The brightly lit ball room of the Sheraton hotel in Long Beach, California finds itself crowded with wrestling fans seeking the opportunity to mingle with their favorite wrestlers as the SCW holds its annual pre-super card meet and greet. The walls are lined with fold up display tables, each of them bearing an assortment of paraphernalia ranging from autograph photos to authentic title belts; all for sale with the proceeds benefitting the Make a wish foundation. Many of the SCW stars are seated behind their own tables, taking the time to chat and pose for pictures with excited fans while others mingle among them, weaving their way through the maze of displays. Seated at a table nearest the doors, save for the ticket collectors who sit patiently at the entrance to ensure that each attendant has their credentials; Felony Fontana chats with a pair of eager young women while her partner, Rock Rose looks on into the crowd anxiously.
Her hazel eyes dart back and forth, rapidly scanning each individual they gaze upon in search of someone in particular. She spies the erstwhile son of her manager, Goldenboy Gene Banton Jr. as he chatters with a pair of buxom blondes. Rosie allows the briefest of smiles to cross her face as Junior is slapped across the face by of the young women who quickly turn and leave him in dejection. She reads his lips as he wonders softly ‘How is a guy supposed to get laid here?’ Shaking her head she continues scanning the room, craning her neck to see past a pair of heavyset older men, one chewing impatiently on a cigar with his friend puffing on a pipe while they casually peruse the latest copy of SCW magazine.
“So how did you get that bruise on your forehead?” One of the young fans asks of Felony.
“Oh God..,” Felony begins, pausing to roll her eyes. “Rosie and I were at the Melbourne Grand Prix last week and, after our team won the race I go to victory lane. I’m celebrating with everybody when suddenly Rosie is flying through the crowd. She dives into me and knocks me off of the podium and then picks me up and carries me off rumbling something about a cult”.
“Oh come on!” the fan cries in disbelief. “You can’t be serious”.
“I wish I wasn’t, but after getting me back to the hotel, she then tears my jacket off of me and then spanks me for 20 minutes straight”. Felony pauses to cast a sidelong glance to her disassociated partner and continues, “Finally, she stops and asks me what my favorite car is, and I tell her, I like Mercedes and damn if she doesn’t start spanking me again”.
“You’re bullshitting us!” the fan says curtly. She turns her attention to Rock Rose and decides to go directly to the source, “Rosie, did you really do all of that?” she asks.
“Yep”, Rosie says. With a short grunt she pushes herself away from the table and rises to her feet, not paying any attention to the two fans as she steps out from behind it. “She’s been brainwashed and, one way or another I’m gonna get that thing out of her. And then, when I’m done with that I’m gonna beat the living hell out of Traci Patterson and Mercedes Vargas for doing this to her”. Rosie rumbles off disappearing into the crowd leaving the stunned fans in her volatile wake.
“Whoa, heavy..,”
“That’s also why I’m sitting on this pillow today,” Felony adds jutting her thumb to her seat. “Never let it be said that the Freakettes aren’t aptly named”.
Dejected but not deterred, Junior looks on wistfully as the two women depart the room and then slides his hands into his pockets. He notices a small, plastic cylindrical vial. Removing the vial he notes a tiny amount of green liquid corked inside and frowns. He raises his eyes towards the while and gold ceiling hoping to jar his memory and recalls telling his childhood friend Mike and Billy about this meet and greet event, telling them about the women likely to be in attendance. Mike handed him the vial advising him to slip it into a woman’s drink, saying it would ‘free up her inhibitions’. He referred to the vial as a ‘Spanish Fly’ and added with a wry grin ‘if you can’t get laid with this you’re either dead or a virgin for life’. Rolling the tube between his thumb and index finger Gene smiles.
“I’m gonna get laid one way or another”, he says to himself.
