War Room Lounge V127: The night we'll all remember

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Limbo Pete

Limbo Pete

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After giving this some thought, and in an honest to god attempt at avoiding the callout clause, i'm simply going to link the relevant start of this madness and let posterity feast



https://forums.sherdog.com/posts/160359773/




By god, this is certainly a night we'll all remember

Pre-reading

The Great Literary Works of Amerikuracana, featuring Sam the Ham, Bob Gallo's crusty underwear, and a door so locked you know you're focked.

https://forums.sherdog.com/posts/160337791/
https://forums.sherdog.com/posts/159938321/
https://forums.sherdog.com/posts/159993669/

Mod Note: This thread is for general conversation and any other conversations to avoid derails in regular threads. If you find yourself going off topic in a thread, please quote the person's post, come in here, click "insert quote" and continue on in here. This is also still the War Room. Do not expect OT/Bare Knuckles rules in here.

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https://forums.sherdog.com/threads/...t-had-a-stroke.4109710/page-45#post-160359882 link to old thread
Amerikuracana said:
Do you want to have a writing competition?
Click to expand...

Limbo Pete said:
...


.....




.....Yes. Yes I do.

@Amerikuracana I can't make anything happen until after the term ends in a couple weeks, but god as my witness this will be one for the Sherdog ages
Click to expand...

22k said:
subject - Fictional WR Lounge Meetup
Click to expand...

This wasn't a call-out. I decided to do it because I felt like it.

Jack V. sits smugly at the table of the ‘Upscale bar.’ That is the name of the establishment, ‘Upscale bar.’ It’s a hideaway place with far too many pictures on the wall and trinkets everywhere to actually be upscale; but it was thee Upscale. Jack was early for this nervous, mistake of a meeting. The very concept of the meeting had created an impending sense of doom and anxiety for all participants, but there was no turning back for anybody. Jack was passed by multiple bar patrons who could likely kick his ass under just about any circumstance; his small arms were as noticeable as his extra thick rimmed glasses. In today's world, his power was in that nobody would beat him up, because the smug weakling was just not somebody you tangled with for this blip in history. Jack V had successfully bet on that notion to gain a social advantage his entire life. His lack of physicality made him assume he must be smart, and it did so for many others who used short-cuts to make life simpler. Jack V was put in the difficult situation of having his smugness betrayed by the large paper name-tag he was wearing. It wasn’t that noticeable, but he felt as though he was wearing a beanie cap with plastic helicopter blades on top. He takes a deep inhale in, and sees another less-than human walk in also wearing a beanie cap white rectangle on his shirt. If there was ever a person who could raise their hand to get somebody’s attention in the way that would least attract attention, it was him. Up the hand went to shoulder height and moved back and forth, both trying to mimmick the movements of everybody else at the bar, but also trying to catch just one person’s eye.

22k (as the name-tag would say) was an older fellow, but nobody knew it. Not him, not the people he talked to, not his dog. He was sixty-thirty-five, and his clothes were part of the illusion. A knitted cap and carefully selected collared, yet untucked, shirt had “I golf with younger guys sometimes” written all over it. The 5 o’clock shadow he crafted over many moons hid a little of the aging of his skin. “I’m foolin’ em all,” his subconscious thought. There were some girls that appreciated the effort, but usually not “enough.” Looking around the Upscale Bar he only saw people blending into one another. He pretended he wasn’t too old and experienced to know how lame this scene really was, and how this weekend ritual behavior was as played out as his old VHS copy of ‘Temple of Doom,’ but he opened his eyes wide to fake being immersed in the experience.


“Nobody is going to show up to this. I can’t believe this is my fucking vacation,” the youthful old man mumbled to himself. Just then he saw a svelte fella barely waving at him. He quickly thought about walking away as if he hadn’t seen it, and just leaving the bar, but alas it was too late for cowardice. He started walking over to the low table when he ran heavily into a heavily set, but not obese person. Not looking for trouble, AKA further damage to his aching hip and knee, he put his hands defensively up and gave a non-threating smile to the large gentlemen. Upon looking down, two things caught his attention: The first was an ICP shirt that looked like it was purchased at a concert in 1995; and the second was a white rectangle with the name “HockeyBJJ” on it.

“Are you….? 22k asked clumsily.

“Hey man yeah. I’m a Sherdogger.”

