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Messages - Dax Beckett

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1
Alumni / Over the Edge
« on: July 27, 2020, 04:28:50 AM »
 [~]-WRESTLER INFORMATION-[~]

*Add more wrestlers if necessary*
Wrestler 1: Eyesnsane
Wrestler 2: Kaos
Wrestler 3: Michi
Wrestler 4: Dax Beckett
Wrestler 5: Mickey Carroll
Tag Team Name: Over the Edge
Personality: Badasses who refuse to take anyone's shit
Gimmick (If any): None
Alignment: Face

[~]-WRESTLING MOVES-[~]

***The following moves are specific to the tag team moves***

Signature Moves
1.) n/a
2.) n/a

Weapon Finisher:
1.) n/a


Finishing Move:
1.) n/a


[~]-MISC INFORMATION-[~]

Weapon Of Choice: Mickey: dangerously decorated baseball bat
Match Of Choice: any

[~]-BIOGRAPHY-[~]
Tag Team Bio:  Over the Edge is a reincarnation, led by Eyesnsane, reinvigorated with former Bad Boys stablemates Dax Beckett and Mickey Carroll, with new additions of Michi and Kaos.  More information to come.

Past Accomplishments: Eyesnsane: Honor Champion, SCW World Tag Team Champion (w/Jon Dough), Hardcore Tag Team Champions (w/Mickey Carroll, w/Mrs. Right) Mickey: Honor Champion, Legacy Champion, Hardcore Tag Team Champion (w/Eyesnsane, w/Eric Weaver), SCW World Tag Team Champions (w/Bad Boys-Gianni Di Luca and Dax Beckett) Dax: Pride Tag Team Champions (w/Tim Staggs), SCW World Tag Team Champions (w/Bad Boys-Gianni Di Luca and Mickey Carroll), SCU Combat Champion

[~]-ENTRANCE DESCRIPTION-[~]


Mickey and Dax:
The opening of "Amazing Grace" by Dropkick Murphys plays as Mickey pushes through the curtains with Dax following behind him. Mickey pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and drops it on the ground, quickly putting it out as he marches back and forth across the stage.  Dax throws his hands up and down to get the crowd riled up.  He and Mickey cross each other as they go opposite directions across the stage.

Liam: Coming to the ring, they are the team of Dax Beckett and Mickey Carroll and they represent Over the Edge!!! @@

They look from side to side, nodding their heads at the cheers before pointing out into the audience, starting a powerful "Oi! Oi! Oi!" chant that really gets the crowd pumped. They look to one another before they dash straight down the ramp where he leaps up and onto the ring apron. Mickey paces back and forth, stomping along to the beat of the music before climbing inside.  Dax throws his arms up to get the crowd even more pumped. Mickey looks up at the ceiling and then signals the trinity, kissing his fingers and then pointing up as he and Dax wait for their opponents.

Eyesnsane and Dax:

The lights in the arena go out and Eyesnsane in his wrestling gear steps through the curtain and onto the stage.

Darlyn: Aaaaaaaaaaaand their opponents… On their way to the ring, representing Over the Edge, they are… Eyesnsane and Dax Beckett!!! @@

Once he is in place the music starts and at the 15 second mark of the song as the arena hears, “Here I am” a blue spot light shines on Eyesnsane, now joined by Dax Beckett. Dax nods and speaks to Eyesnsane as he looks slowly to the left and then to the right before slowly walking down to the ring where he uses the steps to get on the ring apron as Dax slides in under the ropes. Eyesnsane then climbs in the ring between the second and top rope. He walks to the center of the ring and turns and looks throughout the entire arena as the music plays before the lights return to normal. He and Dax turn to their corner, speaking as the bell rings.

Eyesnsane and Michi

The lights in the arena go out and Eyesnsane in his wrestling gear steps through the curtain and onto the stage. Michi comes out wearing her OTE warm up robe, MMA shoes, and fighting gloves.

Darlyn:  On their way to the ring, representing Over the Edge… Eyesnsane and Michi!!! @@

Once he is in place the music starts and at the 15 second mark of the song as the arena hears, “Here I am” a blue spot light shines on Eyesnsane as he looks slowly to the left and then to the right.  Michi bounces to the beat as the song starts to come in. They look to one another before slowly walking down to the ring where Eyesnsane uses the steps to get on the ring apron and then climbs in the ring between the second and top rope. Michi keeps bouncing toward the ring the whole time. Once at ringside she slides in the ring and takes off her robe. She is seen wearing her all black OTE MMA top and shorts. She bounces around as she waits for the match to begin. Eyesnsane walks to the center of the ring and turns and looks throughout the entire arena as the music plays before the lights return to normal.


Kaos and Mrs Right

The arena lights dim low and neon red lights appear at the bottom of the titan tron as the fast electric piano beat kicks into "ISIS"  and red lasers are shot across the arena as if there were people aiming at you. As the song progresses , the beat reaches a high peak the lights under the titan tron turn off and the baseline kicks in, the lights turn back on revealing “KAOS” standing, with a look of fearless vengeance, at the top of the aisle. Confusion and defensive questions from the crowd, he begins to make his way to ringside walking in a disciplined stride, takes a pause and looks around then proceeds to walk up the stairs into the Ring.

Darlyn: Standing at 6’1”..weighing in at 239lbs, The American Nightmare, KAOS !!!  And his partner, she stands at 5’9” and weighing in at 155lb, she is… Mrs Right!!! @@

The lights get lowered and there seems to be a purple hue as the music plays.  After a few moments Mrs. Wright comes out from backstage stopping for a moment waving to the left and to the right. Then she slowly walks to the ring and then up the steel steps.  After she enters the ring, the walks to the center of the ring and turns, taking a moment to pause as she faces each side of the ring.  Before cutting a stare at the ring announcer as she walks to a corner.  And backs herself in while waiting for the action to start.


Mickey and Mrs Right
The opening of "Amazing Grace" by Dropkick Murphys plays as Mickey pushes through the curtains. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and drops it on the ground, quickly putting it out as he marches back and forth across the stage. He looks from side to side, nodding his head at the cheers before pointing out into the audience, starting an powerful "Oi! Oi! Oi!" chant that really gets the crowd pumped.

Darlyn: Coming to the ring, from London, England, standing at 5'11" and weighing in at 190lb, he is "Sin City's Resident Shithead"... Mickey Carrrrrrrrrrrrolllllllllllll!!!   And his partner, she stands at 5’9” and weighing in at 155lb, she is… Mrs Right!!! @@

The lights get lowered and there seems to be a purple hue as the music plays.  After a few moments Mrs. Wright comes out from backstage stopping for a moment waving to the left and to the right. Then she slowly walks to the ring and then up the steel steps.  After she enters the ring, Mickey dashes straight down the ramp where he leaps up and onto the ring apron. He paces back and forth, stomping along to the beat of the music before climbing inside. He looks up at the ceiling and then signals the trinity, kissing his fingers and then pointing up.  Mrs Right walks to the center of the ring and turns, taking a moment to pause as she faces each side of the ring.  Before cutting a stare at the ring announcer as she walks to a corner.  And backs herself in while waiting for the action to start.


Three Person Entrances:

Mickey, Kaos, Mrs Right

The opening of "Amazing Grace" by Dropkick Murphys plays as Mickey pushes through the curtains with Kaos and Mrs Right following behind him. Mickey pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and drops it on the ground, quickly putting it out as he marches back and forth across the stage. Mrs Right stares out into the crowd, looking around with her arms crossed, as Kaos does the same.  Mickey, Mrs Right, and Kaos cross each other as they go opposite directions across the stage.

Darlyn: Coming to the ring, they are the team of Kaos, Mrs Right, and Mickey Carroll and they represent Over the Edge!!! @@

They look from side to side, nodding their heads at the cheers before pointing out into the audience, starting a powerful "Oi! Oi! Oi!" chant that really gets the crowd pumped. They look to one another before they dash straight down the ramp where he leaps up and onto the ring apron. Mickey paces back and forth, stomping along to the beat of the music before climbing inside. Mrs Right and Kaos take their corner, looking across the ring at their opponents. Mickey looks up at the ceiling and then signals the trinity, kissing his fingers and then pointing up as he, Mrs Right, and Kaos wait for the match to start.

More entrances for the other combinations to come

2
Supercard Archives / Team BJ Vs The Bad Boys
« on: July 07, 2017, 09:26:21 PM »
 
<img src=http://www2.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Ronnie+Ortiz+Magro+i8t53_bSSM1m.jpg>

Fallout (Part 2)
#NP “The Boys” by Nicki Minaj
Locale: Grand Princess Cruise
Storyteller: Giani Di Luca


Bro….

That’s all I can say about all of this drama.  If I wanted this kinda drama, I woulda joined the Mean Girls.  I thought teamin’ wit’ dudes, it would all be parties, sluts, and just general good times.  Fawwwwwwk, was I wrong…

Look, I ain’t takin’ nothin’ away from Dax or Mickey.  Everyone says enough ‘bout them, sayin’ that they are only weighin’ me down.  They act like I’m the only one who deserves to be cocky in the Bad Boys.  I deserve to be cocky.  Got title reigns comin’ out my ass, and even though they wasn’t a bunch of them, ya better believe that each fawkin’ one counted.  Quality over quantity, and everyone knows better than to tawk shit on my accomplishments, cause I’ll back each and every one of them up.  Mickey got two title reigns under his belt, so people don’t say much about him, but Dax?  Gotta be honest here.  If Dax ever left the tag title scene, he would decimate any champion SCW got, minus J2H, cause that kid unstoppable.  But Dax could give him a run for his money.  Anyone who says that he ain’t memorable inside of the ring is a fawkin’ idiot who don’t pay a lick of attention to the screen when he’s on.  I ain’t seen someone that size fly around so flawlessly like that since Spike Staggs.  Yeah, I mentioned Dax and Spike Staggs in the same sentence.

Yeah, that was aimed right at you, Jamie Dean.  Fawk you, dawg.  Dax could run circles around ya any given day of the week.  So go ahead and make tweets about boring moves and small penises.  Project ya own insecurities somewhere else, cause the Bad Boys are above that shit.

But, like I was sayin’, the Bad Boys gone through some serious drama lately.  It ain’t all be parties and bitches.  When I entered this marriage, I thought it was about keepin’ Mickey in the country, and that we would each keep doin’ our thing.  Me and Veronica, Dax and Celeste, Mickey and Mercedes.  Then bombshell fell, and Dax came out to us after the wedding, when we was out on the yacht.  No runnin’ from that one.  Somehow, I guess he knew I was outta his league, so he started carryin’ a flame for Mickey.  Mickey was like “Bro, I’m straight.”  I’m like “Alright, it’s cool.  Dax got him a side piece, so problem solved.”  Wrong.  Mickey started gettin’ jealous of Dax’s side hustle and decided he was gonna cock block our boy until the guy left him alone.  I’m thinkin’ “It’s cool.  Mickey’s just possessive of his friends.  Weird, but alright.”  How did that turn out?  Oh, for only the second time in my entire life… I was wrong.  Mickey was crushin’ on his old boy, Ben Jordan.  For years, apparently.  He got turned down, and some people suspect it’s only cause me and Dax smashed his fawkin’ head in wit’a set uh steel chairs and Mickey just watched.  If Mickey woulda been a stand up guy, he and Ben probably woulda rode off back to London in the sunset, and I’d have Dax all to myself…

That’s called a joke.  Don’t look at me like that.  Of course, Dax took it all personally, and started bitchin’ on Twitter, and any time Mickey tried to return the favor to Dax, Dax acted like a girl and brushed it awf.  Goddamn, Dax… just break the ginger bastard awf a piece, yaknowhatimsayin’?

Don’t get me wrong.  Mickey and Dax could smoosh each other, they could smoosh other people.  They could smoosh the entire cruise ship, minus myself, and I wouldn’t give a shit.  The problem is that they just won’t do what everyone knows they should do, and that’s… smoosh!  Just get it ovuh wit’, guys.  We got tag titles to win.

In the meantime, I’m sittin’ poolside as Dax calls yet anotha’ truce.  Maybe they can get their heads outta their asses long enough for us to actually stand a chance.  I got this cougar eyeballin’ me from across the pool, and I gotta admit.  I’m interested.  Never done it with a mom before.  I flex my arms out as I make my pecs dance.  She’s enjoyin’ the show, but she ain’t tryin’ to be that obvious.  I lift my sunglasses up to my forehead as I wink at her.  The sun is shinin’ off of my Adonis lookin’ body, and for a second, I think to myself… “What about Veronica?”  Then I remember… What about Veronica?  Is she here?  Have ya seen her the entire time ya been on the ship?  She’s probably more worried about puttin’ on ten layers of sunscreen before comin’ out in the sun, so that she looks fit as fuck for when she gets pinned by Devona in a few days.

I see somethin’ I want… just like I wanted to run the best Freebird style tag team SCW ever saw.  Just like I wanted the SCW Tag Team Championships twice.  Just like the SCW Roulette Championship.  Just like Veronica Taylor, once upon a time.  And even more valuable than her, just like I saw the SCW World Heavyweight Championship.  I saw these things, and I took ‘em cause I wanted ‘em.  This time is no different.  I stand up from my beach chair as she bites her bottom lip.  I go to walk towards her when Dax comes runnin’ up to me.  He practically smashes into me as he taps my shoulder like he was a five year old tryin’ to get his mom’s attention.

Dax:  Gi, Gi, Gi, Gi, Gi…

I try to ignore him as I look back over at the cougar, 9 o’clock.  She opens her legs like she’s invitin’ me in.  Poor fawkin’ timin’, Dax.  He keeps tappin’ my shoulder like I don’t see him standin’ there.

Dax:  Bruh!  Hey, Gi!

Me:  WHAT?!

Dax:  Are you seeing this shit on Twitter?

I look at him to ask him if he’s serious.  I raise my eyebrows as I motion with my eyes toward the cougar.  He doesn’t follow my eyes, so I pinch the bridge of my nose and look him dead in the eye.

Me:  Naw, bro.  In case ya haven’t noticed, I don’t get on Twitter a lot.  That’s more ya bag, dawg.  You and Mickey.

Dax:  Exactly!  Mickey is on there being fucking weird, and I don’t even get what game he’s trying to play.  He’s talking like the Ben Jordan shit never happened.

I stare at him like he’s got two freakin’ heads, cause this kid is tawkin’ nonsense.  It’s pure craziness.  I shake my head as I look back over at the cougar, who has turned over on her back, kicking her legs up and down slowly as she looks back to make sure I’m still watching.

Me:  You do realize that he got knocked out by ya pops, and he’s been tryin’ to make nice with ya cause he obviously feels bad.  Plus, this match we got comin’ up is big, and this shit is a distraction we don’t be needin’ right now.

Dax:  So I’m supposed to just pretend that he didn’t make me think he was straight as an arrow, only to then drop the bombshell that he was in love with his best friend who you and me just smacked over the head with a mad chair shot?  Oh, and then when he realizes he upset me, he just tries to pretend that none of it happened, and then tries to score the hook up?  Fuck that…

He continues rambling on, and I understand his side of the story.  I really do.  He’s got a point, but… momma over there is basically rubbing it all up in my face, and I’m probably a shitty friend, but I can’t ignore that.  I mean, I wanna be nursin’ on her like a newborn.  I bite at my bottom lip as she rubs a little more tanning oil on her lower back, sliding gently down past her bikini line.

Dax:  Are you even listening?  Do you even care?  Look, like I told him, I can be his friend, and I can win the tag titles, but I can’t deal with this shit.  My heart is not a fucking yo-yo that he can just play with when he’s got nothing going on.  That’s fucked up.

Me:  Look, kid… I see ya point.  I get where ya comin’ from.  I do.  But, this is a really bad time, and ya not gonna listen to anythin’ I got to say anyway, s…

Dax:  Well, then let’s hope for all of our sakes, that I lose the contest to decide who winds up going for the tag titles, because I’m not gonna be the one who gets blamed for causing dysfunction in our match, and I sure as shit won’t be blamed for losing.

I groan as I look back toward the cougar, who is now sitting up in her chair, shrugging her shoulders at me with her arms held out at her side.  I start to walk toward her slowly as Dax follows me.

Dax:  Oh, I gotcha.  You know what, go do you and I’ll find someone else to go talk to.

Me:  Oh… Hahahaha… Ya a funny guy, Dax.  In case ya didn’t notice, ya got me and Mickey.  Not to be a douchebag, but ya do realize that less people like ya than they do Mickey, and Mickey’s pretty short on friends right about now.

Dax:  Fuck you!

Me:  Yeah?  Well fawk you too, bro.  Take ya drama and shove it up ya ass.  I gotta say, I’m about sick and tired of this shit, and I ain’t even in it.  Well, until ya drag me into it.

Dax looks over and sees the cougar staring at me, and he turns white as a ghost.  He tucks his head, as if he was intimidated by her, and then he shouts in my face, very awkwardly at that…

Dax:  I love you, husband!  Very, very much!  I must go prepare myself for our love making…

Dax then rushes off like he’s scared of somethin’.  I didn’t get it right away, because I think he’s just tryin’ to cock block me, and I cuss him out as he takes off down the deck, and I turn around to see the cougar hasn’t run off yet, and she’s lookin’ at me even harder than she was before.  I crack my charmin’ smile as I start to walk over toward her, when another hand taps on my shoulder.  I turn around to see Mickey standin’ there.

Me:  Motherfucker…

Mickey:  Gi, we gotta talk about Dax.

Me:  NO!  I’m tryin’ to get laid, bro.  L-A-I-D!  Cougar at nine o’clock.

Mickey looks over his shoulder, right at her as if he ain’t got no shame.  I sigh as he nods his head.

Mickey:  Top notch bird there.  I think yer muscles ‘ave got ‘er hooked, bruv.  This is kind of important, and we need to talk about it.

Me:  No… we don’t.  You and Dax need to tawk about it, cause it’s ya problem.  Even if I wasn’t tryin’ to bag this DTF motha’, I still wouldn’t wanna hear about this shit.  I support ya.  I’ll buy a GSA t-shirt and march in parades with ya.  But I’m so sick of him bitchin’ that ya so far in the closet that ya findin’ Christmas presents.

Mickey:  I’m not in the closet.  I think I made it loud and clear when I…

Me:  Oh, I thought it was that ya was playin’ *air quotes* mind games wit’ Ben.  No… ya right.  No one bought that sack of shit you was sellin’.  But again, I don’t care.  Go catch up wit’ Dax and do all kinds’a butt stuff.  Bang out the beef ya got.  Kiss and make up.  Just get on the same fawkin’ page, dawg.  Let ya balls drop and be… you…

Mickey almost seems offended by it for a second.  I shake my head as I turn to walk away from him, and this entire situation.  That’s when I notice that the cougar left the seat she was in, and she’s nowhere to be found.  I clinch my fists together and growl as Mickey’s attitude seems to change.  He nods his head as he starts to walk away.

Mickey:  For a stupid fuckin’ Itie, ye actually bring up a good point.  Me ‘ard ‘eaded pride needs to be set aside so that I can chase what I think could make me ‘appy.  Thanks mate…

Mickey takes off as I begin scanning the crowd for a good replacement, since I got all worked up.  I don’t see anyone who catches my interest, but I do see a piece of paper sittin’ on her beach chair.  I walk over to it and pick it up, and instantly, it smells like top shelf champagne and roses.  I unfold it and it reads “508 - 10 minutes, or I start without you XXX Mom”

Me:  Now that’s what I’m tawkin’ ‘bout!

I take off for the 500 lodges, tough part of me wants to see her start without me, so I try not to geek too hard.  What happens next ain’t for ya eyes, so fawk off, kid…



**********************************************************************************




<img src=https://i.ytimg.com/vi/zn8R2Ls7mLI/maxresdefault.jpg>

Linner?  Dunch? Promo!
#NP “Praying” by Kesha
Locale: Grand Princess Cruise Ship
Storyteller: Dax Beckett



Persistence is key.  I bugged Alexis Staggs to the point that she had to give me the time of day.  Of course, she’s being a grumpy bitch as she walks up to the table without so much as a single word, before she pulls her chair out and plops down into it as she drops her purse on the table.  She just stares at me as I smile and stare back at her with some kind of hope on my face.  I have a cigarette between my lips, and then I think about it for a second.  I blow the smoke over my shoulder, and then flick the cigarette out into the water.  She laughs, but it’s not the kind of laugh that says “You are charmingly funny, Dax.”  Nope, not at all.  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

Me:  Sorry, wasn’t thinking about the little Staggy on board.

Alexis:  Fuck you.

Me:  Whoa-ho-hoooo there.  Honest mistake.

Alexis:  No, that wasn’t even because of the cigarette, Dax.  That’s because you’re a disgusting bastard, and I loathe you with every ounce of my being.  I’ve never, ever liked you, since the day we met.

I stare at her, kind of hurt to hear it, even though I pretty much knew it all along.  However, she doesn’t expect me to do what I do next.  I reach under the table, and I pull out a black jacket.  I spread it out on the table, revealing the faded red #Nobodies lettering as I slowly slide it across the table.  She groans in disgust as she narrows her eyes at me.

Me:  Look, you know I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t important to me.  I need to cash in that favor I was promised when The Nobodies broke up and I wound up flat on my ass.

Alexis:  What the hell do I look like  The fucking Godfather of the Nobodies?  Get lost with this shit.  That’s Tim’s deal with you, not mine.

Me:  Now, now… hear me out.  I’m not asking for money like a lot of the other losers did.  I’m not asking for anything selfish, I promise.  I know I earned my reputation of being an asshole, and I own that shit.  But, I got one little soft spot left, and it would mean a lot to her if you would just talk to her.

Alexis stares at me, a mixture of surprise and frustration.  The waiter brings us each a glass of ice water, and she takes hers right from his hand and takes a sip.  She shakes her head and sucks at her teeth as she tries to put words to it all.

Alexis:  I… gotta say.  I wasn’t expecting that.  At all.  Kudos, asshole.

Me:  So, will you do it?  I understand that she won’t talk to me anymore, but she’s had one foot out the fucking door here, and she is way more alone than ever.

Alexis:  Yeah?  Well, that’s her fault for joining up those bimbo airheads.

Me:  No she fucking doesn’t!  That’s like saying since you flirt with Kris Halich every goddamn day, that you deserve to get lynched by the Nobodies that got fucked when he decided to run away because he was sad?  Look, I know how you are, because we’re a lot alike.

Alexis slaps the top of the table as she looks like she wants to strangle me to death as she leans a little over the table.

Alexis:  We are nothing alike.

Me:  Fuck yeah we are.  Even if we won’t ever admit it in front of people.  We’re two peas in a fucking pod, and you know it.  It’s why we never got along.  But, listen.  Celeste doesn’t deserve alienation, and deep down, you know it.  If you have any sense of honor or respect, you’ll talk to her.

Alexis:  Whatever.  Look, is that all you wanted to ask?  I’d like to go ahead and take off, because… this fucking sucks.  I mean, being around you.

I wink at her and click my teeth as I shake my head.

Me:  If that was it, then I wouldn’t have bothered having to spend time with you.  I would have just DM’ed you or something.  No, see…

I look over to the left as I hear someone fumbling with a camera.  I close my eyes as I watch the SCW cameraman approach the table.  I look down at my phone to see that they are a good twenty minutes early, and I groan.  The waiter brings Lexi and me the Vegan special, which is apparently just hummus and an arugula salad with vinaigrette dressing.  Not even a tofu patty.  Lexi looks at it and lifts up the leaves as she studies it with a disgusted look on her face.

Cameraman:  Hey, Mr. Beckett.  I’m here for your quick thoughts on your match this Sunday at…

Me:  You’re fucking early, Ted!  I was just having a conversation with Lexi here, and you rudely interrupted our lunch!

Ted:  Well, I could wait over here until you guys are done.

I look right at the camera in his hand and I pinch the bridge of my nose as I make sure to let him hear me scoff at him.  I look over to Lexi, and neither one of us wants to be stuck with one another for any longer than we have to.

Me:  No… let’s get this shit over with.  I don’t need you eavesdropping on our conversation.  It’s “sensitive”.  Look, you and me got a conversation of our own to have, right?  Big title match coming up in just a few short days.  Lots of shit to talk.

Alexis:  Do I really need to be here for this?  I think I’m going to be sick.

Me:  Oh, is it the baby?  The food?

Alexis shakes her head as she looks directly at me for some reason.  I can’t figure out why, though.  Oh well, I turn to Ted, and give him the thumbs up as he sets up the tripod

Me:  This shouldn’t take long, and we have plenty more to discuss.  Just sit tight…

Alexis folds her arms across her chest, but she surprises me by not getting up and leaving.  Once I realize she’s staying put, I turn back toward the camera to see Ted finishing the set up.  He turns the camera on, and then gives me a silent countdown with his fingers.  5, 4, 3, 2…

Me:  Good evening, Sin City Wrestling fans.  One of your favorite Bad Boys of all time here…  Dax Beckett?  Don’t act so surprised.  My social media views have doubled in the last two weeks.  I’m up to eight!  Hashtag new heights, bruh!  No seriously, I’m excited.  Ever since me and Giani smacked Ben Jordan over the head with a double chair shot, people have been running their mouths about us.  Subtweet much?  The hate is real, but I can’t help being so extra.  That’s like asking a wolf to not howl at the moon  That’s like asking a fish to breathe under water.

Alexis:  Fish do breathe under water, dumbass…

Dax:  I wasn’t talking to you, Bill Nye the Science Guy!  I mean, thanks for the tip.  But yeah, people are responding.  Maybe not in the best of ways, but they are responding.  Most people are trying to tear me down, saying that I lose a lot.  And when I bring up the fact that I only ever lost once, against someone who went on to become the World Heavyweight Champion.  Fluke or not, he still won it.  It’s not like I lose regularly, like some of these ass hats who run around here talking big.  I’m the superior breed in Sin City Wrestling.  I’m the new standard, even if people like Jamie Dean want to call me “not memorable”.  They say my style is boring, but bitch I hit them highspots like a pro, and there is no denying that!  Just because you will never, ever be as good as me, don’t mean that you can take it upon yourselves to tear me down, like I’m just supposed to sit there and take it.  Like I told Jamie on Twitter, if being memorable means cutting your move set in half, and dry humping your opponents for a cheap pop, then I don’t want to be memorable.  I’ll just settle for being great.

Alexis:  That’s a laugh.

Me:  I WAS TALKING TO THE OTHER ALEXIS!!!

Alexis stops and stares at me, almost as if she wants to laugh of my sudden outburst.  I wink at her and she tries her best to hide her amusement.  I look back to the camera, straightening out my oversized dress jacket I’m wearing.

Me:  Look… this all comes down to a matter of who wants it most.  Jamie Dean and Ben Jordan like being champions.  Clearly they are fond of the belts, or else they wouldn’t have won a Battle Royal to get them around their waists.  But, that’s only because Bad Boys weren’t allowed in the match.  If we had been allowed, then you better believe that these thirsty fucking dogs would have cleaned house in a hurry.  We would have been the last men standing in that ring, and those belts would have made it to our waists sooner.  But, we settled for this road, because it’s better than getting shoved to the back of the line like some talents around here.

Alexis:  Burn?

Me:  Fucking… burn!  But seriously, we were being pushed back further and further, until we did what we had to do, and we ran out to take the trash out before Blaze of Glory.  We then went out and stomped out the former champions, and there was no denying that we had heart.  We won the right to face the champs, but we had to give something extra so that people would want to see more.  We had to make them want this match, right here on this ship on Sunday.  We had to make people pay attention.  So, we went out and slopped up the BJ…

Alexis pinches the bridge of her nose as she looks away from me and the camera, and I’m not sure, but she might have been embarrassed to be seen with me right now.

Alexis:  Yeah, I am…

How did she read my mind?  Jedi mind trick shit there.

Me:  We gave the messiest BJ displayed inside of the ring, and we paid extra attention to Ben’s head, while Mickey took the beating up and down Jamie.

Alexis:  Okay, that seems done on purpose.

Me:  We Team BJ’ed Team BJ, and it was so glorious that Ben Jordan couldn’t show up at a show for three fuckin’ weeks, and Jamie was too embarrassed by it all that he only showed up because he was booked.  Meanwhile, we showed up each and every week, ready to do work, son.  We won a match somewhere in there, over Jamie Dean no less.  Look, the truth is that we’ve destroyed Ben and Jamie at every turn.  We can’t seem to run into them without knocking one of them the fuck out.  So why does anyone think that it’s going to go any differently this match?  Do you think that if you cheer on your heroes long enough, they’ll suddenly find a fucking clue, and wrestle coherently against us?  Yeah, good luck.  Between the two of them, they would be lucky to win a handicap match against one of us.  The truth fucking hurts, but guess what?  It’s still the fucking truth.  That doesn’t change because you want to believe that the Bad Boys are a one hit wonder, because guess what?  We just keep on hitting, and giving it balls deep to the competition.

I give a few good gyrating pumps to emphasize my point, giving my best “Fuck yeah” face as I do so.  I lean forward in my chair, taking a sip from the glass of water before I stop pumping my crotch at the camera.

Me:  So, go ahead and read your insults from bomb pop sticks, bruh.  Go ahead and try to patronize me, Mickey, and Gi on social media, because we handle ours inside of the ring.  Talk a little trash on Twitter, then show up to kick some fuckin’ ass at the shows, just to prove that our bite is as bad, if not worse, than our bite.  Now that I’ve addressed the first problem with Jamie… being that he sucks and is a one note wrestler… let’s move along to Ben.  Oh, Ben.  We all know that you’re Saint Benjamin.  I’ve already talked about how untrue that actually is, when we faced in the Blast From the Past tournament, when Amy Marshall got us knocked out of the tournament when I clearly had your number.  Let me just go over the highlights.

I begin tapping a finger against the palm of my hand as I fire each one off.

Me:  You’re selfish, letting your own best friend down, each and every time he took a bullet for you.  You embarrassed him on televised SCW programming on a few occasions.  You blew off your redheaded friend, and barely skated by to the finals of the tournament because your head was up in the clouds, thanks to all of your adoring friends inflating your fucking ego.  The only reason you made it past me then is because of Amy.  You are self absorbed.  You are a shitty person who has to play the victim, and then hide away to see how long it takes for people to chase you down to kiss your ass.  Then, in the case of Mickey, once he caught up, and had his lips puckered, you went and kicked him in the face… or the heart… or the face heart!  All good, because he’s over you.  He’s actually hoping that he gets to enter the match so that he can kick your fucking face in.  And I’m half tempted to throw the qualifying contest just to make sure that he has the opportunity to do that.

I laugh as I lean back in my chair.  I give it a second before I continue.

