Post by "The Fabulous One" Dan Fierce on May 20, 2012 15:16:00 GMT -5
(The following even took place just after the Secret Service agents discovered the 55 gallon drum of lubricant in the warehouse of the convention center where the Log Cabin Republicans would be holding their convention.)
The entire area had been cordoned off within a 50 foot radius of the drum. The radio that had been blasting out Rush Limbaugh’s radio broadcast atop the barrel was removed with the caution of a chicken egg made of nitro glycerin as if it could trigger whatever was inside the drum to suddenly ignite. Henry, the shipping clerk ran back from his office, a piece of paper fluttering from one hand and a wrench from the other. “Here’s the bill of lading for that delivery.”
“Good work,” dictated the elder of the two main agents at the center of the commotion. He took the paperwok from the clerk and scanned it mentally before handing it off to the junior agent. "Agent McTavish, check on this driver and the delivery company.”
“I’m on it, sir,” he barked back and headed out the dock doors to their mobile headquarters. He looked at a couple of the other agents and police officers standing around. “You two! Close these doors behind me and keep an eye out for media. We don’t need a panic until we figure out there’s something to panic over.” The men did as they were directed as he stepped out the door.
The tall, grey haired agent returned his attention to Henry. “Open it. We need to determine if this is a threat.”
“Right.” Henry made his way to the barrel with the wrench and popped loose the opening on the lid. Sweat poured off his brow as he unscrewed it daintily with his hand.
BLORP!
“Aaaahhh!” squelched Henry in surprise, falling backwards on his posterior and pedaling back away from the drum. He kept blindly crawling backwards until he bumped into the senior agent. “AAAAHHH!!” Agent Stewart snapped a rubber glove onto his hand, causing yet another cry from the already frightened man.
Agent Stewart looked down at the man, his eyes hidden behind his shades. His poker face never showing a hint of amusement at the clerk’s anxiety, he looked at the drum. “We’ll take it from here.” He stepped up to the drum, withdrawing a rather large syringe from his jacket pocket.
BLORP! BLORP!
Unfazed by the substance’s seeming protest, he stabbed the syringe into the opening and pulled the plunger on the vial. Once he got what he felt was an acceptable amount he spun on one of the agents placed sentry by the door. “Take this to the lab and have it tested. Also, get me a lighted optic camera. I want to take a look at the whole barrel.” The agent nodded in agreement and left to do as instructed.
Several hours passed as Agent Stewart probed the drum with the optic camera, eyeballing a monitor as he did. Frustration began to mount on the normally stoic agent’s face. He pounded the table they set up with his fist. “DAMMIT! Nothing!”
Looking over the man’s shoulder the entire time with child-like fascination, Henry chimed in. “But isn’t finding nothing a good thing in this case?”
Agent Stewart glared at the clerk, and then softened a bit. “I suppose you’re right.” The door next to the docks burst open and one of the field agents stepped through with a piece of paper. “Are those the lab results?” The agent nodded as he handed them off to his superior. Scanning them thoroughly, Stewart finally eased up. “Okay. Let’s wrap this up and clear up this mess. According to the manufacturers, the composition matches perfectly and the sounds were most likely caused by bubbles made in the shipping process. False alarm.” The men surrounding the scene began rustling about, removing everything from the area.
Henry grabbed his broom and began to toss it back and forth around the cordoned area. The agents finished with their chores and headed out to their mobile headquarters. He chuckled to himself. “All this fuss over a false alarm. Unbelievable.”
Agent McTavish approached along with his dog and placed his hand on Henry’s shoulder. A smile parted the lips of the agent, and Henry imagined he could actually hear a crackling on the agent’s face from the effort. “Sorry about the excitement, Henry. Better safe than sorry.”
Henry looked up from his duties. “No problem.” Neither man noticed the rivulets, of the substance creeping from the still open barrel, over the rim and down the side. Once on the ground, it tendrilled out, reaching for both the clerk and the agent. The men didn’t notice, but the dog let out a whimper and a small growl, watching with cautious interest.
(Back to the situation at hand.)
