Post by 6ix God on May 13, 2017 15:25:52 GMT -5
There were few sounds in the hospital at 3 AM. The nurses and doctors had gone home, save those on duty at the Emergency Room; the janitors had finished their cleaning tasks; even most visiting guests had fallen asleep in their chairs. This was certainly the case of Alessandra Malignaggi, a copy of People Magazine splayed open in her lap as her chest lifted and fell in small breaths. The only sound in the room was the steady beating of the heart rate monitor connected to the bandaged and braced figure laying in the private room: Joseph Malignaggi. The same Joseph Malignaggi who just happened to be awake at 3 AM, staring in silence at the tile ceiling in thought.
The damage Everest’s spike pile driver had inflicted was all too obvious; a thick brace held his neck firmly in place. Two months later, his eyes still showed all the signs of bruising from multiple surgeries to repair the spinal column – anything at all that could possibly give him the chance to walk again. The recent prognosis on his jaw had been positive, but the doctors were unwilling to remove the wires just yet; best not to risk it. It was the worst case scenario for the First Ballot Hall of Famer; completely destroyed by his own devices. His legacy cemented at the cost of his future. A bright talent decimated in his thirties by the dangers of his job.
But truth be told, it had only cemented his relationship with Alessandra. The two had always been passionate – whether it was fighting or fucking. Something potentially resembling tenderness had finally been exposed in Alessandra; in his time of defeat, she’d spent every night at his side during recovery. Their teamwork was on the line; they’d passed. And maybe that was all Joseph needed. Fuck the whole wrestling business and the prestige of championships. Fuck WCF; he ran the major crime family in New York. Why bother with gold belts when he could settle into his Autumn years with money, power, and his wife?
These picturesque musings were shattered as the door opened, and a familiar silhouette entered the room. A sensation like ice ran through the veins of Joey Flash – a mixture of fear and loathing as two piercing blue eyes stared back at him through the darkness of night. He shouldn’t be here. There’s no way the guards would’ve let him in. How did I not hear him coming when he’s wearing those faggy wooden-heeled boots?
The Six God grinned as he flipped on the light switch, the room flooding with a blinding flash. Joey squeezed his eyes shut, the shock sending a jolt through his brain, still tender from trauma. Alessandra did not stir. And then The World was face to face with the Man Who Sold The World.
He wore a black Giorgio Armani suit with a matching shirt and no tie. The WCF Championship was slung over his shoulder, his fingers curled around the plate proudly. He grinned with wicked glee as he crossed the room, his arm falling to let the belt sway at his side.
Jared Holmes: Dear Slim, I wrote you but you still ain’t callin’…
He chuckled as he stopped, leering down in fiendish delight at the vulnerable – and helpless – figure laying on the hospital bed. Joey’s eyes were locked on Al, her chest still rising and falling with gentle breaths. Through a wired jaw, Flash gave a muffled cry for help – he received no response. Jared chuckled again as he sat down on the bed, reaching forward to pat Joey on the cheek.
Jared Holmes: Oh, stop. This is a private affair, Joey Boy.
Leaning back across Joey’s legs, Jared tilted his head back to look at the sleeping form of Alessandra.
Jared Holmes: You should be happy I’m just letting her sleep. At first, I thought I’d keep her asleep and kill her. But I thought that could ruin the mood for you and me. You’d be all weepy and ‘wah my wife is dead’, and you wouldn’t be listening to me.
Jared rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up so he straddled Flash. His grin widened as he leaned forward and held the belt up to Flash’s face. His voice was low.
Jared Holmes: Look at it. Look at it in my hands. Around my waist. Over my shoulder. Look. At. Me.
Jared gripped Joey’s chin in his free hand. The World averted his eyes. With a sneer, Jared tapped Flash on the nose with a finger.
Jared Holmes: You could’ve avoided this, you know. We could’ve been friends. All I wanted to be was friends. You spend all your time admiring someone from a distance, and you wanna hang out with them, right? Right?! I just wanted to meet my hero. Wanted to get his endorsement.
The Six God hissed between closed teeth.
Jared Holmes: And I… always… get what I want.
Jared leaned forward, rolling his body along Joey’s like a cat as he shuddered with wicked delight.
Jared Holmes: And now here we are. You. Totally at my mercy. Do you realize the power I have over you? I could do whatever I want to you right now. I could kill you. Beat you. I could blow my load on your face, and you’d just lay there, staring at me in anger and thinking all sorts of shit you wish you could say. But you can’t because your mouth is wired shut like 2002 Kanye West with none of the talent. You’re a totally fucked little puppy. And I?
Jared sat up and licked his lips, savoring the moment lingering in the air.
Jared Holmes: I’m the fucking master.
He sat upright, his hands placed on Joey’s chest as he kicked his legs back and forth as though riding a miniature pony.
