#table humping

Seriously, you all don’t even know how much Mark does for the world. Alas, sometimes his escapades mean that he is late with his videos, and there are those who give him a hard time about that, but that’s just because they do not know the full story. It may also be because they have a stupid face, but that’s just speculation on my part. So let me relate to you the real reason his videos were a bit late today:

It all began when Mark was rock climbing, as he is wont to do. He propelled himself upward gracefully, using only the sinewy strength of his rugged arms and the baby head crushing strength of his rugged hands. As he reached the top of the rock climbing wall and perched there like a majestic mountain goat, he looked back down and noticed a man in a black suit, with black sunglasses and a black briefcase. The man looked vaguely menacing, but Mark was menaced not, for verily, he has the courage of ten men. The man called up to Mark, saying “Are you the one they call Markiplier?”

Mark descended quickly to speak with the man, for he could sense an adventure about to begin.

“There are those who call me ‘Markiplier’. However, there are also those who call me ‘Daddy’. Like your mother did last night. I’m implying that I had sex with your mom. If that was somehow unclear to you,” said Mark.

The mysterious man glowered, but continued on. “Mr. Iplier, I represent a vague yet menacing government agency and we need your assistance to take down a cartel of drug smugglers,” he said.

“That sound like quite the daunting task,” said Mark, wiping a bead of sweat from his thoughtfully furrowed brow. “And while I am simply one hell of a Youtuber, I’m not sure why your agency would choose me to infiltrate a drug cartel.”

“Mr. Iplier, we have watched your videos thoroughly. We have liked, commented, and subscribed. And we have noticed your skills in a certain area, especially as of late. Let me be frank...”

“Nice to meet you, Frank,” said Mark, grinning like a goober.

The man was not amused.

“Sorry, my friend Wade was in town recently...”

The man continued: “The drug cartel is using as its front the 32nd Annual Table Humping Olympics. Our sources tell us that the first place trophy is known as the Golden Coffee Table, and that said trophy is hollow and contains nearly all the drugs known to mankind. The winner of the trophy is supposed to be Bill Smithson, the most notorious drug dealer the world has ever known, and also the best damn table humper since Carnaby Quinn in 1987. But I believe you are just the man to beat him. If you succeed, you will be of course compensated for your time and effort handsomely. If you fail, then Bill Smithson will be selling drugs to babies so that they can inject heroin into their eyeballs. Godspeed, good sir,” said the man, turning and walking away.

“But wait a minute!” Mark cried. “When is this taking place? And where is it?”

“It’s about a mile down the road thataway,” said the man, gesturing vaguely. “And it starts in 15 minutes.”

So, running hellbent for leather, Mark managed to make it to the 32nd Annual Table Humping Olympics. As he was sizing up his competition, he saw a muscular blonde man approaching him. The man was wearing too tight running shorts and a sweatband, and was obviously a total douche.

“I’m Bill Smithson,” the douche said as he introduced himself to Mark. “And I’m on to you. I know you’re working for a vague yet menacing government agency. You think you can beat me, bruh? You can’t. Do you even hump, bruh?” said Bill Smithson, a smug grin on his face.

At that moment, a raging fiery glare emanated from deep within Mark’s dark eyes, and for the first time in his life, Bill Smithson knew what it was like to experience fear.

“Let me tell you something, pal,” Mark growled. “I can hump a table like you wouldn’t believe. And I don’t do it for money or fame or drugs;  I do it for the sheer joy of humping a table. And that’s something you’ve forgotten a long time ago, if you ever knew it in the first place. By the time these games are through, you’ll eat your words. And an entire bag of dicks.” Mark would have continued, but the games had begun, so he simply turned and walked away.

Throughout the day, Mark continuously excelled at every event. He pelvic thrusted a pool table 75 feet in the Olympics’ version of the shot put. He won the TV tray grundle fondling hurdles event while setting new records for both speed and style. Finally it came down to the final event: the 300 meter freestyle table hump. Points were awarded for not only for speed, but for the difficulty of the table being humped and for the vigor with which it was humped. All eyes were on Bill Smithson and Mark. For his table, Bill chose a rustic oak farmhouse style  table complete with bench seating. He felt confident in his choice until he saw Mark’s choice: a solid mahogany dining room table with 3 table leaves and seating for 14. And just when the crowd thought they’d seen the limit of Mark’s audacity, he stunned them again by bringing over a heavy duty plastic folding table and slapping it on his back.

The starting pistol rang out, and the race was on! Bill Smithson humped as if his life depended on it, but despite his best efforts, he simply could not match Mark. Mark humped his way down the track, sandwiched between his two tables, writhing like an eel. It was a beautiful sight to see, and many there who had not wept in ages were moved to tears by his skill. In the end, Mark completed the race in under 60 seconds, and the crowd went wild. Bill Smithson slumped, defeated, in the middle of the track. Mark was brought to the winner’s podium, where he was presented with the Golden Coffee Table.

“That was quite a performance, Mr. Iplier,” said the man from the vague yet menacing government agency. “Now if you would, please hand over that trophy.”

Mark hesitated for a moment, because he had humped hard for that trophy, but he knew his duty to his country outweighed any personal gain. He gave the trophy to the man, who pressed a button which caused a secret compartment to spring open.

“Just as I suspected,” said the man. “This contains *all* the drugs. Gentlemen, arrest Bill Smithson on vague yet menacing charges,” said the man. Instantly, a dozen other agents who all looked exactly like the first man appeared seemingly from nowhere and took the weeping Bill Smithson into custody.

“You’ve done a great service to your country, Mr. Iplier,” said the man, putting his hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I’ll be in contact with you to discuss your payment later. But I just want you to know, in my book, *you* are now the best damn table humper since Carnaby Quinn.” The man smiled briefly, then turned and walked away.

Mark stood alone on the winner’s podium. “I will not cry. I will not cry,” he told himself softly. Then he remembered something. “Holy shit, I haven’t posted my videos today!” He ran back home and quickly got to work, but deep in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but think to himself, “Next year, that Golden Coffee Table *will* be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.”

Intense table humping. Here you go. Enjoy