Baby Batter (Or, He used to be Shane Clemmens)
« on: December 20, 2017, 12:36:22 PM »
Baby Batter

Tony Chu. Just absorb that name for a moment. Fight to Win hasn’t seen the true face of Tony Chu. This drab promotion has only seen smackings, rantings, and made up time travel ramblings about Tony Chu. But not the real Tony Chu. ‘Omg’ you’re saying to yourself. ‘OMG’ in caps, in fact. ‘OMG, that Tony Chu is actually in Fight to Win. Amazing. I have a boner and/or soggy vagina.’

Why though. Why would Tony Chu sully his reputation by muddying his feet by being involved in a promotion on the verge of bankruptcy slash obscurity? Has Tony Chu really fallen that far, stooped that low, given in to his baser instincts?

Maybe he just wants to tongue bathe Kassandrah in his penthouse apartment overlooking the city. Maybe he wants to ‘go America, live the quiet life’ with Rambo, right before he’s shot by some Vietnamese colonel who has amazing aim when it comes to shooting beautiful Asians, but terrible when it comes to aiming at the much bigger Rambo.


I digress. I have been high as fuck for the last fifteen minutes and I was watching Rambo, First Blood, Part Two.

The moral to that, is that Tony Chu is a beautiful Asian and is really better than Fight to Win. He’s only coming to Fight to Win as a favor to his beautiful and naughty little future telling sexpot, Kassandrah. Tony (me, I use third person, so shut up) wants to fill Kassandrah with baby batter and come out on the other side with a Tony or Kassandrah junior, and this visit to the wrestling bodega that is Fight to Win was part of her terms.

FYI, it will be a boy, because it’s always a boy if the woman has an orgasm during procreation and I never stop until they squeal.


I like cocaine with a side of Diet Coke. I know it’s bad for me, but regular Coca Cola is worse.

So, key takeaways for you, the audience:

  • Tony Chu is kind of slumming it
  • Rambo
  • Baby Batter
  • Tony Chu needs to find a fighter
  • Cocaine
  • Orgasms
  • [This is a special area where you can enter your own]

Where was I?

Oh yes, I’m about to tell you about the first and last time I travelled to Alaska.

North to the future!

A month ago? Week? Day? Minute?

Before I get to make this baby, I need to take my clothes off in front of Kassandrah and sing my best rendition (it’s really good) of “I think we’re alone now” by Tiffany. Before I can do that, I need a fighter.


The need for a Fighter is why I’m standing ankle deep in snow outside this bar in Lower Tonsina, Alaska. What does that mean? Not sure, it’s just what I was told.

I’m halfway through a pack of Marlboro silvers when I finally see him exit the bar. He looks like a bag of shit propped up on two legs. Long beard, longer hair, a bad shirt, worse jeans, and omg so much work for poor Tony. His shoes; oh my god, his shoes.

“Poor me,” I sigh, because I’m the most important person in this scenario.

He’s staggering drunk and heading towards, what I’ll assume is his truck. The truck looks like it’s from the seventies and it makes my heart drop. He lights up a cigarette and reminds me of the days when smoking was safe and classy. I miss those days. (I started smoking because of Bruce Willis. Thanks, Bruno.)

Then cancer had to waltz in and make smoking seem dangerous. Damnit.

I clear my throat, “Excuse me,” which he ignores. Again, I clear my throat, harder this time and repeat, “Excuse me.”

He spins around and his crooked smirk hidden behind that beard is all I need to see. That smirk? I can still sell that smirk. It’s the rest of him, ugh. So much work for poor poor Tony, but it’s worth it. I want to coat Kassandrah’s insides with my essense like I’m spray foam insulating a wall. It will all be worth it.

“Hey fuck face,” he nods, “You’re that fuckin’ guy. That,” he burps, “fuckin dude who ruined my nephew’s career. Ha. Good job.”

He turns back around and opens the door to his truck.

“I did no such thing. It was that silly cooze, Erika whatsherface who ruined his career. Last I heard they were circumnavigating the globe.”

“Well,” he exhales, “Maybe you should have gone with them,” beltch, “Maybe the world is flat. I hope. Then, you could find the edge and fall the fuck off of it,” he flicks his cigarette as he gets into his truck.

“I have an offer for you,” I love the sound of my voice, “The greatest offer in the history offers.”

He rolls down his window after shutting the door and lights up another smoke. (Chain smoker; my hero.) “No thanks, fuckface. I’m dead.”

