meet their quota will do exactly that. A wreckless cop who uses PED's and is left unchecked will not only shoot a black person...he'll shoot anyone that misunderstands that officer's command. A heroic cop who rescued a wounded soldier in Afghanistan while under heavy fire will not only rescue a black kid from a burning complex...he'll rescue any kid from a burning complex.

As a common rule, I believe Law Enforcement should have stricter policies on the use of Performance Enhancing Drugs. I will not comment on the foreign battlefield, but here, this domestic battlefield, I'm not a fan of a man or women in uniform patrolling the neighborhood running juice, for the simple fact that the chances of escalating an already delicate situation can be raised dramatically. I am, however in favor of Law Enforcement utilizing marijuana for it's medicinal purposes, such as relieving anxiety and depression, two traits commonly found in those wearing a badge.

My father was a beat-walking Narcotics Officer for the heavily saturated Burrows of New York during the 60's and 70's. A time of heavy protesting, another wave of ethnic integration, and the lack of stability within the city created, eventually forcing the creation of the Tactical Patrol Unit, also referred to as “Riot Cops”.

Imagine this, you and a dozen other officers are told to get on a transit bus and proceed 20 blocks up the streets of Manhattan, strapping on helmets, body armor and carrying body bunkers in preparation of large unruly crowds. Off the bus you all go, standing in front of hundreds of mildly peaceful protesters. However, as the Black Panthers and other organizations would do to escalate the situation, loud speakers were used to incite the crowds, more noise, more confusion...more chaos. In the front of the crowd, you could have seemingly normal and legitimate citizens, but hiding in the back out of view from the media were professional protesters, throwing objects such as the infamous Molotov Cocktail. A glass bottle filled with a flammable liquid and stuffed with a lit rag that would explode on contact. Not only were these landing on cops, setting them on fire, but there were also people on the roofs throwing them down on unsuspecting officers wearing several pounds of Riot Gear. As the Police begin to collide with the front of the crowd in order to disperse them, that is when the media gets their money shot. That is back in 1975, imagine this with today's media accessibility. With racial Puppet Masters like the Reverend Al Sharpton, these incidents are then given a voice on national television prompting idiot celebrities to voice their uneducated opinion; which then helps light a fuse for a potential situation where multiple cops are killed, causing their triggers to tighten for even the smallest traffic infraction.

Hearing my fathers stories, going for ride-alongs and reading about his world not only as a Patrolmen in NYC during the chaos of the early 70's, but as a Police Lieutenant who fought against the corruption of a local PD along with the County Sheriffs office gives me a unique understanding of just how much work needs to be done on all three fronts.

The media needs to be held accountable for what is and what isn't published.

Better instructors and more intelligent cadets conducive to heavily populated environments are required to approach the sensitive and growing task of public safety. Better education, properly filtered funding and more stable families are the true building blocks of a safer, more flourishing neighborhood. We don't need the media picking and choosing their stories in order to move the needle towards their ultimate goal, whether the agenda is financial or political. A shitty neighborhood with shitty inhabitants and patrolled by shitty cops giving shitty tickets is...a giant pile of shit.

...someone get a shovel.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: SOCIALLY TRANSMITTED DISEASES

 

“If you don't go to college right out of high school, you'll lose your health insurance!” -Mom

So you'd rather I take out a cosigned $35,000 federal loan and listen to burnt out professors dressed like Kermit the Frog at a fruit punch social, only to make 12 dollars an hour in some corporate fuck-stick environment and not afford insurance, cus I have to pay back the loan shortly after school is over?

...sorry mother.

What about the college experience? Y'know, the politically correct campuses, the consensual sex forms, the bloated tuition cost, the gender pronoun identification, the pointless amount of homework with minimal translation to the real world. I think the only thing I left college with, besides a silly amount of debt is that I got to watch some kids burn down a smoking Gazebo and a pothead nicknamed “Franky Firetrucks” try to cook a steak on the stove...at 3am with no pan. This is now your workforce.

 

I didn't get to have meaningful internships with a slave driving call center or go pointlessly backpacking across Europe...not that I'd want to do either.

Who wants to backpack anywhere? I ditched backpacks as soon as high school reached it's torturous end. People talk about backpacking like it's some mind opening experience and the ability to take in beautiful European Scenery and it's temperate beauty. Here's a modern thought, how about you open yourself up to a rental car and some body spray, you stinky fuckin hippies.

I walked a mile to the bus stop every morning when I was young and still naive. I'm not tallying on another thousand kilometers just to see Stonehenge. Oh wow, a pile of rocks. How'd they get there???

….Who gives a shit, they're rocks!!!!! “Oh Joey, you clearly aren't cultured enough to appreciate the mystery and historical beauty of such a landmark.” Oh please, I can take in simple beauties more than some sensitive sap who tries to pad his dating profile with more than just a 2 year old photo. I can sit and watch the rolling ocean waves for hours and feel a countless amount of emotions as the tide rolls in and without permission, while I chug down my 3rd sugar free Red Bull. How about when I visited the Grand Canyon, plenty of rocks there. A sight that would certainly take anyone's breath away as the Canyons gap is almost as wide as my ex-girlfriend's soul shredding pussy.

...Seriously tho, you really should check out the Grand Canyon, it's pretty.

 

Anyway, how is backpacking safe? In any country for that matter, being susceptible to weather, wildlife and wild people. You could get attacked by Bears or Mountain Lions or missionaries. What if your traversing the forests of western Europe and some Doctor decides to transform you and your college friends into a centipede? Hey shit happens, then your turned into a leather purse. Coachella next year? Now your a Coach bag...Coach douche-bag.

I could go on for hours about this topic, but I'd rather move on to something else.

 

I also mentioned gender pronoun identification, this is an actual thing now, an actual topic that takes up the time of your six-figure making professors. He, She, They and Them...meet Ve, Ze, Xe. This is of course, related to the ever-growing transgender discussion. Now if you choose as a human being to be a “mixed bag”, It's cool with me. Even if your an ugly one, no worries, there's plenty of regular ugly people hitting the Hoverounds at your local Walmart. Being transgender is not bad for your health, but when I can see you struggling to pick your EBT card up off the ground because your rolls of human cookie dough are obstructing your mobility, then your a fat piece of excuse-less shit.

Now as far as this pronoun thing, it's been suggested that when you meet new people, it would be polite to ask what their pronoun is, so you can properly refer to them in conversation. However, common sense stuffs this back into whatever wretched cave it came from. For one thing, you still use they or them, cus in simple conversation, it just works and moves the conversation along. Conversations have flow, which shouldn't be interrupted.

You can also refer to the person by their name!!!! I don't care if they're legal name is Xanadu, we get it. It's also way more fun if you have a transgender friend and your currently pissed off at them for some reason, then pronouns go right out the window. “Molly was supposed to grab a drink cart for the Macchiatos, but the stupid bitch juggled the drinks all the way to my new Lexus and now my seats are sticky!”

...Stupid Molly. Oh by the way, Molly had a change of heart and is now back to Michael.

Now the notorious lady-boys in Thailand, they have it down pretty good, those are some fine looking broads...moving on.

Consensual sex forms, now I seriously look forward to finding these reverse wipers and launching their genitals out of a potato cannon aimed at a forest fire. There's all sorts of wrong with this whole idea. We as a human race still struggle with the choice to put on a condom before throwing away the next 18 years of our lives. So how do we would fare with a pen and paper glaring at us from the night table or vehicle dashboard or nightclub bathroom? Some things just shouldn't involve lawyers and legal forms and yet if this became an actual norm in an ever-dying society, it wouldn't stop some of the people I know. One openly stated that she loves to be pinned down and choked by her boyfriend and I don't see that ever being a box to check off on the “fuck form”.

Not much else needs to be said about this topic, for I would just milking it....hahaha “milking”.

So what have learned? College is pointless, backpacking across Europe or anywhere is dangerous, Transgender people are cool, but reinventing pronouns isn't, Hoverounds should be discontinued, and consensual sex forms should be used to roll fat joints.

...now about the Jews.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: STATE OF THE UNION

I can't fly. I can't read minds, I don't have superhuman strength.

But I can run my mouth with the best of them...and it's time to UN-stitch my beak and turn up the volume.

Yes I've been away for a while, tending to some business and personal matters, so it's not like I have time to watch much TV, not that I would want to with all the craziness going on. Now it's bleeding into my digital peripheries while absolutely nothing is being done to control the chaos that we are sinking back into. Anyone ever see New York back in the seventies? The place was on fire every night. Riots, murders, violent protests, corruption, race wars. I guess nothing has changed.

