Post by Zombie DankMorris on Jul 20, 2016 19:52:18 GMT -5
RP 2
WCF – PPV
The Ultimate Showdown
Zombie McMorris
vs.
Dem boiz who gone get GOT
__________________________________
Chapter I: BO-reave-That
Gov. Burnside Airport, the 13th busiest airport in New England.
Flight Terminal
Playing host to some of the most honest and romantic moments, this side of the motel just a stone throw down the road of the same name. A portly man with a double chin that seemingly ripples on for days enters the airport with a gray suit from some discount men’s clothing store for the obese that he got only hours before, the tag still hanging from the back side of his left cuff. His red tie reaches around his fat sweaty neck, trying to hang on, trying to do its job and trying to fight the good fight. It does not know how long it will last but it struggles all the same. The Portly man with the thinning black hair, chromed domed up top but neatly trimmed on the side, walks through the airport with a jiggle wiggle in his swagger. He peers and hawks around; left to right. A toothy grin with cheesy and feigned happiness is stapled onto his cheek muscles as he waves a beauty queens: hello. This man is Buddy Roman, budding politician, athletic manager and proud father; he will let you know it too. He has two tickets to go to Rio but being the Jew that he is, he knows he can get them cheaper. Much cheaper, indeed.
Buddy Roman walks up to the ticket counter service, a pretty little brunette number twirls her shoulder length air with her boney pale fingers. Buddy Roman bellies up to the counter with that infamous New England lean, elbows propping his multiple chins, cradling his face as if he wasn’t already the four time crowned America’s Little Miss Sweetheart. The Brunette service desk women is o-blivious, staring out into the 6th dimension of time and space, Jesus on her Dash board, bobbing right along to some wretched techno pop song. Kids these days don’t appreciate work, they don’t know work. To her this is just time away from yet another pointless status update. To Buddy Roman, however it was a moment to gaze at the beauty of today’s conscious and thought provoking youth. Buddy always thought they had a lot to say, even if they lacked the capacity to verbalize it or even think about it without that techno pop getting in the way.
“Pardon me, Ms.” He coo’d with creepy old man love; completely smitten by the brunette beauty. She looked up at him with annoyance, how dare he break up her quiet time.
“yes? Like what do you want?" A chomp or two on that pink plastic wad she calls chewing gum accents her question with a pop and a snap.
“What do I want? Hmm?” Buddy Roman presses the tip of his index finger to his lips, causing his mouth to refrain from cannibalizing the digit. “What an interesting question and framed so profoundly. What do I want? What do I, Buddy Roman, want?” He chuckles with sarcasm. “Me? Here? At the tickets counter of the thirteenth busiest airport in New England?”
“ Uh- a life?” A dim witted ditz flashes the light bulb of a good idea to insult the walrus in front of her. Buddy Roman cannot but help but smile. Smile and fall deeper in love with his soon to be ex-wife and plaintiff in a domestic suit.
“A life. Oh that’s charming; so incredibly charming. A life with you, I take it you are offering. In that case I’ll take two, maybe even three if you’re as lively in the sheets are you are in real life.” Buddy Roman ends his statement with a wink and nod. The Mickey Finn dances in his jacket pocket, ready for service in the event such dating services are needed. Buddy Roman pats his jacket, easing the pill into a state of passiveness. Not today, at least not now. “I tell you what I do need my dear-“
“Maria.” She interrupts. “My name is Maria. Can I help you?” She snaps with correction. “Do you need somethin’? I’m busy.”
“ Right, I can see that. I-I’m so sorry to interrupt you. I’ll just move other here and talk to your friend. She is your friend right? You two do communicate face to face or do you just chatter telepathically through your waste-toid stare you got goin’ on there that would make a lobotomy patient blush?” Buddy gives her a moment to respond but such insults are beyond her higher degree of intellect. Maria continues to stare off into space as Buddy Takes a wide shuffling step to his right and assumes the Little Ms. Sweetheart pose. Buddy squints as he tries to read the name badge on the blonde women’s chest. Oh, that heaving and voluptuous chest. In and out- oh to be that oxygen. Oh Lord to be that mixture of molecules necessary for human life coursing throughout her lungs, her blood stream, her heart and other more intimate areas. Pulsating, throbbing, Buddy Romans pig heart pounds out of his chest.“ Brenda.” He reads, thrilled and blessed to even say her name. It occurs to him something funky, something from his youth. He taps his half cannibalized index finger to his chin. “It’s always a Brenda and Maria or a Marie or Mary. Lived here all my life and it’s always those too. Ya know-“ He continues, expressing his thoughts out loud to both Maria and Brenda. “ya know’, I bet you two ladies come from a long, long line of Maria’s and Brenda respectfully.” Buddy gestures with his hands, cuing up the women.
“Well my mother’s mother was named Maria.” Says Maria.
“ And my father’s mother was named Brenda.” Says Brenda.
“Right. Of course. Well Brenda..” Buddy trails off, talking to Brenda yet giving the stink eye to Maria. “I was wondering if you would be so kind. To which, I know in your heart of hearts you will. I was wondering if you would be able to help out a poor, heartbroken old man in his time of need.”
