[Mickey Carroll]

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me:  Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

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

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

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

Mickey:  Did ye do that on purpose?

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

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

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

Mickey:  YAAAARRRP!

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

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

Mickey:  Ich ziehe nicht deinen schwanz, freund!

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

Me:  Narrrrrp!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me:  Bathroom sex… for the win!

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





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


#Fugeddaboudit

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eyesnsane:  Yaarrrp...

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

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

Dax:  Oh, my fucking… Gah!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tim:  Yarrrrp!

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

Erik:  Naaarp!

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

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

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

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

Erik:  Only one of them?

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

Dax:  Uhhhhhhh…. Yarp!

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

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

Mickey:  Nahhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrpppppp…

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

Tim:  Naarrrp!

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

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

Dax:  I wasn’t…

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

Mickey:  Alright?

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

Mickey:  Well here.  Let me help you out.

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

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

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

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

Eyesnsane:  Yarp… In Hawaiian...

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

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

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

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

Tim:  Yaaarp… Hey!

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

Dax:  Yaaaarrrppp…

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

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

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

Word Count: 5000