Latest Roleplays
It is ruined.
I am not talking about the relationship between Cancer Jiles and Doozer.
I am not talking about Scott Steven’s family.
I am talking about my custom-made Tan Suit that shows everyone that Miracle Enterprise means business. Dirt and yolk have gotten into every expensive fiber of that suit leaving me a shell of my miraculous self.
It has been two weeks since I laid the truth bare for everyone to see and was left with nothing but literal assault by egg by a bunch of rioting fans. Where were the cops to pepper spray these meth heads? Where was the outrage on the news about these ANTIME (anti-miracle enterprise) troublemakers chasing me with eggs and attempting to hurt me?
There was nothing.
People just laughed.
“Oh, how funny.”
“That is what you get for insulting the eGG Bandits.”
It is total disrespect for authority and morals. It is exactly what I have been saying though, isn’t it? The fabric of society is rotten to every minuscule atom that puts together a human body. I would argue it is unsalvageable, but I would prefer to create The New World where such transgressions against Steve Harrison would result in quick justice.
My justice.
It cannot be any worse than the system we currently prop up as fair.
Fair?
Heh.
How rich are you, again?
This is what it is all about though, right? I work, I hustle, and I defeat anything in front of me because anything less can mean I will disappear. That is what I fear…I fear being a nobody that gives up on his dreams or visions of a new tomorrow.
So, Lee Best can invite Doozer into The Best Alliance if he wants. I suppose every stable needs the wrestling equivalent to Mr. Belvedere. Doozer can offer you his coffee insights, make the coffee, bring you the coffee, and then clean everything up like the fucking dog he is. Pet him a few times, give him a shiny Indian head penny and he will regale you with stories about DREAM and that time he won a title after smoking weed with Dave Chappelle.
Trash.
Most people would warn me to speak ill of a man who will be the special guest referee in my match with Cancer Jiles. People would say that, and I don’t listen to them, so I don’t give a shit about being worried about it. I don’t pussy foot around a subject because someone else might get in their little feels. I don’t trust Doozer and I don’t trust the best alliance at cashing social security checks either.
On Saturday I said my piece and I was angry about the LSD situation and Cancer Jiles. I walked to the entrance ramp and I shook in anger. I had originally planned on forcibly feeding Jiles some Miracle Milk but then my scowl changed because all I saw was a coward. He did not even try and just looked like a sad animal that needed its mom and the mom of wrestling: Leanzey Troy beat the egg out of him in mere seconds.
I shook my head and turned and walked out of The Best Arena. This is a joke I thought. I must face this mess of a man who hasn’t won a singles match since he won the LSD title. At one point I wanted to beat him because he had the LSD title and a win over him would mean something. Now beating him is as respectful as beating Perfection: who the fuck cares?
Get some self-respect Jiles before Rumble at the Rocks or you will know how sunglasses taste and how it feels to digest them.
—
The sun peers through some trees, each tree showing a little bit of foliage. The countryside in Virginia is like a completely different animal compared to the cities up north and Washington DC. People still have some family farms but not as many as there used to be as big farm has bought up many and competition is fierce for the best Milk. A few cows move about a small enclosed area, fencing going as high as six feet, wooden columns showing a little too much wear. Next to the small area sits a metal barn or what most people would call a vertical metal garage that seems to be fifty feet long by thirty feet wide. A door creaks open slowly, and the first thing heard is, “looks like you have things going smoothly.”
The door opens wide enough for Steve Harrison to walk out without the camera being able to see inside the barn. Seconds later an older gentleman walks out. A piece of hay sticks out of his mouth, he chews on it and tad more and then spit’s the redneck toothpick to the ground. A small bench sits about fifteen feet away from the metal barn. Steve walks over slowly looking down at the ground the whole time so he does not step on anything that might damage his shoes. He sits down and watches as the other man walks towards him.
“You see, Norm,” Harrison says as he stares intently at the man, “I need complete loyalty. You understand what an NDA is, right?”
Norm stares blankly back at Steve, “Ay have naw idea, suurr.”
Harrison puts his head down and scratches the top of his forehead with right hand obviously annoyed by the response. “I will take that as a no.”
