— NO.

Cut the crap.

… And the tagline should read FUCK NO, but I have my standards of decorum around here.

I’m struck daily…DAILY!…at the go-nowhere, time-wasting minutiae people devote the lion’s shares of their lives to.

… Like what some cloistered and cocooned fucktard thinks about them, or spouts on the tardnet, with its implications about them and who they are.

Well, if you’re someone who cares about that shit and wastes your life away fretting or “taking action” about it—rather than working every waking minute to think, plan, and act on what’s really best for you and yours—well then, maybe they’re right.

Maybe the implications are true.

Are you an independent thinker, or do you just lie-play one when your lips are moving?

I never sugarcoat things or cater to delicate sensibilities—and that begins at home.

In the mirror.

Every day.

… I just completed a 3-days-on-the-dot water-only fast, and that was after 4 solid and hard days in the gym pounding iron and pounding the proper food.

Can you guess how many times my 62-year-old, weak-ass little tender flesh wailed and cried to me about how much my 39,000 pound total-volume leg-day hurt, how awful downing 300 grams of lean protein in a day is, and then how hungry it is and gonna die any minute if I don’t put something in my mouth now?

It told me exactly as many times as I told myself to fuck off and stop being a tender little pussy-ass.

… I’m here to give it to you straight, in the no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is style that thousands have come to expect from me.

Talk about friendship.

Real friends don’t tiptoe around the truth. If I genuinely care about you, I’ll call you out on your bullshit. If you respect me and my opinion, you’ll value my input.

“Don’t worry about it, bro!” is sissy hour. Fuckups matter. They must be examined, acknowledged, and a sober accounting of lessons learned must occur.

Do you want friends who simply stroke your ego and make you feel better? Or do you want friends who actually help you grow and improve?

Fools fool themselves into thinking that avoiding hard truths is a sign of loyalty.

Fuck loyalty in that way. Loyalty is shoring up the guy or gal who’s busting ass, taking nor making any excuses, and could use a friend and a little help.

In other words, loyalty is getting your own hands dirty; it’s not a bunch of low-value yak-yak and bla-bla words of atta-boy affirmation.

… Life doesn’t give a shit about you.

The Earth and the universe don’t give a flying fuck if you live or die. You could keel over right this second, and the world would carry on without skipping a beat.

Because it has to. Making your own mark for your own sake requires a relentless, lifelong pursuit in becoming a force of nature that deals in excellence only.

Cheap and faddish crap need not apply.

If you want a good life, you’ve got to make that happen primarily on your own, because you’re the only one who’ll ever be in full attendance for it.

Surround yourself with people who genuinely want to see you succeed, and be willing to do the same for them.

Deal in mutually-dirty hands.

It’s all about mutual interests, mutual gain. No handouts, no shortcuts. Take authority and agency over your own damn life, and watch as success, prosperity, happiness, and even passionate love come your way.

If you’re a fellow misanthrope and cynic sort, then cut through the gobbledygook and feelings and excuses bullshit; steer your ass in the direction of power…of rational, logical, and objective thinking.

… And hard fucking work every damn day. Hard Work. Physical. Mental.

… That begins in that bathroom mirror each morning when you’re at your most primed to pump.

That’s when you tell yourself that there will be no excuses.

That’s when you acknowledge every fuckup from the previous day and what you learned.

That’s when you accept accountability for a physical body nobody has any desire to have sex with and that, at root, it has to do with your own mouth control and your own physical-exertion control, and you fucking suck at both and are a miserable, cry-yourself-to-sleep failure if there aren’t other humans of the opposite sex wanting sex with you.

That’s right. And I don’t care how old you are. I don’t care about your “problems” excuses.

I know dudes in my Pattaya, Muscle Factory gym in their 70s and 80s packing 30 pounds of added lean mass in their legs, arms, chest and shoulders; and I know chicks in their 20s and 30s who would be totally down for a rough fuck with any one, or a few, of them.

If that offends you, then look in that mirror and acknowledge exactly why your tender little bullshit feelings just got jostled there.

Do you see what I mean?

No fucking excuses.

… If you want to get down to the very bottom of it, the whole world is in the fucking mess it’s in and all the covid and vaxx and associated bullshit could and just happened and went down because…

“Don’t worry about it, bro! Let’s go to the gun show!”

Yea. That’s right. Excuses on top of excuses…YOU’RE EXCUSED!!! right all the way to oblivion in a rocket sled that leaves the station right on fascist time.

Stop making any excuses, ever.

None. Get the hard-ass messaging you need. Get it daily.