Post by Deleted on Jul 6, 2017 1:26:56 GMT -6
Aleppo, Syria. June 12, 2017. 0550 Local Time.
Kill Mac. Kill Drake. Kill Hawkins. Burn EWC to fucking ashes, then burn the ashes.
Considering what happened to yours truly ever since that fucking debacle of a multi-fed tournament over a year ago, it's pretty fucking hard for me to gather any sort of warm, fuzzy feelings about a fed that did nothing but let me down, no matter how much I busted my ass for them.
Sons of whores took me for granted, then had the nerve to act shocked when I got sick of it and bolted. And people wonder why I choose to go back to merc work; the pay is just as good if done right, there's less paperwork and bullshit General Hospital drama, and if some asshole screws you over, you don't do promos and flap your gums in front of thousands of mouthbreathers. No, you just take the gat and the knife to them and the people they care about, and make sure they never cause a problem ever again.
Last fella that tried to play games with me, ended up shooting up my fucking aparment; I made sure both him AND his fucking dipshit kin were too buried underneath 6 feet of Earth to pencil in some payback on me.
I love this gig. Some might find a place like Syria hellish; I found a home here. How could I not; I get paid insane amounts of cash to slaughter dirt dwelling, child murdering and using religious doctrine to mask their lack of decency shit-stains in bulk, and instead of handcuffs, like most other full fucking -redacted- wrestlers get when they do shit like me, I get a free pass and people thank me for my efforts. Hell, I get free vodka for life from the commander of the Russian Spetnaz unit for saving his neck near the Turkish border.
And up until today, it kept my mind off of the billion dollar RV dump Danny runs, because that murderous mantra rattling in my head is the only thoughts I had about the place, and frankly, don't feel like wasting time and ammo on a pack of idiots with corny names, cheesy costumes they wouldn't have the balls to sell in the discount bin at Spencer's, and douchebags with fuckboy graffiti painted all over their excessivley oiled up bodies.
Besides, I resigned myself, who would help me in this endeavor? Who would, in their sick, twisted little hearts, find any sort of rational reason to cheer for a man like me, and a quest that downright ruthless and horrible?
Turns out, when one Mr. Campbell, and his custom John Oakley suit stepped off the chopper in my command post, not only was somebody thinking the same thoughts and had the same ideas I did...
I found out they were willing to sponsor me!
So, lemme get this straight, your boss, who, I dunno his name, nor who he works for, or even what his fucking Twitter handle even is, wants to pay ME to return to EWC, and help him destroy Danny Mac and take over the company?
Tony leans back in his chair behind his desk in the makeshift headquarters he set up in his field tent, chuckling:What that Professor Xavier on HGH looking motherfucker do, huh? Steal his girl, park his shit ride in his aprking spot? Troll him on Reddit?
Nothing of the sort. In fact, my client and Mr. Mac have never interacted in any fashion. It's really quite rudimentary; he has something my employer wants, and considering the dismal treatment Mac and his management team has afforded you, my employer figured...
Why not include the payday with the payback. Everybody loves a good revenge story. Jilted former superstar sticking it the organization that screwed him and his mentor...
Funny how Kurt Newman only did a year in the fed and got a HOF ticket punched, yet, your mentor and former friend, Kid Cannabis, a man who won multiple titles and helped Mac makes millions, got left out in the cold, along with others?
You do know I paralyzed his punk ass when him and Mac tried to shackle me like a field hand behind closed doors?
My boss was shocked you didn't flat out kill him for his Caesarian level of betrayal.
Yeah, I was gonna make him a quadriplegic, then I remembered he did let me crash on his couch when I got fucked up off cobra whisky and got into a fight with my ex. Figured for that, might as well let him keep his arms so he can try to get his now useless dick working again. What can I say, I have a few soft spots.
Anyways, I don't know you nor your boy hiding behind the curtain like Dr. Claw, and I'm too busy to go back to that stupid turnbuckle humping shit. Give me one reason why I should even entertain your magical, out of the fucking blue proposal.
Mr. Campbell smirks and sanps his fingers. His two shave gorilla bodyguards drop a metal suitcase on his desk each, and when Tony opens it, he looks like Travolta in Pulp Fiction after looking in Marcelous's briefcase...
Damn, chief, that's a lot of Doctor Who money in these carry ons!
4 million Pounds, Mr. Savage. Withdrawn personally by my employer, to secure your services. And whatever you need to continue your military campaign against EWC, as long as the results are satisfactory, you'll get more of these care packages.
What can I say; the millions I already have in my account needed more friends like this!:Tony slams the lids down on the cases and lights up a hickory colored cigar with a most luxurious smell:But it's gonna take more than just cash to dig up Mac's sandbox for good. Things'll have to get so downright bloody, people watching will have to get checked for hepatitus. Your boy better know who he's dealing with.
And what kind of man are we dealing with?
15 minutes later, Tony shows him both 5 ISIS insurgents detained in a windowless concrete room, and what the fuck kind of hombre he's breaking bread with.
