Post by Grady Kilbride on Jan 30, 2022 15:00:38 GMT -5
"I've had a few... issues with the fairer sex. Call it karma to work out or some bollocks. Aye, women and I have a love/hate relationship."
Grady slouches in an old musty confessional. It's clear this is a domain he's frequented.
"Yeah, you love me and I hate you."
The silhouetted figure behind the grill bears more than a passing resemblance to Grady's Kill Mart tag team partner Spayde Martinez.
"Maybe love's overstating it a wee lick but... aye."
"Why are we meeting? Let's just do our thing in the ring and make this as painless for us and as painful for our opponents as possible."
"You don't really want this. You feel you've been lumbered with me. And, you know what, you're right. I'm a liability. This would be better for both of us if this comes to a screeching halt. I can return to drunken obscurity and you can go back to dominating... whatever division you want to."
"Agreed."
"Agreed?"
"Were you not expecting I'd agree with you for a change?"
"I was... I just thought you'd show a little more... fight."
She sits up, taut and inflamed.
"I'm not here to carry your ass. You ARE a liability. Unreliable, never present, no wrestling or fighting pedigree, a bum, a drunk, a loser. BUT..."
"... Go on?"
"... But we ain't losing to Aphable Azzmunchers. Let me ragdoll them, you stay out of it and then we'll go separate ways."
"But they're nice. Maybe they wouldn't be the worst successors. Not that we... I mean, I have set a high bar with these titles."
"Nice? Nice? They're wretched."
"You just say that because they're chalk and cheese from us. But at least they have synergy. Aphriya has more athleticism in her little finger than I have in my whole arse. She's been groomed for success from the cot while my life has been one giant shit show of disappointment and mess. Azurine may be a little more on the... homely side, but there's a polish to her. How can someone be so organised that she knows every National Soandso Day of the year but I don't even know what decade it is most times."
"Luckily for you, I am a prime athlete. I am organised. While you don't even have a modicum of a clue at what you're doing, I am meticulous, I am cunning, I am very deliberate. But, unlike those fools, I am vicious. I have killer instinct. I get the job done. So leave this with me."
"Do you ever think fate brought us together?"
"No. Shit luck."
Grady sighs, the sadness evident through furrowed brow and slumped posture.
"Anyway, you say these bitches are nice. THIS is why you've had problems with women. You can't see a fake piece of crap behind the veneer of All American Girl zany feminine bullshit. Azurine is a little momsy ho. Aphriya's been so coddled and shaped... it's Stepford Wives bullshit. They're fembots. Everyone knows behind the face smiles and lip gloss and dance parties with cookies and spandex, there's something ugly. Something deficient. Something... backwards."
Silence. Spayde growls in the realisation that she's been walked out on. She storms out the church and sees her misfit of a tag partner being picked on by two hoodlums.
"Your wallet or your life, dick."
Grady acquiesces, handing over the contents of his pockets over to the two thugs. He closes his eyes and leans backwards, as if expecting... no, hoping for a beating. The bandits turn their attention to Spayde, looking her up and down.
"Hey pretty Mama, you wanna take some length or have you got your own?"
They cackle when, all of a sudden, Grady's eyes enlarge. He storms into them, punching ten bells of shit out of them. He is perplexed. Spayde looks on with a feeling that can only be described as....
pride.
Grady slouches in an old musty confessional. It's clear this is a domain he's frequented.
"Yeah, you love me and I hate you."
The silhouetted figure behind the grill bears more than a passing resemblance to Grady's Kill Mart tag team partner Spayde Martinez.
"Maybe love's overstating it a wee lick but... aye."
"Why are we meeting? Let's just do our thing in the ring and make this as painless for us and as painful for our opponents as possible."
"You don't really want this. You feel you've been lumbered with me. And, you know what, you're right. I'm a liability. This would be better for both of us if this comes to a screeching halt. I can return to drunken obscurity and you can go back to dominating... whatever division you want to."
"Agreed."
"Agreed?"
"Were you not expecting I'd agree with you for a change?"
"I was... I just thought you'd show a little more... fight."
She sits up, taut and inflamed.
"I'm not here to carry your ass. You ARE a liability. Unreliable, never present, no wrestling or fighting pedigree, a bum, a drunk, a loser. BUT..."
"... Go on?"
"... But we ain't losing to Aphable Azzmunchers. Let me ragdoll them, you stay out of it and then we'll go separate ways."
"But they're nice. Maybe they wouldn't be the worst successors. Not that we... I mean, I have set a high bar with these titles."
"Nice? Nice? They're wretched."
"You just say that because they're chalk and cheese from us. But at least they have synergy. Aphriya has more athleticism in her little finger than I have in my whole arse. She's been groomed for success from the cot while my life has been one giant shit show of disappointment and mess. Azurine may be a little more on the... homely side, but there's a polish to her. How can someone be so organised that she knows every National Soandso Day of the year but I don't even know what decade it is most times."
"Luckily for you, I am a prime athlete. I am organised. While you don't even have a modicum of a clue at what you're doing, I am meticulous, I am cunning, I am very deliberate. But, unlike those fools, I am vicious. I have killer instinct. I get the job done. So leave this with me."
"Do you ever think fate brought us together?"
"No. Shit luck."
Grady sighs, the sadness evident through furrowed brow and slumped posture.
"Anyway, you say these bitches are nice. THIS is why you've had problems with women. You can't see a fake piece of crap behind the veneer of All American Girl zany feminine bullshit. Azurine is a little momsy ho. Aphriya's been so coddled and shaped... it's Stepford Wives bullshit. They're fembots. Everyone knows behind the face smiles and lip gloss and dance parties with cookies and spandex, there's something ugly. Something deficient. Something... backwards."
Silence. Spayde growls in the realisation that she's been walked out on. She storms out the church and sees her misfit of a tag partner being picked on by two hoodlums.
"Your wallet or your life, dick."
Grady acquiesces, handing over the contents of his pockets over to the two thugs. He closes his eyes and leans backwards, as if expecting... no, hoping for a beating. The bandits turn their attention to Spayde, looking her up and down.
"Hey pretty Mama, you wanna take some length or have you got your own?"
They cackle when, all of a sudden, Grady's eyes enlarge. He storms into them, punching ten bells of shit out of them. He is perplexed. Spayde looks on with a feeling that can only be described as....
pride.
