[Blue Gator]

Opponent/s who shall receive my scaly dick: Christopher "Virgin" Isles As continued from the last roleplay... Yakuza - Part 2 Again I found myself in a car. Hands tied behind my back and my new assistant gagged up after resisting the onslaught of one of the burly Yakuza men, resorting to biting a huge chunk out of his hand. The car was completely blacked out, I wouldn’t even call them windows, more like sheets of black acrylic, barring viewing from both the inside and the outside. “I wonder where we are going.” “戻ってそこに沈黙!” (Silence back there!) Screamed the driver, who obviously had one too many chopsticks shoved up his ass. “Alright, pipe down you fat cunt. Don’t get lairy with me.” “シャオあなたの顔から、これらの唇をカットします第4太陽の女神!” (Xiao Ping the goddess of the fourth sun will cut those lips from your face!) “Yeah sure and Christopher Isles will beat me at Warfare. Your chatting shit.” The guy just grunts and curses at me in Japanese. I guess we’re pretty much fucked. After I knew we were outnumbered, I asked them what they wanted and they grabbed me and Ike, throwing us into the nearest car. The poor Chauffeur didn’t survive. Probably shouldn’t have killed one of their associates. Now where were they taking us? Wherever it is, I hope there’s women and wine glasses. “You have it all wrong. "Everything you have said lacks clarity, everything you have ever done lacks importance and everything you do is severely lacking in drive because – let’s face it. Any man who is content on being beaten has no place speaking to me or being in this company. Like you said, I was pissed off that you beat me. I was pissed off that a stupid unwashed dish-faced wank-stain cunt thinks he’s the biggest shit since Steve Jason because he beat a man at half of his health. "Before I delve into this and don’t pull a semi on me because that sounds just a teeny bit sexual, I want you to notice how he finds ways to avoid disputing most of my claims. This bastard cannot lie. I’ll pull a quick fun fact and tell you that if you are avoiding something, it is likely to be true. Capiche? Good. Ike, since it’s only fair that Christopher Isles has a little slave to order around and read shit out to him because he’s completely fucking illiterate and has the attention span of fucking squirrel, I shall do the same. Not because I am any of those things, because I have already proven I’m not by watching your little promo, but because a little boy is pretty much the closest thing I’m going to get to the real Christopher Isles. "Ike, pass me the fucking sheet of paper.” Ike walks in from off-screen and hands Tush a completely blank sheet of paper. Tush snatches it and looks at it for a good minute before scrunching it up and throwing it behind him. “Hmm… yeah. This seems like something Isles would say - absolutely fucking nothing. You talk a lot of shit, but your words are just sounds strung together like a discordant orchestra that I expected to build up to a crescendo, but was just as flat as it was when it started. Fine, I see how it is. Ike, I want you to make the same sounds that Isles make, maybe then I have something to work with, I’m pretty good at interpreting animalistic grunting. Christopher: So all in all, brah, you only have me a third impressed. Not really surprising me after ya shed your skin and all, ya kna? Well I think I've been stalling for long enough, let's tackle that video of yours. "So you go through all the accolade of the people I beat in that gauntlet match. Guess what? You care a lot more than I do. I don’t give two shits and a flying fuckmobile 2000 how important they are. Guess what, they are still wrestlers and I beat six of them before putting up a fucking huge fight against a seventh one which just so happened to be you. You won. I admit that, you won in pretty pathetic fashion, but it doesn’t change the fact that you won. I don’t have a problem with that, but how you won is what I have a problem with. Your scrawny ass squirmed out of imminent death and you hit the trip-over-in-a-headlock driver and that you pinned me for. I could feel the carbon dioxide levels rise from the entire audience yawning and sighing about how fucking boring and anticlimactic that was. Also, that move happens to be very dangerous and has been shown to cause brain damage by the stumbled way the taker of the move falls onto his cranium. That’s where you picked a problem with me. I didn’t start shit, I only returned the fire. Dustin: Ya want me ta skip over the part where he mocks your name? Christopher: Another one? I swear, I thought people learned their fucking lesson after that Star Wars fanboy got his head planted into the ground. I guess not. Geez dude, I knew you were handicapped before, but that doesn't mean that you can't go back and watch what else some shitheads thought they could take me down with. At least I included bits and pieces of my opponent's videos just to show you what did and didn't work on me. Dustin: He's comparing you to tha Virgin Islands, brah. And then he called you a virgin. Christopher: So you compare me to a popular tourist trap, huh brah? I'm sure ya meant something different by it, but it tells me that I have about two million people on my side that want ta see me kick your ass in that ring. Also, why should you care if I got any tacos or not, brah? Even if I didn't, it still doesn't mean that I can't beat your ass from here ta Antarctica. You're just graspin' straws, brah. C'mon, try actually trashing me next time. "Next, as I said before, you can clearly see that Isles does not dispute that he is a virgin. However, I must admit… the Lounge Lizard was wrong. Christopher Isles is in fact not a virgin. Why? Because Isles actually fucks his little boyfriend Dustin in his ass and then afterwards pop each other’s regurgitated anal cum bubbles. This guy is so much of a ‘brah’ that even when he pisses in a urinal it sounds feminine and when he says ‘brah’ he’s actually referring to his favourite item of