“Why? What happened? Is everything ok?” Curiosity takes the best of Brenda as she falls for the heart felt words of walrus whose pig heart is about to burst with intense feelings of passion. Buddy Roman keeps it together, stringing along the poor blonde girl. He places his left hand flat on the counter, exposing a crystal clear view of a gold wedding band. Buddy strums his fingers on the counter to draw further attention to it as he sighs a sad tune. Choking back the crocodile tears and the lump in his throat which is nothing more than a half-eaten piece of chicken bone; Buddy Roman begins to tell his story.
“ It’s my wife.” He stops for a moment, curling his left fist to his mouth, keeping the wedding band front and center. “well, my ex-wife. On paper only but in my heart, she might as well be right next to me. she, she.” Buddy Roman deflates the air in his lungs, hoping cop a feel on Brenda through the communal property of gaseous exchange. Humans only use six percent of the oxygen in the air, that is six percent of Buddy Roman inside of her. One percent per inch of dangling fury. Girth not length.
“Awww! Poor thing. She died? I’m so, so sorry.” Brenda’s hooked like a trout, flapping around on the shore line of some great open wilderness. She is the trout and Buddy Roman the bear whose stocking up for the winter. “She pass of natural causes?” Inquires the trout, begging the bear to eviscerate her insides in the most sensual and erotic of ways.
“Natural. The most natural indeed.” Respond’s Buddy.
“AW! Heart attack! How old was she? How long have you been together?”
“Heart attack, that is a luxury only the sweetest of dreams could afford. I’m sad to say.” Buddy Roman shakes his head with teary eyes. “So sad to say, indeed. It was suicide. Slit her wrists, she did. Just couldn’t bear to be away from her husband. Too young.” Buddy shakes his head. “Too young indeed. It feels like we got together just yesterday.” In fact it was just yesterday. But they don’t know that. All they need is the emotional roller coaster is that the silver tongue of Buddy Roman. “ Take me!” screams the trout. “ With pleasure.” Growls the bear, or in this case, walrus. So is the circle of life. The great big circle that tugs at the heart strings of young impressible women who do not know any better.
Buddy Roman looks on with bated breath, waiting impatiently for Brendas chest to release six percent of Buddy Romans essence. It takes a moment but she does. She does and Buddy Roman wafts it all in. The Shape was savoring the flavor, the passion and the moment like a fine wine or certain blonde haired vixen.
“That’s terrible, just awful.” Squeaks Brenda, the last dying gasp of the trout.
“She was visiting her mother. You know, heh- I often think, what if God just missed his target? He couldn’t do ol’ Buddy a solid, right? I always knew her mother would have been the death of me and in a way, I was right. So, I was hoping Brenda, that you could help me with a bereavement ticket.”
"Of course, Buddy. I’d be glad to help.” Brenda flashes what she thinks is a pity smile but really its just the jaws closing in around her neck.
“Thank you very much Brenda. You know, you were always my favorite.” Buddy oozes disdain for Marie, staring a hole into the depths of her soul, so dark and foul that it guarantees she’ll never meet God. Politicians were good at that but Buddy Roman was operating on a whole new level. Brenda uses her long acrylic nails to tick tack on her keyboard, trying to secure Buddy Roman a discounted flight to where ever it was he said he was going.
“Now where did you say you were going?” Asks Brenda.
“Pardon me?” Buddy Roman stumbles as the line of people gets longer and longer behind him. Patient people grow rather impatient at the rather casual banter of Buddy Roman. The very same people that have been ignored for quite some time now. Ill tempers flare and boil over as the next man in line taps Buddy Roman on the shoulder with a stiff and disruptive poke. Clearly intentional, clearly scornful in nature and soon to be a mistake, clearly.
“Pardon me, friend. There is a line, you know.” A cocked eye and wrinkled brow old man tells Buddy Roman everything he heeds to know. Words are not important when one cannot control body language. Buddy Roman looks behind him and sees a row of patron, ten deep, four more then his inches. Girth not length. The Shape feigns a smile as he cranes his neck backwards with a silent chuckle.
“Of course.” He mouths, strumming his fingers on his chest before turning back towards Maria and Brenda. “Actually, Maria..”
“Brenda.” She corrects.
“Right, er, sorry. Brenda. Could you make those two tickets, my client, er- her son will be joining me. He’s just indisposed at the moment.” Buddy Roman leans in and whispers, “The grief is not agreeing with his stomach at the moment. You see, it is a long flight to Brazil and he is not very fond of flying either. It is the old double whammy, so to speak.”
“Aww! Brazil! I just got a wax from there. How old is your son?” Says Maria between the snapping of her gum.
“Who knows.” Replies the Shape. “I mean, who can keep track; kids grow up so fast these days.” Brenda clicks print as the tickets are created through her scanner that’s besides her desk. She thumbs through them to make sure that they are correct and writes something on the back before handing them to the Shape.
