We open shortly after Shove It Saturday Night went off the air. Mister Mystery 17 31707 1 is no stranger to garbage and it would seem that Shane -- the XWF's egomaniacal fool of an owner -- felt that Mister Mystery should be reintroduced to the trash that he once lived among so many years ago.
If only knew that I had spent months eating garbage and drinking rain water -- among other randomly available liquids -- he might not have thought so clever of his strategy of having me and my brethren tossed out back by his ass kissing, shitbag followers. Perhaps I need to find a way to personally introduce himself to my former lifestyle and he'll realize just how ineffective such a tactic really is. Look at this half eaten hot dog stuck to my leg right now; this is what I'd have considered one hell of a find back in my days on the street and in the alley ways that most of society would like to forget about.
Mister Mystery pulls the half eaten hot dog off of his leg as he brushes some garbage off of himself and stands to his feet. He holds the hot dog in his hand as he stares down at it.
I'm actually not sure if I should climb out of this large double dumpster first or if I should feast upon this half eaten morsel of delight much like I'm going to do on the already half dead Black Circle the next time I'm in the same arena as them. Maybe I should save this half eaten hot dog so I can shove it down Shane 's throat before I make him watch me decimate Sebastian Duke again, since clearly he hasn't had enough of me yet. Peter Gilmour and I practically dominated the living fuck out of that man a few weeks ago and now he dares to put his hands on me again?
He crushes the half eaten hot dog in his hand before whipping it down to his lower left, not realizing he just threw it into the face of one of his own stable-mates -- Mr. Satellite. Mister Mystery proceeds to climb out of the large double dumpster and brush himself off, straightening his garbage stained hockey mask a little when he looks into the dumpster and sees Mr. Satellite wiping remnants of the hot dog from his face.
I guess I forgot Mr. Satellite and Unknown Soldier got tossed into the trash with me; a minor detail as far as I'm concerned because I'm not here to serve either of them. Look at that one armed freak trying to get all of that garbage off of him and probably expecting me to help him get out of there. If Shane's group of mental midgets were able to overpower us then Mr. Satellite might as well have no arms because he's completely fucking useless and a waste of space. Why was he added to the group anyway? He wasn't even going to beat Luca Arzegotti of all people had it not been for me entering his match and crushing the living shit out of Luca for him. I took a chair shot to the head from that weakling and then dropped him like a bad habit a split second later as if a fly had flown into my face, but Mr. Satellite couldn't overcome him on his own? This miserable little rat is lucky he's so high in Donathan's favor or I'd snap him in half and devour what's left of his weak, dismembered body right now.
Mr. Satellite manages to get all the garbage off of himself and he reaches his arm out toward Mister Mystery for a hand getting out of the rather high dumpster.
Mr. Satellite can feel the daggers penetrating his very being as that white mask looks down on him in so many ways right now.
Mr. Satellite receives no help as Mister Mystery simply turns away and vanishes from Satellite's sight.
Donathan wouldn't be pleased but Donathan isn't here -- I'm not going out of my way to help that shit stain, Mr. Satellite, any further than I've already done by winning his match for him tonight. If he's got a problem with it I'll remove him from this plane of existence. He knows not to whine to Donathan about this -- he damn well better know, anyway. For some reason Shane's cock suckers didn't toss Unknown Soldier into that dumpster so maybe he'll go help Mr. Satellite climb out. Not me though; not the guy who received no assistance when Sebastian Duke was sneaking up behind me like the mother of all pussies, or when John Madison was whacking me in the skull with a stick he found wedged up Sebastian Duke's asshole!
Mister Mystery walks off into the distance, right past Unknown Soldier who is rummaging through some of the nearby trash on the ground looking for bottles of vodka. It's unlikely he'll find any since they don't serve vodka at XWF events but-
-nevermind; a small bottle of Smirnoff vodka is exactly what Unknown Soldier has somehow found. He eagerly shakes the bottle next to his ear in the darkness to confirm that there's about a sip or two left inside.