That generation eventually found common ground to help build a better city while holding on to the core values of their heritage, it made for a more colorful and vibrant environment. Food, music, language...a little cocaine thrown in. From all accounts, it was beautiful.

What are we now, a bunch of vegan eating, Rhianna bopping (work, work, work) politically correct cock-smoochers who are too afraid of an off-color joke, cus if they're caught on video laughing at a Jew joke, the very thought of packing up their bullshit trinkets and Employee of the Month certificate will straighten their face right out and send them hiding for safety in the HR department....FUCK that loser. That person is a virus that seems to be running thru society ever more so lately. You can relax, douche, just cus I sound angry doesn't mean I'm planning an office massacre. First off, I gave all my guns away and second, If your gonna see me in the news, it'll be either for becoming a tour DE force in the peanut butter market...or for smacking Caitlyn Jenner and calling her a twat(still doesn't have one).

Let's get back on point, the soft have become softer, like mucus stuck to hot pavement, and the hard, well they murder cops or vice versa, blow up theaters, run over parade goers, shoot up offices and ambush night clubs.

Our president who has yet to allow Edward Snowden back into the United States, said that he intends to fight Terrorism with Diplomacy. Comedian Joe Rogan said it perfectly, “That's like fighting Global Warming with Ice Cream.”

What happened? America used to be the underdog, small, but strong with a puffy chest and a nasty bite. You don't mess with that dog's turf, that's his lawn, his family, his carpet to pee on. That little Pit bull Terrier will chase you down the street and chew your jeans off. Now according to the voting polls, we're either bloated, tumor ridden Labradors who chew on prescription meds like their fucking gummy bears OR... we're backwoods Rottweilers subjected to shovel beatings and pumped full of PCP as we look at Mexicans and Muslims like they're chew toys waiting to be ripped apart.

Don't build a wall, build a better Mexico! Maybe they'll wanna stay there. Do you see a bunch of Swedish people or Canadians fleeing here on a weekly basis? No, cus Sweden is totally cool and Canada has universal health care, not like the one we have, that financially rapes you with every paycheck and even more during tax season when you don't have it.

For the record, this is the worst pair of presidential candidates to have ever debated one another. One treats money and power like the other treats honesty and national security...they wipe their ass with it and set it on fire. How you gonna cast a vote for that? You can't vote for the lesser of two evils, you have to object to both, problem is a quarter of our population has an IQ under 75 (run Forrest, run) while the other Republicans simply just follow suit and the liberal half pop Xanax, carry consensual sex forms in their back pocket and wear “threat whistles” to Matinee showings to Tina Faye movies.

I like Tina Faye...her crowd not so much.

Let's face...I have a newly acquired talent for stirring shit up. Maybe that's what we need right now, cus everywhere I go, I see flags constantly at half staff, obesity quickly becoming the flatulent majority of this country, news coverage graphically over-saturated with daily tragedies and misinformation. The only thing that's accurately reported is the beef between Taylor Swift and Kim Karfatassian.

When did this country become so fucking stupid? When did we stop asking the right questions? Will we ever accept the right answers? Going forward, are we going to elect our political and spiritual leaders like it's the dollar menu at Mcdonalds? You know it's pure shit...but you order it anyway. LEARN TO COOK, YOU BALLOON SHAPED FUCK!!!

 

...Now then...i wrote an article a few months back about fighting the good fight, essentially saying that win or lose, it was your job to represent what's good in this world and defend it's ideals at all cost. Now it's time put up or shut up, create your dreams, fight your nightmares, don't mince words, get it all out there, cus don't expect justice and karma to always swing around the block and rescue you from your problems...cus your next problem might be me. If you've had your emotional legs cut out from under you, learn to walk on your hands, you'll have boulder shoulders in no time. If you've been stabbed in the heart, pull that blade out of your chest and show your adversary who's fingerprints are on the handle.

Oh that reminds me, I'm tired of people making up bullshit dream quotes and shoving them under their 5th selfie of the day, “no ones opinion matters but your own, just be you!”...okay...what are you, then? A dinner table for dicks? A gargle buffet for balls? Why'd you get that tattoo on your chest, does it give you superpowers? No? Well I think you got screwed then. You might need a second opinion after all, preferably from a psychiatrist. I've seen a few in my day...anyway.

As a population, I don't think we have enough going on in our lives that lean towards a more constructive existence, basically we become occupied with pointless crap or just completely lazy and misguided. As a country, it's the exact opposite, I think we have too much going on and we need to embrace the basic principles of the past in a more modern format. Oh and if I got a problem with your shit and it's fucking up my universe, I'm gonna tell you about it and don't wonder about what I'm doing, I'll make it all public soon enough, just like everything else...and just like this article.

...Your fucking welcome.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: STRANGER IN PARADISE

It's 6am and I have a headache again. Everyday this happens and it feels more like a tequila sunrise, you drank way too much and you wake up in a third floor apartment with no A/C as the 90 degree heat singes the peaks of your bed head. It's hard to relax at all knowing that this welcomes me every morning and that's it all part of this new chapter in life that I just can't seem to comprehend nor appreciate for multiple reasons. I haven't written very much lately as I require a certain setting, like any writer or blogger, that allows my mind to enter a creative state of mind. It used to be like clockwork. Music, green tea, sofa, laptop and a sense of security. Now it all feels like I flipped the omelet poorly and now I have to settle for scrambled eggs. (Brebri84 in IG)

...That's not how I work. I don't want to settle for fucking scrambled anything!

I'd rather throw the whole thing away and start from scratch then digest mediocrity.

Looking out my window seeing a beautiful afternoon as people walk their dogs, rake their lawns, watch kids play and head to cookouts or birthday parties, I stand there with my black coffee pondering the probability of what event is going to crash the moon onto my daily plans. In the most peaceful moments, I'm not. I'm always mentally somewhere else. You could be standing right in front of me and my mind is across town where it shouldn't be, running ridiculous scenarios through my brain in high definition. It reminds me of Bruce Wayne as he scours over Gotham. Unlike me, the man has everything a material person could ask for, yet he chases crime, self-worth and love, none of which he never truly grasps. Now I'm not saying you'll find me running across the city like a crazed caped hero, least not anytime soon. But as a masked hero, he never really went “home” and as I gaze at a beautiful skyline with hues of blue and orange...I haven't come home either, not for a long time. The ghosts of my past won't let me. Last time I checked, you can't punch ghosts.

I read these motivational posts on instagram that people throw under their pictures and to me it's just reconstituted vomit that's been copied, re-branded and puked out under the guise that it's actually going to help in someway. I'll stick to looking at pictures of food, thanks. I give these people credit, don't get me wrong, they worked hard for whatever they've achieved and that's cool, but to be honest, I really just don't...fucking...CARE. No real relation at all to this topic, not that this article has no relation to anything, but I've aching to say this for a while. Your not philosophers, your brand reps. Shut up...please...trying to be polite.

There's no doubt that I've worked very hard and deserve to have peace in my life as should anyone who's done things the right way or at least tried to, and that my joy in having peace of mind could be passed on to others as it once was, but I now find myself in a Cold War with society and it's corporate policy of constant feet dragging. I can't be at the gym without a hat hat covering my eyes, nor can I be there for more than an hour, before I start chewing on the cables that block me from the exit as I hit triple digits on the ride back to my place. The gym isn't my home, my home isn't even my home. I kinda feel like I'm running on lily pads and that I can't stay in one spot for too long or else I'll fall in.

I look at it as an emotional hibernation, I know the feelings are there, but I can't do anything about it nor can I afford to. I've been told that at my speed, I'm going to burn out hard. That's fine, it's like comparing the moon to a comet, the moon is always there, its a constant, but for the most part it's boring, it goes mostly unnoticed, but a comet...that baby lights the sky up for a short period of time and millions of people enjoy the view, until it disappears from sight or burns up in the atmosphere and that's it, the comet is no more...but it was a wild ride while it lasted.

