Plonker Sez – Enough with your diet bullshit

Posted on August 3, 2016 by Plonker

This should be good.  I’m exhausted, and I’ve been staring at tech pubs documents for the better part of 5 hours…

Yes, that’s right.  I’ve had enough with your diet bullshit.  Adkins, gluten free, all carb, all fat, all sugar, know what they are?  ALL FUCKING LIES!

So it’s no secret that Josh (the miserable bastard) and I are trying to lose weight.  I use the word “trying” rather liberally since we don’t do a whole lot. He’s way better at calorie control than I am, which is why I have man tits and seven chins.  But I like to think I’m better at exercising to the point of injury…which is why I have man tits and seven chins.  But I digest…

As I sit here finishing off a jar of peanut butter and 1.5 quarts of vanilla ice cream (this is the non-alcoholic version of drinking alone, in a dark hotel room, at 2am, because you’re bored) I’m reflecting on today specifically.

Now, I’ve done some stupid shit.  I’ve taken Hydroxycut (caffeine), I’ve done advocare (caffeine and laxatives), I’ve done adkins (I lasted about 15 minutes), and as of today…I have done THE MILITARY DIET!  Yeah, I made it about 9 hours today before I caved in.

For those unfamiliar, the military diet is a three day diet plan where you starve yourself for three days and lose 10 (or more!) pounds, only to turn around and gain all of your weight loss back in the next four days.  Why do you lose so much, so fast, and gain it back?  Calories.  Calories, calories, calories.

Look, here’s the deal.  A calorie is a calorie is a calorie.  You need x calories per day to survive (your body uses so many just by having your heartbeat continue, your kidneys filter waste, your brain send electrical signals, breathing, etc.) and without getting too technical [some asshole fitness dick will e-mail me in about 34 seconds telling me this isn’t 100% accurate, and that’s fine…I’m writing this to the fat bitch sitting at her computer with her face covered in buttercream icing and tears.  (Sweety…I feel ya.  Pass me a slice of that cake, will ya?)  I’m not writing this for the Crossfit assholes***] we’ll call that your BASIC METABOLIC RATE.  That’s what you need to survive.

That’s what you need to survive.

 

 

 

 

 

Anything MORE than that amount and you put on weight (more weight than your skeleton, internal vital organs, blood, and a day’s worth of urine and doody..heheheheheh….doody…hehehehehe).  Anything less than that, and you lose weight.  Now, that’s really simplified so you health nuts can relax.  Put down your gluten free, vegan S’mores plate and relax a bit.  So about these calories…

Plonker needs about 2700 calories per day to maintain his current weight.  However, I do not want to maintain my current weight.  And according to the United States Government (and y’all can kiss my fat ass), I need to drop about 120 pounds.  Think about that.  One.  Hundred.  Twenty.  Pounds.  Basically, I need to cut my next ex wife off of my body to get down to a weight that’s not “overweight”.  I’m going to look like the poster child for AIDS if I get to that weight…so I’m going to go for it.  Anyway, Josh recently mentioned mapmyride and myfitnesspal (or at least mapmyride) in a post.  We use those apps to track activity and calories in/calories out.  Does it help?  Yeah, when I’m not stress eating or stuffing my face out of depression (not clinical, I just get “bummed out”.  For those of you battling clinical depression, I’m going to be a real person here and say don’t do it alone, go get some help.  E-mail me and I’ll help you where I can.  Okay, back to being an asshole…) or stress.

In February I kind of had a big letdown and started “depression eating”…for 2 months.  I had lost almost 50 pounds up to that point, and then I put 25 back on.  Then at the end of June, I got stressed about something and put on a good 12 pounds…  For those of you who know me and are wondering, yes both bouts of overeating are because of the same person.  Same person I was trying to forget by drinking on Sunday, but Josh decides to make videos.  Seriously, when someone says “I’m drinking until I forget”, who the fuck starts recording that shit?  Totally defeats the purpose.  What a dick.  Where was I?  Oh yeah, being an asshole…

So anyway, to lose weight, I set my calorie goal at -1000 calories per day.  That’s what I need for a 2 pound per week weight loss.  In other words, if I average about 1700 calories (1730) per day (Net, and I’ll get to that), I’ll lose 2 pounds per week.  Some days I can be a little more (2000) provided I’m less on other days (1400) so that the average over the whole week is 1700.  Is it better to be at or under and NEVER be over?  Sure!  Does that ever happen for me?  Dude, I think I just ate like 4000 calories of ice cream while I was typing this and jerking off…so, no.  No, it never happens for me.

But in order to combat my lazy eating (I eat when I’m bored, I eat high calorie shit because it’s easy and cheap), I decided to try this fucking military diet.  First thing’s first…if you’re in the military and surviving for three days on this diet, you’re the laziest fuck in the military.  When I calculated the calorie intake on day one it was EIGHT HUNDRED AND FORTY CALORIES!!

Let me once again remind you, that to MAINTAIN my weight, I need 2700 calories.  To lose two pounds per week, 1700.  This was 840.  Let’s just do the math there…  2700-840= 1860 under goal.  Now, a pound of fat is 3500 calories.  That means in two days on this diet, just from fat burn, I should lose a pound.  Add to it any sort of exercise I do (walking?  Going to get the mail?  Dusting the house?) and that 840 decreases.  For a reference, on an average bike ride right now I’m burning 2500 calories or so.  That’s how you get that “net” number I mentioned earlier.  Calories in – (Calories out + BMR) = Net calories.  Let’s look at that math without the words.  We’ll use the tried-and-true QDPA method.

