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Author Topic: Brandy and The Colonel.  (Read 222 times)

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Evil Clown

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Brandy and The Colonel.
« on: June 14, 2017, 06:21:12 PM »
WARNING

Matthias Barrows has been found, so it’s probably a good idea that I inform you that his promos are not suitable for all audiences.

Viewer discretion is advised.

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DATE: Wednesday June 14, 2017.  5:02 PM
LOCATION: Cartel Farmhouse.  Outskirts of Santiago, Cuba.


So I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m not home right now, and I mean that both figuratively and literally.

Fuck Lauryn Wolfe.

I had that match won, and she stuck her nose in my business.  She appeared first, but when my wife tried to do her JOB, she was the one who was reprimanded.  AGAIN!

Fuck the fines, fuck the 4CW officiating squad, and fuck Lauryn Wolfe.  They will all have hell to pay at Ante Up.

What’s going on in my wrestling career is not just spilling over into my home life, now it’s affecting my “side business” too.  My recent difficulties in the ring have random junkies pegging me as a bitch, and now they think they can invade my farm and steal my stash?  Fuck that and fuck you!  This bitch is figuring that out the hard way as I lift my boot and kick her in her nasty mouth while she tries to get back up.


“I didn’t fuckin’ tell you that you could stand up, Lauryn!”

I don’t even know if she or the other three sluts struggling to keep their teeth in their mouths speak English.  Her name probably isn’t Lauryn either, but all I see are the four whores that have laughed their way to the bank at my expense over the past few months.

Even with all the laughing I hear in my head, it’s almost being drowned out by all the spectators who have gathered around to watch me seize the reins on my cartel.  I’d say there are about a hundred of them.


“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, Sativa?”  I ask, grabbing this thieving snatch by the leg and dragging her back through the dirt into the center of this “arena” which is just the inside of an old barn.  After I stomp on her lower back, I feel another one leap onto my back and begin clawing at my face from behind.  I throw a few elbows to get her off before I realize that I’m bleeding below my left eye.

“Now you’ve done it!”  I turn and strike this bitch with the hardest right hand I can muster.  “How’d you like that Ana!”  Suddenly, I sense the fourth one; the ringleader.  The one who’s been the focus of most of my attention, and she’s running at me full speed.  Instinctively, I duck her swing, punch her in the stomach with my left, and uppercut her in the jaw with my right.

“You should NOT have started, Bryan.”  Yes, this fourth bitch is Bryan Williams in my eyes, and she doesn’t look prideful right now.  Through all of the frustration and rage I’m feeling, I can hear this small crowd chanting.

“BRANDY!”

“BRANDY!”

“BRANDY!”

It’s been a LONG time since I’ve done something like this.  People in this country don’t get to see a lot of pro wrestling on TV.  It’d be a sin not to oblige them.

“Who’s got zip-ties!?”  My question is answered as several spectators shoot their hands up, each clenching a fistful of the mentioned items.  I point at a few of them, and they hop in to help.  Each of them takes one of these thieving cunts and begins strapping their wrists to the wooden support beams holding this building up.

Now, let me introduce you to Black Betty’s cousin.


“Bring out Brandy!”  This “crowd” is now at a fever pitch as they see another man run out carrying the object; cool at one end, but glowing red hot at the other!

Black Betty is a lead pipe.  Her “cousin”, Brandy, is a branding iron!

I see the fear in the eyes of these subdued crop thieves as my selected volunteers from the crowd jerk their pants down, exposing their bare asses.  I hold my hand out, and I feel the weight in my hands.

Next, there’s a sizzle and a high pitched scream as I press Brandy’s business end to the ass of the first thief, burning my initials into her flesh.  A lifelong reminder of what happens to those who take from ME.

I repeat the process three more times to the other thieves before passing the branding iron off back to the guy who brought it out for me.


“Finish up here.”

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DATE: Wednesday June 14, 2017.  5:45 PM
LOCATION: Cartel Farmhouse.  Outskirts of Santiago, Cuba.


My face hasn’t seen a razor in a week.  After sending someone out to get me some shaving supplies, I finally got to remove the itchy beginnings of this beard I don’t want.  While I clean this scratch below my eye, one of my men comes in.

“Boss, someone’s here to see you.”

“Who the fuck would be looking for me here?”

“Military by the looks of it.  Calls himself “Colonel Jensen.”  That answers that question.

“Shit.”  I mumble as I grab the bridge of my nose.  “Alright, bring him in.” I wipe the water, shave cream, and the sweat away before taking a seat at a desk and loading my pipe with weed because I’m going to need it when this asshole gets here.  I take a toke, hold it in, and just as I exhale, in walks the man who came to see me.

Now for those still asking how I, a known drug lord, can operate freely, it’s because I provide, free of charge, the medicine this man needs for his severe glaucoma.  Meet Colonel Roger Jensen.

