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DJ RP
Topic Started: Feb 9 2011, 02:26 AM (46 Views)
The Corporation
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"Everything I say is a Lie" - Hypocrisy in Action

The victory over Cid Black had been a strike against the list and the legacy of Chris Wrestling, a step toward the victory that he so desired to have over his most despised ex-partner. With that victory he pushed himself closer to the absolute destruction of the legacy of his cousin and the recognition that he felt he so justly deserved for all he had accomplished for Sanctioned Violence Organization. Of course there was still a long and difficult task ahead of him but irregardless it was one that he would have to take with no exceptions allowed.

Speaking of accomplishments, DJ had a very important match up coming against Nightmare. DJ's victory would help him establish his own legacy. So in many ways he was really aiming to get his hands on Nightmare in this match. However there was a mild snag in this, beyond the fact he had to defeat Nightmare.

He needed to join Jon Page's team.

True it seemed like a bizarre thing to suddenly decide to do however there was some amount of logic to this decision. He had to join to get the rest of The Corporation back into the game. All DJ needed to do, by his figuring, was join with Jon and boom, instant reinstatement, just add DJ. Like Instant Pudding.

However this was definitely complicated by the fact he had to face Nightmare in a match this week, to see who would be one step closer to gold in SVO. These kinds of conundrums were not exactly the type of thing that DJ liked to deal with but a future champion deals and DJ was ready to deal.

Well.. he hoped he was at least...

- New York City, New York

DJ stood in a rather seedy back alley in the trackless cityscape of New York City. He hated the city but he knew it was one of the easiest ways to get the services he required on this evening. And he needed those services right now and down right cheap with an open mind of course. As per the need he had dragged Phineaus Mooreland with him on this misadventure with hopes of once again shattering a record.

DJ was currently dressed in a black suit which he was commonly seen in with a large red band around his right arm sporting the symbol of The Corporation. One might mistake him for some kind of Nazi if it wasn't obvious his arm band did not sport a swastika. Phineaus was wearing a brand spanking new Matt Anderson shirt with the words "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" written on the back. He had gotten it from DJ as a gift and he was certainly well on his way to cherishing the gift.

DJ: Ok.. Phineaus, today we are going to do something a little different. Today, Phineaus, we are going to actually try and break someone else’s record. See, today we are going to try and shatter Mr. Limp's women beaten record!

Phineaus Mooreland: Uh.. DJ I just looked into the record book and I don't think Limp holds that rec-

DJ: Hush, hush! I think I hear someone coming...

DJ ushered Phineaus behind a near by dumpster before he slipped out into the alleyway, leaning up against a near by wall. Four rather skanky looking women slithered around the corner like a gaggle of geese who spent the last collect 80 years locked in a gas chamber. Dressed in faded pink sweat pants, leopard pattern coats, feathers and all manner of other awful white trash gear, the four prostitutes certainly stood out. As the gaggle moved past DJ he lifted a slender hand to his mouth and coughed loudly.

They paused and looked DJ over for a moment before one with a large mess of red hair and massive gold rim sunglasses stepped forward with a smirk.

Prostitute: Hey, dahling, whttya want?

She battled two extremely long lashes at DJ as her smoke filled voice echoed in the alleyway as the other three wandered off giggling and gossiping with each other. DJ arched his eyebrow and fought the urge to sneer at the woman as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.

DJ: Well.. hello there.. I actually need too uh.. I need too ask if you I could purchase your time and services.. well not your full services just part services.. well really just one service, I mean, but just like.. something.. Um.. yeah..

She pulled a cigarette from her pocket and slipped it between her lips as she eyed him with her weathered old eyes. She pulled a lighter from her pocket and set the tip of her cigarette ablaze for a moment as she seemed to watch DJ carefully before she took a sharp, deep in hail as the red embers ablaze. In one long, deep, haggard breath the white cylinder of the cigarette burnt away as the smoke was pulled into her lungs. Ash sprinkled from her talon like fingers before she cast the spent butt to the side exhaling in one strong breath.

Prostitute: Look, I charge 20 dollars for 5 minutes, anything involving my mouth costs an extra 2 bucks and its an extra 5 bucks per passangah if you get mah meanin’, dahlin.

DJ arched his eyebrows up for a moment before he lifted a hand toward the dumpster.

DJ: Uh.. Phineaus come on out..

The large, nerdy fat man wandered from behind the dumpster, a little pale and looking rather nervous at the situation. He looks toward the prostitute for a moment before he looks back toward DJ with a nervous smile.

Prostitute: Hey shuggah, like I said, it’s 5 for the extra luggage..

She winked a wrinkled old eyelid at Phineaus who just laughed nervously before he moved next to DJ. After an awkward silence Phineaus pipes up.

Phineaus Mooreland: Uh.. DJ.. what are we doing here?

DJ: Oh yes! Well you see, Ms. Prostitute here is going to help us to endear ourselves to Limp given his current situation. Anyway I need Ms. Prostitute here to pose for a few pictures with yours truly beating her down like he beat his wife down. I mean no one makes beating women look as classy as Limp but I got to try right?

Prostitute: Oh you’re the freaky kind ain’t ya, dahlin’?”

