BISP's Blog
A Punch-You-In-The-Face style of quasi-fitness news from a real fitness professional. This blog has been called "very witty" and "informative" by some dude I've never heard of.

It’s possible that Larry Bird could be the ugliest dude on the planet.  It’s certainly arguable, let’s just run down a few of the obvious for starters.  These would be things that if you can’t pick them out on your own, then you should send me your picture.  Back to Bird.  Beginning with the most blatantly obvious, the factor that puts him on the map when it comes to gettin ugly, is the blonde pube-stache.  That thing is fuckin disgusting, and there has never been a time, place, generation or style where it has ever been anything but.  Yeah, I’ve thought about it for a second, and it’s not enough to have a blonde mustache [see Hulk Hogan; blonde mustache, blonde skullet], it’s the pube-yellow hybrid that guarantees his nomination.  Fuck, I know albinos who think that things nasty.  I mean, I want to move on, but it’s hard to get past the muff-duster on this fella.  Is there any chance that a crustacchio like that doesn’t come with its own comb?  I wonder if he’s ever had to shave or trim it.  It looks eerily similar to the pre-pubescent dungeons-and-dragons players that used to sit in the hallways before and after school.  You know, the dudes who made pimps with a pinkie-nail look terrible.  I can’t say for sure, actually, I’m pretty sure he didn’t, but wouldn’t that have just been all that more perfect if Larry fuckin Bird had a long-ass coke nail on the pinkie of his shooting hand?  So pimp.  And you know that dude was getting plenty of pimp-like action back in his day, which makes it all the more baffling.  Homeboy was like the greatest white-basketball player of all time, who just so happens to be a contender for ugliest dude on the planet too.  Weird.  I’m gonna try to brush my way out of this pubic sea-o-yella, and move my way up to his lettuce.  Did LB get himself a perm or what?  That shit looks like super-thin cotton candy.  There is no fucking way he should be wearing up off his scalp the way he did so the light can shine through it, leaving it totally transparent for all the ladies!  Speaking of ladies, I know a few who must go to the same stylist.  Their combined average age is 77.  Only real difference is that the ladies sometimes wear it with a slight tint of blue, and they have false teeth.  So, through association, it is safe to assume that L Bird might have also had fake china under that Larry Bird-like beak.  Now I’m pretty damn certain that between having the worst stache in the history of mankind, pretending he had a long pinkie-nail on his shooting hand, allegedly having false teeth while running around in a green two-piece like my grandpa wore in gym class, that alone could place him as a contender.  Oh what the hell, why not take it one step further and put him in some tiny shorts that will bring out the pastiness of his man-loins.  Wow.  I knew he was from Indiana, but I didn’t realize that the sun didn’t shine on that state.  At all.  This must have been the one guy who was ever jealous of the redheads.  I don’t even know if you can pull that off today.  I mean, just opening the blinds in most houses would bring more blood to the surface than this creep.  With all due respect, as he was one of the game’s greatest, but he clearly didn’t spend one penny of his fortune of a mirror of any sort.  I don’t think you can ever see your own reflection and think that that was a good look.  I’m sure there are plenty of dudes in cubicles and trailer parks right now who could prove me wrong, but since you’re not good enough at anything to ever have your picture displayed anywhere other than your MySpace page, stand down.  Can we flash a picture of LB’s mug real quick:

Tell me this isn’t the essence of beauty-horror?  Tell me this might not be the ugliest man on the planet.

