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ITRC: Secret Sauce

How to Get Your Muscle Growth Soaring, Your Skin Saran Wrap Tight, Your Veins Bulging and Your Muscle Separation Looking Like You Were Hacked Up With a Razor-Sharp Machete.

he guy who sold me the vial of little blue Dianabol pills made them sound more potent than Jack’s magic beans. Awesome size. Freaky strength. Energy out the yin-yang. He wasn’t just whistlin’ ‘Dixie.’ Once I put them into my supplement mix, I grew like a fairy-tale beanstalk’almost overnight. I’d been lifting for years and had never felt anything like the full-flush sensation of synthetic hormones rushing through my veins. I was turning into Godzilla! My traps were bulging up next to my ears, my arms were ripping out of my shirts, and I could see the raw power in my forearms crackle every time I made a fist. That’s the kind of shit that makes bodybuilders’ mouths salivate more than a juicy steak served on a beautiful fitness babe’s bare-naked booty.

My strength was outrageous too. Through the friggin’ roof! When I saw some guy’s four-wheeler stuck in a muddy irrigation ditch, I pulled over, jumped out of my truck like Superman and turned into a human jack. With the guy’s girlfriend standing by, her eyes wide with excitement, I lifted the rear end as he gunned it out of the hole. I almost ripped my arms off, and I smelled like a walking sewer afterward, but I got him out’me, one two-by-four and my juiced physique. I also got a date with the girlfriend. She asked for my number while four-wheelin’ Johnny was checking for damage, and then she called me a few days later. We went out and had a hell of a time’me, her and my juiced sex drive. Let’s face it, steroids work’in more ways than one.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m no drug addict. That was my first and last steroid cycle because they became illegal a year later. (No way do I want to get thrown in the Big House. Hell, with my firm glutes I’d be some King Kong convict’s number-one butt boy.) Besides, steroids are powerful drugs with side effects’pissing blood is some scary shit’so these days my eyes are always wide open, looking for a safe, legal edge that will reproduce the Dianabol buzz that’s etched in my memory, and I think I’ve found one that’s pretty damn close. I can’t believe how it’s jacked up my size and strength. Even the monster I train with is freaking.

His name is Bernie, and he’s one big drug-free mother’strong as a gorilla on crank, and abs carved like giant cubes of granite. He’s ornery too. I remember the time he secretly attached one end of a dog leash to my bumper and the other end to a road-killed carcass, so when I took off, the rotting four-legged corpse started bouncing around behind my car. Everyone who saw it thought I’d dragged my pet pit bull to a horrible death. Yeah, Bernie can be a riot’if you’re into cruel humiliation. Imagine this barbarian pissed, which he was, at me, after only three weeks of an eight-week cycle on my new supplement find.

Check it out. With Lurch standing by, his friggin’ jaw on the floor, I squatted 500 pounds for six deep reps, and the next day my bench hit an all-time high. People at my gym kept walking up to us, saying how my arms and back were looking fuller and freakier than ever. Old Bernie had smoke coming out of his ears. He was more confused than a horny teenage boy looking up a transvestite’s miniskirt. I was gaining size, getting ripped and lifting like a possessed maniac.

Now, Bernie comes from a long line of cops and says if he ever catches me using shit, off to King Kong convict’s harem I go. After my 500-pounds-for-reps act he was royally P.O.’d. He even had the balls to grab my T-shirt, pull me right up next to his face and, with breath that smelled worse than the roadkill he tied to my bumper, snarl, ‘What the hell drug are you on, bro?’

‘Sorry, bro,’ I said, knocking his hands away from my chest. (It took me two tries; as I said, the dude is one big, strong mother.) ‘It’s not a drug, but it feels damn close.’

‘Yeah, right, asswipe,’ he grunted. ‘Remember what I said.’

Big B wasn’t convinced. My squat weight went up again at our next leg workout, and he accused me of using Deca and Winstrol. He even asked some of the dealers around the gym if they’d sold me anything. The suspicious ape uncovered nothing, of course, because I’m not on drugs’but, as I said, I sure as hell felt as if I was. I’d know that unmistakable electrifying sensation anywhere (the one where you could tear the head off a raging bull!).

