Post by themeccaofmanhood on Mar 6, 2023 12:27:33 GMT -5
*The wind blows, rustling the budding leaves and raddling the limbs of the pre-budded trees. As the scents of an early spring dance across the warm mid-western breeze, The Mecca of Manhood takes a moment to admire them. It isn’t a sight he is familiar with from growing up in Boca Raton. This isn’t Boca though, no, far from it. Actually, it is 1,168 miles from Boca, which is how far Akron, OH, is from the sunny shores of South Beach.
Normally, The CEO of Chest Day would never come to a rust belt town like Akron, but he had come for the funeral of his slain intern, and for a M.A.M rally, two birds with one stone. The Bod God clears his throat as his hands grip the podium in front of him. With rays of sun soaking into him, the way that audibly ovulating women in the WGWF crowds wish he would soak into them. The crowd stares with great interest and hangs on all the Titan of Tenacities’ words. *
Cholo showed at the last Brawl that he is exactly what I have told everyone he is, a phony. Cholo was afraid to face my at WrestleWar, becuase he knew he would not only lose, but be utterly embarrassed. So, Cholo utilized one of his five dollar crack whores to cost me the match. Now, James Raven, jealous of no longer being the most attractive man in WGWF has taken this opportunity to drop me down the ranks to the opener. Fine, good luck to any of those beta-boys who have to follow me on the card.
Putting The Mecca of Manhood against somoene like Sam Chap-hardly-a-Man, this beta cuck can’t even beat his meat, let alone beat The Messiah of Muscle. Sam Cuckman like to pose like some old school Calvin Klein model, but I’m steady getting his girls head in my CK briefs.. Trying to show off his underdeveloped abs, like some teenage who sprouted is first pube along with his first ab. Sam isn’t a detour, a rock block, or a speed bump, he’s nothing more than a skidmark. At Brawl, the Bottom-Bitch of Boyhood is going to learn this sport is a man’s world, and I am the Mecca of Manhood.
*Some of the small crowd begins to cheer and clap, but the others look at them, and The Boca Badboy with aghast. That is when the view widens, to reveal that this is not the M.A.M rally, but is instead the funeral. The Sultan of Swole is standing beside the casket and is supposed to be giving the graveside eulogy, instead of a scathing promo. As the crowd settles down, The H.N.I.C (head natty in charge) stands up straight, and adjusts his black tie against his black shirt, with his black jacket, looking absolutely stylish even in mourning. *
That is why I’m dedicating my match, and my victory at Brawl to Angela.
*The Marvelous One’s former teammate and father of the deceased shoots Mason a glare and mouths her name. *
AMANDA! That is why I am dedicating my match at Brawl to her. She gave her life to make America Marvelous so that I could live to do that. Amanda was a hero, with much more guts than the beta boy personified Cholo. Amanda knew that I was the only hope to save America and save WGWF. I will not rest until I capture the WGWF Intercontinental championship and deny anyone from or with ties to Canada a championship opportunity. When I win the election in twenty-twenty-four, I will name the first section of the wall after Amanda.
My Intercontinental tournament spot was stolen like last years election, but just as the rise of M.AM cannot be stopped, neither can my path to the Intercontenintal championship cannot be stopped. After I finish Sam quicker than Atara finishs James Raven by milking his prostate, I am issuing a challenge to whoever wins the Intercontenintal championship. Sam, the only DAMAGE you’ll have to worry about at Brawl, is the damage I do to your skull and spin, when I snap you like the twig you are. You’re a loser Sam, a wannabe, with the physique of someone who takes the gas, but doesn’t know how to shift gears into beast mode. Trying to play the game, but you’re on checkers when this is chess. You’re just a lame seeking fame, but me… I am, SIMPLY MARVELOUS!
*The Bishop of Biceps steps back from the podium and the casket begins to lower into the ground. As the coffin disappears into the hole, the scene fades and reemerges to The Mecca of Manhood walking to a blacked-out SUV. A man whose outfit screams “private security” opened the door for The Count of Calves, who slid into the back seat, which they had redesigned to be backward facing, and with forward facing seats built into the trunk area of the SUV.
This seating arrangement puts The Deity of Deltoids face to face with Congressman Albertson. Congressman Albertson was a staunch Republican, the minority whip, but most importantly for this meeting, the head of the committee on homeland security. They shut the door behind the Bod God and the car immediately begins to move with a black town car leading it, and another following behind it.