I don’t spend enough time on this here Bone Tone to think about it much, but every now and again I will find myself wondering why the fuck I still keep this stupid-ass thing up and runnin’.  Then I remember how many stupid fucking assholes exist out there, and get right back to work.  There is one thing, however, that is so fucking hilarious that it has become my primary source of free entertainment.  Because none of you limp-dick, hairless weasels are allowed behind the curtain of this big-ass tent that my dick is pitchin’, I got to tell you, some of the phrases, or keywords that people punch into whatever search engine was designed for clearly illiterate people, and that cause them to stumble upon this Boner Stabone–yes, that is a tribute to the recently departed actor who played Boner on Growing Pains, the greatest sit-com character to have ever been on a show that had an all-Canadian cast.  Serious Clark, Kirk Cameron and his curly mullet (pronounced moo-lay), clearly Canadian.  A Thicke, that pimp who played the dad–also very Canadian.  He also went on to become the only non-pornstar to have such a pornstaresque name.  And all the rest of them fuckers…Canadian.  Any of the four of you reading this happen to be Canadian?  If so, I love your country, but it is the bird shit on top of America.  Don’t be pissed, I’ve never even actually been, however I would go in a heartbeat if your country would just go ahead and change its name to America Jr.  Think how great of a PR move that would be!    Anyhow, I digress.  So I was scanning the Boner Dashboard, which is essentially what I get for wasting my time on this thing, and one of the best search engine phrases I’ve ever come across nearly had me in tears I was laughing so hard.  You ready for this?  Remember, last time I wrote on this topic the winning phrase was “Hitler’s boner.”  Tonight, however, ladies and germs, quiero a la presentarle mi catch-phrase favorita–translation: the best line that’s ever brought a pussy to the Boner files.  It’s so good, that I’ve found myself actually thinking about the weirdo who wrote it, and what kind of freak-bitch he must be like.  The three words that I just couldn’t not share it with the two of you regular Boner readers (I appreciate you), is “suck ma buttole.”  That’s right, I said “suck ma buttole.”  Best combination of words not found in the english language that I’ve ever come across–easily.  So let’s think about this for a second.  First, just say it to yourself out loud: suck…ma…buttole.  Immediately, we know we’re dealing with someone from the south.  I’m picturing a dude with a crustache, wife-beater, skullet (a bald man’s mullet, where he’s still having a kick-ass party in back, despite the fact the front left him years ago), and he probably is located somewhere just below the Mason-Dixon line.  We also know that he is clearly very well educated for a southern gentlemen.  I’m thinking he might have even tried to enroll in a few classes at National American University, or Phoenix University, which is nowhere near Phoenix and is totally internet-based, but his check bounced.  Not that it mattered at that point anyway, as he had already been notified that he was actually the first person to ever not get accepted to either of those schools.  Big deal homey, there’s always Clown College to fall back on.  Anyway, so the dude wanted to gits his buttole sucked.  Just because he’s a Southern-Dumbshit (not to be confused with Southern Baptist) don’t mean he don’t need someone to help him clean out them dingle-boones thatta get ta hangin’ from the beard in his crack.  Not to mention that’s all beside the point anyway.  It was really just a simple mistake.  Ya see, when the carnies came through town the other day, they invited our skullet-wearin’ skid-marked friend to they’s pot-luck supper.  But when the bearded lady asked him to bring toss a salad, how else was he sposed to git the recipe?  Ain’t that what Google-For-People-Who-Can’t-Read-or-Write was invented for?  Sheeeeeeeet, it makes perfect sense if ya asked me: bearded lady wants a tossed salad, and homeboy Googled “suck ma buttole.”  What?       