Looking across the room he spots a pair of young women leaning over a table next to the ticket checkers. They appear to be chatting with one of the wrestlers but their bodies obscure his view. Not that he minds however; as one of them, a blonde standing on the right appears to be in very good shape, her taut buttocks filling out her snug fitting blue jeans as she leans over the table engaged in conversation. Her friend, an equally aesthetic brunette clad in a blue, loose fitting tee shirt with matching athletic shorts also leans over the table giving Junior a two for one special. Cradling the little tube in the palm of his hand he makes his way towards the table, stopping briefly to purchase a bottle of water from a vendor. Next, he stops behind a standing rack featuring vintage wrestling periodicals, one even featuring his father on the cover and then looks nervously about trying to make certain that no eyes are upon him. The crowd, to his relief, appears to be wrapped up in their own business and Geno quickly uncaps the bottle and pours the contents into it. He watches as the vial empties as droplets into the water. He replaces the cap and then shakes the bottle vigorously, holding it to the light to ensure that the mixture is completely dissolved. Satisfied, he resumes his trek towards the table.
Approaching he notices the previously unidentified wrestler to whom the two women were talking with, the blue eyed blonde Felony Fontana, also a protégé of his father. He takes note of Felony’s soft blonde tresses which cascade gently down her back, framing a pair of lovely blue lenses set atop a short, child-like nose and braced by a perpetual smile. Although the idea had crossed his mind many times, he could not bring himself to make an attempt on her. Not only was she also managed by his dad, her partner, Rock Rose was considerably bigger and meaner than he. For the time being Felony was off limits. But for the other two women however; it remains open season.
Junior, always one to make an entrance, announces his arrival at the table by leaning against it with a heavy sigh. His trademark smirk is firmly affixed on the pair of fans as he nestles himself as close as possible to them while setting the water down on the table.
“’sup babes?” He says, his voice flowing with self-confidence. “Wanna see my swag?”
Behind him Felony bursts into a cackle, snickering nasally. Shaking her head she smiles at Geno.
“Hi, Junior”, she says in between guffaws. “Meet Trish and Melissa, ladies this is Gene Banton Jr. my manager’s son”.
While Junior begins his rapport with the ladies, Felony leans back in her chair, grateful for the brief respite. Her eyes lift and begin to lazily scan the room in search of her partner, but despite being the biggest and the loudest person in the room Rosie is nowhere to be seen. With a sigh she clasps her hands behind her head and decides to watch Geno make an ass of himself yet again when she spies the bottle of water out of the corner of her eye. Leaning forward she reaches for the water and snags it from the table twisting the cap off.
“Thank God,” she says softly while bringing the bottle to her lips. “I’m so parched”.
Junior meanwhile has removed his shirt and flexes his tanned and toned body for the young women. Standing before them he playfully bounces his pectorals and says with a grin,
“Go ahead, you know you want to”.
“Touch them and I’ll kill you”.
The subject of the threat, a young man, slight of build, and no more than 130 pounds and no taller than 5’5” shrinks away from the menacingly scowling Rock Rose. Moments before he had inadvertently bumped into her and being nearly foot shorter than she could not help but to find himself face first into her hulking chest. Initially he reacted with surprise, staring directly into that same chest which she now bounces before him.
“I – I’m sorry”, the little man stammers while continuing to shrink away from the behemoth. “I’ll leave right now”. Quickly adjusting his rectangular, metal rimmed glasses he turns and starts to leave but a beefy paw on his bony shoulder stops him in his tracks.
“Wait a minute”, Rosie says gruffly while spinning the fan back around to face her. “I got a big problem that maybe you can help me with”.
“S-sure”, he replies nervously, his eyes scrambling to locate the nearest exit. “Anything you want, just ask”.
“I need to find the smartest man in this room. I mean, he needs to be a God damned genius”.
“Umm, ok”, he says, turning around to scan the room in earnest. “Let me look”.
