Wunderpus' get bigger cycle

[gr8whitetrukker]

Synthol and AAS are not even close to the same thing. Be happy with what you got. Alot of people won't ever get that far. Get your head around it. Your falling in to the mindset of a vain bodybuilder. Next thing you know you'll only wear shirts that make you look big. You'll show some one a picture of you and say that's NOT me THIS is me. As if your body is your whole identity. Alot of defeated mindsets here. I don't like it. I'd rather wear my skinny arms than be labeled a fraud for pumping synthol in to my skin. That's what it is. A fraud. Do not be confused. I am not mincing words here.

 

[Oregongearhead]

Synthol put the SIDE in this guys side delts ....

I respect your honesty Wunder and wish you luck . Ive seen it done the right way and seen it done the wrong way . The right way looks better Have you been over at ProMuscle and saw Big A ? He helps guys use the fake-juice over there ...

 

[Wunderpus]

Well, you guys will be the first to know (minus my bank) if I decide to pull the trigger. I agree that hard work is #1, it always has been.

 

[gr8whitetrukker]

Maybe I'll go buy me a brand new Toyota ( LMAO like that's going to happen) slap a Mercedes benz ornament on dat der Toyota and it becomes a Mercedes right?

 

[rutman]

Kinda like using a pecker pump with a cock ring...

Did I just go there??? Yes I did...

 

[Docd187123]

You're gonna do what you're gonna do but for what it's worth, I would not do it

 

[Wunderpus]

Kinda like using a pecker pump with a cock ring...

Did I just go there??? Yes I did...

If you search synthol on Google, one suggestion is "synthol in penis".... Wrap your head around that one.

 

[MindlessWork]

If you search synthol on Google, one suggestion is "synthol in penis".... Wrap your head around that one.

Ouch! Now what male wants to ruin his manhood with synthol?

 

[NoScopeKen]

I considered doing it in my rear delts, not 100% on it now though. It's people like Greg Valentino and these weird Brazilian dudes who inject motor oil/alcohol in their muscles who give synthol a bad name. My arms would be the last place id put it if I ever used it though !!

 

[Wunderpus]

I considered doing it in my rear delts, not 100% on it now though. It's people like Greg Valentino and these weird Brazilian dudes who inject motor oil/alcohol in their muscles who give synthol a bad name. My arms would be the last place id put it if I ever used it though !!

I understand, and delts would be low on my list. It's personal preference.

Well, I've decided to hold off on it for a while and still think about it.

 

[D-Ballin]

It's not something I would consider doing myself. However, I don't have the time in you do, I'm not nearly at your level. We all know you as a person who has really put the work and research in. So I'm sure that you believe, and are probably correct, in claiming you have exhausted all possibilities for fixing the imbalance. And that your genetics are fucking you. That has to be frustrating as hell.

The only thing I haven't seen you doing much is very heavy lifting. PL doesn't put much stock in arm size, but some of the principles are applicable to all body parts. Big is strong and all. Have you done mentzer/DC, or whatever else past failure stuff? I don't have much business giving you advice, but might give you some options to try before you pull the trigger.

I can also sympathize with the negative camp. It does seem "vain" or prosthetic. But that's the same goddamned argument that non steroid users give about us. We do the same shit with DNP, and I don't necessarily think it's warranted. Most of us use for vanity's sake, or for the ego boost from being the strongest bastard in your county. I won't throw stones in a glass house. The stuff is out there to use, and demonizing it, and refusing to admit to it's use, does nothing other than increase the rate of the horror stories.

Your truthfulness about all aspects of your use is commendable. This shit is what makes it a truly great log. If you choose to do it, I'd love to read about it.

 

[Trapmonster]

I don't judge you for it if you decide to do it WP but I think the negatives of synthol outweigh the positive... you hear more about synthol deformities more than some one who was able to use it cleanly

 

[rigs03]

I have a serious question for you WP because obviously you have probably done extensive research already. Once you do it, are you stuck with that shape or size? What about the small gains that you're still making, how do they come into play with synthol in the way?

What size are your arms at now?

 

[Wunderpus]

I have a serious question for you WP because obviously you have probably done extensive research already. Once you do it, are you stuck with that shape or size? What about the small gains that you're still making, how do they come into play with synthol in the way?

What size are your arms at now?

Okay, so keep in mind I'm not an expert, but here is my general idea of how it seems to work... Keep in mind, people are so fucking vague with info about synthol online, it's actually quite irritating.

With the synthol that has silica added, it is significantly MORE permanent. When the oil is absorbed, the silica remains.

With the synthol that's just oil, lidocaine etc., the oil does disappear. The idea of this synthol is the oil "stretches" the fascia temporarily. With that, allegedly, there is more "room" for the tissue to grow.

