11-25-2017, 04:52 PM
Part Two
Pig still pissed off at the world and most importantly himself, stands up and walks back out of his barracks door. Walking down the cold cement catwalk until finding the first Marine with booze. Disrespectfully Bearded War Pig rips a bottle of Jack Daniels from the lower ranking Marines hands and walks back to his own room. The younger Marine just shrugs it off knowing BWP is not one to express one's opinions around unless addressed first. Back inside his room Pig is sitting at one of the cheap aluminum framed non-folding chairs with quarter inch cushion wrapped with some itchy barf green fabric. Military issued, only the best for the best. Growing frustrated with not being able to open the bottle because of his uncontrollably shaky hands. Not even twenty seconds pass before the rage takes control. Pig smashes part of the neck of the bottle on the side edge of his wall locker. Placing the sharp and jagged neck to his lips he begins pouring the emotion enhancing liquid down his throat.
Jagged glass begins slicing into his mouth slowly as he continues to chug the sacred sauce. Pig isn't satisfied until drinking a little over a quarter of the Warrior's elixir. Blood stains the jagged shards of the bottle, as well as BWP's mouth and chin. Displaying no concern about the wounds caused Pig begins tilting the bottle back once again trying to come to an understanding or at least forget his pain. Little did he know it is his duty to never forget the pain and make sure the world remembers those that sacrificed it all for our freedoms. Taking the bottle away from his lips once more this time Pig catches a glimpse of the bloody mess on his face in his wall mirror and he falls to his knees. Letting out a Viking like scream Pig throws the already busted bottle into cement wall to his left right next to the steel bunk beds. Liquor splatters on the wall, floor, and some even makes it way back to Pig splashing his open cuts.
Pain unbearable to the average man, Pig just quenches his fist and smiles enjoying the slight relief from the Hell that is peace. His tongue swipes left and right across both of his sliced up lips as he slowly climbs to his feet from his knees. This was the very moment Pig understood his mind wouldn't be right not doing what he was breed to do would be hell. Not having the distraction from all of life and its bullshit. Is what made it hell for men like BWP, men willing to sacrifice or watch brothers sacrifice it all for the rest of the world. Bearded War Pig walks to his sink right outside the bathroom door and begins running the cold water. Cupping his hands together he places them under the faucet, once his hands are filled he splashes it on his face. Repeating the cycle over and over until all of the Crimson is removed from his skin. His eyes then lock onto his own eyes in the mirror except in his head the mirror image of BWP is his brother in arms Corporal Bordoni. Frustration and disappointment beaming from Bordoni's eyes into Bearded War Pigs sending shivers up his neck. Bordoni's head then begins to shake in disapproval, Pig stares bock not in shock but with pure sadness and shame.
"Brother, I'm sorry..."
Pig says theoretically to himself, believing it is his brother who at the time is laid up in a hospital bed with over 90% of his body covered in third-degree burns. Pig's hazed brain begins to fade to the dark side. Corporal Bordoni's imagined reflection in the mirror stops shaking its head from left to right and it's mouth begins to move.
"No you aren't you shitbag piece of shit! You're a loser and won't ever amount to shit. You should have taken that Jack Daniels shiv and shanked yourself repeatedly in the jugular. No instead you wasted the rest of the bottle of some good fucking whiskey. Don't even bother looking for peace because it will destroy you, fucking pussy!"
In a rabid animalistic rage, BWP begins throwing haymakers from his feet to his knuckles his energy flows. The first fist shattering the mirror completely spiderwebbed besides the inch squared corners. His twenty to fifty-six thousand that follow send glass shards and plastic framing everywhere, even embedded in his flesh and possibly bone. Eventually, his knuckles smash into the cement wall as nothing hangs where the medicine cabinet mirror once did just seconds ago. Blood droplets trickle to the floor from his fists that now dangle at his side.
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
Splash.
Splash.
Splash.
Splash.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"
Pig collapses, his desert digital cami covered knees smash into the blood pools from his still dripping knuckles...
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Sunlight beams down through the maple leaves onto Bearded War Pig and his lady at the time Kensey Kane both clothed in matching American flag bathing suits. Lying on a brown blanket in sand from the high banks on the Muskegon River in Temple, Michigan. Where they have set up camp on gorgeous state land right on the river and with some of the most amazing sandy high banks, you could lay your eyes on. Perfectly peaceful and secluded, not much Pig should fear or worry about besides being able to satisfy the beautiful lady foolish enough to give him any time of day. BWP was and is still a ticking time bomb of neither unexplained nor trained emotion. With a head full of nightmares and too much worry for rest.
