Sterling Rambo has a manly man adventure, because he's a man.
My name is Sterling Rambo, and I'm a man. Yes ladies, a hunky, sexy piece of American man beef equipped with two guns: the left and the right bicep. And those guns saved my life when I went out on a date with Bunny Sexton to a quant little marsh.
We (Bunny, Bunny's bountiful bosoms, and I) were having a swell time at the marsh. She wore khaki booty shorts and a red top that showed off the twins. I wore pants and no shirt. Why? It was hot out, and I'm hot because I have massive amounts of man muscle and man hair. Testosterone is my middle name. No. Actually it's not. It's Wilbur.
Anyway, I was just about to close the deal with Bunny (she promised to give me a signed poster of my man idol Ricky Martin), when out of no where, giant crabs attacked us.
"Oh Sterling," Bunny moaned. "Help me. These giant crabs are attacking me. Oh, I must put my hand near my face and look dramatically towards you to plead for help with my eyes."
"Bunny, don't fret, I'll hop over there and save you," I said, running in manly slow motion to get to her.
"Oh hurry Sterling. These crabs are about to rip all my clothes off," Bunny cried.
I paused for a moment. "My God," I looked at her. "All of your clothes?"
"Yes Sterling. Every shred."
"My God, how dare they," I cocked my pistol. "I won't let those crabs defile you. That's my manly man job."
I continued running in slow motion towards her, firing my pistol as I shook my manly man head so my manly mane could billow in the breeze.
Bang. Bang. Pow. Zip. Splat. Bang. Bzz. Tzz. Bang. Boom.
And it was all over. The crabs were gone, but so was Bunny. I got to her too late. The crabs had killed her. It was sad and almost brought a man tear to my eye, but luckily that whole escapade didn't make me late for my date with Savannah Michaels.
Anyway, there is a manly moral to this manly story about manly hero-ness: Crabs kill.