HermTheWorm’s B.L.O.G.

Exactly one year ago I made my transformation from 47 year old guy who hadn’t worked out in 3 years and whose best days were behind him to the guy I am today.

And I will remain the guy I am today until they put me in my stainless steel casket in an above the ground stone mausoleum with stained glass windows.

Perhaps the guy I am today was dormant in me and needed to be brought out or maybe I had undergone an apotheosis.

I was there; and now I am here, and that is the only thing that matters to me.

I hated there. I love here. End of story.

Time to rewind to middle of story.

This morning–and I’ll let you know why in a bit–I was thinking about some of the work outs that got me from there to here and what was going through my head.

To make such a dramatic change in my physicality in seven weeks took an effort that I had never put forth before, and this coming from a guy who, before my three year rut, was was known as the Pete Rose of advertising. I wasn’t always the most talented, but I was going to get to the office before you, work through lunch and leave after you.

Weekends? What’s a weekend?

I knew what effort was going into my transformation.

I thought  I did.

There were days, most days, that the pain and fatigue, both physical and mental, had me thinking to myself, "You know Herm, maybe you’re too old for this."

NO!

I would literally get off the bench I was sitting on whenever that went through my head and shout "No!" and slam my fist into my palm.

I’d pace up and down thinking to myself "If you’re are too old, buddy, this is end game. You can go home now and be an old fart. You’ll never walk down the street feeling good about yourself again. You’ll never wake up feeling energized and ready to kick the world’s ass again.

All the highs will be gone from your life. Enjoy the rest of your life of mediocrities and lows. Maybe your old ass can’t handle the highs anymore."

As it turned out I wasn’t too old. It was my mind playing tricks on me.

That’s what the mind does, at least mine did.

It would have been easy to walk out of the gym and thrown in the towel. I’m sure if I sat down with anybody and told them of my failed attempt, they would have patted me on my unmuscled back and said "That’s okay, Gramps, you’re 47 years old. What do you expect?"

No! Expect my dick!

I was going to come back! All the way back! like my hero John Holmes, bigger and better than ever!

(I recorded my voice saying dramatically: "HermTheWorm Is back, bigger and better than ever!" and mixed it into a lot of my workout music on my ipod).

I kind of liked the thought of that.

Even though I was on the  precipice of quitting, I was using imagery of porn and my big dick to keep me going.

Ya’ gotta’ use what ya’ got, right?

Maybe I wasn’t too old, after all. I still possessed the juvenile mind of a 12 year old.

Yes. I was getting through workouts. Mind over matter, or in this case, dick over matter.

With a lot of guys the little head controls the big head.  I was going to work this to my advantage.

On subsequent days, whenever I’d feel too pained and fatigued to go on, and that nasty little "Maybe I’m too old for this" business would creep into my head, I’d immediately send it to it’s room without supper by saying:

"No, my DICK is too old."

Turns out, I wasn’t too old. My mind was just looking  for an excuse, any excuse to avoid the physical pain.

The mind will play tricks with you like that. I had to make my mind my bitch.

I’m too old? My ficking dick is too old.

Take that mind.

Dissed and dismissed. Owned and DE throned. Negative thoughts: Punked.

Fast forward to last night.

I was feeling sorry for myself because my hip injury that has lingered for four months has not only caused a minor atrophy in my leg muscles, and now they are slightly less developed than my upper body, but one leg is visibly more developed than the other.

This with the Wilhelmina hot body search around the corner.

It’s human nature to feel sorry for yourself when things like this happen.

I am not human.

I am a deity. Irving Sexbaum. The Jewish God of Love.

My legs ficking got that way. They are going to UNget that way.

Feeling sorry for myself time over.

See ya’, wouldn’t want to be ya’.

Failure is not an option, Herm. Are those empty words on your Bodyspace page or are you going to live it?

I am going to hit those legs with everything including the proverbial kitchen sink.

I will work them until I can’t walk. Then I am going to haul my sweaty ass off the gym floor and hit those cocksuckers again.

Legs, I am going to tear your ficking heart out and stomp on it, scrap it off the floor and eat it.

Legs, be sure to grow another heart for the next workout, because sure as sh-t I’m going to do that very same thing to you again the next work out.
And again and again and again.

I have a sound bite of a mad scientist from a cheesy 50’s movie saying this on my ipod to his newly created monster:

"You must learn to obey!"

That’s how I feel about my body. You must learn to obey!

Legs. You must learn to obey! Bee-yotch.

I am going to keep coming at you again and again like the terminator.

The Terminator is a piker compares to the Hermanator.

Incidentally, about my dick being too old?

It was just a set of words I used to get me through my workouts.

Fear not, my dick is bigger and better than ever.

(Veinier too!)

My naked DVD box sets aren’t selling as briskly as I’d like and I don’t want to do anything to hinder their sales.

I’ve added an extra "Hermo The Perverted Clown" DVD to the set for no additional charge, so get out your checkbooks and order today.

Two insane workouts.

Done.

