So Sick

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"I am going to utter a sentence that has never been spoken by any living human being before."

"Man, I wish I was fighting Ezra Blackwater at Warfare."

Fuzz looks up to me as he rests his head over his arms, lazily pushing the trolley up the aisle. He doesn't say anything stopping the trolley near a shelf full of liquor and looking between the bottles. I tap my foot.

"Because if I was could have beat all the Blackwater cunts in one month. Don't think that's been done before. Squad goals, cunt."

Fuzz turns around holding a bottle of vodka in each hand.

FUZZ: "Well, like a tight-knit group of closet homosexuals, they usually all come out together. If you're quick enough you could knock the one you're not facing out? Grey Goose or Smirnoff Red?"

Fuzz raises and lowers each bottle as he asks. I point to one.

"Grey Goose." Fuzz nods and places it in the trolley beside the litter of other booze and snacks. "Depends on my timing, I guess if I run I could King Hit the cunt when they're on the ramp? Either that or just toss a brick at the shit cunt."

FUZZ: "What if they're at the party? Maybe you can challenge one to an impromptu match and kick his ass... Should we get Jagermeister?"

I click my fingers into a point.

"Fuck yes, cunt!" Another bottle in. "Good thinking, dad. This party is going to be siiiiiick."

FUZZ: "So sick."

I grab a bottle of Goldschlager and shake the cunt like a snowglobe.

"What about this? It's got bits in it."

FUZZ: "Sure, I bet someone will drink it."

The trolley is getting pretty full as force the bottle in between some chips and a slab of White Claw.

"I need cat food too."

FUZZ: "We'll pick some up... Should we get like a party banner or something?"

"I doubt this place sells one saying 'Congratulations Cunts.'"

Dad nods his head and we move out of the aisle.

"Can't believe I'm fighting Blackwaters 3 shows in a fucking row. There's obviously some shitty communication going on here between management."

FUZZ: "Oh wow, those guys massively fucked something up? I'm shocked!"

I give a chuckle.

"Well, one was random. Can't pull a Scully and blame SBW... I mean I could! But I won't. I know these cunts are interchangeable so even if I fought the same one 3 times in a row it would be the exact same as juggling the cunts around but fuck at least they would have looked different when I punched them in the face! Which one can control electricity?"

Dad raises an eyebrow looking to me.

FUZZ: "One of them can control fucking electricity?"

"Ezra! That's it. He'd be fun, just treat the cunt like a toaster, chuck him in a bathtub with Donnie and Raph. Fry those cunts. The one we're facing can bend metal or some shit."

Fuzz stops pushing the trolley as we get to the cat food, he stands up straight letting looking to me.

FUZZ: "He can bend fucking metal?"

"Then you got this fucking undead cunt too. This is like a very shit show on CBS. The fucking Brain Trust over here wanting to waste everyone's time by not being wrestlers, you know, the shit we're paid to do, the shit we signed up for, the shit we've trained our entire lives for and these cunts walk in from Professor X's School for Gifted cunts thinking they can just waltz around the ring playing grab-ass and spouting off spells like they're 'the chosen ones' from some crappy RPG game. I didn't join the XWF to play dungeons and dragons or try-out for SyFy. I came to slap cunts up and make money."

Fuzz interrupts me.

FUZZ: "What food does your cat like?"

I shrug and do what I usually do when I buy Ned Kelly treats, place my arm on the shelf and brush it up, knocking random shit into the shopping cart.

FUZZ: "That was easy. So, these cunts we're facing have superpowers?"

"Yeah. Weren't you listening?"

FUZZ: "How do we beat people with superhuman powers?"

"Well it seems pretty fucking easy to be honest, cunt. The family that puts 'onal' in dysfunctional and the iZombie gender swap have a worse track record than a bobsled team from Jamaica."

FUZZ: "Onal?"

"Yeah, Dad, it's aboriginal for 'koala shit cunts who disappoint everyone around them.'"

He breathes a short laugh.

FUZZ: "All that from one word, huh?"

"It's a very interesting language. Anyway, this whole match is basically like a charity dinner. We get over once again, we get the big push and those two cunts get their paycheck which they can then spend on masks at the XWF store so they can pretend to be accomplished wrestlers when they're on the short bus back to the jobber farm. Honestly, it's a win-win. We get to be sick as always and I get to prove once again that I'm the hardest worker in the XWF, doing 3 shows in a month and destroying a family! Fucking aces, cunt... Oh hey, look!"

I grab a box of cereal from the shelf to Fuzz's delight.

FUZZ: "Woah! Are they brand new Sick Cunt-O's!?!?!"



"Fucking too right, cunt! These brand new Sick Cunt-O's are only available for a short time until the FDA figures out what we're up to."

FUZZ: "I heard these give YOU the power you need to slap weak cunts and..." Fuzz looks at the script I gave him before. "Show balless baby bitches how to act like a real sick cunt!"

"That's right, dad! Sick Cunt-O's! They'll make you sick!"

I say with a huge smile holding the box beside my head. Fuzz moves along up the aisle.

FUZZ: "You make me do that again and I'm putting you up for adoption."