Post by themeccaofmanhood on Jun 29, 2023 9:46:57 GMT -5
*The Mecca of Manhood sits bare-chested in front of a large vanity mirror. His hair is looking impeccable, not a single strand is out of place. His face is sporting rough stubble, which is unusual for him, but adds a bit of rugged handsomeness to his already beautiful face. The Bod God rubs his chin, admiring his sculpted jawline.
No need for that. You can’t improve upon perfection.
Oh, you are so right, Mr. Mason. I don’t know how they expect me, or anyone, to make you look any better than you already do.
*The President of Pump gives her a wink as he releases her wrist. She pulls her hand to her face, touching her wrist to her cheek, knowing that it is as close to feeling the Bod God against her basic five flesh. *
They should be ready for you in just a few minutes. Are you ready for them?
When you stay ready, you don’t have to get ready.
*She giggles like a schoolgirl and exits the massive fifth-wheel trailer that they transformed into a dressing room for The Deity of Delts. This fifth wheel is decorated with leather furniture, mahogany tables, and many leather-bound books, clearly signifying how big of a deal the Marvelous One is. As the no-name-needed makeup artist leaves, the Boca Bad Boy stares at himself in the mirror again, admiring his well-earned, and hard worked-for-physique. As the thoughts of how superior he is to the rest of the human race come to the forefront of his mind, knowing he has time until they are ready for him to exit this trailer that is nicer than any home Cholo has ever had, the Mecca of Manhood decides to use this time to spit that hot fire that only he can on his so-called “opponent”. *
Another week, and another ménage à trois. I’m referring to last night with two blondes, not this Brawl beat down I’m about to put on Badwomon and Beata Bay Bane. No, that is a triple-threat match, which is an oxymoron, because there is only one threat in that match, and that is the Mecca Of Manhood. Not Sphincter Adams, and certainly not Sac Bane. Badwomon, cause the only balls you got are the ones banging off your chin in the booker man’s office. The walking embodiment of taking a push to get a push.
You’re out here thinking you're a superstar and that team Caedus wouldn’t have won War Games without you. B*tch please, Team Caedus didn’t even pick you, they were stuck with you. If I’m keeping it one hundred, the only reason they put you on Team Caedus is that I turned down the offer with Jimmy came begging me to be on his team. I’ve got the DM’s to prove it, just like you got the BM’s to prove you’re the drizzling sh*ts.
No cap, all facts. I didn’t know or care who Sphincter Adams was until that war games battle royal. The battle royal that took two and a half men to eliminate me from. I’ll let you decide who was the fat kid, who was the alcoholic coke head, and who is the irritatingly obnoxious, sniveling, insufferable little prick. Here’s a hint, Sphincter is the irritatingly obnoxious, sniveling, insufferable little prick. Ever since that rumble, I’ve wanted to knock his dick in the dirt, but I’ve heard he has an inny instead of an outie, so I’ll just have to settle for knocking his teeth so far down his throat that he won’t know if he’s spitting or sh*tting.
The first time I ever saw you, you said seeing me fail would have you pitching a tent. Guess that is a solo tent, cause you do exactly what you are, a jerk off. But, of course, when you’re a physical and mental midget with a haircut that looks like cat turds dripping down your head, you’re probably only left with the option to jerk off. Gives a whole new meaning to no one loves Sphincter Adams, like Sphincter Adams loves Sphincter Adams.
Oh, you got Adilene though, right? Well, once she lay eyes on the Mecca of Manhood, she’ll have no use for the Shrine of Sh*tstains. I bet I have her on her back and pinned even faster than I put you on your back, Sphincter. Oh yeah, you got Calaway swinging from your bean sprout now, don’t you? How fitting you’re aligning yourself with the girl named after the golf club, cause you two share the same look resembling a golf club. Long and skinny body, with a fat head that has a face that smacks into a lot of little white balls.
I knew you were old Mac, but I didn’t know you were cuckolded. Guess you are used to having someone else do the work for you that you can’t do, though. Rather, it is someone bringing your wife to climax, or someone dragging your beer belly butt to success. Tristan Slater and Bam Miller deserve double pay for carrying you in their respective tag teams.
