Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

"The Wolf of Afghanistan" Joshua Schuler · (12-01-2017)

The sun is rising in Northern Michigan; it has been a few days since his severe burns were treated. Bearded War Pig is standing out on his deck in a black plush robe and a pair of moccasins on his bare feet. His big American balls full of testosterone and billions of little badasses swing freely under his robe. A black Carhart beanie rests on top of his head, the mornings are a little chilly now this time of year in Michigan, Southern. Northern, and especially the Upper Peninsula. His right-hand holds a Despicable Me, minions coffee cup filled to the brim with liquid energy, black of course.

The coffee mug touches BWP's hair covered lips as he tilts the bottom end up to the sky pouring a mouthful of the Columbian Roast deliciousness down his throat. His eyes begin scanning his property; nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, this pleases Pig. Taking another sip of his coffee before setting it down on the rail of his deck. Pulling out a custom titanium cigarette case, Pig opens it up and removes a nice fat doobie. Placing the skinnier end in his mouth he places the custom case back into his robe pocket. Removing a matching custom Zippo, Pig ignites the Hog's Leg and begins puffing on it allowing the paper to catch fire and burn evenly. The Zippo is placed back into the robe pocket as well before Pig grabs his coffee mug again.

Sporadic Machine Gun Fire!

Sporadic Machine Gun Fire!

Sporadic Machine Gun Fire!

A custom ringtone for BWP's cell phone begins to grow louder and louder. Pig shakes his head, not liking to be disturbed during his morning ritual. Not in any hurry he takes his time before answering. Taking a few more drags and another drink of his coffee before placing the mug down on the old oak rail once again. His hand then slides into the second robe pocket, removing a military grade indestructible cell phone; he clicks the green phone button on the touchscreen. Bringing the phone up to his ear and mouth Pig answers slightly stoned.

"Hello. This is Bearded War Pig owner and operator of War Corps Inc. what can I do you for?"

Pig takes another sip from his coffee as the unknown caller introduces himself and begins explaining his reasoning behind the call this early. Pig’s head begins nodding in agreement to whatever the unknown person is saying.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you've got to be shitting me. No, I don't really have the time or the fuckin resources to deal with this right now. Damn, so you really can't get that cock bag out of here without my help?"

Pig begins puffing on his joint some more needing a bigger buzz to deal with whatever it is that he is discussing on the phone. Removing the doobie from his lips he takes a few more drinks of his coffee finishing the mug while listening to more of what the unknown person on the line has to say.

"If what you are saying is true then we have a serious fucking problem brewing up right here in our backyard. I leave for like six months to better my well-being and all these want to be kingpins start popping up all over the place. Well, I guess daddy is going to have to get his hands dirty today. Give me about an hour to get ready and then meet me in my pole barn. See you in a little while Sheriff."

Pulling his cell phone from his ear and mouth BWP presses the red phone button on his screen with his free index finger while puffing on his joint. A booger-filled saliva wad flies from his mouth to a frosted grass blade next to the edge of his deck. Pig wipes his mouth before placing the rest of his joint between his lips. He grabs his mug and turns back toward the front door of his two-story with a basement Log Cabin. Pushing the door open he walks inside coming to a bookshelf about five feet away from the entrance he tosses his roach into a fishbowl that contains around two pounds of roach weed. Smiling at all the joints he has smoked in less than two weeks, no stoner of this caliber could be any calmer, proving false to Erik’s claims.

~One Hour Later~

“Jesus fucking Christ where the fuck is the Sheriff, I need to know where this mother fucker is setting up shop. Pieces of shit think just because I go for a long vacation they can just step the fuck up and take what is mine?”

Bearded War Pig says to his brother Brandon while they both stand in Pig’s driveway in front of his sixty by one hundred foot pole barn. Brandon shrugs his shoulders while trying to answer the question his older and much more ambitious brother is looking to have answered.

“Hey bro, Zack and I were doing everything we could while you were away. Sheriff MacDonald wouldn’t work with us, like he does with you. We had no idea this shit was even happening, not a single resident or any of our informants have brought it up.”

Pig shakes his head, not wanting to receive excuses for his brother’s failures of keeping Clare County under the jurisdiction of BWP and his family of misguided children. BWP angrily smashes his fist into the pole barn door.

“Mother fucker! Whoever this is that is trying to sell crack in our hood must be the same man supplying this Erik Black fucker. Both of these dipshit BOOT ass fuck wits really thought they would just come into my turf and fuck with what is mine?! Here in Clare County we only allow Marijuana and Booze. No crack, no meth, no heroin, and yadda, yadda, yadda. In the XWF we only allow men of action to wear Championship belts. No crack heads, no overcompensating little dick want to be somebodies, and most importantly no one who is so full of shit it oozes from their pores with every shit smeared step they take!”

“That’s what I am talking about, getting fucking pumped. We are going to handle this just like you are going to handle that bag of dicks on Savage. Seriously, bro, I wouldn’t sweat either of the situations. XWF Universe loves you, even without the people on your side. You’d still be taking Black’s ass to Boomtown! Now as for this crack runner believing he would just move in under our noses, he has a lot of firepower coming his way.”

