Post by Deleted on Nov 2, 2015 21:47:01 GMT -6
Tijuana, Mexico.
All Hallows Eve
None of this was televised. Seriously, even if this is Mexico, we don't want some busy-body prosecutor seeing this shit.
Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!!
El Chupacabra had to wonder to himself why this shit kept happening to him. AAA wrestling asked him to come down to ol' Meh-hee-co to do a few promotional appearances. It seemed so simple; make a few bucks on a glorified paid vacation, visit a few old friends south of the border...
But he ran into a few unsavory cabronsworking for a cat he used to score dope from that wasn't at all happy that he was back in town. I think it had something to do with Chupa ripping him off for a shitload of money and drugs...
And banging his wife...
And burning his house down...
And kicking his cat like a soccer ball across the border into San Diego. Oh, and he also spread a nasty rumor that said dope slanger had a small penis, and liked to master-bate to pictures of Peter Dinkage on-line.
What; you surprised? It's Chupa, folks. If you looked up asshole in the Oxford dictionary, you'd find a picture of him dumping bleach down the gas tank of a school bus for disabled kids.
And he also had another bad habit when visiting south of the border; his uncanny ability to produce a pile of DEAD FRIGGIN' BODIES!
What the fuck am I going to do? I just got that shit in Chicago cleaned up; if the press finds out about this...
His train of thought is suddenly derailed when a rented deliver van pulls up, headlights blaring in his face. When he can finally get a decent look at the driver of the car...
Look at THIS morose motherfucker! Been a long time, Chupa, ol' buddy!!
Uhm...it's not what it looks like...you see...I found them like this...
C'mon, Chupes. It's me. You don't have to explain anything.
Chupa is very confused:Uhm...do I know you?
Of course, silly-nilly. You called me, remember?
Now really thrown for a loop, Chupa looks at his cell phone. He checks his outbound texts...
Text to: NUMBER WITHHELD
Dude, I'm in the shit big time. Need the cleaning supplies ASAP!!
He has to double check the number, then triple check it. It was an old number; a number that belonged to somebody, creepily enough, is not amongst us anymore.
No...you must...I think I texted the wrong...
Then, Dianna holds up her phone, and the same text Chupa sent...is on the screen.
No, you didn't, hermano! You got the right number.
She starts inspecting the scene:Wow, Chupes; you really outdid yourself this time. This is worse than the time we were in Brussels and you hooked up with those goth chicks that ended up flipping out on mescaline and tried to murder you with a bbq fork.
Fuck...*pulls on his hair*...I'm not even high and I'm tripping! Only one guy was with me that night, and he..
Hey....*snaps her fingers in his face*...Marilyn Manson...focus, dammit! We've got 20 minutes to get these cadavers out of sight before the policia come and you're in lockup fighting to keep your asshole from getting busted up like a piñata! I've got a shitload of bleach and kitty litter in the back; be a sweetie and get it out for me, then while I'm cleaning up, you stash these shit burritos inside. Don't worry, I've got it lined with plastic wrap; it won't leave a mess.
Jesus....this isn't happening...
Oi, Chupa, I wanna see asses and elbows moving, bro! 20 minutes. Get a move on!
Despite being overcome with both confusion and a weird, Twilight Zone vibe of surrealness, Chupa does as was asked. He quickly starts dragging the bodies over to the truck, and gets the gear the young, mysterious woman requested. He also sees a bag full of tools, surgical tools. He's seen this bag before...
He's seen this bag on more than a few occasions!
*****
Rosen's been asking about you all the darn time, Chupes. You should come and check out her new digs; she's even got like, 4 floors devoted to the survivors of the gay panda army after Lena lost her damn mind and tried to annihilate Amy because she kept erasing all her episodes of Modern Family, even though she NEVER WATCHED THEM AND JUST LET THEM SIT AND SUCK UP MEMORY ON THE SATELLITE BOX. Oh, could you give me a light; this weed's so sticky, I could use it to put posters on my wall without Scotch tape. *PUFF, PUFF* Thanks, you're a sweetheart, even if that FBI profiler called you the most evil son of a bitch to walk the face of the Earth!
Dianna merrily puffs on her monster joint, hums a David Bowie tune, and proceeds to chop up the last victim's femur with a bonesaw.
Hey, you remember that time Sean Ferguson pissed us off, so we parked his car on top of his roof, then, when he got it down, he had to get it refurbished because we let that crazy hobo that smelled like halibut and old people shit sleep in it for four days? Oh, what about the time we shaved Cameron Hayden's pork chop sideburns off, then blamed it on Saint because Hayden told him his new aftershave made moose in heat show up to his doorstep! Oh, and then, Level One...
Man, was he PISSED when we ordered all those naked pics of Bea Arthur on his Visa and...dude, are you okay?
