Post by SickWaves Blackamura on Mar 6, 2016 16:50:44 GMT -5
Part 1: Links
Through a drug induced kaleidoscope, laser beams of green shine on the faces of faded assholes. The mash up of a modern wasteland of youthful bullshit and throwback neon monstrosities compliment each other in a way that would make a person’s head throb even if they were one of those trendy cunts who gets their daith pierced to “get rid of migraines”. Several paint covered trash balls stand crammed together on the large dance floor of the club, a thick mix of stale liquor and bodily fluids running across their rainbow skin. The only person other than staff at the club who didn’t appear as a colorful mess was Andre who was sitting next to the bar, looking out at the mess of people while occasionally looking down at his phone.
Bartender: You know you’re kind of a big deal to all these people, right? I’m surprised you’re not out there with them right now.
There’s a delay in response as Andre takes a few seconds before looking up from his phone to reply.
Andre: Yeah, well I’m a big deal to a lot of people. They’ll get their time before too long. I prefer to be a bit more fucked up before entertaining a bunch of glittery faggots with my presence.
Bartender: Whatever you want, man.
The bartender walks off to tend to the needs of a whore on the opposite side as Andre glances back down at the screen in his hand, checking through various text conversations.
Beaver- So how are you liking the place? Told you it was a pretty nice spot.
Andre’s fingers begin to tap away in response.
It ain’t too bad so far. Just got here a little bit ago. Slid in lowkey of course and just been sitting at the bar having a couple drinks. Probably finna go out there and find someone to help with gettin my dick wet in a minute.
He hits send, checking through his other new messages.
Gable- I hope you’re ready for our match this week. It will be nice to grab a little bit of momentum against Grayson and Bonnie.
Even with the continuous mix of shit in his system and general fuckery that he partakes in, Andre is able to feed off his own ego to give himself a confidence boost as he reads Gable’s text.
Bro, they ain’t got shit on us. Don’t worry, I know how this works. It’s simple. #BeachKrew comes in and we fuckin’ dominate. After we make light work of these two like me and Beaver did with those Team of Torture faggots this past week, me and you are gonna be movin one step closer to some straps of our own.
After what seems to barely be a few seconds after sending his reply, his phone vibrates again with a new message from John Gable.
Gable- As long as we’re on the same page and understand each other.
His fingertips continue to hammer away.
You got a winner in your corner with a mean streak and an eager elbow. See you at Slam.
Andre tucks his phone into the pocket of his usual slim fitting, black pants and gets up from the bar, finishing off his drink as he makes his way through the crowd and drowns out the sound of people cheering at the sight of him. His surroundings become a bit of a blur as he squeezes past a sea of young women who all seem drawn to his crotch like skeet seeking missiles. Their collective breath beats against the nape of the young negro’s neck, fogging it up and leaving him with the feeling of sticky warmth similar to that of a humid day in the middle of the Summertime following a downpour. He feels one girl grab his collar and pull him in, speaking into his ear.
: I saw you walk in earlier. I was impressed. We should get out of here.He leans back a bit, taking a better look at the attractive young lady standing in front of him.
Andre: If I ain’t busy, I might take you up on that offer. I got shit to do right now though.
: I’ll be around.Prince Lightskin continues on, approaching a nearby restroom to the side of the crowd as his phone goes off once more in his pocket. Andre ignores it this time and pushes through the bathroom door, passing a random tool on the way in.
: Hey.Andre: ...Hey…
Don’t say hi when I’m about to take a piss...fuckin’ white dudes.
Andre leans his head back a bit, relieving himself from a drink count that seems to have slipped his mind in his current state. His eyes scan the wall in front of him which is covered in phone numbers, vague threats, specific sexual offers, and amateur bits of graffiti, all things that serve as reminders of a history of partying in shady places such as this. He finishes up and makes his way over towards the sink, looking into his own red, irritated pupils. As the water runs over his hands and rinses them off, Andre now observes his right elbow which is fresh off a crushing blow delivered to Dag Riddik at Timebomb. This is one of those moments where he’s once again reminded of his improved focus and increased intensity since making his return to the WCF.
