Our Will, Our Law (Thickness Joint Promo)
Oct 5, 2013 14:51:12 GMT -5
Logan and Steve Orbit like this
Post by Deleted on Oct 5, 2013 14:51:12 GMT -5
"Fallout From The WAR"
Excitement particles flutter in the atmosphere at US Airways Center in Phoenix, Arizona like dust from a thousand-year old sarcophagus. WAR is nearing its conclusion as the field of forty-plus entrants has been whittled down to its final two superstars, Jonny Fly and Eric Price. All of the boys and girls in the WCF Universe are on the edge of their seats with knots in their stomachs and perspiration fomenting upon their genitalia. However, not everyone in the arena shares the enthusiasm of the WCF fans. "The Godfather of Professional Wrestling" Bobby Cairo is walking backstage with a sullen expression on his face, wearing his wrestling trunks and boots. Sweat drips down Cairo's face and chest, his body a canvas of black bruises and red welts, the scars of battle. Hank Brown approaches Cairo wielding a microphone, looking eager to conduct his latest exclusive interview for WCF.com as the cameraman rolls film.
Hank: Ladies and gentlemen, I'm Hank Brown here with "The Godfather of Professional Wrestling" Bobby Cairo! Bobby, you put on a brilliant performance out there tonight. I know that you must be disappointed about not winning, but you proved that you're still a threat to the entire WCF roster. You lasted for more than an hour, taking third place in your first WAR since 2007. Overall, how do you feel about your performance?
Cairo stares into space, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, his mind apparently elsewhere - preoccupied with his elimination from WAR. Cairo finally responds to Hank's question in blunt fashion, offering the first description of his WAR experience that comes to mind.
Cairo: In my opinion, it sucked.
Hank appears taken aback by Cairo's revelation. He furrows his brow whilst attempting to follow Cairo's train of thought.
Hank: Could you elaborate, Bobby?
Cairo sighs dejectedly, looking as though he wants to be anywhere other than here, doing anything other than fielding Hank's predictable questions after a painful defeat.
Cairo: What am I supposed to say, Hank? You want my assessment of my performance? Well, I stayed active throughout the match and, uh...
Cairo swabs his tongue around the inside of his mouth along the gumline, genuinely trying to muster the patience to deal with these trite questions. Cairo weighs his options. Though he is emotional, Cairo is not presently of the mind to thrash Hank. Opting for the path of least resistance - and legal inconvenience - Cairo relents and begins opening up to WCF's resident interview specialist.
Cairo: I had only one elimination, but I was aggressive throughout the match. Uh, for the most part I kept my wits about me and avoided taking major damage. I was in the ring for quite a while, over an hour from what you just told me. I think that I was able to stay focused on the task at hand for the duration of that time, despite the carnage that unfolded around me. Unfortunately, I made a miscalculation against Jonny Fly. It was similar to the one that I made against Skyler Striker six years ago, and it was equally costly.
The signs of annoyance have abandoned Cairo's face, replaced by the dour expression of a man who has failed to achieve his life's goal. Cairo clears his throat.
Cairo: Um...
Cairo licks his lips, once again appearing to be lost in thought.
Cairo: I... I'm not disappointed, Hank. I'm heartbroken. You will have to forgive me if I'm at a loss for words. I truly believed that I was going to win this match. I put all of my eggs into one basket. There's no consolation prize for me. I can't be like other people, average people, and say that I'm going to take a moral victory from my performance at WAR. Absolutely not. Defeat is failure in Bobby Cairo's world. There are no exceptions. This one hurts more than most because having the opportunity to win WAR is the reason why I returned to singles competition in WCF. I wanted to right a wrong. I wanted to rectify a grievous error. I wanted to etch my name onto the list of the immortals who have claimed victory in WAR. I failed to achieve those goals. This loss is going to haunt me.
Completely ignoring Cairo's heartfelt confession, Hank lifts his hand to his earpiece as if he's receiving information from the production staff.
Hank: I'm sorry to cut you off, Bobby, but Jonny Fly has just defeated Eric Price to win WAR! What an illustrious moment in WCF history! Truly a crowning achievement in the remarkable career of Jonny Fly!
A disgusted Bobby Cairo brushes past Hank, very nearly knocking him to the ground, a look of utter disdain plastered on his rugged mug. Cairo mutters an obscenity or two under his breath as he walks away. Though not turning back, he leaves Hank with a final thought...
Cairo: Maybe you should interview the "great" Jonny Fly instead of the "irrelevant" Bobby Cairo, Hank.
So say the naysayers.
Hank, straightening his tie and jacket after the physical contact from Cairo, frowns in Cairo's direction before turning his focus back to the camera. Hank's cheesy smile magically returns as well.
Hank: There you have it, ladies and gentlemen! The Godfather appears to be in a less than talkative mood tonight, but I'm sure Jonny Fly, the winner of WAR XII and brand-new WCF World Champion will have plenty to say about his big win tonight! I'll be talking to him next here on WCF.com, your home for exclusive behind-the-scenes interviews with all of your favorite superstars!
