Post by Furious Julius Fairweather on Apr 13, 2021 14:05:17 GMT -5
“I done told you, motherfucker! I ain’t coming home this week! I don’t give a goddamn what that crazy old bastard has planned for his latest training session! Ever since that motherfucker started teaching me his Five Ways of the Gimmick, I ain’t done nothing but lose! So fuck him and fuck his motherfucking training! I need this one and I need to do it my way!”
The cell phone reception in Tunisia was surprisingly good as Julius walked the outskirts of Rades with little awareness of his surroundings or where he was going. On occasion, a vehicle would pass him by, causing Julius to stick up his thumb and flash his brightest smile. Yet for some reason, perhaps the thick layer of bandages wrapped around his forehead with his afro sticking out the top or the blood-stained suit he was wearing, no vehicles seemed willing to stop.
“Where the fuck do you think I am, motherfucker? I’m in Tunisia! They just let my ass out of the motherfucking hospital and the rest of the crew is already on their way to Brazil! Full disclosure, I thought Brazil was in Africa so I just started walking!”
If anyone had been there to see it, Julius’s predicament may have made for a comical scene as he smiled widely at passers by one moment, and then shouted back into his cell phone with furious anger the next.
“Oh, ha motherfucking ha, Winston. You’re a funny motherfucker, but I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do! My ass is gonna hitchhike to the nearest motherfucking airport and get out of this motherfucking desert! Then I’m gonna roll into Brazil and beat down the motherfuckers who jumped my black ass!”
Julius could hear the approach of another vehicle, forcing him to rest the phone on his shoulder for a moment while he stuck out his thumb and smiled like the Cheshire cat. After receiving nothing more than a strange stare from the Tunisian driver, Julius’ grin turned back into a grimace of anger as he lifted the phone back to his ear.
“Who in the hell do you think it was? I tried to lend a helping hand to that sweet beam of Sunshine and then I get jumped backstage! Of course it was Pyro and Santiago! Cheap-shotting motherfuckers! If my motherfucking fans had voted for Tripp instead of that anorexic scarecrow that lives next door, my ass would be golden right about now!”
Julius shook his head and rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by whatever Winston had to say.
“No, I won’t blame you for fucking up the motherfucking votes anymore! What’s done is done and my ass needs to be looking forward! Hey motherfucker, that reminds me, have they announced my match for next week yet?”
Instead of false joy, irate contortion, or annoyance, Julius’ face scrunched into an expression of confusion.
“What the fuck is a Girl Scout Table Battle Royal?”
Julius paused again as his personal ring announcer and closest confidant explained the match in question.
“Goddamn Christian motherfucking DeMarco...well who else is in the motherfucker?”
There was a longer pause as Julius nodded his head while making mental notes of his upcoming opponents.
“That’s an impressive list, and you can damn sure bet that I’ll have my sights on that flaming sword swallower, but what the hell are we even fighting for?”
By this point, Julius was so invested in the phone call that he barely bothered to stick his thumb up for the next passing vehicle, instead giving them a half-smile and a nod of his bandaged head.
“Say what? A new flavor with the winner’s picture? Well, goddamn motherfucker, that’s all you had to say! There ain’t nobody in that match who loves nationwide exposure more than me! Just one more thing, Winston, text me a list of those motherfucking cookies that are on sale…”
The annoyed expression returned to Julius’ face as he rolled his eyes yet again.
“No, I don’t want you to order any motherfucking cookies! Our asses are about to be swimming in Raspberry Cremes! Now just do what I say and be cool, motherfucker! FJF out!”
Julius pulled the phone away from his ear and shook his head, seriously contemplating the possibility of hiring a new assistant. Then, remembering how well his bodyguard search had gone, he shrugged off the thought and slid his phone into his pocket. Just then, he could see a vehicle approaching from the horizon, and having had enough of the North African dry heat, Julius decided to give up on asking for a ride in a polite manner. Walking to the center of the road, he began to stare down the approaching bus as if he could stop it with the power of his bulging eyes alone.
The run-down bus, it’s roof covered by a pile of crates, bags, and chicken cages, continued to bear down on him, it’s horn blaring out a warning. Still, Julius stood his ground as he would if facing down a mortal opponent. Finally, as the large vehicle’s approach was drawing near enough to cause concern, the driver applied the brakes and brought the bus to a rattling halt upon the dusty road. Finally, Julius allowed himself to smile as he made his way toward the passenger door.
