What are you one of those fitness freaks? Huh? Go Fuck Yourself

Too much of anything isn’t good. Too much candy leads to cavities. Too much frivolous sex leads to STD’s. Too much attention to fitness leads to…her? It? Whatever is in that picture.

Now, physical fitness is a good thing, and should most definitely be taught to our video game addicted little fat-ass kids. I’m specifically writing about the addicts. The workout warriors who count every carb they eat and spend more time at the gym than anywhere else. You’ve seen these types…the ‘Testosterone Tylers’ and the ‘Steroid Susies’ waddling around power squatting 400 pounds at 7:00am before work.

It’s not only the staggering time and effort spent on working out that gets me. It’s also the stupid fads that come and go. All the diets, all the ridiculous new equipment, such as this:

Absurd Exercise Thingy

Seriously? Like…seriously? How about instead of spending 1,500 dollars on a vibrating mechanical bull, you, oh I don’t know, develop a personality?

For these exercise jockeys, working out becomes more than a healthy hobby and turns into their whole lives. I have no problem classifying this as an ‘addiction.’ If you’d rather do wind-sprints than watch a rerun of Step By Step, I feel bad for you, and you should seek help. I propose a 12-step program for workout-addicts:

1. Admit you have a problem. Take down the poster of John Cena from your wall and throw away your ‘secret stash’ of dumbbells and ankle weights under your bed.
2. Realize there is a higher power that can help you…Colonel Sanders.
3. Trade in protein powder for powdered sugar. Enjoy a funnel cake or decadent donut.
4. Take up a hobby, such as studying world issues and global affairs, rather than researching the best way to make your Serratus Anterior Muscle stand out.
5. Re-adjust your priorities. Count the number of times you smile at a stranger, not the number of veins you can see in your arm.
6. Eat at a McDonald’s (and do not throw up afterward). I suggest the filet-o-fish.
7. Talk to your family members once per day (and discuss things other than that killer shoulder workout you just had).
8. Make a list of all persons you harmed due to increased testosterone or HGH levels. Be prepared to make amends for “Roid Rage” incidents and unnecessary bullying (I’m talking to you RJ. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but when you threw me off of that parking structure, that also broke my bones).
9. Eat at a Taco Bell. The chicken quesadilla and cinnamon twists are fucking dynamite.
10. Do some minimal accounting work and calculate how much you spend on gym memberships, home exercise equipment, powders, pills, shakes, smoothies, and other ridiculous paraphernalia. Continue to stay in shape with your gym membership and the occasional smoothie, then give whatever is left to charity, or to me…your choice.
11. Eat at In N’ Out Burger. Don’t deprive yourself of the simple joys.
12. Pass your knowledge of moderation on to other “Dumbbell Dannys” and “Cardio Cathys,” so people will exercise a healthy amount and hopefully we can take the money we gain from not manufacturing ridiculous exercise machines and put it toward fixing our trillion dollar debt or however massive that number actually is.

Hopefully this will help some people get on the path to recovery. Remember: food is so, so delicious. So sure, allow yourself to ‘relapse’ and go for a 15 mile run…but afterwards? Ravage your way through your local grocery store like John Goodman after not eating for 40 minutes.

I understand also that a lot of it has to do with self confidence issues and wanting to look “good” for a variety of reasons, but at a certain point, life is too short not to have self confidence. Just be happy with how you look and who you are. Just tell the 100 pound gorgeous woman who hasn’t worked out a day in her life to go fuck herself (not really, unless she’s a bitch) and realize regardless of how you look, you kick ass (unless you’re a serial killer, in which case, you actually really suck). If you really can’t stand it, fine, starve yourself and work your ass off, I’ll be sipping margaritas and maintaining an average body with no discernable muscle definition.

This is more of a rant on how people take things like this to extremes, not on fitness itself. I run and I work out a little bit, but it feels like people go overboard and get way too into it. I respect the hard work that goes into it and I don’t want to sound like I’m on some sort of lazy high horse*.  As one of my favorite lyricists says, “I’m not a self-help book, I’m just a fucked up kid.”

Also, I apologize if I offended any of my serial killer fan base. I know you guys love comedy blogs and I really appreciate your readership. Just maybe don’t kill so many people, ok? Perhaps go for a run or workout…that can be pretty satisfying.

