Go Fucking Feral #2- A Shutthefuckup Salad With A Side of Extra Rants

In the last installment of this series, we covered the fact that I’ve recently received a spate of emails from alleged men who apparently lack both testicular fortitude and any semblance of comprehension of my methodology or mentality.  This has, of course, angered me greatly.  I provided a couple of examples of feral children and their awesomeness as a bit of evidence for the fact that you’re far more physically capable than you would have otherwise thought, and could likely do some amazing things if you could only stop convincing yourself, and allowing others to convince you, that you suck at everything you try, are weak, and are doomed to wallow in a sea of suck for all eternity.

A short aside:  One of the most virulent and offensive exhibitions of this “I suck and can’t help it” mentality is the practice of setting a New Year’s resolution.  In setting a NYR, you’re doing a couple of things, all of which are about as cool as those grown men who brag about watching My Little Pony and write fan fiction for the show.  First, you’re announcing to the world that you’ve identified a fault within yourself and refused to resolve it.  Second, you’ve decided to procrastinate on even pretending to resolve the issue until an arbitrary date.  Third, you’re making a hell of a lot of noise about nothing, since only about 12% of people who make New Years Resolutions enjoy anything resembling success(Quirkology).  It’s a fucking embarrassment of fat, drunken David Hasselhoff with a hamburger proportions.  If you think you suck, fucking stop sucking immediately.  Women, I’m pointing at you and your motherfucking diets- there’s no goddamned time like the present.  Stop putting shit off until tomorrow like you’re a modern day J. Wellington Wimpy, who is perhaps the cartoon character most deserving of a curb stomp in history.

Back to my original rant:
I realize that the internet provides a lot of you with a cloak and mask from which you can hide from the world and publish your dumbest thoughts and desires with impunity, and a great many of you make full use of that anonymity for naught but evil(Fingeroth 48).  I don’t even mean “evil” in a badass Dr. Doom sense, and no, your brainless trolling of some random forum is neither amusing nor clever nor terribly evil- it’s pathetic, wasteful, and should be the catalyst for your suicide rather than the suicide of others.  Instead, I mean evil in the “little e” sense- like the evil perpetrated by a particularly dull and ineffectually annoying toddler too fat and lazy to get into any real trouble.  The world would likely be better off if most of us stopped fucking breathing anyway- a recent poll revealed that Americans considered this pack of assholes to be the most admirable men in the country:

1. Barack Obama– a president who went from “suck” to “shit” in record time and managed not to do a single thing promised on the campaign trail, a feat only previously accomplished by James A Garfield and William Henry Harrison.  For those of you who are either foreign or a moron, both of them died within a year of taking office and spent the entirety of their term on their deathbeds.  If only Obama had had the good graces to do that.
2. George W. Bush– The single worst US president in the last 100 years.  Jimmy Carter was a boon to the economic and international politics compared to this useless cocksucker, may he rot in hell.  If any of you participated in this poll, let ANYONE who’s aware of it know so they can strangle you to death with some rusty barbwire.
   
3. Bill Clinton– Irrelevant unless you want advice on banging fat broads and getting caught thereafter.  Then, bang more fat broads to forget you’re married to the angriest lesbian this side of Gloria Steinem.  Oh, he might be a diddler, on top of everything else.
   
4. Rev. Billy Graham– Religious lunatic who makes senior Al Qaeda members seem like reasonable and rational men by comparison.  Billy Graham is so insane for Jesus that he literally yells “I’m Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs” in the middle of the Lord’s Prayer while shitting his pants and heaving handfuls of sparkles at an audience who could only be there because one of his stable of eunuchs is holding a knife inscribed with John 3:16 to the throats of their parents.
   
