Patriot of Pretty
(The colors aren't working for some reason. I'll fix it another time.)
* * *
Word of the Day
Ganbatte
-noun
Japanese word for "do your best", "go for it" or "good luck". The Japanese equivalent of Ripplemagne's "believe".
Remakes of Ripplemagne's "Believe" t-shirts with the word "Ganbatte" in a red sun goes on sale now. All proceeds go to relief aid for the victims of the recent Japan Tsunami/Earthquake combo.
* * *
And now, for your feature presentation...
* * *
Ripplemagne:
"Just when you thought it was safe to masturbate in public....!"
Entranced in a majestic waft of a long, crimson curtain elegantly plateaued by an early century gold-linen cut -- we are immediately sucked into the rabbit hole that is Your Feature Presentation.
Stepping forth in a mocked tribute of a prime Razor Ramon, the self-proclaimed Genitalia of Professional Wrestling struts forward with the tip of his yankee doodle top hat. Arranged in a peculiar blend of Randy "Macho Man" Savage fashion with what can only be described as the product of George Washington and Joseph McCarthy's semen being converted into a deep-setting dye for the fabric of the aforementioned Machomania fashion -- the young lad's perfectly-knit high cheek bones gesture upwards in a duchenne smile.
With an erection... of his index finger, the 20-year-old phenomenon pointed to the sky with his wrist aligned in a pledge-like pose before the kevlar-like bulk of his rippled pectoral area. The result of a tireless assault on his chest with as many push-ups as his body can muster in a given day. His eventual goal being a conclusive victory over his own body by tallying up in the five digits. With that same finger, he gallantly rose to the bridge of his Sicilian nose, pushing up from the stem a pair of glistening red isosceles triangle sunglasses reminiscent of the Gurren Lagann ledgend, Kamina.
There also seemed to be a long strip of linguine wedged in the coil of his top hat. Make of that what you will.
Ripplemagne:
"My, oh my. It has been some time, hasn't it, my dearest of friends? I do believe some apologies are in order here. You see, my loyal Ripplemagniacs -- I, the Patriarch of Pretty. Wait, no. That doesn't quite work for me anymore. No, no. Better! I, the Patriot of Pretty, have been a very busy boy, you see. Traveling to far off lands upon the Nina/Pinta/Santa-Maria, engaging in arduous fisticuffs with America's nefarious enemies, strangulating sand nigger terrorists with their child-wives' hijabs, gettin' into merciless CQB with the dreaded commies atop the mighty mount of Rushmore and shoving de Magne's size-10 shoe in the Holland Tunnel-esque posterior of a googolpelxian of Britfag red coats."
The White Mage:
"Monsieur Ripplemagne, ze American Revolutionary War ended two centuries ago. Ze United States is no longer at war with le British Empire. In fact, they are allies now."
Ripplemagne:
"Well, that certainly doesn't explain the chronic penis envy those limeys there be trippin' on. Niggas in England have the illest inferiority complex that the Patriot of Pretty has ever seen in all of his vivacious days. 'Wah wah wah America is bad, you're worse than the Taliban, socialism is Libertarian, regulations are kawaii.' Let it happen that another limey thinks they can discuss gun control wit' de Magne! The only tea-slurper that earns Ripplemagne's Seal of Approval is Steve Hughes -- and he's Australian-born.
Oh, I got sidetracked again, didn't I? Anyway, the Ripplemagne has been on tireless campaign of jingoistic glory, but has now returned to the Octane love-net to atomic teabag various Commie-Islamofascists that dare raise a grimy fingernail to Old Glory!"
Obviously overselling the whole 'rah rah America' thing, Ripplemagne pauses for a moment. With a polite 'ahem', the young man batted his eyelashes and waited a moment before resuming.
Ripplemagne:
"But er... what began this transition to Patriot of Pretty was that I was a-just walkin' down the street, singin' doo-wa-doo-wa-diddy-dum-diddy-doo. And suddenly, it dawned on me that America needs a hero. You know, besides Glenn Beck.
With Captain America becoming a shill and Superman no longer for 'truth, justice and the American way', but rather 'truth and justice' -- it became apparent to the Ripplemagne that he could no longer just be a super hero. He had to be... an American super hero!
