Mar 302014
 
Bullsh#t only begins to express the pain I feel.

Bullsh#t only begins to express the pain I feel.

I’ve increasingly become a fan of Yoga. Not the weird arse hand holding, chanting, kale eating shit (previous experience) but the basic stretching classes that help me lengthen my abnormally tight muscles.

I’ve got a buddy who’s more orientated towards the social aspects of Yoga (trying to bang hot chicks) who put me on to it a few years ago. He’s pretty flexible and finds it hilarious that my muscles and tendons have about as much give as parachute landing on tarmac. Check out the picture he sent me… such an asshole.

The sad thing is it’s a true representation of my Yoga experiences. I can’t reach my toes for shit. Forty year old housewives wipe the floor with me when it comes to downward facing dog. For me it’s like downward facing drop kick. By the end of the class I’m sweating like a Jihadist at a women’s rights convention..

In all seriousness though, Yoga is the bomb if, like me, you’ve spent years abusing your body. Static line parachuting, obstacle courses, humping huge amounts of crap, jumping out of helicopters, trucks and boats all take a serious toll on your joints and muscles. Yoga definitely helps release the pressure and build the strength back up. I recommend it to all the former service persons who’ve treated their bodies like a playground through their twenties.

For those of you that think it degrades their masculinity, you’re probably right. But at the end of the day you’re in a room filled with women in lycra who take their bodies seriously. Ain’t nothing bad about that.

JS

PS. Just like my hamstrings PRIMAL Fury has been released.

Sep 012013
 
Bishop

BISHOP – Small Brown and Lethal (to food)

So I’ve got  a dog. Not some savage fanged attack beast but a small brown cross who’s good company when I’m writing. I live in apartment so he’s about as rugged as I’m allowed to have. Oh and his name’s Bishop, that’s another story. Anyway my girlfriend, lets call her Supreme Dictator Home Front (SDHF), tells me that it’s Bishop’s birthday when we’re in New York. ‘Cool,’ I respond. ‘Yes it’s his 21st,’ she continues. ‘It’s an important day we need to have a party.’  At this point I stop what I am doing and look at her with a raised eyebrow, ‘Babe (I don’t call her SDHF to her face) he’s a dog!’ There is a pause as my comment is processed, considered and subsequently discarded. ‘I’ve written you a list.’

So here I am stuffing dog treats in to brown paper bags for all of Bishop’s buddies and preparing to bake cupcakes for his human friends… How the hell did I go from being a soldier to this? What the f@ck has happened to my manhood?

11cd_tactical_bbq_apron_callouts_flat

Does this apron make cupcake cooking manly?

I’ve come to the realisation that the real world ‘the one the SDHF lives in’ is nothing like the world I’ve come from. In this crazy world dogs have birthday parties and men – well we do as we’re told. Why? Because we’re building collateral. Because by cooking these cupcakes and prepping these party bags I’m far more likely to get approval for a crazy arse adventure (West Virginia Rapids) or a new toy (Mountain Bike). This line of operation is one hundred percent focused on diplomacy. Oh and if it means Bishop, my writing buddy, has a great time then I guess it’s worth it.

Anyway I’ve got to finish these cupcakes, hang up my apron and get stuck in to writing the next PRIMAL adventure.

May 302012
 

I want to start this entry by saying this is going to be a flat out rant! Yep, I’m about to unleash PRIMAL style and I just want to warn you out. There’s going to be profanity and its going to be vivid… still with me? Then strap yourself in and prepare for one of my best/worst.

Only hot chicks read this book.......

OK so I checked out this book that everyone’s being raving about – fifty shades of gay or whatever the fuck it’s called. I’m going to admit I didn’t read much of it… Why? Because it is pure unadulterated horse shit. In all seriousness I would prefer to sit at home and pound a kilo of sand up my arse with a rubber mallet than read whatever the hell it is that’s slapped between the most boring bloody cover in the world and… well whatever the back part of the book is called. Hell, I don’t really care what it’s called because let’s face it no one should give a crap what’s past page two of this literary abortion.

Am I jealous? Hell yeah I am. Some boring old bat slaps her twisted sexual fantasy on Amazon and sells ten million books. I spend months plotting how to take down arms dealers, despots and other evil douche bags and only sell a few thousand. Where’s the justice in that?

If it’s so bad Jack, I hear you say, then how in the hell did it sell 10 million copies in six weeks??? Well if I knew that I sure as shit wouldn’t be typing this blog on a beat up old Mac. I’d be jet setting around the world in a PRIMAL jet punching holes in bad guys with a crew of high speed low drag operators.

Could this get any gayer?

OK, so I do have a theory as to why it’s sold so many copies. Unfortunately it doesn’t really lend itself to my writing skills.

For the vast majority of women in their middle age, life is boring! They’re probably married to some poor schmuck who works a boring arse job and has lost his will to live. Of course he’s let himself go, they both have, and as a result they’re not doing the horizontal limbo as much as they used to. In fact, if they’re throwing the sausage down the hallway at all it’s probably pretty damn rare. Enter trashy, badly written S&M porn pretending to be a legitimate novel. Ooooh says the woman, this looks interesting. OK, in fact it doesn’t, the cover looks about as interesting as the maintenance manual for a brussel sprout picking machine and the name… don’t even get me started. Fifty Shades of Grey WTF? That sounds like a sales line for a 1980’s model dot matrix printer… I digress. Back to the women who finds this dull piece of crap interesting. She’s heard about this book, it’s got a few dirty words in it and gets her a little flustered under the collar. Suddenly she’s living vicariously through the tart in the pages, for once she can escape from the boring monotony of her life.

What these women don’t realize is that all this stuff is available for free… on the amazing interweb – it’s called PORN!

In all seriousness I know I’m not competing with this rubbish. I mean, PRIMAL readers don’t read wishy washy soft core porn that’s an over glorified mills and boon novel. Hell no! PRIMAL readers get their kicks from fast paced, action packed violence, with fast cars, guns, hot chicks and… damn I just realized I’m doing the same thing she is. Well at least I’m putting a decent cover on it and splurging out on an editor. Oh and mine’s got guns, lots and lots of guns.

Jack