Post by Josh Stewart on Jun 23, 2014 14:55:58 GMT -6
The past few weeks hadn't really gone according to plan for one Jarek Whitaker. From a wrestling standpoint? The poor bastard was akin to a fish on dry land. He couldn't win a match to save his life. Rayne, Knight, and now his good pal Vanessa? It made him question whether or not he could still be an impact player, or if the Sun had finally stopped shining it's oh so bright rays down on his backside. He thought he could spice things up by pursuing that fine piece of ass we all know and probably hate by the name of Mistress Lovecraft, but in turn... It only made him progress farther into that downward spiral nobody with as much potential as Jarek ever wanted to find themselves in.
Now he was walking that fine line between redemption and reprobation. Yes, 'rejected by God', because to Jarek Whitaker... those who invented this business we know as professional Wrestling? They were deities. They had blessed him with an alternate path to take. Another out that didn't involve prison or worse; death. And after witnessing the suspension of people who just didn't cut the mustard? People like Andre Mosely, Desmond Astor, Alexander Oliver, you name it. The resident Jare-Devil wanted nowhere near that proverbial 'boat'.
But in order to prevail, against a man who has a reputation for being as merciless as it takes to appease Lovecraft... Jarek would have to put aside this vivid fantasy of one day courting his opponent's valet/mistress/slave master/wielder of kinky bondage weaponry. He would have to out perform a man who has been white hot since he made his debut in VOW. He'd not only have to be victorious, but also make an example out of one Scott Knight... The lesson he needed to teach Scott, being that even though he liked to have a good time away from the ropes? While inside those same ropes, Jarek could be as lethal as they come. He COULD hurt someone if his career's longevity was hanging in the balance, but more importantly? His survival... And the duo of Lovecraft and Knight had backed him into a corner. What they failed to comprehend was simple to Jarek, at least in theory...
Hell hath no fury like that of a cornered animal. For the time being, it seems like he's headed in the right direction.
Jarek: You smell that? Something's in the air...
He broke the silence with an arrogant grin plastered on his face. Jarek, along with his gang of nine scantily clad women were standing right outside the Xcel Energy Center. Or more specifically, just in front of the box office where tickets for various events are purchased, picked up, so on and so forth. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity to Jare, and with zero indication of a retort from his valets, he continued on his current train of thought.
Jarek: Wait... NO! I can hear it!
In a certain "Real American" fashion, Jarek held one hand up to his ear and leaned to the side slightly, taking in the sounds of outside. Meanwhile, his Butt Slut collective just watched his every action in utter amazement, almost as if they were star struck.
Jarek: Even better! Look over there, ladies!
He pointed to a nearby Birch Tree that had been encased in a small fencing. More specifically, to the thousands of leaves that hung from each individual branch.
Jarek: Take a gander at those leaves. Observe how they bend at a downward angle against the coming winds. You women know what that means, don't ya'?
Bunch of Butt Sluts: What?
Came their response, in perfect unison as always. Jarek lowered retracted his hand and crossed both arms over his chest.
Jarek: They say when leaves point at the ground, that usually means a storm's brewing. And the sources have no idea how right they are, JEAH!
Bunch of Butt Sluts: Woo yeah!
The overwhelming sound of nine women screaming in close proximity disoriented Jarek for a moment. After coming to, he notices a much smaller, much cheaper looking tree situated just a couple of feet from the Birch.
Jarek: The hell's wrong with THAT one? It looks like a cheap imitation. Wait a tick...
He moves toward the tree and reaches out to touch it...
Jarek: It's plastic!
?: Well no shit, Sherlock.
Jarek whirls around in a mass of confusion, wondering where the unknown voice had come from. He finds himself once more facing the artificial tree with a raised eyebrow.
Jarek: Who said that?!
?: Uhm, it's me? Spy Guy?
The mysterious voice rang out from within the fake tree as Jarek sighed with relief.
Jarek: Man... don't scare me like that!
All of a sudden, the top half of the tree popped off and sure enough, hiding in the interior, was none other than "Spy Guy". A man who, once upon a time, would help Jarek gather intel on not only his opponent's training habits, but also any comments they made which pertained to Jarek or the match they were scheduled to have. In other words, an ace up the sleeve of a man who rarely wears shirts with sleeves.
Spy Guy: I've completed my work. Here is what you asked for.