Albertson’s deep wrinkles seem to grow deeper as he puffs on a cigar fatter than Pic’s pecker. The smoke is filling the back of the SUV, and the smell is quite pungent. The Mecca of Manhood refuses to sell the smoke in the same way that many losers in WGWF try not to sell their losses. Instead, he sits in quiet suffering. Under normal circumstances, The Marvelous One would demand that they put out the cigar, and roll down the windows, but this was a different world and in this world, Albertson was the king of the jungle, but only for now. *
“You’re really garnering support from a vast majority of the middle class. Upper and lower-middle-class folks are flocking to the MAM movement. The promises of forcing people to work seem to be scaring off the lazy lower-income voters, but it isn’t like their votes count, anyway. Of course, our connections with Th Brothers will ensure you have all the right votes from the elites and upper-class voters.”, Albertson says as he takes a break from puffing his cigar.
Make America Marvelous is a rallying cry that many can get behind, and an idea they have really clinched onto.
BOLOGNA! It was that intern of yours taking a bullet for you that gave you such a groundswell of support.
*The President of Pump gives a big smile as he eases back into his seat. *
Yeah, that certainly didn’t hurt my numbers.
DIDN’T HURT!?! You doubled your poll numbers overnight. Tensions with Canada haven’t been this high since the South Park Movie and NAFTA.
It’s almost as if a Canuck trying to kill the future President of the United States pissed people off.
What a brilliant idea that was.
I couldn’t have picked a better man to execute the plan with than you.
*Congressman Albertson grows silent and stares at the Big Natty Daddy. The tension seems to grow as thick as the smoke when suddenly Albertson begins laughing, which causes The Bod God to laugh as well. *
You aren’t the first person I’ve helped get elected, my boy, and you surely won’t be the last. You just make sure you remember who you work for when you get into office.
*The Pinnacle of Pectoralis stops laughing, perceiving what the congressman has just said to be a threat. “The same people you work for”, the Abdominal Adonis says as he leans forward and snatches the cigar from Albertson’s hand. Before the congressman can react, the cigar is flying out the window.
“HARUMPH” is the sound the overweight congressman makes as he tries to come out of his seat. The Mecca of Manhood easily shoves him back with one hand though, before leaning over him to establish dominance. *
You’re getting old and sloppy. The Brothers don’t like it. Why do you think they are so heavily backing me and my new party?
You and your Marvelous Party are unproven newcomers, and nothing more than a means to an end for them.
Congressmen, you to are nothing more than a means to an end for the brothers. The only thing, though, is at this moment I’ve got much more value than you, and that means a much longer shelf life.
Well, good luck locating the shooter now without my help and the Department of Homeland Security at your disposal.
*The Sultan of Swole leans back, smirks, and pulls his phone out from his inner jacket pocket. With a few swipes of his freshly manicured index finger, he begins to read. *
Ryan Tremblay, a Canadian national. The Canadian Special Operations Regiment rated Tremblay as the best marksman in his basic graduation class and the second best marksman in his unit. As a member of CSOR, Tremblay did two tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. Tremblay earned the Cross of Valor when he shot in the leg while rescuing his commanding officer during an ambush in his last deployment in Iraq. This injury has left Tremblay with a permanent limp in his left leg. Other recognizable physical characteristics are his CSOR tattoo on his right shoulder, a scar on his abdomen, and a scar on his left cheek. Tremblay is five, ten, one hundred and ninety-five pounds.
*The Master of Mind and Muscle turns the phone around to show Congressmen Albertson a photo of Tremblay. Albertson’s chubby hand shakes as he reaches out for the phone. Albertson stares at the photo of Tremblay as if he is staring at a ghost. *
Why do you think your team wasn’t able to apprehend Tremblay at the stadium in North Dakota? Or why is it that you think your team hasn’t been able to find Tremblay? It’s because he’s been under the control of a team from The Brothers, and I’ve known where he is the entire time. Congressman, with all respect that is due to you, which is indeed very little. You’re no kingmaker. You aren’t even a part of the royal court. You are nothing more than a pawn.
*The SUV comes to a stop, and as it does, The Messiah of Muscle snatches his phone from Albertson. *
I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS!
*The Congressman feels trapped like he is backed into a corner. He sits up, yelling at The Marvelous One, spit flying, and foaming at his mouth. *
I will make sure you never become President. I will make sure your political career flops harder than your football career. The Brothers aren’t the only players in this game. I’m a star quarterback, and you’re just some flash-in-the-pan rookie. They want to hook their wagon to you, by all means, but when you run face-first into the ground, I’ll still be at the top of his game.
Oh, Congressman, there is only one of us heading into the ground.
*The door opens and as The Mecca of Manhood steps from the car, the Congressman sees Tremblay standing with a group of men in all black. “OH FU!”, are the last words the Congressman says as Tremblay fires a round that will be undetectable postmortem from a heart attack gun (yes it is a real thing). Albertson immediately grabs his chest and falls back into the seat of the SUV. Tremblay quickly steps into the car and shuts the door behind him.
