[R A D I C A L]

' B I T C H ' Cloud cover eclipsed the moon, then past. Eclipsed again... and gone again. One look deep into it's cratered face and I knew. In an instant. A revelation of solar clarity. Darkness in wavering ripples of bitch. So rare, once in a lifetime kind of bitch. Concaved light being covered by clouds of horseshit. The whining, pouting, back stabbing, it was... pure unadulterated bitchery. 'Grade A' type shit. Type... bitch. Top shelf. The finest bubbly made to sip, marinate in your mouth, then spit out with all the other rotten bitchy grapes. On this night, Chaos was evident. ----- Gabe Reno arrives at the XWF arena for a quick road show appearance, per contractual obligation. The ushers chew him in through a private entrance. Fans in the grand stands catch a glimpse of 'The Radical' waiting with security in the tunnel while the opening match is finishing up. They start to chant "E-NIG-MA". In the ring, the jobbers look out; one pulls a snap roll up for the three count. They exit the ring without a hand raise, as the announcer says "GGAAABBBBBBBBBBBEEE RENNOOOOOOO" and the seated patrons rise. He makes him way out, grabbing a microphone from a stage hand that looks like Uncle Fester. Reno parlays his usual post-to-post showman's strut into a serious face. The miniature X-tron shows a picture in black and white, with the word "BITCH" underneath. Reno raises the boom pad to his lips. "It's good to be here... in... WHEREVER! Listen, I need to get down to brass tacks, so CHRIS CHAOS... I'm talking to you, homo! Curtains... that's what you got? That thought must have been a long and lonely journey. The curtains are closed- OH NO, not a DIM ROOM! ANYTHING BUT THAT! Oh, wait, I can flick a light switch- WE'RE GOOD! Fucking curtains?! Then what, you're waiting for my comeback? Well, start by scraping it off your teeth. By gathering all your curtains into one room. Examining them. Petting them. Stroking them like you do yourself when no one is looking. Stroking them like you do, after, when everyone is looking. Roll them all up into a giant ball. Tell everyone how special you are. Then hold onto them while you jump out a fucking window. Regret half way down will say to your inner monologue... "use the curtain as a parachute, LIVE!" And that's when you'll find out just how fucking useless curtains are. You pretentious periwinkle..." Laughter followed by a half hearted applause before being cut off again by Reno, who clearly has a lot on his mind about a certain bitch. "Quit stealing oxygen from the rest of us, Chris. Give it to someone who contributes to making the world a better place. No, not Jenny, God damnit! This is one match, a lot like dinner time, that your usual recipe of 'asshole casserole' won't be a big hit. What's next, are you going to call me fat, then blame your mom for feeding me post-coital sandwiches? You're about as useful as a knitted condom. Using your entire vocabulary in one sentence probably makes you dizzy. You should stop doing it so often. Ignorance might go up to 15 Chaos' a barrel, then we'll all have to secure drilling rights so we don't get doused in your shit." A picture of an oil rig appears on the mini X-Tron. Reno points up to the screen, and puts out his hands to play coy about how the image got up there in the first place. "Your head always bobs up and down like that when you're trying to impress me. What a bitch. Your arrogance is stronger than you will ever be. Mirrors can't talk, you should be glad they can't laugh either. You should sue your folks for that face. Did your parents really believe they had a bundle of joy? That this little wad of Chaos would grow up to conquer the wrestling world? If they did, it's even more proof that your gene pool needs a lifeguard. At least we can agree that some day you will go far... it will be Wednesday, when they escort you from the building; right about the second your ass stops being jealous of the amount of shit coming out of your mouth. What's the matter, sweety? Am I hitting you too hard, again? Seriously, what's it like to be pummeled and dominated repeatedly by the same person, over and over? I am really asking. I have no idea what that's like. I have this crazy thing called, what is it, oh yeah... pride. It won't allow me to roll over like you do so willingly time, and time, and time, and time again. Your ground game must be improving from all those tucks. Are your balls still tucked behind your legs too? Still trying that out? Hey, be who you are. Bitch. Once upon a time ripping you to shreds wasn't so easy. I had to think and plan. Come up with a strategy to take down the MIGHTY CHAOTIC CUNT! Now... not so much. I just... have to say what everyone is already thinking when you walk by; " He points to his hand finger by finger as he explains. "What a douche..." Fans nod in approval. "How does he live with himself?" A zoom in on a sign reading "KILL YOURSELF". "I've seen better hair on a Chihuahua." People in the front row burst into giggles. "Is that Rogaine?" A