We have a few kids who are nationally ranked grapplers and usually bring home belts and katanas from NAGA tournaments. It's crazy watching them go. I wish this was around when I was a kid, instead of the shorin-ryu dojo that I got to play around in.
Originally Posted by Devil
I hope I'm not inconveniencing you little shitboats, but UNDERGROUND PITFIGHTING needs some room to stretch its legs. Move over, why don't ya'?
Alternate Match #1
As the air gets colder with each passing day and life outside comes dribbling to halt, the employees of the East Brunswick Red Lobster on Highway 18 grow more and more somber. It won't be long until their dimly-lit enclave of casual dining is gutted from the inside out, forcing them to tread the streets at night and see where else they can ply their trade. The cooks are particularly despondent. With leathery, salt-caked hands, they prepare each dish with a glint of trepidation in their eyes. For years, they've felt secure in their pursuit of culinary mediocrity. Nowadays, however, they know they could be out the door at any moment.
Ed Lauzon: New England Clam Chowder. Extra potatoes, hold the semen. Got it.
A slightly built man with an Anton LaVey beard, Lauzon is the undisputed darling of the kitchen. With the grace of a sand dancer and the speed of a panther, he weaves to-and-fro in the bustling backrooms of the restaurant, greasing every cog of the operation wherever he can. He's the linchpin of the entire outfit, the man who keeps everything running smoothly. In this little microcosm of a cookie-cutter seafood eatery, nobody stands taller. Everywhere else, however, he is nothing. That's why more than any other employee, he's terrified of his company's imminent death and what that means for his future. As each dismal workday passes, he can't help but think about all the years he's toiled, not only to earn a living but also to mean something to SOMEBODY... All for nothing.
The dread paralyses his mind and spirit, making his chest tighten like a wind-up toy. Still, the show must go on.
Ed Lauzon: I think the new waiter, Mark, ate most of the parsley during his break, but that's ok. I can just use the cheese grater on a green sponge over the soup and the customer won't know the difference.
Dane Mullark: You better get a new pack from the basement, then. I used up all the sponges we had to soak up Riley's vaginal discharge in the stove.
Ed Lauzon: Alright.
Lauzon hangs up his apron and steps out onto the main floor, a vacant expression hanging heavy on his face. He makes sure to grab the greeter's ass as he trudges towards the basement door, but it's more out of unconscious habit than anything else. The lights downstairs haven't been replaced in an eternity due to his boss's apathy, so he needs to pick up the flashlight on the ledge before going down. The rail-less staircase shakes like a fun house floor as he descends into the frigid cellar below. It's almost unthinkable that such a cozy family restaurant could rest on top of such a dilapidated crypt. Walking downstairs is like walking into Hell. A desolate, icy Hell where souls burn out rather than suffer.
Lauzon placidly scans the storage wall with his light to see where he can find the sponges he's looking for. He sees a yellow pack, but they won't do. By the looks of things, he may have to dig through the trash upstairs and just use the ones full of Riley's Chlamydia pus. Before turning around, however, Lauzon idly wonders how far back the basement actually goes. Normally he wouldn't lollygag while there's work to be done, but the inevitable layoff that's been looming over him has eroded his conscientiousness somewhat in recent weeks.
Walking down deeper into the barren tomb that normally stays hidden beneath his feet, Lauzon curiously looks around to find anything of interest. There is nothing. It's apparent the restaurant only uses the area around the bottom of the steps for storage, but the addled chef continues penetrating further and further into the darkness just to kill time. It takes several minutes of mindless wandering before Lauzon snaps out of his trance and decides to go back upstairs. He's just about to turn around when he suddenly hears a peculiar noise emanating from the black depths of the cellar.
Lauzon spins on his heels and shines his light on a door he had previously passed over. He warily looks at the plywood entranceway, uncertain if the sound had really come from the basement or if he's just overhearing an argument from the dining floor above.
That one was as clear as day. He hadn't heard a damn thing from the world above the whole time he was down here, anyway. Tensely edging towards the door, not wanting to make a sound himself, Lauzon gingerly pulls on the latch to get a peak into the next room. When the rusted hinges fail to budge, he pulls on the door harder and ends up ripping the whole blasted thing off its frame. Lauzon doesn't have time to curse himself as his mind is far too overwhelmed by what he sees behind the hole he had just opened up in the side of the wall.
