Lost in the dust

Congratulations BAD ASS. The skinny little punk set forth his goal,
proclaimed it, and obtained it. He went into Majority Rules II just another name, and left a contender for the tag-team championship. BAD ASS laughed at everyone's words. Everyone had him doomed just because his partner enjoys a good fuck every now and then. But he showed them, showed them all by not only beating Gunther and company, but also by taking Gunther's career.

Following that great win came a
celebration for the soon to be permanent Tag-Team champion. The BAD
ASS crew had already prepared the alcohol and drugs, fire breathing
midget hookers, and horse tranquilizer rifles. As he arrived through
that curtain he saw their smiling faces, only to be bugged by a gnat
buzzing in his peripheral. Coming into view was a happy Brandon Washington, a resident stage hand for FTW,
patting the BADASS on the shoulder...

Washington
Great win out there BA. Let me tell you that the road only gets steeper from here.

BAD ASS
The fuck is that supposed to mean?

Washington
It means that there will be more responsibility.

BAD ASS
I ain’t no bitch.

Washington
All you have to do is get passed Flex Rogers and Loca Rossi, and the tag-team shot is as good as yours. Which means that if a microphone
is shoved in your face, do your best to retain your composure and
refrain from beating them senseless. That’s all I ask, okay?

Washington looked over his shoulder, seeing several web site reporters flutter over in his direction

Washington
You're opening up Global Takeover, against the Hippie Rican's, good luck BAD ASS.

Washinton
said with a twinge of snide as the drooling, heavy breathing, flash
happy mutants made their way over, clicking away as BAD ASS couldn’t
help but mean mug. A wave of BO and annoying questions hit him from
different angles...

“So who are you fighting next BAD ASS?”

“Were you inspired by KICK ASS to get your wrestling name?”

“How do you keep winning?”

“Would you consider doing voiceover for an anime show?”

Trying
his best to shield his eyes, BAD ASS whipped his hoodie hood over his
face, leaving only a nose and mouth. Deciding to end this confusion
professionally, BAD ASS took a step back as the lights ricocheted off
his polished up shoulder trophy.

BAD ASS
As all of you seem
to love asking fucking retarded questions, I will only answer one of
your questions. You, with the Gin Blossoms shirt and rose colored
glasses.

The faded throw back boy spoke into his recorder with a big smile.

Reporter
Damian Tortles, Wrestlingmegasite.com. So BAD ASS, what inspired you to be a professional wrestler?

BAD ASS
Pussy, pot, profit. Done. Fuck off dorks.

Powering
through the mob, BAD ASS shouldered through three of them and made his
way to his locker room. Following him were Team BAD ASS, who proceeded
to threaten the reporters with their paintball guns if they dare pester
the future tag champion. Not being blinded by a cascade of flashes, BAD ASS raised
his hood, only to see Skip Sanders waving at him from outside his locker
room.

BAD ASS
Fuck...

Fuck indeed. There stood
Skip Sanders with a cameraman, no doubt preparing for another one of his
online exclusives. He caught a hell of a segment last week, and was
planning on a repeat performance from the looks of it. As BAD ASS
reached for his locker room door knob, Skip shoved that microphone in
his face. Just begging for BAD ASS to cave his face in with that stick.

BAD ASS
Do you fucking mind? Let a motherfucker relax after a big win.

Sanders
There’s plenty of time for that sir, I will only take a minute of your time.

BAD ASS
Alright, cool. That’s all you’re fucking getting. AIDS, time that shit.

Right
away AIDS set his calculator watch to stop watch function, and started
the timer along with a corny boney finger point to start the interview

Sanders
Welcome everyone for the FTW online exclusive of the week!! Joining me
here is BAD ASS. We’re limited on time,
so let’s cut to the chase, how did this win over Gunther feel to you? and what are
your goals?

BAD ASS
It feels good and to beat shit out of everyone who faces me

Sanders
So from what you’re saying you’re willing to take on anyone on the FTW
roster. Who specifically would you like to face in the near future?

BAD
ASS
BMac, Corey Casey, and anyone else who's currently a household name. I need to let these bitches know I’m the
craziest fuckin’ illest heel to ever step foot in FTW. I’m sick of
these silly limp wrist limp dick pill poppers trying to invade on my
real estate. I don’t give a shit how long it takes, I will claim victory
over each one of those bow legged butt plug stuffed sados. Know this.

