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Fuck The Following: Hostility, Wildman, & Polowy
Topic Started: Jan 31 2008, 10:47 AM (129 Views)
Kelly Flawless
sVo Legend
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
CHAPTER ONE: Losers Sport Gray Hair and Grow Burt Reynolds-esque Beards; Winners Kill Testicles Thieves and Fuck the Prom Queen

Hostile Violence had concluded.

Kelly Flawless had kicked ass.

What else is new?

But this ass kicking was a little sweeter than most. He’d dealt it without nuts, and with a serious case of AIDS. That’s fucking impressive. That’s I can shit on my face while standing impressive. That’s two full blown retards conceiving a normal, non-retarded child impressive. That’s… it’s just fucking impressive, okay?

Think about it, queer Hostility fags - you pussies got your tits lit by a dude who has AIDS and is lacking junk.

That’s like getting smacked around by a blind chick with the clap.

Better luck next time. You just tell Kelly Flawless when you’d like the taste smacked outta yo mouth again. He’ll happily oblige.

Bring it.

Homos.

Anywho, that - by all accounts - is irrelevant. I mean, come on - we all knew that Team Flawless was going to take that shit in a cake walk. The only real surprise of the contest was that there was actually somebody from sVo left standing next to Kelly when the final bell rang. And then that same son of a bitch Wildman had the balls to go kendo stick Mike Polowy and challenge him for his World Championship. Didn’t he just lose a number one contendership match for some shit box title that nobody gives a hell about?

What.

The.

Fuck.

Kelly was now on a plane bound for Los Angeles. His seamlessly sculpted façade sat in the First Class section of the Southwest flight, and - as usual - he had a few things on his mind. There had been a delay in his originally scheduled flight Sunday evening so he was unable to fly out. He’d gone back to his condo that night and caught the end of Hostile Violence. He was not impressed with what unfolded.

“How in the blue fuck does that work? That motherfucker thinks he’s deserving of a title shot? Wildman’s a loser with gray fucking hair. He looks like fucking Burt Reynolds in The Rock minus the raw sexual magnetism. The guy looks like he‘s been housed up in the bush for the past sixteen years; there’s actually birds nesting in his beard. FUCKING BIRDS,” The Golden Boy exclaimed.

“He would’ve had his face smashed in if it wasn’t for me. And he seems to be the next in line for a title shot? That’s BULLSHIT. If he gets the next title shot Kelly Flawless should get two title shots! Not like it would take more than one to get the job done, but I could always use the second match to challenge myself for the title,” Flawless ranted, displaying his clear lack of even a single shred of humility.

“It would be incredible; it would have the best buy rate of any pay-per-view in sVo’s short little piss ant history. They could call it ‘The Night of Champions‘. Or, better yet, ‘The One Match Card: Kelly Flawless vs. Kelly Flawless, Because Nobody Else Fucking Matters, So Sit Your Ass Down and Shut Your God Damn Mouth Before Kelly Flawless Uses Your Forehead to Hang Pictures of Kelly Flawless’s Long and Illustrious Career to Remind Everybody that Kelly Flawless is the FUCKING MAN‘,” He glowed just pondering the thought.

“Yeahhh, I like the sounds of that last one. That’s a pay-per-view title that mentions the name Kelly Flawless five times. FIVE FUCKING TIMES. The only thing that would sell more tickets than that is a golfer with an arm growing out his ass standing in the middle of the ring.”

(So I stole a line from Family Guy… So what? This shit‘s too fucking funny to be COMPLETELY original - get real.)

“Wildman doesn’t deserve that shit; Kelly does. Wildman is an innate loser; Kelly is a purebred, bona fide, take it to the bank, smack your grandmother in the titty WINNER,” he’d started to talk in the third person again. God, I love it when he does that.

“You can’t lose a number one contender match for the secondary belt and then all of a sudden believe in your heart or hearts that you’re worthy enough to dethrone the World Champion. That’s not how it works! Wildman is the fucking nerd at the party. You know the super creepy, super horny, 110 pound jerk off that thinks he’s king shit because he got an 1100 on his SATs and his parents bought him a new geometry set? Wildman’s that fag. The one drinking Bacardi Breezers, conversing about the diffusion of his farts, driving his mom’s Kia Rondo, all the while ensuring that his pocket protector doesn’t get ruined by his panzy ass excuse for a fucking drink. And that geeky ass blow job thinks HE gets to go home and fuck the prom queen. HELL NO.”

HELL.

NO.


“Kelly Flawless fucks the prom queen.”

