Two Scoops. Get Huge.

Check it out mothah fuckahs:

Now I’m gonna get my girlfriend (she is smokin’ hot by the way), to take some camera pics of my abs in the bathroom where the lighting makes my 30 pack look extra huge. Then i’m going to put them in my profile so everybody can see how fucking in shape I am. And they are going to be real pictures of me too, just like the one on the homepage. But whatever the internet is for nerds anyway.

-Tony “Two Scoops” Muscoli

I drove south of the Mason Dixon line last weekend to find some Four Loko’s and when I am at the cash register somewhere in South Carolina getting my Eight Loko rung up, there - sitting on the counter next to the myriad of other stupid energy shots - was the most amazing thing I have ever seen at a shitty South Carolinian convenience/liquor store: a “6 Hour Energy” shot with 42g of protein.

Unbe-fucking-lievable. You are going to tell me that you can fit 42 grams of whey protein into 2.9 fluid ounces of liquid and have it stay a liquid? I mean Naked Juice can’t put 30 grams of protein into their "Protein Zone" smoothie without it tasting like you are chewing on sand, and they make some delicious shit. So how the fuck is this no-name shot gonna fit that much protein into a little energy shot and still have room for energy!? Absurd. Ludicrous. Preposterous! I must have it.

I now have the 6 Hours of Energy Get Huge shot in my possession, but I am too afraid to take it. For one, it cost me like $5, and now that I have it I feel like I have to wait for the right moment. Like having a fine Cuban victory cigar, or a really nice bottle of Scotch, or a bottle of wine from your wedding day, I think I need to wait until the right moment to drink this thing. What if it kills me? What if my body can’t absorb all 42 grams of protein and I have liver failure? These are all irrational fears of course because everybody knows my body can handle up to 1.5x my body weight in g’s of protein in any one sitting without so much as a fart, but they are things to be considered none the less.

What really scared me is that when I wanted to learn more about this gift from the heavens, I typed into Google:

• "6 Hour Energy 42g" - it returned nothing
• "Provita 42g" - it returned nothing
• "Provita 6 Hour Energy" - and finally I get some forums discussing the product but I still can’t find an official website

That set off a few bells. It wasn’t until closer inspection of the bottle that I found the actual website. However, as I am reading the label, I am discovering just how awesome this fucking thing really is. Caffeine, vitamins, minerals, and forty-two other reasons to love this shot. FORTY-FUCKING-TWO GRAMS OF PROTEIN. I mean, what the fuck? Why have 42g protein when you can have 84 grams? Two Shots, Get Huge, this story is just starting cause you all jacked up on caffeine. I am so scared to drink this thing. I’ll let you know when I do.

-Tony “Two Scoops” Muscoli

I know pictures of Vin Diesel riding his bike around were posted on other sites a few weeks ago (I first saw them on Barstool), but I was at a cabin in the Oregonese Woods working on perfecting my Squat technique from a former member of the U.S. Navy Seal Powerlifting team when they came out, so I didn’t have time for this shit… but now I do.

Anyway, I’ve seen tons of comments calling Vin Diesel and his cronies a “juiced up gay tricycle gang” - or something to that effect. First of all, these guys are not tricycling, they are bi. Secondly, how does having an entourage with an average bicep circumference of 20+ inches make you gay?

Here are a few of my favorites:
"Nothing says G-A-Y as a few muscleheads taking in the sun, cruising for guys. A little sausage-fest afterwards I’m sure." -5MinuteMajor

"why does it seem like everyone and their brother has a juiced up guido in their posse……..lube monkey ?" -Evil One

"You see them rollin’
They Flamin’” -Whistlez_GO_WOOOOO

But you know what I hear? Envy. Sounds like a bunch of desk jockeys are a little jealous that Vin is not only jacked, but he has sweet jacked friends. You think we at Two Scoops hang out with little people? No. We only surround ourselves with greatness, and by greatness I mean 18+ inch biceps - MINIMUM.

How can you expect people to take you seriously if you don’t roll with a meathead posse? When you are famous there are two options:

1. Be Huge. Roll with other huge dudes.
2. Be Rich. Pay huge dudes to hang out with you.

Vin Diesel is a perfect example of #1. Here is a perfect example of #2:

This is Geri Halliwell with her personal trainer and bodygaurd. Now, I don’t know who Geri Halliwell is, I just typed “big bodygaurd” into Google and found this, but it proves my point nicely. To respond to Evil One's comment above, it isn't that everybody seems to have a juicer in their posse, it is that everybody NEEDS to have a juicer in their posse.