Me:  You’re an awful person, Ben.  If I’m smart enough to see that, just wait until people who are actually smart begin to see it.  Maybe, once you don’t have a use for Jamie Dean any longer, then you will show your true colors.  It will be much easier to see your yellow belly without the tag title around your waist.  Bad Boys will be more than happy to go ahead and take it off of your hands, so that you can finally live as the person that you truly are.  A cunting coward who leeches off of other people.  You heard it here first, peeps!  Live on the Armed Forces Network and scwrestling.net, you get to see Ben Jordan fall.  The almighty Ben Jordan.  To his knees… well, that was already seen a few weeks back.  But, it’ll be great to see it again.

The tape is running out, so I have to cut it short.  In true Bad Boys fashion, I flip the camera off as Ted begins checking on the glitch.  I lean over and start talking to Alexis, away from earshot.

3
Supercard Archives / Members of the Elders Vs The Bad Boys
« on: May 06, 2017, 11:48:04 PM »
 
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Quiet on the SET!
#NP "Like a Bitch” by Zomboy
Locale: Yer gonna figure it out soon enough, mate...
Storyteller: Mickey Carroll



I gotta admit, I was rather looking forward to stepping out of the car when we pulled up to the warehouse building, but the New Jersey air was thick with the smell of pollution and Drakkar Noir.  Sort of like Giani after he eats onions, I suppose.  After spending so much time with ‘im and Dax back in Las Vegas, or crammed in a hotel room, I’ve become more accustomed to their disgusting aromas.  This was just a bit too much for me liking.  Like a thousand Giani’s crowded around me…

So, needless to say, as I stepped inside of the building, I was surprised that it wasn’t quite as manky as I ‘ad expected it to be.  It looks like an actual business, with white everywhere, and a receptionist with black hair and glasses.  She looks up at us, and a smile creeps across her face as she folds her hands together, and it’s clear that she’s very happy to see us.  However, before she can speak, the postman steps in front of us, carrying a box in ‘is hands.  The secretary stands up from her chair, and her skirt is probably a bit shorter than is work appropriate, so nothing quite rings a bell.

Postman:  Hey there, pretty lady.  I’ve got a package for you.

Secretary:  Yes, I bet you do… it looks so big, too… mmmm…

The postman firmly holds the box in front of himself as the secretary gently pulls it open, as I lean over and whisper to Dax.

Me:  What kinda blarmy git sends a package without taping it shut?  It’s like… oh…

As she opens the box, she gasps as she reaches inside and begins fidgeting around with something under the styrofoam packing peanuts as the postman begins moaning quite loudly as the postman leans over and grabs Giani by the shirt and begins making out with him as ‘e shoves the man away and prepares to beat ‘is arse with ‘is mallet-like fists.  The postman reaches forward and grabs me bat, and not the one I normally carry around at SCW shows, either.  The secretary falls to her knees as a dodgy, sweaty bald man steps from behind a wall and shouts at us.

Man:  CUT!  What the fuck are these three bozos doin’ on the set?  The ginger one can stay because he’s packing, but the other two gotta fuck off!

Me:  Thanks, but piss of yerself, mate.  I don’t swing that…

Dax:  Baby, I’m not going to be offended if you want to earn a little extra cash here.

Amy:  Glad you guys could finally make it.  We’ve only been waiting to start for an hour.

We turn to see Amy Marshall standing in the doorway, where we finally see that we’ve walked onto a set.  I guess me cheeks turn a bit of a crimson color as the postman snaps his fingers and winks at me and Giani, raising ‘is ‘and to ‘is ears to tell us to ring ‘im.  Dax walks up to Ames and folds ‘is arms over ‘is chest.  Amy ‘as a grin from ear to ear as she grabs onto ‘is ‘and and guides ‘im through the different sets.  This place is full of different themes.  A Star Whores, an underwater/Women with Crabs, Arabian Knockers, The Flaccidstones, Poke-a-Hot-Ass, Buttman and Throbbin’... wait, why are we stopping?  In the name of all that is holy, why are we stopping ‘ere?

Amy:  Here we are.  Dax, your costume is waiting over there.

Dax:  Why isn’t in a dressing room?

Amy:  No, Brice Payne is a millionaire nudist playboy, so part of the scene is him and Throbbin’ suiting up together.

Dax stomps ‘is feet on the ground angrily as Amy only smiles in return.  I can’t lie, as much as I dislike Amy Marshall, I’m eating this up almost as much as she is.  He goes on this long rant which I ‘ave no desire to rehash, because it just makes me “husband” look more like a git than I’d like to admit.  Amy is quite a bit more polite than I would be, because she lets ‘im air ‘is complaints all the way through, and no matter how much ‘e gets in ‘er face, her smile only gets that much bigger.  Once ‘e’s done, she chuckles and looks up at ‘im.

Amy:  Okay, are you done?  You said you were going to “do one of my movies”.  You’re always going on about how you’re such a big star, so I figured you would love to be the star of this film.

Then, some big guy walks into the room, some clean cut plonker wearing a robe and a smirk.  I mean, the bloke was cut.  No, not cut, ‘e is shredded.  The guy walks in front of the camera and lets the robe drop to the ground.  â€˜e stands there and pulls out a tobacco pipe, holding it as if ‘e were the one playing Buttman.

Bloke:  Finally, Throbbin’ is here so that we can get this rolling.

Just then, the fake night sky lights up with the Bat symbol… except in place of a bat, it is an arse.  I’m not jokin’ either… A white circle darkened out with each arse cheek and a crack straight down the middle.  Dax reluctantly begins unbuttoning ‘is shirt while trying hard to stall.

Dax:  So, if I’m Buttman… is this… the porn version of… Riddler?

Amy:  Dax, this is Buttman, and he’s going to teach you a few things.

Dax:  You mean to tell me that you’re not Throbbin’?

Amy:  No.  I’m S’Catwoman.

Dax:  OH FUCK THAT!

Dax begins buttoning ‘is shirt back up quickly as ‘e walks backwards in a hurry.  Amy grabs onto ‘is arm and drags ‘im back several paces.

Amy:  Relax, I’m not shitting on you.  See, S’Catwoman is only going to drill your tight little hole with a strapon until you go unconscious.  Then, Buttman is going to come in for the save, only to get attacked by Wang-uin, Two-Piece, and Poker with Whore-ly Quinn, also played by me.  Now quiet, because Buttman is about to begin…

The lights dim down as Dax lowers ‘is voice to argue more with Ames.  I can’t here anything else, but I don’t need to when Buttman ‘as such an epic beginning monologue.

Buttman:  I just had the most wonderful night with Selina Sidesmile.  The things she can do with her mouth…  Damn… But I can’t shake the feeling that Sidesmile is trying to hide something from me, other than my junk.  When I was balls deep in her, she just didn’t act like she was too thrilled about taking all ten inches…

Alfred Peen:  Master Brice.  I was just alerted of the Butt signal coming from the southern quadrant of Dick’em City.

Alfred is literally a Sean Connery looking bloke wearing a thong and a bowtie collar, carrying a platter with tea and crumpets on it…  Ye can’t even make this shite up, mate!  I try to keep it low, but I clap my hands together and look over to Giani with a huge smile on me face.  Just then, Dax is seen standing naked with ‘is backside blowin’ in the wind.  Amy shoves him onto the set as he falls on all fours.  He stands up and dusts ‘imself off as ‘e turns back to face “Master Brice”.

Throbbin’:  Golly JizzswigglersHoly Buttplugs, Buttman.  Dick’em City just got over the Salty Seaman Gang flooding the streets, and now this?  Something smells… fishy…

Buttman:  Ha ha ha… that is why you are my sidekick with the puns… and the buns…

*SMACK!*

Buttman grabs a ‘andful of Dax’s arse and I nearly fall on the floor.  Okay, not nearly.  I actually did.  I begin rolling around on the ground, kicking as I try to control me’self.  Amy widens her eyes at me as she raises a finger to her lips.  The more I try, the more I let out the signature wheeze of a heavy smoker.

Buttman:  Something tells me that the Poker is up to his usual shenanigans at the Acme Blowup Doll factory.  Go ahead of me, and recon the situation.  I’ll be right behind you.  Just, try not to crash the Throbbin’ Rocket into my Buttmobile again.  We left such a mess the last time.  Ha ha…

Director:  Aaaand cut!  Scene two…. Action!

Dax has on a cape that comes just above a pair of arseless skivs, with a limp rocket attached to ‘is crotch.  â€˜e walks through a really sketchy lookin’ alleyway, as a can rolls across the ground.  He stops and looks all around ‘im.

Throbbin’:  Holy Jizzswigglers… this alley sure is scary.  It’s the perfect place for an ambush attack with that suspiciously raised tarp surrounded by random trash cans…  Luckily, that’s not the case…

S’Catwoman:  Lucky left the Buttcave hours ago, Throbbin’...

Throbbin’:  *Exaggerated gasp*  Holy Cock n’ Balls!  It’s S’Catwoman!  Buttman!

S’Catwoman:  I know you are smuggling the jewels in your hot and hairy pucker, Throbbin’.  I’m afraid I’m going to have to knock you out and get them back, the only way I know how…

This is the part where even I can’t comment on what’s going on.  Well, I could, but I’d rather see how much money Dax can make on this, so I’m just going to let ye imagine what’s going on ‘ere.  To give ye a pretty good idea, there’s a lot of things going into Dax’s arse… and I do mean a lot…

Giani:  Aw, bro!  That ain’t even natural.  How does it open up so far?

Me:  Perhaps our dearest husband ‘as not been entirely honest with us, as it doesn’t appear to be ‘is first time around the block.

Throbbin’:  Holy drips, S’Catwoman. Oh, shit…

S’Catwoman:  Throbbin’, you’ve surprised me.  I found something up here, but it isn’t the jewels.  It appears to be your cherry.

She says it so seriously too.  I can’t get over it, honestly.  Me face is bright fuckin’ red right now, and I’m crying.  I can’t tell ye if it’s from my complete lack of understanding of how a buttarang is sex toy can also double as a fully functioning boomerang, or how it landed perfectly in Dax’s brown eye as it did, but kudos to the director for that one.

Throbbin’:  Curses, S’Catwoman.  You’re going down!

S’Catwoman:  I’m afraid the time for going down has passed, but maybe if you ask me nicely, I’ll let you.

Me:  I can’t… I can’t… Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this is too much.

Giani:  Bro… I’m tempted to go to the grocery store right now and stock up on frozen peas, cause kid’s gonna need them for an entire week… Oh… make that two…

Dax continues squealing like a stuck pig as Amy somehow stops from gloating, staying perfectly in character like a professional.  Just then, some large man waddles onto the set, with a long nose that somehow resembles a penis, and a Danny DeVeto cackle that let’s us know this is Wang-uin.  Next, some guy with green hair, and a very long, uncomfortable lookin’ staff walks up in a green pouch thong that ‘as a spring-loaded set of bangers and mash bobbing up and down.

Me:  This must be The Poker, or maybe it’s The Piddler?

Giani:  Naw, if he was The Piddler, wouldn’t he be wearin’ a bowlers cap?  It just seems obvious that ‘e’s The Poker.

“Piddle me this, Throbbin’.  What has a long neck, with much girth at the bottom, and a head that stretches up into the sky when excited?”

Throbbin’:  Edward Smegma!

Piddler:  Oh?  Sorry Throbbin’.  That’s not the right answer, but I’m feeling quite charitable today.  And please, don’t say a giraffe?

He says it.  Dax actually says a giraffe, and ‘e pays the price at the ‘ands of the Piddler.  I actually cringe as Dax claws his way across the ground and ‘e grabs onto me boots and looks up at me with tears in ‘is eyes.  It’s hard to take it serious with a man working out ‘is rusty ring, and the boner printed Robin style cape clinging to ‘is sweaty back though.

Dax:  Please?  Puh-puh...lease?  Help me?

Me:  Ames, me client ‘as a problem with the script that we need to talk about.

Director:  CUT!

Amy:  Goddamnit, Mickey!  We were in the middle of the money shot take!

Me:  Was that before Wang-uin Eskimo Kisses me husband’s chocolate starfish, or after Edward Smegma rocket launches ‘im right in ‘is brown eyed willy?

Wang-uin walks right past Dax, and rubs at ‘is nose as ‘e gives ‘is arse a nice firm smack before leaning down to tongue ‘im.

Wang-uin:  Great job out there, Dax.  Thanks for trimming… I hate sneezing into someone’s crack.  It just feels weird.

Giani:  You trim your hedge, Dax?

Dax:  I DO IT FOR YOU TWO!  Do I ever get a fuckin’ thanks?!  FUCK NO!

Amy:  Just cut out Mickey’s bitching, and we’ll print that scene.  Buttman and Throbbin’ is complete.

Dax breathes a sigh of relief as ‘e crawls up me leg, hugging onto it as ‘e sucks ‘is thumb, rocking back and forth.  I reach down and rub his hair as if he were a child who just found a monster under ‘is bed.  Amy smiles as she walks closer to Dax.

Amy:  Do you need a break before the next scene is shot, Dax?  Or are you all warmed up?

Giani:  Whoa, whoa!  Hold ya freakin’ horses, Marshall…  Ya just said that Buttman and Throbbin’ is done, so what’s the next scene?

Amy:  Dax said he wanted to star in his own movie, right?  Apparently there is a huge audience for tattooed tool boys being humiliated, so he’s going to have his very own DB collection.

Dax:  For Dax Beckett?

Amy:  Or for Douche Bag, but I like your enthusiasm.  Go get a couple ice packs, and get ready for the next scene.

Dax can’t even speak as Amy walks off.  He tries to protest it, but ‘e just can’t get the words out.  Instead, ‘e just screams and kicks at things.  I gotta give it to ‘im… ‘e took it like a real champ, because I guarantee that if it were me, I couldn’t lift me legs that high.  I must say, I’m a lucky man to call ‘im me own… *wink*



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Time Out
#NP "Ride” by Twenty-One Pilots
Locale: The Mean Streets of Jersey
Storyteller: Giani Di Luca



I ain’t gonna sit here and tawk like I don’t love bein’ part of this tag team and partnership, cause it couldn’t be further from the truth.  I’m ride or die for my hus-bros.  I just had to take a second to collect my thoughts, and stand out as an individual.  So, I set my cell phone up on the mount I had installed from the time I was on that one hit reality television show, Fuhgeddaboudit.  What I got to say, I gotta say on my own.

With that in mind, I close the door of my 2017 Cadillac Escalade as I bring my shades down over my eyes and rest em on my nose.  I take a deep breath as I stick the keys in the ignition and turn the car on.  I sit there for a second as I collect my thoughts, yaknowhatimsayin’?  Finally I let that deep breath out as I put the car in drive, goin’ along the roads of Seaside Heights.  I check my hair and lips in the rearview mirror, and it’s right, so I decide to start tawkin’.

Me:  Fawwwwwwwwk… It’s been a while, hasn’t it?  I know none of ya forgot about Giani Di Luca, the King of Kings, the Italian Stallion, the Reflection of Perfection, and SCW’s resident Bad Boy.  I’m ya best World Heavyweight Champion, legendary World Tag Team Champ, and former Roulette Champion until Christian Underwood robbed me, J2H, and JR of it.  If I had to place a bet, I did so much for SCW that I’ll probably wind up in the Hall of Fame Class of 2017.  Just a guess.  We might not be in Vegas right now, but place ya bets on this Stallion.  Now, I don’t need to rattle on about bein’ probably the best star to ever step into the six-sided circle, cause ya already know ya boy, GDL, got it.  As in, all of it.

I wink, even though most people can’t see cause of the sunglasses, but I did it.  I’m a bit more modest these days, but ya can’t argue success, right?  I brush a stray eyebrow hair back into place before I continue tawkin’.

Me:  Much like the greats of Sin City Wrestlin’s history, like Spike Staggs and… well, no one gives an actual fuck ‘bout no one else, so we’ll just leave it at that… I decided that I did all I can do for myself.  I decided it was time to pass on all the knowledge I learned over the last few years.  Bro… I soaked that shit up like a fawkin’ sponge!  Five years in the business, and I’m awlready a legend.  Go ahead, name a Hall of Famer, and if they a male, I beat their ass.  The last two World Heavyweight Champs?  Beat em.  Hard…  The match people still tawk about to this day is my match with Goth for the World Heavy.  I won that too.  I can work by myself, but I can also work as a team, if my teammates are worth a shit.  Ahhhh, now the point is comin’ across.  I got you.

I pause for a second as I turn down the next street, makin’ my way closer to the New Jersey Boardwalk.  It ain’t poppin’ just yet, cause we’re about 3 weeks early, so the gorilla juiceheads ain’t out in full force, and they ain’t got their tanks and board shorts on.  Don’t worry though… I got you.

Me:  Me and Mickey never really worked much together in the past.  He was just some goofy drunk dude that walked around backstage downing bottles of Guinness and flipping people awf.  He was just this total jackass.  Our paths crossed when we was in the New X-Tremes, but even then, we hardly even said a word to each other.  He thought I was some over-hyped piece of Jersey trash, and I thought he was a slackin’ ass motherfucking piece of Eurotrash.  Now, only the last part is true.  Nah, seriously though.  I sat back and watched this dawg fight, and he had skills.  He just didn’t have the drive to go anywhere with them.  He was always walkin’ around with the wrong crowds, like the ones who stepped over him and used him up.  The skill was there, but that’s it.  Enter me, tryin’ to do a favor for Veronica by playin’ along with this half-assed Mean Girls reunion tour with a six week gimmick of throwin’ up them middle fingers.  I mean, Mickey was the first person I thought of for this little project.  He just needed some guidance to go in the right direction.  We rocked it, and we was the tawk of the fan boards.  But what happened next is what put the Bad Boys as SCW’s Must See Stable…

I laugh, cause I didn’t even expect this next part to ever happen.

Me:  We started messin’ wit’ this little punk named Dax Beckett, Daxton Oliver Beckett if you nasty.  Kid was too fun to fuck wit’.  I mean, everythin’ we tossed his way, he threw right back at us.  Even when Xander Bishop came on board, none of us expected him to come up to us in the locker room.  We was ready to throw down, yaknowhatimsayin’?  We was gonna make sure he didn’t make it to see the next week.  He was all pumped up, that skinny hairy chest poundin’ with intensity as he walked up to us.  Kid had some serious bawls, though, cause he pointed right at me, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, “I want in, bruh.”  Of course, I made a joke about gettin’ it in, cause he’s a little bitch, but he didn’t even flinch.  He just repeated himself.  The more we got to tawkin’, the more I saw that he just wanted to be taken serious for once.  Step number one to makin’ that a reality is to make ‘em respect you, or at least fear ya enough to pretend to respect you.  I didn’t realize he had such a mouth on him though.  He popped off even louder than Xander Bishop, and Bishop got suspended for his fuckin’ mouth.  Just had to educate the kid a bit on how to make himself sound like he’s… not a complete dumbass I guess?  Then, Mickey showed him the movie SLC Punk, so ya can thank Mickey for that one.  Pre-Bad Boys Dax is night and day compared to the Dax ya see today, awl cause me and Mickey taught him what he needed to learn in this business to get taken serious.

I stop for a second.  I don’t mind givin’ props to people who deserve it.  I actually like tellin’ someone they done a good fuckin’ job.  I just don’t get to do it very often cause SCW is full of tools and self-entitled talentless hacks who can’t honestly cut it, and are only looked at as good cause Bad Boys ain’t in singles action.  But, now comes the point of this confession tape.

Me:  I trained Dax to spit on the mic, and shit on his opponents in a way that, win or lose, they gonna remember who the hell gave ‘em that splittin’ headache for days to come.  I’m a Dax fan.  Hell, I married the guy, so maybe I’m partial, but his record speaks for itself.  However… and this is important to remember… my record also speaks for itself.  All the new faces who don’t remember me, think of me as some background noise in the Dax and Mickey Twitter Knob Job Show, or the guy in the background who is along for the ride.  Nevah once in my career have I evah… evah… stood by and let someone carry me.  I been in some pretty shitty situations.  I been given lemons, and I squeezed them fuckers and made lemonade right in my opponent’s eyebawls.  J2H wasn’t always the rockin’ World Champion stud that he is today.  Once, he was just a clueless kid who thought money could buy him anythin’ he wanted.  Turns out, ya can pay Giani Di Luca to have ya back, and he’ll do it just for the fawkin’ fun of it, bro.  I ain’t gonna say I did it awl on my own, but it was obvious that I was the muscle and the talent that he used to hide behind.  He picked the fights, and I finished ‘em.  Give and take, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.  But, just remember that even he put me out on the front line, the star of the show.  I’m sittin’ pretty in the background cause I choose to show off the talent that I helped create.  It sure as fawk ain’t cause I don’t got no talent, dawg.  I assure ya of that.  That Stampeeeeeeeeeeeed though!

I take my hands off the wheel for a minute to do my signature Stampede dance, windin’ it up as I steer wit’ my knee, swervin’ a little bit.  I lean forward as I mimic it, and then the roar of the audience afterward.  I take the wheel back and continue.

Me:  If showtime comes, and we decide for Mickey and Dax to wrestle, just know that I’m more than capable of doin’ it.  Don’t call me washed up.  Don’t call me an afterthawt, cause that would be the worst mistake evah.  Don’t complain that ya wasn’t prepared, Eyesnsane and Jon Dough.  It didn’t work for Rage, so it damn sure won’t work for ya.  All it’s gonna do is make ya look like a couple of asses.

I smirk for a second as a thought pops into my head.  I look right up at the camera on my phone to show off my smile.  It gets a lil toothy, cause I know that they know what’s comin’ their way here any second now, and I’m finally gonna be charitable and give in.

Me:  History is a funny thin’.  We all have history that we may or may not be proud of.  I’m proud of my history in the New X-Tremes.  As fawked up as Mickey was back in the day, I’m even proud to be associated with him in wrestling, and now in life.  My ginger pubed snuggie bear, as I like to cawl him.  Ben Jordan, Misty, Steve Ramone, Vixen, Spike Staggs, Jamie Staggs, I guess kinda Jessie Salco too, cause it shows that I had true patience back then to put up with her bullshit… but one name comes to mind that I can’t say I have respect for.  Jon Dough.  The man who perpetually bends over to get fucked over.  Bro… Bro!  Gettin’ screwed over by those ya trust is one thin’, but after the fifth time, wouldn’t ya think someone would get the hint that trust shouldn’t be so easily given?  I mean, I get that ya was found wit’ ya head busted open, and ya can’t remember who ya actually are, but this?  Goddamn, go rent Momento or somethin’, bro.  That struggle is real.  One time, I asked the kid if he had the twenty bucks he borrowed from me.  He gave it to me.  Turned around twenty minutes later, and did the same thin’ over again.  It got to the point where Mickey and Jamie was takin’ bets on how long I could keep it up.  Not really, but it was a cool story, bro.  He’s a few screws short, and quite honestly, he was a sittin’ duck in all of this.

I laugh out loud as I remember runnin’ out to the ring with Mickey and Dax and just shittin’ all over the match that was goin’ on.

Me:  Nah, Dax awlready made this personal when he tawked about movie plowin’ Eyesnsane’s wifey.  I don’t need to drill on and on to get under ya skin.  I just had to bring up a little history lesson for Jonnie boy.  The truth of the matter is that we got tired of watchin’ the same old bullshit match of The Elders Versus Dmitri and Tuscini for the umpteenth fawkin’ time.  The tag division is ours, and it has been for months.  We just did what everyone else does around here, and we made a statement.  Loud and motha-fuckin’ clear, dawg.  We said we was done playin’ the waitin’ game, cause it’s our time now.  Bad Boys are the Tag Team Kingpins, and it’s about time people start takin’ notice.  This is ours, and we let ya play in our yard.  Don’t mistake that for bein’ somethin’ more than ya are.  That goes out to The Elders, Dying Breed… heh, once Garcy returns from his concussion we gave ‘em… Sweete Dreams or whatevah, Unholy Alliance, Surf Boys, The Monstimals… or even Team BJ.  This match wit’ The Elders is nothin’ but a formality.  No animosity on our end.  It was just a wrong place, wrong time kinda situation.  The big dawgs had to stake our claim to the yard, and it just happened to be on you four.  I’m sure ya won’t see it that way, but that’s on you.  This is strictly business for me.  Though I am gonna miss those #MRM tags fa’real.  This match is awl about goin’ through the motions to make what should always have been obvious.  Don’t worry though.  You’ll still be recognized in the Footnotes of Bad Boys ascension to greatness.  We got our eyes on Team BJ, though.  Ya not even on our radar.  No one is, but that gold is.  Let’s get ready to make this shit official.  Next Sunday, the fight will be on, everyone who thinks Bad Boys is a fawkin’ joke is gonna get a rude wake up call, cause rude is our game, bro.

I am ready to turn this shit awf as I roll back up to the family condo.  I park my Escalade in front as Mickey and Dax come runnin’ out at me.  I roll my eyes.

Me:  Ben and Jamie… why don’t ya start polishin’ up dem belts for us, tu stronzate senza valore.  I want them to look good when we take ‘em to get ya name plates chipped awf so the rightful owners can put theirs on.

I get outta the car as I shut the door behind me.  Mickey comes up to me first as he points his two fingers at his head like a gun.

Mickey:  Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell, mate… Ye didn’t tell me that yer family was blarmy.  It’s literally seven insane ye’s runnin’ around in there, talking about Italian wedding traditions.

Dax:  The bright side is that your mom said that she’s known for years that you were… Ya know...

Dax clicks his teeth and nods his head with a shitty lookin’ smile on his face.  I give him a good shove as I shake my head.  With everything else goin’ on, my family wants to throw us a weddin’ next weekend.  I guess if it helps get Nick Taylor off our fawkin’ backs, I’m good with it.  Gives us more time to focus on gettin’ our names where it belongs, I guess.  I go ahead and suck it all up as I walk up the driveway, lightin’ up a cigarette as I go, cause if I didn’t smoke before...

[fin]

Word Count:  5000

4
Climax Control Archives / Let's Make A Deal
« on: April 21, 2017, 05:53:48 PM »
 
<img src=http://www.reykjavikboulevard.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/rickycover.jpg>


Let’s Make A Deal
#NP "Dead Weight” by Zomboy
Locale: Tom Gola Arena; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania



This show was kind of fun, actually.  I got to kick Eyesnsane’s ass, and prove further that Bad Boys deserve a shot at the tag titles, even though I’m sure the bosses will find a way to discredit my win like Giani said.  But, who doesn’t like winning, right?  Plus, I got to do a Bad Boys Easter Egg hunt.  Nobody showed up, but that didn’t change the fact that I didn’t enjoy it.  Plus, we got to redecorate the Men’s locker room, which I was told if we do it again, we won’t be allowed to share it with the rest of the guys in SCW.  Talk about real discipline, right?  That’s pretty severe.  All in all, it wasn’t an eventful night, but it was a good one nonetheless.  I’m in the back, having a couple drinks with Mickey and Gi, while Celeste, Veronica, and Mercedes are hanging around.  It’s a bit of a dual celebration since Mercy and I both won tonight.  Veronica is being grumpy since she didn’t get the win due to Sam Marlowe’s gross amount of cheating in their match, but we’re still two for one.  Mickey has his arms wrapped around Mercedes as they kiss, and Celeste is rubbing her hands across my chest.  It’s a good time, as Celeste whispers into my ear that I need to look for an Easter Egg in her rabbit hole.  I’m about to take her up on the offer right then and there, but then some people are so rude as they barge in on our celebration.  We all get quiet, except Giani who never gets quiet, and we all stare at Amy as she walks through the hallway where our party is taking place.  She rolls her eyes at me as she refuses to even say a word to me.  Being the nice guy, I block her from passing so that I can acknowledge her, since none of my friends want to.

Me:  Hey-ey-eyyyyy-meeee!  Amy Marshall!  Oh, tag team partner, how’s it going?

Amy looks up at me, and if looks could kill, I’d probably be fucking dead as a doornail, whatever that means.  Either way, I hold onto my chest, because I’m actually hurt by her borderline hatred of me after what I did for her by getting her into the second round of the tournament.

Amy:  Get the hell out of my way, Dax.  I’m on my way to meet Jessie, Shane, and Jake.

Me:  That stings, Amy.  I was going to ask you if you wanted to party with us to celebrate yet another mark in the “W” column for me.

Amy:  Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that one.

Amy rolls her eyes once again as Veronica makes an “ew” sound at the thought of partying with Amy.  Mercedes smiles wickedly as she peeks over Mickey’s shoulder to watch me toying with Amy like a cat with a mouse.

Me:  You call me an asshole, but you’re the one who keeps pushing me off like I’m some kind of burden instead of thanking me for letting you ride my coattails through this tournament, all the way to the finish line… no offense, Mercy.

Mercedes:  None taken.  It would only be offensive if you guys actually stood a chance at beating Max Burke and myself.

Me:  Haha, but seriously.  I can’t believe you’re being so cold to me.  I’ve opened up myself to you in a way I would never consider with anybody else.

Amy:  What are you talking about?  You’ve shown your ass to anyone willing to look at it.  That hardly makes me special to you.  Now, don’t make me repeat myself.

Amy tries to push past me again, but this time, I step directly in front of her.  She slaps the taste out of my mouth, and Celeste steps right in between us as she shoves Amy.

Celeste:  Keep your dirty hands off of my man, bitch!

Amy balls up her fists, but I pull Celeste behind me as I get in Amy’s face.  I have to give it to her, because she doesn’t back down any as she gets me right between the eyes with a headbutt as she walks past me.  Instead of coming to my aid, the Bad Boys just laugh at me as they splash beer at me, giving me hell for it.  I gotta admit, my pride is wounded a little bit.  I chase after her as I leave my own celebration party.  We go around a corner as she opens the door to the parking lot.  I chase after her, pushing through the door myself.

Me:  HEY!

Amy raises her middle finger up in the air at me, waving it for good measure as she continues walking.  I speed up to catch up to her, blocking her once again as I try to figure out exactly what I did wrong.

Amy:  If you don’t get out of my fucking way, Dax, I’m going to make sure Celeste doesn’t get to enjoy what’s in your pants for a very long time.

Me:  I don’t even know what the fuck I did, Amy.  I was trying to be nice, like I’ve been the entire time we’ve been forced together.  I tried to show you my world for a minute back there, and you just shit on me like I was a glass table in one of your movies.

Amy:  Fuck you for that.  Every time I turn around, you’re putting me down and putting yourself over.  You walk around here like it’s Team Dax.  It’s Team Damy, and until you start acting like it, I don’t trust you to keep it together long enough for us to make it past Sam and Ben next week.

I listen to what she’s saying, and I nod my head, because that’s what my dad taught me to do when chicks are saying shit that you don’t really care about, especially when they’re mad at you.  I hope I’m convincing enough, but when I realize that I’m not, I groan loudly.

Me:  That’s because it IS Team Dax.  I run this show.  I’m the one who pinned Joshua Acquin in the first round.  I’m the one putting in double time at the gym between… personal engagements.  I’m the one who came to do work.  I even tried to include you in it, and you just fucked me off about it.  All I’m seeing is the extra mile I’m going to make this shit work.  So, excuse me if I’m having trouble seeing the tiny bit of shit that you’ve contributed to this thing.  Do you got a magnifying glass for me to try to find it.