Stacy’s father.


“I’m sure you had your sources about how to find me, what I don’t know is what you’re doing here.”  I say first.  Military man or not, I told him from day one that there was no fuckin’ way that I’m calling him “sir.”  Yes, I have a very special relationship with my father-in-law.

“What the hell are you doing here boy?”  He finally says.

“Smoking weed and branding livestock; not that it’s any concern of yours.”

“No, I mean why did my daughter beg me to find you?  Why aren’t you home taking care of my granddaughter?”

“Smoke up.”  I say as I pass my pipe to him.

“I came here for an answer god dammit, now you’re going to give me one or—“

“What!?”  I say as I stand up and stare him down. “Or WHAT old man?  How many times to we have to go through this bullshit?  My own father served in the military and I’ve seen Full Metal Jacket a thousand times, you know god damn well that drill instructor shit doesn’t work on me.  Now sit the fuck down, lower your tone, puff the magic dragon and I’ll GIVE you the answers you came here for.”

I don’t move an inch, and soon he cooperates and takes a hit of that calming essence.

“Now.”  I begin as I see it begin to affect him.  “There is a reason I kept Stacy in the dark on this one.”

“I’m dying to hear it.”  Oh, no the fuck he didn’t.

“Did you come here for answers or did you come here to interrupt me before I can fucking give them to you?”  I wait a few seconds and let the silence take over.  I want to make sure his yap is shut before I even attempt to speak.

“Now, in my wrestling career, Stacy plays an important role.  She’s there to make sure I don’t totally lose my shit and remember about a thing called professionalism.  But with my recent difficulties, I have to step back and examine all possibilities as to what could be the problem.  I have to consider the possibility that perhaps she’s doing her job too well.”

“That’s no excuse for running out.”

“I didn’t “run out”, I had a problem that I needed to fix, and I couldn’t do it sitting on my ass at the house this time.”

“What?  You mean these four twats who were stealing from you?  You’ve told me yourself this kind of thing is a regular occurrence and that you usually just let your underlings handle it.  Why the fuck was it so important for you to run down here to deal with it?”

“This isn’t the problem I’m referring to.  I simply came here to work out some aggression.  The problem I need to fix, I won’t get the opportunity to do so until the next time I set foot in the ring.  I was simply gathering the tools I need to solve the problem and now that I’ve done so, I’ll be grabbing a few plants out of this farm and I’ll be going home within hours.  I suggest you do the same.”

“I hope my daughter isn’t there when you get home.”

“And here we go again with the “I hope Stacy leaves Matthias.”  There is no anchor tied to Stacy to keep her from leaving me, and every time someone insinuates that she might, she stays.  I bet every penny I own she’s still there when I get there.  She’ll probably slap me with enough force to try to knock out a tooth, but she’ll still be there and I’m confident in my abilities to get a blowjob and a bologna sandwich out of her before Friday.” Yeah, he keeps the feds off my back in exchange for weed, but that’s as far as our relationship goes.  I could tell he never really liked me, and I never tire of rubbing it in his face what his daughter lets me do to her.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell her where you were going?”

“She’s the one who deserves that answer; she’s the one I’ll give it to.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“I don’t fucking answer to you!”  I tell him.  “I’m begging you to raise your voice to me again so I have a story to tell your daughter about how I burned my initials into her father’s ass!  I’m having a hard enough time mentally keeping my shit together without you following me to complain about something that’s none of your damn business in the first place!”

“It IS my business!  When it involves my daughter and granddaughter it is!”

“THIS doesn’t involve your daughter or granddaughter!  This involves my wrestling career and a problem that’s got it in a tail spin right now!  Stacy and Chloe will be fine, and I’m sure I’ll come up with something brilliant to make this up to them, but YOU can get the fuck out of my face and off my farm!  Gentlemen!”

On my word, two of my lieutenants walk in.

“It’s time for you to leave.”

“I’m telling Stacy about this.”

“Big fucking deal, Roger, so am I.  I’ll be sure to explain the blowjob and the bologna sandwich remark in great detail.  Get him the hell out of here.”

“Don’t touch me.”  He says to my lieutenants as they begin to lead him out.

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DATE: Wednesday June 14, 2017.  7:23 PM
LOCATION: Matthias Barrows Private Jet.  30,000 feet above Havana, Cuba.


It’s time to head home and face my wife and kid, but first there’s one more thing I have to address; my next opponent scheduled to face me at Ante Up. 

“Thanks to Lauryn Wolfe, I am far beyond giving a shit about wins and losses anymore.  The win isn’t important to me.  What’s important at Ante Up is that I finish the job I started with you back in March and put you on the shelf for GOOD this time!”