Dear Volunteer Asswipe of the Facebook Police Department,

Go fuck yourself.  Seriously, do us all a favor and take your petrified, shit-eating, collective pussy-asses off the computer and get a fucking life.  Just because you don’t have a job doesn’t mean that everybody else wants to sell you something.  If I read a good book, and want to recommend it to my real friends who just happen to be on Facebook, that doesn’t mean that I’m selling it.  And who the fuck asked you anyway?  Granted, if the book just so happened to be on “How To Move Out Of Mom’s Basement Before Age 40,” then I probably would tell your fat, sloppy ass to go buy it.  Only problem is, I don’t think they take Farmville money at Barnes & Noble, you stankin’ piece of dog shit.  You pussies should start your own club or something, just keep it in cyberspace Fucknut.  And if you do insist on bringing your ugly, pathetic self into the real world, then yes, I would beat the fucking snot out of you.  I’m tired of you fucking dick-lickers trying to “warn” all your faux Facebook ”friends” about who’s trying to rip them off.  You’re fucking annoying, and I would love to kick your ass.  Since you can’t give me the 4 seconds of my life back that I wasted thinking about what kind of pubic-mustache you’re sporting, you could at least make it up to me by offing yourself.  I’m pretty fucking certain that none of my “friends” are children who need your bullshit protection.  If I wanted to sell one of my turds on Facebook, then I’m gonna fucking do it whether you’re monitoring my conversations or not.  What, did the mall security task-force not need another wank to monitor the hallways?  Fucking O.J Simpson thinks you’re a worthless sac of shit.  However, I bet you’re a complete bad-ass in your “fantasy” football league, despite the fact you’re fucking horrible at real sports.  When is that baby you’re carrying due anyway?  From the looks of that belly and those man-tits, it must be any day now.  Can men really get pregnant in whatever fucking world you live in Facebook Cop?  And do you have a “fantasy” girlfriend who roots you on in all your “fantasy” sports leagues?  If so, I bet she’s still fucking nasty.  After all, it takes more than shit-for-brains to think that hard.  On a serious note, (that’s “fantasy” code for ”from the perspective of a lifelong loser”), I do have a product that I think might work for you.  I been trappin’ squirrels ya see, but after I skin ’em and eat them fuckers, I ain’t got nothin’ to do with the pelts.  I thought about gettin’ some double-sided tape and whoopin’ up a fur coat that I could sell to some dipshit on Facebook.  Of course, that was before I knew that there was a volunteer FB Sherriff who sat at the computer all day, jumpin’ at any chance you got to bust the asses of people whom you don’t know for trying to “sell” shit to people who have never heard of your punk, bitch-ass.  And since no one recognizes the dog in your profile picture, we’re left only to wonder exactly how hideous that rectum-resembling face of yours is.  We also know that the canned mushroom you’re trying to pass off as a second belly-button is really the remnants of a dick you haven’t seen since your stomach ate the shaft, you monkey-fucking, fecal-eating, worthless piece of shit!  Translation: Since that “second belly button” isn’t capable of impregnating anything non-fantasy, we know that’s not your kid in what’s supposed to be your picture.  Not to mention I just came from TJ Maxx where I saw that “fantasy” son of yours in some trashy, $4 frame, which just so happened to be on sale for $2.  What, was the $8 little girl too expensive?  Of course, nobody is gonna rip you off Facebook Cop!  You can spot a charlotton from anywhere in the world now that you spend 21 out of 24 hours on Facebook patrol.  How many people do you think you’ve busted Facebook Cop?  Better yet, how many innocent, non-mentally-retarded fair maidens do you think you’ve saved from being conned by guys like me?  I bet you’re responsible for saving thousands of people A LOT of money!*

(Non-fantasy translation: You haven’t done a goddam but annoy people.) 

I don’t know if that dude you call Mom didn’t give you enough hugs as a kid or what, but I guarantee you she wants you to get a job so you can move out of his…I mean “her” basement, and maybe even buy yourself a nice piece of real estate underneath the Broadway fuckin’ Bridge asshole.  No, no, no, I don’t sell real estate, so don’t start in with that shit.  I’ll tell you what though, and you can’t tell anybody else, but I got a guy who might be able to hook you up.  You’d have to pay me for that information though, of course.  Wait…damn it!  I keep forgetting you don’t have any money.  That is such bullshit that you got layed off from the Hermit Crab Hut in the mall.  That job was perfect for a dick like you!  I guess you’re just a royal fucking pain in everybody’s ass, huh?  By the way, I loved you in Dateline’s To Catch a Predator.  Too bad those real cops who busted your punk-ass for wanting to wrap your digits around some 8-year-old’s coin purse wasn’t a fantasy!  Did you hammer those fuckers (a.k.a. actual police officers) from the back seat of the squad car for trying to “sell” people into thinking you’re a shameless, predatory freak who get’s a “fantasy” boner every time you play the role of Better Business Bureau, Facebook style?  Well here’s a little word of advice Officer Facefuck: Stay the fuck out of my business; or even better, throw yourself off a bridge.  Nobody wants to sell anything to a disaster such as yourself anyway.  It’s bad business.  However, any Non-Facebook Volunteer Cops who have a life outside of fantasizing about all the virtual citizen’s arrests they made today, I’ll be on Facebook tonight at 9 p.m. selling everything I can think of.  You need it, I got it, and I’m sellin’ the shit out of it.  And if I don’t have it, I can get it.  Anything at all!  Everything is negotiable, simply name your price!  If there’s gonna be a Facebook PD, then we’re gonna need a Facebook Convenience Store, and Ol’ Bo Sweatpants is now open for business!