“Here you go, sweetheart. Make sure you call me when you get back.” Brenda motions her hand to her head in a ‘call me’ type of motion that is completed with a wink and lick of the tongue. It was a good thing the Shape was wearing silk underwear or else he would have erupted out of his standard cotton briefs.
“Thank you, Gina.” Smiles the Shape as he turns to walk away.
“Brenda.” She corrects again.
“Sorry, my mind is racked with guilt. Thank you again, both of you. I shall remember this always.” The Shape throws them one last smile as he tucks the tickets neatly into his pocket and walks away down the terminal towards the gate where Zombie McMorris was standing. He was standing next to a roped off area of the terminal that had a banner over it that read ‘WZRX.’ ZMAC leaned against a wall while shelling sunflower seeds between his rotten teeth. He never took his eyes off the small group of men and women that were growing restless with annoyance and confusion. The eyes of the Coked Up Mad Man Peirce their souls as he dug and prodded telepathically through their memories and emotion.
Ivan Urial Bates, great uncle of Thomas Bates and trivial strong man
Melinda Higgins-Bishop, second cousin to Kevin Bishop, who could suck the husk off a coconut
Ada Shaw-Chambers, distant aunt of Nathan Chambers, she is pseudo intellectual with a master’s degree in dog whispering even though she is an avid cat lover.
Gary Peirce, because fuck Gemni Battle. Gary has no obvious talents, skills or usefulness. He was wearing a red shirt.
William Frederick Slane, uncle of Stuart Slane and knot tying champion of the pacific northwest.
Alice Alpine, fashionably late as usual. She is an avid blog writer of four years even though there is no proof that anyone has ever read it.
Gravedigger hung around in the back, filthy Mexican piece of shit. He was Teddy Blazes number one fan in secrete but that is exactly what got him here. Zombie McMorris was able to decode all this from their speech, body language and internal cries for help. Gary just looked around like a moron between his ticket and his surroundings; as if an Orange Julius would just appear out of nowhere and save him.
“Hehe. There be no Orange Julius here you tubby piece of shit.” Snickers ZMAC as he pops sunflower seeds into his decaying mouth as the Shape approaches him, slapping the tickets to ZMACs chest.
“Here are the tickets.” Says the Shape.“I upgraded us from coach and got us a bereavement fair. I also got some girls number. I think I’ll give her the BIG WIGGLE when we get back. We meaning us – not – er – them.” The Shape flutters his hand in a motion over to the poor saps that find themselves in a free range cage of carpet, air and nylon rope. Anything, anything for the chance at a free vacation. “Are those them, our suckers?” Asks the Shape, eying up a new batch of victims.
“Yee-up.” Answers ZMAC in between chomps. “Except for GD. Not sure how he got in there.”
“Nostalgia, I suppose.” Says the Shape with a shrug. “Are they all the right people?”
“Just about. The red shirt guy is a little twitchy. But that’s OK. I like the struggle.”
“You know, they’re all going to struggle.”
“Oh yah, absolutely. Even captain ties knots over there; Slanes fam. And I’m sure that Bates uncle thinks he is too big or strong to fail but even Hercules went mad. But that’s how you have to play the game and me, I’m the fucking best. Freedom writers, strongmen, utility guys, loud mouths, useless jack offs and Gravedigger. Ha, none of them know how to even start competing in this match, let alone win it. Ya know, Its going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. Except after Sunday Night they’ll have to change the saying to ‘getting ZWREKT.’ It is just going to be one of those things. We’ve already set the bar and sprung the trap. We have given them all the same boring talking points and they’ll struggle to say the same thing.
The cliché, I deserve to champion… no one can beat me… I’m tougher, stronger, faster, smarter, X,Y and what do you know. Ol’ mother fuckin’ Z. I know that they expect me to come out and sling some slang or garbage and grind my diction to a halt with that ol’ dirty southern drawl but this right here is the big time and what they are going to get- they will not expect. On the other hand, I expect them all to try and I know that they’ll all fail. They all have to hurdle that first bar and because of that they’ll trip up. With say, a guy like Chambers it’s the pride before the fall. Perfection can only get him so far. As strange as that might seem to say that perfection can only get you so far- he has the worst gimmick in WCF. You cannot be the best and greatest in WCF once you take a loss and when he losses this match I.E by not capturing the world title, that shit is shot. I mean, I liked that gimmick better when it was Ryan Blake and not watered down by unimaginative horse shit. Please, the day that Nathan Chambers leads WCF as the world champion is the day that believe it or not, Seth has officially lost his mind. Well, that and having the guys from the DRG hold the strap. And Honestly, I am going to make WCF great again. There would be no greater WCF champion than Zombie McMorris because I have the experience, the ability, the longevity, the big name value, the charisma and the clarity to actively lead this company and the other champions to a place where we can rebuild the company into what it once was and then make it even better. Roman, Zombie McMorris is going to make WCF great again. I’ll bring up ratings, I’ll give this company a real sense of identity and direction. We are still reeling from that Mexico incident and we’ve had three world champions since then. We’ve had three champions since May and not one of them could rise up and bring this company back to where it needs to be.
