17 April 2018

Your Fat Is Unequivocally Your Fault #6- I'll Accept A Dose Of AIDS Before I'll Accept Some Asshole's Fat Being Rammed In My Face

 I do not understand how someone could not like this shit.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder" is a trite statement usually made by boring, smug, unoriginal motherfuckers why are attempting to deflect criticism for their weird choice in car/partner/whatever, but it's a statement that's endured since at least the third century BC for a reason- it's true.  My undying love for prolapse porn is likely not going to be shared by a large amount of the populace, but that's fine- you like what you like and I'll drool over a chick's intestines hanging out of her asshole.  Oddly, you won't find the chicks on Tumblr who are rocking pink socks to run through the streets screeching at the top of their lungs about how everyone should stare at their intestines and love the look.  They know its an acquired taste, so fuck the haters.  There are plenty of guys and girls like me ready to faceplant into their distended assholes.

There is a very vocal, highly obnoxious, and utterly reprehensible group of people who vociferously disagree, however. The tottering, jiggling, adipose-swathed monstrosities darkening the doorway of every Wal-Mart have a different idea, and they're more than happy to wheeze their way through an angry denouncement of the aforementioned idiom to instead assert that "beauty is in the eye of the beheld."  Yes, they are more than willing to scream down anyone who might suggest otherwise, labeling them "sizeist" to liken them to racists, "body fascist" to liken them to the internet's favorite overused comparative boogeyman, Hitler, and to make all sorts of claims of prejudice and victimization at the hands of others because we haven't allowed them to force us to decide that we want to label them as hot.

Whoever this wonderful woman is, she didn't have to found a fucking movement to get me to jerk off to this.  Repeatedly.

To wit, the intolerable,saggy-cheeked, Droopy Dog imitating, fat thug above with the "Chublife" tattoos (yeah, I linked Virgie Tovar's FB for you guys)  screeches to the heavens that "society is fat phobic,"  “fat phobia is a form of bigotry,” and likens blaming rape victims for their rape to blaming fat people for their fat (Anderson).  
Let that one sink in for a sec.  Pretend you're a Mormon guy who has just inserted his cock into a Mormon girl and just let that shit soak a minute.
Virgie Tovar's claim is that her fatness is a plight on the scale of being raped, by herself, on a daily basis, and as a result of this violent act she perpetrated, she is discriminated against "regarding choices in sexual partners, how chairs are designed, and public transportation usage" (Anderson).  As such, she disassociating herself with her own body to the point that it is a second entity capable of committing violent acts against her, and suggesting that she should be able to choose her sexual partner no matter their preference, which is exactly what rapists themselves think.  As this deranged cunt is a very vocal member and apparent leader of the "radical body politics" and "fat activism" movements, I would venture to say that movement is spurred in no small part by serious mental illness, much in the same way the Inceldom is, and with many of the same worldviews.

Another inexplicably smug and outwardly delusional fat acceptance activist, Kelli Jean Drinkwater, echoes the sentiments of the aforementioned Jabba The Hutt stand-in, wheezing (and I'm not simply mocking her- she's out of breath from the very first word of her TedTalk) "like any form of systematic oppression, fat phobia is deeply rooted in complex structures" and directly compares fat phobia to racism (Drinkwater).  Apparently unaware that being fat is a very deliberate choice made on a daily basis (whereas race is something one obviously cannot change), she continues to compare it with racist stereotyping, stating that "being fat is seen as being a bad person, lazy, greedy, unhealthy, irresponsible... and morally suspect."  She continues, stating that this "anti-fat bias has become so integral, so ingrained, to how we value ourselves and each other that we rarely question why we have such contempt for 'people of size' and where that disdain comes from" and then asks a rhetorical "do we really want to live in a society where some people are denied their basic humanity because they don't subscribe to some arbitrary form of acceptable?" (Drinkwater).

A message to the fat girls who fancy themselves pinups- BETTY PAGE WAS 5'5" AND A BUCK THIRTY, NOT 300+ POUNDS OF BULLSHIT.  Pinups were no in any way fucking fat, and fat bitches need to get it through their heads that they're just insulting a proud legacy rather than affirming it.  This Rosie the Riveter travesty takes it one step fucking further- whereas Rosie was an image of a capable, fit woman who could fill the role of a man even in the most physically demanding job, this bitch shit all over the concept by replacing "fit and capable" with "fat as shit and on her way to losing one or both feet to the beetus."  Fuck me running- these slobs do more to set feminism back than Mohammad and his angry band of Arab incels has.
And while we're at it, feminists use the wrong goddamned Rosie.  The original Rosie, painted by Norman Rockwell, is a jacked badass who's also cute as a fucking button and eating a meat-packed sandwich, yet feminists use the "softer" image later released as Army propaganda.

