Post by PerZag on Feb 24, 2021 9:38:10 GMT -6
This mirror; my mirror. What a glorious thing it is? It shows me exactly what I believe myself to be. Absolutely fucking stunning. That’s what I am. That’s what I have always known myself to be. Unbelievably sexy. I was the Sexiest Man On Earth, and now I am the Sexiest Man In Wrestling. Everybody knows it, from James Raven to Shawn Warstein to Justice and Enforcer, they all know that I am the Sexiest Man in Wrestling.
But, you know, it is what it is. They will keep denying it. But the more they reject, the more I see the truth. The more it comes clear to me how truly, entirely, in denial, everybody is. If they cannot come to terms with the fact that I am sexier than thou, then so be it. They can live under a cloud of lies for all I care. Either way, I know it; the fans know it, those that obviously matter know it.
Oh yeah, and the girls that have spent some time with me know it. Plus, they also understand why I am the 70-Minute-Man as well. The 70-Minute-Man, in and out of the bedroom, that is I.
But, I should probably stop looking at myself in the mirror. Even though I look pretty fucking good. The blue blazer, the blue slacks, the blue tie. Nothing wrong with a nice blue suit. Blue is THE colour of colours, after all.
As I neaten up my blue suit to make sure that it looks exquisite, my mobile phone rings from my bed. I walk over, picking it up, seeing that Rhiannon is calling me. I smile as I answer the phone.
“Hello,” I say.
I listen to Rhiannon on the other end.
“Yes, I’m just about on my way. The reservation is booked and ready to go. I’m sorry that we couldn’t do it on the 14th as we should have, but better late than never, right?”
I hold my phone away from my ear as her voice gets a little bit louder and maybe slightly nastier. Once her voice quietens down, I put the phone back to my ear again.
“Well, I’m fucking sorry then. We can just not worry about it. Not go out for dinner if you’d like.”
I listen for a bit longer as she calms down.
“Yes, I’m sorry too, Rhi………….. Yes, alright, I’m on my way. Should be about ten to twenty minutes, and then we’ll go have dinner, okay?”
I wait for her reply.
“Alright, I love you too. I’ll see you shortly.”
I hang up my mobile phone and place it back on my bed. I walk around over to the mirror to make sure that my tie is tied up properly. I fiddle with it until it’s looking elegant before looking at my watch.
“Alright, it’s 6pm,” I say, talking to myself. “Go over and pick Rhiannon up, travel to the restaurant for the reservation at 7pm. Plenty of time, easily.”
I give a quick smile at myself in the mirror before walking back over and picking my phone back up off of the bed. With my phone in one pocket and my wallet in the other, I am good to go. I open the door to the hotel room and exit. I shut the door behind me, making sure it is locked, before heading down the corridor to the elevator.
Now that I have some time between here and the ground floor allow me to ponder. Three wins and zero losses to 2021 already. The Year of PerZag is only just beginning, but it’s going to be grand.
With a win over Miss Fury and Chad Vargas, Blood Dragon, and of course, Enforcer, who am I looking at continuing that streak with. Ah, yes, that’s right, Manny Cotti. A part of the Impasta Mafia. How interesting? (insert rolling eyes emoji here)
It’s not that interesting. The Impasta Mafia are pretty fucking useless in the GCWA. I mean, have they even won a match. Obviously, the answer is no. They’re jobbers. They’re not really worth my time. Like, what am I going to do? Talk to Manny like he’s some big deal, hotshot, that has a chance at defeating me. No, can’t do that. I would be lying if I did, and I am no fucking liar.
So, what else is there? Shall I create a spoof? Some imaginary tale that takes me on a journey into learning a craft to defeat the mafia. Nah, I already went on an adventure when I fought Peter Vaughn. That was tough enough; I don’t need another.
How about this? How about I just state the facts and the pattern that things have gone? My first match of the year was a contest. A great back and forth ladder match with two well-known athletes. I won, obviously, which led me to my next match, which was against a jobber. Then I had Enforcer last week who gave me one hell of a fight, and now I’m back to a jobber.
