Post by Logan on Feb 2, 2012 16:55:44 GMT -5
My name is Chris Avery.
First and last.
That’s who I am.
Not Logan.
So why do people continue to mix me up with that cat?
I don’t even resemble him.
If you hadn’t noticed.. he’s white..
I’m fuckin’ BLACK!
Chris Avery is chilling in a pad in LA, California, and Gravedigger’s ‘pad’ to be more specific. The place is nice, big, golden, a single man’s dream shack. He’s in one of those rich rooms now, an enormous water fountain centered in the room not spurting water but champagne. He had this installed just an hour ago in Gravedigger’s home, without permission of course. His recent contract signing with cracka-Lerch undoubtedly landed him the money to get this jimmy put in, which was really a surprise to him that he’d sign a nigga enough to afford something this luxurious. Bikini clothed white and black women alike, mostly black, gather around the fountain with empty eager glasses and get their fill. He joins the hoes with a glass of his own.
CHRIS AVERY: Yeah. Let’s drink it up ladies.
The each of them collectively slips their empty glasses in and the flowing champagne beautifully fills.
CHRIS AVERY: That’s the high dollar shit too. Here, look, let’s make a toast to Seth Lerch. This is for you, Seth, and my hope that your white ass chokes to death so a black man can finally win some titles around here.
They all raise their glasses, clinging them, just before gulping back despite the inhumane toast. And why wouldn’t they? These women have been paid extremely well to accompany him here today. They know the rules. None of these women have any intention of breaking them, of saying things like, “Hey white dude, you do know you’re not black right?”
CHRIS AVERY: My little fishes…
He looks over them nodding in approval of their new nick.
CHRIS AVERY: Let’s ditch the glasses. You fishes need this champagne like its oxygen, you can’t breathe without it. Get into the fountain, fishes, and swim.
One of the black ‘fishes’ speaks.
BLACK GIRL: I ain’t getting in that.
CHRIS AVERY: Oh?
BLACK GIRL: OH, nigga.
She really epitomized the OH, trying her way to make a statement with OH.
CHRIS AVERY: Fishes don’t get paid unless they swim. And muthafuckin’ fishes don’t talk either.
The other women have climbed in at this point, some of them actually enjoying the idea. It’s not often that someone gets the chance to relax in a bubbly pool of fine alcohol.
BLACK GIRL: ‘Kay, kay.
She slips in. Maybe she was afraid of her hair getting destroyed. But she needn’t worry about that, he’d take care of fucking up her hair later when he would be balls deep in her face. Good little fishie, he thought. He joined them, motioning the camera man to stay outside the pool. The champagne was only fine enough for one pair of testicles, and the camera man’s whitey jewels might just ruin the flavor.
CHRIS AVERY: Now that we’re all here I would like to address a couple of things. First off, what the fuck is Seth Lerch talking about? That fool must be having a midlife crisis or something. He keeps calling ME Logan! What the fuck? Do I look like that washed up white bitch to any of you?
WHITE GIRL: No daddy.
CHRIS AVERY: That’s just ridiculous. Then, secondly, he books me against the biggest fuckin’ racist ever, Gravedigger. Yeah, that guy. I bet that hateful muthafucka is probably having a secret K.K.K meeting right now.
He reaches over, very spontaneously might one add, grabbing a hair full of blonde and pulling her into his crotch. She obliges, pulling down his shorts and blowing him right there in the champagne tub. The camera keeps any actual genital to mouth contact out of frame to keep this from becoming a porno, so instead just a white girls head is seen bobbing over his lap.
CHRIS AVERY: Ah.. how does that make you feel, Gravedigger. It makes me feel fuckin’ great but that’s not the point. Is your racist ass blood boiling now seeing a white bitch suck off a nigga? Haha. This girl, here, this fish.. she could be little Stanley’s Mother. She coulda been your Mother. She might even birth a future honkey if she hasn’t already, but here she is right now with nigga meat up in her mouth.
His head relaxes back into the ceramic hood. He idly dips an empty glass into the liquid beside him, bringing it to his lips and sipping.
CHRIS AVERY: You’ve never liked me, Gravedigger. I don’t know if that has everything to do with my skin color, and it probably does, but you’ve really never liked anyone. You’re doing this Epitome of Hardcore thing now, trying to relive glory days I’d assume. Good for you, whitey, I say good for you. You deserve it. I mean really, you do. You were somebody here once upon a time, hell, you still are. When people hear the name Gravedigger they think isn’t that the guy who won a War, isn’t that the dude who won the world strap like four times? Not just anybody can do that right? And why am I acting so kindly towards you right now you might wonder. It’s probably because I’m getting blowed as we speak. But I’m also realistic, white man. You might be a bastard but you’re a respected bastard. Now I’m not saying I’m going to give you respect, but your name does hold a little more weight than most other names in the WCF. So beating your cracka ass might just finally give me a title shot. It doesn’t matter to me that it’s a hardcore match even though that might be your little specialty. I can be hardcore too.
He looks down towards the bobbing head in his lap and then back up into the camera.
CHRIS AVERY: So hardcore matter of fact that I’m going to call this fish Gravedigger. That’s right, according to that theory you’re smoking black pole. Who hates blacks now, G? Obviously not you, cocksucker.
An eruption, climax, explosion of volcanos births beneath, she lifts her head and resumes her previous position.
CHRIS AVERY: Thank you, Gravedigger. Thanks a million.
He very obnoxiously pinches her cheek like a Grandmother would do to a Grandson on a Thanksgiving Day afternoon.
CHRIS AVERY: We’re going to meet each other this Monday and I promise you that this guy isn’t going to be one of your victims in the epitome of hardcore trails. No, I’m a little more than that, not just a good person to put on a good match. I am in WCF with the purpose of proving a thing or two. If you hadn’t heard or realized by now… a black man has never won the world title, never, and that’s the truth. All of this will change, eventually, and you’re going to help with the change, Gravedigger. You’re my stepping stone to better things so to speak. You? You’re done old man. You’ve had your damn moment in the sun, so stop soaking it up. The only real reason you are here anymore is to help; help propel the new guys to the next level. You see, you’re going to stay where you are for a long, long time. It’s going to be years, fuckin’ years before you ever get back into that big bright spotlight. Whose fault is that? Yours. I think you’re comfortable with hanging out on the lower ranks. And you know why? Because you know you no longer have the gas left to take that long hard ride to the top. You need time, more time than usual to refuel for such a journey. And it’s only going to get worse, G-Man. So think of it this way, after I beat you do not become upset or disappointed, try to look at this in a positive light. You will have helped me, G-Man, and one day when WCF crowns its first ever black world champion, you’ll be the Rosa Parks of the whole thing.
He winks into the camera.
CHRIS AVERY: That’s a whole lot to take in isn’t it? Don’t you worry, Gravedigger, such good deeds do not go unrewarded. I have a little present for you, something for your.. viewing.. pleasure. It may even jog some fond memories of yours.
The grin never departing from his face, he stands from the fountain of sweet champagne, stepping out and moving towards a pantry. He opens it up and shuffles out two five gallon cans of gasoline. The ladies immediately begin to exit the house when he begins splashing the fuel around furniture and onto walls. And then, once the gas has soaked in and the stench aroma has filled the air, he lights a match and drops it onto a trail of gas in classic burn your house down Hector Rodriguez/Gravedigger fashion. The flames erupt, spreading with a life of their own. He’d take the time to admire the dancing fires beauty but from inside the house that was not exactly a safe place to watch. He hits the front door, turning one last time to watch the inside of Gravedigger’s house engulf with flames.
