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I need a drink; Really. lol
Topic Started: Dec 16 2009, 11:10 PM (256 Views)
"Bad Ass" Matt Covey
Member Avatar
Bad MF'er
Matt glared angrily, through half-open eyes at the flashing lights in his rear view mirror. The red and blue warrented an "Ah, Shit!" moment, but Matt pulled his car off to the side of the road, regardless. He killed the engine to his restored black and chrome '71 Dodge Charger, throwing the last hit of a cigarette out the window. Nothing to do now but wait for the damn ticket. Matt laid his head against the head rest, eyes turned towards the empty window where an officer would soon be. Sure enough, a Kansas state trooper approached his window, grunting as he leaned down to eye Matt. He looked like a dick, and Matt could already tell how this was going to go down. First a ticket. Then the recognition. Then the cops amusement that he could help out his hometown hero, Alan Fiscus. A second ticket after Matt threatens him. And then an arrest which would keep Matt out of the match. Matt quickly realized just exactly how "peachy" life currently was for him. The piggly looking man spoke with a thick southern voice...

Trooper: You got any idea why I pulled you over boy?

The only logical thought was maybe speeding, and Matt intended to take the wrap. But somehow... It came out wrong...

Bad Ass: Iiiieeez go... go'n tuh 'rena. Wuzz go'n tuh fass...

The cop suddenly appeared intrigued, lowering hisstereo-typical aviator shades to eye Matt more closely.

Trooper: You mind sayin' that for me one more time?

What the hell was wrong with bacon boy? Could he not unerstand english?!? Matt thought as he began once more.

Bad Ass: Muh name Matt Cooveee. I ressle 'n thu tee vee... I gutta...

He was cut off, the cop now looking smug.

Trooper: Boy, you mind steppin' out of the car?

Matt shrugged and opened the door, stumbling slightly as he stepped out onto the pavement. He shut the door and then leaned back against his car, annoyed.

Trooper: How much you had to drink son?

Bad Ass: Nun... Why?

Trooper: You been smokin', boy? You been smokin' on that "home grown"?

Bad Ass: No surr. I quit dayzz uhgo.

Trooper: Well, you're looking pretty f**ked up to me, boy. You sound like you have been drinking, but not only that, but you closed a whole bar down doing it!

Bad Ass: I wisshhhh.

Trooper: Meow, I'm gonna have to ask you to take this breathalizer.

Matt sighed, looking angered. This wasn't going right at all. He'd been perfectly honest when he said he hadn't touched alcohol or weed in days. Sure, he was feeling a bit light headed, but that was most likely due to his recent lack of sleep. No reason for it, so Matt attributed it as a side-effect to his current hatred for his former best friend, Alan Fiscus. Matt's blood boiled a little bit at merely the thought of the man he was so hell-bent on ripping a new asshole. He grunted aloud as he blew into the breathalizer for several seconds. After a moment, the cop took his instrument back and proceeded to look over the annalysis. His eyes bugged a bit as his right hand went to his scalp, scratching his head with a look of confusion. The cop approached him once more.

Trooper: I'll be damned. You're clean, son. You look like shit, but you're clean.

It was true. Matt's five o'clock shadow was looking like a ten-to-midnight beard. His hair was scruffy in appearance, having grown out quite a bit since his time in rehab. The smell alone could tell you that it had been days since he'd even seen a shower, if the dirty clothes he was wearing wasn't clue enough. The cop sighed, looking slightly defeated.

Trooper: Meow, the reason I pulled you over, you was drivin' like a damn maniac back there. You realize you swerved into the oncoming lane damn near six times? Meow, I'm gonna have to see your license and give ya a ticket on this one.

Matt pondered the man's words for a moment as he handed over his license.

Bad Ass: Arrrruuh... youu ssssaayin' "mmmmyoww"?

Trooper: Am I sayin' "meow"? Do I like a damn cat to you?!?

Matt knew how to reply. He had wanted to say, "No, sir" and leave it at that. However, it sounded more like...

Bad Ass: Yuuu looook like ffff-uckkin' pig ffff-ucked uh pork... uh pork chop.

The trooper suddenly looked enraged, and Matt knew things had not turned around for the better. The cop placed a hand on the buttoned restraint holding his pistol in place. But his darted off towards the license and suddenly his hand withdrew from the weapon. A smirk appeared on the man's face like a child on christmas morning. The trooper looked back and forth between the license and Matt repeatedly, before handing the license back. Then he exclaimed with much enthusiasm...

Trooper: Hot damn! You're "Bad Ass" Matt Covey! Damn, son! I'm a big fan of your work!

Bad Ass: Yuuu arrrrre?

Trooper: Hell yeah! The way you cut loose on them sons a bitches... We pull that kinda shit around here, and suddenly we're the "bad guys". Ain't that some shit?

Bad Ass: Tha'zzz ffff-cked up.

Trooper: Tell me about it. One time I caught this kid a-eye-ballin' me, right? So I walk up and crack his little ass with muh flashlight atop his noggin'. Next thing you know, papers is all blowin' it outta proportion and they're trying to sue the precinct on account'a this kids got the re-tar-dation thing goin' on...

