Post by SEAMAC on May 20, 2017 11:44:02 GMT -6
UCI
Overload 5/22/17
Co-Main Event
ZMAC
vs.
Casey LOLliday
____________________________________________
~ Dat King of Nawlyns ~
~ Yah, I Knew Her ~
Step into the steamed up bathroom in ZMACS suite in Pantheon Towers. ZMAC sits on the toilet tending to his toenails as Ruby Redd is in the shower. ZMAC has a white towel in that barely covers what needs to be covered but hey, whose complaining? ZMACS getting ready as Ruby showers quickly. They are meeting Roman soon for lunch and to discuss some UCI financial deals. ZMAC gets up, leaves the room and comes back a moment later in a pair of red Gildan boxers and his torn jeans thrown over his shoulder. He hops on one leg to get into them as Ruby speaks up from behind the curtain.
“So, are you going to have time to come up with something against that Casey chick?” Says Ruby between the sounds of water splashing off her and hitting the floor.
“You better fucking believe it.” Replies ZMAC, grinning in the mirror, checking his mangled mug and tarnished teeth. “Casey ain’t going no where this week. She ain’t going to get one up on me.”
“Honestly, she’s a bit of a spoiled little bitch; if you ask me.”
“I mean, I didn’t but you know, that’s cool. Just speak out of turn and shit. Do they not got manners up there in intergalactic space?”
“Fuck you, Southpaw.” Ruby thinks for a moment and corrects herself. “ Wait, don’t. I don’t think my cervix can take it.”
“Ya gawddamn right it can’t. Besides, me and casey, we go back.”
“Really? You never told me. You know her?”
“Yah, I knew her. Past tense.”
“Damn Southpaw, tell me about it.”
“Alright.”
/FLASH_CUT.EXE
Go back in time 12 – 15 years. A young Casey Holiday stares up at the chandelier in the living room. Her fantastical girlish trance is broken by the clearing of a feminine throat.
“Casey dear, I was out today and bought you this from an estate sale. I saw it and just knew that you would love it.”
Excited Casey gets to her feet and runs her little childish legs towards her mother whose in the archway of the vaulted door.
“Close your eyes, dear.” Says her mother with an unconstrained smile. Casey closes her eyes and when she opens them theres a fluffy stuffed rabbit with a button nose and yellow glossy eyes staring back at her. She doesn’t know why but she is instantly attached to this stuffed trinket. She gasps and clutches it tight.
“I *love* It.” She squeals. She looks at it again and kisses it on the forehead. “I’m going to call you ruffles.”
Ruffles v/o: Yah bitch, call me ruffles. Call me ruffles cuz later tonight I’mma ruffle yo mama’s azz cheeks. She don’t even know but she gone get it.
“Do you want to watch Seattle North Wrestling Alliance, ruffles?” Asks an innocent child.
Ruffles v/o: Bitch, you gay? I ain’t no FGT. You got any spice channel? Gobble them scrambled tit-tays up like scrambled eggs, ya feel me?
“Oh Ruffles, you’re so funny.” She giggles. As she runs back over to the tube TV and watch some queer as shit indy FGTs do some queer as shit flips in front of like some twenty queer as shit people.
Ruffles v/o: You should get half naked and let grown men grope you for a living, cuz you know.. you ain’t a punk bitch who needs a womens division. You can take those strong masculine hands all over your frail female body- when you’re of age of course. But you know.. there’ll be that time in middle school when you get curious with your cousin and he stuffs leaves up your cooter or like when mommy gets a head ache and don’t wanna deal with yo daddys weak sauce game so he comes into your room late at night. So you know, you got options to how this is going to go down. But wrestling. Do that.
“That’s so awesome, Ruffles. Do you think I can do it?”
Ruffles v/o: Define ‘do.’ Your success will be subjective at best, you’ll be a teetering, walking, talking, hypocrite of a millennial. So, you know, theres that. But you ain’t afraid to check somebody’s privilege. Like this chick you’ll meet in your late teens /backslash early twenties. In reality, you just want to have horrorcore lesbian sex with her. And I’m going to watch and then I’m going to jump in and tap that ass like a maple tree.
“Wow! Thanks, Ruffles! I love you! I’m going to tell mom right now.”
Ruffles v/o: Yah, you do that. You do that and tell her to get the monster condoms for my magnum velveteen dong.
Casey gets up and runs towards the kitchen yelling to her mom. “Mom. Mom. I want to be a wrestler! I want to be a wrestler!”
/FLASH_CUT.EXE -> PRESENT TIME.
Ruby has her head sticking out of the shower in a mix of shock and confusion.
“So wait, are you the rabbit in this story?”
ZMAC nods.
“How’d that happen?” She asks.
“Voo doo doctor.” Says ZMAC, as if being cursed by voo doo doctors is a common place thing. Then again, being from the Big Sleezy, it probably is an everyday thing.
“And you’re talking like this to a what- a six year old? That’s fucked up.”
“Bitch, I’m a velveteen rabbit, I ain’t exactly peachy keen over here. And are you done with your shower, Vincent will be here soon. You done rushed me and you’re over here wasting water like it grows on trees or sum shit.”
“Will you just finish the damn story.”
“Then the hawt dank darkness fell and I came from the blackness.”
/FLASH _CUT.EXE -> the marital bedroom of the Mr. and Mrs. Holliday. There was no Mr. Holliday. He was off like a catholic priest, teaching young men how to grab ass and make it look fake as fuck, the fucking FAKE AS FAWK, WITH THE WEAK ASS GAME.
There was the Honey Badger, smashing the wife poon -> cuz somebodys gotta. Ain’t no rabbit but all may-uhm. He uses the shadows to morph from velveteen prison to liberating shadows to liberating that Mama Holiday poon -> slaying that shit like Custard at little big poon.
/FLASH_CUT.EXE -> The bedroom of young Casey holiday, dreaming the fantastic girlish dreams of being a pro wrestler like her daddy.
Dreaming like her daddy who unbeknownst to her cant get the bills paid because 3k a head to stretch out 17 year old boys in a way he cant stretch out his wife with that pathetic knob he calls a cawk. She drempt in the same way her daddy drempt.
Of being ..
famous.
of being… important.
Of being.. a megastar.
Of getting the admiration of wife /backslash, mother, respectively.
That Casey Holiday, she wants to be like her daddy. She gone be like her daddy on Sunday night. On May 22, 2017 -> some 12 tah 15 years in the future. But she don’t know this yet but the Evil Incarnate, he knows it all. Right now he’s just biding his time, smashing that sweet, tight, Mama Holiday poon in place of the supple Megastar poon he knows that he’s going to get in 15 years time.
dream on, little lotti. Dream on. Because just like yo mama, ZMAC is gone be all up in you. And you gone love it.
/FLASH_BACK.EXE -> PRESENT TIME. Pantheon Towers. ZMACS suite.
Buddy Roman arrives with open arms with a hug and a kiss for Ruby and a handshake for ol’ Z.
“ZMAC, my client. Hows it going? Are you ready for you match against Casey Holiday?” Asks the Shape.
“I was actually just telling Ruby a story about that.”
“That’s cute. I’m not about stories and anecdotal atrocities. I’m about action. WE are about action. You are, unlike her, the Hypermedia champion. This is the co-main event of Overload and truth be told, without you she wouldn’t even be in the co-main event and I know that it must really eat her up inside to know that Bonnie is getting that match in before her and that Bonnie will be going on last, instead of her. But that’s what happens when you want the world and don’t know how to get it. You see, she wants to go in and be the victim. Its funny how shes against people her age when she is exactly like people her age. They don’t want to work for anything – they want to be handed everything. She didn’t want to pay her dues and what happened; her daddy got his hip broken. Then she felt guilty and wanted to go on a one woman crusade in the wrestling industry and instead of being thankful, shes insulted because she doesn’t feel appreciated.
Well she’s going to feel appreciated this week when she steps into the ring one on one with the Coked Up Madman – THE PREMIER ATHLETE IN UCI – THE HYPERMEDIA CHAMPION! Afterall, this is wrestling and she doesn’t know how it works. Because her daddy doesn’t know how it works when he taught her. Maybe if he did, they’d have two dimes to rub together but me -> I’m a Jew. I don’t give dimes.
Zero dimes.
I take dimes. I take hopes and dreams and royalty checks. Speaking of that, we are going to a branding agency to get you, my client, to the next level so that WE and that straight up Savage can make soo much money, you could swim in it. Sunday night, Casey is going to learn to count her blessings; even if she has to use her teeth to do it. Unlike her, we ain’t here for games or admiration. We aint here for respect. We ain’t here because we cant do anything less, unlike her. We are here to wreck fools and make money.
