A Verbal Rampage The Likes of Which VVS Has Never Seen

[Mittens T. Cat]

"YOU F**KING DYKE!!! YOU GOD D*MN F**KING DYKE!!! I HOPE YOUR MOM SUCKS A DICK, ONLY INSTEAD OF A DICK IT'S A POISONED DICK-LOOK ALIKE COVERED WITH POISON AND SHE INGESTS IT AND IT MAKES HER WHEEZ AND COUGH UP BLOOD AND SEMEN FOR 9 HOURS, YOU HEAR ME??? 9 HOURS. MOTHERF**KER, NINE F**KING HOURS, AND GETS HER F**KIN', VAG COVERED IN HONEY ONLY FOR IT TO BE DEVOURED BY A CLOUD OF BEES AND THEN EATEN BY YOGI F**KIN' BERA!!! THE GOD D*MN BASEBALL PLAYER, NOT THE HOMOEROTIC BEAR!!! HE LIKES PICKNICK BASKETS ANYWAY YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR A..."

This, sadly, could go on for days. Not only was Mittens infuriated with the current state of affairs in the Vulva Vice Squad in general, but he was also dissapointed with the lack of participation from Don King and the San Diego Chicken.

So, Mittens stood there trashing each member, as they pretended to listen. This was, at times, as common as being married by Elvis in Vegas. They used to snap back, toss in a witty remark, offer a helpful suggestion as to where he can stick the words he just said. Lately, though, they just take it like a bunch of b*tches. Not because they were scared. Au contraire, amused is more the word.

"...I CAN'T WAIT, AND I MEAN I REALLY JUST CANNOT. WAIT. UNTIL I GO TO YOUR HOUSE, CHUCK, AND FINGER YOUR LITTLE SISTER FOR ALL THE AWFUL THINGS YOU'VE DONE TO ME, YOU SACK OF CAULIFLOWER DICK!!! THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR F**KIN ARABIC GIRLS, YOU BASTARD!!! YOU F**KING GOD D*MN BASTARD F**K!"

Chuck finally offered, "I never banged an arabic chick, not sense the ol' 9/11. Scared my dick'll get blown off... i mean, not like, blown, but like, literally--"

"Blown up? Exploded?" SDC offered.

"Yeah, exploded. BOOM! No more dick, gone, like a box of Cheez-its at a Cheez-its lover's convention."

"Brilliant analogy," Don King interjected.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. This one chick, arabic right, totally hot-- but she starts screaming 'jihad! jihad!' while i'm doing her in the butt. Well, turns out she was screaming, 'too hard', haha. Paranoid fantasy I guess."

"Crazy."

It wasn't necessarily what he said that was so funny. It's just... you know, his wide, smiling mouth never moved. I mean, imagine being yelled at from a face constantly doing this: . It's enough to make men go insane honestly.

But who said these men weren't already insane? Furthermore, who said these men are men?

"...FIRST OF ALL, YOUR SEXUAL ESCAPADES, CHICKEN, ARE ABOUT AS REALISTIC AS ME. STICKING. MY. D*CK. IN. SIDE. YOUR. MOM..."

"oh, deary dear."

"GETTING. A NUT. CUMMING. INSIDE HER. AND MAKING. HER. PREGNANT."

"Wow."

"WOW WHAT? WOW, THE F**K, WHAT? 'Uhh, my name is San Diego Chicken, I wrestle in battle royals for world title shots only the leader of my group gets them instead cause I'm such a loser and nobody likes me except for my dad but not even him because he doesn't claim me when he's drunk and slaps me around like a two dollar whore and calls me 'peanut, and--' Just shut up, SHUT YOUR STUPID, CHICKEN BEAK MOTHERF**KER, YOU HEAR ME??? YOU'RE MOTHERF**KIN BEAK??? SHUT!"

"That's slightly unnecessary, and completely fabricated."

"Fabricated like my dick in your mouf?"

"...That doesn't make sense."

"Yeah, makes about as much sense as my dick in your mouf."

"You're impossible."

"Not impossible to get my dick in your mouf."

Don King interrupted, "Now, before this turns into a discussion on quantum physics and theoretical blah blah and hoo-ha theory, as to whether or not it's possible that Mittens gets stuck in a "dick in your mouf" loop. Let me remind you Mittens, shouldn't you be training for like... your match?"

