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"Loverboy" - Sowing The Seeds Of Love (Pt. 2)
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Vincent Lane Offline
Rock n' Rolling XWF Owner and Megastar
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08-30-2015, 08:19 PM Heart  "Loverboy" - Sowing The Seeds Of Love (Pt. 2) -->






“Doc? Is it bad?”

The usually strong timbre of “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane’s voice is a mere whisper of its usual confident self. He breaks and whimpers as he sits open-legged on a plastic doctor’s table wearing just a tissue-thin hospital smock.

Well, the hospital smock and the CCWF/IWGP Universal Championship title belt, of course. Don’t leave home without it.

“Tell me the truth, man, be brutally honest.”

From somewhere down below, between Loverboy’s akimbo knees, a balding head wearing a sort of flashlight on a headband pops up, adjusting his round eye glasses.

“Well, it’s REALLY big.”

“Thanks dude, I mean, I totally know that already, but it’s nice to have it medically confirmed, you know? What’s the average wang you see in here anyway? Four inches? Five? Those babies can’t swing lumber like me, man. I’m like the Joe DiMaggio of cock swinging. Got me a Louisville Slugger.”

“That’s… not what I mean, Vinnie.”

The doctor switches off his head-mounted light fixture and pulls up a rolling stool from behind him, taking a seat and pulling out a note pad and pen. He jots something down as he speaks.

“Look dude, just tell me how bad I broke it. Like, does it need a cast? I have a title match on Wednesday but it can definitely be postponed. I don’t even want to waste my time with it anyway.”

“It’s not broken.”

“You sure, dude? I mean, some of the details are fuzzy, man, but there was some definite Cirque Du Soleil shit going on with that chick. I was definitely testing the limits of my limberness, you know what I mean? Like, she did this thing with her hips? Like a sort of Burmese tiger trap move? Like… here… let me show you…”

“No, no, Vinnie, it doesn’t matter… you didn’t break your penis… though it sounds like you might be lucky to not have. What I was saying is that you have a really big clog.”

“In my dick?”

“In your… yes. There.”

“Like… what is it, dude? I shoot my wad off like a fucking cannon, man. I’m like an NFL quarterback going deep as fuck every time I blow. Like a Hail Mary, you know?”

“There’s something very far back in your urethra. Almost nearing your prostate. I can’t tell what it is, Vinnie, but you definitely need to get it removes quickly. I can arrange for some emergency surgery…”

“Whooooooaaaaa, hold on right there, doc. You want to cut my dick open? Like it’s some sort of science project? I mean, I know I’m a medical marvel, but my cock isn’t a frog in tenth grade biology class, man. I have rights. I’m no guinea pig.”

“It’s would be a pretty simple procedure, Vinnie. A quick cut, in and out the same day.”

“Dude! No one is cutting my dick open! It’s not a banana, even though it has a very similar curvature! Don’t I get a vote?”

“Of course, but…”

“I vote no. Next idea.”

The doctor sighs and takes a few more notes on his pad. After a few minutes of silence in which Loverboy swings his legs like a distracted kindergartener and intermittently plays air guitar across the faceplate of his championship belt, the doctor looks up again.

“You want to be ready to go by Wednesday, right?”

“Well, I mean, if I can’t make the match it wouldn’t break my heart. My opponent doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as me, man. She’s just some dumb little chick named - ”

“Ginger Snaps.”

Loverboy is stunned silent for a moment. A feat in and of itself. The megastar reaches up into the blond bouffant of his teased-up hair and pulls down the pink-tinted round-lensed sunglasses from where they were resting on top of his bandana and places them over his eyes as he stares the doctor down with raised eyebrows.

“How the fuck did you know that, dude?”

“My daughter is a big fan. She can’t wait for the next series of XWF action figures so she can get a Ginger Snaps with… the title belt.”

“Well dude, you can tell your precious little accident that it isn’t gonna happen, man. The only thing that action figure is gonna come with is a faulty Cunt-Fu Grip. What kind of shitty father are you anyway? Who lets their kid root for a loser? You should invest in some of my merch, man. Raise a winner. This is why they shouldn’t let gay couples raise kids, I swear to god.”

“I have a wife.”

“Yeah, what’s your wife’s name? Richard? Peter Gilmour? Fuck that shit. I can’t believe I let a gay doctor look at my dick.”

“I’m not gay! And my daughter is a beautiful little girl – she’s seven years old, how dare you talk about her like that! This is why parents like wrestlers like Ginger Snaps. She gives off a good message for youngsters about anti-bullying and keeping high self-esteem.”

“Ginger’s message to the kids is that if they try REALLY hard and hope REALLY strong, they’ll still be ugly little losers. Look at her! She looks like a pencil that someone chewed the eraser off of. I’ve been in the ring with her, man, she needs to worry more about personal hygiene than about sending a message to kids. Pussy stinks like a homeless shelter. Well, I guess that’s sort of what it is, right? Especially if she really does end up pregnant by that UNICEF warrior before he goes off to chase Zulu ass down in Cape Town.”

