UFC 67 Part II- Ground and Pound!!!

We ran into all sorts of trouble on our way to Las Vegas- a Peruvian destroyer in international waters, a Miriachi band of Zapatista rebels in Chiapas, and finally a few truckloads of Minute-Men in Arizona --and so the trip took alot longer than expected and we got to KFC 67 about 20 minutes before it was supposed to start. There was a huge line to get in, so Mills and I decided to go in around the back thru the handicapped entrance. We pushed a bunch of wheelchair bound invalids and retards out of the way as we sprinted up the ramp.

But one of their handlers or trainers or whatever you call them, looked over and scolded us, screaming, "Are you guys crazy?? These poor people are disabled and you're pushing them over and trampling them?!"

Angered, I whipped out my sub-machine gun. "Shut-up you!...or I'll give everyone here some real disabilities!" I yelled back.

To show the handler I meant business, I fired a sub machine burst into the air, but Mills looked at me disapprovingly. "They're callin' the cops McStallen. Callin' the cops..." warned Mills.


When we got near the ring we were approached by a big fellow named Cahill, who was a notorious Las Vegas gangster and former button-man for the Ruggeri family.
"Mills is scheduled to fight Frank Trigg's protege tonight. We don't know much about the guy, but we hear he's nuts-- real basket-case-- gotta be to train with Trigg I guess- but the fix is in, RIGHT...?" questioned Cahill.

I nodded.
"One by one, our old friends are gone. Death -- natural or not - prison -- deportation. Hyman Mills is the only one left -- because he always made money for his partners." I said.

Cahill smiled, shook my hand, and walked off.

So then I told Mills to put on his diaper on and get ready for the match.
And the blasted arena was loud as hell with all the cheering and roaring from the crowd, but I could make out one distinct voice from all of that...

"What is this Mills nonsense? I can't believe I have this match with Mills! I mean really, who is this Mills character? I mean Mills, he is in bad bad shape- he has totally let himself go and certainly is no natural athlete. Plus he is lazy like Brian- he does not have the self-discipline to have a routenized and consistent workout schedule. This will hardly be a contest....Shiiiit...."

That voice. I recognized it immediately, and so I slowly looked over and caught a glimpse to confirm things... Sure enough it was the Sacramento Civil Servant, alive and well, and preparing to enter the octagon to fight Mills.

I grabbed Mills and poked his neck with my K-Bar.
"Situation's changed Mills-you can't take a dive. You remember that bloody Sacramento Civil Servant fellow I was telling you about? ...The guy who traded Steve Smith for a bag of peanuts in that fantasy keeper league? ...The guy who burned up that titty bar in Mogadishu? ... And the guy who I think is some sort of super natural demonic spirit put on this planet to plague humanity? Well that's the son of a bitch you're fighting. And you've got to kill him tonight-- because he needs to die." I explained.

"Bastard- that was my favorite titty bar in all of East Africa! I'll waste him!" exclaimed Mills.

Then the ref signaled for the fight to start, and both pugilists immediately charged each other throwing flying hay-makers. Both punches missed, and the combatants collided with each other and fell to the ground, locked in a strange wrestling position.

For the next fifteen minutes the pair appeared dead-locked in a disgusting orgy of Kamasutra-esque grappling and body-locking. Finally, the Civil Servant finally seemed to get the advantage after performing a near flawless reverse anal lock on Mills.

"Check the oil!" yelled one of the spectators.
"Kill him Tony! Kill him! Blood! Blood!" yelled another.
"Release Barabas!" yelled still another.

Mills was barely conscious and taking quite a licking- I knew he couldn't hold out much longer. Then the Civil Servant ripped off Mills' diaper and began to pummel him with it.

"Ground and Pound! Ground and Pound!" chanted the bloodthirsty crowd.

I figured it was now or never- I had to intervene. So I reached into my duffel bag for my sub-machine gun, but at just that moment Frank Trigg charged at with a knife...