Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2013 4:24:48 GMT -5
Talk about a bittersweet moment...
So there he was, in the ring, after making immensely short work of his competition, and he has to watch his Peterbilt be destroyed by raYne. Years of hard work went into buying that vehicle. It was his livelihood, his transportation, and his home all in one, and that total cunt stain ruined it!
He tried to find raYne to make "it" pay for what it had done, to no avail. That coward had already bailed out. Afraid of what was probably going to happen once Deuce got his hands around his scrawny throat. Despair started to set in. How could he allow something like this to happen? How could he not see that raYne was capable of such an act? Did "it" not have any morals? There's only a few things that you NEVER fuck with that belongs to a man. Those things are his woman, his home, and his ride. Two out of three makes for one dead motherfucker.
The insurance covered everything in the truck, to include his electronics, but it didn't make any of this right. This "thing" had been nothing but a thorn in his side since he set foot in this company. All this over a rant against a few thick-headed jocks. Well, this self-serving, pretentious cunt is about to get a hole punched through him the next time he sees this cowardly excuse of a person.
His victory over well-established veterans was ruined. And there wasn't anything that could console him. Not the caress of a thousand red-headed whores, nor gallons of Jack Daniels, and not even the greatest of great kine bud could snap this anger that he had.
The only cure for this is to punch a hole through this fucker, rip out his internal organs, and take a shit all over them before setting this worthless fuck on fire, just like he did to the Peterbilt.
Two days later, he finds himself at Sheri's Ranch as part of what he considers a "consolation package" from the fine staff of WCF. Probably just a ploy to keep him out of their hair. Throughout the entire time at the "resort", he had drank himself through a case of Jack Daniels and had fucked at least half the whores in the entire place. Whatever. He's not picking up the bill.
All he could think about while he drank and plowed his way through the resort was how to kill this little fucker that had inserted himself into his life. Who was this fuck to think he could get away with something like this? With any luck, the insurance agents and lawyers are making life difficult for this asshole, but that brought little solace to MD.
It wasn't until after his most recent romp with three red-headed women in a sauna that he saw that he had missed a call from Tom Matuzcak, his old boss from his repo days. Mod picks up the phone and calls back. After a few rings, he hears...
Tom: If I had known you didn't like the truck, I would've let you trade it in for another one.
Mod: Very funny. I'm gonna kill that little fucker!
Tom: Well, I got good news. The insurance is paying for a new truck and all of your equipment in the truck. I'll be driving it down to the LV personally. I just need the address.
Mod: I'm at some whorehouse in Pahrump. I forget which one. Hey Sarah, which whorehouse am I at?
All the whores from earlier are gone, and he is now alone in the sauna. He was calling every whore in the place "Sarah", though even if she herself laid hands on him, THAT probably wouldn't make him feel any better about his situation. If he was in a better mood, he might find the irony in the fact that she is probably paying for all of this with WCF funds. Its not like he had broadcasted his feelings about the boss lady.
Anyways, as he looks around, Deuce says...
Mod: I have no clue which whorehouse I'm in. But get your ass down here! There's whores a plenty for everybody, I got a shitload of Jack Daniels, and I'm sure I can scare up some blow and green somewhere around here.
Tom: I'm good on all fronts. My old lady would kill me if she heard I was in a cathouse. I can only drop the stuff off and then I'm back on the road again.
Mod: On the road again... Just can't wait to get on the road again...
Tom: Okay, Willie. I'll see you down there in a few days. Later...
MD keeps singing, as Tom hangs up the phone...
Mod: Goin' places that I've never been, seeing things that I may never see again. I can't wait to get on the road again...
Old Man: Hearing you've had quite the fucking bender! How them whores treating you out there?
Mod: Its alright. I'm just trying to let go of the fact that my shit was destroyed by this vindictive faggot. I mean, I say a few things not even in the context of calling these dudes faggots, yet this uppity fucker gets in my shit. I apologized, and this Dr. Frankenfruter motherfucker goes and fucks my livelihood and my home all up! How else do I answer that other than murder him in front of the entire world?
Old Man: Yeah, that little fruit took things too far and made them personal. If I were you, I'd take that big lug wrench of yours and cram that fucking thing down his damn throat. Hell, WCF ain't got no rules anymore, anyways, right? So beat that fucker to death in the middle of that ring, and really make him regret he ever so much as even looked at a picture of you, let alone crossed you. Your time to make it known you are not to be fucked with is at hand. Make an example of this faggot and be done with it! Feel free to embarrass the hell out of him while you do so.
