For the past week I had been getting the most crazy of flashbacks, everything was so visceral. Bullet dispatched me, she sent me all the way to hell, like she said she would, like I thought she might.
Yet, somehow, I just didn’t care.
I was completely pre occupied with the news that Solomon Cain had passed away. It was just a couple of years ago I hung that man with a noose around his neck. That was the night he was supposed to pass away, that was supposed to be the moment his life ended, that day, that day right there was when it was supposed to be his final fate.
Police had visited me the day after Throwdown, they had supposedly received a lead that I might have been involved with his death. Suspicious minds pointed towards Tyke Index, why wouldn’t they? This was a man I nearly damn killed before; I was literally an eyelash away from it.
The moment the police arrived at my hotel room for questioning, I asked those motherfuckers who had pointed their elbows at me. There was absolutely no way in hell I could have done it, no chance; I was more than 1000 miles away at the other end of the country. They left but said they would be back; I was still none the wiser to who had even mentioned my name. Absolute audacity of whoever it was. Thing is, I had been in prison before. I had been in those big beige grey cells for 10 years. 3650 days. If I ever went down for murder again, it would be life. I knew that, more importantly, the person who made the call knew that.
Then I got thinking, then I began drinking, I took to smoking. I was stressed; it was just the ten or eleven drinks, okay?
Don't you dare judge me!
It was Azurine Vebbins. It was Dat Damn Azzy who had picked up the telephone and dialled 911 to report a murder that was never a murder. It made perfect sense. Or did it? Was the drink making me delirious? Was I hallucinating? Was this really happening? I stretched my arms out as far as they could go and I started touching the wall. I was begging for an answer, hoping someone would deliver me to god. All that was delivered, though, was 6 cauliflower wings, a bag of chips, half a dozen dips, mostly in flavours I didn’t even like and a tube of diet cola. I must have drunk ordered an hour ago or something.
I’m not so sure I did order, you know. Maybe Azzy was on the wind up with that to. Ordering shit to my room on the bam up. I was the victim here, shout it from the rooftops.
I AM THE VICTIM.
Azzy, let’s look at the facts. You’ve been making national days out of nothing since day zero. You’ve been winding me up with your weird pronunciations and the way you shake your hair since day one. Let’s talk about your hair actually. It’s ginger, you’re ginger. Probably the most talked about ginger in North America and the oceans in between. How do you think that makes me feel?
Everyone is talking about Azurine Vebbins, all the while the police are talking to me. I’m not happy about that; don’t let the drunken smile or the high as fuck eyes fool you.
I’m deluded right now, deluded and frustrated. I’m not sure if you even remember who I am. Do you? Why would you phone the police on me? What was your motive to tell the boys in blue that I have been murdering people? Killing them? Maiming them? Do I look like a murderer to you, Azzy? Do I? Do I? Tell me. Do I? Why would you tell them that I murdered Solomon Cain?
At Rise, there would be a murder. It will be Tyke Index murdering Azzy Vebby. I’m going to straight up destroy you, not even because I hate you. Cause I’m not sure I do, soberly talking, I’m pretty sure I actually like you more than most people in Mai Hai Wrasslin’, certainly more than the Shieldmaidens and definitely more than Skrabal Stanzas, ps. welcome back bbz.
Back at you, Vebby, all eyes on you. All elbows pointing at you. At Rise I am going to ask you over and over and over and over and over again why you told the police I murdered Solomon Cain. When I do, you are going to reply over and over and over and over and over again with the reason why. I want a full detailed description of why you have it in for me so bad.
Tell me, tell me, tell me. Why Azzy? why? Why would you want to send me down again, send me down to play with the soap? Send me to hell? Send me BACK. I don’t want to go back.
I never want to go back.
I can’t go back.
Not now. Not ever. Never.
I hadn’t felt this high since I was trying to locate my Phoenix Championship that I misplaced two years ago. Fuck. My eyes were rolling about like puppy pupils.
I picked up my phone and clicked on the top name. I could hear that son’ bitch ringing out.
“Tell me why you told the police I murdered Solomon Cain?”
“Why are you calling me at 7am, son? You been cutting the cheese again?”
“Azzy, why are you pretending to be my dad? That has to be the worst Glaswegian accent I have ever heard. This is ridiculous, you are ridiculous”
“Are you in trouble with the police again, son?”
“You would know saying you phoned them. For a female, you are putting on a damn good manly accent full of masculinity and leaking with testosterone. How dare you. How very dare you. I’m going to murder you on Sunday, Azzy.”
“What are you talking about, son? On Sunday I am going shopping with your mother. The same mother we are going to never tell about this call. She worries about you enough.”
