Post by Odin Balfore on Nov 22, 2013 23:26:02 GMT -5
A Joint Thick-ni Production
Chapter I: "Poon Guinea Parade"
It's hard to believe that just over nine million people reside in Poon Guinea, after all the death, coke and days of wasteful excess that left the country in ruins. This is why you don't let ZMAC name a national holiday called “The Day of Vodka Treasury.” It was a Tyrsday in Poon Guinea- fuck that Greco-Roman shit. All the days have new names. Bad Motha Fucka day (Monday). Tyrsday (Tuesday). Odinsday (Wednesday). Thorsday (Thursday). Then Friday though Sunday known affectionately as the Bobby Cairo Trifecta (days 1, 2 and 3). All holidays have been replaced. The New Year didn't mark some pussy day of starting over- fuck that shit. If a citizen of Poon Guinea wanted a New Year, he had to pay taxes for it as well as the sales tax on the “New” year. You see, the space-time continuum is an untapped market, currently being monopolized by The Thickness. Valentine's Day became “Steak and BJ Day”. Steak and BJ Day in March became “T-Bone and Anal Day.” July 28th is known as The Thickness Revolution, a day that celebrates the death of King Jimmy Dean and the formation of Poon Guinea as a sovereign nation-state. In fact, there are 480 days in the Thick-Ni calender, all of which are some sort of holiday/day of tribute that ends with The Day of Vodka Treasury.
This is communism. Thick-ni Communism. And today is Victory Over Faggotry Day. The day that marks The Thickness's victory over the “oppressive“ Sarah Twilight and her goons known as S-PAC. What's that bitch know about running shit, anyway? One thing Sarah did instill in those boys was how to choke effectively well. One does not simply deep throat the thickness without first choking on their words and today in Poon Guinea was the celebration of the world's greatest tag team.
Bobby Cairo and Odin Balfore sit atop solid gold thrones, raised up and carried on platforms by smoking hot, big titty women wearing nothing but high heels. The nine million citizens cheer and become impregnated by the superior greatness that passes by them in the streets. Jealous men are executed on the spot by the Thousand Thick-ni Army. A lien will be put on their property and women until satisfactory tribute has been made by the deceased. Even death does not grant you a free ride in Poon Guinea but it is the payoff for gay rights, public education and health care. To reap the benefits of the state, you must become part of the state and if you wish to become part of the state, you must pay with your life. This is the only real thing of value the citizen holds and even then we're talking a very paltry sum.
Odin: This Bobby, this can be attained only by our Godlike powers. Only The Thickness can do this.
Bitches are doing cartwheels, thousands upon thousands of bitches performing cartwheels in perfect unison as part of an elaborate, bare-assed dance routine. Oh holy shit them bare-assed bitches be lookin good. Bobby Cairo is nonplussed, unable to truly savor the fruits of victory.
Cairo: Those S-PAC fools.
Cairo sneers, the Devil clearly occupying his mind, body and soul... or is that the vodka colonic that he orally ingested with his Denny's Grand Slam breakfast at the Victory Over Faggotry feast this morning?
Cairo: Oh Godfather, how I hate S-PAC with a lust and passion hitherto reserved for Sarah Palin's festering, brain-dead corpse. Those S-PAC fools were dumped on their heads and left there to die, crippled and broken upon the canvas, stripped of their belts and their dignity, just like we said we would do. Nothing about them impresses me. Nothing about them can be associated with the word impressive.
Cairo gestures to his groin, the embodiment made flesh of all that is truly impressive on this island earth.
Cairo: All that they were, all that they are, and all that they ever shall be, is the embodiment of pure faggotry in WCF. They were handed those championship belts uncontested and then challenged the jobber roster to make themselves feel important while they could, all the while knowing that one day- sooner rather than later- they would have to lose in the face of The Thickness. Can you imagine the fear of realization once it was understood that they would be facing The Thickness and there was nothing they could do to stop it from happening? These men appointed themselves as officials in our number-one contenders match and the only objection they could muster against us was a weak, half-hearted, post-match ambush.
