Post by Vulgar on Aug 12, 2016 14:48:44 GMT -5
The isolation chamber is black... Ink black. Under normal conditions, most people only see a hard shade of gray in perfect darkness, a phenomenon called eigengrau. For whatever sinister, otherworldly reason, however, that is not the case down here in these bleak, concrete catacombs. What swaddles this padded box is the most abyssal kind of darkness, a permeating, overpowering blackness that signifies far more than the mere absence of light. From wall to wall, there is nothing Spider Baseball can see but pure, starless void.
"This is unbelievable," squeaks a faint voice from beyond the plaster horizon. "In all my years of rehabilitating the mentally ill, I've never seen a stack of heel-hooking convictions like this! It's a damn good thing the specialist is coming in today to see what he can do for this ogre."
A faint smile uncurls on the cauliflower-earred grappler's face as he rocks back and forth in the darkness. Cockily twisting the shredded remains of his straight jacket through the jagged cubes of stone that are his fists, he wonders nonchalantly what these milquetoast pussies are going to throw at him this time. Ever since he was wrongfully hauled off into this joint, there's been a seemingly fathomless queue of fame-lusting psychiatrists, psychologists, head-shrinkers, quacks, exorcists, witch doctors, and craniosacral therapists growing outside of his cell door to see if they can "cure" him of his insatiable thirst for snapping legs. Not a single one, NOT A SINGLE FUCKING ONE, of the naive suits who were actually let in here made it out without having to crawl. "Whoever this 'specialist' is," Spider Baseball thinks. "He doesn't have an infant's chance in a tire fire once he steps into my domain."
So Spider Baseball waits and waits, just as he always does. Time just blurs into one long day down here. Eventually, whether it be minutes or hours after the original announcement, new fervor begins to emanate outside.
"Oh, thank God you're here," says the squeaky voice again. "This one is in dire need of help."
Like the demon Chernabog tearing himself out of Bald Mountain, Spider Baseball stands up and licks his lips. His taut, knotted muscles loosen in anticipation of the ambush he's about to execute, something in the realm of the seventy-fifth attack he's carried out since he's been admitted into this hospital. He's an ebon juggernaut, an unstoppable grappling abomination that no doctor could possibly stand up to even if backed by all the orderlies in the world. Anyone who tries is only fated to meet his leg's end.
"Come on in, doc," the borderline-rabid grappler brashly shouts. "I've got a nice new set of leg braces I'd like you to-"
"You can keep those to yourself," booms a sepulchral voice straight from the pits of Michigan Hell. "My only objective today is to... 'Rehabilitate' you."
In one fell swoop, the savage zeal drains from Spider Baseball's flesh like an erection being clipped in the head by a BB gun. With pupils the size of silver dollars, the chiseled grappler stands frozen in shock as the solid iron door of his cell is slowly and meticulously unlocked.
"The Cocktor is in," booms Dan Severn.
Spider Baseball can only quiver like a tranced rabbit as the walking wall of beef enters his previously tranquil cell and locks the door behind him with a very knowing twinkle in his eyes. With arms like cow necks and a mustache like the ether of space, Severn silently begins removing his coat and pocket watch. The chocolate-fleshed BJJ stylist watches on mouth agape like a tweaker who just got blasted in the stomach by a bean bag gun; never in a million years would he have guessed THIS is what the hospital would send after him.
"Just give me a moment to get situated, Mr. Baseball, and then we can begin your 'treatment'," says Severn.
With mammoth, trashcan lid hands, Severn fastidiously hangs his expensive zoot suit up on the wall behind him. Turning back around with a look of stone-cold resolve, he firmly locks gaze with his immobile patient like a golden eagle fixating on a wounded mountain goat. A dead silence, the likes of which the Earth has never known since the shadowland of pre-existence, suddenly ripples from the room like a shockwave and permeates the entire hospital. The uneasy quietness cuts through the surrounding parking lot, spreading across the city and hitting the network of highways beyond. Cars stop suddenly in their tracks, the sheer intensity of this moment appearing to just completely freeze all life around it. In this second, a visceral sensation of dread explodes in Spider Baseball's gut. Although he wouldn’t be able to articulate why... He knows with complete certainty that he's about to get raped. Big time.
