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AGGRESSION 69: World's Longest Tag Team v. The Dreamstealers

Justin

Da BAWS
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Humping the Empire into submission, one team at a time!

[Up.]

“Last time any’a you schmucks laid eyes on me, I was countin’ the lights while Larry Tact was takin’ my EPW Television Title away from my rock-solid waistline.”

[Rich Mahogany, as is his wont, sits idly in a lawnchair. Behind him is a DEFIANCE logo, as that’s who has most recently cut him a check for working a match.]

Rich:
Since then a lot of “things” and a bit of “stuff” and even fair amount of “bullshit” has gone down in The Empire. Now, I can’t be bothered with watching tape of anything but webcam porn, so’s I’m not privy to too terribly many of the details, daddy-o, but this is what ol’ Rich has heard through the grapevine.


[You probably wouldn’t notice unless I point this out, but one of Rich’s balls are hanging out the side of the fuchsia banana-hammock that Mr. Morning After likes to wear instead of pants.]

Rich:
In my absence, and I’d like to take a second to apologize to The Ladies for that, but in my absence Larry boring-ass Tact has in turn lost my Television Title to that uninspiring twat of a wannabe hardass, Anarky.

Seriously.

Now, it takes a lot to rile up The Love Machine outside of the bedroom, but hearing that that particular pimple on the ass of the Empire has been calling himself the TV champion chaps my ass worse than bare-backing a Harley down Sunset Strip.

Which I’ve done. More than once.

[Mr. Motel 6 produces a cigarette and lights it.]

Rich: [exhaling]
So, I’m gonna do the same thing I did the last time around when faced with an inferior champion. I’m gonna no-sell that shit, smile my million-dollar smile, swivel my perfect pelvis, and proclaim myself the one true EPW Television Champion.

Why? Simple, because I made Anarky my undisputed bitch while he was walking around with the World Title, and he hasn’t done a goddamned thing since then to step out of the enormous shadow that I cast with my dong.

And you may be asking yourself: How exactly does that have anything to do with the King of the Cage tournament that The Ladies Man currently finds himself booked into?

Well, it doesn’t.

[He takes a long drag from the Virginia Slim dangling from his lip.]

Rich:
The Rich-Man’ll be honest with ya, most of my tag-teaming experience comes from runnin’ trains on Beautiful Ladies, but then I met up with my new BFF Pete Whealdon over in DEFIANCE and we started workin’ together some and runnin’ the roads together more and running trains on broads even more than that, and we got to thinking...

Since DEFIANCE ain’t got no Tag division during this whole Grand Champions hullabaloo, what better way to get our feet wet as a team than to Run the Train on the entirety of Empire Pro Wrestling? So I talked to My Pal Dan Ryan, and I talked to my besty Pete, an’ the next thing I know we’re booked against two mooks callin’ themselves the Dreamstealers.

[He rolls his eyes.]

Rich:
Honest Injun, I can’t even tell you what that shit’s supposed to mean.

What I can tell you is that me an’ Pete are gonna hump those two faggots into submission, take their girlfriends out for a fish sandwich after the matches, and see about making some beautiful music together.

You should know that by “beautiful music” I of course mean “degrading sex.”

[A twinkle comes to the Vaginal Vegan’s eye.]

Rich:
It’s whatevz though, cuz that’s just the way we roll, dig it?

[With that, the founding member of Sexaholics Anonymous is finished. He crushes out his cigarette, plops his nut back into his Speedo, and goes on about his merry business.]

[That is to say, wooing The Ladies.]

[End.]
 

LQJT86C

Where's my money, Chad?
Joined
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Re: Humping the Empire into submission, one team at a time!

