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Useful information, used kale, butt plugs and other things not found in this roleplay - Marf - 10-14-2022 (Help me) I broke apart my insides. (Help me) I've got no soul to sell. (Help me) The only thing that works for me. Help me get away from myself… You can have my isolation. You can have the hate that it brings. You can have my absence of faith. You can have my everything. Some shithole bar, days before Savage The fuck is there to describe, the box says it all this place is an absolute shithole. Infested with low lives and no lives alike. For whatever reason, Marf is in the middle of it all living his best life. He downs another shot, who knows what the tally is at by now. Marf surveys the room while treating the shot like a sip of water. He motions for the bartender to send another but gets a befuddled look in return from the fat slob of a barkeep. The borderline obese man waddles his way over while shaking his head. That was yer tenth shot this evening, not tah mention da drinks. I think yer done, fella. You can almost see Marf’s back raise up a bit while he scoffs at the remark. I’m barely buzzed. Pour me another. Clearly not his first rodeo, the tub-o-lard of a man ignores the hidden malice in Marf’s voice and holds strong to his conviction. I don’t think so pally. How’s about we get you a cab? This grabs Marf’s attention a bit stronger. How’s about you roll your fat ass over there and roll it back with some more booze? I ain’t your fuckin’ pal, do your fuckin’ job and get me another drink. Now hold yer horses, cool yer jets! Marf rises from his filthy looking seat and turns to face the bloated bartender. At this point their raised voices have attracted some attention. A pair of sauced men are making their way over. Marf eyes them briefly before glaring directly at the barkeep. What’s the matter Donny? This guy giving you a hard time? As they approach, the one wearing glasses suddenly recognizes Marf and gets excited. Hold up, that’s not just some guy! That’s Marf from XWF! No shit, a fuckin’ wrassler? They both get closer and Marf groans to himself. He doesn’t turn to face then but he warns them softly. Dipshit and the four eyed fuck…mind your own fuckin’ business! The man wearing glasses looks ready to turn away but his clearly more inebriated friend laughs and takes it as a challenge. The fuck did this fake ass wrassler just say to us? Dude forget it, we should go… Yeah, listen to your girlfriend and fuck off. For whatever reason this comment triggers the guy with glasses. Maybe he’s a devout Christian and the swearing finally got to him. Maybe he has a younger gay brother that was bullied in grade school. Maybe he’s recently joined some work social media club. Who the fuck knows but this poor sighted man snapped. Hey fuck you dude! You’re not even a champion anyway! You’re the guy that’s gonna get his ass beat by Mark Flynn this Saturday! Instead of training you’re just out here getting drunk? No wonder you aren’t a champ…more like a chump! Yeah fuck you Marf! What kind of bum ass name is Marf?! Marf squints at the bartender before slowly turning to face the two drunken antagonists. He sneers while eyeing them both up. Keep fuckin’ talking, it’s about to be your un-fuckin-lucky day, boys… Actually I think you’re all talk! You’re not gonna touch us, we ain’t in some wrestling ring. You have no power here! That’s right Bart, or whatever your name is…fuck you suck. I remember seeing you lose to Thad Duke that one time…right? Marf cracks his neck and then steps over to stand directly in front of the two men. You chose to ignore my warning. What comes next is on you two fuckwads. Ooooo spooky! Hey wait a tick, didn’t you used to be in some shitty cult!? The fuck was the name again? Wyclef Band? Speck of Sand? Uhhh, Nest Pand?! No dude it was that lame as shit Left Han… In the blink of an eye Marf fires off a powerful headbutt that smashes the man’s glasses as well as his nose. He stumbles backwards and drops to the ground, blood running from his nostrils like a tap. Marf never breaks eye contact with the more abrasive of the two men. A bit of blood trickles out from Marf’s forehead where a small piece of glass has lodged itself. Fuck you toughy, let’s dance! The drunken fool lunges out with a wild haymaker but Marf side steps it and drives a knee into the man’s ribs. His discombobulated scream makes it seem like a rib or two may have just broke. Just to make sure, Marf drives his knee into those damaged ribs another five or six times. He then launches the man several feet into the air before he crashes down onto an old pool table that immediately buckles and breaks. Marf turns and looks back at the bartender. This is your god damn fault. How is any of dat my fault!? All you had to do was pour me another