“You are going nowhere with my mum, Azzy. Mothers Day was last month, you of all people should know that. Quit it. Quit it now”
“Tyke, I am going to have to call someone to check on you. I’m not sure what you are doing at the moment, but please, for the love of god. Go sleep it off, then call me tomorrow”
“You don’t call the shots around here, Azzy. Don’t you damn dare of the damnest try to patronize me. You are not my father. You are not my mother. You are not the person who sends me back down”
“Tyke, it’s me. It’s your dad. Go lie down”
“Don’t you dare…”
The phone line went dead. Azzy was playing with me, that bitch was toying with me. Dat Damn Azzy was ripping my tights on speed dial.
I was feeling blue and numb, every single muscle in my leg had went limp. Insignificant, I was almost nothing. Yet, I wanted answers. I picked up my phone and dialled the same number as last time.
“Why did you tell the police I murdered Solomon Cain?”
“What the fuck you talking about, Tyke? I’ve not spoke to you in over a year. It’s me, Mikes.”
“No, pretending to be my dad is one thing. Now you be pretending that you Lance Mikes. Azzy, you are no best friend of Tyke Index!”
“Oh, is that how it is? Remind me to take you off the Christmas Card list you crazy son a’ bitch. Don’t call me when you need handers fending off those Shieldmaidens. Let’s face it, that mouth has always got you in all sorts of trouble.”
“You want to talk about trouble, do you? You big bodacious brute of a bitch. I’ll tell you about trouble. On Sunday you are going to be in all sorts of trouble when I stamp all over your head. If I am going down to Coke Mountain, then I am damn well taking you with me, you deceitful and slithering piece of dog piss”
“Oh, you didn’t just call me dog piss. Tell me that wasn’t a thing that just escaped your mouth. I should come bust a nut in your ass right now. Go and lie down, you stupid motherfuckin’ pinata faced pizza pie”
“You try and bust a nut, Azzy. I dare you. These nuts are honey roasted and on Sunday they are going to drizzle all over you”
“Okay, now ya just sounding real weird. Go sleep, Tyke. It’s Mikes not Azzy. Jeez, lay off the cheese. I thought you were off that shit? Or was that another failed Tyke Index January Resolution? I swear you’ve broken more Jan Reso’s than I have speed limits.”
“How very dare you sit there accusing and judging me. In my 34 years on this planet I have only broken 17 resolutions and 16 of those was promising not to call your mum on Sundays.”
“Oh, now we resorting to the toilet humour. Very good, Tyke. Ya damn lucky I look at you like a wee brother, or I would be getting air miles across the country to give you the asskicking off a life time”
“Don’t you dare pull the wee brother card! You KNOW how much that shit annoys me, Azzy. That's the exact same lines that Bullet bitch used on me! 'Oh, poor lil Tyke'. Keep talking, you’re just giving me more reasons to take your ass to Coke Mountain on Sunday.”
“Tyke, by the sounds of it, the only place you are going tonight is to your bed.”
Before I could go through that damn ginger damsel one more time, she would hang up again. I couldn’t believe it. First she phones the police on me, then she pretends to be my dad and then she pretends to be my best friend.
Call me delusional, but this couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it? Course it couldn’t.
Azurine Vebbins had gone too far this time. I considered her a friend, a confident, an acquaintance. Someone to watch Simpsons with on Saturdays. Not now. Nooooooo. Now Azzy Vebby was an enemy and like all enemies. I would keep her close, oh I would keep her damn close. Not too close, though, she might steal my weed. After all, she does look the sort. My mum used to tell me “never trust dem gingers”. She was right. Last ginger I dated removed her rib cage so she could bend over to lick her toes.
More I thought about it. Maybe Azurine Vebbins was the ginger I dated all those years ago? I mean, would you really put it past her? She had just spent the past hour pretending to be everyone BUT Azzy Vebby on the blower, so what would really stop her putting a bit of disguise on and trying to fool me.
Damn, Azurine Vebbins had been my girlfriend twenty years ago. Damn, she aged well.
I took another draw and wondered why she was so intent on still breaking my heart. She told me her name was Alice back then. It wasn’t, though. That bitch lied to me. That bitch had deceived me. Not for the first time either.
It was Azurine. Azurine Vebbins.
I picked up the phone again and dialled on down.
“Yo, what is it Tyke? I’m real busy right now, is this urgent?”
“Oh, yes. It is damn urgent! Firstly, why are you pretending to be Robert Mack? Secondly, why did you dump me twenty years ago? Lastly, TELL ME WHY YOU TOLD THE POLICE I MURDERED SOLOMON CAIN IMMEDIATELY!!!”
