Post by terrymarshall on Jun 12, 2024 11:52:48 GMT -5
“Thundering” Terry Marshall, the legendary professional wrestler known for his thunderous entrance and even more thunderous personality, lounged on his sofa one lazy Sunday afternoon. His decorated living room was a shrine to his illustrious career: championship belts, action figures, and posters adorned the walls, each a testament to his larger-than-life presence in the wrestling world.
Terry, however, wasn't feeling particularly thunderous today. The past few months had been a whirlwind of emotion, and now he just wanted to relax. As he settled in with a bowl of popcorn and the latest episode of his favorite sitcom “The Office,” the doorbell rang.
"Who could that be?" Terry grumbled, hauling himself up from the comfort of his couch. He lumbered to the door and swung it open, revealing a small, nondescript package on his doorstep. There was no delivery truck in sight, and the return address simply read: “Space Lord.”
Space Lord was Terry’s oldest (literally, he’s over 1000 Earth years old) and most trusted friend. The two had met years ago when Space Lord crash landed into his backyard, and as he had traveled to face Earth’s mightiest warriors. With The Avengers filming “End Game”, Marshall had talked Space Lord into entering the wrestling world, and their bond had been forged through countless battles and absurd escapades. Terry's curiosity piqued, he brought the package inside and tore it open. Inside the box, nestled in layers of bubble wrap, was an ancient, intricately designed hammer. It was massive, with Nordic runes etched into the handle and a head that seemed to shimmer with an inner light. Attached was a note in Space Lord’s flamboyant handwriting:
"Dear Terry, I stumbled upon this during my latest galactic adventure. Thought you might find it interesting. Cheers, Space Lord
P.S. It’s supposed to be Mjollnir, Thor’s hammer. Good luck!”
Terry's eyes widened as he read the note. "Mjollnir? No way, dude!"
He reached out and, with some effort, lifted the hammer. To his astonishment, it felt surprisingly light in his hand. The moment he grasped it, a bolt of lightning shot out from the hammerhead, narrowly missing his vintage "Body Slam of Pierre The Giant" poster and setting his drapes on fire.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Terry panicked, running around like a headless chicken. He grabbed a nearby throw blanket and smothered the flames, the hammer still clutched in his other hand. Once the fire was out, he glanced nervously at the hammer. "Okay, that was close. Gotta be more careful, brother."
"Alright, let's see what you can do," he muttered, raising Mjollnir high above his head. Channeling his inner Norse god, he swung the hammer with all his might. A bolt of lightning shot from the hammer, striking a garden gnome and reducing it to a pile of smoldering rubble.
Terry winced. "Sorry, Mr. Gnomely."
Undeterred, he tried again. This time, he aimed at a tree stump at the edge of the yard. The hammer glowed with a bluish hue as he swung it down. A crackling bolt of energy arced from Mjollnir, but instead of hitting the stump, it ricocheted off a metal birdbath and zapped his neighbor's satellite dish.
"Sorry, dude!" Terry called back, sheepishly lowering the hammer. "Just doing some... yard work."
Realizing he needed a more controlled environment, Terry decided to seek out his old wrestling doppelgänger, "Lightning" Larry Sparks, who had retired to a cabin in the mountains. Larry was known for his expertise with pyrotechnics and special effects in the ring, so Terry figured he might have some insight into handling Mjollnir.
After a bumpy drive up a winding mountain road, Terry arrived at Larry’s rustic cabin. Larry greeted him with a bear hug that would have crushed a lesser man.
"Terry, my boy! What brings you up here?"
Terry hoisted up Mjollnir. "Got a new toy. Thought you could help me figure out how to use it without, you know, causing property damage."
Larry’s eyes lit up when he saw the hammer. "Is that...?"
"Yep, Thor's hammer. Courtesy of Space Lord."
Larry whistled appreciatively. "Well, let's take this bad boy out to the clearing and see what it can do."
"Okay, Terry," Larry instructed. "Start with a simple swing. Try to hit the barrel."
Terry nodded and gripped Mjollnir. With a deep breath, he swung the hammer at the barrel. A bolt of lightning shot out, but instead of hitting the barrel, it zigzagged wildly and struck the scarecrow, setting it ablaze.
"Well, that’s one way to light up the competition," Larry chuckled, grabbing a fire extinguisher to put out the flaming scarecrow.
Terry groaned. "I’m never going to get the hang of this, dude."
"Sure you will," Larry encouraged. "Just takes practice. And maybe a bit of luck."
For the next few days, Terry and Larry worked tirelessly. Terry learned to channel his inner thunder, focusing his energy through the hammer. He discovered that the key was not just brute strength but also concentration and control.
One morning, after a particularly intense training session, Terry felt a surge of confidence. He stood in the clearing, Mjollnir in hand, and aimed at a stack of barrels. With a deep breath, he swung the hammer. A bolt of lightning shot out, hitting the barrels dead center and exploding them in a shower of sparks.
"I did it!" Terry exclaimed, jumping up and down like a kid on Christmas morning.
Larry clapped him on the back. "Knew you had it in you, Terry. Now, let’s see what else you can do."
