Post by Justin on Nov 13, 2020 13:52:07 GMT -5
So tell me something, partner.
Are you proud of yourself? Are you proud of getting carried to a win in the first round of the Lethal Lottery? I know you’re super busy, what with being a D-List alleged celebrity and all, so I guess I can kind of look past you looking past your extra-curricular activities. That is until they start affecting yours truly.
The Dude simply cannot abide by that.
For posterity, let’s run the list, shall we?
SWAT and what’s left of the Society of the New Breed.
Dark Side of the Ring.
Fake Sesame Street.
Fireside Wrestling and the cheap heat that comes with that.
Shoddily produced home renovation show on HGTV.
Northern Pro Wrestling and the Lethal Lottery.
Am I leaving anything out, Jonnie? Did I see you did some kind of podcast about hockey? Fuck, man, if we’re being honest I don’t have the time or the interest to follow all of this bullshit, I just have a healthy toolset that includes a working knowledge of the Google machine. Granted, it took me a few searches to narrow it down, what with your having something like four-hundred and sixty-three nicknames. What’s that about, Jonnie? You hiding from somebody?
Compensating for something?
Come on, you can tell me, I’ll keep your secret.
Scout’s honor!
That is to say, I’ll dismantle it and use it against you in ways that you’ll spend the rest of your career trying to figure out so that you can exploit my talent to get yourself over. We already know you’re a world class coattail dragging hanger-on, just look at your entire SWAT career and more specifically your one match in Northern Pro. If it weren’t for me, Maverick and Danu would have embarrassed you right back out of Canada. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be anywhere near this Lethal Rumble and nobody’d have to listen to anymore of your stupid catchphrases or endless pontification on what it’s like to almost be a celebrity.
Hell, it’s no wonder I’ve got so much heat.
Your continued existence in Northern Pro is my fault.
How does that make you feel, Jonnie?
Take as long as you like, I’ll wait.
. . .
All done? Good. I’m gonna guess you either completely ignored me in favor of another one of your “funny segments” or “celebrity endorsements,” or you went on at length about how something something I don’t really give a fuck. Let’s be honest with ourselves here, Jonnie, I don’t like you and you’re too stupid to know any better. You’ve gotten over on history and name value for longer than anybody has any right to, and trust me when I tell you that’s a lot coming from me.
So here’s what we’re gonna do.
We’re gonna have us a good ol’ fashioned grudge match.
Just me and you. No Scott Steel. No Society of the New Breed.
Just us girls.
In that match, I’m going to beat you to within an inch of your life. I’ll slap you around and stretch you, I’ll thumb you in the eye and drop you on your head. I might even bring out old faithful, the fork in the boot, and carve up that idiot face of yours. Who the hell knows, right? No sense planning this kind of shit out, we’ll get out there and see what happens, play it by ear and what have you. But I’m going over, chump, because NPW is my fucking playground and you’re just visiting.
When it’s over, once you wake up, I’ve got some subtle advice for you:
Hit the road, Jack.
(And don’t you come back no more.)
“How’s the training coming along?”
The question lingered in the air between Eric Dane and Angus Skaaland, the oldest of friends, as they took a moment to look in on The Mountain from Angus’ office windows overlooking the entire training facility of the Crescent City Fight Club. Oblivious to any and all surroundings, Scott Steel was still glued to the television screen, watching promos on the XHF Network over and over again.
“Well,” Angus started, “He doesn’t exactly take instruction all that well.”
“Ego?” Eric asked.
“Nah,” Angus shook his head. “Kid ain’t got the brains to have an ego.”
“So he’s stupid?”
“Again, I don’t want to give him that much credit.”
Eric made a face.
“Let me put it like this. Did you catch that last Cassie Hunter video?”
The Only Star rolled his eyes. “The one with the blowjob? Or the one where she had some dude gnash her gash?”
Angus chuckled.
“The latest one.”
Eric made the same face again, overflowing with mockery and dismissal.
“Long story short, the kid thinks he’s watching porn. And he thinks he’s come up to the paywall, and insists that he’s willing and able to pay to see the nudey parts.”
An eyebrow raises on Dane’s face.
“That’s not weird at all.”
“I think he’s got a crush on Cassie.”
Dane visibly shuddered. “I can’t…” he trailed off, unable to even finish the thought out loud.
“Listen to me, Eric, and understand that I’m not even sort of joking.”
The Antagonist nodded.
“If that giant fuck whips his dick out and starts beating off to Cassie Hunter promos in my dojo, I quit. Not only that, but you’re fired, no more Head Trainer and no more free apartment upstairs. I cannot stress how serious I’m being with you right now.”
Eric contemplated that momentarily.
“Yeah,” he started, “No, I get it. Deal. I’ll talk to him.”
“Good,” Angus said, awash in relief. “I’m getting too old for this babysitting shit.”
Eric chuckled.
“I heard he powerbombed the bakery counter at a Starbucks.”
Serious as a heart attack, Angus deadpanned a reply.
“I’m pretty sure that dude could Powerbomb a city bus.”
Another moment of silence grew between them.
Eric finally broke it.