As the convoy of blacked-out cars pulls off. The sound of a roaring crowd replaces the sound of the cars speeding away, and women audibly ovulating. The Bod God turns to the sold-out Rhodes Arena and looks at the marquee that reads “M.A.M 2024 RALLY TONIGHT!”
Climax.*
Normally, The CEO of Chest Day would never come to a rust belt town like Akron, but he had come for the funeral of his slain intern, and for a M.A.M rally, two birds with one stone. The Bod God clears his throat as his hands grip the podium in front of him. With rays of sun soaking into him, the way that audibly ovulating women in the WGWF crowds wish he would soak into them. The crowd stares with great interest and hangs on all the Titan of Tenacities’ words. *
Cholo showed at the last Brawl that he is exactly what I have told everyone he is, a phony. Cholo was afraid to face my at WrestleWar, becuase he knew he would not only lose, but be utterly embarrassed. So, Cholo utilized one of his five dollar crack whores to cost me the match. Now, James Raven, jealous of no longer being the most attractive man in WGWF has taken this opportunity to drop me down the ranks to the opener. Fine, good luck to any of those beta-boys who have to follow me on the card.
Putting The Mecca of Manhood against somoene like Sam Chap-hardly-a-Man, this beta cuck can’t even beat his meat, let alone beat The Messiah of Muscle. Sam Cuckman like to pose like some old school Calvin Klein model, but I’m steady getting his girls head in my CK briefs.. Trying to show off his underdeveloped abs, like some teenage who sprouted is first pube along with his first ab. Sam isn’t a detour, a rock block, or a speed bump, he’s nothing more than a skidmark. At Brawl, the Bottom-Bitch of Boyhood is going to learn this sport is a man’s world, and I am the Mecca of Manhood.
*Some of the small crowd begins to cheer and clap, but the others look at them, and The Boca Badboy with aghast. That is when the view widens, to reveal that this is not the M.A.M rally, but is instead the funeral. The Sultan of Swole is standing beside the casket and is supposed to be giving the graveside eulogy, instead of a scathing promo. As the crowd settles down, The H.N.I.C (head natty in charge) stands up straight, and adjusts his black tie against his black shirt, with his black jacket, looking absolutely stylish even in mourning. *
That is why I’m dedicating my match, and my victory at Brawl to Angela.
*The Marvelous One’s former teammate and father of the deceased shoots Mason a glare and mouths her name. *
AMANDA! That is why I am dedicating my match at Brawl to her. She gave her life to make America Marvelous so that I could live to do that. Amanda was a hero, with much more guts than the beta boy personified Cholo. Amanda knew that I was the only hope to save America and save WGWF. I will not rest until I capture the WGWF Intercontinental championship and deny anyone from or with ties to Canada a championship opportunity. When I win the election in twenty-twenty-four, I will name the first section of the wall after Amanda.
My Intercontinental tournament spot was stolen like last years election, but just as the rise of M.AM cannot be stopped, neither can my path to the Intercontenintal championship cannot be stopped. After I finish Sam quicker than Atara finishs James Raven by milking his prostate, I am issuing a challenge to whoever wins the Intercontenintal championship. Sam, the only DAMAGE you’ll have to worry about at Brawl, is the damage I do to your skull and spin, when I snap you like the twig you are. You’re a loser Sam, a wannabe, with the physique of someone who takes the gas, but doesn’t know how to shift gears into beast mode. Trying to play the game, but you’re on checkers when this is chess. You’re just a lame seeking fame, but me… I am, SIMPLY MARVELOUS!
*The Bishop of Biceps steps back from the podium and the casket begins to lower into the ground. As the coffin disappears into the hole, the scene fades and reemerges to The Mecca of Manhood walking to a blacked-out SUV. A man whose outfit screams “private security” opened the door for The Count of Calves, who slid into the back seat, which they had redesigned to be backward facing, and with forward facing seats built into the trunk area of the SUV.
This seating arrangement puts The Deity of Deltoids face to face with Congressman Albertson. Congressman Albertson was a staunch Republican, the minority whip, but most importantly for this meeting, the head of the committee on homeland security. They shut the door behind the Bod God and the car immediately begins to move with a black town car leading it, and another following behind it.
Albertson’s deep wrinkles seem to grow deeper as he puffs on a cigar fatter than Pic’s pecker. The smoke is filling the back of the SUV, and the smell is quite pungent. The Mecca of Manhood refuses to sell the smoke in the same way that many losers in WGWF try not to sell their losses. Instead, he sits in quiet suffering. Under normal circumstances, The Marvelous One would demand that they put out the cigar, and roll down the windows, but this was a different world and in this world, Albertson was the king of the jungle, but only for now. *
“You’re really garnering support from a vast majority of the middle class. Upper and lower-middle-class folks are flocking to the MAM movement. The promises of forcing people to work seem to be scaring off the lazy lower-income voters, but it isn’t like their votes count, anyway. Of course, our connections with Th Brothers will ensure you have all the right votes from the elites and upper-class voters.”, Albertson says as he takes a break from puffing his cigar.
