Chapter 1: Harts & Minds.>PVE snaps the lid of his gold zippo open and ignites a fresh cigar. Before him lies his most recent creation and well-needed addition to the 4Chan /pw/ Municipal Arena; a state-of-the-art training facility/dojo. Weight sets, cardio equipment, jungle gyms, crash mats, speed and punching bags, all brand new and still ripe with the fresh plastic smell. Here, right adjacent to the soon-to-be upgraded locker room will be where the gladiators of the future and the stars of K-WAB today will be able to train and hone their skills and bodies to their peak forms. In the corner was a full sized 20x20 foot wrestling ring fresh out of the factory and right beside it was a vacant corner for the soon to be built MMA octagon for the impending Gruesome Fighting league. Pepe grins at the prospect of having prize and purse fights and feuds be settled in even more violent fashion, and grinned even wider at the idea of stars from the fighting world be added to his growing roster as he was not one to discount any kino that the blood sports of the fighting world is able to bestow to his audience. Still…that was yet to be seen as plans change many times over and many times again in the wrestling bidness. He tilts his head back and blows a few rings of smoke into the air while checking the time piece at the end of his watch chain; almost time to tell the construction workers to call it for the day. As he makes his way over to the recently constructed juice bar, he beholds his recent investment with pride. Here is where the world’s best pro-wrestlers and fighters will come to hone and refine their skills while teaching the up and comers the ins and outs of the bidness. ‘Its gonna be litty’, Pepe smiles to himself. Sliding up to the juice bar, he squeezes out some fresh OJ into a glass and a little nip from the ol’ hip flask to put a little extra lead into his pencil.
>As he takes his first sip, the head foreman for the gym’s construction crew marches confidently right over to where PVE sat. Sporting his proper personal protection gear with the ensemble bright orange vest and neon-yellow construction hat and steel-toed boots, his tall, near 300 lbs employee beset his appearance and demeanour of a large St. Bernard, with the shaggy hair and beard to match. Reaching behind the bar, he pulls out a carton of milk while soaking his beard as he pounded it back, all while expertly balancing a large 2x4 of wood over his shoulder like he had done this countless times on a trapeze wire. He slammed the empty carton on the juice bar counter and let out a bovine-flavoured belch from the depth of his gut that rattled the gym’s mirrors. PVE chuckled at this bravado display.>”Good evening to you too, Mr. Duggan.” PVE nodded respectively.>"HOOOOOOOO!” bellowed Jim, making the weight sets vibrate and shake on their racks. “AND A FINE GOOD EVENING TO YOU TOO, SIR! BUT LET’S GET ONE THING STRAIGHT THERE, TOUGH GUY! MR. DUGGAN’S MY FATHERS NAME! IF YA DON’T MIND, LET’S JUST KEEP IT ‘HACKSAW’ FOR NOW, MY GOOD MAN!” He punctuated with a firm thumbs up and several high speed head nods while wiping his beard clean on his sleeve.>”Will do, Mr. Hacksaw,” PVE nodded back. “I must say, my good man, you’ve done a helluva job ‘round here with helping out with this h’yah gym. I appreciate you hooking me up with this fine lumber supply. You most certainly have good connections when it comes to quality wood, sir; the best one can get on this side of Dudleyville. Been doing a damn fine job what with it being on schedule and under budget too.”>Hacksaw enthusiastically waved it off, “NOOOOOOOOO QUESTION ABOUT IT! OL’ HACKSAW ONLY DELIVERS THE ABSOLUTE BEST!”
>>20872668stop posting you're bad at it
>A wide smile with a crazy but endearing gleam in his eyes twisted the facial hair on Duggan’s face. The thumb shot back up at the proposition.>”HOOOOO! OL’ HACKSAW LIKES THE SOUND OF THAT! I”D BE SURE TO GET YOUR LARD ASS JANNIES WORKING UP A STORM SO HARD ROUND THESE PARTS, THEY’LL GLADLY WIPE ALL THE SHIT ‘N PISS ON THE UNDERSIDES OF ALL THE TOILET SEATS HERE SPARKLING CLEAN WITH THEIR LIPS! HOOOOOO!! I’LL EVEN GET YOU A DISCOUNT ON THEIR GARNISHED WAGES!! AND YER DAMN RIGHTS OL’ HACKSAW WOULD LOVE TO WRASSLE FOR K-WAB! PLENTY OF TOUGH GUYS NEED TO FEEL THE OL’ TWO-BY-FOUR EQUALIZER AFTER A SOLID NIGHT OF ASS KICKIN’ ONLY HACKSAW JIM DUGGAN CAN DISH OUT! DRAFT ME THE CONTRACT! I’LL SIGN IT ASAP! HOOOOOOOOOO!”>”Beautiful,” PVE smiled. “Tell yo men to wrap up for the day. I’ll get right on the contract drafting immediately.” >”YOU GOT IT, MR. VON ERICH!” Hacksaw bellowed at full volume. “HEY THERE, BEFORE I GO, I SHOULD LET YA KNOW! THE CREW HEARD SOME NOISE COMING OUT OF THE BOILER ROOM NOT THAT LONG AGO! SOUNDED BIG, LIKE SOME SORT OF LARGE RAT OR SOMETHING! OL’ HACKSAW AIN’T A FRAIDY CAT SCARED OF SHIT SO DONCHA BE THINKIN’ THAT, BUT ONLY WOOD IS HACKSAW’S SPECIALITY, NOT RODENTS! MAYBE YA SHOULD GOOOOOOOO CHECK THAT OUT BEFORE YA GOOOO, GOOD SIR!”>With assurance he would do just that and with cordial good-byes and firm handshakes, Hacksaw rounded up his construction crew to call it quits and departed. >A few minutes later, PVE ventured deeper into the bowels of the arena and upon arriving at the boiler room, saw that the door was open by a crack. Creaking it slowly open wider, the inky black, vast darkness swallowed everything around him. Reaching blindly to the nearest wall, he felt out and flicked the switch to the lights.
>>20872680
*click!* >”Nuthin’,” Pepe muttered. “Fuckin’ jannies. Yeah, can’t wait to sick Hacksaw on ‘em for shit like this.” >Digging into his coat pocket for another fresh stoagie, he flicked his zippo lighter on again to ignite his cigar and then used it as a makeshift torch to light his way into the boiler room. The place was dusty and dirty and PVE grumbled at how filthy his suit was getting what with all this grime and cobwebs dangling about the further in he crept inside. Puffing harder on his cigar, he pushed gingerly into the dark, trying to see if there were any signs of pests as Hacksaw claimed. *squish!* >The sole of PVE’s $3000 crocodile-skin shoe mushed up something with that last step. Pointing his lighter down and looking at what he stepped on, he also noted that the concrete on the floor of the boiler room disappeared under his foot and was nothing but sod and dirt underneath. Making out his foot print in the dirt he saw.. >”Worms!” he murmured. “Yuck!” >As if on cue, something in the dark toppled over beside him. On instinct, PVE’s .44 magnum on his hip holster popped out with the hammer cocked and the barrel pointed forward next to the flickering flame of the lighter shaking in the dark.
>”Come out, you sumbitch rat!” he barked. “Imma fucking Wyatt fuckin’ Earp your ass!”>However, as he neared the source of the noise, PVE’s eyes made out of the dark a horrific and astounding sight. It first appeared as a rat of sorts, but the absolute biggest one he had ever saw. Ratty hair and brown fur, so it seemed. This was no rat, however. It was a man! If it could be called that from what PVE could see in the dark as his eyes squinted to make out what he was seeing. Sitting in a pile of filth and refuse and rocking back and forth at the base of the towering kettle-black boiler of the Municipal Arena, the twisted and mentally perturbed individual mournfully cried in a croaky, sad voice as the orange flames from PVE zippo made out the outline of a mask wrapped around on this poor souls face. Hunched over and still rocking back and forth, he cocked his head and grinned a toothless grin right into the zippo’s flame. As his knotty hair slid over his eyes with patches of it torn out at the root on his scalp, a shot of lightning hit PVE’s spine as he glimpsed at a horrific, scarred lump of mangled flesh where a human ear was supposed to be on the side of his head. Like a kick in the guts, he recognized it and who this man living in the arena boiler room was immediately. >”On the eighth day…” the deranged brute solemnly sighed, “God created…”
>”MANKIND!” PVE finished, incredulously. >The toothless grin the dark got wider. >”BANG BANG! ON THE MONEY, Mr. Von Erich!” Two pistol-hands shot up, causing PVE to immediately reholster his .44. Disregarding the filth and dirt around him, he sat down next to Mankind on the boiler room floor inside his nest of trash.>"Goddamn, Mr. Mankind, sir. How long have you been down here?!” PVE shoved away a pile of dusty, cum-crusted socks with his shoe. “Damn, bitch. You actually live like this?”>Mankind reached over for a candle and held it PVE’s zippo flame. The boiler room glowed brighter as Mankind’s eyes peered towards the ceiling.>”I’ve been down here long enough,” he hauntingly began like a ghostly preacher, trying to find the right words inside his scrambled brain, “to feel every show that you’ve held here’s energy as it rocks the foundation this arena is built on, Mr. Von Erich. I can feel it in every beam and pillar and piece of concrete mortar this building is made of; the cheers of the crowds as they watch men give their bodies, souls and careers for their never ending bloodlust. They witness the most brutal contests this sport has ever known in your very ring, sir!” He pointed that familiar set of wrapped fingers onto PVE’s shirt lapel, the very ones he crams down the throats of his victims as they succumb to the dreaded Mandible Claw.>”I implore of you, Mr. Von Erich, that you seek to unleash me upon the K-WAB wrestling federation. You must ready yourself and those loyal to you, for more wrath and carnage that only I can provide might just be able to ward it off. You have already saw to it to unleash mayhem for your audience.. You, Mr. Von Erich, made men bleed for you in your Crimson Cup tournament on Halloween! You, Mr. Von Erich, created in your mind ways to mutilate and render flesh for the bemusement of others! For the amusement…” he bowed his head solemnly.>”....of mankind.”
>”Sadly,” he continued, still rocking his body like a cornered escaped mental patient. “I sense…an impending peril.” >PVE had been quiet up until now. More than enough weird shit had just gone down for him to finally say something.>”What are you saying, sir? You telling me….there’s something coming?”>At the very mention of it, Mankind began thrashing wildly, tearing more clumps of his hair out by the root and tossing it into the air and squealing. PVE went stiff at the sudden outburst.>”There’s…” Mankind bit his knuckles until it drew blood, rocking hard enough to bang the back of his head against the arena boiler. “Ssssomething in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand what he’s got.” His shoulders jerked as he tried to conjure the right words, head cocking wildly. “I’m no Miss Cleo, Mr. Von Erich, but I don’t know where or when, but something is gonna happen to you soon that could have grave consequences if you don’t handle it well.” >Shocked but resolute, PVE asked further >”Mr. Mankind, could you clarify…” >Mankind’s hands wrapped around PVE’s shirt, not in intimidation, but desperation. >”MR. VON ERICH! DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE STUCK ON AN AIRPLANE FOR 14 HOURS WITH YOUR FLESH BURNING FROM THE DEATHMATCH THE NIGHT BEFORE?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO COME HOME AND YOUR WIFE ASKS YOU “WHAT’S BURNING?” WHEN YOU WALK INSIDE? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO SEE YOUR OWN EAR TOSSED INTO A TRASH CAN WELL, I DO! BANG BANG! IT’S SAFE TO SAY…” he paused to take some deep, huffing breaths, “THAT FOR ALL MY MADNESS AND PAIN THAT I KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” >Up until now, PVE noted Mankind hadn’t actually said anything of substance at all. He was known for his death defying fearlessness, but not clairvoyance, that’s for damn sure.
