Post by The Very Big Śpainards on Nov 11, 2018 19:51:23 GMT -5
--10th November 2018--
--Middle of Nowhere, again-
--8:48am--
El Aìnsley was pissed. He'd had been for the last couple of months now that he thought about it. It was absolutely baffling to him how being broken out of prison where he had the word "pigeon-fucker" tattooed onto his neck within the first day without provoking anyone was at least 3 times better than following around a now insane El Gran Grande,
or as El Gran Grande unwittingly calls himself when he doesn't realise he's on live TV, "William".
It wasn't just that William was acting his usual insane self. Living by his old code "Scream at what you dislike and attempt to break the kneecaps of anything that isn't deterred by the screaming".
Which was stupid, obviously. But that wasn't the main problem. The main problem was how for some reason the King of Cocaine-withdrawal symptoms William Cunningham was for some odd reason not acting like an annoying prick when the previous King, Sir No Cocaine-withdrawal symptom William the Behemoth would've tried to graft the skin off of his face for so much as thinking a negative thought about a country he wasn't even from.
And now Ainsley was driving to El Gran Grande to pick him up despite not having talked to him since a week after he lost consciousness.
Ainsley had been avoiding the Behemothò for a week expecting El Gran Grande to find him armed with White Phosphorous and various deadly yet somehow stupidly ineffective torture weapons ready to make Ainsley wish he hadn't been born.
But instead he got complete radio silence. Nothing out of the ordinary. Ainsley didn't feel relived, he felt confused, insulted even.
How the hell was he not worth the time of a man who would pick fights with rocks that he thought were too small?
But Ainsley waited. Waited for the inevitable William spearheaded Tsunami of pain and loud noises and various grammatical errors to rain down upon him like a typhoon of foreign customer service workers.
But he got nothing. Not a single death threat. Not a single type spam. Not a single thing until one late Saturday afternoon when Ainsley was attempting to relax in the back of his encumbered van.
10th of November
1200 hours
A phone call arrives.
The vibrations of Ainsley's Nokia 216. Ainsley the bored, blundering fool picked up the phone with an almost remarkable amount of apathy and almost clicked answer before his newly terrified eyes spotted the caller. William had finally responded. Like a reflection of the grim reaper behind your back, Ainsley's trembling hand put the phone down for a brief second.
This phone call was like death, frightening, inevitable. El Gran Grande may be the stupidest piece of shit on all the seven continents but he had one quality Ainsley lacked. Dedication.
If El Gran Grande said he was going to bite a guys teeth out he wasn't simply going to punch them and be done with it and make everyone think what he said was simple lying trash talk, oh no. If it took 15 minutes or 25 hours William would have his inscisors on that poor bastards gums and would be hyperextending his barely visible neck muscles to get his k9's out.
El Gran Grande rarely had goals that had an ounce of common sense in them but he rarely gave up. Not out of bravery of course just out a very severe case of idiocracy. And it's thanks to this idiocracy that most of his goals were not met thanks to sheer incompetence rather than a lack of will.
So Ainsley still had a pretty high chance of escaping without being flagellated.
He took a deep breath, preparing himself for a loud, obnoxious psalm of violence and stupidity that could potentially lead to his maiming and or death.
El Aìnsley: William.
El Gran Grande: Yeah, Ainsley hey, is Destroyer spelt with an "s" or a "z".
That was extremely disappointing, So Ainsley had thought. But he couldn't of just blown this whole thing away out of proportion through sheer boredom, right? Right?
El Aìnsley: Uh... "S" obviously.
El Gran Grande: Well it's not that fucking obvious, dick.
That's what he's mad about? Ainsley knowing basic grammar? Not Ainsley literally giving the almost always concussed El Gran Grande a solid right to the face while said face was recovering from getting a molotov thrown at it?
El Aìnsley: Are you fucking serious?
El Gran Grande: Yeah, 'am fucking serious, the two letters look the exact same, sound the exact same, how the fuck am I supposed to know the difference?!
El Aìnsley: I knocked you out!
El Gran Grande: What?! When?!
El Aìnsley: Like, last week!
El Gran Grande: Oh, yeah I remember that actually.
El Aìnsley: Ok!
El Gran Grande:...
El Aìnsley:...
