Pretty Much Every Fitness Influencer Gym Bro Macho Man Yada Yada Yada

 

Matt Riddle: The Reason We're #SpeakingOut

 

Fitness Guru

INTRO DIALOGUE

You’re not a fitness guru; you’re a eugenicist!

 

SATIRE POEM

I make my salary by burning all my calories

Showing off my ribs, telling fatphobic fibs

Juicing up my biceps, overworking triceps

Got some ten-pack abs, not pinch of flab

 

Why stop there? Let’s erase your autism

And your personality that you got with it

Sell stories about your expendability

Based on corporate greed and your disability

 

“Don’t even bother with the COVID vaccine”

Said the pin cushion who was a heroin fiend

You believe every word, just look at my face

Innocent like an angel from the “Master Race”

 

Take my advice, pay no mind to my voice

What disease do I have? It’s Dealer’s Choice

I never smoked a cigarette a day in my life

Still sounds like I wear a Columbian Necktie

 

I got more wrinkles than crumpled up paper

It started as a baby and I hoped it would taper

Started in the womb, wait, now I remember

I was totally alive then, like Jesus in December

 

Now I got a job fucking up my last name

Drag it through the mud, make it take a walk of shame

Black sheep doesn’t describe me at all

‘Cause if I lived on a farm, my voters would suck my balls

 

So next time you see me on the television

Listen loud and clear, ‘cause there is no intermission

No bathroom breaks even though I’m full of shit

Here’s my healthcare plan, it’s a total money pit

Government efficiency is kind of my jam

Effective at what? Making suckers fall for scams?

Fork over your dough as you die really slow

Make the oligarchy richer, fuck the Average Joe!

Steroid Smoothie

VERSE 1

Bench a thousand pounds like it’s nothing

Scream like you’re on the edge of coming

Squat a million pounds like a so-called beast

Fifty reps, maybe a hundred at the least

When Joe Six-Pack breaks his damn back

You blame everything on people who’re fat

Then you inject your juice by the liter

Strut around in a too tight wife-beater

CHORUS 1

Steroid smoothie!

It’s the key to your success

Steroid smoothie!

Puff your bitch tits chest

VERSE 2

Muscles so big you can’t fit through the door

Isn’t this what you pick on fat people for?

You’re a douchey white guy who tries too hard

One of these days, your ass can go back to lard

A lethal injection of your favorite PED’s

You think you’re more explosive than TNT

If you’re talking about your liver and heart

Congratulations, you’ve got yourself a head start

CHORUS 2

Steroid smoothie!

Gargantuan muscles, Tic-Tac balls

Steroid smoothie!

Two-inch penis, heart attack trust fall

VERSE 3

Looking good on your Instagram page

You should nickname yourself Roy Rage

You’re an inspiration to only yourself

Who cares if you put your body through hell?

I’d rather eat a steak than make the mistake

Of injecting juice and watching my limbs break

You’re not a fitness guru, you’re a piece of shit

Sit on a Shake Weight and then go for a spin

CHORUS 3

Steroid smoothie!

You’re faker than the president’s hair

Steroid smoothie!

Look into your empty soul if you dare

Steroid smoothie!

Your career is based on shallow lies

Steroid smoothie!

Excuse me while I wolf on these fries

If I Had Been Vince

(A WWE-themed parody of “Déjà vu” by Roger Waters.)

If I had been Vince

I would have rearranged the veins in my arms to make them more

Resistant to steroids and less prone to injury

If I had been Vince

I would have hired many indie guys and would not have suffered

John Cena to bury even one of them

If I had been McMahon

With my Raw and Smackdown brands

If I had been given the nod

I believe I could have done a better job

If I had been JBL

Patrolling the locker room showers

With an entitled sense of power

And the Twitter feed of a coward

I would be afraid to find Edge alone

I’d have the coldest set of stones

At least until I burn in hell

If I had been JBL

The company’s in ruins

And that’s a damn fact

The cheering fans are gone

The creative well is flat

The matches of dreams with no reason to fight

Because the CEO has to always be right

And it feels like the same old shit

The ratings go down, you’re throwing a fit

Counting the cost of main events lost

Under the mid-card to get slapped by the boss

It’s only $9.99 for the ultimate “April Fools”

My Body

VERSE 1

My body’s a temple, my mind is the priest

Society’s standards don’t apply in the least

I never resist a Thanksgiving-style feast

Take an alligator bite out of the roasted beast

There’s no shame in having a belly like mine

As long as your meal tastes delicious and fine

Never mind the magazines, they only print lies

Everybody loves the taste of salty French fries

CHORUS

I’ll eat how I want; I’ll do what I please

Shallow values will bring you to your knees

My body, my rules; don’t tell me what’s cool

Your muscle head makes you a giant fool

VERSE 2

You’ve got a stacked chest and chiseled arms

The steroids you take are bringing you harm

The smoothies you drink taste like raw sewage

Spinach and splooge, how could you do it?

