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Rank：Diamond Member
- Score：643
- Posts：643
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From：Canada
- Register：12/07/2008 01:08 AM
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Date Posted：07/24/2016 15:18 PMCopy HTML
Super Bowl Sunday. One of the biggest American sports events in the year. I say one of… because there’s more. But I don’t know anything at all about sports. And sports are stupid. But this is the day where people have huge parties and sit around screaming at a television, hoping the people can hear them and do what they want.
But it doesn’t work like that, idiots. You’re all dumb.
So what do regular humans do at these parties? They drink beer, eat shitty finger foods, and sit and watch people hit each other, touch each other’s bums, and play with balls. Interesting stuff, right? Wrong. It’s not interesting. Why? Because it’s a fucking game. A FUCKING GAME. Fourth wall.
So here’s Rorie, standing in the middle of a room, surrounded by old people. Yes. Old people. Rorie only passionately hates a few things in the world. One… babies. Babies are fucking stupid. And two… old people. They smell, they’re old, and they don’t have teeth. Just like babies. Most would think of Rorie as a rich old man fucker. But that’s not the case. Never the case, really. She pulls in attractive rich dudes. Why would she need old ones? Hugh Hefner? Fuck that old sack of nasty. He probably smells like old cheese and mothballs. That’s fucking gross. Some would think Rorie is always just after money… but that’s not the case either. She’s a nymphomaniac. And for her, it’s usually attractive men. Or men that can give her some form of pleasure and money without taking pills or pulling from a 50 year old bank account. So the moral of the story at this very moment is that Rorie is in her own personal hell, minus the babies. And who put her there? What miserable bastard thought it would be funny?
Cyrus…. Fucking… Riddle.
Yeah. That guy. Tells her to go and set up this room for a Super Bowl party and that she’d be hosting. When she heard that, she instantly thought she would be surrounded by good-looking dick. But that wasn’t the case. She catered some food at Riddle’s expense and had some people come in to decorate. She even put on her tightest red dress to make sure she looked as hot as ever. All of it… all of it fucking wasted on old people.
Fuck this shit.
Rorie sighs loudly as she moves over to a table with glasses of wine already poured for people to take. She takes two and turns around to look at the room. She quickly downs the first, and then tosses back the second. Because the only way she was going to deal with these pricks was drunk. And since Cyrus specifically told her she had to stay and that he’d have “eyes” on her, she had no choice. When your Master tells you to do something, you do it… After putting up a fight and being spiteful, of course. She looks around the room, another sigh coming from her mouth.
Rorie Steele: “This is literally the only time I haven’t wanted to fuck anything in a room… Kill me now.”
She turns around to face the cups again, picking up another. At that very second, she feels a hand slap at her ass. Her grip tightened on the glass, threatening to break it. She turns her head to the side, looking at whoever was touching her through a side glare. She turns all the way around, anger on her face, staring at the short old man standing in front of her.
Rorie Steele: “What… the fuck… are you?”
The old man smiles huge, looking up at the dark-haired beauty in front of him.
Old Man: “I’m the best thing you’ve ever seen, baby.”
Rorie raised a brow.
Rorie Steele: “Highly fucking doubtful.”
She turned around again, downing the glass she held quickly. She picked up yet another glass. Once again, she felt a slap. She turned around, staring him down.
Rorie Steele: “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Old Man: “I just wanted another feel.”
Rorie’s hand squeezed the glass tightly.
Old Man: “Where were you 35 years ago, huh?”
The glass in Rorie’s hand suddenly breaks in her hand, glass falling to the ground. She shakes wine off of her hand as the stem smashes on the ground. She surprisingly doesn’t cut herself in any way. She glares down at the man.
Rorie Steele: “I wasn’t even fucking born, old man! Get out of my face. And if you touch me again, I’ll break your fucking brittle hand.”
She pushed past him to get to the bathroom on the other side of the room. She walked inside and went right to the sink, washing the wine from her hand. She sighed as she looked at herself in the mirror. She clenched her teeth for a moment.
Rorie Steele: “I fucking hate Cyrus.”
She rolled her eyes. She stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes, collecting herself. Then, as she looked at herself, she had an idea. She smirked and turned away from the sink, walking back out of the bathroom. She made a beeline for a small stage against the wall in the middle of the room. She stood there for a moment, looking around. She then walked closer to the microphone, tapping on it to get attention. Everyone turned to look at her.
Rorie Steele: “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Rorie Steele. I will be your host for the night. We’re here to celebrate…”
She looked around the room, trying to get a hint.
Rorie Steele: “Super Bowl… uhh…. 15?”
She raised a brow. That didn’t seem right.
Rorie Steele: “Oh… 50? Yeah. 50. This is a Super Bowl party. For some kind of sport thing.”
She paused looking around again. She saw some pictures of footballs and some random footballs displayed around the room.
Rorie Steele: “Oh! That football shit. Those guys make loads of cash…”
Some of the old women gasped at her swear. She looked around, forgetting where she was for a second.
