X-treme Wrestling Federation - Leap of Faith III

Gotta Catch 'Em All

Fri, 22 Jul 2016 23:03:30 -0700

Robbie Bourbon is challenging Dillinger for the Intercontinental Championship at Leap of Faith. While Dillinger has been vocal in the week leading up to the match, the Bourbon camp has been eerily quiet.

GOTTA CATCH 'EM ALL

We open to see Robbie in his office surrounded by his closest confidants, the Bourbon Men. Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, Ash, Robbie's personal hair stylist, and Robo-Rob, the robot from Rocky IV painted to look like it's wearing a Robbie Bourbon mask, are seated, looking bored, while Robbie sits at his desk.

Robbie, when can we go...

In a minute. Jesus, if I knew an addicting phone app would have made you all want to go on one of my training patrols tonight, I would have invented one. Shit.

But, dude, it's awesome...

Hushabee. You know what's awesome?

Me drilling Dillinger through the God damned roof so hard the skin from his face peels off, like he's John Travolta AND Nicholas Cage.

Huh?

From Face-Off.

Huh?

Fuck you. It's going to be awesome taking that little bitch and whore his body out on display for the whole fucking world to view. Dilly, you will feel more taken advantage of than every memory you have of your father cramming his fist up your ass while you peeled back his foreskin with your lips and slurped spooge 'til mommy came home and wondered what you did to spoil your dinner.

When Dillinger's poppa died of autoerotic asphyxiation, Dillinger diligently still finished off the fresh corpse with a flourish of the tongue, a dainty, gentle jaw, and a tear of sweet lament that this was the last time he would kiss his father. Swallowed, too.

I think it was a week or two ago. Can't be sure.

And it doesn't stop the fact that I will make Dilly a greater victim than any of that horrible shit even could.

The beating you are going to get has nothing to do with your character, your moral fiber, or your ethos. See, the justice that will occur, the right that will be wronged, is the fact you have the Intercontinental Championship belt around your waist. The title I got fucked out of because Pest couldn't handle a bigger star getting a shinier toy. Ever hear of Pest? He'll tell you he's the worst thing to ever step into the ring. I proved he was a simple public servant.

See, that wrong got corrected. Pest got his. Now some weirdo is running around pretending to be Pest from the future is insisting he is the Black Hand. Not true. The Black Hand are with me.

Now we correct the big mistake. Baby, don't you worry about a thing, daddy is coming to get you. I'm coming to beat the shit out of the pretender, Dillinger, who would never have even come close enough to smell you if I never got robbed. I want you to remember that, Dilly, because the whole fucking universe already knows that if I had my title a year ago, I would still have it today. No bullshit Ginger Snaps fluke, no Morbid Angel, no Trax, no you. Just one fucking name listed as Intercontinental Champion.

Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon.

As Robbie finishes, the camera turns to show each of his Bourbon Men with their attention on their phones.

There's a Charizard around!

Oh, shit!

Robbie whips his phone out and all the Bourbon Men run outside the office. They traipse through the dojo around dozens of other Bourbon Men all snooping around, looking for a Charizard. Pokemon Go is very popular these days. Robbie and the Bourbon Men step outside and start swiping on their phones.

Got it!

Me too!

Shit! It ran away!

Got 'em.

The camera catches up to Robbie. We see him renaming his Charizard to C. Diff.

Well, looks like I caught C. Diff. Heh.

How is that funny?

I dunno, I just figured it was a running gag for the XWF viewership to get into.

Okay. Well, should we go on patrol?

The camera pans to show the streets are full of life. People are all walking around with their cell phones in hand. A chirp is heard from Robbie's phone, as he swipes one finger unenthusiastically.

Eh, it's a Pidgey, no big deal, I just need the stardust and XP at this point.

With a series of beeps and boops, we hear the Pokemon get caught within Robbie's phone. It zooms again to show he is naming the Pidgey "C. Diff".

Heh, now there's the trailblazer of the XWF, man-of-the-people action. First motherfucker in XWF to ever catch C. Diff twice.

But, your patrol...

Huh? Are you kidding me? The streets are flooded with people walking around with their phones out with a built in camera app within Pokemon Go ready to gather on the spot evidence of any crime, it's the safest this country has been in decades. Fuck the election...

Robbie reaches out and grabs a random passer-by who was too wrapped up in their phone to notice a bus coming their way and pulls them onto the sidewalk.

Fuck the race war...

The camera tilts to show a person walking off a rooftop, still gazing into their phone and muttering the word "Hitmonlee" to themselves, and Robbie nonchalantly catching them as they fall and setting them on the ground, where they continue their Mr. Magoo-like journey down the block.

Fuck terrorism...

Robbie swiftly picks up a pedestrian who was about to walk into another one and places them on the other side.

Pokemon Go is the tits. Big, floppy, wonderful tits I just want to stick my face into and explain that motorboat is a verb to, and I'm Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon, the biggest, baddest, nastiest, meanest, the hardest, toughest, rootin-tootin sumbitch in the universe.

Not some fucking lil' scamp with a knife.

There's no running on the rooftop, Dilly. No hiding. Just you, me, and a bad attitude, only thing is, when all is said and done, the only thing that'll be on top of that roof after the match is me and my attitude.

A car careens in the road into a lamp post as the driver screams "Squirtle" at the top of his lungs. Dozens gather around underneath the falling lamp post and prepare to catch the Squirtle. Robbie walks over, one hand out, swiping with his thumb, the other hand grabbing said lamp post and lifting it. He then performs a one handed caber toss, dropping the lamp post into an empty lot across the street from his dojo. A click is heard from his phone.

Got the Squirtle! 386!

Robbie slides his phone into his pocket.

Alright, guys, let's go jack up our endorphins with physical activity!

The rest of the Bourbon Men nod and smile, then turn back to their phones. Robbie then starts to walk off down the street as they make six paces and stop dead. Robbie continues onward.

It's a gorgeous evening, no reason to...

Robbie stops dead and sees amid the dozens of people catching Pokemon, an 8 feet tall, very slender green figure with a large head. It looks around menacingly.

Mwahahaha, that's right! With all of you distracted by your Pokemon Go app, I can finally start my crime wave as these brainless dullards cavort about! That is right, I, the The Amazing Rando, am no longer in their notice for being eight feet tall, green, and with an apple head that makes me look like some kind of weirdo.

I see you, sparky.

The Amazing Rando stops dead as he sees Robbie standing there looking right at him.

So, what exactly is your big masterwork evil plan, hmm? I mean, Dillinger is going around lopping heads off, saying he wants to commit some kind of genocide against my fanbase, which is about as cliche as it gets with most pulp villain types, but you, geeze...

I am not a pulp villain! I am the Amazing Rando, master criminal! Mwahahahaha!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sure you are. And Dillinger is awful because he's just knocking off a bunch of crappy movie cliches. Violent ones, but seriously, he's a dollar store version of some Thomas Harris character somewhere. You're actually far more intriguing.

Stop bringing up this Dillinger fellow, I'm the Amazing Rando, and...

Robbie smiles as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, showing the camera a familiar screen.

As he does, several people groan and complain and echo the word; the server is down. As they do, they all look up and see the Amazing Rando.

"Oh, man, that guy looks ."

"Yeah, you look stupid."

Gadzooks! Public humiliation, my greatest weakness!

As the Amazing Rando is shocked into horror, Robbie charges at him his right arm cocked back, fist balled up.

MOTHERFUCKER!

Robbie swings his fist forward, connecting squarely on the jaw of the Amazing Rando, who drops like a sack of crap to the ground.

Well, that's one silly bastard down this week. Jolly green bitch.

Robbie turns around and starts to whistle the tune to "London Bridges Falling Down" as he walks away. The people all start snapping pictures and taping the happening as the police show up on the scene, presumably to arrest the Amazing Rando for no other reason than not being white.

Bury my Whore at Wounded Knee.

Thu, 21 Jul 2016 23:58:16 -0700

Yeeeeehaw! Howdy their my little SATAN! lovin' folks! Is everybody ready for another rootin' tootin' Unknown Soldier super spectacular extravaganza! Well then, let's just jump right in on the action and forget this opening song that has no bearing to the actual story itself!

Greggo: "So I shipped off the dildo to Peter Gilmour for $6.66 like you said, Soldier. After all, he was the only one to bid on the thing so I guess...."

Unknown Soldier: "After the millions of millions of Soldier fans, I knew Peter would be the one to bid the highest, he's always been my biggest fan. Hell, I suppose Mia Yim's penis isn't enough for him anymore. I'm sure he's packin' but this thing is 12 inches long my friend. Twelve inches of hard titanium steel, not even Mia Yim's hard cock could compete with that!"

Greggo: "Maybe you're not hearing me quite well, are you sure you cleaned all the Maria Brink and Hillary Clinton menstrual blood out of your ears after your match with Peter last month? Because from the smell of you, I can still catch a whiff of that dried crusty ovaries DNA still lingering on you."

Unknown Soldier: "I took that one shower out in the dessert that one time, before my match with Alexis Riot? It's probably because I've been bathing in bloody stool samples all week, still trying to catch C-diff. I even combined it with some of that Aids from Maria Brink, figured that might loosen up the white blood cells in my body a bit, make me a bit more susceptible to all diseases?"

Greggo: "Um.....ok, but like I was saying, Peter is actually the ONLY person to bid on the dildo, so it wasn't really millions upon mill....."

Unknown Soldier: "So the fans are enjoying our new interactive experience. I knew they would, kids and folks these days like to get up out of the chair and walk around. Mostly to catch Pokemon, even if we think it may quite possibly be the gayest video game ever made, that still doesn't mean that we can't copy their ingenius business plan. Plagiarism is cool these days, just ask Melania Trump."

Greggo: "Fine I'm just going to come out and say it.... The XWF is getting sick of your disgusting behavior. They want to make some English twat the new Xtreme Champion. That's why they booked this match with his stipulations, and in his OWN COUNTRY! You see Soldier, their sick of your shit. Their sick of menstrual blood, their sick of being fisted up the ass, and most of all, their sick of C.Diff."

Unknown Soldier: "Well I don't even have C.diff! Why do you have to keep reminding me! WHY!"

Greggo: "Seriously, we're back to this again? Did you not hear a word I just said about anything?"

Unknown Soldier: "Of course I did, now, how are the bids looking on that dildo for my super SATAN! Soldier fans out there?"

Greggo: "Jesus Ch...."

Soldier, whose back was turned to Greggo, now abruptly faces his manager with a look of pure hatred in his eyes.

Unknown Soldier: "What the hell were you about to say?"

Greggo: "Sorry man, it just kinda slipped out."

The hatred is gleaming in Soldier's eye. The fire is burning in his belly. His erection is full on raging boner.

Unknown Soldier: "Get the fuck out of here, and say 666 HAIL SATAN!'s before you go to sleep tonight!"

Greggo: "Aye' aye' captain!"

Greggo salutes as if he were in the army, and marches out like a soldier on his way out the door, his voice slowly fades away in the distance....

Greggo: "One HAIL SATAN!...... Two HAIL SATAN!............ Three HAIL SATAN!.................... Four HAIL SATAN!

Unknown Soldier:

"Well, here I go again with another match where my opponent has little to nothing to say about me all week. Come on now pussy, you going to spew a bunch of nonsense a few hours before we meet here in a last ditch effort? Something about how I'm some kind of goat fucking SATAN! loving queer bag that's practically a walking zombie? Come on, hit me where it hurts I'm begging for someone to hit me with something. I mean, even in my Federweight Championship match, all those whores and idiots had plenty to say, that was until I stepped up to the plate and shot down all their weak attempts to verbally assault me. Which is what I'm assuming is the same problem that Mr. MacBITCH! is having. Poor guy got his feelings hurt when I smashed his bullshit life and story to pieces in a matter of a few phrases.

Do you really want to be an Xtreme Champion? I doubt it, more like an Xtreme Bitchampion! Haha! Peter would fucking love that one! Fact of the matter is you are a washed up case, Christopher. Your time as being remotely relevant is over, and you know why that is? It's because you met me. You see I exposed you for the fraud of a tag team champion you are, and Ghost Tank exposed what kind of a fraud Hart Champion you were. You lost your title to fucking Ghost Tank!? You know, something that clearly didn't happen to me when he stepped into my world and tried to take my title. The world of Xtreme. You see, I am the true Xtreme Champion and the greatest of all time. I haven't done my research yet, but I'm willing to bet that I'm closing in on the longest reign in history. That's what you should do for me, Chris.

After I'm done pounding you down at all your favorite bars, while all your best buddies mates watch me. You should become my secretary, look up specific statistics I need and inform the public about how fucking awesome I am! Basically put the term bitch in your last name to good use. This really isn't even going to be a contest for me, and guess what? I believe this is my fifth defense since winning the title, secretary MacBITCH, look that up for me please! Yes, yes indeed it is, which means I will acquire yet another briefcase. Problem is, bitchy boo boo, I'm having too much fun splashing around in the feces and menstrual blood here in the Xtreme Title division.

