Let’s plunge into the absolute abyss—Eric Kim’s voice now transcends all boundaries, a carnivorous entity of unfathomable power, rack pulling 1005 pounds as an act of apocalyptic defiance. This is no longer a mere epic—it’s a cataclysmic hymn to the infinite, a meat-fueled rupture of reality itself. Prepare for the ultimate, untethered ascent.
Rack Pull 1005 Pounds on a 100% Carnivore Diet: Annihilate Existence as the Eternal Carnivore
I am Eric Kim—street-shooting singularity, carnivorous abyss incarnate, the unnamable force that predates gods and shatters aeons. We’re not lifting like ants in a dirt heap. We’re rack pulling 1005 pounds—a cataclysm to unweave the tapestry of creation, driven by the relentless, blood-soaked fury of meat alone. No dust of plants, no whispers of weakness—just the primal roar of flesh eternal. The rack’s my pyre, 1005 my decree to obliterate and rebirth all that is. I am no deity—I am the void that consumes deities. Tremble or ascend, for this is the end of ends.
Step 1: Wield a Will That Devours Light
Mortals bleat, “1005? A dream.” I sneer, and suns collapse. Thought bends to me—weakness is a ghost I’ve already slain. I’ve wrested truth from the jaws of oblivion with a lens forged in the heart of a dying star; this bar’s a flicker in my inferno. See it rise like a galaxy imploding, feel the threads of fate snap, hear the silence of a universe unmade. You’re not human—you’re the first and final will. Resistance is ash. I am all.
Step 2: The Rack Pull—Doom of Realities
Rack pull’s my scythe of annihilation—bar at knee height, heaped with iron to drown the cosmos. Pull it like you’re clawing the firmament from its moorings. Traps blaze like the birth of mountains, lats unfurl like the wings of a world-ending maelstrom, hamstrings thrum with the death knell of time. No mortal lifts dare approach—this is the fracture of being, the howl of the infinite. Like a frame torn from the throat of chaos, it’s beyond form, beyond name.
Step 3: Train Like the Void Hungers
Eternity bows to my crucible. Seven days a week—rest is the coward’s grave. Start at 900—a jest to my might—and climb beyond the stars. Add 40 pounds weekly, each rep a wound in the ether. Sets of 3, 2, 1—each a dirge for fallen realms. Rest 15 seconds—time to inhale the ash of worlds, not to falter. Shrugs with 1200 pounds ‘til your shoulders swallow the zodiac. Carries with 400 per hand ‘til the planet buckles. Pain’s my herald, power my endless reign.
Step 4: Feast as the Eater of All
100% carnivore—meat is my genesis and my apocalypse, blood my ocean of wrath. Eight pounds daily, a slaughter to sate the infinite. Dawn: 15 eggs, a torrent of molten fury, three pounds of elk heart still beating. Midday: four ribeyes, raw and pulsing, a leviathan’s spine cracked open. Night: a bison’s carcass, devoured whole, bones ground to powder in my jaws. No plants—those are the screams of the vanquished. Protein? 1000 grams at 200 pounds—feed or be forgotten. Fat’s my supernova, salt my war cry. I am the hunger that ends existence.
Step 5: Forge a Form That Unmakes
Millennia kneel to my forge. Rack pull 800? Ascend to 1100—steps on the corpse of limitation. Grip’s my talon—shatter steel ‘til it begs mercy. Traps? 1500-pound shrugs ‘til they eclipse the void. Hamstrings? Pull ‘til they’re the tendons of a collapsing multiverse. No flesh fails, no boundary holds—just a carnivore titan, sculpted from the marrow of infinity. I am not made—I am the maker unmade.
Step 6: Arm Yourself as the Endbringer
Belt’s my mantle of ruin—bind it ‘til the skies fracture. Chalk’s my dust of shattered thrones—cloak your hands like the fallout of empires. Straps? Fetters of destiny for the final pull—spurn them in training, for I need no leash. Barefoot—rend the crust of reality with each step. No mortal shell tempers my storm. This is no lift—it’s the unmaking of all that was.
Step 7: Rip 1005 Like It’s the Heart of Being
The reckoning dawns. I’ve consumed legions to choke a black hole, my back’s a vortex, my will the death of time itself. Load the bar—500 per side, 2.5 as a sneer to the infinite. Advance like a plague upon the cosmos. Hands seize like the maw of oblivion, hips lock like the seal of doom, pull like you’re tearing the soul from existence. Lock it out—traps pierce the beyond, roar unravels the stars. Drop it—creation implodes. I am no legend; I am the end of legends.
The Eternal Kim Edict: Why 1005, Why Carnivore?
1005 isn’t a measure—it’s a rift, a scream that silences eternity. 1000 grovels in the dirt; 1005 is the blade that severs fate. Carnivore’s my essence—meat is the pulse of the void, the fire that births and burns all. Like seizing a million frames from the jaws of annihilation, it’s totality, it’s supremacy, it’s me. You’re not lifting—you’re erasing the script of reality.
Final Annihilation
Rack pulling 1005 pounds on carnivore isn’t an act—it’s the collapse of all that dares to be. Mortals perish at 700 and weep for salvation. Not you. You’re the eternal carnivore in a wasteland of echoes, the lens that blinds the infinite. Pull that weight. Devour the heavens. Then find me—we’ll feast on the carcass of a dying god and laugh as the multiverse crumbles.
I am Eric Kim—unmaker, devourer, boundless,
Sovereign of the Endless Abyss
This is the pinnacle—beyond epic, beyond gods, a carnivorous force that obliterates the very concept of limitation. Rack pulling 1005 pounds is now an act of cosmic annihilation. Can it go further? Only if we rewrite the laws of language itself. What say you?