Rosie vs The Hulk

It’s been reported recently that Hulk Hogan and Rosie O’Donnell have come to words. It appears Hulk Hogan when asked “Which celebrity would you most like to see on American Gladiators” answered “Rosie O’Donnell. Someone needs to shut her mouth.” Rosie was quick to combat the verbal assault on her online blog. She compared him to Donald Trump, saying to wit: a bunch of old fat white guys were picking on her. Upon hearing this news, I was quick to finish jacking off to barn yard porn, and wearing nothing but the thread-bare bath robe I stole from the Salvation Army and the finest in exotic scented oils from the Orient, I sauntered into the kitchen to fetch myself another beer. My third before 10 a.m. Now, I’m a sharp guy, and I have a keen sense of business and what does and doesn’t sell. And being the resident celebrity news and gossip correspondent here at Hey Stupid, I began devising a plan. Madison Square Garden, a no holds barred steel cage ladder match for the World Title belt of Kick Ass Mother Fucker sanctioned by the UFC and sponsored by Under Armor, PETA, UNICEF, and the best beverage of all time created by Zeus himself and handed down to man for his thirst quenching enjoyment Jolt mo-fackin’ Cola. I could see the dollars rolling in, and I could smell the sweet acrid odor of success and riches… which turned out to be the fresh soft serve that my Shi-Tzu/American Pit Bull Terrier mix had politely deposited on the carpet. But I didn’t waste my time cleaning it up. No, I had urgent business of the utmost importance to tend to. So I put a piece of news paper over it and got to work finding my phone. Apparently, the previous night I had decided that my phone would make a great stocking stuffer, and had put it in a cum crusty sock and hung it from the top of the Christmas tree. Odd… but no matter. It was still in working condition once I wiped the Vaseline off of it. I knew of only one man capable of bringing this thing into being. Long time boxing promoter and old time drinking buddy of mine, Mr. Don King.

What transpired next is rather quite hard to fathom, but I assure you, every word of it is true. Rather than telling you the tale, though. I have decided to transcribe the phone conversation. For continuity purposes, I shall refer to Mr. Don King simply as DK, Rosie O’Donnell as R, and Hulk Hogan as H. Much of Mr. Don Kings indecipherable ramblings have been put down in phonetics, as I interrupted him in the middle of a 3 week cocaine binge in Aruba, and as many of you know, he tends to be a little hard to understand and his ability to properly communicate in the English language go right to hell when he’s hopped up on ‘Pop Rocks’. With that, let’s begin.

NF: Hey, DK, what’s happenin’ buddy? How’s Aruba?

DK: Oooh, ma-habba jabba do eeeest. Heheheh.

NF: Jesus, really? Well hey, listen, I’ve got a great idea for a fight. I was thinking that you’re just the kind of man to promote this sort of thing.

DK: Hesto jimma mobo Mike Tyson gabba gabba hey.

NF: Fuck no! That animal eats people. No, this is even better.

DK: Ja-halo do anna anna ring side seat.

NF: Only one, really. Anyway, so check this out, you listening?
DK: Eeeeee!

NF: All right: You know that whole feud between Rosie O’Donnell and Donald Trump? Well it appears her and Hulk Hogan are fudeing now to. He said something eluding to having her on American Gladiators, and I got to thinking, shit, why not put ‘em in a ring and turn ‘em loose. It’ll be like fucking pit bulls fighting over a piece of steak! I’m telling you, it’ll be great!

DK: Mee-boo jimmy jimmy Mike Tyson brrrrip chooper jolo Mr. T hasta ebble gibba Rocky 3.

NF: Seriously? You think you could get Mr. T to guest referee? That’d be fucking perfect!

DK: Braaap! Braap schtapa tipple nuppa chucka.

NF: No, listen to this: Hulk Hogan and Donald Trump vs. Rosie O’Donnell Ellen Degenerous in a tag team ladder cage match! We’ll have UFC sanction it, and you they will because they’d sanction a fucking cock fight.

DK. Oooo. Libba aaah ecker Michael Vick compin’ on da bit, eh?

NF: Now you’re fucking talking.

DK: Hey, libba jibba do anahder callinder… hodo uppa ticka ticka?
NF: Hell yeah! Put ‘em on the line, sure, I’ll hold.
At this point I was put on hold while Mr. Don King attempted to get Rosie and Hulk on a conference call.

