<img src=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/ff/6c/ae/ff6cae402db0fd6f143ca84c0d1b89c5--ricki-hall.jpg>

Fallout (Part 3)
#NP “45” by The Gaslight Anthem
Locale: Bad Boys Crib; Las Vegas, Nevada
Storyteller: Daxton Beckett


A ringing noise fogs my head as the ultimate pleasure takes over my entire body.  I feel like my body is being pounded into oblivion, but there's something oddly satisfying about it.  I bite only my bottom lip and look back at Mickey, who is right behind me, sweating like crazy with his hands on my hips.  I can see the sweat pouring down from my forehead, down my nose, and onto the white sheets beneath my sweaty, aching body.  The only thing that breaks up the ringing is the sound of my breaths, struggling to come in and out of my lungs as I shake.  My breaths are shallow as my body is constantly jolted, and Mickey smiles.  I can’t lie, this feeling is what I’ve been missing my entire life as I groan and moan, and make faces that cause a twinkle to form in Mickey's eye.  Mickey is not going light on me, but it’s okay, because we’ve both been denying ourselves of this for so, so long.  Seeing him enjoying this so much makes me almost lose control as I begin moving back and forth more quickly, letting my tongue hang out of the side of my mouth as I surrender control completely.  My body just can’t take any more as my breath heightens, and my eyes start to roll into the back of my head, my normally kind of neat hair falling down onto the side of my face.  I can’t explain why, but as soon as my eyes catch sight of the SCW World Tag Team Championships, I bite onto my bottom lip and begin to groan loudly. My eyes clinch and I moan, making my “O” face as my entire body quivers, thanks to Mickey.  Forty five minutes after we started, my sweaty body just goes entirely limp as Mickey smacks me hard on the ass, laughing in satisfaction as I struggle hard to catch my breath.  The smell of a burning cigarette quickly fills the room, and my entire body feel like it's on fire with a tingly sensation

Soon as I can, I step off of the elliptical machine and… wait… did you assholes actually think I'd talk about my sex life like that?  Who the fuck do I look like?  Steve Ramone?  I don’t have to bang and brag, because unlike Steve Ramone, when I say I bumped uglies with someone, they believe it, and I don’t constantly feel like I need to reaffirm it.  Word of the Day calendar for the win!

Anyway, Mickey puffs on a cigarette as I pick up a towel and begin to dry myself up.  Mickey hands me a bottle of water, and I dump it into my hair before emptying most of the rest into my mouth, faster than I can gulp it down, so some splashes down onto my chest.  That workout was pretty intense, and I try my best to catch my breath.  Mickey reaches around and grabs onto my ass and pulls me in close, looking up at me a little.  He leans in and practically bites my bottom lip clear off of my face in a rough display of passion.  I lick tenderly at my bottom lip before doing the same back to him, only my hand goes… somewhere else.  His hip?!  God, you guys are so fucking gross… but in this case, your assumption was actually right, and I’m a goddamn liar.

Mickey:  Oi, mate… again?  Can yer arse even take it again so soon?

Me:  There’s only one way to find out.  Just, if I crumble over, don’t stop.  That work out took it outta me.

Mickey rolls his eyes as he hands me his cigarette for a quick drag.  I suck it in, and then shotgun it right back into his mouth, giving the tobacco my own personal essence.  I then take a drag for myself, and hand it back as I savor it.

Mickey:  I’m a chain smoking former alcoholic who ‘as 7 years on ye, and I could ‘ave lasted a solid hour before lookin’ like death was knocking at me door.

Dax:  Oh, I’m sorry “mate”.  Just like in the bedroom, at Summer XXXTreme, I did most of the work, so my body is a little sore.

Mickey:  Might be time to get over it, considering Giani texted me while you was on the elliptical, and he informed me that we got a match coming up on the next Climax Control.

I roll my eyes at him.  I grab the tag title belts from the podium they were sitting on to motivate me, and I sling one over my shoulder as the strap hits against my red running shorts.  Mickey grabs onto the other belt, and he places it over the black muscle shirt he’s wearing.  I tap on them as I look Mickey right in the eye.

Me:  Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Mickey:  Probably.  It’s kinda wonky that we gotta defend these belts on the first show back, when I don’t recall Ben Jordan and Jamie Dean defending those belts the entire time they was champions.

Me:  Fuck that!  The whole reason we wanted these belts was to make them mean something.  Sitting on our fuckin’ asses…

Mickey gives me a playful eyebrow wiggle as he interrupts me for a second, catching me off guard.

Mickey:  Did ye do that on purpose?

Me:  Naturally… but that’s not gonna make these belts mean jack shit.  Being lazy won’t make these belts matter to people.  The art of tag team wrestling is dying, and I’m not about to sit here and take it.  Pun intended!

Mickey:  Of course it was, but it seems a little hypocritical to sit on these belts for three months, and then expect us to defend them on the first show back, against the Monstimals…

I scoff and shake my head.  I look over at Mickey with a look that must let him read my mind, because he laughs in a way that says he’s being very serious.  He even leans forward and emphasizes it with quotation marks, and a very loud…

Mickey:  YAAAARRRP!

Me:  Oh fuck you… I’m gonna piss my pants right now.  Seriously!

I can’t help but laugh at Mickey’s mockery.

Mickey:  Ich ziehe nicht deinen schwanz, freund!

This time I lean forward, widening my eyes as I turn my head slightly, looking into the camera filming this whole thing and I nod my head once as I open my mouth slowly.

Me:  Narrrrrp!

Me and Mickey share a high five, clasping hands for a chest bump on each side, followed by a a clicking of the fingers.  Mickey continues to ignore the camera recording our shenanigans, since Giani decided to turn this pad into its own living reality TV show to feel back at home again.

Me:  Look, it’s not gonna be enough to be fighting champions though.  Just ask Eyesnsane about that.  He carried those belts for him and Jon… Matt… and nobody respected them then.  We have to figure out how to make them matter again.

Mickey:  The fact that a tag team with three to four wrestlers that rotate out could make us unique enough to bring attention to them.

Me:  Fuck that, bruh.  It isn’t about being unique.  Eyes and the Karate Kid were a pretty interesting team, and they got derailed by Team BJ.  The Monstimals, besides having a fucking stupid name, are unique.  They are like a C-rated, brain damaged, demented version of Bad Boys, except they carry four personalities in two bodies.  They had these belts before.

Mickey shakes his head as he pulls out his phone and begins looking something up on Youtube.  I wait, but I’m pretty impatient with it.

Mickey:  Ye know who else ‘ad these tag belts?  Ye probably wouldn’t believe that this person, of all people, ‘ad these belts.  Staggs…

Me:  Wait, are we talking Jamie, or Timmy?

Mickey:  Well, actually, both.  Jamie with Rage… er, Jake Sullivan, and Tim with Connor Murphy.

I scratch my head as I try to recall the last name mentioned.  For some reason, I can’t help but think that he would make an excellent Bad Boy…  Mickey hands his phone over to me and taps play, showing a picture of Tim, looking much more shaggy, and Hogwarts-y, with Connor Murphy, holding the tag belts up over the fallen forms of The Monstimals.  I laugh and point before throwing the phone back to Mickey.

Me:  That right there is all the proof that I need to not have to worry about this match.  Those two psych ward side shows got beat by a couple guys who literally called themselves The Nobodies…

Mickey:  Easy now, son… You and me called ourselves Nobodies also.  We just never took off our hoods while the stable was around. Ye should actually remember this match, because we was at ringside during it.

Me:  Did I ever mention that I was never sober when I wore the hood?  It’s all a blur.  I just kinda woke up wearing it one day, with a badass tatted up Timmy off in rehab, wondering where my life went wrong.

Mickey:  The day yer ‘ead popped outta yer mum?

I shrug my shoulders and wink at Mickey, while also flipping him the bird in the process.  I wave it around for a second before I take a seat on the edge of the weight bench.  Mickey joins me, sitting extra close to me.  He places his hand on my knee.

Mickey:  I hope that you and me get to defend the titles together.  It was the most glorious feeling to win them with ye like that.

Me:  It was even more glorious than our crowning moment of the entire show, when Bad Boys doubled in size, ending not one, but two tag teams, bringing back a legend, and helping the man who helped us get back into the fold.  We took on Eyesnsane, and no one saw that coming.  Almost like they won’t see him blindsiding them with that kung fu warrior shit he’s got going on.  They don’t even know, but I told you when I was scouting him.

Mickey:  I never paid much attention with ‘im getting ‘eld down by Jon Dough for so long.  Plus, ye beat ‘im in a street fight, so I never put much stock into it.

I playfully punch Mickey in the arm.  He taps my arm back, and I go for a headlock, but he reaches around and pinches my nipples so hard that I let go, screaming while he laughs.  However, he holds on with his own kung fu grip, causing me to squeak out a high pitched, breathy objection.

Mickey:  And speaking of nipple cuffs… Tim Staggs, the other ginger of the Bad Boys…

Me:  Ow, I don’t get it but, ahhhhhoooowwwww?

Mickey:  â€˜e looks like ‘e’d be into harsh nipple play, like the undersexed nerd ‘e is.  

Mickey shrugs his shoulders as he lets go of my nipples.  I rub them tenderly, while looking at him angrily.  He continues on with his talk, but I secretly wonder why he stopped, because I kinda liked it :/

Mickey:  Either way, ‘e’s the one helping us spread the word outside of SCW, so that we don’t become the next NXT.  It will be good for branding.

Me:  Not to mention, I think I discovered why people like nipple play.  Maybe random yet light fetishes are my thing.  Let’s get tickled by Amanda Cortez’s wife and the billions of meaningless sluts that are into that sort of thing!

Mickey:  Um, no.  But, we do ‘ave ourselves a dirty old man in our midst.  I don’t mean that ‘e’s filthy and unclean, but ‘e’s got it in with Amy Marshall.  Hey, ‘e’s screwed Amy Marshall… you ‘ave been screwed over by Amy Marshall.  There’s a direct link!

I go to titty twist him by surprise, but since he’s laid off the sauce, he’s quick as a ninja, and he blocks my attempt, and withholds the reverse twist just to spite me.  He glares into my eyes in a way that promises I’m going to pay for it later, and I grin from ear to ear.

Mickey:  Me point was simple as… We got experience in our faction.  We got management on our side.  We got drive.  We got pedigree.  We got skill.  We got the entire bloody package.  If anyone thinks they can stop us now, then they’re more stupid than they appear.  And that says a lot.

Me:  Hey, do you want to do something else to mock the Monstimals that might actually be fun?

Mickey looks at me curiously.  I stand up from the bench, and walk across the in house gym, toward the bathroom door.  I open it up and walk inside.  Mickey follows after me slowly and cautiously.  Out of the camera’s view, I wait for Mickey to get closer to the door, and then as he gets within a few feet of the door, he smiles and chuckles wickedly.  That is, until my gym shorts fly right in his face.

Me:  Bathroom sex… for the win!

Mickey quickly removes his shirt and leaves it sitting in front of the door as he begins to go for the pants, walking inside of the bathroom.  You pervs don’t get to watch, so fuck right off with your curiosities and shit.  Yeah, that means you too, Ramone…  Just because you talk about your encounters with your porn star home wrecker, even though you probably pay her to lie and say that you were able to get it up long enough for her to do something with it… Go… away!





