League of Madness 3 "Midgets and Monsters"

[gwad12345]

I'm hearing reports that GWad has called a press conference for tomorrow morning. This is BIG news and something you will surely not want to miss.

[actionjackson]

1 hour ago, gwad12345 said:

I'm hearing reports that GWad has called a press conference for tomorrow morning. This is BIG news and something you will surely not want to miss.

Assembling the crew to be there in support. Stop fascism!

[Daudy]

2 hours ago, gwad12345 said:

I'm hearing reports that GWad has called a press conference for tomorrow morning. This is BIG news and something you will surely not want to miss.

Is it the other Alex joining the squad after one of your other lower picks accidentally falls off a cliff?

 

[Daudy]

10 hours ago, KingofConsent said:

How did you still manage to draft the inferior team when you had first draft pick? I’m looking over the teams now and I’m actually perplexed…

I know you're just trying to stir the pot, but talking clever shit requires it to be at least a little based in reality. The average current rank of your team is well into the 160s with team Alfredo's average being just 81. I didn't even know there were over 160+ actual managers who play this game, and that's just your team's average! Current rank isn't always the best measuring stick, but gee whiz. It's more than double!

If it weren't for some mix ups about certain managers being in the pool (who then ended up on your team as a fill in anyway), there's a real chance we could have kept AJ and still managed to pick Dino up, making teams even more lopsided. Who knows though, maybe Gwad could have picked me or something to even it back up

[Columbo]

4 hours ago, gwad12345 said:

I'm hearing reports that GWad has called a press conference for tomorrow morning. This is BIG news and something you will surely not want to miss.

I'm hoping for a Jimmy Swaggart style confession.

 

[Mannetosen]

I came in as an alternate and I'm better than gwad's entire clown squad by myself.

[gwad12345]

Thank you everyone for your tremendous support and patience. It's obvious you're all chomping at the bit to hear the good word. The press conference will get under way soon.

Daudy, I have no idea who you are but it's so great to meet you! 

[gwad12345]

THE GWAD POST

Covering all things GWad

 

A hush falls over the teeming crowd as out from the convoy of limos that rolls up to the stage pops… can it really be? Yes! It’s GWad! Legendary Tycoon manager extraordinaire, philanthropist and champion of the people.

GWad surveys the crowd. The audience draws a collective breath and a deafening silence seeps into the atmosphere. A lone infant can be heard letting out a faint cough somewhere in the massed throng.

In a manner that can’t be described as anything less than sexual, GWad throws one clenched fist in the air and all at once the horde explodes into a frenzy of applause, hollers and bellows. Women and gay men faint.

Coolly and calmly, GWad strides to the podium. But the crowd shows no sign of letting up, their volume only increasing. Scanning the teeming mass from side to side, front to back, GWad nods silently.

After 5 minutes of raucous celebrations, GWad makes a quick gesture with his hand and in a few moments recomposes the crowd. Again, one can taste the tension in the air as thousands upon thousands await GWad’s first words.

GWad opens his mouth as if to speak but pauses. 100,000 people strain to hear with bated breath. This is the greatest moment of their lives.

He speaks softly into the mic, “You all know why I’m here."

As the last syllable rolls off his tongue a chorus of chants spontaneously erupts from the crowd.

“G-Wad! G-Wad! G-Wad! G-Wad!” …

GWad grins. “That’s right!” he bellows at the top of his lungs, “we’re going to KILL ALFRED!”

“Kill-Al-fred! Kill-Al-fred! Kill-Al-fred!” … the crowd screams back.

A diminutive middle-aged man with glasses standing at the edge of the stage shuffles to the podium and whispers something into GWad’s ear before shuffling back. The chants continue, unabated.

GWad clears his throat. “Metaphorically” he qualifies, switching to a lower octave.

“Kill-Al-fred! Kill-Al-fred! Kill-Al-fred!” … the crowd continues, unperturbed.

“Thank you for coming to my press conference” GWad says, switching into another gear as the chants show no sign of letting up. “I’ll take a few questions from the media.”

As awestruck as everyone else, the journalists in attendance gape in amazement at GWad, no one speaks up. Finally, as the chants slowly die down, one courageous notepad-clad professional collects himself and pipes up, “Can you really do it? Can you really defeat another team tainted by the scourge of Alfred?”

“KIIIIILL-ALFREEEEED!” a shrill, high-pitched cry comes from one woman in the audience a few rows back, losing all control at the sound of his name.