Rorie Steele: “Right… Well this thingy doesn’t start for another 20 minutes, so I thought I’d take it upon myself to do some entertaining. Kind of a way for me to do kill two old people with one stone, you know?”
She smiled sweetly at the crowd. They looked a bit angry, but still paid attention.
Rorie Steele: “Now the thing is, I’m a wrestler. And something we have to do is shoot promos. What that means is… I talk shit about my opponent so that he knows I will fuck him up later.”
More gasps and angriness from the crowd. Rorie ignores it.
Rorie Steele: “So let’s begin, shall we? I don’t care if you dickholes know of whom I’m talking about, but his name is Darryl Wallace. Now Mr. Darryl is a special guy. And not in the sense that he’s special to me. Because that would be fucking gross. But more in the special needs way. Because the man is fucking retarded. We’re not PC here, folks.”
Rorie shrugs, removing the microphone from the stand.
Rorie Steele: “Darryl is just a ridiculous human being. If you saw him, you’d probably think to yourself, ‘Holy fuck! That guys head is shaped like a fucking perfect square!’ I know. Because I think the same thing every time I see him. Which explains the stupidity. His deformed head probably stopped his brain from forming properly, which, in turn, gave him super dumbshit strength and the power to be fucking annoyingly stupid. I assume that deformity came from his parents. But not even Perry is as dumb as Darryl. And he’s apparently the father. So there’s that.”
She looked around the room.
Rorie Steele: “Actually… You, sir. Your head is about the same squareness. Maybe you’re his grandfather. Everyone! Look at this man’s abnormal head! That’s what Darryl’s looks like.”
She obnoxiously points at an old man with a square head, resembling Darryl’s.
Rorie Steele: “Speaking of his family, that’s a whole other can of worms right there. The man claims all this loyalty to them. Acts as if he’s one of them and cares for them. Even told his father that I wanted to break up his family. Funny thing is… he’s doing that shit all by himself. One of his brothers is going through shit with a girlfriend and what’s he doing? Nothing. Not even looking for him. Just worrying about himself. Not to mention that other brother that he’s talking shit about as well. Fighting like little bitches. They’re a cancer on Twitter. The Bronx and Darryl show. And we all have to fucking suffer through it. He’s causing problems in the family himself. But I’m the one ruining the family, right? I’m the one who is a piece of shit? I’m the one who is tearing them apart? He’s a fucking hypocrite if I say so myself.”
Rorie rolls her eyes. She notices a couple old women facing each other in a group. They’re all talking quietly.
Rorie Steele: “Hey! HEY OLD BITCHES! Look at the fucking stage.”
She pointed them out. She glared at them all. They turned towards her.
Rorie Steele: “That’s fucking right. You look at me. Hear me? Don’t you dare talk over my promo, you hear me? Fucksakes.”
She shakes her head and looks around the room again. All eyes are on her.
Rorie Steele: “You know... Darryl said some interesting things about me. One thing was that I’m not really passionate about 4CW and wrestling. Which is funny… because I have tons of passion. Most of it is in the bedroom. But it’s there. And a few times had to do with 4CW roster members or staff. So… technically… I have tons of passion for this place.”
She winked.
Rorie Steele: “But really… I do have passion for wrestling. Loads of it. I’ll bring up W2k again…”
She paused.
Rorie Steele: “Oh... you guys didn’t hear my last promo. I talked about W2k. A place I used to wrestle in.”
She smiled sweetly.
Rorie Steele: “Anyways… I WAS W2k. That place was my company. I had the fans wrapped around my finger. I had the roster wrapped around my finger. I was the queen bee. Now you may think… who gives a shit about what I used to do. About my old stomping grounds. But that’s the thing. I’ve brought that same passion to 4CW. I’m going to make this place my fucking bitch. I will be the most amazing part of 4CW and nobody will stop me. Not you, not that cunt Aidan, not Cyrus Riddle, not anyone in this business.”
She smirks at the room. The males are enjoying the whole display. The old women are kind of rolling their eyes. Just like in the ring.
Rorie Steele: “Darryl thinks he’s going to be reborn during Adrenaline. Now that’s fucking priceless. Darryl Wallace’s rebirth. You know what I think?”
She points the microphone to an old man, inviting him to speak. As he opens his mouth to say something, she pulls the microphone away and back to her own lips.
Rorie Steele: “I don’t care what you think, Mick Jagger. Darryl is walking into Adrenaline looking to be born again… But I see it as Darryl’s afterbirth. Darryl isn’t that disgusting bundle of bullshit that all mommies get excited for. He’s the sticky placenta that some really fucked up people end up eating. In our story, Darryl get’s thrown into the toxic waste bin and we forget about him. Because he’s that terrible. Nobody wants to see you being birthed, Darryl. That’s gross. Having babies is gross. You… are gross. Placenta Wallace. You shall be referred to as that from now on. Enjoy your new persona, sugar.”