And so, I donned m-- Hey. ADD moment, I know, but uh... the King of Hearts requires a handjob at the hands of a blind girl of sorts."
The White Mage:
"Um... what?"
Ripplemagne:
"I met this blind chick at a cash register in Genovese the other day. Don't ask me how she counts the money or checks the item without a scanner, because there wasn't one. And you know, like, at first, I wanted to put it in her butt and use her virgin blood as war paint when I pop her cherry and go raw skin-commando on her with crimson red war paint... and if there's enough, certainly tribal markings on the Ripplemagne's marvelous pecs and abs.
But then when I saw that she had to feel around for the items handed to her at the counter and noticed her eyes all fucked up, confirming her blind status...
...I really wanted to raw dog the shit out of her. And the fact that she's blind only increases the chance that she is a woman who is a virgin by 15%, bringing her up to a whopping -37% potential. Because we all know that women are never virgins. Ever. But anyway, where the average person would immediately strike her out as potential put-it-in-her-butt-and-bust-a-nut-on-her-neck material, a Ripplemagnian brain -- or Ripplebrain, if you will -- begins to think of the advantages of such a situation. Call me an optimist for looking at the advantages of such a scenario, but I think a blind bitch could give a better handjob than any ho' with a working set of peepers."
The White Mage, 'safely' situated behind the camera, could only remain quiet as Ripplemagne completely deviated from 'truth, justice and the American way' to nailing a blind woman.
Ripplemagne:
"And you know, wimmenz have no idea how to give a handjob. Unless you work at a rub and tug, chances are you will be yanking me for hours before I decide that the impromptu nutting is not worth all of this effort and stick it in your ear. But I figure a blind chick has never been exposed to porn, which debars her from any illusions on how to make de Magne splooge. But more importantly, she senses the world almost primarily through hearing and touch. And taste too, but that's a tale for another time, me thinks.
But that just makes her perfect wifey material. She will take commands like a champ and have to feel around and get an intimate understanding of one's shaft by squeezing, gliding her hand, et cetera."
The sonority in the stride pretty boy's voice was emblematic of the guido subculture of New York and New Jersey. That Jersey Shore tonality in his voice was sweetened by his sophisticated speech, but his tendency to say words like 'talk' as 'tawk', to drop the G in "ing' words, and so on -- made the Joe Pesci speech unavoidable.
The White Mage:
"I can't even believe we're talking about this right now."
Ripplemagne:
"Silence! Best part about it is the irony of it all."
The White Mage:
"Ze irony?"
Ripplemagne:
"Yes, the irony. Think about it. The King of Hearts wife-ing up a blind bitch. The single, most gorgeous individual that has ever resided within the omniverse... intimately locked with some bimbo who can't even behold such wonder and enchantment! Woe would be to her that she could not behold the cheese grater-esque abs of the monumental Ripplemagne while he brutally reams her; his porcelain fleece of sexy and giggity rippling around his chiseled pecs. I surely would pity such a woman.
Because if you think about it, if I did, indeed, wife her up -- it'd be because she was in... l-l-l... phew. I don't even think I can say it."
The White Mage:
"In love with you?"
Ripplemagne:
"An utterly deplorable word.
But indubitably! Such a woman would have to actually find the Ripplemagne's... p-personality love-worthy. Now, I know every bella from here to Agrabah wishes to be penetrated and even live happily ever after wit' de Magne. But imagine being married to me for my personality!? Lord almighty.
She could, of course, marry me just because de Magne know how to work dat pussay. But then I figure, how would I bag her to begin with if she can't see my magnificent visage?! I'd have to rape her. And I dunno, rape has always been a bit of a minor moral taboo for de Magne.
So, ultimately, she'd have to be in love with me for my personality. Inconceivable."
The White Mage:
"Didn't that one girl you picked up at that bar rate you as a four out of ten, but said your ability to charm made you a ten?"
Ripplemagne:
"And when she tried to get de Magne into her ferrari, the Ripplemagne subsequently informed her that he had forgotten his box of glow-in-the-dark condoms. Then left. And later 'discovered' that my pea coat pocket was crammed to the brim with 'em -- in addition to those lovely strawberry ones."