Amy:  Oh, you are so full of shit, and then you wonder why I don’t want anything to do with you.

Me:  I’d be willing to bet you that I come through next week, and that I put Ben down for the one, two, three.  And I’ll do the same to everyone that we face.  I’d bet you my dignity.

Amy goes to say something, but then she stops, taking a breath as she thinks about it for a second.  She can’t help but smile a little, and I get the feeling that whatever it is that she’s smiling about isn’t any good for me.

Amy:  I have a history of winning bets on this Blast From the Past tournament, like when I forced Delia Darling to kiss Erik Staggs’ ass three years ago.  Now, let me counter that by saying that I’m so confident that you’ll cock up in this tournament with your arrogance, I’d be willing to bet that if I get pinned in this tournament, that I’ll wear a Bad Boys shirt to the ring for a month, and introduce you asshats as the greatest stable in SCW history.

Me:  You’ve got to be kidding.  What size shirt do you wear?  I’ll get that ready just in case I can’t carry your ass through this thing any longer.  I don’t see us losing, so I already know that you can toss that shit right out of your mind.

Amy:  If we lose, you’ll star in one of my films?  If I get pinned in this tournament, then I have to wear your stupid shirt and announce you guys as the greatest tag team in SCW history?

Me:  If you get pinned, or if you submit!  That’s the deal.

Amy puts her hand out immediately.  I can’t believe it.  She WANTS me to fail.  Well, luckily for me, I’m God’s gift to wrestling.  There’s no chance that I’m going to lose this match.  I got this one in the bag.  I’m that damn good, so I got nothing to sweat.  I shake her hand, and with that, the deal is sealed.  I smile, because I can’t wait to make her eat her words, and she smiles because she thinks that she’s going to make me eat mine.  Girl, I got your Bad Boys shirt, and a nice little speech forming in my head right now, as we speak…


******************************************************************************



<img src=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/30/3b/fe/303bfeaa3285f5ec22a1da0741024c85.jpg>

Power Trio
#NP "Ride” by Twenty One Pilots
Locale: Bad Boys Home; Las Vegas, Nevada



I guess this one takes a little bit more explaining, in case you missed the crazy shit that happened last week, but the Bad Boys made a pact to stick together through thick and thin.  Well, it just so happened that part of that pact seems to mean that we all had to make a trip back to Las Vegas.  We went down to the courthouse, and we got us each a pair of marriage licenses.  It took a lot of liquor, but when I woke up the next morning, I had two white gold bands on my ring finger, and found out that my new legal name is Daxton Oliver Beckett-Carroll-Di Luca.  Mercedes!  I’m catching up with you for most names in SCW.  I also woke up to a voicemail on the new house phone, in the home that we apparently bought together.  I gotta stop drinking with these guys, because this is getting pretty out of control.  I woke up half naked in a bed, next to Mickey, and I jump a little.  I look over to Giani who is sitting at the edge of the bed, watching with a huge smile on his face, laughing at us, all while Mickey reaches down and scratches his crotch, with his eyes still closed.

Giani:  I just love watchin’ ya two sleep.  My pair of lil’ angels…

Me:  Fuck you, bruh…

I wave my middle finger at Giani as I hear the voicemail play over the answering machine.  I yawn as for a moment as I try to continue waking up, grabbing the whiskey bottle from the nightstand.  I take a swig before throwing it across the room, watching it bust against the wall.

Answering Machine:  â€¦ Nicholas Taylor from the US Citizenship and Immigration Services, reminding you that you were scheduled for a routine check up this morning, Tuesday,April 19th, 2017… and I’m standing outside of your front door, wondering if you are ever going to answer…

Mickey jumps out of bed, and I swear his ass blinds me as the sun reflects off of it.  I shield my eyes, even though I’m thankful that I don’t see anything.  He grabs a pair of jeans from the floor as I light up a cigarette and look to Giani, flipping him off once more.

Me:  Again, fuck you, Giani.  It’s like 11:45 in the morning, and now I gotta be awake enough to lie to this guy?

Giani:  I just couldn’t stop starin’ at the tent you was pitchin’, and wonderin’ when we was gonna get to consummate our marriage…

He doesn’t even give me a second to flip him off before he turns around and drops his pants.  I close my eyes, groaning, because I’ve seen enough man ass for the day.  Luckily, he pulls a robe around himself and ties it tightly as he and Mickey walk out of the room, I guess going to the front door.  I scratch my nuts as I look around for my clothes.  I don’t see them, and then I shrug my shoulders as I walk over to the mirror.  I run my fingers through my hair until it’s at least half way presentable.  I stumble down the hallway, bouncing off of the wall once as I come to the top of the stairs.  I stare down to see a guy in a suit staring up at me, with Mickey and Giani gasping and pointing.

Giani:  Why didn’t you put on ya robe, sugar buns?  We got company.

Mickey:  â€˜E’s not afraid to show off what ‘e’s got, I’m afraid.  It’s part of what drew us both to ‘im.  Such confidence.

I take a drag from my cigarette as I stare down at the three people at the bottom of the steps before I let out a belch.  I smack my lips, because I can’t get that lingering taste out of my mouth.  You know, the cat shit taste you get when you pass out before you can brush your teeth after drinking whiskey?  I stumble down the steps as the man blushes a little and looks slightly away from me.  He smiles as he puts his hand out to me.

Me:  I’m sorry, but these fuckers are the only dicks I like.  But it’s so nice of you to flirt.

Nick:  Um, erm… I’m Nicholas from the USICS.  It’s wonderful to meet you Mr. Di Luca.

Me:  Likewise, Mr… Nicholas?

Giani:  Let’s go to the livin’ room, shall we?  It’s such a mess since we was in the City of Brotherly Love.  Kinda coincidental really.  We’s just gettin’ settled in here.

Giani leads the way, but he looks back at me like he’s going to kill me.  I just shrug my shoulders and sneer at him as Mickey smacks my ass, giving it a firm grip for good measure.  Nick looks at it, and something tells me that this guy is going to be trouble.  He doesn’t look in a disgusted kind of way, which instantly makes me regret my attire of briefs and nothing else.  We take a seat on the white furniture that looks like it just came out of HGTV’s Gay Edition Magazine centerfold.  It’s pretty wonderful though.  I get a taste of the high life for a minute, and I’m not going to complain.

Nick:  I must start off by saying congratulations.  It’s so rare for three people to find a common love in this world.  Today’s society doesn’t really accept such relationships as valid, but the state of Nevada does, and by extension, the United States embraces you.

Me:  It took them long enough.  Our people had to suffer for so long, through civil unions and literally no rights to true happiness.

Nick purses his lips as he nods his head, opening his briefcase while staring at me.  This time, it doesn’t really feel like the kind of undressing me with his eyes type of look.  Instead, it’s more of an ax in his hand going Lizzie Borden on my ass.  He pulls out a notebook and a pen as he jots things down.

Nick:  Yes, it seems our people have finally gotten the proper respect that we deserve.

His pen scratches across the paper with his last letter, his eyes remaining locked on mine.  I look over to Mickey and grab onto his arm, as he shakes it off, quietly telling me to bugger off.  I look over to Giani, and I crawl onto him, curling up next to him as I lay my head on his shoulder.  He reaches over and pats my head like someone does to a dog just to get them to move along and stop bugging them.

Nick:  You’ll have to forgive the intrusion.  I mean, our appointment was for twenty minutes ago, so I’m in a bit of a rush, but it’s routine for the USICS to do a home check, just to verify that your marriage is real.

Mickey:  I beg yer pardon, mate?  Are ye implying that me and my husbands are being fraudulent?  I resent that statement, Mr. Taylor.

Me:  Yeah!  I love Mickey’s schlong!  I don’t just enjoy it, but I actually love it.  When we were all married, I kissed Giani’s lips, and then I kissed Mickey’s schlong.  I’m actually offended right now.  I can’t even…

I get up from the couch and prepare to storm off in a fit of rage, except I don’t think I’m as convincing as I was in All That Glitters, because Giani grabs onto the back of my underwear and drags me right back down to the couch.  I take a deep breath as I try to stop the anxiety from taking over.  I put my cigarette out on Nick’s briefcase as he glares back at me.

Nick:  Oooookayyyy… Five hundred dollar Armani briefcase there… I’m going to be honest here.  I think you three are faking a marriage.  Other than Michael’s citizenship, which would have drawn so many less red flags had just one of you sham married him, I don’t understand this at all.

Mickley:  Sod off!  I love these sexy bastards with all me ‘eart.

Nick:  Funny you should mention that.  See, I also have Twitter, because I’m younger than forty-five years old, and I found that one Mickey Carroll’s professional Twitter account reads such accolades as “SCW’s Resident Shit Head” along with “At Mercy Mercy V has me heart”.  Seems this refers to Mercedes Vargas, I’d assume.  Not to mention Daxton’s on and off relationship with the daughter of a bonafide celebrity, and Giani’s known business and romantic ventures with one Veronica Taylor.

We all look to each other for a second, as we try to cook up a defense silently.  I reach over the table and I grab hold of Nick’s collar as I get directly in his face.  I glare at him, as I watch the fear well up inside of his eyes.  The little bitch all but cries and screams at me… that is, until he grips onto my hands and rips them off of his suit, daring me to get physical again.

Me:  How FUCKING… DARE you mock us.  As a gay man, you should understand the struggles with getting to the point of being comfortable enough with coming out of the closet.  So we wore beards.  So we talked in a very vulgar manner to these women, and talked about all the poon we were getting.  What masculine gay man hasn’t struggled and hidden from himself?

Nick:  Me, for one.

Me:  It took so much courage for me to admit that I enjoy the twigs and berries and fox holes of these two men, and from one gay man to another, I can’t believe you would have the heart to shame us for our love.  Honestly, you fucking disgust me, and I don’t think I want you in our home any longer… the home that our love BUILT!

Nick pauses for a minute as he stares at me.  He rolls his eyes, and he removes his jacket, showing off a pretty impressive build that makes me resort of fake crying.  I fall onto Mickey, who shoves me away.  I then go to Giani, who moves to the side, letting me fall onto the couch to curl into a fake crying ball.

Mickey:  Forgive me lover for his actions.  â€˜E’s still a bit drunk from our celebration last night.  Nothing big.  We just went through our photos that we ‘ave all around the love nest, and not just because we figured ye’d be coming any day now.  It’s because we love each other so much that the Atlantic couldn’t keep us apart.

Giani:  I’m gonna speak to ya from the heart.  We got a very special thing goin’ on right now.  Just ‘cause ya don’t understand it don’t give ya the right to put us down for it.  We love each other, even if it don’t conform to the standards in ya lil’ books in ya briefcase.  We ain’t known each other for all that long.  Me and Mickey go back, but Dax is new to us.  It never once clicked that we couldn’t live without one anotha’ until Dax came into the picture.  Then, it just all fit togetha’ like a puzzle.  We all belong together, and we shouldn’t hafta be separated by an ocean and a few laws.  We live together, we eat together, we party together, we sleep together, we do everything together.  In that way, we’re happier together than most married couples.  If ya wanna deport Mickey, then I can’t stop ya, but don’t ya dare come at me with that kinda shit, bro.  Don’t you dare tell us that we got no love for one another, and that we don’t deserve to be married, ‘cause that’s when ya gonna strike a nerve in me, an’ ya don’t wanna do that, dawg.  So ya can go ahead and write it down that we was rude to ya, and that ya got ya opinions, but at the end of the day, it comes down to fact.  Our love is proven in each picture we took on the road together, never leavin’ each otha’s side.  Our love is proven by the thought we put into tryin’ to impress ya enough for ya to leave us alone so that we can just enjoy our lives together.  We ain’t tryin’ to put on some act for ya.  This is us.  We’re known as Bad Boys, ‘cause we’re bad.  We’re rude and crude, and we do what we want, when we want, and how we want, to who we want.  But one thing stays true… we always do it togetha’...

I can’t lie.  Half way through his speech, I sit up and stare at him, like everyone else in the room.  I find an actual tear dripping down my cheek.  Mickey’s lip is quivering as he’s trying with everything in him to stop from crying.  For a minute there, we curl up with one another and share a hug.  Of course, it’s a manly friend kind of hug, but that speech though… It hit deep for us, and we can’t help but fall prey to the moment.  Nicky looks at us for a second and sighs, shaking his head as even he’s trying not to cry.

Nick:  That is… total bullshit…

Ooooor, maybe not…

Nick:  Fortunately for you, I don’t have any hard evidence at this time to get you two locked up, and you sent back to England.  All I have is some easily dismissed facts, and a shitload of suspicion.  For now, anyway.

Mickey:  Who do ye think ye’are…?

Nick:  No, who do you think YOU are?  Making a mockery of something that MY people have fought for, laying their lives on the line for fifty plus years?  Do you know that my husband and I have been together for sixteen years?  That’s right.  We were high school sweethearts, who stuck together through college, and all of the hatred that was thrown our way.  We only just got married last year when the government finally decided that we were worthy of sharing the same title as anyone else.  So, pardon me if I think that what you’re doing is wrong, and that I would love nothing more than to see you three pay for it to the full extent of the law.  Damn I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry.

Me:  That was a fucking cinematic masterpiece!

Giani:  Have ya ever seen it all the way through?

Me:  I couldn’t stand the emotional speech, because it made me bawl like a little bitch.  Plus, I assumed that was the end, once they get to live together happily ever after.

Everyone in the room stops and stares at me as I shrug my shoulders.

Nick:  Yeah, well, spoiler alert… they are forced to deal with the consequences of their actions, much like you three will.  Granted, I’m hoping for a much more harsh sentence than they got, but…

Giani:  I think ya need to leave our love nest, right now, Mr. Taylor.  Instead of takin’ out ya frustrations on our asses, why don’t ya take them out on Mr. Taylor’s ass later.

Nick clenches his jaw as he stares at the three of us.  It’s clear that he wants to maul our asses, and most likely not in the kind of way we’re trying to convince him we would.  His deep brown eyes are on fire as he burns at each of us silently, enjoying every minute of envisioning our very grizzly deaths.  He stands up from his seat as he continues to look back and forth between us, before slamming his briefcase shut.  I gently wave at him as I look at the front door.

Nick:  Gladly.  I’m not sure how much longer I can stand being around this farce and blatant mockery of the institute of marriage anyway.

Nick tucks his briefcase under his arm as he turns toward the front door, trying to keep his dignity intact.  We glare at him as he takes a few steps toward the main entryway.  However, he stops and turns on the balls of his heels to face us once more, glaring at us once more.

Nick:  This isn’t the last time you’ll see me, gentlemen.  I’m going to make it my personal mission in life to make you guys pay for your actions.  I’ll sooner die than I will give up on that mission.

Me:  I look forward to our next visit, Nicky.  Next time, wear something that doesn’t make it look like you’ve got a splintered stick up your ass, though.  Looking kinda stuffy, bruh…

Nick smiles, but it isn’t one of those happy like smiles.  He growls under his breath, but I hear it.  At least, I imagine he’s that mad, because I’ve gotten really fucking good at making people that angry.  I smirk as Nick turns back toward the door, only this time, he storms right to it, and flings it open as he disappears outside.  I’m sure once he brings his notes and that tape back to his office, they’re going to send us an apology fruit basket and wish us luck on our long life together.  I look forward to that very moment, as I stand up from the couch and look at both of my “husbands” as if to tell them that they owe me big for going along with this whole thing.  Mickey lights up a cigarette, and I take it from him, taking a long drag off of it as I grab the throw blanket from the chair Nick was sitting in, and wrap it around myself as I search this fancy ass house for some noontime breakfast.  I’m gonna need my energy for the long trip I got planned for my promotional video against Ben Jordan and Sam Marlowe...


******************************************************************************



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Fired Shots
#NP "I’m Your Gun” by Alice Cooper
Locale: Undisclosed Location; Washington D.C.



Me:  I had to sit and think about this whole thing for a long time.  I didn’t want to just sit around and give some half-assed bullshit take on people who really don’t even matter to me, like I’ve been doing for the last few shows I’ve competed on.  Eyesnsane was a simple stepping stone to get to where I needed to go.  Joshua Acquin was the annoying obstacle on my way to the stepping stone that was Eyesnsane.  Me and the Bad Boys haven’t made any sideways comments about it.  We’re declaring war on all that is Sin City Wrestling, but our next goal is to get to the tag titles.  It’s no surprise that I’m so fucking good at what I do, that I’m carrying Amy Marshall through this tournament.  I mean, was there ever any doubt?  As I told Amy earlier, we’re not going to leave this tournament because of anything wrong that I could possibly do.  Once I get through this tournament, I’ll get to go on to face Jeremiah Hardin.  That… that right there is a motherfucking laugh, but this is neither the time nor the place for this…

It takes me a second, because I was so wrapped up in what I was doing, that I forgot to remove the lens cover thingy.  I stop just long enough to do that, and as I step away from the camera a few steps, every single one of you fan bastards watching this get an eyeful of my white t-shirt with the bright red lettering, reading “#RageGotScrewed”.  I turn around for a second, very slowly, because there is a very important message on the back.  In the same bright red coloring, only much larger, something that really needs to be said starts to slowly come into view.  Yeah, that’s right… “#RageGotScrewed” because it obviously needs to be said again.  I turn back around and wink as I click my teeth together, making a gun motion with my fingers.  I take a seat in a rolling chair, letting the darkened tool shed around me come into view.

Me:  Hash-motherfucking-tag… Rage Got Screwed.  We all saw it.  Love or hate the guy, that was some supersized bullshit.  But, we’re not here to talk about all of that.  We’re here to talk about the thing that matters.  Me.  I’m a bonafide superstar.  I’m the stick by which all things are measured in SCW.  All I need is the titles to prove it.  That’s all these motherfuckers wanna talk about right now is “How can you say that you’re the best when you haven’t won any titles?”  Bitch, did Spike Staggs start out with the World Heavyweight title on his shoulders?  Did Misty come walking into this fucker with the World Bombshell title around her waist?  No, because they weren’t legends.  They were made into legends.  This ain’t the end game, bruh.  Call me an asshole.  Call me anything you like, but the fact of the matter is that I get results.  Take this week for instance.

I stop for a second and take a step back as I let a portrait of Amy Marshall come into view.  I pick up the camera and turn the screen around so that I can see what I’m filming with my handheld.  I point back, making sure my new fancy wedding band comes into view.

Me:  Suck on that, Nicky…  Now, we are looking at someone who, somehow, became a legend in Sin City Wrestling.  I mean, she is fucking terrible at what she does… inside of the ring I mean.  Not the porn thing, because she look like she know how to handle a firearm if you catch my drift.  In the ring, she’s reckless.  She’s careless.  She doesn’t treat this like the artform that it is.  No, she treats it like a barroom brawl at any chance she gets.  She got some flippy bullshit, and some hard hitting moves, but there’s nothing to it.  I could go out there and Bad Girl someone and make it look like a real move.  She is only as good as the company she keeps, usually.  I mean, last round, I tried my damnedest to get my skill to rub off on her, but luckily, Kate Steele sucks even harder than she does.  My point is, if someone like that can become a Hall of Famer, a Grand Slam Champion, and a supposed icon in this company, just because she hit a couple marks out of the hundreds of opportunities she had at titles… then why do people tell me that I’m not shit in SCW?  I lost one match.  Well, two, if you count the little tag match with Andrew Garcia where Bad Boys was playing games with them.  But, one legit match to the new “Top dog” of the company.  We all saw how that played out for Rage, so if I’m being fair, I haven’t lost shit yet.

I stroke my beard for a second as I try to collect my thoughts again.  My hazel eyes resting on the camera lens as I try to keep my fucking cool about that past injustice.  I hold my hand to my side as I clear my chi and continue.

Me:  Amy Marshall has lost like ninety percent of her matches.  She lost to fucking Jessie Salco.  I mean, for serious?  That shit is FUCKING embarrassing.  It’s bad enough that she keeps this charade going of being friends with Jessie, but who the fuck loses to Salco?  Zuri Chastain or whatever the fuck she’s going by now?  I mean, before Blaze of Glory, people would have ranked you above Jessie Salco, but you….

I can’t help it.  This is just pissing me off, because I know that I’m stuck with this baggage.  I clinch my fist together, and you can even hear the hand on the camera clenching tightly around it as it shakes a little bit.  

Me:  I can’t even right now.  My point is that you have a paper legend on one team, with a man who is clearly a better athlete and competitor than anyone on the roster, who is obviously destined to become an SCW legend.  Someone who talks the talk *Points back at Amy’s picture* and someone who walks the walk.  Then, you got someone who has been too busy cleaning bathrooms and fetching coffee for the last several months, teamed with a champion, who has his head planted so firmly up Evie Baang’s ass that he can’t tell if it’s day or night.  But, it’s okay because he’s such a nice guy, right?  He’s a real stand up fellow.  Who could hate this smug bastard?

I step to the side to show off a portrait of Ben Jordan in all of his smug glory.  I sink down a little bit away from the camera as I show off the picture and let the viewers drink it in.  I imagine as I’m doing it that they are cheering for him, and showering him with adoration, as they typically do when he shows up on screen at SCW events.  I slowly rise back up into the view as I let my fingers rise even higher.  I pause for a second with an almost sick kind of smile on my face.  I then loudly snap my fingers, and inside of my head, the cheering stops, and there is a moment of clarity.  I look from side to side as if imagining that the whole world has stopped for a minute.

Me:  Good… now I can say how I really feel.  Ben Jordan is a good guy… as long as he gets what he wants.  In short, he’s a self-serving pile of Cockney shit.  Now, now, I know what people will be thinking when they see my little freeze frame moment here.  â€œDaxton Oliver Beckett… you’re just jealous because Ben Jordan has had a few titles, and has half of the tag titles that you and Bad Boys are chasing.”  I have nothing to be jealous of, because that’s going to come to me in time, along with way more than this washed up sack of crap could ever hope to achieve.  No, see I’ve heard it all from my frie… husband, Mickey Carroll… who I love very much.  Yeah, that’s right Nicky.  He spent so much time talking about the good old days with Benny and the Jets.  All the drinks, all the ladies, all the good times… and the tons of bad times.  Hold the fuck up!  I’m not being bitter.  Trust me when I say that there were plenty.  I might not be the smartest guy in the world, but I know how to pay attention and take notes.  Ben seems like such a nice guy, but the fact is that he’s a slithering snake.  He slides around, charming people with his blue collar flash, and his drunken, brain damaged Brit accent, and we all forget the hard evidence that he’s a belly riding reptile!

This is when I pick up a snake from a nearby cage.  I hold it up, allowing it to flick its tongue out at the camera, staring with its needle point pupils as it comes closer to the camera.  I let it do a charming little dance in the camera, and as if I planned it, it strikes right at the lens of the camera before I drop it to the ground.  I keep the camera fixed on my face as I stomp the fuck out of the snake, cursing under my breath as I mush it up.  I then look back up to the camera.

Me:  Benny boy will wind up just like that.  I’ll happily play the bad guy, because I can’t sit by and let people like him ruin the sport that I’ve grown to love and respect so much.  Loyalty is a major part of this sport.  Some people cling onto it more than others.  Ben Jordan turned his back on Mickey, someone he’s known since he was seven fucking years old.  Mickey didn’t do anything wrong.  He just wasn’t good enough to tag with in Sin City Wrestling.  He wasn’t a big enough star to leech off of, the way Jordan Williams was.  He kicked him to the curb, and then had the nerve to get mad at Mickey for telling him to fuck off and attacking him.  Mickey might be a little… brash… at times, but he’s a human being with feelings.  Ben Jordan betrayed that.  He treated him like a candy wrapper and tossed him in the garbage as soon as shit started getting sweet.  And then, in order to maintain a friendship with Ben, Mickey crawled back and apologized for being the bad guy.  Mickey apologized, and Ben just ate that up.  He enjoyed watching his former best friend reaching up to him, begging to be accepted, and then tossed him to the side again.  For the same fucking tag belts.

I shake my head as I take a deep breath.  I just can’t believe I have to spell this shit out for people to understand what it is that they cheer for.  It pisses me off beyond belief.  It shows in my eyes as they flare up big.  However, I slowly ease them into a sweet smile as I show off my pearly whites.  I laugh.  Like a crazy person.  Not overly loud or crazy, but a light laugh that betrays the things I’ve just said.  I wave my hand at the camera.

Me:  This match isn’t about the Blast From the Past, Benny.  It’s not about some future promise of a title shot.  It’s not about proving without a shadow of a doubt that Bad Boys deserve those belts that you’re clutching onto for dear relevance.  It’s not just about business for me.  You’re probably so blind to the fact that your friend Mickey is even back on Sin City Webcast, that you think this is just some kind of friendly contest between an up and comer, and an already there star.  You’re so self-absorbed that you can’t connect the dots, so let me spell it out for you, you manky, gormless chav.  Mickey Carroll… you know, your former friend?  The one who for some reason is just as blinded by you as the fans are?  Yeah, he’s a fellow Bad Boy.  Oh yeah, you don’t pay attention to anything that isn’t Evie’s bouncy mams, but Bad Boys are the newest craze sweeping the Sin City Nation, three young chaps who have their eyes set directly on those fucking belts that you and Jamie Dean are wearing.  Mickey Carroll is a Bad Boy, and so am I.  That’s right.  Mickey is my partner in business, and in life.  Yeah, I’m all about his… ginger… pubes?  I go crazy for them and I can’t stop thinking about his… fluorescent freckled fanny.  *Gags*  Kay, but this is a very personal match to me.  I plan to kick your ass as a tribute to one of my husbands.

I make sure that the wedding bands come into view, shining in the light let off by the camera.  I hold it there for a second, trying to stay serious as I talk.

Me:  What you did to him, almost made him give up on men.  Lucky for me, I was able to show him the goods, and show him that not all guys are like you.  There is loyalty in this world.  There is love…. Anyway, that should be enough for immigration.  I’m going to rip your reputation into pieces on Sunday.  I want to destroy you in Mickey’s honor.  I want to see you wrecked by what you’ve done to Mickey.  Plain and simple, I don’t like you.  I would even go as far as to say that I hate you.  You’re overrated and underdeveloped.  You’re a disgrace to humankind.  If you can pull your head out of Evie’s ass for five minutes, do a recap of what I’ve done to people over the last few weeks.  People that I don’t even care about.  I’ve embarrassed them.  I’ve shit all over their motherfucking careers and lives.  And I don’t give a tossed salad about them.  You?  I’ve got a problem with you, so I want to make you the laughing stock of the locker room, asshole.  I want to beat you so that people can see you for what you truly are; a sniveling brat who feels entitled because you grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, and had it a little harder than some, who abandons those who support him.  I just have to say it, Sammy…

I step to the side a little bit as I show off a picture of Sam Marlowe.  Her dark red locks wave down the side of her face, her fingers tangled in it as she strikes a sexy pose for the camera.  I look back at the picture like I’m talked to her.

Me:  Sammi, sweetheart.  I’m not going to hold it against you that you cheated heavily to defeat my acquaintance, Veronica Taylor, last week.  Everyone gets lucky from time to time.  Why don’t you ask Amy about that one, yeah?  You had to do something to stop yourself from fading into total obscurity, am I right?  A win over the only First Class Bombshell in SCW is a good way to hold that off a little longer.  I’m going to give you a piece of advice that Mickey is too kind hearted to ever admit.  Your partner will not be loyal to you.  You guys might go back a little bit.  I’m sure you liked looking at your friend as if he were a potential more-than-friends kind of thing.  But then, little miss Evie came along, and she wormed her way into the picture, and you found yourself spending less and less time with him until you felt that resentment clawing at your brain like a rabid raccoon.  You like to keep a bright outlook on life.  Trust me, I used to be just like that until I opened my fucking eyes to the world around me.  But, you know that I’m right.  You want to trust Ben, but you know that you can’t.  But, you are tied to him for the rest of the time that you are in this tournament.  So, even if luck strikes again, and you guys somehow get past us, what’s going to stop him from screwing you over if he draws the card of going up against Team Double A, Evie Baang and Lord Raab?  It wouldn’t be the first time he’s let you down for Evie, right?  It’s in his very nature to do what serves him best, and being a double champion is nothing compared to the sweet waters that flows between Evie’s legs.  Eventually, she’s going to show her true colors, and she’s going to give him a taste if he lets you down… again.  He’s going to throw you to the wolves, as if he hasn’t done so already.  He’s going to, and you know that it’s only a matter of time until that happens.  You are just one betrayal from turning into a Mean Girl, and you know it, sweetness.  Hopefully you don’t get too blinded by his East Ender charm, and you wake up to the fact that he’s in it for Ben, not Sam and Ben.  I pray that you are smart enough to realize what’s going on right in front of you.  Hopefully your time of bringing Christian his coffee and selling Bad Boys t-shirts has given you time to realize where it all went wrong, and that’s the second Ben found something “better”.  History always… always repeats itself, so keep that in mind, because if not?  I’m sure Amy can muster up enough skill to knock some fucking sense into you.  Wake up and smell the roses, princess.  At the very least, I ask you to leave this battle to the marquee attraction *Juts thumbs down to self*, and the one that is meant to put him over *Points to Ben’s picture*.  Is that how you want to be known?  As yet another one of Ben’s lackey’s?  Another person that Ben pulled the wool over the eyes of?  Either way, I’ll see the both of you on Sunday...

I wink at the camera and click my teeth once more.  I clear my throat and then reach my hand up into the air.  I snap my fingers once again, setting things back into motion… kind of.  I’m mocking Ben Jordan for fucks’sake!  I don’t know how this actually works.  I trot around the dim room for a second, showing off the place where I shit all over the lives of my opponents before reaching the tripod.  I set the camera down on the tripod for a second as I kick chunks of dead snake off of my boots, scoffing at it, before I swing my leg around to knock the camera right off of the stand, cracking the lens as it collides with the ground.  I kneel down on the ground to give the camera one last look at my twisted sick face before pressing the “stop” button.


Word Count: 7985

5
Climax Control Archives / Man Crush Monday
« on: April 14, 2017, 11:56:47 PM »
 
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Goddamn it!!!
#NP "Bat Country” by Avenged Sevenfold
Locale: Michigan State Fairgrounds Coliseum; Detroit, Michigan



Son of a…  GODDAMNIT!  FUCK!  SHIT-EATING, ASS-MUNCHING, DICK-SMACKING, BITCH-TICKLING, PISS-GARGLING, JIZZ-INHALING, GERBIL FUCKING TWATWAFFLE!!!  Jesus titty-fucking Christ!  We… the Bad Boys of Sin City Wrestling, are supposed to be untouchable.  We got all the right friends in all the right places.  We were a sure thing, the only thing that could be counted on in this clusterfuck of a company.  Yet here we are, at least three of the four of us.  Yeah, that’s right.  XB, my homeslice, Xander Bishop, the King of Slander, got the motherfucking boot, and I… Ooooooooh!!!  All because of some pansy ass whiners who don’t know how to take a fucking joke.  Twitter is a fucking curse to this sport, but it’s a necessary evil.  Just make sure you don’t comment on people’s gun posts if you want to keep your FUCKING job!