Cairo runs his hand through his majestic, jet-black hair. A Poon Guinean servant woman goes to work, slobbing his knob something properlike. Cairo tightens his grip on his diamond and ruby encrusted scepter. His bejeweled crown tilts ever so slightly to one side, a sign that the servant woman is polishing that codpiece just right.
Cairo: Let's understand this. Let's place it into perspective: S-PAC could've, theoretically anyway, handpicked their title challengers in that match. Could've sided with Justice or Adam Young's latest assemblage of jobbers, may they rest in peace. But do you know what? S-PAC knew their fate was sealed. They held the keys to the kingdom, but the locks had already been changed. S-PAC couldn't stop The Thickness anymore than the dinosaurs could stop the asteroid that collided with Earth and wiped them out. The Thickness versus S-PAC was an extinction level event that forever changed the face of the WCF Tag Team division. Bobby Cairo. Odin Balfore. Conquerors of a division that was once most unthick and entirely unworthy of bearing our names. Now we are its saviors. Now we ride atop golden thrones- the gods of wrestling that we are- through the streets of the nation that we created in our own thick image.
Cairo's cellphone shivers, saunters, beeps and bloops- alerting him to a new message. Cairo reaches into the pockets of his plush, red velvety king's robe and grabs hold of the phone. He studies the message, furrows a brow and smirks like the fat kid who stole the chocolate cake from the teacher's lounge at school.
Cairo: This is childish yet thoroughly amusing, Odin.
Odin cocks his head to the side, casting a glance at his tag partner.
Odin: Yes? Speak up then. What is it?
Cairo: Waylon Cash, defeated member of former tag champions S-PAC, is issuing statements on social media.
Odin's laughter is immediate and thunderous, sending shockwaves throughout the kingdom of Poon Guinea that are felt all the way to the shores of neighboring Australia. The sonic impact pops the cherries of thousands of virgin women and girls. Rather than being outraged, these women and girls are honored to lose their virginity to the Asgardian All-Father- even if just by force of his laughter than by penetration from the thickness.
Odin: That is absolutely hilarious. I can just imagine that shithead lying in his hospital bed after being physically, mentally and spiritually eviscerated by The Thickness and tweeting about his shattered psyche.
Cairo: Haha. Check it out, my man. At Hellbilly Joker writes "Congrats boys. Enjoy the titles. I'm sure you're expectin' us to come after 'em and ask for a rematch. Not happenin'. You can have 'em, and best of luck with it. Although, from what I hear Scott has a little announcement to make at Slam regarding those titles. He hasn't even let me in on it yet, but I ain't never seen him this excited about somethin' that didn't have tits. Guess we'll see on Sunday."
Odin appears positively perplexed, as if Waylon Cash just dropped a silent but deadly fart and then scattered from the premises, leaving The Thickness to suffer the stench.
Odin: Where is that ass stank comin from? Oh wait... it's an S-PAC member of the most unthick variety. Waylon, Failin', whatever your name is, let me tell you something so that we're perfectly clear: Nothing that you or your manager can announce regarding the tag team titles, OUR tag team titles is going to make one damn bit of difference. See, we already made an announcement regarding the tag belts on Slam and it goes a little something like this: The Thickness is the most dominant team in WCF history. No one but NO ONE can take these titles from us. You can pull out all the tricks of the trade: weapons, outside interference, bribing the referee, sucking on your tag team partner's pee-pee to give him strength. Nothing you can do will change the fact that these belts are ours. We were the most dominant force in the division before we captured the belts, the uncrowned kings of tag wrestling, and now that we have the belts we are NEVER letting them go.
Cairo: We got a stranglehold on these belts, motherfuckin punk ass Waylon Cash. You talk about announcements? Odin already stated everything that needs to be said about that, but for my own amusement let me take a guess: Scott's putting a million dollar bounty on our heads for any team that can take these belts off The Thickness, right? You don't want to do that dirty work yourself, Waylon. You don't want to wrangle with The Thickness again anymore than an ant wants to wrangle with the boot that just squashed it. So your boy Scott puts a bounty on our heads just like he did with Ana Valentine when she became too much for him to handle. Oh shit. Did I give away your secret? Did I spoil the big surprise?