Her comments are bizarre, because it's not as though these opinions are new- hatred of the obese transcend time and space.  Disdain for fat people is found even in toddlers, and has been a prevailing concept in the medical profession since the time of the ancient Greeks and Indians.
"The Indian physician Susruta (about 600 BC), Herodicus of Selymbria (fifth century BC), Hippocrates of Kos (460-377 BC), Aulus Cornelius Celsus (25 BC-50 AD) and Claudius Galen of Pergamon (129-199 AD) knew that obesity is a serious threat to life and favors the development of many diseases. For long-term treatment, they recommended their patients moderation in eating and regular endurance and resistance training" (Sturgiss).
Aristophanes, the famous playwright, made an assessment of the obese far more in line with my own, writing in the fifth century BC that obese men were "bloated, gross, and preseniled fat rogues with big bellies and dropsical legs, whose toes by the gout are tormented" (Angier).

"The Consequences of War" by Peter Paul Rubens.  That broad is a little chubby, not a fat fucking pig.  And to those guys doing that bloatmax shit- that shit does not apply to men.  All of the men in Ruben's paintings look like they came right out of a comic book, not Golden Corral.

As such, this stigma predates the modern trend in the twentieth century to avoid corpulence, which occurred with the advent of refrigeration and other advanced preservation techniques, which made abundant food extremely easy to obtain.  And while it's true that in certain cultures obesity was associated with opulence and thus coveted, that ties directly to food scarcity rather than health.  
“In many of these locations, a voluptuous body used to mean that a woman was well-cared for, had good nutrition, access to resources, was not doing manual labor,” says Anderson-Fye, who presented her research at the annual conference of the American Anthropological Association last week" (Robb).
Fat activists, with no understanding of the historical perspective of the aforementioned fact, will also hold aloft Rubenesque women of the paintings of Paul Rubens and the statues of certain Greek goddesses as evidence that being a giant fatass was lauded in the past in the West as well, any motherfucker with a modicum of critical thinking skills and a working eyeball can suss out the fallacy in that statement.  The chicks in that art were "thick" and maybe even "chubby"- they were not headed towards an XL coffin with gangrenous feet.  In short, the broads in that art could actually see their feet by looking directly downward. 

Basically, the Venus de Milo looked a hell of a lot like Kim Kardashian, not London fucking Andrews.  And there will likely be a follow-up about the dress size thing by a fashion design major guest writer who has a fucking bone to pick with the behemoths claiming they're the same size as pinups of yore.

Fupawarriors often enjoy using the term "venusian" to describe themselves as well, which is a laugh- here are the dimensions of the Venus de Milo statue, per a 1916 New York Times Article (Borodkin):

Height: 5'4"
Head: 23"
Neck: 12.5"
Chest: 33"
Bust: 37"
Waist: 26"
Hips: 38"
Thigh: 22.5"
Calf: 13.2"
Ankle: 7.4"
Knee: 15"

How in the hell do they fuck?  What sorcery would produce a child?  That or they're scouting for kids to abduct, which also seems unlikely because children are spry and these two are immobile.

As you can see, they don't really have a leg to stand on with this contention, which is fine because most of them sit in repose atop motorized scooters anyway.  Where that leaves us, however is in a place filled with so much delusion it's hard to know where the fantasy ends and reality begins.  Drinkwater herself gulps for air while suggesting, "we may even blame fat people themselves for the discrimination they face because, after all, if we don't like it, should just lose weight.  Easy"(Drinkwater).  She says this as if it's not he case.  As if each day she did not make a pointed decision not to lean out, not to bust her ass in the gym, pass on the cake and eat a fucking steak© (COPYRIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS, because that is gold), not to take fat burners, not to see a doctor or a dietitian.  She specifically just said fuck it day in and day out for years until she arrived at her present state.

We could all use a little cleanse after looking at these calorie dumpsters.

