The original ODJ (raw and only slightly censored)

United States Department of Justice mandated disclaimer... The following views and opinions do not necessarily represent those of the creator of No Fat Jokes Please, that of the greater literary community, nor the free world.

"I don't always give ribbons for participants, but when I do, it's for the damn winners!"

                                              -The most ODJ man in the world

I can't begin to understand the thought process Ole JT endured to green light a Kraustian blog entry on a family holiday such as Thanksgiving!  The four letter words and spewed vitriol to come would shudder a lesser man!  In middle school, we would salivate at the opportunity to subjugate a substitute teacher to some evil treatment.  Can you imagine having to follow Jimmy Hendrix on stage in the 70's?  Often these subs followed a teacher we liked.  We reveled in our devilish treatment of those poor bastards!  This is how they must have felt.  Following Ole JT, might as well be some local bar reject following Jimmy Hendrix!  Mind you, it was my suggestion, as he will have his hands full with family and his annual reflection known as The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner.   New to the blog, or old guard, you must read this rag, and years past as well.  It's certified A-Plus and then some by yours truly!  Thanksgiving is a day for giving thanks (seems obvious), and I wish to do so today.  What is the ODJ thankful for?  Scotch, cigars, UNLV basketball, good friends, Archer on FX, internet adult entertainment, but most importantly today: This blog!

You see, when I was growing up, I wanted to write.  Despite my best intentions, I excelled at math, not English. I scored a paltry 560 on the verbal section of the SAT (out of a possible 800), saved by my exemplary 790 (same scale) on the math, 1350 total.  Most people would take that bitch to the bank! I felt slighted. Honestly, I was embarrassed to tell my college recruiter my score. I was self-conscious about by my perceived shortcomings. Later I came to learn this was actually really damn good.  See, I am mildly dyslexic. My reading speed back in those days was comical. I didn't even finish the section. In years since, I have taken an LSAT prep course which taught me to speed read. Bet I could pimp slap that test today! But despite my being a former nihilist, turned picaresque bovarist (look them up if you must; I would have had to with my 560 verbal as an 18 year old), I will accept my past shortcomings with grace.

This blog is a revelation.  It gives me the chance to write, but more importantly, it gives me a chance to bugle my bold, and possibly controversial opinions on fitness.  In the past, I have waited eagerly for the next blog post, so much that I would liken my anticipation to that of a meth addict picking at scabs in anticipation of a future fix!  Sometimes Ole JT claims to post when it's really gonna be another day or two.  Prime example, the post after he met his original weight loss goal (December 1, 2012, should have been days earlier).  He sent me a pic of the scale on the day of completion, but the post came days later.  I almost lost my mind on that one waiting for the post!  I got the eye twitch working, some fairly substantial DTs, and quasi-asthmatic hyperventilation working in those 72 hours!  I literally could have died.

Now, I must pull a Frank Costanza and air a few grievances.  You all know you got this coming and I want to hear no bitching...bitches!

Crossfit

I've said a lot in this rag to disparage this abomination to formalized proper exercise, but I recently had a friend hospitalized because of rabdomyolysis from crossfit!  Look it up, but here's the synopsis:  Exercise induced condition where your muscles are so damaged that they leech into the bloodstream and damage the kidneys. This is potentially fatal. 10 years ago this was incredibly uncommon.  Since the advent of crossfit, it has become remarkably common. I have even read blog posts from crossfit cultists bragging about blood in their stools (RHABDO), like it's a badge of honor.  They affectionately call it "Uncle Rhabdo", and are so proud; they seek approval of other cult members, which of course, they get!  What is wrong with these people?!

Fitness Classes

I affectionately refer to fitness classes as "the place where fitness dreams go to die".  That's kind.  Do you know who Shaun T designed Insanity for? Who Tony Horton designed P90X for? ...Shaun T and Tony Horton.  NOT YOU!  If there was one best way to get fit, everyone would do it.  There's not.  Fitness needs to be personalized to have any chance of success.

Running

"I run from bears and cops", excerpt from Achieving ODJ.  But loyal readers from Chechnya know this. I have heard from so many people that "I just need to run to shed the weight".  I...might...explode! I literally can't hear you over the sound of failure. Picture in your mind two runners: a marathon champion (from Kenya, of course), and an Olympic sprinter. Very different body types; right?  One does incessant amounts of solid state cardio, one interval trains at high intensity.  Keeping in mind that one pound of muscle burns 50-75 calories per day at rest, which body do you want?

