What you are about to witness is really, really bad writing. It's crass, rank, inappropriately, unapologetic satire. This post represents my roleplay for Ultimate Wrestling. This is fictional writing for a fantasy pro wrestling organization. Enjoy, or not!

Out in the boonies, a rusted blue pick-up truck swerves off the old single lane highway and turns into the crowded parking lot of a popular tourist destination. A mother grabs the arms of her little boy and girl, and yanks them out of the way of the dangerous vehicle, oblivious as they lick their candy apples. The dad raises his fist and starts cursing threateningly until the truck backfires and releases a god-awful torrent of diesel smoke.

Verminator X-Treme! Huck's Pest Control

So read the logo emblazoned on the side fender of the rusty old bucket of bolts. The driver’s side door creaks open. A pair of well-worn leather boots steps out onto the green grass below. Decked out like Kevin Bacon in the original Footloose movie, he’s wearing a cut-off flannel shirt, jeans, and a straw cowboy hat.

Popping open a fresh one, he guzzles down a Coors, releases an award-winning belch, and tosses the can to the back of the truck, which he misses by a mile. Loosening his belt a notch, he takes in the sights of the scene around him.

A large arched entryway ahead of him reads the name of the popular family farm.

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Huckleberry: Ahh! Place hasn’t changed a bit. Wankers Family Farm.

Bins of apples, pears, nuts, cheeses, and other produce draw Huck’s attention near the awning of the farm store beside the entrance. Pumpkins are lined up everywhere, some with decorative painted faces. In the back there is a Corn Maze, a beanbag toss, and a pumpkin smashing catapult for kids to have fun with.

Huckleberry walks through the farm and finally finds himself drawn to the livestock exhibits.

On a wooden stage, roped to a post is a donkey chewing on some hay. Above it a sign is painted with decorative carnival lettering.

World’s Smartest Donkey. Ask it a question.

Huckleberry: Wut in tarnation? Are you supposed to talk or sumptin’?

Donkey: …

Huckleberry: Cat got yer tongue? Yer bout as useful as tits on a bull. Welp, ifn’ ye can’t talk, how are ya supposed to answer muh damn questions? Maybe yer one of dem damn genies, able to perdic muh future. So tell me muh future donkey. Am I gonna stomp a hole in the arse of Jeremiah Vastrix the next time I see him in the squared circle?

Donkey: Do I look like a damn genie?

The voice, clearly not coming from the donkey, but from somewhere behind the stage set, it blows Huckleberry’s mind. Flabbergasted, he continues interacting with the donkey, not quite catching onto the ruse.

Huckleberry: Daggnabbit! You can talk!

Donkey: Oh yeah, and I grant wishes too.

Huckleberry: And I can shite gold.

Donkey: No, no, I’m serious. Ask for anything you want. Standard rules apply. You only get three wishes. And you can’t ask for a Genie or Lamp that grants more wishes. And don’t ask me to bring the dead back to life. That’s F’d up. Get the picture?

Huckleberry: Yer on Clodhopper! Then I wish ye were piss poor at counting.

Donkey: Sure thang Einstein. You have exactly zero wishes left.

Huckleberry: So you’re a real smartass?

Donkey: In the flesh.

Huckleberry: So wut are the odds of Jerimiah Vastrix gettin’ outta his match alive this week coming up yonder?

Donkey: What kind of match is it?

Huckleberry: It’ll be me, the Franchise Champ, teamed up with my Tag Team Champion partner Lulu Biggs, and also Reagonator and Phillip Morris. We’re all teaming up for a handicap match against the “God’s Gift” Jerimiah Vastrix.

Donkey: Ya’ll gonna be in the ring at the same time?

Huckleberry: In a regerlashun wrasslin’ match, kin only have one man tagged in atta time. So, no don’t suppose that’ll be allowed. I’ll git my turn though. I'm hankerin' fer the chance already. And I'll git it, cuz I’m team cap’n.

Donkey: Alright Captain Murica. So what is your strategy going into this match?

Huckleberry: Think I’ll let Lulu lick ‘em first. Big Lou’s the heaviest and most disgustin’ opponent a figher's likely to ever face in his short career. Ain’t much of a wrassler, but word on the street, boy’s a secret agent working for Space X. When he punches, you wake up on Mars. After he’s dun, he kin tag in Morris. Boy is greener than Alexandria Ocasio Cortez and needs more practice in front of a live crowd. He kin tag in Reagonator when he gits tired, and they kin tag back ‘en forth until Robocop runs outta apple sauce. When he looks like he’s ‘bout dun and prime tuh tap out, dey tag me in n’make’em submit tuh somethin’ old school. Maybe a figure four leg-lock, Boston Crab, or maybe The Claw. Nuttin' beats The Claw, right? Crack the lil’ critter open like a can opener on a warm Coors Light.

Donkey: I’d bet a hundred to one, Vastrix wins.

Huckleberry: I outta kick yer ass!

Donkey: Your brotha?

Huckleberry: My brother?

Donkey: You said you wanna kick my ass, right? Well I’m an ass. And my baby is your brother!

A brief silence.

Huckleberry: You callin’ my momma a whore, smartass? Say another gosh dern word, and I’ll be fixing to file fer harassment. And then--

Donkey: Listen you inbred ape. It ain’t worth the wait in the line. Her-ass-meant nuttin’ to me.

Huckleberry: That’s it! Dem’s fightin’ words!

A nervous twitch in the mustache of Huckleberry signals he’s about to get wild. Huck throws off his shirt and squeezes his fists looking like he is ready to hurt somebody.

The donkey continues to chew hay.

Huckleberry: New game. It’s called Pin the Tail on the Donkey.

Drawing a flash of metal from somewhere in his britches, the hot-head hillbilly jams his hand into the rear haunches of the cloven beast. It brays, and rears. Two back hooves jolt into the abdomen of Huckleberry, launching him into the air.

Donkey: Was that a needle in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?

Huck lands folded over fifteen feet away with his knees over his head.

A different donkey meanders over to the redneck.

Huck speaks in hushed tones to himself.

Huckleberry: Shew! Ain’t got time tuh deal with another dumbass donkey.

It talks.

Donkey: Dumb ass? You must have me mistaken with the one that kicked you in the nads. I’m the smart ass.

Huckleberry: Nobody likes a smartass.

Donkey: At least I’m not a dumbass.

Huckleberry: Talking out of yer ass again, are we?

Donkey: Talkin’ ass? Yes, I am. The one and only.

Huckleberry: Touché.

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#ewrestling #efed #uow #ultimatewrestling #wrestling #comedy #short-story #shortstory #story #writing #fiction #roleplay #rp

Thank you for reading my original writing. This is a fictional satire, and my roleplay submission for Ultimate Wrestling.

Thank you Ultimate Wrestling for allowing me to use your custom images here.

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