Mike O’Hearn
Mike O’Hearn: The epitome of copasetic in the balless age
There’s a high probability that our subject, Mike O’Hearn, is a name that’s never appeared on your radar, although he’s a pimp within certain circles. O’Hearn is slightly over the wrong side of fifty, and although he’s accumulated an impressive volume of top-tier credentials to pad his resume, he’s mostly known as a muscle-head.
Off the back of winning the genetic lottery, O’Hearn has graced the covers of cheesy romance novels, nutrition, and style ads, and he’s also had a gig as a super-douche Chad on American Gladiators.
We’re excessively abbreviating Mike’s back story, as this isn’t intended to be some bio. Instead, we’re calling attention to this age’s complete lack of accountability, for both them and those around them.
So, how is an ageless meatstick related to this subject?
For decades Mike O’Hearn has boldly claimed the mantle of being “natty”, a bodybuilder who’s refused to augment his physic by blasting shit loads of gear (steroids). Mike’s claim is not only physiologically unattainable, but couldn’t even qualify as questionable.
O’Hearn has surpassed the limitations of natural bodybuilding, so far so, that his fervent insistence and erroneous claims of natural are loony tunes. The O’Hearn travesty smacks his contemporaries in the face, tantamount to the morbidly fat, Tess Holiday giving an overcoming obesity testimonial at an anorexia anonymous meeting.
Deep Fakes
There’s no secret that this technology has been progressively evolving at a rapid pace, exceeding previous limitations on a regular basis. The potential for weaponizing this reality-augmenting instrument has arrived if it wasn’t already in progress.
The brood of unholy vipers that command Washington has unfettered access to CGI, using it as a seamless conductor for their sinister ambitions and subversive agenda.
Pennsylvanians have been tossed into the spotlight, knowingly or not, and at the close to November, they must settle up. the race between a semi-new age, wizard of oz, and a hulking lump of trailer-trash can go either way.
The limited, but telling, access I’ve collected to John Fetterman provides the story narrative with ample information to propose this observation. Whoever, in good conscience, can support Oz’s neanderthal competitor, who may still be in the throes of a stroke, is an intellectual infant.
Fetterman is committed to maintaining his unpolished and ratty appearance, signaling a “fuck you” tone of arrogance or a man in crisis. While a vote for Oz, at most, might stir-up questions of one’s sexuality, a vote for Fetterman is a bold afront to human progress.
