Sunday, April 26th, 2015
Muddy's Hotel Room
Providence, Rhode Island
Nadien's Voicemail Said:
“Muuuuuddy, you stupid son ova' slut, is' be bout' the fourth time I done called… I seen yer' ass on that there dumbass rasslin' show. I guess i's wrong bout' ya', never did think you'd be so good at grabbin' at and holdin' down other sweaty men… Tha' skinny of it? Yer' still ah' fuckin' loser.
Pastor Buddy and I done quit tha' ministry, we's on tha' road sellin' magazines and settin' up gamblin' games. Thing is though, we's ah' little short on tha' dollar end- I'mma' need some child support fer' Dolly, I done burnt up all them food stamps...â€
While the voicemail is still playing the phone goes hurling from Muddy's arm across the room, hitting the wall and smashing into several pieces. We see Muddy sitting in a recliner, across from a television which is the only source of light in his dark hotel room… The television is playing a Loverboy Vinnie Lane and Cain match.
Muddy cracks open a beer, and chugs it down quickly, crushing it and throwing it into a heaping pile of beer cans next to his chair. We hear the sound of running water coming to a halt in the distance… a restroom door opens and out walks the mildly attractive waitress from Applebees.
Disgustingly she looks over at Muddy, kicking beer cans as she walks toward a large window curtain…
“Are you planning on taking me back to Boston anytime soon?â€
The waitress rips open the curtain, exposing a beautifully sunny day outside in Providence… Muddy squints his eyes and covers them, his face twisting as if he hadn't seen the sunshine in days.
“Damn Nadine! I done told yer' ass I's takin' ya' back after my match tomorrow night...â€
“Trina...â€
“Huh?â€
“Trina… my fucking name is Trina… I've told you a dozen times.â€
“Well listen here ya' little uppity cunt, there be tha' door, I aint ah' holdin' yer' boney ass here. I don't even know how in tha' hell ya' got here.â€
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Muddy jumps up and nearly plows over Trina the Waitress as she goes to get the door, Muddy jerks open the door…it's Steve Sayors and his cameraman, Muddy seems deflated.
Steve's bloodshot eyes are bugging out from his darkened eye sockets, his dingy clothes smelling like molding aardvark ass. He's sweating profusely and itching at his neck…
“Muddy… Muddy...â€
Steve nervously looks over each of his shoulders and down the hotel hallway, just before turning back and grabbing Muddy by his Reba McIntyre shirt with the sleeves cut off and pulling him close to his face… Muddy's nose turns up at the smell of Sayors breath,
“...that blow, that blow you had in Boston. I'm itchin' man, I need some… My wife left me, I need to feel good Muddy… I need some of that girl!â€
Muddy pushes Steve away and pulls him and the cameraman into the room and slams the door,
“Good god Steve, what in tha' hells' tha' matter wit'cha'? I aint gots no more coke… yer' ass needs ta' calm down and get in that there pis hole and brush them teethe. Ya' smell like ya' been getting' up in some pig guts, eatin' yer man-pig babies and such.â€
Steve closes his eyes, and runs the palm of his hand from his chin up over top of his nose and to his eyes while breathing in heavily from his nose, as if he were trying to get at some extra drug residue from deep inside his nostrils.
Muddy opens his pill bottle and grabs out a Percocet, handing it over to Steve...
“Chew is' up boy, yer' silly ass needs ta' come down ah' little bit. It's mighty fancy timin' you ah' bringin' at' there camera and all… Muddy gotta' few thing ta' get off his chest.â€
We're ah' getting' mighty close to tha' match the world is talkin' bout' come tomorra' night… that's right, Muddy Waters steps up in that there squared circle with the X-Dubya'-F's undisput-efied Hart Champion 'Lovin'-Boys' Vinnie Lane… and the gold is on tha' line, that there be sweeter than yew-hoo.
Now Muddy done seen that there promo of Lovin'-Boys plastered on this network, or in-between that info-merical early in the mornin'… tha' damn world ah' airin' it like it were tha' third comin' of Christ. Him ah' runnin' round' wit' some truck driver named Rebel, which be ah' clear indication that when his skinny ass makes it on up ta' Providence tomorra' he needs ta' get himself checked out fer' them anal warts.
Only boy Muddy ever know'd named Rebel was this ol' black boy upstate in tha' pen, swore up and down, left and right he's ah' Cherokee Indian, but it was all really ah' gimmick ta' try and keep them there boys from the brotherhood out of his cornhole.
Maybe at's what Penny Lane's ah' doin right now? Sure as shit fire he's got tha' money ta' pay some two-bit actor ta' run round' pertendin' ta' be ah' redneck, that way he'll ah' say he got some sorta' special man-love trainin' that's gunna' help put him over ol' Muddy Waters… but that there type of thing only happens in tha' brilliant butt-fucked minds of British snore fests like Karl Cross… so I'm sure all this skinny blonde boy on Big ol' Rufus tha' Trucker ass poundin' is legit.
So ya' got on tha' camera Vinnie, colorin' at' there purdy picture of yer' accomplishments and shit tha' rest of tha' world done knowd bout' already wit' yer' white crayon, sittin' in yer' Steven Hawking chair, watchin' Barney the big purple Dinosaur and ah' tryin' not ta' drool all over it, but here be tha' thing Vinnie, ya' slobbered all over at' picture and yer' self just ya' Momma' does erry' time she sees ol' Muddy Waters takin' off his shirt.
