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Repealing and Replacing the Presidential Physical Fitness Test

Things are going to be very different in this country after inauguration day. Obamacare will be dismantled, illegal immigrants will be loaded into a rocket and shot into the sun, your mail carrier might goose-step down your block because it’s 2017 and sometimes people are Nazis, now. But the question that we’re all asking, the question that the mainstream media refuses to ask because they’re cowards, is will President Trump repeal and replace the Presidential Physical Fitness Test?

Started in 1966 under Lyndon Johnson, the Presidential Physical Fitness Test was meant to motivate out-of-shape kids by giving them presidential awards for excelling in various physical activities. Government mandated sit-ups, pull-ups, and rope climbing turned the hour-long free-for-all known as gym class into a boot camp for the world’s shittiest military.

My middle school gym teacher made us all gather in the auditorium to announce that we would be participating in the fitness test. Bill Clinton was our president, and he was challenging us, the disaffected youth of suburban New Jersey, to take a break from discovering the Misfits and our bodies to instead do a bunch of push-ups for the good of the country. Arnold Schwarzenegger was also involved for some reason, appearing via VHS tape with a message of encouragement and catch phrases. He didn’t have to do that. The man was filming True Lies, he didn’t have time to threaten teenagers into doing leg lifts or risk termination. Tom Arnold is in the middle of telling an incredibly funny story about doing coke with the second Becky from Roseanne, and poor Schwarzenegger has to interrupt him to go film this stupid thing? There’s no way Tom will remember where he left off.

Despite the encouraging words from my gym teacher and Arnold Schwarzenegger, I received zero accolades from the president for my physical prowess. I was a portly boy on the precipice of discovering that it’s cool to hate things you’re bad at. Things like squat-thrusts, moving quickly and wearing clothes that fit. I hung onto the rope like a frightened Donkey Kong Jr., gently swaying for 30 seconds. I climbed onto a folding chair to reach the pull-up bar, grabbed the bar, then hung there for 30 seconds. If “Quietly Hanging While Wanting to Die” was a Presidential Physical Fitness Test activity, I would have been in the top 1% in the county.

Fantastic.

Fantastic.

In 2012, Obama replaced the Presidential Physical Fitness Test with the Presidential Youth Fitness Program, which focuses on a “health-related, criterion-based assessment.” I kind of know what those words mean, which means Trump will have absolutely no idea what those words mean, which means it has to go. First of all that name needs to be flashier. Sexier. Something like The Trump Test for Tremendous Athletes Like the President. Next change: no physical fitness required. The gym teacher saw you do three push-ups in as many minutes? Well he’s a liar, you did 600, and everybody’s talking about it. Can’t climb the rope? That’s because it was made in China, and the loathsome Chinese are trying to sabotage our beautiful children with their slippery rope technology, which is not nice, and also very, very bad. Congratulations Billy, you drank four Diet Cokes before 8 a.m. Here’s your Certificate of Awardness, which if you flip it over doubles as a coupon for 5% off a steak dinner at the Trump Grill. Enjoy it Billy. It’s about as close as you’re going to get to government assistance for the next four to eight years.

Cascadiavania: Tsunami of the Tsorrowful

The New Yorker published an article about the Cascadia earthquake and tsunami that’s going to destroy most of the Pacific Northwest sometime in the near future. Quoting from the article, “FEMA projects that nearly thirteen thousand people will die in the Cascadia earthquake and tsunami. Another twenty-seven thousand will be injured, and the agency expects that it will need to provide shelter for a million displaced people, and food and water for another two and a half million.” The tsunami’s height “will vary from twenty feet to more than a hundred feet. It will look like the whole ocean, elevated, overtaking the land. Once it reaches the shore it will be a five-story deluge of pickup trucks and doorframes and cinder blocks and fishing boats and utility poles and everything else that once constituted the coastal towns of the Pacific Northwest.”