Odin: I think you did, Bobby. I think you fucked up his little plan. Punk ass white boy must think The Thickness don't keep tabs on what goes on around here. We know who you are, Waylon, and let me extend that to: Savage, Atreyu and Gable. We know who you are. We know how you operate. We know what goes through your little pea-brains. We know because we are gods and you are primitive men, troglodytes of a bygone era.
The beeps and boops return, Cairo’s phone goes off with the orgasmic moaning of his bottom bitch, Rihanna. Cairo receives another alert.
Cairo: Bitches be texting me or something? Bitches be wildin yo. Oh now look at this shit. Now John Gable has something to say? “Congrats on your victory...keep those titles warm for me.” Winking smiley face.
Odin: The fuck? I dropped that nig on his head too.
Cairo: Perhaps a little too hard. Perhaps he forgot that he too, tried and failed. Scott Savage tried and failed. All of S-PAC, tried and FAILED.
Odin: There is no more that needs to be said. They can't face facts that we are their superior, THE MOST DOMINANT TEAM IN WCF. We beat them clean. Throw that baby out with the bath water and let's move on. Who are we facing this week?
Cairo flips through his phone.
Cairo: Doesn't say. Just that we're scheduled to appear in a random match to be decided at the show. I'd say that's part of Savage's plan but he's not that clever. Or that stupid.
Odin: No, that sounds like a Twilight gimmick. She must think she's being new and exciting. More like shallow and pedantic.
Cairo: Oh damn, my nigga said pedantic!
Odin: She gets all butt hurt and wants to change the rules when things don't go her way. I've seen it a million times. All she has to do is gaze upon our work. There's millions of people out here to see us being carried in the streets of Poon Guinea- like kings- like gods. We don't have to script a Jonny Fly, Eric Price, Sarah Twilight celebration slash appreciation bullshit. There are fine ass bitches everywhere, servicing us as we speak. I have no time for such un-thick games, Bobby. In fact, I have no time for this realm. We are gods, Bobby. This world cannot truly appreciate all that we offer it.
Cairo: Expand on your horizons.
Odin: Victory Over Faggotry Day- It's good but it's not good enough. We deserve a hero's welcome. A party fit for The Thickness that no mortal bitch can give us.
Cairo: You mean...
Odin: Pack your shit. We're going to Asgard.
The trumpets are sounded- it is announced by the Royal Guard that Lord God Bobby Cairo and The All-Father Odin Balfore are taking their leave of this dimension. The masses are instructed to indulge in mass hysteria of the drunken monkey sex and frolicking nude through the streets variety. This is celebration, indeed, jubilation for the proliferation of liberation in the tag ranks of Wrestling Championship Federation. There is a footnote attached to the announcement: Eat Bobby Cairo's seven-hundred-dollar a piece crispy, golden chicken and you will be summarily executed. This is not open for negotiation. You show respect. You show gratitude. The Thickness gives you life, gives you poon, gives you free-flowing booze, blow and bitches. Do not bite the hand that feeds. Do not look the gift horse in the mouth. Do not fuck with The Thickness or you will suffer the consequences much like S-PAC.
Chapter II: "Thick-Ni Gods INC."
Amon Amarth plays as The Thickness travels to an alternate dimension, traverses past wormholes and black holes and gaping Sarah Twilight vagina that got ripped from its loins by a Thickness tag titles victory that she did not anticipate. Sarah bawled her eyes out for hours and hours on end when Cairo and Odin scored simultaneous pinfalls over Cash and Atreyu. The damage was done. Sarah was tempted to try dope for the first time in her life. Bless those virgin veins with that poison that keeps on taking. She thought about it all night while sitting in her hotel suite and then she thought some more on her way to the airport. She opted to eat vanilla ice cream with gummy bears on top instead. That's about as hardcore as Sarah Twilight gets these days for all of her huffing and puffing about culling the weak from the herd. Shoot some dope in your veins, Sarah. Chase that dragon. But you can't and you won't because you don't because you can't ride long and strong and hard all night long like The Thickness. This is rock and roll, motherfucker. This is a critical mass. This is Communism, pure and simple. Thickness style.
