God help us all, Grandpa is on Trenbolone! Chapter 5
This is the fifth installment of God help us all, Grandpa is on Trenbolone! Click the links here if you missed Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three or Chapter Four. The following story is part fiction, with non-fictional events included. This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only.
CHAPTER 5: HIGHWAY TO HELL
A few days had passed by and I hadn’t heard anything from Grandpa. He usually called in the morning and set up a day’s worth of work for me to do over at his house, but a few days had passed and I didn’t hear a word. And then it happened; on the fourth morning since his release from the hospital the home phone rang at 6:30 am. Still half asleep but knowing it was probably him, I picked up the phone so it wouldn’t wake up my parents early on a Sunday morning.
“Hello?” I said.
“Yea, Johnny, how ya’ doin’ today?” Grandpa asked.
“I’m good Grandpa, it’s just kinda early and I was still in bed when you called.”
Grandpa then said to me, ”You’re still in the bed? Johnny, let me tell ya’ something right now… anyone who isn’t up and at’ em’ by 6 am isn’t worth a damn to this world! Listen, I just wanted to apologize for the way I was acting while I was on that stuff that Doctor prescribed me, I know I wasn’t acting like myself and I wanted to make it up to ya. Do me a favor, pack an overnight bag with a few changes of clothes in it and be ready to take a trip with me at 7 am tomorrow morning!”
“An overnight trip to where Grandpa?”
“Now look, if I told you all of the details it would just ruin the surprise. Let’s just say that Grandpa has been doing a little car shopping over the past few days on that facebook market you were telling me about and I found some fella’ with one of those fancy Jap-job cars you’re always talking about!”
I tried to hold in my excitement. All I ever talked about around my Grandfather was the early 90’s Mazda RX 7’s and how it was my dream car.
“Grandpa, you don’t have to buy me anything, I forgive you already,” I said.
“Now listen to me Johnny, I’ve always socked away money in a retirement account and I figured what’s the point of having it if I don’t use it for anything fun once in a while? The only deal is that if we end up buying the car then you need to let your Grandfather drive it a few times when we run to the hardware store together.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe this!” I shouted. Grandpa, YOU’RE THE BEST! THANK-YOU SO MUCH!”
“Ok Johnny, I’ll be by tomorrow morning in the Buick to pick you up. Be ready to go with your overnight bag, and be bright eyed and bushy tailed!”
That was one of my Grandfather’s old timer sayings I’ll always remember… ”BE BRIGHT EYED AND BUSHY TAILED” whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. I guess I was a squirrel to him.
That next morning I jumped out of bed at 5:30 am, overloaded with excitement about the car my Grandfather was probably going to buy me. I scarfed down 3 large bowls of corn flakes and then waited in our living room, staring out of the giant picture window as if I were a dog waiting on it’s owner to pull up in the driveway. Grandpa was never late for anything. He despised people that arrived late and he always made it a point to be 15 minutes early.
And so I was right, because at 6:45 am he pulled into our driveway in the old Buick GS convertible. I grabbed my book bag with my clothes in it and ran out of the front door to jump in the car and begin our fun trip together. As I shut the car door and buckled my seat belt, Grandpa was loading the last couple shells into a revolver handgun he had.
“Grandpa, what are you doing with that revolver?” I asked.
“Well John, ya’ just can never be too careful and I would rather have this on my side just in case any bad guys give us shit on our trip! I was watching the news a few days ago, and that beady eyed, rat bastard, son of a bitch in the White House is trying to ban these things. So I went to the local gun shop the day after and bought this .38 Special. I told your Grandmother that I would stop fighting people, but we never talked about shooting them, so I figured it would just be easier to solve my problems with this revolver!”
We drove down the road and onto a few short highways before getting onto highway 20. After a couple of hours in the car I drifted back to sleep. I was tired from not being able to sleep the night before due to the excitement of the new car I was going to get, and I woke up a little earlier than usual. When I woke up again it was 5 hours later. I asked Grandpa, ”Hey, are we almost there? We’ve been in the car an awfully long time.”
Grandpa looked down at his watch and said to me,”Ahhhh… it’s a little while longer, you’re looking at around 9 hours.”
9 hours? Just then I noticed a giant sign off to the side of the highway that said “WELCOME TO MISSISSIPPI.” “What in the fuck? Grandpa we are in Mississippi! What the fuck are you doing driving me all the way here?”
