Posted by Christopher America
Come one, come all. Don’t be shy and gather around. Please, I’d like to take a moment and introduce you to someone I don’t know. He’s been called particularly plebeian, and one who peddles in the plain and pedestrian.
No, not our new World Champion.
He’s lackluster, lacks luster, and whatever luster he does have has been deemed lacking.
Again, not the new World Champion.
He’s never been in the MAIN EVENT.
He likes dark matches. No, not playing with black colored matchbooks, but matches in the actual dark.
He’s the King of Queens.
He’s Kevin Capone!
See. Told ya. Someone important.
Kevin Capone, everybody. Kevin. Ca. Pwn.
I’ll be here all week.
That Time The Mystery
About What Happened to
the War Ship was Solved.
…his son had finally done him in.
One Eyed Leely, aka Lee Best, had been carted off. I was standing backstage and saw them wheel his ass by. As they passed me, the location of the missing vessel became clear. A piece of paper with the eggsact whereabouts of the mega ship conveniently fell from his person.
It’s funny, my first thought was that he’s not dead, and I knew he wasn’t dead because the “map” didn’t smell like shit, and it was tucked up inside his diaper which also didn’t have any shit on it.
In it? Whatever.
Neither diaper nor map had shit on them, and you know what they say…….. you shit yourself right before you die.
Vacating the bowels. Or your bowels taking one last vacation. Ha.
I know, this is confusing.
Lee, not dead, unconscious Rufio sure, but not dead, AT THE TIME ANYWAY, had a map on his person that detailed the location of the USS Octane.
At Bottomline on his unceremonious way out, he passed me by in the backstage area. For some reason he was ass up and face down on the gurney, and that’s how I found the map. It was a stroke of good luck that I noticed it hanging out of his asshole like it was a tampon string.
No word HOW it got there.
No word if the tweezers I used to “Operation” his asshole are still stuck in there.
If you’re wondering why I was even at the show after falling to Great Cecilworth in five seconds, it’s simple. Of course, being the company man that I am, Mr. 97red, I took it upon myself to be present in the event Conor got cold feet and they needed a stallion to step in and close the show.
Stallion = Main Event talent who has beaten the current world champion four times.
So there I was, tortured over what had happened to Lee, but then I found the map so it wasn’t as bad.
It took a bit to decipher the whereabouts of the USS Octane. Equations, Zionisms, a sundial from Zeb Martin’s sundial collection. It was exhausting, and I wouldn’t dare waste the tale on Kevin Capone.
I will say this though.
Days later, after finally solving the impregnable rubix cube that it was…
I had one thing to say.
“Take me to jail.”
If you’re wondering why I need to find the boat…
You’re supposed to be.
Please come into the sewer with me so that I can tear off your arm and feast on your soul.
Get IT? If not, and you’re struggling to understand life inside my web, the sewer equates to a wrestling ring, which in this case is a High Octane Wrestling ring so not too far off by comparison; and by tear off your arm and feast on your soul I mean kick you in the face after it’s been painted yellow with my mist.
No, that’s not some deep six, sexual innuendo late night spank talk either.
Do I look like I’m from New York?
To be clear, that was my clever way of saying I’m going to win this Saturday Night.
Anyway, have I asked you why everyone from New York pees sitting down? Would the question be completely lost on you? Oh well. I don’t care. Sorry for the tough sell, Kevin. I prefer to underwhelm, if you will. I’m more The Night Stalker than Son of Sam. What I’m getting at is I’m not all broken glass, cryptic foreboding, and seven deadly sins.
Well… agree to disagree.
Also, quick side note since they got brought up. Bobby Dean is not Gluttony? Too on the nose, or was Papa Bear too busy smoking meats?
I DIGRESS AGAIN.
That said, this instance warrants such eggceptions be made.
Yes, your future date with COOL is going to be an awful time. You’re going to wish I stood you up, instead of sticking you with the bill.
You are a nobody.
You shouldn’t even be inside the same ring with me.
People know who I am. They see my picture and say, “oh that’s the guy who main events all the time… he’s pretty cool that guy.”
They see your picture and are left to wonder why it doesn’t say WANTED at the top of it. Or Loser. Or Jazz Man. Or Clown for Hire.
Who knows, Kev? Who? Knows? Maybe there’s a mall that needs saving and you’ll find yourself indisposed instead of showing up to face Splinter Jiles this Saturday Night at the Best Arena.
However, if you do manage to scoot your way to the show, do yourself a favor and try not to be overwhelmed with all the people in the stands. I know you’ve had a couple matches under your belt already, but normally the bathroom is at capacity when you are inside the ring if you catch my stinky drift.
Me, I pack the house, Kevin. They come to the show just to see me.
I’ll do my best to move it along, and not to keep you out there. After all, me and your old Uncle Al go back, and I’d hate to upset him since we throw a show inside his old residence once a year.
Cool finisher name, by the way.
Shame it will never see the Light of Day.
Maybe change it to that? Sounds more original.