<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - XWF Snow Job 2016]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Fri, 17 Apr 2026 00:29:02 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[The Pest speaks to Luca and Peter]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22596 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 23:48:59 -0800 Pest]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22596 Pest: Finally, you get a chance to speak. And boy, do I have something to say. Mostly about how someone who is supposedly so big and bad has fuck all to say. Allow me to question where you get off calling anyone a , where there is literally no evidence to support it, while your partner, who has been sealed to your anus since the XWF returned, laments at the idea that someone would dare use that term to describe people? How do you justify hurting his feelings so much? Because, he is certainly crying into his Luca Arzegotti sheets and matching pillow cases about that comment. Allow me to pose this question to you, and your vastly flawed sense of superiority? How is the Pest a homosexual if he rapes teenage girls so frequently? Perhaps my actions will breed another generation of monsters such as I, but Pest is rather certain that he is aware of that fact. Especially when he told Angela to begin to groom the boy to be like the Pest. Perhaps you could come off of your high horse, and stop acting as if you are so untouchable. Or, do you need to be reminded of what happened to you when last you faced Dim for a title? Who lost? That is correct, you were defeated and lost the title. And the last time Pest stepped into the ring for a tag title? He won. Do you see the pattern here?

You want to bring up the time I went to have dinner with Erica and her family? Need I remind you of the events leading up to that? And how her mother was simply trying to keep her daughter alive, but appeasing the Pest? Because Pest had previously choked the girl and reminded her that had they not appeased him, their child would be murdered and sent to them in pieces. That was an act of trying to save their child. Yet, the idea to protect a child is considered insane to Arzegotti. Which is all the more sad when one remembers that Luca has a child. He would not do something to save his child's life, yet would criticize parents who would attempt to save their child. Please, though, continue to defend Austin not only attempting to discuss shifting between dimensions, but shift between time tables without giving any clarification, all the while managing to still be hanging out with Luca and Zane Kingsley, all at the same time. Because that is coherent or logical, and Luca needs to defend this! He must defend the simple minded children in the world, except for his own. Despite the fact that if Luca and Austin were facing off against each other, Luca would have ran with this information to insult Austin as well. And now Luca is going to try and claim that I am aping him because I address my opponents by name and say hello to them. Perhaps he should have this conversation with a few people in this company. Because the Pest is not the only one who does that, but Luca feels he is entitled to only that, because Luca.

The reason Pest uttered so little about you before, Luca? It is the same reason he has been silent on Dim for the most part. Because you had stayed silent on anything pertaining to this match at the point of Pest speaking. Since this is going to be the second time I spoke since you decided to actually address anyone, and my first dialogue was directed solely at your partner, as he is the mouthpiece. Which, if memory serves correctly, the last time I was in a match for the tag titles, there was this punk bitch who ran his mouth like a guard dog. And that man did nothing to prevent the loss of his partner. She took the fall, and the loss while he sat on the sidelines and allowed it to happen. Some guard dog, huh? That guard dog reminds me a lot of Austin, and yet you seem oddly comfortable to let this spongy guard dog sleep at the foot of your bed, and feel like a real part of the family. Go feed him your scraps. But, please do remind him of what you do to your partners.

Or, does he already know, and did you promise him that this time would be different? Is that it? Did you stroke his hair as you two watched videos of you ripping Mark Flynn apart after losing the title match? You know, the next week you faced off. Or, the times you spend riding Theo like he was a rented mule, only for you to pull off your mask and try to become his best friend. These are important questions to answer while you shit directly into Austin's bowl. Luca, though, you miss the point of my pointing out grammatical errors in Austin's work, because you had your blinders on. Your partner likes to regularly do the same to people, while making grammatical mistakes as well. Which puts him squarely as a hypocrite and a fraud. He was to be called on it. And you could say that the transcripts guys make mistakes and it is not the fault of Austin, but that is the same logic that CorVus used to explain the date errors on the tombstone of his wife. Or, the same arguments Cain made. Congratulations, you have used Cain logic to win here. Good on you, you should feel proud. Should we also feel proud that you notice that I swap between First and Third Person? Yes, it happens frequently. Yes, it is something I have done for a while, and no it will not change. Did you also catch how I used to use different names to refer to myself with as well? Or, how about how I used to wear a crown made of dildos and tape? Or, perhaps how I used to also go by the moniker or Mr. W.G. W.F. Should we also discuss how your entire lexicon changed after you donned the Lazarus mask, you were rather southern for a while, and then what? The accident disappears after you remove the mask? Magic mask. Good try at being consistent, while trying to call people on their lack of consistency. You Runny Oatmeal Mother Fucker.

Now, Peter. Hi, how is it going? We will be meeting again, will we not? And this time you will be losing, because that is what you are best suited at. Losing. Go on with your childish claims of immortality and what have you, we all know the truth. Go on and tell the world how you are an unstoppable monster, when you lost your own dick and then had to suck it. Go on and tell the world how you are so powerful that it hurts. When the world knows the truth. You are a fat joke, and your partner is a mute who cannot bother to even address anyone for the match.


Pest is sitting in his locker room waiting for Snow Job to start. Robbie is off doing another commercial for some product. Pest looks around and notices there's an extra shadow in the room.

Pest: Come out now.

A small and tiny girl comes from behind the lockers she was poorly trying to hide behind. She is holding something in her hands, and appears to be no older than 12.

Pest: What do you want?

Her mouth moves and she tries to speak, but can't find the words. Pest begins to lose patience.

Pest: Answer me, child. You do not wish to anger me.

Girl: I'm here looking for Robbie Bourbon. I wanted his autograph.

Pest: He is not here. How old are you?

Girl: I'm 13. Why?

Pest: Come here, and I will take you to him.]]> Pest: Finally, you get a chance to speak. And boy, do I have something to say. Mostly about how someone who is supposedly so big and bad has fuck all to say. Allow me to question where you get off calling anyone a , where there is literally no evidence to support it, while your partner, who has been sealed to your anus since the XWF returned, laments at the idea that someone would dare use that term to describe people? How do you justify hurting his feelings so much? Because, he is certainly crying into his Luca Arzegotti sheets and matching pillow cases about that comment. Allow me to pose this question to you, and your vastly flawed sense of superiority? How is the Pest a homosexual if he rapes teenage girls so frequently? Perhaps my actions will breed another generation of monsters such as I, but Pest is rather certain that he is aware of that fact. Especially when he told Angela to begin to groom the boy to be like the Pest. Perhaps you could come off of your high horse, and stop acting as if you are so untouchable. Or, do you need to be reminded of what happened to you when last you faced Dim for a title? Who lost? That is correct, you were defeated and lost the title. And the last time Pest stepped into the ring for a tag title? He won. Do you see the pattern here?

You want to bring up the time I went to have dinner with Erica and her family? Need I remind you of the events leading up to that? And how her mother was simply trying to keep her daughter alive, but appeasing the Pest? Because Pest had previously choked the girl and reminded her that had they not appeased him, their child would be murdered and sent to them in pieces. That was an act of trying to save their child. Yet, the idea to protect a child is considered insane to Arzegotti. Which is all the more sad when one remembers that Luca has a child. He would not do something to save his child's life, yet would criticize parents who would attempt to save their child. Please, though, continue to defend Austin not only attempting to discuss shifting between dimensions, but shift between time tables without giving any clarification, all the while managing to still be hanging out with Luca and Zane Kingsley, all at the same time. Because that is coherent or logical, and Luca needs to defend this! He must defend the simple minded children in the world, except for his own. Despite the fact that if Luca and Austin were facing off against each other, Luca would have ran with this information to insult Austin as well. And now Luca is going to try and claim that I am aping him because I address my opponents by name and say hello to them. Perhaps he should have this conversation with a few people in this company. Because the Pest is not the only one who does that, but Luca feels he is entitled to only that, because Luca.

The reason Pest uttered so little about you before, Luca? It is the same reason he has been silent on Dim for the most part. Because you had stayed silent on anything pertaining to this match at the point of Pest speaking. Since this is going to be the second time I spoke since you decided to actually address anyone, and my first dialogue was directed solely at your partner, as he is the mouthpiece. Which, if memory serves correctly, the last time I was in a match for the tag titles, there was this punk bitch who ran his mouth like a guard dog. And that man did nothing to prevent the loss of his partner. She took the fall, and the loss while he sat on the sidelines and allowed it to happen. Some guard dog, huh? That guard dog reminds me a lot of Austin, and yet you seem oddly comfortable to let this spongy guard dog sleep at the foot of your bed, and feel like a real part of the family. Go feed him your scraps. But, please do remind him of what you do to your partners.

Or, does he already know, and did you promise him that this time would be different? Is that it? Did you stroke his hair as you two watched videos of you ripping Mark Flynn apart after losing the title match? You know, the next week you faced off. Or, the times you spend riding Theo like he was a rented mule, only for you to pull off your mask and try to become his best friend. These are important questions to answer while you shit directly into Austin's bowl. Luca, though, you miss the point of my pointing out grammatical errors in Austin's work, because you had your blinders on. Your partner likes to regularly do the same to people, while making grammatical mistakes as well. Which puts him squarely as a hypocrite and a fraud. He was to be called on it. And you could say that the transcripts guys make mistakes and it is not the fault of Austin, but that is the same logic that CorVus used to explain the date errors on the tombstone of his wife. Or, the same arguments Cain made. Congratulations, you have used Cain logic to win here. Good on you, you should feel proud. Should we also feel proud that you notice that I swap between First and Third Person? Yes, it happens frequently. Yes, it is something I have done for a while, and no it will not change. Did you also catch how I used to use different names to refer to myself with as well? Or, how about how I used to wear a crown made of dildos and tape? Or, perhaps how I used to also go by the moniker or Mr. W.G. W.F. Should we also discuss how your entire lexicon changed after you donned the Lazarus mask, you were rather southern for a while, and then what? The accident disappears after you remove the mask? Magic mask. Good try at being consistent, while trying to call people on their lack of consistency. You Runny Oatmeal Mother Fucker.

Now, Peter. Hi, how is it going? We will be meeting again, will we not? And this time you will be losing, because that is what you are best suited at. Losing. Go on with your childish claims of immortality and what have you, we all know the truth. Go on and tell the world how you are an unstoppable monster, when you lost your own dick and then had to suck it. Go on and tell the world how you are so powerful that it hurts. When the world knows the truth. You are a fat joke, and your partner is a mute who cannot bother to even address anyone for the match.


Pest is sitting in his locker room waiting for Snow Job to start. Robbie is off doing another commercial for some product. Pest looks around and notices there's an extra shadow in the room.

Pest: Come out now.

A small and tiny girl comes from behind the lockers she was poorly trying to hide behind. She is holding something in her hands, and appears to be no older than 12.

Pest: What do you want?

Her mouth moves and she tries to speak, but can't find the words. Pest begins to lose patience.

Pest: Answer me, child. You do not wish to anger me.

Girl: I'm here looking for Robbie Bourbon. I wanted his autograph.

Pest: He is not here. How old are you?

Girl: I'm 13. Why?

Pest: Come here, and I will take you to him.]]> <![CDATA[ON YOUR KNEES BITCH! (Gauntlet RP))]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22573 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 23:41:35 -0800 Amjetkun Socio]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22573



The Doctor, the Beast, and the Beauty




Dr. Hibiscus frantically searched through the drawers of his desk for the ( redacted ) , which of course was an item so wicked not even Peter Gilmour would be able to speak its name.

Dr. Hibiscus: "Vhat da fffaack deed I do widda fackinguh ting?"

A sense of urgency is in the air. The lights of this spooky laboratory flickering on and off and the sounds of the thunder storm just beyond the slightly cracked window played second fiddle to the true star: the sound of a full grown, wild gorilla going crazy with a lot of those deep grunting and oooing noises while he throws himself repeatedly against the bars of the cell he's locked in. A sense of urgency is in the air.

Dr. Hibiscus: "Aaaaaaghoddammit tu fffaaaaaaackinggg hell vhere iz dat ting? A trwue sense oof urgancy iss in de arr!"

The gorilla throws itself against the bars again and they start to bend. He starts freaking out doing even louder and more frantic sounding gorilla noises and grunts while he beats his chest. The beads of fresh perspiration all over Dr. Hibiscus tell us just how urgent this situation is, or how hot the room is, or both.

Amjetkun Socio, wearing a pair of workout shorts and a sweatband around his head, is attempting to lift a pair of 501 pound weights, one in each hand. The noises coming from him as he struggles with the weight, well over 1000 pounds in total, sound very similar to the noises that raging gorilla is making. Dr. Hibiscus slams his hands down on the surgery table and surgical instruments go flying.

Dr. Hibiscus: "Vill you too shaht de faaaaaa-cup!"

Amjetkun: "Bro you shut the fuck up yourself I'm trying to lift a new record and break my streak!"

The Gorilla: "Suck my dick."

Amjetkun: "Wow ok yeah so who the fuck are you talking to right now you hairy bitch?"

The Gorilla: "You . Suck it."

Amjetkun: "On your knees bitch!"

Dr. Hibiscus: "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

All heck breaks looser than Maverick's bowels if there's a title belt in sight, and that's really loose so just imagine the chaos. Amjetkun with a running leg whip to the gorilla! Holy sack shank! The gorilla is busted wide open and bleeding, but the green glowing ooze coming out of his open bloody holes looks more like the blood the aliens had in the War of the Worlds TV show from the late 80's.

The Gorilla summons his fellow aliens which for some stupid reason instantly teleports Dr. Hibiscus, Amjetkun Socio and The Gorilla himself all the way into a secret underground alien space lair where the trio unwittingly and unwarmingly interrupts the aliens hard at work!

[Image: qMpPxAc.jpg]

Dr. Hibiscus: "Fowell beasts! Vhat is de meaninga of dis?"

The Gorilla pulls a golden flute from the pocket of his sports coat and plays a tune that immediately has a sexified effect on the aliens, causing them to stop operating on their subject and they start toward Dr. Hibiscus and Amjetkun!

Amjetkun: "Fuck! What do we do, doc?"

Dr. Hibiscus: "Giff em de ROID RAGE!"

The doc takes a big steroid needle from his back pocket, it's about the size of one of those swirling barber's poles they had back in the day before the minorities came along and took all the hair cutting jobs and stopped putting pretty swirling poles out front. In fact, this massive needle is a former barber's pole, still swirling and all, which has been converted into what the doc has dubbed the copyrighted term Space Needle.

The Gorilla: "Ignorant fool! There is already a Space Needle!"

Well then the doc will call it, The Big Pointy.

Dr. Hibiscus: "Ya ya I vill call eet dat. Good good."

The Gorilla: "That's fine. I don't see any issues there."

Amjetkun: "I'm cool with that name for the big needle too bro."

The trio look over to the aliens and they all nod in agreement before pulling out their lazer beam cannons and pointing them at doc and Amjet.

The Gorilla: "Yes! Kill them! Vaporize them into oil! Homogenize them into pure vomit! Rah rah rah!"

The aliens all begin a chant: "Rah rah rah! Rah rah rah!"

Dr. Hibiscus: "Shuh tup you eediots! Amjetkoon I said giff em de ROID RAGE!"

And that's when it happens...

[Image: TgdAFjt.jpg]

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Amjetkun Socio has been blessed with the power of the almighty ( redacted ) and he charges the army of aliens that would have he and Dr. Hibiscus be their sex slaves and/or underpaid custodians, depending on blood type.

The roid rage sees 5 or More Commonly Used, Standard Moves of Amjetkun Socio The Great Pathmaker of Justice and the Imperial Don of Deez Nutz:

Bench Press to the first alien! Oh my fuck, he just pressed that alien through the roof and straight to hell!

Amjetkun: "Done bitch done who next?"

The 2nd alien rushes and goes for a superalien punch but Amjetkun reverses it straight into the Quad Killer! He just exploded that alien's quads!

The third alien comes at Amjetkun with Sub Zero's sliding trip move but Amjetkun grabs the foot as it slides to him and Calf Cutter Cunty Creamer (any leg submission probably after a kick to nuts)!

More aliens come. It's time for a big power play. The 5 K! The 5 K! He's going for it! (just runs so fast at the opponent they go flying and Amjetkun keeps running) In this case he ran through all the aliens and they went flying with piss and shit and period blood trailing from their holes as they soar thru space and time.

Amjetkun turns to The Gorilla who is backing away in fear now after his alien buddy's failed to take out the greatest XWF superstar of all time!

Protein Laxytime (chugs so many protein shakes he has massive diarrhea and then does Yokozuna Banzai Drop)... straight to The Gorilla! Oh! Squish!!!! Oh nasty! Nasty!

Dr. Hibiscus: "Goot job me-w??"

Amjetkun: "On your knees!"

Amjetkun turns on the doc! His roid rage has blinded him to friend and foe! Everyone is qualified to suck the dick! He grabs the doc and he hits it! Finishing Move 2: The PHPPP aka The Pump Handle Pill Popper Plex
Description: A high angle vertical leaping perfect plex sometimes keeping the leg hooked for a pin and sometimes not! This time, yes, he hooked the leg for the pin on the doc!

After Dr. Hibiscus finishes breaking down into bird seed, Amjetkun kicks the seeds away and looks around for some sex. He sees one of the alien's asses laying on the floor a few feet away and fucks it, yeah just fucks the ass, just an ass by itself, like fucking a pumpkin or something except it's green for alien ass.

Amjetkun: "Ok wow so if there was ever any doubt to who wins the guantlet, now we know it's me. I just used my technical prowess and my aerial ability to overcome the odds and defeat an entire army of blood thirsty green men who wanted to turn my cock into their pacifier which normally I'd be ok with except they meant it in the literal sense where I would mean it figuritively. See how that's a problem then? Yeah."

"So how the fuck do these gauntlet matches work? Oh yeah I come in and I put bitches on their knees all night long because I'm the all day all nighter and there's no one fighter. "

Thousands of body parts lay scattered for miles as far as the eye can see in this room as Amjetkun Socio The Great Pathmaker of Justice and The Imperial Don of Deez Nuts has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that no amount of foes are enough to topple the glorious, mountainous pile of muscles that Amjetkun has been so naturally gifted with by Allah and Allen Ezail Iverson, so many moons ago on a night with a crisp smell of victory in the air much like this night.

Amjetkun: "I'm the reason Mason Prince won his X-treme title because I weakened Steve Davids for him. I'm the one who gave Alexis Riot her X-treme title because I had just finished beating down Mason Prince and softening him up when she came along to pin him."

"I am the pathmaker."

"Tomorrow I'll be the reason the gauntlet ends how it does bitch just you watch and see. I'll be the reason. I'll be the pathmaker. Regardless of who wins, it'll all be about Amjetkun Socio, the name of the man who your woman thinks about while she's fucking you!"]]>



The Doctor, the Beast, and the Beauty




Dr. Hibiscus frantically searched through the drawers of his desk for the ( redacted ) , which of course was an item so wicked not even Peter Gilmour would be able to speak its name.

Dr. Hibiscus: "Vhat da fffaack deed I do widda fackinguh ting?"

A sense of urgency is in the air. The lights of this spooky laboratory flickering on and off and the sounds of the thunder storm just beyond the slightly cracked window played second fiddle to the true star: the sound of a full grown, wild gorilla going crazy with a lot of those deep grunting and oooing noises while he throws himself repeatedly against the bars of the cell he's locked in. A sense of urgency is in the air.

Dr. Hibiscus: "Aaaaaaghoddammit tu fffaaaaaaackinggg hell vhere iz dat ting? A trwue sense oof urgancy iss in de arr!"

The gorilla throws itself against the bars again and they start to bend. He starts freaking out doing even louder and more frantic sounding gorilla noises and grunts while he beats his chest. The beads of fresh perspiration all over Dr. Hibiscus tell us just how urgent this situation is, or how hot the room is, or both.

Amjetkun Socio, wearing a pair of workout shorts and a sweatband around his head, is attempting to lift a pair of 501 pound weights, one in each hand. The noises coming from him as he struggles with the weight, well over 1000 pounds in total, sound very similar to the noises that raging gorilla is making. Dr. Hibiscus slams his hands down on the surgery table and surgical instruments go flying.

Dr. Hibiscus: "Vill you too shaht de faaaaaa-cup!"

Amjetkun: "Bro you shut the fuck up yourself I'm trying to lift a new record and break my streak!"

The Gorilla: "Suck my dick."

Amjetkun: "Wow ok yeah so who the fuck are you talking to right now you hairy bitch?"

The Gorilla: "You . Suck it."

Amjetkun: "On your knees bitch!"

Dr. Hibiscus: "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

All heck breaks looser than Maverick's bowels if there's a title belt in sight, and that's really loose so just imagine the chaos. Amjetkun with a running leg whip to the gorilla! Holy sack shank! The gorilla is busted wide open and bleeding, but the green glowing ooze coming out of his open bloody holes looks more like the blood the aliens had in the War of the Worlds TV show from the late 80's.

The Gorilla summons his fellow aliens which for some stupid reason instantly teleports Dr. Hibiscus, Amjetkun Socio and The Gorilla himself all the way into a secret underground alien space lair where the trio unwittingly and unwarmingly interrupts the aliens hard at work!

[Image: qMpPxAc.jpg]

Dr. Hibiscus: "Fowell beasts! Vhat is de meaninga of dis?"

The Gorilla pulls a golden flute from the pocket of his sports coat and plays a tune that immediately has a sexified effect on the aliens, causing them to stop operating on their subject and they start toward Dr. Hibiscus and Amjetkun!

Amjetkun: "Fuck! What do we do, doc?"

Dr. Hibiscus: "Giff em de ROID RAGE!"

The doc takes a big steroid needle from his back pocket, it's about the size of one of those swirling barber's poles they had back in the day before the minorities came along and took all the hair cutting jobs and stopped putting pretty swirling poles out front. In fact, this massive needle is a former barber's pole, still swirling and all, which has been converted into what the doc has dubbed the copyrighted term Space Needle.

The Gorilla: "Ignorant fool! There is already a Space Needle!"

Well then the doc will call it, The Big Pointy.

Dr. Hibiscus: "Ya ya I vill call eet dat. Good good."

The Gorilla: "That's fine. I don't see any issues there."

Amjetkun: "I'm cool with that name for the big needle too bro."

The trio look over to the aliens and they all nod in agreement before pulling out their lazer beam cannons and pointing them at doc and Amjet.

The Gorilla: "Yes! Kill them! Vaporize them into oil! Homogenize them into pure vomit! Rah rah rah!"

The aliens all begin a chant: "Rah rah rah! Rah rah rah!"

Dr. Hibiscus: "Shuh tup you eediots! Amjetkoon I said giff em de ROID RAGE!"

And that's when it happens...

[Image: TgdAFjt.jpg]

[Image: FZFHWBi.jpg]

[Image: noaNaro.gif][Image: nQVhk9c.jpg]

[Image: bBzKCur.jpg]
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[Image: bBzKCur.jpg]
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[Image: bBzKCur.jpg]
[Image: bBzKCur.jpg]

Amjetkun Socio has been blessed with the power of the almighty ( redacted ) and he charges the army of aliens that would have he and Dr. Hibiscus be their sex slaves and/or underpaid custodians, depending on blood type.

The roid rage sees 5 or More Commonly Used, Standard Moves of Amjetkun Socio The Great Pathmaker of Justice and the Imperial Don of Deez Nutz:

Bench Press to the first alien! Oh my fuck, he just pressed that alien through the roof and straight to hell!

Amjetkun: "Done bitch done who next?"

The 2nd alien rushes and goes for a superalien punch but Amjetkun reverses it straight into the Quad Killer! He just exploded that alien's quads!

The third alien comes at Amjetkun with Sub Zero's sliding trip move but Amjetkun grabs the foot as it slides to him and Calf Cutter Cunty Creamer (any leg submission probably after a kick to nuts)!

More aliens come. It's time for a big power play. The 5 K! The 5 K! He's going for it! (just runs so fast at the opponent they go flying and Amjetkun keeps running) In this case he ran through all the aliens and they went flying with piss and shit and period blood trailing from their holes as they soar thru space and time.

Amjetkun turns to The Gorilla who is backing away in fear now after his alien buddy's failed to take out the greatest XWF superstar of all time!

Protein Laxytime (chugs so many protein shakes he has massive diarrhea and then does Yokozuna Banzai Drop)... straight to The Gorilla! Oh! Squish!!!! Oh nasty! Nasty!

Dr. Hibiscus: "Goot job me-w??"

Amjetkun: "On your knees!"

Amjetkun turns on the doc! His roid rage has blinded him to friend and foe! Everyone is qualified to suck the dick! He grabs the doc and he hits it! Finishing Move 2: The PHPPP aka The Pump Handle Pill Popper Plex
Description: A high angle vertical leaping perfect plex sometimes keeping the leg hooked for a pin and sometimes not! This time, yes, he hooked the leg for the pin on the doc!

After Dr. Hibiscus finishes breaking down into bird seed, Amjetkun kicks the seeds away and looks around for some sex. He sees one of the alien's asses laying on the floor a few feet away and fucks it, yeah just fucks the ass, just an ass by itself, like fucking a pumpkin or something except it's green for alien ass.

Amjetkun: "Ok wow so if there was ever any doubt to who wins the guantlet, now we know it's me. I just used my technical prowess and my aerial ability to overcome the odds and defeat an entire army of blood thirsty green men who wanted to turn my cock into their pacifier which normally I'd be ok with except they meant it in the literal sense where I would mean it figuritively. See how that's a problem then? Yeah."

"So how the fuck do these gauntlet matches work? Oh yeah I come in and I put bitches on their knees all night long because I'm the all day all nighter and there's no one fighter. "

Thousands of body parts lay scattered for miles as far as the eye can see in this room as Amjetkun Socio The Great Pathmaker of Justice and The Imperial Don of Deez Nuts has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that no amount of foes are enough to topple the glorious, mountainous pile of muscles that Amjetkun has been so naturally gifted with by Allah and Allen Ezail Iverson, so many moons ago on a night with a crisp smell of victory in the air much like this night.

Amjetkun: "I'm the reason Mason Prince won his X-treme title because I weakened Steve Davids for him. I'm the one who gave Alexis Riot her X-treme title because I had just finished beating down Mason Prince and softening him up when she came along to pin him."

"I am the pathmaker."

"Tomorrow I'll be the reason the gauntlet ends how it does bitch just you watch and see. I'll be the reason. I'll be the pathmaker. Regardless of who wins, it'll all be about Amjetkun Socio, the name of the man who your woman thinks about while she's fucking you!"]]> <![CDATA[The Black Hand Saves Washington]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22594 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 23:23:18 -0800 Prof. Bobby Bourbon]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22594

The Black Hand has traveled through time to undo the series of fuck-ups that led to DC being backwards and all but destroyed. They have arrived on the day the pink slime was originally confronted.

Then Pest spoke to mark the occasion.

THE BLACK HAND SAVES WASHINGTON

We open to see both pairs of Robbie and Pest sitting at a table, staring at each other. Finally, future Robbie, as noted with vomit stains on his shirt, and future Pest, as noted by his fancy ski suit, speak in unison.

Pest: You both have to disappear.

Future Robbie and Pest look at each other and smirk. Past Pest and Robbie shrug, turn around, and head down a hallway in the dojo.

Pest: That was remarkably easy, Robert.

We're easy to get along with. You can always tell when someone is well-informed...

Pest: I know, I heard.

Gotcha. So, we just sit here and wait?

Pest: Perhaps. I have a matter to settle with some of your Bourbon Men.

Morbid Angel enters the room, leading Cyberjaw and Diamondback in by their ears.

Ow ow ow ow!

Hey, what are you doing with my guys?

"They know too much."

Cyberjaw and Diamondback look utterly deflated, like a kid waiting to see the principal in school. Robbie sits with his arms folded.

Pest: Which one of you geeks thought it was funny to mess with my toiletries?

Diamondback points at Cyberjaw.

He did it!

Cyberjaw looks like he's ready to cry. Pest produces the container of Gold Bond marked 'Old Bond'.

Pest: Do you think it wise to laugh at the expense of Pest?

Cyberjaw, I'm surprised at...

Robbie stops and looks at the Gold Bond. He takes the container and sniffs it.

I use this stuff too.

Pest: This should not be a surprise, Robert. We are professional athletes.

"I love Gold Bond. I use it before taking a Godshot."

Robbie wretches, recalling his experience with the Godshot*.

Oh, fuck you Morbid, for bringing that up again. But, if we all use Gold Bond...

Robbie runs out the door with the container of Gold Bond, followed quickly by Pest and Morbid Angel. Cyberjaw looks at Diamondback.

Why did you snitch?

Dude, I don't want that big motherfucker getting pissed with me!

Robbie and Pest continue to jog down the hall and get into the van, where Morbid Angel is waiting for them already.

Wait, how did you get here already?

"We raced. VICTORY FOREVER!"

Whatever. Pest, are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Pest: Are you thinking about taking wood screws and slowly turning a Philips as they sink in between the fingernail and fingers of Cyberjaw?

Not at all. Get in, let's roll.

The Black Hand tears ass towards the pink slime wall, again. They approach the wall, which shrieks, then calms down. Robbie takes the container of Gold Bond and squeezes, spraying the powder all over the pink slime wall. It instantly dissipates into nothingness.

Well, looks like we're not that evil after all, guys. It was just our choice in medicated powder!

Pest and Morbid look at Robbie like he's speaking backwards Chinese.

Pest: Robert, we are most definitely not good people.

Yeah, and I'm not a bad guy.

"He has a point."

Pest: So then what does that make us, then?

Robbie smiles.

We're the god damned Black Hand. We're whatever is needed.

Robbie puts his hand forwards. Pest and Morbid look at him curiously before he jostles his hand. They continue to look at him oddly.

C'mon, all in guys.

Pest rolls his eyes as Morbid gleefully sticks his hand into the circle. Pest puts his hand out, and all three men touch fists then raise them up in the air. Robbie turns and starts to walk back to the van.

Pest: What do we do now, Robert?

Hrmm. I dunno.



One week passes.

We open to see Robbie and Pest preparing to board their plane for Russia.

Pest: That was a much more relaxing week than I anticipated, Robert.

Yeah, I know. It's a shame I had to sit and watch all those Austin Fernando promos again, though. It was funny to watch him slowly go crazy as the week went on, I guess the lack of sleep from constantly not getting fired, and I seriously had no idea his job was on the line I just wanted to watch him squirm, but I guess the lack of sleep drove him over the deep end. Did you hear towards the end where he was just kind of hollering about how we were being defensive? He even confused me with Cain.

Pest: I would slap the taste out of his mouth if he called me that.

Robbie shrugs.

Brother, if you think he's in a bad way now, just wait until after the show when we walk out of the ring the one, true XWF Tag Team Champions of the Universe.

Pest: I think Peter will take it a little more to heart.

Peter's a fucking dink with no cock. Luca's a head case with a problem with the nose candy. Dim is just a Trump puppet.

We hear a muffled sound coming from Robbie's back pack. It unzips itself, and out hops the dick of Peter Gilmour.

That's right. Peter Gilmour doesn't have a dick. I'm my own dick now, so I make my own decisions. That date you set me up on was swell of you, Robbie. Unfortunately, that spy sub we were after got away. I am ready, though, for your next assignment.

Pest looks at Robbie with narrowed eyes. Robbie looks back at him wide eyes with hands raised as if to say "I didn't pack that". Robbie turns back to the dick of Peter Gilmour.

Alright, bud, what I need you to do is get on that airplane that's departing over there, headed for Sri Lanka.

Okay, and once I'm there...

Once you're there await further instruction, but Penis...

Yes?

This is top secret.

Okay.

With that, the dick of Peter Gilmour stealthily makes his way towards a group of nuns, crawls up on of their legs, and waits to go to Sri Lanka.

Pest: You live a very strange life, Robert.

It's all in the company I keep.


*As explained in the Adventures of Morbid Angel, check your news stands!]]>

The Black Hand has traveled through time to undo the series of fuck-ups that led to DC being backwards and all but destroyed. They have arrived on the day the pink slime was originally confronted.

Then Pest spoke to mark the occasion.

THE BLACK HAND SAVES WASHINGTON

We open to see both pairs of Robbie and Pest sitting at a table, staring at each other. Finally, future Robbie, as noted with vomit stains on his shirt, and future Pest, as noted by his fancy ski suit, speak in unison.

Pest: You both have to disappear.

Future Robbie and Pest look at each other and smirk. Past Pest and Robbie shrug, turn around, and head down a hallway in the dojo.

Pest: That was remarkably easy, Robert.

We're easy to get along with. You can always tell when someone is well-informed...

Pest: I know, I heard.

Gotcha. So, we just sit here and wait?

Pest: Perhaps. I have a matter to settle with some of your Bourbon Men.

Morbid Angel enters the room, leading Cyberjaw and Diamondback in by their ears.

Ow ow ow ow!

Hey, what are you doing with my guys?

"They know too much."

Cyberjaw and Diamondback look utterly deflated, like a kid waiting to see the principal in school. Robbie sits with his arms folded.

Pest: Which one of you geeks thought it was funny to mess with my toiletries?

Diamondback points at Cyberjaw.

He did it!

Cyberjaw looks like he's ready to cry. Pest produces the container of Gold Bond marked 'Old Bond'.

Pest: Do you think it wise to laugh at the expense of Pest?

Cyberjaw, I'm surprised at...

Robbie stops and looks at the Gold Bond. He takes the container and sniffs it.

I use this stuff too.

Pest: This should not be a surprise, Robert. We are professional athletes.

"I love Gold Bond. I use it before taking a Godshot."

Robbie wretches, recalling his experience with the Godshot*.

Oh, fuck you Morbid, for bringing that up again. But, if we all use Gold Bond...

Robbie runs out the door with the container of Gold Bond, followed quickly by Pest and Morbid Angel. Cyberjaw looks at Diamondback.

Why did you snitch?

Dude, I don't want that big motherfucker getting pissed with me!

Robbie and Pest continue to jog down the hall and get into the van, where Morbid Angel is waiting for them already.

Wait, how did you get here already?

"We raced. VICTORY FOREVER!"

Whatever. Pest, are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Pest: Are you thinking about taking wood screws and slowly turning a Philips as they sink in between the fingernail and fingers of Cyberjaw?

Not at all. Get in, let's roll.

The Black Hand tears ass towards the pink slime wall, again. They approach the wall, which shrieks, then calms down. Robbie takes the container of Gold Bond and squeezes, spraying the powder all over the pink slime wall. It instantly dissipates into nothingness.

Well, looks like we're not that evil after all, guys. It was just our choice in medicated powder!

Pest and Morbid look at Robbie like he's speaking backwards Chinese.

Pest: Robert, we are most definitely not good people.

Yeah, and I'm not a bad guy.

"He has a point."

Pest: So then what does that make us, then?

Robbie smiles.

We're the god damned Black Hand. We're whatever is needed.

Robbie puts his hand forwards. Pest and Morbid look at him curiously before he jostles his hand. They continue to look at him oddly.

C'mon, all in guys.

