Diet plans are for rich people

I don’t need constant reassurance from onlookers to know that I am a man of extremely well maintained physical fitness. My usual attire of Daisy Duke shorts and a tank top that always smells like fried chicken does nothing to hide my masculine physique. How, I know many people ask themselves constantly, can I look like Skubert?

I will tell you.

1.       Don’t pay any attention to what you eat. You think cavemen and other people back then looked up the number of calories of their food? Of course not. They ate what they found or hunted. I too, eat anything I find or hunt, especially when I hunt burger king.

2.       Strut often. By ‘strut,’ I of course mean to deep-step everywhere you go, which builds leg muscle while simultaneously scratching your nether-regions, which, if you’re like me, are usually a bit itchy. This helps if you throw the occasional excitement kick into your stride.

**Be warned about your kick, because I one time kicked a guy on the street for 7 minutes until I realized that I was kicking him, and it took an additional 2 minutes to stop kicking him. I only made that mistake once, after those other times I made that mistake.**

3.       Do a lot of situps each day. You can make this a game by timing your dookies just right so that your sit up also clenches the right muscles to make the final push and your reward will be felt all over.

4.       Chase things. This can be as simple as pursuing a fly or as purpose driven as chasing mailmen, a hobby I picked up from my dog, Ruffer. Mailmen can usually scamper quickly, so your efforts will get in some nice cardio.

5.       Push people. Know what the difference is between bench press and shoving people on the sidewalks? I don’t.

6.       Whistle. Trust me on this one.

7.       Scratch any bodily itches (minus the nether regions. See #2 for that one) with your feet. Flexibility is important and an excuse to bend your legs to scratch your arm or remove food from between your teeth will keep you as limber as a koala. The more you practice this, the more you can do. I clean my ears exclusively with old right pinky toe.

8.       Hold your farts when possible. WHEN POSSIBLE.

9.       Don’t shave or wax body hair. Instead, let the hair rub away naturally by crawling through grass and on the street. A plus to this is that grass smells good and there is sometimes gum on the street or sidewalk.

10.   Dance like you are stuck in a sandbox with crabs. As you advance, dance in a sandbox with crabs.

11.   Frown and grunt often. It takes 3 muscles to smile and 42 to frown, so the choice is clear. Also, grunting works the core. Also, grunting is musical.

While my workout routine is far off the beaten path, it is how I got to where I am today, which is somewhere between Dan Aykroyd and fitness celebrity John McCain.

Stop Waltzing, Matilda

Being a man rich in travel and cultural distinctions, I feel justified in pointing out stupid things that unamerican weirdos do. While this may not be the most “politically correct” entry I have ever written, and will “cross a few lines” in its blunt assessment, I “don’t care.”

Australia         - Why do they sing through tubes, or didgeridoos? Learn to use a kazoo like the rest of us, Dundee.

                        - Can anyone tell me what a wallaby is? No.

                        -Apparently their toilets go the opposite way. This is the dumbest thing I have ever heard of. Though I am a man of purity and graceful cleanliness, I wouldn’t ever want my pony leg sized turds shooting out of the toilet when I flush. Those things should only go in one direction – down.

Spain              - Slow down your words

                        - You haven’t slowed down yet, fast talker

                        - Why are you running from bulls instead of eating them with a side of hot dogs and beer? When I was a little boy, I would never let uncle Bungy’s chickens tell me what’s new before I killed them with a monopoly board and prepared them for dinner. Mom always told me not to let your food play with you and that is the way it should be.

Canada            - I too like pancakes and syrup. Get on with your life and take the maple leaf off your flag. You don’t see us adorning our flag with a bag of cheetos or spam, so why constantly seek to remind everyone that Aunt Jemima flew through Montreal once?

                        - Spread out more. If you went to a friend’s house for grilled turtle and all of his neighbors were crowded along his fence, wouldn’t you tell them to explore the rest of their yard? They might respond with something useless like “it’s cold over there,” but that is when you can remind them that fire exists, and set fire to the fence.