It's bad enough these assholes think it's kosher to kill and rape people because some dusty ass old book told them if they did, they get to go to Heaven and spend eternity trying to train 72 girls how to fuck properly...
Truth be told, when they do die, they'll probably spend all time in Hell getting fingertrapped by 72 Ashton Drke fans who'd piss themselves if a female actually breathed near them...
Is that they are so fucking goddamn stupid, they think they can sneak a fucking bomb onto my camp. I mean, did you see the fucking bounty on my head these throwbacks have on me...
You see, the problem is, if I turn these guys over to the Syrians, they'll more than likely end up back out within days to make everybody's life around here even shittier than it already is, and if I hand them off to the Americans, they'll end up sucking up taxpayer money in some secret prison while well meaning but dumbassed bledding hearts'll march for their rights to go off and commit more atrocities. Fuck, Katy Perry'll throw a concert for them...
Between you and me, slick, between her overdosing on crazy pills forthe last year, and that haircut that makes her look like someone's crazy cat lady aunt, her boner inducing factor's starting to plummet.
Anyways, I'm digressing; normally, most people would see this as a major league conundrum, but me, the solution is simple...
A bulky, heavily scarred man name Martinez interrupts, asking what to do with the prisoners. Tony grins, pulls two hand grenades, casually pulls the pins on them, and interupts his "guests" rants about killing Tony in the name of Allah. He slams the steel security door behind him...
First, there's the scrambling and screaming inside the cell, then a muffled exlosion that knocks some dust off the ceiling tiles outside, and Tony peeks in...
God-DAMN, looks like a can of Beef Ravioli in that motherfucker...whew!
Thankfully, Savage Solutions is under contract from the Russian government; they don't give a fuck what we do to these pyschos, as long as we clean up in there. SPeaking of that...Martinez...
I'll get the clean-up crew in here...
Tell them to get that scrubbing pads and that purple cleaner cause...*chuckling*...whew, that is a spleen up in that track lighting.
He turns back to Mr. Campbell:So....*sardonically...do I make the team, or do I need to speak with coach after practice?
You'll do just fine.
This could take a while, and a lot of heartache...
What great endeavor doesn't come withthat?
One of Tony's assistants hands Mr. Campbell some carbon papers:What's this?
Your receipt for that 4 Million quid.
Mr. Campbell looks confused, which really irritates Tony:What, did you think I was Vinny Gigante's stereotypcal guido ass? I run a security firm, not a fucking mafia. FUCK!!...
I gotta keep records of this shit in case I can get a tax break for murdering these jackasses!
Like your first attempt at lovemaking, Tony Savage's blood and booze soaked return is coming soon!
Kill Mac. Kill Drake. Kill Hawkins. Burn EWC to fucking ashes, then burn the ashes.
Considering what happened to yours truly ever since that fucking debacle of a multi-fed tournament over a year ago, it's pretty fucking hard for me to gather any sort of warm, fuzzy feelings about a fed that did nothing but let me down, no matter how much I busted my ass for them.
Sons of whores took me for granted, then had the nerve to act shocked when I got sick of it and bolted. And people wonder why I choose to go back to merc work; the pay is just as good if done right, there's less paperwork and bullshit General Hospital drama, and if some asshole screws you over, you don't do promos and flap your gums in front of thousands of mouthbreathers. No, you just take the gat and the knife to them and the people they care about, and make sure they never cause a problem ever again.
Last fella that tried to play games with me, ended up shooting up my fucking aparment; I made sure both him AND his fucking dipshit kin were too buried underneath 6 feet of Earth to pencil in some payback on me.
I love this gig. Some might find a place like Syria hellish; I found a home here. How could I not; I get paid insane amounts of cash to slaughter dirt dwelling, child murdering and using religious doctrine to mask their lack of decency shit-stains in bulk, and instead of handcuffs, like most other full fucking -redacted- wrestlers get when they do shit like me, I get a free pass and people thank me for my efforts. Hell, I get free vodka for life from the commander of the Russian Spetnaz unit for saving his neck near the Turkish border.
And up until today, it kept my mind off of the billion dollar RV dump Danny runs, because that murderous mantra rattling in my head is the only thoughts I had about the place, and frankly, don't feel like wasting time and ammo on a pack of idiots with corny names, cheesy costumes they wouldn't have the balls to sell in the discount bin at Spencer's, and douchebags with fuckboy graffiti painted all over their excessivley oiled up bodies.
Besides, I resigned myself, who would help me in this endeavor? Who would, in their sick, twisted little hearts, find any sort of rational reason to cheer for a man like me, and a quest that downright ruthless and horrible?
Turns out, when one Mr. Campbell, and his custom John Oakley suit stepped off the chopper in my command post, not only was somebody thinking the same thoughts and had the same ideas I did...
I found out they were willing to sponsor me!
So, lemme get this straight, your boss, who, I dunno his name, nor who he works for, or even what his fucking Twitter handle even is, wants to pay ME to return to EWC, and help him destroy Danny Mac and take over the company?