Pest rolls his eyes as Morbid gleefully sticks his hand into the circle. Pest puts his hand out, and all three men touch fists then raise them up in the air. Robbie turns and starts to walk back to the van.

Pest: What do we do now, Robert?

Hrmm. I dunno.



One week passes.

We open to see Robbie and Pest preparing to board their plane for Russia.

Pest: That was a much more relaxing week than I anticipated, Robert.

Yeah, I know. It's a shame I had to sit and watch all those Austin Fernando promos again, though. It was funny to watch him slowly go crazy as the week went on, I guess the lack of sleep from constantly not getting fired, and I seriously had no idea his job was on the line I just wanted to watch him squirm, but I guess the lack of sleep drove him over the deep end. Did you hear towards the end where he was just kind of hollering about how we were being defensive? He even confused me with Cain.

Pest: I would slap the taste out of his mouth if he called me that.

Robbie shrugs.

Brother, if you think he's in a bad way now, just wait until after the show when we walk out of the ring the one, true XWF Tag Team Champions of the Universe.

Pest: I think Peter will take it a little more to heart.

Peter's a fucking dink with no cock. Luca's a head case with a problem with the nose candy. Dim is just a Trump puppet.

We hear a muffled sound coming from Robbie's back pack. It unzips itself, and out hops the dick of Peter Gilmour.

That's right. Peter Gilmour doesn't have a dick. I'm my own dick now, so I make my own decisions. That date you set me up on was swell of you, Robbie. Unfortunately, that spy sub we were after got away. I am ready, though, for your next assignment.

Pest looks at Robbie with narrowed eyes. Robbie looks back at him wide eyes with hands raised as if to say "I didn't pack that". Robbie turns back to the dick of Peter Gilmour.

Alright, bud, what I need you to do is get on that airplane that's departing over there, headed for Sri Lanka.

Okay, and once I'm there...

Once you're there await further instruction, but Penis...

Yes?

This is top secret.

Okay.

With that, the dick of Peter Gilmour stealthily makes his way towards a group of nuns, crawls up on of their legs, and waits to go to Sri Lanka.

Pest: You live a very strange life, Robert.

It's all in the company I keep.


*As explained in the Adventures of Morbid Angel, check your news stands!]]> <![CDATA[Took you long enough.]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22591 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 22:47:18 -0800 Alexis Riot]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22591
"Well hello there Rioters! For those who still don't know me, I'm Alexis Riot, former X-Treme Champion and leader of the Riot Revolution,"

"I also got set on fire once,"

"Anyway, I'm not really sure why you guys are here to be honest. I'm just siting here reading Jaws, the novel that inspired the film that demonized sharks worldwide. So, unless you guys just want to listen to me read this classic tale, which would be boring as all fuck to listen to, you guys can just go. Besides, its not like D'Ville has said anything this week,"

"Wait... what?"

Alexis puts down her book and listens to the mysterious cameraman.

"Really?"

Alexis then laughs,

"Took the Doc long enough! Thought he was going to no show for a second! Wait... shit, I better get ready to do a promo!"

***

The camera cuts to Alexis a few minutes later, siting in front of the camera with a smile on her face.

"Hello again Rioters! I'm Alexis Riot and well... its time,"

"The wait is over,"

"D'Ville has stopped being a bitch and has actually said something about our match,"

"Well, Doc, you might be a little late for our appointment, but don't worry. This patient was, well, patient, and is still ready for our little match on Saturday,"

"Thing is doctor, I might be the patient, but it will be you who leaves in an ambulance,"

"Before I continue, thank you to everyone who helped spread #wherethefuckisdoc and sent me evidence on Doctor's whereabouts on www.wherethefuckisdoc.com. Sadly, because Doc remerged out of nowhere all by himself and no one really truly "found" him, I guess that means no one will get the AJ Styles cumshot T-Shirt,"

"Which is good, because that shirt is the shit, and by that I mean it's literally shit,"

To illustrate her point, Alexis picks up the shirt, crumples it up, and throws it off screen.

"Back on topic, let's see what the King had to say about little ole me,"

"Yes Doc, I am coming off a really bad week. I've lost my title, got set on fire, and now have to face off against you,"

"The thing is though, none of that weakens or discourages me though, it just lights a fire under me,"

"It makes me more determined, more foucused, and most of all more dangerous,"

"Funny isn't it? Getting set on fire only made my inner fire grow stronger!"

"And this fire is going to burn you up Doc,"

"You cite my loss against Fernando as a strike against me? Look Doc, I didn't jump into an ocean full of sharks and assume I would come out ok, I knew I would get bit."

"And I did get bit, hard, but I survived that bite, and now I'm coming back into the ocean like Quint from Jaws, looking to take revenge against the biggest shark In the ocean,"

"You are the great white, your highness, but unlike Quint, even when I get locked in your bloody, painful jaws, I won't die easily,"

"At least, I won't die without taking you with me,"

"The fact I'm still walking after the beatdown I suffered is a testament that I'm here to stay, like it or not, and that after, yes after, I'm done with you and after I win the gauntlet, I'll be stronger than ever,"

"And when people like Pest and the CCWF realize the monster that has been unleashed, it will be too late,"

"You're no steeping stone Doc, you're a boulder, one that has bested many a climber,"

"But Riot is coming at you with a box filled with dynamite,"

"The door is always open huh? Well I'm sorry D'Ville,"

"But it's closing time,"
***

Alexis Riot walked down the streets of Chicago, hands in her pockets from the chill in the air. It was early in the morning, so the streets were quiet, allowing Alexis to focus on her thoughts. She was heading to the "Bare Necessities," the mobile home of her friend Jethro Huffman, in order to basically be the enforcer for a drug deal. The voice in her head was really getting at her for this one,

"Really, are you going to condone this flagrant sin?"

Alexis sighed, "Hey, that's what friends are for."

"Why is your "friend" even worth going through all this trouble. You do know who he's dealing with right?"

"Yep, a representative of the Red Lions,"

"How can you be so confident? Piss them off, and they will either kill you or kick you out of this city, especially after what you did to three of them in that infamous alleyway next to the theater!"

Alexis Riot giggled to herself. Replaying the moments of absolutely destroying those three bastards and saving a family's life filled her with a sense of joy. Except the part where she got cut in the cheek, but hey, every cloud has a shitty lining, or something.

"I know the risk,"

"But why take it?"

"One, It's just one person, I can take him. Two, with your power, I could take on whatever they throw at me,"

"Only if you kill at least one of them,"

"Three, what pain should I have to fear? I've been set on fire for goodness sakes! Nothing can intimidate me or make me give up now!"

"Eh, good point,"

"Alright, you can shut up now, we're here,"

"I can't fulfill your request of "shutting up", child,"

Alexis now stood in front of the mobile home, with Jethro's car parked lazily next to it. The home itself was very old, with a broken window and rusted sides, along with the smell of drugs and god knows what else in the air. Pretty much the stereotypical home of a drug dealer, but considering Jeff hasn't run into legal trouble recently, Alexis thought it was just a case of hiding in plain sight. Taking a deep breath, Alexis walked up to the door and knocked. She then stepped back, waiting for a response. A few seconds passed, then a few minutes, but still no answer. Alexis shrugged and began to turn around to walk back home,

"Well, it is pretty early in the morning, the deal isn't supposed to start in a couple hours, I'll just swing by later and-"

Before Alexis could finish her thought, she heard a door open behind her. She turned around and saw a sight that quite frankly should never be seen,

It was Jeff holding a half eaten Jimmy Dean sandwich, wearing only boxer briefs, and with his hairy chest showing in all its "glory",

"Oh hi Alex! Didn't expect you to be here this early,"

"..."

"Oh... yeah.... sorry about that... I just woke up around half an hour ago."

"Just... get something on will ya?"

***

The Bare Necessities was defiantly a reflection on the character of Jeff himself. It was cluttered, with clothes, trash, Jimmy Dean sandwiches, and even a few bags of drugs lying around. It also was filled with a smorgasbord of cheap knick knacks, with an entire collection of snow globes lying on a table. Being a mobile home, it also was very small, almost claustrophobic. And the smell? God forbid the smell! How Jeff could stand living here, Alexis couldn't comprehend. Speaking of Jeff, he was now thankfully dressed, in a Snuggie.

"Really? A member of the most powerful gang in this city is coming over to purchase some of your drugs, and you're dressed in a Snuggie?"

"Hey, casual Friday. Besides, it doesn't really matter what I look like to be honest, the only thing he's concerned about is the quality of what I'm selling,"

"Speaking of which, what are you selling them anyway? Weed? Cocaine? Molly? PCB?"

"Trust me Al, its way more valuable then any of those."

"Then what is it?"

"Its a new drug that's been making the rounds, they call it "Sprinkles"."

"Sprinkles? Of all the names..."

"Don't let the name fool you bruh, its some trippy stuff. Its basically an advanced form of LCD, causing hallucinations and brief detachment from reality. The visions last longer than your average LCD, and they are WAY more wicked. Some people who have had It claimed to see outside of this universe! Heck, I heard one person claim they saw the face of God! Needless to say, its very dangerous, very rare, and very valuable. I had to sell five entire shipments of my usual drugs to afford a bag of it! It's lying on the dinner table right now. You can take a look, but no touchies, I don't want its value to lower."

Alexis was now curious, so she walked over to the table, almost tripping over a box of Twinkies left lying on the ground, and took a look at these "Sprinkles". They certainly lived up to their name, looking exactly like those multicolored capsules of sugar. It's size would make it easy to smuggle and easier to take, and if what Jeff said about its effects and its value was true, well, Jeff might have enough money to make it literally rain, provided he didn't waste it all on pool games and cheap breakfast sandwiches. Suddenly, Alexis realized a presence next to her. She turned around and nearly jumped back. It was a tall man, around 6'9, and he had a muscular but not well toned frame. He also wore a trucker cap, a sleeveless basketball T-Shirt, and a large pair of jorts with black cowboy boots. The most striking thing about the man, however, was his expression. It was completely vacant, no emotion or even thought seemed to be in it, and the man's tongue stuck out of his mouth. In fact, had the man not been obvious breathing from the rising of his chest, Riot would have thought he was dead!

[Image: Festus.png]

"Oh... Hi Bob,"

Bob continued to not move, just staring. After a long while, he put up his hand and waved slightly before having it drop back down to his side.

"So... how has Bob been doing lately?"

"Alright, I tried to get him to speak a few simple words, but he still can't do that yet. Always ends up having a tantrum trying to pronounce the words. He can however respond to some simple English phrases via body language and can also do some simple tasks, such as getting me another sandwich,"

Jeff then clapped, the noise getting Bob's attention.

"Hey Bob, throw me a Dean will ya?"

The colossus then slumbered over to the pantry, pulling out a box of Jimmy Dean sandwiches. The man then ripped the box in half, the food spilling to the floor. After a few seconds, Bob then bent down to pick up a sandwich. He then threw the sandwich to Jeff, the bum catching it in his right hand. After this, Bob then went back to his near catatonic state, staring into space.

"Yeah... we still have a long way to go before he can live on his own, but he's still better."

"Does he still have his... outbursts?"

"Not as much as usual, I was able to convince him to not be afraid of the dark. He does, however, get very defensive if anything he consider harm comes my way."

"So, he's basically a guard dog?"

"More like a kid, a big, protective, and mentally challenged kid. Here, let me show you."

Jeff then stood up, a wave of Jimmy Dean crumbs falling off his Snuggie to the floor. How this place didn't have ants was a mystery.

"Alright Al, slap me,"

"What?"

"Don't worry, I can take it. Don't hold back ok?"

"Alright then Jeff, if you say so,"

Confused, Alexis slapped her friend directly in the cheek, the impact of the slap nearly causing Jeff to fall back in his chair. When the stinging recoil of that slap filled the air. Something seemed to snap inside of Bob. He raised his hands up, his eyes opening wide and nearly popping out of socket, and he filled the air with a mighty roar. He then looked straight into Alexis's eyes, like how a predator looks in the eye of his pray. The big men then charged at Riot, having surprising speed and agility to not trip on the absolute squalor on the floor. The enraged "kid" then raised his right hand up in a fist, getting ready to knock Alexis through the wall of the Mobile home! Alexis stood frozen not in fear, but in surprise. Seeing the once nearly vegetable of a man charge at her with the speed and strength of a tiger caught her completely off guard. She closed her eyes, getting ready to receive the biggest hit of her life, when suddenly Jeff interjected, standing between the beauty and the beast.

"Calm down Bob, calm down! I'm alright, see?"

Jeff then did some sort of bizarre hand gesture to the raving lunatic, and it somehow worked. Bob's rage began to fade away, he put his fist down and begun to back away to his original position near the dinner table. He then stopped, stood still, and his tongue begun to hang back out. He was now back to his normal, statue like self.

"Holy shit... don't do that again!"

"Don't worry Al!" Jeff said with a laugh, "It's only a last resort. If he messes with me and somehow is able to get past you, he has to answer to Big Bob back there!"

"You know... you're really smart some times,"

"It's not really intelligence, just common sense,"

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Jeff walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. After looking for a while, Jeff turned back to Alexis, a look of unusual fear on his face.

"Well, the guy's here,"

"Ok... why do you look so worried?"

"He's not alone. There's about twenty or so other Red Lions with him, and they're all armed,"

"With guns?"

"Yep, pistols,"

Alexis paused for a moment, why the hell would they be so armed for a drug deal? Jeff wasn't much of a threat, even with Bob, so what's with this near army appearing outside of his home?

Then she realized,

They didn't care about the drugs. They didn't even care about Jeff. They were only here for one reason,

For her.

"Oh shit,"

"What did I tell you?"

To be continued...]]>
"Well hello there Rioters! For those who still don't know me, I'm Alexis Riot, former X-Treme Champion and leader of the Riot Revolution,"

"I also got set on fire once,"

"Anyway, I'm not really sure why you guys are here to be honest. I'm just siting here reading Jaws, the novel that inspired the film that demonized sharks worldwide. So, unless you guys just want to listen to me read this classic tale, which would be boring as all fuck to listen to, you guys can just go. Besides, its not like D'Ville has said anything this week,"

"Wait... what?"

Alexis puts down her book and listens to the mysterious cameraman.

"Really?"

Alexis then laughs,

"Took the Doc long enough! Thought he was going to no show for a second! Wait... shit, I better get ready to do a promo!"

***

The camera cuts to Alexis a few minutes later, siting in front of the camera with a smile on her face.

"Hello again Rioters! I'm Alexis Riot and well... its time,"

"The wait is over,"

"D'Ville has stopped being a bitch and has actually said something about our match,"

"Well, Doc, you might be a little late for our appointment, but don't worry. This patient was, well, patient, and is still ready for our little match on Saturday,"

"Thing is doctor, I might be the patient, but it will be you who leaves in an ambulance,"

"Before I continue, thank you to everyone who helped spread #wherethefuckisdoc and sent me evidence on Doctor's whereabouts on www.wherethefuckisdoc.com. Sadly, because Doc remerged out of nowhere all by himself and no one really truly "found" him, I guess that means no one will get the AJ Styles cumshot T-Shirt,"

"Which is good, because that shirt is the shit, and by that I mean it's literally shit,"

To illustrate her point, Alexis picks up the shirt, crumples it up, and throws it off screen.

"Back on topic, let's see what the King had to say about little ole me,"

"Yes Doc, I am coming off a really bad week. I've lost my title, got set on fire, and now have to face off against you,"

"The thing is though, none of that weakens or discourages me though, it just lights a fire under me,"

"It makes me more determined, more foucused, and most of all more dangerous,"

"Funny isn't it? Getting set on fire only made my inner fire grow stronger!"

"And this fire is going to burn you up Doc,"

"You cite my loss against Fernando as a strike against me? Look Doc, I didn't jump into an ocean full of sharks and assume I would come out ok, I knew I would get bit."

"And I did get bit, hard, but I survived that bite, and now I'm coming back into the ocean like Quint from Jaws, looking to take revenge against the biggest shark In the ocean,"

"You are the great white, your highness, but unlike Quint, even when I get locked in your bloody, painful jaws, I won't die easily,"

"At least, I won't die without taking you with me,"

"The fact I'm still walking after the beatdown I suffered is a testament that I'm here to stay, like it or not, and that after, yes after, I'm done with you and after I win the gauntlet, I'll be stronger than ever,"

"And when people like Pest and the CCWF realize the monster that has been unleashed, it will be too late,"

"You're no steeping stone Doc, you're a boulder, one that has bested many a climber,"

"But Riot is coming at you with a box filled with dynamite,"

"The door is always open huh? Well I'm sorry D'Ville,"

"But it's closing time,"
***

Alexis Riot walked down the streets of Chicago, hands in her pockets from the chill in the air. It was early in the morning, so the streets were quiet, allowing Alexis to focus on her thoughts. She was heading to the "Bare Necessities," the mobile home of her friend Jethro Huffman, in order to basically be the enforcer for a drug deal. The voice in her head was really getting at her for this one,

"Really, are you going to condone this flagrant sin?"

Alexis sighed, "Hey, that's what friends are for."

"Why is your "friend" even worth going through all this trouble. You do know who he's dealing with right?"

"Yep, a representative of the Red Lions,"

"How can you be so confident? Piss them off, and they will either kill you or kick you out of this city, especially after what you did to three of them in that infamous alleyway next to the theater!"

Alexis Riot giggled to herself. Replaying the moments of absolutely destroying those three bastards and saving a family's life filled her with a sense of joy. Except the part where she got cut in the cheek, but hey, every cloud has a shitty lining, or something.

"I know the risk,"

"But why take it?"

"One, It's just one person, I can take him. Two, with your power, I could take on whatever they throw at me,"

"Only if you kill at least one of them,"

"Three, what pain should I have to fear? I've been set on fire for goodness sakes! Nothing can intimidate me or make me give up now!"

"Eh, good point,"

"Alright, you can shut up now, we're here,"

"I can't fulfill your request of "shutting up", child,"

Alexis now stood in front of the mobile home, with Jethro's car parked lazily next to it. The home itself was very old, with a broken window and rusted sides, along with the smell of drugs and god knows what else in the air. Pretty much the stereotypical home of a drug dealer, but considering Jeff hasn't run into legal trouble recently, Alexis thought it was just a case of hiding in plain sight. Taking a deep breath, Alexis walked up to the door and knocked. She then stepped back, waiting for a response. A few seconds passed, then a few minutes, but still no answer. Alexis shrugged and began to turn around to walk back home,

"Well, it is pretty early in the morning, the deal isn't supposed to start in a couple hours, I'll just swing by later and-"

Before Alexis could finish her thought, she heard a door open behind her. She turned around and saw a sight that quite frankly should never be seen,

It was Jeff holding a half eaten Jimmy Dean sandwich, wearing only boxer briefs, and with his hairy chest showing in all its "glory",

"Oh hi Alex! Didn't expect you to be here this early,"

"..."

"Oh... yeah.... sorry about that... I just woke up around half an hour ago."

"Just... get something on will ya?"

***

The Bare Necessities was defiantly a reflection on the character of Jeff himself. It was cluttered, with clothes, trash, Jimmy Dean sandwiches, and even a few bags of drugs lying around. It also was filled with a smorgasbord of cheap knick knacks, with an entire collection of snow globes lying on a table. Being a mobile home, it also was very small, almost claustrophobic. And the smell? God forbid the smell! How Jeff could stand living here, Alexis couldn't comprehend. Speaking of Jeff, he was now thankfully dressed, in a Snuggie.

"Really? A member of the most powerful gang in this city is coming over to purchase some of your drugs, and you're dressed in a Snuggie?"

"Hey, casual Friday. Besides, it doesn't really matter what I look like to be honest, the only thing he's concerned about is the quality of what I'm selling,"

"Speaking of which, what are you selling them anyway? Weed? Cocaine? Molly? PCB?"

"Trust me Al, its way more valuable then any of those."

"Then what is it?"

"Its a new drug that's been making the rounds, they call it "Sprinkles"."

"Sprinkles? Of all the names..."

"Don't let the name fool you bruh, its some trippy stuff. Its basically an advanced form of LCD, causing hallucinations and brief detachment from reality. The visions last longer than your average LCD, and they are WAY more wicked. Some people who have had It claimed to see outside of this universe! Heck, I heard one person claim they saw the face of God! Needless to say, its very dangerous, very rare, and very valuable. I had to sell five entire shipments of my usual drugs to afford a bag of it! It's lying on the dinner table right now. You can take a look, but no touchies, I don't want its value to lower."

Alexis was now curious, so she walked over to the table, almost tripping over a box of Twinkies left lying on the ground, and took a look at these "Sprinkles". They certainly lived up to their name, looking exactly like those multicolored capsules of sugar. It's size would make it easy to smuggle and easier to take, and if what Jeff said about its effects and its value was true, well, Jeff might have enough money to make it literally rain, provided he didn't waste it all on pool games and cheap breakfast sandwiches. Suddenly, Alexis realized a presence next to her. She turned around and nearly jumped back. It was a tall man, around 6'9, and he had a muscular but not well toned frame. He also wore a trucker cap, a sleeveless basketball T-Shirt, and a large pair of jorts with black cowboy boots. The most striking thing about the man, however, was his expression. It was completely vacant, no emotion or even thought seemed to be in it, and the man's tongue stuck out of his mouth. In fact, had the man not been obvious breathing from the rising of his chest, Riot would have thought he was dead!

[Image: Festus.png]

"Oh... Hi Bob,"

Bob continued to not move, just staring. After a long while, he put up his hand and waved slightly before having it drop back down to his side.

"So... how has Bob been doing lately?"

"Alright, I tried to get him to speak a few simple words, but he still can't do that yet. Always ends up having a tantrum trying to pronounce the words. He can however respond to some simple English phrases via body language and can also do some simple tasks, such as getting me another sandwich,"

Jeff then clapped, the noise getting Bob's attention.

"Hey Bob, throw me a Dean will ya?"

The colossus then slumbered over to the pantry, pulling out a box of Jimmy Dean sandwiches. The man then ripped the box in half, the food spilling to the floor. After a few seconds, Bob then bent down to pick up a sandwich. He then threw the sandwich to Jeff, the bum catching it in his right hand. After this, Bob then went back to his near catatonic state, staring into space.

"Yeah... we still have a long way to go before he can live on his own, but he's still better."

"Does he still have his... outbursts?"

"Not as much as usual, I was able to convince him to not be afraid of the dark. He does, however, get very defensive if anything he consider harm comes my way."

"So, he's basically a guard dog?"

"More like a kid, a big, protective, and mentally challenged kid. Here, let me show you."

Jeff then stood up, a wave of Jimmy Dean crumbs falling off his Snuggie to the floor. How this place didn't have ants was a mystery.

"Alright Al, slap me,"

"What?"

"Don't worry, I can take it. Don't hold back ok?"

"Alright then Jeff, if you say so,"

Confused, Alexis slapped her friend directly in the cheek, the impact of the slap nearly causing Jeff to fall back in his chair. When the stinging recoil of that slap filled the air. Something seemed to snap inside of Bob. He raised his hands up, his eyes opening wide and nearly popping out of socket, and he filled the air with a mighty roar. He then looked straight into Alexis's eyes, like how a predator looks in the eye of his pray. The big men then charged at Riot, having surprising speed and agility to not trip on the absolute squalor on the floor. The enraged "kid" then raised his right hand up in a fist, getting ready to knock Alexis through the wall of the Mobile home! Alexis stood frozen not in fear, but in surprise. Seeing the once nearly vegetable of a man charge at her with the speed and strength of a tiger caught her completely off guard. She closed her eyes, getting ready to receive the biggest hit of her life, when suddenly Jeff interjected, standing between the beauty and the beast.

"Calm down Bob, calm down! I'm alright, see?"

Jeff then did some sort of bizarre hand gesture to the raving lunatic, and it somehow worked. Bob's rage began to fade away, he put his fist down and begun to back away to his original position near the dinner table. He then stopped, stood still, and his tongue begun to hang back out. He was now back to his normal, statue like self.

"Holy shit... don't do that again!"

"Don't worry Al!" Jeff said with a laugh, "It's only a last resort. If he messes with me and somehow is able to get past you, he has to answer to Big Bob back there!"

"You know... you're really smart some times,"

"It's not really intelligence, just common sense,"

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Jeff walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. After looking for a while, Jeff turned back to Alexis, a look of unusual fear on his face.

"Well, the guy's here,"

"Ok... why do you look so worried?"

"He's not alone. There's about twenty or so other Red Lions with him, and they're all armed,"

"With guns?"

"Yep, pistols,"

Alexis paused for a moment, why the hell would they be so armed for a drug deal? Jeff wasn't much of a threat, even with Bob, so what's with this near army appearing outside of his home?

Then she realized,

They didn't care about the drugs. They didn't even care about Jeff. They were only here for one reason,

For her.

"Oh shit,"

"What did I tell you?"

To be continued...]]> <![CDATA[2]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22590 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 22:46:19 -0800 The Man from Detroit]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22590
Not to mention the dead man on the floor in front of me.

Such is the life.

To think, all this started with a simple request from my boss to me.

Meet with the Woman from Seattle.

In hindsight, I should have expected this.

2 Days Ago

"You must be the woman I've been expecting," I say to the jittery woman standing at the doorway of my hotel room. She doesn't look me in the eyes, instead focusing her attention on the floor. The first think I notice about her is how small she is. Wasn't sure what to expect, given some of my colleagues but I was certainly not expecting this.

I look down at the ring on my left hand, and wonder what the missus would think about this.

"Yes," she responds, nodding rapidly before muttering something under her breath. Both of her hands are in her hair, twisting it around her fingers. One of the socially awkward ones, I take it. She looks like she'd rather be anywhere else, but she doesn't look back towards the door. No, she keeps her eyes on the floor in front of her. She doesn't want to even put the option of walking away in her head is my guess.

"You don't get out much, I take it."

She certainly didn't look like she did. She was pale as a ghost and skinny as a rail. The bags under her eyes tell me she hasn't slept in days, weeks maybe. She seems to float on her feet, constantly awkwardly shifting her weight. When she did look up she stares off blankly into space, before shaking her head when she notices what she's doing.

I can't help but wonder what my boss had in mind when she wanted me to meet with this erratic mess of a person.

"Oh," she finally mumbles when she sees me looking right at her. "Did you saying something?"

I nod. "I voiced a concern that maybe, you don't get out as much as you should."

What? If I'm getting the chance to repeat myself, I might as well clean it up a little. Less rude that way.

"You're probably right."

She mutters to herself again.

"So," I begin to ensure we don't drift off into another awkward silence, "do you have any idea why she'd want us to meet?"

For the first time, the Woman from Seattle smiles at me.

"You're the one joining the XWF, right?"

I nod.

"That's why."

I raise an eyebrow at her, and she smiles right through me until she realizes she hasn't really answered my question and her eyes widen. Her hands go right back into her hair. A shame. We were really getting somewhere here.

"Sorry, got ahead of myself. I have, let's just say experience, with the XWF."

"Is that so?"

"I think she wants us working together on this."

There's much more to this gig than our boss is telling us. Or maybe it's just me. Though I doubt she'd trust someone as seemingly twitchy and impulsive as my colleague with any more information than absolutely necessary. For the first time in a long time, I'm left wondering what's really going on. That doesn't last long however, as I shake the thought out of my head and clear my throat.

"Really? Well then, tell me everything you know."

Now it's her turn to raise an eyebrow at me.

"You sure? Because it's a long story, and I really only like telling it in five minute intervals."

She's not muttering to herself anymore. I'm not so sure it's a nervous tic.

Despite my sinking suspicions, I smile warmly and nod.

"I have all the time in the world."


Why hello there, Crysta. Did I get your name right? I hope I'm not coming off as facetious, I am very much concerned about that considering I haven't known your name at all since we've first interacted but I think I finally got it.

I have to say, Crysta. I don't get you. Not one bit. You ostensibly have one job and one job only, communicate for your friend Natasja. You'd think that in order to keep this job you'd have to be, you know, good at it. Though the more you talk the more it's evident that Natasja is too blinded by sentiment to do the thing that will help advance her career.

Let's just go down the list.

Strike through everything she says, no matter how off the wall and ultimately irrelevant they are because her scatterbrained little head thought they were the most awe-inspiring words ever spoken.

She must think she's supremely clever.

She isn't.

Which isn't an indictment on her. I've found that very few people are actually as clever as they think they are.

But, come on Crysta. Did you even listen to the words I said? I know you heard them, but did your brain actually absorb and analyze them or did they just go in one ear and right out the other because I have to say I'm leaning towards the latter. If you actually digested what I had said instead of rushing to get a response out as soon as possible, you might have actually been on base with literally anything.

I break down your words, the insecure false bravado you project, your abusive, dismissive behavior towards your own friend, and all you have to fire back with is "but you're a virgin and women don't want you!"

The same childish bullshit spewed forth by a childish, petty, poor excuse for a speaker.

But I'll play along for a second. I'm a married man, Crysta. So much for that brilliant display of wordsmithing. I'm sure you were sure you had a solid shot there.

You didn't.

Oh, it was your decision to choose the match stipulation that's in place? A complete unilateral decision from the person not competing? Did you even consult it with your so-called friend or did you just decide it because it's what you wanted to see?

You know what a bitch is, Crysta? Or as it is the more appropriate word, a coward?

It's you.

Someone who sends someone else into a situation they wouldn't dare to venture into.

You want a hardcore match? A death match? You want to see that ultraviolence? Then why aren't you the one I'm facing? Sure, you can hide behind the fact that you aren't a wrestler all you want, but you aren't really even in the business aside from speaking (very poorly) for a wrestler, so where do you get off choosing the stipulation?

Right, by abusing your appointed position as her speaker to get what you want. You've already admitting to making the decision on your own accord. Hell, even if Natasja communicates on Twitter about how she's on board with everything Crysta says, how can we even be sure that it's actually Natasja?

We can't.

But, I'll move on from that.

To Crysta unironically perpetuating the use of her gender as an insult. See, you'd think her and Natasja would be challenging the stereotype that girls can't do what men do or that girls are inherently weaker but no. They feed right into it. But then immediately say women can do what men do on the same level.

So, which is it?

Better yet, if that is true and since being mute has no real impact on wrestling in the slightest, how would losing to a mute woman make me look like a bitch? Oh right, it's because you're verbally abusing your client and she's too mentally weak to challenge you on it. She just goes along with it.

It's sad, really.

It's for this reason and another major one that I doubt your claims that Natasja is more "intellectual" than you or I.

If she was, she'd be smart enough to kick you to the curb, you toxic, miserable person.

Am I sanctimonious? Yes, I won't deny it. But it's hard not to be when you're standing across from a mouthpiece who's forcing herself more into the spotlight than the actual wrestler she's representing.

Lastly, I'd like to return to the Twitter thing real quick.

Remember how I said there were other reasons for why I doubted the claim that Natasja is more intellectual than me?


If this really is her and not Crysta stroking her own ego at her "friend's" expense, then she's a fool.

Listen to this again.

And remember that Crysta's farewell was as childish as the rest of her rant; the video equivalent to sticking your fingers in your ears and shouting "I'm not listening" over and over again.

Thank you Crysta, for showing me the light.

I'm sorry this is going to be as big of a blowout as it will be, Natasja.

You can thank Crysta too.]]>
Not to mention the dead man on the floor in front of me.

Such is the life.

To think, all this started with a simple request from my boss to me.

Meet with the Woman from Seattle.

In hindsight, I should have expected this.

2 Days Ago

"You must be the woman I've been expecting," I say to the jittery woman standing at the doorway of my hotel room. She doesn't look me in the eyes, instead focusing her attention on the floor. The first think I notice about her is how small she is. Wasn't sure what to expect, given some of my colleagues but I was certainly not expecting this.

I look down at the ring on my left hand, and wonder what the missus would think about this.

"Yes," she responds, nodding rapidly before muttering something under her breath. Both of her hands are in her hair, twisting it around her fingers. One of the socially awkward ones, I take it. She looks like she'd rather be anywhere else, but she doesn't look back towards the door. No, she keeps her eyes on the floor in front of her. She doesn't want to even put the option of walking away in her head is my guess.

"You don't get out much, I take it."

She certainly didn't look like she did. She was pale as a ghost and skinny as a rail. The bags under her eyes tell me she hasn't slept in days, weeks maybe. She seems to float on her feet, constantly awkwardly shifting her weight. When she did look up she stares off blankly into space, before shaking her head when she notices what she's doing.

I can't help but wonder what my boss had in mind when she wanted me to meet with this erratic mess of a person.

"Oh," she finally mumbles when she sees me looking right at her. "Did you saying something?"

I nod. "I voiced a concern that maybe, you don't get out as much as you should."

What? If I'm getting the chance to repeat myself, I might as well clean it up a little. Less rude that way.

"You're probably right."

She mutters to herself again.

"So," I begin to ensure we don't drift off into another awkward silence, "do you have any idea why she'd want us to meet?"

For the first time, the Woman from Seattle smiles at me.

"You're the one joining the XWF, right?"

I nod.

"That's why."

I raise an eyebrow at her, and she smiles right through me until she realizes she hasn't really answered my question and her eyes widen. Her hands go right back into her hair. A shame. We were really getting somewhere here.

"Sorry, got ahead of myself. I have, let's just say experience, with the XWF."

"Is that so?"

"I think she wants us working together on this."

There's much more to this gig than our boss is telling us. Or maybe it's just me. Though I doubt she'd trust someone as seemingly twitchy and impulsive as my colleague with any more information than absolutely necessary. For the first time in a long time, I'm left wondering what's really going on. That doesn't last long however, as I shake the thought out of my head and clear my throat.

"Really? Well then, tell me everything you know."

Now it's her turn to raise an eyebrow at me.

"You sure? Because it's a long story, and I really only like telling it in five minute intervals."

She's not muttering to herself anymore. I'm not so sure it's a nervous tic.

Despite my sinking suspicions, I smile warmly and nod.

"I have all the time in the world."


Why hello there, Crysta. Did I get your name right? I hope I'm not coming off as facetious, I am very much concerned about that considering I haven't known your name at all since we've first interacted but I think I finally got it.

I have to say, Crysta. I don't get you. Not one bit. You ostensibly have one job and one job only, communicate for your friend Natasja. You'd think that in order to keep this job you'd have to be, you know, good at it. Though the more you talk the more it's evident that Natasja is too blinded by sentiment to do the thing that will help advance her career.

Let's just go down the list.

Strike through everything she says, no matter how off the wall and ultimately irrelevant they are because her scatterbrained little head thought they were the most awe-inspiring words ever spoken.

She must think she's supremely clever.

She isn't.

Which isn't an indictment on her. I've found that very few people are actually as clever as they think they are.

But, come on Crysta. Did you even listen to the words I said? I know you heard them, but did your brain actually absorb and analyze them or did they just go in one ear and right out the other because I have to say I'm leaning towards the latter. If you actually digested what I had said instead of rushing to get a response out as soon as possible, you might have actually been on base with literally anything.

I break down your words, the insecure false bravado you project, your abusive, dismissive behavior towards your own friend, and all you have to fire back with is "but you're a virgin and women don't want you!"