fuckin’ drink! You’re a fucking dumb as you are fat… Marf uses this opportunity to turn and leave the bar, without paying his tab. The bartender is too terrified of what he just watched to even notice or care. Marf shakes his head and mutters under his breath as he leaves the bar. Fuck sakes…if Theo finds out about this that’s another couple of months of mandatory therapy…fuck! And off that beautiful bastard known as Marf goes into the night. Perfect time to fade to black. Promo Times Annnnd we open with who else but our hero, saviour and all around perfect gentleman, Marf! Well it should come as no surprise that I walked out of Relentless with the win. Geri Vayden never really stood a chance and now she can barely stand at all. As per fuckin’ usual I delivered on my promise to put Geri down so she wouldn’t be able to get back up for a long, long god damn time. I have placed my foot upon her muppet looking head and pushed her back down to irrelevancy while taking a step forward to the next challenge. And what a challenge that appears to be folks! The brand spanking new Universal champion himself, Mark Flynn! Marf takes a moment to feign some sarcastic applause. Now that’s a helluva turn around if I’ve ever seen one. Going from a thrift store’s bottom of the bargain bin challenger in Geri Vayden to the very cream of the crop! Mark motherfuckin’ Flynn. The man at the top of the mountain. The lion killer that put an end to Raion Kido’s impressive title run. The cold hearted technician who took out his own tag partner just to get a little further ahead. And his first match after winning the big one is against yours truly. Some would say I may be in over my head. Fuck, who are we kidding, literally everyone is saying I’m in over my head. Marf takes a slow, calm breath as he closes his eyes for a moment. It’s like he is taking in all the criticisms and absorbing it in some strange way. He opens his eyes, glaring into the camera in that sadistic creepy way he does. For starters, you should all know by now I don’t give a fuck what any of you think. As far as I’m concerned, Flynn is in over his industrial sized cock inhaler head. He is ready to stroll into a non title match thinking it’s nothing to worry about. Except, that’s completely false now isn’t it? Even before the universal title win ole Flynn was developing target after target upon his acne riddled back. Now as top champion those targets have tripled. With all that on your plate there’s a strong chance Flynn looks past this match. Marf slowly leans in and gives a menacing look into the camera. And let me guarantee you something. When that slip up happens, when you inevitably take a moment to look past this battle Flynn, I swear to fuck I will make you immediately regret it. If you dare take even a second to ponder who you’re defending that shiny new title against the next three seconds you will be staring up at the lights wondering what that nearby banging is. And as that three count occurs maybe the realization will strike through your thick skull that you should’ve stay focused. It doesn’t matter if this match is for a title or not. I’m aiming to drop you on your head as many times as needed until you stop kicking out. You bested Charlie and I with your former butt pirate first mate NK a while back but this time it’s only you and me. No switching legal men bullshit or trickery. You can’t run, you can’t hide. You have to take me on man to man and it isn’t going to end well for you, Flynn. You’re en route to a shocking loss and then you can add my name to the top of the list for a future title shot. Marf leans back and grins once again. So hit me with your witty banter and useless stats you love to bring up. Or shit on me for whatever nonsense you think might actually bother me. Spoiler alert, none of it means shit so go ahead and waste your breath. The time for words is now behind us. The time for violence is upon us. And all I want to do Mark, all I can even think about is how bad I just want to hurt you. I don’t even fucking care about winning, I just want to take as many pounds of flesh as I can from you. Whoa, there he goes sharply leaning in again. What in the name of the Easter bunny’s fluffy white cock is even going on here? And I’m fuckin’ going to, Flynn. I am going to rip and tear all the flesh I possibly can. I’m feeling greedy and the Mark Flynn buffet is prime for the picking. I’ll give you some new god damn stats to play with. That’s right, you can look forward to figuring out how many different parts of your body need to heal when I’m through with you. I’m sure if you try real hard you can figure out a day by day break down for each one you over achieving sack of dying dog shit. Brace yourself Flynn, because win or lose, this is really going to hurt… Marf simply smiles for the classic fade to black.