“Say there motherfucker, you wouldn’t happen to be heading toward an airport, would you?”
“أنت مجنون اللعنة الأمريكية!”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought! Got room for one more?”
“اذهب إلى الجحيم يا خنزير الرأسمالي!”
“I’ll take that as a yes!”
With that, Julius climbed up the steps of the bus, passed the irate driver, and gave a big smile to the poverty-stricken passengers who stared at him with a mix of confusion and disbelief.
“Sup’ motherfuckers? Y’all wanna hear a motherfucking rhyme?”
**********
Julius found himself at an airport a couple of hours later, and with a series of connecting flights planned out before him, the most suave motherfucker on Twitter found that he had some time to kill. With his upcoming match and opponents fresh in his mind, along with a list of the latest offerings from the Girl Scouts of America, he decided it would be the perfect time to cut his promo for the next episode of Fallout.
“A Girl Scout Table Battle Royal, or as they say in France, A Table Royale with Les Filles de Biscuit! Well sign my ass up, because I have a busload of aggression to take out and a ring full of motherfuckers sounds like the cure! But what might a suave motherfucker like me expect in this kind of match? I’m glad you asked, motherfuckers!”
“First off, we’ve got an old motherfucking favorite in those chocolate-covered peanut butter morsels known as Tagalongs! Now this motherfucking cookie has a lot going on, and it’s been in the catalogue for a while now. You could even say that their mix of creamy chocolate, smooth peanut butter, and a crunchy cookie is a hardcore combination! I guess that’s why these motherfuckers remind me a little bit of Daniel Horror and Havoc!”
“While they may not be as smooth as the cookie in question, those two motherfuckers have a lot going on for them. They both like to take shit to the extreme, and in this kind of match, they might even be the odds-on favorites. Then again, don’t nobody want to see their ugly faces on a box of motherfucking cookies! The only thing Daniel and Havoc have in common with the Girl Scouts is that they’re the kind of creepy motherfuckers those little girls tell stories about when they sit around a campfire!”
“Yeah, you two motherfuckers may be hardcore, you might even be the favorites of some cookie-connoisseurs out there, but allow me to let you both in on a little secret! When I get my hands on a Tagalong, I like to peel the chocolate off first, then scoop out that layer of peanut butter, and finally break into that motherfucking shortbread! Well I’m about to treat you sick sons of bitches the same motherfucking way! If I have to peel off your pasty skin like a layer of chocolate, scoop out your peanut butter brains, and then break every one of your bones like a crispy cookie, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do!”
“My reasons for wanting to eliminate your asses are two-fold! One, ain’t nobody in the match that wants their face delivered to homes across America more than me, and two, I’m performing a motherfucking public service, cause don’t nobody want to eat a jelly-filled cookie after looking at you ugly motherfuckers on the wrapper! Sorry Daniel and Havoc, but when it comes to motherfuckers that can win this match, you’re just gonna be living up to the name of your motherfucking cookie counterpart. You won’t be anything more than Tagalongs.”
“Which brings me to the next cookie on the list, which just so happens to be one of my favorites, the caramel, chocolate, coconut, and cookie combination known as the Samoa! Just think about all that shit for a second, and you’ll come to the same conclusion as me. This cookie is one crazy combination of ingredients, but somehow it all works out and delivers a sweet and tasty package! Seeing as how we don’t have any Samoan wrestlers in this match, I can’t help but think of crazy combinations in sweet packages, just like Alice Knight.”
“Goddamn, this girl is on fire! She won her debut match on Pay Per View and followed that up by beating yours truly. Yet somehow, I still can’t help but like the motherfucker! She may be bat-shit crazy, but she’s got it where it counts, and that’s between the ropes! There’s so much going on in Alice’s brain that she’s hard to get a handle on, kind of like a motherfucking Samoa cookie. Is she crazy or brilliant? Do you love coconut or hate it? What happens when you add some extra sweetness and a smooth delivery? Does that change your mind on that flaky, white fruit?”