I’m comin’ for you, Gemini. I want your spot, motherfucker.
Mr. Kunta rolls his phone as he feels another vibration in his pocket. His current irritability continues to escalate with even the slightest annoyance.
Fuck, I ain’t got time for this shit. I’m tryin’ to bust a nut up in here. Can the world stop blowing up my phone for one night?
He whips his phone back out, unlocking the screen to see a couple of back to back texts from an unknown number. His brow crinkles as he looks at the unfamiliar number.
- We need to have a little chat. - Meet me out back asap.The fuck..
Andre exits the bathroom and is greeted by the slut who had offered to service him just five minutes prior. It’s clear that within this short amount of time, she had fallen into a much deeper state of intoxication as she flung herself at him, aggressively reaching down and pulling at his crotch.
: Let’s get out of here now. I really fucking need it. He reluctantly shoves her off, the unknown sender starting to instantly raise some questions for him about who it is that seems to be fucking with him.
Andre: I’d love to sneak off with you and do my part in helping ruin your life, but got shit some shit that just came up.
Her eager expression turns to a rather disappointed one as she loosens her grip and backs up into the crowd once more. Andre immediately heads back towards the front of the bar and steps outside onto the street. The cold, Colorado air instantly starts to have an effect on him as he surveys up and down the block, looking for the mystery sender.
Andre: Alright, you wanted to talk! I’m right here! Where you at, motherfucker?
He hears a rattling from the alleyway around the corner.
Andre: Who the fuck is there?! Don’t play games with me, motherfucker!
: Shut the fuck up and get over here before you get yourself killed.Andre walks towards the alley as he steps into a brooding black youth with his hood drawn and his head shifting from side to side nervously. He shoves him backwards before pushing him up against the brick wall to his left.
Andre: What the fuck is your problem, bruh bruh?! Coming up on motherfuckers like that, fuckin’ ashy ass negro! You tryin’ to get your ass killed out here?!
The hooded figure opens his hands, pointing them upward in an attempt to get Andre to let him down. Andre focuses in with heavy breathing through his nose similar to a bull before letting go of the shirt in his grip. The figure backs up a bit as he offers his explanation.
: I’m ain’t the one who has to worry about being killed around here. You’re the one who needs to be a little more cautious actually. Andre: Fuck you mean, bro? Is that a threat? Don’t be comin’ at me with some shit like that!
: Keep your fuckin’ voice down, man. I’m the motherfucker out here trying to help you right now, so I’d appreciate if you’d calm down before you attract the wrong kind of attention.Andre: What’s this shit about then?
The figure continues to look about, fearing the worst case scenario.
: I’m Jamar. I was friends with your brother.Andre: You knew Kev?
Jamar: Yeah, we was with the same group of people for awhile there, dude was real decent. That’s why I’m tryin’ to warn your ass that those same motherfuckers that came for him are supposed to be comin’ for you too.
Andre: Oh, fuck that shit, bro. I ain’t lettin’ some bitch ass motherfucker try to do me like that.
Jamar: Trust me, these niggas is not the kind of dudes you wanna mess with.
Andre: How you know that they comin’ for me?
Jamar: People talk, my dude. Word spreads fast and apparently, they been trackin’ your ass and keepin’ track of where you travelin’ to.
Andre: What’s the fuckin’ deal?
Jamar: You already know that people are shooting each other for the stupidest shit nowadays. I don’t know what it was exactly, but I guess Kevin owed them some shit. Well when they didn’t get it out of him, they decided to go after whoever is close to him and has the means to get them what they want and that would be your ass. It ain’t exactly a mystery that you eatin’ at this point. The target’s on your head, dude. I’m just lettin’ you know.