5. Warren Buffett– Pompous blowhard who’s become rich by being a real life Scrooge McDuck.  That motherfucker pinches pennies so hard he made half of his fortune by warping coins for children at Please Touch Museums.  He sustained himself during this enterprise by living off the tears of the children who couldn’t pry the coin out of his wretched claws after he squeezed it into an unrecognizable state.
6. (tie) Newt Gingrich– Drug addict, pompous ass, and writer of unreadable yet enticing historical fiction.  His books make you want to claw out your fucking eyes within 16 pages, but you keep going because the dust cover promised more awesome than a gangbang at a Disney Channel 15 year reunion.
   Donald Trump– The only interesting person on the list, if only because of the fact that one of the richest men in America apparently cannot afford a decent toupee or stylist.  [Though with the benefit of 2019 I can say that he has certainly out-sucked Obama in the failure to uphold campaign promises, and seems to be both an utter psychotic and a compulsive liar… and he might be a diddler as well]
   
7. Pope Benedict XVI– The emperor from Star Wars made it onto this list, which fascinates me.
   
8. Bill Gates– The genius behind Windows ME, Windows 7 (FUCK THE UAC IN IT’S HORRIBLE, STUPID ASS.  If you don’t know what I’m referring to you must either be a Mac owner or computer illiterate.  As I suppose those are the same thing, you’re either computer illiterate or a computer illiterate hipster who should find an ironic bleach and drink it), and Clippy, that ever-so-helpful cocksucker of an obnoxious popup paperclip.  Fuck this guy.
   
9. Thomas Monson– I’ve no idea how anyone even knows this guy’s name, or why they give a shit.  Apparently, you can’t swing a dead cat in a closet without hitting 43 Mormons, and he’s one of the sneaky motherfuckers.

Throw on top of that list the fact that the number of people in the US who think humans were created by god in their present form within the last 10,000 years is at or over 40% (Science and Nature), and you’ve got a fairly compelling reason to kill half of the population outright, without a single regret.

That would be feral.

The shit that I see on a daily basis is about as feral as a newborn lamb on a pile of pink cotton candy wearing Care Bears underoos with Michael Bolton playing softly in the background.
There is no reason for the inclusion of this picture other than the fact that it exists.

I realize that this seems like a hell of a lot of rant without reason, but I assure you, my reasons are legion.  The docility and submissiveness in the verbiage of the emails I’ve received of late is appalling, and I thought it necessary to instill a bit of fear in you motherfuckers- that shit will not be tolerated.  As such, here are a couple examples of the nonsense I’ve received, with my analysis thereof and response thereto.

“So here’s my skinny. My pitch and my “hey.” I will devote whatever of myself is required, to make me a huge dastardly mother fucker. And I want you to help me. I want to workout twice a day. I want to drag anchor chains and pull 1.5″ line attached to a truck. I want to do sprints and tire flips. I want to sprint hurdles and do high jumps. I want to use chalk when I talk on the phone. I want to be a legendary strong man, and have every possible vein in my body pulse like a new song from Skrillex on ecstasy. Can you do this for me? Will you be my coach? Will you help me achieve greatness at an exceptional level? I want more out of life and for me, it comes from the grueling tediocity of power, strength, and weight lifting. Be my coach homie. Be my mentor and make me a fucking monster. Please.

I have more motivation than 50 of your bloggers put together…I just need to be “told” what to do.”

I suppose it goes without saying that the final line of that email is one of the most patently disingenuous statements ever uttered within my proverbial earshot- if he was that motivated, he’d need no direction other than that which would show him where the nearest useful gym was located.  The entire tone of this email drips with desire for acceptance, yet the author clearly fails to understand even the most basic tenets of my life philosophy and the mentality I promote.  [And 2019 update, whoever this person is, they hold a grudge like a motherfucker, because they message me about my publication of their apparently super-secret correspondence periodically.  Not only do I not recall who this person is, I continue, eight years later, to give not a single, solitary fuck.]