Jason has a BMR of 2700 calories, he wants to lose 2 pounds per week, and eats 2300 calories.  During exercise, he burns 2500 calories per day.  What is Jason’s net calorie intake?

Q: What is Jason’s Net Calorie intake?
D: BMR -2700; 2 pounds per week (3500 cals per pound * 2 = 7000 cals / 7 days = -1000 cals per day); intake +2300; exercise -2500

P: Subtract the sum of calories out (exercise) and difference between basic metabolic rate and calorie deficit to lose weight from the calories in.

A: In – (Out + (BMR-deficit))=Net

2300 – (2500 + (2700-1000))=x  (We’re solving for x.  This is a simple equation, folks…)

2300 – (2500 + 1700) = x

2300 – (4200) = x

2300 – 4200 = x

-1900 = x

In this example, I’d have a NET CALORIE INTAKE of -1900 (negative 1900) for the day.  Negative calories.  If I did that every day, I’d die, but I was trying to use easy numbers for those of you that didn’t pay attention to Listy.  Looking at that, it’s no wonder people lose 10 fucking pounds on this diet.

Here’s the problem.  When you cut back your calories so drastically, some people will tell you that your body goes into a fasting/starvation mode where anything you eat will be stored as fat (easy to burn) in case your next meal isn’t for a while.  Now, maybe that’s true, but here’s the real big issue.

I

Like

To

Eat

That’s why people gain the weight back.  On day 4, they go back to eating 6000 calories again (have you checked out the nutritional value at McDonalds or Taco Bell?  Give it a shot…) and the water weight they lost comes right back, plus the calories they burned…

Seriously.  I exercise to eat.  I don’t eat so I don’t have to exercise.  And know what?  I like it that way.  I don’t mind putting in the cardio and weightlifting effort, because I know I can reward myself with a bucket of chicken….for a snack.  People, I’m writing all of this incoherently so I can say this one simple phrase about your military, gluten free, paleo, Adkins, or whatever diet….  You’re fucking stupid.  Eat what you need, count your calories, and get some exercise.  If you want 1700 calories of CAKE today, go ahead and have it.  You’re going to be hungry at the end of the day, because that’s not a lot of food…but it’s still 1700 calories.  Don’t starve yourself like this.  Seriously, of all the stupid shit I’ve done…

Oh, and fuck everyone.

-Plonker

PS

*** Those of you that Crossfit…what the actual fuck?  Do you need the Crossfit games?  You need the olympics of exercise?  Hey look, he did a bunch of sit ups while someone rolled a 10′ tire over his back…gold medal!  Of all the stupid shit…  Someone get me a plastic barrel.

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The Fujupz Crew is Getting Fit!

Posted on August 1, 2016 by Hoff

It’s happened. The entire Fujupz crew has joined the gym.

All 2 of us.

“But,” I can hear you say, “you ride bikes to stay in shape! Wouldn’t you rather be out in the world, out in nature, riding over roadkill and narrowly missing getting hit by cars! The way nature intended god dammit!”

Indeed. Indeed we would hypothetical reader.

The great thing about living in Eastwestern Pennsylhio is that the weather sucks most of the time… especially on days off of work. Also, if you’ve read about last winter in our Advocare articles you’ll note that while we were riding last fall both I and Plonker lost about 30 pounds, but regained part of it back over the winter. Our plan was to ride through the winter when possible, and run when riding was impossible due to deep snow.

It turns out that running sucks. At the very least it sucks for 2 fat guys. Moving at greater than a brisk walk would leave us breathless, and pain in the side. No es bueno.

We did, in fact, attempt to ride bikes in the cold. One notable day was between 30 and 35 degrees Fahrenheit. The Hoodies, coats, gloves, and hats did nothing. NOTHING! On a positive note, once the intense pain of flesh freezing surpassed everything went numb. Which is how we completed 30 miles that day.

Once. That was the only attempt on a sub-50 degree day.

Also of note, iPhones apparently don’t like very cold weather. We use mapmyride for calorie tracking/route info while riding and both of our phones died, seemingly from the cold. Plonker had his in a phone mount. Mine was in a pocket in my coat. Very cold.

So, to hopefully counteract the disaster that was last winter, we’re getting proactive and (re)joined the gym. At the very least it’ll be warm and not raining on us. So maybe, maybe, we’ll waddle our way there.

Also, yoga pants. On the ladies. Not us. No one wants to see that.

Coming up is our planned Cedar Point bike ride tripstravaganza. Unless shit hits the fan in the next couple weeks… Positive vibes! Two fat guys! Minimal training this year! 130 miles there! 140 miles back! Amusement Park! Food Challenges! It should be a blast! or we’ll die on the side of the road. It’s the journey not the destination. Right?

..Right?

We’ve started a twitter so follow us, we promise we’ll follow you back! Unless you’re trying to sell us something. Unless its something good. @therealfujupz

Also we have our instagram so do your thing there too. @fujupz

 

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Let’s do shots!

