<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Leap of Faith (June 21st) PPV RP Archive]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Sun, 03 May 2026 15:08:19 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Oh Shit he speaks. (RP12)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13102 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 11:59:34 -0700 Theo Pryce]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13102 Oh shit. There it is. Toilet Swirlie put the bottle down long enough to say a few words about me.

Thanks Tony. I truly appreciate it. Seeing as how Steve Davids isn't the only guy you are facing this week. I’m glad you finally got around to addressing the only opponent that matters. You know, the guy who actually holds the Television Title.

Although it’s entirely possible that after you sober up…do you ever actually sober up? Well let’s say this, it’s entirely possible that after you get some water in you, or maybe coffee you will look back on your last promo and wish you had just kept that gaping hole of yours closed.

Allow me to bat down the bullshit bullets you fired in my direction shall we?

Apparently in Tony’s alcohol induced version of the world yours truly is the beneficiary of luck and not hard work and genius. No you see because I came out of my Daddy’s cock and he laid the ground work for what is Pryce Industries that means that I don’t actually get credit for anything I’ve done in my life.

That’s an interesting way to look at things. Here’s another way.

Steve Wozniak. Ever heard of him? No you probably haven’t. Unless you work in Silicon Valley you probably have no idea who he is. And that’s ok. You wouldn’t be the only one. Allow me to give you the four – one – one on him.

Steve Wozniak is the guy who built Apple 1 and Apple 2. He is the reason Apple exists as a company.

Steve Jobs is why Apple is the billion dollar enterprise that it is now.

I am the Steve Jobs of weapons sales.

My father laid the ground work, he put together the blue print but I took those blue prints and I built the tower that you can see from anywhere in Phoenix and even for several miles outside of the city limits. I took an idea and turned it into an empire.

But I suppose that’s all luck right?

Whatever you say buddy.

You like to throw around the word shady. Shady government contracts, shady deals, shady accounting practices. I am going to go out on a limb and say that you have no actual evidence to back any of that up. You are welcomed to use some of that monopoly money that you have to pay an auditor and have him come and look at the Pryce Industries books. There is nothing to hide there at all.

Upping my stock price? Do you pay attention? Like at all. Pryce Industries is not a publically traded company. Never has been. That means that there is no stock price to try and inflate, legally or otherwise. Do your homework next time.

I’ve made it very clear what it is my company does, I’ve never tried to hide it, not one bit. We arm the world and we sell to the highest bidder. Does that make us morally bankrupt? Absolutely. Does that make us shady? Not in the fucking least.

We are in America. Maybe you’ve heard of it.

Land of the free. Home of the almighty dollar. And Tony, I got more dollars than a mother fucking US Treasury Mint. And I got them all legally.

So what if taxpayers are getting fucked up the ass and kids are starving in the streets? That’s not my problem. They aren’t my kids. At least not that I know of. I pay my mother fucking taxes. Fuck, thanks to that mother fucking communist cunt in the Oval Office, I pay for your mother fucking health care you gap toothed, cock sucker.

In Tony’s World, which is like Wayne’s World except without Tia Carrera in her heyday, I wrestle because I need it to carve out a name for myself. Because my legacy is built upon the hard work my father did. Hey Tony what is my father’s name?

Actually, that question is for anyone, what is my father’s name?

I bet you don’t know do you?

You know why that is?

It’s not because he’s dead, and I mean really dead, not XWF dead where you come back to life after getting your head chopped off only to post videos of Sean Avery and Ilya Bryzgalov instead of actually shooting promos. Hey Barney you fat fuck. Couldn’t you have just stayed dead? Seriously. I actually dislike you more than Peter Gilmour and I gotta tell you, that’s a fucking feat.

But anway back to the matter at hand, my father. You don’t know his name Tony. No one does. And that’s because Pryce Industries, hell, the Pryce name is what it is because of me. Not my father. Not my mother. Me. Theo Pryce.

The guy who turned millions into billions.

That’s my legacy. That’s what the Pryce name means now and forever.

Now let’s talk about another topic that I have addressed ad nausium but people like Tony are either too drunk to pay attention or too stupid to comprehend.

The powers that be didn’t put me in the main event match against John Madison. All my fellow wrestlers of the XWF did. There was a poll and the wrestlers voted. That’s how I found myself in a match for the crown. I didn’t ask for it. Truth be told I didn’t even want the crown. As evidence by the fact that the first thing I did once I had it was pawn it for fifty bucks and a gold chain. But I was placed in the match nevertheless and I walked out the winner. I was the guy that beat John Madison when no one else could.

Hey Tony you faced John Madison once for the crown didn’t you?

Yes you did.

And who won that match Tony? Was it you?

No it wasn’t.

Of course it wasn’t.

Because you don’t win titles isn’t that right Tony?

Winning XWF gold is not your legacy.

You are the guy who gets chances and pisses them away because you are too busy drowning your sorrows in the bottle of a bottle.

Poor Tony Santos, his father was an asshole and so he used that as an excuse to do nothing with his life.

My Daddy was a drunk who didn’t love me, so I’m going to be a drunk that hates everyone. And then I am going to bitch about how bad my daddy was while ignoring the fact that I have become him.

That’s you Tony, a petulant little bitch who instead of accomplishing anything just makes up excuses.

I have earned everything I got in the XWF.

I was placed in a match for the Crown and walked out the victor.

I walked into a GM’s office and asked for a match vs Elisha and walked out the victor.

I lead a team at World War X that faced Eli James and his group and my team walked out the victors.

No one handed me anything. John Madison never handed me anything. Did he see something in me that made him want to bring me along as his protégé?

You’re motherfucking right he did. And look how that turned out?

I took his crown, I could have taken the Black Circle from him if I wanted to. He knows that. But that wasn’t my goal. That’s not what I wanted.

I did my own thing, I brought about the beginning and the end of the Company just so I could take Eli James down a peg. And I did it. Not alone mind you but my genius was the impetus for the downfall of Eli James.

And now where is Eli? In a briefcase match with a bunch of nobodies while I am defending the TV title. The same title I took off of one of his own people.

You’ve garnered respect? Oh really.

Please tell me one time when someone said “Oh No I don’t want to face Tony Santos, not him, he’s too tough to beat.” Go ahead Tony, give me one example of that.

The only thing you scare in this world Tony are little kids. Seriously, at least Elisha was smart enough to wear a mask, take a page out of his book and do the same.

People know your name Tony, I’ll give you that. But not because they respect you, no no. It’s because they laugh at you.

I’m the guy that became a King in two months.

You’re the asshole that bought into Sebastian Duke’s bullshit about ending The Black Circle.

I move mountains to accomplish what I want. I set my sights on something and I don’t ask for it, I just take it.

You?

You pull up a seat at your favorite bar, order a few beers and drink your night away because at the end of the day the only thing that loves you back is that bottle in your hand.

You care for results Tony?

That’s fantastic.

Well then you should really love tonight’s result, it will be one you are often familiar with. You know, the one where you get a chance at the title only to blow it. You’re like Gilmour except Duke didn’t kick you out of the Brotherhood.]]> Oh shit. There it is. Toilet Swirlie put the bottle down long enough to say a few words about me.

Thanks Tony. I truly appreciate it. Seeing as how Steve Davids isn't the only guy you are facing this week. I’m glad you finally got around to addressing the only opponent that matters. You know, the guy who actually holds the Television Title.

Although it’s entirely possible that after you sober up…do you ever actually sober up? Well let’s say this, it’s entirely possible that after you get some water in you, or maybe coffee you will look back on your last promo and wish you had just kept that gaping hole of yours closed.

Allow me to bat down the bullshit bullets you fired in my direction shall we?

Apparently in Tony’s alcohol induced version of the world yours truly is the beneficiary of luck and not hard work and genius. No you see because I came out of my Daddy’s cock and he laid the ground work for what is Pryce Industries that means that I don’t actually get credit for anything I’ve done in my life.

That’s an interesting way to look at things. Here’s another way.

Steve Wozniak. Ever heard of him? No you probably haven’t. Unless you work in Silicon Valley you probably have no idea who he is. And that’s ok. You wouldn’t be the only one. Allow me to give you the four – one – one on him.

Steve Wozniak is the guy who built Apple 1 and Apple 2. He is the reason Apple exists as a company.

Steve Jobs is why Apple is the billion dollar enterprise that it is now.

I am the Steve Jobs of weapons sales.

My father laid the ground work, he put together the blue print but I took those blue prints and I built the tower that you can see from anywhere in Phoenix and even for several miles outside of the city limits. I took an idea and turned it into an empire.

But I suppose that’s all luck right?

Whatever you say buddy.

You like to throw around the word shady. Shady government contracts, shady deals, shady accounting practices. I am going to go out on a limb and say that you have no actual evidence to back any of that up. You are welcomed to use some of that monopoly money that you have to pay an auditor and have him come and look at the Pryce Industries books. There is nothing to hide there at all.

Upping my stock price? Do you pay attention? Like at all. Pryce Industries is not a publically traded company. Never has been. That means that there is no stock price to try and inflate, legally or otherwise. Do your homework next time.

I’ve made it very clear what it is my company does, I’ve never tried to hide it, not one bit. We arm the world and we sell to the highest bidder. Does that make us morally bankrupt? Absolutely. Does that make us shady? Not in the fucking least.

We are in America. Maybe you’ve heard of it.

Land of the free. Home of the almighty dollar. And Tony, I got more dollars than a mother fucking US Treasury Mint. And I got them all legally.

So what if taxpayers are getting fucked up the ass and kids are starving in the streets? That’s not my problem. They aren’t my kids. At least not that I know of. I pay my mother fucking taxes. Fuck, thanks to that mother fucking communist cunt in the Oval Office, I pay for your mother fucking health care you gap toothed, cock sucker.

In Tony’s World, which is like Wayne’s World except without Tia Carrera in her heyday, I wrestle because I need it to carve out a name for myself. Because my legacy is built upon the hard work my father did. Hey Tony what is my father’s name?

Actually, that question is for anyone, what is my father’s name?

I bet you don’t know do you?

You know why that is?

It’s not because he’s dead, and I mean really dead, not XWF dead where you come back to life after getting your head chopped off only to post videos of Sean Avery and Ilya Bryzgalov instead of actually shooting promos. Hey Barney you fat fuck. Couldn’t you have just stayed dead? Seriously. I actually dislike you more than Peter Gilmour and I gotta tell you, that’s a fucking feat.

But anway back to the matter at hand, my father. You don’t know his name Tony. No one does. And that’s because Pryce Industries, hell, the Pryce name is what it is because of me. Not my father. Not my mother. Me. Theo Pryce.

The guy who turned millions into billions.

That’s my legacy. That’s what the Pryce name means now and forever.

Now let’s talk about another topic that I have addressed ad nausium but people like Tony are either too drunk to pay attention or too stupid to comprehend.

The powers that be didn’t put me in the main event match against John Madison. All my fellow wrestlers of the XWF did. There was a poll and the wrestlers voted. That’s how I found myself in a match for the crown. I didn’t ask for it. Truth be told I didn’t even want the crown. As evidence by the fact that the first thing I did once I had it was pawn it for fifty bucks and a gold chain. But I was placed in the match nevertheless and I walked out the winner. I was the guy that beat John Madison when no one else could.

Hey Tony you faced John Madison once for the crown didn’t you?

Yes you did.

And who won that match Tony? Was it you?

No it wasn’t.

Of course it wasn’t.

Because you don’t win titles isn’t that right Tony?

Winning XWF gold is not your legacy.

You are the guy who gets chances and pisses them away because you are too busy drowning your sorrows in the bottle of a bottle.

Poor Tony Santos, his father was an asshole and so he used that as an excuse to do nothing with his life.

My Daddy was a drunk who didn’t love me, so I’m going to be a drunk that hates everyone. And then I am going to bitch about how bad my daddy was while ignoring the fact that I have become him.

That’s you Tony, a petulant little bitch who instead of accomplishing anything just makes up excuses.

I have earned everything I got in the XWF.

I was placed in a match for the Crown and walked out the victor.

I walked into a GM’s office and asked for a match vs Elisha and walked out the victor.

I lead a team at World War X that faced Eli James and his group and my team walked out the victors.

No one handed me anything. John Madison never handed me anything. Did he see something in me that made him want to bring me along as his protégé?

You’re motherfucking right he did. And look how that turned out?

I took his crown, I could have taken the Black Circle from him if I wanted to. He knows that. But that wasn’t my goal. That’s not what I wanted.

I did my own thing, I brought about the beginning and the end of the Company just so I could take Eli James down a peg. And I did it. Not alone mind you but my genius was the impetus for the downfall of Eli James.

And now where is Eli? In a briefcase match with a bunch of nobodies while I am defending the TV title. The same title I took off of one of his own people.

You’ve garnered respect? Oh really.

Please tell me one time when someone said “Oh No I don’t want to face Tony Santos, not him, he’s too tough to beat.” Go ahead Tony, give me one example of that.

The only thing you scare in this world Tony are little kids. Seriously, at least Elisha was smart enough to wear a mask, take a page out of his book and do the same.

People know your name Tony, I’ll give you that. But not because they respect you, no no. It’s because they laugh at you.

I’m the guy that became a King in two months.

You’re the asshole that bought into Sebastian Duke’s bullshit about ending The Black Circle.

I move mountains to accomplish what I want. I set my sights on something and I don’t ask for it, I just take it.

You?

You pull up a seat at your favorite bar, order a few beers and drink your night away because at the end of the day the only thing that loves you back is that bottle in your hand.

You care for results Tony?

That’s fantastic.

Well then you should really love tonight’s result, it will be one you are often familiar with. You know, the one where you get a chance at the title only to blow it. You’re like Gilmour except Duke didn’t kick you out of the Brotherhood.]]> <![CDATA[Stories]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13096 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 11:57:51 -0700 Great Buzzard Eli James IV]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13096 Eli is rocking in his chair with several books stacked beside him. He's reading a Dr. Seuss book with a lamp nearby him to allow him enough light to read.

"Stories. Heh. You were taught all these precious stories and one day you grow up and they aren't so precious anymore. They're an after thought. At least until you have a kid of your own, and those stories you heard you now tell. Whether it's the little engine that could.. the princess with the missing shoe.. beauty and the beast.. curious george and the man with the yellow hat.. and the list of stories go on.

It's.. just.. stories.

You have guys like Morbid Angel who probably take a few links in each story and makes up his own. It's not funny. It's not sad. It's not romantic or drama. It's just a good sleeping pill to make those who are tired go night night.

The drugs, man.. they've done messed with your head a little too much. Maybe that's why you claim victory so much. Claiming you always win is like a young boy masturbating, then claiming he had sex with a woman. In his head, it may be sex... but it's so far from the real thing. Morbid claims victories so much that he thinks a loss is a victory.. he thinks people laughing at him is a victory.. heh. Popeye use to think spinach would make him unstoppable... until the artist stopped drawing him.

I'm not sure where you came up with the idea I'm playing detective. I talked to one, but I've never played on. Maybe this is where you start getting all your stories mixed in with real life. This is Morbid Angel. A man who has all these fairy tales in his head.. he picks a woman with 7 dwarfs who loved a beast, and road a train wearing a yellow yet. You pick and choose what you want reality to be like and that's where your downfall is.

You remember I chose you battle at World War Xtreme? I tried helping ya. You were a lost cause. I wanted to help, but you couldn't shake your fictional world. No matter what comes your way, you'll always be a fictional mind.

I like the way you gather all these ideas and put them onto someone. I have a beard, so I'm jewish. You have a beard, so I guess you are too, right?

You want to put the fear of Satan in me? Oh, where, oh where did Unknown Soldier go, oh where, oh where could he be? A man who follows Satan saw me coming and left in fear. That's how Satan falls about me. That's how his followers.. one by one.. will feel about me.

You should follow his path and leave. I'm not slowing down, man. Not for a bitch like you, or like your king.. satan.

You know why you're in this match, man? You didn't have the guts to step up and face me for the number one contender spot. No one did. I called out the great Unknown Soldier, and he went silent. Figures. I called out the fearful and spooky Ashen, and not a peep. Ashen came ready to go after me, and when I rose.. he.. left.

Take note, Morbid. They have done the right thing.. the smart thing.. and you should too. Let's be honest, though... you're not that smart so we both know you probably will do the dumb thing and fight anyway in this match. That's okay, though man. You'll lose.. claim victory.. and put more people to sleep.. not because you are scary.. but because you're just... boring. If anyone wants to experience hell, then just listen to Morbid talk for a few minutes. That's a little taste. It's that bad.

You have other people in this match....

Frost, who is probably smart but keeping his lips sealed. Barney Green doesn't really care about this. It's a good thing too. He'd probably trade in the briefcase for some dip.

Then there's a lady who was been on the rise.. Kendall Sawyer. I applaud your effort.

Your sweet little story about how ya envy me.. how I'm not the same man I once was. I was moved.

Is it me, or does everyone throw on a repeat about me?

You're this.. you're that. You're just like this person, or that person..

Eli.. you talk about freedom but you're the same as the GMs.

Am I? I wish I could hear you explain that one. The truth is you are just like the countless fools I've come across. You say I'm lies.. I'm smoke and mirrors... and that's where you end your little speech. There's nothing to follow. There's no proof. It's simply your ideology that everyone is suppose to believe.

This Dodge Ram is the best truck in the world.

That's exactly how you all sound. You speak at me with all these beautiful thoughts.. without substance. You try to speak in riddles and it ends up being jokes.

There is no double standard here. It's the same message I've preached since the beginning. And here you are, Kendall.. just like all those who went before you to face me... saying I'm not the same. Heh. No, I've always been the same. I've never hidden myself from the words of any man here. The problem is you share all these thoughts, but they're abstract. There's nothing to them. They are nothing but a fly in the wind. Just going with the flow. Letting the day take you wherever.

Kendall.. heh. Darlin'. You said, 'And how gloriously hypocritical is it of Eli to judge people for wanting to take the "easy" way to getting a championship in going for the briefcase when he so gladly gave away his titles?' It's hypocritical of me to earn my titles and give them away verses one who doesn't earn it? I earn, so I do as I please. I think you've missed the definition of hypocritical, darlin'.

Your so called freedom lies in knowing I'm the exact same as I accuse the GMs of being? Your freedom comes as a result of my life, huh? So without me, there is no freedom for you. Thank ya kindly for making my point.

I didn't just challenge the old and frail. I challenged ANYONE, but specifically called out three men that people said I would fear.

My challenge wasn't only to those three, but to ANYONE... and funny.. I didn't see your brave soul step out.

Kendall.. Morbid.. all you have are a bunch of fun little stories to tell about me.. much like parents do to their children when they open a book and read before bed time. You should probably listen more to truth before you share your opinions of stupidity.

'You're a double standard hypocrite because............................................' because why? Oh, no one ever gives that answer. That's because you fail to listen and know the truth."]]> Eli is rocking in his chair with several books stacked beside him. He's reading a Dr. Seuss book with a lamp nearby him to allow him enough light to read.

"Stories. Heh. You were taught all these precious stories and one day you grow up and they aren't so precious anymore. They're an after thought. At least until you have a kid of your own, and those stories you heard you now tell. Whether it's the little engine that could.. the princess with the missing shoe.. beauty and the beast.. curious george and the man with the yellow hat.. and the list of stories go on.

It's.. just.. stories.

You have guys like Morbid Angel who probably take a few links in each story and makes up his own. It's not funny. It's not sad. It's not romantic or drama. It's just a good sleeping pill to make those who are tired go night night.

The drugs, man.. they've done messed with your head a little too much. Maybe that's why you claim victory so much. Claiming you always win is like a young boy masturbating, then claiming he had sex with a woman. In his head, it may be sex... but it's so far from the real thing. Morbid claims victories so much that he thinks a loss is a victory.. he thinks people laughing at him is a victory.. heh. Popeye use to think spinach would make him unstoppable... until the artist stopped drawing him.

I'm not sure where you came up with the idea I'm playing detective. I talked to one, but I've never played on. Maybe this is where you start getting all your stories mixed in with real life. This is Morbid Angel. A man who has all these fairy tales in his head.. he picks a woman with 7 dwarfs who loved a beast, and road a train wearing a yellow yet. You pick and choose what you want reality to be like and that's where your downfall is.

You remember I chose you battle at World War Xtreme? I tried helping ya. You were a lost cause. I wanted to help, but you couldn't shake your fictional world. No matter what comes your way, you'll always be a fictional mind.

I like the way you gather all these ideas and put them onto someone. I have a beard, so I'm jewish. You have a beard, so I guess you are too, right?

You want to put the fear of Satan in me? Oh, where, oh where did Unknown Soldier go, oh where, oh where could he be? A man who follows Satan saw me coming and left in fear. That's how Satan falls about me. That's how his followers.. one by one.. will feel about me.

You should follow his path and leave. I'm not slowing down, man. Not for a bitch like you, or like your king.. satan.

You know why you're in this match, man? You didn't have the guts to step up and face me for the number one contender spot. No one did. I called out the great Unknown Soldier, and he went silent. Figures. I called out the fearful and spooky Ashen, and not a peep. Ashen came ready to go after me, and when I rose.. he.. left.

Take note, Morbid. They have done the right thing.. the smart thing.. and you should too. Let's be honest, though... you're not that smart so we both know you probably will do the dumb thing and fight anyway in this match. That's okay, though man. You'll lose.. claim victory.. and put more people to sleep.. not because you are scary.. but because you're just... boring. If anyone wants to experience hell, then just listen to Morbid talk for a few minutes. That's a little taste. It's that bad.

You have other people in this match....

Frost, who is probably smart but keeping his lips sealed. Barney Green doesn't really care about this. It's a good thing too. He'd probably trade in the briefcase for some dip.

Then there's a lady who was been on the rise.. Kendall Sawyer. I applaud your effort.

Your sweet little story about how ya envy me.. how I'm not the same man I once was. I was moved.

Is it me, or does everyone throw on a repeat about me?

You're this.. you're that. You're just like this person, or that person..

Eli.. you talk about freedom but you're the same as the GMs.

Am I? I wish I could hear you explain that one. The truth is you are just like the countless fools I've come across. You say I'm lies.. I'm smoke and mirrors... and that's where you end your little speech. There's nothing to follow. There's no proof. It's simply your ideology that everyone is suppose to believe.

This Dodge Ram is the best truck in the world.

That's exactly how you all sound. You speak at me with all these beautiful thoughts.. without substance. You try to speak in riddles and it ends up being jokes.

There is no double standard here. It's the same message I've preached since the beginning. And here you are, Kendall.. just like all those who went before you to face me... saying I'm not the same. Heh. No, I've always been the same. I've never hidden myself from the words of any man here. The problem is you share all these thoughts, but they're abstract. There's nothing to them. They are nothing but a fly in the wind. Just going with the flow. Letting the day take you wherever.

Kendall.. heh. Darlin'. You said, 'And how gloriously hypocritical is it of Eli to judge people for wanting to take the "easy" way to getting a championship in going for the briefcase when he so gladly gave away his titles?' It's hypocritical of me to earn my titles and give them away verses one who doesn't earn it? I earn, so I do as I please. I think you've missed the definition of hypocritical, darlin'.

Your so called freedom lies in knowing I'm the exact same as I accuse the GMs of being? Your freedom comes as a result of my life, huh? So without me, there is no freedom for you. Thank ya kindly for making my point.

I didn't just challenge the old and frail. I challenged ANYONE, but specifically called out three men that people said I would fear.

My challenge wasn't only to those three, but to ANYONE... and funny.. I didn't see your brave soul step out.

Kendall.. Morbid.. all you have are a bunch of fun little stories to tell about me.. much like parents do to their children when they open a book and read before bed time. You should probably listen more to truth before you share your opinions of stupidity.

'You're a double standard hypocrite because............................................' because why? Oh, no one ever gives that answer. That's because you fail to listen and know the truth."]]> <![CDATA[Be My Brandy, Mr. Alexander]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13101 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 11:41:03 -0700 Kendall Savannah Sawyer]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13101
“You can say anything if enough people will listen.” - Chuck Palahniuk

Have you ever woken up and realized that you're a twenty-something alcoholic who already could be deemed washed up?