"OOOOH, GOOD ONE, DON! YOU THINK I HAVEN'T THOUGHT OF THAT ALREADY??? YOU THINK, THE GREAT MITTENS T. CAT, THE HARDKORREST, *****EST, MOTHERF**KER THIS SIDE OF THE UNIVERSE HASN'T BEEN TRAINING? I TRAIN, OK! YOU MAY NOT SEE IT, BUT THAT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE A FAGGOT!!!"

"Faggotism doesn't directly correlate with blindess, Mittens, or did you not know that?"

"What I do know, is I see three blind faggots right in front of me who make Hellen Keller look attractive."

"That doesn't make sense."

"About as much sense as my dick in your mouf. Look, all I'm asking, is that you guys back me up-- which, besides Woolery, no one has. And Woolery's backing up is more like, 'talk about how many girls I've boned that I actually haven't, and to hell with Mittens' promo.' You know? You know? And it, it pisses me off guys. It pisses me off."

Chuck Woolery, Don King, and SDC gave a collective: "Sorry."

This roleplay ends when you a see a weiner.

8========D

 

[NotorisSTD]

(CUEUP: “Last Night” by Tiger Army…)
(CUTTO: Black and white footage of Felix Red, sitting on a folding chair in an empty sound studio, hands on his knees, looking forlorn, black dickies, boots, new badass Planet Terror T-shirt…)

FELIX: I really, really, really need to die. And this is a serious problem.

I could do the whole honor thing, and kill myself, cuz that’s the traditional Japanese thing to do, and I am half Japanese. But honor has never really been my thing. And, while I doubt it, if I kill myself, people might feel obligated to say nice things about me after I’m dead. Like, all the ruthless sh(bleep) I’ve pulled was a manifestation of some underlying, desperate, unrequited need for affection, or whatever…

I’ve been trying to overdose on drugs, which is harder than I expected. My metabolism seems to have developed a drugs deficiency. It would actually be easier to die by not doing drugs, and it’s far too late to seriously consider that particular course of action…

I was counting on Kin Hiroshi to kill me, but after giving the issue a bit more thought, I question if he really has it in him. I have never, once, seen murder in his eyes. I keep saying he wants to be me, or is an extension of me, or maybe he just wished he was cool enough to hang out with me, but I’m not sure whether I believe that. It might’ve just been one of those things I said ’cause I thought it sounded cool…

The truth is, Kin Hiroshi has an honest, well-meaning soul, and probably doesn’t have the barbaristic qualities necessary to drop a soda machine on my head and end my life. He’ll pummel me, he’ll bleed me dry, he might even mortally wound me on purpose, but he won’t kill me.

It’s a lot more probable that in the process of trying to provoke Kin’s murderous wrath, I’ll end up killing him by accident. The big boring historical circle jerk stumbles along, unabated, tens of thousands of times. I honestly don’t want to kill Kin now…Well, it wouldn’t necessarily serve my best interests to kill him, but that’s what I did last time, so maybe that’s all I know how to do, all that’s doomed to happen again.

And so, Mittens the um…Cat. Fate has placed the burden of my demise upon your shoulders, retarded as they may be…

And you’re not up to the task either.

Not for ethical or moral or spiritual reasons. I understand that you’re a despicable person, or mammal, anyway, and I commend you for that. But did you know that the IQ of cats is actually, on average, lower than that of chickens? Do you realize chickens can live without their heads for almost 10 minutes?

You’re not going to kill me because you’re not smart enough, and you don’t even have to be especially bright to kill someone. People who haven’t even graduated high school do it all the time. But you’re just the sort of slack jawed troglodyte who would fall backwards onto his own knife, poison his own food by mistake, forget which end of the shot gun bullets shoot out of, forget the difference between me and you and push the electric screw driver into your own temple just it’s closer…

I mean, obviously I’m a fan of postmodern self awareness in art, and I like the surrealism of all the celebrity cameos, but your noise is nonetheless so…very….deeply stupid.

But my only other hope is Jason Payne, and he can’t even make it to the ring without tripping on his shoelace, cracking his skull open against the guard rail and getting rushed to the hospital…again.

I’m not even sure my need to snuff it can overcome my pride. How much do I really want to be remembered as Mittens the Cat’s first homicide victim?...