So, you know, follow the pattern. Jobber week, so I get Manny Cotti, who is winless. Easy win for me, which will make everybody happy in the world, and we’ll move on to me defeating someone noteworthy next week. At least it does give me a friendly, easy match before I decide my future alliance. Because, you know, that’s coming up this week.
Either way, enough pondering, I’m at the ground level.
The elevator dings, signalling that I have hit the ground floor. I exit the elevator, walking towards the exit of the hotel. As I leave the hotel, I look around for the valet, but suddenly everything goes black.
I awaken, struggling, as I yank my arms up, trying to tear the ropes off of the chair I am tied to. Something is covering my face, so I cannot see my surroundings, but I can hear the sound of breathing from all around me. I try to pull my right arm up to remove whatever is covering my face, but it is no use; it is tied to the chair’s arm.
But it doesn’t matter. Someone else takes it off, allowing me to see the room. It appears to be some sort of cellar. I can see bottles of wine stored all around the room, as well as three men dressed in lovely black suits with fedoras on. Oh great, I think it might be a mafia. Please tell me it has nothing to do with the Impasta.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” I scream at them angrily.
“Calm down, calm down,” the fat one with the moustache says to me. He turns to the plain-faced, bald man. “Cut off the ropes, Doug. He’s our guest, not our prisoner.”
The man named Doug cuts off the ropes, allowing my hands to come free. I rub at the spot on my wrist where the rope was digging in as I look at the fat man, puzzled.
“Who are you?” I ask him again, less angrily.
The fat man smiles. “I am Leo, the Godfather of this family.”
“What family?” I reply.
“The DaVeggie Mafia,” the man with the beard chimes in.
My brain starts to itch as I try to find any information I have stored on these guys. But I’ve never heard of them. Why the fuck would they kidnap me if I don’t know them?
“I don’t even know you people. Why am I here?”
The godfather, Leo, chuckles.
“Yes, we know that you don’t know us. See, we live to our own devices. We love DaVinci, and we love our vegetables, that’s all we care about. But, we have enemies. Those that don’t want us to have nice things. They don’t want us to eat vegetables. They don’t want us to enjoy magnificent art. They want us to eat pasta and look at macaroni artwork.”
The three men in the cellar start dry-heaving as I roll my eyes. This does have something to do with the Impasta Mafia, doesn’t it?
“So, why am I here?” I ask stupidly, knowing what the answer will be anyhow.
The three men stop dry-heaving as Leo grabs a chair and sits down in front of me.
“Well, a little birdie told us that you were going to be fighting one of them in a match Friday night. One by the name of Manny Cotti. We are willing to pay you five thousand dollars if you are to ‘accidentally’………...,” he puts up air quotes as he says accidentally to me. “............... break his neck during your match.”
I raise my right hand up, rubbing my eyes. I have dealt with too many idiots in this lifetime; I have just had enough of them. I put my hand down and stare at Leo.
“I’m sorry, but I am an athlete—a wrestler. I don’t spend my time intentionally injuring people in the ring. Accidents happen, but you do not intentionally break someone’s neck out there. Because if that’s what we did, there wouldn’t be many people left in this industry. Plus, if this is all about artwork, pasta and vegetables, I think this is a little bit too far. Just tell them you don’t want their fucking pasta, or better yet, combine the two. Anyhow, I’ve got to go.”
I stand up from the chair as they all stay in their positions, paralyzed. I shrug my shoulders and walk over to the staircase that exits the cellar. As I leave, I hear the bald man speak.
“Combine pasta and vegetables. That’s fucking disgusting.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. First world problems, right? People can be so fucking stupid these days. I look at my watch as I make my way through a restaurant to the exit and notice the time.
“Oh, for fuck sake,” I say, under my breath. “Eight O’Clock. Are you fucking kidding me? I’m late again.”
I exit the restaurant and look up at the night sky.