Yeah, it’s easy to see that I am pissed off, especially when we were ready to go out to that ring, in front of all of these ungrateful sacks of shit that SCW calls fans, and give them the best goddamn ring promo they ever saw from a fearsome foursome.  Instead, we were so caught off guard by his firing, that we could only half-ass it.  I need an ass to kick, and I need it fucking now, bruh!

I’m fuming as I pace around the locker room.  Aside from the Bad Boys, there isn’t anybody in there, which is good for them, because if they were, they would probably wanna run for their lives, because this kid isn’t in the mood to play.  Giani is on his phone, trying to get in touch with Xander’s lawyer, who should have been able to clear this whole mess up and get us back on track, but he’s not.  Xander just stares in the mirror, shaking his head as he talks to himself under his breath.  His bag is packed, but he just isn’t ready to walk out the door.  Mickey looks like he couldn’t give two shits, and it honestly makes me angry once I notice it.  I walk up to him and I get in his face as I slam my hands against the lockers that he’s leaning on, but all I get is that cold, snake-like stare, and a slow cloud of smoke leaked into my face as he exhales.

Me:  Are you even fucking here, bruh? I mean, do you even give a shit that XB just got the axe?  You… YOU were the one who told me that the Bad Boys were untouchable, and that we’d soon become the Kingpins of Sin CIty Wrestling.  Yet, at the first sign of trouble, these FUCKBAGS find the smallest excuse they can come up with to knock out one of our ranks.  You’re a goddamn liar, Mick.

Mickey only slightly narrows his eyes at me as I say the unthinkable.  Truth be told, I didn’t mean to, but Mickey doesn’t care who you are when you utter that four letter word.  He grabs me by the shirt collar and spins me around as he slams me right into the lockers.  He slams the cigarette just an inch from my face as the red flecks of burning tobacco fly in every which direction.

Mickey:  The bloody ‘ell did ye just call me, mate?  I don’t think me ears ‘eard ye proper, there bruv, because it sounded as if ye just called me “Mick”...

Me:  That’s because I fucking did.  Don’t you even give a shit that XB is over there, taking in his final moments backstage?

Mickey:  No, I fucking don’t!  â€˜E’s a big boy.  â€˜E’ made ‘is bed, an’ now ‘e gets to lay in it.  It’s like I told the both of ye’s… Watch yer next step, because it could bloody well be yer last one.  I told ye’s to reel it in on social media, and stop picking fights with all the bloody skirts.  But, ye’s didn’t listen.  At least ye got the sense to not threaten to knock birds out with bricks.  Ye need to be ready to show up to work instead of documenting every snogging session with yer girls on Twitter.

I snort as I push Mickey’s hands off of my shoulders.  I stare at him, because I really wanna know… Is he fucking serious?  I mean, really…

Me:  Don’t you even DARE try talking to me about showing up to work.  Tonight was supposed to happen in Chicago, but someone didn’t fucking show up to his flight.  Hmm, let’s see.  Who could it be?  It wasn’t me.  It wasn’t XB.  It sure as shit wasn’t Giani.  Who does that leave?  The freckled ginger bastard known as… Wait!  It was you!  Fuck outta here, bruh…

I actually expected Mickey to knock me out.  I was almost sort of counting on it.  The anger I was feeling inside needed to be felt on the outside, and a right hook from this squirrelly bastard would have taken care of it perfectly.  But, he doesn’t.  Instead, he just goes quiet, and his eyes look away from me.  He licks menacingly at his bottom lip as he thinks for a second.  Instead of saying anything, he just shakes his head and turns away.  He walks across the locker room and punches at the door, leaving a huge dent in it, but he doesn’t even feel it, because he walks over toward the shower area.  Before he enters, he turns back to me, but the look on his face is not an angry one, but a sad, miserable look.

Mickey:  I missed me flight because I ‘ad to deal with immigration bullshit.  â€˜Ad a few too many drinks on our little drunken road trip after Blaze of Glory, and it completely slipped me ‘ead to renew me work visa.  So excuse the fuck outta me if I was a little bit distracted and ‘ad to go back to deal with all of that.

Me:  Fine, but that doesn’t mean that you have to act like you don’t even give as much of a shit over our fallen teammate as you do how many fallen soldiers you leave on the bar table.  You’re a heartless fucking dick, bruh.

Mickey picks up a stool and throws it right at my fucking head.  If I didn’t see it coming from across the room, I wouldn’t have had time to duck underneath it, letting it crash against the lockers.  He glares right at me as he flings the door open.

Mickey:  Yer bloody well right I am, mate.  And don’t ye EVER fuckin’ ferget it!

He storms out of the room, as Giani tucks his phone in his pocket.  He and Xander walk over to me, Xander surprisingly unsure of what is going on as he checks on me.  Giani looks at me as if I had something on my face, even going as far as to smack me upside the back of my head.  I rub at it as I glare at him, ready to throw hands.

Giani:  Kid, that shit was not fuckin’ cool.  You got no freakin’ idea what that man is goin’ through right now.  No offense, XB, but this shit is way more serious than anythin’ any of us gots goin’ on right now.

Me:  Great, more baby mama drama bullshit?  I thought that shit got checked at the doors, bruh.  What, did he forget to buy toilet paper too?

Giani:  Fuck you, bro.  He didn’t make it in time to renew his work visa.  He got thirty days to go back to England.  He’s done.  And I don’t mean like how Jersey boys be sayin’ we done with someone when we get pissed off at ‘em.  I mean, he’s done like dinnuh, kid.  We’re droppin’ like flies, just like every other comeback I try to make.

It’s true.  In one night, our numbers are getting pretty much cut in half.  This whole thing will come crumbling down around us at any moment now.  I almost can’t believe it.  I put it all on the line, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let this thing go down in flames.  I look to Xander as the door opens and security walks inside, five deep.  They look to Xander menacingly as they simply nod.  Giani reaches in for a hard handshake and pat on the back as he silently says goodbye.  Xander turns to me for the same treatment, but I pull him in for a hug.  I can’t help but tear up a little as I don’t wanna let this bruh go.  He pulls away and shakes his head as he stares at me.

XB:  â€˜Dis place can’ handle XB, bruh.  Deyse can’ handle Bad Boys.  Jus’ watch ya back’roun here.

Me:  Eyes on the back of my fuckin’ head, bruh…

XB:  Give ‘em twice da shit, bruh.  Don’ let’em forget… Bad Boys for life…

Me and Giani:  Bad Boys for life!

Me:  Suck on that, P. Diddy…

We all share a laugh as security grabs Xander by the arm and lead him out of the locker room.  Me and Giani follow after to watch them lead him down the hall.  We watch with admiration as he shoves the security guards off of his arms, leaving in true Xander Bishop style.  Once he disappears from view, I notice Mickey standing around the corner, slapping hands with XB on his way out, but he doesn’t seem to be completely with it.  I suck up my pride as I walk down the hallway to Mickey, who doesn’t even wanna look at me.

Mickey:  I thought I made it crystal clear, mate…

Me:  Giani told me what was going on.  Keeping secrets bullshit isn’t cool, bruh.

He turns even further away, trying his best to keep looking like the emotionless shit head that we have come to know.  I nod my head, not wanting to press it too far, but the silence is eating me up.  I take the cigarette from his fingers and take a hard hit as I think about it for a second.

Me:  Have you talked to Mercedes?  I’m sure you two can get hitched, and this problem goes away, right?

He shakes his head

Mickey:  Nah… I couldn’t ask ‘er to do something like this fer me, bruv.  I’d just ruin ‘er the way I ruined Tessa.  Plus, her being a newer citizen, Immigration would just ‘ave a field day with that.  I just ‘ave to face it…  It’s all over…

Me:  Fuck that.  You got thirty days.  We’ll come up with something.  We’re brothers in this.  We’re fucking family, bruh.  I might not be the smartest guy around here, but I’ll think of something to keep you here.  We lost one brother tonight, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let that happen to you, too.

Mickey:  I appreciate the thought, but all I can do right now is make the next 13 days worth it…

Mickey passes the cigarette to me for the last drag as he goes for a solo walk to the Mean Girls locker room to spend some time with Mercedes.  I stare as the wheels in my head continue to turn.  I gotta think of something… anything… to keep Mickey on deck.



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Man Crush Monday
#NP "Can We Hang On?” by Cold War Kids
Locale: Westin Book Cadillac Hotel; Detroit, Michigan



Somehow in this pile of shit city known as Detroit, there are a few random parts at the west end of the city that are a lot nicer than anything I’ve ever seen besides Celeste’s house.  I mean, this hotel got a ballroom, a nice pool, and the rooms are pretty nice too.  Celeste and I spent the night partying with the Bad Boys and Mean Girls, and around 9am, everyone passed out.  I had a little bit of a buzz still going after pinning Celeste a few times, so I wasn’t ready to go to sleep.  I picked up my phone for the first time in a couple days, and I figured Twitter would be full of XB haters for me to hassle.  While I was on there, I nominated myself as Celeste’s Man Crush Monday, and found myself in a little bit of a trash talk sesh with the boys.

That’s when it happened.  I get this notification from Mickey, teasing me with a #MCM mention.  â€œThe best bollocks on the silver screen” was mentioned there, and me being the smartass that I am, I said it was the sweetest thing anyone ever said about me.  I then asked Mickey to marry me.  Ha ha.  Funny, right?  Minutes later, Giani calls me from the next room over.  Talk about lazy.

Giani:  You are on to somethin’, dawg!  Thassit!

Me:  I’m still a little foggy from the cognac, bruh.  So let me just say this, and don’t criticise me, but whuhhh?

Giani:  You marry Mickey.  He takes you to be his lawfully wedded wife, and he gets to stay in the country.  Somehow I doubted it, but ya ain’t as stupid as ya sound most of the time, bro.  Man, it’s too perfect.

Me:  No. No.  No, no, no, no, FUCKING NO!  Not again!  Bruh, do you know how much shit I get for marrying a dude once before.  I get by because I didn’t even know I married him.  This time I know, so, yeah… no!

There’s the pause that says a thousand words of judgment.  I sigh as I look over at Celeste, who is starting to stir a little bit.  She opens her bright blue eyes and smiles at me until she notices the look of distress on my face.

Me:  Aw, come on, man… You’ve got to be kidding me.  This isn’t even a little fair.

Giani:  You the one who been tawkin’ like ya would do anythin’ to keep Mickey here.  Hang on, lemme get Mickey and drag him over there to do this right.

Me:  But…

Giani:  *Click*

Celeste curls up to me, kissing me on the cheek as she looks into my eyes, stroking my beard gently as she whispers into my ear.

Celeste:  What’s wrong?

Me:  A joke turned into a real fucking problem, Peaches.  I proposed to Mickey on Twitter, and now Giani says that I should actually do it, because of the deportation bullshit.  I mean, you and me just got back together, and it’s not fair to you.

Celeste:  Honestly, it’s kind of funny.  Plus, not that I’m in the business of doing nice things for others, but this is a family matter.  Plus, imagine the heat something like this would draw.

I turn away to grab a cigarette, but I don’t even light it.  I just roll it around in my fingers nervously.  She’s got a point, but I really don’t wanna do this right now.

Celeste:  You know what would be even better?  If the three of you guys got married.  I mean, all your “bro hug” and chest bump bullshit already implies plenty.  Get back at all of the motherfuckers who got XB fired by rubbing your fake sexuality in their faces, and the second they bring it up, blow a fucking baby fit for justice.  It’s a win-win-win all around, baby.  Plus, it’s not even real, so there’s no need to get your panties in a bunch, sweetheart.

Me:  Yeah, fuck right off with that mister.  But it does bring up something I didn’t think of.  The backlash would be just what we need here in SCW…

Just then, the door bursts open as Mickey and Giani walk in without so much as a knock.  Celeste pulls the blanket up over her chest tightly as she glares at them.  Mickey doesn’t even notice, because he’s too busy shooting daggers at Giani.

Celeste:  Hey, assholes… I’m not dressed…

Giani:  Cool it, sugar tits.  It’s not like we haven’t seen ‘em before.  Now, let ya boyfriend get on bended knee for this lovely ginger shit head.

Mickey:  Sod off, all of ye’s.  It’s just a paper marriage that means nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

Me:  Mickey, I’m hurt.  I’m a real catch.  You’d be lucky to be married to me, but I have a new condition to this little arrangement.  It’s all or nothing, bruh.

Mickey looks at me with confusion on his face.  He slowly covers the hole in his boxers as he scratches uncomfortably at his wifebeater.  Instead of rolling my eyes directly at him, I look to Giani, and do it slightly out of his view.  However, I get a shit eating grin on my face… wait, I probably should rephrase that.  I smile kinda wickedly at him, making him wonder what’s going on.

Me:  Mickey, come sit next to me for a second.  Mister Gorilla Juicehead’s got a decision to make.  We need to have a unified front in all of this.

Mickey walks over and sits next to me, though he’s very uncomfortable in doing so.  He inches away from me slowly as Celeste crawls behind us with an even more evil smirk on her face as she watches what’s going on very intensely.

Me:  If we’re gonna do this, bruh… we need to all do it.  We gotta set up shop in Vegas, get a place together, and take advantage of the poly-marriage laws of Nevada, and all get married.

Mickey and Giani:  The actual fuck?

Me:  That’s right.  If this is gonna happen, then Gi, you gotta get on your knees and…

Giani:  I dunno what ya thought was goin’ on here, but…

Me:  Propose to both of us, you ass!

Celeste giggles a bit as she wraps her arms around me and Mickey’s necks, staring at Giani who looks extremely uncomfortable with what’s going on here.  Mickey’s face is totally red as he doesn’t even want one husband, let alone two.  I jokingly reach over and romantically brush my hand across his cheek, to which I get a direct punch to the chest that nearly takes the breath out of me.  Giani surprises both of us before a fight could break out again, by getting down on both knees, taking both of our hands into his.

Giani:  Michael Eamon Carroll?  Daxton Oliver Beckett?  Will you two beautiful fuckheads do me the honor of bein’ my wives?

Mickey:  Quite the poet, Gi.  Not sure how I could say no to that.

Me:  Is it okay if I cry.  You got a way with words.

Me and Mickey:  YES!

Celeste claps her hands as she kisses me and Mickey on the cheek.  She reaches out and pats Giani’s hands as he grasps me and Mickey’s in his.

Celeste:  You bitches better make me your Maid of Honor.  Now, do the right thing and seal it with a kiss.

Me, Mickey, and Giani:  Fuck off…

Celeste grins as she picks up her phone and starts helping to spread the word, though I don’t think the Twitterverse has any idea that this is legit.  In just one week’s time, I’ll be part of the first all-male triad married stable in SCW history.  On one hand, I’m glad that we got the core of this stable linked together for all eternity… well, as long as this sham marriage holds up, at least.  But, on the other hand, I’m married to a dude, again…  Fucking hell…



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Independence Day Comes Early
#NP "Middle Fingers” MISSIO
Locale: Philadelphia Graff House; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania



How fucking ironic is it that we’re here in Philly, the City of Brotherly Love, given the way things have been going?  Does anyone else see the irony in all of this?  Of course, I’m not ready to announce this to the world just yet, but even I can appreciate the fact.  The city isn’t a total piece of shit, though.  Of course, that might be because of where we just came from.  Detroit is a shit hole that I’m never gonna return to.  Me and my future husbands went on a tour of the city, mostly for pictures to throw into our fake ass marriage album to laugh at later.  We saw the Liberty Bell, Congress Hall, Academy of Music, Rosenbach Museum and Library, and a bunch of other shit.  It gave me an idea that I just couldn’t shake.  I mean, we went to the Graff House, which if you’re like me, you have no fucking clue what that is.  Well, it’s the sight that the Declaration of Independence was signed by a bunch of old dudes in powdered wigs and tights.  I got to read that shit, too, and I just gotta say… wow… This city opened my eyes to what it means to be an American, and why Mickey will be lucky to be among all of the benefits of being a citizen.  I’m filled with the patriotic spirit right now, and I’m on a natural high because of it.

Mickey and Giani decide to sit this one out, and I’m alright with it.  We’re gonna be spending a lot of time together.  Thanks to a google search, I printed out a piece of paper that I hold in my hand as I stand outside of the very room that basically made this the land of the free, because I plan to use my freedom to walk in there in just a second.  I just have to stop fanboi-ing it.

Me:  Okay, okay.  Deep breaths, Dax.  Get your chi in line, bruh… So, SCW universe.  I am standing just outside of the room where the Declaration of Independence was signed.  The starting point for the liberties that we have to this very day, liberties that we all take for granted.  It has nothing to do with being too lazy or stupid to realize it like most of the free world.  No… but seriously, anywhere that has freedoms, owes it to what happened in this very room like a thousand years ago.  â€˜Merica!

I pound at my chest as I take pride in being one of the lucky millions of Americans.  I hold up the piece of paper in my hand as I begin to read the parts that make sense to me, as most Americans do.

Me:  â€œWHEN, in the Course of human Events, it becomes necessary for one People to dissolve the Political Bands which have connected them with another, and to assume, among the Powers of the Earth, the separate and equal Station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's GOD entitle them, a decent Respect to the Opinions of Mankind requires that they should declare the Causes which impel them to the Separation.”  For those who are too stupid to understand what that means because America lets people choose if they want to finish high school, it means that we were under the thumb of the tyrants known as Great Britain.  Yeah, I know what a tyrant is!  Word of the Day Calendar 2017, bitches!  It means that Britain tried to keep us under their thumb and we had the balls to say “Fuck that!  We’re doing our own thing, bitches.”  God gave us the right to choose what is right and what is wrong, and the British were too busy hunting down their next cup of tea to realize that.  We deserved respect, so we went out and took it.  I mean, we went from thirteen to fifty states.  It’s called progression.  Keep up.

This little velvet rope tries to keep me out, but I do what I want, so I step inside, but the cameraman refuses to follow me in. Fucking coward…

Me:  I can be in this room, because I am a product of what happened in this room.  I am a self-aware man who escaped the tyrant ways of the fans by telling them to kiss my ass, and watching them STILL pay to see me in action, whether it be on the silver screen, or inside of the six sided ring.  They eat this shit up.  But, that’s not enough for me.  As you might be aware, my buddy Xander Bishop got fired last week for doing nothing.  Literally nothing wrong.  Some emo chick decided to throw up a gun emoji, and he makes a comment that was made to him like a hundred times.  Only, instead of telling her that he’d celebrate her death, or that he wished she would die, he was nice enough to say it in a more calm way.  You know, because Kris Halich and Alexis Staggs can say this shit and it’s totally cool.  But, it’s become apparent that the Bad Boys are to SCW as the settlers of this great land were to Britain.  SCW management was so happy to rake in the bucks that Bad Boys brought in because we don’t confine ourselves to the rules, but as soon as it became more work for them to control the complaints of our IDGAF attitude, shots were fired.  Not cool, bruh.  Not cool.

(Paraphrased)”We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Stars and Bombshells are created equal, that they are endowed, by their CREATOR, with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these Rights, Promotions are instituted among Stars and Bombshells, deriving their just Powers from the Consent of the Contracted, that whenever any Form of Management becomes destructive of these Ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Govern, laying its Foundation on such Principles, and organizing its Powers in such Form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate, that Sin City Wrestling long established, should not be changed for light and transient Causes; and accordingly all Experience hath shewn, that Mankind are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the Forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long Train of Abuses and Bullshit Biased, pursuing invariably the same Object, evinces a Design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their Right, it is their Duty, to throw off such Management, and to provide new Rules for their future Security. Such has been the patient Sufferance of these Bad Boys; and such is now the Necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Management. The History of the present Kings of SIn City Wrestling is a History of repeated Injuries and Billshit Biased, all having in direct Object the Establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these Bad Boys. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid SCW…

I stop for a second, because even I gotta admit that I didn’t understand a lot of that.  I take a deep breath and look down to the piece of paper.  I’m tired of it already, so I crumble it up and toss it at the cameraman.  A soft “ow” is heard from the cameraman as I continue to walk around the room, admiring it.

Me:  Basically what I’m saying is that we’re done with your bullshit, SCW.  We’re done taking it up the ass from the tyrants, especially King Mard Ward the Second.  Talk about the perfect example of why we had to get the fuck away from Britain.  This guy is practically a commie, limey bastard at it’s finest.  He casts stones from his ivory tower build on the blood, sweat, and tears of his Stars and Bombshells.  That’s cool, it’s the American way, but what makes it the British way is the fact that as soon as one of the workers falls out of line even just a little, he comes down on him like the hammer of fucking Thor.  Yeah… Well, the Bad Boys can’t, in good conscience, stand by and watch this tyranny continue.  This room gives me the strength to stand up and say “No!”  We the Bad Boys have spoken, and we will no longer tolerate this kind of treatment.  We implore… yeah, I know what that means too, because I saw Resident Evil and the little British computer girl said it.  Smart!  WE IMPLORE King Christian Underwood to stand with us in this battle, because I have it on good authority that the Bad Boys will become a traveling act in a fucking quick if we have to go through much more of this tyranny.  It’s time for a fucking revolution!

I stop talking as I look at the door to see the security team standing there, and the camera shuts off…. Hold that thought…

***********************************

Aaand, we are in the security office of the National Historical Park, and I’m arguing with the cameraman before he gives in and turns the camera back on quietly, so that we don’t get in trouble or some shit.  Newsflash, Terry…. It’s a little fucking late for that.

Me:  Revolution isn’t something to take lightly.  It takes work, but I come to work every time that I show up on camera.  Every time I log onto Twitter, I’m there to work.  That’s why when Eyesnsane come at the Bad Boys, looking for a fight, I said let’s fuckin’ do it.  I ain’t afraid of a scuffle with Eyes.  Something tells me that he’s just jealous because I was rolling around with Alana Allure in the All That Glitters movie, our naked juicy bits rubbing against each other.  Look, bruh… I get it.  If you were dry humping my lady, I’d be a little bit defensive.  It’s natural.  But just call it what it is.  Don’t try to make this some sort of fucking fight for honor.  It’s two dudes fighting over a girl.  Don’t get me wrong, though.  Alana is a hot piece, and you’re one lucky son of a bitch to get up in that every night.  If I didn’t have Celeste, I’d probably look into that full time.  I mean, she’s very talented.  She’s a great actress, but if she has to get in bed with you every night, she’s gotta learn, right?  Let me just say one thing.  If she ever had just one night with Daxton Oliver Beckett… there would be no acting.  That’s a promise.

I sneer into the camera.  I’d probably taunt Eyes with my hands, but they are currently cuffed behind my back as we wait in the small room.  Once I think he gets the point, I turn away from the camera a little to continue talking.

Me:  While I’m being kinda serious, I mostly want to get you pumped for this match.  I don’t want you to half-ass this, and when I beat you, I don’t want you bitching to Jon and Song and Alana about how you didn’t realize I was that good.  I don’t want any fucking excuses when we find out that I’m the better man in this fight, and that Bad Boys are the better tag team.  You and Jon Dough were a fun sideshow attraction for a while, but the novelty wore off a long time ago, man.  You’re not like Song and Orchid, you know, where you’re actually talented and fun to watch.  You’re pretty much Diet Xander Bishop in the way that you act hard, but unlike XB, you can’t back it up, and you’re afraid of the powers that be.  You are confined to the tyranny that is the flimsy SCW Rule Book.  You can take out Chris Shipman in a Chicago Street Fight and think you’re a badass, but the fact remains that you’re just not.  Beating Chris Shipman is a fucking rite of passage in SCW.  I did it in my second match here.  It literally means nothing to me, or to anyone for that matter.  What have you done without Jon, really?  I wanna know.  Wait, I already know.  Fuck all is what you’ve done without Jon.  What have I done without my crew?  I’ve beaten Calvin Harris, Chris Shipman, and I’ve advanced to the second round of the Blast From the Past tournament.  Not to mention, I’ve made statement after fucking statement since I arrived in Sin City Wrestling.  Not to mention, I’ve only been in SCW for like 4 months.  Throw together what me and my crew have accomplished together, and it beats the fuck out of what you and yours has done.

I nod my head as I stop my slight rambling for a second.  I turn back to the camera and talk directly to Eyes again.

Me:  I gotta give you one thing, though.  Even if you didn’t do it publicly where we would have shit all over you… you had the balls to go to management when your original opponent dropped out on you, cancelling your one shot at maybe doing something worth mentioning on your own, and you demanded a match against any Bad Boy.  Though, you and I both know exactly what you meant by that.  Mickey is too buckwild for you, and Giani is too seasoned for you.  I’m the one who screen fucked your girl, and I’m the least experienced in the business, so it’s a no-brainer.  You wanna see me with them hands, bruh.  I got you.  The bad part about it, though, is that you picked the wrong fight, at the wrong time.  I’m on fire right now.  Everything I touch turns to fire, and before you know it, everything around here is gonna be lit.  I’m on my way to wherever I wanna go in my career, and in my life.  I’m gonna do what I want, and when I want, and fucking how I want.  Even though I’m the least experienced, and least crazy of the Bad Boys, I got a whole lot to prove, and I’m gonna prove it at your expense.  It don’t matter if we chilled a time or two.  It don’t matter that I got my jump by doing pointless shit work segments with your friend, Song.  The truth is that Song sees this as something that it’s not.  This isn’t “just business”.  It’s personal.  It’s personal to you, because… again… I was naked with your bombie.  You know that you have to beat me in order to feel man enough to be with her again, half the man that I am.  For me, it’s way more than that.  I have to shit all over you to prove to myself that I have what it takes to be a Bad Boy.  Luckily I took my lyrical laxative before they gave me these styling backwards bracelets.

I turn in the swivel chair a little bit to show off the cold steel dangly cuffs I’m talking about.  I then swivel back with energy as I open my mouth, trying not to laugh at what I’m about to say, while giving off the arrogant impression that is my new trademark.

Me:  I don’t like your attitude that you own this tag team division.  You don’t even have the titles anymore, so what makes you feel so un-fucking-touchable?  What makes you feel like you’re so much better than the Bad Boys?  Just because we’re the newest sensation sweeping the SCW-Nation?  You think you are better than us, because you held some titles that literally nobody wanted until Bad Boys came to SCW and made their intentions known?  I actually want to understand this.  What the fuck kind of right do you have on that high horse of yours, to look down on us for doing what we do?  Like I said, it’s not even about business on Easter Sunday.  It’s about that whole “holier than thou” attitude you got going on.  I think the one thing that the SCW-Nation and Bad Boys can come together on is that we all just want to smack that fucking attitude right out of your skulls.  Lucky for me, on Sunday… I get to do just that.  And so much more.  Even if you choose to ignore the warning like everyone else, it doesn’t change the fact that Bad Boys are on their way to the top as we speak.  As a former tag team champion, you technically qualify as a stepping stone, even if you were a joke ass paper champion to begin with.  You made a joke of the belts.  Team BJ is making a joke of the belts.  The Brothers’ Dysfunction made them a joke, and now Team Sweete Kris is trying to make a joke out of them.  Those belts are no joke!  Giani Di Luca held those belts for fucksake!  Those things should be a national treasure right about now.  Once I win the Blast From the Past tournament, and hold onto the World Heavyweight Championship for a little minute, I’m gonna look back at this conversation, and I’m gonna drop the title to be filled by some lesser star due to some boring ass tournament, and I’m gonna help the Bad Boys restore the glory to the belts that you and so many others shit on.  It all starts on Sunday.  Put up or shut up, bruh.

I cut it a little short, because I can hear the footsteps right outside of the door.  I turn back straight as I pretend to not be the little shit that I am.  I whistle innocently as I kick lightly at Terry to turn the camera off.  He doesn’t get the hint as the officer comes in the room, ready to read me to filth.  However, he sees the light blinking and walks over to the camera.

Officer:  Are you punks recording in here?!  Shut it off!

Me:  Shut it off, Terry… shut it off!

Terry:  I’m trying, but these cuffs are making it hard… What the…?!

Terry cries out as I knock it over onto the floor, causing the screen to crack, and if you look in the right corner of your screen, between the crack that looks like the crows feet on Chelsea Payne’s face, you can see Terry’s tears forming on the lens.  I think out of everything I recorded that day, that was my greatest accomplishment.

6
Climax Control Archives / Bitch, I Clean Up Nice! #ShotsFired
« on: March 31, 2017, 07:41:20 PM »
 
<img src=http://stream1.gifsoup.com/view3/20140322/5005241/ricki-hall-2-o.gif>


That Just Fucking Happened
#NP "Ain’t No Rest For the Wicked” by Cage the Elephant
Locale: Somewhere between Stockton, CA and Chicago, IL



HOLY FUCK, bruh… No one saw that shit coming.  No one saw me ramming Ivan Darrell’s fucking face into the fucking ring steps.  No one saw me getting inside of the ring and dropping Andrew Garcia on his fucking face.  No one saw me diving in for a fucking insane Suicide Headbutt to my own fucking partner, and no one saw me going for the dogpile pin on Andrew Garcia.  No one saw me becoming a Bad Boy.  No one saw it coming, except for Xander Bishop, Mickey Carroll, and Giani Di Luca.  Well, Celeste knew, but that’s a topic for another time.  That shit is money, right there, bruh.

So, it goes without saying that we partied hard to celebrate my homecoming.  We drank our weight in Patron daily, because Giani said that top shelf is where Bad Boys belong.  He caught the tab, so who am I to complain?  We started out at some bar in Stockton near the arena.  I vividly remember going inside, and starting off the celebration of the century.  Celeste was hanging on my arm, and I’m pretty sure Mickey tried to get a body shot on Mercedes.  It was crazy when we got to the table to sit down, our buzz coming on slowly.  Celeste sat on my lap as we made out right in the middle of the bar, while Mickey smacks my arm playfully.

Mickey:  THAT… was proper.  For a second, I wasn’t sure if ye ‘ad changed yer mind, er if ye was with us, bruv.

Giani:  No joke, son.  I was keepin’ an eye on ya the whole fuckin’ time, kid.

Xander:  Nah, bruh… Da’ shi’ righ’ der was how i’ was mean’ to be!

As Celeste tries to distract me from all the talking going on around me with those sexy lips of hers, but I break away to get in a shit eating smile and nod my head.  This arrogant prick thing is really getting Celeste going, which is nice.  I was afraid she was going to see the real me and turn her back on me, but eh… I’d find another piece in a minute or two so it’s all good.  Celeste pulls herself off of me, but the look in her eyes say that I should be in the men’s restroom in two minutes or she’s starting without me and I take notice.  However, as I stand up, getting cheered on by my new crew, some fucko SCW fan comes up to me and shoves my chest.

