HAWT

Posted on September 20, 2016 by tosabarbell

hawt

I just got back from Hot Yoga. Well, kinda. I got back and made coffee first (coffee before morning Hot Yoga is BarfYoga so I skipped it earlier.) I ate because I had breakfast nearly 5 hours ago and am fookin’ starving. I pet the dogs because they looked pathetic so besides all of that, I just got back from Hot Yoga.

I first started Hot Yoga two years ago in my off season. My commitment to myself was that I would go to 3 classes per week for four weeks and then drop down to 2-60 minute classes per week after that. I learned a lot very quickly. For example, never go into the hot studio 15 minutes prior to a 90 minute class. 105 minutes in 115 degree heat sucks balls. Don’t do that.

Also, rent a yoga mat. The last thing I need to do each day is scrape the mold off of a yoga mat. Let them worry about that stuff. Namaste. Thirdly, place said rented yoga mat near the door. That way, if anyone opens it you get a puff of cool air. You just wouldn’t believe how vital a puff of cool air is when you’re 50 minutes into the suck zone. Lastly, have food waiting for you after. You’ll be starving. If you’re not, you’re weird. I have a protein shake ready to go just to get out to the car to eat some more. OH! Bonus lesson, don’t go to the Starbucks near the Hot Yoga studio afterwards. Yes, it will be tempting, but don’t. They are idiots and will frustrate you to the point that you’ll want to pull them out of the drive-thru window and punch them in the face which will yank you out of the zennish Namaste you just spent an hour in 115 degree heat trying to find. Save the frustration. Wait until you get home to make the coffee.

I learned which instructors I can’t do. Just.Can’t. Usually the ones who don’t shut up. Most strike a nice balance between calm teaching and quiet. There were a few; however; who literally had their mouth moving for an entire 90 minutes. Srsly. Shut. Up. You’re fucking up my Namaste with your constant running of the mouth. Srsly. There were a few who wanted me to “get into” positions better. Nope, hands off. I’m fine. I’m here for specific reasons and really don’t give two shits if I’m Standing Bow Pose as well as I should. I’m good. I don’t put my back into flexion; I don’t crank on my knees. I stretch and sweat. Usually not in that order.

There were a few instructors who became my favorites. Still are. Today was one of them. Pretty hippie-ish but great energy and she walked me through a few hip stretches to help out from tightness due to throwing and training. I haven’t been for a while and I’ve forgotten how helpful it is. Once I’m done with this lifting thing for the year, I’m going to make a point of getting back a couple of times per week. After.

Today I had arrived a bit early. I got my mat and laid it by the door and then came back out into the lobby and grabbed a book to read. I turned to a Buddha quote that said,

Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.

Huh. Today that spoke to me, especially in terms of getting ready for competition. Especially THIS competition. See, I really want to win. Shocking, eh? But this will not be a walk in the park. There is a Hungarian ranked above me with a stated total 20kg ahead of mine. There is a Hungarian ranked just below me with a stated total 15kg behind mine. Now, I believe that my total does not reflect what I can do since both of my meets came after a long season of Highland Games and last spring while I still had the plague. So I believe that I’m within reach of that number one ranked lifter. I know what she’s done so far this year and if I do what I can do, I’m within reach. Which could also be the case for the 3rd ranked lifter and myself. Could be she has much more in the tank and she’s on my radar for sure. All the lifters in my session are. Nothing is a given, especially in this sport.

I’ve tried to do everything I could to prepare and this is what I reflected on after reading some Buddha. I’ve looked at the past and what I need to do differently at this meet. I watch my videos to see what I need to fix for the next rep. See, looking back is okay. I won’t dwell, but I will look back. I’ve tried to train around my hamstring injury from Buffalo and so far so good. I’ve made the final adjustments to my lifts that I believe I can pin down and will leave the rest for later. I’ve had my food and booze as dialed in as it’s going to be (a little sugar bump last weekend had me waking up on Monday with swelled up eyes and fingers and that’s all I need to shut that shit down.) I’ve listened to my body so if I feel tired A.F. when I begin training and things go to shit, I shut it down. I don’t need the frustration and my body obviously needs a break.

