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X-treme Wrestling Federation BOARDS » Savage Boards » "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board
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Makes you proud to be Australian
Author Message
Noah Jackson Offline
Push Fuzz... I mean the Sick Cunts



XWF FanBase:
Hardly anyone to be honest

(booed by most fans; hurts people even when not supposed to; often angry and shitty)


Post: #1
04-26-2019 05:56 PM

MAKES YOU PROUD TO BE AUSTRALIAN



Guess who just beat the apparent number one contender to the Universal Title and the record holder for most wins?

This handsome cunt.

And all it took was a bit of hard work, natural talent, fifty dollars and a promise of Bobbi London’s nudes to a corrupt ambiguously asian referee. Let’s hope he doesn’t follow up on the latter. I’m walking down the halls of the Sir John Guise Stadium with a cocky strut and a smile plastered to my face; I start to think about this, this turning point almost. My first official win in the XWF, after that sham of a match over at Anarchy I started to think there was no hope but I was proved wrong. There is a chance for this place to push aside politics and let the better man win; I can do this. Maybe if I put my mind to it even more I could change my outlook and people’s opinions on me, I could be Hart Champion, the XWF deserves a good champion.

“Excuse me, Noah Jackson?”

A fan says to me as I walk up to him.

“Could you sign an autograph for my daughter?”

I can’t help but smile.


“Nah fuck off, cunt.”

Smile sadistically! BAM! Still Noah fucking Jackson, cunt! I throw the door open to the locker room in front of that cunt and his cunt kid and enter the room, slamming the door behind me. To my fucking surprise I see Eric Polulu clipping his toenails at his desk, to more of a shock I’m not in the locker room at all but a set complete with live band that play a shitty version of my theme as I stand looking around like a stunned mullet.

“What the fuck, cunt?”

I seem to startle Eric who quickly puts his legs under the table and shuffles some papers and throws an arm out towards me.

“Give it up for Noah Jackson!”

There’s canned applause coming from somewhere as the live band jazz up my theme a little. I look around puzzled as a rubik’s cube, feeling myself pulled towards the seat across from Eric.

“Whaaaaat. Theeeeee. Fuuuuuck, cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunt.”

The applause abruptly stops as I take a seat.

“Sup.”

“What’s happening?”

“An interview.”

“Yeah, you stupid or something?”

I turn around to the voice behind me to see Hannibal Buress. I look back to Eric, pointing back.

“Is that Hannibal Buress?”

“I’ll ask the questions here!”

Eric screams at me. I’m a tad too shocked to respond.

“You just won a match, yeah? Was the cool?”

“Yeah mate, it was pretty sick.”

“You cheated tho.”

“Can’t prove that, Hannibal!”

“You stink.”

“Rude. I need a shower, just had a match you cheeky cunt.”

“You curse too much too, you on television, man.”

I look around to the absence of a camera crew.

“I’m a sweary boy, fuck both of you. I just kicked ass in that match, I’ve had a very big day! I just wanna shower, take that shit I’ve been holding in since my first Anarchy promo, go drink a stubbie and go bed.”

“You haven’t had a shit in that long?”

“Weird.”

“I travel a lot! And I can’t go on public dunnies.”

I look to Hannibal who is just standing awkwardly behind me, starin at me. I look back to Eric in the middle of building a house of cards. He finishes it up with a small clap from the canned audience. Polulu smiles like an idiot before taking a lighter out and setting the cards on fire.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Notre Dame!”

He gives a flourish to the small fire in front of him accompanied with canned laughter. I watch the flames, kinda wishing I died in a fire.

“... This is retarded.”

A stagehand rushes onto the set and puts an extinguisher to the fire. Eric continues talking to me as he is sprayed with foam.

“You’re fighting Deacon on Savage, yeah?”

“Yeah, mate.”

“He black, right?”

I furr my brow.

“Yeah he is, Hannibal.”

“Racist.”

I turn on the chair to question Hannibal but I’m interrupted by a loud air horn sounding off in my ear.

“Focus! You got an interview to do.”

I try to dull the ringing in my ear.

“Have I cunt? Because it feels like I’ve been thrust into a hostage situation.”

Canned laughter mocks me.

“Tell the people how you’re gonna fight Deacon.”

“That’s fucking vague but to somewhat answer your question the reason why I’m gonna beat Deacon is because he’s an irrelevant cunt with no talent or charisma in his doughy frame. Cunt wear clown makeup and acts like a serial killer, how fucking cliche can you get? I don’t know whether he’s a wrestler or a twelve-year-old emo kid’s wet dream that came to life; how can anyone take him seriously? I know I can’t.”

“I feel if you can’t take someone seriously though how they act in the ring then how in the actually fuck could you ever take them seriously in the ring? Dude’s done nothing since he’s been here too, had what, two matches? One where he stuck his fist in some dude’s mouth and somehow got the win and the other was cut from television for being so fucking disappointing. He doesn’t have a twitter, zero presence, doesn’t interact with fans on the level I do and doesn’t have the control on people I do. See what I did to Cent and Ned Kaye? I made them run away like headless chickens in the weeks leading up to our match and made them look like stupid pissy babies in the ring, I’m top cunt! I am the hardest worker in the XWF, I am the pride of Australia! What the fuck is Deacon?”

“Some cunt cosplaying as a creepypasta of Krusty the Clown. How the fuck can I worry about that sad prick?”

“I was more scared when I saw Rain get back from suspension.”

“Deacon’s a shit cunt, mate. A legit fucking clown. Trust America to produce such a generic basic bitch like him”


:::Meanwhile somewhere in the USA:::

***We quickly cut to a government surveillance building, a man takes off a headset and looks to his supervisor.***

“Ma’am, I just picked up an immigrant working in the country under visa make negative comments about the USA.”

***The woman looks over his shoulder at the computer monitor***

“Noah Jackson? Noah’s a religious name, right? Let’s go get this radicalist son of a bitch.”

:::Back to this bullshit:::

“And I doubt he could make a free throw shot. Cunt has weird T-Rex arms.”

“This is boring, I’m bored!”

“You wanted to know, cunt! You’re fucking terrible at this.”

Eric’s bottom lip starts quivering and he begins sobbing loudly as the canned audience give an ‘aww’

“Damn man, now look what you did.”

I fold my arms and mumble.

“He started it.”

Suddenly armed coppers bust down the door and pour into the set. Thank fuck, bout time these crazy cunts got locked up. A pretty hot chick walks up to me and flashes her badge.

“Noah Jackson, I’m arresting you on suspicion of plotting to commit terrorist acts and making anti-america statements and propaganda.”

“Fuck off you can’t arrest me for that shit! What about freedom of speech! You yanks love that shit.”

“So you do admit to making anti-america statements and propaganda?”

Shit, got me good.

“Also, I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

I get handcuffs placed around my wrists and lifted to my feet. I begin to panic a bit, looking around the room as canned applause fills my ears. Eric is still sobbing and Hannibal is just smiling at me as I am pulled closer and closer to the door.

I’m never going to be able to take that shit.

I give a final look at Hannibal before I’m pushed around the corner.


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