Those were just a few excerpts that my wife read to me as I was quietly drifting to sleep the other night. “You have to read this article, but for now, let me select a few of the most horrifying scenarios and get those firmly planted in your brain. Sweet dreams, love you!” It’s all terrifying stuff. The main takeaway is that once you know the thing’s about to hit it’s already too late. Their advice was basically just run. Run where? I don’t know, somewhere that’s not the Pacific Northwest. Maybe it’s all a cunning plan to sell more Fit Bits and Couch to 5K apps… in fact, yes, let’s assume this is all a cunning plan to sell more Fit Bits and Couch to 5K apps and go over some survival techniques that FEMA doesn’t want you to know about.

It is fine. Everything is fine.

It is fine. Everything is fine.

#1 OK But Seriously, You Should Actually Just Run. And I’m not talking, oh shit McDonald’s is about to stop serving breakfast, let me trot to the front of the line and prepare to do battle with a pimply-faced clock-watching teenager. No, you need to RUN, like a Kenyan Sonic the Hedgehog being chased by a 100 foot water wall of death. FEMA advises against grabbing anything important from your house before you start your run, including photo albums, pets, that mug you really like, children, Wrestlemania tapes, spouses, old issues of Nintendo Power… NONE OF IT. Leave it all behind, but…

#2 If You Happen to Have a Gun, Now Would Be a Good Time to Maybe Grab it Just in Case.  I’m not saying the economy in the post apocalyptic Pacific Northwest is going to be bullet-based for a few years, but I’m also absolutely saying that. Also, do you know what happens when you unload a few rounds into a tsunami? Don’t say you do, because you’ve never done it. Maybe you stand on top of a mountain, slam the bullet thing into the bottom of the gun and then pull the thing on top back and line up the shot and BLAMMO. You instagib the goddamn tsunami and save the day. Or, y’know, you rob some bandits at gunpoint for a can of beans. Both equally heroic and necessary. And finally…

#3 There is No Shame in Drowning in Your Own Home, Surrounded By Your Stuff.  Hey, you had a good run. Maybe this tragedy will kickstart some new evolutionary traits. Maybe we’ll finally evolve into screaming half man / half fish bio freaks. We just don’t know. We don’t have the data. But there is plenty of data that shows mother nature is done with us, and she’s going to be crashing on your floor for a while. And in the rest of your house, too. Also inside your car and your favorite strip mall (the one with two Chipotle’s) and pretty much every place you’ve ever been. Sweet dreams, love you!

Town Council Primaries and the Wild Dog Situation

Town council primaries were held in my town yesterday. And though the votes are being tallied as we speak, I’m just going to assume that my write-in campaign worked, and I am now one step closer to becoming a member of the town council. Hey thanks. Thank you, it’s been a long couple of days getting this whole thing set up. Let’s go over some of my campaign promises.

I promised to save the Movies Under the Stars program, and I will not break that promise. However, I should make you aware of a few changes that will make this program even more exciting and valuable to the community. First of all, attendance is now mandatory, rain or shine. Second, I’ll be picking all of the movies, and I will also be mic’d so I can share my vast knowledge of movie trivia while you watch. Think of it like director’s commentary, except I’m not the director, and if you don’t listen to me you’re thrown in jail for three years. I look forward to seeing EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU on Saturday, June 20th, where we’ll be watching Nymphomaniac volumes 1 and 2, in French, sans subtitles.

High-ISO-2-wild-dogs

We all know about the wild dog problem around the old abandoned lot on James Street behind the rail yard. No one knows where they came from, but there’s about a thousand of them and they’re all hungry for man flesh. I promised to deal with the situation, and the way I see it, there’s only one solution. My very good friend Boxcar Larry, a local eccentric that lives in the rail yard, has developed a way to communicate with wild dogs. Probably because ol’ Larry was bitten nearly to death, and then a rival pack of dogs nursed him back to health for about 6 months and raised him as one of their own. Who better to start a dialog with these beasts that are terrorizing our yoga classes and eating from the dumpsters behind our vegan bakeries and then throwing up into the dumpsters behind our vegan bakeries? Therefore, I hereby nominate Boxcar Larry as The Lord of Dogs, and hope that he can either forge some kind of peace treaty or round up all of the dogs and light them on fire.