The two glance over at the site of headlights that appear to be growing brighter from against the street behind them. Jamar whispers a bit quieter in panic.
Jamar: You better get the fuck out of here fast.
With the alley being unfamiliar to him and little time to spare, Andre hides on the side of a nearby dumpster, taking a look around the corner as the car slowly passes by the outside of the club. He gets back to his feet and notices that he is alone in the alleyway.
Part 2: One eye open
After learning that the same people who took out his brother were out to get him, Andre had made his way back to his hotel room in the middle of the night where he sat up thinking about everything until it was nearly time for the sun to rise.
Beaver- How was that club last night? Pretty dope, right?
Andre squints his eyes at the text, the crust and lack of sleep still very much present as he begins the process of waking up after a rough night. Although shirtless and in his underwear, he still manages to wake up feeling sweaty and worn down from the paranoia stemming from the incident that took place the night before.
Fucked up shit, bro. I got motherfuckers out to get me and shit. The fuc-
He looks up at the message that he’s typing it out, thinking over whether or not to tell everyone else about what happened. He quickly decides against it, deleting it and putting a more simple one in it’s place.
Wasn’t bad I guess. I was just a little off last night. Thanks for the tip, bro.
Andre steps out of bed, throwing the covers to the side as he walks out into the main area of the deluxe style room. He picks the phone up, dialing the front desk and waiting for the voice on the other end.
Receptionist: Good morning, are you enjoying your stay with us so far?
Andre: Yeah, it’s fine.
Receptionist: Anything we can do for you today, sir?
Andre: I’m doin’ fine right now. Did anybody go to the front lookin’ for me at any point?
She speaks with a bit of hesitation this time.
Receptionist: No, I don’t believe so. There weren’t any notes left.
Andre: Good to hear.
Receptionist: Anything else?
Andre: Nah, that’s all.
Receptionist: Have a good day, Mr. Taylor.
He hangs up the phone, and walks over towards the large window at the end of the main room. Moving the curtains to the side and looking down at the parking lot and busy highway ahead, he sees a general flow of traffic, but nothing of any real concern.
Good shit. Next time I’ll be ready for motherfuckers.
Andre picks up his phone once more, opening up a fairly new Facebook conversation as he hammers away with his fingertips.
I’ll be there in a couple hours. Did the piece get there yet?
. . . . . . . . .
It just arrived a little bit ago actually. Just give us a heads up when you’re on your way and we’ll let you in the back entrance and give you the rundown of anything you might need to know from us.
. . . . . . . . .
Alright.
Andre tosses the phone onto the couch in the main area as he heads into one of the side rooms and turns on the shower, allowing it to run and warm up for a bit as he continues to look down upon the city from one of the large windows in his room, watching every passing car. Not out of caution like before, but as the black boy that finally made it to the throne.
Part 3: Presentation
Stuck up white faggots wander about a vibrant, pop up art gallery in the middle of a downtown area, pretending that they have any idea what it is that they’re looking at as they show their false appreciation for the culture before them. The building contains many socially influenced pieces created by urban artists from all over the Colorado Springs area. This includes a wide range of creations from paintings to sculpture and everything in between. Andre stands in one of the rooms towards the back, looking at them with a feeling of disgust and superiority. A small group is seen being given a bit of a tour around the various rooms within the gallery. Stopping and tilting their heads to more closely observe what they see as some douchebag with a silk scarf and thick, black framed glasses gives them overanalyzed explanations for everything they pass.
Guide: This is a piece from local artist Deon White which he has said himself to be inspired by police brutality in America today.
“Ooh’s” and “Awwww’s” fill the gallery before the pack of phony faggots continues on.
Guide: And this..is a piece by famous athlete...Andre...Aquarius..
Prince Lightskin stands proudly on top of a raised stage next to a bronze statue of himself kneeling next to Yeezus. He scowls at the pretentious hipster fuck below him.