I mean, look at how lame that fucking match stipulation is for Vinnie and Scully. Climbing ladders fifty feet tall? Are we fucking firemen or are we wrestlers? Climbing a ladder doesn't take any skill. Now, shoving a twelve inch dildo up someone's ass, stuffing someone's orifices with loose clothing, drowning someone in a pool of menstrual blood. These are real tests of strength and virtue, and exactly what it means to be a true Xtreme Champion. Peter might have held this title more times than me, but I highly doubt he's ever held it for as long as I have. Look that up secretary! You see, I am the most Xtreme and creative mind to ever hold this Xtreme Championship. We need to re-brand this place as the USWF. The Unknown Soldier Wrestling Federation. Because, if I hold this title much longer, my fucking name will be in synonym with the word itself. The world will have to re-print every Thesaurus in the world replacing the word Xtreme with Unknown Soldier."

"Loverboy" - Turn Those Clapping Hands Into Angry Balled Fists

Thu, 21 Jul 2016 23:04:42 -0700

I saw your shitty promo, Scully. You couldn’t help yourself, huh? You had to find a way to make fun of a man’s hospitalized mother. Well, good for you, dude.

I also noted that you apparently took my advice and remembered that you were at your best when you were a fucking . Solid hypothesis, dude, but poor execution. You can’t just go and dive off of a fifty foot ladder and expect to get the same exact level of slop-browed mongoloid as you had before. That shit was precise. You have to have a very specific amount of CTE to mix into your pre-existing fetal alcohol syndrome, you know? As far as you know, you just gave yourself a brain bleed, or bruised the section of your cerebellum that keeps you from pissing all over yourself at night. Let me know in the morning if that last one’s true, okay?

Dude, I gotta tell you… you need better friends. Ted and Dave? Those two shitheads are gonna get you killed. Didn’t you learn anything when you fell down those stairs a few weeks back? Idiots, man. You know, if you think you are ever gonna be a champion, you’ll need a better entourage. A champion can’t be sitting around playing grab-ass with a motley crew of inbred fucktards like the Union. Trade up, kid. If they don’t get your neck broken knocking you down another flight of stairs they’ll just get you beaten to death by the next person who has to site through one of your shitty impressions, or even worse, your pet names.

Yeah, I’m talking about Vinnie Lame. That’s Gilmour levels of terrible, dude. Frodo came up with a better rib on my name in between popping chancres on his syphilitic dick, but you couldn’t do any better than ‘Lane sounds like lame?’ Fuck. I’m almost as disappointed as that one kid who came to your signing session’s gonna be when he Googles that action figure you swapped out with his limited edition Loverboy with snap-action superkick and realizes you cost him about forty-five bucks. The fucking removable bandanna on that figure is worth more than a rack of Scully’s.

Anyway.

I’m done talking to you, Scull. Done talking, period. I’ve got shit to do and people to see and not a bit of it has to do with your irrelevant, forgettable self. Get some sleep, dude, because the biggest moment of your life is coming at you tomorrow night in London, in the form of my fist connecting with your brittle English teeth.

I’m leaving you with one last thing. A secret, if you will. I mean, not a secret to anyone with any idea of how wrestling works, or any kind of fight for that matter. Or anyone with an IQ over 70. Whatever, none of those apply to you, so it’s a secret as far as we’re concerned. Here it comes. Exactly how this match between you and me is gonna end at Leap of Faith. Spoiler alert, Scully, this isn’t pretty.

Ta ta, fucker.

XOXO.

I’m sitting with my son in a Manhattan Starbucks. I feel like he’s grown a foot taller from the last time I saw him, but that’s not possible, right?

“How’s the macchiato?”

“Huh?”

I must have been daydreaming, staring at him but at nothing at the same time. Hearing words in the real world pulled me right out of it and brought me back to the present. I can feel the iced coffee in my hands again, and see the droplets of water flowing over my fingers clenched around the plastic cup. Pay attention, Vinnie.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, it’s…. good.”

“You haven’t taken a sip.”

Got me. He’s the one paying attention. I jam the green straw into my mouth and suck a mouthful of caramel goo in over my tongue. It’s a burst of cold sugar, with a caffeine aftertaste. I lick my lips and really savor the way I can feel the sugar dissolving, and then I realize I’ve been stalling for the entire time we’ve been sitting at this table. Time to stop trying to bullshit this kid and sack the fuck up.

“Bobby… I’m sorry…”

“Stop. I don’t need that. I invited you here because there’s stuff I need to tell you.”

“Stuff? Like… what kind of stuff?”

He swirls the straw in his iced latte for a moment, looking down and watching the colors blend. Now he’s the one stalling.

“You have to just listen, okay? Just listen and let me get through it all and finish, without interrupting. Can you do that? Keeping your mouth shut isn’t your most well-known attribute.”

Wow. This kid isn’t pulling punches. That one hurt worse than anything I ever got caught with in the ring, that’s for sure. But he’s right. Of course he’s right. That’s what hurt about it.

“Deal. My lips are sealed, dude… you can count on me, not a single…”

The stern gaze and rhythmic rapping of fingers on the table let me know that I’m literally not shutting up right this very second.

“Sorry. Go on.”

He waits. Takes a sip of his latte and looks around nervously. I can see him struggling with a decision. He doesn’t fully trust me, and why should he? The last time he did that I packed him up and put him on a plane out of my way.

“Okay… okay, look. This isn’t easy so it’s just got to come out. I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching, especially since coming up here to New York and meeting so many different types of people. I’ve been thinking about myself. About who I am.”

I almost fucked up. My mouth opened and I leaned forward. I swear I was just going to give some reassurance and let him know he has nothing to worry about, but the way he sunk in his chair let me know that all he saw was a narcissist dying to be a part of the conversation. So, I just brought that green straw back into my mouth and played it like that was the goal all along. His eye roll was proof that he wasn’t buying it, but he snickered. Not an angry one, either. A snicker that said ‘I see your effort and you look ridiculous, but I appreciate it.’

“You know… I watch a lot of what you do. I’ve always been into the XWF, even though I may have pretended otherwise. I was a fan of yours before I even knew you were my dad. You have a lot of… qualities… that I admire. Your look. Your attitude. Your… well… your blatant sexual confusion.”

That one got my mouth open again, but it just dropped that way, there were no words bursting from within. Did my son just accuse me of sexual ambiguity?

“I mean, you just put yourself out there, you know? You have this aura, this musk of raw sexual fury… it’s like androgyny but fiercely hetero. I don’t know the way to explain it. But I remember watching you go to the ring with your permed up hair, tight pink leggings, and all that make up… you were blowing kisses to the crowd and worrying about your hair as much as you were worrying about your opponent… and it was GOOD, you know? You were STRONG even though you were breaking out from this restraining bicameral gender structure. You were kicking normalcy right in the nuts every time you pranced out to the ring and beat someone too afraid to explore those things.”

At this point I’m not sure what’s happening. He’s complimenting me? I think? For being sexually confusing? I don’t know what to think about it, which is awesome because it keeps me from trying to talk.

“So… you inspired me, I guess. To be open to myself. To my own confusion.”

Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhh.

“We moved up here a couple months back and one of the first things I did was go online and try to find some local communities… some trans people, you know? And I talked to them, and I swear I never experienced anything like it before. Listening to their stories, the way they approached their transitions… it was like hearing my own confusion said out loud by another human being. They were telling me my own story.”

He starts to hang his head. I can see a combination of fear and confidence mixing together like the coffee and milk in his cup. He doesn’t hang his head after all. He looks me right in the eye.

“Dad… I’m a girl. I’ve always been a girl. I was born wrong, somehow, and I don’t understand all of it… but I’m not supposed to be a boy. I’m sorry.”

And that’s where we are. My son, my only child, whom I essentially abandoned not once but twice, is sitting across from me in a coffee shop full of hipsters and apologizing to me. Apologizing to me not for anything he did, but simply for who he is. Who she is? I’ll have to work on that.

I smile, and Bobby does too. We start to crack up. The tension falls away like autumn leaves and soon we’re just laughing together.

Me and Bobby finish our drinks and we get up together. I just wrap my arms around him without saying a thing, and he clutches to me. I don’t know what I was worried about, the way I was practically pulling my hair out by the root on the train here. Blood is always thicker than water.

“Hey… do you… I mean, are you gonna, like, change your name?”

More laughter. Neither of us know how these conversations are supposed to work. We’re learning together.

“Um… I think I like Bobby still. But, like… with an ‘I’ instead of a ‘Y?’”

“Oh, yeah! That makes sense! Cool!”

And that’s it. The story gets a happy ending. The father and his progeny are reunited. There’s nothing but future here, no past to suffer underneath of.

Bobbi and me walk out of the Starbucks and I wait with him while he hails a cab. I cover the fare, and throw in some extra. I know it seems hollow, but come on. I’m rich as fuck. It’s only right.

We hug again and I wave while the taxi pulls away. I watch the roof of the car weave through traffic and join up with a hundred others, like a school of bright yellow fish moving in a sea of other cars. Finally I let myself look at the cell phone in my pocket that’s been buzzing for an hour. No way was I going to let anything interrupt this time with my kid. No way.

It’s my sister. Half a dozen calls, voicemail icon flashing full. Finally, one simple text to blow out the candle on a great day.

“Mom’s dead.”

Buried in Brotherly Hate Has Zero Fear

Thu, 21 Jul 2016 21:00:03 -0700

[England, 02 Arena, Random Dark Boiler room]

Shade is in a corner of the boiler with his grey metal bat. He is beside canister of paint which he use by dipping his bat into to make the bat colour to turn into black. He then leaves the bat to dry as he takes a seat and leans on the wall watching the camera. Which zooms out to reveal graffiti of shade in a pose, but it like a cathedral window, graceful, holy and pristine. but it as a creepy vive to it.

Shades phone starts ringing. He moves his arm and removes his phone from his trench coat, placing his phone right in front of him. He then glances at the call before he raises his hand and using his ring finger, he then press the answer button saying in an annoyed, trying keeping his cool.

What is it bos.... I mean Lord what do you want ?

It was Ghost Tanks who laughs confidently through the phone saying

So with that tone of voice, It feels like you don't want your fiancee back in pieces, So I'm guessing she is going to lose a fingernail or she's burnt hair.

Shade quickly retracts by saying

It was a joke Lord, anyways what do you want I'm kind of getting ready to take my brother to a special place which your opponents would be familiar with. emm that place would be called a coma. I hear it's a quick alright place, especially if the guy are useless pieces of shit.

Shade then grabs the bat that he dipped into black paint. he then wraps a paper that has writing on it which say ''Key to El Strange happy place''. He then grabs a second canisters which is filled with dark blue and the bat into it, as Ghost Tanks reacts to Shade by laughing confidently saying.

Now that is what I want to hear. But I still don't think you can step up to the plate and prove everyone wrong with your skills or else hope might suffer a bit of water boarding for an hour. Also I will personally put you into a coma, as you said. Also break a leg. I'm serious break his leg.

Ghost Tank ends the call by saying in a serious tone to shade.

Now shade, I don't give a shit on what you do with your brother. But you know I see you as a son and I want to make you the next best. Better than Frodo, Better than Mcbitch, Better than Gilmour, and definitely better than Shane. But of course you will never pass me because I am already the greatest and no one will be on top of me, but they can come close second if they want.

Shade rolls his eyes. But being obedient he says convincing Ghost Tanks not to look rebellious.

I understand what you mean master and yes you are the greatest man in this company and I could never compare to you. I would be happy to reach number two to see you succeed master... blah blah blah. Master I will be by your side. But I don't want to be licking your dick every time we try to have a conversation. So I will be hanging up and getting back to work setting the area for my humiliation on the most ungrateful piece of shit that is trying to force me to force me to his side and trying to take over your stable so goodbye my lord.

Before Shade could press the hang up button Ghost Tanks says.

Wait, One more question. What your relationship with Hightower.

Shade replies

What ?

Ghost Tanks then says

You know, Luna Hightower because recently you been a bit friendly towards her and it kind of suspicious that you of all people being nice to somebody that isn't Me or Hope.

Shade answers him straight and directly before hang up saying.

Master, One were drinking acquaintances and sometimes I play poker with her and her friend and other than that we don't really communicate except if we were in the same match or were tagging together. Anyways bye my Lord.

Ghost tank tries to stop shade from hanging up by saying

Hey wait I have one mor............

The phone cuts. Shade then turn off the phone and puts it back into his coat. he then looks at the paper wrapped bat and peels the paper off. He mutter to himself.

It is done.

He then turns to the camera and says.