Because I have. I've woken up in that dark place quite a few times between the last time you've seen me set foot in a XWF ring and now. More times than I'm willing to divulge right now or ever and oddly enough it has nothing to do with the spate of losses I hit right before bowing out the door. No, it's an issue that runs a little bit deeper than that. Something I never thought I'd have the strength to admit to a large group of people who aren't also in my shoes but as fate would have it I do right now.

Hi, I'm Kendall and I'm an alcoholic.

Hi, I'm Kendall and I'm the postergirl for wasted potential.

Hi, I'm Kendall and I've rescued myself from my lowest possible point. It's only up from here on out.

Now, some people could very well be wondering how I've summoned the strength to make these declarations in a place like the XWF, where the first thought upon learning the flaws of others is to twist it and pervert it to suit your own ends, to tear the person spilling their soul to bits and pieces to come out ahead. Frankly, most people might be thinking or even saying aloud at this very moment:

Kendall, what the hell are you doing?

Simple, really. I'm being honest.

Honesty being a foreign concept to most of the company and especially the bunch I'm to face in my grand return match; an opportunity some could say I don't even deserve. Seeing as though I did disappear for a short while after my loss to Azrael Erebus for the Universal Championship, I guess I can see where those people are coming from in their deductions but at the same time, I feel as though I'm gliding on air so I can't say I care too much about them. Again, honesty.

Where to start with the parade of lying, hypocritical snakes?

Maybe with their King of Kings.

Ozymandias.

Flash back to my devastating loss to Azrael on Madness, where for a brief moment I thought I won on some magic technicality. And technically yes, I did win the match but the dear General Manager thought it in the best interest for the sanctity of the title to restart the match so that a clear winner could be determined. That, I had no problem with and if I were in his shoes I would've done the same thing. No, where I take offense comes from his reprimandation of me for winning a wrestling match by conventional standards. For reference, allow me to play it back for you.

Quote:OZYMANDIAS: "Now hold on just a minute... This is not what I had in mind when I said we were going to crown a new Universal Champion. The most coveted title in XWF history will not be handed out because of a count out. Not tonight. Not ever. Kendall Sawyer, I should disqualify you from the match just for thinking that I would let you walk out of this arena with a count out victory. Don't worry, I'm not going to do that. Instead, we're gonna pretend like this never happened. Deal? Good. Now, RESTART THE MATCH! And this time, it's X-Treme Rules..."

Did you catch with the added emphasis? Ozymandias, the great GM of Madness, the King of Kings, the hypocritical snake threatens me with disqualification from the match for winning the title off a count out victory. This wouldn't seem to be such a big deal if you forget that the only other person in the match besides Azrael was a basically dead Jon Plex. That's right, Ozymandias would've rather seen a nonfactor take a pinfall to crown the "most coveted title in XWF history". Or since everyone forgot about Plex, he would've been just fine putting the title on Azrael via a disqualification, the other thing titles don't normally change hands on. Now, why would the fair and impartial Ozymandias do such a thing, you might ask. Well, it's all because I'm one of Paul Heyman's clients.

There. Now the truth is revealed. It was never about the count out and if Azrael had done the same thing, he would've been awarded the belt. Because that's how Ozymandias is. That's the culture he breeds and though he isn't rewriting the book around here, his attitude is no doubt rubbing off on others. The most prolific examples in this match include Arryn Connolly and Frost -- both members of Ozymandias' little Hit Squad, whom he named Madness Unleashed.

More like Madness' cancer. A chemotherapy induced malignant tumor. He's trying to make it seem like he's trying to save his own show but in reality he's the one ripping it at the seams and the worst part is I don't think he realizes it. Connolly and Frost are pawns, trapped forever in this game that'll end in Ozy's surrender.

The name Ozymandias is fitting because it's only a matter of time before this empire, if you can call it that, of his will crumble to the ground; its rotten supports too far gone to hold up its weight. However, that's enough about the "King of Kings" and his pawns, onto the others in this match.

Barney Green isn't trying. That's it, that's what's happening here. He's made it abundantly clear that he isn't trying and frankly I don't blame him because at least this way when he fails he can rationalize it with "it's okay, I didn't try!'

Morbid Angel is utterly delusional. He thinks he's never lost when I can pull up records of his failures and show that as of late, those failures have really piled up and have completely eclipsed his odd successes. However, the gem of his insolence comes from his promo, wherein when speaking of me he brings up the most asininely awesome offense against me, almost as if to get under my skin if he were ever capable of doing that to anyone with half a sliver of intellect. It's been a while since I've really responded at length to the words of one of my opponents, so forgive me if I'm just a little bit rusty in the art. I promise I won't deliver an IQ dropping flop of a performance, which is more than I can say about Angel himself.

First he starts by mispronouncing my name by adding a random -s at the end of it. Either cruise control for the edgy, "I could care less" attitude or just his own obliviousness and uselessness manifesting in an obvious way. Then he goes on to say that I have about just as much relevance to the XWF as some random soap opera. So... ? What, is your life so utterly pathetic that you live and die by the goings on around the XWF? And is that somehow a good thing in your demented little head? That's the only way something so mindnumbingly idiotic could sound like a good insult; if it's spoken by someone with special needs. What's next, are you going to insult a construction worker for not building something every second of the day?

Then he claims that this supposed connection I have with Jessie Diaz of all people is so fucking original (end obvious sarcasm) when he's either seeing things or spending too much time with Swagmire Swaggins, who's completely and utterly convinced that I'm some wannabe of the psycho.

Also, hope people like me? How dense are you? I think I've made it pretty clear I'm largely apathetic to whether or not I'm cheered or booed.

Oh, and then there's this gaffe: What the fuck have you brought to the XWF? Nothing…

Well, y'know aside from being one of the XWF's major champions within a little over a month of my arrival? Yeah, absolutely nothing. Not like Morbid Angel's who's found five new ways to bury his head in the sand.

Then some out of place vulgarity that if I really wanted people to like me would result in a success so in actuality comes off more as a compliment than an insult in context. Thanks?

And he finishes by claiming I'm only liked because of my appearance. So, in layman's terms typical drivel he could aim at any woman because he's too much of an idiot to think of anything specific to me.

Morbid Angel's delusions are so strong I almost got sucked into them, however if his status as a moron and nigh infinite failures to Griffin MacAlister have shown us anything, it really isn't Victory Forever for him.

More like Ignorance Forever.

And lastly, Eli James.

Oh Eli, how I don't loathe thee. Though you seem to think everyone on the whole world has it out for you I can't say I do because really, what is there to hate? A view on religion that doesn't agree with my own? His nonsensical analogies that don't make as much sense in context as he wants them to?

No, I don't hate Eli James.

I almost envy him, really.

I almost envy the way he can burrow himself so deeply into his little hole of security like a mole and acts like what he says actually makes sense because in his promo for this week he made an analogy that he really didn't think through. You know it; the eighteen year old who works so hard to get this car, only to give it to his brother after said brother gets in a wreck?

Problem. The people you gave your belts (car) to didn't crash and burn beforehand. It was after.

In reality, here's the situation you painted:

Eighteen year old works his ass off to get a car and then gives it to his slacker, idiot brother for a night. Said brother crashes it into a poll or more accurately, trades it to some shady guy in a back alley for a baggie of cocaine. What you described is charity for those who don't deserve charity.

And how gloriously hypocritical is it of Eli to judge people for wanting to take the "easy" way to getting a championship in going for the briefcase when he so gladly gave away his titles? Effectively giving his buddies free rides. Not even easy, free. No effort required, unlike the possible minimal for a briefcase win. As for your little challenge, wanting to earn a shot for the Universal Title, even though it eventually became something of a cop out. While anyone was free to step right up and try, it was obvious where your priorities lay.

In beating up the weak, old, and senile.

And yet, you're the good guy in all of this.

You know, Eli?

I'm ready. I think I'm ready to receive your guidance and go on the path to Enlightenment.

Give me wisdom.

Give me truth.

Give me social critique that you're somehow exempt from.

Give me double standards.

Give me not so cryptic nonsense about puppets and puppeteers to tell us all what we already figured out.

Give me everything, Eli. But most importantly:

Give me a break.

My freedom lies in knowing that you're the exact same type of person that you accuse the GMs of being. Only now, you don't have any power so you can't throw your figurative weight around and that's eating you up on the inside.

My freedom resonates in the blind men that can see through your little act.

And lastly; my freedom is so much sweeter knowing that no matter how much I may screw up in life; I'll never be the walking mass of lies, smoke, and mirrors that you are.

But hate you? No. Never. Not a chance. Hating you is like hating the old man sitting out on his porch in a rocking chair, somewhere in the south, waving his fist and shouting racist slurs. It just isn't worth it. He's a product of his time, his environment; a fossil by today's standards.

Just like you.

If we look back at history, we can see, and I'm going to quote you on this:

"I defeated Neo Nero. I defended my championship."

That was you, at your peak. However, one look at you now proves you aren't that man anymore. Take for example your team being led to victory almost entirely on the shoulders of the Dimallisher and Azrael Erebus? Is this the Eli James of now? Enlisting the help of aliens and mentally disabled to fight his battles? Then vacating the titles like he's been known to do.

Right. It is.

This is the Eli James I'm going to be stepping into the ring with: a broken down old slag heap of a man whittled down by age.

No wonder he challenged the old and frail.

He sees this too and is trying compensate.

Now Eli, I dare you, I beg of you, I implore you:

Give me your best.]]>
“You can say anything if enough people will listen.” - Chuck Palahniuk

Have you ever woken up and realized that you're a twenty-something alcoholic who already could be deemed washed up?

Because I have. I've woken up in that dark place quite a few times between the last time you've seen me set foot in a XWF ring and now. More times than I'm willing to divulge right now or ever and oddly enough it has nothing to do with the spate of losses I hit right before bowing out the door. No, it's an issue that runs a little bit deeper than that. Something I never thought I'd have the strength to admit to a large group of people who aren't also in my shoes but as fate would have it I do right now.

Hi, I'm Kendall and I'm an alcoholic.

Hi, I'm Kendall and I'm the postergirl for wasted potential.

Hi, I'm Kendall and I've rescued myself from my lowest possible point. It's only up from here on out.

Now, some people could very well be wondering how I've summoned the strength to make these declarations in a place like the XWF, where the first thought upon learning the flaws of others is to twist it and pervert it to suit your own ends, to tear the person spilling their soul to bits and pieces to come out ahead. Frankly, most people might be thinking or even saying aloud at this very moment:

Kendall, what the hell are you doing?

Simple, really. I'm being honest.

Honesty being a foreign concept to most of the company and especially the bunch I'm to face in my grand return match; an opportunity some could say I don't even deserve. Seeing as though I did disappear for a short while after my loss to Azrael Erebus for the Universal Championship, I guess I can see where those people are coming from in their deductions but at the same time, I feel as though I'm gliding on air so I can't say I care too much about them. Again, honesty.

Where to start with the parade of lying, hypocritical snakes?

Maybe with their King of Kings.

Ozymandias.

Flash back to my devastating loss to Azrael on Madness, where for a brief moment I thought I won on some magic technicality. And technically yes, I did win the match but the dear General Manager thought it in the best interest for the sanctity of the title to restart the match so that a clear winner could be determined. That, I had no problem with and if I were in his shoes I would've done the same thing. No, where I take offense comes from his reprimandation of me for winning a wrestling match by conventional standards. For reference, allow me to play it back for you.

Quote:OZYMANDIAS: "Now hold on just a minute... This is not what I had in mind when I said we were going to crown a new Universal Champion. The most coveted title in XWF history will not be handed out because of a count out. Not tonight. Not ever. Kendall Sawyer, I should disqualify you from the match just for thinking that I would let you walk out of this arena with a count out victory. Don't worry, I'm not going to do that. Instead, we're gonna pretend like this never happened. Deal? Good. Now, RESTART THE MATCH! And this time, it's X-Treme Rules..."

Did you catch with the added emphasis? Ozymandias, the great GM of Madness, the King of Kings, the hypocritical snake threatens me with disqualification from the match for winning the title off a count out victory. This wouldn't seem to be such a big deal if you forget that the only other person in the match besides Azrael was a basically dead Jon Plex. That's right, Ozymandias would've rather seen a nonfactor take a pinfall to crown the "most coveted title in XWF history". Or since everyone forgot about Plex, he would've been just fine putting the title on Azrael via a disqualification, the other thing titles don't normally change hands on. Now, why would the fair and impartial Ozymandias do such a thing, you might ask. Well, it's all because I'm one of Paul Heyman's clients.

There. Now the truth is revealed. It was never about the count out and if Azrael had done the same thing, he would've been awarded the belt. Because that's how Ozymandias is. That's the culture he breeds and though he isn't rewriting the book around here, his attitude is no doubt rubbing off on others. The most prolific examples in this match include Arryn Connolly and Frost -- both members of Ozymandias' little Hit Squad, whom he named Madness Unleashed.

More like Madness' cancer. A chemotherapy induced malignant tumor. He's trying to make it seem like he's trying to save his own show but in reality he's the one ripping it at the seams and the worst part is I don't think he realizes it. Connolly and Frost are pawns, trapped forever in this game that'll end in Ozy's surrender.

The name Ozymandias is fitting because it's only a matter of time before this empire, if you can call it that, of his will crumble to the ground; its rotten supports too far gone to hold up its weight. However, that's enough about the "King of Kings" and his pawns, onto the others in this match.

Barney Green isn't trying. That's it, that's what's happening here. He's made it abundantly clear that he isn't trying and frankly I don't blame him because at least this way when he fails he can rationalize it with "it's okay, I didn't try!'

Morbid Angel is utterly delusional. He thinks he's never lost when I can pull up records of his failures and show that as of late, those failures have really piled up and have completely eclipsed his odd successes. However, the gem of his insolence comes from his promo, wherein when speaking of me he brings up the most asininely awesome offense against me, almost as if to get under my skin if he were ever capable of doing that to anyone with half a sliver of intellect. It's been a while since I've really responded at length to the words of one of my opponents, so forgive me if I'm just a little bit rusty in the art. I promise I won't deliver an IQ dropping flop of a performance, which is more than I can say about Angel himself.

First he starts by mispronouncing my name by adding a random -s at the end of it. Either cruise control for the edgy, "I could care less" attitude or just his own obliviousness and uselessness manifesting in an obvious way. Then he goes on to say that I have about just as much relevance to the XWF as some random soap opera. So... ? What, is your life so utterly pathetic that you live and die by the goings on around the XWF? And is that somehow a good thing in your demented little head? That's the only way something so mindnumbingly idiotic could sound like a good insult; if it's spoken by someone with special needs. What's next, are you going to insult a construction worker for not building something every second of the day?

Then he claims that this supposed connection I have with Jessie Diaz of all people is so fucking original (end obvious sarcasm) when he's either seeing things or spending too much time with Swagmire Swaggins, who's completely and utterly convinced that I'm some wannabe of the psycho.

Also, hope people like me? How dense are you? I think I've made it pretty clear I'm largely apathetic to whether or not I'm cheered or booed.

Oh, and then there's this gaffe: What the fuck have you brought to the XWF? Nothing…

Well, y'know aside from being one of the XWF's major champions within a little over a month of my arrival? Yeah, absolutely nothing. Not like Morbid Angel's who's found five new ways to bury his head in the sand.

Then some out of place vulgarity that if I really wanted people to like me would result in a success so in actuality comes off more as a compliment than an insult in context. Thanks?

And he finishes by claiming I'm only liked because of my appearance. So, in layman's terms typical drivel he could aim at any woman because he's too much of an idiot to think of anything specific to me.

Morbid Angel's delusions are so strong I almost got sucked into them, however if his status as a moron and nigh infinite failures to Griffin MacAlister have shown us anything, it really isn't Victory Forever for him.

More like Ignorance Forever.

And lastly, Eli James.

Oh Eli, how I don't loathe thee. Though you seem to think everyone on the whole world has it out for you I can't say I do because really, what is there to hate? A view on religion that doesn't agree with my own? His nonsensical analogies that don't make as much sense in context as he wants them to?

No, I don't hate Eli James.

I almost envy him, really.

I almost envy the way he can burrow himself so deeply into his little hole of security like a mole and acts like what he says actually makes sense because in his promo for this week he made an analogy that he really didn't think through. You know it; the eighteen year old who works so hard to get this car, only to give it to his brother after said brother gets in a wreck?

Problem. The people you gave your belts (car) to didn't crash and burn beforehand. It was after.

In reality, here's the situation you painted:

Eighteen year old works his ass off to get a car and then gives it to his slacker, idiot brother for a night. Said brother crashes it into a poll or more accurately, trades it to some shady guy in a back alley for a baggie of cocaine. What you described is charity for those who don't deserve charity.

And how gloriously hypocritical is it of Eli to judge people for wanting to take the "easy" way to getting a championship in going for the briefcase when he so gladly gave away his titles? Effectively giving his buddies free rides. Not even easy, free. No effort required, unlike the possible minimal for a briefcase win. As for your little challenge, wanting to earn a shot for the Universal Title, even though it eventually became something of a cop out. While anyone was free to step right up and try, it was obvious where your priorities lay.

In beating up the weak, old, and senile.

And yet, you're the good guy in all of this.

You know, Eli?

I'm ready. I think I'm ready to receive your guidance and go on the path to Enlightenment.

Give me wisdom.

Give me truth.

Give me social critique that you're somehow exempt from.

Give me double standards.

Give me not so cryptic nonsense about puppets and puppeteers to tell us all what we already figured out.

Give me everything, Eli. But most importantly:

Give me a break.

My freedom lies in knowing that you're the exact same type of person that you accuse the GMs of being. Only now, you don't have any power so you can't throw your figurative weight around and that's eating you up on the inside.

My freedom resonates in the blind men that can see through your little act.

And lastly; my freedom is so much sweeter knowing that no matter how much I may screw up in life; I'll never be the walking mass of lies, smoke, and mirrors that you are.

But hate you? No. Never. Not a chance. Hating you is like hating the old man sitting out on his porch in a rocking chair, somewhere in the south, waving his fist and shouting racist slurs. It just isn't worth it. He's a product of his time, his environment; a fossil by today's standards.

Just like you.

If we look back at history, we can see, and I'm going to quote you on this:

"I defeated Neo Nero. I defended my championship."

That was you, at your peak. However, one look at you now proves you aren't that man anymore. Take for example your team being led to victory almost entirely on the shoulders of the Dimallisher and Azrael Erebus? Is this the Eli James of now? Enlisting the help of aliens and mentally disabled to fight his battles? Then vacating the titles like he's been known to do.

Right. It is.

This is the Eli James I'm going to be stepping into the ring with: a broken down old slag heap of a man whittled down by age.

No wonder he challenged the old and frail.

He sees this too and is trying compensate.

Now Eli, I dare you, I beg of you, I implore you:

Give me your best.]]> <![CDATA[Mark Flynn's Revenge THE CONCLUSION: Go-Kart Jousting and Hopelessness]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13100 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 11:36:21 -0700 MarkFlynn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13100 Previously on Mark Flynn: Revenge

“Daddy…!”

“HEY. I HAVE NOT BEEN HANGING OUT WITH PETER GILMOUR, OKAY?”

”WHOA WHOAWHOAWHOA, DON'T PLEASE DON-“

“FUCK YOU!”

”He took out David…”

“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!”

"Like Charlie back in 'Nam...I know he's close... Spread out…"

“Space Invaders…”

“Help me grab some putters…”


And now… the next chapter of Mark Flynn: Revenge
==================================================
8:59 AM, 16231 North IH-35, Pflugerville, TX 78660

Austin’s Park-n-Pizza Experience

Okay…

Just have to… twist… the leg… Very carefully…

Dial 9 to get out…

…9…

1. 1.

Got it.

The Austin’s Parks-n-Pizza employee… Hog tied… Lying on the floor…

Had found a way to kick the phone off its handle…

The phone rings…
***
“Dispatch, send a car to the 41st street HEB, apparently a homeless man broke in before the store op-“

“Calling all cars! Calling all cars! Be on the lookout for northbound car2go. Suspect hijacked vehicle and ejected two passengers fr-“

“U-1, SWAT is needed for high risk arrest at Austin Parks-n-Pizza Experience. Information Limited. Caller was unable to be understood. May be a hostage situation. Send at le-“

“KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER!”

A pair of rascals slip onto the track… Just after a go-kart driven by an obscenity obsessed maniac…

And in the opposite direction.
***
A sigh.

The cold midnight black orbs in his skull. Like a pair of marbles.

And a loving smile.

"Now then..."

“I’ve talked to those of you in need of the most help.”

“Now we can…”

Free-Win’s eyes shift over to the clock. And for just a moment, his smile disappears.

"Ah no... Look at the time..."

"This week together just flew by."

His smile returns… forlorn. He brushes some apple of his red button-up and wipes some scraps of bone off his khakis.

"I only got to really get some one-on-one time with a couple of you..."

"And only one of you really deserves some personalized instruction..."

"And I think we all know which one of you is going to get it."

"You know. The marginally talented one of you."

"But still. I don’t want the three of you that exist in the middle of the pack to feel ignored. To feel like you’re not worth the attention.”

“You’re all worth the very little amount of time it takes to find your flaws.”

“After all, you all had the decency to stay in my classroom."

"To listen quietly and respectfully."

"To keep your mouths shut this entire week."

"To not even try to step up against Free-Win Flynn."

“Even the two people I did verbally dismantle have kept respectfully quiet. Hoping that avoiding a direct rebuttal will prevent another lesson.”

"You’re all just praying that if you keep still and don't move, maybe I'll ignore you and you can go this week without learning anything."

"But I wouldn't be a good teacher if I didn't at least try to impart some knowledge and motivation on you young students."

"You're a good bunch. And you deserve some parting gifts. I want to inspire you kids."

"Everyone else would have given up on you. But not me. I want you to prove that you’re worth the assault you’re going to receive on Saturday.”

“I want you to go above and beyond what the world thinks you're capable of."

"I want you kids to shoot for the moon."

"But, it’s been a challenge for me. I can’t lie, you all seem to have a lot of difficulty getting into this curriculum..."

"You've been so... Docile. Patient."

"Quiet."

“And I can’t for the life of me understand why… It’s as if the fact that you’re outclassed does nothing to bring out the best in you.”

"Follow my logic all the way to its end...”

“The week started with Naith as the champion."

"And Bobby Zi has done an admirable job of heading to the guillotine pretending like he isn't going to be literally murdered on Saturday has been something to note."

"But when old Free-Win Flynn's name popped up on the schedule, when everyone else started thinking about how they were going to try and steal this one."

"Nobody was thinking about how they were possibly going to outdo former US champion John Austin."

"Nobody was worrying about having to step in the ring and go toe-to-toe with Michael McBride."

"No one was stressing out about what music video John Hoff would start off his promo with."

"From the beginning, all eyes were on one man."

"Free-Win Flynn."

"And in that respect."

"The X-Treme belt is mine to lose."

"And yours to try and steal and inevitably fail at."

"..."

"And still you're quiet? The fact that I'm already the X-Treme champion in the minds of millions doesn't force you out of your holes?"

"I've already won. This week is locked in and all six of you know it."

"Doesn't that tempt you? Doesn't the freedom of nothing this week mattering inspire you?"

"Doesn't the fact that Can't-Win is the defending champion, inspire you to pull out your best stuff? That maybe just maybe you can slip one past me?"

"Won't one of you try and seize the day? Carpe diem?"

"C'mon."

"This week is almost over and it feels like I'm the only one throwing punches."

"Jack Hoff, pull out your weirdest song, say your promo in the strangest, less understandable accent you can."

"So I have a snazzy tune on Saturday to play in my head as I mount you in the ring and deliver in with lead pipe shot after lead pipe until your face caves in."

"John Austin, make some more television appearances, call in some more favors. Write a god damned love letter to each and every one of those people in the crowd and read it before all of Austin, TX so they all know that you do it for them."

“So they’ll all have something to think about as I crush you temple with my lead pipe, re-fracturing your skull and sending you right back to the hospital.”

"Michael McBride. Step up. Pull out every stupid comment you might have. Pull out every bit you've worked on, every move you've spent years trying to master, your old mainstays and the new moves you’ve only ever dreamed of pulling off.”

“Leave everything out in the ring. Beat the world’s expectations, prove that you’re better than anyone out there possibly thought you could be.”

“Then, management will have a stellar performance to showcase for your 10-bell salute.”

“And closed casket funeral.”