That is respective, not respected because there isn’t a damn thing to be respected about you, Beta B*tch Bane. Over-hyped, overrated, over the hill, and clearly overfed. Sac Bane, The only thing you aren’t over is over with the marks. Trying to act like you don’t give a sh*t about the fans, well, news flash Sac Bane. The fans haven’t given a sh*t about you for a long time. Bet you see that new Sac Bane WGWF shirt on the back of some third-world country kid in less than six months. Those shirts won’t sell at the WGWF store, they won’t sell at Dollar General, and they won’t sell at Goodwill, because Sac Bane can’t sell a single ticket.
Sac Bane, trying to claim he’s special forces. Yeah, Special Ed Forces. I’d never believe you were a crossing guard, let alone a Ranger or a Seal. You couldn’t be a crossing guard for two reasons. One, because you just let everyone run through the lane like you let everyone run through your old lady. And two, because you can’t stop a thing, especially the M.A.M Train.
How are old Beta Boy Sac Bane and Badwomon Sphincter Adams going to stop the Mecca of Manhood? Simple, they can’t and they won’t. I’m running over these namby-pamby pussies, and they’ll suffer a catastrophic loss of the pressure, worse than a submarine when I slam their asses deeper than the Titanic. If that triggers you, then you’re too softer than Sac Bane’s flaccid phallus.
Just like Sac Bane’s flaccid phallus, and Sphincter Adams micro member, you two can’t f**k with me. While you two struggle to find your place, I’m this company’s and soon-to-be this country’s face. Your careers are headed for a necropolis, while I’ll remain SIMPLY MARVELOUS!!!
*There is a knock at the door of the fifth wheel that draws the attention of The Messiah of Muscle. After rising from his seat, the Bod God takes a moment to admire his body in the mirror once more. Under these multiple bright lights and freshly clean mirrors, any minor imperfection or blemish would stand out, and there were absolutely none to be found on The Mecca of Manhood.
Mason opens the door to his trailer and there is a blinding white light that engulfs him and the view. As the white light dims and vision returns to a peculiar scene of the Sultan of Swole on horseback. The Bod God was still shirtless, his grooming and clothing no longer looked much at all like his current-day self, he looks more like a barbarian from the Middle Ages.
Mason The Barbarian was a formidable sight as he rode on horseback through the deserted mountainside, his powerful steed carrying him with unwavering determination. Towering above the land, Mason's imposing figure was a testament to his strength and prowess as a warrior. Clad in rugged leather armor that bore the scars of countless battles, Mason's muscles rippled beneath the weight of his weapons and the burdens of his past. His long, unkempt hair flowed freely in the wind, matching the wildness of his spirit. With a stumbled beard framing his weathered face and intense eyes gleaming with determination, he exuded an aura of both danger and resilience, the same one he exuded inside the ring.
As the sound of thundering hooves reverberated through the desolate landscape, sound bouncing off of the rocky mountainside, the echoes of which sent tremors through the hearts of those who pursued him. The mountainside seemed to tremble in anticipation of the clash between Mason The Barbarian and the Cimmerian soldiers pursuing him, whose sheer numbers would seem unbeatable, even by the mighty barbarian.
With each passing moment, the distance between Mason and the relentless horde of Cimmerian soldiers narrowed. Their war cries pierced the air, fueled by the desire to capture the legendary warrior who had thwarted their advances time and time again, increasing the bounty on his head each time. Mason remained resolute, his grip on his massive battle-axe tightening, ready to face the coming storm.
As they weaved through narrow mountain paths and leaped over treacherous ravines, Mason's determination was unwavering. The mountainside provided a natural advantage, with its rugged terrain favoring his knowledge of the land. He expertly maneuvered through the obstacles, exploiting every advantage to stay one step ahead of his pursuers.
The clash between Mason and the Cimmerian soldiers was inevitable. But, Mason The Barbarian was as cunning as he was powerful. As he rode through a narrow passage, Mason accelerated his steed, gaining some distance, but was riding at a pace his beautiful beast could not keep up. As he exited the narrow passage, Mason pulled on the reigns, bringing his horse to a stop.