At least Unknown Soldier is more resourceful than Mr. Satellite. Mr. Satellite should rummage around in that trash and see about finding a fucking arm -- or better yet a fucking brain. He was supposed to be the backup in case things got really out of hand during Donathan's match tonight. He was supposed to be the one to turn the tide if the rest of us somehow ran into trouble because Donathan had a feeling Shane might try and pull some bullshit during the main event. The specific order was: Me, Soldier, Satellite. If anything was to happen to Donathan or Tyler, I was the first to come out followed by Soldier. From there if something unexpected happened, Mr. Satellite -- that gimpy mother fucker -- was the one who was going to tip the scales back in our favor. I'd say he dropped the ball but that gimp never even had his hand on the damn thing to begin with!
Mister Mystery walks around the arena and comes up to a small group of fans who are waiting outside after the show to see which wrestlers they can find and get autographs from. He instantly knows this is going to be a problem because there's no way in hell he's in the mood for signing autographs or engaging in chit-chat with some stupid fuck marks who think they know him.
Fan1: Holy shit! Look!
Fan2: Whoa! It's Sid!
Did he just call me-
Before Mister Mystery can even finish a single thought the two fans come running toward him, quickly attracting a handful of other fans in the process.
Fan1: Dude! You're fucking awesome! Can I get your-
Mystery: Don't you even take another step toward me or I'll rip out your insides and force feed them to your stupid fuck friend who just called me Sid.
Well, that worked. Look how fast that damned fool froze in his tracks and look how quickly his friend followed suit. Maybe these Aussies understand that I'm not one to be fucked with.
Even though those two stopped cold, the other randoms who are now approaching don't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. In fact, the small handful moving toward Mister Mystery actually attracts an even larger group of people who were a short distance away.
This was when something very bizarre happened -- something I couldn't have predicted and certainly wasn't prepared for.
These fucks.
These mother fucking fucks.
They actually all started cheering and chanting my name!
The two fans who froze in their tracks remained silent but the others quickly approaching, as well as the large crowd in the distance behind a fence that separated the parking lot from where I was, all were losing their shit; and in a good way. I'm used to having people pretend to like me when they see me and recognize me from XWF television but this was something new in and of itself. These fucks were cheering and supporting me -- happy to see that I had survived whatever Shane 's lapdogs put me through once I was dragged out of their sight earlier this evening!
As more bodies collect around Mister Mystery like flies swarming to a steaming heap of shit, he scratches his head and just looks around in complete awe. Has Shane and his wretched goon squad of gonzo quality shit talkers finally gotten themselves so hated that a hell raising madman like Mistery Mystery would be legitimately cheered in this ongoing war? Mistery Mystery tries to process this possibility in his mind but before he knows it, he's surrounded by more screaming fans than he can possibly count. He stands there -- frozen -- pondering the possibilities of what to do with this new development and he decides to test it-
Mystery: How about instead of signing autographs I take each and every one of your pens and I jam them right into Shane 's eye sockets!
An enormous eruption of support nearly blows him away as they all hold their pens and pencils and markers in the air toward him. It doesn't take long before an actual chant begins.
I honest to god cannot believe what I'm witnessing right now. These fucks ... these fucks are beginning to chant -- "stab that bitch" -- "stab that bitch" -- "stab that bitch" -- and all I can do is stand here envisioning myself doing just that; stabbing not only Shane in his face but each and every last one of any cum guzzling lapdogs that would ever bow down to his malignant rule. The fans -- actual fans of me and what I do -- they're empowering me. THEY'RE MAKING ME WANT IT EVEN MORE! I can't explain what this is like. I haven't felt this in so long.
Mister Mystery feels the energy surging through his veins as his heart races faster than its raced in perhaps many years. He's feeling a rush that he hasn't quite felt since his last run in the wrestling business so, so long ago. He knew that this "project" of becoming Mister Mystery was going to bring new meaning to his life but he never expected it to be so invigorating -- he never again thought he'd be on the receiving end of such overwhelming and unanimous support, and all it took was a small group of men proving to be even bigger pieces of worthless fucking shit than he has proven to be in the short time he's been in the X-treme Wrestling Federation. Who'd have thunk it?
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-- the XWF's egomaniacal fool of an owner -- felt that Mister Mystery should be reintroduced to the trash that he once lived among so many years ago.
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