The same childish bullshit spewed forth by a childish, petty, poor excuse for a speaker.

But I'll play along for a second. I'm a married man, Crysta. So much for that brilliant display of wordsmithing. I'm sure you were sure you had a solid shot there.

You didn't.

Oh, it was your decision to choose the match stipulation that's in place? A complete unilateral decision from the person not competing? Did you even consult it with your so-called friend or did you just decide it because it's what you wanted to see?

You know what a bitch is, Crysta? Or as it is the more appropriate word, a coward?

It's you.

Someone who sends someone else into a situation they wouldn't dare to venture into.

You want a hardcore match? A death match? You want to see that ultraviolence? Then why aren't you the one I'm facing? Sure, you can hide behind the fact that you aren't a wrestler all you want, but you aren't really even in the business aside from speaking (very poorly) for a wrestler, so where do you get off choosing the stipulation?

Right, by abusing your appointed position as her speaker to get what you want. You've already admitting to making the decision on your own accord. Hell, even if Natasja communicates on Twitter about how she's on board with everything Crysta says, how can we even be sure that it's actually Natasja?

We can't.

But, I'll move on from that.

To Crysta unironically perpetuating the use of her gender as an insult. See, you'd think her and Natasja would be challenging the stereotype that girls can't do what men do or that girls are inherently weaker but no. They feed right into it. But then immediately say women can do what men do on the same level.

So, which is it?

Better yet, if that is true and since being mute has no real impact on wrestling in the slightest, how would losing to a mute woman make me look like a bitch? Oh right, it's because you're verbally abusing your client and she's too mentally weak to challenge you on it. She just goes along with it.

It's sad, really.

It's for this reason and another major one that I doubt your claims that Natasja is more "intellectual" than you or I.

If she was, she'd be smart enough to kick you to the curb, you toxic, miserable person.

Am I sanctimonious? Yes, I won't deny it. But it's hard not to be when you're standing across from a mouthpiece who's forcing herself more into the spotlight than the actual wrestler she's representing.

Lastly, I'd like to return to the Twitter thing real quick.

Remember how I said there were other reasons for why I doubted the claim that Natasja is more intellectual than me?


If this really is her and not Crysta stroking her own ego at her "friend's" expense, then she's a fool.

Listen to this again.

And remember that Crysta's farewell was as childish as the rest of her rant; the video equivalent to sticking your fingers in your ears and shouting "I'm not listening" over and over again.

Thank you Crysta, for showing me the light.

I'm sorry this is going to be as big of a blowout as it will be, Natasja.

You can thank Crysta too.]]> <![CDATA[The Pest and Robbie go back in time]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22589 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 22:07:35 -0800 Pest]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22589 Robbie, Pest, and Morbid walk out of the National Holocaust Museum and towards the time machine. Pest stops, and looks at Morbid and Robbie. He's still wearing the dildo crown. He takes it off and throws it at the pair of them before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. They look at him. Jenny runs up from by the phone booth, she had been waiting patiently.

What was that for?

Pest: This whole mess. All of it! It is because of you.

He points his finger at Robbie's face.

Pest: I should have let you die in that basement. All you have done since coming into my life is get me involved in some crazy ass space ghost zombie apocalypse, and now we steal a Time Machine? This whole situation utterly ridiculous. As ridiculous as the idea of either Peter Gilmour, or Austin Fernando walking out of Snow Job as fucking Tag Team Champions.

Robbie walks over and hugs Pest. Pest shoves him off and takes a drag of his cigarette. He is breathing angrily and looking furious.

Pest: Robert, what the fuck are you doing?

You needed a hug. I hugged you.

Fucking homos.

Both men look at Morbid. Robbie steps back and goes to slap Morbid, who has unsheathed his sword, and pokes Robbie before he can.

Dude, can you stop poking me? Please? Jesus, dude. We have more important issues. Pest, I'm sorry that this turned out this way. We were trying to save the city. We're going to. And bro, I feel odd calling you that. What's your real name?


Pest: James. You can call me James.

No, your real real name?

Pest: I do not even know if I know it or not at this point. I have not used it, or heard it uttered since the day I left for Vietnam.

That's sad, bro. Come on. Let's go fix this once and for all. Plus, high five. We get to meet ourselves.

Robbie actually throws his hand in the air for a high five, Pest ignores it and walks into the booth. Morbid pokes him again and walks into the booth. Jenny shrugs and walks into the booth. Robbie high fives himself and looks sad as he sulks into the booth. Once inside he stops. It's cramped, and he has an idea.

There's not enough room here. Jenny, go wait out there. We'll be right back for you.

Jenny: You sure? I don't wanna get left.

We'll be right back, I promise.

Robbie and Jenny step out, and Robbie steps back inside. The air whooshes around her as they leave. The cold begins to settle in, and she wraps her arms around herself.

Jenny: They aren't coming back. Bastards.

For the events of Past and Future meeting, Future speak will be shadowed and past won't be


The booth stops, and the trio step outside and look around. They see themselves preparing to charge at the slime. Future Robbie runs over and screams.

STOP!!! GUYS! STOP!!

Future Pest and Future Morbid run after him, with Future Morbid waving his sword like a maniac.

Future Pest: Robert, be cautious. We need to handle this correctly.

I wonder if Past me still has a Godshot. I need a fix.

Past Pest, Morbid and Robbie turn to see themselves running at themselves. They stop and look at them confused. Jenny pops up from the van she was hiding in. Blue looks at Past Robbie who gestures for her to stay behind. The six of them meet in the middle of the street. They all look each other up and down.

Look, no time to explain. We're you from the future. Not far into the future, really less than a week. This plan you'll hatch. It's awesome and whacky, but whacky leads to trouble. Trouble being a horde of undead veterans and the ghost of Bobe Hope trying to take the city to space, and then I swallowed a diamond and I really think that messed up my stomach. There has to be a better way to do this. Don't go through with it. Wow. I did have time to explain that. Awesome.

Past Selves look at Future Selves and then at each other. This story is odd, but not the oddest thing. There is a mass of Alien Slime all over the city, after all.

Future Pest: Is that Jenny?

Jenny runs over and hugs Past Pest. She's confused and scared.

Jenny: What's going on?

Past Pest: They are claiming to be us from the future.

How do we know you're really us and not impostor bots? I've heard abut impostor bots being used to throw people off.

Future Robbie walks over and whispers something in the ear of Past Robbie.


Ok, at least Robbie's legit.

Past Pest: And you, "Future" Pest?

He does the air quotes as he speaks. Future Pest walks over and whispers something in Past Pest's ears. They nod and separate.

Future Pest: Am I verified?

Past Pest: You are.

Future Pest: Can I make a suggestion?

Past Pest: Does it involve Jenny in a compromising position?

Future Pest: Yes.

Past Pest: Jenny, lead the way.

The Pests walk off, and the Morbid's stare at each other. Eye balling one another. Looking intently, refusing to break eye contact. They are debating mentally what to do now. Future Morbid raises his sword and stabs Past Morbid in the chest. Past He collapses, still holding the sword.


Verified Forever.

Both Robbies look at this scene in horror as Future Morbid raises his hand in victory. The Pests turn to look away from their weird spit roasting threesome with Jenny and see the scene.

Victory Forever. Where's my title?!



The Scene cuts to DiamondBack and CyberJaw talking in the Dojo.

Esteban and Crispin are dicks.

You mean Pest and Morbid Angel, right?

The pair chuckle as they look around the dojo for something to do.

Like we wouldn't know. And what's worse, they get to go on training missions and we don't.

You know what else? They all use Gold Bond. Except Morbid. He uses something called Real Gold Bond, but the L in gold is scratched off, so it says Real God Bond. Apparently his has flakes of gold in it.

Heh, I scratched the G off of Pest's gold bond. It now says Old Bond.

Why?

He didn't use his discount to get us season tickets to King's Dominion. Dick move.

They laugh as the scene fades out.


Pest: Hello, Austin and Luca. I hear you, and I see you. You are as noticed as your hissy fits wish you to be. Do you feel validated now? Are you happy now? Austin, allow me to address you first, you childish insecure fuck. You choose to call opponents out on what you perceive to be grammatical mistakes, and yet you want to try and act like the mistakes you make in that field are somehow lessened? Because you are Austin? And the second foe that the Pest toppled? The situation he was in. The situation was his foe, as in an opponent to overcome. Which, the Pest has overcome. So, good on your failed deductive reasoning and poor detective skills. Perhaps after you give up your wrestling career you could be a detective, just struggle to solve everything and tell the world you are its superior a lot. That sounds exactly like you do now. Good job, you low rent Luca Arzegotti. Take your failing personality swap one step further, go emulate Eli James and Luca at the same time. Since, Eli did try and play at being a Detective once. I am confident you will find a way to lap at their anuses collectively.

But, hey, Austin, good work on letting your intelligence shine through there. You are a brilliant star, are you not? Since your deductive skills are as honed as those of the Pest's son, Aaron. Aaron is eleven, and he is a better detective than you are. And, he is less of a hypocrite. How odd. The Child is half your age and already a better human being. Austin, Pest feels the need to clarify something, you specifically accused me of calling you a dick rider before I actually had spoken for our match. You made these claims before Peter had spoken, even. Which is the only reason they were brought up at all. BECAUSE YOU MADE THEM. You, the insolent little fuck who still needs tucked in and kissed good night. You made a claim, and then rushed to its defense before anyone could discuss it. Robert had yet to even mention it to you. Instead, you bring it up as quickly as possible, and then throw a hissy fit when I do not call you on it. When I call you on your ever changing personality instead. Yes, I brought up you seeking validation, which is not the same as dick riding. Dick riding means that you are attaching yourself for success or for reward. All you want is someone, anyone, to tell you that you are good enough. You can get that from a stranger on the street. No, dick riding is what Vincent Lane did with Kirk MacClay and the Underground, and is now doing with Shane and the CCWF. You, child, are above that. You do not do this for the trinkets and the treasure. No, you do this for the gratification of hearing the words you wish your father would have spoken so long ago, "Austin, you are good enough." Those words would be a lie, though.

No, Austin, I have plenty to say, and I have said it. You are choosing to ignore the things brought up and instead pick tiny parts to try and better your argument. Because it is hollow and light. You truly have nothing of worth to add to anything, and thus you resort to building it with trivial pick aparts and scattered half jabs. But, mostly, you keep repeating how you are better than us. Well, that superiority will fall to the wayside after you walk out of Snow Job with no Tag Title. Austin, I find you repeating your sentiments an awful lot, as if you are trying to convince yourself of something. Perhaps you might just be frazzled because you know that you have a useless as fuck partner, and have no real argument. Your word game is best suited for an opponent like Alexis Riot, one who cannot comprehend the basics of English, and thus cannot see how simple you really are. So, please, continue to ride people like her, and allow the adults to play without you. Believe me, this will be the best choice of actions.

Here is how the Pest decided that you were terrified of Gator. You traded your shot at him to face Doctor D'Ville, someone who had grown lazy in his appearances since winning that belt. You assumed it meant that he was simply not wanting to fight, which would mean that you could have an easy win over an uninterested opponent. And then he crushed you. And lo and behold, you barely moved above your station unless prompted by management. Like when you were booked to fight Vincent Lane for the honor of Paul Heyman. No, you know exactly where you belong, and you choose to mask the fact that your station is below us by talking big and puffing out your chest. But, not actively trying to fight anyone considered upper echelon. Or, at Lethal Lottery, but that was only because you had a partner, and could ensure someone helped carry you. And then you ran and hid because you were afraid of the odds of getting a lesser partner. And yet, we are to take you serious when you claim superiority?

Please, try and use your very simple and loose comparisons to justify misunderstanding my point. Because in no real sense is actual survival like a wrestling match in which you just have to stay out of the way, and avoid being tossed over a rope. Because that is the exact same thing as staring down death. Yes, Austin, in your coloring book world those are comparable and you are a real man. And in that same world I am supreme ruler of the planet of Pluto, because I opened my refrigerator once. Oh, you bring up the disguise comment? Yes, I wear a disguise in public for my child. I thought that was obvious. The Pest that you see, and that gets filmed on camera? That is the real Pest. The Pest with no insecurities who lays it all on the table. Who puts out videos of him raping and murdering people. And yet, when The Pest goes into the streets to be a father, he hides that aspect. Not out of insecurity, or paranoia, or a lack of identity. It is for his son, because if The Pest acted like the Monster he is, his child would hide, or be taken. So, to protect his child he must don a disguise. All monsters do, even when they are secure with who they are. If you ever manage to get pregnant, you will understand this.

Throwing up a smoke screen and hoping one does not see through it is not the same as a disguise, Austin. What you do is the equivalent to a child hiding behind a curtain with his legs sticking out and trying to be invisible. Pest hopes he is transparent, he has intended to be that way. As he is not wanting to hide who he is. Keep puffing that bird chest and claiming to be superior. It will make what happens next so much more interesting.]]> Robbie, Pest, and Morbid walk out of the National Holocaust Museum and towards the time machine. Pest stops, and looks at Morbid and Robbie. He's still wearing the dildo crown. He takes it off and throws it at the pair of them before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. They look at him. Jenny runs up from by the phone booth, she had been waiting patiently.

What was that for?

Pest: This whole mess. All of it! It is because of you.

He points his finger at Robbie's face.

Pest: I should have let you die in that basement. All you have done since coming into my life is get me involved in some crazy ass space ghost zombie apocalypse, and now we steal a Time Machine? This whole situation utterly ridiculous. As ridiculous as the idea of either Peter Gilmour, or Austin Fernando walking out of Snow Job as fucking Tag Team Champions.

Robbie walks over and hugs Pest. Pest shoves him off and takes a drag of his cigarette. He is breathing angrily and looking furious.

Pest: Robert, what the fuck are you doing?

You needed a hug. I hugged you.

Fucking homos.

Both men look at Morbid. Robbie steps back and goes to slap Morbid, who has unsheathed his sword, and pokes Robbie before he can.

Dude, can you stop poking me? Please? Jesus, dude. We have more important issues. Pest, I'm sorry that this turned out this way. We were trying to save the city. We're going to. And bro, I feel odd calling you that. What's your real name?


Pest: James. You can call me James.

No, your real real name?

Pest: I do not even know if I know it or not at this point. I have not used it, or heard it uttered since the day I left for Vietnam.

That's sad, bro. Come on. Let's go fix this once and for all. Plus, high five. We get to meet ourselves.

Robbie actually throws his hand in the air for a high five, Pest ignores it and walks into the booth. Morbid pokes him again and walks into the booth. Jenny shrugs and walks into the booth. Robbie high fives himself and looks sad as he sulks into the booth. Once inside he stops. It's cramped, and he has an idea.

There's not enough room here. Jenny, go wait out there. We'll be right back for you.

Jenny: You sure? I don't wanna get left.

We'll be right back, I promise.

Robbie and Jenny step out, and Robbie steps back inside. The air whooshes around her as they leave. The cold begins to settle in, and she wraps her arms around herself.

Jenny: They aren't coming back. Bastards.

For the events of Past and Future meeting, Future speak will be shadowed and past won't be


The booth stops, and the trio step outside and look around. They see themselves preparing to charge at the slime. Future Robbie runs over and screams.

STOP!!! GUYS! STOP!!

Future Pest and Future Morbid run after him, with Future Morbid waving his sword like a maniac.

Future Pest: Robert, be cautious. We need to handle this correctly.

I wonder if Past me still has a Godshot. I need a fix.

Past Pest, Morbid and Robbie turn to see themselves running at themselves. They stop and look at them confused. Jenny pops up from the van she was hiding in. Blue looks at Past Robbie who gestures for her to stay behind. The six of them meet in the middle of the street. They all look each other up and down.

Look, no time to explain. We're you from the future. Not far into the future, really less than a week. This plan you'll hatch. It's awesome and whacky, but whacky leads to trouble. Trouble being a horde of undead veterans and the ghost of Bobe Hope trying to take the city to space, and then I swallowed a diamond and I really think that messed up my stomach. There has to be a better way to do this. Don't go through with it. Wow. I did have time to explain that. Awesome.

Past Selves look at Future Selves and then at each other. This story is odd, but not the oddest thing. There is a mass of Alien Slime all over the city, after all.

Future Pest: Is that Jenny?

Jenny runs over and hugs Past Pest. She's confused and scared.

Jenny: What's going on?

Past Pest: They are claiming to be us from the future.

How do we know you're really us and not impostor bots? I've heard abut impostor bots being used to throw people off.

Future Robbie walks over and whispers something in the ear of Past Robbie.


Ok, at least Robbie's legit.

Past Pest: And you, "Future" Pest?

He does the air quotes as he speaks. Future Pest walks over and whispers something in Past Pest's ears. They nod and separate.

Future Pest: Am I verified?

Past Pest: You are.

Future Pest: Can I make a suggestion?

Past Pest: Does it involve Jenny in a compromising position?

Future Pest: Yes.

Past Pest: Jenny, lead the way.

The Pests walk off, and the Morbid's stare at each other. Eye balling one another. Looking intently, refusing to break eye contact. They are debating mentally what to do now. Future Morbid raises his sword and stabs Past Morbid in the chest. Past He collapses, still holding the sword.


Verified Forever.

Both Robbies look at this scene in horror as Future Morbid raises his hand in victory. The Pests turn to look away from their weird spit roasting threesome with Jenny and see the scene.

Victory Forever. Where's my title?!



The Scene cuts to DiamondBack and CyberJaw talking in the Dojo.

Esteban and Crispin are dicks.

You mean Pest and Morbid Angel, right?

The pair chuckle as they look around the dojo for something to do.

Like we wouldn't know. And what's worse, they get to go on training missions and we don't.

You know what else? They all use Gold Bond. Except Morbid. He uses something called Real Gold Bond, but the L in gold is scratched off, so it says Real God Bond. Apparently his has flakes of gold in it.

Heh, I scratched the G off of Pest's gold bond. It now says Old Bond.

Why?

He didn't use his discount to get us season tickets to King's Dominion. Dick move.

They laugh as the scene fades out.


Pest: Hello, Austin and Luca. I hear you, and I see you. You are as noticed as your hissy fits wish you to be. Do you feel validated now? Are you happy now? Austin, allow me to address you first, you childish insecure fuck. You choose to call opponents out on what you perceive to be grammatical mistakes, and yet you want to try and act like the mistakes you make in that field are somehow lessened? Because you are Austin? And the second foe that the Pest toppled? The situation he was in. The situation was his foe, as in an opponent to overcome. Which, the Pest has overcome. So, good on your failed deductive reasoning and poor detective skills. Perhaps after you give up your wrestling career you could be a detective, just struggle to solve everything and tell the world you are its superior a lot. That sounds exactly like you do now. Good job, you low rent Luca Arzegotti. Take your failing personality swap one step further, go emulate Eli James and Luca at the same time. Since, Eli did try and play at being a Detective once. I am confident you will find a way to lap at their anuses collectively.

But, hey, Austin, good work on letting your intelligence shine through there. You are a brilliant star, are you not? Since your deductive skills are as honed as those of the Pest's son, Aaron. Aaron is eleven, and he is a better detective than you are. And, he is less of a hypocrite. How odd. The Child is half your age and already a better human being. Austin, Pest feels the need to clarify something, you specifically accused me of calling you a dick rider before I actually had spoken for our match. You made these claims before Peter had spoken, even. Which is the only reason they were brought up at all. BECAUSE YOU MADE THEM. You, the insolent little fuck who still needs tucked in and kissed good night. You made a claim, and then rushed to its defense before anyone could discuss it. Robert had yet to even mention it to you. Instead, you bring it up as quickly as possible, and then throw a hissy fit when I do not call you on it. When I call you on your ever changing personality instead. Yes, I brought up you seeking validation, which is not the same as dick riding. Dick riding means that you are attaching yourself for success or for reward. All you want is someone, anyone, to tell you that you are good enough. You can get that from a stranger on the street. No, dick riding is what Vincent Lane did with Kirk MacClay and the Underground, and is now doing with Shane and the CCWF. You, child, are above that. You do not do this for the trinkets and the treasure. No, you do this for the gratification of hearing the words you wish your father would have spoken so long ago, "Austin, you are good enough." Those words would be a lie, though.

No, Austin, I have plenty to say, and I have said it. You are choosing to ignore the things brought up and instead pick tiny parts to try and better your argument. Because it is hollow and light. You truly have nothing of worth to add to anything, and thus you resort to building it with trivial pick aparts and scattered half jabs. But, mostly, you keep repeating how you are better than us. Well, that superiority will fall to the wayside after you walk out of Snow Job with no Tag Title. Austin, I find you repeating your sentiments an awful lot, as if you are trying to convince yourself of something. Perhaps you might just be frazzled because you know that you have a useless as fuck partner, and have no real argument. Your word game is best suited for an opponent like Alexis Riot, one who cannot comprehend the basics of English, and thus cannot see how simple you really are. So, please, continue to ride people like her, and allow the adults to play without you. Believe me, this will be the best choice of actions.

Here is how the Pest decided that you were terrified of Gator. You traded your shot at him to face Doctor D'Ville, someone who had grown lazy in his appearances since winning that belt. You assumed it meant that he was simply not wanting to fight, which would mean that you could have an easy win over an uninterested opponent. And then he crushed you. And lo and behold, you barely moved above your station unless prompted by management. Like when you were booked to fight Vincent Lane for the honor of Paul Heyman. No, you know exactly where you belong, and you choose to mask the fact that your station is below us by talking big and puffing out your chest. But, not actively trying to fight anyone considered upper echelon. Or, at Lethal Lottery, but that was only because you had a partner, and could ensure someone helped carry you. And then you ran and hid because you were afraid of the odds of getting a lesser partner. And yet, we are to take you serious when you claim superiority?

Please, try and use your very simple and loose comparisons to justify misunderstanding my point. Because in no real sense is actual survival like a wrestling match in which you just have to stay out of the way, and avoid being tossed over a rope. Because that is the exact same thing as staring down death. Yes, Austin, in your coloring book world those are comparable and you are a real man. And in that same world I am supreme ruler of the planet of Pluto, because I opened my refrigerator once. Oh, you bring up the disguise comment? Yes, I wear a disguise in public for my child. I thought that was obvious. The Pest that you see, and that gets filmed on camera? That is the real Pest. The Pest with no insecurities who lays it all on the table. Who puts out videos of him raping and murdering people. And yet, when The Pest goes into the streets to be a father, he hides that aspect. Not out of insecurity, or paranoia, or a lack of identity. It is for his son, because if The Pest acted like the Monster he is, his child would hide, or be taken. So, to protect his child he must don a disguise. All monsters do, even when they are secure with who they are. If you ever manage to get pregnant, you will understand this.

Throwing up a smoke screen and hoping one does not see through it is not the same as a disguise, Austin. What you do is the equivalent to a child hiding behind a curtain with his legs sticking out and trying to be invisible. Pest hopes he is transparent, he has intended to be that way. As he is not wanting to hide who he is. Keep puffing that bird chest and claiming to be superior. It will make what happens next so much more interesting.]]> <![CDATA[Claridryl Dreams - Part 4: Choke]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22586 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 20:50:13 -0800 #MemeQueen Luca Torchwick]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22586
I'll escape if I try hard enough
Luca stood, frozen like a deer in the headlights, staring with mouth agape at the world around him. His clothes were ragged and torn, caked with dirt and blood, and reeked of booze and piss. The rest of him wasn't much better. His hands were shaking, teeth relentlessly chattering. Dried blood was smeared across his nose and his bare skin shone red. Wind burned.

He sniffled, wiping away a trickle of snot and wiping it on his already tattered shirt before taking a couple of steps forward.

He was in a forest in Oregon without any recollection whatsoever of how he got there. The world around him seemed to spin; the once vibrant greens of the tree tops above him were nothing more than a blurred, grotesque orgy of bare branches faintly illuminated by the moon.

The world felt frozen in time. Like a photograph that he'd been placed into. He could feel an ice cold wind battering his face, but when he looked at the branches he saw no motion. As if there wasn't any wind. He coughed, but despite the temperature his breath was invisible.

Then he heard the howl. A high-pitched, whiny screech that forced him to grit his teeth and press his shaky fingers into his ears.

Then the light.

A blindingly bright line shone down from the sky to a spot deeper in the forest, in the direction that the noise came from.

The sky felt darker as the light shone down. He couldn't see the moon anymore. The gnarled, twisted branches seemed to wrap around each other in the darkness. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, convinced he was seeing things.

The howl came once more.

Closer.

Louder.

The light moved.

Closer.

Brighter.

The mangled union of branches had extended from just one tree to every single one. Roots poked through the earth and grew upwards, trying to reach the treetops.

Louder howl.

Brighter light.

Trees, unable to support their weight, collapsed to the forest floor, branches still wrapping around each other. Each landed silently.

Then he saw it.

A man in an impeccable three piece suit with the head of a coyote.

The Coyote Man pointed down at the ground, silently urging Luca to look. He hesitated, unwilling to take his eyes off the abomination standing before him, but ultimately, he did.

The muddy brown hue of the ground turned to black slowly as he watched. Vines emerged from the earth and wrapped around Luca's feet, tying him to the dirt. His feet sunk into the dirt, shoes filled with ice cold black mud.


Ḭ͎̼͔̬̭̫͊ͨ̓̀̚'̄m̩ͨ̊̍̒͘ ̙̜͕̆ͮ̂̓̅l̶̦̬ͮ̂ͧͦͅo̴͍̥̞͓̦ͫ̉o̦̳̳̯ͣ̀͒ͧͮ̃̽ḳ̘̺͗̈́i͍n̨̮͛ͨͬͥg͍̋̐ͨ̆̈́ ̡̯͗͋͌f̧̯̐̆̓̃̾̐͑o͔̬̣͉͖͎̫͑͛͗ͦ͐̎r̢͍̣͔͕ͩ̒ͯ̉̋̅ ̜̙͂̒̓ͯ͛́s͍̯̰̳̭̰͛͑͘o̫̬͉̮ͧ̅͗̅ͭͨͮ͜m͚̟̊ͣ̒ͥͅe̟͉͍̖̝̬ͣͥ̀̈́̌̋́ó͕͔͖̤̳̰͎̌ͨ̃̋̅n̰̫̮͙͙̻̅́ͤ̊͂ͦ͂͝ẹ͓̭͈ͦ̽̅̋.̲̠͉͕̉ͥ̀ͮ̋ͩͯ


The Coyote Man spoke in a warbled, barely comprehensible monotone. It stepped closer to Luca, reaching into its jacket pocket before embracing the trapped man and leaning in close.

The vines wrapped around Luca's legs and dug into his calves like bear traps.


Y̽ͧ͂ͪo̩̺̓̍͝u͌̉͒̅͘ ͣ͗̿ͣ́̄̕k̰͓͕̟̼̙̒̔nͫͮ͌͂̍͏̥̘ô̭͎͉̲͆̋̾̿w̲̱̝̜͉̮̒͌ͪ̚͡ ̴̬̪͎͔̞̫̋w̼̟̳͚̥͎ͩ̍ͥ̑ͅh͎̀̌͐ͬ͂͑̚o̦̲̖̎̏̓̒ ̢͕͔̬̗̪̊̀̃̅͋͆I̩̱̟̥͓͌'̶̣̆̆̽m̜̾̾̊ͨ͐ͬ ͇̥ͮͣ̍͛̒͡l͑̾͏̙͍͙͍̞o͓̦̤͌͌ͪ͌́̿͆o̍͏̬͎̻̯̟ͅͅk͇̗̫̠ͫ̔ͥ̏́͑i̝͓̳͙̝͆͊ͪ̔ͅn͔̞̠̠̅ͯ̊͟ͅg͍̬̰̺͓̟ͪͥ͌͠ ̼̯̥f̓̿̾ͯ͊̄̆̀o̦̥̾̇̾̈̑r̰͘.̢̭͋


"What?

Luca's voice was frantic. Panicked. He struggled to slip out of the Coyote Man's grasp, but with each movement he made the vines slithered upwards and dug into his exposed, raw flesh.


H̤͓̗̠̫̻͓̣̅ͥͥͧͩ̏̎̇e̶͎̮̜̠͂̓̀͆ͦͮͥ̇̋̕ ͙̘̂̈́̂̾̀͌ͭc̺͚̰͔̉̽ͯͪ̅̈̋̌a̧̙̗͉̯͉̜͚̰̯ͩ̈́ͣ͝l̢̜̜̲̉̎̽ͧ͛͟l̝̺̘̪͎͉͍͋̄ͤ̾͂̕s̗̖̫̰̩̋ͮ͝ ̛̳̤̱̭̽͆͗̋ͨ͛̕ḩ̢͍̹͍̥̮̲̽͛͟ͅi̵̝͓̽̔̽ͦ̀͡m̴ͬ̋̅̌̚͏̙̻̟̬̮sͫͦ̍͊́ͧ͋͆҉̩ȩ̴̺̻̬͚̖͔͙̭̒̀̒͊ĺ̨ͤͤ̒͐͋͊̃̓͝͏͓̪̗͈̭f̣͈̘ͣͫ̒̑͝͡ ̥̞̙̲̙͖̣̟͍̀̓̓ͨ̽͛̆Z̸̛̭̬ͭ̄̿͑̑͗̇̚̕ą̷̦͓͙ͧ̔͜ņ̶͔̮̦͇̭̅ͤ̿̃ͪ̑̓͛͂ẻ̅̃̈́̾̽̒̚͏͇̱̟͈͟ͅ ̟̱̈́͡K͒͛͊̒҉͖̫͓̗̺̳̰̙i̡̫̖̘͓̓̋͛̎́n̩̘ͥ́̅̐̒̆g̣̝̝̓͋ͩ͒̃̋͜s̨̙̎̓l̷̩͓͍̝̼͆̒̄̒͗̄́͡e͉̣͇̋̆͛͛̅̌̈y̧͎̘̹͎͉̺͌́͗̽̃̽̄͘ͅ ̢̬͇̭̲̆͒̅͜ͅI̴͕͖̬̻̺͇̩̗͕̍̑̿̀̃̕I̪̣̻̬̼̘̻̓ͨ͌͋ͥ͝Ĩ̷̧͍̫̏͢.̝̫̭͎̥̰̱̦̲̓͐̈̊ͮ̋́


His eyes widened. He felt something sharp poke at his stomach.

"Kingsley?"

The Coyote Man nodded, baring its teeth and sniffing the air.


Ỷ̲͇̟̝̭ͫ͢ó̫̤̺͓͈̳̲͢͜͞u̥ͬͬ͜ͅ ̨͉͙̭̌͑̅̒̃ͬͥ͑̚w̧͉̲̅ͯͯ͂͂ͬ̓̒į̖̬̘̮̔͒l͈͉̜̱̫͉͎̫͌̎̈̃ͮ̚͞ḽ̡̺͍̭̞͆͋͛͐̀͝ ̸̝͎ͪͩͧͪ̚͝ͅb̗̠̝̻̪̅̿̈ͫȓ̢̛̻̳̣̮̏̽̏i̱͂ͨ̐ͅn̤̝̩͙̻̺̏̒̑͆̓̃̂̅͘͢g̢͐̌́͏̹͚̱ ̑ͨ҉̨̯͎̤̠h͎̥͎̀̊ḯ̧̠͙̺̙̘ͯ̃ͩ̀̾̉̀̚͝ḿ̧̧̟̥͙̺͕̟̚ ͓͚͈̟́ͬͩ̅̑ͨ̐͟t̞͙́ͭ͆̉̓ͮ̾͌́ö̪͓͚̩̼̥͋̀́͠ ̯̬̝̝̼̥̳̳ͮͯ̽͑̌̍ͮ́m̷̢͓̃͌ͩ̆̌ͣͮ͞e̵͓͙͚͒̔͂ͤ̉̌̾͜.̎͆͑́͒͒ͧ̑ͪ̕͝҉̮̤͇


The vines were up to Luca's hips.

"Shit man okay just--"




Y̡̪̗̙̰̻͈̤̟͂̓͋̋̕͡ͅȮ̢ͥ̃̌͋͗ͯ̃̓̊͗͏̢̺̥̹̞̲̜͍̱̦̥͎͖͕̖̪̙͈̟͘͠Ų̶̨͑̉̊̑͗̋̏̎̽ͤͥ̿͝҉̝̙̳̳̮͎̬ ̧͓̗̥͇̙̜͎̰͕̳̱̦̈́͂ͤ͘͜W̨̮͇̩̫̱̱͙̪̯̾͆̊̌͆ͫ͜I͙͖̫̹̦̞̭̍͌ͧͭ̆͑̐ͥ͒̊͌ͫ̇ͩ̃ͮ̎͊ͮ́̕ͅL̵̢̪̹̳̻͍͈͖̝̮̟̝͚̯̫͉ͣ̋͋͋̀͛̓͒ͥͮͦ̚L̵̸̬͖̥̇̑̄͛͞ͅ ̍̉̅̔̑ͭͣ̇͂͑̆ͯ͆̚͟͜͝͏̷͚͎̲̰̞̟̦ͅͅB̼͓̝̮̲̲͔̱̖̟̞̜̪͈̲̗͂ͯ̅̇̈̉ͮͣ̕͜͞ͅŔ͋ͦͪ̒̋ͪͨͧͩ̓̀ͯ́͠͏̗͓̯͎͎Į̴͖̗̥̗̭̘̞͂̎̆̆͆̅̕Ṋ̨̭̤̻̤ͣ̆̅͛̇͌̈́͋̓̓͆ͯ̋̑̃ͬ͗̚͜ͅͅͅG̷̯̟̯̞̓́ͧͬ̑̏̈̕͞ ̷̸̬̜̯̦̱̠̥͍̦͕͖̙͇̈́̽́̋̀͜Ḩ̷͕̺͎̹͔͈̰̰͈̯̦ͫ͋͆ͦ͌̓́͌͑̒̊͆͊̚̚̚̚͡ͅĪ̡̋ͩͤ̈̂̈́̾ͧ̀͗ͪ̐͋̐͆ͫ̄ͬ҉̴̩͇̬͉̣̜͙̣̱̫̣̫̦̦̗̺̙̮͠M̵̨̗̱̹͕̩̤͖͚̰̻̲̘̘̑ͮ̀͗̅̿̀ͧ͠͞ ̴̨̘̲͈̟̜̫̣͉̲̏͒̒̎͊͊̐́̏̓ͨ̒̑ͭ̋͌̀ͨ͠Ṱ̸͖̝̩̼͗̅́̂͂̓ͧ̂̀͟Ǫ̶̻͓͖̮͚͇̱͈̟̠͇̱̓̇̔ͭ͛̉͠͞ ̶̷̛͍͙̙̫̗̱̮̟̟̪̲̼͈͖͕͚̦͈ͣͤ̈ͥͭͤ̀̇͂͆̉̍͐̌ͪ̂̃ͤͧ͜M͌̈́̔̌̓ͥ̂̾́͋͆͛̂̔̋̑̇҉͎͚͓̜̙̱͟Ę͙͕͙͉̟͕̹͚̻̳͈̀̐͋ͫ͛͑̍̊̾̋̚̚͢͠͝.̨̭̰̱̘ͥ̽͗̂̂͢͝͞



The Coyote Man dug his blade into Luca's stomach. Luca opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out as the vines worked their way up past his chest, around his throat, choking the air out of him as his blood leaked from the wound, shimmering in the light of the moon on the pitch black ground.

