"To Manifest Destiny"

Hear me, my children. I hailed from a land that was crafted in my own ruggedly masculine image. An exotic land that indulged the greatest peaks, the most opulent excesses, the furthermost unparalleled heights of the human spirit that modern man had ever known. We called it Poon Guinea... the People's Republic of Poon Guinea as Presented by Popeyes Chicken and Biscuits. The golden crispy goodness from our corporate benefactors was not the only foundation of breast meat that made its mark in Poon Guinea. No, my children. You know better than that. The mocha latte goddesses with caramel poons and bare orbs rounder and fuller than watermelons populated our great nation like the honeybees pollinating The Godfather's green earth. But much like the bees with their weaving and bobbing and boundless fornications, the poon population... the poon, my children, it began to dwindle in both number and quality.

For all of the speculation, for all of the debate of causality and the search for a cure, I know when we began to fumble and fracture as a nation. It is a burden that I wear upon my sleeve like the excess of peach poon cobbler that dribbles down my face after the seventy-teen poon feast and subsequent dessert services. I took a chance. I gambled the fate of my country upon an outcome that was not certain. When I stood against Zombie McMorris inside of Mount Poonsuvius and waged a war against an immortal foe, I staked the future of my great nation and its even greater people upon the outcome of that match. I gambled with millions upon millions of lives - and I lost.

And I lost.

I was killed by Zombie McMorris, by Crow McMorris, by my former friend and comrade Kaz Mazy. I died. I, Robert Hercules Cairo, died. My body died. My soul might as well have. Magma convulsed into lava, cascaded upon the Poon Guinean soil like the money shot upon the supple cara-mocha bosom. I could see it all as it unfolded. I could see crystallized forms of human faces. The endless gaping and carved out spaces. The product of Mount Poonsuvius' thundering load. Duh hor-ruh. Duh hor-ruh. It was the most picturesque death that a man could ask for - that a god could lament - that a Godfather could meet his end.

But the death in itself was less important than the harbinger of doom that it represented. What would Poon Guinea do without its leader, without Governor Cairo, without the heart and soul of Communist control? Sadly, tragically, it was not long before the Pokémon GO trend engulfed Poon Guinea and snuffed out any last vestige of fertile masculinity that actually did remain following my demise. The SJWs came in and had their triggered temper tantrums, of course, and that was when I truly knew that it was the end of God's grandest invention - when the leader died, the republic died... and the people's heart died with it. And when man's heart dies, when his humanity is snuffed out like the final flame from a once towering inferno - all that remains is the eternal void of ruin.

The great battle for reclamation and reform was never fought. Never fought and thus the once great republic perished. Where had they all gone? Where had my army of advisors and confidantes gone when I died? And where - WHERE OH WHERE - had my army of thick dicked soldiers gone? The one's I had fought alongside of and won so many battles whilst leading? Sold out. Sold out to the highest bidder, to work on this campaign of deceit or the other. Mercenaries. Globalists. Globalists, all of them. I began to suspect when viewing it all from my eternal throne on high that Communism was not truly all that it was cracked up to be. Not if this was the character of man that it produced.

And therein was my burden. My grandest burden in a life and death that had been equally blessed and cursed. Not only did I unwittingly abandon my people, those who adored me, those who believed in the republic that we had built together - I left them in the care of the worst group of cowards and scoundrels that had ever lived. I had been blinded by passion, a galvanizing force that compelled me, propelled myths of my immortality. I believed that I could do no wrong, lament no song, make weak no strong. I was wrong.

---

I learned a hard lesson from that failure. I learned that redemption is not always obvious in terms of the shape and form upon which it will present itself. Never in a million years would I have guessed that he would beckon to me. He, the demon ape known only as Ekim... brother of Harambe. Carrier of his legacy. Redeemer of his spirit - and indeed mine. It is true that I will never be regarded as a humble man, much less a humble god, what were such things possible. To stand upon the precipice of the ever expanding cosmos and think modest thoughts would never suit a Godfather. But when Ekim summoned me with his black magic voodoo spell, I knew that a power even greater than I existed between Heaven and Earth. God wills unto Ekim as Ekim wills unto you. The gift from his mouth was a gift that granted me a new lease on life, and indeed breathed new life into my broken and defeated body.