So if you need a jacked dude to increase the legitimacy of your entourage, you can hire TwoScoops writers at $100 an hour to hang out with you and be awesome. Discounts for hot chicks looking for “personal trainers” or “bodygaurds.”

-Tony “Two Scoops” Muscoli

Obviously I don’t read Cosmo. In fact, it was not without great moral deliberations that I even wrote something about Cosmo. However, my super hot girlfriend was reading Cosmo on the coach next to me while I watched Pumping Iron (like I do every day before I go to the gym), when she came across this little beef nugget from an article entitled, “Shit My Boyfriend Says.”

Cosmo - November 2010 - “Shit My Boyfriend Says”
We know that fathers can say crazy (and stupidly funny) things, but even those gems are nothing compared to the stuff that comes out of these guys’ mouths.
by Gillian Telling

"He looked at me and announced, ‘I have named my penis. From now on, please refer to him as Meatstack.’" - Kelly, 22

Genius. Pure genius. How did I not come up with this first? I am actually kind of ashamed that Cosmo beat me to it. I have named my penis many things, Gargantuan, The Samoan, Fulham Throttle, Diddy Kock, Vlad the Impaler, Squat Rack, Bobby Orr / Brett Favre (think number of inches), Mini Me, Tim - the list goes on. However, even with my extensive and dynamic (You’ll notice the list above slowly adapted to the amount of, what we in the business call, “steroid shrinkage” my penis encountered) dick-naming experience, I have never thought to name my dick Meatstack. It seems so simple, like it should have been right there in front of my face all this time! If this man does actually exist, and I hope that he does, then I hope he reads this: Bravo.

I vow here and now to never be out-dicked in a dick naming competition again. End of Story.

-Clyde Smalls a.k.a. The Clydestale

I waited until after Halloween to post this cause I didn’t want anybody stealing my idea:

Look how happy those fiendish little sugar addicts are, and they didn’t even get candy. Here is how to get your trick-or-treaters just as happy as Two Scoops trick-or-treaters (start taking notes).

There are four different types of houses on Halloween:

1. Fun Size House. This is your average, run-of-the-mill stop on your Trick-or-Treat Trek. This house hands out a small variety of fun size candy bars that they probably bought in one big variety bag from Stop and Shop. Not a lot of effort. This is the definition of average. I know they are called “fun size” candies, but they are not a lot of fun - not when the prospect of the King Size House lies ahead.
2. King Size House. This is the house you (or your kids) keep coming back to every year. They don’t serve bullshit fun size pieces, they go big. Full size Snickers, 3 Musketeers, Milky Ways - your stomach hurts just thinking about trying to eat more than two pieces from this house alone. You want to be remembered? Get Huge… candy bars.
3. Not Home House. This is the lazy couple that just puts a bowl of candy on their front doorstep with a sign that says: “Please take just one.” You know what a trick-or-treating ten year old is thinking when he reads that sign? “Jackpot, dumbasses.” If you are lucky kid to get there first, you tip that bowl into your little plastic pumpkin (or a pillow case if you are a seasoned veteran) and take off towards the next house like a bat of a hell.
4. Alternative House. These are the creative types. Sometimes they are genius, sometimes they are the opposite of genius, but they are almost always a crap shoot. Just a bunch of assholes thinking they can mix it up. Sometimes you get weird candy like Necco Wafers, or candied apples. I ask of you, what the fuck are you suppose to do with a candied apple on Halloween? You stop to eat it you lose valuable candy pillaging time, if you put it in your bag it gets everything all sticky, and if you throw it away you just wasted a candy apple. Don’t fucking hand out candy apples. Anyway, at an Alternative House you get weird candy people, or worse - you could get straight social retards who give you dental floss or healthy fruit granola-whatever-go-fuck-yourself bars. But sometimes… sometimes they could totally surprise you, you could find that diamond in the rough. Of all the houses that try to be creative with their goodies, about one-in-a-thousand are successfull. The Two Scoops Stop was, of course, that one-in-a-thousand.

How, you ask, did the genius manbeasts at Two Scoops become the most revolutionary thing in trick-or-treating since the invention of the candy bag? Animal Pak, that’s how. For those of you who don’t know what Universal Animal Pak is: Animal Pak is a multi-vitamin pack that boasts a retarded dose of vitamins, minerals, shark cartilage, and other assorted animal internal organs.