"Poke your head out of the holes you’re hiding in. Hold your heads up high."

"So I can take them off.”

“And when you lie defeated, brutalized, crippled in the center of the ring.”

“I hope you’ll just barely…”

“Just narrowly.. Have enough higher mental function left after I’ve beaten you unconscious… For you to thank me.”

“Thanks Free-Win…”

"You taught us...so much..."
***
The rascal scooter's top speed is around 30 miles an hour, while the go-kart Free-Win had been riding topped out at 40 miles an hour.

Griff, the HEB manager, riding on the back of the rascal scooter Phillip was driving, had figured this.

Which he grabbed a putter for him and Anton, riding on the back of the other rascal scooter.

And they were going to charge him coming the opposite direction. Like knights jousting.

Free-Win, eyes black, squinted… Hands steady on the steering wheel…

He trains his laser tag gun on Griff’s head…

Griff tucked away his putter and dropped behind Phillip’s seat… Phillip was correcting the wheel carefully as the bumps in the road threw them off course…

“DON’T GO OFF THIS LINE! STAY STRAIGHT ON AND I’LL TAKE HIS HEAD OFF!”

Griff called over to the rascal riding to his right…

“WE’RE GOING TO TAKE HIM ON BOTH SIDES! UNDERSTAND, ANTON?”

Anton cups his hand around his ear.

“WHAT?”

“HE GETS IT, LET’S JUST FUCKING DO THIS!”

200 feet away…
***
“Enemy quickly advancing… What do we do, AdmiralVice Captain ?”

“Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes.”

“That really doesn’t apply in this situation.”

“FIRE EVERYTHING!”

“Um. We have one laser so everything is kind o-“

“FIRE THAT THEN! REPETITIVELY AND AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE!”
***
“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!”

Flynn’s laser…

Ineffectively lit a dim red circle onto Griff’s skull. Blinking on and off…

“Gotcha… Gotcha… Fuckin’ gotcha…”

Nadine carefully steers the rascal right on with Flynn…

Flynn carefully steers the car to the left…

As Griff holds the putter over his head, to the right of the rascal… Flynn too busy looking at Nadine’s approach…

Nadine passes... as Anton takes a wild shot with the putter!

Just as Flynn swings the laser tag gun...

And catches Anton across the temple!!!!!!!!!

Anton flops over unconscious from the blow...

Landing on Nadine.

"Baby... Baby! BABY! FUUUUU-"

The entire rascal destabilizes and flips over on the side of the track.
***
“WE GOT ONE!”

First Mate general Flynn looks back to the Vice-Captain Admiral…

“WE GOT ONE!”

Vice-Captain Admiral Flynn turns from his computer, upon which he is playing a game of Galaga...

“GREAT ME! DON’T GET COCKY!”
***
The weight of him dart over…

HE SWERVES TO DODGE THE!

Griff’s arm swings up…

AND COMES DOWN ONTO FLYNN’S GO-KART!
***
The whole ship rumbles… The engine smokes from the inside… The cockpit rumbles…

“DIRECT HIT! THEY GOT US SIR!”

“CAN YOU SEE THE WHITES OF THEIR EYES YET?”

“…Again, I think that’s not the plan to have in this situation?”

“DO NOT FIRE UNTIL YOU SEE THE WHITE-“

“I GET IT!”
***
The putter gets sent off hundreds of feet upon contact with the go-kart…

Griff pulls another one out of the bag… ten putters left…

“I TOOK OUT A PIECE OUT OF HIS ENGINE! FLIP AROUND AND PULL ALONGSIDE HIM”

“AYE AYE CAPTAIN!”

Phillip busts a bitch and stamps his foot onto the accelerator…

Flynn’s go-kart’s speed drops… oil leaks out the bottom…

The distance shrinks with each passing second…
***
“They’re closing in on us, Captain…”

“Don’t fire until you see the whites of his eyes…”

“…SERIOUSLY, What are you talking about? We’re firing at a spaceship hundreds of thousands of miles away, we can’t see their eyes.”

“Then, don’t fire until you see the whites of the ship.”

“The ship is just white, I can see the whit-“

“THEN FIRE!”

“…God dammit, you are the worst captain. And I’m saying that aware of the fact that we’re the same person.”
***
Griff pulls another putter out of the bag.

“WATCH OUT FOR HIS FUTURE GUN!”

Flynn turns and fires over and over again…

As it fails to do anything but blink a red light on Griff’s shirt…

Griff comes in…

Putter raised…

Ready to strike again…

“DIE ASSHOLE!”
***
“We’re sitting ducks, Admiral Vice Captain… They’re invincible against our limited firepower…”

“Trust in me, First Mate General, do not fire until you se-“

“SHUT UP ABOUT… YOU’RE A FUCKING IDI…wait…”

First Mate General Flynn wipes the sweat from his brow… His voice cracking… Yet confident…

“I can see it…I can see the whites of his eyes…”

Admiral Vice Captain Flynn nods…

“You are ready…"

"Fire.”
***
Flynn fires the laser… Directly into Griff’s eyes..

“AH! I CAN’T SEE!"

Griff swings desperately…

Clocking Phillip across the skull and knocking him out instantly…

The entire rascal scooter flips over…

And then there were none....
***
“GREAT SHOT, ME! THAT WAS ONE IN A MILLION!”

“Thank you, I’m just glad we fought off those…”

“…”

“…Do you hear that…?”

"..."

“It sounds…like sirens…in space?”

"..."

"Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes..."
***
Thursday, June 22nd, 8:15 PM – Frodo Smackin’s Apartment Complex
“I’m not splitting it with you. I failed to raise you, I earned that money, it is MINE.”

“Daddy…?”

A finger reaches out.

"All right, Fifty-Fif-"

The bell rings…

“…Uh… I’ll get it…”

The door slips open…

“Hell-OH… My God…”

“Hey honey…”[/orange]

A golden gleam appears across Katie’s face.

Reflected off an object…

Resting on Flynn’s shoulder…

The glow distracting....

From his midnight black eyes...

“Got something for you…”]]> Previously on Mark Flynn: Revenge

“Daddy…!”

“HEY. I HAVE NOT BEEN HANGING OUT WITH PETER GILMOUR, OKAY?”

”WHOA WHOAWHOAWHOA, DON'T PLEASE DON-“

“FUCK YOU!”

”He took out David…”

“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!”

"Like Charlie back in 'Nam...I know he's close... Spread out…"

“Space Invaders…”

“Help me grab some putters…”


And now… the next chapter of Mark Flynn: Revenge
==================================================
8:59 AM, 16231 North IH-35, Pflugerville, TX 78660

Austin’s Park-n-Pizza Experience

Okay…

Just have to… twist… the leg… Very carefully…

Dial 9 to get out…

…9…

1. 1.

Got it.

The Austin’s Parks-n-Pizza employee… Hog tied… Lying on the floor…

Had found a way to kick the phone off its handle…

The phone rings…
***
“Dispatch, send a car to the 41st street HEB, apparently a homeless man broke in before the store op-“

“Calling all cars! Calling all cars! Be on the lookout for northbound car2go. Suspect hijacked vehicle and ejected two passengers fr-“

“U-1, SWAT is needed for high risk arrest at Austin Parks-n-Pizza Experience. Information Limited. Caller was unable to be understood. May be a hostage situation. Send at le-“

“KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER!”

A pair of rascals slip onto the track… Just after a go-kart driven by an obscenity obsessed maniac…

And in the opposite direction.
***
A sigh.

The cold midnight black orbs in his skull. Like a pair of marbles.

And a loving smile.

"Now then..."

“I’ve talked to those of you in need of the most help.”

“Now we can…”

Free-Win’s eyes shift over to the clock. And for just a moment, his smile disappears.

"Ah no... Look at the time..."

"This week together just flew by."

His smile returns… forlorn. He brushes some apple of his red button-up and wipes some scraps of bone off his khakis.

"I only got to really get some one-on-one time with a couple of you..."

"And only one of you really deserves some personalized instruction..."

"And I think we all know which one of you is going to get it."

"You know. The marginally talented one of you."

"But still. I don’t want the three of you that exist in the middle of the pack to feel ignored. To feel like you’re not worth the attention.”

“You’re all worth the very little amount of time it takes to find your flaws.”

“After all, you all had the decency to stay in my classroom."

"To listen quietly and respectfully."

"To keep your mouths shut this entire week."

"To not even try to step up against Free-Win Flynn."

“Even the two people I did verbally dismantle have kept respectfully quiet. Hoping that avoiding a direct rebuttal will prevent another lesson.”

"You’re all just praying that if you keep still and don't move, maybe I'll ignore you and you can go this week without learning anything."

"But I wouldn't be a good teacher if I didn't at least try to impart some knowledge and motivation on you young students."

"You're a good bunch. And you deserve some parting gifts. I want to inspire you kids."

"Everyone else would have given up on you. But not me. I want you to prove that you’re worth the assault you’re going to receive on Saturday.”

“I want you to go above and beyond what the world thinks you're capable of."

"I want you kids to shoot for the moon."

"But, it’s been a challenge for me. I can’t lie, you all seem to have a lot of difficulty getting into this curriculum..."

"You've been so... Docile. Patient."

"Quiet."

“And I can’t for the life of me understand why… It’s as if the fact that you’re outclassed does nothing to bring out the best in you.”

"Follow my logic all the way to its end...”

“The week started with Naith as the champion."

"And Bobby Zi has done an admirable job of heading to the guillotine pretending like he isn't going to be literally murdered on Saturday has been something to note."

"But when old Free-Win Flynn's name popped up on the schedule, when everyone else started thinking about how they were going to try and steal this one."

"Nobody was thinking about how they were possibly going to outdo former US champion John Austin."

"Nobody was worrying about having to step in the ring and go toe-to-toe with Michael McBride."

"No one was stressing out about what music video John Hoff would start off his promo with."

"From the beginning, all eyes were on one man."

"Free-Win Flynn."

"And in that respect."

"The X-Treme belt is mine to lose."

"And yours to try and steal and inevitably fail at."

"..."

"And still you're quiet? The fact that I'm already the X-Treme champion in the minds of millions doesn't force you out of your holes?"

"I've already won. This week is locked in and all six of you know it."

"Doesn't that tempt you? Doesn't the freedom of nothing this week mattering inspire you?"

"Doesn't the fact that Can't-Win is the defending champion, inspire you to pull out your best stuff? That maybe just maybe you can slip one past me?"

"Won't one of you try and seize the day? Carpe diem?"

"C'mon."

"This week is almost over and it feels like I'm the only one throwing punches."

"Jack Hoff, pull out your weirdest song, say your promo in the strangest, less understandable accent you can."

"So I have a snazzy tune on Saturday to play in my head as I mount you in the ring and deliver in with lead pipe shot after lead pipe until your face caves in."

"John Austin, make some more television appearances, call in some more favors. Write a god damned love letter to each and every one of those people in the crowd and read it before all of Austin, TX so they all know that you do it for them."

“So they’ll all have something to think about as I crush you temple with my lead pipe, re-fracturing your skull and sending you right back to the hospital.”

"Michael McBride. Step up. Pull out every stupid comment you might have. Pull out every bit you've worked on, every move you've spent years trying to master, your old mainstays and the new moves you’ve only ever dreamed of pulling off.”

“Leave everything out in the ring. Beat the world’s expectations, prove that you’re better than anyone out there possibly thought you could be.”

“Then, management will have a stellar performance to showcase for your 10-bell salute.”

“And closed casket funeral.”

"Poke your head out of the holes you’re hiding in. Hold your heads up high."

"So I can take them off.”

“And when you lie defeated, brutalized, crippled in the center of the ring.”

“I hope you’ll just barely…”

“Just narrowly.. Have enough higher mental function left after I’ve beaten you unconscious… For you to thank me.”

“Thanks Free-Win…”

"You taught us...so much..."
***
The rascal scooter's top speed is around 30 miles an hour, while the go-kart Free-Win had been riding topped out at 40 miles an hour.

Griff, the HEB manager, riding on the back of the rascal scooter Phillip was driving, had figured this.

Which he grabbed a putter for him and Anton, riding on the back of the other rascal scooter.

And they were going to charge him coming the opposite direction. Like knights jousting.

Free-Win, eyes black, squinted… Hands steady on the steering wheel…

He trains his laser tag gun on Griff’s head…

Griff tucked away his putter and dropped behind Phillip’s seat… Phillip was correcting the wheel carefully as the bumps in the road threw them off course…

“DON’T GO OFF THIS LINE! STAY STRAIGHT ON AND I’LL TAKE HIS HEAD OFF!”

Griff called over to the rascal riding to his right…

“WE’RE GOING TO TAKE HIM ON BOTH SIDES! UNDERSTAND, ANTON?”

Anton cups his hand around his ear.

“WHAT?”

“HE GETS IT, LET’S JUST FUCKING DO THIS!”

200 feet away…
***
“Enemy quickly advancing… What do we do, AdmiralVice Captain ?”

“Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes.”

“That really doesn’t apply in this situation.”

“FIRE EVERYTHING!”

“Um. We have one laser so everything is kind o-“

“FIRE THAT THEN! REPETITIVELY AND AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE!”
***
“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!”

Flynn’s laser…

Ineffectively lit a dim red circle onto Griff’s skull. Blinking on and off…

“Gotcha… Gotcha… Fuckin’ gotcha…”

Nadine carefully steers the rascal right on with Flynn…

Flynn carefully steers the car to the left…

As Griff holds the putter over his head, to the right of the rascal… Flynn too busy looking at Nadine’s approach…

Nadine passes... as Anton takes a wild shot with the putter!

Just as Flynn swings the laser tag gun...

And catches Anton across the temple!!!!!!!!!

Anton flops over unconscious from the blow...

Landing on Nadine.

"Baby... Baby! BABY! FUUUUU-"

The entire rascal destabilizes and flips over on the side of the track.
***
“WE GOT ONE!”

First Mate general Flynn looks back to the Vice-Captain Admiral…

“WE GOT ONE!”

Vice-Captain Admiral Flynn turns from his computer, upon which he is playing a game of Galaga...

“GREAT ME! DON’T GET COCKY!”
***
The weight of him dart over…

HE SWERVES TO DODGE THE!

Griff’s arm swings up…

AND COMES DOWN ONTO FLYNN’S GO-KART!
***
The whole ship rumbles… The engine smokes from the inside… The cockpit rumbles…

“DIRECT HIT! THEY GOT US SIR!”

“CAN YOU SEE THE WHITES OF THEIR EYES YET?”

“…Again, I think that’s not the plan to have in this situation?”

“DO NOT FIRE UNTIL YOU SEE THE WHITE-“

“I GET IT!”
***
The putter gets sent off hundreds of feet upon contact with the go-kart…

Griff pulls another one out of the bag… ten putters left…

“I TOOK OUT A PIECE OUT OF HIS ENGINE! FLIP AROUND AND PULL ALONGSIDE HIM”

“AYE AYE CAPTAIN!”

Phillip busts a bitch and stamps his foot onto the accelerator…

Flynn’s go-kart’s speed drops… oil leaks out the bottom…

The distance shrinks with each passing second…
***
“They’re closing in on us, Captain…”

“Don’t fire until you see the whites of his eyes…”

“…SERIOUSLY, What are you talking about? We’re firing at a spaceship hundreds of thousands of miles away, we can’t see their eyes.”

“Then, don’t fire until you see the whites of the ship.”

“The ship is just white, I can see the whit-“

“THEN FIRE!”

“…God dammit, you are the worst captain. And I’m saying that aware of the fact that we’re the same person.”
***
Griff pulls another putter out of the bag.

“WATCH OUT FOR HIS FUTURE GUN!”

Flynn turns and fires over and over again…

As it fails to do anything but blink a red light on Griff’s shirt…

Griff comes in…

Putter raised…

Ready to strike again…

“DIE ASSHOLE!”
***
“We’re sitting ducks, Admiral Vice Captain… They’re invincible against our limited firepower…”

“Trust in me, First Mate General, do not fire until you se-“

“SHUT UP ABOUT… YOU’RE A FUCKING IDI…wait…”

First Mate General Flynn wipes the sweat from his brow… His voice cracking… Yet confident…

“I can see it…I can see the whites of his eyes…”

Admiral Vice Captain Flynn nods…

“You are ready…"

"Fire.”
***
Flynn fires the laser… Directly into Griff’s eyes..

“AH! I CAN’T SEE!"

Griff swings desperately…

Clocking Phillip across the skull and knocking him out instantly…

The entire rascal scooter flips over…

And then there were none....
***
“GREAT SHOT, ME! THAT WAS ONE IN A MILLION!”

“Thank you, I’m just glad we fought off those…”

“…”

“…Do you hear that…?”

"..."

“It sounds…like sirens…in space?”

"..."

"Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes..."
***
Thursday, June 22nd, 8:15 PM – Frodo Smackin’s Apartment Complex
“I’m not splitting it with you. I failed to raise you, I earned that money, it is MINE.”

“Daddy…?”

A finger reaches out.

"All right, Fifty-Fif-"

The bell rings…

“…Uh… I’ll get it…”

The door slips open…

“Hell-OH… My God…”

“Hey honey…”[/orange]

A golden gleam appears across Katie’s face.

Reflected off an object…

Resting on Flynn’s shoulder…

The glow distracting....

From his midnight black eyes...

“Got something for you…”]]> <![CDATA[The Mystery: Part IV (Rest In Peace)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13075 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 11:17:06 -0700 Great Buzzard Eli James IV]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13075 My ears. I couldn't believe what I just heard come out his mouth. His two sisters looked frightened as if they were talking to the Devil himself. He was just another person. I'm sure he's just really pissed I'm fucking his two sisters, I mean, who wouldn't be upset? I've heard he likes to play mind games and talk in riddles. I suppose it won't hurt to play along to this. As soon as we're done, I'm going to fuck his two sisters again.

"It's not difficult Eli to figure out this so called mystery of yours. You can scare everyone else with your eerie speeches and the way you carry yourself. It's smoke and mirrors. It's all it is. I see through it. I'll play your little game, if that's what you want. So, you want to hear me solving this case?"

"Like I said.. your life is riding on you solving it."

This guy has no idea I have a gun nearby. I wish he would try something, then this case [i]would be over.[/i]

"You never died. You had a body double. You dressed someone like yourself and made people think you were dead. That, or you just had a way to breathe underground."

"And me knowin' about your dream?"

"A lucky guess."

"Heh. I take it you don't believe in the miraculous, do you detective Ed Cantrell?"

"No. I don't. At least, not in the sense you would say. I don't believe in God, creator, or whatever it is you call it. I believe we are here by an explosion. You would call it the big bang theory. I call it reality."

"I'm not here to make ya a believer out of my words. I'm here to show you what a mystery is."

"What the hell do you mean?"

"Your kind always makes me laugh, man. Even some of the great minds can't say what you just did. They tell me you cannot prove there is or isn't a God, it's just unlikely. There's a mystery far behind your mind. It's not about a million years ago or a million years into the future. It's about right now. Where you are at this very moment. The past.. you can't go back and press play to watch it. It's just all memories tucked inside your mind, man. The future is just guesses and hopeful planning. You can look at cases of the past and because they were solved... this one could be too. Every once in a while you'll have a case that goes under the term mystery. Death. Murder. Missing person. There's no one around to talk about it anymore. What do ya do when the mystery goes unsolved but there's still a few around to talk about it."

"You don't make any sense."

"You're not going to solve me. I want you to solve the missing child. Time is ticking... make your life count."

"The missing child was just a dream."

Eli reaches in his pocket, and the detective thinks he's about to pull out a weapon to he quickly reaches for his gun. The girls scream. Eli pulls out a folded piece of paper and looks at detective Ed.

"It's a piece of paper. So, you are afraid of me? Hehehe."

Eli starts to unfold it as detective Ed slowly places his gun on the bed in front of him. He holds it out for Ed to see.

"It's the missing child."

"This was the newspaper article when the police announced they were done with the investigation. Are you sure it was a dream great detective?"

"I don't understand. I.. I woke up. It wasn't real."

"I want you to ask Sarah and Rachel... when they dug up my coffin.. and opened it.. ask them what they saw."

Both Rachel and Sarah's eyes begin to water.

"They told me they saw a note from you. Right, girls?"

"They told you only what pertained to their case. They didn't offer you details about what they were wearing, or the temperature of the day, did they?"

"Wha.. wha.. what else was there? WHAT IS HE TALKING ABOUT?!"

"Tell him."

"We.. we saw a body of a y-young..."

Both girls begin to cry uncontrollably. Detective Ed covers his face in his hands.

"You gave those parents hope, and you were so busy thinking about what you were going to get from that case and this case you missed evidence. A selfish detective.. blind. This is why you are a failure."

"But I.."

"Here's your chance to make it right, detective. Solve it. Right now."

"Nothing makes sense!"

"In case you didn't connect the dots.. the missing child was indeed real.. and her body was in my grave."

"But why?"

"The detective can't figure it out, huh? The parents live in a place I own. It's secure. They left their child in the mall on purpose. You think they cared about their own? Nah, man. It's the evil in you. Evil rests in everyone. With some it just grows. A little white lie... a stolen piece of gum.. 15 miles over the speed limit.. just a few small things here and there.. but it grows. Whatever you feed will grow, man. You feed the darkness in ya.. then expect the darkness to win the war. No matter what, though, man.. the war goes on until ya die. These parents were tired of hearing the kid cry. Complaining. Yelling. Screaming. They were selfish. The child wasn't planned. They didn't want any. They chose to come to a secure place so they wouldn't look suspicious. They showed everyone here for years how much they adored their child. It was a long plan. It worked. The child was abandoned."

"So you killed the child?"

"No. The child didn't think their parents would just leave, so they found their way back home. The parents heard the noise. They went outside for a jog and there the child was. They murdered their own. They through it in the bushes several miles away. I saw it. I picked up the child and put it in a proper grave. People look at me as evil.. and behind these eyes lies something far darker than this world could ever know.. but also behind my eyes is a merciful soul. You switched cases.. because you just took too much sleeping pills."

"But, I don't remember taking any pills."

"You drank coffee that was laced with something."

"How do you know?"

"Because I laced it. You were just getting in the way of judgment. I don't like it when people do that. My sisters heard I was alive. I left them notes. I knew they would go to you. It was a matter of time before you all just had one big sinful event. Judgment is already upon the parents.. so it's decided to stay a little bit longer."

"So, where are the pare.."

"HE KILLED THEM!"

"Hehehe. I watched them beg me for mercy. They cried. They confessed. Their child's blood cried out to me for vengeance. I repaid it."

"Please, Eli. We're sorry! Don't."

"He's... You're going to kill us?"

"Rachel. Sarah. You should've listened to the prophecies."

"You don't have to do this! We're sorry!"

"Please, Eli. Please. We're YOUR SISTERS!"

"Ya know.. people like to call me a hick. A country boy. White trash. A hick couldn't plan this."

"Plan what?"

"My sisters have been drinking poison for a long time now. Just enough to slowly destroy their insides. It was perfectly timed."

"What do you mean?"

"The food. The drinks. Everything I gave you was a little taste of judgment that was to come. Judgment doesn't always come sudden. It takes its time. It's a beautiful piece of art. Some of the men you slept with were planned. You were out doing it anyway, I figure I'd have fun. You slept with guys who had all kinds of diseases. You were killing yourselves."

Both sisters start screaming at Eli. Ed looks stunned.

"That means.. oh God."

"God? I thought you didn't believe in God, man. Hehehe. Nah, he won't save you now. His judgment cometh and no cry for help.. no pleading.. no sorrow heart will turn it away."

Ed grabs his gun and points it at Eli quickly.. he pulls the trigger.. but nothing.

"If I gave you medicine, what makes ya think I didn't do other things here? Not a very good detective, are ya?"

Eli looks at the gold watch on his wrist. He taps it a few times and looks back up at the three.

"Well, it's almost time. It's a damn shame. All ya had to do what follow what you were taught, Sarah and Rachel. Everyone must die, and after that, they face the judgment. Today, in your hearing, the scripture has come to pass."

Eli stands up and just looks at the three. They are all in tears. They all have stunned looks upon their faces. Eli pulls out a box of matches from his pocket and lights one. He brings up to his eyes.

"Usually fire isn't literal judgment, but in this case.. it is. Thank you for feeding me."

"What?"