>”YOU MUST LISTEN TO ME, MR. VON ERICH!” Mankind squealed like a stuck pig, “I DON’T KNOW WHEN AND WHERE, BUT SOMETHING VERY BAD IS GONNA HAPPEN! AND I FEEL IT IS IN YOUR BEST INTEREST TO HAVE ME ON YOUR SIDE BEFORE IT DOES! EITHER YOU GET IT AWAY FROM HIM OR HE’S GONNA REALLY SCREW THINGS UP FOR EVERYONE!”>With that ominous and vague cry, Mankind then reached his hand down the front of his tights to where Mr. Socko could usually be found. Instead, he pulled out a whole handful of worms and stuffed some into his mouth. >”By the way,” he smiled in between chews, “I saw you step on some of my dinner earlier. I had The Boogeyman send me those here. He said it’s the best flavor and they actually do indeed come with a very pleasant crunch.” Mankind reached back down his tights and pulled out another handful while offering it to PVE.>”Ya hungry? Want some?” >PVE politely declined. >”I’m uhh, more of a KFC frog myself, Mr. Mankind.” He decided to keep talking seeing as to how he managed to catch him in something of a more lucid moment. “If I undahstand you, sir, you can uhhh..sense in the arena that there is something coming and that someone…has it. And they don’t know what they got but they would be better not having it since they don’t know what to do with it. And if whatever it is gets here to this arena, that you want to help stop it when it arrives. Is that what I’m gathering?” He couldn’t help but grasp at straws, “Would this…evil be something The Undertaker would be involved in? Word around the campfire is that he’s gathering his old badass crew to–”
>Mankind silenced him, “Like Pennywise said to Georgie, ‘Everything floats down here’. Yet in the boiler room, it all gets heard. The Undertaker’s hand is vast and evil, but this isn’t a malevolence that he controls and wields. Let’s just say: I wouldn’t open any strange packages in the future any time soon.” >”I’ll heed that warning,” PVE grimaced, noting to beef up security. >”So uhh…I’ll take that as my leave, then. I’ll also take that as an offer to join K-WAB for you to bestow your services of stopping this uhh…incoming threat, Mr. Mankind. I’ll get right on drafting you a contract that you will find to be very lucrative. You should be happy to know that your old friend, The Rock, has also made his way to my federation. It would be an honor to include yourself and him in my growing tag team division should you decide to pursue some gold here in your future.”>The old toothless grin came back out of the mask. “Thank you very much, Mr. Von Erich. Indeed, I would love to rekindle The Rock ‘n Sock Connection, but if the tag team championship belt is to fall into the hands of Mankind, then the WORLD’s championship belt must too! See to it that everyone in that soon to be refurbished locker room of yours knows that they’re all going to be on my list and I will run through all of them!”> PVE stood up and dusted off his suit.>”Will do. Tell ya what; looks like you got yourself set up nice down here. I’ll get you a cot and a flat screen TV. And I’ll be sure to get my secretary to send you a nice meal down here on a regular basis, or even just to bring your fat ass some cookies or something, shit. The ol’ worm diet so ain’t you. I’m gonna take off now and get all that arranged and I’m gonna…uhh…get ready for what’s coming, I guess. Take care, Mankind. I’ll get your contract ready and you can sign it when you’re ready.”
>After spending nearly a few hours in the shower cleaning up back at his office upstairs, PVE dries himself off with a towel before he noticed it sitting on his desk. It’s a large cardboard box, completely hot pink with a black bow tying it together. Alarmed and taking Mankind’s word to heart, PVE grabbed his .44 again and pointed it at the box as he unwrapped it.>Instead of some great evil, inside was a bottle of dark rum from Romero Distilling Co. and a letter inside of an envelope printed in lush golden ink and embroidery >Dear Mr. Pepe Von Erich, >You have been cordially invited to a meeting with the best there is, the best there was, and the best there ever will be, Bret “The Hitman” Hart, at his luxurious bar in the heart of beautiful Calgary, Alberta, Canada. This invitation is all inclusive, with hotel, transport and accommodation provided for on the house to show you the sights of the city prior to your rendezvous with the leader of the Hart Foundation himself to discuss in person the possibility and prospect of himself and a few of his familiar comrades in joining your professional wrestling establishment, K-WAB. Please accept this token of good will of the finest bottle “Hitman Edition” dark rum from the Great White North. Attached is contact information for confirmation of your arrival.>Kindest and warmest regards given most excellently executed,B. Hart.
>PVE stood stunned reading and rereading the letter over and over; in a heartbeat, he had completely forgotten about Mankind’s ominous warning. Von Erich could barely contain his immediate excitement and jubilation. An audience with the Hitman. In person. He hit his secretary intercom button in pure childhood excitement>”SUNNY! Call the airport right meow and tell them to get my private jet fuelled and ready in two hours! I’m going to Calgary, eh?! Git my shit packed! OH! And uh, before ya go uhh…draft up a contract for our arena’s boiler room resident, Mankind. I’ll get on negotiating if he wants to partake in my federation when I get back. And make sure that you toss him a sandwich from time to time. See if you can at least get a cot for him to sleep on and see if you can fish around for a CRT TV for him and maybe a N64 so he can at least play some Crash Bandicoot or something down there. Shit, y’know…in fact, write up two other copies of those contracts in case Dude Love and Cactus Jack decide to make an appearance here too. Don’t want to leave them left out at all. Anyway, Imma start getting ready here.”
>A while later, PVE with his limo packed and his last suitcase in tow, locks his office at the arena and made his way to his awaiting ride to the airport. The arena staff had long shut the place down and save for a sole spotlight shining down on the ring with red EXIT and fire alarm lights throughout, the whole facility was dark. PVE decided to cut his trek short by walking across the arena floor and cutting right through the ring itself to get to the main entrance. Just as he climbs through the ropes of the ring, the arena lights snap off with a solitary spotlight illuminating the ring’s canvas. A loud thunderclap boomed over the loudspeakers followed by all the LED screens flickering scenes of lighting streaking everywhere in unison. Just as Pepe was in the center of the ring grumbling about those damn pyro boys screwing things up, his eyes caught a flash of flapping feathers and squawking corvids from the rafters. Streaking down vertically from impossible heights, a dark blur descended from the heavens and landed in the ring next to him. As his eyes adjusted in the dark, the duster-clad being stood tall, adorned with a ghostly pale face and forlorn justice in his eyes.
>”STING!” PVE exclaimed in disbelief, “Goddamn, boy. How long you been hanging up there in the rafters?”>As if on cue, a crow flew down from the dark, inky black roof and perched itself on Sting’s shoulder, squawking at PVE in response.>”Let’s just say,” Sting began, stroking the plume on his feathered friends neck, “a little birdy told me about a tortured soul in the boiler room that’s been feeling the vibe of many a great…distrubing things that may be on its way here.” >”Yes, I uhh…just had a recent audience with Mankind,’ PVE stumbled, immediately remembering the ominous warning one of the faces of Foley heeded to him earlier. “He gave me…well…whatever he considers to be the low-down of what these feelings he has are, in his own way, of course. Sounds mighty…peculiar, if not thought provoking. I personally can’t think of anything off the top of my head as to what ominous happenings may be inbound, but he did sound somewhat shook up about it all.”>All while PVE spoke, Sting studied him through the end of his signature baseball bat swaying back and forth between them. >”Riddle me this, Mr. Von Erich; I have to say that as of late I have been a little perturbed about the going-ons around here. From Undertaker running rough-shod and gathering all evil towards him by reforming the Ministry, to Kevin Nash having several rendezvous’ with, let’s just say, nubian gentlemen, in the arena loading bays, the bathrooms, the janitor’s close–anyway, what I’m telling you is…K-WAB is heading for a collision course as it is, and if the cries of a raving lunatic in your boiler room tell me, he senses something big coming too. And it just can’t helped be noticed that you might be facilitating the arrival of some sort of incoming calamity; call me crazy, but its Mankind you ought to be doing that to.”
>PVE tried piecing it together while staring into the dark unflinching black eyes hidden underneath the blindingly white facepaint.>”Uhh…Mr. Borden sir, if I may be so bold as to refer you as that, I can only tell you what I know and that is I haven’t the foggiest as to what you or Mankind are talking about. If it must be known to you, I am just on my way out the door to catch a flight up to Canada for an audience with an old rival of yours, one Mr. Bret “The Hitman” Hart. He has made an overture to me that I hope will be mutually beneficial to my company and to His Excellency and I have been invited by Bret his’self to shmooze my heart out in person. Now, you and Bret may have had your clashes in the past, but as far as I can recall, you have something of a good standing with the Hart’s. I can assure you with all the essence in my amphibian body that I have no ill intention of bringing any sort of bad ju-ju to my wrestling federation. I can’t even begin to understand just what it is that’s got the two of you shook but I can see how important to you and to Mankind about maintaining law and order around h’yeah. If it makes you feel any better, I appreciate knowing now that your presence here will act as an intimidating, if not silent and brooding force, against whatever could be on its way. I feel good knowing you’re still committed to the fight for good in this world. Now I’d hate to cut this surprise meeting short, but I do have a plane to catch and my pilot, John Travolta, doesn’t like to be kept waiting. If you would like, I would be willing to discuss the prospects of a contract I could offer you upon your return in detail upon my return. You would make a FINE addition to the roster and I know you would bring something incredible to the table. Name your price, Mistah Sting, and I will match it.”
>After hearing all of this, through the paint PVE could see something of an acceptance of the story he had just heard and a relief seen on Sting’s face. It seemed that he believed PVE’s story and could discern no lie in his words. >”I’d like that, Mr. Von Erich. I’ll be sure to let the ol’ bird know when to stop by the office to pick up what contract you come up with and I’ll give you my word that I will read it and consider your offer…” >Just as PVE smiled and nodded at this and started for the ropes to climb out of the ring to the door, the business end of Sting’s bat pressed hard into PVE’s chest, creasing the fabric of his suit right above his heart. He locked eyes with the Stinger.
>”But I warn you…SIR,” PVE swore he saw the outline of a white scorpion in Sting’s glaring eyes, “if you permit or facilitate any injustice or malevolence under my watch while under your employ, there will be the most DIRE consequences for you…and your federation.” He brought the cold steel bat directly under PVE’s chin, culminating in a nervous gulp from the scared stiff amphibian.>”And one more thing…if you just so happen to be near where The Undertaker or any member in the Ministry of Darkness hangs out, you let them know that not only are they being both watched and judged for their transgressions, but put the word out: The Undertaker has a target on his back and will be on borrowed time and in store for some retribution for anything he has in store for K-WAB because him and I have an unsettled score to settle. I’m not afraid of caskets, lightning bolts, the ring shaking, smoke or even cucumbers. So sure…I’ll think about signing with K-WAB when you get back.”>And with that, the cold steel of the bat fell away as Sting dramatically opened the ropes up for Pepe to step through.>”I understand that you have a plane to catch.” Sting inquired.>Still a little shook, PVE cleared his throat after catching his breath. >”Uhh, yes. Thank you, Sting. I’ll see you when I have what you’re after–”>He didn’t get a chance to finish. Like a stone black streak, Sting had darted back up to the rafters and vanished into the black. Moments later, the arena’s lights powered back on. Motionless as he tried to gather his thoughts at everything that had just gone down, PVE opted to simply make his way to his car and not ask any further questions.
>Only a mere few hours later, PVE’s Gulfstream G700 private jets landing gear screeched to a halt on the icy tarmac of Calgary International Airport. After retrieving his luggage and carry-on bag, he came upon an Asian man with a distinct cowboy hat holding a placard with Von Erich’s initials on it by the limousine service terminal. It took him a brief moment, but he immediately recognized his limo driver.
