"Retribution (of the Wire)"
Jan 10, 2016 8:25:11 GMT -5
Joey Flash, Stuart Slane, and 5 more like this
Post by Bobby Cairo on Jan 10, 2016 8:25:11 GMT -5
The contour of her supple form shifted when she saw him. Her pert nipples rose to attention. Those tiny hairs on the back of her neck, 'peach fuzz' as we called 'em, stood on end. This was the effect that Robert Hercules Cairo had on women, even in his advanced years. He might be in his thirties now, but when your thick spoke words that even your ubertalented mouth could not? You were gold, Ponyboy.
The woman was not a typical virgin whore whose vaginal walls were set to take a pounding from The Godfather. In fact, Cairo was not here to smash her at all. You see, this woman, and she was a woman that Cairo knew, HE KNEW, could get The Godfather's Green Earth rotatin' in all kinds-a ways that would knock it off its axis- well, she was Seth Lerch's secretary. Bobby didn't smash another man's sloppy seconds, especially when that man was his boss. Bobby had learned his lesson from that herpes scare of Twenny-Aught-Ten.
"Hey, Lizzie," Cairo proffered to the blonde, nymphish wafe. "Is Seth around?"
She smiled, her lips forming into dragon tails that rose toward the sun just because of the splendor of his presence. He'd had this effect on her for going on five years now. When would he smash her, she wondered? She bit her bottom lip and fretted. "Yes, Bobby. He's a little bit wasted from Slam last night."
"Yah, yah. He looked fucked up last night. Sounded fucked up too. Handing Tort a Whirleds Title shot next week on Slam? Handing Jayson Price a Whirleds Title shot at Fifteen? I'm about to walk in there and see if he'll hand me ownership of the company. Shit, this man be handin' out more shit for free than Bernie Sanders on a cocaine bender."
Her eyes lit up, the passion behind those baby blues screaming 'Fuck me!' But she maintained a certain composure, as women did when they didn't want to spill their hand and their vajayjay fluids. "Really, Bobby? You would make a great owner. I would love to work for you."
She smiled. She smiled huge. So much for keeping her composure and playing it close to her vest.
"I, uh..." Robert's thickness inverted. He didn't much care for thirsty bitches. It wasn't a good look. "Was just making a joke, Lizzie baby. I want to talk to Seth about my next match."
"Oh sure." Lizzie conceded that she'd overplayed her hand. Her poon was moist. She needed to relieve herself. She wouldn't pander to Cairo. No more today. Maybe some other time. Now she needed relief. She buzzed Cairo into Seth's office and went on her way to the women's lavatory.
"Seth, you, uh- you look terrible, dude. What the fuck did you do last night?" Bobby sat in a black leather chair in front of Seth's desk. Seth sat behind the desk in a black leather swivel chair of his own. Spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning- "Seth!"
"Oh, uh, yes, Bobby? How's my HorrorGORE Champ-YUM doing today?"
Cairo massaged the arm of his sportjacket and shot a look of disdain toward the WCF owner. "I'm a little nonplussed, dude. I mean, the Slam card is delayed, apparently because you went on a bender last night and decided to start booking Torture and Jayson Price in Whirleds Title matches like this was Twenny-Aught-Ten- speaking of which, we really dodged a bullet with that herpes scare, didn't we?"
The look of horror upon Seth's face told the story. More than five years had passed, but the mental scars would never dissipate. "Yes, yes, we did. What was her name... Alexis?"
"Bitch was more like a Buick, amirite?"
The two friends EL-OH-EL'd whilst reminiscing the disgusting slobbish pig of a hoebag that they'd run a train on back in the day.
"Well, Seth, am I gonna be booked on Slam? Am I defending the strap?"
"You're wearing that belt right now aren't you, Bobby? Got it wrapped around your penis like some kinda prize in a children's claw game at the supermarket."
"Uh, yeah, I do, but don't ask me to take my pants off and show it to you, Seth. This is strictly a business meeting, not pleasure. Otherwise I'd have to call Lizzie in here."
Derision. Derision peered out from Seth's German eyes. "Have you fucked her, Bobby?"
Cairo smirked. Shrugged off the accusations. "Not yet, Seth. I figured she was yours and, uh... I suppose that I do have some regard in such matters. You've been good to me through the years. Haven't kept up with ALL of my rockstar demands, but you've met what- ninety-percent of them? Pretty good batting average, sir."
