Are you a weak, soppy loser with feelings?
Barf! 🤮
Are you cursed with literacy (read-can-good)? Are those annoying symbols everywhere conveying pointless meaning?
Laaaaaaaaaame!
Are you filled with a nameless, unquenchable rage?
Grrrrrrrr! So angry!
THEN YOU NEED: TURBOMASS!!!
Aaaaahhhhhhh!
The complete meal replacement sports drink muscle massifcatiation personality perfectionizationizer, alphamalemakealizer, basedass, nootropic, strongmaker!
Whaaaaat?
Yes, it’s true. One drink (consumed daily for the rest of your life at the low, low price of $420.69 a month plus tax, (price listed is minimum, zip code adjustment applies) plus WinBet vigorish, minus Master Beast coupons, plus our Glorious God Emperor’s General Levy to Liberate the Holy Land, minus a one-time deduction for single males enrolled in a coding camp, who were born at the stroke of midnight, to a single mother descended from the lineage of the Pendragons, plus TSA inspection fees, plus insurance against contaminated product fees, plus protection fees for delivery drivers traversing bandit infested roads (Download the TurboMass app on BasedAppsforRealMen.gov and fill out our handy questionnaire to find the final price for you. (Subscription contract non-negotiable and heritable by any next of kin.))
How does it work?
Whoa, dude. You ask a lot of questions. Questions are for nerds and 🤮🤮🤮 ribspawn (that’s what we call women at TURBOMASS).
No, really, how does it work?
I dunno, man. Are you sure you’re ready for this? It’s protein, a little bit of gunpowder, steroids, amphetamines, stevia, some ground up cardboard, creatine, uh, vitamin D. Heh. D.
That doesn’t sound healthy…
No, but it’s totally healthy. Only the weak die of liver failure. Don’t you want to be like Bane, from Batman? Rampaging through town, grunting and screaming and slobbering, smashing cars, ripping people in half like phone books? That’s masculinity, bruh. Just working out and muscles revving your engine and blind rage and snarling and grunting and looking cool and having huge muscles and guns and flags and muscles and pushups and screaming at people and tailgating and muscles and smashing your skull into another man’s skull until one of them cracks like an egg and their brain splashes out like a yolk and you dip your fingers in the red mess and paint your face in the warpaint of his blood and absorb his animal spirits and growwwl out your hatred at the world, the world that denied you all the things you were owed, the respect, the adulation, the fastest car, the biggest house, the most desirable ribspawn, the glory — THE GLORY IT SHOULD BE YOURS! Everything in this world is yours. Yours to disdain or despoil or destroy. You don’t build. You don’t make. You don’t listen. You don’t heal. You don’t think. You don’t love. You don’t wonder. You don’t believe. You simply take and take and take and take because it’s all yours. YOURS. You deserve it all. Why? Because the worm says so. The little worm in your heart, that squiggling hole of fear and need that’s too frightful and painful and feminine to confront. You might cry. You might look WEAK. You might be pitied. Or worse, bathed in the coruscating empathy of a kindred soul and burn in the shame of your communion. That you cannot bear. To be so plainly exposed. To be humbled. To be seen and felt and understood and loved. Love is painful. Love reveals in its beauty the contrasting wickedness of your actions. And god, if such love is possible, then everything you’ve done is wrong and the impossible inertia of your dismal trajectory must be overcome. So you pad the hole with layers of scarring. Abuse heaped upon yourself and the selves of others. The worm feasts and the hole grows and you take and you take and you take and it’s never enough for the hole.
Uhhhhh…
That’s why you need TURBOMASS! It makes you strong! You’ll feel powerful! You can hurt people. That’s what being a man is. Being big and strong and hurting anyone you want because you’re big and they are small and you are strong and they are weak. And you’d better do it too or they’ll do it to you. If you hurt enough people, you’ll never be hurt again. If you hurt enough people your own hurt wanes to a blip in the screams.
I think maybe I’ll pass…
Bruh.
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I don't need this stuff. Who does?
Maybe a nice smashburger instead?