Fan:  You prick!  You turned your back on the people who got you into SCW.

Me:  Ha, I don’t owe you shit, bruh.  I got into SCW on my without you fuckheads, and I’m going to make my way to the top without you, too.  Now, lay your hands on me one more fucking time, and it will be the last thing you do tonight…

Xander:  Tell ‘em, bruh!

Mickey walks up to the fan, putting his beer down on the table as he puffs out his chest, glaring at the fan emotionlessly.  He has this swag that I never would have expected from someone so… not American?  I don’t know, but he’s fucking on this guy and ready to attack without as much as a warning.  I pat him on the shoulder, and after some kind of psychic conversation, he backs down and takes two steps back to pick up his drink, but his eyes don’t leave this dude.  The fan spits at my shoes, but he knows it’s better to just walk away.

Me:  Mickey, bruh, it ain’t that serious.  This guy is just mad that he dropped his paycheck on a nosebleed ticket to see me knock you guys out, and that didn’t happen.  Instead, he’s gonna get knocked out…

I headbutt him out of nowhere, and I heard the crack of his nose as it begins to bleed everywhere.  It isn’t until then that I look around to laugh, and I see a lot of SCW shirts.  I mean, they are everywhere, and they are pissed… off!  The whole building turns into a battle royal moment.  I’m pretty sure that a bottle was cracked against my head at one point.  We held our own pretty good until the bouncers who I swear were Rage with different toupees on their heads, threw us out onto the sidewalk.  A quick stop by the liquor store, and a few hundred miles in the limousine, and I don’t even know where we are.  Everything is a blur after the Remy kicks in.  I vaguely remember nailing Celeste in Vegas, something about shitting in a pool in Utah, a barn fire in Oklahoma, and a Rocky moment on the steps leading up to the Arch in St. Louis, followed by a trip to the ER where we all had our stomachs pumped together as our first real bro outing.  It was fucking boss.  By the time I came out of it, we were clanking forties together on a bench in Millennium Park.  At this point, it’s me, Giani, and Mickey, who has a note pinned to his shirt from Xander, bowing out for some Poppin’ Off business.  The birds are whistling, and the sun is shining.  We don’t even have to say anything, especially when we look back to see the limousine lightly smoking, dinged up to shit.  Mickey passes me a cigarette, and I slide a match against the concrete to light it.

Me:  Bruh… What the fuck just happened?  How did we even get here?

Mickey:  Eventually, ye learn to just accept it, and hope ye didn’t accidentally kill someone along the way.  Besides, when is ‘e supposed to be here?  This bench is ‘urtin’ me arse.

Me:  Heh?

I don’t even know what he’s talking about, but maybe the headache is just a little too intense to try to decode his kinda Cockney, kinda Irish accent.  He tilts his head back and takes a drag from his cigarette.  I look down at the ground, kicking the empty bottles under the bench as park patrol drives past.  I give him a salute, hoping it will buy us a few minutes to start running, but luckily he just salutes back and I realize exactly where we are.  Midwesterners are so much more chill except when it comes to the whole regressive view on race and sexual orientation, but since Officer Shipman doesn’t see Bishop sitting next to us, he just leaves us the fuck alone.  It’s then when I look over to the right to see Erik Staggs walking toward us with a briefcase in his hand.  Giani laughs loudly as he shakes his head.

Giani:  Oh damn, it’s serious, dawg.  You’re in trouble.

Mickey:  Get used to it, mate.

I shrug my shoulders as I take another drag from my cigarette.  I blow the smoke right at Erik as he walks up to me.  He looks us over, and then his eyebrows get all mangled with anger as he drops his briefcase loosely at the side of his arms.  He grunts in anger as he looks right at me.

Erik:  Where the fuck is Xander Bishop?

Me:  Eye-uh-nuh… Do I look like his fucking keeper, bruh?

Erik:  You millennials are so fucking lazy with your speech.  Look, just don’t talk right now.  I have something for each of you.  It’s a gift from Mark Ward.

Sweet!  A gift from the dude who was the master of heel shit back in the day is like the best thing that’s happened to me today that I remember.  Of course, I don’t remember much, but it’s still winning!  Well, until Erik pulls out pieces of paper from his briefcase.  They’re pink, and sort of slip-like, and it ain’t a cruise ship voucher.

Giani:  Oh for fuckssake, Staggy!  A write-up for conduct on social media?  Is this even a real thin’, or is this some kinda Punk’d stunt?

Mickey:  Nah mate.  Seem’s legit.  It’s just like the collection I got for showin’ up pissed off me face.

Me:  I got three?  Wait, how did I get three and they only got one each?  Oh you gotta be fucking joking.  This doesn’t have anything to do with the Amy Marshall shit, does it?

Erik:  I’m afraid so, “bruh”.

That right there doesn’t settle well with me.  I tighten my fists, and I’m ready to throw down.  See me wit’ dem hands, old man.  I shake my head as Mickey rips his slip in half and burns it.  Erik pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs before looking at all three of us.

Erik:  Look, if you shitheads can keep it together for just a couple more weeks, I might be able to fix all of this.  You’re awesome talents, and I don’t want to see you guys get knocked off of the roster.  You have amazing talent, and I believe you guys will go far.

Mickey:  Yeah, we better after beating the last team to get a one-on-one with the then tag champs.

Giani:  For real, though…

Erik:  My lawyer will get with yours, Giani.  They’ll work out a few details that I think both sides can agree with.  Now, Dax?  Care to walk with me to talk over a more personal matter?

I roll my eyes and laugh at his suggestion.

Me:  The last time I went for a walk with an old man when I was drunk off my ass, I wound up the husband to a wrestling booker in Japan.

Erik:  Well damn, I forgot the ring.  I’ll make you one out of a dandelion… move your ass, kiddo…

I look over at Mickey and Giani who nod their heads, motioning for me to go with him.  The entire time we’re gaining distance, I’m praying that this isn’t some sort of Bad Boys secret initiation hazing thing.  Luckily it wasn’t.  But the conversation mixed with this hangover, I would almost have rather gone through the hazing.

Erik:  I just wanted to make sure that you understood what is ahead of you with this amazing opportunity set before you.

Me:  Look, bruh.  Save your breath, because I already know.  Bad Boys are destined for great things.  We’re the team that’s rocking SCW’s very foundation.  We just gotta behave.

Erik:  Oh, fuck no… I mean, that’s true, but that’s so small time compared to the bigger picture.  You could win this Blast From the Past tournament and Main Event at Summer XXXTreme 5.  That’s big time, kid.  Bad Boys are already the whisper going around the locker room and the office.  If you can win this thing, you could put them on the map the way Delia Darling put Mean Girls on the map.  Do you hear me?  Big… Time…

I nod my head, pretending to care, but all I really want is a fucking aspirin.  Plus, who is even doubting that I’m going to win?  I take the last drag from my cigarette and then put it out on my tongue as I stare at Erik to let him know I gives no fucks.

Me:  Thanks for making me get up and walk all the way over here to tell me what I already fucking know.  It was a great move, bruh.

Erik:  No, that’s not all I wanted to talk about.  And please, don’t try to show me crazy.  My family practically invented it   I respect your tenacity though.

Me:  Thanks… I been working it out with mad crunches.

I flex my arms to take Staggs to the gun show.  He just raises his eyebrow at me like I’m an idiot, but I just don’t think he understands like technical names for body parts or something.  It’s cool, I’ll give him a pass.

Erik:  You got what it takes to be a star, and you proved it by fighting week in and week out to get your contract.  Then, when you got in the ring and showed us how you elevate for a sold out audience, we knew you were headed to the top.  You could fast track it with this tournament, but there’s a certain level of… discipline… required to handle such a jump.

Me:  Fuck, here it comes.  Look, I appreciate it.  I really do.  But, like I told your nephew Timmy, I’m not really into that kind of thing.  Spankings and stuff is cool, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not really into penis, especially old penis.  But I think I’ll just work my way to the top, and not in the Amy Marshall production kind of way.  Flattered though.

Erik:  Ew, no!  Not even close to what I’m saying.  Look, I normally give this pep talk sort of thing to talk smart people into doing what I want them to do to better their career, but clearly you aren’t following.  Let me just get to the point.  If you want to get to the top over the next six weeks, you have to get along with Amy.

Me:  Nope…

I hold my hand up in his face.  Not to stop him from talking because I’m trying to be a Mean Girl, but because I just really don’t want to hear him talk, especially about the one thing that’s had my chi a total mess lately.  He reaches out his hand, and I shrug it off.

Erik:  Now hear me out.  Amy is a close friend of mine.

Me:  Well, I’m sorry but that’s your problem, not mine.

Erik:  She’s a Hall of Famer, a Grand Slam Champion who constantly gains accomplishment after accomplishment.  You couldn’t have picked a better partner.

I shake my head.  Is he seriously saying this shit to me right now?  He’s lucky that I know how to control my breathing, or else I’d be in the unemployment line for knocking him the fuch down to the ground.  I put my hands together as I look up at him, trying to put it the best way I can.

Me:  I’m not the smartest guy in the world, but I understand metaphors.  It couldn’t have been more perfect.  The pick that I got was literally the bottom of the barrel.  She was the fat kid in gym class who got picked last.  There was nothing left, and I gotta tell you that I would rather have picked just about any other broad in this tournament, because any and all of them are more qualified to be my partner than Amy fucking Marshall.  I know that she’s your friend, bruh… but that don’t make her the be all and end all of this tournament.  If anything, she got lucky by picking me.  I got stuck with a fucking handicap.  If I win, they should just hand me the fucking World Heavyweight Championship, because I’ll have to work harder than any other winner in the history of this tournament.  I get that she’s touched your dick during a Netflix ‘n chill Walking Dead Binge sesh, but that don’t make her the greatest thing in this tournament.  That makes you pussy blinded, bruh.  Truth.

In a way, I hope that he hits me so that I can put him on the concrete. Chalk outline.  Justified homicide.  I must have a smile from ear to ear right now because he look pissed, bruh!  But he doesn’t hit me.  He just looks away from me, letting me know that I’m right.

Erik:  Just because she’s repulsed by your dick doesn’t mean that you have to be so jealous.  Look, you will continue to be the joke to the blind people chirping around that you’re nothing and will be nothing because you’re the only one in your stable to get his ass kicked by Jeremiah Hardin.  You will be the lesser of the Bad Boys for the next three months at least, if you don’t ground that fucking ego and listen to reason.  I had this same, exact conversation with Amy Marshall four years ago, and look where she’s at.

Me:  Worst… Argument… Ever… For real, you suck at this. I feel like I need to call Ripley’s Believe It Or Not to figure out how she pulled off all those accomplishments that you’re talking about, but it sure as fuck wasn’t skill.

Erik:  She was a World Bombshell Champion.

Me:  What of it?  She lost it in her first defense, pretty much like any title she’s ever touched.  You know what else she hasn’t done?  Won a Blast From the Past tournament.

Erik:  But that can change this year with the right partner.  One who trusts that she will do what she always does and pulls off that upset that makes the crowd go wild.  You could help her get the one and only thing that she has left to accomplish here, while getting yourself to the top.

Me:  No you didn’t hahaha… You are a smart guy though.  You just solved the greatest mystery in SCW history.  Amy Marshall is only as strong as the company that she keeps.  She better step it up to keep up with me because I’m like on a whole new level.  Don’t you know that I am a shooting star, shining bright like a diamond.

I’m feeling a little thug right now, living that fantasy for a minute, until Erik laughs at it.  It’s cool.  I’m gonna reel it in a little and just do me.

Erik:  Did you just quote Bad Company and Rihanna in the same breath?  Fail…  But you do bring up a good point.  You’re not going to believe me until you see it for yourself.  You should sit down with her face to face and work out whatever problem it is that you two have with one another.

Me:  Why?  There’s no reason to talk with her.  All she has to do is show up to do work and stay the hell outta my way.  I’ll do right by her and stay out of her way.

Erik:  Great, I’ll see you after the show on Sunday to tell you that I told you so.  At least I got to get out of the hotel room from behind the workload to get some fresh air, so it wasn’t a total waste.

Erik picks his briefcase up as he starts to walk away, wasting no time in getting away from me.  He probably couldn’t stand up to this hairy tatted Adonis, so I get it.  But I gotta say that his lack of trust just doesn’t pop off with me very well.  I lick at my bottom lip as I think it over for a second.

Me:  Alright, bruh… if you think it will help, then maybe I should do it.  You’re old as fucking Moses, so you been around this business a while.  Maybe I should listen to you a little.  It wouldn’t hurt, right?

Erik turns around with a kinda scary smile on his face as I make a Crystal Millar worthy stink face of confusion.  He walks closer, and basically says a bunch of unimportant shit about how he’s right and I’m not gonna regret it, but I didn’t say anything, so this chapter is basically over…


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Bitch, I Clean Up Nice
#NP "Party Monster” by Krewella
Locale:  Westwood Village Theater; Westwood, California



Right, so everybody and they brother showed up for this thing.  Bad Boys rolling up four deep, with Mean Girls at their side.  I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an actual red carpet event, but it was in our minds.  The cameras were flashing as our limousine pulled up and the driver opens up our door.  Mickey Carroll and Mercedes Vargas step out first, and the fans cheer until they realize it’s just Mickey, but Mercedes gets several honorable mentions because she’s a freaking badass.  Mickey flips off the crowd and waves it at them like a celebrity, so he gets props from me.  Next up, Giani and Veronica step out, and they act like nobody is even watching.  This is their kind of thing.  Like a boss, Giani looks right at the door and doesn’t even react to a thing they have to say, good or bad.  However, he pauses right in front of one of the cameras and pulls Veronica in for a tasteful Hollywood style kiss before continuing on.  Gabrielle and Celeste walk out next, holding hands as the driver helps them out like they were frail human beings incapable of doing it themselves.  The crowd goes wild for Gabrielle, but Celeste is punk rock as always, shielding her face from the pictures.  Now, it’s time for me and my real date to step out.  I’m comfortable enough with who I am to admit that me and XB got a bromance going on.  I literally paid some guy to carry a boombox for our entrance.  â€œParty Monster” by Krewella blasts as Xander and I step outside of the limo, bottle of Jack in my hand, a Philly in his, and the crowd goes wild.  The wrestling fans hate us, but this is a whole new level of fandom.  I knock back a swig of the Jack and XB puffs that fatty, and then we trade.  We hook arms for a second as a male reporter approaches us.

Reporter:  Xander Bishop, Poppin’ Off Records recording artist, hitting the red carpet in support of his new boyfriend, Dax Beckett…

I don’t even think about it before I take my arm from under Xander’s, and I use that very arm to sock the reporter.  It felt fucking amazing and I tilt my head back, arms out at the side as I let out a roar of pure testosterone as XB nods his head, shouting out a “Tha’s wha’ I’s talkin’ ‘bout, bruh!”  He turns around and punches a random fan right in the face and then we chest bump as he roll around in the publicity like a couple of pigs in their own filth.  Celeste giggles as she prances up to me, staking her claim as she kisses me on the lips.  I lean her back as I claim her right back.  I look out as the cameras almost seem to blind me.  I take a step forward as I lift the back of my jacket up briefly.  I begin to unbuckle my belt for a second before undoing the button of my suit pants.  The crowd roars in approval, because they heard about my ass many times before.  I push down the back end of my suit pants a couple inches, bending over, but just as fast as I do this, I pop back up and button back up.  The crowd boos me and I point to the door of the theater as I shout out, spit flying.

Me:  YOU FUCKOS GOTTA PAY TO SEE MY FINE ASS!!!

I join up with my crew at the door, as they argue with the bouncer.  It’s like one big fucking shout fest, until I step up to the bouncer, who is a pretty shitty bouncer for a movie packed with wrestlers.  He’s like 5’10” and 190lb.  I look down at him as I take another drag of the Philly, handing it back to XB.

Me:  What’s the problem, bruh?

Bouncer:  Dax Beckett… all of these people claim to be your plus one.

Me:  Yeah, I’m the name on the fucking marquee right next to Kenzi Grey and Sarah Lacklan!  So, we’ll just be going inside now…

The bouncer places his arm in front of me, on top of the velvet rope.  I look up at the gigantic fucking poster with my face on it, and then I look back at him.  My eyes go wide, because I’m not totally sober right now, plus I’m feeling the rock star fantasy right now.

Bouncer:  B movies are in right now, so we are set to capacity as is.

Me:  B movie?!  Excuse me?!  Dax B don’t do B-rated.  

Bouncer:  Yeah right, who are you anyway?  Look, it’s a fire safety thing, so even if I wanted to, I couldn’t…

Fire safety?  Did he just say fire safety?  I got you, bruh.  I got you.  I pull my Zippo out my pocket and I strike it up.  I put my hand out to the side as Celeste nearly faints, panties dripping from my masculinity right now.  XB hands me the Jack, and then I reach over and rip the top off of some fan standing nearby.  I stuff it into the bottle and hold the flame just inches from the cloth.

Me:  I’ll give you a fucking fire safety thing to really worry about, motherfucker!

Man, is this fuck lucky that Kenzi Grey comes out and whispers to the bouncer when she does.  I don’t know what she said, but, it worked.  She takes the Zippo out of my hand and closes it with force, sliding it back into my pocket.  She glares at me like she’s gonna rip me a new asshole for a second, but then she takes a sip from the bottle and smirks, leading me inside.  She pulls me to the side as my crew walks in after me.

Kenzi:  There’s a hundred other theaters in town.  You could set any damn one of them on fire.  But this one?  Only getting set on fire by our performances.  Got it?

Me:  I can’t make no promises, Kenz, but I’ll try to be extra good, just for you.

She pats my cheek and then hands the bottle back to me as she goes to welcome the rest of the cast as they appear, taking photo ops with the few fans who paid top dollar to get into this shit early.  I smirk as I look at the screening room.  This is it.  This is one of the biggest moments of my life.  This is where I become a star…


******************************************************************************************



I just gotta say this… I’m a great actor.  I walk out of the theater and the crowd is cheering.  I nod my head as I peel off my jacket and vest and shirt in one motion, showing off my tats, as the girls scream and shout, and a couple even faint at the tingling that starts between their legs, and moves up their bodies until their brains just can’t take it no longer.  I do a badass kind of wink thing as I point at them.  Celeste isn’t too happy as she stands next to me, pouting her lips out at all the attention that I’m getting.

Fan:  Dax!  Did you have to use male enhancements or prosthetics for the nude scenes?

Me:  Nope… All natural, baby.  Right C?

Celeste just rolls her eyes, but I know by the look in her eyes that she is just trying to find a way to get that D right now.  We continue to walk into the lobby as another female fan reaches out and rubs my chest.  I’m a nice guy, so I let her.

Fan 2:  I heard that you couldn’t remember your character’s name, because you kept calling yourself Xander Bishop, even though your character’s name was Damien Xander.  Is that true?

Me:  Nah…  Okay, yeah… But it’s not my fault that Xander is bae.

Me and Xander fist bump and then bring it in for a bro hug to end all bro hugs.  All for show, of course, because people love subtly homophobic mockery, so I get my Daniel Tosh on for the B-rated red carpet.

Fan 3:  Can we see a kiss?

Me:  No.

I could have gotten mad and screamed at the dude, but instead, I just pretty much ignore what he has to say.  We continue to walk along as the fans continue with their questions for the fun facts pages just waiting to go on IMDb.

Fan 4:  Are the rumors true that there is already a sequel being talked about?

Me:  I wouldn’t know… If so, it would probably involve some useless fuck head who acts as good as he wrestles, like Joshua Aquin or something like that.  And it wouldn’t be directed by Kenzi Grey.  That’s a fact.

Fan 5:  In the director’s cut, will there be more Dax Beckett?

Me:  All my scenes were good enough to make it on screen, but hey… if you want more, go to Twitter @Kenzi_Grey and demand more.  I could make time on the off week of the Blast From the Past Tournament in SCW.  Not for you, but because the camera fucking loves me, bruh…

I smile like a nice guy, even though I know I’m not fooling anyone.  I continue to wave as the cameras flash in my face.  I take the shades off of XB’s face and use them to shield my eyes from the bright lights as Xander playfully shoves me.  We get into a little scuffle, laughing as we prepare to box it out.  Fans reach out to touch us, and we both respond by turning around and cold-cocking those big motherfuckers.  Xander reaches into his pocket and dials a number.

Bishop:  Nah, i’s all good, bruh.  Lemme ge’ Ren on da phone, bruh…

The security team walks up to me and my crew as they escort us out of the theater, while everyone stares at us, just stunned by it all.  Well, everyone except Kenzi who gives me two thumbs up for my performance in and out of the movie.  Mickey and Giani shake their heads, embarrassed, as XB and I laugh it up, going punk rock on this bitch.


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Shots Fired
#NP "Bat Country” by Avenged Sevenfold
Locale:  Joseph J. Gentile Arena; Chicago, Illinois



FUCK!  I thought it got cold in Cali when it hit 50 degrees, but this is on a whole other level, bruh.  I’m legit sitting here in a parka, gloves, and a scarf, two layers of clothes, looking like a homeless person as I do my pre-match ritual.  Two nights leading up to a match, I stand outside of the arena and get a feel for the energy so that I can sync up.  This match should be no different.  I mean, I got so much to gain, and everything to lose.  This match is make or break, and the worst part is that there isn’t a fucking thing I can do about my partner.  All I can do is try my best, and pray to god the “Punk Whore” can carry her own weight through this thing.  I stare up at the building as I learn the true meaning of the city’s nickname of “The Windy City”.  I shiver in the cold, rainy weather as I see the darkness inside of the building.

Kazuhiro Watanabe… my… ex-husband… Yeah, that whole thing is still weird for me to say.  Even more weird that it took me almost two years to realize we were married, let alone in a relationship of any kind other than that of strictly business.  Though, now I do know it is not Japanese culture for manager and his client to sleep in the same bed, but you live and learn, right?  Anyway, he taught me the importance of getting in touch with the energy and the spirits around you at all times.  However, this doesn’t seem relevant any longer.  The second I joined the Bad Boys, I threw all of that away.  But, tradition is something I’ve always held onto, so here I am, freezing my ass off in front of nothing but a camera and a tripod, and an empty, lifeless building.  I can’t help but think about it for a moment before I start talking to the camera.

“The last few weeks have been crazy.  I knew what I was doing for a while now.  I really thought that I would feel guilty about it.  I thought I would have a hard time pretending to be something that I’m not, throwing everything aside that made me the man that I was.  I was so nervous about it.  The truth is that I should have been more nervous than I was, because what I found out was far more unexpected to me…”

I look at the building for a minute longer before my eyes focus on the blinking red light.  I take a few steps closer to it as I lean down to let the light catch my face better.  I put my lips together and bring them in a little, trying to hide the smile that’s coming on, but I can’t hide it for very long.  I laugh.

“I fucking love this feeling.  There are no rules anymore.  There is no code to live by.  The only thing is that I won’t cheat.  I don’t need to cheat, because I’m that fucking good.  I’m going to prove it each and every week.  But otherwise?  I’m a brand new man.  I’m not the guy to give you a good laugh.  I’m not the guy who is going to beg for your approval.  I’m not the guy that wants to hold my arms up in the air so that you might adore me.  I’m the guy that puts fear in your hearts.  I’m the guy who says ‘Fuck your approval, bruh!’  I’m the guy who will hold my arms up in the air because, as much as you hate it… you WILL adore me.  Because I’m DAX FREAKING BECKETT!!!”

I hold my arms up in the air so that they can get used to seeing them held up in victory again.  I pause so that anyone watching this video will know that I’m back in the game, and I’m the only real contender besides my crew.

“I slipped up because I got so involved in the cheers of the fans, and wanting to get over with the crowd.  That’s what messed up my perfect streak against Jeremiah Hardin.  That’s what got me at Inception II.  It was your fault, not mine.  You are all to blame.  My skills are flawless, and I proved it every other time I stepped into the ring and wound up victorious, no matter how much doubt anyone had.

“Now, Sunday night, I’m going to return to my winning ways.  I step into the ring with Joshua Acquin, as he teams with Kate Steele.  Of course, you got my partner, who is sucking Joshua’s dick, pretending that they are *air quotes* just friends.  From what I hear, that whole thing has been going on for years.  All while Amy and Kate are almost like fucking besties.  Metal and Punk Connection is alive and well in his one, but sadly, this friendship club doesn’t involve me.  I find myself once again being the odd man out.  It’s cool though.  I would never associate myself with Joshua Acquin, because I’m better than that.  I deserve friends who have accomplished something in this business.  I deserve the best, because I am the best, and that is something that Josh just isn’t, and even more, will never be.”

I shrug my shoulders, because… well, just because.  I got nothing to hide.  I accepted that this is who I really am the second I signed on the dotted line with my crew.

“I detest just about everyone in SCW, because they are all worthless, whiny, vindictive pieces of shit who don’t give this business their full attention.  To people like Acquin and Hardin, this is just a platform for advertisement.  They don’t show up to work unless they need an extra buck for some other kind of venture.  Acquin hasn’t done shit on his own.  I mean, has he ever won a one on one match?  Has he ever won a title that didn’t involve his tag team partner being the man who turned on his former partner to get the surprise victory?  How long has he been in SCW?  The answers to these questions are as follows: No, no, and which fucking time?”

I shake my head, because now I’m seriously getting pissed off about the whole situation.  I lick at my bottom lip before I stroke my beard.

“Joshua… Josh… Meaningless piece of shit curtain jerker… whatever you prefer to go by… You’re fucking worthless.  You have about as much focus as Melody Grace in a puppies, rainbows, sparkles, and candy store.  I mean, let’s get serious here bro.  You disappear and reappear as much as Gabriel Stevens on a Vegas Strip tour.  Look, I make it my mission any time I go into a match to study my opponent.  The last several days, I did nothing but try to comb through the SCW archives for anything on you, but all I found was footnotes of what could have been if you applied yourself.  You’re weak, and you have no fucking backbone.  The fact that you are more respected than me is just beyond me.  It doesn’t make a lick of fucking sense.”

I’m legit pissed off now.  I take a deep breath of frosty air through my nostrils as I look away from the camera, running my hand down my face, and through my Zeus like beard before looking back with anger in my eyes.

“I gotta admit… I’m pissed off about this whole match, and I’m not just talking about how unfuckingfair it is that I am being unjustly punished by having my crew banned from ringside.  Like I did something to deserve that, when no one else has that same stipulation added.  Jessie and Amy used their influence to get the bosses to let them play hot potato with the Bombshell Roulette Championship while my girl Veronica was robbed of her rematch clause.  If anyone was going to try to get involved, it would be Jessie Salco!  But, is she banned from ringside?  No, she’s not.  Oh, but she’s friends with Amy AND Kate, so she’s going to root them both on equally…”

Eye roll here.  Watch those hazel waves crash, bruh, cause this is serious.

“Horse shit!  Amy Marshall and Jessie Salco are thick as Kate’s leaking pustules , so what makes Kate think that Jessie wouldn’t just as quickly turn on her to help Amy out?  I mean, she did rob her of the Bombshell Roulette Championship, so she kinda owes her something.  Now that’s logic, bruh.  But… heh… apparently the bosses don’t wanna look at logic, because they are too busy measuring their fucking cocks to pay attention to what is actually going on.  When it comes to booking, they just reach into hats and pull out names and say ‘That’s a match!’  Mark and Christian don’t see what’s happening right before their very eyes, and it’s pissing a few people off.  Then, just to prove that they aren’t neglecting business, they lash out at fucking me, and make an example out of Bad Boys.  But it’s cool… I got you, bosses.  While it’s total horse shit, I’m gonna just go out there and do what I do and prove why I belong to be in the Main Event match… because who really gives a shit about Steve Ramone versus Ryan Keys?  The fans will just leave after Amy and I win anyway…

“Shit man, I got way off topic there.  It happens when I get really passionate about something.  I’m pissed off at the bosses for not paying attention to business, and treating me with such disrespect.  Banning my friends is one thing, but putting me again Joshua Acquin is downright insulting, bruh!  What did I do to deserve that draw?  I appreciate that you see enough promise in me to put me in the real Main Event of Climax Control, but it’s clear that you are punishing me here.  I’ve come to accept that I have to go to the finish line of this tournament while carrying Amy Marshall on my back like one hundred and twenty-eight pound of worthless, overglorified shit.  I’ve even come to accept the fact that you don’t trust me and my crew enough to be professional during the biggest match of my career to date.  But what I haven’t come to accept is the fact that you have so little faith in me that you thought it was okay to put me in the same ring, at the same time as Joshua Acquin!  That is unfuckingacceptable, bruh!  No… No… I can’t do this right now…”

I take a deep breath, because I’m getting uncontrollably angry right now.  I clench and unclench my fists at my side, the same way that I did during my award winning performance with Sarah Lacklan in All That Glitters, playing in a theater near you now.  Except this time, channeling my inner Damien X doesn’t help me.  I don’t keep my cool, but instead I start kicking and punching at the air, as a huge assortment of “fuck” and “goddamn grandpa cocksucking bitch licker” curses come out of my mouth.  After a minute of this, and kicking over a trashcan, I shake my leg off a little as I almost kind of dance back over to the camera and I look right at it as I bounce up and down to shake it off.

“There is a difference between proving my worth, and being made into a joke.  What do I gain from beating Acquin?  Hm?  I advance in a tournament.  I can’t even look at this as a stepping stone across the pond of greatness, because Acquin is a floating toad turd.  I have to step over him to get to the next stepping stone.  Calvin Harris, Chris Shipman, Andrew Garcia, and Ivan Darrell where stepping stones.  Acquin is nothing but a bottom-feeder in this company and in this industry, and I fucking refuse to even acknowledge him as my opponent.  He’s not even going to be there as far as I’m concerned.  He isn’t a threat, and he isn’t a target.  He’s not on my radar.  As far as I’m concerned, this match has already come and gone, and I won.  Me, myself, and I.  Amy just kept Kate out of my beautiful beard while I made us both look good.  We celebrated, and she got a good look at me in my wrestling trunks, and realized her big, crooked nosed bean pole fiancee is no Daxton Oliver Beckett.  Yeah, that’s already happened, and I’m looking forward to an actual challenge in round two…

“That pretty much wraps up what I want to say, but I guess I have to give some attention to the other participant in the match, other than essentially calling her a dick thirsty cum whore… and no, for once I’m not referring to Amy Marshall.  I’m referring to the part of the Metal and Punk Connection that sort of matters…. Ugh, not Jessie Salco either… The one that no one ever remembers is part of that little pissed off Avril Lavigne wrist slitting PMS wannabes.  Kate Steele.  You are terrible.  You look like a hentai character come to life, except your tits are horrible, and you have a flat ass.  Whenever I think that Amy looks used up, I just have to look at you and realize that aside from Crystal Millar, you make her look like a prim and proper lady as pure as white lace.  I mean, I don’t know if your hubby just goes at it like a jackrabbit, or if he gets his kicks from passing you around like a Swisher at a Cypress Hill concert, but you should learn the secret of wearing a bra.  You’re probably going to knock yourself out one of these days, or at least give yourself another black eye… I say another, because Amy is surely going to give you one on Sunday.  I just felt the need to clarify that, because I don’t want you thinking I meant I’d knock you right on your flat ass if you come at me, because I can’t get another pink slip right now.  I’ll likely molotov something for real…  Not a threat…. Nope, not at all… Josh, Kitty, Amy… I’ll see all three of you on Sunday, and anyone else who stands in the way of the Bad Boys, on Sunday.  Cash me ousside…”

I look around, and see that I’m outside, and I kinda chuckle a little bit before I shove the camera down to the ground, making the lens shatter.  The camera is still rolling as I start walking around the building, getting a good feel for what it has to say, but all I’m hearing is that, come Sunday, my future is looking hella bright.  That’s when, much to my surprise, I see Amy Marshall walking around the corner.  I glare at her for a minute as she approaches me.