Mason leaped from his saddle, with his massive battle ax in hand. Mason stood his ground as he watched the horde closing in. With a snarl, Mason lifted the ax over his head, but showed patience, waiting as they closed the distance. Then with a mighty downward swing, Mason sliced through a rope that was tied to a rock. Suddenly, a rockslide began, as boulders began tumbling down the mountainside into the narrow passage, crushing the middle section of the Cimmerian horde, and dividing the front and back of their forces with a small mountain.
The battle was not over though, and with a thunderous roar, Mason The Barbarian charged headlong into the heart of the horde’s front army. With deadly precision, his battle axe arced through the air as he leaped into the fray. The impact of his steel blade sliced the first Cimmerian in half. The screams of terror from the other Cimmerian soldiers resonated through the mountains. Mason's brute strength and battle-hardened skills, coupled with his clever strategy had quickly turned the tides of this war in his favor.
Utilizing his sheer might and unwavering determination, Mason fought his way through the Cimmerian soldiers, their resolve, and weak steel crumbling before his relentless assault, and strength. Each swing of his mighty battle axe sent enemies' limbs flying. Mason made short work of the frontal forces of the Cimmerian army.
With a guttural growl, Mason begins charging up the hill, pulling his Atlantean sword from his back sheath as he does. At the summit of the hill, Mason The Barbarian cast a shadow over the reaming and fearful Cimmerian soldiers. With a mighty leap, Mason jumps from the top of the hill and back into battle.
“I know, I know. I will bathe when we get to the river.”, Mason says to his horse as he slides his battle ax into the saddle.
Do you know what this is Hengreon? This box holds the medallion of Doom. This medallion can also be used as a key to gain entry into Doom’s castle. I will slide in like the snake that HE IS, and take his head.
*Mason releases the reigns, and with both hands lifts the box over his head before smashing it down onto a rock shattering it. Mason slips away the splinters of the wood uncovering the medallion. Mason takes it into his hand and lifts it up. Mason stares at the medallion carved out of jade, with a sun, a moon, and two snakes facing one another.
Mason snarls as his massive fist covers the medallion. Mason shoves the medallion into a saddle bag and mounts his stead. With a tug of the reigns, Hengreon leaves the grass and begins heading toward the sunset.
Day turns to night, and the light of the sunset is replaced by the light of a campfire. Mason has laid his saddle on the ground resting against it as he watches the fire and rests his battle-worn body. As Mason stares at the fire, he pulls the medallion from the saddle bag and holds it up. As Mason examines it in the light of the fire, the flames dancing behind it take his memories back to the first time he ever saw this haunting signet.
The same symbol dances against fire, but this time it is iron and mounted to the head of a knight. The knight is one of many soldiers of Emporer Thulsa Doom. The soldier was standing in front of a hut that was burning down. This hut looked much like the others of this village, but this one was the home of Mason who at this time was a child.
Mason was lying in the mud as he looked up at his burning home. He turns his head to see his mother (played by “THE JESSICA”, Jessica Biel) on her knees, being held there by two of the Soldiers of Doom. “This one will fetch a big price at market”, the soldier said as he squeezed her face.
As if hearing the words of the soldier, Mason’s father, and the village king, Crum (played by the smaller and less jacked, Alexander Skarsgård) burst through the door of the flaming cabin. His body was pierced with arrows, and littered with cuts, but he would not stop fighting. Crum, who is duel-wielding knives, charged the men who held his wife.
A tear rolls down her face, and the shot focuses on the teary eye of the queen and transitions to the tear-filled eye of Mason The Barbarian. Mason’s fist clutched the medallion tightly, as he grits his teeth. *
I will avenge my people and my family. The kingdom of Doom will be ended by my sword when I take the head of Thulsa Doom, and…
*The Mecca of Manhood is cut off by the sound of someone shouting. “CUUUUTTTT!!!”, the director yells from off-scene.
Mason turns around to see the horse playing Hengreon taking a giant sh*t, also known as a Spencer Adams in the middle of the shot. In frustration, the Bod God throws the medallion into the fake fire as he gets to his feet and the scene fades out. *
~The climax of this amazing adventure and soon-to-be summer blockbuster will continue as we head into Summer Madness and the Snake Pit match.