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I hate Roulette
Topic Started: Jan 23 2011, 07:50 AM (487 Views)
Reaper3142
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Roulette…a game that many could play but a game that very few could consider themselves good at. Course everyone has their suggestions on how you should play the game. Always bet on black, bet on fives, things of those natures. I don’t care for roulette; it’s a game that’s strictly up to chance. Takes no skill to randomly pick a damn number. Give me poker where you have to fake out people any day.

Whatever, in this case it’s not exactly like it really matters. Anyone who stands in my way is going to fall. I don’t care if it’s Nightmare and his little Tapout title or if I luck up and come across Wildman for the major strap. Hell put me against one of those little corporation sons of bitches so I can remove them from existence and spare me the headache of hearing the filth that comes from their pathetic mouths.

Not really as though I like anyone on the damn roster anyway. I suppose Dean Martin and Roscoe P. Coltrane aint so bad and Ice’s been good to me over the years. So I wouldn’t like to go against any of them really but anyone else would be fair game. Can’t really say there’s anyone I specially want to fight though either. Those Company guys are technically a pain in the ass but most of them are a waste of my time. Rider seems to be the most talented of the underlings. The Johnny Venereal Disease guy has talent as well. Then you got that little Colt forty five bastage that’s just a waste of damn oxygen. I hate that annoying little bugger.

Maybe I could get one of the big fishes though, that of course being Nightmare. The hitman as it were for the whole merry parade of jerkoffs. But alas I digress; the end result doesn’t really matter to me. Hell I could get the night off and be happy, more time for my buddy Jim.

As some people may come aware of for some unknown reason Ice has me bunking with that prissy ass pansy known as Bobby Dean. It’s not an ideal situation but I’m making the best of it that I can. Meanwhile this sorry excuse of a man has decided to follow my lead and go to the internet. He figures if an asshole like me has a couple million fans, then he should have tens of millions. Unfortunately the only person interested in anything this twerp has to say is his momma. Although I did read it, and he appears to be a necrophiliac. As it would appear he has an unhealthy attraction to my mother.

Mind you those of you who’ve followed my career over the years know. My mother has been dead sense I was a young teen. That means she’s been gone for approximately thirty some odd years. That means by now she’s straight up bone with a bit of gooey flesh strips left on her. I do believe Bobby Dean having Anal sex with my mother would be even more disturbing than the Kflaw incident of ole. Not to mention as I’m almost positive she doesn’t have anything that resembles an anal cavity.

None the less despite these things I’m actually okay with him wanting to desecrate the remains of my mother. If for no other reason than I’m pretty sure he’d never get laid again after the wenches in this world knew where the little bobby had been. I personally think that would be fucking hilarious. It’d be effectively possibly the first time ever someone had successfully cockblocked himself for the rest of his life.

So my drunks of the night I send unto you this challenge. Go find Mr. Dean’s profile and follow him. Once you’re a follower send that pompous dickweed that you want him to infact follow through on this fascination with my mother. Some people may be disturbed by this prospect, but hell it’s been forever I’m fully over the death of my family. There is nothing left there of the people I knew, hell I don’t even really remember the fucking people.

Anyways, to some other matters at hand. Nothing much to really say about this weeks match as I mentioned before it’s a roulette style so it’s not really like I can train for a particular person. So as such I will be doing a basic training regime that consists of twelve ounce curls and a few keg stands. Those interested in helping me in this training regime and are in the area should hit up some of the local bars along the strip as I most likely will end up at each of them throughout the night

Till next time

The asshole known as Reaper

Hamish J Graham

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The scene changes over to the image of Reaper sitting at a desk. A desktop computer sitting infront of him. He does a Google search for the term “massive donkey cock impales man” Then cuts off the monitor and hits enter. While the monitor is off he reaches in the back and unplugs the mouse and the keyboard. Taking both of these items with him he heads over to his bed. There a bag is waiting with what appears to be the laptop inside of it. Reaper tosses the keyboard and mouse in the bag as well. In the background we can hear Bobby Dean singing in the bathroom evidently beautifying himself for the evening. Reaper closes the bag and tosses it over his shoulder.
Reaper: I’ll teach that son of a bitch to try and spank it while I’m in the room. See how much he likes it when all the porn he can get is the image of some juice head juicing seabiscuit.

Reaper walks over the cable box attached to the television and yanks the cord out from the back of it thusly breaking the needle off inside the box. Reaper turns and heads out of the room leaving Bobby inside. Reaper heads downstairs and towards the exit. It wasn’t normally his style to invite people out on his drinking outages. It was only recently that he had started to do such. He had realized that given his fame and slightly norority as a drinker that people would be more than happy to buy him beer and liquor in an attempt to out drink the mighty Reaper. Unfortunately for them these attempts were normally rather costly, and fortunately for Reaper no one had successfully done it.

Although even if they were able to get the raging alcoholic to give in, would he really be worse off in any way shape or form? If anything the other fellow would just have something to brag about to his buddies who most likely wouldn’t believe him anyway. It’s like if you went out and managed to take Natalie Portman home with you, no matter what no one would believe you. So it would be a more personal trophy than anything. Although the idea of banging Natalie Portman far overshadows the trophy you’d get for actually outdrinking Reaper. Infact comparing the two impossible tasks isn’t even fair as they’re not even in the same leagues. You probably have more of a chance banging Natalie Portman.

This week would provide Reaper with an interesting challenge, having to be ready for anybody is normally something most would take very serious. Not Reaper though, oh no he just rather take everything lightly and just not prepare at all. If he knew for a fact he would be facing someone of the caliber as Nightmare, then he’d be preparing for the war. On the other hand he may get stuck facing someone like El Locon or the dreaded DJ. In which case all that preparation would just seem like a complete waste of time and effort. If there was anything Reaper hated almost as much as wasted alcohol it was wasted time and effort.

Despite that fact he wasn’t taking this week lightly. He had a real opportunity for an opportunity as it were. He just didn’t believe in getting his hopes up for much of anything anymore let alone some stupid game of chance. He was a believer that only luck there was is the type you made for yourself. So maybe he’d look into a way to rig the game before it started? This brings us back to the beginning. If one was to play roulette, I have my own philosophy about it. It’s not bet on fives or black. Rather bet on the number that you placed the magnet under…because that my friend is what it’s all about. Stack the deck and win the game, because in the end it’s not a matter of how it happened, but rather just who walked away with the most.

That my friends in our lovable drunks head was going to be himself, no if ands or buts about it.

Fade to black.
Hamish Graham
September 19th 1963- April 4th 2013
Long Live The Reaper


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