"Let's proceed," Dan Severn calmly utters.
The soul-sheering realization of one's imminent loss of innocence would serve to reduce most men to pudding. For Spider Baseball, however, it was just the kick in the nuts he needed to knock him out of his futile stupor.
"KiiiiiiiiAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!", he shrieks.
Bolting across his pitch-dark cell, Spider Baseball unleashes the hardest, most unrestrained flying sidekick he's ever thrown in his entire life. This brutal, missile-like blow could cut the head off a statue and cripple an already wheelchair-bound man a second time over... If it could be landed. Having made the unfortunate choice not to calculate his strike in any capacity, the steel-bodied grappler ends up missing his assailant by a five foot margin and crashing teeth-first into the solid iron door of his cell. White fragments of enamel shoot out from his mouth in all directions, quickly being consumed by the black void of his padded room despite their ivory luster.
"Wait, what? Were you trying to attack me just then?" inquires Severn, genuinely confused by Spider Baseball's inept kung-fu leap.
His vision erupting in a hail of stars, Spider Baseball rapidly scrambles to get back to his knees and lunge for Severn's legs. It's a difficult task locating his opponent in the darkness, but the heat furiously emanating from "The Beast's" crotch provides at least some guidance of where to attack. Once the chiseled BJJ stylist is finally able to latch onto Severn's limbs, he drives with all his might to get the wrestling-based fighter down to his back where Spider Baseball will theoretically have the advantage. Much to his horror while attempting this, however, he quickly discovers that trying to double-leg Dan Severn is akin to throwing one's shoulder into a tree trunk.
"Oh my God, man, that is ADORABLE" Dan Severn giggles as Spider Baseball impotently struggles and heaves. "Here... Let me help you out a bit."
Spider Baseball doesn't have time to react as a python-esque arm wraps around his neck like a noose. With a malicious, guttural laugh, the mammoth wrestler falls straight onto his back and pulls his comparatively minuscule opponent right up into mount on top of him. For all his jiu-jitsu experience, the taut-skinned Spider Baseball can do nothing to take advantage of this opportunity presented to him. Having trained all his life only against HUMANS, he can do nothing in retaliation against the skull-crushing gotard hold Severn has on his head.
"How do you like this?" Severn exclaims. "I call it Reverse Lay-and-Pray!"
Spider Baseball tries to keep his cool and figure out a way to escape this garrote-like hold, but it's like trying to do calculus after downing two liters of Scotch. With his head feeling like a water balloon being filled by an over-zealous four-year-old, his mind can only pump out bits and pieces of knowledge that might help him in this situation. He knows he's been put in this position once before... A very long time ago. But that was by the hands of a pitiful, old man, not a powerhouse who could crush coal into diamonds. Still, he had managed to escape the hold before by means other than jiu-jitsu. How did he do it? How did he... How did he... EYE-GOUGES!!! HE ESCAPED THAT BALD PUSSY'S RETARD HEADLOCK WITH EYE-GOUGES!!!
His body now invigorated with a new, fervent energy, Spider Baseball shoots his hand up above his head and furiously claws around for Severn's soft, vulnerable orbs. "This'll fix you," the BJJ stylist thinks with an earnest determination. Almost immediately, however, Spider Baseball's blind attack is halted when he finds his hand snagged into the black-wired jungle that is Severn's legendary mustache. Not thinking much of it, he tries to pull it out to resume his pupil-scratching assault... But quickly finds that he can't.
"God, damn it," Severn heaves, surprised Spider Baseball would attempt this avenue of attack. "Why'd you have to do that? Do you have any idea how much shit gets lost in there? It might never come out!"
"What the fuck!" Spider Baseball squeals.
His head still trapped in Severn's vice, Spider Baseball frantically tries to yank his arm out of the fuzzy abyss. No good. Like quicksand, the more he struggles, the deeper he gets pulled in. The chiseled grappler begins gurgling unintelligibly as he feels his shoulder being separated from its socket.
