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26 June 2017

PERMABULK. Meat Sweats Courtesy Of Meat Pies, Homemade Hot Sauces, And A Very Baller Stewroid

"I don't want to place too much importance on hot sauce, but I don't think I'm overstepping my bounds when I say hot sauce is to food what salvation is to humanity.  Bland people like bland food, and the merit of your character will ultimately be determined by your preference for spicy foods" (Maddox).
Many of you might recall that incredibly astute Maddox quote from its previous use in my Stewroids series, and if you're still reading this, I'm certain you must agree.  Tragically, however, circumstances force upon us, be they long car rides during which we'd rather not accidentally shit wet, firey lava out of our asses to punctuate a slight cough, some unfortunate shared meal with parties less desirous of interesting and exciting foods, or just somewhat bland food that needs to be kicked the fuck up a notch, and hot sauces are required to ensure that we maintain homeostasis with the fire of a thousand tortured souls residing in our collective belly to drive the engine of progress through the aether.

That's right- LIFE AS WE KNOW IT WOULD STOP PROGRESSING IF SPICY FOODS WERE ELIMINATED, as man's drive to succeed would match the disaster that had befallen his dinner table.  Literally the only useful thing the Spanish and Portuguese have ever done is deliver chili peppers from the New World to the world market, and that changed every single cuisine it touched.  Imagine Indian food without chili peppers.  Hard, right?  It's like imagining Szechwan cuisine without chili peppers, and I cannot even conceive of such a thing, yet neither of those cultures' foods resembled what they eat now as a result of the introduction of the chili pepper.  Respect the chili pepper... or fail to do so at the imminent peril of your sex life, lifting, and overall life quality.


Think I'm telling tall tales? Researchers have discovered that people who are likely to soak their contacts overnight in Sriracha and douse their Cheerios in Dave's Insanity Sauce are (Bègue, Byrnes):

  • six times more inclined to enjoy exploration, adventurous travel and action movies
  • are masochists (particularly in woman)
  • have higher testosterone levels
  • are more aggressive and ballsy
  • are filled with scorched-Earth-bringing, giant-ball-sack-creating, world-dominating testosterone
Ahhhhh... testosterone.

That's right- if you find you dislike your food spicy, you very well might be a big ol' bitch, because testosterone levels seem to correlate with a preference for spicy foods (Bègue).  Have no fear, however, because you can raise your testosterone levels by consuming spicy shit.  As such, we should all be dusting our foods with ghost pepper rubs and dripping scorpion pepper sauce into our vodka before slamming a shot (I don't advise doing this while you're already drunk, because it's hard not to make a drop of scorpion pepper sauce into a pour, and that will have you on the floor screaming like Banshee from the X-Men and praying for death when it hits your stomach).  If you're like myself and crave different flavors in my palate, you might find that making your own sauces at home makes your refrigerator a hell of a lot more an interesting place, and easily makes you the "best chef I've ever met" for everyone you know because you can produce baller meals stuffed with capsaicin and more savory awesome than a warehouse filled with MSG on the fly.  Plus, the better your food tastes, the more you eat, and the more you eat, the more gains you get.


So let's start with a homemade hot sauce/paste that I constantly have in various permutations in my fridge.  Sure, you can get spice pastes and sauces from the store, but I cannot stress enough that the short time you spend experimenting with this stuff will yield massive results for yourself (and will blow the minds of anyone you feed it to).


This is shatta.  "Fucking epic" does not even begin to describe its wonders and delectability.

Shatta
If you combined the best elements of Alien-xenomorph-slobberingly-delectable savory and blowtorch-to-your-asshole scorching spicy, plus enough garlic to turn a goth vampiress inside out from going down on her after eating a hot sauce, you'd have all of the essential elements of the Middle Eastern hot sauce called Shatta.  Shatta is basically what you'd get if the single greatest condiment on planet Earth, chimichurri (which I professed my love for here), chained Italian pesto to a radiator and hatefucked it for a month.  Their beautiful child, made of congealed semen and anal lubricant (in the best kind of way), is shatta- spicy as hell, oily, and filled with deliciousness the likes of which you've never experienced.  Making what already seems almost inconceivably awesome even more boner-inducingly amazing is the fact that shatta fits into pretty much any diet- it fits into keto and anything shy of an early 1980s horsemeat and lettuce competition prep bodybuilding diet with ease.  Shatta may just become your new bestest friend.



My fridge has a shelf devoted to homemade hot sauces and chimichurri, all stored in mason jars to seal in the awesome.

Now, if you read 100 recipes for Shatta, you'd get 100 variations on the same theme.  The recipe I am providing here is the most recent one I've used, but saying it's the best I've ever made is like saying the most recent amazing blowjob was the best amazing blowjob I've ever had.  Shatta, like most hot sauces, is pretty hard to fuck up.  That's not to say it's impossible, but it's pretty hard.  The chilies you use are up to your discretion- most people use jalapenos, but I use a combination of serrano, jalapeno, and either scotch bonnet or habenero peppers.  If the color of the sauce matters to you, use peppers that correspond- this sauce comes out either green, red, or a weird orange-ish those colors based on the peppers you use.  If you follow this recipe exactly, I would add the habaneros in last, one by one, to get the heat you want.