(CUEUP: "Breaking The Chains" by Dokken)

(FADEIN: THE DREAMSTEALERS - BOBBY STEPTOE and THE SATURDAY NIGHT KID - stand in front of a BIG 3D SILVER FONT Dreamstealers logo, complete with crossing neon lights. Steptoe brushes away the feathered brunette hair from his eyes and blinks a few times with those big mascara'd eyelashes. Saturday stands next to him wearing a tiger-striped bandana and a guitar strap around the front of his body. Between them both is JIMMY MYLDE, with slicked back receding hair, colored black with some gray streaks courtesy of JUST FOR MEN, wearing an off-white sports coat over a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and eyes hidden by Aviator sunglasses)

MYLDE: "They've made up their minds...THEY'RE TRAINING THIS TIME...and here they go again! The Dreamstealers, back for more, FINALLY off-tour, wheezing the cunny juice like Pauley Shore...STOP WHEN I GET TOO HOT FOR 'EM, BOYS!"

STEPTOE: "You're golden, Jimmy, you're golden..."

MYLDE: "No, YOU'RE GOLDEN Bobby Steptoe, and don't you forget it! It's time to rock and roll all over the (finger quotes)...World's Longest Tag Team...whomp whomp whommmmp. Catchy name for a couple of walking dick jokes who make a living off calling other people fags. I bet the banana hammock goes over swell with the closeted Bud Light truck drivers at the park and ride off Exit 68, eh Rich? Nothing eases the overnight delivery route from Maine to Jersey like a slice of royal ham off the backside of Pete Whealdon. Hey, they don't call him 'Suite' for nothin'!"

"Hey, let's get down to business dweebs! What you're looking at is the FUTURE of the EPW tag team division! And when I say FUTURE, I mean that you could shake one of them magic 8-balls and it would show you the final bracket! King of the Cage FINALS - THE DREAMSTEALERS versus...I dunno, Impulse or some shit. You think I looked at the teams? For all I know, King Henry and his five sons are in the bracket. IT DOESN'T MATTER. We'll take on anybody, anywhere, and if that means we have to fight the NAUSEATING DRAGONS for real this time, then that's what we have to do."

"Now you might be asking me right now: 'Jimmy, your insurance company went down six months ago, your sports supplement business flopped, and three of your pizza chains just closed down. What makes you think The Dreamstealers will fare any better?' But that was different, baby! The market was bad, some investors fell through, a partner scammed me here and there. These boys, their music, and their wrestling career, it's all cream off the top baby! WE CAN'T MISS!"

"Hey, show 'em the letter! Tell 'em what it's all about!"

(The Saturday Night Kid takes out a hand-written fan letter, and a pair of pink panties)

SATURDAY: "That's right, the girls are already anticipating our EPW re-debut. This young fan just mailed us a pair of her worn panties and boy... (takes a hard sniff) do they smell GOOD! They smell like victory, in fact. Here, let me read it to you..."

"Dear Dreamstealers,

You both make me so wet. Recently, I bleached my anus in honor of how sexy-rough it's gonna be when you tear apart that little tag team division in EPW. Mmm, here's a pair of my panties. But don't tell mom...SHHH!

Sincerely,-"

(Saturday's eyes bulge and he steps back in horror, immediately dropping the panties)

SATURDAY: "Oh no..."

MYLDE: "What is it, baby?"

SATURDAY: "I THOUGHT YOU SAID SHE WAS LEGAL!"

MYLDE: "She IS legal, baby! She's good to go!"

(Saturday shields his eyes in disgust)

MYLDE: "Why what's the matter, how old does..."

SATURDAY: "SHE'S FUCKING FOURTEEN JIMMY!"

MYLDE: "Whoa, that young? Sorry Kid, I must have read the age upside down!"

STEPTOE: "What kind of age would that be? 1h...that doesn't even make sense."

MYLDE: "Hey, I thought it was ancient hieroglyphics for 18! I'M SORRY, BABY! Back in the 70's, you didn't put Ajax in your butthole unless it was to cover up evidence. But let's get back to the task at hand here..."

"Mahogany, Suite Pete, the way I see it, you're a couple of careers on the downswing, combining your mediocrity to form a slightly less crappy unit, but you know what I think? Stacking shit on top of shit doesn't make the shit any less shitty...take that to the knowledge bank and deposit immediately!"