Seth nodded in affirmation. "Good. Good. And yes, to answer your question, I am booking you this week on Slam and you are defending the strap. The show's going to be in Providence, Rhode Island and you're the biggest star to come out of New England, along with Steve Orbit and Odin Balfore. My little New England Connection: Cape Cod, Rhode Island and Connecticut."
"I think you're kind of breaking the fourth wall there, Seth. Next you'll be telling me that Orbit is a KKKrackuh. Besides, Providence was last week's show. This week we're in North Carolina."
"It doesn't matter, Bobby. You're booked. It's done. You're money. Big money. You draw more in one night than most can draw in a month. And I know you need the bread too. Communism ain't sellin' like it used too. Not since you've had to split the profits with Bernie Sanders-"
"Fuckin wealth redistribution," Cairo muttered.
"And Trump is twisting the screws on you guys."
"Yeah, well, China will take care of Trump in due time, Seth. But yes, money is tight and I do have four baby mommas to pay off. I thought my first wife was a bitch when she divorced me and took the kid, but imagine dealing with Rihanna, Katy Perry and Vida Guerra bitching about fatherhood and financial obligations and all that other bullcrap? Fuckin' shit sucks, dude."
"You knocked up all those women, Bobby?"
"Yes."
"You lucky fuckin' asshole."
"True, although their assholes were not as lucky, if you nawutimean."
Seth and Bobby exchanged fistbumps and guffaws while Seth tried his damnedest to mask his butthurt over not being able to fuck such hot, famous bitches.
"Can you turn it off, Bobby? That thing between your legs?"
"Nah but I'm thinking of getting a switch implanted like the one that German guy invented. So who's my opponent this week, Seth?"
Seth leaned back in his chair and twiddled his fingers a bit before replying. "A man you know all too well, Bobby."
"Brad Kane? Gravedigger? Skyler Striker? Is it Jack of fuckin Blades, Seth? Me and Jack one-on-one in the biggest HorrorGORE Champ-YUM-ship match of all time?!"
"No, NO, Bobby; even bigger! It'll be you versus Barbwirefreak."
The words hit Cairo's noggin like a ton of bricks. He slumped in his seat. "Well you're not doing me any favors here, Seth. My body's all kinds of hurting after facing ZMAC and TSEC these last couple of weeks."
"Frankly, Bobby, after the recent revelations of you being behind Scarecrow's murder emerged, I'm not in the business of doing you any favors. You killed one of my biggest superstars, while you were on hiatus no less. If you weren't back and drawing money I'd be a little miffed by that. Might have had to bring in the authorities to handle such matters."
Cairo leaned across Seth's desk and waved his erect Poon Guinean index pointer in his boss' face. "You know I have immunity, Seth. The cops can't do shit. The feds can't do shit. Oh you could fine me, suspend me, even fire me- but like you said, I draw money."
"Yah, yah. Immunity. You and Doc Henry and every other tinpot dictator around here has immunity. But you're still gonna defend that strap every week because I can't just have my stars killing off my other stars. It's not a good look. And frankly... we're broke as a muddafukkin joke. We need all the help we can get. Oh Lord Jam Willy, save us!"
Cairo slumped back down in his seat. He didn't say another word. He thought about things. He thought about Kaz Mazy. He thought about Cory Scarecrow. He thought about the consequences of decisions rendered. He knew that he had done what was best for his family and his country. He assured himself of this. It offered him little comfort.
Finally, Bobby spoke. "HASHTAG-BitchKrew. HASHTAG-NoChill. HASHTAG-ICantEven."
In the locker room at PNC Arena in Raleigh, the imposing seven-foot madman from Parts Unknown known only as Barbwirefreak prepared for battle. Where other men wrapped their wrists with tape, B-Wire wrapped his with (you guessed it) barbed wire. Blood? He'd shed it. Scars? He owned a few. But this was his time, time for retribution. The Retribution of The Wire. B-Wire was a freak. The freakiest freak. The freakiest of the deakiest. B-Wire knew that he would shock the world tonight.
Well, all but Katherine Phoenix, for she knew the truth. But the rest, B-Wire asked himself? Oh, they'd just shit bricks when he defeated the great Bobby Cairo to become the Whirleds HorrorGORE Champ-YUM.