clothing he likes to wear. Oh and make no mistake, I did not steal this incredibly unique idea in the world of wrestling to take the piss out of your name, I came up with it myself. Since it got you all riled up because it questioned your obvious lack of masculinity, I’d say it doesn’t matter how creative it was because it got the job done. Christopher: Ya sure ya ain't smellin' the pants ya pissed over, brah? I mean, I know you're mad at me for drivin' that thick skull of yours into the canvas, but blamin' your failure ta get to a toilet in time on me ain't healthy. Also, I know where I belong, dude. I belong here, in this federation, beatin' up guys like you Wednesday after Wednesday. Next time ya throw some stupid shit around, at least make sure it sticks, brah. "Now this part is really funny. This part is hilarious. While Christopher Isles was committing an act of truancy by missing ABC class, he actually spent the time he should’ve been improving his critical thinking and imagination by joking about… piss. Please don’t tell the teacher I said that. Actually, you can tell her whatever the fuck you want, because she’s most likely sucking on the Lounge Lizard’s dick. Too bad you followed this cracking piece of wit and repartee by not supplying a valid reason why you are in this company and instead making up some shit. You don’t beat people Wednesday after Wednesday, evidently shown by when Ghost Tank made you his bitch. You’re the person in catering who blends up Socio’s protein shakes and finds dudes off the street to fuel Maria Brinks’ sex addiction. You have absolutely no place in this company and you fucking know it. Christopher: I guess management saw that you were bullshittin' and decided ta call you out on it by makin' it two out of three falls. If they 'fucked that up', so ta say, then that means the move that ya wanted gone oh so badly is still in effect. What exactly did ya sign, anyways, Tushie? A receipt? A napkin? Some poor asshole's envelope? 'Cause if it ain't on the card, it sure as fuck wasn't any contract. Now don't give me the whole 'stipulation can be changed in this match' BS. It can't. This ain't a three stages to hell match. Go and talk to tha higher ups about this, dude, see how they react when ya bitch and moan that tha match ya wanted isn't happenin'. "Oh, it appears a mistake has been made. "Not mine, I assure you. "YOU agreed to a submission match and YOU agreed to have your finisher stripped, whether or not it’s advertised as a two out of three falls match. Both you and management fucked up in this regard due to the false advertising on the card and now that it works in my favour because I now have can use the stipulation as shown and you can’t because you were legally obligated beforehand. Also, the stipulation has nothing to do with the fact that you have to withdraw access to your finisher this match. So I won’t bitch, because I have absolutely nothing to worry about. I’m channelling the Lounge Lizard and discovering loopholes that work in my favour. Sadly, that doesn’t work with people like you because you are the good old-fashioned definition of a and being fucked over by the system is an entirely new concept to your feeble mind. Dustin: He said that you're gonna whine that ya lost ta Riot. Christopher: Cry about losin' to her? Why tha fuck would I do that? I got cocky, brah, that's all I can say about that. I mean, you're the one on a plane drinkin' your sorrows away while bangin' those stewardesses that look like they hate everyone else. Oh what, don't tell me you wanted to be the one ta get your ass beat by Riot. You're sick, brah. "Holy shit, just like those waterfalls in video games, you’re attempting to disguise your tears with utter bullshit. Unfortunately, I can see that golden, gleaming, shiny treasure chest on the other side. I can see straight through you. Alexis Riot beat the fuck out of you. A woman. She fucked you with a strap-on, dude - metaphorically speaking of course because otherwise you definitely wouldn’t be complaining. However, let’s say you aren’t upset. Let’s say you’re perfectly fine with her beating you. Where’s that fucking hunger? You don’t have any appetite apart from pricks, dicks, cocks and spit-shined sticks. I can rhyme and I can’t even tell the time! Oh wait, yes I can, it’s half past your fucking prime and you haven’t even made a year in this company. Christopher:As for the belt we're fightin' for a right to go up against Ginger? You try gettin' up after gettin' crushed by that roided up Russian monkey. Ya can't, right? Ya can't because ya don't wanna be put back in the fuckin' chair, yeah? Get real, ya fuckstick, if you couldn't get past me at your worst, what fuckin' hope do ya have at goin' against Ginger at your best? The only way you can get past me is if I somehow lose my head within the next four or so days. Don't cha worry now, brah, that ain't gonna happen. "What. "What is the fucking logic in that, I don’t understand it. If I can’t beat you at my worst, what hope do I have at beating Ginger at her best? Are you saying that you are worse than Ginger? What the fuck is wrong with you? Aren’t we fighting for a shot at her title? Jesus Christ you’ve given up already. You are singlehandedly the worst person I’ve ever been in a match with in my entire life and I’ve faced Peter Gilmour, Barney Green, Dim and fucking Grayson Stinger. You are the epitome of the gangrene between Barney Green’s fat rolls. I’m going to step on you – crush you. Then I shall advance towards the Intercontinental Championship and slap the shit out of that Social Justice Warrior too. Christopher: So ya wanna get shit started, huh brah? Well then go ahead and go for it. The ball's in your court. "The ball is in my court. It’s in my court and by god does it have the most perfect spin and bounce to it. It’s in my fucking court and I’m going to smash it right over the net, missing your racket and thus winning the game point. Fuck you Christopher Isles. “