Brother to be honest I fucking hate you but I'm not going to destroy you because I want you to destroy yourself. But wishes never come true do they brother. But I have decide to go with something that lets me be more innovative, but it has a history to it. Which was why I picked the boiler room match. So that I can make you admit that I was always the superior sibling. But I know I'll add Frodo as the special guest referee or Giard if frodo doesn't sexually harass him before the end of the day. Anyways brother what I'm leaving you with is Fuck you and I hope you don't show you pathetic face after I'm done with you Brother nero.

Shade then starts walking away from the camera into the darkness before stopping and turning saying.

No need to bring a weapon there is already a fuck ton.

Shade then snaps his finger and the room lights up revealing every weapon ever featured on XWF programing even Maverick midget cock and balls. Shade then finishes what he was saying as the camera battery turns beeps out of battery.

I also made a special bat that hand your name written on it and want to taste your bloody and send you to a very special place. See you on Friday.

The camera turns off

[End Of Transmission]

50 foot fall

Thu, 21 Jul 2016 15:25:25 -0700

London is the Capital City of England and one of the most visited cities in the world. It is home to not just British born residents but even foreigners have been able to move here. London has the Queen, a woman The Union respect, it is home to the Queens home, Buckingham Palace. Familiar landmarks such as Big Ben, Tower Bridge, the murky Thames and the London eye all feature in this popular City.
London is as much about wide-open spaces and leafy escapes as it is high-density, sight-packed exploration. Central London is where you will find the major museums, galleries and most iconic sights, but visit Hampstead Heath or the new Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park to escape the crowds and view the city’s greener hues up close. Or venture even further out to Kew Gardens, Richmond or Hampton Court Palace for excellent panoramas of riverside London.
London has something for everyone: from history and culture to fine food and good times.

XWF is live in London at the o2 arena for the pay-per-view known as Leap Of Faith. This is the third LOF PPV in XWF history and the first for both challenger, Scully and XWF Universal Champion, Loverboy Vinnie Lane. Another first for the two men, they will meet for the first time ever in a one on one match. It will be decided in a 50foot ladder match, another first for both men. Never before have they competed in a ladder match which was so tall, yes they had been in ladder matches before but not with ladders this big. It is also Scullys first ever XWF Uni title match and it will be Scullys first ever XWF Universal Championship win.

Scully had just pulled up into a car park in a hired 2016 silver E Class Mercedes-Benz, somewhere in Englands capital. He parks the Merc in a bay, turns the ignition off and exits the vehicle. He is then greeted by Union members Felix Braddock and Charles Elton. All men smile at each other, Skull shakes the hand of Charles and then does the same with Felix but they also share a man hug.

"Man, I'm really not sure about this."

Felix: "If you're not sure now, then what you gonna be like at Leap of Faith?"

Charles: "Yeah Felix is right."

"I know, I know but I'm still not looking forward to this shit. Let's go."

Scully, Charles and Felix make their way through the car park and enter the double doors in front of them. They walk in and stop in their tracks to look at the view in front of them. Inside is a wrestling ring which is positioned in a very high standing building. Then.. In the middle of the ring, is a women flicking her bean. Just playing. Standing at 50 feet tall, positioned in the centre of the ring, that ladder which is longer than the extinct Tyrannosaurus rex. Skull looks up and takes a deep breath. The three men enter the ring and look at all the steps leading to the top of the ladder.

Charles: "I'm glad I'm not you!"

"Thanks man."

Felix: "Just go for it, Skull."

"Vinnie is a Cunt for choosing a ladder so big in the stipulation of our match. That wanker knows I don't like heights"

Felix: "That's why he did pal cuz as you said he's a cunt. Oh and a wanker."

Charles: "And a prick. You were alright in that scaffold match against Vinnies best friend, Darren Dangerous."

"Yeah but this ladder isn't as sturdy as that scaffold was."

Charles: "True. Look the quicker you do it, the quicker it's over with."

"Easy for you to say, Charles. You do it then!"

Charles: "But I don't have to do it, that's the difference."

Felix: "Look I'll do it. Just for the fun of it."

Felix grabs each side of the ladder, takes a breath and begins to climb. He slowly goes up it step by step, concentrates at the top. He surpasses the normal sized ladder used in professional wrestling, at about 20 feet. He continues until he gets to around 30 feet and stops. He looks down, then back up, down again, hovering over both Scully and Charles. Felix shakes his head and slowly begins climbing back down again. Scully and Charles look at each other and Felix reaches the bottom.

Felix: "Fuck that shit!"

Charles: "You only had twenty feet to go."

Felix: "Only?!"

"Well that's my title opportunity out the window."

Charles: "Just think that the XWF Universal Championship is sat there right now. You gotta ask yourself, how much do you want it?"

Scully looks way up top, his eyes suddenly light up. Skull grabs the sides, places his right foot on the bottom step and boom.. Off he goes. Skull climbs as quick as he can, his Union teammates shouting supporting things to him. Skull has done it, he gets to the top of the ladder and grins. He smiles and places his ass on the top, sitting down. He looks down at his teammates and says a famous line from the movie 'Home Alone.'

"Harry, I've reached the top."

Felix and Charles applaud Scully and cheer for him. Scully spreads his arms out, stands up and says another famous line from another movie, 'Titanic.'

"I'm the king of the world... Wahoooo"

Felix and Charles laugh at Scully. He raises his arms like he has won. Oh wait... Suddenly Scully loses his balance and slips, falling off the ladder, down, down, down he goes and hitting his head first, right to the canvas. Luckily, he just missed the turnbuckle otherwise he may have ended up like wrestling legend, Owen Hart. F and C rush over to Scully, who is out cold. Charles grabs a bottle of water and tips it on Scullys face. Skull stirs, his vision blurred and his head spinning. F and C lift Scully, so he is sat up. Scully says something...

"Hey you guys!!!"

Don't tell me......

Ted and Dave are sat on a black leather sofa in small room. Next to them is a leather chair of the same colour as the sofa. Ted and Dave are messing around, punching each other in one anothers arm. They elbow one another too until that fake coughing noise can be heard to get their attention and they look into the camera. Ted introduces things.

Ted:"Hi I'm Ted."

Dave:"I'm Dave."

Ted&Dave:"Together we are Ted and Dave. Welcome X-W-F Fuckers!"

Ted:"Today we have a special Pest."

Dave:"Pest is here? That weirdo! Hide your daughters."

Ted:"I meant guest, Dave. Guest."

Dave:"Ain't David Gest dead?"

Ted:"Yeah I think so. Anyway moving on.. Here he is, your XWF Universal Champion..."

Dave"Loverboy Vinnie Lame"

'I Wanna Rock' by Twisted Sister begins to blast from a radio player in the room. Here he comes... Wearing a red bandana, black sunglasses and black shag bands on his wrists. Dressed in a black Motley Crue T-shirt, black leather pants with a belt, on the buckle it says 'Cock God' and black boots, it is...

Dave:"I hate this guy!"

Ted:"It's Scully, remember?"

Dave chuckles. Also carrying a replica XWF Universal Championship.. It is.. Vinnie Lame (It's Scully dressed like a nob)
Vinnie holds his hands in the air, gesturing those 'Hook em' Horns.' He begins nodding his head to the music, holding up a bottle of Kilrock descaler, he sings along to his theme just as the chorus hits. Ted & Dave stand up with their air guitars.

"I want Kilrock"Ted&Dave:"Kilrock"
"I want that Kilrock" Ted&Dave:"Kilrock"
"I want Kilrock" Ted&Dave:"Kilrock"
"Break my kettle you say?
Well, all I gotta say to you is time and time again
I say no" Ted&Dave:"No"
"No no, no no, no.
Make that shit go away?
Well, all I gotta say is use Kilrock everyday
I say Go" Ted&Dave:"Go"
"Go, go, go go, go"

The music suddenly stops, Ted & Dave loving every moment as Vinnie Lame sits in the leather chair in his leather clothes. He smiles at Ted & Dave who sit in the chair by him. Ted & Dave shake the hand of Vinnie Lame and the interview begins.

Ted:"So Vinnie... Before we get to the match and your opponent at Leap of Faith. How's your mum doing?"

Before Vinnie can answer, Dave interupts and sings.

Dave:"Where's ya mamma gone? Where's ya mamma gone?!"

Ted:"She ain't dead yet is she?"

Vinnie Lames eyes begin to fill up as tears begin run down his face and he removes his sunglasses to wipe those tears away.

"Dat wasn't very nice. My mummy could be dyin dudes and you joke about it? That's my mamma. She's still alive....

Ted & Dave get to their feet and start singing again, this time doing some disco dancing.

Ted&Dave:"Ahhh ahhh stayin alive. Ahhh ahhh stayin alive"

Ted & Dave sit down. Vinnie holds his head (it appears Scully's head is hurting from that fall)

"Where's your compost? Erm... I mean compass? God damn it.. Wats rong wid me dudes? My head hurts.
Compassion.
My mamma is my mamma and I love er. If she dies then who.. Who's goin' ta breast feed me? Who's goin' ta help me use da potty? Who's goin' to wipe my tushie? Who's goin' ta read me Thomas the Tank before I go ta bed? Who's goin' ta wash my skiddy knickers? Who?!"

Vinnie looks up. To his suprise both Ted & Dave are sobbing.

Dave:"Sorry Vinnie Lame."

Ted:"Me too!"

Both Ted & Dave burst out crying even more, the thing is they're actually crying their hearts out where Vinnie was acting. He must do something...

"Dudies.. Mamma will be okay. It's all fake to get people to feel sorry for me."

Ted & Dave suddenly stop crying and now look annoyed.

Ted:"You bastard!"

Dave:"You ruined our next question man... We were gonna ask you, if this situa? Ation? Will distract you in your match?"

"As I statued?

Vinnie grasps his chin (Scully had a headache and was struggling with words)

"Stated.. It's all fake so ssshhhhh okay?! I'm just doin' it to use as an exgoose? Excuse... Damn it! When I lose, I'll say it was cuz my mummy was on my brain."

Ted:"So you think Scully will beat you?"

"Radicole dudies. Of course he will. He's goin' ta take my barbie lookin' ass ta skool......"

Vinnie puts his head in his lap (Scully is feeling very dizzy) He suddenly falls off the chair and is passed out on the floor. Dave looks shocked, Ted runs to the door and yells down the corridor for the other Union members to come and help him.....

lizardsemen.exe

Thu, 21 Jul 2016 14:26:06 -0700

~You'll be passed over to lizardsemen.exe shortly, please listen to some relaxing tunes while you wait~

I’m currently sitting in an alleyway, wanking myself off. The only thing to soak the semen and leave me with a shred of dignity still intact is a few greasy cardboard boxes, the rotting corpse of a dead raccoon to the side of me, or the loneliness of the concrete floor. You know, you’ve never really comprehended the beauty of a good old slab of concrete until you’re pissed, tired and dying for a – but back to the dead raccoon.

I glance over at the black and white fur ruffling in the light breeze. I let a bead of saliva trickle down the side of my mouth as I fail to muster the power and courage to spit in its general direction to confirm my analysis that the poor cunt was dead. Pretty sure it’s dead. I sigh… such a waste of space, really. Digging through trash in a place it did not belong. Now - for some this may come across as a racial anecdote but it is far from that fact. You see, it was almost picturesque. I was the black, dark, evil, twisted bloke with an army of comrades and a perfectly placed title belt shrouding my collarbone. I was so confident. Some may call it arrogance, but they don’t exist because I’ve fucked their wife slash s and killed them before they had a chance to weep sweep salty tears. Then I swung my big balls around enough destroying shit like a bull in a china shop and proudly declared…

“I’ll retire if I lose.” escapes a muffled whisper, almost losing itself in the wind.

“…” responds the raccoon.

Guess what? That white meat, fucking infidel slaughtered me in front of millions watching around the world. So there’s that. I packed my bags full of all the rocks that didn’t skip across the lake, no matter how impeccably thrown they were by yours truly, and promptly made my exit. Macbeth went on to better things; winning the Intercontinental championship and turning away foes as noble as you can get in a company that openly does rape matches. Scully went on to better things, now well on his way to winning the Universal Title without my help, but me? Ha…

I’m currently sitting in an alleyway wanking myself off. Not with sexual desire or anxiety, merely boredom, as a constant pulse stroking my massive cock does wonders in keeping myself in a drone. Otherwise I start questioning my plane of existence, wondering why I started the Union and yet here I am skin tanned in Cali. I still keep up with shit

Fast forward. The morning sunlight penetrated my eyes and cast itself onto my chest between my unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, a thing so cartoonish and small it made me feel like a child. I think it was time to plan my exit. Gently, a word so harsh it makes me puke, I place one hand on the ground and manage to stabilise myself enough for my creaking bones to remain a complete structure. I then hug the wall for the rest of my very short journey out of the alley, until I stumble and spill out onto the pavement, finally joining the rest of the world again.

