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X-treme Wrestling Federation BOARDS »   » Archives » Lethal Lottery V RP Board
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TBS Offline
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Very random

(heel alignment but liked by many; has earned respect despite breaking the rules often)

Post: #1
11-27-2019 05:44 PM

09/10/2009. The evening after ‘X’

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t find FuZz? This isn’t a goddamned doberman. Human beings don’t get lost in the fucking park.” I’m not in a good mood. I think this is defensible. I’d like to say that I sat there in a power suit with my newly won Universal Title over my shoulder slamming my fist like a mob boss. But that wasn’t me. I’m a grown goddamn man who gets paid money to wear underwear. This isn’t some fancy meeting taking place over steak and cigars; this is myself, James Raven and Jonathyn Brown sitting in a room fighting out the future of the XWF in real time. This isn’t pretend, this isn’t Imagination time or Barney and Baby-Bop’s make-believe corner; this was real and the future of a lot of people depended on whatever decisions got made in that room.

“Welp, good luck dudes, I’m out.”

Okay, so maybe that’s not EXACTLY what Jonathyn said. Long story short, he told us that he sold the XWF for a reason and the fact that his buyer had evidently experienced some buyer’s remorse wasn’t going to change his decision. He made it clear that he had already scheduled the next several months of his life and while he wished us luck, he wasn’t going to help clean up the mess. So no, he didn’t literally tell Raven and I to go fuck ourselves, but he might as fucking well have. All I heard was Jon was tired of running the XWF anyway and he sure as shit wasn’t going to stick around and do it for free.

“If you ask me, Jon, if you give apple juice to a toddler and he spills it on a surge protector and burns down the fucking house then you should help clean up the mess, right?”

“Thanks Jonathyn, we got this.” Raven shakes hands with Jon, followed by me doing so. And then, just like that, Jonathyn Brown walked out of our lives for what we would only assume would be the last time.

“Now what, genius?”

“Now we figure out how I am going to run this place until we find a suitable replacement.”

Working for Raven, huh? Fuck me with a surge protector…

12/1/2019 – Day of XWF Lethal Lottery Finals

Standing in my dressing room I pull on a hooded sweatshirt to match my tights. It’s amazing that no matter how many buildings I’ve been in, the dressing rooms all feel the same. Dimly lit, unless they’re chasing you down with a camera for a snarky pre-match response (my specialty, so get at me Sayors), they’re usually just a little dusty and pretty minimal. I’ve never needed much before a match. This time though, I do take an extra second to check out my chest in the mirror before I cover it with a sweatshirt to walk to the ring. I’m proud of the work I’ve put in to look this way. It wasn’t easy beating this body back into shape after promising it for the better part of a decade that the regular ass-whoopings it used to take were a thing of the past. But here we are. I asked this of my body anyway and now my body is going to give it to me. Just as I’m about ready to walk out of here and start punching shit, James comes into the room from around the corner.

“You ready?” He asked, innocently.

9/14/2009 – The Monday Massacre after ‘X’

“You ready?” James asks having popped his head into my dressing room. He’s standing with Mia Sanchez holding hands. I stand up and am joined by my wife, Desiree Tyler, who also grabs my hand and begins walking to the door with me. Joining us at the door was my nephew, Jason Chill, the current undefeated United States XWF Champion. This decision was going to impact him too, and he knew it. Roxy Nova stood next to Mia and James. I think Centurion would have liked to be there too, but he called in ‘green with envy’ about the idea of me winning the big belt.

James and I spent most of the last week ironing out a plan. He was going to announce that he was stepping away from the ring and taking over day-to-day operations, effective immediately. I was going to join him as the face of the company and together we were going to do our fucking damnedest – him outside of the ring, and me inside of the ring, to keep this company alive. The six of us walked, having gone through this absurd series of events over the past few days as young professionals, and a friendship was forged in that fire that feels like it will never end. It would always be the six of us.

Just as we got to gorilla the six of us stood in a circle, our arms around each other, knowing what we were about to do and what sacrifices we were about to make.

And then I saw it, I saw James look at the title around my waist and I saw it. I saw that look of incompletion that had followed me around as a wrestler until last week when I finally got the Universal sized monkey off my back. I was about to let this kid, who I was starting to respect, take this bullet for me. To give up his dream of winning this belt so that I could live mine of defending it. I hated him for it.

And then something broke in me. I was only a small set of footsteps away from walking through gorilla and keeping this going. Five more fucking feet and it would have been too late. Five fucking feet.