That’s what you’ve done, Z, and that’s what you’ll always do. That is something that Casey cannot comprehend. She does this because she loves it. She loves the pomp and circumstance. She sees that fans love and adore her, because that’s the attention that she never got at home when she was a foolish girl. She is a foolish girl now to think that this week she can come out on top against the ultra-violent mad man. I’d be interesting in seeing what she can do – but we all know that she cannot.
Casey Holiday has complained that in four weeks she has not been given the competition that she deserves – well now she is not competition at all. She is not the competition that YOU deserve – not that you deserve anything because you’re going to destroy whoever you come across. That right there is a feeling that she going to have to get used to. Being destroyed. Being used. Getting abused and busted. My client, Zombie McMorris is going to put the one, two, three in that twelve and three that she will soon be after Sunday night. She is going to go into Lazarus with a devastating loss on her record. The Golden Ticket winner could not even get past ol’ Z let alone do what she needs to do to defeat Bonnie Blue or your friend, Kevin Bishop.
Casey Holiday will learn this Sunday that UCI and the world does not revolve around her or her fragile girlish ego. UCI has become a blood sport. Its survive or die and my client, he cannot die. I don’t know where she gets off not feeling appreciated –“
“Clearly she doesn’t get off. Bitch is wound up too fucking tight.” Interjects Ruby.
“ I mean, she won the rising star championship in like her second week. Shes been a finalist after finalist and just won the Golden Ticket, if she was not appreciated in UCI, she’d be like Shadowlove. A whole year in the U and no gold to show for it. She is just a spoiled bitch with a daddy complex.”
“Thank you!” exclaims Ruby. “At least someone gets it!”
“I get it. I always get it.”
~ A Proud Father Teaches a Foolish Dreamer ~
The Holliday family gym. Some ten years ago.
The freeze frame of men grappling in a wrestling ring. Young Lotti Holiday trying to learn the ropes while grappling with her own identity and sexuality. Such are difficult and troubling times in a young woman’s life. Focus on this, Miss. Holliday, Little Lotti. Such times need to be preserved. Remember.
The Shape comes into view with a smile on his face and a message on his lips.
A Young girl, foolish in her endeavors, trying to find her way through the filter of fantasy has found an out in a reflect abba, a proud father, if you will -> but you won’t because being Papa Holliday is nothing to be proud of. A son of his father, papa Holliday dragged his feet through the trail of tears known as the Holliday Wrestling Academy -> even though neither he or his father could lace a boot that was made for Parkinson’s sufferers -> And suffer they did.
A young girl, foolish in her endeavors stomped her foot and held her breath until she got her way. Her way of getting her father, grandfather and a school of lost boys to fondle her in the most inappropriate of inappropriate ways. The ways she dreampt her own stuffed rabbit Ruffles fondled her mother -
RAVAGED HER MOTHER. Night in.
Night out.
Night in.
Night out.
RAVAGED.
T-E-R-R-R-I-Z-E-D
The pleading. The screams. Casey wanted that.
Of course, she didn’t know the truth.
The bills that didn’t meet.
The loans not paid.
The some kind of big turtle in a trench coat that made the Hollidays an offer he couldn’t refuse or else they’d break his hip.
Opps. Spoiler. Looks like ol’ Z just K-racked the k-k-k-kace -y LOLLIDAY.
Her grandfather was a Beta. Her father was a Tetra -> that’s one less than a Beta. He -> They -> They didn’t have the heart to tell poor innocent dreamer, Casey, that Wrestling is hard, punishing, thankless and unforgiving work.
But she wouldn’t listen. She refused to pay her dues and she suffers for it to this very day.
To this very day she is brought down and beaten -> much like her father was-> by her own guilt and conscience. Maybe if she had been a better daughter her daddy wouldn’t have lost the farm and her mother -> her sweet -> sexy-> voluptuous -> big breasted -> full labia like a Kentucky smoked brisket -> grey hound -> feast of a Tennessee slam pig -> mother-> wouldn’t have been the one to settle the debts with the back of her throat and a mattress on her back.
You see, K-k-kaysey, If you had bothered to pay the fuck attention -> no one in your family would have been in this mess to begin with.
You see, I have been in professional wrestling longer than you -> your daddy and your grandpapi have been in this businesss -> combined. I am what you call, a certified G and a bonafied Jew.
And Jew can’t teach that.
Not that you would be bothered to learn -> because -> you know… your daddy doesn’t know the first thing about wrestling so how could he teach you.
Here.
Let me teach you.
Lesson one - R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
You cannot spell wrestling without respect. You cannot do it. If you read between the letters you can find the words. Here. Spell it out.
W R E S T( p) L ( e )I( c ) N( t ) G ( ! )
Its all very technical and complicated. You wouldn’t understand. Your father didn’t understand. That’s how he took a club to the hip.
A real Tanya Harding kind of Leroy Jenkins, kinda party. My Client knows all too well how your daddy begged and screamed.
ops. Spoilers.
Have I touched a nerve yet? Because your lack of understanding and will to learn has really struck a nerve.
No. sorry. Flip that. Reverse that. You have not struck a erve as much as you have inspired me and my client to bestow upon you the process of learning. To which such things are detrimental to your health if you are not careful about what you say and what you do.
WE, you foolish little girl do not care about your daddy-> what you learned-> did -> accomplish -> or what sponcers you have acquired in your meager -> pathetic time as a
“professional wrestler”
You, K-K-K-Kasey are not a professional at anything.
Nor are you a wrestler. Truthfully deep down you are just another wanna be in Bonnie Blue Poon and clothing.
Ooof. Now I know that stings. I know that stings and perhaps with that sting that stung you will begin to understand why you’re a fucking millennia moron. As much as you may not want to hear it, like it, or admit it-
You are just like them.
In every way.
This week you are going against a force of nature that you cannot intimidate or overcome. You will count your blessings if you can survive it-> If MY client allows it.
Spoilers: He won’t.
To this point in your career this is your biggest match. This is your high point. Trust me when I tell you that we have seen a million of you come->go -> KUM-> and get uber’d into that walk of shame.
You are nothing special and I understand ( ahem unlike you ) that being told that you are nothing special will inspire you to climb higher and do better than you did at any point because you want to prove the haters wrong. You are so green that you don’t even see that you are proving them right by doing that.
I want you to try, Casey -> show me that potential of pathetic. Show me the dreams of a foolish girl. Allow them to materialize in the eather of the squared circle.
That’s what we call a wrestling ring because I’m guessing that you didn’t know. I’m wagering the bet that you don’t know a lot.
Knowledge takes time and you just want fame.
All heels do. Except-> You do not know the first thing about heeling.
You don’t know the first time about a cohesive constructive alignment in the business. You’re not a heel. You’re just a little girl who does not know any better. You prove that week in and week out.
Lets take last wek for example. You are upset that Bonnie Blue is getting a world title shot. Why? You won Golden Ticket?
Well if you were smarter than a screen door on a submarine, you would know that you have *A* shot; not the *next* shot.
You talk about not being appreciated-> You are one of the most protected wrestlers in UCI. You complain about fighting scrublords and plebs. You are the number one contender, be thankful you are getting scrublords and plebs. You want the best of the best -> well sweet thang, the best of the best will eat your shitter like an apple fritter.
And my client loves himself some breakfast pastry.
Funny thing is-> last week you cried for this. You felt insulted with Hunter UpDegraff and Spencer Adams actually listened to you. He said:
‘ you know what, Casey is right. Fuck the scrublords.’
You could have had a Mustache bro this week but instead he penciled in MY client, the Evil Incarnate, The Hypermedia Champion, Zombie McMorris.
Now if you are thinking that MY client is little more than the piss ants that you have fought in recent weeks, you are sorely mistaken. You may pass over my client as if he is nothing more than a rambling fool but trust me when I tell you that he commands respect. He is a master of his craft and no, I do not mean dank memes and audio blogs. Then again if you bothered to pay attention, you would know.
If you bothered to pay attention you would know that MY client is the highest base salary talent on the roster. You would know that my client brings in more merch for UCI than forty two percent of the roster. Most importantly you would know that MY client is a legend in this global industry.
Not just in Slatersville, Washington OR wherever it is you are from.
Bellevue, Washington. WOW.
Such legends emerge from Bellevue. Apple juice comes from Bellevue- not wrestling prodigies.
Wrestling prodigies come from the Dirty South. They come from the Big Sleezy.
My client has mastered and pioneered an entire division. You can’t even break clean into one.
Now, now before you stomp in and tell me that you’re something like twelve and one – I don’t care.
WE don’t care. As admitted by yourself you have fought nothing but scurblords and bums. No challenge. No sweat. It is an insult to your broken hip pedigree.
To your Bellevue majesty.
To mothers dick sucking lips.
To your very own fever dreams.