Ingredients

Whole head of garlic
6-10 jalapeno peppers, stem removed
1-4 habanero or Scotch Bonnet peppers, stems removed
1 cup of fresh parsley
1 cup of fresh cilantro
1/2 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 lime, juiced (not the solids, just the juice)
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp salt
1 tsp Aleppo pepper (or use black pepper if you don't feel like getting Aleppo pepper)
1 tsp cumin powder
6 oz of tomato paste
1 cup of water

Directions

You'll see a lot of different ways to make this, but I'm all for quick and dirty.  Thus, throw all of it into the food processor and pulse it until everything is pretty well finely chopped, but not necessarily pureed (unless you want it with the consistency of a spread, which isn't at all bad, frankly.  You then just give it a bit of extra stirring to ensure the pepper, cumin, and salt are evenly mixed into the sauce.  I usually add another tablespoon of olive oil on top of the sauce in the jar.  It mixes in easily with a spoon when you're ready to serve it (which should be done at room temp and not cold out of the fridge) and seems to keep the flavors fresher.  Try it both ways and decide which you prefer.

Store this stuff in a mason jar- and in fact store any and all sauces in these jars.  They'll keep far longer, they'll taste better, you can shake them to mix them, and no xenoestrogens from plastic will leak into your food that way.  If you've forgotten why that matters...



As I received some criticism for posting pics and recipes from other sources, these are all mine from here on in.


Lebanese Fasolia
(Beef Chili with Red Beans over Rice and Pasta)

If you have any recollection of my investigation of the love of chili in the Ozarks and their apparently concomitant prowess in arm wrestling, it will likely not come as a shock that one of the only folk sports still practiced in Lebanon is arm wrestling, and Lebanon's Fasolia is nearly identical to the chili of the Ozarks.  How that happens I have no clue, because it isn't as though the people of the Ozarks are either worldly or amenable to sampling recipes that hail from any country that doesn't love Jesus and Wal-Mart.  What I can tell you is I could only find two traditional Lebanese folk sports, and aside from arm wrestling, they appear to have a tradition of putting what appear to be stone kettlebells overhead.  Clearly, the Lebanese are people who love spicy food and badassery, which makes them a-ok in my book.


The flavor of fasolia differs from what you're used to in large part due to the lack of chili powder and copious amounts of cumin- they use spice blends that contain a variety of spices that usually include cinnamon, which might sound weird, but cinnamon, chocolate, and coffee are often added to chili to jack up the flavor.  In short, it's not going to be so weird you can't get into it, but it is a nice change of pace from the ordinary.


Making fasolia a badass bulking food, and even more similar to Ozark chili, is the fact that they put it over pasta, though the Lebanese add an interesting twist by mixing angel hair pasta with white rice...  MOAR CARBZ FOR TO MAKE THE BULK.


Ingredients

  • 1 can of red beans
  • 1 lb of beef stew chunks (or ground beef)
  • 1 can of tomato paste
  • Whole head of garlic, minced
  • 1 small onion, finely chopped
  • 1/2 cup of olive oil
  • 1/2 teaspoon of salt (or to taste)
  • 1 teaspoon of Baharat / Shawarma seasoning / or any other of a few related delicious North African and Middle Eastern spice blends.  You can get creative here, though I'd likely stick with the first two for your initial foray into this dish.
  • 1 teaspoon of black pepper
  • 1.5 teaspoon of ground cinnamon
  • Handful of chopped fresh cilantro or 1 teaspoon of dried cilantro
  • 1 cup of rice
  • 1/4 cup of vermicelli (bird nest or angel hair vermicelli)
  • (also pictured but inauthentic, a can of corn- for whatever reason, I love corn in my chili)
Cooking Directions

  1. Heat about 4 tablespoons of olive oil in a deep pot at medium high heat.  Once the oil is popping, throw in the finely chopped onion.  Reduce the heat to Medium and stir with a wooden spoon constantly for 10 minutes.
  2. Once the onions are turning pink (this should be around the aforementioned 10 minutes), add in the minced garlic and cilantro and continue stirring.  
  3. Once you have the garlic and cilantro added, throw in either stew meat or ground beef.
  4. Once you have that added and mixed in with the onion, garlic, and cilantro, add the salt, spice blend, pepper, and cinnamon and keep stirring until the meat is browned.  
  5. Add 3 cups of warm water to the meat and increase the heat to High to bring it to a boil.
  6. Pour in the beans and tomato paste and turn the heat to Low, then simmer for 20-30 minutes, stirring occasionally.
  7. While the chili is simmering, lightly fry the vermicelli after chopping it into 1 inch pieces in butter or oil.
  8. Add the vermicelli to a rice maker with 1 cup of rice and 2 cups of water.
  9. Serve the chili on top of the rice/vermicelli mix

See?  This shit is easy peasy.  There's no excuse for eating bland, boring shit anymore.