>”Bless my ol’ swamp water! Jimmy Wang Yang! Now how in blazes did you make your way all the way up here in Canada?”>The slick handlebar mustache spread wide belying that recognizable grin.>”Well, howdy, partnah! Nice to meet you too, Mr. Von Erich. The ol’ limo/party bus business down in Cincinnati hit a bit of a lull, so Mr. Bret Hart invited me up here for a spell to make ends meet. The pay ain’t as good and the weather is not much to be desired for a good spell of the year, but nonetheless, its been real swell and great and easy gig. Let me git yer bags, sir. Hope you like listening to Johnny Cash.”>PVE stepped outside the airport into the cold Canadian winter as Jimmy packed his baggage into the limo trunk. It took a few flicks to light his cigar up but he was soon puffing and shivering in that frigid arctic air. Aurora borealis twinkled in the sky over distant Calgary and heavy flakes of snow drifted listlessly down from the skies near the looming nearby Rocky Mountains. His amphibian blood was a little too cold for Canada, but the warmth from his custom Russian Barguzin sable fur coat kept him at a cozy temperature.>”Jimmy? I gotta say, you oughta know by now that i’ve got a junior heavyweight/cruiserweight division slowly getting off the ground, sir. If your circumstances were to change and you needed a steadier form of income closer to home, by all means, here’s my card, my good man. It would be a fine addition to my roster if you were to ever consider becoming an addition to it.” >Jimmy slammed the trunk shut and cordially took PVE’s contact card.>”Dag’um, THANKS, Mr. Von Erich. For sure, I’d be interested in getting back in the ring! Now if you don’t mind, we best be moving.” Jimmy opened the limos rear door and directed PVE inside.
>The last thing PVE expected to see was company in the back of the limo. Once he settled into the back leather seat, he was immediately face to face with two big brown canine eyes. The portly dog woofed a greeting marked by a long string of drool out the crack of its mouth.>”Wait a cotton-picking damn minute, I’d recognize that pooch anywhere! Matilda, is that you?”>It was at that moment did PVE’s eyes get drawn up to who was holding the leash of such a rotund beast in his firm grasp. The unmistakable colours of the ol’ Union Jack shone softly in the limos dim rear seat mood lighting, the long braids with the coordinating red, white and blue beads holding them in place and that damn smile with that boyish grin. Sitting in the seat just next to Pepe was one of the finest son’s of England the isle’s ever produced.
>”My god…” Pepe almost choked on his cigar. “DAVEY BOY SMITH!!”>"Its an absolute FOINE pleasure to meet you, Mr. Von Erich!” Davey’s one free hand not scratching the white ears of Matilda extended forward to shake Pepe’s. In the midst of that rigorous and firm handshake, Pepe’s still starstruck eyes then caught who was sitting next to the British Bulldog in the back of the limo. Dark shades, leather jacket, and all the while stroking the length of an iconic goatee was none other than…
>”Sunuvabitch, if it ain’t the damn Anvil his’self, Jim Neidhart! My word, does Mr. “Hitman” ever know how to roll out the welcome wagon!”>The limo lunged forward and drove into the snowy streets of Calgary as the trio of revellers sipped complimentary whiskey out of the mini-bar on their way to the tavern.>”Now then, gentlemen.” PVE asked in between ice clinking into his glass, “to what do I owe the pleasure? >”Listen, Mistah Von Erich,” Davey Boy began, “We can’t thank you enough for soigning Bret to the company. We know that he is going to bring a quality in workmanship to your organization and prestige the likes of which hasn’t been seen before that only the boys of Stampede can delivah. Jim and I here had to take the opportunity to proposition you in person knowing that you were going to be in town.”>”Proposition me for what?” PVE couldn’t help but play coy knowing full well what was coming next. That old damn boyish smile hit Davey’s face again, but it was Neidhart who answered.>”PAYBACK! YA-HA-HA-HA!!” Jim blurted out boisterously. “The Hart Foundation getting back together to win gold, take names and crush and crunch anyone in our way is what we’re all about! Davey and I know Bret’s got bigger fish to fry and that he has dream matches with some of your best, but Davey and I here are on a different mission!”
>Matilda WOOF-WOOFED in excitement. Davey continued.>”I understand, Mr. Von Erich, that you have HBK and Triple Haitch under your employment, sir.” Davey shot a glance at Jim who returned it with a knowing glare at the mere mention of their names. “As you well know, we all have some…deep history with those two big fags. Bret’s got his sights on other things but you and I and well… we all know that he will likely be getting around to settling the score with them two nonces one way or the other on his own terms and on his time. Now other than your tag team, Gang and Gigadoimes toitles, you know damn well both Jim and I are top and the best contendahs you can get, but before we even consider wrestlin’ for K-WAB, we want it guaranteed that we are to be able to get our hands on both of those two and settle the score with them and wring their dirty little necks out once and for all.”>”Well well well,” PVE swigged back a mouthful of whiskey, “a desire to wrestle for me AND you have a vendetta to settle already in place upon your arrival. Yes, I know exactly what you’re talking about there, Bulldog. Shawn and Trips…yeah, they most certainly are in no short supply of enemies, but from what you and Jim are saying, is that you both wish to go for their throats immediately when you get there. I’m all for having a ready made feud on the cards for newcomers.”>Bulldog’s voice got a little bit more serious as he went on.>”Listen, I’m not one to tell anyone as to how they ought to be running their own company and what way to steer their ship and what have you, but I really got to level with you on this one. I hope you know how serious it is to not let those two goof fookin’ clowns any sort of leverage over you. If Shawn gets the belt or any sort of powah, he will turn whatever company you have into the shittah and will bitch at you along the way of it happening. And that goes double for that long nosed shitter, Triple Haitch.”
>PVE took a long drawn out puff from his cigar>”Well, first off, thank you for the warning, Mr. Smith. I assure you, sir; Triple H and Shawn are kept on firm and tight leashes and any tomfoolery or ballyhoo that they connive and conjure up during their pegging sessions to try and fuck with and usurp my company from under my grasp can and will be dealt with and punishment dolled out like a North Korean prison. I’m not one to inhibit or impede anyone’s ascension up the ranks of my federation so if either of them were to claim the world or tag team or any other accolade in my company than they are going to do it on their own merit, not just to have them and their friends at the top of the cards and only working with them while fucking over anyone else that ascends to that level. Fuck that shit. Trips and Shawn’s already have their own little wrestling feds to fuck around and fuck up with. It sure as shit ain’t gonna be mine. Now as for the two of you fine gentlemen signing to K-WAB–
>”We’re gonna need drugs!” Jim intterupted. “Lots and lots of drugs.”
>PVE pondered this briefly, “Gentlemen, if that is a prerequisite, I’ll tell you what: I’ve got some of the finest Colombian booger sugar this side of the Rio Grande coming through my arena, so peep ‘dis h’yeah: 10 kilo bags each signing bonus, plus guaranteed 8-ball in your own personal lockers in the change room for you before each match. Now how ‘bout ‘dat?”>Davey’s eyebrows shot straight up as Jim thought it over while returning an approving smirk mid-goatee stroke. >”Before we go further, I must ask,” Pepe poured himself another glass of whiskey. “I have also taken into consideration about the prospects of signing one ‘Flyin’ Brian Pillman to my fine organization for some time now. If indeed The Foundation were to reunite under K-WAB, will he be making himself an appearance anytime soon?”>Dave cocked his head up, “Brian’s on his own path these days, but I can assure you that he too is interested in joining. Whether he comes into the Foundation again is up to him, but the door’s always open. He mentioned that he may also heed his loyalties to the old Hollywood Blondes, which means…”>”Stunning” Steve Austin,’ PVE completed the thought. “Ol’ Stone Cold’s former persona. Huh. Well sir, the tag team division needs padding out. If Brian wants to join, he is more than welcome to choose where his loyalties lie, provided that it won’t cause any sort of rift between your two parties somewhere down the road.”>Davey shrugged, “That’s all up to Brian, of course. I love that lil’ bawh-stid, but he can be up his own arse sometimes, I tell ya. Had a few run-ins with tunnin’ Steve back in the day, but can’t deny he and Brian worked damn well together. IF Brian comes, you can guarantee he’d want Steve to be there, team or not.”
>The trio started hammering out other details that would be featured in the contracts in between more jello shots and lines. At long last, the limo pulled up under the neon glowing pink sign in front of Bret Hart’s own bar at 421 12 Ave SE Calgary.>”You won’t be joining me?” Pepe inquired as he stepped out into the bitter cold. >Davey politely declined, "Anvil and I have some of our own affairs to attend to. In the end, thank you for your time, Mr. Von Erich. Jimmy will bring the limo back once we’re done. Head on in. Bret’s waitin’ for ya.” Matilda woofed a friendly farewell after PVE gave her head a few hearty scratches before the limo vanished into the night.
>The cordial waitress recognized PVE walking in through the door and after a warm welcome. The place was packed and the party underway was loud and bumping. PVE bumped, grinded and Harlem shuffled his way through the dance floor just to remind himself and all the bitches there that he still had the moves. After cutting a few rugs and slamming a few shots, a hot little blonde waitress approached him and escorted him straight to a private booth in a remote area of the establishment.>”Mr. Hart will join you shortly. Is there anything that I can get you, sir? Everything you order is complimentary and on the house.”>Delighted at the hospitality while scanning through the menu, it didn’t take long for PVE to indulge his rumbling stomach.
>”I’ll have two number 9s...a number 9 large, a number 6 with extra dip, a number 7, two number 45s, one with cheese, and a large soda.”
>The waitress clicked her cowboy boots and vanished. Stretching out in his booth and taking in the scenery, PVE’s eyes scanned the other occupants of the VIP section. The only thing of interest was something of a combination of an oil spill and a crime scene. This fat fuck had waaay more fun than he ought to and it surprised PVE that this oaf wasn’t woken up and thrown out or being asked to leave for not only being completely shit faced and snoring loudly, but relegating his seating area to that of a NEET shut-in slob. He must be a regular patron or at the very least, someone of importance to not disturb for such leniency.. Slumped back in his booth, deafeningly loud Hawaiian shirt wide open, the remains of greasy food and chicken bones strewn across his immense bloated roid gut, with a table stacked with empty beer cans, vodka bottles, and assorted trash and dirty dishes. His hair was long and greasy, like it had recently been drenched in toilet water from a healthy round of vomiting earlier. PVE’s eyes couldn’t believe it when he finally made out who the hell it could be and his unlit cigar he had been chewing on hit the table.
>”Chris Jericho! Noooo waaay….”>Chris suddenly stirred at hearing his name and came out of his stupor momentarily, both to blurt something out and also yell something indiscriminate and rude at a passing waitress.>*hiccup* H-heeeeeeyy….driiiiink it iiiin, maaaaaaan….” was all Chris could mutter out loud before nodding off. None of the loud music blaring in the background seemed to even register whatsoever. >Not willing to risk some sort of bad confrontation or awkward unpleasantries, PVE took the opportunity to sneak over to Chris and place his custom calling card in his palm for him to find when he wakes and sobers up. Chris didn’t even move except give a very sleepy smile.
>After PVE returned to his table to his meal waiting for him and engorging himself on such a helping of food while tipping the cute Canadian waitress $200 US for a great evening and for clearing the table, it almost felt for a moment that the air in the whole bar got cleared out. It was no mistake who had just arrived in a billow of snow and cold wind, wearing those iconic aviator shades even at night, dark cowboy boots, denim jorts even in the winter, and that legendary leather jacket with the hot pink trim and tassels on the shoulders pauldrons and down the length of the sleeves. He slid right into PVE’s booth like he owned the place because well, he does.