“Your stunt man is dead or, well someone else, because you’re not a zombie. Are you?”

Fun fact: If I were a zombie, I’d start with Kassandrah’s ass and eat my way to her brain.

He ashes his cigarette, “I’m out, I’ve been out, and I’m happy, ok?”

Now I go in for the kill, “How can you be happy?”

He laughs, “I’m drunk, aren’t I?”

I light up a cigarette of my own and ignore the cold forcing my penis to crawl up inside my body, “I know all about your happiness. I know that your wife and child are gone. I know that the only time you leave your house--it’s to come here and get drunk. I know everything.”

He rolls back out of his truck and walks right up to me. I hear myself whimper as he grabs the lapels of my delicious Brooks Brothers custom and spins me around, right before slamming me into the fender of his truck.

“This is where I knock your fuckin’ head off your fuckin’ shoulders.”

His breath stinks of cheap booze and menthols.

“You smoke menthols? That’s so Samuel L.”

“The fuck?” he asks, right before punching me in the stomach.

There’s pain and then there’s that kind of internal pain where your mind goes straight to the Emergency Room and begs the imaging staff to prepare the X-Ray machine. That kind of pain where you think you’re dying and cross your fingers, hoping it will wear off. You gasp for air and call out for your mom. You might even pee a little bit.

I...peed a little bit.

“That felt good. Not gonna lie. It felt good,” I look up to see him nod and take another drag off of his cigarette.

My poor cigarette is currently putting itself out in the snow and it’s too late to nurse it back to life with a lighter. Un fair.

“So quick to violence,” I gasp, “I didn’t deserve that.”

“Oh that? That was for my nephew. I don’t give two shits what you know or don’t know about my life,” he snorts, “My wife left me for another man. My son calls that guy ‘dad’ and I don’t give a flying fuck.”

“I would,” I want to cry, but pull myself up using the truck’s tire and act as butch as possible, “I would be so mad. I would shake my fists at the heavens.”

He laughs, “I already tried that and you know what? The heavens weren’t taking messages that day.”

I turn to face him and for one second I see knuckles and the next, I see a white flash, before I’m put on my ass in the snow. Poor Tony and poor Tony’s suit. Life is so impossible, sometimes.

He tells me, “That one was for me.”

I dab my nose and pull back a bloody finger. My blood. That’s my blood. Poor Tony’s blood and nose.

“I have a great deal for you. Your shot at redemption. Fight To Win is desperate for stars. So desperate. I can get your name back out there again.”

He just laughs.

“I already have an opponent for you.”


“Yeah. You’re booked already.”


“Right? I kinda forged your signature on some documents. I knew you’d want to get back out in the spotlight. I know better than you did. You need this. Your opponent is a total joke too. He’s like the Hungarian Beast or something dumb like that.”

“Well, you’re going to have to step in for me. The answer is no,” he gets into his truck and starts it up.

“You’re missing out on a great opportunity. The greatest. You could be represented by the greatest…”

Before I can finish my pitch, he drives out of the parking lot. Leaving me with a wet suit and no cigarettes. Ready to cry. I’ve never been further away from filling Kassandrah full of babies. It’s… It’s sad.

Poor sweet handsome Tony.

As he drives off, I call out, “He’s the Armenian Beast! Armenian! He speaks in a phonetic Russian or something accent!”

Bad Luck

Seems like there’s a moment in every relationship where you have to start to work. If you don’t work, it’ll fall apart. I’m not used to that. Not at all. Twenty bucks says it’s because most of my relationships have ended with the death of my significant other, because some greater power decides, from time to time, that I need drama in my life. Living a regular life has never been good enough.

She wrote me a letter and with the benefit of hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Should have known. We had grown apart for years and no matter how great an ass she had, my lust for it wasn’t going to fix the problems in our marriage. I’d grown complacent. She had given me a child and that was great, but she also forced me into retirement. I remember her telling me that she was upset with me and resented me, because she couldn’t do what she wanted to do; yet I still was.

I just wondered why the fuck she wasn’t doing things. Then again, she was doing things, but she just wasn’t telling me.

I resented her for forcing me to retire.

So yeah, the letter… She lined out everything she wanted out of the separation and how it was going to go down. I let her have it all, I didn’t care. I let her go. I knew she already had another man and I didn’t let it kick my pride right in the dick, but it kind of did anyway.

Fuck it.

I returned fire by letting all those women who had wanted it, get some of it. I rubbed it in her face. I didn’t care. I just wanted to remind her what she was leaving. The further I penetrated these other women, the further I I moved away from my ex. I knew there was no ‘fixing things’. I knew it was just falling apart.

