Rick (Level 1) mail warning

So, there I was, just wrapping up another totally typical Rick Sanchez adventure—y'know, saving a planet of supermodel-level alien babes with quantum tentacles or something. I don’t even remember what it was this time. I’d hacked their planetary defense grid, reversed their dying star’s collapse, and rewrote their entire DNA to make them all about 30% more… compatible. Let’s just say things were about to get real interesting in their royal palace.

So there I am, surrounded by my new fan club, about to enjoy the spoils of victory - some cosmic bleep pulls me into this ridiculous tournament. Apparently the Rick from this dimension is not only missing - his name's not even fucking Rick!!!

And who do they want me to fight? Only the most badass, super-powered female warriors from across the multiverse. Magical queens, cybernetic assassins, vampire goddesses—yeah, because that’s supposed to intimidate me. Like I haven’t already beaten bigger threats while half-drunk and running on two hours of sleep.

Let’s get one thing straight: have you seen this body? Look at these burps guns! Yeah, I’m a 70-year-old alcoholic, but I’m also interdimensionally ripped, baby. I didn’t just wrestle with physics, I conquered it! You think I’m just going to let some Amazonian princess, or I don’t know—one of those pixelated anime girls—beat me because they’ve got “special powers” or “graceful agility” or "a tail that can wank off five cocks at once"? Pffft, I’m built like a science god! Even if I'd pay extra for that last one.

These abs? Created them in a lab. This bicep? It’s got its own force field. Every molecule in this temple of destruction was handpicked, rearranged, and optimized for one thing: total domination. So when I step into that ring and some sorceress or alien warrior queen tries to throw a spell at me, I'll just absorb it, metabolize it, and burp use it to grow even stronger.

You want to know what I’m gonna do to these losers? After I’ve seduced, fucked, and Rick-plexed them into the multiversal dirt? Oh, it’s not just about the fight, baby. I’m going to dissect them—mentally, emotionally, existentially. First, I’ll rewrite their brain chemistry, make ‘em forget what winning feels like, then—because I’m generous—I’ll send ‘em back to their dimensions with memories of me dominating them. Maybe I’ll even toss in a freebie, like a parasite that keeps reminding them of their humiliating defeat every 30 seconds.

Better yet, I might trap them in one of those memory-loop prisons—forever stuck in a cycle of getting creampied by yours truly.

Once I’m done mopping the floor with these multiverse mistresses, I’m not just gonna leave them in the dust. Oh no. I’ll probably throw ‘em in a dimension where I’m worshipped as their supreme overlord and they’re stuck reliving their defeat on a loop. Or, better yet, I’ll shrink them down with my Cosmic Compactor—turn ‘em into little Rick bobbleheads to decorate my lab.

So, yeah, interdimensional tournament, super-powered warrior queens, whatever—bring it on. This body’s a freakin’ temple built on booze and science, and these chicks are about to find out what happens when you step into the ring with the smartest, sexiest, most scientifically unstoppable force in the universe.

Can't freakin' WAIT to make you all my wubba-lubba-cum dumps!