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Chris Chaos · (06-23-2018)

"So Griffin can talk? Shocker. It's funny how these dicklicks get butthurt over the things I say. I have to reach in and get it out of them. I should get paid extra for this shit. Griffin McAlister, the human terminator with no feelings other than the desire to kick ass. A machine that is so perfect, Apple wants to buy stock. The apex. If Griffin is as tough as he talks, he should be an unstoppable wrecking machine, right? Either the XWF is just that damn good or he isn't what he seems. Where was this whole ass kicker persona versus Finn? Where was all this Duke Nukem Kick Ass and Chew Bubble Gum Babble? You had a good showing at Second Chance before a literal

tossed you to the side like dirty laundry and Finn made you look like a rookie. So, I am sorry, Griffo, but I am just not seeing where this sudden confidence is coming from. It's disrespectful, really, that you think you can talk to me this way when you haven't proven to be anything more than not very good. So this little chest puffing contest you want to have with me, save it. I am XWF Royalty, you're extras once the credits finish. I am glad to see your comprehension skills are still there from all the abuse your greasy cranium has taken......you quote me so well. I just love watching a promo and seeing myself in half of it, it makes it that much more enjoyable. Hell, the best parts of that little serving of hamburger helper were my lines. I watched as you pulled them up and I thought, "damn, I really got him good." It's like watching a movie for the second or third time and picking up things you missed before.

I verbally butt raped you, Griff.

I am glad you liked my Day in the Life, too. I'm glad it resonated with you. You may down it now, but you're just shellshocked. Years down the road when you release that as part of your Docu-series on Paramount make sure you cut me a fat royalty check.

Thanks.

The mental health thing? Funny. Clever. I haven't heard that one before. You can't hear my voice oozing with sarcasm here, Grif? I've been doing this a long time, but it is apparent that you are the one who doesn't know exactly who the fuck I AM. So, let this be an introduction of sorts.

I am Chris Chaos. I am the destroyer of worlds. I am the best in the world at this little game we play, Grif. Former Universal Champion, current double champion, XWF Top 50--in my first four months here, mind you--and the toughest motherfucker on this roster. Fuck what you say because only what I say matters. You don't give a fuck about my accomplishments, do you? So what makes you think I care about yours. Name off all the accolades you want...........they don't matter. That was then and this is now. I don't care if this title was North Korean, Chinese, Norwegian or from goddamn Djibouti. I don't care about who held it when. You can call it the training wheels belt all you want Griffin, but the fact of the matter is you are in a match for it. Funny how people say they don't care until they have it. Sure, you don't want it or care about it now but if you won it.....holy jumping fucking Jesus we wouldn't hear the end of it. Stop trying to deflect your jealousy and just tell me that you want to be me, you want to live my life, you want to take my title. Just be honest with us.

It's becoming of you.

"I'm going out to that ring to stomp the crap outta you, fool."

You've got me shaking in my boots, Griff. You've got my shitting my pants over here. Whatever am I going to do? Big Bad Grif gonna get me! I appreciate that you stick to your intellectual level and didn't try to intimidate me with words you don't understand and most likely can't spell. You kept it straight to the point. You're gonna stomp the crap outta me, I like it. Such passion, like the same kind a seventh grader says about his opponents on the basketball courts with the chain nets. Thats about you're reading level. At least you're staying true to your ways, Grif. I'll give you a Golden Star.

Too cold to look into my opponents? I know more about you than you know about yourself. I know what makes you tick. I know why you say what you say, I know what keeps you awake at night, and I know about the Victoria's Secret Gift Card and the yoga pants that say JUICY across the back.