James held his fist out for me at the edge of the curtain for us to walk out, offering for me to meet it with mine.

And I do.

“I can’t let you do it, James. I’ll do it instead.”

And then I step through the curtain, ready to give up what I have worked for in order to preserve this new friendship and respect that I’d forged. It was a sacrifice I’d make again if I had to, I don’t regret it at all. But don’t think I’m not pissed off that I had to do it. Know that if I ever see that son of a fuck (yes, I said son of a fuck) FuZz again I’ll strangle him with my bare goddamned hands.

2019 – Moments before The Lethal Lottery Semi-Finals Match

“Want me out there with you?” Raven asks sincerely. It’s a reminder that I’m really not completely on my own, no matter how much I want to believe otherwise.

“This time I have to do it myself.”

I pull my hood up over my head and walk out of the dressing room leaving Raven on his own.


Happy Thanksgiving, XWF!

In this year’s reenactment I’ll be playing the role of the Pilgrims, raping and stealing everything my clueless hosts, the dumb natives in this scenario: Ruby, Vita, Meathead and Masturbator have set up on the table. Look, I’d love to be witty and charming and give you a dose of my usual, but time is tight heading into this, and it’s been made very clear to me that I don’t have a breath to waste playing coy. What’s going on right now is too important and there’s too much to say and do before the XWF higher-ups award me with the Lethal Lottery and we start planning my very own Pay-Per-View Spectacular “Wouldn’t you like to fucking know what I plan to call it™” Seriously, officially trademarked and everything.

I’ll admit it, as yet another reminder to everyone who has already wasted some of their air-time to call me old has pointed out, yes this IS my first really important match in a very long time. It’s been ten years since I first won the Universal Title. How can I possibly remember what it takes to do that? How can I possibly come out after a ten year hibernation and still have a prayer to win?

Motherfuckers, and yes, I’m speaking to all four of you native morons when I say this: what in the fucking fuck have you EVER won? Have any of the four of you ever won shit around here that didn’t come from taking it from each other? Great, a bunch of unskilled neophytes slap fighting each other to take things from someone who already probably doesn’t deserve it? Quick, which one of you won a belt from Gilmour? Any Barney Green beaters out there? I’m going to warn all four of you and give you a head start before you come out looking like an asshat in your next promo: stop criticizing me for ‘how long’ it’s been since I’ve won something you’ve never even fucking sniffed. You look like idiots, because in this case I literally have forgotten more than you’ve learned yet – and I got the resume to prove it.

Let’s start with the team inevitably set to finish second in the semi-finals on Saturday. Your very own Powerpuff Girls: Vita V and Ruby who gives an Eff. These two will tell you that the XWF is a little slow in breaking out the breast cancer ribbons and voting for Hilary Clinton. I’ll tell you that it looks to me like the XWF is giving you a hell of a goddamned moment for your own women’s revolution right now. You two have a chance to make sure that the Finals of the tournament is contested between two women, you have a chance to make sure that the next Lethal Lottery Champion has two X Chromosomes. You two can empower women all over the world to follow you and put down their purses and come break down glass ceilings all over the wrestling world!

I’m not gonna lie, I’m rooting for you. I hope you do inspire women all over the world. I hope that little girls everywhere watch you two compete Saturday night and realize they can be whatever the fuck they wanna be. The only thing stopping them from success is themselves; just like the only thing stopping you two from success will ultimately be YOURSELVES.

You ladies are great, and I am one-hundred-percent certain there are women out there that can undeniably kick my ass and are capable and deserving of winning the Lethal Lottery. You two, specifically, just happen to not be good enough. But it’s cool. There’s a better than average chance your appearance on Saturday is going to help motivate the woman out there that IS good enough to kick my ass to start training. I look forward to meeting her someday – and yes, I’ll be sure to get her autograph for you two.

Oh, and Vita, don’t flatter yourself honey; I practically roofied myself and reached for the closest thing to me that didn’t have a dick. Not the first time I’ve struck out, not the last time I’ll strike out, but I'm glad I fucking struck out.

See, I’m telling you both, I’m not going to beat you because you’re women, that would be sexist, you are women that happen to not be as good as me. Can your widdle lady brains understand the difference? Fine, that last line was a joke… or was it?