The feed cuts as Hank beams into the camera, practically tinkling his pants Eric Price-style as he fantasizes about his interview with Fly.
"Fuck!"
Two hours have passed since Bobby Cairo was eliminated from WAR by sometimes-friend and sometimes-rival Jonny Fly. Cairo sits somberly in his dressing room at the US Airways Center. The lights in the room are dimmed, as if setting the mood for a romantic encounter. However, there is no romance in the air tonight. Cairo is by himself in this spacious, lavishly-decorated room, slumped in a leather massage chair. Bobby is still wearing his wrestling trunks and boots, though a white towel now covers his head. Cairo is despondent, motionless and silent, the only sound in the room provided by the gentle hum of the massaging rotors of the chair. Suddenly, Cairo raises his head and exclaims to no one in particular--
Cairo: Fuck!
Having expressed himself in the most articulate manner possible given the obviously frustrating circumstances, Cairo exhales in a tortured sigh.
"The Morning After"
Daylight has broken. A hummingbird flutters its wings while feasting on the nectar from a gardenia. The flower is sprouted from a large phallus-shaped pot that sits on the ornate upper balcony of an opulent and sprawling manor. This is the governor's mansion in Poon Guinea, a palatial estate in the heart of the nation that makes the White House look like a housing project. A banner that hangs above the entrance gate reads, "Poon Guinea: We don't do government shutdowns!"
A journey through the upper balcony's sliding glass doors leads to the master bedroom of the home, where Bobby Cairo reads a book while sitting in bed. Rihanna sits next to Bobby, completely naked and splayed on top of the covers, showing off her tits and poon and whatever other parts of her body should happen to strike one's fancy. Riri looks as though she's just woken up. She yawns and stretches her arms and legs. She even pops some bones into place using impressive yoga poses that showcase her phenomenal sexual prowess.
Rihanna: Whatcha reading, honey?
She coyly questions The Godfather while wrapping a leg around the back of her head. She teases licking the poon.
Cairo: A book about Charles Whitman.
Rihanna: Who's that?
Cairo: He was an ex-Marine who went nuts and shot a bunch of people back in the sixties. Went up into the bell tower at the University of Texas and picked off random strangers with his rifle, one-by-one.
Since it's obvious that Cairo is too engrossed in his book to do it, Rihanna gives herself a wake-me-up with a few good licks of her pussy. While licking and moaning she glances at the cock on the nightstand.
Rihanna: Whyargyoureebingthatat--
Cairo wrinkles his eyebrow while looking up from his book.
Cairo: Can you please stop licking your cunt while you're talking to me, darling?
Rihanna ceases her self-cunnilingus act and reclines in a more traditional position upon the bed.
Rihanna: Sorry, babe. Why are you reading about something horrible like that at this time of the morning? It's not even seven o'clock yet. We should be cuddled up under the covers, not discussing books about mass murderers.
Realizing that his bitch ain't gonna let him be, Cairo sets the book down upon his lap, the lap of thickness, and gives Rihanna the eye contact that she so desperately craves.
Cairo: Well, my ebony goddess, I'm trying to take my mind off of WAR. I need something vivid and brutal to distract me from the events that transpired in Phoenix last night.
Rihanna: Phoenix? Isn't that a bird or something?
Cairo rolls his eyes. He contemplates taking a page out of Chris Brown's book, though he opts against it.
Cairo: Woman, you are dumber than a box of cocks. Did you know that?
Rihanna scowls at Bobby. She punches his arm with her tiny, balled-up fist.
Rihanna: I told you to never call me dumb! I went to school in Barbados, goddamn it, and I'm sensitive about it!
Cairo: I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean that. I just-- I can't believe that I lost the match. So much hard work - the training, the planning, the sacrifice - and I lost the damn match. It makes no sense. I did everything perfectly. My training, my diet, my sleep schedule, everything was flawless.
Rihanna: Babe, you stayed up for days at a time snorting coke, boozing it up and smashing the poon.
Cairo: Exactly! How the fuck does that not work out for me in the end? You're telling me Fly could stay up for a week straight on a diet of nothing but Poon Guinea's finest uncut blow and a hundred-and-fifty cans of Four Loko? No, I refuse to believe that!
Now it's Riri's turn to roll her eyes... and fondle Cairo's nutsack.
Cairo: Oh damn that feels good, hun.
Rihanna: Anything to take your mind off the match, babe. You stress too much about wrestling. It's not life or death.
Cairo: This is where women will never understand--oh yeah, that's the spot! Use your knuckle! Your knuckle! Ohhhhhh damn, babe!
Cairo is getting his rocks off and loving life at the moment thanks to some "handy" testicular manipulation by the pop superstar with whom he shares his bed.
Cairo: This is where women will never understand the male ego as it relates to combat, both real and imagined. We live and breathe to defeat our rivals, snugglebug.
Rihanna doth protest while utilizing her world-famous cum-coaxing technique to massage Bobby's balls.
Rihanna: Bobby, I've defeated you in wrestling matches and frankly you didn't put up much of a fight.