I thought the flower would add some class.  Don't judge me, fuckers.  I'm a lifter, not a fucking photographer.

Egyptian Hawashi Meat Pie


While I'm taking liberties with other culture's recipes, I figured it was cool to do so with Egypt as well.  Dominant in North Africa and the Middle East for millennia, these motherfuckers built their global reputation on badassery, and their food reflects it.  Though the Hawashi is usually served in a flatbread, I thought it was the perfect meat mix for a meat pie, and meat pies are literally the gods' gift to mankind.  They're portable protein bombs so delectable and perfect that physicists will soon prove with quantum mechanics the ultimate perfection of food, and quite literally every badass culture on the planet has eaten them as a matter of course since antiquity.  What's more, they dip nicely into sauces like shatta, so even if you under-season one, you end up with a delectable alternative to protein bars.  

Hawashi is crazy easy to make, and to make the pie pie aspect easier, I decided to simply use crescent roll dough for the crust.  Seriously, this shit is as easy to make as it is tastier than Jenna Jameson's asshole.  Behold.

Ingredients

  • 2 containers of Pillsbury Crescent Roll dough
  • 1 pound 90% or 93% lean ground beef
  • 1 medium onion, finely chopped
  • 1 tablespoon of minced garlic
  • 1 tablespoon ground coriander
  • 1 tablespoon ground cumin
  • salt to taste (five to ten turns on a salt grinder)
  • Pepper to taste (maybe ten turns on a pepper grinder is what I use)
  • Minced peppers to taste (you're gonna have to determine this based on your love of spicy shit.  The easy way is to add a couple teaspoons of crushed red pepper).


Cooking Directions
I'm lazy and I love my food processor, so I start this by throwing the onion and the garlic into the food processor to get them ultra-fine.  The degree of chop in these two veggies is entirely up to you- I hate giant chunk of onion, so I puree them until they're practically mush.  Figure out what you like, then proceed.  I do the same with the chilies, and if you're feeling ultra lazy, you really can just toss them all in the food processor and brown them together- I usually do.  One of the mason jars in my fridge, a large one, is filled with pebre, which I explained here and serves nicely in situations calling for this kind of a mix of deliciousness.
  1. Throw a couple of tablespoons of oil into the pan and bring to Medium-High Heat, then add your onion when the oil starts popping.
  2. Keep stirring the onion to get it to the pink point mentioned in the recipe above, then add your garlic, cumin, coriander, and minced peppers or crushed red pepper.  Mix thoroughly.
  3. Throw in your meat and brown it, mixing with the other ingredients.  As the mixture is about browned, add in the salt and pepper. 
  4. Take off the heat and allow to cool.
  5. While the meat is cooling, pop open the crescent rolls and put them on a floured surface so you can roll them out.  Either roll them out individually to a 1/2 inch thickness or open them all the way and mash the pre-cut seams to close them (the lazy bachelor method).  Then cut them with a pizza cutter into 4-6 squares apiece.
  6. Spoon meat into the center of each square from one sheet, then use a square from the other sheet to cover.  Pinch the edges of each pie to hold in the meaty goodness.
  7. Follow the directions on the crescent roll container to cook the pie shells and let them cool a bit before you bite into them- the juices from the inside will be nuclear hot when you pull them out of the oven.
Seriously, I cannot overstate the awesomeness of meat pies.  They're manna from heaven, and they are accompanied by hot sauce (or my beloved chimi) in a way that no other food is.  Frankly, you can make all three of these things together and eat them as a two-course meal, because the flavors accompany each other perfectly and they'd give your daily diet a hell of a protein boost.  

Now get into the kitchen and CARPE THE FUCKING GAINZ.  Coming up next, I'll either have a new diet article with a kind of ABCDE Diet feel but a badass historical basis, or I'll hit you with some powerbuilding.  If you have a preference, hit me up in the comments.

Sources:
Bègue L, Bricout V, Boudesseul J, Shankland R, Duke AA.  Some like it hot: testosterone predicts laboratory eating behavior of spicy food.  Physiol Behav. 2015 Feb;139:375-7.

Byrnes NK, Hayes JE.  Gender differences in the influence of personality traits on spicy food liking and intake.  Food Qual Prefer. 2015 Jun 1; 42: 12–19.  

14 June 2017

Let The Hate Flow Through You


"Hate is as good as any to keep a man going. Better than most."
— Sandor Clegane, Game of Thrones

The last day of his eighth grade year, Herschel Walker finally decided to step outside and join his classmates for recess.  This kid was so timid mice would brazenly walk up to him and piss on his shoes, and so fucking frightened of other people that his stammer had his teachers thinking he was retarded (although he went on to become class valedictorian in high school).  Herschel had never joined his classmates outside, but since it was the last day of eighth grade, fat, smelly, little Herschel decided that although he was the weird, possibly retarded fat kid, a game of kickball might be all he needed to right the ship and set the tone for a badass high school career.  He was right, but for all the wrong reasons- his lovable little middle school classmates proceeded to kick the everloving shit out of him, apparently with as little preamble as Saddam Hussein's invasion of Kuwait and less explication than Mel Gibson's anti-semitic rants.  No matter what their reasoning, the result was epic- from that point onward in life, Herschel Walker was driven by one thing, and one thing only:
Hatred for his fellow man.