"Son of a fuck," Severn groans.
Relinquishing his hold, Severn furiously grabs Spider Baseball's trapped limb with his own two beefy hands and yanks until his opponent's arm is out of the ether. A sizable chunk of hair comes out with it.
"Can't leave that in there," Severn wheezes. "It's like two people with braces being stuck together while kissing. I'd have to drag you around all day.
Now here, put your head back down into my hold."
Spider Baseball pauses for a moment, his freed head delirious pounding to purge its arteries of the excess blood it had been flooded with. Then, like a child that just got splashed in the eyes with cayenne pepper, he lets out a high-pitched roar and begins angrily raining down a flurry of flaccid grazing punches to Severn's chin. This is his opportunity to retaliate, and he's milking it for all it's worth. The quiet, meaty thuds, as soft as they are, echo throughout the hospital like a tray of raw beef shanks being spilled onto a tile kitchen floor. "The Beast" is taken completely off guard by this sudden outburst and begins flailing around on his back and ineffectively attempting to eye-gouge his ebon opponent.
"Hey!" Severn blurts as Spider Baseball's fists drub off of his face like soft hail. "I SUGGEST you get the fuck off of me!"
Spider Baseball doesn't stop his nudging assault. In fact, he only becomes more intense.
"Ranagnhana, I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!", Severn booms.
Severn's furious bellows are cut short when Spider Baseball actually manages to land a semi-crisp shot straight into his jawline. Turning chalk white, he freezes completely as Spider Baseball takes a moment to adjust his position.
"Hey, uh, we should probably stop. We're in a mental hospital, you know," Severn quivers.
"You want to end this?" Osiris asks.
"... Yeah," Severn whispers.
The victorious Spider Baseball stands up and heads back to the padded corner he was sitting in before. Severn, in a daze, sits up and puts his hand under his nose to see if he's bleeding. His face turning beet red when he realizes he's fine, he stands up and drops trou to impotently attempt to resume the fight with his BJJ stylist opponent for the next forty five minutes.
Fin.
Epilogue: Spider Baseball did indeed get raped, but he refused to acknowledge the danger or retaliate because Severn had already submitted.
"This is unbelievable," squeaks a faint voice from beyond the plaster horizon. "In all my years of rehabilitating the mentally ill, I've never seen a stack of heel-hooking convictions like this! It's a damn good thing the specialist is coming in today to see what he can do for this ogre."
A faint smile uncurls on the cauliflower-earred grappler's face as he rocks back and forth in the darkness. Cockily twisting the shredded remains of his straight jacket through the jagged cubes of stone that are his fists, he wonders nonchalantly what these milquetoast pussies are going to throw at him this time. Ever since he was wrongfully hauled off into this joint, there's been a seemingly fathomless queue of fame-lusting psychiatrists, psychologists, head-shrinkers, quacks, exorcists, witch doctors, and craniosacral therapists growing outside of his cell door to see if they can "cure" him of his insatiable thirst for snapping legs. Not a single one, NOT A SINGLE FUCKING ONE, of the naive suits who were actually let in here made it out without having to crawl. "Whoever this 'specialist' is," Spider Baseball thinks. "He doesn't have an infant's chance in a tire fire once he steps into my domain."
So Spider Baseball waits and waits, just as he always does. Time just blurs into one long day down here. Eventually, whether it be minutes or hours after the original announcement, new fervor begins to emanate outside.
"Oh, thank God you're here," says the squeaky voice again. "This one is in dire need of help."
Like the demon Chernabog tearing himself out of Bald Mountain, Spider Baseball stands up and licks his lips. His taut, knotted muscles loosen in anticipation of the ambush he's about to execute, something in the realm of the seventy-fifth attack he's carried out since he's been admitted into this hospital. He's an ebon juggernaut, an unstoppable grappling abomination that no doctor could possibly stand up to even if backed by all the orderlies in the world. Anyone who tries is only fated to meet his leg's end.