He reached into a camouflaged fanny pack around his waist and pulled out a piece of notebook paper. One with several paragraphs written on it in black ink. Jarek accepted the paper and began to examine each bit of information, word for word.
"Spy Guy Report, Chapter sixty seven: The Knight, The Mistress, and the Great Monologuing..."
"I have no idea what kind of sexual harassment you put that woman through, but she is hell bent on making you pay for it. In fact, that's all she talked about for the twenty five minutes I was observing her and this Scott Knight. You know the routine, I'm sure. They'll show no mercy... you're a dead man... keep your disease riddled phallus in your pants where it belongs... You stand absolutely no chance against her Knight... Either way, Jay. You'd better approach this match with caution. That guy looked really angry. His facial expression resembled that of a man who had just watched a Pigeon fly overhead, only to bare witness to it's creamy white shit fall directly onto the shoulder of his leather jacket. That, or he was constipated. Whichever side of the token you prefer to look at, it involves shit."
"Also, consider this a warning. Mistress Lovecraft is a dangerous woman to mingle with from what I've gathered. It looks like she not only has the resources, but also a void where her heart should be. If you want to have any hopes at all of actually winning a match, and not failing miserably like you've been doing lately... make sure you take into account that you're fighting more than one element here. And for the love of God, PLEASE don't make any stupid reference to you being able to control the weather, simply because it's scheduled to rain already. Please, I'm begging you... Don't be THAT guy."
"Sincerely, the guy you still owe ten thousand dollars."
"PS - Don't think I forgot..."
Once he had finished reading up on things, Jarek crumbled up the note and did a Kobe Bryant-esque jump shot, causing it to land in the bottom end of the tree costume Spy Guy had been wearing.
Jarek: I know! I'll call down a mighty storm to rust out this Knight's armor and vanquish my foe once and for all at Exposure! So I can tap that oh so fine ass of Mistress Lovecraft, Jeah!
Spy Guy: Wow... what an amazing plan! That will totally work, Jay!
To avoid being ridiculed further for making an ass out of himself, Jarek chose to switch the subject on Spy Guy.
Jarek: Anyway, I can't thank you enough. None of this would be possible without your continued efforts.
Spy Guy: Oh no you don't... We're not going down this road again, Jay. You owe me money and I want it, right now. Otherwise you can find someone else to go on these stupid recon missions of yours.
Following a long, drawn out sigh... Jarek reached into his jean pockets but all he could manage to scrape out was lint. He looked up at Spy Guy who didn't seem pleased whatsoever.
Jarek: Sorry, brochacho... I left all my green in my work pants.
Spy Guy: But Wrestler's don't have...
Before he could complete his sentence, Jarek snapped waved Spy Guy off with a grin on his face.
Jarek: Don't sweat it, my dude. There are other ways to pay yah. Yo! Girls!
He snapped his fingers as within the blink of an eye, all nine of his butt sluts were huddled around him. Spy Guy's eyes lit up in horror and he tried to find the right words to talk himself out of this, but only one could be made out.
Spy Guy: Wait...
Jarek: You'll be fine! Just sit back, relax, and let the Butt Sluts have their way with you. WOMEN! Attack... that man's genitalia!
Just as someone would sick obedient dogs on an intruder, Jarek gave the signal by jabbing his index finger at Spy Guy who immediately covered up his 'package' with both hands, hoping to defend from the relentless onslaught of Jay's entourage. They tackled him to the ground as Jarek turned his back on the commotion, now heading into the arena. Perhaps to get a better grip on how he planned to combat Knight and Lovecraft at VOW's first PPV; Exposure. All the while, we could still hear Spy Guy protesting, though now his voice was somewhat muffled.
Spy Guy: I don't want to be paid in herpes, Jay!
Jarek held the door open and turned around to face the chaos outside. He cuffed one hand over his mouth in an attempt to amplify his own voice.
Jarek: Don't worry, Guy! They got lotion for that...
Following a nod of approval, Whitaker entered the arena and eventually vanished from sight. However, the nightmare didn't end for Spy Guy, who was being stripped article for article right there, in broad daylight. He flailed around wildly, still screaming at the top of his lungs.
Spy Guy: Jay!!!!!
