Manly Man
 

In case it isn't obvious, this is meant to be ridiculous to an extreme level. Bear that in mind.

Frederick Chateau Milworth was not a man. He was a Man. He did those things common to every man, only he did them harder. Frederick did not simply shave, he pressed his beard against trains as they passed until his chin was smooth, but not too smooth. A real Man needs stubble. Manly stubble. Nor did he shower in the usual manner. Instead, he forced himself to endure the force and heat of an erupting volcano until it erased every speck of bacteria, dirt, and dead skin from his body, yet his perfectly styled black afro remained untouched, it being almost as manly as him. Some men think sunglasses manly and wear them at all times, even if it be night, yet Frederick knew better. His crystal gaze could not be hidden behind cheap plastic, instead it watched and waited, brave and ever-vigilant, not needing the cowardly shadows. It has been said that one man left an insulting Youtube comment directed at Frederick, and that Frederick stared at the comment so hard the man immediately posted an apology, begging both forgiveness and mercy. That is only half true. The full truth is that that man died of a heart attack before he was halfway finished composing his plea. Frederick is also the only man to ever cure cancer by punching it into submission.

Tales of Frederick's manliness could be sung from rooftops and street corners till naught was left of mankind but ash, and likely shall. However, this is not simply a story about the manliest Man who ever lived, died, and came back after killing Jesus, Lucifer, the Grim Reaper, and the entire pantheon of Greak gods. This is the tale of one day, a day like any other, when he went to buy groceries. It would seem a simple thing, the purchasing of grocery store goods, yet there is one downfall to being a True Man. It was decreed, in times ancient and long past, that there could never be more than one True Man, a Man to be a shining example to all men, and a shining beacon of greatness and masculinity to be strived for, yet never reached. When such a thing exists, and such a Man has it, there will always be those who desire that title, wanting it for no other sake but to have it, failing to realize the responsibility such a blessed burden bears. Normally, Frederick would be in his home, meditating on the nature of life, his thoughts physically beating all philosophies, ideas, and beliefs until only the true ones remained. It was a rare occurence when he left his house, for not only was he met with many a challenge from those who were not worthy, but even the sun would compete with him, growing many degrees hotter in an attempt to outdo his brilliance, and Frederick was a man who respected nature, and did not want the natural balance ruined simply because he felt like going outdoors.

Frederick was not surprised when he opened his front door to embark on his trip and an ancient Japanese samurai stood before him. Frederick was never surprised. Nor was he surprised when the samurai brought a katana made of a golden alloy stronger than any yet known to man (Frederick knew for he learned chemistry, physics, metalworking, and cartography from Saturnians when he went to train on their planet's diamond core) to bear against him. Frederick did not go into a stance. He did not ready block nor punch. Such things were unneccessary for an opponent such as this. He simply said three words, "Go home, boy." The samurai, clad in a kimono dyed red with the blood of his foes and his hair black as the depths of Hell did not leave. He stared at Frederick, tensing his muscles in preparation for an attack. The samurai charged forward and Frederick, not even wasting the energy to sigh, punched the blade full force, shattering it to bits and sending the hilt flying out of the samurai's hands. Before the samurai had even time to react, Frederick grabbed two of the blade shards midair and slammed them into his opponent's eyes. As blood gushed like from a hose, and the samurai fell screaming to his knees, a gunshot could be heard. Frederick flexed immediately, and the bullet bounced harmlessly off of his massive pecks. A suited man rose from the grassy knoll across the street, dropped his rifle, and pulled out two handguns. It was going to be a long trip to the grocery store.

It's interesting how we can replace Frederick with Chuck and remain entirely consistent.

I'm thinking I will make it canon that Frederick trained under Chuck Norris and killed him, Chuck Norris being the only person who could train someone better than himself. Kinda like that whole, "Could God microwave a burrito so hot, he himself could not eat it?"

This man killing Chuck Norris will enrage many, and thus, will be popular. I recommend.

I rather enjoyed this peice you wrote. It would actually make a pretty fun novel. 9/10

I decided to take a break from fighting Yiazmat to continue the epic tale!

"Guns are tools of the weak. Man's frail attempt at manufacturing strength. They will not harm me. I advise you to leave." Frederick's voice boomed as he began to walk forward, calm and cool, staring down the armed man. The thin gunman laughed madly before cocking an eyebrow.

"You don't know who you're up against, do you? I'm Vincent Veron, world class gunman and winner of more than fifty national marksman competitions. I can hit a hummingbird from a mile away... without a scope."

"Accuracy is not the issue. Leave." Frederick's glare pierced more deeply and acutely than any bullet could.

"These guns? I harvested the metals on an asteroid. Each bullet is capable of piercing a tank. You may think you're tough, because you withstood the round from my rifle, but these babies put even that gun to shame. Tell Saint Peter I said hello." The gunman began to pull the triggers. Frederick frowned, closed his eyes, and, as the first shots were fired, vanished into thin air. Even with his prey seemingly gone, Vincent continued to fire, aiming every shot at a section of the air before him that seemed to shimmer ever so slightly. After he'd fired twenty-four shots from each gun, he went to reload, his movements smooth, professional, and suddenly interrupted.

Frederick appeared out of thin air and held him aloft with one hand grasped around his neck. All forty-eight rounds were flattened against his afro, falling harmlessly to the ground, his perfect hair unharmed. Frederick threw Vincent to the ground and grabbed both his arms.

"I told you to leave. You didn't. Please keep that in mind." Moving so quickly as to rip holes in the air as he did so, Frederick broke every bone in the man's arms and hands until only ivory powder remained where they once were. Once the arms were naught but floppy flesh and muscles, it was a small feat for Frederick to tie them together as though they were merely thick ropes. His muscles didn't even flex from the effort.

The man was crying like a child as Frederick walked away, managing one informative sentence amongst a series of painful squeals and moans.

He said, "Your master... is back... to kill you..."

For the first time in a long time, Frederick smiled. It was a manly smile.

After reading your signature I now imagine the fight scenes set to jazz music. Couldn't be more awesome. I like how Frederick can be crazy over the top in such a stoic way.

I was trying to make how little Frederick talks and just how generally abrupt he is stand out by making Vincent talk a bunch, but I worry I didn't make him talk enough. I'm thinking I should have thrown a few more unnecessary lines of boasting in there.

I changed it just before reading your comment, but the sig was from Cowboy Bebop, in case you didn't know. I'm now beginning to regret the change.

I know, that's why it gave me that mental image <3

And you did a great job showing. It seems someone is out for revenge againt Frederick. :)