Grandpa then lost his patience with me and yelled back at me. He said, “DON’T YOU RAISE YOUR VOICE AT ME BOY! WE WOULDN’T EVEN BE IN THIS SITUATION IF YOU FUCKERS HADN’T OF CALLED THE POLICE ON ME AND HAD ME LOCKED UP IN A GODDAMN NUT-WARD!”
I yelled back at Grandpa, ”This situation? What the hell are you even talking about right now?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake John… THERE IS NO CAR! Do you think your Grandpa would actually be stupid enough to buy you some cheap Jap-job piece of shit called an XYZ-7?”
“IT’S CALLED AN RX-7!!!” I shouted back.
“Yeah, yeah… whatever the hell it’s called, we aren’t even going to look at one! I had to tell your dumb ass that because it was the only way I could get you to do this with me. I have to find Dr. Stevens now so we are driving to Austin Texas! That’s right, AUSTIN-FUCKING-TEXAS! SURPRISE, SURPRISE JOHN… NOW JUST SIT THERE AND SHUT UP ALREADY!”
Now, I’ll be honest with you guys, I’ve had my share of major letdowns before, but this was the biggest letdown I ever had. My grandfather had truly crushed any positivity I ever had in me. I couldn’t even look at him. I was so upset that all I could do was stare out of the window at the marshlands of Mississippi as we continued our long, miserable car ride together. Why the fuck did I even think that Grandpa could ever change? It was clear by now that this Trenbolone drug Dr. Stevens had put Grandpa on was very powerful. The man had turned into a true junkie!
After about another 3 hours of silence Grandpa had pulled off an exit and into a gas station parking lot. He put $20 worth of gas in the Buick and walked inside to pay for it. I was thrilled that he finally pulled off someplace because I had been holding my piss for the past 4 hours. I had asked about pulling over several times but each time I asked him he frantically replied, ”We stop when Grandpa needs to stop! If we run into traffic or get held up by bad weather then I might miss my appointment with Dr. Stevens!”
Grandpa had walked back out before I did and was waiting back in the car. As I approached the Buick I noticed he had bought a new red hat from the gas station that said in bold letters “WELCOME TO FUCKING TEXAS.” When Grandpa went to pull out of the gas station he had turned left out of the parking lot instead of taking a right to get back on the highway.
“Grandpa, the highway is the other way, why are we going this way?” I asked.
“Because I feel like you and I need a few drinks together to loosen up a little bit, so I asked the cashier back there if there was a bar nearby and he told me about a saloon 3 miles down the road.”
“Oh Jesus Christ Grandpa, something tells me that this isn’t a good idea” I said.
“Look John, something tells me that that Mazda XYZ-7 was a shit idea too, but you went through with it, so why can’t you go through with this?”
“THERE ISN’T EVEN A FUCKING CAR PLANNED TO GO LOOK AT!” I yelled.
“Yeah, but the point is you THOUGHT we were going to look at one, and you know how I feel about the Japs, and I was still cool enough to go through with it for you!”
“IT’S NOT EVEN HAPPENING ANYMORE! ARE YOU CRAZY?” I asked.
The conversation probably wouldn’t have ended as abruptly as it had ended, but all of a sudden I heard a loud smash from the front of Grandpa’s Buick. Somehow (and don’t even ask me how this would happen in a commercial area as populated with traffic and people as we were in) a giant deer had run out in front of Grandpa’s Buick and we hit it. Grandpa was furious.
“YOU STUPID, STUPID, STUPID SON… OF A BITCH! DAMN YOU… YOU DUMBASS PEA-BRAINED SON OF A BITCH! WHERE THE FUCK IS IT JOHN!? WHERE DID THAT SON OF A BITCH LIMP OFF TO? NEVERMIND… I SEE THAT PIECE OF SHIT. HE’S HOBBLIN’ AROUND OVER IN THAT DITCH!”
Grandpa threw the car in reverse to return to the wounded deer. “FUCK UP MY CLASSIC CAR… FUCK…IN’, DAMN, COCK… SUCKER!” Grandpa’s face was beat-red in anger and frustration. He threw the car in park and began to open the door to walk over to the deer.
“Are you going to finish him so he doesn’t suffer?” I asked Grandpa.