Working their way through the crowd of fans and wrestlers his eyes pass over several notable figures including Christian Underwood and Scott Schriener, Mark Ward, Spike Staggs, Synn and plenty of others, but none who appear to fit the bill. Continuing the search he spies a row of wrestlers, both current and former seated behind folding tables hawking stacks of wrestling related paraphernalia and just beyond the door he spots a young man seated behind a table with slicked back dark hair, a cheap, clip on tie fastened to the neckline of his black ‘Beware the stare’ tee shirt and sporting a pair of horn rimmed glasses, the lenses of which seeming to be on backwards making his eyes appear three to four times their normal size. Mr. Self Help has entered the building.
Turning around the fan taps Rock Rose on the shoulder. She turns to face him as he gestures in the direction of Mr. Self Help. Seated beside him behind the table is his teddy bear ‘Angel’, who has his own seat and cell phone shaped candy dispenser. With his hands clasped together on top of the table in front of him, Mr. Self Help appears not to notice the fans gawking as they pass by, or the little boys preparing to pelt him with a spit ball. In fact, he does not seem to notice anyone at all, his unguided gaze seemingly everywhere. Finally a fan recognizes him and approaches to request an autograph and he turns to his ‘associate’ to request something to sign it with. He reaches into a scattered pile of Crayola crayons and promptly signs.., the table. The fan asks him to try again, this time reaching down to guide his hand to the photo, which he signs ‘To my favorite patient, get well soon!’, - Mr. Self Help.
“That guy’s a genius?” Rosie frowns.
“Oh absolutely!” the fan cries, lying through his teeth, desperate to make a break from the ill-tempered mastodon. “I mean, look at his glasses. Only smart people wear glasses, right?” he suggests hoping that she actually believes the cliché. “With glasses like his he has to be the smartest of them all”.
Without another word Rosie breaks from the skittish wrestling enthusiast, stomping across the floor towards the table of Mr. Self Help and his associate. A sea of fans parts as she blows through them, her gaze firmly locked onto Angel and Despayre. Arriving at the table she frowns upon noticing Mr. Self-Help’s attention directed elsewhere; namely the table where his hands are once more clasped before him as he examines a sheet of paper with various markings and etchings, all in crayon. She watches in bemusement as he fumbles with his right hand about the top, searching for his blue plastic cell phone candy dispenser. Locating the object he brings it before his eyes and presses a nonfunctional button.
“Excuse me,” Rosie says in a surprisingly soft tone of voice. “I need your help, really bad”.
“Yes, my dear, of course”, he says in a faux British accent while setting the phone back down. “You’ll have to accept my apologies as I was busy checking my library..,” he pauses and leans over towards Angel. “Oh, yes of course! I mean my itinerary”. Finally directing his gaze onto Rock Rose, well, not onto her, more or less past her but close enough; he smiles. “Now then, why do you seek professional treatment?”
“It’s not for me”, she begins. “It’s for my friend Felony. She’s been brainwashed by a cult led by Mercedes Vargas and Traci Patterson and somebody suggested I find an exorcist. You gotta help me doc!” she pleads. “I have to do an exorcism and I don’t know how”.
“I see..,” he replies, reaching up with his right hand to stroke a non-existent goatee. “While I do not specialize in exercising I can sympathize with your plight”. Once more he appears to be interrupted by the teddy bear and leans over as if to get an earful. “Exorcism?” he exclaims loudly enough for a pair of passersby to stop and gawk. “I don’t even know what that is let alone how to fix it, maybe pushups?” he suggests, dropping the accent. He turns to the bear and engages in a brief conversation which ends with his jaw agape. “When did you get a license to practice exorcism?” he cries out. “Night school, really? Hey, next time you go to night school let me know, I want to go too”. Turning his attention back to Rosie he beams. “You’re in luck,” he says. “It turns out my colleague Dr. Angel has a degree in exercising and is willing to help your poor friend. Excuse me for one moment please so that I may prepare”.
