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!

Frothing Boners and Girlz, Oh My!

Quick note to T-Dogg: a Frothy Girl has no resemblance to, or in no way is anything like a Rusty Trombone or a Dirty Sanchez.  Get your mind out of the gutter, fucking degenerate.  T-Dogg, by the way, is a buddy of mine who has the dirtiest looking porn-stashe I’ve ever seen, is about the size of an out-of-shape NFL offensive lineman, smokes two packs a day while playing video games, and SHE can usually be found snoopin’ around a trash bin near you. 

Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Boner, pronounced with an owner.  As in, “would the owner of the blue Chevy that’s parked in my neighbors yard please get off of the sidewalk.”  And while the same blue Chevy definitely has a sticker of Calvin pissing on a Ford logo placed prominently on the back window, I’m not sure if it has a scrotum attached to it, which I thought was a fuckin’ hilarious blast in your post last week Shannon.  Yes, most of you probably know Shannon as the editor of FrothyGirlz.com based on the fact that you are more than likely at that site right now reading this.  I’m only clarifying this because I do have one faithful reader who is probably in his cubicle reading it off my site–which resembles the inside of an unflushed truck-stop toiletbowl compared to the Lamborghini that these ladies have earned the right to drive at FrothyGirlz!  In other words, it’s a real honor ladies, and I appreciate you allowing me to drop in.  So I better tell you my schtick before anyone sees that pic of the rusty van with ”Free Candy” spray-painted on the side of it, notices my name is the Boner In Sweat Pants, and goes calling the cops.  Not that I’d blame you, but I’m actually what some people might modestly refer to as a guru.  Either that, or an asshole.  That’s right, I’m a real Dick Simmons, only I’m not flaming, and typically my balls aren’t found squirshed up against my pasty white man-loins as I go prancing around to the oldies, or whatever the fuck that dude did.  Rather, I tend to be more on the side of promoting health and wellness.  It just so happens that I’m doing so in one of the fattest cities, in THE fattest country, on the planet.  That’s not my opinion, it’s a fact.   So if it offends you, then fuck you.  You probably are fat.  That’s ok though…I’m here to help.  I really am, but if the truth is too much for you to handle, then I suggest you open that fat-ass, and insert head now.  You see I don’t give a goddam about being your friend, and when it comes to exercise and/or physical movement (or lack therof), most people around here either suck at it, and therefore a.) don’t do it, or b.) do it daily, but in a fashion that is so non-sensical and ridiculous, you’d think I had to be making shit up.  I’m not.  Quick example, even though this has nothing to do with exercise, it’s just too good not to share.  I’m not exactly “technically savvy,” however, I’ve moved beyond the ”technically retarded” stage, which I was at for quite some time.  Anyway, since I’ve begun to figure this shit out, I noticed one of the more hilarious things I’ve seen lately, and that is the keyword(s) that somebody used the other day to have linked their way to my “high-quality health and wellness education web log.” 

It was Hitler’s boner. 

Fucking Hitler’s boner?!?  How great is that!?!  Who the fuck do you think would be wanting to find Hitler’s boner?  What, was Hitler’s hard-on not turning out any results?  Was Adolph’s Member not specific enough?  Hitler’s boner.  Too fucking good!!!  I’m dying to meet the freak that wanted to see Hitler’s fucking boner!  Next time maybe you should punch in “Hitler’s canned mushroom.”  Forget the fact that I wrote a post once titled “Bitch, You Can’t Play Hitler’s Harmonica,” this motherfucker was looking for ”Hitler’s boner?!?”  What the fuck?  Do you think they were actually trying to find my page, just in case I was some anti-semite erection-loving freak, or do you think it was an accident made by some dude who lives in his mom’s basement, has some weird, sick and twisted fetish, and felt the need to do a quick Google search for “Hitler’s boner” before going out and polishing off that killing-spree he started?  Fucking awesome.  Hitler’s boner.  Too good. 