Posted on June 10, 2016 by Plonker

Plonker Sez. V. 1, E. B…or whatever

Alright, alright, I’m off of my lazy ass…no, wait.  I’m actually on my lazy ass typing this.  But I’m actually doing a weekly update here.  So, you sick bastards, I just know that half of you are thinking, “Oh, I can’t wait for Plonker’s next rant!”, half are thinking “What did that asshole write this time?” and half are thinking “who?”.  I don’t know if that math works, maybe in common core land.  So here’s my next incoherent rant…

“You never, never leave your wingman.”

-Jester

I’ve done some stupid shit in life, most of it involves alcohol, and while my lawyer probably appreciates billable hours, none of this should cause (should….it probably will, but it should not) any issue for me with that.  Hey, most of this shit happened in the past, and none of this shit happened in the presence of my offspring, which is really the only place the Wizard of Laws should be concerned, so I should be in the clear.  Smart money says I’ll be in court for this post by Thursday.

So yeah, I’ve done some stupid shit.  I’ve yelled at airplanes flying thousands of feet overhead, I’ve told police that my lawyer would have them working security at Toys R Us in the morning (thanks Steve Buscemi for that line), and I’ve ended up in the sack with women who already have boyfriends…or husbands.  Actually that last part doesn’t bother me.  Hey, I was (am) single at the time.  It’s their relationship…not my circus, not my monkeys?  It’s amazing, every time that happens, it seems like it’s the most amazing secksy-fun-time ever.  I think women just like to be naughty.  Oh, and did you know women are more likely to screw around than men?  And I’m a fat, bald, old guy!  Imagine what your woman is out doing when she’s at the bar and sees some guy who’s reasonably in shape, potentially has more hair above his nose than below, and probably has some money…  Two words, guys.  Pre.  Nup.

Then there’s us men.  Why don’t we cheat?  I know that article talks about science and shit, but the real reason?  Because it’s apparently okay for a woman to key your car, cut up the seats, break the headlights, take your money, toss your clothes in the front yard, destroy more of your personal belongings, and just be a vicious cunt if you screw around on her.  Know what happens if she screws around, gets knocked up by the other dude, and poops out some other guy’s baby?  You, the hubby, get to pay for it.  That’s almost fair…  Society has decided that it’s okay to abuse men.  Don’t believe me?  Wait until you see the reaction I get from the songs I’m writing: Before She Cheats, and Dear Future Ex Wife.  But the actual songs (not the parody versions I’m writing…yeah…sure I am) were quite well received.  Funny, ain’t it?

And to the feminists reading this, I know your BP just shot up seeing the titles of those two parody songs and I just want you to know.

But anyway, this one is probably Top 5 in my all-time alcohol induced uh…”events”.  So here we go.

Picture it: It’s December 2010 and we land in what might as well be Syberia in our piece of shit aluminum tube that barely qualifies as an airplane.  Hey, it’s got wings, it kind of has engines (as long as you don’t expect to get rated power from them), and there’s two idiots up front driving it.  That counts, right?  So yeah, we land in this frozen winter wasteland in a state famous for their thousand lakes.  About two hours behind us is the blizzard from the movie The Day After Tomorrow.  In fact, I think I might have called my wife that night (after checking in to the hotel where they give you free cookies – see how good my memory can be?  Remember that for later…important plot points here.) and told her “I WILL COME FOR YOU”.  Yeah, I’m pretty sure she knew I was just going to rub one out into the hotel’s clean towels while thinking about her sitting on my face, but I could’ve easily played it off that I would trek across the country in snowshoes and a parka if somehow North America turned into Europa overnight.  But honestly, I don’t even like taking garbage to the end of the driveway in the fall.  No way in fucking hell would I do any of that Dennis Quaid shit.  Call me a pussy, you are what you eat…

So anyway, we check in and get changed and start to try to find something to eat, and perhaps more importantly…something to drink!  Hey, the aerodrome had been closed for two days already (apparently up there they go from 0 to “fuck it” in a matter of minutes) so we had nothing to do.  We were literally stuck!  That almost never happens when you’re schlepping people who think they have some cash, but really don’t (because if they did, they’d own the plane and treat you like a human – these people rent it by the hour and don’t even acknowledge your existence) so we decided to take advantage of it.  Now usually I’m completely content with Outback or Wendy’s or whatever…something easy.  But this evening, we wanted something a little more fun.  I’m not sure if it was the girl behind the desk in the hotel, or someone we met on an elevator, or a homeless guy on the snow covered streets that made the recommendation, but we ended up at this little sports bar  Little?  Bullshit.  This place was huge!  Can I remember what it was called?  Nope.  Hopefully I don’t try to go back there though…you’ll understand why in a few minutes.

Now, a little about Plonker…I love sports.  I love sports and I love women.  I’m not sure which I love more, but I love them both.  If you put women in tight shorts and a little referee shirt in a sports bar serving me drinks, there’s a good chance I’m going to blow my entire entertainment budget for the month sitting there drinking blue moon.  I can watch sports and beautiful women and be completely content.  I used to try to explain to the wifey (the first one, not Sai) that I just liked looking at her sometimes, but fuck…women don’t listen.  Amirite, guise?  Women, listen…men are visual creatures.  Let us look at you.  Naked, or wearing something skimpy, or dressed up like Daisy Duck…Diff’rent Strokes, ‘n at.  Yeah it might seem creepy, but we’re just appreciating what’s before us.  While we’re on the subject, you know what grinds my gears?  If you tell a woman, “you’ve got a beautiful smile” or “…eyes” and they get all Feminazi on you about how you’re “visually raping” them (whatever the fuck that means).  LEARN TO TAKE A FUCKING COMPLIMENT!  Alright, where was I?  Oh, I was about to spend a shit ton of money (for me, at the time) on overpriced weak alcohol while watching hockey on TV…

That’s exactly…what…I did.

