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Muddy Waters · (09-27-2016)

Sunday, May, 24th, 2015
North Tower Detention Facility
Dallas, TX, USA
…The Morning after Bad Medicine…

Muddy Waters, groggy from his cocaine, lortab and alcohol induced hangover, begins to stir inside of a pale peeve jail cell, his left arm handcuffed to a bar on the wall.

His eyes barley open and unaware of his surroundings, Muddy reaches his shaking right hand over to where a beer would normally be waiting for him when he awoke from his standard slumber.

Only Muddy didn’t anything to calm the shakes, instead he found his hand deep inside of a diarrhea filled commode.

“AH FUCK!!!”

He jumps up quickly, only to be pulled back down by the handcuff, causing his already throbbing head to slam directly into the rim of the toilet.

This is not how Mr. Waters intended to begin the morning after Bad Medicine.
In fact Muddy had already paid for several large prostitutes to arrive at his hotel room in Dallas to help celebrate his and Scully’s win of the Tag Team Championship.

Only it didn’t quite work out that way.

The two were beaten in a Ladder Match by the Brick Squad, a match in which Muddy participated in heavily intoxicated. Here he was broke, friendless, handcuffed to a wall, stinking of shit and gin. Muddy had been beaten in more than just a match, Muddy had been beaten in life.

Drugs and alcohol was his master.

“WATERS!”

A fat corrections officer appears in front of Muddy’s cell, he chuckles a bit at his current state,

“The judge refused to ten-percent your bond. You’re still currently at five-hundred thousand dollars. Looks like your ass is going to be mine for a looooooong time.”

“Wait, wait, what? Wudd’ya mean he refused it? I aint even seen no damn judge!”

“Oh you saw the judge alright… don’t you remember?”

The scene flashes back several hours when Muddy was first brought in, he was arraigned before a judge via closed circuit television.

“Mr. Waters, you’re currently being held on a five-hundred thousand dollar bond for a slew of charges here, not of the least of which is possession of a controlled substance and possession of this…”

The judge holds up in plain view Muddy’s obese style blowup doll that has a picture of deceased XWF Diva Sandy Smith’s face taped on its head,

“…obscene sexual instrument. How do you pl..”

“HEY! You git yer’ goddamn hands off ma’ woman fer’ I play your ass like an instrument boy! Whos yo momma boy?!? Judge Judy… Muddy let her play his skin flute alllllll day bay-bay!”

Muddy begins to sexually swing his hips toward the judge,

“YEAH! YOU LIKE AT’ BOY!?! PLENTY MORE WHERE AT CAME FROM!”

Muddy then begins to sing NWA lyrics,

“FUCK EM PO-LICE, FUCK EM’ PO-LICE, FUCK EM!”

“Sheriffs get this piece of shit out of my sight, and make sure he FEELS his jail cell on the way in. Bond will remain at five-hundred thousand dollars.”

We snap back to the current time, the officer is walking away laughing his ass off, while a flustered Muddy sags his head and sighs.

Maybe an hour or so passes before the delirium tremens from withdraws begin to set in on Muddy. These usually take a day or two on your average drug and alcohol abuser, but as you’re well aware, Muddy never took halfhearted measures when it came to getting fucked up.

Muddy is dripping with sweat as the room starts spinning. He feels ice cold. He uses his shit covered hand to wipe away the sweat, and then slowly begins to slide his fingers into his mouth, gnawing on them like a bratwurst.

“He done said dey iz ripe… dey iz ripe. Dey iz, dey iz…”

“Daddy! You gotta’ cut this out!”

Muddy looks up to see his daughter Dolly, standing outside of his cell.

“Look at you! Yer’ a hot mess. “

“Doll baby? Dat you?”

“Yes dad. You know, you really embarrassed yer’self last night in that match. And you looked so good, so dominate in yer’ first match too. Had you not been a drunken ass, you and Scully would be tag champs right now. But instead, look at you now. Sittin there like a queer shemale, sucking shit off of your fingers.”

“Now damnit, Dolly. I won’t have ya’ speakin’ at yer’ Daddy like that. You know’d better girl!”

“Sorry Daddy, I’ve gotta’ go, my new boyfriend is here to get me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Muddy sees Pest walking up behind Dolly. Pest dangles his disgusting little arm around Dolly’s shoulder, and places his other hand on her belly.

“No hard feelings, Muddy. But the Black Hand will no longer require your services; we’re only interested in winners.”