Pete, you're embarrassing yourself. I of course say this like you don't do this every time you open your mouth but for some reason every time I face you I hold some modicum of hope that maybe, just maybe, you'll do something to prove that you have a functioning brain. In reality, I'd chalk it up to having an addiction to being disappointed (which is the only reason I've seen almost 2 full seasons of American Horror Story), but even that addiction has its limits (which is why I've never finished a season of that fuckin' show).

So when I heard that Pete had said some more shit about me, I smiled. Sure, it could easily be schadenfreude. Hell, I'm sure that was at least part of the reason. But, whatever other reasons there are I will admit that once again, I was guilty of thinking you were capable of improvement.

But you don't do that, do you Pete?

No, of course you don't.

You stagnate. You've plateaued a long time ago and you're desperately trying to keep people from noticing.

I noticed.

I noticed it when we first faced each other.

You're really bad at hiding it, Pete.

But that's neither here nor there. Let's talk about what you had to say about me because I admire it Pete. I really do. I admire that despite the fact that Pest runs around acting like he's so far above everyone else in this match, his own partner included, he's so fucking scared to talk about me. Meanwhile, Peter, who is the butt of all our jokes has no issue addressing me head on.

Well done Pete.

Gold star.

That doesn't mean you said anything worth a damn, just that you said something. Anything. At all. Which, despite being more than #kingfuccboi could muster, isn't much better. But hey, figured you could use yet another victory over Pest, even if this one will have to be moral, because, and I'm sorry to tell you this Pete, you're not going to win.

If Austin and I weren't in this match, you'd have this in the bag. Hell, I'd lend a hand like I did to get you in this match in the first place, just to see you and Dim walk out with the titles again. With another win over #kingfuccboi. Because that'd be fun as all hell. Watching Pest flounder around trying to justify that one when, as always, he talked more shit than he could back up.

But, the fact of the matter is we are in the match.

We were the first people confirmed to be in this match.

In other words, your chances of winning flat lined before it was even established you'd be competing.

But, what has Pete actually been saying? Better yet, does it stray from the typical Peter promo?

Because, as we've established, everyone loves checklists (shoutout to Robbie, the miserable, false-bravado flexing cunt).

Does he contradict himself?

You bet your fucking ass he does. Him and Dim are the big bad bullies but then all of a sudden I'm the one trying to bully him around? Like, how does that even work? Can't handle a taste of your own hypothetical medicine? Get some thicker skin bro for realsies.

Is he just straight up wrong?

Of course. I did this the last time I talked about him, didn't I? Like I said there, it's all become so routine when dealing with Gilmour. You can see everything he says from a mile. A contradiction here, obvious bullshit there, threats of severe, career ending injuries all over the place despite the fact that none of them have ever come to fruition.

Also hey Pete, fun fact. The last time we faced off, I beat you completely clean. No bullshit from Theo or Maddy. Hell, it was your own buddy Dim who attacked me after I finished fucking your whole life up for the millionth time. Nice revisionist history there man. One of these days someone will buy it.

Peter doesn't understand anything I say and it's obvious by the way he still brings up his one moral victory over me like it didn't help me out in the end. Way to go Pete, you fucked up my ankle two years ago and inadvertently helped me to cash in my 24/7 briefcase on your buddy Sid Feder.

Great work.

Please, injure me again so I can swoop down and fuck up another one of your dwindling number of friends' lives.

I could keep on going and going, pointing out all the inconsistencies in his words like I would do any other week, but it's overkill at this point and I'm saving all my overkill for when the #kingfuccboi finally decides to open his mouth about me.

I could talk about how Pete thinks he and Dim are both the strongest link and the underdog.

Or how he's acting like he won't be stuck in the same place he is now when he's in his sixties.

I just want to focus on one more thing, Pete.

You have never beaten me. Not once. Nadda. Nil. Your record against me in 0 - like five million at this point.

You're not going to beat me "again".

You're not going to beat me at all.

Blame whoever you want to for that. Hell, blame me. I'll take it. I don't give a fuck.

Just remember that you're just outclassed.

This is the natural order of things.

"Fuck me," Luca muttered, tossing the burner phone onto the bed before allowing himself to collapse face first into the mattress. His head throbbed and ached; he felt he couldn't trust his vision. His perception. He was in a run down motel now, but in the blink of an eye he could be halfway across the world. He could be dead in a heartbeat.

"What the fuck, Austin?"

He pounded the mattress. It felt like a stone slab. Not that he particularly minded; he'd slept on worse things.

His heart exploded with joy when he closed his eyes and all he could see was Victoria's corpse atop his supine body. After the night he had, it was, somehow, a welcome relief. Still, it carried with it the same sorrow it always had, as he swallowed hard to suppress the knot in his throat.

"Sorry," he muttered into the mattress.

He could feel her presence; like she was in the room with him. He'd felt it since the party. Always watching over. Judging. Her eyes felt cold, and chilled him to the bone.

He took it that he wasn't forgiven.

An open bottle of Jack Daniel's sat on the dresser by the bed. He pushed himself off the mattress and grabbed the bottle by the neck before filling his mouth with the amber liquid. He swished it around in his mouth before swallowing.

Then he grabbed the phone again.

He remembered the Coyote Man. The chorus of voices. The sight of a version of himself he thought long buried. Falling to his apparent death.

He remembered it all.

What he wasn't sure of, was the reality of it.

Still, he heard the cold mocking of the chorus echoing in his ears.

"Go on Luca. Prove it."

Once again, the Coyote Man had taken Victoria's place behind his eyelids.

He felt the weightlessness he'd felt during his freefall.

He tasted the bile that formed in the back of his throat at the sight of his past self.

Most importantly, he smelled victory.

So he flipped the phone open and shot a text to the number he'd just tried to reach.

dont worry bout finding a new partner. ill b there.





Ḩ̵̲̙̘͚ͭ̾ͪͦ͑ͭ͒ͥͬ̒̒ͅe̖̤̯͙̯̬̮̖ͤ̓ͭ̊̊̃͛̏̂̀̂͆̿͒͌͜͠͞ ̷̶̡̳͉̳̣̤̳̟̻͍̝̤̩̜̪͍̹̓ͧ͊͛̿̓͆̌͂̏͑͂̀ͬ̆͊̀̚͜s̞͓̩̃ͨ̿̈̊̎̽̐̆̌́ͭͪ̍̈̅͋̃͢͜͝m̸̈́ͮ͌̉ͥ̔͆̀̋̽͑ͯ͒ͦ́̉̕͜͏͍͔̼̣i̸̢̧̢̬̯̬̫͍͓͉̜̜̖̞̖͍̩̰̿ͪ̌̿̎̽ͬ̈́͐̔ͪ̿̀ͅͅl̅̿͐ͥ̀ͯ̆ͩ̚̚͏̫͕̩̞̯̥̺͎̼̦̗̀ͅę̣̜̠̯͇̦̜̼̘͖̣͚̖͎͈͇͕̾̓͒̿ͪ̀d̢̯̺͖̼̹͈̠͕̮͉͕̪͇̦̙͎̰̞ͥͮͯ͑̀͌ͬ͂̉͒͑ͬ̀̉̀̽̎ͦ̌̕͟ͅ ̷̧͔̭̗͉̣͈̓̓̌̀ͦ̽̏ͤ̉͂͛̾̑͆́̒͘a̸̸̛͎̙̻̬̰̫̟̩̪͉͔̜ͧͦ͆͊̓̾͌ͨ̿̊͆̆͌͆̌͂̌ͤ͜n̸̸̠̦̩̗̑̊̌ͧ͌͞dͪ̒͗̇̆ͭ̔̓̓̾ͫ̍́̈͊ͧ̽҉̧̞̰̠͕̞͇͚̳͇̰̗̻͈̬̳̖̫̀͡͡ͅ ̤̥̙̟̬͇̖͎̒͒̆̍ͪ̑͡͞c̡͇̞̖̜̣̥̞̣͇̳̥̩͓͕̫͙̅ͭ̉ͨ͂͋͑ͤͩ͝ͅl̵̷̠͔̠͚̙͎̦̠̭͙͈̼͈͎͎̥͚̑͐̈ͥ́̉͑̓̿̎ͥ̿ͬͣ̃̚̚͡ͅő̈̒̌ͩ͏̴̡̨̼͔̲̠͈̟͖̻̖̱͖̳͚̲̻̜͉s̙͖̲͕̳ͦͧ̓̄̈́͟͜͡e̦̹̤̠̓̃̏ͣ̚͜͡d̸̜̝̼͙̬͈̲͊ͥ͊̽͐̈́̋ͩͫ̇ͣ͗ͥ͜͟ ̨̟̦̼͍͒̒ͨ̑̉̒ͥͣͣ̃̓̈ͣ̃ͨ̑́͜ĥ̢̨͍͕̰̪̩ͭ̑͑̔͞ͅͅi̡̟̪̦̳ͨ̇̔́͛̀ͩ͊̊̇͊͂̑̿̊̋͜͝s̃̒̒̂͆ͭͧ͜͠͏̫̜͉͔ ̳̘͈̰̬̥͔̜͕̫̥̟ͣ̏̈́ͨ̇̔̋ͦ̒̃̓͊͜͡e͔͉̖͖̲̬̮̭̦̜ͪ͊̊͛͌ͧͫ͗̉ͣͬ̒̔͛͘͜ÿ̶͚̝͓̪̘͎́̊̀ͧ̒͌͐̊̄ͤ̕ȩ̸̸̙͎̹͓̹̠̩̲̞̳͈̥̩̮͔ͥ̒ͤ̅̈͌͘͡ͅs̷̭͇̘̟̻̬͔̣͖͕̣̤ͤͨ̉͑̈́̌ͨ̆ͮ̄.̿͌́͛̽͋͌̾̋҉̵̱͓̥̗̝͍̳̝̬͢
̖̦̰̗̭̘̳̣̤̟̮͔̞ͥ̈͊ͪ̌ͫ̍́ͪ͂́͜ͅ
̗̪̠͎͖̤̲͎̞̬͚̪̊̊̊͛̈́ͭ̍ͦͩ̄ͪ̄͛̊̀̕̕͞Ḣͭ̽ͣͭͥ͆̀͏̸̗͔̩̳̝͉̦̳̻̜͔̜͔̟̺̻͚̀è͕̱͚̺̪͍̻̈́͌͐͗ͫ̌ͮ͒̔̊̐͡͝ ͦ̋̊̏ͣ͐͆̾̎̒̐̀̑͂͑̂͗͂҉̱̲͍̻͎̱ş̦̯̫͕́̉̄̿̓ͨ͘a͎̘̯̪͎̜̘̲͂ͥ̒̏ͮͫ́̐̊̌̄̏̚͟͠w̷̢̛͖̤̺̟̬̜̹͉ͪͪ̿̌͗͂̂̂̐ͅ ̷̵͍̣̺̻͖̠͙̮͖̠̻̗̠̂̎͗̌ͤ́̈́̽̓̐͂ͫͯ̔̎̓͌̚ͅh̨̧̗͔͕̱̩͓͖͙̝̟̻̝̟̩̱ͦ̆̉ͬ̈́͆̓̌̓͋͂̍̌͐͐̉́i̶̤͙͇͚̼̹̣̫̼̜̬̠̪̯̙̝̟̾̀̾̊ͥ̈́̇̋̄̉̾̿ͤ̍͆̉͞m̵̶̹̦͙̝̩͉̰̼̹̰͓̲̗̣͕͛ͩ̊̐̂̉̓͌̐s̴̾̓̅̀ͬͩͥͪ̐ͧ̈́ͪ̔͛ͥ͏̮̤̮̠͉̤̳͠͠ȩ͓͖̭̱̘̠̥͑́͂ͩͨͤͬlͣ̉̆̾̉̂̿̔̄̊̈́͋̔͠҉̸̧̼̲̟̦̮̹͎͍͇̯̬̣͉͙̮͎̥f̶̨̐̄ͮ̓̀̕҉̮̖̰̥͙̹̫̬̜͍̱͇͉̤̣̬̥ ̸̵̸̨͇͚̰̼̯͎͍̰̘͆ͭ̆̋̔̓́ͧͤͮ̍ͯ͊ͪ͐͗̓̔ͭ̕a̡̛̝̤̻͖̫ͬ͋͌ͮ̀ͨͥ͒̾̅́ͥ̚͢͞ṇ̢̟̮͎̰̦̗͍̠͓͈̦͇̺̥̱̏ͬ͌̈͐́ͦ͐͑̎̎́͡dͨ̈ͯ̓̒ͭͭ̍ͥ̉̽͛̅͏̷̱̰̝̖̩̲͎̞̺͓͙̪͖̝͟͟͠ͅ ̊͊̽̂ͫ̋͌̿̿̀͏̢̨͚̜͈̱̣Ã̵̪̻͍̥̱̫͓̳͖̤͍̥̪̿̐ͮ͛͐̊͜͟û͑ͨ̍ͪͫͭ̓̈́͐ͧ̌ͯͪͮͭ͛͡͏̩̮̰͉̪̗͓̪͈s͇̥͉̫͕̠̬͇̩͚̼̮͛̄̒̎̌̿͒̀̊̆ͨ͗̃̀͢ͅẗ̵͙͎͔̘̪̻̼̯͎́ͭͭͮ͛͆̚ͅiͤͦ̀͒̓̌͆̓ͭ̓ͩͪ̀͏̛͏̤͖̱̟̼̻̱̥̙͙̼͙͕̞͍̳̥̞̕n̷̡̛̬͈͕̫͔ͩ͛̓ͦͧ̇̌̽̃ͦ͑̎̈ͣͨ͐ͯͨ̇͟,̧̧̻͚̱̤̠̲̇͋̀̔̌̆̈͊͑ͮͪ̃͌͑͠ ̷̰̮̺̜͒̎̀ͧͥͬͧͭ͋̑̿̈̈́̈́ͧ͂͘͝nͫ͛̿̏ͩ͗͋̎ͬ̔̅ͬͦ͏̢̛̠̹̣͓͢͝ȧ̶̰̪̣̘͖̱͉̫͎͓̤̭̣̪͔͊ͪͩ̌̈̊͊̕͜͢͞m̸͊ͫ͑̌̄͐̌͒ͬͦ̽͒͏̪̹̥̼̜̲̤͚͚̱͎͎̫̩̱̀ͅͅe̴̱̩̗͈̰̹͕͈̻͖̩͍͎͍̬̒ͪͩͤ͐̍̅̽ͥ̉̆͂̄ͪ͋̕͢s̵̛̼̹͙̯͉͕͈̫̞̑ͫͩ̐͐ͅ ̡̒ͥ́̂̂̆ͩͫ̏̅̂͋̏ͫ̂̑ͥͨ̀͜҉̯̣̤̭̻̱̙̖͈̙͙̗̦ĩ̧̛̹̠͓̙̟̖͍̮͓̞̜̹́ͧͫ́̀͢ňͥ̍̿ͬ͂̿͒͘҉̧̗̼͎̣̮̣͍̻̠͓̠͖ ̵̢̮̲̙̗̯ͥ̌̒ͮ̇͑ͥ̐̓̾̉̎͆ͧ̈́̄̚ẗ͆̀̀̂̓̏̿̓ͮ͏͔̗̤̣̺̤̩̬̩̯̙̕h̐̿̒ͦͥ̿͗ͣ͒̏͒̎͂̌͠҉̙̱̤͕́ë̸̴̤̖̩͇̮͙̞̼͔͔̹͍́͐ͪ̃̎̊͋́̏͂̉ͨ ̵̡͎̬͉͇̭͎̻̙͇͖̜͕̤̪̌ͫͯ͂̉͗s̢̯̺̹̊̿ͧ̐ͭ͜͢͞k̢͙̲͔̼͍͙̱̤̻̣̬̹̖̣̫̘̥͇̊̽ͯ̂ͮ̊ͨ̈́͗̄͊ͪ͗ͤͨ̑͌͞y̴̛̮̖͎̘̫̬̺͔̘ͦ͒̓́̋̌̐̋ͥ̑͌̾̿ͧ̊͋́́̚ͅͅͅͅ.̴̴̛͎̝̫̖̈ͤ̊ͫ̑ͣ̊ͯͯͪ̕ͅ
̡̭̼͎͚͕̞̜̰̥͙̦ͤͭ͐ͣ̆͑́̆͊̌̆͛̈̿ͪ̕͘͢
̶͈̮͇̥̜̜̞̩͈̖̟̬̺̰̭͖̩̓͑͌͠P̷̵͐ͤ̓̋̏̊̌̋͌ͬ͜͏͙͔͖̬̣̰̪̟̼̥͉͚̠̟̩̞͍̀a͍̠͇̜̝̘̮̻͉̦͓͊̽̓̄ͤ͐̄̔͋̎ͦ̅̑͒́͠î̏ͦ͛͛̓̈ͫͩ̄̒̄̉̆̈ͨͤ͋͡͞͏͉̙̥̤̫̳̣̰͟ͅn̴̸͔̱͓͓̣̻ͤͨ̿̏̆͋̊͌̆́͜͠t̴̷̰̹͍͙̙̰͆̔ͮ͐̾̇̄̓̃̒̀̚͟ẻ̸̸̛̤̱͍͓͎͔̥̅̄̄ͧ͑̅ͯͪͤͩͤ̉́d̵̡̒̌̏̈́̑̑̊̈ͪ̽̀͜҉̻̬̤̼̙̻̦͉̩̤̼̝̫̞͙̭̱͕̱ ͣ̈̅̈ͧ̔͂̐̂̈́͌̅͒҉͏̳͕̱͓͓͟A̢͔͚̘̠̠̞̙͉̝̙̩̪̣̺͎͔̦͚͔͂̄͆̍̓̃ͣ͞͞m̛̖͈̹̤̮̪̼̪̯̈͂̒͋͆̀̕͘͢eͯͬ̽̊̒̚͏̡̡͍̲̙̗̲̥̭͓̙́͠r̥͈̘̯̠̺̹͓ͨ̌̓̽́ͨͧ̎͒̓́͘i̷̸̸̬͇̙̪̪͈̞̳̪̻̟̘͈̗̩̻͂ͤ́͘͘c̷̶͈͙̜͕̣͎͔̭̗͖͓̜͓̪̼̆ͯ͗̔̌͊̂ͮ́̃̔ͤ͐̆͋̉ͬ̕͡ͅͅa͌ͮ͌ͧ̑͆͆͝҉̶̗͎̘̩̩́n̶͇͇̲̞͓̼̤̫̜̬͍͖͓͕̙ͦͯͤ̇͆̿ͨ̉̾́̇ͬ͆́͟͝ ̷̖͕̫̳̞̗̹̹͈͍̯͛ͨ͛̌̅̉ͤ͛ͭ͋̓̈́ͮͪ͢ͅḠ̷̫̼̣̪̺̹̰̮̗̠͙͇̲̝̬̆̃ͧ͋ͪͬ̕oͭͪ͑͛̆̾̈́ͣ͛̑̊̐̓̊̋̂̇̚҉̧̤͚͎͚̳͍͉͓͚͕̲͔̗͈͙̼̕t̷̷̢̯͍͈̭̙̺̜̗̪͎̻̟̥̰̯̪͛̓̆ͣͣ̚ͅͅh̶̵̟̘͚̙̼̭̤͈̺̬̹̻̄̒̅́͜͢ͅi̢ͥ̑ͯ̇̾ͨ̔ͤ͗͌̑̐ͩ͊͘͏̭͎͚̫͍̪̮͈͎̖̘̹̤̖ĉ̢̻̭͇͉̲̜̥̭̺̩̣̝͕̼̘͉͕ͤͫͫͬͨ̀͘͘ ̸̨̖̤̬̠͎̮̖̫͓̯̜̜̰͂͗̿̋͐̍̿̕͢s̸̛̜̫̞̞͉̖̲͉̹̱̪͗̀ͩ̌̓̀̓̊̽̏̚tͯ̌͂͒̎̍ͦ̔͏͇̤̺͍̺͍̮͓̩̘͈̣̠͙̞̯̰͠y͎̜̭̗̓̉͐̈̇ͮ̈͒̌̂͒̄ͪ̇̏ͭ̔̕͝l͊̽̇̌ͩ̑̽ͩ̏̐̍͢͠͏̵̣͓̼̣̖̖̝̲̘̮̙̺͚̦̜̞͡ͅe̶̯̤̱̦͉͉̭̺̩̍ͥ̇̀̌ͤ͛̐̃ͤ̃̓ͣ͜ͅ.̡̡̼͈̮̱̞͓̰͙͍̜̮̟̭͈̝̐́ͦ͊͆̾͑̅̒͛̉ͅ
̴̙͈̻ͪ͛ͭ̌ͪ̐̔͗ͬ̈́̾ͧ̚͜
̷̡̢̢̧̳̫͉̗̥͉͚̬̣̞̻͍̪͔̺̥̲͛̈̒̍T͐͆ͪͯ͌̑̑̾̌̆͛҉͈̝͖̹̮̩́͠ͅh͖̯̜̠̥̪̝̉ͯͭ̈́̇̉́͠͠é̎̄͒͒̇ͦ̏̓̍̏̅ͫ̔̀͋̍̔̈́̀͏͇̖̖͖͍̻͖͍̮̤n̨̪͇͙͓͍̥̣̖̺͇̹͎̆̀ͪ̒͊̐̅̉̆̆̽́͜͝͞ ͆͌͗̅ͦ́̇̾̎̂ͫ͛ͧ҉̱͖͖̫̘͇͍̜͙̙̱̙̣̳͘͘͞ͅh̵̛̥̯͈̘͖̗͔͉̜͈͚̹͚͍̩̰̅ͪͬ̋̽ͣ̋̄ͪͫ͆̚̚͝͠͡e̸͙̲̻̲̞̭͑̿ͭ̅̇͛̏ͬ͋̎̊̾́͟͞ ͦ̐̉̊̎̾̄̎̍̔͐̔ͣ̅̃͌̈͆͏͎̭̪̯͕̘̹̀͞͞͞ş̴̨̳̥͕͈͚͇͓̰͈̦͍͔̘̝̺̟̥̐̇̈̍̏ͨ̕ā̷̙͓̠͎̮̎̌̒̋̔̓̓̿͘w̷̵̨̡͙͙̼̥̥͓̜͐͐ͤͧ̉̈́̽ ̨̬̘͈͔̳̥̖̼̦͉̓̽͑ͣͩ́͆ͮͨ̌ͮ̎͒̂̈̋͜͠͞t̸̜͉̣̻͖̬̖͖̼̻̬͓̩͓̓͐͛ͫͯ͋ͧ̆̑̂͂̑͐͞ͅh͆̄̂ͪ̓̄̍ͥͬ͐̑̂͊ͮ͏̷̜͈͉̱̠̘͕͈̯̯͖̻̲̭̮̹͢͝ē̛̻͕̭̭̲̦͖̞͔̥͎̟͓̮̬̥ͭ͑̽ͩ̍͗ͯ̔ͅ ̧͙͇̰̙̭̰͈̓ͩͨ̌̉̾̓͑͐̅̓͆͜͝s̵̷̞̳̪̱̫̣̈́ͥͨ̈͊̌̽̌ͫ͛͐͒̕͢a̦̱͇̳̰̱̦̾͛͆ͥͤͥ̍ͬ̅ͧ̿͛͆ͫ̀m̵ͨͨ̔̀̎̓ͣ͒ͮͭͥ̂̒͌̿͟͢͞͏͎͍̗̼̖͖͚̣͚͇e̮̼̜͍̗͈̫̗͖̦͖̬͎̜̺̬̟̲͐̋ͭ͂̅̊ͨͪͣͫ͒͗̒̃̇ͪͬ͞͞ ̴̩̝̰̙͈̯̲̦̜̰͆͐̈́͑͂ͬ̍̂́ͥͪ̋̿̀̕͢͜t̄ͪ̿̎̋̍͐͌̊ͧ́̚͘҉͙͓̱͉̣͎͎̙͖̰̯͈̲͓̤̤͖͘h̨̡͕̪̭͙̝̾ͣͨ̏̈́ͩ̇ͨͪͫ͒͐͐ͮ́́̚̕i̵̛̅̄̈ͦ̉͛̈́ͮͪ̉ͦ̚͏͉͇͇̣̲͔̙̙͉ṇ̨̩͚̟̗͉̜̝̮̲̬̗̞̰̼̝̮͐ͫ͗̓̌͋̉̔̋̃̂͗̽̆ͯͭͨͣ͊̀̕͜͡ͅͅĝ̢͖͇͍̲̱͎͓̰̞̰̩̆ͣͫͬ͑ͣ̿ ̶̨͕̪̯̹̻͈͇̲ͧͩ̄̐ͩ̇ͫ̃ͪ̊ͭ̅̓̾̓ͭ͟͢͞w̐̓̊͐ͫ̈̈́̚͡҉̵̶̟͍͈̱͕͓͔͈̦̻͎̘̣̺̭̰̥̕i̷̢̢ͭ͑͒̆̆̎̓̽̇ͪͨ̍҉̥̮̟̰̹̫͖̭̰͈̲̫̬͎̪t̵̛͛ͪ̋̔͛͆ͨ̉ͪ͌͒ͨ̏̋ͣͧ̌ͧ͢͏͖̼͔͔̼̗̻h̶̨̲̭̘̦̗̟͓̝͉̹̞̺̬̏͋͂͂ͯ͋͋̂͘͜ ̴̨̥͎̪͔͕̞͇̗͎̝̳̰͕̝̪͔̣ͮ̅̈́ͪ́̏ͯͮ̌̈́̓̇͗̌t͓͓̘͙͕̩̖̣͖͇͈͍͊̊ͦ̋̽ͦͨͫ̒̓̀͘͞͝ͅͅh̳̦͎̗̰̟̗̞̋͗͑̍̀͜͢͝͝e̵̒ͧ͗̈̍̐̇̓̌̌ͮͨ̈́́͢͏̵̗̭̥͔̜̳̤̥͓̬͍̱͎̘̱̗̥ ̴̲̣̟̦̞̪͖̱͕̦̱̮̜̗̦͎̙ͧͮ̃ͧ̾̾̚͟Ĉ̴̶̸͓̣̥̭̫̯̦̤̮̮̬̟ͦ̓̅̈ͯͩ̄͛̋̃́̈́ͨͨ̕o̷̶̱͉̘̬̺̳͉̼̮ͨͫ̈́ͦ͗̎͋̕͠y̸̨̛͎͈͚̼̘̺̻̙̰̥͈͔̘̖̭͈̟̓̔ͨ̒̈ͧ̍͛͆̒̎̂̋̑ǫ̵̮͙̝̠͚̪̰ͩ̈́̒̐́͘͘t̨̙̣͙̻͓̞̹͎̜͙̮̜̞̗̦̺͔͒͗ͫͯ̏̇̀̀͠êͯ̂ͬ͛͛ͬ͌̋ͧ͏҉̶̣̗͇̱̥̤̳̠̤̞͎̬̣̺̫ ̡̛͕̼͇̳̩̻̥̬̝̼̘̙̹̉͒̽̀̐͋̑̈̏̅̈̍ͫͤ̅͛ͥ̀͜͜M̵̜̖̲̗̭͕̫̗͕̗͈̜̥̥͒̎̂̆̂͌ͩ͗̒͗͌͝ä̯͖̜̩͕͚͎͙͚͙̗̥͙̯̝̥̩́̈̉̈̌͑̈͆̀͘͞n̳͕̱͎͉̱̠̹̜̞̭͎̝̥͙̞̗̗ͭ̿ͧ̆ͯ̌̌̓͗ͥ̄̽͜͠ ͆̈̿̑̌͆̄̈̎ͥ́̉ͥ́̆̄ͮͧ҉̸̠͈̟͖̼̯͔̭̮͜͠ͅi̸ͯͥ̆͊ͩ́̐̏ͤ͋ͬͨ̅̃͌̽ͤ͐̇͘̕͏͓̤̜͚n̡̛̩̠̪̗̦̜̤̬̟̹̗̊̎̏ͥ̋̋͒̂͘͢ͅ ̢̖̘̮̦̗̪͓̪̣͕̏ͮ́͗̓ͥ͑͆̃̋͒̎̀͟͡͠Ȧ͋̓̇͐̐̌͊͏̹͕̗̜̲̝̳̝͇͜ͅͅǔ̷ͩͭ̓͒̾̀͌ͩ̈͐̽͂͝͏̖̟̙̺̹̰͇͎͈͔̰̳̫͡ş̬̘̖̩̖̹̱̩̱͍̌̏͛̿ͨͨ̈̄͑ͬ͗̒ͨ̉ͨ͝ͅt̡͕̘̼͍̬͓͍͍̗͎̖̰̹͖͈̆ͨ́̀ͫͨ͛́ͅi̢̛͇̮̠̫̝̘̩͔̯̠̯̩̖ͨ͗̿̾̅ͫͮͩ̃ͬ͆ͭ͢ͅn̸͕̩̯̼̝̦͍͕̤̯̰̖̂̃ͥ͆͜ͅ'̅͌̎̾̿ͥ̇ͬ̀͂͛͑̋̑̕͏̢̡͇̦̥̖̗͎̘̪͚̞͇̥̘̖̬̜̲͓͞ş̸͓̯͔̖̘͖͍͕̣͍͉͎̯̆͐̾͗̆͆͂͋̄͠ ̛̾͑̍̐͋ͭ̔̿͏͈̮̞͙̙p̡̧̟̠̳̭̤̠͋̓ͮ̑̆ͤ̓͂ͮͅlͤͬ̄ͥ̒́̚͏͔̼̤́ͅa̷̶̽ͫ̂̃͛̚͟҉̥̼̙̻͙̼̫̻̪̥̥̣̭c̴̸̯͉͇̪͖̭̫̰̳̟͎͓̺̮͓̩̠͔͗̊̾ͭ͒͐͆͛̊͂͑̑̾͋̋̇ͫͭ́͢ͅȇ̴̢̡̫͖̱͚ͭ̓̉ͪ̔́͌.̴̴̵̡̛̫̩͓͓̟ͫ̂ͤͩͤ]]>
I'll escape if I try hard enough
Luca stood, frozen like a deer in the headlights, staring with mouth agape at the world around him. His clothes were ragged and torn, caked with dirt and blood, and reeked of booze and piss. The rest of him wasn't much better. His hands were shaking, teeth relentlessly chattering. Dried blood was smeared across his nose and his bare skin shone red. Wind burned.

He sniffled, wiping away a trickle of snot and wiping it on his already tattered shirt before taking a couple of steps forward.

He was in a forest in Oregon without any recollection whatsoever of how he got there. The world around him seemed to spin; the once vibrant greens of the tree tops above him were nothing more than a blurred, grotesque orgy of bare branches faintly illuminated by the moon.

The world felt frozen in time. Like a photograph that he'd been placed into. He could feel an ice cold wind battering his face, but when he looked at the branches he saw no motion. As if there wasn't any wind. He coughed, but despite the temperature his breath was invisible.

Then he heard the howl. A high-pitched, whiny screech that forced him to grit his teeth and press his shaky fingers into his ears.

Then the light.

A blindingly bright line shone down from the sky to a spot deeper in the forest, in the direction that the noise came from.

The sky felt darker as the light shone down. He couldn't see the moon anymore. The gnarled, twisted branches seemed to wrap around each other in the darkness. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, convinced he was seeing things.

The howl came once more.

Closer.

Louder.

The light moved.

Closer.

Brighter.

The mangled union of branches had extended from just one tree to every single one. Roots poked through the earth and grew upwards, trying to reach the treetops.

Louder howl.

Brighter light.

Trees, unable to support their weight, collapsed to the forest floor, branches still wrapping around each other. Each landed silently.

Then he saw it.

A man in an impeccable three piece suit with the head of a coyote.

The Coyote Man pointed down at the ground, silently urging Luca to look. He hesitated, unwilling to take his eyes off the abomination standing before him, but ultimately, he did.

The muddy brown hue of the ground turned to black slowly as he watched. Vines emerged from the earth and wrapped around Luca's feet, tying him to the dirt. His feet sunk into the dirt, shoes filled with ice cold black mud.


Ḭ͎̼͔̬̭̫͊ͨ̓̀̚'̄m̩ͨ̊̍̒͘ ̙̜͕̆ͮ̂̓̅l̶̦̬ͮ̂ͧͦͅo̴͍̥̞͓̦ͫ̉o̦̳̳̯ͣ̀͒ͧͮ̃̽ḳ̘̺͗̈́i͍n̨̮͛ͨͬͥg͍̋̐ͨ̆̈́ ̡̯͗͋͌f̧̯̐̆̓̃̾̐͑o͔̬̣͉͖͎̫͑͛͗ͦ͐̎r̢͍̣͔͕ͩ̒ͯ̉̋̅ ̜̙͂̒̓ͯ͛́s͍̯̰̳̭̰͛͑͘o̫̬͉̮ͧ̅͗̅ͭͨͮ͜m͚̟̊ͣ̒ͥͅe̟͉͍̖̝̬ͣͥ̀̈́̌̋́ó͕͔͖̤̳̰͎̌ͨ̃̋̅n̰̫̮͙͙̻̅́ͤ̊͂ͦ͂͝ẹ͓̭͈ͦ̽̅̋.̲̠͉͕̉ͥ̀ͮ̋ͩͯ


The Coyote Man spoke in a warbled, barely comprehensible monotone. It stepped closer to Luca, reaching into its jacket pocket before embracing the trapped man and leaning in close.

The vines wrapped around Luca's legs and dug into his calves like bear traps.


Y̽ͧ͂ͪo̩̺̓̍͝u͌̉͒̅͘ ͣ͗̿ͣ́̄̕k̰͓͕̟̼̙̒̔nͫͮ͌͂̍͏̥̘ô̭͎͉̲͆̋̾̿w̲̱̝̜͉̮̒͌ͪ̚͡ ̴̬̪͎͔̞̫̋w̼̟̳͚̥͎ͩ̍ͥ̑ͅh͎̀̌͐ͬ͂͑̚o̦̲̖̎̏̓̒ ̢͕͔̬̗̪̊̀̃̅͋͆I̩̱̟̥͓͌'̶̣̆̆̽m̜̾̾̊ͨ͐ͬ ͇̥ͮͣ̍͛̒͡l͑̾͏̙͍͙͍̞o͓̦̤͌͌ͪ͌́̿͆o̍͏̬͎̻̯̟ͅͅk͇̗̫̠ͫ̔ͥ̏́͑i̝͓̳͙̝͆͊ͪ̔ͅn͔̞̠̠̅ͯ̊͟ͅg͍̬̰̺͓̟ͪͥ͌͠ ̼̯̥f̓̿̾ͯ͊̄̆̀o̦̥̾̇̾̈̑r̰͘.̢̭͋


"What?