The White Mage:
"How did we wind up talking about this?"
Ripplemagne:
"All that patriotism gave de Magne a little too much tang in his wang. But while we're on the subject of wangs, did you happen to see who I, the magnificent Ripplemagne, have been pitted against for my luxurious return? Now, I don't like to make judgments, but de Magne is relatively sure that his schtick is an old hat. The Straight Edge gimmick, the indy style, the tattoos -- he even kind of looks like CM Punk. A tad."
The White Mage:
"I don't see the resemblance."
Ripplemagne:
"It all just seems a little too... contrived. It's something we've all seen before and Xtremity, if you're watching this, I am not meaning to shit on you in saying this. But I mean... I don't smoke, drink or do drugs either. Straight edge is just a fancy way to say 'normal'. I pointed this out awhile ago in regards to Gabriella. If you're looking to piss a few people off, it can be a fun way to do so. But how many times can you say 'drugs are bad' before your message becomes tired? You're better off with a vegan gimmick and Lord knows that those pinko commies nauseate de Magne.
Now, I don't know you. I've never seen you compete before. My basis here is solely rooted in what is available to me via the wrestling blogs and the company's website. You may end up surprising me with a riveting dose of originality that runs contrary to a backyard wrestling, playskool, generic ring name like 'Xtremity'. I will give you the dignity of treating you like a man though and assume that you are, indeed, a new breeze in the wrestling industry.
And one thing I noticed in commonality between the two of us is a residency in the Empire State of New York. Brooklyn, to be exact. I am from Queens. And to those of you who are from New York, you know there's a whole East Coast/West Coast rivalry between the two boroughs.
So, lets make this interesting, Xtremity. You need to make a name for yourself in Full Throttle Wrestling, I'm itching to leave my Ripplemagniacs in awe once again upon my return. We both have Octane contendership to impress for. Brooklyn v. Queens. Lets have the big wigs in charge of the booking change the match type to a New York Street Fight.
Let me know if you agree to these conditions. The ball is in your court.
Believe it."
* * *
* * *
Word of the Day
Ganbatte
-noun
Japanese word for "do your best", "go for it" or "good luck". The Japanese equivalent of Ripplemagne's "believe".
Remakes of Ripplemagne's "Believe" t-shirts with the word "Ganbatte" in a red sun goes on sale now. All proceeds go to relief aid for the victims of the recent Japan Tsunami/Earthquake combo.
* * *
And now, for your feature presentation...
* * *
Ripplemagne:
"Just when you thought it was safe to masturbate in public....!"
Entranced in a majestic waft of a long, crimson curtain elegantly plateaued by an early century gold-linen cut -- we are immediately sucked into the rabbit hole that is Your Feature Presentation.
Stepping forth in a mocked tribute of a prime Razor Ramon, the self-proclaimed Genitalia of Professional Wrestling struts forward with the tip of his yankee doodle top hat. Arranged in a peculiar blend of Randy "Macho Man" Savage fashion with what can only be described as the product of George Washington and Joseph McCarthy's semen being converted into a deep-setting dye for the fabric of the aforementioned Machomania fashion -- the young lad's perfectly-knit high cheek bones gesture upwards in a duchenne smile.
With an erection... of his index finger, the 20-year-old phenomenon pointed to the sky with his wrist aligned in a pledge-like pose before the kevlar-like bulk of his rippled pectoral area. The result of a tireless assault on his chest with as many push-ups as his body can muster in a given day. His eventual goal being a conclusive victory over his own body by tallying up in the five digits. With that same finger, he gallantly rose to the bridge of his Sicilian nose, pushing up from the stem a pair of glistening red isosceles triangle sunglasses reminiscent of the Gurren Lagann ledgend, Kamina.
There also seemed to be a long strip of linguine wedged in the coil of his top hat. Make of that what you will.