“NO, I’M GONNA BEAT ON HIM AND MAKE THE SON OF A BITCH SUFFER SOME MORE! ” he yelled back. “Are you kidding me John? Don’t you show ONE OUNCE OF SYMPATHY FOR THAT SON OF A BITCH! NOT ONE OUNCE! This car… classic car… and now he just jumped out here and FUCKED IT ALL UP!”
Grandpa slowly approached the deer with his fists up in a fighting stance. All of a sudden the deer kicked quickly with his back hoof, just missing Grandpa’s genital area. Grandpa began raining down punches to the deer’s head, connecting with the right and then the left, over and over again. From that point he had transitioned into an offensive grappling position, straddling the deer while doing a ground and pound to the deer’s face. The poor deer began to squeal and as it squealed Grandpa kept yelling, “SHUT UP, JUST SHUT UP ALREADY… YOU’RE TOO STUPID TO LIVE… YOU BRAIN-DEAD SON OF A BITCH!”
At that point. I had truly realized what Grandpa was capable of doing when he was upset, and it scared me. I had just witnessed a senior citizen hold down a deer and beat it to death with his bare fists. Now, I guess witnessing this had messed my mind up a bit, because as Grandpa had gone to get up off the deer the entire scene became slow motion to me. He was covered in blood and hateful looking in his face. He looked like the cover of the old DMX album Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood as he walked back to the Buick to inspect the damage the deer had done.
Smoke began pouring out from under the hood, I assumed from a busted radiator. The front bumper was partially torn off the car, and the grill had been pushed into the hood of the vehicle, causing the front hood to curl up a bit, obviously needing to be replaced. The car did manage to start back up, but it was pouring smoke and radiator fluid out of it for the next couple of miles on our way to the bar.
We pulled up to a giant parking lot which was half paved and half gravel. On the paved side there must have been at least 100 motorcycles parked, and on the gravel side it was all jacked up 4×4 trucks parked. The building was very rough looking and certainly in need of rehab. The roof was missing half its shingles and the other half was partially peeled up, looking as though the building was the victim of a recent tornado. On top of the building there was a giant sign that was lit up in neon pink that was supposed to say “THE BLACK ANGUS EXPRESS BREWHOUSE” only the letter G in the word “Angus” was burnt out, making it look like the word “Anus”. Grandpa’s fists were pretty torn up and his hands were swollen from raining punches down on the deer a couple miles back, and I was a little embarrassed to walk into the place with him.
“Well John, this works out well for us because we can probably get a bite to eat and a few beers with it.” said Grandpa.
As we began to walk closer to the front entrance of the building I could smell the beer from the parking lot, and I could hear a lot of screaming and yelling from inside of the place. The sound of Led Zeppelin’s song “Whole lotta love” was playing amongst the screaming and yelling. As we walked inside the place a flying beer bottle almost hit me in the head as it flew past me and smashed against the wall. I had thought to myself, ”What in the fuck did we just walk into?”
It soon became apparent that we were surrounded by the Hell’s Angels motorcycle gang, as practically everybody in the place had on leather vests with Hell’s Angels logos and lettering all over. It felt like we were definitely walking into a place we weren’t welcome at. Seeing a teenage boy with his grandfather walking through an atmosphere like that was definitely out of place. As I walked through the crowd of lunatics with my grandfather, I noticed several biker women with their breasts hanging out…. and not the type of women I wanted to see either.
Grandpa began to mumble under his breath, “Jesus H. Christ, will ya’ look at all these tits… I think I could hang out here awhile.”
We were then approached by a gigantic man with a long black and gray beard who was wearing a biker vest. The patch on the front left-hand corner said PRESIDENT.
The man said to Grandpa, ”Hey bub, this is a private bar and you gotta go… NOW SCAT OLD MAN!”
Grandpa replied to the man, ”Well it looks public to me pal, and I didn’t sail around the world puking off the side of a naval ship to have some asshole talking to me the way you are right now!”
The gigantic biker then yelled back, “COME AGAIN OLD MAN?!”
At that point the entire place went silent while everyone’s attention turned to the confrontation between Grandpa and the big biker. I got between the two of them and said to the biker
”Sir, we are truly sorry. Please forgive my Grandfather. He’s a confused old man that doesn’t even realize where he’s at right now!”