Sanders
Alright we got time for one more, what are your current thoughts on females in professional wrestling?

He
went to speak, but before a word could escape his lips the timer went
off on AIDS’ watch. With that came a pie face, knocking Skip on his ass.
BAD ASS and crew chuckled as they entered the dressing room, leaving a
thick cloud of white smoke to escape. “Cherry Pie” by Poison could be
heard coming from the room, along with helium-like laughter. The party
ensued as the door shut, leaving Skip to pick himself up off the
concrete and shake his head

FOUR DAYS LATER...

“Wake up!!! Dammit BAD ASS wake up, it’s Saturday!!”

Slowly
BAD ASS swims back to consciousness. Trudging through the groggy fog to
open up his crusted eyes to Fairy’s lightly golden feathered mullet
glistening in the sunlight. He winces at the brightness, scowling as
Fairy offers a hand to help him up. Begrudgingly BAD ASS takes the hand,
using Fairy’s weak power to hoist him up to a sitting position. From
there he stretches wide and lets out a loud yawn, at least for a good
ten seconds. Upon throwing the Pokemon blanket off of him he realizes
that he’s still wearing his usual Jack Daniels ring gear from Sunday
night, which is no different than his usual wear with the exception of
taped hands. That horse tranquilizer tag game with the drunken hooker
midgets wasn’t the gimmie he thought it was going to be. However BAD ASS has no idea this has happened, or what has
happened for that matter as he’s been in a mini coma. Let’s read on as
he finds out...

BAD ASS
So did I get some midget pussy?

Deciding
it would be best to lie to the ZIF, being he would slice throats if
he found out everyone in his crew got laid except for him, Fairy
protects his dignity

Fairy
Dude we never got a shot because they were on your dick the whole night.

BAD ASS
Sounds about right.

Fairy
So you can’t remember anything?

BAD ASS
All I remember is pegging three midget bitches back to back, then nothing after that.

Fairy
Yeah you got shot with a tranquilizer. One of them hid on the rooftop and used a sniper scope to take you out.

BAD ASS
Bitches!! I should’ve known midgets don’t play by the rules. So how did I gangbang them if I was unconscious?

Fairy
I dunno dude you were stiff so they all took turns on you.

BAD ASS
Sounds about right. Big daddy BAD ASS never has a problem getting it up.

Fairy
So...anyways it’s Saturday.

BAD ASS
Already?!?

Fairy
Yes sir. You were out for half a week. Could’ve been more if I didn’t wake you.

BAD ASS
Wow. What the fuck?

Fairy
Yeah I think we should decide to not use horse tranquilizers in our
next party. Everyone except for me is still in a tranquilizer coma.

BAD ASS
Oh so that’s where they are. Usually you fags are inseparable.

Fairy
Whatever. I got this out of Gerald’s jacket before he passed out in the line of battle.

BAD ASS
He got shot?

Fairy
No, he’s just old and sleeps a lot.

Fairy hands over the photo, which shows Loca lookin’ fly, and Flex Rogers looking like a strung out stoner in black and white

BAD ASS
Hmm. Gee let me guess what this could be

Sarcasm is embedded in his words as he flips over the photo to state the obvious in scrawled confused grandpa writing.

GLOBAL TAKEOVER

You and Alison vs. Flex Rogers and Loca

With
a roll of his eyes BAD ASS flicks the photo in the air, sending it
boomeranging back to him and reflecting off his bird chest. BAD ASS
points for Fairy to get behind the camera in the corner, and he does as
BAD ASS power walks over to take care of business. That familiar red
light flicks on, and with a raise of his eyes BAD ASS sharpens up and
gets in promo mode.

Lost in the dust Tumblr_l8ab1x0KJq1qa1xnko1_500

For
the second time in a row, I must raise my firm pimp hand and smacketh
down upon yet another bitch put before me. Now, mind you there’s many a
man on this roster who would easily be considered a bitch compared to a
testosterone waterfall such as myself. And I’m fine with that, I’ve
grown to realize that even in physical professions such as pro wrestling
you’re going to get nancy bitch twinks who need to be put in their
place. The difference is that in my short time here in FTW, I’ve been
forced into a situation where I had to beat up a real bitch. Yes one
with a real vagina between her legs as opposed to the tucked in dicks of
these flamboyant homosexuals with whom I have to share an arena with.
Sure I got to hand out a few steel boot crouch shots out of it, so why the fuck should I complain?

