Post by Doc Henry on Jul 6, 2014 14:30:41 GMT -5
Doc looked around, and he was a bit perplexed. He didn't remember being in a swamp, but the unmistakeable mists, plant life and moisture in the air gave away his location...
"Damn Doc, how'd we get here?"
Doc shrugged and turned to face Johnny, and just stared at a trashcan with legs. Casually he grabs the lid and starts to pull it off, to no avail... Well except to bring out a scream...
"Jeezus Christ almighty Doc! Don't you dare try an' pull my head off again!"
"What the Fuck?!?"
Doc bent down and gave the can a once over, and then stood back up. "Well, I guess we should start looking for a way outta here... If'n one exists..."
The duo start trudging through the swamp, "Gah, what a slimy mudhole..."
"Slimy? Mudhole? It's not all that bad Bernardo..."
Doc jumps at the sudden reply, and turns drawing his nickel .45.
"Holy fucknuggets!!!" Rebcan shouted as he fell over with a clatter...
Doc just laughed as Johnny tried to get back up without arms and being a cylinder. Turning back to the shrouded figure, he just shook his head. "Ok Chuy, what the holy hell is going on?"
"Well Bernardo, your here to learn the ways of the Djamba. That way, you'll be more prepared to face Bernardo..."
Doc lit up a cigarette and exhaled the smoke as he spoke, "Dafuq is Djamba?"
"Djamba is what a Beaner uses to enter a different plane of existence..."
"Don't do it Doc, it's a trap!"
Doc waves his hand in dismissal, "Wait, are you saying that to beat Waylon I need to sit around and get gorked on some Mexican hash?"
"Not at all Bernardo, I'm saying you just need to get bombed to experience all that life has to offer..."
Doc shook his head, and kicked at a stump.
"Hey man, watch where your swinging that thing..."
Doc jumps back in surprise as the 'stump' stands up to reveal a half baked man holding a comically large joint. "What the fuck Chuy?"
"What Bernardo? Did you think the haze was just plain fog? Didn't you see the purple hue to it?"
The man toking on the joint simply laughed and held it out for Doc, "Remember hefe, pass the kouchie on the left hand side..."
Doc looks at the man with utter contempt, then without warning kicks him in the gut. As he is bent over the lit joint falls to the ground. Doc then proceeds to turn around and roll over the man's back putting him into the Jackpot. "Take a good look my stoned friend, because I'm gonna do this to Waylon on Slam..." Doc contracts his muscles and pulls himself into a deeper squat, causing the man to holler out as the hold gets locked in. Within a few seconds however, the man fades into the mist from which he appeared causing Doc to fall on his ass.
Uproarious laughter from both Rebcan and Chuy only seem to anger the Southern Rogue as he stands ready to fight...
"See Bernardo, this is what I've been trying to tell you. You can't go into your match with Bernardo and be all hot and ready to fight like that... Embrace the gift I am offering and learn to harness the Lucha that lies within..."
Doc looks at Chuy as if he is an alien, even though a guy's ears are sticking out now dumbo style. "You dot get it Chuy, guys like Waylon need to be attacked head on with violence and unrelenting aggression..." Taking an almost defeated look, Doc promptly sits upon Rebcan.
"Get your ass off my face Doc!"
Doc doesn't even look down, he simply rips a nasty fart worthy of a Golgothan, and snickers, "Oh shut up pole smoker, you were the one who wanted to pop the question to me..."
"BOYS!"
Rebcan holds his comment as Doc flashes a rogue smile...
"Bernardo, you used to new promising aerialist in the ring. Sure you've become one tough sum bitch, but your forgetting who you are..."
The mists begin to thicken as Chuy's voice begins to fade. "You are the Southern Rogue. You are one half of the greatest Tag Team in history, and my friend...
Remember...
Who...
You...
Are..."
***************
Doc sits up in his hotel bed soaked in sweat, and looks over at the clock.
3:25 AM
"Holy fuck, I need to lay off the peyote and Taco Bell while watching the Trilogy..."
Doc crawls out of bed, the nightly glow enhanced by the sheen of his sweaty body glints off his muscles. Crossing naked over to the mini bar, he pulls out a bottle of his own 'shine.