>”Let me be the first to dispense the pleasantries and formalities by letting be the first to say what an honour it is to be a guess into your country and your fine establishment, Mr. Hitman. I have heard so much about this city and its history and contribution to the industry that I love and I can’t let you now how much I appreciate you having me be a guest here, however how brief.”>Bret removed the glasses after peeling off the jacket and giving that familiar flip of his hair out of his eyes.>”You had a good flight here, I take it?” Hart asked with that familiar boyish smirk.>PVE had the foresight to know he was also implying about the car ride with Davey and Jim he had earlier.
>”Yes, Mistah Hart. Thank you for asking. Smooth sailing over them Rocky Mountains, that’s for sure. As for Davey Boy and Jim, you can rest assured that their futures with K-WAB were already set in stone long before they ever took it upon themselves to reach out to me in such a way. Davey and Jim will be well paid and taken care of under my employ as we already briefly discussed on our way over here, along with that fine limo driver of yours as well. I have immeasurable respect for the accolades of the ol’ Hart Foundation, as well as all those legends of the past to come through this hyeah Stampede territory, and of course am looking forward to seeing them in action one more time. However, I should mention just how much Davey and Jim had…retribution on their minds. As privy as I am to their history with Shawn and Trips, the two of them seem somewhat anxious to settle old scores as being the first order of bidness they wish to make upon arrival at my beloved wrestling federation. I won’t stand in their way and assure you that Michaels and Hunter won’t get any forewarning from me whatsoever either. Those dicksuckers are always in need of getting taken down a peg, that’s for sure. Once the ink on the dotted line is signed and dry, you and your family will be making their home at K-WAB. You will make fine additions to my roster and whatever contributions to my organization you are able to make. Which reminds me…”
>”I know you have something of a…tumultuous relationship with some of your extended family members and those you consider family. I was just by chance curious if there was a possibility of one ‘Dynamite Kid’ Tommy Billington being interested in being offered a contract as well. ‘Dynamite’ is a provocative and volatile little fuck, but he is just the kind of dog I could use to let loose into the cruiserweight division. Him fucking up KENTA or even Amazing Red if I ever get my green hands on signing those little bastards may be just what I need.”
>Bret smiled begrudgingly, gesturing to the waitress to bring by a bottle of the good shit pronto. “‘Dynamite’s’ VERY open to climbing back into the ring for you, Mr. Von Erich. As for there being bad blood between him and I, we’ve had our…run-ins in the past, here and around the world. If I have a problem with Tommy, you and I both know where we can settle it. Davey, on the other hand, might be a whole other issue. I haven’t brought up the possibility of him and Tommy branching out to capture the tag belts on their own again, or if Davey’s going to stick to tagging with me and Jim, but there’s a little bit of animosity between him and Tommy, what with the whole Davey taking the whole ‘British Bulldog’ name after Tommy got released and well...Dynamite being Dynamite sticking syringes full of milk in Davey's ass while telling him its roids, that sorta thing.. I know they can get along if they have to, but you know Billington. He’s mad at the world. I mean, he’s only 5’8. Neidhart’s taken shits bigger than Tommy. However, Billington fears NO man. Its kinda up to him and Davey to hash it out or team back up if they choose, but uhh…just between you and me. Make sure Tommy’s got his own locker room if you do bring him in, don’t give him access to shotguns unless you’re absolute SURE about it, and uhhh….maaaaaybe hold off on signing The Quebecer’s for a while unless you’re interested in getting rid of the bodies of a few dead Frenchmen.”
>The waitress came by and served glasses of Romero Dark Rum and Crystal Skull vodka from Dan Akroyd’s personal batch in Ontario while leaving both bottles. Bret and PVE clinked glasses before swigging back>”There is someone else who would—” Bret began hesitantly>”Now that you mention it,” PVE groaned as the booze burned down his gullet, “I do have a growing women’s division under way and I would love Natalya and her big ol’ bimbo titties to–”>”Uhhh no, not her. I’ll throw your offer to her, though. I uhh, it was someone else who would really like to come wrestle for you that would bring, what’s that word, “kino”? Yeah, lots of that to your organization there, Mr. PVE. He’s another relative of mine…”>PVE hiccupped and burped up some dinner. “Who, Stu? Sheeeit, negro. I would LOVE to have yo’ daddy at my new wrestling dojo.”>Bret smiled. “Stu would love that. That’s uhh…not who I was referring to. I’ll tell you what; I’ll have it arranged that he tell it to you personally what his intentions are.”>"What, like Davey and Jim in the limo?”>”Nnnnot quite,” Bret grimaced. “He’s God knows where hiding from doing who knows what he’s into, but he will be contacting you soon through some unconventional means to talk, if you don’t mind. He says that he has a bargaining chip to get you interested in signing him, but I have no idea what that he means by that.”>PVE blinked, dumbfounded as to who Bret was building up to this great reveal. Maybe it was the booze or the sumptuous plate of buffalo chicken wings he downed earlier that he was still picking out of his teeth with his tongue, but it suddenly hit him in a moment of clarity like a kick in the nuts.
>”Teddy!? TEDDY HART?! THE ‘Terrible Ted’?! HE wants to sign with K-WAB?! HOLY SHIT! REALLY?! SAY WHAAAAT??!”>Bret had to shush PVE from sperging out in excitement.>”Try to keep it down, eh? Ted’s on the run at the moment and laying low I think up north some-” >"HOOOoooLLY SHEEPSHIT!” PVE couldn’t contain himself, “Teddy fuckin’ Hart in K-WAB! I don’t care what it takes, the answer is yes, Bret. Teddy can moonsault off the top of the arena vomiting all over himself all fucking night for all I care; Teddy and ‘Dynamite Kid’ in my cruiserweight division? Fuck yeeeeah!”>Bret smiled endearingly at this enthusiasm, “Just so you know that he and I…we’re not on the best of terms and that’s fine, but uhh…if you could perhaps do the same thing with me and Dynamite and uhh…keep out locker and dressing rooms separate?”>”Of course, of course! You got it! I’ll text Hacksaw to start getting some blueprints for separate soundproof locker rooms ready with the contracts outlined and everything!” >The two conversed further into the night after PVE calmed down enough to talk. >”Now that brings me to you, Mistah Hart. I for one want to thank you for already signing on the dotted with K-WAB, so now that I have expressed interest in getting well, half your family under my employ, I must ask if there is anything that you would like me to do for you or if there is anything you want to say? Your hospitality brought me all the way up here to our fine country and city and your fine entertainment establishment, you say what it is that you want and I will gladly give it to you.”
>Bret stared longingly into the distance; all over his bar were television screens playing footage from his best matches on loop with low, punk neon lighting accenting all corners of the place with wrestling memorabilia adorned on every wall. He took a long drawn out swig from his glass and didn’t even flinch after gulping it down in deep thought. He then looked Pepe Von Erich with that deep rooted conviction and determination that defined his career.>”You know its funny: when I had this same sort of talk with Eric Bischoff when I signed to WCW? I asked to be paid everything the top paid guy in the company was making at the time, plus one penny. Eric balked at the suggestion.” >”FUCK ERIC BISCHOFF!” PVE guffawed loud enough to turn heads in the bar, “He can go out of business in someone ELSES path! I can literally buy and sell his and Ted Turner’s pasty ass and whip both of them in fly fishing and sail boat racing, twice on Sunday. If I ever even THOUGHT about bringing Eric in to K-WAB, he can fucking run the concession stand at the arena and probably go out of business with that too. Bret? You don’t even have to ask for contract re-negotiations. I will fucking DOUBLE what the top dickhead in ol’ dubya-see-dubya was making when you signed. And I’ll throw in a fucking punchbowl full of pink M&M’s in your dressing room every time you change there. My fucking treat.”>Bret was stunned, but overwhelmed in relief and satisfaction. What he was primed to make in money notwithstanding, its not what he TRULY desired on a fundamental level.>”I want to thank you for that, but you know me. I’m not greedy for money; I’m greedy for respect. I know Davey and Jim have their gripes with Hunter and Shawn, as do I. Although I’ve patched things up with Shawn in the past, I’m not done drilling into that little bastards head who the best is…”>”...ever was and ever will be.” PVE added.
>Bret smiled, “I know I’ll cross paths with Shawn again sooner or later. And I and you know damn well Hunter’s on my hit list too. I don’t just want it to end there. I got BIGGER fish to fry than just patching up and prying open old wounds with Shawn for eternity. I want to have those dream matches everyone talks about. I want to get my trio of classics with Steamboat, I want to face Flair again without him fucking up our matches intentionally, I want to face Lesnar, DDP, Guerrero, Edge, Mysterio, Kurt Angle; I want to face The Rock, I want to square it off with Stone Cold again. I want to go against RVD and The Undertaker, I want to tear the houses down with Mr. Perfect again and…”>The passion was alight along with the fiery growl made famous by Stu in his voice listing down all the names but PVE knew who he wanted ultimately and what he wanted on the line when the opportunity arose and presented itself:
>”Hogan.” PVE finished Bret’s train of thought. “For the world championship, no doubt.”>Bret held back pain, tears, defiance, pride and stoicism. His hands balled up into fists. This was it. This is what he chased Hulk around through two companies. Him one on one with Hulk for the gold. PVE almost held back tears behind his smile at what the dimes from heaven would look like when he booked that main even at the end of an illustrious card.>”You will have all that and more, Mr. Hart. I ain’t like Vince and his dildos or Eric with his wife swapping. I keep my damn fucking word, pay my boys and deliver WRESTLING. I want all that as much as you. I sure as hell can’t wait to get started.”>The two kept talking until closing time about goals and intentions.>”Before you go, PVE. I have a favour to ask.”>”For you, Bret? Anything.”>”I have a very special guest in the VIP section that could really use a ride to the airport. Your limos out front and seeing as to how your hotel is on the way…”>”Bret, it would be my honour.”
>That old familiar smirk....As Bret got up to leave while donning his jacket, he tossed PVE his pair of pink Hitman shades.>”Sure you’ve been waiting since you were a kid for that, huh?” Bret smiled.>”You got no idea, Bret.” PVE smiled back.
>Outside in the cold Calgary winter, PVE puffed his cigar while leaning against his limo, awaiting for this passenger to wrap up his festivities inside and join him to the airport. After taking another long drag off his stoagie, the bar doors burst open. Pepe squinted to make out who this behemoth was, but his immense frame literally blotted out all light from the inside of the bar behind him. It was a mountain of a man and boy, was he drunk. VERY drunk. His voice rumbled and laughed in a throaty baritone that shook the limos windows. PVE’s jaw dropped along with his cigar. He couldn’t believe who his eyes finally made out in the dark.
>”Sweet merciful crap! A-A-Andre?!”>The Giant lumbered forward and placed a catcher-mitt sized palm on Pepe’s shoulder lovingly and also to hold him up. PVE’s traps strained under the weight as hot booze filled dragon’s breath literally warmed his face up in the Canadian winter through Andre’s famous rotten teeth.>”Roooh-hooo-hoooor,” Andre’s laughed deeply, “HAL-LOOOO!! You Pepe Von Erich, ehh? *burrp* K-RAAB wrestling, ehh? Hello, hello! Bonjouuuurrr….” the words slurred out in a mixture of broken English and mush-mouthed French in an inhuman low timber lower than PVE could ever possibly speak. He still couldn’t believe his eyes: all seven feet and five hundred pounds of completely shitfaced giant, with that gargantuan head and feet tucked into Texas size 22 boots. Even in the dark, he was startlingly large like a moving shadowy mountain of flesh. He teetered left and right while struggling to slide into the back of the limousine, prompting PVE to literally shove with all his strength this huge man in through the door. Finally pushing him in, PVE wiped the sweat off his head with a handkerchief before joining Andre in the back, who already was popping the cork off a spare bottle of champagne in the back.>”Andre! I–” PVE couldn’t even finish his sentence as Andre had already finished that bottle of champagne, letting out another huge belch as his large hand leaned out the window and crushed that bottle in his hand in a shower of green glass. >”Ahhh, don’t worry. Bret will get Jimmy Hart out there to clean that up! ROOOO-HOO-HOO! Bru-ra-hroom!” Andre laughed while bellowing to the driver, “Allons à l'aéroport!”
