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+--- Thread: Whoop A Little Ass (/showthread.php?tid=45779)
Whoop A Little Ass - MadDog - 02-23-2023
Dino, I wanna tell ya somethen right off the bat. I gotta make something real clear to ya, I’m talken Crystal boy. Old Mad Dog ain’t in this tournament, or this sport just for the money. Na, brother, the money is a perk of being in this tournament. Just like a big old Ribeye and some mommy-daddy time is a perk of Valentine's day. It isn’t the main thing, but it sure is a perk of the main thing that I love. Like you, I grew up around this sport, but for me, it didn’t stop when I started sprouting pubes. I know your old man left ya and ya maw at a real important and impressionable age, and damn him for that, but at the most impressionable age your impression of this sport was tarnished.
Maybe that is why you turned into such a pompous poop shooter, or maybe that is just ya nature, either way, it doesn’t matter, cause you done barked up the wrong tree. You wanna question my love for this sport, shoot fire boy, you gonna find more than a dog's nose up ya butt, you gonna find my size thirteen boot up there. You questioned my love of this sport and my motives, now that was low class, but it’s like my Grandpappy always told me, the people in the biggest houses got the littlest amount of real class that there is.
Dino, you supposed to be a nice fella, a good guy, but I see right through ya man. I know the truth though, I know ya faker than a dildo, and softer than a pillow. I hear that tone ya speak with, and see the way you be looking down ya nose at people like me. You talk with an air of superiority and disdain when ya talk to me and about me, well ya keep my name in ya mouth and you gonna spitten your teeth out along with my name.
I’m just being real with ya Dino. Do you know what it is to be real? We could both fake it, just like I’m sure your old lady does with her O-face. Or, we can be real and drop the niceties and be straight up. People like you have always and probably will always look down on people like me. People like me, we always have, and probably always will have a chip on our shoulder when it comes to people like you.
I know you think you are better than me Dino, and I know you expect me to think you are better than me too. I got news for ya though boy, I ain’t fear no man born of his mother, and unless you was crapped out on a stump and hatched out by the son, then ya momma shot ya outta her baby canal. You ain’t better than me in way, shape, form, or fashion. You a man made of flesh and blood just like me, and ya keep flappen ya gums about me being scared, and about me just being in it for the money, I’ma tear that flesh and spill that blood.
If any of my blood gets spilled along with yours, so be it, that's a price ya pay in war. Just make sure ya do one thing though. Take some of my blood and get one of them DNA test ran on it. When them results come back, ya gonna see what I'm made of. You gonna see that the sport of professional wrestling runs through my veins. See Mad Dog and pro wrestling are like you and diarrhea Dino, it runs in the jeans.
My core DNA is made up of professional wrestling, moonshine, coal dust, love for my family, and my savior. I grew up in this sport, from the time I was knee-high to a grasshopper I was in this sport. I set up the ring, and chairs and sold tickets and hotdogs for my grandpappy. When I got older and my daddy took over running the family company for my grandpappy I was driving the ring truck, refereeing, and doing whatever I was told. I love this dag-on sport. If I wasn’t in this tournament, if I wasn’t in XWF, I’d still be doing this. I’ve made big money in GCWA, Mile High, and World Wrestling Headquarters, and I’ve also busted my butt for twenty bucks and a six-pack. Dino, don’t you dare question what I’m in this for when you ain't ever wrestled for two hot dogs, a bubba cola, and a crumpled up five dollar bill passed off to ya in a workers handshake.
When the UMWA went out on strike for over two years, wrestling fed my family. Wrestling is how my grandpappy fed his family in the tough times. Wrestling is how my daddy fed us during the strikes and how he the lights on when the war on coal started. Wrestling is how I’m pulling my kids out of the hollow, and sending um to college. It ain’t about the money, but the money sure is nice, almost as nice as knocking your pompous, judgemental ass outta the March Madness tournament is gonna be.
Ya dog on gone and done it Dino, ya done pissed old Mad Dog off. At Warfare I won’t be cocken my leg up to mark my territory, cause I done claimed this tournament and the March Madness crown as my territory, and now I’m defending it. You ain’t taken my territory. You ain’t moven to the elite eight. You ain’t gonna do but two dag on things this weekend. Them two things is get ya ass whipped and GO MAD!!!
