Meet the Famn Damily... Part Two
Time: 1545
Date: Sep. 23rd, 2016
Location: Lake, Michigan

Bearded War Pig’s black custom El Camino turns off of route 66 onto a dirt road called nine mile, Smut looks to Pig confused. B.W.P raises his eyebrows at Smut a couple times and smiles sadistically, while his foot presses the gas pedal. Coming around the first bend, with the gas pressed down, Pig cranks the wheel and sends his El Camino sideways around the bend, kicking up dirt and dust. Gravel flies into the woods on both sides of the dirt road, as Bearded War Pig rotates the wheel left and right, fishtailing back and forth. Straightening the El Camino out, he looks to Smut with a smile, Smut looks as if he is about to barf, one hand on his stomach and one over his mouth. Bearded War Pig begins laughing at the sight of his not so country counterpart, B.W.P’s foot slowly moves from the gas to the break, pressing the pedal in slightly, he pulls the El Camino over to the side of the road. Smut quickly takes his hand off his stomach and grabs the door handle, lifting it up while pushing the door away from him. Smut’s feet hit the tall grass just before the ditch right outside the car; he instantly takes off in almost a sprint, tumbling into about a four-foot-deep ditch vomiting all over himself while crashing at the bottom of the ditch. Bearded War Pig has made his way out of the running El Camino and is bent over busting his guts with laughter at the sight of Smut in business attire, covered in vomit, and tall grass sticking out from his dreads. Bearded War Pig gains control over his laughter as he walks to the edge of the ditch.

“Damn boo, you sure do make one purty country gal!”

Bearded War Pig says with a dumbed down southern accent. Smut just wipes vomit from his face and spits to the side of his own leg, his head hangs and begins to shake back in forth in disgust. Bearded War Pig can tell something else has to be going on with his pal, to not even giggle or laugh a little, guys like them always found a little humor in teenage antics, immaturity, and rough nonsense. Bearded War Pig licks his lips before walking toward Smut, who still sits in the ditch head down. Making his way to the back of Smut, B.W.P places his hand on Smut’s shoulder in a comforting manner. Smut begins to laugh himself now, Bearded War Pig starts removing his hand, when suddenly Smut’s hand grasps B.W.P’s wrist and with a twisting motion, Smut sends B.W.P over his shoulder and crashing into a pile of Smut’s vomit. Smut then viciously boots Bearded War Pig right in the right side of his head, with anger that has been building up the whole trip north from Detroit to visit Pig’s family. The last thing Bearded War Pig sees before falling into a darkened abyss of blocked out memories was the smooth bottom of a leather dress shoe.

Inside the head of Bearded War Pig...

Where am I? What the fuck kind of joke is Smut playing? Suddenly my eyelids peel open, I am looking at the back of a Marine in a full combat load, the barrel of my M4 with an M203 attached underneath is to the side of the Marine in front. Suddenly I feel a knee lightly bump my ass cheek. We are in a stack and it is now on my go, I instinctively knee the Marine lightly but with enough force, he knows it is time to kick in doors and bust ass. The Marine in front of myself Spartan boots a flimsy tin door attached to a clay and shit compound wall. It was obvious I was back in Afghanistan, some memories I thought I had locked in a box, threw away the key, and lost the box in the deepest darkest depths of my mind. Why now, why are the events that caused me to lose myself surfacing now? The Marine taking point almost takes the door right off the hinges he storms inside, I quickly follow, and he calls out right side clear. I am scanning the left, when suddenly a military aged male emerges from the shadows, Ak-47 in hand, my finger squeezes the trigger, and rounds fly from the barrel my eye looking down my iron sights, at the man’s chest. After two bullets collide directly into the terrorist’s chest, I slightly raise my barrel and allow my third to splatter his brain fluid all over the doorway of the room he was exiting.