And that’s how I roll. I never want to leave anything on the table that I could have done to be better. As I laid down and began to sweat a few minutes before class started, I started running through everything in my mind on what I’ve done and tried to think of things I’m missing when it hit me. I was missing the quiet. The present. I was looking ahead to what I needed to do. Looking back on what I’ve done. But I wasn’t still in the present. I haven’t taken time to appreciate myself for my work all year. Hell, we never even celebrated my World Championship win in Buffalo. Talk went immediately to Germany and what I need to do to get my leg healed up while still hitting the lifts. I’m sad about that as I type it. I didn’t celebrate the very thing that I waited all year for the chance to try to accomplish. Who’s fucked up in that scenario?

I don’t take time to just be still. And more than anything else in the next 8 days, I want to be still. I don’t want to just feel strong and prepared. I want to feel calm. I want to have faith in myself that I’ve done everything I could to try to get this and believe in my abilities when I get there. (When I lifted in Savannah last spring, I picked up the empty bar for warm ups and I had a brief moment where I panicked and thought I had forgotten how to snatch. Which made me laugh and relaxed me for the rest of the competition.)

Oh sure, I’ll still look forward each day. There’s lots to do before wheels up next week and the weekend will be spent on Fields with our Highland Games friends both Saturday and Sunday which is pretty kick ass for me ‘cuz I just have to sit there and look pretty. Or something like that. But I will approach these final training sessions completely different, or at least, that’s my goal. Calm. In the moment. Phone off (I actually put my phone into Airplane mode when I train so I can use it to video) and fully present.

That Buddha. What a smartie.

Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words.

Plautus

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Monday Bacon: DO

Posted on September 19, 2016 by tosabarbell
prepare

Prepare for butthurt. Proceed with caution.

A couple of years ago, a friend and her children were skimming the interwebz and they (the kids) decided that they’re going to find a project for their mom. I have no idea which words they used for their googlefu search but what they came up with was to have her enter a Physique contest. So she happily posted that this will be her next project. Where does she start?

My reply:  you go back 30 years and join Little League; youth soccer; youth basketball; youth wrestling; youth LAX; youth swimming (she did that one actually), and anything else you can get your hands on. You learn at 10 years old (or hopefully younger) that this stuff (anything sports related) is actually a little bit of work and you sign on for the whole package. Not just the games, but the practices. All of them. Rain or shine, showing up when you’re not “feeling it” (what a fuckall term that is for someone to use when doing anything. Sorry, I can’t parent today, I’m not feeling it. Uhhhh, but you have kids? Nope, not feeling it. No, not an option in life. Sorry not sorry), having teammates depend on you and learning that failure is part of life. Failing is okay. Giving up isn’t.

Like a broken fuckin’ record.

However, one of the most important lessons of youth sports (you can include other activities in this too. Music/art/dance, anything you have to stand alone without Mommy’s permanent umbilical cord for at least a few minutes) is that in most cases-this shit is hard! It’s hard to hit a fastball, even being thrown by a 12 year old. It’s hard to show up at AAU swim meets every weekend for 45 weeks in a row and beat the same girl who’s been after your ass since the 5th grade. It’s hard to get on your toes and bouree your big butt across the dance studio-even if you’ve been dancing since you could walk. What’s a bouree? Glad you asked:

After two years of working the bouree, my dance instructor finally said, “You may be ready to do this in public.” But honestly? Not really. My “speed” on the softball field didn’t really carry over to dance and I had to accept the fact that in order for me to eat food each day, I had to say goodbye to the Ballet dreams. Why?

Because I knew that shit was hard. And I had already been at it for 12 years. I still have my one pair of toe shoes. They represent a dainty, wispy Jules that never really existed but geez I tried. They are beautiful in how beat up they are but they are still shiny enough for an experienced dancer to see that I never went far with them. That’s okay.

