The greatest song ever written begins to play. Immediately distinguishable. Totally and fully bad ass. Universally beloved. It catches your attention before your stupid idiot brain has even really processed the first note. That's how stupid you are and how ridiculously good this song is. You should probably pray to whatever Deity you believe in right the hell now and thank him or her, but realistically he, for allowing you to have working ears at a time and place that would allow you to bask in the Goddam Glory that is the intro song for Danger, Danger Fontaine.

What's that you feel? Yeah that's right. The auditory part of your brain, the part that hears shit I mean, it just got pregnant. You're welcome.

At an appropriate time Danger, Danger Fontaine slides out just as his song hits a high note. Not literally a high note, like not musically high like an alto or whatever, but at an opportune time where it makes his sudden appearance just a little bit more bad ass. Yeah that's right it can always get better. I know, I know, it is hard to believe.

Anyway, dude slides out all cool like and does a little dance. It's both sexually arousing and also like platonically arousing at the same time. It lifts your spirits and other stuff too probably. Everyone is excited to see him. He's so cool. His grocery cart full of weapons, that is also the coolest grocery cart you have ever seen. Can you say what makes it so cool? No, no you probably can't, you moron, but wow it's so cool. Even that live lobster, confused as it appears, is impossibly cool. What a rad guy.

"Cut the music! Cut the fucking music!" Danger, Danger Fontaine screams very cooly after reaching the ring.

He poses in silence for a little while. Also in a very cool way.

"Anyone out there think they can take me?" he asks the crowd.

"Anyone out there think they can Match up to the Masked and Mustachioed Muscle Man of Mount Medulla? Now is your time! Step up peons!"

He stomps around the ring, pointing into the crowd. Questioning various fans, both men and women, about their masculinity and the size of their genitalia and/or brains. It's pretty cool, he's a cool guy.

"Hey!" he shouts as the ring begins to rumble. "Hey what the fuck is that?"

The ring shakes hard, Making his Marbled Musculature and Magnificent Mustache Shake Seductively. Very cool.

The center of the ring shakes a bit harder before a clawed hand rips up from under the mat.

"Ahhhhh!" he shouts very masculinely.

The clawed hand rips a line down the center and then out he crawls.

"MOLE MAN! You dare challenge the Mountain of Moldova? Meet your Maker!"

He waves to the announcers.

"Hey, hey, find this Mole Man a Manager, can't make Money without a Manager. Danger, Danger Fontaine Don't Fight For Free."

THE MOLE-MAN glares at the audience all around him, in a way that might be construed as intimidating, suspicious, or blinded. He snuffles. He slowly, painstakingly drags his bulging bulk from the pit in the ring, dripping clods of dirt and chunks of concrete and rags of ring-material.

THE MOLE-MANAGER looks on and sees his calling.

THE MOLE-MANAGER wasn't always known as THE MOLE-MANAGER. Until a few seconds hence, in fact, he was known as a custodian. But something... activates... within him, as he sees that enormous brown creature drag himself from the depths to face, of all people, Danger, Danger Fontaine.

Security is too slow to stop him. He's in the ring faster than thought, and at THE MOLE-MAN's side by the time he's done thinking about why this might be a bad idea. THE MOLE-MAN peers at him with that cruel-skeptical-suffering gaze through an all-black eye, and he knows it must be a bad idea.

"I will be the MOLE-MANAGER!" cries THE MOLE-MANAGER. The audience gasps.
"I will teach the MOLE-MAN to fight!" he adds, getting into it already. The audience roars.
"I will make THE MOLE-MAN defeat Danger, Danger Fontaine!" he screams, so loud that his throat hurts. The audience echoes his scream. THE MOLE-MAN covers his earholes.
"And I am going to make a lot of money!!" he emits, his voice taking the form of distilled volume. The audience falls into violent paroxysms of multi-flavored arousal. THE MOLE-MANAGER is quite the orator, it seems.

THE MOLE-MAN also screams, holding his claws tightly over his ears.

Very masculinely Danger, Danger Fontaine covers his ears against the Rancorous upRoar Of the Onslaught of the Oration of the MOLE-MAN's MOLEY MANAGER, MOLE-MANAGER.

Seeking out some Semblance of Sentient thought in the Man so Monikered as MOLE-MANAGER, MANAGER OF MOLE-MAN, he squints and considers his Fearsome Foe. More specifically his Fearsome Foe's MANAGER. Small and black, like a thing which is both small and black. It is said by some braniac fuck or another that when you gaze into the void you must be careful because the void stares back, but when Danger, Danger Fontaine stares into the black void that is the eyes of MOLE-MANAGER all he sees is small and black. And probably blind. And also a little bit of dirt. He should probably get some artificial tear drops for that, after Danger, Danger Fontaine beats the ever living shit out of the MOLE-MAN and collects a Mountain of Money.

"MOLE MAN has MANAGED a MOLE-MANAGER? But can MOLE-MANAGER MANAGE?" he Confidently Cuestioned as he sized up his opponent and laughed very derisively.

"Taste my Fucking Foot Foul Fiend!" he shouted as he jumped high and valiantly Prepared a Punishing Dropkick for the Distracted Digging obsessed Maybe/Maybe Not Marsupial Mole Man, MOLE-MAN.

At last the Battle has Begun.

THE MOLE-MAN, disoriented and distressed, distracted indeed and despairing that this overload of sensation might never end, faces only yet further suffering directly ahead - that is, above him, and descending with alacrity.

MOLE-MAN's skull is designed to endure and deflect many inconveniences, such as boulders dropping on top of it, and falling into caverns, and most of the immediate consequences of THE MOLE-MAN doing unwise things like telling people how he thinks they look. MOLE-MAN's skull is hardy. However, today THE MOLE-MAN's skull is struck by the foot of Danger, Danger Fontaine, and it hurts, a lot, like, a ton.