“I am going to destroy you for this, Manny Cotti,” I yell at the stars.
I drop my head back down and shake my head.
“Rhiannon is going to be so fucking pissed off.”
I walk off into the night as the scene fades away.
OOC: Word Count is 1718 words according to my Google Docs.
But, you know, it is what it is. They will keep denying it. But the more they reject, the more I see the truth. The more it comes clear to me how truly, entirely, in denial, everybody is. If they cannot come to terms with the fact that I am sexier than thou, then so be it. They can live under a cloud of lies for all I care. Either way, I know it; the fans know it, those that obviously matter know it.
Oh yeah, and the girls that have spent some time with me know it. Plus, they also understand why I am the 70-Minute-Man as well. The 70-Minute-Man, in and out of the bedroom, that is I.
But, I should probably stop looking at myself in the mirror. Even though I look pretty fucking good. The blue blazer, the blue slacks, the blue tie. Nothing wrong with a nice blue suit. Blue is THE colour of colours, after all.
As I neaten up my blue suit to make sure that it looks exquisite, my mobile phone rings from my bed. I walk over, picking it up, seeing that Rhiannon is calling me. I smile as I answer the phone.
“Hello,” I say.
I listen to Rhiannon on the other end.
“Yes, I’m just about on my way. The reservation is booked and ready to go. I’m sorry that we couldn’t do it on the 14th as we should have, but better late than never, right?”
I hold my phone away from my ear as her voice gets a little bit louder and maybe slightly nastier. Once her voice quietens down, I put the phone back to my ear again.
“Well, I’m fucking sorry then. We can just not worry about it. Not go out for dinner if you’d like.”
I listen for a bit longer as she calms down.
“Yes, I’m sorry too, Rhi………….. Yes, alright, I’m on my way. Should be about ten to twenty minutes, and then we’ll go have dinner, okay?”
I wait for her reply.
“Alright, I love you too. I’ll see you shortly.”
I hang up my mobile phone and place it back on my bed. I walk around over to the mirror to make sure that my tie is tied up properly. I fiddle with it until it’s looking elegant before looking at my watch.
“Alright, it’s 6pm,” I say, talking to myself. “Go over and pick Rhiannon up, travel to the restaurant for the reservation at 7pm. Plenty of time, easily.”
I give a quick smile at myself in the mirror before walking back over and picking my phone back up off of the bed. With my phone in one pocket and my wallet in the other, I am good to go. I open the door to the hotel room and exit. I shut the door behind me, making sure it is locked, before heading down the corridor to the elevator.
Now that I have some time between here and the ground floor allow me to ponder. Three wins and zero losses to 2021 already. The Year of PerZag is only just beginning, but it’s going to be grand.
With a win over Miss Fury and Chad Vargas, Blood Dragon, and of course, Enforcer, who am I looking at continuing that streak with. Ah, yes, that’s right, Manny Cotti. A part of the Impasta Mafia. How interesting? (insert rolling eyes emoji here)
It’s not that interesting. The Impasta Mafia are pretty fucking useless in the GCWA. I mean, have they even won a match. Obviously, the answer is no. They’re jobbers. They’re not really worth my time. Like, what am I going to do? Talk to Manny like he’s some big deal, hotshot, that has a chance at defeating me. No, can’t do that. I would be lying if I did, and I am no fucking liar.
So, what else is there? Shall I create a spoof? Some imaginary tale that takes me on a journey into learning a craft to defeat the mafia. Nah, I already went on an adventure when I fought Peter Vaughn. That was tough enough; I don’t need another.
How about this? How about I just state the facts and the pattern that things have gone? My first match of the year was a contest. A great back and forth ladder match with two well-known athletes. I won, obviously, which led me to my next match, which was against a jobber. Then I had Enforcer last week who gave me one hell of a fight, and now I’m back to a jobber.
So, you know, follow the pattern. Jobber week, so I get Manny Cotti, who is winless. Easy win for me, which will make everybody happy in the world, and we’ll move on to me defeating someone noteworthy next week. At least it does give me a friendly, easy match before I decide my future alliance. Because, you know, that’s coming up this week.
