Post by Frankie Harewood on Oct 21, 2018 21:41:35 GMT -5
There’s a lot of things you can buy when you make 300 million dollars in one night boxing. Among them is a gold plated limousine, which the GOAT, Frankie “Money” Harewood is currently riding in with his manager, Fridge, and the rest of his entourage. Another thing that amount of money can buy is the best private investigator’s and dirt diggers out there, and that’s exactly what Frankie has done. As Fridge flips through the portfolios of the Carnage battle royal opponents and discusses some things about them with him, Frankie takes another delicate sip of his 1907 Charlouy wine and speaks up.
Frankie: Yo bruh, where this Carnage pay-per-view thing gonna be at anyway?
Fridge pulls the card up on AW’s official website, finds nothing about the location, then shrugs.
Fridge: No idea, boss. Guess they will alert us about it soon.
Frankie sighs. He’s annoyed.
Frankie: First they let that hoe Ms. Monster get away with cheating in her “victory” over me and now they won’t let me, the biggest combat sports pay per view draw in history, know where the fuck to be at to kick all these fools asses. It’s a damn conspiracy!
Fridge nods along fervently.
Fridge: It’s cause you’re black, boss. They racist. Especially that Gravedigger. I saw him giving that “ok” hand gesture the other day trying to be all slick and innocent with it but we wise ones know what’s up with it.
Frankie fist pounds him.
Frankie: True speak, bruh. It’s all good though. Them racists tried to bring me down in boxing but never could. They think throwing me in there with a bunch of their meathead dry humpers will be my undoing but that ain’t happening bruh, you know dis.
Fridge is in total agreement as always and fiddles away with his phone.
Fridge: Yoooooooooo boss man, there’s a public pool nearby. Wanna dip in? I know how you like to hit them up, especially with all the fine ass ladies up in there usually.
Frankie perks up and smirks.
Frankie: You know me well. Let’s roll.
TEN MINUTES LATER …..
They pull up to the public access YMCA Gym pool. They all get out and head in when they realize it’s kids day at the pool………. Or in other words, it’s where lazy parents can drop off their kids to get a break from their bratty asses. Almost immediately they are cut off by the clerk in charge at the desk.
Desk Guy: I’m sorry gentlemen but this is kids day. You can come back a little later in the evening or tomorrow.
Frankie doesn’t say a word as he reaches into the pocket of his $42,000.00 custom fitted Shimwaoiu suit and pulls out a fat stack of hunnid dollar bills. He waves them at the clerk before shoving them into the man’s shirt pocket. Frankie still doesn’t speak to him, he doesn’t need to. All that’s required is a nod and knowing look.
The clerk is flabbergasted for a moment but sifts through the money to check if it’s legit. It is! The man rushes to the pool area and begins yanking kids out of the pool and yelling at them to get out. Most obey but there’s always a few rebels in the mix who feel too entitled.
Frankie and company roll up on them gangsta style. One kid wises up and gets out, but not before he disses Frankie by drying himself off like a dog does, by shaking his body water all over him. Frankie doesn’t play that shit and signals to his crew. A few distract the lone lifeguard on duty while Frankie SPARTA KICKS the punk kid, sending him tumbling across the floor a few times. Fridge plucks the kid up and, after several threats, makes sure the kid agrees to never tell anyone about what just happened. The boy pees on himself before fleeing.
After making the lifeguard hit the bricks too, the crew take over. Frankie has hoes in different area codes and this area is no different. Fridge is already on it; calling up several sexy ass hoes to come “entertain” them while they’re here passing through.
Frankie: Now this is more like it. Yo Fridge, crank up the camera and get the props out for that promo we were gonna shoot. I’m gonna do that shit now and get it on the site.
Fridge takes his leave to retrieve it all and before long everything is set up.
When the scene goes “on camera”, it shows Frankie finishing up a lap in the pool and resting against the ledge, forearms on it, face looking up at the lens with that smug oh so smug expression about him.
Frankie: yo yo yo, A-Dub. It’s your boy Frankie here, yeah you fools ain’t got rid of me yet. It’s gonna take more than some leather skinned Predator faced cunt to put me away. I wanted to address all of my opponents in this shitshow battle royal that's being put on at the Carnage pay per view, live, from some place I don’t give a shit about because A-Dub doesn’t give a shit about me.