Bad Ass: Afffter youu hit him?

Trooper: Naw. They tryin' to say the kid was a nut-job long before I socked his punk ass. I don't like it when them spoiled brats start a-eye-balin' me, re-tard or not.

Bad Ass: Meee neeethurrr.

Trooper: Well, enough about me. Why the hell you lookin' so rough boy? You can tell me. I ain't even gonna write ya no ticket.

Bad Ass: I dunno. I fffeel fffineee.

Trooper: Hmm. Where you headed, again?

Bad Ass: 'rrrena. Gottuh go meet Pablllllo...

Trooper: That squirrely fella? He's funny. I bought like a half a ton a shit off that website. *cop ponders* Well hell, son. Just follow me! I'll lead you there and we can go as fast as we want. I'll turn the siren doo-hickeys on and with a car like that, I'm sure you'll have no problem keepin' up.

Matt thought of responding, but waved a hand in retreat, climbing back into his car. Seconds later, the cop was in front of him, sirens blaring once more as he laid down an easy 110mph. Matt was on his ass the whole time, knowing full well his Charger could have easily blown the cop's Ford Mustang out of the water. Before long, and in between the repetitive swerving that Matt was still doing, they were parked just outside of the arena where Matt would get his first crack at Alan Fiscus, Whichita's favorite son. As the Charger's humm died once more, A frantic masked creature stormed the car...

El Pablo: Oh no!!! What have you done?!? Are you going to JAIL?!? You're going to jail!!! I knew it! You're gonna leave me and Blaze high and dry! Fiscus was right! KB was right! My third grade teacher was right!!!

Matt stumbles forth once more from the car. Matt makes the "Shhhhhh" sound as he tries to place a finger against Pablo's lips, but he misses and accidentally eye gouges him instead.

El Pablo: Ahhhhh!!! He's attacking me! I need an old priest and a young priest!!!

The state trooper approaches Pablo, trying to get a hold of the situation, while Matt leans and slumps on his ass against the car, looking aboslutely out of it.

Trooper: Calm down, squirrel. He appears a little intoxicated, but he's blowin' clean.

Pablo suddenly stops in his tracks.

El Pablo: He's blowing what, now?

Trooper: Clean! Meow, he looks f**ked up but he's not. Got no idea what's wrong with'im.

El Pablo: Did you just say, "Meow"?

Trooper: Why does everybody ask me that?!? Do I look like a f**kin' cat to ya?!?

El Pablo: Do I look like a squirrel to you?

Trooper: Yes. Yes you do.

El Pablo: Excellent. Come on, help me get him inside.

------------------------------15 minutes later----------------------------------

Inside the locker room that will soon serve as their den, El Pablo and the cop lie Matt on a vynil sofa. Though incoherant, Matt tries to speak a few times, but it only tanslates into gibberish. Gibberish which Ishall perform for you right now...

Bad Ass: Gabblahhhhturfaxxxenhoffen. Broooliffferrrrunggg.

Happy? Good. Let's continue.

Pablo looked over the mess that was Matt Covey, going so far as to lift Matt's arm, only to watch it fall lifelessly when he released it.

El Pablo: KB isn't gonna like this...

KB: I'm not gonna like what?

Pablo nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his friend's voice. Then he turned, looking like somebody who had just been caught doing something they shouldn't, like...I don't know...having Lady GaGa for a ringtone. (Eat it Fiscus!!! lmao) Blaze paid no attention to his partner, but instead directly approached the couch, his eyes trained on Matt's unconscious form. He nudged the side of Matt's head with a stern push of his finger, watching with dissapointment as nothing happened.

KB: Pick him up.

Pablo shrugged and complied, lifting Matt to his feet, helping to keep him standing. Blaze grinned a wide smile as he laid back and cold-cock decked Matt in the face. Matt's body rocked, his head flying backwards. Almost instinctively, Matt reacted, flying in the direction of the fist that had hit him. But he stumbled and fell with a wild swing that never connected. KB kicked him in the side.

KB: He's no good to us like this.

El Pablo: That's what I said.

KB: How'd he get like this? I'm not smelling any booze on his breath.

Trooper: Nope. He's clean as a whistle. Says he ain't drank anything in days...

Suddenly Blaze and Pablo share a bewildered look. Pablo helps Matt back onto the couch, trying to keep him awake. Blaze holds his head up, trying to get a response.

KB: How many days, Matt? When was the last time you drank any alcohol?

Matt stuutered, nearly slobbering on himself.

Bad Ass: I 'unno... aaate ur nnnnnninnne...

El Pablo: Eight or nine?!? He wasn't clean that long in between relapses at rehab!!!

KB: We need alcohol and lots of it!

Trooper: Well shit, why didn't you just say so? All us state boys keep a cooler in the trunk.

El Pablo: Good God, man! Hurry!!!

The trooper quickly exited the room while KB continued slapping Matt to keep him from crashing on the spot. Matt spoke as best he could...