Beyond the fact these pancake graveyards have decided to demand a thing they cannot take by force, which is a particular bugaboo for me, they continually assert that their fatness is their issue and no one else's, and that an assertion to the contrary is tantamount to a hate crime.  If it were simply a matter of them affecting their own lives, I personally wouldn't give a fuck what they do or how fat they get- I've fucked a handful of chicks over 275lbs (which I'll confess is difficult due to the amount of body in the way of burying your dick) and even John Cena's stated on Howard Stern that he's fucked chicks of that size, because he's John Cena, and "everybody gets a ride."  It's not, however, something that fails to affect the rest of us, however- these gibbering former humans are stealing money from our collective pockets on a daily basis.  
While being overweight didn’t emerge as a risk factor for taking sick days, obesity did — in fact, the higher an employee’s BMI rose above the obesity threshold, the more days that person tended to be absent. Specifically, compared to normal-weight workers, those with a BMI of 30 to about 35 missed 27 percent more workdays per year, while the most severely obese — those with a BMI of 40 or higher — were absent 44 percent more often.
As employees get larger, so do the costs associated with missed workdays. On average, a company incurs a loss of $260 per year in productivity for every obese employee, the study found, and that number may be as high as $465 if the person is extremely obese (Yahoo).
You would have to be utterly insane to hire something like this.  I don't even understand what it is at which I am looking.  And that was a very awkward sentence once I resolved not to end it with a preposition.

It goes beyond losses for employers- this shit picks your pocket, my pocket, and every other person who is a taxpayer or medically insured.  Shit, it even hits your wallet when you buy an airline ticket, because the cost of flying is heavily predicated upon the cost of fuel, and airlines are using 350 million more gallons of fuel per year because their passengers are a pack of gigantic, overstuffed food rapists (Baker).  They assert we're the dickheads for calling them fat, but they're fucking thieves.  It's fucking ridiculous what it costs the nation to keep these fucktards alive:  
"Zhou Yang, a professor at Emory University who studies the impact of obesity on the medical system, found that obese older males spent $190,657 more on lifetime health care expenses than their normal weight peers while older obese women spent $223,629 more. A 2016 meta-analysis by University of Washington researchers found that annual medical spending attributed to obesity nationally was nearly $150 billion—more than four times the federal budget for foreign aid and nearly enough to fund the entire U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs" [Emphasis mine].
And it's only getting fucking worse- according to the public health commissioner of West Virginia, "At the state and federal levels, chronic disease burden is among the largest drivers of health care costs," and they're rising at catastrophic fucking rates.  That just means that the fat will bleed us dry if we sit by and allow it, and the waddling troglodytes who insist otherwise are the people who intend to drive the final blow to our heads and lead us to financial slaughter, but before they do so they insist that we encourage them to do so.

FUCK.  THAT.  SHIT.  As Anton LaVey said, "If a man smite thee on one cheek, smash him on the other!"  But what, you might be thinking, if it isn't their fault?  It's their fucking fault.  We've got a fucking pill that will cure just about any ailment, and you combine that shit with hard work and you can achieve just about any physical goal- hell, Magic Johnson managed to lift and take enough gear over a few of years that he not only beat AIDS but became a monster on the basketball court in doing so.  No human being with the mental faculties to apply their will is consigned to obesity- obesity occurs by very specific application of mental weakness, apathy, and sloth.

For fuck's sake don't mock the fat people in your gym.  The more they bust their asses the less they cost us and the less we have to hear their screeching about fat acceptance.

We've all heard these fuckers blubber about how they tried every diet and exercise all the time and nothing worked.  They're fucking lying to your face, plain and simple.  Science has documented the phenomenon of underreporting nutritional intake by the obese at length, and it gets even worse once they add the beetus to their lengthy list of disgusting health ailments (Sallé A).
"On average, men underreported energy intake compared with total energy expenditure by 12-14% on 24HRs and 31-36% on FFQs and underreported protein intake compared with a protein biomarker by 11-12% on 24 Hour Dietary Recalls (24HRs) and 30-34% on Food Frequency Questionnaires (FFQs). Women underreported energy intake on 24HRs by 16-20% and on FFQs by 34-38% and underreported protein intake by 11-15% on 24HRs and 27-32% on FFQs" (Subar).
And while I won't bother to hammer you with citation after citation, they overreport exercise while underreporting calories:
"The failure of some obese subjects to lose weight while eating a diet they report as low in calories is due to an energy intake substantially higher than reported and an overestimation of physical activity, not to an abnormality in thermogenesis" (Lichtman). 
Financial Domination is just an endlessly lullzy fetish.

So the next time you feel a pit of pity for these fat shits bleating about the difficulty of their lives, consider the facts- they're liars and thieves, and they're doing their level best to fuck you over and make you beg them to do it.  If you're one of those people who loves financial domination, find yourself a BBW findomme and have at it, but keep your hand on your wallet when you're out in public and verbally slap the shit out of a fatty's mouth if they have something to say about something, because it's the fit and healthy who are being victimized, not these disgusting tubs of shit.  Hey, they're asking for it- "When a person, by his reprehensible behavior, practically cries out to be destroyed, it is truly your moral obligation to indulge them their wish" (LaVey).