“Yes” says GWad, ignoring the scream. “I do what must be done.” [Frenzied applause]

The journalist simply mouths the word “Wow” and starts furiously scribbling in his notepad.

“GWad!” cries out another journalist.

“Yes. You”

“GWad, what is your team doing to prepare itself?”

“We’ve had incredible buy in. Our chemistry is through the roof. We are all united under a common goal…”

A few excited cries of “Kill Alfred!” can be heard in the crowd, interrupting GWad’s train of thought.

GWad continues, “We fight for justice. We fight for light. We fight for all that is holy. That, is our strength.”

Applause from all corners of the audience, no one as vigorous as the reporter who asked the question. A tear streams down his cheek.

“GWad! GWad!” several reporters now shout.

“OK, OK settle down” GWad says. “You. Go”

“GWad, who will you be entering? Who is your champion.”

“Weeeelll we’ll see won’t we” GWad smirks back, grinning from check to cheek. “Too early to say now, as you well know, but nice try. I can say the new recruits are just brimming with potential. I’m especially looking forward to seeing young Derfla Summertop in action. He was scientifically engineered to be the exact opposite of everything evil and wrong with the world.”

GWad scans the audience for a moment. “OK” he says. “I can take one more question.”

“GWad!” one intrepid reporter shouts quickly.

“OK, young man, shoot.”

“Kill Alfred?” the reporter asks.

GWad simply winks and slowly starts walking back to his limo.

As he glides to the car, GWad is bombarded by a stream of panties hurled from the crowd but he remains unphased.

Pausing at the car door, GWad looks back one last time at the throng and again silently throws his fist in the air. The crowd lets loose a roar and the familiar chanting commences again.

The chants remain audible to GWad until the limo puts a solid 2 miles between itself and the podium.

[KingofConsent]

6 hours ago, gwad12345 said:

In a manner that can’t be described as anything less than sexual, GWad throws one clenched fist in the air and all at once the horde explodes into a frenzy of applause, hollers and bellows. Women and gay men faint.

For all of you who didn’t attend the conference in person, I can confirm women and gay men did indeed faint… both of my girlfriends I took fainted and they needed medical attention.

However it was really invigorating to see the crowd and media get behind the movement… it’s just not us managers and fighters involved, but I can feel the crowd and fans of mma support us… we do this for the people… GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT!

KILL ALFRED!

[Flipper]

5 hours ago, gwad12345 said:

THE GWAD POST

Covering all things GWad

 

A hush falls over the teeming crowd as out from the convoy of limos that rolls up to the stage pops… can it really be? Yes! It’s GWad! Legendary Tycoon manager extraordinaire, philanthropist and champion of the people.

GWad surveys the crowd. The audience draws a collective breath and a deafening silence seeps into the atmosphere. A lone infant can be heard letting out a faint cough somewhere in the massed throng.

In a manner that can’t be described as anything less than sexual, GWad throws one clenched fist in the air and all at once the horde explodes into a frenzy of applause, hollers and bellows. Women and gay men faint.

Coolly and calmly, GWad strides to the podium. But the crowd shows no sign of letting up, their volume only increasing. Scanning the teeming mass from side to side, front to back, GWad nods silently.

After 5 minutes of raucous celebrations, GWad makes a quick gesture with his hand and in a few moments recomposes the crowd. Again, one can taste the tension in the air as thousands upon thousands await GWad’s first words.

GWad opens his mouth as if to speak but pauses. 100,000 people strain to hear with bated breath. This is the greatest moment of their lives.

He speaks softly into the mic, “You all know why I’m here."

As the last syllable rolls off his tongue a chorus of chants spontaneously erupts from the crowd.

“G-Wad! G-Wad! G-Wad! G-Wad!” …

GWad grins. “That’s right!” he bellows at the top of his lungs, “we’re going to KILL ALFRED!”

“Kill-Al-fred! Kill-Al-fred! Kill-Al-fred!” … the crowd screams back.

A diminutive middle-aged man with glasses standing at the edge of the stage shuffles to the podium and whispers something into GWad’s ear before shuffling back. The chants continue, unabated.

GWad clears his throat. “Metaphorically” he qualifies, switching to a lower octave.

“Kill-Al-fred! Kill-Al-fred! Kill-Al-fred!” … the crowd continues, unperturbed.

“Thank you for coming to my press conference” GWad says, switching into another gear as the chants show no sign of letting up. “I’ll take a few questions from the media.”

As awestruck as everyone else, the journalists in attendance gape in amazement at GWad, no one speaks up. Finally, as the chants slowly die down, one courageous notepad-clad professional collects himself and pipes up, “Can you really do it? Can you really defeat another team tainted by the scourge of Alfred?”

