OOC: This RP takes place before Muddy's last promo…
Thursday, April 16th, 2015
Cooter's Giggle Hut
Downtown Boston
The scene opens to a filthy gentleman’s club establishment in the bowels of Boston. The room is dark, and aside from a few Hispanic and African American patrons up shoving dollar bills down a fat stripper's waist line on the main stage, the place is uninhabited…
Sitting at the bar about thirty feet from the main stage we see Muddy Waters, his sun-glass covered face lit only by the red and blue strobe lights. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, then picks up the shot of whiskey from in front of him and sends it down the hatchet, sitting the empty glass by a pile of about ten or so other empty glasses.
Muddy pulls out his cell phone and flips through his contacts, when he lands on Nadine's name… for those of you who don't remember, Nadine is Muddy's estranged whore of a wife who was banging the local pastor... and she's Dolly's mother. Though he certainly hated her guts and wished she'd die, there was a particularly somber morass of self-pity and loneliness surrounding our protagonist.
“It's been weeks, and I aint heard shit? Goddamned bitch aint never cared bout' nothin' but herself...â€
He thought,
“...thinks she's so damn smart, at's why her whorin' ass is ah' rollin' round' with that there hypocrite Pastor Buddy. I thought he'd orta' known better, now they's a'both goin' ta' Hedes.â€
Muddy thought about lot as he sat there shooting whiskey after whiskey. He was wondering why this strip club only had fat women working, not that he minded… Muddy just figured that Boston would have flashier women; more so he wondered why these women were stripping to such depressing music, not that Muddy didn't like The Eagles, but this was usually the type of music he liked to drink alone to… not party with, in fact it was probably the music stirring his current melancholy state. To his left though was a crater-faced black man, also wearing sun glasses, smoking a cigarette and looked as if he'd seen better days. Maybe that was just the norm at Cooter's Giggle Hut.
Muddy thought about his match with Karl Cross, and if he even gave a fuck weather or not he won, so long as he got paid and was able to provide for Dolly and his ever growing alcohol habit… he guessed that was all that mattered. Of course he didn't want to let that Sigmund Freud, Charles Darwin, Marxist piece of shit get one over on him, but at the same time was Muddy even his league?
“Maybe that dumb whore was right? Maybe I aint ah' never gunna' be nothin'… maybe I orta' just give this here rasslin' shit up and drag my happy ass back to tha' trailer park...â€
He had flat out wilted like a petunia…
“BAR TENDER!!!â€
“Sir… I'm right in front of you...â€
Muddy is damn near pleading with him,
“Who's ass gotta' be sucked round' here b'fore' some damned big boned homely action comes this way?â€
The bartender motions with his fingers toward some women,
“Hey man, you need to liven up a little bit, no sense in sitting around looking all sorry for yourself...â€
“Then why in tha' hell are ya' playin' The goddamned Eagles on repeat?â€
“It's not us… see that guy down at the end of the bar?â€
He's talking about the crater-faced black man,
“...He's a real stick-in-the-mud. Loads up the Jukebox with various depressing classic rock songs every night… but if you're looking for some REAL action...â€
The bartender cheeseily sniffs on purpose and grabs his nose,
“...he's your guy.â€
“What's the matter? Ya' got allergies?â€
“...No….no, cocaine.â€
Muddy's phone rings, it's Dolly and Morbid Angel, they're at the Miley Cyrus concert.
â€Heya' Daddy! OMG!!! GUESS WHAT?!?!†Miley just pulled Morby up on stage and theys' ah' doin' ah' duet ta'gether!!!â€
â€Sounds like ah' damned slaughtern' house over there...â€
â€Don't be mean Daddy! Hey I'mma' stayin' tha' night with Morby, and tomorrow we's gunna' go to tha' mall and pick out new dresses and makeup! Love ya' daddy! BYE!â€
Muddy closes his phone, and takes the shot of whiskey sitting in front of him… he looks over his shoulder and notices a couple of heavy set strippers have approached him. Things were becoming clear to Muddy now as he looked down at the crater-faced black man who apparently was also a cocain dealer at the end of the bar, what was the point of living life feeling sorry for yourself? Fuck Nadine, fuck Pastor Buddy and fuck Karl Cross…
The time was ripe for a little self-loathing…
“Damn baby, yer' a lot fer' ol' Muddy ta' love...â€
Muddy slaps the stripper's ass standing behind him,
“Hows' bout' ya' bring yer' lady firend, all six of y'alls chins up ta' Muddy's hotel room after ya' shift ends? I'mma' have somethin' real fine ta' powder ya' nose with… finer than ah' hair ona' frog's pussy.â€
The Cockney strippers are laughing and rubbing Muddy's shoulder, the goose is hanging high for ol' Muddy…
“...Bartender, Muddy's tryin' ta' play em' ah' ball game. Cue up some Zepplin and get ta' pitchin'â€
Saturday, April 19th, 2015
What's left of Muddy's Hotel Room
Boston, Massachusetts
The scene opens to Steve Sayors lying face first in a dismantled hotel room, he's shirtless and has a huge rip running up the back of his slacks. Steve begins to stagger to his feet, his hand shaking as he struggles to wrap his glasses around his earlobes… feeling something on and around his nose, he gives it a whip, finding what appears to be cocain residue. To his left, across the floor of the room filled with broken bottles of alcohol and random whippets, Steve sees his camera man lying in Muddy's bed cuddling with a blowup doll…
To his right Steve sees Muddy lying on the floor, naked, a big ol' broad tucked under his arm… a cowboy hat luckily covering his crotch.
