Jake Jager: Bro of the Jungle

The transcontinental tour of the cast of the Jersey Shore was progressing as planned. Successful stops had been made in large U.S. cities such as St. Louis, Indianapolis, Denver, Phoenix and Los Angeles. Everyday was a head swelling event for the cast as flash bulbs cast their radiance upon the orange stars and throngs of excited people contended to gain the merest glance of these greasy demigods. At every stop of this world tour Mountain Dew flowed like the waters of the Nile leaving no cast member wanting. The tight abs, ripped biceps and spiked hair of the men were matched in no less grandeur by the outlandishly large sunglasses, high round hair and muffin tops of the women. Life seemed to be pouring all of its splendor upon these chosen few.

The jumbo jet that they traveled in had been outfitted with provisions sufficient to ensure the comfort of all aboard. The hold of the craft was filled with cases of Jägermeister, Red Bull, Axe Body Spray, anabolic steroids and hair gel. It was truly a paradise in the sky and all aboard drank deep from the cup of carnal pleasures.

As the tour came to it’s cessation, the world had reveled in the glamour and excitement that these few precious juice head gorillas had spread to them. The cast and crew, in their usual fashion, indulged and delighted in bacchanalian mirth as their sky ship passed over the dark continent in a flight from Egypt that terminated in Buenos Aires. Far below the ramjet stretched miles of the darkest and least explored sections of the African jungle as the craft sped through the sky, a vapor trail marking its path through the celestial sphere. No one in the cabin happened to notice the singular weather that seemed to be converging on them. The peels of thunder and flashes of lightening went unnoticed  as loud and repetitive rap music blared from every speaker. Even the captain’s pleas for the revelers to return to their seats went unheeded and unheard, all the while dancers writhed in the aisles hoisting goblets of energizing intoxicants to their lips.

Bolts of lightening shot between the thunderheads as the plane hit an air pocket, dropping the craft several hundred feet straight down. This succeeded in gaining the attention of the multitude. The captain had managed to regain control of the vessel though not permanently. A titanic shaft of electricity flared, passing through the plane and disabling all systems. The heavens burst forth with a torrential down pour, with sheets of water obscuring all visibility. The screams of the men equaled fully the pitch of the women.

The planes nose pointed nearly straight down, a hollow metallic meteor carrying the universes most precious cargo. Within seconds the fuselage was crashing through an unusually thick canopy of trees and jungle vines. The wings and tail section were torn away and the sleek missile passed quicker through the dense and omnipresent vegetation. At length the battered object came to rest in a murky quagmire of primordial sludge. Not a sound came from the cabin as the lights flickered within the small double paned windows.

A churning in the mire began under the downed plane as it slowly began to disappear beneath the unknown expanse of the feted bog. One lone scream could have been heard, if there were any around to hear it, as it finally submerged. At that moment the heavens opened up and delivered an earth rending blast of electricity directly into the depths of that elemental sludge. The storm clouds cleared and the rain ceased to fall while sparse sun rays, weakened by abundance of huge leaves, shown through to the jungle floor.

It was then a curious thing happened. Perhaps it was the lightening acting as the catalyst for the whole event. Or it may have been simply the mixing of certain unknown elements with the ships cargo and passengers. Most likely it will never be known but one thing is certain. On that day a lone figured emerged from the wastes of that horrible scene. This creature was the perfect amalgam of its forebearers. What had come from that disaster was a man, a man whose veins coursed with Red Bull, steroids and Mountain Dew. A man who’s abs were the most perfect of all and who’s hair was spiked to angles only the gods had dreamt of. Wind currents that passed through the trunks of great trees carried with them the faint yet unmistakable fragrance of Axe. It wiped the mud from its Tap Out shirt and stretched its orange frame whilst emitting a yell to the gods of earth and the heavens.

What was it that this man yelled, echoing through his domain? It was simply his name. He was Jake Jäger, Bro of the Jungle!

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