That’s the thing, Roman. No one is going to talk about true leadership. They are going to talk about how they have earned or deserved this championship. Now, I have done that and while that IS true, I am also the leader that this company needs right now. It’s the truth and it makes all of them sick to think about it. I led the Vapor Kingz, did I not; I was. Steve Orbit and ICE Beckman, world champions and I was their leader. They took and learned from me when they didn’t have to but they did because they knew what I had to teach them.
All of these guys in the match are going to try and convince Seth and the world they are going to be champion over me even though not one of them will talk about leadership. And if they do, it is because they’ve taken note and consideration in regards to what I just said. It is because I am a true leader and pale rider of the WCF. The pale rider, bringer of death, also brings creation and new life. That is exactly what I am going to do. Zombie McMorris will lead this great company. Much like Donald Trump will lead this gret nation.
You know as well as I do that I am the most dangerous man in this match and that I am THEE man to beat. If any of them have dreams of being world champion, they have to beat me. They have to step up and admit it in front of the world that Zombie McMorris is the biggest threat and the odds on favorite to win the WCF world title. Not one of them can deny what I have done and continue to do in that ring and on the microphone.
This match is mine for the taking. It is set up for my victory. I am going to cash in my Internet title the very same title that I created and put on the map in order to take the world title and put it back where it belong in WCF, on top and in charge. It is about leadership, Roman; real leadership. The kind that is going to step up when needed, take the strap and run with it. Stuart Slane has not displayed that kind of leadership. Nor has Blaze, Alpine, Bishop or Chambers. Battle is disqualified because he runs in line with Bates who wants things his way or no way. Although Bates is missing a crucial factor in that everything about this match is going to go MY WAY. I struck first, why, because Champions strike first. I am going to dictate what is said, what is done and how everyone approaches this match. After this, the entire tune will change and everyone will go from how they deserve the title and they’re going to run the house and clean up and on and on they go in their enervated and verbatim vernacular. They are going to shift from the ‘command and conquer candidate’ to the ‘commander and chief candidate’ and it will all be because of me. Watch how seven nobodies and midcard bums chomp at the bit for a title and championship that they do not understand. Yet I understand it. I understand it and Corey Black understand it and we are the only two men in WCF that understand it. That is why after I win the Ultimate Showdown, I am coming for him. Corey Black is the only one that can give Zombie McMorris any kind of challenge in today’s WCF era. This – this – sad excuse for yet another self-described “new bred era.”
Question. How many of these eras have we between Black and I? All of them? I might as well put myself on the the side of the Old Guard. Hell, I might as well be. I am the only one in this match that truly understands the mentality that WCF needs a leader and someone that can carry the entire company on their back. And surprise, surprise, I don’t need to swear to do it. Now ain’t that a funny thing. Not funny ‘haha’ but more of the sad kind. It is sad because that means throughout all my years here I have been underestimated. Underestimated until this point when the entire locker room sees me as the ultimate threat and the only the champion of this entire company.
Sunday Night I am going to get my hand raised and one of them will have the blame placed squarely on their shoulders. One of them will end up being the final person I pin. I will create a new record within the match itself and pin every entrant in the match, so that is another piece of that puzzle combined with my history making match all by itself but I’ll have the world title to boot. Which one of them can even come close to saying that; none of them. They might try and say how they are going to lead the new era but there aint no new era as long as I am around. They all need to realize and they will Sunday night, that ZMAC ain’t joking. There aint no hint of jest in my voice. I am a Dove Killah and a BB-Dub Thrillah. Everyone in this match will get ripped a new AXE WOUND and fall to the many that no one thought would ever make it in this company but look at me now. I am on the verge of history. I am on the verge of greatness and no one is going to stop me from becoming WCF world champion.”
The Shape gives Zombie McMorris a standing ovation complete with double finger whistle.
“Beautiful. Amazing. It was gripping, it was compelling and most of all, it was one thousand percent true. The truth is a painful thing and Sunday night we are going to hit them with the truth. It is painful and terrible to know that only MY client, Zombie McMorris has his affairs in order. It is My client who is leading the charge and setting the golden standard for what will become the most prestigious title in WCF. Because let us face the facts, while Stuart Slane or any of the others hold that title or gallop along, trying to jockey for it, it lessens all the hard work that your brothers have put forth trying to make this company something greater than themselves. Now that honor because to you, Zombie McMorris. And the displeasure will be all theirs.” The Shape smiles with evil intent as he waves his hand in direction of the crowd. “Let us introduce ourselves to our adoring public.” The Shape puts his arm around ZMAC as the two walk towards the roped off area and the Shape announces with a loud and clear voice.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF. MY NAME IS VINCENT “BUDDY” ROMAN AND THIS RIGHT HERE IS MY CLIENT.. THE NEXT WCF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION…. ZOMBIE MCMORRIS….
Bewildered and confused the masses clap.
They clap because deep down they know that a true leader stands before them.
They clap because they know the horrifying truth that Buddy Roman Speaks.
