Mark Wahlberg

What do you get when you mix a lot of money, the acting ability of a soft-core porn star, the killing ability of Adolf Hitler, and the body to destroy a planet in a single flexing motion? This concoction manifests nothing other, than Mark Wahlberg.

Just The Facts

  1. Mark Wahlberg owns every sweatshop known in existence.
  2. When the Death Star failed, they brought in Mark Wahlberg.
  3. Mark Wahlberg is probably your father.

I can join the Funky Bunch?

I paced casually down the dark city street, pretending I did not hear the sirens not-too-far in the distance. I kept my head low, and my eyes averted toward the sidewalk I carried myself across. I tried to act as nonchalant as possible. I knew I could not let my attention stray elsewhere, because I like many other people know, Mark Wahlberg doesn't want people fucking in his business.

He's here.

I tried not to look, but I couldn't help myself. I watched the red, and blue lights light up the whole city block, as the car flailed violently through the air. I ducked in reflex as the vehicle slammed into the wall of a building. The sounds of metal bending, and tearing reverberated through the city street. The car tumbled down the side of the building, destroying all of the inhabitants window's as it crashed into the sidewalk I stood on. A man slowly climbed out of the window. Blood poured down the officer's face, and I rushed to aid the helpless man.

"Don't you fucking touch him."

There he was. My heart fell deep into the empty ravine I called chest, as he rounded the corner.

"You lay one hand on him, I will stick his head up your ass. Then your ass up his head. Do you get me?"

I didn't. I pretended I did. A few men trailed behind Mark Wahlberg as he made his way toward his wreckage. The Funky Bunch. I knew it right away. Mark grabbed the cop by the shirt, and tugged him out of the vehicle. I stood there in awe watching the show of inhumane strength.

"I told you cop, I ain't paying no fucking ticket. Now you get the fuck outta here, or I'm gonna stick my fist up your ass, and your balls up my mouth. You fucking got me cop?"

The cop let out a gasping breath, and nodded his head eagerly, obviously persuaded by such genius. I turned the other way, and stuffed my hands in my pockets. I started to quickly pace the way I came, even though this would easily add another five hours to my walk back home.

"Why you walking the other way? You scared of Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch?"

I turned around to face the group. The cop was already running down the street, without any pants, or underwear. I gulped down all of my pride, and just looked to the ground.

"No. I'm not scared." My voice was so little, and pathetic that I wanted to just punch myself in the face. I didn't have to.

Mark Wahlberg grabbed me by the shirt, and slammed me hard against another building. The back of my head thudded pretty hard against the brick wall. Wahlberg held me up with a finger pressed firmly into my diaphragm. I couldn't breath. Every breath I took, only let his index finger sink deeper into the cavity of my lungs.

"Did you enjoy The Happening?"

I stared wide-eyed down at him. I nodded my head quickly, and tried to smile in an effort to reassure my point.

"You know, I didn't even know I was being filmed. Mother-fuckers tricked me and told me the plants were trying to find me, and get my autograph."

His eyes were raging with a fire. I could see the flames dancing in his eyes.

"You don't know how angry autographs make me. You don't, want to make me angry." His voice was sinister. I felt my soul leaving my body as I continued to look into his eyes. As scared as I was, I couldn't look away. I began to sympathize for him. I started to hate authographs too. I watched the retreating cop, now barely an outline in the far distance, and I wanted to kill him for trying to give Mark Wahlberg a ticket. What kind of world is this? Why does he have to sign autographs? Why does he need to get tickets! Mark Wahlberg built this fucking world! It's in the god damn bible!

He released me, and I landed on my feet, clutching my chest area tightly. Minutes went by before I could regain composure. Once again the feeling of loving Mark Wahlberg was quickly rejuvinating within me.

"You want to be in the Funky Bunch?" My eyes lit up. I suddenly did not care about my wife, or my three children, or my career even. Who gives a crap about a job, and a marriage. I can be in the Funky Bunch for Christ's sake!

I could not pass this offer up. I nodded my head, unable to even muster a word, let alone a speech of appreciation. I felt like a small boy on Christmas, waking up to find out I got a small puppy, only nothing like that. Do you get me?

So there I was. In a group, or a band, or something. Hell, I have no idea what the hell the Funky Bunch is. I just wanted to follow Wahlberg around. I wanted to live, and die with Wahlberg. Oh god, I wanted to breath Wahlberg.

From that day on, all of us went on killing, stealing, raping and pillaging villages. We destroyed everything in our path. I even killed my family, because he told me to do it. I did everything he said without hesitation. I couldn't help myself. I was high on Mark Wahlberg.

So here I am, five months later after joining his group. I am just giving you a little piece of the story, so you can maybe take my shoes and walk in them sometime down the road. I must go now. He is coming.

He is coming.

The Chronicles of Badass.

Anybody that has seen an action movie of the 21st century should know Mark Wahlberg. The funny thing is people think they are watching action movies, when they are really just watching live documentaries. Mark Wahlberg act? In a movie? The last movie this guy really acted in, was "The Happening." Anybody that has seen that pile of dirty junk knows this point is proven.

They'd be on you like white on rice. It's not racism, it's Mark Wahlberg.

To put it simply, Mark Wahlberg is the type of man that will engage in sexual activity with your wife, your daughter, and probably even your son. What will you do? What do you think you'll do? You will shake his hand of course.

This is Mark Wahlberg we're talking about. Don't be a hero.

You will accept the fact you will never please your wife again, (Not that you ever have), and go on living, or doing whatever it is you humans call living.

Wahlberg has starred in many documentaries, all within the last few years. "Shooter" was probably one of his most recognized. It starts off with a modest touch, of him living in some shack in the woods. Obviously one of his hundreds of homes. He has some dog, a bunch of guns, and himself. Doesn't sound like much, right? You ignorant fool you. The only reason we're not doing anything about North Korea, (Dismissing any fact here), is because we are trying to nullify the threats of Mark Wahlberg without resorting to violence. Lord knows what we would do if he destroyed all forms of government. Maybe we would be better off.

Don't give him any ideas.

Are you watching your children? He is.

Throughout the wonderful realistic documentary, he is framed for killing a highly-recognized political figure. He is then pursued by all forms of law enforcement, but of course he basically kills everything in his path, and behind it. He then destroys an entire house using an oven. He scores with a relatively good looking female, and goes back to live in his shack for a little while longer. This is until he comes to the city, and fights demons, and cops under his alias, "Max Payne." Silly guy is always changing his names around.