Cairo: You don't understand, woman--AH!AH!AH!YEAH!MAKE IT SQUIRT!SQUIRTY-SQUIRTY!--I wanted you to dominate me during those matches. You were fulfilling my sexual desires. This losing at WAR business... There's nothing kinky about it, darling. I'm going to have to murder somebody at Slam just to get my bearings back.
The balls have been assuaged - now the pee-pee has its turn.
Rihanna: I still think you take it way too seriously, Bobby. You get way too competitive, and you spare no one from your wrath. I have to say, I didn't care for the comments that you made about Steve Orbit and his mother during your WAR promos.
Cairo is dumbfounded. He can't believe that his own girlfriend would take umbrage to comments that he made about a rival superstar. He's still getting his thickness stroked though, so that's cool at least.
Cairo: First of balls, some of those comments were made by the third-person narrator, with whom I have no connection. He was hired by the History Channel and he was absolutely not me, even if our voices sounded exactly the same. Honest!
Cairo winks at cha - breaking the fourth wall.
Cairo: Secondly, vagina. Third, fuck Steve Orbit and his welfare-scamming, crack-smoking, knob-gobbling, whore of a mother. Fourth, why do you care about what I say about an opponent?
Rihanna: Bobby, you idiot--
Cairo: Hey! Name-calling?
Rihanna: I'm sorry but it's true. Your comments about Orbit are ignorant, unfunny and quite frankly racist.
She continues to stroke his schlong despite their opposing points of view.
Cairo: Are you--are you for reals, woman? I swear if I wasn't white I would slap the shit out of you--uh, never mind. Poor choice of words, all around.
Rihanna frowns while anger fills her eyes.
Rihanna: Be honest, Bobby. You hate black people.
Cairo: You're black! I love you!
Rihanna: I'm just your token light-skinned house nigress, Bobby.
Cairo: This is insanity. I don't have to listen to this garbage. The comments that I made about Orbit were crass, that much I grant you, but they were within the bounds of modern-day wrestling smack-talk. You got a problem with that? Bite me. Truly and really just bite my butt, woman, because I'm not going to stop running my mouth. Not for you, not for Orbit's mama, not for anyone. I love talking shit and if nig--uh, African-Americans take offense then so be it.
Rihanna takes offense to Cairo's diatribe and starts handling the thickness a little too aggressively. Cairo howls in pain. He backhands Rihanna, knocking her into the headboard of the bed. Rihanna shakes the cobwebs loose and attempts to hit Bobby with a spear. Bobby darts out of the way and Rihanna hits the bedpost with authority. She turns around while in a daze. Bobby Cairo is waiting for her with a kick to the cunt and a vicious jackknife powerbomb. He places a foot on her tits. Senior referee Stanley Moser makes the count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!!!
Kyle Steel makes the announcement - Your winner and STILL Motel 6 Bedroom Star Openweight Champion, BOBBY CAIRRROOOOOO!!!
Cairo celebrates the awesome victory over his girlfriend, while Rihanna lies sprawled on the mattress. Bobby flips Riri onto her stomach, her caboose sticking prominently in the air, and-- well, you can use your imagination as to what transpires from here.
Outside of the home, the hummingbird who was earlier spotted feeding on a gardenia has sadly become the victim of foul play. The poor hummingbird's skull has been savagely pecked open and its brains pecked out by, of all things, a snow-white dove. Doves: the animal kingdom's covert serial killer. The dove is tweet-tweet-tweeting with its friends on Twitter and enjoying its ill-gotten breakfast, when suddenly it's snatched up by a large, green, reptilian-looking hand-- with claws!! The dove is still tweet-tweet-tweeting, this time though it's in a panicked frenzy, desperately calling for help. Alas, it is to no avail - the dove is lifted into a horrible mouth with jagged teeth and chomped into bloody bits.
The murderer gets murdered. Poetic justice or cruel irony of nature? El Chupacabra don't give a shit. El Chupacabra will bite the head off of dove, alligator, elephant, dog, cat, snail, man, woman or child - and swallow that shit whole if he pleases. El Chupacabra is crazy like that. El Chupacabra don't give a fuck. El Chupacabra is lurking outside of Bobby Cairo's bedroom window, watching, waiting, plotting... and yes, spanking his Chupacabra pee-pee.
"Our Will, Our Law"
A lavish pool party at the Governor's mansion plays host to the celebratory feats of Poon Guinea becoming a UN-recognized nation. Big-titted women flood the scene, bare breasts exposed, flaunting their poon-skank worthiness to become part of The Thickness's bitches. Alcohol and blow are being freely distributed as the henchmen of the Thick-ni Army pass it around like some fancy appetizers. These men--no, no... these Thick-ni warriors flaunt convention, as if saying "We don't need no fancy cheeses up in here. We got coke and speed balls. And deez nuts."
ZMAC is laying on a lawn chair, getting the solid head piece from Ariana Adams, er.. Grande. Cairo and Odin are shooting the shit, pool side.
Cairo: I was close, my Asgardian comrade. So close, I coulda smashed that poon with just my God-like powers of persuasion.