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE NO CARS?” protested Rush loudly as the number of shots fired in the background began to decrease with each horrified shriek. “WHAT THE HELL KIND OF SECRET SERICE AGENTS ARE YOU?” The red-faced radio star began to stomp toward the agent.
Dan placed himself between the two men, his hand outstretched. “Now take it easy, big guy. All we have to do is…”
“All we have to do is give you to the monster, Tinker Bell,” chimed Rush, a grimace of rage on his face. “You keep hearing him. It’s YOU he wants, not us.”
“Yeah!”exclaimed Bill O’Reilly. “Let’s send HIM out the hall way. Maybe that thing will go away after it gets what it wants.”
“Don’t you guys evah watch movies?” Arnold interjected. “That thing won’t stop if we give it hat it wants.”
“Heh,” added Bill. “Maybe it wants to get married. It already sounded like a nagging wife. Then Sammy Hagar over here can marry his guitar.” Dan spun on Bill and glared daggers through the man, which only caused him to smile slyly.
“HEY! I’m Ted Nugent, not Sammy Hagar!” Ted paused for a minute. “Arnold’s right. That thing isn’t going to stop. Who knows what it really wants?”
“DAN FIERCE! COME OUT AND PLAY!” The monster’s voice was even closer than the men had thought. Panic set in as both Bill and Rush ran up on Dan and began pushing him towards the door.
Dan shrugged off Bill’s grasp easily and clocked Rush square in the mouth. “Keep your filthy hands to yourselves!” Rush staggered back into the corner where he stopped himself on a 55-gallon drum. Dan’s gnashed teeth relaxed a bit as he looked at the drum. “I wondered where that got delivered to.”
Ted looked at the drum. “A barrel of lube?”
Dan fixed his hair seductively and smiled. “Weekend supply. This girl gets biz-ay, OKAY?”
“Just the kind of thing I expect from you perverted gays,” interjected Rush, still holding his bleeding nose.
Blorp.
“You and all your mincing little faggot friends are going to be the downfall of this country!”
Blorp blorp!
“This whole gay marriage thing is nothing but a smokescreen set up by the democrats to hide their cowardice!”
BLORP!
“Wait… What?” Dan interceded. “Hide THEIR cowardice? What about you Republicans making it an issue when McCain was trying to get elected?”
“Well marriage is between a MAN and a WOMAN, not two sexually confused farm animals.”
BLORP! BLORP!
“Who are YOU calling a farm animal, you fucking cow! And don’t even start pulling that bible-thumping bull shit, either, cuz I’ll shred you, you womanizing pig.”
BLROP! BLORP! BLORP!
“As long as I have a breath in my body, I will NEVER stop speaking out against giving you fags your rights. You are all sick, twisted human beings who deserve nothing short of second class citizenry, IF THAT!”
BLORPBLORPBLORP! BOOM!
The steel drum shredded outward, the contents finally having been incensed by Rush’s tirade quite enough. Rush stood there, a dumbfounded look on his now lube soaked body. Blood began leaking slowly from the corners of his mouth. The top half of his rotund body slid oddly forward, the motion not being matched by the lower half. His torso connected with the ground with a resoundingly sickening splat.
Dan spit and spat, trying his best to remove the gooey substance from inside his mouth. The lubricant dripped from him like a bad day at the Nickelodeon Studios or a visit from the Ghostbusters. “What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened?” Dan wiped the substance from his eyes as best he could before cracking them open. During the explosion, he had turned his back to the barrel. The looks of horror on everyone’s faces told the tale, but it wasn’t HIM they were fixated upon. Dan twirled back to the offending drum and laid his eyes upon the two halves of radio personality. Shock set in but all that could come out was, “Cockroaches everywhere are rejoicing that they can now regain the title of lowest living life form.”
