'the passing of pedro mendez' Hayden Roberts As big sacks of shit go, you seemed pretty tough. During the match I changed my opinion of you, only slightly mind you. I thought for just a second that you might be a hard-arse son of a bitch, but you soon fucked that up when you cried and tapped out in the figure four leg lock. Not a lot of people know this, but that figure four isn’t just on my resume to make the numbers up, it’s there for a reason, I was taught how to perfect that lock, especially on long fat tree-trunk-type-legs, much like the ones you possess. So when I locked it in and I saw your face turn from disappointment to agony, I knew there was nothing you were about to do other than tap your little heart out. And you did, within what seemed about half a second… Well done lasting that long. It’s pretty obvious I was just playing with you throughout that match, I mean look at me, I look like a Prince compared to you, the pauper. It was always going to be me walking out of that match the winner the only question was how I would win it and how long it would take me. In the end the answers were a) Very Easily, and b) very quickly. Never mind though, Hayden, you can go back to feeding off the scraps that Cody Clark and Gabe Reno leave you. Gabe Reno Speaking of scraps, you were in quite a scrap yourself, Gabe. It seems The Don Diablo’s ever running mouth wrote a cheque that his ever-growing arse couldn’t cash. His part of the bargain was to beat you but not too badly that you couldn’t make our match at State Of Revenge; he did neither. Lets not kid ourselves, it was close, Gabe. Drake could have had you just as easily as you had him, but you got the all-important victory and go into State Of Revenge on a high, as do I. This means that you will be full of confidence, no? No change there. But confidence can only take you so far and what gets you to your destination is an abundance of talent. Alas, dear Gabe, you fall short in these criteria. You can run your mouth and tell everybody how good you are, but you’ve never beaten anybody like me before, and you’ll be in for a shock at just how hard it is to pin me to the mat for the win. Cody Clark and Lawrence Jarvis couldn’t pin me at Hell & Back, it took you, you little son of a bitch, to take my tired self out of the match and hand it on a platter to Jarvis, who pinned your “buddy” Cody Clark. And that is the reason we stand here today; your stupidity. You could have picked on anyone, but you went for the biggest shark in the ocean, to make you “famous” here in px:w. Well everyone knows your name now, don’t they, Gabe? They know you as “that idiot that made the dumbest mistake of his life” for taking away the gold that was a three-count away from me. The biggest mistake of your wasted, pitiful life, Gabe, you may not realise it just yet but I promise you’ll regret it when I’m pounding my bare, clenched fist into your skull, knocking any sense you had out of you, as well as a few pints of blood and a set of teeth. Then, when I’m finished playing with you, I’ll hurt you even more as I finish you off with the DynaMighty. And if you’re still awake or conscious enough to see, which I doubt, you can look up at my face and I’ll be smiling at you as the referee counts the three. I’ll give you a wink and maybe even a kiss on your boo-boo to make it better, then you will understand that fucking with Bill Dynamite is what can only be described as a school-boy error and that you can run away again, back to MECCA’s Season Two, where you can do worked backstage fights with management and generally act a fool. That’s all your good for, Gabe. Acting the fool and being the laughing stock. You think that’s controversy? You think you’re the Daddy of this controversy business? Well I wrote the book, sunshine, and I’ll ram that book so far up your arse you’ll shit a page a day. The difference between you and me is, I can carry the controversy off because I have charisma and personality. You on the other hand, can barely hold a sentence together and have as much charm as a mouldy sausage roll. I’ll show you character, I’ll show you charisma, but most importantly, I’ll show you the video of my boot being surgically removed from your overrated arse. The Day Of Death After Hell & Back, when that unspeakable incident happened with the triple threat match and the interfering monkey, I couldn’t take another camera in my face so I took off back to England, with my Son. I just needed a week or so, out of the limelight to collect my thoughts. Not only that, but I needed to mastermind the forming of EgoMania without any distractions. But as I returned, on a ridiculously hot day in Essex, my gardener Pedro was slacking slightly, I decided to give him a kick up the arse… Literally. “Oi… Get back to work you sack-a-shit!” I said as I kicked him firmly between the buttocks while he rested on his shovel. “I don’t pay you for standing around.” “You don’t pay me at all, Sir.” He said in his