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One for the Road; Bad Ass vs Buzzsaw
Topic Started: Apr 12 2013, 03:02 AM (341 Views)
"Bad Ass" Matt Covey
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Bad MF'er
The Marrero, Louisiana crowd should be off their feet, minds blown at a fantastic CZW main event finale. But then again, it was a just a house show, over shadowed by the forth coming pay-per-view. It was obvious to everyone that the big names wouldn't be in attendance, but any outcome where Tim Timons pins a hometown jobber clean, is just a pile of crap for crap's sake. Hey, you get what you pay for, right? Wrong. Tonight, they get so much more than their few meager dollars could ever warrant them anywhere else. No cameras. No live feed. But the world changes tonight. CZW changes right now.

"I am that man."

I say to myself. My confidence is souring. This company has dug their own grave, but I will be the one to save it. To save them all. My closest friend in the world places a hand on my shoulder. It feels reassuring. I would never take this stand, make such a venture without him by my side. His words only add kindle to the fire that burns in my heart at this moment.

"This is it, man. This is your shot. You go out there. You stake your claim! And you earn me some mu-fuckin money!"

I hear it and it echoes in my head. Bouncing back and forth off my skull. I have no choice but to repeat. Repetition makes me antsy.

"Earn you some mu-fuckin money. And save them."

My comrade lifts his hand as if taken back.

"What?"

I didn't stutter.

"Save them all."

He eases up around me.

"Sure. Whatever."

He looks to the stage hands at the left of us. They give him the signal. He nudges me, letting me know to get ready. Jessica Towers is currently in the ring, thanking the fans for coming out tonight. Some of us still have to work to make a pay check. My mind's drifting. Must be her skirt. It's a little shorter than usual tonight. Back to this... We get the cue. Ten seconds now. Eight. Six. Four.It's go time.
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Suddenly, "Shut Me Up" by Mindless Self Indulgence hits the speakers, drowning out Jessica Towers. People in the crowd stop for a moment, pretty sure the show is over, before continuing on their way. And then he emerges on the stage, his partner by his side. It is then that a young boy spots them and cries out...

"SPECIAL ED AND LOKI!!!"

People suddenly take great interest as Ed stands before them. He looks like he hasn't aged a day. Same greasy black hair, same busted ass jeans, same fucked up look in his face like somebody cracked him in the head witha shovel as an infant... And the same best friend, clutched tightly to his side. The ever inanimate, yet highly popular and marketable, blonde wig wearing coconut monkey...Loki. The crowd erupts into cheers at the man who's seen about as often as Big Foot these days. He takes in their admiration, Loki in arm' as he makes his way to the ring. He places Loki on the mat from under the ropes before grabbing to mics at ringside. Entering the ring, he lies a mic on themat in front of Loki. Then he looks to the crowd, a grin/smirk/shovel-smacked look on his face as the crowd chants his name. Either that or they're reeeally into Special Education. We'll go ahead and assume it's the former. As the crowd dies down with anticipation, Ed raises his mic..

Special Ed: It's been a long time...

He pauses and the crowd grants him a few cheers.

Special Ed: I know what you're thinking. "It's been a long time since we've seen good ol' Special Ed". And you're right about that...

More applause.

Special Ed: I'll admit right now it was never my intention for the company to decide that my my talents were better served training fresh blood in their school than making people around the world happy every week. I LOVE this company! And I LOVE the people in it! I LOVE what I do! But I'm better served as a training dummy. Which is fine... Until certain individuals start company take-overs and litteraly take the largest shit on the company I LOVE!

The crowd cheers as Ed's face fills with the mixed look of frustration and undeniable passion.

Special Ed: And what I mean to say, is this... IT's been a long time...coming. A really, looong time coming. I've sat back, I've gritted my teeth, and swallowed every last pile of bile you bastards continued to shove down my and these fans throats week after week! But you always save the best for last, don't you? The last pill is always the hardest to swallow! You take the most decent human being I've ever met on this planet. And you taint him. You take a vibrant picture as familiar to children as Santa Clause and you stick some twisted dildo made from your evilness and tom-foolery, right up his ass! And now I don't know who he is anymore. I used to see a Lizard. Then I used to see a Squirrel. Now? I see the last hope for this company dying in front of my eyes, and I realize... There's no hope left. No one. Fiscus. Hix. Pablo. Ryan Shane went through them all. And Pablo... My BFF... My compadre... Me Amigo... You've decided if you can't beat them, join them. We are in dark times indeed, CZW. And there's no one left to save us...