"Come on in, doc," the borderline-rabid grappler brashly shouts. "I've got a nice new set of leg braces I'd like you to-"
"You can keep those to yourself," booms a sepulchral voice straight from the pits of Michigan Hell. "My only objective today is to... 'Rehabilitate' you."
In one fell swoop, the savage zeal drains from Spider Baseball's flesh like an erection being clipped in the head by a BB gun. With pupils the size of silver dollars, the chiseled grappler stands frozen in shock as the solid iron door of his cell is slowly and meticulously unlocked.
"The Cocktor is in," booms Dan Severn.
Spider Baseball can only quiver like a tranced rabbit as the walking wall of beef enters his previously tranquil cell and locks the door behind him with a very knowing twinkle in his eyes. With arms like cow necks and a mustache like the ether of space, Severn silently begins removing his coat and pocket watch. The chocolate-fleshed BJJ stylist watches on mouth agape like a tweaker who just got blasted in the stomach by a bean bag gun; never in a million years would he have guessed THIS is what the hospital would send after him.
"Just give me a moment to get situated, Mr. Baseball, and then we can begin your 'treatment'," says Severn.
With mammoth, trashcan lid hands, Severn fastidiously hangs his expensive zoot suit up on the wall behind him. Turning back around with a look of stone-cold resolve, he firmly locks gaze with his immobile patient like a golden eagle fixating on a wounded mountain goat. A dead silence, the likes of which the Earth has never known since the shadowland of pre-existence, suddenly ripples from the room like a shockwave and permeates the entire hospital. The uneasy quietness cuts through the surrounding parking lot, spreading across the city and hitting the network of highways beyond. Cars stop suddenly in their tracks, the sheer intensity of this moment appearing to just completely freeze all life around it. In this second, a visceral sensation of dread explodes in Spider Baseball's gut. Although he wouldn’t be able to articulate why... He knows with complete certainty that he's about to get raped. Big time.
"Let's proceed," Dan Severn calmly utters.
The soul-sheering realization of one's imminent loss of innocence would serve to reduce most men to pudding. For Spider Baseball, however, it was just the kick in the nuts he needed to knock him out of his futile stupor.
"KiiiiiiiiAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!", he shrieks.
Bolting across his pitch-dark cell, Spider Baseball unleashes the hardest, most unrestrained flying sidekick he's ever thrown in his entire life. This brutal, missile-like blow could cut the head off a statue and cripple an already wheelchair-bound man a second time over... If it could be landed. Having made the unfortunate choice not to calculate his strike in any capacity, the steel-bodied grappler ends up missing his assailant by a five foot margin and crashing teeth-first into the solid iron door of his cell. White fragments of enamel shoot out from his mouth in all directions, quickly being consumed by the black void of his padded room despite their ivory luster.
"Wait, what? Were you trying to attack me just then?" inquires Severn, genuinely confused by Spider Baseball's inept kung-fu leap.
His vision erupting in a hail of stars, Spider Baseball rapidly scrambles to get back to his knees and lunge for Severn's legs. It's a difficult task locating his opponent in the darkness, but the heat furiously emanating from "The Beast's" crotch provides at least some guidance of where to attack. Once the chiseled BJJ stylist is finally able to latch onto Severn's limbs, he drives with all his might to get the wrestling-based fighter down to his back where Spider Baseball will theoretically have the advantage. Much to his horror while attempting this, however, he quickly discovers that trying to double-leg Dan Severn is akin to throwing one's shoulder into a tree trunk.
"Oh my God, man, that is ADORABLE" Dan Severn giggles as Spider Baseball impotently struggles and heaves. "Here... Let me help you out a bit."
Spider Baseball doesn't have time to react as a python-esque arm wraps around his neck like a noose. With a malicious, guttural laugh, the mammoth wrestler falls straight onto his back and pulls his comparatively minuscule opponent right up into mount on top of him. For all his jiu-jitsu experience, the taut-skinned Spider Baseball can do nothing to take advantage of this opportunity presented to him. Having trained all his life only against HUMANS, he can do nothing in retaliation against the skull-crushing gotard hold Severn has on his head.
