Latest news with #Untold:TheLiverKing
The Advertiser
01-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Advertiser
Protein all the rage for (Mr) men and women of a certain age
One Saturday afternoon 40-odd years ago, my sister and I were watching Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory on TV when struck by the genius idea that eating lollies could only enhance the experience. Luckily, the Hill Street shop was just across the road, so we knew could make it there and back by the time Augustus Gloop would be landing in the fudge room. Being the early '80s, however, it was a largely cashless society for kids (the only children who had their own money back then were psychopaths), so in fiscal emergencies such as these we'd have to scrounge around the couch for coins like Tom and Barbara did that time in The Good Life to pay the council rates. If the sofa was a bust, we'd be forced to brave the toxic detritus of the Kingswood ashtray in the hope a 20-cent piece might being lying somewhere at the bottom of the cursed receptacle, fully aware such an endeavour could be as life-limiting as rolling up for work armed with a shovel and alacrity the day after Chernobyl blew up. I recall we were able to raise a little less than $2 - only sufficient to buy about three kilos of jelly babies, teeth, strawberry and creams, bullets, milk bottles, freckles, bananas, pineapples, and pythons - but almost enough to get us to the great glass elevator denouement. Decades of dying tastebuds since then, I've been resigned to thinking the only Pavlovian response TV could get out of me was drooling over home-shopping ads for garden hoses. Turns out I was wrong. Dead wrong. TV is making me hungry again. For the special stuff. TV wants to feed this man meat. And I'm on board. And so is, it feels, everyone else in their 50s trying to, if not turn back time, at least limit those elements which can make ageing any uglier than it necessarily needs to be - such as carbs and bike shorts. But living in this insufferable new age of online enlightenment means we're too clever to just say "meat". These days we must say "protein". Protein, as far as I can tell, is meat and eggs and fish. And maybe mushrooms? I'm not sure. I love mushrooms and would very much like for them to be part of this discussion, but sub judice constraints prevent me from going there (and believe me, I'm desperate to go there). Anyway, watching one of those American barbecue competitions the other day, I noticed all the contestants referred to the ribs, briskets and drumsticks they intended to slow cook for three to four weeks in their locomotive-sized offset smokers as "protein", not "meat". "And far mah proe-teeeyen, ahh'll be cukeen this mowse I done gone hit with mah peek-arp just this mah-nen" (for translation, pretend you're Parker Posey). READ MORE: This protein-washing of the dietary conversation seems to give us a green light to throw off the oppressive chains of colon care and just go nuts (more protein, I believe, but don't understand how). And talking of chains and nuts, I've also been watching Untold: The Liver King on Netflix. While this, ahem, "documentary" peters out quickly, revealing itself to be a bit of a one-trick pony (that one trick being to eat the pony), learning about testicle-chomping internet phenomenon Brian Johnson and his odd Texas family has been mildly entertaining, if not entirely predictable. Despite his hulking and ridiculously shredded physique that screams steroid abuse, Johnson was apparently able to hoodwink millions of followers into believing his extraordinary appearance was down to nothing more than an offal-rich diet and several million daily push-ups. Even though I'm not on the social medias and am coming in late to the Liver King and his "nine ancestral tenets" and associated supplements empire, it was hardly a shock to learn he's been plugging himself with enough human growth hormone to make a bikie blush. What was genuinely shocking, however, was the number of eggs his family eats. They eat almost as many as our lot. Lately, we've gone the full goog, yolk around the clock, and loving it. Eggs are delicious, plentiful (we live in a village lousy with chooks) and can be cooked at least two different ways. It's difficult to stay across the health status of eggs - it seems to change from week to week - but all the science I need to convince me we're on the right track can be found in the Mr. Men TV series where Mr Strong eats, like, a lot of eggs - a regime which enables him to turn an entire barn upside down, fill it with water and use it to extinguish a blazing corn field. Given Mr Strong's suspiciously square jaw, it's hard not to wonder if he isn't dabbling in a little HGH himself, but what is beyond any shadow of a doubt is his gym mate, Mr Noisy, is roid-raging his brogues off when he walks into Wobbletown and terrorises the main street traders. I'D LIKE A LOAF OF BREAD! I'D LIKE A PIECE OF MEAT! Which, as it happens, is precisely the refrain ringing through the light-headed heads of every contestant in this year's Alone Australia over on SBS - a show which puts protein on a pedestal like no other. Meat is the whole point of the Alone franchise; obtaining it equals victory. You can fiddle about with all the fiddlehead ferns you want, but unless you secure protein, you're barely in the game (hibernators should be banned, by the way). The knowing grin on Corinne's lovely blood-smeared face after she gutted that wallaby was worth $250,000 alone. Unless Quentin the evil quoll suffocates the 39-year-old in her sleep, Corinne may win, like Gina Chick, off the back of a single marsupial. But as much as the highlands hunter-gatherer deserves to take the cash (we