Post by themeccaofmanhood on Apr 4, 2023 10:27:17 GMT -5
![](https://i.imgur.com/7kISK4u.jpg)
*The Mecca of Manhood stares out the side window of the Mercedes-Benz G -Class. As the Pope of Pecks rides over the rolling hills and watches the trees go by, it bores the ever loving crap out of him. He should be training, he should be neck deep in top-shelf 10’s, he should be making fun of Cholo about how the Bod God ruined his big moment, and he should be on the campaign trail shaking hands and kissing babies. It’s very important not to get those backward, can’t kiss hands and shake babies.
Instead, The Pennicale of Perfection has been summoned the the castle of the kingmakers. The CEO of Chest Day checks his watch, as he lets out a sigh. He loosens his tie as he leans back into his seat and begins to speak his mind on his poorly picked oppnonents in a match that he shouldn’t have to compete in. *
A ménage à trois match to determine the number one contender for the Intercontenintal champonship. Where I step into the ring with a quote, unquopte “man” who stopped paying attention to both fitness and fashion in ninteen ninety four, Goth. This guy just lost to Lexi Gold… LEXI GOLD!!! Sure, Lexi is the only woman in WGWF I’d let slide into my DM’s, but when it comes to her wrestling ability she does what Jim Caedus did to Chris Page to get into CCPE… SUCK!
Then there is Axel Shaw. What’s this fake natty, Canadian cuck done to earn a spot in this match? Win a single match in WGWF, against two of the worst competitors I’ve ever seen, outside of Cholo?
In the words of a man who will most definitely vote for me, Chad Vargas…. WEAK ASS BOOKING!
I guess James Raven saw Atara was trying to slide into my DM’s so he’s hot at me. So, now he wants to derail my career like it’s a Norfolk Southern train. Don’t worry James, I don’t want anyone’s sloppy seconds, let alone sloppy hundredths. I may have a marvelously massive member, but even a jumbo jet has plenty of room when flying through the Grand Canyon.
I’m not going to waste any more time talking about the “People’s G.O.AT.”, you know gonorrhea on Atty’s tush. No, I’m here to talk about the man who looks like the walking clap, Gerrit Van Der Quief. This stringy-haired, heroin addict, vitamin d deficient, vampire-looking idiot, doesn’t deserve to even be in a title conversation, let alone this match. You go down to Lexi Gold, you don’t deserve to go for gold. You go down on Lexi Gold however, you deserve to go to the clinic for some penicillin.
You got nearly two decades in this business and you are losing to little girls, who are out of your league in more ways than one. So I have to ask you Gerrit if Lexi Gold beat you like a teenage boy in puberty beats his meat, what do you think I’m going to do to you? Bad back, bad knee, and a tiny weenie, are just some of your shortcomings Goth. You don’t stand a chance, and I’m going to burn your ass pale worse than a UV index over eleven. Goth, I’m going to send your spook show ass back to the dark side. I'm claiming that Intercontinental number one contendership spot, even though I should clearly be the number one contender and not going back and forth with a couple of jabronis for my rightful match.
This Axel “the a-hole” Shaw, what could I say about this guy that would be more insulting than the fact that he is Canadian? Simple, nothing. Calling yourself the Canadian Nightmare, while this is a super original moniker, I will say the real nightmare would simply be being Can’t-adian. Codyyyyyyy…., I mean Axel, you are going to experience a real nightmare when you actually experience some real competition. I’ve had protein farts that are harder to fight through than Ace Sky and Samantha Voxx, all you did by beating them was give in to the ego-stroking of James Raven. He blew your head up like a giant balloon, and now it’s time I pop it.
You're the true definition of all show and no go. You're two-thousand-sixteen Mercedes-Benz SLC. Looks nice, has a big price tag, but will be recalled countless times, and will always disappoint. As for Gooch Van Der Queef, he's a broken down old beater that has a bees nest under the hood, and rats in the interior. The Marvelous One on the other hand? Well, I'm like a two-thousand-eighteen Porsche nine-eleven GT2 RS. The Mecca of Manhattan always exhibits what it means to have both performance and luxury combined into the perfect form, all sitting in the best built frame.
