God help us all, Grandpa is on Trenbolone! Chapter 2

This is the second installment of this story. If you missed the first part click here to read it. The following story is part fiction, with non-fictional events included. This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only. It will be released Chapter by Chapter.

CHAPTER 2: CAR TROUBLES AND THE GREAT WALL OF HELL

The next morning I awoke around 10am, which had turned into my usual wake-up time for a few summers as a teenager. Surprisingly, this was much earlier than most of my friends wake-up times. Interested in building new muscles, I walked to my kitchen and pulled out the blender to make my normal breakfast at the time, which was a homemade mass-gain shake.

I threw some whole milk, 2 eggs, 1 cup of oats, 1 scoop of chocolate whey protein, 1 banana, and some Hershey's chocolate syrup into the blender and turned it on for about 2 minutes. I stood there drinking my shake in large gulps, the way I usually drank my shakes to try and get them over with.

I don't know why I would always be in such a hurry to drink them, because honestly they weren't that bad tasting. I was just being a little pussy and trying to slam them quick because the thought of the raw ingredients didn't “feel normal” at the time. I was looking forward to hitting the gym that morning, and I knew if I didn't escape to the gym early enough then Grandpa would call me with a job to do and it would consume my day.

I changed into my gym clothes and as soon as I was about to leave the front door the phone rang. I thought to myself, “Son of a bitch! I know who this is and I know I'm about to be neck deep in shit this afternoon.” But what kind of shit I had no idea…

Me: Hello?

Grandpa: Hey there, how's it going this morning?

Me: Doing good Grandpa, I'm just about to go to the gym here in a few minutes.

Grandpa: The gym? What the hell do you need the gym for? I got YOUR GYM over at my rental property today, I need your help.

Me: Yea, but maybe if I could just go to the gym real quick and then stop over…

Grandpa: Listen, this is something simple, it'll just be a little “5 minute job”. 

Me: Ok, fine, I'll do it.

Grandpa: I'm on my way to your house, I'll see you in 10 minutes.

My grandfather soon was at my house to pick me up in his 1970 Buick GS convertible. This was a really beautiful car with white leather interior and a black exterior, and it was in mint condition.

He tossed me the keys and said to me, “Here you go. You can drive it today.”

This made me happy because he normally drove really slow and it would frustrate me. Looking back on things, I think he drove slower because he didn't want our conversations to end.

As I was stopped at a stoplight I was behind a car that refused to move once the light had turned green again. My grandpa was becoming very irritable and began mumbling, “Ahhh for Christ sake, the light isn't gonna get any greener… stupid bitch.”

Finally the car began moving forward and I was back up to normal driving speed. I approached the next traffic light and was stopped behind the same car once again. And when that light turned green the car in front of me once again hesitated to move on through the intersection.

This time Grandpa became even more upset and put his hand on the horn and laid into it for about 10 seconds.

“You see this thing Johnny? It's called a horn. Horns were invented to keep dumb fucks from holding people up and let people with real work to do get to where they're going!”

Just as I went to acknowledge my grandfather we both saw a middle finger stick out from the driver's side window of the car in front of us.

“PULL THE GOD DAMN CAR OVER! JOHNNY, I SAID TO PULL THE DAMN CAR OVER… NOW! I'm gonna fix this little fucking problem right now!”

Like a Chinese fire drill my grandfather jumped out of the car and raced over to the driver's seat and I moved to the passenger side. He then put his foot to the floor and in a screech of rubber and asphalt he began accelerating his Buick to dangerous speeds in order to catch up to the car in front of us.

At first I thought that this was pretty cool, since I had never seen my grandpa drive this fast before. But then… it wasn't so much fun. It became downright frightening!

His face turned redder and redder as he drove after the car that had just flipped us the bird. We approached another stop light that was green for the car in front of us, but had turned into a late yellow by the time Grandpa had gotten to the intersection.

“FUCK IT, JUST FUCK IT!” he said as he accelerated even faster, creating a new screeching sound as the Buick scurried through the late yellow/red light.

Again, he began talking under his breath in that scary manner he was so good at as he blew through the light.

