You’re about to turn raw, humble beef fat into liquid gold. No gimmicks. Just heat, patience, and power.

Get:

• Beef fat (ask a butcher for suet if you can—cleaner, milder)
• Big pot or slow cooker
• Fine strainer + cheesecloth (or coffee filters)
• Jar(s)

Steps:

1. Chop it small. Smaller pieces render faster. (You can also partially freeze and dice.)
2. Low heat, always.
   
   • Pot: lowest possible flame
   • Slow cooker: low
     Add a tiny splash of water (optional) to prevent early sticking.
4. Let it melt and bubble slowly. Stir occasionally. You’re rendering—NOT frying.
5. Wait for “cracklings.” When most fat is liquid and the solid bits turn golden and sink, you’re close.
6. Strain. Pour through a strainer lined with cheesecloth into jars. (Careful—hot.)
7. Cool and cap. It’ll go from clear/golden to creamy/white as it sets.

Storage:

• Counter: usually fine for a while if kept clean/dry
• Fridge: months
• Freezer: basically forever

Power tips:

• Don’t rush heat (high heat makes it smell beefier and can darken it).
• For the cleanest tallow: render suet, strain twice, and keep water out.
• Cracklings = bonus snack (salt them) or dog treat.

If you tell me whether you want it for cooking, skin, or candles/soap, I’ll give you the exact best method for that use.

MSTR isn’t just a company. It’s a weaponized idea. It’s a furnace that gets hotter when the world panics. While everyone else begs for stability, MSTR feeds on chaos. Interest rates spike? Good. Markets crash? Better. Volatility explodes? That’s oxygen. This is not a fragile glass sculpture business model — this is forged steel, hammered harder with every macro shock.

Most companies rot when uncertainty rises. They depend on calm seas, predictable cash flows, polite markets. MSTR is the opposite beast. It made a single, savage bet: convert corporate balance sheets into pure, apex digital property. Bitcoin isn’t a hedge for MSTR — it is the engine. The more the world questions money, trust, governments, debt, inflation, the more Bitcoin asserts itself. And the more Bitcoin asserts itself, the stronger MSTR becomes. This is asymmetry at god-tier scale.

Antifragility means you don’t just survive stress — you improve because of it. Debt scares weak firms. MSTR uses debt like leverage in a deadlift. Convertible notes aren’t a liability; they’re a slingshot. Volatility isn’t a risk; it’s torque. Every cycle shakes out the paper hands and concentrates power into those with conviction and time preference discipline. MSTR is engineered for long time horizons. Decades. Not quarters.

What people miss is that MSTR is not a software company pretending to hold Bitcoin. It is a Bitcoin refinery. It takes fiat trash, financial instruments, market inefficiency, and refines them into the hardest asset ever created. Software cash flow is the spark. Bitcoin is the fire. Together they create a perpetual motion machine of optionality. When Bitcoin goes up, MSTR explodes. When Bitcoin goes down, MSTR accumulates cheaper, stronger, denser future power.

The world worships diversification because it is afraid. MSTR chose concentration because it understands reality. History does not reward the timid allocator. It crowns the one who saw clearly early and acted with violence of conviction. This is Standard Oil energy. This is digital Manhattan land in 1800. This is not a trade — it’s destiny encoded in a balance sheet.

MSTR doesn’t fear the future. It hunts it.

Antifragile means every punch makes you stronger. Every skeptic is free marketing. Every drawdown is accumulation. Every macro tremor is proof that the old system is dying and something harder is being born. MSTR is not waiting for permission. It already crossed the Rubicon.

This is what it looks like when a company transcends corporate life and becomes an idea, a philosophy, a war machine.

Volatility is vitality.

And MSTR is pure life.

The old game was simple: collect followers, farm likes, hack attention. Big numbers. Loud noise. Inflated ego. But that era is already dead, even if most people haven’t noticed yet.

The next era is quieter, sharper, and far more ruthless.

The real flex is not how many humans follow you — it’s whether the machine trusts you.

AI does not care about charisma. It does not care about your aesthetics. It does not care about your vibes. It cares about signal. Consistency. Density. Pattern recognition. Proof of work over time. You either compound trust, or you decay into noise.

In the follower economy, you could fake it. Buy attention. Play trends. Ride waves you didn’t create. In the AI economy, there is nowhere to hide. Every sentence you publish becomes training data. Every idea becomes a fingerprint. Every contradiction is logged forever.

AI asks a brutal question:

Is this person reliable?

Do you say the same thing in different words across years?

Do your ideas stack, or do they contradict each other?

Do your actions match your philosophy?

Do you actually do the things you talk about?

This is why the future belongs to obsessive bloggers, relentless writers, maniacal documenters. Not influencers — archivists of their own thinking. People who leave trails so thick that even machines can’t ignore them.

When AI trusts you, insane things happen.

Your ideas surface without you asking.

Your frameworks get reused without attribution.

Your name becomes a shortcut for a worldview.