The screaming MOLE-MAN does not stop screaming. THE MOLE-MAN stumbles, and bumbles in a small circle around the ring, his small MOLE-MAN brain rattling in its cage, like a creature upset at a failing in its accommodations. In this case, the failing is fragility.

Concussed, still blinded, baffled, and at a stretch, perhaps, bereaved, THE MOLE-MAN rapidly and helplessly stumbles with its full weight from one side of the arena into the part of it that Danger, Danger Fontaine is occupying. The announcers stammer, trying to think of a name for this move on the spot.

"This- this is THE MOLE-MAN's famous... ah, what is it, do you think?"
"Flying charge tackle!"
"Flying?"
"Certainly!"

Staggeringly, his Stability Stressed, Stumbling the Celebrated Champion and Regal Re...Ra.... Royal Registered pResident of the Ring Rapidly Exits Said Ring Entirely of his own volition. He Definitely Did that on Purpose. I Promise.

What an Unprecedented Utilization of a most Unregistered weaponry. Unusual to say the least.

The Immovable Object has met the Irresistible Force. Who Might have iMagined, a Mole Man. THE Mole Man, MOLE-MAN, Malodorous and Mighty Man Mole!

"He was Clearly Cheating!" Danger, Danger Fontaine Cried to a Crowing Crowd.

Despite their Deliberate inDifference and general Doubting expressions Danger, Danger Fontaine knew in his heart of heart and kidney of kidneys that the Crowd Could see the Credulity of his Complaint. Flying Tackle Charge? Nonsense. That wasn't in the movelist. He had all the DLCs too. There was a Top Rope Flying Charge. A Tackling Charge. A Charging Tackle. No Flying Tackle Charge!

"ILLEGITIMATE! ILLEGITIMATE!" Danger, Danger Fontaine wisely and Bravely Brought the matter to the Announcer's Attention.

They just kinda shook their heads. It was a no. MOLE-MAN was good. Everyone knows the only rules in both the Human Wrestling League For Humans and the Monthly Mole Man Motivational Invitational is that there are no rules. Other than that first rule, the one that there are no rules. That's the only one.

"FUUUUUUUCK. Fine."

Danger, Danger Fontaine Valiantly Vaulted To The Tippity Toppity Tippity Top of The Turnbuckle and Executed an Exemplary Elbow Drop Aiming to Assault the Mole Man MOLE-MAN right on the Tippity Fuckin' Top of his stupid fuck Mole Man head.

But would it land? Would the Mole Man Maneuver Making him Miss? Perhaps the Man of La Mole-a May Suddenly Slip Clear of the Colossal Catastrophic Crush of a Conundrum of Realizing Rhyming gets Really hard. Not that that rhymed. It just started with the same letter, sometimes. Fuck.

Still Something Cool would Surely oCcur. Ooooo, that was Kinda Kool. I liked that.

In the momentary silence of the startled crowd, following his ingenious deployment of the MOLE-MAN patented Flying Charge Tackle slash Flying Tackle Charge, THE MOLE-MAN takes a moment to reflect on his new environment, and perhaps on his life and decisions going forward.

He lingers instead on his decisions going backward - on regrets. But at least he can think. The quiet is good for his rattling brain and throbbing skull. THE MOLE-MAN feels on the brink of peace when Danger, Danger Fontaine loudly swears.

His head jerks up. THE MOLE-MAN has a particular relationship with swearing. When people do it, it usually means they're about to get aggressive with him.
"Fffffuucchchhh?" echoes THE MOLE-MAN, his warped and unattractive features moving almost imperceptibly to let loose the obscene utterance.

THE MOLE-MAN is on guard as Danger, Danger Fontaine ascends the ropes and prepares what might be an Exemplary Elbow Drop. THE MOLE-MAN, the announcers observe, is ready. Beady black eyes stare upwards at that tanned, glistening, grossly muscled form. Some might be distracted and taken back off guard. But THE MOLE-MAN is demisexual.

"Astonishing!" marvels one announcer.
"Astounding!" marvels the other.
"Astonishing!" marvels the first.
"Incredible!"
"Astonishing!"

THE MOLE-MAN roars as Danger, Danger Fontaine makes his move, countering the Exemplary Elbow Drop with a Clumsy Leaping Bear Hug, delivering Danger, Danger Fontaine back out of the ring, this time with THE MOLE-MAN clinging to him and at dire risk of landing atop him.

"Unbelievable!"

Pirouetting Perilously through the air they Crash with a Considerable Cacophony Causing our Champion to have a Close Call with Crapping himself.

Astonishing!
Astounding!
Astonishing!
Incredible!
Astonishing!
Inconceivable!
Astonishing!

Moving the Mic away from his mouth one announcer, Adam, whispers to the other, "Listen Greg you Gotta Step your Game up, this shit won't do. Work on your fucking vocabulary man, be a fucking professional for fucks sake, this isn't fucking Bingo night Back in Baltimore, this is the Big League."

Greg sits there with a stupid fucking grin on his face, maintaining his composure. Shaking his head Adam moves the mic back

Impossible!
Improbable!
Illogical!
Irresponsible!
Huh, what are you-

Aggressively Adam interrupts, this time on the mic.

"Greg you're better than this. It's clearly not impossible that's a nonsensical response you're trying to get all fucking cutesy and I don't like it. The same letter thing is only funny if it makes sense. You're being ridiculous. This is our goddam careers take it seriously. Don't you fucking Drag me Down to the Dregs with you."