That smirk fades a little as he sighs with some annoyance to it.
Frankie: To all of my opponents in this battle royal: don’t blame me for what I’m going to do to you all. The blame falls on the shoulders of them dumb ass combat sports fans who have harassed me for years about joining a “real man’s fighting sport”. Just remember dat when I’m throwing these bones at you all and whip er’last one of you.
He’s lying through his perfect white million dollar teeth. He has no intentions of fighting any of them. His plan is simple: hide under the ring until the last person in there thinks they’ve won, then emerge and steal the win out from under that person. Damn he’s a smart cat isn’t he?
Frankie: Let’s be real up in here. Who can stop me in this match? Huh? Who? Kendra Watterson? HA! Hoe, you may be fine as hell and packing a world class shit dispenser but that’s all you’ve got going on. Bitch, you can’t even spell your own last name right, and even worse, you’re Canadian. The only thing Canada is known for is hockey, long ass wait lines to see doctors, pussy ass defeatist politicians, and ketchup flavored potato chips. They can’t even do bacon right up there.
He scoffs and gets out of the pool, posing his ripped, sleek boxer’s body to the camera for the female fans to feast upon. After toweling himself off real quick and makes his way to one of the chairs.
Frankie: Kendra, you come from a family of wrestlers who are renowned for quitting when things got rough. Your dad choked more times than you’ve lost brain cells, but instead of pushing himself harder he tapped out. Your brother got his foot amputated and used it as an excuse to quit because deep down he knows he didn’t have the talent or the will power to push harder when the going eventually got tougher. Hoe, Zack Gowen was a one legged man in an ass kicking contest and became a pro wrestler, even had the guts to fight Brock Lesnar. Evander Holyfield fought most of his boxing career with a failing heart. Michael Bisping became a MMA legend despite fighting most of his career while legally blind in one eye. I became the boxing GOAT despite having brittle hand syndrome; I would break my fucking hands on peoples skulls in my fights but I didn’t puss out and quit like your entire family has, I pushed through it and fought. I finally managed to cure my hands and not a moment too soon, because I get to pummel your pretty face in with them now. Look what happened to the last few bitches who squared me up.
He snaps his fingers and the following photos of his ex’s pop up.
Frankie: But just to be on the safe side, I got a weapon I know you can’t overcome. I heard you and your entire quitter family is highly allergic to bees. Well guess what my entourage is gonna be holding at ring side?
He motions and one of them comes into view dressed head to toe in one of those professional beekeeper's uniform complete with safety helmet and mask, and is carrying a beehive that is encased in a glass squared partition.
Frankie: Yeeeeah hoe, that’s your future at Carnage. You best hope you done quit and got eliminated by the time I get to you, otherwise they gonna unleash these bees and smash that hive all up in your head and face. Haha (taps temple to show how smart he is). So, aside from you Kendra, who else think they got a chance against the GOAT? You, Ultimate Destroyer? HHAHAHABAHAHAHAHAH!!!
He plops down into the pool side chair still laughing his ass off, his entourage joins in too.
Frankie: Boy, you is a fool. You couldn’t just name yourself the Destroyer, you juuuuust had to tag the Ultimate in there as well, like some little kid would do when thinking up a cool superhero nickname for himself. Stylistically you should be one of the odds on favorites to win this thing, but that’s what a casual fan would drum up. I’m smart. I know better. You’re the type of gum brained fuck-boy that can barely walk and breathe at the same time, let alone defend yourself from a bunch of flying bodies and fists and feet. I’m not sweating you at all, bruh, because let’s go on some real shit here…. You’re fucking dumb, so dumb you’d be the one to accidentally eliminate yourself. That’s my prediction for you. The only person you’re going to eliminate is yourself. Mindless brute. Idiot.
He lays out in a sprawl across the pool chair and gets fed grapes from one of the hoes they called up several minutes ago. After mulling over the rest of the opponents he shrugs.