The smart-assed comment began to make the goo all over Dan’s clothes irradiate. Dan let out a primal scream as the substance began to infuse itself into his body. The light emanating from him grew brighter and brighter until all of the goo had penetrated his being. As the glow faded, the other men looked on in amazement as Dan stood up, now dressed in a star-spangled woman’s one piece suit and a tiara now on his head. An “S” was inscribed within a diamond shaped emblem on the chest of the suit. A Mardi Gras style makeup mask was designed on his face. “What the hell…” Ted reached out in awestruck wonder toward Dan, but his revelry was cut short as his face disintegrated. The white blob barreled through his head, devoting a huge hole in the concrete wall of the warehouse. Ted’s body collapsed to the ground, spasming its death throes.
“DAN FIERCE! THERE IS NO ESCAPE! YOU WILL SUCCUMB TO THE CONSERVATIVE SIDE!” The Monster stood at attention, as did his cannon, his eyes beaming at Dan.
Dan took a good long look at himself and smiled. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be doing that any time soon. In fact, I think I’m done running. But there is one thing I think I’d like to ask you, okay?”
The beast looked puzzled at his request but answered, “What would that be?”
“Call me… SIZE QUEEN!” Dan struck a pose with one hand on his hip and the other held high triumphantly.
“So…” begins Dan, huffing away as the camera pans back to show that he’s on a tread mill walking a steep incline at a slow jog. “It looks like we meet again, Rizzie-poo.” The treadmill begins a slow decent back to a level base as the speed begins to slow. “Let’s start off by being honest here. I don’t have such a good track record against you. In fact, I’m sure you’ll be proud to bring up that fact ad nauseum in your promo. You’ll be all like, ‘Hurr durr… Hims no beat me. Me ams double champion.’ That will pretty much summarize your promo in a nutshell. Throw in a few idiotic double entendres and inflammatory gay references, and you have vintage Zach Rizza.”
The machine finally slows to a complete stop. Dan grabs his towel and begins to dab away his sweat. “That was then, Rizzie-poo. This is now. Oh, I know people will rail me on the old ‘I’m a changed man’ routine, you included. Truth be told, I don’t want to begin by stating it. Can you honestly look at what I’ve accomplished since we last met and say that things aren’t different? Can you really look at me and see that I’m not even MORE driven than I was before? Oh, you will, but that’s just part of the game. It’s also part of what makes you totally unoriginal. You take the easiest way out. You can brag all you want about your wins over me, but it won’t help you in THIS contest. That much I can guarantee.
“Here are the real facts about how the scenery has changed. I have elevated my game, skipped completely past you in the mid-card, and taken my rightful spot at the top of the charts. Baby, I plan on staying here too. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’ll WIN every time. Just take last week for example. Vega$ got a cheap victory over me. Of course he did. He HAD to do it that way. That’s the only way his dumb ass knows how to gain anything.” Dan stops and snickers a bit. “I guess I can’t be too mad at him, considering I was trying to get my own advantages. A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do to make it in this business, you know. Hell, it’s not like you’ve never cheated to get the advantage, is it Rizzie-poo?
“I was given this match as a good challenge heading into Hardcore Hell before I step into the Elimination Chamber with five other very hungry and talented stars.” Dan looks at the camera and smiles widely. “Take note of that last statement, kiddies. It’ll be the last compliment any of you get from me for a while.” Dan pauses again for effect. “Anyhoo… I wouldn’t want it any other way. Not only do I get to walk into the pay-per-view with my head held high, I’ll get to stomp a mud hole in your blonde ass on the way and walk it dry. Whether you will admit it or not, whether you recognize it or not, I WILL take you completely apart on Brawl, Rizza. I HAVE TO. It’s not your fault, really. I just want to gather back some of the momentum I lost and you were placed directly in my way. Sucks to be you. So let’s get to it, shall we?
“I’ve given you all the props I care to, Rizza. Yes, you are a double champion. No one can deny that shit. But, let’s examine your title reigns for a few minutes, sweetie. You might have two belts, but you have barely defended either one of them since you gained them. You’re not a real champion, Rizzie-poo. You are a coward baby-sitting two chunks of gold. You only defend one belt at a time, and barely manage to keep hold of either one of them when you do. Of course, your more driven efforts always go into the Intercontinental bouts, because let’s face the facts; there are no REAL threats in the tags ranks. Not yet at least. Not until my girl Heather and I decide to bring some real competition to that division. Even then, it’s not like you will be able to put up much of a fight. It’s not like Tomoko can recovery ‘mysteriously’ from a severely injured back. And really, where has your focus been anyways? It’s been on the IC Championship, which by the way, you won from Allyssa Ferro, NOT Vega$ as you said on the air last Monday. Is it any wonder why people treat you like an idiot?