The face of hate.  Did I mention he's 49 in this picture?

Driven by hate harder than a kid from Colorado in a trench coat filled with guns, Herschel spent the next summer doing thousands of pushups and situps a day, dragging sleds, sprinting and jogging, and racing a fucking freight train.  So great was his hatred that in one summer he went from being one of the worst athletes in his school to being one of the fastest kids in GA.  From there, he became  perhaps the single greatest high school running back of all time, racking up an unbelievable 3,162 yards in his senior year and probably injuring more players than any linebacker in the country.  In college, though he was one of the greatest running backs in NCAA history, Walker nearly terminated his career and joined the Marines because he hated people so much he wanted to make killing them his job.  Let that sink in- Herschel Walker was being hailed not just as the greatest collegiate running back, but the greatest college football player of all time, and he nearly quit that to slaughter random brown people with firearms because hurting people on a football field would not quench the fire of rage burning within his chest.


Had Herschel Walker joined the Marines, this would be the profile pic of every human being online in Iraq and Afghanistan today.

Luckily for the denizens of whatever nation would have seen Walker's wrath unleashed, he remained in football because the day he was to quit, he broke his trigger finger.  Thus, he went on to set the USFL on fire, then jobbed his way through the NFL a shell of his former self after averaging almost 400 carries a season for three seasons, capped off by an insane 2,411 yards on 438 carries in his third season.  After retiring from the NFL bitter as hell because he was never given his due in that league, Walker directed his hatred towards Russian Roulette and MMA, luckily winning at both (he is 2-0 in MMA with 2 wins by TKO, both at 48 years of age).  Still unsatisfied with breaking every human being he's ever met in half, Walker is contemplating a return to the NFL, claiming that he's still running a 4.3 40 yard dash, at 6'1" and 220 lbs, which would make him incredibly competitive even at age 55.




RUN THROUGH EVERYTHING STANDING IN MY WAY; RUN THROUGH EVERYONE STANDING IN MY WAY

Herschel Walker isn't the only man who has benefited from the power of hate- the concept of hate as a primary motivator driving one's success is even a trope in television, print, and film.  As the author of the website TV Tropes explains, 
"Hate gives you power and fuel to move you. What you do with hate depends on who you are. Sometimes hate makes us change things because we are angry and see they don't work like this. Sometimes it makes you murder someone and makes you the villain. Sometimes, when the villain gloats at your poor dead dog, he makes a mortal enemy. Then there are the times when you are just furious at how horrible the world is and thus, with The Power Of Hate, a hero is born (or a villain)" (TV Tropes).  
Interestingly, that trope describes Walker perfectly (had he not broken his trigger finger his hate might have driven him to commit unspeakable (or unspeakably awesome, depending on your perspective)) atrocities, thereby turning him into a villain.  No matter what the outcome, however, hatred is for heroes and villains a motivator that drives them harder than a godawful John Cusack movie, and keeps them going in spite of any and all setbacks, pitfalls, or calamities.



"Love is a fine cushion to rest upon, but only hate can make you a better person."
- Joe Abercrombie

With the current spate of internet, do-gooder social justice warriors relentlessly screeching about positivity and avoiding negative emotions, negative remarks, and hate, it's perhaps shocking to have anyone espouse an emotion like hate.  Hate, after all, has been more or less criminalized in the Western World.  To hate is to commit crime, because if you hate, you must be a cis-gender, racist, misogynist, Trump-supporting emotional terrorist who's fit for a straightjacket and a menace to society, and it's a good reason for a judge to tack an extra five years onto a person's sentence for getting into an ordinary barfight.  Well, hear this:  FUCK THAT SHIT.  Science shows that negative emotions are just as important as positive emotions, and in pessimistic people more important than positive emotions, and that there is nothing inherently wrong with hate- it can mean the difference between failure and success, between mediocrity and greatness, and it should never be ignored.




"We know things are bad — worse than bad. They're crazy. It's like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don't go out anymore. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we are living in is getting smaller, and all we say is: 'Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials and I won't say anything. Just leave us alone.'
Well, I'm not gonna leave you alone. I want you to get MAD!"

Yes, there are sanctimonious castratos who will loudly decry this as "alpha-male posturing", or somesuch nonsense.  It is not.  Sure, it's unkind to hate people, but in a world where the sanctimonious fucktards outnumber the likable humans about 1000 to 1, hate is entirely justified.  We're wedged in between a populace of fat, sweaty, uneducated, diabetic, Christian retards on one hand and somewhat-educated neoliberal fascists on the other- there is literally nothing useful people can do other than hate everything and everyone around them, to scream "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!" out their windows, to go to metal shows and beat the fucking brakes off people, to throw weights around and get jacked and read books and be even more awesome than we already are.  They're going to hate us anyway- we stand for everything they stand against.  Luckily, we can turn their hate around and use it as fuel for our collective fire, allowing it to drive us further in our workouts, to push us deeper into the zone every set, and to rage against the dying of our society's collective light.