Cairo and Odin ride upon a dopethrone from Valhalla, the hall of viking gods triumphant in battle, all the way to Asgard, the scenic pearl of the north, accessible only by those without the unthick baggage of pitiable human intrigue and consequence. Leave it all behind. There is no trouble to be found in these pearly white streets, so pure as the virgin snatch. Snow falls year round. Ale is consumed like intoxicating spring water. The women are so beautiful and voluptuous that they make Liv Tyler and Minka Kelly look like horrid little trolls from origin of Iowa. This is heaven removed from any context of Christianity, for Christianity is blasphemy around this way. These inhabitants worship a higher power, the power of The Thickness, the power of All-Father Odin and Godfather Bobby Cairo. Donner, Blitzen, Rudolph and Rihanna pull the solid gold ubersleigh of death into town. This is home.
Odin stretches his enormous limbs... all five of them. Let's see: two arms, two legs, one thickness. Cairo does the same and cricks his neck into place, producing a voluminous series of earthquakes and aftershocks in some dankwater South Pacific burgh. Cairo cares not for their troubles. They will be conquered in the name of Poon Guinea soon enough. That will be then. It is not now. Seventeen virgins wearing only the slinkiest of loincloths greet Cairo and Odin upon their arrival.
"Welcome, All-Father! Welcome, Godfather! We have BJs and handies for your enjoyment, as well as a spread of roasts and elixirs to whet your palette. You care to dig in?"
Cairo smiles at the blonde-haired nymph and pinches her ass cheeks with two handfuls of glee (the emotion not the horrid TV show).
Cairo: Baby girl, I'm going to dig into your rump roast right now as a matter of fact. The ride from Poon Guinea and connecting route in Valhalla was scenic and eventful. We defeated dragons and space slugs and Vulcans. We defeated jobbers who wished to seize our tag team championships--
The Asgardian bitches OOH and AAH and squeal with orgasmic delight at the sight of Cairo's big, gold belt.
Cairo: In unsanctioned bouts. This is what Sarah Twilight doesn't understand. She thinks she's gonna throw The Thickness off of our game by entering us into some sort of mystery competition, but what? We fight all comers on the drop of a dime and we always have. You might be able to anticipate what's going to happen in a neatly devised little pro rasslin match with its dainty little spandex wearing superstars and its rulebook and its referees, but you can't anticipate what happens on the streets, in the woods, on the moon or in some alternate dimension.
"Godfather, you've been to the moon? Oh but that's so exciting. I want to go with you! But, uh, which moon? We have several here in Asgard?"
The Godfather spies her ass cheeks bulging from her loincloth and grabs himself another couple of handfuls.
Cairo: Indeed you do, my fine bitch. You got moons for days. Your name is Marlena.
"Actually my name is Juliett--"
Cairo: Silence, Marlena. It has been decided. Bobby Cairo does not negotiate. You are Marlena and that's all there is to it. I will tap your ass, repeatedly. You will massage my cock and balls and feed me grapes and turkey legs and I will tap your ass again. You have taken your last shit, let me tell you that right now. I'm going to clog your ass so full of the good stuff that no waste product shall ever gain passage again.
Marlena: But how will I--
Cairo: You will find a way. You will find a way just as The Thickness finds a way to rise above all obstacles in our path time and again without so much as breaking a sweat.
Odin: Waylon Cash. Benjamin Atreyu. S-PAC.
The bitches giggle and quake and stomp their feet and clap their hands. They've never been so amused in all of their eighteen years.
"Please, All-Father. You are killing us. It is too much!"
Odin: And you will be saying that when the thickness penetrates your ovaries. Let us indulge in intercourse. Donner, Blitzen, Rudolph, Rihanna. Take us to the mansion of the gods. The Godfather and The All-Father are going to knock up these virgin whores.
The Thickness hop back in the solid gold ubersleigh of death with Marlena and the other blonde haired vixen.
Odin: On Donner, Blitzen, Rudolph and Rihanna. Onward to Valhalla.
