PlumpHumpers? No Shit Dicks, Tubthumping! Part One
Time: 1607
Date: Oct. 3rd, 2016
Location: Detroit, Michigan

With every step there is left behind a murky rain filled boot print only noticeable because Mother Nature allows us to see her music, every pitter-patter and beat the rain droplets echoing from splashing into the puddles formed. My foot attempts to step in the puddled prints my point man leaves behind, my NVG’s (Night Vision Goggles) lifted from my eye, I’d be damned if they weren’t the most worthless piece of gear the military had ever issued me at that point in my career. My next footstep misses the print that had already been laid for me to follow, the earth squishes and shifts beneath my foot, sliding down into a rut, my ankle twists sending me toppling over myself. The weight of my combat load: Boots, Full Camouflage Utilities, Sappi Plate Carrier and Sappi, Chest rig with two fragmentation grenades, twelve thirty round magazines of 5.56 forehead zingers, personal medical kit pouch, flares of all sorts, variety of smoke grenades, among other useful tools of war, Kevlar helmet with NVG’s attached, some 40 mm grenades, and of course my M4 w/M203 attachment and holographic sights, would be to blame.

Falling my Military instincts kick in and I rotate my body, my back smashing through at least two rolls of moist Farmland ruts of the partially flooded fresh plowed fields. Mud sliding down my legs like fresh coffee shit that you didn’t quite time out right. My arms fully extended rifle high in the air, while I slide like a young teenager on a slip in slide out in front of his grand parent's house. The emotion and physical feeling of the scenery were amazingly vivid, much better than the last time I had tripped off of the combination of peyote and acid while trying to work some shit out in the death trap vault of doom, I like to call a mind. The only thing giving away that it is all in my head, I slightly could remember that the weapon I am carrying was really a SAW when the scene occurred in reality. Not being able to remember why I wanted to make such a journey within myself, I guess I should just ride it out.

My body stops sliding and ruining the poor farmers freshly plowed field, the price of Freedom cock bags! My eyes stare in a trance at the stars above my squads bodies were amazing, something like you would see in a planetarium but much more alive, like you could almost feel the presence of someone in a distant land staring back, maybe a guardian, or maybe just another man like yourself just trying to survive and doing what he believes is right. The squad reacts just like a bunch of professional barbarians would; our point man quickly halts the patrol with a flat hand raised slightly out and above his head. Everyone reacts as if their brains had been washed and reprogrammed with the skills of a tactically sufficient killer, who worked with others like a small puzzle. Noticing all of them taking a knee and covering every section of the pie, I smile, knowing even if there isn’t a guardian out there looking over me, I didn’t need it, because the most protective, crazy, loveable, and deadly brothers a man could ask for were right here now willing to die to protect.

Not wanting to waste my brother’s time I quickly climb to my feet, without allowing my weapon to get dirty, even though it would need to be cleaned, from the rain, as soon as patrol is over. Problems of having a multipart piece of weaponry, now you AK with simple basic insides, no worry ever when it comes to maintenance. Less functioning parts fewer problems, simple weapons knowledge, maybe not as proficient, but reliable as could be. As I get to one knee, the stars begin to shoot laser light shows all over the field, now I for sure know I am tripping major balls. I grasp my rifle still feeling as if it is real, a little worried, we maybe being attacked by aliens. When suddenly the squad begins to slowly break out in Michael Jackson, Usher, and yeah I am saying it Justin Beiber like dance moves. Using their rifles in almost like a dubtard, stomp the yard, Military like cadence, meets sexy dance moves to the beats of the star laser light show.

I stay in the kneeling firing position eyes wide, thoughts racing at a million miles per hour, believing that this journey just turned into a total fuck fest and nothing could be learned from this nonsense. Then shit begins to get really weird, the star lasers begin to draw neon glowing cocks and balls all over the field and the squad begins to strip like paid male strippers, what the fuck? I swear I am not gay. The squad's point man now down to a bright blue banana hammock doing the party boy dance toward me opens his mouth, the voice of Fergie and Jesus projects from between his lips, while his cock and balls flop toward my face.

“Oh Bearded War Pig, Oh Bearded War Pig, You will Fall a many Time... Promise us you won’t let it Ruin your Shine, Take the Time and Let It Rise Let it Rise!”

Now all the squad has gained erection, awkwardly including myself, what that fuck? Is all I can think as I look down with my little Marine full mass, what could this possibly mean? I absolutely love the pussy, this is some fucked up shit. Green, white, blue, purple, and red smoke begin to simmer from the earth below our feet, obscuring the view for anyone of us, the smoke is so thick, then suddenly it begins to clear like a thick mist on a country road once all the water evaporates from the air. My eyes widen even more not knowing how it is even physically possible; the squad has been replaced with Chumbawamba preforming Tubthumping, kind of like this.



Except not on a stage in front of a crowd, but in the middle of a sloping rain-soaked farm field, in Kandahar Province Marjah, Afghanistan, in the middle of the high threat operation, consisting of multiple hard knocks. In front of my very eyes the rain making it a little blurred, but I can definitely tell a man with dyed hair and brick pattern like suit singing and a band in all white, with a few backup singers, hell I could tell what I was seeing through a fucking Michigan blizzard. The words “I get Knocked Down, I get up again,” almost burn into my head as my tactical kneeling posture starts to loose form and discipline as my rifle lowers from within the pocket of my shoulder and my eyes stay focused on the band instead of scanning all of the danger areas left uncovered now that the rest of my squad is a bunch of goof ball musicians...