"This one... this one's for you, mum," stated the masked freak, the barbed maniac, as he wrapped the last bit of wire around his wrists and rose to his feet, ready for the challenge to come.
And oh yes, it would come. And it would be glorious, his children. So sayeth the Lord Jam Willy.
The woman was not a typical virgin whore whose vaginal walls were set to take a pounding from The Godfather. In fact, Cairo was not here to smash her at all. You see, this woman, and she was a woman that Cairo knew, HE KNEW, could get The Godfather's Green Earth rotatin' in all kinds-a ways that would knock it off its axis- well, she was Seth Lerch's secretary. Bobby didn't smash another man's sloppy seconds, especially when that man was his boss. Bobby had learned his lesson from that herpes scare of Twenny-Aught-Ten.
"Hey, Lizzie," Cairo proffered to the blonde, nymphish wafe. "Is Seth around?"
She smiled, her lips forming into dragon tails that rose toward the sun just because of the splendor of his presence. He'd had this effect on her for going on five years now. When would he smash her, she wondered? She bit her bottom lip and fretted. "Yes, Bobby. He's a little bit wasted from Slam last night."
"Yah, yah. He looked fucked up last night. Sounded fucked up too. Handing Tort a Whirleds Title shot next week on Slam? Handing Jayson Price a Whirleds Title shot at Fifteen? I'm about to walk in there and see if he'll hand me ownership of the company. Shit, this man be handin' out more shit for free than Bernie Sanders on a cocaine bender."
Her eyes lit up, the passion behind those baby blues screaming 'Fuck me!' But she maintained a certain composure, as women did when they didn't want to spill their hand and their vajayjay fluids. "Really, Bobby? You would make a great owner. I would love to work for you."
She smiled. She smiled huge. So much for keeping her composure and playing it close to her vest."I, uh..." Robert's thickness inverted. He didn't much care for thirsty bitches. It wasn't a good look. "Was just making a joke, Lizzie baby. I want to talk to Seth about my next match."
"Oh sure." Lizzie conceded that she'd overplayed her hand. Her poon was moist. She needed to relieve herself. She wouldn't pander to Cairo. No more today. Maybe some other time. Now she needed relief. She buzzed Cairo into Seth's office and went on her way to the women's lavatory.
"Seth, you, uh- you look terrible, dude. What the fuck did you do last night?" Bobby sat in a black leather chair in front of Seth's desk. Seth sat behind the desk in a black leather swivel chair of his own. Spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning- "Seth!"
"Oh, uh, yes, Bobby? How's my HorrorGORE Champ-YUM doing today?"
Cairo massaged the arm of his sportjacket and shot a look of disdain toward the WCF owner. "I'm a little nonplussed, dude. I mean, the Slam card is delayed, apparently because you went on a bender last night and decided to start booking Torture and Jayson Price in Whirleds Title matches like this was Twenny-Aught-Ten- speaking of which, we really dodged a bullet with that herpes scare, didn't we?"
The look of horror upon Seth's face told the story. More than five years had passed, but the mental scars would never dissipate. "Yes, yes, we did. What was her name... Alexis?"
"Bitch was more like a Buick, amirite?"
The two friends EL-OH-EL'd whilst reminiscing the disgusting slobbish pig of a hoebag that they'd run a train on back in the day.
"Well, Seth, am I gonna be booked on Slam? Am I defending the strap?"
"You're wearing that belt right now aren't you, Bobby? Got it wrapped around your penis like some kinda prize in a children's claw game at the supermarket."
"Uh, yeah, I do, but don't ask me to take my pants off and show it to you, Seth. This is strictly a business meeting, not pleasure. Otherwise I'd have to call Lizzie in here."
Derision. Derision peered out from Seth's German eyes. "Have you fucked her, Bobby?"
Cairo smirked. Shrugged off the accusations. "Not yet, Seth. I figured she was yours and, uh... I suppose that I do have some regard in such matters. You've been good to me through the years. Haven't kept up with ALL of my rockstar demands, but you've met what- ninety-percent of them? Pretty good batting average, sir."
Seth nodded in affirmation. "Good. Good. And yes, to answer your question, I am booking you this week on Slam and you are defending the strap. The show's going to be in Providence, Rhode Island and you're the biggest star to come out of New England, along with Steve Orbit and Odin Balfore. My little New England Connection: Cape Cod, Rhode Island and Connecticut."