CONQUER. THE. HATE
WCF – PPV
The Ultimate Showdown
Zombie McMorris
vs.
Dem boiz who gone get GOT
__________________________________
Chapter I: BO-reave-That
Gov. Burnside Airport, the 13th busiest airport in New England.
Flight Terminal
Playing host to some of the most honest and romantic moments, this side of the motel just a stone throw down the road of the same name. A portly man with a double chin that seemingly ripples on for days enters the airport with a gray suit from some discount men’s clothing store for the obese that he got only hours before, the tag still hanging from the back side of his left cuff. His red tie reaches around his fat sweaty neck, trying to hang on, trying to do its job and trying to fight the good fight. It does not know how long it will last but it struggles all the same. The Portly man with the thinning black hair, chromed domed up top but neatly trimmed on the side, walks through the airport with a jiggle wiggle in his swagger. He peers and hawks around; left to right. A toothy grin with cheesy and feigned happiness is stapled onto his cheek muscles as he waves a beauty queens: hello. This man is Buddy Roman, budding politician, athletic manager and proud father; he will let you know it too. He has two tickets to go to Rio but being the Jew that he is, he knows he can get them cheaper. Much cheaper, indeed.
Buddy Roman walks up to the ticket counter service, a pretty little brunette number twirls her shoulder length air with her boney pale fingers. Buddy Roman bellies up to the counter with that infamous New England lean, elbows propping his multiple chins, cradling his face as if he wasn’t already the four time crowned America’s Little Miss Sweetheart. The Brunette service desk women is o-blivious, staring out into the 6th dimension of time and space, Jesus on her Dash board, bobbing right along to some wretched techno pop song. Kids these days don’t appreciate work, they don’t know work. To her this is just time away from yet another pointless status update. To Buddy Roman, however it was a moment to gaze at the beauty of today’s conscious and thought provoking youth. Buddy always thought they had a lot to say, even if they lacked the capacity to verbalize it or even think about it without that techno pop getting in the way.
“Pardon me, Ms.” He coo’d with creepy old man love; completely smitten by the brunette beauty. She looked up at him with annoyance, how dare he break up her quiet time.
“yes? Like what do you want?" A chomp or two on that pink plastic wad she calls chewing gum accents her question with a pop and a snap.
“What do I want? Hmm?” Buddy Roman presses the tip of his index finger to his lips, causing his mouth to refrain from cannibalizing the digit. “What an interesting question and framed so profoundly. What do I want? What do I, Buddy Roman, want?” He chuckles with sarcasm. “Me? Here? At the tickets counter of the thirteenth busiest airport in New England?”
“ Uh- a life?” A dim witted ditz flashes the light bulb of a good idea to insult the walrus in front of her. Buddy Roman cannot but help but smile. Smile and fall deeper in love with his soon to be ex-wife and plaintiff in a domestic suit.
“A life. Oh that’s charming; so incredibly charming. A life with you, I take it you are offering. In that case I’ll take two, maybe even three if you’re as lively in the sheets are you are in real life.” Buddy Roman ends his statement with a wink and nod. The Mickey Finn dances in his jacket pocket, ready for service in the event such dating services are needed. Buddy Roman pats his jacket, easing the pill into a state of passiveness. Not today, at least not now. “I tell you what I do need my dear-“
“Maria.” She interrupts. “My name is Maria. Can I help you?” She snaps with correction. “Do you need somethin’? I’m busy.”
“ Right, I can see that. I-I’m so sorry to interrupt you. I’ll just move other here and talk to your friend. She is your friend right? You two do communicate face to face or do you just chatter telepathically through your waste-toid stare you got goin’ on there that would make a lobotomy patient blush?” Buddy gives her a moment to respond but such insults are beyond her higher degree of intellect. Maria continues to stare off into space as Buddy Takes a wide shuffling step to his right and assumes the Little Ms. Sweetheart pose. Buddy squints as he tries to read the name badge on the blonde women’s chest. Oh, that heaving and voluptuous chest. In and out- oh to be that oxygen. Oh Lord to be that mixture of molecules necessary for human life coursing throughout her lungs, her blood stream, her heart and other more intimate areas. Pulsating, throbbing, Buddy Romans pig heart pounds out of his chest.“ Brenda.” He reads, thrilled and blessed to even say her name. It occurs to him something funky, something from his youth. He taps his half cannibalized index finger to his chin. “It’s always a Brenda and Maria or a Marie or Mary. Lived here all my life and it’s always those too. Ya know-“ He continues, expressing his thoughts out loud to both Maria and Brenda. “ya know’, I bet you two ladies come from a long, long line of Maria’s and Brenda respectfully.” Buddy gestures with his hands, cuing up the women.
“Well my mother’s mother was named Maria.” Says Maria.
“ And my father’s mother was named Brenda.” Says Brenda.
“Right. Of course. Well Brenda..” Buddy trails off, talking to Brenda yet giving the stink eye to Maria. “I was wondering if you would be so kind. To which, I know in your heart of hearts you will. I was wondering if you would be able to help out a poor, heartbroken old man in his time of need.”