Bad Ass: No 'lc-hol. Gutta ffffffff-ocusss.

El Pablo: Believe me, buddy, we want you to focus too, and that's why we're staging this intervention.

KB: We're really going to supply this bastard with booze?

El Pablo: That seems to be the plan, yes.

KB: We are SOOOOO going to hell for this.

El Pablo: See you there, friend!

Pablo and Blaze pounded knuckles, waiting for the cop to return.

------------------------------15 minutes later----------------------------------

The first two beers had an amazing affect on Matt's weariness. By his fourth, he was getting up to get his own beers, his speach improving almost dramatically. The ninth beer had him at a happy medium, almost normal again, but not quite himself. Pablo had called him "Diet Covey", saying he was "just one calorie, not Bad Ass enough". That was when the trooper broke out his personally flask of pure-grain. Matt had complimented on how it wasn't quite as good as some Kentucky moonshine he'd drank before, but deemed it good none-the-less. Finishing off the last of the 12-pack, Matt belched, throwing the lastbottle across the room. Blaze leaned against a wall, eyeing the reborn Bad Ass.

KB: You straight yet?

Matt turned and belched in Blaze's direction.

Bad Ass: Good enough to f**k your mother.

KB: And Alan Fiscus?

Bad Ass: Is living on borrowed time.

KB: Good enough for me.

Matt turned to the cop who had miraculously had his back over the last hour.

Bad Ass: I gotta say, man. You're a lot different from any cop I've ever met before. And trust me, I've met a lot.

Trooper: Why thank ya. It's been an honor.

Bad Ass: I just knew that the minute you recognized me, my ass was goin' to jail and missing this match.

Trooper: Well, you had a right perty mouth on ya, with the "pig" comments and what not... But that was before I knew it was you. I couldn't arrest you!

KB: What about me?

Trooper: I'd arrest your tiny ass in a heartbeat. You scare me with all them flying things you do. That ain't natural.

Blaze seems pleased by the response.

Bad Ass: You do realize we're the guys fighting your homeboy, Fiscus, right?

Trooper: Homeboy, my ass! That boy ain't never been nuthin' but a damn menace to this town since the day he was born! He gave my daddy shit when he was an officer of the law, and then he started giving me hell when I joined the force. Always spray painting some shit, or shoplifting, or microwaving Mrs. Gregory's cats, or dealing pills when we told him to stick strictly to weed! That boy is a bad egg. Always has been, always will be. He gets himself a career making all thatmoney on the wrasslin' show, and does he show this town any appreciation? Hell no! Not one got-damn dollar did this town see! Most of us around here don't care much for the little son of a bitch.

Bad Ass: Really? Nice to know I'm not the only one in this town who wants to curb stomp his face into a woodchipper.

KB: *achem*

Bad Ass: Right. Kabes does too. My bad.

El Pablo: *achem*

Bad Ass: What? You want to kill Alan Fiscus too?

El Pablo: No. Just had a lump in my throat. Anybody got any Ricolla? Anybody? No? Okay then.

Trooper: Well, boys. Guess it's time to get back on my shift. Do us all a favor and beat that snotty son of a bitches ass, yeah?

Bad Ass: You can tell your boys they'll be pleasantly surprised. I don't give a flying f**k as to who Alan and Finch-f**ker's mysteryman is. Hell, you wanna turn a dollar? Make it somebody worth our time. I'm not a naturally talented "wrestler" per say, like Frank Fitch, but last time I checked, I was walking into a brutal f**king fight, not some lame-ass wrestling match. If he wantsto "wrestle" so damn badly, I'm sure Vince could job him on ECW. I'm not impressed, nor am I intimidated. As far as I'm concerned, there's only one man in that ring. One man who needs his ass beat. One man who's gonna get his ass beat. One man to suffer embarassment as his hometown watches and laughs at him. And if he thinks the things I do to him this week are bad? Well then... Guess he'll be in for the surprise of his life when the bitches in the back finally unleash us in the Riot Match. Go trooper. Tell your friends, your family, your co-workers, the kids in the orphanage, the bums on the street... YOU TELL THEM ALL!!! This Friday, the Bad Ass and En Fuego are going to BURN Witchita, Kansas to the f**king ground, and we're starting with Alan-f**king-Fiscus! The less said about his chump teammates, the better.

KB: Amen.

El Pablo: You think he's ready?

KB: Almost as much as I am.

El Pablo: Lock it in.

El Pablo thrusts his fist out. Blaze pounds it with his own as he replies.

KB: Somebody's getting hurt.

Their fists still locked up, they turn and look at Matt who just sparked a cigarette, waving off the state trooper who graciously made his exit. As he eyes them, he shakes his head.

Bad Ass: Hell no.

El Pablo: Come on! Pretty please?

KB: I'll tell everybody who chummy you get with cops when you're not drinking.

Matt hangs his head as if in shame. Not looking up, he holds a fist out with the others.

Bad Ass: I f**king hate you, Kabes.

KB: Feeling's mutual.

El Pablo laughs as the scene fades.
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