Eli throws a match on the bed and it bursts into flames. It was apparently soaked in gasoline. Eli hears the screams but they are chained to bed thanks to their adventurous sexual fun. Eli grabs a bag of marshmallows and puts one on a stick he had near him. He starts to roast one in the fire.

"S'more's are delicious."

Eli starts to whistle a song that's familiar. Then he starts singing the lyrics.

"We didn't start the fire... It was always burning since the world's been turning... we didn't start the fire.. hehehe."]]> My ears. I couldn't believe what I just heard come out his mouth. His two sisters looked frightened as if they were talking to the Devil himself. He was just another person. I'm sure he's just really pissed I'm fucking his two sisters, I mean, who wouldn't be upset? I've heard he likes to play mind games and talk in riddles. I suppose it won't hurt to play along to this. As soon as we're done, I'm going to fuck his two sisters again.

"It's not difficult Eli to figure out this so called mystery of yours. You can scare everyone else with your eerie speeches and the way you carry yourself. It's smoke and mirrors. It's all it is. I see through it. I'll play your little game, if that's what you want. So, you want to hear me solving this case?"

"Like I said.. your life is riding on you solving it."

This guy has no idea I have a gun nearby. I wish he would try something, then this case [i]would be over.[/i]

"You never died. You had a body double. You dressed someone like yourself and made people think you were dead. That, or you just had a way to breathe underground."

"And me knowin' about your dream?"

"A lucky guess."

"Heh. I take it you don't believe in the miraculous, do you detective Ed Cantrell?"

"No. I don't. At least, not in the sense you would say. I don't believe in God, creator, or whatever it is you call it. I believe we are here by an explosion. You would call it the big bang theory. I call it reality."

"I'm not here to make ya a believer out of my words. I'm here to show you what a mystery is."

"What the hell do you mean?"

"Your kind always makes me laugh, man. Even some of the great minds can't say what you just did. They tell me you cannot prove there is or isn't a God, it's just unlikely. There's a mystery far behind your mind. It's not about a million years ago or a million years into the future. It's about right now. Where you are at this very moment. The past.. you can't go back and press play to watch it. It's just all memories tucked inside your mind, man. The future is just guesses and hopeful planning. You can look at cases of the past and because they were solved... this one could be too. Every once in a while you'll have a case that goes under the term mystery. Death. Murder. Missing person. There's no one around to talk about it anymore. What do ya do when the mystery goes unsolved but there's still a few around to talk about it."

"You don't make any sense."

"You're not going to solve me. I want you to solve the missing child. Time is ticking... make your life count."

"The missing child was just a dream."

Eli reaches in his pocket, and the detective thinks he's about to pull out a weapon to he quickly reaches for his gun. The girls scream. Eli pulls out a folded piece of paper and looks at detective Ed.

"It's a piece of paper. So, you are afraid of me? Hehehe."

Eli starts to unfold it as detective Ed slowly places his gun on the bed in front of him. He holds it out for Ed to see.

"It's the missing child."

"This was the newspaper article when the police announced they were done with the investigation. Are you sure it was a dream great detective?"

"I don't understand. I.. I woke up. It wasn't real."

"I want you to ask Sarah and Rachel... when they dug up my coffin.. and opened it.. ask them what they saw."

Both Rachel and Sarah's eyes begin to water.

"They told me they saw a note from you. Right, girls?"

"They told you only what pertained to their case. They didn't offer you details about what they were wearing, or the temperature of the day, did they?"

"Wha.. wha.. what else was there? WHAT IS HE TALKING ABOUT?!"

"Tell him."

"We.. we saw a body of a y-young..."

Both girls begin to cry uncontrollably. Detective Ed covers his face in his hands.

"You gave those parents hope, and you were so busy thinking about what you were going to get from that case and this case you missed evidence. A selfish detective.. blind. This is why you are a failure."

"But I.."

"Here's your chance to make it right, detective. Solve it. Right now."

"Nothing makes sense!"

"In case you didn't connect the dots.. the missing child was indeed real.. and her body was in my grave."

"But why?"

"The detective can't figure it out, huh? The parents live in a place I own. It's secure. They left their child in the mall on purpose. You think they cared about their own? Nah, man. It's the evil in you. Evil rests in everyone. With some it just grows. A little white lie... a stolen piece of gum.. 15 miles over the speed limit.. just a few small things here and there.. but it grows. Whatever you feed will grow, man. You feed the darkness in ya.. then expect the darkness to win the war. No matter what, though, man.. the war goes on until ya die. These parents were tired of hearing the kid cry. Complaining. Yelling. Screaming. They were selfish. The child wasn't planned. They didn't want any. They chose to come to a secure place so they wouldn't look suspicious. They showed everyone here for years how much they adored their child. It was a long plan. It worked. The child was abandoned."

"So you killed the child?"

"No. The child didn't think their parents would just leave, so they found their way back home. The parents heard the noise. They went outside for a jog and there the child was. They murdered their own. They through it in the bushes several miles away. I saw it. I picked up the child and put it in a proper grave. People look at me as evil.. and behind these eyes lies something far darker than this world could ever know.. but also behind my eyes is a merciful soul. You switched cases.. because you just took too much sleeping pills."

"But, I don't remember taking any pills."

"You drank coffee that was laced with something."

"How do you know?"

"Because I laced it. You were just getting in the way of judgment. I don't like it when people do that. My sisters heard I was alive. I left them notes. I knew they would go to you. It was a matter of time before you all just had one big sinful event. Judgment is already upon the parents.. so it's decided to stay a little bit longer."

"So, where are the pare.."

"HE KILLED THEM!"

"Hehehe. I watched them beg me for mercy. They cried. They confessed. Their child's blood cried out to me for vengeance. I repaid it."

"Please, Eli. We're sorry! Don't."

"He's... You're going to kill us?"

"Rachel. Sarah. You should've listened to the prophecies."

"You don't have to do this! We're sorry!"

"Please, Eli. Please. We're YOUR SISTERS!"

"Ya know.. people like to call me a hick. A country boy. White trash. A hick couldn't plan this."

"Plan what?"

"My sisters have been drinking poison for a long time now. Just enough to slowly destroy their insides. It was perfectly timed."

"What do you mean?"

"The food. The drinks. Everything I gave you was a little taste of judgment that was to come. Judgment doesn't always come sudden. It takes its time. It's a beautiful piece of art. Some of the men you slept with were planned. You were out doing it anyway, I figure I'd have fun. You slept with guys who had all kinds of diseases. You were killing yourselves."

Both sisters start screaming at Eli. Ed looks stunned.

"That means.. oh God."

"God? I thought you didn't believe in God, man. Hehehe. Nah, he won't save you now. His judgment cometh and no cry for help.. no pleading.. no sorrow heart will turn it away."

Ed grabs his gun and points it at Eli quickly.. he pulls the trigger.. but nothing.

"If I gave you medicine, what makes ya think I didn't do other things here? Not a very good detective, are ya?"

Eli looks at the gold watch on his wrist. He taps it a few times and looks back up at the three.

"Well, it's almost time. It's a damn shame. All ya had to do what follow what you were taught, Sarah and Rachel. Everyone must die, and after that, they face the judgment. Today, in your hearing, the scripture has come to pass."

Eli stands up and just looks at the three. They are all in tears. They all have stunned looks upon their faces. Eli pulls out a box of matches from his pocket and lights one. He brings up to his eyes.

"Usually fire isn't literal judgment, but in this case.. it is. Thank you for feeding me."

"What?"

Eli throws a match on the bed and it bursts into flames. It was apparently soaked in gasoline. Eli hears the screams but they are chained to bed thanks to their adventurous sexual fun. Eli grabs a bag of marshmallows and puts one on a stick he had near him. He starts to roast one in the fire.

"S'more's are delicious."

Eli starts to whistle a song that's familiar. Then he starts singing the lyrics.

"We didn't start the fire... It was always burning since the world's been turning... we didn't start the fire.. hehehe."]]> <![CDATA[Key to Glory!]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13098 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 09:40:43 -0700 Joey Hawkins]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13098
Now, as I have watched some old tapes, I think I know what's up. See Mr.XWF can brag as long as wants but when I heavy heat his ass, and then go for a three count, he'd better shut up. See I know what's gonna happen. I will win the title, and then all these bitches will come after me for it. Bobby Zi, Mr.XWF, Mastermind, Waylon, and maybe even that absolute asshole, Jerry Daniels will want a shot. And you know what, I'll give them a shot. And they will all just crumble, like cookies in milk.

Cameraman: You know your opponents are talking bad about you, right?

I know that, and those assholes can say whatever the hell they want, but when I win, they will be sorry.

Cameraman: Well, Mastermind said you're not in his league.

I dont give a shit, he's a fucking idiot anyway. Bobby Zi is in my league, and he's a champion. So basically he's saying a champion is not in his league. What a !

Also, Mr. XWF said i'm confused. He can fuck off as well. Basically, i'm taking that title, and MR.XWShit and Tinymind can't do anything to stop me]]>
Now, as I have watched some old tapes, I think I know what's up. See Mr.XWF can brag as long as wants but when I heavy heat his ass, and then go for a three count, he'd better shut up. See I know what's gonna happen. I will win the title, and then all these bitches will come after me for it. Bobby Zi, Mr.XWF, Mastermind, Waylon, and maybe even that absolute asshole, Jerry Daniels will want a shot. And you know what, I'll give them a shot. And they will all just crumble, like cookies in milk.

Cameraman: You know your opponents are talking bad about you, right?

I know that, and those assholes can say whatever the hell they want, but when I win, they will be sorry.

Cameraman: Well, Mastermind said you're not in his league.

I dont give a shit, he's a fucking idiot anyway. Bobby Zi is in my league, and he's a champion. So basically he's saying a champion is not in his league. What a !

Also, Mr. XWF said i'm confused. He can fuck off as well. Basically, i'm taking that title, and MR.XWShit and Tinymind can't do anything to stop me]]> <![CDATA[Money Talks, And So Do Entitled Billionaires. They Talk A LOT. (RP #5)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13095 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 09:31:06 -0700 Tony Santos]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13095 Santos: One dollar, two dollar, three dollar, eight dollar, nine dollar, ten dollar, twenty dollar, forty dollar, ninety dollar, one hundred dollar...

The scene opens with Tony Santos laying on a patch of grass outside of Texas Memorial Stadium. To be exact, Tony finds himself laying on a patch of grass sitting in the middle of East 23rd Street, a roundabout street nestled between the F. Loren Winship Drama Building, which houses the Department of Theatre and Dance, and the Laboratory Theatre Building, along with other disciplines of the fine arts. To the west, the famous (and infamous) University of Texas Tower looms, while the rafters of Texas Memorial Stadium quietly watch over Tony from the east.

It's an uncomfortably warm Saturday morning in Austin. The streets are devoid of any human life, and the streets are silent. This is partially due to there being no UT students buzzing from class to class (or to a Saturday football game), but also due to the lack of any breeze to cool down the warm sidewalks and sway the trees. Tony, a man not quite so fond of warm weather, is laying on this patch of grass partially to get away from the dumpy Days Inn and their suspect tenants down the road, but also because he just dropped his body down like a rock and refused to move after realizing how incredibly uncomfortable this city is for a New Englander with a love of winter.

The counting that you see Tony doing involves his flipping of imaginary dollar bills, his left hand holding the "stack" of money while his index finger and thumb gently clasp each bill, flipping them over as they move to the next. His eyes fixated on the imaginary money in front of him, as his new knuckle tattoo glistens against the sunlight. What exactly does it say?

Dog Loves

When his right and left hands are folded in to fists, then brought together, the writing can be seen as clear as day, and yes, it's a play on "God Loves."

As Tony continues to count, he notices the camera floating about five feet from his face. He quickly folds up the imaginary money and jams it in to his pocket.

Santos: Oh! You surprised me, Mr. Cameraman! I was just, um, well, you know. I was, counting my spending money for the, erm, for dinner. It's just a modest sum, you know. Like, well, okay, it's a lot of money... I can't lie. It extends to the hundreds, no, thousands, no, millions, no, billions, no...

Trillions of dollars! I'm a trillionaire, Mr. Cameraman! But don't tell pitiful ol' Billionaire Theo Pryce that. No no, he might get jealous. Just like he's about to be jealous by the even more clever name that I've come up with for him. See, he of the ever expanding wit managed to muster up just enough brainpower to take my initials and call me... Toilet Swirlie! Get it? My name is Tony Santos, and I had my head stuffed in a shit filled toilet by Sid Feder!

Toilet Swirlie! Theo better start printing those fucking t-shirts now before some crafty entrepreneur out in Bangladesh gets his human slaves working on them for 16 hours a day in a sweatshop bound to collapse and kill impoverished mothers, grandmothers, and toddlers already working full-time. Third world countries work on borrowed time and lax regulations, so they take ideas and run with them faster than they run away from an infrastructural tragedy that takes out their entire workforce, who just so happen to make about as much money as a teenager working ten minutes at McDonald's...

...or the equivalent value of a Theo Pryce promo.

Oh, hot damn, Mr. Cameraman, this hot Texas weather is really putting me in the mood to roast that fat, entitled pig in flames hotter than the sands of the Sahara! I wanna shut good ol' Twat Pooper...

See what I did there?? Twat Pooper! Theo Pryce = Twat Pooper! I'm on Billionaire Fuckbag's level now, and it feels good! I already feel worthy of my own shady government contracting business, where I too can become incredibly wealthy selling shady products and depleting the taxpayers of getting any real value for their money, all while covering up my lack of any true, viable business model or actual cash flow by utilizing shady accounting practices, thus upping my stock price and increasing my own net worth!

Tony smiles as he waves his index finger at the cameraman.

Santos: But I still wouldn't be on Theo's level, now would I? No, I most certainly would not. Why, you may ask? Because, Theo's got something that a lot of one-percenters don't like to admit that they've benefited from: luck.

Even if, after so many crafty burns constructed with halfwit insults and third grade logic, that success that I talked about? That still would have been my own success. Theo Pryce wasn't even intelligent enough to build this empire that he stands so proudly on top of on his own. No, no, his father made this possible. Theo just happened to be created in the right ballsack. He shot out of his wealthy, corrupt father's dick, conquered the vagina that so many other fully developed humans have likely conquered, and made his way in to the world served on a silver platter.

That is what made Theo Pryce who he is today. Not his own hard work, but that of his father. And Theo knows this. Why do we know that he knows this? Because, despite being wealthier than seemingly the entire African continent, he wrestles. It wasn't enough for him to travel the world as some hotshot, impressing people with his business acumen and ability to recite a mediocre poop joke. No, no... Theo Pryce came to the XWF to make his own name. He felt inadequate... as if he wasn't properly carrying on the Pryce legacy... as if he was the middle man in a shady, generational drug deal, simply passing the briefcase from the buyer to the supplier, all while pocketing his own, undeserved cut.

So, here he is! Theo Pryce, conqueror of the XWF! He's been The King! He's now the Television Champ! He was a proud member of The Black Circle, hanging amongst the likes of John Madison, Shane , Luca Arzegotti, and Mr. Satellite/Supernova/[Insert New Name in Two Months]! He's certainly made his mark here. Certainly more than I, poor Toilet Swirlie, has...

Or has he?

See, Theo won the King's crown by taking it from someone who had helped lead him to the Promised Land in the first place: John Madison. He reached the top by enticing John and Co. with his manufactured "success," and he took the title when ever so easily placed in the main event by the powers that be... the same powers that be that controlled the XWF.

Hey, good for him, but it sure as hell doesn't help him shine in the way he wants us all to believe. His reign as King started as, and was as full of, shit as the grave that he buried John Madison in...

Oh, and I main evented that same event...

Tony pulls out the same imaginary dollar bills that he had been playing with previously. He transfers the dollar bills from his left hand to his right. He grasps the pile tightly, then waves them at the cameraman.

Santos: See these, Theo? These aren't real. They're phony. Completely imaginary. Contrived only in my own, booze-addled mind. They have no real value. I can't walk in to a store, drop down a stack of one trillion dollars, and purchase whatever I want. It doesn't work that way. The clerk would look at me funny and tell me that I need to give real money... things with real value... value recognized by the outside world.

And that's exactly what you're devoid of... any real value. Your existence has been a privileged, glorified sham. A sham created by your father and passed on to you. Just like Enron built their Crooked E empire on the basis of a sham, so have you. There is nothing tangible or real about what you have done. Not what you sell, and not how you came about selling it. You just parade around toys that you've purchased from work that you didn't earn...

Just like you parade around similar toys that you have not earned in the XWF. My legacy in the XWF? Do you want to know what that is? What I've done in my 13 months in this company? I've fought for titles that I, a drunken, idiotic 20-something, earned through the respect that I've garnered in this company. I haven't attached myself to people better than me to get to prime spots against the likes of John Madison, Eli James, Egyptian Snow Pharaoh, and Mr. Spacedouchebag. I got there because when I bark, I ensure that a bite soon follows. And when I bite, I tear through flesh and make sure I leave with a piece of my opponent. I've won Superstar of the Month, main-evented some of the bigger matches that this place has run in the past year, and come this god damn close to taking this company over with my own, cracked and battered hands... only to let the power of the bottle get to me first.

See, Theo, this is who I am. A drunk with a child who doesn't know who I am. A drunk whose father was also an alcoholic. A mother who hates him. A sister who's embarrassed to even associate with him. I travel the country with this company, staying at one-star hotels with cigarette burns in the pillows, shit stains on the toilet seat, and used condoms laying on the television. I've made more bad decisions in a weekend than most people consider making in a year. And I've won one title belt, only to lose it a fucking week-and-a-half later.

But that was mine. The respect I've garnered... has been mine. People mention my name as a guy they want to face... or don't want to face... but the name of Tony Fucking Santos echoes through those arena hallways week after week. When I come to play, I make damn sure my opponent remembers my fucking name. You hit your opponents with a finisher so cleverly called "Money Talks."

I don't hit them with a gimmick; I hit them with a Final Destination.

See, Theo Pryce, your wit and humor has failed you here. It's going to fail you when we step in to Texas Memorial Stadium at Leap of Faith in the same way that it failed Jon Plex. You're gonna realize, once Steve Davids notices he has a vagina for the first time in his life and runs away to test it out and that ring is ours, that I don't care for appearances. I care for fucking results. And, remember that flame I was talking about roasting your luscious, pink, swine carcass over?

I'm gonna make sure I stuff that shit spewing, over-compensating mouth of yours with a ripe, delicious apple, saving the world any further agony from hearing you attempt to sound witty or impressive while spouting off a piece that would bring Ayn Rand to shame.

Tonight, poor Theo, ain't gonna be your night. Tonight I drop you harder than the NASDAQ after your company's sham crumbles within. Get ready to receive the bitch slapping you have so desperately deserved.

And that will be all yours.

The scene fades to black.]]> Santos: One dollar, two dollar, three dollar, eight dollar, nine dollar, ten dollar, twenty dollar, forty dollar, ninety dollar, one hundred dollar...

The scene opens with Tony Santos laying on a patch of grass outside of Texas Memorial Stadium. To be exact, Tony finds himself laying on a patch of grass sitting in the middle of East 23rd Street, a roundabout street nestled between the F. Loren Winship Drama Building, which houses the Department of Theatre and Dance, and the Laboratory Theatre Building, along with other disciplines of the fine arts. To the west, the famous (and infamous) University of Texas Tower looms, while the rafters of Texas Memorial Stadium quietly watch over Tony from the east.

It's an uncomfortably warm Saturday morning in Austin. The streets are devoid of any human life, and the streets are silent. This is partially due to there being no UT students buzzing from class to class (or to a Saturday football game), but also due to the lack of any breeze to cool down the warm sidewalks and sway the trees. Tony, a man not quite so fond of warm weather, is laying on this patch of grass partially to get away from the dumpy Days Inn and their suspect tenants down the road, but also because he just dropped his body down like a rock and refused to move after realizing how incredibly uncomfortable this city is for a New Englander with a love of winter.

The counting that you see Tony doing involves his flipping of imaginary dollar bills, his left hand holding the "stack" of money while his index finger and thumb gently clasp each bill, flipping them over as they move to the next. His eyes fixated on the imaginary money in front of him, as his new knuckle tattoo glistens against the sunlight. What exactly does it say?

Dog Loves

When his right and left hands are folded in to fists, then brought together, the writing can be seen as clear as day, and yes, it's a play on "God Loves."

As Tony continues to count, he notices the camera floating about five feet from his face. He quickly folds up the imaginary money and jams it in to his pocket.

Santos: Oh! You surprised me, Mr. Cameraman! I was just, um, well, you know. I was, counting my spending money for the, erm, for dinner. It's just a modest sum, you know. Like, well, okay, it's a lot of money... I can't lie. It extends to the hundreds, no, thousands, no, millions, no, billions, no...

Trillions of dollars! I'm a trillionaire, Mr. Cameraman! But don't tell pitiful ol' Billionaire Theo Pryce that. No no, he might get jealous. Just like he's about to be jealous by the even more clever name that I've come up with for him. See, he of the ever expanding wit managed to muster up just enough brainpower to take my initials and call me... Toilet Swirlie! Get it? My name is Tony Santos, and I had my head stuffed in a shit filled toilet by Sid Feder!

Toilet Swirlie! Theo better start printing those fucking t-shirts now before some crafty entrepreneur out in Bangladesh gets his human slaves working on them for 16 hours a day in a sweatshop bound to collapse and kill impoverished mothers, grandmothers, and toddlers already working full-time. Third world countries work on borrowed time and lax regulations, so they take ideas and run with them faster than they run away from an infrastructural tragedy that takes out their entire workforce, who just so happen to make about as much money as a teenager working ten minutes at McDonald's...

...or the equivalent value of a Theo Pryce promo.

Oh, hot damn, Mr. Cameraman, this hot Texas weather is really putting me in the mood to roast that fat, entitled pig in flames hotter than the sands of the Sahara! I wanna shut good ol' Twat Pooper...

See what I did there?? Twat Pooper! Theo Pryce = Twat Pooper! I'm on Billionaire Fuckbag's level now, and it feels good! I already feel worthy of my own shady government contracting business, where I too can become incredibly wealthy selling shady products and depleting the taxpayers of getting any real value for their money, all while covering up my lack of any true, viable business model or actual cash flow by utilizing shady accounting practices, thus upping my stock price and increasing my own net worth!

Tony smiles as he waves his index finger at the cameraman.

Santos: But I still wouldn't be on Theo's level, now would I? No, I most certainly would not. Why, you may ask? Because, Theo's got something that a lot of one-percenters don't like to admit that they've benefited from: luck.

Even if, after so many crafty burns constructed with halfwit insults and third grade logic, that success that I talked about? That still would have been my own success. Theo Pryce wasn't even intelligent enough to build this empire that he stands so proudly on top of on his own. No, no, his father made this possible. Theo just happened to be created in the right ballsack. He shot out of his wealthy, corrupt father's dick, conquered the vagina that so many other fully developed humans have likely conquered, and made his way in to the world served on a silver platter.

That is what made Theo Pryce who he is today. Not his own hard work, but that of his father. And Theo knows this. Why do we know that he knows this? Because, despite being wealthier than seemingly the entire African continent, he wrestles. It wasn't enough for him to travel the world as some hotshot, impressing people with his business acumen and ability to recite a mediocre poop joke. No, no... Theo Pryce came to the XWF to make his own name. He felt inadequate... as if he wasn't properly carrying on the Pryce legacy... as if he was the middle man in a shady, generational drug deal, simply passing the briefcase from the buyer to the supplier, all while pocketing his own, undeserved cut.

So, here he is! Theo Pryce, conqueror of the XWF! He's been The King! He's now the Television Champ! He was a proud member of The Black Circle, hanging amongst the likes of John Madison, Shane , Luca Arzegotti, and Mr. Satellite/Supernova/[Insert New Name in Two Months]! He's certainly made his mark here. Certainly more than I, poor Toilet Swirlie, has...

Or has he?

See, Theo won the King's crown by taking it from someone who had helped lead him to the Promised Land in the first place: John Madison. He reached the top by enticing John and Co. with his manufactured "success," and he took the title when ever so easily placed in the main event by the powers that be... the same powers that be that controlled the XWF.

Hey, good for him, but it sure as hell doesn't help him shine in the way he wants us all to believe. His reign as King started as, and was as full of, shit as the grave that he buried John Madison in...