“Well, she certainly held her own against you last time, didn’t she? She took your last title and I hope she takes this one too. You’re a terrible person.”

“Says the guy squinting up my cockhole. Look man, I’m not the one who decided to go into a career playing with other dudes’ cock and balls, you know what I mean? I made a name for myself by dragging myself up by the bootstraps and kicking ass. Ginger Snaps got where she is by getting lucky ONE TIME when I was at a low point. Do I look like I’m at a low point now, dude?”

The doctor and Loverboy share a silent exchange of eye contact as they both acknowledge that the champ is currently sitting with his legs spread and a swollen dick sticking out and into the doctor’s hand.

“Whatever. You know what I meant. I’m in peak physical shape, aside from the whole clogged dick thing. I could beat her even if I were still in a coma. She’s literally the least intimidating challenger for any title ever. That’s counting queers like Chris Isles and imaginary video game women like Game Girl. Ginger is worse than a cartoon person and a closeted homosexual in skinny jeans. How the fuck can you seriously sit here and look me in the dick and say otherwise?”

“You know what? I think I have another idea to fix your penis, Vinnie. Stay right here for a moment.”

The doctor leaves in a tiff and Loverboy continues to strum at the title belt absent mindedly while staring at himself in the mirror over the sink.

“God damn, Loverboy… you are looking good, you sexy motherfucker you. That Ginger bitch is gonna die of ruptured ovaries once she gets a look at you on Wednesday. If she isn’t pregnant now she will be once she starts eyeball-fucking you.”

The doctor bursts back into the room, startling Loverboy and wheeling a strange contraption with hoses and cords all over it.

“Here we are. The old Electrolux.”

“What the hell is that? It looks like some sort of space age colonoscopy machine, man. That tube isn’t gonna fit up my dick. You’re gonna ruin it!”

“It’s a vacuum.”

“What? Like… like a Dyson Ball?”

“Yes, but this is old. This is what the custodial staff used in the hallways going back to the 80’s until we finally got enough money in our budget to get something new. Now, stand up and stick your penis in there.”

“NO WAY!”

“Vinnie. I am a medical doctor. I am also a huge fan of the XWF and have worked alongside them for years. If I call them up and tell them you are medically incapable of defending that title and are refusing medical treatment, they will strip you of that belt faster than you can hiccup. Now.

Put.

Your.

Dick.

In.

There.”

Loverboy scowls and starts to argue, but the doctor starts dialing a number into his cell phone and the champ backs off.

“Okay, man, okay. Shit, you win. I guess if you want to give my dick a back alley abortion with this old Hoover you can do it. But I’m telling you, my member is insured by Lloyd’s of London. Anything happens to it and I’ll sue your ass out of business. Then your little girl will have to deal with having a shitty role model AND a shitty unemployed dad. You get me, dude? You treat that cock like the work of art that it is or you pay the price!”

“Jesus, Vinnie, just fuck the vacuum already.”

The doctor plugs in the vacuum and switches it on, the loud suction echoing throughout the room and causing more than one passerby to look into the room out of curiosity.

Loverboy stands up and moves toward the machine, walking in hitched, pained steps. Finally, standing in front of the ancient contraption, he raises up the skirt of his hospital gown and presses his hips forward, his dong going into the hose of the Electrolux with a sound like… well like something clogging a vacuum.

Loverboy goes rigid, both inside of the vacuum and outside. His back stiffens and he stands there twitching and shaking like a little kid pissing on an electric fence.

“Holy… fucking… shit… Doc… my dick… please… save… my… dick!!!!”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity (especially to the guy whose cock is being sucked on by a machine) a popping sound can be heard, followed by a high clicking and rolling, similar to someone spinning a nickel on a hardwood floor.

“It worked! I don’t believe it!”

“Ahhhhhhhhh... Ahhhhhh... turn it off! I’m about to cum, for fuck’s sakes turn it off!!!”

The doctor yanks the electrical cord out of the wall socket and the vacuum silences. Free from the G force suction of the cleaning appliance, Loverboy collapses, his dick popping out of the tube with the sound of a bottle of champagne being uncorked.

“What… what happened… is it okay? Doc? Is my dick alright? I’ll… fucking… kill yooouuuuu…”




.BLACKNESS.




Loverboy slowly comes back to full consciousness and finds a male nurse slathering his tender manhood with some sort of salve. The doctor is standing behind him looking at something in a glass beaker.

“What the fuck!?!?! RAPE! Doc, this dude is gay raping me! The worst kind of rape! Do something!!!”

“Relax, Vinnie. Reginald is just applying some ointment to your penis. It was heavily inflamed from the procedure.”

“Reginald? Oh fuck that, that’s the gayest name ever! You know he’s getting his jollies playing with my million dollar member! Call him off, doc!”

“That’ll do, Reggie. Vinnie, relax. I have great news! He removed the blockage from your urethra! The procedure was a complete success!”

Reginald leaves the room giving Loverboy a stern glare, but winks at him just before vanishing from sight.

“DID YOU SEE THAT?!!?”

“See what? Look at what was in you, Vinnie. I think it’s some kind of seed. Like from a fruit or vegetable. How would something like that end up in there?”