“KIIIIILL-ALFREEEEED!” a shrill, high-pitched cry comes from one woman in the audience a few rows back, losing all control at the sound of his name.

“Yes” says GWad, ignoring the scream. “I do what must be done.” [Frenzied applause]

The journalist simply mouths the word “Wow” and starts furiously scribbling in his notepad.

“GWad!” cries out another journalist.

“Yes. You”

“GWad, what is your team doing to prepare itself?”

“We’ve had incredible buy in. Our chemistry is through the roof. We are all united under a common goal…”

A few excited cries of “Kill Alfred!” can be heard in the crowd, interrupting GWad’s train of thought.

GWad continues, “We fight for justice. We fight for light. We fight for all that is holy. That, is our strength.”

Applause from all corners of the audience, no one as vigorous as the reporter who asked the question. A tear streams down his cheek.

“GWad! GWad!” several reporters now shout.

“OK, OK settle down” GWad says. “You. Go”

“GWad, who will you be entering? Who is your champion.”

“Weeeelll we’ll see won’t we” GWad smirks back, grinning from check to cheek. “Too early to say now, as you well know, but nice try. I can say the new recruits are just brimming with potential. I’m especially looking forward to seeing young Derfla Summertop in action. He was scientifically engineered to be the exact opposite of everything evil and wrong with the world.”

GWad scans the audience for a moment. “OK” he says. “I can take one more question.”

“GWad!” one intrepid reporter shouts quickly.

“OK, young man, shoot.”

“Kill Alfred?” the reporter asks.

GWad simply winks and slowly starts walking back to his limo.

As he glides to the car, GWad is bombarded by a stream of panties hurled from the crowd but he remains unphased.

Pausing at the car door, GWad looks back one last time at the throng and again silently throws his fist in the air. The crowd lets loose a roar and the familiar chanting commences again.

The chants remain audible to GWad until the limo puts a solid 2 miles between itself and the podium.

When you wake up from this fever dream, there’s banana pudding with WAFERS in the psych ward cafeteria today at lunch. Carry on with your delusion, though.

[gwad12345]

19 minutes ago, Beatdown said:

When you wake up from this fever dream, there’s banana pudding with WAFERS in the psych ward cafeteria today at lunch. Carry on with your delusion, though.

Team Alführed rn

[Gonzasco]

Phil Sprintin (390382)

"Would any personal assistants like to join my #SaveAlFührer campaign?" 

[Daudy]

8 hours ago, gwad12345 said:

Daudy, I have no idea who you are but it's so great to meet you! 

Hey now, you only said this well after I was drafted.

Hopefully next time your boy can stick around for longer than 57 seconds so I can introduce myself properly and show you my design ideas for a Winston Todd x SYN x Bondi clothing set that I've been working on (kstacks has only seen the old one, I think I've made it much better since). Exciting times!

[Flipper]

2 hours ago, gwad12345 said:

Team Alführed rn

Nothing more poetic than GFraud himself using a gif of another fraud who spews nonsense. Maybe a bit of celebrity endorsed rehab might allow you to start making sense.

[KingofConsent]

7 minutes ago, Beatdown said:

Nothing more poetic than GFraud himself using a gif of another fraud who spews nonsense. Maybe a bit of celebrity endorsed rehab might allow you to start making sense.

What’s your in game manager ID? I legit have no idea who you are.

[Flipper]

10 minutes ago, KingofConsent said:

What’s your in game manager ID? I legit have no idea who you are.

Bro, ditto. You’re probably a multi though considering you have a combat wombat avatar and you’re out here claiming you’ve never done creation tourneys before. 
 

 

[KingofConsent]

8 minutes ago, Beatdown said:

Bro, ditto. You’re probably a multi though considering you have a combat wombat avatar and you’re out here claiming you’ve never done creation tourneys before. 
 

 

Does the avatar have some meaning I’m unaware of?

I just found you, I dusted your prospect off a while ago. I thought your avatar rang a bell.

will be happy to dust another one of your fighters off this tournament.

[KingofConsent]

9 minutes ago, Beatdown said:

you’re out here claiming you’ve never done creation tourneys before. 
 

 

I haven't… this is my first one. Ever, in my life.

[Flipper]

3 minutes ago, KingofConsent said:

Does the avatar have some meaning I’m unaware of?

I just found you, I dusted your prospect off a while ago. I thought your avatar rang a bell.

will be happy to dust another one of your fighters off this tournament.

