Ladies and Gentlemen,
The other day, at the gym, I was in the locker room with my chauffeur/training assistant/security advisor, Nobby, getting in some injections post-workout. Using 10cc, 23 gauge needles, Nobby gave me a 8cc shot of test in each buttock, then I injected 5cc of decca into my traps, and, running out of places to inject (the quads and shoulders had taken their share a couple of days previously) I decided to get a couple of cc's into my hand- in the muscle between the thumb and first finger. Just as I was drawing some tren, in walked another gym member. Used syringes, amps, vials, bloodied cotton swabs, an empty bottle of rubbing alcohol, syringe wrappers, etc., littered the changeroom floor as Nobby had done his round of injections before me, and the litter was considerable. This ignorant fellow comes in, a 40ish, pony-tailed, spandex wearing 'here-to-get-toned' wanker and, as he steps over the sea of amps, proceeds to look scornfully, and worriedly, at Nobby and I. "Tsk tsk tsk!" he hissed.
"What, may I ask, are YOU looking at?" I inquired.
"Fookin bahstahd!" Nobby snarled in his thick, working class London accent.
"Perhaps you, sir, could use a a bit of testosterone yourself, you scrawny fucking wanker!" I cried. Nobby quickly drew 10cc from a bottle of test prop, and, taking his trusted motorbike chain out of our training dufflebag, crept up behind the man and in an instant had his bike chain around the man's throat. With his other hand, he rammed the syringe into the man's arse- right through his spandex- and in a second had injected the entire 10cc of test prop into the man's right buttock. Thankless for the help Nobby was simply trying to provide, he then ran screaming from the changeroom- the empty syringe still sticking out of his arse! He didn't even bother to thank Nobby for the free gear.
We sat in the changeroom laughing heartily. Suddenly, in stormed the manager. "This is totally unacceptable! You are banned!" he screamed. Barely were the last syllables out of his mouth when Nobby seized him, held him upside down, carried him to the washroom, shoved his head in the toilet and flushed repeatedly. Then he carried him to the gym floor and flung him out the front door. Packing our things, we stormed out! As we left the gym, throwing open the front double glass doors with such force that they swung rignt into the wall and shattered, we stopped to flip over the manager's car! That bastard!
What on earth ever happened to a man's privacy, brothers?
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