Welcome to the world of the Boner in Sweat Pants…

Be forewarned.  You are about to enter a world that once seen through the eyes of one’s mind, can never be returned from. 

Dipshits in spandex, assholes with faces, strippers with dementia: What do they have in common?  They all religiously perform a ritual that to them, would be referred to as “working out.”  To this semi-professional erect one, however, its been more appropriately titled ”Jackassturbation.” 

The line in the song, about being blind, but now can see, well as it turns out that’s not just a line from The Bible (As Told By Guys with Famous Mustaches.)  I just don’t think we’re using the same mirror.  Boners don’t discriminate, and they don’t hate or cause any harm (that matters).  And I’m not saying that because I DON’T want to introduce you to the inside of my spraypaint can full o’ mace, pepper spray, or anything else that can properly express my gratitude for makin’ me look so awesome.  Chicks dig me because you exist.    Like any “special” love child who worked his way just under the ”Fat-But-Can-Still-Wipe-My-Own-Ass” mark would impress you, they can be ridiculous, and bizarre.  Fascinating, but loveable, just not in a very loving sort of way.   Sometimes the boners that accidentally hit you in the forehead can be very guy-next-door-ish… if you happen to live in or around Westwood, Kansas.   It could be your dad, your brother, son, cousin or Aunt Lily-Chester.  It could be your mom, sister, aunt, girlfriend, or manservant.

It could be your Uncle Ramon dressed up as your aunt’s belly dancer’s manservant, but only on days that end in “y,” and not Flag Day.  Or Chanukkah.

Doesn’t matter.  They’re all there at some point over the past 7 years.  Many are repeat, often daily offenders of every social misconduct that could possibly exist.

There’s a “wet area” that consists of a jacuzzi, sauna, steamroom and indoor, heated pool.  There’s also a dude that, legally, I cannot name–not because I give a shit about protecting his identity…(every person who has a clue what I’m talking about would know who I’m talking about) and yes, his first name does happen to be James, and his last name does rhymes with Deez…………Nutz! 

Sorry, song just jumped into my head about this fairy-tale, studio gangsta, who was ”rollin’ down the street, smokin’ endo, sippin a cold Butt’ry Nipple.  Laid back, with his mind on his weiner and his weiner on his mind.”  

But that’s all to come…soon…it’s already late, and has already made me a little bit crazy, they tell me.  Or told me.  Today.  So stay tuned for reality tv, with words, and waves…right here in the heart of good ol’ Kansas City!

Famous Faces of Fitness: Richard “Dick” Simmons

First, I want to give a shout out to the one faithful fucker who has logged on to this website nearly every day since last April; checking-in to see if the Boner had made his triumphant return, only to have his hopes and dreams smattered for the better part of the last six months.  Thanks dude, I’m not sure who you are, but it doesn’t matter; I think you’re bad ass.  The reason for this extended episode of erectile-dysfunction however, springs mostly from the recent topics that I’ve felt were important to cover, even if they didn’t have anything to do with dumbfuck asswipes who have famous mustaches.  See, truth is, there is some money to be made in this here “health and wellness” industry.  Shit, you’re fat aren’t you?  Statistacally speaking, two out of every three people have to answer that question with a definite yes.  And was it not you who came out of the closet after realizing that you were a repellent to the opposite sex, only to find later that neither sex wanted anything to do with you or that mustard stain on your shirt?  See, the polls are showing that there are a lot of you out there, and I’m simply trying to take advantage, and cash in on all of you sloppy bastards, word? 

To do this most effectively however, I thought it best to look back to the iconic figures of yesteryear; the ones who shaped, molded and paved the way for those of us who would follow in their footsteps.  I’ve heard it said that to be great, one must stand on the shoulders of a giant, and today, that giant is you Dick Simmons!    For all that you have done to help create what we ALL know WILL be the next trillion dollar industry, from your poofy little afro, to the soft and mushy man-loins that you allowed to spill out of those tiny little running shorts, you Mr. Simmons…Mr. Richard Simmons…were the fuckin’ MAN!