So I’m out there with my sidekick, we’ll call him Johnny Tripod (funny story, I took him out for dinner for his birthday once on a trip and when they asked for a name to call when our table came up, I told them “Tripod party of 2”….that was hilarious hearing them announce that, but I digress…).  So we’re out and he’s drinking and I’m drinking and the girls in the tight shorts and little shirts are just bringing beer after beer after beer.  Then it happened, the three words that are just no good for Plonker.  I said, “let’s do shots”.  Fuck.

I’d have been fine drinking Blue Moon (yeah, it’s a girl’s beer, but I like oranges….go fuck yourself), but I just had to have shots.  I think we started out with vodka.  Probably.  I can’t remember (hey, remember that whole memory thing earlier?  Yeah, well…it gets better) what we started with, but I remember buying shots for a LOT OF PEOPLE at one point, and then suddenly….my sidekick, my wing man…WAS GONE!  Just…gone.  Not like “hey I’m going to take a piss”.  Like, they’re clearing the table and seating someone else.  He’s gone.  I’d like to tell you, in amazing detail what happened from then on, because we’ve already discussed that I’ve got a good memory…but the rest of the night is still, to this day, largely a mystery.  But this is not only a major bro code violation (I think so, I never watched the Doogie Howser show, but I’d have to think it’s a violation), but also we learned this from Top Gun!  You NEVER LEAVE YOUR WING MAN.  You don’t have time to think, you think, you’re dea—I’m going off track again.

So, as suddenly as I realized my PIC (Partner In Crime) was gone…it was the next afternoon.  I awoke (if you can call it that), stumbled to the bathroom and promptly emptied the contents of my stomach through my mouth and nose (God, I hate that – can’t we have evolved to put a flap back there to keep vomit from going through the nose?  I mean, really…).  I can’t remember how many times I did that, but I know I puked more than once.  I checked in with Pencildick, since he couldn’t be bothered to check in with me to make sure I was even fucking alive, and we decided to meet for lunch in a little bit.  As most people who are “not-quite hungover” (because they’re still fucking DRUNK) will tell you, food is the last thing on their mind.  Sitting in that little bar with him while he ate his sandwich was torture.  I wanted to vomit AGAIN, but I manned up and stayed with it.  I think I may have even ordered something, but I don’t remember eating it.  I should’ve had nothing but water, or maybe ginger ale, but I was out of money.  Oh, I didn’t discuss that yet?  I’m getting ahead of myself…LET ME GET TO THAT SHIT!

After making plans with Mr. Wonderful for our lunch date, things started getting interesting.  First, there was the room keys.  Another thing about Plonker…I’m habitual.  When I check into a hotel, I get one key.  Why?  Because I’m going to lock it in the room anyway, so I’ll be down later to get a second key.  No need to have a second one already made up.  Somehow…and I still have no idea how…there were three keys on the dresser next to the TV.  Folks, it’s been 6 years and I’m still trying to figure out how?  Why?  When?  Where?  WHO!?  The good news is, my asshole wasn’t sore, and I woke up fully clothed (another thing I don’t do – I sleep nude pretty much any time I can), so I’m sure I wasn’t raped or sold into a situation that requires Liam Neeson to use some set of skills blah-dee blah-dee blah blah to save me from…you know what?  I still don’t know what the fuck was going on in that movie.  Who the hell lets their hot teenage daughter go follow U2 in Europe?  Thank God Liam was on the case there, because the bitch that played her mom?  Yeah, real champion shit there.  I know it’s far fetched, but couldn’t you see a parent like that letting their kid fall in a Cincinnati Zoo gorilla——ooooh…..

Where was I?  Oh yeah, I wasn’t raped.  So, that’s a plus.  Now I’m trying to figure out “what the fuck happened last night?”  My face was a little red and I remembered dreaming that I got punched by a bouncer.  Wait…was that a dream?  Then I decided that, “hey, in The Hangover they checked their pockets!” and I got the brilliant idea to do the same.  Nothing showed up, but I also got the idea to check my bank account.

Son.

Ofabitch.

At some point the previous night, Plonker drained his checking account completely.  I mean, hey, I’m a poor schlob, so we’re not talking thousands of dollars.  We’re barely talking hundreds, but for the longest time after that trip I refused to use plastic, carrying cash for expenses instead.  Also, a big thanks to first wifey for tossing some cash in my account so I could actually eat over the rest of the trip.  They say a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, so I’ll let ya know, I gave her the most amazing oral sex as repayment…I probably even gave her a back rub or a foot rub for a few minutes.  I’m usually pretty solid at those as well, but now this is sounding less like me bitching about something and more like my online dating profiles.

Anyway, so now we’re putting the night together, a few debit card charges totaling a few hundred dollars, getting punched in the face, extra keys, and I also “dreamed” that I got in the back of a cop car for a ride back to the hotel…  …  …  -_- …  …  WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?!?!?!  A ride in a cop car back to the hotel?!?!  That…could’ve been bad.  Like, REALLY bad.  I’m guessing getting punched in the face wasn’t exactly the high point of the evening either, but getting in a cop car?  Wait…you know something?  It’s not the last time I’ve had uh…”interaction” with a city’s “finest” after an evening of a few drinks.  Wow, I’m going to have a lot of future updates revolving around a time or two when I may have had too much to drink.  I feel like Meredith Palmer from The Office.  She got her PhD and all the cameras got was her drinking!  What a ripoff!