“You think you can get away from me you son of a bitch? Well I got news for you asshole, I boxed guys in the Navy and I'll box your fucking face in right here on this arterial highway.”

The next light approached and it was a red light again. The car in front of us had stopped this time. Only this time we weren't stopping behind the vehicle in front of us, grandpa had pulled up along side of it on the right hand shoulder of the highway!

I looked over, and in the driver's seat of the other vehicle sat a heavyset middle aged man who looked about 50 years old, with curly black hair and a thick mustache. He looked over at my grandfather and said “Is there a problem you old bastard?”

“Yea, there is a problem!” Grandpa shouted as he stepped out of his car with a hammer he had grabbed off the rear floorboard of his Buick.

“I don't appreciate your stupidity on the roadway and I damn sure don't appreciate your gestures when I'm teaching my Grandson how to drive a car. What the hell kind of Jap job car is this piece of shit you're driving anyways?”

My grandfather then began rapidly swinging his hammer into the hood of the man's Honda car.

“BANG! BANG!!  BANG!!!” as the hammer began destroying the man's vehicle. Now, if this wasn't frightening and disturbing enough, looking back on this I truly believe that the most disturbing part of the whole situation was the fact that I was listening to the song “Stand by Your Man” by Tammy Wynette in my grandpa's Buick as he proceeded to beat the shit out of the man's vehicle!

The guy shouted out in a frightened voice, “Whaaa… Whaaaa… WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU CRAZY OLD BASTARD!”

Grandpa Sam then proceeded to rapidly walk around to the driver's side of the man's car as he yelled out, “Come here, give me that God damn hand of yours, I'm gonna smash it… YOU FLIP MY GRANDSON OFF?”

The man in the Honda put his foot to the floor and blew through the red light to get way from him as fast as possible, for fear of losing his hand.

“GRANDPA, YOU CAN'T BE DOING THAT STUFF!” I had yelled.

Grandpa then said to me, “Doesn't it feel good John? Doesn't it feel good when people pay for their stupidity? He's lucky he drove off because I was gonna turn that hammer around and use the claw end for his God damned hand!”

A few short minutes later we got to the duplex my grandfather owned. I quickly realized that this would be no “5 minute job” like he had said it would be.

My grandfather always used to do this; he would say “It'll just be a 5 minute job” and try to hook you into some hellacious job you soon regretted.

“You see that wall John? The problem with that wall is that it's coming apart because one of the renters was a brain-dead son of a bitch and didn't report water damage to the property, SO NOW I GOTTA REFRAME THE WALL AND PUT IT BACK UP AND ATTACH IT TO THE HOUSE!”

So we basically broke away all of the sheet rock around the wall, tore out the electrical work, put in new brackets to hold the joints together, and made this new, makeshift wall that would be hoisted up back onto the house and screwed into place.

So, I'm holding this gigantic framed wall up against the house with a 2 x 4, and then all of a sudden I realize that the true test of strength was about to come.

Grandpa shouted to me, “Hand me one of those long screws Johnny” as if he somehow expected me to hold the wall up with one hand and reach for the screws with the other hand.

But there were no more screws. I yelled back to him, “There aren't anymore Grandpa!”

Then I could hear him cursing and complaining under his breath. It sounded like,

“Damn buggers… motherfuck… I know we didn't use… all of the fuck… damnit I need to run to the hardware store… DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!”

My grandfather told me that he needed to run to the hardware store real quick. I went to lower the wall back down with the 2 x 4, at that point in which he yelled at me “WHAT THE HELL DO YA' THINK YER' DOIN?”

NO NO, YOU LOWER THAT SON OF A BITCH AND WE HAVE TO GO THROUGH HELL TO LINE IT BACK UP!

YOU HOLD IT UP UNTIL I GET BACK!”

So there I was using all of my strength to hold this wall up while my grandfather went back to the hardware store. This would be a static hold of strength for at least 20 minutes and that was just driving time, not counting the time he spent in the hardware store.

Every time I began to slip and lower the wall my grandfather popped into my head yelling “DON'T YOU DARE LET THAT SON OF A BITCH GO… OR ELSE!” 