You laugh at anybody with a big old gut

Tell them to lay off the food at Pizza Hut

Tell them to do sit-ups until their abs are sore

You’re the one with your legs up like a whore

CHORUS

I’ll eat how I want; I’ll do what I please

Shallow values will bring you to your knees

My body, my rules; don’t tell me what’s cool

Your muscle head makes you a giant fool

VERSE 3

I don’t give a shit who’s on the magazine covers

I don’t give a shit about your supermodel lovers

I don’t give a shit about your Cross-Fit routine

You’ve still got balls the size of jelly beans

Quit stabbing yourself with the needle full of juice

Before your heart stops and your bowels are loose

You’re not Arnold Schwarzenegger or Terry Crews

You’re just a jock frat boy with too much booze

CHORUS 2

I’ll eat how I want; don’t give me advice

I’ll have the crispy duck with beef fried rice

My body, my way; I’ll be here all day

And live longer than you anyway

I’ll eat how I want; I don’t give a fuck

All those exercises must really suck

You torture your body for the hottest chicks

The bigger the needle, the smaller the dick

The Broken Skull Mercenaries

TEAM NAME: The Broken Skull Mercenaries
TEAM MEMBERS: Andrew Bradley, Mitch O’Connor, Jill Henderson, and Mattie Dent
OCCUPATION: Mercenaries
CANON: Garden of Evil


For those of you who actually read Garden of Evil back in 2012/2013, to clear up any confusion, Andrew Bradley, the unofficial leader of this team, used to be named Andy Bryan. His name was tweaked because I already have enough characters in my archives with the last name Bryan (Mario, Wade, Tina, Chris, etc.). I just thought I’d throw that disclaimer out there for those who really are concerned, which might be a small number of people, but they’re people nonetheless. Anyways, on with the show!

Garden of Evil started out with two scientists combing through the mercenaries’ permanent records and being scared out of their mind by what they say. Aside from the fact that these mercenaries had scars all over their faces along with bad haircuts and bad dental hygiene, they’ve also been involved in a number of mass murders (long before they met and became mercenaries). Other charges included rape, torture, kidnapping, human trafficking, and drug distribution. All of these charges rolled up into one would send a normal human being to prison for a sentence that lasted a millennium.

But instead, being stranded on Mars with a bunch of bloodthirsty dinosaurs would be a better answer for these psychotic pariahs. They thought they were going there for a fruit plucking mission to sustain earth’s food supply. Hell, they even laughed about it because the mission assignment had the word “fruit” in it, which is also a homophobic slur. But once their ship touched down on Mars’ surface and the mercenaries got out, their ship flew away on its own and pretty much left the four criminals to their own devices.

If there was ever a time for good teamwork and unconditional cooperation, this would be it. The dinosaurs are fucking huge and fucking nasty. They consider tiny humans like The Broken Skull Mercenaries to be breath mints. While Mitch O’Connor is down with the idea of watching each other’s backs, Andrew Bradley becomes a selfish leader and is willing to sacrifice his own teammates to ensure his safety. Apparently, Mr. Bradley isn’t quite used to the fact that he’s stranded on Mars forever and isn’t going back to earth anytime soon.

Because of Andrew’s arrogance, Mattie Dent and Jill Henderson become his sacrificial pawns and die saving his life. Jill and Mattie are no angels, but they clearly deserved better treatment from someone they’ve worked with for many years now. Mitch O’Connor wasn’t going to have any of it, though. As soon as Mitch discovered that the “fruits” were actually quick-acting steroids that gave humans a fighting chance against dinosaurs, he took them all for himself while Andrew was left to die on the ground with a fractured spine. Jill and Mattie had already been killed, so it was too late for Mitch to save them. But in his mind, living on Mars and psychotically slaughtering a bunch of dinosaurs was his idea of paradise. Turns out dinosaur meat tastes like chicken.

Garden of Evil made for some badass science fiction. There was lots of bloodshed and lots of high-octane action. But unfortunately, gratuitous violence is not an automatic recipe for success unless you’re watching WWE or UFC. In the world of literature, Garden of Evil would have been laughed at by snot-nosed editors around the world. Not only are The Broken Skull Mercenaries far from sympathetic in their villainy, but the pace of the writing doesn’t keep up with all of the hardcore violence.

