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!

Driving through the night rain down an unknown highway somewhere Mexico, things were not looking good for the young truck driver.

A tourist map was smooshed across his dashboard as he held an LED pen flashflight in his teeth. In one hand he held the hula hoop steering wheel, and in the other he clutched the ham radio microphone. The speakers were hissing and swirling as bad as his driving as he spun the frequency dials to find a clear signal.

Huckleberry: May day! May day! Duh's any buddy read me? This is Toad Licker on twennie five aught niner niner. Please respond if you kin hear me. I'm lost in Mehico, and need tuh find uh rest stop, pronto. Last time I tried takin' a number one by pullin' over tuh the side'o the road, I found myself in a Mexicun stand-off with a Cobra...

Huckleberry: ... over!

Radio: Oui monsieur! Le Toad Lick'er, this is le Franch Pood'el. You are en distresse, oui? S'il vous plaît, tell me how I may be of service. Ove'ere.

As things were starting to look up for the distracted idiot, his cellphone started to light up like a Christmas tree with a ringtone playing The Imperial March from Star Wars. Huckleberry swipes the phone on and recognizes the caller ID as the media giant mogul Rupert Mudcock M.O.X Media.

To the uncultured hick, he mainly thought of Mr. Mudcock as his boss, and owner of Ultimate Wrestling. He knew that Mr. Mudcock rarely interacted with his talent roster directly unless it meant one of two things. Either you were getting a raise in your contract, or you were about to be fired.

Huckleberry: Hang on French Poodle, I gotta take this phone call. My boss is ringin' me. Wish me luck. Over-n-out.

As he hangs up the receiver, Huckleberry's truck swerves suddenly as he fixes his trajectory on the road. Huck answers his cell phone as a tattered pick-up truck speeds past him honking, with the Mexican passenger making a crude gesture with his elbow and fist directed at him.

Huckleberry: Yeah? This is your Your Franchise speaking. You rang?

Mudcock: Shut up, Toilet Drinker. I'm going to lay it straight. This week I am making some major budget cuts. If you no-show for your next match, you're gone. Capito. Hasta la vista? Comprende?

Huckleberry: Hold on! I ain't never no-showed on ya before. Why ya gotta be like that with me. I'm yer Huckster. Yer Amigo. Yer Number One.

Mudcock: Not anymore, you ain't... I mean, aren't! Either you wrestle tomorrow, or you're finished! Do you hear me, Huckleberry?

A large truck horn blares from the road, and Huckleberry veers back into the center of his lane.

Mudcock: What the hell was that? Are you drinking and driving? Huckleberry, I swear to God, if you get arrested for a DUI, I am not going to bail you out.

Huckleberry: Drivin' while distract'd, Sir.

Mudcock: Whatever. That's your problem, not mine. Do you know what they do to people like you in a Mexican prison? If you pull one of your stupid stunts again and get arrested, it's over for you Huckleberry. You're all washed up! In fact, I'm going to enjoy letting you rot in prison for the rest of your miserable life. And I'm going to enjoy dreaming of what they do to you after the judge can't understand a damn word of your mexi-cali, gringo, white trash accent.

Huckleberry: Aww, now why you gotta be like that Mr. Mudcock? Lookie here, I'm just so happ'n tuh be on the road as we speak drivin' to Mehico City. Whut wuz the name of the damn hotel yah booked for me?

Mudcock: You can stay in the gutter tonight for all I care. Look I said I was making budget cuts, and that starts with overnight hotel stays. We were going to put you in the Ramada Inn on Juárez Avenue. Turns out the Ramada Inn was having a bidding war for the rooms, because there was some kind of convention renting out most of the rooms. Most of the staff already have their own connections in the town, and they're all able to find somewhere else to stay. But you, I'm sorry, you're going to have to make your own arrangements. I'm not going to let a Mexican Slum Lord charge me whatever he wants so you can have a free roach-ridden room to sleep in for the night.

Huckleberry: Roaches? No problemo! I'm an exterminator, remember? Ain't no critter The Verminator X-Treme can't tackle in a jiffy. Did I ever tell you about the time I electrified a snake to eradicate a wolf spider?

The phone goes dead.

Huckleberry reaches for the ham radio and speaks into the mic.

Huckleberry: French Poodle, ya still there?

French Poodle: Oui monsieur.

Huckleberry: My phone went dead when I was about to tell my boss a story. Think he'll fire my ass?

French Poodle: There iz a slim possibilité your patron 'uhng up on ju. Maybe you can make it up to him. In ze meantime, tell me your storrie to 'elp me pass ze time. Le French Poodle is all ears tonight and I 'ave a long journey ahead.