“Tyrannical toward himself, he must be tyrannical toward others. All the gentle and enervating sentiments of kinship, love, friendship, gratitude, and even honor, must be suppressed in him and give place to the cold and single-minded passion for revolution.... Striving cold-bloodedly and indefatigably toward this end, he must be prepared to destroy himself and to destroy with his own hands everything that stands in the path of the revolution.” 
Catechisms of the Revolutionary, Sergei Nechayev

According to social scientists, psychologists, and neurologists, negative emotions are key to well being, and that we should embrace and accept feelings of anger and hatred, because they help with problem solving, realistic predictions of the future, and provide a competitive advantage for those who can figure out how to harness their hate and rage to facefuck of all of life's difficulties until they puke and pass out (Lilienfield, Rodriguez, Daskal).  Just think about your own life- when you were at your happiest, you were at your most complacent, weren't you?  For myself, I know that when life is going easily and smoothly, my lifts are generally pretty lackluster and my life will come to ruin if I don't find something or someone to rage against.  In addition, I'll train less, pay less attention to my diet, and will eventually slow my training to a crawl... at least until I look in the mirror and hate myself enough to do something about it.  If you "Stay Negative" as a bunch of beatdown hardcore bands espouse, you actually set yourself up for success, because you're predicting problems and formulating solutions before anything bad has actually occurred- you're undermining your own complacency by expecting the worst and planning for it, rather than resting on your laurels with a smirk on your face and changing your profile pic on Facebook to a rainbow flag and some missive about how you champion the rights of the differently-abled, non-white, gender-neutral indigenous peoples of wherever, and it's good that terrorist attacks on the white patriarchy occur to highlight the anger of the downtrodden and misused.  On top of that, when the shit does hit the fan you, unlike the social justice warriors who can only wring their hands and whine online, have the skill of turning failures into lessons, which is absolutely essential for crushing the opposition on the platform, the sports field, or in the boardroom.



"I can't stand living, I can't stand you, and I just can't hate enough."

If Instagram is any indication, none of the #Fitspo people will agree with any of this, but that's because they're fucking halfwits who would fuck up getting drunk at an open bar and then manage to go home unfucked after the orgy afterparty.  Anyone who needs to masturbate their inner child with daily admonitions against negative people and constant paeans to surrounding themselves with positivity, they're damn near guaranteed to be saddies who surround themselves with the same.  Happy people need daily reminders to be happy just like dogs need daily reminders to wag their fucking tails- it's petty, transparent posturing by weak people.  Moreover, if you're in any way pessimistic, that shit does not help.  At all.  In fact, defensive pessimists are at their best under stress and in anticipation of a negative outcome, and 
"'positive mood impairs the performance of defensive pessimists.' When they’re in a good mood, they become complacent; they no longer have the anxiety that typically mobilizes their effort. If you want to sabotage defensive pessimists, just make them happy" (Grant).
As we all know, complacency is the enemy of greatness, and there is no kryptonite like happiness to a pessimist.


Throatfucking is the antidote to kryptonite, even though it makes everyone happy.

Just like happiness brings about the downfall of any devout pessimist, encouragement does the same.  In fact, pessimists do 29% worse when tested after receiving touchy-feely words of encouragement.  Instead of Tony Robbins, pessimists need is the best of all the Muppets, Statler and Waldorf, sitting up in the balcony talking shit and stoking our inner furnace of hate. We thrive on criticism and shit-talking, because it allows us to rail against and destroy our opposition- they are the enemy we require to thrive.  The same goes for anxiety- when optimists are anxious, they distract themselves, lowering themselves to using lame new-age self-help techniques to escape their reality.  Pessimists, like Tyler Durden in the chemical burn scene of Fight Club, live in and for reality- anxiety motivates us to succeed, so we ruminate on extreme outcomes to drive us to victory (Grant).  


Yuri Vlasov (center), an Olympic weightlifter so ridiculously jacked it's hard to believe he ever even had a naysayer, nevermind enough to fuel 31 ratified world records.

