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| Guilty As Charged; Buzz Covey Mayhem | |
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| Topic Started: Sep 16 2010, 02:04 PM (120 Views) | |
| "Bad Ass" Matt Covey | Sep 16 2010, 02:04 PM Post #1 |
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Bad MF'er
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The steel cuffs burrowed deep into the flesh of Matt Covey's wrists. It was a feeling he had become accustomed to by now. But the jumpsuit was a size too small, and whatever fibers the Australians were using for clothing was extremely itchy and uncomfortable to say the least. The cruiser he was riding in to his court appearance smelled of stale cigars, the seat covered in what looked like vomit stains. And yet these were but minor details in the back of Matt's mind. He had really done it this time. It was one thing to assault a man to relieve some aggression, it was another to take a gun into an arena...on live tv...in another country...and beat the piss out of a man's face for the world to see. Baines had been furious, relentlessly throwing threats and insults around the night he was taken to jail. Truth be told, when pissed off, she sounded like chipmunk on acid. Matt never paid attention to anything she had said. He had been far too busy smiling at Jakob Mayhem's bloodied mug as he too was placed under arrest. Rumor had it that if you wanted to get under the level-headed Jakob Mayhem's skin, you had to go to great lengths to do so. Some people even went as far as to say it couldn't be done. Bad Ass: Hah... Matt momentarily broke his silence to laugh to himself. His idea of fun was pissing people off and proving people wrong. He had effectively managed to do both. His mind flashed back to moments before the arrest, but after the pistol-whipping. The moment that Jakob's eyes glowed with that raging intensity upon noticing the dropped gun. The flare of his nostrils as he grabbed it up and pointed it square at Matt's face. The look of confusions and utter disdain as the trigger clicked with no gratifying result. By all rights, Matt had been a dead man. And then there was a cackling laughter, like that of a mental patient who finally got the joke after slamming his head against a padded wall for years. Matt had almost been too proud of his own work, to realize that it was in fact himself who had been laughing. Laugh in the face of adversity. Laugh in the face of death. It had all gone so well. And yet, in his stubborness he had failed to realize that maybe this time...this one time...he may have crossed a line that there was no coming back from. He hadn't heard a word from anyone in the company during his stay in one of Australia's dingiest shit holes. Did he still have a job? If so, would it be waiting for him if he had to serve some lengthy time behind bars? Probably not. His pride and anger may have cost him everything. And yet, he couldn't keep that damn smug grin off his face. He smiled even harder as the cruiser pulled in front of the courthouse. It was surrounded by photogs and paparazzi alike. The true scum of the Earth. But his smile wasn't for them. It was for Theresa Baines who stood by the car, awaiting his arrival. Her face was wrinkled with a look of hatred and fury. She stood aside as the driving officer walked around his car to open the door for Matt, who then stepped out into the sun, the questions firing like machinge gun rounds. "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT GUN?" "DID YOU KNOW THE GUN WASN'T LOADED?" "DO YOU THINK THIS WILL GO TO TRIAL?" "ARE YOU STILL HAVING UNPROTECTED SEX WITH THE TRANNY?" "WILL YOU SEEK..." Matt stopped in his tracks at the previous question. Looking amongst the crowd, he could clearly see the flamboyantly pink costume and mask of fellow CZW superstar El Pablo, microphone in hand that he got from God-knows-where. Matt almost laughed, addressing Pablo with a head shake. He then ignored the rest of the journalists as he approached Baines side. He looked at her and shrugged like an innocent child...a stubbly faced, beer breath, violent, innocent child. She sneered at him with disgust. Ms. Baines: You are in deep shit, Covey. Bad Ass: That's an old record you're playing, doll-face. I know the lyrics well. Ms. Baines: Keep laughing, asshole. From what I hear, the Australian judicial system is highly prejudice against