should also spare a thought for poor old Ben, whose 40 days of Christ-like torture was more harrowing than anything Mel Gibson could subject him to), I - being in the pale, male and stale camp myself - can't help but root for Murray. Yes, 63-year-old "Muzza" is a bogan who swears too much, but he's a brilliant lateral thinker, can literally catch fish in his sleep and has consumed so much eel flesh his gout flared up (he should definitely steer clear of the Liver King's product range). Muzza may not be fashionable, but he gets the job done and surely the sheer frequency of his protein procurement makes him more than worthy to carry the torch? And the tongs. One Saturday afternoon 40-odd years ago, my sister and I were watching Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory on TV when struck by the genius idea that eating lollies could only enhance the experience. Luckily, the Hill Street shop was just across the road, so we knew could make it there and back by the time Augustus Gloop would be landing in the fudge room. Being the early '80s, however, it was a largely cashless society for kids (the only children who had their own money back then were psychopaths), so in fiscal emergencies such as these we'd have to scrounge around the couch for coins like Tom and Barbara did that time in The Good Life to pay the council rates. If the sofa was a bust, we'd be forced to brave the toxic detritus of the Kingswood ashtray in the hope a 20-cent piece might being lying somewhere at the bottom of the cursed receptacle, fully aware such an endeavour could be as life-limiting as rolling up for work armed with a shovel and alacrity the day after Chernobyl blew up. I recall we were able to raise a little less than $2 - only sufficient to buy about three kilos of jelly babies, teeth, strawberry and creams, bullets, milk bottles, freckles, bananas, pineapples, and pythons - but almost enough to get us to the great glass elevator denouement. Decades of dying tastebuds since then, I've been resigned to thinking the only Pavlovian response TV could get out of me was drooling over home-shopping ads for garden hoses. Turns out I was wrong. Dead wrong. TV is making me hungry again. For the special stuff. TV wants to feed this man meat. And I'm on board. And so is, it feels, everyone else in their 50s trying to, if not turn back time, at least limit those elements which can make ageing any uglier than it necessarily needs to be - such as carbs and bike shorts. But living in this insufferable new age of online enlightenment means we're too clever to just say "meat". These days we must say "protein". Protein, as far as I can tell, is meat and eggs and fish. And maybe mushrooms? I'm not sure. I love mushrooms and would very much like for them to be part of this discussion, but sub judice constraints prevent me from going there (and believe me, I'm desperate to go there). Anyway, watching one of those American barbecue competitions the other day, I noticed all the contestants referred to the ribs, briskets and drumsticks they intended to slow cook for three to four weeks in their locomotive-sized offset smokers as "protein", not "meat". "And far mah proe-teeeyen, ahh'll be cukeen this mowse I done gone hit with mah peek-arp just this mah-nen" (for translation, pretend you're Parker Posey). READ MORE: This protein-washing of the dietary conversation seems to give us a green light to throw off the oppressive chains of colon care and just go nuts (more protein, I believe, but don't understand how). And talking of chains and nuts, I've also been watching Untold: The Liver King on Netflix. While this, ahem, "documentary" peters out quickly, revealing itself to be a bit of a one-trick pony (that one trick being to eat the pony), learning about testicle-chomping internet phenomenon Brian Johnson and his odd Texas family has been mildly entertaining, if not entirely predictable. Despite his hulking and ridiculously shredded physique that screams steroid abuse, Johnson was apparently able to hoodwink millions of followers into believing his extraordinary appearance was down to nothing more than an offal-rich diet and several million daily push-ups. Even though I'm not on the social medias and am coming in late to the Liver King and his "nine ancestral tenets" and associated supplements empire, it was hardly a shock to learn he's been plugging himself with enough human growth hormone to make a bikie blush. What was genuinely shocking, however, was the number of eggs his family eats. They eat almost as many as our lot. Lately, we've gone the full goog, yolk around the clock, and loving it. Eggs are delicious, plentiful (we live in a village lousy with chooks) and can be cooked at least two different ways. It's difficult to stay across the health status of eggs - it seems to change from week to week - but all the science I need to convince me we're on the right track can be found in the Mr. Men TV series where Mr Strong eats, like, a lot of eggs - a regime which enables him to turn an entire barn upside down, fill it with water and use it to extinguish a blazing corn field. Given Mr Strong's suspiciously square jaw, it's hard not to wonder if he isn't dabbling in a little HGH himself, but what is beyond any shadow of a doubt is his gym mate, Mr Noisy, is roid-raging his brogues off when he walks into Wobbletown and terrorises the main street traders. I'D LIKE A LOAF OF BREAD! I'D LIKE A PIECE OF MEAT! Which, as it happens, is precisely the refrain ringing through the light-headed heads of every contestant in this year's Alone Australia over on SBS - a show which puts protein on a pedestal like no other. Meat is the whole point of the Alone franchise; obtaining it equals victory. You can