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

 

Meat Squadron Soldier from "The Meat Squadron" (DUH!)

 

Braun Strowman: Stop Being a Prick and Get a Prick in Your Arm

 

Zune Koga, Megan's Barbaric Love Interest from "Beauty and the Barbarian"

 

Magnum Goldlust, Cooking Classmate from "The Accusers"

 

Funky Frog Bait (they/them) vs. Brett Cooper (doesn't have pronouns, because she's special)

 

Vince McMahon

 

The Queer Kiwi vs. Isaac Butterfield

 

Jonny Hawkins from Nothing More

 

Bone Popping Good Time

The Eastern European Chihuahua known as Ren shivered and trembled as he stepped into the waiting room, his feline friend Stimpy guiding him by the arm. Stimpy patted his bestie on the head, which did very little to stop the fearful convulsing. “There there, Ren. You’ll be okay. It’s just a little adjustment to help you out. You’ll feel nothing at all.”

Salt water welled up in Ren’s puffy red eyes. “I…I don’t want to go the chiropractor!”

“It’ll be okay, Ren. He even works with little children.” Stimpy waved his hand across the room to reveal small children who were shaking as hard as he was while their Karen moms read magazines and ignored the red flags.

Ren and Stimpy took seats in the lobby with the rest of the patients, Stimpy picking up a copy of Playboy magazine and picking his nose while “reading it for the articles”. The red flags were already a darker shade than Stimpy’s fur and nobody but the children and Ren seemed to care.

And then…the waiting room shook harder than any fearful patient ever could. Thunderous footsteps crunched and crashed behind the main office door. The children tried to get up and run, but most of them were on leashes held in place by the willfully ignorant mothers. Ren clung onto Stimpy’s arm for support and only let go when he realized his friend was still reading the copy of Playboy (in a family practice).

The door swung open and a hulking monster of a man stared out into the waiting room arms akimbo. His medicine ball muscles were barely able to be contained by his tight polo shirt and yuppie khakis. His military crew cut and square jaw caused the color to fade from Ren and the children’s faces, giving away a Navy SEAL drill sergeant vibe that had no place in the world of chiropractics.

He thudded and tromped across the floor, making kids cry along the way, still to the concern of nobody, least of all the parents. The chiropractor towered over a curled up Ren, held out his hand, and introduced himself. “Howdy, little guy! I’m Dr. Dennis Hanover! Nice to meet you!” Ren reluctantly accepted the handshake, which produced the sound of glass shattering as Dr. Hanover squeezed like he was making orange juice. When he let go, Ren’s now much bigger pink hand throbbed and pulsated. “Right this way, buddy!”

The ogre-like Dennis and the twerpy gnome Ren headed back to the office together, Stimpy smiling and waving like it was a final goodbye of sorts. Ren gulped as the door was slammed and bolted shut behind him. The chiropractic table looked comfortable enough with vinyl padding, but the skeletal models surrounding the room looked like something from a horror franchise. Ren’s knees knocked together as a rumbling in his tummy sounded like it could shoot off ammunition out of the wrong end at any moment.

Dennis patted the table and waved Ren over. “Come on, it’ll be fine. I promise you’ll feel like a million bucks afterwards.” The tan Chihuahua crawled to the table as though he was dead long before any adjustments took place. His once clear complexion was now icy blue. And then Dr. Hanover gave him gentle karate chops across his spine, playing him like a glockenspiel of sorts. Ren started to relax and the color was coming back to his face. Dennis kneaded his back like pizza dough and his patient nearly fell asleep on the table.

“Breathe in…and out…” After Ren did as he was told, Dr. Hanover pressed down on his spine and made his office sound like a war zone complete with bombs and machineguns going off.

The hard adjustment caused Ren to jump up and scream his head off, the background morphing into spotted colors with each successive yell. One long scream, two short ones, and one long one again until he was almost out of breath. Ren rushed to the door trying to escape while Dennis held onto his ears. The Chihuahua even pounded on the door with his fists and begged, “Let me out of here! Open the door! Please let me out! Somebody! HELP!”

