Sunday September 12, 2010
The Zoo- Daniel Pollaski’s Locker Room
Los Angeles, California
9:10 PM Local Time
“WAAAAHOOOOOOOOO!”
Pollaski’s scream as he burst through the locker room door could only be described as primal. Wendy Briese, her daughter Theresa, and their nanny Cassie all looked up in alarm at the big guy entering the locker room. Theresa, with a shriek of joy, ran at “Uncle Powaski”, her arms wide open in exuberance. Cassie arched an eyebrow, clearly annoyed by the sudden onslaught of noise- even if it was a victory cry.
“Congratulations” Wendy said, smiling at her manager and friend, although, she rubbed her ear with her hand, trying to get the sudden ringing to stop.
“Thanks,” Pollaski replied as he lifted the four year old girl up into his arms, lightly tousling her hair as he did. Theresa hugged him for just a second, then turned her attention to the shiny belt that was now draped over his shoulder.
“Is this it?” she asked, tapping the belt.
“Yup,” Pollaski replied, grinning. “The CeePeeDubya Bamboo Championship.”
“Well won, dude,” Terrence Thompson said as he entered the locker room, slapping his manager on the back in congratulations. “Feel good,”
“Yar,” Pollaski said as he set Theresa down, handing her the belt. The golden strap was too heavy for Theresa to carry, so she dragged it with her as she ran back to her coloring books, the adults all chuckling at the scene.
“No crayons, Terr-Bear,” Wendy said warningly as the four-year old sat down. She shrugged at her manager. “She scribbled on the PWX Tag Titles, and it took almost three hours to get the crayon off...”
“I’m not too fussed,” Pollaski said, stretching. “Not like anyone’s going to be taking that off of me anytime soon.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Wendy said warningly. “Pride goeth before a fall, it is said.”
“Bah, let the kid enjoy his moment,” Terrence said to his wife, laughing. “He’ll find out soon enough that these things are harder to hang on to than they’re worth.”
“Yeah, well, unlike you guys, I’m not going to fall into this idiotic notion of defending as often as possible.”
“Great,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes. “One of THOSE champions.”
“Well, I’m not going to bi-” Pollaski cut himself off, remembering Theresa “erm, wuss out of it. But I’m not going to risk my reputation for just anyone. Whoever wants a shot is going to have to earn it in my eyes.”
“Really?” Wendy replied mildly, although her arms crossed over her chest, and the glare in her emerald eyes belied her annoyance.
“Well yeah- or they annoy me so much that I use the belt as a lure to get them in a match to where I can pummel them senseless.” Pollaski remarked offhandedly. “But I don’t see that happening.”
“Right,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes.
“Heh,” Pollaski replied, grinning. “Now let’s watch this ‘mystery guy’ beat the living tarstains out of Joey Flash.
With that, Pollaski kicked his tennis shoes across the room, pulled up a folding chair, and plopped down in it, turning his attention to the small TV the Birdz kept in their locker room.
Wendy looked over at her husband, sighing. “I think we’ve created a monster...”
“I’ll say,” Terrence said, although his eyes were fixated distastefully on the pair of shoes Pollaski had just kicked off, rather than the manager himself. “You wouldn’t to have any Odor-Eater with you, do you?”
Wendy sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose as if she had a migraine. “That’s not really what I meant.”
====================================
The following blog was posted at whirlybirdz.com. The opinions expressed herein do not reflect the opinions of the WhirlyBirdz VHS, CPW or anyone but the author. So please don’t sue them.
So at what point do I transcend being just that damn good into pure fucking awesomeness?
I mean, we already know that I was the greatest manager in the history of professional wrestling. I’m the greatest columnist, I’m the greatest blogger. And now... I’m the greatest Bamboo Champion EVAR!
Okay, so maybe I’m the ONLY bamboo champion, but y’know...
