Monday December 19, 2011
Motel 6- Room 132
Denver, Colorado
4:14 AM Local Time
“Erg...”
Daniel Pollaski blinked a couple of times as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Slowly but surely, the furnishings of his Motel 6 room began to come into focus- the table, the two chairs, the dresser with the television atop it. He wasn’t sure what had woken him up, just that he was awake, and, given that the sun hadn’t risen yet, it was premature.
Of course, it still being dark could mean anything. It could be any hour between five in the evening and eight in the morning and it’d still look the fucking same outside- fucking Winter Solstice. Pollaski turned on his side, feeling around in the darkness on his endtable for his Droid, only for a sudden pang to stop him. Grimacing, he quickly rolled the other way, rose to his feet, and waddled the ten or so feet to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him as he went.
By the time he had emerged fifteen minutes later, Pollaski was fully awake, although he stifled a yawn as he plopped down on his bed, grabbing his Droid, and flipping it on.
4:31 AM.
“Motherfucker.” Pollaski groaned. The damned continental breakfast wouldn’t even be going for another couple of hours, and he was kind of hungry. Oh well, nothing better to do than to sit around, and either wait for six o’clock, or for sleep to overtake him again.
To pass the time, Pollaski grabbed his phone, and opened up Twitter, grimacing as he saw 110 new Tweets sitting on his account. Grousing that reading this shit alone would take him until six, Pollaski began reading through the messages, stopping quickly, however, on a message of Anthony Gambini- his (kindasorta) boss in SVW.
I could not agree more with Mr. Pollaski. He doesn't deserve anything. I will happily give him the night off at Criminal Intent.
Pollaski blinked a couple of times, wondering what the hell that stupid Italian fuck was talking about. Then he remembered the Tweets he had made the night before.
“Oh man...” Pollaski groaned. “I’M the stupid Italian fuck...”
Seriously, what idiot actually complains about being in a #1 Contenders match? Especially to the point of being taken out of said match.
He didn’t even know why he did it. He knew he had been irritated, mainly because he hadn’t been allowed to be at ringside for Nikkii like he had been promised, but to take that irritation to this level... maybe he was bi-polar or something.
It was time for damage control. And quick.
Pollaski grabbed his phone, and flipped through his contacts, finally pressing send, and waiting as the phone rang.
“Hello?” A groggy female voice answered at the other end.
“Hey Wendy,” Pollaski replied, cutting straight to the heart of the matter without any preamble. “I was wondering, did you pay any attention to SVW last night?”
There was a long pause, and for a couple seconds, the Pollaski thought the call had actually disconnected. But Wendy then spoke- in a tone that indicated she was strongly considering hanging up. “It’s three thirty in the morning, Dan...”
“No, it’s six-”
“I’m still in Los Angeles.”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh...” Pollaski paused. “That’s right. Okay, I’ll call you in the morning. Night.”
“No wait,” the voice on the other end said quickly and irritably. “You’ve already woke me up. Might as well tell me what’s on your min-.”the voice broke off as Wendy struggled to stifle a yawn.
“I don’t know, really,” Pollaski sighed. “One minute I’m booked in a number one contenders match for the Defiance title, the next I’m all pissed about it and steaming about it on Twitter. And then the next, Gambini has me out of the match and off the card. I think I screwed up.”
There was another pause. “You got yourself kicked out of a title match, and you THINK you screwed up?” Wendy asked incredulously. Pollaski heard some rustling and grunting on the other end- it sounded like Wendy was trying to sit up. “Why did you do that anyways?”
“I don’t know. I was just annoyed... I don’t even know why.” Polaski groaned, and rolled over. “Motherfucker, I just wish if I’m going to fuck over my career, I could have a good reason for doing it.”
There was a long silence. Finally, Wendy responded. “You want to know my theory?”
“Sure.”
There was another pause. “You’re not going to like it.”
Now it was Pollaski who rolled his eyes. “Just give it to me, I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
A third pause, and Pollaski could sense Wendy trying to sort out her phrasing. Finally it seemed she elected to just dive right in.
“I think you’re afraid of success.”
Pollaski burst out laughing at the ludicrousness of the statement. “What? I’m a three time manager of the year, FFW’s most influential. I eat success for breakfast, and have enough to shit out in my afternoon crap!”
“That’s... really gross,” Wendy replied, her voice sounding slightly nauseous. “But, Dan. I hate to say it, all those manager of the year awards... well, had Terry and I done as well as we had, you think you still would have gotten them?”
“Don’t say I’m fucking piggybacking!” Pollaski snarled, suddenly irritated. “I did a LOT to help with your careers, I get some of the fucking credit too, dammit!”
“And you deserve it,” Wendy replied quckly. “But... every time you’ve tried a wrestling career of your own, you’ve found some way to... well, sabotage it.”
“Oh, really?” Pollaski hissed. “Give me ONE example.”
“I’ll give you four.” Wendy replied, her voice strangely calm and collected, despite her manager’s belligerence. “Tonight, for one. Then there was NGWA, when all you had to do was carry the belt through that gate, and you’d have been the last hardcore champion ever. You gave it away... LITERALLY gave it away six feet from victory. And then there was that wrestling school, where you got yourself kicked out for making a pass at the owner’s daughter. And don’t forget that other place, when the moment you won the title, you completely melted down and ran.”