Remember, foolish, childish Casey. You wanted this. You asked for this. You got down on your knees and begged Jam Willy himself for you to fight some marque talent and remember that it is THAT very talent – MY client – that sees you in the Co-main event. If you were fighting scrub lords you would be down in the third match. Jerking curtains like the dicks of an Uber driver because lets face it -> you’re broke.
Wait, you arnt? You have money? You have agents and endorsements? Then why are you wrestling. Wrestling is for sickos and psychopaths. You’re neither. You are just a sad, lost, little girl.
Tugging on Bonnie Blue’s cape; asking for a piggy back ride.
Sunday night, MY client is going full hog on your swine and spine.
as he so eloquently put it -> from the rooter to the tooter. And my dear, this is one rodeo you don’t want to enter.
So just laydown, get comfortable and spread your cheeks because like a GYNO exam..
You will not enjoy this and will not be over quickly.
You will fall to my client. You will lose to my client and you will question your own abilities because if you cannot defeat the coked up madman, you cannot defeat the real Bonnie Blue and you cannot defeat the true Kevin Bishop. So don’t you call this a challenge, because you are not. Do not tell the world that we are underestimating you, we are not.
We are just better than you.
Conquer. The. Hate.
~ If you were There the First Time ~
/FLASH_CUT.EXE -> The locker room to the Holliday family Gym.
A small duffle bag on a cold and broken bench. A stuffed rabbit pokes its nose out of the flap. A closing in to close up on the yellow glossy eyes.
If you were there the first time none of this would have happened. I told you when you were a girl. I warned you when you were but a child but you are still but a child. You are still that same little girl that left me behind because she wanted the sun and stars yet did not know how to shine. Two failures and a breeding whore, do not make you famous.
#Ca$$H_ME_AUTSYDE_HOWBOUTDAT
Two limp dicks in the biz do not make you famous. If’n it could, you would not feel the need because all of your needs were taken care of.
Tell ol’ RuffleZ who you were laying down for in the middle of the ring while your daddy clung to life because he gotten beat down like the Jay-brone he really is.
like your family really is.
like you.
really.
are.
You father got beatdown like a jobbah because he owed the wrong Jew a fat stack-> a fat stack that’s tied with an orange extension cord -> the kind that you run outside for Christmas lights. But K –K-K-K hristmas was a little bleak-> wasn’t it?
Bout time you put two and two together and make fucking sense.
Yo daddy was not successful.
That is why he got his legs busted for a dime rack.
Yo daddy was not successful.
That is why he went undah.
That’s why yo mama went down.
deep.
That’s why you fought.
You felt responsible.
Because are *ARE* responsible.
for all of it.
You were just twenty years old as I rotted in some gym basement. You fought for more money you had ever seen in your life and truthfully for more money than what most people get paid in a year in this business.
How fortunate for you and all it cost you was a paltry forty K to fix the mental trauma that you caused. If you had paid your dues, it would have been different. If you let them manage you, it would have been different.
But you didn’t. Because you are a millennial piece of fucking shit with a chip on your shoulders that refuses gender pronouns but you’ll be damn if that glass house doesn’t kum with a few stones to throw.
So.
Lets throw stones.
You finished 5th in scrublord wrestling. You had two shit title wins that barely made you forty K.
I make forty K before I make forty K.
You burned bridges.
that’s cute. You have a shitty twenty year old temper that has not been tempered by trial by fire or error. In fact, you got a prize worth more than that crumby 250K but you didn’t see it like that. If you had learned to shut that pickle puss you’d have learned a thing or two.
woulda sucked you a dick or two, too.
But hey, you’re on that hard road to fame and stardom bay-beee.
2015.
Lets say that again. Real slow.
two
zero
one
five.
Shee-it, you only started in the U six months ago.
You mean to tell me that you plan on k-k-k-uming up in the U from doz haahd times, plumdah, bay-bee and be the scrublord world champion?
Who have you beaten? Nobody.
what titles have you won? Zero.
Gah, but ol’ Z I won four titles.
Bitch, ol’ Z don’t care. Ol’ Z don’t care cuz you didn’t jack shit about them or with them. All you done did was squander that shit with the Golden Ticket and a shit bum paycheck. I know you don’t think this to be true but ol’ Z is the highest paid talent on the UCI roster.
Why? Because unlike you I have a fucking legacy.
Unlike you I ain’t no bleeding cunt aching for a dick to fill my slit with that good jive bump N’ grind.
But you are getting fucked on Sunday night. Ol’ Z gone make sure of that. We’ll see what you got in that years worth of experience you have with ‘credible’ wrestling organizations.
Spoilers: It ain’t much and it certainly aint enough to turn around and whoop ol’ Z.
You come from a life of: mommy was and daddy wuz and you wanted. You got. I can tel you never fought for anything in your life. I know. I was there through half of it. Watching. Waiting. And now, I’m finally gone get to fuck you. FAH REALZ. In the middle of that ring.
Make sure you got the V-ring in cuz Sunday Night, ol’ Z about give shit kick you so hard, you gone be having twins. Truthfully, I do not care about your shitty golden ticket. I do not care about who you’ve beaten or how you feel slighted by management because you aint smart enough to know how wrestling works. But I’ll let Roman do that explaining, to which, I’m sure he already has.
You need a real daddy to show you whats what in the ring. If you want, I can break my hip if that adds to the authenticity. If’n I want, I can break your pelvis like I did to your mother. You want to know what the next generation looks like inside the ring.
Looks like you.
crying. Broken. Bleeding. Begging.
the spitting image of your papa.
cuz yo mama swallowed my load with a smile on her face.
And me. With a smile on mine.
Deuces Bitch!
~ Sharknado 6 ~
Syfy Executive Headquarters. L.A., California.
ZMAC, the Shape and Ruby Redd sat like ducks in a row, all feigning politeness in those politically correct times what some would call ‘the hard times.’ It was that hardcore plundah, bay-bay. After hearing of Casey Hollidays refusal of the sweetest contract she would get outside of a Wood Rocket film ( LOL look it up.) Ol’ Z, would you take 7 million a year to have creative controls over all your films if you could quit wrestling?
LOL are you fucking high Dianne? Fuck yeah he would. That’s easy peezy lemon squuezy money right there on that table and Casey Holliday done fucked the pooch cuz she has mommy issues ( FYI, that’s how ol’ Rover gets the red rocket over, In rural Wisconsin; of course.)
Of course.
How re-mised we would be in all this if little miss Holliday did not just leave the very best thing she has in her life so that she can continue her S & M and soon to be *Z* fantaZee’s in the wrestling ring.
But such things are her loss. Her loss indeed.
“Mr. Roman, Mr. Worth will see you now.” Replies the secretary, Jessica. Who is slipped a note by ZMAC as he passes that reads:
‘Fuck me. Broom closet. 20 mins.’
Ah, ya boi, ol’Z ALWAYS HANGING N’ BANGIN’
You see, unlike Casey Holliday, There is a sense of brand loyalty- it is one of those hold over from tradition that is passed down from father to son -> from trainer to student. Of course Casey missed that day. Missed leg day too. Everybody skips leg day yet everybody wants to be swole.
Fucking plebs.
UCI has a partnership with Syfy. That’s how overload gets filmed. Syfy’s parent company is NBC -> not Fox. Never Fox. Fawk Fawx.
ZMAC and the gang make their way up to the office of Jonah Worth, former FCC compliance officer turned personal liaison for Syfy to act as a bridge of communications for Syfy and UCI. The gang walks in the office and it seems as though Jonah has done quite nice for himself, quite nice, indeed. Now, he and ZMAC have a history. Jonah would always protest ZMAC and threaten to shut ZMAC down because of his un-PC behaviors and ultra-violent tendencies but this Jonah Worth didn’t seem to mind. He smiled big and wide. He was very positive and greeted ZMAC like an old friend, as if the past few years never happened.
“ZMAC. How have you been?” Smiles Jonah. “Just the man I wanted to see. You look good.” He turns his attention to Roman. “Vincent. Shalom.” He tries to greet Roman but is stone walled.
“You don’t get to say that. That’s not for your kind. Only real Jews get to say Shalom. You are not a real Jew.”
“A quarter-tenth on my mothers side, twice removed.” Jonah jokes with open arms. Vincent smiles as they greet.
“Well Shalom, Bubby.” They shake hands as Jonah moves on to Ruby.
“And this must be Ruby Redd. The stunning Ruby Redd that I have heard so much about.” He kisses her hand as she scoffs at him.
“So you’re the Jonah Worth that tried to shut down my man with FCC regulations.”
“That was so long ago.”
“It was six months ago.”
