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Winners vs Losers; aka Dead Girls and Emos
Topic Started: Oct 1 2008, 03:26 PM (119 Views)
"Bad Ass" Matt Covey
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Bad MF'er
A sports broadcast on ESPN is showing, detailing the highlights and the latest news as to who beat who and what team kicked the ass of another team. Blah, blah, blah, you don’t want to read any of that shit. Suddenly, the channel turns into a hazy screen of static, the channel abuzz with the white snow of a channel out of tune. And then it comes into clear view once more, a dimly lit room taking the center stage. What looks like a hospital bed with a body lying upon it is clearly visible. A doctor in scrubs has his back turned to the camera, looking over a chart and checking the readings of the EKG next to the bed. The doctor looks the patient over, his fingers on the pulse of her neck as the heart monitor suddenly flat lines, the annoying sound filling the room before the doctor unhooks her from the machine. The doctor looks to the floor and sighs.

Doctor: Oh woe is my heart, left bleeding alongside this slut that I was unable to resuscitate. Why lord? Why? Why couldn’t I have gotten just one more blow job from the skank?

The doctor suddenly turns towards the camera and removes his mask, revealing the sadistic son of a bitch the world knew as “The One Man Riot” Alan Fiscus. He grinned malevolently as he glared into the camera.

Alan Fiscus: Ah well. There’s more bitches in the sea where that one came from. Just another life taken from the Storm…Brothers! Bah-ha-ha! How deserving is it, that the moniker “Nice guys finish last” holds so appropriately true? Certain individuals want to be the namby-pamby well-doers in the world, and the lord doth rape and take away all those things they hold dearest. And yet people like myself can aimlessly point a gun at the world, pull the trigger and get everything we’ve ever wanted. Life, a lot like irony, is beautiful in that respect. Oh Mr. assistant!

Matt Covey suddenly walks into view, his hair a mess as it dangles loosely around his eyes, his face ridden with the forever constant stubble that hides his cold and uncaring face. Unlike Alan, he’s not dressed any certain way out of the ordinary, his leather jacket and denim jeans a constant in his attire. Alan performs a pirouette and looks back at Matt.

Alan Fiscus: Please prep the patient for the ever so sexy post mortem autopsy. Oh yes, I feel I’m going to enjoy this. Another bonus to things you can get away with when you decide to tell the world where they can stick it!

Matt smirks and pulls the covers back off the patient, her body revealed as she lies unmoving in a hospital gown. A closer inspection of the body reveals the woman to actually be Alan’s latest female interest, Stephanie, who is trying her damndest not to crack up at Allen’s words.

Alan Fiscus: A piece of advice there, Dougie boy. When she kicks it, you gotta hit that shit while it’s still warm. One last ride on the merry-go-round before they put that ice cold bitch underground. Ya dig?

Bad Ass: Bury the bone before you bury the bitch.

Alan Fiscus: Ah, I see Mr. Covey has decided to grant us a piece of his mind. You were saying?

Bad Ass: I’ll fill you in on something, Dougie. A little bird has flown by, dropping off little tidbits of your thoughts and words. Let me clarify something for you. You act like we could never understand what you’re going through? The whole “I’m crying my eyes out because the woman I love is fading fast” routine? f**k you. You don’t know me. I didn’t get the chance to watch the love of my life die in a hospital, or to even say goodbye for that matter. I watched mine OD and die in the middle of a hotel bathroom, not knowing she was even in trouble until it was too damn late. Been there, done that, got over it. Now you’ll probably want to say “Oh, well maybe that’s what the world has done to him to make him lash out like he does”. But like the standard dumb ass, you’d be wrong. I don’t need a reason to do the things I do. Like you said, you enjoy competition and performing in a ring. I like kicking people’s asses for nothing at all, and pissing on everybody who ever gave a damn about anything.

Alan Fiscus: Don’t forget he called you a patsy. A lackey. A no good damn dirty sidekick…

Matt suddenly places his hand over Alan’s mouth to silence him, still looking at the camera.

Bad Ass: About that. What? You’ve never worked for somebody else before? I take it then, that you’ve never held a regular nine to five job? Never had a manager who gave you shit, but handed you a pay check week in and week out? If you say no to any of that, you’re a f**king liar. But the difference between you and me? Sure, I worked for Montana, but I got to do what I loved, and that’s kick the unforgiving shit out of people. I earned a paycheck for kicking ass, which I would regularly do for free. Does that make me a lackey? Maybe in your fantasy butt-f*cking candy land. But here in the real world, that makes you a business man. My business is kicking ass, and business is good. Damn good. I went from making a paycheck as an enforcer on one show, to stirring up trouble, pissing people off, beating the greatest stable to grace the CZW, and winning some shitty ass tag title on the other show. All while getting paid to throw a wrench in the gears, which I already do on a daily basis anyhow. Not to mention I’m currently tossing the ol’ cock to the finest woman to ever hold an interview. Say hi, Jenny.

