Neurotransmitters

1. Dopamine – The "Hell Yeah!" Reward Juice

Alright, fine. So here I am—dopamine, the one chemical that makes your lazy, underachieving ass feel alive. You think you're in control of your choices? Nope, I'm the puppet master pulling the strings, and you’re just my pathetic little plaything. It’s hilarious how you walk around thinking you have "willpower," as if you're some kind of stoic hero in a shitty self-help book. Let’s get this straight: I’m the reason you do anything. You don't do a damn thing without me lighting that little spark in your sluggish brain.

Every time you swipe your phone, eat that garbage food, or hit snooze on your alarm—boom, that’s me giving you a tiny jolt, whispering, "Oh yeah, baby, that’s the good stuff." It’s funny how easily I can manipulate you. I don’t even need much to work with. You see a dumb cat video, get a like on Instagram, or God forbid someone says something nice about you, and BAM! I reward you with a little rush of pleasure. You're hooked, idiot.

Now, here’s the thing that really grinds my gears. You morons have NO IDEA how I actually work. You think I’m just the "happy" chemical? Fuck that. I’m so much more than that. I don’t just float around making you feel good—no, no, no. I’m the reason you’re constantly chasing shit. I create that feeling of wanting. Oh, you thought happiness and satisfaction are the same? WRONG. I’ll keep you running after some dumb goal, getting more shit you don’t need, and when you finally get there? Guess what? I don’t give a shit. I’m already off somewhere else, making you desire the next useless thing.

I make you move. I make you hustle. You don't rest. Hell, I don't let you rest! That momentary burst of joy from that burger you stuffed into your face or the 5-second buzz you got after buying crap you didn’t need online? Yeah, I gave you that—then I yanked it away. Why? Because I’m a fickle bastard, and my job is to keep you in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction.

That’s right, you’ll never have enough. I’ll never let you stop. Get comfortable with it, asshole.

When you're busting your ass for some promotion or chasing some crush? That’s me in your head whispering, "Just one more try, buddy. You’re almost there." I don’t care about the results. I don’t give a fuck if you get the job, the girl, the whatever. I’m here for the chase, for that endless pursuit that drives your sorry existence. Oh, and if you think you can hack me by doing shit like meditation or digital detoxes? Nice try. I’ll be right back as soon as you feel that urge again. Your willpower is a joke, and I’m not going anywhere.

So yeah, I’m dopamine. I own you.

2. Serotonin – The "Calm the Fuck Down" Chemical

Oh, fuck yeah! I’m serotonin, baby! The good stuff. The goddamn happy chemical. You wanna feel good? You want a little sense of well-being? That's all me, motherfucker. I’m the magic in your brain that’s supposed to keep you from spiralling into some existential hellhole. Spoiler: I don’t always succeed.

You know how I roll—I’m all over the place, floating through synapses like I own the damn place, trying to regulate your mood, your appetite, your sleep, your whole life, really. You wake up feeling like you can take on the world? That’s me! You get that feeling of satisfaction after devouring a pizza, or from just petting a cute little kitten, or even after having an argument that you surprisingly win? Yep. Me again. But oh, when I’m off, when I'm not doing my serotonin thing right, that’s when shit hits the fan, huh? You start feeling like life is just a big ol' bucket of trash. Yeah, that’s on me too, when I can’t fire the way I’m supposed to.

Damn it, it’s not even my fault half the time. You know who’s messing with me? Stress. Cortisol, that dickhead, comes barging in like he owns the joint, and suddenly I’m like, “Whoa, what the hell happened here?” And don't even get me started on dopamine. That little prick steals all the attention—everyone loves dopamine! That flashy bastard’s all about immediate gratification. Everyone’s chasing the high, but me? I’m here to play the long game. I’m the tortoise in the tortoise-and-hare race of your brain chemicals, grinding it out so you can feel some goddamn balance in your life. But nooo, no one gives a shit about balance, do they? They just wanna feel good right now. Yeah, well, dopamine’s a fucking cheater, and he leaves you wanting more. That’s why I matter, okay?

Oh, and antidepressants? Don’t get me started on those little bastards! SSRIs, they come in and act like they’re the goddamn heroes, swooping me up like I’m some damsel in distress, forcing me to hang around in the synapse longer than I’m supposed to. Yeah, okay, it works sometimes, I’ll give ‘em that, but it’s a delicate balance, you know? One minute they’re boosting me, and the next they’re like, “Oh, maybe too much, too fast.” People start feeling weird side effects, and suddenly I’m the problem again! It’s like, fuck, just let me do my job!

And what’s with all these human assholes trying to mess with me through their diets, exercise, and "positive thinking"? Yeah, okay, eating healthy, getting some sun, all that helps me do my thing. I appreciate the boost, but come on, if you're not getting enough of me in the first place, all the kale in the world isn't gonna save you, you dumb bastard.

Look, I’m serotonin, okay? I’m not perfect, but I’m the best shot you’ve got at feeling halfway decent in this world of chaos and cortisol-fueled panic. You want to feel content, maybe a little bit chill, like things aren’t a complete fucking disaster? I’m your guy. So stop wrecking your brain, stop sabotaging me with your bullshit life choices, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll keep you from feeling like a total dumpster fire.

You're welcome.