Pig throws his arm around his brother’s shoulder after rubbing his knuckles that made contact with the pole barn door. Pig then laughs knowing the words his brother speaks are true while walking back toward the log cabin when suddenly a Clare County Sheriff’s Bronco comes rolling down the stone curved two-mile-long driveway. Bearded War Pig’s smile shifts from happy to relief the mission brief would soon occur. As the Bronco drivers door flings open a pair of black and tone downed silver cowboy boots hit the ground. Then out plops a very well maintained beer belly followed by a man standing about as tall as BWP but most likely forty pounds heavier and with eighty percent more body fat. Pig laughs a little to his brother before cracking wise.

“Holy fucking deep-fried donuts you fat bastard, it looks like you might be pregnant. Who the fuck is the dad? This new shit zipper you are letting peddle poison in our neighborhood? You sleeping around on me, Chris, no because the Chris MacDonald I know is too much of a fat fucking pussy to sleep around, right?”

Sheriff MacDonald slams his door not liking the remarks from Pig even if they are friendly jokes.

“Oh settle down sally. Don’t be such a fucking cupcake, I know your job is stressful and you have that stress-eating problem. Just feels like it has been forever since I got to make fun of Mr. Diabetes with a badge to your face.”

“Oh fuck you, this bastard has been under heavy surveillance been doing everything I can within the law. That is why I am now here looking to my favorite man of mayhem. Now if we please could get my truck in your barn and get on with the business it would be nice. The old lady and I have a hot date, got reservations at Olive Garden in Mt. Pleasant.”

“Oh, that should be nice Sherrif.”

“Fuck your shitty ass date we have more important issues than making sure your wife enters a food coma for your monthly sexual encounter. Also why the fuck does your truck need to be brought into my barn?”

“Fuck you, Joshua! Betsy doesn't need to be knocked out cold in order for me to be able to fuck her and my truck can’t sit in this cold for too long.”

Pig just shakes his head as he waves the Sheriff toward the barn. Sheriff MacDonald hops back into his Bronco and begins driving it toward the barn. Pig and Brandon open the large barn door just enough for the Bronco to squeeze in. Making their way inside as well closing the sliding door shut behind them.

To be continued...

------------------------------------------------------

"Erik! Erik! Erik! Erik Black, I hope you are watching because I need you to understand a few things. You can't be me. The XWF is only big enough for one of us Mercenary types. I say Mercenary types because much like me you have your own security company, well mine is more a private military organization, rather than some washed out 'special' forces security force. If your men where true Special operators they wouldn't have needed to be trained up. Especially not by some spoiled rich

who wouldn't know how to nut up if it was slapping him in the forehead like a mushroom stamp of knowledge.

Seriously though your company must have a lot of complaints having you hired ex-military that couldn't even take the time to explain to their boss how the Military works. You see yeah we are trained to work as a unit, as well as an individual, especially us that actually kick in doors for a living. See when you operate they want you prepared for everything that means being able to survive and have the will to fight without your unit. So I guess perhaps you just have a company filled with Stolen Valor treacherous men or a bunch of men who don't respect you or your honor.

Does that occur frequently with you Erik? Is that why you must be a master of everything you stumbled upon with all of your free time, in a free society, all thanks to other men that you honestly believe you are better prepared for a fight than. If you were so prepared where was your enlistment? Why do I not call you brother? Because no matter how much you may have trained in a variety of martial arts, you just don't have the balls to take it to the next level. True combat. War! No matter how skilled in the midst of a real fight even the most skilled men freeze up and lose control. All because of fear. Something your brain comprehends whereas mine, well it doesn't! You can ask any man I have had the honor of slaying bodies with, I will walk through a wall of bullets to punch my enemies in the fuckin mouth.

You are now an enemy and will be treated as such. The only Mastering you will be doing in the near future is mastering how to get that ass beat all over my arena in Las Angeles, California. My coliseum will be your training grounds for the last mastery you will fulfill, defeat. In my coliseum, your money will not protect you, neither will your krav maga, juijitsu, or any of the other mastered skills you posses. This is the XWF and if I feel the need I will grab you by your baby testicles and headbutt you until either one disintegrate.

Erik Black, you aren't worthy of my Championship and as long as you make a mockery of it while I am around you never will be. I promise you that. When you try to make it out as if the Television Championship is nothing you spit on the names of many great superstars here in the XWF. Some no longer here to defend their honor and their reigns. Luckily for them and the people, I am and It would be my honor to bash your brains all over the Coliseum come Saturday in their honor. You may not agree with respect and honor belonging in our world, well you are wrong, without the respect and honor, there would be no 'our' world you son of a bitch! We need the universes respect and honor, they give us our opportunities and power. You'll learn soon enough Master!

Oink, Oink Motherfucker!"

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode PlaceMarker Cracked Up
Author	Message