[Mickey Carroll]

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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…
 
 
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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...
 
 
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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!