Either way, enough pondering, I’m at the ground level.
The elevator dings, signalling that I have hit the ground floor. I exit the elevator, walking towards the exit of the hotel. As I leave the hotel, I look around for the valet, but suddenly everything goes black.
I awaken, struggling, as I yank my arms up, trying to tear the ropes off of the chair I am tied to. Something is covering my face, so I cannot see my surroundings, but I can hear the sound of breathing from all around me. I try to pull my right arm up to remove whatever is covering my face, but it is no use; it is tied to the chair’s arm.
But it doesn’t matter. Someone else takes it off, allowing me to see the room. It appears to be some sort of cellar. I can see bottles of wine stored all around the room, as well as three men dressed in lovely black suits with fedoras on. Oh great, I think it might be a mafia. Please tell me it has nothing to do with the Impasta.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” I scream at them angrily.
“Calm down, calm down,” the fat one with the moustache says to me. He turns to the plain-faced, bald man. “Cut off the ropes, Doug. He’s our guest, not our prisoner.”
The man named Doug cuts off the ropes, allowing my hands to come free. I rub at the spot on my wrist where the rope was digging in as I look at the fat man, puzzled.
“Who are you?” I ask him again, less angrily.
The fat man smiles. “I am Leo, the Godfather of this family.”
“What family?” I reply.
“The DaVeggie Mafia,” the man with the beard chimes in.
My brain starts to itch as I try to find any information I have stored on these guys. But I’ve never heard of them. Why the fuck would they kidnap me if I don’t know them?
“I don’t even know you people. Why am I here?”
The godfather, Leo, chuckles.
“Yes, we know that you don’t know us. See, we live to our own devices. We love DaVinci, and we love our vegetables, that’s all we care about. But, we have enemies. Those that don’t want us to have nice things. They don’t want us to eat vegetables. They don’t want us to enjoy magnificent art. They want us to eat pasta and look at macaroni artwork.”
The three men in the cellar start dry-heaving as I roll my eyes. This does have something to do with the Impasta Mafia, doesn’t it?
“So, why am I here?” I ask stupidly, knowing what the answer will be anyhow.
The three men stop dry-heaving as Leo grabs a chair and sits down in front of me.
“Well, a little birdie told us that you were going to be fighting one of them in a match Friday night. One by the name of Manny Cotti. We are willing to pay you five thousand dollars if you are to ‘accidentally’………...,” he puts up air quotes as he says accidentally to me. “............... break his neck during your match.”
I raise my right hand up, rubbing my eyes. I have dealt with too many idiots in this lifetime; I have just had enough of them. I put my hand down and stare at Leo.
“I’m sorry, but I am an athlete—a wrestler. I don’t spend my time intentionally injuring people in the ring. Accidents happen, but you do not intentionally break someone’s neck out there. Because if that’s what we did, there wouldn’t be many people left in this industry. Plus, if this is all about artwork, pasta and vegetables, I think this is a little bit too far. Just tell them you don’t want their fucking pasta, or better yet, combine the two. Anyhow, I’ve got to go.”
I stand up from the chair as they all stay in their positions, paralyzed. I shrug my shoulders and walk over to the staircase that exits the cellar. As I leave, I hear the bald man speak.
“Combine pasta and vegetables. That’s fucking disgusting.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. First world problems, right? People can be so fucking stupid these days. I look at my watch as I make my way through a restaurant to the exit and notice the time.
“Oh, for fuck sake,” I say, under my breath. “Eight O’Clock. Are you fucking kidding me? I’m late again.”
I exit the restaurant and look up at the night sky.
“I am going to destroy you for this, Manny Cotti,” I yell at the stars.
I drop my head back down and shake my head.
“Rhiannon is going to be so fucking pissed off.”
I walk off into the night as the scene fades away.
OOC: Word Count is 1718 words according to my Google Docs.