Oh, and I main evented that same event...

Tony pulls out the same imaginary dollar bills that he had been playing with previously. He transfers the dollar bills from his left hand to his right. He grasps the pile tightly, then waves them at the cameraman.

Santos: See these, Theo? These aren't real. They're phony. Completely imaginary. Contrived only in my own, booze-addled mind. They have no real value. I can't walk in to a store, drop down a stack of one trillion dollars, and purchase whatever I want. It doesn't work that way. The clerk would look at me funny and tell me that I need to give real money... things with real value... value recognized by the outside world.

And that's exactly what you're devoid of... any real value. Your existence has been a privileged, glorified sham. A sham created by your father and passed on to you. Just like Enron built their Crooked E empire on the basis of a sham, so have you. There is nothing tangible or real about what you have done. Not what you sell, and not how you came about selling it. You just parade around toys that you've purchased from work that you didn't earn...

Just like you parade around similar toys that you have not earned in the XWF. My legacy in the XWF? Do you want to know what that is? What I've done in my 13 months in this company? I've fought for titles that I, a drunken, idiotic 20-something, earned through the respect that I've garnered in this company. I haven't attached myself to people better than me to get to prime spots against the likes of John Madison, Eli James, Egyptian Snow Pharaoh, and Mr. Spacedouchebag. I got there because when I bark, I ensure that a bite soon follows. And when I bite, I tear through flesh and make sure I leave with a piece of my opponent. I've won Superstar of the Month, main-evented some of the bigger matches that this place has run in the past year, and come this god damn close to taking this company over with my own, cracked and battered hands... only to let the power of the bottle get to me first.

See, Theo, this is who I am. A drunk with a child who doesn't know who I am. A drunk whose father was also an alcoholic. A mother who hates him. A sister who's embarrassed to even associate with him. I travel the country with this company, staying at one-star hotels with cigarette burns in the pillows, shit stains on the toilet seat, and used condoms laying on the television. I've made more bad decisions in a weekend than most people consider making in a year. And I've won one title belt, only to lose it a fucking week-and-a-half later.

But that was mine. The respect I've garnered... has been mine. People mention my name as a guy they want to face... or don't want to face... but the name of Tony Fucking Santos echoes through those arena hallways week after week. When I come to play, I make damn sure my opponent remembers my fucking name. You hit your opponents with a finisher so cleverly called "Money Talks."

I don't hit them with a gimmick; I hit them with a Final Destination.

See, Theo Pryce, your wit and humor has failed you here. It's going to fail you when we step in to Texas Memorial Stadium at Leap of Faith in the same way that it failed Jon Plex. You're gonna realize, once Steve Davids notices he has a vagina for the first time in his life and runs away to test it out and that ring is ours, that I don't care for appearances. I care for fucking results. And, remember that flame I was talking about roasting your luscious, pink, swine carcass over?

I'm gonna make sure I stuff that shit spewing, over-compensating mouth of yours with a ripe, delicious apple, saving the world any further agony from hearing you attempt to sound witty or impressive while spouting off a piece that would bring Ayn Rand to shame.

Tonight, poor Theo, ain't gonna be your night. Tonight I drop you harder than the NASDAQ after your company's sham crumbles within. Get ready to receive the bitch slapping you have so desperately deserved.

And that will be all yours.

The scene fades to black.]]> <![CDATA[SUDDEN APPEARANCE]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13092 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 08:43:12 -0700 Bobby Charles]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13092 Bobby laughs and says ‘’ahh yeah,for sure and Glad to hear it from you haha , any way, I'm here to read you a story, so just listen up..It's called,'One pin, Two pin, Three pin-- I win!'and I wrote it. I hope you like it..‘’
Bobby sat in the teacher's reading chair, while childrens looked at him with their undivided attention,zi began to read.

In the locker room I sit
Wrap my fists up, so I can hit
Stretch my muscles, Damn! I'm fit!
I say your name before I spit:
up in the ladder here it goes
Off to face another foes..
they can't beat me, that I know
Ama prove it, am gonna show.
My music hits and I'm alive: I'm the champ that's why I strive:
This one match, you all aint survive
For you this win, I will deprive
I climb the ropes, I hit the ring
Haters fear me ‘’Here comes the king‘’
I'm the coolest man I know
Other than that sucka joey: I'm the man who runs the show
I'm the man who'll lay you low
Should I beat ’em on a dare?
Should I beat ’em with a chair?
I'll just beat ’em, this I swear..
Did they think I was a joke?: Did they think that I would choke?
No Joke. Won't choke
Just a fire that they will stoke
In the end they'll just see smoke
Stop me, stop me if you will
It can be your greatest thrill
To come at me, to match my skill
But I'll just make you lay down still
With the crusher that I hit: If them lucky there skull won't split
They know this time they in deep shit
From tha mouth, them blood will spit
I pin all to the mat and then
The ref begins to count again
The match is done,you say 'again?':
You know you couldn't top me then
From the ring, back up the ramp
I am still the newchamp
Then after I hit the showers,then back I go to hotel towers
To party through the small hours
To celebrate my damn great powers..
THE END

the children just stared at him, not saying a word. The teacher, thanks him, and walks him to the door. As he goes through, he hears the first child begin to cry, then another.: As he walks out of the school, with his title in his hand. He can't figure out where he went wrong.: "fucking dummy american breeds--" zi murmurs... ]]> Bobby laughs and says ‘’ahh yeah,for sure and Glad to hear it from you haha , any way, I'm here to read you a story, so just listen up..It's called,'One pin, Two pin, Three pin-- I win!'and I wrote it. I hope you like it..‘’
Bobby sat in the teacher's reading chair, while childrens looked at him with their undivided attention,zi began to read.

In the locker room I sit
Wrap my fists up, so I can hit
Stretch my muscles, Damn! I'm fit!
I say your name before I spit:
up in the ladder here it goes
Off to face another foes..
they can't beat me, that I know
Ama prove it, am gonna show.
My music hits and I'm alive: I'm the champ that's why I strive:
This one match, you all aint survive
For you this win, I will deprive
I climb the ropes, I hit the ring
Haters fear me ‘’Here comes the king‘’
I'm the coolest man I know
Other than that sucka joey: I'm the man who runs the show
I'm the man who'll lay you low
Should I beat ’em on a dare?
Should I beat ’em with a chair?
I'll just beat ’em, this I swear..
Did they think I was a joke?: Did they think that I would choke?
No Joke. Won't choke
Just a fire that they will stoke
In the end they'll just see smoke
Stop me, stop me if you will
It can be your greatest thrill
To come at me, to match my skill
But I'll just make you lay down still
With the crusher that I hit: If them lucky there skull won't split
They know this time they in deep shit
From tha mouth, them blood will spit
I pin all to the mat and then
The ref begins to count again
The match is done,you say 'again?':
You know you couldn't top me then
From the ring, back up the ramp
I am still the newchamp
Then after I hit the showers,then back I go to hotel towers
To party through the small hours
To celebrate my damn great powers..
THE END

the children just stared at him, not saying a word. The teacher, thanks him, and walks him to the door. As he goes through, he hears the first child begin to cry, then another.: As he walks out of the school, with his title in his hand. He can't figure out where he went wrong.: "fucking dummy american breeds--" zi murmurs... ]]> <![CDATA[What Do You Do With a Drunken Sailor?]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13087 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 03:16:12 -0700 Arryn Connolly]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13087
"So, what happened next?"

"What happened next with what?"

"The guy you kidnapped?"

"Oh yeah! Him! Well, let me remember..."

Her voice trailed off without finishing her thought and after a few seconds of silence sans the long held out last syllable of remember, Dr. Marx clears his throat which is just what manages to catch her attention once more. Her eyes dart away from the ceiling and focus on his face; a much rougher than she remembered, though she hadn't had really paid attention any other time until now. Dr. Marx was a peculiar looking man in his mid to late 20's, with a wiry frame, a bowl cut, and stubble that appeared uneven, like he spent too much time with the razor on one side but not the other. Anyone could see that he was a sight for sore eyes and could possibly benefit from some treatment of his own but he was too proud of a man to admit that truth to anyone. And so, painfully oblivious to his own mental defects, Arryn goes back through her head, hoping to find out the next part of the story she was telling.

"So, you said about a guy I kidnapped?"

"Yes..."

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Revolutionary group?"

"Oh right! Now I remember!"

And with that, the tale faded back in.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was just starting to peak out from the buildings by the time the car had pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building Arryn and Joshua lived in and though there was no one outside the idea of dragging a presumed to be uncooperative man through the halls was enough to let their neighbors know something fishy was going down in their place of residence was one they wanted to avoid at all costs. So, the pair sat in the car with their seatbelts on attempting to figure out a solution to the potential problem before it became one.

"I don't get the big deal here. Knock him out and carry him inside. Simple."

"Right and if someone sees me carrying some dude's dead weight around... What do I do then?"

"Hmm, I dunno, lie?"

"What lie can I tell them?"

"He's a friend who got piss drunk, got in a fight and got the shit kicked outta him? C'mon this is Boston that shit happens all the time!"

"Fuck it. I ain't got nothing better."

"So let's do this."

With that both of them pushed open their doors and stepped out of the car, making their way to the trunk where their new guest was currently scrunched up in the fetal position with a bleeding nose on account of being pistol whipped. The gun sat in Arryn's waistband, itching to be used again either as a blunt object for bashing or for its intended purpose. Joshua, formerly squinting to account for the stray beams of the morning sun pressed the button on his set of keys that popped the trunk open and revealed to both of them and only them the struggling, writhing body of the newly awakened spokesman. Before he could even think to scream Arryn pulled the pistol and beat him over the head with the grip until he couldn't thrash about any more. Then, she waited as Joshua pulled the dead weight out of the trunk and slung him over his shoulder, keeping her hand on the trunk's door the whole time. Once the man was out and his everything cleared from the gap, she slammed the trunk closed and turned to face her building.

"Ah, home sweet home."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. You take him in, I'll get the money."

"Shit, good looking out!"

Joshua tossed the keys to her and made his way towards the building's front entrance as Arryn walked over to the backseat of the car, pulled open the door on the passenger's side and picked the briefcase up off the car's floor. Dusting it off, she pulled it out and slammed the door shut before likewise walking towards their place in hopes that this one success would balance out the hostage. And a few minutes later, she'd get her answer.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!"

The voice of Marcus Perkins screamed as Arryn tried to explain to him the situation.

"So, we just take this guy as a hostage and then what? Extort them for more money?"

"No! That'd utterly . We don't tell them we have him at all. We tell them he up and walked away, that we left before he did and the leader's brother was alive when we left. Make it look like he turned on them or something."

"And what about the guy? We just supposed to keep him here?"

"For the time being, yeah. The way I see it, we wait around a bit, when they can't find him we offer to look for him, kill him and bring his body right to their doorstep. Boom. Done. Case closed."

"Yeah, but what about the money they're out or the guns they think he has?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Marcus, clearly a little unnerved began to pace around the small little room of the apartment, where three mattresses strewn across the floor made up the sleeping quarters for 75% of the household. As a matter of fact; all this pacing was the most exercise the pudgy man had gotten in months so the antics of his two underlings (more or less) had at least one positive effect on him, even if everything else was generally negative. Finally, he stopped pacing and turned to his two colleagues and the unconscious man next to them.

"So, do we call them or... ?"

"No, we wait. Play like we thought everything went smooth."

"Alright fine. But now it looks like we got another problem."

"What?"

"Looks like our guest is waking up."]]>
"So, what happened next?"

"What happened next with what?"

"The guy you kidnapped?"

"Oh yeah! Him! Well, let me remember..."

Her voice trailed off without finishing her thought and after a few seconds of silence sans the long held out last syllable of remember, Dr. Marx clears his throat which is just what manages to catch her attention once more. Her eyes dart away from the ceiling and focus on his face; a much rougher than she remembered, though she hadn't had really paid attention any other time until now. Dr. Marx was a peculiar looking man in his mid to late 20's, with a wiry frame, a bowl cut, and stubble that appeared uneven, like he spent too much time with the razor on one side but not the other. Anyone could see that he was a sight for sore eyes and could possibly benefit from some treatment of his own but he was too proud of a man to admit that truth to anyone. And so, painfully oblivious to his own mental defects, Arryn goes back through her head, hoping to find out the next part of the story she was telling.

"So, you said about a guy I kidnapped?"

"Yes..."

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Revolutionary group?"

"Oh right! Now I remember!"

And with that, the tale faded back in.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was just starting to peak out from the buildings by the time the car had pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building Arryn and Joshua lived in and though there was no one outside the idea of dragging a presumed to be uncooperative man through the halls was enough to let their neighbors know something fishy was going down in their place of residence was one they wanted to avoid at all costs. So, the pair sat in the car with their seatbelts on attempting to figure out a solution to the potential problem before it became one.

"I don't get the big deal here. Knock him out and carry him inside. Simple."

"Right and if someone sees me carrying some dude's dead weight around... What do I do then?"

"Hmm, I dunno, lie?"

"What lie can I tell them?"

"He's a friend who got piss drunk, got in a fight and got the shit kicked outta him? C'mon this is Boston that shit happens all the time!"

"Fuck it. I ain't got nothing better."

"So let's do this."

With that both of them pushed open their doors and stepped out of the car, making their way to the trunk where their new guest was currently scrunched up in the fetal position with a bleeding nose on account of being pistol whipped. The gun sat in Arryn's waistband, itching to be used again either as a blunt object for bashing or for its intended purpose. Joshua, formerly squinting to account for the stray beams of the morning sun pressed the button on his set of keys that popped the trunk open and revealed to both of them and only them the struggling, writhing body of the newly awakened spokesman. Before he could even think to scream Arryn pulled the pistol and beat him over the head with the grip until he couldn't thrash about any more. Then, she waited as Joshua pulled the dead weight out of the trunk and slung him over his shoulder, keeping her hand on the trunk's door the whole time. Once the man was out and his everything cleared from the gap, she slammed the trunk closed and turned to face her building.

"Ah, home sweet home."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. You take him in, I'll get the money."

"Shit, good looking out!"

Joshua tossed the keys to her and made his way towards the building's front entrance as Arryn walked over to the backseat of the car, pulled open the door on the passenger's side and picked the briefcase up off the car's floor. Dusting it off, she pulled it out and slammed the door shut before likewise walking towards their place in hopes that this one success would balance out the hostage. And a few minutes later, she'd get her answer.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!"

The voice of Marcus Perkins screamed as Arryn tried to explain to him the situation.

"So, we just take this guy as a hostage and then what? Extort them for more money?"

"No! That'd utterly . We don't tell them we have him at all. We tell them he up and walked away, that we left before he did and the leader's brother was alive when we left. Make it look like he turned on them or something."

"And what about the guy? We just supposed to keep him here?"

"For the time being, yeah. The way I see it, we wait around a bit, when they can't find him we offer to look for him, kill him and bring his body right to their doorstep. Boom. Done. Case closed."

"Yeah, but what about the money they're out or the guns they think he has?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Marcus, clearly a little unnerved began to pace around the small little room of the apartment, where three mattresses strewn across the floor made up the sleeping quarters for 75% of the household. As a matter of fact; all this pacing was the most exercise the pudgy man had gotten in months so the antics of his two underlings (more or less) had at least one positive effect on him, even if everything else was generally negative. Finally, he stopped pacing and turned to his two colleagues and the unconscious man next to them.

"So, do we call them or... ?"

"No, we wait. Play like we thought everything went smooth."

"Alright fine. But now it looks like we got another problem."

"What?"

"Looks like our guest is waking up."]]> <![CDATA[Heyman Hustle (tag matchery)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13077 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 02:18:08 -0700 John Msdison 2.Faggot]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13077

I look down at my watch. It reads 11:26. Bastards, they were supposed to be here an hour and a half ago! I've got contracts to sign, bills to pay, and various other admin duties that go unappreciated by my employees. Everyone thinks that I, Paul Heyman, have more than two arms and can magically fix all of the problems here in XWF. Yes, I am the man responsible for Monday Night Madness becoming the flagship show of the XWF. Yes, I guided Brock Lesnar while that was going on and prepared him to become the one to conquer The Undertaker's undefeated streak at Wrestlemania. And yes, I have been working diligently to bring to you the most anticipated for Pay-Per-View in the history of the XWF despite all of the setbacks. Believe me, I was given a HANDFUL of crap to work with when I took on this Pay-Per-View. Crap like Barney Green, Mr. XWF, and Jack Hoff who have no business being on a Paul Heyman show, let alone in the federation. But you see, I, Paul Heyman, am a mastermind at taking flaw and molding it into form. I did it with ECW when I turned an unconventional roster of misfits and drug addicts, and molded them into world renown, household names that fueled the Attitude Era. And wouldn't you know, I've done the same with XWF by turning those same types of rejects into superstars that fans can appreciate. It's no wonder why I was selected to take the lead on the official developmental show of the XWF.


Just think of RTX as the Paul Heyman workshop. It's a place where I can sit down and put my tools to use. I'm down there day and night, whittling and carving away, until I've turned flaw into PERFECTION.


But I don't expect an ounce of gratitude. It's always been the same with you people. All that you ever want from Paul Heyman is more. You want me to come back and fix Borefare; a show that will always rank lower than Madness in every way possible. And Madness; you all want to see Paul Heyman's Madness instead of that goon who runs it now.


Well, I'm not going to give you Paul Heyman's Monday Night Madness or Paul Heyman's Wednesday Warfare. Quite frankly, you don't deserve to have a dose of Paul E.'s genius mind every week. You deserve the crap that they're feeding you right now!


But I will meet you all half-way because I'm that nice of a guy. You want a real Paul Heyman show? You got it! Because Paul Heyman presents LEAP OF FAITH this Saturday!


There's already so much controversy surrounding the show. There's something to talk about in every match from top to bottom. You've got superstars climbing scaffolds and leaping for a briefcase that could make (or end) their careers. You've got the second battle between Sebastian Duke and Azrael Erebus which is one year in the making. And then you've got the Tag Title match where we haven't even named a partner for Peter Gilmour.


I'll be honest with you, this tag team match has my attention more than anything else on the card. I like the whole mystery element that it brings to the table. Is it John Madison, Dimallisher, or Gilmour Classic? This predicament has garnered more attention than any other match on the card, and rightfully so seeing as how I am the mastermind behind it all. More people tune in for Gilmour than any other segment on television. Did you know that a Gilmour match once went head-to-head with the Superbowl and won in the ratings? The man is most watched superstars in the XWF and he doesn't even win that often! That's why when I booked Peter's match, I had to make sure it was something extra special.


Today I meet with the man who will be Peter Gilmour's partner at Leap of Faith...


I'm cut off by my phone. I look down to see who it's from and answer it immediately.


"Yes, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? I've been waiting out here for over an hour now! You do realize that I need to get to Austin in the next day to start setting up the show, right? You're where? Okay, take the next right turn and drive straight, you'll see me in the parking lot. Park your car and meet me in my office!"


Fucking Peter, still gets lost trying to find my office.


I see Peter pull up in his Mercedes convertible. Unbelievable, the guy took a flight here and somehow managed to get his hands on another Mercedes. Does he have a car for every city or something? Once Peter makes eye contact with me from his car, I head into my office and wait.


And wait...


Damn it, Peter. Don't tell me you got lost IN THE PARKING LOT...


I'm beginning to lose my patience with this guy. But just as I'm beginning to stand up, he comes walking in with a wicked smile on his face. Damn it, did I just refer to his smile as wicked? Must be growing onto me.


"Have a seat," I tell Peter as I wipe every trace of iniquity off of my face. I want Peter to feel right at home for this next part.


"Thank you for meeting with me today," I continue as I join him at the round table. "The contract is all ready to go. All you have to do is sign and your match will be made in permanent ink."


"Paul," Peter says in a commanding tone that I shall immediately dismiss. "I don't like you or any of the other GM's playing roulette with my career. I get to make the decisions on my career Paulie, not you or anyone else! I should be choosing my partner since Fromo never pinned me. I should not be here waiting for John Madison, Gilmour Classic and Dimallisher to play Amazing Race to see who will be my partner. If I had it my way, the first one who gets here loses or gets fired. But I'm not the GM and I'm not a fat walrus like yourself! But I digress. By the way, how's Madness doing? Still the B show? And isn't that guy named Ozymandias still the GM? Yeah, good luck getting your show back there Paulie."


"Peter, we're not meeting today to discuss Ozymandias' inability to fill my shoes as a GM. We're here to discuss you. And well, maybe you should have beaten Frodo Smackins if you wanted to pick your partner. You failed in doing so which means that you left me no choice. I was torn between Dimallisher, John Madison, and Gilmour Classic, so I offered the spot to all three of them."


"So lame. Whatever, what do we do now?"


Excellent, I have him right where I want him-- following my lead.


"We wait, Peter. We wait until either John Madison, Gilmour Classic, or The Dimallisher gets here."


I hear someone pull into the parking lot. So does Peter... Shit, I better act quickly.


"Who is it?" Peter yells as he leans out of his chair to see who just pulled in. We both have a clear view from the doorway that faces a window to the parking area. "FUCK IS IT THAT FAKE ASSHOLE GILMOUR CLASSIC!?"


He's about to jump out of his chair and run out there to beat the shit out of Gilmour Classic or whoever it is. That's the last thing I need right now.


"Peter, look! POPPA FEDER!" I say to distract him, pointing to the opposite side of the office.


"Where?!" Peter asks excitedly, jerking his head. That's when I dart out of the room and flip the switch. At the flip of the switch, a metal cage slides down from the doorway and traps Peter inside of the office.


"I've trapped myself a Gilly!"


"WHAT THE FUCK!" screams Peter as he slams into the cage. "Let me out of this at once, you insect! You'll be hearing from my lawyer, you gay walrus!"


Ignoring Peter, I run outside. Sure enough, John Madison has arrived in his rental car with the windshield bashed in and side mirrors hanging down to the side. He stumbles out of the car, reeking of whiskey, like John when exiting any motor vehicle. The guy is actually a dick behind the wheel when he isn't drunk, so I prefer him in this state believe it not. John walks up to me, takes off his shades, and screams the first thing that pops into his head.


"I'm here to sign a contract, bitches!" He says before shattering a glass bottle on the cement.


"Glad you made it, John. You look great! Anyway, I have have the contract all ready to go. All you have to do is sign it and be on your way."


At that moment, I notice that I've lost John Madison's complete attention. What could it be that he's so focused on?


"Oh shit, do you got Peter Gilmour all locked up in that office like an animal?"


"As a matter of fact-"


"I gotta see this!"


What the fuck? It's like I'm taking one of my nieces to the zoo to see the monkey exhibit.


"John, please don't-"


I probably should have thought this part over some more. I don't like where this is going. I follow John into the office where Peter is caged up, hoping that I can do some damage control.


"Peter! You look FUCKED right now! Maria Brink is fat! Rose Smith is a man! You dong worship the devil! You like to fuck other men! Oh man, this is awesome. Why can't Luca be here? He would LOVE this!"


All of a sudden, Luca comes crashing through the ceiling.


"FUCK YOU MADDY!" Peter yells in a fit of rage as he kicks the cage, trying to break through it.


"Damn, Peter. Have I mentioned how gay you look right now? Are you fucking another man inside there?"


John continues to taunt Peter, saying everything he can to rile him up. He moves in close to the cage, and Peter tries to grab after him.


"Paul, let me out of this fucking thing so I can kill this asshole. I'LL RIP HIS FUCKING FACE OFF!"


I ignore Peter's request as I try to take back control of my office. This is getting way out of hand.


"John, can we please move on with the contract signing? You can torture Peter when you guys are the Tag Team Champions."


John decides to take my advice... and shit all over it. He pulls out a crowbar and begins to poke at Peter through the cage. He laughs while Peter continues to rage on. Then I hear the door behind me creep open.


And it's... GILMOUR CLASSIC.


"Hey fags!"


Yep, I've definitely lost all control now.


"I'm here to sign a contract to become the Tag Team Champion!"


Peter loses his mind at this point. He's coming very close to bringing down that steel cage. I probably should have added electricity to it. Then again, nearly every match that Peter's has involves an electrified cage so what good would it have done?


"Fuck you, you fake asshole! Get away from here!"


