The Irononline Newsletter -- Thanksgiving Issue

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As this edition of IOL is a stray from the norm, do not expect its pages to be solid and bold, to convey information, motivation, or in any way make sense. I offer only silliness to fill the gap between now and December 1st. You’re not alone, but you’re on your own. Smile, be happy, get huge, get ripped.

Thanksgiving, like my birthday and Ground Hog Day, comes only once a year. It is a reverent time to celebrate and be grateful for the riches we have, large and small. Seldom do we sit back, look around us, smile with contentment and count our blessings, or, as they say, stop and smell the roses. Rather, we rush about as if being chased by enraged taskmasters or rabid bulldogs.

Let us put a restraint on our collective chaos for the day. Disable the phone and ignore the news; instead, watch the lawn grow and the house paint peel; put aside the thud of heavy dumbbells for the day and have seconds with the family, and more dessert; don’t leave your home in a hurry, only to return as soon as you can... in late the afternoon traffic; if you’re a kid, play outside, if you’re an adult, play with the kids; be still and wonder about something small, like, what your cat sees when he looks from his eyes or how bright red flowers grow from grimy brown dirt; put your body down and your feet up while you restoreth your soul and think of someone beside yourself; pick your God -- the right one -- and give thanks for all you have and envy not what you don’t have; forget about thin skin, tight abs, ripped pecs, shredded deltoids, striated triceps, baseball biceps and sweeping thighs, and reheat the foil-wrapped turkey and dressing on the stove and have some more dessert.

To relax is to fully live, to stress is to slowly die. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait till tomorrow when this relaxing stuff is over and I can go back to my uncontrolled madness. I think I’m gonna burst.


I suspect as I write this newsletter that no one is reading it except perhaps Ronnie Coleman. The rest of you are stuffing yourselves with white meat, dark meat, candied yams, dressing, gravy, biscuits, various vegetables and desserts. Sniff, sniff! Is that wine in that jug? Sure, I’ll have a glass or two. Why not? Everything goes on Thanksgiving, and Thanksgiving goes on forever... days, weeks, months sometimes.

Eat, live and be merry, bombers, for tomorrow you shall diet.

As all of you are joyfully preoccupied, I shall say what I’ve always wanted to say, but did not for fear that someone would hear.




There are holiday gifts for your friends and loved ones stacked to the ceiling.

Our warehouses across the nation have stocked up on Top Squats and Tri Blasters, Manta Rays and Sting Rays. There are gloves and wraps, books and more books. We have pallets of Bomber Blend, and Super Spectrim vitamins and Anabol Naturals amino acids are stacked to the ceiling. Did I mention the heaps of Ageless Formula and autographed photos?

Walk around our friendly aisles and look for the Christmas Specials that make buying from IOL a delightful and valuable experience.

~ With your purchase of either a Top Squat or Tri Blaster, you’ll receive a copy of Brother Iron or Your Body Revival

~ There are barely scuffed copies of both exotic books, the pair for only $20

~ With orders over $50, you’ll receive a signed photo of our super mystery guest

Orders are processed with haste and accuracy by ubiquitous, efficacious and exquisite Laree Drapler... oops... that’s Loreen Draples... I mean Lori Dripless... no, no, no, it’s Lala Dimples...

Buy, Buy, bye...

Note: No doubt we will suffer ugly repercussions for having committed unadulterated, cheesy "hype" merchandising. Tar and feathers are in order. Speaking of order, it’s not too late to order Dave Draper’s Secret Formula # 7 for wild stallion muscles in 14 days.


Note: Only the facts have been changed to protect the innocent

The fragile young man stood on the ledge high above the anxious crowd below. The area at the base of the 20-story building was cordoned off as police, fire and emergency crews busily prepared to thwart another jumper’s attempt to end his life, or, alas, watch the conclusion of the terrifying event. News teams gathered and I could hear choppers circling in the distance.

