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@jockboy12xxx
Admit it, if you follow this blog it's because you wanna do that don't u ?
As a computer engineering student Tim was responsible for conducting experiments on new AI platforms and prompts.
When his advisor asked him to look into a new black web platform called "JockD" he was a little skeptical, but started work anyway.
Two days later, a missing persons report was filed for Tim. No one had seen him since he started his work early that morning. But T'Dog, the new campus muscle thug had shown up. No use asking him any computer questions though, all he knows is how to lift and fuck.
Anyone want to do this to me?
My neighbor went from "boy-next-door" to "The Beast Next-Door" in record time!
Probably because you've been lacing that free coffee you give him with high levels of HGH, Test, and Tren.
Fratification
Daniel was quiet, well-mannered, and stuck out like a sore thumb among his rowdy fraternity brothers. It's not like joining a frat was his decision; his father forced him to uphold family tradition. He tried adjusting, but it was impossible. The frat life just wasn't him, especially as the only gay guy. However, right before depledging, his fraternity brothers were able to successfully "change" his mind at the last second.
When the frat realized how hard it was for Daniel to adapt to their way of life, they knew he needed a little fine-tuning. After successfully pressuring a few beers into him, weakening his resistance, a few brothers used their infamous hypno skills on his newly mushed mind. They spent hours of what could have been spent on partying assimilating his mind and personality to theirs, so it totally was their good deed of the day! From that permanent conversion on, Daniel was interchangeable with any of the loud, cocky, and insanely wild frat bros.
The new and improved Daniel, "Danny-boy," is dumb as a rock, an aggressive pussyhound, and extremely obnoxious with his belchesâproudly coining himself "the belch king!"
Get Bricked
You didnât believe him when he first approached you in the gym. You thought heâd misspoken. Most of the guy in the gym did, actually, and Marcus was the biggest of the bunch.
âLet me help you,â heâd said. âWork with me, and by the time Iâm done with you, youâll really be bricked.â
âUh, donât you mean ripped?â youâd asked.
Marcus just smiled as he motioned to the weight bench.
It came in little stages. A few reps here, a bit of cardio there. And all the while, Marcus would babble on about his work routine, his diets, the focus it required, the diligence, the ability to be absolutely unyielding in every respect. It got kinda repetitive, so you just sort of grunted and filtered it out as you worked.
For a time, things were pretty cool. Your grades were up, your concentration was better than it had ever been before. Youâd learned how to filter out things you didnât want to listen to or focus on, thanks to all that practice with Marcus in the first place. And it goes without saying that your body was toning nicely. Things were pretty great.
Then he suggested you spend more time in the gym.
And before you knew it, youâd already grunted and nodded along like you always do. His grin was massive, and the workout that day particularly vicious. Your arms felt like they wanted to fall off. You were so tired that night, you didnât even want to so much as think about your homework.
So you didnât.
It was the first time you deliberately chose not to work on an assignment you knew was going to be due the next day. It wouldnât be the last.
The workouts were killers, but you couldnât help but smile weakly at Marcus when youâd managed to push through another plateau. The guy was just so enthusiastic and charismatic. Heâd flex whenever he got really excited. You couldnât help but wonder if the muscle was part of it all in the first place. Could it really be that simple to gain such confidence?
âŠ
It had been so embarrassing the first time he caught you posing in the locker room mirrors. But then he just chuckled and popped a little flex of his own.
âLike this, bro,â heâd said. You spent the next half hour practicing poses in the mirror. The way the light reflected off his skin, the ripple of the raw muscle beneath the flesh, the way the veins accented the primary locations. It was almost a form of poetry.
You practiced those poses every day from then on at home in your closet mirror.
Then came the party. Marcus insisted you attend at his place for a premier football game, just a close gathering, some of the guys hanging out. You were flattered, but you hardly felt prepared for that sort of thing. Sports had never really been your forte. But Marcus insisted. Time and place.
It was inevitable for you to follow.
Youâre still not exactly sure what happened that night. Things are sort of hazy. You arrived on time, but none of the other guys from the gym were there yet. Marcus just chuckled and said theyâd be along soon. Then he wrapped his huge arm around your shoulders and led you to the huge leather couch in front of a gigantic flat screen TV.
One minute you were watching the screen. The next, you were standing at the door with your iphone in hand and the rest of the gym goers smacking you on the back.
âI want you to listen to those tunes, bro,â Marcus said seriously. âNo skimping out. Every day for your warmups, every night when you sleep. Got it?â
You nodded numbly. And for some odd reason, you chose to run home that night, rather than calling a cab.
It got a lot easier to understand the guys at the gym after that. It didnât take all that much, really. You just had to do a little research on football and some of the other sports they liked. If you didnât know about something, youâd ask one of them, and theyâd be able to explain it in perfect detail. You were shocked. The guys werenât dumb. They just specialized. Tony was football, Mikey weights, Alphy diet and nutrition. They became your gurus, all while Marcus continued to push your limits with his routines.
You nearly threw it all away when you got your report card at the end of the year, though. C in almost every course. That wasnât like you. How were you supposed to get into college like this? It hurt to go and tell the news to Marcus, but you knew you had to.
Then came that hazy period again. Youâre not sure what was said. All you knew was you needed to keep going. The gym made you happy now, surprisingly enough. And the guys, well ⊠youâd become sort of like a unit. You couldnât picture doing anything without them around anymore.
You got yourself a tutor, and he helped you to pass. You didnât like that your GPA had dropped so much, but it was better than before.
You hardly pay attention to the teachers now, though. Itâs all just so ⊠boring for you. Youâd pass the time by doing mini-flexes and running through some of the games youâd caught the other night in your head.