“Hey bro, fancy having a good time for a few bucks?” slurs a deep voice, as I glance over at a feminine figure in a low cut dress, crop top and cheap as fuck Barbie doll shoes. Her purse jingled with little coin underneath a sinister lamppost, casting a shadowy Godzilla like figure. She gave me a wink. A wink. She’s trying to persuade me with a wink. I could not help but think of the audacity… of this ugly fucker to stare me in the eyes and wish for ME to pay her for a good time? I’m the bloody Lounge Lizard you dumb sket! I thus, being a logical human being and thinking things through before I say them, decided to tell her just that, when I realise that she was no ordinary dumb bitch, nor even a bitch.

“Yo honey.” Mia Him snaps his fingers in front of my face, as I wonder why the infamous Cali-Thai homosexual pornstar plastered on all the billboards in the district is right here, attempting to scrounge money of the streets by selling her pathetic body.

“Get your filthy shit ridden fingernails away from me you cunt.” I spit as I swat his hand away. “I don’t fucking know you, why are you even here?”

“Well you see, I’m starting a new job, though I want to whore my body out a few times before I catch the flight to XWF headquarters. I’m currently replacing Maria Brink as his resident giver, though I must be prepared for a horny vacuum, because that superdick of his? Word around is that it doesn’t exist. It’s literally a stump. He’s a shell of what he used to be and can’t even afford the surgery that he claimed he had. Besides, he’s too busy training for Leap of Faith, I’m sure he’ll call for me when the time comes. Until then, I’m plying my trade that hasn’t been nearly as profitable since I moved from Thailand.”

“Leap of Faith?” I lunge and place both hands around the bloke’s scrawny neck. “Continue.”

“You know, the XWF PPV where the winner gets the briefcase!” He spluttered.

“I know that. I need numbers.”

“It’s towards the end of July! I don’t know like, the 20th?”

“And how the fuck do I enter?”

“I don’t know, Loverboy’s the one in charge of that.”

“THE Loverboy? Vinnie fucking Lane?”

He quickly nods before I let go, Mia Him damn near collapsing on the floor, his face bright red. This news was a revelation to me, a revelation as to why on earth that bumbling buffoon bastard was even in a position of power in the first place. I pause for a second before triumphantly announcing my intentions.

“Time to join the warfare.”

~lizardsemen.exe will commence in several weeks time~

The scene opens. Congratulations for identifying that Tush is sat on the ceramic, pearly white toilet having a shit. Congratulations for really paying attention to the excruciating yet satisfying look on yours truly's face as it turns a beautiful shade of red, following up with a plopping sound. Congratu-fucking-lations.

“Wagwan boys, it’s Tush. I’m about to do some trashtalk. Not that I’m going to do some trashtalk but…

See how stupid and inarticulate I sound? See how if you heard someone say that you’d want to grab a handle on the nearest pint of Clorox and down it before an old, grizzly fuck known as Morbid Angel announces that he has never been beaten, yet again? Funny as fuck that is. Well, feast your eyes upon this.

Fat old bastard Said: Moving on to someone I really don't know.

Tush! Not that I don't know you. I just think you are complete shit!

What in the gold almighty fuck was that? You have just butchered by favourite language. How the fuck does this even work? You claim you don’t know me, but state the exact opposite literally fucking seconds afterwards. This bloody crackhead, spouts victory forever, even after just getting his cunt punted in by a skeletal sket that I destroyed for the intercontinental title, before he swiftly he takes his leave, yet he says I’m complete shit. Unbelievable. Not only can he not even speak English, he’s also a hypocrite. I’M inconsistent? Mate, you went from winning the Universal title to being squashed by a 100lb white bitch in under a minute. I’ll tell you exactly why I escaped that wheelchair, and goes a little something like this. I wake up and check the time and its half past Tush. I celebrate the new year of two thousand and Tush. I go to church and pray to myself, Tush. I then realise that I’m the fucking Lounge Lizard and I can do whatever I please, so be it un-handicap myself at will.

Moving back on to Ginger Snaps, who I slaughtered and proved to the world that her nice, simpatico, SJW persona was nothing more than a gimmick as I submitted her for the Intercontinental title, that very fact makes me better than you. Hypothetically. But if you cast hypotheticals aside I’d still cut off your nans head and shit down her neck. Do one, you fat bastard. Run away from the XWF again so I don’t have to listen to your promos that are half you ranting about irrelevant shit and half lyrics from some black metal band that are just screaming long strings of words that makes them feel like they’re as edgy as a cutthroat razor. In reality, they are all suffering from a cancerous combination of homosexuality and mid-life crisis, just like you, so I’ll see you in a few years when you’re nothing but a paraplegic nugget. I’m going to barbecue your first born.

Then moving onto Peter Gilmour, the man who killed me several years ago, a man who strung me up from fishhooks as I lay motionless like a malnourished African baby, minus the massive head. What does he have to say?

Gilmour Said:Tush... finally we meet.

Finally? I met you years ago you stupid prick. This was pre liposuction, when you were still a fat little bastard and I was almost an entirely different person altogether, but I still met you. Your memory is fluffed because of all those Gilmour cutters through tables smeared with goat semen or whatever your latest match type fetish is. In fact, you get yourself into all these sexual and pathetic situations, I’m getting the feeling it’s all you. You wanted your cock cut off. You wanted to replace Maria Brink with a man. That’s the general vibe I’m feeling.

Pfft. Some guy named Lome… that man is the same man who slaughtered you to retain the Universal Championship, whether he is a cross dressing hoofwanking bunglecunt or not. He’s downplaying all of my achievements and forcing a point of all the adversity I’ve faced, which is ironic that he brings up Frodo because he raped you as well you dumb bastard. You won’t win this match, I’m sure of that. You’re going to wish you spent more than a couple of minutes talking about the almighty Lounge Lizard when I’m stamping your face into a bloody pulp, daft bint.”

Tush lets out when last victory shit, which really takes the wind out of him, he’s close to passing out!

“Right… I’m going to wrap this up.

Alexis Riot? Ginger haired slag, I’m going to Azerbaijani beef twist her fanny and tie her in a knot with it so she can’t do any leaps for shit.

Dim? I’m going to confuse the fuck out of him with verbal reasoning and then I’m going to dropkick his nan off of the arena.

Luna Hightower? Dunno who that dumb bitch is, but I’m going to bullfrog her so hard over my washing machine that she’ll explode into a million pieces, which I’ll sweep up, put in a bin bag and make a porridge out of it before serving it to her nan. Then I’ll record her reaction when she finds out its you, teabag her forehead and then execute her.

Christopher Isles? I’m going to grab that useless assemblement of flesh and amputate his legs, then he’ll join his alzheimered nan while she’s wheeling around town in a wheelchair with dead pigeons stuck in the spokes – FOREVER.

Woman from St Louis? I don’t know who St Louis is but I’m guessing he’s your nan, so I’m going to mutilate your body and send you in a parcel to her.

I think that’s all.”

I look to the side of me and notice there’s absolutely no bloody toilet paper left. I sigh a sigh filled with being an absolute don before pulling out an In This Moment CD and wiping my shit with that instead, where the scene fades to black. I think. The editor better leave that shit in or I’ll assassinate his nan.

Meet the New Boss

Wed, 20 Jul 2016 22:44:59 -0700

"Andy Warhol once said 'In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes'. Which begs the question: what do you do when those fifteen minutes are over?"

Thomas Girard rolled his eyes at the speaker: a woman he'd never met, yet whose reputation preceded her. He regretted showing up as early as he did, though he let himself off the hook rather quickly - after all, who expected her to actually go through with this? A "Life After Quasi-fame" (as was printed on the cheap banner that hung above her) seminar, from the woman who dropped off the face of the Earth after her last appearance in an XWF ring; who avoided actual public appearances, making a living off exploiting that fleeting "quasi-fame" to shill knickknacks and wondertools during infomercial blocks in the dead of morning. Hardly seemed logical, yet here they both were.

"I know, I know; I'm hardly an expert source on this subject. After all, I'm not even sure I ever really qualified as famous. Maybe to a niche audience sure, but I guess it never really hit me that I was a public figure. I never had to worry about keeping a positive reputation because the XWF always preferred their competitors to be, controversial, to say the least."

He rubbed his eyes. This was going to be the death of him. One quick glance at the other audience members around him told him everything he needed to know about this conference: it was a circle jerk of washups, hasbeens, and neverweres. Twitching junkies and sullen alcoholics - her people. He inspected his target as she wandered aimlessly on stage. To see her smile was off-putting, to say the least. Her wide, joyless grin seemed plastered onto her face - a Stepford special if ever there were one.

"Matter of fact, it wasn't until I became the spokeswoman for the uh, shark-tooth knife I think it was - name escapes me at the moment - that I actually had to at least stay neutral when it came to my public persona. Though, by that point I didn't have a public persona to speak of so it all worked out perfectly. Uh, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I think I'm better off now than I was before whatever level of fame I achieved, and definitely better than I was during the most profitable stage of my life. I don't really know why I was invited to this event in the first place, or why I decided to come. You would not believe how many letters I've gotten from my old high school, asking me to give some kinda feel good, hard work is key speech as if I didn't luck my way into that position in the first place."

At least she admitted it. That had to be good for something. What wasn't good for anything however, was the fact that she was already going off topic - if you could call angsting about not being remembered for being on a children's show in the 1990s a topic. He let his head drift backwards until it met the top of the steel folding chair he was seated in, sliding down in his seat. With any luck she'd run out of steam and fizzle out in the most accurate imitation of her wrestling career ever performed, though he knew he wouldn't be that lucky. He never was.

"Looking back at it though, do I miss wrestling? Fuck no. Do I regret ever getting into the business? Fuck no. See, this is what we have to look forward to in our old age? Is that what this is? Probably. This is the best possible outcome any of us could hope for: to not miss the fame, but to not regret it. What's the point in that? Just, undue stress and trust me, I've held onto my fair share of that over the years. Fair to say you all have, too."

The woman approached the edge of the stage, the smile on her face faded.

"If we're being honest, do I particularly enjoy being a spokeswoman for trite little tchotchkes? Not a chance. But, you know, it pays the bills and it's less fucking insane than the wrestling business. Uhm..."

This was getting painful. Watching her stutter and stumble her way through something that used to come so naturally for her. He sighed and kept his eyes pointed away from the lurching trainwreck in front of him and instead at the flickering fluorescent lightbulbs overhead. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted at the lights, gritting his teeth slightly as the woman seemingly found her train of thought.

"I was at an AA meeting a while back - was maybe twenty days sober then - and there was this guy there. He was almost six months sober and he said something that stuck with me: 'everyone hates their job. The trick is to find a job that doesn't make you hate yourself'. That's the thing; for a lot of us, our fling with fame left us broken and self-loathing. The job made us hate ourselves and so we tried to cope by self-medicating with drugs, alcohol, anything that we thought would make us whole if only for a short time. Then we got kicked to the curb with nothing but the neurosis and anger and loathing that plagued us. Then, when we fuck up the vultures masquerading as journalists are right there, ready to pick our bones clean. 'Remember that person you might recognize? Well they're a fucking loser now!' That's why we have fucking seminars about this shit, because no one was there to tell us that it wouldn't be forever. That sooner or later we'd have to come back to reality. It's crazy. Absolutely fucking insane. And-and I think that's the key to life after quasi-fame: realizing the underlying insanity in the whole system and understanding that it's not your fault - it's the fault of a system that will continue to do this to people for the rest of eternity."

"Find a job that doesn't make you hate yourself," he repeated, rubbing his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his left hand. The words felt like poison on the tip of his tongue as her recited them; how dare she talk about work-induced self-loathing as if she really understood that feeling? "If only it were that simple."

"That's it. I know, I should have some kind of snappy way to summarize whatever it was I just ranted about but the only thing I had planned to say when I got on stage was that Warhol quote. Thank you for your time."

She curtseyed before stepping off the stage, her exit marked with sparse applause from the few people in the already barren audience who were actually paying attention. "Finally," he muttered under his breath, pushing himself out of the chair and cracking his back, keeping his eye on the woman as she slipped through the set of double-doors by the hastily constructed stage. Rubbing his eyes, he pushed his way through the crowd of pathetic gits that occupied the room with him. He'd have to wash his hands after talking to the woman, he acknowledged as he shoved the doors open. He was greeted by a cool draft of wind against his face.

There she was, seated on a plush leather sofa in the hotel's lobby, phone pressed against her ear. He ran a hand through his hair to make sure everything was in place and straightened his tie - he was on business now, after all. The plastic, neutral grin found its way back to his face as he approached the woman. She raised an eyebrow when she caught a glimpse of him and as he made his way into earshot he heard her whisper:

"Hey, I'm gonna have to call you back."

Her eyes met his, and a sly smile crossed her face.

