Steroids - Tumblr Posts
I don’t know if any strength, or other, athletes follow me, but here is a very pretty summary of how to rationally approach steroid use, from a guy who is damn big. Do note that most of this is “be aware of what’s going on with your body and do your damn homework”. Also note how many branches lead to “NOPE”. Most importantly, there should be no shame in using anabolics, nor any shame in avoiding them. Honesty and clarity are much preferred.
So You Want To Take Steroids?
An InfoGraphic Guide by BeastPup.
I’m receiving a lot of mail on the subject of performance enhancing drugs. Here’s my take on assessing if you’re ready.
More to follow. Sharing welcome.
- Beast.
DOWNLOAD THE HI-RES VERSION HERE.
Mr Collins was your favourite teacher. Kind of dorky, still fresh out of college and exceptionally supportive. Last year, he joined the gym and let's say it started messing up with his head. As it turned out, your homely English teacher was kind of genetic freak. Just after few weeks all of his shirts began to stretch under his bloated arms (as he proudly announced 17 inches at the time) and expanding frame. His behavior changed as well. He was obsessed with his diet, eating his meals and drinking protein shakes even in the middle of class. He also become kind of intimidating, he just wasn't the sweet guy you used to talk to. Rumour has it that this vacation he took up this whole bodybuilding thing more seriously and started taking steroids. You didn't believe that at first. But today, after you entered the locker room at your local gym, you heard some deep voice of a dude talking to himself and grunting. It was Mr Collins, bigger than last time you had seen him, posing in front of mirror after what you guess was chest day. He had an empty vial in his hand and just by the look he gave to you- you knew you were fucked.
Your geeky little roomate was so shy and awkward, you couldn't help but make him one of your bros. You used to tease him sometimes, but he is catching up to your size now, you don't wanna mess with his roid rage.
Your buddy wanted to bulk up a little for an upcoming armwrestling competition. Fortunately for him, he his bros encouraged him to hop hop on juice and become a freak.
Mr Olympia - Derek lunsford
Current pro steroid cycle, doesn't include GH but he suggests if you can afford it, the sky is the limit. I agree
Now a man
Juiced and ready to blow loads
Growth. Masculinity. Cowboy.
Found this old transformation picture from my idol @dieselmuscle today. It blew my mind away! The guy on the left could never fathom the monster he would start becoming: arms blew up, chest expanded, neck and traps became ropes of muscle, and those leg twigs became veritable trunks.
However, that was not enough. It will never be enough in the pursuit of masculinity. Fast forward some more years after hard work, training, copious amounts of food, chemicals, and the true drive of becoming the epitome of masculinity and you end up with the beast from the most recent picture he's shared: a real man's man! Cowboy boots and hat to match, only wearing the American Flag, chiseled jaw and sexy beard, that intent look of power.
Legs bigger and more defined, lats that could eclipse the sun, perfect slabs of muscle for chest, cannonball shoulders, and arms bigger than my head. Add that tight and muscular waist to complete that X frame and there you have the monster that he's become. All to frame that perfect manhood in the center. You can practically smell the testosterone from that latest picture.
Nothing drives me harder than seeing other men becoming what they were meant to be. Taking matters into their hands and redefining themselves. Diesel is definitely one of the best. An alpha among alphas. Through thick and thin he's built up himself from that small insignificant twink to the god-in-the-making he is today. The best part? We ain't seen nothing yet. His road to masculine perfection is barely started, and you can see it in his eyes, he's a man with a mission!
Idol and inspiration! Will always be rooting for him and will follow him closely as he becomes ever freakier, more masculine, more godly! The true power of steroids on display!
Growth. Masculinity. Cowboy.
Found this old transformation picture from my idol @dieselmuscle today. It blew my mind away! The guy on the left could never fathom the monster he would start becoming: arms blew up, chest expanded, neck and traps became ropes of muscle, and those leg twigs became veritable trunks.
