Oh, Hells No!

[Notorious B.O.B.]

“I … I just …” his head shakes from side to side for a moment before flopping down and smacking against the desk, jostling the webcam. The faithful viewers waiting to see him pick his head back up, a smile on his face – but he doesn’t. It’s an uncomfortable few minutes before he lifts it back up, the red mark fading slowly, and no smile in sight.

“What am I supposed to do with this, guys?” Part of him, they all know, means this to be completely rhetorical, but they also have been watching this stream long enough to know when their fearless leader is slipping.

Within seconds the chat room is filled with advice, some tongue-in-cheek, but most serious. He sighs, eyes scanning the second monitor as he bites at his bottom lip.

“This week should have been different, you know” he finally says, eyes meeting the webcam once more as he sits up slightly. “This was going to be the debut of IWF’s new Invictus champion – a champion that fought through hell and back to prove that he was more than a one trick pony,” he clears his throat, “especially when that one trick is squandering opportunities” he adds.

“Jimmy and I, we went to war with each other knowing that only one of us was going to walk out of that match with his arm in the air; and I should be feeling like I’m still on cloud nine here, but I don’t.

I mean, IWF hasn’t even recognized me as their champion.” He reaches down, pulling the Invictus title from beneath the table. He holds it up for the camera to see the name plate which still says JAMES FRANKLIN KARN in block text. “I mean, it’s been a week or two hasn’t it? I feel like I should just head over to Hobby Lobby and pick up my own damn plate to slap over this. But,” he sighs, “it isn’t just the belt, look at the website. Every single day I open my computer and see Jimmy’s face staring back at me from that site – because as far as IWF seems to be concerned, he’s the champion.

Call is what you what, but maybe Jimmy and KIWA were right; maybe Raine isn’t just raging against the machine after all.

Even my match this week … instead of giving the fans what they’d love to see,” he grins, finally, “Bob Pooler versus Devlin Raine,” his eyes roll backwards as he seems to choke back the bile in his throat, “instead we get an inter-gender match with, probably, the single person in this entire company who I can’t stand …

… remember that this is a company that still employs Noah Field too, folks.

Now, outside of a few quips over Twitter, I haven’t really said anything about her have I?” he asks, turning to read the chat. “Yeah,” he confirms, “didn’t think I had; which is probably why I feel all this just bubbling to the surface, I guess I gotta get it off my chest before I throw her at Pandora and wash my hands of the whole thing.

Fiona McFly has been, for the most part, a great addition to this company. I mean, in her time here she’s enjoyed not one title shot, not two, but no less than a bakers dozen – and she’s come up empty each time.

Derek Brooks hasn’t hit payday yet either, but at least he’s starting to realize that the problem might be with him and not the company.

I mean,” he runs his hands through his hair, “for all the grief I’m giving IWF for dropping the ball with their website and a name plate,” he brings the title back up for a moment before dropping it back into his lap, “I still realize that at the end of the day this is a business – and right now there are probably bigger dealings going on that are delaying all my …” he pauses, his head shaking, “reasons for whining.

But I’ll be the first to admit, I’m being a whiner – I know that I’m the Invictus champion just as much as I’m sure ol’ Devlin Raine knows is. But Fifi over there, she doesn’t get it. She spends the majority of her time seeing conspiracies where there aren’t any.

I’m surprised she hasn’t found any ‘listening devices’ inside the microwaves backstage.”

He stops for a second, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “That’s IT,” he exclaims, slapping himself in the forehead, “that’s who she reminds me of … what’s her name, guys? That blonde chick who’s always yelling about shit – no, not Meghan Kelly … younger girl, I think she has just a web show – YES, that’s her!”

He points in the direction of the second monitor, which for the viewers is quickly superimposed over the top of the current picture. “CarRamRod, wins the prize! Tomi Lahren is the chick I’m thinking of, and damn does she remind me of Fifi.

In fact,” he says, scratching at his chin, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Fifi drinks at the fountain of Faux News and has her own little Cheeto Statue of the Donald that she says goodnight to before bed each night.

She’s crazy, she’s got weird opinions, I’m pretty sure she’s only got a work visa like most of us, and I'm supposed to trust her to watch my back? I’d be better off standing in one of the neutral corners – come to think of it,” he ponders, going back to scratching his chin, “nah, I don’t think Dev and Pan would let me hang out in their corner.

But,” he continues, “that’s the thing. I’m over here teaming up with that big ball of crazy, but I’m wasting all my time talking about her – especially with tonight being Rocket League streaming night.

So, let’s just agree to ignore She-Who-Must-Not-Breed, and focus on the actual task at hand – Devlin Raine.

Dude,” he smiles, “I have to say that I was on the edge of my seat watching you in the finals of the Cruiserweight Invitational. You know, it was only a year or two ago that I was crowned the Rey del Aire champion – but I don’t think I’d have faired as well against you lot in this tourney.

But seriously,” he continues, “you earned that trophy … that you had to, um, steal,” his eyebrow cocks upward as he tries to stifle a laugh, “but you more than earned that shot against JFK. The pair of you tore the house down and at the end of the night, while yours wasn't the arm raised, I knew it wasn’t the last time you’d be in a match with the Invictus champion.

And here we are,” he grins

“Different man behind the belt, but that doesn’t matter, eh? And while it isn’t on the line this week in our match, you better believe that I’m looking forward to defending this thing against you soon!

I guess,” he keeps going, rubbing the back of his head as he looks awkwardly at the webcam, “I should say something to Pan, but – sorry, bud, we haven’t really ever crossed paths. I mean, from the matches that I’ve caught of yours, you’re tough and I’ve got no doubt that you’ll give ol’ Trumpette more of a fight than she’s probably expecting.

I, honestly, wish you both the best of luck!”

He throws up two fingers before tapping at the keyboard and bringing up the Rocket League main menu, the ‘wrestling’ discussion portion of the stream coming to a close.