The cold, tragic, woeful truth is that there’s only one man in the entire NFW I can entrust this responsibility to. One, and only one, upon whose shoulders I can piggy back ride to destination nowhere…Hate Felix…Kill Felix….

 

[DizzaHizza]

* Hiroshi takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The drugs and the adrenaline in his body aren't fusing, like normal, and pure anxiety is tugging at his heart strings. Wild eyed and sweaty, he paces back and forth before sitting in a hotel room chair. His legs shake, and there is constant movement in his hands. *

KIN HIROSHI: "Not kill you!? Felix, this is everything you have trained me for! How many times are we going to do this is irrelevant: everyone knows this is the last dance for Kin Hiroshi and Felix Red. The question that we all should be asking is how it's going to end for you, Felix.

"A waltz? A tango? A samba? A jitterbug?

"All well within my arsenal! You showed me how to kill, and you brought me back from the dead so that I might enact the revenge that you want. While I cannot and do not admire self-loathing, I understand your need to end everything: destroy YOUR world. Felix, it would be a lie if I said, 'it wouldn't be an honor' to kill you.

"Of all the men in the world, you chose me as your reaper! My eyes will be the last eyes you see before you drift off into hell! My voice will be the last voice you hear before all your ancestors grip at your soul to tear you asunder! My hands will be the last hands you feel on your lifeless shell before the blazing fires of the afterlife scorch you for eternity!

"MINE, FELIX!

"Mr. Cat thinks that I'm no killer, and he's put the seeds of doubt into your head, Felix! But how can you believe someone who you haven't fathered over the past few months? You know me inside and out, and you have trained me up to the point of no return! Now more than ever, I can say, truthfully...

"...the NFW World Title is OURS to hold, Felix! Whether it be around your waist, or hanging from my shoulder, it is OURS to use for the POWA~!!"

* Hiroshi stands, and starts pacing again. *

KIN: "I've become you, Felix. You've let me become you, and, with the new found power of a man who can destroy the world, I am slowly taking your life from you! At Wrestlebowl 2, the transformation from Kin Hiroshi to Felix Red v2.0 will be complete when I rip the NFW World Title from your hands, and send you backstage with a sheet draped over your dead stare!

"But that's only the beginning for this Titan of Tokyo! This Japanese Thunder! This Blueberry Bomber! This...Muffin Man. See, while I get my revenge for everything you have done to me, and I give you the revenge you seek on your damaged soul, I also get to face Jason Payne on Night Dos. Jason squeaked by me in TEAM to advance to the Elite Eight, and now to the Final Four in the TEAM Invitational Tournament, but while Jaso-Potato is busy facing the brick ****-house known as Dan Ryan, I'll be ready, with OUR NFW Title in hand, Felix, to bust his skull for you.

"Always for you, Felix! Isn't that what this is all about? The beatings? The hate? The path of destruction you have weaved over my body time and again? Isn't it all building to something that you have already planned and plotted?

"It's all for Felix Red.

"Yet, Mittens keeps poking his head into the foray, making it more and more difficult to look at life beyond the end of Season Two, here in NFW, but all I can fathom from his *****ing and complaining is that he's suffering a breakdown right now too. He's just like us, Felix, everyone around him is breaking away from him! Mr. King, The San Diego Chicken, and even Mr. Woolery are getting minds of their own; his entourage are getting minds of their own and becoming too much to handle.

"In fact, I'm almost convinced that all it takes to get a world title shot in NFW these days is to scream the word f**k at your friends a bunch, have them scream it back at you, and then everyone scream it at an opponent. If I had known that getting to this point could have been as easy as a four letter word, with the occasional cock and fart joke, I believe I would have taken that path.

"But I didn't get to choose my path here, did I, Felix?

"You laid it out for me. You knew that I would chase the title, and chase you. You knew that I couldn't stop even after seeing the desolate wasteland of NFW that I look to inherit. You knew it all. You knew you were no longer 'The Man Who Destroyed The World,' Felix. No, you're correct about that, but you have built a man who can destroy everything that you see as a pestilence and diseased underbelly of wrestling.

"Isn't that right, dad? You raised Kooter for the exact purpose that I've been brought into this game, did you?! Though, as soon as Kooter no longer needed you, he was cast aside, and replaced by Kin Hiroshi. You KNOW that I need you to survive, and, now, you present me with my final challenge:

"Kill the only man that means anything in this sport anymore.