<img src=https://i.ytimg.com/vi/fiqQrRqhE2k/hqdefault.jpg>

The Bad Boys Era
#NP “Party Monster” by Krewella
Locale: Bad Boys Crib; Las Vegas, Nevada
Storyteller: Giani Di Luca


#Fugeddaboudit

The camera comes on.  I’m a pro with that shit.  I can spot the red light from a mile away.  I already know that my hair is right, my tan is right, my clothes is fresh to death, and the exercise equipment in the gym is polished up… except the elliptical for some reason.  It’s covered in dried sweat, like we’s a bunch of fawkin’ savages.  I shake my head, cause it’s too late to do somethin’ about it now.  I know I look right in my tattoo print skin tight white shirt, relaxed fit jeans that cost more than some people’s cars, the iciest cross hangin’ from my neck, and the hair done like God intended.  Instead, I look up toward the camera as I step backward to show off my three guests for this evenin’s events.  You got Erik Staggs in his red blazer and matchin’ slacks, and a white dress shirt with the red “#BadBoys” printed across the front and displayed proudly.  To his right is his great nephew, Tim Staggs.  He is wearin’ a pair of shades that he got from me as a signin’ bonus, a sleeveless #BadBoys tee, and skinny jeans that show off what Alexis loves most ‘bout him.  His scruffy red beard sticks out against his pale skin as he flips the ball cap off of his head and holds it in his hands.  Then, to Erik’s left, is the man everyone is tawkin’ ‘bout.  Simply dressed in white pants with a red “#BadBoys” logo printed down each leg, and a black belt.  He grins as he looks toward the camera, but says nothin’.  As a matter of fact, no one is sayin’ nothin’.  I look to the camera as I pull somethin’ outta my pocket.  It appears to be a white piece of fabric of some sort.  I begin to unfold it, and as I do so, it slowly becomes apparent that it’s the Italian Flag.  I hand it to my three guests, and they hold it up as I pull a steel chair up to me and unfold it, sitting backwards in it to face the camera with the flag waving behind me.  Now, since ya assholes ain’t that cultured, the followin’ has been dubbed in English, but was originally recorded in straight Italian.  Stay tuned for the original piece.

Me:  Good evening, fans of Sin City Wrestling.  If you’re not a fan, then what the hell are you doing watching this tape?  Did you want to come and see all this sexy filling up one room?  I bet that you did.  As you can see, we are missing two members, who said that they were going to be here at 9 o’clock sharp, and they are not.  Fortunately for you, they are the two least sexy members of the Bad Boys, so you are not missing much.

I look back at the three men behind me, and we all share a laugh at the expense of Mickey and Dax.  We exchange pleasantries and jokes for a moment before they start to wave the flag behind me once more, and I return to speaking.

Me:  I’m just joking with you, shit for brains.  The Bad Boys sometimes do that.  It is not to be mistaken with being a joke.  Anyone who has this opinion is nothing but the town idiot.  If we were truly a joke, we would not have taken down anyone who has gotten in our way to this point in time.  Unless you want to call everyone else that we’ve beaten a joke?

I look at the camera and stop what I’m saying as I begin slamming my fingers on my right hand against the ones on my left, completing a list of everyone that we have beaten since arriving in SCW as a tag team.

Me:  The Elders… No offense to you, my brother Eyesnsane.  Unholy Alliance, the men who are set to face us after a win over The Elders.  Dying Breed, who we eradicated from the face of Sin City Wrestling.  Joshua Acquin and Kate Steele. Amanda Cortez and Ivan Darrell.   The same treatment has been given to Team BJ, where we pushed them out of business altogether.  Let’s face it, the only two tag teams that we haven’t beaten are Surf Boys, Black Sheep, and The Monstimals.  One are former SCW Tag Team Champions, and they are on our bucket list for future competition.  Black Sheep are a start up team who came here and begged for any and all help to prevent us from reaching these title belts right here.  They knew that, once we got them, we would dominate the division.  And guess what?  They were right.  As for the third team I mentioned?  We will take care of this on Sunday, with ease.

Eyesnsane:  Yaarrrp...

I stop again.  It’s not time for me to end my bragging just yet.  I flash my TV money smile, and I swear to God that I can hear the *tink* sound of the light flashing off of that smile.  I wink a little, because I know that you all want it.

Me:  This doesn’t even cover the singles wins we have had since Bad Boys were created.  We defeated…

Dax:  Oh, my fucking… Gah!

Mickey:  Well, maybe ye shouldn’t ask me to go it from that angle this time, luv.

I stop and look around the room, as does Eyesnsane, Erik, and Tim.  We furl our brows as we try to figure out where this noise is coming from.  I give it a second, hearing a thumping noise, but I assume that Mickey and Dax are on their way in finally.

Me:  You got me, who… I don’’t need to go on about every name that I beat in this fucking place, because that list will go on for hours, and tag teams only have a limited time to speak.  I will say that I was a former World Heavyweight Champion, and a two time World Tag Team Champion here.  The Bad Boys has taken on Andrew Garcia, Ivan Darrell, Chris Shipman, Calvin Harris…

Erik:  Look, can we not stretch this out so much?  I’m tired of waving this flag like an idiot.

Me:  You speak Italian?  Interesting.  I had no idea.

Dax:  OOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!! That’s it.  Right fucking there, man!

Mickey:  I don’t know why I never went for the arse before, but I’m never going back again…

Me:  EH!  Stop playing around and get your asses in here so we can do that thing we talked about!

There is a pause of silence as I look around for them, but I don’t see anything.  No sign of them coming anywhere.  I shake my head and sigh before turning back to the camera.  Before I can continue, Dax and Mickey speak again.

Dax:  I… don’t think that’s a good idea.  We’re, well, not really in the right… It’s kind of awkward for me.

Mickey:  But, it’s okay!  It’s from a place of love!

Me:  Well, that’s a question for another day.  The question on my mind right now, is… How do you guys know Italian so well?  I just have to know!

Dax:  What?  We’re not speaking Italian.  I’m just getting a bathroom bone job like Samuel McPherson… or Lord Raab.  I’m not sure which one takes it, or if they take turns…

Me:  But… You guys are speaking in Italian.  Everything here is being done in Italian, because we’re doing a thing.  Like, how Lord Raab speaks in German, and nobody understands him/

Erik:  I actually do understand him.  I have a lot of family over in Germany.

Eyesnsane:  I sure don’t understand what he’s saying.  I usually don’t give him the chance to speak when I can’t turn off the screen.  I just punch him in the face.

Dax:  Do you guys mind?!  This is all nice and everything, but it’s kind of a mood killer!

Mickey:  Not for me.  But, then again, I’m practically balls deep in someone.

Me:  EHHHH!!!  Do you guys mind being a little quieter about this?  I’m trying to cut a promo here!

I guess they got the hint, because instead of the yelling, the thumping just gets louder and louder.  I open my mouth to speak, and the three Bad Boys behind me begin to make the flag wave once more.

Me:  Oh my god, the things I deal with for the sake of this group.  You people at home have no idea.

Tim:  Yarrrrp!

Me: I do it, because these assholes are no joke.  It was once said that I am the only Bad Boy who makes this group matter.  While normally I would agree, just as I did when I was a member of NXT and Team Erik, I can’t say that now.  One person said that I don’t do anything as a member of Bad Boys.  It was said that I did not win the SCW World Tag Team Championships.  Mickey and Dax did.  That is fine with me to hear this said.  My days of having to prove anything to you morons has passed.  I did that the second I put on the second annual Best Match of the Year for 2013 when I beat the fuck out of Goth in an I Quit Match to retain my World Heavyweight Championship.  I earned the respect of anyone who is still here that matters.  But, I will say that I intend to fight this week.  I have to prove to myself that I still have the killer instinct that I had when I came into this business six years ago.  Anyone else can go to hell.

Erik:  Naaarp!

Mickey:  Relax yer arse a little!  It’s like a bloody vice!

Dax:  It probably is bloody, Jack Hammer!  Maybe you should have a fucking size reduction!

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I hear Dax whimper slightly, leading into a loud moan.  I slam my fist against my knee in anger.

Me:  For the love of God!  Okay, look… The fact of the matter is this.  Bad Boys defeating The Monstimals is not a possibility, but a fucking certainty.  I’m not going to sugar coat this with a bunch of ego related talk about how good we are.  Instead, I’m going to list facts, even though certain idiots of this company are too delusional to pay attention to facts.  Namely idiots with a certain review show who like to act like their opinions matter, when the majority of the organization thinks otherwise.  And since one of them is borderlined delusional…

Erik:  Only one of them?

Me: … And since TWO of them are borderlined delusional, let me drop their name so that they pay attention to something that normally wouldn’t consider them.  Kris and Mikah Green.  Here’s the next scoop for your show.  Bad Boys… the best team in SCW since Young Money, the unofficial name of my team with the artist formally known as James Huntington Hawkes the Third.

Dax:  Uhhhhhhh…. Yarp!

Mickey:  Ugh, don’t say that.  It’s not… wait, say it again.  I’m starting to see why Raab likes it so much!

Dax:  Yarp!  Yarp!  Yarp!  Yarp!  Yarp!!!

Mickey:  Nahhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrpppppp…

I stand up from my chair and I pick it up and throw it across the room.  Eyesnsane smiles at this display as Erik tries to calm my down.  Tim claps his hands and picks up a chair and throws it across the room.

Tim:  Naarrrp!

Me:  You two better get your act together and get out here right now!  I don’t care if you have to finish this promo with blue balls or not!

Mickey:  All good, mate.  I’m finished.

Dax:  I wasn’t…

The sound of Mickey slapping Dax clear across his ass rings throughout the gym as he opens the door.  He’s fully dressed, and I am stunned because of how fast he did that.  I mean, his collar is in place.  His hair is brushed back like nothing happened.  And if I didn’t see Dax sweating like a madman, and curled up on the floor, covered in a shower curtain, I wouldn’t believe that they weren’t just in there messing around.  Mickey looks at the chair and winks as he puffs on a cigarette.  He grabs one end of the Italian flag to start waving it, but he is the only one.

Mickey:  Alright?

Me:  No, it’s not alright!  I had a thing going, and you guys messed it up!

Mickey:  Well here.  Let me help you out.

Now that Mickey takes over, he begins to tell the story In Hawaiian?  I take a seat and snap my fingers.  Dax comes up behind me and majestically waves the Hawaiian flag behind me…  At least that was the plan.  I look back to see him waving around a piece of pineapple and ham pizza.  Giani is scratching his head and I feel like I should explain this for him.

Me:  I saw Moana with my son, and I decided that I wanted to learn it.  It’s such a beautiful language.

Giani nods his head, but I’m not quite sure he understands it.  That’s just fine by me.

Me:  Let me bullet point this for you idiots.  Giani made a career out of carrying people on his back.  While he’s taking a break from that, and letting the Bad Boys do what they do best for most of the time, he reached the top with a sniveling brat clinging to his coattails the entire time.  He was the World Heavyweight Champion in SCW.  In that time, one of the biggest offenders of riding on Giani’s back was J2H.  I know that you idiots can’t be that stupid to not see where I’m going with this.

Eyesnsane:  Yarp… In Hawaiian...

I smile as I watch Giani finally get it… well, most of it anyway.

Me:  J2H defeated Lord Raab, very badly, at Summer XXXTreme.  He competed in a Death Match.  Not that we couldn’t take Lord Raab and his illiterate arsehole of a husband…

I stop and glare back at Dax, waiting for him to get the comment.  However, he doesn’t, and it only further proves my point.

Me:  â€¦ but he’s damaged right now, even more than usual.  The fact that Giani could have easily taken out J2H, goes to prove that our wannabe World Heavyweight Champion, who finds himself with even less gold than when he walked into Summer XXXTreme, couldn’t take us out on his best day, let alone his worst.  Samuel is no help.  He’s just a one word, one note sack of shit wrestler who doesn’t hold a candle to our worst Bad Boy, Tim…

Tim:  Yaaarp… Hey!

Me:  So to think that The Monstimals have a snowball’s chance in hell, have got another thing coming to them.  You’re as dense as The Monstimals themselves.  Yes, I’m talking about you, Kris and Mikah…

Dax:  Yaaaarrrppp…

Dax looks down as I feel the need to cross my legs suddenly.

Me:  It’s a simple fact that doesn’t need to be dragged out in some grand display of words in not one, not two, but three beautiful languages.  Let me give this to you in a way that even you can understand, Raab and Sammy…  Let me show you just how much of a chance you stand against the Bad Boys of Sin City Wrestling… Or any team in this dismal wasteland of lost potential, for that matter.  Let me make this loud and clear for each and every one of you…

I curl my fingers together, holding them up to look like an “O”.  I hold it there as Dax takes a bite of the Hawaiian pizza, and Giani, Erik, and Eyesnsane join behind me.  I turn around and we raise our hands in the air, flipping them off as “Middle Fingers” begins playing from the radio that Giani had planted in the room.  The camera fades out as we revel in the moment.