Mod: Oh, I know what I need to fuckin' do. And that shit is going to go down probably at the awards dinner. Supposedly this fruitcake is going to host a show, after it has been put off for God knows how long.
Old Man: I hope you fuck his shit up. All the guys here are rooting for you. Even the openly gay guys think what that fruit did was unforgivable. Make him pay.
Mod: He's as good as fucking dead. I may be in there with you when all this shit is said and done.
Hank: This is Hank Brown. I need to get a hold of you for an interview regarding your latest match, the incident with raYne, and how you feel about the upcoming WAR match. Call me back.
Mod listens to the recorded message on his phone yet again. It was probably the third or fourth time he'd called for an interview. God knows what that fairy had already said about the incident. Like it fucking mattered at this point. He could give him millions of dollars at this point, and it still wouldn't satisfy him. The bottom like was that he felt disrespected, and nothing short of raYne killing himself, or herself, or whatever the fuck raYne is, would ever make this whole situation right. How could he tell Hank Brown that without facing some sort of ridicule? He would probably say the wrong thing, and regardless of the fact that this person did what they did, some other asshole from the LGBT community would probably take offense to it...
Or would they?
Mod picks up his new Dell and goes to the blog pages on WCF, and starts pounding away at the keyboard at a furious pace. When he had finished his piece, it stated this...
I've grown up around all sorts of different people in my life. Different backgrounds, ethnicities, religions, and yes, sexual orientation. There have been many people that I have had the displeasure of meeting. That would include other white people, black people, Asians, and whatever ethnic background they come from. They were of several different religious backgrounds, and even sexual orientation. But never, have I ever been so disrespected by anybody in my entire life like I have on Sunday. Not even when I was shot, or stabbed and left for dead have I ever been so disrespected. At least on both of those occasions they were occupational hazards that I knew came with the job.
However, when raYne destroyed my truck, raYne crossed a line. That line crosses everything that I may or may not have liked about raYne, to include, yes, "Its" sexual orientation. That is not the bottom line here. The bottom line is that I was grossly disrespected. raYne had no cause or reason to do what "it" did. And yes, I put "it" in quotations because raYne may have been born a man, and plays at being a woman from time to time, but from here on in, raYne is no longer a person to me. You have lost any and all respect you may have been able to garner from me. You no longer register as a Native American, who worships a Goddess rather than a traditional god, who swings for either side. You are now and forever registered in my mind as an enemy. An enemy who will receive no quarter from me.
Furthermore, as one of my old friends said, you are now and forever a faggot. I say that to you specifically with the greatest amount of disrespect that I can muster. Just like there are good white people, and then there are honky motherfuckers, just like there are good, decent black people and there are niggers, and just like there are good Hispanic folks, and there are spics, you are no longer associated with the good people of the LGBT community. You are now and forever to be known as a faggot. FAGGOT! FAGGOT!!! And when our match comes at ONE, you had better have said your prayers to whatever Gods you worship, and you better settle up on whatever deals with the Devil you make. Because through Hell or high water, I'm going to fuck you up, bottom line.
As for this WAR match, well, needless to say that after I'm done with raYne, consider yourselves on fucking notice from here on out. I will face each and every one of you motherfuckers like a man. I may win, and I may lose, but if you EVER fucking disrespect me, you will pay with gallons of blood. raYne will be the first example of just what will happen when you fuck with me.
SCORCHED EARTH, MOTHERFUCKERS!!! THERE WILL BE NO UPGRADING OF YOU! AT ONE, YOU WILL BECOME OBSOLETE, AND I WILL TEAR YOU DOWN WITH GREAT PREJUDICE!!! #BELIEVEINTHATMOTHERFUCKERS!!!
The rage poured out as easily as the booze poured out of his body. He was completely drenched in sweat as he hit enter and poured his absolute hatred for raYne out into the Internet. In hindsight, he may have went overboard with the derogatory comments, but it made his point quite clear. He was a piece of shit, and should be associated as a piece of shit in his own community.
He raised a bottle of Jack Daniels to his lips, and took a tremendous pull from the bottle, finishing the last quarter of the bottle, before falling backwards into the bed, stone drunk, in the middle of two bleach-skinned, freckle-accentuated, redheads.