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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board
Sayors Asks Me Some Questions (What a kind man.)
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The Walking Disaster



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#1
02-18-2016, 01:32 PM















Opponent/s who shall receive my scaly dick:












Christopher "Virgin" Isles













The Lounge Lizard




Sayors Asks Me Some Questions (What a kind man)








And there goes the television out the window.

“Christopher Isles and Mason Prince? Are you trying to sabotage my career you fucking lairy gannet snake?”

“I-I don’t know what that means, all I know is that John Madison told me to tell you that you’re booked on the first match of the night in a four man tag team match. Please can you stop wrecking the hotel room that is all paid for you?”

I grab a lamp and swing it at some speed at the messenger’s head, snarling as it shatters, the glass falling onto the carpet. The scrawny dude stumbles back into the arms of Steve Sayors and his camera crew, eyes wide at the carnage being orchestrated in front of them. I charge and punch my hand through presumably one of Dick Tickler’s army boyfriends in the form of an artist’s strokes of a brush hung up on a wall, piercing the painting and appearing on the other side. Ripping my hand out, I hammer throw that too out of the fucking window.

“Sayors, is that Danny Devito looking cunt recording this?”

“Uh… yes he is.”

“GREAT! Tell him to keep filming for me would you mate?”

“Sure-“

A sofa interrupts him by smacking him square in the jaw, also taking out the row of camera men like a bunch of bowling pins. Ike the little slit-eyed gook sat trembling in the corner as I pick up the XWF employee who alerted me of my Shove-It booking by his throat, dragging him to the edge of the windowsill, before lifting him up and dangling him over the edge.

“Tell me something that will make me happy.” I whisper, all while crushing the life out of his pitiful existence.

“…Ah…Y-you’ll be facing a team of part-timers? Let me go, please…”

“Are you insinuating that I question my ability to beat the shit out of a man who shouts a lot and as his name says literally tickles dicks, has only ever refereed grown men arguing with each other and has a wrinkled unsaturated grey-haired ballsack that hasn’t been showered since Vietnam?”

“No! No… I… I’m not…” He gasps and claws at his throat, struggling to find air.

“Well then, are you implying that I doubt my skills against a man who looks like he face fucked a bunch of printer cartridges while wearing his own wank sock on his head, still wears a fedora even though it’s 2016 and abducts men after his wife and kids were killed because he had no one to play glow in the dark condom lightsaber fights with?”

“I would never… AGRH… ever do that…”

“Hmm… well that can only mean you are suggesting that I am uncertain about fighting a man who struggles to not pitch a tent while watching little children play dodgeball, fantasises about groping the cellulite of Peter Gilmour’s thighs and has only racked up a record of wins because he faces the lousiest pieces of shit to ever grace an XWF ring?”

“NO! LET ME GO!” The man screams as he kicks out his feet standing on nothing but thin air, looking down onto the concrete carpark below which would look oh so pretty with a splattered brain inhabiting the disabled parking place. I grow bored of the predicament, so I pull the man back over onto the balcony, where Sayors and his slightly battered crew await, unsure of what to make of the situation.

“Sayors,” I say, stepping over the guy I was just interrogating over the balcony and walking over to the XWF iinterviewer that everyone loves to abuse, of whom is just recovering from my own attack. “Ask me a FUCKING question.”

“…What do you think of your team?”

“As I’ve already made clear, my team fucking sucks. The only person who has any ability other than me is Frodo, an old friend of mine who I haven’t spoken to in over a year. Then you have Mason Prince who has been avoiding me ever since I destroyed him and took away his Federweight title because he’s a little pussy and I outed him for the hoax he really is. Oh and then there’s Isles, who I annihilated last week despite being attacked by this group called the Black Hand of whom I can only imagine is because they fist each other before assaulting innocent people out of the blue. Yeah, Isles is a homosexual and he is a bit of a daft cunt as well, so I can’t wait to not tag him into the match and do all the work myself.”

“Do you believe you will emerge triumphant, despite what you say about your teammates?”