Ed looks down as the crowd seethes at the tyranical cess-pool the CZW has become as of late. Then Ed pauses and lifts his head as though a light bulb just formed over his head. And then hekind of ducks as it appears that same lightbulb may have exploded, and he's dodging the fragments. Regaining hiscomposure, Ed takes to the mic.

Special Ed: Wait! Somebody always told me, "If you touch my beer again, I'll kick your fucking Ass, Ed!"

The crowd laughs.

Special Ed: No, wait. That's not the one... Oh yeah! I read on the back of a Pop-Tarts box, "If you want something doneright, you've got to do it yourself". That day, I decided to stop fearing the Kool-Aid man, and I punched his delicious fruit flavored ass in the face! By coincidence I got a restraining order to stay away fromall fat people in red shirts, that day, but I digress... I'M THAT HERO!!! I'm going to save you! I'm going to save me! I'M GOING TO SAVE US ALL!!!

The crowd erupts into a small roar of cheers, it was just a house show afterall.

Special Ed: BUT FIRST... We start with you, Pablo. You're the key to winning this fight. Sure you look like a pile of shit right now. But I'm going to shine you up real nice, and you my friend, will sparkle once more. My name is "SPECIAL" EDWARD COVEY! I AM CZW'S LAST SHRED OF HOPE! I AM YOUR HERO!

The crowd explodes into a few small pockets of enormous cheers, with some sections a little vacant by the amount of people who have already gone back to their cars. Ed goes to speak again, but before he can, he is cut off unceremoniously by music...

"Man of Constant Sorrow" plays and the crowd goes silent...

Matt Covey appears at the ramp, holding a fifth of whiskey in his hand and Jenny Jacobs by his side. Suddenly, asses are in seats again, the crowd awash with a mixture of boos and cheers from the marks in the crowd. He stands at the end of the aisle (because God knows nobody in CZW is springing for a ramp or tron at a house show) in his worn leather jacket and jeans. He thrusts the hand holding the whiskey high into the air, and at once it's almost a complete arena of cheers. Matt and Jen make their way towards the ring, Ed looking surprised to see them, but pleasantly so. Matt grabs a microphone from ringside and then climbs into the ring. Ed smiles as his cousin aproaches. Matt smirks, Jacobs now in the ring too.

Bad Ass: Ed, you've got ten seconds to get out of this ring before I hurt you. Again.

The crowd instantly turns to a hail of boos. Ed looks confused.

Special Ed: But I thought we could...

Bad Ass: One.

Special Ed: Okay, OKAY! Even I'm not messed up enough in the head to fight with you.

Bad Ass: Two.

SpecialEd: I'm leaving!

Ed hands his mic off to Jen, but as she grabs for it, he let's it drop to the mat. She picks it up as Ed turns to leave the ring.

*the lovely former CZW interviewer turned Bad Ass' valet and sex toy; Jenny Jacobs, shall hence forth be known as "Bad Bitch" Jenny Jacobs or just "Bad Bitch" for the rest of her dialogue. Thank you for your interest in this fucked up tale, and enjoy the rest of your day*

Bad Bitch: TEN!!!

Before Ed can register what has happened, Matt has already dug the right heel of his steel-toed boot into the small of Ed's back and spinal column. Ed drops like a sack of bricks, his flesh and blood putting the boots to his ass. What's left of the crowd turns furious, their anger growing at the uncalled for assault. Matt lifts Ed up by his head, handing his whiskey off to Jen. He hoists Ed straight as an aroow into the air. Then violently, he drops Ed square on his neck with the "Blow Out Your Brains"! Ed lies unconscious against the mat as his cousin rolls him out of the ring by foot. The crowd is in a frenzied uproar now, as Matt smirks.

Bad Ass: Come on, you guys... Really? Have you gotten that desperate for a salvation from Ryan Shane? You really think a guy who can count to "Pop-tart" is going to save this place? That's your problem. You people don't DESERVE a hero!

The crowd boos consistently.