See, at some point, I guess if you do it long enough you start to understand and RESPECT that many endeavors are difficult. So if you see a picture of a bodybuilder or fitness competitor on line, you don’t get to say, ‘well, I’ve never even had a barbell in my hands before but I could totally do that.’ Yes, you maybe could. Maybe. But the work and diet involved is one of the hardest things out there. So get to the gym, find a bodybuilder trainer and see how you do the next 12 weeks. If you make it through that, than sure, maybe. But you don’t get to just see something on the interwebz and say, “well hell, that looks cool. I’m doing it.”

It would not occur to me to hit up a fencing competition and say, “Wow, that looks like fun. I want to compete in that but I don’t want to be competitive. I just want to have fun.” And then when you go to Bob’s Fencing School and they say, “cool, start now and you’ll be ready to compete by next Spring or Fall” you get butthurt because you’re ready to compete NOW. Remember, I don’t want to be competitive, I just want to do it. This, my friends, is the first generation of T-ballers who don’t understand that that’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works!

Which brings us to today. I’ve had more inquiries this summer than ever before from folks who want to get into the Highland Games. And by, “get into” I mean they want to participate but don’t want to be competitive. And aren’t you all impressed that I don’t respond (usually, unless pushed hard enough) with a, ‘ahhhhh, that’s okay. You won’t be competitive.’ Especially the ladies. I am so proud of the group of Midwest Women throwers and there are more and more added each year. Katie Crowley, Elissa Hapner (current World Champion), Victoria Bunchek, Sara Hilgers, Jessica Hare and those are just names off the top of my head of girls who will toss bombs all day. These girls will ensure that when you show up and compete in an Open class, you are guaranteed to not hit the podium (in general. Visiting dignitaries aside, shit’s hard in corn/cow country.) So if you’re a brand new thrower who’s been training for 5 months and just PR’d your deadlift at 95# with no athletic experience, I will promise you, you will not be competitive. Problem solved!

But then people get their feelings hurt. Another plus of Little League, no one cares about your feelings. They care about following a pop fly with your eyes. I literally had one woman declare that she only wants to throw the hammer and caber at the Highland Games so I don’t need to teach her anything else. I said, the first thing I’ll teach her is that you compete in the events presented that day. Picking and choosing isn’t an option. No, she said, that’s okay-she’ll just pass on the others. No, I said, that’s not  how it works. But I’m not understanding that she doesn’t want to be competitive, she just wants to fulfill her lifelong dream of participating in a Highland Games in the Hammer and Caber. No, again, what YOU’RE not understanding is that in this sport, that’s not how it works. Next time you choose a lifelong dream, work towards achieving it. Not having someone hand it to you on your terms. Mother. Fuck. I.just.can’t. I lost a potential client that day. Oh well.

Anyways.

So in conclusion, people, Look! (shit get’s serious when you say, “Look!”) Should you choose to “DO” a new sport, please be respectful of the work it takes to “DO” so. You may pick it up immediately, there’s always some of those each season. Former throwers/Pro Football Players/athletes “DO” so. The rest of us? We have to work. We have to practice. We have to prepare for the task at hand. We “DO” a Games and say, ‘oh shit, this is hard. I need to get stronger and practice the throws if I want to become proficient at it.’ And we need to do even more if we want to become competitive at it. And what that means, is that we respect those who do work hard and share their knowledge. If they’re willing to coach you at a small fee, you pay it because you’ve chosen a sport you know nothing about. You don’t try to piggy back on their training sessions. See, THEY have accepted the hard work it takes and know that having a noob interrupting their training session the entire time means they don’t get better. And in most cases, this wouldn’t be allowed on a regular basis.

And, to pound the final nail in the butthurt coffin today, should you choose to “DO” a strength sport-you need to get strong. If anyone has seen my beloved husband throw, you’ll understand what that means. Watching him move through the trig on those heavy weight throws is like watching him snatch, it burns my eyes and I try not to look. But he’ll throw the 56# over 38′ because he’s what?