Well, after a good day and a half, I got back to “normal” again (which is an odd word to use to describe myself) and didn’t touch alcohol for MONTHS after.  I go through these stretches in life.  For the longest time I had nothing, then I’ll have a few, or get totally ripped.  Right now, thanks to a somewhat embarrassing night of drunk texting (I don’t necessarily regret any of it, but I do regret needing to be drunk to send them) I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol in several months.  I guess that’s not true, since I’m pretty sure Listerine has alcohol and I’m a daily user (take care of your teeth, folks!), but I haven’t had any drinking alcohol in several months.  It’ll last a while, then I’ll be on a trip somewhere (probably an all inclusive resort type area – it’ll definitely be on a trip since I don’t drink around my child…not that I’m worried he’ll see me having ONE drink and end up needing an intervention, but I’m worried I’ll have ONE drink, be too tipsy to drive, and that’s when he’ll slam his forehead off of the floor for shits and grins and I’ll have to call 911 rather than just take him to the ER…) and I’ll get ripped again, wake up the next afternoon feeling stupid, and go another year without touching the stuff…that’s pretty much the definition of moderation, right?

So why did I decide to tell you this story?  Why did I tell you about one of the stupider times of my life?  Simple.  So that I could tell you once again…

Never leave your wingman.  It’s a dick move.  Thanks a lot, Johnny…mwah.  Love ya.

See ya next week.

-Plonker

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Plonker Sez – 1.1

Posted on May 30, 2016 by Plonker

Alright Fujupz maniacs, here we go. In case you haven’t noticed, and judging by the hit count you haven’t, we’re up and running here and it’s my duly sworn duty to come up with something to say on the regular. I’ll be trying for weekly updates to Plonker Sez, but let’s be honest…I get distracted easily. Sometimes it’s a project, sometimes it’s playing hide-and-seek with my son (yes, that’s right…someone let me reproduce…you’re all Fuj’d), and sometimes it’s something simple like Netflix….or Pornhub. Six of one, really.

This “week’s” rendition of Plonker Sez is…
THE THING I MISS LEAST ABOUT BEING MARRIED
I’ve played the marriage game twice and lost. The first time, I definitely accept my portion of the blame. We grew apart and I didn’t do anything to stop it. She didn’t either, but we’ve both accepted that we were both to blame. Actually, believe it or not, we’re quite friendly now. I mean, yeah at first I was pissed, but it’s in the past. The second one, to protect the identity, we’ll pretend she’s a Korean girl named Sai Ko. Sai was an interesting girl. Great sex life, but that’s about where it ended. Controlling and manipulative, while at the same time being controlled and manipulated by her parents. We weren’t even married six months. For this one I’ll accept no blame personally. The blame for this one lies squarely on my penis. We’ll call him Emperor Palpatine, Sith Lord. He used some kind of dark side force to turn me back to marriage.

Anyway, now that I’ve been single for a while, I’ve had time to reflect on life being single vs. being married. While I’ve tried the online dating scene, it’s almost scarier than trying to meet a nice girl (translation: someone who knows their way around a penis, while not having diseases) in a bar. Almost…I guess it depends on the bar. I’ve recently come to the conclusion that I’m quite happy being single. My life is very full and busy, though my social life consists only of changing diapers and watching Winnie the Pooh (neither of which I mind, since he’s my little buddy). I just don’t need a woman at this point, and in fact there are things about being with them that I just can’t stand. I suppose that’ll be a good top-ten list for another Plonker Sez post, so I’ll keep those things to myself for now. Anyway, I’m rambling on. Here it is, as promised…
The thing I miss least about being married
So everyone knows I’m involved in high speed aluminum transport. That means I’ll go long-ish stretches of work (3-10 days at a time) where I’m gone from home, followed by long stretches (equal duration or longer) where I’m at home doing a whole lot of nothing. Plonker’s favorite thing to do on those days used to be sleeping.

Now, you might be thinking, “so?” Yes, I also thought “so?” Then it happened…

[Read the following in your best National Geographic documentary narrator voice]
7am, the alarm goes off, the woman in bed next to you wakes up and starts her before-work-routine. How does she start it? The first thing she must do is turn on every light in the house. After that, of course, is the importance of the morning tribal warning. This is in the form of TV, iPhone music, and the shower running simultaneously. It’s a true cacophony in a 1200 square foot house.

Once the shower has ended and the water turned off, now she must dry her hair. Does she do so with the bathroom door closed to muffle the noise? Oh, of course not. The door wide open, the hair dryer turns on. Now, this hair dryer isn’t one like you’d find on a cruise ship or in a hotel room. Oh, no. This bad boy is what Bush used when he wanted to form Hurricane Katrina to wipe out New Orleans. It’s capable of sustained winds of over 6,000 miles per hour with peak gusts that are able to push photons of light backwards. If you’ve never been in a wind tunnel, or on a busy airport ramp, with 73 airplanes running their APU, you only need to be married to get the experience for yourself.