Odin takes a sip of scotch he has on a glass that's on the pool deck next to them.
Odin: So why are you sweatin that shit? Haven't you learned from the last THREE WARS that it's rigged? Fuck that noise. You better nut up or shut up because you're acting like a flaming faggot over it.
Cairo: Now listen here, sir, I will tolerate being called a lot of things, but--
Odin: Man, shut the fuck up and listen to me. WAR ain't shit to be sweatin' over. Dub Cee Eff is known for those cluster-fucka-saurus matches. EPPW somehow managed to make it worse. Only EPPW can make Adam Young's entrance in WAR more of a shock and surprise than the return of – what's his face?
Cairo: D-Day?
Odin: NO- what's his face? That guy I jobber killed a ways back?
Cairo: Over half the roster?
Odin: That's it! Half the roster. EPPW made Adam Young look better than half the roster with his entrance. Not to mention those jerk offs -
Cairo: Seifer and Robinson?
Odin: Who? NO. Twilight and Price- The other, other Price. Why, who are Seifer and Robinson?
Cairo: Two guys that debuted a few months back.
Odin's face shows no sign of recognition; he dismisses the content of Cairo's statement.
Odin: What we need to do is get our eyes on the prize and steamroll that Tag division. That well's drier than Twilight's cunt. There's not even a division. Hell, there never was. All Twilight and Jacobs are- are some extra affirmative, affirmative action. Twilight can't handle the MAN'S division of holding her own in the World Title scene so Seth tries to sweg-way a lawsuit and just hand her the Tag belts with Jakobs- another undeserving black man with no talent, skill or ability to prove it. Welcome to the highlight, right? Jakobs is just existing in a world where he caught a lucky break in being NOT STEVE ORBIT. At least Orbit works for his shit. It's all quotas. Jerry rigged as a motha fucka in Chuck E Cheese.
Cairo swishes the little bit of brown liquor that remains in his glass and slurps that shit down before stuffing a G in some Eva Mendes ass crack and grabbing another full glass.
Cairo: I might be a lil bit tipsy but I got all this shit mapped out, big man. The way I see it we got them tag belts locked up. We're commin' for that shit right fuckin quick. Straight up legendary team right here. We're gunna go out and make that shit happen. Smashin bitches like a Hollywood biker flash mob. We got this team of what do you call it, uh... Seifer and Robinson- Justice? HA!
Cairo is laughing so hard he spills some booze on Eva's poon, but he licks that shit right up. Eva giggles and moans and squeaks and shakes, puttin the "OH! OH! OH!" back in cuntry. Odin clenches a pronounced fist around his hammer and sickle. The All-Father scowls.
Odin: Justice?
Odin dismisses this nonsense with a wave of his mighty hand.
Odin: There is no Justice in the world today, only Our Will and Our Law. The Thickness do what we please, when we please and to whom we please. This is Communism, pure and simple.
Cairo and Odin bump fists and smash the poon, Cairo manhandling Eva while Odin slams Shakira.
Cairo: Apparently they want to be "remembered" for fighting the good fight? Doing the just and honorable thing in a world of darkness and corruption. Typical bullshit rookie M.O., but here's the kicker: They claim that they're not rookies, that they have all of this experience as "World Champions" and "Hall of Famers" in other companies.
Odin: It's not that I don't know who they are, it's just that I don't fucking care. Who the fuck are they? Put them up to this legend, the legend of Odin Balfore. Your legacy, the legacy of Bobby Cairo. They could work a million years and walk a million more miles in our shoes and all they'll get for the trouble is A fucking Powerbomb through the ring. Now isn't the time to be playing hero.
Cairo: We'll wax these jobbers like Rihanna to the Governor's cock. Move on to Team Affirmative Action, take those belts and make a tag division worthy of the new year to come.
Cairo and Odin finish wasting Eva and Shakira and toss them spent bitches into the pool. Cairo nods to Odin.
Cairo: You hungry, big man? Let's grab some grub.
Odin: The bitches already ate - these dicks - but the thickness needs fuel for the engine. Man cannot survive on poon alone.
ZMAC: I could go for tacos. Or doves.
Cairo: Grande finished spit-shining your headpiece?
ZMAC: Good as new. I strangled the bitch and tossed her into the pool.
Odin: A beautiful death for a beautiful whore. Let's eat tacos and blow up some toilets.
Cairo: FOR THICKNESS!
ALL: FOR THICKNESS!
The Thickness strut to their infamous "black Beamer of death" like their name was Reservoir Dogs. Cairo and Odin opt to let ZMAC drive. They just want to relax and savor the vibe of hedonistic murder that lingers in the air like a wafting fart. ZMAC peels out in the driveway on some crazy whiteboy shit before speeding into the distance in excess of a buck-oh-five. Beware, Taco Bell! The Thickness is coming! Tacos will be consumed - in excess - by the thousands. Toilets will be leveled like it was an Allied bombing raid on Dresden. And all poon in their path will be hanged, drawn, quartered and smashed. And oh yes... beware, El Chupacabra is coming too!