The slack jawed Yokel blinks a few times and responds, “haha ay rekon.”
“It means, you don’t let the secrets of the Miracle Milk leave this…,” Steve looks around unimpressed, “farm. It means you are loyal to me and if anyone is sneaking around here you know how to take care of them.”
Norm points back to the metal barn and nods, “Ay have all thay …uhh protecshun ay nee raheet in there.”
The Miracle of the ages looks at the barn and remembers what he saw leaning next to the door, “a shotgun?”
Norm nods his head, “shotgun is like my lover, always where ay nee it.”
Steve chuckles to himself finally a sentence of Norms he can kind of understands. “That is great, Norm. Miracle Enterprise…”
Norm actually has the gall to interrupt Harrison, “Ay don’t know about naw star trek.”
Harrison puts his hand up angrily towards Norm “Yea, I said Miracle Enterprise, don’t fucking interrupt me. I need you to be aware that if you don’t shoot someone you need to keep your mouth from yapping if someone is asking questions.”
Norm nods his head and takes a new piece of hay from his pocket and puts it in his mouth. “Ay aint gonna talk ta nobody. Ay keep ta myself on the farm ayn’ make the milk, suurr.”
Steve stands up from the bench and pats Norm on the back, “good, Norm. I respect and award loyalty and the longer Miracle Milk is making a profit the longer you can afford those…extracurricular activities you enjoy.”
Norm pauses and just stares at Steve. It is obvious to Steve that Norm did not understand anything he was saying so Norm just gives Steve a toothless grin in his attempt to get Harrison to stop staring at him, “Mawe mowney faw animals.”
Steve slowly takes his hand away from Norm and takes a few steps. “I said extracurricular activities please do not announce to the world your Pikey love for animals. With that I am going to skedaddle before you explain your favorite positions and shit. Just remember, Norm…Loyalty beyond anything else.”
Norm shrugs not seeing what the big deal is. He watches as his employer quickly departs, jumps in the Miracle Whip which even he chuckles about and drives off as the scene fades.
—
When we sign a wrestling contract there is not an IQ test.
That is understandable because we beat each other up and athleticism and strength are usually the norm in being successful.
In life there is no test to get married.
There is no test to buy a house.
There is no test to have kids.
Pause…
Scott Stevens everyone.
I am certain everyone is shaking their heads at the mention of that tattooed bug eyed idiot.
I can understand putting up everything you need to, to get a match. Wrestlers love to show how much they love the sport and to show everyone they would do anything to win a title. These are fine attributes if not misguided and childish but at least they show a fire inside that wrestler’s soul.
Now…what if I told you, you already had a World Title Match and that champion trolled you into agreeing to put your first-born child on the line in said match?
Are you asking yourself why would you put something up when you already have the match?
If you are not asking yourself that then you are a moron. Only a moron would agree to stipulations after a match is already signed. So again, we don’t have tests to have kids but maybe we should have some sort of pop quiz if a father says: “yes sir Mr. Mike Best I will show you my resolve by giving up my child if I lose to you.”
DUH FUCK?
What the hell are you trying to prove, Stevens?
What is your end game here?
I mean I hate kids so if you lost on purpose so you don’t have to take care of one anymore, I would completely understand. But we all know that you are not that intelligent, and you honestly could not lose on purpose to Mike Best.
The only thing you care about is the Hall of Fame.
HOF or bust.
That match was your chance to win a title you held years ago and I am sure being the Stevenspedia that you are, you can tell me the day, the month, the year, the hour, the minute, and the second of when you last had the HOW world title.
Queue it up, Scotty and then delete it.
I don’t care.
I don’t care about a history that did not include Steve Harrison. You once held this, you once held that, and now you will never hold your son again.
Hah.
I really cannot get over the sheer stupidity that was on display here. I don’t want to hear you say that you did this because of your love of wrestling. You did this because you are a selfish piece of shit that wanted Mike Best’s respect. You would gain everything from Mike but the only thing you really wanted was his respect. Unfortunately, that was not on the line, but you figured if you beat him and took it all he would finally respect you.
Nope.
He had already told you that he never would so move on and don’t get trolled.