middle-aged, too young to be bald man in row 15 looks a little uneasy. "I'd agree with him, but then we'd both be wrong." The announcers cover their headset mouth pieces so the fans can't hear their chuckles. "Why did I pick this direction to walk in..." Chaotic chirps can be heard from the upper rafter level. "If I had a dollar for every time Chris said something worth hearing... I'd be broke!" An announcer finally breaks kayfabe and pulls out his wallet in hysterics. "Harsh. The broken reality of what's left of you. Cold and covered in cloudy shit. At least the moon is pleasant to look at. Bright with a magical flare for the dramatic. You're... just dramatic. No magic, or flare, just a 99 cent personality in a five buck world. On the bright side you never let your education get in the way of your ignorance. Why waste such an overwhelming gift? What- is it me? I hurt your feelings? Or did you have another match end with the Chris fuck-up fairy coming to visit? How useless. You call yourself a professional? Then have the gall to say that I suck? Well, you suck more, for less!" The X-Tron goes back to the "BITCH" picture. "All jokes a side. Listen. Chris- you ran your way up the ranks from day 1, you beat some good guys along the way, and conquered the Universe. We became friends. Teammates. Partners. Lovers; of the craft we had ran to the top of. Maybe it all happened too fast. Were we ready for that in such a short time in XWF?! Practically babies. We thought we were ready. But the same fate that eliminates most teams came our way too. You had what I wanted. I needed it. More than you did. It had to be mine at any cost. You didn't want to give it up. SO I had to rape you. Leave you violated and bleeding in the middle of a sweaty canvas, one far too rigid to sooth your sorrow. I'm sure you'll show up... and try to win on Wednesday. It's just not there anymore. Stop fighting it. Go make movies. Or do something else that feeds your massive need for acceptance. I won't accept. It will be the same story it has been since we met, Chris. I'll be standing victorious, and you'll be standing confused clapping for no reason... Uncle Fester, the stage hand, comes in to take the mic but Gabe fake-ies- tossing it into the RenoVerse(TM). He hops out of the ring. Up the ramp slapping hands with fans, the peak of the ramp halt his determined march; turning back around. Hair flip. Hands out. A smirk. "like A BITCH!" He kisses his hands then extends them back out in royal chaotic gest. ' B I T C H '

[Gator]

' B I T C H ' Cloud cover eclipsed the moon, then past. Eclipsed again... and gone again. One look deep into it's cratered face and I knew. In an instant. A revelation of solar clarity. Darkness in wavering ripples of bitch. So rare, once in a lifetime kind of bitch. Concaved light being covered by clouds of horseshit. The whining, pouting, back stabbing, it was... pure unadulterated bitchery. 'Grade A' type shit. Type... bitch. Top shelf. The finest bubbly made to sip, marinate in your mouth, then spit out with all the other rotten bitchy grapes. On this night, Chaos was evident. ----- Gabe Reno arrives at the XWF arena for a quick road show appearance, per contractual obligation. The ushers chew him in through a private entrance. Fans in the grand stands catch a glimpse of 'The Radical' waiting with security in the tunnel while the opening match is finishing up. They start to chant "E-NIG-MA". In the ring, the jobbers look out; one pulls a snap roll up for the three count. They exit the ring without a hand raise, as the announcer says "GGAAABBBBBBBBBBBEEE RENNOOOOOOO" and the seated patrons rise. He makes him way out, grabbing a microphone from a stage hand that looks like Uncle Fester. Reno parlays his usual post-to-post showman's strut into a serious face. The miniature X-tron shows a picture in black and white, with the word "BITCH" underneath. Reno raises the boom pad to his lips. "It's good to be here... in... WHEREVER! Listen, I need to get down to brass tacks, so CHRIS CHAOS... I'm talking to you, homo! Curtains... that's what you got? That thought must have been a long and lonely journey. The curtains are closed- OH NO, not a DIM ROOM! ANYTHING BUT THAT! Oh, wait, I can flick a light switch- WE'RE GOOD! Fucking curtains?! Then what, you're waiting for my comeback? Well, start by scraping it off your teeth. By gathering all your curtains into one room. Examining them. Petting them. Stroking them like you do yourself when no one is looking. Stroking them like you do, after, when everyone is looking. Roll them all up into a giant ball. Tell everyone how special you are. Then hold onto them while you jump out a fucking window. Regret half way down will say to your inner monologue... "use the curtain as a parachute, LIVE!" And that's when you'll find out just how fucking useless curtains are. You pretentious periwinkle..." Laughter followed by a half hearted applause before being cut off again by Reno, who clearly has a lot on his mind about a certain bitch. "Quit