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Booty Warrior; Ron is proud to be one
Topic Started: Dec 27 2016, 08:27 PM (93 Views)
Big Buff Juice

May 17th, 2013
Downtown Miami, Florida
Vargas Tower Construction Site


If there’s one thing to be learned at construction sites, it’s that you can fight. Not necessarily on the clock mind you. That would be a fire-able offense. But off the clock and away from public eye? Why not. The foreman frequently turned a blind eye to the weekly fights going on as the Vargas Tower was being built. Too much money was at stake if he were to fire them. Good, strong hands in construction are hard to find, and he’d be missing out on all that sweet betting money he makes on the side. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.

It didn’t take more than two days on the job for Ron Swat to pick a fight with someone. It’s been that way through every job he’s ever had. Nineteen jobs come and gone, with only construction being stable enough to keep him around. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from proving his manhood everywhere he went. In construction he faced the testosterone mother load. Dirty looks from the first day. Cussing out five other workers. Then the challenge came on the second day. Much bigger guy. 6’4, 267. Just like Ron liked them.

Ron made the first move, as he always does. The big man followed, and from there it was a circle of plastic helmets, waiting for the inevitable fight. The foreman, a pencil thin white man in his 50’s with a thick stache pulled him aside before fists could come to blows. Everyone “OOOOOOHHHH”ed at Ron, thinking he might get disciplinary action. Quite the contrary. The foreman leaned in and whispered at Ron, face to face.


“Calm down there Ron. There’s money to be made off of you. I look at you and I see raw potential. Let me ask you Ron, how many fights ya been in?”

“I dunno bro like eighty or some shit.”

His brown arched eyebrows raised, impressed with the number and dismissive attitude about it.

“Eighty is nothing to scoff at. That makes you a real vet eh?”

“I guess and shit. So are you gonna fire me or some shit?”

A wrinkly smoker smile from the foreman.

“No. In fact I’m going to make you my golden goose. From now on, I don’t want you fighting on the clock. From now, you fight for me. Off the clock, of course.”

A confused look crossed Ron’s face as he tried to process the information given to him. Before the foreman could repeat himself, Ron spoke up.

“So like...you wanna pay me to fight off the clock?”

“Yes, I do. Now follow my lead.”

The foreman walked off to the parking lot, with Ron standing there not understanding the term ‘follow my lead’. Since he started to figure out he’s dealing with a dumbass, the foreman stopped, ushered him on with a wave, then continued walking. Ron finally got the hint and shuffled along, following the foreman away from the site. Once Ron and the foreman were out of sight, the crew laughed their ass off at the angry moron being fired. Oh if only they knew.

December 18th
Post Winter Warfare
Nashville, Tennessee
The lobby of Cascades Atrium


One could only look at the drooling, screaming, howling retard in the lobby of Cascades Atrium and wonder, is he drunk or high?

Neither. Ron Swat was fueled with a pure adrenaline rush after his backstage decimation of Tony Savage and Kris Keebler. In the span of a minute Ron Swat incapacitated both performers, putting their futures in Phoenix in question. It wasn’t even an official match per say, but it was a nice security blanket for Ron to wrap himself up in. It helped soothe the pain of losing to Elena DeDraca via countout. It reminded him that when he’s motivated, he’s the most dangerous man on the Phoenix roster.

In an uninhibited rush, Ron went down the ticket line and smacked every over 40 year old female ass, regardless of whether they had a man or not. Let’s just say plenty of them did, and not a single one did a damn thing. There was a ton of surprised noises and cursing, but not a single person dared to put their hands on the jacked up freak for what he did. Noticing their monster was a little reckless, Toast and Zach quickly pulled the exuberant Ron away to the bathroom of the Cascades Atrium before security got involved.

The acoustics drew him in right away. Hearing his laughter booming and echoing in the small three person bathroom got Ron even giddier. In his jubilant rage he pounded a quick combo on the white ceramic tile, cracking it with each smash and freaking out an old white man trying to take a leak. He stopped half stream and ran out of the bathroom, piss dribbling down his khakis as Toast and Zach got in close to Ron and group hugged him.


“Ron, Ron, ya gotta calm down.”

“Please Ron, I know you’re excited but you have to contain yourself.”

“Remember what I said Ron. Close your eyes, deep breath.”