Anyone who claims to be fearless is full of shit.  Unless you’re a convicted felon who is serving life without parole, or you’re this guy:Otherwise, I guarantee you I could find a way to make even the badest-asses urinate down their leg.  Not because I’m “likes-to-fight” guy or anything, but because fear is normal; it is necessary for survival.  And believe me, whatever fears you possess have far less to do with you being a pussy than those flabby man-tits you’re rockin’.  

Seriously though, while fear may be normal, things have gotten just a tad bit out of hand people.  And by a tad bit, I mean fucking ridiculous.  Factors ranging from financial instability to shit such as the swine flu have brought out the little-bitch in so much of society that we’ve nearly reached the point of paralysis. 

It’s scary.  It’s bullshit.  Most people are fucking sheep, and nobody thinks for themselves anymore.  The result: a society that is entrenched in fear, skepticism, cynicism and the puddle of piss you just left on the floor when your boss rolled past your cube.  I’m sick of all you fucking whiney pussies who have been so conditioned by what they’ve been told that they are actually willing to do things like strap bombs to their penis and try to blow themselves up on an airplane in the name of Allah (only to have it fizzle out like a wet noodle come go time)!  Sound familiar cubicle dudes? 

So what’s my point?  My point is that when one becomes petrified by something or someone, under normal circumstances, the body is prompted to release cortisol and adrenaline, which shut off all non-emergency bodily functions so that you can put focused energy toward increasing your reaction time.  It can also temporarily enhance concentration, and some report a “sense of clarity in the face of danger.”  And that’s all great, but that’s not the kind of fear I’m talking about. 

Excessive fear is what I’m surrounded by every day, and when put in a heightened state of scared-shitlessness for a prologned period of time, your body gets exposed to too much cortisol, which can impair immunity and may damage the part of your brain linked to memory (like it matters).  

Anyway, here are some healthy ways that you can go about dealing with that man-gina of yours, and deal with your excessive bouts of bitchism.  Especially you Steve Dave.

• Stop watching the news and reading the newspaper (or whatever you read to get your daily dose of depressing garbage).  Periodic breaks from the onslaught of toxicity being spewed through televisions and computers can be much more helpful that one would ever think.
• Exposure Therapy.  Remember, I’m a Boner not a Doctor, so I’m gonna let my second favorite M.D., Dr. Andrew Weil take this one: “This form of cognitive behavioral therapy has an impressive track record.  In 2008, researchers found a reduced incidence of post-traumatic stress disorder in people who had recently suffered traumas.  The process involves introducing patients to the feared object or discussing a situation that causes anxiety–under safe circumstances, and not like the time my cousin ate too much LSD and I told him the demons he was seeing were definitely real, and that he was fucked!–while leading them through relaxation techniques to disconnect the object or situation from the stress response.”  Thanks Andy.
• Breath work.  This one’s hugely underrated.  Deep breathing not only neutralizes fear by slowing your heart rate and reducing stress chemicals, it helps in so many other ways that I suggest you try it sometime.
• Exercise.  Guess what a recent study suggests: “Fit people can better handle frightening events.”  Shocking, isn’t it?

And finally, my favorite:

• Start smoking pot.  It’s good for you, and it’s a hell of a lot safer than Prozac.  (And then give me a call when you find some!)

Do you suck?  Be honest with yourself, do you? 

Guys, are you a flacid little wank, only your not so little on behalf of that big-ass ”dickadoo” you got bulging outta that short-sleeved button down that makes yer JC Penney clip-on look all little and shit?  You all remember what a “dickadoo” is, don’t you?  You know, when a dude’s belly sticks out further than his dick a do? 

Or ladies, are you fat AND loud, and wear low-slung, hip-huggin’ jeans with a fuchsia thong and two inches of back-fat, a half-inch of side-slop, and what looks like white jelly but is in fact an entire extra ass that is hanging off your stomach and over the front of those jeans, which are at least six sizes too small?  