The Syrup Sissy gets to be the unlucky Can’t-adian who is the first in-ring casualty of the war on Canada. I'm waging war against Can’t-ada, and the humiliating defeat I'm going to hand Axel will be a monumental victory in that war. I will not stop until I Make America Marvelous, and to do that I must cut off the cancerous leach from the north. I will crush Canada under the heel of my boot, but first I will crush all of their beloved heroes under that same boot. Axel, I know you aren't a hero, and I know you are not loved, I mean you have a face only a mother could love and she still won't kiss you goodnight. BUT! Can’t-adians know your name and know you’re their best hope of ever having a championship placed into their sticky fingers. So, when they see the President of Pump drop your needle-scarred ass, they will realize that they are insufficient to the superiority of America. They will know that you, and by proxy all of them are losers and that I and America by proxy are…. SIMPLY MARVELOUS!
The Sultan of Swole walked into the glass-encased greenhouse and encountered The Brothers, Hamilton, and Garfield Rothschild. The current heads of the wealthiest family of all time, and with this, is the Canadian hitman, Ryan Tremblay.
Mason, Tremblay, and The Brothers all stare at each other in a moment of silence. The air is thick with distrust, as neither man trusted the other, save the Brother’s trust in one another, but even that bond was constantly strenuous. “Gentlemen, let us all take a seat and discuss the business at hand”, Garfield says, breaking the tense silence.
The Marvelous One’s stone-cold death glare changes instantly with a smug smile, as he proceeds to unbutton his sharkskin suit jacket and sit in one of the four easy chairs that all face one another in a square. *
Gentleman, I’m afraid the untimely passing of Congressman Albertson has swain sympathy and the votes that come with it toward the right.
Normally, votes swinging to the right would be a good thing, but this time we want them to swing in what my brother and I are calling the forward direction. Forward to the Marvelous Movement.
*"To the Marvelous Movement." Hamilton declares as he takes a glass from the tray the Butler passes around. The Count of Calves politely waves the drink off as the other two men take a glass. *
Hard to trust a man who turns down the finest scotch in the world.
Ha, yes, the big match. A championship win could certainly sway votes your way, so you better make sure you get to that match, AND… win it.
*The Abdominal Adonis says nothing, instead he is biting his tongue, gritting his teeth, and squeezing his fingertips into the leather-covered arms of the chair. Hamilton sees that his words have gotten under the skin of Mason, and this brings an evil smirk to his face. *
However, we need to do more to hedge our bets.
Folks are wising up to that. We needed an inside man in Georgia to prevent the operation from being blown. That is where you come into the equation, Mr. Tremblay, our inside man, for the foreword to the Mecca movement.
*Tremblay almost chokes on his scotch, as he says, “Eh, what?”. Garfield scoots to the edge of his leather chair and leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees. *
Mr. Tremblay, as we speak, all the major media outlets have received your name and photo as the shooter at the North Dakota M.A.M. rally. Putting a face and name to the man who attempted to kill a presidential candidate and murdered a young woman in the process. Well, how can that not help our cause?
Mr. Tremblay, there are really only two choices here. You can spend the next few days living out your most lavish fantasies before being apprehended and spending the rest of your life in prison with the knowledge of knowing we will provide your family with a life beyond the means you could ever provide for them. Or Mr. Mason shoots you in self-defense when you try to break into his home and finish the job.
*The Butler takes a step back and lowers his gun. Tremblay eyes his glass for a moment before exhaling loudly and swallowing the last bit of scotch. Tremblay leans forward, preparing to place the glass on the small wooden table in the middle of the chairs. At the last moment, Tremblay throws the glass, hitting the Butler in the face. Tremblay springs forward, tackling the Butler to the ground and sending the gun flying across the floor of the conservatory.
