This is the sixth installment of God help us all, Grandpa is on Trenbolone! Click the links here if you missed Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four or Chapter Five The following story is part fiction, with non-fictional events included. This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only.
CHAPTER 6: WAREHOUSE PROTOCOL
We arrived at the location that Grandpa was given the directions to a week prior when he last spoke to Dr. Stevens. My face felt numb from the cold rain that pelted it as we rode over 5 hours through the night on the Harleys that Grandpa had won from the arm-wrestling match when he was indoctrinated into the Hell’s Angels motorcycle club as the new Sergeant of arms.
We pulled into a parking lot full of potholes that we had to swerve around and shut off the loud bikes in front of an old warehouse with lime green painted cinder blocks and half of the windows broken out. The warehouse looked old and closed up, as if no business could have possibly been in operational mode in that location.
“Grandpa, are you sure we’re at the right place? This doesn’t look like a doctor’s office to me!”
Grandpa responded back, “Shut up John. This is the office of a war veteran doctor who doesn’t need anything fancy! Stevens is the real deal, you hear me…THE REAL DEAL! And he’s going to help your grandpa feel better and become stronger!”
We walked up an old sidewalk to a steel front door with a sign on it in construction paper with black magic marker that said “Dockter offace.”
I took one look at the sign and the spelling and knew that this Dr. Stevens was a fraud. Deep down I think Grandpa knew he was too, but anyone that was a muscled-up war veteran immediately got the old man’s respect.
Grandpa knocked loudly on the steel door yelling, “Stevens! Stevens! My grandson and I made it all the way here to see you! Stevens, you in there!?”
The door then abruptly opened by a man who was about 300 lbs at 1% body fat with a look on his face like a lit-up Christmas tree. He was wearing a black tank top that just said, “KILL EM’ ALL” on the front of it, and his veins were busting out like garden hoses everywhere.
“Samuel! Samuel, YOU MADE IT!”
Stevens then gave Grandpa the type of hug only family gives to one another, while mumbling under his breath, “Look at you… you muscled up old bastard… GOD, IT’S SO GOOD TO SEE YOU AND THOSE GAINS! Let me put on some coffee and let’s catch up!”
Dr. Stevens then looked at me and said, “Hey kid, I keep this box of Legos here for when the kids come in here with their grandparents.”
How insulting it was to hear that as a 16-year-old! They weren’t even the good Legos that were somewhat challenging either, they were the giant Lego blocks that you buy from thrift stores to give to mentally challenged people!
This part of the visit to Dr. Stevens was pretty boring for me, and I definitely wasn’t part of their coffee conversation. I sat over in an old chair in the corner of the room looking at my phone while Grandpa and Stevens had coffee and talked for what seemed like 2 hours.
I could hear bits and pieces of their conversation, and it was mainly about taking steroids. Grandpa would tell Stevens about his transformation and strength, and Stevens would become more and more ecstatic about Grandpa’s results.
“No shit Sam, YOU SNAPPED HIS FUCKIN’ ARM?”
“I sure did Stevens. I told that fat fuck that I was gonna’ hurt him if he kept trying to boss me around!” said Grandpa.
Then the conversation would quiet back down until Dr. Stevens had another one of his jump-for-life outbursts, like a little kid who just got rewarded with candy.
“No shit Sam, THE ENTIRE FUCKING BAG!? So, you downed that entire bag of Halotestin tabs before you snapped that fucker’s arm in half? THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT! HAHAHAHA, NO SHIT SAM, THAT’S AMAZING!”
There was no way in hell that this Dr. Stevens was a real Doctor. He acted like Ogre from “Revenge of The Nerds”. I had more maturity as a 16-year-old teenager than this Dr. Stevens had as a forty-something year old man!
Then the conversation went quiet again and I couldn’t make out the whispers. But sure enough, Grandpa kept on about how great he was becoming from taking the Trenbolone, and Stevens would then burst out again in more excitement.
“THE SERGEANT OF ARMS! Well… I’LL BE DAMNED, THE NEW SERGEANT OF ARMS RIGHT HERE IN MY OFFICE!” yelled Stevens.
Then Stevens glanced over at me in the corner and said to Grandpa, “Ahhh fuck it, I guess the kid don’t like Legos.”
