This roleplay could have ended up being one of those by the book bits we see from time to time, taken directly from gameplay experience or out of the comprehensive Coldfront KOL wiki. However, this one's got a twist that makes it an original.

Guac is trying for membership into Brotherhood of Smackdown, which makes things interesting. He's a mystical class, not a powerhouse and this is certainly reflected by the story here. He takes that one little thing and transforms a "by the book" roleplay into something much better.

Admittedly, parts of it are quite silly, but that's the charm. I'd call it the better of Guac's two showings thus far...

Location: Gnomish Gnomad's Camp
Time: Approximately one and a half hours after the events of part I

Later that evening, Guacanator was standing – Erm, squatting, not enough room to stand – in Fragnk’s hut.
“So Guacanator, you’re probably the first sauceror I’ve ever helped out. I normally don’t do this type of thing,” Fragnk started out, “But because you’re friends with Gnowland, I’ll make an exception. Anyway, how is he doing?”
“He’s doing fine.” Replied Guacanator
“Good, good. I’ll try and disguise you as a Turtle Tamer. Don’t worry, I won’t hold you much longer.”

Because it was getting dark, Guacanator stayed in Gnowland’s house for the night. The next morning, at the crack of dawn, Guacanator was back on his Meatchopper, heading back north to Seaside Town. While on his ride, Guacanator worked on his impression of a Turtle Tamer, going over everything Fragnk had taught him. Despite this, Guacanator still wasn’t confident that he could pull of this stunt.

Guacanator, in guise, was standing in front of the large doors of the Brotherhood of Smackdown Guild Hall. Steeling himself, Guacanator slowly opened the huge wooden doors with a creak. As he entered, Guacanator found his path blocked by a rather burly man holding an axe.
The man spoke: "Greetings, I am Gunther, the leader of the Brotherhood. If you wish to join us, there are several tasks you must perform in order by proving yourself. The first task is this: Do you see that pot of baked beans over there? Bring it to me."
Guacanator smiled to himself. Beans? No problem. Even a weakling like himself could lift beans. So, Guacanator walked over grabbed the beans, and heaved. The beans…. Didn’t move. Oh man, that’s not good. Those are some heavy beans. Guacanator, though, wouldn’t give up. He reached out with magic, and lifted the beans. Gunther seemed convinced that Guacanator had used his brawn, though, so he continued:
"Well done, Initiate, Welcome to the Brotherhood."
After a few more trials, which Guacanator had passed using his wit, not brawn, and Gunther said, “Though you are now a full member, you must further prove yourself in order to gain access to our Guild store, the Smackateria. I'd say... 500 chin-ups would do the trick.”
Guacanator’s heart sank. He’d never even done 10 complete chin-ups in his life. This wouldn’t end well. Thinking quickly, Guacanator excused himself to the restroom.
Guacanator had a knack for thinking quickly. So quickly, in fact, it was said that in the time it took for a single atom of Hellion gave off a single unstable quark, Guacanator could formulate an equation that proves the degradation of the time-space continuum over large periods of time when subjected to high intensity zeta particulars. What does that mean? I’ve no idea, ask Albert Einstein.
So, anyway, Guac was no putting this lightning fast mind of his to good use. After a few seconds, Guacanator’s evil plan was completely formulated and he was dashing back towards his Meatcycle. He threw open the trunk and pulled out a strange, shiny spherical object.
This sphere was going to be the main brain behind the new meatcar, but Gnowland had decided a computer, and not a clockwork sphere, would be optimal for running a super advanced meatcar. Anyway, seeing the specially modified clockwork sphere about to be scrapped, Guacanator had snatched it up, figuring it might be useful at some future time. Now, Guacanator was glad he had taken it. After opening up the flap on he back and entering in a custom program, Guacanator took out some of the parts he had originally intended to use for the meatcar, but Gnowland refused to use. Within a few minutes, Guacanator had a functional meat maid, reprogrammed with a special subroutine that would accomplish Guac’s evil plan…
Guacanator dressed the Meat Maid with clothes similar to the disguise he was wearing, and preceded to paint a portrait of his face on the blank, metal sphere. That is try to paint, Guacanator wasn’t much of an artist. In fact, it looked more like a tailless rat drinking a smoothie made out of *insert some crazy and random item here*

One trip to the lair of the pretentious artist later, Guacanator had a convincing clockwork imitation of himself. But it still wasn’t perfect. Suddenly going all MacGuyver, Guac pulled out the canteen of fermented avocado juice he was carrying, a Jabenero pepper, and some strange electrical parts and various thingamahoos. Pulling his 17 Alarm Saucepan out of the trunk in his meatcycle, he produced a pungent, capsicum rich sauce. He then proceeded to pour this into his canteen and stuffed a rag into the opening of the canteen. Guacanator put together some of the electronics and attached these to the canteen. He flicked the switch to the on position, successfully arming the world’s first Electronic Molotov Cocktail Pepper Spray Grenade.

