Post by azurinevebbins on Apr 28, 2023 2:52:59 GMT
Her promotional material commences with a senorita in scarlet sarong smelting something. Based on schematics from this whirling woman’s workbench, it appears to be a torture table. The foreboding furniture piece combines domestic household appliances and foreign plunder one might pillage from ring skirts. Wire hand blender beaters, bamboo kendo sticks, multiple irons, several shattered hair dryers, thirty removed ladder steps, three farkakte food processors, two cracked halves of a frying pan, one dozen disassembled steel chairs, a corkboard’s worth of thumbtacks, and four sawn-off vacuum cleaner handles. At least, that’s what those viewing this infernal contraption’s construction will claim. Azurine Vebbins sighs saccharine satisfaction over her scary sturdy structure.
Azurine Vebbins: Should splurt some ketchup as finishin’ flair and flourish. Didja know for twenty years da tomato’s been Tennessee’s state fruit? Additionally, who’s ready for a kooky, kinetic collateral damage contest, Knoxville? Combat Unlimited Le-dal Trials has Brannock Device shoehorned me into deyr blasphemous ballet rumba. Den again, I’d say dat for any grapplin’ group since it’s my second least liked stipulation. I’ve also been blarin’ da blazes out of Bucks Fizz’s “If You Can’t Stand Da Heat.” It’s manglin’ muzak for tossin’ temperature-tamperin’ tusslers. I intend to jettison via suplex, clodes-line, superkick, and jawbreaker anyone involved in dis infernal interlude. Twenty-five flambe-fleshed fools will be paddy-waggoned to preposterous purgatory. Azurine Vebbins shall do her damndest to be not be one of dem. After all, who’s more “Heaven Sent” dan “Da Adorkable Angel?”
April Dirty is National Honesty Day. I should b-flat about dose participation’. Pains me knowin’ deyr are sensationalized scenarios where I succumb to smolder and splinters. Brutalizes my beleaguered bein’. My drastic downfall could come from a blestie like Trey Bouchet, Adelaide Ains-word, Silas Romero, or Adrienne Beaufort. I could equally be dropped by Max Daemon, JC Keeton, or Paul Freedom, too. Mad-dew Knox, Logan Bailey, Royston Popplewell, KROW, and Jack Sullivan conspire considerable concern. Meanwhile, ladies like self-proclaimed “Woman of da Decade” Latoya Hixx, “Da Vixen Villain” Addison Stockton, “Da Butterfly of Aurora” Kallie Reznik, “Eldritch Surgeon” Emily Regal, and Grace Leary could experience exponential exposure at my expense. Deyr’s also a few deep field dark horses such as Episteme, Noah Ortega, and “Da Speaker” John Gracy. Da latter’s someone who grapples under a different gimmick elsewhere in case dat CULT-centric one doesn’t grab you. Dree individuals will be immediately eliminated once roastin’ settin’ for dinin’ surfaces gets reset. Dese include Luna Baby, Kilroy, and da dude I’m makin’ sure goes nowhere near Lissie Hope or Johnny Bacchus: Casanova English. Den in typical Highlander fashion, deyr can be only one. Set her aside since deyr’s some critical hit treasure trunk chance of “Dat Azz” mixin’ it up wid “JNK” Junko Souma.
Dese are da erratic entrants I must heave over da top rope plus have dem topple into toasted tables. Based on dose parameters, expect at least a couple competitors gettin’ prematurely pyred. Luna Baby comes to mind. Unless she’s da first two drowin’ down, dat dame’s feastin’ on flames before her boots bounce into da ballroom. Could also see some soul chip serious cedar wid-out intense immolation. Based on peculiar patriotic panache, Paul Freedom’s my hy-pod-e-sis for a dude who’d return after receivin’ reckonin’ because, y’know “Make America Grapple Aggressively.” Out of dose mentioned, he’s anoder agitator of Lissie’s I’d extricate from dis equation early. Of course, just like dis model I’m manufacturin’, I could end up blink and you’ll miss me. Wid da lumberin’ litany of limbs to limbo under, it might be too much maulin’ mass. Recalibrate your rationale. It’s staggered. Divide, conquer, and become New World Champion Number One Contender.