I'm sure you have plenty of experiences in your life that reflect this, since my entire fucking life has been one giant effort to prove everyone wrong, whether their shit-talking was real or imagined.  And don't pretend like you've never sort of fantasized that people were talking shit, or been paranoid that they were, when you weren't even in the minds of the people you believed were talking shit.  In any event, a bit of shit talked is a gold mine for pessimists, and it drives us to glory.  Consider this tidbit from Olympic gold medalist in Olympic weightlifting, Yuri Vlasov, whose entire career was driven by pitting himself against the evil Americans and anyone who talked shit about him:
"I had a story that happened when I was competing in Nationals in Gorko. I was just starting competing and was complacent whether I would become first or second. Then I heard from my competitor’s coach talking about me: “this trash will never become a champion.” It tipped me over. I called for a huge weight on the next attempt. Without any hesitation I nailed it like an empty bar" (Winters).
As if reality hadn't shit on the Fitspo pussies' collective weaksauce parade enough, consider this:
"Studies show that positive fantasies discourage achievement—when people imagine losing weight or pursing a relationship with a crush, they’re less likely to follow through. Also, people perform worse when they say “I will” than when they ask themselves, “Will I?”
At the same time, we need pessimists to anticipate the worst and prepare us all for it. On average, research indicates that people who never worry have lower job performance than those who worry from time to time. Studies also show that when entrepreneurs are highly optimistic, their new ventures bring in less revenue and grow more slowly, and when CEOs are highly optimistic, they take on more risky debt and swing for the fences more often, putting their companies in jeopardy. (This may be why there are fewer optimistic CFOs than CEOs)" (Grant).


I may have said a lot of things here that offended some of you, but nothing comes more from my heart than this: 
SHUT THE FUCK UP BITCH.
- Bad Luck 13 Riot Extravaganza

To top it all off, defensive pessimists aren't failures at the outset- they're highly successful.  They tend to have better health and higher incomes than the #Fitspo fucktards.  Scientists think this is because they better anticipate the shitstorms life throws your way, so they prepare for them and their health benefits as a result.  They are also in far better position to deal with the hard times they might face because they've anticipated, so they have far less acute stress in exchange for higher levels of chronic stress, off of which they thrive (Abrams).  We win because we hate and fear failure, and as a result we only lose, if at all, after we've won- it's our cross to bear and happiness is tragically the bane of our competitive existence, but what the fuck... it gives us one more thing to fight.  


Bad Luck 13 Riot Extravaganza.  Prophets of a post-modern, nihilistic, go-fuck-yourself age.  By the way, the dude on the right who has Kill tattooed on his neck is Shlak, who's now jacked, a badass tattoo artist, and a wrestler for CZW.

If all of that weren't enough, history has shown us that some of the most brutal, epic, and insane badasses deliberately cultivated a mentality to harness that hatred in order to be victorious in battle.  This condition, known as somafera, or berserkergang among the Norse, was one wherein warriors would enter what could be considered an ecstatic religious state that made them superhuman.  In the Ynglinga Saga, these people were described as such:
"... his men went without mailcoats, and were as frantic as dogs or wolves; they bit their shields and were as strong as bears or boars; they slew men but neither fire nor iron could hurt them.  This is known as 'running berserk'" (Skallagrimsson, Putting on the Wolf Skin).
These warrior cults deliberately cultivated this state by a variety of methods ranging from inflicting pain on themselves to ruminating on things that enraged them to pacing like wolves, and in some cases wore wolf skins and bear skins to try to adopt the mentality of the fiercest animals, and these things worked.  Whether it was the Dacian Wolf Warriors, the Viking Berserkers, the Chinese Boxers, or any of a ton of other warrior cults of this type, they were devoted to harnessing all of their rage and hate and utilizing that energy to destroy anything and everything in their path.  It was this energy that carved for them a name in history, and it for this reason they are remembered today.



So there you have it- hate makes you strong.  It fills you with adrenaline, which you then turn into victory (Seltzer).  All of the touchy-feely neo-liberal non-offensive drivel in the world can't get your inner child's dick hard like some good old fashioned hate.  It is the most primitive of all emotions, and it is the most powerful.  It confers invincibility, drives humanity to greater heights, and turns men into superhumans (or demons, depending on your perspective).  So stoke that inner fire, put on your wolf skin, hit the gym with an epic murder boner, and crush the opposition.  


I ain't like you!
And I don't want your love
And I don't need your respect
I just can't hate enough
But I got no tears or regrets.

Sources:
Abrams, Lindsay.  A case for pessimism.  The Atlantic.  13 Mar 2013.  Web.  12 Jun 2017.  https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2013/03/a-case-for-pessimism/273950/

Daskal, Lolly.  The surprising power of negative thinking.  Inc.com.  1 Oct 2015.  Web.  14 Jun 2017.  https://www.inc.com/lolly-daskal/the-surprising-power-of-negative-thinking.html

Grant, Adam.  The positive power of negative thinking.  Huffington Post.  16 Oct 2013.  Web.  14 Jun 2017.  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/adam-grant/the-positive-power-of-neg_b_4107096.html

Lilienfield, Scott O.  Can Positive Thinking Be Negative?  Scientific American.  1 May 2011.  Web.  12 Jun 2017.  https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/can-positive-thinking-be-negative/

Oyler, Lauren.  The surprising benefits of hating everything.  Vice.  8 Sep 2016.  Web.  14 Jun 2017.  https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/the-surprising-benefits-of-hating-everything

Rodriguez, Tori.  Negative Emotions Are Key to Well-Being.  Scientific American.  1 May 2013.  Web.  12 Jun 2017.  https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/negative-emotions-key-well-being/

Sasaki J, Sakamoto S, Moriwaki A, Inoue K, Ugajin K.  The recognized benefits of negative thinking/affect in depression and anxiety: Developing a scale.  Japanese Psychological Research
2013, Volume 55, No. 3, 203–215.