Jenny Jacobs voice resonates from behind the camera, clearly signifying that she is the camera woman.

Jenny Jacobs: Hey, you sexy beast.

Bad Ass: Go ahead guys. Talk about how your love for competition is going to carry you through matches, and Dougie’s girlfriend slobbing on the cock of the grim reaper. What Alan said holds true, you’re going to continue to finish last because honestly, you’re the nice guys. You don’t have what it takes to cross that line that reads “f*ck it” and doing something rash and impulsive that’s going to carry you out of that hut you live in down in Loserville. But us? We do. As a matter of fact, if you’re having that hard of a time dealing with your girl’s current condition, give me a call, and I’ll come down there and pull the f**king plug for ya. And then I’ll slap you in the face for being such a bitch about the whole ordeal. Suck it up, and be a man, damnit. And Travis? You know, if you get pissed at your little video game because you’re getting your ass handed to you like some mirror reflection of real life, I can always come to your house and smash the f**king machine on your face. I call that killing two bitches with one stone. Alright Alan, I’m done here.

Alan Fiscus: Well, damn. Did you have to go that harsh on them? They are still kind of young and naïve to the ways of the world you know. Of course I myself would have been sure to show them the ropes. I’d simply beat the hell out of Streetfighter II while f*cking the girl’s dead corpse. Talking about a high SCORE! Wooooo!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The tape suddenly pauses and the screen pans outward to find that it was a recording being played on a television monitor. Panning back further, Matt Covey can be seen sitting in a chair amidst a lavish looking room. He scratches his head before turning to the camera.

Bad Ass: First thing’s first. This was an unfinished promo Alan and I shot a few weeks ago right about the time we first fought the British bastards who would go on to beat us in our match. Of course we then beat them stupid after the match. They may have won a battle that night, but we won the war. Looking back at this tape now, it seems a bit has changed in just a few short weeks. Number one, I’ve no longer got the baggage that is Jenny Jacobs loose twat, swinging on the end of my dick. Been there, f**ked that. Well…that’s pretty much the only thing that’s changed. I’m still the meanest mother f*cer to stomp an ass in a wrestling ring, and Alan Fiscus is still one sadistic son of a bitch. So tell me something ya crumpet sucking Brits, how is that dying girlfriend that the two of you share? I honestly wouldn’t know. While you guys have faded back into obscurity, I’ve been dismembering the once greatest stable in CZW, XTC. While you guys were playing paper, rock, scissors to find out who was gonna f**k the dead girl, I’ve been humiliating the roster left and right. So you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t exactly keep up with the business of nobodies.

Matt picks up a beer from a table next to him and throws his head back, extinguishing a massive gulp of the brew.

Bad Ass: Seems here lately, you guys have been real quiet. Which isn’t surprising, I mean, how many times can you tell the world you thrive on competition and depressing baggage of the female variety? How many video games can you play before people stop taking you seriously? Well, when you finally do open your mouths, I’m sure I can pretty much figure out the gist of what you’re likely to say. Blah, blah, blah… We beat you guys in our previous encounter. Blah, blah, blah… Matt married a he bitch. Blah, blah, f**king blah… Alan Fiscus isn’t a hundred percent after his hell in a cell match. Blah, blah, blah… we Storm Brothers love playing an old fashioned game of circle jerk. It keeps us in shape physically and sexually.

Matt hit’s the beer once more and then tosses the empty bottle off screen, the sound of it shattering able to be heard.

Bad Ass: Bravo, Storms. Sounds like a hell of a promo to cut. But there’s a few flaws to it. Number one, sure you beat us previously. Big whoop, everybody gets tossed a bone once in a while, and no I’m not talking about what the two of you will toss each other once graveyard Annie passes away, if she hasn’t already by now. Like I said, I don’t keep up with nobodies, including dead ones. Just remember that regardless of a win or loss, I’m going to continue to beat the unforgiving sh*t out of you, simply because I can. That’s my style, that’s how I roll. But Alan on the other hand, is not letting go of these belts any time soon. As a matter of fact, I see you guys taking a permanent seat on the injured and inactive list before you so much as get your rank ass British breath on those belts. So no win for you means no gold for you either.

Matt pauses to reach down into a cooler next to the chair, from which he retrieves a fresh beer, prying the top off with his teeth and then spiting it at the camera, the top bouncing off somewhere off screen.