Word Count: 5000

 <img src=https://68.media.tumblr.com/92299e0232375c0ebbd8e80225668ace/tumblr_olhwtrpdTu1rwpwk7o1_500.gif>
 
Undeniable Evidence
#NP "Cruel World” Phantogram
Locale: Various; Nevada
Storyteller: Nicholas Taylor
 
 
Life is funny sometimes.  A real riot, if you will.  I’ve struggled my entire life with my sexuality, and fighting for equality for all.  I was going to be a Theater Arts major in college, to help me break into the world of wrestling, or at least get my production company off of the ground.  When parents whisper in your ear that you’re going to have a hard enough time in life due to your “choices”, and you begin to doubt your dreams, you compromise.  This cliched story, as old as time, is mine.  Several changes in major later, I became a United States Citizenship and Immigrations Services officer.  A cog in the Trump machine, if you will.  I stop people from taking important American jobs. Since you can’t see them, my eyes are rolling.
 
Don’t get me wrong, I love my job usually.  I get to see love with no borders, not bound by the constraints of distance.  I get to vouch for them, and help them prove that their love is genuine.  Aside from the mundane bureaucratic nonsense, it’s a great feeling.  Some cases are not so heartwarming, but justice just might stand a fighting chance.  But, every now and then, you run across a case that really makes you doubt humanity.
 
Enter the Di-Luca-Carroll-Beckett’s…
 
Yes, I’m that person lurking around Sin City Wrestling, compiling data to get Mickey Carroll deported.  I’ve actually had a small Twitter following, cheering me on and feeding me much data that would help me make this a reality.  They are not very well liked, and I get e-mails daily, featuring cell phone videos, and statements from several stars and Bombshells.  Unfortunately, being recorded without consent nullifies these videos, and the Republican National Party wants to avoid a blow up within the LGBT community, given the flickering flame from the Clinton supporters within said community.  Therefore, justice cannot prevail.
 
A hero?  Or a villain?  I’ve been called both.  Some people think my assignment, that has now become my most driving purpose in life, is asinine.  How could someone be so heartless in wanting to deport a human being back to some third world country?  Oh, right… Michael Carroll hails from London, England.  The conditions are so harsh there, right?  What these super liberal jackasses don’t realize, is that Mr. Carroll had an entire year to renew his work visa in the United States.  He received documentation requesting his immediate response, but finding his way to the bottom of a seemingly endless bottle was more important to him.  The process is not difficult, nor do we want to deport people.  America was founded on the blood, sweat, and tears of immigrants from all over the world, and I, personally, do not want to convey that I am anywhere near the proverbial clusterfuck that is the Trump Party, or the party that blindly follows the selfish man, trying to justify the mockery he makes of not only the government, but each and every one of us.
 
Tangents; oh how I can’t help but find myself on one regularly.  The reason I want to see Mr. Carroll go, and Mr. Di Luca and Mr. Beckett rot in a jail cell, is because they make a complete mockery of what my office stands for, and what I personally stand for.  Is that so wrong?  Not to mention, they really know how to dig under my skin.  And how I am the only person who sees this, is completely beyond me.
 
Just last week, I literally dumped a file full of papers onto the desk at the board meeting.  The most vile and damning information in the form of photos and documentation, armed with the remote in hand to turn on the projector, when my commanding officer and my peers all stare at me and roll their eyes.
 
Me:  Now… just wait.  Please hear me out.
 
Officer Nelson:  Oh good lord, not this again.  Taylor!  You do know that you have other cases to work on, do you not?
 
Me:  What say you, I play you a video taken just two nights ago when, get this, Mr. Beckett, is seen stumbling around drunk on his porch, in the arms of another man with his tongue down his throat.
 
I turn on the projector, and the video is ready to go.  I press play, and the video begins playing, but almost immediately stops.  Officer Nelson looks deep into my eyes as he sweeps all of my hard work off of the table.  He rips the remote from my hand and slides it across the table, away from me.  He looks over toward the door, and points to it.  As much as I don’t want to hear what is to come, I storm out of the door.  As it closes behind me, we stand in the hallway, and I take the initiative here.
 
Me:  You don’t understand.  I got him to sign a waiver at the bar prior to recording, and all of that information is iron clad!
 
Officer Nelson:  You were told to proceed with caution in this case.  A.K.A. back the frick off, son.  With all of the backlash from the foo-foos…
 
Me:  Okay, I take offense to…
 
Officer Nelson:  … we were given direct orders to let this one go.  If you can’t back off, then I’m afraid that we’re going to have no choice but to…
 
I shake my head and laugh.  Something in me starts spinning out of control, and I can’t put my finger on it.  I can’t fight it, because there is no stopping it.  I laugh harder and harder as my superior stares at me.
 
Me:  What kind of fucking bullshit pony show are you running here, you raging fucking dick…
 
Officer Nelson:  I’m willing to let that go, because I know how much time you’ve…
 
Me:  You have no fucking clue, mate.  I spent a cocking day… and entire DAY… sitting in a bush suit on their lawn.  They didn’t notice, because none of them are that smart.  Dax even picked a damn rose off of me.  I travelled all over the United States to get that shit that you knocked all over the floor.  You fucking suited monkeys run around here following orders instead of doing your simple, mundane jobs!  This whole place is horseshit, bruh.
 
Officer Nelson raises his hand and I open my eyes as wide as they will go, and I take one step closer to his face, leaning down to study every worry line on his forty-something face, and the premature grey in his slicked back hair, and I poke my finger into his beer gut.  The one acquired from having to go home and drink himself into a stupor night after night to compensate for his lackluster personality, lackluster life, and surely, his lackluster genitals.
 
Me:  Don’t you fuckin’ dare, dawg.  No, betta yet, I double dawg dare ya.
 
Officer Nelson:  I think you need to go home and reflect on your conduct this evening.  The crazy act won’t work for gaining a sympathy card.
 
Me:  Sympathy card… like the bloody sympathy card ye got when yer old bird left ye?  The one everyone laughed at as they signed it?  Bruh…
 
Officer Nelson looks like he’s about to say something, and I look into the boardroom, noticing everyone staring at us.  So, I give them something to look at when I smash his face repeatedly into the window, a sick grin on my face, or so the youtube video my husband showed me later on showed.  Honestly, I blacked out after that.
 
The coming days have only gotten worse.  I’ve found myself diving more and into the work since I’ve been “suspended”, without pay.  I sit in the dark, surveying all possible leads, trying to follow up on other reports, or watching the cameras set up in various spots.  It’s safe to say that I’ve gone rogue, and this is my purpose in life.  My husband, Dante, comes in and rubs my shoulders.  I shrug him off of me and scoff at his display.  I hear him mutter something under his breath.  I smile, but I don’t even turn around.
 
Me: The fuck did you just say?
 
Dante:  I say, your meds are on the counter of the bathroom.  Think you need them, habibata.
 
Me:  I think I know when I need to take a fuckin’ chill pill, and it ain’t now.
 
Dante:  You are not you!  Of course you don’t know you need it!  I call Doctor Zimmerman and you have an appointment in 7 hours.  Hope you get some rest before.
 
The love of my life.  My everything.  The person who has supported me since the day we met, who has gone through the thickest and thinnest of times, staying by my side through all of this, is trying to make me feel like I’m crazy.  I’m not fucking crazy.  If anything, I’m more sane than I’ve ever been in my entire life.  How dare he?  I shoot up from my chair and I tower over my husband in a way I’ve never done before.  The reflection of the surveillance camera screens around the room give our dark eyes and I do something he hates more than anything by using his birth name.
 
Me:  Kazem!  Back the FUCK off of this shit, right now!
 
He looks up into my eyes, and I can tell he wants nothing more than to hit me with everything he’s got.  For a smaller guy, he’s got some power, and he could probably knock me on my ass.  I’m angry at the world right now, and I would love nothing more than to have him do what the world is doing to me right now, and knock me down on the ground.  Beat the fuck out of me.  Try to snuff out my fire, all while the flame continues to grow.  I can see the sick smile now, through the reflection in his burning eyes.  I gently laugh, daring him to follow through.  Instead, he turns around and opens the door.
 
Dante:  Leaving for the night.
 
Me:  You going to go back to your mom and dad? Oh, wait, you’re a zamel, so you’re not allowed back in their house built on Allah.  Your sister?  She’s afraid you’ll become her husbands sixth wife.  Her words!
 
Dante:  Your appointment is at 9:30am with Zimmerman.  Get some goddamn help…
 
He slams the door.  It is moments later that he returns to the room with a duffel bag.  He shoves it into my arms and shoves me through the house.  We are in a pushing match as we curse at one another.  As I said, the smaller man that is my husband is quite strong.  He shoves me through the front door and I look at him.  There is a feeling of guilt that hides my newfound true feelings.  I break for just a moment as I look up at him from the bottom step of the porch.
 
Me:  Where will I go?
 
Dante:  Go get a fuckin’ clue, waliy!  And here, take these…
 
He throws my pill bottle at me.  I catch it, and as I look back up, he disappears through the door as I hear it slamming.  I start to cry.  Me, the man who hasn’t felt a single thing in two years, crying.  I take the keys out of my robe pocket, because I’ve been wearing it everywhere over the last two days.  I get into my car, and I toss my bag into the passenger's seat.  I hold the bottle up and stare at it for a moment.  I pop the cap off as I stick my finger into the bottle and pull out one pill.  I go to take it, until I see my reflection in the mirror.  The reflection I’ve missed for so long.  Not the dull Nicholas Taylor, but Kranion.  I toss the bottle out of the window as I turn the car on.  I disappear out of the driveway like a bat out of hell, and I get in touch with an old friend with connections.  I know exactly how I’m going to spend my morning, and it isn’t in a stuffy doctor’s office.  Not this time.
 
No, I’m going to prepare to take the fight to the Bad Boys, by any means necessary.  They’ve driven me to my breaking point, but little do they know, Kranion doesn’t break.  He warps.  And after a couple hours of driving around, I find my way to a friend of a friend of a friend’s gym in Las Vegas, Nevada for a personal training session.  Staggs Dungeon…
 
 
******************************************************************************
 
 
 
<img src=https://68.media.tumblr.com/75edd605155422896c08a9f3ed359b55/tumblr_mx1flrEroh1smwcc1o1_500.gif>
 
 
Cold Cold Cold
#NP "Cold Cold Cold” by Cage the Elephant
Locale: Bad Boys Home; Las Vegas, Nevada
Storyteller: Mickey Carroll
 
 
What a week it ‘as been.  I know, as a Bad Boy, we say this a lot.  Facebook and Twitter are lit up with the escapades of Dax and Xander Bishop tearing down the town the only way those two know how.  I’m pretty sure they posted actual jail cell-fies somehow.  I can’t say that I’m surprised, but I am relieved.  Since Sunday, I’ve been sitting things out at home, holed up in a hotel room.  I need to go home and grab some fresh clothes, because leading a sober life makes it difficult to wear the same clothes for more than one day in a row.  I pull up to the house, and I get out, noticing that the lights are all out.  Perhaps Giani is out dealing with bailing Dax out of jail, or maybe ‘e’s asleep in ‘is room.  Either way, I should be safe to go inside and make a hasty escape.
 
I unlock the door quietly before entering.  I don’t even bother to turn the lights on as I make me way up the hallway toward the stairs.  As I reach the first step, the lights turn on and I freeze.  Standing there in nothing but a lacy pink nighty is Veronica Taylor.  She ‘as a mineral water in ‘er ‘and and that resting bitch face that ‘as given me wood more times than I’d like to admit.  But this time, it somehow makes me go pure white in the face.  I can’t say a single word, even as a shirtless Giani comes walking around the corner.  He leans down and kisses Veronica before giving ‘er a pat on the rear, sending her walking past me.  The fact that ‘e’s not even saying a word is what alarms me as I turn around and shake me ‘ead as I walk toward the door.  The gorilla motherfucker slams ‘is ‘and against the door, stopping me from getting it opened.  I sigh and shake me ‘ead.
 