Exactly what did you expect to gain from it anyway? Mike Best is fucking homeless, he probably sold his HOF Ring months ago to afford his coke habit. All you would gain was his debt and a World Title you deserve as much as Max Stryker deserves a wrestling contract.
Now you face the undefeated Miracle Man, the Jesus of Milk in a match where I am not sure you will even be released from the hospital in time for. The sheer brutality on display at the end of the match shows me that if you show up for our match you are high on morphine or you have a really hard skull. Regardless to how you show up you are going from a knee strike to the head to a knee strike to the back of your neck. Mike left your muscles and ligaments for me to destroy and that is what I do. I do not care about your experience and I don’t care about how much heart you have because when I get your neck, I take your neck, and I take whatever respect your family has left for you.
Your family life goes:
The bread winner.
The proverbial loser.
The Stoove.
The fired.
The rehired.
The worse dad cup receiver.
The soon to be homeless man on the street with no family, yadda yadda sexual favors for wrestling tickets.
I even get bored making jokes about you. Your total lack of anything resembling charisma is definitely what HOW needs in important matches. That was sarcasm, Stevens. You know, what your wife uses when she tells you how good that sex was you had to beg her to let you have together.
I would be lying if I said this isn’t an important match. I believe anything involving me is important and I have proved that it is true repeatedly. Maybe you can be the one to prove me wrong, maybe you are the one to give me my first loss, and maybe you will put up your first-born girl in this match. I know several places that I can sell her to.
Ew.
Yep, human trafficking joke, sorry.
Let’s be honest though, anything with Scott Stevens DNA is already at a huge disadvantage in life and if Mike Best thinks he can turn that around with your son I can openly admit I wouldn’t even want to try with your daughter. Money is money and I am sure living in a cage would be an upgrade from living in your home.
None of this is real though. I am just making a point about what kind of man you are, and it isn’t one anyone should look up to. I am sure if I was allowed, I could easily troll you into some stupid stipulations you have no hope in claiming victory to but that would mean having to personally talk to you. Let’s forget about the fact I would despise listening to your Texan accent and both accept the fact you probably have trouble talking right now anyway.
If it isn’t the beating, you took on Saturday it is because of the beating your wife gave you afterwards. The only thing you can give your wife now to make her happy is a divorce, you simp.
I am certain I will receive Miracle Puns back from Stevens that would make Doozer cringe at the corniness. I am on a mission of peace and for peace to take hold I first must rid HOW and then the world of the unkept sinners that harm the land. Miracle Enterprise was here to help you transition but now I just feel like digging a hole and starting a mass grave.
Scott Stevens you can be the bottom bitch of a grave.
Congrats…
…You are finally number one in something.
You’re welcome!
—
Leaving that desolate part of Virginia to me is equivalent to waking up Christmas Morning: exciting. I try to visit once every two weeks because if it is one thing I am, it is distrusting. It does not matter to me if he says he is loyal because I am aware of lies and how to get away with it. Not saying I lie, of course…heh. The Miracle Milk is a once in a lifetime product that has helped far more people then people complaining it tasted strange. I bit my nails several times on the drive back to suburbs nervous about those would attempt to bring harm to Miracle Enterprise.
Jack Marley was supposed to be showing his loyalty in speaking to our kindly Bodega customers about the complaining Milk customers. My phone had gone off several times and each time I had ignored it. Jack needs to learn to think on his feet and if it is important leave a fucking voice message, ugh. Finally, a Gucci Mane song came on and that was the world telling me to call Jack back because doing THAT is better than listening to Gucci Mane.
It rang
A frenzied answer followed, “BOSS!”
I groaned, “what is it?”
“These guys won’t let me leave. They don’t believe I work for you.”
I groaned
I groaned
I groaned.
“Hello? Boss? You there?”
“Ugh, I will be there in ten,” I hung up and thankfully Gucci Mane was over.
Ten minutes later I parked outside the Bodega. The two bodegas I do most of my business with are owned by the same family so the one I parked at was where this unfortunate circumstance would be occurring since it was the fathers Bodega. Always go to the head of the family that is something I have learned throughout my life with a father who attempted to control everything. I walked inside and was greeted with the head of the family standing outside the room to the backroom with a baseball bat in his hand.