---

Later that night, Huckleberry eventually finds his way to Mexico City with the help of his new friend on the radio. Inside the Ramada Inn, Huckleberry is being blocked by two armed security guards. They are asking him to leave in broken english.

Huckleberry: You can't make me leave. I want to buy a ticket to the party back there. How much does it cost? What's the matter? I'll give ya two George Washingtons if ya let me lick the guacamole off the side of the bowl.

Guard: No, Señor. Costume party. No costume? No permitido aquí. Go! Vete!

Giving up Huckleberry walks away, only to return moments later from the restroom wearing a quick disguise. His hair is slicked back with water dripping on his shoulders, he is wearing sunglasses. His jacket is inside out with the sleeves torn off and the collar is hiked up around his neck.

Walking over to the security guards strutting like Joe Cool, Huckleberry raises his hand for a high five and slaps a five dollar bill into the guard's hand.

Immediately, the two guards leap into action and restrain the hillbilly slim from opposite sides, but they did not know who they were dealing with.

Using his talents from years spent in the mud pits learning the secret techniques passed down from father to son, brother to brother (and also being taught the intricate family ancestries of how your father can also be your brother) of Appalachian hog wrasslin' skills, Huckleberry slipped through his jacket vest as easily as an oiled pig in a blanket.

Before the guards could regain their grip on him, Huckleberry already had six cream filled churros from the food table stuffed down into his pant pockets.

Flans went flying as the guards bum-rushed him into the ground. More guards arrived, and together they managed to apprehend Huckleberry and kick him out the front door. One of the guards pointed a gun at the beaten hog wrestler, and cursed at him in Spanish with pointed threats.

---

The neon sign blinks "Open" at this ungodly hour of the night, and Huckleberry enters the leather shop looking for his luck to change.

Huckleberry: The French Poodle sent me here. He says you are the best of the best.

The leather craftsman by trade with dark skin, black hair and a shiny bald spot glances up at Huck from his desk. Polishing a beautifully engraved Mexican belt buckle depicting a rodeo horse rider handing onto his saddle while the horse is trying to buck him off, he smiles politely at this odd customer in the night. The warm greeting is uncharacteristically cordial within this rough part of town.

Huckleberry: And he says you owe him a favor. I'm here to collect on that favor. Say's to call you by your codename: Que Ball. How did you get that name?

Que Ball: Follow me.

Turning the switch on a nearby antique lamp, the wall behind him opens up to a secret hall way. Que Ball taps the side of his spectacles and suddenly they transform into flashlights.

Huckleberry follows him into the dark hallway into a secret chamber. It's paneled in fine oak walls and a grand table in the center.

Que Ball: As to my name... simply put, tell me your goal, and I'll help you to get there... one way or another.

Huckleberry: I want to get back at these jerk wads at the Ramada Inn. I was supposed to have a room there to stay in, but instead they booked it up for some crazy conference. A couple of the guards were wearing these furry costumes and wigs--

Que Ball: The Bronies.

Huckleberry: The what?

Que Ball: The Bucking Bronies. The most dangerous criminal organization in this part of Mexico. Always on the move. The crime lords are fans of the My Little Ponies, and so they do their business and crimes under the disguise of the furry costumes. You are lucky you made it out of there alive.

Huckleberry: Figured as much. They nearly pumped me full of lead on my way out. Didn't even let me keep the churros I stuffed down my pants... so uhm, you going to help me out or not? Where I come from, takin' a man's churro from his pocket is askin' for re-tally-ay-chun, an I ain' never backed down yellow from a dare in my life. Gimmie the works.

Que Ball: If you insist.

Pressing a hidden button under the carpet, the wall panels turn sideways. Racks of guns, knives, gadgets, and dangerous weapons glitter under elegant recessed lighting. James Bond would be impressed.

Huckleberry: Oh my land... who do you work for?

Que Ball: Ah ah ah! No personal questions asked, and you never met me. Those are the rules.

Huckleberry: Oh yeah, sorry forgot. Frenchie told me that.

Que Ball: The Bucking Bronies are formidable. Allow me to make a few suggestions for you.

---

An hour later, dressed head to toe in black leather, shades, and military boots, Huckleberry opens the front door of the Ramada Inn looking like a miniature Terminator.

Alarmed, the concierge runs across the room and grabs the phone from the desk clerk. The sight of an armed stranger carrying an assortment of dangerous weapons on his back sends guests and security guards in all directions. Some of them running away, and others looking for cover.

Bullets start to fly in Huckleberry's direction.

Recognizing the two security guards from earlier, Huckleberry bites off the pin from a grenade and hurls it into the air. It lands at their feet, and purple smoke starts filling the air. Around the back of his neck, Huckleberry slides on a horse mask (gas mask). The two guards fall to the ground asleep instantly.

