Legacy

[Blackstone]

When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.

Ok. Ok. I couldn't help myself. Cocaine is a hell of a drug and I'd been doing it a lot lately. But I HAD gone to a movie theater. And I did just step out of it. And it was bright outside. So just go with it, ok? I never disappoint. Ok. Let's try this again.

When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home. But instead of either of those, I found myself face to face with a black cop. I know, right? Black cop? Those dudes are usually running from Johnny law. I guess this dude followed that old saying “If you can't get away from them, join them so they don't shoot you.”. Oh. It didn't go that way? Fuck it.

“Erik. I thought I told you to stay in the city.”

It was Officer Doughty. This was the dude who thought he could make me stay and not go anally {No Means No} a priest. He was wrong. Lmfao. Whatever.

“Yea? I thought black guys get shot by the po-po. I didn't know they joined the force.” I said with a laugh.

Apparently, I'm not as funny as I thought I was. This dude shot me a look of death. It was like he was trying to use the dark side of the force to make my brain explode.

“You think you got jokes, huh?” He asked.

I shrugged.

“Think? I don't think about shit. I do shit. This is especially true when some random tells me not to do something.” I said quickly.

“So. You and Anna” he said with a sneer.

“We got along like a cop and a runaway black man. Only I didn't kill her.” I laughed.

We'd drawn the attention of a few of Pittsburgh's finest white trash. Five of them to be exact. Two fairly decent looking women and a guy who looked like he survived Saw. There were two really ugly women who had bellies that hung down to their snatches. I thought about getting a number for Salem. He was always into humping a skin fold or two.

“Those jokes of yours aren't funny. I could arrest you for interfering in an investigation.” He said with that same sneer.

I had no idea why he hated me so damn much. Had I fucked his daughter? Or was he related to Ignacio Zapp and knew I'd be {No Means No} him till he loves me at the PPV?

“Investigation? You're harassing a man, officer Getty. I think you'd be better off actually looking for the girl. My dick ain't for sale. To men.” I said with a grin.

“It's Doughty. We found a hair on the carpet upstairs. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

I could only shrug. The fuck was this dude talking about? I truly had no idea.

“Well, it wasn't mine,” I replied.

He looked at me. One eyebrow was cocked.

“We believe it to be Anna's.” He said.

And I guess that's when I knew. It was Sam. But I'd need more evidence than a cunt hair I know for a fact that Anna didn't have.

“Was it a cunt hair? I know for a fact that she's bald down there. The fucking thing looked like a roast beef sandwich down there. You could actually chew on those lips for hours and she'd never know. Girls out of her fucking mind most of the time.” I said as I tried holding in a laugh. It didn't work.

“This isn't a time for laughs, Black.” He said.

I shrugged.

“So you think Sam did something to her?” I asked.

He stared at me for what seemed like days. It made me uncomfortable as fuck. Maybe he wasn't related to Isaac Zapp. Maybe he was related to Amanda Rack. They shared that same “I'm a little teapot” look. You know the one. They're trying to remember the words to ‘I'm a Little Teapot’ but keep forgetting and get frustrated as fuck so they're on the verge of suicide? That's the look. I've seen Amarie Rack all of once and I wondered who let the {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore} in. You know, as dumb as Almond is, I doubt he'd let a {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore} like that guy grace his ring. But that uncle daddy and the cunt would. Whatever. I'll be glad to beat him smart. Oh. He beat Juan Havok? Does this clown want a fucking cake? It's harder to lose to that guy than it is to beat him. Literally, everybody beats this guy. LMFAO.

“He's on the list. We know about some of the things you've done, Black.” He said

Was he accusing me of doing something to Anna? I wouldn't touch that bitch with somebody else's dick. Not again anyway. She's a biter. I hate biters.

“Look at this dude. Accusing me of hurting a stripper slash hooker slash mega cunt. You barking up the wrong tree. I protect those girls. You just be sure to find the son of a bitch before I do.” I said.

He was making me lose my high. I didn't like that. I was getting pissed off. Part of my job was to make sure the girls were safe. This clown had no idea

“It's nice to see you finally take this seriously, Black.” He said with a grin.

“Yea. Fuck you too. We done?” I asked.

He nodded and went on his way.

Chapter two: Training sucks. Always has.

It’d been a while since I'd visited John for training. I'd been doing it all on my own for a few weeks. After everything that went down with John, I had to get away from that Kung Fu wizard for a while. But it was time to go back. The cop had already ruined my high. Might as well go see the hobo.

The place smelled just like I'd remembered. It was like walking into a dead hobos butthole. It'd make you puke if you weren't used to it. Fuck. It was like swimming in spoiled milk mixed with chlamydia laced snatch and baby diarrhea. It was just awful.

