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First up, I know I promised anger and I have yet to deliver. It shall be done just as soon as I decide on the format for my angry rants at Angrypiper.com. Ideally, I'd like to set it up like another blog, where y'all can comment on the things I bitch about rather than just read my pretentious blather. Still trying to work out the technical aspects of that.
For now, get your heapin' helpin' of vituperation from Dr. Mantodea over at the WOW. Pretty much everything he posts is mean-spirited. Having his head changed into that of a giant bug has made him quite the crankypants. I say serves you right for messin' with science, Doc, instead of puttin' your faith in Jesus.
Oh yeah-I did a post over there tonight too.
Second, for those who wrote in complaining my RSS feed was broken, thanks for the heads-up. Turns out it was a syntax error (fucking syntax errors!) that was making all my links point to nowhere. Thanks especially to my hetero-lifemate Malach, without whose godlike wisdom I never could have untangled the intricacies of Icerocket. It's fixed now, so click any headlines you missed and feel free to subscribe if you haven't already.
I'm gonna try like hell to get the new Book of the Week up for Friday, but it may go up a day late. Think of it as an extra day to peruse my review of Stephen King's Cell, currently up now.
As planned, I went to the 8th annual Rhode Island Highland Games last Saturday. It was a small affair, with only four or so pipe bands, maybe a dozen vendors (mostly selling jewelry) and slim pickings in the entertainment department. I returned home with a sunburn, a couple of CDs and a book on mythical piper tales.
The CDs I bought were from the band Rathkeltair, piper Neil Anderson's current project. Neil was one of the founding members of Seven Nations and I had the good fortune to meet him at the Western Mass. Highland games a few years back. I knew Neil wouldn't be at the games last Saturday because he's been called to Iraq in the middle of his tour with the band. (I'm sure the Angry Veteran can sympathize with this, i.e. being yanked into deployment unexpectedly.) Anyway, I was wondering who the band was going to have as a fill-in piper, but it turns out they didn't have anyone. Just a fiddler. I left early.
Speaking of pipers (as I often do), one of my MySpace "friends" is the Cleveland Celtic Podcast. It's done by a cool lady who clearly loves Celtic music. She just did her 11th show, now available for download. I recommend the 10th show, as it deals with-you guessed it-bagpipers! If you're curious and want a sampling of The Angry Piper's CD collection, including some solo stuff by Neil Anderson, download it and give a listen.
If you are wondering about the title of this post, it's the number that greeted my disbelieving eyes when I stepped foot on the digital scale four days ago. So long did I stare that the LED display has burned the numerals forever into my retinas. Standing there on the scale, peering over my protruding gut, I came to a conclusion: I'm a fat fuck.
Now, I have no problem with fat on other people, particularly women, but on me it's a different story. Six years ago I weighed 215 lbs. Four years ago I was 220 lbs. Now I have a spare tire and a half and I'm developing man-boobs. (Well, okay, maybe that's a bit extreme.)
I attribute this drastic weight gain to three major factors: 1) I eat too much (duh). 2) I drink too much beer. 3) I lead a sedentary, slothful existence in which I sit on my ass 90% of the time.
Suffice it to say I'm nipping this in the fucking bud, before I have a rack like Anna-Nicole Smith. Inspired by my virtual friend Tel's weight loss, I have decided to diet and exercise. What I really should do is start practicing aikido again, as that would have dropping kilt sizes in no time. Of course, I'd have to learn to fall all over again.
Aside from the health and personal vanity issues, I have two major motivations to drop the weight. First: if my kilt no longer fits me, I'll be beyond pissed off, as it cost me enough so that I won't dream of altering it. Second, I don't want to endure the taunts of Dr. Mantodea ("Hey there, tubby!") or the Angry Veteran's brother ("You look like you're getting fat there, ya fat fuck. Look at you, you fat fucking fatty fatass! Eat much, you fat bastard?")
FYI: Those quotes are pretty much verbatim, and yeah, I can do without that.
For now, get your heapin' helpin' of vituperation from Dr. Mantodea over at the WOW. Pretty much everything he posts is mean-spirited. Having his head changed into that of a giant bug has made him quite the crankypants. I say serves you right for messin' with science, Doc, instead of puttin' your faith in Jesus.
Oh yeah-I did a post over there tonight too.
Second, for those who wrote in complaining my RSS feed was broken, thanks for the heads-up. Turns out it was a syntax error (fucking syntax errors!) that was making all my links point to nowhere. Thanks especially to my hetero-lifemate Malach, without whose godlike wisdom I never could have untangled the intricacies of Icerocket. It's fixed now, so click any headlines you missed and feel free to subscribe if you haven't already.