Me:  Kidnapping is a federal offense, mate.  Domestic abuse is as well.
 
Giani:  Shut the fawk up, dawg.  You got some major explainin’ to do.  But honestly, that explainin’ should be done when Dax is here, cause you been awl kinda shitty to him.
 
Me:  Bloody ‘ell… Can we not do this when I got this stupid match to prepare for to make up for your actions?
 
Giani throws ‘is weight into the door, closing it all the way as I roll me eyes and walk into the living room.  Giani is doing my ‘ead in, and the sobriety is on its way out of the door, where I should be going.  I give it one last shot as I light up a cigarette and take it over to the white leather chair, sitting me ‘appy arse down in it.  Giani decides to stand to try making me feel bad about what I’ve done.
 
Giani:  That was not only me and Dax out there.  You was the one knockin’ Jamie Dean around the ring like a fawkin’ ragdoll.  We didn’t even touch him, bro.
 
Me:  Yeah, because you was too busy destroying a nearly two decade friendship.  Yer almost as full of excuses as ye’are of shite, bruv.  If I ‘aven’t said it yet, thanks for that.  I didn’t need lifelong friends.
 
Giani:  Great, then let’s go file for a divorce so I don’t gotta see my girlfriend in secret, and Dax can go on and actually date while he tries findin’ out who he is.
 
Me:  Oh, haha… right, because ‘e’s really doing a bang up job of keeping that a secret… What was I thinking?
 
Giani:  At least he’s fawkin’ tryin’!  That’s more than I can say for ya, Mick.
 
There might ‘ave been a little hiccup at the end of that, because nobody calls me Mick and gets away with it.  Not even me ‘usband.  I give ‘im a moment to say it properly, but ‘e doesn’t.  Instead, ‘e just looks at me, daring me to do something.
 
Me:  Oh really?  ‘Ave I not gone around and done anything and everything asked of me as far as the Bad Boys is concerned?  ‘Ave I not been the only member of the group to compete in every tag match we’ve been scheduled for?  Might wanna sober up ya ‘ead before ye come at me, ye bleedin’ WOP.  Huh?  Bloody Itie better, mate?  Call me “Mick” one more time.
 
Giani:  Fuh fuckssake, bro… Change ya fawkin’ tampon and open them ears up and listen to what I’m sayin’.  You can get mad at me awl ya want, but Dax had a fair point when he says we needed to test ya.  Ya know, the way we tested him twice?  He fawked over three of his only friends in SCW to prove that he’s in this bawls deep.  The only other people in the world that supported him besides us, he told ‘em to sit and spin on them middle fingers.  So I says to him, I says we should see where ya loyalties was.  Clearly it wasn’t for ya country, cause ya ruined Ben’s salute to London by leadin’ the charge.  And it wasn’t for ya “best mate” cause ya didn’t lift a goddamn finger to save him from what was happenin’.  All ya had to do was say the word, and we would’a stopped.  Ya act like what ya did was some noble fawkin’ bullshit, Mickey.  What ya did was told Ben he wasn’t important enough to ya to save, and ya told us ya too big’a pussy to step up to us, while also lettin’ us know ya don’t got our backs.  That shit mighta worked for Switzerland, and while ya white and red all over, it don’t work for ya.
 
I listen, and while Giani is talking, I think of ways to laugh it all off, dismissing it as big talk from an angry man.  I am ready to talk once more, but Giani puts a ‘and in me face as if ‘e were Delia Darling or something.
 
Giani:  Don’t.  I aw’ready know what bullshit’s gonna come outta ya mouth.  I don’t wanna hear it.  Dax might buy it, but I don’t.  I don’t trust ya.  I’m gonna go have a tawk with someone about Sunday.  In the meantime, the driver should be back with Dax within the next hour or so.  You can read from ya script for him.  He’s just as in love with ya as you are with him, for whatevah reason I can’t explain.  That’s on him.  Ya gonna have to stop playin’ this bullshit victim role and take responsibility for what ya done.  Then, maybe I’ll start trustin’ ya again.  Ya ain’t got the best track record with friendships.  Just ask Ben Jordan about that one.
 
Mickey:  Me and Ben already talked about that one.  He ignored me for a bird and a sure bet of a tag team partner.  He betrayed ME!  I only responded in kind.
 
Giani:  And what did ya think this was?  Ya traded him in for a former World Heavyweight Champion along with two World Tag Team reigns under his belt, plus the hottest up and comer in SCW who you are obviously crushing on in place of Ben.  Cawl it like it is, dawg.  Everyone saw it then, and they see it now.  You got a thing for Ben, and more than once, I caught ya cuddling with Dax.  He’s ya new Ben, even if ya would drop him in a second flat for Ben.
 
Giani seems to be calming down as ‘e sits down on the couch across from me.  What ‘e doesn’t see is that I’m pissed as a fart.  It takes everything in me body to not get up and attack ‘im for the ludicrous things coming from ‘is mouth.  Instead, I immediately light up another cigarette to keep me occupied.  But, I can’t stop the floodgates from opening.
 
Me:  Ye got a lot of nerve, Gi.  Don’t displace yer sexual shame on me like that.  I saw ye soaking up the adoration of Ryan Keys’ boyfriend on Twitter.  Maybe yer the one who carries a flame for Dax, but ye don’t want Queen of the Pillocks upstairs to know, because ye want to ‘ave yer cake and fuck it, too?  Me and Ben was close until ye lot did what ye did to ‘im.  Was I wrong to not defend ‘im?  Yeah, I was.  But I am not wrong for not jumping in to lend me ‘and in beating Ben down.  Ye can try to get in me ‘ead and tell me I’m a shit friend, and that I’ve got a man crush on Ben, but ye won’t convince me of any of it.  This Sunday, me and Ben will ‘ave ourselves a little chat, and I’ll make this right.  We’ll ‘ave an honorable match.
 
Giani:  Good luck with that.  Ben is selfish.  How many times has he tried to get in touch with you, just to see how you doin’?  If he doesn’t care about ya enough to check in with you in two years, he’s not gonna forgive ya for standin’ by when he got decimated right in front of ya.  And when he doesn’t, you’ll see exactly what I’m tawkin’ about here.  Now, I’m goin’ upstairs to do me… and Veronica… while you do you.  Run away cause it’s what ya good at, bro.
 
Giani gets up, and as much as I want to prove ‘im how wrong ‘e is, I don’t stop ‘im from leaving the room.  I just watch Giani disappear down the hallway.  I sit there and think, because I’ll be fucked if I don’t got enough to think about now.  Half a pack of cigarettes, and four hours later, I hear the front door as daylight starts to pour inside.  I don’t even want to hear what ‘e ‘as to say, so I just put me ‘ead back and close me eyes tightly.  ‘E sounds much less drunk than usual, so I assume ‘e’s already slept it off somewhere.  I refuse to open them as I hear ‘im walk up to me.
 
Dax:  Mickey?  You awake?
 
I give off what I hope is a convincing snore, but Dax isn’t exactly the brightest.  I crack me eyes open just a little and watch ‘im through the slits, and ‘e nods ‘is head.  ‘E walks out of the room for a second, only to return with a blanket in ‘is ‘ands.  I feel the blanket settle over me as Dax brushes me ‘air out of me face.
 
Dax:  I’m sorry I did you wrong like that.  Don’t get me wrong, man.  I’m not sorry for what I did to Ben.  If it wouldn’t have made you so upset, I would do it again and again… and again and again and again.  I’d do it to Ben and Jamie with a smile on my face, over and over.  I’m just sorry that I hurt you.  I accept how you feel about me, and I respect it, but I would still never hurt you on purpose.  Not like Ben.
 
It takes everything in me not to reach up and wrap me ‘ands around Dax’s throat right now, but I’m hoping ‘e’s unburdened ‘is soul enough to leave me alone.  But, no such luck.  Instead, ‘e picks up me pack of cigarettes and pulls one out, lighting it.
 
Dax:  Ben doesn’t care about you.  I’m not going to say that I don’t selfishly wish you felt the way I did… do… about you, but I would never drop you if I thought someone better came along.  A friend doesn’t do that.  Giani doesn’t get it.  Jamie Dean doesn’t get it.  I don’t even think you get it.  I would never turn my back on you the way Ben did, and if I ever did, I would totally expect you to get pissed and come for me.  Look, my point is that I hope you can forgive me over time, because I value your friendship more than anyone or anything else.  If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have married you to keep you close.  I have a few friends, but you’re my best mate.  Yeah… well, get some sleep and pretend I didn’t say any of that weak ass shit when you wake up, okay?  Good…
 
Dax chuckles as he puts out a half smoked cigarette in the ash tray.  He gets off of the arm of my chair and turns to walk away, and I can’t even explain why I did what I did next, but I grab onto ‘is ‘and and stop ‘im.  I don’t even know what to say, so I don’t say anything.  I just look up at him to see a couple tears in ‘is eyes.  Fuck, this is becoming a regular sort of thing, and I hate seeing it from ‘im.  I just shake me ‘ead before I let go and I turn over onto me side as I make me’self comfortable enough to sleep.  Dax smiles a bit as he nods his head, walking over to the couch to lay down.
 
Me:  Take a fuckin’ shower, mate.  Ye smell like shamelessness and cheap whiskey...
 
 
******************************************************************************
 
 
<img src=http://68.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lueaigePVg1qk8t2to2_500.gif>
 
 
What the Hell...
#NP "KDV” by MISSIO
Locale: Tara Thai Massage; Prescott Valley, Arizona
Storyteller: Mickey Carroll
 
 
After a lot of arguing and fighting from me and Giani, Dax still insisted that me and the meatball go through a massage together.  The man ‘as a lot of good intentions, but fuck if ‘e isn’t a stubborn git sometimes.  We was trapped inside of a room together, and the best thing we could come up with was to not say a word to one another.  The soft string music plays as we walk into the dim room.  It smells like lavender or some other nonsense, but I gotta admit, it was rather relaxing.  Candles flickering as we enter the almost romantic atmosphere.  The lady softly, and with very few words, prompts us to get rid of the clothes and lie down on the flat beds.  We get our naughty bits covered with a towel as we look up at the ceiling.  Being so distracted from everything, we didn’t even notice that there was a cameraman standing in the room until the massage therapist is already on top of us, with those bloody magic fingers digging into our skin, but in a most delightful way.
 
Cameraman:  Should… I start rolling now, or…?
 
Giani:  What the fawk, bro?!  Gary the cameraman?  Ya a spy now, er somethin’?
 
Gary:  No… Dax placed a call a few hours ago, saying Mickey had a few words about his match this Sunday, and this was the best place to record it.
 
Me:  Well, Dax lied, me boyo.  Now piss right off, Gare.
 
Spoiler alert:  ‘e doesn’t piss right off.  ‘E doesn’t piss off at all, actually.  I choose to ignore ‘im as Mei digs so deep, she touches me soul.  And no, I don’t mean me bangers and mash.  What kinda Thai massage do ye think this is?  Some seedy back alley Vegas one?  Dax doesn’t ‘ave the money to float for something like that!  Bleedin’ perverts ye lot are…  So, since I didn’t ask Gary to show up to film me out of me knickers, I continue to stay quiet as Mei brings actual tears of joy to me eyes.  Me unnaturally tanned, fist pumping life mate decides to do the talking for me.
 
Giani:  Ay yo, Gary, we rollin’?  Good.  Jamie Dean!  Listen up and ya listen good.  Last week, we didn’t come outta nowhere and attack ya and ya boy, Ben.  It wasn’t random.  It wasn’t a surprise.  Ya had to know it was comin’, dawg.  Ben is the happy-go-lucky kid runnin’ around in the friend zone, hidin’ behind the delusion that this sport don’t hafta be brutal and nasty.  He’s the one who is so ignorant to the world around him that he actually thought for a second that this was gonna be a peaceful friendly rivalry.  Fuck outta here with that nonsense.  Ya dealin’ with them boys who is so bad, that there simply ain’t no other name for them to go by but the Bad Boys.
 