Everything was the same. The place still stunk. It was still that dirty white color. There was still that torn white mat in the center of the room. It was a hobo's wet dream.

John, himself, hadn't changed. His beard was longer, greyer, and he wore the same skinny jeans he'd worn the last time I was in that basement.

“So the prodigal son comes back,” John said as he slammed a water bottle down on the floor.

The sound shocked me. It woke me from the stink induced coma I'd found myself in.

“Sure. I guess. We'll need to talk about what you know later. Right now, I need to get this out of my system.” I replied with a sly smile.

John looked me over for a moment before cocking an eyebrow.

“So you didn't have anything to do with it?” He asked.

“Anna? Fuck no. I hate that bitch but I wouldn't hurt her. I fuck bitches. That's it.” I said.

John nodded. He knew as much but he also knew what I did for Sam. Didn't matter to me though.

“So another title shot? You're coming up in the world.” John said as he stretched his arms.

I shrugged. This was only my second title shot. Yay, no sell! I'm sure John wouldn't go along with it but I didn't care.

“Another? I guess. It's only my second. The weirdly skinny guy ruined my first one. I still haven't gotten a chance to pay that asshole back for that. I'm gonna fuck him up as soon as I get a chance. He avoided the hell out of me at the last Anarchy.” I said.

I felt John's stare before I saw it.

“Second? You have to be kidding me. You've had four. You're doing it again. What the fuck?” He accused.

I had no idea what he was talking about. I'd only had one. (Wink).

“Four? Seriously? Why the fuck don't I remember? Never happened, John.” I said with a laugh.

The look he shot me was one of great anger. I'd be dead twice if looks could kill. It would have scared anyone else. Not me. I didn't give a fuck. I could only laugh about it.

We got up and faced off. In the blink of an eye, the old hobo had already landed three jabs to my face. It stung but didn't affect me all that much. He was taking it easy on me.

“Focus,” John yelled.

Bam! He hit me with a right hook that would have broken anyone else's jaw and sent them into a ball on the floor. Not me though. I'm not a bitch like Isaac Zapp. That dude is a fucking bitch.

I threw a quick two jab combination. John easily dodged everything. Either he was faster or I was slowly going {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore}.

“You're pathetically slow, Erik.” John taunted.

Bam! Pain shot through my entire body. Liver shot. This was another shot that would send anyone else down.

“How do you plan on winning that belt when you can't beat an old man in a sparring session?” John asked.

I shrugged. My opponents were jobbers. They weren't Kung Fu hobo wizards like John. This dude could be a champion if he wanted.

“Well, John, my opponents aren't fighting wizards. Ike Zapp might be a champion but only in name. This dude is below a jobber. Arnold Rack thinks he's a big deal because he beat Juan Havok. The dude is a fucking joke.” I said before a one, two punch combo that was followed by a kick to the gut.

John blocked everything with ease.

“You're overlooking your opponent's abilities. Zepp is a champion for a reason.” John started.

I had to cut him off. Iggy Zapp was a fucking bitch. I knew it. The fans knew it. Fuck. I'm sure even he did.

“Nah. That dude was just in the right place at the right time. Dudes still a bitch. He always will be. These dudes ain't like you. They're weak. They're jobbers. They don't hit like hobo tanks.” I said as I tried and failed to dodge another punch to my face.

“You have to be ready for what they can do, Erik. That means learning from past mistakes.” He said.

Did this dude just say I've made mistakes? Who the fuck did he think he was talking to? I've never made a mistake in the ring. I wouldn't be completely undefeated if I had. This dude acts as if I ran into the ring with a table in my face. I'd never do that.

“Mistakes? Pshhhttt! I don't make mistakes, John. I'm un-fucking-defeated.” I said.

John stopped bouncing on his heels. He sighed and shook his head.

“You aren't undefeated, Erik,” John said

John was losing it. I'd never lost a match in my entire career.

“Nope. I've never lost. Undefeated. That's me.” I said with a laugh.

Then there was darkness. I could only guess that the old hobo ninja had fired off one of those howitzer cannons he had for hands and knocked me clean the fuck out.

But I didn't only see darkness. There was this fucking bird. It was black and just massive. It cawed at me like it was trying to tell me something. Now, I'd been knocked out before but I'd never experienced a huge bird like that. It seemed to be trying to tell me something. I didn't know what it was. I've never been fluent in random bird, you know.

When I came to, John was standing over me. He looked worried. I'd never seen him like that. He usually looked constipated or angry due to constipation.

“You've been out for a while. You ok?” He asked.