“Okay, Tyke. I’m gonna need to see you in my office first thing on Sunday when you get to the arena. You been on that substance shit again? Rest assured. You and me? We have never been a thing you creepy lil shit. To quote TAY TAY...We are never EVER getting back together.”
“Like I told you on the last call, don’t you dare damn judge me! I will see you on Sunday, you will see me up close and personal when I take your ass to Coke Mountain!”
“Oh, now you’re threatening your boss? Real smart. Just when I think you can’t become more idiotic, you go right ahead and prove me wrong. Seriously, you make Snakebite look like a front runner for Podiatric of the year. Go to sleep, Tyke. Do yourself a favour.”
“Oh, it’ll be your ass going to sleep on Sunday”
“Tyke, come see me on Sunday.”
Then it happened again, that damn phone line went beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Flatlined like my heart would one day. I was irate, I was angry, I was being taken for an absolute dweeb by Dat Dam Dame. Telling the cops I had killed someone was one thing. Pretending to be family another. Hoaxing a coaxing to be my best friend looked like the icing on the cake. NOW. Now Azzy was pretending to be my boss, Mr Mack. Vebby was cruising for a bruising. Her impersonations would not be getting her an Oscar anytime soon. On Sunday she was dead meat. Azzy would be the deadest of the most dead. This tragic poet would break free with every rhyme within the freedom of the land.
Then it happened.
I looked at my emails.
Find below details of your disciplinary hearing:
Sunday 30th May with Mr. Robert Mack
Relating to incident on:
Monday 24th May concerning:
Threatening Behaviour and Expletives within 2 minute and 12 second phone call.
It is your right to be accompanied by a union representative or an acquaintance be that personal or within the company.
Signed: Mr Robert Mack (Mile High Wrestling – CEO)
It was actually Mr. Mack on the phone all along, oh shit…
I picked up the phone one last time…
“Mikes, I need you to be my rep on Sunday for a disciplinary with Mack. I’ve fucked up…”
“Oh, you damn right you fucked up! You have a cheek calling me five minutes after the way you spoke to me”
“Spoke to you? I haven't spoken to you today?”
Then it hit me.
I was MOTHERFUCKIIIIIN HIGH.
Damn, that shit was lit.
Sunday at Rise may or may not be the most fun in a long time.
Framing of a tragic poet looked like it had just begun…
Post by azurinevebbins on May 29, 2021 17:40:13 GMT -6
Loomis Day Loomin'
Our ridiculously rollicking redhead rummages through her rucksack while remembering a rival’s ramblings. Even though this would be Azurine Vebbins’ second showdown with Tyke Index, it marked many firsts in her Mile High Wrestling tenure. “Da Adorkable Angel” hadn’t previously flown solo to Denver. “Da Damsel in Dat Dress” was not accustomed to adorning articles of clothing alone. Previous partners, whether teammates or supportive spouses, usually picked out her grappling gear. She slips on a loose, light blue t-shirt dress before broadcasting a strong streaming signal.
Azurine Vebbins: Evenin’, MHW chanters! It’s “Da Adorkable Angel” Azurine Vebbins addressin’ you from an atypically adequate accommodation. Additionally, I’m intimatin’ an irrational, invisible intimidation instilled via intense isolation. Deyr’s also an eighty-eight point four percent chance I’m internalizin’ intimacy issues? My hy-pod-e-sis comes from not bein’ satisfactorily spooned for over two weeks. Dat’s what happens when you become sin’-le: your chances to cherish crucial “Cuddle Cardio” get cold cut like chorizo. Hence, I’m a pent-up passion project packin’ properly portioned out pummelin’ power. Come Sunday, “Da Vivacious Variable’s” snapmain’ synapses and click-clack-crackin’ my competition’s confidence. Based on his promotional material and recent social media posts, I infer Index doesn’t possess much of eider. I’m comfy cleanin’ your cranial condominium on da condition it’s free of credit fluctuatin’ charge.
Mile High Wrestling’s “Ms. Most Marketable” springboards off a broken box spring and looks for a closer vantage point. She subconsciously sashays towards a desk chair whose backrest droops at a 30-degree acute angle. Azurine sits astride the chair with elbows akimbo as she leans into her camera lens. She places a partially-painted index finger to her chin before erupting with eloquent elucidation.
Azurine Vebbins: In every sense of seriousness, Tyke, what da fricative? I recognize our encore recital takes place on Loomis Day, but dat shouldn’t get your wireless communications crossed wid compoundin’, confoundin’ conspiracy?! Den again, if anyone should hold a patent on perpetual paranoia, it’s Tyke Index. Imagine you must’ve needed some-din’ to take da Occam’s Razor’s edge off. Why else would you dive dementia deep towards drugs again? For “Da Tragic Poet,” bein’ dramatically drastic must be better dan determinin’ how to drown defeat and doubt.
