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Post by Beau Del Sol on Feb 18, 2018 14:10:26 GMT -5
A Motel, Bad Intentions, and Backwoods Insanity [Eminem "Sing For The Moment" plays in the background as Viceland cameras pan around a rather disturbing scene, yet something that seems to be the norm for a man like John Frost. He's layed out in a bed, remote in hand, channel surfing. Bruises cover part of his body, a few bottles of pills and a glass mirror next to him with lines of coke covering it. You can tell he's in disgust, frustrated about Clash and even more agitated at the fact of cameras taping him. He pops a few Percocet and takes a heavy swig off some cheap vodka. Laying in his underwear completely in the zone he runs into a re-run of Clash.] John: What a dick move, even for him.
Camera Man: Who made the dick move?
[Obviously this fellow wasn't to privy on the demeanor of Frost or the effect of drugs. What seemed to be a quiet zoned out big man turned into a moment of uncontrolled rage as he took the vodka bottle and threw it at the wall.]
Frost: You stupid cunt are you not watching what I'm watching!?
Camera Man: I saw you're matches live John I was in the media truck, great performances, two matches in one night for a newcomer that's a hell of a night.
Frost: And you didn't see the fucking refs fast count?! What the fuck I guess they don't teach common sense in college you fuckwad. And your only in this piece of shit Motel 6 because of contract obligations. Fucking horseshit. You need to get the fuck out before I start tearing up you're expensive little equipment.
Camera Man: We have some tape left would you,like the opportunity to explain you're situation.
[John had lit a cigarette leaning back getting a little bit more comfortable in his bed. He grabbed a short 7/11 straw snorting to long lines of coke and holding his head back as he cleared each nostril. While smoking he looked at the cameras.]
John: Listen you guys witnessed what happened last week. I clearly, without a doubt won both of those matches. It was rigged, Gravedigger has a hard on for me and he told those refs to give me a fast count. Right now it looks like it's me versus Action Wrestling.
Camera Man: How does that make you feel?
John: Good lord you're a fucking prick, is this a goddamn psychiatric evaluation. How the fuck do you think? Look what's around me does it look like I'm enjoying the goddamn situation!?
[John started breaking down weed and rolling a blunt. A sharp knock came from the hotel room door.]
John: You see the damn do not disturb sign on the knob? Unless you're gonna blow me leave.
[Jay Frost and Marshall Gates burst threw the door. Jay has a big grin on his face straitening out his priest uniform while Marshall's eyes grew big.]
Marshall: Holy crap son did you rob the cartel?
John: Nah, I met some fans and they hooked me up.
Jay: Hey lil bro about that blow job I know a kid who wants to be an Altair Boy I'm sure he'd suck that white syrup right outta yea.
John: Jay that's fucking nasty you molesting piece of shit.
Jay: Nigga don't act like you didn't warm up some assholes in the pen. God is great that's why he forgives all sins everyday!
Marshall: Well get your sulkin ass up we've got work to do.
John: Say what?
Jay: Work boy, goddamn.
John: Jay shut up.
[John got up, leaned over and snorted the rest of the coke. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and his laced sack of weed. He brushed by Marshall and Jay heading outside shoving bags of drugs in his pockets making his way down the stairs as the other two and the camera man followed him.]
Jay: Negro you know you're just wearing underwear? Amd what kinda underwear you buyin that has pockets?
[John turned around and flipped him off and kept walking.]
John: Marshall what ride you have!
Marshall: That beauty right over there.
[Marshall pointed with a big smile to an early 90's box truck that had an AW logo on the side and "Bad Intentions" on the sides. You could hear John give out a howl of disgust and Jay belted out with laughter.]
Jay: At least you got a vehicle! I'm driving a freakin hearse.
John: Yea I see it parked by "my truck". I'd rather lay in your hearse than be in that piece of shit.
Jay: That's a great idea then I could resurrect your body and soul! That'd look hella right in my portfolio.
Marshall: Quit arguing and get in this hot piece of shit.
[All the guys climbed into a worn out purple van with accenting hubcaps as you could see them still going back and forth Marshall hopped behind the wheel as Jay and John wrestled, each of them arguing about who was going to sit shotgun or ride in the back of the truck.]
[Marshal yelled at the rambunctious brothers and John stopped looking at Marshal, who by the way is in his early fifties ant fit, as Jay slapped him across the face with his bible John bowed up to Jay making his small frame look like an undeveloped child. Jay stared John down as he climbed into the front seat leaving John to ride in the back of the hot box truck laden with a wooden floor and a small sliding door so John could see upfront.]