“She got one over on Julius when I needed a comeback win the most, and for that I give her some major props! I may not like it, but at least I can respect it. Nobody in this match should take Alice Knight for granted, because when it’s all said and done, that cute little psycho might have #Fallhoot trending on Twitter! Just not at my expense. Not this time. I may like all of her crazy ingredients and respect the complete package, but I can’t let that girl beat me twice in a row. I just can’t.”
“So Alice, it ain’t nothing personal, but if it comes down to you and me, I’m gonna have to throw that pretty little ass over the top rope through a ringside table. At least I’ll do you a favor and aim for the table of Samoa's so all that sweet craziness can feel at home.”
“Confession time, motherfuckers. I don’t know what the hell a Trefoil is. What does that fucking word even mean? I may be bad, I may be suave, but one thing I ain’t never been is a motherfucking dictionary enthusiast. So fuck you, Trefoils! Just tell me what the fuck you’re supposed to be! I guess that brings me to Pixie Sloan, cause I don’t know what the fuck that girl is about either!”
“Look, I know she won her debut match on Pay Per View just like Alice Knight, and I also know she won herself a big match last week, also much like The Night Owl. What I don’t know, is just what in the hell Pixie Sloan is supposed to be! You look like the villain in a Mad Max movie, motherfucker!”
“Still, I know better than to judge a book by its motherfucking cover! Just like a Trefoil might be delicious, you might be a dark horse in this match! Then again, you might just be the kind of cookie that nobody orders because its presentation is so fucking obtuse! Either way, you can bet your punk ass that I’m gonna do my motherfucking research to find out as much about you as I can. Are you the kind of opponent that I choke out, knock out, or tap out? Maybe I should dip you in milk to get the full motherfucking effect. Then again, maybe I should just throw your ass out and focus on those other cookies with layers of depth!”
“No, I don’t know what Pixie Sloan is all about. I don’t know how to approach her in this match. I don’t even know whether or not I like you, but I’m still putting a check next to your name on my order form. By the time Fallout gets here, I’ll have a better idea of who Pixie Sloan is, you can bet your ass on that!”
Julius takes a brief pause from his rant to scroll through his phone, and after a few moments he looks back up at the stationary camera.
“Well, shit. I guess a Trefoil is a plain, shortbread cookie named after a three-leafed flower or some shit. If there's one thing I already know about Pixie, it's that she's anything but plain. That might ruin my analogy just a little, but I promised to figure out Pixie Sloan, and if I can figure out what a Trefoil is, you can damn sure bet that I’ll figure her out too!”
“Well Do-Si-Motherfucking-Do! If it isn’t the most boring motherfucking cookie on the list! A peanut butter sandwich cookie? Really? The only way this motherfucker could get more boring is if it was plain vanilla. So with that in mind, allow me to talk a little bit about Logan Burgess and Kevin Hunter. Do you motherfuckers even work here or did DeMarco call a Brazilian Indie Fed to fill up this match?”
“I’m only kidding. I know you both fucking work here, if you can call it work. So far you’ve both earned your motherfucking paychecks by laying on your backs. You’ve shown us that you’re both a pair of plain cookies with a really thin layer of goo spread around to add the smallest bit of flavor. Having either of your motherfucking pictures on the newest flavor from a beloved cookie brand would be the easiest way to make sure those motherfuckers ain’t in the catalogue next year.”
“So on behalf of cookie-lovers from coast-to-coast, I’ll be happy to take your plain asses out of the motherfucking equation. Do-Si-Do your asses back to the dark matches, cause this battle royal is about main event talent making a motherfucking impact! Those mouth-breathing virgins that show up an hour before the show starts might actually appreciate you. Just like the motherfucking cookie in question, you can tide them over until the flavors they really want make their arrival!”
“Every once in a while, those motherfucking Girl Scouts like to surprise us with something new. This year they decided to give us a French Toast cookie instead of filling our bellies with a more established flavor. In the vein of being new, we’ve got The Gym Coach and Rapture, two new faces on the Fallout brand. Just like the motherfucking Toast-Yays, some people are going to order a box just to get a taste of what the new flavor brings to the table.”
