Post by Justin on Feb 14, 2021 0:52:38 GMT -5
“How is she?” Eric asks for what seemed like the thousandth time. Things at the Crescent City Fight Club have been tense this past week between the trial of Scott Steel and what the kids have taken to calling the betrayal of Graysie Parker.
Angus raises an eyebrow. “Fuckin’ furious, why do you keep asking?”
Incredulously, Eric scrunches up his face.
“Because I care, that’s why.”
Rolling his eyes, Angus says “Could have fooled me. And literally everybody else on the planet who saw No Man’s Land. And, specifically, GRAYSIE!”
“So…” Eric trails off, refusing to take responsibility. “You think she’ll be okay?”
A moment passes as Angus calculates the best possible way to reply to his long time friend, mentor, and business partner.
“Are you fuckin’ {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore}?”
“Fuck’s sake, Angus, it’s 2021, we don’t say the “R” word anymore!”
All things considered, that Angus doesn’t slap the dogshit out of Eric right there where they stand is the kind of superhuman act of restraint that songs are written about. His face, noticeably reddened, is his only tell. Taking a deep breath he does his best not to say anything too terribly offensive.
“What you did to Graysie in SWAT was inexcusable. That you somehow think it’s okay is unthinkable. That you’re standing here in my house expecting me to tell you that everything is gonna be okay is out-fucking-rageous. Granted, I may have been an Eric Dane Yes Man for a decade or more but I’m not a stupid kid anymore and I don’t need your approval anymore. You’re a walking, talking, wrestling, piece of fucking shit, and if I never had to listen to you peddle your bullshit again after this it’d be too goddamned soon!”
For once Eric Dane is speechless.
Angus is not.
“This is the last straw, Eric. You need to make this right.”
So you’re that guy.
That checks a lot of boxes, actually, fills in a bunch of blanks.
You, Joey Mack, are one of those also-ran assholes who aren’t quite good enough to actually win anything so you put a whole fuck of a lot of effort into shouting every almost achievement that you almost make from the top of every almost mountain that you can almost find.
Fuck, son, “almost” could be your middle name.
Joseph Almost Mack. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?
I’ll be honest with ya though, Joe, nobody’s really impressed with that time that you went to SWAT and lost a Royal Rumble. No more than we’re impressed by that time you lost a Rumble right nere in Northern Pro or that time you lost a Lumberjack Match but you did your best and almost won the North American Double Crown championship.
Why don’t you almost shut the fuck up, eh?
You know, I’ve noticed, all three of you mooks have wasted more time bickering amongst yourselves like children than you have digesting the fact that you’re about to step into the ring with the three most dominant men that Northern Pro Wrestling has ever seen. We’re the Immovable Object but you dorks don’t have the brains or the balls to even attempt to be the unstoppable force.
Seriously, my guys, how do you guys really think this is gonna go?
Is Lord Dominicus gonna put on a hundred pounds and stop wearing another man’s pubic hair as a vest? Is Timeless gonna graduate from kindergarten and quit crying about the mean girls giving him Cooties? Is Joe Mack ever gonna figure out that a can-do attitude, washboard abs, and four bucks will almost get him a tall americano from Starbucks?
I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that no, none of that seems likely.
What does seem likely is that the Syndicate, well-oiled machine that we are, is gonna slice through you three jay brones like a hot knife through butter on our way to yet another victory and our continued dominance in the land of Northern Pro Wrestling!
It’s science, really.
But this is what I don’t get. Out of the three of you, the only one of you that’ve ever won a goddamned thing is Dominicus. Now, granted, it’s been several months even for him since he won anything, but what again I find myself questioning the existence of Alex Turner and Joseph Mack anywhere near the same galaxy as Eric Dane and the Syndicate?
I mean, Mack’s got potential, so I guess there’s that, but Timeless?
Bro?
Seriously.
You almost made it five minutes at the big boy table, bud, but you just couldn’t make it through a whole day without sticking your dumb fucking foot right back in your dumb fucking mouth, could you? Nah, and let’s face it, the only thing you’re useful to anybody for is talking up a big enough storm to piss off the natives so that they’re foaming at the mouth to buy a ticket to see somebody stick their boot up your ass!
Which, granted, is good business.
But. (and there’s always a “but”)
You don’t get any bonus points for being born a douchebag.
What you get is repeatedly slapped in the mouth and put in your place by your betters. Which, for those of you who haven’t been paying attention, is very high on my priority list heading into Vicious Valentine’s next week! The fact of the matter is I don’t think that any of the three of you deserve a shot at my title any time soon and we’re out to prove it, again, live on Pay-Per-View so that there can once and for all be ZERO DOUBTS about who sits atop the mountain in Northern Pro Wrestling!
