Post by hostile on May 16, 2006 9:55:46 GMT -5
Pulled Another Fast One On Those Idiots.
Such a labeling title if I do say so myself. Yes, I lost by a COUNT OUT, but Lantlas never got the chance to pin my shoulders down for a three count. Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to kick his blue haired ass for a second time in two weeks either. So it's a give and fuck situation. Speaking of the second option there, I had to call my gals back home in California to let them know what was going on and what the result of my match was. Oh by the way, if Prophet and Pegasus think they are going to defeat Tha UnHoly Alliance, well they better think twice. So pulling out my cell, I dialed the home phone number and waited outside of the arena.
-Willard- [To himself]
Hurry up god damnit, one of you two bitches pick the hell up.
Glancing down at my watch and tossing my braids back out of my face, I gave up having gotten no answer. Sliding the electronical device back into a side pocket on the inner portion of my trench coat, I lifted out a pack of menthol cigarettes. Before even getting the chance to place one to my lips and light it however, I heard a voice go off around me that sounded waaaayyyyy too familiar.
-????-
Jassssssooonnn.....come out and plllllaaaayyyyy
Dropping my cig in utter shock, I looked around frantically, wondering how the fuck this person followed me here. Shaking my head from side to side, I begun to pace around the arena, looking for a fight with this individual. This person was none other than my former drug dealer. So I clutched onto my cane by the near bottom and was ready to attack if I found that low life scumbag. Maneuvering past cars, I searched high and low as the moon radiated its glowing light down on me. But just when I thought I spotted the mother fucker, my phone rung. The first words out of my mouth were "Jesus fucking Christ". Pulling it out of my pocket, I looked at the number that showed up and well if it couldn't have been any worse timing, it was from my house.
-Willard-
WHAT!? Ok I'm sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice at you two. No of course I'm not mad at you. It's just I'm a little on edge right now because I think an old friend of mine decided to pay me a visit here tonight, and I'm going to find him before taking the first flight home. No, I took a count out because I elected to not even show for the match. I didn't feel like getting my hands greasy tonight so I declined to face him. I probably would have bored myself to tears by getting in that ring with him. Ok, I'll see you two primitive screw heads when I get back home. Bye.
And with that, I closed the cell back up and placed it in the same pocket as my cigs. But as my focus had been diverted for the moment, it quickly regains its composure the second I saw that son of a bitch right by my car. He was running his index finger along the edge of my door, dressed just like I remembered him to look like. A wannabe Goth. I marched over to him, pushed his off MY vehicle and tossed my bag that contained MY tag team title in it. Oh a collision course was going to happen less than a week early alright. Jason Willard versus the Scumbag Drug Dealer.
-Dealer-
Mr. Willard, I see you were able to find me just fine. Just what I can bargain you into tonight? Crack? Prescription Pills? Oh I know, how about a nice cool needle of Heroin?
It was at this point of cutting him off that my right hand had ahold of his throat with a tighter than tight grasp. He struggled for air as my grip only strengthened. I was ready to crush his larynx right there, but I thought better of a murder charge and let him go. Once I did that, he fell to his knees and fought for air. I placed the nose of the horse from my cane down onto the crown of his head and was ready to raise it and let it fall like a guillotine, but again, thought better of it.
-Willard-
I don't get what it is with you former rebellious teens anymore. You think you can make it in this world by selling drugs to honest, tax paying citizens like myself and when they had to go through HELL to get cleaned up, coming looking for them because they are you're best client. Well I'm sorry Terrance, if that is your real name. But I have children and a life now. Your drug trade for my body is Ancient History.
Terrance laughed as I lept into my car. Turning on the ignition just as I placed my cane beside me, he pulled himself up and continued to laugh at my attempts to take him down. Holding his throat temporarily, he backed off when I glanced at him to show that the next move he made might be his final one. I gave him the cool head nod like he just made the best decision of his life.
-Terrance-
You were my best client some few years ago Willard. I will openly admit to that one. But times, like the days change. But because I know how much of a dispenser you were for my supply that I just HAD to track you down to your root source. A wrestling match. So you can keep lying to yourself that you’re a changed man. OR, you can take a hit of what's in pocket number one.
I watched on as he pulled out a shaky bottle of pills. As I leaned in to read the label, my eyes grew wide and my mouth quivered. In his hand, was a bottle of a drug known as Zoloft. A drug that treats depression, social anxiety disorder, posttraumatic stress disorder, panic disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and premenstrual dysphoric disorder. But when I had last taken it, the drug nearly wiped me out completely. Terrance smiled a half smile, seeing that I was interested. My hands begun to shake, my mind destroyed of any thought of Prophet and Pegasus. The offer was tempting and my ex-dealer knew it. Slowly I grabbed the bottle and looked ready to close the deal.
-Willard-
How much you asking for these?
-Terrance-
For anyone else, I'd be asking a high price for these babies. Since teenagers love to pop these things like they were rock candy. But because you are an adult now and I know what these can do for you, I'll sell them for $150. Think of it as helping out an old friend. You need the high, I need the dough. What can go wrong?
I felt uncomfortable, knowing that I had a match coming up Sunday of high importance. But I couldn't resist any longer. I pulled out the exact amount and slapped it down in his hand. He laughed and thanked me for doing business again before getting shunned for a handshake. Nodding he took off into the night, leaving me there with three items. My bag with my ring gear and tag title in it. My cane. My drug. Oh and my cell phone. But no longer did I have pride. After taking a few of these at one time, would I have a life?