Jay: Little Bro sit your ass down. We have to talk, quit being dramatic. You've been so stretched out doing drugs and partying that you haven't even seen the next card. Flex now nigga, get up or get out. Hustle man. My flock at church get hustled every Wednesday and Sunday! And I've conned to the point I'm getting more than money! I'm getting paid to take women's virginity.
Marshall: You're kinda rambling. What the hell? Your like that one black "Preacher" that drank poison with all the people that went to that compound. Mass suicide. It made the news.
John: I think he's a sex addict, bisexual, molesting con artist that should burn in hell and forever ride the River of Styx. Now what are we specifically doing besides "work".
Jay: I'm a priest for Good grief I get paid to ramble!
Marshall: we're going to a wrestling forum because you need some fucking work. You looked like dogshit And we better hope I'm Picasso because it's going to take some masterful art work to turn dogshit into a Mona Lisa.
Jay: I mine as well start praying. That's your only hope to look flawless like me. I'm like Eminem, my flow is impenetrable and T.F-Fucking King straight up whooped your ass up one side and down the other of that squared circle. Then you almost won the Television Title and figured out a way to screw up that.
John: Yea well you didn't get a W at Clash you got a tie.
Jay: You noticed that too huh? Asshole.
[Jay turned to look back at John when all of a sudden something slammed into the back of the box truck throwing John around the back like a rag doll and without hesitation they could feel something hit the truck from the rear twice. Jay immediately started crossing his chest and praying loudly.]
Jay: Lord we're gonna die!
Marshall: Damnit John slide up the backdoor and see what the hell is hitting us... Please!
[While Big John was getting his ass handed to him by kinetic inertia and Marshall was freaking out, trying to keep the awkwardly handled truck on the pavement, Jay's instincts took over in the middle of the mayhem, and apparently the voice of God because Jay gained the testicular fortitude to raise from his seat and fight his way into the back, having to sharply dash around his brother flopping around like a fish out of water.]
Jay: Black man always dies first in the movies and is the only motherfucker with common sense. I got this! Talk to me looooord!
[He gets to the back struggling to keep his balance and his bravery, while thinking he's Shaft, he was able to grab the handle and flip the door up seeing a black Tahoe on their ass as men hung themselves out of the windows aiming assault rifles at them.]
Jay: Ooooh fuck that! Not todaaaaay! Y'all want this cracker!
[Jay emphatically points at his brother as he started gaining his balance clutching the opening to the front of the truck.]
Marshall: Take this cell and call the AW Training Center!
John: What the hell are they going to do?!
Marshall: Call!
[John starts flipping through the contacts and dials the number while Marshall throttles out truck and Jay closes the door gaining his composure.]
Marshall: Tell them to open up the third bay door, we're almost there!
John: Hey, this is John Frost I need you to open up the third bay door right now!
...
John: Just do it! I've got Marshall Gates and my little brother with me we're being ram rodded by an SUV with gunmen inside!
Jay: That's right bitches be like Nike and just do it! Endorsement deal!
John: No don't call 911 just open then fucking bay door!
...
John: Ok we're right around the corner...
[Marshall flew the box truck around the corner the ass end sliding on loose asphalt as the Tahoe rammed into the side of the AW truck. Gates gunned lining the truck up with the bay door and cleanly shot through it slamming on the brakes, the two brothers flying forward.]
Marshall: Holy Fuck!
[The two brothers got up,looking through the windshield as several masked men surround the van. One man in particular stepped forward, his mask decorated with a skull across it, the rest of the men wore blank black masks.]
Masked Man: Alright vato get outta that piece of shit.
Jay: Nigga you don't want me! I ain't worth shit for a ransom. Dear Heavenly Father please look over us...
Masked Man: Yo, negrito shut up pendejo we want the hombre grande!
Jay: Did you call me a nigger, without the a!? This is America spic!
John: Calm down he wants me.
Jay: what the fuck? When in the hell did you learn Mexican?
John: Spanish, and in the pen.
[Marshall turned around looking at John and Jay. You could see the "oh shit" look in his eyes. John moved to the back of the van raising the door and hopping out to more gunmen in front of him. The Masked Man put rifle to his temple and John raised his arms as another man kicked him in the bend of the knee making him fall to the floor.]
Masked Man: Agarra el viejo y el padre. Echalos a la verga y yo me cargo de el senor Frost.
Translation: Grab the old man and the priest. Put them down I'm going to take care of Mr. Frost.
Marshall: Whoa, whoa. I'm just his damned trainer, I have no idea what's going on. Just let me go and I'll leave quietly. I mean you don't want to be on the news, right?
[One man jerked Marshall out of the truck and instantly slammed the butt of his AK into the back of his neck and Gates instantly went limp crumbling to the ground.]