"You're not the newest, hottest, best young tag team on the face of the planet. NO ONE IS, except these guys! (points with thumbs at The Dreamstealers) And when we meet up with you two dopes at the tournament, it's gonna be the GLAMROCKERS versus the HAMHOCKERS, and I know where my money's going! Tell 'em Bobby Steps!"

STEPTOE: "King of the Cage...heh, fitting name for people who wish...to be Kings of the Cage. But that's what we are. Kings of the Cage. We're already...(counts off fingers) Kings of rock and roll. Already...Kings of your girlfriend's dreams. But really, what we are...is...we're the Kings of tag team wrestling. And that's...what we're the kings of...Rich Mahogany and Pete Suite- I mean, Suite Pete Whealdon."

(Puts hand to forehead and turns away from the camera, muttering "Fuck!")

MYLDE: "Couldn't have said it better myself, Bobby! And the day I lead you out of that locker room to lose to the World's Longest Running Dick Joke is the day I remove myself from handling your careers! But Uncle Jimmy never steered you wrong. Under my watch, you've had an album that went Top 25 on the Belarus heat-seekers chart, finished a WORLD TOUR of Scandinavia, and now you're here IN THE BIG TIME! Already with one title shot under your belts, now primed to take the wrestling world BY STORM when you win this damn King of the Cage business! Now am I looking out for you, or am I looking out for you?"

(The Saturday Night Kid steps forward)

SATURDAY: "First off, I'd like to thank Jimmy Mylde for making this all possible. Thank you Jimmy."

MYLDE: "You're welcome, Kid."

SATURDAY: "Next, I have a message for The World's Longest Tag Team. I want to make sure you're absolutely ready, to make us look good. Because years down the road, when they look back at this tournament as the launching pad for the careers of the GREATEST tag team of ALL TIME, they're gonna say, 'It started with a big win over Mahogany and Whealdon.' So get ready to be famous, guys. A footnote to The Dreamstealers legacy is more shine than most of these bums could ever hope to see in their entire careers. Set the camera to flash when I do my thing, because if you're not careful (winks)...you just might miss me."

MYLDE: "Backstage passes now available at JimmyMyldesDreamStealers.com!"

(FADEOUT)
 

Justin

Da BAWS
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Re: Humping the Empire into submission, one team at a time!

“Listen here, Man-Child Jimmy Mylde, I don’t know who in the foo-OCK you think you’re supposed to be, or who those two mooks you’ve got prancing around pretending to a tag team that matters think that they are, but if you think for one quarter of one milli-second that them cronies a’yours are gonna walk on into Aggression SIXTY-NINE ALL-THE-TIME and take out the Worlds Longest Tag Team, as if we’re some kinda joke, without breaking a sweat...”

[“Big and” Rich Mahogany can’t seem to grasp the concept.]

Rich:
Shit, man, I can’t even grasp the concept. Tell ‘em Pete.

[The Hyper-Suite Dolphin leans, as in leans his way into the foreground, eyes shaded with dolphin-lined stunner-shades, hair greasy with last week’s pussy-stank, a double-stack Red Solo Cup filled with the thickest, purplest of dranks that forty-seven painkillers can trade for on the street.]

Pete:
Daddy...

[The shades get Horatio’d.]

Pete:
I’ve seen bigger faggots than Outta-Style Jimmy Mylde in the wide world of wrestling before, but not recently, dig that shit? It takes some brass-bangers to walk into EPW out of career obscurity and start talkin’ loud and try’na out-swagger us when the only thing on your resume is a bunch of not shit with an extra side of who gives a fuck. amirite?

And don’t you go spoutin’ off about shit that you might’a done or imaginary records that your two scrubs might’a sold either, we just ain’t try’na hear it. Naw-mean? Fact’a the matter is this, you cats don’t get to two-step in here, pretend that for once in yer lives yer gonna make it outta the gates and actually accomplish anything past a few grade school chump-tier insults that lead into the five minute rub-a-dub-drubbin’ that was promised to you the day the ink was dried on the contracts that put those twinks across the bracket from us!