El Gran Grande: Z is like S backwards anyway so there really should be any difference-
El Aìnsley: Oh my- aren't you mad at me?!
El Gran Grande: Yeah I'm fucking mad at you!
El Aìnsley: We'll aren't you gonna do anything about that?
El Gran Grande: Yeah! As long as you tell me what uh.. "that" is!!
El Aìnsley had to use every cell of his body to stop himself from headbutting his head against the interior of his van until both things no longer worked.
El Gran Grande: See- uh.. I already know what "that" is! Obviously! I'm just making sure your bitch ass knows! Asshole!
El Aìnsley: "That" is me knocking you out while you had a poorly made petrol bomb thrown at your face!!
El Gran Grande: WHEN THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?!
El Aìnsley: LAST WEEK!
El Gran Grande: LAST WEEK?!
El Aìnsley: YEAH!
El Gran Grande: WE- DIDN'T- DI- D- Didn't you just uh.. say, you knocked me out last week? Just then?
El Aìnsley: YES.
El Gran Grande: So you didn't do it twice? Or anything?
El Aìnsley: N-no. No.
El Gran Grande: Okaaaaay....
Listen I'm sorry Ainsley but I'm not really to.. occupied with stuff about that, I can honestly barely remember it anyway I just want you to know that Z and S look like each other cause they do, that's all I really wanna get out if this whole phone call so if you could just talk about that-
El Aìnsley: I'M NOT FUCKING ASSED EITHER!!
El Gran Grande: You're not?
El Aìnsley: WHAT TH-?! NO!
El Gran Grande: Well, it sounds like you are.
El Aìnsley: WELL, I'M NOT!
El Gran Grande: Listen uh... I need a camera, me and The Cereal Man are by the Nuclear Shelter, come pick us up?
El Aìnsley: Ok!
El Gran Grande: Ok.
El Aìnsley: Ok!
El Gran Grande: Hey, this isn't like because the annive- the- the birthday of the ending of WW1 is coming up? I know you're like fascist and all but it's cool if your annoyed about that, no need to hide it, I'd be annoyed to you know if-
El Aìnsley rationally decided that stomping his phone into a pile of mechanical gibs was a better alternative to ending the call for reasons that will be kept private.
So now here he was. In the middle of nowhere in a way-too-small van parked a far ways away from a very large man and a much smaller man holding a box of Cereal. It only took Ainsley one look at the large sign reading "Altemayate Deestaroyeh" for him to realise he'd rather be absolutely anywhere else in the entire solar system.
He got out of the van and trudged over to the pair who were looking down at a very large hole in the ground.
El Gran Grande: You know, I think that Nuclear shelters are meant to be built with metal.
The Cereal Man: You're imagining things. Dirt is good. It's cold so the heat stays out.
The maskless El Gran Grande was about to retort before he heard the footsteps behind him and turned around alarmingly quickly, hand in pocket. He looked at Ainsley and hummed in disappointment. The right side of his facing still holding the traces of marks of what had to be an improperly treated burn wound.
El Aìnsley: Well, I'm here.
The Cereal Man: Ah, man with the head of the Chicken womb, what a indifference if is to meet you again.
El Gran Grande: What are you doing here, Ainsey's bitch ass?
El Aìnsley: You asked me to come here.
El Gran Grande: Oh.. uh, when- Oh ok. That's uh... nice. I'm gonna go do a promo on that Ultimate Destroyer guy. Lemme just get a camera.
El Aìnsley: You have a camera?
El Gran Grande: Uh... yeah it's just over- Oh... nevermind... the camera has been stolen it seems. Probably... probably by the feds! The FBI...And the... the C- yeah I forgot their name... investigative shits... Can't leave my things alone! EVEN WHEN I HAVE AN HOURS WORTH OF FOOTAGE ON IT AND THISE SHITBAGS CAN'T APPREFIATE MY ART BECAUSE THEY'RE TOO FILLED WITH FUCKING COFFEE AND HORSEHIT THOSE MOTH-
El Aìnsley: I have the camera!
El Gran Grande: Oh.
YOU FUCKING SNITCH, HE'S WITH THE FEDS, THE CEREAL MAN SHOOT HIM-!
El Aìnsley: No! You told me to get it, dickweed. Remember?
El Gran Grande: Oh... yeah, yeah. Yeah.