So I suppose everyone’s wondering why the great Daniel Pollaski, so soon after his first championship (well, the first championship I didn’t win in the middle of a title scramble, only to lose less than five minutes later), is willing to put that belt up for grabs the very next show? Could it be that the Polish Powerhouse, the Northwestern Nightmare is going to be what they call a ‘fighting champion?’
To quote Angel Kash... “As if!’
No, I’m secure enough in my reputation to not have to dangle my belt around at every opportunity to show what a great champion I am. I’ll defend when and if Valerie Belmont and Camilla Pazzini (who are both very lovely, sexy ladies, and full of charm and niceness), see fit that I do.
So then, why did I agree to defend my title against Michelle Taylor? Pretty much two reasons.
1. It will shut her up.
2. This is going to be the easiest title defense EVAR.
Here’s a random question- what is with my opponents in CPW? I went from David Anderson, who was retarded and drunk, to Angel Kash, who was retarded and rich, to Tori Bishop, who was retarded and hypocritical... why don’t they change the name to Retarded Panda Wrestling?
No offense to the Panda of course. But when the fucking animals are smarter than half the locker room- well, Houston, we have a problem.
So now I get Michelle Taylor, who is retarded and... well, actually, that’s the only adjective that comes to mind about her. I suppose I could whip out a thesaurus and find a few more, but that would just be redundant, and I’m trying to avoid that. “Keep it short and sweet,” my cousin Tiffany used to say. It’s a pretty good mantra to live by- especially when you’re a five-dollar hooker.
ANYWAYS...
Where was I?
Ah yes, Michelle Taylor = Stupid.
I mean, where oh where can I begin? First of all, Michelle has the vocabulary of a second grader. And not just any second-grader: We’re talking the cross-eyed ones that literally drooled all over their homework, wet themselves during recess, and ate paste in art class. Michelle’s verbal arsenal generally consists of such eloquent terminologies as “fuck”, “ass”, “fight”, and “derp!’
Second of all, Michelle Taylor has less common sense than your average politician. I’m sure if most of you people are anything like me, you probably had the horrible horrible image of Michelle Taylor VOLUNTARILY hopping into a dumpster filled with slurry. I mean it was truly a sight to behold- I haven’t seen dumpster diving like that since ESPN2 stopped televising the Homeless Olympics.
But what exactly did that prove, other than that Michelle is a dirty, smelly guttertrash skank whore (Hey look, I found more adjectives!)? That she ENJOYS plopping into rancid dumpsters? Isn’t the point of a dumpster match to where the ending subjects the loser to the humiliation and torture of being put into an absolutely disgusting predicament? Guess not. Well, in the end, Michelle got to take another lap around the slurry pool, while Joey Flash kept his title, so everybody ended up going home happy!
Except, for you know, anyone who has to wrestle her after that. I mean, seriously, if ANYONE out there has an idea to where I can beat the Garbage Pail Kid in a wrestling match without actually touching her- please feel free to offer advice. I suppose I could always buy gloves and a hazmat suit- but that shit costs money.
Then again, I did make the match no Disqualification, so I could hire a sniper to stand up in the rafters and shoot her the moment the bell rings. I’ve done it before, don’t even THINK I’m above it.
Hell, maybe I’ll even have them use a real bullet instead of a tranquilizer dart. Make the world a much better place.
Wait... that wouldn’t work. I forgot that Michelle Taylor doesn’t have any brains to blow out.
So what does anyone think Michelle’s doing to prepare for this match? If she’s going dumpster-diving to prepare for a dumpster match, do you think for a No-DQ match she’s spending her training time hitting herself with chairs?
The sad part is, Michelle’s so dumb, hitting her over the head with a chair would probably actually add brain cells.
Yeah, so believe me when I say that I have nothing to worry about come this Sunday at the Zoo. Provided Michelle can find the ring, there’s no way she’s going to be leaving it with my Bamboo title.
Meanwhile, I’m going to go buy a LOT of Purell sanitizer. I have a feeling I’m gonna need it when this one is over.
POLLA OUT!
No comments:
Post a Comment