Jared Holmes: I’m the man! Now I’m the King! And you are the one forced to bend the knee! It’s just as I planned. From the moment I let you out of stasis to the point you decided to come back and kill that idiot Southern fatass to now. I did this! I did this without any help! And it doesn’t matter what you or Corey or Dune thought. It doesn’t matter that those ZT faggots are all still sucking Rabid’s dick. It doesn’t even matter that spic Dave thinks he’s in the running! I did it first! Look at me, Joey! Look at me! I am the ultimate product of your little Pantheon experiment. The experiment you enlisted me to execute! Did you really think you could just put this all in my hands and not expect me to totally rig it to my favor?! That’s like my whole M.O. you fucking idiot!
Raising a hand, Jared swiped down and stuck Flash across the cheek, the brace groaning under the force of the blow but keeping his now reddened jaw stationary. Joey’s eyes stayed on Holmes, burning with internal rage. Their anger and frustration only seemed to further delight the Six God.
Jared Holmes: Congratulations, Joey. I took out my only threat to the Championship. “The Destroyer is the only threat to the Prophecy”, eh? Well what if I just enlist a few patsies to do the deed for me? Easy money and faithless women, or something like that. And now here you are. Broken. Fucked. Ruined. And all you ever had to do…
Jared paused and closed his eyes, his face contorting to a mask of rage as he snarled his words.
Jared Holmes: …Was let me in.
He paused again, the fury washing away as he smiled once more. Opening his eyes, he cupped Joey’s face in his hands.
Jared Holmes: ♫ I’ve got the whole world in my hands. I’ve got the whole world, in my hands. ♫
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Flash’s forehead. His prey still immobilized, he leaned down closer to bring them face to face. His voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
Jared Holmes: I’m going to make this a defining moment in your life. I want it to fucking shred you as you watch my rise and conquest, thinking about how you could’ve stopped this or you could’ve averted this. But in the end, you were too preoccupied with being Joey Flash and rubbing elbows with old washed-up faggots like Corey Black and Torture to bother noticing me. You did this to you. You are the only one to blame for your own devastation.
Jared’s hand came to Flash’s cheek. He stroked it with a gentle affection as he smiled into Flash’s eyes. As the Six God leaned forward, Flash could smell a breath of alcohol and blood.
Jared Holmes: You may now kiss the bride.
Jared’s fingers curled into Flash’s neck as he bent his head to the side, the distance between their lips rapidly diminishing.
The scream of the alarm and the beating on a distant door tore Jared back to the land of the living as the dawn’s early light sent a piercing wave of pain through his head.
Andre Aquarius: Get the fuck up, you ashy-ass dark nigga!
Andre Aquarius: Furreal, bruh, a young lightskin ain’t peein’ in no fukken sink!
A figure in bed beside Jared began to stir. He turned over to see a young woman with pale skin and straight red hair curled up, the noise in the opposite room bringing her to a state of semi-coherence.
Groupie: Jared, boo, can you make them keep it down?
Jared sneered at the turned back and shook his head as he sat up. It was only too like these hoes to start calling him pet names after getting a cunt full of baby batter. He ignored her request, turning himself to kick his legs off the side of the bed and stand up. With a shaking hand, he reached for his sunglasses to cover his burning eyes, and once adequately comfortable, he picked the WCF Championship up off the bedside table to inspect. The belt was already streaked and stained with spilled liquor and excess cocaine – a brief attempt to dust it off yielded no results. When a quick scan around the bedroom revealed no immediate underwear, Jared affixed the belt around his naked waist and pulled the main plate down to cover his dick before crossing the room and opening the door.
Outside in main room of the suite, Andre Aquarius pounded furiously on the bathroom door, tapping his foot impatiently and pacing momentarily before turning back and beating on it again.
Andre Aquarius: SERIOUSLY, BRUH.
Jared Holmes: What’s going on, dude?
Taking the time to pound forcefully on the door, Andre turned to Jared.
Andre Aquarius: That dark Relentless nigga passed out in the john, bruh. I need to take a – fuck your clothes at, bruh?
Jared shrugged as he walked up to the locked bathroom door.
Jared Holmes: I’m sure the slut stashed them somewhere to pocket and self on EBay later or something.
Andre shook his head.
Andre Aquarius: These hoes, man.
He looked at the bathroom door before turning back to Jared.
Andre Aquarius: Eh, bruh, you mind helpin’ a young nigga out? I wanna just break this bitch down, but I’d probably just let loose in the process.
Jared Holmes: I gotchu, fam.
Jared turned perpendicular to the door before throwing his shoulder roughly against it. The lock immediately gave way and the door crashed open, revealing a bathroom in a state of decimation. The shower curtain had been torn down, wrapped snuggly like a blanket around the softly snoring figure of Andre Holmes, curled up in the bathtub. Acting as a security blanket, he cuddled the Hardcore Championship and a flag of Jamaica. Jared sighed.
