Getting Away With Murder
Apr 14, 2023 16:13:53 GMT -5
"Cholo" Giovanni Santana and Jim Caedus like this
Post by themeccaofmanhood on Apr 14, 2023 16:13:53 GMT -5
*The Mecca of Manhood’s leg bounced up and down nervously. It’s an odd feeling to be so nervous in your home, but it isn’t an odd feeling to be nervous when you watch a team of “cleaners” staging your home with a dead body. The Bod God set on the edge of his white leather couch, the high of his pump from the gym being numbed as he watched the Rothschilds “Butler” laying the body of Ryan Tremblay out on his marble floor.
It amazed the President of Pump at how fresh they had made the body look. It was scary how authentic they were making the scene look. As they began to set the stage by breaking things in the home to make it look like a home invasion, and murder attempt the Deity of Deltoids had to leave the room as he felt his stomach churning and his protein shake ready to make its way back up.
The Titan of Tenacity heads to his back deck, which overlooks one of the many lagoons that dot around the landscape of Boca Raton. He places his hands on the railing of his deck and takes a deep breath as the gravity of the situation weighs on his back like his max squat of 810 lbs. He needed to tune out the noise, and since he has already crushed a shoulder and trap workout, his next best option was the channel his emotions into thoughts of his upcoming match with WGWF. As the CEO of Chest Day exhaled slowly, he smirked as he began to spit the hot fire, heat-seeking missiles that only he can. *
A battle royal to be a team captain, more of that weak ass booking from WGWF management. I should automatically be a team captain. From PeeWee League to taking home the NCAA National Championship, I have been a captain of every team I've been on. I’ve proven time, and time again, that I can take below average people and make them achieve results that can only be summed up as… SIMPLY MARVELOUS.
That is what I’ll have to do with whoever I get on my team if I’m picking from the list of the people in this battle royal. Looking at the list of entries in this battle royal is like looking at a list of people banned from the VIP section of the club. Looking at this smorgasbord of schmucks, I can confidently say I’ve been more bodies than these shrimping simps have bagged bodies. If you don’t know what shrimping is, check the Urban Dictionary, spoiler alert, it has nothing to do with Bubba.
So much suck in one match, enough sucking to make me think I’m at the Ravenstock Rave orgy. Guess my Ravenstock invite got lost in the mail along with my CCPE invite. Not that I’d take any part in those groups, because when you walk with the lame, you develop a limp. Speaking of the lame, let’s dig into these simps with limps that will be polluting in this battle royal. I’ll start with the woman who always wants to play the biscuit in a game of limp biscuit, Lexi Gold.
Lexi is the only woman in this battle royal I’d let slide into my DMs or the only one whose thighs I’d slide between. The problem is, I’d get swallowed up by the abyss. On second thought, I’d have to pass on Lexi. I prefer to go boldly where no man has gone before, to travel the path less taken, not visit the human equivalent of time square. Sorry, Lexi, you missed your chance at the Pinnacle of Perfection by spreading yourself around every wrestling company that’ll throw a dollar your way.
Speaking of sliding into DMs, I have to confess something. Sonya Benson slid in DM’s. She came in begging and pleading, talking about how badly she needed the Mecca of Manhood. She was on her hands and knees asking for me, begging me to help her win that four-way for the Television title. I turned her down like she was a five shooting her shot at eleven pm. That isn’t even prime hunting time yet.
Sonya turned out winning the thing after all, though, showing her experience in taking two dudes and a chick at the same time, skills she probably picked up in the basement studio of the Velvet Rabbit. But she needed some help, and she got Punisher to be her fluffer. That’s right, Big Pun. You weren’t her first choice, but something tells me you are used to sloppy seconds.
Punisher, Big Pun, Frank Castle, or Christopher Rios, whatever name you want to use, it won’t change the fact that you’re a loser, and even worse, a Sonya Benson Stan. Punt-is-her, I’m not wasting any more breath on you, because the amount of time I’ve already spent talking about you is longer than you’ll last in the battle royal.