That is to say, you boys is fucked, and not in the fantastic fucktronic bionic makin’ the baby-batter splatter all over the hapless and helpless in love lady-folks kinda way, either, but more in the airport bathroom wide-stance take a dump an’ give-a-dong-a-pump sorta way that sticks you sum’bitches out like sore thumbs after the Dreamchokers get done getting their prostate exams from each other like the little girly-boys that they are.

[The shades are replaced across the brim of Pete’s nose.]

Rich:
Hrmph! [finger quotes] “Dreamstealers.” More like gimmick stealers! Only thing is Mr. Morning After and the Uncanny Corporate Dolphin ain’t no gimmicks. I don’t just say that I Love the Ladies, I go out and I show that I Love the Ladies by giving out every last Cleveland Steamer that I can stomach the tacos to produce!

AIN’T. NO. DOUBT. ABOUT. IT.

The Lust Buster and Suite an’ Spicy ain’t in the business of walkin’ small and speakin’ tall. We’re in the business of pullin’ numbers, runnin’ trains, bangin’ out brains, and leavin’ weird stains in every town up and down every road in the country!

In the meantime, and you can ask Anarky if you don’t believe me, Rich Mahogany likes to slap bitches down a few notches off’a their high horses inside’a that squared-circle almost as much as he likes to slap-asses an’ watch ‘em jiggle ALL THE WAY TO THE HONEY HOLE if you’re pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down, which I very highly doubt.

An’ while you ijits are busy hookin’ up with high school girls-

[Whealdon leans in again, interrupting.]

Pete:
Daddy. That shit’s gross. An’ disrespec’ful to women.

Rich:
Anyway, while you bunch’a merry faggots are busy crashin’ bake sales and volleyball practice, me’n Suite Pete are going to rape our way through every last dime-store donkey-show of a tag team and every makeshift bunch of drama waiting to happen, STEEL CAGE STYLE, and when this whole thing is done and over with you’re gonna have NEW Empire Tag Team Champions, NEW Kings of the Cage, and a new case of The Itchies that you might want to have the proper authorities check into. Dig?

[They both wink, simultaneously, it’s eerie. Pete follows it up with a bit of gyrating and Rich does that thing where his pectoral muscles bounce.]

Pete:
And Erstwhile Jimmy Mylde, I know your brain don’t work so good, maybe you been drinkin’ out’a my cup when I was busy slayin’ the Pink Dragon, but we’re damn for sure gonna make you faggotty faggots look good come Aggression...

Good and Outclassed, dig it?

This ain’t no joke, son, this is the Real Deal Holyfield an’ the World’s LAAAAAAAAAAAAWNGEST Tag Team ain’t about to come up short against two short-timers and a used-to-almost-was faggot like you.

[Pete cocks an eyebrow. Mahogany smirks.]

Rich:
Bitch.

[Fuck off, we’re finished here.]
 
Last edited:

LQJT86C

Where's my money, Chad?
Joined
Jul 3, 1997
Messages
2,073
Points
36
Age
40
Location
The Silk Road
Re: Humping the Empire into submission, one team at a time!

(FADEIN: Recording studio in Pasadena, California. THE DREAMSTEALERS - BOBBY STEPTOE and THE SATURDAY NIGHT KID - are on guitar and bass respectively, while a hired drummer plays along. The Kid is on mic, and Steptoe leans in to finish the chorus. On the other side of the glass in the control room is British record producer ROGER CHERNSWERTH, and next to him looking like a poor man's Pat Riley with slick backed hair and dark shades is the Mayor of Margaritaville himself, JIMMY MYLDE)

STEPTOE/SATURDAY:

"Ooooh baby I'm the ride-of-your-life! Wanna hop on the train? I'll take you midnight to sunrise..."

"MIDNIGHT TO SUNNNNNNNRIIIIIIISSSSEEEE!!!!"

CHERNSWERTH: (heavy English accent) "CUT! That hook was fantastic, gentleman, but I really think we could do better on the chorus. Just a LITTLE bit more energy, d'you know what I mean?"

