Post by The Collective on Jan 29, 2017 20:29:44 GMT
Crack. Snap crackle pop. Girlish scream, moaning, pleading, panting. Repeat. It seemed that Mr. Pescado wasn’t too keen on giving up information, even though his captors claimed that he blatantly knew otherwise. Two fingers down on the left, leaving the liver spotted hand trembling from shock.
Into his line of view came the face of Tony Tira. Perching his head down with a disgusted snarl at the man before him. “Martin...YOU’RE THIS FUCKIN’ CLOSE FROM GETTIN’ THAT WHOLE HAND BROKEN!!! YOU WON’T BE FONDLIN’ HOOKERS ON THE SIDE NO MORE IF YOU CAN’T STOP BEING A LITTLE FUCKIN’ BITCH AND TELL US WHERE THE SHIPMENT IS!!”
Escaping the country with the possibility of death, or having his whole hand broken with the possibility of death? Being he was facing torture in a large enclosed meat locker, Martin Pescado chose wisely, lowering his head as his whimpering words dribbled out of his slobbery mouth. “The Seven Str-street gang st-stole it.”
“SPEAK THE FUCK UP I CAN’T HEAR YA!!!”
“Seven Street!!! Seven…” Then his words became a sobbing mess of nonsense.
“THAT’S ALL YA HAD TO FUCKIN’ SAY!!! NOW WAS THAT SO HARD!?!?”
The sobbing fifty three year old man shook his head, to which Tony walked over to Geno Forliti as he polished up a ball peen hammer with a shammy. “Get that silly bastard cleaned up and a cab called for him.”
Frank nodded his head and did what he was told silently as Tony left him alone to his work. As Tony was leaving he made sure to let Mr. Pescado know how lucky he was. “IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW MY GIRLFRIEND, YOU’D BE IN A WHEELCHAIR BUDDY!!! DON’T EVER FUCKIN’ LIE TO ME AGAIN!!!”
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he nodded. Just as the freezer door closed in Tony’s passing you could get a glimpse of the fearful Martin Pescado back scooting with his feet as the monstrous Geno approached him with a rag. Tony smiled to the fearful screams, loving how even a gentle giant like Geno can have that effect on just about anyone.
Frankie had just finished a warm-up set of his own original, “Wrestling With Emotions”. The crowd of two in the Catena Lounge, Tony and Geno clapped, and Frankie gave a bow of appreciation. The always well dressed man descended the stage, quick to fire off his order. “Booker’s no ice.”
Geno nodded to the drink order, preparing him one as he took a stool next to his good friend Tony Tira. “Fitting song for our debuts eh?”
“Hey if you wanna sing that shit comin' down to ringside, be my guest.”
The two enjoyed a laugh as Geno set down three glass tumblers on the counter in front of them. A bottle was pulled from the top shelf and popped off, and into their cups was poured the rocket fuel disguised as whiskey called Booker’s. Once the bottle was returned to it’s spot, Geno picked up his cup, along with the gang’s, and they clinked glasses.
“To makin’ wrestling less fem.”
They couldn’t help but laugh at Tony’s remark as the masculinity had been on the decline as of late. Seems like PW is need of a hot italian blood injection. With the smiles still on their faces they downed their double shots, each man showing their own way of disguising the burn going down. The tumblers were placed on the pine counter, and Frankie was the first to bring up a very valid question. “So who the fuck we facin’?”
Tony nodded, figuring he’d have to be the info guy to his team. After all he is the one who signed them up for this new ‘business venture.’ “Well Geno and I got that rope suckin’ Marlboro Man lookin’ motherfucker Phillip Kennedy and that Meryl Streep lookin’ biker dyke hag Agnes Gertrude. You gotta face that shaggy drunk metalhead Adam Barrera and some scarred up looking MMA freak named Spiral.”
Frankie couldn’t help but bust out laughing. “Spiral!? What the fuck!?”
“Yeah the guy’s name is Spiral.”
“What does he think he’s a fuckin’ superhero or somethin’?”
“Somethin’, I ain’t go no fuckin’ clue. All I know is the dude got credentials and he supposedly has the ability to not feel pain.”
Tremendously obnoxious howling laughter is followed by pounding fists on the bar. “I’M FACING A FUCKIN’ X-MAN WHAT THE HELL!?!! WHERE THE FUCK DOES SLAINE FIND THESE BATSHIT JAMOKES!?”
A laugh came out of Tony but he was quick to remind Frankie of the situation he was in. “Look, I know he seems like a kooky fuckin’ weirdo. But the dude is fuckin’ good at this pro wrestlin’ shit and he’s good at MMA too. Watch ya self out there.”
That hyena grin on Frankie’s face faded slightly as he got in tough guy mode. “Oh like Piehole is gonna kick my ass or somethin’, fuck outta here. This is pro wrestlin’ Tony, there’s barely any tough guy’s left. I will take this goofy comic con dork and make him feel pain, whether he wants to or not. And that trailer park trash lush Adam better stay the fuck outta my way, shit wasn’t he drunk backstage last Redemption?”