outsiders. Especially low-life punks like yourself. Bad Ass: Doesn't sound too different from the pricks back home. Shall we? Matt stepped to the side, holding his cuffed hands out in a "Ladies First" gesture. Baines sneered once more as she proceeded up the courthouse stairs. Matt and the driving officer simultaneously turned their heads in unison, watching the curve of her ass as she ascended. Then Matt followed her into the building to await the proceedings. ==================== 20 Minutes Later ==================== The courtroom was filled to the brim. The journalists were forced to remain silent in the back of the room if they wished to witness. The prosecuting attorney sat at the table to Matt's right. Matt and Baines sat at the defense table, but Theresa was making no attempt to communicate with her employee. This was fine with Matt. He spent his time carving his name into the table with his cuffs while they awaited the judge. Matt's eyes darted over to the prosecuting attorney, a right smug looking prick to say the least. And then Matt saw his name plaque on the desk... Bad Ass: Oliver Waters?!? You're a fucking Waters?!? The attorney turned to meet Matt's gaze while Baines tried desperately to get Matt to shut up. Prosecuting Attorney Waters: Yes. I'm actually a cousin to the Shawn Waters you know. Bad Ass: Get the fuck outta here! Ms. Baines: Covey! Prosecuting Attorney Waters: It's true. Bad Ass: No, really. Get the fuck out of here. I'm gonna cake-walk all over you before this shit is through! Theresa grabbed Matt's hair and pulled him closer to her. She whispered at a fine level between "quiet" and "shouting". Ms. Baines: Are you fucking stupid?!? Making an ass of yourself isn't going to help your case any! Matt glared up at her, his hair still in her grasp. Bad Ass: You kinky bitch. How did you know I like it rough? Baines quickly released him, throwing her hands into the air in a fit of dismissal. The bailiff stepped into play, announcing the arrival of the judge, but his language was so garbled no one could really understand him. Never the less, the room stood in honor of the preciding judge...except for Matt who leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the table, much to Baines dismay. Once the judge had seated herself, everyone else returned to their own seats. Judge: This is the case of the People of Australia vs Matthew Covey. Mr. Covey, you've managed to rack up a nice series of charges, including assault with a deadly weapon, disorderly conduct in a public venue, resisting arrest, and the list goes on. How plead you upon these charges? Matt took his feet off the table and stood on his own two feet. Bad Ass: Unfair charge. Guilty. And not guilty. We'll address the rest as they are discussed. Everyone in the room turned to eyeball him now. This made Matt uncomfortable. He didn't like to be judged. Matt took his seat again. Judge: You are an odd individual, Mr. Covey. I've seen the tape and I must concur that you appear guilty of everything that's been brought against you. However, as it stands, you have a right to be heard, and so this case shall continue. Who is represe... Suddenly, the doors burst open in the back of the room, the crowd too thick to see who has intruded. Matt pretends not to notice at first, until the man stands next to him. Matt slowly turns his head and looks up. And then his head sinks. Bad Ass: Fuck me... Standing next to him, in the tackiest baby blue flannel three piece suit is his lawyer, and cousin........."Special" Ed Covey. Under one arm he has a suitcase with random papers sticking out of it, flailing about. Under his other arm, is his best friend, the coconut-monkey Loki who he promptly places down on the defense table. Special Ed: I'll be representing Mr. Covey here today, your honor. Bad Ass: No, he won't! Judge: I'll allow it. And your name is? Special Ed: Ed Covey, your honor. Former pro-wrestler and current lawyer extroirdinaire! Ed approaches the bench and shakes the judges hand before returning to the defense table. Judge: Very well then. How shall I differentiate the two of you? Special Ed: You can call me, Mr. Ed. Bad Ass: You can call me "Bad Ass", your elderlyness. Judge: That's "your honor" Mr. Covey! And there will be no swearing in my courtroom! Bad Ass: Oh, that's bullshit! Judge: Mr. Covey! One more blatant outburst from you, and I'll hold you in contempt of court! Special