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Muddys' ah' watchin' ah' total eclipse of tha' HART - Printable Version

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Muddys' ah' watchin' ah' total eclipse of tha' HART - Muddy Waters - 05-12-2015


Monday, May 11th, 2015
Near The John A. Roebling Suspension Bridge
Cincinnati, Ohio


The scene opens in Downtown Cincinnati, it's a wonderfully warm spring evening and the majestic sun can be seen settling down over the west banks of the Ohio River. Near the eye enchanting structure that is the John A. Roebling Bridge, we see Muddy Waters carrying a plastic shopping bag and a bottle of warm whiskey. He's walking past an alleyway on Main Street, down the alleyway he notices that dirtball, Grime, and his butt buddy, QBall, they're blowing one another off as they so usually did.

Muddy turns the corner onto the main road that inhabits the beautiful bridge, he stops for a moment, peering out across the mighty Ohio River, over to the beautiful bluegrass shores of his home state, Kentucky. It's been an amazing journey for Muddy thus far, just less than two months ago Muddy was but a washup, jobless, trailer dweller, who's whoring wife was screwing around on with the local pastor… He had accomplished so many things worth note in the XWF in such a short time, things like:

Capturing the Federweight Championship and defending it multiple times successfully…

Helped in forming one of the XWF's hottest and most dangerous new stables, The Black Hand...

Beating the claimed to be unbeatable Karl Cross, who everyone dick rode for months and then promptly ran him back off to England like the quitter crybaby everyone knew he was…

Earned a number one contendership for the Hart Title and being a blown ref call away from upsetting Vinnie Lane, after gallantly going toe to toe with one of the XWF's greatest Superstars…

Made more money than he could ever count and developed a wrenching painkiller addiction…

And that's all in just a matter of a month and a half, hell the only match Muddy has lost thusfar was against Vinnie Lane, and he wasn't planning on losing again anytime soon, certainly not to a part timer like Dead Nick... Muddy has bigger things on his mind, Nick is just another baby hurdle on the road to his destiny of XWF redneck superstar lore.

Muddy reflects on all this for a moment, still gazing out across the shining blue waters and at his home state… he sighs for a moment, looking down at the plastic shopping bag, then takes a nice swig of his whiskey and starts making his way up onto the bridge. Up in the distance he sees something strange, it almost looks as if someone is standing up on the bridge railing… Muddy runs toward whoever it is…

...annnnnd it's Steve Sayors. Equipped with a cameraman who's apparently filming Steve's suicide, why? I have no idea... What a drag, Muddy had at least hoped it was some female so he could have come rolling in like one of the Dukes of Hazzard boys to her daring rescue, instead his face is now smeared with disdain as he continues to edge toward Steve.

”Well Steve, ya' look bout' as low as' ah' snakes belly in ah' wagon rut...”

Steve's clothes are all torn up and he smells of pure shit, in almost a cartoonish fashion they're flies circling around his head. He's obviously tweaked out of his mind and coming down off of a long crack cocain bender, probably broke and nearing the end of tenure with the XWF, hell Muddy couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sayors on TV.

“Muddy! This is all your fault you piece of trash! How could you!?!”

Steve shouts at Muddy with tears in his eyes and a lady like lump in his throat...

“I've lost everything because of you! You gave me cocain and now I'm smoking crack because I burnt through all of my savings and retirement… hell I even used up all of my son's college money, and now my wife has left me!!! It's all because of you!!! I'm jumping you piece of shit and there's nothing you can do about it!!!”

The two begin yelling back and forth, it's the only way they can hear one another over the loud traffic...

“Steve you pansy! If Muddy knowd' ya' couldn't handle yer' dopin' he'd never ah' give ya' none! Now get yer' lilly ass on down from that there bridge fer' ya' fall and lets talk bout this!”

“Fuck off Muddy! You're the GODDAMNED DEVIL!!!”

Muddy needs to think of something, and fast, Steve seriously looks like he's about to jump...Steve edges his heels toward the edge of the railing, closes his eyes and spreads his arms out...

“Goodbye cruel world!!!”

“STEVE!!! WAIT!!! ...Look! Look! Muddy knod' it aint much here, but...”

Panting heavily as he runs toward Steve, Muddy pulls out a small little baggie of cocaine holding it up in the air… it irritates him, because he was going to party with that tonight, but he can't just sit here and watch this dumbass kill himself, Muddy guesses he'd feel kinda' guilty about something like that happening.

Steve's eyes become fixated on the baggie, like a fat kid looking at a birthday cake, and after several minuets of awkward self-talk, he steps down and piratically inhales the entire bag…

“At's it big boy… ya' feelin' good now aint'cha'?”

“Ahhhh! Fucking great Muddy, fucking wonderful.”

Sayors starts awkwardly flexing and doing some strange, erotic dance maneuver…
Muddy motions for the cameraman to near him, for it is now time for a Steve Sayors EXCLUSIVE!

“Oh? Yeah, haha, an interview, well sure, yeah, yeah, we can do that… haha.”

Steve starts fidgeting around, looking paranoid as fuck while rubbing his hands together, he inhales really loud through his nose while wiping his hand up his face as if to get whatever residue might be left in his nostrils up into his brain. He jumps and then claps his hands and shouts… We guess this means he's ready now.

“Okay, hello XWF Galaxy! This is your trustee, 'In The Action First', reporter Steve Sayors coming to live from the beautiful…ummm… where are we again?”