stupid Mexican accent. “You gave my job away to Kevin, but I’m staying because I have nowhere else to go.” “Don’t talk Mexican to me! Plus, I don’t want loiterers in my garden, either work or fuck off back to Chilli Con Carne.” “Sorry Sir, I’ll get right back to it.” He said, panting heavily. “Can I get you a drink…?” I asked. “Well I’d like a…” I interrupt. “Mind you, it’s only a small walk to the pond isn’t it, you can get one there.” I turned around and walked back into the house and that was the last time I saw Pedro alive. Just a few hours later, as the sun set and we were blessed with a cool breeze, Kevin came running into the living room as I sat in my bath robe watching TV. “Dad, I think you should come and take a look at Pedro…” He said frantically. “What? I can’t I’m watching Heights and South, this new raunchy detective series. Its like Cagney and Lacey, only… good.” It is good, too. Buddy Heights is this huge blonde guy with ripped muscles all over; he must be gay. Dusty South is a cute brunette with huge knockers, I’d knock knock knock on that all day long. “What's wrong with him anyway?” “I think he’s dead.” Kevin said, almost looking sad, but maybe it was just wind. I huffed and puffed and after some considerable persuasion I got up from my comfy leather sofa and made my way through the kitchen, out onto the conservatory and followed Kevin into the shed, where Kevin sleeps. He hasn’t earned one of my seven rooms just yet, it may take some time. I walked into the shed and saw Pedro, sitting on his old wooden chair, eyes shut, and his head slumped forward. I grabbed a shovel that was resting against the wall and I prodded him with it, softy at first but then more aggressive as he continued to ignore me. “Hey, you… Pedro, wake up! Wake up you idiot, you have a job to do.” I shouted as I prodded him some more. “He’s not moving.” Kevin said, oh so wisely. “Thank you, Poirot, I can see that. Come on, Pedro, no Siesta in England, mate. No sleepy time now… this is a REAL country, ok? You pancake smoking son’bitch!” “Maybe you should call an ambulance.” Kevin said, pointing at the phone… Yes, in the shed. “Shut up and let me handle this.” I shouted throwing the shovel to the ground. I walked closer to Pedro and looked intently at him for about ten seconds then slapped him upside the head, reasonably hard. His limp body flopped sideways, almost suddenly and rested on the table by his side, Kevin and I jolted backwards from the slight shock and sudden movement and Kevin grabbed hold of my robe nearly exposing Voyager to the world. “Ok, he’s dead I suppose.” I said, appreciating the man’s lifelessness. I shrugged my shoulders and walked back towards the house. “You just gonna leave him here?” Kevin shrieked, pointing at him like he’s road kill. “What else am I gonna do with him?” I asked. “Call an ambulance.” “Bit late for that.” I said, honestly. “Well… Coroner or something…” “Look, do you know how much those guys charge for keeping a body refrigerated? Lots. I’m not paying money to keep this worthless piece of crap cold. He can stay there.” “But this is where I sleep.” Kevin said desperately. “Well he’s hardly gonna be cuddling up to you in the night is he?” “He’ll stink.” “Nothing new there, then. Besides, you’re a teenage boy, a dead body has nothing on your stink” “I mean he’ll decompose.” “The guy’s like 140, he started decomposing before either of us were born.” “You serious? I have to sleep in here with him?” “I don’t care where you sleep, I’m not moving that bag-a-shit.” “Well I’m sleeping in the living room tonight.” Said Kevin, like a complete Madam. “Poof.” I said, throwing my wrist forward like a fairy. “What about a funeral?” Kevin asked almost sincerely. “I’ll sort something out.” “That doesn’t mean bury him in the garden does it?” “No, Kevin, you weasel faced arse, I’ll sort something out, ok? It’s all kosher. I’m not going nuts on this idiots funeral, I know a bloke who knows a bloke who knows a bloke.” “Who?” “You know this bloke.” “Who is it?” “A bloke you know.” “Those two shady blokes who work down the market?” Said Kevin, raising his eyebrows. “Yes them.” I said back crossing my arms. “But they sold me Jesus’ finger once for sixty quid, but then I found out they were just hanging around the incinerator at the hospital after dark collecting scraps.” “Well there was a bowl of like 50 of them, how many hands did you think Jesus had? Look, I’m going back to watch Heights & South, I bet I’ve missed the steamy sex session everyone was talking about, damn that Dusty South, she’s so… busty.” “It’s like she has two zeppelins colliding in a bra.” Said Kevin, easily the wittiest thing he’s ever said in his life. “I’ll tell the jokes around here” I said “… It’s like she has led… zeppelin… in a… whatever.” I give up. And on that bombshell I end the story of Pedro’s death. I suppose I’ll have to sort out some funeral arrangements in the coming days, for Pedro and for Gabe Reno. Idol out. back