I'm gonna try like hell to get the new Book of the Week up for Friday, but it may go up a day late. Think of it as an extra day to peruse my review of Stephen King's Cell, currently up now.
As planned, I went to the 8th annual Rhode Island Highland Games last Saturday. It was a small affair, with only four or so pipe bands, maybe a dozen vendors (mostly selling jewelry) and slim pickings in the entertainment department. I returned home with a sunburn, a couple of CDs and a book on mythical piper tales.
The CDs I bought were from the band Rathkeltair, piper Neil Anderson's current project. Neil was one of the founding members of Seven Nations and I had the good fortune to meet him at the Western Mass. Highland games a few years back. I knew Neil wouldn't be at the games last Saturday because he's been called to Iraq in the middle of his tour with the band. (I'm sure the Angry Veteran can sympathize with this, i.e. being yanked into deployment unexpectedly.) Anyway, I was wondering who the band was going to have as a fill-in piper, but it turns out they didn't have anyone. Just a fiddler. I left early.
Speaking of pipers (as I often do), one of my MySpace "friends" is the Cleveland Celtic Podcast. It's done by a cool lady who clearly loves Celtic music. She just did her 11th show, now available for download. I recommend the 10th show, as it deals with-you guessed it-bagpipers! If you're curious and want a sampling of The Angry Piper's CD collection, including some solo stuff by Neil Anderson, download it and give a listen.
If you are wondering about the title of this post, it's the number that greeted my disbelieving eyes when I stepped foot on the digital scale four days ago. So long did I stare that the LED display has burned the numerals forever into my retinas. Standing there on the scale, peering over my protruding gut, I came to a conclusion: I'm a fat fuck.
Now, I have no problem with fat on other people, particularly women, but on me it's a different story. Six years ago I weighed 215 lbs. Four years ago I was 220 lbs. Now I have a spare tire and a half and I'm developing man-boobs. (Well, okay, maybe that's a bit extreme.)
I attribute this drastic weight gain to three major factors: 1) I eat too much (duh). 2) I drink too much beer. 3) I lead a sedentary, slothful existence in which I sit on my ass 90% of the time.
Suffice it to say I'm nipping this in the fucking bud, before I have a rack like Anna-Nicole Smith. Inspired by my virtual friend Tel's weight loss, I have decided to diet and exercise. What I really should do is start practicing aikido again, as that would have dropping kilt sizes in no time. Of course, I'd have to learn to fall all over again.
Aside from the health and personal vanity issues, I have two major motivations to drop the weight. First: if my kilt no longer fits me, I'll be beyond pissed off, as it cost me enough so that I won't dream of altering it. Second, I don't want to endure the taunts of Dr. Mantodea ("Hey there, tubby!") or the Angry Veteran's brother ("You look like you're getting fat there, ya fat fuck. Look at you, you fat fucking fatty fatass! Eat much, you fat bastard?")
FYI: Those quotes are pretty much verbatim, and yeah, I can do without that.
posted by The Angry Piper at 4:37 PM
6 Comments:
Feel free to join me at the gym my friend!!!! Oh wait I mean you fat fuck...
AP,
Ah, the magic number where reality makes your head snap back. Good luck pal. I highly recommend the South Beach Diet. There are bunches of diets out there and you just have to find the one that works for you.
Here's to a 200 pound Piper! Huzzah!
Fatty. Fatso. Fatty McFatty.
Maybe instead of aikido you could start studying sumo.
Whose a cute widdle fatty? You are, oh yes you are!
Have a twinky.
More self righteous nonsense from the Angry Veteran. The South Beach Diet works for 1 to 2 years. The only successful weight loss program (diet does not mean weight loss, it means the selection and consumption of food, beverage and nutritional substances) is Weight Watchers. Ten years of scientific study and that's the only opne that works long term.
That and excercise.
I'm down to 230 from 250. Moderate excercise, healthier choices like whole grains, fruits, vegies and dairy, 8 glasses of water a day.
If I quit drinking beer and booze, I'd be down to 210. I'm working on that, you fucking fat fuck. Look at dat! Look how fuckin fat you ahr! Fat fuckin piece of shit!
Dude, I am down to 215 from about 240. You wanna do akido, I would be up for that . . .
I'd cheer you on but I gained 10 of the 20 I lost from last year back. Give me a few...I'm thinking of another week long fast to fix that up right quick!
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