Breathing new life.

Odin, Ekim, and I were surrounded by the finest Asgardian poons that Odin Classic (All-Father of The All-Father) himself had ever conjured. These were women with bosoms so grandiose and protruding that they were married within their own orbits. This was not a time nor place for straw dogs and sullen gods. You could not cast your gaze upon their breasts without feeling reborn, without feeling that an infinite world of possibilities awaited. It was a question of being bold, seizing the opportunity. To this end, Ekim spoke to The Thickness. He had an audience that was at attention, fully staffed, and ready to rumble.

"Dear Godfather, I know that redemption offers a litany of tales to be divulged. Though it is not redemption that I seek, rather revenge." The gift from his mouth. The gift, my children. Ekim was summoning us, summoning me, to avenge the untimely massacre of his brother. I understood what he was proffering without so much as another word being spoken.

I replied with an earnest candor. "Your revenge, Ekim. Your revenge shall be my redemption. I know that you seek not endless bloodshed. I know that you seek only vengeance upon a capitalist infrastructure that turned your brother from proud ape into spectacle for the masses. The dollar paying public mandated that your brother should die that day. A death that was as heinous as it was untimely. I remember when the ghastly deed transpired. I cried for Harambe. I whipped my thick out for Harambe, and I beat my meat FURIOUSLY in his honor."

Ekim nodded his massive demonic primate noggin. Fur covered. Black as the night. So much pain and burden contained therein. This Ekim, this fiery ape, this god who stalked the earth amongst men who could not polish his codpiece - he was hurting. He needed closure. He deserved it. Ekim gestured thusly with his exceedingly hairy clobbering paw. He received a supplement of mead from the Asgardian poon. The glass that refills itself. Always full, never emptying, the hallmark of eternal optimism that carries the day in Valhalla.

Ekim took a sip from his goblet and he spoke. "My brother was murdered for being a black ape in America. I know you can relate, Bobby. I know you can appreciate the system of bigotry and oppression that has exposed the true nature of the supposed 'Land of the Free'. The wrath of Ekim shall be felt. But I come to you, as lo so many bitches have cum for you. I come to The Thickness extending an olive branch, with thoughts collected amidst the sea of turmoil that my life has become." I listened intently as Ekim espoused formulas fatal to the flesh. "This miscarriage of justice cannot be allowed to stand. There must be retribution."

"Yes, my friend." I replied before letting out a long, somber sigh. I felt that man's burden, for it was a burden that we shared. He had lost his brother as I had lost my country. A grave and tragic fate had reared its ugly head for the both of us to suffer. "Murder is the most ghastly betrayal that can befall a young man, whether he be human or primate. I understand this, my dear Ekim. I understand your pain. I have always stood tall as a man of the people; as a Jew who represented Jews and gentiles alike."

"Shabbot Shalom," Ekim replied.

"Shabbot Shalom, my friend." I smiled, though only briefly. Ekim respected my culture and people, and I respected his. I felt as though we were brothers in our own right. Perhaps not by bloodline, but by the common thread of violent bigotry and resistance that we both encountered. "We know what it means to be targeted for death based upon the very DNA that runs through our veins. And why do you think - why do you think, my dear Ekim, that Poon Guinea always celebrated diversity? Why do you think that we celebrated not only the poon of most finest vanilla extract but also the mocha and caramel poon goddesses?

"Why do you think I married the Rihanna poon and made her my First Lady? She polished the meanest codpiece that I ever did encounter, this is true. But I never saw her as a woman of color, only as a goddess who should have a thousand rose petals scattered at her feet, and my thick forever smashing her regal bottom poon."

Ekim was uproarious in his laughter. I was certain that the god of all gorillas had not laughed so hard or so full since his brother's untimely demise. "You sly fox, Bobby!" Ekim slapped his knees and damn near spit up his mead. Oh, he was loving it. He was loving everything that I was selling and I will not lie; I felt as though The Godfather was once again on top of his game for the first time since that harrowing defeat at Mount Poonsuvius. "Bobby, you are a great man and an even greater Godfather. I know precisely what makes your thick hard. I am a sorcerer. I see it all. I summoned you, and when I did I expected nothing less. I know that you can help me resolve my crisis of conscience and avenge my brother. I thank you for being so receptive, so willing to listen. And this is why I waited, why I picked this precise moment.

