The Fists of Leroy & Lust for Mash

He steps in the ring with a cane in his grip,
Parries so clean, makes his foes lose their wits.
Tekken is art, and Leroy’s his muse,
No match is fair—his opponents just lose.

But deep in his heart, a hunger ignites,
Not for the fight, nor the thrill of the night.
Not for the glory, the rank, or the fame—
But for mashed potatoes—oh, whisper the name.

Golden and creamy, so soft on his tongue,
Silky, voluptuous, perfectly young.
The way they collapse in a buttery swell,
It sends him to heaven—his personal hell.

Between every match, he takes a slow bite,
Moaning in rapture, eyes rolling in white.
The warmth of the mash, the taste so divine,
It clings to his soul, corrupting his mind.

They call him insane, they whisper and judge,
But he knows the truth—they’ll never indulge.
For Leroy is strong, his fists are precise,
But nothing compares to mashing so nice

mash with leroy

do you have no morals?

Run piggy run!

"He is drunk, yes. He also may be a piece of ♥♥♥♥. I mean, he did crash his car and lose his gun. He also pulled a gun on a kid. He was sober then, but he may have been on speed. Did I mention that he does a lot of speed? He is also a Traditionalist, a Communist, an Ultraliberalist, a disco...demon? And a Venture capitalist, which boggles my mind, I don't understand."

So?

"He is also... THE BEST DAMN COP ON THE TEKKENFOOOOORCE"

gj, try lars bro, i wish it was that easy having parries and + frames lmao, get help, you dont know how to play, just abusing broken chars