Iron Mike was dithgusted. A library had opened up in Detroit. A lighthouse to provide guidance in a dark age. No way was Iron Mike having that. Mug City (Detroit) needs manly buthinethses. Places where a friendly bum pat was not misinterpreted. Iconic landmarks like Public Toilets, Knocking Shops, The JFMAST Arena & now thanks to a generous donation from HeadCoach a gym in Corktown.

As you walk down Michigan avenue a huge neon sign catches your eye "Iron Mike's Muscle Maker" thinking back to the previous week when your noodle arms were unable to protect you from a gang of 12 year old pick pockets you decide to head inside.

The gym is pretty dark & the smell of creatine, sweat, protein farts & all round manly musk hits you in the face like mama used to back in the old country. A strange high pitched voice assaults your ears.

"Nithe to meet you. I'm Iron Mike the trainer in thith den of barely contained homo eroticithm. You look like you need thome help my man."

Your eyes adjust to the darkness & you recognize Iron Mike for what he is...The baddest man on the planet. He is 5 feet 9 of pure aggression. A 20 inch neck & biceps like melons make your mind up for you. This guy is going to make you put in work & stop being a pencil necked geek.

"Ok man, itth $5 a week for membership. Head thith way to the thanging roomth & put on the JFMAST leithure wear whith thomeone threw in a thkip. Hand it back to laundry boy Grin-22 when you finithh up. Let me thhow you to the bagth."

As Iron Mike walks you to the punch bag area you start to have second thoughts, how can this lisping fool teach you anything. Sure he looks tough but maybe you could spend that $5 membership fee on junk food. Within a few seconds of seeing Mike work the bag over you have no option. You are paying this maniac $5 a week until you either get swole or die.

Mike pounds the bag like a metronome. He beats the thing like an alcoholic beats a red headed step child. Fists fly, sweat drips, sphincters loosen in awe.

"I thee you looking at this show of perfecth pugilithm longingly my friendth. Stick with me & I can teach you a trick or two..."

Hobbs walked in with his closest friends and allies. 180-200 of the finest insane protection money could buy. They were all good guys and gals and took part in training exercises every day, still, Hobbs knew the value of constant training and CONSTANT VIGILANCE as he shouted in one of his guys faces. Not even a flicker of fear (or respect). Hobbs was on fire. Mike Tyson was a sometimes acquaintances, sometimes friend, always threat to bodyguards across the company.

Hobbs pushed one forward "Hey, $2 million bucks for you to shoot this guy?" Hobbs observed the bravery on the face of his guy. He wouldn't flinch in the face of Detroit's wonky guns.

"I want to train my guys. I want them hench. Not that they aren't hench already of course, but bonus and extravagant levels of muscles look great on bodyguards. I was also hoping you'd shave their heads, perhaps provide big coats? I want a dozen bouncer level bodyguards here by the end of the week. In return I'll pay you $14,000. Do we have a deal?"

Hobbs spat on his hand and wiped it on Mike.

"I don't need the help. I wouldn't want to risk breaking a pencil in the line of duty."

Johnny was in Detroit for a couple of days and was missing the gym back home in New York. He saw that Mike Tyson the baddest motherfucker in the world was running a gym and decided to sign up immediately. He paid the $5 fee and got his gym clothes ready, he walked in wearing his muscle tank top and basketball shorts.

"Let's get this work in. I need to make some gains."

Conqueeftador pushed through the legions of tiny-armed, weak-legged men that Hobbs considers protection. 

"Morning MikeTyson, I am in need of some guidance. I want to take my IMMENSE basketball skills and put them to use in the boxing ring. As you can see I am already at peak physical health and size. I also brought my own towel, I hope that is okay and won't get lost in the laundry? Also it seems my pants are getting tighter each passing day. I'm starting to think that Grin-22 has been shrinking my pants over the past few weeks. Some sort of plot I'm sure, but that's business for another day. 

Today, I am here to get pumped." 

Don't mind me, guys, I'll be over here in the corner doing bicep curls in a sleeveless grey hoodie. I might need the speedbag later, so get your reps in quick & early before Coach comes knocking. There's a shady guy selling HGH in the back, I recommend you check that out if you're looking to make some gains. Did anybody bring a spare lunch? I'm starving over here. 88...89...Anybody hear any good jokes lately? 94...95...I'm feeling stronger than my custom-built waterbed today, fellas. 