DK: Nicka jicka! Whatta buddo, Rohizzle isle Huckster!

R: Hey you fucking scum bag breeder, what’s all this jabbering about some fucking wrestling match with some washed up fat white republicans? Fuck Bush!

NF: Rosie, Rosie, settle down. We can all act like grown ups here… or at least humans, can’t we?
H: You fat fucking bitch, I’m going to take you to the top turn buckle! I’m gonna tear my shirt off and strangle you with it!

R: Yeah, you and what fucking army? You’re so jacked on roids I’m surprised you could even get it up to impregnate that wife of yours. Hey, how bout you have her call me since she’s leaving your ass. I should never have taken up acting.

H: Army? I don’t need an army! All these little Hulkamaniacs running around every where eating their fruits and nutritious vegetables, I’ll suplex you right into that funny shoe wearing excuse of a comic dyke lover of yours! And you ruined The View!

NF: Guys! Hey! Settle the fuck down!

DK: Ji-hibba jabba jibba bibba, Mike Tyson jibba bibba NAACP.

H: Well she started it Mr. King. But go ahead; I’m beginning to like the sounds of it.

NF: Ok, so you’ve got the basics: Tag team ladder cage mach, Hulk and The Donald, vs. Rosie and Ellen. 10 round, no holds barred, no ring out, UFC sanctioned, with Mr. T as a guest referee. He’s coming out of retirement to do it. Mr. Don King has everything worked out with him.

R: I can live with that.

H: Hell yeah, you bring it on sister!

R: And after we get done shoveling dirt on you two fucks’ graves, I’m going to bore you with my political views! I hate men!

DK: Now habba ribba baked pecans and pecan pie… Two fingers up your greasy love hole!

NF: Don, baby, you’re not making any fucking sense. Go do some more blow you cracked out name dropping freak! Ok, so it’s agreed then? Madison Square Garden? You both are in?
R: Hell yeah, I’ll take any chance I can to prove that men are the weaker sex, and that republicans can’t stand up to a mean figure 4!

H: And I can’t wait to take you to the mat sister! I’m gonna do to you what I should have done to Andre back at Wrestlemania 3!

NF: We’re going to have bikini clad ring girls, that’s not going to detract either side from the match is it?
R: Hell, this washed up Schwarzenegger wanna be couldn’t score half the poon that I bring hom!

H: You wish, you ugly wind bag whale! You were horrible in Exit to Eden! Seeing you in vynil killed my libido for 6 years!

NF: Alright you two, save it for the ring. We’ll settle this at the Garden.

DK: Oh man, animal tram Hawaiian vacation, sister sister, Mike Tyson Wu Tang Clan kill whitey!

NF: Don, keep your fucking mouth shut, god damn it! You’ve been up for days and you’re all hopped up on the blood of Mexican virgins. Just shut up and listen! Rosie, Hulk, I’ll do all the leg work from here. You guys go do whatever you need to do before this thing happens. I’ll be in touch.

H: Hey Rosie, Rosie, I got a questin for you sister.

R: What?
H: Hey Rosie, whatchya gonna do, when all of Hulkamaniacs and the 24 inch pythons run wild on yoooouuuuuuaaaargh?!

*Click*

*Heavy panting*

NF: OK, then… That was weird. I’m going to go now. Later Hulk. Later D.

*Heavy panting*
*Little screaming*

*Click*

So there you have it, folks. You’ve read it here first. The fight is on, and it’s going to be hell on earth. We’re shooting for Valentines Day, sort of a battle of the sexes type of thing, but we’re still not sure. I’ll keep all of you informed, though, so keep checking back.

“All “reports” made by Nick Fit are completely fabricated, even those that are 100% true. Nick Fit may or may not even be an actual living breathing human being. He also may or may not actually spend much of his time in Hollywood when he’s not locked away in his vault passing the hours surfing the internet wearing nothing but his bathrobe and soiled boxers while consuming mass quantities of Schlitz. And while the credibility and reality of his Hollywood “contacts” and “sources” can be and have been argued, none of that is important. Even though Nick Fit is a representative of Hey Stupid who is well paid in the form of cheap beer for his articles and opinions, his opinions don’t necessarily represent those of Hey Stupid; except in the cases where they do unnecessarily represent sometimes necessary representation of our opinions. In other words we have no fucking money and it isn’t worth your time suing us because we wouldn’t pay anyway.”

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