Turkey            - I know nothing about you except that you named your country after an old bird that looks like my great aunt Gert with her floppy neck skin, and that we eat turkeys huge numbers every year. If you have to name it after a food, why not name it something with a bit more spunk, like “Chinese Food”

North Korea   - No complaints, you’re doing great

Mexico            - Does anything from your country not make me poop myself uncontrollably? I will answer for you – no

                        - How did trumpets become a norm for you? Guitars, sombreros, Shakira – I got it – but trumpets?

As there are close to 3.7 million countries in the world, I cannot name them all at this time. I will continue this list at another time, though, as the truth must be heard.

If you don’t like my yodeling, you can shut up

More than my enthusiasm for slapping people’s thighs at the local pool, I have always been an avid fan of yodeling. Everyone near and far knows when I win a game of guess who, successfully find waldo, or take my weekly dookie by the forceful diaphragm projected notes passing gracefully through my ever relaxed lips.

I realized my talent for these melodies of truth and beauty (which I generally shorten to “Bruthe”) when I was 8 and my mom accidentaly set fire to my belly button lint collection, which was nested deep within my belly button. As I used my already developed vocal chords to direct her attention to the raging torrent of flames happening on my front middle, I naturally fell into arpeggios climaxing in falsetto glory.

My first yodel.

Years went by before I learned how to captivate others with my yodeling without having to set fire to myself, but the patience of my slowly building fanbase was greatly rewarded with the release of my first cassette album “Hey! I’m yodeling.” The album, though well received, was dwarfed by my second, third, and fourth releases: “Stop yappin while I’m clappin,” “You can’t spell Doyle without Yodel,” and “The Soul’s Whisper,” where I actually harmonized with a chainsaw on one of the songs.

Though I don’t write much anymore, I still yodel my every emotion from my porch for the benefit of friends, well-wishers, and Bert’s hotdog stand customers, who line up outside his stand to hear me across the street. Needless to say, I am a respected bucket of talent.

So why did it annoy you, Mindy, when I joined in the celebration of your father’s life with a special tune I wrote on the spot called “Yoda-yay-a-yoda-lay-a-yoda-lay”? If you ask me, the funeral was a hit.

No, where were you?

I recently got an email from an enraged reader wondering where I have been for the past 19 months. Apparently, the articles I had written in the past have not kept this reader entertained. Perhaps he had forgotten my call to a run across the country like Forrest Gump. I have been trying to run around the US for a while like he did in his movie, The Forrest Gump Movie. After reviewing my last three articles, I realize that I meant to invite my readers to this, but any die-hard fan would have known my plans anyway and would have joined me. To answer the burning question of the moment, I never did make it across the country. Being unable to run more than 2 minutes at a time, I was at a disadvantage. Truth be told, I never made it farther than Cousin Geech's mailbox, which is next door to the Karaoke Whistling Bar. I blame my failure on multiple factors, the first being my need for running shoes. As it stands, I only have the one pair of sneakers, and they aren't as much sneakers as they are an old pair of tap dance shoes from my early days as a street juggler. The second point of failure must have been my tendancy of being distracted by almost anything. Just as I was getting into a good groove in my Barleysworth shuffle, I became fixated on the rotating cup of a gas station convenience store. I watched in a trance for several hours. This brings me to my third point of failure, an arrest for loitering. While my arrest was technically the result of my repeatedly headbutting the policeman that asked me to move along and not for standing there, I know the underlying reason. Calling for backup and having three tasers simultaneously go off in my left nipple was a bit over the line if you ask me. My jail time would not have lasted 19 months had it not been for my repeated escape attempts (I also watched "The Shawshank Redemption" prior to my attempted cross-country run). I almost successfully escaped on my third try, but the guard wouldn't give me his keys. Now that I am back, I intend on providing you, my loyal readers, with the socially and politically charged investigative reporting that won your hearts in the first place. That or I will fill you in on cousin Noser's latest inventions. More to come.

You can coast through life with 3 shirts, one pair of pants, and a change of underwear if you plan on farting a lot

So Wendy-Tina, my annoying wife who gets preggers too much, said something yesterday that annoyed me so much I could only calm down my kicking myself in the face. She told me that Roofer, one of my sons, needed a new set of clothes because his shirt tore too much and his pants don't fit anymore. She was about to go to the store with him to pick out his next set. What angered me is that she thought I cared enough to hear about it.

