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Topic Started: May 8 2018, 09:24 PM (62 Views)
Big Buff Juice

A steady job is hard to come by in today’s economy. Especially when you have an IQ below 80 and your last job was some carny profession like professional wrestling. It leaves you very few options, leaving Ron to choose the most ‘fulfilling’ option. That option would be bouncer at a gentlemen’s club. Now Miami is world renowned for having some of the best gentlemen clubs in the world. But any saturated market like that is bound to have some real hole in the walls. Such is Club Madonna. A place Ron chose to apply for simply based on it’s name. Ron loves him some Madonna….but not any of her recent bullshit. The good 80’s-early 90’s stuff. Anyways all Vito Bilberti had to see was Ron’s veiny bulging guns to get the job. He showed up, the gentlemen’s club gay owner got a chub, and the rest was history. No need for filling out an application….not like he could anyways in a time sufficient manner. It was those bulging guns which helped bring the club to the lowest google rating it’s received in years. It was also those bulging guns which helped to make the club the biggest ‘touch free’ zone in all of Miami.

*WOMMMMBATTT*

A older white male went flying through a VIP room wall, crashing out onto the main floor. The stripper on the stage started laughing, as did the guests as they watched a jacked muscle freak in a black ‘SECURITY’ t-shirt step through the hole. He looked down at the cowering, shaking mid 50’s gentleman and scowled at him.

“THE FUCK DID THE SIGN SAY DUDE!! NO FUCKIN’ TOUCHING BRO!!! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I THROW YOU THROUGH THE FUCKIN’ GLASS DOOR AND SHIT!!”

The frightened club go-er forced himself up to his feet, heavily favoring his lower back as he shuffle-walked to the entrance doors. The usuals in the place clapped a little bit, then shouted “RON!!”, bringing him to flex his 29’ arms. They loved the violent entertainment he delivered, and he loved the admiration they showed him. It was the dream job he was never looking for. A cute hispanic brunette stripper jogged up to Ron, shaking her big fake titties and bringing him to smile.

“Hey Ron, Vito wants to see you in his office real quick.”

So she didn’t want to hook up. That smile dropped real quick.

“Fuck bro I told him if motherfuckers be touchin’ and shit I be throwin’ and shit!!”

Margherita shrugged her shoulders and ran to the stage, getting to the main platform in time for her name to be called over ‘Dreaming Of You’ by Selena. Ron grimaced and power walked his way over to the back office. He swung open the door to see a red nosed Vito finishing up with one of his mid afternoon lines. Vito’s eyes popped wide open and he bared a yellow toothed smile Ron’s way.

“Ronnie my boy! Please have a seat!!”

Ron did as he was told with a nose huff, and stuffed himself into the ill fitting office chair in front of Vito’s desk.

“Alright Ronnie….I love you my boy. You’re the best bouncer this club has ever had. Best bouncer I’ve ever seen actually. But you got just one problem Ronnie. You’re too damn violent.”

An obnoxious donkey laugh escaped Ron’s lips as he did in fact love being violent.

“Fuck yeah bro, I love violence.”

“And that’s why you’re one of the best. Well that and those Hulk arms you got. But Ronnie you’re ruining my club. Since I brought you in I’ve had to replace five walls.”

“Well motherfuckers be touching and shit!!”

“I know they like to touch Ron. That’s just how they are. But can you find another way to stop them from touching without wrecking the club?”

“You mean like take them outside and fuck them up in the parking lot and shit?”

“No Ron no. I don’t need another lawsuit. Just...can you use a lighter touch?”

Ron bowed his arms, clearly getting frustrated with being told to change his ways.

“I dunno bro, I really like throwing people and shit. Shit’s FON.”

“I’m sure it is. I wish I could throw a guy through a wall. But the problem is you’re costing me money now. So since you’re costing me money, I have to start taking the damages out of your paycheck. I’m sorry Ronnie.”

A blank face and two cold black eyes stared at Vito, causing his bottom lip to shudder.

“Look Ron, I’m not gonna charge you for the five walls you damaged. Just this one. Please Ron, I like you. Let’s have this be the last time please?”

Whitened tight fists gripped the fake leather ends of the office chair. A lump of fear travelled down Vito’s double chinned gullet. Instead of letting his anger out on Vito, Ron pushed up from the chair, stared down at Vito for a few seconds, then left Vito’s office. As soon as that office door slammed shut, Vito let out the biggest sigh of relief ever.