“Yeah, I ordered a box of Toast-Yays this year. I ripped that motherfucker open and took a big bite of what it was offering. Since then, those cookies have sat on a shelf in my cupboard and gotten really stale. Is that what we can expect from Rapture and The Gym Coach? Probably. They can arrive on the scene with some hype and various levels of expectation, but after they fail to perform in the battle royal, they’ll find themselves growing stale on the motherfucking shelf.”
“It’s almost a crime that DeMarco is putting you boys in a battle royal of this magnitude, cause you’d have to be as impressive as the motherfucking Thin Mint to make it through this match. Those motherfuckers debuted in 1959 and they’re still going strong. Toast-Yays? I fucking doubt we’ll see them for much longer. Rapture and The Gym Coach? We hardly knew you.”
“Now here’s a motherfucking cookie that’s worth talking about! Sure, toffee flavor may be the cookie of choice for senior citizens, but at least they’ve got a fanbase! Now personally, I haven’t tried these motherfuckers yet, but it’s only a matter of time before I’m lured their way. I haven’t had the chance to try Eli Atlas or Kagome Akaibara in the ring yet either, but they’ve been around for a spell so we were bound to cross paths sooner or later.”
“I’ve got nothing against Eli and Kagome. They’ve both had their share of impressive victories, and like the Toffee-Tastics, they’re interesting enough to grab my motherfucking attention. I’m actually looking forward to giving you two motherfuckers a taste test, cause I like what I’ve seen so far. Maybe I’m not the kind of man who thrives on competition. In fact, I’m more about the glory. While there may not be a lot of glory involved when it comes to eliminating either of you, I’ll still relish the opportunity to try something new.”
“Besides, just like the Toffee-Tastics are busy getting the attention of nursing home residents, you two motherfuckers have other things on your mind. Eli is probably ready to get that Ascension Title back, and it sure looks like Kagome has her sights set on the Noble Championship. That’s just fine, cause those belts have a respectable target demographic, just not the kind that Fallout’s gonna put front and center in their advertising campaigns.”
“You may want to be front and center on those promo posters just like Toffee-Tastics want the cover of the motherfucking order form. It’s just not meant to be. At least not yet. Maybe the day will come when toffee flavored cookies are all the rage, but until then they should just be happy to have their little niche. Kagome and Eli, I’m genuinely sorry, but this just ain’t your breakout week.”
“I mentioned these motherfuckers a little bit earlier, and when it comes to Girl Scout Cookies, these Thin Mints are the standard bearer. Fallout is still a young brand, but based on his performances so far, Jason Long is doing his best to be a stand-out on DeMarco’s tour of colorful psychopaths. I even like to pair my Thin Mints up with a hot cup of coffee flavored with sweat cream, and just like that combination, Jason Long has his own sweet sidekick in Savannah Sunshine.”
“I respect the Thin Mint. It’s not always flashy, but goddamn if it doesn’t deliver! The Thin Mint is a cookie you can count on, and seeing as how we might just have some adversaries in common, the day may come where I need to count on Jason and Savannah. I didn’t come to your rescue simply because I’m a generous motherfucker. I ran down to that ring because I fucking hate Drago Santiago and Pyro. Hell, I would have come to the rescue if those motherfuckers were beating down on DeMarco himself, and we all know that nobody likes his ass!”
“It didn’t hurt for me to see Savannah as a good kid with a promising future. The fact that Jason is somehow turning into an honorable motherfucker didn’t hurt either. Just make no mistake, I may appreciate the Thin Mint, but I’d still stomp that box of cookies under my foot if it meant I had a chance at fortune and fame. In the battle royal, that’s the kind of situation we’re gonna find ourselves in. I’ll respect your asses and I might even keep an eye out for shenanigans to make sure you get a fair shake, but when it comes down to winning the motherfucker, well, all bets are off.”
“Thin Mints are respectable and reliable, especially when paired with a nice cup of my favorite beverage. Most of all, they’re refreshing. One might even say they’re cool. So Jason and Savannah, we cool. At least until it comes down to two of us.”
“I fucking hate lemon. I hate lemon-flavored desserts even more. No matter how many years go by, there’s always a motherfucking lemon cookie in that goddamn catalogue. We just can’t seem to get rid of them. Well guess what, Pyro. I hate your ass even more. We haven’t liked each other since day one, and while I can’t really pinpoint why, sometimes you just have to accept the fact that some motherfuckers ain’t meant to get along.”