fiddle about with all the fiddlehead ferns you want, but unless you secure protein, you're barely in the game (hibernators should be banned, by the way). The knowing grin on Corinne's lovely blood-smeared face after she gutted that wallaby was worth $250,000 alone. Unless Quentin the evil quoll suffocates the 39-year-old in her sleep, Corinne may win, like Gina Chick, off the back of a single marsupial. But as much as the highlands hunter-gatherer deserves to take the cash (we should also spare a thought for poor old Ben, whose 40 days of Christ-like torture was more harrowing than anything Mel Gibson could subject him to), I - being in the pale, male and stale camp myself - can't help but root for Murray. Yes, 63-year-old "Muzza" is a bogan who swears too much, but he's a brilliant lateral thinker, can literally catch fish in his sleep and has consumed so much eel flesh his gout flared up (he should definitely steer clear of the Liver King's product range). Muzza may not be fashionable, but he gets the job done and surely the sheer frequency of his protein procurement makes him more than worthy to carry the torch? And the tongs. One Saturday afternoon 40-odd years ago, my sister and I were watching Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory on TV when struck by the genius idea that eating lollies could only enhance the experience. Luckily, the Hill Street shop was just across the road, so we knew could make it there and back by the time Augustus Gloop would be landing in the fudge room. Being the early '80s, however, it was a largely cashless society for kids (the only children who had their own money back then were psychopaths), so in fiscal emergencies such as these we'd have to scrounge around the couch for coins like Tom and Barbara did that time in The Good Life to pay the council rates. If the sofa was a bust, we'd be forced to brave the toxic detritus of the Kingswood ashtray in the hope a 20-cent piece might being lying somewhere at the bottom of the cursed receptacle, fully aware such an endeavour could be as life-limiting as rolling up for work armed with a shovel and alacrity the day after Chernobyl blew up. I recall we were able to raise a little less than $2 - only sufficient to buy about three kilos of jelly babies, teeth, strawberry and creams, bullets, milk bottles, freckles, bananas, pineapples, and pythons - but almost enough to get us to the great glass elevator denouement. Decades of dying tastebuds since then, I've been resigned to thinking the only Pavlovian response TV could get out of me was drooling over home-shopping ads for garden hoses. Turns out I was wrong. Dead wrong. TV is making me hungry again. For the special stuff. TV wants to feed this man meat. And I'm on board. And so is, it feels, everyone else in their 50s trying to, if not turn back time, at least limit those elements which can make ageing any uglier than it necessarily needs to be - such as carbs and bike shorts. But living in this insufferable new age of online enlightenment means we're too clever to just say "meat". These days we must say "protein". Protein, as far as I can tell, is meat and eggs and fish. And maybe mushrooms? I'm not sure. I love mushrooms and would very much like for them to be part of this discussion, but sub judice constraints prevent me from going there (and believe me, I'm desperate to go there). Anyway, watching one of those American barbecue competitions the other day, I noticed all the contestants referred to the ribs, briskets and drumsticks they intended to slow cook for three to four weeks in their locomotive-sized offset smokers as "protein", not "meat". "And far mah proe-teeeyen, ahh'll be cukeen this mowse I done gone hit with mah peek-arp just this mah-nen" (for translation, pretend you're Parker Posey). READ MORE: This protein-washing of the dietary conversation seems to give us a green light to throw off the oppressive chains of colon care and just go nuts (more protein, I believe, but don't understand how). And talking of chains and nuts, I've also been watching Untold: The Liver King on Netflix. While this, ahem, "documentary" peters out quickly, revealing itself to be a bit of a one-trick pony (that one trick being to eat the pony), learning about testicle-chomping internet phenomenon Brian Johnson and his odd Texas family has been mildly entertaining, if not entirely predictable. Despite his hulking and ridiculously shredded physique that screams steroid abuse, Johnson was apparently able to hoodwink millions of followers into believing his extraordinary appearance was down to nothing more than an offal-rich diet and several million daily push-ups. Even though I'm not on the social medias and am coming in late to the Liver King and his "nine ancestral tenets" and associated supplements empire, it was hardly a shock to learn he's been plugging himself with enough human growth hormone to make a bikie blush. What was genuinely shocking, however, was the number of eggs his family eats. They eat almost as many as our lot. Lately, we've gone the full goog, yolk around the clock, and loving it. Eggs are delicious, plentiful (we live in a village lousy with chooks) and can be cooked at least two different ways. It's difficult to stay across the health status of eggs - it seems to change from week to week - but all the science I need to convince me we're on the right track can be found in the Mr. Men TV series where Mr Strong eats, like, a lot of eggs - a regime which enables him to turn an entire barn upside down, fill it with water and use it to extinguish a blazing corn field. Given Mr Strong's suspiciously square jaw, it's hard not to wonder if he isn't dabbling in a little HGH himself, but what is beyond any shadow