“I was just doing my job. Ol’ Z understands. He knows whats up. He has a healthy respect for that kind of thing. Besides, I’m working for Syfy, now. Now we get to work together. Now we get to get insanely rich- together. Listen, NBC got word of Fox trying to pry Casey Holliday away from UCI last week, which is, to say the least, a breach of contract on her part. We here at NBC and Syfy control all forms of media-ship involving UCI and its talents; including Casey Holliday. Especially Casey Holliday. NBC and Syfy see this as an attempted coup by Fox to undermined the respectable business practices of Syfy, NBC and UCI. We have a great thing going. They- They almost ruined it. Granted she didn’t take the deal and she was stupid not too – but we would have tied her up in so much litigation her life would have become an Allie McBeal stuff film. It is that, that got us thinking. We need to start branding what is contractually and legally ours- UCI. NBC tasked this job to me, naturally and naturally speaking – I chose the one man I knew could get the job done. We could have gone with Kevin Bishop but he lives in some homosexual commune with seventeen year olds that play pokemon and listen to Skillet. That’s not good for our image. We needed someone that could really get the target demographic with social media and thankfully you are the current Hypermedia Champion. Even if you weren’t, I still would have chosen you because you’re the coked up Madman and you fit perfectly in our Syfy Niche.
Now, we don’t have as much money as Fox and can’t offer you the same exact contract as Casey got but truthfully we would have hammered them hard on distribution rights because We own part of her likeness. You see, ZMAC, being the Dub and dealing with the Dub, I learned how important Gimmick copyrights really are and her whole brand is copyrighted by UCI because it was developed by UCI and shown prominently on UCI and we control UCI’s video and audio distribution. Silverstone International are just a talent agency. They just manage her booking and appearances. They are a PR firm. Syfy, NBC – we own all of it. They very thing that makes Casey Holliday, we own.
So the offer is this:
5 million a year.
a select starring role in one of our many TV based films. This could be one or multiple- depending.
Be a prominent marketing tool in our global branding branding.
What do you say?”
ZMAC thinks it over for a minute.
“Do I get to be in sharknado six?” Asks ZMAC?
“Absolutely!” Replies Jonah. “Although I just need to check a box first. Ahem. Your mothers a whore.”
ZMAC shrugs. “I know.”
“Good. No immature rampaging. That’s a good sign. Now all you need to do is sign this contract in red ink, you know.. to make some symbolic statement of commitment- even though red ink makes a contract invalid.”
“How about I sign in actual blood.”
“Funny, that makes the contract iron clad. We have the Jews to thank for that.”
They all look at Roman.
“I know. You’re welcome.” Replies Roman with a smug smile.
ZMAC takes a straight razor out of his boot and slices his finger before signing the contract in blood.
ZMAC
“ There is just one last thing..” adds Jonah. “You need to make Casey Holliday pay for her- transgressions.”
ZMAC smiles.
“Ab-so-fucking-lutely! This bitch right here, she feels fucking entitled because some sweat shop roided up goon says shes got talent – yah – talent between her tits and thighs- dat thundah bird wing and two poon piece. I got respect for people that go out there and do their own thang but this bitch aint got her own thang even if she could have invented it. Dat Casey Holliday is in for the match of her fucking life. Fuckin’ King Scrublord up in the U right now an ZMAC is huntin’ and dunkin’ like a St. Brenard with a snarky attitude. Gigglin’ N’ shit at your best failed attempt to shoot them flightless birds from the sky N’ shit. This dumb ass bitch talks about New era in UCI – fucking LULZ -> you are fucking looking at him.
It’s ya boi, ol’ Z hangin’ N bangin’ -> doin’ the old dirty to the young and peeerrdyy. Ya know what ya boi iz sayin? Of course you fuckin’ do. I mean-> I get it. Her gimmick is about taking shit lords and making them bigger shit lords because she cant do that to actual *real talent.* She was fucking Joe Smarts the biz’nez when she herself don’t even know the biz’nez. Talkin bout how they got high hopes N’ shit. Ya boi, I know she shit. I know she is the drizzle shits. Talkin’ like a heel wanna be cunt with talent and a spark of flare but as soon as someone presses the mommy button shes a crying sad sack of fem-poon-emotions. Cryin cuz her vag is sad that she ain’t getting respect while also going out there and not giving anyone else respect.
You
fucking
entitled
weeaaboo
millennial.
Shes just a little girl crying about Bonnie Blue -> as if Bonnie Blue is the best talent in WCF.
Fuck -> I got a story about Bonnie Blue.
I fucked her.
She knows it.
Even if she doesn’t know it -> deep down.
I was there.
Now every time I see her in the hallway I give her a wink and a smile and she keeps on walking -> pretending dat ol’ Z aint there. At this point, this shits a game. If’n she acknowlages me -> I win.
Dats what K-k-K-Kasey don’t understand yet. The old I.T. Rules.
You post -> I win.
You don’t post -> I win.
You mouth off like you got something to say -> I win.
Same shit goes for these loser promo matches that we got this week. She comes at ol’ Z -> Ol Z gone curb stomp the filling out her teeth. If’n she says silent -> Ol’ Z gonna tear that pussy up the way daddy used to. If’n she comes at ol’ Z on some fantaZEE trip that ol’ Z ain’t rolling through this fed this the asteroid that wiped the dinosaurs clean rock off the planet -> ol’ Z gonna dove kill a bitch back to the midcard and take her precious Numbah one Kunt-Tendership for the world title. Because as this chick ‘ works her way up to main event status’ -
Ol’Z is waiting at the fucking top with the Huffy of Death, riding up-> ready to murk any fuccboi or FuKayZEE who tries to step up when they ain’t ready and trust me when I say it, Jonah – This bitch just ain’t ready yet. She’s still at the point where she has to earn shots and cry about havin’ to earn them.
OL’ Z..
All I gotz to do is walk into the office of that straight up Savage, Spencer Adams and I got myself a world title shot the next week on Overload but he knows there ain’t no money in that. There ain’t no money in Ol’ Z wrecking Kevin Bishop on some TV Sunday bullshit-> Nah, we drawin’ money on that one. We drawin’ six, seven- eight – nine -> All the figures. Draw so much money Scrooge McDuck gone bust a jealous nut. We done drawin’ so much money, Bob Ross gone be paintin’ happy little trees on them bills.
But Casey needs to keep in mind that this match against ol’ Z ain’t no accident. She wanted to be treated like a stah-> she gone be. She wants to sniff the main event, she can start by sniffin’ my sack as I tea bag this bitch so hard -> the Sham WOW guy is goin’ to make a viral fuckin’ video about it.
BUT WAIT THERES MORE!
After her chance encounter with a wild ZMAC appearing she’ll realize that the ol’ main event just isn’t the place for her. This is too much -> its too fast -> its too soon. I mean, if Bonnie Blue is her pinnicle -> her glimmering house on the hill -> she has zero idea what the main event really is. There be killers here. There be madmen here. Kevin Bishop is the world champ for a reason. Andre Holmes is the IC champ for a reason -> Casey Holliday is jelly of the time lords daughter for a reason.
Because Casey Holliday is not. Casey Holliday is not a main event talent. She is not ready -> she will never be ready -> Trust ol’ Z when he tells you that Casey Holliday does not have what it takes. However, she ain’t going against them this week. Sunday Night its ol’ Z and the fight of her life.
The Ultra-violent HORRORKORE, Coked Up Mad Man, the real MAIN EVENT in UCI is dragging this bitch by her hair to the summit of the mountain in the co-main event. She needs to keep in mind that I was brought in by Spencer Adams himself,but because I’m some midcard talent but because I’m a world wide brand -> not that Casey knows anything about worldwide branding.
Casey needs to forget about Golden Ticket and Bonnie and Kevin. The real main event is right here. The really real challenge is right here. The really real challenge ->
->
-> IS RIGHT FUCKING HERE.
If’n she could be a challenge.
Spoilers: She ain’t.
Sunday night it’s a one on one with the Dank one. That King of Nawlyns, dat Duke of New York -> that Hypermedia Champion.
The best stick man in all of professional wrestling.
And Casey Holliday is gone learn real fucking quick. Real fucking quick, that the Main Event begins and ends with Zombie McMorris and HONEY BADGER DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT HER PUNK ASS -> JOBBAH AZZ STOCK RISING.
Because they all float down here.
You all float down here.
Sunday night is a grim reality that Casey Holliday has no idea what it means to be main event in the U. She is in way over her head and shes drownin’ -> sinking beneath them waves.
Godnilla save her.
Godnilla save them all.
Save them from ya boi -> ol’ Z because he’s about to rip this young upstart a new axe wound and leave her Cross Adickt’ted in the middle of the ring-> Gone leave her crushed and buried with her little Golden Ticket clutched in her hands.
As if it was her salvation.
But salvation spelt Back’widz is damnation.
And in dat Hawt American Darkness -> Dats what we do!