Amy:  As much as I hate this, we are partners.

Not knowing that the camera is still rolling, I nod my head and quietly say to her…

Me:  I know, and I agree.  We gotta push all the bullshit aside for now, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, if we want this to be over after Sunday.  But don’t you dare tell anyone that I was nice to you, and I’ll do the same for you.  Deal?

Amy tries not to, but she kinda smiles as she shakes my hand.  She then reaches up and slaps me.

Amy:  That was for stealing my croissant, you dick…

We both laugh as the tape of the camera runs out…


Word Count (Without this disclaimer included): 7818

7
 
<img src=https://s26.postimg.org/h9grpt70p/Damien5.jpg>



The sounds of a passionate tussle in the sheets can be heard as a woman moans loudly. It is accompanied by the sound of a man encouraging it with softly spoken, almost inaudible words. The visuals slowly fade in to witness Damien X, owner of Club X, with one hand planted against the mattress as he thrusts, his heavily tattooed chest heaving, the hair matted to his chest as he continues to work his magic on the ebony goddess on top of him. He leans up as he kisses her on the lips, running his free hand up and down her slender frame of her back. However, the woman turns her head away from him, and it becomes apparent that this isn't that kind of arrangement.

Damien:  I guess the saying is true, huh? You don't kiss a whole on the mouth…

Whisper reaches her hand back and slaps Damien across the face. Damien chuckles as he continues to pump into the woman who detests him at this point. She purses at her bottom lip as she prepares to remove herself from the situation. However, Damien grabs onto her luscious backside as he leans back.

Damien:  Oh fuck yeah, Whisper! Mmmm! Ohhhhhhhhhhh fuuuuuuuuuuuck ahhhhhhhh! Shit…

Damien stares Whisper dead in the eye, as he tries to catch his breath. He manuevers himself before shoving Whisper off of him. She grips up the sheet as she shields her body from Damien. Damien rubs at his face as he stands up, using the sheet to clean himself off. He returns the same look of contempt as he looks back at her.

Damien:  You could at least try to pretend that you're into it, you know… I got at least ten bitches out there right now who would love to take a ride on this shit.

Whisper:  Take away the coke and the money and you got nothing.

Damien:  Except for this…

Damien grins as he gestures down toward his crotch. Whisper shakes her head as if to say that she doesn't agree, but it isn't quite as convincing as she hopes.

Whisper:  You're just an asshole, X. I don't care what you do to me, but I'm out. I quit.

Damien:  You wanna quit the D? I give it five minutes, Whisper.

Whisper:  All of it! I'm done with you, the drugs, and this hell hole!

Damien listens as he nods his head. He slowly walks over to the nightstand by the bed where his hand slowly reaches for the gun. He picks it up and cocks it back as he points it at the ceiling.

Damien:  So you mean to tell me that an overglorified coke whore who is up to her nostrils in this shit is just gonna walk away like that? I should demote you to Rufus’ play toy just for saying that.

Whisper:  At least Rufus isn't so thirsty for validation that he tries to kiss a girl he knows can't even stand looking at him like some kind of a pussy…

With that, Damien points the gun right at Whisper, his finger grazing over the trigger as he teases the idea of plugging her right here and right now. However, the fondness he holds for her causes him to stop himself.

Damien:  I'm building an empire here, Whisper. I think we both know what this is. So sue me if I got caught up in the moment. We're just two sexy fuckers, having fun together, like friends with benefits. I want you sitting right at the top with me. Together, we could run this town…

Damien lifts up the sheet as he crawls into bed with Whisper. It's clear that the promise of money and power overrides the obvious abusive nature of Damien as she reaches her hand under the sheet. Damien grabs her hand as he sinks under the sheets and works his way between her thighs as her eyes roll back, and moans escape her lips.

It doesn't take long before the door to the room opens and a man walks in, gun pointed directly at the lump of a man underneath the covers. Whisper doesn't notice at first, as the man walks closer to the edge of the bed. Once he makes it about five feet away, he clocks the gun, which causes Whisper to clinch her thighs together as she let's out a scream. She scoots back against the headboard, her breaths shallow and heavy. Damien emerges from under the covers as he looks angry.

Damien:  What the fuck?! I know I'm good, but damn baby!

Whisper points over to the man, who has his police badge prominently displayed. Damien gulps as he gently wipes at his face. The sheet only comes up to his waist as he runs his fingers through his hair.

Damien: I guess I shouldn't have expected this to last forever. This town is full of dirty cops, all of them with a price.

Crevello:  The only price good enough for me is your mugshot framed in my living room you piece of shit!

Damien smirks as he gently reaches over to the nightstand to grab a cigarette and lighter. He puffs on it as he lights it, showing it off as he sets it back on the nightstand.

Damien:  I'm going to take a guess here… Five G’s is too little, but your rookie stance makes me believe that I don't have to sweat much more. It's your lucky day though…

Whisper:  X? This one looks pretty damn serious…

Damien: Baby, it's okay. I'm a businessesman so I have to get used to it. Now, as I was saying… how about I give you ten grand, and we call it a day?

The officer charges over and nails the butt end of his gun against Damien face, knocking a tooth out in the process. Damien holds his head down as blood dribbles from his mouth. He spits a tooth out onto the floor as he slowly looks up.

Damien:  Twenty, and a private session with Whisper, right here, right now.

Crevello:  Listen up, dirtbag! We can do this the easy way or the hard way. But, the only way this is gonna go is you're gonna wind up in the back of my squad car. I got enough evidence to put you away for life, not to mention all the dirt I've heard from the inside.

Damien looks over at Whisper as she looks between the two men. Damien nods his head as he puts his cigarette out in the ashtray. He holds his hands up, standing in all his glory.

Crevello:  Put some clothes on for fucks sake. Have some dignity, you slime ball.

Damien: The funny thing about that is that I'm proud of everything. I built a kingdom in this town. I'm a fucking king. You come in here and you threaten to usurp my throne. All the cocaine, and the prostitution has given me a lot of power.

Crevello:  You definitely didn't build it on intelligence. Shut your fucking mouth, and put some fucking pants on. I came here knowing that after today, my girl would be safe. No more of the Saph…

Whisper:  No!

Crevello looks over at Whisper, as they share a moment of recognition. However the distraction gives the perfect opportunity for what comes next. There is a loud explosion of gunfire as Damien fires shot after shot right into Detective Crevello. He walks forward with a gangster like pose as he empties the clip right into the officer. He stands over his bleeding body, stepping onto the hand with the gun. He reaches down and picks up the gun.

Damien: This fucking empire was built on the blood and the bodies of everyone that stood in my way. Fucking literally! You're just another brick in the wall, and your girlfriend will be right behind you.

Whisper:  NO! Don't, baby. Don't. She didn't know he was any different than any other cop come walking through those doors. She really didn't, baby…

Damien looks back at Whisper as she begs for the life of her friend. Damien eyes widen as he points the gun down and blows an eight caliber hole through Crevello’s head. He storms over to Whisper and crawls across the bed as he hunches over her. She refuses to show how afraid she is, as she is pretty numb from what she's just seen. Damien notices this, and his deep feelings for her grants his mercy as he only retorts with yelling.

Damien:  Get your ass dressed and handle that piece of shit pig bleeding all over my fucking floor!



*AND CUT!*



The camera goes off and I feel like a million bucks. The movie was pretty much all done shooting, and I never really got much screen time for being a big, badass crime boss. I was so happy when I got asked to shoot one last scene with Alana Allure, even if it was super fucking awkward. If you're watching this, Eyesnsane, I'm sorry, and you're one lucky fucking man. But mostly I'm sorry…

So anyway, I was stoked to get another scene in the movie where we were the focus. I got to say a bunch of words that I didn't even understand, but it felt right. Honestly, I felt like a badass motherfucker and I loved every minute of it. I mean, there was a lot of pressure behind it because the take had to be perfect. The movie comes out in three weeks, so there was a lot of pressure to get it right, and I did it. At least Kenzi Grey thought so.

Anyway, I reach down and snap my pants as I look at Alana meeting up with Eyes, and Song meets up with Kenzi. For a minute I wish I had Celeste there for me like I did when I first started shooting. I shouldn't feel too lonely because one lady comes to greet me.

Pussy Willow:  Dax Beckett, that was raw!  With skills like that, they should call you SCW's resident Bad Boy!

Me:  There's enough of that running around there as it is. I'll stick with being a well rounded star of SCW, thanks.

Pussy:  I couldn't have set up a better segway to my next question. I understand you are pressed for time with production wrapping up, and I thank you for taking the time to speak with me.

Me:  I always got time for Pussy!

The entire room stops and stares at me, but I don't get it so I just laugh it off with some of them. Pussy even laughs because of the blank look on my face. She shakes her head as she brings the microphone back to her lips.

Pussy: You are so funny. But what's scheduled to take place in two weeks at Blaze of Glory, is very serious. You are teaming up with Dying Breed, Ivan Darrell and Andrew Garcia, to take on Xander Bishop, Mickey Carroll, and Giani Di Luca, collectively known as Bad Boys. Do you have anything to say to your teammates leading up to this match.

Me:  This match is going to wind up a handicap match. The way Bad Boys work, they are never up for a fair fight, and they never have been. Ivan, Andrew? I don't know how to repay you guys for the kindness you have showed me over the last few months. I don't deserve friends like you, but I'm grateful for you. These assholes are gonna try to tip the odds in their favor at any cost. I just ask that you guys treat this like the fight of your life.

Pussy: That is amazing advice.

Me: But that's not it. I want you guys to train like there's no tomorrow. I want you guys to spend a little extra time in the gym. Spar a little more than usual. Eat your Wheaties, boys, and keep eyes in the back of your heads. It's what you're up against. I just wanted to remind you guys of that fact.

Pussy: With all due respect, Dax… they have beaten Bad Boys when they teamed together. Some might call you the handicap in this match.

I gotta admit. That stings a little, but I haven't done a good job of pulling my weight in this war. I nod my head as I take a deep breath.

Me:  I heard the whispers backstage. I know what's going on here. I plan to live in the gym. I plan on exercising my mind just as much as my body. I plan to do everything I can to be prepared for Blaze of Glory. I have a feeling that I'm gonna surprise a lot of people at Blaze of Glory, because I'm going to a whole other level, bruh.

Pussy:  That's really refreshing to hear. The drive you are showing is amazing after the last few months.

Me:  I gotta be honest here, PDubya… I'm starting to feel kinda offended by these shots. I'm not the smartest crayon in the toolbox, but even I can see how Bad Boys have been screwing me around for months. Even the win they have over me is probably the most controversial slash underhanded outcomes of a match in SCW history. I am one of the best talents in the company. I try to be a nice guy, and I try to just move past it, but I'm getting tired of being treated like some jobber by everyone around here. I've had a few rough breaks at the hands of Bad Boys, but this is where I break out of that funk and I prove that I'm not all talk. I'm just glad that I got that opportunity while I indulge in revenge against those ruthless, in your face shit stains on our roster. I just hope they are prepared for me, because I'm coming, and I'm coming full force, because I got a lot to prove.

With that, I am done. I walk away from Pussy Willow, leaving her and everybody with more questions than answers. I take a t shirt from a stagehand and slide it on over my head as I walk. It might have been short, but it was definitely sweet to get that out into the open. All I got left to do is to make good on my words, which I fully intend to do in two weeks at Blaze of Glory 6. Just watch me…

8
Climax Control Archives / Reunited?
« on: February 24, 2017, 03:03:04 PM »
 OOC: Sorry for the shortness of this RP.  I've been extremely ill this week, and had every intention of doing much more with this.



That beating was definitely not something I expected.  I guess I got a little cocky, and it turned into an all out brawl between the Bad Boys and us.  It even went one step further by involving Celeste and Mercedes.  And that brings us to this week.  Me and Celeste are taking on the couple of Mickey Carroll and Mercedes Vargas.  Individually, I have no doubt that we would destroy them.  Together?  I'm not so sure...

Celeste and I are on the same page with that, at least.  We met up for lunch to try to get on the same page with everything.  However, we don't even make it to ordering drinks before she dives right in.

Celeste:  I'm just going to be honest.  I don't trust you.  Not as a person, and not as a tag team partner.  You left me hanging when I needed you the most, when I was in my darkest place.

She stares across the table at me, waiting for some kind of response.  Instead, I just stare at her for a minute, trying to think of a way to say what I need to say without coming across as a total dickhead.

Me:  My mom taught me that if I didn't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all.  Right now, I don't.  So, how about these tapas?  They look pretty good.

Celeste:  Great, so you're just going to avoid the issue altogether?

Me:  Pretty much.  Look, we just have to get through this week, and then we can go back to pretending the other doesn't even exist.  Seems simple enough, right?

I smile, because I don't want her to know how badly this is getting to me.  I stare into the menu for a minute, trying to pretend to be distracted by it.

Celeste:  Thanks for reminding me why I kicked you to the curb.  This fifteen minute meeting has been really helpful.

Me:  Oh, you didn't kick me to the curb.  I broke up with you.

Celeste:  Hmmm... no... I'm pretty sure that I broke up with you when I stopped answering your calls and texts.

Me:  Well... that's not really true, because there were no calls and texts to "stop answering".  We left it pretty vague.  We both did.

Celeste takes her turn staring at the menu, pretending that I don't have a point.  She taps her chin for a second.

Celeste:  Is it bad to order a cheeseburger at a sightly nicer restaurant?  I think I want a cheeseburger.

Me:  This... this right here was the problem.  I'm trying to get past it.  Since we obviously have to get along for this week, I thought we could ignore the rhino in the room.  But, that doesn't seem possible.  We need to squash this once and for all.  I don't hate you.  As a matter of fact, I still love you.  What I don't love though?  Is the fact that you pushed me away from you because you didn't want me to see how vulnerable you were through all of this shit with the Mean Girls.  Fuck, Celeste!  This whole Bad Boys thing going on right now is for you.  Last week, when I was kicking ass and taking names, you were the only thing on my mind.  Every time I punch Mickey Carroll in the face, it's like an ode to Celeste North.  I would have moved mountains for you, but you don't trust me enough to let me show you that, and that is something I can't get over.

She's silent.  She's staring at the menu as the waiter finally brings us our drinks.  She looks up at him for a moment, but completely ignores me.  However, the single tear running down her cheek lets me know that she heard me.  I reach across the table to wipe it, but she turns her head, not letting me.

Celeste:  You gave up so easily on me.

Me:  You told me that you needed space, and as much as I didn't want to give it to you, I felt like I had to, because that's what you wanted. If you need me to be the bad guy here, then fine.  I'm a fuck boy.  I'm a douchebag.  I'm an asshole.  I'm the villain you can blame.  If that's what makes you happy, then I'll do it.  It's not even about winning this week, even though we know we want it...

Celeste:  Mercedes is nothing new.  We've squared off many times.  I'm over it, because it's just one step closer to Delia.  I'm going to send a message to her this week.

Me:  And I'm going to show Mickey Carroll just why he picked the wrong fight.  So we're agreed?  One last run with Daleste?

Celeste looks down at the table, and there is a bit of redness in her cheeks.  She bites at her bottom lip before gently looking up at me.

Celeste:  What about Cex?

I don't understand it the same way as her, as I think how much better Daleste sounds than... She smirks at me as I finally start to get it.  We both scoot our chairs out suddenly, and stand up.  I reach into my wallet and throw down a few bills on the table before we both practically run out of the restaurant.  We might not be on the same page with this match, but we are working really hard on getting there.  Mickey Carroll and Mercedes Vargas need to watch out, because we're coming at them full force this week.

9
 
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What You Need To Know About Daxton Oliver Beckett…


In case you haven't heard, I am my own person. I don't let others influence my decisions. I think for myself, and I do for myself.  I’m not a fucking sheep, and I don’t conform.  I don’t tame myself down in order to become some kind of cookie cutter human being.  Normal isn’t in my vocabulary, and it hasn’t been since I was a teenager.  I love being me, and I don’t care how self-centered that sounds.  Daxton Oliver Beckett is all I know how to be.  If you don’t like it, then please, stop reading right now.  It doesn’t get any better from here on out, I promise you that, asshole.  I’m not afraid to speak my mind, and I do it very well, bruh.

With that said… Is it any surprise that I have never once had a healthy relationship?  I mean like a totally, normal, well functioning relationship. Well unless you count my Japanese husband who I didn't even know I was married to until I tried to come back to the United States. I just thought it was Japanese custom for roommates to share the same bed. Fuck, did I feel like a jackass…

Anyway, my healthiest relationship was with a dude who I was never once intimate with (to my knowledge).  I can't be surprised that this thing with Celeste burned like a candle made of dynamite. The burn was quick, and went out with a bang. So this is how it goes in the business, I'm told. I guess that's why they call it the blues.  So I'm single and ready to mingle.

But then, Daxton Oliver Beckett doesn't give up so easily. If I gave up so quickly, I never would have made it to the six sided circle of Sin City Wrestling. I never would have been so determined to succeed that I whipped my body into shape. I would have shaved off my signature beard because people told me that it was stupid. I would have never decorated my temple in the way that I did. I never would have traveled the world in my trusty old Volkswagen van. If I gave up on things just because I was worried about what others thought, I wouldn't be me.

But, Daxton Oliver Beckett doesn't beg. I am not a lap dog that you can push away, and then pull back when you need somebody. I'm a fucking human being. I might be a man, but that doesn't make me emotionless. I have feelings, and a need to feel honored and respected. I don't have that right now. I've been pushed away for the last fucking time. I should not be held accountable for things that other guys have done. While it might sound heartless, that's not my problem. It's not my fault, and it's not fair to me. I won't do it. I can't.

Does that mean that I'm done?  I don't know, maybe? Maybe not? Things have to change if I'm gonna stick around for this, because I refuse to settle for less than what I deserve. I mean, she’s an amazing girl, who is awesome in the fuck zone.  Like, stellar bruh.  She’s got a great personality, and she’s not afraid to be who she is.  She’s under a lot of pressure right now, and I’ve tried to be as understanding as I can be.  Fuck, I’ve had to deal with these Bad Boy shit heads, so I get being harassed and made to look like a fool because of gang attacks.  Seriously, I fucking get it.  But what I don’t get, is why would you choose the one time that you need someone to push them away?  I seriously think that is one of the things that made us closer in my eyes.  We stuck together, and I defended her.  But now she decided to push me away from her.  Here, have a look at this...



********************************December 18th, 2016********************************


So, Climax Control is over, and Celeste and I are sitting in the medic tent being seen by the doctor.  She won’t even look at me, and I feel like a goddamn failure of a man.  I couldn’t protect her.  I let my ego get the better of me, and I ran in there to take down Giani Di Luca and Mickey Carroll, while not thinking about the four women taking on Celeste.  I actually had Giani and Mickey, until I saw Celeste struggling.  I should have had her stay back, and found a different time to strike when they weren’t rolling six deep.  Luckily, I took most of the burn damage, which wasn’t really all that bad.  A little bit of Neosporin, a couple bandages, and a lollipop was all I got.  But none of that was as bad as the cold shoulder I was getting.  The doctor let us know that we were good to go, but I wasn’t paying attention.  Celeste stood up from the bench, and walked out of the room.  Like I always do, I followed after her like some kind of puppy dog.  The doctor gave me some kind of wound care packet, but I was more concerned about Celeste.  I followed after her, only to find her walking into the Bombshell Locker Room.  She goes to slam the door behind her, but I don’t let it, blocking it by barging through it.  I figured most of the Bombshells had gone home already, but there were still a couple.  I heard a shrieking from the shower stall, and Alexis Edwards has her arm wrapped around Celeste.  She turns to me and snarls at me.

Alexis:  Uh, hey idiot!  This is the Bombshell Locker Room…

Celeste:  Well he is a big pussy, so he does have a right to be in here.

Alexis starts to laugh at my expense, until she realizes that Celeste is being serious.  My mouth hangs open, as I try my hardest not to tell her to fuck right off with that mess coming from her mouth.  Still, I care about her, so I don’t say a word.  I walk toward them as Alexis seems pretty stunned.

Celeste:  The tampon dispensers are right over there, so why don’t you plug that bloody gaping hole?

Alexis:  Do I even want to ask?  Probably not, but what’s going on?

Me:  Celeste, will you stop with this?  I wasn’t fucking thinking, and I’m sorry about that.

Celeste laughs as she turns to look at me.  There we go, some kind of progress, right?  Well, she walks up to me and she slaps me across the face.  I suck in my bottom lip, because now I’m shaking with anger.  I turn away from her for a second as my fists shake at my side.  Alexis steps in between us as she tries to calm Celeste down.  Celeste reaches around Alexis and goes to slap me again until I grip onto her wrist.  I throw it away as I glare right down at her.

Me:  Momma didn’t raise no bitch.  Don’t you dare disrespect me like that!

Celeste:  So now he wants to talk about disrespect?  How about sucking face with SCW’s resident man stealer, Delia Darling?  Like I didn’t find out about that, because the bitch sent me a tape of it to rub in my face!  Or, was it maybe the way you threw my safety to the side to go after two guys with weapons and like fifty pounds on you?

Me:  Like I would have done ANY of that shit if it wasn’t to protect YOUR honor, Celeste!  I told you what she did to me, so don’t act like I was hiding shit from you.  All I do is try to be a better person for you, and all you do is bust my fucking balls!

Alexis holds Celeste back as she tries to take another swipe at me.  I admit, I am kind of being a dick at this point because I laugh at her, taunting her to come at me harder.  My arms are out at my side, and I got that cocky grin on my face to hide the fact that I’m really hurt by what she’s doing.  It’s a pride thing.

Alexis:  C, come on!  Just chill out.  Dax, would you please leave so that I can try to help calm her down?  This isn’t the time to be talking to each other.

Celeste:  No, it’s a perfect fucking time.  He is an idiot, though, so I don’t know how much of what I’m saying will actually stick.  His bitch mom must have dropped him on his head one too many times, because he’s borderline retarded!

Flipping tables time, bitch!  I turn to my right to see a makeup table, and I turn it over on it’s side.  I point right at her, and if she was a dude, she would be out cold for that.  Alexis walks up to me and shoves me back a step.

Me:  Don’t you ever talk about my mother like that, when you got the fucking motherload of mommy and daddy issues, you fucking psychotic witch bitch!

Alexis:  Dax, get the hell out of here already!

Celeste:  Yeah, go back to your Japanese husband, you nutty fucking fruitcake!  Leave me alone, and stay out of my business.

Me:  It’s a little late for that.  You got your ass kicked by the Mean Girls so bad that I had to step in, and now I’m knee deep in your bullshit, C.

Someone grabs onto me from behind, pulling me through the door, or trying to at least.  I’m fucking hyped, bruh.  This person holds onto my waist, and I ram my elbow into their chin to turn around to see who it is, and my fists are up.  I see red hair, and I’m ready to start swinging.

Tim:  Come on, Dax.  Let’s get you out of here, man.  This isn’t the place to be right now.

Alexis:  Thank you, babe.  Neither one of them wants to be rational enough to explain what’s going on right now.

Me:  You want rational?  You won’t get that from her.  She’s literally insane, bruh.

Tim wraps his arms around my waist and drags me out of the locker room.  Alexis slams the door behind me and locks it.  I slam my fist into the steel door, leaving a dent in it.  I don’t care that I might have screwed up my hand.  I pace back and forth, rolling my shoulders around as I shake my head.  She got me all fucked up right now.

Tim:  I don’t know what her problem is right now, but you can’t take it personal.  I’ve seen her do a lot of messed up things when she’s under pressure.  She was just starting to do good things here since leaving The Nobodies, and then Delia pulled the shit she did, turning her into a joke.  You have to understand how crappy that has to feel, right?

Me:  Timbo, you ever been electrocuted before?  It feels pretty crappy if I’m being totally honest with you.  Knowing that you failed the person that you love is worse than that.  Having a girl you care about trying to take your manhood away from you sucks, but knowing that she is doing it because she’s in pain because of your mistake?  It’s the worst feeling in the world.  But I’m not gonna let anyone slap me and disrespect me like that.  I don’t care how shitty they feel, you don’t treat someone that you love like that.  I don’t care if we ain’t there with the love shit yet, but it’s definitely not the way it should start off.

Tim nods his head as he hears me out.  I figured he would be a lot more up her ass on this one, but he seems to understand where I’m coming from.  I shake my head as I try to work off some of this adrenaline that’s pumping through my veins.  I’m ready to let someone have it right about now, but I try to keep my cool.

Tim:  I think she knows you care about her a lot.  Just give her some time to cool off.  She’s stressing about all of this stuff with Delia and Mean Girls.  Can you blame her?  I mean, she’s not going about it the best way, but you have to understand that she’s not in the right frame of mind right now.

Me:  But you don’t attack the person who is going to battle for you every time we set foot on Climax Control.  You just don’t do that.  She’s a cool chick, but that doesn’t mean that I gotta put up with this.  I already get mess from everyone for being up her ass like I am, but I ignore it because I do care about her.  But this kind of shit?  I’m not putting up with this.

Tim:  I tell you what.  Why don’t I put you up in a hotel around here so that you can give her the time that she needs to see what she’s doing.  Or go back to Anaheim to see the family for the holidays.  Just let her cool off, and I’ll try to talk to her.  Just don’t give up on her so easy.

I nod my head, but I gotta admit that I’m feeling pretty skeptical of this whole thing right now.  Tim pats me on the back as I start to walk to the Men’s Locker Room.  He stays with me while I get my things together, and even though we don’t talk, I can tell that I’m not part of this fucked up family of former Nobody’s.  He helps me find a decent place to stay locally, as I start the waiting game.  Days upon days of waiting for things to calm down, and honestly waiting for some sort of apology.  I don’t get it, and that’s when I start to realize that I’m gonna be spending another Christmas alone… and I’m actually okay with it.


********************************December 24th, 2016********************************



I figure it would be a good idea to take the negativity of the last week, and turn it into an opportunity to do something positive.  The last three days, I’ve been volunteering at the Las Vegas Rescue Mission.  My super sweet beard helped me land a gig playing Santa for homeless children.  Well, it wasn’t a gig as much as it was the best experience of my entire life.  I got to hand out gifts to kids who are staying in the shelter with their parents.  Some of these kids didn’t even think they would get to meet Santa, much less write letters of their demands for not being spoiled brats.  They were some of the coolest kids I ever met.  I knew I did a good thing by giving them hope of a better future.

Then, I spent every night volunteering at the soup kitchen.  I met some dude named Rocco who streams all SCW events on his phone.  He said I was a badass motherfucker, and he was surprised that I was spending my holidays surrounded by the lower end of society.  His words, not mine.  Not to get all preachy, but I told him that’s exactly what Christ did.  He fed the hungry, and gave hope to the hopeless.  It’s only right that I spend the season doing good deeds for my fellow man.  It’s not about getting gifts.  It’s about doing kind things for others.  He didn’t agree, but I’m pretty sure he was on some other shit at the time.  I took a couple pictures with him, and I sat down with a bowl of soup on my break.  We had a couple cigarettes, and I think he made my day.  All of the shit from Sunday was in the back of my mind, but it wasn’t what I was focused on.  I was doing right by my fellow man, and I knew I was putting out some positive energy into the universe.

I was hoping that the night would never end, because that would mean that I would go back to my hotel room and heat up a Steakums on the stove, and stare at my Charlie Brown replica tree while listening to fifty different versions on “Santa Baby” and “Last Christmas” until I passed out from Captain Morgan’s and egg nog.  But, all good things must come to an end.  Tomorrow, I would be right back at it.  I help close down the kitchen and wrap up all of the food.  Of course, I sneak a Thermos of soup in my bag before giving high fives to the guys and girls that I have become close with through my work.  I put my bag over my shoulders and walk out of the door.  On my way out, I hand the Thermos off to Rocco, even though he’s passed out in the alleyway.  I would try to wake him up, but he’s out cold, but there’s still a pulse, so it’s all good.  I walk over to my van as I open up the door, throwing my bag in the back.  As I close the door, I turn to see Tim leaning against my van, wearing a Santa hat, and a candy cane between his teeth.  I nearly jump out of my fur lined jacket before giving him a playful shove.

Me:  You scared me, bruh.

Tim:  Obviously… Hey, when I suggested that you stay in town, I figured you would want to relax and enjoy yourself.

Me:  You know me too well.  That’s exactly what I did.

Tim:  Okay?  You do realize that it’s Christmas Eve, right?  You could still go back to Anaheim to be with your family…

I shrug my shoulders as I light up a cigarette.  Tim joins me with one, as I get the light for him.  I take a second deep drag before nodding my head at him.

Me:  My family isn’t exactly the celebrating Christmas type.  Plus, it’s been so long that I really doubt they wanna see me, anyway.  I like doing right by people.  If I was in their shoes, I would want people to act like they cared instead of staring at me like some kind of disease.  So I celebrated with those who need it.

Tim:  I get that, but wouldn’t you like to celebrate with people who want to be around you, instead of going back to your hotel room and eating Steakums?

Damn, he really does know me too well.  I laugh, because that’s exactly what the plan was, and for a second, I almost think this kid could be a mind reader.  I shrug my shoulders as I close the sliding door to my van, and I turn to face Tim.

Me:  Who wants to spend Christmas Eve with a douchebag like me?  Celeste is the only person that I could think of, and she hates my guts.  Plus, even if she didn’t, she doesn’t celebrate Christmas.  Believe me, I went over all of the options in my head, and the Charlie Brown tree barely wants to see my sorry ass.

For a second, I swore Tim turned and looked right at my ass, like, not even trying to hide it.  He shrugs his shoulders and I slightly close one eye, letting him know how awkward the situation really is.  He cracks up laughing and pats my shoulder, shaking his head.

Tim:  It definitely is one sorry ass… I mean, you aren’t as big of a tool as you seem, so don’t be so down on yourself.  People like you more than you realize.