I know this article has turned into a hodge-podge of metaphorical ramblings, but it's these rambling incomplete thoughts that remind me that my brain is still sparking and trying to repair itself and allow for more coherent thought to pass through. I had to first purge myself of all my secrets, which didn't go over so well with some people...but hey...fuck 'em. I only see two paths for myself right now, as far as which course I take regarding the person you may meet on the other side remains to be seen. I failed on many projects in my life, Topfeuds, OurCityRadio, but Positive Sarcasm is mine, there are no other cooks in the kitchen, I slowly built every single piece of it, from the articles to the events gallery to the podcast which could revive itself someday and there could be some delicious merchandise and so on in the future. It's unapologetic, to the point, self sufficient and always welcoming of new ideas...kinda like me, at least for the time being. I look forward to being more and doing more in the future, but right now this all feels like one big Alanis Morrisette song.

Just keep plugging away, another article in the books, another thought out of my head, another way to let fresh ideas in.

 

...until then I stand alone on the warm beach watching the sun go down, a man with only his thoughts...just a stranger in paradise.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: CHICKEN WINGS AT A FUNERAL.

 

Okay, so we've established that at the time of your birth, chances are you were screaming and crying. So is the idea of people crying at the sight of your stiff ass in a wooden box some sort of revenge tactic for the tears you shed at birth? You knew it from your inception, “Great, now I have to please you assholes for the next 70-80 years. You guys are gonna get it when I die!”

At your funeral, the plain parade of black dress pants and that one dickhead who showed up in jeans make their way like a soup kitchen line to your casket, some of them pondering how they're even related to you, but decided to show up anyway because it was your obligation to stop by in order to make Aunt Sophie happy after all the work she put into the food at the wake.

Now I understand that a potluck setup wouldn't exactly be the smartest idea considering that your cousin Sarah is too depressed to whip up her stuffed peppers that you loved so much when your unemployment went dry. Who gives a shit, your dead! Is she going to wrap one up and toss it in your casket for your trip to Hell? You ever been through Custom's there? There's no way your getting a home cooked meal by those Security Guards. They're like the TSA, but intelligent.

Why is there food at a funeral anyway? What bloated relative can possibly be that hungry with a dead body in the other room. Alcohol makes sense, cus why not, right? It's supposed to be a sad day, so let's get bombed and sob at the podium incoherently....but deviled eggs? Okay so your sister's brother-in-law, Frank not only can stretch his lapband to its interstellar limits with the free buffet, but now he's pushed everyone out the door faster as he sulfur bombs the entire funeral parlor with his Nuclear farts. Great family, it's a shame you left them so suddenly.

No wonder this country has an obesity problem, there aren't any occasions left where we aren't leaving without sticky lips and fingers. BYOB...Bring Your Own Buffet.

Ohhhh...I think I just realized halfway through writing this why food is there to begin with. It is to soak up all that booze, so that your ex-girlfriend whose was close with your mother doesn't get blasted on an empty stomach and begins to shoot her mouth off about your sub-par sex life and that you were caught wearing her underwear on accident....three times.

So now that I've officially changed my mind and now support food at funerals, I still think it would be smart to have some rules or least guidelines to what can be served just days after your untimely departure from this world.

First off, no soup. Hands are shaking, tensions are high, people have their heads down and aren't really paying attention to where they are going, so I don't think a scalding hot bowl of minestrone is a wise idea for those teetering on the edge of breaking down. Another smart avoidance would be heavy garlic or onion like assortments, your brother Tommy doesn't need to be burping up a storm during the eulogy that he's gonna suck at anyways, why make it worse for the crowd in attendance? Anything that requires twirling your fork. Your in a black suit or black dress, twirling up a plate of soupy Fettuccine Alfredo is a cliffhanger move every time you bring that utensil near your mouth. Meatballs are a good idea when portioned correctly, if you can grab it whole with just your front teeth via toothpick, your golden, but if you can split finger it like a 2-2 fastball to Jeter, then you best dial it down to a size that isn't going to clear any dugouts. Go easy on the sauce too there, Gordon Ramsey.

Finally, if you think rolling into such a somber environment with any foods spicier than Cinemax after 2AM, think again. Breaded Chicken Strips, yes. Level 5 Hot Wings that would melt through the clearcoat on your Chevy Corsica, no bueno caliente. Leave that tongue numbing garbage in your pantry where it belongs.

 

“Our father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come,

thy will be done,

especially by the chicken wings,

for they were hot as fuck.

...AMEN.

 

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: GOOD VIBRATIONS

Friend’s…relative’s…closeted deviants…lend me your rears!

Here comes a pulsating parade of plastics, rubbers, ball bearings, battery operated love guns and water-based lubricants with more flavors than a dessert menu at the Cheesecake Factory, “Yes, I’ll have the Pearl Necklace, please. Oh, excellent choice (ZIP…)”

You know a sex toy party is in full “swing” when your strolling by unit 208 at Whispering Meadows with this week’s load of laundry and you can’t help but hear a pack of horny giggling ferrets as the host pulls out the infamous big black dildo…we’ll get back to that in a little bit.

These parties are interesting, because an awful lot of research and development, not to mention waterproofing, go into creating these little bundles of bliss. The ladies take this shit seriously. The majority of them have that little drawer or jewelry box that helps them reach orgasmic altitudes higher than any spy plane has ever attempted. Trust me, you won’t find family photos or grandma’s jewelry in there. Sadly, some things won’t fit in there as inconspicuously as a bottle of warming gel or a wizard wand, like a sex swing for example. Let’s be honest though, what two-bedroom apartment complex is going to allow you to screw that horny hammock into your fragile sheet rock ceiling. “Oh, but I found the support beam!” …Yeah, I’ll bet you did, Piglet.

Although, I must admit, that the sensitivity Gels were never something to turn your nose up at. As if you had a choice with how strong the screw goo permeates from its hair putty like container, like shoving your gear inside of a York Peppermint Patty…Only your not singing from the mountain tops, your on a sofa somewhere in the suburbs, sitting next to a bored married couple who can’t decide between the vibrating unity rings or the divorce papers.

…Back to that big black dildo…

This shiny, oddly scented, 12 inches of carpel tunnel for your squishy tunnel is ideal for beating your spouse, but quite embarrassing when your kid or canine brings it to the dinner table during a visit from your parents.

Now as far as the crowd at a toy party, it usually comprises of mostly women, I would strongly encourage men to attend though, but in very small numbers as watching a women interact or ask questions about a particular item is a lot like watching gorillas in the wild, it will take them out of their comfort zone if too many real sausages start walking through the door. Its best left to maybe one of two guys at the very most. The majority of the items are designed for ladies flying solo anyway. Don’t worry, if it requires you, she’ll show you the ropes…or the handcuffs. Dudes are too immature for these parties anyway, probably why women very often seek out these variations of vibrating victory. Regardless, men should go to understand what it takes to truly make a girl curl her toes, but take it a bit serious and for fucks sake, eat light. Don’t think you can sneak in a quick Steak n’ Cheese before diving junk first into this lube fest, because the bathroom will be in constant experimental use and should only smell like synthetic strawberries and peppermint oil, not your culinary afterbirth.

For those who think that these items may contribute to sexual deviancy in a relationship, feel free to kill yourselves. That vibrating Bristle-less toothbrush may be the one thing that keeps her from tumbling onto another guy’s dick. A lot of the items can be used in mid-coital symphony with your “God Given” package, so that when the clock strikes 10:30pm and you’ve given each other the goods, your not on your cell phones 5 minutes later looking for your Christian or Catherine Gray.

Remember, they’re called toys for a reason, so try to have a little fun if you sleep with the door closed.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: THE TEN ABANDONMENTS

Well to be honest, I wasn’t in the best place to celebrate my 50th article, was too busy chasing trophies, truths and triumphs, so I figure 60 is a solid number to really turn up the heat on of my favorite subjects, deadbeat parents…and there’s one in particular that’s currently in my cross-hairs.

If we’re all God’s children, then I reckon there are roughly 8 billion people on the planet with daddy issues. I’m surprised we’re not all hitting the stripper pole to Def Leppard and crying to a Shrink about our loveless sexual experiences as we desperately seek approval from some insignificant other.

The Almighty is a prick…and he’s lazy. Also his human resources department has a tendency to overlook things. You’d think that his robed flunkies over at the Vatican would have cleaned up that newsworthy mess where the priests were treating alter boys like a fridge full of Popsicles during a heat wave in July. Oh, that’s still going on? I didn’t know the almighty and often flighty had a hard-on for hiring felons, maybe consider hiring someone who maybe stole a car or ripped off a bank and not some kids pants.