El Aìnsley tosses the camera to Do Gran Grande before being met with a loaded handgun pointed right at his face.
The Cereal Man: Soon, Hungary Man.
El Aìnsley: Fuck off.
The Cereal Man looked quite offended at that, and lowered his gun in a crestfallen manner before turning back to dig the whole with an almost human-like frown.
El Gran Grande mumbled something about not knowing state Hungary is in before switching the camera on and videoing himself.
El Gran Grande: Hey WCF Fa-
El Aìnsley: WILLIAM!
El Gran Grande turned around to see El Aìnsley pointing at his own face, and after grumbling the Spanish Behemoth pulled out his signature mask and placed it in his face.
El Gran Grande: That'll get edited out.
El Aìnsley: It never does!
El Gran Grande: OK, AINSLEY, SHUT UP!
Hello my Very Big Spanish fans. Today I'm here in a very unsuspicoius location to talk to you all about my very unsuspicoius plans. What are they about? Well they're about being the non-spanish-ness out of that Ultimate Destroyer esse in a very legal way because everything I do is very legal and I have no criminal record.
Ultimate Destroyer likes to think of himself as a warrior, an "Ultimate Detsoryer" if you will, but the problem is he is held back by the fact he is pretty much one of those edgy Marvel Comics Cable rip-offs if it was a human.
He's too brutal, too edgy and scary. Maybe this is because he's had something bad happen in his past. But that's no excuse! I had to grow up knowing there were countries in the world that weren't Spain and I still grew up into a kind and happy person who does not have a criminal record and will have you ejected from the premises if asked a question relating to such.
You know what I think? I think Ultimate Destroyer knows that although he can Destroy and Ultimate and Ultimately Destroy he will never truly be able to find true Ultimate Destruction because he is not Spanish. Ultimate Destruction is a strictly Spanish art and attempts made by foreigners to master it will ultimately (destroyerly) result in failure.
It breaks my heart to tell you this Ultimate Destroyer but you're non-spanish-ness has led you to a path that only has one end.
With you being a gay frog and trying kicked in the face by someone. Like, me, actually me yeah cause we have a match. Me, I'll kick you in the face. Ok, goodbye.
The video ends.
--Middle of Nowhere, again-
--8:48am--
El Aìnsley was pissed. He'd had been for the last couple of months now that he thought about it. It was absolutely baffling to him how being broken out of prison where he had the word "pigeon-fucker" tattooed onto his neck within the first day without provoking anyone was at least 3 times better than following around a now insane El Gran Grande,
or as El Gran Grande unwittingly calls himself when he doesn't realise he's on live TV, "William".
It wasn't just that William was acting his usual insane self. Living by his old code "Scream at what you dislike and attempt to break the kneecaps of anything that isn't deterred by the screaming".
Which was stupid, obviously. But that wasn't the main problem. The main problem was how for some reason the King of Cocaine-withdrawal symptoms William Cunningham was for some odd reason not acting like an annoying prick when the previous King, Sir No Cocaine-withdrawal symptom William the Behemoth would've tried to graft the skin off of his face for so much as thinking a negative thought about a country he wasn't even from.
And now Ainsley was driving to El Gran Grande to pick him up despite not having talked to him since a week after he lost consciousness.
Ainsley had been avoiding the Behemothò for a week expecting El Gran Grande to find him armed with White Phosphorous and various deadly yet somehow stupidly ineffective torture weapons ready to make Ainsley wish he hadn't been born.
But instead he got complete radio silence. Nothing out of the ordinary. Ainsley didn't feel relived, he felt confused, insulted even.
How the hell was he not worth the time of a man who would pick fights with rocks that he thought were too small?
But Ainsley waited. Waited for the inevitable William spearheaded Tsunami of pain and loud noises and various grammatical errors to rain down upon him like a typhoon of foreign customer service workers.
But he got nothing. Not a single death threat. Not a single type spam. Not a single thing until one late Saturday afternoon when Ainsley was attempting to relax in the back of his encumbered van.
10th of November
1200 hours
A phone call arrives.
The vibrations of Ainsley's Nokia 216. Ainsley the bored, blundering fool picked up the phone with an almost remarkable amount of apathy and almost clicked answer before his newly terrified eyes spotted the caller. William had finally responded. Like a reflection of the grim reaper behind your back, Ainsley's trembling hand put the phone down for a brief second.
