I don’t know whether to be scared or slightly aroused. While regular old Indians are more than enough to get me excited, when you throw in fantastically choreographed fights and huge muscles all around, I’m not sure I can contain myself. I didn’t even know there were that many muscular Indians available. Maybe they hired an entire IT call center to get juiced up for the film, but that seems like it would take a while.
The video offers such a thoroughly unusual combination of Western culture and Eastern weirdness. The sheer amount of masculinity exuded by every frame is incalculable. The testosterone seeped through the screen and entered my pores. I grew a full, bushy mustache after the first minute of viewing. After two minutes I grew an extra foot and put on one-hundred pounds of pure muscle.
I’ve already gone to far. If I watch past the three-minute mark I feel like the sheer amount of manliness will rip a hole through time and space and the Indian version of Arnold Schwarzenegger will swoop in and ask if I’m happy with my current Internet service provider. While that’s not necessarily a bad thing, I have stuff to do tomorrow, and I really don’t have time to drag myself out of a roid-rage wormhole, again.
(Warning: some salty language, maybe? I really have no idea what he’s saying)
I’m Rex, founder of the Rex Kwon Do Self-Defense System. After one week with me in my dojo, you’ll be prepared to defend yourself with the strength of a grizzly, the reflexes of a puma and the wisdom of a man. Come down today for your free trial lesson!
I’m sure Rex would be very disappointed with our friend in the video. Do you think he got where he is today because he dresses like shirtless Peter Pan over here? I mean, just take a look at what Rex wears. Do you think anyone wants a roundhouse kick to the face while he’s wearing those bad boys? Forget about it. Along with disciplining his image, our friend needs to learn about self-respect. Do you think anyone thinks Rex is a failure because he goes home to Starla at night? Forget about it!
Now, for the price of one Tapout shirt, our friend can sign up for Rex’s eight-week program.
If you’re searching to place the accent, he was in the Italian Boy Scouts.
John Henderson passed away at 74 this week, at his home near Las Vegas, Nevada. He was something of a loon, a wildman, a gambler and an adventurer. In short — a duke in the kingdom of the Borderline Sociopathic Boys.
He crossed the Atlantic because it was there, and the Pacific because it was also there. He made both crossings in a rowboat because it, too, was there, and because the lure of sea, spray and sinew, and the history-making chance to traverse two oceans without steam or sail, proved irresistible. In 1969, after six months alone on the Atlantic battling storms, sharks and encroaching madness, John Fairfax, who died this month at 74, became the first lone oarsman in recorded history to traverse any ocean. In 1972, he and his girlfriend, Sylvia Cook, sharing a boat, became the first people to row across the Pacific, a yearlong ordeal during which their craft was thought lost. (The couple survived the voyage, and so, for quite some time, did their romance.)(read more here)
You have to love a guy smoking a cigarette while telling you about rowing across an ocean. Insouciant is the word, I think. He was just sort of a free-spirit knockabout waif, but at the same time deadly serious about everything he was doing, while laughing and joking about it. He is the Dos Equis man for real.
Seeking to give her son structure, his mother enrolled him at 6 in the Italian Boy Scouts. It was there, Mr. Fairfax said, that he acquired his love of nature — and his determination to bend it to his will.
On a camping trip when he was 9, John concluded a fight with another boy by filching the scoutmaster’s pistol and shooting up the campsite. No one was injured, but his scouting career was over.
His parents’ marriage dissolved soon afterward, and he moved with his mother to Buenos Aires. A bright, impassioned dreamer, he devoured tales of adventure, including an account of the voyage of Frank Samuelsen and George Harbo, Norwegians who in 1896 were the first to row across the Atlantic. John vowed that he would one day make the crossing alone.
At 13, in thrall to Tarzan, he ran away from home to live in the jungle. He survived there as a trapper with the aid of local peasants, returning to town periodically to sell the jaguar and ocelot skins he had collected. (read the rest here)
God rest ye, merry gentleman, whether he exists or not. After hearing about you, I’m not sure I believe in you, either.
(Thanks to Sam in Astoria for sending that one along)
I Drink Beer To Make All Men Interesting And All Women Pretty