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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 “Mickâ€...
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! ‘E’s a big boy. ‘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. ‘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: ‘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. “The 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. ‘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: “WHEN, 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)â€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 businessâ€. 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.