This phone call was like death, frightening, inevitable. El Gran Grande may be the stupidest piece of shit on all the seven continents but he had one quality Ainsley lacked. Dedication.
If El Gran Grande said he was going to bite a guys teeth out he wasn't simply going to punch them and be done with it and make everyone think what he said was simple lying trash talk, oh no. If it took 15 minutes or 25 hours William would have his inscisors on that poor bastards gums and would be hyperextending his barely visible neck muscles to get his k9's out.
El Gran Grande rarely had goals that had an ounce of common sense in them but he rarely gave up. Not out of bravery of course just out a very severe case of idiocracy. And it's thanks to this idiocracy that most of his goals were not met thanks to sheer incompetence rather than a lack of will.
So Ainsley still had a pretty high chance of escaping without being flagellated.
He took a deep breath, preparing himself for a loud, obnoxious psalm of violence and stupidity that could potentially lead to his maiming and or death.
El Aìnsley: William.
El Gran Grande: Yeah, Ainsley hey, is Destroyer spelt with an "s" or a "z".
That was extremely disappointing, So Ainsley had thought. But he couldn't of just blown this whole thing away out of proportion through sheer boredom, right? Right?
El Aìnsley: Uh... "S" obviously.
El Gran Grande: Well it's not that fucking obvious, dick.
That's what he's mad about? Ainsley knowing basic grammar? Not Ainsley literally giving the almost always concussed El Gran Grande a solid right to the face while said face was recovering from getting a molotov thrown at it?
El Aìnsley: Are you fucking serious?
El Gran Grande: Yeah, 'am fucking serious, the two letters look the exact same, sound the exact same, how the fuck am I supposed to know the difference?!
El Aìnsley: I knocked you out!
El Gran Grande: What?! When?!
El Aìnsley: Like, last week!
El Gran Grande: Oh, yeah I remember that actually.
El Aìnsley: Ok!
El Gran Grande:...
El Aìnsley:...
El Gran Grande: Z is like S backwards anyway so there really should be any difference-
El Aìnsley: Oh my- aren't you mad at me?!
El Gran Grande: Yeah I'm fucking mad at you!
El Aìnsley: We'll aren't you gonna do anything about that?
El Gran Grande: Yeah! As long as you tell me what uh.. "that" is!!
El Aìnsley had to use every cell of his body to stop himself from headbutting his head against the interior of his van until both things no longer worked.
El Gran Grande: See- uh.. I already know what "that" is! Obviously! I'm just making sure your bitch ass knows! Asshole!
El Aìnsley: "That" is me knocking you out while you had a poorly made petrol bomb thrown at your face!!
El Gran Grande: WHEN THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?!
El Aìnsley: LAST WEEK!
El Gran Grande: LAST WEEK?!
El Aìnsley: YEAH!
El Gran Grande: WE- DIDN'T- DI- D- Didn't you just uh.. say, you knocked me out last week? Just then?
El Aìnsley: YES.
El Gran Grande: So you didn't do it twice? Or anything?
El Aìnsley: N-no. No.
El Gran Grande: Okaaaaay....
Listen I'm sorry Ainsley but I'm not really to.. occupied with stuff about that, I can honestly barely remember it anyway I just want you to know that Z and S look like each other cause they do, that's all I really wanna get out if this whole phone call so if you could just talk about that-
El Aìnsley: I'M NOT FUCKING ASSED EITHER!!
El Gran Grande: You're not?
El Aìnsley: WHAT TH-?! NO!
El Gran Grande: Well, it sounds like you are.
El Aìnsley: WELL, I'M NOT!
El Gran Grande: Listen uh... I need a camera, me and The Cereal Man are by the Nuclear Shelter, come pick us up?
El Aìnsley: Ok!
El Gran Grande: Ok.
El Aìnsley: Ok!
El Gran Grande: Hey, this isn't like because the annive- the- the birthday of the ending of WW1 is coming up? I know you're like fascist and all but it's cool if your annoyed about that, no need to hide it, I'd be annoyed to you know if-
El Aìnsley rationally decided that stomping his phone into a pile of mechanical gibs was a better alternative to ending the call for reasons that will be kept private.