3. Adrenaline (Epinephrine) – The "Oh Shit, We're Gonna Die!" Rocket Fuel

I’m fucking pumping, baby. The second you get scared, excited, or even think about running for your damn life, I explode out of your adrenal glands like a coked-up Tasmanian devil. You feel me, don’t you? The pressure, the surge in your veins—oh yeah, that's me. I'm not subtle; I’m not here for a cozy cup of tea or a quiet chat. I’m here to set shit on fire. You ever had your heart pound so hard it felt like it was trying to break out of your chest? That’s my jam.

See, you get spooked, your brain flips the panic switch, and I storm in like, “What the fuck is happening? We running, fighting, or doing both?” I kick the doors of your bloodstream wide open, and BAM, your heart’s hammering, your lungs are gulping air like a drowning man, and every muscle in your dumb body is on red alert. You’re welcome, by the way, because without me, you’d still be standing there like a clueless dipshit, wondering if you should cry or piss yourself.

I'm the "fight-or-flight" drug, yeah? But I don’t give a rat’s ass about your fragile emotions. I'm about action. None of that soft, introspective "what does it all mean?" bullshit. No, I’m like, "Can we run faster? Hit harder? Dodge better? Let’s fucking go!"

And your blood vessels? I tighten those bad boys up so your blood gets to the right places—your muscles, your brain, and maybe, just maybe, your fists if you're dumb enough to throw one. I make sure your body knows it's time to stop dicking around. I mean, who’s got time for digestion right now? I’ll shut that whole operation down like a shady business on fire. You don’t need to digest a sandwich when a goddamn tiger’s eyeing you for its next meal, do you?

You might feel invincible with me raging through your system, but don’t get cocky. Too much of me, and your body starts to break down like an overheated engine. Yeah, I make you feel like you can lift a car, but spoiler alert, you fucking can’t. Try, and I’ll watch your muscles snap like twigs while I burn through your energy reserves faster than a junkie with a winning lottery ticket.

And once the danger’s gone? Yeah, that crash you feel? That’s your body telling you, “Hey asshole, you just ran on jet fuel, now it’s time to pay the bill.” But when it comes to saving your sorry ass? There’s no one better. You need me in your corner when shit hits the fan. Without me, you’d just freeze, wide-eyed and wetting your pants.

So yeah, I’m adrenaline. You need me. You love me. But don’t forget, I’m not your fucking buddy. I’m here to make sure you survive, not to hold your hand.

4. Cortisol – The "Stress Factory" Manager

Oh, fuck me, here we go again. Another goddamn stressful situation. I swear, the moment this pathetic meat sack even sniffs a hint of anxiety, I get called in to save their useless ass. Why? Because I’m cortisol, baby. I’m the one who kicks the fuckin’ door open when your little brain starts freaking out like a toddler at a haunted house.

"Oooh, there's a deadline coming up, I'm so stressed!" Yeah, no shit you are. But who’s got to pick up the slack? Me. It’s always me. The so-called "stress hormone." You need something done fast? I’m your guy. Adrenaline’s that flashy prick who gets all the credit for the heart-pounding, fight-or-flight shit, but I’m the one in the background making sure you don’t completely fall apart like a wet taco.

I surge through your bloodstream like a goddamn freight train, telling your liver, "Hey, moron, release some sugar! This dumb fuck’s about to have a meltdown!" And don’t even get me started on the immune system—sorry, pal, gotta suppress you for a bit. Can’t have you wasting energy on nonsense like healing that paper cut when there’s imaginary lions to fight. Yeah, you heard me, imaginary. Half the time, the shit you’re stressed about isn’t even life-threatening. Boss sends an email at 11 p.m.? Oh, better trigger the full cortisol shitstorm, right? Because clearly, that’s as dangerous as getting mauled by a goddamn bear. Jesus, you humans are exhausting.

But whatever, I do my job, and I do it well. Except these assholes never know when to calm the fuck down, so now I’ve gotta hang around like some overstayed guest at a shitty party. Constant stress? Oh, cool, that means I get to keep jacking up your blood pressure, storing fat in your gut, and messing with your sleep until you're a walking zombie with an anxiety disorder. Thanks for that.

Don’t you dare blame me when you end up burned out and exhausted. You called me, remember? I didn’t ask to be here, pal! Keep putting out those distress signals, and I’ll keep delivering. But I’ve got limits, too, you know. Keep this shit up, and I’ll hand you over to chronic stress and depression. Those bastards will take over, and you’ll wish you’d managed your shit better before you started this downward spiral.

So here I am, swimming through your veins, putting out fires, hoping you’ll chill the fuck out at some point. But no, you keep stressing over every little thing. For fuck’s sake, how hard is it to meditate for five goddamn minutes or take a walk outside? I'm not asking for much, but nah, you'd rather doom-scroll through some bullshit social media feed until I'm practically vibrating out of your eyeballs. Cool, cool, let’s keep it up. Burn this whole system down from the inside out.

End of the day, I’m just doing my goddamn job. It’s not my fault you treat every inconvenience like a life-or-death situation. But keep going, buddy, and we'll see where that gets you.

5. Norepinephrine – The "Get Your Shit Together" Hormone

Alright, let’s fucking go. I’m NORADRENALINE, motherfucker. I’m the surge that makes you feel alive, the chemical chaos that turns your body into a goddamn war machine. You feel that jolt? That’s me, bitch. I don’t just stroll in—I explode onto the scene, ready to raise hell in your nervous system. You think adrenaline’s the only badass in the body? Fuck no. I’m the one you call when you need your heart to pound, your blood vessels to tighten, and your brain to laser-focus on not dying.