Tremblay and the Butler wrestled around on the ground, demonstrating by his fighting skills that the Butler was clearly trained in more than just housekeeping. The Brothers have stood to their feet, and The Boca Bad Boy sits frozen in shock as he cannot believe what is happening in front of him, and how far down the rabbit hole he has gone.
“DON'T JUST SIT THERE, DO SOMETHING!”, Hamilton yells at The Titan of Tenacity. This snaps The Big Natty Daddy out of his frozen state and brings him to his feet.
Tremblay has wrapped the Butler’s tie around the neck of the Butler and is choking him out. The Bod God steps forward with a swift kick that lands on the side of Tremblay’s head, which sends Tremblay rolling across the floor. Tremblay is down but pushes himself up, shaking the stars from his head, before bolting for the gun. The Messiah of Muscle charges for the gun as well.
Tremblay was closer, and gets to the gun first, but is still on all fours as Mason gets to him. Tremblay grabs the gun, but as he does, The ICON of Isometrics grabs Tremblay in a waist lock, deadlifts Tremblay off of the ground, spins, and tosses Tremblay like a human discus into the glass wall of the conservatory.
Tremblay hits hard enough to crack the glass and lose the gun. Tremblay falls to the ground, breathing heavily, and barely holding onto consciousness. The Butler grabs the gun, and the brothers come to the side of the Mecca of Manhood who stares at Tremblay ready to pounce like a lion. *
By George, I believe we truly have found ourselves a good one, Hamilton.
Yes, he’s a fighter for sure, but…
*A creaking sound silences Hamilton. The Big Natty Daddy, The Brothers, and the Butler all look at the glass where the creaking sound is coming from and watch as the cracks spiderweb out further until the glass shatters and rains down onto Tremblay under them. Everyone steps back as the shattering shards rain down upon the semi-conscious Tremblay.
The four men stand in collective silence for a moment until Tremblay begins to moan and tries to get up. “I’ll clean this up, Sir”, the Butler says as he raises the gun up toward Tremblay.
“WAIT!”, Hamilton commands as he grabs the gun. Hamilton pulls the gun from the Butler and offers it to The Marvelous One. *
This is your mess. You clean it up.
*The Pinnacle of Pecks, stares at the gun in stunned silence. *
Now, Hamilton, this man is a leader, and a warrior, but he is not a killer.
Damn it, Garfield, I want to make sure he knows what this takes. I want to make sure he has some skin in the game and is loyal. Do you want this, Mr. Mason? Does the thought of being President of the United States excite you? Do you want to become one of the one percent? Or do you want to be another washed-up bodybuilder who dies of an early heart attack?
*As Hamilton is berating The Abdominal Adonis, all Mason can picture is his father yelling at him as he drove the sled under the hot Florida sun all summer long as a teenager. Mason doesn’t hear Hamilton Rothschild asking him if he wants to be President, he hears Andrew Mason asking him if he wants a D1 scholarship, and wants in the NFL ring.
Garfield places his hand on the back of the God of Glutes and tries to talk him down. *
It’s all over now, Mr. Mason. You have done the hard part. Soon you will be labeled a hero as we plant his body and spin this story into your protection during a home invasion. Stuff like this will make you the most voted for President in the history of the country.
*Hamilton shoves a glass of scotch into The Titan of Tenacity’s hand and holds onto it until he stops shaking. As The Bod God stops shaking and catches his breath, he turns to look at Hamilton. Hamilton smiles and toasts Mason, clanking his glass into his. *
You’ve got blood on your hands now, my boy. You’re in for life. Now, how long and lavish that life is, is completely up to you. Drink up it’ll help with the panic.
*The Mecca of Manhood looks back at the dead body of Ryan Tremblay as The Butler begins preparing it for transportation. The Marvelous One takes a few deep breaths before swallowing the glass of scotch in one drink. He grips the glass tightly in his hand, and for a few minutes can only stare at the bottom of the empty glass.
You’re in this now Mr. President.
Mason feels something being shoved into his hand and quickly looks down to see the gun in his hand once more. Still in shock, Mason is unable to speak as he looks back up at Garfield. *
This is yours now, and so is the White House.