Rihanna: But Cairo, daddy?
WHAATUSHH! Cairo cracks the leather weightlifting belt that reads “Hollywood” in white lettering.
Cairo: Bitch, you're pulling the uber-sleigh. Your dumpster fire poon ain't worth shit up in this. Marlena! Show this skank ass Rihanna how you ladies suck that thickness.
With a squish and a squirt, Marlena teems with joy. The honor. The privilege... the oh-oh my! The Golden ubersleigh of death takes off in a flash. Rihanna's in the lead as the reindeer try to catch her and tap that sweet and sour ass. As quickly as they left, as quick as they've arrived. Valhalla welcomes the WCF tag team champions and their God, The All-Father. They get out of the sleigh, Marlena still servicing the Cairo Cock. (patent pending.) It's as crisp and as white as a New England Christmas. Straight out of Bridgeport, complete with the smell of yuletide liquor.
Cairo: I tell ya, Odin, this is a Thick-ni paradise.
Odin: Orbit would get his black ass whooped if he stepped up here. IF he could step up here. Straight ahead and through those doors. The mead will flow like the juices of so many whores.
Cairo and Odin walk straight ahead, past the golden homes of Gods and heroes. Snow falls nearly in white out conditions but the golden hall still gleams brightly in the distance. They enter the hall where naked Valkyries greet them. They lead The Thickness past a long wooden table, lined with half back chairs to a golden throne where The All-Father once sat. Odin takes his throne as they give Cairo a chair but Odin just furrows his brow and glares.
Odin: How dare you disrespect me, by bringing my guest a chair made of wood. If he wanted shabby treatment he would have stayed in damn Bridgeport. Bring him the one made of silver and gems. This is Bobby Cairo, our guest and my friend. He is the god of professional wrestling and an equal in my eyes. We come back for a celebration for we have taken home great accolades.
The Valkyrie bitches recoil in admonishment and return with the silver and gemstone chair to make Bobby feel more honored. Cairo sinks his ass into the snazzy seat and reclines, the great man enjoying his well-earned leisure. Odin laps his hands as another set of naked women bring them mugs of mead. Cairo looks wide eyed as he stares at his mug.
Cairo: What is this you give me? Where are the huge ass mugs of mead?
Odin: Just drink, you'll see.
Cairo takes a sip, a swig and then a chug. He's caught off guard as the mug magically refills itself in mid sip. Cairo grins maniacally.
Cairo: A man could get used to this. Marlena, chop, chop. This cock can do many things but sucking itself is not one of them.
Marlena gets to business as Odin stretches his immortal legs out. He lets out a sigh of relief as he pounds down endless mug after endless mug of mead. He snaps his fingers as Amon Amarth begins to play. A quiet celebration is what these two men need.
Cairo: Communism the Asgardian way, as it was intended.
Marlena attempts to speak, but she gets thwacked in the face by a powerful backhand swat from The Godfather.
Cairo: Do not speak when my cock is in your mouth, woman. In fact do not speak at all. That is not what your services were acquired for.
Odin: She is especially ignorant. She must pay tribute to the thickness, a proper tribute not this half-hearted hemming and hawing.
Cairo: She will do the work as it was expected to be done or she will pay the ultimate price.
Understanding that the pressure is on, Marlena goes to work at unprecedented measure, sucking the cock with greater acumen than even the most tweaked out black woman.
Cairo: Holy Hades, now this is a thickness tribute to be sure. But never to be sore. Only the joyous occasion of ejaculation. Logan can't understand this. His pride, his reputation and his Hardcore Championship are mine when I desire them.
Odin: You believe that Logan could be matched against you in this heavy-handed notion of a pot luck hoedown on the show called Slam?
Cairo's salami is taking a licking, a sucking, a kissing, a fucking. He is loving every moment of this; his body slithering like a savory serpent in the throes of sexual ecstasy.
Cairo: Frankly speaking, it could be Logan. Hades, it could be Jonny Fly. Can you imagine Bobby Cairo walking out of Slam with the tag belt on one shoulder and the world heavyweight strap hovering above the other?