It was shortly thereafter, our picture transitioned to complete darkness. Leaving anyone who had witnessed what just transpired to ponder one thought. Was Jarek going to be ready for the monumental challenge that lied ahead? Or would his shortcomings continue at Exposure? Unfortunately, for avid fans of beating the beat, power thrusting into overweight black women, and commanding an army of huge sluts that don't discriminate when it comes to dick? We'd have to wait and see.
- Fade
Now he was walking that fine line between redemption and reprobation. Yes, 'rejected by God', because to Jarek Whitaker... those who invented this business we know as professional Wrestling? They were deities. They had blessed him with an alternate path to take. Another out that didn't involve prison or worse; death. And after witnessing the suspension of people who just didn't cut the mustard? People like Andre Mosely, Desmond Astor, Alexander Oliver, you name it. The resident Jare-Devil wanted nowhere near that proverbial 'boat'.
But in order to prevail, against a man who has a reputation for being as merciless as it takes to appease Lovecraft... Jarek would have to put aside this vivid fantasy of one day courting his opponent's valet/mistress/slave master/wielder of kinky bondage weaponry. He would have to out perform a man who has been white hot since he made his debut in VOW. He'd not only have to be victorious, but also make an example out of one Scott Knight... The lesson he needed to teach Scott, being that even though he liked to have a good time away from the ropes? While inside those same ropes, Jarek could be as lethal as they come. He COULD hurt someone if his career's longevity was hanging in the balance, but more importantly? His survival... And the duo of Lovecraft and Knight had backed him into a corner. What they failed to comprehend was simple to Jarek, at least in theory...
Hell hath no fury like that of a cornered animal. For the time being, it seems like he's headed in the right direction.
Jarek: You smell that? Something's in the air...
He broke the silence with an arrogant grin plastered on his face. Jarek, along with his gang of nine scantily clad women were standing right outside the Xcel Energy Center. Or more specifically, just in front of the box office where tickets for various events are purchased, picked up, so on and so forth. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity to Jare, and with zero indication of a retort from his valets, he continued on his current train of thought.
Jarek: Wait... NO! I can hear it!
In a certain "Real American" fashion, Jarek held one hand up to his ear and leaned to the side slightly, taking in the sounds of outside. Meanwhile, his Butt Slut collective just watched his every action in utter amazement, almost as if they were star struck.
Jarek: Even better! Look over there, ladies!
He pointed to a nearby Birch Tree that had been encased in a small fencing. More specifically, to the thousands of leaves that hung from each individual branch.
Jarek: Take a gander at those leaves. Observe how they bend at a downward angle against the coming winds. You women know what that means, don't ya'?
Bunch of Butt Sluts: What?
Came their response, in perfect unison as always. Jarek lowered retracted his hand and crossed both arms over his chest.
Jarek: They say when leaves point at the ground, that usually means a storm's brewing. And the sources have no idea how right they are, JEAH!
Bunch of Butt Sluts: Woo yeah!
The overwhelming sound of nine women screaming in close proximity disoriented Jarek for a moment. After coming to, he notices a much smaller, much cheaper looking tree situated just a couple of feet from the Birch.
Jarek: The hell's wrong with THAT one? It looks like a cheap imitation. Wait a tick...
He moves toward the tree and reaches out to touch it...
Jarek: It's plastic!
?: Well no shit, Sherlock.
Jarek whirls around in a mass of confusion, wondering where the unknown voice had come from. He finds himself once more facing the artificial tree with a raised eyebrow.
Jarek: Who said that?!
?: Uhm, it's me? Spy Guy?
The mysterious voice rang out from within the fake tree as Jarek sighed with relief.
Jarek: Man... don't scare me like that!
All of a sudden, the top half of the tree popped off and sure enough, hiding in the interior, was none other than "Spy Guy". A man who, once upon a time, would help Jarek gather intel on not only his opponent's training habits, but also any comments they made which pertained to Jarek or the match they were scheduled to have. In other words, an ace up the sleeve of a man who rarely wears shirts with sleeves.
Spy Guy: I've completed my work. Here is what you asked for.
He reached into a camouflaged fanny pack around his waist and pulled out a piece of notebook paper. One with several paragraphs written on it in black ink. Jarek accepted the paper and began to examine each bit of information, word for word.
"Spy Guy Report, Chapter sixty seven: The Knight, The Mistress, and the Great Monologuing..."