Ed Lauzon: BABY FUCKKKKKKKKKKK!!!
The hideous, mangled body plastered on the ground looks as if it had been beaten for hours before passing away. Compound fractures jutting from the corpse's mush-like limbs give the stiff the appearance of something alien. Lauzon throws up slightly in his mouth, just as much because of the smell as the sight of the repulsive crime. A mound of feces prevents the frozen chef from making out the victim's face, prompting Lauzon again to throw up in his mouth when he realizes someone (Or something) had **** on this man's face after beating him to death.
Scanning even more of the room with his light, Lauzon horrifiedly finds what looks like a dozen similar corpses scattered all across the ground. Several are shirtless like the first one, but some are wearing what appear to be bloodied karate uniforms. Lauzon doesn't even try to figure out what he's looking at. All his mind is trying to do right now is tell him to move his legs towards the stairs and get the **** out of there, but his body simply doesn't respond. As he stands glued to the ground, hands quivering like a Parkinson's patient's, Lauzon suddenly realizes the sound he had heard before is growing louder and louder now.
A New Zealand man with wild, mangy hair suddenly bursts from a room adjacent to the one Lauzon's looking into and dives into the corpses scattered on the ground, immediately followed by a massive person in a Snoopy costume wildly waving around a hatchet. The leather jacket clad Polynesian man continues to shout "************" as his Peanuts-garbed opponent jumps onto his back and pulls his head up by the hair, exposing the vulnerable and tender flesh of his neck for him to attack. Without hesitating, the costumed madman slashes through his victim's trachea with the mercilessly sharp blade of his ax. Blood pours from the man's neck like a faucet, inundating the grimy basement floor and covering the corpses beneath him in a warm, viscous layer of crimson. Despite the brutal injury, the rabid-eyed New Zealander manages to crawl up to a base and buck his enemy off to the ground before making a beeline towards the exit.
Ed Lauzon's entire body quakes as foam spurts from his mouth. He's been seduced several times before in his life. He's had Riley suck his dick in the electric closet. Never has he experienced a sexual awakening like THIS. The violently bleeding stranger clutches his throat as he storms passed the chef and runs blindly into the darkness of the apparently depthless cellar. The giant Snoopy-man (Whom Lauzon can now see is also bleeding pretty badly from the stomach) quickly follows, charging across the cement floor to catch his prey and finish the job. After several moments, Lauzon's legs FINALLY start working again and he begins to give chase himself. There's no way in Hell he can miss the conclusion of this ordeal, even if it's painful as **** trying to run with an erection.
Rushing through the blackness, his light waving around haphazardly, Lauzon makes it back to the base of the stairs. Both of those guys must've been former college ball players to have made it up to the lobby that fast, he thinks. Creeping up towards the top, he peers around to see what kind of action is unfolding but can't get a good look while all the patrons in the restaurant are frantically rambling around and trying to escape.
Dane Mullark: Jesus Christ, run!!! RUN!!!
Lauzon impatiently stands up and pushes back against the terrified diners. As he manages to claw his way into the seating area, he can see the costumed juggernaut ripping apart the joint in a violent effort to find his wounded enemy. Several patrons still remain curled up beneath their booths, too paralyzed with abject terror to flee from underneath the sanctity of their tables. Lauzon ignores them and keeps his attention fixated on the gigantic, wanton hunter's pursuit. Just as the chef begins pondering whether or not the slashed-up New Zealander had fled the restaurant along with the crowd, the mangled bohemian suddenly appears at the top of a divider and furiously hurls himself into Snoopy with a jagged steak knife in his hand.
Eddie Cobis: I WILL FUCKING END YOU!
Both fighters sprawl onto the ground, their respective weapons firmly in their grasp. Lauzon smiles and nods, certain that he is about to witness one or both of these men die. The wound on Cobis' throat is vicious, but it's not an arterial cut. He's not going to bleed out any time soon, and as of now he has the drop on his gargantuan foe. Like a well-oiled piston, he jabs his serrated blade into the broad torso of Snoopy. Gurgling loudly beneath his mask, the costumed brawler seems helplessly pinned underneath his mighty Polynesian opponent. The hatchet limply falls from his grip, forgotten in the midst of Cobis' heinous assault.
