Getbig.com: American Bodybuilding, Fitness and Figure
Getbig Main Boards => Gossip & Opinions => Topic started by: Juruth on December 17, 2012, 01:24:32 PM
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Yesterday linked to yesterday until you have a necklace of yesterdays, worn as a symbol of shame for the world to see. Like lines on a face. White hairs crowding out the darker ones. Time, leaving her indelible fingerprints of ageing on a man's face as he declines steadily into the gray twilight of anonymity and, then, quietly blotted out of existence by death as a world obsessed with the next big thing stands oblivious. Such was the shadow of a life Mighty Mike Quinn found himself inhabiting one fine Wednesday morning. He stood, in front of a full length mirror in the musty crampedness of his shithole apartment. Silently, he assessed what was left of his once championship physique: He had pecs, but they were sagging. His biceps were still big by barroom standards, but a far cry from the days he flexed and posed in front of the hungry lens of a camera. His abs, or more accurately, the place where his abs once were, was now a pale, pillowy cushion of middle age fat. The legs, never a strong point, were stork like. His gaze rose and he looked himself in the face. He studied the chin: The once strong jawline now obscured by double and even triple chins. The hair-always a disaster, was worse than ever. A mullet/combover combo that looked ridiculous. He forced a grin, and watched his face explode into a million wrinkles. He sighed and collapsed into his second hand sofa. He reached out for his pet cat Mittens, who took one look at him and ran away, disappearing into the abyss of clutter he called home. But, despite the momentary setback, Mighty Mike was a true bodybuilder and that meant the next comeback was always around the corner. Some miracle of miracles was just waiting to propel him back to the glory of his youth. Hope springs eternal and Mighty Mike felt as though he was on the verge. He nodded off for about 10 minutes. Eyes closed and snoring he was abruptly awakened by a throat closing fit of apnea. Mighty Mike stood up from his crummy sofa and decided it was time: Time to take the world by storm. Mike decided then and there what he needed was a score.
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This is the type of nonsense that Getbig doesn't need. After membership in over 50 chat forums I can tell you that this homoerotic bullshit is keeping serious members and no doubt some IFBB pros from posting here. This juruth guy is the same person who the other day was posting a Jehovah Witness cartoon. If anyone is familiar with them you would know that they are a religous mind control cult. I happen to be a certified deprogrammer and they are really bad news.
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This is the type of nonsense that Getbig doesn't need. After membership in over 50 chat forums I can tell you that this homoerotic bullshit is keeping serious members and no doubt some IFBB pros from posting here. This juruth guy is the same person who the other day was posting a Jehovah Witness cartoon. If anyone is familiar with them you would know that they are a religous mind control cult. I happen to be a certified deprogrammer and they are really bad news.
Shut your mouth convict, and recognize when getbig's greatest auteur has blessed you with his prose. Your flagrant disregard for greatness is superseded only by the level of challenge the two neurons in your addled brain must face when trying to create coherent thought. Mothers weep at your stupidity.
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Shut your mouth convict, and recognize when getbig's greatest auteur has blessed you with his prose. Your flagrant disregard for greatness is superseded only by the level of challenge the two neurons in your addled brain must face when trying to create coherent thought. Mothers weep at your stupidity.
Here's a hint:
When you want to blast someone's intelligence, at least be sure you spell everything correctly :D
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Juruth you fucker! :D
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Juruth you fucker! :D
yep, there some parts of the world where one better not thread
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Here's a hint:
When you want to blast someone's intelligence, at least be sure you spell everything correctly :D
Here's a hint:
When you want to blast someone's spelling, who's just blasted someone's intelligence, make sure you've first checked your thesaurus. For future reference, my lexicologically challenged chap!
http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/auteur
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Here's a hint:
When you want to blast someone's spelling, who's just blasted someone's intelligence, make sure you've first checked your thesaurus. For future reference, my lexicologically challenged chap!
http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/auteur
thats funny!
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(http://www.getbig.com/boards/index.php?action=dlattach;topic=452097.0;attach=496551;image)
funny how this homoerotic asspirat has the same build as arnold s while being natural.
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Yesterday linked to yesterday until you have a necklace of yesterdays, worn as a symbol of shame for the world to see.
Like lines on a face. White hairs crowding out the darker ones.
Time, leaving her indelible fingerprints of ageing on a man's face as he declines steadily into the gray twilight of anonymity and, then, quietly blotted out of existence by death as a world obsessed with the next big thing stands oblivious.
Such was the shadow of a life Mighty Mike Quinn found himself inhabiting one fine Wednesday morning.
He stood, in front of a full length mirror in the musty crampedness of his shithole apartment. Silently, he assessed what was left of his once championship physique: He had pecs, but they were sagging.
His biceps were still big by barroom standards, but a far cry from the days he flexed and posed in front of the hungry lens of a camera.
His abs, or more accurately, the place where his abs once were, was now a pale, pillowy cushion of middle age fat.
The legs, never a strong point, were stork like.
His gaze rose and he looked himself in the face.
He studied the chin: The once strong jawline now obscured by double and even triple chins.
The hair-always a disaster, was worse than ever. A mullet/combover combo that looked ridiculous.
He forced a grin, and watched his face explode into a million wrinkles.
He sighed and collapsed into his second hand sofa. He reached out for his pet cat Mittens, who took one look at him and ran away, disappearing into the abyss of clutter he called home.