I didn't know how to answer that. Was I ok? I'd just got knocked out and talked to a fucking bird. There was nothing ok about that.

“Uh. Yea. Other than a damn near caved in skull, I'm good.” I lied.

John believed me. He helped me to my feet and over to the bench.

“You know, Adam Reck put himself through hell at Anarchy. You could use that. He can't be one hundred percent.” John said proudly.

Did he watch the same shit I clearly didn't? Alex Rack barely beat Leonard Havok. Havok has always been a curtain jerker who was easily taken care of. Dude had an attitude but didn't have the ass to back any of it up. If Alvin Rack had a tough time with that clown then he's basically a dead man walking.

“He barely beat a guy who would still be {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore} if his IQ was forty points higher. He could be fresh as a fucking Daisy and still lose to me. I'm the greatest. He's just a bitch I let wrestle in my ring.” I said before taking a sip of water.

“He's a professional, Erik. Just like you.” He told me.

Alton Reck is a pro? At what? Being terrible? John has clearly been thinking too highly of these clowns.

“He sure is. He's a professional beer break. He's the guy put in the ring so the fans can go buy more beer. That's literally all this bum is good for. I hear his idol even thinks so. Oh yeah. He's a huge fan of that Maverick dude from XBF or whatever it is. Dude likes to go fast in a danger zone or something. I don't know. He's pretty fucking worthless too. Thinks he's an icon. I guess he's an icon to other jobbers who want to be as jobberifick as he is. Rack counts as one I guess. Ingrid Zap is the same way. No idea how he got that belt but I'm sure he put those dick sucking lips to work if you know what I mean.” I laughed.

John looked at me like he was a disappointed father. I had no idea why. It wasn't like he was my dad or anything.

“When are you gonna learn, Erik? Your ego is too big. You're facing two grown men. These guys are professionals. They aren't guys you should look past. They could be dangerous.” John said.

Ugh. Always giving them more credit than they actually deserve. Ashley Rack is just horrible. Always will be. Ingus Zapp has literally always been just as bad. These are two clowns who are in way over their heads.

“Guys? I'm pretty sure one of them is a chick. Barely any tits but a chick nonetheless.” I said with a laugh.

John sighed.

“Reck is a man. Adam Reck.” John said with a grumble.

“You sure? Rack sure looked like a bitch out there against that {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore} at Anarchy in that match I paid no attention to at all.” I laughed.

“Your jokes will be your downfall, Erik.” He said with a sigh.

“Maybe. Listen. I gotta run. It's been fun, old man” I said before grabbing my bag.

Chapter three: what the fuck is with that bird?

The moon was full in the sky on a cold night in March. Rain fell in sheets even though the sky was nearly cloudless. This was Pittsburgh and Pittsburgh had some pretty fucked up weather

I was straight pissed off. I didn't take an umbrella. I didn't take a raincoat. The sky was damn near cloudless. Why would I? I wouldn't but there I was...getting soaked to the bone. To make matter worse was the fact that there was a bird cawing at me. It was the same bird from earlier in the day. I guess I was still feeling the knockouts blow from white Mike Tyson.

“Caw”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Caw”

“Are you even real?”

The only answer to my questions were more caws. I couldn't even see the damn thing. I looked like a homeless dude in an expensive grey suit that was soaking wet while I talked to myself about a big ass bird. It was fitting for downtown 'burgh but not for me.

That bird cawed at me for the entire walk to Blossom. I would have killed it had I known where the fuck it was. It's lucky I didn't. Fuck that bird.

Blossom was popping once again. I could hear a dumbass Justin Beiber song as I got closer. Baby baby bay oooohhh. Fuck I hate that chick. Fucking dyke. Oh well.

Cherrie met me at the door. My eyes immediately went to her rack. Annette Reck had tiny tits but Cherrie's were massive. They sat high in her tight, white dress. Her nipples poked through. They were perfect. I wanted to fuck her right there at the door. She'd never go for it. Or would she?

“Damn girl. You looking fine tonight. Wanna fuck? Right here?” I asked.

Ever seen a redhead blush? Lmao. She turned as red as a beet. It was hot.

“Here? No, but I get off early tonight. Meet me out back in ten?” She asked.

I could only guess she meant we'd be fucking in ten minutes and again when she got off work.

I met Cherrie in the VIP room ten minutes later. The room was dimly lit with purple curtains and a black couch. I sat there with a drink in my hand. Cherrie's ass swayed to Bump N Grind. I was honestly mesmerized by that ass. It was truly a gift from a higher power.

She bent over directly in from of me and looked back with a smile. Seconds later her blue thong was pulled to the side.

