A few years ago, I worked desk-to-desk with a permabulker on oral steroids. He was essentially the main slave of our boss. It was expected of him to fix all kinds of problems.

The boss wants music playing in the bathroom? Find a way.

The boss wants fruits in the kitchen? Go buy them.

The boss needs a ride to the airport? Preheat the car.

The boss needs someone to paint his apartment? Ask what color and start working.

Sometimes l was feeling sorry for him but not too much because he had a dirty aura and was a veteran member of the Permanent Smell Of Dirty Clothes Crew. The fact that he was sitting next to me and contaminating my oxygen did not help our relationship either.

Moreover, he was the only one in the room with speakers connected to a computer and was abusing his position by playing low IQ TV shows and music videos. His choice of vibrations was assaulting my ears.

I didn’t know that he was a steroid user until one day I heard a curious phone conversation.

“What’s up, man? Listen, I need some of that Sanozolol that you gave me before. Can you send me some,” said the permabulker to some lowlife.

“Why Stanozolol,” asked the other guy

“Because the last time I took it my muscle mass kept on increasing every day,” replied the handyman.

When I heard the phrase “muscle mass” I looked at him.

He said: “What are you looking at? 17-inch arms, bitch!”

Then, he flexed his biceps and continued talking on the phone with his dealer.

Meanwhile, a graphic designer from the office came to ask for something and had the pleasure of hearing the rest of the phone call.

The designer actually knew the other guy on the line. It was a former colleague.

“I am telling you, man. Give me Stanozolol! The last time I used it my biceps, triceps and chest grew without lifting. This time I will train, man,” said my desk neighbor and ended the conversation.

It was on.

“Was this Mr. XXX,” asked the designer.

“Yes,” replied the Stanozolol fan.

“I heard that he is having problems getting it up. True?”

“I don’t know about him, but my weapon is perfectly fine. Never had issues.”

The overconfident reply did not surprise me because this guy was always answering the question “What’s up?” with “I am a young man. What do you think is up? My dick, of course!”.

A few weeks later, the drugs were already on his desk. He had also purchased some classic supplements – glutamine, creatine, BCAA and some protein powder. At lunch time, he started mixing them like a hungry wolf. The muscle greed in his eyes was of a kind.

One time the very same designer had another conversation with the steroid champ while the latter was in the middle of his muscle building rituals.

“This is for muscles,” asked the designer.

“Yes. I plan to get even bigger.”

The guy was around 192cm/6’4” and 120kg/265lbs and had a decent gut too.

“What about the gut?”

“I will fix that. Don’t worry!”

“How?”

“How do you think? With tons of running and plenty of fucking! Get a life, loser!”

A few weeks passed.

During that period, the man remained relatively persistent with his muscle building plan. I was constantly finding traces of protein powder on my desk as evidence. I hate when people infect my work space.

One day I went through all of his drawers to find a pair of scissors. Oh, man! Let me tell you. They were full garbage, dusty and untidy. The amount of trash stored there was otherworldly. The middle drawer contained a bomb. When I opened it, a strong smell of carrion hit me. The odor was unforgettable and unique. That container was dangerous and needed a radiation sign on it. I found a very old box of glutamine, a needle, a spoon, a bunch of ancient brochures and a few plastic toys collected over the years.

One time the little daughter of stanozolol-man was playing in the office. She was waiting for daddy to finish work, buy her some ice-cream and give her a healthy dose of brainwash with the help of Mickey Mouse and his brain dead animation friends. Like most kids, the girl was curious and started opening the drawers one by one.

I saw it coming but decided to keep quiet. She was really annoying and reminded me of her dad too much. It looked like somebody had chopped his head and put it on a girl’s body. The single eyebrow was genetic too…I guess.

She opened the middle drawer where the bomb was, but nothing happened. [Poker face] She even took a plastic toy and continued her search. I guess she had already been conditioned to endure similar nose challenges.

One could only wonder what kind of a demonic smell was living in the apartment of her father.

Over the years, many people made the mistake of opening the middle drawer. All of them were victimized. Me? I never touched it again. Some things are fun only when you don’t repeat them.

The guy was a lazy son of a bitch for sure, and I would bet a lot of money that he was training like a complete ladyboy too.

His mentality and approach to things did not reveal a man who is willing to lift hard. Simply put, he didn’t have the character for a long and hard lifting journey. He was looking for a quick way to build his beach muscles with as little training as possible. This explained the use of steroids.

During the same period, the guy had an affair with the secretary. She had the sex look, but her personality was weak sauce.

One day our hero came back to the office after finishing some construction work for our boss. I think he had just demolished a bathroom wall, but I am not entirely sure. His look, however, was hard to forget. He was wearing work clothes torn down to pieces. The perspiration on his face was tenacious.

He had to get ready for a cultural event and started undressing right there in the room. I am not saying that this is the most controversial image I have seen, but imagine that you are working in an office and suddenly one of your colleagues decides to show you his underwear. I am pretty sure that even the activists will be looking at him with funny faces. All women got out of the room except one – the secretary. She even used the iron of her boss to get stanozolol-man’s shirt smooth. She was willing to break the rules for her hero.

This woman was definitely torn by daddy issues because the guy was 12 years older than her, divorced and had a dressing style revealing a deep love for exploration of trash containers. That didn’t stop her. She was all over his muscles.

What happened next?

Money happened. He loved his muscles, but he loved his cash even more. He found a way to work abroad for a better salary, took a “vacation” and returned after a year. I have no idea what he was doing there. Maybe he was baking potatoes for some rich dudes.

Anyway, he had become unrecognizable. The guy was down to 90kg/198lbs  – a significant reduction compared to his previous 120kg/265lbs state.

He had lost a ton of muscle, but on the bright side, his gut was smaller too. I guess the lack of stanozolol and food were the secret to his transformation.

To tell you the truth, he was a little embarrassed to be so small around people who knew him as a muscle monster. One of the biggest fears of steroid users is being tiny next to old buddies.

The guy’s gestures were clear – half of his confidence was gone. However, I could tell that deep inside he was happy because his finances were solid. When you think about it, he had simply traded fat and muscle for cash.

Once the welcoming party was over, and all the fake kisses and hugs were history, he sat on his desk next to me. He knew that this was going to be the real test.

“How are you doing, bro,” I asked.

“Making money, what else?”

“Where are the arms?”

That felt like a slap in the face.

“Still here.”

“Still 17 inches?”

“Haven’t measured them in a year, but it looks like it.”

“You’ve lost weight bro.”

“Thanks. You have the eyes of an eagle, skinny boy. Eat some peanuts now.”

I had a history of eating massive amounts of peanuts. I saw peanuts as the perfect protein snack when you are in an office environment.

“Lots of running and plenty of fucking,” I asked.

“Something like that.”

“No gym where you were?”

“Who needs a gym when you have money? You should try earning some,” said Mr. Stanozolol and went to the kitchen with his old creatine, protein and BCCA powders.

The healing process was about to begin.