In the 18th century, the rabbit was first introduced to Australia and soon went on to become a great mammalian pest to the country. Much like then, the world of professional wrestling was introduced to morons at some point along the lines and they too have grown in numbers to the point that we are now faced with extreme examples in this category such as the man who calls himself Pest. Now, the best way to destroy such an irritating plague on the land is to release an every deadlier blight. Karl Cross is that plague that you have all been waiting for.
The word 'plague' is such an ugly word with many negative connotations however let me assure you all that the biology of this black death is one which will actually improve the body. The plague of Karl Cross will do nothing but strengthen the immune system of our great sport by seeking out and destroying infections such as Pest and minor niggling ailments like Hero X-Treme 7.9. The end goal of this disease will be to come face to face with a Doctor and then take away that which he covets dearly.
It's a win-win for everyone involved other than those deemed not fit enough to continue coursing through the veins of the XWF. Those select few will be excreted from the lifeblood of this federation never to be seen or heard from again.
Pest, if you want to paint Karl Cross as your next victim then go right ahead. Crack open your finger paints next time you're at kindergarten and slap out whatever crude rendition of you defeating Karl Cross you want. I then urge you to take that piece of art that you drooled over and stick it in a shiny new frame. When you've got it all ready, you should hammer that son-of-a-bitch on to your bedroom wall for you to savour every time you're sent to your room because, Pest, that's the closest that you're ever going to get to living that little fantasy.
Speaking of fantasy, I noticed you're considering getting some professional help now that you're realised that ill men like you don't stand a chance of leading normal lives. I knew you were scum when I first saw you eyeing up the guys showering backstage but to discover that you're a full blown paedophile was stunningly shocking even to a man as quick witted as me. You're own blood as well. Tut, tut.
How does it feel to hide behind this false notion that you've simply accepted that you're a bad man, I wonder? The thing is that you're not a bad man; you're just too much of a dumb ass to know the difference between right and wrong.
Morality is reserved for people capable of knowing on which side the outcomes of their decisions lie. This then allows people like me to decide what type of person they want to be. Idiots like you don't think when they come to a crossroad, they just stumble along whatever path appears to be the most satisfying to them and end up wherever they end up. Stop pretending that you are incapable of making right choices and just accept that you're not even smart enough to know that there is a choice.
Committing suicide is for quitters by the way but if you really want your life to end then you're doing the right thing by stepping in to the ring with Karl Cross. If you want to shuffle off of this cruel mortal coil that has cursed you then you need only do one thing and that's turn up this Monday. You have never faced an opponent like me- I assure you that no matter how long it takes that I can break anyone. For a man with such a low mental capacity as you, Pest, the task at hand is promising to be one barely worth the effort.
Karl Cross is the greatest mind that you have ever had the misfortune to come up against while you can't even load a fucking gun properly. What a complete and utter imbecile. If I was you I'd probably want to kill myself too.
***
To Catch A Pest
Part I
17:56
Karl Cross trotted from the gate of terminal 5 with a black bag draped over his shoulder. Each of his steps seemed lofted by the energising feeling of victory that coursed through his veins. He walked across the hard tile floor of the airport arrivals lounge and made his way towards the exit where his driver awaited. He was met with a warm smile that he chose not to return as the days sunlight first burst on to his face. Today felt like a good day.
18:42
On first impressions the small motel that Karl had been booked in to by his employers was less than impressive. On second impressions it was a hellhole that could not adequately be described by words. As Karl pushed through the door to the reception it screamed on rusted hinges as if it yearned to break free from the frame. The small balding man stationed behind the desk looked up at him as he entered through thick lensed glasses. The fluorescent light bounced from the ceiling and off of he slimy layer of grease adorning his face. Karl's arrival did not earn him a single smile throughout the whole thirty minutes it took the middle aged troll find Karl's reservation and provide him with a key.
Intellectual savior of the masses this man is not.
19:32
Just when Karl thought that things couldn't get any worse he opened the door to his room. As he stepped a hesitant foot on to the faded carpet something crunched underneath. A quick investigation revealed the source to be a now very dead cockroach. A grimace broke across Karl's face as he continued on in to his new dwellings. The faces of the four walls around him stared back gleefully through torn wallpaper as if pleased by his annoyance. For a moment he considered sleeping in the car knowing full well that every other hotel, motel and bed & breakfast in the immediate vicinity was full to capacity. The irony of the whole debacle was that most of the more upmarket places were filled to the brim with fans eager to get a glimpse of Karl Cross at Monday Night Madness. This did little to make Karl feel better. He threw his bag on to bed and watched as it hit hard with the solid mattress failing to provide a bounce.
