Post by Mickey Jones on Mar 10, 2022 7:55:46 GMT
Mickey Jones sat at the corner of the bar with a lung dart hanging from the side of his mouth and a half empty beer in front of him. His eyes are blood shot and surrounded by heavy dark bags like he has not slept in days. He takes a long drag off of his smoke and ashes into an empty rocks glass.
After my last showing I figure I would never hear from IWF beyond a short note saying I’m not the kind of wrestler that they’re looking for, and I wouldn’t have blamed them one bit. They gave me an opportunity and I shit the bed, plain and simple. Whats his name kicked my ass and sent me home with my tail between my legs like a neutered dog.
I was wrong though and my phone rang last night. It was someone from the IWF front office wanting me to come back for this Roulette thing that they’re having. Honestly it’s not something I’m really all the interested in because they obviously don’t give fuck about me. They’re just bringing me in because they can’t scrape up enough other swinging dicks for the match. There is no way in hell that I am going to be getting a job out of this and I was just about to tell them to get fucked when they told me that there was a nice paycheck and free round trip flight to Houston in it for me.
The kind of money that they offered me was going to pay for one hell of a bender while I’m away. Once that check clears I plan on surrounding myself with cheap hookers and blow until every single penny runs out. I’m only planning on stopping long enough to catch an Uber to the arena and take part in this stupid match. I want to party so hard that my family eventually files a missing person report because I left my phone in some filthy titty bar while getting a lap dance from the ugliest stripper in the world and eating chicken wings from their $2.99 all you can eat lunch buffet.
Jones stubs out his smoke and takes a sip of his beer.
I’m sure all of my opponents are going to spend all of their times talking about how great they are and how they’re going to win the match. I honestly couldn’t care less about winning the stupid thing, because what would I do with a shot at the World Championship. I’d be like a lamb led to the slaughter and it doesn’t matter if it’s Wraith or Nick Knight. I mean I couldn’t even beat some jobber to get a job with the company. No this is all simply about getting a pay check for me and then spending every dime of it before coming back to Chicago to tend bar and my old man’s tavern.
I guess I’m also supposed to talk about how great of an athlete I am, but I’m not going to try and bullshit you. I have two left feet and trip and fall on my ass more than a two year old wound up on Mountain Dew. When I was a kid I had so many bruises from falling that child protective services was called in to do an investigation. All they found was an eight year old that couldn’t walk and chew bubble gum at the same time being raised by a decent parent.
When it came to sports I always sucked, but I tried hard. When I got the high school I went out for football to carry on the family tradition, but after two years of playing Left Out I quit. The rest of the time until I dropped out was spent getting high and trying to get laid, which I was way better at then any sport. That’s probably why I have at least three kids that I know of, but honestly there’s probably more.
Mickey fires up a heater and takes a long drag.
The only thing that was close to being a sport I was ever worth a shit at was fighting, and I’m not talking about that dancing around boxing shit either. I’m talking about two guys throwing hands to prove who’s tougher. I’m pretty sure the only reason I ever won a fight though was the fact that you had to knock my ass out or I’d just keep coming. Hell even if you did knock me out you better grow eyes in the back of your head because I’m going to be coming after your ass just as soon as I wake up.
One of the neighborhood bullies found that one out the hard way. I stuck up for myself and he knocked me the fuck out and put my ass in the hospital for a week. When I got out I tracked his ass down and snuck up behind him and shattered a bottle on his melon. He went down like the two hundred pound shit that he is and then I put the boots to him and put him in the hospital for a month. It cost me six months in juvi, but it was worth every second.
Hell all of the time I was locked up was worth it, because I left every single person that fucked with me laid out and bleeding. I earned a reputation in my neighborhood as the crazy bastard that you didn’t want to mess with or you just might end up six feet under.
Jones grins ear to ear.
I still have that reputation and I haven’t been in a fight in a few years. I take my frustrations out in the wrestling ring and go home with fifty bucks in my pocket at the end of the night. So I guess in this Roulette match I’m just going to beat the shit out of some guys, get thrown over the top rope, and go right back to the party.