Smiling I continue moving toward where the threat had entered the area which the Marines had now gained control with a thirteen man squad at my beck and call. I enter the room where I drop two more military aged males with Ak-47’s and different varieties of grenades, even a Chinese pineapple grenade. Making my way further into the room, I quickly execute a dead check by muzzle thumping each of them in the head; I almost stick the hot barrel of my M4 through the second man’s head through his eye socket. The man is already filled with good quality five point five six American Tracers. Moving to the third man, I raise my M4M203 up to conduct my muzzle thump, a well used “dead check” a little dark, but this is fucking war, right? Bringing down the M4M203 in a downward strike as if my bayonet was attached as well, which it wasn’t?

Suddenly I stop, looking at the Afghani man at my feet, not much of man, more like a teenager who had no other option but to be tucked in the bed of death at the hands of myself. For a brief second I feel a little sorry, and then I remember all the hell these goat fuckers had put me through. He was old enough to murder, rape, and beat people. Makes him old enough to meet his creator and explain why he had committed such great sins. My muzzle smashes right into his skull, almost breaking a hole right through the no older than seventeen year old terrorists forehead. Stepping over the dead bodies I take a knee watching the only door in the new room I had entered, waiting for more Marines to move on just incase the next room has multiple threat points. A Marine passes me by while screaming moving, I pick up from the kneeling position and move smooth and fast right on the right hip of the Marine who passed me up leading the way to the door way I had been covering.

Knowing I had already experienced this same experience, because it felt wrong, but their was nothing I could say or do, we kept charging forward. The Marine in front of me crossed through the doorway, with myself on his heels, as soon as my first foot clears the door way, I am met with the Marines arms and weapon shoving me back into the room we where exiting while screaming “Grenade!”

Back to reality...

Bearded War Pig is shaking, kicking, and screaming, Smut quickly grabs ahold squeezing tight. Bearded War Pig keeps screaming and kicking; still stuck in his fantasy world of a memory he had thought he forgot forever. Smut starts smacking Bearded War Pig in the face.

“Hey bro it is all good we are here in Michigan bro, wake up, you’re dreaming.”

Bearded War Pig’s eyes open wide, he quickly rolls Smut up and slams him on his back on the other side of the ditch, Bearded War Pig then quickly pulls his forty caliber Smith and Wesson from his shoulder holster pressing it to the face of Smut who almost sees his life flashing before his eyes. Bearded War Pig realizes he has his best friend at gunpoint and he is no longer in his mind. Bearded War Pig lowers his pistol and tucks it back in his holster where it belongs. Smut runs his hand over his face multiple times trying to calm his nerves knowing he almost met his maker. Bearded War Pig walks back over to the El Camino, resting his arms and head on top of the passenger side cab roof. Smut slowly makes his way toward Bearded War Pig who is breathing deeply, with no emotion on his face.

Smut makes his way to the drivers side, opening the door, he stops before entering and looks over to B.W.P who is still shook up from remembering a day he wanted to erase completely from his head. Smut smiles a little.

“I’ll drive the rest of the way.”

Smut climbs in the car and closes the door, he grabs a joint he had rolled while Bearded War Pig had been laid out in the ditch from the boot to his face. Bearded War Pig rises up off the top of the cab and shakes his head while taking one last deep breath of fresh air before entering the El Camino himself. Inside the El Camino Smut hands him the joint smiles and fires up the vehicle, taking off down the road leaving a rooster tail of dust, gravel, and debris. B.W.P lights the joint up as Smut makes his way to the end of the road, which comes out to three choices, make a left on the paved road, a right, or head straight across to a bar parking lot called the Buckhorn. B.W.P gives a right hand signal with his thumb, Smut makes the right, and B.W.P quickly points to the first driveway on the left and nods his head. Smut pulls the El Camino into the drive slowly, a large yard, a thirty two foot camper, an above ground swimming pool, multiple trucks, and two flag poles the American flag and Gadsden flag are seen before his parents one story home in the boonies.

To be continued...


