This story happened a long time ago during my bulking era. I knew it was going to be one of those days when everything is against your comfort, but I was yet to meet the full level of crazy coming my way.
One of the most annoying things about bulking is that all the extra fuel you take requires auxiliary unloading too, which is not my favorite thing to do, and another reason I consider overeating less than ideal in most situations. “Eat big to get big” turned out to be a total lie.
At the time I was doing the poor man’s version of GOMAD, or in simpler terms I was drinking one liter of whole milk per day on top of what I was already consuming in the form of solid nutrition.
The goal? Get big and strong, of course.
What I liked about GOMAD was that it required no cooking whatsoever. You just buy a box full of milk stolen from a cow and drink it, hoping that it contains something anabolic like IGF-1.
I learned the hard way that one of the dumbest things you could ever do is drink the full liter in less than 30 minutes. This is precisely what I did that day.
As you can guess a liter of milk requires some serious unloading, but I had just finished work and wanted to go home as fast as possible. That’s why I decided to test my bladder and went straight to the bus stop.
However, where I live buses don’t come every three minutes, more like every 15 minutes. I didn’t have time to wait and needed a quick solution to my problem. There was no way in hell I was going to handle this torture. Weightlifting books taught me to evaluate the pain between 1 and 10 before deciding to train or not. Anything about 7 is considered a no-go. My kind of pain was level 25 and counting.
I started walking down the street in order to locate a politically correct place to discharge my tank full of milk residue. I had to endure a few ball busting minutes to get away from the crowded road. After a little while, I stopped to evaluate the environment.
So, what did I see? A church – no way, a playground for children – no way, residential building – no way, a parking lot – no way. I continued walking for another 5 minutes before finally giving up. I couldn’t take it anymore.
This was the time when I recalled a story, which one of my wacky teachers told me many years ago.
The guy was really into Asian culture and was constantly visiting South Korea and Japan. One time he was in Tokyo, walking on the most expensive street with a couple of his friends.
Suddenly, a guy pulled out his dick and initiated a massive unload. My teacher asked his friends what the hell was going on. They explained to him that the kidneys of the guy were more important than making everybody around happy, and naturally this was not considered a big deal.
It was a cool story, but not applicable in my case. If I was to do that on the most expensive street in my country, I would end up being on every local website, and everybody would know me as that guy.
Anyway, I had to free myself of this GOMAD induced pain and decided to do it behind a few threes close to a residential building. I started the program, but the process was not that fast. Such amount of fuel requires surprisingly long time to unload. At one point, I heard a female voice coming from above. I looked up and saw a woman staring at me with eyes saying: “This is exactly what is wrong with our country.”
“This is not a fucking toilet. How old are you, trash? If you want to live in the big city, there are rules to follow,” she said.
In my mind I was like: “I am doing liquid-bulking bitch, shut the fuck up and go back to watching brainwashing TV series about Hollywood’s idea of ‘real love’.” However, in reality I said nothing and just lost my concentration.
The first wave was over, but I knew a new one was coming. You don’t get rid of so much liquid in one wave. You need about 3 or 4. This is when I decided to go the closest possible Subway like fast food restaurant and do it the civilized way.
After about 15 minutes I got there. I remember everything in explicit details. Why? Because the place taught me about the importance of biceps size in the modern world. Believe it or not, we measure our manhood this way. It’s a modern invention.
I entered the place, wondering whether they had something that contains less Yoga mats. Since I was already suffering from constant fear of protein deficiency, I decided to go with a tuna sandwich. It’s proven that tuna contains protein, right?
I joined the large queue.
Since I was going to wait for a long time, I decided to make me some lemonade by looking around and examining the situation. A good hater is always looking for a target. I am a good hater.
Slightly to the left I saw two transgender like Apple fanboys. The guys were wearing some sort of brown moccasins without socks. I found that disturbing, even though my teachers once told me not to judge a book by it’s cover. Well, if that’s the case why do books have covers in the first place?
Those moccasin warriors were exploiting their iPhones to the fullest, and there was also an iMac on the table. I guess it was safe to assume that the nerds were taking their social image seriously. The pretentious attitude coming from their gestures had formed a solid cloud around them. They were convinced that their gadgets and clothes were sending the “Who the fuck you think you are? Look at my things, garbage man!” signal.