“Vito what are you gonna do? You can’t fire him, he’ll kill you. C’mon Vito, think of something….maybe another line will help…”

Another line went up his cherry red nostril, bringing him to do a furious nose tug from the burning itch. Quite a conundrum Vito was in.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fuck bro I’m thinkin’ about doing construction again and shit.”

Ron’s business manager peered up from his laptop, catching Ron as his eyes followed the round butt of Zach’s grandma. She had just delivered a platter of chocolate chip cookies and two lemonades, and happened to catch Ron’s eye as well. Being on steroids for as long as Ron had made his libido crazy for anything that walked.

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to return to construction. You got in a lot of fights, remember?”

A deep sigh from Ron as he started to think that every single job he had ever lost was because of violence.

“Yeah. But that shit is so fuckin’ FON bro.”

“Well if you like to fight, how about MMA?”

“Nah dude too much rules and shit. I like the back in the day shit, that no holds barred shit. That was the shit bro. Any weight can fight any weight and you can fight dirty and shit.”

“Hm. Would you consider getting back into pro wrestling?”

The thought lingered with Ron for a bit.

“Maybe. It would have to be a place that lets me do my shit, you know what I mean?”

“I know exactly what you….HOOOAUGH…...mean. Excuse me…”

Zach pulled up a small waste bin by his feet and ejected his guts into it. After sleeve wiping his mouth, he looked over to the curious Ron staring at him.

“You good bro?”

“Yeah I just watched something pretty gnarly. Come and see, you got a stronger stomach than me.”

The glass of lemonade was downed with the quickness, and Ron made his way over to Zach. He stood behind him, arms folded as Zach rewinded to the point that made him wretch.

“Okay, watch. I’m gonna look away.”

Ron watched as Sammy 3.0 stuffed rotten meat down the throat of Cactus Jack Bronson. When many thought he would gag and vomit, the brave son of a bitch swallowed down the rotten meat and spit a bit back at Sammy.

“Dude what the fuck is this shit?”

“Death Trip Wrestling. Is that scene over?”

“Yeah it’s over and shit. Now they’re just fuckin’ each other up. But what the fuck is a death trip wrestling bro?”

“It’s a japanese deathmatch wrestling company that specializes in having some of the craziest matches and personalities in the business. These people literally try to kill to each other in the ring.”

“Who’s the fat redneck bro?”

“That’s Cactus Jack Bronson. A hard nosed pervert brawler. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to see you fight him.”

There was Ron’s trademark loud donkey laugh.

“Dog I’d fuck that toothless chicken fucker up any day of the week.”

Zach smiled. His plan was working...get Ron back into the profession he belongs, professional wrestling.

“I’m sure you would Ron. But he would take the punishment and beg for more.”

A dismissive hand wave from Ron as he turned his attention to the chubby android.

“What the fuck is that?”

“That’s Sammy 3.0. A dancing android that works for Stanton Enterprises. She’s not too bad of a wrestler either.”

“Wait hold up, they make androids that wrestle and shit?”

“Apparently they do. When I said Death Trip has crazy personalities I meant it.”

“That’s fuckin’ weird bro. Weird in a good way and shit. HOLD UP did that android bitch just stab him in the face with a broken bottle?”

“Yes, yes she did.”

“FUCK YEAH BRO!! They allow that shit?”

“They allow basically anything. Probably the most lenient company I’ve ever watched.”

His eyes remained on the screen, but his mind drifted off to another dimension. One where Ron was in nothing but a bow tie, speedo, and a top hat. In his hand laid a baton, which he pumped in the air as he walked down a white winding staircase.

“I can do what I want and shit
Throw him in a fire pit shit’s legit
I can slam a motherfucker into a brick wall
I can suplex his ass through a bathroom stall
Fuck them all I can do what I want”

*Backup soul singer chorus*

DO WHAT I WANT

“That’s right bitch do what I want
Soccer punt a chick in her cunt
Fuck you I do what I want”

DO WHAT I WANT

“Ron….Ron!”

Zach’s finger snapping broke him from his vivid musical daydream.

“You okay Ron?”

“Call those motherfuckers up RIGHT NOW and shit. Big buff juice is back in business!!”