Someone should impeach his Holy Spirit’s ass for this line of bullshit about the Jewish people being chosen ones. Chosen for constant invasion and persecution since the age of man, chosen to have their cities bombed since Israel was declared a state, chosen to have their Olympic Team held hostage and massacred during the 1972 Munich Games, chosen to be filed into camps where they were shot, burned and gassed at a rate of up to 15,000 per day during World War II. Did you choose them for enlightenment or extinction? Get back to me on that…

Nice work with Jesus, by the way. You couldn’t have just put him up for adoption to a more caring family or maybe busted your holy nut on your girl’s belly button. “I turned around for two seconds to wash some chalices and next thing I knew, some assholes nailed him to a cross!”

Maybe if you laid off the wine a bit, you may have seen the angry mob grabbing a hammer and some nails, not to mention your son. What a waste of good lumber.

I know you see everything, your Holiness, but maybe you misplaced your glasses on that day, as well as the day Muhammad Atta and his band of Merry Martyrs poked two holes in the side of the World Trades Center. Did you misplace your bifocals that day, Grandpa? Cus you clearly didn’t see those poor souls leaping 70 stories just to avoid the flames only to wonder what could’ve happened if God wasn’t too busy rubbing one out in the bathroom to maybe catch one or two of those people. Maybe you were too busy prepping all those virgins for your new heavenly terrorist guests and since the business of terrorism is at an all time high, I guess you just have to keep up with the demand, snatching up the innocent whenever you can, whether it be a drunk driving accident involving a mother and her two children or a school shooting over in Connecticut…that’s why the good die so young.

Oh the lord works in mysterious ways. It’s his will, of course that allows Westboro Baptists to picket the funerals of soldiers and homosexuals. I guess Mr. Creation finds this rather comedic like he’s playing Sim City and every once in a while he decides to throw in couple mudslides over in parts of Indonesia or maybe a epidemic in Africa killing thousands everyday. Gotta keep the balance, don’t ya, big guy?

I think your children have run amok and your not sure how to handle all the movement of being a parent to “Kate plus 8 Billion”, so you kinda treat us like your little pinball machine that you guiltlessly tilt just to get the ball back.

…Or maybe you just left…you quit. After botching Jesus, you ditched your bitch and took off for the gated coastline of Heaven; which since your departure, left the rest of your holy city looking more like the suburbs of Detroit rather than a Utopia for do-gooders.

Yet, billions of people after everything that has happened; still believe in your lazy ass or some form of it, myself not included. You’ve abandoned your principles that were left to Moses. Maybe this is your chance to step up, take responsibility and try to better the situation with your kids. Rest assured if you don’t, after Richard Branson finishes production of the Zion Plane, I’ll have a first class ticket and will be first in line with a new pair of Air Jordan’s… that I’ll happily dirty when I shove my foot up your ass.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: THEORY OF RELATIVE STUPIDITY

       In order to be considered stupid, one has to have made at least one smart decision in the course of their current life. How else would you be able to gauge whether or not the person is an absolute moron and needs to be taken out back and shot? What if a newborn immediately after entering the world took the umbilical cord and choked out the Doctor? Maybe he or she was a lazy doctor, maybe the mom pushed way too hard and the newborn flew out and wrapped around the doctors neck…your imagining it right now…mom drops the hammer on her 357 Vag-num and out comes bullet baby, flying past the Doctors head, then the cord runs out and Bat Baby comes flying back from the tension and that’s something life insurance probably doesn’t cover: Flying Bat Baby Brazilian Jiu Jitsu Syndrome. Who’s to blame for this freak accident? When in doubt, you can always blame the daddy, but he left to grab a carton of cigarettes just over nine months ago…maybe he was the smart one. 

Is this the stupidest opening to an article that you’ve ever read? Well when is the last time you even read an article at all? Are you too busy burping your freshly shaved boinky-bits to 15-second instagram videos and inspirational one-liners ripped off from a Stallone flick? What, you can’t sit through ninety minutes of Rocky? Plot too complicated for ya? It’s not hard to follow people, someone hits him, he hits them back…Oscar Winner! 

In the past, I’ve written about Director Michael Bay (Transformers, The Rock, Pain n’ Gain) fun movies, not a lot of intelligence required. Many think he’s a horrible director, an egomaniac and terrible with the cast. Digest this: He’s worked with many of the most iconic actors and producers over the last 30 years, grossed over $3 Billion in the worldwide box office, and the moment he releases a relevant movie about the Benghazi Embassy bombing, Hillary Clintons poll numbers in New Hampshire drop over 20 points.

Conclusion…Michael Bay is a rich, genius. 

Every year around Thanksgiving, I buy anywhere from 5 to 10 turkeys, cus my diet requires a solid amount of quality protein and the prices are so low, that you just can’t say no…or so I thought. It’s late January and there are over 30 fucking turkeys per supermarket still frozen and for sale. How is this possible? How is this legal? We hand out food stamps like lollipops at a bank teller window and we’re not pushing some of the cleanest food on the market to these people? They’re so easy to make, what we can’t hand out instructions to these unfortunate folks so that they can properly feed their families? You prefer to stuff government cheese, ramen noodles or Easy Mac down their throats? My Paycheck gets Cosbyed every two weeks because of this atrocity and now I gotta pay for their health insurance too or I pay a fine? Maybe next November, I’ll buy all the leftover turkeys and drive down the block, throwing them through peoples windows. #TurkeyBomb2016 

This whole article is completely out of control, but y’know what? I’m on a roll.

Oh, ANOTHER THING!!!!

Stop telling me Starbucks cost way more than Dunkin Donuts. They cost exactly the same you local minded, hair-lipped snaggle-tooth. The beans also taste like they weren’t filtered thru a urinal at Fenway PAAAAAHHHHHHK.

I like to actually taste my coffee instead of dumping all kinds of chemical sugars into it, making my stomach turn into a partially inflated bouncy house. Jump on that and lemme know how it feels…actually here’s my middle finger, jump on that and spin, cus you uneducated mush-brains need to get in line at the DMV…for your new shiny helmet. 

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: FIGHTING THE GOOD FIGHT

Lets set the scene. The only thing preventing me from getting hypothermia at this very moment is a pane of glass and a spontaneous urge to run bare assed into the Atlantic, from where I sit it looks like the end of the world out there, but I figured this is the perfect place to start… 

People spend their whole lives pushing the right causes, fighting greedy establishments tooth n’ nail, standing up for what they believe in. For the most part, they are good people, but along the way, something happens that makes them turn their backs on friends, family and society. Something that questions every value that was drilled into them since birth. Lemme jump to an example: you can only kick a dog so many times before it starts to bare it’s teeth to even the tiniest ray of sunshine, gesture of a hand, or even a harmless infant, you can only keep a person down for so long as well, because eventually,  they stop asking for something and start taking whenever they please. Sometimes what they want is right...other times it's not. Right now as the ocean waves bring in good ideas and remove the bad ones, I wonder how I can easily explain to you the purpose of being a good Samaritan and setting an example of how to do the right things, but at times the fingers on the keyboard seem forced and the thoughts blurred.  

Angels alone can’t fight the good fight. You need assholes. You need Hypocrites. You need the forsaken. Some of the prettiest, most loyal dogs are mix breeds that’ve come from broken homes or were simply abandoned. Some of the prettiest, most loyal humans you will ever meet descend from a similar format. They hold more value in a fight because they can see what’s coming whereas you may not. They can also understand why there is a fight to begin with and don't kid yourself, there is. From the very moment you were rifled out of your mother’s jungle gym, you were confused, angry, scared, crying and covered in blood…like being dragged to the mall on a Saturday morning when all you wanted to do was watch cartoons (minus the blood). Sounds like a fight to me and from that very moment you were taught to stand up like a soldier, understand the difference between good and bad, and pushed into training at the age of 4 or 5. Now whether at that age you were handed a pencil or an AK-47 depends on the country you live in, to me it makes little difference, both require aim, focus, they both leave a mark and will take an eye out. As you get older, you learn shortcuts, quicker or safer ways to get home. You cheat on a test, blow past the speed limit, or lie to a friend. This doesn’t make you an evil person, a delinquent or a hypocrite…it makes you human. I know many people who have made terrible choices in their lives, some minor, some reprehensible. The reason they are still my friends is because they were honest and owned up to all of it without displacing the blame. They’ve “done their time”, they paid their dues, they now deserve the chance to have the life they’ve worked so hard for…doesn’t mean they’ll get it though.