So now here he was. In the middle of nowhere in a way-too-small van parked a far ways away from a very large man and a much smaller man holding a box of Cereal. It only took Ainsley one look at the large sign reading "Altemayate Deestaroyeh" for him to realise he'd rather be absolutely anywhere else in the entire solar system.
He got out of the van and trudged over to the pair who were looking down at a very large hole in the ground.
El Gran Grande: You know, I think that Nuclear shelters are meant to be built with metal.
The Cereal Man: You're imagining things. Dirt is good. It's cold so the heat stays out.
The maskless El Gran Grande was about to retort before he heard the footsteps behind him and turned around alarmingly quickly, hand in pocket. He looked at Ainsley and hummed in disappointment. The right side of his facing still holding the traces of marks of what had to be an improperly treated burn wound.
El Aìnsley: Well, I'm here.
The Cereal Man: Ah, man with the head of the Chicken womb, what a indifference if is to meet you again.
El Gran Grande: What are you doing here, Ainsey's bitch ass?
El Aìnsley: You asked me to come here.
El Gran Grande: Oh.. uh, when- Oh ok. That's uh... nice. I'm gonna go do a promo on that Ultimate Destroyer guy. Lemme just get a camera.
El Aìnsley: You have a camera?
El Gran Grande: Uh... yeah it's just over- Oh... nevermind... the camera has been stolen it seems. Probably... probably by the feds! The FBI...And the... the C- yeah I forgot their name... investigative shits... Can't leave my things alone! EVEN WHEN I HAVE AN HOURS WORTH OF FOOTAGE ON IT AND THISE SHITBAGS CAN'T APPREFIATE MY ART BECAUSE THEY'RE TOO FILLED WITH FUCKING COFFEE AND HORSEHIT THOSE MOTH-
El Aìnsley: I have the camera!
El Gran Grande: Oh.
YOU FUCKING SNITCH, HE'S WITH THE FEDS, THE CEREAL MAN SHOOT HIM-!
El Aìnsley: No! You told me to get it, dickweed. Remember?
El Gran Grande: Oh... yeah, yeah. Yeah.
El Aìnsley tosses the camera to Do Gran Grande before being met with a loaded handgun pointed right at his face.
The Cereal Man: Soon, Hungary Man.
El Aìnsley: Fuck off.
The Cereal Man looked quite offended at that, and lowered his gun in a crestfallen manner before turning back to dig the whole with an almost human-like frown.
El Gran Grande mumbled something about not knowing state Hungary is in before switching the camera on and videoing himself.
El Gran Grande: Hey WCF Fa-
El Aìnsley: WILLIAM!
El Gran Grande turned around to see El Aìnsley pointing at his own face, and after grumbling the Spanish Behemoth pulled out his signature mask and placed it in his face.
El Gran Grande: That'll get edited out.
El Aìnsley: It never does!
El Gran Grande: OK, AINSLEY, SHUT UP!
Hello my Very Big Spanish fans. Today I'm here in a very unsuspicoius location to talk to you all about my very unsuspicoius plans. What are they about? Well they're about being the non-spanish-ness out of that Ultimate Destroyer esse in a very legal way because everything I do is very legal and I have no criminal record.
Ultimate Destroyer likes to think of himself as a warrior, an "Ultimate Detsoryer" if you will, but the problem is he is held back by the fact he is pretty much one of those edgy Marvel Comics Cable rip-offs if it was a human.
He's too brutal, too edgy and scary. Maybe this is because he's had something bad happen in his past. But that's no excuse! I had to grow up knowing there were countries in the world that weren't Spain and I still grew up into a kind and happy person who does not have a criminal record and will have you ejected from the premises if asked a question relating to such.
You know what I think? I think Ultimate Destroyer knows that although he can Destroy and Ultimate and Ultimately Destroy he will never truly be able to find true Ultimate Destruction because he is not Spanish. Ultimate Destruction is a strictly Spanish art and attempts made by foreigners to master it will ultimately (destroyerly) result in failure.
It breaks my heart to tell you this Ultimate Destroyer but you're non-spanish-ness has led you to a path that only has one end.
With you being a gay frog and trying kicked in the face by someone. Like, me, actually me yeah cause we have a match. Me, I'll kick you in the face. Ok, goodbye.
The video ends.