DEUCES BITCH!
Overload 5/22/17
Co-Main Event
ZMAC
vs.
Casey LOLliday
____________________________________________
~ Dat King of Nawlyns ~
~ Yah, I Knew Her ~
Step into the steamed up bathroom in ZMACS suite in Pantheon Towers. ZMAC sits on the toilet tending to his toenails as Ruby Redd is in the shower. ZMAC has a white towel in that barely covers what needs to be covered but hey, whose complaining? ZMACS getting ready as Ruby showers quickly. They are meeting Roman soon for lunch and to discuss some UCI financial deals. ZMAC gets up, leaves the room and comes back a moment later in a pair of red Gildan boxers and his torn jeans thrown over his shoulder. He hops on one leg to get into them as Ruby speaks up from behind the curtain.
“So, are you going to have time to come up with something against that Casey chick?” Says Ruby between the sounds of water splashing off her and hitting the floor.
“You better fucking believe it.” Replies ZMAC, grinning in the mirror, checking his mangled mug and tarnished teeth. “Casey ain’t going no where this week. She ain’t going to get one up on me.”
“Honestly, she’s a bit of a spoiled little bitch; if you ask me.”
“I mean, I didn’t but you know, that’s cool. Just speak out of turn and shit. Do they not got manners up there in intergalactic space?”
“Fuck you, Southpaw.” Ruby thinks for a moment and corrects herself. “ Wait, don’t. I don’t think my cervix can take it.”
“Ya gawddamn right it can’t. Besides, me and casey, we go back.”
“Really? You never told me. You know her?”
“Yah, I knew her. Past tense.”
“Damn Southpaw, tell me about it.”
“Alright.”
/FLASH_CUT.EXE
Go back in time 12 – 15 years. A young Casey Holiday stares up at the chandelier in the living room. Her fantastical girlish trance is broken by the clearing of a feminine throat.
“Casey dear, I was out today and bought you this from an estate sale. I saw it and just knew that you would love it.”
Excited Casey gets to her feet and runs her little childish legs towards her mother whose in the archway of the vaulted door.
“Close your eyes, dear.” Says her mother with an unconstrained smile. Casey closes her eyes and when she opens them theres a fluffy stuffed rabbit with a button nose and yellow glossy eyes staring back at her. She doesn’t know why but she is instantly attached to this stuffed trinket. She gasps and clutches it tight.
“I *love* It.” She squeals. She looks at it again and kisses it on the forehead. “I’m going to call you ruffles.”
Ruffles v/o: Yah bitch, call me ruffles. Call me ruffles cuz later tonight I’mma ruffle yo mama’s azz cheeks. She don’t even know but she gone get it.
“Do you want to watch Seattle North Wrestling Alliance, ruffles?” Asks an innocent child.
Ruffles v/o: Bitch, you gay? I ain’t no FGT. You got any spice channel? Gobble them scrambled tit-tays up like scrambled eggs, ya feel me?
“Oh Ruffles, you’re so funny.” She giggles. As she runs back over to the tube TV and watch some queer as shit indy FGTs do some queer as shit flips in front of like some twenty queer as shit people.
Ruffles v/o: You should get half naked and let grown men grope you for a living, cuz you know.. you ain’t a punk bitch who needs a womens division. You can take those strong masculine hands all over your frail female body- when you’re of age of course. But you know.. there’ll be that time in middle school when you get curious with your cousin and he stuffs leaves up your cooter or like when mommy gets a head ache and don’t wanna deal with yo daddys weak sauce game so he comes into your room late at night. So you know, you got options to how this is going to go down. But wrestling. Do that.
“That’s so awesome, Ruffles. Do you think I can do it?”
Ruffles v/o: Define ‘do.’ Your success will be subjective at best, you’ll be a teetering, walking, talking, hypocrite of a millennial. So, you know, theres that. But you ain’t afraid to check somebody’s privilege. Like this chick you’ll meet in your late teens /backslash early twenties. In reality, you just want to have horrorcore lesbian sex with her. And I’m going to watch and then I’m going to jump in and tap that ass like a maple tree.
“Wow! Thanks, Ruffles! I love you! I’m going to tell mom right now.”
Ruffles v/o: Yah, you do that. You do that and tell her to get the monster condoms for my magnum velveteen dong.
Casey gets up and runs towards the kitchen yelling to her mom. “Mom. Mom. I want to be a wrestler! I want to be a wrestler!”
/FLASH_CUT.EXE -> PRESENT TIME.
Ruby has her head sticking out of the shower in a mix of shock and confusion.
“So wait, are you the rabbit in this story?”
ZMAC nods.
“How’d that happen?” She asks.
“Voo doo doctor.” Says ZMAC, as if being cursed by voo doo doctors is a common place thing. Then again, being from the Big Sleezy, it probably is an everyday thing.
“And you’re talking like this to a what- a six year old? That’s fucked up.”
“Bitch, I’m a velveteen rabbit, I ain’t exactly peachy keen over here. And are you done with your shower, Vincent will be here soon. You done rushed me and you’re over here wasting water like it grows on trees or sum shit.”
“Will you just finish the damn story.”
“Then the hawt dank darkness fell and I came from the blackness.”
/FLASH _CUT.EXE -> the marital bedroom of the Mr. and Mrs. Holliday. There was no Mr. Holliday. He was off like a catholic priest, teaching young men how to grab ass and make it look fake as fuck, the fucking FAKE AS FAWK, WITH THE WEAK ASS GAME.
There was the Honey Badger, smashing the wife poon -> cuz somebodys gotta. Ain’t no rabbit but all may-uhm. He uses the shadows to morph from velveteen prison to liberating shadows to liberating that Mama Holiday poon -> slaying that shit like Custard at little big poon.
/FLASH_CUT.EXE -> The bedroom of young Casey holiday, dreaming the fantastic girlish dreams of being a pro wrestler like her daddy.
Dreaming like her daddy who unbeknownst to her cant get the bills paid because 3k a head to stretch out 17 year old boys in a way he cant stretch out his wife with that pathetic knob he calls a cawk. She drempt in the same way her daddy drempt.
Of being ..
famous.
of being… important.
Of being.. a megastar.
Of getting the admiration of wife /backslash, mother, respectively.
That Casey Holiday, she wants to be like her daddy. She gone be like her daddy on Sunday night. On May 22, 2017 -> some 12 tah 15 years in the future. But she don’t know this yet but the Evil Incarnate, he knows it all. Right now he’s just biding his time, smashing that sweet, tight, Mama Holiday poon in place of the supple Megastar poon he knows that he’s going to get in 15 years time.
dream on, little lotti. Dream on. Because just like yo mama, ZMAC is gone be all up in you. And you gone love it.
/FLASH_BACK.EXE -> PRESENT TIME. Pantheon Towers. ZMACS suite.
Buddy Roman arrives with open arms with a hug and a kiss for Ruby and a handshake for ol’ Z.
“ZMAC, my client. Hows it going? Are you ready for you match against Casey Holiday?” Asks the Shape.
“I was actually just telling Ruby a story about that.”
“That’s cute. I’m not about stories and anecdotal atrocities. I’m about action. WE are about action. You are, unlike her, the Hypermedia champion. This is the co-main event of Overload and truth be told, without you she wouldn’t even be in the co-main event and I know that it must really eat her up inside to know that Bonnie is getting that match in before her and that Bonnie will be going on last, instead of her. But that’s what happens when you want the world and don’t know how to get it. You see, she wants to go in and be the victim. Its funny how shes against people her age when she is exactly like people her age. They don’t want to work for anything – they want to be handed everything. She didn’t want to pay her dues and what happened; her daddy got his hip broken. Then she felt guilty and wanted to go on a one woman crusade in the wrestling industry and instead of being thankful, shes insulted because she doesn’t feel appreciated.
Well she’s going to feel appreciated this week when she steps into the ring one on one with the Coked Up Madman – THE PREMIER ATHLETE IN UCI – THE HYPERMEDIA CHAMPION! Afterall, this is wrestling and she doesn’t know how it works. Because her daddy doesn’t know how it works when he taught her. Maybe if he did, they’d have two dimes to rub together but me -> I’m a Jew. I don’t give dimes.
Zero dimes.
I take dimes. I take hopes and dreams and royalty checks. Speaking of that, we are going to a branding agency to get you, my client, to the next level so that WE and that straight up Savage can make soo much money, you could swim in it. Sunday night, Casey is going to learn to count her blessings; even if she has to use her teeth to do it. Unlike her, we ain’t here for games or admiration. We aint here for respect. We ain’t here because we cant do anything less, unlike her. We are here to wreck fools and make money.
