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I like my toast like I like my waffles, in your ass and coated with purple princess p - Printable Version

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I like my toast like I like my waffles, in your ass and coated with purple princess p - Grande Ricardo - 12-05-2017 11:28 PM

Look, I don't have the energy to get too far into things right now, but I wanna get this off my chest, so someone can shit on it. How the fuck are you going to try and take my dragon from me if you can barely keep your title longer than Peter Gilmour? You'd lose Mike in a week, and that's fucked up. Especially since you wanna talk about putting your title on the line for this. Bitch, what title? Only one of us walking into this thing is a champion, and it sure ain't you. I know, me picking on your loss to Erik could be hypocritical, but I'm only doing it cause you tried to take my dragon, and that shit isn't cool at all. What kinda man don't respect another man's dragon?

A punk ass kind of man who gets his jollies by pretending to be a pig. You have a weird Fursona, and a disgusting Winnie the Pooh fetish. I find that to be the most vile thing I've encountered thus far, and I had to touch both Peter Gilmour and Finn Kuhn. In fact, your fetish and Fursona on top of the short title run make your being on this card the most ridiculous thing this show. That includes the fact that someone put Jenny Moist's name as Junny Myst. Are you happy with yourself? You thinking you're going to win and then go Yiff in the Hundred Acre Woods is less serious than XWF management not knowing how to spell one of its champion's names. That's fucking low. I'd tell you to kill yourself, but that'd put me out of a job come Wednesday. And I need to keep this job, I'm pregnant, mother fucker.

I was gonna cut this short, and ignore you, but then you had to keep talking about taking my friend from me. Fuck that. I don't abuse him, is it abuse if I let him sleep inside my anus on cold nights? Is it abuse if I feed him from nipples daily? Is it abuse if I sometimes give him chocolate covered crickets? It really doesn't matter, because you're not taking my dragon, not for a second. You cantaloupe fucking pig bitch. Eat my ass whole!

Pickles is cleaning my apartment and trying to decorate it. I'm in the kitchen cooking a true gourmet feast. Ramen Noodles and sugar cubes, but they won't be combined, because that's weird. Mike is relaxing on the window in the kitchen, laying on his back with his belly exposed, sucking on a spider leg from a spider that was climbing the window. I won't make him Ramen, because he's got a full tummy. Pickles pops into the kitchen.

"Hey, boo. Why is there a dead rabbit in the bed room?"

He holds the dead rabbit up so I can see it.

"Oh, that was Lavender Gooms, he died, and I couldn't bury him."

He walks over to the open window, and throws the dead rabbit out of it while shaking his head.

"What the fuck is actually wrong with you?"

I scratch my helmet and my ass at the same time, while he watches. I go back to cooking the noodles, and he loses it.

"Wash your fucking hands! What the actual fuck?"

Fine, I go and wash my hands before going back to the noodles. This doesn't seem to make him much happier, I don't know what he wants from me. This confuses me, and I don't like it. I go back and wash my hands again, this time with soap, but he doesn't seem to be happier.

"There's something wrong here. I like you, Ric, but you've got to figure some shit out. I can't be with someone who's happy to be homeless and dirty when he has a perfectly fine apartment. Some things are fine, but you're just really dirty, and off. Can't you at least for one day have basic hygiene?"

I lower my head in shame. I'm trying so hard for Pickles, but I don't think he sees it. I was waiting for a bed, and a dresser to be delivered today. But, I guess I have to work harder to show him I'm trying. Maybe not cooking naked is a good start. I walk away from the stove, to find my pants, and while I do the pot begins to boil over. Pickles is just standing there dumbfounded as this happens.

"I need to find my pants. Do you know where they're at?"

He just blows up at this.

"Seriously? You can't even bother to cook ramen noodles right? Fuck this, I'm out. Call me when you figure out how to function as a basic adult."

He storms out, and I'm just standing there naked but my helmet heartbroken.

"Ok, Piglet, let's have this out one more time. I guess. You're not walking out of here a winner, because you underestimate me, and think you're weird pig fetish will help you out in this match. It won't. And yes, I did look into your bullshit shit storm with Erik Black, and saw that you're bragging about being in the service, and you want us to thank you for your service or some shit, but I really couldn't care less about that. Because, let's be honest, you didn't do a goddamn thing for me. And I don't give a shit about the Marines, not for a second. Until they can figure out a way to get twelve potatoes in my ass without me having to go to the ER, they're as useless to me as you are.

So, you Nickleback of the XWF mother fucker, listen closely. Stop trying to make the name Bearded War Pig sound cool, it just makes you sound like you've got Gilmour's Disease. Stop trying to make your team seem cool and viable. The Mother Fuckers have one member on their roster that's not a joke of a human being, and that's Engy. Stop trying to get free meals at Waffle House by posing as a homeless vet. I know, you look and smell like one, and you're actually maybe a vet, but that doesn't mean it's ok to pretend to be homeless to scam a fine dining restaurant like Waffle House, that's just bad form, and you're bad for doing it. Do us all a favor, shave your face, take off the Tacticoolâ„¢ vest, stop jacking it to reruns of Pooh Corner, and for the love of Jim Sterling, stop calling yourself the absolute worst ring name since the gobbledy gooker. Although, the gobbledy gooker might actually have been better than you, because at least we can laugh at it nearly thirty years later.

You? We won't be laughing much at you, we'll just be feeling bad for your parents. I honestly cannot imagine more embarrassing situation for a parent than having to admit that their adult child goes down to the ring and calls himself a War Pig. Not only do you do it unironically, but you also fail to capitalize on the stupidity of it by using Black Sabbath's War Pigs as your entrance music. You've failed at every angle of this, I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. I shouldn't be this disappointed in you, but I am. I really shouldn't expect anything but pure unadulterated shit from you, and here I am, somehow let down with those low of standards. Congrats, you've impressed me less than Calypso or Drezdin. Seriously, if you can't even meet those level of expectations, how can you even call yourself an adult?"

[Image: thank-me-for-my-service-8892664.png]

I've found my pants, and a shirt, and I'm sitting in my living room waiting for Pickles, or the delivery people to come by. There's a knock on the door, and I know it's not Pickles, which causes my heart to sink into my stomach, but none the less I need to get this shit in here. So, I man up and walk over to the door, and open it. It's not the bed or the dresser, or Pickles. It's the neighbor kid, Scurvy Jones. He doesn't look pleased at me, I guess I forgot to pay him. Without saying a word he socks me in the gut, and I double over, trying to hold back vomit.

"You think you can ditch me, and order a bed and I won't find out? I want my money."

As I try and recover, he grabs me by the back of my shirt, and runs me into the wall in the hallway, which might have hurt if I wasn't wearing a helmet, instead it puts a hole in the wall, and I'm stuck. The helmet doesn't cover my ass, though, and he knows this, so he begins to kick it, repeatedly. All I can do is try and cover myself while trying to get free. This doesn't work well, as he instead drops his entwined fists onto my spine, and I go limp.

"Where the fuck is my money?"

I manage to mutter a single sentence before passing out.

"Wallet in my back pocket."