“You’re turning into the motherfucking cockroach of Fallout, cause no matter how many times someone puts your ass down, you’re still hanging around the next week. Now your skanky ass has latched onto Drago Santiago, and it’s just like a cockroach to hang out in the dark and dirty corners of the world. Of course when you turn on the lights, those motherfuckers go running for cover. I guess that’s what happened when I decided to interject in your little turn on Jason and Savannah. I hit that ring like someone flipped a switch, and sure enough, you scrambled for some motherfucking cover.”
“Congratulations on finding a friend. No matter how sour and gross they are, it proves that even Lemon-Ups have someone who likes them. Those fucking cookies even have positive messages printed on them, like “I’m a Go-Getter”. So maybe Drago can whisper sweet words of encouragement in your ear while you rub two sticks together in a desperate attempt to light that Girl Scout campfire. Bad news for you, cause The Weatherman is calling for a stormfront to roll in, and I’m gonna wash over your campsite like a motherfucking hurricane. You can’t start a fire hot enough to survive what I’m bringing your way, and even if it costs me the goddamn match, I’m gonna make damn sure your ass eats a motherfucking table.”
“So the next time you and Drago decide to play doctor or whatever it is you do in the bowels of arenas across this world, you’d better think twice. As far as I’m concerned, our mutual dislike has grown into all-out hatred, and there ain’t nothing I’d rather do than put out your last burning embers with the heel of my motherfucking boot. Whether I look across that ring and see you as a cockroach, a flickering flame, or a box of motherfucking Lemon-Ups, I will take the ultimate satisfaction in stomping on you until there’s nothing left.”
“When we fought at Wired Consequences, it was all about business. Now it’s personal. Call it a cliché if you want, but you’ve both decided you want to be the faces of Fallout, which just so happens to be my main goal in this motherfucking business. I’ve promised to throw the other twelve motherfuckers in this match over the top rope, but I’d rather see any of their ugly faces on that box of cookies than to give you the satisfaction of pulling one over on me again. You’re standing in my way of fortune and glory, matchstick, and that shit I will not abide by. You may as well have slapped my momma or put a hold on my bank account, cause furious doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel when I think of you.”
As travelers in the airport wander by, occasionally stopping to give Julius curious looks, the Furious One holds his scowl while staring into the camera. As thoughts of Pyro and Drago Santiago begin to fade away from his mind like a fart in the wind, a smile of satisfaction starts to creep over his face. Without the benefit of Smellavision, viewers are left wondering whether or not Julius has really passed gas. As they contemplate that distinct possibility, he focuses his attention on the last cookie on the list.
“Finally we get to the heart of the matter, the gooey, raspberry filling at the center of it all. Somehow, Christian has arranged for the winner of this match to get his or her picture on the newest Girl Scout Cookie. One can only assume that a Raspberry Cream is a delicious, jelly-filled shortbread sandwich covered in a smooth layer of milk chocolate. A fine cookie like that is sweet, durable, and provides a nice kick of tartness to round things out. Guess what, motherfuckers? If any of us fit that motherfucking description, it’s a smooth-talking, roundhouse-kicking, punch-delivering, bite of tart satisfaction like me.”
“None of you can deny it. From my chocolate exterior to my flavorful core, I am the motherfucking Raspberry Cream in this match. I may not be everyone’s favorite cookie, but all you have to do is take a bite to know what I’m all about. You might love me, you might hate me, but you will respect what I’m bringing to the motherfucking table. And just what am bringing to those tables you might ask? That’s easy. I’m laying out a buffet of Fallout’s assorted cookies, from Lemon-Up Pyro to Tagalongs like Havoc, each and every one of you motherfuckers are on the menu.”
“I’ve gone out of my way to put my beautiful fucking face on everything from lunchboxes to ladies underwear, just to expand my brand and make a motherfucking dollar. Now I’ve got an opportunity to put this bright smile and beady-eyed stare on what will soon be America’s favorite cookie. In the process, I might even have the chance to settle some scores and win over some new customers. So deliver all of those flavors my way, motherfuckers, cause this one belongs to the goddamn Cookie Monster named Julius Fairweather.”