Seltzer, Leon F.  The paradox of anger: strength or weakness?  Psychology Today.  29 Jun 2011.  Web.  12 Jun 2017.  https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/evolution-the-self/201106/the-paradox-anger-strength-or-weakness

The power of hate.  TV Tropes.  Web.  12 Jun 2017.  http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ThePowerOfHate

Winter, Gergor.  Yury Vlasov documentary "A 20000 Ton Barbell" and excerpts from his book "Justice of Strength."  All Things Gym.  20 July 2014.  Web.  14 Jun 2017.  http://www.allthingsgym.com/yury-vlasov-documentary-20000-ton-barbell-excerpts-book-fairness-strength/

06 June 2017

John "I Basically Committed Suicide By Unreal One-Handed Deadlift" Y. Smith- Baddest Motherfuckers Ever


"You may never equal the grip strength of John Y. Smith who at 160 pounds bodyweight and in his 40's deadlifted 450 pounds in his right hand and 425 in his left before completely destroying his back while lowering the bells to the floor and as a result suffered a massive stroke resulting in having to live out the rest of his years in a deadlift-eccentric induced coma" (Batchelor).

After several aborted attempts to conjure up a hyper-compelling opener for what might just be the granddaddy of all Baddest Motherfuckers entries, I realized that no sentence I could possibly compose, even at my most hilarious, brutal, and eloquent, could possibly outdo the above quotation, which is entirely the reason behind this mindblowingly brutal motherfucker's biography.  What you are about to read is the story of a man who is equal parts Arthur Saxon and Popeye.  A story that may make you rethink even bothering to go to the gym because there is no way you will ever come to within screaming distance of this man.  This is the story of a man who didn't start lifting weights until he was 30 and went on to pull ONE-HANDED DEADLIFTS OF 450 LBS. AND 425 LBS at a bodyweight of around 165... and AT THE AGE OF 60. 60 years old and he pulled more with one hand than most 20 year olds on r/weightlifting of the same weight can pull with two, and is still only 95 lbs off the two handed all-time world record in that class.  Afterwards, according to arm wrestling and strongman legend Mac Batchelor, he suffered a massive stroke having destroyed his body in setting a world record in the one handed deadlift and competing in the strongman competition with the largest attendance ever in the same week.  I couldn't find any corroborating sources for that claim, but Mac Batchelor doesn't seem to be a man who spent a lot of time exaggerating, as he was busy crushing beer cans lengthwise between his thumb and forefinger.  I can tell you this- John Y. Smith didn't die until age 90, and in the 30 years between that competition and his death, there are no anecdotes of his exploits, which is interesting given the man's yearly insane challenges, and a man who looks this fucking ridiculous and crushes beer caps in this manner absolutely must be a reputable source... that or related to the most infamous and awesome criminal in history, Charles Bronson.

His facial hair was as preposterous as his hand strength was prodigious, but he was not a man known for exaggerating.

So here we have the stage set to tell a tale so preposterous I hesitate to even tell it, so vociferous will be the claims that the life of Mr. John Y. Smith is a tall tale.  Nevertheless, here begins a story about a man whose strength exploits defy explanation and belief.  A man who weighed between 160 to 170 lbs during the entirety of his competitive career, which didn't even begin until he was in his thirties, and who won the largest strength competition ever held anywhere, before or since.

Young's pet dumbbell, which had a two inch thick handle and he'd play around with like a child's toy even though it weighed in at 185 lbs.

A wise man once said "writing is about verbs, not adjectives", and that's a lucky thing for me, because I'm running out of synonyms for "ridiculous" without even having even gotten into the meat and potatoes of this article.  So, meet John Young Smith.  I am not shitting you even a little bit when I begin this story with his birth, which was on an Austrian ship to a Scot and a German in Chinese waters in 1866, Smith lived out essentially his entire life on the high seas.  In truly Dickens-esque fashion, Smith's parents died within a week of each other when he was four years old.  Orphaned and alone on the high seas, Smith basically just started working as a sailor as a toddler.  That seems to account for Smith's unfuckingreal hand strength, as if we spent time hauling rope, climbing rope, and lifting random odd objects on and off the boat, he'd have a pretty good base of strength on which to call when he actually started lifting... which was upon his retirement from work as a sailor at age 30.  A year later, ONE YEAR INTO LIFTING, John Y. Smith picked up two barbells measuring a half inch larger in thickness than modern Olympic barbells.  With a 220 lb. barbell in his right hand and a 200 lb. barbell in his left hand, HE ROCKED A 75 YARD FARMERS WALK.  Put that in your pipe and smoke it, people, because that'll never happen again to a person who's only been training a year, and it will likely never happen at all with a guy who weighs between 160 and 170 lbs.

