Konnichiwa Bitches! Let's Kick Ass Dojo! (A Parody of Mixed Martial Arts)
an excerpt

He looked around at the depressing surroundings. Six bare-bones beds lined the back wall, two behind him, three in front of him, each covered with the same black standard-issue type comforter. Skyler sighed, then noticed that there was a comforter moving. Up and down, up and down, and a sigh came from it. Then two arms and a foot from practically the same end of the bed. And a head from the other end.
“Uh… hi?” Skyler said, looking at ‘it’ as it poked around trying to find its way out. Whatever or whoever was the thing in the bed, it had green hair pulled back in a braid over his scalp. The thing rolled and then fell over the side of the bed and picked himself up, stumbling back and then forward, moving with a fluid, though definitely drunken motion.
“Yo…” it said. Definintely guy. He said. “New guy?”
“Yeah.”
“You smell like it.”
Skyler shook his head, “Scuse me?”
“You don’t smell like the showers here. You’re new.”
Skyler looked at him again, then realized that he hadn’t opened his eyes since he’d started moving.
“You gonna, y’know, open your eyes?” Skyler asked.
“Damn, blunt, aren’t we?” the guy laughed, fluttering his eyes and flicking the sleepers out of the corners of them. “Hell, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re one freakin’ genius.”
Skyler grimaced.
“Name’s Darren. You’re Skyler, I’m guessing?”
Skyler nodded.
“Good, good. You like waffles?”
Skyler nodded again.
“Pancakes?”
Skyler nodded another time.
“God, I hate pancakes. Freakin’ messy…”
Darren then proceeded to march through a discussion that was seemingly rehersed about the benefits of waffles over pancakes. He seemed to waver on the edge of losing his balance for the better part of the tirade, even nearly toppling over during a particularly passionate part about the reason that it’s so much better to have a waffle on a plane, rather than a stack of pancakes.
“…So’s the syrup don’t drop in your lap while you’re in the air. Am I going too fast for you?”
Skyler had gone to unpacking the duffle bag he carried and setting up in his locker, completely ignoring him.
“What the hell man, I’m trying to expand your knowledge of the universe and here you are unpacking?” Darren grabbed a pair of shorts out of Skyler’s hands. “Hell, no respect, newbie! Dood, these your fight shorts?”
The shorts that Darren held were crossed in a dark camoflague pattern, and a large skull in a spade on the bottom of the left leg. Skyler grabbed them back and stuffed them into the locker.
“You’re not sober, are you?” Skyler asked.
“Nah, really? Me? Sober?” Darren laughed, “Ya lookin’ at Darren Cody the one and only drunken boxer with capoera influences in the entirety of the WFL. Hell, people wish that they could be me. You got a record yet?”
Skyler shook his head. “Rookie.”
“Amatuer Rookie? How the hell’d you wind up mixed in with all us professional types?”
“Ama… yeah… amateur…” Skyler sighed. “I dunno how, I just took it cause it saved me a hell of a lot of money for college.”
“Ever realize that? I mean, what people do to get money for?”
“Yeah, yeah, I do.” Skyler interjected. Another fifteen minutes of waffle quality musings on the state of the universe in reference to poor college kids that spend way too much money on beer was the last thing that he needed right now.