Post by Bruce Cheeks on Nov 11, 2022 2:02:05 GMT -5
It’s Bruce Cheeks appreciate day in a suburb of Butte, Montana. A place with green pastures and blue skies. And massive septic tanks.
Bruce has pumped a lot of puddin out of the ground in this suburb. Eliminating the stench and stank of human feces from fine living.
So, in Bruce’s honor, this town is hosting a festival titled “Splittin Cheeks!” We’re not sure why it’s named that (I mean, we kinda are, but whatever). A bunch of carny type rides are in operation. Stands serving chocolate pudding, chocolate covered bananas, chocolate covered pretzels, chocolate covered onion rings...which some call ‘dirty assholes’. The works!
All proceeds go to Bruce’s charity of choice. His personal checking account.
A speaker marches around on a stage. Most of the attendees look up at the man wielding the mic. He stomps around, slamming his boots into the hardwood beneath him.
“THAT BRUCE CHEEKS IS A REAL MAN! HE AIN’T NO BITCH BOY. A REAL MAN, I TELL YA!”
The women scream and turn around, shaking their plump rumps toward the stage. The man’s eyes widen as he licks his lips, “OOWWWWWWWOOOOOOO” he howls into the sky.
They continue to shake their rumps.
It’s a party, for sure.
But where’s Bruce?
We cut to a port-o-potty. It’s OCCUPIED. Our view slips through a hole in the exterior to find BRUCE CHEEKS seated on the plastic throne, gruntin and gassin.
“Ugh,” he grunts, releasing a giant fart following by an ejection of shit slapping into the sludge beneath him. “Mylanta, I should have checked the expiration date on that chunky milk before finishin off the jug.”
He leans back, bracing himself on both sides of the port-o-potty. “Arrrghhhh!!!” PLOP SQUIRT PLOP SLAP! Shit flying from his hairy asshole into the sludge beneath. Whew, this is a big one.
Outside the port-o-potty, the speaker continues.
“BRUCE DONE GOT CHEATED, YA’LL.”
The crowd gasps.
“NOT ONLY WAS HE BANNED FROM WGWF...WHICH STANDS FOR WIMPY GNOME WRESTLING FEDERATION...YEA, THAT’S RIGHT. I SAID IT!”
They howl in laughter.
“BUT HE WAS DENIED VICTORY IN HIS DEBUT MATCH OVER IN ACTION WRESTLING. DID YA’LL SEE THAT SHIT? HE SPLIT THE VICTORY WITH NI...NY...AH HELL I CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO REMEMBER HER NAME. POINT IS HE SHARED A VICTORY WITH A WOMAN WITH AN ASS FLATTER THAN A PANCAKE. WEAK ASS!”
They yell out, “WEAK ASS!”
“BUT!” His voice comes down, just a bit. He pauses for dramatic effect, “OLE BRUCE IS BACK IN ACTION THIS WEEK. SO ACTION WRESTLING HAS A CHANCE TO MAKE UP FOR THEIR ULTIMATE PUSSY ASS BOOKING DECISION BY GIVING A SPLIT DECISION TO TWO NEWCOMERS SO THAT NEITHER WOULD LOSE INTEREST AND LEAVE. THAT’S RIGHT. ACTION WRESTLING CAN MAKE THIS RIGHT.”
Back inside the port-o-potty. Bruce licks his lips. All this squirtin and shittin has made him hungry. It’s too dangerous to leave. He might shit his pants. So, he pulls his phone from his pants and places a pizza order. Heavy on the anchovies. Once ordered, he leans back, wincing in pain, “BLAAAAHHHH!!!” he yells, lifting his legs in the air as more shit flies from his asshole.
“BRUCE’S NEXT OPPONENT? SHE NEEDS NO INTRODUCTION.”
She totally needs an introduction.
“HER NAME IS TATIANA JOLEE. A NAME STRAIGHT FROM SOME SORT OF NAME GENERATOR. A NAME THAT HAS LESS CHARISMA THAN A GENITAL WART. I DON’T KNOW WHY THEY KEEP PUTTIN BRUCE IN THERE WITH THE WOMEN. I GUESS THEY MUST WANT THEIR ASSES EATEN. WHO’S TO SAY, HEY?”
They yell back, “HEY!!!”
“THERE’S A STIPULATION WITH THIS MATCH...STIPULATION? MORE LIKE STRIPULATION!!! AMIRITE??”
Some of the women start to slide their pants down. The men get all hot and bothered. Bruce ejects a massive wad of shit from his ass. There’s a knock at the port-o-potty door.
“Yo,” Bruce calmly addresses.