Me:  I know I was married to a man at one point, but I don’t swing that way.

Tim:  Dude, learn to take a joke.  I know Celeste is kind of having some issues right now, but she’s not going to have them forever.  As long as you treat her right, you will always have a friend in me and my family.  I guess what I’m trying to say is that you are welcome to come over and spend Christmas with my family tonight.  We have a whole 36 hour celebration with my little brother and sisters.  It’s actually a lot of fun.

Me:  I don’t know, man.  I hate to just crash your family party like some kind of charity case.  I can just go home and watch The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and drink Captain Morgan with a splash of eggnog.  It’s all good, bruh.

Tim stares at me, folding his arms across his chest as he taps his foot.  He’s clearly annoyed.  I sigh and eventually give in as I get in my van and follow him to his family’s home.  I walked inside, and I felt like I stuck out like a sore dong in an Amy Marshall production.  I’m sitting there in a dark khaki colored jacket over a Brawny Man flannel shirt, and some worn jeans with work boots and a skull cap over my head.  Everyone else looks like they stepped out of a Christmas catalogue, and the house is decorated to match.  The only person that isn’t dressed to the nines is some homeless dude in a Vans Warped Tour t-shirt, checkered canvas shoes, and shaggy hair.  I guess he figured he would size me up, circling around me like a shark who smells blood.

Jamie:  What a douchebag…

Me:  I’ve been hearing that a lot.

Spike:  It must be like looking into a mirror, Jamie…

Spike Staggs… THE Spike Staggs… walks up to me and shakes my hand.  I’m kinda star struck, because this dude was one of the most respected American wrestlers in Japan.  It was this guy who inspired me to come back to the US to continue on with my wrestling career.  I’m geeking the fuck out while trying not to fall over like an eager fan girl as I probably shake his hand a little too long.

Spike:  I’m just kidding.  Welcome to my home.  Please make yourself comfortable.  Jamie already has.

Jamie:  Hey, you dared me to try to eat every cocktail sausage, and I did!  You can’t blame me for that…

Spike:  This is my brother, Jamie.  He’s… special.

Jamie:  Your mom’s special!

Spike doesn’t laugh, but it was kind of funny.  I give Jamie a high five as he walks over toward the horderve station (Yeah, fancy shit, right?) and taps a small raven haired girl on the shoulder as he leans down to whisper to her.

Jamie:  Do you dare me to eat every meatball in this place?

Me:  It’s an honor to spend Christmas with your family.  I’m just kind of confused why I was even invited though.  I respect the hell out of your family, but…

Spike:  Honestly?  I see a lot of potential in you.  You can do things at your size, that not even I can do, and I started out doing what you do.

Me:  Bruh!  I studied every one of your moves when I was over in Japan.  My husb… er, trainer, said that you were the greatest thing he had ever seen in the US. “Seiyō no besuto” or Best in the West.  He also called you “Unzari peishīinparētā”, but I never did learn what that meant.  I assume it’s good, though, because he spoke very highly of you.

Spike looks away from me for a second, seeming pretty uncomfortable as he tries to find his way back to the conversation at hand.  He clears his throat as he scratches the back of his neck, returning to look at me with a smile on his face.

Spike:  I see a lot of myself in you, Dax.  You march to the beat of your own drum.  You don’t take shit from anyone.  You could honestly be the biggest thing since Spike Staggs.  You just have one thing standing in your way.

Me:  I know, I know… my attitude, or the old “You’re the only one standing in your way…” That’s a bit cliche, man…

Spike:  No.  Your attitude will take you very far.  I was talking about Giani Di Luca and Mickey Carroll.  You can’t expect to move past them with just one of you.  Giani might not be the best champion there ever was, but he did a lot of big things during his time.  And Mickey doesn’t care what happens to him.  He looks at a fight as a good time.  Neither one is going to make it easy.  My suggestion would be to find someone who hates them just as much as you do.  Someone who is going to help you plow through them so that you can move on to bigger and better things.

Me:  But, who is going to want to do that?  Yeah, they are a couple of assholes who nobody likes, but who is actually going to stand up to them.  How can I trust them?  Are you saying that you would help me?

Spike stares at me, and I can tell that he wants to smile, but he keeps it hidden.  He slowly shakes his head from side to side, which causes me to sigh.  How cool would that have been to work with my biggest idol?

Spike:  Just like I’ve helped train Giani, as a monster that I’m responsible for, I have made a lot of connections in my time.  I’ve worked some with Mickey, but I’ve worked extensively with many people who would love the opportunity to stand up and put those two in their place.  I could call around and find a thousand people who would want to kick their skulls in.  I’d be willing to help you get on the right track, and trust me when I say that you can’t go wrong with my endorsement.

Me:  I fought long and hard to get into SCW, and while I appreciate the offer, I feel like I gotta find my own way in this business.  But, I’m not gonna say no to a little connection with someone to help get these fuck heads off my back.  Call it your contribution to the Daxton Oliver Beckett cause. When I join you in the Hall of Fame, I’ll give you a special shout out.

Spike:  I would gladly do that for you.  I look forward to seeing you do these great things.  I don’t just stick my neck out on the line for anybody, but I believe in you, kid.

Spike pats me on the back before returning to the holiday party.  I can’t help but clench my fist and ram my elbow down in celebration… or kicking my leg into the air… or punching the air.  I was on cloud nine after that, and there was no way I was going to mess this up.  I had to prove to my idol that I deserved my spot on the SCW roster, and hopefully soon, among the names of the greatest to ever step foot inside of an SCW ring.  It all starts here, and it all starts now…


********************************December 31st, 2016********************************


The year is quickly coming to an end, and there is little time left to leave an impression on Sin City Wrestling.  There are just a few things that I can think of, but it doesn’t seem to matter right now.  I’m sitting outside on the Las Vegas Strip, acting like a baller in my blue suit jacket and pants, with my Chuck Taylors on tight, and my hair slicked back.  I got a cigarette in one hand, and a button clicky thingy in the other as I am ready to give my final words, all while the large crowds walk by, staring at me in the process.  I shrug it off because I’m ready to get down to business.

Me:  Hello Sin City Wrestling, and welcome to the Daxton Oliver Beckett Mash Em Up hour… no, the Daxton Oliver Beckett Fuck Shit Up segment…  No matter what you call it, this is where I’m going to speak the truth, and I don’t care how raw, or how dirty the punches are.  There is only one way Dax Beckett serves it, and that’s straight up on the fucking rocks.

I nod my head, because they know it’s true.  Twitter has spoken, and that’s what gives me mad respect in SCW.  They come to expect it from me, and I’m not one to disappoint.

Me:  So, I did what I said I was going to do at High Stakes Six, and I took down the cocky Calvin Harris, the man with the reputation as big as his head.  Of course, I didn’t knock it down that much, but I got something to hold over him.  Then, everyone thought D.O.B. was gonna get his ass handed to him by the Reverend of Psychology or whatever, Chris Shipman.  Yeah, that didn’t fucking happen.  Not only did I put on the most talked about match of the Christmas show, but I won it.  Of course, Chris didn’t show up to work, but I made sure we looked good.  It’s what I do.  I’m SCW’s own Dolph.  I can’t help it.

Arrogant?  Uh, yeah it is…

Me:  So, I ended 2016 in style, and I stepped over two people to prove that I’m as good as I say I am.  Two people that don’t deserve to be on this roster, the second one even more than the first one.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the latter must be sucking the right dick around here, and the first one is just a fucking dick.  But, in about three hours, that’s going to be in the past.  We’re looking forward to 2017, and it’s going to be my year.  But, everyone is saying that I’ve got the biggest test of my short career in front of me.  I call it a pop quiz, like my fists popping his face.  Jeremiah Hardin is SCW’s biggest disappointment.  He has so much potential.  He was considered for the Heavyweight title on a couple of occasions.  He had a few good runs with various titles in SCW.  His uncle came along for the ride, and they had a good run at the tag division.  But then, when all seemed the most promising, this dude just up and leaves.  Gone.  Vanishes.

I pause, giving the three people watching this on scwrestling.net the opportunity to understand just what I mean by being totally silent.  When I say I pause, I mean I give a solid twenty seconds of silence, leaving them waiting for me to do something great, just like Jay Hardon.

Me:  Guess what.  This isn’t going to be the sequel to greatness.  The audience isn’t waiting for you to make your triumphant return this time, Jer.  The fact of the matter is that they don’t give a shit about you.  They barely give a shit about me, and I’m on a roll here.  Think of this as the straight to DVD Magic Mike XXXL… nobody knew it was coming, because nobody cares.  Half the people forgot about you, Hardon.  They probably wouldn’t even realize that you were a returning star if the wonderful hype masters at SCWrestling.net hadn’t reminded them that you were here before, because they don’t want the fans to remember your famous disappearing acts.

I spin around, letting my suit jacket fan out as I pretend to shrink into it.  Fear not, as I pop right back out for the adoring fan to see my face once more.  I laugh, because it’s fucking funny… right?  Right…

Me:  Look, I’m going to level with you.  I desperately wanted my place on the SCW roster.  I proved time and time again that I want to be here.  What have you done with your contract?  You’ve wiped your fucking ass with it, Jerry.  Not once, but twice.  You are one of the reasons I had to beg to get an interview, let alone show up and pester the bosses into signing me for three months.  It’s people like you that fucking piss me off.  I have to fight to get noticed, but you?  You show up whenever you want, and do as you please.  You get opportunities handed to you instead of having to claw your way to them.  It’s bullshit, and it makes you not appreciate what you have.  On paper, you should be rolling right over me.  But, on paper, Calvin Harris should have rolled right over me.  On paper, Chris Shipman should have rolled right over me.

I shake my head to let the viewers know that it didn’t happen that way.  I would hope that they would know it, but chances are, they went to the bathroom during my matches.

Me:  But do you know what?  I kicked both of their asses, just like I’m going to kick yours, Big Tiger.  But, I’m glad that they are putting these impossible opponents in front of me.  I’m happy that they aren’t making this easy on me, because I’m going to appreciate it that much more.  I don’t have to rely on who I know, or who I blow.  I only have to rely on my skills, and knowing that one day, people will notice me, and maybe I’ll get ten views that aren’t from my mom.  I can dream, can’t I?  The fact of the matter is that I’m going to make it on my own, and people are going to respect me for it.  They aren’t going to forget about me as soon as I stop appearing on the screen.  They will remember me, and what I’ve done.  Ah, who am I kidding?  They’ll forget, but at least I can say that I didn’t have to rely on a name to make an impact on this company.  At least I can take pride in the work I’ve done.  You don’t have that, and you never will, because you are without honor.  You fail the fans, and you fail yourself.  You’re a fucking failure.  It’s disgusting.  As long as SCW keeps lining up the trash, I’m going to keep taking it out.  I won’t apologize for it, because it needs to be done.  This trend is going to get old soon enough, and eventually I’m going to rise above all of this.  However, that’s not going to happen until I take out the Bad Boys, who fall right in the same category as you do, J-Har.  Soon enough, I’m going to get a challenge that takes me to my limits.  Soon enough I’m going to meet someone who actually elevates me, but that time is not this Monday, January the second.  No, it is not you who is going to take me to the next level of my SCW career.  Oh, no.  Sorry.  2017 will bring great things for me, but it’s just business as usual for me.  You’re nothing special, and you never will be.  Just like your match against the greasy meatball, Giani Di Luca, you’re going to fall short, and you’re going to humiliate yourself.  I’m going to roll right over you just like I did with Harris and Shipman.  You will just be another notch in my belt, and nothing more.  Let that sink in, and decide if you want to try to build something for yourself, or if you just want to cut to the chase and disappear again.  You have until Monday…

I wink at the camera in a cocky sort of way, because I know that Hardin will take that to heart if he even cares about his career.  I just hope that he actually shows up, because Daxton Oliver Beckett always shows up to work.  I’m looking for a fight, and that fight takes place on Monday...

10
Climax Control Archives / Christmas Comes Early This Year
« on: December 16, 2016, 08:49:29 PM »
 
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What Is Daxton Oliver Beckett All About?


People are constantly asking me what I’m all about, like it’s some kind of fucking million dollar question.  I’m about so many different things that it would take days, literally fucking days, to describe it all.  Everyone is about a message these days, like it really matters in the end.  We are human beings, and that’s all about copulating and making a statement.  My statement might seem like it is little more than “Fuck you…” but as I said on Twitter earlier this week, it’s about one thing; YOLO.  If I’m honest, I don’t really know what it means, other than to get turnt up and have a good time, but I think it’s old people’s way of saying to live every single fucking day like it could be your last, because it just might be.  Tomorrow is not a guarantee.  I don’t wanna die tomorrow and think to myself, “Damn, I wish I woulda nailed that one bombie from the Dairy Queen the other day.  Those pigtails would make great handlebars for that ride.”  Nah, I hit it like three times.

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again.  You only live once.  I’m a free spirit, and I’ve travelled all over the world.  I’ve nailed a girl on like every continent.  I’ve sipped the best booze, smoked the finest herb, and ate like a king.  But, I’ve also turnt up on Mad Dog in the back of my van, fallen asleep on park benches, and eaten out of a garbage can.  Other than the last part, I wouldn’t trade any of it for any amount of rich, because it makes me who I am.

I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but I wrestled in Japan for two years.  I absorbed a lot of the Japanese culture.  I don’t just mean the Tokyo Kawaii, Hello Kitty bullshit either, but the virtues of the Futile Era Shinto.  Respect, dignity, integrity, virtue, and hospitality, not just for oneself, but also for your neighbor.  Real Mr. Miyagi shit.  I try to live by those virtues every day of my life.  Of course, I’m human, and I make mistakes.  I’m not saying that I’m selfless by any means.

But the one thing that really digs at my ass?  People baiting me into a fight that they know I can’t win… No, I’m not talking about Chris Shipman.  From what I’ve seen of that guy, I am definitely not impressed.  In my debut here in SCW, I took down Calvin Harris… yeah, I know I’m not helping my case much, but from what I hear, he does rank up higher than some of the lame asses that have beaten the supposed Reverend Psychopath of Originality, Chris Shipman.  That’s a topic for a later time, though.

Nah, I’m talking about the slimy gweed, Giani Di Luca.  You know, the stereotypical trash that blows down off of the Jersey Turnpike.  I’m talking about whoever the fuck this ginger bastard with the Lucky Charms accent is, that decided it was a brilliant fucking idea to bash me across the back with a baseball bat.  I’m still trying to figure that one out.  Mickey Carroll and Giani Di Luca… I don’t know whatever the fuck it is that I did to either of you to deserve that shit.

But no, I’m not backing down from either of you.  I’m not admitting to some kind of defeat to either of you. I’m just saying “What the fuck, bruh?”  Who are either of you, and why are you coming after some basic no-name to try to put yourselves over?  Do you realize that you don’t stand a chance against anyone, and you think I’m easy pickings?  Yeah, ask Calvin Harris how that worked out for him, why don’t you?

Is it because I stepped on your fragile ego two weeks ago, Giani?  You realized that you couldn’t hide behind your buck toothed beaver of a girlfriend forever, so you figured out that you need back up to come at me?  I know of you, Giani, but this Mickey dude?  Seriously?  That was your best option?  From what I heard, he only ever played second to anyone he’s ever surrounded himself with.  Ben Jordan mostly, but then that other guy who was basically you, only not stacked like a brick house?  Gringo Ringo Mingo whatever?  Yeah, nobody really cared… not even when you two tried to team up with J2H, who seems to be doing a lot better now that he’s out of your shadow.

To be honest with you two, I’m not scared of either of you.  You can come at me with bats from behind, and basic Pumphandle Slams all you want, but it’s not going to change the fact that I got your number if we ever meet up inside of a wrestling ring.  You can pass that to Mickey, too.  Daxton Oliver Beckett is nobody’s bitch, but you know who is a real bitch?  Payback, and I got lots to send your way.  Either one of you got the balls to step inside of the six sided circle?  Haha, I didn’t think so.  Just know that next time, I’m gonna have eyes in the back of my head, waiting for you two.  Next time?  There won’t be a next time, because I’ve got your number...




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What the Fuck Just Happened?
#NP "Hail To the King” by Avenged Sevenfold
Roxbury Park; Beverly Hills, California


So, let me tell you a little story that’s gonna take us back a couple of weeks here.  I hate to live out past drama, but it’s going to answer one of the burning questions people have been messaging me about on Twitter.  Nah, not how big my dick is, because if I told you, you wouldn’t believe it anyway.  I hear it’s somewhere in Google Images anyway.

Sorry, I got side tracked.  This story takes place about two weeks after Celeste and I decided to make things official.  We had been spending everyday together, and this time was no different.  I get a text from her, asking to meet me in Roxbury Park.  Being the romantic fucker that I am, I decide to throw a couple ‘wiches together, some carrot sticks, and a bottle of cruelty-free champagne, which turns out is post-Vegan friendly club soda in a fancy bottle, so that no grapes were harmed in the production of it.  It made sense at the time, okay?  STFU

So, I got out favorite fuck blanket spread out on the grass, my little picnic set up going on, catching a few cool California sunrays with my shirt off, and my glasses on.  The fresh air is nice, even with everyone walking around in parkas like it’s not fucking 75 degrees outside.  I blow off the hate as I soak it all up.  Jamming out to my theme song which is available on iTunes, Spotify, and whatever you crazy kids are downloading from these days, if you wanna get into it with me.  I feel a light tickle of nails gently dragging across my toned pecs, because you know… I work out.  The sun cuts out the face of my admirer, but it’s obviously Celeste, right?  But, Celeste has never touched me with so much passion and desire before, so this kind of intrigues me.  I just close my eyes, and let her do what she wants, because this would not be my first time going downtown for indecent exposure for doing it in broad daylight.  The way she’s handling my ripped abs, and the way she twists my nip just hard enough to make me shudder in delight, but not hard enough where it feels like I just got kicked in the balls.  I groan, because Celeste is going to take it!  She’s going to make it hers!  Even as she pulls the right earbud out of my ear, running her tongue across my earlobe, before whispering right in my ear…

Delia:  You really are a dirty, dirty boy, Daxton… I wonder what would happen if I told Celeste…

WHAT?!  O-M-F-G!  The crowd goes wild, because *mimics explosion* mind has been blown.  I might have expected it more if it hadn’t been before she revealed to the world that she’s a conniving fucking bitch, but it’s right before that.  I sit up and lift the sunglasses off of my face.  My nipple has been violated!  I rub it gently as I look at her in a way that says…

Me:  What the fuck?!  Is there something wrong with you, Delia?

Delia:  Hmmm, probably.  Z’ere is just somes’ing so intriguing about a taken man.  It poses certain… challenges… because, let’s face it.  Any single male, and most females as well, would do any’sing just to be wi’s me.  I could literally hand pick any guy I want, but z’e greatest accomplishment is finding somes’ing I want, taking it, and keeping it.

Me:  But, I don’t have anything you want, except…  You want Celeste?!

Of course she’s not talking about Celeste… or is she?  Most importantly, is there suddenly a possibility of a biased triple threat that’s basically a handicap tag team bedroom brawl for the coveted Triple Orgasm Championship with Delia and Celeste and me?  I look at her face as she rolls her eyes.

Delia:  Ugh!  Clearly you’ve not been to college…

Me:  Um, FYI, I graduated signum cum loudly… very loudly.  And by that, I mean I nailed a college professor with tenure and a front parking space and a picture of her husband and adopted children on the desk before I knocked it all off, thank you very much.

I told her!  Or, so I thought, until she unbuttons the top of her blouse, revealing a light glance at her cans, and the top of the black lace bra holding those milk bubbies in place.  I’m not going to lie, I stared.  I stared hard.  But just like Jason Segel in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, I did not finish the deed, even in my mind.  Okay, I imagined it a few times in the twenty seconds… er… minutes that I stared at them.  But it’s kind of the same, because I didn’t actually touch them.

Delia:  Are you done?  I’m trying to have a conversation wi’s you, but you keep saying “Oh yes, mommy” and it’s starting to get awkward…

Me:  I am done!  I’m done with this conversation, and this whole idea of using me for my body.  I love your best friend, Celeste, and even if my mind did get lost inside of that black booby trap under your shirt, I will not do anything about them, except when I’m alone in my hotel room, and Celeste isn’t around, and we’ve been dating for a month where I’m no longer like a middle school boy who snuck into a peep show when I see her ta-tas, and I imagine doing terrible… TERRRRRIBLE things to them, and you.  I wasn’t breastfed, and I’ve always held that against my mom as a sign that she doesn’t love me, so boobs are kind of a big deal, so my denial of your jigglypuffs is a total commitment to your best friend.  In conclusion, this is the first oral presentation I’ve passed with flying colors, where I’m talking, and not going down on a chick!

Delia blinks, so I take that as my cue to stop talking.  I look around for Celeste to jump out of a bush and yell “Surprise!  And I never expected handmade tomato cheese sandwiches from my favorite kid’s movie of all time, Harriet the Spy, because if it wasn’t, then I’m essentially a sociopath, because trenchcoats and spying on people is fucking awesome!”  But, surprisingly, she doesn’t do any of that, because she’s not even there.

Delia:  I actually agree.  Harriet z’e Spy is a forgotten American treasure z’at inspired me… to be just like Marion Hawethorne.  Clearly it didn’t work out, but still… I digress.  Z’is has almost nos’ing to do wi’s Celeste.  It has everys’ing to do wi’s you, me, and your career.  Celeste won’t be part of SCW for much longer anyway.

Me:  But why?  She’s doing so well here.  She won the Bombshell Roulette title at the Halloween show, and she beat Veronica at High Stakes.  She’s killing it out there, week in and week out.

Delia:  You… are an idiot.

Before I can say a single word, she leans in and kisses me.  Say what you will, but there’s a reason the French invented the French kiss.  Only, they use a lot more tongue aggression than we do.  Somehow, she has my tongue in a sleeperhold, and those eyes stare right into mine.  I’m partially unable to move because she scares the living shit out of me, and the other part is that she literally has her tongue wrapped all the way around mine, and I can’t get away despite the struggle.  She is clearly the dominant one right now, and I have to stop struggling so that she will let me go.  Once she does, she bites onto my bottom lip, drawing a little bit of blood, but somehow kind of erotic.

Delia:  I’ve never liked Celeste.  As a matter of fact, I only urged her to date you, because you are an unruly asshole wi’s no regard for anyone but yourself, and you are clearly not boyfriend material.  You are a few good fucks to keep her mind off of what is really going on.

Me:  Thanks!  Not that I don’t hear that a lot, but it never gets old hearing it.

Delia:  My point exactly.  You have no regard for her, because you aren’t even curious about my master plan.

Me:  Ugh, classic villain spoiling the plot by unveiling their master plan to someone they view as weak or inferior, who rises up and stops them in a twist that is too predictable, and also incredibly fucking stupid, because those last three minutes of explanation could have been used to get away.

Delia shrugs her shoulders as she reaches over to the cruelty free champagne, opening it up, and allowing the bubbles to splash on my chest and stomach.  She goes to lick some off in an effort to seduce me further, but then she makes a sour face as she spits it out onto the ground.

Delia:  Somehow it tastes like pepperoni and vanilla wafers?  But again, I digress.  Let me put z’is in terms you can understand.  I took a break from z’e spotlight.  I need a tool to promote my starring role on Chronicles of Hexx, and SCW is it.  I need to reel z’em in wi’s kindness, and z’en kill two birds wi’s one stone to promote a Mean Girls Reunion Tour!  Celeste is just a fugly wannabe me who is so gullible and ready to accept any kind of praise she can get.  And you… you’re sexy.  You’re stupid… so very stupid… but sexy.  Plus, stealing you from her would be a great way to assert myself as z’e wicked bitch of z’e Sou’swest once more.  Plus you are sexy, and I can see by z’e bulge in your skinny jeans z’at you feel z’e same way about me.  You will do for now.

Me:  I will “do for now”?  What the fuck does that even mean?  I’m not some piece of property that you can claim.  I’m a human being, with real feelings, and a real penis.  I might talk a big game sometimes, but I never make people feel like they are nothing.  People aren’t disposable sex toys.  So, you are wrong.  I am going to tell Celeste all about this.

Delia:  I never said that you wouldn’t… but you won’t.  I have my claws dug so deep in her right now, that she wouldn’t believe a word you had to say.  And if she does, it’s pretty much too late anyway.  But, Veronica’s boyfriend, and her friend will just have to beat z’e living fuck out of you if you do.  Oh, but how romantic would it be if you two shared a hospital room?  Couples feeding tubes, in a vegetative state.

Delia reaches forward, so quick that I can’t even try to stop her.  She puts me in a nipple lock that freezes me, drains me of my power as if it were my own kryptonite.  I just stare at her, thinking “AHHH YOU BITCH!” as my mouth remains closed.

Delia:  Don’t fuck wi’s z’e meanest Mean Girl.  If you have a change of heart, we might have a place for you wi’sin our organization.  Z’e Bombshell Division is not enough, so we’re expanding.

Me:  But… guys can’t be girls unless they self identify that way to sneak into the bathrooms of Target to take videos of women pooping…

Delia:  I will give you one week to s’ink about it.  If you don’t want to do it, z’en I would suggest finding a different career, because Giani Di Luca is a big guy, and Mickey Carroll has done hard time for just generally being a bad mos’erfucker.  Z’e odds are not in your favor.  Consider your next move very… very carefully.  You could be z’e next big star if you play your cards right…

She lets go, not because she’s finished, but because there is a homeless guy in the bushes, playing with himself, hopefully at her expense.  She gets up and leaves out of sight, and I just sit there, waiting for Celeste to show up.  It took me about five hours, and a few text messages to realize that Delia had used her phone to text me.  By then, the sandwiches were ruined, and the carrot sticks looked like day old dog turds anyway…

It wasn’t so much the meeting with Delia that had me feeling like a total fucker.  It was the fact that I even took her offer into consideration.  I stood back and watched as Delia played her like a fiddle, taunting me the whole time.  I let the fear of a scrawny ginger man with almost no facial hair stop me from doing the right thing until it was almost too late.  But more importantly, I almost gave in to the idea of selling out my girl for fame.  That’s the part that I can’t get over, and it’s the part that’s going to drive me to look like a pussywhipped motherfucker for a while.  I fucked up, but now I’m manning up.


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Christmas Comes Early This Year
#NP "Naughty Christmas" by Lacuna Coil
Undisclosed Location




My girl is not your typical girl.  She doesn’t like flowers, and jewelry, and chocolates, and long walks on the beach, so I had to do something special for her to make up for that shit with Delia a couple of weeks ago.  She asked to come along with me while I dish out a little bit more of my signature trash talk.  I told her I had a special set-up that fit the occasion, and  I think I might have done just that.  I’m not a flashy kind of guy, but Celeste brings it out of me a little bit.  What she thinks is just going to be a regular shit talk sesh, is actually a bit of a date.  I couldn’t think of anyone else in the world who deserves to see this first hand, than someone who claims to have never actually tasted a snowflake, except once in Boston, but the sewage water that falls from the sky does not count.

Now, it’s no surprise that Celeste does not celebrate Christmas, but rather Yule, a festival that starts four days earlier, and ends on New Year's Day.  I tried to keep that in mind, but hey… who can resist a man in a furry red and white suit, righ?

Imagine this… an old VW cargo van, nestled quietly in the middle of nowhere, decorated with more lights than most people put on the outside of their houses, because I fucking love Christmas!  Now, imagine a small fire pit, roaring with a kettle of chestnuts roasting inside.  Smell the notes of hot cocoa filling the air, matching the pine trees set up around the clearing of this wooded area.  Forget the reindeer shit piles periodically, because I’m out there working on shoveling it away.  The reindeer are still settled down, in front of a sleigh, because I now have money, bitch.  Everything is perfect, except for the sudden shrieking coming from within the van.  Celeste is now awake!  I rush over to open the door, but it is knocked right into me, and I fall over on the ground.  Celeste jumps out of the van and starts running.

Me:  Celeste, wait!

Celeste:  FUCK YOU!  You chloroformed me, you psycho!  HELP!  HELP!

Me:  Nobody is going to hear you scream out here, my darling…

Okay, that sounded way fucking creepier than I meant for it to.  Not at all sexy.  Like a busty blonde bimbo in a horror film, She trips over literally nothing, giving me the chance to catch up to her.  I hug onto her from behind, but an elbow catches me in the side of the face, and my eyes go cross for a second.  I shake it off as Celeste begins shrieking again, trying to get away.  I reach into the pocket of my tight fitting Santa suit, showing off my awesome chest tats partially.  I pull out a remote, and press the red button, causing a stunning sound of blowers to startle her as she falls to the ground, crying.  However, after a second, she opens her eyes, and notices all of the small twinkling lights surrounding her.  Her eyes wander from tree to tree, and then the netting of lights above her head that shine brighter than the clear night sky.  Soon, a snowflake lands on her nose, causing it to crinkle really, really cute like.  Then another, and another.  She stands up and slowly begins to spin around as the flakes become more and more prevalent.  She gasps as she soaks it all up.

Me:  I only chloroformed you so that I could totally surprise you… I’m not the smartest guy sometimes, and I’m sure there was a better way to go about it, but I ran into Kobe Bryant at a bar in Hollywood recently, and he swore he had a one hundred percent success rate that way, so…

Celeste:  If I didn’t have a splitting headache right now, I would kick you in the nuts, and then kiss you.

Me:  Kobe also said to keep ibuprofen handy for afterward.  I didn’t understand why until now, but…

I reach into my pocket and pull out a small bottle of pain relievers, handing them over to Celeste.  She pops the top off and takes a few pills, finding it necessary to settle down for a moment.  The snowflakes dance across her face, resting beautifully in her hair.  She holds onto her head as I walk her over to the sleigh.  She climbs up in it, admiring the scenery as much as she can with such a bad headache.  I reach into the sleigh and pull out my Santa hat, pulling it down over my ears.  I look over to the camera and tug on my beard slightly…

Me:  Tis the season to be jolly.  Fa-la-la-la-la la-la-la-la…  Christmas is still 9 days away, but we are only two days away from the Christmas edition of Climax Control.  That’s right, and I’ll be handing out presents like it’s going out of style.  It’s almost like the twelve days of Christmas, all rolled into one night… except, instead of twelve, there is only four gifts.  They don’t compare to turtle doves, or maids a milking.  They aren’t in the same league as golden rings, or choirs singing… There is no partridge in a pear tree.  Oh, no… it’s so much better.

I nod my head as I show off a toothy grin, letting my silver tooth catch a gleam from the hundreds of lights surrounding us.  I tuck my fingers underneath the white fur lining of my Santa jacket, and I tug until a couple of buttons pop off, showing off my sweet ink, and that bit of man fur that drives the ladies crazy.

