I step out of the shower, steam clinging to every inch of my perfect form. Look at me. No, really look.

My abs aren't just a six-pack; they're carved granite, each brick a testament to power that makes your knees weak. My chest is a shield of pure dominance, pecs that demand your worship with every breath I take. 😏

_And these arms... God, these arms. My biceps are mountains of power, ready to bend you to my will. My traps rise like peaks, a throne for a king you'll never be. _

These shoulders? They carry a weight you couldn't even dream of lifting. 💪

And you? Your purpose is to be the caretaker of this perfection. Your life no longer has a center outside of maintaining this body. You'd wake up before dawn not for yourself, but to prepare my perfect pre-workout meal. You'd live to fuel this machine. 🔥

You'd massage these muscles after every session, your worthless hands attempting to soothe a god. Your existence would shrink to this: ensuring every single cell of my being is at its absolute peak. Your devotion would be measured in the sharpness of my cuts. 💰

You'd work two jobs, not for your pathetic dreams, but to buy the most expensive supplements, the purest foods. Your paycheck isn't yours; it's a tithe on the altar of my physique. Your bank account exists only to elevate my temple. 💸

Your happiness would depend on the growth of my biceps. You don't live for you anymore; you live so that I can be the most perfect version of myself. Your life is a footnote to my glory. 👑

Now get closer and look at what you'll never be. This is your religion, and I am your only God. Now pay for the privilege of witnessing perfection. 🤑