There are essentially two types of people in the world, and they’re very aptly depicted in the Matrix- those content to pretend to live in freedom, and those who will actually endure the pain of doing so.  I’m the latter, whereas the author of this email is very clearly the former.  He’s the dickbag in the Matrix who sells out his buddies for the illusion of a delicious steak, knowing it’s total bullshit but refusing to care.

“Whereas those who sleep within the Matrix have the illusion of individual freedom… while being slaves to the worst aspects of collective consciousness, those who are truly free ultimately fight alone.  Which is preferable?  Our instincts tell us to be alone and aware, with the perhaps distant hope of building a community.  Even if we fail at building it, or its goals are never revealed, we still know we have tried.  We’d rather be alone- orphans- on our own terms than to be taken care of it is as slaves to a government or machine, or even an idea.”(Fingeroth 71)

If you want to train like I do or act like I do, asking me to program your workouts is obviously not the way to go about it.  The entire point of this methodology is to find what works best for you and do it, and to throw off the strictures and shackles heaped upon you by a weak-minded and -bodied society to find your own way.  It’s to try new shit, push yourself harder and farther than everyone else, and transcend the mediocrity of the masses to achieve excellence.  It’s not about doing what I fucking tell you, because I’m not in the business of telling people what to fucking do.  The very idea someone would want to be told what to do fucking disgusts me.

For the love of all that’s fucking holy, don’t bend your knee to me- I neither want acolytes nor need them.  I wish for nothing more than other people to get off their knees, stop sucking the cocks of supposed gurus because it’s popular to do so and far easier than thinking for your fucking self, and do something epic.  I leave the demagoguery to people like Mark Rippetoe and Zach Evan-Esh, because I choose to lead by example.  If you motherfuckers want to follow me where my path takes me, that’s fine by me- I’m happy to beat down the fucking bushes and blaze a path for like-minded individuals.  I will not, however, carry you motherfuckers in a loving embrace and gently part the palm fronds for you.  Think for your fucking selves and DO for your fucking selves.

What you should not be doing, however, is deluding yourself into thinking you’re free when you want nothing more than to be in a gimp suit in my basement.  That’s not my style- it’s way too much fucking work and responsibility.  Additionally, I have no idea how I would go about influencing someone to be like my.  I exist because I’m not swayed by the influence of others- I assimilate massive amounts of information and utilize it to make decisions after experimenting with the aforementioned information as the basis.  I do this without consulting anyone else- not my mom, nor lifting coaches, nor my friends or random passers by.  I rely on myself, my balls, and the knowledge that no matter what result I achieve, I did so at my own behest and as the result of my own thoughts and actions.  That is what being free is all about.

For those of you who are still confused, the people who truly understand this site will agree that we’re not the fucking X-Men- that is to say, we’re not a group of misfits persecuted by society and united by fear and ostracization that band together for mutual protection like a herd of cattle.  Instead, we’re like a Punisher/Wolverine/Hulk team up writ large- a pack of loosely coordinated, like-minded, pissed off individualists hell bent on bringing our fight to the world’s doorstep.  Stop looking for a fucking handout, grasp your cock or your cunt, and attack the world for being the soggy pile of dogshit that it is.  That’s what feral humans do, and that’s what you could be if you stopped thinking about what you were going to do and simply fucking did it.  The Wild Man of St. Louis, a feral adult who was captured for no apparent reason in the 19th Century, took no shit from anyone, least of all cats, and when cornered fought overwhelming odds and escaped the second he could.  Instead of thinking about doing shit, plotting to do it, talking about it, and ultimately accomplishing fuckall, he went superhuman on society’s ass and maintained his freedom from the litany of bullshit with which the rest of us have to deal on a daily basis.

