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Mr. Kaleidoscope · **08-23-2015, 09:52 PM**

POP!

A cork flies at speeds damn near 700 MPH as the thickest of foam spews from the neck of a champagne bottle. The foam spills down the side of the bottle, staining Eddie Crow's blang. A scream can be heard from off camera; looks like the cork hit her in the eye. Classic. The whole room thumps to the beat of of some shitty house song. The night is young, and so are the women. The time for partying, for depravity and debauchery, is upon the ensemble gathered by Eddie and Izzy; a celebration of sorts before Mr. Kaleidoscope's XWF debut.

Mr. Kaleidoscope however, is nowhere to be found.

Eddie Crow: Yo it's wack as hell that he's missing his own party.

Izzy: He'll be here, he just had to do something real quick.

Eddie Crow: Yeah but why'd he have to take my car tho?

Meanwhile, many miles away, Mr. Kaleidoscope sits in the driver's seat of Eddie's hooptie, burned out cigarette hanging from his lips. Sighing, he gets out of the car, his feet sinking into the soft earth under his feet. He tosses the cigarette butt into the car before closing the door and makes his way to the trunk. The only light he can see is coming from the moon above. He opens the trunk and looks down at what it contains; a leather body bag, filled with rocks and the corpse of Melissa Dominguez. He closes his eyes and zips the bag the rest of the way up, before lifting it up and slinging it across his shoulder.

He slams the trunk closed and looks out, past the car and at the river a few feet away.

The only thing he could think about as he made his way near the body of water, with intentions to dispose a body, was can't believe I'm doing this shit again.

He shakes his head to try and snap himself out of his nostalgia induced daze and returns his focus to the task at hand. One more look around to make sure the coast is absolutely clear, and he makes his way to the edge of the water, where he drops the body at the river bank, pushing it with his foot until the bag starts to float downstream with the current while sinking to the bottom.

Yeah yeah let's cut this sappy shit off right now.

I really wasn't going to respond to ol Dicky boy because I figured, why the hell would I? But then it opened its mouth? Urethra? Wherever the fuck it talks out of, it opened that and started running off all this shit, so why not give the fucking object its day in the sun? Since it's trying so hard to get Kaleidoscope senpai to notice it. You're welcome in advance.

Well, as far as your first question, answered. Why the fuck should I care about a dick? Hell, you keep going on about how if I lost to you I'd bring great shame down on my family or something like I'm some Japanese Samurai sycophant or some bullshit like that. From where I'm sitting it's a miracle that a penis is sentient enough to talk, let alone fucking compete but shit, ain't it my job to tear you down and your job to build yourself up?

I guess ol Petey boy is a fucking

if his dick's intelligence is anything to go by. Yeah, I'm calling a dick stupid. Never thought I'd ever say that but things aren't normal right now, are they? I bet if I go and watch some of Gilmour's promos I'd find the same bullshit; wannabe tough guy posturing, not knowing how to hype themselves, continued oblivious self deprecation, the whole nine fuckin' yards!

But wait, you're a penis so everything's supposed to be forgiven, right? Nah bitch, you're my opponent and I don't give a fuck whether you're a penis, or a table, or a goddamned stuffed elephant I'm going to fuck you up.

I have to ask, I would be remiss if I didn't, is Gilmour proper as bad about going off on tangents that are completely and utterly worthless and irrelevant to anything going on? Shit about my life after I lose as if that's a possibility, just an excuse for you to fill up words to mask the fact that you have fuck all to say? Yeah, that sounds like it. Shit, you probably think you're original too. Of course you are the only wrestling penis I've come across but this fucking style, nah that's cliche. Old hat. Older than me and I ain't no spring chicken.

The time honored tradition of "make up a ton of silly bullshit". It's time honored for a reason, lazy fucking morons like you and presumably the guy you were attached to, understand that they're up shit creek without a paddle but they're either too proud, too stupid, or both, and can't just admit it. So they go and they make up a ton of silly bullshit. None of it makes any sense. None of it has any impact whatsoever. All it is, is fluff of the highest degree.

Keep doing what you're doing though, I'm sure there's someone out there dumb enough to either think you're funny or that you're making a decent point with any of that.

Now, there's always the chance that it'll go "HAHA you're taking a dick seriously and arguing with it!" because again, this whole inability to understand that self deprecation doesn't make you clever or witty, it just makes you look like a pathetic waste of space.

Yes, I'm taking a dick seriously.

Its is my opponent and its has been talking mad shit, even if again pretty much all the shit he talked was irrelevant and inconsequential. So yeah, I'll take it seriously long enough to beat it, its handlers, anyone and anything else that gets in the way of that.

Roll out the bodybags now.

Orâ€¦ condom in this case I guess.

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