of a doubt is his gym mate, Mr Noisy, is roid-raging his brogues off when he walks into Wobbletown and terrorises the main street traders. I'D LIKE A LOAF OF BREAD! I'D LIKE A PIECE OF MEAT! Which, as it happens, is precisely the refrain ringing through the light-headed heads of every contestant in this year's Alone Australia over on SBS - a show which puts protein on a pedestal like no other. Meat is the whole point of the Alone franchise; obtaining it equals victory. You can fiddle about with all the fiddlehead ferns you want, but unless you secure protein, you're barely in the game (hibernators should be banned, by the way). The knowing grin on Corinne's lovely blood-smeared face after she gutted that wallaby was worth $250,000 alone. Unless Quentin the evil quoll suffocates the 39-year-old in her sleep, Corinne may win, like Gina Chick, off the back of a single marsupial. But as much as the highlands hunter-gatherer deserves to take the cash (we should also spare a thought for poor old Ben, whose 40 days of Christ-like torture was more harrowing than anything Mel Gibson could subject him to), I - being in the pale, male and stale camp myself - can't help but root for Murray. Yes, 63-year-old "Muzza" is a bogan who swears too much, but he's a brilliant lateral thinker, can literally catch fish in his sleep and has consumed so much eel flesh his gout flared up (he should definitely steer clear of the Liver King's product range). Muzza may not be fashionable, but he gets the job done and surely the sheer frequency of his protein procurement makes him more than worthy to carry the torch? And the tongs. One Saturday afternoon 40-odd years ago, my sister and I were watching Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory on TV when struck by the genius idea that eating lollies could only enhance the experience. Luckily, the Hill Street shop was just across the road, so we knew could make it there and back by the time Augustus Gloop would be landing in the fudge room. Being the early '80s, however, it was a largely cashless society for kids (the only children who had their own money back then were psychopaths), so in fiscal emergencies such as these we'd have to scrounge around the couch for coins like Tom and Barbara did that time in The Good Life to pay the council rates. If the sofa was a bust, we'd be forced to brave the toxic detritus of the Kingswood ashtray in the hope a 20-cent piece might being lying somewhere at the bottom of the cursed receptacle, fully aware such an endeavour could be as life-limiting as rolling up for work armed with a shovel and alacrity the day after Chernobyl blew up. I recall we were able to raise a little less than $2 - only sufficient to buy about three kilos of jelly babies, teeth, strawberry and creams, bullets, milk bottles, freckles, bananas, pineapples, and pythons - but almost enough to get us to the great glass elevator denouement. Decades of dying tastebuds since then, I've been resigned to thinking the only Pavlovian response TV could get out of me was drooling over home-shopping ads for garden hoses. Turns out I was wrong. Dead wrong. TV is making me hungry again. For the special stuff. TV wants to feed this man meat. And I'm on board. And so is, it feels, everyone else in their 50s trying to, if not turn back time, at least limit those elements which can make ageing any uglier than it necessarily needs to be - such as carbs and bike shorts. But living in this insufferable new age of online enlightenment means we're too clever to just say "meat". These days we must say "protein". Protein, as far as I can tell, is meat and eggs and fish. And maybe mushrooms? I'm not sure. I love mushrooms and would very much like for them to be part of this discussion, but sub judice constraints prevent me from going there (and believe me, I'm desperate to go there). Anyway, watching one of those American barbecue competitions the other day, I noticed all the contestants referred to the ribs, briskets and drumsticks they intended to slow cook for three to four weeks in their locomotive-sized offset smokers as "protein", not "meat". "And far mah proe-teeeyen, ahh'll be cukeen this mowse I done gone hit with mah peek-arp just this mah-nen" (for translation, pretend you're Parker Posey). READ MORE: This protein-washing of the dietary conversation seems to give us a green light to throw off the oppressive chains of colon care and just go nuts (more protein, I believe, but don't understand how). And talking of chains and nuts, I've also been watching Untold: The Liver King on Netflix. While this, ahem, "documentary" peters out quickly, revealing itself to be a bit of a one-trick pony (that one trick being to eat the pony), learning about testicle-chomping internet phenomenon Brian Johnson and his odd Texas family has been mildly entertaining, if not entirely predictable. Despite his hulking and ridiculously shredded physique that screams steroid abuse, Johnson was apparently able to hoodwink millions of followers into believing his extraordinary appearance was down to nothing more than an offal-rich diet and several million daily push-ups. Even though I'm not on the social medias and am coming in late to the Liver King and his "nine ancestral tenets" and associated supplements empire, it was hardly a shock to learn he's been plugging himself with enough human growth hormone to make a bikie blush. What was genuinely shocking, however, was the number of eggs his family eats. They eat almost as many as our lot. Lately, we've gone the full goog, yolk around the clock, and loving it. Eggs are delicious, plentiful (we live in a village lousy with chooks) and can be cooked at least two different ways. It's difficult to stay across the