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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Leap of Faith III
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I'm not a turtle... I'M A MAN!
Author Message
Dillinger Offline
I am total chaos. Strange and abstruse.



XWF FanBase:
Some men, some teens, few women

(the villain you love to hate; has cult following)


#1
07-19-2016, 12:29 PM

Steve Sayors couldn't believe his eyes! There was a huge buffet table that stretched as far as the eye could see, littered with all of his favorite foods... fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, a hot Marmite fountain with tiny bits of pumpernickel toast for dipping, egg foo young, mac n' cheese with spam, borscht, rocky mountain oysters, fresh durian and balut, to name a few of the selections. Plus there was an open bar that served nothing but Budweiser and that weird Pepsi and milk combination they drank on Laverne and Shirley. Rush was playing live and the entire cast of Cheers was there and they all knew Steve's name! It was a dream come true! Yet, that wasn't all. The whole XWF roster was there and they were being kind to him. The women were flirting with him and the guys were giving him praises and high fives. They kept saying things like "Good going!", "We're not worthy!" and "You're the man, Steve!" and that's when he noticed he was wearing every title in the federation. That's right, Steve Sayors was sporting all of them. He even had the crown on too! Steve Sayors was the first real queen... ehem, the first real king of the XWF! Wow! It was true! HE WAS THE MAN! He could do anything he wanted and have whomever he pleased! And he couldn't have been happier!

Until the reality of wearing all that metal and leather finally sunk in and Steve started to feel weighed down. The super hard high fives weren't helping matters either. Why did those assholes have to hit a high five so hard!?!? The imposing weight of the titles combined with the force of the high fives was too much for him. Steve struggled to maintain his balance but it was impossible. He started to tip over. Slowly. Like he was stuck in a scene from a film that was emphasizing something in slow motion. Falling took forever but eventually he dropped to the floor. The epic sound of metal against super plush carpet echoed silently! That's correct. It barely could be heard. Especially with the noise of a room full of people and a band playing live music. The only evidence of what happened was the fact that Steve was stuck on his back. Similar to how a turtle might look when it fights to stand, Steve strained himself and frantically waved his limbs to no avail!

"I'm not a turtle... I'M A MAN!"

Steve shouted as he shot upright.

"That's affirmative Mr. Sayors, you're a man and we've finally made it to our destination."

"What?"

Steve blinked, stretched and then rubbed his eyes. Gradually realizing that he was in the backseat of one of the XWF's company cars. Equipped with drivers, these cars made his work travels a lot easier. Especially when the drive proved to be a long and tedious journey. Now he could take naps instead.

"We're here, sir."

Bertrand Walsted, had been a driver for the XWF for a week now and already missed his days of employment as a Domino's pizza delivery man. He retrieved a tissue from the glove compartment and extended it towards Steve Sayors.

"For the drool, sir."

For a moment, Steve looked baffled and wiped at his mouth with his hand. There wasn't any moisture there. Oh, but that's when a shimmer of light caught his eye and he noticed it. An undeniable pool of liquid, located on the seat beside him; where his head came to rest while he slumbered, sat reflecting the afternoon sun. Steve took the tissue and quickly soaked it up. Promptly handing the damp mound that used to be a tissue back to Bertrand before exiting the vehicle. Bertrand couldn't have been more thrilled.

"Are you sure... this... is the place, Bertrand?"

Steve asked, wearily eyeing the building that stood before him. With its massive stone walls, flying buttresses, pointed arches, towers, spires, sculptured portals, gargoyle accented rooftop, stout columns, cathedral style windows and heavy oak and wrought iron front door, it stood against the stark afternoon sky, like a frightening fortress one might stumble across in a horror movie. Not to mention it was in the middle of nowhere. Just looking at the place sent chills through Steve and this was during the day, he couldn't imagine walking up to it at night. This had to be the wrong location. At least that's what Steve hoped.

"It's the address I inputted into mapquest, sir. If you gave me the correct address for Dillinger D'Marco, then yes, this is definitely the right place."

"Alright. I just wanted to be sure."

Steve sighed and marched to the front door, trying to keep a brave face on while secretly wishing he could run back to the car and make Bertrand do this. No one would miss Bertrand, if he wound up getting mauled to death by a werewolf, eaten alive by zombies or murdered by an ax wielding mad man. Not like they would miss Steve Sayors. He was a predominant name within the company. When you thought of interviews with wrestlers, you thought of Steve Sayors. Steve fidgeted a bit and then rang the doorbell. Yeesh. Even the doorbell sounded haunting. The hollow echo permeated from within and hung in the air like a spirit's plea for him to flee. Yet, before Steve could heed this supernatural request; however real or made up in his head that it was, the door opened and there stood Dillinger D'Marco.

"Greetings and welcome, Steve. I see you're not alone. Smart move. Now there's a witness to your arrival. If I kill you, I'll have to remember that."

"Um... what?"

"Relax, Steve. I'm probably joking. Please, come on in and make yourself at home."

"O... kay."

Steve awkwardly walked in as Dillinger shut, locked and bolted his front door. From there, Steve followed Dillinger into his living room, where Dillinger gestured for Steve to take a seat, on one of his black leather sofas. Reluctantly, Steve sat and Dillinger disappeared through a swinging door, reappearing only moments later with two bottles of water. He then tossed a bottle to Steve, who caught it as weirdly as his entire demeanor suggested he would and Dillinger dropped into a sitting position on the sofa across from him.

