But, I have a colored TV!
Oct 3, 2019 22:02:04 GMT -6
Deana Barrows, Dylan Thomas, and 1 more like this
Post by Vargas on Oct 3, 2019 22:02:04 GMT -6
Look guys, there’s Chad Vargas! How have you been Chad?
Look at that ultimate bad ass. Completely no selling the loss to Ed Houston as if it never happened.
Fuck it, fuck you, and fuck him!
Ed Houston is even more grimy than that faggot Matt Meyhu. Thank fuck Matt Meyhu died somewhere in obscurity so we don’t have to see GCWA brass pushing him to the top simply because he has beautiful dick sucking lips, because if his win-loss ratio was ever based on merit alone, he’d be bottom of the barrel. That goes for that floater Ian Bishop, too.
Floater?
Yeah… that stinking log of shit floating in your toilet bowl, shit for brains.
Geez, Chad. What’s with the hostility? Why so angry? Why are you wasting your time and energy on fuckboys that aren’t even apart of Global Championship Wrestling Association?
Because I can, and I will, now shut the fuck up!
Crosby, Stills, and Nash’s “Southern Cross” plays softly in the background. It’s a glorious day at VARGASLAND just outside Knoxville, Tennessee. Chad Vargas sits at his porch swing enjoying the early morning air. He reaches into his shorts pocket and pulls out a can of COPENHAGEN. He slaps the can a few times before popping the top. He pulls a pinch out of the can and stuffs a wad under his bottom lip, before spitting over the ledge of the porch.
The cameras pan around Vargas’ lavish estate. A beautiful ex-plantation home owned by his grand daddy’s grand daddy, turned into a modern day “Wayne Manor” by The Confederate Icon in 2001. The ghosts of slaves of yesteryear are still out back tilling the fields.
Vargas scoffs, as if hearing the narration.
Vargas: I am the overseer of life!
Just than Vargas’ butler comes out on the porch with a hearty breakfast on a plate. He sits it down before Vargas. Vargas nods and motions his hand for something else. The butler nods and presents a bottle of JOHNNIE WALKER. Vargas flicks his fingers as if to say ‘give it here’. The servant smiles and hands the bottle over to him. Vargas flicks him a thumbs up.
Butler: You’re welcome massa.
Vargas: Get out of here with that master shit, Gregory! Just clean the shitters and call it a day! These poached eggs look to die for by the way. Excellent work.
The butler smiles, and nods like a Chinese monk would do to his sensei.
We are squeezing in all the racial overtones in this piece, ladies and gentleman. If you don’t like it, suck a big fat DUCE JONES.
Vargas eyes the fresh bottle of whiskey as he cracks it open. Taking a haul right off the bottle. Some people drink coffee, or tea, or orange juice in the early morning hours of 8am. Not Chad Vargas, he’s a different breed of SAVAGE.
Vargas: How in the sweet fuck is Dylan Thomas a GCWA champion? I mean, is the North American championship the equivalent of the women’s belt these days? Is there no pride in professional wrestling these days or what?! My limp cock would make a better North American champion! Book it, Ace!
Vargas chuckles at his own inappropriate comments as he starts to work on his poached eggs, washing it down with straight whiskey.
Vargas: Now I’ve gotta fly over to Dallas on my off day to gear up for the kick off pay-per-view Homecoming. Should of called it WEAK ASS BOOKING. It never gets old, it really doesn’t. How do you book a cultural icon and wrestling GOD in an opening match? I just don’t fuckin’ get it. I thought Ace was some kind of wrestling mastermind, seems like mental masturbation more like it, to me. But we will let it slide, he wants me to open his first pay-per-view in 10-years, so be it. I almost filled my drawers when I saw my opponents. The Lost Soul and RM Strong! What a couple of wet noodles those sum bitches are!? What is worse than those two faggots? No, really… what is worse?
Vargas flips his hands out as if to ask the audience. HELLO!? Waiting for an answer! Vargas obnoxiously chews his eggs as he awaits a response that obviously will never come…
Vargas: Well, not much is worse than those two fuckrods. I actually like TLS. RM Strong, I don’t think has actually shown up to a booking since 2005. Maybe we will actually be unlucky enough to get a RM Strong sighting this weekend, if so, I will make sure I knock that motherfucker BACK DOWN to obscurity and he can go BACK under the rock of Goodwinns’ Loop trailerpark he’s been living in with ma and pa Strong the past 10 years. Talk about a shitstain on the underpants of professional wrestling. JEEEEEEEEEZUS!
