A camel herder put down the little boy he was fucking in the ass when he saw Cake cream approaching him.
"Sirs, One moment: would you like to help my friends? They are desperate and you look like very capable, manly men."
The bloody little boy in his clutches piped in with "Yes, you'll love it."
Axl was about to say "Fuck off, sand fleas" but he espied a DQ in the distance, and with thoughts of DQ strawberry blizzards in mind he was most receptive to new things.
Pondering the offer Axl passed a small yet incredibly stinky loaf into his Depends; taking this as a good omen he agreed: they all shook hands, spun in circles and fell spastically to the ground in celebratory joy.
In short order Cake Cream agreed to fly from Saudi Arabia to Kiev as Kiev was where their help was needed to "wrestle bear."
They were promised a palace filled with virgins (both sexes) and a garden of earthly delights: how could they refuse?
Axl had wrestled and fucked bare wrestlers while in Greece and had fond memories of the bouts so off they flew to Ukraine, their thoughts filled with images of wrestling swarthy, naked men and then being fed grapes by vestal virgins while ensconced on a throne of pillows.
Upon arrival they were met by burly men who whisked them to an improvised barracks instead of a palace or the usual luxurious penthouse suite: Axl farted loudly in dismay, telling his bandmates "Boys, I don't think we're in kansas any more."
They brayed, stomped, and recited filthy limericks in response: Cake Cream had arrived, confused yet ready to wrestle bare.
Putin had followed their arrival via spy satellite; he clapped his hands together and told his flunkies "So, the West is giving them Cake Cream, eh? UNLEASH THE SHIT BOMBS!"
Nuclear warheads were removed from hundreds of Russian missiles and vats of shit were put in their place; a plethora of excreta headed toward Cake Cream: at that instant Axl had an unbidden thought: he should "expect the unexpected:" how true that was.
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