Articles

Ripped. Shredded. Sliced and diced. That all out, freaky tissue paper-thin skin so dry that the veins in your body look like a road map.

In the matter of “The World vs. Machine”, a verdict has been reached. The members of the World Court find you, Machine, guilty of being a rabid individualist.

It is a regimented life we lead. It takes discipline, consistency, planning and patience to squeeze every last fucking drop of potential from the genes Mom and Pop threw our way.

Bodybuilders are the hardest working athletes in the world. Point blank. No athletic pursuit in this world requires a comparable sort of single-minded focus.

The unmotivated. The weak. The ones that always have an excuse for why they have not yet reached their goals. You know the type of person I’m talking about.

I am on top of the world. Why? I will tell you in a second. In a previous article I wrote, “Fuck Everything Else,” I talked about there being no better feeling in the world then that of accomplishing a goal that you set for yourself.