There was absolutely nothing to say for a solid 3 seconds. That’s when HockeyBJJ extended a hand and said “I can’t believe this is happening.” Ol’ 22k grabbed the hand and shook because it bought him a couple more seconds of not saying anything. Then, he spoke, “Oh I think we have another Sherdogger sitting right over there,” 22k finally spit out. “Where is he?” returned HockeyBJJ even though just
 
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looking would have sufficed. A small man with pursed lips in a tight, smug smile had been watching the whole exchange. He looked somewhat terrified of the two, but also strangely confident in his superiority sitting there at the short table with bigger people sitting and standing all around. 22k and HockeyBJJ, now a couple, or best friends or something bar-behavior like walked over to the table. The shrimp at the table raised his eye-brows and slowly stood up.

“Oh hey! You’re Jack V Savage! Haha, just how I pictured you man,” said HockeyBJJ.

Jack in his button up flannelish shirt looked both at the ICP shirt, and the name-tag, and returned a “likewise.”

“22k?” Jack asked.

“Oh yeah bro,” returned 22k in raspy voice. Jack wondered how old 22k was, but realized his younger man’s costume fit well, so it didn’t really matter.

Jack V cordially and smartly shook both hands (new normal my ass) and they all uncomfortably sat down. Silence. The UFC was the rallying point of this doomed mission, of course, and the large TV which displayed it proudly gave the men respite from doing what they did online for hours a day, every day, which is talk to each other.

“I hope Fedor pulls it off, man,” HockeyBJJ fantasized.

“Jon Jones isn’t what he was, but one shot takes down Fedor these days, even if he is on a 4-fight win-streak,” said Jack. The three well acquainted strangers were staring at commercials on the big TV for a really, really long time. They were all jolted by the loud scratch of a chair being pulled from the table. It was like a grizzly running his nails over a chalkboard floor. The three turned and stared and saw a twitchy guy sitting right with them, who almost didn’t seem like he wanted to introduce himself. It seemed as though he wanted to be interjected at this table without saying a word, but even in these strange times, this was strange. They saw a white rectangle. “Limbo Pete.”

"Hey man, Limbo Pete huh. *chuckle* nice to meet ya,” Hockey BJJ jovially said.

“Hey. Hey. Hey.” Limbo said looking to each man.

“So you’re Jack V Savage. I kind of pictured you like that,” said Limbo with the table laughing about it. Limbo scratched at his face, and had small little twitches he didn’t seem to notice. It didn’t bother anybody, but others could see it a little better than he. “So when does the main event start?” Asked Limbo.

“They always take forever to get to the main event, we got some time,” interjected 22k, the oldest dogger at the table, trying to sound wise and youthful at the same time.

**BOOM!** In a contrast to the grizzly claw on chalk board that had been an extended, annoying startle, the slamming down of this chair was done by somebody that couldn’t have been a Sherdogger, because he was only about 5’6. The rest of the guys weren’t quite up to snuff either, but this little shit that had almost given them a heart attack must have been a toy-maker somewhere. Again there was an uncomfortable silence that people were just getting worse and worse at breaking, but finally somebody was smart enough to look down at the rectangle for something to say. There it was, in bright blue marker, “LEAD.”
 
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Jack, being a sucker for hierarchy that had nothing to do with physical prowess, or really any actual prowess of any kind, made hard eye-contact with forum mod with the short-ass bod. This was his kind of guy. Neat, yet thin and pushed down hair covered the round and angry looking head of LEAD. Does “head” rhyme with “LEAD,” well in some instances you have to ask. 22k found himself very witty for being the first to ask---

“Is it Led, or Leed?”

“Neither.” Lead dryly joked. After a few seconds of silence the table laughed at the solid humor from the unpaid Sherdog employee. After the laughter Lead continued, “We’re missing a bunch, but I guess I’m surprised anybody showed up.”

“Do you really think he’ll come?” Asked 22k.

“No. No way,” said Jack.

I bet he does, man. I bet he shows,” HockeyBJJ faithfully stated.

The fight was getting close to starting, and with only about 15-20 minutes left until showtime only 5 of about 15 people that had tentatively agreed to make this journey to the Upscale Bar had showed. Not bad, actually.

The group ignored Limbo Pete’s small twitches as much as possible, and tried not to make eye-contact with each other concerning them, because if they didn’t bother him that much, who else should really care? Still, a girl would probably notice, they thought.

Jack V. Wasn’t one to “look around” a place he was at, because if he made eye-contact and offended somebody, he risked getting pummeled, and that could do damage to the superiority he felt he established when he quietly walked in. But he was feeling frisky, and he looked around inquisitively, with as much snobbery as possible to let the world know he wouldn’t usually be looking at strangers… Because he’s too smart for that kind of thing. But his break from character proved fruitful. He couldn’t believe they hadn’t noticed, but the bar was full of people with little white rectangles.