*The term ‘lazy high horse’ in no way refers to Seth Rogen

Snake Alley Song of the Day: Brett Dennen - Sydney (I'll Come Running)

Dream Boat

My friends, co-workers, and occasional hobos are always giving me shit about my mellow, no-stress lifestyle. It’s no secret, I’m extremely laid back and even keel (unless Florida State or Green Bay are playing, in which case—hide your children and put away anything breakable). All you really need to know is that I majored in Recreation and leisure. That pretty much sums it up right there…and yes that is as awesome as it sounds. I actually had a class called Activities. Not making that up. Now I’m teaching tennis as a day job, so yeah, very low stress.

I’ve acknowledged the fact that I’m pretty easy going in the past, but it’s just been recently that I realized their quips and jokes are more than justified. I began truly realizing this when I analyzed some of my dreams I’ve been having. These dreams have all happened in the past month or so and they really illustrate what’s going on in the old noggin. I’ve got credit card debt, not enough money to pay taxes, and I’ve been really sick three times already this year. But what does my subconscious focus on and think about you ask?

Well, dream number one…a few weeks back, I’m on a giant boat in the ocean. This boat has about seven massive waterslides shooting down into the ocean, and the entire dream is just me flying down these waterslides, having a blast, over and over, for hours…that’s it! That’s a full night of dreaming for Snake Craney.

Dream two consists of me going to the “Toddler Olympics” and for some reason being a huge fan. So I’m at the Toddler Olympics (99% sure this athletic event doesn’t exist, but it should) and I’m watching the swimming event cheering my ass off for this little guy in a diaper doing a 50M freestyle, but his little arms are just flapping around like a puffer fish because he hasn’t developed the motor skills to execute a proper freestyle stroke. Nonetheless, I’m pretty sure my guy won. Setting aside the logistical problems and impossibilities of this dream, I’ve really got no idea what to make of this. I think my brain might be taking a creative writing class, but can’t stay focused enough to write anything that makes any actual sense. Regardless, competitive swimming amongst toddlers…always fun.

The last dream I’ve had recently involved myself and my friends Justin, Clark, and Chris preparing to shoot a comedy sketch. We had our idea and we were ready to film, and I decided that for some reason, we needed Anne Hathaway. So I loaded the guys up into this huge van, because apparently we turned into pedophiles for the dream, and we rolled on down to the Hathaway household, because obviously I know where that is. Anne’s mother answered the door and I barely acknowledged her, I just burst by her saying, “I’ve got to talk to Anne.” So I went to her room, because of course I know which one it is, I barged in there, and she’s topless. So naturally we started going at it, getting a little hot and heavy with Anne Hathaway, and what comes out of my mouth? “Save it for later, we need you for a comedy sketch, it’ll take 10 minutes tops.” So we rushed out of her house, past her mother, again saying nothing, and the boys were waiting in the van, I opened the door and in a very serious tone, I say “I got Hathaway, let’s roll.” I woke up before we could shoot the sketch and Anne and I could resume, but if my subconscious ever decides to finish this particular dream, I’ll let you know (after I stop weeping tears of joy).

So there you have it, I feel like that is a fairly diverse and accurate representation of what my brain is concocting. There’s no rhyme or reason as far as I can tell. Psychology majors, if you need something to do in between smoking weed and figuring out my underlying motives and rationale as to why I’d make such a sweeping generalization like that…feel free to take a crack at it.

No other dreams recently have stood out enough for me to remember after waking up. No bad dreams, no dreams about work or issues or anything. So, based on the aforementioned dreams, as well as current happenings in my daily life, here are my predictions for my dreams for the upcoming week:

Monday: I sing a duet with Wiz Khalifa while wearing a lycra-spandex suit and a cardboard Burger King crown. After we finish the duet, Wiz and I grab lunch at Arby’s, where I throw the crown away and proclaim roast beef to be the “New King.”

Tuesday: I come home one evening to find my dog Charlie has eaten all my protein powder and is now a muscular, 200 pound beast. After watching him joyously bench press the couch, we walk down to the Venice Boardwalk and he works out on Muscle Beach, much to the delight and fascination of onlookers. He is kicked out after pooping on one of the machines, and we walk home. After a steak dinner (one for me, six for him), we turn in. For once, he is the big spoon.

