Been a while, hasn’t it? An annoying clusterfuck combination of disparate injuries and complications from my aforementioned staph infection have kept me off the mats for over a month. Since one of those injuries consisted of a torn ligament in my (thankfully non-jacking it) wrist, I have not been favourably disposed towards typing shit, and quite frankly, I don’t think that a lot of particularly interesting shit has happened. But on further consideration, just because something is mundane to me, doesn’t mean you won’t find it fascinating, after all, I’m bored by my own awesomeness, but that’s only because I live with it every day. So I can’t spend my afternoons strangling people for a while, what do I do then? Well, since this is setback 4 or 5 in a row, in a short span of time I might add, were I a typical fuckstick american, I would have long since given up, wallowed, and added 20lbs to an already corpulent frame. Not that there’s anything wrong with wallowing, mind you, pigs do it, and they provide us with bacon, which is glorious, but since the 40% of ‘mericans who imitate the noble pig’s feeding habits and sedentary nature would object if we carved them up for strips to add to our eggs in the morning, I’m willing to entertain far less of their oinking. Mind you, if I were a typical american, I wouldn’t be gallivanting around the globe learning new ways to strangle people to begin with, but that’s also what qualifies me to give a little advice to anyone seeking to up their awesome quotient instead of their body mass index for a change.
Imagine you’re a gay dude, and the leader of the gays (don’t even pretend like you don’t have one guys, too many of you dress and act alike to not be following orders) says you can’t chug cock for a month. What do you do? What do you do!? (yes, that’s a ‘Speed’ reference… you‘re welcome). I’ll tell you what you don’t do, you don’t wallow just because you can’t swallow. You pour yourself a mojito, steel your resolve, and you spend that month getting into better shape and practicing on cucumbers so that when your exile is up, you can be a more effective homosexual, otherwise, you‘ll know in your fruity heart of hearts that not only did you let yourself down, you let the tribe down.
But most people don’t have the burden of living up to awesome poofter stereotypes, like superb fitness, upward mobility, erudition, and love of musical theatre. Instead, they look around, and as long as they’re not 300lbs and clinically retarded, they feel like they’re doing pretty well at life. Hell, if they’re good at Call of Duty to boot, they prolly feel like they’re downright badass. Unless we have an army of robot soldiers linked to videogame controllers with which to battle the Chinese, this is no way to save a civilization people! Take me for example. Left with nothing but free time, I could’ve entertained myself with coke and hookers, or heroin and sluts, or even marijuana and cheerleaders, depending on the dividend from my trust fund that month, but no. I worked out practically every day. I ran stairs for high intensity intervals and did core training. My wrist still hasn’t healed to the point where I can do pushups on my palms, so I do them on my knuckles. My resting heart rate has gone from nearly 60, down to 45, my time on the 100 burpee challenge has gone from 8:43 to 6:50. What’s the 100 burpee challenge? You do 100 burpees, then you stop, what are you, from Alabama or something? And when I’m not sweating my stones off trying to wrest my fitness back from the clutches of medical misfortune, I’m following my ‘youtube theory of learning’ protocol to enhance my knowledge of submission grappling. Also, I look at porn, but that’s not actually part of my overall point. What is my overall point? The defining component of excellence is persistence. Also, when in need of a template for awesomeness, find the swishiest fudgepacker you can, and do what he would do. Or just read this blog, either way.
The Ballad of Clint Thrust 