Gunther was just standing, minding his own business, thinking about that odd turtle tamer who had run out suddenly and rather suspiciously to use the bathroom and has not yet returned after half an hour. Just when he was about to go and grab some tea and crumpets, Gunther heard a commotion going on at the raffle house. Wanting to see what was going on, (Mob penguin executions were always fun, he figured) Gunther left the Guild hall. If he had waited around, he might have seen the strange device entered the hall through an open window. He might also have noticed it exploding, sending a fine mist into the air.
After a short amount of time, Gunther re entered the hall, rather disappointed that no deaths had occurred. There was a pungent odor about the room and his eyes stung slightly. Although it was nothing after a few minutes, he was thinking to himself: GAH! THEY BURN! THEY BURN! This, of course affected his vision. Everything went blurry; he could hardly tell an oboe from an elbow. (Ha Ha. Band humor.)
At that precise moment that strange seal clubber walked in and immediately started doing pull-ups at superhuman speed. At least, he thought it was the same Turtle Tamer. Everything was too blurry to tell.

Outside, Guacanator watched his meat maid go about its push-ups, untiringly, after all, machines needed no rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That fool Gunther had let him in, and Guacanator was now seated comfortably in the Smackateria, looking for this meat smith. Sure enough, a muscular seal clubber with a meat smithing hammer around his belt sat down at one of the many cafeteria tables. Guacanator approached him.
“Hey there, nice hammer you got there. Bet you could do some real smashin’ with it.” Said Guacanator, trying to sound tough.
“Sure thing.” Noticing he had yet to introduce himself, the seal clubber added, “My name’s Bruce. World champion meat smith.”
After a few seconds of silence, Bruce said “And… you are?”
“Oh!” Guacanator hadn’t thought of an alias. Quickly searching the room, Guacanator’s eyes fell on a nearby anvil. “My name’s smithy. Yup Smithy. Good Turtle tamer name.”
“Erm, Okay, Smithy.” Bruce had obviously put brawn before brain when it came to training. “So, what can I do ya for?”
“Well, I made a bet with a friend. I bet that it would be impossible to compress a high mass of meat into the same volume as a regular meat stack.”
“Erm…”
“Just make a meat stack out of one hundred thousand meat.”

One hour later, the Hyper Dense Meat Stack was complete. After stuffing it in his bag, Guacanator began to leave the Brotherhood of Smackdown, but didn’t make it halfway to the door when Bruce stopped him.

“Hey, Smithy! I don’t ever let a fellow Brother leave without a little friendly tussle! C’mon! Let’s see how strong ya are!”

Oh @!#%*, Guacanator though to himself.

The way he saw it, Guacanator had two choices: either accept the challenge, or allow everyone in the Brotherhood of Smackdown see through his façade.
Beside, what could go wrong? A tiny voice inside his head said, hey, look, you can take him! Bruce isn’t that strong!
Unbeknownst to The Guacanator, but beknownst to us is the fact that The Guacanator sometimes has a (read: suffers from a chronic) inflated ego.

“LET’S TUSSEL!” shouted Bruce.

The next moment, Guacanator was pinned to the ground, his right arm broken. But Bruce didn’t know when to stop. His hand was floating towards Guac’s neck.

Guac felt the firm grasp of Bruce around his neck become tighter and tighter. Suddenly a great beast of panic welled out of his gut, engulfing his entire building. In desperation, Guac let out a burst of magic, a torrent of spicy sauce.

Bruce was flung backward, along with pretty much everyone else standing within a fifteen-foot radius. Realizing he had just blown his cover, Guacanator high tailed it out of the place. Gunther, who had just exited from the head ran to the door and shouted after him, “This Means War!”
~Gnomish Gnomad’s Camp~
Guac was sitting in Gnowland’s garage while Gnowland himself was fitting the Hyper Dense Meat Stack into the meat car.

“There we go, that should do it,” Gnowland said upon the completion of his task.

“Thanks a lot, this means a lot to me. I wish I could stay, but I’ve got a bunch to do…”

“Well, Good-bye then, Tom.”

Guacanator boarded his Meat car and headed out the Garage door. It was an altogether strange shaped contraption – There were two wheels in the front, but only one in the back, lending it a triangular shape. It handled beautifully – It could turn at the drop of… well anything.

Once he was away from the camp, Guac decided to test the most important feature. He flipped a switch on the dashboard, causing a tremble in the frame of the meatcar. Suddenly, the car went into a reverse wheelie, balanced on the front wheels. For a moment, it hung in midair – and then, a rocket came out of the rear of the chassis, and the meat car was propelled forward at an excess of three hundred miles per hour. The speed was able to make the car act in a gyroscopic way, keeping the meat car balanced on the two front wheels, reducing drag and friction.

“YEEHAW!” Guacanator yelled into the night, sure that this wonderful contraption will win.