Basically, option 1 with the silica is more of an implant, and option 2 is a temporary "stretch" to allow growth. I am more attracted to option 2. You shouldn't be "stuck" with the size increase with option 2, as it's not leaving a permanent substance behind, it's a lot like AAS injections. The primary differences are the amount (~3ccs for gear vs. ~9ccs for synthol), the oil type/viscosity and the injection method (synthol goes into the heads of the muscle, whereas AAS is ideally injected into the belly or the thickest part).

With the other gains you're currently making, I'm sure they happen simultaneously. Theoretically, they should happen at a faster rate.

As far as arm size, I actually don't have a clue! I will measure them when I can. But truthfully, the size doesn't matter to me as much as the overall appearance and proportions.

I don't judge you for it if you decide to do it WP but I think the negatives of synthol outweigh the positive... you hear more about synthol deformities more than some one who was able to use it cleanly

As with many things friend, the public dwells on the negatives... Have you ever looked at Yelp! reviews? People only go on to talk shit, rarely give praise. Humans are attracted to negativity in general...

It's not something I would consider doing myself. However, I don't have the time in you do, I'm not nearly at your level. We all know you as a person who has really put the work and research in. So I'm sure that you believe, and are probably correct, in claiming you have exhausted all possibilities for fixing the imbalance. And that your genetics are fucking you. That has to be frustrating as hell.

The only thing I haven't seen you doing much is very heavy lifting. PL doesn't put much stock in arm size, but some of the principles are applicable to all body parts. Big is strong and all. Have you done mentzer/DC, or whatever else past failure stuff? I don't have much business giving you advice, but might give you some options to try before you pull the trigger.

I can also sympathize with the negative camp. It does seem "vain" or prosthetic. But that's the same goddamned argument that non steroid users give about us. We do the same shit with DNP, and I don't necessarily think it's warranted. Most of us use for vanity's sake, or for the ego boost from being the strongest bastard in your county. I won't throw stones in a glass house. The stuff is out there to use, and demonizing it, and refusing to admit to it's use, does nothing other than increase the rate of the horror stories.

Your truthfulness about all aspects of your use is commendable. This shit is what makes it a truly great log. If you choose to do it, I'd love to read about it.

Thanks brother, it's always been my goal to keep my experiences/log as honest and open as possible. It will always be used as an open forum where all questions, comments and thoughts are allowed.

Genetics are funny. You know, I was talking with a good friend of mine yesterday about it. He's about 45 and has YEARS of training clients under his belt, so the knowledge is there. I was talking to him about synthol, and I think I changed his opinion a bit. He knows that I work my ass off, and do what I believe it everything I can to grow. He started by saying the addition of synthol gives the ILLUSION of fitness, therefore it is fundamentally wrong. This truly is a great point, as a lot of bodybuilding is giving the illusion of fitness. However, the introduction of things like DNP (as you mentioned), diuretics etc. give the ILLUSION of fitness, when they're really the opposite! He wasn't aware of the two different types of synthol, and in what ways the two work... We both did however come to the general consensus for now it's better to NOT use synthol as I prepare for a cut, just seems counterproductive...

I haven't tried TOO much of Mentzer's stuff, I really don't enjoy pre exhausting tris before chest, for example. I suppose I could dabble in it more, however I think adding an FST 7 routine to the end of my arm day as @OdieM recommended might be my first change. I haven't done FST 7 in a while, and I actually used to love it to finish up a GVT session. For example, I'd do a 10x10 on squats and if my quads were lagging hit an FST 7 on quads, worked pretty damn well.



As a whole, we generally frown upon synthol, however we idolize/respect those who clearly use it... I do believe it's a bit of a double standard.

I repect Jay Cutler tremendously, take a look at his bicep and tell me if YOU think there's synthol in there:

The list goes on... Lee Priest, Kai Greene (his lats look like tubes of oil)....

 

[gr8whitetrukker]

Who says I respect these people?
You can rationalize fake muscle all you want
But its just rationalizing.

Here read this.
Iron and the Soul
By Henry Rollins
I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself.

Completely.

When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling me “garbage can” and telling me I’d be mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I didn’t run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well. I was there to be antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy.

I hated myself all the time. As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn’t going to get pounded in the hallway between classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you’ll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn’t think much of them either.

Then came Mr. Pepperman, my advisor. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the blackboard. Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no. He told me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn’t even drag them to my mom’s car. An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.

Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.’s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn’t looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn’t want to blow it. I went home that night and started right in.

Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my books flying. The other students didn’t know what to think. More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.

Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could ever take it away. You couldn’t say sh–t to me.

It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I was wrong. When the Iron doesn’t want to come off the mat, it’s the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it wouldn’t teach you anything. That’s the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble. That which you work against will always work against you.