Speaking of things that are widdle, I’d bet there’s easily more testosterone in the Powerpuff Girls than there is in the Muscle-Mind Meltdown. Those chicks have balls, you two dumbasses decidedly do not. Listen up, you walking steroid stereotypes. You’re both overmatched here. Badly. And while I have enjoyed the team name you came up with, you won’t be coming close to Team FuZzy Shank or Team Twenty-Eight-Day-Cycle and you’ll be finishing last. Not because you lack experience, not because you skipped leg day, not because you’re not smart enough to figure out a way to win this match: no, none of that matters here. You’re going to lose because you two also just aren’t good enough yet to get through a team like FuZz and I. Normally, I’d be happy to give you each a free lesson in how to properly incite your opponents, but like I said earlier, I just don’t have the time this go-round. So eat your dicks, stroke your steaks, steal some shit – whatever you two idiots do for entertainment is cool with me. When this is over, I’ll actually be thanking you. You’re teaching me that just being in the best shape of my life isn’t enough – because I’ll never look like you do, that just playing the game as well as I used to isn’t enough – because my strategies aren’t a gimmick or a catchphrase for a t-shirt. You two didn’t bother to do your homework on me, but I won’t make the same mistake in return. I know what you do well and what you don’t, and after this over neither one of you will wonder who The Big Motherfucking Shank is ever again.

I’m going to win the Lethal Lottery, and then I’m going to turn this place on its’ head while I’m effectively in charge for a month making my matches and taking exactly what I want out of this whole shindig. But don’t worry, just as I proved ten years ago, I can be a benevolent King. I can be a beloved King. I can even be a just King. The only head on a pike outside of my throne this time around is going to be a head that I put there myself. I’m coming for you FuZz, and I’m going to rip out your motherfucking throat.

First of all, FuZz, stop acting like we have this in the bag. We don’t. I’m confident we’re the best team going into this, but I’m NOT confident that you won’t be waiting in the corner for a tag and catch a glimpse of a Benzo out of the corner of your eye and wander off again for six fucking months again chasing it.

Yeah, I went there; because if you think I’m taking your needle habit as an excuse for what you fucking did to me then you have another motherfucking thing coming to you. So listen up, you junkie jackass, you took everything from me ten years ago when you pulled that shit. I wasn’t just the champion, I was un-fuckwith-able. Nobody could fucking touch me. In a way, cocksucker, we both lost to your habit ten years ago. You tapped out to it and I had to throw in the goddamned towel.

I’ll give you credit for one thing though – nobody has burned me as badly as you have since I’ve been back. Props for that, I’ve missed it. Unfortunately, the more you speak the dumber you look. You really think I’m worried about a junkie telling me that I diminish my legacy every time I show up?

In 2009, I showed up and I won two Universal Titles in two years, a World Title, and pissed on that Xtreme Title and I did the majority of that BEFORE you fucked me over.

In 2011, I went on the most dominate tag team run this company has ever seen.

In 2019, I’m here and I’m going to win the Lethal fucking Lottery.

I’d love to know what great thing you’ve accomplished in your career that goes toe to toe with any one of those runs – much less would be diminished by it. Switch to downers, you’re tripping on something asshat.

You think you’ve changed or adapted – I might be thinking about 2009 but you’re walking around actually talking like it’s 2009. If you figure out what that means, let me know and I’ll give you a gold star to go along with your dozens of gold 30-day chips. At least this one might be worth something.

But boy, are you barking up the wrong tree with all of that ‘right now’ bullshit.

‘Right now you’re a champion.’ Cool, can you maybe lose that shit before the match this weekend so I don’t get stuck with that anchor?

‘Right now you’re higher on the food chain.’ You said the same shit to me in 2009 and then you sketched the fuck off when you realized you couldn’t hang with me. That’s why you fucked off. You can blame the needle all you want, but if you spent four seconds in rehab you’d have learned that taking responsibility for your shortcomings is like step eight.

Don’t worry, step two is acknowledging a power higher than yourself, and you are about to meet that higher power on Sunday. His name is The Big fucking Shank and he’s coming to take back what you took from him. I’ll see you Sunday, FuZz, try not to get lost on the way there. God knows I’m sick and fucking tired of cleaning up your messes when you do.


The lonely walk from my dressing room to gorilla finally comes to an end. This time my wife isn’t here, and my friends aren’t here; it’s just me. I can hear my music playing and I can hear the crowd starting to get more and more excited for the moment. The Lethal Lottery is about to end. Weeks and weeks of build up is about to culminate in two matches. The first one starts now. Before I pull the curtain back, I lift my head out from under my hood long enough to see him standing there – my tag team partner, FuZz. He sticks his first out for me, offering it for me to meet it with mine.

And I do.

And then I step through the curtain, ready to take what I have worked for – both in the past few weeks and the past decade - all at the same time.
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