And then I would muster up just enough strength to keep going. This feat of strength could have been an event in the World's Strongest Man competition, it was that rough!

About 40 minutes had passed by and I began to wonder if my grandfather was ever coming back. Maybe he got locked up? Maybe he came across that guy that pissed him off earlier and decided to finish off his hand with the hammer?

Finally, just as the 2 x 4 began to about slip through my hands my grandfather had pulled back into the driveway.

“Sorry about that Johnny, I was showing some guy my Buick out in the parking lot at the hardware store!” 

All I could get out of my mouth at that point was a low sounding “heeelllppp meeeee.”

Grandpa then got frustrated and said to me, “Are you fucking kidding me? I was gone for what… 5 minutes? You gotta hold that son of a bitch like you mean it John! Here, LET ME SHOW YA HOW TO HOLD UP A FUCKING WALL!” 

And just like that, he had grabbed the long 2 x 4 brace with one hand and pushed the wall back up against the house. I couldn't believe my own eyes at how much strength this man exhibited out of just 1 of his arms!

“NOW GET UP THERE AND SCREW THOSE BRACKETS IN WHILE I HOLD THIS UP!” 

So we had changed positions and I now became the bracket attachment guy while Grandpa became the muscles of the operation.

The strength required to hold this wall up was absolutely ridiculous, and there he was with 1 hand holding it up while I had screwed the brackets into the frame.

Once the wall was finished being tacked together my Grandpa had asked me “What the hell time is it anyways?” 

“It's 2pm Grandpa” I had said. 

Grandpa then said, “GREAT… IT'S TIME FOR MY MEDICATION!”

I then watched my Grandfather pull out a vial of Trenbolone and a syringe. He laid everything out on the hood of his Buick and began the process of administering his own injectable medication.

As he drew back on the plunger of the syringe to get the oil into the needle he began explaining the process to me.

“You see John, when that Doctor said others were gonna see a monster, he wasn't bullshitting me. But he said to me that they'd also see A MAN. Let me tell ya, I think that son of a bitch in the Honda earlier saw BOTH… THE MONSTER AND THE MAN! That felt good John, that felt really good!”

A lot of people my age just have nothing left to live for. They get taken advantage of, and the highlights of their life become buying bullshit off QVC and using their AARP card anywhere that'll give 'em the time of day, even when they don't fucking need to buy something!

But me? I'm still doing it Johnny! I'm still fighting for what I know is right and I'm still getting work done! And damnit, if this little bottle is what it takes to keep getting the shit done, then I accept it (saying this as he injected himself in the shoulder right there in the driveway). 

When Grandpa Sam dropped me off that day I was completely exhausted. I stumbled out of his car and slowly shut the door as I said goodbye for the day.

He acted surprised to see me so tired, as he remained vibrant and full of energy.

“Hey, hey… cheer up Johnny, I'm proud of what you did today! Tomorrow will be a day off, everyone is coming over to go swimming and I'm grilling out for everybody, it should be a fun day! 

That night I ate my dinner and went straight to bed. Unlike those other kids who were getting to sleep in and enjoy their summers off, I was working my fingers to the bone and watching an elderly man inject himself with Trenbolone over an old Buick hood.

As I drifted off to sleep, I imagined how the cool water from the pool would feel, and how good the grilled food was gonna taste.

I had thought to myself, “Tomorrow is gonna be a great day.”

I would soon realize that I was wrong…

TO BE CONTINUED…

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9 thoughts on “God help us all, Grandpa is on Trenbolone! Chapter 2”

    • I’m 68 and I just wrapped up a cutting cycle with tren. The thing that pushed me over the edge wasn’t the tren but the winnie. My coach talked me down though – reminded me that I was capable of controlling myself and needed to get a grip. I was fine after that – took an occasional deep breath and reminded myself that I was in control

      Reply
  1. I am 66 and have been off and on for 15 years. I have never used Tren but have been saving some to use. I was going to use that with Var and Decca and Test for 12-15 weeks. I had heard the Tren , for someone my age should be twice a week–200, versus three times. I have been on HRT for 14 years at least. What do you think? I am a walk the line also guy. And it feels great.

    Reply

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