Post by Nick Hunter on Mar 25, 2019 3:45:13 GMT
Alright, before I say anything else, lemme just say Fighting Tigers represent. All the way, baby. All the way. We can do this. We got this. Now, the goddamn Roulette.
This match is some shit. I remember just how much this match fucked me up last year. I also remember Dean Harper's ass getting pissy that we eliminated his boy Lockwood. Well, lemme just say you better clench up, motherfucker, 'cause we ain't done throwing bitches like it's going out of style. Each one of you motherfuckers got a number on your back, and Team Diversity Hire gonna come collect.
Nate, motherfucker! They stuck you up at number two, but boy, you better be there when I get in, 'cause ain't no way I'm letting your ass get an early night. If I gotta come out of the back, catch your ass, and run you around to get you back on the apron, I will right now. Don't you fuckin' think I won't, hooker. I will bridal carry you right across the goddamn finish line and you know it.
Pax? Throw 'em up, knock 'em down. My man, you already got one strap, and if any of our asses has the best numbers on going all the way, it's the man coming out at number thirty. We'll clear the fuckin' way best we can, but that's all we got. You wanna make it big, you gotta be the man to make it there. Don't let us down. Suplex Saint-ass Extreme Champion-ass. Proud of you, man. Kill it.
Now, onto the bitches that're gonna get these fuckin' hands. The Pack? Three sets of ass-beatings. Infamous? Three fuckin' more, especially for Rob motherfucking "I thought blackface was ever okay" Diamond. No, I'm not fucking letting it go! I ain't EVER letting it go! You fucking know how damaging that shit is! You know what kind of message you're sending walking out in that shit! And now you're trying to act like some fucking beacon? Some role model? Nah, motherfucker. Some shit don't ever get undone. That shit? That's gonna haunt you till the day you fucking die. As it fucking should.
I'ma whip asses like I'm driving a herd of donkeys here. All these Chicken McNobodies they got making up the numbers? Who the fuck calls their child Ducky? That's just begging to get your ass kicked. I'm sorry, man. This ain't even personal, it's your parents' fault. The rest of y'all ain't got nothing else coming but the beating of a lifetime. Welcome to the big leagues, motherfuckers! Swing upon or get swung upon, how that shit goes!
End of the day, we gonna make sure we send the right fuckin' person to Night of the Immortals. Hold onto your asses. You ain't seen shit yet. Trust.
The door opens, and Nick is already halfway out of the chair. "What happened? What's going on? I gotta beat that ass? Talk to me, Nate."
"Some shit." Nate replies, a bit hollow in his voice. "Some fucking shit."
"Fuck." Nick nods, gesturing to the couch. "Sit down, hooker, I got you." He begins raiding the fridge like his life depends on it, searching frantically. "This a vodka kind of night?"
"You goddamned fucking right it is." Nate's voice is choked from the couch, and Nick moves with all the speed he can, swiping the bottle of vodka from the counter and grabbing a pair of beers for himself. He walks back to the couch, handing Nate the bottle, and sets the beers down on the side table next to him.
Nate looks at the bottle, shaking his head. "You expect me to just drink this out of the bottle like some cheap-ass ho?"
Nick cocks an eyebrow at Nate. "After the night it sounds like you've had? Bitch, I expect that thing to be half gone before we get through the first episode of whatever your ass wants to binge."
Nate's eyebrows go up this time. "Did you just give me free license to binge tonight?"
"Did I stutter?"
"Nah, just..." Nate shakes his head. "Fuck. You never do that. You always bitch that it's gonna be Designing Women and that you hate that show and that you'd rather have holes drilled in your head or some shit."
"Man, that is NOT true." Nick pauses for a second. "I'd say something way more creative, like...I dunno, I'd rather listen to James Gilmore promos on repeat for nine hours or some shit. I don't know, man. I'm giving you full license here, don't waste it."
Nate scoops up the remote with his free hand, looking to Nick. "You ARE aware that we're watching Designing Women, are you not?"
Nick clenches his teeth, sighing, and nods. "I was aware the moment the words left my mouth, Nathaniel. You are in a state, the worst state I've seen you in in fucking years. So even if I think the show is incomprehensible as shit and don't get ninety percent of the humor, it makes your ass laugh. It makes your ass happy. So I'll watch it with you."
Nate sighs, nodding, and looks ahead silently for a moment before speaking. "He fuckin' proposed."
Nick pauses midway through opening one of his beers and cracks his neck, shrugging as he stands up. “Alright. I guess bitch gotta die.”
Nate reaches out, grabbing Nick’s waistband, and pulls him back down onto the couch. “Bitch, no. You do not want to post bail for that murder rap, no matter how justifiable your ass thinks it is.”
Nick pauses, opening his mouth. “But, and listen to me here, what if I really want to?”