Excitement particles flutter in the atmosphere at US Airways Center in Phoenix, Arizona like dust from a thousand-year old sarcophagus. WAR is nearing its conclusion as the field of forty-plus entrants has been whittled down to its final two superstars, Jonny Fly and Eric Price. All of the boys and girls in the WCF Universe are on the edge of their seats with knots in their stomachs and perspiration fomenting upon their genitalia. However, not everyone in the arena shares the enthusiasm of the WCF fans. "The Godfather of Professional Wrestling" Bobby Cairo is walking backstage with a sullen expression on his face, wearing his wrestling trunks and boots. Sweat drips down Cairo's face and chest, his body a canvas of black bruises and red welts, the scars of battle. Hank Brown approaches Cairo wielding a microphone, looking eager to conduct his latest exclusive interview for WCF.com as the cameraman rolls film.
Hank: Ladies and gentlemen, I'm Hank Brown here with "The Godfather of Professional Wrestling" Bobby Cairo! Bobby, you put on a brilliant performance out there tonight. I know that you must be disappointed about not winning, but you proved that you're still a threat to the entire WCF roster. You lasted for more than an hour, taking third place in your first WAR since 2007. Overall, how do you feel about your performance?
Cairo stares into space, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, his mind apparently elsewhere - preoccupied with his elimination from WAR. Cairo finally responds to Hank's question in blunt fashion, offering the first description of his WAR experience that comes to mind.
Cairo: In my opinion, it sucked.
Hank appears taken aback by Cairo's revelation. He furrows his brow whilst attempting to follow Cairo's train of thought.
Hank: Could you elaborate, Bobby?
Cairo sighs dejectedly, looking as though he wants to be anywhere other than here, doing anything other than fielding Hank's predictable questions after a painful defeat.
Cairo: What am I supposed to say, Hank? You want my assessment of my performance? Well, I stayed active throughout the match and, uh...
Cairo swabs his tongue around the inside of his mouth along the gumline, genuinely trying to muster the patience to deal with these trite questions. Cairo weighs his options. Though he is emotional, Cairo is not presently of the mind to thrash Hank. Opting for the path of least resistance - and legal inconvenience - Cairo relents and begins opening up to WCF's resident interview specialist.
Cairo: I had only one elimination, but I was aggressive throughout the match. Uh, for the most part I kept my wits about me and avoided taking major damage. I was in the ring for quite a while, over an hour from what you just told me. I think that I was able to stay focused on the task at hand for the duration of that time, despite the carnage that unfolded around me. Unfortunately, I made a miscalculation against Jonny Fly. It was similar to the one that I made against Skyler Striker six years ago, and it was equally costly.
The signs of annoyance have abandoned Cairo's face, replaced by the dour expression of a man who has failed to achieve his life's goal. Cairo clears his throat.
Cairo: Um...
Cairo licks his lips, once again appearing to be lost in thought.
Cairo: I... I'm not disappointed, Hank. I'm heartbroken. You will have to forgive me if I'm at a loss for words. I truly believed that I was going to win this match. I put all of my eggs into one basket. There's no consolation prize for me. I can't be like other people, average people, and say that I'm going to take a moral victory from my performance at WAR. Absolutely not. Defeat is failure in Bobby Cairo's world. There are no exceptions. This one hurts more than most because having the opportunity to win WAR is the reason why I returned to singles competition in WCF. I wanted to right a wrong. I wanted to rectify a grievous error. I wanted to etch my name onto the list of the immortals who have claimed victory in WAR. I failed to achieve those goals. This loss is going to haunt me.
Completely ignoring Cairo's heartfelt confession, Hank lifts his hand to his earpiece as if he's receiving information from the production staff.
Hank: I'm sorry to cut you off, Bobby, but Jonny Fly has just defeated Eric Price to win WAR! What an illustrious moment in WCF history! Truly a crowning achievement in the remarkable career of Jonny Fly!
A disgusted Bobby Cairo brushes past Hank, very nearly knocking him to the ground, a look of utter disdain plastered on his rugged mug. Cairo mutters an obscenity or two under his breath as he walks away. Though not turning back, he leaves Hank with a final thought...
Cairo: Maybe you should interview the "great" Jonny Fly instead of the "irrelevant" Bobby Cairo, Hank.
So say the naysayers.
Hank, straightening his tie and jacket after the physical contact from Cairo, frowns in Cairo's direction before turning his focus back to the camera. Hank's cheesy smile magically returns as well.
Hank: There you have it, ladies and gentlemen! The Godfather appears to be in a less than talkative mood tonight, but I'm sure Jonny Fly, the winner of WAR XII and brand-new WCF World Champion will have plenty to say about his big win tonight! I'll be talking to him next here on WCF.com, your home for exclusive behind-the-scenes interviews with all of your favorite superstars!
The feed cuts as Hank beams into the camera, practically tinkling his pants Eric Price-style as he fantasizes about his interview with Fly.
"Fuck!"