Bad Ass: Number two, I married a he bitch? Yeah, that’s what everybody is talking about at the moment. Problem being, I never expressed any vows, and I wasn’t wearing a f*cking ring when she-man engulfed my face. So with an excellent legal team, I could have the marriage annulled. But I have other plans for the beast what smuggles beef. A more permanent solution, if you will. So go ahead, laugh it up. Give me more fuel to add to the fire that is going to be me tearing your heads off and then sh*ttng down your f*cking throats. I dare you. Number three, Alan Fiscus doesn’t have to be at a hundred percent to smack two little bitches around. He eats chumps like you for breakfast, and then sh*ts you out just after lunch, leaving you looking better than you did before you faced him. But just so you know…

Matt tosses the freshly opened beer towards the side of the room. Just as you think it’s going to fly off screen, a hand comes from out of nowhere and catches it. Alan Fiscus then promptly walks into view, pulling up a chair next to Matt’s. Unlike a few days before, Alan merely has a tiny bandage placed just above his right eye, though a few minor bruises remain.

Alan Fiscus: Hey chumps! Surprised to see me out of the hospital so soon? Here’s a bit of info for you guys. I’ll say it nice and slow so even Travis can understand me. I…HEAL…FAST. As a matter of fact, I’d say I’m at least at ninety nine percent. So go ahead, tell the world Alan Fiscus isn’t a hundred percent. I don’t even need to be at half my game to destroy a couple of necrophilia’s. Matt, you gotta let me take the last one.

Bad Ass: Go for it.

Matt grabs himself a new beer as Alan takes a swig of his own, before staring back into the camera, his eyes wide, but nowhere near as wide as the sadistic grin he sports.

Alan Fiscus: Number four! You guys like to play circle jerk? Now, I’m not sure what kind of f*cked up traditions you snobby English bastards have brought over seas with you from that hell hole that God threw up and forgot to flush… But here in America, if you’re going to perform such acts, you’re just going to have to share the footage with the rest of the class. Meaning, we’re gonna leak you sick f*cks on the internet for the world to see. Normally, I’d suggest to each their own, but with the kind of sexual deviant perversions the two of you engage in, I’m finding it hard to find out where you belong. My first instinct is the three rings of Barnum and Bailey’s circus. But then this echoing voice in the back of my head, insists you move to Philadelphia, the home of “brotherly” love. So you fella’s mull it over and get back to me on that. I’m going to need to know where to send you after we’ve broken you and left you comatose for the better half of a year.

Bad Ass: Yeah, you’re a lot nicer than I am. I would’ve just dropped their comatose asses off at a landfill and let somebody else deal with them. But never the less, Alan speaks the truth. What he started by himself two weeks ago by cracking your skulls open, the two of us will finish this week. And after that? You will never, ever, get another shot at Alan’s titles again.

Alan Fiscus: You still insist upon them just being my titles?

Bad Ass: I don’t give a rat’s ass about championships. You know this. Besides, you pull off the “golden bra” look nicely when you drape one over each shoulder.

Alan Fiscus: I do, don’t I?

Bad Ass: But speaking of two weeks ago…

Alan Fiscus: Ah, yes. Beautiful Agony, don’t think we’ve forgotten about you in this amazing little rendition of “As your world turns”! We give credit where credit is due, which of course is why we’ve spent the better part of this interview, dishing it out to the Incest Brothers, as opposed to the few minutes of our time you’ll be receiving.

Bad Ass: When you’re right, you’re right. You see guys, the only reason the two of you are even involved in this match is because Alan did you guys a favor. Instead of letting the Storm brothers slap you silly and f*ck you stupid while performing the man dance…

Alan Fiscus: Which Jacob Havok would have LOVED by the way.

Bad Ass: Alan chose to go to the ring and beat the hell out of the lot of you. Then GiGi sticks his nose in places it don’t belong, your mothers orgasm on the spot, and bam! Instant title match handed out where it isn’t earned. But don’t think we’re going to be pissed about it. Hell, as far as I’m concerned, more opponents means more asses to kick, and as I’m sure you’re well aware of, I do love to kick ass. Lots of it. And since you guys always come up short in title shots, well, save for Rowan, we figure you can’t do a lot of harm by just being there. I mean, everybody needs some camera time, right?

Alan Fiscus: Sure they do. You guys can mug for the cameras all you like, throw in some flashy moves here and there. But the ends justify the means, and as usual, you guys will come up short in the aftermath. Let’s face it, you can’t win what you haven’t earned. No matter how much little Mikey would like to protest otherwise from atop of his soap box. Long story short, no titles for you either. But hey, we’re not completely evil men. As a matter of fact, I dare say we’re open to suggestion.