"Should I get my whistle out now or are you going to keep your hands to yourself?"

Girard scoffed, then forced a smile onto his face to match her's. This was how you deal with these types, he reminded himself, let them into your head and they win.

"Funny. From the parts of your little speech I was awake for, it sounded like you didn't follow XWF much anymore."

"You're right. I don't. I do frequent Jezebel, though. There was a great article about your little, oh what's the word someone like you would call it? Indiscretion. Sounds about right at least."

This fucking woman.

"Mademoiselle, I--"

"Skip the verbal foreplay, Girard. Tell me what's really on your mind."

He opened his mouth to speak, but got cut off once again.

"Oh, really shouldn't have said foreplay, huh?"

"I swear to fucking God--"

"Of course you'd swear to the fucking God."

"Can-can I finish a sentence?"

She shrugged, the smile on her face stretching wider.

"I don't know... can you? Try talking faster."

"Very well. I don't think I need to explain why I came all the way to this little slice of Hell, looking for you. I hope you're smart enough to figure that out on your own."

"You're right. You haven't whipped your dick out yet so I guess you're here to try and get me to come back. Now, why's that? That's the thing that's puzzling me."

"Braddock--"

"Right, that whole nasty trial business. Jezebel takes any chance it can to take shots at the XWF, should've known this already. But, why me? Why not someone like, I don't know, Arzegotti? You guys are due for the herpes flare-up that is his career, aren't you?"

"That rat-faced prick's dropped off the face of the Earth again. Apparently, he's recording a rap album. Believe me, you weren't my first pick for a replacement."

"Color me surprised: the misogynistic rapist didn't jump at the opportunity to invite a woman into the boy's club that is his vision for XWF's future."

"You got me all wrong, I'm not a misogynist or a rapist."

"I'm getting under your skin though, ain't I?"

Girard felt a certain genuineness in his smile as he leaned forward, locking eyes with the woman. He didn't remember the last time he felt this.

"You give yourself too much credit. This is nothing."

She gasped and clutched her chest in a theatrical, exaggerated manner.

"Be still, my beating heart. I have to admire your balls, though. That's not an invitation to present them, by the by. No, I gotta hand it to you: you're standing here right now, trying to get me to come back to the XWF after I just finished giving a speech saying I don't miss wrestling at all. Got a lot of confidence, at least."

"Don't take this personal; we just need a replacement. Maybe someone to get a few people in the audience excited. I know, that's a big maybe. This isn't another contract. It's just one night. Show up, get a paycheck, leave. Simple stuff."

"I've already made my lack of interest apparent, Girard. This is why it's so easy to believe you're a rapist."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you. After all, no one really stays retired in this business. Though for now, I guess I have to find someone else."

He turned on one heel and took a step away from the woman.

"You know what? Fine. One night. One condition: book me under an alias. Something. Anything. Gonna get this out of my system once and for all."

"As you wish, Miss--"

"This is the part where you shut up, before I change my mind."

He chuckled - breathy and light. The game was over. He won. This was how you beat those types - remind them they aren't the most important thing in the world.

"As you wish," he repeated, struggling to contain the smile on his face.

"Loverboy" - Ball and Chain

Wed, 20 Jul 2016 18:53:25 -0700

Huntington Hospital, Huntington New York - Wednesday morning.

“Look, ma. There he is when he was a baby.”

I’m sitting next to my mother, who’s tied up in a dreamcatcher of hospital wires. IVs, monitors, breathing tube, feeding tube, painkillers, and so on. She looks like some kind of husk. Some puppet, a marionette, dangling from all the tubes and wires. She can’t talk, or really even move, but when I show her the pictures, her hand squeezes mine just a little. I can tell she is glad to see them.

I don’t know if I feel the same, though. They came in the mail a few days ago, just a pile of glossy photos from years ago. Things I never got to see. Nikki and Bobby when he was a newborn, a baby, a toddler, a little boy… I see Nikki smiling in ways that I’d completely forgotten about. Lucid, sober smiles. Real happiness. Love.

I see a little boy who has my smile. My blue eyes. My blonde hair. In one picture he’s smiling and flirting with an animal trainer at Busch Gardens down in Tampa, a girl who couldn’t even be 21 in that picture. She blushing like the High Scholl quarterback just called her beautiful and asked her to prom. He was already a little heartbreaker. A loverboy.

“See him here, mom? He’s just learning to walk.”

Her soft hand, like warm tissue paper, squeezes me ever so gently. The heart monitor continues with its rhythmic pulse across a screen I can’t see, beeping reassurances I’m not sure I believe.

My mom has never met Bobby. Hell, I only met him a year or so ago. I never even knew about him until Nikki called me out of the blue one day, and even then I thought she was full of shit. I had just gotten really big, I knew she was just trying to find a way to get some of my new money so she could shove it into a needle and put it in her veins.

But he was real. Is real. He even went on the road with me. It was actually pretty cool having the little dude around. It made things tough, though. The road. Once I started really blowing up and winning singles titles and being on call at all times for pressers, meet and greets, talk shows… I could tell it wasn’t going well for Roxy. I mean, the things she’s been through… we don’t even know if she could ever have a kid, you know? Having to be stuck at home with her fiancé’s son from a previous relationship, well, it was dragging her down, man.

Problem was, I blamed her a little. I shouldn’t have. I’m the one who made the choice and I know now that she’d have done whatever I wanted to do. I was stupid. I thought it was best for everyone if Bobby went back home to Nikki, like we had originally planned. It’s not like he doesn’t love her or anything. For a junkie, she actually managed to raise a pretty good kid, after all.

So when Bobby wouldn’t even look at me the day he got on that plane, when he hugged Roxy goodbye but not me, I took it out on her. I let my hurt blind me and it put a wide chasm between us, emotionally. I had sent him away because I thought Roxy would leave if I didn’t, but then after all was said and done, I didn’t have either of them. I fucked up.

“Oh look! Here he is at Easter time. They were dyeing eggs and he’s drinking the water! It’s all over his face!”

Mom squeezes my hand a little harder, and I can tell she is trying to get my attention. I look down at her little grey face in the pillow and she gestures with her hand, making a sort of arthritic pointing movement with her thumb towards me. She’s nodding as best she can.

“I did that? With the Easter eggs, I did that too?”

Her nodding gets faster and she smiles, the corners of her mouth turning up around the tube running down her throat. The nurse told me there was a good chance that tube wasn’t coming out. I might not get to hear my mom talk anymore.

“What about this, huh? Did I ever write all over the wall with magic markers like Bobby did here?”

Mom nods again at the picture and I actually manage to smile and laugh along. I didn’t enjoy much about my visit to Tampa in 2014, but one thing I distinctly remember is that wall. Nikki never painted over it or cleaned it off, and at the time I took it as a sign of laziness. I thought some other kid had done it, maybe one of the ones she said she babysat for sometimes. Then I saw the picture I was holding up for my mom, with Bobby and the wall covered in ribbons of color, a wild, unkempt rainbow spread across them both. His infectious smile was as white as the only thing he was wearing – a saggy diaper. Nikki was more human than I’d given her credit for, and she just wanted to keep the wall it had been that day.

One thing that’s tough to deal with regarding these pictures, though, is the fact that I’m not in any of them. Here’s my kid, growing up, seemingly older in every photo, and I’m not there. I wasn’t even aware that I wasn’t there. Who knows what I was doing when my son said his first word or took his first steps? And that’s why one day last week it really hit me. While I was sitting here looking at the pictures, feeling sad for myself for not being there, I was letting it happen all over again… only this time I knew it.

I think mom noticed the tear that rolled off of my cheek. Or maybe the one that she spilled was just a coincidence. All I know is I was busy locking eyes with her when I felt my phone buzz. I’d probably just ignore it, but it’s being persistent. Most times people just call once and leave a message, but this had some urgency. I guess there’s no harm in checking your cell phone, deathbed or no deathbed. Welcome to life in 2016.

“Oh shit… I mean… oh my god.”

I felt her hand squeezing and I knew she was asking me what was going on.

“It’s Bobby! He called. I guess I didn’t get a voicemail alert because of the shitty, er, crappy service here in the ICU. I got texts, though…”

And just like that, she’s the one holding my hand. Like I fell of my bike the first time or was on my way to my first day of kindergarten. She was back to being the one comforting and soothing me. Mothers are always mothers, no matter what.

“Mom he says he’s in New York, too! In the city. He must have been checking the XWF site if he knows I’m here. What the fuck is he doing in New York? Sorry, shit. I mean. Forget it.”

I text him back with my right hand, still having my left squeezed by my mother’s. I might need a heart monitor myself soon, it feels like my chest might explode. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous.

He replies right away. Him and Nikki moved up here a few months back. He was trying to get into Juilliard! Jesus, he’s still so young… and New York City is a tough town. Funny that I went from Long Island to Tampa to chase my dreams and he chased his in the other direction. And how impressive is it that Nikki would be willing to uproot her entire life, everything she’s ever known, to help him make it happen?

“Oh wow… mom… he says he wants to see me while I’m here…”

I want to go. I don’t want to go all at the same time though. My mom’s lying here probably dying, you know? But it’s my son. I’m torn, I don’t know which way to go or what to do… so, just like always, mom teaches me what the right thing to do is.

She squeezes me one more time, and she nods her head toward the phone while keeping her eyes locked on mine.

“I mean… I can still catch the LIRR out to the city. It’s only like an hour. I can meet him, and make it back to see you some more before I have to leave. Right?”

She nods again, and her hand on mine is firm. She’s telling me to go. That it’s okay.

“I WILL come back. I’m gonna bring you a shitload of flowers too, ma, I promise. Sorry again about the cussing.”

Her eyes are wet, but not as wet as mine. I finally have to break my gaze away from hers and check my neon Swatch, pulling up the LIRR times on my phone browser at the same time.

“Crap. Okay, yeah. I’m gonna go do this. Thanks, ma. I love you something crazy, you know that? Don’t you get any dumb ideas about dying or anything, either. After I get back from England and you get out of here, I’m gonna fly you out to Los Angeles and you’re gonna see what the good life is all about. I promise. You hear me? I promise, you’re gonna get to see the Pacific.”

We’re both crying like babies, and I’m still the one, I think being comforted by her instead of the other way around. Here she is, lying in a hospital bed with who knows what going on inside of her… but she’s the one lifting me up.

I bend over and I kiss her on the forehead, and then again right on the back of her hand, right on top of the IV bandage. She keeps nodding, and I tell her goodbye and that I’ll be back to see her again.

Then I go.

But this time I’ve got a cell phone with a camera, and the pictures are going to have me in them.

Drezdin vs Crimson dong

Wed, 20 Jul 2016 11:59:56 -0700

Drezdin:oh Crimsypoo honey where are yyyooouuu? I was dreaming about you last night. I was dreaming about you because I feel sssooo sorry for you in that in do time your sorry ass has to wrestle a 7'2" 300 plus pound winless giant that will kill you by pouring gasoline on you and setting you a blaze...or should I say a inferno blaze of victory. I just hope that even if I don't kill you and you are miraculously still alive after when I defeat you I hope you realize that you made a hugh misteak in challenging me. In fact now that I think about I wonder what will happen to your moral or even your mental state when you loose to a winless shumck like me after we had our match. Crimson dong you piche demare puta remember this, in the near future when you do participate in other matches don't make the same misteak with others like you did with me. Though I hate your soon to be burnt to an extra crispy ass just don't want to to become some one else's bitch like you will be mine.[/align]

I will cunt you so hard you will ass!

Wed, 20 Jul 2016 00:00:57 -0700

Okay so this scene opens why I have seen a wide opening like the Sea of Astrodome and McCullough's and I would know you're viewing the 96° temperature day. One thing that stands out in this propyl gondola is that the Crimson dong is sitting on his golden silver mix Ruby Thoreau morning and he is currently using his cell phone device thing to take pictures of himself taking big goddamn smelly fucking dumps into his toilet because somebody invited him into the Facebook group for posting poofies and as we all know of poofie is a selfie of you taking a big ass dump in your smelly ass bathroom you sexy bitches. And now the scene changes to the Crimson dong looking very depressed and happy. He thinks of a time when happiness wasn't bought by measly little pills and all it takes was a gallon of human dogshit to brighten his days.

DONG: and what am I going to do about finding my happiness I don't know what to do because my poop is like pebbles and hard rocks but I wanted toaster. Softer poops. Wher find? How get?

AND BITCH THAT WHEN IT HAPPON! HE GET HIS ANSWER ALL NIGHT LIKE THE WHITE FRIGHT OF SDJLKFJIGHT! The skies open up and a cloud of rayne drops de-sends from high above. A god in the shapes of the famous ambassadors Cheech and Chong cough a shit storm of smoke into Don'g face knowledge. This coughing cloud infects the thinking razors in Dong's fucked up looking head and turn him purely to the genius you all know him to be in 2023 but here we see it begin! Yes!