Bad Ass: No, really. I stood out here for months, telling you people the truth. But your problem is you're all a bunch of dumb asses, who can't differentiate the terms "face" and "heel". Week after week, I told you people to just sit back and let Shane overthrow Damage. I told you it would be not just in your best interests, but the company's as a whole, to let Uprising burn this cesspool down and build it ground up from the ashes. I told you, over and over and OVER, that the alternative was far worse. But you dip-shits are so full of the product, you couldn't see the truth laid out before your eyes, even as I tried to pound it into your brians. All you saw was "Ooh, Matt Covey. Bad guy. Boo everything he says." And you know what? That decision has come back to bite you in the ass! You couldn't go with the flow in the name of doing what was right, and now what are you left with? Shane dissolves the Uprising and puts this company on lock down. The thing is, you people are the one's who pushed him to do it. Oneby one, he went through your so-called "heroes". Cage Stryker, dismantled. Allen Fiscus, put in his place. Hell, when your advertising demi-god El Pablo found he couldn't get the job done, he turned and joined Shane! And what does that leave you with now? Not Krimzon Blaze, that's for sure. He finally opened his eyes and realized it's not worth fighting a losing battle. Who elese? Mike King? Lost in the shuffle. Tim Timmons? He got hit so hard in the head he stutters now. Big Nasty? Guy couldn't win Money in the Bank without a helping hand, what chance does he stand against Ryan Shane? None. And now it's all come down to a man with mental retardation filling your heads with empty promises of salvation when he can't even defend himself from me. The age of heroes....is over. What you are left with is a tyranically communist CZW held down and kept in check on threat of termination. This is Ryan Shane's world now, the rest of you just pay to see him explain it to you.

Bad Bitch: Hey, you tried to warn them. He told each and every one of you what it was you had to look forward to. And none of you listened. So in the end, who's REALLY the bad guy? Bad Ass for trying to do right by you, me and the CZW as a whole. Or you, for not listening? For letting your judgements get the best of you? You made this bed and now you can lie in it.

The crowd boos, although not nearly as much this time around as the realization and cold truth finally sink in. "Jenny's a Whore!" chants begin to break out. JAcobs just rolls her eyes, unimpressed.

Bad Ass: Alright, calm down guys. Now that we've gotten old business taken care and each of you realize it's your own damn fault; we can get to the matters at hand. I've got one hell of an announcement to drop, but it's not meant for any of you specifically.

Chants of "Buzzsaw! Buzzsaw!" begin to pick up. Matt looks to Jen.

Bad Ass: You know what I hate worse than wrestling fans?

Bad Bitch: What's that?

Bad Ass: MArks. Wrestling internet fans. Listen to them...

"Buzzsaw! Buzzsaw! Buzzsaw!"

Bad Ass: You awkward little dick-jerkers, sit at home on your computers, taking every little nugget or opinion involved in our sport, and you accept it as truth. Don't believe me? I go online. Mostly to look at porn, but there are times when Jenny's asleep, Little Bad Ass is worn out, and I spend my time surfing. I've read the reports. I've seen the gossip. "Matt Covey expected to turn face." "Bad Ass and Buzzsaw in future tag team." Is that what you're all waiting for?

The crowd begins to cheer heavily

Bad Ass: Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but ya see, none of that shit is even remotely happening. Once again, you're marks and you fall for this shit every time.

Chorus of boos.

Bad Ass: Don't get me wrong, here. Face or heel, I've never much given a damn either way. I've been both. But that's why you guys are all hyped up, right? You read online that Matt Covey had some ground breaking news. And you've read your online gossip about a future alliance between Buzzsaw and myself. And none of it is true. The thing is...

Matt pauses, lowering his mic for a moment. Jenny looks confused by his actions, as he appears to be weighing on something heavily in his mind.

Bad Ass: Okay, the thing is, my contract is almost up. I've spent almost the last two months off television negotiating with corporate. They would like me to give them another two years, bare minimum. And the money is good. Hell, the money's always been good. But that's the thing. I've got tons of fucking money. I mean a LOT of fucking money. I don't spend frivelously. In fact the only things I've blew cash on since I got here was to get my 61' Charger up and running again. Well, that, beer, cigarettes. I did drop twenty large on a custom Harley, but that's not even a dent in my bank account. So the "powers that be" wrote me up a new contract, presented it to me at a meeting last week, and...