Which leads me to my next point. I understand that other members of the town council may find my methods… a bit… what’s that word where something is too perfect for this world? It doesn’t matter. Let me remind everyone that I ran as an independent member of the “I Will Burn This Motherfucker to the Ground” party. That was not a figure of speech. I have a button in my office, there’s a picture of a flame on it. You don’t even need a key to operate it. It’s right next to the light switch, and it’s gigantic. If I’m having a rough day at the office, maybe I’ll accidentally bash that button over and over and burn this entire fucking town to the ground. No more adorable antique stores. No more independent coffee shops that give you that nice feeling in the pit of your stomach because you’re supporting a local business. Nothing but ash. Volvo after Volvo blanketed in burning embers. Wild dogs, under the command of a local madman, snapping and tearing flesh from bone.

So thank you for your support. When I look at our town I see a bright future full of possibilities, loving parents pushing babies on swings, and a serviceable rail system. And with your support, I’ll ensure it never becomes a smoldering hellscape. Thank you.

You can watch me scream and yell all of my recent posts on AwesomeTalk! It airs every other Tuesday on our YouTube channel, where you can also find past episodes and other psychotic vlog vids.

The Coachella-ution will be televised oh actually it was already televi

As I get older and grayer and more handsome, my desire to get off the couch and experience live events firsthand is fading. But last weekend, I went to Coachella. And I gotta say – wait do I get to say I went to Coachella if I watched it on TV? Because if so, I totally went to Coachella last weekend you guys, and it. Was. Nuts. Everyone was there. At least I think they were, I fast forwarded through about 80% of the 21 hours of footage that played on AXS TV, the poorly spelled cable station that I’m pretty sure exists only to show Coachella every year. But they provided the perfect festival experience for people like me, the old man that does not wish to be jostled.

Here are some things you miss by not attending gigantic festivals like this live and in person:

  1. People still in their 20’s that aren’t beaten down by life yet, and clearly I don’t want to spend my time surrounded by people like that.
  2. Locally sourced designer tacos served from a truck that runs on vegenaise.
  3. Mile-long beer lines, flanked by endless DJ sets and slurring pixie women, smashing face first into the ground from a mixture of molly and the hot desert sun

So I’m thankful that AXS TV exists, even though some may say watching a festival on TV is like when you were a little kid and you’d beg your parents to take you to the 4th of July fireworks and your dad was like, “Just watch it on TV, it’s the same thing.” Your mom plays along, throws a shitty blanket on the living room floor, hands you a box of Teddy Grahams, and you ooh and ahh at the same box that Alf usually comes out of. “See, son? You have the best seat in the house!” says Pops as he flicks the lights on and off to enhance the experience, when in reality he just didn’t want to find parking or be seen in public with you, all covered in cotton candy and star spangled face paint.

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Maybe dad was right. Maybe just watching someone else enjoy an experience is enough. For example, I sit around and watch other people play videogames. Like reading Playboy for the articles, I’m watching this guy play Donkey Kong Country for the story. I can devote just enough attention, and if anyone asks, “Hey have you played Donkey Kong Country lately?” I can say yes, but then turn around, whisper “sort of” and wink at no one. This was my Coachella experience, most of it whizzing by at 16x, done in like 2 hours. My god it was so magical and I can sort of say I went and now I’m watching House.

