Post by Deleted on Jun 13, 2016 11:32:18 GMT -6
"No pic-NO GODDAMN PICTURES!"
With a lunge like a puma, I darted through the hotel lobby snatching a cellphone out of the hands of some pizza faced ginger kid.
His smile vanished immediately. The look on his face as I smashed the kids camera down was priceless. Almost worth flying all the way to..to wherever the hell we were. I don't even think he knew what was even going on. I love this job.
I stepped on his phone and heard the crack under my black timberlands. I looked to the left. Then to the right, over my shades and gave everyone in the lobby a soul piercing stare, a warning.
"All clear" I declared through my watch-mic.
I heard some sounds through my transparent headset, I never understood what they said anyway, so I didn't bother too much to care.
With a snort I straightened out my tie and waited for my client to enter the hotel. Apparently he was some rich asshole who liked to write self help books.
He burst into the lobby with both of his hands up in a peace sign.
"Greetings and Salutations, my adoring fans." He exclaimed in a voice so soft you wondered if he was made of pillows and blankets.
He walked further into the hotel, to the amazement of no one. No clapping, no hollering, no one even daring to make my day and snap a pic of the man.
If you're wondering how I, the goddamn original Gangsta of the Grappling Arts, got roped up into being some British asshole's bodyguard looking like a black ass penguin, let's just say it's better than prison. I'll let you imagine who I had to hang over a balcony.
Now, let's get back to this douchebag: all goddamn day I've had to hear him talk about his fortune and his mommy and daddy issues on his yacht. Though, being fair, those stories are pretty bearable when you're drinking eighty year old Champagne, but they would have been even more bearable if I was allowed to and didn't have to steal it from his cabinet.
So there we were, me having to listen to him go on and on about how his parents used to ship- hold on...
"Bitch, I will break yo fingers!!"
Some old lady at the counter reached into her purse. I pulled out the silver nine millimeter pistol from my black blazer and pointed it at her face.
"I said no goddamn pictures! Take yo hand out that purse, bitch. You got three seconds! Mufuckin one! Two.."
She showed both of her hands with the quickness.
"Area muthafuckin secure."
I looked to the other bodyguards. They quickly regained their composure and tried not to let on that they were frightened by my raw tenacity.
I put the whopper back in my jacket pocket and adjusted myself.
"FUCK ARE YALL LOOKIN AT?"
Everyone darted their eyes away from me. My phone started to vibrate in my pocket, I picked it up and immediately regretted my decision.
"Yoyoyoyoyo, Big K, man!"
"No."
"Come on, man! I got a sweet gig for you man"
"Nigga. No."
"Ahh come on. Everyone wants you there! "
"Fuck no."
"Frank's dead. Do it for hi-"
"Frank?? Finelli? The nigga that kept cock blocking Reya Serra from a real nigga?"
"Ugh, if you say so-"
"HE DEAD?"
"Yeah, not too long ago, it wa-"
"So his blocks is up for grabs? Cuz he ran them shits clean! I mean with turf like that a nigga is practically unstoppable."
"That's not the point! Jesse's giving him some kind of memorial tour and shit. I got you easy money, man. Just show up, sign some autographs. Have one match. Just one. Twenty five, just for that."
Twenty five? Who the hell is this guy?
"I make that doing this lil thing-thing right here, already."
"Not twenty five hundred, ya dense? Add a another zero, plus they're open to negotiation. Man times are changing! You're vintage now, man! You got a market."
This guy. All these years and this guy wants to act like he's still my agent. Damn it James. You better pay me this time. Ever since I stopped wrestling full time, it's been " Hey I got a cage fight, easy money!" Or "Hey, man, I booked A polar bear fight, easy money". I still got the claw marks on my shoulder and never got my six hundred dollars!
"Come on, man, I told em you'd love to meet the fans"
"Fuck them fans, they ain't done nothing for me- ayyo James hold on."
I looked towards the " MAN" he had set himself up an impromptu book signing and, surprising to me, people showed up.
I gave the hotel lobby a once over and noticed some scrappy Asian kid texting on his phone.
" Nigga, did you not hear me?!" I walked up to the guy and grabbed his sidekick. Holding my Galaxy between my ear and collar, I gripped the primitive phone in both my hands and snapped it in half.
"Fuck is yo problem? No pictures!"
I stomped on the phone and looked around the hotel, pulling my piece out and waving it around the room.
" Think I'm playin? Think you untouchable? I dare y'all muthafuckas: think I'm playin!!"
I put the gat back in my jacket and picked my Samsung back up to my ear.
" I'll do it. But I want ten more...oh and I want to be awarded to be in the Hall of Fame. I paid dues up in this shit! Oh yeah ..I WANT MY NAME BACK!"