Ripplemagne:
"My, oh my. It has been some time, hasn't it, my dearest of friends? I do believe some apologies are in order here. You see, my loyal Ripplemagniacs -- I, the Patriarch of Pretty. Wait, no. That doesn't quite work for me anymore. No, no. Better! I, the Patriot of Pretty, have been a very busy boy, you see. Traveling to far off lands upon the Nina/Pinta/Santa-Maria, engaging in arduous fisticuffs with America's nefarious enemies, strangulating sand nigger terrorists with their child-wives' hijabs, gettin' into merciless CQB with the dreaded commies atop the mighty mount of Rushmore and shoving de Magne's size-10 shoe in the Holland Tunnel-esque posterior of a googolpelxian of Britfag red coats."
The White Mage:
"Monsieur Ripplemagne, ze American Revolutionary War ended two centuries ago. Ze United States is no longer at war with le British Empire. In fact, they are allies now."
Ripplemagne:
"Well, that certainly doesn't explain the chronic penis envy those limeys there be trippin' on. Niggas in England have the illest inferiority complex that the Patriot of Pretty has ever seen in all of his vivacious days. 'Wah wah wah America is bad, you're worse than the Taliban, socialism is Libertarian, regulations are kawaii.' Let it happen that another limey thinks they can discuss gun control wit' de Magne! The only tea-slurper that earns Ripplemagne's Seal of Approval is Steve Hughes -- and he's Australian-born.
Oh, I got sidetracked again, didn't I? Anyway, the Ripplemagne has been on tireless campaign of jingoistic glory, but has now returned to the Octane love-net to atomic teabag various Commie-Islamofascists that dare raise a grimy fingernail to Old Glory!"
Obviously overselling the whole 'rah rah America' thing, Ripplemagne pauses for a moment. With a polite 'ahem', the young man batted his eyelashes and waited a moment before resuming.
Ripplemagne:
"But er... what began this transition to Patriot of Pretty was that I was a-just walkin' down the street, singin' doo-wa-doo-wa-diddy-dum-diddy-doo. And suddenly, it dawned on me that America needs a hero. You know, besides Glenn Beck.
With Captain America becoming a shill and Superman no longer for 'truth, justice and the American way', but rather 'truth and justice' -- it became apparent to the Ripplemagne that he could no longer just be a super hero. He had to be... an American super hero!
And so, I donned m-- Hey. ADD moment, I know, but uh... the King of Hearts requires a handjob at the hands of a blind girl of sorts."
The White Mage:
"Um... what?"
Ripplemagne:
"I met this blind chick at a cash register in Genovese the other day. Don't ask me how she counts the money or checks the item without a scanner, because there wasn't one. And you know, like, at first, I wanted to put it in her butt and use her virgin blood as war paint when I pop her cherry and go raw skin-commando on her with crimson red war paint... and if there's enough, certainly tribal markings on the Ripplemagne's marvelous pecs and abs.
But then when I saw that she had to feel around for the items handed to her at the counter and noticed her eyes all fucked up, confirming her blind status...
...I really wanted to raw dog the shit out of her. And the fact that she's blind only increases the chance that she is a woman who is a virgin by 15%, bringing her up to a whopping -37% potential. Because we all know that women are never virgins. Ever. But anyway, where the average person would immediately strike her out as potential put-it-in-her-butt-and-bust-a-nut-on-her-neck material, a Ripplemagnian brain -- or Ripplebrain, if you will -- begins to think of the advantages of such a situation. Call me an optimist for looking at the advantages of such a scenario, but I think a blind bitch could give a better handjob than any ho' with a working set of peepers."
The White Mage, 'safely' situated behind the camera, could only remain quiet as Ripplemagne completely deviated from 'truth, justice and the American way' to nailing a blind woman.
Ripplemagne:
"And you know, wimmenz have no idea how to give a handjob. Unless you work at a rub and tug, chances are you will be yanking me for hours before I decide that the impromptu nutting is not worth all of this effort and stick it in your ear. But I figure a blind chick has never been exposed to porn, which debars her from any illusions on how to make de Magne splooge. But more importantly, she senses the world almost primarily through hearing and touch. And taste too, but that's a tale for another time, me thinks.
But that just makes her perfect wifey material. She will take commands like a champ and have to feel around and get an intimate understanding of one's shaft by squeezing, gliding her hand, et cetera."