Zach got a high five from hell, causing him to furiously wag his sore right hand as he got to finding Death Trip’s number. Meanwhile Ron’s eyes went back to the action, glued to every moment going forward in Tokyo Gore Noir 6.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What an exciting and unusual city Tokyo is. Equal parts high life, gutter life, and fringe life, all in one shiny bright metropolis. It was a picturesque plane ride for Ron as his plane arrived in Tokyo at 8 am. Ron refused to sleep and hated flying, so he got his fill on Jack and cokes. Twelve drinks later and he was singing Iron Maiden songs with a deep slur. Thankfully he had his entertainment and business managers, Toast and Zach with him to help him walk off the plane. But once they got in the terminal, that’s when the blackout hit Ron.

The different culture only helped to amplify his confusion as to where he was at. A frantic look around allowed him to take in a much different landscape then what he was used to. Fresh sushi vendors, girl’s underwear vending machines, and japanese guys riding their suitcases around like go carts. As a matter of fact a lot of japanese people everywhere he looked.

“Fuccckkk bro. Fucckkkin’ tourrrrishhhh……”

Clearly he thought these people were tourists. Hearing an announcement in Japanese made him change his mind on that though. He looked to his two managers and lazily pointed a finger at the speaker.

“The fuckkk issssh thatt?”

Zach gave Toast a look like should we tell him? To which Toast nodded with a sigh.

“Ron, we’re in Tokyo.”

“Whatt the….”

A roid head scream erupted from Ron as he broke free of his managers’ grasp and looked around wide eyed. Seeing such a massive westerner freaking out got plenty of attention from the locals. Toast and Zach had to act quickly to diffuse the situation.

“Ron!! Hey Ron it’s cool we’re here to sign with Death Trip Wrestling!!”

Zach’s words made him calm down a little, but he was still freaking out about how he magically warped from Miami to Tokyo. Toast knew just the words to seal the deal.

“Ron I heard Tokyo has a TON of pet stores. After we meet with Death Trip, wanna go pet some puppies?”

The heavy breathing stopped. The bulging vein in his neck lessened in size. A sly grin crept up on the maniac’s face, giving them hope.

“I do wanna peshh some poppie doggies….”

“YES!! Ron we’ll go on a petting marathon! Just after you sign that contract!”

Hearing about ‘poppie doggies’ was enough for Ron to calm down. What they needed to do though was get him out of here, ASAP.

“Did someone say….Death Trip?”

Twenty feet behind them stood a chauffeur holding a large white sign reading ‘SWAT’. The short bald asian man bowed a head in Ron’s direction and gave him a smile.

“Come with me. I’ll drive you to the headquarters.”

The universe was truly on the side of team Swat this day. Zach and Toast did an exploding fist bump, Ron babbled on with a silly smile about ‘poppies’, and an eager driver took their luggage. Everyone piled in, with Ron’s girth taking up the backseat. Zach decided to take the front seat of the silver 2012 Toyota Corolla, while Toast was all too eager to be side by side with his man. That came back to bite him as Ron’s liver decided to reject those twelve jack and cokes, all over Toast’s white leisure suit. Toast laid frozen, shocked that he just got covered in vomit.

“Shorrryyy bro, I thinks I gotsh it all outs and shit…”

“Dude, are you gonna be….”

Zach didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Ron vomited on Toast again, this time nodding energetically after.

“Alright, now I got all that shit out. Hell yeah dog I feel better!”

The driver stared at Ron through the rear view, catching the monster’s attention.

“Well don’t just fuckin’ sit there dude!! Step on the fuckin’ gas and shit!! We got poppie doggies to pet and contracts to sign bro!!”

Doing as he was told, the driver got to stepping as Toast looked over to Zach. Vomit dripping off his beard in thick wet clumps.

“Would you happen to have a napkin?”

Posted Image

Here we are. For nearly two years my monster Ron Swat has been kept away from his calling. For two long years this gifted specimen has been delegated to doing jobs beneath him, just to pay the bills. But here Ron is again, back in the spotlight, in Japan of all places. Topping off the midcard in his debut against backstage panelist, Eddy Poe. But before I do my job as the ‘promo cutter’ for Ron, let me introduce myself. My name is Toast. I am a world famous manager, backstage commentator, and I dabble in wrestling from time to time. A jack of all trades, if you will. I will be speaking for my client Ron, who isn’t, well, how you say too ‘fluid’ of a talker. But believe me, I will express all of my client’s point of views. Now, let’s get started.

