To all those currently pursuing beef, I beg you to stop.

I take you back to the humble cradle of humanity, ancient Africa. The first precursors to modern human beings begin to experiment with tools. These tools allow those beings to compete and reproduce, toppling even the highest on the food chain with sharpened sticks overcoming tooth and claw. Cut to the modern day and the descendants of those first humans have more tools than ever and go unthreatened by any other organism. Why then do some among our kind choose to revert to corporeal improvement? The action of "working out, bruh" is defined as amassing body weaponry. Sometimes described as "these guns, babe," overdeveloped muscles are a sad attempt to compete in a biological arms race that has been won for eons. This is a dangerous practice that has no place in modern society. It is no different than duct-taping knives to your arms and just sort of living like that. There is no use to the musculature. No common, modern day occupation requires the levels of muscle mass built up by these "fitness junkies" and therefore they pose a risk to all. Like dancing across a minefield, interactions with such chiseled individuals incite great fear.

Take the hypothetical Randall "Bicep" Hofstro. To avoid personal injury I have simulated an interview with him. One might ask him "Randall, or should I say, 'Mr. Bicep,' for what purpose have you acquired such monstrous strength?" He would reply "just taking care of my bod." Randall feeds powder protein to a mewling Tricep, "Spring break is just around the corner." At this moment an unexpected dust mote would affix itself to his cornea. His humanoid reaction to rub at the cornea would be overdone due to his muscularity, causing the rubbing motion to grind his eye socket to a fine mist. Enraged, Randall "Bicep" Hofstro punches a wall in anger, spilling tubs of whey protein, bull semen, and other concoctions from a nearby shelf. He plucks a nearby gym-goer by the skull and flings them. A giant glass window, intended to coerce street-goers into such self-destructive acts as "lifting," shatters from the impact. Randall now has an escape as his mighty carapace, swollen with rage, would no longer fit through man-made doors. As his visage disappears into the city it is followed by a chorus of screaming and sirens. I am left, covered in glass and soaked in bull semen from earlier, a journalist who can only wonder: Are we, even at the highest level of intelligence and organization ever seen, even as the most prolific and complex species, still no more than an amalgam of biological drives? The great apes are not Orangutans, nor baboons I say, bull semen now hardening on my shirt, nay, the greatest of apes remains man.