Posted on 25 Sep 2019
8 min read
You know that kid at school who wore a cape, dressed his rabbit as Hitler and once, as a dare, took a shit in his own backpack?
Well that’s basically YouTube.
These annoying tossers on a global scale, chasing their moment in the spotlight, blighting the internet with videos that would even insult the intelligence of a brain-damaged warthog.
A great deal of this sewerage falls under the label of ‘fitness’, hence my previous article/diatribe.
Although uniformly wretched, I did, admittedly, find some of these preening pricks oddly watchable, but in the same way that, say, a slow-motion motorway pileup is oddly watchable.
So, ever the masochist, I decided to return to this online amphitheatre where people would gladly take a mallet to their own grandmother for more views.
What I found was another collection of unforgivable cockery that will make you want to barf up your own pelvis.
In brief: humdrum lifestyle videos from a walking-talking rectal itch
Watch if: shopping for grey duvet covers fills you with shivers of excitement
Maxx Chewning is so irritating that if scientists hooked him up to a dynamo they could harvest the electricity generated by his grating personality to power a town the size of Dunstable for a whole year.
He rattles through video after video with the nervous energy of a PE teacher whose penis has been replaced by a live squirrel, and spouts random word-vomit (“What IS going ON guys and WELCOME to my CRIB”) like a malfunctioning Furby.
Maxx’s mantra seems to be ‘why take 30 seconds to say something when you can take 30 minutes’.
His tedious ‘fitness lifestyle’ videos, which each seem to last about five weeks, are the just-kill-me-now equivalent of trying to rectify a bureaucratic error with a foreign-speaking telephone operative.
After a few videos you’ll get the unmistakable feeling that time has started running backwards.
As well as crushingly dull footage of Maxx working out and eating, there are montages of him shopping, doing his laundry and taking out the bins – all filmed with a head-mounted GoPro as if he’s trail running in the Himalayas.
He publishes about 20 videos a week which are all promoted with vague, clickbait titles like “You won’t believe this!!!!”, “She said she doesn’t like elephants…” or “Socks?”.
Virtually of his videos climax in some meandering motivational guff about chasing your dreams.
I say motivational, but the reality is his content is about as motivational as being diagnosed with chlamydia on Christmas morning.
In brief: self-absorbed papier-mâché ponce
Watch if: you think the apex of masculinity is downing Jägerbombs and smashing pussy
Jeff Seid is a real-life example of what happens on an RPG when you max out the ‘physique’ trait and have nothing left for ‘personality’ or ‘intelligence’.
Jeff is a sigh with pecs, and no amount of zooms, fast cutting and throbbing dance music can mask the fact he has the personality of tepid tap water.
Browsing Jeff’s channel is like being trapped in a groundhog day of grey, enervating tedium.
His videos are basically:
Jeff talking about ‘aesthetics’.
No, that’s it.
As watching experiences go, it’s like having someone pelt you with shit tattoos, fake tan and stringer vests while screaming “fuck”, “shredded”, and “bro” into a megaphone.
Just try and watch the video ‘Jeff Seid: The Next Chapter’ without feeling so much cringe you want to turn your face inside out.
The scene at 3:03, in particular, will have you daydreaming about thumbscrews, trepanning human skulls and loading trebuchets full of piping hot shit.
In brief: amorphous blob of plastic buttocks, fake tan and makeup
Watch if: you want to replicate the feeling of passing a particularly rigid stool
Like the majority of ‘bikini fitness’ influencers, Paige Hathaway’s content is designed less for fitness enthusiasts and more for passing masturbators.
So intrusive are the angles in some of her fitness videos that you can practically map the contours of her lady valve.
Titillation notwithstanding, her content is so boring (“you guys, I love leeks”) it feels like you’re being forced to count grains of sand while listening to Tim Henman narrate ‘The Complete Budget Speeches of the Last 50 Years’.