Yeahhhh he does.

“Kelly Flawless fucks your mother. Kelly Flawless fucks your sister. Kelly Flawless fucks that little Latin lady across the street. Kelly Flawless fucks your babysitter. Kelly Flawless fucks EVERYBODY. Because Kelly Flawless is a WINNER. And winners make the fucking rules,” he bellowed with authority.

“Winners don’t sit idly by and accept horribly unjust discrepancies in the social food chain. You know why? Because winners are on the apex of that food chain. Kelly Flawless is on the fucking head of society’s dick, and the rest of you little inbred sVo jerk offs, especially Wildman, are down there on the bottom of the shaft, tickling the balls, picking pubes out of your fucking teeth.”

Third person, bitches.

“Kelly Flawless calls the shots. Kelly Flawless sits on top of the food chain. No - fuck that. Kelly Flawless IS the fucking food chain. Kelly Flawless eats EVERYYYYBODYYY. And once this AIDS bullshit is dealt with and the good ol’ nuts are back in the sack, Kelly Flawless is going to take it upon himself to correct the inconsistencies in the sVo order.”

Flawless pounded his fist on the armrest emphatically.

“You know why? Because nerdy little pussy ass bitches don’t get to fuck the prom queen.”

He smiled.

“No fucky for you, Wildman. At least not with that drop dead gorgeous bitch. You can bang the nasty ass broad at the back of the room. The one that eats drywall, collects Neil Patrick Harris memorabilia and reads the thesaurus for fun. She’s more your type.”

Kelly grinned ominously.

“K-Flaw. OUT.”

Cheaaaa, sucka.



CHAPTER TWO: Why Did Magic Johnson Play For the Lakers? Wouldn‘t It Have Made a Little More Sense If He Played For the Fucking Magic? LA Should Have Renamed Their Franchise the Magic. In Fact, All Sports Franchises Should Be Named After Their Star Player. Like the Lakers Today Should Be Called the LA Kobes. The Cavs Should Be The Cleveland LeBrons. The Washington Capitals Should Be the Washington Ovechkins. And the Memphis Grizzlies Should Be the Memphis Gays… Wait. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Somebody Run That By David Stern; That‘s Mint, Untapped, Sopping Wet Marketing Pussy Just Waiting to Get Boned By the NBA‘s Gigantic, Compromised Referee Having CAAAACKKK.

“MAGIC!” Kelly yelped at the top of his lungs. Flawless perched on a mini-flight of cement stairs outside of a tall mahogany door in a rather affluent area of Los Angeles, evidently summoning the basketball legend with whom he had previously spoken.

“MAGIC, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Kelly continued to scream. “YOU TOLD ME YOU COULD HELP ME!”

After about thirty seconds of continuous knuckle rapping the door finally swung inward. The Golden Boy was greeted by a tiny little Mexican woman with a moustache that would make Tom Selick jealous.

“HOLY SHIT!” Kelly exclaimed, unable to withhold his surprise. “Dude…”

Flawless paused, head cocked, staring hard at the upper lip of the housekeeper.

“You’ve got some serious pubage goin’ on there.”

Pubage (pue-bidge): the presence, or implied presence, of an overwhelming amount of pubes.

“Ci, ci,” the woman said, smiling profusely. She obviously didn’t understand what it was that Kelly was trying to tell her.

“No, I’m not kidding. You better not mow any dirty dank or you might catch a few crabs in that mess of a bush.”

Dirty dank (daaaaaaaank): unsatisfactory, or possibly STD/STI infected penis.

“Ci, ci,” the woman said, continuing to beam.

“I mean, DAMN. I’d hate to see what the downstairs looks like,” Kelly grimaced at the thought.

… Or did he?

Cut to: Kelly Flawless railing the piss out of the Mexican housekeeper. No - seriously. She was actually peeing he was pounding her so hard. Anyway, turns out her muff was exponentially larger than her moustache. And there were pubes flying everywhere. It actually looked like Kelly was taking a pair of hedge trimmers to a fucking Christmas tree. By the time he was done the floor looked as if somebody had just shaved a 60 pound cat and forgotten to clean the hair up.

Anywho.

One thrust.

Two thrusts.

Three thrusts.

Three and a half thrusts.

SPLAT!

Jizz ALLLL over the bitch’s face. She looked like she just took a bottle of shaving cream in the side of the dome.

AND HE DID IT ALL WITHOUT TESTICLES. HE CAME ON A BITCH'S FACE WITHOUT HIS FUCKING NUTS.