Luca's voice was frantic. Panicked. He struggled to slip out of the Coyote Man's grasp, but with each movement he made the vines slithered upwards and dug into his exposed, raw flesh.


H̤͓̗̠̫̻͓̣̅ͥͥͧͩ̏̎̇e̶͎̮̜̠͂̓̀͆ͦͮͥ̇̋̕ ͙̘̂̈́̂̾̀͌ͭc̺͚̰͔̉̽ͯͪ̅̈̋̌a̧̙̗͉̯͉̜͚̰̯ͩ̈́ͣ͝l̢̜̜̲̉̎̽ͧ͛͟l̝̺̘̪͎͉͍͋̄ͤ̾͂̕s̗̖̫̰̩̋ͮ͝ ̛̳̤̱̭̽͆͗̋ͨ͛̕ḩ̢͍̹͍̥̮̲̽͛͟ͅi̵̝͓̽̔̽ͦ̀͡m̴ͬ̋̅̌̚͏̙̻̟̬̮sͫͦ̍͊́ͧ͋͆҉̩ȩ̴̺̻̬͚̖͔͙̭̒̀̒͊ĺ̨ͤͤ̒͐͋͊̃̓͝͏͓̪̗͈̭f̣͈̘ͣͫ̒̑͝͡ ̥̞̙̲̙͖̣̟͍̀̓̓ͨ̽͛̆Z̸̛̭̬ͭ̄̿͑̑͗̇̚̕ą̷̦͓͙ͧ̔͜ņ̶͔̮̦͇̭̅ͤ̿̃ͪ̑̓͛͂ẻ̅̃̈́̾̽̒̚͏͇̱̟͈͟ͅ ̟̱̈́͡K͒͛͊̒҉͖̫͓̗̺̳̰̙i̡̫̖̘͓̓̋͛̎́n̩̘ͥ́̅̐̒̆g̣̝̝̓͋ͩ͒̃̋͜s̨̙̎̓l̷̩͓͍̝̼͆̒̄̒͗̄́͡e͉̣͇̋̆͛͛̅̌̈y̧͎̘̹͎͉̺͌́͗̽̃̽̄͘ͅ ̢̬͇̭̲̆͒̅͜ͅI̴͕͖̬̻̺͇̩̗͕̍̑̿̀̃̕I̪̣̻̬̼̘̻̓ͨ͌͋ͥ͝Ĩ̷̧͍̫̏͢.̝̫̭͎̥̰̱̦̲̓͐̈̊ͮ̋́


His eyes widened. He felt something sharp poke at his stomach.

"Kingsley?"

The Coyote Man nodded, baring its teeth and sniffing the air.


Ỷ̲͇̟̝̭ͫ͢ó̫̤̺͓͈̳̲͢͜͞u̥ͬͬ͜ͅ ̨͉͙̭̌͑̅̒̃ͬͥ͑̚w̧͉̲̅ͯͯ͂͂ͬ̓̒į̖̬̘̮̔͒l͈͉̜̱̫͉͎̫͌̎̈̃ͮ̚͞ḽ̡̺͍̭̞͆͋͛͐̀͝ ̸̝͎ͪͩͧͪ̚͝ͅb̗̠̝̻̪̅̿̈ͫȓ̢̛̻̳̣̮̏̽̏i̱͂ͨ̐ͅn̤̝̩͙̻̺̏̒̑͆̓̃̂̅͘͢g̢͐̌́͏̹͚̱ ̑ͨ҉̨̯͎̤̠h͎̥͎̀̊ḯ̧̠͙̺̙̘ͯ̃ͩ̀̾̉̀̚͝ḿ̧̧̟̥͙̺͕̟̚ ͓͚͈̟́ͬͩ̅̑ͨ̐͟t̞͙́ͭ͆̉̓ͮ̾͌́ö̪͓͚̩̼̥͋̀́͠ ̯̬̝̝̼̥̳̳ͮͯ̽͑̌̍ͮ́m̷̢͓̃͌ͩ̆̌ͣͮ͞e̵͓͙͚͒̔͂ͤ̉̌̾͜.̎͆͑́͒͒ͧ̑ͪ̕͝҉̮̤͇


The vines were up to Luca's hips.

"Shit man okay just--"




Y̡̪̗̙̰̻͈̤̟͂̓͋̋̕͡ͅȮ̢ͥ̃̌͋͗ͯ̃̓̊͗͏̢̺̥̹̞̲̜͍̱̦̥͎͖͕̖̪̙͈̟͘͠Ų̶̨͑̉̊̑͗̋̏̎̽ͤͥ̿͝҉̝̙̳̳̮͎̬ ̧͓̗̥͇̙̜͎̰͕̳̱̦̈́͂ͤ͘͜W̨̮͇̩̫̱̱͙̪̯̾͆̊̌͆ͫ͜I͙͖̫̹̦̞̭̍͌ͧͭ̆͑̐ͥ͒̊͌ͫ̇ͩ̃ͮ̎͊ͮ́̕ͅL̵̢̪̹̳̻͍͈͖̝̮̟̝͚̯̫͉ͣ̋͋͋̀͛̓͒ͥͮͦ̚L̵̸̬͖̥̇̑̄͛͞ͅ ̍̉̅̔̑ͭͣ̇͂͑̆ͯ͆̚͟͜͝͏̷͚͎̲̰̞̟̦ͅͅB̼͓̝̮̲̲͔̱̖̟̞̜̪͈̲̗͂ͯ̅̇̈̉ͮͣ̕͜͞ͅŔ͋ͦͪ̒̋ͪͨͧͩ̓̀ͯ́͠͏̗͓̯͎͎Į̴͖̗̥̗̭̘̞͂̎̆̆͆̅̕Ṋ̨̭̤̻̤ͣ̆̅͛̇͌̈́͋̓̓͆ͯ̋̑̃ͬ͗̚͜ͅͅͅG̷̯̟̯̞̓́ͧͬ̑̏̈̕͞ ̷̸̬̜̯̦̱̠̥͍̦͕͖̙͇̈́̽́̋̀͜Ḩ̷͕̺͎̹͔͈̰̰͈̯̦ͫ͋͆ͦ͌̓́͌͑̒̊͆͊̚̚̚̚͡ͅĪ̡̋ͩͤ̈̂̈́̾ͧ̀͗ͪ̐͋̐͆ͫ̄ͬ҉̴̩͇̬͉̣̜͙̣̱̫̣̫̦̦̗̺̙̮͠M̵̨̗̱̹͕̩̤͖͚̰̻̲̘̘̑ͮ̀͗̅̿̀ͧ͠͞ ̴̨̘̲͈̟̜̫̣͉̲̏͒̒̎͊͊̐́̏̓ͨ̒̑ͭ̋͌̀ͨ͠Ṱ̸͖̝̩̼͗̅́̂͂̓ͧ̂̀͟Ǫ̶̻͓͖̮͚͇̱͈̟̠͇̱̓̇̔ͭ͛̉͠͞ ̶̷̛͍͙̙̫̗̱̮̟̟̪̲̼͈͖͕͚̦͈ͣͤ̈ͥͭͤ̀̇͂͆̉̍͐̌ͪ̂̃ͤͧ͜M͌̈́̔̌̓ͥ̂̾́͋͆͛̂̔̋̑̇҉͎͚͓̜̙̱͟Ę͙͕͙͉̟͕̹͚̻̳͈̀̐͋ͫ͛͑̍̊̾̋̚̚͢͠͝.̨̭̰̱̘ͥ̽͗̂̂͢͝͞



The Coyote Man dug his blade into Luca's stomach. Luca opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out as the vines worked their way up past his chest, around his throat, choking the air out of him as his blood leaked from the wound, shimmering in the light of the moon on the pitch black ground.

Pete, you're embarrassing yourself. I of course say this like you don't do this every time you open your mouth but for some reason every time I face you I hold some modicum of hope that maybe, just maybe, you'll do something to prove that you have a functioning brain. In reality, I'd chalk it up to having an addiction to being disappointed (which is the only reason I've seen almost 2 full seasons of American Horror Story), but even that addiction has its limits (which is why I've never finished a season of that fuckin' show).

So when I heard that Pete had said some more shit about me, I smiled. Sure, it could easily be schadenfreude. Hell, I'm sure that was at least part of the reason. But, whatever other reasons there are I will admit that once again, I was guilty of thinking you were capable of improvement.

But you don't do that, do you Pete?

No, of course you don't.

You stagnate. You've plateaued a long time ago and you're desperately trying to keep people from noticing.

I noticed.

I noticed it when we first faced each other.

You're really bad at hiding it, Pete.

But that's neither here nor there. Let's talk about what you had to say about me because I admire it Pete. I really do. I admire that despite the fact that Pest runs around acting like he's so far above everyone else in this match, his own partner included, he's so fucking scared to talk about me. Meanwhile, Peter, who is the butt of all our jokes has no issue addressing me head on.

Well done Pete.

Gold star.

That doesn't mean you said anything worth a damn, just that you said something. Anything. At all. Which, despite being more than #kingfuccboi could muster, isn't much better. But hey, figured you could use yet another victory over Pest, even if this one will have to be moral, because, and I'm sorry to tell you this Pete, you're not going to win.

If Austin and I weren't in this match, you'd have this in the bag. Hell, I'd lend a hand like I did to get you in this match in the first place, just to see you and Dim walk out with the titles again. With another win over #kingfuccboi. Because that'd be fun as all hell. Watching Pest flounder around trying to justify that one when, as always, he talked more shit than he could back up.

But, the fact of the matter is we are in the match.

We were the first people confirmed to be in this match.

In other words, your chances of winning flat lined before it was even established you'd be competing.

But, what has Pete actually been saying? Better yet, does it stray from the typical Peter promo?

Because, as we've established, everyone loves checklists (shoutout to Robbie, the miserable, false-bravado flexing cunt).

Does he contradict himself?

You bet your fucking ass he does. Him and Dim are the big bad bullies but then all of a sudden I'm the one trying to bully him around? Like, how does that even work? Can't handle a taste of your own hypothetical medicine? Get some thicker skin bro for realsies.

Is he just straight up wrong?

Of course. I did this the last time I talked about him, didn't I? Like I said there, it's all become so routine when dealing with Gilmour. You can see everything he says from a mile. A contradiction here, obvious bullshit there, threats of severe, career ending injuries all over the place despite the fact that none of them have ever come to fruition.

Also hey Pete, fun fact. The last time we faced off, I beat you completely clean. No bullshit from Theo or Maddy. Hell, it was your own buddy Dim who attacked me after I finished fucking your whole life up for the millionth time. Nice revisionist history there man. One of these days someone will buy it.

Peter doesn't understand anything I say and it's obvious by the way he still brings up his one moral victory over me like it didn't help me out in the end. Way to go Pete, you fucked up my ankle two years ago and inadvertently helped me to cash in my 24/7 briefcase on your buddy Sid Feder.

Great work.

Please, injure me again so I can swoop down and fuck up another one of your dwindling number of friends' lives.

I could keep on going and going, pointing out all the inconsistencies in his words like I would do any other week, but it's overkill at this point and I'm saving all my overkill for when the #kingfuccboi finally decides to open his mouth about me.

I could talk about how Pete thinks he and Dim are both the strongest link and the underdog.

Or how he's acting like he won't be stuck in the same place he is now when he's in his sixties.

I just want to focus on one more thing, Pete.

You have never beaten me. Not once. Nadda. Nil. Your record against me in 0 - like five million at this point.

You're not going to beat me "again".

You're not going to beat me at all.

Blame whoever you want to for that. Hell, blame me. I'll take it. I don't give a fuck.

Just remember that you're just outclassed.

This is the natural order of things.

"Fuck me," Luca muttered, tossing the burner phone onto the bed before allowing himself to collapse face first into the mattress. His head throbbed and ached; he felt he couldn't trust his vision. His perception. He was in a run down motel now, but in the blink of an eye he could be halfway across the world. He could be dead in a heartbeat.

"What the fuck, Austin?"

He pounded the mattress. It felt like a stone slab. Not that he particularly minded; he'd slept on worse things.

His heart exploded with joy when he closed his eyes and all he could see was Victoria's corpse atop his supine body. After the night he had, it was, somehow, a welcome relief. Still, it carried with it the same sorrow it always had, as he swallowed hard to suppress the knot in his throat.

"Sorry," he muttered into the mattress.

He could feel her presence; like she was in the room with him. He'd felt it since the party. Always watching over. Judging. Her eyes felt cold, and chilled him to the bone.

He took it that he wasn't forgiven.

An open bottle of Jack Daniel's sat on the dresser by the bed. He pushed himself off the mattress and grabbed the bottle by the neck before filling his mouth with the amber liquid. He swished it around in his mouth before swallowing.

Then he grabbed the phone again.

He remembered the Coyote Man. The chorus of voices. The sight of a version of himself he thought long buried. Falling to his apparent death.

He remembered it all.

What he wasn't sure of, was the reality of it.

Still, he heard the cold mocking of the chorus echoing in his ears.

"Go on Luca. Prove it."

Once again, the Coyote Man had taken Victoria's place behind his eyelids.

He felt the weightlessness he'd felt during his freefall.

He tasted the bile that formed in the back of his throat at the sight of his past self.

Most importantly, he smelled victory.

So he flipped the phone open and shot a text to the number he'd just tried to reach.

dont worry bout finding a new partner. ill b there.





Ḩ̵̲̙̘͚ͭ̾ͪͦ͑ͭ͒ͥͬ̒̒ͅe̖̤̯͙̯̬̮̖ͤ̓ͭ̊̊̃͛̏̂̀̂͆̿͒͌͜͠͞ ̷̶̡̳͉̳̣̤̳̟̻͍̝̤̩̜̪͍̹̓ͧ͊͛̿̓͆̌͂̏͑͂̀ͬ̆͊̀̚͜s̞͓̩̃ͨ̿̈̊̎̽̐̆̌́ͭͪ̍̈̅͋̃͢͜͝m̸̈́ͮ͌̉ͥ̔͆̀̋̽͑ͯ͒ͦ́̉̕͜͏͍͔̼̣i̸̢̧̢̬̯̬̫͍͓͉̜̜̖̞̖͍̩̰̿ͪ̌̿̎̽ͬ̈́͐̔ͪ̿̀ͅͅl̅̿͐ͥ̀ͯ̆ͩ̚̚͏̫͕̩̞̯̥̺͎̼̦̗̀ͅę̣̜̠̯͇̦̜̼̘͖̣͚̖͎͈͇͕̾̓͒̿ͪ̀d̢̯̺͖̼̹͈̠͕̮͉͕̪͇̦̙͎̰̞ͥͮͯ͑̀͌ͬ͂̉͒͑ͬ̀̉̀̽̎ͦ̌̕͟ͅ ̷̧͔̭̗͉̣͈̓̓̌̀ͦ̽̏ͤ̉͂͛̾̑͆́̒͘a̸̸̛͎̙̻̬̰̫̟̩̪͉͔̜ͧͦ͆͊̓̾͌ͨ̿̊͆̆͌͆̌͂̌ͤ͜n̸̸̠̦̩̗̑̊̌ͧ͌͞dͪ̒͗̇̆ͭ̔̓̓̾ͫ̍́̈͊ͧ̽҉̧̞̰̠͕̞͇͚̳͇̰̗̻͈̬̳̖̫̀͡͡ͅ ̤̥̙̟̬͇̖͎̒͒̆̍ͪ̑͡͞c̡͇̞̖̜̣̥̞̣͇̳̥̩͓͕̫͙̅ͭ̉ͨ͂͋͑ͤͩ͝ͅl̵̷̠͔̠͚̙͎̦̠̭͙͈̼͈͎͎̥͚̑͐̈ͥ́̉͑̓̿̎ͥ̿ͬͣ̃̚̚͡ͅő̈̒̌ͩ͏̴̡̨̼͔̲̠͈̟͖̻̖̱͖̳͚̲̻̜͉s̙͖̲͕̳ͦͧ̓̄̈́͟͜͡e̦̹̤̠̓̃̏ͣ̚͜͡d̸̜̝̼͙̬͈̲͊ͥ͊̽͐̈́̋ͩͫ̇ͣ͗ͥ͜͟ ̨̟̦̼͍͒̒ͨ̑̉̒ͥͣͣ̃̓̈ͣ̃ͨ̑́͜ĥ̢̨͍͕̰̪̩ͭ̑͑̔͞ͅͅi̡̟̪̦̳ͨ̇̔́͛̀ͩ͊̊̇͊͂̑̿̊̋͜͝s̃̒̒̂͆ͭͧ͜͠͏̫̜͉͔ ̳̘͈̰̬̥͔̜͕̫̥̟ͣ̏̈́ͨ̇̔̋ͦ̒̃̓͊͜͡e͔͉̖͖̲̬̮̭̦̜ͪ͊̊͛͌ͧͫ͗̉ͣͬ̒̔͛͘͜ÿ̶͚̝͓̪̘͎́̊̀ͧ̒͌͐̊̄ͤ̕ȩ̸̸̙͎̹͓̹̠̩̲̞̳͈̥̩̮͔ͥ̒ͤ̅̈͌͘͡ͅs̷̭͇̘̟̻̬͔̣͖͕̣̤ͤͨ̉͑̈́̌ͨ̆ͮ̄.̿͌́͛̽͋͌̾̋҉̵̱͓̥̗̝͍̳̝̬͢
̖̦̰̗̭̘̳̣̤̟̮͔̞ͥ̈͊ͪ̌ͫ̍́ͪ͂́͜ͅ
̗̪̠͎͖̤̲͎̞̬͚̪̊̊̊͛̈́ͭ̍ͦͩ̄ͪ̄͛̊̀̕̕͞Ḣͭ̽ͣͭͥ͆̀͏̸̗͔̩̳̝͉̦̳̻̜͔̜͔̟̺̻͚̀è͕̱͚̺̪͍̻̈́͌͐͗ͫ̌ͮ͒̔̊̐͡͝ ͦ̋̊̏ͣ͐͆̾̎̒̐̀̑͂͑̂͗͂҉̱̲͍̻͎̱ş̦̯̫͕́̉̄̿̓ͨ͘a͎̘̯̪͎̜̘̲͂ͥ̒̏ͮͫ́̐̊̌̄̏̚͟͠w̷̢̛͖̤̺̟̬̜̹͉ͪͪ̿̌͗͂̂̂̐ͅ ̷̵͍̣̺̻͖̠͙̮͖̠̻̗̠̂̎͗̌ͤ́̈́̽̓̐͂ͫͯ̔̎̓͌̚ͅh̨̧̗͔͕̱̩͓͖͙̝̟̻̝̟̩̱ͦ̆̉ͬ̈́͆̓̌̓͋͂̍̌͐͐̉́i̶̤͙͇͚̼̹̣̫̼̜̬̠̪̯̙̝̟̾̀̾̊ͥ̈́̇̋̄̉̾̿ͤ̍͆̉͞m̵̶̹̦͙̝̩͉̰̼̹̰͓̲̗̣͕͛ͩ̊̐̂̉̓͌̐s̴̾̓̅̀ͬͩͥͪ̐ͧ̈́ͪ̔͛ͥ͏̮̤̮̠͉̤̳͠͠ȩ͓͖̭̱̘̠̥͑́͂ͩͨͤͬlͣ̉̆̾̉̂̿̔̄̊̈́͋̔͠҉̸̧̼̲̟̦̮̹͎͍͇̯̬̣͉͙̮͎̥f̶̨̐̄ͮ̓̀̕҉̮̖̰̥͙̹̫̬̜͍̱͇͉̤̣̬̥ ̸̵̸̨͇͚̰̼̯͎͍̰̘͆ͭ̆̋̔̓́ͧͤͮ̍ͯ͊ͪ͐͗̓̔ͭ̕a̡̛̝̤̻͖̫ͬ͋͌ͮ̀ͨͥ͒̾̅́ͥ̚͢͞ṇ̢̟̮͎̰̦̗͍̠͓͈̦͇̺̥̱̏ͬ͌̈͐́ͦ͐͑̎̎́͡dͨ̈ͯ̓̒ͭͭ̍ͥ̉̽͛̅͏̷̱̰̝̖̩̲͎̞̺͓͙̪͖̝͟͟͠ͅ ̊͊̽̂ͫ̋͌̿̿̀͏̢̨͚̜͈̱̣Ã̵̪̻͍̥̱̫͓̳͖̤͍̥̪̿̐ͮ͛͐̊͜͟û͑ͨ̍ͪͫͭ̓̈́͐ͧ̌ͯͪͮͭ͛͡͏̩̮̰͉̪̗͓̪͈s͇̥͉̫͕̠̬͇̩͚̼̮͛̄̒̎̌̿͒̀̊̆ͨ͗̃̀͢ͅẗ̵͙͎͔̘̪̻̼̯͎́ͭͭͮ͛͆̚ͅiͤͦ̀͒̓̌͆̓ͭ̓ͩͪ̀͏̛͏̤͖̱̟̼̻̱̥̙͙̼͙͕̞͍̳̥̞̕n̷̡̛̬͈͕̫͔ͩ͛̓ͦͧ̇̌̽̃ͦ͑̎̈ͣͨ͐ͯͨ̇͟,̧̧̻͚̱̤̠̲̇͋̀̔̌̆̈͊͑ͮͪ̃͌͑͠ ̷̰̮̺̜͒̎̀ͧͥͬͧͭ͋̑̿̈̈́̈́ͧ͂͘͝nͫ͛̿̏ͩ͗͋̎ͬ̔̅ͬͦ͏̢̛̠̹̣͓͢͝ȧ̶̰̪̣̘͖̱͉̫͎͓̤̭̣̪͔͊ͪͩ̌̈̊͊̕͜͢͞m̸͊ͫ͑̌̄͐̌͒ͬͦ̽͒͏̪̹̥̼̜̲̤͚͚̱͎͎̫̩̱̀ͅͅe̴̱̩̗͈̰̹͕͈̻͖̩͍͎͍̬̒ͪͩͤ͐̍̅̽ͥ̉̆͂̄ͪ͋̕͢s̵̛̼̹͙̯͉͕͈̫̞̑ͫͩ̐͐ͅ ̡̒ͥ́̂̂̆ͩͫ̏̅̂͋̏ͫ̂̑ͥͨ̀͜҉̯̣̤̭̻̱̙̖͈̙͙̗̦ĩ̧̛̹̠͓̙̟̖͍̮͓̞̜̹́ͧͫ́̀͢ňͥ̍̿ͬ͂̿͒͘҉̧̗̼͎̣̮̣͍̻̠͓̠͖ ̵̢̮̲̙̗̯ͥ̌̒ͮ̇͑ͥ̐̓̾̉̎͆ͧ̈́̄̚ẗ͆̀̀̂̓̏̿̓ͮ͏͔̗̤̣̺̤̩̬̩̯̙̕h̐̿̒ͦͥ̿͗ͣ͒̏͒̎͂̌͠҉̙̱̤͕́ë̸̴̤̖̩͇̮͙̞̼͔͔̹͍́͐ͪ̃̎̊͋́̏͂̉ͨ ̵̡͎̬͉͇̭͎̻̙͇͖̜͕̤̪̌ͫͯ͂̉͗s̢̯̺̹̊̿ͧ̐ͭ͜͢͞k̢͙̲͔̼͍͙̱̤̻̣̬̹̖̣̫̘̥͇̊̽ͯ̂ͮ̊ͨ̈́͗̄͊ͪ͗ͤͨ̑͌͞y̴̛̮̖͎̘̫̬̺͔̘ͦ͒̓́̋̌̐̋ͥ̑͌̾̿ͧ̊͋́́̚ͅͅͅͅ.̴̴̛͎̝̫̖̈ͤ̊ͫ̑ͣ̊ͯͯͪ̕ͅ
̡̭̼͎͚͕̞̜̰̥͙̦ͤͭ͐ͣ̆͑́̆͊̌̆͛̈̿ͪ̕͘͢
̶͈̮͇̥̜̜̞̩͈̖̟̬̺̰̭͖̩̓͑͌͠P̷̵͐ͤ̓̋̏̊̌̋͌ͬ͜͏͙͔͖̬̣̰̪̟̼̥͉͚̠̟̩̞͍̀a͍̠͇̜̝̘̮̻͉̦͓͊̽̓̄ͤ͐̄̔͋̎ͦ̅̑͒́͠î̏ͦ͛͛̓̈ͫͩ̄̒̄̉̆̈ͨͤ͋͡͞͏͉̙̥̤̫̳̣̰͟ͅn̴̸͔̱͓͓̣̻ͤͨ̿̏̆͋̊͌̆́͜͠t̴̷̰̹͍͙̙̰͆̔ͮ͐̾̇̄̓̃̒̀̚͟ẻ̸̸̛̤̱͍͓͎͔̥̅̄̄ͧ͑̅ͯͪͤͩͤ̉́d̵̡̒̌̏̈́̑̑̊̈ͪ̽̀͜҉̻̬̤̼̙̻̦͉̩̤̼̝̫̞͙̭̱͕̱ ͣ̈̅̈ͧ̔͂̐̂̈́͌̅͒҉͏̳͕̱͓͓͟A̢͔͚̘̠̠̞̙͉̝̙̩̪̣̺͎͔̦͚͔͂̄͆̍̓̃ͣ͞͞m̛̖͈̹̤̮̪̼̪̯̈͂̒͋͆̀̕͘͢eͯͬ̽̊̒̚͏̡̡͍̲̙̗̲̥̭͓̙́͠r̥͈̘̯̠̺̹͓ͨ̌̓̽́ͨͧ̎͒̓́͘i̷̸̸̬͇̙̪̪͈̞̳̪̻̟̘͈̗̩̻͂ͤ́͘͘c̷̶͈͙̜͕̣͎͔̭̗͖͓̜͓̪̼̆ͯ͗̔̌͊̂ͮ́̃̔ͤ͐̆͋̉ͬ̕͡ͅͅa͌ͮ͌ͧ̑͆͆͝҉̶̗͎̘̩̩́n̶͇͇̲̞͓̼̤̫̜̬͍͖͓͕̙ͦͯͤ̇͆̿ͨ̉̾́̇ͬ͆́͟͝ ̷̖͕̫̳̞̗̹̹͈͍̯͛ͨ͛̌̅̉ͤ͛ͭ͋̓̈́ͮͪ͢ͅḠ̷̫̼̣̪̺̹̰̮̗̠͙͇̲̝̬̆̃ͧ͋ͪͬ̕oͭͪ͑͛̆̾̈́ͣ͛̑̊̐̓̊̋̂̇̚҉̧̤͚͎͚̳͍͉͓͚͕̲͔̗͈͙̼̕t̷̷̢̯͍͈̭̙̺̜̗̪͎̻̟̥̰̯̪͛̓̆ͣͣ̚ͅͅh̶̵̟̘͚̙̼̭̤͈̺̬̹̻̄̒̅́͜͢ͅi̢ͥ̑ͯ̇̾ͨ̔ͤ͗͌̑̐ͩ͊͘͏̭͎͚̫͍̪̮͈͎̖̘̹̤̖ĉ̢̻̭͇͉̲̜̥̭̺̩̣̝͕̼̘͉͕ͤͫͫͬͨ̀͘͘ ̸̨̖̤̬̠͎̮̖̫͓̯̜̜̰͂͗̿̋͐̍̿̕͢s̸̛̜̫̞̞͉̖̲͉̹̱̪͗̀ͩ̌̓̀̓̊̽̏̚tͯ̌͂͒̎̍ͦ̔͏͇̤̺͍̺͍̮͓̩̘͈̣̠͙̞̯̰͠y͎̜̭̗̓̉͐̈̇ͮ̈͒̌̂͒̄ͪ̇̏ͭ̔̕͝l͊̽̇̌ͩ̑̽ͩ̏̐̍͢͠͏̵̣͓̼̣̖̖̝̲̘̮̙̺͚̦̜̞͡ͅe̶̯̤̱̦͉͉̭̺̩̍ͥ̇̀̌ͤ͛̐̃ͤ̃̓ͣ͜ͅ.̡̡̼͈̮̱̞͓̰͙͍̜̮̟̭͈̝̐́ͦ͊͆̾͑̅̒͛̉ͅ
̴̙͈̻ͪ͛ͭ̌ͪ̐̔͗ͬ̈́̾ͧ̚͜
̷̡̢̢̧̳̫͉̗̥͉͚̬̣̞̻͍̪͔̺̥̲͛̈̒̍T͐͆ͪͯ͌̑̑̾̌̆͛҉͈̝͖̹̮̩́͠ͅh͖̯̜̠̥̪̝̉ͯͭ̈́̇̉́͠͠é̎̄͒͒̇ͦ̏̓̍̏̅ͫ̔̀͋̍̔̈́̀͏͇̖̖͖͍̻͖͍̮̤n̨̪͇͙͓͍̥̣̖̺͇̹͎̆̀ͪ̒͊̐̅̉̆̆̽́͜͝͞ ͆͌͗̅ͦ́̇̾̎̂ͫ͛ͧ҉̱͖͖̫̘͇͍̜͙̙̱̙̣̳͘͘͞ͅh̵̛̥̯͈̘͖̗͔͉̜͈͚̹͚͍̩̰̅ͪͬ̋̽ͣ̋̄ͪͫ͆̚̚͝͠͡e̸͙̲̻̲̞̭͑̿ͭ̅̇͛̏ͬ͋̎̊̾́͟͞ ͦ̐̉̊̎̾̄̎̍̔͐̔ͣ̅̃͌̈͆͏͎̭̪̯͕̘̹̀͞͞͞ş̴̨̳̥͕͈͚͇͓̰͈̦͍͔̘̝̺̟̥̐̇̈̍̏ͨ̕ā̷̙͓̠͎̮̎̌̒̋̔̓̓̿͘w̷̵̨̡͙͙̼̥̥͓̜͐͐ͤͧ̉̈́̽ ̨̬̘͈͔̳̥̖̼̦͉̓̽͑ͣͩ́͆ͮͨ̌ͮ̎͒̂̈̋͜͠͞t̸̜͉̣̻͖̬̖͖̼̻̬͓̩͓̓͐͛ͫͯ͋ͧ̆̑̂͂̑͐͞ͅh͆̄̂ͪ̓̄̍ͥͬ͐̑̂͊ͮ͏̷̜͈͉̱̠̘͕͈̯̯͖̻̲̭̮̹͢͝ē̛̻͕̭̭̲̦͖̞͔̥͎̟͓̮̬̥ͭ͑̽ͩ̍͗ͯ̔ͅ ̧͙͇̰̙̭̰͈̓ͩͨ̌̉̾̓͑͐̅̓͆͜͝s̵̷̞̳̪̱̫̣̈́ͥͨ̈͊̌̽̌ͫ͛͐͒̕͢a̦̱͇̳̰̱̦̾͛͆ͥͤͥ̍ͬ̅ͧ̿͛͆ͫ̀m̵ͨͨ̔̀̎̓ͣ͒ͮͭͥ̂̒͌̿͟͢͞͏͎͍̗̼̖͖͚̣͚͇e̮̼̜͍̗͈̫̗͖̦͖̬͎̜̺̬̟̲͐̋ͭ͂̅̊ͨͪͣͫ͒͗̒̃̇ͪͬ͞͞ ̴̩̝̰̙͈̯̲̦̜̰͆͐̈́͑͂ͬ̍̂́ͥͪ̋̿̀̕͢͜t̄ͪ̿̎̋̍͐͌̊ͧ́̚͘҉͙͓̱͉̣͎͎̙͖̰̯͈̲͓̤̤͖͘h̨̡͕̪̭͙̝̾ͣͨ̏̈́ͩ̇ͨͪͫ͒͐͐ͮ́́̚̕i̵̛̅̄̈ͦ̉͛̈́ͮͪ̉ͦ̚͏͉͇͇̣̲͔̙̙͉ṇ̨̩͚̟̗͉̜̝̮̲̬̗̞̰̼̝̮͐ͫ͗̓̌͋̉̔̋̃̂͗̽̆ͯͭͨͣ͊̀̕͜͡ͅͅĝ̢͖͇͍̲̱͎͓̰̞̰̩̆ͣͫͬ͑ͣ̿ ̶̨͕̪̯̹̻͈͇̲ͧͩ̄̐ͩ̇ͫ̃ͪ̊ͭ̅̓̾̓ͭ͟͢͞w̐̓̊͐ͫ̈̈́̚͡҉̵̶̟͍͈̱͕͓͔͈̦̻͎̘̣̺̭̰̥̕i̷̢̢ͭ͑͒̆̆̎̓̽̇ͪͨ̍҉̥̮̟̰̹̫͖̭̰͈̲̫̬͎̪t̵̛͛ͪ̋̔͛͆ͨ̉ͪ͌͒ͨ̏̋ͣͧ̌ͧ͢͏͖̼͔͔̼̗̻h̶̨̲̭̘̦̗̟͓̝͉̹̞̺̬̏͋͂͂ͯ͋͋̂͘͜ ̴̨̥͎̪͔͕̞͇̗͎̝̳̰͕̝̪͔̣ͮ̅̈́ͪ́̏ͯͮ̌̈́̓̇͗̌t͓͓̘͙͕̩̖̣͖͇͈͍͊̊ͦ̋̽ͦͨͫ̒̓̀͘͞͝ͅͅh̳̦͎̗̰̟̗̞̋͗͑̍̀͜͢͝͝e̵̒ͧ͗̈̍̐̇̓̌̌ͮͨ̈́́͢͏̵̗̭̥͔̜̳̤̥͓̬͍̱͎̘̱̗̥ ̴̲̣̟̦̞̪͖̱͕̦̱̮̜̗̦͎̙ͧͮ̃ͧ̾̾̚͟Ĉ̴̶̸͓̣̥̭̫̯̦̤̮̮̬̟ͦ̓̅̈ͯͩ̄͛̋̃́̈́ͨͨ̕o̷̶̱͉̘̬̺̳͉̼̮ͨͫ̈́ͦ͗̎͋̕͠y̸̨̛͎͈͚̼̘̺̻̙̰̥͈͔̘̖̭͈̟̓̔ͨ̒̈ͧ̍͛͆̒̎̂̋̑ǫ̵̮͙̝̠͚̪̰ͩ̈́̒̐́͘͘t̨̙̣͙̻͓̞̹͎̜͙̮̜̞̗̦̺͔͒͗ͫͯ̏̇̀̀͠êͯ̂ͬ͛͛ͬ͌̋ͧ͏҉̶̣̗͇̱̥̤̳̠̤̞͎̬̣̺̫ ̡̛͕̼͇̳̩̻̥̬̝̼̘̙̹̉͒̽̀̐͋̑̈̏̅̈̍ͫͤ̅͛ͥ̀͜͜M̵̜̖̲̗̭͕̫̗͕̗͈̜̥̥͒̎̂̆̂͌ͩ͗̒͗͌͝ä̯͖̜̩͕͚͎͙͚͙̗̥͙̯̝̥̩́̈̉̈̌͑̈͆̀͘͞n̳͕̱͎͉̱̠̹̜̞̭͎̝̥͙̞̗̗ͭ̿ͧ̆ͯ̌̌̓͗ͥ̄̽͜͠ ͆̈̿̑̌͆̄̈̎ͥ́̉ͥ́̆̄ͮͧ҉̸̠͈̟͖̼̯͔̭̮͜͠ͅi̸ͯͥ̆͊ͩ́̐̏ͤ͋ͬͨ̅̃͌̽ͤ͐̇͘̕͏͓̤̜͚n̡̛̩̠̪̗̦̜̤̬̟̹̗̊̎̏ͥ̋̋͒̂͘͢ͅ ̢̖̘̮̦̗̪͓̪̣͕̏ͮ́͗̓ͥ͑͆̃̋͒̎̀͟͡͠Ȧ͋̓̇͐̐̌͊͏̹͕̗̜̲̝̳̝͇͜ͅͅǔ̷ͩͭ̓͒̾̀͌ͩ̈͐̽͂͝͏̖̟̙̺̹̰͇͎͈͔̰̳̫͡ş̬̘̖̩̖̹̱̩̱͍̌̏͛̿ͨͨ̈̄͑ͬ͗̒ͨ̉ͨ͝ͅt̡͕̘̼͍̬͓͍͍̗͎̖̰̹͖͈̆ͨ́̀ͫͨ͛́ͅi̢̛͇̮̠̫̝̘̩͔̯̠̯̩̖ͨ͗̿̾̅ͫͮͩ̃ͬ͆ͭ͢ͅn̸͕̩̯̼̝̦͍͕̤̯̰̖̂̃ͥ͆͜ͅ'̅͌̎̾̿ͥ̇ͬ̀͂͛͑̋̑̕͏̢̡͇̦̥̖̗͎̘̪͚̞͇̥̘̖̬̜̲͓͞ş̸͓̯͔̖̘͖͍͕̣͍͉͎̯̆͐̾͗̆͆͂͋̄͠ ̛̾͑̍̐͋ͭ̔̿͏͈̮̞͙̙p̡̧̟̠̳̭̤̠͋̓ͮ̑̆ͤ̓͂ͮͅlͤͬ̄ͥ̒́̚͏͔̼̤́ͅa̷̶̽ͫ̂̃͛̚͟҉̥̼̙̻͙̼̫̻̪̥̥̣̭c̴̸̯͉͇̪͖̭̫̰̳̟͎͓̺̮͓̩̠͔͗̊̾ͭ͒͐͆͛̊͂͑̑̾͋̋̇ͫͭ́͢ͅȇ̴̢̡̫͖̱͚ͭ̓̉ͪ̔́͌.̴̴̵̡̛̫̩͓͓̟ͫ̂ͤͩͤ]]> <![CDATA[<gauntlet> The innovator enters]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22585 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 19:31:03 -0800 BrianLance]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22585
The scene opens to show Brian Lance sitting on the bed in his hotel room in Russia. He is sitting there with Taco laying across the bed in front of him. He also has the orange crystal, pocket knife, super glue and some black grip tape.