Giani stops and sucks in the air between ‘is teeth as he almost falls limp.  If ‘e wasn’t such a self-important prick, ‘e’d surrender and not give Dax the satisfaction of taking over my promo.  What am I talking about?  ‘E shouldn’t even be talking right now!  Still, I’m the adult here, and I give ‘im ‘is moment to shine.
 
Giani:  Fawwwwk, Jun… Keep doin’ what you do, yaknowhatimsayin dawg?  Back to you, Jamie.  Ben is delusional, but you?  You knew this was comin’.  Ya didn’t get into the Twitter banter with us like Benny did.  Ya didn’t tawk about how at Summer XXXTreme, there was gonna be seagulls dancin’ and sun shinin’ bright as we have some bullshit friendly fight.  Especially not with them gold and leather straps on the line.  Naw, ya knew we had ya number.  Ya just didn’t know when.  Well, if Mickey could pull the tampon out of his pucker puss, he’d tell ya that we’s doin’ ya a favor.  He knows from experience what ya boy does.
 
Me:  Fer fuckssake!  Enough is enough is enough, Giani.  Nobody gives a toss what ye ‘ave to say about me match with Jamie.  It involves me, and I’m already sick of it.  “Ben is a backstabber.  ‘E’s an arsy friend.  ‘E deserved a concussion for no right reason.”  Leave the diagnostics to Dr. Phil.  This match might not ‘ave history, but it will be historic.  And not because it will be showin’ yer arse, James.  Ye do that enough as it is, and it’s why Ben’s right sick of ye and yer drier than dirt sense of humor. ‘E was itching to get away from ye during your last reign as the tag champions.  What makes this one any different?  Ben is a man of self respect, which is something ye clearly know nothing about, our esteemed “SCW Twerking Champion”.  I bet ye thought ye was clever when ye cooked up the name Team BJ.  It’s as tasteless and trashy as ye are, and that’s coming from me.  It doesn’t ‘ave Ben’s signature on it at all.  I’m gonna send ye to the hospital, Jamie.  Then me and Ben will ‘ave a proper meeting where I can make up for not stepping in to save ‘im.  I’ll try to atone for what I’ve done.  What will ye do to atone for not stepping in to save Ben?  It’s going to be in the backhar of ‘is mind from this moment on.  Go on then.  Blame me for yer shortcomings.  Let’s ‘ave this Hardcore Tuxedo Match, the first in history.  Let’s give the fans a small taste of the brutality they can expect from Team BJ and Bad Boys at Summer XXXtreme.  But don’t delude yerself into believing yer going to atone fer not ‘avin’ ‘is back.  That’s going to be on me.  I’m going out there to fight fer Ben.
 
I nod me ‘ead as I fall victim to another of Mei’s sweet spots.  I groan and say a couple of sweet nothings to Mei, completely out of me control.  I take a deep breath to continue as Giani steps in to cut me off.
 
Giani:  Dawg, ya should be so lucky to get put in the ring against Mickey, cause then ya might have a fightin’ chance.  If you was put in the ring against me?  Ya wouldn’t be able to walk right for a week, and I ain’t tawkin’ about that the way ya might be hopin’ I am.
 
Me:  Because Mickey Carroll doesn’t ‘ave the stones to take the fight to ‘im?  Ye obviously don’t know me very well then, mate.  Hardcore matches are me specialty.  While I ‘aven’t technically been in one in a long time, it’s nothing new to me.  Bar room brawls, no holds barred, straight up arse kicking is in me blood, and I’ve been doing them since I was a young lad.  Pops used to bite off more than ‘e could chew, so I ‘ad to get the fight in me at a proper young age.
 
Giani:  Yeah, well, as a former Co-Roulette Champion, I know a thin’ or two about hardcore battles.  I could take Jamie out quicker than ya think.  Plus, yeah I got my start in Bad@$$ Championship Wrestlin’ where a lot of matches was Hardcore Rules.  King of the Deathmatch participant hey!
 
I laugh, because, well… it’s laughable.
 
Me:  Yer a prime example of a pretty boy, Gi.  A university athlete turned wrestler.  I can buy into you being a serious wrestler, but some sort of hardcore messiah?  And Jamie Dean wears a chastity belt… Either way, yer rambling ‘as no point, because I am the one who gets to take Jamie Dean out on Sunday.  I give meself mere moments before ‘e’s a bloody mess upon the ground, and ‘is tuxedo is torn off of ‘is body to expose ‘im for the fraud and the coward that ‘e actually is.  Then, yer gonna ‘ave to eat yer words.  Not that beating Jamie is a crowning moment of recognition on the hardcore scene, but it will settle this dilemma of who can beat Jamie Dean faster, because that will be on me, this Sunday at the Prescott Valley Events Center for Climax Control.  Now, Gary?  If ye would excuse us.  I think I got what I need for MY promo.  Looks good, yeah?
 
Gary:  Well?  It’s something…  That’s for sure.  Good luck on Sunday.
 
Me:  Don’t need it, but thanks Gary.  Yer a gentleman and a scholar.  Now sod off and let Mei continue to work on me shoulders some more.  Need them to be nice and loose so that I can crack one particular skull… again…
 
Giani:  Oh damn!
 
And with that, I’m pretty sure that Gary turns off the camera.  I turn to face Giani as I waste no time in saying what’s been on me mind for the last several moments.
 
Me:  The bloody ‘ell was that all about?  Trying to take over me promo?
 
Giani doesn’t say anything, as I expected ‘e wouldn’t.  But, of course I’m going to say something.  This is getting out of ‘and, and if Mei wasn’t taking me to Heaven right now, I’d probably lump this plonker right in the gooleys.  Giani should thank Mei.  Perhaps I’ll come back as a celebratory gift to meself after I take Jamie out?  AKA I’m gonna kick ‘is arse so hard that I’m going to feel it…  The end… Story’s over… Go on, git!

 <img src=https://secure.static.tumblr.com/a3c052a088d83a91aa7a1f2e2184186e/3h5ci7a/flMnlp5xo/tumblr_static_tumblr_static_7w7ul23qqqsk0g4cocosw8o88_640.gif>

Family Affairs (Pt 3: The Big Day)
#NP "The Cure” by Lady Gaga
Locale: Jersey Shore Boardwalk; Seaside Heights, New Jersey
Storyteller: Dax Beckett


Bruh… I never thought that this could be so nerve racking.  I’ve had the dry mouth, sweating profusely, inability to control my voice going in and out, the shakes, the pukes, and the shits.  Though, I’ve heard the last part is common with what I went through last week at 3-X Productions…  Yeah, so anyway, this is my second “Big Day” even though the first one I was so blackout drunk that I didn’t even remember it.  This one, we’re not allowed to have a drop of alcohol, because that douche bag, Nicholas Taylor is in attendance today, and Giani thinks that if he sees it, he’s going to cry foul play, even though we already have the fuckin’ marriage certificate.  Considering the deal is legally sealed, why the fuck am I so nervous about this?  Could it have something to do with Giani’s one thousand, breeding like jackrabbits Roman Catholic family coming up to me and crying and hugging and slapping my fucking shoulders, or saying stuff in Italian that I don’t even understand?  Or Mickey’s mom who is equally as scary?  Something is just not setting well.  I stand looking in the mirror set up to the side along the boardwalk as the wind waves my hair as I take a deep breath.  Mickey’s mom comes up to me for the millionth time as she throws her hands in the air before wrapping them around me.

Marianna:  Ragazzo dolce, sei bello!  Oh, you have a spot on-a ya face!

She leans in and licks her finger before rubbing the spot around and I slowly raise my cheek up, squinting one eye as I shrivel up to try to get this woman’s arms from around me.  I wasn’t used to being coddled like this, so it’s just a bit much for me.

Marianna:  Even-a with the tattoos, you are such a handsome boy.  My Giani is so lucky.  If only we coulda had-a the ceremony in a church…

“Marianna, we already discussed this…”

I completely tense up as my eyes go wide as fuck.  I probably go white as a ghost too as I think to myself “No fucking way…”  I try to move, but I’m frozen in place as I watch the blonde woman walk up to me, placing her hands on my shoulders, over the short Mrs. Di Luca.

Me:  Shannon…

Shannon:  Our boys won’t get married in some stuffy, rustic church where their entire love will be under question.  There’s nothing wrong with this, isn’t that right, Poopy?

Me:  And she said it…

My mom butts in as she steps in front of me, her blue eyes sparkling from the reflection of the water, and her teeth nearly blind me as she fusses with my tie.  I close my eyes and sigh loudly as I hope that when I open them, she just winds up being a freak out hallucination.  Not so. As a matter of fact, she triples when I open them.

Shannon:  Oh, honey, it’s not too late to shave that lumberjack beard.

Piper:  Well, I think it’s hot.  Plus, it hides his hideous face a little bit.

Me:  Yeah, fuck you too, sis.

Melvin:  Ugh, if only I didn’t have a job that made me shave, I’d grow a beard just like him.

My dad continues straightening my tie as my mom messes with my beard.  Piper stands behind me with a huge grin on her face, watching mom and dad pretending to be “those parents” who coddle their children, even though we both know they aren’t.

Me:  What the actual fuck is wrong with this tie where everyone feels like they need to fix it!  It’s fine!  Fuck!

Shannon:  Even though it is your choice to use those words, and it’s far beyond me to limit your first amendment, do you think you could try to be a little bit more publicly appropriate?

Melvin:  Geez, sweetums.  Do you have to discipline him like he’s a child?  On his wedding day?

Shannon:  Mel, please.  I’m still his mother, and he’s my non-gender specific offspring.  Is that still politically correct, Piper?

I clinch my fists together as I shake them off of me.  Piper chuckles as I reach into my jeans pocket sitting on the dressing table, and I pull out a cigarette and lighter.  I begin smoking as I lean on the wooden boardwalk guard, watching the yacht that this whole thing is taking place on as it comes onto the dock.

Me:  Who the fuck invited you guys, anyway?  I surely didn’t think you would care enough to be here for my second wedding.

Shannon:  My non-cisgender child has been married before?  And I’m only now hearing about it?

Me:  Yeah, I married a Japanese guy and moved overseas for two whole years.  I don’t remember any of it, either.  I swore I’d never marry another man again.

Melvin:  I am so proud of you for living out loud, and following your heart.  You know, I once blew a guy in college and it changed my life.

Me and Piper turn and look at our father as he reminisces and I can’t help but get the pukes again, right into the water.  Piper rolls her eyes as dad takes the cigarette from my fingers, checking to make sure there was no splash, before he takes a drag.

Melvin:  Love is a beautiful thing, and I’ve always thought you could love more than one person with all of your heart.  I couldn’t be more proud of you, son.

Shannon:  I couldn’t agree more with your father.  I’m so happy that I could set you free to follow your own path, only for us to come back together on this extra special day.

Piper:  At least the food smells good.  Giani’s mom can definitely cook.

My mom and dad wrap their arms around me as Piper rolls her eyes.  She takes a step closer and barely gets in line with the camera’s view.  My parents snap a selfie, because they are such cool, modern parents, right?  FML…  They kiss my cheeks, and then walk off as Piper steps closer to me.  We’ve never been very close siblings, so I don’t have anything really to say to her as she leans on the same railing as me.  She looks out into the water as the wind blows through her hair, saying nothing, and it makes me nervous.

Me:  Do you have a reason for being here?

Piper:  My brother is getting married?  Plus, Shan and Mel guilted me into coming, so…

Me:  No… we’ve never gotten along the best.  We’re not the supportive kind of “non-cisgender siblings” that give pep talks, so I’m confused why you’re interrupting my time to collect myself.

Piper shrugs her shoulders as she continues not to talk.  It’s obvious that she has something to say, but she’s not coming out with it.  I turn and look at her as my eyebrows tighten and lower.  She chuckles as she knows where I’m going with this.