health status of eggs - it seems to change from week to week - but all the science I need to convince me we're on the right track can be found in the Mr. Men TV series where Mr Strong eats, like, a lot of eggs - a regime which enables him to turn an entire barn upside down, fill it with water and use it to extinguish a blazing corn field. Given Mr Strong's suspiciously square jaw, it's hard not to wonder if he isn't dabbling in a little HGH himself, but what is beyond any shadow of a doubt is his gym mate, Mr Noisy, is roid-raging his brogues off when he walks into Wobbletown and terrorises the main street traders. I'D LIKE A LOAF OF BREAD! I'D LIKE A PIECE OF MEAT! Which, as it happens, is precisely the refrain ringing through the light-headed heads of every contestant in this year's Alone Australia over on SBS - a show which puts protein on a pedestal like no other. Meat is the whole point of the Alone franchise; obtaining it equals victory. You can fiddle about with all the fiddlehead ferns you want, but unless you secure protein, you're barely in the game (hibernators should be banned, by the way). The knowing grin on Corinne's lovely blood-smeared face after she gutted that wallaby was worth $250,000 alone. Unless Quentin the evil quoll suffocates the 39-year-old in her sleep, Corinne may win, like Gina Chick, off the back of a single marsupial. But as much as the highlands hunter-gatherer deserves to take the cash (we should also spare a thought for poor old Ben, whose 40 days of Christ-like torture was more harrowing than anything Mel Gibson could subject him to), I - being in the pale, male and stale camp myself - can't help but root for Murray. Yes, 63-year-old "Muzza" is a bogan who swears too much, but he's a brilliant lateral thinker, can literally catch fish in his sleep and has consumed so much eel flesh his gout flared up (he should definitely steer clear of the Liver King's product range). Muzza may not be fashionable, but he gets the job done and surely the sheer frequency of his protein procurement makes him more than worthy to carry the torch? And the tongs.
Yahoo
20-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
5 Things We Learned From Netflix's ‘Untold: The Liver King' Documentary
'Liver is king.' This statement is the central belief that took 47-year-old Brian Johnson from an awkward father of two to a social media superstar, 6 million followers deep. Johnson, better known online by the moniker Liver King, built a digital empire, lifestyle brand, and supplement company based on living an 'ancestral lifestyle,' a return to a caveman style of eating with ancient grains, minimal cooking, and a reliance on raw protein. Johnson preached following nine key ancestral tenets in order to achieve maximum health: sleep, eat, move, shield, connect, cold, sun, fight, and bond. More from Rolling Stone Ms. Rachel Defends Gaza Fundraiser Posts: 'Our Compassion Doesn't Have Boundaries or Borders' Fan Fiction Is About Community. Could AI Ruin That? 'Maybe Happy Ending': Darren Criss' New Musical Shows the Lovesick Side of AI Johnson's horde of social media followers tuned in to watch the bodybuilder and ancestral-protein connoisseur live out these mandates with a professional camera crew documenting him and his family consuming raw fertilized eggs, meat, organs, and testicles on their ranch land near Houston. But in the latest addition of Netflix's popular sports documentary series Untold, friends, family, close collaborators, and the star behind the Liver King empire himself talk through how Johnson created a digital empire with a few bloody slabs of liver. Untold: The Liver King takes a firsthand approach to Johnson's journey, including several sit-down interviews with the influencer as he charts his path from a scrawny kid desperate to gain muscle to a rich lifestyle guru taking large amounts of steroids and human-growth hormone — and lying to his audience. When announcing the film, director Joe Pearlman said he was desperate to find out more about Johnson, but the truth was 'even crazier' than he thought — and brought up deep questions about authenticity and following. 'We live in a time when someone can reach hundreds of millions of people without going through any kind of traditional gatekeeping. No background checks. Just a phone and a guy,' Pearlman said. 'And when shock and outrage get views, what are you willing, or even able, to keep doing to stay at the top of the algorithm?' Here are five things we learned from Untold: The Liver King. Johnson says he can trace his need to exercise and gain muscle from the early loss of his father. The influencer says in the Netflix documentary that his dad, Phillip Johnson, a veterinarian who joined the Air Force, died when he was around two years old. Johnson says this lack of a parent made him unsure about how to be a man. 'You're not gonna have that model of a man to be able to connect you to what it is that a fucking man is to begin with,' he says in the documentary, Watching his older brother go through puberty, developing muscles and armpit hair, Johnson says he looked in the mirror and decided he needed to change his body in order to connect with his manhood. Arnold Schwarzenegger in Conan the Barbarian and Sylvester Stallone in Rambo: First Blood became his ideal combination of what he wanted his physique and personality to be. 'Watching those movies, they were the best fucking closest thing I probably had to a dad,' he says. 