He smiles at Muddy and then turns to start licking Dolly’s face who’s giggling,

“But this little gem here? She’s gunna’ be a huge star… only thing is…”

Pest begins rubbing Dolly’s stomach,

“We’re not quite sure who the father of your grandchild is; we’ve cut the list down a bit, it may be: Morbid, Scully, Dim, Vinnie Lane or myself. We’ll let you know when the SAT results come back… gotta’ go!”

“Bye Daddy! Don’t let em’ get yer’ cornhole in here.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”

Muddy rips the cuff from the wall, but comes to and realizes no one was really there. He hits the floor in a fetal position and begins rocking back and forth,

“not ma’cornhole, not ma’cornhole, not mines corn hold, cock riding porn sold.”

The scene fades as Muddy passes out on the floor.

To be continued...

…Yer’ time is nearly at hand Chris Chaos…

All them years of being a sniveling, little sinful sodomizer are gunna’ finally catch up to ya’.

It’s done been two days since Reverend Waters responded to yer’ pitiful, pubic lice filled promo, and I aint heard not a word back from ya.

Having doubts now aint’cha’ Chris?

Hearing the words of the Lord’s truth tend to do that to the sinners. It puts that little bug in the back of yer’ mind and now you realize that you aint dealing with just another one of the favorable match ups you get fed on a weekly basis. You start to question yer’ faith, you start asking and wondering if being such a piece of god-hating garbage was worth the ass whopping yer’ gunna’ receive.

You say it’s personal to you? Guess what bucko, its personal fer’ me too, because I look at you and see the problems of the world summed up into one microcosmic pile of filth and one puddle devilish semen… and I’m here to clean house.

Fer’ the first time in yer’ pathetic career, you’ve got a real challenge on yer’ hands now, and since the Lord has my back, there’s not a doubt in my mind that yer’ going down. Yer’ going down right where you belong, right in between the bug guts and the chewed bubblegum on the bottom of Reverend Waters size 16 boot. Yer’ scum Chris, plain and simple.

There’s no way around it… God aint gunna’ bless you, he’s been shittin’ on ya’ and he’s gunna’ keep on shittin’ on ya’ because you long ago relinquished yer’ opportunity to be a decent person.

Reap what you sew, remember? Remember the time you set that Church on fire? Well now it’s yer’ ass that’s gunna feel the flames. It’s gunna’ burn so bad you’ll think one of them gonorrhea infested trannys you’ve been screwin’ around with done plugged yer’ bunghole after you gave em’ the wrong cup of roofie.

Reverend Waters is honestly a bit offended that you wouldn’t come at him with something a little harder than a shitty twenty second promo, in which you just cried the whole time about the girl you was lusting after.

Nobody gives a damn Chris!

Nobody cares about Nicole, and bout how her daddy made yall dress up and make disgusting kiddie porn flicks in his basement, and now you have an emotional attachment to her but she don’t want you because of the genital warts and all…

We get it, yer’ a shameful, resentful, blasphemer, sexually confused devil worshiper… and yer’ soooo brutally deep and emotionally tortured! With any luck you’d maybe get casted for the lead role in The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo (which is a sin) Part 2.

How bland and cliché you are Chris, and it’s no surprise. The wicked tend to lack true reality of self and true self-worth, that’s why yer’ soul is such slim-pickins fer’ the Devil to feast upon.

How about I let you in on a little secret; no one here in the XWF gives a rat’s ass about you or whether or not your soul ends up in heaven or hell. When I was down and out, when I needed my “friends” here the most, they never came fer’ me, they left me rotting in a trough of self-pity and morass… It was Jesus who came for me, it was Jesus who saved my soul from the bowls of hell.

You had yer’ chance to accept the Lord, and you turned yer’ back, so after Reverend Waters leaves yer’ burning, stinking, sin-filled carcass in the center of that ring, it won’t be the Lord, and it won’t be any friends you might think you’ve made here, it’ll be just you and the Demons you’ve been dealing with for the rest of eternity.

Salvation, mercy, grace… it’s all a singular purpose, and it’s all encompassing, and it’s all welcoming to those who seek it, but fer’ those who spit at it, and mock it, and derogate it while laughing and spitefully hurting others out of selfishness and pride, well it’s for those of whom that aint welcome.

Chris yer’ gunna’ be just another one, in a long, long list of idiots who tried making it to the top in the XWF by doing people wrong and only looking out fer’ yourself who failed, who flopped and fell flat on their

faces, tasting the reality that is the dirt they will be for now and forever…

Next time you cut a promo on me boy, it better be worth listening to, if not, just stay at home come Wednesday, saty at home and pray that God show mercy on yer’ soul.

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