"Because, Bobby... Bobby look at what our world is turning into. Terrorism. Mass murder. Political corruption. Economic decay. Assassinations... assassinations like the one that befell my dearly departed brother. You stood against all of that. You fought the great fight and your mortal form died for it. You are a rare breed."

And in that moment it happened. In that moment I was finally humbled. Humbled for the first time since my first time being balls deep in the Rihanna 'First Lady' bare-bottomed poon. That mocha latte goodness. This was the gift from Ekim's mouth. "Ekim, my dear Ekim, I share your concerns. I thank you for thanking me, though no such thanks are required. When men and apes of uncommon valor rise together to fight for a common cause, we are not doing it to run favors for one another. We are doing it because it is what we were fated for. We rise together, TO MANIFEST DESTINY!" I slammed my clenched fist so hard upon the granite-worked banquet table in front of me that I nearly crushed my own Asgardian clobbering paw in the process -however it was the slab of granite that caved in first.

"TO MANIFEST DESTINY!" Ekim declared whilst raising his goblet.

I raised my goblet as well. As did The All-Father Odin. As did The All-Father of The All-Father. As did all five-thousand of the certified Asgardian poon traps who filled the dining hall, serving food and beverage whilst satisfying our thicks. Life was good. The afterlife was better. Valhalla, the kingdom of the gods, had never been stronger or more alive. We would manifest destiny. We would right the wrongs. We would cure the ills. Ekim would have his revenge. I would have my redemption. It felt damn good be alive again... Godfatherdamn good.

---

It's been a long time since I've laced up a pair of wrestling boots. Some ask, 'Why bother? You lost everything when you lost to McMorris inside of that volcano. You sacrificed a nation to appease your own ego.' Actually, I did precisely what my people expected of me. I stood tall and fought valiantly against an enemy that sought to invade our shores. Tragically, I was defeated. This remains my great shame. It was why when Ekim summoned me, I was eager to accept. It was why when Jayson Price summoned me, I was also eager to accept. Understanding the true nature of victory and defeat means understanding that either scenario is only an option for those of us who compete. It is easy to throw stones, however doing so is not recommended for those who live in glass houses. And with that declaration, the peanut gallery subsides.

I can see you all, my children and my enemies alike. I can see you all from upon my blood red throne of skull and bones. I spit fire as I breathe these fumes and I know that whether you are pro-Cairo or anti-Cairo you wish to understand the rationale behind my decision to return to the ring; to debut in United Championship Infinite; to make my mark here after more than a decade of slaying false prophets and jobbuhs alike in The Place That Shall Not Be Named. You want to know why, with everything on my plate, and everything on my conscience, I have agreed to team with Wade Moor, a man whom I have not always seen eye to eye with, in order to combat a former comrade named Polar Phantasm and his partner, the Bonnie Blue Poon. Well, my children, there is far more than meets the eye between Heaven and Earth and all that you think you know.

As I address you, with my mead thus filled to the brim, and my belly full with the flesh of my defeated foes, I fill your consciousness with a gentle reassurance. This will not hurt, so long as you bite the pillow and learn to enjoy it. Just enjoy the ride. Resistance will only increase your agony. Now as to the point of why, well what can I say? When one is offered a GODly sum to compete, and one is afforded a featured bout on the highest profile card, in the highest profile company, in ALL of wrestling today, only a fool would decline. Even gods, ESPECIALLY GODS, know better than to turn down such a rare and fleeting opportunity. And so it is at the thick of the gods that The Guardians now kneel, with fear and confusion racing through their respective psyches. Polar knows what he can expect. He's felt my wrath. He's been in my crosshairs. He's felt the brunt of unrelenting fury that only those who taste defeat at the hands of The Godfather and his disciples can appreciate.