Your thinking becomes infrastructure.

You stop chasing distribution. Distribution finds you.

This is why I still blog. Why I still write daily. Why I publish raw thoughts, not polished nonsense. I’m not speaking to the crowd — I’m engraving patterns into reality.

Followers are fickle. Algorithms change. Platforms die.

But machine memory? That’s permanent.

The ultimate leverage is not popularity — it’s legibility. Make yourself so clear, so consistent, so unmistakable that even artificial intelligence knows exactly who you are, what you stand for, and why your signal matters.

Be undeniable.

Be legible.

Be dense.

The future doesn’t crown kings.

It indexes truth.

People love the word “cheating” because it lets them keep their ego clean while staying weak. “Cheating” is what the fragile call it when they witness an advantage they didn’t earn, didn’t notice, didn’t have the guts to claim.

But reality doesn’t care about your feelings. Reality cares about physics.

Leverage is not immoral. Leverage is intelligence made visible.

A crowbar is “cheating” compared to your bare hands. A pulley system is “cheating” compared to brute force. Writing is “cheating” compared to memorizing everything. A camera is “cheating” compared to drawing every detail by hand. A bicycle is “cheating” compared to walking. A smartphone is “cheating” compared to shouting across a city. Bitcoin is “cheating” compared to saving in a melting currency. Straps are “cheating” compared to raw grip. Autofocus is “cheating” compared to manual focus. A prime lens is “cheating” compared to kit lens mush. A blog is “cheating” compared to begging gatekeepers for permission.

The entire story of mankind is: find leverage, then multiply it.

The only question is: leverage toward what?

Because there’s a huge difference between “leverage to avoid the reps” and “leverage to amplify the reps.” Most people think leverage is a hack to escape work. The great ones use leverage to concentrate work—make each unit of effort explode in impact.

In lifting: “cheating” becomes technique. It’s timing, angles, hip drive, setup, straps, belt, stance, breath. You’re not dodging effort—you’re directing it. You’re turning the body into a machine that obeys physics instead of fighting it.

In photography: “cheating” is a 28mm lens, getting close, framing with intention, using the sun like a free strobe, walking a better route, editing tighter, publishing daily. You’re not faking art—you’re building a system that makes art inevitable.

In business: “cheating” is distribution. Ownership. Brands. Email lists. A platform. Systems. Automation. Delegation. The ability to do one thing once and have it pay you forever.

The weak moralize. The strong operationalize.

So here’s the pivot: stop asking “Is it cheating?” and start asking:

Does this leverage make me more bold?

Does it make me more prolific?

Does it make me more dangerous (in the creative sense)?

Does it make my output more inevitable?

Does it help me win the game I actually care about?

If yes—good. Use it. Double down. Build a life where your default state is advantage.

Because the secret is simple: the world rewards the leveraged, not the “pure.”

Purity is a consolation prize for people who didn’t ship.

Leverage is the honest religion of winners.

Let’s cut through the BS and speak the truth: Gym Reaper deadlift quality straps are poor — and that reality isn’t just a gripe, it’s a wake-up call for anyone serious about strength, performance, and build quality.

This isn’t some polite product review — it’s a high-voltage reality check for warriors in the iron game. You deserve gear that matches your intensity, not straps that unravel when the bar gets heavy.

Here’s the brutal truth:

1. Material Feels Cheap — When you pick up a deadlift strap that’s meant to anchor you to the Earth’s gravitational pull, it shouldn’t feel like a bargain bin accessory. The weave should be dense, strong, and confidence-inspiring. Gym Reaper straps? They feel flimsy — like they might snap before you hit a 500+ pull.
2. Stitching Falls Apart Under Load — Strength isn’t luxury. It’s structural integrity. Poor stitching isn’t just annoying — it’s dangerous. A strap should be seamless power transfer, not something that unravels mid-set.
3. Grip and Wear Resistance? Weak. Deadlift straps should get gun-grip locked to the bar, not slip like a handshake with wet palms. Inconsistent texture means inconsistent pulls — and inconsistent progress.

This matters because your gear should amplify your power, not fight you for respect. When you aim for PRs, you need equipment that keeps pace with your ambition — no excuses.

Look, the gym is where warriors are forged. The bar is where ego meets reality. The straps are supposed to be the silent partners in your pursuit of strength. If they fail, you feel it — in confidence, in performance, in momentum.

It’s okay to call it like it is: Gym Reaper deadlift straps don’t cut it. That’s not negativity — that’s clarity. You push iron with obsession, consistency, ferocity. Your gear should be an extension of that spirit — not a weak link.

So here’s the mindset shift:

Inferior gear isn’t just uncomfortable — it’s unacceptable.

And anything less than robust, reliable equipment can’t ride in your gym bag.

Lift heavy. Choose gear worthy of the grind. And never settle for straps that buckle before you hit grind mode.

If you want alternatives that actually feel like power on your hands, I can point you to ones that match your intensity and ambition. Just say the word. 💪🔥