I positioned my lasers to the right and saw a weird love couple. It was the type of couple emitting forced and exaggerated love cues. You can call it “the calm before the storm couple” or in other words a couple that is simply going to burn in the fire of delusions and fakeness.
The girl was a fragile doll and the man was a steroid freak. His arms were as big as my legs and today he reminds of a smaller Rich Piana clone with about 1/3 of Rich’s ink. That equals about 20 tattoos.
My observation is that fragile girls often go for such big boys only to get burned. Still, I get it. It’s useful to have an anchor when it’s windy outside and you weigh only 100 lbs / 45 kg.
Finally, it was my turn to order.
“What would you like, sir,” said the guy.
Right at this moment another story came back to me.
The first time I learned about Subway style places was from one of my high-school semi-friends. To afford a sandwich there I needed to save money for about 3 days. It was a luxury and made me want things I couldn’t have.
I was curious about the place and asked my semi-friend what was so special about it. He told me that the restaurant was really clean unlike the buffet at my school where he was constantly finding dyed blonde hairs coming from the fat lady selling us cheap pizzas.
I wanted more explicit details so I asked: “How clean?”
My semi-friend said: “So clean that the guys are practically wearing fucking helmets compared to that dirty bitch at school leaving her dirty fingernails in my meals. Got it, moron?”
Since that day every time I hear about this fast food restaurant, I imagine guys making sandwiches while wearing motorcycle helmets.
To my surprise, my guy was not wearing a helmet. I was like: “Da fuck? Did they really change the policy now that I can finally afford to eat here?”
“Sir, what would you like,” said the helmetless sandwich maker.
“A tuna sandwich.”
“Yeah, put some salads there too.”
“With tomatoes, cabbage and olives.”
“Here you go, sir. Something to drink? Cola maybe?
That was a really tricky question. I wanted something to drink despite my delicate situation, but there was no way in hell I was paying double for rust remover when I can buy the same thing for half the price a couple of blocks away.
The guy added one more silent “Sure?” using only his eyes.
What can I say? His managers got to his brain. I could feel his pain.
Finally, I took my golden tuna sandwich and installed my bulking body at a table for two, because there were no tables for one. Why are tables in restaurants always made for at least two people? Haven’t those guys heard of thrones before?
A few short moments later, it was time for….wave two. This time I had to pay some extras, but I will save you the details as much as I can.
Wave two took me a little more time to complete. After it was done I committed a narcissistic crime – I looked at my diarrhea abs in the mirror. In case you are wondering, “diarrhea abs” is a term used to describe the increased ab definition you get through water weight loss caused by unpleasant and long union with the toilet porcelain.
When I got out, I saw an interesting scene. A semi-muscled guy appeared on the scene. I guess he was also trying to feed his protein hunger. The guy was twice my size, but still smaller than Rich Piana’s version I told you about. During his search for a place to sit, he looked at Rich Piana’s copy, and their eyes met like two male lions in the wild.
They were both wearing tank tops revealing some freaky biceps. The electrifying stare between them represented modern day manhood measuring. I guess those investments in oil had provided a nice return, because Rich was the clear winner of this bicep duel.
They didn’t say a word to each other, but I ran a small example dialogue in my head:
“You ain’t sitting here, motherfucker. Your biceps are smaller than mine and thus you don’t get to breath my air,” said Rich’s overseas clone.
“Fuck you and your stupid anorexic bitch with fake hair extensions. I will sit next to the IT transgenders to make myself feel better,” replied the other guy.
He sat next to the two snobbish nerds and started consuming his protein ammo. I could definitely identify some serious turmoil in the nerds’ eyes. Those guys were feeling threatened. They had material possessions and status but were lacking the proper physique. That was making them feel like insecure and confused pencil necks.
Who is on top? The guy with the body or the one with the money? Probably the guy with the money and the body, but this kind of perfect was missing from the picture.
What happened led me to the logical conclusion that for some weird reason the guy with the bigger biceps is always on the top of the street food chain. However, I think that’s a superficial way to measure your manhood, and the true alpha male is the one who has skills and confidence, not some inflated balloon who needs to tell the whole world how big his arms are.
There are a lot of things in this world that are technically wrong despite being deeply integrated into our social behavior. That day I added one more to my list.