The Last Can Standing - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum:  RP Archive (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=113) +--- Forum: Archives (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=13) +---- Forum: "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=16) +---- Thread: The Last Can Standing (/showthread.php?tid=24951)

The Last Can Standing - Chris Chaos - 09-28-2016 OOC: I misread the rules on the board. I guess I was rushing. I thought it said a MINIMUM of 2,000 words, not a limit. 2,000 words is nothing for me, but I am sorry I posted so many that were way over. This one I wanted to experiment, and it is 2,000 on the dot---down to the period. Enjoy. ++++++ The Black Jeep Wrangler with the huge tires and outdoor rack lights at the top rumbled over the bridge connecting the city of Clearwater to Clearwater Beach. The license plate, which read CHAOS in the green Florida letters stood prominent, standing out on the white plate against the black paint. Chris was beat up. He went through a war with Isabella last weekend, where he pulled out every stop imaginable, but the bitch disappeared and pulled him with her. He woke up in the back locker room, unconscious and naked. The match was a draw. Then, he had his war with Reverend Waters on Wednesday Warfare. He had been on a roll lately, sure, but his body needed a break and all the traveling was taking it’s tole. He had a championship match this week against 5 other competitors and needed to rest up. He decided he would wet his whistle back at his penthouse condo that overlooked the Gulf of Mexico. The 7/11 on Mandalay Avenue on Clearwater Beach was having a sale. $6 six packs. American beer only. Fuck it. He grabbed a Miller High Life six pack and set it on the counter. “Your I.D, sir....” The old bitch behind the counter asked him every time. Every goddamn time. Not wanting to waist effort on people who aren’t worth it anymore, he slid his I.D across and paid for the beer. Jumping back in the Jeep he headed to Belle Harbor. Not only was he going to win the new Savage Title on Saturday but he was going to do it in his home state. Could things get much better? After getting off the elevator and getting into his condo, he headed straight to the porch. A big stogie, some beers, the Gulf Breeze.....the life of a champion. He didn’t drink beer often, but this time, he would make an exception. As he cracked the first beer, he looked at the package in front of him. It said 6 pack challenge on it. It was some contest the company was doing......some promotional add for some bullshit nobody cared about. Beers were disposable, and you could take the cans back and get money back for them. What was the point of a can anyway? Chris thought all beer should come in bottles---he loved the sound glass made when it smashed. He loved the way it drew blood. As the cold liquid hit is mouth, he thought about his upcoming victory. Most of his enemies in this match he knew—2 of the 5---but the other three....well, they would become aquainted very, very soon. He began to think about each of his opponents. Kitt Kennedy ---This pretty boy won his debut match vs. Luna Hightower. Then again, beating Luna isn’t exactly an accomplishment. Who hasn’t beaten Luna? Kennedy was on a pedestal and needed to be taken down a peg or two. What made him worthy of competing in a title match? He had competed in ONE match. Against a SCRUB. Is this how Vinnie Lane and Smackins do business? Kitt Kennedy had an ego, calling himself the New Age Legend. The truth is, he was just a rich delusional prick who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has been given everything his entire life. He probably feels like he deserves this match, his mommy probably has front row seats. He has no clout, he has no reputation, and he has no respect. At least not from him. He hasn’t done a single thing to earn this. Kitt can’t hold up to the pressure of a match of this magnitude---and if Chris were a gambling man he would bet Kitt gets eliminated first. ---After finishing the beer, he crushed the can in his can. He crushed Kitt Kennedy, metaphorically, and threw him away. The can was empty, Kitt was no longer an issue. On to the next one.... Popping the top, he brought the second can to his lips. The liquid felt cool on his tounge. Nico Lavey ---What a waste of life this guy was. He has never advanced past the Federweight ranks. Sure, the 24/7 X-treme title, but that is a cluster fuck. He doesn’t have the gusto to win a title and hold it. He would rather cheap shot and run. This tatoo sleeved pretty boy who thinks he is Mr. Hustler. Cards, hookers, and booze. Sounds like a great life---but not the life of a consistent champion. Chris took shits bigger than this guy anyway, he had to be like 100 pounds soaken wet. What made anyone think HE was worthy of anything but an ass kicking? The new Savage Title---the title that was created FOR Chris---come on. It was almost disrespectful. After he won the title maybe he would drag Smackins and Lane out to the middle of the ring and kick both their heads off their shoulders for even considering putting this scrub in a main event---for a belt no less. The can was empty. He crushed it. Crushed Nico and threw him away. As the destroyed can hit the floor, Chris realized that was about all Nico Lavey was worth. Pop.....number 3 came to his lips. Kristen Silver. ---Well, isn’t this little twat just a ball of spunk. Little firecracker. He loved that kind, loved to break their spirit. She was intense, and to this point had looked talented. Impressive. But she had no idea what kind of demented