That’s what you’ve done, Z, and that’s what you’ll always do. That is something that Casey cannot comprehend. She does this because she loves it. She loves the pomp and circumstance. She sees that fans love and adore her, because that’s the attention that she never got at home when she was a foolish girl. She is a foolish girl now to think that this week she can come out on top against the ultra-violent mad man. I’d be interesting in seeing what she can do – but we all know that she cannot.
Casey Holiday has complained that in four weeks she has not been given the competition that she deserves – well now she is not competition at all. She is not the competition that YOU deserve – not that you deserve anything because you’re going to destroy whoever you come across. That right there is a feeling that she going to have to get used to. Being destroyed. Being used. Getting abused and busted. My client, Zombie McMorris is going to put the one, two, three in that twelve and three that she will soon be after Sunday night. She is going to go into Lazarus with a devastating loss on her record. The Golden Ticket winner could not even get past ol’ Z let alone do what she needs to do to defeat Bonnie Blue or your friend, Kevin Bishop.
Casey Holiday will learn this Sunday that UCI and the world does not revolve around her or her fragile girlish ego. UCI has become a blood sport. Its survive or die and my client, he cannot die. I don’t know where she gets off not feeling appreciated –“
“Clearly she doesn’t get off. Bitch is wound up too fucking tight.” Interjects Ruby.
“ I mean, she won the rising star championship in like her second week. Shes been a finalist after finalist and just won the Golden Ticket, if she was not appreciated in UCI, she’d be like Shadowlove. A whole year in the U and no gold to show for it. She is just a spoiled bitch with a daddy complex.”
“Thank you!” exclaims Ruby. “At least someone gets it!”
“I get it. I always get it.”
~ A Proud Father Teaches a Foolish Dreamer ~
The Holliday family gym. Some ten years ago.
The freeze frame of men grappling in a wrestling ring. Young Lotti Holiday trying to learn the ropes while grappling with her own identity and sexuality. Such are difficult and troubling times in a young woman’s life. Focus on this, Miss. Holliday, Little Lotti. Such times need to be preserved. Remember.
The Shape comes into view with a smile on his face and a message on his lips.
A Young girl, foolish in her endeavors, trying to find her way through the filter of fantasy has found an out in a reflect abba, a proud father, if you will -> but you won’t because being Papa Holliday is nothing to be proud of. A son of his father, papa Holliday dragged his feet through the trail of tears known as the Holliday Wrestling Academy -> even though neither he or his father could lace a boot that was made for Parkinson’s sufferers -> And suffer they did.
A young girl, foolish in her endeavors stomped her foot and held her breath until she got her way. Her way of getting her father, grandfather and a school of lost boys to fondle her in the most inappropriate of inappropriate ways. The ways she dreampt her own stuffed rabbit Ruffles fondled her mother -
RAVAGED HER MOTHER. Night in.
Night out.
Night in.
Night out.
RAVAGED.
T-E-R-R-R-I-Z-E-D
The pleading. The screams. Casey wanted that.
Of course, she didn’t know the truth.
The bills that didn’t meet.
The loans not paid.
The some kind of big turtle in a trench coat that made the Hollidays an offer he couldn’t refuse or else they’d break his hip.
Opps. Spoiler. Looks like ol’ Z just K-racked the k-k-k-kace -y LOLLIDAY.
Her grandfather was a Beta. Her father was a Tetra -> that’s one less than a Beta. He -> They -> They didn’t have the heart to tell poor innocent dreamer, Casey, that Wrestling is hard, punishing, thankless and unforgiving work.
But she wouldn’t listen. She refused to pay her dues and she suffers for it to this very day.
To this very day she is brought down and beaten -> much like her father was-> by her own guilt and conscience. Maybe if she had been a better daughter her daddy wouldn’t have lost the farm and her mother -> her sweet -> sexy-> voluptuous -> big breasted -> full labia like a Kentucky smoked brisket -> grey hound -> feast of a Tennessee slam pig -> mother-> wouldn’t have been the one to settle the debts with the back of her throat and a mattress on her back.
You see, K-k-kaysey, If you had bothered to pay the fuck attention -> no one in your family would have been in this mess to begin with.
You see, I have been in professional wrestling longer than you -> your daddy and your grandpapi have been in this businesss -> combined. I am what you call, a certified G and a bonafied Jew.
And Jew can’t teach that.
Not that you would be bothered to learn -> because -> you know… your daddy doesn’t know the first thing about wrestling so how could he teach you.
Here.
Let me teach you.
Lesson one - R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
You cannot spell wrestling without respect. You cannot do it. If you read between the letters you can find the words. Here. Spell it out.
W R E S T( p) L ( e )I( c ) N( t ) G ( ! )
Its all very technical and complicated. You wouldn’t understand. Your father didn’t understand. That’s how he took a club to the hip.
A real Tanya Harding kind of Leroy Jenkins, kinda party. My Client knows all too well how your daddy begged and screamed.
ops. Spoilers.
Have I touched a nerve yet? Because your lack of understanding and will to learn has really struck a nerve.
No. sorry. Flip that. Reverse that. You have not struck a erve as much as you have inspired me and my client to bestow upon you the process of learning. To which such things are detrimental to your health if you are not careful about what you say and what you do.
WE, you foolish little girl do not care about your daddy-> what you learned-> did -> accomplish -> or what sponcers you have acquired in your meager -> pathetic time as a
“professional wrestler”
You, K-K-K-Kasey are not a professional at anything.
Nor are you a wrestler. Truthfully deep down you are just another wanna be in Bonnie Blue Poon and clothing.
Ooof. Now I know that stings. I know that stings and perhaps with that sting that stung you will begin to understand why you’re a fucking millennia moron. As much as you may not want to hear it, like it, or admit it-
You are just like them.
In every way.
This week you are going against a force of nature that you cannot intimidate or overcome. You will count your blessings if you can survive it-> If MY client allows it.
Spoilers: He won’t.
To this point in your career this is your biggest match. This is your high point. Trust me when I tell you that we have seen a million of you come->go -> KUM-> and get uber’d into that walk of shame.
You are nothing special and I understand ( ahem unlike you ) that being told that you are nothing special will inspire you to climb higher and do better than you did at any point because you want to prove the haters wrong. You are so green that you don’t even see that you are proving them right by doing that.
I want you to try, Casey -> show me that potential of pathetic. Show me the dreams of a foolish girl. Allow them to materialize in the eather of the squared circle.
That’s what we call a wrestling ring because I’m guessing that you didn’t know. I’m wagering the bet that you don’t know a lot.
Knowledge takes time and you just want fame.
All heels do. Except-> You do not know the first thing about heeling.
You don’t know the first time about a cohesive constructive alignment in the business. You’re not a heel. You’re just a little girl who does not know any better. You prove that week in and week out.
Lets take last wek for example. You are upset that Bonnie Blue is getting a world title shot. Why? You won Golden Ticket?
Well if you were smarter than a screen door on a submarine, you would know that you have *A* shot; not the *next* shot.
You talk about not being appreciated-> You are one of the most protected wrestlers in UCI. You complain about fighting scrublords and plebs. You are the number one contender, be thankful you are getting scrublords and plebs. You want the best of the best -> well sweet thang, the best of the best will eat your shitter like an apple fritter.
And my client loves himself some breakfast pastry.
Funny thing is-> last week you cried for this. You felt insulted with Hunter UpDegraff and Spencer Adams actually listened to you. He said:
‘ you know what, Casey is right. Fuck the scrublords.’
You could have had a Mustache bro this week but instead he penciled in MY client, the Evil Incarnate, The Hypermedia Champion, Zombie McMorris.
Now if you are thinking that MY client is little more than the piss ants that you have fought in recent weeks, you are sorely mistaken. You may pass over my client as if he is nothing more than a rambling fool but trust me when I tell you that he commands respect. He is a master of his craft and no, I do not mean dank memes and audio blogs. Then again if you bothered to pay attention, you would know.
If you bothered to pay attention you would know that MY client is the highest base salary talent on the roster. You would know that my client brings in more merch for UCI than forty two percent of the roster. Most importantly you would know that MY client is a legend in this global industry.
Not just in Slatersville, Washington OR wherever it is you are from.
Bellevue, Washington. WOW.
Such legends emerge from Bellevue. Apple juice comes from Bellevue- not wrestling prodigies.
Wrestling prodigies come from the Dirty South. They come from the Big Sleezy.
My client has mastered and pioneered an entire division. You can’t even break clean into one.
Now, now before you stomp in and tell me that you’re something like twelve and one – I don’t care.
WE don’t care. As admitted by yourself you have fought nothing but scurblords and bums. No challenge. No sweat. It is an insult to your broken hip pedigree.
To your Bellevue majesty.
To mothers dick sucking lips.
To your very own fever dreams.