You still remember the first time you chuckled. It had been so easy. It just sort of burst out of you like a belch. You flexed. You chuckled. You flexed. You chuckled. You flexedâŠ.
Most of your games moldered in the dust now. Madden, EA Games, sports, those all were used well enough. After all, you had to have something to play with your bros from time to time.
Then they finally invited you here, to this place. The rough stone blocks behind you were a light dull gray. Daylight streamed over it, highlighting the muscles that now stood out from your sleeveless shirt.
The response was automatic. You raised your arms and flexed. You admired the light as it played across the flesh, casting it shadows that flowed over the curves and bends like a work of art.
You smirked.
You sneered.
You were a muscle god, and you liked it that way.
School? Screw it.
D&D? Bro, you were living that dream. No need to play a barbarian with these guns.
Your future? ⊠Why think about it? Your future was here with your bros.
Class? ⊠Class made your head hurt. Whatever. If you pass, thatâs all that mattered. You couldnât get banned from the gym. Sâwhere you and the bros hung out.
You stare into Marcusâ face as he grins triumphantly at you.
âSo, how does it feel to be bricked?â
The words flow out of you as easily as if youâd been cursing your whole life. âHuhuh. Fucking sweet, bro.â
And it was. The gym is your life now. The gym and your bros. And you wouldnât have it any other way.
The graduate student was a semester away from finishing his PhD in micro biology when it was discovered he had failed to complete his required freshman level PE course.
No need to worry though, there was a last minute opening in weightlifting 101. Sure, it was designed for dudes that wanted to gain some muscle mass, but he felt the class would be easy for him to skim through. Like, how hard can it be to add some plate numbers together?
Three years later he is still lifting. Though now, his priorities are a little different. The only PhD he finished was some pretty heavy deadlifts. And college is just a foggy memory. All that matters after completing the class was lifting, growing, and broing out.
Don't worry though. He enjoys it. So much that whenever someone asks him if he misses the old him he just laughs and flexes. Who would ever kiss brains with muscles like these?
Spread the Dumb Himbo Propaganda
Dumb Himbos have one real job: show off and act retarded. Thatâs it. Thatâs the whole assignment. You didnât get all that muscle just to keep it to yourself. You didnât spend all those hours in the gym so you could be a quiet, respectful, normal guy. No, bro. You built that body to be stared at. You built that empty head so you could let everyone watch it work in real time. Show off. Wear the tiny shirts. Flex in the mirror at the gym like you forgot anyone else exists. Take the mirror selfies with your tongue out and your eyes half-lidded. Post the videos where you âtryâ to count your reps and lose track at three. Act dumb. Act really dumb. Act retarded on purpose. Because every time you giggle at nothing, every time you forget what you were saying mid-sentence, every time you just stare blankly with that handsome, vacant little smile⊠youâre doing the work. Youâre spreading it. Youâre making it look good. Youâre making it look easy. Youâre making it look hot. Smart guys see you and something in their brain short-circuits. They start wondering what it would feel like to stop thinking so hard. They start wanting to be a little dumber too. They start wanting to be like you. Thatâs how the agenda grows. Not with arguments. Not with essays. With big, dumb, pretty boys who canât stop showing off how stupid and happy they are. So go be visible, bro. Be loud. Be empty. Be the drooling, flexing, brainless proof that giving up your thoughts feels better than anything smart people can offer. The dumber you act, the more you recruit. The more you show off, the more the agenda spreads. Now go make everyone a little dumber today. đȘđ”âđ«
Ive been looking for my college roommate for a few months now.
He disappeared after checking out this sketchy gym near campus he won a free training session at. Literally went to visit and never came back.
I recently found this photograph of a guy who looks a lot like him. But my roommate was a skinny nerd. No where near this size. So I know it's not him.
If you have any information, please let me know.
Glasses
Sometimes he likes to make you put back on your glasses. Normally, he likes it when you have to squint to see. He says it makes you look like a total dumbass. After you put on the glasses he tells you to look in the mirror. The glasses are the only thing left of the old you. He wants to see if you can recognize yourself. You never can. After a few minutes you always forget why you're standing in front of the mirror. That's when you begin to flex those big roid muscles of yours. That's his favorite part. He loves seeing how far you've fallen. How much of a big fucking idiot you are now. Don't worry about it though. It would be pretty hard for anyone to recognize you now. Even he can barely see the resemblance anymore. All anyone sees when they look at you now is a big dumb roided muscle bull. But to be honest, I think your a little too enthralled with your arm to be worried about that. As a matter of fact to be worried about anything at all, meathead.
đđđŠ Roided Gorilla đŠđđ
He's everything I strive for.
Reblog IF You Agree đŻ
Listen, i don't really know what's going on, but something weird has been happening.
Like ever since I put on this necklace, things happen.
I can't stop working out bro. Lifting is so fun. And uhh, my muscles are getting so swole.
And like, bro, I wanna show them off so much. So I wear clothes like this bro. Flexing and shit.
And uhhh my brain man. So hard to uhh think.
No. I'm not complaining hahaha. It's too fun to do that.
Bro, don't you wanna be like us.
Muscled out cops?
If you do, smoke this.
You won't ever be the same again.
Itz gotta be a real jockboy
All he could do is point, but his brain was trying to figure out how that single beer had done this to him.
Taken him from an honors chemistry student to a dude that could only do gym math.
From a boy with high IQ to a jacked bro with a smooth brain.
He wouldn't point long though. Even that curious thought would disappear. As the bro realized how much fun this life was.