"How do you like this?" Severn exclaims. "I call it Reverse Lay-and-Pray!"
Spider Baseball tries to keep his cool and figure out a way to escape this garrote-like hold, but it's like trying to do calculus after downing two liters of Scotch. With his head feeling like a water balloon being filled by an over-zealous four-year-old, his mind can only pump out bits and pieces of knowledge that might help him in this situation. He knows he's been put in this position once before... A very long time ago. But that was by the hands of a pitiful, old man, not a powerhouse who could crush coal into diamonds. Still, he had managed to escape the hold before by means other than jiu-jitsu. How did he do it? How did he... How did he... EYE-GOUGES!!! HE ESCAPED THAT BALD PUSSY'S RETARD HEADLOCK WITH EYE-GOUGES!!!
His body now invigorated with a new, fervent energy, Spider Baseball shoots his hand up above his head and furiously claws around for Severn's soft, vulnerable orbs. "This'll fix you," the BJJ stylist thinks with an earnest determination. Almost immediately, however, Spider Baseball's blind attack is halted when he finds his hand snagged into the black-wired jungle that is Severn's legendary mustache. Not thinking much of it, he tries to pull it out to resume his pupil-scratching assault... But quickly finds that he can't.
"God, damn it," Severn heaves, surprised Spider Baseball would attempt this avenue of attack. "Why'd you have to do that? Do you have any idea how much shit gets lost in there? It might never come out!"
"What the fuck!" Spider Baseball squeals.
His head still trapped in Severn's vice, Spider Baseball frantically tries to yank his arm out of the fuzzy abyss. No good. Like quicksand, the more he struggles, the deeper he gets pulled in. The chiseled grappler begins gurgling unintelligibly as he feels his shoulder being separated from its socket.
"Son of a fuck," Severn groans.
Relinquishing his hold, Severn furiously grabs Spider Baseball's trapped limb with his own two beefy hands and yanks until his opponent's arm is out of the ether. A sizable chunk of hair comes out with it.
"Can't leave that in there," Severn wheezes. "It's like two people with braces being stuck together while kissing. I'd have to drag you around all day.
Now here, put your head back down into my hold."
Spider Baseball pauses for a moment, his freed head delirious pounding to purge its arteries of the excess blood it had been flooded with. Then, like a child that just got splashed in the eyes with cayenne pepper, he lets out a high-pitched roar and begins angrily raining down a flurry of flaccid grazing punches to Severn's chin. This is his opportunity to retaliate, and he's milking it for all it's worth. The quiet, meaty thuds, as soft as they are, echo throughout the hospital like a tray of raw beef shanks being spilled onto a tile kitchen floor. "The Beast" is taken completely off guard by this sudden outburst and begins flailing around on his back and ineffectively attempting to eye-gouge his ebon opponent.
"Hey!" Severn blurts as Spider Baseball's fists drub off of his face like soft hail. "I SUGGEST you get the fuck off of me!"
Spider Baseball doesn't stop his nudging assault. In fact, he only becomes more intense.
"Ranagnhana, I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!", Severn booms.
Severn's furious bellows are cut short when Spider Baseball actually manages to land a semi-crisp shot straight into his jawline. Turning chalk white, he freezes completely as Spider Baseball takes a moment to adjust his position.
"Hey, uh, we should probably stop. We're in a mental hospital, you know," Severn quivers.
"You want to end this?" Osiris asks.
"... Yeah," Severn whispers.
The victorious Spider Baseball stands up and heads back to the padded corner he was sitting in before. Severn, in a daze, sits up and puts his hand under his nose to see if he's bleeding. His face turning beet red when he realizes he's fine, he stands up and drops trou to impotently attempt to resume the fight with his BJJ stylist opponent for the next forty five minutes.
Fin.
Epilogue: Spider Baseball did indeed get raped, but he refused to acknowledge the danger or retaliate because Severn had already submitted.