The couple begins to roll toward one another with smiles emulating love and faith like honeymooners basking in the unbreakable bonds binding one another. Their lips press together, saliva is exchanged, and Kensey is left a little blush. Pig well he is lost, lost in terror, trying to play out the infinite possibilities in his mind. Most are dark and end with death. Horrific tragedy much like he faced in Afghanistan many times over. His body and actions do not display such darkness, no his smile could illuminate the blackest of night. Until the thoughts and imagery become overwhelming about five days into the camping trip. His demons become words, words that slice through his lover’s soul like a lubed cock through a whore’s vagina. Soon they evolve into action that drives Pig away from his love and peace, into Hell’s warm hug once again... ______________________________________________________
Flames are blazing ten feet tall from the five-foot by five-foot square fire pit that BWP sits by with a fifth of Crown Royal in his right palm. Friends and Family circle around the flames alike, alcohol-fueled cheers and laughter fill the air, as well joyful bonfire music. Wild women begin to dance around the flames like strippers around poles. Normally the thrill of delicious ripe young women would arouse Pig but in peace, he finds himself only slowly burning in hell. The repetitive feeling of disappointment and rage, feeling responsible for the deaths of his two brothers from injuries sustained in combat is all BWP is able to process. One of the women dancing with fire stops about a foot in front of where Pig sits sipping on his whiskey. Unable to enjoy the exotic and very revealing dancing tease in front of him. Instead, the sound of a bomb erupting from a motorcyclist is all he can hear. Corpses burned from head to toe, missing limbs, and bleeding out begin to stalk toward the bonfire screeching out for ‘help,’ help that would never come. The corpses are the victims of the suicide bombing, local Afghanis, civilians, Afghan Union Police, Afghan Soldiers, and of course Bearded War Pigs two fallen brothers leading the pack of spirits from behind.
His eyes widen and become large with disbelief. Beginning to pound his bottle of Crown before standing from his twenty-dollar Wal-Mart camouflage camping chair Pig’s worry slowly turns to rage. Staring through all the faces of the victims from the suicide bombing. All the poor some innocent, some likely not, seared into his mainframe to the two that seem to be of his only concern. Corporal Bordoni and Corporal Mcgeath. Then it happens the soft gentle touch of the wild woman who was strictly interested in Pig and Pig only, her fingers run through his beard. Except the touch is not gentle nor welcomed from BWP, who only sees an enemy going to pull his head back by his beard and slice his throat wide open like a whores gash. Pig goes berserk and snaps her arm with almost just the flick of his wrist before Spartan kicking her into the ten-foot flames of the bonfire. His eyes fill with bloodlust as he begins attacking more innocent people enjoying a backwoods fire until his two blood brothers Zackary and Brandon take control of the situation. Again another incident wherein peace Pig was deeper in Hell than War.
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“XWF UNIVERSE! Are you fucking ready to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine? I know I’m ready to shove twenty other competitors over the top rope for every single one of you. Hell, I would be ready if I were the first to enter with one hundred other enemies. Nothing and I mean nothing can deter a Marine from his mission. Not a single soul or twenty. Many of the men in this rumble probably don’t welcome war like I do; this match for some is going to be hell. This match is precisely the chaotic environment I thrive in. When my heart is pounding the hardest, I am the calmest! When violence and war erupts I am most at peace! When I make my entrance into the ring surrounded by a lake of fire I will dominate! For the majority of my enemies in this tournament, War is hell. Well let me warn my enemy, you all should fear the fact that War is not my Hell and soon we all will be at WAR!
Even though Doc is apart of the Kings, I would like to thank him. You heard me right. I want to thank Doc a member of our enemy the Kings. Thank you, Doc, for offering me a safe space by making the space around me unsafe. For feeding me more enemy than what I am typically fed on Savage. People don’t worry; you will all still see a title defense, just on Warfare instead of the slaying field. Doc, even if you have something up your sleeve like my brother Engy believes. Whatever or whoever you may have tucked away, won’t matter one bit because I’m going to slay bodies like I was born to do.