Frankie: So we know that Kendra and Ultimate Shitstain don’t have a chance against me in this thing, who else do we think is silly enough to try the GOAT? Hmm, Odd? How about you? Yes, Odd. I heard you like to hit stuff for money. This pleases me because you’re the only one in this clusterfuck that I have a measure of respect for. You know the value of money and how you are pathetic and need lots of it. How bout this: I pay you money, lots of it, to eliminate as many people as possible from the battle royal as you can for me? Then, when it’s me and you as the final two, I pay you the rest and you let me eliminate you or you simply eliminate yourself? How does that sound? Have your people call my people, we’ll do lunch and discuss in greater detail.
He wiggles his eyebrows and smiles enticingly at Odd through the lens. He knows Odd is dumb enough to accept the deal, a deal Frankie absolutely plans to backstab him on. But, it’s Odd, so who cares?
Frankie: Hajeet and Puketrov, you’re a pair of punch drunk nobodies who can’t win singles or tag matches but somehow you think you can walk into a battle royal with the GOAT and win. You drive a Ford Focus, Hajeet. That’s all I need to know about you. I would offer to pay you off like I just did Odd, but I’m afraid you might funnel it back to bankroll ISIS and more suicide vests so fuck you and your funny tongue. I’m gonna give you a three piece with a side of bitch slap for rolling around in that piece of shit Ford Focus, you fuckin scrub. Get a beamer. I know your grandpa has the money for it.
He snarls in disdain at the thought of the worthless Hajeet and his donkey punching ass puppet friend Petrov.
Frankie: So who else we got? Chris Eno? Nah, brah, you don’t have the sack to take out the GOAT. A little birdie told me you were out of commision for two years and are now coming back. This same little birdie told me about your snafus in training. How you nearly injured yourself trying to perform a simple top rope move. That stuff happens when you take time off and return with so much ring rust. Well, I mean it happens to everyone but me. I took a few years off from boxing and came back with no ring rust and was even more dominant than in previous years. You’re a part timer on top of it all, so you’re not even fully dedicated to this sport or to AW. I hate pro wrestling and AW but how is it possible that I’m more dedicated than you are at it? I’m gonna be here every week slugging it out with all these guys who like to wear girly spandex clothes to play touch butt with other like minded men to get their sexual rocks off under the guise of combat sports. Here’s a pro tip: Take the mask off that ugly ass face. We get it, you’re ugly, it’s the only reason someone like you would wear a generic mask like that. But that mask is cleary hindering your vision and stuff, which causes you to make so many of the silly mistakes you’ve made in the ring. You won’t survive the battle royal. I see you breaking your own neck by botching a high risk move, or even worse getting hit by one of my nuclear fists. I know you’re going to go in there with your pride and honor and try to legit beat everyone else one on one somehow, and you know what? Go ahead. I’ll let you. And I’ll catch you slipping because I’m a world above you in fight IQ.
Just as quickly as he was talking about Chris Eno, he dismisses him with a mocking scoff and hand gesture. Now he sits up, getting serious. There’s only one more person to mention.
Frankie: As for you, Ms. Monster, I hope it’s me and you as the final two. In our singles match I confounded you, I ran circles around you, I even out wrestled you and I have shit for wrestling skills. I dominated you and I toyed with you mentally, physically, and emotionally to the point it broke you. I had you beat, dead to rights, but then your virgin faced manager threw powder in my eyes long enough for you to STEAL a cheap win over me. That shit ain’t gonna fly this time around, because I’m gonna have my boys tune your manager up first thing. They gonna beat his ass all over the place the moment I get out there. You messed with the wrong nigga you bitch. I’m going to save you from getting eliminated if I can, just so I can have you all to myself in the end. I’m going to show the world that no woman, or in your case some tranny-in-waiting, can stand toe to toe with the GOAT one-on-one and come out on top. I’m going to fist fuck your face! You’re going to regret ever crossing me up.
He stands up and tosses a threatening finger point to the lens.
FRankie: You’ve been warned. You’ve all been warned. And just remember, the wrestling fans wanted this. Not me. I made 300 million dollars in one night boxing, so I don’t have to do this shit. I’m doing it to prove them wrong, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve headlined Pay Per Views in the most legendary arenas all over the world. I’m the biggest combat sports pay per view draw of all times. This shit is nothing new to me. I’m used to the pressure, but the question is, are all of you?
He pounds a fist into palm menacingly and throws a few blindingly fast combos at the camera before it suddenly goes lights out.