And so I ask, as I penetrate your subconsciousness with these feelings of fear and confusion, what can the false Guardians, the time travelers and mystics who wish they were true gods - what weapons can they possibly thrust into battle that will usurp true gods in the form of Godfather and Godnilla? More violence? More bloodshed? More agony and inferno than the bowels of Mount Poonsuvius? I think not. I think that Polar Phantasm and Bonnie Blue have been making a pretty good living for themselves thus far in You-See-Eye by avoiding precisely the type of conflict that Wade and I will introduce at A Nightmare on South Street. Jayson Price understood this; it's why he extended the invitation to yours truly.

And I was not a hard man nor god to find. When Jayson Price prays, The Godfather listens. That's how it works. It's included. UR_WELLCUM.EXE. And with that prayer, a simple request for The Godfather to appear at Anus (ANoSS), I chose to be a benevolent god. I chose to grant a favor to a colleague and acquaintance. Price and I have not always been on friendly terms, but when he asked The Godfather to drop bombs on ya moms (fuck CAH ALAHMS!), Robert Hercules Cairo answered the call. Top that, Allah. But you can't, and you won't. Just like the so-called Guardians.

And they are Guardians of what precisely? The galaxy? The space-time continuum? The eight-track collection in Momma's basement? It don't really matter. All I see is a couple of goofballs who need to spend more time defending their belts and less time indulging their childhood comic book flights of fancy. But wait - those belts. What did happen to them? Well the so-called Guardians finally defended their straps and wouldn't you know, them shits disappeared quicker than a hard-on in the presence of the Hillary Clinton shrivel-poon. Thing looks like a box of California raisins that sat in direct sunlight for a week straight. Horrible shits. Jus hurrible. And what say you, Bonnie Blue? What makes you so blue exactly? Teaming with a charlatan such as Polar Phantasm? Not getting that forceful D that you crave oh-so-much, each and every time that you lay your delicate little noggin upon that motel pillow at night, or in the shower after your match?

You're losing it, Bonnie. You're losing every ounce of credibility and self-respect that you ever had. Your boy just cost you the tag straps against a team that didn't even want to compete together. How bad is that? HOW BAD IS IT, DEAR SWEET BONNIE BLUE POON?! How bad is it when two men who cannot even function as a unit were able to defeat you and Phantasm with ease and claim those tag team championships as their own? If Polar cost you that, if he cost you the titles that you prided yourself upon carrying, what will he cost you next? Your life and well-being, perhaps? Well, stepping into the ring with Wade Moor and Bobby Cairo ain't increasing your odds, little girl. Not with that two-hundred fifty-five pound flaming bag of dog droppings as your partner.

When you thought about making a commitment to a team, to a faction, toward a partnership, you should've been looking at factors such as strength, fortitude, character, my dear Bonnie. Character. That doesn't mean being A CHARACTER. Being a goofball who comes and goes as he pleases while inhabiting his own little fantasy land that has no basis in reality. That's Phantasm in a nutshell. Not a good nut, mind you. Not the nut that I will bust inside you on Sunday night at the 2300 Arena in Philadelphia, live and only on pay-per-view. (Don't worry; I already got paid my weight in gold doubloons for that shill. Jayson don't bite the hand that feeds. Bet.)

Polar Phantasm, for as long as I can remember, is a man who backs out on his commitments. A man who slacks off. A man who will tell you one thing, then do another... or drop off the map altogether until he's ready to make an appearance. It was one reason why I left the original incarnation of Pantheon and instead formed The Thickness with my friend and fellow immortal, 'The All-Father' Odin Balfore. It made all the difference in the world for me to have a partner that I could count on. A partner that I could rely on, who could rely on me. It's why I'm teaming with Wade Moor on Sunday. It's why I had such an eye opening revelation when I realized that that #BK bloodline and that Thickness bloodline - well, they're one and the same, my children. One and the same AS ORDAINED FROM ABOVE!

You don't fuck with true gods and ancient aliens, and you don't fuck with The Godfather and GodNilla. We're not here to chew bubblegum and kick ass, with all due respect to the late, great Rowdy Roddy. We're here to smash poon and kill jobbuhs. And our sights are set upon the former tag team champions. The former tag team champions who were tag team champions in name only. You know, I take offense, and far be it for me to get triggered, but I take offense to any team calling themselves champions and wearing those shiny gold and leather belts when in fact they barely defended them shits when they had the chance. You guys had, and I'm trying to recollect, one, maybe two defenses in two months as champions. Really? OH REALLY?! That's what you call being a tag team champion?

