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JK I'm here :)
07-27-2017, 10:00 PM
Post: #1
”Party time my niggas!”

The scene opens to the Official BX3(™) tenement shack. The building’s few remaining windows flex against their frames as they are hit by wave after wave of the heavy bass emanating from Reno’s ghettoblaster. Riding full speed through the downtrodden and garbage-filled hallways, Bilbo waves two glow-in-the-dark dildos above his head, spinning them like helicopter blades. The drunken Josh Reno picks a bologna sandwich up off the ground, takes a bite, and then vomits all over the floor.

“I said no mayo!”

”That’s not mayo playa!”

Reno shrugs and takes another bite before vomiting again. Bilbo zooms by and wipes out in the vomit, sending him crashing into Reno. They both get to their knees and give eachother a vomit-covered high five.

The music stops.

The pair look to see Bruce, seated atop a throne made from empty paint cans and plastic buckets. He smiles, revealing the Universal grill, and raises a bottle of codeine cough syrup. On cue, Bilbo and Reno each raise a styrofoam cup.

”What the hell are y‘all drinking?”

”I got Trax’s semen. I’ve always wondered what HIV tasted like.”

”How the fuck did you get that?”

”I Dirt Devil’d it out of Cadeus’ asshole while he was asleep. He must have an extra intestine or something because holy fuck was there a lot of it."

"That's fucking disgusting."

"Wasn't that bad actually; he bleaches the hole and keeps it pretty well groomed. You wouldn't expect that given he looks like a homeless crack addict who'd swallow a cock for a dimebag."

Bilbo swirls it around in the glass, raises it to his nose and inhales deeply.

"I detect hints of nigger and a strong note of faggot."

He takes a swig, swishes around his mouth, and spits it back into the cup.

"Clean finish. What a remarkable year!"

"You're a weird motherfucker. What do you got Reno?"

"A 2017 Jenny Myst pussy juice reserve."

He tilts the cup and a gooey, clear liquid slowly drips out.

"That's uh...pretty viscous. It looks like cane syrup."

"What the fuck is wrong with this cunt's cooter?"

Reno lets the liquid drip into his mouth. He makes a disgusted face as he begins to chew syrupy discharge.

"It's like a half melted gummy bear that tastes like motor oil and and burnt popcorn."

"Drink up faggots! We're celebrating!"

They cheers and chug their beverages. After Reno finishes chewing and swallowing his, he looks around the room, puzzled.

"What're we celebrating again?"

"Our boy winning the goddamn Universal title and killing the Jim Caedus reign of faggotry!"

"And keeping that shit dead too. He gets his rematch but he's in so far over his head that the pig fucker went in front of the XWF cameras and had a heartbreaking, yet hilarious, psychotic episode."

Bruce takes a swig of the cough syrup.

"His unhinged rants have to be the result of all that swallowed cum osmosing into his frontal lobe and literally clouding his judgement. The level of butthurt on display is fucking amazing. Poor guy was choking back tears talking about how Big Bad Blingsteen cashed in on him, but fails to admit anywhere that the only reason he was champion in the first place was because he did the exact. same. thing. The best part about the whole thing is that he brought it all onto himself. He tried to play the superhero card and stop me from bullying the cretins that roam the halls of this shitty federation. And what happened?"

Bruce takes another swig of the cough syrup.

"I bullied him to tears. Literal tears. Jim Caedus cried and cried when that mean ol' Brucey just wouldn't leave him alone. And every time he thought he'd get brave and speak up again, I shut his ass down to the point where his only retort was his tried-and-untrue "fuck your response." Which is 'I-dont-have-my-GED' for "I don't have a good response so I'm going to pretend I won this verbal exchange despite all facts pointing towards the contrary." It's amazing, you gotta hand it to the guy, he's made a career out of saying 'I'm rubber and you're glue' with a few out of place swear words and some horrifically overused alliteration. I suppose that's his way of making sure we don't forget that he has the aptitude of a middle school dropout on a strict diet of whippets, moonshine and Newports."

