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| The Game Goes On A day had passed since my son had shown me the light, as it were, to what was really going on behind the scenes of the IoA back in the summer. I knew what was up. I called the IoA offices and spoke with Robin Cradle, who was answering Blair's direct line. "Paul Blair's office." Robin said with a shrill of excitement to her voice. "Hey Robin, this is Rob Osbourne, is Mr. Blair around?" I knew how this worked, it wasn't the first time. Suddenly, I heard what sounded like Paul Blair in the background cry out "oh God, I'm cumming" and then Robin put me on hold. I waited, containing my temper for five minutes. Just as I said to myself "fuck you Blair, you're ass is mine" he picked up the extension. "Yeah, this is Blair, whatdaya want?" he groaned. "Paul, it's Osbourne..." I tried to speak but was quickly cut off. "Which one?" the smart ass said synically. "Fuck you, hey, we need to talk about your new game." I was waiting for his quick fix maneuver, and here it comes in five, four, three, two, ---> "Oh Rob, I forgot all about that. I had tried to get ahold of you when the developers called ad said it was complete. I was going to let you know we were picking the whole 'who shot Triple J?' storyline and closing it out. We had actually planned to have it done back at Season's Beatings, but the whole Shitbox thing happened, I'm sorry it slipped my mind Rob." He was worming his way out of this one, no doubt about it. "Whatever Paul. So is it still what Marolda had planned, or do i need to be made aware of any changes?" I recoiled with another stab at what was going on inside the hallowed out ground that rested atop the shoulders of Paul Blair. "Look Rob, all I know is according to Chris and Jeff Sr., everything is the same." He quickly divulged the info I was seeking out. But why did they want it like that? What were they planning? What was going to happen at the tag match? If Diet Dr. Pepper can taste so close to regular Dr. Pepper, why does diet Mt. Dew taste like watered down piss? Ah, the questions that were rolling through my mind were limitless. How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? The Game Gets Funny I disconnected the call with Blair and went into the bedroom to finish packing. When I was through I brought my bags out to the foyer and I saw Christina and Robbie still glued to that damned game. Except this time when I fixed my eyes on the 72 inch flat screen wall monitor, I saw Paul Blair and Dan Hudson trading blows. I had to get to the bottom of this before I left. "Ok" I said, "How the hell did you two manage to get those two bafoons to use in the career modes?" "Oh it was so cool dad!" Robbie was brimming over waiting to tell me of his escapades inside the squared circle. God, it's only gonna be a matter of time before he is taking the torch from my hands. "Dad, I decided I would do like you and Uncle Chris did on No Mercy, and lose every match to see what happens. Well, when I had lost seven in a row, it popped a message up that said 'If you lose the next match you will be released from your contract and sent to the CWF.' and then I went straight into a match with Paul Blair. I beat him, of course. Then it said 'Congratulations, you have unlocked the Jobber.' and then Paul Blair was on the select screen." "Wow, no shit?" I was dumbfounded that Blair would have keyed himself into such an odd slot. But that didn't explain Hud. "What about the mark, how did you get him, go back in and lose the match to Blair?" I said hysterically. Chrstina spoke up. "No, we just had to create his sorry ass." We all laughed for a few moments and then I kissed them goodbye and headed to the airport. Heatwave was only a day away. Arena Arrival I got to the nameless, faceless arena at about 11:20 p.m. Friday night. I had to get my bearings and find the chi of the venue. Old habits die hard I guess. Once I had explored the building I was heading back through the bowels of the boiler room and i heard the sound of puking. I peered around the corner, trying not to be seen, and what did my eyes see? Shawn "Hellstone" Hillard vomitting up his three cases of MGD. Guess the wedding rehearsal was going on right then. Funny really, a rehearsal to unite two evils, while the forger of good was walking around. The man that would slay the beast that would become the holy matrimony of Trixie "I like Dicksies" Lee and Pledgie Wedgie. I went unoticed as Hellstone barfed his guts out. Wonder if he was just sick from drinking, or sick because he knew how gross the image of a child bewteen Trixie and Pledge would be? Well, I strolled up to the event level and watched the fools practice their idiotic ceremony. It was so hillarious. Just like the 'Re-United Russos' won't expect who I will unleash on them tomorrow night, they never see me coming. I always hit em hard, and hit em fast. That's how I do things in my ring. And boy oh boy was Ass-assin about to find out what i do to those who try to fuck me. I learned a very valuable phrase from a pal of yours, Maniac, he said to me "Robbie, you want some advice eh? It's all aboot this, fuck them before they even get the chance to fuck you." It took me awhile to figure it out, what with the eh's and the aboot's and all. But Ass-assin, you will find out first hand the meaning of that phrase in about 24 hours to be exact. I headed to my car, then to the hotel. Tomorrow was going to be a blast. Oh was it going to be a blast!!!! The End....or is it? |
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