>Deciding to take the long scenic route, PVE and Andre the Giant rolled around the icy streets of Calgary in a limousine leaning heavily to the left with sparks flying from underneath the wheel, lighting up the night sky and snow covered roads. Jimmy Yang-Wang’s >”Mr. Andre, monsieur. Its an honour to finally meet you. What’s brought you out to this h’yeah city?”>Andre confided graciously that he had long history in Canada, meeting his best friend Frenchy Bernard here, training under both Stu Hart and Eduouard Carpentier and managing a restaurant in Montreal. Andre confided with Pepe how much he truly thought Canada was a special place. Halfway through their journey, Andre bellowed out the old familiar demand.>”MORE BEER!”>”I concur, boss. Jimmy? Hit up the nearest drive-thru liquor store and shit, let’s get some A&W Teen Burgers. I’m already hungry again.”>Splitting the case between the two of them and chowing down fast food bags chock full of gastric delights, Andre spoke candidly to PVE, slurringly, but with intention.
>"Oui, oui, ce serait un honneur pour moi de lutter pour la K-WAB. Il reste quelques détails à régler, mais je suis partant. Il ne faudra pas longtemps pour obtenir le feu vert des bonnes personnes, et je pourrai commencer bientôt. Quant à Teddy Hart... faites preuve d'indulgence. Il a ses problèmes, comme beaucoup de membres de la famille Hart, mais c'est un bon catcheur avec un cœur plus grand que le mien. Il est... un peu dérangé.">("Yes, yes, it would be an honor for me to wrestle for K-WAB. There are a few details left to iron out, but I’m on board. It won’t take long to get the green light from the right people, and I’ll be able to start soon. As for Teddy Hart... please go easy on him. He has his issues, like many members of the Hart family, but he’s a good wrestler with a heart bigger than mine. He is... a bit unhinged.)
>PVE loosely translated in his head what The Boss was saying, but decided to nod along regardless. That big rotten tooth grin spread across Andre’s face once again while shaking Pepe’s hand as the limo pulled back up to Calgary airport. Stepping out of the car to pull on Andre’s arm again to help unwedge him from the door, PVE turned around and came faced to face with a stout blonde man with a nonplussed, unimpressed look on his face.>”Well well, I feel bad for whatever princess ever would convince herself to kiss YOU to turn into a prince.”>”Bobby Heenan,” Pepe recognized that rapier wit anywhere. >Heenan acknowledge Andre and immediately went to the trunk to pull out The Giant’s luggage while shamelessly blowing PVE off dismissively>”I should have expected to meet you somewhere along the dusty road wherever The Giant ended up,” PVE exclaimed while pulling out a fresh cigar. He was drunk, full of greasy food and struggling to stand up straight, but he needed to relax now that he was in the presence of that dastardly Weasal. “Although, I find it surprising you would even leave Hollywood to go anywhere up here in Canada."
>”Dusty Rhodes wouldn’t be caught dead up here, either. Especially after having to set my watch back to 1954 the moment my plane crossed the border.” Heenan stacked Andre’s luggage up on the curb while pointing a thumb at himself and Andre. “I go where The Boss goes, I take care of what The Boss doesn’t have to, including business arrangements. ESPECIALLY business arrangements. And if The Boss feels that his business should take him all the way up to this Arctic hellhole to sit and drink booze at that oily-headed greaseball Bret Hart’s stinky watering hole, then more to him. I’ll be there to drop him off, catch my flight back to the beaches of Malibu for him to enjoy the moose and ten feet of snow to his hearts content, and then I’m back here to make sure he gets to the next town on time with the opponents and all-comers still coming while the money flows in our pockets. MY pockets! And if business is too shady as it would be coming from an oversized Kermit in a suit cheaper than what Monsoon would wear such as yourself, then I’m there to make sure MY client gets the best flight out of there to leave that would-be promoter and his little pissant wrestling fed in the flyover crapholes that spawned it!”>PVE had long come to expect coming under the sharp-tongued ire of Bobby Heenan sooner or later but he was especially worked up right now. PVE may have been shitfaced, but he wasn’t going to stand there and take such insubordinate barbs no matter how hard it was to stand at the moment or who was saying it>”Now see h’yeah, Mistah Heenan…”
>Bobby however, was having none of it. He pointing his thick, sausage finger right back in to PVE’s chest, raising his voice high enough to catch attention from nearby passengers walking into the terminal and spoke with that razor sharp bravado even through that famous lisp. >”UH-UH, NO! Now you see HERE and YOU get something straight, Mr. Pee-Pee Frog! You had best not do that name of yours a disservice; I KNEW the Von Erich’s! I BLED with the Von Erich’s! I knew and watched all those boys grow up! There is more than one dynasty in wrestling, but like hell you would ever hear that out of ol ‘Cowboy’ Bret Hart’s mouth in between being screwed and boo-hooing over Shawn Michaels instead of kissing each other and making up! And he would know all about that cowboy stuff what with all the hanging around that horses ass Jim Neidhart he did over the years in that Foundation stable. “Stables” are for horses such as them; The Heenan Family are much more tight knit than a bunch of fat old clydesdales, but rest assured; I know how to make, break, and breed prize winning stallions, you understand?!”
>Somehow in the middle of being on the receiving end of Heenan’s stern lecture, PVE didn’t even hear or notice Andre standing directly behind him, looming over in silence as he watched the scene unfold with that neutral, half-sleepy eyed stare of his like the WM III staredown. Not that it would ever cross PVE’s mind to ever lay hand on Bobby unless otherwise provoked and attacked first yes, but getting squashed under Andre’s glaring eyes was just as bad as being under his foot if he were to make the wrong move at the moment. The Giant was subtly letting PVE know that although he would wrestle for him, that there are other loyalties of his that are unbreakable. PVE had to snap out of it after becoming aware of this while pretending to still be listening to Heenan’s dressing down.
>”...so as I was saying’ Heenan rolled on, the large vein in his forehead not able to stop throbbing prominently out mid-rant, “any sorta ‘business’ you two chuckled and guffawed about in the back of the limo is null and void; I will be the one you will submit any contract and legal document to regarding Andre and where he will wrestle. I will be who you dole out the paychecks to, and we only accept cash. NO exceptions! And so if you get a contract that is good enough for me to even CONSIDER looking at, you best put the word out that there’s going to be a reckoning coming to K-WAB and let it be known to any jackass you got slumming around in that filthy locker room of yours that there’s going to be a NEW sheriff in town, and I’m not talking about that cat dad "Stone Cold" Steve Austin fartin’ around on an ATV either.”
>PVE knew what the score was; you HAVE to be a prick in this bidness. Any other time he would have given Bobby the what’s what, but neither of them were in the US and Pepe wasnt interested in spending the night in some Canadian drunk tank or Soviet Canuckistan gulag up in the North West Territories or something. All that PVE could think about is Andre’s name going on the fat contract he was going to cook up for him and the kino that was going to happen with such an acquisition. With a crowd of onlooking boarding passengers beginning to stir nearby with very nervous airport security guys nervously eyeing up the situation involving such an abnormally large human, PVE wanted to simply wrap this up so he could get out of the cold faster. And although he was willing to give Andre a pass on this one, Pepe sure as hell wasn’t going to let Heenan get away with dressing him down in public like this and smirked at what he was going to cook up for Bobby in the future.>”Yeah, I understand, Brain. I hear ya...” >Heenan snarled like a chihuahua punching above his weight, “You had better!” as he bent over to retrieve Andre’s luggage off the curb. >“Now let’s go, boss. Your flight’s leaving.” >Andre and PVE exchanged tense, silent looks as The Giant lumbered off behind Bobby to get into an airport taxi and like Pepe’s limo earlier, the wheels sparked under Andre’s weight as it drove off to his terminal.
>On the way back to his hotel, PVE sat in the back of the limousine somewhat dejected at this intimidation tactic. Relaxing the further the car drove into the night, the anxiety and tension came back in full swing as from behind the car, the all too familiar red and blue lights of a police cruiser began flashing demanding the car pull over.>”Jesus, Jimmy!” PVE called out to the front of the limo. “Were you speeding?! You update the insurance on this rig?”>”Y-yessir, Mr. Von Erich. I’m not sure what’s going on here but just be cool. I’ll take care of it.”>The looming shadow of the officer strode past PVE’s window right up to the driver. In the dark of the Canadian winter stood the stark and distinct crimson Red Serge uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police that seemingly flashed as cars on the highway drove by. A long nightstick tapped on Jimmy Wang Yang’s driver window, instructing him to roll it down.>Jimmy handed over his license and registration. >”What seems to be the problem, off–” >The cop immediately began singing a jaunty tune:
>”I'm the Mountie!”>”I'm handsome!”>”I'm brave!”>”I'm strong!”>”I'm the Mountie!”>”And I enforce da Law!”
levitating business lady
>PVE blinked, “Jacque Rougeau?” >Jacque turned on a dime and marched back to PVE’s window, giving it the same tap-tap-taparoo with his black nightstick. PVE diligently rolled down his window a tad. ”Is there a problem, monsieur?” >It looks to me,” Jacques hon-hon-hon’d, “zat YOU are driving around with a busted tail light!”>Jimmy unbuckled and stepped out of the drivers seat to come back to the rear to see what The Mountie was talking about but saw no damage.>”Which one?” Jimmy asked and watched in shock as Jacque’s nightstick then smashed the light’s glass.
>"Hey!” Jimmy barked. “What the fu–urk!”>The Mountie’s nightstick then struck Jimmy’s stomach, doubling him over, and he followed it up with a complimentary blow across his back, sending Wang-Yang to his knees and finishing it with a solitary kick to the head. PVE jumped out of the back of the limousine.>”HEY, WHAT DA’ HAY-ELL?!”>The Mountie shoved the nightstick into PVE’s chin, stopping him dead in his tracks.>"Compliments of Monsieur Bobby Heenan, eh? Best watch your step, ehh?!” He laughed out loud as he turned back to his police cruiser, shouting “I’M THE MOUNTIE!!” while cackling and boisterously thrusting his hips in while he got back in his Crown Victoria and skidded off while cackling “Au Revoir!” at the two of them as he vanished down the highway. PVE helped Jimmy to his feet.
>Wang-Yang nursed a slow growing goose egg on his head, “I’m gonna get that sneaky fuckin’ Frenchman,” he groaned.>PVE dusted Jimmy off. “Hey, don’t worry about the light. I’ll cut you a cheque before I leave.” Pepe had already made his mind up about what he was going to do to Heenan once the opportune moment arose and he began formulated a plan to get him to where he needed him to pull it off. He WILL answer for this, he and that dipshit cheese-eating surrender monkey cop friend of his.>”Jimmy? If you’re good enough to drive, I’ll be happy to fill you in on how we can go about getting that done.”