I will never understand why people go shopping for clothes. On the rare occasion that a new pair of socks is vital to my survival, I shoot down to Merl's Gas and Socks Mart to get a new pair. My secret to ensuring a long life of your socks is to leave them on always, including the weekly shower, and simply put the new pair over top of the old pair once they are too squishy and worn out to make it on their own.

So Wendy-Tina proceeded to spend 12 minutes and $4.67 on clothes. Sweet squirrel vomit, you just bought him clothes back in March. What do we need to be spending all our money on clothes for? The answer - none.

Balloon pranks aren't child abuse.

I was watching the news yesterday and saw a story about that one guy who put his son's insulin on a balloon that he launched or something. To be honest, I was paying more attention to my inner thigh goiter, which I have named Goity. Anywho, the press is all upset about this guy because balloons scare kids or something, and I find myself standing alone to support this guy. If you disagree, prepare to punch yourself in the nads out of shame.

They say he doesn't care about his kids because they were throwing up during the interviews. That is dooey because kids throw up all the time. Just last night one of my daughters, Wisconsin, threw up twice during dinner, which was one of her favorites: horsetooth and spit soup and fly sandwiches. Every one of my kids has horked on Santa's lap (if you count the guy who rings the bell for donations Santa), and 4 of them have hucked at the furniture store.

They say he was just looking for fame. We all are looking for fame. When was the last time you sent nude photographs of yourself to your local newspaper? If you are anything like me, it was a couple of hours ago. Let's not forget that time I tried to set a world record by heatbutting a ram into submission or the time I tried to juggle dead birds at the orphanage. I am seeing people do crazy stuff every day and nobody else is accused of hunting for fame.

They say he was trying to get his own TV show. Nobody complained about comedians Jerry Seinfeld and Johnny Carson, or noted astronomer Carl Sagan when they pursued television glory. Hell, I even had my own show for 3 seasons, Skubert and Bwoogel Analyze Post Romantic Art Set to Vivaldi While Drunk.

They say he had little remorse. If so, may God have mercy on his soul.

They say he misused emergency services and delayed air traffic. This should be chalked up to a rehearsal for those guys, and the pilots of those airplanes should have just used that time to get a couple of beers or something. Seriously, teachers don’t complain when a student pretends to learn something and later reveal that they can’t read and don’t know what seven plus four is when I was in 11^th grade.

Yeah, and... the guy's not a kid hitter

I hope Duffer likes roses

I have always been close with Duffer Fuffer, my neighbor as a kid. He and I used to do pranks that made people say “Well daggon, that is one of Skubert and Duffer’s pranks. I hope we can put it out.” We once kidnapped Sheriff Moomer’s only son, tattooed “STUPID MOOMER” across his face, and stapled his right ear to a monkey at the zoo. That was a good one. We went too far a lot and got a lot of people mad at us, so we would have to make up for it with a fun prank. An example is the time that we went to the God Church (down there by the good Wendy’s) and got into every car in the parking lot and spun the steering wheel between our butt cheeks. Most of the people thought it was so funny they threw up after smelling their sticky hands. This was our follow up prank after we returned four corpses at Lenny’s Funeral Home to their families holding a sign that said “I’m dead.” We got a lot of bad press after that one.

Well recently Duffer has been putting on some weight due to his love of couch sitting and his hatred of not eating. He had always relied on his metabolism to keep him slim, and his constant jump-squat-farts, which kept us all amused, helped him, too. As he is an incredibly vain person, this recent weight gain has not been easy for him to handle. While he knew something needed to be done to improve his image, he didn’t want it to conflict with his couch sitting, which meant that he wouldn’t be into exercise. Leave it to Duffer to come up with a foolproof solution, though.

I guess he decided to get a sex change operation when he noticed that his man-boobs were becoming very plump and appealing. Now his weight gain is only making him more attractive. I only stopped by to write this article on my way to our first date because I wanted to do a before/after article on our date.

More to come.