Emboldened by his success, Terry tried more complex moves. He twirled the hammer above his head, creating a mini tornado that swept through the clearing. He slammed it into the ground, causing a shockwave that knocked over trees. And he even discovered that he could fly by throwing the hammer and holding on for dear life, though his first few attempts ended with him face-planting into the dirt.
As Terry practiced, the accidents continued but became more entertaining than disastrous. One afternoon, Terry decided to test the hammer’s throwing capabilities. He aimed at a distant boulder, reared back, and hurled Mjollnir with all his might. The hammer sailed through the air, but instead of hitting the boulder, it curved mid-flight and boomeranged back towards Terry.
"Incoming!" he yelped, ducking just in time as the hammer whizzed past his head and embedded itself in a tree trunk. He dusted himself off, chuckling. "Okay, note to self: work on aim."
Another day, Terry tried to channel lightning without swinging the hammer. He stood with Mjollnir raised, concentrating on summoning a storm. Dark clouds gathered, and thunder rumbled, but instead of a controlled bolt, a torrential downpour drenched Terry, soaking him to the bone.
Larry, watching from the porch, laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. "Looks like you called in the rain instead of the thunder, my boy!"
Despite the mishaps, Terry’s skills steadily improved. He learned to summon lightning with precision, control the hammer’s flight, and even fly short distances without crashing. His confidence grew, and he began to see Mjollnir not just as a powerful weapon but as an extension of his own strength and determination.
One evening, after an especially successful training session, Terry and Larry sat around a campfire, enjoying the warm glow and the crackling of the flames. Terry held Mjollnir in his lap, feeling a deep sense of accomplishment.
"Thanks for all your help, Larry," Terry said, toasting his likeness-theif with a marshmallow on a stick. "I couldn't have done this without you."
Larry smiled, raising his own marshmallow in return. "You’ve come a long way, Terry. Just remember, with great power comes great responsibility."
"I know, dude" Terry nodded. "And I’m ready for it."
As the stars twinkled overhead, Terry felt a presence he hadn’t felt in a long time, the presence of Space Lord. As he starred at the stars, he knew his partner was watching over him.
Back home, Terry continued his training, balancing his wrestling career with his newfound responsibilities. He practiced in secret, honing his skills and mastering the hammer’s power. His backyard became a training ground, filled with makeshift targets and obstacles.
One day, while attempting a new maneuver, Terry accidentally sent a bolt of lightning through his kitchen window, shattering it and frying the toaster.
"Guess I’ll have to eat cereal today," he muttered, shaking his head.
Another time, he tried to summon a small storm cloud to water his garden, but ended up flooding the entire yard, turning it into a muddy mess.
"Well, at least the plants won’t go thirsty," he joked, wading through the muck.
Despite the setbacks, Terry’s determination never wavered. He embraced each mistake as a learning opportunity, and his progress was undeniable. His confidence soared, and he began to see Mjollnir not just as a tool, but as a symbol of his journey.
As the weeks passed, Terry’s mastery of Mjollnir became second nature. He could summon lightning with a flick of his wrist, fly with grace, and wield the hammer with unparalleled skill. His training had transformed him, and he felt ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.
"Looks like you’re having fun," Space Lord quipped.
"Just another day in the life of a sports entertainer brother." Terry replied, laughing.
Space Lord smiled, “You’ve done well, Terry. Extremely well."
"Thanks, brother" Terry said, feeling a surge of pride. "It’s been a wild ride, but I’m still running wild.”
"Here’s to new adventures," Terry said, raising Mjollnir in a toast.
"To new adventures," Space Lord echoed, clinking his own imaginary hammer.
As they imaginarily toasted a shooting star streaked across the sky as the scene faded to black.
Peter Vaughn, I don’t need Mjollnir or the powers of the mightiest avenger to take you down dude. No way brother, because I got a force more powerful than all the Avengers fueling me for our showdown. I’m talking about the combined powers of all the Thunderamaniacs and all the Sexamaniacs at my back. They want to see my clasp these giant mits of mine together, pull back the largest arms in the backyard, and go full send to your chest with a Thunderstrike.
I got five minutes with you dude, and I’m going to make them count. I say five minutes, because there will be no time extensions. I’m beating you from pillar to post, and doing the most as I make the most of that time. Five minutes is all I’ll need to put you down and take the last championship gold you hold.
So, I only got one thing left to say to you Peter Vaughn, one question for you dude. It’s a simple one, so simple even your twisted man can answer it. Whatcha gonna do dude?
WHATCHA GONNA DO, WHEN THE POWERS OF THUNDERAMANIA AND SEXAMANIA DESCEND ON YOU!?!
When the greatest power this sport has ever know surge the most jacked arms this sport has ever known, WHATCHA GONNA DO!?!
There’s only two things you can do dude…
NOTHING!
On June… ehh whatever day Mike gets this together. I’m coming for your Vaughn, and I’m coming hard. So hard you won’t be able to stand it. You’ll go flat on your back for the worst five minutes of your life. And no, that’s not what she said. It’s what I’ve said, and what I’ll do.