Jack, finding it hard to be the initiator of conversation, forced his head forward to the middle of the table so everybody (because they all deserved the blessing of his voice for being his real life buddies now) could hear equally,

“Hey you guys, I uh, I think we might have missed something.”

“What’s that Jack!?” Said HockeyBJJ with a stupid smile Jack had trouble not smirking at.

“They’re everywhere.”

“Who?” said the old one.

“Sherdoggers. They’re everywhere around here. Everybody came!” The gang looked around with smiles and eyes wide open.

A obese woman with even thicker rimmed glasses than Jack and a “Thunder C*nt” tee-shirt had a tag that said “Andy Capp,” with that name crossed out, and below it said “Fawlty.” She looked back at the group at the table and snarled a hideous, but endearing smile in their direction and raised a glass. The
 
guys at the OG table raised one back. Across from Fawlty was a normal looking fella, who looked like he was willing to put up with the heffers whole shtick out of both kindness, and why notness. And his tag said “Tonni.” Tonni squinted over at Jack, Limbo, 22k, HockeyBJJ, and the comically short LEAD, and then laughed and raised his glass, and again, everybody reciprocated.” There was somebody almost as old as 22k sitting at the table with them, and he was trying to be almost as smug as Jack. Wasn’t working, as a smile broke through the face that betrayed the smug effort, his name-tag said “Ghandi.” Ghandi and Tonni and the large women seemed to be having a nice enough time, and when Tonni told Ghandi of the inhabitants of the adjacent table, Ghandi sat upright and raised his hand in a stiff, but sincere waive.


Other tables had them, as well. Sketch, Madmick, and IngaVovchanchen made up a nice looking table that seemed to be talking heavily about something they were all in agreement with. Lead the midget shouted over—


“Hey Mick! Over here!”

“Who’s that!?” Madmick yelled back.

It’s me, Lead!” Nobody still hearing how he pronounced his damn name.

Madmick drunkenly stumbled over to the table and greeted everybody. “We’re all cheering for Fedor here, right?” He loudly said as the bar grew busier and louder. Everybody agreed with a short comment about what a miracle, or how awesome, or what a moment it would be if Fedor could pull it off.

“I’m cheering for Jones. Fedor old as hell,” a voice yelled from a booth not far away. There he was, eating some appetizers with his mother (who obviously brought him) in all his glory, a white rectangle named KONG DS’T TAP. He looked at Madmick and seemed to get a little upset, but upon seeing many of the others who he liked from Sherland, a smile reminiscent of Jimmy from ‘The Ringer’ spread across his face. His mother was happy to see this. “Y’all think he’s comin?” Said Jimmy from ‘The Ringer’ in his Joe Biden Starter jacket from Wal-Mart. “We don’t know man,” all the others still listening spouted a version of.

22k looked around and saw everybody; Devout Pessimist in sweat pants and a hot but trashy girlfriend. Irish_Thug wearing his favorite ‘Bad-News-Brian” tee-shirt and tight jeans. Trotsky in his Che Guerrera tee-shit and pajama pants, looking ready have a conversation about health insurance with Mr. President Obama.

The MAGA hat table looked to be having a lot of fun. Jack thought about going over and introducing himself, but then he realized that somebody might take a picture of him at the table and use it to make him look bad on CNN or something, so he decided just to casually look over and not make his presence known. Uppercutbus, Philo-Publious, Lord Coke, Possum something, and phoenix Nikki looked to be having a lot of fun sharing a pitcher in thick flannels and proud, looking to be new “Keep America Great 2020” bright red hats. They sat with a well dressed man who looked to be pleading with them to understand something, using cutting motions with his hands. Is tag said Panamaican. This was a fun table.
 
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“Hey Pan! It’s Lead!”

“What’s up my Lead!” Not really knowing how he pronounced it.

“Great to see you man!” Do you think he’ll come?”

“Pshh I wouldn’t!!” Panmaican said, with both laughing. Pan noticed the shortness of Lead, and it added to the enjoyment of his night.

Jon Anik’s pathetic nasally voice boomed over the speakers--- “It’s time for the tale of the tape!!” Everybody in attendance cheered loudly. 22k turned his head at the sound of somebody cheering loudly, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Give me this main event!” The man’s shirt was off and he looked to be in thin, but good shape for his age. His feminine air made 22k want to look away, but he didn’t. Over the crotch of the pants was a white rectangle that was probably on a shirt previously, and it said MVelsor. Sitting right next to the standing statuesque fella was somebody nodding with slight disagreement, but also with blushing cheeks. His tag said “Whippy Magee.”

