Post by Mike Musket on Dec 19, 2018 10:52:30 GMT -5
Mike Musket sits around the campfire with his several folks in his party. You might remember that dorky reporter fella Sagara Fusanosuke a/k/a Bootsy Mitchell and you haven’t forgotten that lovable pup Crazy Dog. But wouldn’t you know that pale sumbitch Count Dracula joined the group ever since Mike Musket hit him with a backdrop driver!
As all four fellas are roasting some meats on a grill overtop the flames, Mike lets out a wistful sigh.
“By god I’m gonna miss MAX-J. All the fightin’ and scrappin’ we done here in Japan has been the tops, gentlemen. Even you ole Drac, though you’re new to the party.”
Crazy Dog barks and nuzzles Mike’s leg. Count Dracula nods with courtesy.
Bootsy has got his phone in his pocket for once.
“What will you do, Mike-san?”
Mike shrugs, his shoulders in his flannel shirt bounce up and down.
“Hell, I don’t know. I ain’t much thinkin’ like that, no sir. No, I’m thinkin’ bout my good buddy Zenki. Oh, I know he’s the orneriest muppet this side o’ Dodge. And goddamn, he hits ya with that palm strike o’ his and you’d seen so many lights you think you’d a-died and gone to New York City.”
Mike smiles with the thoughtfulness of a wise bear.
“Hell, I mighta got the slip on him here and there. But you can’t argue that he’s been top notch since this company opened.”
And then his thoughtfulness slips away and the fire in his eyes reflects the fire that surrounds them.
“We been tusslin’ and grapplin’ since day uno and by god Mike Musket is here to last like a goddamn made-in-America redwood forest. I tell ya, boys, Big Ole Country ain’t going out on his last rodeo like some sassy pants New England banker, readin’ his fancy French poetry and cryin’ a puddle into his fine wine.”
Mike stands up and thumps his flannel chest.
“I was the first MAX Heavyweight Champion. And by god I’m gonna be the last!”
He flexes his meaty biceps. Count Dracula cowers in fear.
“You see this sweet lariat o’ mine? By god it’ll kiss ya like a Ford F-150 haulin’ ass down I-90! See, me and my good buddy Zenki we’re bout to rumble up and down the road. Oh, I know he’s got tricks just like a damn otter tryin to steal yer brisket. Yes, a damn otter, I said it! But I’ve tangled with otters and lived to tell the tale and I’ve tangled with Zenki and cradled the Heavyweight title in my arms like Sweet Baby Jesus fresh out the manger!”
Mike takes a hatchet off his belt and throws it in a tree. It kills a crazy lookin’ spider, chopping it in half, and sticks in the wood. Mike laughs triumphantly.
“Oh yes, boys! Me and Zenki, we gonna have a battle for the ages I tell ya, but it’s gonna be Big Ole Country that comes out on top. And then the winner gets to face that Buddhist monk, that man o’ the cloth, Tokyo Zombie they call him. Well, I’m just respectfully call him Mister Monk, but then after that the cloth comes off and it’s go time! He may not give up, but he damn well won’t be able to escape my Wolf Trap Sharpshooter, no sir! Hell, I got more hooks than an arm-wrestling tournament between pirates and fishermen!”
Mike sits down once again on his rock and looks at the three other members of his group.
“Yes, boys that’s what it’s all about. See here that’s why I love the tussle. Ya get strong and ya make new friends. Hell, even Count Dracula come ‘round after I suplexed the shit out of him!”
He picks up his canteen and raises it into the air in a toast.
“Fellas, it’s been a hell of a run. And I tell ya this... we're gonna win the MAX Heavyweight Championship, have ourselves a Christmas a feast, and defend the title again to ring in the new year! And here's to smackin’ them Demon Brigade fellas upside the head one last time! AROOOOOOO!!”
They all raise their canteens and start loading up their plates with steak. As the smoke disappears into the night, the fire still burns warmly as the fellas talk and laugh of adventures, old and upcoming…
As all four fellas are roasting some meats on a grill overtop the flames, Mike lets out a wistful sigh.
“By god I’m gonna miss MAX-J. All the fightin’ and scrappin’ we done here in Japan has been the tops, gentlemen. Even you ole Drac, though you’re new to the party.”
Crazy Dog barks and nuzzles Mike’s leg. Count Dracula nods with courtesy.
Bootsy has got his phone in his pocket for once.
“What will you do, Mike-san?”
Mike shrugs, his shoulders in his flannel shirt bounce up and down.
“Hell, I don’t know. I ain’t much thinkin’ like that, no sir. No, I’m thinkin’ bout my good buddy Zenki. Oh, I know he’s the orneriest muppet this side o’ Dodge. And goddamn, he hits ya with that palm strike o’ his and you’d seen so many lights you think you’d a-died and gone to New York City.”
Mike smiles with the thoughtfulness of a wise bear.
“Hell, I mighta got the slip on him here and there. But you can’t argue that he’s been top notch since this company opened.”
And then his thoughtfulness slips away and the fire in his eyes reflects the fire that surrounds them.
“We been tusslin’ and grapplin’ since day uno and by god Mike Musket is here to last like a goddamn made-in-America redwood forest. I tell ya, boys, Big Ole Country ain’t going out on his last rodeo like some sassy pants New England banker, readin’ his fancy French poetry and cryin’ a puddle into his fine wine.”
Mike stands up and thumps his flannel chest.
“I was the first MAX Heavyweight Champion. And by god I’m gonna be the last!”
He flexes his meaty biceps. Count Dracula cowers in fear.
“You see this sweet lariat o’ mine? By god it’ll kiss ya like a Ford F-150 haulin’ ass down I-90! See, me and my good buddy Zenki we’re bout to rumble up and down the road. Oh, I know he’s got tricks just like a damn otter tryin to steal yer brisket. Yes, a damn otter, I said it! But I’ve tangled with otters and lived to tell the tale and I’ve tangled with Zenki and cradled the Heavyweight title in my arms like Sweet Baby Jesus fresh out the manger!”
Mike takes a hatchet off his belt and throws it in a tree. It kills a crazy lookin’ spider, chopping it in half, and sticks in the wood. Mike laughs triumphantly.
“Oh yes, boys! Me and Zenki, we gonna have a battle for the ages I tell ya, but it’s gonna be Big Ole Country that comes out on top. And then the winner gets to face that Buddhist monk, that man o’ the cloth, Tokyo Zombie they call him. Well, I’m just respectfully call him Mister Monk, but then after that the cloth comes off and it’s go time! He may not give up, but he damn well won’t be able to escape my Wolf Trap Sharpshooter, no sir! Hell, I got more hooks than an arm-wrestling tournament between pirates and fishermen!”
Mike sits down once again on his rock and looks at the three other members of his group.
“Yes, boys that’s what it’s all about. See here that’s why I love the tussle. Ya get strong and ya make new friends. Hell, even Count Dracula come ‘round after I suplexed the shit out of him!”
He picks up his canteen and raises it into the air in a toast.
“Fellas, it’s been a hell of a run. And I tell ya this... we're gonna win the MAX Heavyweight Championship, have ourselves a Christmas a feast, and defend the title again to ring in the new year! And here's to smackin’ them Demon Brigade fellas upside the head one last time! AROOOOOOO!!”
They all raise their canteens and start loading up their plates with steak. As the smoke disappears into the night, the fire still burns warmly as the fellas talk and laugh of adventures, old and upcoming…