Headphones In, Guns Out

Headphones In, Guns Out

Bradley entered the weight room. He took out his phone and plugged in his headphones. He then went into Spotify and selected a new workout playlist the algorithm suggested for him a few days ago. As the music began playing he began warming up.

bruh

He was doing upper body today, wanted to see his chest and arms clearly defined under his t-shirts and hoodies.

just a dumb brah

He found his way to the free weights section, took two dumbbells in his hands and began doing bicep curls.

fuckin' pump that iron dude

He went through the three sets and felt... like it wasn't that hard, actually. Motivated by this feeling, he moved over to an unoccupied bench and put on some weights on the bar.

wearin' that sweaty tank bro

Wow, he was sweating from all that exercise, this workout was feeling so different.

such a dumb bull, a strong bull

He finished rep after rep, lifting the bar as if it was made from feathers. Goin' great, yeah bro?

a bull needs a trainer

Huh?

a sweaty jock follows his Coach

Oh, the playlist is looping already? Huh, thought it was longer. Whatever, let's continue with the lifting.

bruh

just a dumb brah

Wow, he could actually see some pump on his arms. Damn, dude...

fuckin' pump that iron dude

wearin' that sweaty tank bro

Oh yeah! He finished another set and he felt great. His bros would beg for guns like his, duhuhuhuh...

such a dumb bull, a strong bull

Wait... what?

a bull needs a trainer

What bros?

a sweaty jock follows his Coach

Bradley looked down... and he was huge! His whole body had clearly defined muscles, and his now t-shirt, damp form sweat, was straining against his pecs and shoulders. And... and he didn't have any bros, he wasn't a dumb jock like that, he wasn't some strong bull! Bradley grabbed the cable of his headphones and was about to--

BRUH

JUST A DUMB BRAH

FUCKIN' PUMP THAT IRON DUDE

WEARIN' THAT SWEATY TANK BRO

SUCH A DUMB BULL, A STRONG BULL

A BULL NEEDS A TRAINER

A SWEATY JOCK FOLLOWS HIS COACH

...

BRUH

...

PUMP THAT IRON

...

SWEATY

...

DUMB BULL

...

TRAINER

...

JOCK FOLLOWS COACH

...

--Brady let out a dumb chuckle as he added more weights to the bar before going back to lifting. Up and down. Up and down. Rep after rep, set after set. He was such a strong bull. A beast his Coach would be proud of.

As he lifted the bar for a hundredth time he thought about that party his bros invited him to. Dude, that will be sick, bro.

Duhuhuhuhuhuh, look at these guns bruh.

Such a dumb and strong bull, brah!

Todd opened his eyes, only to see a gym full of sweaty hunks, instead of the dorm room in which he felt asleep, planning for this to be just a quick nap. He underestimated the chances of waking up in a body of a 6'4 240 lbs brute, with biceps the size of footballs, tree trunks for legs and absolutely jacked upper body.

He didn't have time to panic though, because another sweaty jock came up to him. "'ey bro, am finished with my set for now. You too bro?" Todd would later learn that it was TJ, a tight end from his college's football team. But now he was scrambling to come up with a response.

"Uhm, yes... uhh, yeah, I'm finished, yeah." He half-murmured. TJ didin't wait for a response and sat down next to him on the bench, leaning back and spreading his legs wide apart.

"Bruh, I'm so fuckin' pumped bro, it's unreal dude. That new routine Coach gave us is fuckin' rad bro." TJ then proceeded to flex both his arms, hplding them in a double bicep pose for a moment. Todd just nodded and grunted a quick "Yeah, bro." After a few seconds Tj lowered his arms, but not before sniffing one of his armpits.

"Huhuhuh shit bro, i fuckin' reek dude." He then let out a low laugh, so common in dumb football bros. Todd turned to the jock sitting next to him and the smell of musk and sweat hit him like a train, invading his nostrils. The words "Dude, you need a shower" instintively left his mouth. A moment later he realized what he had just said, and hoped the other jock wouldn't react badly.

"Huhuhuh" TJ just chuckled like an idiot "That's the smell of a real man, Strand."

Strand just... no, Todd just sat there, almost paralyzed by the odor that enveloped him. TJ meanwhile stretched his arms, his armpits exposed, and his muscle tee damp. As waves of musk and sweat reached Todd, his head began to hurt. The feelings of repulsion and disgust suddenly started changing into normalcy and relaxation. StrandTodd's posture changed, he leaned back on the bench, with his legs now slightly away form each other.

"Bruh, that's life, am I right dawg?" TJ drawled and a grin appeared on StrandTodd's face. He chuckled and responded "Yeah, bro, that's life bro." When Todd realized that he had just said that, and worse, that he felt comfortable, here with TJ, both of their bodies reeking of sweat, dread... was the opposite of what Strand felt as he relaxed with his bro after a killer session in the gym. His arms were pumped, his pecs burned with pain that was a testament to his dedication to working out.