So I want to thank our readers, even the accidental ones.  I want to thank anyone who has used our advice, or benefitted by our spite laden direction. So, probably just the one of you...

Ultimately, I am thankful to Jarvis Marlow, aka Ole JT, aka J mo'freaking T, and countless other nicknames I shouldn't share here. I hope everyone out there has a Happy Turkey Day!  And for our dwindling Eastern European contingent, Happy random Thursday, comrades!  Wish I could say that you are the blood that fuels this fire, but if you read regularly, you know that would be a load!  We write this despite you.  We appreciate you, but we'll be here long after you are gone.  God speed...

Dedicated follower of equal

"Everybody has won and all must have prizes."
                                                  - the dodo to Alice.

Here at No Fat Jokes Please we too love celebrating mundane. Like any upstanding paternalistic elitist professes -- mundane is the rabble's security blanket. We go over-board with the celebration, especially when that mundane is our's. Keeping with the trajectory of modern parenting, youth soccer leagues, higher education, civil discourse, and taco trucks, we want equality. Same equipment for all. Our love for equality is only slightly veiled by our disdain for those seeking equal outcomes. Please cease and desist carving out space for warm feelings and emotional stability in gyms. There is not enough Generation Equal Outcome propaganda to parcel out real estate along side actual success. This ain't Average Joe's gym! (Deep breath.) That felt good to get off my chest... Now where was I? Oh yeah, talking about myself.

Recently Jaron and I accomplished personal best on the bench press. In accordance with our mission statement to promote full disclosure; I would like to commend my trainer and friend for putting up his life time best weight... 195 lbs (13.92 stone). I was able toss up a humbling 205 lbs (14.64 stone). That might be a best for me. I'm not sure. I live in the present. The past is just fog; distant pricks of memory. Unfortunately, we failed to lift our current body weight: Jaron 201 lbs and yours truly 216 lbs. Our max lift capped off a grueling phase of circuit. In a paradox of progress, we are on a break from lifting while I tapper for a masters swim meet in early December, but we will continue to blog while I enjoy the rest. Writers will write, and fat guys will eat.

I've turned over the creative capacity to the master of muscular definition in order to focus full efforts toward writing my annual position paper Chronicles of a Lost Southerner. So I hope you enjoy Jaron's next installment of Achieving ODJ: The authorized and agitated journey through America's savage pursuit of thin. I fear the credibility of No Fat Jokes Please may never recover.

Déjà vu all over again

If you ever desire to mess with a creature of habit; first find out where they park their car in the lot of their employer. Show up extra early, because they are the ones usually arriving to work on or near the exact same time each day. Park in their spot for two weeks. And then suddenly stop. Creatures of habit will lose their mind! Because by the time you stop, they will have begun nesting elsewhere. Getting their structured life back in order. In the eyes of the rest of humanity something as simple as a different daily parking spot doesn't even register. But to a creature of habit the tweak ripples through their anal retentive day. Side note... You don't need to be a co-worker to pull off this stupid prank, because if you are the type of person to put this time and effort into the prank you are the same type of person who puts a premium on naps, lunch breaks, and childish behavior.

The gym is populated with all breeds of the creature of habit (50% of this blog covers one or more types.) I have come to love the guys who have set lockers. Sorry ladies, you'll have to add a comment on locker room personalities, since no upstanding fitness queen will be caught contributing to this rag. The locker room is just like the aforementioned parking lot. I'll spice things up by rushing in front of the lumbering creature of habit with a history of poorly planned artwork traveling up his arm, and take his locker. Holy cow! If looks could kill, I'd be a dead man walking.

Jaron and I have a standing weekly early morning workout. And going to the gym early in the A.M. is Groundhog Day every day. Same cast characters. Wearing the same outfits. Lifting the same weights. Talking the same mind numbing drivel. If you look at the dynamic duo of snark we are minus the drivel and do not lift the same weights, but Jaron and I fit into the re-run perfectly. Allowing us to duck blind around the natives without bringing attention to our ongoing research project.