Welcome back, losers, weaklings, and cowards of all walks of life. Ah, the new year, where sad fatbodies like you make impotent resolutions to finally be able to see your genitals, so you stumble first into a planet fitness for a spell, and when that doesn’t work you stumble onto my blog. Well folks, it may be that this time your failures in life just have to wait, because for the first time in my life, instead of just saying it so you feel bad, it looks like I actually have a bigger problem. I’ve gone and made a sworn enemy at long last. It’s unfortunate, but not surprising and frankly unavoidable when you’re living your life in peak physical condition and total mental clarity, like I do.
So it’s like this. My overrated roommate Connor and I got to talking again, which always puts me at edge anyway since his mindless chatter often goes on long enough to dig into my otherwise strict training regimen. I guess in between one of my patented “Lean Get-Ups” (in which you put on a film by David Lean and hold a get-up until that film is over; I prefer The Bridge on the River Kwai as a movie aesthetically, but Dr. Zhivago has a longer runtime so it’s better for my workout), he mentioned I was behind a week or so on rent and I told him I charged it and there must be something wrong with my card and then he said he didn’t believe me and I have a toxic personality and it’s a drag living with me, all nonsense of course so I didn’t really listen to it well enough for an accurate report of what was said, but the upshot is I finally challenged him to a fight. A full-on, anything-goes, nothing-barred fight (or that’s just me anyway, he insisted we fight in his asinine mixed-martial-arts style, so there might as well be no rules), a fight that goes on until one of us taps out, or dies. I’m not a monster though, so of course I’ll give him every chance to tap out.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. As you can imagine, I’m going to have to put my personal training into overdrive for this match, and push myself physically and mentally like I never have before. While as you know by now I can handle some intense physical exertion, this also means I’m going to have to really change my diet to make it work for me as well. Which now brings me to the latest installment of The Pood and You: high-protein-intake with a goddamn pood and a goddamn half.
I’m sure you know by now that the body gains muscle mass first by destroying muscle cells by high-intensity weight-resistance training, and then rebuilds those formerly-weak muscle cells into their full potential, bigger and stronger than they ever thought was possible. It’s almost like one of you so-called men out there, resolving around the new year to maybe not have tits bigger than their wives have, reading and actually taking my advice. Almost, though. Not a whole lot I can do for a man who lets himself go into full-tit territory, to be blunt.
Anyway, that’s exactly what we’re going to do here, but if you know Max-amillion by now, you know that I take it to the next level. For the upcoming triple-C event (“Conquer Conner Challenge”), I’ve decided to ingest 4 cups of protein powder a day, mixed with equal parts overnight oats, you know, for carbs or whatever. I have prepared a daily bowl of Max’s slightly-illegal protein weighing in at a total of 7,000 calories a day, with 400 grams of protein. I usually eat about a cup to start out, then work out for an hour, then rinse and repeat for the rest of the day.
You’re no doubt wondering now how I came up with numbers like that. I get my protein powder from a vendor off the dark web, and I’m contractually not allowed to tell you where. I also can’t say exactly what’s in it, but I will say it’s a potent combination of more or less beef, chicken, pig, pig snout, pig hooves, cow hooves, cow tail, cow liver, chicken feet, chicken beaks, chicken eggs, pig placenta, pig ribs, cow bones, wishbones, chicken bones, and crickets.
Of course you already know I’m a major proponent of pre-workout calisthenics, so we’re going to start by making my muscles limber enough for the grueling workout that’s coming to them. Remember, you’re starting out with about 8 cups of this stuff, and you eat a cup after an hour of straight exercise each, without stopping, all before sundown. Now I know what you’re going to ask, mostly because quite a few completely ignorant and probably still morbidly obese cowards have anonymously chided me through email that my daily routine is somehow “unrealistic”, or even more absurd, “completely faked and made up by me.”
Do I really do this stuff every day? Yes, I’ve done this before and yes, I’m going to do it every day. How else would I achieve the renaissance-level immaculate body that you see on my blog every day? I’ve even heard of some Russian strongmen bear-wrestlers who eat up to 10,000 calories a day and 800 grams of protein. I don’t take it that far, however, number one because I’m still not Russian (not yet anyway), and number two, because I realize it’s important to know your own limitations and not over-exert yourself. Let’s worry about beating Conner into a bloody pulp before I start picking fights with bears. As for the rest of you, don’t go crazy, start out with 7,000 calories and 400 g of protein a day, and you’ll be just fine.
I should also probably remind you that you’re only eating your protein powder and overnight oats, that’s it. No flavorings or spices. No sugar, syrup, juices, salt, or chopped up banana or açaí berries or anything else you might be tempted to add. Anything else that goes in Max-amillion’s patented slightly-illegal protein powder and oats concoction is potential extra pounds of flab, and ultimately not my responsibility. All those big buff dudes you see at the gym or the beach spend a long amount of time getting to that condition, but we only have a few days to maybe a couple weeks before I kick Conner’s ass, so I have to do what they do in a highly-concentrated manner for a shorter amount of time.