"So where do we begin?"

Steve blinked in a rapid succession of several blinks and swallowed uncomfortably as he pulled a small, blue, spiral notepad from his pocket.

"I've prepared some questions I'd like to ask you."

"Sounds good, Steve. Just read 'em off and I'll be happy to answer them. Unless they're too personal. Then I'll have to kill ya."

Dillinger smiled and Steve nervously yanked on his shirt's collar. Sort of like how Charlie Brown would do in the Peanuts cartoons.

"Wow. That was clearly another joke, most likely."

Lighting up a cigarette, Dillinger lounged back and threw his feet up onto the coffee table that sat in-between the two men.

"No worries man, you're safe. Ask your questions away and I promise there isn't anything you can ask that will provoke death."

Dillinger smirked.

"Not unless you're specifically askin' for death but what are the odds of that?"

Steve gave a tense laugh and opened his notepad.

"Heh... none. Let's begin, shall we?"

"Go for it."

"Have you heard what Jose Gomez recently had to say?"

Dillinger took a long pull from his cigarette.

"Yeah, I caught some of that. He seems... confused. Can't remember that I accepted his challenge, doesn't know where I stabbed him, thinks I'm the 'icon' champion... whatever that is, calls me a coward when he's clearly frontin' on easy street and actually believes I care. Look, that fuckin' cholo was clearly dropped on his head one too many times. His words don't mean shit. He's nothing and that's an over estimation on his worth. But if he wants to come at me and try again, I'll be happy to put him in the hospital... again. Or the morgue. Whichever works."

"Those are bold words. Are you that confident about your upcoming battle with Robbie Bourbon?"

Exhaling a large cloud of smoke, the smirk returns to Dillinger's face.

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall, right?"

"Yes, but Robbie Bourbon is a seasoned veteran. He's been here; taking names, kicking ass and fighting for the people, for some time now."

"Ah, the ubiquitous and ever present 'people' he's the supposed 'man of'... come our fight, he'll simply have to lose for them... again. Like he's admitted to doing in a similar fight. Because admitting to failure doesn't mean you're terrible if you save face and claim there wasn't pain involved, after the fact. Nah. That doesn't shine a shitty light on him as a wrestler. Not at all. No one will ever wonder how he failed at fighting while also being so mighty he can barely feel falling off a building. Nope. That's not a thing that people will notice or care about at all. I mean, if these people are his 'people', they won't. Of course, that's due to the fact that they're unable to fully think on their own. Not properly anyway. They're mindless drones who follow without thought and can't be bothered with common sense. The <img src="https://i.imgur.com/pUgtAVa.gif"> probably enjoy his rapping and think his brain eating is real edgy stuff. Hey, they more than likely dig reality tv, pop music and whatever product they're told to buy by mass marketed advertising campaigns too. If he told that fuckin' group of lemmings to jump off a cliff, he wouldn't have 'people' cause they would listen to his command and leap to their doom without a second thought edgewise."

"Shit. How can I work that into the stipulation? If Bourbon loses he has to mass euthanize his fucktard followers. How do I make that happen? Can I make that happen? C'mon that's not cruel, it's looking out for the planet's populous as a whole. Those folks won't add anything helpful or productive to society, they're better off dead. Whatever. I could take care of it on my own if I really wanted to. I bet I could build an Auschwitz style set of showers and then hang a big sign over the building housing them announcing free Robbie Bourbon autographs and those brainless dullards would willingly walk right into their own annihilation. The doors wouldn't even have to be locked either. They merely could be doors that you need to push in order to exit the building, that are then falsely marked with the word 'PULL' instead and those morons would be trapped. That would be an enigma far too complicated to unravel, even as I explain this right now, when the time comes... if it comes, they still wouldn't catch on and they'd perish for that marvelous display of group thinking. What a wonderful world we live in, don't you agree?"


"That's horrible. No, I don't agree. I mean, yes, the world is wonderful but not because of anything you said. Robbie Bourbon is a staple to this industry and I'm personally a fan of his."

"Of course you are."

Steve swallowed down another mouthful of water and shook his head, he was beginning to feel flushed. Was it getting hot in here or was it just him?

"May I use your restroom?"

"Absolutely. Head straight down the hall and it's the last door on the left."

Steve mumbled his thanks as he rose from his seat and stumbled towards the hall. Where he commenced staggering and bumping into every door and bare patch of wall until he reached the last door on the left and quickly swung it open, only to tumble forward and fall down a flight of stairs. Steve managed to hit each and every one of those stairs on his way down too, before he finally crashed at the bottom. Hard. Groaning, he slowly lifted his head and groggily gazed up at his surroundings. This wasn't a bathroom, this was the basement. Steve's head hurt. In fact, hurt was an understatement. No, it didn't merely hurt, it throbbed with agony and was beginning to feel heavy. He rested it on the cool cement and closed his eyes. Maybe just a quick nap. Then he'd find the real lavatory, tend to his business and finish the interview. Oh no...these weren't illogical thoughts, at all.


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