Alright Frothy friends, that’s enough for me today, but because I never got back around to explaining exactly what a real BISP is, I’m leaving you with this perfectly-put explanation. 

It was nice talking with you, and feel free to visit my more serious side at www.TrainSmartKC.com.  Enjoy this classic description of “Gym Guy.”

Gym Guy is a BISP

Sports Aren’t The Only Thing That Suck In Missouri!

If you want to be healthy, you better get the fuck out of here.  Out of Missouri anyway.  Settle down Kansans, you’re not exactly topping the charts either.  God damnit, I don’t sit here and say everybody is fat, nasty and stupid for nothing.  Shit, it doesn’t do a damn thing for my health.  In fact, I’ll be the first to admit to everybody that it’s time for me to start getting my shit back in order too, but I have less to do with another year of patheticism in a long list of fat-ass losers, than most of you do, and that’s just because I don’t smoke…cigarrettes.  Look people, I don’t put everything into these annual rankings, but what my eyes see on a daily basis and what the nonprofit United Health Foundation comes up with each year are too close in accuracy to go patting anybody’s back-fat rolls.  The annual ranking, in actuality, may just be a bit more precise than people might think.  Every year, the UHF looks at 22 indicators of health, including everything from how many children  receive recommended vaccinations, to obesity and smoking rates (cigarettes only), to cancer deaths.  So you want the bad news or the worse news first?  The bad news is that the good news is that we (Missouri) was probably ranked way too fucking high, landing at a despicable 38th unhealthiest state out of 50.  The worse news is that the two twin killers–smoking and obesity–while going down over the last 20 years in most states, is only getting worse in good ol’ Mis-er-y.  And listen, if you just so happen to live on the Kansas side of the state line, you might as well count your own fat ass as part of the problem.  You’re not off the hook just because of one road that divides our metropolitan area.  You need to get off your fat, lazy fucking ass too and be a part of the solution, not just another dumbfuck onlooker.  At the rate things are going, by 2018 the estimated cost of annual health care for obesity-related conditions alone, will be more than $344 billion.  Call me whatever the fuck you want, but that is one grotesquely-fat motherfucking country!

It doesn’t end there either.  Scores for each state are determined by gathering data from a variety of government and nongovernmental databases and then calculating how much each state is better or worse than the national average for each measure.  The scores take into account quite a broad variety of health measures, including rates of infectious diseases, number of preventable hospitalizations and even levels of air pollution.  So this isn’t just some shitty magazine sending a couple of dudes out to create a list of opinionated bullshit.  The rankings are in fact a collaboration between the foundation, The American Public Health Association and the Partnership for Prevention, a coalition of businesses, nonprofits and government agencies.  I couldn’t tell if American Public Health Association Executive Director Dr. Georges C. Benjamin was joking or not when he said that “we’re at at the point where we recognize we have a crisis.”  Well that’s good Dr. B.  Did you also hear that we landed on the moon, and that the world wasn’t flat afterall?!?  Anyway, he goes on to say, “It remains to be seen if we’re in it for the long haul.”  Hmm, is that kind of like it remains to be seen if the Chiefs go to the playoffs this year?  I mean hell, we’re not mathematically eliminated yet…are we?  Not that it matters.  I’m a Boner, not a doctor–yet I was created from the sperm of a doctor, and the egg of a nurse practioner, so let me go ahead and take this one: We’re past the long-haul Dr. B.  Our fat-asses are in overtime, and until we midwesterners, many of whom still take pride in their small-minded, old-fashion ways, with their sunburned necks, get a fucking clue, I don’t see that $344 billion being freed up anytime soon.  On the bright side, we’re not Oklahoma, the 49th unhealthiest state in the union, but we do have Oklahoma Joe’s on our side!

Fuck being fat!  Do something about it.  Start by signing up for the mailing list at www.TrainSmartKC.com.