Jared Holmes: Fucking spastic.
Turning to Prince Lightskin, he motioned towards the open bathroom.
Jared Holmes: Go nuts.
The two passed in the door way as Jared returned to his room, ignoring the urging of the redhead to come back to bed as he rummaged around for a pair of underwear. His head still throbbed, and the leather belt had begun to rub on his junk – it was a recipe for discomfort. After opening his bag and retrieving his underwear, he finally turned toward the source of noise (the dumb slut’s blithering piehole) beating on his brain.
Jared Holmes: Look, I’m not listening to you. Shut up, and stop calling me “boo”.
The girl gasped, sitting up and pulling the covers to conceal her bare chest.
Groupie: That’s how you’re gonna talk to me this morning?!
Jared Holmes: Yes, it is. I’ve already gifted you with potential child support payments or hush money, so just shut up and stop acting like you have self-respect or I owe you anything else.
The groupie went quiet, her brow furrowing into a stare of quiet fury. Jared scoffed before unhooking the belt from his waist and slinging it back over his shoulder. He called out as he exited the room.
Jared Holmes: Feel free to take some selfies with the People’s Title. It’s the big gold belt in the trash.
As he exited the room and left the appalled groupie in his wake, the door to the bathroom opened to reveal Andre Aquarius. Exiting the hall and entering the main lounge of the suite, the destruction of last night’s bacchanal was only matched by the drunken bodies strewn around the furniture and floor. Surveying the carnage for a moment, Jared turned to the kitchen.
Jared Holmes: Jim stocked Count Chocula, right?
Andre Aquarius: Yeah, but Swagrid ate it all last night.
Jared Holmes: Motherfucker. What about Lucky Charms?
Andre Aquarius: I ate that.
Jared Holmes: I swear to god if all we have is Honey-fucking-Bunches of Oates, I’ll burn this whole motherfucker down.
Andre Aquarius: There’s Honeycomb, too.
Jared Holmes: Adequate.
Tossing the WCF Title on the kitchen counter, Jared opened the pantry above the refrigerator to retrieve the box of Honeycomb. Pulling the bag from inside, Jared inspected the remaining cereal before shoving his hand in to grab a handful of cereal.
Andre Aquarius: Eh, so now that I’m in #Pantheon, how we gonna differentiate between me and Holmes?
Jared paused in his chewing and swallowed, contemplating the problem for a moment.
Jared Holmes: He’s Andre. I usually address you as ‘Ey, Andre bruh’, anyway.
Aquarius shrugged.
Andre Aquarius: Makes sense. When we meetin’ with Beaver?
Jared Holmes: Beaver showed up last night. He’s passed out on the couch.
Andre Aquarius: He did? The fuck did that happen?
Jared Holmes: You were totally trashed. You gave him a hug and told him how much you missed him before you ran off to ‘find supplies to build a bridge back to Africa’, which meant a pillow fort with that brunette that had the lopsided tits.
Andre Aquarius: Oh…
Andre looked down in confusion.
Andre Aquarius: Guess that explains why I woke up with that chick under a pile of cushions and shit…
He looked back up at Jared.
Andre Aquarius: So what’s the plan with Trios, bruh? We gonna pop some tabs and moped through Mexico again?
Jared shrugged.
Jared Holmes: I figured I’d leave that to you guys. To be perfectly honest, I sorta regret even signing up for this. I just kinda wanna take a vacation, enjoy myself, then fuck Dion in the ass at Asesinato.
Andre Aquarius: But what if Dion gets to the finals?
Jared Holmes: Dion isn’t getting to the finals.
Andre Aquarius: #TRU.
Jared Holmes: In fact, I’m fucking done with this right now. I’m going to probably just go off to some beach and spend my time lounging. That’s how comfortable I feel about this match-up.
Andre Aquarius: Aren’t you gonna talk some shit or somethin’?
Jared Holmes: Do I really have to?
Andre Aquarius: I mean, yeah bruh. You gotta drop at least somethin’ of some sorta quality.
Jared Holmes: I’ll send them post cards or something.
And with that, Jared turned back to his bedroom to find his bathing suit.
Jared was satisfied with his note to the Very Big Alliance. It was probably all they deserved. The sun beat down on his perfectly tanned skin as he shoved the finished letter into his tote bag and reached for his next scrap of paper. The water was a beautifully clear blue, and it rolled with a perfect curl onto the beach. This was the life. Not sitting inside and slogging away at a shitty job or filming some wretched and contractually obligated promo. He needed to get his head cleared before his first title defense – fuck Trios. And fuck Dion with his jobber buddies.
He reached into the tote bag for another postcard. Turning it over, he picked up his pen and wrote Dion a special note.