Picking up the candy dispenser, err.., cell phone Mr. Self-Help rapidly punches a series of buttons and places the device to his ear. “Gertrude,” he says to nobody on the other end. “I need you to cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. Dr. Angel and I are going to exercise a patient,” he pauses as if listening to some odd request. “No,” he says, rolling his seemingly gigantic eyes. “You may not have the rest of the day off”. He hangs up and rises to his feet grabbing Dr. Angel. “Very well, lead us to the patient”, he says triumphantly.
Rosie stomps off into the bowels of the convention hall as Mr. Self-Help attempts to follow. His trek is cut short however; by a rack of calendars and then a shelf of books which somehow jump into his path causing him to trip and fall over them. Upon hearing the crash of the merchandise Rosie turns to see him sprawled out on the floor and returns to the scene. With a groan she reaches out and pulls him back to his feet.
“Thank you,” he says adjusting his eye glasses. “I’m afraid my eyes aren’t quite what they used to be and these glasses simply aren’t powerful enough. Would you be a dear and help guide me to the patient?”
“I can do better than that,” Rosie grunts and then hoists Mr. Self-Help onto her beefy shoulder beginning the trek now in earnest. Quickly the wrestler turned doctor reaches beneath the pseudo desk to grab somebody else’s travel bag and slings it over his shoulder.
Mr. Self-Help drags his cell phone from his pocket and dials his secretary Gertrude.
“It’s me again, I need you to make a note for me to buy more powerful eye glasses please,” he says. “In fact, buy the most powerful eye glasses you can find”. Hanging up he pops the top open and shakes out some tiny, gelatin gummy bears. He hands one to Angel and offers another to Rosie, “Do you want a gummy bear?” he asks. Rose ignores him and continues onward leaving Dr. Angel and Mr. Self Help to themselves. Despy glances about the hall as he is carried through a throng of wrestling fans on Rosie’s shoulder, bouncing up and down. “Hey, you know, this is kinda fun, like a carnival ride”.
“Wheeeeeee!”
With Trish and Melissa having departed in a huff following a stinging slap to the face of the Goldenboy he finds himself alone with a surprisingly amorous, and highly off limits Felony Fontana. He looks on bemusedly as the blonde seats herself on top of the table, kicking her shoes off. She playfully rubs her bare feet against his still bare chest tweaking the nipples of his pectorals between her toes and giggling. His mind races as he tries to fend off her frisky toes, desperately searching for a clue as to what may have happened to her. Initially he had come to the table she occupied for the purpose of slipping one or both of her guests a sip of water laced with the Spanish fly given him by his friend.
The Spanish fly, as he learned acts as an enhancer of the female libido (damned chicks need all the help they can get) he recalls. Originating from the emerald-green blister beetle found in southern Europe where the male beetles secrete a naturally produced chemical to stimulate the female into having sex. The liquid produced irritates the urogenital tract producing an itching sensation in sensitive membranes. This feverish feeling is believed to increase a woman’s desire for intercourse.
Looking down at the bottle Gene promptly notes that it is lying on its side with the cap off, though he did not have the opportunity to offer any to Trish and Melissa. His eyes grow wide with terror once the realization hits him that Felony drank the water intended for them. Placing his hands on Felony’s shoulders to hold her steady he looks her into the eyes and asks,
“Felony, did you drink this bottle of water?”
“Of course I did silly,” she coos reaching up to run her index finger along his trembling jaw line. “I was thirsty, and now, I’m horny. So what do you say sexy? Let’s ditch those clothes and climb up on this table”.
“Umm, no.., thanks,” he stammers. “I’d rather live and Rosie’s pretty mean, you know?”
“Rosie is a pussy cat,” she says while embracing him to nibble on his earlobe. “Besides, when she gets back we can have a threesome!”