Then I squatted with the weight he’d been stuck at for a month, and he was in my face again: ‘If it’s legal, get me some’now!’ (Dude, use a mouthwash, for crissakes!)

Finally, it was my turn to play the mind game with old Bern baby. I was going to toy with him as long as I could.

‘Listen, I’m not telling you what the shit is, but I’ll give you some every day before we train’if you do exactly as I tell you,’ I said.

‘Listen, jack off. I’ve got chunks of guys like you in my stool, so don’t be screwing with me,’ Bernie the Badass said, sending a chicken-shit tingle up my spine. ‘If you swear it’s legal, and I make the kind of gains you’ve been making lately, I’ll do whatever you say.’

‘Does that include kissing my ass on the hood of my truck in front of the Jazzercise class next door?’ I screamed loud enough for the two babes doing bench presses next to us to hear.

‘Man, if I squat 600 in a few weeks, I’ll plant a big wet one on each buttock,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll reach in, grab your tongue and turn you inside out so everyone can see what a gutless wonder you really are.’

‘Here, take one of these before our next workout,’ I said, throwing him a couple of foil-wrapped mystery tablets. Then I gave him the details on how he had to take it’the rules to make it as potent and powerful as anabolic dynamite.

What I told him next got him so psyched, he almost ripped the power rack out of the floor: ‘One study showed a growth-factor increase of more than 10 percent after only one day on the stuff and almost 40 percent after only six days. By the end of your first week your growth systems should be jacked up by a staggering 40 percent, and you’re going to feel like a friggin’ animal!’

Man, the ear-to-ear Grinchlike grin on his face after he took that in even cranked my enthusiasm, and then I almost pissed in my shorts. What if he doesn’t gain at all? I thought. He’ll put his foot up my ass and use it to remove his size-14 cowboy boots.

The next leg workout came around a few days later. Bernie looked stoked, but I could tell he wasn’t a believer’yet. We’d both squatted just over 500 for reps at our last heavy leg workout, and I was still feeling the buzz from my increased dosage, having been on for about four weeks. Bernie had been on one tab a day for a week, five days on, two days off, just as I’d instructed.

We got through our warmups, and Bernie didn’t say a word. I wondered if he was feeling anything, other than the urge to tear me a new asshole. Then we got to the heavy shit. He jammed up six reps with 495, but it looked kind of tough. Was he playing games, or was he actually weaker?

Finally he said his first words since we started the workout: ‘I still don’t feel nothing. I hope you didn’t actually pay money for that worthless crap.’

‘Just wait, gorilla boy,’ I said, hoping for a miracle. I did the 495 for six pretty easy reps, but that didn’t seem to faze Bernie. ‘How much you want now?’ I asked him. I could feel my voice crack, and I wasn’t sure if it was the vision of Bernie’s size-14 boot or the thought of heading into the land of quarter tonnage.

‘Throw on a couple of 35s,’ Bernie barked.

‘That’s 565, right?’ I didn’t want to psych him out and tell him he’d never done that before, not even for a single. I wanted him to jam on it like it was a warmup weight, probably more than he wanted it (he’d just bought a new pair of boots, the real pointy kind).

‘It’s now or never,’ he muttered. Then he got under it, rammed it against the rack about four times, pulled it off the pins and blasted out a perfect single.

‘Holy shit. You coulda got a triple,’ I screamed, feeling more relieved than if I’d taken a long, hot pee after drinking a six-pack.

‘Yeah, but remember, 600 is the magic number,’ he said with a grin.

I wasn’t brave enough that day to go for the 565. I knew it would come, so I stuck in the lower 500s for my three heavy sets. Bernie backed off after his single, but he still set P.R.s on his rep sets. And his normal poundage on hacks was so light, I had to leap onto the machine to give his quads the intensity they were craving. He was on fire!

After the workout Bernie was on me again about what the hell we were taking and what was in it. I liked torturing him, so I only squeaked out a little more info.

‘It has special anabolic compounds that shoot into your bloodstream almost completely undamaged by stomach acid because of special protective molecules,’ I cautiously revealed. ‘Bad-ass Hell’s Angels’like escorts that beat back stomach acid and shield the growth factors as they slide into the bloodstream. It’s why you get stoked so fast’and why I think this stuff kicks ass.’

