A reader asked me: “Do you think that fitness models are as happy as they look in videos?”
I couldn’t find an answer to this question without waking up the schizo in me.
The first personality was a supporter of modern fitness models and said:
“The trendy fitness models enjoy lifestyles many times greater than what the average person begging for pennies to buy a hot dog knows. Those guys have physiques that the ordinary human-insects populating the offices can only dream of.
Fitness models don’t buy magazines to see who’s on the cover! They just look in the mirror.
They are not dreaming, they are living the dream – something that the pathetic 9-to-5-don’t-slap-me-hard cowards will never experience.
The fitness models don’t write nonsense like ”women like men with curves, right?” in Google’s search bar. That’s what the undersexed, unappreciated losers do to justify their fat bouncing guts and failure to put down the burgers and Haribo packs. Guys with fuck-me-right-here-right-now physiques don’t waste precious hours wondering what women supposedly like. They simply produce a product that women cannot dislike.
They don’t ask for justifications – they act. It works every time.
But, wait! It gets even better.
What happens when an ordinary person dies?
Besides the family of the loser, nobody cares about the end of his spineless existence because he is a nobody. Most people live such stupid and pointless lives that the death of a firefly has a harder impact on the world. But that’s not the case with the popular fitness models who are so big, lean and mean that you can easily see each separate head of their biceps as though you are standing in front of XXL silicon tits.
When people with average muscle size die, it’s statistics. When guys with big muscles die – it’s a tragedy. That’s the right way.
The Twitter, Facebook and Instagram followers are crushed and create a river of online tears that is hard to stop. This is the main difference that separates the humdrum 10-inch arm guy from the 18-inch shredded arm guy living an adventurous life.
The first one represents what’s wrong with this world while the second one symbolizes greatness, mastery and courage.
The first one changes nothing and simply supports the system while the second one is a hero in a world with no heroes.
The second guy is also a YOLO dreamer whose power can be neither matched nor understood by losers afraid to take risks and lead regret free, balls to the wall, AIDS is a myth lives.
Their fear keeps them trapped in the garbage bin whereas the muscle heroes have only one motto – pump muscles, make money, fuck bitches [hard].
50 years from now the new generation of muscle worshipers will be looking at photos of modern fitness models just like today we stare at the thong shots of muscle legends from the past. Can the ordinary steroid free loser say the same about his life? Does he have a legacy of any kind? No. And yet those stupid insects do not want to admit it. Saying that you are a total loser is hard when it’s true, isn’t it?
Furthermore, the muscle heroes are complete. They know that the body and the mind are both very important and have to be developed simultaneously.
And that’s what they do – lift and read.
The ultimate fitness models don’t simply build their bodies. They know that’s not enough. They want the muscle mass because to them there’s nothing worse than being an average skinny guy who has reached the twilight zone and is neither a boy nor a girl. However, they also don’t want to be labeled as stupid meat-heads and try to read as much philosophical books as humanly possible. They showcase their great minds by posting mind-blowing quotes and hashtags on their accounts. It does work. Their followers are digging the lessons and receive great inspiration and a massive boost from similar teachings.
But the perfection of the average fitness model does not end here. The professional muscle constructors are incredible businessmen too.
Fitness models are smart enough to know that money matters in this world. If you don’t have it, you are essentially a complete slave. That’s why they work really hard to enlarge their paper resources to Godzilla levels. They know that the only way to get paid more digits is to break a few rules here and there.
Only losers who don’t know how life works put an emphasis on honesty – if you are not cheating, you ain’t trying. You can’t win honestly in a dishonest world. Period.
Some get it, most don’t.
The rich fitness models with tons of cash in the bank understand the situation and make sure they are never caught without paper. To achieve this goal they sell stuff that may or may not work, but who cares? So what if the idiots are buying all kinds of useless powders? Who gives a damn? There are individuals out there doing much worse than that, and yet people continue to see them as kings and call them great businessmen. That’s why most fitness models are more than happy to put their names on anything that helps you build muscle. Sure, you may be able to replace the thing with a glass of tap water and still get the same results [zero], but does it matter?
Different eras may have different names, but ultimately there’s only one – the Era of The Buck.