“Good,” he said. “I can’t wait to put that to use.”
Are you proud of yourself? Are you proud of getting carried to a win in the first round of the Lethal Lottery? I know you’re super busy, what with being a D-List alleged celebrity and all, so I guess I can kind of look past you looking past your extra-curricular activities. That is until they start affecting yours truly.
The Dude simply cannot abide by that.
For posterity, let’s run the list, shall we?
SWAT and what’s left of the Society of the New Breed.
Dark Side of the Ring.
Fake Sesame Street.
Fireside Wrestling and the cheap heat that comes with that.
Shoddily produced home renovation show on HGTV.
Northern Pro Wrestling and the Lethal Lottery.
Am I leaving anything out, Jonnie? Did I see you did some kind of podcast about hockey? Fuck, man, if we’re being honest I don’t have the time or the interest to follow all of this bullshit, I just have a healthy toolset that includes a working knowledge of the Google machine. Granted, it took me a few searches to narrow it down, what with your having something like four-hundred and sixty-three nicknames. What’s that about, Jonnie? You hiding from somebody?
Compensating for something?
Come on, you can tell me, I’ll keep your secret.
Scout’s honor!
That is to say, I’ll dismantle it and use it against you in ways that you’ll spend the rest of your career trying to figure out so that you can exploit my talent to get yourself over. We already know you’re a world class coattail dragging hanger-on, just look at your entire SWAT career and more specifically your one match in Northern Pro. If it weren’t for me, Maverick and Danu would have embarrassed you right back out of Canada. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be anywhere near this Lethal Rumble and nobody’d have to listen to anymore of your stupid catchphrases or endless pontification on what it’s like to almost be a celebrity.
Hell, it’s no wonder I’ve got so much heat.
Your continued existence in Northern Pro is my fault.
How does that make you feel, Jonnie?
Take as long as you like, I’ll wait.
. . .
All done? Good. I’m gonna guess you either completely ignored me in favor of another one of your “funny segments” or “celebrity endorsements,” or you went on at length about how something something I don’t really give a fuck. Let’s be honest with ourselves here, Jonnie, I don’t like you and you’re too stupid to know any better. You’ve gotten over on history and name value for longer than anybody has any right to, and trust me when I tell you that’s a lot coming from me.
So here’s what we’re gonna do.
We’re gonna have us a good ol’ fashioned grudge match.
Just me and you. No Scott Steel. No Society of the New Breed.
Just us girls.
In that match, I’m going to beat you to within an inch of your life. I’ll slap you around and stretch you, I’ll thumb you in the eye and drop you on your head. I might even bring out old faithful, the fork in the boot, and carve up that idiot face of yours. Who the hell knows, right? No sense planning this kind of shit out, we’ll get out there and see what happens, play it by ear and what have you. But I’m going over, chump, because NPW is my fucking playground and you’re just visiting.
When it’s over, once you wake up, I’ve got some subtle advice for you:
Hit the road, Jack.
(And don’t you come back no more.)
“How’s the training coming along?”
The question lingered in the air between Eric Dane and Angus Skaaland, the oldest of friends, as they took a moment to look in on The Mountain from Angus’ office windows overlooking the entire training facility of the Crescent City Fight Club. Oblivious to any and all surroundings, Scott Steel was still glued to the television screen, watching promos on the XHF Network over and over again.
“Well,” Angus started, “He doesn’t exactly take instruction all that well.”
“Ego?” Eric asked.
“Nah,” Angus shook his head. “Kid ain’t got the brains to have an ego.”
“So he’s stupid?”
“Again, I don’t want to give him that much credit.”
Eric made a face.
“Let me put it like this. Did you catch that last Cassie Hunter video?”
The Only Star rolled his eyes. “The one with the blowjob? Or the one where she had some dude gnash her gash?”
Angus chuckled.
“The latest one.”
Eric made the same face again, overflowing with mockery and dismissal.
“Long story short, the kid thinks he’s watching porn. And he thinks he’s come up to the paywall, and insists that he’s willing and able to pay to see the nudey parts.”
An eyebrow raises on Dane’s face.
“That’s not weird at all.”
“I think he’s got a crush on Cassie.”
Dane visibly shuddered. “I can’t…” he trailed off, unable to even finish the thought out loud.
“Listen to me, Eric, and understand that I’m not even sort of joking.”
The Antagonist nodded.
“If that giant fuck whips his dick out and starts beating off to Cassie Hunter promos in my dojo, I quit. Not only that, but you’re fired, no more Head Trainer and no more free apartment upstairs. I cannot stress how serious I’m being with you right now.”
Eric contemplated that momentarily.
“Yeah,” he started, “No, I get it. Deal. I’ll talk to him.”
“Good,” Angus said, awash in relief. “I’m getting too old for this babysitting shit.”
Eric chuckled.
“I heard he powerbombed the bakery counter at a Starbucks.”
Serious as a heart attack, Angus deadpanned a reply.
“I’m pretty sure that dude could Powerbomb a city bus.”
Another moment of silence grew between them.
Eric finally broke it.
“Good,” he said. “I can’t wait to put that to use.”