She laughs quietly.
Rorie Steele: “You know, Placenta… I was rather impressed by your first promo. I mean… You called almost everything I’d say. Admittedly, I gave you a bit of a mental pat on the back. But then… I thought about it. I’m quite a predictable person. Very predictable, in fact. It happens. But so are you. I didn’t watch your shitty promo prior to filming mine because I wanted to be unbiased. And in that sense, I ended up showing how predictable I could be with my words. But that’s all that’s predictable about me. I’m not predictable in the ring, sugar. Far from it, really. I may get frustrated at times, but that just causes me to be destructive. It causes me to lash out. Since you’ll be in there with me, I’ll lash out on you. And fuck… it will feel fucking awesome. I don’t give a shit what you said about me. That you called me out on what I’d say. I don’t give one solitary fuck about you.”
She started to pace slowly on the stage, looking around at the old people.
Rorie Steele: “You need to bite your tongue, Placenta. If you don’t, I’ll fucking cut it off and stuff it down your boxy throat. Nothing you say is worth shit. Silence is golden, sugar. It is pure. And then you open your fat fucking mouth and ruin it. You’re like the shitty person in a movie theatre that talks throughout and disturbs everyone around them. You’re probably that person and don’t even know it. And that’s fucking sad. Everyone hates you, doll. So… really… your little emo crying fits are kind of justified.”
She smirked.
Rorie Steele: “Spare me… spare us all the displeasure of seeing you in a ring ever again. Because most of the fans don’t want to see it. Even from what I’ve described, I’m assuming most people here in this room would say they don’t want to see you. Here… let’s ask. Who here wants to see Placenta wrestle?”
She pointed the microphone to the crown in front of her. Her eyes became slits as she glared at them all. A few chirped up, yelling about not wanting to see Darryl. A few raised their hands, but her glares made them slowly drop their hands. She brought the microphone back to her.
Rorie Steele: “Case in point. You’re desperate for attention and more pathetic than anyone I’ve ever met. And I know a lot of pathetic men, Placenta. A lot. You think anything you say will get to me? Do you really believe the words you preach? The shit that comes from your mouth? You’re fucking deluded. You’re completely ill informed about the bullshit lies you’ve come up with about me and you are a self-absorbed, self-centered, self-serving prick. Give us all a fucking break. I think everyone is ready to destroy their eardrums to avoid hearing the bullshit you come up with.”
Rorie shook her head.
Rorie Steele: “Notice when we had our little Twitter fight the other night, I had an answer for everything you came up with? Do you wonder why? Because everything you said was shit you pulled out of your ass. Pretending you were smart enough to come up with the shit you said. Please. You aren’t even close to being smart enough to beat me with words. You’re not even on my fucking level. You’re a fucking child, Placenta. More childish than the fact that I’m calling you female afterbirth right now. And that’s me being childish as fuck. You come up with these little stabs at me, thinking you’ll get under my skin. ‘No wonder your father left you’? Sugar… that’s coming from you? Perry left your dumb ass! He looked at your shitty deformed head and knew you’d be a disappointment. He is a smart man. And most likely better in bed than you as well. He even told me how sad he was to have you for a son. That’s how highly he thinks of you.”
She smirked again, looking around the room once again. Everyone stares up at her.
Rorie Steele: “You know what, Placenta… I’m ready to meet you in the ring. I’m ready right now to get in there and toss you around the fucking ring like a rag doll. I’m excited to clean the ring with your dumb fucking head. You’re a piece of shit. And I am above you in all ways. You better fucking bow down to me. You’ll be begging me for mercy. You’ll be calling me your Queen. You’ll be clawing at me. You’ll be down on your fucking knees, crying to me, wishing you could be a better man. A better wrestler. But it’s impossible. You’re not. You already beg for my attention enough… talking about me whenever you get the chance, it seems. Even when not meeting me in a match. But after this, you’ll do it on your knees. And I will kick you down and laugh at you. Pathetic Placenta Wallace.”
She bites her lip seductively, enjoying the thought of ruining him.
Rorie Steele: “Now, ladies and gents. I have a surprise for you before this party starts. We have a piñata for you to enjoy! And look at that! It’s in the shape of Placenta Wallace’s square head. Let’s get this thing cracked open, shall we?”
Rorie walks to grab a small bat behind her. She places the microphone back on its stand and jumps off the stage, walking to a piñata that had been lowered in the middle of the room. She hands off the bat, giving people chances to swing. Old people take their turns, not doing any damage at all. Rorie becomes annoyed with them all and snatches the bat from an old timer. In one quick swing, she smashes the piñata, opening it up. Out fall dentures and shitty old people hard candies that nobody likes. She smirks and picks up a set of dentures.
Rorie Steele: “Just wait, Placenta. You’ll need these after our match. More than Jason Cashe does.”
She smirked as the scene faded to black, old people behind he scrounging for free things on the floor. |
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