B: Yeah Taco I know you don't like this but it's for the better good.

Brian pauses and stares at Taco as if he is listening to it talk to him.

B: Don't give me that shit. You're getting this done. I got everything I need right here.

Brian Pauses again before continuing.

B: OK OK Look at it this way you get some new grip tape.

Brian Pauses again before continuing.

B: Yes it's black now hold still once we're done with this Seth and Daulton won't be calling all the shots. Then Taco little by little I will become the master finally.

Brian says has he picks up the knife and opens it. He begins to carve a notch into the handle of Taco. He then places some glue into the notch and then presses the crystal into the spot. He grabs the roll of black grip tape then starts winding it onto the handle being careful to leave just a small bit of the crystal showing.

B: See Taco that wasn't that bad.

Brian says as he uses the sleeve of his hoody to wipe the orange crystal that's now embedded in the handle. He then takes and leans Taco into the corner next the the bed.

B: Now, Taco let's see how well this works.

Brian stretches out and lays down on the bed and drifts to sleep as the scene fades out..
___________________________________________________________________

The scene opens to very dense fog and the sounds of female voices softly chanting in the distance. The chanting fades away as the fog thins revealing two wooden chairs facing each other and nothing more can be seen. The thick fog swirls around the two chairs for a second before Brian Lance walks out carrying Taco in his right hand. He walks over and sits on the chair that faces the camera. He lays Taco across his lap then speaks.

B: Seth It's time to talk and you have no choice but to listen Brother! Now come forth and sit here.

The fog begins to swirl violently around Brian. A large black shadow appears in the fog behind Brian.

B: Your not welcome here Daulton! This is between me and Seth.

D: Oh but Brian I just wanted to be there for you seeing how I feel Seth ain't gonna show up. Nice parlor tricks you've learned. You honestly think some damn Crystal are goin to force my cooperation? Brian I have more control in my little finger then you could ever muster up.

Brian sits quietly in the chair as Daulton walks out of the fog. Daulton walks slowly up to Brian from behind and place his hands on Brian shoulders.

D: What the matter brother?

Daulton says as an evil grin across his face.

D: Seems Like I'm still in control Brian. Brian no matter what you do I will always be here. I'm not goin anywhere. You need to face the facts here. You want my cooperation you have to earn it. No cheap tricks or shortcuts.

Why can't you just do what I told you. Go out there in you're match at Snow Job and show me what I want to see. Go out there and just show me a little bit of the anger that you use to feed on. You talk of the old time as if they were the golden years. Little brother have you not forgot what happened in the end? This company ruined our family and buried it for a reason. There's a reason we don't walk side by side anymore.

Daulton walks around Brian and then sits in the chair across from him.

D: Seriously Brian how in the fuck can you not remember? You constantly talk of the past yet you seem not to remember the reasons why I am here. Do you seriously think I'm just another voice in your head Or Something that will go away by simply takin a pill or carrying around some stupid crystals?

Daulton leans forward towards Brian and takes the index finger of his right hand and pokes Brian in the forehead.

D: You are seriously mistaken if you think I only exist in there. Brother Soon enough you will remember what started this but until then the puppet must dance.

Daulton sits back in the chair then waves his hand through the air. Brian's eyes cloud over and he jumps to his feet causing Taco to fall to the floor. Brian kicks the chair into the fog and starts break dancing in front of Daulton. Daulton laughs and shakes his head as Brian flounders about trying his best to break dance.

D: Brian it's time you get reminded why I am here. Now quit being a fool and sit still.

Brian stops in the middle of doing the worm. He places his left hand on the floor to lift his self up with his right hand landing on the handle of Taco. Brian's eyes clear as he swiftly jumps to his feet and strikes out at Daulton with Taco. Daulton disappears into a cloud of fog. Taco travels through the cloud causing it to swirl about.

D: You can't harm me Brian!

Daulton is heard as the cloud dissipates leaving no trace of Daulton. Brian spins about looking to strike out again however no one is there.

B: Where ya at? Show yourself Daulton! What's the matter? That's what I thought. Just like when we was kids. When I even the odds and you run off!

The fog that surrounds Brian slowly fades away revealing Brian to be standing in the middle of his childhood bedroom again. Seth Lance sits on the edge of the twin bed next to where Brian is standing.

S: Having fun Brian? That was quite interesting to watch. I didn't know you could dance like that.

B: Glad you found it funny. So where the hell have you been?

S: I was here the whole time bub. You had a lesson to learn and who am I to get involved? Look brother I am sorry for acting the way I did. I should have handled it differently but you have to listen to me. The only way we can get through to Daulton is if we make it feel like he is calling the shots. If he thinks he is the one in charge he'll let his guard and expose himself. So look here, he wants you to destroy Two and prove to him you still have the darkness burning inside you. I say we give just that to him and then some. I say that after you get done bouncing Two's head off every object possible we move on to the gauntlet match.

Brian turns and stares at Seth with a puzzled look then grins. Brian then pulls the wooden chair in front of Seth and sits down still clutching Taco in his right hand.

B: You're right Seth that's exactly what I need to do. There's no way he can ignore that. I will give him his sacrifice then I will continue on to take out as many more people as possible in the gauntlet match. There are so many none believers that the thought of sacrificing them all is highly unlikely. However, I don't need to win.

S: You're right Brian you don't need to win the Gauntlet match. This is the perfect chance to rack up a body count and with me at your side there's no limit to what can be achieved. This current roster is stack with people that don't know what can happen when they get you in the ring.

B: But what about Daulton?

S: That is why you will be on your own against Two. I'm sure you can manage against him while I keep Daulton entertained. You just go out there and cure his Taco cravings. Then after that I'm sure Daulton will back off and we will give the Gauntlet a try. So what you think bro are we good?

B: Of course Seth. I never could stay mad at you. Looks like a hell of a plan. You keep Daulton out of the way and Two will be nothin to deal with. Two actually seems more concerned about my mental health status then the fact that this psycho will be hunting him. There will be no where to run and no where to hide. There will be no safe place to escape the psycho that has set you as his target and will not be stopped until he achieves his goal. The one simple goal of not only winning the match but to beat you so badly that you will beg for me to end the match.

Then after I leave Two laying on the ground staring up at the ceiling I'm goin to make my way on to the gauntlet match. Once I enter into that match I will continue to add to the body count as I destroy all who challenges me. This Gauntlet match will be the perfect springboard into our future plans. If I win management will also have no choice but to start to realize what a mistake it was to force me to work my way from the bottom yet again. I can see nothing but positives coming from entering. You got yourself a deal Seth. Tomorrow we go out and not only lay waste to Two but also take a few others down a peg or two in the gauntlet.

Brian leans forward and slaps Seth on the shoulder with his left hand and smiles as the scene fades out.
]]>
The scene opens to show Brian Lance sitting on the bed in his hotel room in Russia. He is sitting there with Taco laying across the bed in front of him. He also has the orange crystal, pocket knife, super glue and some black grip tape.

B: Yeah Taco I know you don't like this but it's for the better good.

Brian pauses and stares at Taco as if he is listening to it talk to him.

B: Don't give me that shit. You're getting this done. I got everything I need right here.

Brian Pauses again before continuing.

B: OK OK Look at it this way you get some new grip tape.

Brian Pauses again before continuing.

B: Yes it's black now hold still once we're done with this Seth and Daulton won't be calling all the shots. Then Taco little by little I will become the master finally.

Brian says has he picks up the knife and opens it. He begins to carve a notch into the handle of Taco. He then places some glue into the notch and then presses the crystal into the spot. He grabs the roll of black grip tape then starts winding it onto the handle being careful to leave just a small bit of the crystal showing.

B: See Taco that wasn't that bad.

Brian says as he uses the sleeve of his hoody to wipe the orange crystal that's now embedded in the handle. He then takes and leans Taco into the corner next the the bed.

B: Now, Taco let's see how well this works.

Brian stretches out and lays down on the bed and drifts to sleep as the scene fades out..
___________________________________________________________________

The scene opens to very dense fog and the sounds of female voices softly chanting in the distance. The chanting fades away as the fog thins revealing two wooden chairs facing each other and nothing more can be seen. The thick fog swirls around the two chairs for a second before Brian Lance walks out carrying Taco in his right hand. He walks over and sits on the chair that faces the camera. He lays Taco across his lap then speaks.

B: Seth It's time to talk and you have no choice but to listen Brother! Now come forth and sit here.

The fog begins to swirl violently around Brian. A large black shadow appears in the fog behind Brian.

B: Your not welcome here Daulton! This is between me and Seth.

D: Oh but Brian I just wanted to be there for you seeing how I feel Seth ain't gonna show up. Nice parlor tricks you've learned. You honestly think some damn Crystal are goin to force my cooperation? Brian I have more control in my little finger then you could ever muster up.

Brian sits quietly in the chair as Daulton walks out of the fog. Daulton walks slowly up to Brian from behind and place his hands on Brian shoulders.

D: What the matter brother?

Daulton says as an evil grin across his face.

D: Seems Like I'm still in control Brian. Brian no matter what you do I will always be here. I'm not goin anywhere. You need to face the facts here. You want my cooperation you have to earn it. No cheap tricks or shortcuts.

Why can't you just do what I told you. Go out there in you're match at Snow Job and show me what I want to see. Go out there and just show me a little bit of the anger that you use to feed on. You talk of the old time as if they were the golden years. Little brother have you not forgot what happened in the end? This company ruined our family and buried it for a reason. There's a reason we don't walk side by side anymore.

Daulton walks around Brian and then sits in the chair across from him.

D: Seriously Brian how in the fuck can you not remember? You constantly talk of the past yet you seem not to remember the reasons why I am here. Do you seriously think I'm just another voice in your head Or Something that will go away by simply takin a pill or carrying around some stupid crystals?

Daulton leans forward towards Brian and takes the index finger of his right hand and pokes Brian in the forehead.

D: You are seriously mistaken if you think I only exist in there. Brother Soon enough you will remember what started this but until then the puppet must dance.

Daulton sits back in the chair then waves his hand through the air. Brian's eyes cloud over and he jumps to his feet causing Taco to fall to the floor. Brian kicks the chair into the fog and starts break dancing in front of Daulton. Daulton laughs and shakes his head as Brian flounders about trying his best to break dance.

D: Brian it's time you get reminded why I am here. Now quit being a fool and sit still.

Brian stops in the middle of doing the worm. He places his left hand on the floor to lift his self up with his right hand landing on the handle of Taco. Brian's eyes clear as he swiftly jumps to his feet and strikes out at Daulton with Taco. Daulton disappears into a cloud of fog. Taco travels through the cloud causing it to swirl about.

D: You can't harm me Brian!

Daulton is heard as the cloud dissipates leaving no trace of Daulton. Brian spins about looking to strike out again however no one is there.

B: Where ya at? Show yourself Daulton! What's the matter? That's what I thought. Just like when we was kids. When I even the odds and you run off!

The fog that surrounds Brian slowly fades away revealing Brian to be standing in the middle of his childhood bedroom again. Seth Lance sits on the edge of the twin bed next to where Brian is standing.

S: Having fun Brian? That was quite interesting to watch. I didn't know you could dance like that.

B: Glad you found it funny. So where the hell have you been?

S: I was here the whole time bub. You had a lesson to learn and who am I to get involved? Look brother I am sorry for acting the way I did. I should have handled it differently but you have to listen to me. The only way we can get through to Daulton is if we make it feel like he is calling the shots. If he thinks he is the one in charge he'll let his guard and expose himself. So look here, he wants you to destroy Two and prove to him you still have the darkness burning inside you. I say we give just that to him and then some. I say that after you get done bouncing Two's head off every object possible we move on to the gauntlet match.

Brian turns and stares at Seth with a puzzled look then grins. Brian then pulls the wooden chair in front of Seth and sits down still clutching Taco in his right hand.

B: You're right Seth that's exactly what I need to do. There's no way he can ignore that. I will give him his sacrifice then I will continue on to take out as many more people as possible in the gauntlet match. There are so many none believers that the thought of sacrificing them all is highly unlikely. However, I don't need to win.

S: You're right Brian you don't need to win the Gauntlet match. This is the perfect chance to rack up a body count and with me at your side there's no limit to what can be achieved. This current roster is stack with people that don't know what can happen when they get you in the ring.

B: But what about Daulton?

S: That is why you will be on your own against Two. I'm sure you can manage against him while I keep Daulton entertained. You just go out there and cure his Taco cravings. Then after that I'm sure Daulton will back off and we will give the Gauntlet a try. So what you think bro are we good?

B: Of course Seth. I never could stay mad at you. Looks like a hell of a plan. You keep Daulton out of the way and Two will be nothin to deal with. Two actually seems more concerned about my mental health status then the fact that this psycho will be hunting him. There will be no where to run and no where to hide. There will be no safe place to escape the psycho that has set you as his target and will not be stopped until he achieves his goal. The one simple goal of not only winning the match but to beat you so badly that you will beg for me to end the match.

Then after I leave Two laying on the ground staring up at the ceiling I'm goin to make my way on to the gauntlet match. Once I enter into that match I will continue to add to the body count as I destroy all who challenges me. This Gauntlet match will be the perfect springboard into our future plans. If I win management will also have no choice but to start to realize what a mistake it was to force me to work my way from the bottom yet again. I can see nothing but positives coming from entering. You got yourself a deal Seth. Tomorrow we go out and not only lay waste to Two but also take a few others down a peg or two in the gauntlet.

Brian leans forward and slaps Seth on the shoulder with his left hand and smiles as the scene fades out.
]]> <![CDATA[John Black, you tried to fight Scully cuz yer Dumb!]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22560 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 13:39:15 -0800 Scully]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22560



Alfie's Home
Miami, Florida
2pm

It's been a few days since Scully's friend, Alfie was attacked by some homo bashers. Skull found Alfie battered and bloody in an alley way, when they were meant to meet for a drink. Alfie had to go hospital, he had a few injuries; A broken rib, 2 shiners, stitches on his forehead, cheeks swollen, fat lip and bruising all over. Alfie's attacker's really did a number on him.

Alfie was at his home now, feeling sore and led on the sofa with a blanket. He is watching 'Teen mom', what a load of bollocks that show is. Alfie liked it though, he thought it was funny. Teen girls who can't keep their legs closed and don't know what contraception is. His boyfriend, Jamie was running around after him and treating him like royalty. Jamie brings Alfie a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows on top and places it on the coffee table. Alfie smiles and whispers thanks.

'Rat-a-tat-tat' the door knocks then the door bell goes. Jamie looks through the spy hole and then opens the door. It's Scully. Scully has a box of chocolates in hand. Skull enters the hall way, closing the door behind him. He and Jay whisper.

"Alright Jay, how's the patient?"

"Hey, still very sore and in pain, ya know?"

"You look tired mate."

"Been a long few days, I'm alright though. I'm good. I have to be, ya know?"

"I'm gonna be here for a bit, go and have rest or something."

"Okay I will do, I appreciate that. Thanks pal."

Scully follows Jamie into the living room.

"Someone here to see you, babe's."

"Hey Alfie..."

"Hey Skull..."

"I'll leave you guys to it."

Jamie takes off to bed. Skull hands Alfie the chocolates and sits on the single chair.

"Thanks for the chocs."

"No worries bro. Wow... You look a lot worse than I normally do after a wrestling match."

"Thanks buddy."

"Anytime."

Scully looks at the TV and see's what Alfie is watching.

"What's this shit?"

"Teen mom. You never watched it before?"

"Nah and I don't think I want too. Bunch of Slags."

"Ya can't say that."

"Sorry.. Trash bag, hoes! Is that better?"

Alfie tries to laugh but it hurts. Alfie coughs before finishing is hot choc.

"Would you like a drink? *Alfie goes to shout* Jay....."

"It's alright. I'll get it. I've let Jamie go to bed."

"Oh okay... Help yourself then. Unfortunately, I can't have alcohol cuz the tablets I'm taking."

"It's cool. I'm not going to have alcohol either. Just a glass of water for me."

"Okay can you get me a Ribena please?"

"Sure thing."

Scully gets up from the chair, picks up Alfie's empty cup and takes it into the kitchen area. Skull goes into the fridge, grabs Alfie's Ribena and grabs himself a glass from the cupboard. He adds the ice out of the dispenser, followed by the water. Skull grabs the drinks and head backs to the living room area. He hands Alfie his drink and sits back in the chair.

"So how's Aston and Natalie?"

"They're good man. Aston is quite a good little man. Being a dad is my biggest achievement in life by far."

"He is definetly cute. I'll have to pop over when I'm better..."

"Anytime pal. I can always bring Aston here. We'll have to go out for that drink another time. If I ever see those Cunts who did this to you, I will leave them in wheelchairs. Have you heard from the pigs?"

"Not yet."

"Man, they are such turds. If ya want something done right, ya do it yourself. They probably won't do shit, man."

"True. Your parents still over this way?"

"Yeah, they're looking at properties here. They all want to come over. I've offered to pay their deposit for them."

"That's nice of ya. I see you're facing John Black at the Pay-per-view?"

"Yep, unfortunately. Everyone knows I'm going to win. Anyone who bets against me is an absolute mong."

"That's true mate. I'm suprised he has a job in the XWF. I reckon I could do a better job in the ring than that clown."

"I'd have to agree with that, bro. You definitely take a beating better than he can. I won't have to try too hard."

"Hey let's do some Scullycam."

"It's cool man, you're hurt."

"Hurt, not dead. Just bring the camera here. It's in the spare room, upstairs."

"But Jay is asleep."

"It's cool, just be quiet."

"Kk"

Scully takes a drink of his water and then puts the glass down. Skull creeps up the stairs, trying to avoid the creeks. He heads towards the spare room but notices Alfie and Jamie's TV on, the door opened slightly. Gay Porn on the TV. Skull quickly turns away, feeling a bit grossed out. He enters the spare room and grabs the camera without hesitation..Skull sneaks back downstairs, trying to get the image out of his head. Skull enters the living room and passes Alfie the camera.

Alfie sets the camera up and Scully sits back down in the chair., trying desperately to forget what he seen. Alfie gives the thumbs up to begin Scullycam.....


"Welcome to another addition of Scullycam. Wassuupp XWF Galaxy?! Are we all doing star jumps? Getting excited for the pay-per-view with the worst name ever? Okay, maybe I should be talking more about my opponent but he can wait, he ain't exactly important is he?! So as I was saying, who came up with that gay name, Snow Job? Like I said before, XWF presents Blow Job. I heard through the grapevine, that this is an XWF PPV of old, maybe it should of stayed that way.

However, the event itself is going to be good, regardless of its pathetic name. The vacant tag-team championships up for grabs, we are guaranteed NEW tag-team champions. The Hart Championship is on the line, the Intercontinental title, Fernando will probably lose the Xtreme Championship at some point and the main event every body is looking forward too.. Vinnie Lane against Trax in a Universal title match. What makes it way better?..
The Scully Meister is in action. Yeah babay....

My opponent, I guess I have to talk about him at some point. His name is John Black and it hasn't changed, he still takes it up the bum crack!
He was on some cheap ass radio station, did any of you hear it? Probably not considering JB was the special guest. I doubt you can even pick that shit up on the radio frequency. DAB won't want that shit either. This station.. 'Absolute Shite Radio' had JB live on air, huh? This is no way to boost ratings or even get a station reconised. No wonder that CTG guy whatever his name was, was pissed off to have the 'XWF'S Resident Job ber' on the show. Or we could call JB the XWF'S Resident Black !

I was going to stop giving this radio station more mentions than its ever had. I mean, I'm advertising this piece of turd for free. But calling it 'The Breakfast Club?' How dare they insult one of the greatest films of all time?!

Could the XWF management not find me a more worthy opponent? What about one of the PA technicians? Or the chef? Or what about that secretary known as Dan, who sucks Tyrone off for.. Nothing! Do you know I actually feel insulted that I have to face this loser?! I got a question JB. Who you threatening to be 'Busted', Buster? You're threatening to bust my face? Please! You can't do shit cuz you ain't shit, bitch!

It's apparent JB, you need some sex?! If you weren't so fucking ugly and special, you might not have this issue. Do you even know how to use your cock? I think a prosi is your only hope, maybe ask Gilmour if you can borrow Maria for the night. If you have some bux that is? You probably wasted it, like you've wasted your sorry excuse of a life. I will happily give you some bux just so you can get laid.

It also appears you don't pay attention, which suprises me considering you don't do fuck all around here. I am no longer a member of the Black Hand. I am no longer an associate of Pest. I don't need him nor do I need that shitty group. The Skull is a lone ranger, not a power ranger.

When asked about ring rust, JB answered with this rubbish."

NOT JUSTIN BIEBER Said:JB: It’s like this, I hate being in the ring since god knows when I’ve wrestled, that is what ring rust means to me.


"You are an embarrassment to tards like Dim with dumb and dumber comments like that. You're such a Mongoloid. Wherever that guy went, who became the XWF Champion, please comeback and hand that title to John Black! He deserves it more than anyone. What was his name? The guy who pinned JB's boyfriend, yes Tommy Wish, in the triple threat match? You know the one when I lost the title? Mad Max? Even he was embarrassed of the title I created, he ran away. I gotta admit though it was quite cool. It had John Blacks mum on the front, remember?!

Look I'm gonna say this out loud, JB you are more than Scully was four or so months ago and I had freaking brain trauma! I hope you have some kind of reason, similar to what I had, like brain trauma. Just to explain why you are indeed spech?! Otherwise you didn't develop properly. I would like to recommend the experimental drug to you, John. The one that made me normal again.."

Absolute Shit Radio Said:Caller #1: Aey you durr, Hohn Clak… you stoopeied do do head dummy… you bak to Africa! You don’t dersert to win da qualifier matc to my hombie Skullu..

[Then the whole room was in utter silence as JB cracked a smile and spoke to the first caller.] 

JB: You know what kid, your right I don’t deserve to win… I dersert to beat the living shit out of said Skullu…NEXT!

"I can't believe the ' ' caller sounded more intelligent than John Black. You don't deserve to win? Well that's obvious. But if you had a pair of balls, some kind of wrestling Skills, had some fight, desire, heart and just any kind of talent, then you would be able to give me a decent match. It's up to you to prove you deserve it. So far you've only proved you should be in a retirement home, hitting carers and drooling over Margaret or Mavis. You've just proved just how poo you are! Oh and that you deserve the XWF Championship.

Dersert? You can't mean dessert as in apple crumble or ice cream? Or desert? As in the hot, sandy desert? Dersert? Congratulations, you just created your own word!

What the fuck was the last bit too?
'the living shit out of said Skullu…NEXT!'
I can even understand Tush better than whatever you said. You my friend are a spastic!"


"What the fuck did you just say? And I don't mean I'm offended, I mean what the fuck does that simpleton shit mean? Man... I feel guilty that I have to beat someone up, who is mentally challenged."

XWF Jibber Job ber Said:XarT, you fuckin sell out but I won’t diss you like that; but let me DON’T run my mouth anymore on Scully, I’ll prove why I can still hurt that man and what he stands for in XWF.

"XarT? You're good man, another word created. Two in one promo? Man, you're on a role. Once again, you don't make sense. Stick to licking windows, pal. Those shitty radio presenters are rooting for you, the only three people on the planet. Everyone knows the Skull is going to beat you and you know it too. If you prefer, don't show up, save you more embarrassment. JB, you're going to get Sculled! Da End Scully Has Spoken!"]]>



Alfie's Home
Miami, Florida
2pm

It's been a few days since Scully's friend, Alfie was attacked by some homo bashers. Skull found Alfie battered and bloody in an alley way, when they were meant to meet for a drink. Alfie had to go hospital, he had a few injuries; A broken rib, 2 shiners, stitches on his forehead, cheeks swollen, fat lip and bruising all over. Alfie's attacker's really did a number on him.

Alfie was at his home now, feeling sore and led on the sofa with a blanket. He is watching 'Teen mom', what a load of bollocks that show is. Alfie liked it though, he thought it was funny. Teen girls who can't keep their legs closed and don't know what contraception is. His boyfriend, Jamie was running around after him and treating him like royalty. Jamie brings Alfie a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows on top and places it on the coffee table. Alfie smiles and whispers thanks.

'Rat-a-tat-tat' the door knocks then the door bell goes. Jamie looks through the spy hole and then opens the door. It's Scully. Scully has a box of chocolates in hand. Skull enters the hall way, closing the door behind him. He and Jay whisper.

"Alright Jay, how's the patient?"

"Hey, still very sore and in pain, ya know?"

"You look tired mate."

"Been a long few days, I'm alright though. I'm good. I have to be, ya know?"

"I'm gonna be here for a bit, go and have rest or something."

"Okay I will do, I appreciate that. Thanks pal."

Scully follows Jamie into the living room.

"Someone here to see you, babe's."

"Hey Alfie..."

"Hey Skull..."

"I'll leave you guys to it."

Jamie takes off to bed. Skull hands Alfie the chocolates and sits on the single chair.

"Thanks for the chocs."

"No worries bro. Wow... You look a lot worse than I normally do after a wrestling match."

"Thanks buddy."

"Anytime."

Scully looks at the TV and see's what Alfie is watching.

"What's this shit?"

"Teen mom. You never watched it before?"

"Nah and I don't think I want too. Bunch of Slags."

"Ya can't say that."

"Sorry.. Trash bag, hoes! Is that better?"

Alfie tries to laugh but it hurts. Alfie coughs before finishing is hot choc.

"Would you like a drink? *Alfie goes to shout* Jay....."

"It's alright. I'll get it. I've let Jamie go to bed."

"Oh okay... Help yourself then. Unfortunately, I can't have alcohol cuz the tablets I'm taking."

"It's cool. I'm not going to have alcohol either. Just a glass of water for me."

"Okay can you get me a Ribena please?"

"Sure thing."

Scully gets up from the chair, picks up Alfie's empty cup and takes it into the kitchen area. Skull goes into the fridge, grabs Alfie's Ribena and grabs himself a glass from the cupboard. He adds the ice out of the dispenser, followed by the water. Skull grabs the drinks and head backs to the living room area. He hands Alfie his drink and sits back in the chair.

"So how's Aston and Natalie?"

"They're good man. Aston is quite a good little man. Being a dad is my biggest achievement in life by far."

"He is definetly cute. I'll have to pop over when I'm better..."

"Anytime pal. I can always bring Aston here. We'll have to go out for that drink another time. If I ever see those Cunts who did this to you, I will leave them in wheelchairs. Have you heard from the pigs?"

"Not yet."

"Man, they are such turds. If ya want something done right, ya do it yourself. They probably won't do shit, man."

"True. Your parents still over this way?"

"Yeah, they're looking at properties here. They all want to come over. I've offered to pay their deposit for them."

"That's nice of ya. I see you're facing John Black at the Pay-per-view?"

"Yep, unfortunately. Everyone knows I'm going to win. Anyone who bets against me is an absolute mong."

"That's true mate. I'm suprised he has a job in the XWF. I reckon I could do a better job in the ring than that clown."

"I'd have to agree with that, bro. You definitely take a beating better than he can. I won't have to try too hard."

"Hey let's do some Scullycam."

"It's cool man, you're hurt."

"Hurt, not dead. Just bring the camera here. It's in the spare room, upstairs."

"But Jay is asleep."

"It's cool, just be quiet."

"Kk"

Scully takes a drink of his water and then puts the glass down. Skull creeps up the stairs, trying to avoid the creeks. He heads towards the spare room but notices Alfie and Jamie's TV on, the door opened slightly. Gay Porn on the TV. Skull quickly turns away, feeling a bit grossed out. He enters the spare room and grabs the camera without hesitation..Skull sneaks back downstairs, trying to get the image out of his head. Skull enters the living room and passes Alfie the camera.

Alfie sets the camera up and Scully sits back down in the chair., trying desperately to forget what he seen. Alfie gives the thumbs up to begin Scullycam.....


"Welcome to another addition of Scullycam. Wassuupp XWF Galaxy?! Are we all doing star jumps? Getting excited for the pay-per-view with the worst name ever? Okay, maybe I should be talking more about my opponent but he can wait, he ain't exactly important is he?! So as I was saying, who came up with that gay name, Snow Job? Like I said before, XWF presents Blow Job. I heard through the grapevine, that this is an XWF PPV of old, maybe it should of stayed that way.

However, the event itself is going to be good, regardless of its pathetic name. The vacant tag-team championships up for grabs, we are guaranteed NEW tag-team champions. The Hart Championship is on the line, the Intercontinental title, Fernando will probably lose the Xtreme Championship at some point and the main event every body is looking forward too.. Vinnie Lane against Trax in a Universal title match. What makes it way better?..
The Scully Meister is in action. Yeah babay....

My opponent, I guess I have to talk about him at some point. His name is John Black and it hasn't changed, he still takes it up the bum crack!
He was on some cheap ass radio station, did any of you hear it? Probably not considering JB was the special guest. I doubt you can even pick that shit up on the radio frequency. DAB won't want that shit either. This station.. 'Absolute Shite Radio' had JB live on air, huh? This is no way to boost ratings or even get a station reconised. No wonder that CTG guy whatever his name was, was pissed off to have the 'XWF'S Resident Job ber' on the show. Or we could call JB the XWF'S Resident Black !

I was going to stop giving this radio station more mentions than its ever had. I mean, I'm advertising this piece of turd for free. But calling it 'The Breakfast Club?' How dare they insult one of the greatest films of all time?!

Could the XWF management not find me a more worthy opponent? What about one of the PA technicians? Or the chef? Or what about that secretary known as Dan, who sucks Tyrone off for.. Nothing! Do you know I actually feel insulted that I have to face this loser?! I got a question JB. Who you threatening to be 'Busted', Buster? You're threatening to bust my face? Please! You can't do shit cuz you ain't shit, bitch!

It's apparent JB, you need some sex?! If you weren't so fucking ugly and special, you might not have this issue. Do you even know how to use your cock? I think a prosi is your only hope, maybe ask Gilmour if you can borrow Maria for the night. If you have some bux that is? You probably wasted it, like you've wasted your sorry excuse of a life. I will happily give you some bux just so you can get laid.

It also appears you don't pay attention, which suprises me considering you don't do fuck all around here. I am no longer a member of the Black Hand. I am no longer an associate of Pest. I don't need him nor do I need that shitty group. The Skull is a lone ranger, not a power ranger.

When asked about ring rust, JB answered with this rubbish."

NOT JUSTIN BIEBER Said:JB: It’s like this, I hate being in the ring since god knows when I’ve wrestled, that is what ring rust means to me.


"You are an embarrassment to tards like Dim with dumb and dumber comments like that. You're such a Mongoloid. Wherever that guy went, who became the XWF Champion, please comeback and hand that title to John Black! He deserves it more than anyone. What was his name? The guy who pinned JB's boyfriend, yes Tommy Wish, in the triple threat match? You know the one when I lost the title? Mad Max? Even he was embarrassed of the title I created, he ran away. I gotta admit though it was quite cool. It had John Blacks mum on the front, remember?!

Look I'm gonna say this out loud, JB you are more than Scully was four or so months ago and I had freaking brain trauma! I hope you have some kind of reason, similar to what I had, like brain trauma. Just to explain why you are indeed spech?! Otherwise you didn't develop properly. I would like to recommend the experimental drug to you, John. The one that made me normal again.."

Absolute Shit Radio Said:Caller #1: Aey you durr, Hohn Clak… you stoopeied do do head dummy… you bak to Africa! You don’t dersert to win da qualifier matc to my hombie Skullu..

[Then the whole room was in utter silence as JB cracked a smile and spoke to the first caller.] 

JB: You know what kid, your right I don’t deserve to win… I dersert to beat the living shit out of said Skullu…NEXT!

"I can't believe the ' ' caller sounded more intelligent than John Black. You don't deserve to win? Well that's obvious. But if you had a pair of balls, some kind of wrestling Skills, had some fight, desire, heart and just any kind of talent, then you would be able to give me a decent match. It's up to you to prove you deserve it. So far you've only proved you should be in a retirement home, hitting carers and drooling over Margaret or Mavis. You've just proved just how poo you are! Oh and that you deserve the XWF Championship.