“And as for the 4CW officiating squad, you’ve shown bias against me for the last time!  I’m left with no choice but to show you what happens when you fuck with Matthias Barrows.  At Ante Up, I’m going to teach you the value of fair play.”

“Maybe I just end it here, say “Here’s blood in your eye” and smash this camera underneath my boot.  Why not?  It’s not like MY words carry any weight around here.  Everybody knows I’m just blowing smoke, right?  Nothing I ever say convinces anyone and nothing I do works.  Maybe now I just leave Stacy at home and start walking around with my cartel lieutenants backstage because who gives a fuck anymore?  I can’t possibly sink any lower, right?”

“WRONG!  I will walk into Ante Up at my most low down and dirtiest because fuck the spirit of competition, fuck sportsmanship, and fuck you.  I tried to play by the rules and it isn’t working!  Now I’m going to make you play by MY rules!”

“All this time I’ve been gone is in preparation for you, Lauryn.  There’s nothing I’d love more than to introduce you to Brandy and have her leave a life-long impression of the pain I’m going to put you through at Ante Up, but fortunately for you, there are laws that won’t let me do that sort of thing to you.”

“I had to leave town, I needed to get some reflection, and I needed to just burn off some steam.  I’m sure it’s hit your ears that the past few months have been difficult for me, but now that I’ve found the outlet I needed to get over it, I can come into 4CW’s biggest show of the year with a clear mind and with the focus I need to humiliate you the same way I humiliated the last person who tried to make their return at my expense.”

“Now I know; today I burned trash and not a trained athlete like you.  Those were cartel thieves, not anyone specialized in fighting.  No one is impressed by what I did today, just like no one will be impressed at Ante Up when I hit you so hard I give you whiplash, just like no one will be impressed when I have you begging me to stop, and just like no one will be impressed when I refuse to oblige you.”

“Say anything you want about me; I’m “cookie cutter”, there’s nothing about me that stands out, I “don’t belong here.”  I get so sick of those misconceptions that I’m desperate to change it.  Yes, I admit it.  I’m “desperate.”  I’m a desperate man who will do desperate things at Ante Up to ensure that I win and you lose.”

“Expect the unexpected, Lauryn, because I don’t even know how far overboard I’m going to go in this match just yet.  I just burned my initials into the flesh of four people who have done less damage to me than you have, so you can see why what I’m going to do to you for costing me a match I should have easily won is in the realm of the unfathomable.”

“What I DO know about what’s going to happen to you is that I wouldn’t even wish it on my overbearing father-in-law.  Of course with all the shit he’s given me over the years, he’s never once given me a loss on my wrestling record.  You have, and that’s why I’ll be entering Ante Up with a take-no-prisoners attitude.  Those I blame responsible for the downward spiral I found myself in will be dealt with personally, starting with you.”

“I know I made everyone worry about where I’ve been…wait, no they didn’t!  No one even seemed to fucking care that I was gone!  The only acknowledgement I even got was Jett Wilder trying to claim my idea as his own.  Either way, you should care about where I’ve been, Lauryn, and you should be worried; worried about the deepest, darkest, most broken section of my imagination from which I must operate in order to be taken seriously behind the curtain.”

“And it’s not just you, Lauryn.  In case you haven’t heard, I’ve called out 29 of 4CW’s best to participate in the 4 Corners Frenzy match, in which the winner gets the next opportunity at the 4CW Championship.  I’m just guessing you either haven’t heard about it, or that you’re too scared to sign on the dotted line.  Either way, it’s too late for you to concern yourself with it anyway, since I’m going to send you to back to the hospital.  When we last crossed paths, you were just bait, but now you’re the prey.”

“Ante up, Lauryn Wolfe, because I play for keeps at my table and I have something to prove.  I feel like I should also mention the fact that this will all be going down in my OWN backyard.  Las Vegas is in Nevada, and Nevada is Barrows country.  So after you direct your degenerate friends where they need to go for all their debauchery, get ready to play by my rules.”

“By the way, for all the aforementioned debauchery, this is all you need to know:  “Liquor up front, poker in the rear.”

“What YOU need to know, Lauryn, is that Matthias Barrows is back in the right frame of mind to do whatever it takes to make sure I bring all your deepest and darkest nightmares to life.  You need to know that all the frustration that I have had to deal with in recent months has all been compressing down and that the stress is becoming too much.”

“That little ball of frustration is bound to give out and explode eventually, and when it does, the force with which it will do so will be so cataclysmically massive…I can’t even fathom how to finish that sentence.  It’s the kind of force that vaporized people into shadows in Japan.”


Now I need to concentrate on my personal life, particularly on appeasing a woman who actually matters, so out comes Black Betty.

“Here’s blood in your eye, Lauryn Wolfe.  Your ass is mine, and I can already see my name on it.”

Swing, smack, snow.