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If you don't fuck a sandwich before you eat it, are you even really trying?
01-13-2018, 08:10 PM
Post: #1
I'm home sitting on my couch with an icepack on my genitals and a piece of meat on my eyes. This is uncomfortable for me, because I would rather have the meat packed neatly into a tube and inserted into my rectum than on my face, but I must do what I need to in order to take care of myself. Pickles is in the kitchen making me soup. He's been taking good care of me through my healing, and we still haven't talked about the fight that caused him to walk out on me. We will, though. When he's ready, I'm sure he'll bring it up. In the mean time I'm gonna lay here and get taken care of. He's making me a nice chicken noodle soup, but instead of chicken we're using rooster meat. I know it's not the same, but it's supposed to be better.

Mike is laying on the window sill in a little hammock I made him, with a sling on his arm. He wasn't hurt bad in the assault, but the poor guy felt left out, so I made one for him. I also made him a little barbecue grill, and he's roasting a fly on it. He likes flies, and I like making my little guy happy. I love that little fucker, and I've been thinking, I'm going to ask Pickles to move in with us, cause I love him too. While I wait for the soup, I think back to what happened in the hospital. I didn't have testicular torsion, which is good, but I did have a bruised testicle, and a couple bruised ribs. It wasn't anything major, but it hurt like a mother fucker. I am cleared to compete in the match on Wednesday, but I was told it's not a good idea to beat Scully unconscious and tape his face to buttocks. That was from Pickles, and not from a doctor, so not sure if I should listen to it. While thinking about this, Pickles walks into the room carrying a bowl of soup for me. He sets it on the coffee table, in between a copy of the Queens phone book circa 1987, because I like to read people's funny names, and a stack of Dr. Seuss books. Mike loves them, so I read them to him every night. Pickles sets a tray up on my lap, and then places the soup on it for me.

"Here you go, Ricky. It's hot so you need to let it cool."

He's so thoughtful, the spoon in it's my favorite one. I can tell because it's the one with a little dinosaur on the handle. While I wait for it to cool, I decide to ask Pickles.

"Move in with us."

"What?"

He looks at me with the most puzzled look I've seen on his face.

"Mike and I have worked to get our act together, we've got things semi normal, and no longer dumpster dive or live with the hobos. We're improving everything. Just one thing is missing from here. You. Please?"

He thinks, and pauses, and picks up the spoon before blowing on it. I open my mouth, and he guides it into my mouth for me. The soup is delicious. While I swallow he speaks.

"Maybe. But, you need to tell me the truth. Why do you act the way you do, and why did the angry little man attack you?"

I gulp, and take the meat off my eye. Mike eyes it as I set it on the phone book. He goes back to his fly, pulling it off the fire and slowly eating it.

"That was Frodo Smackins. The surliest little man you'll ever meet. For War Games I wanted to confuse people, so I contacted him and we worked out a scheme were he'd pretend to be me to mess with them. He told me I owed him some money for it, but when I called the number we used to communicate first, it vanished. He thought I was dodging him, I guess. But I had the money ready for him. He's just kind of mean and angry. What do you mean, why am I the way I am?"

He puts the spoon back in, and pulls it out to feed me again.

"Like, why do you keep things in your ass, and wear the helmet, and why did you sleep in the dumpster like that?"

I think, as he feeds me.

"I don't know, but I guess it just feels good. I don't want to go out and show my real face until I figure out who I am, and the mask helps with that. Sleeping in the dumpster, I guess I just feel more connected to the homeless than I do to the people here. They're just less serious and able to actually have fun. What's the point of life if you don't have a lot of fun?"

He seems to accept this answer, and feeds me another spoonful of soup.

"Sure, I guess. Me and Bigsby can move in here."

I didn't plan for the dog. I'm not sure I can actually have a dog here, but whatever, we'll figure it out. Awesome!





"Scully is back on his retard grind, or at least he's acting like one only when it fits his narrative. Apparently now requires him to be retarded, because he's full of the old extra chromosomal dialogue tonight. Jesus, it's bad. Like, he's seriously obsessed with the idea that I'm Frodo, despite us appearing together in the same room at the same time, and both independently verifying I'm not. Hell, I'm taller than Frodo, and he just sent me to the hospital. Fuck, this kid is dumb as a bag of used shit. Also, nice homophobia asshole. I'll be GLAAD (see what I did there?) to pass it along to your pal that you're talking shit on gay people for liking dicks in their ass, see if you still have your token friend then, dipshit.

You don't get to say homophobic shit and then act like you're not a bigoted piece of gutter trash because you have a friend from that group as some kind of token. And just so you know, know this well, I am going to jump your dumbass before the match, and smack you in the fucking face with a baseball bat wrapped in razor wire. You can maybe attempt to stop me, but even with this heads up, I doubt you're going to do that. Because you're an idiot. In my next promo, I might even tell you when the attack is coming, to make it even easier for you. But, you'll still probably fall for that trap. Can you at least pretend to put up a fight intellectually?

I feel bad stepping into this match with you right now, kind of. You're not even attempting to deflect anything, or avoid embarrassing your family further. You're just throwing it out there that you're a useless wrestler, and throwing out embarrassing fact after embarrassing fact. Great, you've owned up to them, you've owned up to losing to the likes of Ghost Tank, who lost to Calypso, and that you can't hold a title to save your life. That doesn't help you in any meaningful way, it only makes the jokes hurt your feelings a little bit less. You've clearly not shown any improvement and only look for excuses to why you suck and a deflection of it. You need to actually work on becoming better in the ring if you want 2018 to be better for you. No, you're not going to get better just because you gave your wife a dog. Me on the other hand? I'm always learning and improving. That's why I wasn't the first one out of our match.

Oh, but that only happened because you needed more than 2 days to prepare for it. Son, you're a goddamn wrestler, your job is to be prepared to fight all the time. Roll up on me right now, and with my swollen eye and bruised ribs I'd still throw down and fight. No fucking excuses, because I'm not a retarded child playing at being a man. Grow the fuck up, Tardo, You wanna be a man and have a family? Fucking act like it and quit crying about how you sucked too much ass in 2017. Accept that you'll suck just as much ass in 2018, and 2019. But then also try and get better. Put in a little more effort than just showing up to the ring and getting punched in the face. Try and make your mother a little less ashamed, come on.

And please, if you decide to respond to me, at least make some sort of effort to make it worth my while, otherwise what's the point? Like, I get it, you think you're protecting yourself and looking cool by deflecting, but all you're doing is looking like a punk ass kid scared of a fight. I'd say right now that you're Mastermind levels of bad, and cowardly. No one wants to be that low, nobody."

[Image: dKqz7Pz.jpg]
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 The Engineer  (01-14-2018)
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