“Mr. Waters! Mr. Waters!â€
Steve kicks Muddy in his side, waking him up… Muddy looks over to the woman laying next to him and smiles. Slowly he slides his arm out from the woman and stands up… Steve looks down at him, then covers his eyes and looks away.
“…Mr. Waters… why is that cowboy hat still sitting on your.. ummm.â€
“Don't'cha' worry bout' that there Steve… that's cause of them there pecker pills Muddy took last night.â€
Muddy begins to walk over to the cameraman, again, asshole naked.
“Wakey, wakey, hands off snakey...â€
Muddy pours the ass end of a beer he found on the floor on the cameraman's face,
“Get on up boy and go grab that there camera from out tha' door… Muddy's got em' ah' few things ya'll gunna' wanna' hear.â€
The cameraman falls from the bed, trying to stand on his still sleeping leg and grabs the camera from outside the hotel room. Over in the corner of the room, Steve Sayors is sitting with his head tucked between his legs sobbing…
“My God! I've ruined my life!â€
“Quit yer' belly'achin' Steve, ya' sure wudd'unt' soundin' like at' last night...â€
The sobs continue as the cameraman begins filming,
“Yer' startin' ta' sound like that ol' sissy ass Karl Cross…
Karl, I wanna' just ta' fill ya' in on just how damned special ya' are ta' ol' Muddy Waters. Last night Muddy took time away from fuckin' yer' sisters ta' listen to yer little bob-tailed boo-hooin bitch fest ya' done released.
But b'fore' Muddy get's ta' talkin' bout' just ah' how pathetic ya' continue ta' sound, Muddy would like ta' give yer' ass ah' big hand! I's damned impressed Karl, DAMNED IMPRESSED! Yer' streak of piss-poor promos where ya' talked about yer' former opponents came ta' ah' end last night! Just like yer' stupid little streak of wins over them half-assesd rasslers is ah' gunna' end on Mud-Day Night Madness. It's just so damned good ta' know that ya' finally took some of Muddy's advice- Muddy learnt' a lot bout' givin' advice from Mr. Jerry Springer.
But that there was bout' all ya' did ta' impress Muddy Waters, Karl… ya' got ta' whinin and cryin' bout' how Muddy was gunna' get in tha' last-est promo of the week on ya', actin' like yer' shakin' in yer' pink panties bout' how Muddy is gunna' pick-ah'-part yer' last shot of re-dempit-on against him.
Maybe if ya' wudd'unt' such ah' damned yella'-bellied bitch, and fer' once took tha' first shot at yer' opponent like ah real man, then maybe you'd be in tha' position that Muddy's in right bout' now. Maybe you'd be gettin' tha' final promo, took straight outta' tha' book:
'How ta' cut ah' whinin' ass promo fer' Dummies Vol.4 by. Karl Cross'
Every damned week we hear ya' sobbin' and ah snifflin' bout' how:
'My opponents aint' ah' givin' me nuttin' ta' work with cause they won't say nuttin''
Muddy aint figured ya' needed it Mr. Bond, but now I'mma' startin' ta' figure that ya' do Karl. Ya' see that's the difference between men and women… men take tha' lead, instead of ah' sittin' back with they thumbs up theys' pussies waitin fer' somthin' ta' get off on. Muddy didn't ah' need fer' Karl Cross ta' cut ah' promo first ta' tare his bitch ass down- Muddy took tha' bull by its' shit... and Muddy smeared it all over yer' face. Got ya' madder than ah' wet hen aint it Karl? Ya' must ah' thought that ya' was gunna' be able ta' sit back another week, and thumb rassel yer' pecker while sippin' tea in tha' Queen's Jester chair.