“The wild man, of whom some accounts appeared in the papers, was caught lately and brought to St. Louis. He was surrounded in a sort of lair beneath a dense cluster of undergrowth, like the habitation of a wild beast, and filled with the bones and skin of cats, which seemed to have constituted his principal article of food. For this strange diet he had a peculiar penchant, and eschewed almost every other. He hunted cats with an avidity prompted by an extreme voracity, and it was in the pursuit and slaughter of these animals that he was first discovered. Frequent attempts were made to capture him, but his agility and speed was such that he appeared to run upon the tops of the bushes, and fences offered no impediment to his headlong course. At length a great number surrounded and secured him. He attempted battle, but was overcome. When brought to the Court House he presented the strangest appearance conceivable. His height was about five and a half feet, his hair was long, reddish brown and matted, his eyes large, gray, and restless, his finger nails as long as the claws of a tiger, his deportment crouching –half timid half threatening–and his garments consisted of a thousand tatters of cloths, barks, cat-skins, &c, bound together by catguts. He said he was from the State of New York, and had been in the woods thirty-six years. While he was being examined, and was permitted to stand unbound, he made a sudden spring over the heads of those who surrounded him, and darted away with the speed of the reindeer. The crowd pursued him, but in vain. Over the hills he fairly flew, before footmen and horsemen, until he was lost to them. Nothing has since been heard of him. He is certainly a strange being, and is literally a wild man. His age can hardly exceed forty, and yet he has lived so much away from the society of man that he has nearly forgotten his language and has the most vague recollection of things. He remembered New York, but did not know where he was, nor the form of government under which we lived. Dr. Knode was examining him when he escaped, and it is to be regretted that the doctor could not have had an opportunity of ascertaining the character of his mania”(Frank Leslie).

“There’s no short cut, no easy way.  No one can give us freedom or happiness- because anyone with the power to protect us has the power to kill or enslave us as well”(Stanton 163).

“I’ll start this program on Monday (i’m OCD and have to start a program on a Monday. It’s weird, I know) and increase and decrease the volume as needed depending on how I feel.”

This is, without question, indicative of the worst feature of modern society- the desire to be disordered.  No one takes responsibility for their actions any longer.  They’re helpless pawns of their genes, and everyone’s genes are apparently rife with horrible mutations of one sort or another.  For those of you who aren’t following, this stupid motherfucker does not have OCD, and his use of the term indicates that he’s either painfully stupid or so weak of character that his mommy has to coax him out of bed in the mornings to get him to start his day.  After cutting the crusts off his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, she apparently allows him to use the computer, which he does at the risk of destroying what little dignity he has left.

For those of you out there who might be empathizing with this sad sack of shit, slap yourself in the face like you’re a 1940’s housewife who burned the meatloaf, because you’re being a fucking cunt.  You’re not disordered.  Your thyroid isn’t the problem.  Your metabolism isn’t the problem.  your ratio of Type I to Type II fibers is not the problem.  You brain is the fucking problem.  You’ve nothing preventing you from starting a workout program on a Wednesday, a new diet today, or a new exercise in your next workout other than fear and stupidity.

Though they’ve fallen out of favor in deference to our society’s overwhelming obsession with the contents of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, heroes in literature used to be fucking awesome.  Influenced heavily be the amazing book I’ve mentioned before, Gladiator,  a new type of hero became popular in the 1930s and 40s: “the self reliant individualist who stands aloof from many of the humdrum concerns of society, yet is able to operate according to his own code of honor, to take on the world on his own terms and win.” (Reynolds 18)  These guys were all aloof, cocky, loner badasses who fucked shit up with impunity while giving the world the finger in a way Kid Rock could only dream about.  They didn’t excuse their stupidity by blaming it on a disorder invented by psychiatrists so they could get kickbacks from pharmaceutical companies- they brought the fucking ruckus at every opportunity.  They didn’t pause to consider their myriad failings, nor did they stop to justify their fear of the unknown with a pathetic excuse- they acted.