Hobbs dusted his hands down and looked at the dried specks of blood over his knuckles. He'd just finishing Conqueeftador back into the 15th century where his archaic armour and bad joked belonged. He'd also stolen the guys gun, not that it was worth anything based on Headcoach's squad ranking in the RAT-A-THON league.

"Least you're no longer unranked, you tubby custard piece of shit" Hobbs said hurling obscenities at Coach like they were going out of fashion.

Hobbs hench, willow tree legged men stood silently watching the whole thing.

"Hey, I'm willing to cover Conqueeftador's training fees since he clearly needs the help. I'm willing to pay exactly $61,843 for the privilege. I'll also throw in a wonky gun." 

"Oh you poor poor man Hobbs. You think I need YOUR pity? That really is something. I left that money in my pocket expecting you to come take it. I could tell you were struggling since you can't even afford a shirt. 

But if you're so inclined to live in poverty I'm sure MikeTyson could use the money. Perhaps he can even take it and open a new wing of the gym where you and your other thin-legged friends can work out without being scared of real men." 

Iron Mike is not surprised Hobbs doesn't want to risk breaking a nail or pencil by training himself. Those rich bastardth out in Thummerlin all had paid for a huge volume of beefy bodyguarth. Iron Mike never understood the idea of a bodyguard. What sort of idioth would throw themselves in front of a bullet? Thrange people. Mike gladly accepts the $14,000 as he had been having some financial difficulties following the unfortunate incident with an allied bodyguard...

"I will have your guyth looking swole & vathcular by the end of the week"

Iron Mikes mind was already percolating a plan to give the hired help his special recovery shake forumula to hopefully bring on some roid rage which may end up pointed in Hobbs direction. Following him round from mirror to mirror & library to library must get boring.

Iron Mike nods to Johnny-McIver. "Great to thee you my friendth. Good to see a representative from the big apple in fair Mug City. Will any of your guyth be getting involved in the upcoming, soon to be a great success, boxing competition?"

Mike leads Johnny over to the speed ball "This ith for hand eye co-ordination man, start thlow then build up the thpeed..." 

Iron Mike was well aware of Conqueeftador's IMMENSE basketball skills & Mike was pinning his hopes on this level of athletic ability taking him deep in the upcoming boxing contest.

"Now on the towel friendth, we do not have a laundry facility. This isn't some sort of Thummerlin softies gym / JFMAST executive training facility. Here in Corktown we have to get changed in the public bathrooms down on 12th Street."

Iron Mike was proud to see friendth Conqueeftador already starting an argument with the thnake of thummerlin.

"Thats the attitude man, never give an inch. Mug City LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" 

Iron Mike gestures for conqueeftador to follow him & hands over some vials.

"These are from HeadCoath & should give you the POWER needed to bash thome heads in during the contest. 1ML of each every day alright? Directly into the muthcle right, not the vein! You will have aggresion for dayth" 

Skidmark walks in and slaps $260 down on the front desk...

"That's $5 per week for one year of training, Iron Mike! No matter how buff I am already, who wouldn't benefit from training sessions with the baddest man on the planet? I entered your boxing competition and I hope to be in peak physical shape before it starts. I wouldn't want to be humiliated by a first round exit".

Skidmark slaps Mike on the butt, in a very macho and manly way...

"Let's get to work!"

Nicola-Trevisani was apprehensive about this decision that had been made spur-of-the-moment on the public streets. First there was the anger at the trash-talking, but then once that had been solved to her satisfaction just standing around listening to everyone around being hyped up to a level of frenzy that was concerning but also catching, Nicola-Trevisani found herself signing up for a boxing match of all things. Which was why she stood at the opening of the Muscle maker wringing her hands and looking around nervously. 

She had a stack of papers with some of her concerns for MikeTyson but also a few guidelines for how she was hoping this training, and subsequent trashtalking would evolve into something that was less of, whatever she was currently. An errant thought entered her mind about how her mother would throw a conniption at the latest antics of her daughter, and it almost made Nicola-Trevisani  smile. Almost. 

But the fear of injury, failure and just the general stench of Detroit was too strong. 

Assistant Coach FrizzleFry enters the MikeTyson Muscle Maker establishment, red shorts hiked up as high as they could go to show off FrizzleFry's already sinewy quads and calves proudly on display for all to admire.  He steps to the counter to pay his membership fee, admiring MikeTyson's broad and sizable upper frame, while also silently mocking his skinny legs to himself.

Looking for some low-impact exercises.  Do you have any resistance bands here?  Have they even been invented yet?  If not, could you possibly invent some for the purposes of low-impact exercising?