“NICHOLAS!” Nick blinks at the use of his full name before briefly admitting that he had been the first to go to that well. Nate shakes his head, uncapping the vodka bottle and taking a shot from it with a grimace. “Fuck. No. You’re keeping your ass planted on this couch. We are watching some fucking Designing Women. Maybe some Steel Magnolias later if I feel like crying my balls off. But you are not going out there and catching a rap sheet for me.”
“...aight.” Nick nods slowly, picking up his beer. “Just putting it out there that I totally would.”
“Sure.” Nate shrugs. “I feel that.” He offers a fistbump, one which Nick quickly reciprocates, and falls back into the couch, browsing through their streaming services. “Shit. It ain’t on Netflix, it ain’t on Hulu…”
“Good thing your bitch ass jumped on the DVD sets at a thrift store, huh?” Nick grins, standing up and walking over to the DVD shelf. “Two questions. First, is this a watch in order kinda binge or a ‘hunt and find episodes’ kinda deal? Second…” He pauses, sighing. “Would you be okay with someone else coming over?”
Nate tenses. “Who?”
Nick inhales awkwardly. “...I figured you might need some more friends, and I know you and Tosha always get along…”
Nate stares back at him, perplexed and a little angry. “I JUST broke up with my boyfriend, and you’re asking if your girlfriend can come over to the post-breakup mourning? Are you fucking joking?”
Nick puts his hands up. “Look, you know we ain’t exactly gonna make it some huge love-in. Y’all two in the same room means I get roasted to shit, and I know she likes Designing Women too. Besides…” Nick rubs the back of his neck. “She been talking about this late-night bakery, and I know your ass was looking forward to dessert.”
Nate moans, rubbing his eyes. “Fuuuck. Dessert. This was gonna be my cheat day and everything...you promise you two ain’t gonna go all couple on my gay ass?”
Nick shakes his head. “Nah. It ain’t really been like that for a good minute. She my friend, but we ain’t acting like we’re dating, y’know?”
Nate pauses, shaking his head. “No. No I don’t. You’re gonna need to explain this one to me, Nick.”
Nick kneels down by the DVD player, slotting in the first disc of Season 1, and walks back to the couch, dropping down next to Nate. He sighs, picking back up his beer. “Aight. So, she still fine. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just, like...things feel different, y’know?”
Nate nods, taking another drink from his vodka, and we fade out on the Saints chatting on the couch as the Designing Women intro plays, Nick putting an arm around Nate’s shoulders as they pull closer.
This match is some shit. I remember just how much this match fucked me up last year. I also remember Dean Harper's ass getting pissy that we eliminated his boy Lockwood. Well, lemme just say you better clench up, motherfucker, 'cause we ain't done throwing bitches like it's going out of style. Each one of you motherfuckers got a number on your back, and Team Diversity Hire gonna come collect.
Nate, motherfucker! They stuck you up at number two, but boy, you better be there when I get in, 'cause ain't no way I'm letting your ass get an early night. If I gotta come out of the back, catch your ass, and run you around to get you back on the apron, I will right now. Don't you fuckin' think I won't, hooker. I will bridal carry you right across the goddamn finish line and you know it.
Pax? Throw 'em up, knock 'em down. My man, you already got one strap, and if any of our asses has the best numbers on going all the way, it's the man coming out at number thirty. We'll clear the fuckin' way best we can, but that's all we got. You wanna make it big, you gotta be the man to make it there. Don't let us down. Suplex Saint-ass Extreme Champion-ass. Proud of you, man. Kill it.
Now, onto the bitches that're gonna get these fuckin' hands. The Pack? Three sets of ass-beatings. Infamous? Three fuckin' more, especially for Rob motherfucking "I thought blackface was ever okay" Diamond. No, I'm not fucking letting it go! I ain't EVER letting it go! You fucking know how damaging that shit is! You know what kind of message you're sending walking out in that shit! And now you're trying to act like some fucking beacon? Some role model? Nah, motherfucker. Some shit don't ever get undone. That shit? That's gonna haunt you till the day you fucking die. As it fucking should.
I'ma whip asses like I'm driving a herd of donkeys here. All these Chicken McNobodies they got making up the numbers? Who the fuck calls their child Ducky? That's just begging to get your ass kicked. I'm sorry, man. This ain't even personal, it's your parents' fault. The rest of y'all ain't got nothing else coming but the beating of a lifetime. Welcome to the big leagues, motherfuckers! Swing upon or get swung upon, how that shit goes!
End of the day, we gonna make sure we send the right fuckin' person to Night of the Immortals. Hold onto your asses. You ain't seen shit yet. Trust.
The door opens, and Nick is already halfway out of the chair. "What happened? What's going on? I gotta beat that ass? Talk to me, Nate."