Ed: I apologize your honor. My client here suffers from IED. It's a very serious illness in America. Simply put, they haven't found a med that can control his outlandish behaviour yet. But top scientists in the medical field are getting closer in their advancements every day. We're hoping that someday soon, this terrible confliction will be but a distant memory of the past. Judge: Very well. Mr. Waters, your witness. P.A. Waters: Your honor, I'd like to call the man in question to the stand. Mr. Covey, if you please. Matt smirks and stands once again before walking around the table. He stops when he gets to Waters, and then bucks on him mimicking a violent attack. Oliver Waters stumbles backwards into his own table, knocking a pitcher of ironically placed, water all over himself. Matt laughs as he continues on his way to the witness stand. Theresa Baines shakes her head, while Ed reaches into his briefcase, pulling out a coloring page and a box of crayons. P.A. Waters: Mr. Covey, would you care to explain to the court how you came to be in possession of an illegal firearm? Bad Ass: Actually, it wasn't all that illegal. I bought it from one of your wanna-be wigger gangsters outside the arena prior to the event. P.A. Waters: Purchasing a weapon, does not make it a legal weapon, Mr. Covey. Bad Ass: So? You're covered in Water, but it doesn't mean I'm not going to tell the world I made you piss yourself with fear. P.A. Waters: That has nothing to do with anything! Bad Ass: Neither does the tale of how I got the gun. I'm not here because of how I got the gun, I'm here because I used it in an innapropriate manner. P.A. Waters: Mr. Covey, you're here on assault charges. Assault with a deadly weapon. Bad Ass: That's not fair. Anything in my hand is considered a deadly weapon. I could kill you twenty two different ways with an ashtray. Six with a credit card. Fourteen with an ink pen. Nine with a paper clip. Too many to count with a light bulb, including blowing your house up with you inside it. Need I continue? I mean, seriously, a gun is no more or less deadly in my hand than anything else I could have used that night. It just sends a more appropriate message. P.A. Waters: And what message would that be, exactly? Bad Ass: That I'm a pissed off son of a bitch, and people who wrong me or who I percieve to have wronged me, have to pay out their ass! Violently! P.A. Waters: How exactly, did the victim in question, wrong you? Bad Ass: He fucked my shit up! Judge: Mr. Covey! I will not repeat myself! Bad Ass: Not until you get alzheimers at least. The Judge wielded her gavel like a blunt instrument of aggression for a brief moment. Bad Ass: My bad. Jakob Mayhem stuck his giant fu...nose in my business. Therefore I beat the sh...blood out of his face with an instrument of my choosing. The end. P.A. Waters: Footage from that event dubbed "Hatewave" reveals that at no point in time, did the victim so much as lay a hand on you. Bad Ass: No he did not. P.A. Waters: and thus you assaulted him because? Bad Ass: Because he took a huge fu...shi...DUMP on what was to be one of the greatest moments of my life! When he grounded Buzzsaw, he destroyed everything we had built. And I'm not the type of person who just lets something like that roll off his back. Retribution was to be had, and vengeance was mine! P.A. Waters: Mr. Covey, I'd like to remind you that everyone above the age of twelve knows professional wrestling is fake. This proves your assault was in fact un-called for. Bad Ass: Fake? Maybe that crap you see every Monday on cable is fake. And sure, I've done my time playing "put a man over" in the past. But I want you to understand right now, nothing I have done in the world of Combat Zone Wrestling has EVER been fake! Every laceration, concussion, bruise, welt, and fall I've ever given or taken has been no less than one hundred percent real! Not to mention taking a seventy five foot plunge from an arena ceiling into glass and barbed wire and splintered wood! You take that dive and then you stand there and tell me just exactly how fake what we do really is! Hell, go back and watch your tape some more! Watch the part where I drove a one hundred percent real construction nail through Buzzsaw's foot, and then you march up to him and tell him that the FUCKING hole in his foot is fake! Excuse my FUCKING language, your honor! P.A. Waters: I...uh...I... Bad Ass: Twenty dollars says he splits your forehead open like a F'ing cantelope! Outside of touching weiners, you really don't talk to your cousin too much about his profession do ya? No. You got some fancy degree that you believe puts your whiney ass up on some golden pedestool high above everyone else. I don't call you a con-artist for ripping your clients off, don't take what we do and call it F'ing fake! There's a locker room full of us who know how to "wrassle" as morons like yourself like to call it, and that's what we are. The difference between us and Bitch McMahon, is the stage we fight on! His crap is scripted and rated PG for insensitive pricks like yourself, while our product is unwritten *insert "irony" here* and unexpected! We make our living as wrestlers who beat the hell out of each other for real to make a pay check! Think UFC, minus all the sissy submissions. P.A. Waters: I apologize. I did not mean to offend. Bad Ass: Of course you didn't. You meant to judge. and last I checked, that's this wrinkled hag's responsibility, not yours! Judge: WHAT is your FUCKING problem?!? Bad Ass: The fact that idiots keep lumping us in with those "puppet chumps" in other feds! And as a result, we get looked down upon instead of recognized for the insane geniuses we actually are! I could be on a plane right now, using a laptop and a "borrowed" credit card to order a bunch of non-methodic items to use as weapons in my upcoming bout, but instead I'm in this farce of a courtroom explaining myself to people who don't want to take the time to even try and understand what it is that we do on a weekly basis! I've got two skulls to concentrate on cracking open for the nuggety goodness that rests inside, and instead I'm babysitting you Wolverine wanna-be bitches! Ms. Baines: Oh my God, he's just fucked himself... Bad Ass: You shut the fuck up, Baines! You're more capable than anybody of explaining this entire scenario, but you won't because you don't want the bad publicity. Like you've got something to be proud of. You're a whore, Baines! Do you hear me? Take away the suit, the tie, the position in management, and you're nothing more than Derek Damage's weekend hoochie booty-call bitch! You hid your face in your hands like you're doing right now and pretend this isn't happening, but I'm always going to be here to remind you that it is! P.A. Waters: I...um...I have no further questions your honor. Judge: Mr. Covey! Are you going to behave yourself for a cross-examination, or do I need to go ahead and lock you up?! Bad Ass: Like it matters, you've clearly already made up your mind. And the cross-examination isn't going to do anyone any good, because Ed is retarded. Are you getting it yet? He's not acting! The poor kid is actually limited in the brain cell department! Where as the good lord gave the rest of us a brain, he gave Ed a Pez dispenser! Judge: He seems perfectly capable to me. Ed never hears the conversation as he's far too busy coloring a dragon turquoise. Special Ed: Ha, ha. Pez. Judge: Mr. Ed? Ed looks up from his paper. Judge: Are you competent to act as this man's lawyer currently? Special Ed: I'm perfectly viable for the position, your honor. If I could have a brief moment to gather my paper work together? Judge: Very well. Ed grabs a pink crayon and begins to color rapidly, trying to finish his picture. Special Ed: Clouds taste like cotton candy... When he's finished, Ed stands and places the crayon in his shirt pocket as though it were an ink pen. He then approaches the witness stand. Special Ed: Mr. Covey... Bad Ass: You can call me "Matt", Ed. Special Ed: Very well. Mr. Matt-Ed, did you happen to know the gun in question was in fact NOT loaded? Bad Ass: You're really trying this? Special Ed: Please answer the question, Mr. Matt-Ed. Bad Ass: Of course I knew the gun wasn't loaded. I'm not stupid. It was never my intention to kill anybody. Just maybe maim and scare the shit out of Jakob Mayhem. Special Ed: Your honor, I would like that last profanity stricken from the record please. So knowing the weapon in question was not loaded, you proceeded to use it in a fashion that more than suits the purposes of any other object inside a CZW arena? Bad Ass: If by "fashion" you mean bludgeoning a man in the face repeatedly, then yeah. I did just that. Special Ed: So, what you're telling the court room today, is that you used this so-called "gun"... Bad Ass: It was a real gun, Ed. Special Ed: ...this so called "real gun", with no ammunition, to beat a rival down at a CZW show like you would do and have done so many times before with other un-conventional weapons including chairs, bottles, brass knuckles, tasers, hammers, nails, cars, lumber, and fire and yet have not been previously brought up on assault charges for having used these tools which are just as, if not more deadly than an unloaded gun. Bad Ass: Wow. You're actually pretty good at this! P.A. Waters: Objection! Special Ed: Infection! Recession! Obsession by Calvin Klein!!! Bad Ass: I stand corrected. Special Ed: YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!! Judge: What the hell is going on here? Ed suddenly turns driving a finger in Loki's direction. Special Ed: YOU! You are the culprit! You took the bullets out of that gun, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?!? You thought you were so smooth about it, but no! I have evidence that suggests you purchased that cache of weapons at black market discount prices! And what's worse? You gave them to the orphanage in a diabolical plot to start your own pygmy army! Your honor, I suggest to you that it was in fact Loki who stole cookies from the cookie jar! Arrest that man! A cry comes from the back of the room from a familiar pink squirrel. El Pablo: You my boy, Ed! The room is now a hysteria of whispers and rants, all culminating in the judge having to slam her gavel repeatedly. Matt is soaking in the chaos with pleasure, while Theresa Baines looks to be having a nervous breakdown. Oliver Waters is enjoying this time as well, watching his opponent bury the case. Judge: I have no idea what any of anything has to do with...with...well...ANYTHING anymore! This is insanity on a level I've never experienced and I may just end the day with a bottle of prescription drugs and a game of Russian Roulette to cure this fucking headache you people have given me!!! Finally, Baines comes into play. Ms. Baines: Your honor, in our business we sometimes emply the less than stable. Mr. Covey here...well...both Covey's have a history of mental illness and I suppose that in their line of work, boundaries should have been made clearer. We don't punish them for resorting to extreme levels of violence, and yet at the same time we haven't shown them the line they do not cross. If you would allow Mr. Covey his freedom today, I can assure you that these proceedings will not have been in vain, as I personally will keep him on a much tighter leash. Bad Ass: Says you, bitch. Ms. Baines: In accordance, whatever else you would like to serve him will be duely encouraged and followed upon to the letter. As a sign of our appreciation in this matter, Combat Sports inc would like to make a charitable donation to your city, in hopes that our company may continue to produce fine quality entertainment for you and your country in the future. Judge: You're about the only level headed person I've met in this courtroom today, Ms. Baines. After reviewing this travesty of a hearing, I have decided to release you Mr. Covey from our custody, on the grounds that you complete fourty hours of community service during your company's promotional tour of our continent, to be completed before you leave. Failure to comply will result in a two year sentencing in a correctional facility. Now please, do us all a favor. Bad Ass: And what would that be? Judge: Do your community service, finish your tour, and get the FUCK out of my country! Bad Ass: Sounds reasonable to me, your chubbyness. Judge: This case is dismissed! The judge slammed her gavel one final time, leaving the room in just as much buzz as when she had entered it. The journalists quickly flock to the outside, awaiting a second chance with their questions and cameras. The bailiff approached Matt and released his hands from their steel bondage, Matt shaking his hands to relieve some of the soreness within them. He stepped down from the stand, approaching Theresa and Ed who busily packed his coloring pages and crayons away in his briefcase. Matt approached Baines with his arms out, awaiting a hug, but she rudely brushed right past him, making her way for the door. Oliver Waters suddenly approached the Covey cousins. P.A. Waters: I don't know how you did it, but CROIKEY! That was some fancy lawyering you was doin' there! Special Ed: You smell like fish tacos. Here, I made