I watch as John Madison turns his attention to Gilmour Classic. They come face to face right in front of me.


"Hey GC, I see you got your fat back."


Gilmour Classic SPITS in John Madison's face, burying him in a matter of seconds. Oh my shit.


"I see you brought your crowbar with you. Why don't you try shoving it up my ass like you did at the house show? Go ahead, TRY IT! I DARE YOU!"


"FINE I-- Wait, what?"


"YOU HEARD ME, BITCH. TRY TO RAPE ME!"


Gilmour Classic is actually DEMANDING that John Madison attempt to rape him with the crowbar.


"What? NO! STOP!"


In one of the strangest acts that I've ever seen, Gilmour Classic pulls his pants down and begins to chase John Madison while performing the Goatse (bent over, ass cheeks spread) battle stance.


"Stick that crowbar up inside me! Do it!"


"Get away! I don't want to do this anymore!"


Gilmour Classic manages to corner John Madison and then begins to back his bare ass into him! John tries to push GC away with the crowbar, but GC's asshole engulfs the fucking thing like its a vacuum. I have no idea what I should even do at this point. I just watch as it all unfolds in front of me.


Once the crowbar is wedged in there, Gilmour Classic turns around to face John Madison. He then pulls out the crowbar and snaps it in half like he did to Frodo's dick when Frodo raped him in front of the Eye of Sauron! GC tilts his head back and laughs wickedly to the heavens. That laugh; it's so wicked.


"Alright guys, are we done now? Gilmour Classic, you've proven your strength. John Madison, I'll replace your crowbar for you. Let's be civilized about this-"


But before I can finish my sentence A FUCKING POLICE CRUISER WITH BLARING SIREN AND LIGHTS SPEEDS THROUGH THE PARKING LOT AND RUNS OVER GILMOUR CLASSIC! Gilmour Classic goes flying through the air and lands on top of his head, knocking him out. Jesus Christ...


The driver steps out...


It's The Dimallisher.


"I'm here, Peter! I made it!"


[Image: uLCvgPQ.png]
]]>

I look down at my watch. It reads 11:26. Bastards, they were supposed to be here an hour and a half ago! I've got contracts to sign, bills to pay, and various other admin duties that go unappreciated by my employees. Everyone thinks that I, Paul Heyman, have more than two arms and can magically fix all of the problems here in XWF. Yes, I am the man responsible for Monday Night Madness becoming the flagship show of the XWF. Yes, I guided Brock Lesnar while that was going on and prepared him to become the one to conquer The Undertaker's undefeated streak at Wrestlemania. And yes, I have been working diligently to bring to you the most anticipated for Pay-Per-View in the history of the XWF despite all of the setbacks. Believe me, I was given a HANDFUL of crap to work with when I took on this Pay-Per-View. Crap like Barney Green, Mr. XWF, and Jack Hoff who have no business being on a Paul Heyman show, let alone in the federation. But you see, I, Paul Heyman, am a mastermind at taking flaw and molding it into form. I did it with ECW when I turned an unconventional roster of misfits and drug addicts, and molded them into world renown, household names that fueled the Attitude Era. And wouldn't you know, I've done the same with XWF by turning those same types of rejects into superstars that fans can appreciate. It's no wonder why I was selected to take the lead on the official developmental show of the XWF.


Just think of RTX as the Paul Heyman workshop. It's a place where I can sit down and put my tools to use. I'm down there day and night, whittling and carving away, until I've turned flaw into PERFECTION.


But I don't expect an ounce of gratitude. It's always been the same with you people. All that you ever want from Paul Heyman is more. You want me to come back and fix Borefare; a show that will always rank lower than Madness in every way possible. And Madness; you all want to see Paul Heyman's Madness instead of that goon who runs it now.


Well, I'm not going to give you Paul Heyman's Monday Night Madness or Paul Heyman's Wednesday Warfare. Quite frankly, you don't deserve to have a dose of Paul E.'s genius mind every week. You deserve the crap that they're feeding you right now!


But I will meet you all half-way because I'm that nice of a guy. You want a real Paul Heyman show? You got it! Because Paul Heyman presents LEAP OF FAITH this Saturday!


There's already so much controversy surrounding the show. There's something to talk about in every match from top to bottom. You've got superstars climbing scaffolds and leaping for a briefcase that could make (or end) their careers. You've got the second battle between Sebastian Duke and Azrael Erebus which is one year in the making. And then you've got the Tag Title match where we haven't even named a partner for Peter Gilmour.


I'll be honest with you, this tag team match has my attention more than anything else on the card. I like the whole mystery element that it brings to the table. Is it John Madison, Dimallisher, or Gilmour Classic? This predicament has garnered more attention than any other match on the card, and rightfully so seeing as how I am the mastermind behind it all. More people tune in for Gilmour than any other segment on television. Did you know that a Gilmour match once went head-to-head with the Superbowl and won in the ratings? The man is most watched superstars in the XWF and he doesn't even win that often! That's why when I booked Peter's match, I had to make sure it was something extra special.


Today I meet with the man who will be Peter Gilmour's partner at Leap of Faith...


I'm cut off by my phone. I look down to see who it's from and answer it immediately.


"Yes, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? I've been waiting out here for over an hour now! You do realize that I need to get to Austin in the next day to start setting up the show, right? You're where? Okay, take the next right turn and drive straight, you'll see me in the parking lot. Park your car and meet me in my office!"


Fucking Peter, still gets lost trying to find my office.


I see Peter pull up in his Mercedes convertible. Unbelievable, the guy took a flight here and somehow managed to get his hands on another Mercedes. Does he have a car for every city or something? Once Peter makes eye contact with me from his car, I head into my office and wait.


And wait...


Damn it, Peter. Don't tell me you got lost IN THE PARKING LOT...


I'm beginning to lose my patience with this guy. But just as I'm beginning to stand up, he comes walking in with a wicked smile on his face. Damn it, did I just refer to his smile as wicked? Must be growing onto me.


"Have a seat," I tell Peter as I wipe every trace of iniquity off of my face. I want Peter to feel right at home for this next part.


"Thank you for meeting with me today," I continue as I join him at the round table. "The contract is all ready to go. All you have to do is sign and your match will be made in permanent ink."


"Paul," Peter says in a commanding tone that I shall immediately dismiss. "I don't like you or any of the other GM's playing roulette with my career. I get to make the decisions on my career Paulie, not you or anyone else! I should be choosing my partner since Fromo never pinned me. I should not be here waiting for John Madison, Gilmour Classic and Dimallisher to play Amazing Race to see who will be my partner. If I had it my way, the first one who gets here loses or gets fired. But I'm not the GM and I'm not a fat walrus like yourself! But I digress. By the way, how's Madness doing? Still the B show? And isn't that guy named Ozymandias still the GM? Yeah, good luck getting your show back there Paulie."


"Peter, we're not meeting today to discuss Ozymandias' inability to fill my shoes as a GM. We're here to discuss you. And well, maybe you should have beaten Frodo Smackins if you wanted to pick your partner. You failed in doing so which means that you left me no choice. I was torn between Dimallisher, John Madison, and Gilmour Classic, so I offered the spot to all three of them."


"So lame. Whatever, what do we do now?"


Excellent, I have him right where I want him-- following my lead.


"We wait, Peter. We wait until either John Madison, Gilmour Classic, or The Dimallisher gets here."


I hear someone pull into the parking lot. So does Peter... Shit, I better act quickly.


"Who is it?" Peter yells as he leans out of his chair to see who just pulled in. We both have a clear view from the doorway that faces a window to the parking area. "FUCK IS IT THAT FAKE ASSHOLE GILMOUR CLASSIC!?"


He's about to jump out of his chair and run out there to beat the shit out of Gilmour Classic or whoever it is. That's the last thing I need right now.


"Peter, look! POPPA FEDER!" I say to distract him, pointing to the opposite side of the office.


"Where?!" Peter asks excitedly, jerking his head. That's when I dart out of the room and flip the switch. At the flip of the switch, a metal cage slides down from the doorway and traps Peter inside of the office.


"I've trapped myself a Gilly!"


"WHAT THE FUCK!" screams Peter as he slams into the cage. "Let me out of this at once, you insect! You'll be hearing from my lawyer, you gay walrus!"


Ignoring Peter, I run outside. Sure enough, John Madison has arrived in his rental car with the windshield bashed in and side mirrors hanging down to the side. He stumbles out of the car, reeking of whiskey, like John when exiting any motor vehicle. The guy is actually a dick behind the wheel when he isn't drunk, so I prefer him in this state believe it not. John walks up to me, takes off his shades, and screams the first thing that pops into his head.


"I'm here to sign a contract, bitches!" He says before shattering a glass bottle on the cement.


"Glad you made it, John. You look great! Anyway, I have have the contract all ready to go. All you have to do is sign it and be on your way."


At that moment, I notice that I've lost John Madison's complete attention. What could it be that he's so focused on?


"Oh shit, do you got Peter Gilmour all locked up in that office like an animal?"


"As a matter of fact-"


"I gotta see this!"


What the fuck? It's like I'm taking one of my nieces to the zoo to see the monkey exhibit.


"John, please don't-"


I probably should have thought this part over some more. I don't like where this is going. I follow John into the office where Peter is caged up, hoping that I can do some damage control.


"Peter! You look FUCKED right now! Maria Brink is fat! Rose Smith is a man! You dong worship the devil! You like to fuck other men! Oh man, this is awesome. Why can't Luca be here? He would LOVE this!"


All of a sudden, Luca comes crashing through the ceiling.


"FUCK YOU MADDY!" Peter yells in a fit of rage as he kicks the cage, trying to break through it.


"Damn, Peter. Have I mentioned how gay you look right now? Are you fucking another man inside there?"


John continues to taunt Peter, saying everything he can to rile him up. He moves in close to the cage, and Peter tries to grab after him.


"Paul, let me out of this fucking thing so I can kill this asshole. I'LL RIP HIS FUCKING FACE OFF!"


I ignore Peter's request as I try to take back control of my office. This is getting way out of hand.


"John, can we please move on with the contract signing? You can torture Peter when you guys are the Tag Team Champions."


John decides to take my advice... and shit all over it. He pulls out a crowbar and begins to poke at Peter through the cage. He laughs while Peter continues to rage on. Then I hear the door behind me creep open.


And it's... GILMOUR CLASSIC.


"Hey fags!"


Yep, I've definitely lost all control now.


"I'm here to sign a contract to become the Tag Team Champion!"


Peter loses his mind at this point. He's coming very close to bringing down that steel cage. I probably should have added electricity to it. Then again, nearly every match that Peter's has involves an electrified cage so what good would it have done?


"Fuck you, you fake asshole! Get away from here!"


I watch as John Madison turns his attention to Gilmour Classic. They come face to face right in front of me.


"Hey GC, I see you got your fat back."


Gilmour Classic SPITS in John Madison's face, burying him in a matter of seconds. Oh my shit.


"I see you brought your crowbar with you. Why don't you try shoving it up my ass like you did at the house show? Go ahead, TRY IT! I DARE YOU!"


"FINE I-- Wait, what?"


"YOU HEARD ME, BITCH. TRY TO RAPE ME!"


Gilmour Classic is actually DEMANDING that John Madison attempt to rape him with the crowbar.


"What? NO! STOP!"


In one of the strangest acts that I've ever seen, Gilmour Classic pulls his pants down and begins to chase John Madison while performing the Goatse (bent over, ass cheeks spread) battle stance.


"Stick that crowbar up inside me! Do it!"


"Get away! I don't want to do this anymore!"


Gilmour Classic manages to corner John Madison and then begins to back his bare ass into him! John tries to push GC away with the crowbar, but GC's asshole engulfs the fucking thing like its a vacuum. I have no idea what I should even do at this point. I just watch as it all unfolds in front of me.


Once the crowbar is wedged in there, Gilmour Classic turns around to face John Madison. He then pulls out the crowbar and snaps it in half like he did to Frodo's dick when Frodo raped him in front of the Eye of Sauron! GC tilts his head back and laughs wickedly to the heavens. That laugh; it's so wicked.


"Alright guys, are we done now? Gilmour Classic, you've proven your strength. John Madison, I'll replace your crowbar for you. Let's be civilized about this-"


But before I can finish my sentence A FUCKING POLICE CRUISER WITH BLARING SIREN AND LIGHTS SPEEDS THROUGH THE PARKING LOT AND RUNS OVER GILMOUR CLASSIC! Gilmour Classic goes flying through the air and lands on top of his head, knocking him out. Jesus Christ...


The driver steps out...


It's The Dimallisher.


"I'm here, Peter! I made it!"


[Image: uLCvgPQ.png]
]]> <![CDATA[Revelation and the Horrors Surrounding It (or Guilt pt. 2)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13085 Sat, 21 Jun 2014 01:46:48 -0700 Kendall Savannah Sawyer]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13085
You see, Kendall was very accurate when her mind wandered to the edge of the abyss, peered over and saw me glaring back at it. Glaring back with a smile wide and gleaming white teeth penetrating her pupils and playing hell with her perception of the world; an act that I wish I could take full credit for but alas even I have to give credit where it's due and thank her for being as curious as she is. Breaking through the toughest parts of one's mind isn't an easy task if they clutch tightly onto the delusions that want to think are facts but as it stands, after the little display I graced her with; she's beginning to rethink everything about her life. From the minor to the major, the mundane to the insane her doubts begin to tug at her psyche little by little and all I can do, nay all I want to do is sit back and watch as the puzzle pieces arrange themselves and she has no choice but to add the finishing touches. Speaking of which, let's turn our attention away from me and to the woman of the hour, as she struggles to keep herself awake while being the third wheel. Safe as she thinks, or more accurately wants to believe she is, she can't put out all the fires of doubt. Sooner or later, one will
slip.

"So, Samuel's thinking of giving me a raise," Jacob says with a resounding confidence very much unlike him as he stabs his fork into a chunk of meat sitting on his plate; where Kendall's eyes had been resting as she tried her hardest not to slash her throat out of boredom. However, at the mere mention of his boss' name, Kendall's eyes widen and she recoils, taken aback. Both Kara, who was seated next to her and Jacob, across bring their eyes away from what they were looking at to catch a glimpse of her laughable over-reaction.

"Do you have to cause a fuckin' scene?" Kara whispers with an angry intensity as she slaps her roommate on the arm.

"Right. It was nothing. Sorry."

Kendall's words came out distant and distracted; as if though she were there physically, her mind was thousand miles away, basking the glory of anywhere but here. Which would be perfectly accurate, because that's exactly what was happening; minus the basking part. No, she was trapped, in a perpetual state of dread locked behind somewhere she didn't quite recognize, but knew she was familiar with. Somehow, some way she felt as though she'd been here before, though this deja vu experience wasn't a happy one. No, being back in whatever environment she was in made her feel trapped. Caged in like an animal. Fear wafted off her very essence as she fell to her knees and stared blankly at the cold, cement wall. One scan of the room gave her a glimpse of one thing that became synonymous with her recent string of luck and reminded her instantly of why it all felt so familiar.

A single chair.

She wasn't in some demon infested pit of Hell; at least not by the commonplace, accepted, conventional standards. No, where she found herself was much more damaging than any Hell conceived in the pages of religious texts and the twisted writings of the demented alike.

This was her Hell.

And into the room stepped her Devil.

"Why, hello. Long time, no see."

She didn't look back to the door; she didn't have to. She heard the voice and that was reason enough for her blood to run cold and for her hair to stand up. Though Klein couldn't see it, he could feel the color draining from her face and smiled as he guessed that her eyes were popping out of her skull like an old cartoon; a notion that wasn't entirely false. With hands shaking, along with the rest of her body, she pressed her palms to the floor and tried her hardest to push herself up but something -- be it the crushing weight of this scenario on her psyche or how suddenly weak she's become keeps her stuck on her knees, unable to gain the slightest ground. Even though she tried to look as confident as she could; keeping her head up high and even striking a smile there was nothing that she could do to hide her discomfort.

"Go to Hell," she hissed back in the most ironic choice of words to ever grace my ears.

"And what good will that do?" Klein spoke, sauntering through the doorway and into the room with a smile wide enough to rival my own as I watch this scene unfold. He reaches to his waistband and pushes his jacket away, revealing only to me that he is in fact armed.

"When I'm already in your head?"

"You aren't," she desperately pleaded, hoping that her brain would remove all remembrance of her newfound Bogeyman and yet, since the mind doesn't work like that, she remains trapped in this room, stuck in an odd stasis and unable to look the only other person here to keep her company in the eye. There's something funny about this to me, though what it is exactly, I'll keep to myself.

"Oh dear, why d'ya feel the need to lie to me like that? Can't you see how upset it makes me?"

As the last words fell out of his mouth he sidestepped past Kendall, right into her field of vision with the gun drawn and pointed at her stomach. Not her head, of course not her head. Her stomach. Kendall's heart skipped a beat before going into overdrive, pounding in her chest like the furious knocks on the door the last time I had a hold on her mind. All the while she found a way to abstain from peering into the eyes of the armed daemon in front of her, which worked out arguably for the better as I don't think she'd like what she see if she did.

"Huh? You gonna sit there staring or are you gonna say something?"

"Go to Hell, she repeated, though her tone sounded much less defiant this time around. More defeated and somber, almost accepting of the fate she felt was imminent. Then, something out of the ordinary happened.

"Fine. You want me in Hell so bad?"

He extended the hand that he held his gun with out towards the distraught woman begging feverishly with a God whose existence she doubts at least until it's convenient not to, and slaps her across the face to break her trance.

"Put me there."

Shakily, she reached out and took the gun for herself. With a struggle, she made it back to her feet and took aim. Samuel responded to that by looking down at his watchless wrist and uttering with the utmost impatience:

"I don't got all day."

So, she stepped up right next to him. Placed the gun right against his stomach.

And pulled the trigger.

Before she could even admire her handiwork or look away in disgust and shock, she found herself plucked out of the cement walled room and back in the booth at the very same restaurant she zoned out in. Luckily enough, right as the overworked, underpaid waiter stopped at their table and asked them if they were enjoying everything.

"Yes," Kendall said before ordering alcoholic beverage since the night before her first AA meeting.

Though, who could really blame her?]]>
You see, Kendall was very accurate when her mind wandered to the edge of the abyss, peered over and saw me glaring back at it. Glaring back with a smile wide and gleaming white teeth penetrating her pupils and playing hell with her perception of the world; an act that I wish I could take full credit for but alas even I have to give credit where it's due and thank her for being as curious as she is. Breaking through the toughest parts of one's mind isn't an easy task if they clutch tightly onto the delusions that want to think are facts but as it stands, after the little display I graced her with; she's beginning to rethink everything about her life. From the minor to the major, the mundane to the insane her doubts begin to tug at her psyche little by little and all I can do, nay all I want to do is sit back and watch as the puzzle pieces arrange themselves and she has no choice but to add the finishing touches. Speaking of which, let's turn our attention away from me and to the woman of the hour, as she struggles to keep herself awake while being the third wheel. Safe as she thinks, or more accurately wants to believe she is, she can't put out all the fires of doubt. Sooner or later, one will
slip.

"So, Samuel's thinking of giving me a raise," Jacob says with a resounding confidence very much unlike him as he stabs his fork into a chunk of meat sitting on his plate; where Kendall's eyes had been resting as she tried her hardest not to slash her throat out of boredom. However, at the mere mention of his boss' name, Kendall's eyes widen and she recoils, taken aback. Both Kara, who was seated next to her and Jacob, across bring their eyes away from what they were looking at to catch a glimpse of her laughable over-reaction.

"Do you have to cause a fuckin' scene?" Kara whispers with an angry intensity as she slaps her roommate on the arm.

"Right. It was nothing. Sorry."

Kendall's words came out distant and distracted; as if though she were there physically, her mind was thousand miles away, basking the glory of anywhere but here. Which would be perfectly accurate, because that's exactly what was happening; minus the basking part. No, she was trapped, in a perpetual state of dread locked behind somewhere she didn't quite recognize, but knew she was familiar with. Somehow, some way she felt as though she'd been here before, though this deja vu experience wasn't a happy one. No, being back in whatever environment she was in made her feel trapped. Caged in like an animal. Fear wafted off her very essence as she fell to her knees and stared blankly at the cold, cement wall. One scan of the room gave her a glimpse of one thing that became synonymous with her recent string of luck and reminded her instantly of why it all felt so familiar.

A single chair.

She wasn't in some demon infested pit of Hell; at least not by the commonplace, accepted, conventional standards. No, where she found herself was much more damaging than any Hell conceived in the pages of religious texts and the twisted writings of the demented alike.

This was her Hell.

And into the room stepped her Devil.

"Why, hello. Long time, no see."

She didn't look back to the door; she didn't have to. She heard the voice and that was reason enough for her blood to run cold and for her hair to stand up. Though Klein couldn't see it, he could feel the color draining from her face and smiled as he guessed that her eyes were popping out of her skull like an old cartoon; a notion that wasn't entirely false. With hands shaking, along with the rest of her body, she pressed her palms to the floor and tried her hardest to push herself up but something -- be it the crushing weight of this scenario on her psyche or how suddenly weak she's become keeps her stuck on her knees, unable to gain the slightest ground. Even though she tried to look as confident as she could; keeping her head up high and even striking a smile there was nothing that she could do to hide her discomfort.

"Go to Hell," she hissed back in the most ironic choice of words to ever grace my ears.

"And what good will that do?" Klein spoke, sauntering through the doorway and into the room with a smile wide enough to rival my own as I watch this scene unfold. He reaches to his waistband and pushes his jacket away, revealing only to me that he is in fact armed.

"When I'm already in your head?"

"You aren't," she desperately pleaded, hoping that her brain would remove all remembrance of her newfound Bogeyman and yet, since the mind doesn't work like that, she remains trapped in this room, stuck in an odd stasis and unable to look the only other person here to keep her company in the eye. There's something funny about this to me, though what it is exactly, I'll keep to myself.

"Oh dear, why d'ya feel the need to lie to me like that? Can't you see how upset it makes me?"

As the last words fell out of his mouth he sidestepped past Kendall, right into her field of vision with the gun drawn and pointed at her stomach. Not her head, of course not her head. Her stomach. Kendall's heart skipped a beat before going into overdrive, pounding in her chest like the furious knocks on the door the last time I had a hold on her mind. All the while she found a way to abstain from peering into the eyes of the armed daemon in front of her, which worked out arguably for the better as I don't think she'd like what she see if she did.

"Huh? You gonna sit there staring or are you gonna say something?"

"Go to Hell, she repeated, though her tone sounded much less defiant this time around. More defeated and somber, almost accepting of the fate she felt was imminent. Then, something out of the ordinary happened.

"Fine. You want me in Hell so bad?"

He extended the hand that he held his gun with out towards the distraught woman begging feverishly with a God whose existence she doubts at least until it's convenient not to, and slaps her across the face to break her trance.

"Put me there."

Shakily, she reached out and took the gun for herself. With a struggle, she made it back to her feet and took aim. Samuel responded to that by looking down at his watchless wrist and uttering with the utmost impatience:

"I don't got all day."

So, she stepped up right next to him. Placed the gun right against his stomach.

And pulled the trigger.

Before she could even admire her handiwork or look away in disgust and shock, she found herself plucked out of the cement walled room and back in the booth at the very same restaurant she zoned out in. Luckily enough, right as the overworked, underpaid waiter stopped at their table and asked them if they were enjoying everything.

"Yes," Kendall said before ordering alcoholic beverage since the night before her first AA meeting.

Though, who could really blame her?]]> <![CDATA[Airports! (tag match)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13073 Fri, 20 Jun 2014 23:58:35 -0700 John Msdison 2.Faggot]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13073 [Image: uLCvgPQ.png]


"Seat 5A" the counter clerk read aloud as she handed John Madison his airline ticket. John winked at the woman behind the counter, not sadistically-- no-- he tried to of course but failed. There's only one man who can do the sadistic wink-- scratch that-- TWO men who can pull off the sadistic wink. And neither Peter Gilmour nor Gilmour Classic are at this particular airport, though rumor has it that Peter is raising hell at one. The counter clerk tries her damnedest to ignore John and the cloud of whiskey odor emanating from his mouth. She gives John a hint to move the fuck out of the way as she tries to call attention to the passenger behind him.


"Next customer please," she says through John. John looks behind him and sure enough, there's a fat man standing there who's eager to fly.