She wanders around, talking but not saying anything, wearing a constant blank expression, like a semi-sentient baked potato trying to get its head around Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion.
Yet, more execrable than the softcore porn and the vapid chat is the various scams Paige has involved herself in over the years.
As a poster girl for Shredz (the supplement industry equivalent of the Third Reich), she promoted pay-to-enter transformation challenges with prizes of up to $10,000, and then faked the winners so she could pocket the cash.
Forget buying into a scammy competition, I would happily pay to see Paige locked in a windowless room with a very angry hippo.
In brief: the reason North Korean missile scientists get up in the morning
Watch if: you can quite happily tolerate someone saying ‘bro’ every other word without wanting to staple your ears shut
Bradley Martyn gained notoriety online by filming novelty lifting videos where he would jump out of swimming pools, curl multiple barbells simultaneously, and squat with girls perched at either end of the bar.
Since running out of crazy lifting ideas, he has become just another narcissistic, drug-taking, braindead, materialistic fitness moron who exhibits all the charisma of reanimated roadkill.
His ‘picking up girls in the gym’ videos, in particular, have to be seen to be believed – it’s like watching a reformed rapist trapped in the body of a talking badger trying to navigate basic male-to-female conversation.
In many of his videos, Bradley likens bodybuilding to some kind of Conradian quest for self-discovery – a gurgle of word-turd which should give any self-respecting human the urge to smash up their phone screen with a shovel.
In reality, his content is almost as motivating as writing the word ‘beige’ over and over again until your pen runs out.
A better title for his YouTube channel would be “watery fitness queef”, “I would chin a one-legged fox for views”, or plainly, and this would be my pick, “twat”.
He should have just stuck with stunt videos and progressed into genuinely transgressive content, such as inserting a manta ray into his rectum or wanking into his mother’s handbag.
Bradley also caused mild uproar in the fitness community a few years ago when he called out fitness YouTubers for being fake, which is a bit like being criticised by Fred West for accidentally stepping on a lady’s foot on a lurching bus.
For under his carapace of stringer vests, dianabol and copy-and-paste motivation there lies nothing but a monstrous yawning vacuum.
In brief: human skidmark with roid rage and the integrity of an eggy fart cloud
Watch if: you want to test the theory that subjecting your brain to extreme dreck will cause it to slowly dissolve out of your mouth
Aside from being a humongous tosser and looking like something from the Book of Revelations, Brad Castleberry is mainly known for lifting fake weights and passing them off as elite lifts.
While his videos depict him shifting weight that would earn him numerous powerlifting titles (i.e. benching 300kg for reps), he has declined competition invites, despite being offering five-figure sums to put his money where his mouth is.
Brad’s also clearly been taking so many steroids he’s on the cusp of a nuclear, rage-induced mental breakdown.
One misjudged comment about his acne and he’s going to start skewering passing pigeons with an umbrella, 100%.
In the comically bizarre video ‘Bodybuilder vs Swimmer’, Brad wins a 10m swimming race against a random member of the public (female) and then whoops like he’s just beaten Michael Phelps.
So animated is his celebration that you wouldn’t be surprised if it climaxed with Brad crushing the poor girl’s head like a Wotsit.
His behaviour is so cringe-inducing that if he existed in Victorian times, he would have been paraded around the country in a tightly sealed caravan, alongside people with three-legs, hairy faces and distended genitals, just to be gawped at.
Whenever he opens his mouth, out tumbles a deluge of feculence so vast it threatens a messy brown tsunami that will extinguish all life on earth.
Yet, for whatever reason, people subscribe to him – but these are no doubt the same people that would click ‘play’ on a video that was titled ‘watch to catch syphillis’ i.e. fucking morons.
Fitness YouTubers offer us an interesting glimpse at humanity, and what it shows, essentially, is that we’re fucked.
PS – I promise that every time someone shares this article, a squadron of hammer-wielding death dwarfs will be unleashed into the world to bring karmic balance to YouTube, cheers.