DJ and Phineaus turn their heads toward the prostitute who just smirks at the two of them as she moves her hands to her hips.

DJ: Uh.. not exactly. Its pretty easy. I’ll give you a cold 100 bucks for it. After all Chris Wrestling owes me 100 bucks so really it’s Chris Wrestling who’s paying for my prostitute to beat. So really.. Chris Wrestling is an awful person who should feel bad about himself. The dude gets blow jobs from cows and purchases prostitutes for other men to beat on. A real hero there, no wonder he is so popular right? Right.. uh.. where was I? Oh yeah, impressing Limp! And I bet he will, I mean its pretty good right? He nailed his wife pretty good across the face and I just have to make it look like I am going to be as good as that right? Of course. So.. what do you guys think?

The three of them all trade glances for a moment as the situation once again falls to silence. DJ was wearing a mischievous looking smile while Phineaus looked unsure and the prostitute appeared bored. Finally it was Phineaus who broke the silence pulling his camera phone out of his pocket.

Phineaus Mooreland: Well if we are going to do this its probably best that we do it now before someone thinks we’re actually paying her for sex..

Prostitute: Oh the coppers, they dun’t care about us out here. No worries yeah? AhahahaKAAAFF KAAFF Urrggaahh!

The Prostitute gagged, coughed and hissed as she turned her head to the side hacking up a lung while DJ and Phineaus’s faces were contorted with the look of men who were horrified by what they were seeing. After a moment she spit up a large black ball of black goo onto the ground and locked her lips with her tongue.

Prostitute: Ahh.. much bettah.. better out then in I always says..

DJ:.. oh good. Um.. fantastic.. Well ok, Phineaus you stand over there and get your camera phone ready to take a picture right before I would, quote unquote strike her ok? Got that?

Phineaus: Oh yeah, definitely.. whatever you say boss…

The fat historian wandered to where DJ had instructed he to go while queuing up the photo option on his phone. DJ smiled toward the prostitute while he stepped around the spot where she had hacked up a ball of tar looking down at his hand as he was trying to decide which hand to strike her with.

Prostitute: Look, dahlin, it ain’t no thing for a picture but if you want to hand me a c-note that’s fine with me. You sure you dun’t want to get your friend over there a ride on the wild pony? Yyawoorow!

She make clawing motions toward Phineaus who pretended to not notice her desperately turning toward the options his phone offered him while DJ arched his eyebrow with a smirk.

DJ: Uh.. naw.. naw thanks though. I appreciate your thought on the matter. Just pose for the pictures and it should be ok. So lets get this over with. Phineaus prepare yourself! This has to look prefect for Limp. It has to be marvelous for Chris Wrestling. It has to be maxnificent for Nightmare. It has to be-

Phineaus Mooreland: Yes-yes I know! God.. come on..

DJ rolled his eyes as he turned toward the Prostitute who set her hands on her hips looking up at him with that continually haggard and bored expression. DJ looked back down at his hand and cracked his knuckles one last time before he pulled his right hand back.

DJ: Ready Phineaus?

Phineaus Mooreland: Ready DJ!

DJ: Ready Prostitute?

Prostitute: Ready, dahlin’.

Without a seconds hesitation DJ swung his fist around and caught the prostitute across the jaw with a stiff, closed fisted strike causing the much smaller, skeletal prostitute to being lifted into the air. The body goes flat in the air, her arms falling to the side before she lands in a heap on the ground.

DJ: Oppies!

Phineaus’s jaw lowered as he stepped forward looking down at the limp body of the Prostitute as DJ examines his fist idly before he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. After a moment examination he used his handkerchief to clean his hand off before he looked down at the prostitute at his feet.

DJ: Did you get the picture?

Phineaus Mooreland: YOU HIT HER!

DJ: Yeah? Did you get the picture of it?

Phineaus Mooreland:..n.. no.. I..

DJ: WHAT?!

Phineaus Mooreland: It happened too quickly, I couldn’t pull the shot off! Sorry dude I.. I was just not expecting you to do.. to do that.

DJ: Hrmph.. well.. you should know by now that in my case just because it does not appear like I am going to do something doesn’t mean I won’t. I’m in this to win, Phineaus, even if that means I got to cheat sometimes. And lie sometimes. And yes, sometimes, knock a bitch out. HOWEVER as you were unable to get a shot of the prostitute done.. we are going to have to have something else to send Limp..

Phineaus Mooreland:..W..what are we going to send him?

DJ turned toward Phineaus wearing a somewhat wicked grin on his face as he tilted his head back, his white teeth sparkling for a moment of a yellow alleyway light.

DJ: Yes.. whatever shall we send….

At the end of the night Limp would get a picture delivered to his Email address and to his cell phone. The picture showed a terribly obese womanish looking thing being punched across the face by DJ who seems to be laughing merrily in the process. The impact of his strike seems to be sending ripples through the fat face of the woman he is striking. Too those who know what he looks like the woman looks strikingly like Phineaus Mooreland in drag.

Below the picture is a message that reads the following..

“DJ beats women just like you! You’re Great.. and so is hitting Women! – DJ”

-fade-
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