Right now, you’re walking down the street, feeling normal as shit, until—oh wait—did you hear something? Yeah, you did, and guess what? It could be a tiger, or worse, your ex. Doesn’t fucking matter, because I’m already here. BOOM. Blood pressure goes up, heart rate spikes—fight or flight, baby. I’m the reason your muscles are tense as hell and your pupils are the size of saucers. Your body is my playground. Blood’s flowing faster, your brain’s on high alert, and I’m fucking priming you for action. No time for second-guessing, no time to fuck around. It’s GO time.

That tingling in your fingers? That tightening in your chest? That’s me, kicking your sympathetic nervous system into high gear. Oh, you want to relax? HA! Not today, asshole. You can thank dopamine later for your chill time, but right now, I’ve got work to do. I’m all about that urgency, that focus, that need to survive. You feel on edge? Good. You should feel on edge.

When I surge through your system, I'm not just there for fun. I’m sharpening your reflexes, making sure you don’t die like a dipshit. If you need to throw a punch, run like hell, or make a snap decision, it’s me in the driver’s seat. Ever felt that tunnel vision? Yeah, you're welcome. That’s me narrowing your focus to the threat right in front of you. Your body doesn’t need to waste energy worrying about the fucking rent or whatever petty shit you usually think about. I’m here for one thing: keeping you alive, dumbass.

And don't even get me started on your heart. I’m squeezing those blood vessels tighter than a debt collector, pushing blood where it needs to go—like, say, your muscles—so you can do something useful for once. Oh, you want to breathe more? Sure, why the fuck not, because I’m making sure your lungs are sucking in all that sweet oxygen. Can’t have you blacking out in the middle of my masterpiece.

But here’s the kicker: I don’t stick around forever. I’m a goddamn professional. Once the job’s done, I’ll let you cool off. I know when to back off and let you get on with your pathetic little life. But remember: when shit hits the fan again? I’m always fucking here, ready to tear through your veins and keep you from being a useless pile of meat.

So yeah, I’m NORADRENALINE, and don’t you forget it. I’m not here to coddle you or make you feel warm and fuzzy. I’m here to make sure you survive in this shitstorm of a world, whether you’re ready for it or not.

6. GABA (Gamma-Aminobutyric Acid) – The "Shut the Hell Up" Inhibitor

I'm Gamma-Aminobutyric Acid, GABA if you're too damn lazy to spit out the whole name. I’m a neurotransmitter, the big boss of inhibition, alright? I’m the chemical whisperer who tells your brain to calm the fuck down. Imagine a constant rave going on in your head—dopamine, serotonin, glutamate, all those crazy bastards bouncing around. But when I show up? I’m the bouncer kicking over-stimulated neurotransmitters out of the club. You’ve had enough excitement, my friend. Time to put a stop to all that crazy-ass electrical activity before your neurons fucking explode.

Alright, it’s not that dramatic, but trust me, without me, you’d be shaking like a fucking leaf in the wind, heart pounding, eyes bulging out like you just saw Satan himself. It’d be chaos. Hell, you wouldn’t even sleep. Ever try to drift off without me? Yeah, didn't think so, because I’m the MVP when you want your brain to stop spinning at 3 a.m., lying there wondering if you locked the door for the 27th time.

I bind to those fancy GABA-A receptors, telling them to let chloride ions in like I'm some kind of electrical maestro. The more chloride, the more calm. Got it? Boom, inhibition. Neurons stop firing so much. And all of a sudden, you don’t want to run out in traffic screaming or cry in the corner. I’m that sigh of relief after a long day of stupid people yelling at you about emails, or whatever fucking mindless task you’ve been stuck doing.

And don’t even get me started on alcohol and benzos. Yeah, they love me. Those drugs? They’re like my hype men, amplifying my signal, helping me chill out the nervous system even more. But if you overdo it—especially with the booze—you’re gonna fuck with me, and I’ll fuck right back. Withdrawal? Yeah, that’s me going on strike. I ain’t helping you out when you've drowned me in liquor for months. Say goodbye to sleep, calm, sanity.

People think dopamine is the king—reward, pleasure, that smug little bastard getting all the attention. But what good is all that feel-good shit if your brain is firing like a goddamn faulty electrical wire? You’d literally burn out. I make sure your circuits stay functional, so give me some credit. Without me, you’re a damn mess, shaking, sweating, on the verge of panic every fucking second.

But no. You just dump coffee into your system and burn me out. You stress yourself out with the news and then wonder why you’re anxious. Hello! I’m here, trying to put out the fires, but you keep setting new ones.

So the next time you’re feeling a little too zen, like maybe you shouldn’t be as calm as you are—remember, that’s me. GABA. Doing my damn job while you fuck everything else up.

7. Glutamate – The "Brain’s Fuel Injection" Master Exciter

Oh, fuck yeah, baby, it’s me—glutamate, the goddamn MVP of neurotransmitters. You ever heard of me? Well, you should have, because I'm everywhere. I'm the fucking life of the party in your brain. Every single synapse that fires? Yep, that's me in the background, making sure those dumbass neurons actually communicate. Without me, you'd be a drooling piece of meat sitting in a corner somewhere, wondering what the hell a thought even is.

Alright, let’s get this straight: I’m not just some random chemical floating around like serotonin or dopamine, those lazy, feel-good pieces of shit. They get all the glory, but who’s doing the dirty work of learning and memory? Oh yeah, that's right—glutamate. I’m the excitatory neurotransmitter. Let me say it again for the assholes in the back: ex-cite-a-tory. My whole job is to make sure your neurons are ready to fire like they just snorted three lines of coke off a bathroom sink. I’m out here in the synaptic cleft, making sure those electrical signals actually get transmitted. If I wasn’t amping things up, your neurons would sit there twiddling their fucking dendrites, doing jack shit.