“You know what that place was like, you were there,” Pollaski said defensively.
“It couldn’t have been too bad, because You recruited us to that place after you quit!” Wendy replied, then sighed. “I told you weren’t going to like it. But, I’ve known you for ten years, Dan. Don’t think I haven’t noticed some things.”
There was another pause, and Pollaski sat on the bed, chewing his lip. “It sounds like, I need one of those people who tell you to shut up before you say something stupid.”
“That’d either be a lawyer or a manager.” Wendy replied.
Pollaski chuckled, and sighed. “Great. I’m a manager, and I need a manager of my own. That’s embarassing.”
“Not really. It always helps to have that perspective. That’s why I’ve liked having you around. It’s better than these managers and wrestlers who simply act like sycophants to each other,” Wendy replied.
“I suppose.” Pollaski paused. “So, who could manage a manager?”
“I think I could.”
Pollaski had to fight to keep from laughing. “You? Manage me?”
“Why not?” Wendy replied, a tad defensively. “I’ve watched Wolf, and you. I can hold my own should things get shady at ringside. And its not like I don’t know the sport. I think I’d be a great manager.”
There was another long pause, and Pollaski found himself chewing his lip again. “You think you could convince Gambini to get me back in the Defiance title match?”
“I don’t know. Gambini’s not any more of a friend to me than he is to you,” Wendy replied, sounding fairly proud about that fact. She sighed. “I’ll give it a try.”
“No, WE’LL give it a try. Consider yourself... my manager.”
“Okay,” Wendy said, stifling a yawn. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Okay, night,” Pollaski replied. After hearing the line disconnect, he shut off his phone, and lay back down in bed. He looked up at the ceiling, blinked a couple of times, and sighed.
“There is no way in hell this is gonna work.”
===================================
(OOC: Couldn't get it to embed, but screw reading this... watch it instead!)
Hey kids!
Daniel Pollaksi here, wishing everyone a very happy happy New Year! Of course, my resolution is to get my fucking hair cut… I look like a damned hippie. Anyways, as you all know, tonight is NEW YEARS RETRIBUTION, and yours truly has gotten himself into a match against one Camilla Pazzini, in what is designed to be a troll war.
Now, I resent the hell out of that. Because I’m not a troll. A troll says anything they can to get a rise out of someone, like Camilla, who’s good at it, or Don Tirri, who’s good at putting people to sleep. I don’t do that. I simply speak the honest truth about things, and well, if that’s bound to piss someone off once in a while, well, bummer. But there’s a reason that I was named the most influential person in Femme Fatale Wrestling kids, despite the fact that I somehow continue to wield no actual power. Because I don’t troll. I make observations and comments that have been so thoroughly reasoned out that they’re practically dripping in logicsauce. And because I’m so damned rational, my mere mentioning it just made logicsauce a word. It’ll be in the next run of the dictionary, so I’d wait a few months before you try playing it in Scrabble. Which is fine, because it’d only be worth 17 points… although you’d probably get the fifty point bonus for using all seven of your letters. And probably a few double words on there too.
But back on topic. Because it’s true, Chunks says whatever bullshit she can think of to get a rise out of people. And because she’s been hit on the head so many times that her IQ has dipped into the level of Forrest Gump and Lucas Peek’s lovechild, its tough to actually win an argument with her, because, honestly, you need someone with enough of a clue to realize that they’re an idiot to actually win an argument. Or judges, but unfortunately, this isn’t the debate club.
And if it was, I wouldn’t be allowed in it. Not after what I did to poor Tommy Perkins during my junior year of high school. I won’t give you the details, but lets just say that what I did with that ruler certainly put the ‘butt’ in ‘rebuttal.’
Now, like I said, I’m not an idiot, so I know that I’m going to be a pretty substantial underdog going into this match. After all, Camilla Pazzini’s only the mother of all Hardcore Wrestlers (not literally, although she’s fat enough to be), she’s a pretty decent technician to. Me? Well, I’m plucky. Kind of.
Maybe a puncher’s chance is all I have here, but that still is a chance, and I do have a decent punch. And maybe if I hit Queen Hippo in her ugly open mouth, I’ll get an opportunity to unload on her, and get myself that victory.
Meanwhile, there’s Amy, our special ref. Unfortunately, the loan I was taking for the bribery kinda… well, had issues. So you can count that blond haired mercenary a true wildcard in this match. On one hand, Chunks is Isabella’s sister, and we all know that Amy hates herself some Pazzini. On the other hand, well, Cammy doesn’t really like Isabella that much either. So Amy might be a bit more sympathetic.
So you know what guys? Fuck it. Maybe I’ll go out there, get a few good shots in, and pull off the upset of the century. Maybe I’ll get my ass kicked, and end up bloodier than Crystal Hilton’s tampon. It’s New Years Eve, baby! If there’s one thing anyone knows about tonight, it’s that ANYTHING CAN AND WILL HAPPEN!
So yeah, Camilla, you better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout, cause you’re gonna die. Pollaski is coming… for you. Bitch.
Polla-Out
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