That’s all I told Bernie that day. I made him beg and then didn’t tell him anything else. Pissed? You bet he was! Thank God he’d had a great workout, or I’d be nothing but a stain on the gym floor.

Bernie’s training poundages started zooming on almost every exercise. After a couple of weeks I could see that his body was churning out growth factors and his muscles were sucking them up like overgrown sponges. My strength gains started to stall about six weeks in, but I noticed something else spectacular happening: I was still getting bigger, veinier and leaner. I think one reason for the steroidlike kick was that I was stacking the stuff with some other powerful’but legal’supplements. Bernie noticed the same thing.

‘Got any ideas why this stuff seems to be freakin’ us out, Mr. Wizard?’ he asked during the third week of his eight-week cycle. We’d gone out to dinner, and he was chomping on a big T-bone steak. ‘It’s winter, we’re lifting basic and heavy, but we’re both getting big and ripped. I sure as hell ain’t dieting.’

I decided to reveal a little more about the new supplement, even though he spit some food on the front of my shirt (I think it was an accident, but with him you never know): ‘It supposedly amps up anabolic hormones like testosterone and insulin. That’s one of the reasons pro bodybuilders inject themselves with it and get so un-friggin’-believably huge. It’s the detonator that intensifies the power of the other hormones they’re taking’it’s like the short fuse to the big-bodybuilding bang.’

‘Inject?!’ he screamed, spraying my shirt with more chewed-up meat. ‘Wait just a goddamn minute. You said this stuff was legal, and now you’re telling me pro bodybuilders are injecting it?’

‘Calm down, you rude turd with hair!’ I yelled. ‘It’s not exactly what they’re injecting; it’s a legal alternative’completely legal, with no known side effects, so quit squealing like a little girl.’

I must admit, the shit felt illegal, and I knew for a fact that a lot of drug users were using it to enhance their illegal stacks. It’s that powerful. But even though we were drug-free, our muscle growth was soaring! Once you’re on this stuff for a few weeks, drugs or no drugs, your skin gets Saran Wrap tight, your veins start bulging all over every rock-hard bodypart, and your muscle separation makes you look like somebody hacked up your physique with a machete.

Every time I took it, I could feel the fire start to roar (almost the exact same feeling I got from those little blue D-bol pills). Bernie got the same sensation, and he was looking more huge and awesome than ever!

Can you tell I’m so excited, I’m almost peeing on myself? This is the first supplement I’ve ever used that helped me burn fat and build muscle at the same time. Even strangers at the gym started asking what we were using to get ‘the look,’ and our strength was up there with some of the best powerlifters at the gym.

At lucky week 7 Bernie was ready to try a 600 squat. He’d zoomed out of my league since starting the supplement, but I did set a new P.R. with a 545 triple.

‘Today’s the day,’ he said as he walked into the gym. ‘I’m squattin’ 600, and ain’t nothing going to stop me, not even your ugly face.’

Insults or no, I was rooting for Bernie ’cause I knew if he didn’t get it, he’d be hell to train with for the next few workouts. Then there was the size-14 boot thing.’

To keep a long story from getting longer, he got his 600, for a double, although the second one was kind of high. I was damn proud, even if he did back out on kissing my ass for the Jazzercise ladies. I finally fessed up and told Bernie what the supplement was: European horse steroids. (You should have seen his face.) Seriously, the stuff is called GH Stak, or symbiotropin, a growth hormone stimulator created by a renowned pharmacologist, and I think it’s the supplement of the decade, bar none. It may be the final key to ultimate drug-free freakiness.

My next cycle starts tomorrow. As for Bernie, he’s going on a trip to Mexico’and just to make sure he starts his trip off right, I’m gonna plant a giant sex toy wrapped in aluminum foil in his carry-on luggage. Is that the metal detector I hear going off? Adios!

Editor’s note: To get an eight-week cycle of GH Stak, call 1-800-447-0008 and ask for GH Stak, or check out Home Gym Warehouse >> IM

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