Vargas takes another hearty bite from his decedent breakfast cheffed up by his colored butler slash live-in servant, Gregory.
Vargas: Goodness gracious, these eggs are fucking amazing. I recommend all of you to go out and get yourself a seasoned black man to take care of ya. I recommend though, hiring one with a criminal background. I don’t trust no jig without some sort of felony on his sheet. Plus you want to know the motherfucker can work a 9, should someone ever try breaking in!
Vargas takes another shot of whiskey after another heaping bite of eggs.
Vargas: You ever been to a Skynyrd concert in the summer of ’77? Three months before we lost the WIZARD OF ROCK, Ronnie van Zant. Southern rock died on that fateful day. I got my dick sucked 43 times over that weekend. 44 different women. Figure that one out. Back in the 70’s dames didn’t trim their snatches. Tough sledding down there, but I always thought little hair made it sweeter. Who knows. The world lost the Jesus Christ of rock and roll that October.
What the fuck?
Nobody has a clue what he’s even going on about. But we watch him sit there on his porch working at his eggs and bacon and slugging whiskey. After what feels like 20 minutes travel by, he must realize what we are at his house for as he clicks back into reality.
Vargas: I actually like TLS. For a mask wearing fruitcake liberal pussy, he’s an alright cat. A GCWA icon, I respect what he’s done here and in OCW over the years. But the book is closed on The Lost Soul, and I’m gonna help close that motherfucker for good come Homecoming. Opening the show. What a fuckin’ embarrassment. But you know what? Fuck it! Someone’s gotta do it might as well be me! I came into GCWA as a lone wolf, I’ve gotta climb the ladder of success the old fashion way. I ain’t got no Treat Cassidy influence this go around. I ain’t got a bad ass like Mack O’Connor to have my back. But on the same hand, I don’t need nobody!
Vargas flips the bird to the camera.
Vargas: Ass whoopin’s aplenty coming your way this Sunday night courtesy of yours truly! The winds of change is coming! The gold rush will once again restore to VARGAS MOUNTAIN! Or… I’ll just fuckin’ retire! Now get the fuck out of my house!
Vargas takes another snap off his bottle of Johnnie Walker, teetering on blackout drunk this early in the morning. Looks like he’s gonna be in prime shape to perform at GCWA’s first pay-per-view back in business!
Look at that ultimate bad ass. Completely no selling the loss to Ed Houston as if it never happened.
Fuck it, fuck you, and fuck him!
Ed Houston is even more grimy than that faggot Matt Meyhu. Thank fuck Matt Meyhu died somewhere in obscurity so we don’t have to see GCWA brass pushing him to the top simply because he has beautiful dick sucking lips, because if his win-loss ratio was ever based on merit alone, he’d be bottom of the barrel. That goes for that floater Ian Bishop, too.
Floater?
Yeah… that stinking log of shit floating in your toilet bowl, shit for brains.
Geez, Chad. What’s with the hostility? Why so angry? Why are you wasting your time and energy on fuckboys that aren’t even apart of Global Championship Wrestling Association?
Because I can, and I will, now shut the fuck up!
Crosby, Stills, and Nash’s “Southern Cross” plays softly in the background. It’s a glorious day at VARGASLAND just outside Knoxville, Tennessee. Chad Vargas sits at his porch swing enjoying the early morning air. He reaches into his shorts pocket and pulls out a can of COPENHAGEN. He slaps the can a few times before popping the top. He pulls a pinch out of the can and stuffs a wad under his bottom lip, before spitting over the ledge of the porch.
The cameras pan around Vargas’ lavish estate. A beautiful ex-plantation home owned by his grand daddy’s grand daddy, turned into a modern day “Wayne Manor” by The Confederate Icon in 2001. The ghosts of slaves of yesteryear are still out back tilling the fields.
Vargas scoffs, as if hearing the narration.
Vargas: I am the overseer of life!
Just than Vargas’ butler comes out on the porch with a hearty breakfast on a plate. He sits it down before Vargas. Vargas nods and motions his hand for something else. The butler nods and presents a bottle of JOHNNIE WALKER. Vargas flicks his fingers as if to say ‘give it here’. The servant smiles and hands the bottle over to him. Vargas flicks him a thumbs up.
Butler: You’re welcome massa.
Vargas: Get out of here with that master shit, Gregory! Just clean the shitters and call it a day! These poached eggs look to die for by the way. Excellent work.
