Title: How Michael Muhney Fucks the World (except Rob Thomas)
Title: How Michael Muhney Fucks the World (except Rob Thomas)
co-authors:
demonessjo and
dementedjen [Jen}'s the brains, [Jo]'s just had the initiative.
CW RPS: Michael Muhney/Everyone
Warning: CRACK. CRACKITY CRACK CRACK. Offensiveness (in jest!). A massive spoiler for the latest episode of Veronica Mars.
Rated R for language and Michael Muhney’s Animal Magnetism.
Disclaimer: Dedicated to Michael Muhney, but he owns his own hotass self. We, tragically, have no affliation with the Golden God that is The Muhney.
Word Count: 1187
A/N: So while we've been working on a grand crack fic for Supernatural that involves, quite literally, crack baboons, we got distracted by our grief and sorrow. The result is this cracked out fic starring one of our favorite actors. Enjoy! Partially based off of this interview with Kristen from E! with Michael Muhney. Warning for massive spoilers.
Note: I,
dementedjen , am far too tired to type out my own header...thing... So I just maliciously stole what
demonessjo wrote. Eh.
It was a normal day on the set and, of course, Michael was horny. He was wearing those bastardly tight Sheriff pants that he swears that Rob only has him wear so that others could view his glorious ass, but whatever. He’ll change to shorts soon enough. He just had to make it through the day. Just another day on the set, signing autographs, shakin’ his ass, doin’ his thing.
Until he sees the script. That bastard Rob. NO. He is no longer Rob, he’s Thomas. No. That’s not good enough. He’s Tom Tom now. First names are reserved for people he’d consider sleeping with and DON’T suddenly write him off the show. Sure, things on set had gotten rough, things were tight. They were hard. Sometimes, he had to sneak in the back door to avoid getting manhandled. The move to the CW wasn’t exactly the smoothest, and he’d been relegated to the sexass with limited screen time. And everyone knew Tom Tom’s policy on co-worker relationships. Which is why Michael was a little appalled when he asked Kristen why Tom Tom had written him off the show.
“He wants your ass, like everybody else in the universe,” said a puffy-eyed Kristen, who had obviously been crying hysterically at the loss of her potential fuck buddy. Her sexy region would surely miss his sensuous touch.
“Well, I am that hot. But it has to be something else! Everyone wants the Muhney! That’s not unusual!” Michael gasped, but then decided to evaluate the situation and sighed, “I guess I’ll just have to take that guest spot on Reno 911 as Dangle’s long lost brother.”
Kristen’s teary eyes suddenly got all wide and hopeful, “Are you going to wear the shorts?”
Michael scoffed, “Damn frakkin’ right! Hide this ass from the world? Are you kidding me? I’m not that cruel. The world needs to know what this ass looks like in short shorts.”
“Can I come?!” Kristen exclaimed excitedly.
“Baby, you’ll come all night long,” Michael stated with a sexy, sexy wink that brought dictators to their knees.
Already alternate roles were running through his head. That guest spot on Reno 911, Battlestar Galactica, and that porno that one guy asked him to do that once. All had equally likely chances of being made, and Michael hoped that perhaps he could do them all, at once. That Jamie Bamber sure was svelte in a manly, beefy way. And Michael felt bad for not returning his calls.
Michael was still kinda pissed though. Tom Tom obviously played baseball with his character’s head because he knew he would never gain access to The Little Muhney. No, no, Tom Tom. Not-so-little Muhney gets to stay in his unicheek pants.
While Michael was pondering in his manly way, Jason Dohring came up from behind him and enveloped him in a huge emo hug of sorrow. Jason sobbed softly into his shoulder, shaking dramatically. Michael held him until Jason’s barrel-like sensuous chest expanded in a sigh, signaling the end of his episodic grief.
“There, there,” said Michael, “It will be ok. You can always come to my house on the weekends. You know you’re not the reason why we broke up, it’s not your fault.”
Jason blinked a couple of times as he stared off into the distance. He whispered, “It’s not enough,” he gripped Michael’s shirt and tragically whispered more, “I’ll miss you dadd- Michael.”
Michael unclenched Jason’s deathlike grip from his shirt front and directed him toward Kristen, “There, there. Go play.”
Jason collapsed into Kristen’s arms and they continued to sob together as Michael swaggered over to catering. He fully intended on starting more malicious rumors about angst and woe to get his revenge on that stalker Tom Tom. He pondered over whether or not to tell about where Tom Tom really was when he was “at his grandmother’s funeral.” He won’t go into the details now, but it somehow involved Tijuana, tequila, a hooker, and a donkey with no condom in sight. Tom Tom was a very naive individual. Moral of the story: He went down not knowing what STDs stood for, but now he knew what several were.
He was, however, interrupted in the middle of explaining the physics of how the hooker, the tequila, and the donkey coincided when he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned to find Ryan Hansen morosely looking at the ground.
“I- I don’t want you to go,” Ryan pouted. After an awkward moment, he started to sob.
Michael bravely patted him on the shoulder, and said, “There, there. Jason’s coming to visit every weekend, you can come too!”
Ryan stopped sobbing and seemed to perk up, “I knew you wouldn’t deny me The Muhney! Not for long! With that golden skin, so Apollo-like, and those handsome features-” he rambled as he slowly leaned in for another steaming hot make-out session.
“No! Now is not the time young one!” Michael spun away from his advances, “For I must mourn. Go play with Jason and Kristen.”
However, he made sure to tap the still-pouting Ryan on the ass to show that he knew he was still on for later. As he walked past the pile of pathetically crying Jason and Kristen, he tapped them on the asses too to show that they, as well, were still on for later. Michael headed over to Tom Tom’s office, periodically stopping to tap more ass.
As he stood outside of Tom Tom’s office, he bitterly wondered how Tom Tom got away with his wholesome “everybody loves me image.” Michael knew what he was really all about. Tom Tom wanted a matching bathroom to go with his goddamned. $3000. Shower. Michael seethed. Michael seethed sexily and sensuously and other words that start with “s” and end with “y.” Interns fell to the ground with convulsions upon witnessing his glory. Michael stopped his sexy seething to give them an even sexier wink. But back to the shower! No man needed a $3000 shower. What is a shower? It’s water coming down from a hole in the wall. It’s water, and gravity, and a wall. Michael could have a shower from a rusty pipe that he cut with his Bowie knife. Michael was a manly man like that. He taught Chuck Norris all he knew. And who gets the credit? Fucking Chuck. That’s the last time he passes on his precious knowledge to a little boy with a pansy name. Who really names their kid Chuck? But, again, back to Tom Tom.
Michael took a deep manly breath and put his hand on the door handle (the door’s handle nearly fainted at his manly touch) and swung it open mightily. He proceeded to march into the office, but stopped dramatically as soon as he saw what lay inside!
- DRAMATIC CLIFFHANGER ANGST -
Years later, he would still not be able to utter what went on within those dark walls. Those dark, dark walls. Suffice it to say, it involved candles, hookers from Tijuana and a donkey.
However, he’ll always be comforted by simply looking in the mirror. That hot, hot, hotass.