Life isn’t a job; you were drafted. You have to live it, because even if you don’t make it in the end, you may have given others the opportunity to get that little island of happiness. It’s your responsibility to know your place at times and do what is asked of you even if you may not always agree with it, because if you don’t help dig that trench, life is going to shoot the shit out of you and possibly others around you. Get shoveling, bitches. 

I’m no angel in this fight and I’m not supposed to be. That duty wasn’t branded on my ass at birth. I knew fighting life’s evils would require guerrilla tactics; shortcuts, collateral damage and sometimes leaning on others to finish the job. In the end though, I was never bound to become an evil person. As always, I wake up in the morning and start moving, if not for myself then for others. I hold people accountable past, present and moving forward. I treat friends and family like a triage unit at times because after the last couple years of breaking my body and mind down to it’s rawest form, I need to “pack light” in order to soldier forward and seek out what is right in the world.

Eventually, you’ll get tired of being angry or hating some people, places or things and you’ll start forgetting what the hell made you so mad to begin with. Does this mean you forgive and forget those who have done things so very evil in your own life…fuck no. Fuck those people. But you have a job to do and a war to fight and you can’t be dragging all that around with you at all times. It gets heavy. Keep the little things, the tiny trinkets for when you feel like snarling your nose and getting that blood pumping. Being angry is more useful than being depressed. But let me close with this thought. As you continue forward in life, remember that all those that have unapologetically hurt you in your life will get old; begin to lose value in the world market and struggle to move as they once did in their youth. One day, they will die…and the waves will wash away their existence and in time no one will remember them. This alone, should comfort you. 

However, if they deceptively took something valuable of yours, it’s your duty to take it back, because you’re the Asshole…and you don’t take shit from anyone.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: THE HIROSHIMA EFFECT

 

Is this stuff still taught to kids in school now? Or are the mushroom clouds these twinks aware of the ones they blast out to impress their friends at the local hookah lounge. Lets focus on the topic at hand.

Take the time to understand the multiple reasons for what happened on August 6th, 1945. For one, the Japanese refused to listen to any negotiations brought to their attention and would rather have sacrificed every man, woman and child then suffer the humiliation of surrender. The Japanese military scared its own citizens into believing that if the Americans reached the mainlands, it would consist of nothing but raping and pillaging. This was evident in some of the island battles as locals would hear of the American victory, find the nearest cliff and leap to their deaths, sometimes clutching their own children.

Another reason for unleashing such a devastating power on a mixed population of military and civilian, was because of a growing threat in the Soviet Union. Since it was still unknown at the time of just how unforgiving atomic warfare was and what the Russians would do with the technology at that time, instead of sending over 500’000 American troops to their deaths in order to conquer mainland Japan, Why not save American lives, force Japan to surrender in order to save their population from certain invasion and scare the puffy ones in Moscow all in one move. There are many reasons we can conjure up as to why the decision was made to turn this beautiful city into scorched ruins…although the reasons we can’t think of are what makes this such an interesting premise.

Now, how you incorporate this philosophy into your own life, heaven forbid you’d actually need to. As I said earlier, there are many reasons we can’t think of that brought this decision about, so let’s explore the ones that we can. Normally an action such as this could have lasting consequences in your life or multiple others and the immediate results will never be overwhelmingly positive…nor may the long-term results. Look at it simply as an action that will ripple throughout time, forever altering peoples opinions and feelings toward you, those feelings being mostly negative in the beginning, but in time hopefully changing to a more appreciative and respectful manner, as maybe you were thought of as too weak or too nice, too non-committal, too flaky, too cold or too naive. So, unannounced, you commit a cataclysmic action that shakes the very fundamentals that even you may stand on. The action is so simple, but like the radiation in Hiroshima after the detonation or the worldwide reaction to the information coming out of Japan after the events can change the entire playing field in the world as you know it.

No, these actions do not include murder, arson or anything that will have you facing 25 to life, unless you’re Edward Snowden. The fact is this, despite the massive casualties and devastation across the city, the war in the pacific ended, the soldiers came home, millions more were saved, Hiroshima was rebuilt and is once again a thriving city, not to mention that the U.S. and Japan are now the deepest of allies and commercial partners. Not even a Pearl Harbor or a Hiroshima could stop a long lasting relationship between the two countries from one end of the Pacific to the other from blossoming. Some people need a pat on the back, others from time to time, need a kick in the ass, and sometimes they need a mind shaking event that wipes the slate clean so that a new foundation can be built in it’s place possibly by the same hands that knocked it all down, for it is only out of love and respect for yourself and others you may care about that such actions need to take place.

In the end, it’s all comes from love and hope. Nothing more.

 

…Let’s save Nagasaki for another day.

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: NO MAN'S LAND

A place of uncertainty and fear. A disputed place where one chooses not to sit for extended periods. In World War One, where trench warfare was common, the warring nations would sit and stare at each other from the odd comfort of these dirt-flavored walkways. At times they could be miles apart, other times it was as close as giving your noisy neighbor the finger from across the street. Turn your stereo down, ass-face, your Ranchero music is giving me audible Chlamydia.

Eventually someone would build up the courage or blood alcohol content to venture across this unsightly and unpredictable landscape to either conquer the opposition or to surrender to them, leaving their fate in the hands of others. Although it is only human nature that if one wishes to wander through No Mans Land, they'd like to bring a few buddies along...preferably heavily armed with tank support. Such is life when you see Mr or Mrs Rebound in some random night club wearing clothes a few sizes too tight and a maybe few years out of style (2000 n' Late) dancing like a drunken bobble-head doll and surrounded by “friends” yelling loudly eat at each other to no avail over poorly remixed house music, eventually stumbling outside to either text the baby-sitter that you'll be a little late, finding your way across town to an opposite sexes musty apartment that wreaks of cold scrambled eggs and wet towels, or you'll find yourself crying and stuffing your chipmunks over by the taco truck, whilst being tagged in a dimly lit photo that you'll see the next day on social media showing your running mascara that at 2am looks more like Celtic war paint as you use the last 2 percent of the battery life on your iPhone 12S-TD to hail an Uber driver. Where'd all your “friends” go? They disappeared over an hour ago after texting their drunken booty-calls and left you wandering down the street past that awful karaoke bar. When it comes to open mic-er's choking out Billy Joel over a beer stained microphone, I treat karaoke like a Nazi treats the Holocaust, I pretend it never happened.

Now your in the middle of crossing the No Mans Land of life and your support staff is dissipating one-by-one, so another commonly practiced tactic is by simply lowering the complication of your hairstyle (chopping it all off as I've heard a few over-wrinkled housewives say) and settling down with the first not yet obese person you meet in which the relationship consists of a monthly semi-hard dicking that lasts exactly 27.35 seconds, like rubbing a cheap hot dog against unpainted drywall. Good luck at your next bake sale...your kids will hate you in time.

Like a Hipster with a Beards only coffee shop, here's another popular tactic trending on the Twitter of life...the fitness craze.

I've been through it and I only look back on it shaking my head, every bodies a coach, competitor, nutritionist, do this, eat that, cycle this, take a selfie and show off your critically acclaimed cooking skills consisting of poorly seasoned ground turkey with overcooked rice and broccoli turning your stomach into a Wynton Marsalis Jazz session, not like I can't locate this ingenious concoction on 42,000 other pages, clearly you thought of it first. Stop telling me “the struggle is real” you unoriginal quote machine. I didn't know you made fitness fortune cookies on the side (actually not a bad idea). My true struggle is how many glasses of cheap red wine I'm going to consume while having a Love/Hate relationship with my Netflix (Where's all the good movies!?). Now your entire wardrobe consists of overproduced Indonesian plastic gym-wear cus you cant afford any other clothes, nor can you fit into your old clothes cus “that was the old you” and now you wanna look active and somewhat shapely to attract someone with similar hash tags on instagram. “Hey, you workout here?! So do I! Let's workout near each other and later on grab a protein shake, confess our love for peanut butter and then if our endorphin's are still flowing, rub our sweaty mushy bits together as we continue to seek revenge on our past lives. In the words of the ever so insightful George Carlin, “Fuck you.”

 

I'd rather not discuss Jesus Freaks or cat lady syndrome today, so lets move ahead...

