~You'll be passed over to lizardsemen.exe shortly, please listen to some relaxing tunes while you wait~
I’m currently sitting in an alleyway, wanking myself off. The only thing to soak the semen and leave me with a shred of dignity still intact is a few greasy cardboard boxes, the rotting corpse of a dead raccoon to the side of me, or the loneliness of the concrete floor. You know, you’ve never really comprehended the beauty of a good old slab of concrete until you’re pissed, tired and dying for a <img src="https://i.imgur.com/pUgtAVa.gif"> – but back to the dead raccoon.
I glance over at the black and white fur ruffling in the light breeze. I let a bead of saliva trickle down the side of my mouth as I fail to muster the power and courage to spit in its general direction to confirm my analysis that the poor cunt was dead. Pretty sure it’s dead. I sigh… such a waste of space, really. Digging through trash in a place it did not belong. Now - for some this may come across as a racial anecdote but it is far from that fact. You see, it was almost picturesque. I was the black, dark, evil, twisted bloke with an army of comrades and a perfectly placed title belt shrouding my collarbone. I was so confident. Some may call it arrogance, but they don’t exist because I’ve fucked their wife slash s and killed them before they had a chance to weep sweep salty tears. Then I swung my big balls around enough destroying shit like a bull in a china shop and proudly declared…
“I’ll retire if I lose.” escapes a muffled whisper, almost losing itself in the wind.
“…” responds the raccoon.
Guess what? That white meat, fucking infidel slaughtered me in front of millions watching around the world. So there’s that. I packed my bags full of all the rocks that didn’t skip across the lake, no matter how impeccably thrown they were by yours truly, and promptly made my exit. Macbeth went on to better things; winning the Intercontinental championship and turning away foes as noble as you can get in a company that openly does rape matches. Scully went on to better things, now well on his way to winning the Universal Title without my help, but me? Ha…
I’m currently sitting in an alleyway wanking myself off. Not with sexual desire or anxiety, merely boredom, as a constant pulse stroking my massive cock does wonders in keeping myself in a drone. Otherwise I start questioning my plane of existence, wondering why I started the Union and yet here I am skin tanned in Cali. I still keep up with shit
Fast forward. The morning sunlight penetrated my eyes and cast itself onto my chest between my unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, a thing so cartoonish and small it made me feel like a child. I think it was time to plan my exit. Gently, a word so harsh it makes me puke, I place one hand on the ground and manage to stabilise myself enough for my creaking bones to remain a complete structure. I then hug the wall for the rest of my very short journey out of the alley, until I stumble and spill out onto the pavement, finally joining the rest of the world again.
“Hey bro, fancy having a good time for a few bucks?” slurs a deep voice, as I glance over at a feminine figure in a low cut dress, crop top and cheap as fuck Barbie doll shoes. Her purse jingled with little coin underneath a sinister lamppost, casting a shadowy Godzilla like figure. She gave me a wink. A wink. She’s trying to persuade me with a wink. I could not help but think of the audacity… of this ugly fucker to stare me in the eyes and wish for ME to pay her for a good time? I’m the bloody Lounge Lizard you dumb sket! I thus, being a logical human being and thinking things through before I say them, decided to tell her just that, when I realise that she was no ordinary dumb bitch, nor even a bitch.
“Yo honey.” Mia Him snaps his fingers in front of my face, as I wonder why the infamous Cali-Thai homosexual pornstar plastered on all the billboards in the district is right here, attempting to scrounge money of the streets by selling her pathetic body.
“Get your filthy shit ridden fingernails away from me you cunt.” I spit as I swat his hand away. “I don’t fucking know you, why are you even here?”
“Well you see, I’m starting a new job, though I want to whore my body out a few times before I catch the flight to XWF headquarters. I’m currently replacing Maria Brink as his resident giver, though I must be prepared for a horny vacuum, because that superdick of his? Word around is that it doesn’t exist. It’s literally a stump. He’s a shell of what he used to be and can’t even afford the surgery that he claimed he had. Besides, he’s too busy training for Leap of Faith, I’m sure he’ll call for me when the time comes. Until then, I’m plying my trade that hasn’t been nearly as profitable since I moved from Thailand.”
“Leap of Faith?” I lunge and place both hands around the bloke’s scrawny neck. “Continue.”
“You know, the XWF PPV where the winner gets the briefcase!” He spluttered.
“I know that. I need numbers.”
“It’s towards the end of July! I don’t know like, the 20th?”
“And how the fuck do I enter?”
“I don’t know, Loverboy’s the one in charge of that.”
“THE Loverboy? Vinnie fucking Lane?”
He quickly nods before I let go, Mia Him damn near collapsing on the floor, his face bright red. This news was a revelation to me, a revelation as to why on earth that bumbling buffoon bastard was even in a position of power in the first place. I pause for a second before triumphantly announcing my intentions.
“Time to join the warfare.”