Remember, foolish, childish Casey. You wanted this. You asked for this. You got down on your knees and begged Jam Willy himself for you to fight some marque talent and remember that it is THAT very talent – MY client – that sees you in the Co-main event. If you were fighting scrub lords you would be down in the third match. Jerking curtains like the dicks of an Uber driver because lets face it -> you’re broke.
Wait, you arnt? You have money? You have agents and endorsements? Then why are you wrestling. Wrestling is for sickos and psychopaths. You’re neither. You are just a sad, lost, little girl.
Tugging on Bonnie Blue’s cape; asking for a piggy back ride.
Sunday night, MY client is going full hog on your swine and spine.
as he so eloquently put it -> from the rooter to the tooter. And my dear, this is one rodeo you don’t want to enter.
So just laydown, get comfortable and spread your cheeks because like a GYNO exam..
You will not enjoy this and will not be over quickly.
You will fall to my client. You will lose to my client and you will question your own abilities because if you cannot defeat the coked up madman, you cannot defeat the real Bonnie Blue and you cannot defeat the true Kevin Bishop. So don’t you call this a challenge, because you are not. Do not tell the world that we are underestimating you, we are not.
We are just better than you.
Conquer. The. Hate.
~ If you were There the First Time ~
/FLASH_CUT.EXE -> The locker room to the Holliday family Gym.
A small duffle bag on a cold and broken bench. A stuffed rabbit pokes its nose out of the flap. A closing in to close up on the yellow glossy eyes.
If you were there the first time none of this would have happened. I told you when you were a girl. I warned you when you were but a child but you are still but a child. You are still that same little girl that left me behind because she wanted the sun and stars yet did not know how to shine. Two failures and a breeding whore, do not make you famous.
#Ca$$H_ME_AUTSYDE_HOWBOUTDAT
Two limp dicks in the biz do not make you famous. If’n it could, you would not feel the need because all of your needs were taken care of.
Tell ol’ RuffleZ who you were laying down for in the middle of the ring while your daddy clung to life because he gotten beat down like the Jay-brone he really is.
like your family really is.
like you.
really.
are.
You father got beatdown like a jobbah because he owed the wrong Jew a fat stack-> a fat stack that’s tied with an orange extension cord -> the kind that you run outside for Christmas lights. But K –K-K-K hristmas was a little bleak-> wasn’t it?
Bout time you put two and two together and make fucking sense.
Yo daddy was not successful.
That is why he got his legs busted for a dime rack.
Yo daddy was not successful.
That is why he went undah.
That’s why yo mama went down.
deep.
That’s why you fought.
You felt responsible.
Because are *ARE* responsible.
for all of it.
You were just twenty years old as I rotted in some gym basement. You fought for more money you had ever seen in your life and truthfully for more money than what most people get paid in a year in this business.
How fortunate for you and all it cost you was a paltry forty K to fix the mental trauma that you caused. If you had paid your dues, it would have been different. If you let them manage you, it would have been different.
But you didn’t. Because you are a millennial piece of fucking shit with a chip on your shoulders that refuses gender pronouns but you’ll be damn if that glass house doesn’t kum with a few stones to throw.
So.
Lets throw stones.
You finished 5th in scrublord wrestling. You had two shit title wins that barely made you forty K.
I make forty K before I make forty K.
You burned bridges.
that’s cute. You have a shitty twenty year old temper that has not been tempered by trial by fire or error. In fact, you got a prize worth more than that crumby 250K but you didn’t see it like that. If you had learned to shut that pickle puss you’d have learned a thing or two.
woulda sucked you a dick or two, too.
But hey, you’re on that hard road to fame and stardom bay-beee.
2015.
Lets say that again. Real slow.
two
zero
one
five.
Shee-it, you only started in the U six months ago.
You mean to tell me that you plan on k-k-k-uming up in the U from doz haahd times, plumdah, bay-bee and be the scrublord world champion?
Who have you beaten? Nobody.
what titles have you won? Zero.
Gah, but ol’ Z I won four titles.
Bitch, ol’ Z don’t care. Ol’ Z don’t care cuz you didn’t jack shit about them or with them. All you done did was squander that shit with the Golden Ticket and a shit bum paycheck. I know you don’t think this to be true but ol’ Z is the highest paid talent on the UCI roster.
Why? Because unlike you I have a fucking legacy.
Unlike you I ain’t no bleeding cunt aching for a dick to fill my slit with that good jive bump N’ grind.
But you are getting fucked on Sunday night. Ol’ Z gone make sure of that. We’ll see what you got in that years worth of experience you have with ‘credible’ wrestling organizations.
Spoilers: It ain’t much and it certainly aint enough to turn around and whoop ol’ Z.
You come from a life of: mommy was and daddy wuz and you wanted. You got. I can tel you never fought for anything in your life. I know. I was there through half of it. Watching. Waiting. And now, I’m finally gone get to fuck you. FAH REALZ. In the middle of that ring.
Make sure you got the V-ring in cuz Sunday Night, ol’ Z about give shit kick you so hard, you gone be having twins. Truthfully, I do not care about your shitty golden ticket. I do not care about who you’ve beaten or how you feel slighted by management because you aint smart enough to know how wrestling works. But I’ll let Roman do that explaining, to which, I’m sure he already has.
You need a real daddy to show you whats what in the ring. If you want, I can break my hip if that adds to the authenticity. If’n I want, I can break your pelvis like I did to your mother. You want to know what the next generation looks like inside the ring.
Looks like you.
crying. Broken. Bleeding. Begging.
the spitting image of your papa.
cuz yo mama swallowed my load with a smile on her face.
And me. With a smile on mine.
Deuces Bitch!
~ Sharknado 6 ~
Syfy Executive Headquarters. L.A., California.
ZMAC, the Shape and Ruby Redd sat like ducks in a row, all feigning politeness in those politically correct times what some would call ‘the hard times.’ It was that hardcore plundah, bay-bay. After hearing of Casey Hollidays refusal of the sweetest contract she would get outside of a Wood Rocket film ( LOL look it up.) Ol’ Z, would you take 7 million a year to have creative controls over all your films if you could quit wrestling?
LOL are you fucking high Dianne? Fuck yeah he would. That’s easy peezy lemon squuezy money right there on that table and Casey Holliday done fucked the pooch cuz she has mommy issues ( FYI, that’s how ol’ Rover gets the red rocket over, In rural Wisconsin; of course.)
Of course.
How re-mised we would be in all this if little miss Holliday did not just leave the very best thing she has in her life so that she can continue her S & M and soon to be *Z* fantaZee’s in the wrestling ring.
But such things are her loss. Her loss indeed.
“Mr. Roman, Mr. Worth will see you now.” Replies the secretary, Jessica. Who is slipped a note by ZMAC as he passes that reads:
‘Fuck me. Broom closet. 20 mins.’
Ah, ya boi, ol’Z ALWAYS HANGING N’ BANGIN’
You see, unlike Casey Holliday, There is a sense of brand loyalty- it is one of those hold over from tradition that is passed down from father to son -> from trainer to student. Of course Casey missed that day. Missed leg day too. Everybody skips leg day yet everybody wants to be swole.
Fucking plebs.
UCI has a partnership with Syfy. That’s how overload gets filmed. Syfy’s parent company is NBC -> not Fox. Never Fox. Fawk Fawx.
ZMAC and the gang make their way up to the office of Jonah Worth, former FCC compliance officer turned personal liaison for Syfy to act as a bridge of communications for Syfy and UCI. The gang walks in the office and it seems as though Jonah has done quite nice for himself, quite nice, indeed. Now, he and ZMAC have a history. Jonah would always protest ZMAC and threaten to shut ZMAC down because of his un-PC behaviors and ultra-violent tendencies but this Jonah Worth didn’t seem to mind. He smiled big and wide. He was very positive and greeted ZMAC like an old friend, as if the past few years never happened.
“ZMAC. How have you been?” Smiles Jonah. “Just the man I wanted to see. You look good.” He turns his attention to Roman. “Vincent. Shalom.” He tries to greet Roman but is stone walled.
“You don’t get to say that. That’s not for your kind. Only real Jews get to say Shalom. You are not a real Jew.”
“A quarter-tenth on my mothers side, twice removed.” Jonah jokes with open arms. Vincent smiles as they greet.
“Well Shalom, Bubby.” They shake hands as Jonah moves on to Ruby.
“And this must be Ruby Redd. The stunning Ruby Redd that I have heard so much about.” He kisses her hand as she scoffs at him.
“So you’re the Jonah Worth that tried to shut down my man with FCC regulations.”
“That was so long ago.”
“It was six months ago.”