I waved, attempting my fake business persona, Mr. Nice Harrison, “It is just me, you can put the bat down, Jorge.”
Jorge, the family head was not a man who gave out smiles very often and today was no different. “Mr. Harrison, what is the meaning of this idiot claiming he works for you,” he points his bat inside the room.
I shook my head with a smile, “sorry for the misunderstanding, Jorge. That pot head does indeed work for me. He was to come talk to you about some trouble we encountered.”
Jorge nodded and opened the back door for me. I walked in and shook my head when I saw Jack Marley sitting in a chair sweating profusely from being nervous, I assumed. I walked over and stood in front of him and pointed at him as I looked over to Jorge, “exactly what did my idiot of a lackey tell you?”
“Something about taking care of someone for you,” Jorge responded to me with a shake of his head. “I am not sure what you told him, but this is a family business.”
I looked back at Jorge with a confused look on my face. His comment made little sense to me, “I am not wearing a wire, Jorge. I came to you because I know your son has a big mouth and always wants to prove himself. I am asking for some help and I will do what I can to help you with something.”
“You have been watching too much Chicago PD, Steve. I am not in the business of killing people,” he replied seriously a frown entrenched on his way.
I took a step back surprised by what he said, “whoa, whoa, whoa…First of all I hate Chicago and second of all where did you get murder from?”
Jack stumbled over his words back to me, “you said take care of it and I wasn’t sure what it meant, and things just got out of control, mon.”
The bodega owner sighed loudly because of the situation. He walked over to a shelf in the backroom and grabbed a banana from a box and peeled it slowly. “Now that we have settled what I am not doing for you, what exactly do you need?” He tossed the peel on the ground and looked back at me.
I paused and look around the backroom I could see at least two cameras and locks on several different drawers that were in the room. This backroom was not a normal backroom and him trying to act innocent to me was beginning to annoy me. “Are you done?”
“What?
I chuckled, “I am asking are you done? Are you done playing the boy scout and ready to talk business? I don’t have all day and you damn well know me owing you a favor is a luxury most people would kill for.” I kicked the banana peel back towards him a sneer becoming my go to expression.
Jorge finally smiled and nodded back at me, “Ok, Mr. Harrison enough games, what is it you require of me?”
“I need several annoyances followed and I need to know what they are up to. Miracle Enterprise, as you know is not happy when someone decides to ask the wrong questions and complain to the wrong people,” I replied as I watched him toss what is left of his banana into a gray trash can in the corner of the room.
“What do I get?” He asked me as he leaned against the exit door.
“HOW tickets?” I responded with a smirk on my face.
He laughed and shook his head, “must not be very important then.”
Ouch, I thought, but I suppose any wrestling company that has their champion face Brian Hollywood and Scott Stevens in title matches probably has a lost a lot of respect from the people. Or wrestling is as unpopular as Eric Dane brand straws these days. I shrugged because it is only a means to an end and being force fed untalented pawns to knock away is just the first step. “What do you want?” I finally asked him my thoughts finally giving me a moment off.
Jorge nodded back to me and tapped his foot lightly against the grimy floor of the back room, “I need a passport—for a friend.”
“Where is he?”
“Colombia.”
I nodded slowly as visions of smuggling cocaine danced in my Miraculous Brain. “I will see what I can do. We will be touch and just remember I need you on my end TODAY. Your request might take a bit of time, but I know a guy who does really good work.
Jorge put his hand out and we shook hands. Both us looked seriously at each other trying to find any lie in each other’s agreement. We were both being honest or are both good liars and, in my case, I was being honest and did not plan on making an enemy out of a customer especially one that can help me with certain issues.
I turned and grabbed Jack by the collar. As we walked outside and towards the Miracle Whip Jack stopped and looked at me. “I told you I was loyal.”
I stopped and turned and looked him up and down and smirked, “yes…of course.”
Jack jumped in the car and as I walked to the driver’s side I uttered under my breath, “that looks more like fear then loyalty and the question is: who is he scared of?”
Fade