this for you. Ed hands Oliver the coloring page of the turqoise dragon and pink cotton candy clouds before walking out the door behind Theresa Baines. Written at the bottom of the page in blue crayon are the words "Do you like me?" followed by two boxes, one reading "yes" and the other "hell yes". Waters looks confused as he eyes the page. Matt slyly grabs up whats left of the water at his table and walks up to Oliver, splashing his pants with the liquid before shoving him to the floor. He then parades out behind Ed, confidently shouting. Bad Ass: You paper bitches want a scoop? I just made Waters piss himself a second time! Print that shit in your poorly written diatribes, you filthy Hugh Jackman looking pricks! ==================== 20 Minutes Later ==================== The plush leather interior of Baines personal limo was a far cry different from the police cruiser Matt had arrived in. For one, it was clean and didn't smell of drunken chunking. Freshly out of his jumpsuit, Matt reclined back against the leather, taking comfort in his jeans and leather jacket as he was accustomed to. Ed was minding his own business, fooling around with some Play-Dough he had stored in his briefcase. Theresa Baines herself, looked positively irritated having to share her ride with a man she found so repulsive. She huffed as her eyes continued staring daggers out her window. Bad Ass: What's your problem? We won, didn't we? Ms. Baines: Won? what the fuck did we win? You got a slap on the wrist and now I have to continue looking at you until we get to the airport! Bad Ass: Could be worse. S'all I'm sayin'. Ms. Baines: Matthew Covey, you are a public relations nightmare! Bad Ass: No, please. Why don't you say how you you really feel? Ms. Baines: People like you should be lined up against a wall and shot at point blank range! Putting you on television or turning you into a celebrity was the worst idea mankind has had in the past one hundred years! You're a mad dog who needs to be put down to spare everyone else the indignity of your rabies-laden bite! And yet, SOMEHOW I... I... Bad Ass: Don't say it, Baines. We both know where that road goes, and trust me when I say it'll only end in heartache for you, and a sense of accomplishment for myself. Her face grew into a deep red shade, perhaps of anger, but more than likely of embarassment. Ms. Baines: I don't UNDERSTAND you! You have the look, the gimmick, and the raw potential to be a legend in this business one day! All you have to do is play ball by the company rules. And for some odd reason, it breaks your balls to have to do so, and so you don't. Bad Ass: You're right. I'm an independent contractor. I play by my rules. Although you're wrong about one thing. I'm already a legend to millions of people around the world. For every man who's ever been told no, or wanted to do things his way, or just likes to do everything the hard way; they turn on the tv and every week they live vicariously through my actions. I'm a legend in this business, I'm just not dead yet. Ms. Baines: Well maybe you should be. If it were up to me, I would have just fired your ass. Bad Ass: Wow, you're a heartless bitch. Ms. Baines: I'm warning you Matt Covey. DO NOT call me a bitch again! Matt grinned his mischievious smile as he leaned in closer to his boss, his face only a mere couple of inches from her own. Baines breath suddenly grew short and rapid, her heart beginning to beat uncontrollably as though it would tear from her chest. In the darkest, deepest recess of her mind, she wanted this. Badly. Her common sense would never allow for it of course, but maybe if he just took advantage of her, she wouldn't have to feel like she gave in to the idea. Matt's eyes locked squarely on her own. Her lips began to purse as if awaiting a kiss. And then softly, Matt whispered... Bad Ass: Bitch. Baines suddenly found her daydream shattered as she shoved Matt back across the limo, drowning in her humiliation as Matt laughed maniacally. Ms. Baines: That fucking tears it! Matt Covey you're FIR... Voice: Belay that order, Ms. Baines. Matt suddenly looked around the limo trying to pick out the new voice, yet all he could see was Baines, Ed and himself. Bad Ass: What the fuck? Ms. Baines: I can't put up with this asshole any longer! Voice: As the southerner's like to say, "tough titty". You will have to continue to do so. If he loses his job, you lose yours. Bad