“Why? What happened? Is everything ok?” Curiosity takes the best of Brenda as she falls for the heart felt words of walrus whose pig heart is about to burst with intense feelings of passion. Buddy Roman keeps it together, stringing along the poor blonde girl. He places his left hand flat on the counter, exposing a crystal clear view of a gold wedding band. Buddy strums his fingers on the counter to draw further attention to it as he sighs a sad tune. Choking back the crocodile tears and the lump in his throat which is nothing more than a half-eaten piece of chicken bone; Buddy Roman begins to tell his story.
“ It’s my wife.” He stops for a moment, curling his left fist to his mouth, keeping the wedding band front and center. “well, my ex-wife. On paper only but in my heart, she might as well be right next to me. she, she.” Buddy Roman deflates the air in his lungs, hoping cop a feel on Brenda through the communal property of gaseous exchange. Humans only use six percent of the oxygen in the air, that is six percent of Buddy Roman inside of her. One percent per inch of dangling fury. Girth not length.
“Awww! Poor thing. She died? I’m so, so sorry.” Brenda’s hooked like a trout, flapping around on the shore line of some great open wilderness. She is the trout and Buddy Roman the bear whose stocking up for the winter. “She pass of natural causes?” Inquires the trout, begging the bear to eviscerate her insides in the most sensual and erotic of ways.
“Natural. The most natural indeed.” Respond’s Buddy.
“AW! Heart attack! How old was she? How long have you been together?”
“Heart attack, that is a luxury only the sweetest of dreams could afford. I’m sad to say.” Buddy Roman shakes his head with teary eyes. “So sad to say, indeed. It was suicide. Slit her wrists, she did. Just couldn’t bear to be away from her husband. Too young.” Buddy shakes his head. “Too young indeed. It feels like we got together just yesterday.” In fact it was just yesterday. But they don’t know that. All they need is the emotional roller coaster is that the silver tongue of Buddy Roman. “ Take me!” screams the trout. “ With pleasure.” Growls the bear, or in this case, walrus. So is the circle of life. The great big circle that tugs at the heart strings of young impressible women who do not know any better.
Buddy Roman looks on with bated breath, waiting impatiently for Brendas chest to release six percent of Buddy Romans essence. It takes a moment but she does. She does and Buddy Roman wafts it all in. The Shape was savoring the flavor, the passion and the moment like a fine wine or certain blonde haired vixen.
“That’s terrible, just awful.” Squeaks Brenda, the last dying gasp of the trout.
“She was visiting her mother. You know, heh- I often think, what if God just missed his target? He couldn’t do ol’ Buddy a solid, right? I always knew her mother would have been the death of me and in a way, I was right. So, I was hoping Brenda, that you could help me with a bereavement ticket.”
"Of course, Buddy. I’d be glad to help.” Brenda flashes what she thinks is a pity smile but really its just the jaws closing in around her neck.
“Thank you very much Brenda. You know, you were always my favorite.” Buddy oozes disdain for Marie, staring a hole into the depths of her soul, so dark and foul that it guarantees she’ll never meet God. Politicians were good at that but Buddy Roman was operating on a whole new level. Brenda uses her long acrylic nails to tick tack on her keyboard, trying to secure Buddy Roman a discounted flight to where ever it was he said he was going.
“Now where did you say you were going?” Asks Brenda.
“Pardon me?” Buddy Roman stumbles as the line of people gets longer and longer behind him. Patient people grow rather impatient at the rather casual banter of Buddy Roman. The very same people that have been ignored for quite some time now. Ill tempers flare and boil over as the next man in line taps Buddy Roman on the shoulder with a stiff and disruptive poke. Clearly intentional, clearly scornful in nature and soon to be a mistake, clearly.
“Pardon me, friend. There is a line, you know.” A cocked eye and wrinkled brow old man tells Buddy Roman everything he heeds to know. Words are not important when one cannot control body language. Buddy Roman looks behind him and sees a row of patron, ten deep, four more then his inches. Girth not length. The Shape feigns a smile as he cranes his neck backwards with a silent chuckle.
“Of course.” He mouths, strumming his fingers on his chest before turning back towards Maria and Brenda. “Actually, Maria..”
“Brenda.” She corrects.
“Right, er, sorry. Brenda. Could you make those two tickets, my client, er- her son will be joining me. He’s just indisposed at the moment.” Buddy Roman leans in and whispers, “The grief is not agreeing with his stomach at the moment. You see, it is a long flight to Brazil and he is not very fond of flying either. It is the old double whammy, so to speak.”
“Aww! Brazil! I just got a wax from there. How old is your son?” Says Maria between the snapping of her gum.
“Who knows.” Replies the Shape. “I mean, who can keep track; kids grow up so fast these days.” Brenda clicks print as the tickets are created through her scanner that’s besides her desk. She thumbs through them to make sure that they are correct and writes something on the back before handing them to the Shape.