Your choice of venue may be intimidating to others involved but Hell is precisely where I feel comfortable and powerful. Why? I have no boundaries or worries in hell; I get to merely act on what I know best. How to complete tasks at hand, no matter the cost. Mission readiness at all time, one of the reasons peace is an illusion unless I am on the battlefield. Making every single one of the conditions you have set forth in this particular event in my favor. This one is for you Gilly, you silly anime masturbating fuck. Basically, this match is turning my ball fro blue and making my cock Super Saiyan blue, GOD dick, Bitches! Sorry. Bwarahaha! Basically thanks again Doc for guaranteeing me another win. Fuckin old ass dip shit! After I claim your tournament for the people, soon the Motherfuckers will be removing those crowns of you and your followers. Only to toss them aside like a used condom, much like you and the Kings’ legacy here in the XWF! Focus on every move I make all you want for when we meet face to face, it won't fucking matter. My fight in your tournament will be a completely different strategy from when we strip you and the unworthy band of fucktards of the Tag Team Championships! Real Fuckin News!
Now lets go down to business, I am talking about everyone involved in the match. Let’s start with most significant to least. So let’s discuss our XWF Universal Champion, fellow Motherfucker, and one tough son of a bitch. Some of ya’ll might be making a ‘what the fuck’ face right now. Robbie Bourbon is the most significant because he very well is going to be my biggest threat. Not because any of the accusations those two corn hole kings that call themselves The Apex made are true. Respect. Robbie Bourbon will simply respect the fact that I deserve the best of the best against my enemies. We are brothers but we are also combatants that deliver. We very well maybe the last two men standing in that ring and if that is the case, I guarantee we both will beat the dog piss out of one another. Good luck brother and I hope to square off against you in the ring of fire!
Next. Hmmm I’m going to say Danny Imperial, he is a loose fucking goose with a shit ton of dynamite up his ass! He is fucking Hart Champion, hell of an accomplishment. Kid caught my eye ever since he first appeared here in the XWF, fucker has balls and talent to match. Doesn’t change the fact that he will just be another failed attempt at snuffing out my flame. He maybe unpredictable but I’m just as wild and nutty as the rest of them! Good luck bub, but it doesn’t matter how many fucking personalities you bring to the ring of fire because I am going to beat them all back into one fucktard boy!
Next. Not that I am happy to say, but Jim Caedus. Not because I am falling for the hype or am I afraid like most. The one who I once called brother is a rat-fucking bastard and well I feel he may use his rat like ways to snake a win. Don’t worry beautiful people, I won’t let that fucking happen. Caedus you might try to use that bullshit excuse about our morals, but the world knows you just infiltrated to scout out what you’d face at War Games. God as my witness if you are in the ring when I am during the rumble I will beat every memory of being a Motherfucker out of that rat skull of yours you fucking punk bitch!
Next. Chris Chaos, the man well was once a dominant force here in the XWF before his spiral down. His dominance isn’t what I am worried about though. I’m worried he could fight like a starving dog, a dog starving for the spot light one more time. This very well could be his time to regain a deep foothold in the XWF. Chris if you are starving don’t worry you’ll get a chance to fill up on a whole lot of asswhoopin, because in the ring of fire I will be opening twenty or so cans!
Next. Are a three-way tie, Scully, Michael McBride, and Broken Oswald. Not very high on the list but not very low either. All three have been away from the ring for at least some period of relevance. Yet again I was gone for so long and well look what the fuck I have done first match returning, won the Television Championship. So anything is possible right? Wrong! None of those fuck stains are as tough, tactical, and the savage that is Bearded War Pig. Nothing against them nor what they have done here, but no one is B-W-Motherfuckin-P! No one!
Next. Lacertus. What?! Yeah simply because the rest of the poor bastards in the match I know aren’t equal to the shit stains in my toilet bowl after smashing Chipotle for a week. Yeah this Lacetus guy is new turd in the bowl. Kind of an advantage for the feller, none of us are familiar but it just isn’t a strong enough advantage. Because well you and everyone else is doneski, kapoot, not going to last because Hell is my temple and chaotic environments are as smooth as an exlax shit for myself. While you all will loose your fucking heads for brief seconds at a time, this Marine will be operating like flowing water, slow is smooth, smooth is fast, high speed, low drag! During hell’s rumble you all will feel my pain and suffering, for once the nightmares will be lifted from my soul and fall on all of yours...
Oink, Oink Motherfuckers!"
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