Let’s not be coy, friends, of course I mean The Syndicate.
The more I think about it, the more I almost feel sorry for you boys.
Almost.
Angus raises an eyebrow. “Fuckin’ furious, why do you keep asking?”
Incredulously, Eric scrunches up his face.
“Because I care, that’s why.”
Rolling his eyes, Angus says “Could have fooled me. And literally everybody else on the planet who saw No Man’s Land. And, specifically, GRAYSIE!”
“So…” Eric trails off, refusing to take responsibility. “You think she’ll be okay?”
A moment passes as Angus calculates the best possible way to reply to his long time friend, mentor, and business partner.
“Are you fuckin’ {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore}?”
“Fuck’s sake, Angus, it’s 2021, we don’t say the “R” word anymore!”
All things considered, that Angus doesn’t slap the dogshit out of Eric right there where they stand is the kind of superhuman act of restraint that songs are written about. His face, noticeably reddened, is his only tell. Taking a deep breath he does his best not to say anything too terribly offensive.
“What you did to Graysie in SWAT was inexcusable. That you somehow think it’s okay is unthinkable. That you’re standing here in my house expecting me to tell you that everything is gonna be okay is out-fucking-rageous. Granted, I may have been an Eric Dane Yes Man for a decade or more but I’m not a stupid kid anymore and I don’t need your approval anymore. You’re a walking, talking, wrestling, piece of fucking shit, and if I never had to listen to you peddle your bullshit again after this it’d be too goddamned soon!”
For once Eric Dane is speechless.
Angus is not.
“This is the last straw, Eric. You need to make this right.”
So you’re that guy.
That checks a lot of boxes, actually, fills in a bunch of blanks.
You, Joey Mack, are one of those also-ran assholes who aren’t quite good enough to actually win anything so you put a whole fuck of a lot of effort into shouting every almost achievement that you almost make from the top of every almost mountain that you can almost find.
Fuck, son, “almost” could be your middle name.
Joseph Almost Mack. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?
I’ll be honest with ya though, Joe, nobody’s really impressed with that time that you went to SWAT and lost a Royal Rumble. No more than we’re impressed by that time you lost a Rumble right nere in Northern Pro or that time you lost a Lumberjack Match but you did your best and almost won the North American Double Crown championship.
Why don’t you almost shut the fuck up, eh?
You know, I’ve noticed, all three of you mooks have wasted more time bickering amongst yourselves like children than you have digesting the fact that you’re about to step into the ring with the three most dominant men that Northern Pro Wrestling has ever seen. We’re the Immovable Object but you dorks don’t have the brains or the balls to even attempt to be the unstoppable force.
Seriously, my guys, how do you guys really think this is gonna go?
Is Lord Dominicus gonna put on a hundred pounds and stop wearing another man’s pubic hair as a vest? Is Timeless gonna graduate from kindergarten and quit crying about the mean girls giving him Cooties? Is Joe Mack ever gonna figure out that a can-do attitude, washboard abs, and four bucks will almost get him a tall americano from Starbucks?
I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that no, none of that seems likely.
What does seem likely is that the Syndicate, well-oiled machine that we are, is gonna slice through you three jay brones like a hot knife through butter on our way to yet another victory and our continued dominance in the land of Northern Pro Wrestling!
It’s science, really.
But this is what I don’t get. Out of the three of you, the only one of you that’ve ever won a goddamned thing is Dominicus. Now, granted, it’s been several months even for him since he won anything, but what again I find myself questioning the existence of Alex Turner and Joseph Mack anywhere near the same galaxy as Eric Dane and the Syndicate?
I mean, Mack’s got potential, so I guess there’s that, but Timeless?
Bro?
Seriously.
You almost made it five minutes at the big boy table, bud, but you just couldn’t make it through a whole day without sticking your dumb fucking foot right back in your dumb fucking mouth, could you? Nah, and let’s face it, the only thing you’re useful to anybody for is talking up a big enough storm to piss off the natives so that they’re foaming at the mouth to buy a ticket to see somebody stick their boot up your ass!
Which, granted, is good business.
But. (and there’s always a “but”)
You don’t get any bonus points for being born a douchebag.
What you get is repeatedly slapped in the mouth and put in your place by your betters. Which, for those of you who haven’t been paying attention, is very high on my priority list heading into Vicious Valentine’s next week! The fact of the matter is I don’t think that any of the three of you deserve a shot at my title any time soon and we’re out to prove it, again, live on Pay-Per-View so that there can once and for all be ZERO DOUBTS about who sits atop the mountain in Northern Pro Wrestling!
Let’s not be coy, friends, of course I mean The Syndicate.
The more I think about it, the more I almost feel sorry for you boys.
Almost.