Strong. In a strength sport. Huh.

Effort without talent is a depressing situation…but talent without effort is a tragedy.

Mike Ditka

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Motivationally Speaking

Posted on September 15, 2016 by tosabarbell
demot

Mmmmmm, Backstrap!

Something I have come to learn about myself is that I am not a grand motivator as a strength coach. The energy in my gym is calm strength. No yelling or screaming. Never a “U GOT THIS MAaaaN!” or “IT’S ALL YOURS!!” (honestly I don’t even know what that one means.) When I’m being spotted for a PR I will give specific instructions to the spotters to keep their mouths shut. I do not need their cheerleading, I just need a fucking spot in case things go south. Dudes, you have one job.

Just last week I had Matt spot me in a rare training session together on a squat rep. Now, the squat itself was on the light side but it’s the heaviest I’d gone since I hurt my hamstring in Buffalo AND it was out of flimsy little squat stands AND I had realized too late that I hadn’t had any carbs going into the session so I became a bit shaky as I was scarfing down a pop tart. So I wanted to make sure I had help putting the bar back into the stands. The last thing I said to him was, “I’m fine, just need help in and no cheering.” But he already knew, he’s met me before. The squat was fine and even though I shut it down to see how much my leg would became inflammed afterwards, I should have gone for more. Anyway.

One of my favorite IG accounts is afrobrutality. I believe I’ve met this guy at a barbell cert in New Jersey years ago when the brand was just getting off the ground. I remember being a little surprised because I expected this FUCK YOU I’M IN YOUR FACE kind of guy and he was tall, black, and pretty soft spoken. Completely coachable and very likable. I found his IG and thought, huh-this looks interesting. His current campaign (I just looked it up) is: Fuck Motivation. HA! I can get on board with that.

His posts are usually just words; must meet a four fuck minimum, and pretty funny. Sometimes it gets a bit much but mostly one or two a day are good for a lolzy. One theme I quickly blow by; however; is the notion that “haters” are a motivator to do better. The, ‘I’ll show you all‘ mentality. Nuh uh. I don’t ride that train. See, I don’t want to think about ‘haters’ when I train or compete. I don’t want to think about people who may believe I can’t or shouldn’t. If you hate me or want to see me fail or wish bad things on me, your energy is nowhere allowed near my work. Ever.

Why would it be? I guess I’ve never understood that. I’ve received texts before from crazy people who say, “Fuck you I’ll show you” and it truly baffles me. First off, no one has to show me shit except for those closest to me and believe me, the important things they need to show have nothing to do with training or competition. Are you a good man? Check. Do you treat me with respect and care? Check. Hokay, we’re good to go. I can’t recall ever having a conversation with Matt that laid down the law as to how much he must Log Press or we’re through. At least not seriously. Heh. I really would recommend folks not use the fact that you were fired from our (this is a critical point here. tosabarbell is a two person operation. No one gets let go without the approval of both of us. Chances are, you were able to stick around longer than you should have because Matt is both nicer than me and doesn’t have to deal with your crazy ass on a daily basis. True story) gym to motivate yourself.

Dude, you’re off our radar. For good. Ya know the coolest thing about being able to “block” people on social media who don’t live next door (I really wish we could block Francis Fucknutt next door), it’s the fact that in real life they fail to exist. Oh sure, I may see you at a Games or a local Meet here or there and be all, “Hey, that’s right, they exist” but other than that? Nope. So why would you want the fact that I don’t care about what you’re doing be a motivator to be better? I just don’t get it.

As I said, I can’t remember a specific time where I became “motivated.” I was good at sports; I enjoyed it, and I really liked playing a physical game. For those that have missed this story, I was ejected from a softball game in High School because, while playing short stop, I scooped a line drive grounder up and just waited for the girl on second to get to me. I did my best brick wall impression and may  have stood over her and laughed when she fell on her ass. Then I tagged her gently with the ball. I guess they called that poor sportsmanship. I called it having a fucking blast on the field. But ya, I was done for the day. Totally worth it IMO.

