Smoking-hot fitspo lifestyle influencer Davy “Brick” Shidaus grabbed his “celly” and started browsing social media, keeping up with the latest trends. Since he didn’t work or go to school, he had time for this particular hobby. One of his favorite things was was checking his Instagram page, which he maintained with the same care and devotion that a mother bird gives the eggs in her nest.
However, Instagram brought its own set of problems. As much as “Brick” tried to ignore other fitspo lifestyle influencers and focus on himself, the site kept giving him updates about the goings-on of the five or so people he followed. These sad people, who were neither as pretty nor as influential as him, seemed to think that events in their lives were worthy of documentation and requests for Patreon funding. He needed to follow these worthless grifters for work purposes, because he had to ensure he had better sponsors and more popular content, but their shitty updates ruined the otherwise-flawless mirror of a newsfeed that reflected his own physical fitness back at him.
At the bottom of his feed, “Brick” saw a picture of a g-string-wearing Chayne “Link” Hughes clutching an NRG-Beer (“a caffeinated eye-opener that will turn your hangovers into hang tens”) and giving the camera the middle finger. Oh god, “Brick” thought, what am I to make of this development? “Link” was his best friend, worst enemy, and social bellwether—and why on earth did he take this photo? He looked terrible in that banana hammock, sporting extra oil-injected and silicone-enhanced mass in all the wrong places. Also, who was the cameraman? His new “beard?” “Link” had mentioned a coffee date with some local loser, a girl named Camden. Did that poor girl fall for “Link’s” alpha-male act? Or was “Link” using a pro photographer, in the hopes of attracting well-off old schmoes with full-time jobs or another high-paying, $5-per-post sponsor?
Who was “Link” kidding? What a bitch he was, this bitchy little bitch! No schmoe in their right mind would want to spend a night worshipping the muscles of that washed-up bum. “Link’s” physique clock was ticking, and “Brick”—whose physique clock was also ticking, unbeknownst to him—couldn’t stifle his disgust at how desperate and thirsty his friend was. Sloppy, goofy, synthol-using fake-baker “Link” was nothing at all like “Brick,” a thoroughly modern young hardgainer whose bony knees and elbows protruded like jacket hooks from his steroid-inflated muscles and whose taut skin was tanner than the finest Corinthian leather. Marshaling the skill and poise that comes so naturally to a winner like him, “Brick” typed the nastiest and most cutting comment imaginable: “u look fuckin hot brudda. gr8 pic keep it up! #TrainInsaneorRemainTheSame #HardcoreWasOurDrug #RicFlair”
Content that he had made his point, “Brick” turned on his webcam and began making duckfaces for an “Instagram story” he titled “sup nm u.” After a few seconds of that nonsense, he took a high-angle selfie that disguised his weak jawline and alcohol-induced crow’s-feet, then uploaded it to his Facebook “professional page” and set it as his default picture.
“so beautiful & so precious a angel meet DA FACE of SUCK SESS #SucksessNotFailUr #BelieveAchieve #RicFlair,” read the caption under the photo.