I’ve gotten better at writing faster-paced stories, but I’d still like to have something to do with these four insane criminals. That’s why if they get used again, they won’t be the protagonists since there’s absolutely nothing the readers can relate to. After all, my target audience for these four isn’t the entire roster of a super max prison. If they’re going to be characters in my stories, they have to absolutely be antagonists. They’re Complete Monsters whom I’m pretty sure everybody wants to see die brutal deaths. Well, I’m all about customer service, so if they’re going to die, they’re going to die…but not without a blood-soaked battle! Dun-dun-dun!

　

***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“The FCC (Federal Communications Commission) decided all by themselves that radio and television were the only two parts of American life not protected by the free speech provisions of the first amendment of the constitution. Why did they decide that? Because they got a letter from a minister in Mississippi. Reverend Donald Wildmon heard something on the radio he didn’t like. Hey, Reverend! Did you know that there are two knobs on the radio? One of them turns the radio on and off and the other changes the station. Imagine that, Reverend, you can actually change the station. It’s called Freedom of Choice and it’s one of the principles this country was founded upon. Look it up in your local library, Reverend, if you have any left after you’ve finished burning all the books!”

-George Carlin-

Chris Hammer

NAME: Chris Hammer
AGE: 43
OCCUPATION: Fitness Guru
CANON: Jumping Jackholes


If you’re ever feeling bad about how much you weigh or what your body looks like, the world’s biggest jerk-ass known as Chris Hammer will make you feel even worse as part of his motivational gimmick. He’s got muscles the size of pumpkins, veins the size of pipelines, blood flowing through his steroid stream, and more anger in his heart than the entire Westboro Baptist Church. Speaking of the latter, Chris Hammer hates fat people so much that he has become a venomous bigot. He might as well hold up a rainbow colored sign that says “God Hates Fats”.

The worst part about this nimrod? He has his own TV show. That’s right, folks. People desperate to lose weight actually turn on their tubes and listen to a full hour of Chris Hammer screaming anti-fat slurs at them while doing exercises that are ridiculously hard even for the physically fit. Because he’s so disgustingly strong, he can do things like move boulders, do jumping jacks while carrying cannonballs, do pushups with fat customers on his back, and run a mile in less than ten seconds. His only response: “What’s your excuse?” And if you don’t have an excuse, relax, because he’ll put it all into perspective for you. In a thunderous voice, he’ll threaten to give your food away to hungry children in Africa because you’re fat enough to have a heart attack any minute now.

The best way to deal with this prick would be to punch him in the mouth, right? Well, part of being muscular is having a high tolerance for pain. Plus, Chris Hammer just happens to have a chiseled jaw, so you would probably break your fist before you broke his face. What about firepower? Are you so desperate to see this guy killed that you need to arm yourself with pistols and shotguns? Maybe even rocket launchers? Once again, the rocket shell would turn to shrapnel before Chris Hammer turned to fire and ashes. Due to this guy’s indestructibility, he has a complex that makes him feel entitled to belittle others because he has everything going for him.

Know any celebrities like that? I can name a few off the top of my head right now. Donald Trump comes to mind. He has so much money that he can manipulate the odds when he’s suing other people for even more money. Mel Gibson is next on deck. He has so much celebrity status that he believes he’s entitled to scream at his wife or girlfriend, maybe even beat her. Phil Robertson is yet another example. Because he has his own TV show and immerses himself in Christian culture every damn second of his life, he believes he is entitled to use homophobic slurs without facing backlash. Donald Trump, Mel Gibson, and Phil Robertson are nothing more than prototypes for Chris Hammer, yet another guy who uses his power to oppress others.

The last time I wrote something as bold as Jumping Jackholes, it was 2012 and I was desperate for novella ideas. And because 2012 was an uneducated year for me, I firmly believed back then that hyperbolic descriptions and unbelievable endings were acceptable. Now we come to today’s world where Jumping Jackholes has been deleted from my archives and this asshole Complete Monster Chris Hammer is left without employment. Normally, using Complete Monsters is a bad thing because it disenfranchises the reader. But just like Mary-Sues, Gary-Stus, and any other character who’s labeled with a literary slur, Complete Monsters come in all shapes and colors. If Chris Hammer gets used again, I will definitely take my fitness frustrations out on him.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“What’s wrong with you, Jamie Noble? Are you upset with me because people actually know who I am? Or is it because unlike you, I can get on all the rides at Disneyland? Don’t worry, Jamie, my six-year-old daughter feels the same way.”

-Randy Orton-