“Pizza dude.”
Bruce kicks his foot up and unlocks the door. It flies open and the pizza dude stares at the hairy, naked from the waist down Bruce Cheeks. Bruce winks and jiggles his penis at the man.
“Oh my gosh!” the pizza dude exclaims, handing the pizza over. He pulls out a Bruce Cheeks trading card from the Septic Tank Collection and asks for Bruce’s autograph. Bruce dips his finger in some tomato sauce and signs his name. “Thank you, sir! It’s an honor.” The pizza dude drops to one knee and looks up, “AN HONOR.”
Bruce waves him away. He stares at his pizza and licks his lips as he rips a giant fart, spewing more shit into the port-o-potty.
“THE STRIPULATION, IF YOU WILL...IS THAT IF TATIANA SIGNS A NEW DEAL...SHE’LL WRESTLE!! OMG, ISN’T THAT SO EXCITING YOU GUYS?!”
Confusion
“I MEAN I DON’T REALLY GET WHAT THAT MEANS. IS SHE WRESTLING OR IS SHE NOT WRESTLING? SEEMS KINDA STUPID TO ME...LIKE SOME MORON GETTING ALL EXCITED BECAUSE IF THIS WOMAN HE’S CALLING ANSWERS...SHE’LL TALK TO HIM!! THE FUCK.”
We zoom in on Bruce sucking down the final anchovy like spaghetti. He belches loudly, tossing the pizza box out of the port-o-potty. The front door remaining open. He leans back, naked from the waist down. He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a cigarette.
“WELL WHATEVER TATIANA’S DEAL IS ONE THING IS FOR SURE...BRUCE IS GONNA BE SPLITTIN THOSE CHEEKS EN ROUTE TO A DEAFENING BOTTOMS UP!!”
The crowd goes wild.
Bruce lights his cigarette...the flames ignite amidst all the gas and the port-o-potty flies into the sky. A trail of shit follows as the port-o-potty soars...hits an apex and then descends. The crowd is sprayed with liquid shit and piss.
The potty smashes into the ground. Bruce emerges, pants still around his ankles, cig hanging from his mouth. He sees a woman. She sees Bruce.
Bruce makes an ‘o’ with his right hand and sticks his tongue, which smells like fish, through it. The woman giggles, “OH BRUCE!!!” She turns and sticks her ass in the air.
The crowd yells, ‘BOTTOMS UP!!!’ and Bruce goes to town.
Bruce has pumped a lot of puddin out of the ground in this suburb. Eliminating the stench and stank of human feces from fine living.
So, in Bruce’s honor, this town is hosting a festival titled “Splittin Cheeks!” We’re not sure why it’s named that (I mean, we kinda are, but whatever). A bunch of carny type rides are in operation. Stands serving chocolate pudding, chocolate covered bananas, chocolate covered pretzels, chocolate covered onion rings...which some call ‘dirty assholes’. The works!
All proceeds go to Bruce’s charity of choice. His personal checking account.
A speaker marches around on a stage. Most of the attendees look up at the man wielding the mic. He stomps around, slamming his boots into the hardwood beneath him.
“THAT BRUCE CHEEKS IS A REAL MAN! HE AIN’T NO BITCH BOY. A REAL MAN, I TELL YA!”
The women scream and turn around, shaking their plump rumps toward the stage. The man’s eyes widen as he licks his lips, “OOWWWWWWWOOOOOOO” he howls into the sky.
They continue to shake their rumps.
It’s a party, for sure.
But where’s Bruce?
We cut to a port-o-potty. It’s OCCUPIED. Our view slips through a hole in the exterior to find BRUCE CHEEKS seated on the plastic throne, gruntin and gassin.
“Ugh,” he grunts, releasing a giant fart following by an ejection of shit slapping into the sludge beneath him. “Mylanta, I should have checked the expiration date on that chunky milk before finishin off the jug.”
He leans back, bracing himself on both sides of the port-o-potty. “Arrrghhhh!!!” PLOP SQUIRT PLOP SLAP! Shit flying from his hairy asshole into the sludge beneath. Whew, this is a big one.
Outside the port-o-potty, the speaker continues.
“BRUCE DONE GOT CHEATED, YA’LL.”
The crowd gasps.
“NOT ONLY WAS HE BANNED FROM WGWF...WHICH STANDS FOR WIMPY GNOME WRESTLING FEDERATION...YEA, THAT’S RIGHT. I SAID IT!”
They howl in laughter.