Dennis finally detached Ren from the doorknob and the door wiggled like a piece of rubber. Dr. Hanover then held his patient down with skin-reddening force and duct taped his mouth shut. Ren used both hands to try to regain his first amendment rights, but the tape was too strong and all he could do afterwards was surrender and shake some more.

“Hold still, little guy. We’ve still got more work to do. It’ll only take a second.” Dennis clutched Ren’s head and snapped his neck in both directions. The Chihuahua’s muffled screams still managed to echo off the walls and knock over some artwork. His neck pulsated and thumped on both sides like a dying heartbeat. And then Dr. Hanover pulled Ren’s fingers, making his joints sound like a pistol duel. His toes sounded like those pistols were upgraded to AR-15’s. His wrists sounded like his chiropractor walked on a snowfield of broken glass.

“One more adjustment! You’re doing great!” As Ren continued to try to free himself from the gag, Dennis pulled out a black leather Y-strap and secured it around Ren’s head. The Chihuahua could do nothing but shake his head as his final plea for help. “Relax your shoulders, and…” Dennis yanked on the Y-strap and every single bone in Ren’s body popped and crackled with deafening volume. The duct tape could no longer muffle Ren’s screams, for he did it so loudly this time that the gag floated through the air into the garbage can. After his last rallying cry, Ren did a literal cry as his entire body melted into a slimy tan puddle.

“There we go! All set! You did great, little buddy!” Dennis patted Ren’s head a little too roughly, nearly giving him a concussion and almost liquefying that part of his body too.

Ren slithered and slimed back into the waiting room while his chiropractor got the table ready for his next patient. The children watched him make his defeated reentry with wide tearful eyes themselves. Stimpy finally stopped picking his nose long enough to notice. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing….”

“How come you’re sad?”

“I’m fine….”

“You don’t sound fine….You look like you’re about to cry…”

And cry he did. The pain was so horrible and so fiery that Ren thought he had died and gone to hell. In reality, hell was already on earth and Dr. Hanover was the devil. The square-jawed military nut marched out into the waiting room and sat next to Ren on the floor. “There there, little pup. I know just the thing that’ll help you. When my dad caught my crying like a girl, he gave me some words of wisdom I still carry to this day. ‘You know, son…Japan had an earthquake…Haiti had an earthquake…Australia had a wildfire…California had a wildfire…and you’re sitting there whining about life?’”.

“Hey, that’s mean,” said Stimpy with saucer eyes.

“Mean? Nah, that wasn’t mean. I gave your boyfriend a bone popping good time back there. He’ll man up in no time at all.”

“B…boyfriend?”

“Yeah, boyfriend! I knew you two were Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell violators the minute you walked through the door. You looked like you were taking him to the prom with your arm around him.”

As Stimpy and the subsequent children cried at the remarks, Ren’s slimy puddle form started to bubble like a pot of spaghetti, though his regenerating limbs were anything but spaghetti. For the longest time, he didn’t feel like his old self, which was why he came to the chiropractor to begin with. He was too scared to be the villain Stimpy knew and loved (in whatever way he wanted to). But that anxiety turned to skin-purpling anger. Steam blew out of his ears. His body returned to its strong roots. He smiled for the first time in his many depressive weeks, but not out of happiness. This was pure psychosis fueling him like diesel.

“Uh-oh…” said Dennis the minute he realized he knew he fucked up.

Ren jumped on his chiropractor’s back and twisted his neck in a direction it was never meant to go, an obvious mockery of that genre of medicine. Dennis screamed while Ren taunted him. “JAPAN WAS HIT WITH AN EARTHQUAKE!” Ren bent Dennis’s legs into reverse L shapes. “HAITI WAS HIT WITH AN EARTHQUAKE!” He bent Dr. Hanover’s fingers off to the sides. “AUSTRALIA HAD WILDFIRES!” In his final “therapeutic adjustment”, Ren popped Dennis’s penis and testicles, which weren’t supposed to have joints in the first place. “CALIFORNIA HAD WILDFIRES! And you’re bitching about life?”