 A severely overweight child from New Orleans, Dick Simmons battled obesity for a number of years, becoming dependent on diet pills and adopting unhealthy weight loss programs.  He briefly lived in Italy, before relocating to Los Angeles in 1973, where he opened an innovative exercise studio that catered to the severely overweight, including himself, and he performed pussy antics and shenanigans that did nothing but get on people’s nerves, while making fat ladies feel as though they were victims.

In 1979, Simmons, based primarily on his hairdo, enjoyed a brief stint on the popular daytime soap opera General Hospital, but soon decided to concentrate solely on building a fitness empire, which made no sense whatsoever, yet somehow worked.  The following year, he launched an even more ridiculous idea in the form of his own talk show The Richard Simmons Show, which wasted four seasons worth of air-time.  He successfully marketed his image to the public, which says everything you need to know about the public.  While writing numerous self-help books, he created the “Deal-A-Meal” food maintenance program, which was clearly a miserable failure, and produced the Sweatin’ to the Oldies line of exercise videos that caused no oldies to sweat whatsoever.

Over the years, Simmons has become a staple on late night television, bringing his non-humorous humor and indefatigable energy to The Tonight Show and Late Night with David Letterman.  With a rigorous touring schedule that includes 250 personal appearances each year, he continues to promote physical well-being to millions of loyal followers in his usual ‘do as I say, not as I do’ style.

Stay tuned, as next week the Boner takes an in-depth look at another fitness superstar, The Wolf.

Bitch, You Can’t Play Hitler’s Harmonica!

 I suck at returning phone calls.  Worst ever.  I know that, and I’m not proud of it, but really, I don’t like talking that much. 

One of my favorite dudes ever, on the other hand, doesn’t really fancy e-mailing or texting, and that doesn’t make for frequent updates between the two of us.  I’ll be a son of a bitch though if I didn’t get a e-mail from my boy the other day, and damn was it good to hear from him!  Ladies and germs, I want to tell you about my good buddy Jon Lovitz!  You see me and Lovitz played in one of the greatest bands ever to grace the midwest together, and we were the masterminds behind it.  Think I’m fucking around?  I’m not.  We were big.  Got to play with groups like Blues Traveler, G Love and Special Sauce, The Samples, bands you’ve heard of, so we weren’t any type of scrubs.  Shit, most of you probably were fans of ours.  Anyway,  Lovitz was one of the more talented dudes I ever played with.  He was damn good.  And while we’re on the subjects of pimps like Liberace, I figured what better time to let you guys in on a little lesser known talent, who is also an actor.  You might remember him from Howard the Duck and shit.  Anyway, what you didn’t know was that he was the front man of our group, and even after the rest of us got sick of being awesome, Lovitz when on to further his career, first in Chicago, then down to Austin, TX, and now, as of recently, after numerous albums, the best of which I performed on (serious), he has finally retired.  But we can’t let that shit happen Boner lovers.  He’s way too good, both at songwriting, and as a singer.  I guarantee you he’s better than any bitch whose ever been on American Karaoke, I mean Idol.  Fuck, I think if you Google our shit, you can still hear some of our old songs.  It’s time for some new songs though Lovitz.  You hearin’ me my man?  Your career isn’t over yet.  I want songs about boners in sweat pants, rat tails and mustaches, dudes who exercise in jeans, dudes who like to sport a fat bulge every now and again.  C’mon, what do you say ol’ buddy?  Write me up a little diddy about one of those topics, and let Bisp fans all around the globe get a chance to experience a little audible slice of heaven.  You hear me Lovitz?  I’m talking to you.  That, and I need to talk to you about some other important shit.  For real.  Since I hate talkin’ on the phone though, I think I’m just gonna make a trip up to Chicago to talk to you face to face.  I got the opportunity of a lifetime for you, and I want to tell you all about it.  Check your calendar and find a good weekend to come up there, spot me the money for the flight, and let’s do it!  Seriously though, I want all the rest of you to check out Lovitz and his music.  I don’t know if this site is still up or not, but try going to www.theeverydaypeople.com and see if you can sample some clips.  Then if you like it, let me know, and I’ll see what I can do about getting a personally signed autograph of the following picture for anyone who wants one: