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.