By this time, you’re wide awake and trying to go back to sleep. As the hair dryer turns off, you think you’re down to just music and the TV (neither of which, she’s listening to, by the way). Once again, you’d be wrong. Now, she’s going to try to get dressed. If you’ve never been married (or perhaps lived with a girlfriend, though there are magical events that happen in a wedding. Some of those magical events are the elimination of oral sex. I don’t know what it is, but as soon as you say “I do”, she says “I don’t”. A few other things is that she becomes less dainty and more normal. I suppose that’s not the correct word, as Sai Ko was able to demonstrate to me, but for now it’s the only word I can think of. Where before they’ll get dressed in the bathroom, door closed, tiptoeing around the house, now they insist on getting dressed in the bedroom. Why does this impact your ability to go back to sleep? Because they don’t get dressed on the 50 square feet of floor. Instead, they insist on getting dressed on the queen size mattress, of which they have generously offered about 18 square inches of space for hubby to sleep.

Walking through the house, it’s like the scene in Jurassic Park where the kid is in the car and the lawyer sees the ripples of water and says, “maybe it’s the power trying to come back on.” Okay, which subterranean shithole does this lawyer live in that the power “trying to come back on” makes the Earth shake? What the fuck were they thinking with that line in the script? A lawyer! He’s supposed to be the educated one, in a car with two nerdy kids! Granted, the chick grew up to be a hottie (she was also in Tremors and Tremors 3, in case you’re wondering…now she’s an artist or art teacher or something….), but she played a nerdy kid in JP and JP2 (for the 8 seconds she was in the film). But I’m getting off track here, back to the thing I miss least about being married. As a wife walks through the house, making as much noise as possible, she then must place clothes on the bed, using it as her personal trampoline in an effort to experience astronaut life, where you can put your pants on two legs at a time.

We’re getting near the end here, but not quite in the clear. She’s clean, she’s dry, she’s dressed, and now she must select the proper scent in body spray or perfume to wear for her day at work. Apparently she feels the need to impress someone, and it ain’t you, because you’ll be in bed until 3pm…but I’m digressing again. Now you’d think that most people would have one scent they wear all the time and are quite familiar with it. What you’d be thinking of is what is known as a “man”. Seriously…men have one bottle of after shave or cologne and that’s it. If it’s after shave, there’s a better chance of it being used all the time. Cologne will be sprayed just for important events. Date night, holidays, and court appearances are just about it. But a wife…oh, a wife is a different animal.

As she prepares to select a scent, she must first sample each and every one. These random scents are carelessly puffed into the air with no regard for where the droplets fall. I’ll tell you where they fall…right on your face. No, they don’t taste good. After about the fifth or sixth squirt, you start to ask yourself “is this what it’s like when I jizz on her face? If so, I can see why she hates it.” For the next 10-15 hours, you wont’ be able to breathe, as your sinuses attempt to discern which scents are the body spray and perfume and which scents are the real world. Just when you get it right, you’ll be making dinner and get confused all over again, but that’s for another post.

Finally, she has selected her scent du jour and is preparing to head to work. She leans in, and you’re expecting a little peck on the cheek or forehead and a quick “I’m going to work, I love you.” Oh, silly boy…you’ve got a lot to learn. Now is when you can expect your daily Honey-Do list. This list won’t be a simple one or two things, like “hey can you mow the grass and dust in the dining room?”. No…this list is going to be longer than Santa’s Naughty and Nice lists combined. You’re going to forget 93% of everything she tells you at this point, and even if you had the opportunity to write it down, you’d have to be Barry Allen to actually accomplish more than about 1/8 of the items on the list.

Now that your slumber is sufficiently disturbed, you can’t breathe, the TV is still on (and it was never watched), and your mind is scrambled trying to put together this to-do list, she finally saunters down the stairs, out the door and off to work.

Alone and confused, you consider your options:
Attempt to go back to sleep,
Attempt to do some of the things on the list, or
Angry masturbation.

…lotion’s in the top drawer, Kleenex on the night stand.

Catch ya next week, Fujupz fanz!

Plonker

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Plonker Sez – Vol. 1

Posted on April 4, 2016 by Plonker

Hey, Fujupz fans!  Plonker here with my first rambling incoherent post that Josh and I have come to unofficially call, “Plonker Sez!”  In this week’s post, I’ve had the opportunity to travel to Florida for training on the Airlines and it has reminded me just exactly why I hate that segment of the industry in which I’ve worked for over a decade now.

 

It’s hard for me to even fathom that I’ve done a job for over 10 years, because I tend to get bored quite easily and, for someone who should probably be afraid of change, I’ve been known to change jobs looking for the next best thing.  In my current position, as Commandant of the Fleet, I actually enjoy what I do and am hopeful to stay here until retirement…or when I get too fat to fit inside the plane, but it’s still hard to think about doing one kind of job for over 10 years.  Anyway, on to the travel information…

 

This trip brought me from Snowlake, Pennsylhio to Mouseburg, Floriduh.  Don’t confuse it with Mouseville, up near Tallahassee…you know they let the kids in for two cents?  I was able to fly the friendly skies of Conited Scarelines and decided to save my boss some cash with an economy seat.  Economy…that’s kind of misleading.  They should just call it, “an uncomfortable middle seat somewhere in the back”.

 

As all professionals involved in high speed pressurized tubing, I have to attend training once a year at a minimum, and in this case we’re getting a new Intragalactic Atmospheric Penetrator, so I have to attend a short two-day course at Fly Safely Innunashunal called “indoctrination”.  For two days and $3600, you can attend as well!  Yeah, this aviation shit isn’t nearly as cheap as Balloo made it seem in Tailspin.