The Six God smiled at his work. Pulling out his phone, he took a quick picture of the letter and sent the Snapchat out to his usual list of friends. After a moment of laying back down on his towel and closing his eyes, his phone buzzed. Holding it up, he opened the message from Brofessor Coach.
Jared sighed, putting the phone down. Going through the tote bag once more, he found the proper stationary and a hard surface to rest it on. The smell of the sea and sunscreen was irresistible – this was going to be as lazy as he wanted. Fuck Dion. He wasn’t going to eviscerate this guy on Week One. He didn’t deserve that level of effort.
The damage Everest’s spike pile driver had inflicted was all too obvious; a thick brace held his neck firmly in place. Two months later, his eyes still showed all the signs of bruising from multiple surgeries to repair the spinal column – anything at all that could possibly give him the chance to walk again. The recent prognosis on his jaw had been positive, but the doctors were unwilling to remove the wires just yet; best not to risk it. It was the worst case scenario for the First Ballot Hall of Famer; completely destroyed by his own devices. His legacy cemented at the cost of his future. A bright talent decimated in his thirties by the dangers of his job.
But truth be told, it had only cemented his relationship with Alessandra. The two had always been passionate – whether it was fighting or fucking. Something potentially resembling tenderness had finally been exposed in Alessandra; in his time of defeat, she’d spent every night at his side during recovery. Their teamwork was on the line; they’d passed. And maybe that was all Joseph needed. Fuck the whole wrestling business and the prestige of championships. Fuck WCF; he ran the major crime family in New York. Why bother with gold belts when he could settle into his Autumn years with money, power, and his wife?
These picturesque musings were shattered as the door opened, and a familiar silhouette entered the room. A sensation like ice ran through the veins of Joey Flash – a mixture of fear and loathing as two piercing blue eyes stared back at him through the darkness of night. He shouldn’t be here. There’s no way the guards would’ve let him in. How did I not hear him coming when he’s wearing those faggy wooden-heeled boots?
The Six God grinned as he flipped on the light switch, the room flooding with a blinding flash. Joey squeezed his eyes shut, the shock sending a jolt through his brain, still tender from trauma. Alessandra did not stir. And then The World was face to face with the Man Who Sold The World.
He wore a black Giorgio Armani suit with a matching shirt and no tie. The WCF Championship was slung over his shoulder, his fingers curled around the plate proudly. He grinned with wicked glee as he crossed the room, his arm falling to let the belt sway at his side.
Jared Holmes: Dear Slim, I wrote you but you still ain’t callin’…
He chuckled as he stopped, leering down in fiendish delight at the vulnerable – and helpless – figure laying on the hospital bed. Joey’s eyes were locked on Al, her chest still rising and falling with gentle breaths. Through a wired jaw, Flash gave a muffled cry for help – he received no response. Jared chuckled again as he sat down on the bed, reaching forward to pat Joey on the cheek.
Jared Holmes: Oh, stop. This is a private affair, Joey Boy.
Leaning back across Joey’s legs, Jared tilted his head back to look at the sleeping form of Alessandra.
Jared Holmes: You should be happy I’m just letting her sleep. At first, I thought I’d keep her asleep and kill her. But I thought that could ruin the mood for you and me. You’d be all weepy and ‘wah my wife is dead’, and you wouldn’t be listening to me.
Jared rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up so he straddled Flash. His grin widened as he leaned forward and held the belt up to Flash’s face. His voice was low.
Jared Holmes: Look at it. Look at it in my hands. Around my waist. Over my shoulder. Look. At. Me.
Jared gripped Joey’s chin in his free hand. The World averted his eyes. With a sneer, Jared tapped Flash on the nose with a finger.
Jared Holmes: You could’ve avoided this, you know. We could’ve been friends. All I wanted to be was friends. You spend all your time admiring someone from a distance, and you wanna hang out with them, right? Right?! I just wanted to meet my hero. Wanted to get his endorsement.
The Six God hissed between closed teeth.
Jared Holmes: And I… always… get what I want.
Jared leaned forward, rolling his body along Joey’s like a cat as he shuddered with wicked delight.
Jared Holmes: And now here we are. You. Totally at my mercy. Do you realize the power I have over you? I could do whatever I want to you right now. I could kill you. Beat you. I could blow my load on your face, and you’d just lay there, staring at me in anger and thinking all sorts of shit you wish you could say. But you can’t because your mouth is wired shut like 2002 Kanye West with none of the talent. You’re a totally fucked little puppy. And I?
Jared sat up and licked his lips, savoring the moment lingering in the air.
Jared Holmes: I’m the fucking master.
He sat upright, his hands placed on Joey’s chest as he kicked his legs back and forth as though riding a miniature pony.