I then witnessed one of the most ridiculous things I’d ever seen. For the first time in my life, I saw 2 men make a toast with syringes instead of alcohol.
Dr. Stevens loaded up 2 syringes, each with 3 milliliters of Trenbolone, handed one of them to Grandpa and said,
“TO POWER, TO PUSSY, TO TOTAL WAR!
FOR THE YOUNG AND FOR THE OLD,
TO MAKE THE STRONG PURE IMMORTALS,
TO DECIMATE THE WEAK!”
Then the two of them tapped their syringes together and jabbed themselves straight in the chest, sort of like trying to drive a stake through their own vampire hearts.
You could tell this was a very monumental and pleasing moment for Grandpa, because his eyes rolled back into his head with pleasure as he injected the Trenbolone into his chest.
This was definitely a cringey moment for me to witness.
“Okay Samuel, it’s time to begin the evaluation. I’m going to put you through some tests and see how you do and from that point I’ll be able to accurately prescribe the right dosing protocol for the next 12 weeks of your cy… I MEAN, WELLNESS AND STRENGTH PROTOCOL!”
Dr. Stevens led us into a back room of the warehouse that was full of weight training equipment. A lot of the equipment was old and dingy but there was more equipment back there than 2 large commercial gyms put together.
The sunlight shone through the few windows that were actually left and not broken, and it lit up all of the equipment as if God had shined his light upon Steven’s gym. But once the testing began it felt more like I was witnessing the presence of Satan in that gym.
Right as we were leaving the hallway and entering the gym floor, a scary looking clown obstacle that let out a loud, evil laughing sound swung out in Grandpa’s face.
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Grandpa yelled, as he swung a punch so hard that it took the clown’s head clean off its body in a shower of sparks, as the electronic sound module shorted out and the sound faded away quickly.
“NICE JOB SAMUEL! YOUR ANGER TO REACTION TIME IS ABSOLUTELY FLAWLESS!” yelled Stevens, as he pulled out a clipboard and checked off one of the boxes with a pen.
Dr. Stevens took Grandpa over to the bench press and began loading up the bar with plates.
“How much weight are you putting on that bar Stevens?” asked Grandpa.
“Well, how much weight have you been using for your own workouts?” asked Dr. Stevens.
“Well Stevens, I have to be honest with you here… I haven’t been going to the gym. I’ve kept busy with a lot of manual labor around the house, and I’ve been doing some things that deemed you strong when I was growing up…
Things like carrying a stack of shingles on each shoulder up a ladder with no hands on the ladder, digging holes around my foundation to get to cracks in the cinder blocks to repair them. It’s more things like that I’ve been doing to stay strong than lifting weights, so I honestly don’t know how much weight I can lift.”
Dr. Stevens was in absolute disbelief that a man like Grandpa could become so strong without even going to the gym. He first loaded up the bar with 185 lbs. Grandpa laid down and unracked it and he began cranking out reps while asking Dr. Stevens how to lift the weights properly.
He just began a conversation with Dr. Stevens while lifting the weight as casual as someone sipping a cup of coffee over breakfast.
“How many reps is that already Sam?” asked Stevens.
“What’s a rep?” asked Grandpa.
“Ok, ok, ok, it’s obviously not a lot of weight for you Sam, you can rack it,” said Stevens.
Dr. Stevens then put on more weight, making the bar 315 lbs. Grandpa unracked the weight and again, began pushing like it was just a walk in the park.
“I’m at 12 reps Stevens, keep going?” asked Grandpa.
Dr. Stevens shook his head in disbelief and told Grandpa to rack the weight because it wasn’t enough. He then looked back at his clipboard and checked off some more boxes with his pen.
“I don’t fucking believe you Samuel, you can’t tell me that you’ve gotten this strong without going to the gym!” yelled Stevens.
“I’m telling you Stevens, it’s that medicine you’ve given me! There is something about that medication that makes me very strong, very irritable, and all I want to do is fuck women! I feel like a God on that Trenbolone… A GOD I TELL YOU!
Are you sure that medication is FDA approved?” asked Grandpa.
“Yeah, yeah… it’s approved, but the manufacturer reached out to me to perform some clinical trials with some of the senior population,” said Stevens.