“Yeah, he was. Apparently it’s hard to get fired in PW.”
“Why don’t we test that Tony?” Frankie followed those words with a sinister grin, bringing back the same expression and a nod from Tony.
Into his line of view came the face of Tony Tira. Perching his head down with a disgusted snarl at the man before him. “Martin...YOU’RE THIS FUCKIN’ CLOSE FROM GETTIN’ THAT WHOLE HAND BROKEN!!! YOU WON’T BE FONDLIN’ HOOKERS ON THE SIDE NO MORE IF YOU CAN’T STOP BEING A LITTLE FUCKIN’ BITCH AND TELL US WHERE THE SHIPMENT IS!!”
Escaping the country with the possibility of death, or having his whole hand broken with the possibility of death? Being he was facing torture in a large enclosed meat locker, Martin Pescado chose wisely, lowering his head as his whimpering words dribbled out of his slobbery mouth. “The Seven Str-street gang st-stole it.”
“SPEAK THE FUCK UP I CAN’T HEAR YA!!!”
“Seven Street!!! Seven…” Then his words became a sobbing mess of nonsense.
“THAT’S ALL YA HAD TO FUCKIN’ SAY!!! NOW WAS THAT SO HARD!?!?”
The sobbing fifty three year old man shook his head, to which Tony walked over to Geno Forliti as he polished up a ball peen hammer with a shammy. “Get that silly bastard cleaned up and a cab called for him.”
Frank nodded his head and did what he was told silently as Tony left him alone to his work. As Tony was leaving he made sure to let Mr. Pescado know how lucky he was. “IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW MY GIRLFRIEND, YOU’D BE IN A WHEELCHAIR BUDDY!!! DON’T EVER FUCKIN’ LIE TO ME AGAIN!!!”
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he nodded. Just as the freezer door closed in Tony’s passing you could get a glimpse of the fearful Martin Pescado back scooting with his feet as the monstrous Geno approached him with a rag. Tony smiled to the fearful screams, loving how even a gentle giant like Geno can have that effect on just about anyone.
Frankie had just finished a warm-up set of his own original, “Wrestling With Emotions”. The crowd of two in the Catena Lounge, Tony and Geno clapped, and Frankie gave a bow of appreciation. The always well dressed man descended the stage, quick to fire off his order. “Booker’s no ice.”
Geno nodded to the drink order, preparing him one as he took a stool next to his good friend Tony Tira. “Fitting song for our debuts eh?”
“Hey if you wanna sing that shit comin' down to ringside, be my guest.”
The two enjoyed a laugh as Geno set down three glass tumblers on the counter in front of them. A bottle was pulled from the top shelf and popped off, and into their cups was poured the rocket fuel disguised as whiskey called Booker’s. Once the bottle was returned to it’s spot, Geno picked up his cup, along with the gang’s, and they clinked glasses.
“To makin’ wrestling less fem.”
They couldn’t help but laugh at Tony’s remark as the masculinity had been on the decline as of late. Seems like PW is need of a hot italian blood injection. With the smiles still on their faces they downed their double shots, each man showing their own way of disguising the burn going down. The tumblers were placed on the pine counter, and Frankie was the first to bring up a very valid question. “So who the fuck we facin’?”
Tony nodded, figuring he’d have to be the info guy to his team. After all he is the one who signed them up for this new ‘business venture.’ “Well Geno and I got that rope suckin’ Marlboro Man lookin’ motherfucker Phillip Kennedy and that Meryl Streep lookin’ biker dyke hag Agnes Gertrude. You gotta face that shaggy drunk metalhead Adam Barrera and some scarred up looking MMA freak named Spiral.”
Frankie couldn’t help but bust out laughing. “Spiral!? What the fuck!?”
“Yeah the guy’s name is Spiral.”
“What does he think he’s a fuckin’ superhero or somethin’?”
“Somethin’, I ain’t go no fuckin’ clue. All I know is the dude got credentials and he supposedly has the ability to not feel pain.”
Tremendously obnoxious howling laughter is followed by pounding fists on the bar. “I’M FACING A FUCKIN’ X-MAN WHAT THE HELL!?!! WHERE THE FUCK DOES SLAINE FIND THESE BATSHIT JAMOKES!?”
A laugh came out of Tony but he was quick to remind Frankie of the situation he was in. “Look, I know he seems like a kooky fuckin’ weirdo. But the dude is fuckin’ good at this pro wrestlin’ shit and he’s good at MMA too. Watch ya self out there.”
That hyena grin on Frankie’s face faded slightly as he got in tough guy mode. “Oh like Piehole is gonna kick my ass or somethin’, fuck outta here. This is pro wrestlin’ Tony, there’s barely any tough guy’s left. I will take this goofy comic con dork and make him feel pain, whether he wants to or not. And that trailer park trash lush Adam better stay the fuck outta my way, shit wasn’t he drunk backstage last Redemption?”
“Yeah, he was. Apparently it’s hard to get fired in PW.”
“Why don’t we test that Tony?” Frankie followed those words with a sinister grin, bringing back the same expression and a nod from Tony.