MYLDE: "Hey hey hey, what are you filling their heads with, huh? (speaks into the room mic) Don't listen to him boys, you just keep on rolling like you were and we'll pick up on the next track! YOU'RE STARS, REMEMBER THAT!"

(Steptoe and the Kid shrug; Mylde directs his attention back to Chernswerth)

MYLDE: "Now you listen to me, you festive trifle eating son of a BITCH! I've had about enough of you putting the skids on our momentum train every time you get an itch! Midnight to Sunrise is going to be the smash hit of the Fall, and we can't hold it off any longer! GET IT DONE ALREADY! We've got more songs to record, and even a match to train for!"

CHERNSWERTH: "Well EXCUSE ME for thinking that two rookies with not a damn bit of studio experience needed a little fine tuning!"

MYLDE: "Fine tuning my ass! In this business you either GOT IT or you DON'T, baby! And these boys GOT IT! Did Jimmy Page and Robert Plante need fine tuning? NO...they went in and ROCKED THE HOUSE ON DAY ONE!"

CHERNSWERTH: "Oh that's rich! THAT'S BLOODY RICH! You know what I hear when they play? I don't hear Jimmy Page, I HEAR A COUPLE OF BLOODY TEENAGERS WITH NO LIFE EXPERIENCE SINGING ABOUT WOMEN AND DRUGS WHEN THEY AIN'T EVEN OLD ENOUGH TO LEGALLY DRINK!"

(Chernswerth presses the mic button)

CHERNSWERTH: "Fellas, come in here for a second, will you?"

(The Dreamstealers walk into the control room looking confused)

STEPTOE: "What's up, Roger? Jimmy?"

CHERNSWERTH: "Gentlemen, I'm going to make it very simple for you. You can fire your manager, and come aboard with me and A&R Records, where you'll be taken care of, brought along, and groomed into certifiable ROCK STARS. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, don't be foolish! Otherwise...you'll be continuing down a path of professional futility."

MYLDE: "Blah blah blah, don't be fooled by his fancy words! Bobby, I never steered you wrong, right? Kid, I've always been there for you, haven't I? You boys...you boys are like the sons I never had. And now your Uncle Jimmy needs you more than ever. You're going to be the SIGNATURE ACT on Myldesauce Records - THE TRUTH! You won't have to wait, you're already stars! And soon, you'll be the EPW World Tag Team Champions!"

CHERNSWERTH: "What's it going to be, fellas?"

(pause)

STEPTOE: "Uncle Jimmy..."

SATURDAY: "Uncle Jimmy..."

MYLDE: (punches air) "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT, BOYS! WE'RE A FAMILY! MY TWO SONS AND ME!"

CHERNSWERTH: (shakes head and walks out) "Facking idiots..."

MYLDE: "Whatever, hits the bricks Roger! I hear London calling, it wants it's pony-tailed dipshit back! Now look to the camera boys, we have a promo to cut."

(Mylde clears throat, begins)

MYLDE: "Now, Richy boy, did I hear you call us gimmick-stealers? (shakes head) You know, maybe this is all FAKE to you. Maybe having 12-inch Johnsons is just a 'gimmick' for a couple of guys who spend their time thinking up new and clever sex analogies, and a hundred and twenty-five ways to work the word 'fag' into a promo..."

"But I promise you...I PROMISE YOU...being rockstars is no gimmick for the Dreamstealers. It's a WAY OF LIFE! They roll into a sleepy little town on the edge of Norway, and it's never the same after! The glamrock-party is international, but the DREAM is available on-loan for a limited time to Empire Pro Wrestling. So you should VALUE, and CHERISH, every morsel of time these blossoming rock Gods, these wild sex pistols give to this company during King of the Cage."

SATURDAY: "We didn't have to sign our names to tournament. The Dreamstealers could be in any arena in the WORLD right now, but we made King of the Cage a priority because, well...we have something to prove. Apparently, there are people out there who aren't yet CONVINCED. They think the Dreamstealers rode in here on a wish, and found the industry to be their worst nightmare. But the SIMPLE FACT of the matter is, Rich...(smiles) we simply weren't prepared. EPW wasn't ready to see the best of Bobby Steptoe and the Saturday Night Kid, and we weren't ready to give it. But now...the time is right. The stage is set. And pal, take it from me: we NEVER leave a full house standing!"