Tony leans back in his chair behind his desk in the makeshift headquarters he set up in his field tent, chuckling:What that Professor Xavier on HGH looking motherfucker do, huh? Steal his girl, park his shit ride in his aprking spot? Troll him on Reddit?
Nothing of the sort. In fact, my client and Mr. Mac have never interacted in any fashion. It's really quite rudimentary; he has something my employer wants, and considering the dismal treatment Mac and his management team has afforded you, my employer figured...
Why not include the payday with the payback. Everybody loves a good revenge story. Jilted former superstar sticking it the organization that screwed him and his mentor...
Funny how Kurt Newman only did a year in the fed and got a HOF ticket punched, yet, your mentor and former friend, Kid Cannabis, a man who won multiple titles and helped Mac makes millions, got left out in the cold, along with others?
You do know I paralyzed his punk ass when him and Mac tried to shackle me like a field hand behind closed doors?
My boss was shocked you didn't flat out kill him for his Caesarian level of betrayal.
Yeah, I was gonna make him a quadriplegic, then I remembered he did let me crash on his couch when I got fucked up off cobra whisky and got into a fight with my ex. Figured for that, might as well let him keep his arms so he can try to get his now useless dick working again. What can I say, I have a few soft spots.
Anyways, I don't know you nor your boy hiding behind the curtain like Dr. Claw, and I'm too busy to go back to that stupid turnbuckle humping shit. Give me one reason why I should even entertain your magical, out of the fucking blue proposal.
Mr. Campbell smirks and sanps his fingers. His two shave gorilla bodyguards drop a metal suitcase on his desk each, and when Tony opens it, he looks like Travolta in Pulp Fiction after looking in Marcelous's briefcase...
Damn, chief, that's a lot of Doctor Who money in these carry ons!
4 million Pounds, Mr. Savage. Withdrawn personally by my employer, to secure your services. And whatever you need to continue your military campaign against EWC, as long as the results are satisfactory, you'll get more of these care packages.
What can I say; the millions I already have in my account needed more friends like this!:Tony slams the lids down on the cases and lights up a hickory colored cigar with a most luxurious smell:But it's gonna take more than just cash to dig up Mac's sandbox for good. Things'll have to get so downright bloody, people watching will have to get checked for hepatitus. Your boy better know who he's dealing with.
And what kind of man are we dealing with?
15 minutes later, Tony shows him both 5 ISIS insurgents detained in a windowless concrete room, and what the fuck kind of hombre he's breaking bread with.
It's bad enough these assholes think it's kosher to kill and rape people because some dusty ass old book told them if they did, they get to go to Heaven and spend eternity trying to train 72 girls how to fuck properly...
Truth be told, when they do die, they'll probably spend all time in Hell getting fingertrapped by 72 Ashton Drke fans who'd piss themselves if a female actually breathed near them...
Is that they are so fucking goddamn stupid, they think they can sneak a fucking bomb onto my camp. I mean, did you see the fucking bounty on my head these throwbacks have on me...
You see, the problem is, if I turn these guys over to the Syrians, they'll more than likely end up back out within days to make everybody's life around here even shittier than it already is, and if I hand them off to the Americans, they'll end up sucking up taxpayer money in some secret prison while well meaning but dumbassed bledding hearts'll march for their rights to go off and commit more atrocities. Fuck, Katy Perry'll throw a concert for them...
Between you and me, slick, between her overdosing on crazy pills forthe last year, and that haircut that makes her look like someone's crazy cat lady aunt, her boner inducing factor's starting to plummet.
Anyways, I'm digressing; normally, most people would see this as a major league conundrum, but me, the solution is simple...
A bulky, heavily scarred man name Martinez interrupts, asking what to do with the prisoners. Tony grins, pulls two hand grenades, casually pulls the pins on them, and interupts his "guests" rants about killing Tony in the name of Allah. He slams the steel security door behind him...
First, there's the scrambling and screaming inside the cell, then a muffled exlosion that knocks some dust off the ceiling tiles outside, and Tony peeks in...
God-DAMN, looks like a can of Beef Ravioli in that motherfucker...whew!
Thankfully, Savage Solutions is under contract from the Russian government; they don't give a fuck what we do to these pyschos, as long as we clean up in there. SPeaking of that...Martinez...
I'll get the clean-up crew in here...
Tell them to get that scrubbing pads and that purple cleaner cause...*chuckling*...whew, that is a spleen up in that track lighting.
He turns back to Mr. Campbell:So....*sardonically...do I make the team, or do I need to speak with coach after practice?
You'll do just fine.
This could take a while, and a lot of heartache...
What great endeavor doesn't come withthat?
One of Tony's assistants hands Mr. Campbell some carbon papers:What's this?
Your receipt for that 4 Million quid.
Mr. Campbell looks confused, which really irritates Tony:What, did you think I was Vinny Gigante's stereotypcal guido ass? I run a security firm, not a fucking mafia. FUCK!!...
I gotta keep records of this shit in case I can get a tax break for murdering these jackasses!
Like your first attempt at lovemaking, Tony Savage's blood and booze soaked return is coming soon!