Because
I’m being forced into that situation again. I mean, I should’ve
expected this being the FTW fan boy I am. I watched BMac climb the
foreskin ladder all the way to a World Championship. So it should come
as no surprise to me that FTW is all about equal opportunity. Even if
hoes like Loca are possible post ops with money to afford the best
surgeons Los Angeles can offer. Aside from that one shining example with
an adam’s apple, there has never been a truly successful woman in FTW. And Loca certainly won't be the one to change this.

Now before you get all ghetto Rican on me let me
speak my piece. I’ll be the first to admit I’m a fan of yours Gangsta
Boo. I’ve been down with your flows since Mystic Stylez. In fact if I
may be so bold, you’re the hardest bitch on the block. Your satanic
rhymes would’ve made Little Kim or Da Brat shit their pants if they were
battle rapping you. Sadly, not many people know who the fuck you are
being you left Three Six Mafia right after When The Smoke Clears because
you’re a greedy bitch and wanted a bigger cut of all the hard work DJ
Paul and Juicy J put in. From there it was random collabs with whatever
ghetto retard who could cough up enough dough for you to rap twelve
lines or do a chorus. Oh and how about that stint as a gospel preacher? I
take it you were heavily rocked out one night and saw a crack
apparition telling you to spread the lord’s word. Not to mention those days you were dropping G-strings rather then elbows.

Tisk tisk Loca.

I don’t blame you for wandering
over to pro wrestling. It makes sense for a washed up street certified
thugette to try her hand at a field where she can carve up people in the
ring with a box cutter while still staying culturally relevant.

As
much as I could though, I’m not going to carve you up on your past. My
respect for your contributions to the world of gangsta rap are enough
for me to let that be. However I will dissect your inconsistent and
shaky wrestling career. Ever since you came to FTW you’ve been on the
roller coaster of fate. Your career here has been marked
by spurts of greatness, only for you to be brought back down to earth
with a hearty dose of man fist. However most of the fans don’t see you
as this “which version will show up?” slut. They see you as this shining
example of what an American woman can do in society. You are that
beacon of hope to all the XXXL Loca t-shirt wearing hippos that
women can make it in professional wrestling. You are the boy butter
covered poster girl for every teenage FTW fan who can’t jack to nude
photoshopped photos of you since their parents put a parental lock on
their internet account. Sadly it’s because of these pimple farm facebook
drones that YOU have an ego.

That YOU think you’re better than everyone
on this roster.

Here’s the reality check for yo’ nappy ass
beaver. You are a tag team specialist. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just a
greedy gold diggin’ tramp who's about to ride the name of Flex Rogers for all it was
worth. Let’s take a pin to
that bubble which Loca’s been steadily blowing up to ridiculous
proportions. News flash, NOBODY wants to be in the fucking tag team
division.

NO ONE.

Just about everyone who passes through the
hallowed halls of FTW is out for self. Hell even when they side together
to go for the tag belts it’s only for notoriety. It’s not because
there’s some sort of camaraderie or some fairy tail bullshit like that. The only reason your even here Loca, is because
you were on Flex's dick. Literally.

It seems that through out your whole life,
you couldn’t really amount to anything unless you surrounded yourself
with successful men. No matter how hard you tried to show your
talent to the world, they only wanted to listen if there was a brother
by your side. How frustrating that must be, to be a Spanish woman who
fails to realize that every opportunity she’s ever had is because she
knows a great bandwagon when she sees it. Not because she’s a
world class wrestler, but because she’s a street hardened psychopath who
always lands on black when playing coattail roulette.

Such a sad
existence.

Flex Roger's I don't even have to waist my time addressing him, he's like BMac motivated by what he is...pussy! I’m motherfucking
confident that I could uppercut that weave right off Loca's head. I’m sure a dirtbag diva
such as yourself will show up unmotivated to get your ass handed to you
by a skinny cracka on a roll. Sounds like the type of meal a food stamp
raised crack baby like you grew up on.

It’s always good to have something to
hope for as long as you keep on holding onto that wagon’s ledge. Don’t
ever let go Loca, hold on tight. Because without that grip you’re lost
in the dust.

Lost in the dust

Lost in the dust

Lost in the dust :: Comments