 

As we try harder everyday to stand out from one another and cross this section of uncertainty, we end up following the patterns of others to the point where we look and act no different as a Honda Accord does from a Toyota Camry. It'll get you from point A to point B safely...from the womb to the casket with 7 airbags and anti-lock brakes. So do we sit in our original trench out of complacency as you live vicariously through the Real Housewives of Saudi Arabia or do you force your way into another trench and take on a “new” lifestyle that has already been adapted, mutated and copyrighted by so many others before you, whilst ditching everything and everyone that was associated with your past life. I don't have an answer for you, I'm just trying to shake off the writing rust and get my thoughts on paper before someone else writes something similar and calls me a thief. As for me, I'm not going back to old trenches, they're all either blown up, too small, or taken over by less than favorable parties. I also will not seek out new trenches, not worth my time and energy to be hopping into these overpopulated dugouts filled other poor decision makers. Nope, instead I'll put my flag right here for now between the trenches in what others see as the most dangerous area of a battlefield, but as I currently see it, it's like standing right in the middle road, when all the traffic has swerved to avoid you and passed into the distance, for those few moments, call me crazy, it's rather peaceful.

 

I have more thoughts on this concept, but I'm totally craving a Latte and a Burger right now....

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: SEX, LIES & SIX-PACK ABS. STORIES FROM THE BACKSTAGE

I have zero obligation to share this information, nor do I plan to exaggerate any material covered in this article. These scenarios that I lay before you are all based on direct confirmed evidence and because of currently ongoing legal processes, names will be not be used at this time, those you can discover on your own.

Since my very first article, my goal was provide helpful information with an upbeat twist. I never expected to learn such sad truths about a sport that kept me hanging at the edge of my sanity for almost a year. With every story I learned, I became more suspicious about the people I shared the stage with and now that I know all this information to be true, I may have been better off staying in the dark. Let me go through each event one at a time and see where we end up at the end of this sobering journey that is sure to cast angry glances in my direction...but don't blame me for your foolish actions.

 

 

No Loyalty:

The discipline and sacrifices required of a synthetic Bodybuilder outweigh any other league. Plus the support needed from friends, trainers and loved ones are constantly in demand. As the date of ones competition approaches, the body and brain are tested to their limits and simple choices on any other day can seem like life altering decisions when competitors inch closer to peak week. However these challenges don't excuse infidelity when the person you supported throughout their entire “career” in bodybuilding is exposed as massive cheater through text and picture...for almost an entire year. How or why this person was forgiven on multiple occasions for their actions is not something I will dive into, but one would expect that if this scorned individual continued to prep all the meals, assist with all the bills and provide aid for upcoming shows, that the cheating would cease. It continued. This blatant disrespect of ones home and heart has reached a boiling point as of recent and this person has requested their significant other of many years to exit the home permanently.

Evidence: Direct Photographic, Digital.

 

Dream Thief:

Those that coordinate and run events collect all show registration fees for that show and for any membership fees for that league. Once the membership fees are collected, the event coordinator must submit all paperwork, cash collected and enter all competitor information into the league database. When multiple competitors were showing up at the same events with league membership receipts, yet were not entered into the database...this raised a serious red flag. Each membership now costs over 100 dollars with several hundred competitors per show. So why weren't these members registered in the leagues database? Where was the money? Simple...in the show coordinators pocket, well over 5,000 dollars worth of league membership fees. When the league discovered this theft of funds, the threat was made loud and clear, return the cash or be prosecuted. After the money was somehow recuperated, the show coordinator was flagged and banned from running any future shows.

Evidence: Direct Financial.

 

Swollen Merchandise:

Many Nutrition stores have sponsored athletes. They rock the company logo, have their league memberships paid for and also receive free or discounted supplements. It's never in the best interest of the amateur athlete to bite the hand that feeds them. However, greed is a trait that is far too common in this business and when the store owner started to notice that a certain type of supplement started becoming constantly low in stock, but the purchase receipts didn't match, obviously this signaled the owner that someone within the company was moving or using unpaid merchandise. Enter the sponsored athlete, who never fessed up to the theft, but was ultimately removed from the schedule and has since struggled to return to the National Stage after faltering in their diet and falling out of the top five. While the store owners plans to expand show promise and the client base is beginning to flourish, the former athlete failed as a coach and recently was recently photographed on social media showing “disapproval” of the leagues Bikini class, the very class this coach used to train multiple competitors in.

Evidence: Direct Financial, Missing Inventory.

 

Sacrificial Lamb:

Here are the directs facts on this case. While this competitor was training for their second show, they were also engaged in an extra-curricular relationship with a Martial Arts instructor while the other half was home...with that competitors daughter sound asleep. I didn't know Taekwondo class required vaginal penetration. This ultimately led to the other half being forced to leave the home claiming full responsibility for the failure of the relationship and without any knowledge of the affair or that the instructor moved in less than a month later, assumingly taking over parental duties. The other half only came to learn of the entire conspiracy several months later after continuing to pay for various joint bills. The other half also went on to win multiple trophies in two leagues while the adulterer failed to appear in their last planned show due to a “hamstring” injury and has yet to return to the stage.

Evidence: Direct Financial, verbal, phone logs, text & picture messages, voice mail, email.

 

Bi's, Tri's & Extra-Marital Lies:

(THIS SCENARIO IS CURRENTLY PENDING THE FINDINGS OF THE LEGAL PROCESS AND WILL BE RELEASED AT A LATER DATE.)

 

Final Synopsis:

These sad tales are thankfully not destined for all competitors, but learning all this information within such a short period of time is a burden I wish to bear never again. I have confessed all my shortcomings to the appropriate parties over the past few years and I no longer wish to be entrusted with such dark truths. We live in a society of selfish and lazy individuals with no self-control and zero accountability for their foolish and severely damaging actions. After reading this, you may call this article many negative things, but the one thing you can't call it...is a lie.

 

What kind of person due you wish to be going forward?  

POSITIVE SARCASM PRESENTS: THE SUPERHERO IN YOUR HEAD

You wake up slowly to the Saturday alarm on your phone, you know, the iPhone with the cracked screen and ugly oversized case “protecting” your selfie maker. You roll over to see your partner, who only hours ago lit up the night with their caffeinated smile and brand new skinny jeans, is now face-f&*king the pillow covered in eyeliner. You’re no better either, reeking of Tequila and Mexican food or maybe sushi…really, sushi sucks. Eat a burger you punk bitch.

            Anyways, you stumble into the bathroom to confess your sins and blast shower water that’s so hot, Dustin Hoffman would cringe in his sleep. After spending a few extra minutes in the shower trying to figure out where the bite marks on your nipples came from, you place both feet on the cold floor and stare straight-faced into the mirror as the minty bristles begins to coat your gums. This is the exact moment where Superheroes are born.

            While brushing your teeth or shaving your face, ladies not excluded, you go thru the days schedule and somehow saving the world fits in nicely between the days errands. You give the mirror that far away look, while lifting your shoulders and flexing your biceps. For that one intimate moment, you imagine the fate of the world relying on if you finished all your shopping on time.

            So what if you don’t have any combat training or cool gadgets? The fact is we all have a certain power, a kind of “Superpower” if you want to call it that. Maybe your not as strong or as angry as The Incredible Hulk, but if the Yankees keep giving up 3-run Jacks to Detroit, that 55 inch Plasma is easily seeing daylight as it pierces the glass and lands on the front lawn. Maybe your ride isn’t invisible or as fast as Wonder Woman’s plane, but once a month if you have a poor choice of words for your lady friend, she can quickly make your balls vanish into your stomach with just the surface of her foot. See? Superpowers. We have them. So what’s your Superpower? What superhero can you relate to? Let me say this before you get ahead of yourself, nobody can be Superman. He wasn’t born on this planet so he’s technically an alien. So unless you crash-landed in Roswell, New Mexico back in 1948, stick to those who were born or created on this planet at least. That means Thor is out too. However, maybe you have qualities similar to Batman, your friends are always in trouble after the sun goes down and you have to spring into action to bail them out of a situation…or jail.

Maybe you’re like Catwoman and you have a certain affinity for leather, whips and causing the trouble instead of getting people out of it.

Maybe you’re like Spiderman and came out of the closet at an early age. The point is that you have options!

            I personally enjoy The Hulk, but he has a knack for destroying just as much stuff as he fixes, so I’ll pass on the big green guy, plus his wardrobe sucks.

            I’m locked in on Captain America. Patriotic, yet isn’t afraid to question his government, rocks a cool blue outfit; which is my favorite color, but my biggest link to good ole Steve Rogers is the amount of punishment he takes throughout his path to victory. You can beat his ass over and over again, but he will defend his territory, friends and ideals to the death.