Name the prospect you “dusted off” so I know who I’m talking to.

2 minutes ago, KingofConsent said:

I haven't… this is my first one. Ever, in my life.

Right. Sure champ. 😉

[The1rstSaint]

24 minutes ago, KingofConsent said:

I haven't… this is my first one. Ever, in my life.

 

20 minutes ago, Beatdown said:

Name the prospect you “dusted off” so I know who I’m talking to.

Right. Sure champ. 😉

Let's save some of this MADNESS for week 1 fellas.

In other news, there has been two changes in Team Alfreds squad as @Shaeleejo5has not responded to my PM nor has created a fighter, the replacement will be the currently first Bantamweight reserve PJ Jones.

The second replacement I hope is not true @mauriceThis is to be the #FUTUREGOAT's big moment? Anyway, if so, No worries. Real Life is Numero Uno, I understand. 

 

[The1rstSaint]

If anyone else wants to bail, I would deeply appreciate if you do so soon. 

[Mannetosen]

Tosen's Home for Lost Boys in Rio de Janeiro is considered one of the greatest gyms in MMA history. It's also considered an important hub for the South American drug and human trafficking trade. Despite joint efforts by INTERPOL and several national police organizations, though, it has somehow never been closed down.

This is largely due to its owner, Mañuel Tosen. This bizarrely named Norwegian is a long-time core member of the infamous Convicted Inc crime syndicate, and has risen up as its leader in recent years. Tosen's ascension to the top of the crime world has left a trail of dead politicians, missing mob leaders and crying Thai men in its wake.

As I'm escorted through the dimly lit gym area, walking past rows of sweating, grunting, interchangable goons hitting heavy bags, I remind myself that I'm not here to discuss Tosen's connections to organized crime. Instead, I've been sent all the way to Rio to cover a goddamn rookie MMA tournament. Being a junior journalist sucks sometimes.

After being lead through a large metal door that'd look more at home in a Soviet bomb shelter than an MMA gym, I find myself face to face with Tosen. He is a large, blond man of indeterminable age. Despite having managed top level MMA fighters for well over 60 years, he still appears to be in his 30s. This has spawned rumors about everything from stem cells to PED abuse to Satanic blood orgies. Regardless, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to ask him about the LOM tournament.

"So, mr. Tosen, I--"

"Please, call me Manny. Everyone does."

"Okay, well. Mr. To-- I mean Manny, thanks for having me."

Tosen absent-mindedly waves his hand in the air, as if to tell me to get the pleasantries over with.

"Ahem, anyways. You always seem to find yourself in creation tournaments lately, don't you? This one you didn't even sign up for, haha."

Tosen glares at me.

"Is this a fluff piece or something?"

"No, sir, I'm just trying to--"

"You're gonna ask me to talk to you about my childhood, is that it? Tell you how walking in the woods gave me my life back? Pose in front of a blow-up airplane with the text 'Ready for Take-off' grafted onto it, is that it?"

"I'm just trying to ask you about LOM, sir."

"Oh yeah. That. Alfred had some guy flake out at the last minute and asked me to fill in alongside my boy Chris. Fortunately, the extended Cheese family were visiting Charles Eric, so I pretty much had my pick of the litter."

"So you're saying that you're just throwing some untrained schlub into the wood chipper? That hardly seems ethical."

"Listen, dipshit. One month of training with me is worth more than a lifetime of training with those sacks of shit on Team Gwad."

"Hold on, Manny. Gwad is a very acco--"

"He's literally a monkey with a typewriter. He only managed to produce a top fighter due to the sheer power of persistence. Throw enough shit at the wall and all that."

"Doesn't he have a winning record against you?"

"What did you say?"

"Uh, nothing sir."

"That's what I thought. And one more thing: There's been some young upstart chatting all sorts of shit in the lead-up to LOM. King of Consent I think he's called. That's the name of a rapist if I've ever heard one."

"Speaking of libel and slander, give us your thoughts about the allegations about Alfred Winterbottom being a literal, goose-stepping Nazi."

"I'm thinking I've had enough of your lip. Mr. Schaubi, take him outside and drown him please."

A large, grotesque creature lurches out of the shadows and towards me. He's holding a glass of something that smells like terpentine in one hand, and is furiously rubbing his legs and crotch with the other. He mumbles something incomprehensible to me, but I can only make out that he seems to be calling me 'b'.

