Post by Deleted on Mar 28, 2013 23:10:41 GMT -6
I guess its just fate, eh? The more I try to prove my name, work my way up the ladder, eh? Cant say there's anyone to blame, business is business, especially when it works out for you. Lat time I was in the same building with the boss man I was in a backwoods Alabama arena firing towards his general direction.
Now by some unknown reason, I’m opening up for the guy. In the words of a great man “Facking Bullshet.”
Empty forty bottles trash the red carpet floor of the hotel room, along with bits of tobacco. Dutch wrappers cloud the white sheets and blankets devoid of the hotel’s fancy, fluffy pillows. I sit up on the bed. Been up all night rewinding old Ascension Championship Wrestling shows on DVD. So fast to build my name back up from what New Edge Wrestling did to me. So fast to crumble down from the inside.
I knew hiring Jesse was going to be the end of me. And here I was going back to the company that had taken my name, my greatest finisher, and most of all, my reputation. Its been a couple months since I was on the active ACW Roster. Apparently all my vacation days are over, and I’m back to work doing what I do best. Kick ass.
But no longer in ACW. Vanessa was crazy, but she was fair. Now I’m answering to the Big Bald Brother Mr. Styles himself.....Fuck that! I shoulda pulled the trigger on him earlier that night. But I probably won’t be seeing his punk ass for a long time. time to focus on my job.
I crawl out of the cigar wrappers, chugging a half empty bottle from the night before and immediately going into the minifridge for more. As I ever so gently slam the door shut, the door to the suite opens up, and my afroes manager/agent works his way into the house.
“Fuck, man. This is a pigs stuy!” James cautiously treaded the bottles and trash that glittered the floor.
“Don’t blame me, It was that muhfucka over there.” I point my thumb at Wondabread, silently passed out on the couch holding a now very cold half eaten pizza slice in one hand and a bottle of jager in the other, before popping open the cap to a lime Smirnov.
James shakes his head in that way he does when he thinks we’re lying lazy fucks who can’t even clean up after a wild party. Such a douche, he wonders why we didn’t invite him.
“You’re just mad you didn’t get to get ICED!”
“What in the blue hell is-”
“ICED!”
“Yeah what is that?”
“ICED! What you never got ICED before?”
James stared at me blankly as I took a sip of the decidedly not iced Smirnov.
“Yeah...thefuckever..” James walked over to the white leather couch and push kicked Wonda to the carpet....he snored. Sitting down Wonda opened up his new Ipad and pressed some buttons looking all serious-like.
“So I got the letter. Who does Jesse have me against? Inkt? Pugh? Roger Wright? Maybe Matt Slater for an old ACW reunion match?”
“Ehhh.....not quite..”
“Ahhh...shit..”
Once again NEW’s bullshit writers and their gleaming head(literally) attempt to screw me over..
“Who who the fuck a nigga like me gotta fight?”
“Ehh....You’re opening.”
“WHAT!”
I drowned myself in lime flavored vodka to stop from throwing a perfectly good glass of lime flavored vodka.
I mean, of course. Seems typical for my not at all hyped up NEW return.
“Well fuck, against who? I mean they got me opening up, what other jobbers they holding down to step into the coliseum wit me? Probably payin em peanuts..”
“Yo, man. C’mon you know everyone starts at the bottom. They’re just testing your endurance, monitoring your moves to see your mettle.” James used other small, yet powerful words, fiddling with his creamy white suit to see if i noticed.
“You’re my agent, where the fuck were you during all this?”
James stood up and raised his hands up in protest. “You think I didn’t bust my ass for you? Just sat back and watch my greatest investment open? I have absolutely no say in this bullshit. You were the psycho, not me.”
“He cussed you out didn’t he?”
“Cussed me the fuck out..”
“Didn’t even have a chance?”
“It was his voicemail...”
“Damn.”
“Alright since I can’t kill the sucka, how bout we just go fo his bank account?”
“Man, you still drunk?”
“Maybe..not really, kinda buzzed, or am I? I don’t know, I think I’m drunk enough, from last night, and that vodka. 3 pointer!!”
I hit a fuckin awesome fade away shot towards the fancy wastebasket, but the bottle missed, horribly, and hit the wall a meters over, shattering into a million peices.
“I’m not cleaning that up.” James walked away from me towards the window.
“Fuck If I am!”
“Man, you gotta focus!” James opened up the window letting the bright Nothern sunshine bathe the room. It had begun to look and feel just as trashy as it had looked and felt. “You gotta fatal four way match. It’s in the TV title contention. You can get this one easy man. Channel all that hate, don’t focus on Jesse, you and him aint goin at it for a LOOONG time, my brother.”