If you’re on the fence about what to do to get yourself out of a rut, that’s not uncommon.  Psychologist Rom Brafman has identified the root of the problem- there’s a sway from which many people suffer, myself included, called “commitment”, in which people get so stuck in their ways that they cannot rationally evaluate their alternatives.  As such, you have to simply get fucking feral, stop thinking, and go.  He who hesitates is lost.  Don’t be a dithering bitch- act.  Try something new that you’ve thought was cool but were scared to try.  Do squat lockouts with half a ton.  Push your car down the street.  Try some ultra-heavy hand and thigh lifts.  Do a barbell one arm snatch.  See how fucking far you can throw a keg full of sand.  Or beer.  Or midgets.

DO SOMETHING.

I dunno if kettlebell swings really qualify as doing something, but this chick is hot.

“So, are you really all-natural? / You’re a roidhead and everything you say is bullshit/are you on steroids, if so where can I get some/etc.”

Initially, I regarded these emails with a bit of sadness, because the authors were clearly mentally retarded.  As such, I wondered how or why they stumbled across my blog, and then how they managed to compose their emails.  My most recent exchange in regards to this subject truly pissed me off, as pussies who couldn’t handle my workout weights have no fucking business demanding that I answer their stupid, irrelevant, and ultimately pointless questions.  Additionally, I’ve stated many times that all of the “testosterone boosters” promoted in the US in the last decade have been steroids, most of which were based on the formulations of the now-defunct Balco Labs.  I’ve used those supplements, repeatedly, and have promoted them on my blog.  I don’t consider myself natural, don’t give a shit who is natural, think that self-promoters screaming about how natural they are likely have the lot of you snowed, and couldn’t possibly care less about who’s using what.

There’s only one type of person who does:  Pussies.  Big, sloppy, wet, yawning cavities of vaginas, slavering for a big cock to fill them with goodness to remove the empty feeling inside them.  If you’re busy worrying about who’s on what and when and how much and why, you’re doing one thing- looking for the starting point for a litany of excuses.  All you have to do is read their retorts to see how pathetic their mindset really is, because they’ll all sing the same sad-sack refrain- it’s cheating, they can’t compete, there’s no comparison between natural trainees and geared lifters, ignoring all the while that most of the truly impressive strength feats predate steroids.  These stupid pieces of shit will explain away guys like Saxon and Sandow and Aston and Maxick as freaks of nature and irrelevant, because those examples completely destroy their bullshit argument.  Even when people compete in tested competitions, these “natty” lifters will call bullshit- look at all of the accusations flying around about Konstantin Konstantinovs, for instance.

Danny Fingeroth actually had an interesting point about the fact that some people love to differentiate themselves from those who beat their asses at anything at all- they’re Superman fans.

“Is it easier to read of a superior being from beyond the stars outclassing us that of a guy from down the block who was just luckier or stronger or smarter?  Maybe that’s the key.  Maybe we feel uncomfortable with the idea that we’re not living up to our potential, or that someone else has more potential than we do.  Or that they’re living up to their potential better than we are to ours?  But if someone else isn’t really playing on the same field or by the same rules we do… then maybe we don’t have to feel so bad about ourselves.  I suppose this would characterize the Superman fan more than, say, the Batman fan”(Fingeroth 32).

If you’re lost, and those of you still shouting insipid retorts to my earlier comments doubtless are, allow me to elucidate this point.  Non-powered superheros, or those with non-superfuckingfantastic powers, go toe to fucking toe with the Supermans and Green Lanterns and Wonder Mans of the comic book universe without a second thought.  The Punisher, for instance, went toe to toe with the Hulk, and at no point bitched about the fact that the Hulk had superpowers and he didn’t.  Likewise, Hawkeye fought the Beyonder in Secret Wars without taking his toys and going home because the Beyonder was “cheating”, and Batman beat the everloving shit out of that punk-bitch Boy Scout Superman with nothing but hate on his side(and an exoskeleton, but fuck, he was a senior citizen at that point).  “A winner is used to accepting full responsibility for his actions”, “immediately takes charge even when he lacks the authority to do so”, and that “a sour-faced, pessimistic attitude is for losers, not for winners”, which is why those guys didn’t take shit from the “cheaters” and just charged headlong into the fucking fray.(Van Fleet 64-66)  Feral humans, similarly, don’t make fucking excuses about their opponents and claim they cannot compete- they react, adapt, and overcome using nothing but their balls and a hell of a lot of aggression.  To wit:

