"In thiiisss corner, the reigning champion: from the Three Olives death-juice factory, with a record of 1-0 and a slugging percentage of Three Vomits Per Night in its sole bout thus far, standing in the middle of this here promo shot...."
"The challenger: weighing in at around 180-or-so pounds, hailing from Fair Lawn, New Jersey, 26 years old, with a losing record too long-stretching to state here, yet pumped for tonight's fight with sheer "Root Beer Flavored Vodka won't get the best of me again, I'm gonna float like an on-the-rocks cubes and sting like a Bacardi 151 shot" adrenaline, here decked out in the flyest suit Macys had to offer....."
The fight location: a pair of New York City-located club parties, of the friend's birthday variety. Prefaced by some standard apartment-pregaming, drunken PATH train ride, and recklessly-loud-in-the-backseat cab trips.
Tale of the Tape: Two weeks prior to this rematch, Root Beer Flavored Vodka served M.B. with five big shots of blackout-tonight potency. M.B., poorly trained for the devastating fight, ate nothing for dinner that night, and decided, wisely, to turn the festivities into an all-out street brawl, no holds barred, inviting Root Beer Flavored Vodka's allies---Coffee Petron, Corona 22s, Bud Light Lime, and Gargantuan-Can-of-Coors-Light---to throw down. Outnumbered and helpless, M.B. was forced to submit a mere three hours into the match. Ending up on his couch, passed out and drooling. Next thing he knew, M.B. woke up in his bed, noon the next afternoon, still in full-garb and suffering from a chorus line of elephants stomping through his brain, otherwise known as a "hangover" by fight enthusiasts.
Fight Start Time: T-minus three hours, and counting.
Place your bets. It should be a sloppy one....
1 week ago