"Felix Red WILL die at Wrestlebowl, and Kin Hiroshi will take his place. Let me carry the burdens of this world on MY shoulders for a short time, Felix, and when you are reborn from the ashes of your cremated corpse, the NFW Title and your throne will be awaiting your return.

"You might think that my soul is too good to do this, Felix, but I promise you that I will repay every favor you have granted me. Every needle you stabbed me with, every unnecessary punch, every loaded fist, and every ten-foot-drop will be repaid one hundred fold. Just for you, Felix.

"Jason Payne told me that he had plans for NFW, that he had something special he was going to do, but he lacks the foresight to plan anything. He lives in the now, not like us, Felix. We live in all time, and Mittens and Woolery see it in our eyes. We are Yin and Yang, Felix: light and dark. Except, this time, darkness shall cover all and YOU will be the one accused of being light hearted and good.

"You have shown me a life I could only imagine, Felix, and I'm ready to take it from your cold, dead hands. There will be no tears shed for you; no remorse for the wicked. We shall all encompass your corpse, and while Hatter gives you one last fix, we shall all turn our backs and laugh at what you couldn't do, yourself...

"...kill the Muffin Man."

* FADE TO BLACK *

 

[Mittens T. Cat]

Mittens is in a tree-house.

"What a bunch of nerds.

"Seriously, you guys just need to chill out, relax, take a break, take a chill pill. Especially you Hiroshi. You've gone from being the Muffin Man, to Harry Potter, to Felix Red, and back to the Muffin Man-- all in the span of, what a few days? You need some psychological help, not only that-- an identity. That, I can't help you with. S'one of them things, you know? Like baking bread. There's two things MTC don't do, son. Bake Bread, and give Kin Hiroshi an identity. I mean, sure, Papa Red brought you back from the dead to kill him, which is one of the most lunatic (not to mention the following word and synonyms: stupid, dumb, retarded, idiotic, brainless, moronic and witless) thing that could've ever been done.

"I'll just be real with you Kin. You kindof gross me out. You're like... a zombie. And zombies give me the heeby jeebies."

Mittens reveals a rocket launcher, hoisting it on his shoulder. His face, an inevitable silly smile. His (author's note: no pun intended) mittens now slightly greased.

"That's why, on night 2, IF you and I... and the uhh, the other guy. I can't remember his name... sh*t... forgive me, I'm high... and the other guy, are in the ring together. I'm bringing this. I don't know how the f**k to wrestle a god d*mn zombie, but I know how to blow it into little, tiny zombie pieces. You know? I mean, gross. Dude, you look good for a zombie, but damn, rotting flesh, you know? WTFMF??

"I mean, it's not every day when people just openly admit they were ressurected, and sh*t. Not to say I was. I myself, am a mere cat. Not meerkat (author's note: once again, no pun intended), but mere cat. Well, that is, if a mere cat has gotten more handjobs, than, say-- both of you combined.

"But that's cool, right? Cause you kids are cool. You do drugs and talk about crazy, philosophical ****. Gnarly, tubular!

"Give. Me. A. Break.

"Check it out, here's my Felix Red Impression: "blah blah blah, I'd kill myself but I'm a p*ssy. yadda yadda yadda, I'd stop doing drugs, but I'm a weak p*ssy. wah wah, i take shots at Mittens' intellect because deep down, not only am I a weak p*ssy, but an intelligent one, who knows that a ****ing cat is the only one who stands. a chance."

"Is that about right?

"Sure, you say you'll accidentally kill Mr. Muffin Potter Red Zombie Who's Totally S.O.L. When He Steps In The Ring With This Rocket-Launchin' Cat, Motherf**ker, but you and I both know-- when it comes down to it...

"It's not that Kin's too nice. He's a zombie. Zombie's aren't nice, ohkay? It's because when the moment is on, and Kin's got you down and ready for the final number, the one that ends Mr. Red's life...

"Mr. Red will cower, just like he does in the face of suicide and cold-turkey, and fight for his last, gasping breath-- killing zombie boy in the process-- and defeating your entire purpose in life.

"SO, where does that leave The Boy That blahblahblah'd? To fight the next night, and to die at the hands of a cat-- who apparently isn't smart (and that, sir, is debatable. 1320 on the SAT's, *****. holla.)