See Karl, ya' started out with nuttin' and yer' latest promo work proved ya' got most of it left. At was an awfully purdy 'cum-back' ya' had there, I'mma' guessin' ya' scrapped it all up from tha' back of yer' throat. Maybe had ya' spent ah' little more time doin' somthin' fresh, stead' of ob-sessin' bout' weather or not Muddy is actually from Pike Co., and really is ah' redneck or not then yer' shit talkin' coulda' been ah bit more interestin'…
Ya' been busier than ah' one pawed kitty-cat diggin' fer' shit ina' marble floor, tryin' ta' prove ah' point that aint ah' person on God's green earth give ah' damn bout'. What if all this is just ah' gimmick Karl? This is rasslin' boy, get tha' fuck over it and move on…
At's fine with Muddy too if yer' as clear as mud as ta' what in the good goddamn ya' been ramblin' bout' all week… yer' ah meanin' ta' tell Muddy that between all them big fancy words ya' try usin' as filler that ya' had ah' point worth listenin' ta'? Sorry if this here simple country boy aint ah' quite caught on yet… Karl ya' clearly failed ta' realize the point Muddy was ah' makin' too, ya' must ah' missed it while writin' up that goofy little story bout' some little winged boy flyin' up to the heavens, b'fore sniffin yer' asshole and burnin' his eyelashes.
Muddy caint quite say the word… but aint ah' person round' here like ah' contra-ma'-dictionary-al jackass like you. Must be some security issues deep down in yer' butt-hole that get's ya' hollerin:
“I AINT BORIN'!!! YER' BORIN'!!!â€
“I DON'T BE SAYIN' THA' SAME OL' SHIT!!! YER' THE ONE AH' SAYIN' THA' SAME OL' SHIT!!!â€
..That there be tha' point Karl… yes Muddy is callin' ya out on bein' tha' most borin' piece of shit he's have ever run inta'… hell it damn near got ta' ah' point where Muddy felt like he's tryin' ta' help yer' dumbass out, wantin' nothin' more than fer' tha' Karl Cross feller that everyone was ah' claimin' was gunna' kick Muddy's ass ta' appear. But he never did, stead' all we got was this here menstratin' bitch who kept ah' lookin' fer' ah tampon big nuff' ta' plug up that there bleedin' pie-hole that Muddys' been ah' poundin' all week. Guess there be ah' real reason why in yer' version of Custard's Last Stand ya' failed ta' respond bout' any of that other flip-floppin' Muddy called yer' bitch ass on, cause yer' fuckin' embarssed that ya' been gettin' yer' ass handed to yah' all week by ah' hick from Pike Co. Kentucky.
Yer' stupid little promos Karl, yer' borin', stupid, pointless little piss-ant promos Karl? They just like anythin' else you'll find round' XWF- where ya' try squirmin' at' little baby-meat out from yer' trousers and put it up next ta' the persons yer facin'… see who's is bigger an all. Well Karl, just so ya' know, actin' ike ah' dick aint gunna' make yer's any bigger a'tall'…
Ya' tried it with Muddy and ya' failed boy… get over it- see cause at' little pecker of yer's is like ah' landmine, small, hidden and explodes on contact… and then when Muddy started bendin' yer' ass over- he found that yer' asshole was like ah' doorknob, it'd done been handled by everyone.
So maybe yer' smarter than Muddy Waters, maybe yer' purddier than Muddy Waters too… but when tha' dinner bell is ah' rining' Karl the fact is this, ya' aint now, nor ever will yer' bitch ass be half tha' man that Muddy Waters is… Its' been ah' obvious all damn week that yah' got an inferi-ortied complext Karl, and since ya' been goin against Muddy Waters its' fully justified.
This Monday, Muddy Waters is ah' gunna' re-in-act the Boston Massacre in that there ring, cept' fer' this time it's ah' gunna' end with this little British bitch named Karl Cross gettin' his little pussy slammed...through ah' table... and this here country bumpkin ya' wasted all week tryin' ta' figure fer' fake is gunna' be standin' over top of yah', his arm raised and guzzelin' ah cold one gettin' yer' Queeny's dried up cooter wet fer' the first time since Princess Diana died.
So YOU-ARE Karl Cross...and yer better than me?
Well I am Muddy Waters… and my cock is bigger than yer's.â€
Muddy removes the cowboy hat from his crotch and begins waving his, luckily censored, cock in front of the camera. XWF headquarters kills the feed...
![[-]](https://xwf99.com/images/portal2/collapse.gif)