"The range of countries is diverse—but their attitudes toward obese people today are pretty consistent. If you are fat, said a Jamaican, “You are unattractive and no one wants to be your friend.” “We make fun of fat people,” said a Nepali. The quotes from Koreans—the most fat-phobic culture of all—are the most devastating. 
“I would kill myself if I was fat,” said one Korean college student. “Fat people may as well die” (Robb).

And if you want a refresher on the rest of the series, which is all crazily heavily researched, here's Part 1, Part 2Part 3Part 4, and Part 5. 

Anderson, Brain.  Fat activist warns that weight loss is racist and like being raped.  Downtrend.  11 May 2016.  Web.  16 Apr 2018.  https://downtrend.com/71superb/fat-activist-warns-that-weight-loss-is-racist-and-just-like-getting-raped/

Angier, Natalie.  Who is fat?  It depends on culture.  New York Times Science.  7 Nov 2000.  Web.  17 Apr 2018.  https://www.nytimes.com/2000/11/07/science/who-is-fat-it-depends-on-culture.html

Baker, Beth.  Obesity's hefty price tag.  Politico.  8 Mar 2017.m  Web.  17 Apr 2018.  https://www.politico.com/agenda/story/2017/03/obesity-epidemic-in-america-healthcare-costs-000336

Borodkin, Lisa.  Art history: what are the measurements of the Venus de Milo?  Quora.  10 Jul 2011.  Web.  17 Apr 2018.  https://www.quora.com/Art-History-What-are-the-measurements-of-the-Venus-de-Milo  

Drinkwater, Kelly Jean.  Enough with the fear of fat.  Ted Talk.  May 2016.  Video File.  13 Apr 2018.  https://www.ted.com/talks/kelli_jean_drinkwater_enough_with_the_fear_of_fat

LaVey, Anton Szandor.  The Satanic Bible.  New York: HaperCollins Publishers Inc., 1969.

Lichtman SW, Pisarska K, Berman ER, Pestone M, Dowling H, Offenbacher E, Weisel H, Heshka S, Matthews DE, Heymsfield SB.  Discrepancy between self-reported and actual caloric intake and exercise in obese subjects.  N Engl J Med. 1992 Dec 31;327(27):1893-8.

Robb, Alice.  Is the West teaching the developing world to stigmatize fat people?  New Republic.  12 Dec 2014.  Web.  16 Apr 2018.  https://newrepublic.com/article/120555/fat-stigma-four-countries

Sallé A, Ryan M, Ritz P.  Underreporting of food intake in obese diabetic and nondiabetic patients.  Diabetes Care. 2006 Dec;29(12):2726-7.

Sturgiss E, Jay M, Campbell-Scherer D, van Weel C.  Challenging assumptions in obesity research.  BMJ. 2017 Nov 22;359:j5303.

Subar AF, Kipnis V, Troiano RP, Midthune D, Schoeller DA, Bingham S, Sharbaugh CO, Trabulsi J, Runswick S, Ballard-Barbash R, Sunshine J, Schatzkin.  Using intake biomarkers to evaluate the extent of dietary misreporting in a large sample of adults: the OPEN study.  Am J Epidemiol. 2003 Jul 1;158(1):1-13.

Yahoo Health.  How America's weight problem is costing the workforce.  Yahoo Health.  17 Nov 2014.  Web.  16 Apr 2018.  https://www.yahoo.com/lifestyle/how-americas-weight-problem-is-costing-the-workforce-102888426847.html

16 April 2018

Baddest Workouts Ever- Jeff King

[This is something I wrote for original content for my ebook Issuance of Insanity 2, but somehow the article I wrote to post today didn't save last night for some unknown reason, so I'm dropping this one to give you guys something to read until I get "Your Fat Is Unequivocally Your Fault #6- I'll Accept A Dose Of AIDS Before I'll Accept Some Asshole's Fat Being Rammed In My Face" completely rewritten.  To say it's ranty is to say Michael Jackson's diddling of Corey Feldman seems to have had a bit of a lasting effect, and it's jammed with more porn than I've ever put in a blog, because pouring bleach in your eyes is a bad idea.]