Jay: What the hell are these beaners saying!? We're gonna die aren't we!? Goddamnit I've got a sermon to be at!
John: Ellos no tienen la culpa y ni saben nada de esto. Llevenme por que ellos no quieren problemas.
Translation: They don't have anything to do with this just take me. They don't want any trouble.
[The Masked Man gave out a loud chuckle as Jay got clubbed, now in the same state as Marshall, and John stayed kneeled down quietly expecting the worst.]
Masked Man: Why so quiet guero.
John: What do you want.
Masked Man: What you owe.
John: To who? I'm debt free.
Masked Man: Oh my friend. Your memory is short. It wasn't cheap getting you here from Russia and the trouble to get there. Then the parachute ride...
John: Yea ok I get it. But I thought that's why I signed the damn contract to Action Wrestling?
Masked Man: He's not satisfied...
John: He... You mean Gravedigger? Let me talk to him. I've been trying to find him. Call him and I'll explain, make some kind of deal. And leave those two out of it. They won't remember shit.
Masked Man: Goodnight "Big" John.
[John got kicked in the chin writhing his neck around as he fell face first. Four men picked him up shoving him into the back of the Tahoe.]
Masked Man: Put the other two in the box truck. I'm taking Senor Frost to the "House".
A Few Hours Later In An Undisclosed Location....
[There was John strung up by rope tied off to a rafter in the ceiling swinging back in forth by the Masked Man as he looked down at him dangling about six feet from the ground.]
John: This is where you beat me like a piƱata, right? Well, there's no fucking candy inside me, so swing...
Masked Man: Oh no John. We're, well I guess something like a babysitter. You've got somewhere to be Monday night.
[The Masked Man made a gesture and someone lowered John to the ground as they slid a chair underneath him. The Masked Man walked in a circle point at cameras in front of John.]
Masked Man: Talk. The boss said to make you talk.
John: What?
Masked Man: TALK TO THE CAMERAS!
John: You want me to cut a promo right now!?
Masked Man: TALK!
John: Shit I go from comfortably doing drugs in my motel room to being here all in one day. Fuck my life. I need to see the card and my opponents promo...
[They slid John a piece of paper and an IPad that started playing a video. After the video they took it from him and pointed at the cameras.]
John: Holy fuck this is a hell of a way to cut s promo. Let's do this shit I am the toughest, meanest, baddest motherfucker in Action Wrestling.
[John took a deep breath looking intensely into the cameras.]
John: Matthew Gamble to simply put it... You have a hell of a script writer. Dukes of Hazzard wanna be your shit is just as fake as one of those down south reality television shows, except yours is a dream, something you can only achieve at night while counting your inbred sheep.
You're a poser in life and in the ring. Your mat skills are probably perfected by wrestling a gator with his mouth duct taped shut? And I guess you think your country tough, poser. You've never met a man quite like me. Dominant, ruthless, and always looking for the kill. What you've gone through in your fake ass life I've gone through in one day. You can't handle what I'm bringing to the squared circle.
And I know your fake, I've been to Tennessee and never met an inbred retard like you before? Trying to play up the angle? A momma boy, still not weened off the tit? Your writers aren't doing a great job you better give Thadieus King a call, maybe he can save you before its to late, just bring a jar of jergens, hell I'm sure you keep some in your back pocket so when the banjos start playing you can get greased up. Haha. Sick fuck. No wonder your eyes are red and how the hell do you walk a straight line with that one cocked to the left? That's your real talent.
Enough with the backwoods country crap. Bring your little stereotypical ass to my ring do I can it. I'll introduce you to my yard, where the big dogs play. You ain't ready pup, on account of you still being latched on to your mommy's titties. And if you can't afford to get momma in the front row Bobby Boufea, Waterboy of Tennessee, then I'll be a gentleman and pay her way so she can see her pup get castrated and thrown back into the puppy mill.
By the way it look like she has dentures? Does she have dentures? If she does tell her to leave them in Tennessee I prefer my dick to be gummed. And tell her to work on that gag reflex Big Daddy likes to get rough. See you in my Playground Matthew Gamble. I hope your last names accurate because you are taking one hell of a gamble. Roll the dice fuckwad, this ain't Tennessee no more Dorothy.
Now give me a fucking cigarette!
Masked Man: Cayate!
Translation: Shut up!
[John spit, his saliva landing across the eye of the Masked Man who violently threw a bag over John's head while exhaustively cussing in Spanish. He motioned for John to be picked up and as they raised "Big" John Frost the Masked Man looked up at him.]
Masked Man: You're lucky I respect the orders given to me!
John: Tell Gravedigger I said to suck my fat cock you river jumper!
And it goes black...
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