Take one pack and you will be pissing fluorescent yellow for 2 days straight. Animal Pak over-nourishes your body by so much, that you quite literally can’t pee out all the excess nutrients fast enough. You become recklessly healthy. Stupid healthy. Make-your-piss-day-glow-yellow healthy. Animal Pak gets you so fucking healthy it cures cancer. All kinds. So we handed that shit out on Halloween.

Kids love Animal Pak cause it is like getting eleven pieces of candy in one little goody bag, and parents love it too! I can’t describe the look of shock on parents faces when we handed their little kids a plastic bag full of pills. You could tell they were absolutely thrilled that somebody finally took their child’s health into consideration. They were probably thinking, “look at these crazy assholes, just curing cancer one trick-or-treater at a time. God bless them.”

Keep your eyes open for a bunch of houses handing out little bags of pills next Halloween. We are going to revolutionize trick-or-treating, one cancer free kid at a time.

And remember, the official serving size on the nutritional information label for Animal Pak is 2 packs. So of course we gave each kid one serving: two packs, get kids huge, cure cancer, end of story.

-Tony “Two Scoops” Muscoli

UPDATE: I am pretty sure this is the ingredient that gives you cures cancer:

So your girlfriend, or wife, or slam-piece, or throat-goblin has been incessantly yapping in your ear about some shit that you don’t care about. “We aren’t spending enough time together.” ”We never do anything anymore.” I know, I know, she doesn’t understand that 5 hours per day on the free weights is necessary for you to maintain a godlike physique. But in the brief moments that you see her with the lights on, she’s been looking pretty fucking angry. You need to take emergency measures to ensure that she doesn’t cut off your nightly supply of poonani. But, unfortunately for you, more time with her means less time getting huge. Don’t sweat it, the answer is simple: cook her dinner. She will think that your sooooo sweet and great and sensitive. Meanwhile, you can pack your face with more protein than you’ve ever thought possible.

Chicken Proteinavera

Ingredients:

5 lbs. Lean Chicken Breast

1 Lemon

1 Bundle of Parsley

1.5 lbs. Cooked Ham

2 Large Cans of Tomato Paste

0.5 lbs. Grated Romano Cheese

2 Large Potatoes

300 grams Whey Protein (Vanilla)

Salt & Pepper

Recipe:

1. Dice one of your potatoes into small cubes. This is going to be a side dish to distract her from the fact that you have served up over 1000 grams of protein, mostly just for yourself. Place potato cubes onto a tray and bake in the oven at 400 degrees.

2. Dice parsley into small flakes. People put this leafy shit into sauce, only god knows why. Stop complaining about how smelly it is and do it, you fuck.

3. Slice your ham up into small pieces. Here comes the protein, baby. This shit is going to practically liquify itself when cooked in the sauce, she wont even know it’s there.

4. Combine ham, parsley, grated cheese, and lemon juice (from the lemon, retard) into a large pot with all of the tomato paste. Heat over stove on medium for one hour.

5. Here comes the money shot, you meaty bastard. Dump all of the protein powder into the sauce. That’s right, 300 grams, 15 scoops. Wipe the tears from your eyes, and stop kissing your gold crucifix necklace. Mix it in, big boy, you’ve earned this.

6. Remove chicken from the pack and rub with salt and pepp— FUCK! The potatoes! Oh god, they’re probably on fire already. Carefully peek inside the oven. How do they look? Unrecognizable? You fucking idiot. It’s okay though, this is exactly why we’ve bought two. Cut the other one up and start over, and try not to completely incinerate them this time.

7. Okay, now remove the chicken from the pack and rub with salt and pepper. Sear the chicken on a skillet, or grill it on a barbecue. Either way, just make sure you cook it completely, or don’t, I really couldn’t care less.

8. Put the cooked chicken onto a platter, smother in the gelatinous, protein-y ooze that’s masquerading as sauce. Bone Appa Teet!

What’s that? You want to make sure you get fucked after dinner? No problem, Broseidon. We’re gonna get her drunk.

Bonus Recipe: Proteiña Colada

We have here a very simple dilemma. You want to drink with your bitch, but you cant justify wasting precious stomach space on fruity garbage. Solution: Protein to the face. Get yourself a blender, some ice, one bottle of rum, coconut juice, and 160 grams vanilla whey protein powder. Excitedly throw all of that shit into the blender and turn it on. Drink up, get fucked, take a shit, and go to bed a champion.

- Dudley “Stacks” Rodman