We all probably wish we looked like we were photoshopped, but for most of us, that's merely a distant and ephemeral dream. Not so, however, for the biggest, baddest, freakiest motherfucker of whom you’ve never heard- Jeff King. Many reasons for this have been bandied about for why he abandoned bodybuilding, but King was, in his prime, considered to be an uncrowned Mr. Olympia even as an
amateur. He had quads as big and detailed as Tom Platz with an upper body to match, and the biggest, most vascular neck anyone’s ever seen. He apparently dropped out of bodybuilding due to the politics of the sport, and as such we never got to see the best of him. That’s pretty horrifying, given the fact that Jeff King would likely have produced a physique that would never be replicated, and might have rivalled Ronnie Coleman for strength at his peak. In the picture above, for instance, King is only 22 years old and 230 lbs.- as such, he'd have another 20 years to pack on mass and gain muscle maturity if his career lasted as long as Ronnie Coleman. What he would have looked like at that point is mere fantasy, but that fantasy really could be considered a nightmare, since the sight of the man probably would have reduced the average passer-by to a pile of sobbing mush. 

King's legs were perhaps his most impressive bodypart, as they were absolutely enormous, and comparisons of 1980s bodybuilders are often drawn between King and Tom Platz. His training regimen for legs was pretty unique, much like Platz's, and consisted of a three part cycle in which he'd do anywhere from four to ten reps per set and max out once every two weeks (King, Colescott). He trained each bodypart twice a week on a schedule that looked like this (King): 

Day One- Chest, Back, Abs, and Neck
Day Two- Legs, Calves
Day Three- Shoulders, Biceps, Triceps, Abs, and Neck
Day Four- Off

In the off-season, King's training differed somewhat from in-season, though he'd stick with the same basic exercises and just not push as hard. His two favorite leg routines, however, were these:

Off Season Leg Training
Front Squats- 3 x 8
Duck Leg Press (popular in the 80s, you'd place your feet so your heels were
nearly touching and your toes pointed out at roughly 45 degrees)- 4 x 8
Hack Squats- 3 x 8
Leg Curls- 4 x 10
Standing Leg Curls- 2 x 10
Standing Calf Raise- 3-4 x 15-20
Calf Press- 3 x 12-15

“Powerlifting” Squat Routine
Back Squats- 135 x 12, 185 x 12, 225 x 10, 315 x 8, 405 x 6, 495 x 4, 495 x 4
Duck Leg Press- 400 x 10, 500 x 8, 600 x 6, 700 x 4
Leg Curls- 3 x 10

Just a fucking monster, and very chill about having one of the freakiest physiques ever in interviews.  Look for some insanity to drop here tomorrow.  "Until then," as Jeff King said in 1984, "train hard and be an animal."

Colescott, Steve. Jeff King's Animal Leg Training! RX Muscle. 5 Dec 2009. Web.  11 Feb 2013. http://www.rxmuscle.com/articles/nutrition/1018-jeff-kings-animal-leg-training.html#.URpW0x3WKqk

King, Jeff. How I Trained for the Mr America and Mr Universe (1984), reprinted in a Forum Post. Professional Muscle. 6 Mar 2011. Web. 11 Feb 2013.  http://www.professionalmuscle.com/forums/articles-forum/70844-jeff-king-training-diet.html

04 April 2018

Baddest Motherfuckers Ever: Harry "The Handcuff King" Houdini

Pretty dapper for a badass.

There have been a great many badass, blow-up-your-sorry-ass-with-a-fireball wizards throughout the ages, from the limp-wristed, Harry Potter-esque Merlin to psychotic Russian demagogue Rasputin to the Antichrist Aleister Crowley.  None of them, however, possessed a combination of characteristics so diverse that they were essentially a combination of Bruce Lee, David Blaine, Evel Kneivel, lunatic carny extraordinaire Frank "Cannonball" Richards, and the entire cast of Mythbusters.  That bizarre distinction is the sole mantle of the greatest escape artist and all-around baddest motherfucker in history, Harry Houdini.

Houdini don't play no shit, you feel me? Houdini never been about that, never ever been about playin' no shit.

I realize that when one thinks of wizards and magicians, they're thinking of some slack-jawed bitch who would get his ass kicked by a cardboard cutout of a Warhammer dwarf.  Clerics fall into the same category in my book- if there's no melee weapon employed, they can get fucked, and that twig Harry Potter waves about like he's fucking Lord of the Dance wouldn't even make a decent stabbing weapon.  All of this shit flies out the window when Houdini walks into the room, however, because that man was harder than underground Greek gay porn and in better shape than just about anyone you know.

You're skeptical.  That's fine- I was dubious until I discovered that Houdini could jump off a bridge into an icy river cuffed and weighted down by 35 pounds of chains, then swim to shore completely unharmed.  That is some shit that would have made Teddy Roosevelt stop in his tracks in wonderment in spite of the fact that Roosevelt swam the Potomac every morning bare-assed.  Like our greatest President, Houdini was also a serious fucking problem for anyone who wanted to scrap, as Houdini was a badass boxer and train jiu-jitsu for an hour each day.