"Oh my god Alan. This is about Denver again? Always Denver, I swear to Deity you Do this every fucking time. It's always like this I can't fucking work like this do you know how much this shit stresses me out? Do you fucking care?"

"It's not always like this Glen listen-"

"If you're so unhappy why don't you stop wasting both of our lives and just leave?"

"I could never leave you Gary, listen..."

The lights flicker off one by one until there is only one light, shining down on Aaron as he begins the duet.

"I may not always love you"

Tears in his eyes Gaston picks up the next line. As the light moves to him.

"But as long as there are stars above you"

"You'll never need to doubt it"

"I'll make you so sure about it"

Together they sing

"And God only knows what I'd be without you."

And then a chorus of motherfucking mole men and mole women...mole persons I guess. Mole People? Fuck I don't know. A bunch of humanoid mole things. That. They all sing that whole song. It is beautiful. Breathtaking.

In one Magical Momentous Moment they kiss and the whole world stops.

"What the fuck Adam what are we doing"

"Greg, what wha..why are we doing this"

"I don't know I'm not like that."

"Me neither. Not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Absolutely not. We're both married. To each other."

"Ok ok this is fine."

"Super fine."

Yeah yeah. We can still work together."

"Definitely."

"Cool."

"Cool."

"Cool cool cool."

"Super cool."

"So cool."

"I still get visitation every other weekend right? You know how important Andy, Sandy and Mandy are to me."

"Yeah yeah, of course. I would never take that from you. The kids love you."

"Ok cool."

"Yeah. Cool. So."

"Beach Boys are great right?"

"So great."

"So great."

"American classics."

"A national treasure."

"You're fucking A right they are."

Coming to on the floor, Bleeding his own Blood, Certainly Concussed, and at the Moment being Mercilessly Mauled and Man Handled by the Mole Man, Danger, Danger Fontaine Must Maintain his Masculinity and Manage to Make this the turning point of the Match. After that he should probably see a therapist or at least quit the Ketamine.

"C-C-C-C-Combo Breaker" he shouts for some reason and begins headbutting the general cranium region of MOLE-MAN. As is traditional when performing a headbutt.

"Asshhhdonshhing!" slurs THE astonished MOLE-MAN, reeling from Danger, Danger Fontaine's defiant assault. It's his poor little skull acting up again: he simply cannot take this kind of concussive attack constantly coming for his cranium. Awkwardly and with some notable struggle brought about by his own misshapen physique, he gets up off of Danger, Danger Fontaine, MOLE-MAN tears brimming in his MOLE-MAN eyes.

"Ffffuuuuuuuuccchhhhhch!" he moans, clutching at his MOLE-MAN face, backing himself against the ill-used wrestling ring.
"Gofffdammmm!" he groans, sitting down.
"Sshhunuffah bssshh!" he complains, as THE MOLE-MANAGER of MOLE-MAN comes hesitantly to his side, offering a towel and an entire bottle of Ibuprofen.

THE MOLE-MANAGER tries to establish eye contact with the announcers, but finds them busy staring intensely at one another. He looks pleadingly at Danger, Danger Fontaine and makes a time-out gesture, the one where you take your hands and make a T shape.

The audience doesn't know where to look: above them, incredible sexual tension, and below them, incredible regular tension. Those who think of it this way, of course, choose to watch the announcers, hot-mic'ing their hushed debate about tonight's dinner.

"What do you mean you don't know, Geronimo? You said you looked at the fucking map."
"I didn't know I was supposed to look for restaurants, Albany. You never said I was supposed to look for fucking restaurants around here."
"Well, what in fuck's name did you think I was telling you to look at the map for?"
"I don't know, fuck me, maybe at 8 in the morning I wasn't thinking of dinner plans?"
"Fuck you is right. Fuck you is goddamn right, give me your phone and I'll find us a place to eat, huh?"

The debate is becoming less hushed by the minute, drawing a dangerous quantity of eyes and cameras away from the fighters.

"Fine Alejandro, fine. You pick. Fucking dinner at 8. I swear to God. I don't care if you are still on Dubai Time I'm tired of this shit. You better not pick some weird shit either. Remember when you tried to make me eat Svio?"
"It's a delicacy Guillemot. It takes forever to cook and we only ever have it once or twice a year. It was supposed to be an honor."
"It's a fucking goat head Alize. A fucking goat head cut in half. It was looking at me the whole time."
"You could have ate the eye first you know. They're a delicacy"
"Ooooooo coulda ate the eye first, it's a delicacy. That's you. That's what you sound like."
"What happened to you Gilberto, you used to be brave. We used to go on adventures together. You used to-"

They didn't even seem to notice as their mics cut out, they were so distracted by their bickering.

Some other jackass got on the mic for a moment to describe the action.

"Check, check, one two. Yeah? It's good. Heheheh. Look Mom I'm on TV!"

A voice can barely be heard live, and will be cut from the broadcast, indicating to this dipshit that he is not on camera he is speaking into a mic. His mother will not be able to see him. She will only briefly be able to hear him. And after that he will once again fade into the shadows, just another indistinct minion skittering about to feed the machine the precious oil it needs to keep operating until gradually he is crushed between the gears and discarded like the worthless peon he is. Also his haircut is stupid and he isn't fooling anyone with those expensive shoes he went out and bought. Basically he's a Bitch. Basically.

"Well that was rude. Ok folks so we got...we got uh."

Rustling papers can be heard.

"Who names these guys? What kind of stupid fucki- OK Guys! Looks like Danger, Danger Fontaine doesn't know what to do. Probably not rare for this guy he's a dumb bastard isn't he folks? What was that elbow drop? He telegraphed that shit like crazy. Tried to take a page right out of Macho Man Rand-"

His mic cuts out now too. Referencing a rival promotion. Very stupid. That dumbass is being just tossed directly between the gears of the machinery now. Like in that old Looney Tunes cartoon from like 1950 or some shit. The one where the guy is tossed directly between the gears of some machinery. Like that.