Me:  On this edition of C.C. Dax Beckett gave to thee, an ass-kicking inside of the ring.  On this edition of C.C. Dax Beckett gave to thee, two Bad Boys waffle stompings… and an ass-kicking inside of the ring.  On this edition of Climax Control, Dax Beckett gave to thee, his hly fucking presence… TWO BAD BOY WAFFLE STOMPINGS… and an ass-kicking inside of the…. RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

I nod my head as I warm up my sweet vokes.  Celeste covers her ears and groans, but I’m sure it’s only because of the chloroform.  I fucking rock at everything I do, including singing, so I know it couldn’t be that.  I count the items I sang, and it isn’t four things, but three, but I shrug it off, because I’m sure nobody noticed.

Me:  That’s right.  I’m handing out gifts, like the gift of my presence.  Yep, my presence is your present, and it’s the gift that keeps on giving, because, well… I fucking rock.  Unlike most of the roster, I had to fight to get my spot in Sin City Wrestling.  I had to scratch and claw my way into a contract, while most other people with far less to offer come walking in, lose to the amazing talent that we have here, and then skip out on their contracts.  I deliver, week in and week out.  Even if the bosses have only booked me once, I’ve been showing up to do work.  Before I was even getting paid, I was proving why SCW needs me.  Ninety fucking percent of the roster can’t say the same thing.  Everyone wants to run their mouths, handing out demands for title matches when they haven’t done shit to deserve them.  I’m just happy putting on a show for all you sexy fuckers, and if a title comes my way, then great.  If not, then great.  I think that attitude comes through in my dedication and my performance.  I could be like every other tool on the roster, and just show up when I want to, and put on a half-assed show, collect my paycheck, and peace out.  But no, I give you all one hundred, every single time I show up.  I’m not being cocky when I say that my gift to you is my presence, because I’m going into overtime to give the viewer their money’s worth.  I will make my match the most epic match of the night if Shipman can keep up with all of this.

I motion down to my body suggestively, but mostly to draw in the attention of Celeste, who reaches around and runs her fingers through the light hair exposed.

Me:  But, that’s not all you’re going to see.  I’m going to show up on Climax Control, and I’m going to make sure that I beat the actual living fuck out of Giani Di Luca and Mickey Carroll, if they are brave enough to step from behind the Mean Girls and face me like fucking men.  I don’t care if they got bats and chairs, or if they borrow the Mean Girls’ maxi pad stash.  Throw anything they got at me, but they’re gonna have to do it face to face, and that’s when shit’s going to get real, on the real.  I will take on both of them, and I will make sure that they know that they messed with the wrong bruh.  I already bloodied Giani’s nose once.  The next time I see these jokers, I’m going to turn their entire world into one bloody mess.  And, you’re going to love every single minute of it.  Not only because you fucking love me, but because you fucking hate them.  It’s just a fact.  Both of them have tried to play the nice guy, party boys with a heart of gold, but you guys didn’t fall for it, and then they showed their asses.  Their pasty, pale, alabaster back door exits, and their true colors really showed.  They yellow as fuck, and green with envy.  They wanna turn me into an example?  Bring it.  The only thing that’s gonna be an example is why no one should mess with Daxton Oliver Beckett.  Ask Calvin Harris how that worked out for him.  His two wins don’t be looking so good against that L I gave him at his Supercard debut.  I defied those odds, and really, Giani is the only threat.  Mickey has always been dead weight, carried around by other people to make them stronger.  It’s just a fact, Mickey.  No one is looking at you.  That’s just how it is.

I shrug my shoulders, because I can’t make this dude look better than he actually is.  I’m not that good of a liar.  Sorry…

Me:  And now for the Main Event… Okay, it’s not so much of a main event, as it is a chore.  But, hey, you gotta start somewhere, right?  I mean, it’s like I’m being forced to work my way up the ladder to prove my worth to this company.  It’s almost like that, anyway.  I already beat some asshole with an overly inflated sense of self worth when I debuted in the company.  True, it wasn’t the most honorable win, but it was a win over someone who makes himself out to be the best in the business.  I thought they were scraping the bottom of the barrel for that one, but they went and proved me wrong.  It’s like I’m sliding backward this week when I have to face Chris Shipman, the guy who found something to hate about the most unhate-able person in SCW.  This is the guy who does nothing, and gets handed everything.  The truth of the matter is that I think I’m being served up to him to make him look better by getting a win over someone, anyone, because he needs it.  He’s been in the shits lately.  He turned his back on the only people in SCW that gave a singular fuck about him.  It was a crap shoot, because that might have given him the chance to step out of the shadows of The Seven Deadly Sins.  It might have shown that he can stand on his own.  Except that it didn’t.  Of course, it’s only been like three weeks or whatever, but nobody cares still.  This match could be the one that could change all of that, and sell some of that overstocked Shipman merch at the tables.  This match could be the one that finally puts Chris Shipman on the map!

I hold my finger up, which probably looks less intimidating since I’m wearing a Santa hat and suit, but whatever.  I hold it there for a dramatic sort of effect as I glare out through the flurry of snowflakes blowing through the air as “Jingle Bells” begins playing from the iPod I put into the scene just off to my right.  I had a damned point, and by God I’m gonna make it!  But, my eyes lower to the ground in a show of disappointment.

Me:  Except it won’t.  First off, yeah fucking right.  I’m not going to lose to some grease ball who thinks adding religious relevance to his stage name is going to strike the fear of God into all of us.  There is no way in fuck that I’m going to lay down and let some two-bit, washed up, slacking ass motherfucker get a one-two-three on me.  No way.  At all.  Sorry ‘bout it.  Bye Felicia.  Not happening.  Nope.  But, let’s go off into some acid trip world where absolutely nothing makes any kind of sense, whatsoever, and he actually does win.  Unicorns fly out of my hairy asshole, and the color purple can be tasted.  Chris Shipman gets a victory over Dax Beckett.  Bare with me, here.  It’s all make believe anyway.  Assume this all happens.  So, I lose to Chris Shipman, and I kill myself, because… what the fuck?  No one is going to care.  He beat some rookie with a whole lot left to prove.  You can’t polish up a turd and market it as a champion.  They tried that with Giani Di Luca, and it didn’t work.  Sorry, boss-men.  Now that I’ve allowed Shipman to live that fantasy for a minute, how about we snap back to reality.  Dude is trained about as good as a JCW Backyard Wrestling fan.  In case you are normal, and you don’t know what JCW is… it’s shitty hardcore wrestling ran by two rapping clowns and features wrestlers not good enough to wrestle at your local YMCA once a month.  But, it’s edgy, so it’s cool when you’re stoned off your ass, or really drunk at a bar you didn’t even know was about to have a JCW event because you wiped your ass with the flyer earlier because the shitty dive was out of toilet paper.  Basically, if Chris Shipman doesn’t do us all a favor and kill his wrestling career, he should go there.  It’s more or less the same, but it gives the illusion of still mattering in the world of professional wrestling.

Again, I shrug my shoulders.  Most people would probably think I was being a dick because I’m facing Chris Shipman this week, but I was really only trying to help the guy.  It’s gonna be such a disappointment to him when I beat his ass.

Me:  This match is really a lose-lose, but hey, I’m a team player.  I’m going to go out there and make him look somewhat good.  I’m going to put him over a little bit so that the fans see that I work just as hard as I play.  People might think for a minute that Chris Shipman might have my number, but then?  I’m going to pull out all of the stops, and I’m gonna take the win I knew I was always going to get.  But… YES!  That was the fourth gift I was talking about earlier.  I’m not going to sing it though, because that just doesn’t flow.  The gift is that I’m going to give Shipman the idea that I am surprised when I win, because he did such a gosh darn good job, gee willakers, and Beaver Cleaver.  I might even pat him on the back and tell him that he’ll get the next guy, all while I know it’s not true.  As long as I don’t have to break the bad news to him, I’m alright.  I couldn’t do that on SCW’s Christmas event.  That would be like telling a Make-A-Wish kid that the autographed t-shirt they’re going to want when I’m done selling losers weak ass moves, that they should just take a picture with me, because they’re going to die soon anyway.

Celeste:  That’s fucked up, even for my taste…

Me:  Exactly my point!  Chris Shipman needs a boost, even if he really doesn’t deserve it.  I’m going to make it look like he is as good as upper management wants him to be, even if the only three people who are buying that shit is him and the bosses.  The fans still won’t buy those lame ass Reverend Psycho shirts, unless that’s the only one left in a 4XL.  Either way, Sunday is going to be awesome.  For me.  Because I’m going to win.  Obviously.  So let’s break out the ugly Christmas sweaters, and find the real reason for the season.  Overpriced crap for people you only tolerate!  No, that’s not it.  If I bought you more gifts, I love you more and you suck.  Nah… Jesus Christ?  Ah, I give up.  Merry fucking Christmas, Sin City Wrestling fans!  See you Sunday!

I’m guessing Celeste’s headache went away, because she pulls me inside of the sleigh, not giving me any chance to defend myself against her ravaging ways.  I just give up and let her literally rip the suit right off of my body.  I know she tasted snow that night… and that sounded way grosser than I thought it would.  Good night, folks!

11
Supercard Archives / CALVIN HARRIS v DAX BECKETT
« on: November 18, 2016, 06:43:48 PM »
 
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Who is Daxton Oliver Beckett?




Dax Beckett is the latest sensation sweeping the nation.  Dax Beckett is real.  Like, one hundred percent real.  When you click on a link to listen to this rude, crude, screwed and tattooed motherfucker, you better be expecting to hear the most raw form of the truth that there is.  If not, click that back button before you get offended.  If you are faint of heart, turn away from the screen and slowly back away, because I refuse to censor myself.  If you have a problem with anything that I say or do, then please take those concerns, write them down on a little piece of paper.  Put that piece of paper inside of an envelope.  Lick a stamp, and slap that fucker on that envelope.  Stick that envelope in a mailbox, and… wait never mind.  Shove that envelope straight up your ass because fuck you.


Now that we got that shit outta the way, hopefully most of you are still with me.  Ah, who am I kidding.  I don’t really care that much, honestly.


Okay, so let me give you a little information about me that might be helpful to you, Calvin Harris.  I don’t scare easily.  I typically don’t give a fuck about anything, like anything at all.  You can love me, which is what most people do, because I’m a stud.  You can hate me, which happens when people get jealous of all of this.  It doesn’t bother me, because I’m always gonna do me.  Momma didn’t raise no bitch, and that’s the motto that I live my life by.


I grew up in Anaheim, California.  It was like a prison of mediocrity.  Every morning, my mom did the June Cleaver act, bacon and eggs, fresh squeezed orange juice, and some smiley face pancake bullshit.  She plastered on a fake smile.  My dad read his paper, and complained when the Ducks lost, which was pretty much every day during NHL season, like it mattered at all.  We dressed up in our cookie cutter clothes that looked like everybody else’s, and we all jumped into our gas guzzling SUV’s and went to work and school, five days a week, sometimes more for my parents.  It probably doesn’t sound that bad, but it was boring AF.  The monotony of it all was just too much.


April 20th, 2009, there was something funny in the air.  I can’t put my finger on it, but it might have had something to do with the grass I smoked before school.  Mixed with some other shit, I guess.  I had a mental breakdown at school.  My parents like to say that I dropped out, but I pretty much got told to fuck up on out of there for good.  Instead of making me go to some private school, wasting a bunch of money just to make me miserable, they let me fly free.  They told me that I always had a bed to sleep in, but that I needed to nurture my free spirit.  In short, I slept in a lot of weird places just so that I could experience the world.


After sleeping in a dumpster behind a Waffle Shack a few miles north of Venice Beach, I was discovered by the most prestigious fight club on the face of the planet… bumfights.com.  I earned enough money to get a van and travel across the country.  At the age of 18, I was an internet sensation, and the world’s sexiest bum alive according to the Thrifty Nickel ads column I found in a laundromat somewhere in KC MO.  I realized I made the big time.  I called a bunch of people in the UFC, but they told me that I couldn’t jump off the top ropes with a frog splash, because there is no ropes.  I told them “Fuck you, prick” and I kept calling people.  Finally, someone asked me why I don’t just try to wrestle.  The next thing I know, I’m wrestling in the weirdest venues ever.  Most of my matches had me wrestling in a kiddie pool filled with mud while middle aged men threw money at me.


Yeah, I know how that sounds looking back on it.  How could you be so stupid, Dax?  It took me about three months, and a lonely Japanese businessman who thought he was taking me home to be his husband, to realize that Boxers and Briefs was not an underwear business that owned the building before HNMW took over the property.  So, I’m legally married in Japan, and no, that marriage isn’t consummated or whatever..  But, it turns out that Japan has some pretty kickass wrestling promotions.  Who knew?  Apparently everyone but me.  My man-wife Gen-ichi Yota-Beckett knew some wrestlers pretty well, and they helped me break into the business.  I slept with a lot of Japanese broads, but I also learned a lot about the business.  It’s a very honored tradition in Japan.  Here, we have Football and Baseball, but wrestling is their thing over there.


So, I’m doing some Indy work, checking things out, and feeling kind of homesick.  How ironic was it that some American promotion rolls through town, with some pretty respected named on the roster?  It really got me thinking when I saw the crowds going crazy over some red-headed troll doll for being a third generation wrestler for two minutes.  I could do this back home, and maybe sleep in a hotel instead of a laundromat, or in a mattress on the floor with Gen-ichi!  Their rosters were full, and no one else was interested in a white, Japanese trained wrestler, with a beard of a true champion.  I gave up until I actually got to go to Into the Void V.  I knew I had to do work, son.  I worked hard, but I made it.  Here I am.  And I’m ready to fuck shit up… Dax Fax…
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Patchouli and Pizza
#NP "”Light My Fire” by The Doors
Mesa Pizza Co; Santa Barbara, California





Signing with SCW was the greatest thing that could have happened for me.  I never would have had the opportunity to meet this beautiful woman that I’m sharing a pie with right now.  Not that it was easy.  Rarely do I apologize to anyone, because I feel like what I say comes from a place of truth, whether it’s in the heat of the moment or not.  I mean, look at her.  She’s got the bluest eyes anyone has ever seen, and the softest, silkiest, most beautiful hair.  Even while eating the least attractive food in the world, her lips practically beg to be kissed.  I feel like a total douchebag, but I can’t really listen to her while she’s speaking, because I’m just so taken by her.  I do my best to keep up with the conversation, but she’s cast a spell on me.</color>


Celeste:  Hello?  Are you even listening to me?</color>


I’m brought back to reality, even though there are a few golden sparkles still in her hair that try to capture my attention.  I’m probably smiling like a real nerd, because I’m having trouble talking, and that shit never happens to me.  I’m really digging this chick.</color>


Me:  I’m trying.  Honestly, I am, but it’s hard.</color>


Celeste:  You know what?  I’m not surprised.  I’m actually ashamed.  I fell for this act of yours, just like I do with every tattooed rude boy.  I’m an idiot...</color>


She starts gathering her things, and I’m dumbfounded.  Can’t she see the longing in my eyes like a fucking Shakespeare fool willing to go to death for her?  Okay, maybe not that far, but yeah…  She throws her phone in her purse, and she grabs her leather jacket as she begins to put it on.  She reaches into her purse and pulls out her wallet, throwing down a couple bills.</color>


Celeste:  There’s a lot of willing girls in SCW, just like little miss Remi.  You two can fight over whose number three spot is better filled by the other.  I’m out of here.</color>


Speechless?  Me?  Really?  I can’t figure it out.  I always got some shit to say, especially when some broad insults me by insulting herself.  I find myself stroking my beard like I’m some thirteen year old awkward kid stuck in the body of a gorgeous tattooed god.  She turns to walk away, and I do the only thing that I can think of doing.  I go to push her money to the ground, but in my blind fury, I know basically everything off of the table, breaking glasses, and dumping perfectly good pizza on the floor.  I don’t fucking care!</color>


Me:  I can’t listen to someone who drives me so fucking crazy that I can’t see straight!  I don’t hear the words coming out of your mouth because your voice is like a goddamn sirens song.  Yeah, I’m smart enough to know what the hell a siren is, and it’s not just some pink haired slut’s finisher!</color>


This gets her attention, because she turns around, and she looks like she wants to smack the taste out of my fucking mouth.  My chest is heaving because I’m pissed.  I’m seeing red all around her.  She takes one step closer to me, and I do what I said I would never do.  I put my hands on her as I drag her closer to me with force.  I look in her face, and I don’t give a shit who is staring at us.</color>


Me:  How the FUCK do you expect me to be able to pay attention to what you’re saying when you flash those ocean eyes at me like that?  How do you expect me to concentrate on anything you have to say when you take that loose piece of silk you call hair, and tuck it behind your ear?  In what world do you expect me to listen when that patchouli oil fills my nose like a… I don’t know, I’m not a fucking poet!  You either drive me deaf by making me drink in your beauty, or you make me blind listening to your angelic fucking voice!  That’s who I am, and if you can’t get over how much I feel like I need you, then let me detox you out of my system and find another addiction!</color>


She is feisty, and I admit that I like it.  She throws my hands off of her, and then she slaps me across the face.  I pop my jaw back into place, and I look down at her.  This is dangerous for me, so I walk away, but not before I pull a couple bills from my pocket and throw it down on the bare table.  I step outside, almost embarrassed at how much this girl got to me.  She’s fucking punk rock, and she’s just my kind of girl, but she’s not worth running around, looking like a pussy-whipped son of a bitch.  Fuck her!  She drove, because I didn’t think my little gypsy van would do me any favors, so I just start walking down the street, making the long trek toward the beach.  I need to get her out of my head before I start craving her again.  My steel toed boots hammer the pavement as I march along, pissed off.  I don’t even notice the car tracing me.  I just focus on how I’m gonna blow off some steam with Calvin Harris in two weeks.  That’s what deserves my focus right now.  Not some chick who has been hurt by way too many guys to ever trust another one again.  One that with the cute and unique shaped lips that make me think about nothing more than kissing them.  Nah, fuck that.  I’m gonna think about kicking this stringy haired bastard’s ass all around that six sided ring.</color>


Celeste:  Hey asshole!  Get in the car…  Seriously, it’s too cold to be walking around here without your jacket.</color>


I don’t stop walking.  She pissed me off, and I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of winning this wild stallion over again.  I just keep walking down the hill, toward the beach.  She’s right though, in California, this is almost parka wearing weather, but I can take it, even if my nipples could cut diamonds right now.  She’s persistent though as she keeps on following me.  She pulls up right beside me as she rolls the window down further.</color>


Celeste:  Look, what you said back there felt real.  I’m not used to being told that I’m beautiful.  I can’t help that it’s taking a bit of getting used to.  Would you stop acting so butthurt and just get in the car?</color>


Me:  Nah, Peaches.  You’re just a distraction to me, and I’m sure looking as good as I do, that I’m a distraction to you as well.  Maybe it’s best that we just call it off right now.  You got a title, and I’m so good, I’m sure I’ll have one soon enough too.  But, that’s not gonna happen if we keep distracting each other.  Plus,, Daxton Oliver Beckett doesn’t chase girls.  He doesn’t make a fool of himself inside of restaurants with girls, because he’s above that.</color>


Celeste stops the car, pulling off to the side of the road, right in front of me.  She puts it in park and turns off the engine, getting out of the car.  She walks right up to me, and as I keep walking, she keeps right up with me.</color>


Celeste:  You sound almost as conceited as Delia Darling, and I hope you know that isn’t a compliment.  Look, I just want to talk to you.  It’s not like I’m asking for your hand in marriage or anything.</color>


I shake my head as we continue walking toward the beach.  She tries to talk to me, but my focus is somewhere else entirely.  As we make it down to the sand, off in the distance is a small bonfire.  I walk toward it, and as we get closer, there is a woman playing violin.  Celeste looks to me for a moment as if I planned it, and I shake my head.</color>


Me:  This wasn’t me.  But, it is my luck to walk into something like this.  I might not have much, but fortune always seems to smile down on me.  That, mixed with my good looks and awesome personality, I’d say I must be blessed.</color>


I look down to my crotch, and Celeste almost seems grossed out at the thought.  In a way, I kind of hope that she gets fed up and leaves, because I’m scared as shit of where this might go if I don’t push her away.  She gives me a light, yet somehow still quite painful, smack to the nuts, and I go down like a 747, crash and burn.  She laughs at my misfortune.</color>


Celeste:  Yeah, that doesn’t seem very fortunate to me.</color>


Me:  You… must not have… ugh, taken time to… savor… it...</color>


My voice is strained as I try to pick myself up from the ground.  She puts out her hand for me to take, but I insist on getting up all on my own.  Despite the pain, I wink at her, and I can tell that she knows exactly what I’m talking about, because there is a fire in her eyes that wasn’t there a few seconds ago.  But, that might be because the bonfire is like ten feet away.</color>


Celeste:  I’m going to be brutally honest with you.  You… you’re my type, no questions asked.  Minus the beer gut, you are what I go for.  But, that is exactly why I’m skeptical of you.  My type is not good for me.  They treat me like shit.  They lie to me.  They talk down to me.  The fire is always hot at first, but I always wind up burned.  You seem like just another third degree burn to me.</color>


Me:  That’s pretty fucking unfair to me, though.  You are projecting all of your insecurities from the assholes of your past onto me.  It’s not my fault that you didn’t have the guts to tell them to shape the fuck up.  You seem like the kinda girl who is more than capable of standing up for herself, who don’t take bullshit from anybody.  If you didn’t ball smack those bastards, then it kinda seems like that should be on you and not me.</color>


Celeste gets pissed off when I say that.  I don’t care though, because it’s the fucking truth.  I stare at her, watching the anger burn inside of her, but it kinda starts to go away.  She looks away from me for a second and she nods her head.</color>


Celeste:  You’re right.  You’re absolutely right.  I’m the one who let guys do that to me.  You weren’t one of them, so I shouldn’t hold that against you, but I’m scared.  I’m so scared, Dax.</color>


Me:  And just because I’m a dude, that means that I’m not allowed to be scared, too?  Fuck that.  I’m scared too.  I never got into a chick long enough to just get lost in her eyes.  It’s like you cast a spell on me.</color>


Celeste:  I am a witch, so I could if I wanted to.</color>


I laugh for a second, but she doesn’t.  I don’t really know what it means at first, because she’s not green, with a big wart on her nose, running around in a black cloak and pointy hat, riding brooms.  It takes me a second before I realize that she really is a witch.  She sees the light bulb go on in my head as she moves in closer to me.</color>


Me:  Wait… seriously?</color>


Celeste:  Yeah… seriously…  Why, is that a problem or something?</color>


I can see a little bit of disappointment in her eyes as she looks down to the ground.  I gotta admit, it’s a little strange to me, but I got an open mind.  I once went to an Asking Alexandria concert.  It sucked, but still…  Anyway, I start to open my mouth to let her know it’s all good, and that’s when her foot catches a dip in the sand, and she falls on top of me.  We fall behind a rock, and I stare up at her as the light of the moon reflects off of her.  I run my hands up her sides and to her shoulders.  I gently bring her forward as she wraps her arms around my neck, laughing.  She leans in a little more, and I look into her eyes from beyond the shadows.  I could stare there for days, man.  I would have too, but that’s when she presses her lips against mine, and I swear they taste like strawberries and cream.  Ah, damn… a true gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell… or is it bang and brag?  Either way, bruh, I’m not going any further.  Let your perverted imagination run wild, but this conversation is over…</color>



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\'user




#NP "Hail To the King” by Avenged Sevenfold
On the Road; Palm Springs





So check it.  Me and Celeste have been hitting it off pretty fucking good.  We spent most of the last week and a half together.  She helped me get my shit together with my signing bonus, so that I could set myself up in some decent hotel room just outside of Los Angeles.  The bed is pretty sweet, but anything is better than the van I travel in.  I got a full tank of gas, and a whole day free from the strict training I been doing.  Celeste and I drove pretty much all day, and we found a sick scenic route in Palm Springs, and we spent the day driving through the back desert roads, listening to some old school rock music.  She lets her feet dangle out of the window, and her sunglasses perched on her face as the springy curls of her hair blow in the wind.  I look over at her, and I notice that she’s sleeping.  I nod my head as I look up to the camera mounted near the window.  I reach up with one hand and press record.</color>


*Rec*


Dax is seen on screen, his sunglasses raised up on his forehead, and the long hair on top fluttering in the wind.  He is wearing a wifebeater that shows off his lightly hairy chest, and the many tattoos on his arms and shoulders.  He raises his eyebrows as he looks for the blinking red light.  Once he is sure he is recording, he pulls the cigarette from between his lips, exhaling the smoke slowly before letting it rest in the ashtray of the van.


Dax:  Suhhh bruh?  Daxton Oliver Beckett here, but all the cool kids call me Dax.  I had this camera installed in my van for a couple of reasons.  First, it was because I was gonna start the first ever vehicular Karaoke Youtube channel.  When that didn’t work out, I was gonna start my own Xtube channel, but it turns out that banging a chick on camera without her consent is against the law… who knew, righ?


Dax shrugs his shoulders as if this were the most ludicrous suggestion ever.  He shakes his head, but partially to get some of his hair out of his face as he continues to speed down the deserted road.


Dax:  But then, a brilliant idea struck me.  Why not do a road cam promo video.  Nobody does that.  That’s one hundred.  I’m honestly not that worried about Calvin Harris, but I am an artist inside of that ring.  I am an innovation to the world of wrestling.  Gesu yarō as they say in Japan.  Or is it Inobētā?  One of them is innovator, and the other is asshole.  I got called both during my time there.  Yeah, I was so good that even Japan cheered me on.  Truth bombs, bruh.


Dax squints his eyes as the sun comes upon his face.  He gently brings his sunglasses down over his eyes as he adjusts himself in the driver's seat.  The vast desert community before his very eyes as he continues on.


Dax:  I’m not some rookie who can get pushed around by some dude holding a championship up in the air from some company that doesn’t even fucking matter.  In Japan, we laugh at people who feel the need to show off shit like that.  If you wanna prove that you can be a champ, bruh, then prove it by, I don’t know, being good at what you do?  Prove it by acting like you give a shit.  Don’t expect some pre-existing reputation do all the work for you, because trust me, your reputation is a fucking joke, man.


Dax licks at his thumb in an arrogant manner as he fusses with his beard.  He looks into the mirror to check that it’s all in place.


Dax:  Most people I’ve heard from on Twitter are begging me to kick your ass.  I don’t care too much about why they want me to do that, but my guess is that you’re a fucking asshole.  Not just an asshole, but a fucking asshole.  Wrestlers and fans who don’t even know who the fuck I am are taking it to the DM to tell me that I need to stomp you out before you even get uploaded to the servers, man.  That’s bad, because no one gives a shit about me here in the US.  They don’t know me, and I haven’t even made it to their screens unless they’re checking out Indy Japan stuff on Youtube.  I’m not even on their radar, because you’re the lucky one who might have been able to go into this contest with the advantage of being known.  But you’re known for all the wrong reasons.  I built up a fast fan base strictly because people fucking detest you, bruh.  That…


Dax grins widely as he tries not to outwardly laugh, but he can’t hold it in entirely as he lets loose with a bit of an uproarious chuckle that wakes up SCW’s Bombshell Roulette Champion for a second.


Dax:  … that’s fucked up.  I could be an even bigger asshole than you are for all they know, but they are putting all of their faith in me to take you down before you even start in SCW.  They wish that I would murder you hard and slow, just for the satisfaction of knowing that you’re such a terrible person that you will definitely go straight to hell and get skull fucked by the most detested souls to ever have walked the earth.  That’s a real quote from a DM from…


Dax pulls out his cell phone, thumbing through his DM’s.  He shrinks back a bit as he looks dead at the display picture of the one to DM him.


Dax:  Equinox?  Eye dee kay man, he kinda looks like something that escaped from hell, so maybe he just wants a little bit of a beard job from you, Cal.  Who could blame him, though, right?  I mean, you are the best thing going over in Victory Wrestling, righ, righ?  Wait, they haven’t even had their first match yet?  But, you’re gonna run that place, right?  Who wouldn’t want a little piece of that sweet stuff?  Apparently anybody who comes into contact with you, or your online personality.  You’re a fucking waste, man.  Since you think people know all about you, you didn’t think it was important to tell people about yourself.  Maybe it’s because I spent time in Japan where wrestling is actually a thing, I’ve never heard of you.  I had to do a little bit of research, and it appears than one hundred percent of Twitter hates you.  Again, people are begging me to disembowel you inside of the ring and wear your torso as a hat.  They are asking me to throw your severed limbs into the crowd so that they can chow down on them like rabid, starving wolves.  It’s almost like the time the producers of Saw three put out a contest for the most brutal ways to kill a human being, only with the passion to see you dead burning brightly in every fucking letter in every single word that they sent me.  I thought people hated Donald Trump, but they fucking loathe you, bruh.


Dax shakes his head as he looks over to see Celeste back asleep in the passenger's seat.  He grins slightly before returning his focus to the road, and the rolling video.


Dax:  That’s the thing though… You do have something that I don’t have.  You have a reputation.  Good or bad, you have one.  All of that is gonna change on Sunday when I beat you in the most honorable way.  I don’t have to pull any dirty shit to beat you.  That is not my style, and I wouldn’t do it.  What kind of reputation would I have if I did?  In six months, people would hate me as much as they hate you.  They wouldn’t respect my skills, and trust me, my skills are legit as fuck.  Did I mention I wrestled in Japan for two years?  That’s like ten years of wrestling in the Western world.  It taught me to respect the sport.  Anyone who doesn’t respect the sport, such as yourself, doesn’t get my respect.  When someone doesn’t get my respect, they get my foot straight up their fucking ass.  That’s where we stand, Calvin.


Dax reaches over and picks up a bottle of water.  Putting it to his lips, he takes a sip before putting it back down in the holder.


Dax:  At High Stakes VI, I’m going to establish myself in this scene, and I’m going to do it by working over some washed up has been from the days of WEW.  People are going to know my name as the one who ran you over like a fucking big rig and crushed your ego into nothing, where it really deserves to be.  The only memory that the fans will have of you after Sunday, is the blood stain ground so deeply into the canvas, that they won’t be able to get rid of it with all the bleach in the world.  And, I guess the memory of being the first to fall to the future king of SCW wouldn’t be the worst accomplishment on your list.


Dax looks over to see Celeste waking up again, but this time, her eyes open up.  She leans off of the seat, bringing her feet back into the vehicle.  She comes in and kisses Dax on the lips as he nods his head to the camera before recomposing himself.


Dax:  Since I got this golden goddess sitting next to me, I’m gonna cut this short.  Sunday, Daxton Oliver Beckett is going to knock the shit out of you, Calvin.  The stakes will be high, but I’m going to fly higher…  Oh, and one last thing.


With that, Dax flips his middle finger at the camera.  Shortly after that, he reaches up and pressed the stop button.


*Stop*


… and what happened next?  Tune in next week to find out all of the Dax Fax.</color>

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