'I made the exact man, the savage fucking king that I always wanted to be. I could be my hero.' In the film, Johnson says he has visceral memories about the sights and sounds he experienced when he first began his fitness journey. At the gym, he says, he was surrounded by grunts, sweat, and the smell of Bengay. According to Johnson, the gym was where he found his first true friendships, from other fitness lovers who not only spotted him exercising, but also showed him around and instructed him on the best way to do different workouts and build specific muscles. 'It was like the most beautiful playground,' Johnson says. 'I felt like part of the club.' He apparently had such revolutionary experiences at the gym that he even remembers having his first orgasm while using a bench press. 'I swear to God,' he says. 'Probably turns out that I probably needed to come a long time ago, but I'm fucking benching, man, and I felt it coming on, and I couldn't fucking believe it. I figured out what masturbation was after that.' While Johnson says he became interested in fitness as a young teenger, in the documentary he says that he only sought out the ancestral diet and lifestyle after his two sons, Rad Ical and Stryker, began experiencing severe allergy and health problems. 'We'd be in Starbucks, and Stryker would stop breathing. [I would think,] my kids are dying,' Johnson says onscreen. 'I'm not even thinking, 'How am I gonna raise good kids that love their lives?' I'm just thinking, 'How do we keep our kids alive, period?'' After doing research on alternative lifestyles, Johnson says, he learned about Mike Sisson's Primal Blueprint diet, which is a spin on paleo, and became incredibly interested. After switching his entire family from processed food to raw organs, meat, bone broth, and supplements, Johnson says, the food changed his sons' health for the better. 'That's when I decided, 'Holy shit. Organs are really fucking awesome,'' he says. Johnson built his social media empire by filming increasingly outrageous videos about his lifestyle and diet. What started as simple Instagram reels about getting sunshine, wearing shoes less, and turning off your Wi-Fi at night quickly devolved into clip after clip of a shirtless Johnson doing everything from tearing the testicles off of a bull carcass to eat them to shooting packages of the vegan Beyond Burgers with semiautomatic weapons. According to Johnson, his social media presence was a way to spread the message of ancestral living. So even though he was also taking steroids, he lied and disavoid their use in order to convince more people to change their eating habits. According to interviews in the doc with his frequent collaborators, Ben Johnson (CEO of a holding company for lifestyle brands) and John Hyland (CEO of a digital marketing company) both tell Netflix that Johnson denied taking steroids to them as well. 'He told all of us, 'No.' It was very much like, 'No, steroids are not even a question.' So much so that we're creating parodies and content,' Hyland says. 'I think he thought that the broader message he was putting out there was more important than steroids,' Ben adds. 'And if steroids were a lever to amplify the reach and impact of the message, that was a price he was willing to pay.' While Johnson spent 2021 building his online brand and telling major influencers like Logan Paul and Joe Rogan that he did not 'touch' steroids at all, he was finally exposed in 2022 after fitness YouTuber Derek — he's never released his last name, but runs the 'More Plates More Dates' channel — revealed leaked emails confirming that Johnson regularly took a steroid regimen that cost close to $11,000 per month. In the documentary, Johnson says that he initially thought he could deny the rumors, but realized that they had to say something when Derek's video continued to gain traction. Johnson considers the exposé a turning point in his life, and says that he has since realized that his reliance on a primal diet was just a way to gain control. In the documentary, he says he now eats fruits and vegetables — demonstrating by eating a strawberry in the same garden where he has his morning bowel movements. 'I'm convinced now that I was starving myself. I guess I want the world to know I was wrong. I got it wrong. I got all of it wrong. I think as each passing day goes by I realize I don't know shit,' he says. 'An extreme approach to anything probably ain't fucking working out. That's probably the cautionary tale.' Best of Rolling Stone Every Super Bowl Halftime Show, Ranked From Worst to Best The United States of Weed Gaming Levels Up
New York Post
18-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Post
Fitness influencer ‘Liver King' exposed for lying about grotesque ‘raw animal' diet, extreme workouts: ‘I don't know what comes next'
A fitness influencer was exposed for lying to millions of his followers, claiming he was following a very specific, bizarre diet and lifting a crazy amount of weight in the gym. Brian Johnson is known for his barbarian-like ways: a caveman diet – which he claimed consisted of animal liver, testicles and fertilised chicken eggs, and outrageous workout routines — which would include bench-pressing hundreds of weights underwater. Johnson's extreme ways allowed him to create a name for himself online, 'Liver King' with millions of people — known as his 'Primals' — obsessed with his every move. He claimed he earned his Greek God-like physique by following this insane diet and an intense exercise regimen, with just a few supplemental pills. Johnson also claimed that his two sons were in poor health before they switched to an organ-based diet, which 'cured them.' This claim led people to regularly purchase his liver supplements, according to Time. 3 The influencer claimed that his lifestyle was all natural and raw. liverking/Instagram It turns out the father of two allegedly misled the public — and in fact, it came out in 2022, thanks to leaked emails, that he was actually spending $11,000 a month on steroids to achieve his physique. As reported by The Sun, Johnson supposedly created a $300 million empire for himself, which led him to deny any steroid use. Yet, the truth finally caught up to him and he had no choice but to admit that he was using 'pharmacy-grade human growth hormones.' 