Odin: It would suit you. However--
Odin wavers his balled fist, meaty and foreboding though it is. He indicates that all of the bitches in the room should pay attention to what he has to say.
Odin: I think that world's heavyweight belt would look mighty fine around the All-Father's waist for the third time.
The bitches ogle their great War God Odin. Cairo is hardly impressed. Sure he respects Odin, but he feels as though Odin is laying it on pretty thick.
Cairo: You, uh... you putting on a show for these ladies?
Odin: Call it what you want to, my friend. The facts don't lie. I've been twice a World's Champ in Dub See Eff and my third time is a-callin. You want that belt for yourself? Have at it. We'll see who the better man should be.
Cairo does not back down from these words of challenge. These words of anti-Cairo sacrilege that have parted from The All-Father's mouth. Cairo ejaculates in Marlena's mouth. The stream of cum bores a hole through her head, instantly puncturing her brain, shattering her skull and killing her. Cairo rises to his feet. Marlena's tiny body drops to the floor without making so much as a thud. Nude Valkyrie bitches slink into view and carry her corpse away.
Cairo: Understand something, All-Father. There is a possibility, as likely as any other, that you and I will be locking horns for the first time in our careers. If the moment shall come when you feel The Godfather's wrath, understand that it ain't personal. It ain't even professional. It's just the circumstances, my child--
Odin rises above the dining hall, floating upon a cloud of blood and thunder, trident in hand and horned helmet upon his dome. Cairo engages Odin in a staredown of immortals, Godfather and All-Father each refusing to back down.
Odin: This insolence shall not be tolerated! You come to my home, my kingdom and speak such foolishness! Bobby Cairo! I challenge thee! Once upon a skull crown, stand and fight me! Engage me in battle!
Cairo takes his position on the dynamic, unholy and heretofore unspoken skull crown, a veritable rocket ship of legendary magnitude, Asgardian proportion and unfathomable power and speed. The steering capabilities on this thing are incredible, cutting and exploding like an NFL power back of Barry Sanders or Adrian Peterson caliber. Then there's the invisibility cloak.
Cairo: Haha. I ain't even activating that invisibility shit, Odin. I want you to see these fists when they clobber your erratic and egotistical noggin. You know somethin that I've been thinkin? I've been thinkin that you're long overdue for an ass-whoopin. Since no one in WCF seems to be of able mind or body to achieve such a gargantuan task, then it's time for the Thickest Daddy of them all to handle this business.
The sleeves of Cairo's robe are rolled up. He bounces to and fro in a southpaw boxing stance, his lips sneering from that southpaw grammar, the pearls of enlightenment that part from his pursed lips. Oh, Cairo you are a gorgeous boy. All of the Asgardian lasses think so. And they love how you poke a bitch's brains out with the sheer power of your pee-pee. That shit is hot. Oh yeah all the bitches coo. Oh no, it's a trap! Oof! In the blink of an eye Cairo is knocked on his ass after a powerful strike from The All-Father!
Cairo: But that wasn't fair! Your bitches were distracting me with talk of my powerful brain-poking pee-pee!
Odin: This was not to your benefit, my man. Not at all. It was only to your detriment. Now you must learn. Never trust an Asgardian bitch. You think Earth bitches is bad? NEVER trust an Asgardian bitch.
Cairo sticks, slips, shoots and rolls, clipping Odin with a powerful spinning backfist and planting a kick to the knee that draws a mighty roar from the "Nordic Tank". Odin pounds his chest and bellows like the leviathan of somesuch seafaring biblical lore. Odin rears back and delivers a skull shattering head butt that ripples out from the epicenter, distorting time and space. Life is frozen. Time dare not move, think or breathe. Cairo's face is contorted from the instantaneous impact. The air around them begins to crack and open up, revealing a void where nothing can escape. The two men are sucked up into this void and disappear as the space-time continuum repairs itself just as it was before the incident.