Piper:  I just wanted to let you know… that I can’t wait until this shit show comes crashing down on you, Dax.  All the lies, and all the deceit?  It’s going to catch up with you, but you’re going to wind up stuck with that Irish prick and that meathead for at least two years.  Now is your time to run, baby brother…

Me:  And what if I told you that I fucking love Mickey?  What if I told you that I wished this was real?  What if I said that I don’t know anything about being gay, because I didn’t want to be “that guy” whose parents actually hoped for an LGBT child so that they could pretend to be so progressive and modern?  What if I said that Mickey and I could probably be happy together for real?

Piper was just trying to get me worked up like we always did to each other growing up.  It was our sick way of trying to make each other stronger.  She didn’t expect me to spew that kind of bullshit at her.  But, somewhere deep down, I kind of feel like it’s not all bullshit…

Piper:  Then you’re dumber than even I thought you were, Daxton.  Your marriage is so obviously fake, and I think you know that.  But, let’s play this little game and say that you’re being genuine.  You fall tragically in love with one or both of these guys.  They don’t love you back.  I’ve never met two more hetero men in my life.  Your soulmate, male or female, could be out there right now, but you’ll miss your chance because of this fake marriage and all of the poking around that immigration is doing.  It would be so much better for you, if you walked away right now.

Me:  You don’t know a fucking thing about me, Pipes.  This changes nothing.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready to get married here.

Piper:  We might not be supportive out loud, but we have been there for each other until you ran away a few years ago.  We just had our own way of doing it.  But, if you don’t want to see that I’m trying to throw you a lifeline?  That’s your choice, Dax.  Just remember that you had one.

Piper nods her head as she shrugs her shoulders.  She walks off down the boardwalk and toward the dock leading to the yacht.  I watch her disappear as her words continue to buzz around in my head.  I pull a handkerchief from the pocket of my tuxedo, and I sit into the water before wiping my mouth clean from my father’s attempt at calming me down.  I soon follow behind her as I walk down the dock, lined with flowers and white lace flowing in the wind.  My heart begins to beat up into my throat as I make it half way down.  All of Giani’s family, Mickey’s few relatives, and my family can be seen as I walk up to the veil in front of the entrance to the yacht.  I take a deep breath as Nicholas Taylor watches from a distance, scorn in his eyes.  Thankfully, two of Giani’s large Italian cousins give him the hint that he’s not welcomed here, and leads him away roughly.  This eases me some, until I see a couple of familiar faces that I wasn’t expecting to see… A reminder of the life that I only vaguely remember.  My former niece, Tatsu Watanabe, and her friend Tora.  Instantly, I begin shaking as my mother grabs onto my arm.

Shannon:  Sweetie, they’re waiting on you.  It’s time to go…

If it wasn’t for my mom walking me through the veil, I think I would have been frozen in place.  I can barely hear anything but the ringing in my ears, and the soft sound of “The Cure” by Lady Gaga.  Not my choice, but I guess it works.  However, as I walk by Tatsu and Tora, the ringing becomes deafening.  Tatsu smirks as she waves gently at me, but there’s not exactly the best of intentions here.  However, Tora waves excitedly and so sweetly as she usually does.  I turn and look forward, tuning everyone and everything out, other than what is waiting for me up at the altar.  Standing in front of a beautifully built arch lined with white roses and blue carnations, dressed in the same black and blue tuxedo as me, is Giani and Mickey.  I can’t help but feel the tears start to roll down my cheek for some unknown reason as I get closer and closer.  Shannon reaches up and wipes at my cheek gently, and I can only assume that she starts to cry also.  She leaves me at the steps and I somehow find my way up them, even though it feels like the boat is capsizing.  I catch my breath as I step forward, to have Giani adjust the flower thingy that dudes wear.  I turn to Mickey, and he fixes my FUCKING tie…  But I can’t help smiling about it.  He nods at me as we stand before the Justice of the Peace, with my mom, Giani’s mom, and Mickey’s mom standing at the steps, weeping together.  I can’t even hear the JoP as he goes on, and I feel frozen in place.  It isn’t until it comes time for me to say my vows that I clear up for a second.

Me:  Oh, um… I didn’t write anything, because I didn’t want to say some rehearsed, tired lines about my feelings for Mickey and Giani.  Well… we’re always there for each other.  Since the day we realized what we had, we’ve had each other’s backs… and not just the backside either.

I pause for laughs, but there are none, well, other than Mickey.  I shrug my shoulders as I turn to face him, and partially Giani as well.

Me:  You two make me a better person.  We’ve weathered through some real shit storms, and I don’t think I coulda made it without either of you.  I’m so… so lucky to be bros with you for life.  You’re not just my husbands on paper, but you’re my best friends that I don’t think I could live without.  I love you both…

I cry.  Like, real tears.  I meant it.  Piper doesn’t know shit, because this is all I really need.  My crew, and we’re going to be together for a really, really long time.  Mickey pats my shoulder as Giani wraps his arms around me.  I bury my face in his tux, and say out loud.

Me:  I fucking love you guys!

The loud Italian family begins shouting in approval, while the women bawl their eyes out.  I finally step away from my boys and take my mark again.

JoP:  Today, Giani Cristiano Di Luca, Michael Eamon Carroll, and Daxton Oliver Beckett have professed their undying love and commitment to one another, through the thickest, and thinnest of times, before you all.  It is by the power vested in me that I now pronounce these three unified in the sanctity of marriage.  You may now seal it with a kiss.

I look to Giani as he leans in and pretends to kiss Mickey.  He follows it up by staying an inch away from my face as he pretends to kiss me.  He nods and looks over to Mickey, and I lean in for a fake kiss… except something in me pushes me just an inch closer, as our lips meet, and I feel something like I’ve never felt before.  I can’t seem to stop myself as I grab onto the back of his head, and he opens his eyes, glaring at me as I keep going, and he follows the motions.  The crowd roars loudly with approval for this as I finally take the hint and let go.  Mickey stares at me uncomfortably as he tries to stop himself from wiping at his mouth.  Giani steps between us and grabs our hands, raising them up in the air as he whispers to me.

Giani:  What the fuck, bro?  Ya didn’t hafta shove ya tongue down his throat…

Mickey glares over at me as he tries to keep playing up the act, even though I can tell that he’s pissed off beyond belief.  I try not to look at him, so I just keep my eyes on the ground as we begin to walk down the steps.  All the hugs, and all the support that we’re getting, and I’ve never felt more alone than I do right now.  Piper looks up from her seat as if to tell me “I told you so…”  I nod at her to let her know that she’s totally right before we get dragged to the reception where I can’t wait to drown all this out.


<img src=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/21/8a/be/218abe7bd640cfd5522a17b131d58d71.jpg>


Family Affairs (Pt 4: The Reception)
#NP "Party Monster” by Krewella
Locale: Yacht on the Atlantic
Storyteller: Dax Beckett


Several drinks into this fuckin’ thing, and I still wish I could just jump overboard.  We’re out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and we’ve got so many people on board.  I do my best to avoid Tatsu and Tora, along with Piper, because I’ve got no interest in anything they’ve got to say.  However, Tatsu is not one to get pushed off for too long, and eventually, she slides through the field of grenades and gorilla juiceheads to find me, blending in as best I can with my lack of rhythm.  It doesn’t stop me from trying.  However, she grabs onto my arm and drags me off the floor, where the music isn’t quite so loud.  She tries her best to access the English language, though she hasn’t had much of a chance to use it, coming from Japan.

Tatsu:  How… you say?  Rude of you not come say hi to me an’ Tora.  We fly from Tokyo for your wedding day, come support you an all we have from you is disrespehhhhct… Many disappointment, Uncle Dax.

Me:  Yeah, first off.  Not your uncle.  We’re like almost the same age.  B… I wasn’t actually married to your uncle, because I don’t even remember anything other than training with him and fighting in whatever promotion he stuck me in.

Tatsu:  Don’yew think I know dat?  I’m not stupid, uncle.  I’m smart girl with many knowledge of boys.  My uncle is… pervert.  New husband with more tattoo and bigger beard already he has.

Me:  Better beard?  I call bullshit on that…

Tatsu:  Nooooo… Better is not said.  Bigger not always better.  I miss our hangs, and I look much forward seeing America.  This Sin City Wrestling very, very popular in Japan.  Tora and me think to look for work here, and I think maybe Uncle Dax can help us?

Me:  Yeah, right… They fuckin’ hate me there.  They only let me wrestle because I’m phenomenal and I draw mad heat.  They…

Mickey:  Excuse me…

Tatsu stomps her foot angrily as she begins yelling at Mickey in her native tongue.  He doesn’t pay any attention to her, but I’m just waiting for him to let me have it, one way or another.  Now, I’m wishing I would have hid better from him, because Tatsu doesn’t seem so bad by comparison.  He shoves me into a room, and my heart begins pounding.  Something is about to become physical, whether its fight, or…

Mickey:  Giani’s been keeping me behaving, but he’s drinking with Gino and Lou, so no one’s gonna save yer arse… Wait, before ye get any idears…

Me:  Seriously?  Nicky was watching us from shore. What was I supposed to do?  He wasn’t going to buy what you two were selling.  I…

Mickey:  Save it!  I got a girl, you got a girl, and Gi’s got a girl.  If ye don’t want to ‘ave a girl anymore, I support it.  But this marriage is what we all agreed upon last month.  It’s nothin’ more than to keep me in the country for me job.  I love ye like a brother, but not more than that.  Are we crystal fuckin’ clear, mate?

I pause for a minute because I’m not exactly sure how to react.  Part of me is relieved that he didn’t wig out on me and try to start a fight, while the other half feels sad because I’d hoped that he felt the same way as I did.  But, I know deep down that this is how it was supposed to be from the get go.  I nod my head and laugh as I playfully smack his arm.

Me:  Bruh… you’re not all that.  Get over yourself, man.  We got a party to go enjoy…

I continue to chuckle as I walk out of the room, leaving Mickey standing there, feeling like just as much of an ass as I do.  It’s time to up my drinking game and get FUCKING lit.  Drown it all out in some top shelf Gentleman’s Jack!



<img src=http://68.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l84ln1YhOc1qb0osvo1_500.gif>


Family Affairs (Pt 5: The Honeymoon)
#NP "Drunken Lullabies” by Flogging Molly
Locale: Yacht on the Atlantic Ocean
Storyteller: Mickey Carroll


What a long, fucked up kinda day we ‘ad ‘round ‘ere.  Proper mad.  The wedding, the party, and now Dax ‘aving partied ‘imself into a real mess.  Each one gets a little bit more blarmy as it goes along.  The wedding was probably the nicest event I ever been to in me entire life.  If I was the one in the audience, watching, I’d ‘ave asked if these blokes were serious with it.  But, it was nice, and at one point, I even thought I might ‘ave a cry over it.  Then, we shared our vows with a bunch of made up nonsense that made people cry, and for a second, I almost felt disgusted by Giani fer ‘avin’ the stones to lie in front of ‘is entire family like that.  I could hardly look at me mum during it, but Giani was solid in ‘is performance.  Maybe ‘e should’ve been the one to play in All That Glitters.  Maybe then it would’ve been an actual box office smash.

Then comes the party, where I ‘ad the strange idear that Dax was takin’ this much further than necessary.  Maybe seeing ‘im in Buttman and Throbbin’ last week ‘as gotten in me ‘ead.  But come on, he took the Buttarang right in ‘is ham flower like a proper champ.  Not only did ‘e whimper like a bitch in a way that was like beggin’ fer more, but ‘e even backed up on it.  It’s whatever.  Some straight guys enjoy a woman playing with their prison purse, so who the ‘ell am I to judge?  Dax then insulted me, and said what everyone else says, that I’m just some ugly Irish troll going about ‘is merry way with a tattooed Adonis, and… well, an actual Adonis.  Kinda stung me pride, but much like any other time someone tries to break me, I just dust it off and move along.  Though, this time, me temper could’ve proper pissed Dax off, blowing this whole thing out of me control.  I ‘ad to make sure I handled it with care from now on, because if he thinks I think we’re boner buddies, then it gets truly weird.

