Cartwheels. Very strict form. Very intimidating cartwheels. Crisp as fuck. Military Precision. Fully tactical. Operationally Efficient and Utterly and Entirely Serious. Cartwheels, all the way down to the ring. When he reaches the ring, mid-cartwheel, General Shenanigans bounces against it and falls on his ass. He then squeezes his own nose twice making a loud honking noise. You have never heard a more ferocious nose honk. Inside the ring Tequila Sunrise is alternating between pounding the fuck out of the ring with his chair and looking from the still Fully Fucked Danger, Danger Fontaine to the Miles Away Multi-Dimensional Planes of Existence Exploring Probably Gonna Have a Hell of a Hangover Mole Man MOLE-MAN. He's stuck in a goofy loop. Or maybe he just doesn't want to get charged with First Degree Murder if he whacks the fuck out of either of These Two Thoroughly Fuckled Fighters. That's like 20 to Life. Even with the current DA. He can't do hard time. They don't have Tequila in Prison, Probably. Back outside the ring General Shenanigans is now rocking back and forth honking his nose. It's no longer making a noise. The water level around him is growing. He's now splashing in a puddle basically. Like a small child. Basically. These honks aren't making a noise because the continuing Sprinkling of the Sprinklers, imagine that, Sprinklers Sprinkle. Who ever would have thought? Anyway. The Sprinklers have blown out the Speakers. The Speakers no longer Speak due to the Sprinkler's Sprinkling. The Clown Patriot, General Shenanigans, perhaps realizing that this whole exercise is quickly circling the drain, stands up very suddenly and comes to perfect attention. Like a lighting rod from God he knows what must be done. It is his Duty and he will Definitely Dutifully fulfill his Duty. He stares hard into the ring, catching Tequila Sunrise's attention. They lock eyes. Not in a sexual way. Not like they're gonna make out. In a wrestling way. Not in that kind of wrestling way. Like an actual fighting way. Like they're gonna fight. Tequila Sunrise drops the chair and moves toward the center of the ring. Gently pushing MOLE-MANAGER away with his foot. MOLE-MANAGER continuing to Violently Vomit all the while until his head was under the ropes so he could puke on the floor outside the ring. General Shenanigans hops in the ring, staring daggers at Tequila Sunrise. Tequila Sunrise stares daggers back at him too. I can't think of a better analogy for giving someone a hard ass look ok? Staring daggers is the best you get. Fucking deal with it. Ungrateful. [center]THE STAGE IS SET SHIT IS HAPPENING PROBABLY MAYBE A NEW CHAPTER OF WHATEVER THE FUCK THIS IS IS ABOUT TO BEGIN HOPEFULLY THEY DONT CUT TO COMMERCIALS LIKE RIGHT NOW LIKE RIGHT RIGHT NOW THATS YOUR CUE YOU FUCK CUT TO COMMERCIALS NOW FUCK IT WE'LL DO IT LIVE[/center] As we return from commercials the stage is set and stuff. Everything is exactly as it should be. The plan is coming to fruition. All is right in the world for this brief moment. Aotriamus and Guretrenzo are making out in the rain, like in all those romantic ass movies where folks make out in the rain. Granted normally in those movies the two folks making out in the rain are not supposed to be, oh I don't know, Announcing The Fucking Match. They're not paying attention though. They're just fucking going at it now. Let's make sure we don't film this. It would just be weird. MOLE-ANNOUNCER and MOLE-TRANSLATOR have taken it upon themselves to provide a Soundtrack, now that the Sprinkler System's Sprinkling has Seriously fucked off the Speaker System. They don't know the words to all of The Ultimate Showdown. It's hard to remember them without the video to watch and spark your memory. Even harder when one of you is supposed to be pretending to have a MOLE-MAN accent when he actually lost that accent years ago so he could put food on the table and feed his dear sweet MOLE-FAMILY. They're just singing "Final Countdown" now. Mole Translator is doing the instrumental part with his mouth. Doo Doo - Doo da Doo Doo Doo - Doo da Doo Doo - Doo da Doo Doo Doo - Doo da Doo - Doo da Doo Doo Doo Doo Dooooooooooooo! Danger, Danger Fontaine is still knocked the fuck out. Lucky he landed on his back so he didn't drown in a shallow puddle. Stupid Magnificent Masked and Mustachioed Mother Fucker. I swear to God. He's so stupid. MOLE-MAN is just Messed up. That poor little bastard probably got sucked up into the Metaverse or some shit. Out there talking with the self-transforming-machine-elves and Mark Zuckerberg. May God have mercy on his soul. Tequila Sunrise and General Shenanigans are staring...staring...fuck it they're still both STARING DAGGERS at each other. In the constant rain of the Shitty Speaker fucking up Sprinklers, with the sounds of MOLE-ANNOUNCER and MOLE-TRANSLATOR doing a Delightful Duet of "Final Countdown," standing over the fallen bodies of our beloved champions Danger, Danger Fontaine and MOLE-MAN oh yeah and over in the corner MOLE-MANAGER is still just ABSOLUTELY heaving his fucking guts out. Just Projectile Puking like a MadMole. Dude is just absolutely Drenching the floor with whatever the fuck he's been eating. Goddam. It's ridiculous. With all that shit going on, and Jesus Christ it's a lot of shit going on, Tequila Sunrise and General Shenanigans know what they must do. They meet in the center of the ring, the puke/mole hole in between them, and begin to perform a long Choreographed and Certainly Completely Cool series of movements. Like a Kata. Or a Dance. Or a Haka. Some shit like that. They do it in Perfect Precise unity. Then they speed up a little bit. Then they speed up a little bit. Then they speed up an even more little bit. As it builds up, as the sprinkler water begins to circle them instead of just falling to the ground, as lightning starts striking everywhere somehow but doesn't electrocute anyone somehow because that would immediately kill them all and end this RP, only one participant sees what's coming. Only MOLE-MANAGER. Wiping the puke from his mouth and climbing up to his knees he looks at the blur created by the impossibly fast impossibly coordinated movements of Tequila Sunrise and General Shenanigans. He knows. Somehow MOLE-MANAGER knows. This could only be one thing. Taking a deep breath. Probably questioning every decision he's made that would bring him here in this exact moment. Realizing now for sure that there is no God and that we are all truly desperately hopelessly alone in this life. He lets it all go. For once in his Momentarily Monumentally Miserable MOLE-MANAGER life he just lets go and screams into the night. [center][sub]ahh[/sub] ahh ahhhh ahhhhhh Ahhhhhhhhh AHHHHHHHHHHHH [h3]AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH[/h3] [h2]AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH[/h2][/center] [center]:rock[h1][color=#0000ff][i][b]FUUUUUSSSSIOOOONNNNNNNNNNN![/b][/i][/color][/h1]:rock [img]https://th.bing.com/th/id/OIP.-YY6itn36iQD2EO00HLiHgHaFj?pid=ImgDet&rs=1[/img][/center]