"Well, looks like my Slam match against Waylon is gonna be one hell of a slobber knocker. Now, not counting WARs and the one or two random WCF Clusterfuck matches, this will be just the third time the two of us have faced off in the ring, despite what Waylon claims... Now I don't know just where he gets off saying he is sick and tired if whooping my ass, because let's face it, he did pin me in the GEW PPV fatal four way down in New Orleans. That was a brutal match and brought the house down, you, Me, Kid P, and Johnny Reb. Four men who are the best the South has to offer. Now I remember rightly that after the match, the four of us all went out and got drunk, and partied together. I even wanted to proclaim you worthy of the Confederate Championship, but you didn't want it. Now, I'm glad I didn't insist, you would have tarnished that belt like you have tarnished your career."
Doc picks up his courtesy robe off the floor and slips it on, sitting at the in room desk. "Now, I still don't get why you think you've whooped my ass over and over in this business, your only other match against me was a tag match where you and Steve Orbit picked up the pin against me and that dead weight 'Iowan Massacre' Joel Hall. Seriously bro, you didn't even pin me. You guys took the smart route in that match and pinned the week link. Yet your puffing your chest out like your Buster Douglas after laying out Mike Tyson. I don't know what's worse, the embarrassment of being wrong, or being Waylon Cash's career hitting it's death stride..."
Doc pulled a cigarette out of his pack on the desk and lot it up. "Yeah I know... 'No Smoking'... I don't do what I'm told... Fuck 'em...
That being said, I wouldn't worry my little candied ass if'n I were you Waylon. Your little instructions for me concerning our match don't even apply. Unlike you, who claims after only two actual matches against an opponent, I have spent time kicking ass over and over again when it comes to someone not in my league... How many times has Adam Young popped up like the I flushed turd he is? Fuck if I know... I find it rather funny, and yet somewhat insulting that you're 'extensive' experience against me has you thinking you are actually gonna win this match. That right there gives me the edge. It isn't about your career being on a decline so much as why your facing me as it is that mine is on an upswing. Sure why not me facing a former World Champion? Nothing really for you to lose. Nope, when I win this match your trajectory doesn't change, it keeps going down. Even if'n you do eke a win out, you prove nothing and will probably face Adam Young next. Where as there are two things that happen for me, a loss and I keep on firing up the tag and singles divisions, but when I get the pin, hell I may even get you in the Jackpot, I will have a sharper uptick to my career... So it's a win win for me and a lose lose for you...
I did have a laugh at your attempt at claiming nothing left, then you go on to say you have two friends... Which is it man? Make up your damned mind. Your so fucking confused about your own life that you seem to miss the fact that I can and I will win this match. As the match wears on, don't be all that surprised when I pull your spine outta your ass and use it like a club in the hands of Captain Caveman to beat you like a rented mule. You were right about one thing though, I am not on your level. Here let me give you a visual..."
Doc pulls out a chart, on it are various images associated with WCF, and the camera zooms in on the top one, the WCF HOF logo. "On top there's the Hall of Famers, the best of the best. These guys we undeniably above either of us." The camera pans down to a group of pasted together faces, Then we have guys like me, men who have proven themselves time and again to be elite. Then there's main eventers... Which is no longer your domain." The camera keeps panning down, "Then there's the current champions, there's the contenders." the camera pans back to Doc's face, "I'm getting there, I'm getting there..."
The camera slowly pans back to the chart, "Then we come to the rest of the roster, there's vendors, there's... Hmm not sure how this got here... Cow shit, and then there's you. Right here, at the smelly bottom, just waiting on someone to stomp a mudhole in your ass and put this thing you call scarred outta it's misery..."
Doc sets the chart down and stands up, the sweat now just a sticky covering to his body. Picking up the phone, he dials down to the front desk. "Yes I could use a fresh set of sheets on my bed, it seems as if'n I sweat right through and soaked them. Yeah just bring them right on in, I'll be in the shower..." Hanging up the phone he looks at the camera, "Yeah money has it's privileges... Now I'm gonna go get cleaned up, so I'll leave you with one last thing to mull over as I lay the wood to the maid who comes up... Waylon will not only be my 195th opponent, he will go down as one of the men I pinned on my way to winning my 200th..."