I am going to win this. I have this in my crosshairs. Wish me luck:

Here are all the details you need to enter the Wilhelmina Hot Body Model Search presented by Shape and Men’s Fitness. You can enter in person at open call events, by mail or online.

The Wilhelmina Hot Body Model Search presented by Shape and Men’s Fitness starts August 17, 2009 and ends November 30, 2009. Each entry requires a completed Official Entry Form, a current photo and a $20 non-refundable processing fee. The Wilhelmina Hot Body Model Search presented by Shape and Men’s Fitness is open to men and women who are legal residents of the 50 United States and the District of Columbia (void where prohibited) and who are 18 years of age or older as of November 30th, 2009; no height or size restrictions. Subject to Official Rules.

Some of you folks have me on your inspirational list.

It’s time for me to STFU and earn it.

Incidentally,  BB.Com friends and all guys pushing 50.

This one’s for you.

"Being defeated is often a temporary condition.
Giving up is what makes it permanent."

_Marlene vos Savant

How many times have you heard someone complain about too much testosterone (As if there could ever be such a thing)?

"Could you guys take the testosterone down a notch?"

"There was too much testosterone in the room."

"That guy has waaaaay too much testosterone."

But lest someone talk about too much estrogen and they are are a sexist, racist, homophobe who doesn’t believe in global warming.

I’d like to say unbelievable, but sadly, it is in fact very believable.

How many times have you heard someone being described as a overly "macho" Jerk?

Lest anyone describe a member of the fairer sex  as overly "__________" <—–Slug in the female equivalent of macho, there is none, but slug it in anyway.

And they are…all together now…

A sexist, racist, homophobe who doesn’t believe in global warming.

There are a whole lot of people out there that think there is a big problem with maleness and being a man.

I’m not going to delve further into the obvious on this blog. Pick up a copy of either the erudite "The war against boys" or the meticulously researched "The war against men". I have read both, and if your head is that far up your ass that you don’t know this, you should read them, too. Better yet, keep your f-cking head in the sand. I don’t give a f-ck.

The point is. I like being a man. No, I love being a man.

Some mornings I wake up and say "Thank you God for making me a man."

Where I live in New York’s Greenwich village, this makes me a pariah and gets me into arguments  (Which I always win as I am an excellent polemicist/debater. I know that it is check and mate as soon as I am called a sexist, racist, homophobe who doesn’t believe in global warming. When you get "them" down to name-calling, you have won. I usually say "Oh yeah? Well, you’re a poopy head.")

I know this for a fact because I have said on MANY occasions that I’m glad God made me a man and gotten heated vitriol from people over that.

(The mere fact that I mention God is a big no-no in these progressive parts; but God and manliness? Double whammy.)

These same people would not bat an eyelash if someone said "I’m glad God made me a woman" or "I’m glad God made me Latino."

Not open for discussion, as you and I both know they wouldn’t, so don’t try to blow f-cking smoke up my ass.

Well, folks, I’m not buying what "they’re" selling.

I like having an exaggerated V taper and walking around with scruff and watching football and being competitive and scratching my balls when they itch.

Sometimes even when they don’t.

I walk around my neighborhood in jeans, tight tee shirt and crocodile cowboy boots with Ray ban aviators.

I am hated on site. I love it!

Hate me as much as you want, but don’t mess with me, because I assure you I can kick your f-cking ass….

And I will, too. Free of charge. 100 percent discount.

When I come out of the gym, I feel like I can conquer the world. I am confident and assertive and sometimes a little bit horny.

In other words, I feel great.

I feel manly.

Don’t hold your breath for an apology, either, because it ain’t gonna come from this highly non-androgynous Jew.

(Androgynous guys abound in my neighborhood. The irony here is that they are mostly heterosexual college students and not gay guys. The gay guys at my gym are all heavily muscled and tattooed with close cropped haircuts and dripping with testosterone. So what if they want to pop a cock in their mouths every now and then. That’s their business.)

Yes, lifting weights makes me feel manly and that is a good thing.

And if I say so, it is so. Got a problem with that? Let’s take it outside.

Postscript: I would be even MORE reviled and hated in socialist, PC, it-sucks-to-be-a-man Sweden.

It’s so f-cked up there, that in order for the guys to feel manly. They need to contract a venereal disease.

I’m sure you don’t believe that either.

F-cking get a load of this.

This.

Is that so?

Yup.

I just read me an article from the respected Economist that said just that.

Of course I’m not falling for it one teeny, tiny, itsy bit.

I start believing crap like that, next thing they’re going to come out with articles about how women care about a man’s looks, wealth and dick size (or lack thereof).

I don’t have to worry about any of that superficial bullsh-t.

Because I, my friends, have a warm, loving, affable, charming personality.

I love people and they love me.

In fact, I’m thinking of having my name legally changed to “Kissyface”.

One name.

That’s all I need. It’s not like f*cking balls. I don’t need two of them.

Like Cher or…What’s that other slut’s name again? Oh yeah, Madonna.

I bet Sean Penn went ATM on her every night. What a pig.

Her, not him. Actually him, too. I hate them both with a passion.

Here’s the article anyway.

Article.