“Believe me. I could re-paralyse myself, cut off all of my limbs and have Mason Prince and Christopher Isles only be in the match and we’d still win. Why? They are a bunch of crippled batty boy homosexuals, most likely all having peg legs too. We are against a bunch of part-timers and a MYSTERY opponent. Now, let’s say that management are trying to book the teams evenly, they need someone to greatly improve the other shitstain of a team. That person can only be one man… Barney Green. I fought by his side and I have to say that man has the talent of Tommy Gunn, Dick Tickler and Hysteria all put together. He still fucking sucks though and was the reason I lost the last time I was in the XWF, but that shows what I think.”

“What will you do with the money if you win?”

“WHEN I WIN, though I don’t even know why I am in this match, but when I get some fucking XBUX I will most likely stock up on some Ketamine. Maybe buy a nice elephant ivory suit and piss off the hipster vegan girl that usually arrives in the XWF at some point this season? I’m not sure. Either way, I’ll probably buy a nice casket for each member of the opposing team, unless they want to be cremated, then I’ll fucking snort their ashes and get high on the aroma of utter shit. That is, if I was a shit sniffer, which I’m not but I can’t say that about the other team. Hysteria I know for a fact was in charge of daily Asylum shower rituals which involved ripping out a page of the book of Higher Power and wiping their ass with it and then passing it to each other so they can roll a spliff, I can’t see why else they came up with half the bullshit they did. Or, I could buy a large crate of dildos from Uruguay and fuck Tommy Gunn until he’s celibate, depressed and suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder since he loves to toss around that other people are all the time.”

“But… isn’t that a bit gay?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Are you aware that you are threatening to fuck another man in the ass?”

“Do I find pleasure in it? Yes. Am I sexually stimulated or attracted to that ugly ? No, I’m trying to expose and cause pain, it’s all about intention. I’m not a fucking batty boy. Maybe I’ll take some pictures and send it to his nephew, but it probably won’t affect him that much due to the scabbing on his taint from the pounding ‘training’ he undertook before facing Peter Gilmour from his uncle anyway. The guy is behind in the times, he still thinks that inbreeding is acceptable. He even comes out to fucking Killswitch Engage. Jesus Christ this isn’t the 1700’s where the Aztecs massacred jews. One thing’s for sure and that’s that the Lounge Lizard is constantly evolving.”

“Speaking of evolving, do you think that your team will have to evolve their tactics when facing your opponents?”

“Mason Prince will have to stop stealing unfunny shit, Christopher Isles will have to stop saying brah and pretending he’s not a closet homosexual, Frodo’s fine if he lays off the drugs. All in all, we’ll just have to practice agility and movement to avoid Dick Tickler groping onslaught like he did to young recruits in the army barracks judging from his creative ways of saying ‘I love you’ in the form of threatening to rip out your spine and how he barks like a fucking dog shitting razorblades. Fortunately the air resistance of the old loose skin from his hands will slow it down a bit so I can snap them off and slap the triple digit age out of him until he suffers from amnesia. The daft cunt will probably believe its dementia anyway.”

“Hysteria also insulted Gein in a recent promo, an old friend of yours before he was brainwashed and turned into Mick ‘The Martyr’ Manson and was then murdered again by Hysteria. Any thoughts?”

“Who?”

“Gein? The person who introduced you to the XWF?”

“Never heard of him. Next question.”

“Okay… any thoughts on Hysteria himself then?”

“I think the blackish brown marks on his mask are from all the bullshit he throws up with a hint of bile because of all the pre-vomit he gets from deepthroating the Higher Power’s dick. His stomach is so full of Doctor D’ville’s cum that when he speaks, the sperm cells are practicing their stop clock speed for the not so inevitable race they believe they will partake in during fertilisation, because poor Hysteria’s wife and kids are dead and he’s scared of trying again. Your fucking sperm bank is doomed you pillock. Your tiny pecker’s juices are about as limp as a dead pigeon.”

“Do you want to say any last messages?”

“I’ve got a message. It’s a warning. Don’t let the Lounge Lizard spoil your evening, gentlemen.”

I then kick Steve Sayors out of the room and order all the other XWF representatives to follow the little corporate slave out the door. They oblige.

They always do.





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