The beast grabs me by the arm and starts dragging me out of the gym. He's very strong. Desperately, I start flailing my limbs. One of my fingers gently graze his chin, and he crumples into an unconscious heap. Equal parts perplexed and filled with adrenaline, I disappear into the night.

[KingofConsent]

4 hours ago, Mannetosen said:

Tosen's Home for Lost Boys in Rio de Janeiro is considered one of the greatest gyms in MMA history. It's also considered an important hub for the South American drug and human trafficking trade. Despite joint efforts by INTERPOL and several national police organizations, though, it has somehow never been closed down.

This is largely due to its owner, Mañuel Tosen. This bizarrely named Norwegian is a long-time core member of the infamous Convicted Inc crime syndicate, and has risen up as its leader in recent years. Tosen's ascension to the top of the crime world has left a trail of dead politicians, missing mob leaders and crying Thai men in its wake.

As I'm escorted through the dimly lit gym area, walking past rows of sweating, grunting, interchangable goons hitting heavy bags, I remind myself that I'm not here to discuss Tosen's connections to organized crime. Instead, I've been sent all the way to Rio to cover a goddamn rookie MMA tournament. Being a junior journalist sucks sometimes.

After being lead through a large metal door that'd look more at home in a Soviet bomb shelter than an MMA gym, I find myself face to face with Tosen. He is a large, blond man of indeterminable age. Despite having managed top level MMA fighters for well over 60 years, he still appears to be in his 30s. This has spawned rumors about everything from stem cells to PED abuse to Satanic blood orgies. Regardless, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to ask him about the LOM tournament.

"So, mr. Tosen, I--"

"Please, call me Manny. Everyone does."

"Okay, well. Mr. To-- I mean Manny, thanks for having me."

Tosen absent-mindedly waves his hand in the air, as if to tell me to get the pleasantries over with.

"Ahem, anyways. You always seem to find yourself in creation tournaments lately, don't you? This one you didn't even sign up for, haha."

Tosen glares at me.

"Is this a fluff piece or something?"

"No, sir, I'm just trying to--"

"You're gonna ask me to talk to you about my childhood, is that it? Tell you how walking in the woods gave me my life back? Pose in front of a blow-up airplane with the text 'Ready for Take-off' grafted onto it, is that it?"

"I'm just trying to ask you about LOM, sir."

"Oh yeah. That. Alfred had some guy flake out at the last minute and asked me to fill in alongside my boy Chris. Fortunately, the extended Cheese family were visiting Charles Eric, so I pretty much had my pick of the litter."

"So you're saying that you're just throwing some untrained schlub into the wood chipper? That hardly seems ethical."

"Listen, dipshit. One month of training with me is worth more than a lifetime of training with those sacks of shit on Team Gwad."

"Hold on, Manny. Gwad is a very acco--"

"He's literally a monkey with a typewriter. He only managed to produce a top fighter due to the sheer power of persistence. Throw enough shit at the wall and all that."

"Doesn't he have a winning record against you?"

"What did you say?"

"Uh, nothing sir."

"That's what I thought. And one more thing: There's been some young upstart chatting all sorts of shit in the lead-up to LOM. King of Consent I think he's called. That's the name of a rapist if I've ever heard one."

"Speaking of libel and slander, give us your thoughts about the allegations about Alfred Winterbottom being a literal, goose-stepping Nazi."

"I'm thinking I've had enough of your lip. Mr. Schaubi, take him outside and drown him please."

A large, grotesque creature lurches out of the shadows and towards me. He's holding a glass of something that smells like terpentine in one hand, and is furiously rubbing his legs and crotch with the other. He mumbles something incomprehensible to me, but I can only make out that he seems to be calling me 'b'.

The beast grabs me by the arm and starts dragging me out of the gym. He's very strong. Desperately, I start flailing my limbs. One of my fingers gently graze his chin, and he crumples into an unconscious heap. Equal parts perplexed and filled with adrenaline, I disappear into the night.

Despite Mr. Tosen sounding... ominous and evil... I am still going to fucking dust this mother fucker and his bitch ass crew.

PS: The "He's literally a monkey with a typewriter" actually made me laugh out loud hahahaha

[Mannetosen]

42 minutes ago, KingofConsent said:

Despite Mr. Tosen sounding... ominous and evil... I am still going to fucking dust this mother fucker and his bitch ass crew.

PS: The "He's literally a monkey with a typewriter" actually made me laugh out loud hahahaha

You're whack and your crew is through.

[KingofConsent]

14 minutes ago, Mannetosen said:

You're whack and your crew is through.

You're wife will be 'tosen' my salad after this tournament.