"I have no idea what kind of sexual harassment you put that woman through, but she is hell bent on making you pay for it. In fact, that's all she talked about for the twenty five minutes I was observing her and this Scott Knight. You know the routine, I'm sure. They'll show no mercy... you're a dead man... keep your disease riddled phallus in your pants where it belongs... You stand absolutely no chance against her Knight... Either way, Jay. You'd better approach this match with caution. That guy looked really angry. His facial expression resembled that of a man who had just watched a Pigeon fly overhead, only to bare witness to it's creamy white shit fall directly onto the shoulder of his leather jacket. That, or he was constipated. Whichever side of the token you prefer to look at, it involves shit."
"Also, consider this a warning. Mistress Lovecraft is a dangerous woman to mingle with from what I've gathered. It looks like she not only has the resources, but also a void where her heart should be. If you want to have any hopes at all of actually winning a match, and not failing miserably like you've been doing lately... make sure you take into account that you're fighting more than one element here. And for the love of God, PLEASE don't make any stupid reference to you being able to control the weather, simply because it's scheduled to rain already. Please, I'm begging you... Don't be THAT guy."
"Sincerely, the guy you still owe ten thousand dollars."
"PS - Don't think I forgot..."
Once he had finished reading up on things, Jarek crumbled up the note and did a Kobe Bryant-esque jump shot, causing it to land in the bottom end of the tree costume Spy Guy had been wearing.
Jarek: I know! I'll call down a mighty storm to rust out this Knight's armor and vanquish my foe once and for all at Exposure! So I can tap that oh so fine ass of Mistress Lovecraft, Jeah!
Spy Guy: Wow... what an amazing plan! That will totally work, Jay!
To avoid being ridiculed further for making an ass out of himself, Jarek chose to switch the subject on Spy Guy.
Jarek: Anyway, I can't thank you enough. None of this would be possible without your continued efforts.
Spy Guy: Oh no you don't... We're not going down this road again, Jay. You owe me money and I want it, right now. Otherwise you can find someone else to go on these stupid recon missions of yours.
Following a long, drawn out sigh... Jarek reached into his jean pockets but all he could manage to scrape out was lint. He looked up at Spy Guy who didn't seem pleased whatsoever.
Jarek: Sorry, brochacho... I left all my green in my work pants.
Spy Guy: But Wrestler's don't have...
Before he could complete his sentence, Jarek snapped waved Spy Guy off with a grin on his face.
Jarek: Don't sweat it, my dude. There are other ways to pay yah. Yo! Girls!
He snapped his fingers as within the blink of an eye, all nine of his butt sluts were huddled around him. Spy Guy's eyes lit up in horror and he tried to find the right words to talk himself out of this, but only one could be made out.
Spy Guy: Wait...
Jarek: You'll be fine! Just sit back, relax, and let the Butt Sluts have their way with you. WOMEN! Attack... that man's genitalia!
Just as someone would sick obedient dogs on an intruder, Jarek gave the signal by jabbing his index finger at Spy Guy who immediately covered up his 'package' with both hands, hoping to defend from the relentless onslaught of Jay's entourage. They tackled him to the ground as Jarek turned his back on the commotion, now heading into the arena. Perhaps to get a better grip on how he planned to combat Knight and Lovecraft at VOW's first PPV; Exposure. All the while, we could still hear Spy Guy protesting, though now his voice was somewhat muffled.
Spy Guy: I don't want to be paid in herpes, Jay!
Jarek held the door open and turned around to face the chaos outside. He cuffed one hand over his mouth in an attempt to amplify his own voice.
Jarek: Don't worry, Guy! They got lotion for that...
Following a nod of approval, Whitaker entered the arena and eventually vanished from sight. However, the nightmare didn't end for Spy Guy, who was being stripped article for article right there, in broad daylight. He flailed around wildly, still screaming at the top of his lungs.
Spy Guy: Jay!!!!!
It was shortly thereafter, our picture transitioned to complete darkness. Leaving anyone who had witnessed what just transpired to ponder one thought. Was Jarek going to be ready for the monumental challenge that lied ahead? Or would his shortcomings continue at Exposure? Unfortunately, for avid fans of beating the beat, power thrusting into overweight black women, and commanding an army of huge sluts that don't discriminate when it comes to dick? We'd have to wait and see.
- Fade