But now, this child is tossing ‘is cookies all over the boat as the guests are trying to sleep for the night.  He’s being loud and obnoxious, even for me liking.  Giani is ‘avin’ a cigar with ‘is mates on the deck and just letting Dax make a complete arse of ‘imself.  I feel like I owe ‘im one after how I handled the situation earlier.  I guide ‘im back to our master suite, not expecting to see it in red satin sheets, and strange sex toys and swings and slings, like Fifty Shades of Fuck Me Life.  It makes so much more sense once I see a gift tag that reads “From Christian Underwood, You’ve been a huge pain in my ass, so I thought I would return the favor.  Best wishes xoxo”.  Bloody ‘ell…

Dax stumbles over toward the closet, probably thinkin’ it’s the lou, and ‘e is about to chuck when I drag ‘im over to the actual toilet.  I hold ‘is hair back as ‘e upchucks more than I thought ‘is stomach could possibly hold.  He grabs onto me tie and wipes at ‘is mouth as ‘e falls into me.

Dax:  You always have my back, bruh.  I don’t know what I’d do without you…

I pull ‘im over to the bed and lie ‘im down, only fer ‘im to drag me down to the bed too.  I try to get off of ‘im, but ‘e keeps hold of me arm.  I roll over to the side of ‘im as ‘e curls into me.  As much of a prat as I can be, I feel like I can’t just leave ‘im there.  I squirm a bit as ‘e holds onto me chest, and it feels like ‘e’s whimpering a bit.  Fuck me sideways…

Me:  Dax, would ye mind if I…

Dax:  I know it’s not real, but I just need it to be for a few minutes.  I just wanna go home…

He buries ‘is face in me chest and places me ‘and on his ‘ead.  I raise an eyebrow as I stroke ‘is hair gently.  He moans before letting out a disgusting belch, even for a guy.  I turn me ‘ead and shake it off as I wait for the smell to disappear.  I look down at ‘im and realize that ‘e’s missing something in ‘is life.  Something’s not right, and I feel genuine concern for me mate.  Perhaps it’s the idear that the tag titles would be nice to hold once more, but I start to thinkin’ about how ‘e needs them in ‘is life as much as I feel like I do.

No one else would’ve attacked ‘is second best mates if the stakes weren’t so high.  For reasons I never understood, Dax ‘as always ‘ad an affinity for The Elders.  Maybe it’s because they were the first group that accepted ‘im as an equal, while everyone else treated ‘im like a rookie.  It’s admirable, but it’s also gullible.  Dax ‘ad this regret about doing what ‘e did to Eyesnsane and Jon Dough, costing them the match against Unholy Alliance.  Luckily for ‘im, me and Giani were there to equalize it, giving The Elders one more chance at the belts.  I mean, if ye wanna call it a chance, since they gotta go through us first.  Part of me doesn’t want Dax to fight, because I think ‘e’ll hold back.  The other part wants to see if ‘e’s got it in ‘im to do what he’s gotta do to make it to the next level. ‘E’s got a fire in ‘im that burns so intensely, but something like that could very well make the fire take over and burn ‘im right to ‘is boots.  As much as I’ve been dying for those tag titles to finally find their place around me waist, I don’t want to cost ‘im ‘is soul like that.  Me and Giani, it’s already too late.  Dax could still go somewhere, on ‘is own even.  His future is bright.

But, ‘e’s said many times that ‘e has no interest in seeing the same old song and dance going on in the tag division.  E said that it’s time fer a shake up, and ‘e’s completely right about that.  We can’t let The Elders go back to those belts.  We can’t let anyone take those belts, because no one can represent them the way that Bad Boys could.  No one’s got the bollocks to do what needs to be done to make people take tag teams seriously.  Much like we’ve taken the attention for ourselves, we need to take the attention and put it on the division we’re ‘ere to reconstruct.  Unholy Alliance and The Elders can’t do that, and… sorry to say it, Benny me boy, but neither can Team BJ.  The Elders ‘ave skills.  I won’t say that they don’t.  But they don’t ‘ave the blarneys to do what needs to be done.  They proved it the entire time they were the champs before.  And Team BJ ‘as taken any small amount of respect that The Elders ‘ave brought to tag team wrestling in SCW, and they’ve shat all over it.  Now, Bad Boys got a big mess to come in and clean up.

The Bad Boys ‘ave always been the future of SCW’s Tag Team Division.  We show up each and every week to work, and we go above and beyond the call of duty.  We got tired of getting ignored, so we stepped up to get this plan set in motion.  It’s our time now, and in just one week’s time, Bad Boys are gonna prove all of the doubters wrong.

In the meantime, I gotta find the best way to shake Dax off me arm.  â€˜E’s become just a tad too comfortable with it.  Any time I move, or even try to organize me thoughts, ‘e’s moaning and crying like a needy bird.  I roll me eyes and just accept it, finding it oddly comforting to comfort me mate.  I just continue to try to avoid the sight of the slings and swings, and things that I can’t tell whether they are modern art vases, or unique lookin’ butt plugs.  I just look down and study Dax’s ink on ‘is bare chest.  Soon enough, I get the sudden urge to call Mercedes from me phone.  Reaching in, I dial her number.

Me:  Ye wanted to talk, luv?  Well, let's talk...  Anything ye want to ask, I'll answer honestly...  Yeah, I'm alone... well, kinda.  Dax is passed out nearby, but I promise I can talk to ye privately.  Yeah?  I guess it would be better to talk in person... I know I wasn't very open the other night, but if ye can give me a minute er two on Sunday, I'll explain everything.  Just... Yeah, that sounds mint.  Good luck, luv...

I hang up the phone as I look up at the ceiling.  I've got a lot to think about, and the tag titles are just one of many things.  But, it's the best distraction I could 'ave possibly asked for at this time... and, Dax is drooling on me arm now... It's gonna be a long fuckin' night on the ocean, and Dax done drank the last of the alcohol.  Fuck me...

Word Count:  4975

 <img src=https://68.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_matijcFyvz1qic1zfo1_500.gif>

The Boys Are Back In Town
Location: UCSB Events Center; Santa Barbara, California
#NP "Swagger" by Flogging Molly
Speaker: Mickey Carroll


Tonight was bloody perfect, mate.  We put on a show for the ages, and they was eating it up.  We ‘ad everything, and we gave everything.  In case ye don’t pay attention to anything that doesn’t involve yew, which is ninety-nine fuckin’ percent of ye bleedin’ bellends, allow me to recap it for ye.  We came out and tried to explain why we should ‘ave been in the main event of Climax Control tonight.  Before we could even get a word in edgewise, those wankers, Dax Beckett, Andrew Garcia, and… the dreaded up one that no one ever remembers the name of, come out and try to act as if we ‘aven’t a right to say that we defeated them at Inception II.  We ‘ad a legitimate match where we not only outwrestled them, but we also outsmarted them, which isn’t very hard.  They ran their mouths just a bit longer than I could tolerate, and Gi and I brought the fight to them.

We ‘ad plans fer them, so we ‘ad to pretend that they was giving us a good fuckin’ kickin’.  We brought it all over the place.  It wound up in the ladies locker room, where I got dunked in some kinda voodoo potion thing, which somehow made me that much more beautiful.  It might seem impossible, but it somehow happened.  I’m drop dead gorgeous now.  Right Mercy?

If you say so, Mickey...

It’s true.  Anyway, Gi got the piss slapped out of ‘im by Jessie Salco, which wasn’t in the script, but it was hilarity at it’s best.  Anyway, we went to the boiler room, tore it up, and went to meet up with Xander Bishop.  Yes, the loudmouth sonuvabitch that’s been stirring up controversy all over the place.  In a nutshell, an obvious choice for Bad Boys.  It seemed like a coincidence at first, even though the white hood was there all along.  Dax was showboating, because he’s not smart enough to actually make sure his opponents are down before shoving ‘is foot in his mouth.  To be quite honest, we was supposed to have a bit where we leave Dax hanging like Bishop was gonna maybe help him.  It was gonna be funny, but that didn’t happen with the loose cannon that is Xander Bishop.  We fucked up their bloody lives before moving on to celebrate our victory.  That brings us to now.  Xander, Gi, and me’self are standing around, lookin’ at the finest girls in all of SCW, Mercedes Vargas, and Veronica Taylor.  I guess Delia isn’t half that bad either.  Anyway, we’re ‘aving a good laugh at the expense of Dying Breed, featuring Dax Beckett., and I ‘ave to admit, it’s been pretty futile trying to catch our breath.

Xander:  And playa was like “Oh no, bruh!  I… I… I…”

Giani:  Tuh-tuh-tuh-tuhhhhdayyyyy JUUUUUUUUUUUNYA!  Bam! Shuffle n’ scuffle bro.  Fuhgeddaboudit!!!

I’m about to let out some true Mickey Carroll wisdom right now, when suddenly, Ms. Rocky Mountains appears out of nowhere.  She has a microphone in hand, and a cameraman ready to record everything we’ve got to say.  Xander stares at her for a moment, while Giani leans in and kisses on Veronica.  I wrap me arms around Mercedes, which kind of surprises her.  I pull a cigarette from me pocket and flip it into me mouth.  I light it and look right at Rocky.

Me:  Yer seriously coming into our locker room, ruining our celebration by asking a bunch of ed-jit questions?

Rocky:  Nobody saw this coming, I'll give you that. But, what people are really wanting to know is your thoughts on your match next week?

Me:  So… the guys upstairs is finally ready to admit that Bad Boys deserves a shot at the tag team titles? We knew it was only a matter of time before they remembered that we won a match against Dying Breed, a team that just got a title match last week…

Rocky:  Actually, that's not happening, not next week anyway. You and Mercedes Vargas will be taking on Dax Beckett and Celeste North in mixed tag action.

I laugh, because it's obviously a joke. Isn't it? I mean, it ‘as to be. Except she's not laughing along with me and Mercy. It's still funny though.

Me: So let me get this straight… Me and this lovely lady right here get to ‘ave a go at it with Dax and Celeste? Is this a bloody joke? It feels like a joke, because there's no way that they expect this to be a challenge. What ‘as Celeste even done lately? As a matter of fact, the last time she was in the ring, she lost to Mercy. The last time I was in the ring with Dax, I beat him. They can't be serious in booking this match. Unless they are trying to push Dax and Celeste out of the company by putting them against two of the biggest stars in SCW history. We will tear them down to size and show them exactly where they belong. Next week, we're going to prove why Mean Girls run the show, and why Bad Boys are the SCW standard. And if Dying Breed ‘as something to say about what ‘appened tonight, then we can all settle it next week.

Mercedes laughs at this, shaking her head. She steps from out of my arms as she steps up to the microphone, leaning down into it as she speaks.

Mercedes:  You know what Dax, Andrew, and Ivan have in common? They always end up at the wrong place at the wrong time. Obviously, they didn’t learn what happened to them the LAST time they got put in their place. Tonight was a swift reminder where that place was - and that’s below the Bad Boys.[/b]

That was basically the mic drop of the evening. Nothing else is needed, yet Rocky doesn't leave.  We decide to just leave for the after party, leaving her to stand there, speechless.

 Blackness.  *Click click*  “Ruby Soho” by Rancid soon blasts through the speakers as Mickey turns on his webcam.  He is seen in an undisclosed location, where all we can see is four small walls.  It appears to be an empty closet of some sort.  Mickey’s face is shadowed at first until he pulls on a chain, lighting a bulb up above his head.  He tosses back his pint of Guinness, smacking his lips afterward, setting it down as he adjusts himself comfortably.

Mickey:  Alright?  To my two fans, and anybody else who has wondered where I been lately…I’m gonna be quite honest here, mates… Been on quite the bender lately, staying pissed.  It’s been great, but then I remembered I had a job when I got a call from ole Staggy the other evening.  Bloody fuckin’ hate when that happens…

Mickey turns the music down ever so slightly as he adjusts the camera to look up into his bloodshot eyes.  He pulls a cigarette out of his black flannel shirt pocket and places it between his lips, lighting it as he continues to speak.

Mickey:  I’d like to go on kissing arse and saying that I’m lookin’ forward to facing this bloke, but to be quite honest I’m not… Never heard of the wanker.  I took a quick look to find some information as if I gave a dog’s bollock, but all I could come up with is that his brothers are pretty good.