Most people credit Houdini's success as the world's greatest escapologist to his Dean Karnazes-esque superfitness.  At a time when most Americans and Brits busied themselves being skinnier than a dope fiend ten years into their habit, Houdini exercised like it was his penance for having been Ivan the Terrible in a past life.  The result was a prolific series of competitions and athletic feats even the über-athlete Jim Thorpe would have considered fucking insane.

"As a teenager in New York City, Houdini was a member of several athletic organizations, competing in bicycle races, foot races, and boxing matches. He would plunge into the fast-moving East River to get his swimming fix, and running a ten-mile circuit in Central Park was an effortless feat for him. He tried out for the U.S. Olympic swim team as a teen (he didn't make the cut), by 17 he was already an amateur boxer, and by the time he turned 18, he had beaten Sidney Thomas, a British racing champion, in a 20-mile race" (Flicker). 
All of this was achieved with “vigorous self-training, to enable me to do remarkable things with my body, to make not one muscle or a group of muscles, but every muscle, a responsive worker, quick and sure…” (McKay).
Harry Houdini fucking around with heavyweight champ Jack Dempsey and lightweight champ Benny Leonard.  Those of you with fight experience will notice he's set up for inside trips on both dudes, even as they're goofing around.

I realize you might be calling bullshit in the same way any thinking person screams "bullshit" internally upon hearing Trump brag about any business-related successes, since Houdini allegedly died from a single punch to the stomach... or did he?  We'll cover that later, but in the meantime be aware that Houdini was roundly considered to be a badass boxer.  In his single pro fight, Houdini beat the fucking brakes off the future bantamweight champion of the world in an unsanctioned bout on a barge in the East River- that is how they got down before the Queensbury rules were adopted.  Pulitzer Prize-winning superjournalist and author Ken Silverman remarked at one point that Houdini himself thought he would have taken the title instead of his vanquished opponent if his career hadn't been derailed by an illness, and that is believable, given how he trained- his "practice sessions were so constant, so all-consuming that he would frequently forget to eat and bathe; his wife Bess had to remind him to change his underwear" (Ibid).

Upon reflection, maybe being a prison bitch wouldn't be such a bad time after all.

Everyone reading this article is likely of the opinion that they train harder than anyone they know- I know I fucking am.  Houdini makes me look like a punk prison bitch by comparison to his routine, however.  The dude almost never slept more than four hours a night, and even then would awaken at random and scribble notes in a notebook like he had the world's worst case of hypergraphia every time he had an idea.  His daily routine, though, is what makes us all look like giant bitches:

"Savoring the serene atmosphere, Harry turned his attention inward. He felt completely alive and awake, though he had slept only four hours. His mind was perfectly clear. He sensed his blood circulating, and detected a steady vibration running throughout his body. He slowly inhaled the fresh morning air, feeling its energy entering through his heels and pores, circulating up his spine, over the top of his head and, exhaling, through his tongue, heart, lungs, solar plexus, down the front of his body and back down to his feet. He focused on this for a few minutes, then went back inside and drank a glass of mineral water. 
Closing the bedroom door, he padded silently into the grand parlor, cartwheeled onto the large blue-and-yellow carpet and walked on his hands back and forth across the room. He'd walked on his hands daily since he was nine years old, when he billed himself "Harry, Prince of the Air," and had played local carnivals as an acrobatic contortionist whose specialty was bending backward and picking up needles with his eyelids.  
After an hour of gymnastics, he again stood still. Letting his sweat dry, he cooled down by quietly imitating the breathing patterns of the heron, the deer and the turtle. Then he went into the bathroom, filled the alabaster bathtub with cold water and drowned himself. Drawing mind and energy inward, intentionally slowing his internal functions, he held his breath, submerged, for five-and-a-half minutes. 
Drying off with a towel, he returned to the rug and practiced ju-jitsu for an hour, feeling each movement coiling through his bare feet, spiraling up through his joints and emerging in the hands. He devoted the next forty-five minutes to hands and fingers exclusively -- rolling silver dollars clockwise and counterclockwise over his knuckles, palming and producing poker-sized playing cards with both sides of both hands. 
Sitting in the large armchair for fifteen minutes, he tied and untied knots with his toes, without looking, while mentally counting backwards from three hundred by threes.
He spent the next fifteen minutes exercising his internal organs. As he had learned from early apprenticeship with Thardo the Poison Eater, he threaded a small potato onto a string and gently swallowed it. When it had settled in his empty stomach, he walked around the room, on his feet this time, and then sat down and performed ambidextrous tears and switches with folded pieces of paper, while looking straight ahead and quietly reciting "Kubla Khan," "Casey at the Bat," and "The Song of Hiawatha." After he had both moved and spoken normally for a quarter of an hour, he carefully began to work his peristaltic muscles and gently refluxed the potato back up his gullet and into his hand.
It was not yet eight o'clock when he finished, feeling supercharged, and as though he had already lived an entire day while the rest of the world was asleep" (Saltman "Routine").
Having this degree of muscle control definitely could not hurt in the gym.

