Alright, a little background info first. I live a small town, and a while back 4 pro wrestlers stopped at a gas station and needed directions. Well of course this was huge news for such a small town and the next day it was a big article in the paper. Well the paper didnt cover the story truthfully, and little did they know I was hiding behind the potato chips, and here I present to you what realy happened....
The Big Three
It was a warm November day. The sun was out, and mystery was in the air. But nobody in the small town of Maquoketa was prepared for what monumentus event this day had in store.
Early afternoon, at Dicks gas station, everything was fine and dandy. The cashier gazed out the window, staring aimlessly at the customers, or lack there of. Across the parking lot, the cashier could see a couple of kids pushing each other down a hill and laughing.
All of a sudden, a big black SUV pulled up. Out came a tall and very strongly built man. The cashier didn’t recognize the person, however she still knew this wasn’t your average Joe blow.
“He was very large, and was decked out in big city clothes,” she said.
The man, accompanied by another large man, entered the building. They walked up to the counter, and the second spoke.
“How do you get to Cedar Rapids?” said the man.
“It was Batista, the professional wrestler, who accompanied Triple H,” said a customer in the store, who knew a bit more about wrestling than the oblivious cashier.
After getting directions, Triple H decided to get a snack. He got some peanuts, set them on the counter, and drew out his credit card.
“Um, I’m sorry sir, we don’t accept Mastercard,” said the cashier. It was as if Triple H was punched in the face. This was horrible news. He desperately needed his peanuts. After giving a blank stare, he took the card, withdrew it into his pocket, and started to walk out the door. As he stared at the floor, memories of his life drifted in and out of his thoughts.
“There there,” said Batista, “We’ll get those peanuts, if it’s the last thing we ever do!”
At that moment, when all hope had faded, something unexpected happened. Out of nowhere came a familiar voice.
“Do you accept a Visa?! WOOOOO!” shouted a voice behind the door. It was the nature boy, Ric Flair. Triple H’s face lit up, like a kid when he sticks a light bulb in his mouth. Batista started jumping up and down and clapping his hands.
Sporting a lush full head of hair, Flair casually walked over to the counter, and slapped the card down, along with two other bags of peanuts.
“We’ll ALL eat peanuts today my friends, every one of us,” he said.
Batista couldn’t hold back his emotions any longer, and ran up and gave Flair a big hug. Flair, though daunted, would have none of it. He gave Batista a backhand across the chest. “That’s for giving me a hug!” he said with a point to the face. He then proceeded to manly chest slap the customer and the cashier. “And that’s for not accepting a Mastercard. WOO!” He gave no reason as to why he slapped the customer. Triple H and Batista knew the drill, and decided to corner the assailants, and gang beat them. Flair, handful of peanuts, gave his patented dance, and out the door he went.
Danny Hankner
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