Primal's Prescription: The Great Nipple Warmer Debacle (An Unauthorized Biography)
The cycle was a masterpiece of chemistry and discipline: 750 Test E, 750 Deca, 200 DHB, and a little Masteron E to keep things dialed in. Everything was running smoothly, my physique was becoming a work of art, and then came the Dbol. Not from a regular source, mind you. This was a personal gift from
Primal the Gorilla, my friend and black market supplement guru from the local zoo.
Primal's Dbol was a game-changer. The pumps were so intense I felt like my skin might tear, and the strength gains were nothing short of biblical. But it came with a feature that, unbeknownst to me, was a primate-patented "side effect": the high-powered nipple warmers.
It started as a gentle glow. My chest felt like it was basking in a perpetual, pleasant sunset. I actually started to enjoy it. "Man," I thought, "this Dbol is so good it's even making me warmer in the winter."
Then the glow turned into a searing heat. The "sunset" became a raging bonfire. My nipples felt like they were actively trying to re-enter the atmosphere. I was a human tea kettle, constantly emitting a low, sizzling sound. My wife, bless her heart, kept asking if I had a fever. I was forced to explain to her that no, I wasn't sick, I was just "thermally enhanced."
I messaged Primal in a panic, using a burner phone he'd given me with a single contact: "Gorilla."
"Primal," I typed frantically, "the Dbol is great, but my nipples are in danger of becoming charcoal briquettes. What gives?"
The reply came almost instantly: a single picture of a gorilla, holding a banana, wearing a lab coat. Underneath, a single phrase: "My bad. Broken switch. Sent you some AI. Sent Saturday. Pick up tomorrow."
AI. I stared at the message, a cold sweat breaking out on my brow. Was he sending me a tiny, robotic surgeon? An artisanal, hand-crafted banana cooling salve? My mind raced with possibilities, each one more absurd than the last. I was a man trapped in a bizarre pharmaceutical thriller, with a gorilla as the main antagonist and my nipples as the hapless victims.
The days have been a blur of desperation and frozen food. I'm currently wearing a shirt stuffed with ice packs and walking around my house like a reverse-penguin. The worst part is the constant, nagging fear. What if Primal’s "AI" isn't what I think it is? What if it's "Aardvark-Inspired," and the delivery is just a large, anteater-like creature arriving at my door? I wouldn't put it past him.
I've already had to decline a FaceTime call from him this morning, as he wanted to "see the progress." I’m not about to let my nipples make their debut on a gorilla’s video call.
Today is the big day. The AI has arrived and so I am heading to the nearest freezer section, just in case. I'll post an update once I know if I'm using a life-saving chemical compound or have a new, furry roommate. Wish me luck. My nipples need it.