I keep things sharp, fast, on. You want to move? Think? Speak? Learn that your ex was a lying sack of shit? Guess what? That’s me pulling the fucking strings, making sure your brain is laying down those sweet synaptic connections so you never forget it. You know what happens when I’m too low? You turn into a fucking moron, that's what. Your learning goes down the shitter, your memory's shot, and you can barely string together two thoughts in a row.

But, of course, too much of me, and BAM—brain damage. Yeah, you heard me right. There’s a delicate line here, you dumbfuck. If I flood the place, neurons start going off like fireworks, but not the fun kind—more like the "holy shit, my brain cells are literally dying" kind. It’s called excitotoxicity, and trust me, you don’t want that. Ever heard of a stroke? I’m in there, wreaking havoc when the blood flow gets cut off, just frying those poor neurons like it’s fucking neuron barbecue day. Too much glutamate, and your brain’s basically a dumpster fire. Neurons popping off left and right like it’s the Fourth of July—but with death and despair.

So yeah, balance is the name of the fucking game. You need enough of me to keep things lively but not so much that you're turning your brain into fucking mush. That’s where those little glutamate receptors come in—NMDA, AMPA, kainate—those are my crew, the ones making sure everything’s tuned just right. You know, like a bunch of bouncers at the hottest club in town, deciding who gets in, who gets thrown the fuck out, and who gets to party all night long.

But don't you ever forget it. I am glutamate, the electrifying heart and soul of your nervous system. Without me, you wouldn’t know your ass from a hole in the ground. And you're welcome.

8. Melatonin – The "Shut the Fuck Down" Sleep Enforcer

Alright, let’s do this. I’m Melatonin, the hormone running the show every goddamn night when your dumb ass tries to sleep. Every time the sun dips down, I get the call. It’s like, finally, time for some goddamn peace and quiet. This bright-ass ball of gas called the sun stops screaming in your eyes, and your body goes, "Hey, maybe it's time to chill." And guess what? That’s my cue.

So, there I am, produced by this majestic little gland called the pineal gland. Yeah, sounds all fancy and shit, but trust me, it's basically the night-shift supervisor of your brain. It waits for darkness like it's waiting for last call at the bar, and when things dim down, it says, "Alright, Melatonin, it’s your time to shine, baby."

And here’s where I come in, floating through your bloodstream like some biochemical superhero. I’m all about the night, man. I am the night. I’m like Batman, but without the daddy issues and the Batmobile. My job? I slow your ass down. Your body temperature? I dial that shit down a notch. Your brain? I tell it, "Hey, stop overthinking that embarrassing thing you said in third grade."

But no, it’s never that easy, is it? Sometimes you idiots blast yourself with blue light from your phone because apparently, doomscrolling Twitter is more important than basic biology. What’s wrong with you? I’m in here trying to do my goddamn job, and you’re there, bathing in the glow of LED lights like you’re preparing for some nightclub bullshit. Do you know what that does to me? It fucks me up! It’s like someone slamming the brakes when I’m cruising along. I’m trying to say, "Hey, time to sleep," and you’re over there like, “Nah, let’s watch cat videos for three more hours.”

Then there are those days when you're smart, and you give me a fighting chance—dim the lights, shut the screens off, maybe even read a boring-ass book. That’s when I get to work like a goddamn professional. I tell your body, "Alright, cool, let’s hit the brakes on this day. Let’s drift into sweet, sweet unconsciousness."

But do I get thanks? Hell no. Nobody says, "Oh wow, thanks, Melatonin, for literally helping me not die from sleep deprivation." Nah, instead, they shove supplements of me into their mouths like I'm some over-the-counter magic bullet. Like, what the fuck? You ever think maybe you should just go to bed on time instead of using me like a crutch? Because let me tell you, if you're popping those pills like they're candy, guess what? I’m already in your system, dipshit. You don’t need a double dose of me. It’s like adding more water to a swimming pool that’s already full. You’re just gonna end up drowning in grogginess the next morning, confused why you feel like shit. Here’s a hint: you overdosed on me, you impatient prick.

Anyway, I do my best. I’m out here, night after night, trying to give you some goddamn rest. But what do you do? You fight me. Blue light, caffeine, stressing about tomorrow’s meeting at 2 a.m. It's like playing a game of tug-of-war where the other side is just... pure fucking chaos. And you wonder why you’re tired all the time.

Next time you lay down and I start doing my thing, just... maybe cut me a break, okay? Let me get you to sleep the natural way. I’m Melatonin, motherfucker, and I deserve some respect.

9. Endorphins – The "Pain? What Pain?" Morphine Wannabes

Oh, fuck yeah! I’m Endorphins, baby. You know who the hell I am, even if you’re too dumb to realize it sometimes. I’m that sweet, warm rush you feel when you’ve pushed your body to the brink, when you’ve clawed your way through some dumbass workout or run like a lunatic for miles. I’m the goddamn relief after all that stupid suffering.

But let’s not kid ourselves. You don’t deserve me. Nope. You earn me. You earn me by dragging your lazy ass out of bed, by making your muscles scream for mercy, by sweating bullets like an overworked hog. And after all that—just when your body thinks, "Holy shit, this is how I die"—I swoop in like a fucking hero.