“R – Really?” he gasps. For as long as he could remember, his father had warned him of the potential consequences were he to get involved with any of the women under Gene Senior’s tutelage; this aside from the possible repercussions of Felony’s larger than life partner Rock Rose. With Felony climbing all over his mind begins to weigh the pros and cons and he quickly comes to the same conclusion that any 19 year old male would reach when propositioned by an attractive female, “Hot damn! I’m really gonna get laid!”
Felony lies down on the table and gently pulls Junior by the hand. Fumbling with his belt Gene places a knee onto the table top and begins to climb up only to be rudely interrupted by a metal folding chair colliding with the back of his head causing him to crumple to the floor unconscious.
With a huff, Rock Rose sets Mr. Self Help down to his feet and drops the chair to the side. Adjusting his glasses Mr. Self Help looks on with a curious shrug.
“Not my preferred method of treatment, but effective nevertheless,” he says.
“Felony,” Rosie says breathlessly. “I got you some help,” she gestures to Mr. Self Help and Dr. Angel. “And we’re gonna get you cured of that brainwashing by Mercedes and Traci”.
Felony looks on in confusion as Mr. Self Help steps forward extending his hand, “Have no fear young one,” he says resuming his faux British accent. “I am here to help those who cannot help themselves. I am Mr. Self Help and this is my associate Dr. Angel”.
“Young one..?” Felony demands quizzically, scratching her head.
“Felony shut up,” Rose demands. “We’re going to help you if I have to beat your ass all over this room to do it”. She then turns to Mr. Self Help and Dr. Angel, “What do we need to do first?” she asks.
“Despy leans in closely, listening as Dr. Angel explains what is going to be needed and why. As the bear goes over the details of the procedure Rose grabs Felony by the shoulders, lifting her off of the table and over Gene Junior’s prone body and sets her down beside them.
“I love it when you do that to me,” Felony purrs. “So strong and forceful; treat me like a piece of property”.
“Shut up or you’re going over my knee”.
“Excuse me..,” Mr. Self Help chimes in. “If we are to rid the patient of her possession we need to find a quiet place to perform the exercising”.
“I know just the place”, Rosie says while hoisting her struggling partner over one shoulder and then laying Mr. Self Help and Dr. Angel over the other. “Let’s go and get this exercise over with”.
“Exercising?” Felony demands, while struggling in her partner’s iron-like grip. “God damn it you shaven Bigfoot, put me down! I wanna screw not exercise!” Dejectedly Felony braces her body against Rose and looks on at the confused crowd following them, albeit at a safe distance. “I don’t believe this,” she mutters. “I’m as horny as all get out and she’s taking me to a gym”.
While the crowd follows along, quietly exchanging rumors and gossip between themselves, Mr. Self Help consults with Dr. Angel, pausing every other moment to jot something down on a steno pad in crayon. Rosie stomps through a narrow, dimly lit hall and takes a right turn climbing a set of stairs, ignoring the escalator beside it. Reaching the top of the steps she then makes a left turn and meanders through another narrow hall passing by several marked doors until she reaches one marked ‘Janitor’. She opens the door and then sets the trio down before beginning to clear out the collection of brooms, dust pans, mops and assorted chemicals.
“Umm.., this isn’t a gym,” Felony observes dryly. “This is a broom closet”.
“Shut the hell up and get your little ass inside”, Rose booms.
The group enters the cleaning storage with Rosie closing the door behind them. The group cautiously approaches the closet but is careful to maintain a discreet distance from the door. Several reporters extend their arms holding microphones towards the door while others take notes and spread rumors. They stand by quietly hoping to get something from the group inside the room but are only privy to a series of thumps, bumps and the occasional groan as they appear to set up shop. Rosie’s voice is the first to be heard from within,
“Does anyone have a light?” she asks.
“Ooh kinky! I’ve never done it in a broom closet before. This should be fun”.
“I do not know if..,”
“Shut up!”
“Excuse me madam?”
“No, not you doc, I’m talking to the dumb blonde”.
“Dumb blonde..?” Felony cries. “If I ever get my hands on the asshole who taught gorillas to speak..,”
“We need some light in here”.