Eddy Poe is the very first victim of Ron, and might I say the most boring, most dismissive, and on top of it all WHINY opponents he has ever interacted with. Here we have a ‘man’, and I use that term loosely who claims to have quit drugs because he learned kung fu from a monk in Japan. So what does he do? Moves back to America and gets in a relationship with a druggie punk rocker. All while pursuing a mediocre career on the indies with an unverifiable MMA stint apparently. Yes, this is not a smart man we’re dealing with folks. My client isn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but you better believe he wouldn’t have a fake backstory that sounds like it was created by an autistic fourteen year old on shrooms. But as bad as that backstory is, that’s merely the cherry on the sundae. Let’s get deep into the cream.

I will admit that at first, I bought into the Eddy Poe hype. I thought you were legit with the whole ‘10 year world travelled veteran’ gimmick. I really thought Ron might be in for a challenge with you being a former MMA fighter and all. But the more I saw you tweet against Ron, and the more I saw you back down in backstage altercations made me realize that you’re all fluff. This isn’t apparent just to me, but it’s blatantly apparent to my client. He HATES fake people. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s guys who put on a little bit of muscle, get some tattoos, then try to act like a badass. You have revealed to me, my client, and anyone paying attention with half a brain that you are a scared little child inside. Threats are the least of your worries when your skin could be filleted off your body. Silly words shouldn’t even be on your mind when you have the fear of being impaled with a light tube. Yet they are. Your weak mind will lead to your demise not just in this match, but in this industry.

I truly wonder after your interactions with Ron if you really belong in DTW. Here is a company where wrestlers bathe in human waste, publicly expose themselves, and bring each other to near death every show. Blood, nudity, depravity, and violence are the expected norm. Yet Eddy here you are, truly traumatized by a wrestler making an emasculating threat towards you. What a safe spacer. It’s easily offended kung fu sissies like you that are ruining pro wrestling. What once used to be the last bastion of freedom of expression is being scrutinized and picked apart by today’s lazy, uneducated, complaining generation. I would’ve figured Eddy was too old to partake in this SJW circus but apparently he wants to be considered ‘hip’ and ‘cool’ with the PC crowd. If someone making a violent threat to you is enough for you to completely shutdown, then you don’t belong in a deathmatch company, nonetheless a pro wrestling company. You belong as a counselor on a college campus, organizing nap time and cuddly pet binge watching for troubled students.

Be very aware Ron does not fear you and has every intention of coming in there a raging bull and absolutely manhandling you. He is absolutely enthralled about the prospects of what he can do with barbwire, light tubes, and a weed whacker. You should hear this maniac’s daydreaming, I tell ya. While he has agreed to not rape you in the ring, the threat is always there to keep you in check. You may deem that threat unnecessary, homophobic, abhorrent, but as an openly gay man myself I can tell you you’re being a big fat pussy and you need to stop being a big fat pussy. You’ll be on that backstage panel forever, watching my Ron win titles with your shitty offended attitude. What you have before you on May 22nd is a human wrecking ball that fears NOTHING. He doesn’t care if you’re going in there to have ‘a fun feud’. He only cares about going in there and using your ripped off face as toilet paper. Which reminds me…

Let’s talk about Ron sucking the fun out of this little pro wrestling feud. How can Ron suck the fun out of a feud when the feud hasn’t even began? A feud begins once two competitors get in the ring and battle it out. Till’ then? Just another day in the life of Ron. Another coward he chooses to bicker with out of amusement. Up until this point, Ron laughed about you every time you were brought up. Didn’t think much of you. But now that he sees that date on paper, the smile is off. He’s all about going out there and mentally butt raping you. Not physically, no, he won’t do that, scout’s honor. But will he emasculate you and shatter your reputation? Quite possibly. This little….feud if you wanna call it that isn’t meant to amuse you Eddy. It’s meant to amuse Ron, and that’s all your interactions with him will ever do. While he will have his game face on when he’s suplexing you into barbwire, just know that he’ll be loving every minute of it. You’re stepping into an environment with a man that will stop at nothing to maim you. Like never before Eddy, the leash is truly off. I almost feel sorry for you.

Let me remind you once again to calm your sissy nerves, RON ISN’T GOING TO BUTTRAPE YOU. He only says that to get in your head, and obviously he did that with flying colors. Don’t flatter yourself Eddy, trust me, you’re not his type. He’s more concerned with winning the favor of your chesty asian friend. Ron is hoping that winning this match will be enough to impress Rina Ibuka. If seeing your disfigured face at the next backstage panel isn’t enough to drive Rina into Ron’s massive arms, I don’t know what will. On May 22nd you will get ragdolled. You will get pummeled. You will bleed from multiple orifices. And hopefully after this mauling you’ll step away from DTW, knowing this company is just too much for a crying wimp like you.

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