"Some shit." Nate replies, a bit hollow in his voice. "Some fucking shit."
"Fuck." Nick nods, gesturing to the couch. "Sit down, hooker, I got you." He begins raiding the fridge like his life depends on it, searching frantically. "This a vodka kind of night?"
"You goddamned fucking right it is." Nate's voice is choked from the couch, and Nick moves with all the speed he can, swiping the bottle of vodka from the counter and grabbing a pair of beers for himself. He walks back to the couch, handing Nate the bottle, and sets the beers down on the side table next to him.
Nate looks at the bottle, shaking his head. "You expect me to just drink this out of the bottle like some cheap-ass ho?"
Nick cocks an eyebrow at Nate. "After the night it sounds like you've had? Bitch, I expect that thing to be half gone before we get through the first episode of whatever your ass wants to binge."
Nate's eyebrows go up this time. "Did you just give me free license to binge tonight?"
"Did I stutter?"
"Nah, just..." Nate shakes his head. "Fuck. You never do that. You always bitch that it's gonna be Designing Women and that you hate that show and that you'd rather have holes drilled in your head or some shit."
"Man, that is NOT true." Nick pauses for a second. "I'd say something way more creative, like...I dunno, I'd rather listen to James Gilmore promos on repeat for nine hours or some shit. I don't know, man. I'm giving you full license here, don't waste it."
Nate scoops up the remote with his free hand, looking to Nick. "You ARE aware that we're watching Designing Women, are you not?"
Nick clenches his teeth, sighing, and nods. "I was aware the moment the words left my mouth, Nathaniel. You are in a state, the worst state I've seen you in in fucking years. So even if I think the show is incomprehensible as shit and don't get ninety percent of the humor, it makes your ass laugh. It makes your ass happy. So I'll watch it with you."
Nate sighs, nodding, and looks ahead silently for a moment before speaking. "He fuckin' proposed."
Nick pauses midway through opening one of his beers and cracks his neck, shrugging as he stands up. “Alright. I guess bitch gotta die.”
Nate reaches out, grabbing Nick’s waistband, and pulls him back down onto the couch. “Bitch, no. You do not want to post bail for that murder rap, no matter how justifiable your ass thinks it is.”
Nick pauses, opening his mouth. “But, and listen to me here, what if I really want to?”
“NICHOLAS!” Nick blinks at the use of his full name before briefly admitting that he had been the first to go to that well. Nate shakes his head, uncapping the vodka bottle and taking a shot from it with a grimace. “Fuck. No. You’re keeping your ass planted on this couch. We are watching some fucking Designing Women. Maybe some Steel Magnolias later if I feel like crying my balls off. But you are not going out there and catching a rap sheet for me.”
“...aight.” Nick nods slowly, picking up his beer. “Just putting it out there that I totally would.”
“Sure.” Nate shrugs. “I feel that.” He offers a fistbump, one which Nick quickly reciprocates, and falls back into the couch, browsing through their streaming services. “Shit. It ain’t on Netflix, it ain’t on Hulu…”
“Good thing your bitch ass jumped on the DVD sets at a thrift store, huh?” Nick grins, standing up and walking over to the DVD shelf. “Two questions. First, is this a watch in order kinda binge or a ‘hunt and find episodes’ kinda deal? Second…” He pauses, sighing. “Would you be okay with someone else coming over?”
Nate tenses. “Who?”
Nick inhales awkwardly. “...I figured you might need some more friends, and I know you and Tosha always get along…”
Nate stares back at him, perplexed and a little angry. “I JUST broke up with my boyfriend, and you’re asking if your girlfriend can come over to the post-breakup mourning? Are you fucking joking?”
Nick puts his hands up. “Look, you know we ain’t exactly gonna make it some huge love-in. Y’all two in the same room means I get roasted to shit, and I know she likes Designing Women too. Besides…” Nick rubs the back of his neck. “She been talking about this late-night bakery, and I know your ass was looking forward to dessert.”
Nate moans, rubbing his eyes. “Fuuuck. Dessert. This was gonna be my cheat day and everything...you promise you two ain’t gonna go all couple on my gay ass?”
Nick shakes his head. “Nah. It ain’t really been like that for a good minute. She my friend, but we ain’t acting like we’re dating, y’know?”
Nate pauses, shaking his head. “No. No I don’t. You’re gonna need to explain this one to me, Nick.”
Nick kneels down by the DVD player, slotting in the first disc of Season 1, and walks back to the couch, dropping down next to Nate. He sighs, picking back up his beer. “Aight. So, she still fine. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just, like...things feel different, y’know?”
Nate nods, taking another drink from his vodka, and we fade out on the Saints chatting on the couch as the Designing Women intro plays, Nick putting an arm around Nate’s shoulders as they pull closer.
Well howdy there pardner.