That's a lighter workload than me and Kaz were facing in the PAHKING LAWT at Denny's back when the Poondock Saints ruled the tag division. That's a lighter workload than me and Odin were dealing with when challenged by the poon at the THICKNESS SUITE at Motel 6... and yeah, we left the light on for 'em. Do you see the difference that I'm trying to illustrate here? Bobby Cairo, always a fighting champion. And Wade Moor, you damn sure know is a fighting champion. The hardest working World Champion in any company since The Godfather hisself. Now explain to me how some so-called Guardians were guarding anything at all when they couldn't even guard their own Godfatherdamn division. Explain that to a Bobby Cairo!

But you can't and you won't. Because, Polar... my dear nimrod Polar, you are a coward. You are not a man. You are certainly not a god. And as for being indestructible, me and my kind have destroyed you before and we will destroy you again on Sunday night. Again, that's the difference illustrated between true gods and mere pretenders. For all the bluster, all the hype, all the pomp and circumstance, Polar Phantasm possesses a record of ZERO ACHIEVEMENTS in all of his years in this business. Couldn't draw flies to a bloated corpse. Couldn't win the BIG ONE, never could. Could never outshine a Bobby Cairo, a Jonny Fly, a Corey Black, and so on. The weak link of Pantheon, the weak link of the Guardians, and Bonnie Blue you know that to be true. Dear sweet Bonnie. On Sunday night in Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love, you will finally know what it means to spend some quality time with a couple of REAL MEN, REAL GODS, NO FAKE SHIT, and NO PRETENDIN'. Y'herd?

Your poon won't be blue no more, Bonnie. You're gonna get that good good lovin' and you're gonna scream and shout and let it all out for the world to hear. Godnilla and the Godfather - it don't get any more real than that, babygurl. And all the where's and why's and who's and how's of this impromptu union between Moor and Cairo will become perfectly clear when a tandem that has never competed together before puts on a tag team clinic for the ages. But then you knew you were in deep doo-doo the moment you signed your name on the contract, Bonnie. And I think - I KNOW that's exactly what you wanted. And Bonnie, sweetheart, it's what the BobFadduh wants too. You'll be right where you belong: at the thicks of the gods, cheeks spread, with bated breath, and an eagerness to please. Now who could ask for more than that?

---

I hadn't seen a gargantuan ape scale the Empire Thick Building since the days of King Kong. In post-9/11 America it was thought to be impossible. How could a security breach of this magnitude be allowed? Well, the simple fact is that they couldn't stop it. They couldn't stop US! None of them could. The NYPD. The National Guard. The Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, and Marines all tried their Godfatherdamnedest. It was to no avail. The isle of Manhattan was doomed.

"ROOOOOAAAARRRRRR!" King Kong Ekim bellowed from the peak of one of New York's most famous structures. He held within his grasp another of New York's historic landmarks: the Statue of Liberty poon. Oh, she got it. She got it good, over and over again, and she moaned and groaned and twitched her poon and arched her spine. She was powerless to stop it in oh-so-many ways, and she was loving every moment of it. She had never been drilled like this. Far more than Uncle Osama had ever given her.

This was the beauty of primal fornication. Centuries of injustice were laid to waste with masculine thrusting and feminine shrieking. Women's rights activists howled their dismay, protestations that fell upon Ekim's deaf ears. He wasn't having any of it. This was for his brother - this was for Harambe. Bitch was gon' get it and she was taken it up dat azzz for every brotha who ever stood tall and was gunned down in his prime for it. #DicksOutForHarambe

You know, as I R-CAIRO'd jibbah jabbah jobbah after jibbah jabbah jobbah, it was amazing to finally see Wall Street take the pounding that it deserved. The stock market fell quicker than Lady Liberty's panties. And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our thicks were still there. The generals had been reduced to rubble. They had no answers for the 'Thick Problem'. Oh, they knew it was cumming; it was the 'stopping it' part that they could not resolve. Your Facebook went live, and so did your friend's, streaming the havoc that the corporate news cameras would not. And the nation watched. The world watched. They all watched with faces contorted, whether in joy or dismay, depending upon their perspectives. Some of them? They laughed with glee. They hooted and hollered like #RealGodz fans in the front row at A Nightmare on South Street. As Ekim soiled, sullied, and smashed Lady Liberty, so too would we do dirty dem dare Guardians.