Wednesday: Glorious dance party inside a gigantic tub of mac & cheese.

Thursday: I take a trip to Iceland and visit a bar made entirely of ice. Incredibly, my friend Nick is also there, and we spend the rest of the night making bad ice-related jokes. “Chill out man, its cool. Go talk to that girl, I can tell she’s making your icicle freeze up.”

Friday: I’m at the batting cages, but instead of hurling out baseballs, the machine instead throws tomatoes. Fuckin awesome.

Saturday: As I get on stage to do stand-up, I realize everyone is naked. I begin to tell my first joke, and then realize everyone is making out. I realize I’ve gone to the wrong address and this is a meetup for a group that loves orgies. I run out of the club, stop off to get a turkey burger, and ruminate about why my first joke about the merits of abstinence didn’t land.

Sunday: Anne Hathaway makes her comeback with a stunning performance as a topless Starbucks barista. She gives me a java chip frappuccino and says “here’s your pussy drink, bitch.” I chug the frappuccino, crush the cup in my hand, climb over the counter, grab Hathaway…….and then wake up.

Stay tuned for future editions of this post as time goes by. Who knows what crazy, fun, ridiculously childish things my brain will come up with next.

Snake Alley Song of the Day: Tokyo Police Club - Your English is Good

A Day In The Life: Charlie "Brown" Craney

"Fry Day"

From the perspective of Charlie Craney, Manchester Terrier

Ahh, Fry Day. Feels the same as yesterday, it’ll probably feel the same as tomorrow. Good stuff. That guy is bouncing around to all that noise again.  He doesn’t seem to be making any of the noise, it’s coming from that box, but he prances about as if he is doing it himself. I have yet to figure this out. The toothbrush he is holding up to his mouth doesn’t make sense either. Things are weird.

Oh good, he’s done, time for breakfast! Holy Shit! Breakfast!

Oh man that was good. I can’t believe I ate that so fast. Sure it was the same as yesterday. Same as everyday for the past couple years in fact, but I don’t care, it’s just so fucking good! Ah! Breakfast! Uh-oh, now I have to poop. Hey, dude, take me out. Hey, dumbass, quit lying around and take me out. I swear to God if I could make a fist I’d hit you right in the face. Yes! He’s got the leash. Thanks dad! I love you.

               

Ooh, great smells outside today, great smells. K time to think Charles, we need a plan of attack. I say we go for posts, bushes, trees, anything that looks like it needs a good pissing.  Checkmate you little bush, you’re asking for it! Jesus! Was that a hummingbird or a vampire bat! That’s scary stuff man!

Ok, back inside. Feeling good. Time for some good ole thinkin. Hmm, I wonder what the socio-economic effects of a global economy would be if only…what? What’s that dad? Dude speak English, I have no idea what you are saying when you talk gibberish. You know those aren’t words right? Are you illiterate? Ahhh that feels good, yep that’s the spot. Alright nap time, something please wake me up in seven hours.

Wow, great nap. Hey I need to take a dump on something then maybe grab some dinner. Where did that guy go? Where does he go every day? I’ve been outside, I mean the bushes and grass are nice, but I can’t see spending a huge chunk of time there.

Oh sweet! A sock! Fuck yes dude. Let's bury this in the corner of the couch...gonna want to get some good chewing in later.

Alright, time to run in circles for 30 minutes...gotta keep my athletic figure after that giant old moldy muffin I got my paws on earlier.

Oh good he’s back, time to jump on him, I need to make sure he sees me and realizes I’m in need of a big ole' dump. 

Hmm, outside is different. It’s dark. Strange. Still have yet to figure out how the massive animals on the street are moving so fast. Must be excited about something.

Ahh, alright, back inside; ready to sleep for another 12 hours. Maybe if I dig at this spot on the bed it will become more comfortable. Yep, that did the trick. My foot just needs to be licked for ten minutes here before I hit the hay. I’ll start on those memoirs tomorrow.

What the FUCK was that sound outside?

Snake Alley Song of the Day: The Hold Steady - Hurricane J