You got your million bucks
You got your flashy sports car
You got your trophy girls
Man you think you're a star
You got your teeth bleached
You like to play the rich game
Yeah you think you're a cowboy
The new Jesse James
But I could kick your ass
I could jack your jaw
Put you flat in the dirt boy
When y’all left I was fitten to rumble with three big old Texas Roughnecks. It’s alright though, I got old Sunny on my side. Now, Sunny may not be much to look at, his body might be as squishy as a pillow, and he might be a bit of a coward, but like a Timex he can take a licken and keep on ticken. I saw Sunny gripping the pool cue and smiled.
“Well boys, we gonna do this, or can I get back to my table before my wings get cold and my beer gets cold?”, I asked.
The big one snarled as he responded, “you’re one stupid son of a…”.
He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Sunny cracked him over the head with the stick. I landed a quick right cross to the roughneck on the left and he dropped hard. I looked over just in time to duck a wild haymaker from the third roughneck. As he staggered around from his wild movement I grabbed him in a headlock and looked over at Sunny to make sure he was doing ok.
I saw old Sunny backing up, hands in the air and pleading with that biggest of them three sum bitches. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was your cousin. I also didn’t know she was your ex-girlfriend, but based on your protruding forehead, I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise.”, Sunny said as he was backed into the wall.
That Sunny, he sure knows how to put his own foot in his mouth. Course, he was about to stick that foot somewhere else. The biggest of these boys grabs Sunny by the shirt collar, and Sunny instantly punts him between his uprights, sending the ball, or balls flying. I watch the big man clutch his little twins and fall to his knees. Sunny gives an evil grin as he grabs an empty beer bottle off the table next to him and smacks the big man upside the head with it. Of course, the bottle doesn’t break, shoot, that only happens in movies, and trust me it hurts a lot more when the bottle doesn’t break.
I’m, too busy laughing at Sunny, and don't see the first fellow I dropped come in with a big old punch to the side of my head. It makes me stumble and lose my headlock. “Dag-on, boy, that was a good one”, I say as I shake my head.
I feel the familiar, warm, metallic, and copper-ish taste of blood in my mouth. I spit the red saliva onto the ground and wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my Buffalo plaid flannel.
"Aight boys, play time's over", I say as I step forward.
The one who had just landed the lucky cheap shoot took that as his cue and charged with the trademark move of all Bar brawlers, affectionately called "the redneck lunge", or as you might know it as, a spear.
This fella was no trained fighter and not even what you'd call an athlete. I sprawl as he dives for my legs and crush his face into the floor beneath the power of hips, punching him a one-way ticket to la la land. I stand up and look at the third of the roughnecks.
I see his Adam's-apple slide down his throat as he takes a big gulp, but what happens next surprises me. Instead of just leaving and being able to wake up and go to work tomorrow, he pulls a knife from his pocket and flips out the three inches. Unlike Dino's three inches, this could actually do some damage.
I twist my head from one side to the other, popping my neck to prepare for battle. I see the roughneck preparing to charge, and I shake my hands, preparing to catch his thrust. We stare each other down, wondering who will make the first move.
"MARK!", Sunny shouts in a high-pitched voice that cuts through the tension.
I look over to see Sunny tossing me an eight-ball. The billiards kind, not a 3.5-gram bag of narcotics. I catch the ball and immediately channel my high school, all-state pitching days. Eight-ball, orbital bone pocket.
The roughneck drops almost as hard as Dino will when I take him the Wright Way. I survey the damage, looking at three broken men, some broken furniture, and a bunch of broken bottles.
Ugh, Mark, I think we better go.
"Yeah, Sunny, I think you’re right", I say as I turn my hat back around.
Sunny and I head for the door. As we get the heck outta Dodge, Sunny tosses a wad of cash onto our table. We hit the door when Sunny stops and says, "wait, I forgot something.".
Sunny turns back and at a speedy gallop goes to the hefty blonde, wraps his arm around her, and hits her with a perfectly executed lip lock. Sunny leaves her breathless, and also leaves the original antagonist of this whole mess breathless with an extra kick to the stomach for good measure on his way out.
As we head out the door I smirk at Sunny and say, "dang Sunny, I think you might have a little outlaw in you.".
Sunny pauses as he opens the car door and says, "Mark, where do you think your father learned it from?".
I can't help but laugh as I get in the car before speeding off toward San Antonio.