However, that was not enough. It will never be enough in the pursuit of masculinity. Fast forward some more years after hard work, training, copious amounts of food, chemicals, and the true drive of becoming the epitome of masculinity and you end up with the beast from the most recent picture he's shared: a real man's man! Cowboy boots and hat to match, only wearing the American Flag, chiseled jaw and sexy beard, that intent look of power.
Legs bigger and more defined, lats that could eclipse the sun, perfect slabs of muscle for chest, cannonball shoulders, and arms bigger than my head. Add that tight and muscular waist to complete that X frame and there you have the monster that he's become. All to frame that perfect manhood in the center. You can practically smell the testosterone from that latest picture.
Nothing drives me harder than seeing other men becoming what they were meant to be. Taking matters into their hands and redefining themselves. Diesel is definitely one of the best. An alpha among alphas. Through thick and thin he's built up himself from that small insignificant twink to the god-in-the-making he is today. The best part? We ain't seen nothing yet. His road to masculine perfection is barely started, and you can see it in his eyes, he's a man with a mission!
Idol and inspiration! Will always be rooting for him and will follow him closely as he becomes ever freakier, more masculine, more godly! The true power of steroids on display!
Robin Strand (@strandstrong)
2010 vs 2017 vs 2024
"Shit, coach, I really beat the crap outa you didn't I? Fuck, I thought you were tougher than that. I mean, you're pretty big for an old man - what are you, 40? - but you gotta get serious in the gym if you don't wanna catch your bitch wife getting fucked by a real man like that. She couldn't get her face out of my muscle pit, the dirty slut! Tip for ya: She says she loves teen muscle bros hitting the juice. If you wanna keep up with the young dawgs then you better hop on, coach!"
I want to worship this big bald bodybuilder brute whether he’s a fantasy or reality!
Juicemonkeys (intro)
Deacon’s hand was shaking a bit as he took a pull off his coffee cup, gripping the steering wheel with the other. His brain was exhausted, still drenched in sleep, but his body was so jittery, amped from his anger. He focused a bit, steeling the nerves in his hand, and then took one more sip of his coffee before setting it back into the cup holder. He pulled into the first parking space in front of the Fitness Factory. The whole lot was empty except two other cars, and he could guess whose those were. Three in the morning was late, but there was always a consistent “late-night” crowd, a handful of people who didn’t work the 9 to 5 schedule. Deac’s best guess was that the door had been locked, and anyone approaching the doors to the 24-hour club found themselves turned away. This was something the corporate office was going to end up getting complaints about. It was just one more thing on his list. It was, however, at the bottom of his list. Locking the door just had to be done. One glance in the rearview mirror told Deac that the large coffee he’d sucked down hadn’t perked up his drooping face. He wiped his face with both hands a few times, then reexamined to find no change. He sighed deeply, his head slumping against the steering wheel. The corporate office at the Fitness Factory was always coming down on him for his “image in the eyes of subordinates.” Stomping in there still half-asleep, ready to fly off the handle because of the news he’d just gotten wasn’t going to help things. He took a deep breath. Derek would be working, and Deac reminded himself that Derek was a hard-worker and a trusted assistant. There was no reason to blow up at him. HE certainly had nothing to do with what happened. He took a deep breath, reminding himself, “Whatever happens, I will work through it,” and stepped out of the car. It had begun sprinkling lightly, and he closed his eyes and stared upward, hoping it would refresh him a bit. It didn’t. When he opened his eyes, he noticed the “O” in the “Fitness Factory” sign was blinking. “I just had that fixed two months ago!” Deac thought, shaking his head. The night’s to-do list kept getting longer and loner. An orange light blinked next to the card-scanner by the front door, meaning restricted access, just as Deac had guessed. Nobody was there, so Deac could take a little time in cleaning up this mess. He swiped his card and walked in. The front area of the gym was completely empty, nobody even at the front desk. Even the music had been turned off, which was strange, but Deac