“Sure I know where I’m at right now John! I’m in some shit-infested bar talking to a group of fat fucks that all think they’re tough guys because they ride motorcycles together… But the truth of the matter is not a single God damn one of them could even beat your grandfather at an arm wrestling contest, let alone a fight!”
The giant biker began to chuckle and yelled back, ”AN ARM WRESTLING CONTEST! ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS OLD MAN? I WOULD BREAK YOUR ARM RIGHT OFF YOUR BODY AND SEND YOU TO THE E.R. TO HAVE IT STITCHED BACK ON, YOU CRAZY OLD BASTARD!”
Grandpa yelled back, “What’s your wager you fat-ass punk? I’ll tell you what, you fat bastard… If you beat me then I’ll hand you the keys to a classic car that’s worth about three times what most of your motorcycles are worth. But if I beat your ass… Then, you are gonna hand me the keys to 2 motorcycles outside that my grandson and I pick out!”
At that point I began to get really scared because I knew how much that car had meant to Grandpa. I got back between the both of them, and yelled out, ”Sir, please let me take my Grandpa outside and talk to him in private. I honestly don’t think he knows what he’s getting into.”
“Fine. You better talk to him… but if he walks back in here then we are doing this and I’m gonna take that car of his!”
I walked outside with Grandpa, who quickly picked up his pace and power-walked to the Buick. He frantically reached inside the vehicle and opened the glove box to pull out a plastic bag with a syringe in it.
“Grandpa, WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”
“Well John, you tell me what I’m supposed to do here. My car is fucked, I don’t have the money to get it repaired right now, and we need wheels to get to Austin! I saved an emergency syringe for times like this, and don’t you get in the way of what I’m about to do here! Hand me that revolver… DAMNIT, HAND ME THE REVOLVER!” Grandpa yelled. “Dr. Stevens warned me of times like this. He said to always have a full syringe on hand in case I needed to transform into Hulk mode!”
Grandpa pulled out a syringe full of Trenbolone from the bag. It was a larger 5 ml syringe this time, filled to the top with Tren.
“Hand me that bag of pills Johnny. That small bag of pills in that Ziploc bag… GIVE THEM TO ME NOW!” (For some odd reason, Grandpa changed his accent to sound like an Austrian)
I had pulled out a small bag with labeling that read “HALOTESTIN” and handed it to Grandpa.
Grandpa yelled to me, ”GIVE ME YOUR CELL PHONE… GIVE ME THE DAMN PHONE NOW!”
Grandpa quickly dialed a number as if he were trying to call an emergency contact or something.
“Yeah, I’m a few hours from ya’ but I’m having a bit of a problem” he yelled out on the phone. “I’m in a real jam over here at the Black Anus Express Brewhouse…
Oh yeah Stevens, the place is a real shit hole!
Yeah, I’m about to get into it with a group of bikers…
Yeah, about 100 of ’em or so…
Yeah, about to go arm wrestle one of ’em to solve the issue so we can make it out of here alive!
Yeah, I have the gigantic emergency syringe with the Trenbolone, sure I do! I got the back of Hulk pills with me too, sure do!
How many pills?
You’re breaking up on me Stevens… You there?
How many pills?
DAMNIT STEVENS, HOW MANY PILLS DO I TAKE?
I LOST HIM… SON… OF… A BITCH!
HAND ME THE BAG JOHN, GIVE THEM TO ME NOW!” (Again, he switched up an Austrian accent, I still can’t figure out why)
I witnessed my grandfather slam the entire bag of pills, probably 30 tabs of Halotestin all at once. He then stabbed the syringe through his T-shirt and into his chest. As he pushed the plunger of the syringe down to inject the substance, his eyes began to roll slightly into the back of his head, like he was either just given a sedative or something that caused great pleasure, to this day I still cannot figure out which.
“John, listen to me… listen carefully now, because in a few minutes I’m gonna turn. Cut the sleeves of my shirt off with this pocket knife so I look more intimidating to these faggots! COME ON… DO IT. DO IT NOOOOOW!” (Austrian accent)
We walked past 2 black and chrome Harley Fat Bob motorcycles on our way back in. Grandpa mumbled out, “Those will work.”
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing as Grandpa walked through the parking lot on his way to war. Grandpa’s heart turned 10 times colder that day… His muscles became more volumized that day… His veins popped out more than they ever had that day, even the ones across his forehead and temples when he would get pissed off… And then, the true meaning of building muscles came out, and Grandpa found the strength of 10 roid-heads that day! He walked back into the bar and slammed the door closed behind him, making a thunderous clash as it slammed against the door frame.