>Giving Jimmy Wang-Yang his regards and extra thousand dollars for his trouble after being let off at his hotel, PVE dragged his feet walking into his 5 star hotel suite. He was still drunk, full of food and now in something of a surly mood as to how his trip ended up going. Canada is a fucked up place. >Having himself a nightcap and an end of the day cigar, there was a knock on his door. Confused as to who it could be, he opened it to see a busboy standing before him holding a laptop computer.>”Sorry to disturb you, sir, but this was delivered at the front desk earlier and had your name on as the recipient.”>Tipping the busboy and requesting a bottle of Wild Turkey be sent up later, PVE took the lap top and opened it. A sticky note left on the screen had a black crayon scribbled message on it that looked like it was drawn by a toddler TURN ME ON RIGHT NOW!!>Pressing the power on and waiting for the operating system to finish loading, it was only on momentarily before a live feed video began. On the other end was a man sitting at a table with a pile of marijuana shake piled up with several buds and stacks of dollar bills laid out and around all over the place. Cats jumped up and down in the background on every ledge and surface they could leap onto and adorned every cat tree and surface within the frame of the computer screen. Behind him was an immense cabinet filled with every crystal that one could think of; quartz, amethyst, jade, obsidian; all of them arranged in a holistic way. The man on the other end was wearing a simple wifebeater with a very expensive gold chain around his neck and several rings on his fingers. He stared into the webcam with a furrowed brow as he rolled an extremely large joint for himself. He needed no introduction, for he had a reputation of quickly filling you in on just who he was.
>”Uhh…good evening there, Mr. Teddy Hart, sir. My name is Pepe—”>”Yeah yeah, I know exactly who you are, frog face.”>”Teddy? Where the hell are you?” would be the last thing PVE would say for a little while and even he knew it.>Teddy’s joint sparked up. And off to the races he went….
> ”Where I am doesn’t matter. Listen, I’m more than certain that my reputation precedes me and I’m not here to bullshit anything about anything to anyone. I’m a straight up guy, I’ve been through the system, I’ve paid my debt to society. I didn’t take anything from anyone and I don’t fuck around. That’s how I was able to get through the prison system and how I was able to beat any of those allegations that you may have heard about which were false and completely made up bullshit and had nothing to do with me and as far as I’m concerned, I think you would be best to have me be a part of your K-ROCK or K-DABS or whatever wrestling organization because I can bring something to the table that no one has ever seen. I’m an innovator, I’m a risk taker. I’m a pioneer. I risk my life every night spot-monkeying in this business that I was born and bred to be in all because I want to make people smile. How many guys do you know of that does moonsaults off the roof of Denny’s restaurants just for the hell of it all because they said I couldn’t eat there without eating a shirt? You name any move that I invented in the early 2000s, you name any one of them, and every single indy shitter that you see on NXT is doing the exact same things that I invented, sir. I know my shit. I know my worth. I know how to get shit done. I ran wrestling school for 20 years and helped law enforcement grab pedos and sexual offenders off the streets because of all the prostitutes I hang out with get the drop on these creeps. And I’ve been an asset and a student and have a legacy in this business promoting midgets and giants and all sorts of shit. I know what I can bring to the table and I know that there is for what its worth, something ol’ Teddy Hart is able to acquire for you. I make what’s hard easy, I’m the guy that brings a fucking cat to the ring. I’m the only goddamn wrestler in the world that can brag that they were signed to the WWF at 18 years old."
>"I was the kid doing crazy flips off the top rope. Nobody was doing that at the time in the capacity that I was. And I was doing that all on my own, I don’t do drugs. I never smoked crack. I never took a painkiller. I never took a Tylenol. I’ve never done any of that shit. I heard that there’s lots of drugs going through your company and how loose you are with the drugs and all that and you know what? I’m cool with that. That’s why I know I can fit in because all I do is weed and ol’ Teddy Hart is able to hook you and everyone in the locker room up with weed. I can be your hook up and I will get you the best shit because Teddy Hart delivers. You sign me to your company, I will get you the absolute primo shit and i will get it to you quick and fast and clean, no herbicides or bug spray shit or none of that. Clean and high quality shit. That’s what I do. And if things go well, I’ll cut you in on the profits and we can make some real fucking money. I can get a little grow up going over there at your arena and we can get some of the best stuff to everyone and have the audience all smoking the stuff and maybe even have it pumped int through air conditioning so that everyone gets high. You hang out with me long enough sir, I know that you’re going to walk away as a friend. I’ll get some drinks with you sometime when I’m done dealing with what I’m dealing with. I’ll buy you a meal and after I drop you off you’re going to say, “Wow, teddy Hart is a straight up guy. He’s awesome. He gave me a t-shirt. He tossed me a cat or two. And I think he was awesome and would be a very good fit for my promotion.: As I was saying, all you gotta do is just watch my highlight reel because the proof is in the pudding and the evidence is on tape and you can see that I have something that very few people in the whole fucking world I has.
>"I have natural talent, sir. I have natural ability. I never had a bad match and never heard any mother fucker in life and as a result, I invented more wrestling moves than any other wrestler in the fucking world. I have God’s blessing and over 25 years of wrestling and to be honest? To even give you 5 minutes of my time is something that you should be grateful for having because of my reputation. I’m a high in demand guy; I’ve travelled the world, I’ve done things no other wrestler has ever done and innovated in ways no other person can ever seem to catch up to and accomplish all on their own. I’ve been In fucking ROH, MLC, AAA, Stampede Wrestling, MLW and that’s no small feat, sir. I think you’re the kind of guy that after watching one of my many highlight reels whether I wrestled in front of 60’000 fans or 600 in a bar somewhere. Teddy Hart delivers. Teddy Hart is the coolest guy in the world. I love Teddy Hart. You love Teddy Hart. Everybody loves Teddy Hart, and I know there’s lots of people that says shit about me but let’s be frank; I’ve talked to the cops, I’ve talked to the lawyers, I’ve talked to the judges and even they know that Teddy Hart is innocent and is a straight up awesome guy. Its public record now. And let me just say that I’m afraid of no man and always believed it ain’t the size of the dog in the fight its the size of the fight inside the dog. I’ll take on any wrestler in any division you have. I know I’m a cruiserweight, but dude? I will fuck up everyone and tear a hole through the asshole of any roster you put me up against. I don’t care how big they are or how mean they think they can be; I will beat their asses fair and square in the ring that you have and will make sure every fan there walks outknowing in their hearts that Teddy Hart is the best. >"And that’s a guarandamnfucking-tee, sir."
>"Teddy Hart has smoked a lot of pot over the years but when you got guys like RVD doing cool moves and flips and kicks and never hurting anyone intentionally then its like, dude. I’ve proven that I’m capable of doing the exact same thing; never hurt anybody. I’ve always had a never quit, never say die attitude and you gotta keep going and all that. And that if Teddy Hart can still go and still climb to the top ropes and motivate myself, than anybody can do it. And its hard to be innovative; not everyone can go out there and invent wrestling moves and not fuck up and keep changing your style and keep up with the times and keep up with all the competition that’s out there with all the young guys and I know that you got a pretty stacked roster that’s not going to stop growing anytime soon but rest assured, that I will be able to force my way to the top because I don’t quit. I’m a never say die guy. I’ve paid my dues. I’ve travelled the world. I’ve seen things a lot of guys haven’t seen, I’ve been through some highs and lows and some pretty fucking tragic times but what I’m here to tell you is that Teddy Hart will be able to deliver what it is that your company needs and I’m not just some journeyman bitch that runs $500 a week shows in some sweatbox meat packing plant taking bumps and high risk moves and walking away all bloodied up with my brains all rattled like a big ol’ pan of scrambly eggs. Teddy Hart is not some fucking rookie that needs to be taught how to sell a punch or moves and any of that; I’m a total package. I’ve got a great reputation as a guy that can go and you put me in the ring with anybody, you will see it for yourself. Whether it be Chris Jericho or AJ Styles or Sting or Hulk Hogan or anyone; Teddy Hart will give %110 with whoever he is up against."
>"I’ve never asked for a job, I’ve never needed to. My work speaks for itself and I’ve never been some fucking make with his dick and his bags in his hands hanging out side the arena trying to get noticed by anyone. I’m a pretty legitimate tough guy.”
>PVE more or less zoned out about halfway through this rant but in the off-chance moment he was able to interject just so he could say something and contribute to the conversation somehow, so he had to pick his spot.>”Uhh…Teddy? If-if-if I may uhh….say something so that you can catch your breath, let me just start off in saying that K-WAB is extremely enthusiastic about the prospect of you becoming a fixture and would benefit immensely from your contribution, both in and out of the ring. I no doubt question the validity of your wrestling talent and all that. I know that you pride yourself on never having to ask for a job anywhere, but you are most definitely someone I would extend my most gracious welcome to and pay generously for the opportunity. As for your uhh…well, I don’t wish to pry but uhhh…current legal predicament? Yeah, that’ll do. Just know that since money isn’t an issue, I would be willing to do my absolute best to pull some strings with this country’s immigration and law enforcement agencies to get you a VISA to be able leave Canada and square it off and straighten it out with them. Those are the lengths that I am willing to undergo in order to get you to perform for my country and after we hammer out the details on the agreement, the skies the limit form there. Now I know that you’ve had some less than pleasant family issues over the years and have heard many of the disparaging word you have for your relative, Bret Hart. Just so you know that—”
>Von Erich couldn’t even finish the sentence because somehow through all the weed smoke the small laptop screen displayed as it whirled around Teddy’s head, the very mention of Bret’s name sent Teddy almost into conniptions. About halfway through the second part of Teddy’s long winded rant, PVE got another knock on his door. Jumping in seat, as he told Teddy where he was going and what he was doing but curiously, even Teddy acknowledged the interruption.>”It’s about time that fucking thing got to you.” Ted chimed in as PVE rose to answer the door. >Opening the door, the hallway was empty. Whoever knocked on the door was no longer there. Instead, sitting on a large trolley cart was a cardboard box wrapped sloppily and crudely with packing tape. Trepidatiously pulling the cart inside, PVE scratched his head as he looked for a cutting utensil, settling on a steak knife from room service earlier. Cutting open the package, he peeled away the cardboard from the top and opened the flaps to see whatever it was had been completely submerged in packing foam.
>Rooting around momentarily and PVE pulled out a large glass container filled with water and a large, grey jelly substance in the middle with wires and strange electronic equipment jutting out and from around it. Von Erich picked the large glass vat out of the box and placed it on the suite's kitchen dining room table. He couldn’t make heads or tails as to what the hell he was looking at but from what he could gather, it appeared to be some sort of medical equipment. The grey goo in the middle had a very familiar walnut shape with dense grooves from a network of ridges, but it was somewhat battered and worn. It was grayish tan and off color, but definitely organic. The fluid it was preserved in was grayish, but bubbles would churn around filtering out impurities into the electronic platform on the bottom that gave off a rhythmic hum. PVE didn’t dare to open the vat and look inside at what it was; it seemed sealed shut and the various wires and hoses jutting out and around in a tangled well compact mess didn’t look like it was worth interfering with, but it wasn’t simply that. The preservation fluid had a distinct smell, but it was mixed in with…formaldehyde? PVE couldn’t help but feel a very cold and dark psychological weight fill the room just looking at it. A good 20 minutes had passed by before it dawned on Von Erich that Teddy Hart was still on hold. Staggering back to the laptop, he picked it up and curtly apologized for his absence, but Teddy didn’t seem nonplussed by it, casually stroking the fur of one of his Persian cat in silence.
>A good 20 minutes had passed by before it dawned on Von Erich that Teddy Hart was still on hold. Staggering back to the laptop, he picked it up and curtly apologized for his absence, but Teddy didn’t seem nonplussed by it, casually stroking the fur of one of his Persian cat in silence.>”Teddy, I’m very sorry for that but someone had come to my door and left me a very unusual package. I don’t know exactly what it is and what I’m looking at. Did you say that you had something to do with this?”>Teddy sparked another fat joint and took a long drag before he bothered to answer.>”Yeah, that’s my guarantor for a spot on your roster. I told you that I was able to bring something to the table that no one else in the world could and I just did and its sitting on your table right now.” >There was a pregnant pause to drag out the moment for just a little while longer before he dropped the ball: >”Yeah, I sent that to you, Mr. Von Erich." Tedy took a long drag off his joint. "That thing you’re looking at? Yeah, that’s the brain of Chris Benoit.”