Bruce takes another swig, his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head.

"And he's so goddamn proud of everything he says. Poor guy doesn't realize that the random flood of nonsensical oral sewage that pours out of his uneducated dicksucker is the equivalent of a preschooler's hastily scribbled drawings hanging from his parent's refrigerator. "Aww it's so good, little Jim! We're gonna hang it here for everyone to see and I'm sure they'll all like it!" the producers say as they roll their eyes as they have to dispatch their dignity long enough to host his piss poor attempt at---whatever the fuck he's going for. And the roster facetiously claps their hands and hide their laughter, knowing that if the little attention whore isn't universally adored he might deepthroat his exhaust pipe and do the world one giant ass favor. Maybe the fans want him to kill me, I don't care, when's the last time those easily swayed shit stains contributed anything? What really matters is the locker room and according to my extensive polling, they all think the XWF would be a better place if Jim Caedus got a deep tissue massage with a sledgehammer and treated him self to a Clorox colonic. The less of him walking around with a puffed out chest thinking that his words leading up to the match make a difference, the better. I know he's got the intelligence of an incest product that gets brain penetrated by his uncle-dad, but even he has to know that this isn't the XWF debate league. What goes down in the ring matters, not how many monosyllabic half-insults he can shoehorn into a poorly thought-out promo."

Bruce takes another drink and falls backward, knocking over the paint cans. Bilbo and Reno laugh to themselves as Bruce struggles to get back to his feet, finally collapsing as the two hover of him.

"Should we get him some help?"

"This is the 5th time this month, goddamnit. I'll call 911."



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything is blurry.

Moving so fast.

Who are they?

"Mr. Lane, I have a development you may be quite interested in hearing..."

He's starting to mumble.

Where am I going?


"Dude! Seriously!? Hahahaha...

What's so funny?

"Bring her"

Her?


------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I wake up"

The room is cold.

I try to move but my limbs feel like they're anchored to the cold cement. My fingers slowly grasp out, searching for the bindings that hold be to this icy slab.

But there's nothing there. Nothing stopping me from getting up and walking away.

But I can't.

"Hello?" can barely get the sound to escape my mouth.

"Is anyone there?" My voice trembles at the unexpected tone of fear in my words. The cold rush of dread spreading over me is a sensation unlike any I've felt before. No drug in the world has made me feel this isolated, this...terrified. My fingers are moving more frantically now, as if they're operating independently from my fear stricken body. I don't know what they're hoping to find but God do I hope they find it.

Nothing. There's nothing there. As my eyes dart around the room I come to the realization that there's nothing anywhere. A single lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, illuminating the otherwise completely empty room. The panic grows worse. Where the hell am I?

Just then does it hit me that there's something worse than seeing nothing; I also hear nothing. Not the ticking of a clock, not footsteps shuffling down the hall, even the filaments in the lit bulb are eerily silent.

"Hello!?" I cry out again. I tell myself I did it to make sure I hadn't lost all my hearing, but I knew that I was pleading for help at this point. I've been awake for merely a few minutes, but staring at this cold, empty room makes me feel like I've been stranded here for a lifetime. My eyes have searched every corner that I can see, over and over again. I've already memorized the few imperfections in the walls to the point that I could recreate the room in my mind if I were to close my eyes. At this point I didn't know if I was studying the room in an attempt to escape, or simply to keep my mind focused on a single task.

My fingers finally abandon their search as my palms collapses against the floor. I can feel the splintered ends of my fingernails now, and while I can't see them I'm positive that they are covered in blood. A small part of me wishes that all that clawing left some kind of mark, some insignificant, petty scar of defiance. My lip nearly curled into a smile at the thought of defacing this bright, white hell. And then I remembered just how minuscule a victory that would be.



"Ahh, patient Blingsteen." A voice calls out from behind.



Holy shit.




My mind races. Am I even more scared? Am I relieved? All my emotions instantly become indistinguishable, I don't know what I am, but I know I'm not alone.

"Who's there?"

"You may call be Dr. Ira. I've been observing you the past few days. You're quite remarkable."