3 The Liver King posing with fans — his 'Primals.' liverking/Instagram While one would assume this would've been the end of Johnson — Netflix just released a documentary on the 48-year-old titled 'Untold: The Liver King.' 'I think he's a marketing genius, I really do,' director Joe Pearlman told Time. 'The guy just knows what an audience wants and how to sell stuff to an audience in every sense.' 3 While one would assume this would've been the end of Johnson — Netflix just released a documentary on the 48-year-old titled 'Untold: The Liver King.' liverking/Instagram 'I never expected this exposure in the public eye, and it's been tricky as f-ck to navigate,' Johnson said to cameras in the documentary. 'How do I repent? I don't know what comes next. I don't have the answer to that yet,' the 48-year-old continued. Johnson is not the first — and certainly won't be the last — fitness influencer to lie to gain a massive following. UK online fitness coach Hannah Barry revealed some of the truths behind public fitness personas. 'I used to be a really toxic fitness influencer,' she said in a viral TikTok video. 'Now I'm just not so toxic and I want to tell you some bulls–t that goes on within the fitness industry that you probably don't know about.' 'I never really did any of the ab workouts I actually did,' she said. 'They just got millions of views. I know that's so sh—y to say but it's also so true.' She also revealed that when people sign up for coaching with well-known online figures — they're usually just working out with 'shadow coaches' who pretend to be the person who was hired.
News18
17-05-2025
- Entertainment
- News18
Who Is Liver King? All About Brian Johnson, His Steroids Controversy, And Netflix Documentary
Last Updated: Brian Johnson gained notoriety on social media for consuming raw meat and pulling off odd strength feats. Do you have trouble deciding what to watch on TV? We have a fantastic recommendation for anyone who wants to immerse themselves in something fascinating: Untold: The Liver King, the most recent documentary on Netflix, which debuted on May 13. The documentary explores the rise and fall of American social media influencer Brian Johnson, also known as the Liver King. He became famous for promoting an 'ancestral lifestyle." This lifestyle involved eating raw meat, especially organ meats like liver. He also followed nine 'ancestral tenets." These tenets encouraged behaviours like eating raw food, exposing oneself to cold and sunlight, and doing intense physical activity. His bold and unusual habits attracted a large following online. But in 2022, Johnson was exposed for using steroids. He had previously denied it, which led to a backlash and a sharp decline in his reputation. Watch the trailer here: Who Is Brian Johnson And How Did He Become Liver King? Brian Johnson, a 48-year-old father of two who became a social media celebrity, goes by the moniker 'The Liver King." Before becoming well-known as a social media influencer, Johnson worked in the supplement and pharmaceutical industries and studied biochemistry. Originally from Texas, he started making waves on social media in early 2016 by advocating for an all-natural diet that mostly consisted of raw, unprocessed beef livers, testicles, tongues, and other organs, as well as bone broth and uncooked eggs. As he bragged about the advantages of his diet, which he called the 'ancestral diet," Johnson was seen in video after video demonstrating his sinewy, muscled body pulling 4X4s, walking underwater with kettlebells, and bench-pressing his wife, Liver Queen. According to the Netflix documentary, he became passionate about his body after his father passed away when he was a young child. Additionally, he was raised admiring films like Conan the Barbarian and Rambo. His story was made much more attractive on social media by the fact that his kids, Stryker and Rad, had been ill as children and that their ailments had been resolved by adopting a diet high in organs. The Rise Of Liver King The Liver King quickly established a fully-fledged digital empire and lifestyle brand centred on the 'ancestral lifestyle" with the aid of his wife, Barbara (the Liver Queen), and his two kids, who started sharing content under the aliases 'Liver Boy Rad" and 'Stryker the Barbarian." He accumulated millions of fans and made appearances on podcasts with Logan Paul and others, promoting his 'ancestral lifestyle" and Ancestral Supplements. This turned out to be a $100 million industry, according to the documentary. The Decline Many, however, questioned whether Johnson's toned physique was due to his ancestral diet and lifestyle rather than steroids, as is the case with many health influencers. In his videos, he would appear shirtless and dispel rumours that his strong physique was the result of using steroids. The nine principles of the 'ancestral life," he said, were sufficient: sleep, eat, move, connect, shield (avoid excessive exposure to WiFi and electromagnetic fields), cold, sun, fight (accept difficulties both mentally and physically), and bond. Health professionals expressed worries about his diet as well, particularly over the consumption of raw meat, which they said would boost his risk of heart disease, high cholesterol, and stomach problems. Johnson, however, denied using performance-enhancing substances or steroids on numerous occasions. 