Mittens places the rocket launcher on the ground, and scribbles in sharpie: "Zombie f**ker" on it.

"And by the way, Kin... what, just what, do you think I am? A little b*tch like you two? Breaking down and crying about everything?

"Hardly, son. I just have an attitude problem. And besides that, there's no. chance. in. Hell. that the VULVVVVVA VICE SQUAD, will ever dissent. Mainly because once I get the belt, I promised them I'd pawn it for some whores. Not like, the crack kind. The cocaine kind.

"But, my merry band of idiot followers following a merry idiot leader such as myself, will not be in attendance at Wrestlebowl. I wouldn't be either, if I hadn't won that royale-- and let's just say this, the writers are still scratching their heads on that one.

"But I did win it, and when things as unbelievable as that happens, things change. Like the Detroit Tigers ball club (unofficial mascot right here. Just kidding, I hate Detroit. HA!). A few years after having one of the worst records in Major League history, they make it to the dance."

Mittens impersonates Hiroshi.

"'The waltz? The tango? The samba? The jitterbug?' No, but that was as sorry an attempt at humor as the Tigers sorry attempt at baseball a couple of years ago.

"The World Series, son. The end all, be all. No one expected them to get there, but they did-- and as they may have done JACKSQUAT, they made an appearance.

"And that's exactly what I will do. Me... and Zombie F**ker.

"Kin, you better pray, you better PRAY, TO F**KING, JESUS OR GOD OR WHATEVER YOU JAP F**KS F**KING PRAY FOR, THAT FELIX KILLS YOU BEFORE I DO, BECAUSE THE PAIN YOU WILL FEEL WILL BE UNNECESSARILY PAINFUL, YOU UNDERSTAND???!?!!?!?!?!?!?

"...wait, actually, if you're blown to a bajillion zombie smitherines by a rocket launcher, do you actually... like... feel anything? Wait, scratch my rampage, I doubt you do. But still, damn, dude, you really want to be a zombie dieing at the hands of a rocket launcher, bought specifically to kill you? Doubt it.

"Then again, you could be kinky like that.

"This rp ends when you see a weiner."

8=========D

 

[DizzaHizza]

KIN HIROSHI: "NO! Bad kitty! That's a bad kitty!"

* Kin Hiroshi slaps the exposed genitals of a street hooker, who, by chance, is spread eagle, bound and gagged, and visibly crying on his hotel room bed. *

KIN: "Mittens, I could have just made a cliché joke about you being a cat right there, but I won't. Why? Because I'm 'enlightened'. When your body comes back from the afterlife, it brings back knowledge of the universe with it. It's just a shame that if I share any of that knowledge with you, your ears would bleed, your eyes would burst, and your penis would swell to the size of a woman's clitoris.

"Sure, call me a 'zombie', but I'm not begging for brains or chasing you down to tear you limb from limb. In fact, the only dead things around here are Woolery's career and the dead rat in Don King's hair. So go ahead and bring your rocket launcher, but make sure you take careful aim because if you think I'm a zombie then there's only one blast that's going to do me in, and, if video games have taught us anything, it's a BOOM~! HEADSHOT~!!

"I'll make sure to show up with my bag of tricks to do you in: catnip, a Chucky Cheese costume, and a bucket of water to dunk your head in. Then it's time for my diabolical plan. While I'm dressed as Mr. Cheese, a giant rat, you'll inevitably be drawn to me, at which point I'll splash you with the water. Of course, this will disorient you AND piss you right off, but, luckily, I'll rub that catnip pouch all over your face and utterly subdue you.

"I WIN!

"One to nothin'!

"Sure, I'll have to dodge a few rockets, but it'll be worth it to watch you wallow on the mat like a happy pu**y."

* Kin punches the hooker in the stomach. *

KIN: "Not you, baby. You're not happy right now, are you?

"See, while you think we talk about 'philosophical s**t', we are just sitting back contemplating what's wrong with this industry, and while we slip into oblivion to stare back at the eyes of the devil, we hear men like you, Mittens, *****ing and moaning about how we live our lives in a drugged out state.

"How we stink like the drug dens where we sleep and the hookers we bring home. Fact of the matter, you're not the only person slapping *****es, Mittens. Hell, Felix has gone through more box than FedEx and UPS...combined. I, myself, have eaten more c**t than cervical cancer. So while you flap your jaw about your conquests, I'm flapping your mom's roast beef around my c**k, right before sucking on her eight teats.