20:26
Every time Karl thought that he was acclimatising to the squalor around him, the room found a new way to horrify him. Stained towels, an abhorrent bathroom aroma and a large crack underneath the radiator, through which daylight could be clearly seen, were just some of the minor issues he found himself faced with. In the bathroom, Karl zipped up the front of his trousers and pulled the plunger. He let out a groan as the cistern chose to do nothing. Slipping back in to the small bedroom he slumped himself on to the bed and felt the impact thud through his chest.
This has to be a joke. Why have I been forsaken?
Karl pushed himself up in to a sitting position and reached for the TV remote. He aimed it at the screen and an image flickered in to sight. The first station appeared to be some sort of Mexican sitcom with no subtitles. The second was a cookery show featuring a frail old woman babbling on about the proper method to melt chocolate. The third channel was tuned to the same show on channel one. Everything else was static.
20:41
The Mexican sitcom wasn't actually that bad. Karl had no idea what any of the characters were saying however the comedy appeared to rely heavily on the characters getting themselves in to visually ridiculous situations. Karl found himself being drawn in to the story more and more finding that he could patch together each of the scenes but there was something bothering him. Somewhere amidst the quick paced Spanish and canned laughter there was another noise catching his attention. A sort of scratching sound that didn't appear to fit with what was happening on screen. He shoved his thumb down on the mute button which didn't do anything so he hit the standby and screen went black - the scratching persisted.
20:43
Karl followed the sound towards the foot of the bed where the TV sat. He peered to the right of the unit and saw something move. Dragging himself to his feet he moved in closer and to his horror caught his first sight of a large black rat chewing on a crumb scavenged from the carpet. The rat froze mid munch as it clocked Karl approaching. It scanned the approaching threat with it's beady dark eyes and then jumped to the floor where it attempted to scurry along the corner of the room. The small beast was quick however Karl suspected he was quicker. He ripped his right boot off of his foot and took aim. The projectile flew the few feet through the air on perfect course to collide with it's target however at the last second the rat shot off on a tangent and darted off under the bed. Karl furiously threw the bed to one side but found nothing. A wry smile crept across his face which grew in to a light chuckle.
"Quick little bugger. Go live to fight another day."
22:02
Outside the rain swirled like mist in a howling wind. The nights turn had been in direct contrast to the bright sunny afternoon that had preceded it. Karl watched the lashes of water slap against his window like hands pleading for admittance from the cold. The soon-to-be Xtreme Champion sat uncomfortable on the repositioned bed scribbling memoirs in a notebook which he hoped to one use to write his autobiography. He finished another marvellous descriptive sentence relating to his foe Dylan George when something caught his eye by the bathroom door. Sitting almost directly in the centre of the doorway was the black rat Karl had attempted to kill earlier. It sat, unflinching, with its attention squarely on Karl as if taunting him in to resuming their game.
"You're a brave little bastard aren't you?"
Karl made to move towards it and watched as it moved with a shocking swiftness towards the bed. The little animal slammed itself in to the side of the bed just inches from where Karl sat and then flew back to the exact spot where it started.
"Trying to provoke me, eh?"
A plan hatched in Karl's head as he prepared for the rat's second strike. He did not have to wait long and as it hammered it's little legs towards him again, Karl threw himself to his feet and attempted to land on the hairy assailant. The rat was too quick though and it rounded around him and then sped through his legs. As his temper flared Karl began to stamp his feet but the rat dodged every attempt at its life before running around the bed to the other side where it watch Karl from afar.
"Okay, rat. If this means war then you need a name. I knight you Sir Lightning Tail."
23:24
Sir Lightning Tail had now been scampering around the room for well over an hour and had thus far managed to thwart every attempt Karl had made to crush his its skull. At first he had continued with basic strikes but by now he had realised that his opponent's reflexes were just too well honed for thrown books and stomping Cuban heels. Karl slammed against the door to the motel reception and recoiled as it sprung free from the frame with a squeaking cheer of relief. The receptionist lifted his chubby face and mumbled something under his breath about Karl paying for the damage.
"There is a rat in my room?"
"Don't tell the other guests. They might be jealous."
Karl drew back and slapped the witty comment from his slimy face.
"Traps? Poison? A gun?"
The receptionist pointed towards the utility closet on the left of the room with his other hand clamped firmly across his stinging cheek.
23:38
Karl burst back in to his room to discover that it really was as horrendous as he remembered. He threw his newly acquired satchel of toys on to the small desk under the window and began to dig through. He listed the contents in his: two rat traps (non-humane), half a bottle of blood pressure medication lifted from lost and found, tennis racket with some strings missing and a Snickers bar.
Not exactly the inventory of a great monster hunter but alas.
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