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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Relentless Day 2 RP Board 2021
Tuxedo Noir
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Billy B. Blankenship Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


#1
09-24-2021, 10:42 PM

The scene opens backstage at Soldier Field on Night One of Relentless where The Can-Jap Connection’s Ricky Goldhart Monsuta, Mr. Fikki and a livid Billy B. Blankenship[/front] pacing back and forth in their locker room. Billy is in a pair of black jogging pants and a black t-shirt since being stripped from his tuxedo earlier in the evening.


[font=Times New Roman]”Goddamnit! I can’t believe it! What the fucking fuck?!?![/color]


Ricky stops the pacing Blankenship in an attempt to calm him down.


”Calm down Billy, it’s not like tonight even matters because we all know that you didn’t want anything to do with that garbage booking. Hell, the only reason you took it was so you could professionally move us on from this black hole that working with Mustang and Steele has turned into.”


There’s a knock heard coming from the dressing room door. Mr Fikki turns and walks over where he opens the door to see one Steve Sayors standing outside of the locker room with a camera crew.


[size=large]”Oh Jesus Christ now this fucking guy.”



”Excuse the interruption guys, but I was just trying to get a few words about earlier tonight and what’s on deck for The Can-Jap Connection tomorrow night in the Texas Tornado Match against the Disintegrators.”


Ricky walks towards the door as Mr. Fikki steps to the side.


”If it wasn’t bad enough that Billy B. Blankenship had to be stripped down to his boxers earlier tonight by that prick Freddy Fabulous WE have to contend with a rag-tag nothing happening, excuse-making jizz stains of Steele and Mustang; a team that we’ve already owned once but clearly once just wasn’t enough so they’ve come back for seconds. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result; well, if that’s the case then both Dave and Johnny are as insane as they come to think that some how, some way this little party is going to end any differently than with the arms of the Can-Jap Connection raised in victory.


I bet Freddy and the Fab Five are having a good laugh at what unfolded earlier tonight. They might think it was cute to embarrass Billy B. Blankenship in front of the world; there’s an age-old saying that says he who laughs last will laugh the loudest. Tomorrow Night on Night Two the Guaranteed Rate Field will see the carryover from what started tonight; except the managers are going to be on the floor where they belong and the D-Grators will continue to do what Freddy did not do, lose. It’s just in your DNA guys. It’s what you do night in and night out.


You’ve been free-floating around the XWF since 2017, right? What do you have to show for it?


Now while you both look at each other while scratching your heads allow me to give you a fundamentally simple answer- nothing.


You two have legit accomplished nothing in four years.


It’s a wonder why you both haven’t called it quits with NOTHING on your resume but losses against every team, including The Can-Jap Connection. Tomorrow night you don’t have bullshit excuses to fall back on; speaking of excuses, does anyone else find it remotely interesting that the last time we mopped the floor with these scrubs they claimed Covid; yet the big guy and I who were in DIRECT contact never came down with it?


No rules.


No tags.


Nothing but space and opportunity for you two punks to show us just how wrong we are when we look at the both of you and laugh our asses off. Hey Vinnie, how much longer are you going to serve us up chicken shit? Nobody can make chicken salad with Steele and Mustang; not even us.”



Ricky glances over towards Mr. Fikki.


”What does the big guy have to say about these two fuck boys?”


Mr. Fikki steps forward while Ricky steps away from the door where he turns around mouthing the words ”We got this” at Billy who breathes a sigh of relief.

おぞましい

クローゼット

自己嫌悪

同性愛者

私たちはあなたを粉砕します


Kyodai is breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring, his blood pressure rising, looking like he could use a healthy dose of Lisinopril to ease his blood pressure.

Fikki steps in front of Kyodai, patting the big man on the chest, a particular sarcasm to his breathless, visionless laugh as he pats his dear Kyodai on the chest and turns back to study the dismayed Billy Blankenship who looks on through fogged spectacles.

Worry not, Billy-son! The vengeance for what happened tonight, and what happened weeks ago on Savage is already at hand.

Fikki turns back to Sayors, his face drawn down now, his brow tightening like he has to take a Preesh sized shit.

Sayors-son. Did you see what happened tonight? Did you see this clear attempt from Freddy Fabulous to try and get inside of the heads of THE Can-Jap Connection? That’s all this was… and yes, as Kyodai pointed out, most likely some weird, self-loathing, closted homosexula repression on the part of Freddy. After all, why would Freddy so deeply desire to strip naked the man he so vehemently body-shamed? I believe, and I’m not speaking for Kyodai, just myself, that Freddy Fabulous has an angsty hatred for Billy Blankenship because he so desperately wants to make love to the greatest tag team manager in the business today.