Two hours have passed since Bobby Cairo was eliminated from WAR by sometimes-friend and sometimes-rival Jonny Fly. Cairo sits somberly in his dressing room at the US Airways Center. The lights in the room are dimmed, as if setting the mood for a romantic encounter. However, there is no romance in the air tonight. Cairo is by himself in this spacious, lavishly-decorated room, slumped in a leather massage chair. Bobby is still wearing his wrestling trunks and boots, though a white towel now covers his head. Cairo is despondent, motionless and silent, the only sound in the room provided by the gentle hum of the massaging rotors of the chair. Suddenly, Cairo raises his head and exclaims to no one in particular--
Cairo: Fuck!
Having expressed himself in the most articulate manner possible given the obviously frustrating circumstances, Cairo exhales in a tortured sigh.
"The Morning After"
Daylight has broken. A hummingbird flutters its wings while feasting on the nectar from a gardenia. The flower is sprouted from a large phallus-shaped pot that sits on the ornate upper balcony of an opulent and sprawling manor. This is the governor's mansion in Poon Guinea, a palatial estate in the heart of the nation that makes the White House look like a housing project. A banner that hangs above the entrance gate reads, "Poon Guinea: We don't do government shutdowns!"
A journey through the upper balcony's sliding glass doors leads to the master bedroom of the home, where Bobby Cairo reads a book while sitting in bed. Rihanna sits next to Bobby, completely naked and splayed on top of the covers, showing off her tits and poon and whatever other parts of her body should happen to strike one's fancy. Riri looks as though she's just woken up. She yawns and stretches her arms and legs. She even pops some bones into place using impressive yoga poses that showcase her phenomenal sexual prowess.
Rihanna: Whatcha reading, honey?
She coyly questions The Godfather while wrapping a leg around the back of her head. She teases licking the poon.
Cairo: A book about Charles Whitman.
Rihanna: Who's that?
Cairo: He was an ex-Marine who went nuts and shot a bunch of people back in the sixties. Went up into the bell tower at the University of Texas and picked off random strangers with his rifle, one-by-one.
Since it's obvious that Cairo is too engrossed in his book to do it, Rihanna gives herself a wake-me-up with a few good licks of her pussy. While licking and moaning she glances at the cock on the nightstand.
Rihanna: Whyargyoureebingthatat--
Cairo wrinkles his eyebrow while looking up from his book.
Cairo: Can you please stop licking your cunt while you're talking to me, darling?
Rihanna ceases her self-cunnilingus act and reclines in a more traditional position upon the bed.
Rihanna: Sorry, babe. Why are you reading about something horrible like that at this time of the morning? It's not even seven o'clock yet. We should be cuddled up under the covers, not discussing books about mass murderers.
Realizing that his bitch ain't gonna let him be, Cairo sets the book down upon his lap, the lap of thickness, and gives Rihanna the eye contact that she so desperately craves.
Cairo: Well, my ebony goddess, I'm trying to take my mind off of WAR. I need something vivid and brutal to distract me from the events that transpired in Phoenix last night.
Rihanna: Phoenix? Isn't that a bird or something?
Cairo rolls his eyes. He contemplates taking a page out of Chris Brown's book, though he opts against it.
Cairo: Woman, you are dumber than a box of cocks. Did you know that?
Rihanna scowls at Bobby. She punches his arm with her tiny, balled-up fist.
Rihanna: I told you to never call me dumb! I went to school in Barbados, goddamn it, and I'm sensitive about it!
Cairo: I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean that. I just-- I can't believe that I lost the match. So much hard work - the training, the planning, the sacrifice - and I lost the damn match. It makes no sense. I did everything perfectly. My training, my diet, my sleep schedule, everything was flawless.
Rihanna: Babe, you stayed up for days at a time snorting coke, boozing it up and smashing the poon.
Cairo: Exactly! How the fuck does that not work out for me in the end? You're telling me Fly could stay up for a week straight on a diet of nothing but Poon Guinea's finest uncut blow and a hundred-and-fifty cans of Four Loko? No, I refuse to believe that!
Now it's Riri's turn to roll her eyes... and fondle Cairo's nutsack.
Cairo: Oh damn that feels good, hun.
Rihanna: Anything to take your mind off the match, babe. You stress too much about wrestling. It's not life or death.
Cairo: This is where women will never understand--oh yeah, that's the spot! Use your knuckle! Your knuckle! Ohhhhhh damn, babe!
Cairo is getting his rocks off and loving life at the moment thanks to some "handy" testicular manipulation by the pop superstar with whom he shares his bed.
Cairo: This is where women will never understand the male ego as it relates to combat, both real and imagined. We live and breathe to defeat our rivals, snugglebug.
Rihanna doth protest while utilizing her world-famous cum-coaxing technique to massage Bobby's balls.
Rihanna: Bobby, I've defeated you in wrestling matches and frankly you didn't put up much of a fight.
Cairo: You don't understand, woman--AH!AH!AH!YEAH!MAKE IT SQUIRT!SQUIRTY-SQUIRTY!--I wanted you to dominate me during those matches. You were fulfilling my sexual desires. This losing at WAR business... There's nothing kinky about it, darling. I'm going to have to murder somebody at Slam just to get my bearings back.