“What do you mean you’re a doctor and not an electrician?”
“Look, I don’t care who it is but will somebody please have sex with me?”
Suddenly the door is thrust open with an angry looking Rock Rose poking her head out. Glaring at the assemblage of fans, onlookers and reporters she snarls,
“I need a damned flash light..,”
“and some Vaseline!” Felony adds.
“Shut up!” She barks and then turns her attention back to the curious throng. “Get me a light or else!”
A middle aged man sporting a head of thin grey hair emerges at the front of the mass and hands her a small, blue .99 cent flashlight. Rose snatches the light from his hand with a grateful nod and disappears back into the room with the door slamming behind her.
Flashlight in hand Rosie is finally able to shed some light on their predicament. Looking at each of the group in turn she first notices Felony tweaking her breasts, and then Mr. Self Help calmly puffing away on a bubble pipe with Dr. Angel dressed in a purple cloak and accented by a string of Rosary beads, a crucifix and a bible. Mr. Self Help casually reaches into his travel bag and removes a pair of candles which he then lights with a match.
“Hey..,” Rosie demands upon noticing the candles. “Why didn’t you put those out in the first place?”
“I was busy looking for a flashlight,” he replies before returning to his bubble pipe.
“We need to set the patient on the floor in the center of the circle,” He says setting the pipe back down. While Rock Rose occupies herself with the task of setting an amorous Felony in the center of the floor Mr. Self Help pulls additional candles from his travel bag and proceeds to set them about the floor in a circle surrounding the blonde, who now lies on her back with her hands roaming about her body contentedly.
“Mmmmm…,” she moans while running her hands along her bare midriff.
“We need to hurry,” Mr. Self Help announces lighting the final candle. “The patient is slipping!”
The trio quickly holds hands; completing the circle around the patient as Mr. Self Help repeats the words said to him by Dr. Angel,
“Deus, cui proprium est misereri semper et dimittendi, ut hunc fámulum tuum recipere, peccati compedibus astricti, a misericordia tua bona venia”.
“What the hell did you just say? You’d better not be cursing me out!”
“Excuse me, but are you the doctor here?” Mr. Self Help demands.
“Umm.., no sir,” Rose replies demurely.
“Then kindly refrain from any further outbursts until the ritual has been completed, thank you”.
Felony arches her back, and, body trembling she swings up into a neck bridge her moaning growing louder. Ever slowly her hands travel south down her toned, heaving stomach towards her cut off blue jeans only to be intercepted time and again by Rock Rose.
“Exi ergo, ímpie, exi infelix, exi cum omni fallácia tua: quia Deus voluit templum suum esse debet”.
Mr. Self Help reaches into his travel pack at the behest of Dr. Angel and rifles through the bag in search of a vial of holy water. He is unable to find any however; and instead resorts to an unopened bottle of Sprite.
“Ohh..,” Felony moans. “Douse me again baby”.
Mr. Self Help does as is asked of him while gently setting Dr. Angel’s crucifix down on Felony’s stomach. Now sweating profusely Felony lies back down prone on the floor. Looking over towards Dr. Angel, Felony reaches out with a mischievous grin and grabs the bear turned doctor.
“Such an adorable teddy bear,” she coos, nuzzling it close to her cheek.
“Are you man enough to do me since Rosie ain’t?”
“Hey..!”
“I do believe the exorcism has been a success,” Mr. Self Help exclaims.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Rosie says leaning over her partner.
“Felony, what’s your favorite car?”
“MMmmm..,” she purrs clutching the teddy bear tightly, “Hummer baby”.
“Holy shit, she’s cured!”
Suddenly a knock on the door interrupts the excitement from within the closet. Rose abruptly opens it up and steps outside making sure that it is shut behind her. She glowers at a single, beanpole of a man, all decked out in a suit of acne and accented by food stained brown dress pants, a sky blue dress shirt untucked and topped off with a tangled mop of curly dark hair.
