Post by M BISON on Jan 9, 2019 21:25:50 GMT -4
A white male in his late 40's, six feet tall, wearing a sandy blonde crew cut and five-o'-clock shadow over a turqoise business suit, angrily stomps down the backstage hallway of the Moda Center in Portland, Oregon. Blazers posters, concert flyers, and various notices adorn the walls, all of which go unnoticed by this man until he rips an unseen piece of paper off the wall. The man, obviously in charge of whatever event is occurring in this arena, glares at the small piece of paper that was attached to the wall of the Moda Center with a single piece of tape, before crunching it up and slamming it in a nearby trash can without a single breath.
"I've had it!"
He bursts through the next door to his left, swinging the door wide open into a locker room. There, the Tennessee-born wrestling veteran known to most as Metal Dragon sits on a bench, tightening his boots. MD darts his sights up.
"What's up, commish?"
The suited man charges up to MD.
"Don't fucking 'commish' me! Don't even bother putting your boots on! I've had it with your pranks!"
Dragon stands up, preparing for a fight but attempting to stay lighthearted.
"What's it this time?"
The commissioner of whatever wrestling show this is stamps his foot and goes red in the face. The screaming begins.
"You've come in here and insulted this city during MY BIGGEST SHOW EVER-"
"Fuck Portland, though-"
"-then you attack my champion with a chair-"
"I'm a wrestler-"
The angry pointing hand motions now begin.
"-then I come back and find you're responsible for all these obscene posters that have been placed everywhere! LEAVE THE FUCKING ARENA! You're banned! Get out!"
A smirking Metal Dragon does a double-take at his now-former boss, then backs up one step.
"Fine. You're right."
The boss relaxes, not happy with the decision he's felt necessary to make but no longer preparing for the situation to escalate.
"I stay pretty organized, so let me just zip this up."
"I should have listened to everyone when they warned about you. Thanks for the great matches, but you're not worth it anymore. You no longer work for Deities and Skeptics Wrestling. I'll have security escort you out."
The commissioner of DSW begins walking out of the room, but stops when prompted.
"Wait, one thing real quick?"
The suit-clad man stops, exhales, and turns around only to meet an unfriendly shoulder to the gut, a human spear that leaves him sprawled on the ground. MD scrambles to his feet, grabs his things, and steps over his former boss defiantly, leaving behind only one bit of wisdom.
"Those pictures? They're called Goatse. Get some culture."
Dragon keeps walking.
"Guess I'll head back down the coast."
End of Thread
"I've had it!"
He bursts through the next door to his left, swinging the door wide open into a locker room. There, the Tennessee-born wrestling veteran known to most as Metal Dragon sits on a bench, tightening his boots. MD darts his sights up.
"What's up, commish?"
The suited man charges up to MD.
"Don't fucking 'commish' me! Don't even bother putting your boots on! I've had it with your pranks!"
Dragon stands up, preparing for a fight but attempting to stay lighthearted.
"What's it this time?"
The commissioner of whatever wrestling show this is stamps his foot and goes red in the face. The screaming begins.
"You've come in here and insulted this city during MY BIGGEST SHOW EVER-"
"Fuck Portland, though-"
"-then you attack my champion with a chair-"
"I'm a wrestler-"
The angry pointing hand motions now begin.
"-then I come back and find you're responsible for all these obscene posters that have been placed everywhere! LEAVE THE FUCKING ARENA! You're banned! Get out!"
A smirking Metal Dragon does a double-take at his now-former boss, then backs up one step.
"Fine. You're right."
The boss relaxes, not happy with the decision he's felt necessary to make but no longer preparing for the situation to escalate.
"I stay pretty organized, so let me just zip this up."
"I should have listened to everyone when they warned about you. Thanks for the great matches, but you're not worth it anymore. You no longer work for Deities and Skeptics Wrestling. I'll have security escort you out."
The commissioner of DSW begins walking out of the room, but stops when prompted.
"Wait, one thing real quick?"
The suit-clad man stops, exhales, and turns around only to meet an unfriendly shoulder to the gut, a human spear that leaves him sprawled on the ground. MD scrambles to his feet, grabs his things, and steps over his former boss defiantly, leaving behind only one bit of wisdom.
"Those pictures? They're called Goatse. Get some culture."
Dragon keeps walking.
"Guess I'll head back down the coast."
End of Thread