Forget just festivals, I want more experiences like this, enjoyed the American way, drunk and at home with premium snacks. If cable TV wants to keep me glued to the couch and sort of watching it, there’s only one solution: TELEVISE ALL LIVE EVENTS. From concerts to Shakespeare in the park to Home Depot parking lot surveillance cameras. Who wouldn’t tune in to the Fucked Up Idiots in the Emergency Room channel? Holy shit did you see FUIITER last night? Some guy was having stomach pains because he ATE A FENCE. Then another guy came in right after that because he ate A BIGGER FENCE. I felt like I was there in the ER with them from the comfort of my own home! This is television. This is life. I am sort of watching forever.

You can watch me scream and yell all of my recent posts on AwesomeTalk! It airs every other Tuesday on our YouTube channel, where you can also find past episodes and other psychotic vlog vids.

What Are You Supposed To Be? A Topical Halloween Costume Guide

You look around the room, frozen with fear. Fear of inadequacy. Fear of being upstaged. You take a swig of your beer, choke it down, and retreat into the bathroom. You stare at yourself in the mirror, take a deep breath, and ask, “Is my Halloween costume topical enough?” You are dressed as a bent iPhone 6. Some drunken party goer foolishly thought you were a calculator. Really Susan? A calculator? What’s topical about that? I’m the thing that was in the news a few weeks ago, you know, that thing that was trending? I don’t think your costume is trending Susan. Nobody gives a shit about lady pirates anymore Susan. Nobody. Susan.

It's 2009 I'ma let you finish but Octopus Mother is going hashtag viral

It’s 2009 and I’ma let you finish but Octopus Mother is going hashtag viral

As an adult, it’s important to outfit yourself with the most topical Halloween costume possible. Look, any idiot can dress up as a ghoul, or a goblin, or as a member of the bands Ghoul or Goblin, but you want a costume that says, “Hey remember that thing that just happened? Maybe this hastily put together collection of trash stapled to my body will refresh your memory.” Something that will be relevant for the duration of the party and will slowly become less and less clever as the night goes on until you’re driving home, wondering if maybe your costume which consisted of a white t-shirt with the word EBOLA written in a drippy blood red font was not only in poor taste, but also completely stupid. You will peak around 9:30, when a guy dressed as the dad from 7th Heaven will corner you and say “Ohhhhh shit bro this guy is crazy! Look everyone it’s Ebola! Hahahaha oh shit this guy is Ebola! Oh wow. So dark. So relevant.” The life of the topical Halloween costume wearer is filled with exhilarating highs and devastating lows.

So, obviously you’re looking for a way to ensure your costume is as topical as humanly possible. All you have to do is fire up your favorite news source on the morning of the party and rip your costume straight from the headlines. Feel superior over your friends and coworkers, whose costume ideas are stale, entry level, try-hardy bullshit.

Like, oh cool, you’re a dude in cardboard gladiator armor screaming about Sparta? Well I’m Buzzfeed’s “21 Incredibly Easy Salsa Recipes You Need To Try.” That story was posted right before I got here and I’m going to bob the shit out of some apples, amigo. Or, hey, a Guy Fawkes mask. You must be V for Very Bad at Topical Costumes. I don’t know if you noticed but I’m dressed as Joko Widodo, the new president of Indonesia. HE WAS SWORN IN 8 HOURS AGO. If this costume was any more topical you’d be rubbing it on your genital warts.

Are you a gal looking to spice up your topical costume? Give the boys in accounting at the Halloween happy hour something to talk about? You’re in luck. Sexy modifiers can be added to ANY topical Halloween costume to increase arousal points. For example, you could go as sexy Donald Sterling. You could wear a tube top with the word EBOLA written in a drippy blood red font. That’s relevant AND sexy because Ebola is killing people and you have boobs.

So this Halloween, follow these tips, stay safe and stay topical. As for me? I’m getting into the future-sexy-topical game. I’ll be the guy dressed as Oscar Pistorius being released from prison in 2019, and I’ll have the sexiest leg blades you’ve ever seen.

You can watch me scream and yell all of my recent posts on AwesomeTalk! It airs every other Tuesday on our YouTube channel, where you can also find past episodes and other psychotic vlog vids.