TJ looked at his bro and grinned. "Ey, Strand bro, you goin' to that beer fest at Alpha Phi?" His bro slapped TJ in the back and said "Huhuhuh bruh, the fuck you're asking me bro. Duh, I'm going. And am taking ya with me dude." The both laughed like the two dumb jocks they were, then took their duffels and left the gym.

Academic requirements

Coach received some worrying information about one of his star players, DE1. His performance at practice and during games was still very good, great even. But it was all overshadowed by some disturbing reports. DE1 's grades have gone up since last season and he was seen walking around campus with a textbook in his hand. Moreover, his turnout at frat events dropped below 100% and he has been seen interacting with multiple nerds at least three times within the previous two weeks.

This was enough for Coach to get concerned, so he invited DE1 for a chat in his office. The jock entered the room and sat in a chair in front of Coach's desk. DE1 was one of Coach's finest specimens - he was absolutely huge. 6'5 and 260 pounds of pure muscle, with arms ready to tackle a mountain, pecs and shoulders prepared to withstand the pressure of the entire offensive line and legs the size of tree trunks. An absolute stud, and perfect advertisement of Coach's training methods.

Coach greeted DE1 and explained why he asked him to come - he laid out all the concerning rumors that were spreading withing the building of the Athletics Department - about his focus on studying and interacting with non-jocks. DE1, in turn, was confused by what he heard and didn't really know how to respond to his Coach's words.

He didn't have time to come up with anything to say though, as right after he finished speaking Coach turned his computer around and DE1 was now looking straight into a monitor displaying a condensed version of one of Coach's trusted hypnotic videos. The jock's attention suddenly shifted towards the screen, forgetting about anything else. His whole body relaxed in the chair, his legs now wide apart and showing off his bulge, visible through his shorts.

As the video showed shirtless jocks working out, then jocks in full gear tackling each other during a football game, then jocks partying and drinking while dancing with only boxers on, DE1 began drooling. As he did, subliminal messages continued to make their way into his brain

DUMB

BRO

FLEX

OBEY

LIFT

PARTY

JOCK

DAWG

The sounds encoded within the video only amplified these commands. Coach looked from behind the screen as his best edge rusher took in everything Coach wanted and slowly, but surely, returned to his proper ways - a jacked brute, capable only of lifting, partying and sacking every QB he encounters.

After a while the video came to an end. Coach took back his computer and DE1 blinked a few times, then wiped most of the drool form his face and scratched his crotch.

"uhhhhhhh, Coach.... what... happened, bruh?"

"Everything's fine. Let me ask you a few questions. What's your name."

"DE1, Coach, duh."

"And who are you?"

"Am the best DE in the conference, Coach!"

"What's your approach to college and classes?"

"Duuuuude, that's some nerd shit, lemme tell ya, Coach, I do just enough to go above the NCAA threshold for scholarship athletes, bro, huhuhuhuh"

"Good, DE1, and do you stay in contact with people who don't play football?"

"Ugh, dude, Coach, me? With a fuckin' nerd? Bruh, am doin' just fine with the dudes on the team. Ain't no one else I need to stay in contact with, Coach"

Coach grinned as DE1 responded exactly the way he was supposed to.

"Thanks, DE1, you're free now. Don't be late to tomorrow's practice"

"Will do, Coach!"

A day later Coach was notified of DE1 posting a shirtless photo on Instagram with the caption reading "who ready for that Alpha Phi beer fest bruhs?"

Under Armour Jock™

He doesn't know how long he's been working for the agency. Well, maybe work is not the right word. He doesn't know how long he's been an asset of the agency. It doesn't really matter as his mind is incapable of holding thoughts about life before becoming a part of the agency, so for all intents and purposes B47 has been a model for the Under Armour Internal Agency since forever and will always be one.

B47 was a part of an experimental project of UA's PR department, the goal of which was to create the perfect model, who would be able to fit into every shoot, every ad campaign, play every role. So they got a group of men looking for a quick buck and completely drained their minds, getting rid of any personality they might have had. Later UA psychologists made these men, B47 among them, capable of perfectly adopting every archetype under the sun. Jock, bro, coach, father, son, mechanic, soldier, businessman, whatever role is needed - these Under Armour models will play every single one perfectly.

B47's agent receives information about an upcoming shoot, says to his model "Assume archetype J03" and B47's brain is filled with a cocky attitude, football skills and jock lingo. The next day means another shoot and another role. "Assume archetype C12" and the model quickly transforms into a hunky southern rancher, with a thick accent and charm.