Ass: Is your vagina talking?!? Ms. Baines: NO! My vagina is not... Voice: That'll be all, Ms. Baines. All this talk of "vagina" has got me searching for my viagra. Mr. Covey, it is a pleasure to see you are a free man once more. Bad Ass: Where the hell is that voice coming from?!? Voice: I'm talking to you over an intercom in the car, you dumb ass! Bad Ass: That's Bad Ass to you, Derek Damage. Derek Damage: Is it now? We'll see if you can say the same thing after Overdrive. Bad Ass: What the hell is your stake in this, old man? Why the sudden job security? Derek Damage: Let's be honest, I don't like you. Never have, and I most certainly never will. You are a blemish on my perfect record and my dream as to what my company would become. Bad Ass: Guilty as charged. Derek Damage: That being said, do you recall the time you savagely beat me down on my own show? Or perhaps the time you talked my co-hort at the time, Big Nasty to turn on me for your own personal war? Bad Ass: Those were good times. Derek Damage: For you, perhaps. I told you that one day I would have your head on a stick, and that day is coming very soon. You dare to go on televison and mock my "Damage Control" idea? You want to tell the world I'm a bad guy and you're the unsanctioned hero who's going to save the CZW? Well I say you're a disease upon this company and you can't fire a disease. You have to ELIMINATE it! And come Overdrive, you stand no chance in hell of surviving the Dead Cell. Your days are numbered my friend, and I'm enjoying every second of it! Bad Ass: Are you now? Your big plan is to slaughter one of your biggest cash crops on live television, then? Derek Damage: Why not? I have two more just like you, and regardless of which one wins, you'll be gone! Bad Ass: That's where you're wrong, Daisy Dick. There is only one "Bad Ass" Matt Covey. And I'm the best there is at what I do. Derek Damage: But of course, if what you do is fall from scaffolds and make an ass of yourself every week. Bad Ass: You sir, are pressing all the right buttons. Derek Damage: That's because I control all the pieces. Bad Ass: There's only one problem with that theory, old man. Derek Damage: Oh yeah? And what's that? Bad Ass: You just made yourself public enemy number one. And now nothing is going to stop me from beating you at your own game. I think you're forgetting who you're talking to. Derek Damage: I'm talking to a punk who will never see me, let alone come anywhere near me. Bad Ass: Wrong again. I'm your next Ultraviolent Champion. Derek Damage: Over my dead body! Bad Ass: Any way you want it, DD. After I've taken down my good friend Buzzsaw and that ape bastard Mayhem, I'm going to take my title, find you, and then I'm going to tie the strap around your wrinkled fucking neck and tighten it until your head pops off. Derek Damage: Ha, ha! Good luck with that, son. If by some miracle you actually manage to not only survive, but win the title as well, you be sure to come see me. Bad Ass: You can count on it. A loud clicking sound signaled the end of the conference call. Now Theresa Baines face was no longer wore a look of anger or shame, but one of worry instead. Ms. Baines: He's not playing around, Matt. Bad Ass: Neither am I. Get me to the airport, I've got a match to win and a war to prepare for. Lines are going to be drawn, Baines. You better decide quickly if you're with the roster or Damage. And God help you if you're with Damage. I don't take prisoners. Mayhem's going to find that one out the hard way. My only regret is that Buzz has to fall as well. Casualties of war as they say. Ms. Baines: This is ludicrous! You can't fight the company! Bad Ass: You don't know me very well, sweetheart. I make the impossible, possible. So strap them perky tits of yours in nice and tight, because I'm going to shake this company to it's very foundation. Baines stared deeply into Matt's eyes from across the seat, her look of concern clearly visible. Matt's eyes may as well have been blank, his look of fury burrowing a hole into nothingness. And while it appeared there may be more to say, the moment was destroyed by Ed as usual... Special Ed: I made a penis! Ed dangled his phallic shaped Play-dough in the air. Nothing else was said the rest of the ride to the airport. Nothing more needed to be said. The war was on, and it all begins with Overdrive. |
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