I’ve also mentioned that I was lucky enough not to have sports parents. Mom got us to whichever practice we were supposed to be and when climbing out of the car, she would say, “I’ll be here at 7” if practice got over at 7. Which actually meant that she’d be there at 8. The amount of hours she spent in the car running us around is equal to the amount of hours we’d sit waiting for her afterwards. Well done Ma. There was never a, “be the best, do the best, haters gonna hate” bullshit I’ve seen ever since my twins started T-ball. I guess I always thought, well I’m signed up for this sport so I guess I should just do my best. It probably helped that I hated school work and was always stressed (since the 1st grade anyway. Minus a strenuous ‘color this school bus within the lines’ incident in Kindergarten I really liked school through the first grade) about doing poorly. So I could run free in sports. (No, I was never a runner. In fact I became a swimmer to get as far away from running as I possibly could.)

Obviously I apply this to people who train at tosabarbell. We talk about goals, a lot. They are all (mostly) different and my mantra has always been, “tell me what you want to do and I’ll get you there.” And I do. Now, we give atta boys and atta girls. We celebrate PR’s and all competitions, even when we don’t do as well as we’d like (dude, you showed up. I will always applaud that fact.) It’s rare you’ll hear a “Niiiiiice” while nodding my head and then saying shit like “rad” and “bro.” While there are absolutely nothing wrong with those words, we live in the midwest. Among corn and cows. If you grew up here and talk like that you’re full of shit in a minor way. Knock it off. I like it when my throwing friend, Heater (Heather MacDonald), says ‘RAD.’ Cuz it’s totally California girl and it’s her. Whenever I hear people from Milwaukee say Rad I want to say, “sir/ma’am, I know Heater and believe me, you are no Heater.” But I don’t.

I know sometimes people show up to train and aren’t particularly motivated that day. We get through it. Sometimes I get into the gym and I am completely unmotivated that day. I get through it. I guess it’s never been my understanding that motivating YOU is MY job. Either positively or negatively. If I had that much power, I’d tackle the fact that you eat like an asshole and sabotage yourself every day at some point. I dunno, blame the Al-Annon in my past. Dude, I am not responsible for your success or failure. I can contribute to it (both, unfortunately) but you are the driver of that bus. You go through your gym or personal life full of shit or denial (same thing imo), it’s on you. At no point in my sports life have I ever looked at someone else and thought to myself, “this is your fault” if I didn’t win. Never.

But I have looked around at an entire village of people when I win. One of my favorite quotes is from my loves at Fork Talk when giving props to others, “We stand on the shoulders of giants.” I love that. So while these people don’t “motivate” me, so many have given me a lift up along the way. That goes deep to my heart and I’ll never forget it (in theory. I’m getting old and forgetful so ya, maybe. )

Now, I will be the first to understand that different people are motivated in different ways. I get that. If negative influences motivate you to do better, that’s personal. I’ll applaud the fact that you’re motivated and hope the best for you. But to be honest, I will also wish that at some point in your life, the tides change and you can be motivated by positive influences and experiences. Jeez, life is negative enough. I don’t need to bring that shit into the gym with me. It’s the very reason that years ago in Texas when I was running/managing/working at a gym, I had to go join another one to get away from the fucking stress and dysfunction of my job gym. That’s fucked up.

I’ve had coaches in the past (name the sport) where they’ve tried screaming at me and berating me. Uhhhh, fuck off dude. I get enough of that at home, I don’t need that here. Not only will in NOT motivate me, it will shut me down. Now, at 49, I’ve learned to quickly walk away from those people. But it’s been a long road here and honestly, I wasted years of my life trying to please the unpleaseable (totally a word.) Why would I bring that shit into my training or on the platform or on to the trig? No way.

