It's okay. Everybody sh*ts their pants when they see me. -- Big Time Wrestling Roleplay Board

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Date Posted: 20:24:43 03/06/99 Sat
Author: "Leatherneck" Lance Hawkins
Subject: It's okay. Everybody sh*ts their pants when they see me.

Camp Pendleton, California... Young Marine Recruits are trained here to become members of the world's most deadly fighting force.

The boys of company 2207 are in for a treat. They're being trained by the Bulldawg legend, Lance Hawkins. If you know him well enough -- which is doubtful -- you can call him "Leatherneck."

Hawkins: Now listen here, maggots. In six short weeks your sorry-asses have been molded into efficient killing machines. I'm proud of you. Real proud of you. Your parents are proud of you. The United States of America is proud of you. God is proud of you.

Recruit: Sarge, is it true that you're a-leavin'?

Drill Instructor Hawkins hurriedly gets into the young, pimple-faced recruit's face.

Hawkins: Private, your training is far from over. You will still address the Drill Instructor as "Sir."

Recruit: (trembling) Y-y-y-es, Sir.

Hawkins: And yes, it is true... not that it's any of your damned business. Your sorry-asses will be without my services after today. Yours truly has an offer to work with someone else.

Recruit: The Cubans?

The squad erupts with laughter. The Instructor glares at them, and he's met with a sudden silence.

Hawkins: Not the Cubans, wise-ass. The BTW.

Recruit: You mean you're a-goin' to be a wrastler?

Hawkins: Yes, a wrestler, Private. This here Marine is tired of takin' guff from Uncle Sam.

Recruit: To be a wrastler???

Hawkins: That's right, Private... and I don't ever remember asking for your opinion, numbnuts.

Recruit: Understood, sir.

Hawkins: Now, don't you girls get all teary-eyed just because I'm taking leave. You'll still get your training -- somewhat more humanely. Yes, your sorry-asses got lucky on this one. You nimrods didn't get the total, comprehensive Lance Hawkins Workout.

The Instructor remains silent for a moment, hearing two recruits whisper in the back.

Hawkins: (Screaming at the two recruits) Sanchez! O'Brien! Front and center! Now!

The two recruits rush from the back and stand at attention in front of the Instructor.

Hawkins: And what did you two ladies have to discuss that was so important you couldn't share with the rest of us?

Sanchez: Nuthin' Sir.

Hawkins: Nothing, Sanchez? Well, O'Brien, your ass is going to tell me. Or both of you are going to be pulling toilet detail this week.

O'Brien: Sir, Private Sanchez was telling me you wouldn't last one minute in the BTW.

Hawkins: Is that a fact, Private Sanchez?

Sanchez: Yes, sir. But Private O'Brien said you'd probably lose an arm-wrestling match to his grandma...

Hawkins grits his teeth, staring down Private O'Brien.

Sanchez: With both of her arms tied behind her back.

Hawkins: Alright, that's it! You both seem to have it all figured out. The two of you think that my career in wrestling will be just about as short as Mike Tyson's. Well, let's just see about that...

The Instructor rolls up his sleeves and lowers himself into a wrestling stance.

Hawkins: Well... what are you waiting for? Here's your chance to beat the ever-livin' (censored) out of your Drill Instructor. Bring it!

Private Sanchez lunges at Hawkins, throwing a jab. Hawkins counters with a Russian Legsweep and knocks Sanchez on his ass.

Hawkins: Had enough, Private?

Private O'Brien jumps on Hawkins's back as he's distracted. Immediately, O'Brien is thrown off and falls on the pavement. Hawkins follows with a flying elbow, slamming O'Brien's neck. O'Brien's not getting up.

Hawkins: I'd say it's nighty-night for O'Brien. How 'bout you, Sanchez... is it past your bedti--

Sanchez runs at Hawkins with a clothesline. Hawkins falls to the ground, touching his now-bloody lip. He spits the blood and stands up.

Hawkins: Alright, Sanchez, I've had just about enough of this crap. Get ready for some extreme pain...

"Leatherneck" Hawkins rushes Sanchez. The Private is slammed into the pavement. Immediately, 'Neck gets down on the ground and locks legs with Sanchez. What the...

Hawkins: Silencer. Also known as the figure-four leg lock. Hurts, don't it, Private?

Sanchez: (crying) Ugh.

Hawkins: Now either you're going to say "Uncle," or we're going to hear something pop in your left leg.

Sanchez: Ugh... Uncle... UNCLE!... UNCLE!!!!!

Hawkins: Nah, not today, Private.

POP

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Replies:

hey sexy wanna wrestle? -- FiN ThE FuDgE PaCkEr, 07:53:20 03/07/99 Sun