Now, I don’t mean YOU personally, of course, but statistically (and realistically), I do mean one out of every two of you.  Not making this shit up people, we’ve reached the 55 percent mark.  And by 55 percent, I mean that’s how much of the US population is overweight or obese (meaning so fat they are unfuctional.  In other words, can’t wipe their own ass).  What’s even more fucked up however, is that while everybody knows that obesity is the leading cause of everything on the planet, there’s no telling what other conditions most people are dealing with on top of their jelly-rolls and dickadoos; yet I’m wondering if there might be a connection between the above and the $14.7 zillion Pfizer raked in last year.  I also heard McDonald’s didn’t have a bad fiscal year.  Hmm, weird.  Weird my ass!  For fuck’s sake people, it’s time to open up those huge, stankin’ asses, and remove those empty melons.  We need to get a grip, and I think that my proposed solution is going to surprise the piss out of you. 

So pull those pants back up past your exposed ass-crack, and wrap that thong back into the jelly roll it came out of and get relaxed.  I’m actually going to defend (a very few of) you…sort of.  What I mean is that the problems we’re facing in this country are not solely the fault of fat people.  In fact, one of the biggest issues that’s been created is on behalf of the non-obese/overweight population, who have vilified, at times victimized, and have undoubtedly turned overweight/obese people into the overwhelming number one target of discrimination.  People who are fat are discriminated against in ways that many of you may never know, including myself, but the ones who have experienced it will, and it is rampant.  The reason this is happening is because fat people are made to feel that the entire problem is caused by their behavior, and they are effectively being ostracized from higher positions in society at an alarming rate.  Look, I’m definitely not defending the huge portion of you losers who make up most of the 55 percent of you sloppy, lazy, human buttholes, who ironically cannot wipe your own, but the real problem here is socio-economic, and it’s the poor and middle classes, who are the bulk of America, that are getting stuck and fucked when it comes to any type of health/nutrition education, and even if they were given access to the information, they can’t afford to eat that way.  And that, my friends, is not funny.  Especially when considering that the wealthier, educated, upper class are actually getting healthier, in most every place but Kansas City.  Seriously, when looked at closely, it is easy to see the connection that’s being made between ecomomics and health-care.  And let’s certainly not forget the $1 trillion agriculture business of packaged fast foods.  They aren’t exactly dumbfucks when it comes to keeping all you fuckers dumber than the Hamburger Helper box you’re eating out of. 

Think about the people you know who eat fast food (including yourself).  Those people, and you, probably eat fast food most days of the week.  Otherwise, they probably don’t eat fast food at all.  How do I know this?  Because I know the 90 / 10 rule, which states that 10 percent of fast-food consumers are eating 90 percent of the product sold.  It should be fairly obvious.  Most people either eat that garbage all the time, or don’t eat it at all.  So if you are one of the 10 percenters, and you DON’T thing the food marketers are onto you and studying you like a lab rat, then your fat and stupid.   

So what do we do?  Well, there’s more to this story, and then I’m gonna tell you. . . one week from today, in Part II of “I’m Tired of Being Fat and Nasty!” 

So stay tuned my new Frothy friends, and don’t forget to go to www.TrainSmartKC.com to get this week’s free workout, plus other top-notch health and fitness info!

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

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.

This is one of my all time favorite photos.  And no, parents, that’s not my fucking van.  It belongs to the dude who coaches your son’s little league team, but doesn’t actually have a son on the team!  Oh quit being such a bunch of pussies, he’s totally legit! 