I also know that guys like you are all talk. If you were as big and as bad as you say you would be 2-0 right now. You would be taking this roster by storm, kicking ass and taking names. No prisoners. But you are 0-2, on the downslide, with the best professional wrestler in the world staring down the barrell at you. Since you've been sooooo honest to this point, why don't you just tell the XWF Universe just how fucked you truly are here. But you won't do that, will you? Because you live in fairy tale land. Your entire life is a delusion. Real tough guys, they prove themselves. Fake tough guys tell everyone how tough they are. So far, you haven't proven shit to anyone. I haven't lost since the calendar year turned 2018. I had one no contest in a bullshit match against my girlfriend where we decided to take the draw and tear shit up. I have done more than prove my worth around here, Grif. All you have proven is that you're the Big Bad Wolf in front of the camera light, but when the real lights come on your nothing but a scared little piggie. And a piggie out of your league. A piggie in over his head. You know it, I know it, the world knows it. You will never be anything more than what you are, Griffin, a once promising come up story that didn't pan out. You're Michael Jordon on the Wizards at this point.....nobody cares anymore. Your best days are behind you and you have to validate yourself by telling people you're going to throw a "boot party". Real clever. That's some A-List shit right there, Grif.

You may tell us all that you don't care what the masses think, that you're a rebel and some badass in a cutoff leather vest. You may think in your mind that you are the terminator but in reality you are nothing more than Peter Parker before the spider bite. A bitch made punk ass pussy with a mouth that likes to write checks. Too bad that ass account is over drawn. So Griffin, I hope you can back this talk up. I really do. It has been quite some time since I have had some real competition and for this belt, it has been a cake walk. You're in the main event buddy, a 15 minute time limit, and a world of pain. You're in for the fight of your life. You said it yourself, win or lose, you're in this for pain. Good. So lets just say, WHEN you lose to me and take your rightful place on the outside looking in at the title picture, you will have some bruises you can use for memory as well. Your hands are calloused, but I am beginning to think it is from jerking off too much. The loss of seed has gone to your brain, starting to make you go whacky. I don't think you are in control of your own thoughts anymore.

You poor, hapless bastard.

Griffin, you can't fix the mistakes you made in the past, nobody can. You can't fix the future because I am in it. You can only worry about the present, and unfortunently for you I am in that too. I am coming to take my pound of flesh and keep this title relevant. Right now, the TV title is burning white hot while the Universal sits stagnant. I am torching my way through this roster, blazing a path of destruction that few have ever seen, and soldifying my name as the top superstar ever to lace a pair of boots here. Fuck top 50, I am top 1.

All you will ever be, Grif, is a mechanic that had a pipe dream. Your dream dies tomorrow night.

Chris got out of the Jeep, the tires crunching on the pavement. This garage was worn down, overgrown on the outside with weeds. It wasn't a place that he would want to bring his cars too. Sure, maybe they were good at their job, but goddamn if you make any money at all, take care of your place.

As his white mesh Nike's floated him towards the garage doors, he began to feel something. He was about to confront whoever was inside, it didn't matter why. Did it ever matter why with Chaos?

That is the point of Chaos, afterall.

When he walked down a bit, towards the one open drawer, he heard music coming from inside on a crackly radio. It sounded like Kidz Bop. Censored top 40. It made him shiver.

There was a set of legs hanging out from under a car, with dirty cotton material glaring at him. Yuck, why would anyone want to do this job.

As he walked into the garage, he instantly felt his shoes stick to the floor. Nasty.

Justin Timberlake was on the radio and whoever was under the car was huming along. Real sick shit. Probably a pedophile.

Grabbing the man by his legs, the wrench dropped out of his hand. He pulled him out from under the car.

"Can I help yas?!" The man was a disgusting looking human with greasy bangs and a mouth that looked like it was well aware of the existence of meth.

Chris yoked the man up, slamming him against the wall. He had a look on his face of total confusion. Why was this big blonde man doing this?!

Chris began to tune the man up, throwing him around the garage. He never said a word. He didn't need to.

When the man was on the ground, coughing, Chris caught a glimpse of his name tag. "GRIFF"

Jesus, were all these grease monkey fucks named the same? Were they all related?

He kicked the man in the ribs once more and walked out. He had a smile on his face. He had just beaten up a mechanic for no reason other than pure chaos.

Oh, the beauty of Chaos.

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