"You say that we're cool because we do drugs, and talk about smart guy stuff? Well then you must be cool because you scream, curse, and call us stupid, huh? The best I've seen you do is faux impressions of Felix red, and call me a pu**y. Wow, Mittens, way to redefine yourself and spout off the same bullsh*t that Hatter did the first time I fought Felix. I guess you and Hatter have something in common then: you're both back up dancers in this ballroom.

"Wait...I shouldn't have used another dancing metaphor. You might take it literally. Here's something literal for you: you're going to lose. I WILL kill Felix Red, and then you're next in line, Mittens. I won't need a rocket launcher, because my kick packs enough explosive power to put Chuck Norris to shame. I won't even need the catnip, rat outfit, or water, because you've proven yourself to be so mundane and boring that you've just repeated yourself and if that's any indication of what I'm going to face when I get into the ring with you and Mr. 'No-Show' Payne, then I've already won the match.

"Wrestlebowl is going to see some amazing things, Mr. Cat. The death of a NFW Icon, the birth of the Hiroshi Regime, and, just like what I have on this bed in front of me, a weeping, bloody kitty.

"Do you know The Muffin Man, Mittens?"

* FADE TO BLACK *

 

[Mittens T. Cat]

"YOU SUNUVA B*TCH! YOU F*CKING SUNUVA F*CKING *****!!! YOU F**KING ZOMBIE F**K!!! I SWARE ON CHRIST, THE SECOND, NO, THE MILLISECOND I SEE YOU, I'M GONNA PIMPSLAP YOU SO HARD YOUR MAMA FEELS IT AND IT REMINDS HER OF THE GOOD OL' DAYS WHEN IT WAS JUST HER, AND ME, AND A F**KING DUCK, NAMED CHARLES, YOU F**KING DICKSUCKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Ha, just kidding. What a tool."

Mittens is still in his tree house, carressing Zombie F**ker as if it were his goober.

"Where do I begin? See, even your... attempt, at tomfoolery and humor, was upstaged by your hypocrisy.

"Do I sound like Felix yet?

"The truth of the matter is, zombie, that you started off your little... what's the word... 'tirade'? Sure, we'll go with that. Started off your little tirade by making a joke about my heritage, then claiming you wouldn't because you're enlightened, and then proceeded to make a million more jokes about my heritage. Yeah, you're enlightened alright. About as enlightened as a horse's asshole in the middle of a humongous dooky.

"DO YOU LIKE IT WHEN PEOPLE MAKE FUN OF YOUR HERITAGE, YOU CHINESE ZOMBIE!?!? DO YOU!!!!??!!? TIANAMEN SQUARE, MOTHERF**KER!!! YOU HEAR ME YOU ZOMBIFIED GOOK!?!?!? TIANAMEN, F**KING, SQUARE!!!"

A scrolling bar of text runs across the screen that says: "This network does not neccessarily reflect the views and opinions of programming and insists that you remove all children, and even yourselves, from the room."

"I bet you do like it, you sick-o. You disturbed f**k. I bet you like it when women, from the f**kin WORST end of AIDS street, slant their eyes and go 'noodle, noodle!' while they play with your tiny ding-dong, don't you?

"I bet you like it."

His face is still an ever-present , however his attitude is much more like . Still, he continues.

"You think it's soooooooo funny, "woo-wee, I'm gonna dress like Chuck E Cheese and bring catnip and soak you in water." Well guess what? I'm not afraid of water, because I'm not Hellen Keller. And I don't like to eat rats, because all I eat is p*ssy. Call me a cannibal. And catnip? Man, when I found grass, I forgot all about that little girl sh*t.

"And you talk about kicks and references Chuck Norris like it's still funny. That disgusts me in more ways than you could ever possibly imagine.

"Zombie F**ker and I, we don't care about headshots. I know more about zombies than you do, despite what you are, and I know that if a zombie is shot through the chest by a rocket, it's entire body will be disintegrated. And you know what? I can't wait to disintegrate you!!!

"And finally, I will address what you've referred to me as. 'Mundane', I believe. Well riddle me this, you children's rhyme f**k.

"How much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck, could chuck, wood?

"The answer: your mom.

"Booyah."

What? Wow.