“Caw”

Ignore it, Erik. That bird isn't real. Cherrie is. Ignore the bird and fuck the girl. Ignore the bird. Fuck the girl. Ignore.

“Caw Caw”

“That fucking bird needs to go away,” I said aloud.

Cherrie looked around confused.

“Bird? Is something wrong?” She asked

I shook my head. Aside from a bird still cawing in my head, all was well. I hoped.

“I'm good, sugar. Bend that ass over. She looks ready for me.” I grinned.

“She's been waiting all day,” Cherrie said.

“Caw!” Went that fucking bird.

There was only one thing I could do. It was a long time coming. That day anyway. I took my baggy out of the right pocket of my grey suit. I pulled that blue thong to the side and made a small pile of white gold on Cherrie's chocolate starfish. I took the hit. That shit hit my head like Thor's hammer. I sat there for a solid minute after. No bird.

“Ready?” I asked.

“All day, baby,” Cherrie said.

“Caw!” Said that fucking bird.

I couldn't do it. I slapped her ass and pulled the panties back into place.

“What's wrong?” Cherrie asked.

I couldn't tell her about this giant bird that had been following me around all day, could I? Of course not. She'd think I was crazy or something.

“Nothing. It's just that I have this big match coming up. You know how that goes.” I lied.

She seemed to understand. She put her dress back on with a smile.

“Since you can't have it, you get to watch me do it myself later.” She said with a grin.

At that moment, I wished death upon anything with wings. Sure I'd watch. I'd get horny as fuck. I'd try to join the party, but that fucking random bird would ruin it. Fuck.

“Caw! Caw!”

Onto Masquerade I guess. Fuck.

Chapter Four: Legacy

To:[e-mail]\edu.com

From:[e-mail]

Dear Armie,

Hi. How's that butthole. You've been in for a few weeks now if you haven't been keeping track of time. I don't know if they give you guys calendars or what not. I've never been in prison, though I'm sure it's very similar to a Catholic orphanage. Do you have nuns trying to shove broomsticks up your ass? Or maybe a priest who is making suggestive comments about how your lips are pretty? No? Well, maybe they aren't so similar after all. Not that those things ever happened to me. They didn't. I'm a man.

Guess what! The fat midget is back. I thought I'd beaten this dude into obscurity but I guess I was wrong. What I do know is that this dude really needs to keep my name out of his mouth. He acts like he's never lost a match or something. What a clown. Who does that? This dude lost to me twice in two tries. Jesus fucking Christ! Just admit defeat already! I guess that weird cockroach bitch with them good dick sucking lips will have to handle my very heavy (he's fat as hell) light work. Whatever. Dude sucks.

I'm writing you today to talk about legacies. Yours is going down the drain. You spent years promoting no talent clowns who put fans to sleep. I'm looking at you, Bob Rot. That guy could put me to sleep after a speed binge or an eightball. And you, Almond, thought he was the best thing going. Your company suffered because of it. Ratings were low. Attendance was down a hobos shitter. And then there was light. That's right. Awoken showed up to make things all better. We raised ratings. Attendance is through the fucking roof. RSR is at the top of the world! You should be proud of yourself for signing the three superstars to contracts. But your legacy is still shit. You went and got yourself locked up. You went from a guy who ran a company to a guy who runs from large black men named Smallz. Such a shame.

I'll have you know that my legacy is growing. That's right. I finally have a title shot! Last time I had one of these, the skinny priest guy ruined it. Was that your idea? I'm guessing it was since you obviously like making shitty decisions.

Your whore wife set it all up. I guess it was her way of apologizing for giving us a wheelbarrow full of pennies. That bitch really did that! But she made up for it with this.

That Gillroy Rogers guy said that I somehow squirmed my way into this match. I'm not sure what he means. I don't do that type shit. I just beat the holy hell out of everyone in front of me. I don't squirm into anything. I sure as hell don't ask for shit. My legacy will never be that I begged or squirmed or manipulated my way into anything. I just go out there and make a fool out of whatever poor sap is put in front of me. I definitely didn't pull an Ashley Reck. I'm sure that flat chested bitch showed Notaurinal her bitch tits and he told your whore wife to put her in this match. Or how the champion...Isaac Zep...put them big ole penis pumping lips to work in order to get a fast count over whoever held that strap before him. Me? I don't do that shit. I get by on pure talent alone. I AM the most talented man on the roster, after all. Everyone knows it. Sure they never admit it to themselves but I notice it when I pass them. I regularly hear them say “Oh shit! It's Erik Black! He's so awesome! I wish my dick was as big as his! He's so damn badass!” all the time! And they're right! I'm all of those things!