Chupa is just staring at this little minx with absolute disbelief. The way she moves, handles the gear, all the old memories only they shared, even the way she smoked that damn spliff...
Bullshit...BULLSHIT!! You can't be...I mean, I've seen some weird shit, and most of it was in those videos of chicks I was banging, filming it without their knowledge. But...
No, that's fucking IMPOSSIBLE! I...we....
We all saw that footage from the street camera. You...he...you don't come back from that...you don't....WE ALL WATCHED YOU DIE!! I WAS AT YOUR GODDAMN FUNERAL! YOU SHOULD BE...
At that point, Dianna puts the saw down, pulls her bloodied latex gloves off, and calmly puts her hand on Chupa:You see, that's what happens when the old guard isn't around; people've stopped believing in the impossible. People like you and me, impossible was a daily occurrence. Movie spoofs, time warps, hell, I even helped Jimbo Chambers find a fucking sense of humor. You know how mathematically improbable that was? That fat black bastard had a stick shoved so far up his bulbous ass, I thought I'd need a tow truck to pull it out.
The good ol' days, man. When EWC was freakin' E....W...C....
Look at things now; they're fucked up. How else do you explain Jaden fucking Smith being EWC Champion, besides the fact I helped scramble Tony's poor psyche by showing back up in his life.
Plus, I think Metal hates you...
I know she's Tony's new party pal, but I swear to God and Stan Lee if Ms. Fat Booty keeps mean mugging me every time I'm around Tony, I will LITERALLY superkick the fucking gingivitis off her teeth. If there's a type of bitch I trust less than Philly bitches, it's broads from fucking broke ass, falling down, Faago drinking, Danny Brown listening, unleashing IC ass-clown P upon the Earth like a Biblical plague, demilitarized zone fuckin' Motown. Oh, and before you ask, since everybody's in a fuckin' tizzy over the murder thing...
Tony had nothing to do with that. That's my business with Jaded c***-Punter. And it's not what you fucking think, either. You know me; I like metaphors. it seems to be a lost art form these days with these ADHD having Pintrest and Internet gossip junkies. So, either accept things the way they are, that something good is finally coming back into yours and everybody's life in EWC, or...
*gets into that all-too familiar fighting stance Chupa witnessed time and time again in the ring while he was on break* Try to prove me wrong, pal. Just try it, and see what the hell happens.
There's a terse pause, an uncomfortable moment where things could go full blown Cuban missile crisis, but then, Chupa looks in her eyes, real long, real deep...
Jesus...Jesus H. Tittyfucking CHRIST...IT IS YOU!! But, how...
Maybe if you'd actually show up to dinner to Rosen's pad as requested, you might find out a few things, you sweet, sadistic jackass!
And uncharacteristically, El Chupacabra, one of the meanest, toughest, coldest sadist S.O.B's on Earth, upon realizing he just got one of his best friends back, God knows how, nearly breaks her ribcage with a great big hug!
OH FUCK YEAH...*looks at his shirt*...oh, fuck no; I got spleen all over my shirt. So, what now?
Well, a little club soda'll get that out. Club soda gets EVERYTHING out. Second, well...I kinda got a bit of a to-do list...*goes over and gets her notebook from the bag* Here...
1. Kick Jaden's bitch ass for being a pimple on the ass of God and professional wrestling.
2. Kick Mac's baldy sporting ass for letting said pimple fester until it's contaminated the entire fed, for betraying my buddy Van Wilder, and for taking the fucking chili cheese fries off the EWC breakroom menu.
3. Kick Karl's ass because, well, seriously, I've never gotten to punk a zombie apocalypse like Beecher in Oz in nearly 18+ years of wrestling, and I'm REALLY getting sick of the whole zombie craze. (WEREWOLVES ARE WAY COOLER, EAT A BAG OF DICKS, KARL!)
4. Destroy this weak, sorry assed, Bizarro world version of EWC, and make things like fun, creativity, and not having to sit through X's bullshit, Lawrence of Arabia length ring entrance ever again.
5. Return that copy of Boondock Saints to RedBox, because I'm probably THOUSANDS in debt to those devils, and I feel like a fool for not streaming my flicks, even though Tony and Cassandra taught me how to use Amazon Prime, like, a hundred times.
6. Get my Pez dispenser collection back from Mike Saint. That one might be the toughest tasks on the list. He LOVES those things!
Man, you are serious about this...
Especially the part about the chili cheese fries. Those things were freaking good!
Yeah; they were.
Just like old times, Chupes. We can stop and have a beer and a walk down memory lane later. After all...8slaps on a new pair of latex gloves*
These cadavers aren't going to dissolve themselves in hydrofluoric acid by themselves, now are they!?!?
TBC