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A call, two layovers, and a blog from Indiana...
Topic Started: Apr 11 2010, 02:45 AM (65 Views)
Bond
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It was an unusually uneventful day.

Especially for a man of Chris Bond’s recent stature.

He’s a champion in a small promotion in Toronto, Canada.

He’s just recently reformed the Industry under the sVo banner… and, let’s not forget…

He’s one good looking, rich, arrogant son of a bitch. So what the hell was he doing on a day like today?

On a beautiful Saturday in early April?

And what exactly was he doing in South Bend, Indiana of all places!?

As the narrator of this story, it’d be rather pertinent not to answer any of these questions.

Well, I guess to answer that question, the most shocking of all--why would a guy like Chris Bond be stuck in some corn-holed town in Indiana--we’ve got to visit yesterday evening’s events.

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:: Last Night… ::
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We’re taken to Chris Bond’s apartment in the city of Barrie, in Toronto, Canada. It’s the top story of an old warehouse in downtown Barrie. All outer-walls in the interior are exposed brick, and overall the apartment has an industrial theme.

It’s about seven o’clock in the evening, and Chris Bond walks through the door. He looks like he’s just coming back from an evening jog and has a small plastic bag in his hand. He tosses his keys on the counter as he walks into the open kitchen. The keys ding as they glide into a glass before coming to a stop. He sets the plastic bag down on the large butcher block island. He reaches in and pulls out what happens to be a salad from a local café. It doesn’t seem like anything overly fancy, just a taco salad. Cheese, tortilla chips, lettuce, and tomatoes are on top. A few pieces of grilled chicken are sticking out throughout the salad. He takes a fork out of his drawer and digs right in. He reaches over and puts a little salt and pepper on his salad. He takes a few more bites before turning around and reaching into his refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water. He twists the cap off and takes a few sips before setting it down next to his salad. He’s about to dig in again when his phone starts to go off. The lyrics to Rod Stewart’s ‘Maggie May’ begin echoing throughout the open-concept apartment. Bond walks over to a side counter and unplugs it from it’s charger.


“Hello? Bobby! How’s it going man?”

Chris reaches out and grabs a hold of his fork and stabs a few pieces of lettuce and a small piece of chicken. He brings it to his mouth and chomps away, listening to Bobby Dean’s latest business idea. He was always trying to put his face on anything. Especially beauty products. Although, Chris would never be able to figure why he wanted his face on Summer’s Eve Douching products.

“So what you’re saying is, and tell me if I’m wrong here Bobby, is that we would wind up getting a mere 25% of the profit from putting our faces and the Industry-brand on Gatorade? Twenty-five percent? Who the hell do they think they’re dealing with Beaut? Do you think Michael Jordan or Tiger Woods got this kind of chump-offer?”

Chris took another stab at his salad and popped the cherry tomato into his mouth.

“No. I don’t care that they’re taking a risk by venturing into the Wrestling business. This isn’t a game for the faint of heart. What they’re offering us is a slap in the goddamn face!”

Chris reaches for his water and takes a sip.

“No, I’m not in Vegas. I’m up in Canada man. Why?”

He takes another sip from his water and about chokes on it when he’s informed he’s got a match this week.

“What the hell are you talking about? Paige gave me this week off. I specifically asked for it because of pulling a double-nighter. Sunday night in Vegas and flying first thing to Canada. I can’t be expected to be in Vegas at such a late notice!”

Chris stabs at his salad and takes a bite of chicken. He rolls his eyes and pushes it away.

“Are you serious? I haven’t gotten anything in regards to a booking slip. What do you mean check my email? They’re emailing those fuckers now? Goddamn it. Fine, okay. I’m going to head out tonight and try and get a flight as soon as possible. Yeah, just give me a few hours and I’ll call you with details.”

He takes a few more sips of water before twisting the cap on and, along with putting a lid on his salad, places it into the fridge.

“By the way, who am I facing this week anyway? Do I get my shot at Night? No…? Hmm, how about bitch slapping Mr. Paige Johnson? No, not All-Star? Damn. Then who…?”

Chris lets out a small smile on his face.

“You’re kidding me right? Shame Time? That doofus?”

Apparently BBD lets him know that Roscoe Shame defeated Johnny All-Star and won the vacant International Championship. Apparently, the dude’s no slouch. Chris just shrugs and laughs it off.

“You’re making me fly to Vegas to face that chump?”

Reprimanded. BBD chews into him about pulling him away from DREAM and Defiance full time, to come over to sVo as well, when he wasn’t even interested in defending the honor of the Industry.

“Fine. Fine. No, I’m going to take a shower and pack and then head off to the airport. Hopefully I can get a direct flight, I sure as shit don’t want any layovers in a one-horse town like Des Moines, Iowa again. Alrighty man, take care. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Chris hangs up the phone and sets it on the counter. He exhales emphatically, showing the empty apartment his disdain for Paige Johnson going back on her word. Bitch can’t keep nothing… just like she couldn’t keep her legs closed when they were together. He sighs and heads off toward his bedroom and bathroom.