The New Zealander happily digs into Snoopy's chest, certain he'll tap the heart sooner or later and put his opponent out of action for good. The mammoth brawler's dextrocardia, however, keeps Cobis from hitting the jackpot. Mustering strength previously unknown to him, Snoopy bucks Cobis' hips away and achieves full guard. Cobis, still convinced he's on the brink of victory, continues trying to mindlessly cut into Snoopy's ocean of a chest only to have the costumed behemoth swivel his hips and lock onto a weary armbar. This maneuver takes the crazy-haired blademan completely off guard, causing him to wildly flail about and only feed into the lock more. Snoopy's long, supremely powerful limbs make Cobis' arm pop and crackle immediately, forcing the knife to drop out of his grasp and slide down to the debris-strewn floor with Snoopy's own hatchet.
As Lauzon continues watching in erotic fascination, his hands unconsciously unbuttoning his trousers, a petite, blonde-haired woman unexpectedly bursts through the front door of the restaurant wielding a 9mm pistol. Lauzon's heart jumps as the angry, exacerbated woman takes aim at the two combatants. She has a frightening look in her eyes that would give Ronda Rousey's pre-fight Death Gaze a run for her money.
Snowjay: I am an off-duty police officer! Surrender immediately or I'll turn you both into maggot-****!
Ed Lauzon: NO! NO! THIS HAS TO END CONCLUSIVELY!
With a hellish war cry, the meek chef unleashes a mind-blowingly powerful hook kick to the woman's skull. She's out before she hits the floor, but that doesn't stop Lauzon from jumping on her chest and lashing out with a vicious palm strike to her mouth for good measure. After that last blow knocked the woman's jaw out of it's socket, he freezes in place and stares at his handiwork in astonishment for several moments, amazed at the picturesque violence he had just committed. Standing back up, Lauzon picks the woman's weapon off the ground for himself and calmly gazes back at the two warriors to witness the conclusion of their battle.
Eddie Cobis: ... ************... ************...
Snoopy is on top, hatchet in hand. Cobis' arms are too useless to defend what's coming next. Lauzon doesn't even have time to pop a boner again before the New Zealander's face is transformed into a sculpture of the San Andreas fault.
"Sumo" Snoopy Boardbreaker: *ROAR!!!!!!!!!!!*
The hacking goes on longer than it logically should. After a while, Cobis' face has been split apart so deeply that Snoopy is basically just scraping the floor. Lauzon soaks in every minute of it, though, an unrelentingly blissful smile attached to his face. For the first time in weeks, he's not afraid of the future. Whatever this costumed powerhouse is, that's what Lauzon is going to be. A fighter? A psychopath? Both? Lauzon isn't sure what job title these two men go by, but he'll learn the vernacular. His life is not winding down, not at all. Red Lobster was just a prelude to the most glorious and joyful years of his existence. Like Snoopy over there on the floor, he intends to be a master of his craft.
I am PitFighter.
Last edited by Holy Moment; 12/29/2013 11:06pm at .
^ Fetal alcohol syndrome.
Originally Posted by Holy Moment
Too much fetal and not enough alcohol.
Bad joke really. My wife has worked with the 'special needs' group for more than twenty years. Saddest are those that probably would have been 'normal' if not for the irresponsibility of an adult.
Good post though. +1
Oh ****. Forgot the topic of this thread.
Said wife and I celebrated 20yrs, out of town, last night, so no see fight highlights until returning today. Sad to see Silva end this way. Good to see RR's win. Don't care about the detractors on any side. All involved have heart beyond any of us here.
Waiting for the chance to see all in the re-runs.
Last edited by hungryjoe; 12/29/2013 11:43pm at .
There was an update saying that Silva had completed surgery and would recover in 6 months. Any one think there's a chance he will ever be fight ready again??
@Holy Moment: Are you gonna be writing fan fiction about Ray Longo now?
Fight again? Possibly (Can I haz monies?).
Originally Posted by Bneterasedmynam
Fight again like before the injury? Nope.
Man, what a disappointing and frustrating way to go.
I'd be surprised, to say the least. He might attempt to come back for a victory lap before retiring but I'm pretty sure his opponent can spend his time game planning for something other than leg kicks.
Originally Posted by Bneterasedmynam
Also, congratulations to Travis Browne. This is the second time he's Varelansed an opponent in the UFC. I guess the anti-grapple can work for oversized gotards who are able to stave off takedowns just by standing still.
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