New Year’s Resolutions for 2011

I’m not one to make New Year’s resolutions. I suck at them. Every attempt at such year-long dedication has resulted in utter failure and led to subsequent feelings of guilt and worthlessness. If I resolve to lose weight, usually by January 5th I’m at Beef’s, slamming buffalo wings, drinking beer, and flipping off anyone who mentions how much I suck at resolutions. Have a beer and fail with me!

2011 will be different. 2011 is a good number—a prime number. It has to be a good year. This is it, the year before 2012, which will be the end of the whole fucking universe. That’s when galactic alignment, Mayan calendars, Revelations, Pleiadeans and all that other shit that lives in Barnes and Noble’s Metaphysical aisle becomes real. If you’re going to accomplish a goal, better do it this year or you will be immortalized as a miserable failure for all eternity. No pressure.

I’m not doing the clichéd, “I’m going to get in shape” resolution. I won’t be buying a thousand-dollar Bowflex contraption and swearing to chisel down to 5% bodyfat in just 15 minutes a day. However, I am looking at a set of Iron Master Quicklock dumbbells because the frustration of changing weights during P90X with spinlock dumbbells adds seven new gray hairs to my head every workout.


Sal Alosi: What a Douche!

You had it all, Coach Sal Alosi. You were the Head Strength and Conditioning Coach for the New York Jets. A position that is the envy of thousands of Exercise Science majors across the nation. There are only 32 positions like it. A strength coach in the N-F-L. The National Football League. The premier organization of the most awesome sport in the United States. You know, the one nation that says, “Fuck you world! We suck at your gay soccer, so we’re going to make up our own shit and dominate!” America, bitches!