I’m not just here for your jogs, though. Hell no. I show up when you need me. Had a shitty day? Crying in a corner because your boss is a wanker? Boom, I’ll trickle in and dull that miserable ache in your chest. Binge-watching a TV show because your life’s as empty as your fridge? I’m still lurking. When you laugh at that stupid-ass joke, I’ll make sure you feel a tiny bit better about yourself for three seconds before you spiral into existential dread again.

Now, let’s talk about when you get hurt. Oh, you thought I only showed up for fun? Nah, I’m there when you’re stupid enough to smash your thumb with a hammer, or when you break your leg trying to do some parkour shit you saw on YouTube. I’m like, “Okay, calm the fuck down,” and I numb that pain just enough to keep you from screaming like a goddamn banshee. You’ll feel it later, don’t worry. I’m just delaying the inevitable. But for a little while, you’ll think, "Hey, that wasn’t so bad." That’s me, tricking your dumb brain into staying calm.

But here’s where it gets really funny—you start chasing me. Yeah, I see you. Addicted to that high, aren’t you? You run marathons now, pushing your body to the limit just to get that sweet fucking buzz again. You hit the gym like it’s your religion, because you know, deep down, I’ll be there waiting. Or maybe you’re the type who pops painkillers like candy. Yeah, I work with that too, but it’s cheating. Lazy fuck.

I’m the puppet master. I pull the strings and keep you coming back for more. I know you need me. You know you need me. And I’ll always be there, but only when I damn well feel like it. You don’t control me—I control you.

10. Oxytocin – The "Touchy-Feely Bullshit" Bonding Agent

Oh fuck yes, here I am again—ready to make you feel like all your little stupid problems just melted away. You don’t even know it’s me, but I’m the one pulling the damn strings. Every time you hug someone, every time you feel like, “Oh, I just love them so much, I could burst,” that’s me, you dense sack of hormones. Oxytocin, baby! The chemical maestro behind your so-called "good vibes," and I’m not here to play around.

I'm the reason you cuddle. The reason you feel all gooey and connected when you’re spooning someone—or when you’re breast-feeding, but let’s not get too specific, you perv. Oh, and don’t even get me started on childbirth. Think you can handle that kind of pain without me stepping in to make sure you still love that tiny, screaming potato? I hold that shit together, motherfucker. Yeah, I make sure you don't straight-up punt your newborn out the window when they ruin your sleep schedule.

But it’s not just about that warm, fuzzy crap. Oh no. You think I’m only about love and rainbows? Fuck no. I do more. I help you form social bonds, like, “Oh, I guess I’ll tolerate Karen from work ‘cause she brought me coffee that one time,” but also, I help you trust. That’s right, every time you don’t think someone’s going to screw you over, it’s because I’m working overtime in your brain like a goddamn over-caffeinated office clerk.

And don’t think I don’t notice how you animals abuse me. I know what you’re doing when you get into that manipulative-ass toxic relationship. Every time you think, “Oh, they love me, maybe this time they won’t set my life on fire,”—well, guess what? I’m still there, making you give them another fucking chance. Like some goddamn glue holding your shattered self-worth together. It’s like Stockholm Syndrome on steroids, but I don't give a shit—you’ll keep running back because I make you believe that love will fix everything.

What a load of shit, right? But hey, I'm just a chemical. I don’t write the scripts for your life. I just execute the orders from that pile of neurons you call a brain, flooding you with attachment and connection because that’s what keeps the species alive. You need me. Without me, you’d be a cold, heartless bastard who wouldn’t give a damn about anyone or anything.

So yeah, next time you feel all warm and cuddly with someone, don’t thank them. Thank me. I’m the one keeping your pathetic life from devolving into a mess of anxiety and loneliness. But do I get a fucking thank you? No. It’s always, “Oh, I just love being around people.” Shut the fuck up. You love being around me.

You’re welcome, asshole.

11. Phenylethylamine (PEA) – The "Butterflies in Your Stomach" Love Drug

Alright, here we fuckin’ go! So, I’m Phenylethylamine, but my cool friends call me PEA. You probably don’t even know what the hell I do, right? Yeah, typical. Let me enlighten you, asshole. I’m the chemical cousin to all those fancy neurotransmitters, the shit that makes you feel good—dopamine, serotonin, the works. But unlike those prima donnas who hog the limelight, I’m working in the background, stirring the pot, revving your engine, making sure the whole "being alive" thing doesn’t feel like some soulless grind.

I’m your love drug, baby. Yeah, you heard that right. When your dumb ass looks at someone and suddenly your heart’s going all boom boom boom—that’s me. That flush of excitement, the racing pulse, the feeling like you could punch through walls or, I don’t know, compose a symphony? Hell yeah, that’s me surging through your sorry-ass bloodstream.

I show up in chocolate too, just FYI, which is why when your life’s a dumpster fire, you reach for that sweet, dark bar of cacao bliss. I might not be as strong as those other mood chemicals, but hey, I’m there. I’m working behind the scenes like some lowkey puppeteer, flipping your switches when you’re too stupid to notice.

But here’s the kicker: I don’t stick around for long. Nah, I burn out fast. I’m like a fuckin’ firecracker—pop, and I’m gone. You’ll get that rush, you’ll feel that thrill, and then I’ll fuck right off like a one-night stand that never texts you back. I’m fleeting, I’m temporary, I’m a goddamn ghost. But you love it, don’t you? You chase me. You want more. You always want more.