“I was just doing my job. Ol’ Z understands. He knows whats up. He has a healthy respect for that kind of thing. Besides, I’m working for Syfy, now. Now we get to work together. Now we get to get insanely rich- together. Listen, NBC got word of Fox trying to pry Casey Holliday away from UCI last week, which is, to say the least, a breach of contract on her part. We here at NBC and Syfy control all forms of media-ship involving UCI and its talents; including Casey Holliday. Especially Casey Holliday. NBC and Syfy see this as an attempted coup by Fox to undermined the respectable business practices of Syfy, NBC and UCI. We have a great thing going. They- They almost ruined it. Granted she didn’t take the deal and she was stupid not too – but we would have tied her up in so much litigation her life would have become an Allie McBeal stuff film. It is that, that got us thinking. We need to start branding what is contractually and legally ours- UCI. NBC tasked this job to me, naturally and naturally speaking – I chose the one man I knew could get the job done. We could have gone with Kevin Bishop but he lives in some homosexual commune with seventeen year olds that play pokemon and listen to Skillet. That’s not good for our image. We needed someone that could really get the target demographic with social media and thankfully you are the current Hypermedia Champion. Even if you weren’t, I still would have chosen you because you’re the coked up Madman and you fit perfectly in our Syfy Niche.
Now, we don’t have as much money as Fox and can’t offer you the same exact contract as Casey got but truthfully we would have hammered them hard on distribution rights because We own part of her likeness. You see, ZMAC, being the Dub and dealing with the Dub, I learned how important Gimmick copyrights really are and her whole brand is copyrighted by UCI because it was developed by UCI and shown prominently on UCI and we control UCI’s video and audio distribution. Silverstone International are just a talent agency. They just manage her booking and appearances. They are a PR firm. Syfy, NBC – we own all of it. They very thing that makes Casey Holliday, we own.
So the offer is this:
5 million a year.
a select starring role in one of our many TV based films. This could be one or multiple- depending.
Be a prominent marketing tool in our global branding branding.
What do you say?”
ZMAC thinks it over for a minute.
“Do I get to be in sharknado six?” Asks ZMAC?
“Absolutely!” Replies Jonah. “Although I just need to check a box first. Ahem. Your mothers a whore.”
ZMAC shrugs. “I know.”
“Good. No immature rampaging. That’s a good sign. Now all you need to do is sign this contract in red ink, you know.. to make some symbolic statement of commitment- even though red ink makes a contract invalid.”
“How about I sign in actual blood.”
“Funny, that makes the contract iron clad. We have the Jews to thank for that.”
They all look at Roman.
“I know. You’re welcome.” Replies Roman with a smug smile.
ZMAC takes a straight razor out of his boot and slices his finger before signing the contract in blood.
ZMAC
“ There is just one last thing..” adds Jonah. “You need to make Casey Holliday pay for her- transgressions.”
ZMAC smiles.
“Ab-so-fucking-lutely! This bitch right here, she feels fucking entitled because some sweat shop roided up goon says shes got talent – yah – talent between her tits and thighs- dat thundah bird wing and two poon piece. I got respect for people that go out there and do their own thang but this bitch aint got her own thang even if she could have invented it. Dat Casey Holliday is in for the match of her fucking life. Fuckin’ King Scrublord up in the U right now an ZMAC is huntin’ and dunkin’ like a St. Brenard with a snarky attitude. Gigglin’ N’ shit at your best failed attempt to shoot them flightless birds from the sky N’ shit. This dumb ass bitch talks about New era in UCI – fucking LULZ -> you are fucking looking at him.
It’s ya boi, ol’ Z hangin’ N bangin’ -> doin’ the old dirty to the young and peeerrdyy. Ya know what ya boi iz sayin? Of course you fuckin’ do. I mean-> I get it. Her gimmick is about taking shit lords and making them bigger shit lords because she cant do that to actual *real talent.* She was fucking Joe Smarts the biz’nez when she herself don’t even know the biz’nez. Talkin bout how they got high hopes N’ shit. Ya boi, I know she shit. I know she is the drizzle shits. Talkin’ like a heel wanna be cunt with talent and a spark of flare but as soon as someone presses the mommy button shes a crying sad sack of fem-poon-emotions. Cryin cuz her vag is sad that she ain’t getting respect while also going out there and not giving anyone else respect.
You
fucking
entitled
weeaaboo
millennial.
Shes just a little girl crying about Bonnie Blue -> as if Bonnie Blue is the best talent in WCF.
Fuck -> I got a story about Bonnie Blue.
I fucked her.
She knows it.
Even if she doesn’t know it -> deep down.
I was there.
Now every time I see her in the hallway I give her a wink and a smile and she keeps on walking -> pretending dat ol’ Z aint there. At this point, this shits a game. If’n she acknowlages me -> I win.
Dats what K-k-K-Kasey don’t understand yet. The old I.T. Rules.
You post -> I win.
You don’t post -> I win.
You mouth off like you got something to say -> I win.
Same shit goes for these loser promo matches that we got this week. She comes at ol’ Z -> Ol Z gone curb stomp the filling out her teeth. If’n she says silent -> Ol’ Z gonna tear that pussy up the way daddy used to. If’n she comes at ol’ Z on some fantaZEE trip that ol’ Z ain’t rolling through this fed this the asteroid that wiped the dinosaurs clean rock off the planet -> ol’ Z gonna dove kill a bitch back to the midcard and take her precious Numbah one Kunt-Tendership for the world title. Because as this chick ‘ works her way up to main event status’ -
Ol’Z is waiting at the fucking top with the Huffy of Death, riding up-> ready to murk any fuccboi or FuKayZEE who tries to step up when they ain’t ready and trust me when I say it, Jonah – This bitch just ain’t ready yet. She’s still at the point where she has to earn shots and cry about havin’ to earn them.
OL’ Z..
All I gotz to do is walk into the office of that straight up Savage, Spencer Adams and I got myself a world title shot the next week on Overload but he knows there ain’t no money in that. There ain’t no money in Ol’ Z wrecking Kevin Bishop on some TV Sunday bullshit-> Nah, we drawin’ money on that one. We drawin’ six, seven- eight – nine -> All the figures. Draw so much money Scrooge McDuck gone bust a jealous nut. We done drawin’ so much money, Bob Ross gone be paintin’ happy little trees on them bills.
But Casey needs to keep in mind that this match against ol’ Z ain’t no accident. She wanted to be treated like a stah-> she gone be. She wants to sniff the main event, she can start by sniffin’ my sack as I tea bag this bitch so hard -> the Sham WOW guy is goin’ to make a viral fuckin’ video about it.
BUT WAIT THERES MORE!
After her chance encounter with a wild ZMAC appearing she’ll realize that the ol’ main event just isn’t the place for her. This is too much -> its too fast -> its too soon. I mean, if Bonnie Blue is her pinnicle -> her glimmering house on the hill -> she has zero idea what the main event really is. There be killers here. There be madmen here. Kevin Bishop is the world champ for a reason. Andre Holmes is the IC champ for a reason -> Casey Holliday is jelly of the time lords daughter for a reason.
Because Casey Holliday is not. Casey Holliday is not a main event talent. She is not ready -> she will never be ready -> Trust ol’ Z when he tells you that Casey Holliday does not have what it takes. However, she ain’t going against them this week. Sunday Night its ol’ Z and the fight of her life.
The Ultra-violent HORRORKORE, Coked Up Mad Man, the real MAIN EVENT in UCI is dragging this bitch by her hair to the summit of the mountain in the co-main event. She needs to keep in mind that I was brought in by Spencer Adams himself,but because I’m some midcard talent but because I’m a world wide brand -> not that Casey knows anything about worldwide branding.
Casey needs to forget about Golden Ticket and Bonnie and Kevin. The real main event is right here. The really real challenge is right here. The really real challenge ->
->
-> IS RIGHT FUCKING HERE.
If’n she could be a challenge.
Spoilers: She ain’t.
Sunday night it’s a one on one with the Dank one. That King of Nawlyns, dat Duke of New York -> that Hypermedia Champion.
The best stick man in all of professional wrestling.
And Casey Holliday is gone learn real fucking quick. Real fucking quick, that the Main Event begins and ends with Zombie McMorris and HONEY BADGER DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT HER PUNK ASS -> JOBBAH AZZ STOCK RISING.
Because they all float down here.
You all float down here.
Sunday night is a grim reality that Casey Holliday has no idea what it means to be main event in the U. She is in way over her head and shes drownin’ -> sinking beneath them waves.
Godnilla save her.
Godnilla save them all.
Save them from ya boi -> ol’ Z because he’s about to rip this young upstart a new axe wound and leave her Cross Adickt’ted in the middle of the ring-> Gone leave her crushed and buried with her little Golden Ticket clutched in her hands.
As if it was her salvation.
But salvation spelt Back’widz is damnation.
And in dat Hawt American Darkness -> Dats what we do!
DEUCES BITCH!