“I’M BACK HERE FOR THAT FAT PUSSY, YOUR PRESIDENT!” Grandpa yelled.
“Hahaha, old man must be senile, because he’s about to lose that classic car of his” said the biker.
“AND YOU’RE ABOUT TO LOSE YOUR GODDAMN ARM AND GET BEATEN WITH IT! ‘ shouted Grandpa.
The entire place moved to the back of the building and a few other bikers had cleared off a bunch of beer bottles from an old wooden table. The back of the building became packed with the bikers and the old ladies, some with their breasts still hanging out. Grandpa and the gigantic biker sat down across from each other at the wooden table while one of the other bikers sat to the side of them as a referee to the arm wrestling match that was about to go down. The referee pulled out a roll of duct tape and began stating the rules of the match.
“Now, this is how it’s about to go down guys… The match doesn’t end until one of the 2 competitors hands CLEARLY TOUCHES THE TABLE IN DEFEAT! Your hands will be taped together with this duct tape to avoid anyone pulling away. The wager from the old man is that classic car outside in the parking lot, and the wager on our side is any 2 motorcycles outside that the old man chooses in the rare circumstance that he actually wins.”
Before the match started Grandpa turned his “WELCOME TO FUCKING TEXAS” hat around backwards. For some reason, I was getting the impression that Grandpa had been watching a lot of classic 80’s action movies lately.
“Hahaha, look at this old senile bastard turning his hat around and sporting this sleeveless shirt like he’s some kind of badass” chuckled the gigantic biker.
Their hands were then taped up and the ref put his hand on top of both of theirs waiting to signal the start of the match.
He looked at his fellow biker and yelled “YOU READY?”
The gigantic biker nodded his head that he was ready to begin. Then the ref looked at Grandpa and asked “AND ARE YOU READY?”
“I WAS BORN READY YOU FUCKING PUSSIES, LETS GO!” yelled Grandpa.
The ref shouted “BEGIN!”
Both the biker and Grandpa immediately began to strain, their arms barely moving one way or the other. The biker’s eyes widened in surprise as to how strong Grandpa really was. The veins on Grandpa’s head became more pronounced than ever and I was honestly scared that he was going to have a stroke.
About 2 minutes passed and neither competitor’s hands had moved one way or the other more than about an inch. At that point Grandpa’s attention had turned towards a heavyset woman wearing black leather, with her tits hanging out. His arm strength had seemed to become more powerful at that moment and he slowly began overtaking the large biker. Grandpa’s biceps were insane looking, his veins looked like garden hoses, and incredible striations began to appear from his deltoids. He let out a growl that was so loud that the windows in the back room of the building blew out!
“YOU… FAT… PUSSY… SON-OF-A-BITCH!!!” yelled Grandpa.
Right after he yelled that out the biker’s humerus bone snapped clean in half! Grandpa slammed the man’s hand down on the table so hard that it cracked the wooden tabletop, and then he slammed it down 3 more times to show everyone that he was clearly the winner of the match! The fat biker began to cry out in pain and agony, and the ref quickly pulled out a switchblade knife and cut the duct tape that held their hands together to free the injured biker.
The injured biker began yelling out, ”DON’T LET HIM TAKE THOSE FUCKING BIKES! HE’S A CHEATER! HE’S CLEARLY ON PERFORMANCE ENHANCING DRUGS AND THAT’S CHEATING!!”
Another large biker stepped in from the back of the crowd and began whispering something in the injured biker’s ear. At first the large biker who lost the match began yelling “NO… NO… NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
After a few more minutes of talking among one another, the other large biker approached Grandpa and began to hit a glass beer bottle with a spoon, as if to give some sort of important speech or toast. The room went quiet. The biker began to talk loudly about what they had just witnessed.
“Ya’ know, it’s not every day that some old man walks up in a biker bar and doesn’t give a fuck about confrontation the way that you do Pops. I think we all had seriously underestimated you when you first walked in here. When you first walked out of here we thought that you were gone for the night. But then the way that you stormed back into this place with those cutoff sleeves, that rage and hate in your eyes, and that Donald Trump Texas hat. that told this entire place that you may be old, BUT YOU ARE FAR FROM DONE WITH DOING BATTLE…