Gone were the days of macho muscles and towering ogre presences. In their place was a broken heap of screaming sticks with a garnish of waterfall tears, still known as Dr. Dennis Hanover, a name which was probably going to be carved into his tombstone sooner or later. The children’s sprinting momentum dragged the chairs their Karen mothers were sitting in by the leashes. Some mothers held on for dear life while others fell on their butts. Those that did the latter chased after their children with whiny demands and shaking fists.

Now it was Stimpy’s turn to convulse in pants-wetting fear. But since he was a cat who didn’t wear pants, the biological sludge stained the floor and mixed with Dennis Hanover’s broken remains. Ren patted his friend on the back and said, “I feel great, Stimpy! You were right! We should come here more often!” Stimpy swallowing a lump in his throat and out of his ass was the surefire sign that Ren was back in all of his glory. Chiropractic medicine was truly the stuff of gods, provided that god was one who worshiped destruction and war. “Let’s go home!”

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

Gary-Stu

I spent a hundred years in the navy

The sexy siren is carrying my baby

I spent five decades in the marines

They all call me a fighting machine

I spent half a century in the army

No way could the enemy harm me

I spent ten years in the air force

I still don’t make sense, of course

I’m a Gary-Stu who’s lost at sea

Always carry machineguns with me

A battleaxe bigger than my body

Always imitated, but never copied

Except by those trying to make a buck

Make a fortune from negative luck

Put me in a videogame or paperback

I’m a macho man, genetically jacked

Everybody wants to buy my image

Everybody wants to laugh at critics

Everybody wants to look for tropes

Everybody’s given too much rope

Whatever happened to character depth?

Got slaughtered in a battle to the death

Everybody’s got their own little flaws

They don’t include too much brawn

They don’t include a nasty attitude

They don’t include a lazy aptitude

Three dimensional isn’t hard to achieve

All you have to do is make them believe

If a captain is going to be lost at sea

If a warrior is going to bleed, bleed, bleed

If a damsel in distress screams one last time

Put some reason in your fucked up rhyme

Incelbordination, Chapter 23

“That’s right, Oz-Man. Wipe the tide pool from your eyes for just a few seconds. You can get back to crying like a bitch once I’m done showing you something. Don’t worry, this shit will be completely G-rated. Heh, the irony!”

Wacey Judge towered over his opponents just like he always did, a fire-breathing giant among shaky villagers. The lower half of his face was hidden with a skeleton bandana, a dam from the venom spewing from his lips. His hulking chest was covered in tactical gear while his gargantuan biceps remained visible for all to see.

One unzipping of his vest later and it became clear to the fire-eyed Oswald and the trembling Sarah-Jane what Wacey’s new agenda was all about. The black T-shirt that clung to his six-pack ever so tightly had the words written on it…Incel Pride Worldwide.

“I don’t fucking believe this,” muttered Oswald. “You? Of all people? An incel? You’re a fucking meat castle! You can have any woman you want! If anybody should be wearing that shirt, it’s…”

“It’s who? You?” asked Wacey while hunching over. “Sorry, little man, but they don’t make these at the Baby Gap. I earned this shirt. I never wanted it, but it’s mine anyways. You remember that little cheap shot you gave me to the balls that one day in the gym? Well, it’s hard to be anything but celibate with a bleeding dick! You ruined me, Oswald. You took everything you could from me all over a stupid fucking joke.”

Crossing his arms and maintaining his gorgon stare, Oswald said, “Joke? The only joke I see around here is the irony of you joining a group of people who tried to have you killed. You’re a bigger meathead than I thought! It makes me wonder how the fuck you got into college in the first place. If I had grades like yours, I’d hang myself!”

“You should hang yourself anyways, little brittle. It’d be less painful than the ass-ripping I’ve got planned for you. Every incel community needs a personal trainer. I’ve got what they want. They’ve got what I want. Incelbordination doesn’t want to kill me anymore because they understand me and I understand them. Or as you faggy liberals like to say, I embraced diversity!”

Oswald tried to approach Wacey for another five finger dick punch, but Sarah-Jane held him back and pleaded with him. “Come on, Oswald, don’t do this. Let’s just get out of here and call the police.”