stealing oxygen from the rest of us, Chris. Give it to someone who contributes to making the world a better place. No, not Jenny, God damnit! This is one match, a lot like dinner time, that your usual recipe of 'asshole casserole' won't be a big hit. What's next, are you going to call me fat, then blame your mom for feeding me post-coital sandwiches? You're about as useful as a knitted condom. Using your entire vocabulary in one sentence probably makes you dizzy. You should stop doing it so often. Ignorance might go up to 15 Chaos' a barrel, then we'll all have to secure drilling rights so we don't get doused in your shit." A picture of an oil rig appears on the mini X-Tron. Reno points up to the screen, and puts out his hands to play coy about how the image got up there in the first place. "Your head always bobs up and down like that when you're trying to impress me. What a bitch. Your arrogance is stronger than you will ever be. Mirrors can't talk, you should be glad they can't laugh either. You should sue your folks for that face. Did your parents really believe they had a bundle of joy? That this little wad of Chaos would grow up to conquer the wrestling world? If they did, it's even more proof that your gene pool needs a lifeguard. At least we can agree that some day you will go far... it will be Wednesday, when they escort you from the building; right about the second your ass stops being jealous of the amount of shit coming out of your mouth. What's the matter, sweety? Am I hitting you too hard, again? Seriously, what's it like to be pummeled and dominated repeatedly by the same person, over and over? I am really asking. I have no idea what that's like. I have this crazy thing called, what is it, oh yeah... pride. It won't allow me to roll over like you do so willingly time, and time, and time, and time again. Your ground game must be improving from all those tucks. Are your balls still tucked behind your legs too? Still trying that out? Hey, be who you are. Bitch. Once upon a time ripping you to shreds wasn't so easy. I had to think and plan. Come up with a strategy to take down the MIGHTY CHAOTIC CUNT! Now... not so much. I just... have to say what everyone is already thinking when you walk by; " He points to his hand finger by finger as he explains. "What a douche..." Fans nod in approval. "How does he live with himself?" A zoom in on a sign reading "KILL YOURSELF". "I've seen better hair on a Chihuahua." People in the front row burst into giggles. "Is that Rogaine?" A middle-aged, too young to be bald man in row 15 looks a little uneasy. "I'd agree with him, but then we'd both be wrong." The announcers cover their headset mouth pieces so the fans can't hear their chuckles. "Why did I pick this direction to walk in..." Chaotic chirps can be heard from the upper rafter level. "If I had a dollar for every time Chris said something worth hearing... I'd be broke!" An announcer finally breaks kayfabe and pulls out his wallet in hysterics. "Harsh. The broken reality of what's left of you. Cold and covered in cloudy shit. At least the moon is pleasant to look at. Bright with a magical flare for the dramatic. You're... just dramatic. No magic, or flare, just a 99 cent personality in a five buck world. On the bright side you never let your education get in the way of your ignorance. Why waste such an overwhelming gift? What- is it me? I hurt your feelings? Or did you have another match end with the Chris fuck-up fairy coming to visit? How useless. You call yourself a professional? Then have the gall to say that I suck? Well, you suck more, for less!" The X-Tron goes back to the "BITCH" picture. "All jokes a side. Listen. Chris- you ran your way up the ranks from day 1, you beat some good guys along the way, and conquered the Universe. We became friends. Teammates. Partners. Lovers; of the craft we had ran to the top of. Maybe it all happened too fast. Were we ready for that in such a short time in XWF?! Practically babies. We thought we were ready. But the same fate that eliminates most teams came our way too. You had what I wanted. I needed it. More than you did. It had to be mine at any cost. You didn't want to give it up. SO I had to rape you. Leave you violated and bleeding in the middle of a sweaty canvas, one far too rigid to sooth your sorrow. I'm sure you'll show up... and try to win on Wednesday. It's just not there anymore. Stop fighting it. Go make movies. Or do something else that feeds your massive need for acceptance. I won't accept. It will be the same story it has been since we met, Chris. I'll be standing victorious, and you'll be standing confused clapping for no reason... Uncle Fester, the stage hand, comes in to take the mic but Gabe fake-ies- tossing it into the RenoVerse(TM). He hops out of the ring. Up the ramp slapping hands with fans, the peak of the ramp halt his determined march; turning back around. Hair flip. Hands out. A smirk. "like A BITCH!" He kisses his hands then extends them back out in royal chaotic gest. ' B I T C H '