Latest Roleplays
Have you ever felt that sensation of deja vu?
Walking back towards my locker room after just having my ass handed to me by my very, very! good “friend” Michael Best, and I can’t help shake that feeling of deja vu. I could have sworn we’ve done this before.
Rinse.
Lather.
Wash.
Repeat.
Again.
And again.
Annnnnd again!
But hey, glass half full kinda guy that I am, I choose to focus on the fact that I didn’t eat another fucking knee! YAY! My prayers were answered! Instead, I was folded up like a pretzel, and I have to admit, while being trussed up like a pig ready for a luau, the only thing I could think of was how fun it would be to fool around with a contortionist…
I know, I know, I should be bummed and depressed that I lost. Again. But honestly, why should I be? Depressed that I lost to the upcoming HOW World champion? Lost to the HOW Hall of Famer? I mean, if Lee hadn’t taken my fucking Best Coins away from me, I would have put them all on the line with the HOG, all on Mike Best to win. But a small portion on me “showing”.
I know you won’t really see this, now that our business is concluded. But I feel it necessary to respond to your claims of being the Tom Brady of HOW. It is quite an accurate comparison, I’ll give you that. I still wonder though, why are you here?
You’ve been running with Bill Belichick backing you for all these years, people have to wonder, are you even THAT good anymore? If you’re going to be Tom Brady, then be Tom Brady! Leave New England. Prove to the world that you’re as great as you say you are, and it’s not just because you’ve had the best coach in the business in your back pocket making you look better than you actually are.
Ugh.
I knew I should have stayed in my locker room, and just given Mike an empty win. If only someone would have let me…
——————
Days have passed.
And I have accomplished nothing.
I’ve got voicemails stacking up on my cell phone. Emails unanswered waiting for me to read. I’ve missed doctor appointments, hair appointments, gym appointments, and I even missed a grocery pick up I had scheduled earlier in the week.
Fuck it.
I’ve been Door Dashing and Uber Eating five times a day, so who needs groceries? So what, I ran out of toilet paper two days ago. I’ve just been using the napkins that Taco Bell and Jack in the Box have been giving me. To my toilet’s dismay.
I have no oomph. No drive. No real motivation to get my fattening ass off this couch. I know I should feel something more than this. I can’t help but feel like Marshawn Lynch, “I’m just here so I won’t get fined” except mine would be, “I’m just here so I won’t get fired.”
There is a spark missing, and for the life of me, I just can’t seem to figure out what it could be.
The drug that is High Octane is wearing off. Lee’s abuse is like heroin to me. I hate it, but after a day or two without it I find myself craving more of it.
Mike’s dominance is like LSD. It’s just so damn fun to sit back and watch. Not so much fun to be involved per say. But, give me a bucket of buttered popcorn, well, more like a bucket of melted butter with a scattering of popcorn, and I’m more than happy to sit back and watch.
Jace is like porn. But not the good kind you would be willing to pay for. He’s more like the kind you regret watching immediately after, the kind that leaves you dirty and in the shower cowering with your knees to your chest as the water washes over you. Shame fills you because as gross as it was to watch, you never jizzed so good before!
I know, I know. Porn isn’t a drug you say. Shit, they have a weekly meeting for addicts, so I beg to differ. I’m pretty sure you can find Jace there on every third Sunday of the month.
Scottywood. If you were a drug I’d say you’d be Ambien. When I’m lying in bed trying to snooze, all the sheep have been accounted for and put in their pens. All the lullabies have been sung. The pillows have been fluffed. The blankets have been tucked. Yet sleep still eludes me, I simply pull up one of your promos and two seconds later I’m out like a light. All the views you see being tracked on the site are from me, napping.
You remind me of Sean Avery, a mediocre talent, that’s just here to annoy everyone around you. But I guess the joke will be on me, when come this weekend you secure a much needed victory, and I continue the slump of all slumps!
Boy I sure have come a long way from the night I beat Sutler…
What I wouldn’t give for a time machine right about now…
——————————
The night of Refueled LXXIII
Tee-Minus 97 minutes before the opening bout.
Lazer is seen marching down the halls, barging into every room he passes just long enough to poke his head in for a quick scan. Not seeing what he’s searching for, he slams the door shut and continues on his way, down the hall towards the next door in line. Muttering to himself with every step, “Why the fuck am I in charge of this fat fucking waste of space.”
20 Minutes Earlier
Standing in the hall, Lazer is hitting up Blaire Moise, every so often he leaves forward and tries to take a peek down her blouse. His fun and games are cut short though when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket seconds before a muffled “Steve Polychronopolous” by Adam Sandler begins to play.
Before he can even put the phone up to his ear a voice comes forth from the other end.
“Lazer, you make sure that fat fuck shows up for his match! I’m not going to have that lazy sack of shit no show when I have people working on these fucking matches. I’m sick and tired of…”
The ranting continues, but when a lull appears because sometimes you need to take a breath, Lazer finally manages to say, “I’m on it.”
Back to the Present
“Mother fucker!” Lazer bellows as he extracts himself from the ladies room, still empty handed.
Luck of all luck, he spies a familiar face walking towards him. With a scowl he marches forward and stops the approaching man with a hand on his chest. “Where is he?”
Doozer, taken aback, simply stares dumbfounded at the man, before looking down at the hand on his chest. “Who?” he asks as he reaches up and none too gently removes the hand.
“Your butt buddy, Bobby?” Lazer clarifies with menace in his voice. “Where is he?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from him in months.” Doozer admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “Have you checked the ladies room? The third stall from the right. That’s usually where he likes to hide.”
“Already looked.” Lazer shoots back.
“Hmmm.” Doozer says while stroking the nonexistent hairs on his chin. “I know he used to hide in the trunk of his rentals, always used to confuse me, how he managed to get himself in there considering he’s a pretty hefty guy.”
Before he can finish, Lazer shoves past him and marches towards the parking lot. Muttering once more.
Stalking towards the one car that is parked crooked taking up 3 spots, Lazer goes straight to the trunk and with a mighty slam of his hand bangs on the trunk while screaming, “Get the fuck out!”
After a moment, the trunk slowly pops open and a pair of baby blues peek out from the darkness. Smiling, Bobby Dean says, “Oh hey, Lazer! Fancy meeting you here. Care to join me?”
Lazer forces the trunk all the way open and reaches in. With a handful of blonde hair, he simply rips the fat man from the trunk and begins dragging him back towards the arena. Not even fighting it, Bobby simply crosses his arms over his chest.