Make America Marvelous is a rallying cry that many can get behind, and an idea they have really clinched onto.
BOLOGNA! It was that intern of yours taking a bullet for you that gave you such a groundswell of support.
*The President of Pump gives a big smile as he eases back into his seat. *
Yeah, that certainly didn’t hurt my numbers.
DIDN’T HURT!?! You doubled your poll numbers overnight. Tensions with Canada haven’t been this high since the South Park Movie and NAFTA.
It’s almost as if a Canuck trying to kill the future President of the United States pissed people off.
What a brilliant idea that was.
I couldn’t have picked a better man to execute the plan with than you.
*Congressman Albertson grows silent and stares at the Big Natty Daddy. The tension seems to grow as thick as the smoke when suddenly Albertson begins laughing, which causes The Bod God to laugh as well. *
You aren’t the first person I’ve helped get elected, my boy, and you surely won’t be the last. You just make sure you remember who you work for when you get into office.
*The Pinnacle of Pectoralis stops laughing, perceiving what the congressman has just said to be a threat. “The same people you work for”, the Abdominal Adonis says as he leans forward and snatches the cigar from Albertson’s hand. Before the congressman can react, the cigar is flying out the window.
“HARUMPH” is the sound the overweight congressman makes as he tries to come out of his seat. The Mecca of Manhood easily shoves him back with one hand though, before leaning over him to establish dominance. *
You’re getting old and sloppy. The Brothers don’t like it. Why do you think they are so heavily backing me and my new party?
You and your Marvelous Party are unproven newcomers, and nothing more than a means to an end for them.
Congressmen, you to are nothing more than a means to an end for the brothers. The only thing, though, is at this moment I’ve got much more value than you, and that means a much longer shelf life.
Well, good luck locating the shooter now without my help and the Department of Homeland Security at your disposal.
*The Sultan of Swole leans back, smirks, and pulls his phone out from his inner jacket pocket. With a few swipes of his freshly manicured index finger, he begins to read. *
Ryan Tremblay, a Canadian national. The Canadian Special Operations Regiment rated Tremblay as the best marksman in his basic graduation class and the second best marksman in his unit. As a member of CSOR, Tremblay did two tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. Tremblay earned the Cross of Valor when he shot in the leg while rescuing his commanding officer during an ambush in his last deployment in Iraq. This injury has left Tremblay with a permanent limp in his left leg. Other recognizable physical characteristics are his CSOR tattoo on his right shoulder, a scar on his abdomen, and a scar on his left cheek. Tremblay is five, ten, one hundred and ninety-five pounds.
*The Master of Mind and Muscle turns the phone around to show Congressmen Albertson a photo of Tremblay. Albertson’s chubby hand shakes as he reaches out for the phone. Albertson stares at the photo of Tremblay as if he is staring at a ghost. *
Why do you think your team wasn’t able to apprehend Tremblay at the stadium in North Dakota? Or why is it that you think your team hasn’t been able to find Tremblay? It’s because he’s been under the control of a team from The Brothers, and I’ve known where he is the entire time. Congressman, with all respect that is due to you, which is indeed very little. You’re no kingmaker. You aren’t even a part of the royal court. You are nothing more than a pawn.
*The SUV comes to a stop, and as it does, The Messiah of Muscle snatches his phone from Albertson. *
I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS!
*The Congressman feels trapped like he is backed into a corner. He sits up, yelling at The Marvelous One, spit flying, and foaming at his mouth. *
I will make sure you never become President. I will make sure your political career flops harder than your football career. The Brothers aren’t the only players in this game. I’m a star quarterback, and you’re just some flash-in-the-pan rookie. They want to hook their wagon to you, by all means, but when you run face-first into the ground, I’ll still be at the top of his game.
Oh, Congressman, there is only one of us heading into the ground.
*The door opens and as The Mecca of Manhood steps from the car, the Congressman sees Tremblay standing with a group of men in all black. “OH FU!”, are the last words the Congressman says as Tremblay fires a round that will be undetectable postmortem from a heart attack gun (yes it is a real thing). Albertson immediately grabs his chest and falls back into the seat of the SUV. Tremblay quickly steps into the car and shuts the door behind him.
As the convoy of blacked-out cars pulls off. The sound of a roaring crowd replaces the sound of the cars speeding away, and women audibly ovulating. The Bod God turns to the sold-out Rhodes Arena and looks at the marquee that reads “M.A.M 2024 RALLY TONIGHT!”
Climax.*