"Damn Doc, how'd we get here?"
Doc shrugged and turned to face Johnny, and just stared at a trashcan with legs. Casually he grabs the lid and starts to pull it off, to no avail... Well except to bring out a scream...
"Jeezus Christ almighty Doc! Don't you dare try an' pull my head off again!"
"What the Fuck?!?"
Doc bent down and gave the can a once over, and then stood back up. "Well, I guess we should start looking for a way outta here... If'n one exists..."
The duo start trudging through the swamp, "Gah, what a slimy mudhole..."
"Slimy? Mudhole? It's not all that bad Bernardo..."
Doc jumps at the sudden reply, and turns drawing his nickel .45.
"Holy fucknuggets!!!" Rebcan shouted as he fell over with a clatter...
Doc just laughed as Johnny tried to get back up without arms and being a cylinder. Turning back to the shrouded figure, he just shook his head. "Ok Chuy, what the holy hell is going on?"
"Well Bernardo, your here to learn the ways of the Djamba. That way, you'll be more prepared to face Bernardo..."
Doc lit up a cigarette and exhaled the smoke as he spoke, "Dafuq is Djamba?"
"Djamba is what a Beaner uses to enter a different plane of existence..."
"Don't do it Doc, it's a trap!"
Doc waves his hand in dismissal, "Wait, are you saying that to beat Waylon I need to sit around and get gorked on some Mexican hash?"
"Not at all Bernardo, I'm saying you just need to get bombed to experience all that life has to offer..."
Doc shook his head, and kicked at a stump.
"Hey man, watch where your swinging that thing..."
Doc jumps back in surprise as the 'stump' stands up to reveal a half baked man holding a comically large joint. "What the fuck Chuy?"
"What Bernardo? Did you think the haze was just plain fog? Didn't you see the purple hue to it?"
The man toking on the joint simply laughed and held it out for Doc, "Remember hefe, pass the kouchie on the left hand side..."
Doc looks at the man with utter contempt, then without warning kicks him in the gut. As he is bent over the lit joint falls to the ground. Doc then proceeds to turn around and roll over the man's back putting him into the Jackpot. "Take a good look my stoned friend, because I'm gonna do this to Waylon on Slam..." Doc contracts his muscles and pulls himself into a deeper squat, causing the man to holler out as the hold gets locked in. Within a few seconds however, the man fades into the mist from which he appeared causing Doc to fall on his ass.
Uproarious laughter from both Rebcan and Chuy only seem to anger the Southern Rogue as he stands ready to fight...
"See Bernardo, this is what I've been trying to tell you. You can't go into your match with Bernardo and be all hot and ready to fight like that... Embrace the gift I am offering and learn to harness the Lucha that lies within..."
Doc looks at Chuy as if he is an alien, even though a guy's ears are sticking out now dumbo style. "You dot get it Chuy, guys like Waylon need to be attacked head on with violence and unrelenting aggression..." Taking an almost defeated look, Doc promptly sits upon Rebcan.
"Get your ass off my face Doc!"
Doc doesn't even look down, he simply rips a nasty fart worthy of a Golgothan, and snickers, "Oh shut up pole smoker, you were the one who wanted to pop the question to me..."
"BOYS!"
Rebcan holds his comment as Doc flashes a rogue smile...
"Bernardo, you used to new promising aerialist in the ring. Sure you've become one tough sum bitch, but your forgetting who you are..."
The mists begin to thicken as Chuy's voice begins to fade. "You are the Southern Rogue. You are one half of the greatest Tag Team in history, and my friend...
Remember...
Who...
You...
Are..."
***************
Doc sits up in his hotel bed soaked in sweat, and looks over at the clock.
3:25 AM
"Holy fuck, I need to lay off the peyote and Taco Bell while watching the Trilogy..."
Doc crawls out of bed, the nightly glow enhanced by the sheen of his sweaty body glints off his muscles. Crossing naked over to the mini bar, he pulls out a bottle of his own 'shine.