 

So, with my trip fresh in my mind, let’s discuss:

TOP TEN REASONS PLONKER HATES AIRLINE TRAVEL:

10. “Economy” Seats

If you’ve ever tried cramming your ass into a tuna can, you know what it’s like to sit in economy.  Of course, the round trip was less than $400, and I’m nothing if not uh…frugal…even when it’s someone else’s money I’m spending.  I could have purchased “Economy Plus” for an extra $25 or so.  For that, you get to sit in an exit row seat that doesn’t recline (because of the exit row behind you) with slightly more leg room but still in a seat nearly narrow enough to cut off circulation to my testicles and everything else below the belt.  Luckily, I have no need for functional frank and beans at this point, so I didn’t let it bother me.

 

However, why is it that people are so pissy if you try to recline your seat?  Normally I’m asleep before we even push back from the gate these days, but sometime after takeoff when I come to, I slide the seat back.  Yep…heeeeere we go.  Guy behind me starts freaking out like he’s having a seizure, “HEY HEY HEY NO NO NO!!!”  Rolling my eyes, I put the seat back in the super comfortable fully-upright position (was that sarcastic enough) just in time for the person in front of me to recline.  Oh, well… Fujit.  I can sleep standing up if I need to.

9.  Gate Lice

For those of you that don’t know what “Gate lice” are, you are probably one of them.  I say this with all of the love in the world…you’re fujing annoying.  To specify, “gate lice” are people that feel the need to line up at the gate to get on the airplane, when they’re in “Zone F” or “Group 93” and the gate agent has just asked for “pre-boarding” of families with children.  Relax.  Stay in your seat at the gate.  You’re causing problems:

  1. You’re blocking the hallway in the terminal that was likely designed in a time when people that traveled via the airlines weren’t dickish enough to line up 20 minutes before they needed to, when their group/rows hadn’t been called. Medical crews, security, flight crews (you know, those trying to walk to another gate to fly an airplane to move the trailer park down to see the Mouse?), and GASP other passengers, all need to walk by.  Hey, I’m not going to judge…sometimes you need that E-terminal Cinnabon!  So sit down, relax, and wait your turn.  I promise, if you can listen for the gate agent to call the number on your boarding zone (or letter, I guess it depends on which Scareline…), you’re going to end up in the same damn place as everyone else on that airplane.
  2. You’re making it harder for people who are trying to be considerate to not jump the line. If I’ve got a “Zone 2” boarding pass, I don’t want/need to cut off other Zone 2 passengers.  I can board at the end of zone 2.  But if you’re zone 17 and you’re already in line, I don’t know that.  What does that mean?  It means people cut the line…see the above comments about being dickish.
  3. You look stupid. Ever seen cows on their way into the slaughter house?…ever seen gate lice standing by the gate with their bag that they should’ve checked, but are going to cram into the overhead so nobody else can fit anything?

    THEY LOOK THE SAME

 

8.  Oversized Carry-on Bags

Since I brought it up…have you noticed that since the scarelines have started charging for checked bags that everyone has been cramming their shit into an overhead?  Look, I’m not trying to say that you’re cheap…but you’re cheap.  If you don’t have a standard carry on bag (22x9x14 inches or smaller), just pay the $30 to check it.  That’s still less expensive than the ticket would’ve cost you if the airlines included the bag fees in the price of the ticket…like they used to do.  Oh, how I miss those days.  Walk up to the counter, chuck your bags at the lady, and she tags it while smiling and magically it shows up on that little belt thing at your destination.  All you had to carry onto the plane was your jacket or maybe a briefcase.
Fast forward to today…  You’ve got Bubba who has a seat in row 27 (and should have two), that just crammed his trunk full of deer jerkey and curing venison meat into the overhead at row 3.  Now, as I walk up with my seat in row 3, I have no space for my actual fujing carry-on bag.  This isn’t something I’ve seen once or twice.  I spent over 4 years on an airline flight at least once a week and saw this quite literally every…fujing…leg.

 

Ladies, one comment specifically for you…  Why do you have to pack like you’re never coming home for a weekend getaway where you’ll wear a bikini down by the pool, and probably skip the panties so some Joe at the bar doesn’t have as much work to do after you’ve had seven too many margaritas?  Pack a pair of shoes, your flip-flops, your bikini, your toiletries (which really shouldn’t include your hair dryer…hotels have that shit), and your Valtrex and go have fun for your weekend.  You could probably fit all of that in your purse, that could smuggle a midget into Mexico, and not even have to worry about checking a bag.

 

7.  The Private Pilot Passenger

I’ll admit, I was this guy once.  This is the one who has flown his dad’s single engine airplane a few times and now has all of the answers, and points out (usually to some hot chick sitting next to him) exactly what’s going on.  This probably only annoys those of us who are actually experienced in this, but stop.  You sound like a fool.

 

One thing I never did, and I’m sure at least one person on this flight did, since I was pretty close to the Expert Passenger (or he was talking loud enough to make it seem like I was sitting in his lap), is going to the cockpit to let them know you’re there if they need you.  I really don’t like the phrase, but….I can’t even.  STAHP!

 

6.  Automated Parking Garages

It’s a great idea, isn’t it?  A little sign tells you how many spaces available on each floor of the garage, and an arrow points to where the empty space is supposed to be, then little red/green LEDs above each parking spot.