'I don't touch the stuff. I've never done the stuff. I'm not going to do the stuff," he said in 2022 on Mark Bell's Power Project podcast. But when a blood test and email leak appeared on the fitness YouTuber 'More Plates More Dates" channel in 2022, his fame fell apart. The Liver King was found to be covertly taking $11,000 worth (about Rs 9 lakh) of steroids per month. Three days later, Johnson confessed to injecting human growth hormone (HGH) and steroids in a video titled 'Liver King Confession… I Lied." Shortly after apologising, he stopped using social media. That was not the end of it, either, as he was hit with a $25 million lawsuit for deceit and fraud. The case against Johnson was withdrawn in March 2023, but his reputation was ruined. The Aftermath top videos View all Following the controversy, Johnson withdrew from the public glare; since mid-March, he has solely posted on Instagram, X, and TikTok to promote the documentary. In the Netflix film, he also discloses that he has changed his diet and quit using performance-enhancing substances. He no longer follows a rigorous carnivorous diet and has been eating fruits and vegetables. In the upcoming years, he intends to open 302 wellness retreats while continuing to live by his ancestral principles. Watch India Pakistan Breaking News on CNN-News18. Get Latest Updates on Movies, Breaking News On India, World, Live Cricket Scores, And Stock Market Updates. Also Download the News18 App to stay updated! Location : New Delhi, India, India First Published: May 17, 2025, 15:24 IST News explainers Who Is Liver King? All About Brian Johnson, His Steroids Controversy, And Netflix Documentary
Business Insider
16-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Business Insider
15 movies and shows to stream this weekend, from season 2 of 'The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives' to a new sci-fi thriller
Jack Quaid plays an average guy with an uncanny ability to not feel pain in "Novocaine." Jack Quaid, known for playing an unlikely vigilante in the superhero satire series " The Boys," portrays a different kind of action star in "Novocaine." In the 2025 film, Quaid stars as Nathan Caine, an introverted everyman who works at a trust credit union. When his coworker, whom he has a crush on, gets kidnapped, Nathan uses his inability to feel pain to fight and try to rescue her. The '70s-set drama series "Duster" follows a getaway driver and a rookie FBI agent. "Lost" star Josh Holloway plays Jim, a getaway car driver who teams up with Nina (Rachel Hilson), the first Black female FBI agent, to take down a crime syndicate in the Southwest. The eight-episode series is co-created by J.J. Abrams, and new episodes release weekly, leading to the finale on July 3. "Better Man" offers a fresh take on the typical biopic. See Adrien Brody's Oscar-winning performance in "The Brutalist." If the lengthy runtime and intermission deterred you from seeing " The Brutalist" in theaters, you can now watch the film at home. The movie stars Adrien Brody as László Tóth, a Hungarian-Jewish Holocaust survivor and accomplished architect who immigrates to America post-WWII to rebuild his life. For a coming-of-age comedy series, check out "Overcompensating." Actor and comedian Benito Skinner, known for his internet persona Benny Drama, brings his humor to Hollywood as the creator and writer of Prime Video's raunchy college series "Overcompensating." In the show, he plays Benny Scanlon, a closeted freshman trying to keep up appearances while also figuring out who he really is. The eight-episode first season dropped all at once this week, featuring cameos from celebrities like Charli XCX and Megan Fox. Watch "Matteo Lane: The Al Dente Special" for more laughs. "Andor" came to an end this week. Alexander Skarsgård stars as a rogue robot with free will in "Murderbot." The Apple TV+ series adaptation of Martha Wells' bestselling book series "The Murderbot Diaries" fuses comedy and thrills as it follows a security construct with an artificial body. After hacking his system and gaining free will, Muderbot (Alexander Skarsgård) tries to maintain his cover while on assignment with a team of researchers when really, he'd rather just watch soap operas. Season two of "The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives" brings more drama. The new season kicks off with the surprise arrival of Miranda McWhorter, the former best friend of star Taylor Frankie Paul and one of the original MomTok members. After distancing herself from the group amid the swinging scandal, McWhorter is back to repair her friendships and possibly rejoin MomTok. All 10 episodes are streaming now. "Untold: The Liver King" chronicles the rise and fall of a health influencer. Remember the raw organ-eating influencer who touted an "ancestral lifestyle" and unconventional health practices? Netflix's new documentary "Untold: The Liver King" unpacks the life of the disgraced internet star known as Liver King, aka Brian Johnson, and the steroid scandal that caused backlash. True crime fans can check out "Fred and Rose West: A British Horror Story." The three-episode limited series tells the story of married couple Fred and Rose West, notorious UK serial killers who committed horrific crimes against their own kids and other young women and children. Season seven of the scripted sports drama series "All American" is now streaming. For unscripted sports, watch the new season of "Welcome to Wrexham." Season four of "Welcome to Wrexham" continues to document the journey of Wrexham AFC, the oldest English football club in Wales that made waves when it was purchased by Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney a few years ago. Or "Vini Jr." Season 50 of "Saturday Night Live" ends this weekend.