Assistant Coach FrizzleFry dazzles the attendees to a magnificent display of jumping jacks.

Oh trust me this is just my warm-up.  Wait til you young guys see my REAL workout!

Skidmark had just flown into town and the first thing he wanted was to visit Mike Tyson's gym. This was an urgent workout and training session, as Skid had a big boxing match coming the next day. Not that he really needed to train for it. He was fighting a fucking horse, and everyone knows how easily horses can be distracted by carrots. Skidmark was planning on bringing a whole crate of them. But this particular horse was known as a "biter", and who better to train with against a biter than Mike Tyson?

"Mike! Mike! Hey, how you doing friend? I hope you're not too busy today! We need to get in a sparring session quickly and I want you to try to bite me. That's right, you heard me. I need to learn how to defend against horse teeth. I figure as long as I stay in front of the horse and away from his hind legs, I'm in pretty good shape".

Hobbs was very upset. He minced stormed into Iron Mikes Muscle Maker looking to have a word with MikeTyson. He'd been tricked, hoodwinked and robbed. He was angrier than Headcoach in a D0m3n1c establishment and considered attempting to toss furniture around the room. Sadly, he knew his noodle arms and torso would not support such an aggressive move.

He was once again followed by his entourage of 180-200 paid friends, who were all equally angry.

"First things first, I want a refund on my $14,000 dollars. My bodyguards are not the henchest of the hench."

Hobbs paused and moved on

"Secondly, I want a public apology for your shame of a boxing competition. I'm tempted to go to the very top and inform the Church of Squishy over what happened. Is what what you want, Mike?"

Hobbs threw a water bottle in anger

"Thirdly, expect to hear from my lawyer, you absolute swine."

Foo walked into the gym and saw MikeTyson on the punching bag. Although she was well versed on head bopping, she wasn't as confident in straight up punching. Given her upcoming match against Justice, she figured a little lesson might not hurt. Well it had better not hurt! She didn't like pain and needed to be healthy for her match in a couple of days.

"Okay Mike, what's the trick to hitting that bag? Your hands move so fast, I can barely see them! What's the point of all that?"

Foo looked around and didn't see any other boxing competitor in the place, maybe with some training she could win the whole thing!

"Mike, show me how to next level my boxing skills!"

Hobbs had been training LittleBunnyFooFoo for weeks in secret, so when he heard she'd be making her way over to Mike's Muscle Maker Gym he was shocked and appalled. He had helped transform her into the fighter she was today. Now for any smart arseholes out there who would point out Hobbs terrible zero for three record he had one retort; BAH HUMBUG. He hadn't trained Bunny to be good per say, it's just she did the exact opposite of anything he'd tell her to do and so far it was working.

"JAB JAB JAB" He'd scream as she threw uppercuts.

"DUCK" when she'd dodge

"CHA CHA CHA SLIDE" when she'd dive

All the excellent training tips.

"LittleBunnyFooFoo, trust me I've seen Michael fight. You don't want none of that sass. Not unless you want to replace carrot in your diet with a side of bloody ears? He wasn't even allowed to fight in this competition. He'd claim it's because he's the fight booker, but it's actually because he has old man hips and a busted up knee from slipping out of the bath! What a pansy."

Hobbs hoped she wouldn't say yes to that, he'd had a dream about wererabbits one day and would hate to see that happen in the real world, as unlike in his dream, he doubted a crime fighting Wallace & Grobit duo existed in the real world. Hobbs shuddered.

Coach was on the speed bags, open-handed slapping the thing from side to side like it had just made a clever remark about his size. The gym was filled with rapid-fire smacking sounds. His palms were bright red. It was a tremendous work-out. He yelled for a water boy and continued slapping as an assistant squirted liquid from a water bottle straight into his open mouth, causing him to choke and cough a little bit, but not deterring his unbelievable speed, performed from a wide-spread power stance, legs far apart and knees slightly bent. 

Justice was pounding away on the heavy bag. He loved a good pounding, but years of sitting behind a desk in the courtroom had left him slightly wide around the midsection. He was slower than he used to be, he could tell with every punch he threw. However his recent battles had proved that the fighting instinct was still within him. Having finished his set, he dropped to the floor, panting, trying to recover. He was MikeTyson walking near him and rolled over and started pretending to do press ups. Hopefully this would be enough to convince the man that he was a serious fighter and deserving of some leeway with the judges. Probably not. He was still a fat fuck of a lawman.