MYLDE: "Bobby, you look a little tired, whaddya need kid? You need some pills?"

STEPTOE: "No Jimmy, I'm f-"

MYLDE: "Irish coffee? Maybe a little nose candy? C'MON KID, THEY DON'T KNOW THE LINGO OF THE ROAD!"

STEPTOE: "I don't need anything Jimmy..."

MYLDE: "Just one bump, I'm tellin' you kid! One bump you're good to go!"

STEPTOE: "JIMMY I'M FINE! It's just...I do not take well...to being ACCUSED...of either being gay when I'm not, OR...being some Johnny Come Longely, Come Lately...who never did anything! But that's not the truth. I...have done plenty! I am only 20 years old! And yet here I am. On the cusp of GREATNESS. On the cusp of WINNING...the EPW World Tag Team Championship."

MYLDE: "Say 'the King of the Cage'."

STEPTOE: "...and the King of the Cage."

MYLDE: "Beautiful! Let's get something STRAIGHT, Rich and Pete - no pun intended. For a pair of walking hammock-bulges who travel the Eastern seaboard sharing single-occupancy hotel rooms, you sure do have a lot of homo-angst pent up inside. I'm no psychologist, but you need to know RIGHT the hell now: I am not your Korean War veteran father who put a shiner on you when he heard another boy was your 7th grade Valentine. It was wrong of him to do that! You don't hit your kid for being gay, baby...you throw him out of the house and make him live with his aunt, LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE! But I refuse to subject the Dreamstealers to the vengeful overcompensating of a couple over-the-hill never were's and never will be's, because we're POSITIVE THINKERS! There's no where for us to go but UP, straight to THE TOP! And to get there..."

"Say it Kid!"

SATURDAY: "...we're gonna have to step on a few heads."

(Steptoe smiles, curls his fist)

(FADEOUT)
 

Justin

Da BAWS
Staff member
Joined
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Messages
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36
Age
42
Website
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Re: Humping the Empire into submission, one team at a time!

[Motel 6.]

[Nah, fuck that, too high class.]

[Super 8.]

[Hourly rates on request.]

[Double-Twin beds.]

[Pushed together.]

[Yeah, it’s like that.]

[The prison-blanket that serves for a bedspread here in Whereverthefuck USA ruffles and shakes, all sorts of inhuman and/or inhumane noises come from underneath. Just when you thought things were about to settle down, RICH MAHOGANY pops his head out from underneath the blanket.]

RICH:
Ah, fer fuck’s sake.

[From the other side of the bed-mountain comes Pete Whealdon’s head.]

PETE:
What now? We ain't gettin' raided again are we?

[Rich cocks his eye and jabs a thumb in the direction of the cameraman. You know how those dudes are, lurking around every corner, under every rock, and somewhere in the middle of every Gideon Bible on the planet. Laura Winters pokes her head out from under the the covers between Mr. Morning After and the Suite Corporate Dolphin.]

LAURA:
Um, guys?

[The three of them share a look that’s creepy enough that the camera shakes, its holder obviously dealing with an acute case of the Heebie-Jeebies.]

PETE:
Fuck that, I’m done talkin’ at those two posers.

LAURA:
That’s more like it!

[The woman who is not Seymour Almasy’s dead wife disappears back beneath the blanket and you can see a shift in the shapes under the covers that is very obviously Laura moving over toward Whealdon. Suite and Sour’s eyes roll back in his head and he too disappears back beneath the covers.]

RICH: [shaking his head]
You know, it sucks having to be the responsible one all the time.

LAURA:
*gagging noises*

PETE: [muffled]
That’s good, just like that... every... last... inch...

[The Ladies Man chuckles.]

RICH:
You’ll have to excuse my partner. He got all butthurt about ULTRATITLE and decided that taking wrestling seriously was somehow crampin’ his swagger. I can’t really blame the guy, either. And even though that rat he found on Craigslist-

LAURA:
HEY!