>PVE exploded at this news.>”JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, TEDDY! ‘THE FUCK IS FUCKING WRONG WITH YOU, BOY?!?! WHAT IN THE FUCKING FUCK?! WHERE IN THE FUCK DID YOU GET THAT FUCKING THING?! I DON”T WANT ANY OF THAT SHIT!! MOTHERFUCKER, I JUST FUCKING ATE!”>Teddy sounded beyond nonplussed as if sending people human brains was as normal as sending someone a bag of weed they ordered.>”Relax. Its not that big of a deal.”>Von Erich didn’t share this sentiment, “No big deal?! Its a fucking human organ sent to me like something the Pajeets of Pain’s cousin would deliver via Uberjeets! Where’d you get this fucking thing?!”>”Christopher Nowinski owed me some money for weed, so he sold it to me.” Ted shrugged.>PVE tried to make sense of what he just heard as he watched bubbles inside the vat churn around the grey, fleshy walnut; shock and disgust turning slowly to morbid curiosity.>”Say again? I thought they dissected his rotten coconut and found it to be all Swiss cheese like an 80 year old Alzheimer patient.”>Teddy shrugged again while rolling another thick joint. “They only need a small slice of the thing to diagnose that, just something that fits under the microscope slide, y’know? Chris had brain problems of his own from all the injuries and because Benoit was one of my idols and mentors and teachers and one of the nicest guys I had ever met and had the privilege of knowing in my entire life, I had to just do him a solid one last time by making sure that what was left of him on this earth was properly taken care of, so I hooked Nowinski up with some of the finest herb that any weed farm in Canada was able to fucking grow in a season and gave him a guarantee that he would be receiving it for life. SO we made a deal and he gets pain relief for his problems and I got to preserve the memory of my friend.”
>”By using it as a bargaining chip to give you leverage to get your bail posted so you can work in a professional wrestling company, Teddy? Do you know how fucked up this all sounds? And I have Satan his’self show up to my shows from time to time.”>Teddy was not known for his patience and he had more on his plate other than off-loading human body parts right off of it.>”Am I in or what?” Teddy asked after a long drag.
>Von Erich stared at the brain of the dearly departed Canadian Crippler sitting on a table inside of a weird science fiction jar in his hotel room. For being a cold blooded amphibian, he somehow felt a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. He needed a minute to make sense of this. While nervously pinching and rolling his cigar contemplatively in his green fingers, he struggled to find the words.
>Von Erich stared at the brain of the dearly departed Canadian Crippler sitting on a table inside of a weird science fiction jar in his hotel room. For being a cold blooded amphibian, he somehow felt a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. He needed a minute to make sense of this. While nervously pinching and rolling his cigar contemplatively in his green fingers, he struggled to find the words.>”Teddy? I had already made up my mind about you before you went and did all this. This is probably the weirdest fucking thing that has happened to me…well, so far. I got the news you were interested in joining and I was already excited, but you didn’t need to go on and do something drastic like this h’yeah. Then again, I know you got some uhh…legal troubles as it were and are desperate not just to clear your name, but regain your family’s reputation and redeem yerself. I can unnastand the need to prove oneself can make someone do desperate things and this is probably one of those times, innit? Shit, I don’t even know where you’re calling from and before you get back into your story about your current woes, I know that you’re not in the laws best books at the moment."
>So I’ll tell you what Imma thinking of doing; you keep by this h’yeah laptop you got here and the next time you hear from me, I’ll go over both your contract with enough zero’s on the dotted line that the po-leese up here in Canada won’t even remember their own names, let alone yours. On top of that, I’ll have it arranged so that you will legally be able to travel back to the United States unmolested to wrestle for me. I’ll even get some comfortable living arrangements and transportation for you by lending you one of my spare Bentley’s to poot around in. Only if YOU promise that wrestling for me is all that you’re going to get yourself in to when I do so that you take this chance to do what you told so many others that you were going to do: stay out of trouble and turn a new leaf for yo’self. I know you need weed to function; not a goddamn problem in my buildings. I know you and Bret and the other Hart’s need space between you guys and that there is still tension and dissension there; I’ll provide it so long as family matters stay settled in the ring and not spill over to fuck with anyone else’s day. I WILL hand out punishment. This is a very…peculiar bargaining chip you’ve given me here, but I can’t help but acknowledge the ingenuity. Your loyalty to Chris is admirable if not eccentric and such moxy and raw determination to get results that you want via any means necessary is noted. I may have use for you in other ventures if you’re capable of including getting some deadbeats you owe me cash and straightening out dickheads in the locker room, more low key stuff. Regardless, I’m getting ahead of myself.”>The brain jar burbled as Pepe held his last thought>”So uhh…yeah, are we cool or what, Ted?”
>Hart appeared satisfied, if not tense. “I have your word I’ll hear back from you?”>”After I figure out what the fuck to do with this fucking brain here, yeah.”>Teddy wouldn’t hear much from that. His end of the call went black without another word.
>PVE stared at the vat and just like that, a cold shock ran up his spine. What if this was what Mankind and Sting were talking about? What if this thing is the evil that they forewarned him about bringing back to the arena? They wouldn’t or at least couldn’t specify just what the hell it was supposed to be, so if there was ever a candidate, then the abby-normal brain of a midget tard raging roidmonkey like Benoit would definitely be it. What sort of doom it could imply by him bringing it back he couldn’t say.>Shaking his head out of his stupor, he decided what he needed to do. Typing in a number into the laptop from his contact list, a few moments later the gorgeous face of Stephanie McMahon popped up on the screen. >”Boss? How’s your trip going?”>”Kinda fucked at the moment,” PVE admitted, making note to not let Steph see Chris’s brain jar in view of the camera. “Never mind that shit, though. I need you to make a few calls for me. First off, I need you to get that uhh…money man on the phone. Tell him its important. Make sure he calls me on a secure line. Its gonna be a deal he can’t refuse.”
>A mere ten minutes after hanging up from Steph, the laptop beeped eagerly. Cautiously opening it up again, it thankfully wasn’t a call back form Teddy, but a completely different Ted all together.>”Thank you for returning my call on such short notice, Mr. Dibiase, sir. I know this is rather late and the circumstances aren’t favourable.”>On the other end of the screen sat The Million Dollar Man, Ted Dibiase, sitting with his feet up on a large desk with stacks of dollar bills and gold coins like a regular Ebeneezer Scrooge. He didn’t even acknowledge PVE in the midst of him counting a fat stack of Benjamin’s with the smug superior pursed lip sneer he usually employed. Without even looking away from the bills, he spoke:>”The pleasure, of course, is all mine, Mr. Von Erich. Time, to me, is money. I must say, that it isn’t the circumstances or the werewolf hours of the night to that intrigues me…” He snapped an elastic band on the stack and tossed it callously tossed it over his shoulder to join the mountain of other dollar bills strewn all over his office. He leaned forward and tented is fingers contemplatively >”...its the fact that you are not ever under my estimation, ever have been strapped for cash. I know that you’re not the country club type of gentleman, but I do recall accepting an invitation to a nice cocktail party aboard that million dollar yacht of yours, which I must thank you for had I not done so already.”>”Ahh yes, my precious sea-faring luxury vessel, The Sexy Bitch. Bought that baby off Vince McMahon his’self after he auctioned it off to pay for the Grant case, which I’m glad he won over that poophead whore. If I recall, you were at the smokers lounge with myself and John Bradshaw Layfield after the poker tournament. Sorry Virgil wasn’t able to join us that evening; he was fine hanging around down in steerage but I wasn’t able to have him on the main decks.”
>Ted threw his head back and laughed.>”I agree; fuck Virgil. As for Mr. Layfield, he indeed is great company and a fine financial asset in his own right. He being all the way up there in those big towers of Wall Street, a place I know very well I might add, makes him a bit of a challenge to get ahold of what with him being a very busy man. However, since we’re on the subject of reminiscing and just between the two of us, our lawyers and uhh, business associates have been sending out feelers to one Mr. Layfield about the possibility of becoming financial and shall we say, business associates of sorts in the future. I’ve got more than enough money lying around to combine a hefty fortune with one Mr. JBL to form a uhh, corporate merger of sorts. Haven’t heard back from Mr. JBL yet; he’s down in his private Columbian ranch probably shooting Mexicans or banging Thai ladyboys but when and if his people contact my people, you might be looking at the richest tag team and faction the wrestling business has ever seen. I’ll just leave that up in the air for you to decide if it would be something you would be interested in.”>PVE pulled out a fresh cigar, flicked open his diamond crusted zippo and puffed a few drags from the flame. >”That indeed, sounds like a mighty fine proposal. Once you have heard back from Mr. JBL’s debauchery down south, put the word out when you’re in town and we can come to an agreement all parties will find to be mutually beneficial. I know JBL is a slippery cocksucker, but I admire a man willing to stoop to shenanigans in order to keep what he feels is his.”>Dibiase laughed once again.>”Everyone’s got a price, Mr. Von Erich. And so with that said and out of the way, to what do I actually owe the pleasure for this late night call, my good man?”
>PVE wasted no words. “I need money, Teddy. CLEAN money, y’heah? Something uhh, big has just fallen into my lap out of nowhere and I need to get some high tech gear delivered to me from a reliable source pronto. I would normally use my own for something of this sort but this has to be kept on the down low and off my wrestling federations official books. I normally wouldn’t call under any other circumstances, but this has to be done quick and clean.”>Dibiase started spinning one of the several gaudy golden and diamond rings on his fingers, smugly pursing his lips back up at the mere mention of money.>”Well well, Mr. Von Erich. That’s always been the real trick about money; it’s never been clean and never has been, nor will it ever be. It comes with its own long trail of blood, sweat, tears, drugs and treachery. I know I’m preaching to the choir when it comes to money, but you and I both know money…” PVE’s eye nervously glanced at the brain in the jar right before Ted finished, “...is the root of all evil. And as far as I’m concerned…” Ted gave an exaggerated yawn, a long ho-ho-hummmm to put extra emphasis on his last point, “...the only true evil I can sense is the evil of having woken me, ‘The Million Dollar Man’ Ted Dibiase, up from my beauty sleep atop a huge pile of money and many, many beautiful ladies. And for that little heinous act, its gonna cost you something extra.”>PVE’s eyelids glowered to slits>”%20 interest.” Ted clucked his tongue.
>Von Erich’s eyes rolled hard; he would hear none of it.>”Fuck you, Dibiase. You know I’m fucking good for it and will have your payment set aside the MOMENT I return back from my international travels. Fifteen, Teddy. Don’t push it.”>Teddy took this counter offer, stroked the end of his beard a few times and then nodded with a shrug.>”Okay, fifteen percent. You will receive it very shortly. However,” Ted’s voiced lowered to drive home his point, “if you do just so happen to not be a man of your word, that corporate merger that I have planned with one Mr. John Bradshaw Layfield what with only wrestling gold as our only end goal, may just turn into a hostile takeover, you gather what I’m saying. You better not buttfuck me on this, Mr. Von Erich. I take money matters very seriously.”>”As do I, Mr. Dibiase. And thank you so much for being such an understanding gentlemen. You be sure to say hello to that son of yours, Ted Dibiase Jr., and you tell him just for this favour that I will be sending his fat ass some cookies in jail. You be sure to say hello to Mistah Layfield if you talk to him on your travels before I do; let him know that I am still waiting for the 50k that he owes me. Remind him that a deals a deal.”