Jared Holmes: I’m the man! Now I’m the King! And you are the one forced to bend the knee! It’s just as I planned. From the moment I let you out of stasis to the point you decided to come back and kill that idiot Southern fatass to now. I did this! I did this without any help! And it doesn’t matter what you or Corey or Dune thought. It doesn’t matter that those ZT faggots are all still sucking Rabid’s dick. It doesn’t even matter that spic Dave thinks he’s in the running! I did it first! Look at me, Joey! Look at me! I am the ultimate product of your little Pantheon experiment. The experiment you enlisted me to execute! Did you really think you could just put this all in my hands and not expect me to totally rig it to my favor?! That’s like my whole M.O. you fucking idiot!
Raising a hand, Jared swiped down and stuck Flash across the cheek, the brace groaning under the force of the blow but keeping his now reddened jaw stationary. Joey’s eyes stayed on Holmes, burning with internal rage. Their anger and frustration only seemed to further delight the Six God.
Jared Holmes: Congratulations, Joey. I took out my only threat to the Championship. “The Destroyer is the only threat to the Prophecy”, eh? Well what if I just enlist a few patsies to do the deed for me? Easy money and faithless women, or something like that. And now here you are. Broken. Fucked. Ruined. And all you ever had to do…
Jared paused and closed his eyes, his face contorting to a mask of rage as he snarled his words.
Jared Holmes: …Was let me in.
He paused again, the fury washing away as he smiled once more. Opening his eyes, he cupped Joey’s face in his hands.
Jared Holmes: ♫ I’ve got the whole world in my hands. I’ve got the whole world, in my hands. ♫
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Flash’s forehead. His prey still immobilized, he leaned down closer to bring them face to face. His voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
Jared Holmes: I’m going to make this a defining moment in your life. I want it to fucking shred you as you watch my rise and conquest, thinking about how you could’ve stopped this or you could’ve averted this. But in the end, you were too preoccupied with being Joey Flash and rubbing elbows with old washed-up faggots like Corey Black and Torture to bother noticing me. You did this to you. You are the only one to blame for your own devastation.
Jared’s hand came to Flash’s cheek. He stroked it with a gentle affection as he smiled into Flash’s eyes. As the Six God leaned forward, Flash could smell a breath of alcohol and blood.
Jared Holmes: You may now kiss the bride.
Jared’s fingers curled into Flash’s neck as he bent his head to the side, the distance between their lips rapidly diminishing.
Beep
Knock
Beep
Knock
Beep
Knock
Beep
Knock
Beep
Knock
The scream of the alarm and the beating on a distant door tore Jared back to the land of the living as the dawn’s early light sent a piercing wave of pain through his head.
Andre Aquarius: Get the fuck up, you ashy-ass dark nigga!
Knock-knock-knock!
Andre Aquarius: Furreal, bruh, a young lightskin ain’t peein’ in no fukken sink!
A figure in bed beside Jared began to stir. He turned over to see a young woman with pale skin and straight red hair curled up, the noise in the opposite room bringing her to a state of semi-coherence.
Groupie: Jared, boo, can you make them keep it down?
Jared sneered at the turned back and shook his head as he sat up. It was only too like these hoes to start calling him pet names after getting a cunt full of baby batter. He ignored her request, turning himself to kick his legs off the side of the bed and stand up. With a shaking hand, he reached for his sunglasses to cover his burning eyes, and once adequately comfortable, he picked the WCF Championship up off the bedside table to inspect. The belt was already streaked and stained with spilled liquor and excess cocaine – a brief attempt to dust it off yielded no results. When a quick scan around the bedroom revealed no immediate underwear, Jared affixed the belt around his naked waist and pulled the main plate down to cover his dick before crossing the room and opening the door.
Outside in main room of the suite, Andre Aquarius pounded furiously on the bathroom door, tapping his foot impatiently and pacing momentarily before turning back and beating on it again.
Andre Aquarius: SERIOUSLY, BRUH.
Jared Holmes: What’s going on, dude?
Taking the time to pound forcefully on the door, Andre turned to Jared.
Andre Aquarius: That dark Relentless nigga passed out in the john, bruh. I need to take a – fuck your clothes at, bruh?
Jared shrugged as he walked up to the locked bathroom door.
Jared Holmes: I’m sure the slut stashed them somewhere to pocket and self on EBay later or something.
Andre shook his head.
Andre Aquarius: These hoes, man.
He looked at the bathroom door before turning back to Jared.
Andre Aquarius: Eh, bruh, you mind helpin’ a young nigga out? I wanna just break this bitch down, but I’d probably just let loose in the process.
Jared Holmes: I gotchu, fam.
Jared turned perpendicular to the door before throwing his shoulder roughly against it. The lock immediately gave way and the door crashed open, revealing a bathroom in a state of decimation. The shower curtain had been torn down, wrapped snuggly like a blanket around the softly snoring figure of Andre Holmes, curled up in the bathtub. Acting as a security blanket, he cuddled the Hardcore Championship and a flag of Jamaica. Jared sighed.