RICH:
-is a great piece of ass and all...

[A moment passes as Laura, apparently satisfied with the compliment, goes back to doing what she does best.]

RICH:
But this is King of the Cage daddy-o, an’ ol’ Rich is in it ta win it!

[Mahogany stands and scratches his balls. This will probably be pixellated later in post, but I can’t promise anything. He makes his way around the beds to the bedside table where he grabs a Virginia Slim, sticks it to his lips, and lights it with a pink Bic before plopping down on his side of the bed(s). He takes little notice to the activities going on to his direct left.]

RICH: [exhaling]
Now, the Rich-man is pretty well done wasting time on that sad excuse for a midcard experiment gone wrong that you dudes call a manager, so this goes out to our actual opponents come Aggression: Bobby Hammertoe and the SNL Kid.

You two seem like a couple’a riteous dudes, legit, but if you keep following around that polesmoker you call a manager yer gonna end up in the same place that he’s been for the entirety of his career.

On the outside lookin’ in.

Which is fine, ya know, if peep-shows are your deal. But if you ever wanna be the Main Attraction yer gonna have ta pull yer heads outta that faggot’s ass. Seriously. Now, I fully expect you to shout it from the mountaintops how fan-damn-tastic yer Uncle Jimmy is at managin’ careers an’ what have you, but take a look around you...

Try for eight or nine minutes to look outside of the ZOMG JIMMY MYLE ROOLS bubble that he’s got you trapped in, and understand that for as long as you’ve got that guy shovin’ fuck knows what up yer noses and gettin’ you two blackmailed from every legitimate promoter in whichever business that you guys end up takin’ seriously, you’re never gonna get a real record deal, and yer sure as shit not gonna make it in wrestling.

[He takes a long, lazy drag.]

RICH:
An’ I’m not tryin’ ta push some D.A.R.E anti-drug message on ya, either, hell I even got myself kicked outta that New Frontier bullshit over a certain taste for codeine an’ Enzyte speedballs, but if yer gonna do it, do it ‘cuz ya wanna, not cuz yer ass-goblin of a fake-ass manager tells you it’s gonna make ya some kinda superstar.

It’s not.

It’s gonna get ya a one way ticket to sellin’ ten dollar handy jays in the parkin’ lot for gas money between gigs. And seriously, who wants that? NOT RICH MAHOGANY! That’s who. And not my BFF Pete Whealdon either.

Maybe Laura, she loves the cock, but that’s whatever.

[Inhale. Exhale.]

RICH:
Or, alternately, you two mooks can keep on keepin’ on listenin’ ta that piece’a garbage you call your uncle until the only people yer wrestlin’ is each other an’ instead of gettin paid at the end, the only thing you win is first crack at pre-op tranny he brought in to referee.

Because he’s gay.

Not happy, faggoty.

You dig?

Now, if y’all don’t mind too much, I’m gonna get back in there [he nods at the pile of covers and sex beside him] get this train a’rollin’ on the tracks again. After all, somebody’s gotta stuff it in her caboose or we’re all just pissin’ in the wind. Naw’mean?

[He crushes the cigarette out into a tin ashtray before diving back underneath the covers to continue the evening’s festivities. If you must know, he makes the hot tag and the two grapplers put the Three Foot Rule into effect on the woman that you could maybe possibly call their valet.]

[There’s something entirely wrong about this whole scene, but it is what it is.]

[FADE2PINK]
 

About FWrestling

FWrestling.com was founded in 1994 to promote a community of fantasy wrestling fans and leagues. Since then, we've hosted dozens of leagues and special events, and thousands of users. Come join and prove you're "Even Better Than The Real Thing."

Add Your League

If you want to help grow the community of fantasy wrestling creators, consider hosting your league here on FW. You gain access to message boards, Discord, your own web space and the ability to post pages here on FW. To discuss, message "Chad" here on FW Central.

What Is FW?

Take a look at some old articles that are still relevant regarding what fantasy wrestling is and where it came from.
  • Link: "What is FW?"
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