Back in the gatdamn saddle (again)
~~~Steve Studnut’s handler, after taking the time to actually read cards and figure out which is which, has some ’splaining to do. So does Steve, since Connie hinted that Steve was trying to bed Sarah “the Jobber Slayer”, whom EVERYBODY knows Steve’s good buddy, Trey Vincent, would also like to lay the pipe to. Let’s see if Steve can wiggle his way out of this one~~~
Studs: [holding his flip cell] Come on, dude, answer the gatdamn phone. You know I was just goofin’ around. Hell, who wouldn’t like to bone Sarah? Come on ,Trey. Hello?
[Connie walks in, ironically wearing the same thing she had on earlier today. With her is Jizzabelle Cummings, the Shannon Elizabeth and Reese Witherspoon looking tramp that wears even less than Connie and hangs around in Steve's house.]
Connie: What are you doing, Steve? Trying to smooth things over with Trey?
Studs: Huh? There’s nothin’ to smooth over. I never wanted to bang Sarah. That was YOU assuming shit again. Trying to stir up some shit and hope the smell gets delivered so I get in trouble. Say, did you guys see me beat up Zeno’s bitch? Cool, huh?
Jizz: (sighs) Yeah, real cool, Steve. You’re such a man.
Studs: Hey, she got in the ring…
Connie: So, Steve, what’d Trey say about you calling Sarah “one of those bitches”? And Seth, too. I bet he’s pissed.
Studs: Nah, they know I didn’t mean anythin’ by it. That’s just me bein’ me. I call all women bitches. It’s not personal. Except Zeno’s bitch. And that Bride chick, now she’s a bitch. And Oprah, she’s an overpaid bitch, sittin’-on-a-fuckin’-couch-and-talkin’-to-people overpaid bitch. But I wouldn’t mind pluggin’ that sidekick of hers, Lisa Ling. I could call her Lisa Lingus, ya dig? And she could join you two bitches in my house and spend all my money like you do…
Connie: Don’t try to change the subject, Steve. You’re in some hot water with your iAd buddies, aren’t you? At least you will be when they see your last promo.
Studs: Nope. This one will clear it all up since they know my typing boy is a lame and pitiful wretch that has a bad habit of just writing shit before he pays any attention to storylines and events. Kay Fabe is wonderful gal and Seth and her make an awesome couple. Trey and Sarah are perfect for each other and I honestly think they should get married. Then Trey could knock Sarah up and then she could squeeze out some fuckin’ kick ass future sports entertainers without equal.
Can you imagine that gene pool? Trey and Sarah? Those kids would be fuckin’ unbeatable. That’s a fact.
Jizz: Okay, Steve, you’ve kissed enough ass for one promo….
Studs: You think? Just in case, I think the rug rats Trey and Sarah would produce would be better than the ones Goldberg and Lesnar would have if they fucked each other and Goldberg shitted a kid out. Really, I’m being honest.
Connie: You’re such a suck-up…
Studs: Perhaps, but all that’s tomorrow’s news.
Jizz: You mean yesterday’s?
Studs: Nah, that was about that pope guy. I want to talk about that little fucker with the permanent toe jam. Ya know, it really pays off to follow the shows. How dare that scrub call me out. I’m Steve Studnuts, and he’s not even close… but I know he wishes he could be. So for him to even fuckin’ LOOK at me is an insult. On second though, I’ve decided to keep this YGBKMIADT/AYOOYFM title, and if I ain’t got nothin’ else to do at SUM: ON MY HARD DICK P-P-V, I want that fuckin’ MMR1 guy in whatever hardcore shit this promotion can come up with. Then when I’m finished with that jerkweed…. they’re gonna have to come up with a second rendition for him.
And that…. IS … A …. FACT!
Cut to static, you keyboard striking fucker. I’m outta here.
*Elsewhere in the area, Dr. Thrilla is training for his next promo. He takes a street sign and slams it hard over a rock. This, of course, bends the sign. There is some clanging as he studies the situation. Setting the sign down, the man in the bloodstained scrubs jumps on it, unbending it only slightly. That done, he nods and picks it up. Taking aim, Thrilla brings the sign down on the rock again, but it slips from his grip.*
Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*
*The sign flies across the field like a metal boomerang, smashing through a window of Steve Studnuts’s house. And it is your house, Steve, I have pictures to prove it. No shifting the damage to some random sports star this time. Either way, it takes out the leather sectional’s upholstery, rebounding off a wall to do more damage to it, before plinging off the floor and burying itself in the super-wide plasma screen.*
Dr. Thrilla: *metal clanging*
*The doctor makes a run for it at top speed.*