Let me stay on track with CCPE, chemically castrated, pube, eaters, and hit the man that used to be their poster boy, Peter Vaughn. How much fecal matter do you have to swallow on the daily? I’m guessing more than the amount of baby batter Sonya Benson swallows on the daily. I understand that you are used to turds floating around a toilet bowl due to your former occupation, but now you’re in the bowl with them. How do you sit in a CCPE meeting and look at the bastard love child of Steven Tyler and Meatloaf, Chris Page wearing that TPW International title he swindled away from you, and not just shoot the whole boardroom up?
Could be worse though, you could be Mac Bane. You know, an over the hill, irrelevant old fart who constantly had to turn a blind eye to his old lady stepping out on him with Matt Knox. You wanna tell me all that time she and Knox spent together that the most fertile man in the business didn’t throw a bun in that oven? I got to ask Mac, how can you live with yourself knowing that for a period of time, every time you kissed your wife on the lips, you had to taste Matt Knox’s dick? Fair question, right? And, since you and Knox are Eskimo brothers, I’m sure you’ll pick him for your team if you come in second place, because just like your wife when you got her in the bedroom, you aren’t finishing first.
Now, let me keep playing the part of Chris Page and keep running the train on you CCPE cucks. Jim Caedus, what hole did Page pull you out of? Well, we all know he pulled you back from obscurity where you belong, but other acceptable answers would be from the bottom of a bottle, or Lycana’s dried up cooze. I’m not sure what has more miles on it, the aforementioned dried up cooze, your liver, or your body. You got the red carpet rolled out for your comeback at Wrestle Wars, and you came looking like a broke ass version of Heath Ledger from Broke Back Mountain after being ridden hard and put away wet.
No one missed you while you were gone Jim, honestly, I didn’t even know you were gone, because I didn’t even know who you were. You're only famous in your own mind, and I’m sure that is a pretty vacant piece of real estate. As vacant a piece of real estate as Damage’s trophy case. I know he is one of the very few people in this match that aren’t in CCPE, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to insult him. Damage is even less important than Punisher, so this line is all he was going to get, which is the most attention he’s gotten in his whole WGWF run.
Speaking of people who have sucked in WGWF, let’s go to the CCPE member that won the Chris Page cosplay contest, Fred Debonair. Fred, I thought you were supposed to be good, but all I’ve seen you do is lose. You lose in WGWF; you lose in IIW; you lose in TPW; I think the only thing you haven’t lost is your virginity. How long until everyone notices, and you realize that you are just a loser?
Speaking of people who probably haven’t lost their virginity, Spencer Adams is in the battle royal. Spencer, you are the only man who may have a bigger ego than me. The thing is, though; I deserve to have an ego, but you, you are only a legend in your own mind. You posted all these videos, taking time out of your obviously pathetic life to post a video every day, each with a cryptic meaning that only you understood and cared about. From thirty to one, and then when you finally revealed your identity, it was met with a collective, “WHO?”. W.M.N, what’s my name? Even after you told us we still didn’t know who you are.
You’re some loser from Action Wrestling. Even if you were the best wrestler in Action Wrestling, it would be like being the biggest kernel of corn in a turd. A promotion full of women, and men who look like women. If you couldn’t cut it there, you aren’t going to make it here. Go ahead and start making a video of you packing your bags and heading somewhere else, cause that is the only clip of yours any of us want to see.
Mystery people with over inflated senses of self worth seems to be a running theme here in WGWF though. There is a mystery entrant in this battle royal. I’m sure that big reveal will flop as bad as Spencer Adams did. Adams's big reveal was about as over as a fart in church, and this mystery reveal will be even more disappointing than when Mac Bane takes his pants off for Amber. No one cares who you are mystery person. Hiding your identity won’t get you over or make you more successful. The only thing you will get over is thrown over that top rope.