was guessing that was Derek’s work. Nobody was there, so the music was unnecessary, and Derek knew that Deac liked the quiet when he was stressed out. He walked through the main gym area to the more private area in the back, the “Extreme Training Zone.” As Deac walked through the swinging double doors into the ETZ he saw Derek working behind his desk. Derek wasn’t that tall, maybe 5’9, but he’d spent the past 12 years of his life packing muscle onto his frame, for football, then a short competitive bodybuilder career, and then just because he liked it. Since he’d started working for Deac he’d blown up like a tick, his muscles swelling to huge, bloated proportions. Only the upper third of him extended above the desk, but his huge, mammoth pecs strained the fabric on his Fitness Factory shirt, his hard nipples poking out. His arms hung out at an angle from his body, pushed out by his thick, protruding lats, and looked like two regular men’s legs, straining the seams on the sleeves. He had jet black hair and cool, crystal blue eyes, but his head looked very small between the big, thick shoulders that sloped out and down. The corporate offices had mandated that Derek only be allowed to work out back, in the ETZ, having to use the loading dock to come and go. Derek, who was always in fairly good spirits, took it as a compliment. Many people considered him a freak, but he’d worked hard to become a freak. Deac, on the other hand, thought he was perfect. “So,” Deac began, walking up and extending his hand. Derek’s huge, thick hand surrounded his as they shook. “Tell me what happened.” “Well,” Derek said, closing the folder in his hands and setting it on the desk, “he came in to lift. He was the only one here, thank god. Everything was pretty standard. Workout went pretty good, then he headed for the locker room. I just happened to need to piss at that point, and I headed back there and… there he was.” Deac shook his head. He kept trying to remind himself that this could’ve been worse. “I just don’t get it,” he said, his voice reflecting just a hint of ire. “Joe, of all of them… I mean, I chose him for a reason, and he didn’t give us any indication…” Deac shook his head, beginning to pace. “I would’ve understood some of the others, but… this just baffles me!” Deac stopped pacing and took a deep breath. He was starting to do exactly what the corporation had warned him many times about. Derek stared at him, his face expressionless, and Deac couldn’t help but examine the young man’s facial features. His jaw was so strong and square, his cheekbones so solid. Everything about his face was so thick and angular, but everything below his chin was so… round and massive. Such an odd, but beautiful, contrast, Deac thought. “What’s the status on the situation?” Deac asked. “I left everything exactly as I found it,” Derek said, motioning toward the locker room. “And the ‘situation’ has been contained, but not taken care of.” “Thank you, Derek,” Deac said, fighting against the knot in his throat to be able to smile. He started toward the locker room, ready to deal with what he was about to see. “I need you to pull up Joe’s file and go through the information coded Red. Set that into motion while I take care of what’s in here.” “Already begun, Deac,” Derek said. Deacon gave Derek the thumbs-up as he pushed his way into the locker room. Deac took a careful step into the locker room and took in the whole scene. Most people would just see a towel, some gym clothes, some guy’s cell phone, left around by some lazy kid. But Deac knew better. Just glancing around he could feel the scene playing out in his head with every detail he took in. Breathing in, he found he could still SMELL Joe. As Deac approached Joe’s open locker, he took a moment to close his eyes and breathed DEEPLY. The scent was overwhelming, and he recognized it immediately as Axe body spray, sweat and Joe’s unique odor. With some of the guys, Deac had become so familiar that he could walk into a room after two had left and identify which two of his men had just been there. Deac took a peek into the open locker and found a photo taped inside. “Joe, you’re 26. You’re not in high school,” Deac said in a patronizing tone as he peeled the photo off the door. Joe and a very pretty girl filled up the whole frame, Joe’s huge arms wrapping around the girl, Joe kissing the top of her head while she nestled into his huge body. Did Joe have a girlfriend? “I was unaware of this,” Deac said, nearly losing his calm for a moment before he took a deep breath and relaxed again, returning to the picture. For a moment, Deac felt himself getting lost in Joe’s