To manifest destiny; what does it mean? To unleash the unyielding power to will of both men and gods. This was our objective. As Ekim and The Thickness stood tall in defense of all that is good and decent; in defense of Harambe and Poon Guinea; in defense of social justice and the natural order of gods; so too will Godnilla and Godfather stand tall among the corpses of false Guardians. Guardians torn and twisted, turned tighter and tighter than the Gordian Knot. Can you feel it, my children? Can you feel it, Polar? Can you feel it, Bonnie Blue Poon? When you accepted the terms and conditions of #RealGodz #ThatAncientAliensBloodline versus #FalseGuardians, you failed to understand that you were agreeing to terms and conditions that your mortal souls could simply not bear.

Well, bear witness to this, my children. Bear witness to a Godfather and an All-Father who stood so tall and so proud alongside Brother Ekim. We had laid waste to all forms of military and law enforcement that challenged our dominion. In the nuclear assault that followed, as desperate politicians clutched to their last grips of globalist control, #PureAndSimpleCommunism and the power of the nation-state prevailed. New York was claimed by the new republic, rechristened New Thick. Poon Guinea had been reborn in the Thick Apple. And what would they say? And who could they blame? Only themselves, my children. Only themselves, as I blamed myself for the fall of my republic. As I said, redemption is not always obvious in terms of the shape and form upon which it will present itself. Those who manifest their own destiny will be the keepers of the day, eternal and everlasting. My children.

---

After the chaos that had claimed New Thick, that Thick Apple, in the name of all that is good and decent about God and humanity, it felt good to get back to my cannabis ranch in Colorado. It had been a long, long time since I spent a rejoinder there with the kush, the poon, and the Rocky Mountains for my backdrop. I toked the finest weed and I smashed the finest poon, taking some time, a week or three in the course of a night, to get reacquainted with that Rihanna 'First Lady' good shit. And believe me when I say that I filled her with the divine spirit of the Lord Jam Willy.

However, though I did enjoy taking the time to get decompressed after our transformational victory in New Thick, I was not in Colorado only to get a nut off and toke the good toke. It was here that I met with my dear comrade and brother in arms Wade Moor for our first sitdown meeting. And we sat, and we chatted, and we gestured thusly with our thicks, and the mocha-golden poons were creamed in and upon, and stretched and smashed and spent and trashed. This was the life cycle of the poon whilst in the company of gentlemen of a more refined era such as Godfather and Godnilla.

And we talked, Wade and I. We talked while our mead refilled itself in goblets of gold, diamond and emerald. We spoke in descriptive terms of the horror and bloodshed we would unleash upon Polar Phantasm and Bonnie Blue Poon. Wouldn't you know it? I had a notion of smashing that Bonnie Blue Poon right then and there.

"Wade, now Wade, the only thing we have to work out is the details on smashing that Bonnie Blue Poon. And I tell ya, I want it now. I mean right fuckin now, brotha. I'm not saying I'll fight you for it, but man... yeah, I'll fight you for it."

"Cairo, you're a crazy motherfucker, you know that? But we're brothers though. We are brothers. That night that you, by all rights, murdered Scarecrow, I knew we were connected. I knew it. I could feel it like I can feel the light that never goes out from our brothers up in the sky. That #AncientAliensBloodline."

We fist bumped. It was the icing on the cake in my book. Wade and I were fucking these broads. We were dicking some dirty dirty poon and loving every moment of it. But we were also bonding. We were developing a rapport, as all the great tag teams have done throughout history. And I know what I'm talking about: The Thickness and the Poondock Saints are the two greatest teams to ever set thick inside the squared circle, and I will put that up against anyone, anytime, any place, BAR NONE. So when I speak of great teams, and when I speak of the best, baddest, and greatest of all-time, I know precisely of which I speak.