"I think you're kind of breaking the fourth wall there, Seth. Next you'll be telling me that Orbit is a KKKrackuh. Besides, Providence was last week's show. This week we're in North Carolina."
"It doesn't matter, Bobby. You're booked. It's done. You're money. Big money. You draw more in one night than most can draw in a month. And I know you need the bread too. Communism ain't sellin' like it used too. Not since you've had to split the profits with Bernie Sanders-"
"Fuckin wealth redistribution," Cairo muttered.
"And Trump is twisting the screws on you guys."
"Yeah, well, China will take care of Trump in due time, Seth. But yes, money is tight and I do have four baby mommas to pay off. I thought my first wife was a bitch when she divorced me and took the kid, but imagine dealing with Rihanna, Katy Perry and Vida Guerra bitching about fatherhood and financial obligations and all that other bullcrap? Fuckin' shit sucks, dude."
"You knocked up all those women, Bobby?"
"Yes."
"You lucky fuckin' asshole."
"True, although their assholes were not as lucky, if you nawutimean."
Seth and Bobby exchanged fistbumps and guffaws while Seth tried his damnedest to mask his butthurt over not being able to fuck such hot, famous bitches.
"Can you turn it off, Bobby? That thing between your legs?"
"Nah but I'm thinking of getting a switch implanted like the one that German guy invented. So who's my opponent this week, Seth?"
Seth leaned back in his chair and twiddled his fingers a bit before replying. "A man you know all too well, Bobby."
"Brad Kane? Gravedigger? Skyler Striker? Is it Jack of fuckin Blades, Seth? Me and Jack one-on-one in the biggest HorrorGORE Champ-YUM-ship match of all time?!"
"No, NO, Bobby; even bigger! It'll be you versus Barbwirefreak."
The words hit Cairo's noggin like a ton of bricks. He slumped in his seat. "Well you're not doing me any favors here, Seth. My body's all kinds of hurting after facing ZMAC and TSEC these last couple of weeks."
"Frankly, Bobby, after the recent revelations of you being behind Scarecrow's murder emerged, I'm not in the business of doing you any favors. You killed one of my biggest superstars, while you were on hiatus no less. If you weren't back and drawing money I'd be a little miffed by that. Might have had to bring in the authorities to handle such matters."
Cairo leaned across Seth's desk and waved his erect Poon Guinean index pointer in his boss' face. "You know I have immunity, Seth. The cops can't do shit. The feds can't do shit. Oh you could fine me, suspend me, even fire me- but like you said, I draw money."
"Yah, yah. Immunity. You and Doc Henry and every other tinpot dictator around here has immunity. But you're still gonna defend that strap every week because I can't just have my stars killing off my other stars. It's not a good look. And frankly... we're broke as a muddafukkin joke. We need all the help we can get. Oh Lord Jam Willy, save us!"
Cairo slumped back down in his seat. He didn't say another word. He thought about things. He thought about Kaz Mazy. He thought about Cory Scarecrow. He thought about the consequences of decisions rendered. He knew that he had done what was best for his family and his country. He assured himself of this. It offered him little comfort.
Finally, Bobby spoke. "HASHTAG-BitchKrew. HASHTAG-NoChill. HASHTAG-ICantEven."
In the locker room at PNC Arena in Raleigh, the imposing seven-foot madman from Parts Unknown known only as Barbwirefreak prepared for battle. Where other men wrapped their wrists with tape, B-Wire wrapped his with (you guessed it) barbed wire. Blood? He'd shed it. Scars? He owned a few. But this was his time, time for retribution. The Retribution of The Wire. B-Wire was a freak. The freakiest freak. The freakiest of the deakiest. B-Wire knew that he would shock the world tonight.
Well, all but Katherine Phoenix, for she knew the truth. But the rest, B-Wire asked himself? Oh, they'd just shit bricks when he defeated the great Bobby Cairo to become the Whirleds HorrorGORE Champ-YUM.
"This one... this one's for you, mum," stated the masked freak, the barbed maniac, as he wrapped the last bit of wire around his wrists and rose to his feet, ready for the challenge to come.
And oh yes, it would come. And it would be glorious, his children. So sayeth the Lord Jam Willy.