"You heard the bitch!" John shouts to fatass behind him as he grabs the guy and puts him in a standing armbar. He then shoves the guy's face into the top of the counter. "Give her your shit!"


The fatass is whimpering as he kisses the the counter top. He slaps his hand on the counter and slides his itinerary to the clerk.


"Sir! What are you doing?! Let this man go!"


"You know why you're in this position right now?" John asks the man as he keeps holds him firmly in place. "BECAUSE YOU'RE FAT!"


John uses one hand to keep the man's shoulder pinned to the surface of the counter as he reaches into his belt loop to retrieve the crowbar that he used earlier on the cab driver.


"What are you going to do with that crowbar?!" asks the frantic clerk who still hasn't paged security.


John unbuttons the fat man's trousers, yanks them down along with his tighty whities, and SHOVES THE CROWBAR INTO HIS ASS! Holy shit, two rectal examinations in one day! Holy shit x2, the clerk STILL hasn't paged anybody about this incident. Maybe she's into it? Maybe she wants to be next.


"Sorry ma'am but I need to warm up my arm. It's been months since I've gotten to use a crowbar on somebody."


John releases fat fuck and pulls the crowbar from the man's asshole. John then looks up at the next person who gets in line...


"Hello. One ticket to Chicago, mi'lady."


It's Gilmour fucking Classic. John sees GC, yet GC doesn't seem to notice John despite the craziness that just unfolded. GC must be focused on the blonde behind the counter like John was. She's got them big titties popping out of her blouse. GC gives the woman a sadistic wink, the type of wink that John failed to supply. The wink causes her to giggle and blush.


"Bastard," John mutters to himself. He thinks about putting that crowbar to use again with GC being right there, but he decides against it. Instead, he walks over to the lobby and takes a seat.


"My, my. Did you see how that dumbass, Dimallisher, schooled Frodo Smackins in that promo of his. For fuck's sake, how is Frodo going to allow a man who can't tie his own shoes to make more sense than him? That was just sad. That's Frodo for you though, bringing up his own made up "facts." Idiot. By the way, did you see that pin attempt of his that leaked onto the XWF website? Pathetic. Frodo must have taken what I said to heart and thought, "oh shit, I better go rack up an X-Treme Title win really quick." Does he even realize that if he had won the X-Treme Title, that would put him in two matches on the Pay-Per-View? Frodo can't even win one match against Peter Gilmour, of all people. How does he expect to go through two back to back X-Treme matches? This is why Frodo is terrible at everything he does. He's practically mini-Pete.


"Yep, your tag partner is an idiot, Scorpio. You should have picked Table, because even The Table would have been more reliable than Frodo Smackins. Maybe it's not too late to switch partners-- you should look into that. Paul Heyman seems like a reasonable guy who can be trusted.


"It's funny because most people would say that John Madison had to carry Peter Gilmour to a victory over these two knuckleheads. But after going through all of this, it's becoming more evident that Peter could take both of these motherfuckers on his own if he wanted to.


"I came into this match with the notion that I would get to humiliate two legitimate champions, but it's beginning to look like I'll just be humiliating two Peter Gilmours. Where's the fun in that? I've already humiliated the main Gilmour a bunch of times. If I knew it was going to be this easy, I wouldn't have bothered signing up.


"Fucking hell, Theo. Frodo sucks your dick over how good you are, why couldn't you win the Tag Team Titles so that I'd have myself a challenge at Leap of Faith? It's not like you've got anything else going on. Oh wait-- the Television Title? Wow, has work been that slow for you since I left? Better yet, is that Frodo's idea of "Theo doing it better than Maddy?" That's just downright laughable. TV Title, hah. Please tell me you're just as bored as I am, Theo, and want to go push down little kids in the toddler area. Is that it? Oh well, at least Duke is picking up your slack. Yes, I know Theo, you've got your own group now. You took in Luca and have him playing the same role that I had him in. And you've got Mark Flynn to take on the role of Sebastian Duke; talented but easily disposable. I'm kidding, Duke, PROMISE!


"By the way, did anyone catch the latest episode of "Peter Buries the Tag Team Champions?" That was such a compelling show. Oh yeah-- I was definitely hooked from beginning to end. *wink wink* I especially loved the part where he brought up:


Quote:FUCK YOU SCORPIO! At least I didn't lose to some country hick like Jim Hickbilly. How could you lose to him? Guess it was bad luck huh?


"Nice one, Peter. Too bad we didn't save that moment so that you could play it for the audience like when those talk show hosts go to pitch a clip from a movie. But yeah, that was my favorite part of the show. Honestly, the rest of the show could have been filled with utter nonsense, but that one part would have saved it and made it the greatest show on television. Bravo, Peter, you went above and beyond, and exceeded our expectations. Maybe you can go replace Fallon on Late Night. Just imagine, you see the credits rolling at the end and Peter says, "That's our show, ladies and gentlemen. SUCK MY DICK!" You should go for it, Peter. Me and Luca would watch every week. Naked.


"Well, I guess the best way to leave this promo would be to roll another epic Gilmour quote. Let's see... Hmm, so many to choose from on that show he did. Where do I even begin.


Quote: Keep thinking I don't have what it takes to even win the Tag Titles.


"YEAH! You fuckers keep thinking that Peter doesn't have what it takes to win the Tag Titles. It will happen, folks. And it will be absolutely hilarious. After I've dropped Frodo and place Peter on top of him for the three count, I'll be sure to sit Frodo right back up. Then I'm going to take a seat right next to him. I'll then lean in; give him a big, wet kiss, and then we can rejoice at the sight of Peter Gilmour parading around the ring with both Tag Team Titles. Doesn't that sound like a fun filled night, Scorpio and Frodo? Mmm, can't wait."

]]> [Image: uLCvgPQ.png]


"Seat 5A" the counter clerk read aloud as she handed John Madison his airline ticket. John winked at the woman behind the counter, not sadistically-- no-- he tried to of course but failed. There's only one man who can do the sadistic wink-- scratch that-- TWO men who can pull off the sadistic wink. And neither Peter Gilmour nor Gilmour Classic are at this particular airport, though rumor has it that Peter is raising hell at one. The counter clerk tries her damnedest to ignore John and the cloud of whiskey odor emanating from his mouth. She gives John a hint to move the fuck out of the way as she tries to call attention to the passenger behind him.


"Next customer please," she says through John. John looks behind him and sure enough, there's a fat man standing there who's eager to fly.


"You heard the bitch!" John shouts to fatass behind him as he grabs the guy and puts him in a standing armbar. He then shoves the guy's face into the top of the counter. "Give her your shit!"


The fatass is whimpering as he kisses the the counter top. He slaps his hand on the counter and slides his itinerary to the clerk.


"Sir! What are you doing?! Let this man go!"


"You know why you're in this position right now?" John asks the man as he keeps holds him firmly in place. "BECAUSE YOU'RE FAT!"


John uses one hand to keep the man's shoulder pinned to the surface of the counter as he reaches into his belt loop to retrieve the crowbar that he used earlier on the cab driver.


"What are you going to do with that crowbar?!" asks the frantic clerk who still hasn't paged security.


John unbuttons the fat man's trousers, yanks them down along with his tighty whities, and SHOVES THE CROWBAR INTO HIS ASS! Holy shit, two rectal examinations in one day! Holy shit x2, the clerk STILL hasn't paged anybody about this incident. Maybe she's into it? Maybe she wants to be next.


"Sorry ma'am but I need to warm up my arm. It's been months since I've gotten to use a crowbar on somebody."


John releases fat fuck and pulls the crowbar from the man's asshole. John then looks up at the next person who gets in line...


"Hello. One ticket to Chicago, mi'lady."


It's Gilmour fucking Classic. John sees GC, yet GC doesn't seem to notice John despite the craziness that just unfolded. GC must be focused on the blonde behind the counter like John was. She's got them big titties popping out of her blouse. GC gives the woman a sadistic wink, the type of wink that John failed to supply. The wink causes her to giggle and blush.


"Bastard," John mutters to himself. He thinks about putting that crowbar to use again with GC being right there, but he decides against it. Instead, he walks over to the lobby and takes a seat.


"My, my. Did you see how that dumbass, Dimallisher, schooled Frodo Smackins in that promo of his. For fuck's sake, how is Frodo going to allow a man who can't tie his own shoes to make more sense than him? That was just sad. That's Frodo for you though, bringing up his own made up "facts." Idiot. By the way, did you see that pin attempt of his that leaked onto the XWF website? Pathetic. Frodo must have taken what I said to heart and thought, "oh shit, I better go rack up an X-Treme Title win really quick." Does he even realize that if he had won the X-Treme Title, that would put him in two matches on the Pay-Per-View? Frodo can't even win one match against Peter Gilmour, of all people. How does he expect to go through two back to back X-Treme matches? This is why Frodo is terrible at everything he does. He's practically mini-Pete.


"Yep, your tag partner is an idiot, Scorpio. You should have picked Table, because even The Table would have been more reliable than Frodo Smackins. Maybe it's not too late to switch partners-- you should look into that. Paul Heyman seems like a reasonable guy who can be trusted.


"It's funny because most people would say that John Madison had to carry Peter Gilmour to a victory over these two knuckleheads. But after going through all of this, it's becoming more evident that Peter could take both of these motherfuckers on his own if he wanted to.


"I came into this match with the notion that I would get to humiliate two legitimate champions, but it's beginning to look like I'll just be humiliating two Peter Gilmours. Where's the fun in that? I've already humiliated the main Gilmour a bunch of times. If I knew it was going to be this easy, I wouldn't have bothered signing up.


"Fucking hell, Theo. Frodo sucks your dick over how good you are, why couldn't you win the Tag Team Titles so that I'd have myself a challenge at Leap of Faith? It's not like you've got anything else going on. Oh wait-- the Television Title? Wow, has work been that slow for you since I left? Better yet, is that Frodo's idea of "Theo doing it better than Maddy?" That's just downright laughable. TV Title, hah. Please tell me you're just as bored as I am, Theo, and want to go push down little kids in the toddler area. Is that it? Oh well, at least Duke is picking up your slack. Yes, I know Theo, you've got your own group now. You took in Luca and have him playing the same role that I had him in. And you've got Mark Flynn to take on the role of Sebastian Duke; talented but easily disposable. I'm kidding, Duke, PROMISE!


"By the way, did anyone catch the latest episode of "Peter Buries the Tag Team Champions?" That was such a compelling show. Oh yeah-- I was definitely hooked from beginning to end. *wink wink* I especially loved the part where he brought up:


Quote:FUCK YOU SCORPIO! At least I didn't lose to some country hick like Jim Hickbilly. How could you lose to him? Guess it was bad luck huh?


"Nice one, Peter. Too bad we didn't save that moment so that you could play it for the audience like when those talk show hosts go to pitch a clip from a movie. But yeah, that was my favorite part of the show. Honestly, the rest of the show could have been filled with utter nonsense, but that one part would have saved it and made it the greatest show on television. Bravo, Peter, you went above and beyond, and exceeded our expectations. Maybe you can go replace Fallon on Late Night. Just imagine, you see the credits rolling at the end and Peter says, "That's our show, ladies and gentlemen. SUCK MY DICK!" You should go for it, Peter. Me and Luca would watch every week. Naked.


"Well, I guess the best way to leave this promo would be to roll another epic Gilmour quote. Let's see... Hmm, so many to choose from on that show he did. Where do I even begin.


Quote: Keep thinking I don't have what it takes to even win the Tag Titles.


"YEAH! You fuckers keep thinking that Peter doesn't have what it takes to win the Tag Titles. It will happen, folks. And it will be absolutely hilarious. After I've dropped Frodo and place Peter on top of him for the three count, I'll be sure to sit Frodo right back up. Then I'm going to take a seat right next to him. I'll then lean in; give him a big, wet kiss, and then we can rejoice at the sight of Peter Gilmour parading around the ring with both Tag Team Titles. Doesn't that sound like a fun filled night, Scorpio and Frodo? Mmm, can't wait."

]]> <![CDATA[Possible last words for the Ark]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13080 Fri, 20 Jun 2014 23:40:14 -0700 Mastermind]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13080 The camera fades in to the mansion of Mastermind in particular his gym.

He's about to do his weekly state of the wrestling address. His fans have crammed into the gym, they are from all around the world, some have been flown courtesy of Mastermind himself.

They are cheering, when the lights go out, and when they come back on, Mastermind is seen sitting on top of the right hand side corner post in the ring. The fans roar with delight. Mastermind waves at them, and then jumps down. He walks over to where the microphone has been placed on the apron. He picks it up, and walks over to the other side of the ring. He looks at the camera.

"Tomorrow is my first Pay Per View match here in the XWF. The Pay Per View is called Leap of Faith."

The fans chant: "Leap of faith... Leap of faith... Leap of faith...

"We all know what match I'm entered into don't we peoples?"."

"Ark of the Covenant... Ark of the Covenant.... Ark of the Covenant..."

"That's right. After 6 matches of being here in the XWF I deserve my spot. I've won 3 I've lost 3. But I also deserve to be the champion. And I'm going to make dam sure that I will get that title."

The crowd chants: "Dam sure... Dam sure... Dam sure...."

"Let's have a look at my 5 other opponents in this Xtreme Rules anything goes, 20 minute timed match."

The crowd boos.

"No, no, it's okay, let's give them a little bit of respect. Okay first we have the defending champion Mr XWF, He likes to be known as the People's Cock. Is he your champion peoples?"

The crowd chants: "No... No... No.."

"After hearing what he has said, he doesn't care if he's the Ark of the Covenant champion, does he deserve to be the champion?"

The crowd chants: "No... No... No.."

"That's right he doesn't. Mr XWF, your short rein has come to an end. You are going down, and I will make sure of that."

The crowd roars with delight.

"Next up we have Miss Alexandra Callaway. We haven't heard a promo from her all week does she deserve to be the Ark Champion?"

The crowd chants: "No... No... No.."

"Too right, and because we haven't heard from her yet, I'm not going to waste another word on her."

The crowd roars with delight again.

"Next up we have JJ Zilla. Newby here. Smells like a newbie, and must have crapped his pants for the type of match he's been entered into because we haven't heard from him all week either."

The crowd chants: "Crapped his pants... Crapped his pants... Crapped his pants.."

"Too right he has, he's not worth another mention either,."

The crowd roars again

"Next we have Soupcan O'Malley, for reasons only beknownst by him, we haven't word much of a peep out of him either."

The crowd chants: "Much of a peep.. much of a peep... much of a peep."

"Another person to move on quickly from..."

The crowd roars:

"Last we have Joey Hawkins, a Matthew Hardy wannabe."

The crowd chants: "Wannabe.... Wannabe.... Wannabe.."

"I'm sorry Joey, but you're not in my league, the only person in my league is Mr XWF. He's my main competitor tomorrow, and you have no right to win that title."

The crowd roars.

"We have to respect everyone who turns up for the match, but at the end of the day, that respect only goes so far."

The crowd chants: "So far... So far... So far...."

"Who is the next Ark of the Covenant Champion?"

The crowd chants: "Mastermind... Mastermind... Mastermind."

Mastermind smiles at the camera.

"That's right I am. See you all tomorrow, I won't wish you luck, because you all don't deserve it. Maybe Mr XWF, but apart from him no one else. BBQ out the back in 10 minutes peoples."

There were cheers as the lights go off, when they come back on, Mastermind is no where to be seen. The crowd starts filling out of the gym as the camera fades out.
]]> The camera fades in to the mansion of Mastermind in particular his gym.

He's about to do his weekly state of the wrestling address. His fans have crammed into the gym, they are from all around the world, some have been flown courtesy of Mastermind himself.

They are cheering, when the lights go out, and when they come back on, Mastermind is seen sitting on top of the right hand side corner post in the ring. The fans roar with delight. Mastermind waves at them, and then jumps down. He walks over to where the microphone has been placed on the apron. He picks it up, and walks over to the other side of the ring. He looks at the camera.

"Tomorrow is my first Pay Per View match here in the XWF. The Pay Per View is called Leap of Faith."

The fans chant: "Leap of faith... Leap of faith... Leap of faith...

"We all know what match I'm entered into don't we peoples?"."

"Ark of the Covenant... Ark of the Covenant.... Ark of the Covenant..."

"That's right. After 6 matches of being here in the XWF I deserve my spot. I've won 3 I've lost 3. But I also deserve to be the champion. And I'm going to make dam sure that I will get that title."

The crowd chants: "Dam sure... Dam sure... Dam sure...."

"Let's have a look at my 5 other opponents in this Xtreme Rules anything goes, 20 minute timed match."

The crowd boos.

"No, no, it's okay, let's give them a little bit of respect. Okay first we have the defending champion Mr XWF, He likes to be known as the People's Cock. Is he your champion peoples?"

The crowd chants: "No... No... No.."

"After hearing what he has said, he doesn't care if he's the Ark of the Covenant champion, does he deserve to be the champion?"

The crowd chants: "No... No... No.."

"That's right he doesn't. Mr XWF, your short rein has come to an end. You are going down, and I will make sure of that."

The crowd roars with delight.

"Next up we have Miss Alexandra Callaway. We haven't heard a promo from her all week does she deserve to be the Ark Champion?"

The crowd chants: "No... No... No.."

"Too right, and because we haven't heard from her yet, I'm not going to waste another word on her."

The crowd roars with delight again.

"Next up we have JJ Zilla. Newby here. Smells like a newbie, and must have crapped his pants for the type of match he's been entered into because we haven't heard from him all week either."

The crowd chants: "Crapped his pants... Crapped his pants... Crapped his pants.."

"Too right he has, he's not worth another mention either,."

The crowd roars again

"Next we have Soupcan O'Malley, for reasons only beknownst by him, we haven't word much of a peep out of him either."

The crowd chants: "Much of a peep.. much of a peep... much of a peep."

"Another person to move on quickly from..."

The crowd roars:

"Last we have Joey Hawkins, a Matthew Hardy wannabe."

The crowd chants: "Wannabe.... Wannabe.... Wannabe.."

"I'm sorry Joey, but you're not in my league, the only person in my league is Mr XWF. He's my main competitor tomorrow, and you have no right to win that title."

The crowd roars.

"We have to respect everyone who turns up for the match, but at the end of the day, that respect only goes so far."

The crowd chants: "So far... So far... So far...."

"Who is the next Ark of the Covenant Champion?"

The crowd chants: "Mastermind... Mastermind... Mastermind."

Mastermind smiles at the camera.

"That's right I am. See you all tomorrow, I won't wish you luck, because you all don't deserve it. Maybe Mr XWF, but apart from him no one else. BBQ out the back in 10 minutes peoples."

There were cheers as the lights go off, when they come back on, Mastermind is no where to be seen. The crowd starts filling out of the gym as the camera fades out.
]]> <![CDATA[The Desperate Nature of Things]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13079 Fri, 20 Jun 2014 23:19:31 -0700 Kendall Savannah Sawyer]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13079
So, if someone told me the first night I spent outside the hospital would be filled with confusion and peeling frozen tears off my face, I'd laugh in their face and tell them to stop joking. However, seeing as that was precisely the direction it's gone so far, it seems to fit a lot more, what with the other situations I've found myself in as of late. However, those are behind me and this new abstract situation is what's happening. The one that involves me peeling my frozen tears off my face, for reference. My heart's rapid racing slows down considerably in the moments following the thing's departure, and I start breathe with more regularity. That's the one thing you miss when you're trying to come off as invisible to something that's probably going to kill you; the ability to breathe. The wind from the window has stopped, and I finally walk back over to it and peer over the edge to confirm a suspicion that I had the first time I went to pull it shut. I was right -- Diaz's body wasn't there. No blood, no anything. Literally nothing to denote her presence anywhere near here, which proves my own theory of her existence being solely a figment of my imagination which leads me back to questioning why she appeared in the first place. It was a rather valid question, seeing as though I had only encountered her once and it wasn't on too friendly of terms. Could it have been because of the comparisons some members of the XWF between myself and her? That was the only plausible conclusion, though it was still a stretch.

This line of questions is cut thankfully short by the sudden sound of someone at the door. Not a hideous, thundering monster trying to force its way in, but the rustle of paper and the sound of a key sliding into the lock. I sigh a sigh of relief and run my hand over my face one more time to make sure I got the last of the icicles off before turning around and hopping back onto the couch as the key turns over and the door swings open. Sure as I expected and hoped, the person standing in the doorway was Kara, holding a brown paper bag.

"You will not believe the time I had," she says with an exasperated sigh. She steps through the doorway, the paper bag swinging back and forth and rustling as its contents do the same, smacking into all four sides as she makes her way towards the kitchen, completely passing me and not doing so much as cast a glance in my direction; something I was silently ecstatic about.

"Oh, I might have an easier time than you think."

"Really now?" she calls from the kitchen as she starts to take items out of the bag.

"Try me."

My words came out almost breathlessly, a defiant challenge to her claim yet lacking my normal confidence. I heard it and I'm certain she did too, and as she turns around to put something in the refrigerator she catches a glimpse at my face and her's crinkles only for a moment. Almost recoiling, she averts her attention to the fridge and stuffs whatever it is in her hand into it before slamming the door shut and walking back to the bag. Either she was ignoring the marks on my face, or she was acting like she was and either way I was fine with her not asking any questions. At least not until I formulated an answer for everything I assume she'd ask, that is.

"Well, for starters, some bitch cut me off as I was pullin' into the damn place. Almost rear ended her I did. When did they start handing driver's licenses out to people who can't drive?"

"Whenever you got yours, I'd reckon."

"Funny. Just cuz you just got outta the hospital don't think I won't go over there and beat the shit outta you."

"I'm shaking in my boots."

The rustling intensifies as she rushes to put away the rest of the things in the bag. After a few minutes of silence otherwise, she pulls open one of the cupboards and shoves the bag inside, in case we ever need it for anything moving forward. I predict we never will, just as we never have before. However, it's something that's been a habit of her's since forever and a half ago and considering some of the weird habits of mine that she puts up with, I won't mention it. That, and the fact that I don't want giant bruises on both cheeks. One was bad enough.

Wait a second.

I clutch at my jaw with one hand. My left cheek stings on touch and feels slightly swollen. If Jessie was a figment of my imagination I wouldn't have this.

"What the fuck's up with you?" she says, standing in the wide doorframe that separated the living room and the kitchen. I rub my eyes and shake my head to pull me out of my disoriented daze; the only state I could be in and not see her move at all.

"Lots of things, honey. I figured you knew that already."

"Oh know, that much I got. I want to know what specifically is wrong with you right now, and why you're looking off into space, oh and why you have a big ol' fuckin' bruise on your face. Sheesh, I leave you alone for a half hour tops and you look like you just got out of a barfight!"

"Currently, I'm trying to make sense of something, you're ugly as shit, and because I popped myself a good one in the jaw before the Vicodin wore off."

"I don't remember you being this much of a cunt. Must've been the hospital food, eh?"

I hate how well her attempts at humor were working. I start to chuckle, before erupting into laughter. My scratched up arm flops from my mouth to the cushion of the couch and I lean off to one side, falling onto it and almost rolling right off the couch. Thankfully though, I don't. And thankfully for me, she laughs as well, confirming my hopes that she was joking and is about to turn back into the kitchen when she stops and looks back over to me.

"You seriously look like shit."

"Thanks, friend."

"No problem, get yourself cleaned up or something. I can't stand to look at ya like that."

"Then don't look."

"Fuck you."

"Not even if you paid me."

"Look," she says, walking over to where I'm laying. "Jacob and I are gonna go out tonight and I want you to come with us."

"To smash some more cars?" I ask with way too much enthusiasm.

"No. Trust me on this. Just come, for me?"

"Ugh, fine. I'll get in the shower."

I can't believe I was going to do it, but after the insanity that I've endured for most of the day anything that felt mundane was almost a blessing.

Almost, because I'd still have to deal with the obnoxious lovey-doveyness of my two best friends without putting a bullet in my brain. Though, I feel much more confident in my abilities to get through it than I would normally, so if there's anything good coming from this ordeal, it's that.