This is all about Legacy. It's the legacy title, after all. My legacy doesn't necessarily ride on this but it'd help, right? And that's really all the reason I need.

Can you believe Ian Zepp is a champion? I never thought I'd see that in a million years. Dude just doesn't have the skills or talent necessary to even be competent. Ok. So he was randomly thrown into that clusterfuck of a tag match at Anarchy. I legit toyed with this dude. I TOYED with him! The champions of this place are hilarious. You have Leanardo Havok thinking he's somebody we should all worry about. I know he doesn't have a strap so be patient. But he's held a few? I guess? And now Ibrahim Zepp has one? There are only two people in this company below him. One is Leonard Havok. The other is the fat midget. Fuck. Even Ashlyn's Reck is better and she's flat chested! Seeing as how this dude has the fighting skill of a pikanese fighting midget, I think we can all assume he slipped a tongue to your whore wife, Armie. Feel bad, yet? You're getting butt fucked in prison. Your wife is getting butt fucked by the help while you're away. I'm sure that makes you feel like a big man, right? Well, it shouldn't. It should make you feel pretty damn small.

This dude doesn't even deserve the Legacy Title. This dude is a guy who has trouble with enhancement talent. It's true. How the fuck can he even think he deserves a strap when he's barely able to get out of bed in the morning? This dudes legacy will be tarnished by loss after loss mixed with butt stuff and herpes. It's a shame. A retread tire shop somewhere is missing a hard worker. Instead of working that nine to five, he's masquerading as a legacy champion. That's ok though. I'm gonna be taking it from him. You know it's true. What could this dude possibly do to stop me? He showed his cards at Anarchy. This dude ain't playing with a full deck, y'know? I mean he's lacking the skills in every area he needs to be proficient at. He's a fucking bum. He's currently making the legacy strap look completely worthless. A good champion brings eyes to his strap. He makes people want the strap. He makes people want to be him. He doesn't make people wonder how the fuck he got it. That's what this guy does. He makes everybody wonder how in the fuck a worthless sack of shit like him won a match..much less one for a title.

There's also this new guy or chick. I'm not sure. He/she looks like a talentless {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore} little girl. This bitch fights almost as good. Lmao. That means he's basically worthless. I haven't seen him fight but I hear the boys in the back make fun of him. Everybody except for Havok. You remember that douche, right? He's all high and mighty but fights like he's paralyzed from the face down. Apparently, Amber Reck here had a bit of trouble with that no talent clown. I know, right? How can anyone ever have trouble with Anthony Havok?! I never thought I'd see it. I didn't see it either. I'm far too busy doing important shit. I have no time to watch two jobbers have a catfight over a contender spot. I guess Angus Reck won it so he's in this match. He's basically there to make me look better. Isn't that the only reason for jobbers? They're there to make the actual talent look better than they already are. I have half a mind to just slap this clown with my dick and end his pathetic life.

He worships some other jobber. Maverick? Maybedick? Tinydick? I'm not sure what this dudes name is but he's apparently a big deal down in jobberville. Yea he's worshiped by jobbers everywhere. I've never heard of the dude myself. I guess that means he's about as worthless as a skunk on a nice spring day. I have no idea what that means. Just roll with it, ok?

I'm sure Amanda Reck is pretty hyped. He gets to show his idol what he's capable of. I'm afraid that it ain't much. This dude damn near died at Anarchy and that was against an actual {Mongo Edit: Nah we don't say that anymore} who probably shits his pants. How the fuck does he hope to beat me? And he'll have to beat me to win. Fuck Iman Zepp. He's worthless too. I'm the only actual talent in this damn thing. That's a serious question, btw. How can he actually hope to win? This guy is stuck between a rock and a dummy. Sure he may be able to throw the dummy around a little but the rock (me) is gonna beat him to death with his own nut sack.

So basically what I'm trying to say is simple. That strap is mine. I'm facing two shit stains on a dirty hookers mattress to get it. How can either of these clowns possibly stop me? I can honestly see Irvin Zepp shitting his pants when he gets back in the ring with me. I really could. He just looks like a guy who shits himself on a regular basis. He does it, even more, when he meets his own personal boogeyman. I'm not talking about a little shart. No. This dude is gonna get diarrhea all over himself when he meets his maker (me). And there is nothing Amberle Reck can do either. I'm sure this dude gonna get his panties in a bunch before the match. I hear maybedick is gonna be backstage watching him. Can he step up to the challenge? Lmao. No. No, he can't and won't. These clowns bout to get bodied.
.peace

PS. I've included some butthole cream for you

Pps. No, I didn't.