"And you know something else? I have senority over you, because, as an asian man-- your penis was small. Now that you're a zombie, it's prolly decayed and gangreen and really, really gross. No wonder that b*tch was crying. She thought you were gonna give her extra tartar by sticking that sh*t in her mouth. Be considerate, damn.

"Anyway, as much as I'd love to hang around..." Mittens said, as he began standing up.

"...and like, make more jokes about your mommy and how she beat you when you were little for having a small weiner and slanted eyes and being a zombie and suchandsuch..."

He jumped out the window.

****, he forgot the punchline.

Or maybe there wasn't one. Maybe he was just trying to convey a sense of mysteriousness, of cliff-hangerism.

Regardless, grilled cheeses are good.

8=============D

 

[Jason Payne]

The night sky is dark at the Basham-Schultz Wrestling Academy. Except for a faint flickering light in a window, there are no signs of life whatsoever. Insects chirp and somewhere nearby, an owl hoots into the night. The air is still as if a storm is approaching. All the while in the distance, the clouds flash with lightning and a low, yet distant rumble of thunder is heard. The opaque curtain of night is broken by the dual beams of a car's headlights. The car slows and pulls into the parking lot of the old wrestling school, it's engine rumbling to a stop. The car door opens and out steps Chris McMillan, Jason Payne's former tag-team partner. For years Payne and McMillan tagged together at the Basham-Schultz Wrestling Academy as 'The Dogs of War'. This was long before anyone had ever heard of 'Mr. Dread' or 'Too Hot for NFW'. Chris closed the car door and walked to the entrance of the building, carrying a cooler in his right hand. Walking up to the door, he opened it slowly and let himself in.

It was dark in the main hallway of the school, but there was a pulsating glow from what had to be a television set that allowed McMillan to see down the hallway. Walking down the hallway, he turned into the room where the glow was coming from. There he found a T.V. with what appeared to be wrestling on. The screen was frozen and a quick look at the DVD player told Chris that Payne had been studying footage of his upcoming NFW opponents. In front of the TV, in an old blue recliner sat Jason Payne with his feet propped up, and sound asleep. Setting the cooler down, Payne walked over to the recliner and gave Payne a tap on the shoulder.

"Dude. Dude wake up man."

Jason moaned and opened his eyes groggily for a moment before suddenly grabbing the remote and hitting the play button. The video on the screen leapt back to life as the wrestling match continued with two commentators going back and forth in a lively exchange. Payne wiped his sleepy eyes, but tried to maintain himself as having never fallen asleep.

"Huh? Yeah yeah, what's up man?", said Payne as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

Chris just shook his head and replied, ” Man, it's 3:30 in the morning. You been watching tapes all night?"

Jason reached and grabbed a can of beer sitting on a nearby table and took a sip, and promptly spit it out as it was warm and stale to the taste. "Damn it! You got a hookup for me in there?"

Payne pointed at the cooler in Chris' hands. Chris just smiled and opened the cooler, tossing a cold beer to Jason. Smiling, Jason caught it and pulled the tab. Putting the can to his lips he let out a contented groan as he slowly sat up in the recliner.

"Yeah, I'm researching my opponents for my NFW match. This is Mittens T. Cat. He's the latest NFW acquisition and yet another mindless attempt at Miles to take what little money we make in this business, and basically throw it in the trash can."

Chris watched the tape in silence for a few moments, making various faces of disgust as he wanted M.T.C. work in the ring.

"A guy in a ****ing cat suit? Are you ****ing ****ting me?", said Chris dumbfounded.

Jason simply nodded in response. "Yep. I think it's official. Craig's gone off the deep end. But here's the thing, his offense is pretty unorthodox, yet extremely effective. And when you watch his promotional material, it's hard to tell if you're watching a wrestling promo, or a tripped out, acid tainted version of the game show network. I could have sworn I saw Chuck Woolery in one of his promos."

Chris looked at Jason, confused. "Didn't he host Hollywood Squares?"

Payne shook his head. "No, that was John Davidson. Chuck Woolery was the host of Scrabble. I swear man, that guy is ripping off my promo style. I'm considering filing a lawsuit."

"Why don't you just outdo him with your own unique brand of promo?", asked Chris.

Payne took a long breath and looked at the screen for a moment before turning back to Chris. "Thought about that, but I think I am going to take another direction."