Andre: Really, bro? Why you gotta say it like that? You act like you ain’t seein’ a true motherfuckin’ god before you. Consider this to be performance art.
The crowd’s eyes drift back towards the strange statue.
: I don’t get it..there’s just a statue of you and Kanye..Andre: Bruh, I know this. That’s just me and Kanye hangin’ out. I don’t need no reason for that shit to be there. It’s just dope. There’s your fuckin’ reason. Plus, that shit is just complimentary to what I’m really doing today.
Guide: Andre, if you would, please talk a bit more about what you’ll be doing here. I’m sure that everybody here is very interested in hearing what you have to say.
Andre: Motherfuckers probably already know this, but I do this shit daily. Between the wrestling, the personality, and the controversy, I might as well just be art itself. Life may imitate art, but both imitate Andre Aquarius. I’m bettin’ that most of you don’t follow, so this shit right here is something known as the art of the promo, the art of verbally buryin’ someone that they’re forced into a spot where they self esteem flies out the window and they end up rethinking all they life choices. I guess it would be easier to understand if you were to just think of it like doing slam poetry at one of your faggy little hipster bars. The big difference is that I don’t do this for a hobby, I do it because I’m lettin’ motherfuckers know that I’m the best there is.
The young Prince of Dankness wanders about a bit, grabbing a glass of water from a stool behind him and taking a quick drink before he continues his speech.
Andre: This week in the DubSeaEff, we got another blockbuster tag team match between a couple of faggots from Rebellution and two of the dopest motherfuckers in the business in Andre Aquarius and John Gable. On one hand, there’s a team made up of a guy whose had a shot at the top guys in the company and the spot that they hold as well as a bitch who been tryin’ to fill the role of Johnny Reb like Charlotte doin’ her best to be like Ric Flair ever since she came into the business. On the other hand, you have a Hollywood mega star with a chip on his shoulder who is looking to align himself with people who can help him get back on track and you have the handsome young negro boy who everybody has been counting out from day one.
It ain’t no mystery what happens when I show up for work. I come suited up and ready to crush people’s skulls in and I make good money from it. That’s how me and my bros in #BeachKrew manage to keep the momentum going and we’re pretty damn good at that shit. We make things happen. Consistency is key and we got plenty of it. We’ve got the achievements and major wins under our belt to back up everything that we say. We came in and made an impact right away and been the ones who the settin’ the standard for months now. Forget any ups and downs with winning and losing, we are always the ones to keep an eye on.
People wanna bring up stable wars and act like it’s a close race for dominance, it’s really not. No single team has come close to the level of greatness that we have no matter what anybody tries to say. Pantheon was around forever as a stable built to win championships and carry each other into the history books, but we crushed their spirits and now they ain’t nowhere to be seen. Angels of Destruction came in and they spent months just meddlin’ around the lower card and suckin’ up the bread crumbs everyone was droppin’ and we shit on them too. Then you a team of vitamin eatin’, prayer sayin’ little homos like The People’s Choice who we basically single handedly destroyed. #BeachKrew crushed Vic Venable’s spirit and now he ain’t nowhere around, sent Spencer Adams to the ER, and given Teo Del Sol so much brain damage that it’s become part of his regular routine. Shit, that dude been actin’ happy to take it to. I’d almost feel bad for him if he weren’t such a Gomer Pyle ass faggot about everything.
That’s already in the history books though. People wanna know what we’re doin’ right now as these “stable wars” just keep “heatin’ back up”. Recently, this little Team of Torture came in and we have managed to crush them every single time. The only “important” win that any of them managed to scoop up was this dude #FagRidiculous grabbin’ his first championship, something that doesn’t really matter since he beat a bunch of other lower card jobbers to get it while people like us continue to him and his team look like shit. It’s not like that’s a big deal or anything since they ain’t really beat anybody and just been resorting to rippin’ us off, but they’ve still proven to be just another stepping stone for us as we continue to climb.