Meanwhile MOLE-MAN the Mole Man Massages his Mercilessly Mollywhopped Mole Man head and downs a substantial portion of the Ibuprofen. MOLE-MAN the Mole Man's Mole Man Manager, MOLE-MANAGER, Makes sure to clean up MOLE-MAN's general cranium area. MOLE-MANAGER has got to wipe away all the sweat, and blood, and baby oil off his Mole Man Managee, MOLE-MAN. That's just like Safety 101.

"Muuuhhhgeeefeeeekahhhh, oooooooaaaeeeyyyy azzzzzz beeeeezhk." Mole Manager, MOLE-MANAGER Mutters Morosely, looking for A little Assistance from the Announcers who are now well into their Argument and Utterly Unaware that the show is still technically going on.

Why isn't Danger, Danger Fontaine Owning his Opponent? Or is that Pwning. Who the fuck says Pwning. Is Pwning even a verb? Would it be PWNing? Did folks stop saying that, or typing that, like 5 years ago back in like 2008. Jesus fuck that was 14 years ago. Oh my god I'm getting older. Death is inevitable. The end of my life is coming. What have I done with my life? Where are the years going? Those years start coming and they don't stop coming, fed to the rules and I hit the ground running, didn't make sense not to live for fun, your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb.

Danger, Danger Fontaine Had Headbutted Himself back into 1999. Back to an age when Smash Mouth was a band and not just those guys who did that thing that was in Shrek. Everyone loves Shrek. Fucking Michael Myers. National Treasure.

Danger, Danger Fontaine however was not thinking about Shrek. Danger, Danger Fontaine was too busy dancing seductively and reapplying the body oil that had come off following his latest tussle to notice everything going on. Not the Melting Marriage or the Mole Man going to war with himself, very much risking an Ibuprofen Overdose. That's no joke. That shit will fuck you up. He also didn't notice the several Mole Men, or at least Mole Individuals Presenting Mostly As Men But Who Can Tell With Mole Individuals, Let's Just Be Considerate You Guys, who were Pulling up the Padding just outside the ring.

Carefully with those weird little claw hand things they have they pulled the padding away and then threw it over the guardrail onto the crowd. Several of whom were seriously wounded. Sucks to suck. They then knocked on the ground and scurried away without even exchanging Insurance Information. That'll be a lawsuit for sure. Bet.

Up from the just now cleared away ground emerged two Mole Men. No idea what their names are. Let's just call them PRIMARY-MOLE-MAN-ANNOUNCER and SECONDARY-MOLE-MAN-ANNOUNCER for now. We'll call the one with the mustache PRIMARY-MOLE-MAN-ANNOUNCER. Seems like he's probably the more senior of the two. There's got to be some kind of grooming standard for these guys right? Figure they wave it a little bit once you have enough seniority. More experience, more friends, makes it harder to replace you. It's messed up but that's usually how it works. Politics right? Who needs them. Wait. Hold up. How does a Mole Man have a Mustache. That's stupid. They're covered in hair. No. No. It makes no sense.

"What does that say?" Danger, Danger Fontaine shouts, as the Mole Men pull an Announcing Table out of the hole and set it up ringside.

"Is that code? IS that an Acronym? What language is that? Fucking MOLESE? What the fuck does that say! Did Bill Gates hire them?!?!?"

The two Mole Men ignore him as they continue to set up their table and Ensure Everything is in proper order. In order to distract from the general chaos and Danger, Danger Fontaine's increasing Petulant, Paradoxical ad Paranoid ramblings they begin playing a song through the speakers.

It seems they lost their Creedence Clearwater Revival CDs, and their Rocky CDs, and their Top Gun CDs. They're playing "Just The Two Of Us" over the loudspeakers. Not the Will Smith one either. The old ass one. Weird choice. It has the benefit of calming down Antionette and Gibraltar though. They're no longer stomping their feet and red in the face with anger. Now they're making out and red in the face with passion. Very nice. Maybe they really will build those castles in the sky, just the two of them, them and them. Just. The. Two. Of Them.

"WHATS HAPPENING!?!?!?!?" Danger, Danger Fontaine screams, clearly unhappy with how far afield this all has gone.

"This is bullshit. This is supposed to be my match. Why are the announcers making out? Why is my opponent taking an irresponsible quantity of Ibuprofen? Who the fuck are those two and WHAT IN THE FUCK DOES THAT TABLE SAY?!?!?"

The Primary Mustachioed Mole-Man Announcer, PRIMARY-MOLE--MAN-ANNOUNCER gets on the mic and spouts a bunch of Mole Gibberish in the most assuring, confident, thoughtful Manner iMaginable.

"Someone put a stop to this," Danger, Danger Fontaine responds, shaking the ring ropes like the Ultimate Warrior used to.
"This Must End! What Malicious Malediction Might These Mole Men Mutter?"

The Secondary Mustacheless Mole-Man Announcer, SECONDARY-MOLE-MAN-ANNOUNCER picks up the mic and replies in an even tone.

"You are an idiot. The table says "Monthly Mole Man Motivational Invitational" in English and in a plain and clear font. I am MOLE-TRANSLATOR, a Mole Man Translator. Earlier MOLE-MAN's Mole Man Manager, MOLE-MANAGER said "Motherfucker, oily ass bitch," after you left his Mole Man Managee, MOLE-MAN covered in your baby oil. We are all caught up now. The match can begin but first allow me to instruct you all on the very real dangers of Irresponsible Ibuprofen usage."

