Post by themeccaofmanhood on Apr 28, 2023 14:13:11 GMT -5
“You’re sure this is the land you want?” the slack-jawed yokel asked me.
Normally, The Bod God would verbally eviscerate this dickie-do (when your belly sticks our father than your dick does) diseased individual, but he has a M.A.M 24 sticker on the back of his beat-up truck, and he doesn’t want to alienate a potential voter. Instead, the Big Natty Daddy flashes his pearly white veneers at this overweight country bumpkin and says, “I couldn’t think of a patch of land I’d want to own more.”.
The Mecca of Manhood looks over the sprawling 3.25 acres of land in El Paso he is set to purchase. He puts his hands on his hips and smiles as he soaks in the Vitamin D of the sun, not to be confused with the Vitamin D Sonya Benson soaked in from Big Pun. The Bod God has plans to flatten everything on the property and build his southern campaign headquarters, along with the newest Marvelous Muscle franchise on the ground.
“You done got all your permits from the city to level this stuff?”, the current owner of the property asked.
“Of course”, the Bishop of Biceps responds.
I know how to play the political game. I know the right palms to grease, and the right ones to crush to get what I want done. Corruption like this is something I will both exploit and get rid of once I’m in office.
“Shew boy, you gonna finish what old Trump started and drain that swamp, ain’t ya?’, the slack-jawed yokel asks as he signs the contracts on the hood of his truck. The Abdominal Adonis smiles proudly as he watches the pen finish its stroke.
I’m not only going to drain the swamp, but I’m going to have it filled in with concrete and build upon it.
“Hot d@mn, I can’t wait to vote for you”, the heavyweight hick says as he hands the contract over to Mason.
“Thank you, remember, every vote counts”, The Bod God says as he takes the contract.
The Mecca of Manhood looks at the contract with a sense of pride, and accomplishment. The longer he looks it at, the more his mind drifts back to the first major contract he ever signed, his contract with the Dallas Cowboys when they had drafted him eleventh overall in the first round of the 2005 NFL Draft. His memory took him back to the late hours of the night after the draft as he partied it up with friends and college teammates at a Manhattan nightclub.
Mason felt on top of the world, after all, he had just become a millionaire after signing with one of the biggest sports franchises in the world, all at the age of twenty-three, why wouldn’t he be on top of the world? Four women surrounded Mason on the dance floor. Two of them, who seem very close with each other, grab Mason by his tie and pull him into the women’s bathroom of the club.
Once in the bathroom, the blonde pulls Mason closer and shoves her tongue down his throat. Meanwhile, the brunette pulls a small vial from her bra and begins tapping the white powder inside of it onto the sink counter. The blonde releases her lip lock, but the brunette quickly takes her place as the blonde snorts one of the three lines on the counter.
“Your turn stud”, the brunette says as she frees her mouth from the Mecca of Manhood’s mouth.
After a round of “pickle the cucumber” with each woman in the handicapped tall, the Boca Bad Boy needed more of the white powder. The trio emptied the small vial faster than the two women had drained Mason’s… well, you know. This did not set well with the Deity of Deltoids. He was riding high and wasn’t ready to come crashing down.
We need more. Call your supplier.
“I think we’ve had enough. Why don’t we take this party back to my apartment?”, the brunette answered.
Mason did not take this well, he was jacked to the gills and high as a kite. Mason grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed her against the wall, not in an assaulting way, but in an affirmative way. Mason glared into her eyes, signifying he was not in the mood for games.
Make the f**king call.
Darlene, the brunette, was nervous. Her eyes darted back and forth as the wheels spun in her head. Nervously she answered, “Look, I didn’t get it. I’m not even from here. I just transferred to NYU from UTEP. A guy hired me and her to entertain you tonight. She had the stuff on her.".
Mason sighed with dissatisfaction as he let go of the brunette's shoulders and clasped her hand. Mason escorted the brunette from the bathroom to the bar, where the blonde had gone to order another round of drinks. Mason grabs her by the arm with his free hand and says, “Come on”, as he pulls her away from the bar.
Once outside of the club, Becky, the blonde, twisted her arm free and aggressively asked, “What the hell are you doing”.
Mason let go of Darlene and gave both women an assertive stare before answering firmly.
“Why don’t the three of us just go back to my apartment and have a nightcap?”, Becky asked as she tugged at Mason’s Ed Hardy shirt.
Mason shoved her hand away and dug into his pocket, producing a wad of cash. Mason threw it at her as he said, “Darlene already told me someone hired you two to entertain me. So, here’s a bonus. Now get the blow and we’ll go back to your apartment. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be UP! All night”.