"What am I doing here?" I asked myself. An innocent victim of the circumstances, I was delivering a case of Bomber Blend to a special friend while in the area. I entered the offices on the top floor and there he was -- the center of attention -- a pair of trembling legs and a thin stiff body on the outside of a smudged and streaked corner window.

There was silence in the work spaces and a sign above the receptionist’s desk read, Closed Thanksgiving Day. So that’s why the streets in the city were empty and quiet. It’s Thanksgiving Day! Son of a gun! And I thought it was Thursday, leg day, plus some abdominals and a little lower back.

I approached the window and asked the troubled party if he needed any help. How did I know he was gonna jump? He could have been washing the filthy windows or installing Dish TV or cleaning high-flying pigeon droppings from the ledge or getting air or flashing the guys in the helicopters.

Turns out the guy was bummed cuz' girls think he’s a skinny weakling with no guts. I told him that that’s not true because it takes guts to jump off a high rise. (I’m clever.) I went on to say, "And that skinny, no guts thing, Jimmy, is nowhere -- here today gone tomorrow."

Seems Jimmy’s a plumber, a Capricorn with a moon rising, lives with his Mom and has a big Hungarian family in Queens. I was on a roll and told him about lifting weights, the fun and challenge of pushing the iron and how absolutely exhilarating it is and how it developed guys and gals in a hundred different ways. "I love it, man, and I’ve got a girl on every floor." I lied about the girls.

We talked about girls some more and how we were both misunderstood as kids, when he asked what I had in the box under my arm. I broke out a tub of Bomber Blend and told him of its fine muscle-building ingredients, its smooth and wonderful taste and how strong and vigorous it makes a person feel.

It was nearing dinnertime, so I suggested I demonstrate Bomber Blend’s outstanding mixability and we share a mug of the great concoction. Four hours on a window’s narrow ledge contemplating the biggest step of a lifetime, it turns out, was tiring and stimulated the appetite.

He agreed.

Milk from the office mini-fridge and tall glasses from the cupboard, two scoops in each glass and a half-dozen quick swirls of a spoon, and voila, your high-protein, highly nutritious and delicious dinner is served, Jimbo, my good friend. Drink up.

Cheers! We toasted each other and my good friend smiled broadly; he was delighted and satisfied. He was impressed. He crossed his legs, put his empty hand in his pocket and leaned against the window’s concrete and steel framework like he was standing on the corner watching all the girls go by. With the other hand he held his glass high and said, "This stuff is good, really good, the nectar of the Gods. Whatta ya call it again?"

"Bomber Blend," I said, "whey and casein protein powder fortified with dynamite and nitro and other cool stuff."

He laughed. “Gotta get me some ammunition,” he said, as he climbed in from the window ledge. The Jimster went on, “Hey, Drapes, where did you say Rosie and Tony’s gym was located in my neighborhood? I’m dying to try the Top Squat and the Stealth Tri Blaster. Can I have some more Bomber Blend? How can I build up my biceps? Do you think I can develop a six-pak? How much can you bench press? What’s my potential... seriously, Big D? Do you know the Hulk? Arnold’s my favorite.”

Jumpin’ Jimmy’s High and Mighty Window Cleaning Systems, specializing in difficult and dangerous exteriors only, has gained repute and celebrity in the big city community. Authorities arrested Jimmy for breaking and entering and commandeering Arnold’s 2008 Presidential Campaign Offices for attempted suicide. We, Jimmy-the-man and I, insisted he was practicing his new trade as a campaign donation, that it was all a misunderstanding, and he was released... but not until he’d made headlines and was applauded by vast numbers of sympathetic readers for his steadfast and courageous display of unassisted window washing and polishing talents while under the harassment of the media and over-zealous authorities.

Today, his arms are 18 inches and growing; he benches 315.

Bomber Blend, the iron and fast talking... works every time.

When in doubt, do not jump. Fly away, fly high; push that iron, lift that steel and move that metal.

Captain Holiday here, that’s Happy Holiday to you...


God’s speed...

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And you can grab yourself some Bomber Blend elixir here

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