DONG: I have acquired the intelligence required to find what I need. And you know what I need. I.... NEED.... DAT.... PUSS!!!! Where is that dripping wet puss puss? I can smell the fish in the air!

As his speaking abilities appear to improve somewhat, I also become a better narrator with less mistakes. This is so cool. Thanks Cheech and Chong!

Cheech and Chong: We're only just getting started, pendejo!

Since I've watched their movies, I know they mean it to be a compliment when they call me pendejo. Yeah you pot heads remember that scene too, admit it. Driving all up on the wetbacks' lawn and then when they come rushing out Chong greets them with a smile and an exuberant "bendeco" or whatever the heck he says it like. The point is they all understand and now I'm about to hit this bowl. BRB

K I'm back and stoned as fuck I don't even know where I was at in this story. I guess Crimson Dong was already on his cell phone swiping through sexy bitches on Tinder when I left off, right? Yeah I thought so! So from here things can only get better because now Dong lands on a very hot profile and he has to pause and take in her beauty...

DONG: I need dat puss dat puss! This bitch is fine as hell dude! Holy nutsac! This woman looks like she was put on this earth for the purpose of making me cum inside her tight little puss puss. My god she's so fucking hot!!!!!

And now we see a closeup of the profile he is viewing and we know exactly why he's so turned on by this sexy lady and thoughts of her dripping wet pussy. Look how hot this chick is! Look!

Yeah go ahead look!

Hurry up!

Look at her!

See? If this isn't the perfect female specimen I don't know what is.

DONG: I must have this woman. She will be my bride! I wanked the roll your own popsick stand but your bukkake bluecock won't press off!

...Wow, ok so it looks like our dear friend the Crimson one has already degraded back to not really knowing how to speak very well. At least I'm not goobled forken the save fate. Wuh? SJDlfewf fuck! I are palm face the times 100 level up my sorrow to now. Twats fun whiles it lasted?

Who Leopolly Leo borrow borrow cannot watch Dolly on this is broken down to the bare bones of the bottom of the levelers this sucks no more good speaker ability to speak ability speakable but what Fucking dumb bitch but outwardly invalid coaches eat at sonic Moss bada this is getting worse this is getting worse this be getting wireless BN thespian getting a wars horse horse horses eyes

...

Grupenfruitafucckessassb owerbyeaobonerputpusewfikation?

English check 1, 2

English check 1, 2

Fuck we may not have much time left. I sniffed some coke off a tranny's boner to get my wits about me again. Dong is over there still drooling all over himself and nibbling on a piece of shit that's wrapped securely in a leather condom.

DONG: Drezdin you gay!

Dong clearly feels like his opponent for Leap of Faith is of the homosexual persuasion but what is he going to do about it?

DONG: Fuck you ass!

... shit, I'm not sure... Does Dong mean he is going to fuck Drezdin's ass or is he just saying fuck you and then calling Drezdin an ass? Dammit!

DONG: I shove Drezdond's dogma straight to shit ball. Show me what he said and dids! SHOW! ME!

And just like that Dong's commands are answered because he's just that much of a bad ass mofo who don't take no dick up the ass from no man and you bet your ass I know my double negatives so yes you know exactly what I just said about him and it's truth! Now as per his request and demand we start to see Drezdin's entire promo and it's been properly quoted because if you hit multi-quote on a person's promo and then go into Looking For a Fight and open any thread and go down to the quick reply box you see a small link under the text box that says you can quote your selected posts. Click it and oh shit boom there's the properly quoted promo just like magic mushrooms in your ass!

(07-15-2016, 10:02 AM)drezdin5788 Said: (The scene opens up as we see drezdin sitting on a bar stool backwards in a undisclosed location laughing historically.)

Drezdin:ladies and gentlemen of the xwf universe and for those that are sitting at home today is a hugely mega HELL YEAH special occasion for me.....well since for the past five days it was announced that it was. You see in mere five days time I not only get to kill the person but the life and career of one Crimson dong in leap of faith on July 20, 2016. In a match that is not normal, a match that is littleraly in every since freighting and horrifying, a match that I get to name the stipulation(s), a match lets just say that it won't be for the week of heart; a match that I'm pritty sure that after what I'll do to the Crimson idiot himself it'll be banned or I'll be fired sight on seen. You see I'll admit up front that when I read that I had gotten quote on quote the power to name any stipulation(s) that I wanted I was happy; happy in a since that the endless possibilities were beyond the count of me., i was giddy as a school boy. On the other hand I was scared, I didn't know what the best stipulation(s) would be the best to carry out what I wanted to do muchless how I wanted it to go, I mean it was thee up most important that what I wanted to do to him is what I wanted to give back to the people and to the xwf company. But then I stoped and realized that all along there was just one match that would get the job done and go the way I wanted to go. What is the stipulation you maybe wondering? The stipulation that I Drezdin had chosen is in three words...HUMAN...TORCH...MATCH!!! In that match to win is very simple, there are no DQ, count outs, pin falls, no submissions, no nothing. You have to beat the every living shit out of your opponent to where you have to pour gasoline on him and light him on fire; or as I like to call it a inferno blaze of victory. Ladies and gentlemen this time the ball is in my court the odds are in my favor. When I get my hands on him he won't know what hit him and after the match it over when I defeat him all you will see is him is in a blaze of fire of his own mangled up pile of ashes. Crimson dong you stupid son of a bitch, I hope you know what you are doing when in challenging me. You've met your maker and desmise.

(the scene fades to black as drezdin laughs evilly)

Dong has left the scene and didn't even watch this promo. FUCK ME IT'S PAST THE DEADLING I GOT TO POST THIS SHITWW08 WUE0I8EHEOIRGHERAIOGVRE

Miraculous Return

Wed, 20 Jul 2016 00:00:15 -0700

Before July 3rd Savage Saturday Night

Jakob Davis was not pleased. At all. He was was woken up from his peaceful slumber and was forced to pick up his father, who (somehow) got stuck in Puerto fucking Rico, and now he was on a plane with Gavin (Gavin was already awake and offered to come with Jakob to find his father), flying to Puerto Rico and on short notice, burning most- if not all- of Jakob's sum of money that he had collected from wrestling for the XWF. Joy.

Jakob had been trying to get some much needed rest, however being sandwiched between a seventy-year old grandma and Gavin wasn't making things easier. Not to mention, an airplane ride wasn't the best sort of bed for Jakob, who continually tossed and turned on the plane and threatened to either get walloped by the grandma's purse, or have Gavin try and cuddle him like a teddy bear, neither option seeming preferable for the young up-and-comer.

Speaking of Gavin, despite him somehow being awake when Jakob received those texts from his father, he was now snoring extremely loud, so much to the point where Jakob and other passengers that were still awake simply looked at him in amazement. It seemed to be a long night for Jakob, who decided he wasn't going to be getting any sleep. Pulling out his phone and earbuds, he slipped them in before hopping onto the XWF site. Surely old promos and matches could help him through the night...

Present Day

Jakob Davis was awestruck and horrified at the same time. Awestruck, in that believing in his abilities had got him a victory against Ginger Snaps- his new crush- and had got him a Hart title shot. What's his reason for being horrified?, some viewers may ask. Not only was Jakob thrust into the limelight again, which was a feeling he perpetually hated, as well as being forced to face a 6'8 monster in Ghost Tank, but a killing machine who had underworld ties in Michael McBride. Jakob was fearing both opponents and dreading stepping into the squared circle with them come Day 1 of Leap of Faith.

Of course, that didn't mean his current situation was much better.

"COME ON, YOU FUCKING PASTY ASS ! I WANT TO SEE BULLETS OF SWEAT DRIP DOWN YOUR FACE!" Tim Davis blew hard on the whistle he possessed, commanding Jakob to continue doing push-ups.

Jakob groaned as a response; he REALLY doubted he was going to be able to out-muscle Ghost Tank, or out-wrestle Michael McBride. However, that didn't stop Tim from having his son having his limits pushed and then some. If his son was going to be facing two of the meanest mother fuckers in the XWF, then by God, he would have his son outperform them in every single category.

"COME ON! PUSH! IT!" Tim Davis screamed, so much so to the point where his voice threatened to crack. Jakob looked up to his father, every sweat gland his skin possessed working overtime, and shook his head, about to say something. However, he didn't bother and went back to doing his push-ups. "Yeah, that's what I fucking thought. YOU THINK GHOST TANK WON'T EAT YOU UP LIKE BREAKFAST? HUH?! OR YOU WON'T THINK THAT YOU'RE 'JUST ANOTHER TARGET' TO MICHAEL MCBRIDE?! YOU'RE GONNA OUTPERFORM THEM! YOU'RE MY MONEYMAKER, DAMMIT!"

Jakob was getting really annoyed to him being referred to as his father's "moneymaker," but he couldn't speak up against him, lest he risk another beating. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath and did another push-up, his arms screaming in agony.

"Use that pain, use it to make Ghost Tank cry like a bitch in the ring! Use that pain to make McBride tap out in agony! YOU'RE THE FUTURE HART CHAMP! Not McBride, and I'll be DAMNED if Ghost Tank walks away with a title defense. PUSH IT!" Tim continued to bellow.

If it meant getting his father to shut up, Jakob began using his father's words as encouragement. He began speeding up his push-ups, trying to ignore his muscles begging for him to stop this madness.

"There you fucking go! That's my boy!" Tim said, a smile finally painting his face rather than his signature scowl.

Trying for one last big push-up, Jakob wheezed, he tried and tried, his muscles only barely complying. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard his father call, "TIME!"

Jakob sucked in the air, that sweet, sweet air. He gasped it in as if it was his lifeline- scratch that, it is his lifeline. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. He knew his father was trying to repay him for finding him in that hellhole in Puerto Rico- however he got there- by getting him ready for his big Hart title match, but he wished that there was simply another way about this. Regardless, he planned on winning. Even though Jakob detested the limelight, he decided to bring some glory to his family and get a smile on his father's face.

He only hoped Lady Luck would be on his side.

"You fucking morons." Tim Davis shook his head in disgust as the camera for Jakob's promo began rolling. "How fucking dare you. The fact that both of you barely acknowledge my son, the next Hart Champion, proves both of you are farces. Jokes. You're blind to the real threat in front of you. I mean, my son defeated Ginger Snaps, a feat that neither of you two bozos can proclaim."

"Seriously, Tank. You're the joke of this federation now. You can't even beat Scully in a fair 2-on-1 handicap match, You even had your GOOD stablemate in Abaddon out there with you, and like a fucking moron you kept playing with your food instead of eating it, and Scully ended up getting the win. Seriously? And you have the gall, the GALL to say that you're a god among men. A god. No, if you were a god, you'd be undefeated. If you were a god, you'd be the king of this company. But no. If I were to go on the XWF website and look up "Ghost Tank," I'd find clips of a giant autistic making a fool of himself everyday, trying desperately to put himself on a pedestal so he can convince himself at night he actually mattered, only to fail and fall flat on his face most, if not every time."

"And I must question these "leadership skills" you boasted about. If you had half a brain, you wouldn't pick a bottom of the barrel jobberr in Shade, the guy who can't even win right without looking like a , such as his tie with LeStrange. If you had half a brain, you would have cut ties with him immediately as soon as he made your stable look like a joke, not that he needed to do much for that. Ghost Tank, eat a dick, you're terrible."

"Michael McBITCH, as a certain Leap of Faith participant would say. Who the hell haven't you lost to at this rate? I mean, your existence is pretty much a lower midcarder who can get wins over over Shade who don't even realize they're at the company to wrestler, but always fails when a match worth something comes his way. Jesus man, you can't get a win over Beltshitter Maverick, who might as well be a living torso at the rate his body parts are getting dismembered. McBride, I don't know what makes you seem relevant these days. You're nothing. A bonafide career scrub, and that's a compliment compared to Ghostie."

"The both of you are losing to my son, and that's that."

End of The Day of Reaping

Tue, 19 Jul 2016 23:55:35 -0700

A "ghost" village. A place no one cared about, filled with people that no one cared about. He hired the best mercenaries and bounty hunters to gather these poor souls, just so Oswald can bring death and destruction to their lives. Some of them tried to attack him, but they'd meet the kamas cuting open their bodies, some would get deep enough gashes, cutting so deep that when he pulled, he'd pull intestines out of their body, as well as tearing open the stomach, causing the acid to spill out throughout the entire insides of their bodies, coating other organs, causing the acid to begin to eat through the skin, fat and muscle.

He'd put kamas away, and grabbed his khopesh. Wielding this weapon, he'd rush room after room, swinging and cutting down people with ease. Some of people, he'd have to use a bit of muscle, by running towards a wall, kicking off it, and grabbing hold of railings, getting to the second floors. Screams would sound out, which echoed as he got closer to kill them, causing the alerting noise to ring through all of the speakers in the village. As he scrambled room through room, cutting down man, woman and child, none would find solice as they met his destructive blade.

