Hanging On The Telephone.
Nov 12, 2015 8:35:31 GMT
ISM Office, Buck U Productions, and 2 more like this
Post by Deleted on Nov 12, 2015 8:35:31 GMT
“…Excuse me for the interruption, but what the fuck is a falls count somewhere match?”
“You’ve ever wrestled in a falls count anywhere match?”
“Yes, in fact the last one I wrestled in scored me a lifetime ban from the Ryogoku Sumo Hall…”
“…Si, Senor Loco, we are well aware of your history for professional misconduct, negligence and belligerence. Rest assured, this time around, you will NOT be afforded any measure of leniency to…”
“…Easy there cabron, less you fall off that fucking soapbox and break your neck. Now, let me rephrase the question: What in the blue hell is a falls count somewhere match?”
“My apologies, Senor Loco, it’s basically the extreme opposite of a falls-count anywhere match; where pinfalls and submissions can only take place in a predetermined location known only by the official refereeing your match…”
“Hold the fuck on for a second, what the fuck are you going on about? You mean a specific spot in the fucking ring? Or it could be just about damn well anywhere in the fucking venue?”
“I’m afraid I can’t divulge the specific location to yourself, Senor Loco. Rest assured, the referee will…”
“Now you’ve just fucking gone ahead, one-upped yourself and confused me even more. How the fuck is this supposed to work out?”
“It works out, Senor Loco, simply because management has made the final call with regards to your title defense. The esteemed Hermanos de Pollos do not make errors that will jeopardize the quality of their wrestling product…”
“Quality wrestling product? Fuck, your chicken isn’t even that crash-hot to begin with…”
“I think this is the perfect opportunity to remind you to keep such slander to yourself, or our HR will have to take disciplinary action to protect the….”
“The way I see it, cabron, we’re talking about the same fried-chicken franchise that’s running their watered-down version of a garbage wrestling promotion, to be consumed by customers who can’t even tell chicken from horsemeat if their fucking lives depended on…”
“Senor Rousseau, the decision stands. Nothing you say or do will…”
“With all due disrespect, go fuck yourself, cabron.”
**CLICK**
I slammed the receiver back onto the cradle with enough force to shake the entire payphone booth. Somehow, the wrestling gods decided that my homecoming was going a little too smoothly, and decided to throw a wrench into the works for my match with Zargnax.
In my anger, I tore up the employee vouchers for a free meal at the nearest Pollo Bucket and decided to have lunch at the Kentucky Colonel’s fried chicken joint before I boarded the Megabus that would take me straight to the sordid, wretched comforts of home.
Falls Count Somewhere… even garbage wrestling had depths it wouldn’t sink to. Then again, I might just be turning into a relic of a simpler, profane and bloody-faced time in the wrestling business.
Then again, between the aliens, mind-control rays, fireballs and all that hot fucking gravy…
Just business as usual in Pollomania.
“You’ve ever wrestled in a falls count anywhere match?”
“Yes, in fact the last one I wrestled in scored me a lifetime ban from the Ryogoku Sumo Hall…”
“…Si, Senor Loco, we are well aware of your history for professional misconduct, negligence and belligerence. Rest assured, this time around, you will NOT be afforded any measure of leniency to…”
“…Easy there cabron, less you fall off that fucking soapbox and break your neck. Now, let me rephrase the question: What in the blue hell is a falls count somewhere match?”
“My apologies, Senor Loco, it’s basically the extreme opposite of a falls-count anywhere match; where pinfalls and submissions can only take place in a predetermined location known only by the official refereeing your match…”
“Hold the fuck on for a second, what the fuck are you going on about? You mean a specific spot in the fucking ring? Or it could be just about damn well anywhere in the fucking venue?”
“I’m afraid I can’t divulge the specific location to yourself, Senor Loco. Rest assured, the referee will…”
“Now you’ve just fucking gone ahead, one-upped yourself and confused me even more. How the fuck is this supposed to work out?”
“It works out, Senor Loco, simply because management has made the final call with regards to your title defense. The esteemed Hermanos de Pollos do not make errors that will jeopardize the quality of their wrestling product…”
“Quality wrestling product? Fuck, your chicken isn’t even that crash-hot to begin with…”
“I think this is the perfect opportunity to remind you to keep such slander to yourself, or our HR will have to take disciplinary action to protect the….”
“The way I see it, cabron, we’re talking about the same fried-chicken franchise that’s running their watered-down version of a garbage wrestling promotion, to be consumed by customers who can’t even tell chicken from horsemeat if their fucking lives depended on…”
“Senor Rousseau, the decision stands. Nothing you say or do will…”
“With all due disrespect, go fuck yourself, cabron.”
**CLICK**
-
I slammed the receiver back onto the cradle with enough force to shake the entire payphone booth. Somehow, the wrestling gods decided that my homecoming was going a little too smoothly, and decided to throw a wrench into the works for my match with Zargnax.
In my anger, I tore up the employee vouchers for a free meal at the nearest Pollo Bucket and decided to have lunch at the Kentucky Colonel’s fried chicken joint before I boarded the Megabus that would take me straight to the sordid, wretched comforts of home.
Falls Count Somewhere… even garbage wrestling had depths it wouldn’t sink to. Then again, I might just be turning into a relic of a simpler, profane and bloody-faced time in the wrestling business.
Then again, between the aliens, mind-control rays, fireballs and all that hot fucking gravy…
Just business as usual in Pollomania.