If that doesn't impress the living shit out of you, I highly doubt you're able to be impressed, because you're just a corpse staring at the screen with no comprehension of what you've read.  In the event that you're unfamiliar with Maxick and Monte Saldo, they were a pair of short guys who were 150lbs-ish, ripped to the fucking bone, and so strong that the Redditors screeching "manlet!" at their monitors right now would have died simply from impugning the badassery of the two.  In any event, these guys invented what was called Maxalding, which was a system of isometric exercises that would give practitioners a level of muscular control the likes of which you cannot conceive- they could literally flex one half of their abs and leave the other abs completely relaxed, or suck them into a vacuum (as the guy above is doing).  Frankly, we could all stand to practice the shit, because it likely accounted for a considerable portion of both of their superhuman strength, and it was part of Houdini's secret to success. 

Maybe I'm alone in thinking this, but the dude had a crazy set of traps and neck for a tiny guy.
“He had control of every single muscle in his body," Hirschfeld continued. "Even this little ring of muscles right in the center of his palms. He had really inordinate control of the muscles of his body. I mean, he would show me how he could swell his wrists, you know, before they put handcuffs on them. I’m sure there was more to it than that, but he did have complete control. He used to take his hand and show me little muscles in the center of his hand that he could pop up. He could put his hand down flat and pick up a dime or a quarter. I used to try to practice that, but I could never see any muscles in the center of my hand. It was really remarkable” (Saltman "Routine").
And it wasn't just that he had control of every muscle in his body than most people have control of their fork while stuffing their fat faces, or that he could outrace the best runners or outbox world champions, or even the fact that he did an hour of jujitsu a day at a time when hardly anyone in America could place Japan on a map (not unlike today, I suppose)- Houdini had a nearly superhuman ability to endure pain.  In an odd coincidence, one of the most renown sports team doctors is also the world's biggest magic collector, and his name was Dr. Robert J. Albo (he died in 2011).  Just prior to his death, Albo was interviewed about the escape-artist extraordinaire and he said this of Houdini: "Soldiers run across battlefields and get shot and not even know it until afterwards due to the adrenaline rush.  Athletes are much the same," said Albo.  He compared the situation to Houdini's ability to ignore pain: "He had learned to live with pain" (Chapman 126-127).

“When I am stripped and manacled, nailed securely within a weighted packing case and thrown into the sea, or when I am buried alive under six feet of earth, it is necessary to preserve absolute serenity of spirit….If I grow panicky I am lost.”  

Not bad advice for anyone about to attempt a huge PR on the squat, either.

The man was a genuine lunatic when it came to pain- whether he was a masochist, a self-mutilator, or just a man who hated to fucking lose so much he'd endure anything is up for debate, but the man was in it to win it.  "Houdini would accept nearly any challenge thrown at him. Audience members would bring all manner of handcuffs, locks, and chains to his shows and groups would come up with bizarre tests of his prowess, like asking to chain him to a lit cannon" (McKay).  This meant he'd have to endure shit like cuffs so tight he couldn't bend his wrists and they'd cut off circulation to his hands and pinch his skin.  He'd be tied so tightly with ropes a chick from HogTied.com would be screaming her safe word because she couldn't feel her extremities and would fear they'd go necrotic, but Houdini just toughed it the fuck out and would emerge from his restraints an hour later out of breath, with bloodshot eyes, and covered in bruises.  Zero fucks were given- all that mattered was being the best.

In one show, Houdini's ankle snapped while being loaded into a water torture cell.  Not only did he tell the doc to fuck off and refuse the hospital, but the man did the escape on a broken ankle... and then made his own split and leg brace out of whatever was handy and kept touring.  In another, a bunch of dickhead longshoremen apparently got a little busy with kidney punches while loading him into a canvas bag (seems like people actually had to work to be famous back in the day, rather than just being a vapid cunt who posts stupid pictures of themselves with digital dog ears and shit).  Thereafter, Houdini found himself pissing blood, and his ever put-upon doctor issued more directions to Houdini that he spurned harder than sobriety by Tara Reid.  
“It is my duty to inform you that by continuing your present regimen you would be committing suicide. You must reconcile yourself to the fact that your strenuous days are over…If you continue at present, you will be dead within the year,” the doctor gravely intoned.  “You don’t know me,” Houdini replied with a shrug. He took two weeks off and then went back at it with his usual aplomb. For the next 15 years, the magician sent the doctor photos and news clippings of his dangerous exploits along with a note: “Still alive and going strong” (McKay).

