Stupid Computers

Fuck me. Me? No, fuck you. Yeah, fuck you. I've been hitting the gym harder than ever and don't have anything to show for it because I haven't been logging the growth of these fucking logs you plebs call arms.

Alright, back on the google sheets. Computer's don't get me. I walk into the gym like Hogan used to enter a wrestling ring, except now he enters court rooms, meanwhile the computer just sits there all *beep boop* and doesn't get that sometime the pump is so intense I don't think about writing my results in. Yeah, I have wifi. Yeah, I have my phone on me. No, I don't write my shit in sometimes.

Am I still going to the gym? Is that even a fucking question, bro? I'm four days a week now. Updated a little bit for the sake of ease:

• Chest and abs
• Arms and legs
• Back and shoulders
• A dynamic ab and bodyweight workout

I'm no bitch, but that fourth day is killer, despite not going anywhere near the gym's meat and potatoes: The barbells and dumbells. I figure I'm the hugest thing in there so boom, might as well be lifting something huge. 

Shoulder Update: Still really good. Last week I was pretty sure I fucked something up in there but it turned out I just had an awesome fucking workout.

Let's fucking go.

Gains are gaining

Gains are gaining. I'm feeling good about my body. Too much drinking though. Lots of baseball left. I'm finding myself interested in the gym at weird times in my life. If I overnap during the day I make up for it by going to the gym at 4a. Beast. Fucking. Mode. My traps are getting some definition. I no longer look like I spend every waking day in front of a fucking computer. I do, but by the end of my transformation into my primitive counterparts wandering the Savannah, nobody will know otherwise. I reached a point where I need to increase my time at the gym to fatigue my muscles enough. I don't burn out or get sore after two exercises per muscle or muscle group. Instead, three is minimum. This is good, this is on track, this is progress.

Chest Night

I've got the fucking pump. It's a good feeling. Feels good. I'm no bitch, but the AC broke yesterday and completely fucked my sleep cycle. This thermonuclear reactor of a body needs 9 hours in frozen tundra based conditions or I melt down like fucking chernoble and that one place in Japan that nobody fucking cares about because its Japan. So I figured if I'm going to not sleep and get hot then fuck it, to the gym. Not the watch TV, not to dick around on the internet. My first response to not having anything today was a fucking chest day! Let's fuck go!

3:30a - Doing nothing, can't sleep.
4:30a - Fucking shit up with a hard chest day\night at the gym.

Gains. Lots of gains. In just one week I've coaxed my muscles out of hiberfuckingnation and gave them an ultifuckingmatum: Get on board with this train without rails or tuck and roll shitlord.

Boosted my flat bench press from 30 to 40 at 3x8. My left arm, AKA: vagina, powered through that shit like I power through Yogurtology after a 1000 cal meal. Also, after basically hammering the bench like a monkey open hand slaps things to open them, I figured out how to decline the stupid thing. Seriously, that was fucking hard to figure out. I've reclined chairs easier at the fucking pool, and those aren't fucking easy!

Oh, and maybe your pussy was dripping so much it got all over your computer screen and you failed to notice the sheets link at the top to see my progress in data form. So yeah, it's there. Once I learn how to make graphs you'll see my gains skyrocket in visual form in the same fashion as my half chub inclines when choosing my pre-workout flavor. I'm using google sheets because I'm pretty sure that little pussy Bill Gates has direct access to microsoft's shit and I don't want him putting his little nose where it doesn't fucking belong. Hear that Bill? You can fuck right off.

Out.

Week Summary

I'm no bitch, but my body is a fucking temple. Unfortunately, pussy ass Jesus came in and flipped some fucking tables talking his shit. I need to clean this temple the fuck up.

This week can be summed up nicely: I fucking crushed it. My body feels sore like there are little surgeons running around inside near my muscles trying to stitch up my tore up shit. My posture is already better because of my P90 Ab Ripper X shit and my Lat work, and I'm getting cardio in because I need to turn this fat tire into a cock ring. Don't look into that shit too much, you'll blow your mind.

My weight is low, but I'm sore, so you can fuck right off. And I know what you are thinking, two days of soccer is going to rape my gains. Hold on, bro. I'm not at god mode stage just yet. I have some cutting to do and I'll be god damned if I'm going to step foot on that treadmill when the good lord give us good days outside. I'm no bitch, but the outdoors are fucking dope.

Here's my routine for you gym nerds:

1. Chest
2. Arms
3. Shoulders and Core
4. Legs

Stop. Just fucking stop. You're already fucking judging me now that I gave you some meat with the potatoes of these posts. Fuck right off, I'm no bitch, this is how I'm doing this shit. It's better for me so I can give my left shoulder\arm a break and not go too hard with it. Fuck, you're still judging. I can feel it. Fuck off.

Out.

Class is in fucking session.

First off, I'm no bitch. My shoulder needs to fucking rehab because my left arm is still doing 10 to 15 percent less weight than my right. It's as if I locked myself in a room with vegetable oil (extra virgin, of fucking course) with the entire spank bank of The Fappening, and forgot to switch hit sometimes for eleven fucking months. Fuck that. Time to square up.

I'm no bitch, but I'm also no pro, so I'm going to let my body naturally come to its fucking senses and equalize across the lateral boundaries of my temple. That said, I'm just not going to go up in weight until both sides of my body are ready for it. I know what the right side of my body is fucking doing right now. It's looking at my left, calling it a bitch, trying to motivate it with insults and pussy jokes, and its pissed it has to wait. Meanwhile, my head, which is the middle, both of them, are like fuck, we know what you are thinking right side, but you need to chill the fuck out. Then it starts to talk about weakest link bullshit and my right side cuts it off by donkey punching it in the side of the fucking face.

I'm off track. No I'm not, because this train doesn't fucking ride on rails. Rails can't hold me. Beat mode is fucking coming.

Like a Phoenix, but way more dope.

I'm no bitch, but it got real fucking real when my gorgeous hot supermodel girlfriend said yes to being my wife. Church. So I was slipping a bit after my gnarly fucking shoulder surgery that I got because I play sports with a fucking passion that burns hotter than calories at spin class. That said, the time came to nut the fuck up and get my ass back in the gym. Church x 2.

My body was a temple turned to rubble after a few short months of being a complete pussy. No more. Like Michelangelo, I'm taking this pile of fucking granite and turning it into The Statue of David, complete with massive hands and ionic chiseled pillar tops for pubes. Until the big night of course, when I shave my body smoother than Phelps, lube my whole frame up with baby oil, put on the plastic sheets in the honeymoon suite to avoid the fees of wrecking the linens, and go to pound town. Church x 3.

More to come.

Fucking test post.

They dont put a fucking test post so I have to make up some shit like I'm fucking shakeweightspeare.