“Okay, let’s do one more set, I want to see your reaction time to strength drop, recovery, and strength stimulation,” said Stevens.
I began getting nervous because Dr. Stevens put more weight on the bar and told Grandpa to unrack it by himself and start performing reps, as Stevens quickly walked off for a brief moment.
Grandpa unracked 405 lbs and began repping it out, this time with a tad bit of struggle, but not enough to make him stop pumping out reps. Shortly after Stevens walked off, a ferret ran across the gym floor and jumped up onto Grandpa’s lap as he was doing his set.
“FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, WHAT THE HELL IS CRAWLING ON ME!?” yelled Grandpa. He quickly re-racked the bar and grabbed the ferret with one hand and squeezed it as it let out a loud shrieking sound, then he threw its lifeless body through one of the only good windows left in the warehouse, smashing it as the dead rodent flew through it!
“OK, OK, NICE WORK! NOW UNRACK THE BAR AGAIN AND KEEP GOING!” yelled Stevens.
This time the bar speed was faster, and Grandpa looked more pissed off than ever.
As he busted out rep after rep, he mumbled under his breath with his teeth clenched,
“I… have had… arrgghh… nothing but wildlife… arrrghhh!! fuckin’… with me… arrghhh, THIS ENTIRE GODDAMN TRIP!!!!”
The reps just kept flying up as easy as the first set of 185 lbs. Dr. Stevens became so excited, he couldn’t hold in his reaction to Grandpa’s performance any longer.
“I cannot believe these results from this Trenbolone. MY GOD, I’M ABOUT TO CALL THIS UGL… I mean manufacturer AND TELL HIM I NEED A LIFETIME SUPPLY OF IT!
JOB WELL DONE SIR. THIS PROTOCOL IS TRULY MAKING YOU INTO A WARRIOR!” yelled Stevens.
“Yes Stevens, I too would like a lifetime supply of this Trenbolone! I will never, ever stop using this medication!
“Well Sam, I thought that since you were doing so well on this Trenbolone, we would throw a couple other things into the medication regimen and see you back here in the next 3 months for another check-in and assessment!”
Something at that point didn’t sit well with me. Dr. Stevens was starting to remind me of what Dr. Lawrence Angelo did to Jobe in the movie “The Lawnmower Man.”
For those of you that have never seen the Steven King movie “The Lawnmower Man,” it’s basically about a mildly retarded guy that becomes an experiment for a Dr. to see how powerful and intelligent he can make him. The experiment starts off very successful, as the handicapped guy becomes strong and buff, and stops acting like he has a disability.
But then things become haywire, as the retarded lawnmower man quickly becomes thirsty for more power and tries to take over the world, and at that point Dr. Angelo is pretty much throwing his arms up in the air like “Shit, now I gotta stop this retarded, power-hungry bastard from world domination.”
Dr. Stevens was playing Dr. Angelo, and Grandpa was the lawnmower man!
“Take a seat and relax for a few minutes and I’ll be right back with some of these other meds I’m going to throw into your cycl…I mean your health and rejuvenation protocol!”
Grandpa sat down and took a few sips of water as Dr. Stevens briefly walked off into another room in the warehouse.
“Grandpa, I’m starting to feel nervous about what this guy is having you do here,” I said to grandpa.
“John, there is no reason to be nervous here, you heard him tell me how good I was doing on this medication didn’t you?” said grandpa.
“Yea, but he was also ecstatic about you breaking that biker’s arm after you carelessly ate an entire bag of emergency pills to try to avoid losing your Buick in a bet you made at that shithole bar!”
Grandpa then responded, “Listen John, you’re young and I don’t expect you to understand this, but when you get old like me and start to get weak and feel like you’re losing your ability to do things, it’s very hard to stop taking something that feels like it’s giving you the edge!”
“But Grandpa, what kind of life is violence, rage and hate? I mean, you’re strong and all, but don’t you get tired of being angry all the time?” I asked.
“John, I never get tired of being angry all of the time. Being angry is why old bastards like us never die!