Chris looks at Payne, an intrigued look on his face as he sits down in a chair next to Payne's. He pulls out a beer and pops the tab. Taking a sip he looks over at Payne who is changing DVD's in the player.

"Gonna elaborate on that or keep me in suspense?", queries Chris.

Payne loads the DVD and sits back at the chair. Lifting the remote he starts the tape. After a few seconds, a menu of Felix Red matches appear on the screen. Payne selects PLAY ALL from the menu and sets in to watch the matches.

"Well, I've decided I'm not going to promote this match in any way shape or form."

Chris coughs on a swallow of beer as he turns to look at Payne with a surprised look on his face. Wiping his mouth with his hand, he arches an eyebrow at Jason.

"What? Did I just hear you correctly? You're not going to put together any promos for this match?"

Payne simply nods as he tries to watch the opening segments of the first Felix match.

"Yeah.", Jason said plainly. "I'm not going to promote. I'm going to sit here and study footage of my opponents for my World Title shot."

McMillan still wasn't sure what to make of this announcement. "No trash talking in front of an NFW banner?"

"Nope."

"No dark and creepy messages directly from Payneville?", Chris asked as his eyes narrowed.

"No."

Chris shook his head a moment before adding, "No sudden conversion to Yoriology with your own subcult of followers only to find out that it's a new reality series called ' The Payniac House of Pop Culture Dismantleness?"

Payne looks at Chris to answer, but hesitates for a moment, as if giving the matter actual thought. He nods for a second, but then shakes his head and turns back to the TV.

"Nope...though that's not bad."

Chris looks at the TV a moment while sipping on his beer. Turning back to Jason, he has an inquisitive look in his eye.

"How is it you expect to convince the suits at NFW to put you over and make you the new World Champion?"

Jason shrugged slightly before answering. "I don't know Chris. I mean...GASP, I might actually have to go out there and wrestle for that title. But you an I both know they're never gonna put that strap on me. Think about it for a second. The Season is coming to an end. And after this Season, NFW is abandoning this league style and returning to a regular format. That is, if you can call anything NFW has done 'regular'. Anyway, my point is, since this is the closure of the Ultratitle era, and the beginning of a new on in NFW, you can bet your ass that they are going to book everything to come down to the big storybook finish so that all is good in the end, and so that everything wraps up all nice and neat so that when NFW 3.0 begins, it's a fresh slate."

Chris took in what Jason said for a few moments. Taking a drink of his beer, he cleared his throat and looked towards his old tag team partner. "Unless Craig Miles drags all this B.S. with him into the new era. I mean do you think a madman like Craig Miles is just going to stop being a dick face just because NFW is changing formats?"

Payne took a drink of his beer before looking back at Chris. "I personally don't give a rat's ass what Craig Miles is up to. I've got my own plans working as we speak. The only thing I care about right now is scouting my opponents. I just had a match with Kin Hiroshi a couple of weeks ago over on TEAM. I know what he's made of, though I'm gonna watch our match, and a couple of others just to keep fresh in regards to his style.:

"I've never wrestled Felix Red before. I've seen his work. He's quick, and he likes to fight it out. I have to think that the longer that match goes, the more the odds favor Felix in this. He's got great conditioning, and he's tough as nails. The only thing that's going to allow me to keep up with him is if I can keep him on the ground, and not flying around the ring kicking me in the head and turning me inside out with flying headscissors and hurricanranas. If I can do that, my chances improve."

Chris nods at Jason as he finishes his beer. "What about your friend in the cat suit?"

Payne shrugged. "He does what he has to do to win. Funny thing is, so do I. So, I guess, we'll see what happens. I can tell you this though, if Miles and his little booking committee think I'm taking a fall for a guy in a cat suit, then they don't know who the **** they're dealing with. Chris this is the match I've been waiting for my whole life, a shot at the World Title. I've been scratching and clawing for a title match since I came to NFW five years ago, and it's taken me this long to get one. This is it! I am not going to be distracted by producing promos when I can spend it actually preparing for this match. Besides, there'll be plenty of time to be Too Hot once I win the title."

Chris nods as he pops the top on another beer. "And what if you don't win?"

Payne pauses the video and looks down for a moment before turning to Chris. "Well, if that happens, then I'm going to make sure that everyone in New Frontier Wrestling suffers along with me."