Mickey nods his head as he draws the cigarette out of his mouth.  He sucks the smoke in deeply before blowing it out after a moment.  He looks up at the ceiling for a moment, letting the cigarette hang back from his lips.

<img src=https://pbs.twimg.com/media/BimCFlnCIAAYgOk.jpg>

Mickey:  Ehhh… no, I tried to give a toss about it.  Tried to convince me’self that he’s worth worrying about.  Tried talking me’self into going to the gym earlier today to get worked up to face him.  The truth is that I can’t seem to come up with a fuck to give.  Fresh out, mate…  And to think, yer being propped up for a shot at the Roulette Championship?  Bleedin’ shame if I do say so me’self.  Yer barely a threat to someone the likes of Steve Ramone so I’ll piss me’self if ye make it past Brother Grimm.  I’ll drop dead of a heart attack, honestly…

Mickey takes another swig of his beer as he taps the end of his cigarette, ashes falling to the floor as he goes.

Mickey:  I seen some Tweets this morning from Mr. Hardon, and how forward to this match he is looking.  Warms me heart to see someone who hasn’t realized I’m a complete dick these days.  Makes me want to shake his hand before I boot his crackers all over the ring.  I won’t, but the thought crossed me mind.

Mickey lifts his practically empty bottle up to inspect it, looking upset.  He lowers it down and drops his cigarette into the bottle, swirling it around a bit as it sizzles.

Mickey:  I’m gonna perfectly honest with ye, Michael me boy… I don’t give a toss if ye beat me mate Ringo a couple weeks back.  Doesn’t impress me at all.  Ye got lucky.  Don’t take it as a sign that yer going to walk on by me.  If ye think so, I’ll make sure ye regret it.  In ACW, I took down some of the top notch competitors that walked through those ropes.  When I came here, I took down me fair share of people too.  Yer nothing special, mate.  Ye might have yer “Creatures” supporting ye, but that’s only going to be even more upsetting for ye.  After all, other people are the reason to compete, right?  Can’t let people down…

Mickey rolls his eyes as he laughs.  The music switches over to “Sheena Is A Punk Rocker” by Ramones.  Mickey’s smirk mellows out as he bops his head along to the music.

Mickey: ”She’s a punk, punk… a punk rocker… punk punk, a punk rocker…”  Bloody hell, Ramones… now I forgot where I was.  Guess it wasn’t that important to me after all?  Kind of like this match.  It’s a joke, and a waste of me time, but I never give up the chance to collect a paycheck.  If it means coming in there and laying you out with Drunken Lullabies, then I guess it’s what has to be done, yeah?  Just don’t expect me to come in there and play nice with ye, Hardy.  I don’t play nice with anybody.  Just ask Ben Jordan.  He’ll tell ye.  I don’t come to the ring and show respect to anybody.  Never have, and don’t expect I will be starting any time soon.

Mickey stretches out as the door to the closet opens up.  A soft feminine voice is heard indistinctly, not being picked up by the microphone.  Mickey scoffs as he looks off past the camera.

Mickey:  Oi!  I told ye I’d be back in five minutes, woman!  Can’t ye keep yer panties on for that long?  Bloody hell…

Mickey looks back to the camera, shaking his head and squinting his eyes at the sudden increase of light.  He takes in a deep breath and then points out past the camera with his thumb.

Mickey:  I’ve been on about this Michael Hardy for long enough.  Plus, I have been meaning to get to some training, and boning is one of the best workouts, yeah?  I’m gonna have it off with this fit blonde slag, and then I’m gonna show up on Sunday and crack yer skull, Michael.  I’m gonna stop ye dead in yer tracks so ye get nowhere near the Roulette title.  Cracking skulls and crushing dreams… sounds like a fun night.  See ye there, Mikey…  And for Jake Salco, and anyone else bothered to watch this… just remember, “#BoinkedYerSister”

With that, Mickey nods his head, rolling his eyes as he begins speaking indistinctly.  He quickly shuts off his web cam, allowing the music to play through to the end of the song, a few mere seconds.  We fade out from here.

 The excitement in me world never seems to stop.  Anyone who pays attention to the Indy circuits in wrestling (and let’s face it… if yer reading this right now, that’s you) is bound to have heard the news that ACW was absorbed into SCW.  That means I am no longer a Tag Team Champion with me bruv, Ben Jordan.  To some, this is met with a short “awww” and then it is forgotten.  Other’s say “Mickey, me mate!  At least ye lot were the only ones to ever hold those belts.  Consider yerself lucky!”  Believe me, I do.  I am fortunate enough to have proved to the world that I am not just some peckerwood who got tossed into the ring at a moment’s notice.  I earned the right to be called a wrestler, and have taken on some of the best in the business to prove it.  Me most shining moment was when I captured the ACW Tag Team Championships for me and Ben.  Not to take anything away from Ben, because he certainly had his hands full with winning the J Cup, having fought three matches that night?  That is precisely why nobody bet on us winning those belts.  Ben would be worn out from his first two matches, and that Mickey bloke surely couldn’t pick up the slack, yeah?

Fast forward several months to see that, not only did we win those belts, but we defeated anybody that stepped in our way to be the only ones to ever touch those belts.  We were, without a doubt, the most solid of tag teams in the history of ACW.  Ahh yes, I here ye lot asking “What’s yer point, ye barmey sonuvabitch?!”  Oi! I’m getting to it lads!  Now ye made me forget… Oh yeah, Like Ben said last week, we couldn’t have done it without JJ Dixon and ACW.  I doubt I was even close to being one of JJ’s favorites, but the fact of the matter is that he took a chance on me and Ben as a Tag Team.  He took a chance on me in general.  Who else would hire an ex con alcoholic with a few screws loose upstairs?  Only a man with a few screws loose himself.  While JJ might have had a reputation for showing his arse on a weekly basis, if not more, I can’t let ACW be laid to rest without saying one thing to him… Thank ye, JJ…

But that leaves one thing on me mind yet… What is to happen to Michael Eamon Carroll now?  It’s hard to tell with this bloody broken arm, but that hasn’t stopped me from talking with me doctor back home and getting cleared to enter the ring again.  It is pretty handy to be able to talk yer doctor into such things when he’s pissing his trousers at the sight of ye.  As long as Tessa doesn’t interfere in me match this week and break another appendage, things should be mint for me.  Though I have to admit after seeing what the barmey bird did to Drake Green for saying no to her, I wouldn’t be surprised if I get put in a full body cast by the end of the night… unless of course, she’s done with me thanks to Drake’s distraction.  No offense to ye mate, but I hope so.  Been dealing with this cur for almost a decade now.  I’ll be glad to give her off to another unfortunate soul.  This has been one of the few times where I can say I have no idear what is going to happen come this Sunday…


♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣


The sun is rising on the Cane Garden Bay of Tortola.  The beach is lonely and empty save for one single soul wandering across the sands, leaving footprints in his wake.  The ginger haired Irishman, Mickey Carroll, is practically stumbling along the beach with a bottle of Jameson in his only good hand.  His other is cradled to his bare chest in a sling.  He looks off into the horizon, the orange glow of the sun cast upon the faint waves of the ocean.  The corner of his eyes crinkle as he narrows them, deep in thought.  He slowly steps toward the ocean, pausing as the warm water wafts against his feet.  He closes his eyes, enjoying the sensations sending his body into sensory overload.  The sound of the seagulls and the waves lapping against the shores are the only thing he can hear.  He slowly opens his eyes as he feels a hand resting on his shoulder.  He quickly snaps out of his relaxed state, turning around to whack whomever it might be behind him with his half empty bottle.  His eyes widen as it is the last person in the world he would expect to see… his father.  He is nearly speechless as he opens his mouth to speak, but only random breaks of words come out.  His father smiles, pulling the bottle of Jameson from his hand, tossing back a few swigs before sighing from the slight burn of relief.

Pops:  Michael, ye look like a damned wreck of a man these days.

Mickey: Yeah?  Well, as they say… Like father, like son…

Pops:  Ye only wish me lad.  What ye ‘ave become is far worse than anything I ever done.

Mickey shakes his head as his cheeks fill with a less jolly tone of red, and a more furious tone of red.  He turns back to the ocean and the sun, soaking it in.

Mickey:  If I weren’t thousands of miles away from it, I would piss on yer grave ye old tosser.  What could ye possibly offer me that ye couldn’t when ye was alive besides another bruise on me arse, or having to look at the one ye left on mum’s eye?

Pops:  Nothing ye would be able to understand with yer level of education, but me hopes ye would understand the error of yer ways.  Yer an unwed father, refusing to marry the mother of his child.  Ye hardly ever go to mass or repent for yer sins.  Yet yer still a stupid, drunk, crazy, scared version of every bad thing ye claimed I ever was.

Mickey:  Except a woman beater, a child abuser, and a drop out, of course.  Any bloody fuckin’ thing ye could throw at me to insult me, ye really can’t say without being a hypocrite.  As fucked as I may be, pops… I still do everything better than ye could have ever done.

Mickey walks further into the water, step by step, but his father refuses to let up any.  He follows his son into the ocean, the water reaching both of their waists before Mickey stops.  He continues looking deep into the sun, refusing to look at the aged mirror version of himself standing with a wicked smile right behind him.

Pops:  Ye know… I once had a dream too.  I planned to box in America.  There was nothing more exciting than the idear of beating some yanks skull in for money.  I trained back in London, where I met this beautiful woman.  Unfortunately, she was busy with some other lad, and I knocked up yer ma instead.

Mickey grits his teeth before knocking back a large gulp from the bottle.  However, he still refuses to look back at his father.  Instead, he would rather be blinded by the light of the sun than face the man who contributed heavily to his current state.  He continues walking forward as his father’s hearty chuckle echoes in his ears.

Pops:  When ye was born, I remember watching me dreams fall to shite.  I realized that I had to man up and go to work the factory.  Every day I watched me dreams disappear a little bit.  Me thinks somewhere deep down, ye feel the same way.  Yer one claim to fame in the tag titles is gone.  Yer stuck with yer little bastard offspring keeping ye from going anywhere else in this career path, yet ye still just drink it all away.

Mickey:  Again… like father, like son I suppose.

Pops:  Scott King and, or, Shane Spencer will rip ye apart because yer not focused.  Ye got too many things clouding yer judgment as always.

Mickey continues walking slowly into the water, having no fear of what could be lurking at his feet.  Instead, he is focused solely on the sun.  He feels the water washing past his stomach as he goes deeper and deeper, allowing the warmth to come over him to wash away these doubts.

Mickey:  I’ve got to make me boy proud of me.  That’s something I worry about, pops… unlike you.  The bald, roided out ape, Shane Spencer, won’t stand in me way.  Nor will the mysterious, er, cowardly, Scott King.  I will take down these plonkers, if not just for me boy, but to prove ye wrong about me… again.  I have to make an impact here, one way or another, and it is quite unfortunate for the two they plan to put in me way, as their hopes and dreams will be cut short.

Pops:  But Mickey… yer getting in way over your head.  Mickey!

Before Mickey can comprehend what is happening, the waves sweep him just a bit deeper than his own comfort zone.  He tastes the salt water as if fills his mouth and burns his sinuses in an abrupt reaction.  He sputters as he tries to come up to the surface.  However, any attempts at catching his breath seems to be futile.  As he fades, he feels a hand dragging him along.  In what seems like just the blink of an eye, he slowly opens his own eyes, blinded by the sun as he sees the outline of a woman hovering above him.  She presses her lips against his, blowing deep into his lungs while holding onto his nose.  He begins coughing as she compresses his chest.  He feels the salt water trickling down the sides of his cheeks as it flies out everywhere.  He feels the sand sticking to his back as he tries to sit up.  However, the team of lifeguards comes up and checks on him, clouding out his rescuer from sight.  He tries to get up, weakened, but they insist he rest, practically holding him down against his own weakness.  He finally concedes to their wishes, lying down on the beach as we fade out.



<iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/s4D5hSPjftI" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>