It fell apart. Big time. She fought for sole custody and she got it. She painted this picture of me that said I was mentally unstable. They even brought doctors in to testify that years of blows to the head had rendered me a danger to myself and others. It should have been an eye opener, but it wasn’t. I just retreated to the bottle and mixed my ‘don’t give a fuck’ with a dash of alcoholism. It felt good.

At least I didn’t hang myself with my fuckin’ BowFlex.

Wrestling was never out of the picture. I found myself wanting to do something, I won’t lie. I wanted to get back into the ring and fuck my head up permanently. Maybe even die in the ring. Seemed like the thing to do, but nothing felt right.

I tried a return at one outfit, but couldn’t make it to the match. They made due with a look alike, but I knew that I had officially labelled myself a flake and no company, in their right mind, would want to work with me.

But then Tony Chu showed up talking about this Armenian Beast he had already signed me up for a match with. I told Tony to get fucked and gave him a decent beating, but when I got home, the first thing I did was go into the bathroom and shave my beard off. I cut my hair. I went to the closet and dug out that red leather jacket.

It was like knee-jerk. I couldn’t help it. I knew that it was my last chance. I knew though, that I needed to make Tony Chu think I was doing him a favor. Not vice versa.

Los Angeles

If you haven’t heard of Shane Clemmens, then that’s on you. Not my fault. If you search “Shane Clemmens” in Google, he’s five of the first search results. So this Armenian Beast is full of shit. Maybe where he comes from, they have a firewall that filters out all the cool shit. Who knows. Search for “Armenian Beast” in Google and the first search result is hardcore gay porn.


“I don’t know how you can maintain this kind of shape and be a drunk, uncle.”

“Oh shut up. I’m not a drunk. I just went on a bender. There’s a difference. I’m not looking for twelve steps. The fuck.”

My uncle and I have been working out together for the better part of a month and he hasn’t lost a step. Tony’s always watching and he’s excited, but I think it’s because he wants to knock up Kassandrah.

“Sure you’re not getting to old for this? You’re almost forty.”

To that, Shane leaps forward and grounds me with a flying knee. I hurts. Hurts bad.

“I don’t know Dare, I think you might still be a bit too young for this.”

“Not true,” I rise up and bully Shane into the corner and put a couple shoulders into his ribs, “I’m just the right age for this!”

Shane ties me up and whips me around and snap suplexes me out of the corner. I hit hard and bounce like a rock skipping across a lake. Shane kicks up to his feet in my peripherals and I realize that he taught me everything I know, but not everything he knows. He takes my back and slaps me into a rear naked choke and gives me just enough of a squeeze to let me know I’ll pass out if I don’t tap.

“Remember Dare, if you allow yourself to pass out because of pride, like that fuckin Spiral dude, you’ll teach your body to pass out at a certain point. You have a fighting chance to survive, if you know when to tap.”

I tap.

Tony walks to the ring, slowly clapping his hands.

“This is magical. Sheer magic. The Clemmens family, back again. Look at you two. It’s a dance. Isn’t it?”

Shane leans in and whispers in my ear, “That dude’s gay as fuck.”

I respond, “I know, right?”

We stand up and Tony smiles, “I’m so excited for you, right now. Tony Chu’s heart soars. You are absolutely ready for the Hungarian..Armenian Beast.”

Shane smirks, “Hungarian sounds better.”

I nod, “It kind of does.”

“I’m so pleased that you came around, Shane.” Tony smiles.

Shane beat Tony up two more times after he decided to return. He demanded Tony find me and pay me what he owed me. He did. Everything. Tony’s scared of Shane now and rightfully so.

“Well that fuckface with the dumb name who’s never heard of me, he’ll get a good load of who I am and what I’m all about.”

“It is a dumb name. Armenian Beast. More like, Armenian Cocksmoker Fuckhole, am I right?”

No one laughs.

Shane sighs, “Undoubtedly. He thinks I’m a nobody, meanwhile, I’ve known far too many “Fill in the Blank” beasts in my day. Give me a fucking break. Generic.”

Tony interrupts, “I’m going to be a daddy!”

“I feel for your child Tony, I really do,” I laugh.

“That’s not very nice. He or she will be handsome and beautiful. You’re both invited to the baby shower!”

Shane and I look at each other before turning our attention back to Tony.

“Oh, double Clemmens eye roll. I’m just that special.” Tony smiles.