See ya' sit there in tha' cock-pit, emphasis on tha' word 'cock', of yer' new lover's big-rig, lookin' like ah' generic sequel ta' Broke Back Mountain, called Bare Back Truckin' Tales, and ya' run yer' lips not thinkin' fer' ah' minuet just how dumb ya' sound…Ya' said that Muddy Waters was impressive, but that he got too big fer' his britches goin' after ya'? Tryin' ta' climb up at X-Dubya'-F mountain too fast?
Listen here jackass... Were ya' not in Boston until ya' came out rainin' on Muddy's parade? Or were yer' ear drums filled with too much cum from all them eighties style homosexual hairband parties you been suckin' dick at? It was announced at tha' beginnin' of tha' show that Muddy's match against that British pansy was ah' numba' one contender match… and Muddy rose to tha' occasion, just like he's ah' plannin' ta' do tomorra' night.
That's what men like Muddy Waters do Lane, it may seem so damn hard fer' dumbasses like you ta' wrap yer' little pee-body brains around… but when the goin' gets tough, tha' tough gets Muddy. You've done found yer'self right in tha' middle of some muddy waters without ah' paddle and ah' quarter sized hole in tha' bottom of yer' boat. Tha' fans are ready fer' ah' new era, ah' new Hart Champ ta' lead them inta' tha' future…
While ol' Skinny Lane may have tha' XWF fooled fer' ah' Karl Cross with ah' funny bone, fact of tha' matter is he's still ah' dumb, tight pink pant wearin', Foreigner flailin' fairy… type of brain dead blonde who gets stuck ona' escalator cause the power done went out… once he catches the ass whipin' of ah' lifetime from ol' Muddy he wont even be able ta' dial 9-1-1 on his phone cause he caint' find tha' #11 button.
Times are ah' changin' Lane, change is ah' damn good thing too. Ya' see Mr. Lane is from tha' old Madness where yer' little buddies Kirk and Paul handed yer' ass everything ya' got… just like at tha' Stampede which yer' ass felt so inclined ta' remind us all again that ya' won, but failed ta' mention ol' Paul Heyman screwin' that Beaner Fernando out of ah' win...
Muddy is tha' future and ah' proud member of the new Madness product, yer' ah' damned Paul Heyman guy, where Muddy is more of ah' Sean Falcon kinda' guy… Muddy likes tha' way that there crazy son ova' bitch works. Long story short Lane, come Monday night yer' ass is gunna' be blowin' up like Paul Heyman's limo… and when they's ah' draggin' yer' lilly ass to tha' backstage area, and they's ah' pumpin' yer stomach fer' what they's believein' is internal bleedin' all they's gunna' find is ah' bunch of semen, like Rod Stewart after he passed out on stage.
Yer' problem Lane? Ya' been too focused on yer' second gig of bein' ah' 'Megastar', which when the camera is off, boils down to ya' bein nuttin' but ah' Mega-Queer. Ya' know that there feelin' when ya' got one of yer' nose holes stopped up, and tha' other is all wide open and burnin? It aint yer' allergies, it's tha' Foreigner Fairy Vinnie Lane puttin' his pencil sized pecker up yer' nose hole, contract-ifyin' STDs and such. Ya' done got yer'self all fat-n-sassy after defendin' tha' strap against back ta' back men of purpose and evil… well I watched them matches and both them Cain and Masterkind fellers are missin' what it takes ta' beat someone like you Lane. They aint got what Muddy's got...
Muddy aint gotta' purpose at's fer' damn sure, cept' fer' getting' paid ta' do what Muddy do's best, and that there be beatin' in tha' faces of goofy little slick talkin' cock suckers like tha' Hart Champion, 'Legalos with AIDS lookin'likin'' Vinnie Lane… tha' same guy who Muddy first mistook fer' ah' woman when he seen him. Well Vinnie while yer' hittin' on Muddy and all, goin' down South ta' try and find somethin' ta' relate to Muddy with in small-talk conversation, Muddy's gotta' let ya' in on a little secret... Muddy aint in tha' rasslin' bid-ness fer' tha' pussy, at's just ah perk, and Muddy don't even like skinny little blonde bitches like you, he'd rather have him ah' fat bitch who cooks fer' him and brings him beer.
All jokes, all trash talk, all bulldoody aside Lane, fact of tha' matter is this… tomorra' night, Muddy Waters is gunna' hand ya' tha' worst asswhipin' you've been dealt ina' long, long time, and when that bell rings Muddy Waters is gunna' be standin' center stage with tha' Hart Championship bein' strapped round' his waist… there be ah' bad moon risin' up over XWF Lane, and it just so happens you been ah' dirty dancin' right in tha' moonlight fer' a while now, and worn yer' welcome.
April 27th …Mud-Day Night Madness… Providence, Rhode Island… The Pride of Pike Co. Kentucky is bringin' some Hart home to our great state, I'd suggest you get yer' ass outta' Mississippi and come on up where tha' real Rebel's be, unless yer' enjoyin' all them gay trucker lesson yer' gettin'...â€
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