”Now wait just a goddamn min-.”

Billy shoots up to his feet to interrupt, but is ignored as Fikkie continues on,

Afterall, they do say that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. Do you ever notice a couple who have been together a long time? The co-opt one anothers mannerisms. Laughs. Sayings. Posture. Likes and dislikes. I do believe it bears mentioning that “F.F.” … aka, FUCKING FAKE… only reared his disgusting, sweaty, crumb caked, triple neck onto the wrestling scene after “B.B.B.” made his presence felt. I would be surprised to find out that Freddy’s middle name is not Fuckboi, or Flatulence, hell, maybe even Fauci, though I must say, it’s clearly not the latter of the three. His team was diagnosed with COVID 19, according to him anyway, so obviously Freddy the FUCKBOI Fabulous was not making sure that his dusty, fake-leather wearing team was following the COVID Protocol.

It's a wonder that today, along with Big Preesh, and whoever the imaginary fifth member of the Fab Five is that NO ONE knows, aren’t all hooked up to ventilators and clinging to their dear lives. Given their general lack of health and lack of knowledge, if these men were TRULY diagnosed with COVID 19 they would all be dead, just like all of their right-wing talk show host heroes.


”Wow!”

Sayor interjects, padding some sweat away from his forehead with a torn up, booger-colored Freddy Fabulous bathrobe.

”Mr. Fikki, those certainly are some strong words out of you…”

Sayors towers over the five-foot-nothing Fikki,

”But what exactly does Kyodai-”

Sayors pauses, patting his brow with the chicken grease-stained bathrobe again and looking into the piercing eyes of the 650 pound behemoth known as Kyodai Monsuta,

”- - - What does HE have to say about this entire situation.”

Fikkie pinches his eye lids together in a moment of stoicism, pulling his cloth robed hands together and pondering Kyodai’s words as the big man leans down and aggressively whispers into Fikki’s ear.

MMMMMMM

Fikkie nods his head, his eyes still squeezed shut,

The Disintegrators are cowards. A pitiful lyric in a Megadeth song. Do you know who likes Megadeth, Sayors-son?

There’s a moment of quiet as Billy B. and Ricky watch on curiously,

”...I- uhhhh, who is-”

Before the veteran XWF interviewer can even finish his thought, Fikkin, on behalf of Kyodai interjects, popping his eyes open to finish the sentence,

NO ONE! They all died from COVID 19 because they were freedoming out a little hard. Free to look stupid. Freed to cost you and me our hard earned taxpayer dollars for food stamps and health-department access. FREE to look like total fools. Free to bum-rush the ring after a match on Saturday Savage and ambush THE Can-Jap Connection because they were too inept to get things done when they had the opportunity to prove they were a better tag team.

So what does Freddy do? He challenges Billy, a man clearly not equipped to steps into the ring and wrestle.


”WAIT! Did Kyodia really say all of th-.”

Not now, Bill-son! The truth is not important, we are dealing with Megadeth fans! They lean on Norse mythology, no better than the contempt spreading evangelicas of the worl-

”But Kyodai is a goddamn Buddhist. Surely he doesn’t want to cast stones from that glass temple.”

”Buddhist, or not, Kyodai sees the bullshit that is The Disintegrators for what they are, a bushel of cowardly, mindless, leather wearing FRUITS who can’t get the job done on their own. That’s what this entire exercise tonight was about. ONCE AGAIN, to try and sow dissent, and sow misinformation about YOU Billy-son, and YOUR Tag-Team, THE Can-Jap Connection. Shall we tell Sayors-son the REAL story of what happened tonight?”
”Oh, we don’t have to do all of that-”

Some dreamy flashback transition is introduced, much to the shagrin of one Billy B. Blankenship who buries his face as the flash back scene is now in full-effect. The colors swirl and shit, turning from primary to grey and black. Noir for the sake of Noir. It’s black and white and that’s good enough. No one else really gives a fuck about Noir shit. Neo Noir like No CUNTRY for Old Cunts, and Pulp Fiction is cool, the other stuff just blows....



Anyway…



Earlier that day…



“WELCOME MY FRIENDS TO CHI-TOWN SUITS! PLEASE COME IN!”

”This is stupid, Fikkie. I can’t believe I even agreed to this shit.”

