“A True Champyuon: De Rebuddal”

[Deleted]

“A True Champyuon: De Rebuddal” 

Caleb Fourchon sits in a large, brightly lit conference room. His long, well-muscled frame is stuffed awkwardly in a straight backed chair, with all his limbs stretched out; legs under the wide table in front of him; his arms resting on its oaken surface. He stared dully at the trim little man speaking to him.



“This,” Rex Stansfield declared, “is a test. Its purpose is to see if you are familiar with the rules of a standard Wrestling Championship Federation match. You may write out your answers or take it orally; your choice.”



The bantamweight slid the sheet of single-spaced text in front of Caleb. Fourchon’s rodent-like eyes darted down to it, and then back to his coach. He smiled.



Lifting one arm off the table, he pinched up the paper between his greasy thumb and forefinger, displaying it to Stansfield.



Then he crumpled it up in his fist.



Then he shoved it in his mouth.



Chew chew chew. Caleb’s ill-shaven jowls bulged as he masticated.



Parting his jaws again, he let the remains of the exam plop onto the counter as a wet, pulpy wad.



“Dun.”



Rex Stansfield glared back at the smirking giant, “Wow. That’s some clever shit right there, Caleb. Goes a long way towards disproving your image as an inbred mongoloid who only got his job in the WCF because they needed to fill their freak quota,” he rested his palms on the table across from Caleb and leaned forward menacingly, “Now, prove to me you won’t do something as equally stupid during your match Sunday and lose your shot at the Television Title.”



“Ah can’t bite. Ah can’t choke. Ah can’t pull Chelsea Black Armstrong by her hair. No eye pokin or gougin. No foreign objects. Gotta honner rope breaks. Gotta be back in de ring before any ten count. Don’t hit her girl parts.”



During his sixteen years in the sport of pro wrestling, not once had the “Pedernales Marvel” heard the low blow prohibition paraphrased thusly. Still, Fourchon’s summary demonstrated he knew the rules, “Fine. Just remember to listen to the ref during the match, and there shouldn’t be any problems.”



Caleb gave a single nod, “Dere gonna be no issue on mah end, boss. Ah guarontee it. Anywun gonna break de rules at One, it gonna be Chelsea Black Armstrong.”



The statement concerned Stansfield. They had been preparing for over a week on the Television Title match. And while it was true the Championship could change hands by disqualification, that method of victory was not something they discussed, “Yeah? Why do you think that?”



The Cajun Crippler showed off his jagged, jigsaw smile, “Ah gonna give her de Choux Rouge(1).”

(******) 

The next scene opens in a small room. It is dark, the only light coming from a flickering yellow bulb hanging above where Caleb stands. He begins to address the camera directly.



“Never in mah life have Ah ever hit a woman.”



He shrugs his shoulders.



“Jest de way Ah was raised. Dey smaller, and got fragile bones. Plus de make de babies. It poor form to abuse dem so. But dis Sunday, at One, a woman standin between me and de Television Champyuonship. Ah onna horns of a dilemma.”



“But Chelsea Black Armstrong make it easy fer me. She make it easy to turn mah back on mah upbringin, and decide it ok to beat her up. How she do dis? Is it because she ain’t weak? Naw. Dat not it. She bedder den de men Ah face here so far in de WCF, but dat not de reason.”



“It because Chelsea Black Armstrong a bad person. Not evil bad, like she pretend to be when her eyes switch colors and she dress like a stripper on Halloween. Chelsea Black Armstrong bad in all dem udder, triflin ways.”



“Tink about it. Chelsea Black Armstrong a bad wife, fer letting her stoopid husband Seifer Black Armstrong agree to wrassle match where if he loses, he git fired. See, dis an instunce where a woman should step in and protect her man from himself, because sum couyons(2) jest too big in de seat. But she didn’t, and now she de sole bread winner fer her family. But, maybe dat how she want it? Maybe Chelsea Black Armstrong happy keepin her husband’s testaculs in her purse?”



“So, yeah, she a bad wife, but wurse still, she a bad mudder. She let her baby git stolen by dat Saloppe(3) Lilith. Cho(4)! Mah own kin sell me to de circus when Ah jest a child, and even dey would tink that poor parentin. Sure Chelsea Black Armstrong git her back, but not after a whole rigmarole dat probably gonna give dat baby nightmares de rest of its life.”



“Also, Chelsea Black Armstrong a bad friend. Not fer why you tinkin, dough. Sum folks may look at how she abandon her podnah(5) Makayla Cooper to Lilith after she recover her kid, but Ah purty sure dat jest payback fer Makayla Cooper helpin to lose her in de ferst place. Can’t find fault wit dat. No, de real reason she a bad friend is because she try to puff up Chase Daniels’s ego. Yeah, Ah see yer promo, Chelsea Black Armstrong. Ah watch you wax philasofacul while givin dat Television Title belt de bedroom eyes. More on dat in a moment. First, Ah want to talk about how you say Ah weasel mah way into a win, about how Ah got lucky to beat Chase Daniels. Dat nuttin but balloon juice, and everywun know it. Chase Daniels does. He know it because he had to face me, jest like you gonna find out de same way at One, when Ah take dat title from you.”



“So, we see dat you Chelsea Black Armstrong bad fer many reasons. Nun dose ways mean you gonna lose to me Sunday. De reason you gonna lose is because you jest not as good. Sure, you beat “De Florida Cracker” John Barber fer de title, but whut you do since? A whole lotta nuttin. Defenses against Adam Young and Mathew Robinson ain’t impressive. Beatin lame ducks like dat funny talkin gal in weird tag matches ain’t impressive. Fer true, Chelsea Black Armstrong: Ah am de first real challenge fer you as Television Champyuon. And you are gonna fail. You losin dat belt to me Sunday easier den you lose yer kid to Lilith. Ah’m gonna beat you until de white meat shows. And, after de match, you and dem udder Trinity hags be wise to give me mah moment. Try to put a bag on mah head, Chelsea Black Armstrong, and Ah will peel yer purty faces off and keep dem fer terlit paper. It just gonna be you and me at One, and Ah’m de one winnin.”



“How Ah know dat? Because of whut you say in dat speech of yers, where you pontificate on whut it means to hold a title, whut it means to be champyuon. Chelsea Black Armstrong, if you gotta aks, den you never know. Dat where you and Ah differ.”



“See, Ah know whut it means. Dat Television Title, dat means “opportunity.” Dat de chance to be booked on de card, week after week, with sumpthin on de line. To face every wrassler at dere best, and to beat dem. Dat title, it how Ah gonna prove Ah de biggest, de realest monstre(6) in de WCF. Fer tree days, Chelsea Black Armstrong, you in de way off mah goal. After One, you won’t be no more.”



“Dat make you lucky.”









Footnotes:



(1)Choux Rouge: The “Red Ass” the state of being aggravated.

(2)couyons: fools

(3)Saloppe: dirty old woman

(4)Cho!: Wow!

(5)podnah: friend, partner
(6)monstre: monster