photo, looking at the way Joe’s goofy adorable ears stuck out, his strong jaw, his dimples, his bright eyes. He always loved the way Joe’s thick neck slammed right into his huge traps. There were times when Deac had wanted to take a tape measure, find out the distance between each of Joe’s wide shoulders. He laughed as he stared at the photo. “Wouldn’t be that hard anymore, or impressive.” In the locker he found Joe’s lifting gloves, a pair of wrist-wraps, a tape measure… and a preloaded syringe, the plunger-lock still in place. Deac examined the syringe, the chamber full of light brown oil. That damned needle was responsible for all of this mess, in a way. Deac also found a couple of cans of Endo-rush, a stick of deodorant and a can of Axe. Deac sprayed the Axe right in front of him, pumping the air full of Joe again. He shivered as he inhaled, feeling a stirring in his pants. His skin almost felt like it was tingling. For a moment, he was almost enjoying himself, basking in Joe, until he noticed again the one object in the room that hadn’t belonged to Joe, a small black box covered in a black silk cloth, sitting at the end of the bench. Reminded again what he was doing, he cleared his head and went back to examining the scene. Joe was probably giving himself a quick shot of Axe, Deac envisioned, slapping on some pit-stick before heading out the visit the lady. He probably figured she’d complain about the sweatiness, but would still be a little turned on as long as he didn’t stink too bad. He was probably setting the can of Axe back in the locker when he felt something, like a million tiny needles all over his body, and it probably caused him to pause, catch his breath. Deac knelt, finding Joe’s size 14 right shoe turned on his side. It was empty, the right one. Joe’d probably felt dizzy, and when the sensations didn’t abate immediately, he stepped backward, placed one hand on the locker, suddenly realizing that when his foot moved, his sneaker hadn’t! His foot had just slipped effortlessly out of his tightly laced sneaker. Turning around, Deac found the left shoe, with a sock in it, next to Joe’s right sock. He picked up Joe’s right sock and sniffed--MAN did that foot stink! Despite himself, Deac took another sniff before moving on. Joe had probably, at that point, begun to wonder what was going on, his vision switching from focused to unfocused, his mind barely able to comprehend what was happening. My shoes fell off? Hunh? Deac imagined him thinking, his mind not equipped to figure out just what was happening to him. The room probably looked slightly different to him at this point, but Joe probably couldn’t put his finger on it, just that he was suddenly barefoot and he hadn’t planned it. About a foot away from the lockers, Deac found Joe’s gym-shorts. As he picked them up, he found Joe’s blue boxer-briefs still inside. Deac clutched the clothes tightly in his hands and raised them to his face, inhaling the most manly of Joe’s scents, imagining that a portion of Joe’s testosterone had traveled in the sweat from his balls into the fabric, and now Deac was absorbing it into his own body. Deac imagined that after a moment, the tingling sensation had probably begun to grow stronger for Joe, and in a panic, he headed for the door--until his shorts slipped easily off. He probably tried to catch them and hold them up until he found himself stumbling around in the mess. At this point he had probably gathered that the bench was now only a few inches lower than he was tall, and that it was now several more feet across. The room was taking on different proportions to him at this point, too, seeming now more like a spacious gymnasium than a mere locker room. As Joe stood there, trying to figure out why his shorts and boxers wouldn’t stay up, the mesh material probably slipped through his dwindling fingers, and big Joe found himself standing there wearing his cutoff tee like a night-shirt, his arms and necks nowhere near filling the holes they poked out of. Deac walked to the door and yanked up Joe’s XXL workout tee, the sleeves roughly cut off. He held it up, remembering just how huge Joe used to be, his 6’5” hulking form casting an imposing shadow on everyone. Despite his size, Joe had never been a mean guy. He was firm with his opinions, and rarely did people disagree with him, intimidated by his imposing form and his strong, deep voice, but he was generally good-natured and very loyal and honest. Generally, Deac thought, shaking his head. Joe had probably realized, starting to drown in his shirt, that time was a factor, and he started heading for the door as quickly as possible. Deac