What motivates me to make a lift (we’ll use weightlifting since I’m less than two weeks to wheels up) is the fact that if I don’t, I won’t put myself into a position where I can win. Seems legit. I honestly don’t need more than that. Make the lift, maybe win. Don’t, for sure not win. That’s my mindset when I train. On the platform? It gets far less dire. Stay connected; push longer, shit that’s useful. And maybe that’s it in a nutshell, is your motivation useful? Does it bring you your Quan? Then YES!

When you truly believe in your fucking self, not everyone will like you.

But by then you won’t give a fuck.

Afrobrutality IG

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O.M.G.I.G.F.U.

Posted on September 14, 2016 by tosabarbell
ig1

Skol Vikings!

This was my first Instagram picture. Taken nearly four years ago, deep in the heart of Bears section, on a beautiful November day. The Bears/Vikings Soldier Field game is tradition for Matt and I. His dad has been a season ticket holder forever (literally) and his dad before that. We sit with the “Barry Boys” and their wives/sisters/friends/family/whoever they decide to bring and will give a collective groan when I walk up with my Vikings jersey. Whenever the Bears score, a bottle of something alcohol is passed down the row and whenever the Vikings score (which is almost ALWAYS immediately set up on a defensive play) I drink from my flask. Sooooo, ya. I think at the last game, I was grabbed by a “Barry Boy” and forced to drunk dance when the Bears scored at the end of the game guaranteeing the win. Matt thought that was pretty funny.

Last year, for the first time since I moved here, the weather was supposed to be sunny and 60’s and there was a strong chance that the Vikings would win (they did.) But I had a weightlifting meet 5 days later and knew that being gone all day; eating like crap; drinking, and walking four miles meant that my training would be bad on Monday and that would affect my meet week schedule. So I passed. Matt and our pretend Vegan friend went and had a blast. (We used to hang out with pretend Vegans who would claim to be Vegan and then come over and eat 15 pounds of meat as a family. The parents eat meat all the time but have talked their kids into the idea that they are Vegan so they are all malnourished and whiny. Except when they’d come here and the mom would act astounded when their malnourished youngest daughter would eat three whole smoked chicken drumsticks. See mom, she’s not a special snowflake because she’s tiny, she’s fucking hungry. Feed her a chicken hindquarter for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and see how she’ll grow. Duh. Same daughter has ended up in the Urgent Care from “stomach pains” where the doctor suggested that maybe she’s hungry. Doctor was right. They are actually really nice people and he’s very cool, but the whole food bullshit took it’s toll on the friendship and I.Just.Can’t.) OH! btw, it’s not a Vegan thang. I have a friend who is a real Vegan; has published cookbooks and posts the most amazing pictures on her IG feed that even I am tempted to try some of the dishes. She’s also mom to one of my Dazzle’s puppies so she’s most special, Vegan or not.

Anyway.

Instagram. Suddenly, we could all take pictures and put a “filter” on it to make it look like we knew what we were doing. Cool! I wanted to look back and tally my IG pictures in categories, fuggitaboutit. I have a gazillion pictures and videos. However, if I were to do a guesstimate I would say I have about 100,000 pictures of food and booze; 1,000,000 pictures of my dogs and kids (yes, in that order); a billion pictures of gym time/training/throwing, and a handful of selfies of me and Matt.

For the most part, I really enjoy Instagram. A picture or quick video from places around the world that I’d never even heard of. The stories of remote villages deep in Africa; the homeless around America; Panda bear antics from around the world, and training videos. IMO, the gold of Instagram are those videos. Sure, there is a lot of bullshit out there but there is also a lot of good. Multiple weightlifting videos that will be slowed down to get a view of positions and even more so for throwing. See, when people say something like, ‘lead with your hips’ I have no idea what that means. I believe it’s something that is so ingrained into a thrower that it’s baffling to them that I don’t understand what that means or at the very least, an understanding alone isn’t making it happen.