We got this Krow chump entering the battle royal, a terrible movie, and a terrible name. You spell crow with a K though, so that makes you edgy. If you think that name is cool, or if you think you stand a chance in this battle royal, you must have early onset CTE from your days as a boxer. Peter McNeeley ass looken mofo, why don’t you come give me ten blows to the head? Just kidding, only Lexi could do that, well, she or Brooke Blakely.
Brooke’s career is a lot like her legs, spread all over the place. Brooke, it’s quality over quantity. Just because you are all over the place doesn’t mean you’re good. If they see you all the time, you aren’t special. They, meaning the marks, look you at as someone who will do anything for a little clout, a little coin, and a little fame. But all you are really doing is devaluing your name and your brand. You are over exposed Brooke, and in the battle royal, I’ll expose you as the loser you are when I toss you over the top.
*The Big Natty Daddy inhales deeply as a sly smile creeps across his face. He stands up straight and brushes his hair back from his face. *
I had to save the best for last. Well, not the best, actually the worst, but the one I will enjoy eliminating the most. Cholo, oh sorry, it’s Giovanni now. You’ll always be Cholo the Dildo to me, Mr. Sad-Taint-Ah, changing your name doesn’t change who and what you are, a pathetic excuse for a professional athlete, and an even worse excuse for a man. You think everything is a big joke, but the only joke is YOU!
You cost me that match against Buster because you knew there was no way you were going to get past me and claim that Intercontinental championship. You took the easiest route possible to that championship because you’re afraid of doing what is hard because it isn’t fun, and if it ain’t fun, Cholo don’t want none.
It’s time for ME TO HAVE FUN! There is only one thing that will be more fun than snatching you by your “culturally appropriating” afro and throwing you over that top rope, and that thing is when I take that Intercontinental championship from you at the next Brawl. You can change your name. You can change your address. You can change your gender. You can change anything about your life that you want, but you’ll never be able to change the fact that I am better than you. This brawl I eliminate you from being a captain for the first time ever in your life. Next Brawl, I will take that Intercontinental championship that is rightfully mine.
*The Mecca of Manhood hears the French doors that lead to his balcony opening. Mason turns to see the Butler removing his latex gloves. *
*The Marvelous One nods his head and follows the Butler into the house. They returned to the front living room, which they had prepared. Laying on the ground, looking as if he had just died, is Tremblay. Mason notices one of the crew removing an IV from the arm of Tremblay. *
Why’d a dead man need an IV?
We’re putting fresh blood and fluids into his body. We have the medical examiner on the payroll, but we have to make the body, and everything in this scenario, look as legitimate as possible. There will be eyeballs we do not own, or control, that see this scene, so we must either convince them of our truth or make everything seem authentic enough to paint the doubters as a conspiracy theorist.
Does that really work? Is it really that easy?
Well, people still think Lee Harvey Oswald assassinated Kennedy, so you tell me.
*The President of Pump says nothing but gives a scoff. *
Where’s the gun?
*Mason says nothing as he opens a drawer on the table between the loveseat and couch. As he retrieves the gun, the Butler hands him an empty magazine that the Bishop of Biceps loads into the gun. Another one of the cleaners steps beside of Mason and rubs a small brush on his hand to ensure there is gunpowder residue on his marvelously manicured hands. *
Ok, let’s run through the story one more time to make sure you have it down.
*The Abdominal Adonis once more takes a seat on his white leather couch. He notices there is now blood splattered on the furniture. He takes a deep breath and as he does, another cleaner assistant flicks some sort of liquid onto his face and chest. Mason looks down to see red dots all over his shirt, and can only assume the same is on his face.*
Blood splatters from the close proximity shots. Splattered on you and on the couch.