imagined, for a moment, Joe’s huge, athletic body sprinting desperately, a determined look on his face, as the over-sized looking bright red t-shirt, still soaked with sweat on the sides, grew larger and larger around him. Then, before he ever made it to the door, Joe probably tripped, and suddenly was surrounded in what looked like a collapsing red tent. He probably lay there for awhile, trying to take in the new perspective, covered in red fabric AND lying on red fabric. From the outside, he was just an oddly shaped little bump in the fabric, almost human shaped except way lumpier. Joe probably took a moment, trying to dig this way and that, struggling to find “outside.” Maybe he finally reached the sleeve, recognized the sloppily cut edges as he climbed out, a lump in his throat as he tried to doubt what his eyes were telling him. Then he probably stepped out, looked around. The first thing he probably saw was the door, Deac thought. It was his goal, what he’d been racing for, and he’d made it, but the handle now seemed a thousand feet away. Joe probably stood there, momentarily ashamed to be naked, but overwhelmed by the immenseness of his surroundings. It probably seemed that there was no longer anything his size, everything was huge. Even the tiles on the floor were wider than he was tall. Then, Deac thought, Joe probably made a realization. This world may have looked alien and foreign, completely out of sync with himself now, but it was still the locker room, and it still worked the way it always had. Someone, Joe probably thought, could come in at any moment. Joe probably looked at the door, picturing it swinging into him, smashing him against the wall, the person responsible not even aware that he’d just squashed a little 6’ man. Even worse, Joe probably imagined, would be a single sneaker coming down on him, the owner not expecting a tiny little bodybuilder to be in the way. Joe probably cringed, panicked, and searched for an alternative. Deac returned to the bench and looked down, seeing Joe’s cell phone, open, sitting on his blue towel. Joe probably turned to the bench, seeing his towel, now the size of a football field, hanging some feet above the floor. He probably sprinted to it, his naked shame quickly overwhelmed by his need for survival, and then leapt with all of his might for the hanging blue tendrils. Deac imagined Joe missing the first time, his huge pecs smashing against the hard tile floor, knocking the wind out of him. He probably rolled over, in pain, frustrated, maybe even whimpering a bit, and stared up at the bench above him. Deac pictured Joe backing up again, this time running with twice the fury, leaping up and finally snatching the furry blue fabric, gripping it with all his might. From there, Deac picture, it was all upper-body, hand over hand, as he climbed up the gigantic blue towel, his 6’ inch body causing it to sway back and forth. Any normal man would’ve failed, and even for an immensely strong beast of a man like Joe it was probably a Herculean feat. When he got to the top, Joe probably collapsed, his muscles feeling turned to lead, rolling around in pain and exhaustion, almost blacking out. Then he stood, slowly approaching the goal: his cell phone. It was usually something he kept in his pocket, an almost insignificant weight, but now Joe probably found it to be almost as big as he was. His arms still twitching from his climb up the towel, Deac imagined Joe rubbing his hands together, grabbing on to the cell phone and trying to pry the two halves open. Deac smiled as he put together the scene, his own hand rubbing over the towel where the struggle had probably happened. He pictured Joe’s clenched teeth, his bulging eyes, his face turning red, his neck doubling in thickness and tripling in veininess, his arms pumped to double their size, his whole body shaking and then… it moved, the two halves opened with a loud snap. Again, Joe probably collapsed, exhausted, suddenly shocked, Deac imagined, to find himself resting on keys the size of road signs. He probably, Deac imagined, thought for a moment, wondering who to call. His girlfriend maybe? No, Deac didn’t think Joe would want her to see him like this, a 6 inch man in need of help. The front desk? Perhaps get Derek to come save him? But as Deac looked at the cell phone, which was still on and still left on the number Joe was trying to call, he found the answer: “Walter,” Deac said with a grin, “your best friend. How cute. You almost made it, Joe.” Joe probably got Walter’s number entered and was about to reach for the TALK key, Deac imagined with a grin, when he felt an unbelievable rush in the