“Where’s my mask, bitch?”
“AWWW, SHIT!”
He stood with his back facing the camera, growling, wearing a pair of blue jean shorts. His name was unknown. His face was unknown. However, he was known as The Human Foreign Object to the wrestling world, or the backyard wrestling world. He kept his face covered in his hands as he ran around the living room of his shitty mobile home.
“Where’s my mask, bitch?” He yelled out. He didn’t hear a response, so he kicked over a coffee/beer/marijuana table. He yelled louder this time; he truly demanded a response! “I’ll kill you! I’ll strangle and poison you’re children. I’ll eat your pet hamsters, and I’ll rape your mother’s ceramic dolls! Where in the hell is my mask, bitch?”
The Human Foreign Object suddenly stopped trudging through the shithole of a home, finding a sleazy-looking woman asleep on the kitchen floor. He kicked her a little, then a little more, and then a little harder. He eventually punched her chest. She accidentally farted.
“Bitch?” He whispered in her ear softly.
She finally woke; her eyes were heavy, and her breath smelled like whiskey. The camera zoomed in on a needle in her arm, but The Human Foreign Object bent over and his ass got in the way, though. About three inches of hairy crack filled the screen. The camera man tried to move, but The Human Foreign Object kept backing his ass up into view; a pimple finally appeared.
“I think I’m dying, John,” the whoreable-looking woman said.
“Where’s my mask, bitch?” The Human Foreign Object continued to question.
“John. . .”
“If you want to see another kilo or bottle, you better tell me where my mask is!” I demand to know what you did with it. Did you sell it for dope? Money? Booze? What the fuck did you do with my mask? You’re nothing but a piece of shit whore. You know I have a match down the street in less than five minutes!”
“John. . .”
“This lavish lifestyle doesn’t come cheap, baby. I built this kingdom from the ground up. You think you can use me because I’m a superstar. . . a goddamn wrestling superstar? Well, in the words of Judas Priest, ‘You’ve got another thing coming!’”
“John, I. . .”
“Shit-covered balls, Batman!” The Human Foreign Object said; he knew he had just said the most trite thing. . . ever. He shook his head; he didn’t care. However, he was running out of time. He ran over to the kitchen counter top and grabbed a box of aluminum foil. He began wrapping the foil around his head, quickly poking holes in the eye sockets and mouth. He turned to the camera and revealed his masked-face.
“John, I know where you mask. . .”
“Bye, cuntface!” The Human Foreign Object howled, as he kicked the whore in the grill. The Human Foreign Object then ran out of the house with no shirt or shoes on; all he had on was a pair of dirty blue jean shorts and an aluminum foil mask. As the camera began to fade out of the horrid scene, a black wrestling mask could be seen on a clothesline beside the mobile home.
“I EXPECT A HUNGRY MAN READY WHEN I GET HOME, BITCH!” He yelled.