WHAT A TWIST!

SECONDARY-MOLE-MAN-ANNOUNCER was actually MOLE-TRANSLATOR in disguise all along!

I thought I knew the guy. Fucking crazy man. Shook me to my core.

MOLE-TRANSLATOR then went on to carefully outline the correct dosage relevant to each age group and the many dangers of using too much over a long or short period of time, such as:

Mild Symptoms

• Tinnitus
• Heartburn
• Nausea
• Vomiting
• Stomach pain
• Diarrhea
• Dizziness
• Blurred Vision
• Rash
• Sweating

Severe Symptoms

• Difficult or Slow Breathing
• Convulsions
• Hypotension
• Seizures
• Little to No Urine Production
• Severe Headache
• Coma
• Running A Joke That Wasn't That Funny To Begin With Into The Ground And Pretending Like Self-Awareness Is Going To Mitigate That

Sensing that the joke had run it's course MOLE-ANNOUNCER then Mole Announced that the match was back on.

"The match is back on. Ding ding ding." MOLE-ANNOUNCER announced.

Circling around Danger, Danger Fontaine holds out a gloved hand for the traditional masculine sportsmany glove touch thing fighters do before they start, or restart I guess, a fight.

"You good little Mole Man Bro? You ready to turn this up a notch? You ready to really Fucking brain Fuck these Fans with some Fantastic Fighting FanFare For fa..fi..French... You ready to Go Bro?"

Ariadne and Georgetown stumble around the human announcer’s booth, locked at lips but for the intermittent intervals when the MOLE-ANNOUNCER’s scratched and almost nonfunctional CD burn of “Just The Two Of Us” slips into something harder to describe as music. Their conversation can’t be heard by anyone besides the two of them, but it goes like:

“Griselda, I was saying-“

And then they kiss. And then they break up.

“This isn’t over, Attila.”

And then they kiss. And then they break up, share a brief venomous look, and kiss.
The power music holds over certain people is just devastating. That’s why Argon and Geaufort weren’t playing any before. They can’t help themselves. Maybe if the MOLE-ANNOUNCER had chosen to play Rolling In The Deep by Lady Gaga or something, they’d have an easier time quarreling. Not that anyone else is complaining. Besides them.

“This is worse than Denmark,” says Ganymede. “When does it end?”

Down beside the ring, MOLE-MAN flexes his hideous clawed mole-fingers around the three-fifths-empty bottle of Ibuprofen. He snuffles. His weird mole-nose quivers. His horrible beady black mole-eyes quiver also. He looks through Danger, Danger Fontaine and his abnormally sportsmanlike expression with an idiotic mole-expression.
MOLE-MAN is coming to realize that he is not in a wrestling ring after all. He has accessed Valhalla.
With his stupid little mole-legs, MOLE-MAN waddles up to Danger, Danger Fontaine with his fuzzy mole-arms outstretched as if for a mole-hug, then lifts him up, upends him, and appears to try to drink from Danger, Danger Fontaine as if he were a cask of flowing liquor in a cartoon. For reference, Patrick Star might have done that once. Not with a person, though.

“Aadddd MOLE-MAN mzzhhefugghhrrr’s drppn baaaaffff!” announces the MOLE-ANNOUNCER.

“That MOLE-MAN motherfucker’s trippin’ bad,” translates the MOLE-TRANSLATOR. “After all the trouble I went through to memorize the actual symptoms of Ibuprofen overdose, too.”

“MOLE-MAN byyyonngggee sss unmfrctmmlll!”

“MOLE-MAN biology is unpredictable.”

“Yff dn sseeyyyyy!” shouts a frustrated MOLE-PHARMACEUTICAL TECHNICIAN in the audience.

“You don’t say,” says the MOLE-TRANSLATOR. “MOLE-ANNOUNCER, what do you think we call this move?”

“Ihhddd unimmerr boufiss unce. Beenin Danger, Danger Fontaine’sh psshn, bff innanimerr e wss drnknn mblrd. Lisstng imummeerr wss imseinn ‘mumerniss.’ M’mme wuh clledhh da?”

MOLE-TRANSLATOR is quiet for a moment.

“I had a nightmare about this once. Being in Danger, Danger Fontaine’s position, but in the nightmare he was drinking my blood. Last thing I remember was him saying ‘Remember This.’ Maybe we call it that?”

MOLE-TRANSLATOR looks at MOLE-ANNOUNCER. MOLE-ANNOUNCER nods. MOLE-TRANSLATOR nods.

“Powerful. But it would be best to ask MOLE-MANAGER before we make anything official. Provisionally, would you say this is a skillful execution of the I had a nightmare about this once. Being in Danger, Danger Fontaine’s position, but in the nightmare he was drinking my blood. Last thing I remember was him saying ‘Remember This.’?”

“Immd suyy ss df’stssng! B’I mnht wdcuuull ehjss ‘mumerniss.’”

"I'd say it's devastating. But I meant we'd call it just 'Remember This.'" MOLE-TRANSLATOR looks thoughtful. "I prefer the full name. How can you look at this, whole... move MOLE-MAN is doing, and only call it 'Remember This.'?"

"Uhfnnm sbivuh mffll."

"The full name is a bit of a mouthful. Well-"

In an act of either violence or sexuality, Aristotle pins Ginny against a wall.
MOLE-MAN roars and gargles as he drinks from an imagined font of endless wine, beer, mead, or potentially any other form of liquor up to and including a variety of esoteric cocktails.

"-well, we'd best focus on the matches, eh?"

Held in a Particularly Preposterous Position, Perpendicular to the ground, Danger Danger Fontaine considered a Proportionally Preposterous Proposition. What would happen if he...

"Muhhhh gerrrrrrttt" announced out Mole Man Announcer.