Now we get to this little group called Rebellution. This was a group that was made, because motherfuckers know that they ain’t no match for the force that is #BeachKrew. The artist fomerly known as Pisces Battle felt threatened and emasculated after getting bodied by my boy Wade Moor on the biggest stage in the history of professional wrestling. He knew that he couldn’t take down #BeachKrew, that everything that he had thrown at us so far hadn’t worked, and that he had to be quick and come up with an iidea that would help prevent him from falling into a deep depression. Pisces lifted his head up, washed the wrist blood out of his Hot Topic clearance rack Dark Knight shirt, and set out to find himself some backup.
What would be a proper answer to a battle tested brotherhood made up of hall of fame level athletes? Somebody who isn’t a total fuckin’ retard might try to form a team like a second coming of Imperium or Pantheon, a unit that consists of people who are at least kinda relevant or capable of winning important matches, but not Pisces Battle. Nah, this motherfucker decided to stand with a bunch of people who were actually less talented than he is. He settled for Andre Phoenix, Demarcus “The obligatory negro” Jordan, and Bonnie “Not Reb” Blue. My dude Wade must’ve hurt this faggot pretty bad if he’s willing to stand by a bunch of B level rookies like that.
Aligning yourself with names like these smells like desperation right out of the gate. It also tells me that Massah Pisces and his band of merry faggots can’t hang with #BeachKrew in the long run. Sure, they snagged a win or two against us and managed to scoop tag belts up off Rabid and Kemp, but that’s short lived. In fact, Pisces and Kat’s brother husband will prove to be nothin’ more than paper champions. Does anybody think that Pisces and friends are actually going to build some kind of legacy with those straps? Sheeeiiit, I know they aren’t. Even with a win over Rabid and Kemp, they still have every member of #BeachKrew coming for their heads. That shit has to be scary for them, knowing that after pulling through and grabbing the gold, the very team that gave them so much trouble in their pursuit is still right there, ready to reclaim championships that we are owed, championships that we made important after Rabid and Kemp trashed The People’s Choice to obtain.
What kind of champion is Massah Pisces you may ask? This man is the kind of champion who upon getting a belt, sells himself as a real champion and that’s exactly what anyone in this business would do. It’s important to sell yourself, but it only really works if you actually look like a champion. What happened when Gemini and his struggling DRG choke artists were trios champions? They defended once against a team of random motherfuckers with no chemistry and then lost to what was left of Pantheon at that time. How about when Gemini picked up his first singles championship, the US strap? He walked around and tried to call himself this great US champion before losing the belt to Mikey “edgy grammar” eXtreme after just over a month of holding it. This shit will prove true in the next month or two when he has to let down that young padawn faggot Mrs. Andre Phoenix.
Keep in mind that Pisces went from trying to be BroblivSEAon to being a normal guy with that name change, cause you know that when motherfuckers can’t hack it as their own thing, they resort to either ripping off someone else’s shit and trying to emulate the career choices of those above them. After that faggot Massah Macaroni went and changed his name, thinkin’ that a name change makes you a good guy, Pisces must’ve thought that sort of thing to be a good idea and decided that it would not only help him sell a few more shirts, but also make him better. I guess he must’ve decided that since he couldn’t get the upper hand on his ass, that he’d just try to become him, like that shit would somehow make him good. This ain’t no Like Mike with the shoes or Space Jam with Michael’s secret stuff type shit.
Now I don’t care who he comes to the ring as. Whether it’s Massahroni, BroblivSEAon Battle, or GAYson Pierce, I’m shit stomping him. Mr. Kunta is a #FartCore legend and the greatest negro in the history of sports. A faggot with a closet shrine dedicated to My Chemical Romance can’t touch an innovator like me. He ain’t got the right team behind him and he definitely ain’t no leader. Pisces has and always will be that man who tries to reach for the brass ring and slip no matter what gimmick he comes with. If this is the man that they want to put in front of me, I’ll show Massah Lerch and everyone else that I’m above his ass. Black don’t crack, but this skitzo faggot sure does a pretty good job at it.