Once the financial part of the equation is taken care of, it’s time to make the little guy downstairs smile too. What good are your muscles and money if you don’t get to practice baby making. Rumor has it that there is not a feeling in the world that can match the joy of shooting your load on a bitch before or after a Trenbolone injection in the glutes. The good news is that once you have the first two elements [money and muscle] covered, there will be plenty of opportunities to become a sex beast.
In fact, most fitness models have forgotten how their dicks looked originally because the damn things are constantly swollen from the never-ending overuse, but even that ”problem” is something that reveals a large contrast between an ordinary loser and a muscle hero. The first one may have a permanently swollen dick similar to the one of the muscle hero, but it’s simply a by-product of excessive masturbation. The average guy is nothing but a porn encyclopedia storing the movies of popular pornstars from the last decade in his head while the real fitness brah is a doer – not a masturbator. He knows no pornstars!!!! They know him. They call him. He rejects them [occasionally].”
At this very moment, the other person living in me woke up, slapped the mouth of its roommate and told me this:
“Behind every double biceps pose of a fitness model, there’s a brutal night of DNP induced sweating and Tren insomnia. In this world, you don’t get to play without paying your ticket, and while you may be able to cheat the losers who believe that the game is fair, you can’t cheat nature. It’s a mean landlord which couldn’t care less about your existence. If you want to experience worldly pleasures, you have to be willing to cover the expenses.
You gotta earn your smiles with suffering. The fitness brahs are not an exception. If you want B-I-G muscles, you gotta be willing to take the hits.
The main downside of being a fitness model are the drugs. They own you because without them you have no muscles, and who are you without your muscles?
Just another skinny dude or a fatso with no life whose only good time is Christmas when he gets to play with a remote control helicopter or some other nonsense product made for mentally underdeveloped creatures with a fetish for plastic.
Great! But the drugs are not free.
They cost a lot of money, health and principles.
Almost any idiot can afford to run a testosterone cycle after stealing a donation box from McDonald’s, but you don’t get the look of modern fitness models that easily. Testosterone may be the king of muscle, but fitness models don’t want to be bloated hypos – they want the Photoshop glamour that muscle worshipers have grown to love so much.
You can get close to it with just test if you have good genetics and your diet is right, but fitness models don’t care about dieting all the much. This is where the rest of the muscle cocktails come to save the day. Sadly, the bills and the side effects climb with each added fiber.
Lobsters ain’t cheap! Who’s gonna pay for the dinner?
Many fitness models resort to rather unpleasant sexual activities such as G4P and licking their biceps in front of web cameras in order to keep their muscle dreams alive.
And by the way, the answer is NO! There are no girls watching the camera feed! Only dudes with massive piss stains on their sweatpants and chips traces on their pot bellies are into this.”
”Shut up,” said my other personality. ”Many people do that stuff for fun anyway. What’s the problem with earning some cash by licking your biceps?”
”You shut up! You’ve already said your part,” answered the other me and continued.
“Many people want to be Hollywood actors and what not, but you gotta understand what you are getting into before making a choice. Don’t think even for a second that the fitness models got it easy. They had to break their code completely in order to get to where they’re right now, and while their lives may look perfect from the outside, there are large storms inside.
It doesn’t matter how many followers you have when none of them are true friends that know you. Most are there simply for the show and the muscle. When the curtains are closed, it may turn out that you have thousands of followers and no friends at all.”
”I am about to cry now. You are so poetic. Just a loser trying to justify his tentacles like arms. Shut up, faggotesque paper rat! You can have both – friends and followers – but you are too stupid to realize it,” said the other voice again.
”I feel you, brah, but what you don’t get is that many people are willing to trade their lives in exchange for a pipe dream created by steroid pinners and celebrities. In the search for this illusory satisfaction, many lose themselves completely – physically and mentally. For every successful muscle brah on the cover of a magazine, there’s an unknown drug junky who licked his biceps for nothing. People need to choose their poisons wisely,” answered the other voice.
”Fair enough, but still – FUCK YOU,” screamed his opponent.
I gave up on reaching a duality free conclusion. I just don’t think there is one.