"My God," translated Mole Man Translator.

"FERKIS AT?" shouted Mole Man Announcer.

"Fuck is that?" translated Mole Man Translator.

Atreus and Gallium briefly Diverted from their in-Depth Discussion of Denmark to explain.

"That's the Two Graves you fucking Moles."

It was unnecessarily rude. They were indeed Moles, but Aloysius and Gatriullus didn't have to say it like that. Just because they were Mole People didn't mean they didn't have feelings. If you cut them they would bleed just like you or I. I mean you would have to cut pretty hard because they had all that thick ass hair and their skin was also very thick. And there was a thick layer of fat underneath that thick layer of skin to keep them insulated. It is very cold Underground U Understand and because they live Underground they have to retain as much heat as possible. But if you were To cut Through Their Thick hair and Thick skin and Thick layer of subcutaneous fat They would eventually bleed. And probably cuss you out for cutting Them just To Test This hypoThesis. You fucking dick you.

"Too Graves!" called out Mole Man Announcer.

"Two Graves," translated Mole Man Translator.

They were correct. Mole Man Translator less so, as Two instead of Too was a grammatical error rather than a translation error, but his heart was in the right place.

Danger, Danger Fontaine, held in a very awkward position and having his theoretical life blood drunk out of him like some sort of very manly and probably quite high in sodium elixir, had realized there was only one logical way out of this.

He had kicked his legs hard in the air, like a small child throwing an extremely masculine tantrum, and as a result he had driven both of their heads hard into the mat.

A rarely seen maneuver popularly known as "Two Graves" and it was aptly named as it left both contestants on the floor severely fucked up.



A new song blasts through the loud speakers. It sounds like Glass Breaking. Glass Shattering even. Get it? Do you get what I've done? Do you understand the reference? It's Stone Cold Steve Austin. That was the sound that played when he made his entrance. Glass Shattering. It was also the name of the song. I am very clever.

The crowd turns to see Stone Cold Steve Austin make his way to the ring. What a fucking shock this will be. Stone Cold Steve Austin is retired. And probably still under contract with the WWE. And like 60. And also a real life person instead of a goofy ass character in an RP on an Internet Forum designated for making dumb ass RPs. They're in for a Rude Awakening.

The music stops and the lights go out.

WTF is this. That's weird. It's not part of---

I LIE. I CHEAT. I STEAL.

Holy shit. The arena goes wild.

The Human Announcers go wild. Absolutely losing their shit. It's fucking Eddy Guerrerro! How is that possible? Hasn't he been dead for more than a decade? WTF!

The Mole Man Announcers go wild. It's fucking loud. It's suddenly dark. The crowd is screaming. This is bullshit. They just want to go back down into their nice Mole Man burrows and sleep. If Galileo and Andretoni could just keep their petty lovers' squabbles to themselves they could be off doing Mole People shit. Living Their Best Mole Lives. FUCK!

"It can't be!" Mole Man Announcer announces, momentarily forgetting he's not supposed to be able to speak English clearly.

"It can't be!" Mole Man Translator translates, hoping folks will overlook Mole Man Announcers' obvious fuck up.

"It's Tequila Sunrise!" Adanberto shouts, absolutely spazzing the fuck out that his favorite shameless mish mash of Steve Austin and Eddy Guerrerro is now running down the ramp toward the ring.

Mole Man Announcer, Mole Man Translator, and Gustavito all appear disappointed that it is just whoever the fuck Tequila Sunrise is rather than the much better known, widely beloved, and either retired or dead wrestlers they were hoping for. Adalberto however is still Massively Marking out. He has now somehow removed his boxers without removing his pants and thrown them into the ring.

Meanwhile Tequila Sunrise, a bald Hispanic man with a goatee, a poncho, jean shorts, and Cowboy boots, runs to Danger, Danger Fontaine's grocery cart of weapons and, with the lobster's express written consent, grabs a chair then rolls into the ring.

He does that one spot. The one where he looks around the ring from the still very fucked up Mole Man, MOLE MAN, to the still very fucked up Human Man, Danger, Danger Fontaine, and then back, and then back again, and then to the referee, and then to the crowd, and then to Camera A, and then he starts smacking the chair on the mat like he's about to do something cool, fucking finally and then...

The lights go out again. Fucking rolling blackouts. They're back on. They're back out. They flicker faster than Michael J. Fox and then the National Anthem plays, then it transitions into a circus theme.

Oh fuck, you guys. You guys! Fuck! You know what that means. Awwwwww Shiiiiiiiit!

General Shenanigans makes his way to the top of the ramp. Camouflage pants very camouflage-y. Big Red Shoes not at all camouflage-y. Shit's about to get even stupider. What the fuck.

MOLE-ANNOUNCER's profound musical sense tells him that this soundscape is getting to be an issue.
Between Just The Two of Us, Glass Shattering, the crowd's screams, MOLE-MAN's screams, his own screams, Danger, Danger Fontaine's screams, The US National Anthem, Entrance of the Gladiators playing just over that, and the 60's Spider-Man cartoon theme blasting from somewhere in the audience, everyone's ears are on the verge of bursting and for what? There's nothing worthwhile to listen to here.
And anyway, Just The Two of Us is almost done. MOLE-ANNOUNCER ejects the CD just short of the end, accidentally freeing Adnauseam and Guarantor at last, and fishes around in his mole-pockets for something else.

"What are you looking for? I might have it," MOLE-TRANSLATOR whispers.

"Dulmnfnt shmm'mn!"

"The Ultimate Showdown. Yes, I borrowed that one, one second." MOLE-TRANSLATOR fishes around in his mole-pockets and extracts another disc, slotting it in directly to join the aural chaos once more. Old Godzilla was hoppin' around Tokyo City like a big playground. The earth feels like it's trembling, but that's probably just all the noise.