Becky smiled and said, “ok, it’s your money”, as she began to pick the cash up.
A few hours, and a few eightballs later, all three members of the party have their hearts beating out of their chests. The Mecca of Manhood is spraying down Danielle with his hose on the fire escape, needing the cool New York air to lower his body temperature as he sweats almost as profusely as his hips are pumping. After extinguishing the burning loins of Danielle, Mason went to the couch where Becky was cutting the remainder of the second eightball into six fat lines.
As she finished, Mason snorted one of the lines and threw his head back, proclaiming, “FFFUUUUU… AHHH… THIS IS AMAZING!!!”.
Mason hears Becky snorting one of the lines, and this brings his head back down as the naked blonde leans back on the couch beside Mason. Danielle, who had wrapped herself in a thin sheet, is finishing a cigarette on the fire escape.
I’m good. I think I need a break. I feel like my heart is about to burst out of my chest.
I SAID IT’S YOUR TURN! YOU’RE BEING PAID TO ENTERTAIN ME!
“Ok, you’re right”, she replies as she flips the Newport off the fire escape to the ally below.
Danielle joined Mason and Becky on the couch and hesitated when Becky handed her the rolled-up dollar bill. Mason glared at Danielle. He didn’t want to party alone, and after all, she was the one who got him into this. Becky nodded her head reassuringly, and Danielle snorted the line. Danielle sits back as well, but her breathing became very rapid and shallow, then suddenly she snapped forward and vomited on the coffee table.
“WHAT THE F**K!?!” Mason shouted as he jumped to his feet.
Danielle then fell to the floor and started twitching and convulsing. This caused Becky to jump to her feet as well, all while saying, “OH SH*T! OH SH*T! OH SH*T!”.
WHAT THE F**K IS GOING ON!?!
“SHE’S F**KING ODING!!!”, Becky yells as she drops to her knees and starts scooping vomit from Danielle’s mouth.
Becky gets Danielle’s throat cleared out and rolls Danielle on her back, and realizes Danielle isn’t breathing. “OH, SH*T! THIS ISN’T GOOD!”, Beck says as she reaches for her phone.
Mason grabs her hand as she does and suspiciously asks, “Who are you calling?”.
NO! F**K NO! YOU CAN’T CALL THEM!
Mason jerks the phone away, his mind now racing faster than his heart. Becky looks terrified as Danielle is becoming a darker shade of blue in front of them. Finally, Mason nods his head and hands her the phone.
Call whoever hired you. I can take a couple of guesses who it was, but just call them.
Beck takes the and frantically dials a number. A few minutes later and Mason’s agent, John Steinborn, is in the room with two representatives from the Dallas Cowboys, and a doctor. Mason and Becky are now both dressed as The Mecca of Manhood stands in the small kitchen with Steinborn and the reps from the Cowboys as the doctor works on Danielle.
Mason is a wreck as he looks over at the doctor. Mason stops biting his nails long enough to rub his face with his hands.
She had some coke at the club, and then we came back here to party alone and she had more, and then the next thing I know she was on the floor shaking and vomiting. Jesus, this is so bad.
You think? Bad? No, it’s f**king Terrible Mike.
Ugh, what are we going to do, John?
Before Steinborn can answer, the Doctor walks into the small kitchen. Everyone looks at the doctor, and he shakes his head from side to side while slowly exhaling. Mason looks over to see Danielle’s body covered with a blanket.
Mike, look, just take a few deep breaths. We will handle this.
Steinborn, the Cowboy reps, and the Doctor step into the living room and form a small circle. They are talking too low for Mason to hear them, but he sees one of the Cowboy reps call Becky over. Mason watches as tears begin to flow more heavily down Becky’s face. One of the Cowboy’s official shakes his head and then hands her an envelope that is busting at the seams.
It seems like I’ve always had someone cleaning up after me. But now, it is time that the President of Pump starts cleaning things up himself. I’m going to be cleaning this county up when I become president, but before then I am going to start cleaning up the WGWF. I’m going to start by taking out the trash, and YES, I mean you, Cholo, because you are most definitely trash. You’re a lazy slacker, who would rather party and have fun than take responsibility for anything and make WGWF a better place. Cholo, you can’t take yourelf,seriously, so other people can’t take you seriously, which means the Intercontinental championship, and WGWF cannot be taken seriously.