It wasn’t until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can’t be as bad as that workout.

I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn’t ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you’re not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control.

I have never met a truly strong person who didn’t have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone’s shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr. Pepperman.

Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart.

Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron. Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was racing through my body.

Everything in me wanted her. So much so that sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the single most intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I didn’t see her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the loneliness. To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads.

I prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you’re made of is always time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live. Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it’s some kind of miracle if you’re not insane. People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole.

I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the Iron Mind.

Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind.

The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true potential, it’s impossible to turn back.

The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.

 

[Wunderpus]

Who says I respect these people?
You can rationalize fake muscle all you want
But its just rationalizing.

Here read this.
Iron and the Soul
By Henry Rollins
I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself.

Completely.

When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling me “garbage can” and telling me I’d be mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I didn’t run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well. I was there to be antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy.

I hated myself all the time. As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn’t going to get pounded in the hallway between classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you’ll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn’t think much of them either.

Then came Mr. Pepperman, my advisor. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the blackboard. Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no. He told me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn’t even drag them to my mom’s car. An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.

Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.’s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn’t looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn’t want to blow it. I went home that night and started right in.

Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my books flying. The other students didn’t know what to think. More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.

Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could ever take it away. You couldn’t say sh–t to me.

It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I was wrong. When the Iron doesn’t want to come off the mat, it’s the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it wouldn’t teach you anything. That’s the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble. That which you work against will always work against you.

It wasn’t until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can’t be as bad as that workout.

I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn’t ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you’re not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control.

I have never met a truly strong person who didn’t have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone’s shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr. Pepperman.

Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart.

Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron. Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was racing through my body.

Everything in me wanted her. So much so that sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the single most intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I didn’t see her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the loneliness. To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads.

I prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you’re made of is always time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live. Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it’s some kind of miracle if you’re not insane. People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole.

I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the Iron Mind.

Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind.

The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true potential, it’s impossible to turn back.

The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.

You're right, we all rationalize the shit we do and do not do. In this particular instance, you are rationalizing your dislike for it, which I completely understand. You are not WRONG, I am not WRONG... It's truly a matter of opinion as to what I should do with my body. This isn't so black and white, I wish it was... In this instance I am sharing a particularly intimate side of myself, one that many people I believe would be afraid to discuss, which is a particular insecurity. We have options in these situations, we can decide to let it die, let it eat us alive or try new methods to extinguish it. At some point, I will have exhausted all remedies in the traditional body building ways... I'm not there yet, but everyday I get closer. It is not FAKE muscle, implants are fake muscle... PMMA is fake muscle... Stretching the muscle with an oil, which disappears, is not fake muscle. Again, your opinion is equally as valid as my own. Please do not think I do not respect your opinion, as I frankly wouldn't have made this a public issue and have responded to/ communicated with you if I didn't, I hope you know that.

I have a lot of respect for Henry Rollins, and that's a good read. In many ways I can identify with it, I'm sure that was the point.

Thanks as always Truk, you're a good friend and I truly do appreciate / respect your thoughts and opinions.

 

[theprodgicalson]

are you planning on competing @Wunderpus ?

Henry Rollins never dissapoints

 

[OdieM]

I did a simple google search of " fake muscle". This is the first thing that popped on my screen.

It is indeed fake. It's also clogs up the blood flow which you need to grow. Therefor it's just basically a implant turned into oil nothing more.

 

[Wunderpus]

I did a simple google search of " fake muscle". This is the first thing that popped on my screen.

It is indeed fake. It's also clogs up the blood flow which you need to grow. Therefor it's just basically a implant turned into oil nothing more.

Those guys aren't using proper technique, as they're just injecting bullshit oil into their arms and hoping for the best LOL.

If used properly, no one would KNOW you're using synthol... Those clowns look fucking ridiculous.

Minus the fact he's a douche, LOL, Bostin Loyd ADMITS to using a ton of synthol. Would you know by looking? I wouldn't to be honest. His arms don't look oily or bloated at all. The reason being, he injects the synthol properly with the correct oils..




I'm actually a bit shocked at how negative responses are towards this! Do you believe it's that you feel like you work hard for your results, and these people are cheaters in your mind?

 

[Nieves]

I wouldn't use snythol unless your stepping on a stage... Oil will just swell your muscle temporarily and your going to have a hard time working out those muscle groups you pin... Pain won't be as bad if you are used to site injections but it's still a little rough until you get used to it... The ones with the Silica especially don't use unless you plan on doing this more long term and are stepping on stage and plan to build upon your physique in that sort of sense...

long term use you'd be able to notice more roundness/fullness but using it here and there is a waste of time and money. I've been torn between to using it or not but I will have to use snythol when I step on stage for USAs etc.