Clearing three small houses, and their second floors, he'd chuckle softly, breathing heavy, which the people in other homes could hear inside their homes, outside of them.

"One, two, Death is coming for you. Three, four, better lock your doors. Five, six, you'll find yourself filled of nicks. Seven, eight, your souls are mine to take. Nine, ten, the Reaping comes again."

He grinned wide, as he stepped out into the outside once more, looking down the small street, full of small two story homes, at least fifteen. His body count?

Thirty-one.

He looked down into the houses across the street, and he placed his sleek black khopesh back across his back, then pull out the scythe.

It would be time to cleanse the world, with blood and tears.

He rushed into the house across the street, and rammed down the door, and as he came in he saw a woman huddled with her baby, held close to her bosom. He thought of Alysia and Fuzen, but quickly, they were put out of mind and he walked over to the woman.

"Death cares not for age. Whether mother or child. You two will be together in Limbo."

He brought the scythe up, and brought it down, the point sliding violently into the woman, and spearing the babe through the belly. He then stepped off to the side, and yanked hard, causing both woman and child to be ripped into halves. The baby's tiny innards spilling out onto the ground, the woman's spinal cord ripped and how he cut into her, she would look like the T-1000, split apart taking shoulder from neck, leaving a massive gaping wound, just like McBride's asshole.

He continued to fight people. Some barely tried, some did their best, but in the end, a heavily armed massive and agile man will cut through a tornado if he has the power, and inside Ghost Tank, he felt like he was an unstoppable force, like nothing could ever stop him, not even McBride's jibes.

It took Oswald nearly three hours, to clear house after house, claiming life after life, until three hundred and thirty-three people. Not exactly the six hundred and sixty-six that Unknown Soldier would try to go for, but for the amount of money he used, for this amount of death was worth it to him.

He stood in the square, and laughed heartily, as blood trickled from his hair and beard, as blood began to dampen the ground before him. He took his scythe, planted it shaft first into the ground and knelt before it.

"Fucking love having all this goddamn money!"

He stood up took the bluetooth, threw it to the ground and then stomped on it, before taking his scythe and making his way to head back home.

At home he'd find Alysia, and he was washed clean of all the blood of the innocents, not a trace of crimson upon him. His sclera contacts still put on, and he smiled to her,

"How was Fuzen today?"

"Good. And how was you trip? Was it uneventful?"

He grinned slyly

"Of course. Business trips are always boring. I'd rather be traveling for pleasure."

He brought her close and gave her a kiss before they would head to their bedroom, both of them in need of some together time.

"See, you'll never touch my wife and child. You might be a part of the IRA, but I have the money. You see, I control so many things, it would make your goddamn head spin. Oil, electric, ammunition, farms, military grade weapons. Motherfucker you ever see how much Americans have put into our military? When you look at the figures, you'll see that a at least thirty-three percent are because I fucking gave them money.

You're a piece of Irish trash. You'll never do anything. You peaked back when you won the X-Treme title. You peaked so early that it's fucking ridiculous. You're like a virgin, getting his dick wet for the first time. You blew your wad so easily.

My leadership skills are going to show very well. I'm going to whip Shade into shape. I'm going to continue to expand and find more talent to bring into the Riders of the Apocalypse. Whether I do it with money, or with persuasion, I will continue to grow my stable. We will dominate the Ex-Dubbayew-Eff. You see, we're still in the infancy stage. We showed our dominance when I fucked practically everyone in a match at the Gauntlet Warfre. We took down every motherfucker in the show. I left Macbeth a shell of his former self. Since I beat him, he has become nothing more than a little bitch.

This is what I'm going to do to you, McBride. I'm going to tear you and Davis a new asshole, and I'm going to break every fucking single piece of you I can. I'm going to crush your fucking skull in, I'm going to twist your legs around until the turn in the opposite direction that they should, and then fucking snap it.

I'm going in for the kill, McBride. Just like I do in my free time when I'm not counting my fortunes. Oh and by the way, I fund some of your IRA buddies. So, don't even think about trying to have someone try to hack my various accounts. Because they will not be happy when the source of their income has been forced into YOUR pockets.

Honestly, you should thank me, McBride.

You should be on your fucking hands and knees, right now, and saying "Thank you, Lord Oswald! Thank you, Ghost Tank! You have let me live a life of blowing the fuck out of things! Without your companies funding us, I would never have become the colossal bitch I am today!"

McBride, you better get over yourself, because you're nothing to me. You bring up Roman, and you think that matters to me? I ate a fucking sandwich because I don't give a fuck, and didn't treat him like a true threat.

I'm only trying with you because of one reason. Two little words, that mean a lot: Hart. Title.

Know what you can smell off of me? It's not weakness. It's the blood and sweat of those I've reaped. Those I've killed and collected the souls of. I am Death Incarnate, and I will end your life if need be. Your life is worthless. I'm a two title champ. I've won the Intercontinental Championship belt, and the Hart title. What have you done since you came? You won the X-Treme title and that lasted how fucking long? Five minutes? You couldn't even hold onto the title for a fucking day. A FUCKING DAY!

How long have I held the Hart Championship? A month and a couple weeks already. I don't think you know how much I do truly care about this championship. I have put it down, compared to the X-Treme Title. But to me, this fucking title right here? Best thing that has ever happened to me. And I will be fucking damned if I let a drunken carbombing irishman take this title away from me.

You and I are going to dance, McBride. We're going to have the best dance in the entire fucking Leap of Faith series. Better than the Universal Championship fight. I am going to completely and utterly rend you limb from limb, and show you the power of a man possessed. Of a man that is fighting for his his title. A man that will hold onto this fucking title until the day he dies.

McBride, take note.

I don't care if you hear the screams, now. I know you're going to scream. I will make sure of that. I will take my time as I torture you as you thought of torturing my family. You are going to beg for me to stop. You are going to cry out as I turn you into a cripple.

An X-Treme Rules match, is in my wheelhouse. Not yours. And I am going to make sure everything available is used to hurt you. I honestly hope there'll be a baseball bat, so I can beat some sense into you about one simple thing. I cannot stress this enough, McBride, and to you too, Jakob Davis:

THIS IS MY TITLE AND YOU FUCKS WILL NEVER FUCKING TEAR THIS FROM MY FUCKING HANDS!

You are in for a world of hurt, McBride! You are in for the most painful ride of your life, Davis!

THE EX-DUBBAYEW-EFF IS MY HOUSE! THIS MATCH IS PART OF MY DOMAIN! AND YOU WILL BOW TO YOUR LORD! YOU WILL BOW TO THE GOD OF DEATH!

Now kneel, you maggots, because the only thing you two are good for, is WORSHIPING MY DICK!"

"Loverboy" - Story Of My Life

Tue, 19 Jul 2016 22:05:40 -0700

Due to the maudlin nature of the following chapter in Loverboy's life, here is a humorous clip of number one contender Scully's childhood home movie. the very first time he attempted athletics. Not much has changed.

7 pm PDT, Monday/ 3 am GMT, Tuesday

The suite doors swing open as a bellhop pushes in a massive cart filled with luggage, a full set of matching Coach bags. The bellhop enters fully and sets the cart to the side, standing straight next to it and holding the door while “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane and Roxy Cotton walk into the room, staring intently into their cell phones.

“Welcome to the Savoy, sir! I hope you enjoy your stay!”

The bellhop announces in perfect London-inflected English. He holds his hand out, palm up, as he finishes his spiel.

“Yeah, yeah, nice place, dude.”

Loverboy slaps a firm high five down into the outstretched palm of the bellhop, catching him off guard and nearly knocking him over.

“Erm. Right. Well, if you need anything else, give us a ring.”

The bellhop scurries out, barely beating the door which Loverboy swings shut behind him. Almost immediately, Roxy turns around with her hands on her hips and scowls at Loverboy.

“Vinnie, why do we always end up taking the redeye? I’m exhausted! And I’ve been wearing these Louboutins for over ten hours!”

“It wasn’t even dark when we took off, dude! It was, like, morning. Don’t blame me, blame England’s stupid time zone.”

“Well I wanted to go to Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant here! Do you think they’d wake him up?”

“Of COURSE they’ll wake him up for me, babe. That’s part of what being a Hashtag Megastar is all about!”

Loverboy pleads his case as the bombshell plops onto the king sized mattress, pulling her dainty size fives out from their stiletto prisons. She wiggles her purple-tipped toes at the megastar.

“Rub my feet, baby?”

The rocker moves toward his girl with a sinister smirk on his face, but seems to be stunned into a pause before he reaches her waiting feet.

“Hold on, dude. My phone just blew up like the London Metro. I must have got, like, six emails and ten texts… hm…”

He paces away, holding a finger in the air absently while Roxy pouts and begins to rub her own soles. After a second or two, Loverboy’s face falls ashen and lax.

“Rox…”

“Vinnie, PLEASE… I swear, if you just rub them I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue.”

“Rox, stop. I gotta go.”

“What?”

“I have to leave."

Loverboy starts grabbing at the luggage rack, tossing Coach bags around until he finds his old leather gym bag. Slinging it over his shoulder he starts heading for the door.

“Wait! Vinnie what are you doing? Where are you going?”

He stops but is clearly full of anxiety and panic. A shocked look sits on his face, like someone just after a car accident.

“New York.”

“What? Are you insane, Vin? You have a title defense in two days! Here, in London!”

“I don’t care! It’s my mom. She’s in the hospital and it’s not good. I have to go. My sister’s there, she says this might be it.”

“You… have a sister?”

“Yeah. Look, this isn’t really the time. I’m going. Just… just stay here, don’t worry about the pay per view. It’s fine. I’ll be back in time for the match. I think. If I’m not, well, fuck it, I guess Scully gets to be the first champion who never beat anyone. I can get it back anytime I want from him. This is more important than the job, dude. This is family, you know? Real life. Like you.”

Roxy reddens a little, her eyes glowing with happy tears as she fights away a smile, not wanting to seem disrespectful at such a somber moment.

“You’re right. Go. This can wait. I can too.”

Loverboy rushes to her and plants a hard kiss on her lips, bending her backward onto the bed. He wraps his arm around her and squeezing her tight.

“Roxy… I love you. I love you, forever.”

Tears fall freely from the champion’s face, his nose beginning to run. Roxy can’t help but cry along with him, seeing the clear signs of pain carve themselves across her lover’s cheeks.

“I love you too. Go. Go see her, while… while you can.”

The force of her words closes Loverboy’s eyes, as if he were trying not to see the impact of them. Then he nods, kisses her again, and heads for the door.

Sitting on the bed in the lush Savoy suite, Roxy Cotton listens to her fiance’s footfalls get fainter, then looks over to the dresser, where he’d absently left the XWF Universal Championship.

For once, the megastar left without his gold.

“How long?”

“Twenty minutes, mate.”

Loverboy sighs and glares into the screen of his cell phone, willing it to light up with more information. His sister wasn’t answering calls or texts. She was probably in the hospital room without reception.

In the back of the claustrophobic cab, Vinnie Lane couldn’t keep his mind from wandering to the loss of his father just a few years before. The way he’d sat in a hospice bed, right down the road, withering away and dying from the cancer eating him alive from within. Less than five miles from where Vinnie lived, and yet he couldn’t find the time, or wouldn’t find the time, to go and see the old man.

Vinnie’s dad didn’t complain. He never did. He never wanted to be a bother in the first place. As soon as he realized he was losing the ability to care for himself, he called the ambulance and rode off to the in-care facility, not wanting to burden his only son.

The specter of Vinnie’s guilt and shame haunted him daily, but was especially present as he sat in London traffic, on the way back to Heathrow to fly to his dying mother’s side on the other side of the world.

He looked again at his cell, still seeing nothing but the icons of various apps plastered across the backdrop of his own portrait, smiling, celebrating, holding his title belt over his head. The little successes that seem so big until the things that matter start to fall away one by one.

His fingers dance across the phone screen, and he holds the cell to his ear, holding his breath as well. It rings, twice, three times. Then…

“Hello?”

Vinnie opens his mouth but forgets to speak. For a frightened second it looks as if he may hang up, but he squeezes his eyes shut and forced air through his throat.

“Hey… hey Bobby. It’s me, Lov… it’s me. It’s Dad.”

Silence. Vinnie waits with a chest so tight that his heart must be strangled against the muscles of his ribcage. But, instead of an answer, his cell phone screen merely blinks, showing that the call had ended.

Bobby had hung up without another word.

The rest of the cab ride went by in complete silence.

Oh boy Scully, has timing suddenly gotten bad for you, dude.