"Well, looks like my Slam match against Waylon is gonna be one hell of a slobber knocker. Now, not counting WARs and the one or two random WCF Clusterfuck matches, this will be just the third time the two of us have faced off in the ring, despite what Waylon claims... Now I don't know just where he gets off saying he is sick and tired if whooping my ass, because let's face it, he did pin me in the GEW PPV fatal four way down in New Orleans. That was a brutal match and brought the house down, you, Me, Kid P, and Johnny Reb. Four men who are the best the South has to offer. Now I remember rightly that after the match, the four of us all went out and got drunk, and partied together. I even wanted to proclaim you worthy of the Confederate Championship, but you didn't want it. Now, I'm glad I didn't insist, you would have tarnished that belt like you have tarnished your career."
Doc picks up his courtesy robe off the floor and slips it on, sitting at the in room desk. "Now, I still don't get why you think you've whooped my ass over and over in this business, your only other match against me was a tag match where you and Steve Orbit picked up the pin against me and that dead weight 'Iowan Massacre' Joel Hall. Seriously bro, you didn't even pin me. You guys took the smart route in that match and pinned the week link. Yet your puffing your chest out like your Buster Douglas after laying out Mike Tyson. I don't know what's worse, the embarrassment of being wrong, or being Waylon Cash's career hitting it's death stride..."
Doc pulled a cigarette out of his pack on the desk and lot it up. "Yeah I know... 'No Smoking'... I don't do what I'm told... Fuck 'em...
That being said, I wouldn't worry my little candied ass if'n I were you Waylon. Your little instructions for me concerning our match don't even apply. Unlike you, who claims after only two actual matches against an opponent, I have spent time kicking ass over and over again when it comes to someone not in my league... How many times has Adam Young popped up like the I flushed turd he is? Fuck if I know... I find it rather funny, and yet somewhat insulting that you're 'extensive' experience against me has you thinking you are actually gonna win this match. That right there gives me the edge. It isn't about your career being on a decline so much as why your facing me as it is that mine is on an upswing. Sure why not me facing a former World Champion? Nothing really for you to lose. Nope, when I win this match your trajectory doesn't change, it keeps going down. Even if'n you do eke a win out, you prove nothing and will probably face Adam Young next. Where as there are two things that happen for me, a loss and I keep on firing up the tag and singles divisions, but when I get the pin, hell I may even get you in the Jackpot, I will have a sharper uptick to my career... So it's a win win for me and a lose lose for you...
I did have a laugh at your attempt at claiming nothing left, then you go on to say you have two friends... Which is it man? Make up your damned mind. Your so fucking confused about your own life that you seem to miss the fact that I can and I will win this match. As the match wears on, don't be all that surprised when I pull your spine outta your ass and use it like a club in the hands of Captain Caveman to beat you like a rented mule. You were right about one thing though, I am not on your level. Here let me give you a visual..."
Doc pulls out a chart, on it are various images associated with WCF, and the camera zooms in on the top one, the WCF HOF logo. "On top there's the Hall of Famers, the best of the best. These guys we undeniably above either of us." The camera pans down to a group of pasted together faces, Then we have guys like me, men who have proven themselves time and again to be elite. Then there's main eventers... Which is no longer your domain." The camera keeps panning down, "Then there's the current champions, there's the contenders." the camera pans back to Doc's face, "I'm getting there, I'm getting there..."
The camera slowly pans back to the chart, "Then we come to the rest of the roster, there's vendors, there's... Hmm not sure how this got here... Cow shit, and then there's you. Right here, at the smelly bottom, just waiting on someone to stomp a mudhole in your ass and put this thing you call scarred outta it's misery..."
Doc sets the chart down and stands up, the sweat now just a sticky covering to his body. Picking up the phone, he dials down to the front desk. "Yes I could use a fresh set of sheets on my bed, it seems as if'n I sweat right through and soaked them. Yeah just bring them right on in, I'll be in the shower..." Hanging up the phone he looks at the camera, "Yeah money has it's privileges... Now I'm gonna go get cleaned up, so I'll leave you with one last thing to mull over as I lay the wood to the maid who comes up... Waylon will not only be my 195th opponent, he will go down as one of the men I pinned on my way to winning my 200th..."