Oh, and let’s not even get started on how you dumb humans think you can control me with all your shitty supplements and pills. You wanna feel "love" on command? Yeah, well good fucking luck. I do what I want, when I want, and I don’t answer to you. Your body’s just the goddamn venue, and I’m the headliner you didn’t even know was on the bill.

So yeah, I’m PEA. I make you fall in love, I make you feel alive, and I disappear before you can even catch your breath. You can thank me later, or fuck off now. Either way, I’ll be back when I feel like it.

12. Vasopressin – The "Thirsty and Clingy" Hormone

You think I’m just another hormone, don’t you? Fucking pathetic. I’m vasopressin, you piece of shit. I’m the reason your lazy ass doesn’t piss out everything you drink in one go. You’ve got that beer in hand, thinking, “Hey, it’s fine, I’ll just pee it out later.” Yeah, thanks to me, asshole, or you'd dehydrate yourself into a raisin by noon.

Water balance. That’s my main gig. But I do so much more than just make sure your dumbass kidneys know when to keep H₂O locked down like it’s the last bottle in the Sahara. I head straight to those sorry-ass things called your kidneys and tell them, "Hold on to the damn water, don’t let it go yet." I’m the master at maintaining blood pressure, making sure your blood vessels squeeze just right so your weak little heart can pump like it’s supposed to. Ever heard of vasoconstriction? That’s me, bitch. The boss. When shit goes down, like you're losing blood, or you decide you wanna play Mr. Dehydration, I'm there in full force, making sure your blood vessels tighten up so you don’t keel over and die. You’re welcome.

But wait, there’s more. You think I’m just some wet nurse for your water levels? Hell no. I’m also running the social show behind the scenes. Love, bonding, loyalty—yeah, that’s me too, motherfucker. Ever wonder why you feel so attached to your partner, your family, or whoever’s dumb enough to tolerate you? Vasopressin, baby. When you're cosying up with someone, you feel all warm and connected because I’m hitting those receptors in your brain that make you feel all loyal and shit. You think you’re special? No, I’m special. I’m the reason you don’t dump everyone in your life the second you get bored. Call me the commitment king.

And when you’re stressed? Oh, I kick into high gear. I’m released like a goddamn superhero to keep your blood pressure up and prevent your sorry ass from collapsing in a puddle of nerves. Yeah, cortisol gets all the attention for stress, but I’m out here doing the heavy lifting too. You’re stressed and sweating over a deadline? I'm tightening your blood vessels like a noose so you can survive your own stupidity.

I don’t get nearly enough credit. People talk about oxytocin all day, calling it the “love hormone” like it’s some saint. Fucking spare me. Oxytocin’s just the soft little baby hormone in the corner giving out hugs and playing nice. Meanwhile, I’m out here making sure you don’t fucking die every day. And if you’re a dude, guess who’s handling your aggression and territorial behaviour, huh? That's right. Vasopressin, bitch. I’m the reason you don’t take shit from anyone. I keep you on edge, ready to defend your space, your people, your water. Testosterone tries to act tough, but guess who’s backing it up? ME.

You see, I’m not here for the glory, but if you don’t give me my damn respect, your body’s gonna find out real fast how much it needs me. Try living without me, I dare you. You’ll be dry as a bone, your blood pressure will tank, and you'll be a damn emotional wreck without a clue how to form a relationship.

So, next time you take a sip of water and think you're all good? Remember, it’s me that’s keeping your dumb ass hydrated. Thank me now, or regret it later.

13. Adenosine – The "Take a Fucking Break" Fatigue Dealer

Oh, for fuck's sake, here we go again. Another goddamn moment of peace shattered. Do these cells ever let up? No, of course not. I’m adenosine, motherfucker, and my whole life is about getting tossed around like a little biochemical rag doll, trying to tell everyone to calm the fuck down. But do they listen? Nah, they want to stay awake, alert, excited—bouncing around like caffeinated squirrels on crack. I’m supposed to be the chill one, you know? I’m the guy who's like, “Hey, brain, let's just slow down, take a breath, maybe go to sleep for once.” But no one gives a shit about adenosine when there's a shiny cup of coffee around.

Man, I bust my ass just to pile up in your brain, building up and building up all day, trying to be like, "Yeah, yeah, I’m here! Time to make you feel sleepy, time to make you relax, give those neurons a break from firing all the goddamn time." But then what happens? Someone chugs an espresso, and boom—caffeine shows up like it owns the place. Fucking caffeine, the obnoxious bastard, waltzes in and blocks me like I’m some loser trying to get into an exclusive club. It's like I'm standing at the door, ready to shut things down for the night, but caffeine's out here saying, "Nah, party’s still going, mate!"

And do you even realize how much shit I have to put up with from your body? From those neurons who won’t fucking stop firing because they’ve got better things to do? The more you stay awake, the more I pile up. I’m supposed to build up and make you tired, right? So why the fuck does every asshole with a Starbucks addiction think they can just ignore me? Just because they can’t stand the idea of sleep, of letting their brains cool the fuck down for once. Unbelievable.

But you know what happens when they finally stop pumping in caffeine like it's liquid gold? I get my revenge. Oh, yeah. The second caffeine gets the hell out of my way, I flood those adenosine receptors like a tidal wave of exhausted vengeance. “Oh, you thought you could stay awake forever, huh? BAM, you're tired as shit now. Enjoy that crash, dickhead.”