Ron did as he was told by Toast and closed his eyes, trying his best to remember how to breathe.

“Now imagine puppy dogs. A room full of beautiful puppy dogs.”

A huge smile formed on Ron’s face, and slowly but surely his striated muscles loosened up.

“Good job Ron, good job. Pet the puppy dogs gently Ron.”

“I be nice to poppie dogs they like me and lick my face and shit!”

“Yes Ron, they do. Feel calmer?”

Ron opened his eyes, looking into the booger encrusted big brown ones of Toast.

“Yeah bro I do and shit.”

With caution Toast and Zach backed off of Ron, who couldn’t help to crack his stiff neck with a snap crackle pop symphony. Feeling good from head to toe, Ron spouted off his innermost desire.

“Alright bros I gotta take a break from the grannies. Got me a little cutie pie to buttfuck!”

Zach looked disgusted, as usual, and Toast looked excited, as usual.

“Who you got your eye on now Ron?”

“That little bitch Chris Andrew and shit.”

“Oh Ron you’re not kidding. He’s man pretty.”

“I know bro, so let’s go find him and fuck him and shit!”

Even though he was quite aroused by the idea, Toast decided to be a responsible manager and agree with Zach. Distract the idiot.

“Hey Ron you know what sounds great?”

“What’s that bro?”

“Free drinks! Drinks on me tonight buddy!”

“Fuck yeah bro!! Let’s get some DRINKS!! Then we’ll go find Chris and buttfuck him and shit!”

Zach and Toast high fived each other, knowing a potential disaster had been averted. For now.

December 24th
Miami, Florida
Feddes's House


Like the rude shithead he is, Ron showed up unannounced and opened the front door to his drug dealer’s house without knocking. There he saw Feddes sitting in his front room with two rotating tower fans on him as he kicked back in a beige sweat and food stained lazyboy and watched reruns of Darkwing Duck. Even in December, Miami is very humid and is absolute hell for anyone over three hundred pounds. Feddes didn’t even bother to look up, he knew who it was from the insanely idiotic laugh and peripheral finger pointing.

“Hey Ron. Welcome.”

“Sup dude!!”

“Have a seat Ron.”

Looking around to his options, Ron saw a heavily stained red beanbag chair to his left, and to his right a black wooden stool which was leaning to one side and on the verge of breaking. Choice made.

“HAHAHA nah bro I’ll stand and shit. You got the shit bro?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

The question genuinely stumped Ron and caused him to stop smiling. Wouldn’t a bear shit wherever it wanted? I mean, it’s a bear. Who’s gonna tell it not to shit there? Being the question completely went over his head, Feddes decided to just pull up the black cotton zip up pouch full of drugs and toss it Ron’s way. Showing off his lightning reflexes, Ron snatched the bag out of the air with one hand, doing his best T2 impression of Arnold snatching the shotgun. With a quick unzip he laid out the contents on the dusty bookshelf nearby. Five clean needles and two vials. One marked Nan, the other marked Deca D.

“Alright I fuckin’ asked for Nandro but why the fuck am I getting Deca?”

Sensing he was getting pissed, Feddes raised his hands up and spoke softly.

“You asked for a good steroid for injury recovery. Deca Durabolin stacks the best with Nan. Just trying to get you the safest combination Ron.”

In his blinded anger Ron had completely forgot Deca could be used as a rehabilitation steroid. A sudden giggle from Ron lightened up the tension in the room, getting Feddes to giggle along.

“My bad bro I completely forgot about that shit. That’s why I need that shit bro, my head and body be all fucked up and shit since I started wrestling again.”

“Oh so you’re doing that again? That’s awesome. I know you’ll be on top once again. I’m just wondering, don’t they test?”

A quick head shake and smile from the childish monster.

“Nah bro ever since the reboot Slaine ain’t fuckin’ testing, so I’m gonna come prepared and shit and take a bunch of fuckin’ JUICE!!”

“Ha ha, good for you Ron. If they ain’t testing juice away. Just don’t do too much deca, it will give you a limp dick. Make sure you cycle off.”

“Nah bro it’s cool and shit I’ll cycle. Gotta stay hard for GRANDMA!!!”

“Oh so you got an old lady in your life?”

“Nah bro I just bang grandmas and shit.”