But, despite the momentary setback, Mighty Mike was a true bodybuilder and that meant the next comeback was always around the corner. Some miracle of miracles was just waiting to propel him back to the glory of his youth.
Hope springs eternal and Mighty Mike felt as though he was on the verge. He nodded off for about 10 minutes.
Eyes closed and snoring he was abruptly awakened by a throat closing fit of apnea.
Mighty Mike stood up from his crummy sofa and decided it was time: Time to take the world by storm.
Mike decided then and there what he needed was a score.
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thats funny!
Touche.
In my defense, I was drunk :)
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Touche.
In my defense, I was drunk :)
Hahaha...drunk posting is the best posting...I love it! You post your mind with no regrets! Everyone here gets a free pass on drunk posting. It's like the insanity plea in court: "Your Ronster...I can't be held accountable, I was not in control of my actions. I was drunk posting".
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what does Mighty Mike looks like these days?......
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what does Mighty Mike looks like these days?......
ron posted a pic of him at the top of the forum in the legends photo from the masters O. Who's the guy in the hat?
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ron posted a pic of him at the top of the forum in the legends photo from the masters O. Who's the guy in the hat?
Scooby
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I hope Ronnie doesn't have any future plan to compete again....jeesh
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Hahaha...drunk posting is the best posting...I love it! You post your mind with no regrets! Everyone here gets a free pass on drunk posting. It's like the insanity plea in court: "Your Ronster...I can't be held accountable, I was not in control of my actions. I was drunk posting".
The thing is, when I'm a little drunk, I'm usually every bit as articulate as I am sober. But good and drunk, well ... that's a different matter :D
But in all fairness, I'm still embarrassed to say I mistook auteur for amateur. And while we're at it, given that I'm a Juruth fan and all, I'm pretty sure I meant to pick on True Amateur, not you :\
That's why it's called a mixed drink. It'll mix you the fuck up after polishing off most of a fifth :o :-[
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Ronnie lookin swole!
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The thing is, when I'm a little drunk, I'm usually every bit as articulate as I am sober. But good and drunk, well ... that's a different matter :D
But in all fairness, I'm still embarrassed to say I mistook auteur for amateur. And while we're at it, given that I'm a Juruth fan and all, I'm pretty sure I meant to pick on True Amateur, not you :\
That's why it's called a mixed drink. It'll mix you the fuck up after polishing off most of a fifth :o :-[
So it was mixed drinks, and not good quality liquor straight from the bottle? Then I think you get the free pass for sure. ;D
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He's a biker now, but gets in shape for private charity events like "Me Too Hungry" & "Cheek Of The East".
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Shut your mouth convict, and recognize when getbig's greatest auteur has blessed you with his prose. Your flagrant disregard for greatness is superseded only by the level of challenge the two neurons in your addled brain must face when trying to create coherent thought. Mothers weep at your stupidity.
They are the same poster.
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They are the same poster.
My gimmick detector is on the fritz. Probably needs an oil change.
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He's a biker now, but gets in shape for private charity events like "Me Too Hungry" & "Cheek Of The East".
lol...never thought he'd be the biker type......Quinn was the real bad boy of bodybuilding....miss the 90's for sure
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Quinn had it all - muscle, fame and a face only Big Ach's mother could love.
Unluckily a troubled soul but the Weider principles erected him from the dead.
Widely unknown fact - Limp Bizquits "Behind Blue Eyes" was originally written by The Who and co produced by Mike 8)
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So it was mixed drinks, and not good quality liquor straight from the bottle? Then I think you get the free pass for sure. ;D
Thank you, my erudite friend :) (And in all seriousness, auteur was in fact new to me :-[ ;D.)
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Yesterday linked to yesterday until you have a necklace of yesterdays, worn as a symbol of shame for the world to see. Like lines on a face. White hairs crowding out the darker ones. Time, leaving her indelible fingerprints of ageing on a man's face as he declines steadily into the gray twilight of anonymity and, then, quietly blotted out of existence by death as a world obsessed with the next big thing stands oblivious. Such was the shadow of a life Mighty Mike Quinn found himself inhabiting one fine Wednesday morning. He stood, in front of a full length mirror in the musty crampedness of his shithole apartment. Silently, he assessed what was left of his once championship physique: He had pecs, but they were sagging. His biceps were still big by barroom standards, but a far cry from the days he flexed and posed in front of the hungry lens of a camera. His abs, or more accurately, the place where his abs once were, was now a pale, pillowy cushion of middle age fat. The legs, never a strong point, were stork like. His gaze rose and he looked himself in the face. He studied the chin: The once strong jawline now obscured by double and even triple chins. The hair-always a disaster, was worse than ever. A mullet/combover combo that looked ridiculous. He forced a grin, and watched his face explode into a million wrinkles. He sighed and collapsed into his second hand sofa. He reached out for his pet cat Mittens, who took one look at him and ran away, disappearing into the abyss of clutter he called home. But, despite the momentary setback, Mighty Mike was a true bodybuilder and that meant the next comeback was always around the corner. Some miracle of miracles was just waiting to propel him back to the glory of his youth. Hope springs eternal and Mighty Mike felt as though he was on the verge. He nodded off for about 10 minutes. Eyes closed and snoring he was abruptly awakened by a throat closing fit of apnea. Mighty Mike stood up from his crummy sofa and decided it was time: Time to take the world by storm. Mike decided then and there what he needed was a score.
What is this load of horse shit really all about????