*

MOLE-MAN is having the worst day of his life. Between the pain, the audiovisual hallucinations, and the agony, and the delusions, and the rampant noise and flashing lights, he can feel himself beginning to dissociate. His consciousness leaves his rolling, flailing, roaring-screaming body, and tries to go home. The fact that he is homeless has never had less bearing to him. There are plenty of stories about freakish animal-people like him going on murderous rampages and razing cities when pushed to their breaking points, but even a werewolf wouldn't be able to handle this scenario with such blood-soaked dignity.

MOLE-MAN's detached soul trips the alarm on a fire exit on its way out. The fire alarm merely melds into the existing blaring morass, but those paying attention might notice the sudden deluge of the sprinklers.

*

Gonathan, sharing a glance with ABBA, gets on the mic.

"Uh," he says, not having had a plan in mind for what to say. "Who did that? Why are the sprinklers on?"

Adrian gives him a look with a raised eyebrow. "Those come on when there's a fire alarm, Gordon."

"Fire alarm? You mean there's a fire? Isn't that the last thing we need right now?"

"You alright, Gloria? It's not like fires typically wait on our convenience. You know they didn't back in Dallas."

"So, where is it? Where's the fire?"

"How the fuck do you expect me to know that?"

"Well I don't know, Alex, I just thought you might have someplace in mind. I'm rather disinclined to believe that there's really a fire until I've received some kind of evidence."

*

The remaining conscious MOLE-MEN, and several of the normal people, down below, are increasingly panicking at the repeated mentions of fire. MOLE-MANAGER, a being that has been both a MOLE-MAN and a normal person in the past minutes, is absolutely panicking. His wrestler appears to be astral projecting. The enemy wrestler is insane, unpredictable, willing to die to kill his wrestler, as implied by the name of that Two Graves move he supposedly just did. There are too many more wrestlers showing up to make shit get even worse. And the fire thing. MOLE-MANAGER was clearly in way over his head when he signed himself up into a career in wrestling today.

MOLE-MANAGER, occasionally MOLE-MAN manager of MOLE-MAN the MOLE-MAN, overcome by stress, doubles over and begins to vomit into the pit in the ring from which MOLE-MAN had emerged. It's symbolism, see. MOLE-MAN coming out of that pit was what started all of this, so MOLE-MANAGER pukes back into it. If it's too complicated then that's okay.

Cartwheels. Very strict form. Very intimidating cartwheels. Crisp as fuck.

Military Precision. Fully tactical. Operationally Efficient and Utterly and Entirely Serious.

Cartwheels, all the way down to the ring.

When he reaches the ring, mid-cartwheel, General Shenanigans bounces against it and falls on his ass. He then squeezes his own nose twice making a loud honking noise. You have never heard a more ferocious nose honk.

Inside the ring Tequila Sunrise is alternating between pounding the fuck out of the ring with his chair and looking from the still Fully Fucked Danger, Danger Fontaine to the Miles Away Multi-Dimensional Planes of Existence Exploring Probably Gonna Have a Hell of a Hangover Mole Man MOLE-MAN. He's stuck in a goofy loop. Or maybe he just doesn't want to get charged with First Degree Murder if he whacks the fuck out of either of These Two Thoroughly Fuckled Fighters. That's like 20 to Life. Even with the current DA. He can't do hard time. They don't have Tequila in Prison, Probably.

Back outside the ring General Shenanigans is now rocking back and forth honking his nose. It's no longer making a noise. The water level around him is growing. He's now splashing in a puddle basically. Like a small child. Basically. These honks aren't making a noise because the continuing Sprinkling of the Sprinklers, imagine that, Sprinklers Sprinkle. Who ever would have thought? Anyway. The Sprinklers have blown out the Speakers. The Speakers no longer Speak due to the Sprinkler's Sprinkling.

The Clown Patriot, General Shenanigans, perhaps realizing that this whole exercise is quickly circling the drain, stands up very suddenly and comes to perfect attention. Like a lighting rod from God he knows what must be done. It is his Duty and he will Definitely Dutifully fulfill his Duty.

He stares hard into the ring, catching Tequila Sunrise's attention. They lock eyes. Not in a sexual way. Not like they're gonna make out. In a wrestling way. Not in that kind of wrestling way. Like an actual fighting way. Like they're gonna fight. Tequila Sunrise drops the chair and moves toward the center of the ring. Gently pushing MOLE-MANAGER away with his foot.

MOLE-MANAGER continuing to Violently Vomit all the while until his head was under the ropes so he could puke on the floor outside the ring.

General Shenanigans hops in the ring, staring daggers at Tequila Sunrise. Tequila Sunrise stares daggers back at him too. I can't think of a better analogy for giving someone a hard ass look ok? Staring daggers is the best you get. Fucking deal with it. Ungrateful.



As we return from commercials the stage is set and stuff. Everything is exactly as it should be. The plan is coming to fruition. All is right in the world for this brief moment.

Aotriamus and Guretrenzo are making out in the rain, like in all those romantic ass movies where folks make out in the rain. Granted normally in those movies the two folks making out in the rain are not supposed to be, oh I don't know, Announcing The Fucking Match. They're not paying attention though. They're just fucking going at it now. Let's make sure we don't film this. It would just be weird.

MOLE-ANNOUNCER and MOLE-TRANSLATOR have taken it upon themselves to provide a Soundtrack, now that the Sprinkler System's Sprinkling has Seriously fucked off the Speaker System. They don't know the words to all of The Ultimate Showdown. It's hard to remember them without the video to watch and spark your memory. Even harder when one of you is supposed to be pretending to have a MOLE-MAN accent when he actually lost that accent years ago so he could put food on the table and feed his dear sweet MOLE-FAMILY. They're just singing "Final Countdown" now. Mole Translator is doing the instrumental part with his mouth.

