-continued from Dolly Waters: The curious life of a combat prodigy. Episode 4-

There he was, drunken and in all of his haggard hick majesty, stumbling his way across a barren intersection toward my van...

"Muddy fuckin' Waters"

I whisper,

"You've got to be kidding me..."

Matt, my AV guy said,

I could hear Muddy's muffled pleas through my rolled up window as he continued to stagger toward us wearing a ripped up red flannel, dingy jeans tucked into a pair of work, er I mean homeless boots and backwards billed toboggan hat:

"AYE! Aye buddy! Gotta' dollar ta' sp-"

Muddy stops dead in his tracks as I roll down my window and make eye contact. He seemed to recognize me but his reaction and memory were a bit misguided,

"Aw naw! Yer' not takin' me back to The Ridge muther fuckers!"

Muddy turns and takes off like a bat outta' hell back across the intersection and down some obscure alleyway.

"You're not going to run after that idiot are you?"

My bitchy AV guy insists on asking... swear he's on his fucking period or something.

"Well fu-"

I finish guzzling down my pint of Evan Williams, and proceed to belch up a bit of vomit into my mouth that I swallow back down like a fucking champ,

"Fuck no, dumbass!"

I pop the van into drive and veer a hard left across the intersection in pursuit of our subject's sperm donor, deadbeat daddy down this virgin-tight alleyway.

"Matt, tell me you're fucking rolling!"

I holler over,

"No I'm not fucking rolling, why in the fu-"

What a bitch,

"TURN THE GODDAMN CAMERA ON AND DO YOUR JOB! DOCUMENT EVERYTHING HOW MANY GODDAMN TIMES HAVE I GOT-"

"Look out!"

Matthew interrupts me as I look back up to see Muddy throwing some form of puppy dog out infront of my van to try and slow my chase. Smart. But as I said, I'm a starving journalistic artist- sitting on perhaps the greatest documentary of all time. 30 for 30 type of shit. There was too much at stake to get all soft now. Plus I'm not a pussy- so rather than break I slam on the gas.

The driver side of the van raises up briefly while hitting a bump,

"BRAIN YOU FUCKING PSYCHO YOU JUST RAN OVER A DEFENSELESS D-"

As the vehicle halts I turn to Matthew and force my palm against his cheek, pressing his head against the passenger side window- snatching the camera away from him with my other hand.

"Have you any clue the fucking pressure I'm under?! I'm sick of you questioning me- I'M THE FUCKING BRAINS OF THIS OPERATION! YOU?! YOU'RE JUST A REPLACEABLE-"

"Merrrr-awwwwww"

My rant is interrupted by the intoxicated, slobbery sobs of that heaping pile of southern feces, Muddy Waters. My frustrations quickly, and rightfully turn from poor Matthew to Muddy. I swing the van door open and it smacks into the side of the building, but I didn't give a fuck about that- my sights were on the shithead redneck about five feet ahead on his knees babbling some non-sensible bullshit to the sky as if he were praying.

"D-d-d-dear lord I just pray that you keep Robbie E. Lee in yer' doggy kingdom up in the clouds-"

"HEY DIPSHIT!"

Muddy looks at me rather aggressively, working his way up from his knees, and obviously putting on a show of some form- probably some attempt at a scam.

"YOU KILLED MY ROBBIE!"

Now Muddy was a much bigger, much stronger, much faster man than I was- fuck I didn't weigh 150 pounds soaking wet, but Muddy also appeared to have consumed more alcohol than an Eagles tailgate party, and probably hadn't eaten in weeks.

Just as he neared me I side stepped and he rammed headfirst right into the metal hood of my van. I began dragging him up by shirt and struggled to prop him against the van.

"Mother fucker you killed my dog! I want FIFTY-THOUSANDS DOLLARS!"

Yup. I called it.

"Fifty thousand for what? The fucking manikin dog you probably found in a Pet Smart dumpster?"

"LIES!"

The Styrofoam head of the dog comes rolling out from underneath the van toward our feet.

"Robbie had a rare condition"

I'd had enough,

"LISTEN YOU FUCK! You remember me? I'm Brian.... BRRRRRRIIIIIIAAAANNN, the guy who payed you money to help film the movie about your daughter Dolly? Eight thousand-fucking-dollars? Remember? You were going to help us find her- then you vanished to whatever filthy meth smoking vagina hole you could dip yourself into?"

"Oh... oh yeah."

"Yeah? Good. Well guess what, bub? We ain't fucking done filming this shit- and you're going to help us finally pull Dolly's ass out of seclusion."

"How the hell Muddy gon do that? Dolly hates me"

"By doing what you do best, Muddy. Disgracing the Waters name on national TV."

"Huh?"

"You're going to wrestle you dumb hick!"

-end episode 5-


-promo-

Guess who's done come ah' roarin' back in the x-dubya-f baybe!?

Muddy fuckin' Waters, that's who.

I know'd it done been a long time, but the Pride of Pike County is back in action and ready to take on all comers!

Has Muddy lost a step?

Probably so.

Why with all the years of alcohol abuse, needle sharing plus all the unprotected sex- it's very likely the ring doctors might not even clear ol' Muddy fer' action.

BUT!

If I does got some sorta sex virus, I'm sure the x-dubya-ef will run a charity in Muddy's name- the proceeds of which will go to ME! So I win no matter fuckin what, understand!?

That's the damn difference between Muddy Waters and the intergalactic -clown fish fucker he's facin Wednesday. Muddy always wins, and Phantom Panzer is a fuckin loser. I'mma' beat the got-damn breaks off him- then I'mma find his momma and beat the breaks off her cooter.

You hear that Pansy? Muddy Waters gunna be yer' daddy, and I'mma neglect you too! Because I'm a horrible... horrible...

-Muddy suddenly gets emotional-

FATHER!!!! AHHHHHH GOT DAMNIT! I'm the fuckin worst- listen here folks, the only reason I'm agreein to do this is cuz I want my little Dolly to come back- and do what she do best- that's make all her fans happy and kick some ass.

I wronged her. I wasn't there fer' her when she needed me most. So I need all of you XWF fans in Africa, when I come to the ring I want all to cheer, or click-clack fer' Dolly Waters. And maybe once I beat Fatum-Pass-turd clean with the 1-2-3, then maybe she'll come on out and want to come back to rasslin' again.

Pass-Turd, no disrespect. Honestly. Any man who would dress himself so ridiculously and say the stupid shit you say has massified oversized balls, or just no fuckin brains at all- and either of them two features would be amazing considering yer' still actually alive and functioning.

I respect yer' scam. But guess what? Muddy is gunna' still kick yer' ass Wednesday night and then he's gunna chug a bottle of the cheapest got-damn alcohol that money can buy. You'll bounce back baybe- aint no biggie- just look at me! We all come back from pathetic obscurity to the XWF after a while.

But just remember one thing, bitch.

I'm Muddy fuckin Waters, and my dick is bigger than yers!

-end-