“Yeah, that’s right! Run on home, little boy!” Wacey taunted. “If I don’t get you today, I’ll get you tomorrow. Or maybe one of my new buddies will. You ain’t going anywhere without getting your shit kicked in. We’re Incelbordination. We’re everywhere! And besides, if you run off, who’s going to stop me from wiping my ass with that Disney blanket over there?”

Sarah-Jane’s quivering fear morphed into silent rage when she slowly stood up and approached Wacey with chest-to-chest contact. “Listen, you bastard, I don’t give a damn what you do to me, but if you defile my sister’s grave in any way, I don’t care how many muscles you have, I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Give me Chlamydia? That’s pretty much the only chance you’ve got of getting laid anyways!”

“You motherfucker!” shouted Oswald as he limped towards his target with fists close to his face.

Wacey shoved Sarah-Jane to the floor and went on the attack, kicking the dwarf in his medical boot and crumpling him to the ground in agony. While Oswald screamed and clutched his leg, the meat castle leaned down and repeatedly slapped him upside the head. “Get up! Get up, goddamn it! This shit ain’t over yet!”

Sarah-Jane scrambled across the grass on her hands and knees and took a bite out of Wacey’s cannonball calf. The muscle head yelped in pain, but not before ripping the girl off by her hair and head butting her in the forehead. The eldest Bradley sister dropped to the ground limp as a noodle and dizzy as a rollercoaster rider.

Oswald reached his hand out and yelled Sarah-Jane’s name before Wacey continuously stomped on his surgically repaired foot. The dwarf’s eyes watered like a leaky faucet while his foot crumpled and caved in with every American History X stomp. After about eight strikes, the assault was mercifully over, though mercy was clearly the last thing on Wacey’s mind as his serpentine eyes gazed down upon his weeping and agonized foe.

The gym rat removed the bandana from his face and revealed a pool of foam gathering between his gritted, ursine teeth. “Those boxing skills aren’t helping you now, are they?” No response from the screaming Oswald, just tears and pain. Through his waterfall vision, he could still see Sarah-Jane slightly awake from her head butt. Her eyes widened when Wacey grabbed the Mickey Mouse tapestry on Jessica’s grave and did the butt floss with it.

“No! Put that down! Please!” begged Sarah-Jane, but poor taste prevailed when Wacey actually stuffed the tapestry down the back of his shorts and wiped his ass with it. He even threw it at the downed sister for good measure.

Oswald knew for certain this was how his story would end: laying in a pile of blood and tears with someone who shared his cataclysm of agony. He wouldn’t slay the demon. He wouldn’t get the girl. He wouldn’t have justice of any kind. The only way this could be worse for him was if it happened in a McDonald’s bathroom covered in shit and piss. Wacey growled at Oswald as he leaned down and raised his fist, prepared to do the honors of killing Incelbordination’s greatest foe.

“Wacey Everett Judge! Put your fucking hands in the air and turn around to face me!” shouted a familiar-sounding detective. “Do it or you’re getting a third nostril!” Slowly but surely, Wacey obeyed the instructions given to him by a shotgun-toting Mia Barry. Oswald would have smiled, but his face hurt worse than his foot from all the crying and screaming. “You think Incelbordination is everywhere? Well, so are we! Your fearless leader Antero left behind a digital footprint as big as your empty head!”

“I’ll leave a footprint right in your fucking skull, you little bitch!” shouted Wacey as he charged over to Mia knowing he had nothing left to lose. Sure enough, the suicide by cop was complete. Once Wacey got too close for comfort, Mia pulled the trigger on her shotgun and splattered the jock’s head all over Jessica’s grave and Oswald’s body. Wacey’s sculpted headless body plopped over and leaked all over the shit-stained Disney blanket.

Mia dropped her shotgun and cradled Oswald’s head in her lap. “I’m so glad I found you when I did.” She pulled out her radio and called for medical attention for both Oswald and Sarah-Jane. “Don’t worry, we’re going to get you fixed up.”

“My foot…my goddamn foot! It hurts!” moaned Oswald.