He’s a fucking GOD. Let’s see Jesus take his nuts out and then toss out facials to Mexican broads like it ain’t nobody’s business. Uh uh, muhfugga. Not even Jesus Christ can do that shit. Not even Ron FUCKING Jeremy can pull that little miracle off. He tried once. A little jizz came out, but for the most part all he could manage was a bit of drool and one mammoth fart. It smelt so foul that the chick actually passed out. That’s talent, folks. You can’t teach that. Flatulence that deadly during an orgasm is almost as impressive as being able to nut on a broad’s face without testicles. That’s why Kelly Flawless and Ron Jeremy are the only two people on the planet to receive honorary doctorates from Oxford in the field of sexual awesomeness.

Kelly Flawless, PhD.

Anyway, God’s Gift to Women whipped his shlong back into his pants, and was quickly onto the next subject before Penelope Pubestache was able to wipe the splooge off of her face.

“Where’s Magic, Pubey?” Flawless said, matter-of-factly, zipping up his pants.

“Ci, ci,” she said, still beaming from ear to ear.

Flawless rolled his eyes.

“Bitch, do you understand what the fuck I’m asking you?”

“Ci, ci,” Pubestache replied, slipping her tongue over her lips and lapping up the semen.

Ew - gross.

“Bitch, don’t lick that shit off! Let it soak in. It’s good for your skin. Getting bombed by Kelly Flawless is like jumping headlong into the fountain of youth. If you‘re lucky, you just might live forever. Now where the fuck is Magic?”

… Let me guess. Ci, ci?

“Ci, ci,” she retorted once more.

Gee, that was tough.

Kelly was fed up with this bullshit. He backhanded Pubey so hard that her entire body liquefied. No - FUCK THAT. I’m far more sick of having to narrate this fucking garbage. I backhanded Pubey so hard that her entire body liquefied. YEAH. TAKE THAT, BIATCH. Learn to speak fucking English - holy Christ.

Okay, so anyway, there was a skin, semen and pube milkshake spreading about Magic Johnson’s entranceway. And Kelly and I just double backhanded the housekeeper into a state of liquid death so she sure as hell wasn’t gonna clean it up.

God, I love narrating his roleplays. It’s reasons like this why I don’t narrate roleplays for fags like Wildman, or… or… who’s another useless tool from sVo?

“Uh…” Kelly paused. “CJ Storyteller?”

Yeah. It’s reasons like this that I don’t narrate CJ Storyteller’s roleplays, because I wouldn’t get to kill dirty, pubestache having Mexicans. You just try to tell me this shit isn‘t fun to read? You can‘t can you? The only guy not having fun reading this shit is that dude with Down syndrome contemplating whether or not to stick that ball point pen through his eyeball. But he probably won‘t be alive long enough to actually respond to this shit, so fuck what he thinks.

Buck up, sVo - we just raised the bar to an entirely new level. Come join us up here. There’s more hookers, blow and crab cakes than you shake a stick at. Now that’s good livin’.

Anyway, now that Penelope Pubestache was dead, Flawless was left to peruse the apparently vacant house under his own watch.

Just as he stepped over top the mess he made of this stupid fucking Mexican, his pocketed cell phone began to vibrate.

Kelly pulled the object from his jeans and read the text flashing on the screen.

‘ONE NEW MESSAGE’

Flawless mashed away at the buttons, not sure exactly what the hell the phone was telling him. He was never a fanatic about new technology.

Eventually the image on the screen changed and Kelly began to read the text message.

“Kelly,Ican’tmeetupwithyoutoday,Ihadtogooutoftown.Callmelateronthisweekandwe’lltrytosortthiswholethingout-Magic”

Magic had big fucking fingers. His phone had little fucking buttons.

“Fucking Magic Johnson,” Kelly scoffed. “He tells me to come to his house so he can show me exactly how to get rid of this AIDS bullshit. I show up, and he’s not even fucking here. Instead I‘m stuck with his slut of a housekeeper who can‘t even speak fucking English. Fuck this.”

Fucking black people; completely unreliable. I came all the way to LA for nothing.

FUCK.



CHAPTER THREE: A Message for the Champion

Kelly sat in the backseat of a taxi cab making its way toward LAX. Kelly was set to board the next flight back to Vegas, and he had just gotten off the phone with an sVo representative who had informed him that this week he would be facing Mike Polowy on Showdown.

The fucking World Champion.

Two matches into his tenure in the promotion and he gets a match with Mike FUCKING Polowy.