“While we’re on the subject of your so-called accolades, where have they gotten YOU lately? You would think someone who holds a third of the gold in the WGWF would have been offered up a chance at the Elimination Chamber based on that fact alone. Then there’s me, who has lost every chance he got at gold so far, and I’m all up in this bitch. It must really chap your ass. Well, pull ‘em down, Honey and I’ll apply my special ointment. Truth is; the management and your talent level have you exactly where you belong. I’ve upped my game while you’ve coasted on your laurels, expecting to be handed more opportunities.
“You have an upcoming match against Marcus Enderton. That boy is a bigger bitch to beat than you could ever possibly be, so polish that singles belt up real good. Take a long hard look at it Rizzie-poo. It will be the last chance you get to hold it. That’ll be good news for Tommy. At least then she’ll know you have her back again, no pun intended. Well, okay. Maybe it was intended. Love ya Tommy, sweetie. Love ya like my luggage.
“Speaking of carrying baggage, remind me to ask her what it’s like to have to hold up the tag belts while you go after your own interests. Do you see her being that selfish? NO! She could have easily been a part of this too. Lord knows she had her chance, but you have to know that her loyalty to your worthless ass had to weigh in on her mind a little bit. Maybe that’s why she choked against the Hustler. That boy hasn’t got the talent to fight his way out of grade school brawl, much less be in the Elimination chamber.
“Truthfully, we BOTH need this momentum. The problem is we can’t BOTH have it. That’s what will separate us in the end. I have higher stakes and a bigger opportunity to keep here. As I said before… You’re lazy and would rather take the easy way out. Every victory I have was well earned, and I don’t have any plans on letting you walk out of the ring, much less let you walk with the win. I’m not going to just win this Monday, Rizza. I’m going to decimate you in the middle of the ring. You are my canvas and I’m going to paint you as my crimson masterpiece to send a message to my competitors. I’m no longer the joke you and everyone else took for granted in the past. I’m tired of helping to put others over. This is me putting this entire roster on notice. From the lower card Dark Shadows, to you and Mic Ferrari at the mid-card level, to even the headlining favorites like Blizzard. None of you are safe any longer. The bitch in me has done been woke up, and I’m going to tear through anyone who gets in my way.
“People are going to believe what they want to. That’s fine. I won’t stop them. That is until they get put in my way like you are right now, Rizzie-poo. I know going in that I’m the littlest dog in this pack, and maybe I AM making up for it by being the loudest to bark on Twitter and other fan sites. It’s like my dad always used to tell me… You have to toot your own horn, cuz no one’s gonna do it FOR ya. All of you other hypocrites do it in your promos. Why the hell all of a sudden is it so bad for me to give it a whirl? Hmm? When in Rome, do it like the Romans do. Do you like gladiator movies, Rizzie-poo? I think yes. Everyone’s so quick to count me down and out. They’re overlooking one major aspect about me. When I set my mind to do something, I will by GAWD do it. Babies, my mind is set to bring momma the gold at Hardcore Hell. But first… Momma wants a taste of the Big Tyme.
“I may be heading into the Elimination Chamber as the favorite to be the first eliminated, but when you boil it all down to brass tax, only five others will have the honor of being in that match this year. That’s a pretty exclusive club. It doesn’t make a difference to me what people think of my abilities. It doesn’t matter to me who wins Dante’s spot since he choked like a Kansas City sports team and left. It doesn’t even matter to me what the fans think in the long run. I got here because of ME. No one can change that. No one can take that away from me. And until I FEEL like being stopped… Not a single damned one of you is going to stop me. There’s some REAL truth. And Honey… THAT’s real FIERCE!"