“BUT HE WAS DENIED VICTORY IN HIS DEBUT MATCH OVER IN ACTION WRESTLING. DID YA’LL SEE THAT SHIT? HE SPLIT THE VICTORY WITH NI...NY...AH HELL I CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO REMEMBER HER NAME. POINT IS HE SHARED A VICTORY WITH A WOMAN WITH AN ASS FLATTER THAN A PANCAKE. WEAK ASS!”
They yell out, “WEAK ASS!”
“BUT!” His voice comes down, just a bit. He pauses for dramatic effect, “OLE BRUCE IS BACK IN ACTION THIS WEEK. SO ACTION WRESTLING HAS A CHANCE TO MAKE UP FOR THEIR ULTIMATE PUSSY ASS BOOKING DECISION BY GIVING A SPLIT DECISION TO TWO NEWCOMERS SO THAT NEITHER WOULD LOSE INTEREST AND LEAVE. THAT’S RIGHT. ACTION WRESTLING CAN MAKE THIS RIGHT.”
Back inside the port-o-potty. Bruce licks his lips. All this squirtin and shittin has made him hungry. It’s too dangerous to leave. He might shit his pants. So, he pulls his phone from his pants and places a pizza order. Heavy on the anchovies. Once ordered, he leans back, wincing in pain, “BLAAAAHHHH!!!” he yells, lifting his legs in the air as more shit flies from his asshole.
“BRUCE’S NEXT OPPONENT? SHE NEEDS NO INTRODUCTION.”
She totally needs an introduction.
“HER NAME IS TATIANA JOLEE. A NAME STRAIGHT FROM SOME SORT OF NAME GENERATOR. A NAME THAT HAS LESS CHARISMA THAN A GENITAL WART. I DON’T KNOW WHY THEY KEEP PUTTIN BRUCE IN THERE WITH THE WOMEN. I GUESS THEY MUST WANT THEIR ASSES EATEN. WHO’S TO SAY, HEY?”
They yell back, “HEY!!!”
“THERE’S A STIPULATION WITH THIS MATCH...STIPULATION? MORE LIKE STRIPULATION!!! AMIRITE??”
Some of the women start to slide their pants down. The men get all hot and bothered. Bruce ejects a massive wad of shit from his ass. There’s a knock at the port-o-potty door.
“Yo,” Bruce calmly addresses.
“Pizza dude.”
Bruce kicks his foot up and unlocks the door. It flies open and the pizza dude stares at the hairy, naked from the waist down Bruce Cheeks. Bruce winks and jiggles his penis at the man.
“Oh my gosh!” the pizza dude exclaims, handing the pizza over. He pulls out a Bruce Cheeks trading card from the Septic Tank Collection and asks for Bruce’s autograph. Bruce dips his finger in some tomato sauce and signs his name. “Thank you, sir! It’s an honor.” The pizza dude drops to one knee and looks up, “AN HONOR.”
Bruce waves him away. He stares at his pizza and licks his lips as he rips a giant fart, spewing more shit into the port-o-potty.
“THE STRIPULATION, IF YOU WILL...IS THAT IF TATIANA SIGNS A NEW DEAL...SHE’LL WRESTLE!! OMG, ISN’T THAT SO EXCITING YOU GUYS?!”
Confusion
“I MEAN I DON’T REALLY GET WHAT THAT MEANS. IS SHE WRESTLING OR IS SHE NOT WRESTLING? SEEMS KINDA STUPID TO ME...LIKE SOME MORON GETTING ALL EXCITED BECAUSE IF THIS WOMAN HE’S CALLING ANSWERS...SHE’LL TALK TO HIM!! THE FUCK.”
We zoom in on Bruce sucking down the final anchovy like spaghetti. He belches loudly, tossing the pizza box out of the port-o-potty. The front door remaining open. He leans back, naked from the waist down. He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a cigarette.
“WELL WHATEVER TATIANA’S DEAL IS ONE THING IS FOR SURE...BRUCE IS GONNA BE SPLITTIN THOSE CHEEKS EN ROUTE TO A DEAFENING BOTTOMS UP!!”
The crowd goes wild.
Bruce lights his cigarette...the flames ignite amidst all the gas and the port-o-potty flies into the sky. A trail of shit follows as the port-o-potty soars...hits an apex and then descends. The crowd is sprayed with liquid shit and piss.
The potty smashes into the ground. Bruce emerges, pants still around his ankles, cig hanging from his mouth. He sees a woman. She sees Bruce.
Bruce makes an ‘o’ with his right hand and sticks his tongue, which smells like fish, through it. The woman giggles, “OH BRUCE!!!” She turns and sticks her ass in the air.
The crowd yells, ‘BOTTOMS UP!!!’ and Bruce goes to town.