“Cincinnati Steve...”

“CINCINNATIIIIIIII!!!!!!! And here with me now is a man who's been running a course of destruction as of late, The Pride of Pike Co. Kentucky, he is the XWF's current Federweight Champion, Muddy Waters! ...Muddy, while this week may not be offering you your toughest opponent to date, what have you gathered on Dead Nick? What are you going to have to do to beat him?”

“Steve ya' ever seen that there film, Identity?”

Steve looks irritated, not fully paying attention to Muddy, as he continues to look over his shoulders, scratching at his neck...

“Movies… yeah, movies again...”

“Tha' one where that there John Jew-sack feller is tha' hero, runnin' round' tryin' ta' unravel this here mystery bout' ah' series of killins' at ah' hotel… but then we come ta' find that he aint but ah' product of some fat, stinkin', slobberin' psychopathic serial killer's fantasy.”

“Yeah… that movie sucked, really sucked...”

“At's tha' point Steve! That there be tha' correlation with ol' Dead Nick, he sucks big ol' John Jew-sack dick… we be talkin' bout' ah' feller who tried sayin' that tha' Federweight Title is ah' belt no one is interested in ah' gettin'”

“Really? He said that? Yeah, well that is pretty fucking stupid, considering XWF Management doesn't even bother keeping up with a history of the title since it changes hands so frequently.”

“Well at's what Muddys' been ah' dealin' with, some one hit wonder jackass, who aint even around tha' X-dubya'-F locker rooms any fer' weeks, but then decides ta' leave an open challenge in with tha' bookers, as if anyone really even gives ah' fuck… which was proven when no one even responded and then ol' Nicky started ah' whinin':

'Ooohhh book me anywhere, cause aint no one man nuff' ta' face me.'

Nick what ya' failed ta' realize bein' such ah' blatherin' piece of trash that ya' are, it aint that no one was man nuff' ta' face ya', it was just that no one was gunna' waste their time when there is much, MUCH bigger fish ta' fry in tha' X-dubya'-F skillet.

Tell Muddy Waters what tha' hell ya' think you've done ta' leave anyone chompin' at tha' bit ta' get at ya'? Nothin'! Yer' ah' worthless roster filler, who's purpose is ta' pad tha' stats of REAL superstars like Muddy Waters durin' ah' down week. Ya' orta' consider it ah' fuckin' gift that ya' get ta' even be in tha' same ring with Muddy Waters, cause ya' know what happens if ya' was get ah' helpin' hand from Jesus and get ah' win over ol' Coach Waters? You'd be instantly legit… yet you was ah' ramblin' bout' how Muddy aint' shit and all this… hunny get one thing straight right now, you need ta' rassel' Muddy, Muddy don't need ta' rassel' you.

John Jew-sack Said:“Maybe he could consider that like a “booster title” to get his morale up before he goes after something a little bigger. Good for him though. Even a meaningless, worthless title that really awards you nothing is worth something.”

“Are ya' just fuckin' special or what boy? How often did yer' Daddy touch you as ah' child? Muddy Waters EARNED himself ah' shot at tha' Hart Title and was within ah' frog's pussy hair length from ah' winnin' it, B'FORE' he pinned tha' Hart Champion ta' win tha' Federweight title…

Ya' know that worthless little title yer' talkin' bout', that worthless title that pays Muddy cold hard cash erry'time he kicks someones lilly ass fer' tryin' ta' take it? Tha' same worthless title that once earned another former champ-yon, Robert Miles, ah' 24/7 briefcase fer' holdin' tha' belt so long… yup yer' right Nick! Nadda' damn thang comes outta' this here belt.

Yer' talkin' bout' ah' title that's named after one of tha' greatest superstars ta' ever compete in tha' X-dubya'-F, who was ranked fourth on tha' top fifty all time list by Management, Sid Feder. Nicky how bout' yah' come holler at Muddy when ya' get yer' first title shot, let alone win ah' title… then and maybe then will ya' be on ah' level worth payin' attention to...Cause' fer' now Muddys' ah' done wastin' any breath on yer' worthless ass.

“Alright, alright! Great work as usual Muddy, cut the camera...”

Steve notices Muddy digging around in his plastic shopping bag...

“What have you got there Muddy?”

Steve's eyes widen as Muddy pulls out the replica Hart Title that Pest gave him, for being what he considered as the 'Unofficial Hart Champion'. Muddy takes a hearty chug of his whiskey, killing the bottle and smashing it on the ground as he starts dragging the Hart replica to the edge of the bridge.

“It aint nothin' really Steve, nothin' Muddy needs anyhow. Ya' see that shore over at' way? That's tha' great state of Kentucky, and that there place aint ah' raised Muddy ta' be no undeservin', fake champ-yon. What Muddy gets, Muddy earns… aint' ah' thang gunna' be handed to me. So now it's ripe time Muddy done somethin' he shoulda' done long ago.”

Muddy chucks the phony title up into the air, the silver plated face of the belt eclipsing the brilliantly shining moon. Steve nearly shits himself, matter of fact, Steve really did just shit himself. That belt has to be worth at least two grand! It's ah' legit replica… wait is that an oxymoron? Either way, as the belt begins plunging downward and into the Ohio River, Steve dives over the railing after it… Shaking his head, Muddy sparks up a cigarette and starts walking toward US Bank Arena as the scene fades.