With a lunge like a puma, I darted through the hotel lobby snatching a cellphone out of the hands of some pizza faced ginger kid.
His smile vanished immediately. The look on his face as I smashed the kids camera down was priceless. Almost worth flying all the way to..to wherever the hell we were. I don't even think he knew what was even going on. I love this job.
I stepped on his phone and heard the crack under my black timberlands. I looked to the left. Then to the right, over my shades and gave everyone in the lobby a soul piercing stare, a warning.
"All clear" I declared through my watch-mic.
I heard some sounds through my transparent headset, I never understood what they said anyway, so I didn't bother too much to care.
With a snort I straightened out my tie and waited for my client to enter the hotel. Apparently he was some rich asshole who liked to write self help books.
He burst into the lobby with both of his hands up in a peace sign.
"Greetings and Salutations, my adoring fans." He exclaimed in a voice so soft you wondered if he was made of pillows and blankets.
He walked further into the hotel, to the amazement of no one. No clapping, no hollering, no one even daring to make my day and snap a pic of the man.
If you're wondering how I, the goddamn original Gangsta of the Grappling Arts, got roped up into being some British asshole's bodyguard looking like a black ass penguin, let's just say it's better than prison. I'll let you imagine who I had to hang over a balcony.
Now, let's get back to this douchebag: all goddamn day I've had to hear him talk about his fortune and his mommy and daddy issues on his yacht. Though, being fair, those stories are pretty bearable when you're drinking eighty year old Champagne, but they would have been even more bearable if I was allowed to and didn't have to steal it from his cabinet.
So there we were, me having to listen to him go on and on about how his parents used to ship- hold on...
"Bitch, I will break yo fingers!!"
Some old lady at the counter reached into her purse. I pulled out the silver nine millimeter pistol from my black blazer and pointed it at her face.
"I said no goddamn pictures! Take yo hand out that purse, bitch. You got three seconds! Mufuckin one! Two.."
She showed both of her hands with the quickness.
"Area muthafuckin secure."
I looked to the other bodyguards. They quickly regained their composure and tried not to let on that they were frightened by my raw tenacity.
I put the whopper back in my jacket pocket and adjusted myself.
"FUCK ARE YALL LOOKIN AT?"
Everyone darted their eyes away from me. My phone started to vibrate in my pocket, I picked it up and immediately regretted my decision.
"Yoyoyoyoyo, Big K, man!"
"No."
"Come on, man! I got a sweet gig for you man"
"Nigga. No."
"Ahh come on. Everyone wants you there! "
"Fuck no."
"Frank's dead. Do it for hi-"
"Frank?? Finelli? The nigga that kept cock blocking Reya Serra from a real nigga?"
"Ugh, if you say so-"
"HE DEAD?"
"Yeah, not too long ago, it wa-"
"So his blocks is up for grabs? Cuz he ran them shits clean! I mean with turf like that a nigga is practically unstoppable."
"That's not the point! Jesse's giving him some kind of memorial tour and shit. I got you easy money, man. Just show up, sign some autographs. Have one match. Just one. Twenty five, just for that."
Twenty five? Who the hell is this guy?
"I make that doing this lil thing-thing right here, already."
"Not twenty five hundred, ya dense? Add a another zero, plus they're open to negotiation. Man times are changing! You're vintage now, man! You got a market."
This guy. All these years and this guy wants to act like he's still my agent. Damn it James. You better pay me this time. Ever since I stopped wrestling full time, it's been " Hey I got a cage fight, easy money!" Or "Hey, man, I booked A polar bear fight, easy money". I still got the claw marks on my shoulder and never got my six hundred dollars!
"Come on, man, I told em you'd love to meet the fans"
"Fuck them fans, they ain't done nothing for me- ayyo James hold on."
I looked towards the " MAN" he had set himself up an impromptu book signing and, surprising to me, people showed up.
I gave the hotel lobby a once over and noticed some scrappy Asian kid texting on his phone.
" Nigga, did you not hear me?!" I walked up to the guy and grabbed his sidekick. Holding my Galaxy between my ear and collar, I gripped the primitive phone in both my hands and snapped it in half.
"Fuck is yo problem? No pictures!"
I stomped on the phone and looked around the hotel, pulling my piece out and waving it around the room.
" Think I'm playin? Think you untouchable? I dare y'all muthafuckas: think I'm playin!!"
I put the gat back in my jacket and picked my Samsung back up to my ear.
" I'll do it. But I want ten more...oh and I want to be awarded to be in the Hall of Fame. I paid dues up in this shit! Oh yeah ..I WANT MY NAME BACK!"