animal she was stepping into the ring with Saturday night. She has not had competition the likes of Chris Chaos before in her entire life. She would find out very soon, however. But there are a lot of people gunning for her in this company. Maybe he would sit back and let the vulchers do his light work? Hmmm....but what is the fun in that? Like the old proverb says, if you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself. She was a Floridian, like him, but from Miami—the home of tourists and cocaine. Lots and lots of cocaine. He would give her a South Florida ass whipping Saturday night, and send her back to Lil Havana with her tail touching her twat. Little bitch. He crushed this can too, burping. Damn, this was gonna be a good night. Throwing the can on the ground he popped the fourth and brought it to his lips. Again his thoughts were brought to the six pack challenge match.... Isabella Ravenwolf ---Little miss storybook herself. A clown from Twilight or some other bad chick flick. He had to give her this, the bitch was resliliant. She could take a pounding. He had done everything he could against her. He speared her though the barricade. He through her through a flaming table. The bitch still would not quit. Maybe she was just that bat shit crazy. He still could not figure out her obession with newborns and an over-used internet sensation of the ape species. She would be a formidable foe, and not because she was just that tough but because she was just that crazy. It was like she didn’t feel pain. You basically have to kill this bitch to take her out........well, he had no problem with that. One less nuisance. If it were for some magic tricks, this would be a different match. She fucked this whole thing up for him. This time, he would get the job done. Another burp, and another crackle as the can crushed. Popping the 5th, he brought it to his mouth. Dolly Waters ---Oh, little little girl. This isn’t an environment for you. She is nothing but a spoiled brat with a filthy mouth. Her father is a shitty wrestler, guess he is a shitty father too. Isn’t this bitch like 12 or 13 years old? Hell he could catch a statutory charge even being the same ring as her! Whose bright idea was it to hire her? He was going to make sure Vinnie Lane signed a waiver before this match so he is not liable when he takes her apart from toenail to hair follicle. He has already dispatched her father. Dolly was a scrapper, and she had Paul Heyman in her corner. Heyman always provided excitement. But Chris didn’t care who was in her corner, he was going to go over, around and through her if need be. He WOULD hoist that title. This little brat needed to be punished. Maybe he would send her home and put her on the disabled list with her father. Rid the XWF of these jesus freaks for good. Crushing the can, he burped, then threw it on the ground. He grabbed the last one and was about to pop it before pausing, looking at the cold can in his big hand. This was him. The sixth can, the sixth competitor. Looking around at all the destroyed cans around him, he said aloud....”The Last Can Standing”. Yeah, that sounded nice. He would be the last can standing on Saturday night. He would hoist the belt and be the top dog on the show he made relevant the last month and a half. The only reason anyone watched this show was because of him. Vinnie Lane should be puckering up and kissing his ass right about now. A smile crept across his lips. “I am going to keep you intact” he said aloud, “and I will drink you after I win the Savage Championship.” He got up, sweeping the empty cans into a bin. They were trash, just like his competition this weekend. They meant nothing to him. All they were at this moment were memories of what it took to get to where he was. And that is all he needed them to be. No more, no less. Victims, that is how he saw them. This was HIS belt, and he knew it in his heart. He knew it in his soul. They made a belt for him in Phoenix Wrestling, and they were doing it here. He was clearly the favorite here---but that also meant he had a target on his back. He was public enemy number one. It was a smart strategy, go for the favorite first. Try to take out the biggest dog, even team up if you have to. He knew what he would have to do. He knew he had no friends in this match. He was going to run through every competitor in this match single handedly. He was going to defeat 5 other superstars—that term used loosely—by himself. Every single one of them would be equalized by the end of the night. He had a feeling. This was a match in his home state, in front of his home people, on a show that he helped to develop. He would make history, forvever be in the books. The first ever Savage Champion. Dragging the trash with the discarded cans in it to the trash shoot, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Checking it, he grinned. Throwing the trash down the shoot, where it—where they—belonged, he walked back to his apartment and began to spray himself with cologne. Splashed water on his face. He read the text again----”I’m here---I am parking. Will be up soon. Xoxox”. She came all the way here from Vegas. This girl was dedicated. Maybe she would hold her weight around here. For the first time all day he was excited about something else. Then it all hit him. His condo, his Jeep, his success.....his money. It all came to him because he is a Savage in the ring. He was truly lucky---not blessed, because there is no god---but lucky. Not everyone can be this lucky. The doorbell rang and Jenny Myst stood there in a sexy negligee. They both smiled. He ushered her in and shut the door.