Post by Deleted on Apr 6, 2015 17:35:18 GMT -6
-----La Quinta, Inn-----
----Courtland, Arizona----
-------Room 182------
When the rather short often angered man from Tampa Florida awoke, he was covered in more sweat than on Devin Stone’s forehead while peering into Tegan Taylor’s dressing room.
Shooting straight up in his cheap motel room bed, Buck Florida shakes his head and takes a deep breath.
Fuck, another fucking one of those fucking “ladder” dreams.
Tilting his somewhat stocky body towards the bed’s nightstand, Florida notices that the room’s clock radio is blinking “3:28 am”. Frowning, Buck reaches over on the bedside table grabs a warm half full beer can of “Milwaukee's Best”.
Bucky boy finishes off the beer and then tosses the can on a pile of his dirty clothes in the corner of the motel room.
Lumbering out of the bed, the 5’7” 250 pound man walks over to his suitcase, also known as a black trash bag, and pulls out one of his cheap cigars.
After lighting up the stogie, Florida grabs the TV remote and plops his ass back on the bed. Puffing away on the cigar, Buck leans his grubby body back on the bed’s headboard and flips on the remote.
The short, rather stocky man from the Sunshine State was still in intense pain even over a week later from his vicious cage match with the one known as Ricky Bobby Cassels.
Now, Buck Florida was once again unable to sleep as his secret 5’7” man fear of heights, especially ladders, was once again keeping him up.
Fuck that bald head fuck Jesse Styles.
Although recently drafted to another brand of New Edge Wrestling, Florida was convinced that the well known owner of the promotion had set him up to fail by booking his, somewhat vertically challenged, ass in some fucking bullshit silver briefcase ladder match at the “Demented” pay per view.
After spitting on the floor in his own delusional disgust at the booking, Buck lifts his right stubby leg up in the air to release the four earlier consumed “Arby’s Beef-N-Cheddar” sandwiches induced gas.
Florida felt cheated from this Styles fucker. When he had signed up for his contract, he was expecting some of that fucking “Rob Riot” money; instead the rather short, portly one from Tampa Florida got a fucking ladder. Fucking bullshit.
As the now red with anger face man continues to puff away on his cheap cigar, Buck notices the motel bedside phone is blinking.
Cursing that someone had the nerve to interrupt his moment of hateful thought, Florida picks up the receiver on the hotel phone and checks the message.
Moments after finishing listening to the message, a devious smile, much like that of a fat spoiled 6 year alone in his room with a carton of “Little Debbies” late at night, forms on Buck Florida’s face.
The call was from a highly unexpected person; however the message was very clear. At NEW’s “Demented” pay per view, somebody was indeed going to get fucked.
Satisfied with the message, Buck goes back to the glow of the television set in the room and tries to change the Motel’s TV channel to the Pay Per View selections. Failing to achieve that goal, Florida leans across the bed, grabs the room’s phone of the nightstand, and calls the front desk.
Hearing the voice of the young male front desk night clerk answering the phone, Buck Florida greets the man in his usual pleasant manner.
BUCK FLORIDA: What the fuck! My fucking Pay Per View shit ain’t working.
CLERK: Uh, yes Mr. Styles, we had to cut it off.
BUCK FLORIDA: The fuck you say!
CLERK: Yes sir. We limit our guests to only, uh, six “Adult” programming purchases in a twenty-four hour period. You, unfortunately, surpassed that limit roughly three hours after you checked in.
BUCK FLORIDA: Fuck you. I am a fucking guest of this shit ass motel. I expected to be treated right. You want me to come down there and straighten this out with your fucking ass?
CLERK: Well, I guess if you purchased another room for the evening, we could reinstate your, uh, “Adult” rental privileges.
BUCK FLORIDA: Then fucking do it! You still got that bald headed….er….. my fucking credit card?
CLERK: Yes, we have your Visa card still on file right here, Mr. Styles.
BUCK FLORIDA: Good. No stop fucking babbling and fucking “charge that bitch, bitch”.