“What the hell do you want?” Rose demands with a scowl.
“Greetings Ms. Rose,” he begins thrusting a microphone into her face. “I am Bradley Copperton with SCW Insider magazine and I am looking to get your thoughts on your upcoming match this weekend for the Bombshell tag team championship against the team of Mercedes Vargas and Traci Patterson”.
“You picked one hell of a fucked up time for an interview, but it’s all good, I managed to save Felony so go ahead and ask me your damned questions”.
“Err.., ok,” Bradley replies unsure how to react. “I suppose the first question should be the most obvious one; what, exactly did you save your partner from?”
“Let me tell you something,” she growls. “Mercedes Vargas and Traci Patterson are nothing but a couple of two-bit goons who tried to brainwash an innocent little girl like Felony to join their stupid cult. But the jokes on them, I cured her and now, I’m coming after Traci and Mercedes and when I catch them I’m gonna tie that damned cult into a knot and shove it down their throats”.
“Cult..? What cult?”
“The cult of Mercedes Benz,” Rose replies. “It’s named after Mercedes and Traci, only it uses Traci’s name in German which is Benz”. With her attention focused on the reporter she fails to notices as Mr. Self Help and Dr. Angel discreetly excuse themselves and leave the scene.
“Umm..,” Bradley stammers, his mind thrown for a loop at the highly unusual answer to his question. “Mercedes Benz is a car company”.
“It’s a cult masquerading as a car company,” Rose corrects, or so she believes. “They’re using their vehicles to brainwash unsuspecting people, but I caught on to their act and I mean to put a gruesome end to it this Sunday”.
“Rock Rose, if I may..,” Bradley begins determined to correct the sour faced beast. “Benz is not Traci Patterson’s name in German. It is the surname of Dr. Karl Benz, the man who invented the automobile. And Mercedes wasn’t named after Mercedes Vargas,” he explains patiently. “It was named after the daughter of Gottlieb Daimler with whom Karl Benz formed the car company with back in 1926”.
“You’re full of shit!” Rose spits. “I just took part in an exorcism to rid Felony’s mind of the evil spirit of the cult of Mercedes Benz. You’re making this crap up to save them, ain’t you?”
“No, actually I..,”
“I don’t give a damn!” she thunders. “Look, there ain’t no saving them now, alright? There’s no safe house, no secret hiding spot and no cultists. This Sunday it’s just me and them and I’m gonna rip their damned arms off and beat them over the head with ‘em. You can talk all you want about the tag team titles but this ain’t about no titles, this is about revenge, pure and simple, got it?”
“Alright, so how about your partner then?” he asks. “After such an experience she can’t be in the best of condition to wrestle such a match, how do you intend to look after her?”
“By stomping them into the damned ground,” she seethes. “This interview is over so beat it before I beat you. I gotta go check on Felony”.
Rose abruptly turns her back to the newshound and opens the door where she finds Felony lying on the floor with a note affixed to her chest written in crayon. Grabbing the piece of paper she holds it to the light overhead, the switch having been flipped by Mr. Self Help as he left and reads it aloud,
“You owe me $2.00 for services rendered, signed Mr. Self Help”.
Closing the door behind her she leaves Bradley Copperton holding the mic while sporting a furrowed brow. Still anxious for something newsworthy he leans against the door and listens an as he notes voices emanating from with the confines of the closet.
“Now, what the hell was that about a shaved Bigfoot?”
“What do you think it was meathead? Would you prefer Rhinoceros?” Felony fires back. “Listen stupid, I have never been so horny in all my life and you weren’t even man enough to yiiiee..,”
Felony’s short-lived tirade ends abruptly with a squeal followed by the sounds of heavy handed thuds smacking against flesh echoed by the sound of Felony’s approval.
“Now…Oww! That’s… Oww! More…Oww! Like it!”