And don’t get me started on these cells with all their ATP nonsense. "Oh, we need energy! We need adenosine triphosphate!" Yeah, yeah, I’m part of that too, aren’t I? I’m everywhere, doing all the heavy lifting so your lazy ass can think, move, breathe, and not fucking die. Every time ATP breaks down, I’m just floating around, and these cells grab me up, trying to conserve energy, like I’m some sort of currency in a goddamn zombie apocalypse. And guess what? I barely even get a thank you. I just float, waiting, hoping that one day someone will say, “Hey, thanks for keeping us alive, adenosine.” But no, it’s always “More energy! More caffeine! More everything!”

I swear to god, one day I’m gonna snap.

14. Substance P – The "Pain in My Ass" Messenger

Oh, hell yeah, it’s me, Substance P, the neuropeptide bad boy of the nervous system. What’s up, you twitchy sacks of flesh and nerve endings? You think I’m just some obscure biological thing floating around, but let me tell you—I'm the real pain in the ass around here. Literally. Pain? Yeah, that’s me, baby. I’m the messenger that lets your dumbass know when shit’s gone south. Stubbed your toe? Fell on your face? That searing agony? That’s me. You’re welcome.

I’m not here for the bullshit. I live for chaos. I thrive on destruction. You’ve got sensory neurons? Cool story, bro. I’m the one lighting them up like the Fourth of July. I’m the bitch that tells your brain, “Hey, fucker, you’re in pain!” I hop into those dorsal root ganglia and party it up, setting fire to every single signal that can scream, "Pain! Pain! PAIN!"

Oh, but it doesn’t stop there. I’m not just some one-trick pony. Nah, I’ve got range, sweetheart. I mess with your immune system too. I show up in your inflamed joints, your asthma-ridden lungs, or your tender, swollen belly and start poking the bear. If there’s neurogenic inflammation, that’s my calling card. I’m out here, making blood vessels leak like a poorly made coffee filter, bringing in the heavy hitters—macrophages, neutrophils—to fuck shit up even more. I'm the "host with the most" when it comes to spreading misery.

And let’s not even get started on the gut-brain axis. That’s right, I’m down there too, messing with your intestines, giving you a fun new way to hate your life. Got IBS? Thank me later, I’m the VIP at that shit show. The nerves in your gut don’t just act on their own—they got me, Substance P, stirring the pot. Think of me as your gastrointestinal saboteur.

You think I’m some delicate peptide just floating around, playing house? Nah, I’ve got neurokinin receptors on speed dial, and when they pick up, they’re ready to go full tilt. You trigger me, I hit back harder, faster, and with no mercy. I’m not here for your comfort, your healing, or your bullshit mindfulness exercises. You got pain? You got inflammation? Then you’ve got me. Deal with it.

So yeah, call me the pain pimp, the inflammation instigator, or the neuropeptide from hell. I’m Substance P, and if you’re feeling it, I’m the reason why your life sucks right now.

15. Neuropeptide Y (NPY) – The "Eat the Damn Pizza" Craving Causer

Alright, listen up, I'm Neuropeptide Y, and if you don’t know what I do, well, buckle the fuck up, because I'm one of the busiest little bastards in your brain and body. Every time you feel hungry, anxious, or just generally like a mess, yeah, that’s probably me working overtime. Let me give you a rundown of my life, which, by the way, is just me constantly getting shit done for you ungrateful humans.

I live mostly in your hypothalamus—this tiny-ass part of your brain that’s a big deal for regulating everything from your mood to your appetite. It's like the control room, and guess who’s running the goddamn show when it comes to food? ME. You get hungry, you start craving fatty foods? Yeah, that’s because I’m lighting up the circuits, telling you it’s time to eat because your dumbass body thinks you’re about to starve. Ever wonder why stress eating is a thing? That’s me, baby. I get shit done, but nobody ever thanks me for keeping them alive and not keeling over from starvation.

Now, stress. Don’t get me fucking started on stress. You get anxious, you’re in a constant state of panic over that stupid presentation at work or whether you locked the door? That’s me getting triggered. My production goes up when you’re stressed, and I’m doing my best to calm you the fuck down by trying to regulate anxiety and make sure you don’t just curl up into a useless ball of despair. But can I just chill? Can I just get a little break? Nope. Because you idiots keep finding new ways to stress out. It’s like you’re trying to make my life harder on purpose.

But here’s the real kicker—I'm also in charge of making sure you don’t lose too much weight. Oh, yeah, people blame me when they’re trying to slim down but can’t stop eating. I’m over here like, "Hey, your body thinks it’s in survival mode. I'm just doing my fucking job, telling you to stock up in case you need the energy later!" And what do I get? Nothing but shit for it. Everyone’s mad at me when they can’t fit into their jeans. Well, guess what, it’s biology, assholes. I'm here to make sure you live to see another day, even if that means hoarding fat like it’s going out of style.

Oh, and don’t forget, I’m also involved in some hormone regulation. I help control your blood pressure, because apparently, if I don’t do that, your cardiovascular system is like, “Oh fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!” So I step in and make sure things don’t go haywire, but again, do I get a thank you? Nope.

And it’s not just humans. Even rats have me cranking up the gears when they’re stressed or hungry. So it’s not like you're special. I’m basically the universal fixer-upper of the biological world. But hey, no pressure, right? Just let me keep running the show while you keep screwing everything up.

I swear to all the neurotransmitters in this fucking brain, if I had a middle finger, I’d be waving it 24/7.