Matt runs a hand back through his hair.

Bad Ass: I turned them down.

The crowd begins to boo slightly, unsure of what exactly is happening.

Bad Ass: I don't want to sound ungrateful, because I'm not. Every drop of blood I lost, I gave willingly for every ass in every seat in every town at every show! I've had an amazing career. Lots of ups and downs. World titles, arrests, deaths, and most recently, sobriety. I look around today, and all I see are the remnants of a company that helped to turn my life round. But let's be honest, I'm wrestling about as much these days as the Undertaker is for WWE annually. I'm in great shape physically, but years of hardcore physical abuse takes it's toll eventually, no matter how chiseled your abs and muscles look. Every few months I stick my head in, I run a program with one or two great guys in the back, and then I'm on my ass again, staring at money I don't spend. And you know something? I FUCKING HATE IT!

The crowd is shockingly silent, listening intently.

Bad Ass: Shane, I'm damn grateful to you for opening my eyes, and showing me that it wasn't impossible to get clean or to ask for help when needed. You got me in the best physical condition of my career and you let me have fun while helping to keep my career relevant. For that I thank you, and can never pay you back enough. But I made a decision sitting in with the board. I could continue on this path of me showing up and doing shows about two months out of the year. It's easy money, plus I get to sit on my ass and collect royalties ten months out of the year. But that ain't me. That's a bitch play, and I could never make that call. I always told myself, when it got to be too much, I would quietly bow out. I had assumed that day would come whenever somebody finally broke both of my fucking legs. But being sober and clear headed has made me smarter. I'm NOT going to wrestle two months out of a year. That's not fair to you, and it's not fair to me. And that brings us up to date with the most recent of events...

Before he can continue, the audience breaks out with a chant of "Please don't go! Please don't go!" Matt lowers his head a bit, staring a hole through the mat beneath his feet.

Bad Ass: Too late, guys. My contract is set to expire the day after Ultraviolent Retribution. That means I've got one more good match left in me. But as I got to thinking about it, I became depressed. Theresa Baines...yes, that's right. She still works with the board behind the scenes. Good for you internet marks, for knowing that already. She wanted to put me up against Timmons or Tolwar, or ya know, whoever; in my last match. Shelikes to think that you people would rather see me go out a winner. And then I told her to go fuck herself.

The crowd cheers with a mixture of laughs.

Bad Ass: I look back over the last year, and I don't recognize the man who's been performing under my name. He looks like me, he sounds like me. But there's a problem. He has a conscience. He's methodical. His name isMatt Covey, but he is not the Bad Ass! If my career is coming to an end, it ends on MY terms! Got word through the grapevine that my good frienemy, Buzzsaw was about to hang his boots up. Coincidentally, with me doing the same, I knew what had to be done. And apparently, he could feel it too. I took it upon myself, to go over to his show, with the intent of calling him out one last time. One last ring shaking, body destroying, blood letting bout to see us both on our way. But come to find out, the sumbitch was ahead of me! Here I am, getting ready to surprise him, and there's Buzz, standing in his ring calling ME out instead! Now if you saw that show, I don't need to go into details, you know how it went down...

Some of the crowd and the net marks are cheering now.

Bad Ass: I walked down to the ring, hit him in his smug fucking face, and we brawled our way to a happy little understanding. Challenge accepted! What most of you didn't realize then and probably still don't understand now, is that I have no feelings of ill-will towards Buzzsaw. When we met last, he handed my ass...and stapled my ass...but I digress, he gave me the fight of my life. Buzz, I've respected the hell out of you since that throw down. We're so much alike, it's hard for me to tell if we would have been better friends or enemies. I know you like I know myself. S imple "yes" and a handshake wasn't going to cut it. So I answered with a fist to your face. It's what I would expect from you, just the same. Buzz, my brother... Watching your Hall of Fame tribute video, I see an eerily familiar career that rivals my own. The injuries, the prat-falls, the broken bones, torn ligaments....the passion! Nobody in this business understands what it means to give it your all until you absolutley can't move anymore and have to be stretchered out, like you and I do. That's why it has to be you and it has to be me, my friend. This is your last dance and my last hurrah, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather go down fighting with, than you.

