BUYING STANDARD TO BLUE MATS

-> TINCTURE OF STAMINA
-> POTION OF PERCEPTION
-> STORM RUNE
-> CRYSTAL ORE
-> SULPHUR
-> QUARTZ


Awww hell naw, you want Uncle Bernie Mac telling the tale of Faticus Maximus?

Alright, sit your narrow butt down, lemme tell you somethin’. This ain’t no bedtime story. This is the real story. Ain’t no sugar-free version neither. This is straight grease and glory, baby. I’m talkin’ 'bout the biggest, fattest, baddest gladiator Rome ever seen. Name was—

Faticus Maximus.

Chapter One: Born Big, Stayed Bigger

Now lemme tell you somethin’—Faticus didn’t come into this world like a normal baby. Naw. That boy was delivered by catapult. Slid right out the womb and into legend. Doctor said, “This baby ain't cryin'—he’s grumblin' for snacks!”

Mama wrapped him in a curtain ‘cause no blanket could hold him. Daddy tried to lift him, threw out his back, and had to retire on the spot.

By the time he was five, he was banned from public fountains—every time he jumped in, he displaced the Tiber River. Whole of Rome flooded once. True story.

Chapter Two: The Belly That Walks

Now Faticus ain’t never ran a day in his life—and he ain’t have to. He’d just walk. One step... thunder. People thought it was Mars tappin’ his foot. Naw baby, that was Faticus lookin’ for lunch.

He showed up to his first gladiator match with a drumstick in one hand and a damn barrel of gravy in the other. Everybody laughed… til he sat on a man. Flattened that fool like a papyrus scroll.

Chapter Three: The Emperor's Problem

See, the emperor? He ain’t know what to do with this man. You got one dude eating lions, drinkin’ whole amphoras of wine like Capri Suns, and battlin’ like every day is Thanksgiving.

The emperor tried to trick him—sent three assassins dressed as waiters. Faticus tipped 'em... with a headbutt. Said, “You don’t serve ME. I serve PAIN.”

Chapter Four: The Legend Lives

Now don’t get it twisted—he wasn’t just fightin’ for fun. Naw. Faticus wanted glory. He said, “One day, they gon' carve my face in marble so big, pigeons need permits just to poop on it.”

He had one dream: to win the Emperor’s Golden Toga. Not to wear it like no fool… to use it as a BIB. Said, “If I die, bury me with a turkey leg in my fist and a smug grin on my face.”

Epilogue: Why I’m Tellin’ You This

I saw Faticus once, y’all. Man came struttin’ down the forum, thighs clappin’ like two war drums in a thunderstorm. Ate a goat mid-step. Whole thing. Didn’t even stop walkin’.

He looked at me and said, “Little man… you gon’ tell my story?”

And I said, “Damn right, Faticus. I ain’t scared of you—but I respect the belly.”

Signed,
Bernie Mac (RIP)
“America, I ain’t scared of you fat gladiators!”