Remarkable? I'm just some pothead that lucked into a wrestling contract and stole a title belt. What's so remarkable about that? I should've replied with exactly that question, but my brain turned to mush. My words began to run together, the sentences I tried to form didn't make sense. Is this what Jim Caedus feels like on a daily basis?

"How'd I get here?"

"A fair question, indeed. You were brought to us because it seems you've developed a nasty little codeine dependency, and after consultation with your employer, Mr. Lane, we agreed that it would be in your best interest to put you on the best course of recovery possible."

"He doesn't care about me."

"I beg to differ! This treatment program is unlike any other you've ever heard of. Not only do we treat the substance abuse issue, we delve into the root of your dependency. We treat the broken individual first, and the nasty habits are broken soon after."

"I'm not broken."

"To the outside observer, that may sound true. But after our physical examination we did come across something quite... well, like I said, remarkable. You've been lying to yourself, 'Bruce.'"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

My blood began to boil. I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"We both know that's not true. The faster you allow yourself to see who you truly are, the faster we can fix you."

"I'm not...that. I never have been."

"Well I think it's time for you to be the real you. Don't you agree?"

'The real me.' I've been the real me for my entire life, and this stranger waltzes in and calls me a liar after meeting me for two minutes? The fear doesn't stay much longer, it's quickly replaced by a burning rage. I've spent my entire life running away from this person who they thought I should be. Someone that I knew I'm not. But they pushed and prodded. Begged and pleaded. They tore me down, drug my name through the mud, abdandoned me, disowned me. I'm sure the thought crossed more than a couple minds that I'd be better off dead. But I did the only thing I knew to do, I fought back. If they threw the first punch, I threw the last. When they put me down, I sprung back up. And just like every other fight, I won. I escaped that torturous Hell they put me through, I won back my life.

And now I'm laying on the floor of some strange place, being dragged right back.

But this felt different. This didn't feel like some misguided attempt at 'saving my soul.' This felt malicious, calculated. The tone of the doctor's voice sent chills down my spine and anything that Vinnie Lane would've signed off on, would not have been a good thing for me. My jaw clenches and I affix my gaze to the ceiling. I don't know who this man is or what his endgame is, but I do know that I've already made up my mind: I will fight.

"I am the real me."

"Well, I guess I can't say I'm surprised by your stubbornness. This is a process after all, and I trust that our methods will prove to be quite effective on you."

An idle threat as far as I'm concerned. If I bowed down to every asshole who underestimated me, I wouldn't have the displeasure of knowing that somewhere Jim Caedus is browsing Craigslist for double wides to rent while he 'brainstorms' a new idea for a promo that's going to be just another rehash and equally terrible as the past 5 or 6 have been.

"Let me go."

"Oh come now, we can't do that until your treatment has been completed to MY satisfaction. Once you start cooperating, we can get this show on the road."

"Go fuck yourself."

As defiant a statement as I could make, given my situation.

"Defiant until the end. I've left some clothes for you, feel free to change into them. Your sedative should be wearing off right about..."

I sit up.

"Now."

"You can't hold me here."

"Ah but I can, and it's for your best interest. You were a danger to yourself and others, I'm doing a duty for the community as a whole by keeping you here and treating you. Now get some sleep, I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a very, very long day for you."

"Goodnight."






"Brucette."



[Image: 51162a48e2e789b7d6393efe6e9d6ecb.jpg]

Tears well up in my eyes. I haven't heard that name in years. I wasn't that person anymore. He can't just... just bring it back. The tears begin to stream down my face. He's going to pay for this. Vinnie will too. Anyone I can get my hands on is going to pay for this and it will not be--

"Psssssst. Hey there! Over here!"


I glance over to a spot in the wall where a couple bricks are missing and a pair of beady eyes are staring back at me. Emotionally drained, I can't even muster a response.





"Oh sweety, we are going to have sooooo much fun."

Current Universal Champion
(1x) X-Treme Champion
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The following 13 users Like Brucette Blingsteen's post:
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