Bro! I didn’t know you work out at Muscle Mountain. How’ve you been? You look… frail. Are you getting enough protein, bro? Judging by those deflated deltoids, I’m gonna go ahead and say no, bro.
Stop calling you “bro,” bro? Sorry, that’s a no-go, bro.
You want to get at least a gram of protein per pound of body weight. For me, that’s exactly 243.2 g per day, as of this morning’s full-nude weigh-in in the men's locker room. What, you don’t believe I weigh 243.2 pounds? Keep in mind a pound of muscle is twice as heavy as a pound of fat. It’s basic science, bro.
How many grams of protein do you consume each day? What do you mean you don’t know? Don’t you count your macros, bro? No, not your macaroons. Please tell me you’re not putting that high-carb crap in your protein trap.
If you want, I can hook you up with my protein guy. He’s got a solid connect on some primo imported isolate. We’re talking 100% pure New Zealand Whey. I just snorted some off the 70-pound dumbbell I keep in my backpack for on-the-go full-body workouts. You want a pump bump? No? Well then back up a sec while I rip off a few goblet squats.
Oops, got your foot on the dumb drop. Walk it off.
Please tell me you at least have a feeding window, bro. No, I’m not talking about the Arby’s drive-thru. I’m talking about fasting. Yes, exactly like Gandhi, except instead of refraining from eating for days on end to protest the British government's unjust decision to separate India’s electoral system by caste, I do it to get these killer obliques. See? They’re all ripply and stuff.
I’m even thinking of having a protein IV put in during bulking season so I can administer protein powder straight into my veins throughout the day to ensure optimal muscular hypertrophy. My doctor says it’ll kill me, but that scrawny nerd wouldn’t know a Bulgarian split squat from a Romanian deadlift.
Seriously, bro, you look like you’re about to pass out. Here, have a pocket egg. Don’t worry, I’ve got a full carton of these hard-boiled bad boys stowed on my person, which isn’t easy when you’re sporting skintight spandex. And no that is not a third testicle, in case you’re wondering.
Not interested in a sweat-soaked boiler? Suit yourself. Breast pocket chicken breast? No? How about some loose tuna in a Ziploc bag? It’s a great source of lean marine protein and Omega-3. Plus people love that rich fishy smell when I take it out in public. So much so that they often yell at me to put it away because it’s making them so hungry.
How often are you hitting the weights, anyway? Two times a day? That’s sick, bro, but remember to give your body time to recover. Wait, two times a week? How are you even still alive? Your muscles must be wasting away. No wonder you look like Christian Bale in The Machinist, when what you want to strive for is Christian Bale in Batman, even if it makes you feel like Christian Bale at the end of American Psycho. But it’s all worth it to get these killer bicep peaks. Check this out. You need an oxygen tank to scale this shit.
Look, if you want people to start taking you seriously, you have got to pack on the muscle. Bis, tris, lats, traps, and all the others. Before I was built like a brick shithouse, no one would give me the time of day. Now they avoid me because I look like a henchman in an ’80s action film.
Don’t worry, I was just like you when I first started my bodybuilding journey. Weak, pale, dressed pec to toe in non-moisture-wicking attire. But then I started drinking five protein shakes a day and my life hasn’t been the same since. For example, my teeth get so little use that I don’t even have to brush them anymore. I just rub a little whey on my gums and call it a day.
Sure you don’t want a pump bump? Suit yourself. Time to rip out a few more gobbie squats. Watch your toes, bro. I’m going for a PR!