Anyhow, the point that I’m trying to make is this: The average American, plus dudes who roll in rusty vans that have “Free Candy” painted on the side of it, spend as much time in their cars each year, that it equates the duration of time that it would take a person to earn TWO Ph.Ds…in one year.  What do you do with that time?  Except you Quesadilla Larry, wherever you are.  Whatever it is, I’m not going to make any judgments.  Maybe you roll in an ice cream truck, playing whatever shitty, kid’s-amusement-park-music those things play, and call yourself Mr. Happy, and, as much as I’d like to, I still won’t judge.  But I would ask everyone to ask themselves the question: Could that time, the time that ultimately adds up to so many years of your life, be spent in a more productive way?  If you say no, you’re lying.  Either that or you already know where I’m going with this…and you’re still lying.  Think about it.  Think of how many things could be accomplished if that time were spent even a little bit more efficiently.  Most people waste it, check that, most people actually get worse than they already are.  For example, just today I watched some dude cram a Big Mac down his hole while washing it down with a bucket of Coke in one cup holder, and one of those giant fucking Red Bell cans in the other (for energy, of course), and then hammerin’ down what appeared to be an ice-cream cone full of mayo-naisse to polish it all off.  And that was just in the time it took for the light to turn green.    And yes, I’m sure you all can think of a million other ways that people could be using that time to make themselves worse, (feel free to send some of those ideas to me at www.aler, oh nevermind.  Anyway, there are not only an unlimited number of ways to use it to make yourself better, but it is actually one of the best times to spend making yourself a little healthier.  Take breathing for example.  How many times during the course of a normal day do you spend being conscious of even one breath you take?  Something to think about, considering most of you can only answer none, or else you’re lying again.  Most people are not conscious of even one breath, some people never are.  Here is an interesting tidbit: Did you know that breathing is the one function of the human body that can be performed both consciously and unconsciously?  If you said yes, you are clearly a pathological liar, but it’s true.  Again, think about it.  Even if you just turned everything off, radio, cell phone, the voice in your head, for 5 minutes at a time, and used it to practice quieting your mind, would that not make you a healthier person?  Remember that Principle of the North Star I was talking about in the last post: Every single move you make, throughout the course of your lifetime, is moving you in a direction that is either better or worse, healthier or unhealthier, smarter or dumber, and by the number of dumbass-fucks that there are in Kansas City alone, I know that time is not being spent in a way that I would describe as anything but horrendous.  My method of choice: audiobooks.  That’s all I listen to when I’m in the car.  Thanks to iTunes, and the demise of radio, I listen to hundreds of books over the course of the year, which is a big fucking difference when compared to the average 10 to 20 books that I read on an annual basis.  That might not be the thing that you want to do, but I would challenge everyone to try just this one simple exercise, that really isn’t so simple.  For the next 30 days, while in the car, at any point throughout the day (but the goal has to be every day for 30 days in a row), try to be conscious of just one breath.  That’s it.  You can pay attention to two if you want, but the challenge is just to be aware of one, single breath.  If you can do that for 30 days, I guarantee you that you will feel different.  And very rarely do I ever guarantee anything, unless it has to do with a dude that calls himself Mr. Happy and drives that bitchin’, rusty van, and coaches little league teams despite not having any kids on the team! 

Don’t forget to check out www.TrainSmartKC.com for this week’s free workout.  It gets posted tomorrow, and every Tuesday.  Gracias!

Kansas City is a rough place to be during this time of year.  I don’t know of anyone who likes the fact that it’s dark at 5:24 p.m., and only getting darker until we hit December 21.  It can take a toll on a person’s health, and I’m not going to bullshit anyone and act as though it doesn’t, shouldn’t, or won’t.  In my first post after declaring that I was going to cover topics that are more relevant and serious, this is the first one, and I do think it’s important. 