And so as we ran train after train on these bitches, and debated first dibs on Bonnie's blue poon, we were invoking a chemistry that it takes most teams months, if not years, to showcase. And some, most actually, will never even reach that point. Yet here we were. Here we were, just the two of us, #RealGodz, World Champion meets World Champion, and the only cameras recording were streaming to Pornhub. For anyone who thought our talk was mere bluster, that the Guardians actually had a chance to defeat #OfRealGodzAndRealMen, they were now eating crow like the poon was eating the thickness... and gagging upon it. And gagging upon it like the choke artists Polar and Bonnie who couldn't handle stepping into the ring for the second time in two months to defend their titles against a team that was more divided than the Union and Confederacy during the Civil War. #HistoryLessonFurYa

And it was while declaring that the poon had been soundly defeated, and my thick had nearly been satisfied but not quite, that I declared the need for more. No, not Moor. MOAR! As in #MoarPoon, as in #DatBonnieBluePoon. I told Wade, I told him. "Wade, if we want that rack from the future, my manz, we need to get Back to the Future. Y'herd?"

"I didn't know you was into that time travel shit, Bobby? Thought that was only for them Guardians jobbuhs?"

I clenched my Poon Guinea clobbering paw into a fist and I rapped upon the Norse-worked banquet table in the dining hall; then I declared some things. "Wade, you know, I don't use it often. But see, Odin has this mad scientist friend named Maverick who's always tinkering in his laboratory in some way or another. The man hardly smashes the poon at all. Too preoccupied with thoughts other than the poon. Yeah, Wade, I see that look of puzzlement on your face, and I feel the same way. Can't imagine a grown man not getting his codpiece polished on the regular, even if he had to consort with the Backpage crowd. And anyway, Maverick he constructed an old school DeLorean, flux capacitor and errthang."

"Are you serious, Bobby? So we could go anywhere we want, at any point in time, right now?"

"Yes, Wade. Yes, my manz. And you know what? I want to be in Bonnie Blue's panties. I need it. Can't stop thinking about it."

"Bobby, ya gotta focus, man. You can't be distracted by the poon. I know it's been a hot minute since you stepped thick into the ring, but-"

"Wade, no explanations needed, required, or accepted. No one knows how this works better than yours truly, The Godfather of all that I survey. You say it's been a hot minute? I say that magma that swallowed me like the mouth poon swallowing the thick was hotter. Time? Merely an illusion. A hot minute. A hot date. A date that shall go down in infamy. What does it all mean?"

"Bobby, how much of that Colorado Brain Damage did you smoke, dude?"

"Not enough, Wade. Not enough to accept that we live in a world where the so-called Guardians were allowed to declare themselves Tag Team Champions. Not gonna live like this. Not gonna live in this world."

"Bobby, now don't do anything crazy. Give me the keys to the DeLorean. You'll get behind the wheel all fucked up, create a rift in the space-time continuum. Next thing you know Hillary will be president."

"Horrible shits, Wade. Jus hurrible. You're right. We should swing by the Thick Apple and pick up Ekim for this. Take a little road trip."

"To track down the Bonnie Blue Poon? Bobby, we don't need no time machine for that. She's spreading her legs to the lowest bidder in the Motel 6 nearest 2300 Arena. Right now. Guaranteed."

"Then we will go to Philadelphia, my manz. To defeat the Guardians and to smash the Bonnie Blue Poon."

"That's bottom dollar skunk poon, Bobby."

"Don't care, Wade. Don't care. I'm preoccupied with it and that means I must have it. And you know what? I think you're being a little harsh there, Wade. But it's OK. We've both been through some shit lately and that's all about to change. We will rise above and conquer all who stand before us. We will conquer all obstacles, from here to infinity and beyond! Without faltering! Never wavering! Fighting the good fight as deemed by The All-Father and our #AncientAliens brethren on high!"

"Smoking the good kush."

"Yes, Wade. Yes, my manz. Smoking the good kush. And smashing the Bonnie Blue Poon. So it has been deemed."

"And we deemed it so."

"As only #RealGodzCan. Real muddaphukkin G's, ridin with King Kong Ekim. #TeamGodthrillaz. Grab the rest of the weed, Wade. I'm gonna grab a keg or three and we're gonna fire up that DeLorean. Let's see if we can't erase the tired old script and write some new history, eh, my manz?"

Thick to infinity... without faltering.