Making his way into the event room, Huckleberry removes the mask and helps himself to a guacamole dipped tortilla chip.

Huckleberry: (Talking to himself) The man did say I had tuh bring a costume, as I recall. Guess that makes me a welcomed guest.

The chip flies from his fingers as a bullet races through.

A bronie wearing an orange furry suit and blonde wig sprays bullets from a machine gun at Huckleberry while other bronies are racing for cover.

Huckleberry: Not so fast Apple Jack!

Lifting a pipe to his lips, the hillbilly spits a dart clear across the room at his foe. Expertly aimed, it catches him directly in the side of the neck. The orange Brony falls to the floor as the muscles in his body suddenly become limp and useless.

Three bowie knives peg solidly into the wall around Huckleberry's head. From the right side of the room, a blue brony with a rainbow mane is wickedly throwing the knives with glee.

A canister under Huckleberry's arm shoots in response, releasing a net that entangles his foe. Casually he walks over and pops his knee into the face of the brony and jams his boot heel into their right hand.

Huckleberry: Mind yer manners, Rainbow Dash.

Grabbing his glistening mane, he slams the knife-throwers head face first into the ground, knocking him out.

Three more bronies surround Huckleberry, each one decked out in real horseshoes on their hands and feet. The first one jumps and performs a scissor kick, followed by a back roundhouse kick. The hillbilly dodges both attempts by a horse hair.

Using the Brony's amazing leg flexibility to his own advantage, Huckleberry ducks underneath the furry man's widened legs and grabs him by the thighs. Leaning into a leftward fall, the extended hoof strikes his fellow brony in the knee, knocking him down. Following the action down to the floor, Huckleberry rolls over and lands a spinning heel onto the back of the first brony's neck.

The third brony goes for an easy opportunity to stomp Huckleberry, followed by a hard right hook. Predicting the attack, Huckleberry twists the stomping foot and forces him to lose his balance, and causing the wide punch to miss completely.

Still clutching the brony's ankle, Huckleberry taps his right heel on the floor three times. The tread slides off mechanically, and a metal plate starts to glow brightly. Targeting the Brony's left buttocks, the hog wrestler presses the sizzling hot brand into it, causing his opponent to cry out in agony. Huck releases the hold as his foes leg starts to kick out wildly in pain.

As the branded brony rushes for the punch bowl to ice his owie, the other two bronies get back to their feet to square off against Huckleberry. They throw a series of punches his way, and Huckleberry manages to block them with some kind of armor under his sleeves.

Out of these two last bronies, Huckleberry notices that the second of the two is far more advanced by mixing up the pacing and positioning of his attacks. The first one however lacked any kind of strategic footwork abilities beyond straight out punches and kicks.

He remembers the advice he received from Que Ball, to eliminate the easiest of his targets first to make it easier to face the more challenging targets.

A quick release button on his buckle, and Huckleberry slides the whole belt free. It ratchets in the air turning into a metal mysterious snake, and extends with a sudden thrust, whipping around the brony's neck. Quickly cutting off his air supply, the brony collapses to the ground while fighting off the metal snake in a losing battle as it continues to constrict.

The remaining brony slammed a low punch into the back of Huckleberry. Accepting the hit, he takes advantage of the close proximity and exchanges a back elbow into the side temple of his equine enemy.

Although the hoof laden foe could hit hard and heavy, it also made him slow and unbalanced after a strike. Recognizing this new advantage, Huckleberry accepted another hard punch to the midsection, but this time better able to use his tactical defense jacket to absorb the brunt of the damage.

While the heavy hoof was within reach, Huckleberry grabbed and wrenched the arm so wildly that it half flipped the enemy into a diving splash. With his weight riding on top, he bucked the brony face-first into the table.

The table didn't break.

The poor thing bounced off the side and slid to the floor motionless.

Huckleberry: Sweet dreams, Pinkie Pie.

Five more bronies appear from the double doors near the back of the room, all showering bullets his way.

Kicking out the table legs, Huckleberry improvises to use whatever he can for cover. From somewhere unseen, the hillbilly fighter produces a baton. With a press of a button, the baton extends into a pre-strung hunter's bow. The side of his boots open up, each offering a handful of razor tipped arrows. In quick succession he fires five arrows in a singular left to right spread.

The bullets stop flying.

The hands, legs, arms, and shoulders of the poor fools are locked into painful positions with the arrow shafts sticking out.

Three bronies appear behind Huckleberry, one with a gun pressed against the back of his head. He distinctly feels it clicking the safety off.

Brony: This way. The boss wants to meet you. Don't try anything. Don't be stupid.