Next month will mark my eighth full year as a trainer.  It’s the only thing I’ve ever done.  Over the course of the last eight years, very rarely have I ever seen anyone thrive, or make dramatic improvements to their physical health during the winter months.  Besides the obvious reasons, such as having less daylight time, worse weather conditions, etc, it is because people wind up spending time and energy protecting the other dimensions of their health.  Let me explain.  You see, when I speak of health and/or wellness, I am addressing the subject from four major dimensions.  The four dimensions include physical, emotional, mental and spiritual.  To define exactly what I mean when referring to each one, the physical is the most obvious, yet it runs deeper than just what one sees on the surface, or one’s physical appearance.  It also includes the quantity of energy that you have available.  As for the emotional, I am referring to the quality of energy (negative vs. positive).  From a mental standpoint, I would try to determine the focus of one’s energy (scattered, or laser sharp).  And as for the spiritual, let’s just say it’s the force behind a person’s energy (passionate, committed, connected, etc.)  Ultimately, it becomes very clear that the primary determinant of overall health stems really from one’s energy.  And while most people would certainly agree with me, very few of them actually care, as it always seems to come back to how they look.  You’re gonna have to get over that.  There is no destination or arrival point when it comes to one’s health, and so you’re never gonna get there and be finished.  Health is a dynamic, ever-changing state that can fluctuate day to day, hour by hour, even from one minute to another.  It’s the Principle of the North Star.  Every single move you make, every decision, regardless of size, is either moving you in a direction that is for the better, or backing you away from where you want to be.  Right now, I’m in a bad fucking mood, and I attribute much of it to the fact that I fucking hate this time of year.  However, I am doing my damndest not to complain about it too much because it is completely out of my control.  Therefore, every time I do think about it, or claim how much it sucks, my state of health is getting worse at that moment.  You might be wondering, well what does that have to do with me?  My response would be nothing, asshole, but since this is my blog, and the readership still sucks, I can use it to vent a little bit.  And for those of you who don’t have shit for brains, you might be able to make the connection as to how your shitty attitude can only be toxic for your health as well.  So what’s the answer?  What the fuck are any of us supposed to do about it?  Well, that’s a good question Boner.  Personally, I’m not so sure I shouldn’t move.  I’m serious.  I was listening to some audiobook the other day in my car, which is something I would recommend that everyone do (turn their car into a rolling university, and I’ll come back to this point in a minute), but the author was telling about how he was from Wisconson, and had lived there for the majority of his life.  It wasn’t until his 35th year or so, that he finally realized that he only enjoyed being there (based mostly on the weather), for about four out of the 12 months in every year.  When he finally took the time to do the math, it occurred to him that he had been spent the majority of his life being unhappy, and he up and moved to Arizona, where he has loved it ever since.  Yes, that’s drastic, but think about it.  I know very few people who still like the holiday season.  I know I dread the shit out of it, yet they keep coming year after year after year, and although they are unavoidable, I sure wouldn’t mind them nearly as much if I were in Arizona too.  I realize I might be rambling a bit, but who gives a shit.  I’m assuming that the one faithful reader that I have is the only one listening to me gripe anyway, and if you are, you probably remember me writing essentially the same shit last year, but I guess to come full circle with my original point, my physical state is slipping a little as it naturally does after the end of daylight savings, and that has a direct affect on the other three dimensions.  My point: try to find some balance.  Be aware of the fact that we, as a species, are affected by the seasons.  Know that Seasonal Anxiety Disorder (SAD) is not just some bullshit syndrome like chronic fatigue or ADD are (ok, maybe there are very few exceptions, but for the most part, I think those ARE bullshit syndromes).  So instead of acting as though these things are irrelevant, and beating yourself up for losing that bikini body, why not just deal with reality, and focus more on improving the other elements of health and wellness during this time?  That doesn’t mean you should let yourself go physically, and that DEFINITELY doesn’t mean that I’m not going to come after you with a meat cleaver if I hear anyone tell me that its the holidays that fuck them all up.  Get that shit out of your head!  Who gives a fuck if it’s Thanksgiving or Christmas?  Those are two fucking days out of 365, and they don’t mean you have to become a fat, sloppy pig just because everyone else is telling themselves it’s ok.  Stay the course, work hard to maintain, and don’t worry about how much you weigh.  Actually, I take that back, if you are morbidly obese, then work hard to change that.  But also know it requires the other three dimensions to do so, and that this may be the time of year where you can excel at improving those areas of your health for the sake of being able to thrive once again come April.  After all, you’re not going to be sporting that banana hammock that looks like it was made out of a piece of dental floss anyway.  Unless, of course, we moved to Arizona! 

Be sure to check out www.TrainSmartKC.com, and tell all of your (imaginary) friends to do the same.  If for no other reason, I can assure you that it’s the only place that you can get the highest quality and potency of Vitamin D (pharmaceutical grade), and it’s the least expensive.  For those who don’t know, Vitamin D is hands down the one must for everybody, as we are unable to get it naturally for at least the next four months, and the D deficiencies that nearly everyone has is now known as THE primary source for many of the conditions we are developing that have reached epidemic proportions.  Of course, VEMMA does have 1000 IUs in every 2 oz dose, and it is still the most comprehensive supplement that there is, but it you’re too cheap and stubborn to go with the VEMMA, at the very least take the Vitamin D!  Also, don’t forget that I am posting a free Workout of the Week every Tuesday, which I think is probably the most valuable thing on the site.  Despite the fact they are free, I am not watering them down in any way.  In fact, the only difference between the free W.O.W, and the individualized workouts, (which are also very inexpensive), is that the free workouts are obviously not tailored to anyone’s particular goals and/or needs.  Yet for those who are already active, and don’t have any unique circumstances, they are just as good.  So again, that’s www.TrainSmartKC.com.  Did you get that?  www.TrainSmartKC.com.  One more time…just kidding.  Now get to it!