The sonority in the stride pretty boy's voice was emblematic of the guido subculture of New York and New Jersey. That Jersey Shore tonality in his voice was sweetened by his sophisticated speech, but his tendency to say words like 'talk' as 'tawk', to drop the G in "ing' words, and so on -- made the Joe Pesci speech unavoidable.
The White Mage:
"I can't even believe we're talking about this right now."
Ripplemagne:
"Silence! Best part about it is the irony of it all."
The White Mage:
"Ze irony?"
Ripplemagne:
"Yes, the irony. Think about it. The King of Hearts wife-ing up a blind bitch. The single, most gorgeous individual that has ever resided within the omniverse... intimately locked with some bimbo who can't even behold such wonder and enchantment! Woe would be to her that she could not behold the cheese grater-esque abs of the monumental Ripplemagne while he brutally reams her; his porcelain fleece of sexy and giggity rippling around his chiseled pecs. I surely would pity such a woman.
Because if you think about it, if I did, indeed, wife her up -- it'd be because she was in... l-l-l... phew. I don't even think I can say it."
The White Mage:
"In love with you?"
Ripplemagne:
"An utterly deplorable word.
But indubitably! Such a woman would have to actually find the Ripplemagne's... p-personality love-worthy. Now, I know every bella from here to Agrabah wishes to be penetrated and even live happily ever after wit' de Magne. But imagine being married to me for my personality!? Lord almighty.
She could, of course, marry me just because de Magne know how to work dat pussay. But then I figure, how would I bag her to begin with if she can't see my magnificent visage?! I'd have to rape her. And I dunno, rape has always been a bit of a minor moral taboo for de Magne.
So, ultimately, she'd have to be in love with me for my personality. Inconceivable."
The White Mage:
"Didn't that one girl you picked up at that bar rate you as a four out of ten, but said your ability to charm made you a ten?"
Ripplemagne:
"And when she tried to get de Magne into her ferrari, the Ripplemagne subsequently informed her that he had forgotten his box of glow-in-the-dark condoms. Then left. And later 'discovered' that my pea coat pocket was crammed to the brim with 'em -- in addition to those lovely strawberry ones."
The White Mage:
"How did we wind up talking about this?"
Ripplemagne:
"All that patriotism gave de Magne a little too much tang in his wang. But while we're on the subject of wangs, did you happen to see who I, the magnificent Ripplemagne, have been pitted against for my luxurious return? Now, I don't like to make judgments, but de Magne is relatively sure that his schtick is an old hat. The Straight Edge gimmick, the indy style, the tattoos -- he even kind of looks like CM Punk. A tad."
The White Mage:
"I don't see the resemblance."
Ripplemagne:
"It all just seems a little too... contrived. It's something we've all seen before and Xtremity, if you're watching this, I am not meaning to shit on you in saying this. But I mean... I don't smoke, drink or do drugs either. Straight edge is just a fancy way to say 'normal'. I pointed this out awhile ago in regards to Gabriella. If you're looking to piss a few people off, it can be a fun way to do so. But how many times can you say 'drugs are bad' before your message becomes tired? You're better off with a vegan gimmick and Lord knows that those pinko commies nauseate de Magne.
Now, I don't know you. I've never seen you compete before. My basis here is solely rooted in what is available to me via the wrestling blogs and the company's website. You may end up surprising me with a riveting dose of originality that runs contrary to a backyard wrestling, playskool, generic ring name like 'Xtremity'. I will give you the dignity of treating you like a man though and assume that you are, indeed, a new breeze in the wrestling industry.
And one thing I noticed in commonality between the two of us is a residency in the Empire State of New York. Brooklyn, to be exact. I am from Queens. And to those of you who are from New York, you know there's a whole East Coast/West Coast rivalry between the two boroughs.
So, lets make this interesting, Xtremity. You need to make a name for yourself in Full Throttle Wrestling, I'm itching to leave my Ripplemagniacs in awe once again upon my return. We both have Octane contendership to impress for. Brooklyn v. Queens. Lets have the big wigs in charge of the booking change the match type to a New York Street Fight.
Let me know if you agree to these conditions. The ball is in your court.
Believe it."
* * *