“Listen to me. It’ll be alright. I know you’re in a lot of pain, but there’s something else I need to tell you. You need to go into witness protection after your surgery.” The dwarf’s burning, watery eyes lit up like a neon sign at that revelation. “Incelbordination is going to keep hunting you down until they kill you. You were responsible for Antero’s downfall. That means they want blood. I’m sorry, Oswald. You can’t be here anymore. You’re going to have a new name, a new identity, and a new place to live.”

“No, you can’t take him away!” begged Sarah-Jane while tugging at Mia’s arm.

“It’s okay, Sarah-Jane, it’s okay!” insisted Oswald. “There’s nothing left for me to do here. This town can do without me. I’ll be alright no matter where I go. You know why? Because people like you make me believe that.”

“Are…are…are you sure?” wept the eldest Bradley sister.

“I’m positive,” said Oswald with a sad smile. “I can’t keep fighting Incelbordination forever. My foot can’t handle it. My body can’t handle it. My mind sure as shit can’t handle it. I swear I’ll be okay. You’ll be okay too. Everyone will be okay. You just have to trust Detective Barry. She knows what the hell she’s doing.”

A beat of uncomfortable silence hung between all three parties. And then Sarah-Jane leaned her face closer to Oswald and kissed his burning red forehead. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but… I want you to take that with you wherever they decide to put you. Thank you for everything, Oswald. I won’t forget you.”

“I won’t forget you either…I can’t even forget seeing a headless version of Wacey. No matter where I go, I will conquer. Fairytales don’t just tell us that dragons are real. They tell us that dragons can be beaten. I can do this…I believe in myself…I never though I’d hear myself say those words…”

Twitter Tough Guy

VERSE 1

Seven feet tall, built like a brick wall

Tougher opponents can’t be found at all

A black belt or higher in every martial art

Military training so you can do your part

But your greatest weapon isn’t a pistol

Or a flamethrower to make me sizzle

You pack a punch with a Twitter account

Talk in all caps just to make shit loud

CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

VERSE 2

Lift five hundred pounds at the gym

Flirt with a chick in shorts named Kim

Eat protein bars, drive gas-guzzling cars

Take your selfies like a Twitter rock star

Send your dick pics to random women

Show them the erection you’ve been given

You talk so much, yet have nothing to say

The schedule of your meaningless days

CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

VERSE 3

Shoot your favorite gun just for fucking fun

Mounted on a jeep that weighs a hundred tons

Take a picture that will last until forever

Dare the Twitterverse to find something better

How about buckwheat pancakes with agave nectar?

Especially when they shoot right out of my rectum?

Rebecca Black songs are more exciting than you

You face your victims and don’t know what to do

EXTENDED CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

Twitter boy toy! Who shall you annoy?!

Twitter Romeo! Why don’t you blow me-o!

Twitter Casanova! This is your magnum opus!

Twitter tough guy! Your whole life is a lie!

Balls

CHORUS

You don’t have the balls to shoot me down!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to watch me drown!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

VERSE 1

You talk forever like it’s a real exercise

Working your jaw muscles by telling lies

That shit’s got to be made out of iron

You think you’ve got balls the size of tires?

You’re shaking and shivering like it’s winter

Your only true pain is like a wooden splinter

You’re no different from the rest of the chickens

Running away when it’s time for ass-kickings

EXTENDED CHORUS

You don’t have the balls to shoot me down!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to watch me drown!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to run this town!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

Cacophony is your greatest sound!

Ugh!

VERSE 2

You’ve got your AK-47 locked and loaded

Your hair trigger temper has all but exploded

You’ve got a belt of grenades around your waist

You rush into battle with a zealot’s kind of haste

You throw your life away over temporary anger

Throw yourself in front of unnecessary danger

You’ve got some shrinkage and it’s not laundry

You can’t axe your way out of your own quandary

EXTENDED CHORUS 2

You don’t have the balls to shoot me down!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to watch me drown!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to ground and pound!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

Check for your nuts in the lost and found!

Rah!

BRIDGE

You don’t wear the pants, but you wear the G-string

Cutting your ass off until you’re no longer breathing

You don’t wear the colors, because they run

Shutting you up will be a lot of fucking fun!

Balls! Balls! Balls! BALLS!

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

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-