Fuck you.  No offense to approximately one percent of you reading this, but to the other 99 percent, go fuck yourself.  You are a bunch of brain-dead, sloppy, degenerate shitbags, and I’m tired of sharing this city with you.   The shit’s not funny any more.   You’re disgusting, and as I get ready to turn 31 in 17 days, which is still young as hell (ladies?), but old enough to have some experience under my belt (as opposed to a belly that hangs over my belt), I’ve made some major life-changes recently, and am deciding to go from being just a regular ol’ sweat-pant sportin’, erection poppin’ observer of ass-clowns, to an actual ‘teaching-penis,’ who is going to take a little bit more of a serious approach in the subjects I choose to take on.  Part of it has to do with the fact that there is already so much bullshit floating around, that it truly has become difficult to navigate the mucked-up waters of health, fitness and wellness, and what those things even mean today.  The other part of it has to do with the fact that we are in the midwest, which is another way of saying that we are surrounded by the a good chunk of the country’s simple-minded, imbred, ignorant fucksticks, and that I’ve decided that I’m just gonna let natural selection run its course, and assume that they will all be extinct in another few years anyway.  Listen, I don’t say that because I’m hateful.  I’m not.  In fact, I’m anything but; however, I’m a realist, and I don’t give a damn how much denial any of you are in, or what excuses you’ve convinced yourself of, I am going to set the record straight right out of the shoot: nine out of 10 people reading this right now are in HORRIBLE shape, and that means you’re probably not the one person who can go around with a big shit-eatin’ grin on your face thinkin’ ”That Boner is so right!  I really am the only healthy bad-ass in this fat fuckin’ city.”  And don’t get me wrong, I haven’t been so great myself, but I don’t hold a candle to the majority of you.  Nevertheless, we all got some work to do, and that’s what this forum is going to be about from this point on. 

That doesn’t mean that I’m not going to continue to be myself.  I like to use “peppery” language as one kind person put it.  That’s who I am, and I’m not gonna try to be some sugar-coating pussy that I’m really not.  But I am going to steer the discussion to one that is more serious.  I’m not gonna bullshit any of you: I have to appeal to a wider audience.  If you don’t already know, I’ve turned much of my attention to reaching more people, and trying to offer high-quality health/fitness education to people who I feel deserve to have access to it, regardless of where they fall in the socio-econimic heirarchy.  To do this, I’ve been pushing the shit out of my new website (www.TrainSmartKC.com).  And in order to make the website as valuable a tool as it can be, I have to have a blog (or forum), where ongoing conversation can take place.  This said, I thought about retiring the BISP Blog forever, and starting fresh with one that doesn’t have the word Boner in it at all.  But I just couldn’t do it.  Just as I was getting ready to start over again, I glanced down at the bottom of the BISP page, only to notice that it’s had almost 2,500 hits in just over a year’s time.  Keep it down, IT asshole, I know that’s not shit, but it’s more than zero, and so why not try to build on whatever momentum rattails and dudes who work on in jeans has already built for me?  Like I said, I don’t plan to tone it down much, other than I really do plan on turning this into KC’s foremost blog on health/fitness/exercise news you can use.  So, in conclusion, no more long absences.  This is the officially blog (for now) of www.TrainSmartKC.com.  The info will be more serious, more useful, and more thought-provoking.  It will also be more regular, as I will never again have a shortage of topics that could be touched on (as was the case before).  If that bums you out, then fuck you.  We’ve got to do something about this ”health-disaster zone” that we are living in, and it’s going to take more than F-bombs, and hard-ons to get the job done.  Let the change be now official: The Boner In Sweat Pants, is now to be referred to only as Professor Bisp.  And if anyone asks you what Bisp means, just tell them that it stand for the “Best Information a Stupid Pussy (like you) will ever get!”

Thank you, and have a nice day.