Latest Roleplays
I know.
This is why we can’t have nice things.
All I had to do was sit back and watch Mike sing his song.
Figuratively speaking.
Oh well. I guess now is as good of a time as any to apologize to Jace.
I am the Firestarter now.
Wink. WInk.
“You have the sharpest tool in the shed. Sit there, clean my keyboard, and stick to the fucking script or I’ll knee you.” – Cracker Jack the Vagina Monoblogger.
Oh. Wait. I almost forgot.
“And no vagina jokes, hardee har har.” – Finger pulling, pig snorting, match throwing, adult toddlering, Ovarian Assassinating, Mike Best, on trying to insinuate that Cancer Jiles would be the one telling vagina jokes.
Let it be known that I’ll talk about Lady Troy if I want to.
That wasn’t a vagina joke either.
Promise.
Matter of fact I won’t even have to mention LT’s sex life in order to prove that she sucks.
Happenstance.
She’s forever linked to Dan Ryan who’s a known philanderer of mongoloids. Strike one. Her doppelganger at a shipping and packaging company is more over than she is. Strike two. She is getting stalked by her ex-boyfriend. Strike three.
“She’s all mine.” – Mike Best, while resting his knees in the bushes outside of Lindsay Troy’s apartment. Or is it while resting his knees in her bu…
HA.
What I meant was SURE THING, BOSS MAN JR. I’m on it. Zeb is DED, and you can have the keys to his motorcycle for your date with Troy Summer.
Promise.
BUT, you better think before telling me my business again, or I might just spend the whole 750 next time reminding you of how the bottom of my boots taste.
—
He’s…
innocent, and young.
tender, like a chicken.
soft, like a warm pretzel.
not confident.
not ready for the rigors of war.
unaware of what a callus is, but knows callousness.
also unaware of how to wash his clothes. He smells like it anyway.
fluent in Turdurken, and apparently even understands English.
the owner of a writing about wrestling phobia.
lost to Zion.
lost Championship Gold to Zion.
failed. Repeatedly.
a former Doozer recruit.
uglier than sin. The absolute kind.
a vibrant spirit who should be sitting in a small boat out in the middle of some rough lake with a cement block tied to the end of his fishing line if he still wants to be a part of War Games after this Saturday night.
about to enjoy sleeping with the fishes.
still wet behind the ears. So wet in fact that any body of water he enters raises an inch.
an above ground pool’s worst nightmare.
Georgia’s Peach. Actually prefers it to Bulldog.
one of those.
the Fisher King.
the Marbled Mouth Bass.
the Should Have Been Him Instead of RICK.
my former, annoying, luggage carrying, quasi bearable friend who is a bottom feeding minnow for the Union now.
about to be replaced by Dashing Darin the BA Killer.
Zeb Martin.
You know, up until recently I thought Zeb had become another NPC for Teddy Palmer to go surfing with. You could imagine my surprise when I learned he was not only still on the active roster, but he was going to be pitted against me in a historic HOFC match.
Fucking, Zeb.
Ironic, after I’ve collected Doozer and Bobby’s shells that I have the sudden chance to collect yours. Complete the carton so to speak. Just so you know there’s plenty of room for you on the ship. I have pull with the guy who drives it. I’m sure he’d have no problem with you joining your old friends in the gallows. I know the old gang would love to see you, too. Not to mention, I’m sure your new friends would love to get rid of you.
It’s the rare occasion where everyone wins.
We get another precious towel boy, they get to breathe fresh air knowing they don’t have to carry dead weight into the cage. I mean, there’s a reason they’ve eluded your hook for this long. They don’t trust you. And frankly, I hope it bothers you that they can’t trust you because imagine picking Teddy “Board Rash” Palmer over Cancer fucking Jiles.
Yeah, I didn’t forget.
You did that.
You crumb.
I guess the good news is it worked out for at least one of us, huh Zeb?
I hope you like salt with your zooplankton.
Pucker.
Kiss.
Goodbye.