The balls have been assuaged - now the pee-pee has its turn.
Rihanna: I still think you take it way too seriously, Bobby. You get way too competitive, and you spare no one from your wrath. I have to say, I didn't care for the comments that you made about Steve Orbit and his mother during your WAR promos.
Cairo is dumbfounded. He can't believe that his own girlfriend would take umbrage to comments that he made about a rival superstar. He's still getting his thickness stroked though, so that's cool at least.
Cairo: First of balls, some of those comments were made by the third-person narrator, with whom I have no connection. He was hired by the History Channel and he was absolutely not me, even if our voices sounded exactly the same. Honest!
Cairo winks at cha - breaking the fourth wall.
Cairo: Secondly, vagina. Third, fuck Steve Orbit and his welfare-scamming, crack-smoking, knob-gobbling, whore of a mother. Fourth, why do you care about what I say about an opponent?
Rihanna: Bobby, you idiot--
Cairo: Hey! Name-calling?
Rihanna: I'm sorry but it's true. Your comments about Orbit are ignorant, unfunny and quite frankly racist.
She continues to stroke his schlong despite their opposing points of view.
Cairo: Are you--are you for reals, woman? I swear if I wasn't white I would slap the shit out of you--uh, never mind. Poor choice of words, all around.
Rihanna frowns while anger fills her eyes.
Rihanna: Be honest, Bobby. You hate black people.
Cairo: You're black! I love you!
Rihanna: I'm just your token light-skinned house nigress, Bobby.
Cairo: This is insanity. I don't have to listen to this garbage. The comments that I made about Orbit were crass, that much I grant you, but they were within the bounds of modern-day wrestling smack-talk. You got a problem with that? Bite me. Truly and really just bite my butt, woman, because I'm not going to stop running my mouth. Not for you, not for Orbit's mama, not for anyone. I love talking shit and if nig--uh, African-Americans take offense then so be it.
Rihanna takes offense to Cairo's diatribe and starts handling the thickness a little too aggressively. Cairo howls in pain. He backhands Rihanna, knocking her into the headboard of the bed. Rihanna shakes the cobwebs loose and attempts to hit Bobby with a spear. Bobby darts out of the way and Rihanna hits the bedpost with authority. She turns around while in a daze. Bobby Cairo is waiting for her with a kick to the cunt and a vicious jackknife powerbomb. He places a foot on her tits. Senior referee Stanley Moser makes the count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!!!
Kyle Steel makes the announcement - Your winner and STILL Motel 6 Bedroom Star Openweight Champion, BOBBY CAIRRROOOOOO!!!
Cairo celebrates the awesome victory over his girlfriend, while Rihanna lies sprawled on the mattress. Bobby flips Riri onto her stomach, her caboose sticking prominently in the air, and-- well, you can use your imagination as to what transpires from here.
Outside of the home, the hummingbird who was earlier spotted feeding on a gardenia has sadly become the victim of foul play. The poor hummingbird's skull has been savagely pecked open and its brains pecked out by, of all things, a snow-white dove. Doves: the animal kingdom's covert serial killer. The dove is tweet-tweet-tweeting with its friends on Twitter and enjoying its ill-gotten breakfast, when suddenly it's snatched up by a large, green, reptilian-looking hand-- with claws!! The dove is still tweet-tweet-tweeting, this time though it's in a panicked frenzy, desperately calling for help. Alas, it is to no avail - the dove is lifted into a horrible mouth with jagged teeth and chomped into bloody bits.
The murderer gets murdered. Poetic justice or cruel irony of nature? El Chupacabra don't give a shit. El Chupacabra will bite the head off of dove, alligator, elephant, dog, cat, snail, man, woman or child - and swallow that shit whole if he pleases. El Chupacabra is crazy like that. El Chupacabra don't give a fuck. El Chupacabra is lurking outside of Bobby Cairo's bedroom window, watching, waiting, plotting... and yes, spanking his Chupacabra pee-pee.
"Run away, run away, run away and save your life!
Run away, run away, run away if you want to survive!"
--lyrics from "Run Away" by Real McCoy (El Chupacabra theme song)
Run away, run away, run away if you want to survive!"
--lyrics from "Run Away" by Real McCoy (El Chupacabra theme song)
"Our Will, Our Law"
A lavish pool party at the Governor's mansion plays host to the celebratory feats of Poon Guinea becoming a UN-recognized nation. Big-titted women flood the scene, bare breasts exposed, flaunting their poon-skank worthiness to become part of The Thickness's bitches. Alcohol and blow are being freely distributed as the henchmen of the Thick-ni Army pass it around like some fancy appetizers. These men--no, no... these Thick-ni warriors flaunt convention, as if saying "We don't need no fancy cheeses up in here. We got coke and speed balls. And deez nuts."
ZMAC is laying on a lawn chair, getting the solid head piece from Ariana Adams, er.. Grande. Cairo and Odin are shooting the shit, pool side.
Cairo: I was close, my Asgardian comrade. So close, I coulda smashed that poon with just my God-like powers of persuasion.