“I have no idea, dude.”

A wry grin spreads across the handsome face of the Universal Champion as he starts to recall the pretty girl from the bar and the things she did with a bowl of fruit in her hotel room. Apparently she left a little something behind inside of her and Loverboy aardvarked it right out with his schlong.

“Damn. What a fucked up night.”




[Image: yijI4aB.gif]




Hey Ginger, I know I said I was done talking to earlier, but I thought of some more shit.

First off, I was wondering if you could tell me what it’s like to have unsatisfying, lights off, no eye contact sex in perfect silence a maximum of twice a month? I mean, clearly that’s what you’ve been dealt in life and we could not be further apart on that spectrum, dude.

It does explain your shitty attitude and how jealous you’ve been of me since day one. It even makes sense with how you tried to ride Roxy’s labia like a fucking lap dog as soon as she forgot to ignore you for a few seconds. Envy, man. That’s some killer shit.

Okay, second up, how in the fuck have you not backed out of this match yet? Seriously. I mean, you’re going to get hurt, dude. You’re going to go up against the greatest champion in the history of professional wrestling, you know? You don’t have the ovarian fortitude to step up to this plate and hit a home run, dude. Or a wicket, or whatever you annoying Brits use for sports metaphors. You’re gonna fail faster than a poor black kid on a standardized test. You’ve got less of a chance of beating me than Maverick does of sucking his own dick, no matter how much stretching he does and how many times he tries – a lot, dude, he tries a lot of times – he will never be able to get his scabby lips anywhere near his limp dick. The thing is just too stubby. That’s you, Ginger. Your whole career, this match on Wednesday, is just god damn Maverick with his legs thrown back over his head, whimpering and sticking his tongue out, trying to get a little taste. How does that feel?

Fuck, how hard must it be for your little boyfriend to keep pretending to be into you? I feel bad for any man that can’t get an erection, and here you are killing boners everywhere you go. You’re a fucking epidemic of wilting dicks. All the guy probably ever wanted to do was perform a charitable act and make the ugly girl feel nice for a second, and now he’s trapped in a fucking relationship with a mental infant with the personality of a roll of paper towels. I bet the roll of paper towels gets wetter when he pops his dick into it, too. You’re dryer than a cardboard tube, you desert-crotched waste of two X chromosomes. I bet when you walk your pussy lips flick sparks out behind you like they were made of corduroy.

Okay, alright, you got me. I didn’t really think of anything new that I was dying to ask you. I just REALLY started enjoying making you look like the dumb cunt you are. Come on, Ginger, put up a fight at least. If you’re as lame, boring, and ineffective in the ring as you are in these promos I might get confused and think I’m fucking you instead of fighting you. No means no, Ginger. Stop trying to steal my seed.

Hey, you know what just occurred to me? There’s gonna be a lot of time left at the end of Warfare since it will only be a five minute long main event before the inevitable happens and you get dropped into unconsciousness like the one time you drank your pretty friend’s roofied drink back at Uni and woke up fully clothed with a rejection letter stapled to your shitty homemade clothes. You know what I think? I think that fucker Trax will be showing up after all.

Yeah, no way that that limp-dick can possibly resist trying to steal the spotlight from the GOAT, you know what I mean? He’ll be so high on skunk weed and purple drank that he’ll actually believe me spending three and half minutes worth of effort dispatching you like the lint from my dryer might make me something resembling vulnerable. What a fucking , right? Not his fault though, dude, inner city schools get bullshit funding and it’s not like he had a dad to help him along, you know? I actually almost pity the guy, unlike the utter lack of empathy I have towards your wannabe ass. The only pity I have regarding you is the pity I have for whoever your gynecologist is. You know those fuckers don’t have hazmat suits, man.

So I guess this week I get to have a little warm-up before me and the rest of the CCWF legends run amok and embarrass all the XWF divas and make them all synchronize their menstrual cycles on the sidelines while we reign supreme, once and forevermore. Good. I could use a little more cardio between bouts of bouncing my nuts off of the hottest chicks on the planet. I’m starting to fucking chafe.

I guess Trax being too much of a pussy to just come after the title like a man is actually a blessing in disguise after all. How about that? His diaper-shitting cowardice will lead directly to me actually having to break a sweat on Wednesday night after all. Here I was thinking I’d have to wait until after the pay per view to embarrass that dumbass throwback to P. Diddy.

What? I don’t know a lot of rappers. Sue me.

Anyway, it’s just about time for me to get another four handed massage from the local titty bar, so you all can just relax and allow the growing realization that we’re less than 72 hours away from literally the worst main event in the history of wrestling – “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane, the IWGP Champion, the CCWF Champion, he XWF Champion, the rock n’ roll megastar, the man of your dreams… against… you.

Ugh. Seriously. Is it too late to see if Thunderbolt X is busy? The fact that Ginger here thinks touting a victory over that mongoloid is an accomplishment worth even mentioning is all the evidence I need to know he’d be a bigger draw than this set of A-cups with halitosis.

Fuck it, I’m out of here. Have an autograph to remember me by.


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