”Don’t worry, Billy-son. These men will take good care of us…

”That’s what we said about the last five tuxedo joints we tried.”

”Worry not! Let me do the talking!

”Help me.”

Billy says looking up to the cigarette stained ceiling of this particular suit store,

”Good sir. Do you know who this is?”

Fikkie asks, addressing the middle-eastern business owner,

The man eyes Billy up and down, and before he can even answer with an obvious “no”, Fikkie interrupts.

”THIS! Is Billy B. Blankenship! The man given a key to your city by your famous, mayor Don King-”

“Who is Don King?”

The business owner asks in a genuine, foreign accent,

”The great fight promoter that YOU, my friend, has elected as mayor of Chicago.

“I don’t know any Don-”

”Stop talking.”

Fikkie commands, holding a hand up to stop the business owner,

”Your Mayor knows a thing or two about promoting great fights, and he has given THIS man, Billy Blankenship, a key to the city of Chicago for bringing to this desolate wasteland, the greatest Tag Team the world has ever known.”

The business owners eyes look glazed over,

”NOW! Billy Blankenship has been challenged to some shit-booking match, one that only fills the desires of those looking to watch overweight, middle aged men stripped naked from a Tuxedo. But the problem is, the Tuxedo that Billy wore to prom in 2001 was destroyed by some incompetnat dry-cleaner in Louisville, Kentucky. We need to get him sized for a proper suit.”

The business owner finally hears some language that fits into his purview. He pulls a paper tape measure from his pocket and promptly jams the end of it into the reluctant armpit of Billy Blankenship, running the tape down his pant leg,

”OW! You Freak! Fikkie, get this cocksucker out of my crotch!”

”It’s okay Billy-son. This man will get you properly fitted to fend off that pansy Freddy Fabulous once and for all!”

”I’m about to fend off this entire operation if this guy doesn’t - - HEHE - -WOOOOO!!!”

Billy hops in the air as the business owner runs the tape up the inside of his leg,

”Let him help you, Billy-son.”

”Some help, Fikki! If I wanted this kind of help, I’d go to whatever club the Mustang boys caught their crab-dinner from.”

“There is no help.”

”WHAT?”

”WHAT?”

“I only have one suit close to fitting him…”

The business owner retreats to the back of the building and returns with a tuxedo that’s obviously two sizes too small.

”Oh what the fuck is that? The outfit Big Preesh wore in his new born photos?”

“That's all I have. Take it, or leave it…”

”We will take it!”

Billy slaps his forehead,




The dreamy transition flashback shit works in reverse this time pulling us back to the locker room at Soldier Field. Steve Sayors has fallen asleep while listening to the story.




”Oh, you know what? Fuck this! ”

Billy looks into the random camera that found its way backstage.

”Tonight proved nothing, Freddy. You used a weapon, which granted, I would’ve used on your dumbass had the Mustang boys not had to interfere to defeat a MANAGER! But anyway. That’s the point! Nothing was proven by you stripping me out of a tuxedo that didn’t even fit my body. The only thing that was proven tonight is that I am a MANAGER, just like you! ….

HI ATARA THEMIS!

Looking for representation?

Of course not, but any who…

Freddy you proved nothing tonight.

The only thing that has been proven was what happened the last time you led your boys into an actual tag-team contest with my boys. Ricky and Kyodai are the better team. Flat out. No one in their right mind would mistake it. It’s why you had to sneak attack us, no different than the way you sneak attack Little Debbie cakes in the middle of the night when you wake up to test your blood sugar, you fat, slobbering piece of shit.

Just because you stripped me down to my boxers doesn't mean that my boys aren't going to BOX in your boys' heads again.

This was all another elaborate attempt by Freddy to try and discredit The Can Jap Connection because he knows his team will never, EVER reach the level of success that Ricky and Kyodai have obtained in just a short amount of time. Go listen to podcasts, Freddy, go check the Twitter polls. The Can Jap is on fire, and are being poised as the next in line to be named Tag Team Champions in the XWF once The Bastards finally work up the courage to challenge us.

This match at Relentless? THIS match, between Ricky, Kyodai and you pansy asses? This is just another stepping stone, another piece of the pavement of the road that leads to the story of the greatest tag team the world has ever known.

You may have won the battle tonight, as fucktarded and absolutely unwatchable as that indy-esque, circus side show bullshit was... but tomorrow night, The Can-Jap Connection wins the war.

So until then, and as always...

THANK YOU

FUCK YOU

BYE




[Image: 7bigBzI.png]
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