“AY!” Wondabread wriggled in his leather coat like a Blade vampire in the sunlight. “Fuck! Why is it so goddamned bright? Fuck...”
“Anyway..”James pointed the stadium in which I was going to be taking on three opponents.
“Hey! There's the fuckin Nassa.”
“Dumbass it’s called the....” James paused. “I can’t pronounce that shit.”
“Whoever it was sho wasn’t a nigga.”
“Down with the Man!” Wondabread sat on the couch, having found a pair of shades and sipped on a cold lime Smirnov. I wanted one. “So...you guys. I just woke up and you just ICED!”
The tossed two bottled perfectly caught by both me and James. I chugged mine.
“Oh that bullshit ice game. You know you need Smirnov ice for that, right?”
“But that shit is nasty!” Wonda chuckled to himself, eating a slice of pizza.
“Chug that shit bitch!”
“Or is it too early for him? HA!”
“It’s 5PM. Fuck this shit!” James popped open the bottle and then it was empty. “Now, focus, bitches. K, you got a match with three guys, listen. You don’t know what NEW has in store for you. I’d take a look if you want. Hey!”
James rushed to the couch and stole the Ipad from Wonda. “What were you doing to i-”
A lone picture of a lime smirnov stood as his backround.
“ICED!”
I reached into the minifridge and pulled out three bottles. Then the whole pack. then the second one. If NEW is paying for it, fuck it, right? It’s the number one fed in the world.(according to this contract).
Sitting on the far end of the couch I handed each a bottle.
“Now that we just chilling and drinking. Lets get some smokin!”
I pulled out a QO(quarter ounce for those squares) of Bubblegum Kush smuggled from LA. As I began to crush it up, James shoved his soon to be stolen Ipad infront of my face. The words jumped around in my eyes...
“Yeah, no. That cat is like what? Sixy summin goin into this sumbitch?”
“That’s the American Icon. He used to be some big “Say your prayers, eat your vitamins”type of guy real GI Joe there.”
“That’s so sad...” Wonda put the razorblade back in his wallet. he gutted the dutch onto the floor and handed me the cigar. “Those guys, back in the day used to be heroes, standing up for good....times have changed soo much. Nows he’s hated by everyone, for what he was raised to believe, fading away slowly and surely into obscurity by a more modern and less conservative majority. “
“Uhh......is this nigga alright?”
James looked at Wonda, who was kinda hard to read with the abused-wife shades on. He turned back to me as Wonda began to cackle.
“Then you got Alexis Constanello. Beware she’s...uh.....I honestly don’t what her traits are. Just hurt her, and watch out for KIEF.”
“That creepy muhrfucka?”
“Yes, that creepy muthafucka.”
“I wanna beat his ass so bad, just the thought of him....his hands probably all greasy and shit, spreading on the ropes and shit...Fuck that nigga, I’m kickin him in the face! “
“The fuckin face!” Wonda interrupted. “Now is that blunt ready, bro!”
“Hold the fuck up, nigga!”
“Yeah, man. Hold up.”
I licked the cigarillo and folded it over, frying it with an ACW Poppa-K zippo lighter that I invested in and never got a chance to sell. Honestly, I got six crates of them sumbitches in a pile in my kitchen.
Lit. I inhaled deeply, then blew out a cloud of smoke into my companions’ faces.
“So hold up. What’s this some league of nobodies? Is this NEW B-team? This is the fuckin league they plant me in? Kief, Alexis Cocksanello so me washed up redneck with an American flag and a two-by-four?”
“Hey, bro!”
I must’ve hit a soft spot on Wondabread.”That guy’s been through some tough times...Show some respect, for godsakes.”
“God is for Reya Serra, and nobodies got respect for an old horse that was too drugged up in his prime to get a major deal.”
“DAMN!”
James raised his bottle and chugged it clear in light of that burn. “So you-”
I stopped him and stood up, walking towards the window. “Yes I do think I already have this in the bag.” As I neared the glass, I watch the Nassau Colosseum. “I’m a fuckin man. and If I gotta be the king of the muthafuckin Morlocks, then shit, I’ll be dat nigga!”
I inhaled the mixture of chronic, alcohol, and A/C dust before continuing my monologue
“Just like I did in ACW I’mma fight my way up this bitch. Shit, I aint even nominated for the HOF, that shit aint right!”
“Ay, man!”
I turned to James who held up a red ICE Smirnov.
“ICED, bitch!”
“Fuck. I told them no fuckin Ice.....”
Wonda, sometime having crept up to my side patted my shoulder in comfort.
“Don’t be a bitch chug the shit, bro.”
James tossed the bottle, which I reluctantly caught. Popping it open I stare down my enemy like I will stare down my opponents. with no fear. I chug...
“Aye, Bro..ICED!”