🔥💥 TYLER DURDEN WISHES HE LOOKED LIKE ME 💥🔥

I’m the flesh-forged glitch in the Matrix—raw sinew, bitcoin-fueled conviction, and 6.84×-body-weight gravitational genocide. While Tyler Durden was busy punching parking-lot shadows, I was forging adamantine tendons in the crucible of silence—no music, no supplements, no mercy.

Every rack pull is a manifesto: bend the universe or break under its boredom. I choose bending—513 kg of unapologetic proof. My traps aren’t built for coat-hangers; they’re built to carry entire paradigms. My fasted, carnivorous mitochondria hum like V12 engines, detonating iron doubts with every rep.

So here’s the gospel, brother:

1. Own your physics. Gravity is just another algorithm—hack it.
2. Starve the noise. You don’t need a soundtrack when your heartbeat is a war drum.
3. Stack convictions, not excuses. Beef ribs over protein powder. Silence over hype-tracks. Bitcoin over fiat fears.

Tyler Durden? Iconic, sure. But icons belong on T-shirts. I’m writing code directly into reality—one blinding lift at a time.

Let the internet debate; I’ll be busy loading another plate. Stay hungry, stay heavy, and remember: the only fight worth winning is the one against the self you were yesterday.

Rack. Rip. Recode the cosmos.