“The world is yours Ron. Snatch it up.”

Ron let out another big laugh as he thought about granny snatch, then proceeded to zip up his Christmas gift. With enough Deca D and Nan to last all tournament, Ron was in this one for the long haul.

December 28th
Miami, Florida
Zach’s Blog


How fucking awesome was that. In one night I not only beat the shit out of one person, but two persons, in one night. I fucked them both up, real bad. Tony Savage looks strung out and on the verge of losing his job to a drug addiction. Keebler has already been telling people backstage he put in his two weeks notice. Some people just can’t cut being in Phoenix Wrestling. You can either decide to come here and deal with a loss and pick your head up, or you can be a fucking bitch like Kris Keebler. If smashing Keebler’s skull in prepared me for anything, it prepared me for the total fucking jailhouse bitch which I will be facing on January 3rd. A cute little calendar pinup stud muffin...Ron do I really have to write all this? Sorry, no I like keeping my dick, sorry. As I was saying it prepared me for easing into the tight little hole of Chris Andrew. I got fucked by Rowyn Starr last Iron King. This Iron King, I do the fucking.

Now if you’re reading this blog, I want you google a picture of Chris Andrew right now. I’ll wait. Got the picture? Alright cool now laugh at me with him.

HAHAHAHAHAHA he looks like a pretty little bitch doesn’t he? I just want to put him in lipstick and an evening gown. This skinny twink is pretty enough to take out for a night on the town. That said, I don’t appreciate for shit what he does in the ring. Knocking out some drunk fat slob in twenty seconds ain’t an achievement, it’s called getting lucky. Pork Chop is a laughing stock, a worthless load of curdled pig shit who needs to be taken out back and put out of his misery. He doesn’t deserve a spot on this roster. He deserves to be begging for change and starving on the streets as that fat fuck could use a diet. What you did Chris any paraplegic with a Nerf bat could do. Stop patting yourself on the back, because on Night 1 you meet the man of your dreams and nightmares, Ron Swat in a street fight. I know you feel like a bad ass taking out Pork Chop with your little Tekken combo, but that shit won’t fly with an experienced fighter like me.

See that’s the key difference between us Chris is experience. I’ve been in over one hundred street fights in my life. I know what it’s like to fight after someone smashed you in the head with a blunt object from behind. I know what it’s like to fight three guys simultaneously. I know what it’s like to fight with a clogged up nose and a mouthful of blood. Do you Chris? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be in those types of situations and having to find a way to win? I highly doubt that you do Chris. I seriously doubt you’ll do anything more than panic and completely shit yourself going against a man who will rape your mind, your body, and your soul.

I’ve studied up a little bit on you, yeah you used to box. Every bottom rung jackass has taken a kickboxing cardio class in their life. Doesn’t make me flinch in the least. I can take a punch and I can get in close. Once I get in close Chris, it’s game over. You may have some hand speed, but that hand speed doesn’t mean shit when you’re getting dumped on your head onto the pavement. This is street fight rules bitch boy, I don’t have to trade hands with you. Believe that I will, just to show you how fucking fast I am for a muscle man. Just know that if I want though, I can end this fight at any time. There’s nothing you can do once I wrap my big strong arms around you.

On January 3rd you will know pain unlike any you’ve ever felt before. Yes, you’ll feel the pain of being knocked out cold by a bigger, stronger, better man. But you’ll also know the pain of getting buttfucked live on YouTube. That’s right bitch, just like I fucked Masaru, I’m gonna fuck you and add you to my line up of bitches. There’s nothing you can do to escape it, just play nicely with me and I may even make you my bottom bitch. However on Night 1, I gotta treat you like a new pair of shoes. Sorry baby, but I gotta break you in. I gotta break you in real rough.

Tell ya what though cutie pie. I promise not to fuck up your face. I need something to cum to and I can’t be making this young Chris Cornell motherfucker look like shit. So trust me when I say this, I will keep you pretty bitch boy. However I will break the shit out of your back and throw you on your head a few times. And just like a caveman, I will drag your concussed body to an alley and have my way with you. Chris, there’s nothing that’s going to stop the losses you got coming your way….the first your anal virginity, the second your consciousness.



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OOC: Word count 2496
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Edited by Big Buff Juice, Dec 29 2016, 04:02 AM.
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