Like I said before, you’re young and you wouldn’t understand it now, but when some asshole in a Jap-job car fucks with you on the roadway and thinks you’re old and cannot do anything to him, and then you jump out with a hammer and scare him so bad that he shits his pants, it just feels really good!
I’m an old man and I can accept that, but just because I’m old doesn’t mean I have to lay in a recliner and slowly die each day! I’m not done John! I’m not done fighting, I’m not done fucking women, and I’m not done growing muscles!
I SAY WHEN I’M DONE! Not you, or God, or anyone else, you understand me? I’m running the show here… I’M RUNNING THE SHOW!”
Dr. Stevens soon returned with a freezer bag full of medication. He sat down next to Grandpa and began to explain how to use the other medicine he was providing. I couldn’t hear everything, but I did make out some of the instructions he explained to Grandpa.
“This one is important to do about 45 minutes before physical exertion Sam, it’s called testosterone suspension. And this other one you do 3 times a week. It’s called DHB!”
Grandpa then brought up the issue of another “emergency hulk pack” to the doctor.
“You see Stevens, I have a feeling that something might go down in a few more days with this gun deal we are doing with the Latinos.
Yes, just me and John are meeting the Latinos at some drop off location with the class 3 weapons and my fear is that one of those fucking spics might try to rob us or not have all the cash! This is my first real mission for the Angels and I don’t want to let anyone down here!”
Dr. Stevens then crouched down eye level to Grandpa who was seated in the chair, as if he was trying to explain the rules of hopscotch to a neanderthal and said, “If I give you this other medication you gotta promise me that you only use it when shit is about to get real.”
He handed Grandpa a small flask with a skull and crossbones on it and said to him, “Now listen, the liquid in this flask is only to be used for all-out-war. If shit is about to go sideways and those spics outnumber you guys, which they usually do… like fucking roaches that seem impossible to exterminate, you drink this flask really quick and wade through the blood and guts as you fight your way to safety!”
“What is it, Stevens? Is it some sort of alcohol to numb my pain?”
Stevens said, “No, it damn sure isn’t intended to numb your pain, it’s intended to BRING THE PAIN ON EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE AROUND YOU! That liquid is called Mibolerone, or better known as CHEQUE DROPS! Samuel, if you drink that flask, it’ll make you instantly crazier than a shithouse rat!”
“Well, how about that? CRAZIER THAN A SHITHOUSE RAT! yelled Grandpa.”
“No Sam, this is no laughing matter, I want you to understand exactly what drinking that flask is going to do to you, I’d like to call it “JOHN RAMBO MODE.”
After Grandpa pulled out his wallet and handed Dr. Stevens some cash, we began our departure with a new freezer bag full of vials and pills and the skull and crossbones flask that Grandpa had quickly shoved in the waistband of his pants.
As we got to the exit door Stevens handed Grandpa one more item.
“Sam, I want you to be careful with that deal that’s going down. I’m going to give you this old Ka-Bar marine knife I’ve carried with me over the years, it’s kept me safe and I’m sure it will keep you safe too!”
“But Stevens, what’s this knife gonna do for me when I’m surrounded by class 3 weapons?” asked Grandpa.
“Samuel, somehow those fucking spics always find their way back to knives… usually butterfly knives and switchblades. When one of them tries to get out of line with you, I want you to drive this ol’ United States Marine Corp blade straight into his gut, and as the blood runs down your hand and his breaths become shorter and more labored, just whisper in his ear, “CHEQUE DROPS.”
We then fired up the bikes and began to head back. I wondered if Grandpa’s Buick would be repaired when we returned to see the Hell’s Angels. I thought about how frightening it was going to be for us as we went to our first real gun swap. I also thought about how much money we would be holding in a bag or briefcase on our way back.
This was all getting too crazy for me, but what was I supposed to do? Grandpa always trusted in me, and I could never let him down, no matter how crazy he seemed to be. If only Grandma knew what Grandpa was really up to!
Maybe this was just the way retired people truly lived… out and about having their own lives, riding Harleys, always trying to fuck younger women, and at the end of the day coming home like it was just another day at the bingo hall.
But something in my gut told me that the deal we were about to do wasn’t going to be another day at the bingo hall. Those bikers recruited Grandpa for a reason, and I was about to be stuck in the middle of chaos real soon!
To be continued…