Man the rest of this place’s roster blows.

“How convenient,” Kelly smirked. “Mere hours ago it would seem that I was ripping Wildman a new asshole for having the jam to attack and subsequently challenge our World Champion when I thought -- no, fuck that. When I knew that, not only was he undeserving of a title shot, he wasn’t even a threat inside to Mike Polowy. And that’s not any sort of compliment to “The Mike Effect” (*cough* homo nickname *cough*), Wildman just blows that bad.”

The dude couldn’t wrestle his way out of a wet paper bag is what Kelly is trying to say.

“And now,” again Flawless smiled. “I was just told that I’m scheduled to face Polowy on Sunday. Ain’t that some shit?”

Big mistake sVo, you actually just achieved what had been previously deemed scientifically impossible.

You made Kelly Flawless’s head bigger.

Un-fucking-believable.

“I’m 2-0 in sVo - given I’ve been kicking some serious ass, and I’ve been doing it without balls AND with AIDS. But now you guys think it’s time for me to prove my worth by knocking off the Champ?”

To be fair, Kelly, it is scheduled as a non title match.

“I know that, dickhead.”

Stfu.

“No, you shut the fuck up,” Flawless retorted.

Listen, fucker. I’m narrating this shit - don’t make an ass of me. I can write whatever the fuck I want. Insult me one more time - ONE MORE. See what happens.

“… Suck my junk, cocksucker,” Kelly snarled.

That’s it.

“I’m a nutless little fairy that likes to mow sandy vagina and go for long runs while listening to the Killers on my sweet new iPod. After that I go home, put on my penis pump and beat it to pictures of Matt Leinart humping footballs.”

How do you like me now?



“Whatever,” Kelly rolled his eyes. “So what exactly is the fed going to think when I beat you Polowy? What exactly is the wrestling community going to say when sVo’s heralded champion loses to the promotion’s newcomer with two matches under his belt? That’s going to be one sad day for you, Champ,” Flawless cackled in anticipation. “You know, Mike, thus far I haven’t really given a shit about any of my opponents, or team mates, for that matter. In fact, let’s give ‘er the old rundown just to make sure they're indeed as shitty as I give them credit for.”

Flawless cracked his knuckles and revealed some sort of list scribed upon a Denny’s napkin.

In blood.

Yeah, that’s right - Kelly doesn’t use ink. He writes in blood. The blood of orphans.

And the innocent.

Why?

He’s fucking Kelly Flawless that’s why.

“The Stampede Kid? That prick was so scared he actually pulled out of our match. Given, one his groupie sluts took my nuts and gave me AIDS.”

Kelly paused, shifting his eyes awkwardly.

“We’ll call that one a push. Next,” he moved on to the next name on his list. “Joey Peyton, the guy who replaced the apple of the testicle thief’s eye. Well, it didn’t take much to whoop his ass. I could’ve farted and knocked that faggot down.”

HA!



It’s funny because Joey Peyton sucks.

“Next,” Kelly continued, “those Hostility homos that don’t even deserve to be named individually. They just collectively suck. I wrestled my grandmother last Thanksgiving. Even she put up more a fight than those sons of bitches. And then I threw her through the fucking table.”

GRRRRR.

Flawless scanned the rest of the list, “oh. Okay, well, I guess that’s it.”

He peered around the cab nervously.

“Okay, so I guess my resume in sVo isn’t exactly “extensive” thus far. But trust me, Polowy. I’m the fucking MAN. I don’t need to give you evidence of it. I’m just the fucking MAN, period. End of discussion. Finito. Period. Finito.”

YEAH, take that, you fucker.

“My word is as good as gold, Polowy,” Kelly smirked threateningly and then stared dead ahead with a slight twinkle in his eye. "I'm not going to just beat you this week. No, no... I'm going to embarass to you. I'm going to run you out of the God damn building. And that's not a threat - it's a fucking promise."

Flawless raised his eyebrows and paused for a moment.

“Here, fuck-o - let me give you a preview of Sunday."

He pulled out a gun and shot the cab driver.

"Head the warning, Champ - head the warning."

And then the cab, the cameraman, Kelly, myself and gout-having old lady walking her dog down the road all exploded into flames.
"Kelly Flawless is the fucking man. He's so over that even when he no shows for a match, he still wins. That's how much ass Kelly Flawless kicks. Jon's word processor will not allow him to type the phrase, '____ def. Kelly Flawless'. It's sacrilegious, it's blasphemous, it's fucking impossible."
- Kelly Flawless
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