Odin takes a sip of scotch he has on a glass that's on the pool deck next to them.
Odin: So why are you sweatin that shit? Haven't you learned from the last THREE WARS that it's rigged? Fuck that noise. You better nut up or shut up because you're acting like a flaming faggot over it.
Cairo: Now listen here, sir, I will tolerate being called a lot of things, but--
Odin: Man, shut the fuck up and listen to me. WAR ain't shit to be sweatin' over. Dub Cee Eff is known for those cluster-fucka-saurus matches. EPPW somehow managed to make it worse. Only EPPW can make Adam Young's entrance in WAR more of a shock and surprise than the return of – what's his face?
Cairo: D-Day?
Odin: NO- what's his face? That guy I jobber killed a ways back?
Cairo: Over half the roster?
Odin: That's it! Half the roster. EPPW made Adam Young look better than half the roster with his entrance. Not to mention those jerk offs -
Cairo: Seifer and Robinson?
Odin: Who? NO. Twilight and Price- The other, other Price. Why, who are Seifer and Robinson?
Cairo: Two guys that debuted a few months back.
Odin's face shows no sign of recognition; he dismisses the content of Cairo's statement.
Odin: What we need to do is get our eyes on the prize and steamroll that Tag division. That well's drier than Twilight's cunt. There's not even a division. Hell, there never was. All Twilight and Jacobs are- are some extra affirmative, affirmative action. Twilight can't handle the MAN'S division of holding her own in the World Title scene so Seth tries to sweg-way a lawsuit and just hand her the Tag belts with Jakobs- another undeserving black man with no talent, skill or ability to prove it. Welcome to the highlight, right? Jakobs is just existing in a world where he caught a lucky break in being NOT STEVE ORBIT. At least Orbit works for his shit. It's all quotas. Jerry rigged as a motha fucka in Chuck E Cheese.
Cairo swishes the little bit of brown liquor that remains in his glass and slurps that shit down before stuffing a G in some Eva Mendes ass crack and grabbing another full glass.
Cairo: I might be a lil bit tipsy but I got all this shit mapped out, big man. The way I see it we got them tag belts locked up. We're commin' for that shit right fuckin quick. Straight up legendary team right here. We're gunna go out and make that shit happen. Smashin bitches like a Hollywood biker flash mob. We got this team of what do you call it, uh... Seifer and Robinson- Justice? HA!
Cairo is laughing so hard he spills some booze on Eva's poon, but he licks that shit right up. Eva giggles and moans and squeaks and shakes, puttin the "OH! OH! OH!" back in cuntry. Odin clenches a pronounced fist around his hammer and sickle. The All-Father scowls.
Odin: Justice?
Odin dismisses this nonsense with a wave of his mighty hand.
Odin: There is no Justice in the world today, only Our Will and Our Law. The Thickness do what we please, when we please and to whom we please. This is Communism, pure and simple.
Cairo and Odin bump fists and smash the poon, Cairo manhandling Eva while Odin slams Shakira.
Cairo: Apparently they want to be "remembered" for fighting the good fight? Doing the just and honorable thing in a world of darkness and corruption. Typical bullshit rookie M.O., but here's the kicker: They claim that they're not rookies, that they have all of this experience as "World Champions" and "Hall of Famers" in other companies.
Odin: It's not that I don't know who they are, it's just that I don't fucking care. Who the fuck are they? Put them up to this legend, the legend of Odin Balfore. Your legacy, the legacy of Bobby Cairo. They could work a million years and walk a million more miles in our shoes and all they'll get for the trouble is A fucking Powerbomb through the ring. Now isn't the time to be playing hero.
Cairo: We'll wax these jobbers like Rihanna to the Governor's cock. Move on to Team Affirmative Action, take those belts and make a tag division worthy of the new year to come.
Cairo and Odin finish wasting Eva and Shakira and toss them spent bitches into the pool. Cairo nods to Odin.
Cairo: You hungry, big man? Let's grab some grub.
Odin: The bitches already ate - these dicks - but the thickness needs fuel for the engine. Man cannot survive on poon alone.
ZMAC: I could go for tacos. Or doves.
Cairo: Grande finished spit-shining your headpiece?
ZMAC: Good as new. I strangled the bitch and tossed her into the pool.
Odin: A beautiful death for a beautiful whore. Let's eat tacos and blow up some toilets.
Cairo: FOR THICKNESS!
ALL: FOR THICKNESS!
The Thickness strut to their infamous "black Beamer of death" like their name was Reservoir Dogs. Cairo and Odin opt to let ZMAC drive. They just want to relax and savor the vibe of hedonistic murder that lingers in the air like a wafting fart. ZMAC peels out in the driveway on some crazy whiteboy shit before speeding into the distance in excess of a buck-oh-five. Beware, Taco Bell! The Thickness is coming! Tacos will be consumed - in excess - by the thousands. Toilets will be leveled like it was an Allied bombing raid on Dresden. And all poon in their path will be hanged, drawn, quartered and smashed. And oh yes... beware, El Chupacabra is coming too!