After a small leap in time, about twenty minutes, Chris exits his bedroom with a small luggage bag in hand. He shuts the light off and walks into the kitchen. He pulls out a small notebook and grabs a pen as well. He writes a quick note, letting Katy, his current girlfriend know that he’s off to Vegas for the weekend and will be back sometime Tuesday. XOXO, and he signs his name. Why? Because he’s awesome and he’s a caring boyfriend bitches. He also signs his name on everything because hell, it might be worth more than it is already. He picks his phone and his keys up and lets out a small clap, as the lights dim and he heads on out, the door locking as it closes behind him.

Another small leap in time, and Chris is sitting on a plane. His baggage is stuffed overhead, because why bother brining more than a small carry-on case? He’s not some bitch who’s got to have fourteen different outfits for a weekend in Vegas.

He pulls out his phone and quickly writes a text.


“2 layovers. Staying the night in Indiana… lame. Satday flight 2 vegas. b there sometime 2morrow nite.”

A flight attendant comes by and lets him know the plane is about to take off and that he’ll have to put his phone away until after take off. He rolls his eyes but does so as he spots an air-marshal talking to another flight attendant and doesn’t feel like getting pistol whipped any time soon. So he powers it down and puts it into his pocket.

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:: Saturday… ::
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Seeing as Chris Bond is in South Bend, Indiana, in early April… there isn’t much to do. Notre Dame football isn’t in full-swing yet. The College Football Hall of Fame? Yeah… not interested. Near by Elkhart, Indiana has an “RV and Motor Home Hall of Fame”… oh wow, how about fuck no? What the hell is with these cornhusk fuckers? Have they ever heard of the word ‘entertainment’? And why couldn’t he get a flight to Chicago out of Detroit? Seriously, Chicago is way bigger than Detroit. So Chris decides to do what every other person who’s stuck in Northern Indiana does--he hopes on line. More specifically, he hops on to ChrisBondisAwesome.com… his personal website, and decides now’s a good time to do a blog as any. His flight isn’t until four fifteen and it’s only just now noon.

____________________________________________________________________

:: The Blog! ::
____________________________________________________________________


Date: April 10, 2010
Location: Hell on Earth aka Indiana
Blog Title: I was born in a small BLOG!


Greetings and salutations mongoloids and Bondaids! Yeah, that’s right. I just insulted some of you. It’s what I do bitches, sue me. Actually, please don’t. I enjoy the money I have worked for, and I have fun with the money I’ve inherited. So don’t sue me, just suck it up and quit being a little baby.

So, in case you’ve been living under a rock or in Indiana apparently, (Don’t Ask!) you might not have seen me and BBD reform the Industry at the sVo’s return PPV, Resurrection. Sure, we did it at the expense of Nathan Paradine, but let’s be honest, I doubt he’ll remember any of after drinking his night away…

But this week Bondaids? This week I’ve got an actual match. One where I won’t steal a victory… well, I might, but I’m actually planning on kicking his ass… no, this week is a real match. This week, Chris Bond versus Roscoe Shame.

First off, this chump better believe that he’s being graced with my presence when I’m actually lowering myself to fight on his level. Sure, it’s the night’s sub-main event… but why in the hell am I not facing Night? Why do I get stuck with Shame Time? Well, you best believe that I’m going to give Paige Johnson a piece of my mind. Lord knows I’ve already given her a piece…

Anyway, Roscoe Shame is quite in a pickle. Not only is he the lucky one this week, because he’s been plucked from obscurity and is being graced with competing against a living legend such as myself… but he’s also been plucked from obscurity and is competing against a living legend such as myself. The good news is the bad news.

Roscoe Shame stands as much of a chance as Sarah Palin stands of winning the Presidency. I’ll be more specific here, both of them have an ice cube’s chance in hell of achieving their goals. Still need a clearer answer? Neither will happen. I’m seeing to it that Roscoe Shame gets the beating of a lifetime.

I don’t care if he’s the International Champion. I don’t care if he beat Johnny All-Star last week at Resurrection. I certainly don’t care if he’s scared of me or not. What I do care about is super kicking his face off this week and making sure everyone is on notice.

Because it’s not just me and BBD the sVo has to worry about. No, oh no… it isn’t just the two of us brewing up something bigger. No, we’ve got followers. Nay, not followers. We’ve got an allegiance of followers to our cause. This Industrial Revolution we’re planning… it’s going to happen. It’s going to cause quite the stir. And once and for all, we will show our true dominance. Not just as the best in the company.

But the best in the Industry. Why?

Because we are the Industry… and Roscoe Shame will find out what happens when you cross those that have built this business. SVo has sent Shame as their sacrificial lamb to the slaughter all in the name of saving face. They could’ve sent their biggest and their best… but they sent Mr. Mediocre. The one who settled for second best. It’s alright with me.

But sooner or later, their top dog will fall to the Industry… and it’s only a matter of time before the sVo sees the error in it’s way.

Prepare for the battle that is about to begin.

Bond Out~!

P.S. Oh, and Paradine, I haven’t forgotten about you. Don’t you worry, we’re not done with you. We know you’re hungry, but let’s be real. You don’t have the resources to fight back. It’s time to give up Nathan, because if you don’t… you’re going to lose more than your pride. You’re going to lose your livelihood. And you can count on that if you continue fighting this Industrial Revolution.
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