Dersert? You can't mean dessert as in apple crumble or ice cream? Or desert? As in the hot, sandy desert? Dersert? Congratulations, you just created your own word!

What the fuck was the last bit too?
'the living shit out of said Skullu…NEXT!'
I can even understand Tush better than whatever you said. You my friend are a spastic!"


"What the fuck did you just say? And I don't mean I'm offended, I mean what the fuck does that simpleton shit mean? Man... I feel guilty that I have to beat someone up, who is mentally challenged."

XWF Jibber Job ber Said:XarT, you fuckin sell out but I won’t diss you like that; but let me DON’T run my mouth anymore on Scully, I’ll prove why I can still hurt that man and what he stands for in XWF.

"XarT? You're good man, another word created. Two in one promo? Man, you're on a role. Once again, you don't make sense. Stick to licking windows, pal. Those shitty radio presenters are rooting for you, the only three people on the planet. Everyone knows the Skull is going to beat you and you know it too. If you prefer, don't show up, save you more embarrassment. JB, you're going to get Sculled! Da End Scully Has Spoken!"]]> <![CDATA[Mental Health is Serious Seriousness]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22578 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 12:33:48 -0800 2]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22578 Crystals? Really man? You think some stone is going to help you win this or any match? It might if you pull it out of your ass and hit me with it!

*2 is in the same hotel room as before. Sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. This time fully dressed in his standard cheap suit garb. His face is smooth and relaxed. All tension gone.*

Listen, you simple child. Empty threats and idiotic promises arnt going to get the job done. They won't put you in my head, or throw me off my game. Attacking me before we get to the ring, would only cause our match to not even start. Thus not gaining your or I any credit. So how about we both make our way down to the ring, let the shit start the way it's supposed to, and then smash each other's faces Into anything and everything in the arena. That sounds like much more fun, right?

*He smiles a little and stands up. His hands idly smooth out the rumples in his attire.*

But back to your mental health and the crystals. Simply because I feel it's important.

You should listen to your friend. The real one. The one with a body everyone can see. I think he may have your best interest at heart here. Not wanting you to get hurt by a mentally stable, but violent and calculated man, seems like a kind thing to do. Let alone thinking a shiny Rock is going to Fix all the problems you appear to have.

*2 shakes his head slightly and moves toward the door of the room.*

You don't have much time to figure things out though. Once I walk out of this room, your path is set. Nothing can change the course of action set. Or save you from the mistakes you are making. Nothing can stop me from showing you what a truly focused man can do.

I don't need voices. I don't need psychosis. I don't need a doctors note to act the way I act. I just am. That's why no one sees me as crazy, but everyone shuts away from you.

Well. And the flogging you keep giving yourself. I'm tempted to try and befriend those "others" you have, see if I can't just get you to kick your own ass.

*His hand grabs the door knob and twists. He pulls the door open, and stands in the entryway for a moment.*

Im a logically driven seeker of new and dangerous challenges, against my mind and Body. I test every limit I can. I've done it all, sometimes to much. But It's all been a plan. A bloody and violent, fun and exciting, plan. You? You are just a crazy person and all I can hope is that I don't do to much more damage to that suffocating brain of yours. And you can retire and get the help you truly need Lancelot.

Your dreams of a heralded return and triumphant climb to the top, well they start dying as soon as I leave here. And you will know it for yourself when you wake up in the hospital.

*He steps out and begins to close the door. These final thoughts escape before the door signals the end of Brian's chances.*

I'll see you Saturday man. We can have a retirement party later, no hard feelings.

For some reason I'm craving tacos....

*click, bang*]]> Crystals? Really man? You think some stone is going to help you win this or any match? It might if you pull it out of your ass and hit me with it!

*2 is in the same hotel room as before. Sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. This time fully dressed in his standard cheap suit garb. His face is smooth and relaxed. All tension gone.*

Listen, you simple child. Empty threats and idiotic promises arnt going to get the job done. They won't put you in my head, or throw me off my game. Attacking me before we get to the ring, would only cause our match to not even start. Thus not gaining your or I any credit. So how about we both make our way down to the ring, let the shit start the way it's supposed to, and then smash each other's faces Into anything and everything in the arena. That sounds like much more fun, right?

*He smiles a little and stands up. His hands idly smooth out the rumples in his attire.*

But back to your mental health and the crystals. Simply because I feel it's important.

You should listen to your friend. The real one. The one with a body everyone can see. I think he may have your best interest at heart here. Not wanting you to get hurt by a mentally stable, but violent and calculated man, seems like a kind thing to do. Let alone thinking a shiny Rock is going to Fix all the problems you appear to have.

*2 shakes his head slightly and moves toward the door of the room.*

You don't have much time to figure things out though. Once I walk out of this room, your path is set. Nothing can change the course of action set. Or save you from the mistakes you are making. Nothing can stop me from showing you what a truly focused man can do.

I don't need voices. I don't need psychosis. I don't need a doctors note to act the way I act. I just am. That's why no one sees me as crazy, but everyone shuts away from you.

Well. And the flogging you keep giving yourself. I'm tempted to try and befriend those "others" you have, see if I can't just get you to kick your own ass.

*His hand grabs the door knob and twists. He pulls the door open, and stands in the entryway for a moment.*

Im a logically driven seeker of new and dangerous challenges, against my mind and Body. I test every limit I can. I've done it all, sometimes to much. But It's all been a plan. A bloody and violent, fun and exciting, plan. You? You are just a crazy person and all I can hope is that I don't do to much more damage to that suffocating brain of yours. And you can retire and get the help you truly need Lancelot.

Your dreams of a heralded return and triumphant climb to the top, well they start dying as soon as I leave here. And you will know it for yourself when you wake up in the hospital.

*He steps out and begins to close the door. These final thoughts escape before the door signals the end of Brian's chances.*

I'll see you Saturday man. We can have a retirement party later, no hard feelings.

For some reason I'm craving tacos....

*click, bang*]]> <![CDATA[The Song Remains the Same -- Reality]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22570 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 00:13:02 -0800 Doctor Louis D'Ville]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22570 "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

- Albert Einstein



[Image: gttO4ZK.jpg]

Let's start a riot!



i



The highway races by the window at the high rate of speed of seventy-two miles an hour. The Ex-Detective flicks a cigarette out the window and reaches behind him and pulls a large bottle of whiskey from the back. After chewing off the wrapper and twisting the cap off with his teeth, he tips the bottle back and takes several gulps. He crosses his eyes and watches the bubbles float upward, staring through the whiskey and down the highway.

[Just like old-times], he thought to himself.

[Just like, fucking, old-times.]

He squeezes the bottle between his legs and relaxes back in the seat. He reaches up and turns on the radio, but, just as it always has, only gives us static. Disappointed, the Ex-Detective turns the knob back to the off position and remains driving in silence.

The questions have been swirling in his head for days. Just like before, the time before that, and the time before that, you have to ask yourself...

[Why?]



ii



The Ex-Detective sits alone in a corner booth smoking a cigarette and sipping at a glass of whiskey. A grotesque looking individual walks in the front door and approaches the bar. They're dressed in black from head to toe and as they walk their figure flickers like they were taken from an old film. It's indecipherable to tell the gender of the person, their face is mangled and rearranged to the point you can barely tell they're human.

The barmaid stands towards the opposite end filling a drink when she notices him. The cuts up and down her forearms and wrists stick out like sore thumbs through her milky white skin. She drowsily finishes filling the drink and approaches the new visitor.

He didn't notice the visitor at first, but took notice when the barmaid reached out and pointed in his direction. The grotesque figure peered over and nodded to the girl and began walking over. The Ex-Detective tips the small glass back and finishes off what whiskey was left. He slams the glass down rattling the ice around the bottom of the glass like a pair of dice.

The figure in black walks around a couple of tables and then straight to the corner booth where the Ex-Detective waited. Sitting down across from him, it spoke to to him in tongues. With the natural translator in his mind, the Ex-Detective knew exactly what was said.

"You know why I'm here."

The voice was just as grotesque as the face the Ex-Detective was staring at. He knew who this was. He knew exactly who it was. It's not the first time they've met.

"Yeah."

The Ex-Detective fingers the bullet hole in the side of his head and itches his brain. There's a large pucker sound when he pulls the finger out to reach up and light another cigarette.

"Do I require an escort this time, or can I just pop in?"

"Due to your histories, we think you'll be able to find your way there yourself."

It crawls back out of the booth and stands up beside the Ex-Detective.

"You know he hates to wait."

The Ex-Detective rolls his eyes and shoo's the dark figure away. It glitches it's way through the bar and out the front door. The Ex-Detective leans over towards a window and pulls the curtain away from it. Looking outside, he sees pitch darkness. No sky above and no ground below, as if the building was just floating in space.

"At least it's not raining out."



iii



The bottle drops back down from his line of sight and he places it back between his legs. The bottle is half gone already and the Ex-Detective feels nothing. Almost like the booze was meant to keep him alive, not drunk. The fistful of painkillers he bought from a stranger at the last place he stopped for gasoline relaxed him a bit, but he still felt as if he was on fire.

"What do you say, Lou....?"

He noticed the Doctor sitting next to him in the passenger seat.

Hello, my friend. You always pick the best methods of travel, do you not, Mister Dedntik?

"There's a drink limit on trains."

The Doctor chuckles out loud and takes the bottle of whiskey the Ex-Detective is handing over to him.

"So, where to this time?"

The Doctor finishes swallowing a few chugs from the bottle and puckers at the taste.

Trade Union Sports Palace.

The Ex-Detective stink-eyes the Doctor.

"... And where the fuck is that?"

Nizhny Novgorod, Russia.

The Ex-Detective sighs to himself and shakes his head.

"We're already here, aren't we?"

The Doctor nods with a smirk across his face. It must've been after the Ex-Detective had stopped to fuel up that the Doctor decided to make his move.

We've always been here, my dear Trevor. We've always been right where this fine federation needs us. Well, sometimes it doesn't appear so, does it?

Miss Riot, let's talk about the wrong places and the wrong times. The Doctor has never been that. Ever. You coming off of a bad week, being placed in a match with the good doctor, and taking the stipulation we have? Yeah, I should definitely be watching myself.

The pink haired little monster needs to learn that she's not the only monster roaming around in this Universe. You've already explained that you know all about me, my dear, so I'll refrain to go into much detail, but I've been around the bend several times. I've won championships JUST like you, although, I carried them a bit differently....

My name is Doctor Louis D'Ville and I am the King of the XWF. KING, my dear. The search party you've sent out, the way you've reached out to the internet, it was all very cute. We can definitely see how excited you were to have a chance to have a session with the Doctor. It's a fine way to step up and show the world how strong you are.

There's no need to worry, dearest. The Doctor is on his way to the arena AS we speak and he's prepared for whatever you're bringing to the table. It's unlikely that I'm going to be made an example of after your display against Austin Fernando. Mister Fernando once challenged me for the Xtreme Title, as well. But, as you know, after beating you he is now a ONE-time XWF Xtreme Champion.

This Saturday, at Snow Job, is definitely a chance for every single XWF superstar to look strong and win over a little bit more recognition, hm? The gauntlet match later in the night, your chance to be the last entrant.... I can see where your excitement is coming from, my dear. I think your excitement, however, is just a camouflage for relief. Well, it's time to start sweating again. The Doctor was just unaware that he had to check-in everyday on his way to Palace.

I'll be honest with you, Miss Riot, the Doctor couldn't care possibly any less about the whereabouts of feelings the fellow XWF'r's have for him. I am the KIng, and whether the good people like it or not, that's just the way it is. It's hard to run into a fellow or lady who doesn't respect the good doctor for what he does though. I've never seen one, anyway.

So, here it is, I'm checking in, Miss Riot. Call off the search parties and call off Plan B. The Doctor is in. Unfortunately for you, you'll probably end up being just a random number in the gauntlet match now. You definitely won't be last... For now, my dear, I'll let you poke around my long-awaited comments, and I very much cannot wait for Saturday to finally meet you. As for the rest of my friends, don't be shy and stop by anytime. The Doctor's doors are always open.]]> "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

- Albert Einstein



[Image: gttO4ZK.jpg]

Let's start a riot!



i



The highway races by the window at the high rate of speed of seventy-two miles an hour. The Ex-Detective flicks a cigarette out the window and reaches behind him and pulls a large bottle of whiskey from the back. After chewing off the wrapper and twisting the cap off with his teeth, he tips the bottle back and takes several gulps. He crosses his eyes and watches the bubbles float upward, staring through the whiskey and down the highway.

[Just like old-times], he thought to himself.

[Just like, fucking, old-times.]

He squeezes the bottle between his legs and relaxes back in the seat. He reaches up and turns on the radio, but, just as it always has, only gives us static. Disappointed, the Ex-Detective turns the knob back to the off position and remains driving in silence.

The questions have been swirling in his head for days. Just like before, the time before that, and the time before that, you have to ask yourself...

[Why?]



ii



The Ex-Detective sits alone in a corner booth smoking a cigarette and sipping at a glass of whiskey. A grotesque looking individual walks in the front door and approaches the bar. They're dressed in black from head to toe and as they walk their figure flickers like they were taken from an old film. It's indecipherable to tell the gender of the person, their face is mangled and rearranged to the point you can barely tell they're human.

The barmaid stands towards the opposite end filling a drink when she notices him. The cuts up and down her forearms and wrists stick out like sore thumbs through her milky white skin. She drowsily finishes filling the drink and approaches the new visitor.

He didn't notice the visitor at first, but took notice when the barmaid reached out and pointed in his direction. The grotesque figure peered over and nodded to the girl and began walking over. The Ex-Detective tips the small glass back and finishes off what whiskey was left. He slams the glass down rattling the ice around the bottom of the glass like a pair of dice.

The figure in black walks around a couple of tables and then straight to the corner booth where the Ex-Detective waited. Sitting down across from him, it spoke to to him in tongues. With the natural translator in his mind, the Ex-Detective knew exactly what was said.

"You know why I'm here."

The voice was just as grotesque as the face the Ex-Detective was staring at. He knew who this was. He knew exactly who it was. It's not the first time they've met.

"Yeah."

The Ex-Detective fingers the bullet hole in the side of his head and itches his brain. There's a large pucker sound when he pulls the finger out to reach up and light another cigarette.

"Do I require an escort this time, or can I just pop in?"

"Due to your histories, we think you'll be able to find your way there yourself."

It crawls back out of the booth and stands up beside the Ex-Detective.

"You know he hates to wait."

The Ex-Detective rolls his eyes and shoo's the dark figure away. It glitches it's way through the bar and out the front door. The Ex-Detective leans over towards a window and pulls the curtain away from it. Looking outside, he sees pitch darkness. No sky above and no ground below, as if the building was just floating in space.

"At least it's not raining out."



iii



The bottle drops back down from his line of sight and he places it back between his legs. The bottle is half gone already and the Ex-Detective feels nothing. Almost like the booze was meant to keep him alive, not drunk. The fistful of painkillers he bought from a stranger at the last place he stopped for gasoline relaxed him a bit, but he still felt as if he was on fire.

"What do you say, Lou....?"

He noticed the Doctor sitting next to him in the passenger seat.

Hello, my friend. You always pick the best methods of travel, do you not, Mister Dedntik?

"There's a drink limit on trains."

The Doctor chuckles out loud and takes the bottle of whiskey the Ex-Detective is handing over to him.

"So, where to this time?"

The Doctor finishes swallowing a few chugs from the bottle and puckers at the taste.

Trade Union Sports Palace.

The Ex-Detective stink-eyes the Doctor.

"... And where the fuck is that?"

Nizhny Novgorod, Russia.

The Ex-Detective sighs to himself and shakes his head.

"We're already here, aren't we?"

The Doctor nods with a smirk across his face. It must've been after the Ex-Detective had stopped to fuel up that the Doctor decided to make his move.

We've always been here, my dear Trevor. We've always been right where this fine federation needs us. Well, sometimes it doesn't appear so, does it?

Miss Riot, let's talk about the wrong places and the wrong times. The Doctor has never been that. Ever. You coming off of a bad week, being placed in a match with the good doctor, and taking the stipulation we have? Yeah, I should definitely be watching myself.

The pink haired little monster needs to learn that she's not the only monster roaming around in this Universe. You've already explained that you know all about me, my dear, so I'll refrain to go into much detail, but I've been around the bend several times. I've won championships JUST like you, although, I carried them a bit differently....

My name is Doctor Louis D'Ville and I am the King of the XWF. KING, my dear. The search party you've sent out, the way you've reached out to the internet, it was all very cute. We can definitely see how excited you were to have a chance to have a session with the Doctor. It's a fine way to step up and show the world how strong you are.

There's no need to worry, dearest. The Doctor is on his way to the arena AS we speak and he's prepared for whatever you're bringing to the table. It's unlikely that I'm going to be made an example of after your display against Austin Fernando. Mister Fernando once challenged me for the Xtreme Title, as well. But, as you know, after beating you he is now a ONE-time XWF Xtreme Champion.

This Saturday, at Snow Job, is definitely a chance for every single XWF superstar to look strong and win over a little bit more recognition, hm? The gauntlet match later in the night, your chance to be the last entrant.... I can see where your excitement is coming from, my dear. I think your excitement, however, is just a camouflage for relief. Well, it's time to start sweating again. The Doctor was just unaware that he had to check-in everyday on his way to Palace.

I'll be honest with you, Miss Riot, the Doctor couldn't care possibly any less about the whereabouts of feelings the fellow XWF'r's have for him. I am the KIng, and whether the good people like it or not, that's just the way it is. It's hard to run into a fellow or lady who doesn't respect the good doctor for what he does though. I've never seen one, anyway.

So, here it is, I'm checking in, Miss Riot. Call off the search parties and call off Plan B. The Doctor is in. Unfortunately for you, you'll probably end up being just a random number in the gauntlet match now. You definitely won't be last... For now, my dear, I'll let you poke around my long-awaited comments, and I very much cannot wait for Saturday to finally meet you. As for the rest of my friends, don't be shy and stop by anytime. The Doctor's doors are always open.]]> <![CDATA[The Gym]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22569 Fri, 29 Jan 2016 00:06:24 -0800 Natasja Caecilius]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22569
Natasja yawns as she woke up, wrapped in a sleeping bag and on the floor of the motel, with her gym bag of clothes as pillow. She would soon get out of the bag, and Crysta yawned as well. As they stretched out, they opened the bag and pulled out shampoo and conditioner, as well as some Dove soap and a few large jugs of water. They got into the bathroom, stripped, and took a "Whore's Bath". They used soap, warm-ish water from the bottles, warm thanks to their using their bags as pillows. It would take them nearly an hour to wash the four key areas: armpits, asshole, crotch, and teeth. Though for them, they had long hair, and so they also washed their hair by using the aide of each other, making sure they washed their friends' hair well enough to not have conditioner still in their hair in soap grouping areas. Once done, they got put on their clean clothes and grabbed their dirtier clothes, pushing the other clean clothes off to the side, using a book to separate clean from dirty. Once they were ready, with Crysta in black blouse and black knee length skirt. Natasja, however, opted for white tank top and light blue boy shorts underneath grey sweatpants. They took their belongings, took the empty bottles of water and as they walked out of the hotel room and hotel's lot, they dropped the bottles into the dumpster.

What the fuck is recycling for, after all? Nobody really cares. Garbage is still garbage.

So they walked a couple of miles to get to the gym. Crysta hated every quarter of those miles. Natasja didn't mind so much. She needed to raise her stamina, in case she needed to face more than one opponent. When they came to the gym, eyes were upon the two. While there was a couple of women, training to be boxers themselves, it was mostly full of men. Soon an old Russian man came towards them. He had a grey crew cut and a grey beard, who then spoke to them,

"You two want training?"

Natasja didn't speak, but Crysta would.

"Uh...yes. We talked on the phone I believe? I'm Crysta,"

She then gestured to Natasja,

"And this is Natasja."

Soon as her name is said, the Russian man smiled wide and looked at her, speaking to her,

"Ah, Natasja. Are you Russian as well?"

"..."

Crysta looked to him and then spoke,

"I'm sorry, sir. She's a mute. I speak for her."

Natasja blushed a little bit in embarrassment and the man looked back to Crysta,

"Ah, I see...I was just wondering if she is Russian, too, because of her name."

Crysta shrugged,

"I have no clue, sir. She hasn't ever told me what she is. I'd think not, but until she's able to talk, we'll most likely never know."

Natasja shook her head and then let out a soft sounding exhale. The man nodded and then turned and gestured to its occupants,

"Today is going to be an odd day for you all. This is going to challenge your abilities, because this woman is a wrestler with Xtreme Wrestling Federation. She is in need of money. I have agreed for her friend to record these match-ups. If you want to face her, stand by the ring. The rules will be simple, you knock her out, then she owes help for this gym. It means she has to scrub the floors or she has to be a sparring partner. However, if she wins, every person she beats, she will get 50 American dollars. The way to win for you, is to knock her out for ten seconds. For her to win, she has to pin you for three seconds. If you touch the ropes, or you are under the rope, the count is broken. Since you're being recorded, you better be on top of your game. Treat this like a prize fight! Do not be gentle with her! All right, Natasja, get in the ring. Crysta, start recording."

With that Natasja undid the tie of her sweat pants and kicked them off. She put them on the bag, as well as taking off her boots before running and sliding into the ring barefoot. She stood against the northeast corner, and soon a woman about her size stepped up and into the ring. She had short black hair made into spikes and wore a black sport top and black shorts that reached her mid-thigh. She had red boxing gloves and the man entered the ring slowly but surely. He looked to Natasja, who nodded that she was ready. He looked to the female fighter who also nodded.

"Begin!"

Natasja closed in as fast as she could, only to get a glancing right hook to the left side of her head. She pushed the woman into the corner, but not without getting several body blows to her sides. Natasja picked the woman up as if to give her a bear hug, but she would pick the woman up and tossed her overhead, doing a belly to belly. Before the woman could get up, Natasja hooked her arm around the woman's neck, grabbed her behind her left knee and pulled the woman up to her right leg, then performed a quicker version of the Fisherman Suplex. The old man didn't get on his stomach, instead he got to his knees, slid a hand to the other shoulder and feeling it was down and began to count,

"ONE!"

The woman grunted as she was recovering,

"TWO!"

The woman was just about to kick out but was just a few milliseconds too late as the old man called out,

"THREE!"

Natasja released the woman then moved onto of her feet, as did the woman. The woman began to walk away, while Crysta spoke,

"That was a good job, miss! I know she'll be bruised by later today. She also thanks you for the fight."

The woman waved and went back to hitting a heavy bag. Crysta walked over to Natasja's corner, handing her a bottle of water. Natasja took a swig, swished it in her mouth, then swallowed. She rolled her shoulders, began to bounce about in her corner. Next opponent was a dark skinned man, with blonde hair made into a mohawk with neon pink tips and a muscled, but lithe body type. The old man looked to Natasja, who nodded. Then looked to the man, who also nodded. He brought his hands to gesture to them then clapped his hands. The two went after one another. As Natasja charged, the man hopped to the side, dodging her. She slid along the ring, and while she regained herself, the male took this time to deliver a huge left hook to her jaw. She'd damn near spun around from how hard he hit her. The old man began to count,

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

"FIVE!"

Natasja groaned as she slowly began to stir, getting onto all fours, Crysta called out,

"GET UP, YA BUM!"

"SIX!"

She collapsed and struggled to get back to all hands and knees again and Crysta cried out as the man yelled out the next number

"SEVEN!" "COME ON, NATTIE! GET UP, GIRL!"

She got onto her knees, one leg was bent and the other had its knee upon the mat

"EIGHT!" "YOU CAN DO IT, NATTIE! YOU GOT THIS!"

She got up and stumbled into the ropes.

"NINE!" "YOU'RE ALMOST UP! YOU ARE GOLDEN, GIRL!"

She regained herself, shaking her head. She was up and ready once again, gesturing to the man she was ready, then gestured to the male to come at her while Crysta screamed in happiness at how close it was.

The male came towards her, and he tried to deliver a massive right hook, to go in company with the left that nearly knocked out Natasja. Except this time, she ducked, and grabbed him, wrapping her right arm over his left shoulder, while left arm hooked under his right arm. She would spin with him and then flung him up and over, and held on as she slammed him onto the ground, performing a T-Bone Suplex. She let him go, and she went on the offensive once again, grunting as she picked him up from behind. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and then picked him up to perform a single, massive German Suplex, landing the guy upon his shoulders and neck. She went over to his fallen body, hooked both legs and laid upon him as she pinned him. The old man was able to count to three with the other man not moving as he is pulled out of the ring. Once out of the ring, he began to stir, groaning in pain. The throw had knocked him out.

Crysta let out a shrill scream of joy as she looked at the now dwindling line. Leaving only one man, a near ghost-like white skinned man, about an inch taller than Natasja, and much more heavily muscled. He had bright red hair that seemed almost bright orange instead of red, and had several freckles upon his face. He wore green shorts, wore green gloves. He got into his stance, but Natasja took a small water break, drinking the rest of the water before getting ready. The old man realized they were ready and gestured for them to fight.

Natasja moved a bit slower in her advancing, and the male did the same. Both were looking at each other as a caged tiger, ready to pounce at even the slightest chance it could. The man soon felt he had analyzed her enough and went on the offensive, throwing a flurry of body jabs, straights and hooks. She did her best to get out of the way, but a few of the jabs got her, and a couple of hook shots landed to her body causing her to grunt loudly. She jumped back away from him, but he kept going on the attack. She'd dip and move to the left as he went for an uppercut. She went in close, gripped him, picking him up and slamming him sideways upon his shoulders. She was starting to feel the blow to her body, and dropped down to one knee. The man recovered from the slam, and was getting up as she started to get up. He moved in close and tried to throw a hook to her jaw with his left hand, and thanks to the earlier body blow, she dropped down again. However, she did her best to recover, and she pushed off her foot and slammed her shoulder into his gut, wrapped her arms around him, then performed a belly to belly suplex, but when she did it, it was a high angle throw, making him fall upon shoulders, making the ring let out loud cracks and thudding sounds. She got up, walked over to him, pulled him up and would then performed her combination finisher, picking him up then doing the gutbuster, picked him up and then turned him and performed the backbreaker, holding him there while she kissed his forehead with arms wrapped around him and then swung him and smack went his head to the mat. She turned him onto his back, pinned him, and he counted to three. The man's friends pulled him out of the ring, and she looked out to where the line was, and saw there was nobody. She looked to the old man who sighed and Crysta slid into the ring. She walked over to the man, held her hand out, and he pulled out the American money, counted every ten he had and placed it into her hand.

"Thanks for the material, and please, tell your fighters thank you, and please, give them a little bit of money too. They did a good job. Natasja is really going to need some relaxation after this."

She laughed, Natasja shook her head and all three moved out of the ring. Natasja got to her bag, getting her sweatpants back on and picked up her bag. Crysta put the camera away and into her bag as they headed back to the motel, reluctantly, so that Natasja could recover from the beating she was given. Natasja took out her cellphone and took to Twitter while Crysta thought upon what they should get to eat.



"So, Man from Detroit finally speaks. All he says is stupid shit after stupid shit after goddamn motherfuckin' dirty asshole licking, shit. Flip a coin as much as you want, you're still no Two-Face Harvey Dent. You're just a cheap fuck that no woman wants to fuck with! From what I've read of Pest, even if you were a fuckin' 14 year old girl, he still wouldn't fuck you, because you're a fucking idiot. Do you know what a wannabe is? Because it's you. This is going to be Nattie's first match, and yours too. Guess what is going to happen? You're going to fuckin' lose so hard, so fast, your balls will finally fucking drop and you'll finally hit your puberty and become a fucking man! I am the one who made the decision for it to be a hardcore type of match. Who the fuck doesn't love a good ol' death match now and again? You're a giant bitch if you don't!

Also, you want to make fun of me for how to talk to and about my friend? She knows me. She cares about me. If she gets a real manager, then maybe she'll just keep me. I make her life more exciting. You want to know who helped her get into this business? Me. She wanted to just do body building competitions. I talked her into wrestling. I'm not perfect, I let my anger flow right through me. I'd be a goddamn Sith if Star Wars was real. Can you imagine how awesome that'd be?! Be able to shoot lightning out of fingers! Choke bitches like my name is Darth Wayne Brady! Fuck your shit up so hard! Back on point, She may be a brute in the ring, but over time she'll get a bit more agile, but for now, for this match? All she needs is beat the unholy fuck out of your stupid ass!

Self-defeating my ass! It's to throw stereotypes around. People say you hit like a girl, throw like a girl, cry like a girl, scream like a girl, the list goes on and on. When I said "you'll lose to a girl who can't fucking speak" it's to show how much of a bitch you are. Though, you know what? It's the truth. So true. So DAMN true. God, if it were more true, it'd actually hurt people.

Oh, and how lovely you are to compare us to your analogy of us being "Uncle Tom"s. Seriously, you have no taste. Now, we're no feminists, but we're not against them. Women can and actually do, the same shit a man can. Hell, isn't Natasja going to show this in your match together? A man versus a woman. She's going to kick your ass and make you her bitch!

And for the finish. You honestly think you're going to get Natasja to turn on me? Do you know what good friends do? They joke around, they fuck with one another. I have called her a fuckin' steroidal mute cunt before. Know what she replied with, via text? She said that my mouth is so big, that she bets that I am really good at sucking dick! Guess what? We hugged and laughed! Want to know why? Because instead of backstabbing one another, lying to each other, bullshit like that; we actually say how we feel about each other, and we don't hold back our feelings. We've been friends for about eight years. So, yeah. Nice job trying to talk shit at us. Natasja is more intellectual than you and myself! I've often told her that I'm a poor mouthpiece, but she doesn't care. We're friends for a reason! So fuck you and the high horse you rode in on. Because you'll need it in order to even do a goddamn thing to my girl in the ring! And if you have any more bullshit to spew, here's a little video for you to watch. Please, DVR this promo, so if you ever feel the need to say something else stupid, here's what our response is. Enjoy."

]]>
Natasja yawns as she woke up, wrapped in a sleeping bag and on the floor of the motel, with her gym bag of clothes as pillow. She would soon get out of the bag, and Crysta yawned as well. As they stretched out, they opened the bag and pulled out shampoo and conditioner, as well as some Dove soap and a few large jugs of water. They got into the bathroom, stripped, and took a "Whore's Bath". They used soap, warm-ish water from the bottles, warm thanks to their using their bags as pillows. It would take them nearly an hour to wash the four key areas: armpits, asshole, crotch, and teeth. Though for them, they had long hair, and so they also washed their hair by using the aide of each other, making sure they washed their friends' hair well enough to not have conditioner still in their hair in soap grouping areas. Once done, they got put on their clean clothes and grabbed their dirtier clothes, pushing the other clean clothes off to the side, using a book to separate clean from dirty. Once they were ready, with Crysta in black blouse and black knee length skirt. Natasja, however, opted for white tank top and light blue boy shorts underneath grey sweatpants. They took their belongings, took the empty bottles of water and as they walked out of the hotel room and hotel's lot, they dropped the bottles into the dumpster.

What the fuck is recycling for, after all? Nobody really cares. Garbage is still garbage.

So they walked a couple of miles to get to the gym. Crysta hated every quarter of those miles. Natasja didn't mind so much. She needed to raise her stamina, in case she needed to face more than one opponent. When they came to the gym, eyes were upon the two. While there was a couple of women, training to be boxers themselves, it was mostly full of men. Soon an old Russian man came towards them. He had a grey crew cut and a grey beard, who then spoke to them,

"You two want training?"

Natasja didn't speak, but Crysta would.

"Uh...yes. We talked on the phone I believe? I'm Crysta,"

She then gestured to Natasja,

"And this is Natasja."

Soon as her name is said, the Russian man smiled wide and looked at her, speaking to her,

"Ah, Natasja. Are you Russian as well?"

"..."

Crysta looked to him and then spoke,

"I'm sorry, sir. She's a mute. I speak for her."

Natasja blushed a little bit in embarrassment and the man looked back to Crysta,

"Ah, I see...I was just wondering if she is Russian, too, because of her name."

Crysta shrugged,

"I have no clue, sir. She hasn't ever told me what she is. I'd think not, but until she's able to talk, we'll most likely never know."

Natasja shook her head and then let out a soft sounding exhale. The man nodded and then turned and gestured to its occupants,

"Today is going to be an odd day for you all. This is going to challenge your abilities, because this woman is a wrestler with Xtreme Wrestling Federation. She is in need of money. I have agreed for her friend to record these match-ups. If you want to face her, stand by the ring. The rules will be simple, you knock her out, then she owes help for this gym. It means she has to scrub the floors or she has to be a sparring partner. However, if she wins, every person she beats, she will get 50 American dollars. The way to win for you, is to knock her out for ten seconds. For her to win, she has to pin you for three seconds. If you touch the ropes, or you are under the rope, the count is broken. Since you're being recorded, you better be on top of your game. Treat this like a prize fight! Do not be gentle with her! All right, Natasja, get in the ring. Crysta, start recording."

With that Natasja undid the tie of her sweat pants and kicked them off. She put them on the bag, as well as taking off her boots before running and sliding into the ring barefoot. She stood against the northeast corner, and soon a woman about her size stepped up and into the ring. She had short black hair made into spikes and wore a black sport top and black shorts that reached her mid-thigh. She had red boxing gloves and the man entered the ring slowly but surely. He looked to Natasja, who nodded that she was ready. He looked to the female fighter who also nodded.

"Begin!"

Natasja closed in as fast as she could, only to get a glancing right hook to the left side of her head. She pushed the woman into the corner, but not without getting several body blows to her sides. Natasja picked the woman up as if to give her a bear hug, but she would pick the woman up and tossed her overhead, doing a belly to belly. Before the woman could get up, Natasja hooked her arm around the woman's neck, grabbed her behind her left knee and pulled the woman up to her right leg, then performed a quicker version of the Fisherman Suplex. The old man didn't get on his stomach, instead he got to his knees, slid a hand to the other shoulder and feeling it was down and began to count,

"ONE!"

The woman grunted as she was recovering,

"TWO!"

The woman was just about to kick out but was just a few milliseconds too late as the old man called out,

"THREE!"

Natasja released the woman then moved onto of her feet, as did the woman. The woman began to walk away, while Crysta spoke,

"That was a good job, miss! I know she'll be bruised by later today. She also thanks you for the fight."

The woman waved and went back to hitting a heavy bag. Crysta walked over to Natasja's corner, handing her a bottle of water. Natasja took a swig, swished it in her mouth, then swallowed. She rolled her shoulders, began to bounce about in her corner. Next opponent was a dark skinned man, with blonde hair made into a mohawk with neon pink tips and a muscled, but lithe body type. The old man looked to Natasja, who nodded. Then looked to the man, who also nodded. He brought his hands to gesture to them then clapped his hands. The two went after one another. As Natasja charged, the man hopped to the side, dodging her. She slid along the ring, and while she regained herself, the male took this time to deliver a huge left hook to her jaw. She'd damn near spun around from how hard he hit her. The old man began to count,

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

"FIVE!"

