It was only 2 o’clock in the afternoon, but I was already exhausted from hours of hard clicking on my dusty keyboard which had a few missing keys and a left CTRL button working past retirement. The repetitive motions were making it very difficult to keep my eyes open and continue this brutal keyboard exploitation.
An old boxing coach once told me that you need about 10,000 repetitions under your belt to become a robot with exceptional muscle memory. The guy was greedy and irritating, but I believe he was right about this one.
I already had over 900,000,000+ clicks under my belt. My muscle memory was insane when it came down to specific tasks. I had become a grandmaster clicker. I could do more in 10 minutes than the noobs in the firm were doing in an hour.
My head kept on getting heavier and heavier, but not because my brain was growing. I was just tired and needed a reset.
I typed: “youtube.com” – blocked; “myspace.com” – blocked; “facebook.com” – blocked.
Apparently, most entertaining web sites were on a black list.
Employers pay you to work, not to chat and Facebook stalk interns with skirts, right? Keep working, slave!
The IT crew of the company was made out of undersexed hobgoblins with funny haircuts. They were all sucking up to the boss. Because of their obedience, I had very little control over my PC. Our relationship was severely limited. You can never truly love a PC when you are forced to live in an Internet prison. I knew how to circumvent the ban with a USB flash drive and a proxy, but the speed was terrible, and I was too lazy.
I typed t-nation.com. It had to work.
What do I see?
Five trucks of panties, butts, sweat, tits, sweaty tits, sweaty butts, veteran roid users, multiple bald fuckers with steroid acne on their backs, politically correct grimaces and of course a healthy dose of Photoshopped professional thong warriors.
“Somebody could be looking”, I thought and turned around to see if I was alone.
My desk was positioned in a way allowing espionage from multiple angles. Extra attention was required. What would my colleagues think when they see me going through catalogs of panties and thongs? I had an image to maintain – the image of a hater. I loved that image. Still do.
This explicit material was not safe for work. There were just too many individuals on my screen who were 98% naked. This made me think about our programmable nature.
At the time, I was already conditioned to accept thong warriors as normal. Even today when I see bodybuilders posing, I don’t start jumping around like I have seen UFOs. 10 years ago, however, I would have looked at those guys like they are on the mentally ill side.
One of the first bodybuilders that I saw on TV was Flex Wheeler. It was a photo of him wearing a customized police uniform. What hit me right away was the size of his legs. I wondered for a little while how the thing in between operates in such a hostile and tight environment. I thought about asking a close friend but decided not to.
After years of exposure to similar photos, I learned not freak out when I see shaved and oiled men wearing Rahan’s original underwear.
Under the right mind control program, we can accept incredibly abnormal things as normal and even good. This agenda is still working in almost every aspect of our lives. The things we watch, eat and obey to were once seen as degradation or total insanity.
Oh! Nooooo. Someone’s coming….
It was the low IQ marketing manager suffering from attention deficit disorder. I nervously moved the mouse cursor towards the “X” in order to close the application but missed. Intense panic started morphing deep inside my chest.
**** What if they see the panties on my screen???????!!!!! ****
The woman was a short and skinny fake-blonde. She had the sex look and a little bit of charm, but I knew that we didn’t have a future together. There was a connection, but it felt weird.
She had one of those small, pointless dogs and was investing a ton of money in it – animal hairdressers, doctors, expensive toys…That was unacceptable. This woman had way too much “Mall” in her soul for my taste.
She was getting closer and closer to my desk, and with each step, my heart rate was accelerating. Thankfully, I returned to my built-in instincts, pressed “Alt + Tab” with surgical precision and successfully switched to another application. The word processor opened like a glorious savior sent from heaven and took over the screen. It was not over yet.
She stopped right next to me and started talking.
“Where is your manager?”
“I don’t know. Cigarette break?”
“I need the data from the last three months.”
“About the supermarket.”
“I don’t know any supermarkets. Ask my manager.”
“Do you have access to the main server?”
This is when things got scarier. In this firm, each department had a small data server accessible only from a handful of computers. I was sitting on one of them. There was a strong possibility that she was going to go through a couple of data files over my shoulder. I couldn’t let her do that. The panties & thongs catalog was not closed. This woman was a mouthpiece. The whole office was going to know me as the guy sniffing online underwear at work. As you can probably guess, I didn’t have any friends there, but my superficial ego and irrational fears were taking over. I wanted to preserve my image as a mysterious guy who is nothing special in reality, but people are too stupid to see it.
“Let me check the data,” said the marketing manager and pushed my PC mouse a little.
“F*** it”, I exclaimed in my head and launched the browser.
A sweaty fitness model appeared at the center of the screen. The image was Full HD. I think I saw a few pimples. My face made the “what the hell” grimace. Playing stupid is a natural defense strategy.
The fake-blonde was definitely surprised but suppressed her emotions as much as possible and typed an IP address in the navigation bar. Without saying much she did her job and left. However, I knew what her next message was going to be: “You know this asocial brain dead moron in the West room working in the corner. Let me tell you…”
A few minutes later, this trivial office drama was already behind me. I was going through the latest bodybuilding articles. The presented material made me think about the power of the almighty tit – an element that the media rely upon to hit the pleasure centers of the brain.
Boobs are everywhere. Why? Because they work really well.
Sexual material acts as a magnetic gateway that gets you sucked in. It’s a fact! Hire a ”gifted” woman as a host and most men will be taken.
What’s the problem you ask?
The problem is that while you are under the boob/panties spell your head is being filled with manipulated information. This is exactly what bodybuilding media do.
Most mainstream bodybuilding portals contain hundreds of hypnotizing images, which are turning people into zombies sleeping on protein powder boxes instead of pillows.
I continued reading and went through many popular bodybuilding web sites. They were all using the “let me tell you how you MUST do things” expert tone. It’s really annoying when obvious steroid users start laying down muscle laws for you. They can’t fool me. I know that incline biceps curls are not the secret.
On every website, there were articles contradicting each other consistently. One post was saying that you need Romanian deadlifts for your hamstrings while the next one was insisting that “the best exercise for your hamstrings” are Russian curls. This is when it hit me – the main goal is not to inform but to overwhelm the users with “expert data” and tits so that the media in question is seen as an authority on everything.
“The guys in the pictures have muscle. Therefore, they must know what they are talking about,” says the average teen who loves discussing “proper” glute activation during squats with his friends.
The fact that somebody is wearing expensive suits and watches does not mean that he is going to give you the secret to getting rich. There are many broke salesmen hiding behind expensive suits while hunting for suckers. This should not be a surprise because people love deception.
After 10 minutes, my break was over. I closed all sites and deleted my browsing history. You can never be too careful. There’s always a guy in the office who is stalking you. Always.
I didn’t trust the IT hobgoblins either. Those guys had eyes everywhere.
To tell you the truth, I didn’t feel more informed on the topic of getting huge. There were numerous articles entitled “The Ultimate Way To Build Muscle Mass”, but I knew that the techniques were just a politically correct way to explain the extra large size of the muscle men floating around in caveman underwear.
Time under tension, rep tempos, natural testosterone increase, giant sets, midget sets, elephant sets….at one point it, all starts to feel like complete nonsense and mad overthinking.
I pushed my chair away from the desk, did a few spins and said to myself, “I should’ve just typed daisy dukes in Google images. The same effect.”