Post by johndoe on Nov 26, 2020 18:51:14 GMT -5
-Joe Blow is seen sleeping in one of the chairs in the locker room. His pose as if he had as many glasses of gin as a wurzel from brizzle on a friday night. The rest of the talent has clearly already left as very few lights are still on and the sound of showers distant memories. He must be a deep sleeper as in his fingers, despite them being rather limp, a loosey is wedged half burned.
A man opens the door and disturbs this bit of serendipitous squalor. Joe lazily opens his eyes, appears to notice them, but promptly closes them. Of course Joe has no time for anyone but himself. The man, wearing some business casual attire, walks up to Blow and loudly clears his throat. This of course would be as futile as asking an irishman to show up on time.
The man goes again to clear his throat but Joe’s odor finally gets the better of him and instead of a fake clearing, he goes into a full on coughing fit. The hobo opens one eye up and upon seeing the oaf in front of him nearly dying, finally sits up and stretches in place.-
“Hey man, I’m not trying to get one of your diseases.”
-The semi-formally dressed man spits up some phlegm into a nearby trash can and while at first the words didn’t resonate, like a hit from from a defibrillator, he snaps into awareness and scorn.-
“MY DISEASES?”
-He protests. However Joe is quick to come back.-
“Yeah your stupidity. Now tell me what you want already.”
-At first the recipient of this verbal berration leads to him almost saying something in retort, but he catches himself. After a pat on his chest and rolling of his neck, he chimes back in.-
“We got your next match lined up. Could lead to an opportunity for a championship.”
-Joe looks completely unphased and even a little bit off put.-
“Wait, are you telling me the jerks that run this place want to try and put me on billboards and ice cream bars?”
-The man smugly looks down his nose at the bum in front of him.-
“Hey now don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s only a number one contenders match for the XHF light heavyweight. Parker and that Jabroni kid set to square up with you. But it is at the pay-per-view! Homecoming!”
-Joe gets up and gets a few inches from his foils face. This leads to the latter stepping back and covering his face with his button up as best he could.-
“What makes them think I’ll even show up huh?!”
-Joe edges closer and closer while the man keeps retreating to the door.-
“T-they said if you refuse you’ll be kicked out of here! Sorry don’t hurt the messenger!”
-Joe does a stutter step which causes the person to trip and land on their rear. A cold gaze from the vagrant is enough to make the man wet himself. Covered in his own musk he claws backwards ever still and manages to crawl out of the door with a queer and motivated brevity. Blow pounds a fist against the wall and begins talking to himself.-
“God fucking damnit. They really think they’ve outsmarted me. Naive little shits. Curse the name of BB. I was supposed to do the very least amount of work, collect my check and be done with it. But these assholes want me to travel around with them too. They want me to dance around like their little puppet.
“And against Al and Nate no less. One can barely tie his shoes without getting semen on his face and the other is still trying to find the end of every bottle in the country. What am I to this company being paired with the rest of the freaks. I have a real message! Not a massage or a maladjustment.
“I don’t even want to be part of this match...so what can I do..”
-Joe thinks hard for a moment with both eyes closed. He wonders what the ultimate betrayal of the company could be without him being fired. While the old adage goes lightning never strikes twice, it appears it did here, as his eyes dart wide open in realization and then a sadistic grin forms with his lips.-
“Fat suit….”
A man opens the door and disturbs this bit of serendipitous squalor. Joe lazily opens his eyes, appears to notice them, but promptly closes them. Of course Joe has no time for anyone but himself. The man, wearing some business casual attire, walks up to Blow and loudly clears his throat. This of course would be as futile as asking an irishman to show up on time.
The man goes again to clear his throat but Joe’s odor finally gets the better of him and instead of a fake clearing, he goes into a full on coughing fit. The hobo opens one eye up and upon seeing the oaf in front of him nearly dying, finally sits up and stretches in place.-
“Hey man, I’m not trying to get one of your diseases.”
-The semi-formally dressed man spits up some phlegm into a nearby trash can and while at first the words didn’t resonate, like a hit from from a defibrillator, he snaps into awareness and scorn.-
“MY DISEASES?”
-He protests. However Joe is quick to come back.-
“Yeah your stupidity. Now tell me what you want already.”
-At first the recipient of this verbal berration leads to him almost saying something in retort, but he catches himself. After a pat on his chest and rolling of his neck, he chimes back in.-
“We got your next match lined up. Could lead to an opportunity for a championship.”
-Joe looks completely unphased and even a little bit off put.-
“Wait, are you telling me the jerks that run this place want to try and put me on billboards and ice cream bars?”
-The man smugly looks down his nose at the bum in front of him.-
“Hey now don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s only a number one contenders match for the XHF light heavyweight. Parker and that Jabroni kid set to square up with you. But it is at the pay-per-view! Homecoming!”
-Joe gets up and gets a few inches from his foils face. This leads to the latter stepping back and covering his face with his button up as best he could.-
“What makes them think I’ll even show up huh?!”
-Joe edges closer and closer while the man keeps retreating to the door.-
“T-they said if you refuse you’ll be kicked out of here! Sorry don’t hurt the messenger!”
-Joe does a stutter step which causes the person to trip and land on their rear. A cold gaze from the vagrant is enough to make the man wet himself. Covered in his own musk he claws backwards ever still and manages to crawl out of the door with a queer and motivated brevity. Blow pounds a fist against the wall and begins talking to himself.-
“God fucking damnit. They really think they’ve outsmarted me. Naive little shits. Curse the name of BB. I was supposed to do the very least amount of work, collect my check and be done with it. But these assholes want me to travel around with them too. They want me to dance around like their little puppet.
“And against Al and Nate no less. One can barely tie his shoes without getting semen on his face and the other is still trying to find the end of every bottle in the country. What am I to this company being paired with the rest of the freaks. I have a real message! Not a massage or a maladjustment.
“I don’t even want to be part of this match...so what can I do..”
-Joe thinks hard for a moment with both eyes closed. He wonders what the ultimate betrayal of the company could be without him being fired. While the old adage goes lightning never strikes twice, it appears it did here, as his eyes dart wide open in realization and then a sadistic grin forms with his lips.-
“Fat suit….”