You have to love that man's zero fucks given attitude and his dedication to being the best, no matter what.  He refused to be outdone- if he'd heard a tall tale about Paul Bunyan escaping armed lumberjacks while chained and shackled Houdini would have attempted it while afflicted with dysentery just to up the difficulty.  It didn't matter what the stunt had to be- Houdini was alway out to leave his audience stunned at the superhuman shit he had done.  Tragically, the combination of his unerring drive to be the best and his staunch determination to ignore the advice of anyone bearing a caduceus were his undoing.  At the end of his shows, Houdini had a habit of showing off his wrought iron abs by inviting people in the audience to punch him in the stomach... which usually left them with bruised knuckles.  Due to his practice of muscle control, he could bot swell and flex his abs (which I'm sure he used to violently strike the puncher by flexing out at the point of impact), so he apparently took more pleasure in this feat than a NAMBLA member does in walking past a schoolyard at lunchtime.  Though certain Houdini experts refuse to believe it (and apparently violently dispute it), Houdini stated to his friends after one show, "I let a college kid punch me in the stomach and he caught me wrong and it's killing me" (Saltman "Stomach").  Unbeknownst to Houdini, he had burst his appendix, and in spite of a 104 degree fever continued performing for several more days.  By the time he finally relented and went to the hospital for suregery, it was too late, and he died of peritonitis.

After that biography, some of you might still be wondering why I decided to include Houdini amongst guys like Bruce Lee and Ken Patera, George Hackenschmidt and Bruno Sammartino.  It's the will that makes the lifter- not the program, not the diet, not their upbringing or the political system in which they live.  It is nothing more than the will to fucking win, and that is the reason Harry Houdini is one of the baddest motherfuckers to ever live.

“I want to be first. I vehemently want to be first. First in my profession…  For that I give all the thought, all the power, that is in me. To stand at the head of my rank: it is all I ask…  so I have struggled and fought. I have done and abstained; I have tortured my body and risked my life, only for that– to have one plank on the stage where they must fall back and cry ‘Master!’….I am strong, as you see; strong in flesh, but my will has been stronger than my flesh

I have struggled with iron and steel, with locks and chains; I have burned, drowned, and frozen till my body has become almost insensible to pain; I have done things which rightly I could not do, because I said to myself, ‘You must;’ and now I am old at 36. 
A man is only a man, and the flesh revenges itself. Yet the will is its master when the will is strong enough. Do you think that these religious martyrs- the willing martyrs-those in India, say- who torture themselves by driving hooks through their flesh and swinging suspended- do you think they suffer pain? I say ‘No; they do not.’ I have proved it in myself. 

To think vehemently of a thing, of the feat, that conquers the pain- some kinds of pain. If the thought is intense enough, the pain goes- for a time. Sometimes the task before me is very hard. Not every night, but sometimes. I must fling myself down and writhe; I must strive with every piece of force I possess; I bruise and batter myself against the floor, the walls; I strain and sob and exhaust myself, and begin again, and exhaust myself again; but do I feel pain? Never. How can I feel pain? There is no place for it. All my mind is filled with a single thought-to get free! Get free! And the intoxication of that freedom, that success is sublime.” 
-Harry Houdini

Chapman, Mike.  Wrestling Tough.  Champaign: Human Kinetics, 2005.

Flicker, Jonah.  Your wimpy workout has nothing on Houdini's bizarre training regimen.  Studio @ Gizmodo.  18 Aug 2014.  Web.  8 Oct 2017.  http://studioatgizmodo.kinja.com/your-wimpy-workout-has-nothing-on-houdinis-bizarre-trai-1613321041

McKay, Brett and Kate.  Lessons in manliness from Harry Houdini.  Art of Manliness.  20 Dec 2010.  Web.  8 Oct 2017.  http://www.artofmanliness.com/2010/12/20/lessons-in-manliness-from-harry-houdini/

Saltman, David.  Houdini's iron stomach.  The Houdini File.  27 Jun 2013.  Web.  8 Oct 2017.  http://www.houdinifile.com/2013/06/houdinis-iron-stomach.html

Saltman, David.  Houdini's practice routine.  The Houdini File.  10 Oct 2013.  http://www.houdinifile.com/2013/10/houdinis-practice-routine.html