“Da Damsel in Dat Dress” pivots her perfunctory posture, leaning obnoxiously obtuse. Vebbins places both arms behind her external occipital protuberance, ever mindful of bracing potential falls with a haphazard handstand.
Azurine Vebbins: Conversely, my endorphins enhance exponentially via an alternate aural stimulant. I receive a hella happy high understandin’ we’re gonna flamenco for da full capacity faid-ful of Magness Arena. Channelin’ deyr cacophonous chorale amplies appreciation since it slays silence. Every melodious moan, gratuitous groan, wry wail, and half-hearted heckle rejuvenates my rhy-dim.
“Da Adorkable Angel” giddily gyrates until pirouetting back onto the box spring. Her Phoneme Whippersnapper readjusts focus as Ms. Vebbins kneels precariously.
Azurine Vebbins: Dose gift me veneration as well as validation. From Index’s echo chamber entombment, however, valid voices volley vacuous vilification. One year’s elapsed and da dude deluges himself in diluted delusion. Deyrfore, at MHW DrowDown: RISE, I must offer Tyke da best bump in recent reality. Don’t worry, dird nose, it’ll be a flat back caused by my patented Pearly Gatekeeper. Odd-er-wise, da dastard’s gonna keep bein’ more “hung up” dan Madonna.
Her promotional material ceases streaming when Azurine performs some suggestive seance-style head and neck rolls.
Admin: There's this too. We can turn this chatroom into a par-dookie!
May 12, 2021 16:00:11 GMT -6
Admin: I'll be getting off of Twitter soon, and fully committing to EFedder within the next few days. If you haven't joined EFedder yet, you should. 💪💯💯 It's the greatest thing created for efedding in a long time.
May 13, 2021 15:05:01 GMT -6
Admin: Note that the deadlines have changed. I made the change for the convenience of the other judges.
May 17, 2021 15:21:30 GMT -6
Admin: Hope everyone is enjoying their 4th of July weekend/week/day! 💪💯💯
Jul 4, 2021 14:22:58 GMT -6
Admin: Where do yall hist photos? I'm thinking about switching sites, because I'm paying a monthly subscription for Photobucket and they got watermarks back on my images. I'm guessing it's a glitch or something, but it's already been two days.
Aug 7, 2021 6:56:18 GMT -6
The Purge: I use Imgur - and I've never paid a cent for their services, and no water marks
Aug 7, 2021 8:48:13 GMT -6
Deleted: o.o Lord, Rob! Get away from Photobucket ASAP! I’m with Haircin — use Imgur. It’s way better and costs nothing.
Aug 8, 2021 16:28:35 GMT -6
Admin: I appreciate yall! ✊💯💯 Ima look into it this week. Apologies to everyone if some of the images for the show tonight have that Photobucket watermark. I didn't have the time today obviously to make any switches. But I will make time this week. 💯💯
Aug 8, 2021 17:43:04 GMT -6
Admin: Katrina will probably be happy too as she was just telling me I was crazy for paying monthly for a photo host. Lol.
Aug 8, 2021 17:44:00 GMT -6
Admin: ***NOTE*** I moved the deadline up 12 hours to give the judges an extra day to read over the rps.
Aug 10, 2021 15:29:37 GMT -6
Admin: Started messing with Imgur today and confirmed to myself that Imgur was the original photo host I was using for Season One and the beginning of Season Two of MHW. Something made me mad and thats when I switched to Photobucket. I don't remember what though.
Aug 12, 2021 16:08:47 GMT -6
Admin: Ima still switch back to it though, because the Photobucker watermarks are still showing up on some images.
Aug 12, 2021 16:09:19 GMT -6
Admin: ***Just A Reminder*** The new deadline is less than 24 hours away. 💪💯💯
Aug 20, 2021 9:45:58 GMT -6
cmosh: Marisol Vilaró is Spanish, she is from Spain
Sept 14, 2021 22:50:17 GMT -6
Admin: Noted 💪💯💯 So I can get Rrina to teach me how to pronounce her name.
Sept 15, 2021 15:35:32 GMT -6
cmosh: Don't worry I don't know how to pronounce it either. She is actually played by someone else, so it is sometimes hard to do RP's with them due to our work schelduce but I am alound to use the character over here
Sept 15, 2021 19:28:12 GMT -6
Admin: Trying something different with the match writing, based off of research and just to try something new. It's a hit or miss concept, so feedback would be appreciated. ThrowDown will also debut the new layout concept. AMMO will start with that new layout...
Sept 18, 2021 8:35:55 GMT -6
Admin: It happens, brudda!
Sept 19, 2021 19:49:09 GMT -6