Have I given you enough information to help think about what caped crusader you may be more like? My advice, go stand in front of the bathroom mirror, hit your coolest pose that you’ve perfected since the age of 11, then find a nice comfy spot and grab yourself a beer…or a bong. Now proceed to just use your imagination and consider these two questions, what kind of hero are you and how will you save the day?

Positive Sarcasm Presents: No Excuses.

Trying to summarize this entire experience from the snap of the first progress photo to my final moments on stage is like trying to fit an elephant into a shoebox and mail it across Africa…yep, that’s my opening line.

 

            I remember ripping my shirt off, exposing what I thought was a pale-ass frame for the first time as my prep coach pokes at my body fat while several six-packs were doing bodybuilding poses directly behind me at the gym. All my doubts and nervousness were quickly swept aside as he quietly muttered, “I’m really excited to see how you’re body is going to progress.” After a brief emotional side discussion, I buckled down, fueled up the angry part of my brain and started what would be around 18 weeks of soreness, late nights, early mornings, emotional breakdowns, panic attacks and a war with myself that only now has subsided thanks to the love and support of my friends, teammates, coaches, family. Someone said this was supposed to a fun experience…I don’t remember that part.

 

Oh crap, lemme back up…after meeting a fellow gym rat and agreeing to train with him for five straight weeks, I stumble upon a charming white smiled bodybuilder, let’s call him “TJ”. That’s actually what everyone calls him. I asked for his help and he stared like a laser all the way across the gym at a local legend, a man who exudes more confidence than George Clooney in a dorm full of virgins. Bruno was his name…his last name. At this point, I had no idea who I was speaking with, all I knew was that TJ trusted him, so I went with that.

 

At this point, I had already decided what division I would be competing in and what League offered me the biggest challenge. Since the inception of Men’s Physique and Women’s Bikini, popularity for the National Physique Committee has risen insanely over the past few years and other leagues have quickly followed suit. Your physical appearance still matters greatly, but personality also plays a part in determining who places where and if you place at all. Essentially it boils down to conditioning, symmetry and stage presence. So during this process, I’ll be learning how to portion and prep my food on a day to day basis, pose as a bodybuilder in order to harden my muscles, all while resisting the temptations of everyday distractions or excuses…yes, all of them.

 

My first trip with Bruno was down to Newburyport for a local OCB show, a league he wanted me to warm up in before diving into the NPC and all the baggage that comes with it. First off, why the hell are these boarding short guys posing like bodybuilders? Why were they doing full routines? Why am I asking you? This show caused me many late nights in the gym trying to perfect a routine that I never actually performed on stage. One huge takeaway from this show was meeting Tom and Kim, a couple with more muscle than the Russian Mafia. Tom’s back required a topography map just to navigate across it and Kim’s abs coupled with her Dorchester accent could make any punk Irish kid under 5’8 run for his life. A couple steaks and black coffee’s later, Tom is videoing Kim and I half naked in a busy café street posing off in front of ….an oncoming Toyota Four-Runner. Quick, hit the oblique pose and get the F&#k off the road!

 

Oh…she won the pose off, by the way.

 

Anyone ever used a stair-climber machine? Looks like normal cardio equipment as you stroll thru the gym, but at 5am…it’s a death machine of pure evil. With nothing but a handful of vitamins in your nauseous gut, you ascend up this mountain of never-ending steps. Your head leans against screen in pure exhaustion, and you only keep your eyes open just enough to peel through all the food porn on Instagram. This, of course, is only your cardio, your workout still awaits you at the end of the day, along with a psycho gym rat, whose chest only reads “FEAR GOD.” Welcome to my summer of 2014.

 

In order to properly prepare for what would become 4 shows over 34 days, I had to lighten my mental load. Three weeks into training, I went to my storage locker; which contained what was left of my 30 years of existence. Without any hesitation or cognitive thought, the first trash dumpster I saw within a mile was where I left all of it. Armed with with a laptop, a smartphone and a small arsenal of gym clothes, I ambushed social media like it was 1968. Knowing that a large community of fitness fanatics eagerly were awaiting another Gym freak, what they got was me, a man with no “home”, no attachments, no identity…and no excuses.

 

By week 6, I was attacking the gym, social media, and after being screamed at by my nutritionist, I was also attacking the salt. By week 8, what once was a 180 pound soft shelled podcaster was now a 170 pound overly aggressive ball of veins. I had a chest, I had abs, I had wings, I had promise. 

 

My posing still sucked, but hey…baby steps.

 

Now after 3 months of posing, lifting, dieting, and video journals; which looking back I can barely understand what the hell I was talking about, the team was one week out from the first show. After a fun photo shoot with my Niece, I headed for posing practice feeling a little tired, but I thought it was from just working so damn hard to prep for my first show. Two days later, my temperature was 102 and the physique I had worked so hard for was shedding like a dog in the summer time. My first show was only days away and I was barely able to stand. By Wednesday I was full of drugs and covered in Pro-tan by Alison who was the only woman I even allowed to touch me during this process. Nice girl, just don’t piss her off. Regardless of how awful my first show was going to be, I was getting up on that goddamn stage no matter how sick or stupid I looked.

 

Somehow I manage to Dayquil my way up to Maine and register for the show, keeping in contact with Jimmy, my council, I sat in my hotel room and rested as I listened to the couple upstairs screw each other stupid…how goddamn romantic. It is now September 27th.

I don’t remember much of the morning, other than doing pushups in the parking lot before the show. I can honestly say nothing during that show went right for me, I had lost so much weight, my trunks didn’t fit, I was sweating thru my dream-tan, turning my skin a solid gold color, and before announcing my name for 3rd place, I puked up a phlegm ball so big, my lung was still attached to it, I went out onto the stage, became light headed and nearly buckled to the ground. Welcome to Men’s Physique.

 

There was no time to really review what happened during that show, because the next day, I was back at the gym, lifting and posing with the rest of the guys. Patrick’s season was over after one show, but his physique consists of very little flaws. Watching him and Tom battle head to head on stage was a show in itself. I’m glad everyone walked away from that show with hardware, but what I wanted was still 30 days away.

 

Next up was Cape Cod, tearing back into the weights with a body running at maybe eighty percent capacity, that’s more than enough for me and apparently it was plenty for my friends on social media, as I was surprised at the amount of support I was getting heading into the next show. I stuck with the same plan, reloaded on supplements and went shopping for new boarding shorts. It’s critical what colors a person picks, because dream-tan is unforgiving on lighter clothes. I’ve been told this before, but ignored the warning as I picked out a streaky white bathing suit for my show on October 11th. This time Jimmy accompanied me down to the Hotel where various topics including how great my hair looked were fired back and forth. Imagine a 168-pound Physique competitor and a 230-pound bodybuilder with very little patience for scratchers like me riding in a Saab for 2 hours down to the Cape, only to sleep in the same bed and watch him consume an entire seafood platter while I sip an unsweetened Iced Tea. Mmmmm delicious.

 

If you’ve ever been backstage at a fitness event, the heavenly scent of tanning products and body odor welcomes you as competitors scramble to find their buttons before running on stage. My dilemma lied not with my button, but with my shorts. Dream-Tan doesn’t really dry, so when I sat down for about an hour…yes I was wearing white shorts.

Thankfully I had a backup pair, which are now the most recognizable in my collection. Before hitting the stage at a carb-heavy 173 pounds, Bruno, Jimmy and myself briefly went over something I now call the “Victory Pose”. The photographer nailed it at the perfect moment, as I gaze at my closing hand and although my competitors were far better conditioned, this photo defines my entire experience thru this transformation, a tiny smile, a little redemption and a growing love for the stage. Tom, Kim, Shaina, and I all took home OCB hardware that day. However their season was over…mine was just getting started.

 

In a last second addition, we added NPC New Haven to the schedule, so just one week later I was back in the mix against much larger competitors. I found that since starting fat burners, my body wasn’t holding food like normal; which was expected, but my appetite was dropping rapidly. That I didn’t expect. So when I woke up Saturday morning in New Haven at 162 pounds, I had a feeling it was going to be an interesting day.

This was Rick’s, Hung’s and my first NPC show, so it was good we had a warm up show before the November 1st beast called The New England Regional Championships.