I’m not forgetting little miss Bonnie Blue either. You know, I’m really curious what role this bitch serves on her team. Everyone knows that Phoenix and that little negro faggot are little more than disappointing prospects, but there are actually people out there that are so stupid, they actually convinced themselves that Bonnie Blue is some kind of major player in this game, some kind of force to be reckoned with. She been a little bit better than her non-Pisces Battle teammates, but it’s really not by a giant margin. When I look at this bitch, I’m just reminded once again that Pisces Battle simply had a hard time finding people to join his nice guy, anti-#BeachKrew resistance.
She been in the DubSeaEff for almost six months, but has nothing to show for it. Not a single fucking thing other than a little bit of heart and a lot of not much else. For the millionth time, Bonnie Blue is not Johnny Reb. Do I have to say it again? I don’t know how this shit ain’t already made perfectly clear to everyone with her long term lease on a pathetic ass one bedroom apartment in midcard jobber hell. Them six months should’ve been enough to carve out a path, but I guess it’s not for somebody who wants to come in and make a name as a strong, empowered bitch in professional wrestling, yet manages to be less relevant than K-Rod Phoenix with her teddy bear bullshit. #LOL
If motherfuckers wanna go ahead and call ya boy a sexist or some other lame social justice warrior bullshit like that, then go right on ahead. You ain’t shit to me and #WackLivesDon’tMatter. I know it’s comin’ and it ain’t gonna be the first time. Andre Aquarius controls the “isms” around here. I’m the kinda dude to steal a crispy negro’s bitch, mock his inferior skin tone, and then smacks that same bitch around with no remorse. I do not care, bruh. Bonnie Blue is about to learn all about me real quick. Andre Aquarius finna be the one puttin' the black inside of Bonnie and I'll be the same one who slaps it off her face afterwards. Bonnie Blue will become the Whitney to my Bobby Brown.
She gonna take that shit with pleasure too. Pisces prolly been hittin’ it with a weak ass dick game and this bitch probably beggin’ to be slapped around silly by the black man, eager to swap that Marty McFly wardrobe out for a pair of yoga pants with some ho ass term like “juicy” or “bootylicious” on the back to compliment the inevitable UGG boots. How about an NBA snapback for that soon to be dome, too? She ain’t gotta worry either, I got the jet black hair dye on deck. Bonnie about to be “that” girl, the little thot with the black boyfriend, because I promise to make her nothing more than a temporary bitch in that ring. This shit ain’t reversible, but I’m about to create a wormhole of a cunt with my hangdown. Some may call it appropriation to morph opponent into a reflection of their time spent with me like Flash did to Pisces, but I just think of it as having an iron grip on this shit. Mr. Kunta finna make Bonnie Blue start callin’ herself Toby and singin’ spirituals with my nuts in her mouth.
Are we gonna see Bonnie Blue try to get on that time travelin’ grind like some kinda Mary Sue, Sarah Twilight meets Massah Jay Omega hyrbrid type shit? Will that be the answer to what has been an extremely underwhelming career up to this point? I challenge this bitch to try to step to the greatest group of motherfuckers in DubSeaEff history. She ain’t been fully educated on the waves just yet. As you’re all seeing right now, Prince Lightskin is a specimen from a superior race of man and the kinda gene pool that produce nothin’ but leaders and shit. I’m the next great performer in this bitch and when it comes to my team as a whole and me and Gable this week, we’re the ones with the wind in our sails, the ones puttin’ the SHIP in championship caliber performance. SEAlieve that.
Andre takes a slight bow as the room of stuck up faggots explodes with applause, amazed by the display of charisma and black greatness they have just witnessed. The scene fades out with a proud Prince Lightskin standing over the group of white folks.