Time: 2100
Date: Sep. 25th, 2016
Location: Detroit, Michigan

A camera on a remote tower feeding to the XWF Universe captures Bearded War Pig sitting with his agent Arney Greyson in his office in downtown Detroit, he is wearing a pair of Warfit workout shorts, an American Gladiator GruntStyle t-shirt, his usual Adidas, and a olive drab contractor baseball cap w/ his brother Christopher Bordoni's combat patch stuck to the front. Arney and B.W.P are discussing possibilities of getting a sports drink gig, upcoming matches, and training schedules. Arney of course cockily smiling like the little shit that he is, while B.W.P is not really paying any attention. Too focused on pussy, beer, boobs, and not to mention Dillinger and a maybe Hunter Payne slightly, Bearded War Pig kicks his feet up on Arney's desk.

"Arney, Arney my man, why the hell am I here? I mean what is the point of me having an agent when it seems like I am stuck at your side twenty-four seven. I honestly thought to get a job as a wrestler, it would allow me to be out doing whatever the hell I want, not sitting in meetings, training almost every day, and not to mention all the time I have to spend on the camera. It does get a little old, you know like maybe it wouldn't be so bad if a certain little pissant did his fucking job and just let me worry about destroying mother fuckers in the ring."

Arney still smiling like a fucking rat crosses his arms and huffs and puffs.

"You hired me. Remember? Just do what I ask and I will comply with some of your needs, you do know you aren't a legend, hell you are still barely recognized in the whole XWF Galaxy. Yes, you are making a golden warpath toward the top, no doubt, but you still need alternative publicity, we need the XWF afraid to lose you."

Bearded War Pig bites his lower lip and smiles blowing some steam out of his nose.

"Okay Arney, I will fucking trust you, but I want to know I hate you. When I make it huge, I am going to beat you into a paste then I am going to feed you to some vegetable in a hospital through their feeding tube. I would find the fattest most disgusting vegetable I could find and then I would wait for him to shit you into a bag from a tube stuck in his anus. I would then collect the soupy fecal matter that would be you and I would proceed to boil any and all of your loved ones in it.

You think that is sick? Just wait until Warfare and watch what I have in store for Dillinger, it will make the shit our U.S. government has done to everyone that isn't a part of the Elite look like the perfect Christmas for a eight year old child. Yeah, it may be the hardest match of my career so far, which isn't really saying much, you know with only being in the game for a month now or something like that. Hopefully, when you have your ego stomped out of your body, it doesn't sting too bad knowing a rookie took your cookie with ease."

Bearded War Pig now has his attention to the camera that rests on a remote controlled tower in the far corner of Arney's office.

"So what if I have emotion? It is what makes the world go round and round, what separates the weak from the strong. Having emotions doesn't make you weak, though, it makes you aware, it gives you reason, it allows one to have priorities, which one of my tops is to make you show emotional distress and outrage. Why outrage? Well, see after Warfare when I beat that pretty little bitch boy body of yours well everything you have ever thought might not make any sense anymore. I plan to be the rain maker Wednesday, your tears will be my rain and there is a very heavy chance for storms.

Right now you are XWF's Intercontinental Champion, obviously an unworthy one, but an XWF Champion at the least, after our encounter, you will be nothing more than a fading turd splattered on the back of the toilet bowl, which I'm sure you could picture, with your burrito shits and all. Hopefully, the toilet that has your remains splattered about is missed by the janitors after the show, I would hate to be the one who ended Dillinger's XWF career. I mean I wouldn't feel bad, but I would rather you get a few more matches in after our clash before you crawl into a hole somewhere and die slowly, alone, and miserable. The warpath has been paved. Oink, Oink, Mother Fucker!"

Bearded War Pig chuckles, stands up from his seat looks directly at Arney Greyson.

"Fuck you Arney!"

Bearded War Pig then rocks Arney's secretary in the jaw with a hard right hook from nowhere, knocking the college student flat on his back, stiffer than a board. Bearded War Pig then takes his cock and begins pissing all over his agent Arney Greyson's office as the scene fades to black.