>Ted’s hospitality had suddenly left. “I’m no messenger boy, Mr. Von Erich. Let’s just get that out of the damn way, first of all. I will have my house nigger Virgil relay that message to Mr. Layfield about his alleged overdue payment. Rest assured about that. I bid you good night and as always…I’ll see you at the bank! HAHAHAHAHAA!!!”>The laptop screen went dark as the line went dead. No sooner had the image faded, another knock on the door. PVE cautiously answered it by opening the door slowly, half expecting someone to deliver King Kong Bundy’s nuts to him by now. This wasn’t the case, as standing there with a scowl, bright red suspenders over a business shirt and a gold plated briefcase was the deliverer of Dibiase’s loan, shockingly there fast and efficiently as only the money Ted had at his disposal.
>”Well well well…” PVE relaxed immediately as he recognized who this stooge with the rat-tail mullet was. “If it isn’t the tax man his’self, Irwin R. Schyster. Old Ted’s still got you in the closet doing his house bitch errands he doesn’t want Virgil’s hands to touch, is he?”>I.R.S. didn’t even flinch at this insult. “The tax man ALWAYS arrives on time and Mr. Dibiase always gets his money’s worth out of who he employs.”>PVE was nonplussed, blowing a fat billow of cigar smoke right into Schyster’s face, still unflinching at this blatant disrespect.>”Fuck you too, Irwin. I already paid my taxes this year, even though its fucking theft. Excuse ME for being a good citizen and a patriotic American that puts his money back into the country that gave him the opportunity to have his own kino wrestling federation as opposed to Ted hoarding it all for his’self and tossing breadcrumbs to his goons like you while they go around fleecing erry’body else outta there hard earned money too like the greedy sacks of fucking shit that you are. Of COURSE Ted sends your doughy ass to deliver this. These bills better be clean.”>I.R.S. snapped the gold briefcase open without a word. Inside glowed the familiar dollar green of a million bucks worth of crisp and clean $100 bills. Von Erich’s eyes locked on to it like a legless Ethiopian watching a donut roll down a hill. IRS snapped the briefcase shut and shoved a thick ink pen and contract into PVE’s chest.>”Sign here, here, here, here, here, and initial and dates here.” Schyster snarled. Von Erich did it quickly to hurry this up. Taking hold of the briefcase from Irwin, there was a slight tense moment at the handoff. Irwin locked eyes with Pepe before allowing the briefcase out of his hands.>”Mr. Dibiase…” he had to remind Von Erich of who the loan came from once more, “sends his regards.”
>”Uhh no?” Von Erich snorted back, “Ted sent your Happy Meal ass all the way up to Canada to be his errand bitch. You may be a former tag team champion, but you can get fucked at the idea of me ever paying fucking tax collector a salary out of my pocket if you show up with Dibiase to my wrestling fed. I’d rather get circumcised. Or pay my jannies. Heh-heh. Now git da’ fuck outta h’yeah, sonny. Ya bother me.”>Von Erich had to shoo the still steaming Schyster out before he caught a glimpse at the human brain still sitting on the suites table. Pepe made sure to pop Irwin the middle finger as a final farewell before slamming the door.>"Judas was a fucking tax collector too, Irwin. Remember that, faggot.">Taking note of the brain in the vat one more time, Von Erich’s eyes caught something he hadn’t before, what with all the commotion that the evening wracked upon him unexpectedly. On the side of the bottom plate of the jar where the electronic life support system keeping the brain fresh was some Japanese writing.
>”Hmmm. 希望ニューラルテクノロジー. Nozomi Neural Technologies? So that’s where this gear comes from. Looks like I now know where I’m ordering that equipment from to keep this brain err…operational.” Scrolling on his phone once more, PVE made a call to Stephanie McMahon back at the office.>”Steph? I need you to do me one more favour; I need you to make an emergency request on the arena's secure phone line. I need you to contact….The Pentagon.”
>5 hours later, PVE stood on the tarmac of Calgary’s International Airport with his Gulfstream G700 idling patiently in the background awaiting his arrival for his departure. He had everything packed up earlier and requested an private ambulance to transport the brain with him to the terminal. Unbothered standing in the blistering blizzard snow while smoking his cigar, his ears perked up to a sound that wasn’t the usual jet engines taking off and landing. No…this behemoth literally overtook the night sky of Calgary as its immense wingspan and imposing size cut through the jet black sky and dimmed the stars behind it on its approach. Landing on a nearby runway was a USAF C-5M Super Galaxy heavy cargo plane, its myriad of tires screeching rubber on the runway as it lumbered to a stop next to PVE’s private jet. As the boarding ramp lowered while the engines powered down, a full squadron of army personnel ran out and took position outside. Striding stoically down the ramp behind him strode two men in military regalia, giving the troops a quick salute and both extending their hands to PVE, Sgt. Slaughter and Jesse ‘The Body’ Ventura bid their welcomes.>”Thank you both so much for doing this on such short notice,” PVE sighed in relief. “You have no idea how much of a bind I was in.”
>”Ah-TEEEEENNN, HUT!” Sgt. Slaughter barked, causing two of the grunts to surreptitiously handle the sealed contained holding the classified “package” and carry it into the back of the cargo plane. The mighty chinned-one adjusted his signature aviator glasses. “Not to worry, Mr. Pepe Von Erich,, sir! When we got the call from the Pentagon that you had something of great importance that needed quick and secure transportation from up here in Soviet Canuckistan, we diverted troops and put off a covert operation in Korea to do this.”
>”We had heard,” Jesse Ventura chimed in, “that thish package wuzsh dubbed G-14 classhified, and aszzh you know, before I wuzzsh a governor of Minneshh-OH-ta and before I wuzzsh fighting The Predator with Arrnold in the junglezsh of Shouth America, that I wuzzsh a Navy Sheal. And we weren't a buncha shlacked-jawed faggotsh either. Sho when Sharge and I heard that up there in Canada wuzzsh a package that required THAT level of shhecurity clearance, I knew that it wuzzsh no conspiarshy theory that THISSH wuuzsh shhomething of great importance. You get a call from the Pentagon and get told to be shomewhere, ya be there.” Ventura’s thumb pointed to the cargo being loaded onto the plane. >“What d’ya got in there, King Kong?!”>”Errr-uhhh….” PVE struggled to find the words. “Something like that. I have your assurances it will be airflown back to my arena for safe keeping ASAP?” >Slaughter smirked, “The United Shtatesh Armed Forces don’t make mistakes,shir, and when we say we will do shomething, consider it already done.”>Ventura with his conspiracy theory laden brain doing all the talking for him, couldn't help but ask while watching the crate get strapped and fastened into the cargo hold.>"Izzh thish shome kinda local trouble?" he asked PVE.>"Mistah Guv'nah..." PVE slapped Jesse's back. "G-14 classified indeed. One package. High value asset. Retrieved and delivered to destination quick and cleanly. Out for drinks with ol' Sarge here 2 hours from now back at the base reminiscin' about the old days after the report gets submitted to the office. Cool?">Somewhat satisfied with the answer while getting the hint about the need to know basis, Ventura nodded while adjusting his feather boa over his shoulder as Sgt. Slaughter rubbed the fog off his glasses.
>>"”Thank you again for pulling this favour for me. As much as I want to keep talking, I am a giant frog after all, and am not all that keen being exposed to these arctic temperatures. So if everything’s taken care of here, gentlemen, I do not want to keep my pilot, John Travolta, waiting too much longer. If you will then excuse me…I’s be going to Japan.”
>>20873707based
Damn anon, you put in a lot of work here. Let me read over this KINO you've provided and see what pops. I already love the idea of making a training center, as I can always use another good background scene for backstage segments.
Poster Count: 1
>>20874700but enough about your dimeless friction threads kek
Some fat autist is in this thread roleplaying with himselfjesus christ ive seen it all
>>20874897You role play as an anal virgin.
The Basement Brothers are shoot schizophrenic
>>20875020How's your buttdaddy Henry Chew doing these days?, anyway He still bust your crust during conjugals?
>>20875020Give me a quick rundown
>>20875020What's wrong, wolfbitch? Not enough old man ass rape for ya?
>>20873703It took me awhile to read all of this but let me just say this is great stuff. There's actually a few things in this story that I was planning to do anyway. Very very good work sir, there are some great ideas in here. I am highly impressed and will definitely do something with this after KINOMANIA. After the big event is over, I plan to sit down and plan out the next few months, and I'm definitely including at least some of this angle. It provides an excuse for a lot of good recruitments and will fit well with several other existing storylines. For now, I will only give one hint as to where I'll go with this: There is a person in K-WAB who would be very interested to acquire the brain of Chris Benoit, so I'm sure he would be interested to meet Mr. Teddy Hart (who I was planning on recruiting anyway).
Also, your projections about the members of The Hart Foundation and The Million Dollar Corporation are more or less correct. Definitely gonna have Neidhart, Davey, Teddy, and probably Pillman too. The Corporation obviously has to have IRS and Virgil, but I hadn't considered JBL. He would definitely be a good fit. Also, I have taken note that the people want to see Sting and The Undertaker at some point. I can't really work that in with the current Undertaker storyline but that's definitely something that can happen in the future. Again, fine work.
I hope you get laid before you die.
>>20874700>>20874897>nobody actually likes anything! nothing gets over without my permission! its just one guy talking to himself! please believe me!
>>20875352Says the pedo gettting his fix wtih his own kids every night.
>>20875335>Also, I have taken note that the people want to see Sting and The Undertaker at some pointTake your time. It took 18 months to build up Sting Vs. Hogan and that only ended on a wet fart. Taker's got to run roughshod for a while and let The Ministry loose to create chaos and fuck with other people until the threat becomes too big and a resistance gets mounted before Sting can get worked into the story for the big pay off at the end.
>>20876914I'm glad you understand these things. I definitely can't just drop Sting into the story out of nowhere, a match like that really would need some buildup. But it is a really good idea because that's a dream match that people wanted for years and never got to see.
>>20877346Stick to getting drunk while podcasting, Kevin.
>>20875020all time dimelessness from the brothers grim itt
>>20877337Of course there are the encounters that fans want to see but these things take time to build and play out. The nWo wasn't formed over night; it took a while for it to become a problem for everyone and that included interuppting matches and causing havoc. THe Ministry was meant to be both a plague on the WWF to prop Taker back up to the world title scene before the Corporation merged with it.Of course ther is the aspect of fan interaction, but there's more going n here than simple wrestling fan wish fulfillment; these things take time to cook and build heat as opposed to just tossing two legends in the ring on a whim and just hope for the best. Taker's gotta go through his bad guy phase and do bad guy things; Sting's got to watch from the periphery, gauge who is righteous and who is weak to evil, carefully choose his moments when to intervene and who to help and why, and then be cornered into making a decision on whose side he chooses to fight on when the times are desperate and the situation looks bleak. Its also probably not a story that can just be resolved and wrapped up in one ppv main event; you could probably play out Taker vs. Sting for a few major events like Triple H vs. Shawn Michaels in the early 2000s where they just tore each other apart for nearly 3 years. These sorts of things take time.
>>20875020Lundy is a shoot pedo
>>20878004'zis true?
>>20878067oh its damn true
What the fuck is this level of autism?
>>20878915So you don't know?
>>20878973Chad-tier
>>20872668holy kino
based and dense
>>20875020What should Lundy and his boyfriend Hey Robert be called? The Cum-Burping Faggots?
>>20880637Those poor kids...
>>20880770Golly gee whiz, let's please discuss child rape more on a wrestling forum.
>>20880813
>>20880905
>>20880954
wow i definitely read alladat
Based janny.
>>20872668good story
Please kysThis is beyond cringe
>>20885946No u
>>20872668VINCE
>>20872668good ideas desu