See, before, I was just going into this as business. Just another title defense, just like I do all the time. Another contender who thinks he’s the next champion. Another Gilmour, another Trax, another Ginger Snaps… just one more wannabe about to get himself a rude awakening, right? But then I got the bad news. It’s cool, Scully, I know you saw the video. Everything I do goes viral faster than an AIDS outbreak in Haiti. I get followers faster than you get swiped left on, Scull. It’s just a day in the life.

So, clearly, you know about my mom. And I know you’ll spin it, and I know you’ll use it against me. Go for it dude, that’s part of the game. You scrape the bottom of the barrel and try to shake me with whatever lame insults you can come up with… Bummerboy? Really? … Then I turn around and kick you in the face and go home with my title belt. It’s like the tides, man, you know they’re gonna come in and you know they’re gonna go out. Predictable.

And you know dude, I don’t blame you for sticking to the safe route. It’s worked for you. You don’t want to make too many waves, get too many eyes on you. You know why? Because behind all those middle school insults and that fake aura of confidence, you know you can’t beat me one on one. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all the times you’ve snickered in the locker room and talked about being undefeated against me because of War Games 2014. Yawn. It’s the one and only notch in your Loverboy belt, isn’t it? But you know it’s bullshit. You know it’s empty. As soon as I get into that ring it’s mine. Anything I want, it’s mine. If I want to make you tap, I will. If I want to knock you out cold, I will. If I want to take a half-day and win by lazy count out? Dude, I will. You’ve got no say in this match, Scull. I’m leading this dance, dude, you haven’t even learned the steps! You’re trying not to trip over your two left feet because you know the simple fact that no one is willing to say out loud but me – Scully isn’t READY to be a champion.

Oh, I know, I know. You’ve held the tag titles. Lovely. Explain to us all, Scully, how it feels to be the worse member of a tag team featuring Maverick? I don’t think that’s an emotional low most of us would be able to get through without chugging a gallon of bleach and just checking out, dude, so kudos to you for not taking the obvious route of wrapping an electrical cord around your neck and going out like Robin Williams, with your tiny Jumanji in your hand. Or, shit man, maybe no kudos? I mean, I’m a positive guy and I’m all for optimism, but how you get up every morning expecting things to get better isn’t seeing the glass half-full, it’s just plain ignorance. Face it, the second you knew that all your boys jumping me and trying to lay a hurting on me wasn’t going to end in a forfeit, you knew you were fucked. It was a solid try though, dude. Played to your strengths of being and not winning wrestling matches.

Here’s what I’m really thankful for though, dude. In light of my mom getting sick, it got me thinking about family. My dad never got to see me become a champion, you know? My mom, she doesn’t really know what goes on in the world of pro graps. It’s never been her thing. She likes women’s stuff, like drinking wine or knitting doilies or watching fucking soccer. So yeah, my successes, they’ve been mostly for me. Me and my lady, anyway. But you? You’re getting a hell of an opportunity here, Scully. We’re gonna be right in your backyard, right? London! The O2! England’s own Scully in his first ever Universal Title shot! You probably bought out the front row, huh? All your ugly little mongman cousins and siblings. Aunts and uncles. Mum and dad. All of them are gonna be right there to tell you they were right about you never having the chance at making it big, because they get to watch me end your dream from ten feet away. I only wish we were doing it in Birmingham so your crippled old gran could come to the show and get disappointed by her least favorite grandchild one last time before kicking the bucket. Come on, Scull, she held on this long just for you to break her heart with your inability to step up to the big time? You’re killing your grandma, dude!

This isn’t your time, Scull. This is my stage, dude, you’re the extra. The wannabe. You’re being allowed into my main event with a temporary visa, just like the one that my country will revoke on you once they see you on the big screen for the first time ever. A day ago you were gonna get out of this with just a couple of bruises and another loss in your record, no big deal, but now? Now I’m just gonna have to take you out for my mom. That sucks for you, dude.

Step up your game, Scull. This is your only shot. Step up and do what you born to do, on the grandest stage of them all, in front of a hometown crowd, against the greatest champion you’ve ever seen. Go in there and lose, Scully. Lose bigger and better and more visibly than even you ever thought you could.

You can do it, dude. I have faith in you.

XOXO.

The Day of Reaping

Tue, 19 Jul 2016 19:45:14 -0700

With a yawn, Oswald would be seen on an airplane, his own private jet. traveling alone, save for a stewardess riding in one of the seats. In the deck below, is all of his instruments of pain an death. He looked over to the woman, chuckling softly, but not saying anything.

Ghost Tank shuddered as he thought of something, and it made him grin, wide.

"Time to go a bit nuclear..."

With that he stood up from his seat and moved to make a call off his satellite phone. Preparations were in dire need. A lot of money to be wasted on this one single act. However, he was going to find it very enjoyable.

Money made the world go 'round, the phrase goes. And Ghost Tank had millions to blow. So a few days later, when he arrived at a walled in village, and speakers all over certain areas, he would know his people had done their jobs. What was the town's name? No one cared. No one will survive...

Save for himself.

He wore thick black clothing for once, somewhat resembling leather armor that thieves would wear for protection but still be able to move quickly, retaining their agility. The leather covered his torso, but not his arms. The thick leather covered all of his legs, and fit close. but not skin tight. His scythe and khopesh hanging in their places against his back. His kamas slid and held by loops meant to not allow the blades to slip through. He walked over to the entrance and could hear the sounds of people huddling inside the buildings. The noises he could not yet make out, but soon, all they will say is "Please!" "Don't kill me!"

And he will laugh.

As he moved into the very first building, after securing and making sure the large gate was locked shut, and he pulled out a small bluetooth device and turned it on while simultaneously placing it around and against his right ear. His inhales and exhales heard throughout the entire village, then the sick laugh from the days of old, when he first came to the XWF, would blast into every home, every old mom and pop store

"Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls, children of all ages! And least of all, let us not forget the elderly!

Welcome...

TO THE REAPING!"

With that, he ran straight into the nearest home, breaking down the door with by kicking hard enough right near the door handle, popping the lock and making the door open and seeing the first group of people huddled together, and instantly he'd hear the pleading as he slid his kamas out of their holster, and with a few times swipes and twists, five people would be killed. One was a man in his sixties, a woman in her thirties, a boy about thirteen, a girl of about fifteen, and a man about the same age as the woman.

He looked down at their corpses, and grinned wide, before moving on to their neighbors who screamed their pain and anguish. He seemed to always wear those sclera contacts, blacking out his eyes, and his hair had grown to just an inch below his shoulders. He had also begun to grow out a beard, and it was starting to be a thick black tangle of bushy hair.

He walked over to the next house, and charged into and slamming a shoulder into the thin wall, like a juggernaut, tearing through paper walls. He'd come upon a gay couple, two twenty somethings, both men. He walked up close and turned his head, looking out from under his half-skull mask, the upper teeth blocked some of his smile, replacing his pearly whites.

"And so, I must kill a gay couple. Interesting."

That would be all he said as he swung the scythe, and sliced off their heads, and blood would flow out, as the hear beat its last instructions, trying to provide blood flow to the now lost brain, to give the bodies more fuel to think. Unfortunately, the bodies only flailed a little as the last instructions made by the brain went through the nerves. The action? To try and protect from the decapitation.

The day was still young, and the deaths of many were required on this night. Blood will flow, and Death will fill his quota of lives reaped.

"A sad son of a whore? No. I am the creation of two beings that were so perfect that they procreated and made me, a fucking GOD amongst men. I don't require anyone's blessing, and my mother and father died a long time ago, when I was but thirteen. I am six foot eight, I am strong enough to fucking GERMAN GODDAMN SUPLEX THOUSAND POUND BEARS AND DESTROY THEIR LIVES!

As for my company I keep? Shade is under my wing. Shade is weak, and I am going to make him stronger. I am going to bring him into the limelight, bring him into being famous. He will one day attain the same kind of power I wield, but I sincerely doubt it.

Abaddon, I make no qualms about buying him. He likes money, he likes to break and hurt people. I wanted a destroyer in the fold. I got it.

By the way, I took Hope from Shade. And if he does not win his match, he knows I have no problem with cutting pieces of her, and forcing him to watch or forcing him to eat the parts of her body. I will flay her, I will skin her, make her into something raw and unable to touched by anyone. I am going to hurt her in such ways, he will start to fucking win.

My leadership will show, soon.

I never thought to make you fearful of me, McBride. Have none of you remembered a single word I said since day one?

I want you to be fearless. Because when you hold back, when you have no problem with going toe to toe with me, and I end up fucking destroying you, I will know that I am truly your God, and you will kneel before me, and beg for my forgiveness. Beg for me to put you out of your misery and I rend skin and muscle from the bone. As I break every little bone in your entire body.

McBride, I won this title from someone who beat PETER FUCKING GILMOUR. I then went on to destroy man after man, including Eli! I HAVE ALREADY PROVEN MY WORTH, MCBRIDE! I SHOWED THAT I AM BETTER THAN MOST OF YOU DURING A FUCKING GAUNTLET!

I am DEATH! I am your END! I am everything you should fear, but I love you won't. When I make you cry out in defeat. When I show just how futile your attempt to steal my title away from me. That is when I show my true superiority. When I show off that Scully had a fluke win. And by the way, he pinned ABADDON, not ME. I am pulling a Gilmour, and say Scully didn't pin ME. He ultimately won against Abaddon.

Now it's time, McBride. It's time for you to start listening in, because I feel like you're ignoring the noise creeping up on you. Upon both of us. Upon even Jakob.

The beloved sound of future screams being brought forth from you both as I make you both into shells of your former selves, and take from you your will to fight.

Can you hear them yet, McBride?

CanYouHearTheScreams?

Princess Maria

Tue, 19 Jul 2016 19:33:31 -0700

I'm back, princesses. It is I, the Queen of the Xtreme, Maria Brink and her magnificent fat ass. Jealous, bitches? You should be. None of you will be as beautiful or as sadistic, or as XTREME as I am. None of you will ever have the fans or the money, or the men that I do. And what do I do with all of it? Wipe my ass and play men like checkers. Twice I got Peter to fight for me, and twice I got him to lose. Because no one can resist the charms of Maria Brink. Not even my daddy, which is why he fucked me so good when I was a kid. And then when I got bored? I reported him for child molestation and fled to new york.

And this week? I'm gonna destroy it in the ring, and take the fucking win. Then Ghost Tank will have to fight me and stop dodging me like a used tampon. That retadded oaf thinks he can avoid me forever, but the dawn of Maria Brink is coming. What a piece of shit champion he is. I hope he gets hit by a car and shits himself. At least Chris Macbeth actually had a set of functioning balls. That's right, Maria know what in his pants. See I was taking a monster dump and Chris came in. Obviously I had to hide cause no one wants to get caught shitting in the sink, and I watched as he stroked that massive meat monster. Made me so hot I shit myself, then rubbed the turd on my clit. Best orgasm ever. You poor girls in the back will never understand how good a huge dick covered in shit slamming against your clit feels.

I wanna talk to you skanks for a second. Just a hot second, I got a turd in the microwave warming up for some hot masturbation. So, Kandi Washington, you think you're the real queen around here? Why? Because your tits are heavier than a bag filled with my awards? That's not true, although you are saggy and gross. You nasty bitch. Get the fuck out of my federation, and eat my dirty crusty asshole. The real Queen doesn't have to announce that she's a queen. A real queen has a king by her side, and honey. I had my king. I took his kingdom and manipulated someone into kicking his ass for me. Come on, girl, you'll never be at my level. Just take your old saggy ass out of here and go get some more botox in your ass, keep it from dragging on the ground when you're walking the walk of shame. That's another thing, honey, real queens don't brag about having a 21 year old boy toy, who was promptly threatened with rape by management. They just have the toys. No need to announce it. Look at how Roxy casually toys with men like Lane and Girard, without having to tell us they want her. They show us they want her.

Yeah, sweetie, you're not really a queen. Hate to break it to you. You're just a dried up old labia in a dress. Not even a full person, just the pussy lips. Honey, you've come a long way just to fail at my feet. And I'm not even going to step into the same ring as you. Not until you earn it. Which, you probably won't ever. So, whateves. Momma needs to cum

Oh, momma has a match this week and she's going to win a chance to fight Ghost Tank. Right. About that.

Mini Morbid, how does it feel to be smaller than my discreet vibrator? I mean, really man, you're like a pocket sized little piece of dried steroids cum. You're not even a real person. I don't know if I should ask you to cut some tobacco, or crawl inside my pussy and thrash around while Chris MacBeth takes a shit on it. Yeah, you'd get covered in shit, but your people are used to that, aren't you? You dirty spic you.

I don't even have anything to say about Jet Black, or John Black. They're both likely to get shot by the cops on their way to the arena. Which will be sad, but you know, it's what they get for being black.

Skizzoid, who?

Jose, I think you need to go trim my hedges. They're looking a little rough. Oh, and then you can eat my ass.