air, and a huge shadow cast over him, something blotting out all the light. In shock at the sudden eclipse, Joe probably spun around for a moment, seeing an unbelievable mountain of man as Derek reached down to apprehend him. Deac pictured Derek’s sausage fingers wrapping around Joe’s tiny (but still thick, for his size) body, the bulky little appendages failing but not enough to elicit any reaction from his captor. With a deep breath, Deacon turned his attention to the black box. With his thumb and forefinger, he gently gripped the black silk cloth, hesitating slightly. Up until that moment he’d been just imagining things, but he knew that the minute he pulled away that cloth, what existed only in his fantasies would suddenly become reality. With one tug the cloth fell aside, and then he saw it. The black-tinted cube was about a foot on each side, and while it was dark it was still translucent. Inside Deac could see the tiny form, standing there, not moving. Deac picked up the black box and stared into it. His hands against the glass were bigger than the little man inside, and it almost made him smile. He pulled his face close, and saw Joe standing there, naked, shaking. He was probably making up his mind, whether to react with rage or to beg, maybe just terrified at what Deac could possibly be doing there. It was funny, Deac thought, that Joe had all the same parts, all the same size in proportion to one another. His neck was still amazingly thick, his shoulders still broad and heavily muscled, but gazing in at him, they didn’t seem huge, impressive, imposing anymore. Now Joe just looked like a little pet. All of that size and thickness seemed to be neutralized now that he was smaller than Deac’s face. Deac took a look at Joe’s penis, hanging impressively between his legs. He’d always wondered what that had looked like. Deac made eye contact with Joe, took in the beautiful little face, the adorable ears, but the look of despair and anger made it hard to see Joe’s beauty. Deac set the box down and undid the latch at the top. The box was soundproof but not airtight, so Joe could breathe but his insignificant little thoughts would not be heard. Flipping the top open, Deac just stared down at Joe, hands on his hips. Joe craned his neck to take in all of Deac, clenching and unclenching his fists. Then, the little man finally reacted. “You… You did this to me!” he squeaked. Joe’s loud, booming voice had reduced along with his stature. It was pure physics, smaller vocal chords will produce a more slight, higher pitched noise. Every time Deac heard a big meathead open his new tiny mouth, though, it always surprised him. But still, the question troubled him, and Deac had to respond. “Me, Joe?” Deac began. “ME? I did not do this, Joe. You did this to yourself. I’ll never understand why, and I don’t want you to explain. I can guess.” He reached up to the locker and pulled down the picture. “Is this her? The girlfriend you never mention? She’s the cause of this, isn’t she?” Joe stared up, his eyes narrowing, his jaw clenching in pain as he stared at the photo, now a giant billboard above him. “It’s always a girlfriend, Joe,” Deac said, tearing the picture carefully in half, separating the part of Joe from the part with his girl. “If you’d just told me we could’ve worked something out, but what’s done is done.” Deac slowly, cruelly crumpled the torn photo of Joe’s girlfriend into a ball right in front of the tiny man. “And now, just so you know, she’ll never know where you went. You’ll be gone, and she’ll be heartbroken for weeks, maybe months. Every time her phone rings she’ll hope it’s you. She’ll wake up in the middle of the night, thinking you’ve come home to her. But you never ever will and she’ll never know why. She’ll probably blame herself.” Deac tossed the crumpled photo into the garbage. “She’ll find somebody else, though. Maybe Walter will step up into your shoes. Maybe some skinny little asshole who’ll treat her like dirt, cheat on her, slap her around, but she’ll cling to him because she’s too afraid of being left alone like you did to her.” Deac took a look down. Joe had turned away, his legs were trembling, one fist held up against his mouth. “Don’t worry, little Joe, it’s better this way,” said Deac, banging on the top of the box to get Joe’s attention. “She wouldn’t want a six inch man. No woman ever would.” He held Joe’s half of the photo down next to Joe. It was bigger than he was now. Joe stared at it, overwhelmed. He turned away, but Deac reached down and turned him back. That was the first time Deac’s fingers touched Joe’s dense little body. The feel of the