May 21st, 2009
I just got back from Dr. Wilson’s office, and apparently I have testicular cancer. It was found too late, and is inoperable. I have 2 months to live.
It’s all because of those damn boxers. The underwear, not the guys that constantly punch me in the stomach. I guess I should have paid attention to that tag, but I don’t live in California so I didn’t think it really applied. Couldn’t they have made the yellow ink from something that wouldn’t cause growths on my balls? Oh well.
It’s been a good career. I was well-respected in the boxing circle. I had almost a free pass. I could do whatever I wanted, even taping a manhole cover to my stomach. I was truly the king of fighters.
Then Little Mac came along. I swear, that guy is on steroids or something. How could someone so tiny beat the hell out of me so easily? I guess I’m not alone, he destroyed everyone else as well, which makes me even more suspicious. I think he’s also behind Mike Tyson’s disappearance and replacement. Either Little Mac or the FBI. Possibly both are working together? Must investigate further.
After that defeat things went downhill. I couldn’t get sponsorship deals anymore, and normal jobs are impossible with people unable to understand my speech. I ended up going on disability from my weight (ever see that Simpsons episode? LOL) and lived in ridicule on my home island. Now this happens. I’m thinking about getting back in the ring. It’s been 20 years since the last time, sure, but I think I could show guys what I’m made of. Little Mac is gone, he retired when he got more money than he could ever spend on pink jogging suits. I think it’s time for King Hippo’s triumphant return, a last stand, a satisfying bookend to what used to be an illustrious career.
May 23rd, 2009
God damn it, Little Mac beat the shit out of me again.
Photo courtesy of the Associated Press