Post by Twizted on Mar 8, 2007 19:06:44 GMT -5
Mike Corral is sat in the dressing room, fresh butterfly stitches down the front of his forehead and dried blood around his torso, seemingly - alarmingly - content with his first PPV performance in WCF and his attack on TVO. His cellphone rings and through the miracle of television we all hear a crackly, deep Central American accented voice on the other end:-
Que hay broder?
You?!
The Dreeeeeam!!! Sos Fiera!!
It's The Saint now loco. I’ll ignore the sarcasm, but yeah thanks - I’m good, I’m… yeah, things are going great.
Ahua! That’s what we hear - lean, clean and on the scene!! Seeing is believing, huh? You know, we were all watching on Pay Per View. El Cinqo, El Puma, El Colonel... and myself, watching the great El Sueño in action! An' you know what we saw? Jokes! A fuckin’ bunch of flippy maneuvers, hombre!! Good going, Estupido – way to shine in under the spotlight.
Hey, El Mono - at least acknowledge I didn't leave my partner in the middle of the match!
Yeah, yeah – But the old El Sueño wouldn't take that kind of a beating!! He would've beat the shit out of those vatos and then beat the shit out of his partner for abandoning them! Get your fucking head into the game esse!
Yeah, but that's the old me. That's a me I don't want to let loose in WCF. So anyways, nice of you to finally get in touch. How’s the shoot-fight scene in Nicar -
Non-existent. We crippled everybody in town and no-one wants to play with us anymore. We blow up buildings now. Not a lot else to do...
Aw, that’s a shame. We used to have a lot of fun.
Yeah, we did. And now you’re off on your own… having a lot of fun putting together the biggest losing streak of any debutant in a Pro-Wrestling Company! Hell, David Young has more wins than you!! It's laughable, man!
It’s not about the winning or the losing, it's about putting on a show, it's... as you well know – it’s about entertai –
Entertaining the fans. Yeah, I remember you used to be pretty good at that back when you were the wild, party animal of old. What’s happened to you?
Hey - I got smart! I’m living The Dream!
Safate!! Living a fucking nightmare, more like. Job after job, night after night – and everybody laughing behind your back. A former champ. A former draw. Ideay? Face it, Sueño – nobody cares about you anymore. WCF aint gonna accept you. From what I've heard, they're about ready to fire your ass. The only reason WCF employed your ass was so they could all have a good laugh at you clowning around, playing the fool. And you actually expected to win things? No seas maje, Sueño !!
Oi!! The fans here in WCF do respect me.
Solo voz sabes!! You’re dreaming again. You’re not wanted there. Come back home. Come back to where you belong. Come back to where you found yourself… Come back - to Nicaragua.
Okay, I gotta go now. Seizure later, homey.
We... got something for you.
I don't need that shit anymore, man -
Puchica!! Not chora, not caballo... we got something of yours, hombre!
Right, I gotta go - nice catchin' up -
Chingalo! Me safo, cochon!!
*click*
Yeah, off you go. As if I need that right now.
Mike breathes in deeply and exhales, head dipping as his shoulders sag. He looks to the floor and slowly shakes his head – as he does do, blobs of blood drip down from the recently closed wound on his forehead. After a moment of quiet, the cellphone rings again and without looking up he throws it across the room.
SHIT.
Que hay broder?
You?!
The Dreeeeeam!!! Sos Fiera!!
It's The Saint now loco. I’ll ignore the sarcasm, but yeah thanks - I’m good, I’m… yeah, things are going great.
Ahua! That’s what we hear - lean, clean and on the scene!! Seeing is believing, huh? You know, we were all watching on Pay Per View. El Cinqo, El Puma, El Colonel... and myself, watching the great El Sueño in action! An' you know what we saw? Jokes! A fuckin’ bunch of flippy maneuvers, hombre!! Good going, Estupido – way to shine in under the spotlight.
Hey, El Mono - at least acknowledge I didn't leave my partner in the middle of the match!
Yeah, yeah – But the old El Sueño wouldn't take that kind of a beating!! He would've beat the shit out of those vatos and then beat the shit out of his partner for abandoning them! Get your fucking head into the game esse!
Yeah, but that's the old me. That's a me I don't want to let loose in WCF. So anyways, nice of you to finally get in touch. How’s the shoot-fight scene in Nicar -
Non-existent. We crippled everybody in town and no-one wants to play with us anymore. We blow up buildings now. Not a lot else to do...
Aw, that’s a shame. We used to have a lot of fun.
Yeah, we did. And now you’re off on your own… having a lot of fun putting together the biggest losing streak of any debutant in a Pro-Wrestling Company! Hell, David Young has more wins than you!! It's laughable, man!
It’s not about the winning or the losing, it's about putting on a show, it's... as you well know – it’s about entertai –
Entertaining the fans. Yeah, I remember you used to be pretty good at that back when you were the wild, party animal of old. What’s happened to you?
Hey - I got smart! I’m living The Dream!
Safate!! Living a fucking nightmare, more like. Job after job, night after night – and everybody laughing behind your back. A former champ. A former draw. Ideay? Face it, Sueño – nobody cares about you anymore. WCF aint gonna accept you. From what I've heard, they're about ready to fire your ass. The only reason WCF employed your ass was so they could all have a good laugh at you clowning around, playing the fool. And you actually expected to win things? No seas maje, Sueño !!
Oi!! The fans here in WCF do respect me.
Solo voz sabes!! You’re dreaming again. You’re not wanted there. Come back home. Come back to where you belong. Come back to where you found yourself… Come back - to Nicaragua.
Okay, I gotta go now. Seizure later, homey.
We... got something for you.
I don't need that shit anymore, man -
Puchica!! Not chora, not caballo... we got something of yours, hombre!
Right, I gotta go - nice catchin' up -
Chingalo! Me safo, cochon!!
*click*
Yeah, off you go. As if I need that right now.
Mike breathes in deeply and exhales, head dipping as his shoulders sag. He looks to the floor and slowly shakes his head – as he does do, blobs of blood drip down from the recently closed wound on his forehead. After a moment of quiet, the cellphone rings again and without looking up he throws it across the room.
SHIT.