Natasja groaned as she slowly began to stir, getting onto all fours, Crysta called out,

"GET UP, YA BUM!"

"SIX!"

She collapsed and struggled to get back to all hands and knees again and Crysta cried out as the man yelled out the next number

"SEVEN!" "COME ON, NATTIE! GET UP, GIRL!"

She got onto her knees, one leg was bent and the other had its knee upon the mat

"EIGHT!" "YOU CAN DO IT, NATTIE! YOU GOT THIS!"

She got up and stumbled into the ropes.

"NINE!" "YOU'RE ALMOST UP! YOU ARE GOLDEN, GIRL!"

She regained herself, shaking her head. She was up and ready once again, gesturing to the man she was ready, then gestured to the male to come at her while Crysta screamed in happiness at how close it was.

The male came towards her, and he tried to deliver a massive right hook, to go in company with the left that nearly knocked out Natasja. Except this time, she ducked, and grabbed him, wrapping her right arm over his left shoulder, while left arm hooked under his right arm. She would spin with him and then flung him up and over, and held on as she slammed him onto the ground, performing a T-Bone Suplex. She let him go, and she went on the offensive once again, grunting as she picked him up from behind. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and then picked him up to perform a single, massive German Suplex, landing the guy upon his shoulders and neck. She went over to his fallen body, hooked both legs and laid upon him as she pinned him. The old man was able to count to three with the other man not moving as he is pulled out of the ring. Once out of the ring, he began to stir, groaning in pain. The throw had knocked him out.

Crysta let out a shrill scream of joy as she looked at the now dwindling line. Leaving only one man, a near ghost-like white skinned man, about an inch taller than Natasja, and much more heavily muscled. He had bright red hair that seemed almost bright orange instead of red, and had several freckles upon his face. He wore green shorts, wore green gloves. He got into his stance, but Natasja took a small water break, drinking the rest of the water before getting ready. The old man realized they were ready and gestured for them to fight.

Natasja moved a bit slower in her advancing, and the male did the same. Both were looking at each other as a caged tiger, ready to pounce at even the slightest chance it could. The man soon felt he had analyzed her enough and went on the offensive, throwing a flurry of body jabs, straights and hooks. She did her best to get out of the way, but a few of the jabs got her, and a couple of hook shots landed to her body causing her to grunt loudly. She jumped back away from him, but he kept going on the attack. She'd dip and move to the left as he went for an uppercut. She went in close, gripped him, picking him up and slamming him sideways upon his shoulders. She was starting to feel the blow to her body, and dropped down to one knee. The man recovered from the slam, and was getting up as she started to get up. He moved in close and tried to throw a hook to her jaw with his left hand, and thanks to the earlier body blow, she dropped down again. However, she did her best to recover, and she pushed off her foot and slammed her shoulder into his gut, wrapped her arms around him, then performed a belly to belly suplex, but when she did it, it was a high angle throw, making him fall upon shoulders, making the ring let out loud cracks and thudding sounds. She got up, walked over to him, pulled him up and would then performed her combination finisher, picking him up then doing the gutbuster, picked him up and then turned him and performed the backbreaker, holding him there while she kissed his forehead with arms wrapped around him and then swung him and smack went his head to the mat. She turned him onto his back, pinned him, and he counted to three. The man's friends pulled him out of the ring, and she looked out to where the line was, and saw there was nobody. She looked to the old man who sighed and Crysta slid into the ring. She walked over to the man, held her hand out, and he pulled out the American money, counted every ten he had and placed it into her hand.

"Thanks for the material, and please, tell your fighters thank you, and please, give them a little bit of money too. They did a good job. Natasja is really going to need some relaxation after this."

She laughed, Natasja shook her head and all three moved out of the ring. Natasja got to her bag, getting her sweatpants back on and picked up her bag. Crysta put the camera away and into her bag as they headed back to the motel, reluctantly, so that Natasja could recover from the beating she was given. Natasja took out her cellphone and took to Twitter while Crysta thought upon what they should get to eat.



"So, Man from Detroit finally speaks. All he says is stupid shit after stupid shit after goddamn motherfuckin' dirty asshole licking, shit. Flip a coin as much as you want, you're still no Two-Face Harvey Dent. You're just a cheap fuck that no woman wants to fuck with! From what I've read of Pest, even if you were a fuckin' 14 year old girl, he still wouldn't fuck you, because you're a fucking idiot. Do you know what a wannabe is? Because it's you. This is going to be Nattie's first match, and yours too. Guess what is going to happen? You're going to fuckin' lose so hard, so fast, your balls will finally fucking drop and you'll finally hit your puberty and become a fucking man! I am the one who made the decision for it to be a hardcore type of match. Who the fuck doesn't love a good ol' death match now and again? You're a giant bitch if you don't!

Also, you want to make fun of me for how to talk to and about my friend? She knows me. She cares about me. If she gets a real manager, then maybe she'll just keep me. I make her life more exciting. You want to know who helped her get into this business? Me. She wanted to just do body building competitions. I talked her into wrestling. I'm not perfect, I let my anger flow right through me. I'd be a goddamn Sith if Star Wars was real. Can you imagine how awesome that'd be?! Be able to shoot lightning out of fingers! Choke bitches like my name is Darth Wayne Brady! Fuck your shit up so hard! Back on point, She may be a brute in the ring, but over time she'll get a bit more agile, but for now, for this match? All she needs is beat the unholy fuck out of your stupid ass!

Self-defeating my ass! It's to throw stereotypes around. People say you hit like a girl, throw like a girl, cry like a girl, scream like a girl, the list goes on and on. When I said "you'll lose to a girl who can't fucking speak" it's to show how much of a bitch you are. Though, you know what? It's the truth. So true. So DAMN true. God, if it were more true, it'd actually hurt people.

Oh, and how lovely you are to compare us to your analogy of us being "Uncle Tom"s. Seriously, you have no taste. Now, we're no feminists, but we're not against them. Women can and actually do, the same shit a man can. Hell, isn't Natasja going to show this in your match together? A man versus a woman. She's going to kick your ass and make you her bitch!

And for the finish. You honestly think you're going to get Natasja to turn on me? Do you know what good friends do? They joke around, they fuck with one another. I have called her a fuckin' steroidal mute cunt before. Know what she replied with, via text? She said that my mouth is so big, that she bets that I am really good at sucking dick! Guess what? We hugged and laughed! Want to know why? Because instead of backstabbing one another, lying to each other, bullshit like that; we actually say how we feel about each other, and we don't hold back our feelings. We've been friends for about eight years. So, yeah. Nice job trying to talk shit at us. Natasja is more intellectual than you and myself! I've often told her that I'm a poor mouthpiece, but she doesn't care. We're friends for a reason! So fuck you and the high horse you rode in on. Because you'll need it in order to even do a goddamn thing to my girl in the ring! And if you have any more bullshit to spew, here's a little video for you to watch. Please, DVR this promo, so if you ever feel the need to say something else stupid, here's what our response is. Enjoy."

]]> <![CDATA[1]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22460 Thu, 28 Jan 2016 22:45:17 -0800 The Man from Detroit]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22460 Let's flip a coin.

Wait...

We've done that routine before.

The game's rigged, I tell ya.

Did you figure that one out Natasja? There was never a chance that you wouldn't win the coin toss because it was vital for you to win. It was a free peek into your psyche. What makes you tick. See, I know it isn't fair but I had a preconceived notion of you from the get-go. Something about you and your mouthpiece's attitude struck me as... familiar. So, I did what any right-minded person would do and I tested my theory before voicing it.

I put the ball in your court.

I let you choose.

And... you know what? Your decision, proved my theory exactly, one hundred percent right.

See, I had this notion that you were just another wannabe throwback to the beloved 90s who suffered from a severe lack of rational thinking. You were obsessed with the ultraviolence or is that too modern of a term for you? Apologies, I fancy myself a modern man and I need a second to reacquaint myself with the long gone days of a couple decades ago. What is the word I'm looking for. Oh, it's on the tip of my tongue but I just can't think of it.

Right.

Hardcore.

It's the classic trap that so many fall into. They think that if they put themselves through unnecessary harm that somehow respect will rain down on them like God's own cum when in reality, it gets you absolutely nowhere unless you're victorious. This isn't some new school participation ribbon type thing, Natasja. You don't get a medal for trying. You don't get a pat on the head for pulling a chair out from underneath the ring. You don't get affirmation for wildly swinging the weapon.

All you get is a harsh whack.

To the knees.

The stomach.

The face.

Anywhere, really.

From someone quicker. More alert. Dare I say, better.

That's where I come in.

I'm a wrestler. These wild brawls aren't what I'm trained for but I'm quite well-acquainted with the art, if you could call mindless brutality such as this an art, after all. I've tasted blood all across the world. Shed blood on every continent, Antarctica excluded of course.

None of this is new for me, is the point I'm getting at here.

I see you, Natasja.

I see you for what you are. I called it a while back, didn't I? Your insecurities are eating you alive, or maybe they aren't. Maybe that's all because of how poorly your mouthpiece communicates your thoughts. Though, if that's the case I have to ask why you'd keep her around. Surely, if you're confident in your abilities, you wouldn't be letting the person speaking for you throw in such self-defeating comments like, what was it again?

Something to the effect of, "you'll not only lose to a girl, but to one who can't fucking speak"?

Now, I know that I might not be the proper authority to speak of this, but if I were in your shoes when she said that Natasja, I'd slap her in the face. I'd be outraged.

Someone you consider a friend makes me sound like a joke for you gender and muteness, and you're fine with it? It's nothing to you? How broken down are you that you'd let the woman talking for you walk all over you without standing up for yourself in any way?

Seriously?

I have a much higher opinion on women than you and your mouthpiece do, Natasja. Kind of sad, don't you think? The mean man calling you on your bullshit should be the misogynistic monster. The callous bastard who hates women and wants to destroy them for daring to think they can wrestle in the same ring as us menfolk, but I'm not that guy.

You're that girl.

You know what they used to call the African-Americans who were on the side of their slavers?

Uncle Toms.

House negroes.

You and your abuser are the female equivalents.

Maybe I'm a little more annoyed about this than I should be because unlike you, I have a lot of respect for women. I've worked for a woman for the past six years and while she's almost certifiably insane, she's commanded my respect more than any other boss I've had in my life and trust me, I've had a lot.

So, don't take this as an attack on your gender. Don't think I'm underestimating you because you're a woman.

You and your mouthpiece are doing that to yourselves.

When I dish out what I plan on doing to you over the course of this match, don't mistake it for some abusive power fantasy where I push around a woman much weaker than because let's face it, your muscles don't mean a thing when your mind is so weak that you allow yourself to be insulted by your own mouthpiece.

Your mouthpiece is the abuser here.

This is just standard operating procedure.

All you need to know about what'll come when the bell rings is that it won't be pretty.

Though I'm sure you think you wouldn't want it any other way.

When it comes to fruition however, I don't think you'll like the end result.]]> Let's flip a coin.

Wait...

We've done that routine before.

The game's rigged, I tell ya.

Did you figure that one out Natasja? There was never a chance that you wouldn't win the coin toss because it was vital for you to win. It was a free peek into your psyche. What makes you tick. See, I know it isn't fair but I had a preconceived notion of you from the get-go. Something about you and your mouthpiece's attitude struck me as... familiar. So, I did what any right-minded person would do and I tested my theory before voicing it.

I put the ball in your court.

I let you choose.

And... you know what? Your decision, proved my theory exactly, one hundred percent right.

See, I had this notion that you were just another wannabe throwback to the beloved 90s who suffered from a severe lack of rational thinking. You were obsessed with the ultraviolence or is that too modern of a term for you? Apologies, I fancy myself a modern man and I need a second to reacquaint myself with the long gone days of a couple decades ago. What is the word I'm looking for. Oh, it's on the tip of my tongue but I just can't think of it.

Right.

Hardcore.

It's the classic trap that so many fall into. They think that if they put themselves through unnecessary harm that somehow respect will rain down on them like God's own cum when in reality, it gets you absolutely nowhere unless you're victorious. This isn't some new school participation ribbon type thing, Natasja. You don't get a medal for trying. You don't get a pat on the head for pulling a chair out from underneath the ring. You don't get affirmation for wildly swinging the weapon.

All you get is a harsh whack.

To the knees.

The stomach.

The face.

Anywhere, really.

From someone quicker. More alert. Dare I say, better.

That's where I come in.

I'm a wrestler. These wild brawls aren't what I'm trained for but I'm quite well-acquainted with the art, if you could call mindless brutality such as this an art, after all. I've tasted blood all across the world. Shed blood on every continent, Antarctica excluded of course.

None of this is new for me, is the point I'm getting at here.

I see you, Natasja.

I see you for what you are. I called it a while back, didn't I? Your insecurities are eating you alive, or maybe they aren't. Maybe that's all because of how poorly your mouthpiece communicates your thoughts. Though, if that's the case I have to ask why you'd keep her around. Surely, if you're confident in your abilities, you wouldn't be letting the person speaking for you throw in such self-defeating comments like, what was it again?

Something to the effect of, "you'll not only lose to a girl, but to one who can't fucking speak"?

Now, I know that I might not be the proper authority to speak of this, but if I were in your shoes when she said that Natasja, I'd slap her in the face. I'd be outraged.

Someone you consider a friend makes me sound like a joke for you gender and muteness, and you're fine with it? It's nothing to you? How broken down are you that you'd let the woman talking for you walk all over you without standing up for yourself in any way?

Seriously?

I have a much higher opinion on women than you and your mouthpiece do, Natasja. Kind of sad, don't you think? The mean man calling you on your bullshit should be the misogynistic monster. The callous bastard who hates women and wants to destroy them for daring to think they can wrestle in the same ring as us menfolk, but I'm not that guy.

You're that girl.

You know what they used to call the African-Americans who were on the side of their slavers?

Uncle Toms.

House negroes.

You and your abuser are the female equivalents.

Maybe I'm a little more annoyed about this than I should be because unlike you, I have a lot of respect for women. I've worked for a woman for the past six years and while she's almost certifiably insane, she's commanded my respect more than any other boss I've had in my life and trust me, I've had a lot.

So, don't take this as an attack on your gender. Don't think I'm underestimating you because you're a woman.

You and your mouthpiece are doing that to yourselves.

When I dish out what I plan on doing to you over the course of this match, don't mistake it for some abusive power fantasy where I push around a woman much weaker than because let's face it, your muscles don't mean a thing when your mind is so weak that you allow yourself to be insulted by your own mouthpiece.

Your mouthpiece is the abuser here.

This is just standard operating procedure.

All you need to know about what'll come when the bell rings is that it won't be pretty.

Though I'm sure you think you wouldn't want it any other way.

When it comes to fruition however, I don't think you'll like the end result.]]> <![CDATA[Claridryl Dreams - Part 3: Zane Kingsley III's From Outer Space]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22543 Thu, 28 Jan 2016 20:24:25 -0800 #MemeQueen Luca Torchwick]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22543
Like two parts, face to face.
December 21st, 2015

Zane Kingsley III hated New York.

The wind stung his face as he made his way down the sparsely populated sidewalk, guided only by the faint glow of the moon in the witching hour and his vague knowledge of the city's layout from previous visits. He winced as a gust of wind cut through his windbreaker and made the hair on his forearms stand at attention. A wild-eyed man in tattered clothing even flimsier than Zane's eyed him as he passed by the alley the man was squatting in. He could feel the man's eyes on him as he walked by, not giving the vagrant any attention.

"They're in my head!" screamed the madman as he frantically glanced around; hands shaking, body trembling.

Zane chuckled, his breath visible in the air until he walked through it and it dissipated under the watchful glow of the moon.

He thought back to the relatively warm glow of Oakland that he'd left just hours before. How he wished to be back, or at the very least, anywhere that wasn't New York. But, he did have a job to do, and what a job it was.

He remembered the last conversation he had before leaving for the plane. He remembered every conversation; he needed to. You never knew when you'd need something someone said. A word, a string of them maybe, that you could use to twist someone to doing what you need them to. Blackmail was such an ugly word, but sometimes it was the most efficient course of action. After all, it wasn't his fault the world worked the way it did.

He didn't often linger on past conversations when he didn't need to extract anything from them, but his most recent had been running through his head since he boarded the plane.

Her name was Jennifer. She'd only just recently became his client; despite his persistent encouragement, she'd spent ten months out of the last year actively avoiding him though as usual, he won out in the end. She wasn't an athlete, which made her a first for him. No, she was an actress. Small time, but acclaimed in what she had done. He didn't care much about that. It didn't matter to him whether she was any good, it wasn't about her.

It was about him.

She was his launching pad. How he'd branch out.

Still, it didn't hurt to be friendly with those who were, unwitting as they may be, helping you advance your own career.

Though friendly wasn't exactly the word he'd use to describe their relationship.

She was a wreck. Dependent on others, she used him more as a therapist than an agent or a friend. Not that he minded, after all, it just made gathering leverage all the easier.

She'd been in his office when he was about to leave. She poked and prodded about where he was going, when he'd be back, all standard stuff. Right up until she was halfway out the door and she'd muttered under her breath.

"You're strange."

He remembered smiling at her and parting his lips before biting his tongue and shaking his head.

You don't know the half of it, he thought as she made her way out of his office.

You don't know the half of it.

"The aliens are in my head!" shouted the same raving mad lunatic, bringing Zane back to reality. He spun around on his heel to find the ragged man staring right at him.

"Can I help you?" he asked, trademark empty smile on his face.

"Help me!"

Zane cocked his head and reached for his wallet. Sliding out a bill, he tossed the paper at the man, watching as he chased after the bill as the wind blew it away.

"Help yourself," he muttered under his breath, scornfully.

Zane shook his head and returned to his mission. Only a few more blocks, he silently prayed as he pounded the pavement in search of the very elusive object of his desires.

His appeal was granted through what felt like direct divine intervention.

As he passed by a particularly run down dive, a man barreled through the doors and collided with him, taking both men off their feet. Zane didn't realize it at first, but this man was precisely who he was looking for.

He'd seen better days for sure. His clothes were dirty; hair disheveled; pupils big as silver dollars-- wait no that was the norm for him.

Zane pushed himself off the ground and offered the man a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Arzegotti."

Y'know, as the week keeps on going I find myself repeatedly asking myself what the fuck Robbie and Pest are going on about but as I keep thinking about it, I have to concede that I have no fucking idea. Congratulations guys, your absolutely fucking inane, weak sauce trash talk has literally got me throwing up my hands and saying "fuck it". I'm not even firing on all cylinders, still working off the rust and shit, and I'm gunning you fuccbois down without breaking a sweat.

I got Robbie bending over backwards trying to disprove some hypothetical bullshit story I threw together like it fuckin' mattered. Newsflash, since I can reveal my methods and you two still wouldn't be able to counter it; I was clutching at straws. I was! Just seeing if I could poke and prod you into releasing some more of that good ol' fashioned nerd rage. All I had to do was take a couple pieces of straw away and you hopped to your feet, faster than you've ever been before (save for when you hit up that buffet #fatboyz), round up the rest of the straw, and try your damnedest to build a house with that shit so that you can hide when the big bad bully Luca Arzegotti sets his sights on you again.

I got Pest too scared and shook to even say anything about me. Maybe he's saving it for the very end. Last second. Just to get that last word in because it's the only way he feels he'll have the slightest chance in hell of getting one over on me but even then because Pest is such a worthless fuccboi he's gonna shit the bed there. Way to go in advance Pest, even with no chance for me to fire back, all you're gonna do is make me look good.

Please, prove me wrong.

Hit me with your special brand of fire that sounds like a fucking weeaboo with a loli waifu going on a spastic MRA rant.

"Maybe if I say enough multi-syllabic words people will mistake me for being smart!:

Oh shit did you guys catch that? The guy writing the transcripts for what I'm saying just accidentally put a colon in place of a quotation mark! You know what Pest is going to do now don't you? Well, that is if he ever stops being too afraid to talk shit to me that is. He's gonna come at me for it because he's a fucking moron and thinks that pointing out grammatical errors made by people transcribing shit for those deaf mofos is equivalent to the hot fire.

Here's something I'm almost certain you didn't know, Pest. There, they're, and their are homophones. Does the Pest know what homophones are? Apparently not so let me explain it slowly so your fuckin' hearing aid can catch it.

Homophones.

Are.

Words.

That.

Sound.

Exactly.

The.

Same.

Shit, does this guy think he's the second coming of Jessie fuckin' Diaz or something? Newsflash homie, you aren't. No matter how much fuckin' make up you wanna slather on yourself or how insufferably smug and bitchy you become, you're not gonna magically become her.

Maybe I shouldn't mention that bitch because Pest will make some stupid claim like we're basically the same person because the best Pest trash talk is the exceptionally terrible Frodo trash talk from months ago and Frodes did that shit. Shit man, the absolute worst person to bite your shit from. Gilly would be a better fit to unwittingly ghostwrite your greatest hits because he's slightly smarter.

What's next Pest?

"Durrrrrrr you should be spelling fuccboi as f-u-c-k-b-o-y. This is irrelevant because you're saying the words but I'm going to say it anyway because I have literally nothing else to say. FEEL BAD FOR ME."

Because everything Pest does reeks of his desire for people to feel so bad for his bad upbringing. Something he won't call me on saying because he knows it's true and as we've already mentioned, he's scared of me. Laugh at the completely evil but utterly cowardly fuccboi who thinks he's on some intellectual high ground despite the fact that he sounds like your typical r/jailbait frequenter who just won't let that subreddit die.

It's also really funny that Pest of all people is getting on another dude's nuts for "odd dialogue" (which, first off the fuck?) when he can't even consistently refer to himself in either the third or first person. When the little glimpses of his life we do see give us such great and oh so very human (not barely functioning robot at all nosiree) bits of conversation as:

Erica:And what’s to stop me from alerting authorities?

Spoken like a real teenage girl that's for true.

Donald:Erica, he records all of these. They were uploaded on the internet. Someone at work watched, and sent the videos to me. My coworkers watched you get raped repeatedly. One of them described it as hot.

Can't you just feel the anger and disgust spilling from the mouth of a horrified parent confronting his daughter's rapist? Heartbreaking, isn't it?

Donald:I am starving. Yes, I would appreciate some food.

Why yes I am a human being thank you for asking.

Need I go on? I mean sure, we've already determined that all these so-called glimpses into Pest's life are nothing more than his pathetic rape fantasies, written by him so maybe that's why he's critiquing Austin's "odd dialogue". Because he wouldn't know reality if it bent him over the couch and ravaged his asshole, he thinks everything is some kind of story.

It ain't.

Speaking of stories, nice web of bullshit Pest. You're raising an eleven year old. You're respected in the neighborhood. You're actually capable of having a conversation that isn't about how evil and twisted you are. Funny joke, friend. No one notices that you do awful things to children. It's not like, as has been established by you in of your dragging, Hostel meets RedTube screenplays that the videos of you performing unspeakable acts are on the internet or something. I bet that makes for some awkward dinner conversation while you desperately flop like a fish trying to get out the words "Wait no it's all an act".

Oh and also

>Pest talks about disguises
>Not even a few seconds later he says he's transparent and has nothing to hide
>Make up your mind Nancy
>Pest:wtf Luca where'd you get Nancy from this whole shot is irrelevant because I am not nor will I ever go by Nancy
>killyourself.exe

Hey Pest!

The only thing you're crushing is your own credibility you fucking yokel. Not that you had a lot to begin with.

"Tell me about the day you died."

Luca's eyes snapped open and he catapulted to a seated position, drenched with sweat. He took a deep breath and let it out slow, wiping sweat off his face in vain. His heart beat like a snare drum in his chest (More Luca fascination with heartbeats? Hey Pest here's something else you call me on with the rest of your irrelevant shit) and as he swung his freezing, damp legs over the edge of the bed, he felt like he was going to vomit.

He swallowed a mouthful of spit to keep the bile down and hopped off the bed and rubbed his eyes (Run-on sentences? SHIELD YOUR EYES!).

As he looked around the room it became apparent he had no idea where he was.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath.

"You're awake."

He heard Amy's voice and then her footsteps as she shuffled from the bathroom towards him. His eyes widened and he stepped back as he saw her.

She wore a latex mask resembling Zane Kingsley's face. Her naked body was as thoroughly soaked with blood as his was with sweat. The corners of the mask were forced into a perpetual smile.

"Inquiring minds want to know, Luca. Tell us about the day you died."

"Tell us Luca," began a chorus of voices, their owners invisible but each voice was distinct.

Theo Pryce.

John Madison.

Shane Sr.

Zane Kingsley III.

Austin Fernando.

Amy.

Victoria.

Everyone.

"Come on Luca," the chorus continued in a distorted chant.

"Show us how much more there is to you than punchlines and catchphrases.

"Make us care.

"Tell us about the day you died."]]>
Like two parts, face to face.
December 21st, 2015

Zane Kingsley III hated New York.

The wind stung his face as he made his way down the sparsely populated sidewalk, guided only by the faint glow of the moon in the witching hour and his vague knowledge of the city's layout from previous visits. He winced as a gust of wind cut through his windbreaker and made the hair on his forearms stand at attention. A wild-eyed man in tattered clothing even flimsier than Zane's eyed him as he passed by the alley the man was squatting in. He could feel the man's eyes on him as he walked by, not giving the vagrant any attention.

"They're in my head!" screamed the madman as he frantically glanced around; hands shaking, body trembling.

Zane chuckled, his breath visible in the air until he walked through it and it dissipated under the watchful glow of the moon.

He thought back to the relatively warm glow of Oakland that he'd left just hours before. How he wished to be back, or at the very least, anywhere that wasn't New York. But, he did have a job to do, and what a job it was.

He remembered the last conversation he had before leaving for the plane. He remembered every conversation; he needed to. You never knew when you'd need something someone said. A word, a string of them maybe, that you could use to twist someone to doing what you need them to. Blackmail was such an ugly word, but sometimes it was the most efficient course of action. After all, it wasn't his fault the world worked the way it did.

He didn't often linger on past conversations when he didn't need to extract anything from them, but his most recent had been running through his head since he boarded the plane.

Her name was Jennifer. She'd only just recently became his client; despite his persistent encouragement, she'd spent ten months out of the last year actively avoiding him though as usual, he won out in the end. She wasn't an athlete, which made her a first for him. No, she was an actress. Small time, but acclaimed in what she had done. He didn't care much about that. It didn't matter to him whether she was any good, it wasn't about her.

It was about him.

She was his launching pad. How he'd branch out.

Still, it didn't hurt to be friendly with those who were, unwitting as they may be, helping you advance your own career.

Though friendly wasn't exactly the word he'd use to describe their relationship.

She was a wreck. Dependent on others, she used him more as a therapist than an agent or a friend. Not that he minded, after all, it just made gathering leverage all the easier.

She'd been in his office when he was about to leave. She poked and prodded about where he was going, when he'd be back, all standard stuff. Right up until she was halfway out the door and she'd muttered under her breath.

"You're strange."

He remembered smiling at her and parting his lips before biting his tongue and shaking his head.

You don't know the half of it, he thought as she made her way out of his office.

You don't know the half of it.

"The aliens are in my head!" shouted the same raving mad lunatic, bringing Zane back to reality. He spun around on his heel to find the ragged man staring right at him.

"Can I help you?" he asked, trademark empty smile on his face.

"Help me!"

Zane cocked his head and reached for his wallet. Sliding out a bill, he tossed the paper at the man, watching as he chased after the bill as the wind blew it away.

"Help yourself," he muttered under his breath, scornfully.

Zane shook his head and returned to his mission. Only a few more blocks, he silently prayed as he pounded the pavement in search of the very elusive object of his desires.

His appeal was granted through what felt like direct divine intervention.

As he passed by a particularly run down dive, a man barreled through the doors and collided with him, taking both men off their feet. Zane didn't realize it at first, but this man was precisely who he was looking for.

He'd seen better days for sure. His clothes were dirty; hair disheveled; pupils big as silver dollars-- wait no that was the norm for him.

Zane pushed himself off the ground and offered the man a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Arzegotti."

Y'know, as the week keeps on going I find myself repeatedly asking myself what the fuck Robbie and Pest are going on about but as I keep thinking about it, I have to concede that I have no fucking idea. Congratulations guys, your absolutely fucking inane, weak sauce trash talk has literally got me throwing up my hands and saying "fuck it". I'm not even firing on all cylinders, still working off the rust and shit, and I'm gunning you fuccbois down without breaking a sweat.

I got Robbie bending over backwards trying to disprove some hypothetical bullshit story I threw together like it fuckin' mattered. Newsflash, since I can reveal my methods and you two still wouldn't be able to counter it; I was clutching at straws. I was! Just seeing if I could poke and prod you into releasing some more of that good ol' fashioned nerd rage. All I had to do was take a couple pieces of straw away and you hopped to your feet, faster than you've ever been before (save for when you hit up that buffet #fatboyz), round up the rest of the straw, and try your damnedest to build a house with that shit so that you can hide when the big bad bully Luca Arzegotti sets his sights on you again.

I got Pest too scared and shook to even say anything about me. Maybe he's saving it for the very end. Last second. Just to get that last word in because it's the only way he feels he'll have the slightest chance in hell of getting one over on me but even then because Pest is such a worthless fuccboi he's gonna shit the bed there. Way to go in advance Pest, even with no chance for me to fire back, all you're gonna do is make me look good.

Please, prove me wrong.

Hit me with your special brand of fire that sounds like a fucking weeaboo with a loli waifu going on a spastic MRA rant.

"Maybe if I say enough multi-syllabic words people will mistake me for being smart!:

Oh shit did you guys catch that? The guy writing the transcripts for what I'm saying just accidentally put a colon in place of a quotation mark! You know what Pest is going to do now don't you? Well, that is if he ever stops being too afraid to talk shit to me that is. He's gonna come at me for it because he's a fucking moron and thinks that pointing out grammatical errors made by people transcribing shit for those deaf mofos is equivalent to the hot fire.

Here's something I'm almost certain you didn't know, Pest. There, they're, and their are homophones. Does the Pest know what homophones are? Apparently not so let me explain it slowly so your fuckin' hearing aid can catch it.

Homophones.

Are.

Words.

That.

Sound.

Exactly.

The.

Same.

Shit, does this guy think he's the second coming of Jessie fuckin' Diaz or something? Newsflash homie, you aren't. No matter how much fuckin' make up you wanna slather on yourself or how insufferably smug and bitchy you become, you're not gonna magically become her.

Maybe I shouldn't mention that bitch because Pest will make some stupid claim like we're basically the same person because the best Pest trash talk is the exceptionally terrible Frodo trash talk from months ago and Frodes did that shit. Shit man, the absolute worst person to bite your shit from. Gilly would be a better fit to unwittingly ghostwrite your greatest hits because he's slightly smarter.

What's next Pest?

"Durrrrrrr you should be spelling fuccboi as f-u-c-k-b-o-y. This is irrelevant because you're saying the words but I'm going to say it anyway because I have literally nothing else to say. FEEL BAD FOR ME."

Because everything Pest does reeks of his desire for people to feel so bad for his bad upbringing. Something he won't call me on saying because he knows it's true and as we've already mentioned, he's scared of me. Laugh at the completely evil but utterly cowardly fuccboi who thinks he's on some intellectual high ground despite the fact that he sounds like your typical r/jailbait frequenter who just won't let that subreddit die.

It's also really funny that Pest of all people is getting on another dude's nuts for "odd dialogue" (which, first off the fuck?) when he can't even consistently refer to himself in either the third or first person. When the little glimpses of his life we do see give us such great and oh so very human (not barely functioning robot at all nosiree) bits of conversation as:

Erica:And what’s to stop me from alerting authorities?

Spoken like a real teenage girl that's for true.

Donald:Erica, he records all of these. They were uploaded on the internet. Someone at work watched, and sent the videos to me. My coworkers watched you get raped repeatedly. One of them described it as hot.

Can't you just feel the anger and disgust spilling from the mouth of a horrified parent confronting his daughter's rapist? Heartbreaking, isn't it?

Donald:I am starving. Yes, I would appreciate some food.

Why yes I am a human being thank you for asking.

Need I go on? I mean sure, we've already determined that all these so-called glimpses into Pest's life are nothing more than his pathetic rape fantasies, written by him so maybe that's why he's critiquing Austin's "odd dialogue". Because he wouldn't know reality if it bent him over the couch and ravaged his asshole, he thinks everything is some kind of story.

It ain't.

Speaking of stories, nice web of bullshit Pest. You're raising an eleven year old. You're respected in the neighborhood. You're actually capable of having a conversation that isn't about how evil and twisted you are. Funny joke, friend. No one notices that you do awful things to children. It's not like, as has been established by you in of your dragging, Hostel meets RedTube screenplays that the videos of you performing unspeakable acts are on the internet or something. I bet that makes for some awkward dinner conversation while you desperately flop like a fish trying to get out the words "Wait no it's all an act".

Oh and also

>Pest talks about disguises
>Not even a few seconds later he says he's transparent and has nothing to hide
>Make up your mind Nancy
>Pest:wtf Luca where'd you get Nancy from this whole shot is irrelevant because I am not nor will I ever go by Nancy
>killyourself.exe

Hey Pest!

The only thing you're crushing is your own credibility you fucking yokel. Not that you had a lot to begin with.

"Tell me about the day you died."

Luca's eyes snapped open and he catapulted to a seated position, drenched with sweat. He took a deep breath and let it out slow, wiping sweat off his face in vain. His heart beat like a snare drum in his chest (More Luca fascination with heartbeats? Hey Pest here's something else you call me on with the rest of your irrelevant shit) and as he swung his freezing, damp legs over the edge of the bed, he felt like he was going to vomit.

He swallowed a mouthful of spit to keep the bile down and hopped off the bed and rubbed his eyes (Run-on sentences? SHIELD YOUR EYES!).

As he looked around the room it became apparent he had no idea where he was.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath.

"You're awake."

He heard Amy's voice and then her footsteps as she shuffled from the bathroom towards him. His eyes widened and he stepped back as he saw her.

She wore a latex mask resembling Zane Kingsley's face. Her naked body was as thoroughly soaked with blood as his was with sweat. The corners of the mask were forced into a perpetual smile.

"Inquiring minds want to know, Luca. Tell us about the day you died."

"Tell us Luca," began a chorus of voices, their owners invisible but each voice was distinct.

Theo Pryce.

John Madison.

Shane Sr.

Zane Kingsley III.

Austin Fernando.

Amy.

Victoria.

Everyone.

"Come on Luca," the chorus continued in a distorted chant.

"Show us how much more there is to you than punchlines and catchphrases.

"Make us care.

"Tell us about the day you died."]]> <![CDATA[Gauntlet Roleplay]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22559 Thu, 28 Jan 2016 11:33:10 -0800 Blue Gator]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=22559 "...don't let the Lounge Lizard spoil your evening... Heheheh..."]]> "...don't let the Lounge Lizard spoil your evening... Heheheh..."]]>