Lemme back up again, cus this article reads a lot like a Quentin Tarantino screenplay (see Pulp Fiction). Rick is big, calm demeanor, very approachable, but for some reason I can imagine him knocking out Big Bird without any hesitation. Hung…is a little ball of lean muscle. He lifts big and learns fast. He’s a little shy, but can own any stage, regardless of his height. Looking at my competition, Kevin Richards weighs in at 190 pounds…shredded. So after I see what I’m up against, I start pounding this sweet potato protein pudding I created the night before in order to look a little bigger against these monsters, but after eating a little too much (the whole Tupperware), I spilled out over my abs and chest. Day over. No callouts. No trophy. Lesson learned. Yet I wasn’t that upset, I saw it as a learning opportunity to see where my bodies’ limits were. It was a very well run show and I made a lot of friends at this one, some whom I will see again very soon. Michael Morin didn’t leave empty handed in Men’s Physique and Josh Brown happily returned my towel after crushing in Men’s Bodybuilding. I was happy to have cracked the top ten, so I had something to look forward to, as I was to begin prep for the final and largest show on my schedule.

 

So here we all are, all hands and teammates on deck. Big Rob with quads that only Jupiter could orbit, Bantamweight Andrew Lafond, who in my honest opinion has really nice hair and he really likes to be complimented on it. With the addition of Mike and Derek, we’re all sausaged up in the posing room. I’m not sure where Bruno found Hung, but I’m blown away at his ability to find the more promising Bikini girls in the region. Enter Jen Polk. She’s blond, bubbly, and some other nice word that begins with B that I can’t think of at the moment. This pink bikinied assassin isn’t far away from winning a big show thanks to the support of her fitness freak of a mother, Francis.

 

Okay enough compliments, back to business here…

 

At this point, after all the training and lack of sleep, my body is gassed. I took all the pre-workout I had left (six scoops) and flat-lined in the gym after about 20 minutes. I was 10 days out from the biggest show in New England, was way lighter than most of my competition and I still didn’t like the way I looked. I asked Jimmy if I could rest for a couple days, he agreed for the fact that I over-trained constantly. I was doing fasted cardio everyday and lifting every night. From the moment I woke up to the second I passed out, I was running, lifting, prepping, posing, my only quiet moment was tanning, and since that was the only true moment of peace I had, that’s when my emotions would at times get the best of me. When you train for something like this, there are moments in every competitors training when the brain and body fight back and it’s not always pretty. So just because I trained harder than everyone else, that doesn’t mean I trained smarter. So now if I was to avoid leaving my last show empty handed, I had to show up smaller. Size matters, but speed kills. Enter carb/water depletion.

 

Before leaving for Boston, I said goodbye to my niece, Nicole, who despite all our recent arguments, I hope will one day grace the stage with her cosmic presence.

 

Friday Morning…

 

I was in Boston before any of my teammates were even awake. Covered in Pro-tan and running only on the energy that the city was putting out, my last bit of water was a 2pm black coffee from the North End, about a mile from my hotel, I wanted to exhaust every bit of energy so that my sleep cycle that night would be uninterrupted. Applying Pro-tan yourself is fun, for me…it usually turns into a dance party, but I had to be careful while roaming around the hotel, cus the bill for a hotel in Mid-town Boston is already high enough. To ensure I depleted all my water the night before the show, I popped six more water pills before wrapping myself up at about 11:30pm. I had a feeling it was going to be a rough morning, but my shorts were ready, my food was portioned and my Calvin Klein Suit was hanging in the closet.

 

No Distractions. No Regrets. No Excuses. It was 6am on November 1st.

 

The only water I had was so I could down two multi-vitamins, two fat burners and six water pills. My hands were shaking, making it hard to shave. I put my headphones on, my all black hoodie and walked across the street to the event, by the time I was in line, I started to fall apart. The combo platter of AQX, Super HD and zero water had given my body all it could handle. Bruno saw me in line and tried to calm me down, cus I was in rough shape and would remain that way until they opened up the backstage. I was happy to see all my teammates and was very glad to also see Josh and Mike from New Haven. Since Alison didn’t have a backstage pass, she applied my Dream-Tan right in the upstairs lobby in full view. However, I waited to put on my shorts until we started lining up. The white shorts that were all messed up from Cape Cod were all clean and ready for the stage, but I decided to save them for the night show and brought back a pair of shorts I’ve owned since high school. The shakes were gone and my veins were popping, but competition was even bigger and I was the first one onstage to introduce my class. So I crushed a couple rice cakes, and a little bit of water. At this point, it wasn’t up to me. I was there and that’s all that mattered. 18 weeks and I was standing in the batters box about to pose in front 1500 spectators and 300 competitors.

 

Introducing Number 104…

 

What an adrenaline rush. Your there in front of everyone, lights blasting you in the face and you can only hit your pose and smile. Even thinking about it now, I shake my head in amazement that I did this many shows under very tough conditions in that amount of time. Lucky for me, Jimmy was right behind the judges giving me instructions with his hands, I heard Alison scream, “Corso, your abs!” I squeeze down and Jimmy’s final instruction was a closed fist, meaning, “Lock it up and look right at the judges.”

 

Before leaving the stage, I made a switch with 108 leaving me standing right next to center stage. I knew very well what this meant in prejudging…

 

Break time was rather rewarding, as a burger and fries can warm the hearts of almost any hostile nation. A few laughs later, we were backstage once again for the finals. It was almost over and everyone was doing well. Before heading onstage for the last time, I received some important information. My whole purpose of taking the stage was to become a better person…turns out I already was…by a landslide.

 

I went behind a door and made a rather heavy call to South Carolina, where my parents currently reside. I grabbed my menthol spray and white shorts with a renewed sense of purpose and proceeded down the narrow backstage. It was loud in the theater but at that moment when they called my name, everything in my head became calm. I felt relief, freedom, redemption. I hit the pose, waived to the crowd, took my first NPC trophy and the first two faces I saw were Bruno and Jen, I gave Bruno a hug and Jen a big compliment.

 

And just like that…it was all over.

 

I haven’t stopped thanking people, gaining fans and making friends. I’ve already set the date for my return to the stage in 2015. I’m very excited for my teammates I now know that will be part of my life for a very long time.

 

A few weeks later I was once again across the street from the same venue attending a show and was on my way to the after party to see my buddy and fellow competitor Kevin, when I received a text…one that changed everything.

 

Thank you to all my teammates, prep coaches, friends and fans. I’m at your service.

 

Sincerely,

Joseph M Corso (Positive Sarcasm)

Building a Better Man: One Week Out

Yip....its here. 4 shows. All the training, the portioning, the panic attacks. The coaches are ready, my team is ready...I'm ready. I've ignored all the distractions, walked past every fast food place, turned down every woman and haven't given up on a single rep, no matter how tired I was. I've bled my music for all its worth, every dime I've had has gone towards the best suppliments and the best trainers. No exceptions. I'm tired, but pumped. I'm scared, yet excited, I feel small, yet I walk big. There isn't much else to say at this point, but I promise when the last show is over and the crowds head home, I will throw on a nice suit and a camel colored long coat and...hold on, my trainer just yelled at me again.

Anyways, I was saying, whether I place first or worst, I'm leaving to find the nearest slice of pizza, the best cappachino, and a massive slice of cheesecake. I will most certainly compete next year as I have stupidly discovered something in myself that's worth pursuing in the future. Until then, hit the stage, rock the smile, nail the pose and when its all over, eat the whole town.

Building a Better Man: T-Minus 20 Days

Who is tired? This guy. Well I can say after about two weeks that the chewing gum between meals experiment was an absolute failure me. It became an addiction as I was popping three pieces of trident every hour. Its not worth it when your dropping 20 bucks every three days on gum alone. Tie that with four cups of coffee a day and my body was angry. So I kicked the gum altogether, dropped to maybe one small black coffee a day and grabbed some Altoid minis just in case I need a confidence booster. We are now less than 20 days away from the biggest challenge I've ever faced. So much time spent training, portioning and posing. A whole summer...gone. Yet my focus narrowing more and more everyday as I tighten my routine, book my hotels and prepare to hit the stage with my teammates. Because I'm physique, I get to keep my meal plan throughout all the shows; which is more generous than the bodybuilder class. Only three things are on my mind as all four shows draw near, how well I can place, what I'm going to eat when its November 2nd and third thing I'll keep to myself. I can say for sure that this has been quite an experience and that I should have approached this sooner. I have a lot of people to thank when its over, hell I've already started. I hope I do well, but I hope my teammates conquer the stage as well and that's why my support and my fridge are open for whenever they need it.