Joe Rogan was having an out of body experience explaining to the room of people that already knew how insane it was that Fedor was about to fight Jon Jones. Fedor had come out first to his old Pride song from ERA, and Jones to some rap schtick regarding euphemisms for killing rivals or something, and everybody was set to go. This was the moment Sherdoggers had been waiting for, and since Fedor had avenged his loss to Ryan Bader in his last fight, inspiring this grand meeting of internet people, the intrigue had blown through the roof nation-wide. From the back of the room somebody yelled “This is just a conspiracy to take all of your money. None of this matters and it’s just a distraction from reality.” The name-tag said IDL.


“Iiiiiiiiiit’s Tiiiiiiimeee!” The live crowd and bar roared completely ignoring how terrible Bruce Buffer was at announcing. He was our terrible, dammit. Everybody was watching this. Even the bouncers of the Upscale Bar were fully invested. The fight started, and Lead looked at Jack, got close, and said “He didn’t show up.” Jack replied, “I knew he wouldn’t.”

Jones looked relaxed, but not quite as strong as he did a few years back. Fedor was light on his feet. Everybody was waiting for Fedor to get dropped by a big elbow, or a something. Jon Jones looked to cripple Fedor with gross teep kicks to the knees of the aged Fedor. Fedor could not get close enough through the first couple minutes, and Jones was cruising while keeping distance. Then Jon Jones threw the perfect cheap ass knee kick… But Fedor stepped past it and wheeled a giant overhand right that sent Jones falling backward. The roar of the bar created a vibration that could have loosened the foundation, and it continued while Fedor landed GNP reminiscent of his fights with Rodrigo Nogueira. Jones head bounced off the canvas with 6…7…8-9 unanswered shots. Just as it had started, it was over, and Jones was unconscious. The roof was blowing off the bar when one of the bouncers joined the jumping and screaming and started high fiving every patron he could get to. Everybody was hugging everybody and screaming “HOLY SHIT” over, and over, and over. Even the smug Jack and the twitchy Limbo and the short Lead who would usually not behave like this in public had their hands over their foreheads while people jumped all around them.
 
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“I gotta get out of here!!” Yelled somebody near the table.

“Who said that?” Wondered Jack aloud as the chaos continued to ensue.

“I’M LEAVING. I WANTED TO SAY HI!” Limbo twitched and looked around, which were hard to tell the difference between.

“Who the f*ck said that?!!” said the chubby, drunk Juggalo hockey fan.

“I’m right here!”

22k looked at the bouncer standing next to him and wondered what the hell he was talking about. “What?” He asked.

The bouncer had a sincere smile and looked actually happy to be there. He looked more confident in himself than was appropriate or even allowed these days, and this made the table, who was just recovering from one of the most memorable moments of their MMA fan lives, a little perplexed.

“Let me shake your hand!” The kind of funny looking 245lb bouncer went around the table, and then around the bar, smiling and shaking everybody’s hand. “Who the hell does that guy think he is?” 22K said with an incredulous expression. Then Lead noticed a white rectangle on the back of the tight shirt of the kind of big dude, it said “Amerikuracana.”

Amerikuracana gave a bro hug to KONG I’SNT Jimmy in the booth near the door, with both of them smiling at each other, and then shook his mother’s hand and smiled at her too. Then he walked out confidently, by himself.

“I can’t believe he f*cking came,” said Sherdog.

The drunken party raged into the night, and Fedor had beat his last UFC champion
 
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412.gif


Cliffs?
 
This is the stuff of internet legends
 
HockeyBjj said:
This is the stuff of internet legends
Click to expand...
Have fun. Enjoy. It was one straight shot through with zero editing, of course, so we'll see how it goes.

Have a good thread guys!
 
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You copied my usage of Jack and made it less funny but also weird at the same time. I win by default. I also trolled and owned you by even having you enter this contest of which I was never a participant. Reply to me and this will be archived.
 
I'm looking at this having worked, and still can't believe it worked.
 
Sketch said:
You copied my usage of Jack and made it less funny but also weird at the same time. I win by default. I also trolled and owned you by even having you enter this contest of which I was never a participant. Reply to me and this will be archived.
Click to expand...
I have no idea what you are talking about lol
 
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