Though I can't help but shaking the feeling there's something watching me, just waiting to make my life a hell whenever it wanted.]]>
So, if someone told me the first night I spent outside the hospital would be filled with confusion and peeling frozen tears off my face, I'd laugh in their face and tell them to stop joking. However, seeing as that was precisely the direction it's gone so far, it seems to fit a lot more, what with the other situations I've found myself in as of late. However, those are behind me and this new abstract situation is what's happening. The one that involves me peeling my frozen tears off my face, for reference. My heart's rapid racing slows down considerably in the moments following the thing's departure, and I start breathe with more regularity. That's the one thing you miss when you're trying to come off as invisible to something that's probably going to kill you; the ability to breathe. The wind from the window has stopped, and I finally walk back over to it and peer over the edge to confirm a suspicion that I had the first time I went to pull it shut. I was right -- Diaz's body wasn't there. No blood, no anything. Literally nothing to denote her presence anywhere near here, which proves my own theory of her existence being solely a figment of my imagination which leads me back to questioning why she appeared in the first place. It was a rather valid question, seeing as though I had only encountered her once and it wasn't on too friendly of terms. Could it have been because of the comparisons some members of the XWF between myself and her? That was the only plausible conclusion, though it was still a stretch.

This line of questions is cut thankfully short by the sudden sound of someone at the door. Not a hideous, thundering monster trying to force its way in, but the rustle of paper and the sound of a key sliding into the lock. I sigh a sigh of relief and run my hand over my face one more time to make sure I got the last of the icicles off before turning around and hopping back onto the couch as the key turns over and the door swings open. Sure as I expected and hoped, the person standing in the doorway was Kara, holding a brown paper bag.

"You will not believe the time I had," she says with an exasperated sigh. She steps through the doorway, the paper bag swinging back and forth and rustling as its contents do the same, smacking into all four sides as she makes her way towards the kitchen, completely passing me and not doing so much as cast a glance in my direction; something I was silently ecstatic about.

"Oh, I might have an easier time than you think."

"Really now?" she calls from the kitchen as she starts to take items out of the bag.

"Try me."

My words came out almost breathlessly, a defiant challenge to her claim yet lacking my normal confidence. I heard it and I'm certain she did too, and as she turns around to put something in the refrigerator she catches a glimpse at my face and her's crinkles only for a moment. Almost recoiling, she averts her attention to the fridge and stuffs whatever it is in her hand into it before slamming the door shut and walking back to the bag. Either she was ignoring the marks on my face, or she was acting like she was and either way I was fine with her not asking any questions. At least not until I formulated an answer for everything I assume she'd ask, that is.

"Well, for starters, some bitch cut me off as I was pullin' into the damn place. Almost rear ended her I did. When did they start handing driver's licenses out to people who can't drive?"

"Whenever you got yours, I'd reckon."

"Funny. Just cuz you just got outta the hospital don't think I won't go over there and beat the shit outta you."

"I'm shaking in my boots."

The rustling intensifies as she rushes to put away the rest of the things in the bag. After a few minutes of silence otherwise, she pulls open one of the cupboards and shoves the bag inside, in case we ever need it for anything moving forward. I predict we never will, just as we never have before. However, it's something that's been a habit of her's since forever and a half ago and considering some of the weird habits of mine that she puts up with, I won't mention it. That, and the fact that I don't want giant bruises on both cheeks. One was bad enough.

Wait a second.

I clutch at my jaw with one hand. My left cheek stings on touch and feels slightly swollen. If Jessie was a figment of my imagination I wouldn't have this.

"What the fuck's up with you?" she says, standing in the wide doorframe that separated the living room and the kitchen. I rub my eyes and shake my head to pull me out of my disoriented daze; the only state I could be in and not see her move at all.

"Lots of things, honey. I figured you knew that already."

"Oh know, that much I got. I want to know what specifically is wrong with you right now, and why you're looking off into space, oh and why you have a big ol' fuckin' bruise on your face. Sheesh, I leave you alone for a half hour tops and you look like you just got out of a barfight!"

"Currently, I'm trying to make sense of something, you're ugly as shit, and because I popped myself a good one in the jaw before the Vicodin wore off."

"I don't remember you being this much of a cunt. Must've been the hospital food, eh?"

I hate how well her attempts at humor were working. I start to chuckle, before erupting into laughter. My scratched up arm flops from my mouth to the cushion of the couch and I lean off to one side, falling onto it and almost rolling right off the couch. Thankfully though, I don't. And thankfully for me, she laughs as well, confirming my hopes that she was joking and is about to turn back into the kitchen when she stops and looks back over to me.

"You seriously look like shit."

"Thanks, friend."

"No problem, get yourself cleaned up or something. I can't stand to look at ya like that."

"Then don't look."

"Fuck you."

"Not even if you paid me."

"Look," she says, walking over to where I'm laying. "Jacob and I are gonna go out tonight and I want you to come with us."

"To smash some more cars?" I ask with way too much enthusiasm.

"No. Trust me on this. Just come, for me?"

"Ugh, fine. I'll get in the shower."

I can't believe I was going to do it, but after the insanity that I've endured for most of the day anything that felt mundane was almost a blessing.

Almost, because I'd still have to deal with the obnoxious lovey-doveyness of my two best friends without putting a bullet in my brain. Though, I feel much more confident in my abilities to get through it than I would normally, so if there's anything good coming from this ordeal, it's that.

Though I can't help but shaking the feeling there's something watching me, just waiting to make my life a hell whenever it wanted.]]> <![CDATA[A promo where Theo talks about Tony ripping Steve.(RP 10)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13074 Fri, 20 Jun 2014 20:26:22 -0700 Theo Pryce]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=13074 Theo Pryce Residence
Paradise Valley, Arizona



Theo picks up his phone off the nightstand and types in a 10 digit number, the phone rings four times and then goes to voicemail.


“You’ve reached the voicemail of Free Win Flynn, I’m probably at the local YMCA getting housed by 12 year olds because that’s what I do now. If on the off chance I’m not doing that leave a message and I will try and get back to you. Hashtag Can’t Win.”

“Damn it Mark, I was depending on you to pick up, I’m heading to Texas in a little while wasn’t sure if you wanted to car pool. And by car pool I mean for you to drive me because I don’t have access to the company jet anymore. Maybe you haven’t heard but …..BEEP.”

“Mother fucker.”


Theo takes the phone from his ear and hit’s the green phone icon twice, redialing the number he just called. Again four rings and then voicemail.


“You’ve reached the voicemail of Free Win Flynn, I’m probably at the local YMCA getting housed by 12 year olds because that’s what I do now. If on the off chance I’m not doing that leave a message and I will try and get back to you. Hashtag Can’t Win.”

“Mark it’s Theo, I’m heading to Michigan, wasn’t sure if you wanted to car pool and by car pool I mean you drive me because I don’t have access to the company jet anymore. Call me back.”


Theo puts the phone down on the table, walks over to his closet and a few minutes later comes back out wearing a black suit and black shoes to match. He walks over to his dresser, pushes aside a black baseball cap and grabs his wallet which was hidden underneath the hat. Next to the wallet was his watch which he grabs and puts on his left wrist as he walks back to the table to grab his phone. Before he can reach for it the phone starts to vibrate.


“This better be Flynn.”


Theo reaches down and picks up the phone, the name on the screen is not that of Mark Flynn but of Jimmy Durance.


“What’s up Jimmy?”

“Hello sir. I wanted to let you know that I thought long and hard about your offer and I’ve decided to take you up on it.”

“Excellent choice Jimmy. Truly excellent. Now for your first order of business I need you to swing by my place and pick me up. We need to get to Michigan.”

“Sir my car…it’s not really something that you would want to take a long road trip in.”

“Don’t worry about it. I have a whole fleet of vehicles, just get yourself over here and well figure out the rest.”

“Very well sir.”


Theo hits the red phone icon on the screen of his cell and then puts it into his right pants pocket but only for a moment as the phone starts vibrating again. Theo quickly reaches into his pocket and pulls the phone back out, the name on the front reads Steve Sayors.


“God damn it.”


Theo presses the green phone icon to accept the call.


“Steve I’m a bit busy at the moment, what the fuck do you want?”

“I was wondering if maybe we could talk before your big match on Saturday?”

“If I say no will you hang up the phone and promise not to call me back?”

“I can’t do that. It’s in your contract that you have to do at least one interview before every match.”

“What? I thought I had one of those Iron Clad contracts. You know, the Gilmour Contract.”

“No one has an iron clad contract Mr. Pryce, Not even Peter Gilmour.”

“Are you sure Steve, because I’ve never known Peter Gilmour to be a liar. That just doesn’t sound like him at all. I’m going to tell Peter you said he was a liar, you better watch your back or he is going to end you.”

“I didn’t say that Peter was a liar, just that no one has Iron Clad contracts.”

“Whatever you say Steve. I just hope Peter doesn’t get wind of this and try to sue you for defamation of character.”

“I'll take my chances. So can we begin the interview?”

“Now? Right now?”

“Are you doing anything else important?”

“Yes as a matter of fact I am. How about I call you from the road?”

“Sure, let me give you my number.”

“I already have it on my phone Steve, how else would I know to ignore your calls when I don’t feel like being bothered?”

“Ok, I will wait…”


Theo ends the call before Steve can even finish his sentence.

Theo goes to put his phone down when suddenly the door bell rings. Theo walks down the hall to the front door and opens it and who should be standing there but Steve Sayors and that fat camera guy that follows him around. You know the one, he wears a Metallica shirt that is two sizes too small thus exposing the bottom portion of his belly.


“Steve, what the fuck?”

“I just got off the phone with Paul Heyman and he said if you don’t do an interview right now that he will strip you of the Television Title and bar you from the building.”

“It’s a fucking stadium Steve, I’ll just helicopter in. And how the fuck did you just talk to him? I just hung up on you like 30 seconds ago.”

“I have my ways Mr. Pryce.”

“I don’t like your attitude Steve-O but since Paul has this uncanny ability to make things happen I guess I’ll give in this one time. After all I spent all week letting these fucking cameras follow me around so it would be a buzz kill if that fat fuck cancelled my match on me just because someone stole his Yakama.”

“Ok, give me a second to get set up.”

“Set up? All you need to do is tell that fat fuck over there going to town on a bag of Cheetos to turn the camera on, I’ll do the rest.”


Steve signals to the fat fuck camera guy and a second later the small red light above the camera goes on. Steve turns around and pulls out a small recording device from his pocket and places it between him and Theo.


“So Theo, you have a match coming up this Saturday in which you will be defending the television title…”

“Blah blah blah…yes I have a match. Yes, it’s against two opponents. Yes I am going to beat them both. No I’m not worried. Anything else or can I go?”

“Why aren’t you worried? You are coming off a loss in your most recent match.”

“So what? I lost, shit happens. I was coming out of a coma, still groggy from all the meds they gave me. Plus I was self medicating, you know how that goes.”

“Self medicating with what?”

“Cocaine.”

“That doesn’t seem to be very wise.”

“And yet I have billions of dollars and you make slightly above minimum wage. Which one of us is the idiot Steve?”

“Let me ask you Theo, I saw that in your last promo you went at Steve Davids pretty hard but when it came to Tony Santos you didn’t have much to say, why is that?”

“Probably for the same reason Tony Santos spent an entire promo today ripping apart Steve Davids, because it’s fun and it’s easy. Not for nothing Steve-O but next to Peter Gilmour, Steve Davids hands out free ammo like he was the N.R.A. So it’s not totally surprising that Tony took a massive shit all over Steve today. It’s therapeutic. But I will say I am a bit shocked at Tony’s lack of words for me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s saved me from having to cut a promo blasting his shit all over the place like a Jackson Pollack.”

“Why do you think that is? Tony’s relative silence in regards to you?”

“I’m sure Tony sees the writing on the wall, he knows that he’s completely fucked in this match and so he is going to throw a Hail Mary and cut a promo bashing me at the last minute giving me no time to respond. Whatever. If I were in his shoes I’d probably do the same thing. But I’d never be in his shoes. You see these shoes Steve-O?”


Steve looks down at Theo’s beautifully shined wing tip shoes.


“Hey camera guy down here, give the people at home a chance to see these beauties.”


The camera man does as he is told and points the camera down towards Theo’s shoes.


“These babies, they cost more than what Tony get’s in his bi-weekly welfare check. These babies right here, these are Manhattan Richelieu wingtips, made from waxed alligator leather. They cost me Ten Grand.”

“That’s a lot of zeroes.”

“Fucking A right it is. But anyway back to Tony Santos. Look I’ll spell it out as best as I can. Tony Santos once upon a time did something relevant. I guess. The truth is I searched the archives for a long fucking time trying to find something impressive that he’s done. It must have been a good 15 minutes before I got bored and then went and took a shit. But in those 15 minutes I couldn’t find an important thing he did except that one time Sid Feder dunked Tony’s head in a toilet. In fact, that is honestly Tony’s only claim to fame in the 9 months I have been here. Getting his head jammed into a shit filled toilet. Congratulations Toilet Swirlie.”

“Toilet Swirlie.”

“Yes Steve-O. Toilet Swirlie. You like that? That’s what I am going to call him from now on and the best part is it’s the same initials as his actual name. In fact, I might get him some monogrammed hand towels with T.S on them so that the next time someone decides to use his big fucking head as a plunger he can pull some sweet ass hand towels that he got from his buddy Theo out and use them to clean off his face. Not that anyone would notice the difference. Seriously Steve, have you seen that fucking face? That’s not even a face that a mother could love. Steve can you get me Mrs. Santos’s phone number?”

“Why would you want that?”

“Two reasons. First I want to know if she is a drunk like her son and second to ask her if she loves her son and if she doesn’t which I suspect is the case, is it because he’s so fugly or because he’s accomplished pretty much nothing in his 27 years of existence. I want to know if his mother looks at him and thinks to herself “why didn’t I just jam a coat hanger up there and be done with it?”

“That seems a bit harsh.”

“Does it Steve? Does it really? Because I don’t think it was harsh enough. So what if Tony Santos should have been an abortion, he’s not the only one. Steve Davids is another one; in fact, his entire fucking country after the revolutionary war should have just been one big conveyor belt of abortions. What has England done since 1776? The Spice Girls? One Direction? The Beatles, please, those hacks were as fraudulent as Morbid Angel’s record. But you know what Steve I think I’ve said all I can about this match, about Tony and Steve. So I will sum it up like this, Saturday night I have a match, I am going to walk in the TV champ and I am going to walk out the TV champ, what happens in between is anyone’s guess but the beginning and the end, those are guarantees. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to grab my bags because my ride’s here. So if you would please get the fuck out of my house I’d appreciate it.”


As Steve and the camera guy are quickly ushered out of the house by Theo we can see Jimmy Durance aka Put Put Daddio pulling up the drive way at about 5 miles an hour in his beat up Honda Civic that looks like it should have died 10 years ago. A few minutes later Jimmy finally gets to the top of the driveway but not before destroying the O-zone layer with cloud of smoke coming out of the back of his car. The scene fades out as Jimmy exits his vehicle and heads towards the entrance of Theo’s house.]]> Theo Pryce Residence
Paradise Valley, Arizona



Theo picks up his phone off the nightstand and types in a 10 digit number, the phone rings four times and then goes to voicemail.


“You’ve reached the voicemail of Free Win Flynn, I’m probably at the local YMCA getting housed by 12 year olds because that’s what I do now. If on the off chance I’m not doing that leave a message and I will try and get back to you. Hashtag Can’t Win.”

“Damn it Mark, I was depending on you to pick up, I’m heading to Texas in a little while wasn’t sure if you wanted to car pool. And by car pool I mean for you to drive me because I don’t have access to the company jet anymore. Maybe you haven’t heard but …..BEEP.”

“Mother fucker.”


Theo takes the phone from his ear and hit’s the green phone icon twice, redialing the number he just called. Again four rings and then voicemail.


“You’ve reached the voicemail of Free Win Flynn, I’m probably at the local YMCA getting housed by 12 year olds because that’s what I do now. If on the off chance I’m not doing that leave a message and I will try and get back to you. Hashtag Can’t Win.”

“Mark it’s Theo, I’m heading to Michigan, wasn’t sure if you wanted to car pool and by car pool I mean you drive me because I don’t have access to the company jet anymore. Call me back.”


Theo puts the phone down on the table, walks over to his closet and a few minutes later comes back out wearing a black suit and black shoes to match. He walks over to his dresser, pushes aside a black baseball cap and grabs his wallet which was hidden underneath the hat. Next to the wallet was his watch which he grabs and puts on his left wrist as he walks back to the table to grab his phone. Before he can reach for it the phone starts to vibrate.


“This better be Flynn.”


Theo reaches down and picks up the phone, the name on the screen is not that of Mark Flynn but of Jimmy Durance.


“What’s up Jimmy?”

“Hello sir. I wanted to let you know that I thought long and hard about your offer and I’ve decided to take you up on it.”

“Excellent choice Jimmy. Truly excellent. Now for your first order of business I need you to swing by my place and pick me up. We need to get to Michigan.”

“Sir my car…it’s not really something that you would want to take a long road trip in.”

“Don’t worry about it. I have a whole fleet of vehicles, just get yourself over here and well figure out the rest.”

“Very well sir.”


Theo hits the red phone icon on the screen of his cell and then puts it into his right pants pocket but only for a moment as the phone starts vibrating again. Theo quickly reaches into his pocket and pulls the phone back out, the name on the front reads Steve Sayors.


“God damn it.”


Theo presses the green phone icon to accept the call.


“Steve I’m a bit busy at the moment, what the fuck do you want?”

“I was wondering if maybe we could talk before your big match on Saturday?”

“If I say no will you hang up the phone and promise not to call me back?”

“I can’t do that. It’s in your contract that you have to do at least one interview before every match.”

“What? I thought I had one of those Iron Clad contracts. You know, the Gilmour Contract.”

“No one has an iron clad contract Mr. Pryce, Not even Peter Gilmour.”

“Are you sure Steve, because I’ve never known Peter Gilmour to be a liar. That just doesn’t sound like him at all. I’m going to tell Peter you said he was a liar, you better watch your back or he is going to end you.”

“I didn’t say that Peter was a liar, just that no one has Iron Clad contracts.”

“Whatever you say Steve. I just hope Peter doesn’t get wind of this and try to sue you for defamation of character.”

“I'll take my chances. So can we begin the interview?”

“Now? Right now?”

“Are you doing anything else important?”

“Yes as a matter of fact I am. How about I call you from the road?”

“Sure, let me give you my number.”

“I already have it on my phone Steve, how else would I know to ignore your calls when I don’t feel like being bothered?”

“Ok, I will wait…”


Theo ends the call before Steve can even finish his sentence.

Theo goes to put his phone down when suddenly the door bell rings. Theo walks down the hall to the front door and opens it and who should be standing there but Steve Sayors and that fat camera guy that follows him around. You know the one, he wears a Metallica shirt that is two sizes too small thus exposing the bottom portion of his belly.


“Steve, what the fuck?”

“I just got off the phone with Paul Heyman and he said if you don’t do an interview right now that he will strip you of the Television Title and bar you from the building.”

“It’s a fucking stadium Steve, I’ll just helicopter in. And how the fuck did you just talk to him? I just hung up on you like 30 seconds ago.”

“I have my ways Mr. Pryce.”

“I don’t like your attitude Steve-O but since Paul has this uncanny ability to make things happen I guess I’ll give in this one time. After all I spent all week letting these fucking cameras follow me around so it would be a buzz kill if that fat fuck cancelled my match on me just because someone stole his Yakama.”

“Ok, give me a second to get set up.”

“Set up? All you need to do is tell that fat fuck over there going to town on a bag of Cheetos to turn the camera on, I’ll do the rest.”


Steve signals to the fat fuck camera guy and a second later the small red light above the camera goes on. Steve turns around and pulls out a small recording device from his pocket and places it between him and Theo.


“So Theo, you have a match coming up this Saturday in which you will be defending the television title…”

“Blah blah blah…yes I have a match. Yes, it’s against two opponents. Yes I am going to beat them both. No I’m not worried. Anything else or can I go?”

“Why aren’t you worried? You are coming off a loss in your most recent match.”

“So what? I lost, shit happens. I was coming out of a coma, still groggy from all the meds they gave me. Plus I was self medicating, you know how that goes.”

“Self medicating with what?”

“Cocaine.”

“That doesn’t seem to be very wise.”

“And yet I have billions of dollars and you make slightly above minimum wage. Which one of us is the idiot Steve?”

“Let me ask you Theo, I saw that in your last promo you went at Steve Davids pretty hard but when it came to Tony Santos you didn’t have much to say, why is that?”

“Probably for the same reason Tony Santos spent an entire promo today ripping apart Steve Davids, because it’s fun and it’s easy. Not for nothing Steve-O but next to Peter Gilmour, Steve Davids hands out free ammo like he was the N.R.A. So it’s not totally surprising that Tony took a massive shit all over Steve today. It’s therapeutic. But I will say I am a bit shocked at Tony’s lack of words for me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s saved me from having to cut a promo blasting his shit all over the place like a Jackson Pollack.”

“Why do you think that is? Tony’s relative silence in regards to you?”

“I’m sure Tony sees the writing on the wall, he knows that he’s completely fucked in this match and so he is going to throw a Hail Mary and cut a promo bashing me at the last minute giving me no time to respond. Whatever. If I were in his shoes I’d probably do the same thing. But I’d never be in his shoes. You see these shoes Steve-O?”


Steve looks down at Theo’s beautifully shined wing tip shoes.


“Hey camera guy down here, give the people at home a chance to see these beauties.”


The camera man does as he is told and points the camera down towards Theo’s shoes.


“These babies, they cost more than what Tony get’s in his bi-weekly welfare check. These babies right here, these are Manhattan Richelieu wingtips, made from waxed alligator leather. They cost me Ten Grand.”

“That’s a lot of zeroes.”

“Fucking A right it is. But anyway back to Tony Santos. Look I’ll spell it out as best as I can. Tony Santos once upon a time did something relevant. I guess. The truth is I searched the archives for a long fucking time trying to find something impressive that he’s done. It must have been a good 15 minutes before I got bored and then went and took a shit. But in those 15 minutes I couldn’t find an important thing he did except that one time Sid Feder dunked Tony’s head in a toilet. In fact, that is honestly Tony’s only claim to fame in the 9 months I have been here. Getting his head jammed into a shit filled toilet. Congratulations Toilet Swirlie.”

“Toilet Swirlie.”

“Yes Steve-O. Toilet Swirlie. You like that? That’s what I am going to call him from now on and the best part is it’s the same initials as his actual name. In fact, I might get him some monogrammed hand towels with T.S on them so that the next time someone decides to use his big fucking head as a plunger he can pull some sweet ass hand towels that he got from his buddy Theo out and use them to clean off his face. Not that anyone would notice the difference. Seriously Steve, have you seen that fucking face? That’s not even a face that a mother could love. Steve can you get me Mrs. Santos’s phone number?”

“Why would you want that?”

“Two reasons. First I want to know if she is a drunk like her son and second to ask her if she loves her son and if she doesn’t which I suspect is the case, is it because he’s so fugly or because he’s accomplished pretty much nothing in his 27 years of existence. I want to know if his mother looks at him and thinks to herself “why didn’t I just jam a coat hanger up there and be done with it?”

“That seems a bit harsh.”

“Does it Steve? Does it really? Because I don’t think it was harsh enough. So what if Tony Santos should have been an abortion, he’s not the only one. Steve Davids is another one; in fact, his entire fucking country after the revolutionary war should have just been one big conveyor belt of abortions. What has England done since 1776? The Spice Girls? One Direction? The Beatles, please, those hacks were as fraudulent as Morbid Angel’s record. But you know what Steve I think I’ve said all I can about this match, about Tony and Steve. So I will sum it up like this, Saturday night I have a match, I am going to walk in the TV champ and I am going to walk out the TV champ, what happens in between is anyone’s guess but the beginning and the end, those are guarantees. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to grab my bags because my ride’s here. So if you would please get the fuck out of my house I’d appreciate it.”


As Steve and the camera guy are quickly ushered out of the house by Theo we can see Jimmy Durance aka Put Put Daddio pulling up the drive way at about 5 miles an hour in his beat up Honda Civic that looks like it should have died 10 years ago. A few minutes later Jimmy finally gets to the top of the driveway but not before destroying the O-zone layer with cloud of smoke coming out of the back of his car. The scene fades out as Jimmy exits his vehicle and heads towards the entrance of Theo’s house.]]>