Chapter III: "A Thick Universe"
Cairo and Odin look at themselves in confusion. This barren emptiness like the poon of Sarah Twilight, devoid of life and light but in need of a thick-ni beat down. Suspended in time do they watch as the brightest, whitest light imaginable rumbles out in the furthest distance. Like a million suns, the universe bows to it; except for The Thickness. The light seems to bow to them, as if to thank them for its very own birth. It seems like a lifetime, but gone in the very same flash. Gasses and particles form around them. Planets and stars are born, taking shape in the neon hue of molten oranges and reds.
Cairo: What the fuck am I seeing?
Odin: The universe being born.
Cairo: Damn. Not even the entire universe could withstand the power of The Thickness going head to head.
Odin: The universe is being born in our image.
Cairo: The universe IS our image. We gave this to the world. Not Sarah Twilight and her queer ass randomized cluster fuck she calls a show. Dub See Eff cannot handle The Thickness- it is not ready for it and there is nothing that control freak will be able to do about it to stop us.
Odin: Everyone talks of new eras in a company- well truly this is it. Ain't no one following Jonny Fly's title reign but you know damn sure everyone’s looking at us. From down there, where only mortals dwell. They cannot reach the heights of the Thick-ni Universe.
Cairo: You think about that, man, and then you think about something else. You think about sheer numbers and the numbers game. Me? I'm not gonna be a little faggot and run through the forty plus guys on this roster. Ninty-nine percent of them aren't even worth mentioning.
Odin: I don't even know their names. I think ZMAC got blitzed and just spam emailed about half of the current roster their contracts and applications. All these guys are the same.
Cairo: Must be Doc Henry wearing more masks than Mil Mascaras. That guy's got more issues than Logan.
Odin: Who does, Mil or Doc?
Cairo: Both of them actually but I was thinking Doc. I think he likes to dress up like a girl too. That Chelsea Black got a huskier voice than most of the dudes around here. I'm thinkin it's Doc in drag.
Odin: That would be an improvement over his current gimmick of Confederate sympathizer. Point is, look at this. All that you see before you. Creation now exists because of us. Life, hope, storylines that make sense; all are on the horizons. Not just the same watered down bullshit that's been going on for a year and a half.
Cairo: At least the last six months.
Odin: Sorry. Not sorry. All this has just been a Sarah Twilight stroke job because she can't hold the title, she can't handle office affairs and now she can't even book a fucking card.
Cairo: Odin, how does one book?
Odin: Not like Sarah Fucking Twilight.
Cairo: Bitch had one job and all she did was cry tears into her bowl of vanilla ice cream. That's what that bitch is too. Vanilla ice cream. She can't come up with a card so she needs to make up an “announcement” like she's some dastardly Scooby Doo villain.
Odin: Probably Eric Price in drag. At least then he can wear a tampon so that urine doesn't leak out all over his pants again.
Cairo: If this bitch could do something important and worthwhile, she would have. All she's done is beat up Shannan Lerch and put some mentally retarded girl in the hospital.
Odin: Crowning achievements. Not like us. Watching the universe unfold before our very eyes.
Cairo: The way I look at it. Put us up against the entire fed and they still wouldn’t have a chance. The Thickness is coming for WCF and all will be put in their place. One cannot stop The Thickness. We have been the most dominant thing in WCF since we started.
Cairo sips of endless mead, not lamenting the Asgardian whorebags who were destroyed when the space-time continuum imploded.
Odin: They can't handle this. They aren't ready for this. What's going to go through their minds when whoever's unlucky enough has to step into the ring with us? I can guarantee everyone is prepping for a Jonny Fly match and saying how they're going to get the job done.
Cairo lights up a Newport in the vacuum of space and takes a drag.
Cairo: Nothin to do but kick back and watch that shit unfold. We ain't got shit to be worried about. You got that kush?
Odin: Got that kush and that paper.
Cairo: Then blaze that shit mothafucka. Just another day in the world of The Thickness. Poppin caps, fuckin bitches. Hittin that blow and smokin that Poon Guinean kush.
Odin goes into his pockets and pulls out a baggy and some paper then starts to roll a fatty. He sparks it up, takes a puff and passes it to Cairo.
Odin: The Poon Guinean way of life.
Best. In. The. World.
Ready or not. Here we come.