 

Of course, Plonker finds the ONLY green light (which is supposed to signify the ONE empty space on that floor) where the spot is actually occupied.  And it’s not occupied by a smart car, motorcycle or Prius…oh, no.  This thing was a fucking tank.  I have no idea how the sensor missed it, except to say….that’s how shit goes for Plonker.

 

5.  Cell Phone Users

Look, when I’m on the ground, in Starbucks—who the Fuj am I kidding?  I never go to Starbucks.  Okay, when I’m on the ground in the porno shop looking for my weekly replacement skin for my Fleshlight, I don’t want to hear your cell phone conversation.  I sure as shit don’t want to hear it in an airplane.  You really can’t go two (or so) hours without talking to someone?  Send a quick text, and turn off the volume.  Then put it in airplane mode and toss it in the seatback pocket.  Why?  Because you’re not that important.  Everything can wait until you land and get off of the airplane.  I know they let you use cell phones taxiing to the gate now, but for the love of Christ, can’t it wait another 5 minutes?  You just went two hours without cell service, another four minutes won’t kill you.

 

4.    (Closely Related) Early Clickers

That “Seat Belts Fastened” lighted sign (and federal law requires you to comply with it, by the way…) is there for your safety but more importantly for my safety.  Why must people click off their seat belts early?  I don’t need you falling on me when the plane suddenly lurches forward because the chocks (little blocks of heavy rubber placed in front of an behind the tires to keep it from moving) aren’t quite in place, or when the pilots suddenly slam on the brakes because the marshal told them to stop so they didn’t hit something.

 

Most rules on an airplane are certainly for your safety, but quite honestly, you should be considerate of the safety of others as well.  You may not care about wearing your seatbelt and slamming face first into the bulkhead, but maybe the guy in front of you doesn’t want your fat face flying over his seat and knocking him out when you go head-to-head on a rejected takeoff.

 

Bottom line, stop fujing doing this.  Stay clicked in…it’s another 30 seconds and guess what!  THE DOOR ISN’T OPENING EARLIER IF YOU STAND UP EALIER!

 

3.  Aisle Racers

Go, Speed racer, GOOOOOOOOO!

 

Again, if you’re sitting in row 93, why the need to sprint up the aisle as soon as the seat belt light turns off?  The door still isn’t open and you’re going to be the jackass standing in the aisle for 3-4 minutes while everything gets set so we can deplane…wait your turn.  Quit being a dick.  The world, as surprising as it may seem, does not revolve around you.  If you want to get on and off of the airplane quicker/easier, you can buy a first class ticket.  They get to sit in the first few rows and usually get priority boarding.

 

I wish I could start a movement for people in aisle seats to stick their legs out when the plane pulls into the gate.  I’d love to see these fujing idiots face plant between the seats.

 

2. Lying

This one is all on the airlines.  Look, the reality is that there’s no “pilot shortage” as some like to say, but there is a shortage of pilots willing to work for crap wages (first year airline pay is right around $20k…and per diem and “sign on bonus” doesn’t count into that number…per diem is for their food, and good luck eating somewhat healthy on $36/day).  But why does the gate agent need to make crap up about how “the mechanics are onboard now finishing paperwork” or “ATC is going to let us go soon…” and then as a crew walks down the jet bridge, it’s “Okay we’re set!”.

 

We get it.  You don’t have enough crews for the trips.  If you’d pay better, you would, but stop lying to passengers.  One thing I hate, and I’ve told subordinates this in the past, is being lied to.  I can handle truth.  If it’s something I don’t want to hear, that’s fine…as long as it’s the truth.  Just tell us, “Due to management squeezing nickels out of labor, we can’t fill new hire training classes so we’re waiting for a crew to get in from another flight to come over here and fly, and that’s why you’re going to miss your connection.”  I don’t like that…but I can respect that.

 

1 Security

This is such a fucking joke.  First of all, it’s not “security”, it’s “security theater”.  They’re not keeping anybody safe, they’re giving you the illusion that they’re keeping you safe…AND YOU’RE PLAYING ALONG!!!  Those of you going through the nudie-scanners (millimeter wave bullshit) where you stand with your hands over your head while it scans your body…you may not remember the game “Lemmings”, but that’s what you are.  I opted out today (as I always do – and you should, too), and got the pat down.  There’s nothing quite like starting your day with a Freedom Frisk.

 

Second, the amount of contraband that gets by Those who Stand Around on a weekly basis (DHS does random testing to see if things get caught, and I’m sure with the number of things that get past them in the test, actual threats are left undetected as well) should tell everyone just how piss poor this bloated organization is.

 

Lastly, if you want to be able to take your bottle of water with you, just go to this link and buy the pants, epaulettes, white shirt, tie, and wings if you really want to confuse them.  Just tell them you work for a charter company so you don’t have an airline badge.  As a crew member, you may be exempted from the liquids rule, and if your shoes don’t have a shank (and really, at this point in time they shouldn’t…stop buying 1920s shoes), you can probably keep your clothes on as you go through the metal detector.  I worked for a company once who had us do exactly that.  Our “ID Badge” was printed off of an inkjet printer and laminated.  Real secure.

 

Security is an absolute joke and without a doubt the biggest reason I hate airline travel.  Thank God I don’t have to do that every day at work.

 

Thanks for reading, Fujupz Fanz!  Keep checking back for the next edition of Plonker Sez!

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