-END-
Such a labeling title if I do say so myself. Yes, I lost by a COUNT OUT, but Lantlas never got the chance to pin my shoulders down for a three count. Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to kick his blue haired ass for a second time in two weeks either. So it's a give and fuck situation. Speaking of the second option there, I had to call my gals back home in California to let them know what was going on and what the result of my match was. Oh by the way, if Prophet and Pegasus think they are going to defeat Tha UnHoly Alliance, well they better think twice. So pulling out my cell, I dialed the home phone number and waited outside of the arena.
-Willard- [To himself]
Hurry up god damnit, one of you two bitches pick the hell up.
Glancing down at my watch and tossing my braids back out of my face, I gave up having gotten no answer. Sliding the electronical device back into a side pocket on the inner portion of my trench coat, I lifted out a pack of menthol cigarettes. Before even getting the chance to place one to my lips and light it however, I heard a voice go off around me that sounded waaaayyyyy too familiar.
-????-
Jassssssooonnn.....come out and plllllaaaayyyyy
Dropping my cig in utter shock, I looked around frantically, wondering how the fuck this person followed me here. Shaking my head from side to side, I begun to pace around the arena, looking for a fight with this individual. This person was none other than my former drug dealer. So I clutched onto my cane by the near bottom and was ready to attack if I found that low life scumbag. Maneuvering past cars, I searched high and low as the moon radiated its glowing light down on me. But just when I thought I spotted the mother fucker, my phone rung. The first words out of my mouth were "Jesus fucking Christ". Pulling it out of my pocket, I looked at the number that showed up and well if it couldn't have been any worse timing, it was from my house.
-Willard-
WHAT!? Ok I'm sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice at you two. No of course I'm not mad at you. It's just I'm a little on edge right now because I think an old friend of mine decided to pay me a visit here tonight, and I'm going to find him before taking the first flight home. No, I took a count out because I elected to not even show for the match. I didn't feel like getting my hands greasy tonight so I declined to face him. I probably would have bored myself to tears by getting in that ring with him. Ok, I'll see you two primitive screw heads when I get back home. Bye.
And with that, I closed the cell back up and placed it in the same pocket as my cigs. But as my focus had been diverted for the moment, it quickly regains its composure the second I saw that son of a bitch right by my car. He was running his index finger along the edge of my door, dressed just like I remembered him to look like. A wannabe Goth. I marched over to him, pushed his off MY vehicle and tossed my bag that contained MY tag team title in it. Oh a collision course was going to happen less than a week early alright. Jason Willard versus the Scumbag Drug Dealer.
-Dealer-
Mr. Willard, I see you were able to find me just fine. Just what I can bargain you into tonight? Crack? Prescription Pills? Oh I know, how about a nice cool needle of Heroin?
It was at this point of cutting him off that my right hand had ahold of his throat with a tighter than tight grasp. He struggled for air as my grip only strengthened. I was ready to crush his larynx right there, but I thought better of a murder charge and let him go. Once I did that, he fell to his knees and fought for air. I placed the nose of the horse from my cane down onto the crown of his head and was ready to raise it and let it fall like a guillotine, but again, thought better of it.
-Willard-
I don't get what it is with you former rebellious teens anymore. You think you can make it in this world by selling drugs to honest, tax paying citizens like myself and when they had to go through HELL to get cleaned up, coming looking for them because they are you're best client. Well I'm sorry Terrance, if that is your real name. But I have children and a life now. Your drug trade for my body is Ancient History.
Terrance laughed as I lept into my car. Turning on the ignition just as I placed my cane beside me, he pulled himself up and continued to laugh at my attempts to take him down. Holding his throat temporarily, he backed off when I glanced at him to show that the next move he made might be his final one. I gave him the cool head nod like he just made the best decision of his life.
-Terrance-
You were my best client some few years ago Willard. I will openly admit to that one. But times, like the days change. But because I know how much of a dispenser you were for my supply that I just HAD to track you down to your root source. A wrestling match. So you can keep lying to yourself that you’re a changed man. OR, you can take a hit of what's in pocket number one.
I watched on as he pulled out a shaky bottle of pills. As I leaned in to read the label, my eyes grew wide and my mouth quivered. In his hand, was a bottle of a drug known as Zoloft. A drug that treats depression, social anxiety disorder, posttraumatic stress disorder, panic disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and premenstrual dysphoric disorder. But when I had last taken it, the drug nearly wiped me out completely. Terrance smiled a half smile, seeing that I was interested. My hands begun to shake, my mind destroyed of any thought of Prophet and Pegasus. The offer was tempting and my ex-dealer knew it. Slowly I grabbed the bottle and looked ready to close the deal.
-Willard-
How much you asking for these?
-Terrance-
For anyone else, I'd be asking a high price for these babies. Since teenagers love to pop these things like they were rock candy. But because you are an adult now and I know what these can do for you, I'll sell them for $150. Think of it as helping out an old friend. You need the high, I need the dough. What can go wrong?
I felt uncomfortable, knowing that I had a match coming up Sunday of high importance. But I couldn't resist any longer. I pulled out the exact amount and slapped it down in his hand. He laughed and thanked me for doing business again before getting shunned for a handshake. Nodding he took off into the night, leaving me there with three items. My bag with my ring gear and tag title in it. My cane. My drug. Oh and my cell phone. But no longer did I have pride. After taking a few of these at one time, would I have a life?
-END-