Defecation, Urination, Determination, Oh My!
Dec 16, 2022 10:08:59 GMT -5
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Post by Kieran King on Dec 16, 2022 10:08:59 GMT -5
"JUMP!" Coach says.
The wannabe-champ jumps.
"Drop down!"
The upstart hits the deck.
"Up you get! Start running the ropes! Don't stop until I tell you! These chances don't come around very often!"
He would know. Twenty-plus years ago he had his shot. He failed. But hey, you know what they say: 'if you can't do, teach'.
I watch from across the gym as the sloppy meatsack in there with him sprints from rope to rope. Taking a swig from a bottle of Jack I found already opened, I skulk from the shadows and trip the pathetic cuck from under the ropes.
He hits the deck again.
Honestly, it's probably a more elegant drop-down than when he was actually trying to do it.
My presence joyously announced, I effortlessly spring up onto the apron and then over the top rope and into the ring. Coach watches me with a steely gaze, but I pay the washed-up never-was no mind.
"Face it, kid–" I take another swill. "–You're just not cut out for this."
"I… I… I…"
I was doing the kid a service, and he knows it. The little bitch can't even muster the courage to say the words 'I quit' before he tucks his tail between his legs and flees.
"He showed promise…" Coach growls.
I cock an eyebrow and finish off what little booze was left. He catches the bottle after I fling it in the general direction of his face.
"Thanks for the drink." My bullshit doesn't get a rise.
"He was supposed to be making his debut soon. Action Wrestling's CruiserHavoc."
I don't even feign surprise.
"You knew."
"I'm taking his place." I don't leave any room for disagreement."And I need everything you've got on the jizzstains I'm going to be beating."
PERCHED on the edge of the ring, nary a bead of sweat to be seen, a fresh bottle of whisky turns my words to fire.
"You know what my favourite part of a match like this is? It's the inevitable self-fellating that goes on as people try to rally themselves for the dance. 'This time it's different,' they'll tell you; or, 'everything I've worked for has come to this moment'. Add whatever fragrance you want to try and mask the smell, you're all still squatting over the same hole.
Want to know why it's ACTUALLY different this time?
Hi. I'm Kieran King. We haven't met yet.
The CliffsNotes version of my story is that after years of -ahem- 'enjoying early retirement in Thailand', I'm going to stroll in here and take what every single one of you is gunning for, all without having done a thing to earn it! Yay me!
See, I'm not the crumbs off some other company's table like Karlie Nash, nor am I some sort of 'little engine that could' like Aphriya Adler seems to be. I sure as hell ain't selling no goddamn dream.
I'm just here to ruin your day.
Because I can.
Because I want to piss all over your hopes and dreams.
Not like how Hotaka pisses all over the entire Japanese population by being a walking freaking stereotype.
No.
I mean actually piss on the Cruiserweight Championship.
Because. I. Can.
Just be thankful I'm not hiding it! I don't need to. 'Cause the real mystery here isn't who else might show up, but rather why you useless pricks even bother putting your adult diapers on in the morning when you're all just going to publicly shit the bed anyway.
How's all this for some 'self-fellating'? It’s hard not to slob on my own cock when I'm packing heat the size of the egg on Teo Blaze's face after dropping the gold to a yeti-fucker like Serenity Holmes. Trust me when I say this assholes: I fell out of my mama better than you will ever be. Compared to me, each of you are to wrestling as Azzurine Vebbins is to the English language. Pure shit. And on December 22? A whole torrent of human waste gets flushed.
By yours truly.
F. U."
The whisky still burns on its way down.
I wish I already had the Cruiserweight Championship.
Because I need to pee…
The wannabe-champ jumps.
"Drop down!"
The upstart hits the deck.
"Up you get! Start running the ropes! Don't stop until I tell you! These chances don't come around very often!"
He would know. Twenty-plus years ago he had his shot. He failed. But hey, you know what they say: 'if you can't do, teach'.
I watch from across the gym as the sloppy meatsack in there with him sprints from rope to rope. Taking a swig from a bottle of Jack I found already opened, I skulk from the shadows and trip the pathetic cuck from under the ropes.
He hits the deck again.
Honestly, it's probably a more elegant drop-down than when he was actually trying to do it.
My presence joyously announced, I effortlessly spring up onto the apron and then over the top rope and into the ring. Coach watches me with a steely gaze, but I pay the washed-up never-was no mind.
"Face it, kid–" I take another swill. "–You're just not cut out for this."
"I… I… I…"
I was doing the kid a service, and he knows it. The little bitch can't even muster the courage to say the words 'I quit' before he tucks his tail between his legs and flees.
"He showed promise…" Coach growls.
I cock an eyebrow and finish off what little booze was left. He catches the bottle after I fling it in the general direction of his face.
"Thanks for the drink." My bullshit doesn't get a rise.
"He was supposed to be making his debut soon. Action Wrestling's CruiserHavoc."
I don't even feign surprise.
"You knew."
"I'm taking his place." I don't leave any room for disagreement."And I need everything you've got on the jizzstains I'm going to be beating."
***
PERCHED on the edge of the ring, nary a bead of sweat to be seen, a fresh bottle of whisky turns my words to fire.
"You know what my favourite part of a match like this is? It's the inevitable self-fellating that goes on as people try to rally themselves for the dance. 'This time it's different,' they'll tell you; or, 'everything I've worked for has come to this moment'. Add whatever fragrance you want to try and mask the smell, you're all still squatting over the same hole.
Want to know why it's ACTUALLY different this time?
Hi. I'm Kieran King. We haven't met yet.
The CliffsNotes version of my story is that after years of -ahem- 'enjoying early retirement in Thailand', I'm going to stroll in here and take what every single one of you is gunning for, all without having done a thing to earn it! Yay me!
See, I'm not the crumbs off some other company's table like Karlie Nash, nor am I some sort of 'little engine that could' like Aphriya Adler seems to be. I sure as hell ain't selling no goddamn dream.
I'm just here to ruin your day.
Because I can.
Because I want to piss all over your hopes and dreams.
Not like how Hotaka pisses all over the entire Japanese population by being a walking freaking stereotype.
No.
I mean actually piss on the Cruiserweight Championship.
Because. I. Can.
Just be thankful I'm not hiding it! I don't need to. 'Cause the real mystery here isn't who else might show up, but rather why you useless pricks even bother putting your adult diapers on in the morning when you're all just going to publicly shit the bed anyway.
How's all this for some 'self-fellating'? It’s hard not to slob on my own cock when I'm packing heat the size of the egg on Teo Blaze's face after dropping the gold to a yeti-fucker like Serenity Holmes. Trust me when I say this assholes: I fell out of my mama better than you will ever be. Compared to me, each of you are to wrestling as Azzurine Vebbins is to the English language. Pure shit. And on December 22? A whole torrent of human waste gets flushed.
By yours truly.
F. U."
The whisky still burns on its way down.
I wish I already had the Cruiserweight Championship.
Because I need to pee…