Cholo, I have targeted you since I signed with WGWF because quite frankly you embody everything I hate in a quote-unquote man. You’re lazy. You’re an attention whore. You have a flabby physique that is barely above dad-bod status. And worst of all, you’re a coward. Your flabby physique is evidence enough that you are lazy, but let’s look deeper into that claim.
You’ve taken the easy road every time you could. You’d rather sit ringside with a bottom-shelf mixed drink, and some bottom-shelf ladies of the night than you would compete. Time after time, when I challenged you to get into the ring with me, you made a joke about the whole situation before tucking tail and running. You cost me the match against Busted Mittens because you knew you couldn’t beat me in the finals. In the captain’s battle royal, the very one that took two men and a Spencer Adams to eliminate me from, when you saw me heading in your direction, he threw yourself over the top rope to get away from me.
Now it is time to pay the piper Cholo. The chickens have come home to roost because you finally have to step in the ring with me one on one. And, I have to admit that as much as I wanted to beat you in the finals of that Intercontinental title tournament, it’s going to be even more enjoyable to take that title from you now that you have had it. Knowing that I will be prying your prized possession from your hands, and taking your greatest accomplishment away from you, my, oh my, how sweet that feeling will be. As much as I will enjoy breaking your body, I will enjoy breaking you mentally and spiritually even more. Taking that title will be second, only to take your joy.
Mason whistles and waves his hand, getting the bulldozer operator’s attention. Mason points at the grave of Danielle, and the bulldozer turns and heads toward him. Mason taps the tombstone and then begins to walk across the cemetery as the bulldozer heads for Danielle’s tombstone.
Cholo, I’m burying the past, because I have to focus on the future. That means that our match at Brawl will be the last time you and I ever have a match against one another. I’m done with you, and at Brawl I’m going to do what Paco should have done a long time ago, end you, and bury you. Honestly, there is no wonder that man is an alcoholic. If I had to raise you and those Malvado mush for brains, I’d have Chris Benoit’d the situation.
The world would be a better place without you, Cholo. You, Victor, Hector, and Paco are nothing but the dregs of society. An old drunk, his paranoid schizophrenic kids, and the orphan nephew who is nothing more than a narcissist, who deep down is a sniveling little b*tch. You hide behind your good guy, fun time Charlie act, but I know that deep down you’re a real piece of sh*t. A real piece of sh*t.If a piece of sh*t f**ked a piece of sh*t and got an STD, you’re that piece of sh*t
You might have the fans fooled, and you might have earned some sympathy points with your Latino remix of the Batman origin story, but I know you’re a fake, a fraud, and a phony. I guess it’s not your fault, most orphans are starved for attention and will do anything for a little hit of the dopamine that comes with love and affection that you missed out on as a child.
The thing is Cholo, even if your parents didn’t go down like the ghetto version of Thomas and Martha Wayne, you’d still be a pathetic loser. It’s who you were born to be. Being a loser is in your DNA. This isn’t part of my, it’s a PSA to anyone who may breed with Cholo. The chromosomes from his mom and dad create losers, and they name them Giovanni.
The Titan of Tenacity stops walking as he comes to the back of two tombstones that sit side by side. One is old and weathered. It is wide, as if two spaces have been dug next to each other for one large grave. The grass on it is grown over, showing it has been there for several years. The other was fresh and new, with a recently excavated grave.d grave. The bulldozer heads toward The Bod God, but he holds his hand up, stopping it. As the dozer stops, Mason walks over to it and holds his hand out. The operator hands him a sledgehammer that is stored on the back of the dozer.
The Mecca of Manhood walks around to the front of the old grave. The sledgehammer rest on his shoulder as he stares at the tombstone with disdain. The hate in his eyes changes to a smirk as he swings the sledgehammer and smashes the tombstone. It falls back to the ground, but Mason
continues. He lifts the sledgehammer over his head and slams it down into the tombstone continuously until it shatters into pieces. After breaking the granite into several pieces, Mason tosses the sledgehammer aside. In the broken pieces, you can see the name “Santana” and “Armando”.
The Bod God dusts his hands off as he gives a cold stare.
I wanted to remove that one personally, just as I want to personally remove that Intercontinental championship from you. You’re a fake champion, a fake idol, and a fake human being. I may be an a$$hole, but at least I’m honest about it. You’re a fake nice guy, like the dude that H-bombs a girl at a house party cause you can’t get laid. It’s time for you to go, and after I break you at Brawl, they’ll sweep up the shattered pieces that remain of you and toss them in the trash where you belong.
The Mecca of Manhood moves to the fresh grave and begins to laugh as he looks at it.
~ Climax.