Cardboard Cutouts = PWNAGE~!

Character: Ken Kaze

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity, fuck fuck fuck. Where the fuck is Ito and George?”

Ken Kaze had just rounded a corner. Obviously, he wasn’t too pleased leading into tonight’s extravaganza, but then again, if you watched over his track record, he never was too satisfied leading into the pay-per-views. There was always some wannabe thug “brawler” with a pink fluffy “cat” standing in his way. Matter of fact, as he rounded the corner, Jolt’s Resident Moron had kicked a pink fluffy cat that was passing by. It was evident from the agonizing screech that was emitted. Or perhaps he farted.

Who knew?

Anyhow, if it wasn’t some bum from a back alley or a pink pussy . . . CAT (added in for all you pervs who love the slogan, “Think pink.”) standing in his way, then it was either some idiot who misspelled his name by spelling it backwards, because everyone knows he meant to call himself “Ralop,” or an overgrown Papa Smurf mixed with the Blue Meanie and Gillberg.

Top all of that off with an Indian smoking ganja on his territorial land just on the border whilst blowing smoke into the White policeman’s face, and you have Kaze’s life.

Crazy shit, huh?

Wait, let’s not forget the Chink bastard from Japan, who should actually be from China so he can officially be deemed a “Chink,” who kidnapped George the Trashcan. Yes, the second trashcannapping in Jolt Wrestling history. Shit, let alone World history. That Chink happened to be a representative of Jolt and the wrestling the company represented. Duh, that’s what a representative does. He represents. NORTH CAROLINA REPRESENT! WHUH!

To be more specific, he was an ambassador. THE Ambassador. Okay, okay, enough beating around the bush by rubbing firmly across the clit. I’m talking about the fucking Ambassador Champion of Jolt. Yes, the Future of Wrestling, Kenjiro Ito.

Back to the point, Ken was searching for Ito.

“All dildo Hell, please God, my Lord and Savior, don’t tell me that fuckbox dug a hole to Chinkland. Man, I’m supposed to be beating that queer up tonight. And he runs home to work in a fucking sweatshop just to get paid twenty-five cents to knit me some cheap ass Chink-made socks that read, ‘Made in China,’ on them. Those poor bastards . . . misspelling their own country’s name. And the saddest part about it all, is he sucks the sweatshop owner’s – who is undoubtedly a White man – dick from behind for an extra nickel.

“Got damn, why didn’t we just nuke Chinkworld while we had the chance during the Cold War,” Kaze stated, shaking his head in disgust.

As he finished his monologue, he entered through a door conveniently labeled, “KEN KAZE.” With a quick glance around the room, Hosni and seven other dancing men dressed in drag came out with a bottle of champagne.

“THIS IS CHAMPAGNE, AND WE’RE ON A CAMPAIGN! THIS IS CHAMPAGNE, AND WE’RE ON A CAMPAIGN! THIS IS CHAMPAGNE, AND WE’RE ON A CAMPAGIN . . . FOR FAGGOTS EQUAL POONAGE! YAYZERZ!” Hosni and the seven dancing and singing men chanted jubilantly.

Okay, so that didn’t really happen.

What REALLY happened was Ken Kaze had actually come across his opponent for the evening, the Future of Wrestling in the flesh, the Ambassador championship strapped around his waist, Kenjiro Ito.

“The FIZZELL FUCKNUTS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, COCKROCKET?! Didn’t you fucking read the sign outside? Uh . . . ‘NO YELLOW SKIN ALLOWED!’”

Ito remained calm as ever. His hands were on his hips, but they were holding his blue robe back just enough to reveal the Ambassador championship title.

“What’s the matter? No understand my ingles, amigo? NO SUCKY, SUCKY?! DAMN YYYYOOOOOOUUUU!” Ken roared as his battle cry, charging Ito simultaneously.

However, rather than tackling his foe to the ground, Ken stopped almost immediately, standing two inches away from the man. Literally, they were nose to nose. The Hero of Hardcore’s clenched fist raised into the air and began to travel toward the bridge of Kenjiro’s nose. Ito stood unusually still. At the last second, Kaze’s clenched first unraveled as Ken connected with the most beauitfulest (what? That’s not a word? IT IS NOW, FUCKER! – that’s me talking to Microsoft Word, they gave me the little red line thingy) move ever in the entire galaxy. THE FINGER POKE TO THE FOREHEAD OF DOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM~!!!!

“WHAT?! BLASPHEMY!!” Ken raged as the finger poke had no affect whatsoever on the cocky Asian. “Ah, shit on a brick stick, and fuck me with a coarse sandpaper horse dick.”

Ken tackled Ito immediately and began to pummel the living daylights out of him. RUAAHH~! KINNITH R H4RDKOR . . . and stuff. As a straight right punch literally knocked Ito’s head off, Ken was left in bewilderment.

“THE FUCK?” he queried. “A CARDBOARD CUTOUT?! AAAAHHHHHH, THAT FUCKHEAD! I SHOULD STRAP SOME BOXING GLOVES TO MY FEET AND KICKBOX THIS FUCKER TO DEATH!”

In a fit of rage, Ken sprung to his feet and kneedropped the cardboard cutout of Ito. After defeating the false image of Ito, Ken stood to his feet and began to walk out of his locker room backwards, mouthing off toward the cutout.

“Ito, you gay, blue jacket wearing homo . . . tonight, I’m going to – ARGH!”

As Ken turned around to walk out of the door, he walked face first into the door frame. Instantly he clutched his face before falling backwards.