Meanwhile outside Bearded War Pig’s drug-induced fantasy world, he conjured up in his head. The scene opens up in the basement of the firehouse home, he is starch naked, soft penis stretched out and twirling at amazing speeds between his legs, while B.W.P wide legged runs chasing his friend Smut around with his tongue dangling out his mouth like a dog hanging their head out the window. His eyes wide and hips gyrating, to a playlist of Smut screeching like a little girl and whatever fucked up tunes are playing in his steel trap. The door to the basement, where B.W.P thought would be a suitable place to try a psychedelic cocktail like Acid, Peyote, and just a smidge of DMT, to work out whatever was bothering him. Begins to open, knowing it ever it was would probably not understand what they are about to lay their eyes upon. Not being the smartest idea ever, but not the dumbest either, but what could B.W.P possibly be working out in his head, while in reality chasing around his best friend with a naked Helicopter?

Not anything Smut would want to explain, he quickly takes off toward the stairs, luckily for him, whoever is on the other side is taking their time to opening the door all the way. Stopping and what sounds like muttered words, most likely talking to another person. Smut makes it to the top of the stairs just in time, to push the door back closed, he buries his weight into the door paying no mind to B.W.P rubbing his spread out balls on his leg. Just making sure whoever is on the other side doesn’t get a glimpse as to what is going on. When suddenly Arnie Greyson’s voice can be heard from behind the closed door of the basement.

“What the fuck you dumb redneck ghetto ass bums, I have a fucking XWF camera crew out here, hell we haven’t heard from B.W.P since his loss against Hunter, people are beginning to talk. They think the Pig has been hunted and mounted, meaning hung up the boots in embarrassment. I know for a damn fact that isn’t what is going on here, so please reassure my beliefs and show the people that you haven’t fallen off the face of the earth Pig, they want to hear from you. You have nothing to be ashamed of...”

“Woah! Who the hell said Bearded War Pig is ashamed? The man lost his first singles match, no big deal, it wasn’t a title match and the man has been busting his hump, in all different kinds of stipulation matches, that most resulted in taking quite a bit of bump, falls, and shots to the head from foreign objects. The man is just recuperating, getting centered, focused, and training for a more vital match, a match that could further his Championship reign or bring it to a short hall. You should know being his agent, he doesn’t have time for the camera right now, the is preparing himself for the task at hand making sure he appeals the fans and to the management of the XWF you know so you get paid dingleberry.”

Smut cut Arney off in the defense of his best friend who at the moment doesn’t have the ability to defend himself, Hell B.W.P couldn’t do anything for himself at this point but make a mockery of his self. Smut while still forcing all his weight up against the door, begins smacking at B.W.P’s face, trying to distract him from basically dry humping his leg while completely naked and basically drooling all over in his own beard and chest pubes. One hell of a friend that Smut guy, I know damn sure I wouldn’t sit there and be molested by a tripped out sextard, who has no control of his own bodily fluids.

On the other side of the door Arney is starting to turn red from the word choices of B.W.P’s best friend Smut, while trying to push the door open, but being a weak, pathetic, balding, middle aged douche that he doesn't even have the strength to push the door open if it was little ninety pound girl Dolly Waters. Trying harder with all his might, fight planted, hands pressed firmly on the middle of the door, his legs start pumping, sweat instantly begins flooding from his pores. Maybe forty seconds into giving it everything he has, Arnie collapses face first into the floor busting his nose wide open. He quickly pinches his nose and tilts his head back without a smile on his face and a blood clogged throat, his voice is gargled and disrupted, almost muffled like a cock was lodged in there.

“Well I promised the network they would get some air time by Bearded War Pig or some kind of representation, kind of like how Paul Hayman speaks for Dolly Waters. So Make sure he isn’t recovering too long, he has another violent match this Saturday against Kitt Kennedy. So since B.W.P is too busy for some airtime, you will have to speak on behalf of him, I mean you seem to know more about his situation, than anyone else. The people would love to know what is going on, he was giving them what they want and suddenly he disappears off the face of the earth!”

Smut just smiles a little, now that B.W.P has stopped humping his leg and made his way back down the stairs and is now doing butt naked summersaults and high school cheer routines. Almost causing Smut to burst out in laughter, being a well-disciplined man, Smut holds it together and takes a deep but silent breath before replying to what Arney had to say.

“Oh it would be my honor to get in front of the camera and tell the people exactly why the one and only Bearded War Pig can’t make an appearance himself. Hell, I would even go as to far as to speak on the match on his behalf, both of the matches if need be, I do believe he is going to have a few more days of this alone time. Not many men can take in the imagery presented from a war zone, categorize it, and then be able to organize emotions of everyday things. Needs a little reboot time is all. Two days max and you will get his same old self back, that I will promise you. Bearded War Pig is a dying breed, don’t ever count him down and out, he will surprise the shit out of you every damn time. Give me a few more minutes and I will be up, down here isn’t the place to conduct a promo.”

“Fine you got five minutes, meet us outside by the house basketball courts, make sure you have at least a little material memorized and try not to just ramble some dumb shit on and on for fucks sake!?”

Smut keeps his weight on the door while searching for something to wedge the door closed, just in case Arney was even more of a rat than B.W.P lead on to Smut. He grabs a two by four and wedges up against the doorknob and the first step making sure it was super tight and wedged good enough to stop the doorknob from turning. Smut then makes his way down the stairs, not noticing Bearded War Pig at first. Then he catches a glimpse of B.W.P in the fetal position thumb in mouth and rocking back and forth like a scared rape victim in a prison shower...

To be continued...