Matt pauses, a smile spreading across his face.

Bad Ass: I mean, we had some good times, didn't we? I shot your old lady in the head with a paintball pistol you thought was a real gun. You blew me out of your window with rocksalt in a shotgun. Stapled asses, cheese-grated faces, blowtorched limbs... This is it, Buzz. You and me, one more time. We do it our way!

Matt holds his hand out as Jenny passes him the whiskey bottle. The plastic lid can be heard cracking open over the microphone as the crowd fires up with excitement. Matt holds the fifth out.

Bad Ass: Eight months sober, Buzz. Eight months of being Matt Covey, extraordinairy and civilized human being...down the shitter!

Matt suddenly turns the fifth up to his mouth and tilts his head back and the shiskey rushes down his throat. The crowd explodes as Jenny Jacobs begins applauding her man. After several long chugs, Matt lowers the bottle, about half it's contents remaining.Eyes closed, helooks to be savoring the moment. And then his eyes burst open like a gunshot. Slowly, but surely, the old malevolent grin slides across his stubble riden face. He quickly raises the bottle again, and chugs once more, leaving only a third of the alcohol's contents when he's finished.

Bad Ass: GOT-DAMN!!! I have missed you, mother fuckers!

Matt stumbles forward a step as though he momentarilly lost balance.

Bad Ass: Let me make this real simple for ya, Buzz. Don't mistake my kindness for weakness. You do that, and I'll eat you alive and floss my teeth with your intestines! The Bad Ass is back! And for one night only, I'm going to raise hell, cut somebody, hit a chick in the face, and probably burn the entire fucking building to the ground! But more mportantly, I'm going to dismantle you, Buzz! I'm going to make abso-fuckin-lutely sure that if you aren't cmpeting anymore, that it's for a damn good reason! Like me disabling. That's reason enough. But more importantly, that's the fuel you need to stroke your fire, son! I'm back on top of my game, and you never stopped! Listen very, VERY closely to me, Buzz... I want you to do me a solid. Forget that you were just inducted into the Hall of Fame. Forget that people in the back are trying to put us out to pasture, before we're ready. Forget about the years of pain and scar tissue that keep us from doing the things we love forever! Forget that these people are even in our presence, and do me this one favor...

Matt pauses again, hiccuping slightly from the excessive alcohol intake.

Bad Ass: End me.

The crowd gasps and even Jenny Jacobs is taken back by the comment.

Bad Ass: I don't want to wake up the next day saying "Well, I guess I'm retired now." I want one final shot. One last blaze of glory. If you have to take a buck-skinning knife and flay the skin from my bones, so be it! Pound my head into the concrete! Tie my neck in the wropes and cut off my circulation so you can smash my skull like a balloon after it's turned blue! Take your HoF plaque, smash it, and slice my arteries with the glass! I haven't felt this fucking good in a long, LOOOOOOONG ass time! But it's not enough! I need you to make me feel ALIVE!!! Hurt me, Buzz. Remind me what it means to suffer! Do unto me as I am going to do unto you.

Matt's face wrinkles as though in agony as he shouts...

Bad Ass: I'M BRINGING THE SIN, YOU BRING THE HELL!!! Now play my fucking music!

"Man of Constant Sorrow" begins to pick up, but Matt quickly interrupts again.

Bad Ass: No, I said play my REAL music!

The arena is suddenly awash in the song "Die Mother Fucker Die" by Dope, the crowd on their feet with the loudest ovation of the night! Matt turns the bottle up one last time, killing the last of the whiskey's contents. Having finished the bottle, Matt violently busts the glass structure over his head, an immediate follow up of blood trickling down his face as he points his fingers into his trademark gun at the crowd. And as one, Matt, the crowd in attendance and Jenny Jacobs all shout simultaneously...

BANG!
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*prologue*

Back stage, a nearly unconscious Ed is helped toward the lockers. Big Nasty stands inthe same room, viewing the production monitors. He clutches his Money in the Bank briefcase tight to his chest, almost in a bear hug.

Big Nasty: God! Even when he's being legit, he's an asshole! *grumble grumble* I'll show the world!

--END--
Edited by "Bad Ass" Matt Covey, Apr 12 2013, 03:08 AM.
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