“Here you go, sweetheart. Make sure you call me when you get back.” Brenda motions her hand to her head in a ‘call me’ type of motion that is completed with a wink and lick of the tongue. It was a good thing the Shape was wearing silk underwear or else he would have erupted out of his standard cotton briefs.
“Thank you, Gina.” Smiles the Shape as he turns to walk away.
“Brenda.” She corrects again.
“Sorry, my mind is racked with guilt. Thank you again, both of you. I shall remember this always.” The Shape throws them one last smile as he tucks the tickets neatly into his pocket and walks away down the terminal towards the gate where Zombie McMorris was standing. He was standing next to a roped off area of the terminal that had a banner over it that read ‘WZRX.’ ZMAC leaned against a wall while shelling sunflower seeds between his rotten teeth. He never took his eyes off the small group of men and women that were growing restless with annoyance and confusion. The eyes of the Coked Up Mad Man Peirce their souls as he dug and prodded telepathically through their memories and emotion.
Ivan Urial Bates, great uncle of Thomas Bates and trivial strong man
Melinda Higgins-Bishop, second cousin to Kevin Bishop, who could suck the husk off a coconut
Ada Shaw-Chambers, distant aunt of Nathan Chambers, she is pseudo intellectual with a master’s degree in dog whispering even though she is an avid cat lover.
Gary Peirce, because fuck Gemni Battle. Gary has no obvious talents, skills or usefulness. He was wearing a red shirt.
William Frederick Slane, uncle of Stuart Slane and knot tying champion of the pacific northwest.
Alice Alpine, fashionably late as usual. She is an avid blog writer of four years even though there is no proof that anyone has ever read it.
Gravedigger hung around in the back, filthy Mexican piece of shit. He was Teddy Blazes number one fan in secrete but that is exactly what got him here. Zombie McMorris was able to decode all this from their speech, body language and internal cries for help. Gary just looked around like a moron between his ticket and his surroundings; as if an Orange Julius would just appear out of nowhere and save him.
“Hehe. There be no Orange Julius here you tubby piece of shit.” Snickers ZMAC as he pops sunflower seeds into his decaying mouth as the Shape approaches him, slapping the tickets to ZMACs chest.
“Here are the tickets.” Says the Shape.“I upgraded us from coach and got us a bereavement fair. I also got some girls number. I think I’ll give her the BIG WIGGLE when we get back. We meaning us – not – er – them.” The Shape flutters his hand in a motion over to the poor saps that find themselves in a free range cage of carpet, air and nylon rope. Anything, anything for the chance at a free vacation. “Are those them, our suckers?” Asks the Shape, eying up a new batch of victims.
“Yee-up.” Answers ZMAC in between chomps. “Except for GD. Not sure how he got in there.”
“Nostalgia, I suppose.” Says the Shape with a shrug. “Are they all the right people?”
“Just about. The red shirt guy is a little twitchy. But that’s OK. I like the struggle.”
“You know, they’re all going to struggle.”
“Oh yah, absolutely. Even captain ties knots over there; Slanes fam. And I’m sure that Bates uncle thinks he is too big or strong to fail but even Hercules went mad. But that’s how you have to play the game and me, I’m the fucking best. Freedom writers, strongmen, utility guys, loud mouths, useless jack offs and Gravedigger. Ha, none of them know how to even start competing in this match, let alone win it. Ya know, Its going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. Except after Sunday Night they’ll have to change the saying to ‘getting ZWREKT.’ It is just going to be one of those things. We’ve already set the bar and sprung the trap. We have given them all the same boring talking points and they’ll struggle to say the same thing.
The cliché, I deserve to champion… no one can beat me… I’m tougher, stronger, faster, smarter, X,Y and what do you know. Ol’ mother fuckin’ Z. I know that they expect me to come out and sling some slang or garbage and grind my diction to a halt with that ol’ dirty southern drawl but this right here is the big time and what they are going to get- they will not expect. On the other hand, I expect them all to try and I know that they’ll all fail. They all have to hurdle that first bar and because of that they’ll trip up. With say, a guy like Chambers it’s the pride before the fall. Perfection can only get him so far. As strange as that might seem to say that perfection can only get you so far- he has the worst gimmick in WCF. You cannot be the best and greatest in WCF once you take a loss and when he losses this match I.E by not capturing the world title, that shit is shot. I mean, I liked that gimmick better when it was Ryan Blake and not watered down by unimaginative horse shit. Please, the day that Nathan Chambers leads WCF as the world champion is the day that believe it or not, Seth has officially lost his mind. Well, that and having the guys from the DRG hold the strap. And Honestly, I am going to make WCF great again. There would be no greater WCF champion than Zombie McMorris because I have the experience, the ability, the longevity, the big name value, the charisma and the clarity to actively lead this company and the other champions to a place where we can rebuild the company into what it once was and then make it even better. Roman, Zombie McMorris is going to make WCF great again. I’ll bring up ratings, I’ll give this company a real sense of identity and direction. We are still reeling from that Mexico incident and we’ve had three world champions since then. We’ve had three champions since May and not one of them could rise up and bring this company back to where it needs to be.