“The story of the Wild Girl of Champagne is detailed by a trustworthy French writer, M. de la Condamine. One evening, in September, 1731, the people of the village of Songi were alarmed by the entrance into the street of a girl, seemingly nine or ten years old, covered with rags and skins, and having face and hands black as those of a negro. She had a gourd leaf on her head, and was armed with a short baton. So strange was her aspect that those who observed her took to their heels and ran in-doors, exclaiming, “The devil! the devil!” Bolts were drawn in all quarters, and one man thought to insure safety by letting loose a large bull-dog. The little savage flinched not as the animal advanced in a fury, but throwing herself backwards on one limb, and grasping her club with both hands, she discharged a blow at the head of the dog, as it came nigh her, with such force and celerity as to kill it on the spot. Elated with her victory, she jumped several times on the carcass; after which she tried in vain to enter a house, and then ran back to the wood, where she mounted a tree and fell asleep.”(Frank Leslie)

Clearly, the Wild Girl of Champagne didn’t stop to rationalize the unfairness of pitting a 10 year old girl against a full-grown bulldog, because she was feral and thus awesome.  In stark contrast to feral humans, however, most “people adjusted their judgments of the desirability of a future event to make them congruent with its perceived likelihood, but only when the event triggered motivational involvement.”(Kay)  In other words, they adjust their goals to match the perceived likelihood that they’ll be achieved- thus spiraling into a progressive downward spiral of expectations because they will tell themselves they cannot do something, suck as a result, and readjust their expectations downward again.  They thus would have just thrown their hands in the air and been eaten by that bulldog were they placed in the Wild Girl’s position, because they would have thought that it would have been pointless to fight and would have consigned themselves to death.  That pathetic fucking behavior is the reason these dickbags on messageboards, and the retards who email me, constantly blather on about steroids- they’re piss weak, embarrassed to be alive, and want a reason to rationalize their failure at life.   If you’re one of the pussies still squealing about the magic of steroids, consider this:

Steroids are not magical, they don’t make people superhuman, and they’re not the reason why guys or girls in the gym outlift you- your lack of intestinal fortitude, hard work, drive, determination, aggression, and hate are the reason you fucking suck.

Thus endeth my rant.  You can, and should, be better than you are.  Stop asking other people for validation and assistance and fucking do it yourself.

Sources:
Fingeroth, Danny.  Superman on the Couch:  What Superheros Really Tell Us About Ourselves and Our Society.  New York: Continuum, 2004.

Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper.  May 23, 1857, no. 76, p. 380, col A.  http://www.erbzine.com/mag21/2157.html

Grossman, Cathy Lynn.  “Obama, Clinton top most-admired lists for 2011.”  USA Today.  12/27/11. http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/story/2011-12-27/most-admired-people-2011/52243574/1

Kay AC, Jiminez MC, and Jost JT.  Sour Grapes, Sweet Lemons, and the Anticipatory Rationalization of the Status Quo.  Pers Soc Psychol Bull (2002) 28:9 1300-1312
Quirkology.  New Years Resolution Experiment.  http://www.quirkology.com/UK/Experiment_resolution.shtml

Reynolds, Richard.  Super Heros: A Modern Mythology.  Jackson:  University Press of Mississippi, 1992

Science and Nature.  Polling Report.  http://www.pollingreport.com/science.htm

Stanton, J.  The Gnoll Credo.  Zephyr Cove: 100 Watt Press, 2010.

Van Fleet, James K.  Hidden Power: How to Unleash the Power of Your Subconscious Mind.  Paramus: Prentice Hall, 1987.