Jared Holmes: Fucking spastic.
Turning to Prince Lightskin, he motioned towards the open bathroom.
Jared Holmes: Go nuts.
The two passed in the door way as Jared returned to his room, ignoring the urging of the redhead to come back to bed as he rummaged around for a pair of underwear. His head still throbbed, and the leather belt had begun to rub on his junk – it was a recipe for discomfort. After opening his bag and retrieving his underwear, he finally turned toward the source of noise (the dumb slut’s blithering piehole) beating on his brain.
Jared Holmes: Look, I’m not listening to you. Shut up, and stop calling me “boo”.
The girl gasped, sitting up and pulling the covers to conceal her bare chest.
Groupie: That’s how you’re gonna talk to me this morning?!
Jared Holmes: Yes, it is. I’ve already gifted you with potential child support payments or hush money, so just shut up and stop acting like you have self-respect or I owe you anything else.
The groupie went quiet, her brow furrowing into a stare of quiet fury. Jared scoffed before unhooking the belt from his waist and slinging it back over his shoulder. He called out as he exited the room.
Jared Holmes: Feel free to take some selfies with the People’s Title. It’s the big gold belt in the trash.
As he exited the room and left the appalled groupie in his wake, the door to the bathroom opened to reveal Andre Aquarius. Exiting the hall and entering the main lounge of the suite, the destruction of last night’s bacchanal was only matched by the drunken bodies strewn around the furniture and floor. Surveying the carnage for a moment, Jared turned to the kitchen.
Jared Holmes: Jim stocked Count Chocula, right?
Andre Aquarius: Yeah, but Swagrid ate it all last night.
Jared Holmes: Motherfucker. What about Lucky Charms?
Andre Aquarius: I ate that.
Jared Holmes: I swear to god if all we have is Honey-fucking-Bunches of Oates, I’ll burn this whole motherfucker down.
Andre Aquarius: There’s Honeycomb, too.
Jared Holmes: Adequate.
Tossing the WCF Title on the kitchen counter, Jared opened the pantry above the refrigerator to retrieve the box of Honeycomb. Pulling the bag from inside, Jared inspected the remaining cereal before shoving his hand in to grab a handful of cereal.
Andre Aquarius: Eh, so now that I’m in #Pantheon, how we gonna differentiate between me and Holmes?
Jared paused in his chewing and swallowed, contemplating the problem for a moment.
Jared Holmes: He’s Andre. I usually address you as ‘Ey, Andre bruh’, anyway.
Aquarius shrugged.
Andre Aquarius: Makes sense. When we meetin’ with Beaver?
Jared Holmes: Beaver showed up last night. He’s passed out on the couch.
Andre Aquarius: He did? The fuck did that happen?
Jared Holmes: You were totally trashed. You gave him a hug and told him how much you missed him before you ran off to ‘find supplies to build a bridge back to Africa’, which meant a pillow fort with that brunette that had the lopsided tits.
Andre Aquarius: Oh…
Andre looked down in confusion.
Andre Aquarius: Guess that explains why I woke up with that chick under a pile of cushions and shit…
He looked back up at Jared.
Andre Aquarius: So what’s the plan with Trios, bruh? We gonna pop some tabs and moped through Mexico again?
Jared shrugged.
Jared Holmes: I figured I’d leave that to you guys. To be perfectly honest, I sorta regret even signing up for this. I just kinda wanna take a vacation, enjoy myself, then fuck Dion in the ass at Asesinato.
Andre Aquarius: But what if Dion gets to the finals?
Jared Holmes: Dion isn’t getting to the finals.
Andre Aquarius: #TRU.
Jared Holmes: In fact, I’m fucking done with this right now. I’m going to probably just go off to some beach and spend my time lounging. That’s how comfortable I feel about this match-up.
Andre Aquarius: Aren’t you gonna talk some shit or somethin’?
Jared Holmes: Do I really have to?
Andre Aquarius: I mean, yeah bruh. You gotta drop at least somethin’ of some sorta quality.
Jared Holmes: I’ll send them post cards or something.
And with that, Jared turned back to his bedroom to find his bathing suit.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dear Very Big Alliance,
I wish I could offer you guys far more of my attention and effort this week. I’m a mark. However, the month of May has rolled around, and I’m notoriously out of shape during this time. Keep your dick in your pants and we might be good here. IDK.
Anyway, that earlier thing about me being a mark? I lied. I actually have absolutely no idea who either of you are. I also don’t care nor need to, a luxury bestowed upon me by merit of being Champion. So instead, here is a list of other things that are very big:
-How much I don’t give a fuck about this match
-The ass-beating I’m going to give Dion at Asesinatode Mayo (de Junio?)