*The God of Glutes is too shocked to respond as he looks at the blood on his shirt. Mason closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and as he slowly exhales, he begins recounting the story of what happened. *
I had just taken a seat on the couch after finishing my workout. I needed a good laugh, so I was about to turn on the news, but as I was reaching for my remote, my alarm went off on my phone. Instead of the remote, I grabbed my phone and checked my camera and that is when I saw there was someone on my property. I began to dial the community security when I notice the man was carrying a gun. I know the security here isn’t armed, masculine, brave, or very capable, honestly, so I knew it was best to just call the police.
I began to dial 911, but then another alert popped up showing me he was at the front door, and I knew I didn’t have time to call the authorities. That is also when I saw who the man was on my property, Ryan Tremblay. I had seen in the news articles and been alerted by both the FBI and Department of Homeland Defense that he was the man wanted for questioning about my attempted assassination. I didn’t know what to do; I was afraid.
If it were just a fight, I wouldn’t be fearful of him, or any man walking this Earth, but when he has a gun, not even my marvelously massive muscle can stop a hollow point. My head of security had given me a gun, so I grabbed it. I barely know how to use the thing. I’ve only been to the range with him once, and that was just to learn how to handle it.
He kicked my door open, as you can see by the busted trim. I fired a shot and must have missed because he just kept coming for me. He fired back, and I fell on the couch trying to avoid his shots. Then… then… I just pointed and started squeezing until the booms stopped, and the clicking started.
*The Mecca of Manhood opens his eyes, and we find that he wasn’t just restating his scripted story, but was now giving his statement to a homicide detective for the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Department. Instead of sitting on his white leather couch, the Bod God now finds himself sitting at his kitchen table and clutching a shot of espresso.
The Detective looked very empathetic at Mason. The Detective continued to scribble down notes on his notepad. With every stroke of the detective’s pen, Mason could feel his nervousness rise. Mason throws back the shot of espresso. As the empty glass touched the table, it was as if the dam holding back Mason’s emotions broke. *
My God, I’ve killed a man. I’m going to go to jail for the rest of my life. Worse than that, I’m going to go to…
*Mason’s head drops into his hands, his massive shoulders heaving up and down as his emotions get the best of him. Mason feels a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and as he looks up, the Detective is there with a smile. *
Look, you are ok; you did nothing wrong. You defended yourself from a man that tried to kill you, not once, but twice. Florida is a stand your ground state. People have to right to use deadly force if they reasonably believe that such force is necessary to prevent imminent death or great bodily harm to their selves. I’d say this situation more than qualifies for that. This is your home. You don’t have to retreat to a place of safety instead of using deadly force. You were under attack, and you stopped the attacker.
This man had already killed an innocent woman, and that is just the one we know about. I’m sure after we dig into this guy’s background deeper, we are going to find even more dirt on him. You aren’t the criminal, Mr. Mason. No, not at all. You are a hero, and honestly, I can’t wait until you make this state, and this entire country, marvelous.
*The Detective winks at The Mecca of Manhood and slides him his card. *
*The Detective walked back towards the living room to speak with some of the other officers who were investigating the scene. Mason stood up in shock that everything was going so smoothly. The President of Pump made his way to his bedroom in total disbelief at what had just happened, and how far down the rabbit hole his life had gone.
As The Mecca of Manhood shut his bedroom door, he took a few steps forward and fail on his face on the mattress. Mason rolled over, and while laying on his back staring up at the mirrors that hang above his bed. Mason lay there, just staring at himself for a moment, letting everything that was going on sink in.
As it sunk in, Mason realized how powerful he had become. Mason can change lives and take lives. He now had the power to make and break people. Mason wasn’t just about to become the president of the United States he was becoming so much. More, he felt as if he was becoming a god. As this sunk in, a marvelously massive smile crept across the face of the Bod God. *
I’m going to win this all. The battle royal, the Intercontinental championship, and the White House. I am going to get everything I deserve. I am unstoppable. I am untouchable. I am unbeatable. I am the Pinnacle of Perfection. I am the Mecca of Manhood. I AM… SIMPLY MARVELOUS!
*Mason begins laughing maniacally as he stares at himself in the mirror. *