Remember, you came to me because you went to those other gyms and other fitness websites, and they told you you’re going to have to devote months, or even years of hard work to a routine to get the results you’re looking for. You heard that, and said to yourself, I don’t have time for that, and then you found out that I don’t either. Truth be told I don’t really have time for you, but if there are some pearls I accidentally cast off to you fat swine as I chisel my own body into top condition while completely ignoring you, I suppose I can’t stop you there.
Russian twists are, of course, usually suggested on fitness websites for a female workout routine, and of course I will always reject anything made for women when it comes to my own fitness (look, it’s really not a sexism thing this time. I just wasn’t born with ovaries and a uterus, no matter how much others may wish it were not so, and anyway I’m reaching for heights with my body that go far beyond having adequate hips for child-rearing). This is the one time, however, that I have to agree with the effectiveness of my old friends the Russians. An hour-long set of Russian twists, like most things from Russia, will do wonders for your core, abs, back, and legs, and being blamed for other people’s weaknesses via wild and unsubstantiated conspiracy theories, not that I’d know anything about that, ladies I may have dated long ago and who may be reading my blog now. Why don’t you knit another pink cap and maybe I’ll let you latch your remora jaws on my flesh again, since it worked so well for you the last time you got mad when I had better things to do than go march outside in freezing January weather for a cause that biologically doesn’t concern me Jennifer.
Another hour of always-reliable planks, followed once again by… oh… excuse me…
If you’re trying this at home for the first time, you’re probably going to vomit out the protein you ingest after every set. Just like how in weight training you eventually get used to lifting more after repetition, the only way to improve, and ultimately transcend, your limitations is by repetition. Remember, now matter what comes out, it has to go back in. If you puke out your protein after every set your body can’t use it. You’ll get used to the taste too, it’s just stomach acid, which is already in your stomach anyway, intermingled with what you were already going to put in your stomach anyway.
I have to say I’m impressed with myself. Usually it happens the after he third mouthful or so, and this time I got all the way up to this point. New year, new me!
Alright, we’re just about ready to do another great “Lean Get-Up.” Lawrence of Arabia is on the TV, I’ve got my pood and a half of iron beside me, here goes.
I’m feeling very good about this workout, to be honest. If I improve my Lawrence time significantly enough this year, then who knows? Maybe I’ll even have no need for the Lean Get-Up. Have any of you ever heard of Shoah? I’ve never now seen it and I don’t know what it’s about, but damn the thing’s supposed to be like nine and a half hours long. Just imagine what nine and a half hours can do for my gains—
Don’t worry about me. After the second or third time the stuff gets recycled through my system it actually starts to develop hallucinatory properties. Sometimes I just gotta ride it out. I know it’s not all going to waste, but I also can’t really say how. After the fifth or six set I just black out, and then the next day the bowl of oats and protein is gone. It must mean that I still do the reps and ingest the nutrients necessary to still meet my goals. No, I’m not the one who has to change my habits. It’s everyone else who has to keep up my pace.
It looks like another fever dream is coming, and I pretty much already went through everything you need to do, so I’ll leave you to it. I can see it now, we’re fighting in a meat packing plant, I’m pounding through huge shanks of cow and pig tying to fell my hated roommate with one blow. His fancy footwork and deep knowledge of up-close grappling are rendered useless by the chaotic terrain and my girth.
I slam my fist through what seems like the millionth heap of hanging blood and flesh and hit home my target. My fist goes through the unlucky animal and lands a blow right on Conner’s sternum, knocking him on his back and stopping his heart instantly. The common men working the meat factory rise to their feet and cheer in a single deafening din. Others, impressed by my victory with a single blow I achieved like a hunter who shoots a deer in the heart and comes home with a beautifully-intact carcass to show for it, cradle the lifeless meat of Conner and prepare a surprise for me.
I’m wined and dined by the elites of the city, and the feast they serve me is Conner himself, roasted and served on a platter with an apple in his mouth. Street urchins and filthy waifs press their noses and rosy cheeks up to the window as I take in the trophy of my victory, and I can almost hear them wishing in their little hearts… “Such a plump suckling pig! And it being Christmas and all, I’m sure he could spare just a little… I mean no one could possibly eat that much in one sitting…” First of all, it’s New Years, you idiot Dickensian children, so I don’t have to be charitable to anyone right now. New Year, new me. And second of all, of course I can eat this roast pig in one sitting! How do you think I got to this point, if not by ingesting pounds and pounds of illegal protein and overnight oats every day? I’ve eaten probably three whole animals a day by my calculation, and I’ll gladly eat one more right now, I shout to no one in particular as I snap off a drumstick, shove it down my gullet like a sword swallower at a circus, and pull out a single bone licked clean of all the juicy savory meat.
Anyway. Keep your eyes peeled, readers. Next time you hear from me, Conner and I are going to have words.
*EDIT: Also please do not email me criticizing my fever dreams. Yes, I know that lately I’ve been dreaming a lot about killing Conner and actually eating him, and NO IT IS NOT A SEXUAL THING. I am not gay, I repeat I am extremely not gay, and furthermore I can’t control what happens in my dreams, that’s why they’re dreams people! Once again, anyone who wastes my time with useless and malicious attacks on my subconscious will be blocked and reported.