-This dick
-My bank account balance
-Seth’s alcohol problem
-The load I blew in Kathy P
-The IWC’s sigh of relief when I murdered Frank
Anyway, that’s all I have to say to you guys. Um. I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.
Your Champion,
Jared Holmes
I wish I could offer you guys far more of my attention and effort this week. I’m a mark. However, the month of May has rolled around, and I’m notoriously out of shape during this time. Keep your dick in your pants and we might be good here. IDK.
Anyway, that earlier thing about me being a mark? I lied. I actually have absolutely no idea who either of you are. I also don’t care nor need to, a luxury bestowed upon me by merit of being Champion. So instead, here is a list of other things that are very big:
-How much I don’t give a fuck about this match
-The ass-beating I’m going to give Dion at Asesinato
-This dick
-My bank account balance
-Seth’s alcohol problem
-The load I blew in Kathy P
-The IWC’s sigh of relief when I murdered Frank
Anyway, that’s all I have to say to you guys. Um. I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.
Your Champion,
Jared Holmes
Jared was satisfied with his note to the Very Big Alliance. It was probably all they deserved. The sun beat down on his perfectly tanned skin as he shoved the finished letter into his tote bag and reached for his next scrap of paper. The water was a beautifully clear blue, and it rolled with a perfect curl onto the beach. This was the life. Not sitting inside and slogging away at a shitty job or filming some wretched and contractually obligated promo. He needed to get his head cleared before his first title defense – fuck Trios. And fuck Dion with his jobber buddies.
He reached into the tote bag for another postcard. Turning it over, he picked up his pen and wrote Dion a special note.
Dear Dion Necurat,
You’re a huge faggot. Kill yourself.
Love,
Jared Holmes
You’re a huge faggot. Kill yourself.
Love,
Jared Holmes
The Six God smiled at his work. Pulling out his phone, he took a quick picture of the letter and sent the Snapchat out to his usual list of friends. After a moment of laying back down on his towel and closing his eyes, his phone buzzed. Holding it up, he opened the message from Brofessor Coach.
Jeff Perkins: Jared – this is the Number One Contender. You need something at least semi-substantial or Seth Lerch is going to pitch a fit about contractual obligations. Please do this for me – it took practically crying on the phone to book you a room at the Royal Hawaiian at the last moment. I’ve been a good agent, haven’t I?
Jared sighed, putting the phone down. Going through the tote bag once more, he found the proper stationary and a hard surface to rest it on. The smell of the sea and sunscreen was irresistible – this was going to be as lazy as he wanted. Fuck Dion. He wasn’t going to eviscerate this guy on Week One. He didn’t deserve that level of effort.
Dear Dion (Again),
My agent, Jeff, said that letter wasn’t enough considering that you’re Number One Contender. I told him that I’m more assuredly beating the fucking piss out of you than I was Frank, and that no matter how much or whatever I say to you now, there are certain inevitables in life. He told me I already used this joke on Frank, so I threatened to dock his pay and he shut up.
I want to emphasize that I don’t give a fuck about you, this match, or your title shot at Asesinato. That I have the sublime opportunity to absolutely humiliate you on some garbage Slam, tho, is way too juicy to pass up. Because then I can watch you grovel and blame it on the Very Big Alliance for the month as I drop out of Trios, lay on vacation, and allow you to build yourself up and smell your own shit before I tear your head off in a complete curb-stomp match.
Instead, I’d like to take this moment to go back over some of the things I’ve said about you in the past. After all, I’ve now beaten the shit out of you three times in various tag matches, and it’s only right to consider if you’ve changed at all since then:
This was funny. This was when I was mocking the fact you got snubbed by Team WCF who went on to get absolutely massacred at Hellimination. It’s really funny to think of all of the other people Archer and Kaine could’ve chosen. Instead of proven choke artists, washed up veterans, and massive faggots, they could’ve had you. I’ll be fair; that’s an upgrade. Not a meaningful one, but football is a game of inches.
In this same video, I also gave you some image advice:
So far, you’re very far behind on all of these points. I’m incredible disappointed. You still have the horrible beard. You still need a scrub. You still haven’t killed yourself. I’m not sure where you live now, but it needles you when I imply you’re a transient, so I’m gonna stick with that line of argument. I guess at one time you put on a purple suit; I never told you to do that. If I remember correctly, that gimmick failed, and that’s what you get for not listening to me.
Neither Jason Cash nor Lilith are with us anymore (R.I.P.), but I think some of the other Zero Tolerance people mock you. Katherine Phoenix does on occasion, too, and she’s basically the same person as Lilith. I also bully you, so I suppose you’ve expanding your pool. Congratulations, Dion, you’ve given me no choice but to acknowledge you. I’m sure your mother is very proud. Do you have a mother? Are you homeless because she abandoned you? I don’t feel like I have to warrant looking this up.
