Broseph writes:

Have you counted the number of times Brent says he’s going to kill himself?
And I’m out of line?!
C’mon man, let’s not get mad on the internet.

This is kind of irrefutable guys.

Can I be real for a second?

I feel like some of you folks aren’t getting along in the comments. I like to think we are all just chilling at a perpetual house party. It feels like this to me because every time I write on the blog or read the comments I am listening to Daft Punk, or something of comparable content. With that in mind – why are you so MAD? We all like to lift weights and LOVE barbell curls. We all like feet. We all write sad poetry and/or depressing erotica, or at the very least jerk off to it. I just don’t understand why all of us aren’t acting like the internet best friends that we really are.

Though honestly – honestly – and I mean honestly – you don’t have to wish physical harm on Frank’s family. Just be a better athlete than he is.

Broseph also writes:

Frank Yang’s “art” is essentially advertisements for Frank Yang (rather, the persona he wants people to accept.)
He isn’t very original and his work is trite, for the most part. He usually doesn’t makes any significant statement about society, culture, media or… anything really.
Of course, he does produce a few interesting pieces every once in a while but he’s extremely egotistical for no reason at all– he’s not that strong, not very smart and he’s really not that artistic. It’s as though he walked into the library of an art college, picked a book off the shelf and starting picking out things he thought were funny then doing those things and filming them. He really needs to grow the fuck up.

He’s just bored, lacks direction, and is expressing himself through the only outlets he knows. He’s probably aware he’s not making any real statements, and I doubt that’s his actual intention. He’s just fucking bored and spends a lot of time in his own head. If I had never met Justin and made more friends I would have turned out the same way. In fact, before I met Justin and made more friends, I was the same way. Frank Yang and I are dishearteningly similar. People are just more likely to want to want hang out with me.

I got sick this week so didn’t really train that great on Tuesday, other than doing +100lbs on my weighted chins for a PR triple.

I wrote some more erotica though. My prompt for this one was “ice cream”:

We sit in a bathtub filled with strawberry ice cream. It was my idea. I said, “It’d be good for recovery too. Ice baths can reduce inflammation.”

It is sticky and the drain is clogged.

“This was a terrible idea,” she says. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into it.”

“Well it was going to be more romantic than this – ”

“ONE candle. You call ONE unscented candle romantic.”

“Well what about the rose petal trail leading to the bathroom?”

“The one I’ll have to clean up?”

“Look just let me get down there and do my thing,” I say, “I’m hungry and this is my favorite flavor and you’ll get into it eventually.”

She pushes my face away as I approach.

“I feel disgusting. I’m going to shower.” She gets out of the tub. “In the OTHER bathroom.”

I sit shivering in the tub by myself. I wipe a finger through the melting mess and suck on it pensively.

+ + +

(My prompt for this one was “lesbian.”)

She rubbed her clam against the other one’s.

She said ow you’re hurting me.

She said what.

She said I said you’re hurting me.

She said well I told you we should have used more of the lube.

Her response was but it gets so messy more of it gets on the bed than it does on us.

They gave up on rubbing clams. They considered digital manipulation but one had just gotten her nails manicured and the other had not trimmed hers for several weeks.

Finally they decided to rely on their old stand-by with lingual caresses of each other’s clitoral peaks and the surrounding milieu. One clambered atop the other and the bottom said stop it you are poking my eye with what the other said your toes she exclaimed.

When all was said and done they lay sweating with exertion, dissatisfied with the investment of their effort and feeling exasperated. One smoked a cigarette the other did not like the smoke but said nothing.

+ + +

You can draw your own conclusions about the fact that a lot of my erotica is about disappointing and unfulfilling sex.

Joe, the meet is in Alvin. The venue is at the Alvin High School Gymnasium at 802 S. Johnson. I don’t think meets are spectator sports but oly meets are a lot shorter and faster than PL meets – one session comprised of 15 or so lifters is typically done in maybe 2 hours (as in, all attempts for all lifters completed in about 2 hours). I don’t compete until Sunday but have all of Friday and Saturday off. If you want to hang out for the weekend let me know (aren’t we facebook friends now?). I don’t drink alcohol, am not receptive to bars or clubs, and nothing’s going in my butt. Holla atcha boy.

Kittensmash, I don’t understand why you don’t like that people are using memes that aren’t necessarily mine. “It’s fine” is something I said on occasion a while back whenever someone made fun of me, “I don’t have feelings or anything it’s fine,” “Not a big deal or anything it’s fine,” “I didn’t go out of my way or anything it’s fine.” Somehow it became a meme between Mike and Chris, so they’d punctuate every sentence with “it’s fine.” When I noticed this, I started spamming it with them – now a lot of people on 70s big are saying it and we’re just one more internet sub-community with our own memes. There’s nothing wrong with that. Perfectly normal, perfectly healthy.

Some people have interpreted the memes in the comments as nut-hugging, which would make sense if I were someone people looked up to. I am just a dude with an occasionally amusing blog for people to supplement their other time-sinks.