solid, meaty, manly flesh being casually manipulated under his fingertips was amazing. It was electric. And he wanted more. But unfortunately, he knew he couldn’t have more. He had a job to do. “I was going to make you the strongest, most powerful man in the world,” Deac said, lifting Joe’s photo out of the box and staring at it, remembering “the old Joe.” “You could’ve had whatever you wanted. Men would’ve trembled in your wake. Women would’ve been unable to resist your commands. It would’ve been amazing, Joe. But you had to listen to some silly little girl. And you’ll regret that mistake for the rest of your life.” Joe had begun crying, although he was trying to hold it back. Deac could tell, even though he wasn’t close, Joe’s eyes had become red, tiny streams of liquid were pouring out of each side, his chest heaving, his dick bobbing with each heave. “Take a look,” Deac said turning the photo back at Joe. “That’s the last image of your smiling face you’ll ever see. You’ll forget it after awhile, forget about your old life. And you’ll just wish for your new life to end.” Or, Deac said, considering an option he didn’t want to present, perhaps Joe would be so perverted and twisted by the ordeal that he’ll be brainwashed into thinking he loves it. That’s a rarity, but it would be interesting to see what kind of Joe that would produce. Deac lifted up the box and Joe stumbled back and forth, trying to maintain his stance. Deac couldn’t help laughing. “Your life’s already different. You used to be the most imposing beast of a man around. Now look at you! Any man could smack you around with just his hands!” To illustrate the point, Deac shook the box vigorously from side to side. Joe went flying from wall to wall like a ping-pong, finally collapsing on the ground. The Mini-Boxes that corporate gave them were designed to be impact-resistant. To Joe, it had felt like he was being slammed into foam rubber. The point, however, was to show the tiny man inside the box his vulnerability without harming him physically, and Deac had done just that. “Good luck, Joe, nice knowing you!” Deac said, setting the box down. He slammed the lid shot and locked the latch. He could see (but couldn’t hear) Joe frantically protesting within. He couldn’t tell if Joe was shouting hurtful obscenities or begging to be restored to normal, but Deac didn’t care. He had so much work to do, it was time to forget all about Joe Parotti and move on with things. He dropped the black silk cloth over the box and headed back out to the ETZ. Derek, seeing Deac carrying the box, grinned. “You have some fun with him?” Derek asked, a dopey grin on his face. Deac just smiled. “Now now, you realize we’ve got a job to do. This little thing’s gotta get couriered to corporate, and we need to take care of a few other things. Derek absentmindedly scratched his bulging pec as he nodded. Deac tried to keep his eyes on Derek’s face. “His car’s all taken care of, it’s gone, no witnesses.” “Great,” Deac said, heading for his office. “Plus, I already talked to Walter with the voice-masker.” Deac paused, turning around. “How’d it go?” “Great,” Derek said, “these new voice-maskers corporate sent work perfectly. He really believed I was Joe! He was pissed, but he bought it. So that’s all taken care of.” Deac held the box under one arm as he dug out his card-key again, swiping it to open his private office. He turned around backwards and pushed the door with his butt to open it, carrying the big black box with both hands. “One thing though,” Derek began, “Walter mentioned something about a girlfriend. There’s no mention on the Red coded info of what to do with any girlfriend. I’ve got Walter, his mom, his landlord…” “Forget about it,” Deac said, just shaking his head with a smile. “I found out about the girlfriend too, but let’s just leave her in the dark on this, okay?” Derek shook his head for a moment. “Poor Joe, hunh?” Deac exhaled loudly through his nostrils. “No, Derek, NOT 'poor Joe.' He made his decision, and it was the wrong one, and now that’s over. In reality, my big associate, we should be saying, ‘Poor us,’ because we’ve got a lot of work to do tonight, and in the next week to make up for Joe’s absence.” “Are we gonna change the plan?” Derek asked. Deac stopped, then shook his head. “The plan’s going to continue exactly as it would’ve, period. Leave the rest to me, just keep doing what we’re doing, understood?” Derek nodded. Deac smiled, backed into his office with his prize and let the door slam shut behind him. *end of introduction*
Airon best pec worship
Chris Bumstead's Progress Thoughout the Years
At last, I have received my steroids