This was funny because it shows how little I cared about fighting you. It’s also funny because the guys who don’t exist are your tag partners this week. I think I may have said other mean things about you in that promo, but I can’t remember.
Anyway Dion, I’m not wasting A-Roll against you on some stupid Trios match when we’re fighting for the belt in a few weeks. I’m just going to murder you here, take the rest of the month off, and kill you again at the end. It’s going to be really funny. Then you can go get a real job.
Love,
Jared
P.S. Kill yourself
My agent, Jeff, said that letter wasn’t enough considering that you’re Number One Contender. I told him that I’m more assuredly beating the fucking piss out of you than I was Frank, and that no matter how much or whatever I say to you now, there are certain inevitables in life. He told me I already used this joke on Frank, so I threatened to dock his pay and he shut up.
I want to emphasize that I don’t give a fuck about you, this match, or your title shot at Asesinato. That I have the sublime opportunity to absolutely humiliate you on some garbage Slam, tho, is way too juicy to pass up. Because then I can watch you grovel and blame it on the Very Big Alliance for the month as I drop out of Trios, lay on vacation, and allow you to build yourself up and smell your own shit before I tear your head off in a complete curb-stomp match.
Instead, I’d like to take this moment to go back over some of the things I’ve said about you in the past. After all, I’ve now beaten the shit out of you three times in various tag matches, and it’s only right to consider if you’ve changed at all since then:
Perhaps the funniest and most enlightening thing about the members of ‘Team WCF’ is that a member of the Brotherhood was a co-captain and yet didn’t chose a single one of you losers. Of a team consisting of Adrian Archer, Damian Kaine, Sarah Twilight, and Eric Purse and briefly Teddy Blaze and Jack London Tom-O-Hawk, there wasn’t a second of consideration for any of you hippies.
This was funny. This was when I was mocking the fact you got snubbed by Team WCF who went on to get absolutely massacred at Hellimination. It’s really funny to think of all of the other people Archer and Kaine could’ve chosen. Instead of proven choke artists, washed up veterans, and massive faggots, they could’ve had you. I’ll be fair; that’s an upgrade. Not a meaningful one, but football is a game of inches.
In this same video, I also gave you some image advice:
1) Shave your beard, you fucking hippie.
2) Live somewhere real and normal with electricity and running water, you fucking hippie.
3) Take a shower, you fucking hippie.
4) Kill yourself, you fucking hippie.
2) Live somewhere real and normal with electricity and running water, you fucking hippie.
3) Take a shower, you fucking hippie.
4) Kill yourself, you fucking hippie.
So far, you’re very far behind on all of these points. I’m incredible disappointed. You still have the horrible beard. You still need a scrub. You still haven’t killed yourself. I’m not sure where you live now, but it needles you when I imply you’re a transient, so I’m gonna stick with that line of argument. I guess at one time you put on a purple suit; I never told you to do that. If I remember correctly, that gimmick failed, and that’s what you get for not listening to me.
If you have ever wanted to evaluate your ranking in the hierarchy in this fed and judge your public image, you need to look no further than the people who go at you. It’s a pecking order, really; the big fish eats the small fish eats the medium fish. Do you see anyone stepping to us? Hell, when’s the last time anyone has uttered “Sux God” or tried to call me a ball polisher? (Inb4 one of you stupid faggots does, thinking you’re so witty and original) I’m the Apex Predator of this federation; the top of the food chain that all others flee from. And who is Dion Necurat’s natural predators? Jason Cash and Lilith.
Neither Jason Cash nor Lilith are with us anymore (R.I.P.), but I think some of the other Zero Tolerance people mock you. Katherine Phoenix does on occasion, too, and she’s basically the same person as Lilith. I also bully you, so I suppose you’ve expanding your pool. Congratulations, Dion, you’ve given me no choice but to acknowledge you. I’m sure your mother is very proud. Do you have a mother? Are you homeless because she abandoned you? I don’t feel like I have to warrant looking this up.
Fuck, Wade didn’t even win his XIII match – both Rabid and I fuckin’ did. And yet, here we are: lower on the card than Adrian Archer, Kidd Krazzy, and Jason Cash while facing two guys who may not even exist, that dumb cookie monster faggot Psychopump, and Dion fucking NECURAT!
This was funny because it shows how little I cared about fighting you. It’s also funny because the guys who don’t exist are your tag partners this week. I think I may have said other mean things about you in that promo, but I can’t remember.
Anyway Dion, I’m not wasting A-Roll against you on some stupid Trios match when we’re fighting for the belt in a few weeks. I’m just going to murder you here, take the rest of the month off, and kill you again at the end. It’s going to be really funny. Then you can go get a real job.
Love,
Jared
P.S. Kill yourself