This fucking crazy.

That feat pretty much set the stage for what just became commonplace for him (and ridiculous for anyone else) strength accomplishments.  Consider the following until we get to the shit that makes Charles Manson seem perfectly sane by comparison:
  • David P. Willoughby, author of the The Super Athletes, claimed Smith was second only to the ludicrously strong Arthur Saxon in the bent press by bodyweight.    Smith put up 275.5 pounds in 1903 at a bodyweight of 168 (Wilks of 88.08, compared with a Wilks of 106.71 for Arthur Saxon), but Willoughby claimed that due to the fact it was done with a dumbbell, the weight would be more like a 313 lb bent press. Google that weird ass lift or watch this video if you don't understand why it'd be harder with a dumbbell than a barbell.
  • He would routinely clean and press the 185 lb thick handled dumbbell in the picture above for sets of three or more.
  • Smith picked up 1,640 pound block of iron hand-and-thigh style and held it four inches off its platform. 
  • He overhead pressed a pair of dumbells weighing a total of 225 lbs.
  • Smith could deadlift what was essentially a deficit pull on a thick bar of 520 pounds (the bars were thicker and the plates were smaller) at bodyweight of 160 lbs.  
  • He could hang by one hand from a rope while holding a 100 lb dumbbell in his free hand.
  • He could lift one of those old-school wooden barrels weighing two hundred pounds by pinch gripping the the steel straps ringing them.
  • Smith could hang from a smooth-surfaced, one inch in diameter belaying pin with one hand while holding a 140 lb dumbbell in the other.
  • Old-timey strongman superstar George Jowett claimed he saw a 60 year old Smith a perfect handstand using only two fingers and the thumbs of each hand.
The man was ready to rumble people in strength competitions even while dressed like an undertaker.  

So, there's all of that- John Y. Smith was a bonafide bad motherfucker, and although only 5'6" and 165 lbs in his prime, he was one of the greatest strongmen in the world in any weight class.  By the time the world's biggest strongman competition in history rolled around, however, he was 60 years old... and still ready to throw up both middle fingers and rock out.  So, after being invited to the “Strongest Man in New England”  in 1926, this sexagenarian had so few fucks to give that he borrowed ten of them from a buddy and still showed up to the competition with his pockets empty, because this competition was huge and John Y. Smith was not about to be left out simply because he'd already exceeded the average life expectancy of the American male by 5 years.  When I say this competition was the biggest in history, it was a field of 34 competitors who went toe to toe in strength events in a series of elimination contests that were witnessed by a crowd of 5,000 people.  The finals, held in front of a massive crowd of TWENTY THOUSAND PEOPLE on the Boston Braves' baseball field, consisted of the following lifts:

  • Two hands continental jerk
  • Two hands continental press
  • Two hands dead lift
  • Right and left hands dead lift

The sixty year old Smith had set a world record right hand deadlift of 450 two weeks earlier, and he still managed to trash everyone in the field after a day of lifting and pull 415, which is beyond superhuman.  Smith ended up clinching the victory by 15 lbs, and walked away... well, according to Mac Batchelor, limped away.  Then had a stroke.  Then spent the next 30 years in a coma, somehow, defying good sense, the odds, and probably leaving at least one bookmaker to lose his shirt in a Dead Pool.  Nevertheless, that is his story.  Go and tell the tale of John Y. Smith, a man who lived a life of legends, gave zero fucks and 110% effort at all times, spat in the Grim Reaper's eye, and who very well might be the baddest motherfucker to have ever lived.

... oh, and you might want to avoid hyper-slow eccentric portions of deadlifts, because they seem to have killed a man far, far tougher than any of us will ever be.

Sources:
Christopher, Logan.  John Y. Smith.  Legendary Strength.  8 Nov 2013.  Web.  30 May 2017.  https://legendarystrength.com/john-y-smith/

Hoffman, Bob.  How I bent-pressed 250 lbs (1938).  Tight Tan Slacks of Deszo Ban.  30 Jun 2010.  Web.  30 May 2017.  http://ditillo2.blogspot.com/2010/06/how-i-bent-pressed-250-lbs-bob-hoffman.html

Jowett, George. The key to might and muscle - (circa 1926) - Chapter 9 - The value of finger strength and how it is required.  Natural Strength.  4 Apr 2011.  Web.  30 May 2017.  http://www.naturalstrength.com/2011/04/key-to-might-muscle-circa-1926-chapter_04.html

Ryan, Tom.  Profile: John Y. Smith.  Iron Game History.  Feb 1990.  Web.  30 May 2017.  http://library.la84.org/SportsLibrary/IGH/IGH0101/IGH0101c.pdf

Willoughby, David P.  The Super Athletes.  New York: A.S Barnes, 1970.

Wood, John.  The man with iron claw hands.  Oldtime Strongman.  Web.  30 May 2017.  http://www.oldtimestrongman.com/strength-articles/john-y-smith-man-iron-claw-hands