Doo Doo - Doo da Doo Doo Doo - Doo da Doo Doo - Doo da Doo Doo Doo - Doo da Doo - Doo da Doo Doo Doo Doo Dooooooooooooo!

Danger, Danger Fontaine is still knocked the fuck out. Lucky he landed on his back so he didn't drown in a shallow puddle. Stupid Magnificent Masked and Mustachioed Mother Fucker. I swear to God. He's so stupid.

MOLE-MAN is just Messed up. That poor little bastard probably got sucked up into the Metaverse or some shit. Out there talking with the self-transforming-machine-elves and Mark Zuckerberg. May God have mercy on his soul.

Tequila Sunrise and General Shenanigans are staring...staring...fuck it they're still both STARING DAGGERS at each other.

In the constant rain of the Shitty Speaker fucking up Sprinklers, with the sounds of MOLE-ANNOUNCER and MOLE-TRANSLATOR doing a Delightful Duet of "Final Countdown," standing over the fallen bodies of our beloved champions Danger, Danger Fontaine and MOLE-MAN

oh yeah and over in the corner MOLE-MANAGER is still just ABSOLUTELY heaving his fucking guts out. Just Projectile Puking like a MadMole. Dude is just absolutely Drenching the floor with whatever the fuck he's been eating. Goddam. It's ridiculous.

With all that shit going on, and Jesus Christ it's a lot of shit going on, Tequila Sunrise and General Shenanigans know what they must do.

They meet in the center of the ring, the puke/mole hole in between them, and begin to perform a long Choreographed and Certainly Completely Cool series of movements. Like a Kata. Or a Dance. Or a Haka. Some shit like that. They do it in Perfect Precise unity. Then they speed up a little bit. Then they speed up a little bit. Then they speed up an even more little bit.

As it builds up, as the sprinkler water begins to circle them instead of just falling to the ground, as lightning starts striking everywhere somehow but doesn't electrocute anyone somehow because that would immediately kill them all and end this RP, only one participant sees what's coming. Only MOLE-MANAGER.

Wiping the puke from his mouth and climbing up to his knees he looks at the blur created by the impossibly fast impossibly coordinated movements of Tequila Sunrise and General Shenanigans. He knows. Somehow MOLE-MANAGER knows. This could only be one thing.

Taking a deep breath. Probably questioning every decision he's made that would bring him here in this exact moment. Realizing now for sure that there is no God and that we are all truly desperately hopelessly alone in this life. He lets it all go. For once in his Momentarily Monumentally Miserable MOLE-MANAGER life he just lets go and screams into the night.

Interactions: MOLE-MAN@Sniblet, Danger, Danger Fontaine@BangoSkank, MOLE-TRANSLATOR, MOLE-ANNOUNCER, MOLE-MANAGER, Atropine, Guatemala
^{(OOC NOTE: With respect to the GMs, it looks like this RP has gone quite far along without our input. It was a struggle to catch up and decide on our initial move. Next time, it would be appreciated if you could wait on us to formally join instead of blazing 13 posts ahead on your own and then putting us on the spot.)}

For a moment,

it was all quiet in the ring. Tequila Sunrise touched his fingertips to the flippers of General Shenanigans and then there was nothing - silence - a calm, beneath the soft rain of the sprinklers. Audience members found themselves holding their breaths. Even MOLE-MANAGER had the voice ripped from him by the suspension of noise that followed. This lack of sound - this stillness of the air - this muteness...

Then General Shenanigans began to scream. It was a scream unlike any that had yet been heard in this arena. Screams of pain, screams of fear, screams of excitement and bloodlust, none of it compared to the scream now let forth from the cetacean's mouth. This was a scream of power. From their touching appendage-tips began to shine an otherworldly glow of ki energy let free from the combatants' bodies and shared between them. This, as MOLE-MANAGER knew, was fusion - that ancient technique to combine the minds, bodies, and souls of two exceedingly powerful warriors into one. The glow intensified, and soon outshone the flickering, water-shorted electric lighting of the arena. Soon, the burly men-with-arms were invisible in the glare of their own surging power.

Tequila Sunrise met the eyes of his erstwhile partner with a kind of steel in his own. The glory that surrounded them was taking them elsewhere, somewhere that had never existed until they began their dance. Their fused mindscape was realizing itself and consuming their mundane beings. In a moment longer, they would be done, and the real work would begin. All he wanted to see was that General Shenanigans was sure. That this was the way.

General Shenanigans had never been surer of anything, and he let it show in the look he shared with his old enemy. The sight of his eyes could chill the blood, rout a bear, kill any ordinary man where he stood. The determination he showed was cold, beyond cold - hypothermic - cryogenic. If the world were to burn for what they were about to do, they would live untouched, if due only to the strength of the General's conviction.

And with that reassurance, Tequila Sunrise knew it was done.

The shared radiance of the two faded from an eternal flashbang to a mere floodlight, and what stood where they had was an entirely new being.

"HAAAAAAAAAH!"

The newly formed giant roared, bulging muscles rippling with violent fury on a taut leash. Once-dark cetacean eyes aglow with surging ki energy, GENERAL SUNRISE quested about the arena for his first victim. His incredible masculine sensory package led him sniffing the air toward the announcer's booth, where Adenine and Guanine were still doing something terribly unmanly with one another...

_{(OOC NOTE: nothing against the gays)}

@Sniblet


AI generated Mole Man



AI generated Danger, Danger Fontaine