Bad Ass: Here’s the deal. You guys let us have one night with Tatum Reagan, and we promise to pin one of the Storm Brothers to close out the match. Don’t misunderstand me, you’ll still have to pack an ass beating just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But this way, it won’t be you guys who look like the big losers out there. We’re going to keep our belts anyway, so why not just go for the deal? You give us Tatum for an evening. In return, Beautiful Agony gets to walk away clean telling the world how the tag champs never officially beat them one on one. Get back to us on that.

Alan Fiscus: I bet she’s got some tig ol’ bitties.

Bad Ass: Shit, you don’t know the half of it. You should’ve been at Pablo’s bachelor party. Bitch had it goin’ on, I’m telling ya.

Alan Fiscus: Where was my invitation again?

Bad Ass: Lost in the mail. I think Havok might have stole yours. Me myself, I don’t remember inviting wrist slitting emos to the party.

Alan Fiscus: That’s gay. And I mean Havok and the situation. So… What else is there to be said? We so mentioned destroying the necro-brothers. And we gave a piece of our time to Ugly Betty.

Bad Ass: That’s about all that needs to be said. We’ll let our boots do the talking to their faces when we meet them this week. Oh, and didn’t you have a message for Rowan?

Alan Fiscus: Right. Eddie, listen to me closely. No, no, I mean grab a Q-tip and clean your ears out. Go ahead, I got time.

Alan sips from his beer as he and Matt simply sit back in their chairs, staring at the camera. A minute passes and then Alan looks down at his watch before sipping from his beer again. Matt belches and then retrieves a cigarette from his jacket, lighting up. They wait a bit longer and then finally Alan approaches the camera once more, getting his face as close as possible so that his head blocks out the rest of the room.

Alan Fiscus: Okay, now that you can hear me clearly. I still haven’t received a call from you, so let me try to be more specific than I was the first time. Might not have come across as clear as I would have liked to, what with hot nurse ass in my face and painkillers flowing through me all damn day. Allow me to show you the difference between people who matter, and the hype. On one hand, we have Beautiful Agony. They soar! They fly! Kids f*cking love’em and rush out, hanging from their mothers tits, screaming their tiny little heads off until mommy buys them that Jacob Havok t-shirt! Life is good for Beautiful Agony! But it won’t always be that way… No… you see, these kids eventually grow up and like a snake, shed away the skin of childhood. And one day they’re suddenly looking at real issues, having formed their own attitudes, and suddenly they look at that old Jacob Havok t-shirt, long after the emo fad has washed away into the gutters of obsolete, and they kick themselves in the ass wondering why it was they were so big on such a feminine guy to begin with! They’re suddenly disgusted with themselves and deny to anybody who asks that they were ever even a fan of his at all! Mike on the other hand, has it a little better. While not as feminine or pointless as his emo counterpart, and let’s be honest, he does bang the skank off one of the finest bitches in the CZW… Never the less, he’s doomed to failure in all of his title hunts. Try and try again, he continues to fail. It doesn’t make him a bad guy, it just makes him bad luck. Years from now, people will admit to having been Mike Monroe fans, but nobody will ever be able to recall a time where he actually won a match that counted for something real! If he’s lucky and sticks around long enough, he might be considered a legend, a future hall of famer for CZW.

Alan clears his throat.

Alan Fiscus: Now you Eddie, on the other hand. How long did it take you after your debut to get your hands on some prime gold here? A few weeks? A month at most? Something to that effect? And look at you, title defense after title defense, you stand tall with that belt still draped over your shoulder. You’re a winner. The only good coming out of you hanging with Beautiful Agony is the fact that you make them look good. But in return, they make you look bad. How many times can you team with them, only to have them come up short on their end of the deal, costing you matches until your losses with them begins overshadowing your success as a champion? Now look at Bad Ass and myself. Bad Ass broke into this fed as hired muscle for Broke Back Montana, but just look at where that got him. His first match, he main evented against Matt Stylez on Assault. Even after switching to Warzone, he continued to stay in the main event picture, and that’s including wins and losses. And in short time, he manhandled the biggest faction in CZW, and then took their tag titles in short and timely fashion. Unlike the rest of his family, he bypassed opening matches and midcard status, hell, he’s never left the top of the card, that main event spotlight. Look at me, I went from managing a show to main eventing matches all across the globe! I gave up retirement, and instantly emerged at the top of the talent crop. These tag titles aren’t just for show. Now look at us again, closely this time. We are winners. And you belong, no, you DESERVE to stand net to fellow winners. So I offer you once more, Eddie Rowan. Mr. Rated E for Everyone. There’s a seat amongst us that only you can fill. It’s waiting for you, all you have to do is call. So the question is obvious. Are you with us, or against us? And if you’re against us, it’s only a matter of time before…

Alan quickly moves out of view of the camera to reveal Matt pointing a gun at the screen.

Bad Ass: Bang.

The scene fades to black.
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