That’s the thing, Roman. No one is going to talk about true leadership. They are going to talk about how they have earned or deserved this championship. Now, I have done that and while that IS true, I am also the leader that this company needs right now. It’s the truth and it makes all of them sick to think about it. I led the Vapor Kingz, did I not; I was. Steve Orbit and ICE Beckman, world champions and I was their leader. They took and learned from me when they didn’t have to but they did because they knew what I had to teach them.
All of these guys in the match are going to try and convince Seth and the world they are going to be champion over me even though not one of them will talk about leadership. And if they do, it is because they’ve taken note and consideration in regards to what I just said. It is because I am a true leader and pale rider of the WCF. The pale rider, bringer of death, also brings creation and new life. That is exactly what I am going to do. Zombie McMorris will lead this great company. Much like Donald Trump will lead this gret nation.
You know as well as I do that I am the most dangerous man in this match and that I am THEE man to beat. If any of them have dreams of being world champion, they have to beat me. They have to step up and admit it in front of the world that Zombie McMorris is the biggest threat and the odds on favorite to win the WCF world title. Not one of them can deny what I have done and continue to do in that ring and on the microphone.
This match is mine for the taking. It is set up for my victory. I am going to cash in my Internet title the very same title that I created and put on the map in order to take the world title and put it back where it belong in WCF, on top and in charge. It is about leadership, Roman; real leadership. The kind that is going to step up when needed, take the strap and run with it. Stuart Slane has not displayed that kind of leadership. Nor has Blaze, Alpine, Bishop or Chambers. Battle is disqualified because he runs in line with Bates who wants things his way or no way. Although Bates is missing a crucial factor in that everything about this match is going to go MY WAY. I struck first, why, because Champions strike first. I am going to dictate what is said, what is done and how everyone approaches this match. After this, the entire tune will change and everyone will go from how they deserve the title and they’re going to run the house and clean up and on and on they go in their enervated and verbatim vernacular. They are going to shift from the ‘command and conquer candidate’ to the ‘commander and chief candidate’ and it will all be because of me. Watch how seven nobodies and midcard bums chomp at the bit for a title and championship that they do not understand. Yet I understand it. I understand it and Corey Black understand it and we are the only two men in WCF that understand it. That is why after I win the Ultimate Showdown, I am coming for him. Corey Black is the only one that can give Zombie McMorris any kind of challenge in today’s WCF era. This – this – sad excuse for yet another self-described “new bred era.”
Question. How many of these eras have we between Black and I? All of them? I might as well put myself on the the side of the Old Guard. Hell, I might as well be. I am the only one in this match that truly understands the mentality that WCF needs a leader and someone that can carry the entire company on their back. And surprise, surprise, I don’t need to swear to do it. Now ain’t that a funny thing. Not funny ‘haha’ but more of the sad kind. It is sad because that means throughout all my years here I have been underestimated. Underestimated until this point when the entire locker room sees me as the ultimate threat and the only the champion of this entire company.
Sunday Night I am going to get my hand raised and one of them will have the blame placed squarely on their shoulders. One of them will end up being the final person I pin. I will create a new record within the match itself and pin every entrant in the match, so that is another piece of that puzzle combined with my history making match all by itself but I’ll have the world title to boot. Which one of them can even come close to saying that; none of them. They might try and say how they are going to lead the new era but there aint no new era as long as I am around. They all need to realize and they will Sunday night, that ZMAC ain’t joking. There aint no hint of jest in my voice. I am a Dove Killah and a BB-Dub Thrillah. Everyone in this match will get ripped a new AXE WOUND and fall to the many that no one thought would ever make it in this company but look at me now. I am on the verge of history. I am on the verge of greatness and no one is going to stop me from becoming WCF world champion.”
The Shape gives Zombie McMorris a standing ovation complete with double finger whistle.
“Beautiful. Amazing. It was gripping, it was compelling and most of all, it was one thousand percent true. The truth is a painful thing and Sunday night we are going to hit them with the truth. It is painful and terrible to know that only MY client, Zombie McMorris has his affairs in order. It is My client who is leading the charge and setting the golden standard for what will become the most prestigious title in WCF. Because let us face the facts, while Stuart Slane or any of the others hold that title or gallop along, trying to jockey for it, it lessens all the hard work that your brothers have put forth trying to make this company something greater than themselves. Now that honor because to you, Zombie McMorris. And the displeasure will be all theirs.” The Shape smiles with evil intent as he waves his hand in direction of the crowd. “Let us introduce ourselves to our adoring public.” The Shape puts his arm around ZMAC as the two walk towards the roped off area and the Shape announces with a loud and clear voice.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF. MY NAME IS VINCENT “BUDDY” ROMAN AND THIS RIGHT HERE IS MY CLIENT.. THE NEXT WCF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION…. ZOMBIE MCMORRIS….
Bewildered and confused the masses clap.
They clap because deep down they know that a true leader stands before them.
They clap because they know the horrifying truth that Buddy Roman Speaks.
CONQUER. THE. HATE