The butler smiles, and nods like a Chinese monk would do to his sensei.
We are squeezing in all the racial overtones in this piece, ladies and gentleman. If you don’t like it, suck a big fat DUCE JONES.
Vargas eyes the fresh bottle of whiskey as he cracks it open. Taking a haul right off the bottle. Some people drink coffee, or tea, or orange juice in the early morning hours of 8am. Not Chad Vargas, he’s a different breed of SAVAGE.
Vargas: How in the sweet fuck is Dylan Thomas a GCWA champion? I mean, is the North American championship the equivalent of the women’s belt these days? Is there no pride in professional wrestling these days or what?! My limp cock would make a better North American champion! Book it, Ace!
Vargas chuckles at his own inappropriate comments as he starts to work on his poached eggs, washing it down with straight whiskey.
Vargas: Now I’ve gotta fly over to Dallas on my off day to gear up for the kick off pay-per-view Homecoming. Should of called it WEAK ASS BOOKING. It never gets old, it really doesn’t. How do you book a cultural icon and wrestling GOD in an opening match? I just don’t fuckin’ get it. I thought Ace was some kind of wrestling mastermind, seems like mental masturbation more like it, to me. But we will let it slide, he wants me to open his first pay-per-view in 10-years, so be it. I almost filled my drawers when I saw my opponents. The Lost Soul and RM Strong! What a couple of wet noodles those sum bitches are!? What is worse than those two faggots? No, really… what is worse?
Vargas flips his hands out as if to ask the audience. HELLO!? Waiting for an answer! Vargas obnoxiously chews his eggs as he awaits a response that obviously will never come…
Vargas: Well, not much is worse than those two fuckrods. I actually like TLS. RM Strong, I don’t think has actually shown up to a booking since 2005. Maybe we will actually be unlucky enough to get a RM Strong sighting this weekend, if so, I will make sure I knock that motherfucker BACK DOWN to obscurity and he can go BACK under the rock of Goodwinns’ Loop trailerpark he’s been living in with ma and pa Strong the past 10 years. Talk about a shitstain on the underpants of professional wrestling. JEEEEEEEEEZUS!
Vargas takes another hearty bite from his decedent breakfast cheffed up by his colored butler slash live-in servant, Gregory.
Vargas: Goodness gracious, these eggs are fucking amazing. I recommend all of you to go out and get yourself a seasoned black man to take care of ya. I recommend though, hiring one with a criminal background. I don’t trust no jig without some sort of felony on his sheet. Plus you want to know the motherfucker can work a 9, should someone ever try breaking in!
Vargas takes another shot of whiskey after another heaping bite of eggs.
Vargas: You ever been to a Skynyrd concert in the summer of ’77? Three months before we lost the WIZARD OF ROCK, Ronnie van Zant. Southern rock died on that fateful day. I got my dick sucked 43 times over that weekend. 44 different women. Figure that one out. Back in the 70’s dames didn’t trim their snatches. Tough sledding down there, but I always thought little hair made it sweeter. Who knows. The world lost the Jesus Christ of rock and roll that October.
What the fuck?
Nobody has a clue what he’s even going on about. But we watch him sit there on his porch working at his eggs and bacon and slugging whiskey. After what feels like 20 minutes travel by, he must realize what we are at his house for as he clicks back into reality.
Vargas: I actually like TLS. For a mask wearing fruitcake liberal pussy, he’s an alright cat. A GCWA icon, I respect what he’s done here and in OCW over the years. But the book is closed on The Lost Soul, and I’m gonna help close that motherfucker for good come Homecoming. Opening the show. What a fuckin’ embarrassment. But you know what? Fuck it! Someone’s gotta do it might as well be me! I came into GCWA as a lone wolf, I’ve gotta climb the ladder of success the old fashion way. I ain’t got no Treat Cassidy influence this go around. I ain’t got a bad ass like Mack O’Connor to have my back. But on the same hand, I don’t need nobody!
Vargas flips the bird to the camera.
Vargas: Ass whoopin’s aplenty coming your way this Sunday night courtesy of yours truly! The winds of change is coming! The gold rush will once again restore to VARGAS MOUNTAIN! Or… I’ll just fuckin’ retire! Now get the fuck out of my house!
Vargas takes another snap off his bottle of Johnnie Walker, teetering on blackout drunk this early in the morning. Looks like he’s gonna be in prime shape to perform at GCWA’s first pay-per-view back in business!