---

In the back room, twenty Mexican bronies in full furry cosplay surround Huckleberry in a circle. Ninteen of them have their guns actively drawn and pointed at him. On his knees with his weapons and jacket removed, there is nothing in the world that will protect him from a quick bullet to the head.

Standing unarmed in front of him is a woman in a pink furry outfit. Her long hair is dyed indigo with a pink streak through it, and her bangs conceal the root of a frightening 16 inch long horn. Pink feathered wings dangle in the air behind her. With every step she takes, she leaves a sparkled hoofprint.

Brony: Princess Twilight Sparkle, we have apprehended the enemy, and brought him to you, as you requested.

Princess: Good work, Rarity. You will be rewarded for your bravery on this day.

Brony: Your wish is my command.

Huckleberry: What about me?

Princess: What about you? Why should I honor anything that you might wish for? Did you not come here seeking vengeance against my string of ponies? Tell me who sent you, and perhaps I will show mercy. Was it Jeremiah per chance? Long has he been a thorn in my side. Perhaps I should make an example out of you to send him a message he cannot ignore.

Huckleberry: You mean Vastrix? No I don't work for that chrome dome. To me, he's just a fellow athlete who happens to want the same thing I do. To be the number one wresler in the world.

Princess: Wrestling? That's what you think this is about?

Huckleberry: Yeah.. I mean, no! Look here, Senorita, I just wanted a bed to sleep on tonight and a bowl of cheesy nachos to chase my headache away. I gotta get up bright an' early or Mudcock is gonna fire my ass.

Princess: Mudcock! Uh! I should of known. That worm! If that's who you work for, then I will take great pleasure turning your lights out right here and now. So tell me--

Huckleberry: The name's Huckleberry Ma'am.

Princess: Silence! I grow tired of your constant braying... (sniffs) and your foul stench. I am not a heartless witch, however. Any last words?

Huckleberry: Owwwwooooo! Owwwwwooooo! Ooooooowwwooo!

Princess: Ha ha ha! So you truly are mongrel. Rarity, help this savage beast to find the sweet taste of slumber he so desires... eternally!

Brony: It will be my honor, Princess.

A deep boooming sound bellows from somewhere not far off.

Princess: Wait! Can you that? What is that sound? Ponies! On guard!

The entire room of bronies turn their heads in all directions, uncertain of the location the hellish sound is coming from.

Clickity-Clack-Clickity-Clack! Crash!

A waterfall of bricks and beams shower the room in rubble, knocking out at least half of the bronies who were standing nearest to the window wall. As the wall continues to fall into a pile of ruin and dust clouds, an enormous shadow on four legs crunches through the darkness on giant cleft hooves.

With an amber crown two meters wide, it stands eight feet tall and snorts plumes of hot steam. The moose tramples through the room, knocking down any who stand in its way.

Bullets begin to fly, but with the ceiling lights knocked out, even a target as large as a moose is hard to see in the darkness that only its eyes have fully acclimated to. The only clue to its constantly changing location was the screams and awful bellowing that followed.

What follows, as you can imagine is a gory scene of pony people meeting their demise to an unfortunate brush with nature. Over 900 pounds of moose, deadly hooves, and a set of antlers that could toss a forklift. The moose made short work of the two-legged equines. None of the pony pretenders ever stood a chance of surviving this nightmare unscathed. They would be forever cursed, in hell and on earth.

As the author of this story, let me step through the fourth wall for a moment to explain a key detail which might be lost before this awful tale of mine ends. A male moose in mating season will fight relentlessly. And after a male moose wins a fight, it gets first pick of any pretty doe it wants to mate with.

At this crucial moment, there was only one thing that could save poor little Huckleberry from meeting the same unfortunate fate as the wicked bronies.

Huckleberry tossed a pink gumball into the air.

The moose unmounts the defiled princess to snatch the tasty treat in his mouth. Huckleberry pets the furry flank of the moose, and it happily walks alongside outside, where Huckleberry leads it back to his truck. "Verminator X-Treme! Huck's Pest Control" is what's painted on the back trailor where Huck locks up the tamed bull.

A scratchy voice is calls out. It's the speaker on the ham radio.

French Poodle: Monsieur Toad Lick'ere. Are you there? Ov'ere.

Huckleberry: Hey Frenchy. Toad Licker here. Roger that. Thank you for the favor. I owe ye one.

French Poodle: Nonesense. You're companee is payment enough. Did my fwend tweet ju nize? Ov'ere.

Huckleberry: Roger, Roger. And Rowdy Roddy, the Canadian Killer earned his gum tonight. Nothin' like a night kicking ass all over the place to help a man sleep easy. Any time I can return a favor for ya, Frenchy, let me know. Over-n-out.

---

#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.

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