</b>
~lizardsemen.exe will commence in several weeks time~
The scene opens. Congratulations for identifying that Tush is sat on the ceramic, pearly white toilet having a shit. Congratulations for really paying attention to the excruciating yet satisfying look on yours truly's face as it turns a beautiful shade of red, following up with a plopping sound. Congratu-fucking-lations.
“Wagwan boys, it’s Tush. I’m about to do some trashtalk. Not that I’m going to do some trashtalk but…
See how stupid and inarticulate I sound? See how if you heard someone say that you’d want to grab a handle on the nearest pint of Clorox and down it before an old, grizzly fuck known as Morbid Angel announces that he has never been beaten, yet again? Funny as fuck that is. Well, feast your eyes upon this.
Fat old bastard Said: Moving on to someone I really don't know.
Tush! Not that I don't know you. I just think you are complete shit!
What in the gold almighty fuck was that? You have just butchered by favourite language. How the fuck does this even work? You claim you don’t know me, but state the exact opposite literally fucking seconds afterwards. This bloody crackhead, spouts victory forever, even after just getting his cunt punted in by a skeletal sket that I destroyed for the intercontinental title, before he swiftly he takes his leave, yet he says I’m complete shit. Unbelievable. Not only can he not even speak English, he’s also a hypocrite. I’M inconsistent? Mate, you went from winning the Universal title to being squashed by a 100lb white bitch in under a minute. I’ll tell you exactly why I escaped that wheelchair, and goes a little something like this. I wake up and check the time and its half past Tush. I celebrate the new year of two thousand and Tush. I go to church and pray to myself, Tush. I then realise that I’m the fucking Lounge Lizard and I can do whatever I please, so be it un-handicap myself at will.
Moving back on to Ginger Snaps, who I slaughtered and proved to the world that her nice, simpatico, SJW persona was nothing more than a gimmick as I submitted her for the Intercontinental title, that very fact makes me better than you. Hypothetically. But if you cast hypotheticals aside I’d still cut off your nans head and shit down her neck. Do one, you fat bastard. Run away from the XWF again so I don’t have to listen to your promos that are half you ranting about irrelevant shit and half lyrics from some black metal band that are just screaming long strings of words that makes them feel like they’re as edgy as a cutthroat razor. In reality, they are all suffering from a cancerous combination of homosexuality and mid-life crisis, just like you, so I’ll see you in a few years when you’re nothing but a paraplegic nugget. I’m going to barbecue your first born.
Then moving onto Peter Gilmour, the man who killed me several years ago, a man who strung me up from fishhooks as I lay motionless like a malnourished African baby, minus the massive head. What does he have to say?
Gilmour Said:Tush... finally we meet.
Finally? I met you years ago you stupid prick. This was pre liposuction, when you were still a fat little bastard and I was almost an entirely different person altogether, but I still met you. Your memory is fluffed because of all those Gilmour cutters through tables smeared with goat semen or whatever your latest match type fetish is. In fact, you get yourself into all these sexual and pathetic situations, I’m getting the feeling it’s all you. You wanted your cock cut off. You wanted to replace Maria Brink with a man. That’s the general vibe I’m feeling.
Pfft. Some guy named Lome… that man is the same man who slaughtered you to retain the Universal Championship, whether he is a cross dressing hoofwanking bunglecunt or not. He’s downplaying all of my achievements and forcing a point of all the adversity I’ve faced, which is ironic that he brings up Frodo because he raped you as well you dumb bastard. You won’t win this match, I’m sure of that. You’re going to wish you spent more than a couple of minutes talking about the almighty Lounge Lizard when I’m stamping your face into a bloody pulp, daft bint.”
Tush lets out when last victory shit, which really takes the wind out of him, he’s close to passing out!
“Right… I’m going to wrap this up.
Alexis Riot? Ginger haired slag, I’m going to Azerbaijani beef twist her fanny and tie her in a knot with it so she can’t do any leaps for shit.
Dim? I’m going to confuse the fuck out of him with verbal reasoning and then I’m going to dropkick his nan off of the arena.
Luna Hightower? Dunno who that dumb bitch is, but I’m going to bullfrog her so hard over my washing machine that she’ll explode into a million pieces, which I’ll sweep up, put in a bin bag and make a porridge out of it before serving it to her nan. Then I’ll record her reaction when she finds out its you, teabag her forehead and then execute her.
Christopher Isles? I’m going to grab that useless assemblement of flesh and amputate his legs, then he’ll join his alzheimered nan while she’s wheeling around town in a wheelchair with dead pigeons stuck in the spokes – FOREVER.
Woman from St Louis? I don’t know who St Louis is but I’m guessing he’s your nan, so I’m going to mutilate your body and send you in a parcel to her.
I think that’s all.”
I look to the side of me and notice there’s absolutely no bloody toilet paper left. I sigh a sigh filled with being an absolute don before pulling out an In This Moment CD and wiping my shit with that instead, where the scene fades to black. I think. The editor better leave that shit in or I’ll assassinate his nan.
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