When B47 is not in front of cameras (or standing and flexing as decoration in his agent's office) he is working out - pumping iron to make sure his pecs, abs and biceps are ready for his next assignment, always straining against his Under Armour compression shirts, tank tops and gym shorts.

The PR department is ready to begin working on another batch of these brainless muscular hunks. Have you, by any chance, sent a CV to Under Armour recently?

The Rookie's Figuring It Out

Going back to my dorm room, just had a meeting with Mr. Bridges, and he-- wait, who's Mr. Bridges? Anyway, just came out of a meeting with Coach, went great bro, got all the details figured out. Now I can go back to my place and relax, that was an exhausting day.

As I enter the dormitory building my phone buzzes. I take it and see I got a text from Jamie asking about... wait, what study group is he-- damn, some nerd got his numbers mixed up, I ain't joining no lame study group, no way bruh.

I enter my room and as I put my things away I feel my body aching. But i can't really say why, cause I didn't really-- dude, my muscles are, like, burning bro. Coach dragged me through a nightmare of a workout earlier, ya know, to see if I am worth putting on the roster.

i jump on the couch, now's the time to play some madden bruh, huhuhuhuh... dude, what are those books laying on the table? Intro to anthro... antrop... pology... that is, wait, I... I know, that's like-- huhuh bruh, that's some nerd shit here dude. dunno how it got here but i know where it'll go dude - straight into the trash, where it belongs bro.

bruh, where's my ps4 bro, dude? how am i s'possed to crush random losers on the internet when i don't have that fuckin' console-- dude, gotta prep some food for tomorrow, gotta get that protein huhuhuh, or Coach will get mad-- Coach says to eat enough calories and get enough protein. Coach's word is law. Coach is always right.

so i'm lookin' at my schedule, yeah? and we gotta practice 'morrow for like 4 hours or so, but here i have, in my calendar or whatever, and there's some college shit like dude, like classes and shit, like damn, i gotta tell Coach that i have some conflict in my schedule-- huhuhuhuh damn bro, got some fuckin' class in muh schedule during practice. fuck, what pussy goes to "ancient history 101" like, what a fuckin' idiot dude

wait bro, wait... so im a football bro, yeah, right, but i play college football, and college means, uhhh... like, what was that shit dude, damn... a major, right... college means havin' a major bro, and my major's something like... bruh, its like... oh wait-- huhuhuh dude, who gives a shit about some nerd shit bro, am here to play ball and bro out BRUH!

i 'ave Coach takin' care of all that boring ass shit dude, yeah, he's takin' care of all that smart bullshit and im just workin' out and tacklin' dudes bro. fuck yeah, dude, that's right bruh. im a fuckin' football dawg, born to play and to crush every goddamn dude who stands in my way bro, not to care 'bout any of that lame pussy shit bro. ya wanna go get those guns pumped, bro?

A Workout Break

trav stretched his arms as he took a quick break in the middle of his workout. he was doing arms and chest, and trav was feelin' the pump--

Trevor blinked a few tines and turned around. Why the hell was he in a gym?! How did he get there? He was just... at this point Trevor realized he didn't remember anything from before. He has no idea what was happening and didn't know what was going on.

Then Trevor looked at his arms - they were huge! His jaw dropped as he saw his biceps the size of footballs. That is not his body! He then looked down - his chest was massive, his shoulders broad, his legs thick and meaty. And god, he was packing under his compression shorts. This was not him - Trevor was a rather skinny guy, not a muscular behemoth.

Suddenly Trevor felt that he remembered something - a memory that began surfacing in his mind. He was standing somewhere, some room... a classroom maybe, he couldn't say. He was there, standing, and there were some other guys there, and they were... like, athletes maybe... or gym bros, yeah, something like that. Yeah, they were standing around him, looking down at him. And they were giving something to him? Something to eat maybe... no, it was... it was a shirt, and they... forced Trevor to smell it?

Suddenly another giant of a gym bro, wearing a damp muscle shirt, came up to him. "ey trav bruh, you looking pumped dude, huhuhuh" he let out a dumb chuckle. Trevor was just about to answer, saying that he isn't what this guy was thinking he was when the smell of the gym bro's sweat entered Trevor's nostrils. The musky, salty smell was intoxicating and--

trav laughed and flexed his biceps "ya like what ya see bruh?" he asked, then kissed his biceps and sniffed his armpmits. "shit burh, i reek dude" they then both chuckled. jay leaned in and put his nose in trav's pits "duuuuuude, yer smellin' like a real man, pumpin' iron 24/7 dude, ain't that right bro" "fuck yeah it is" trav said as he pushed jay's face into his sweaty pits. after a moment jay stood up and said "ya rested enough bro?" to which trev responded "hell yeah, let's fuckin' go" he then groped and scratched his package bulging under his nike shorts and got back to liftin'