| Have Your Elected Officials Spayed and Neutered; CtV 2/3 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 26 2008, 01:55 AM (309 Views) | |
| Talon | Jun 26 2008, 01:55 AM Post #1 |
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The Hero
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Wyatt DiPhearson worked at McFatAss’ during the week after school and on weekends, saving all of his earnings. He wanted to purchase a car so that he could go more places. He wanted to attend a wrestling event as soon as he could. He wanted to buy his girlfriend an engagement ring. And as much as he did for McFatAss’, the demoralizing attitudes of the management tried to get him down and out. But he was making progress. That was why it was a relief to him when a customer handed him a front-row ticket to Countdown to Violence, the latest sVo show and the last time they would be in Toronto for the foreseeable future. “Give me that,” Phil, his general manager, said, stalking over, “No tips for cashiers.” Normally Wyatt would have let it pass. McFatAss’ was cheap, and loved to take any tips for the management. The only thing worse than Phil was the district manager, who was a real bitch, and he wasn’t afraid to say it. Today was not a normal day. “Give me that ticket,” Phil said in a monotone, his eyes narrowing. A mooing noise sounded, heralding the entrance of a customer. “No,” Wyatt said, standing his ground against the boss for the first time in his time at McFatAss’. Phil looked shocked at this insolence. “Give me the ticket, or you’re fired,” he said just before a wooden chair cracked across his head. Wyatt looked over, and saw the customer who had given him the ticket. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. “YOU MOTHER FUCKERS FORGOT MY FRIES!” he shouted as he pulled Phil over the counter and placed him in an inverted DDT… the Wings of Destiny. “Oh my god!” Wyatt said, “Are you… could it be…” The customer, ignoring the cashier, grabbed Phil by the legs and put him in a Cloverleaf. “SPREAD EAGLE!” Wyatt shouted as his co-workers cringed in fear, not sure how to react to these shocking developments, “I knew it was you! I knew you were Talon!” As if on cue, Talon released the hold and straightened his jacket. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said, calming down a bit, “And you guys forgot my fries. I don’t really appreciate that. Also, I really just wanted to take your GM down a notch. He seemed like an asshole.” “Yeah, he is,” Wyatt said as he scooped the largest size fry up and put it in a bag, handing it to the next Las Vegas Champion. “Hey thanks kid, you’re alright,” Talon said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, “Guess I made kind of a mess huh?” He looked around as patrons had gone back to their meals, ignoring the fallen general manager. “So… you looking for a job?” he asked, “I’m looking for someone to help run my website and message board. I use PayPal, here’s my card.” He handed Wyatt a card with his cell phone number and calling times. “But then, you’re going to the show Sunday, so I’ll see you then. Oh, and here’s another ticket.” Talon fished inside his jacket pocket and handed him another front row ticket, this one situated right next to the first one. Saluting, Talon walked out the door, another moo following him out. Stepping over the fallen Phil, Wyatt removed his hat, McFatAss’ polo shirt, and nametag. He placed them on the face and chest of the unconscious general manager and walked out another door, heading home to give his friends and loved ones the news. Whistling to himself as he chewed on a freshly salted fry in his mouth, Talon couldn’t help but start laughing to himself. His list of employees was growing with the addition of this new kid. Pretty soon he was going to have the whole of North America on his payroll. Only one man mattered now, however. He thought going to a congressman would be called for, but he realized now that he would have to go higher. Governor Jim Gibbons of Nevada. That son of a bitch. Talon marveled how the good people of Nevada had voted him into office. He himself had voted for Titus, southern drawl or no southern drawl. “TJ Raven probably voted for Titus too… he seems like a level-headed individual. Though he can’t be too level-headed. He’s stepping into the ring with me.” Entering back into his hotel room, he flopped onto the bed and opened his laptop. Looking again at the Countdown to Violence page, he looked at his opponents once more. “Who the hell is Bryan Strickland?” he asked as he looked up and down the roster page, “And Mike Manson, for that matter. I recognize the name a bit, at least. Though maybe I’m thinking of Charlie.” Remembering the task at hand, Talon did what he always did when looking for information: he went to Wikipedia. “Gotcha,” he said as he found Governor Gibbons’ home phone number, presumably added by some smartass who was about to have his IP address banned. Dialing it, he waited for an answer as it rang. A woman’s voice picked up on the other end. “Hello?” “Hi, are you the new nanny?” Click. “Damnit, that didn’t work,” he said as he dialed the number and called again. Again the woman picked up. “Hello?” she asked hesitantly. “Is Jim there?” he asked in a slightly deeper voice. “Just a second,” she said after a lengthy pause, not recognizing the voice. Sure enough, after just twenty minutes, Governor Jim Gibbins himself picked up the phone, interrupting Talon’s game of Tetris on his cell phone. “Governor Gibbins? This is Talon, over with the sVo.” “Talon? I know who you are, I’m afraid I’m a Psyko Stevo fan myself.” “Well, we all make mistakes.” “So what can I do for ya, Talon?” Talon cleared his throat. “Listen, you and I both know that minimum wage in Nevada is far too low,” he started, “I have opponents in the sVo who are on the bottom tier, and they’re barely even making enough money to eat at McFatAss’! I know, I checked!” “Well, yes Talon, but list-“ “We’ve got Faith Winchester, a woman, not making enough because of your policies! We have Frank James, who thinks he hears the voice of a narrator following him around! You are not giving women and loonies enough to live, Jimmy!” “I don’t see the poi-“ “And it is your duty, as an elected official, to serve the people who put you into office!” “Well, that’s not quite how it wo-“ “Or do you just serve the people who line your wallet? I’m rich enough to do that too.” A pause. A long pause. Click. “Well, I did my part,” Talon said as he tossed his phone to the side and continued to surf the web. “I’m going to have to find some new tights to go with the Las Vegas Championship. Some good luck charms, too, if I’m going to be gambling on Sunday.” He reached and grabbed the soda he had purchased from McFatAss’. Taking a sip, he looked around the wrestling goods websites that he frequented. “Nothing,” he grumbled, “Just the same old stuff. Looks like I’ll have to go shopping around tomorrow. Maybe I’ll find something cool.” He paused and smiled. “Maybe I’ll find a woman to go on a date with who isn’t a prostitute.” He chuckled, thinking of the fun time he had watching wrestling with Liliana in Monterrey, when the realization hit him. He had forgotten something the other day on the plane. He had gotten sidetracked again. “Now, what was I working on before I got sidetracked?” he asked himself as he looked through his history, trying to recall the track of his mind. Then he remembered an idea. The best idea he had ever had. “But I can’t do that to Ross…” he said as he prepared to type in the computer, “He’s got enough baggage right now without that happening to him. So who do I get with this?” He typed www.mailorderbrides.com into the URL space and grinned mischievously. He found another number to call, underneath a picture labeled “New Special: Beauty from Louisiana! Lovely singing voice!” Dialing the number, he still tried to think of a target. This one wouldn’t be for him… and it wouldn’t be for Ross. So who? “Hello, mail order brides dot com about the new special from Louisiana, can I get a name and a location for the delivery?” “I’d like the delivery to arrive within the next two days, at the Sheraton Center in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Room 13C.” He was stalling, trying to figure out who to send the beauty to. “And your name?” He strained, thinking. Then a wave of enlightenment hit him like a freight train. “My name is… Bond. Chris Bond.” |
![]() Talon 48-16-6 Carrying the Banner for the Industrial Revolution! | |
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12:27 AM Jul 11