So if anyone is looking for me I’ll be at the sleaziest motel in Houston probably catching the clap.
After my last showing I figure I would never hear from IWF beyond a short note saying I’m not the kind of wrestler that they’re looking for, and I wouldn’t have blamed them one bit. They gave me an opportunity and I shit the bed, plain and simple. Whats his name kicked my ass and sent me home with my tail between my legs like a neutered dog.
I was wrong though and my phone rang last night. It was someone from the IWF front office wanting me to come back for this Roulette thing that they’re having. Honestly it’s not something I’m really all the interested in because they obviously don’t give fuck about me. They’re just bringing me in because they can’t scrape up enough other swinging dicks for the match. There is no way in hell that I am going to be getting a job out of this and I was just about to tell them to get fucked when they told me that there was a nice paycheck and free round trip flight to Houston in it for me.
The kind of money that they offered me was going to pay for one hell of a bender while I’m away. Once that check clears I plan on surrounding myself with cheap hookers and blow until every single penny runs out. I’m only planning on stopping long enough to catch an Uber to the arena and take part in this stupid match. I want to party so hard that my family eventually files a missing person report because I left my phone in some filthy titty bar while getting a lap dance from the ugliest stripper in the world and eating chicken wings from their $2.99 all you can eat lunch buffet.
Jones stubs out his smoke and takes a sip of his beer.
I’m sure all of my opponents are going to spend all of their times talking about how great they are and how they’re going to win the match. I honestly couldn’t care less about winning the stupid thing, because what would I do with a shot at the World Championship. I’d be like a lamb led to the slaughter and it doesn’t matter if it’s Wraith or Nick Knight. I mean I couldn’t even beat some jobber to get a job with the company. No this is all simply about getting a pay check for me and then spending every dime of it before coming back to Chicago to tend bar and my old man’s tavern.
I guess I’m also supposed to talk about how great of an athlete I am, but I’m not going to try and bullshit you. I have two left feet and trip and fall on my ass more than a two year old wound up on Mountain Dew. When I was a kid I had so many bruises from falling that child protective services was called in to do an investigation. All they found was an eight year old that couldn’t walk and chew bubble gum at the same time being raised by a decent parent.
When it came to sports I always sucked, but I tried hard. When I got the high school I went out for football to carry on the family tradition, but after two years of playing Left Out I quit. The rest of the time until I dropped out was spent getting high and trying to get laid, which I was way better at then any sport. That’s probably why I have at least three kids that I know of, but honestly there’s probably more.
Mickey fires up a heater and takes a long drag.
The only thing that was close to being a sport I was ever worth a shit at was fighting, and I’m not talking about that dancing around boxing shit either. I’m talking about two guys throwing hands to prove who’s tougher. I’m pretty sure the only reason I ever won a fight though was the fact that you had to knock my ass out or I’d just keep coming. Hell even if you did knock me out you better grow eyes in the back of your head because I’m going to be coming after your ass just as soon as I wake up.
One of the neighborhood bullies found that one out the hard way. I stuck up for myself and he knocked me the fuck out and put my ass in the hospital for a week. When I got out I tracked his ass down and snuck up behind him and shattered a bottle on his melon. He went down like the two hundred pound shit that he is and then I put the boots to him and put him in the hospital for a month. It cost me six months in juvi, but it was worth every second.
Hell all of the time I was locked up was worth it, because I left every single person that fucked with me laid out and bleeding. I earned a reputation in my neighborhood as the crazy bastard that you didn’t want to mess with or you just might end up six feet under.
Jones grins ear to ear.
I still have that reputation and I haven’t been in a fight in a few years. I take my frustrations out in the wrestling ring and go home with fifty bucks in my pocket at the end of the night. So I guess in this Roulette match I’m just going to beat the shit out of some guys, get thrown over the top rope, and go right back to the party.
So if anyone is looking for me I’ll be at the sleaziest motel in Houston probably catching the clap.
Well howdy there pardner.