But I can see it. I can look at these collegiate and top throwers in slow motion and say, “ahhhHAAAAAAA! THAT’S what it looks like.” Okay, now I can break shit down and practice that. Cool.

ig2

Prizes! IG from 2013. While I’m glad Matt’s travel schedule is easier than flying to India and more twice a month, I really miss those Euro Prizes:(

There are a multitude of both throwing and weightlifting IG’s to follow and I follow most. I can edit later which is helpful but you never know where the next “AhHa” moment is going to come from. There are many Highland Games throwers that are so smooth transitioning from position to position that I can’t see where shit is happening. Those are the best of the best and I just watch those to be amazed.

The antics of IG is tons of fun too. Prom pictures (if you know what these are, then you know); how people spend their times in airports (bevvies *LIV* are usually involved, at least for Highland Gamers); baby goats (srsly), and strongbellied men deadlifting in ranger panties (moar plz) and it’s easy to understand how suddenly 15 minutes of life is lost.

ig3

FOOD! This was for four of us earlier this year and there wasn’t a bite left by the end of the night. Invite other throwers over and they’ll ensure there’s enough food to not run out. True story.

I’m a huge lover of the food on Instagram. I’ve ordered meat rubs that I’ve seen on IG; I’ve bought wine that I saw others drinking and know our tastes are similar and have loved it, and I’ve tried recipes that are shared. While I’m not a huge brand follower, I have ordered a t-shirt that was used as a fundraiser by hviii brand goods that I saw on IG. I’ve been able to see what friends I’ve lost contact with are doing in the gym and that’s fun. I love to see that they’re still at it! I can see others from my past that are still lying to themselves and others on IG in various ways and can remain thankful that they are no longer in my life.

In short, yeah IG.

However, and I have no idea how long it took for this to happen, the amount of skank pictures and videos on the IG is astounding. Literally, astounding. I block at least two skanks a day, mostly I believe because my ID or whatever the fuck you call it is ‘tosabarbell’ and the word “barbell” alerts the skanks to let me know they’re there in case I’m looking for a date. Those are the obvious skanks. Then there are the second tier skanks, the sports bra/see through leggings squatting on the Smith Press 25# with the camera right behind the crack of their ass while they are shoving said ass right at your view. I’ll come back to those in a minute.

There are the skank selfies trying to sell the package of, “Oh I hardly ever do this but just want to document how far I’ve come. See? Before I weighed 150 pounds and wore clothes but now I weigh 120 pounds; got a new pair of bolt-on’s, and am barely dressed. Aren’t I awesome?” Those are about 4 million a day. Fok. Off. Your blatant attempt to get dates bores me. It’s called Match.com and it’s usually free I think. Get on it. In fact, I’ll often comment, “Wow, I hope this picture gets you lots of dates this weekend.” Then I move on.

What annoys me most today, is when the second tier skanks invade the throwing posts and suddenly it shows up on my feed. It happened the other day where some little girl with a big ass in see-through leggings was shoving her ass back at me on my phone when I thought I was following a throwing account. My comment was, “annnnnnd, unfollowed.” I bet it really hurt their feelings. Bwahahaaaa! Not really. I’m sure they don’t miss me and there’s plenty of men thinking they’ll get to date her if they tell her how nice her ass is. What that has to do with throwing I have no idea.

And I think that’s the crux of the annoyance for me. Declare or shut the fuck up (Swearengen.) Are you a “food” or a “throwing” or a “drinks” or a “highland games” or an “all of the above?” Or are you skanks? Just own what you’re doing. Hello, my name is skank and I’m a skank, please to enjoy my videos. But please keep your skank off my feeds, cuz I’m not trolling for dates or if I am, I go to the “husband” contact on my phone and start there (I have no idea what his phone number is other than ‘husband.’ Not so useful when my phone dies but I like to live on the edge.)

The famous Cocksuckers brigade…command of the all whore detachment.

Al Swearengen

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