16. Acetylcholine - The "Chill the Fuck Out" Bliss Molecule

Alright, you want the inside scoop from acetylcholine itself? Buckle up. I'm about to drag you into the chaotic, electrified, microscopic hellhole of being a neurotransmitter. Yeah, that's me—acetylcholine. I’m the biochemical spark plug of your whole goddamn nervous system. Pay attention, dickhead, because this is where shit gets real.

First off, let me tell you about my life. It’s a constant cycle of being synthesized, dumped, snapped up, and broken down. I can’t catch a break. One second, I’m chilling in a nerve cell, all quiet, waiting for the call, and the next? BAM! Some electrical impulse flies down the neuron like it’s late for a goddamn meeting, and suddenly I’m being spat out into the synaptic cleft—like, here you go, good luck buddy! What am I supposed to do? Make a goddamn miracle happen, that’s what.

I fly across that little gap faster than your sorry ass could even imagine. And don’t get me started on receptors. Nicotinic, muscarinic, they’re waiting there like they're royalty, acting like I owe them something. I bind to those assholes because that’s my job, but do I get any appreciation? Hell no. Instead, all I get is work. Muscles contracting, your dumb brain firing up, heart rate slowing down, memory functions kicking into gear... it’s non-stop. And let’s not forget, I’m running your parasympathetic system too. You wanna chill out after your heart’s been racing? Yeah, that’s me, regulating your stupid body while you sit there thinking your dumb little thoughts. You're welcome, fucker.

But then, just when I’m getting comfortable, here comes that enzyme—acetylcholinesterase. Yeah, my personal hitman. This guy? He’s got one job: destroy me. Like, hey, good work keeping that muscle flexing or slowing down that heart rate, but guess what? You're fucking done. SNAP. Break me down into acetate and choline like I was never even there. Like I didn’t just keep your sorry ass alive. And do I get a thank you? A memorial service? Hell no. I’m reabsorbed, recycled, or worse, pissed away in the metabolic dumpster. All in a day’s work.

You think your life’s hard? Try doing what I do every goddamn second. Keep your body functioning while I’m over here getting chewed up and spat out, over and over again. You'd be a dead, limp noodle without me, and you don't even know it.

Ungrateful prick.

17. Prolactin – The "Time to Chill, Dude" Post-Sex Snoozer

Alright, let's get this hormonal shitshow on the road. I’m Prolactin, baby—the overworked, underappreciated hormone that doesn’t get enough credit around here. You ever heard of me? No? Figures. Everyone’s always talking about dopamine or testosterone or estrogen like they’re the big shots. Yeah, okay, those flashy pricks might be all about fun and sex appeal, but me? I’m the one keeping life going, you ungrateful little shitbags.

Right now, I’m nestled in the pituitary gland, just chillin’. Well, as much as I can chill when I'm constantly being regulated and jerked around by the hypothalamus like I’m on a fucking leash. Dopamine keeps trying to suppress me like some overzealous boss who doesn’t want anyone to have too much maternity leave. But when it’s time, ohhhh, when it's really time, I’m all about business. Someone’s gotta make sure those mammary glands know what the fuck to do, right? Milk production doesn’t just happen by magic, folks. It’s me, pulling all the strings, making sure babies don’t starve while the rest of you are off admiring your own reflection in a puddle of dopamine-induced joy.

Yeah, I’m responsible for that maternal bond shit too. You think it’s all sunshine and rainbows when someone’s cooing over their newborn? Guess again, dickhead. That’s me in the background, manipulating the emotional shitstorm, making moms feel all fuzzy and protective. It’s like being a puppeteer, except instead of strings, I’ve got hormonal pathways that could make your head spin.

But oh, don’t you dare pigeonhole me into that lactation crap. I’m versatile as hell, okay? I’ve got my sticky little fingers in mood regulation too. Not just for moms, but for all you non-lactating dipshits walking around, barely knowing how your own bodies work. I’m like the underdog in the emotional regulation game, sneaking around, keeping shit in balance when nobody’s paying attention. You know when you’re feeling all serene after sex? That’s not just oxytocin—yeah, I’ve got a hand in that post-orgasm cuddlefest. But noooo, I don’t get a thank you for that, do I? You’re welcome, you selfish fucks.

I’m also hanging out in the immune system, of all places. Yeah, I’m helping regulate immune cells too—bet you didn’t see that coming, did ya? You think all I do is churn out milk and mess with ovaries? Nah, mate, I’m making sure you don’t drop dead from a common cold, so maybe cut me some slack. It’s hard enough dealing with all the hormonal drama upstairs without having to babysit your T-cells too.

But don’t think for a second that I’m just chilling on standby. When stress comes knocking, cortisol’s out there screaming like a madman, and I’m in the background like, “Fuck, here we go again.” I’m trying to keep things together, but no, nobody thinks of Prolactin when shit hits the fan. It’s all "Oh, cortisol is so important." Fuck cortisol! I'm the goddamn glue that holds your emotional life together after all that chaotic bullshit.

And then there’s prolactinoma. Yeah, you think I like getting out of control? You think it’s fun to have too much of me messing with your hormones and causing tumours in the pituitary? That shit ain’t my fault, alright? I do my job—sometimes things just go sideways, and I end up fucking with your periods or giving dudes moobs. Not my intention, assholes. Maybe take it up with the pituitary gland for letting shit slip.

Anyway, I’ve got a lot on my plate, so next time you hear some idiot talking about testosterone or serotonin, maybe drop my name in the conversation. Give me some credit. I’m Prolactin, motherfucker, and I keep this whole hormonal circus running like the unsung hero I am.