Aaron is a PJ, or pararescue jumper, as well as a general badass. He’s already written a couple inspiring articles for us (Excuses? No. and Lessons From Lifting). In this one, perhaps his best yet, he has a call to arms. Are you ready to answer? Ladies and Not-so-Gentlemen, are you ready for some old-school 70sBig? – Cloud
Three years ago I was drawn to this site by the unapologetic, brash braggadocio only a true miscreant could love. Idolizing forgotten mastodons wearing short shorts and high socks. Celebrating facial hair and real meals, encouraging real men and women to be real men and women in a time of androgyny, man-scaping, skinny jeans, Twilight, and other things so horrible they shall go unmentioned. Like 50 Shades of Grey. Those things are not cool, bro, and like my personal heroes Michael Douglas, General Patton, Tyler Durden, Vlad the Impaler, the Techno Viking (that guy took ZERO shits), John W. Creasy, and Walter- this aggression will not stand, man.
In the movie “The Rock”, voted “the best movie of all time in the history of the world” by NATO and the Illuminati, it was said, “sometimes the tree of liberty must be refreshed with the blood of patriots.” Well sometimes the tree of 70sBig must be replenished with the fuel of attitude, with the liquid reduction of our resolve. In the interest of re-focusing ourselves, I charge you to live your life a little more recklessly this next week. Just for a while, think to yourself, “What would Ricky Bruch do?” I assure you, that answer is almost always, “Get extra mayonnaise, lift some heavy shit like a damn boss, and proceed to not give a shit, two monkeys or a damn.” Would Ricky pass up an extra conditioning session? Absolutely not. Would Ricky pass up the 4th steak in 2 meals? Not up in here. Would Ricky wear long, pleated slacks and watch NASCAR drinking a light beer at a tofu tasting party, politely discussing HOA fees? I just got a phone call – the message was, “Ricky Bruch’s estate wants to kill your family for associating his name with that scenario.” It’s that serious.
“But Aaron! I am entrenched in the corporate world; I can’t go stomping around like a heathen, shirtless, scaring the villagers! Also, I don’t know any villagers and my shorts are of an acceptable length for ‘casual Friday’.” Well, first of all, that’s unacceptable. If you say “Casual Friday”, you better be ready for aviator shades and some damn boat shoes. If that’s not the case, it’s time to get your swole back. It’s time to remember who we all are, at our base. Boil us down to brass tacks, twisted steel and ball bearings, and we all realize several immutable, undeniable, irrefutable facts.
We are human. That makes us all physiologically the same, genetically capable of tasks very much the same. If you are reading this saying, “Well, X person is bigger, stronger, I don’t think that’s totally correct…” STOP IT. That’s half the problem. Who’s to say you can’t do anything you want? Me? You? Anyone? What if you just refused to believe impossible things, and simply did them? That wouldn’t make you a superhuman; it would simply mean you refuse to be limited. Do you really have limits? Do you think that’s air your breathing? That’s a Matrix reference. Keep up.
Slap anyone that uses the term “swag”, either ironically or seriously, right in the gob. They know better. Go to YouTube, and look up every video of Leonid Taranenko clean and jerking 266KG, then cook a damn steak and do some mobility. Disagree with someone. Seriously, get into an argument, and instead of worrying how their feelings will recover, wondering how you’ll be viewed, so on and so forth- just disagree. Tell someone they are wrong, and that you don’t agree with what they are saying, and that you won’t be wavering. If the term “agree to disagree” is uttered, wage total war and destroy the room. The world understands. That phrase is about 10% of the problem today. So help me Zeus, if anyone around you says “YOLO” and you do not immediately beat him or her to death, I will find your house and mail you a strongly worded letter.
Here is the hard truth- there are no trophies for 5th place, no consolation prize in real life. It does pay to be a winner, and too often in today’s environment it has become acceptable to trivialize a loss, to rationalize poor effort, to soften heartbreak. Well I am here to call bullshit. If you work hard, you get rewarded. If you don’t work hard, you lose, and you don’t get a prize for that. I don’t know when ‘Murica, – the home of first place, the inventor of competition for everything, the bastion of bacon-wrapped-filets and filet-wrapped-bacon-filled-deep-fried-chocolate-coated-turducken-sandwiches became OK with second place, but I am here to tell you it stops now, and it stops with each and every one of us. It starts with me, and it starts with you.
So this week, get up early. Stop making excuses for yourself, and stop taking excuses from others. Get to work early. Put out as a friend, spouse, significant other, parent, older sibling, citizen, WHATEVER. Stop living your life only to keep breathing and start attacking it. Look for every excuse to get better, and get nasty about it. Are you a lady that wants to get “more toned” and look “better this summer?” Get your lady parts underneath a damn bar and do something about it right the hell now. The world is, quite frankly, not ready for that jelly, and I want more ladies bootyliscious when the sun shines bright and hot in 3 months. Are you a fella that can grow a sweet ass beard, or at least a somewhat child molestor-ish mustache, yet shave every day? By the light in Kate Upton’s eyes, grow that damn facial hair, and do it while you grill some meat and write out your week of programming. Is there a charity, a group, or an organization that is worthy of your time that you haven’t volunteered for? What are you, some sort of sissy? How about you do the right thing and donate some time to something bigger than yourself.
If you haven’t torn up in the gym, so motivated that you wanted to literally explode into a ball of flame, or flipped a table in public only to be applauded for your gusto, or uppercut a punkass into a bowl of punch at a high school dance lately – well, dammit, now is the time (editor’s note, please avoid high school dances, thank you).
Now is the time we take back that attitude, and seize life by the horns/balls/ovaries. The part you grab isn’t important, the fact remains that we must grab that part by force. It’s time to get that 70s Big attitude back. And the time starts now.