Post by Austin Gale on Feb 13, 2017 13:46:00 GMT -5
Austin: “I really don’t have time for this shit today.”
Austin was alone in a large, empty, boardroom. His phone was out and on the table, propped up so that the screen was facing him. Rubbing his head as if that would clear the hangover in a way that the fifteen Advils could not. Today was going to be a long day. Hitting the record button on his phone, it was time.
Austin: “I have meetings coming out my ass today. I’m still trying to replace that useless cameraman even though the table is currently doing a better job than he ever did. I have a hangover so fierce that I’d actually rather be paying attention to what happens in AWE. And to top it all off, I have to film another one of these god forsaken promos for my match. This is really not my day.”
Pouring himself a glass of water, Austin chugs it in one shot.
Austin: “Can you believe that’s my tenth glass of water and I still feel like this? Fucking bullshit. I’m going to make this quick so I can go throw up again before my next meeting. Christian Jones. Are you that clueless or just retarded? And I mean like American Tommy, possible Down Syndrome, level retarded. Did you really just waste all of our time talking about me losing my title? Talking about falling flat on my face instead of retaining my title? You do realize that Zack Fantana was the champ, right? Maybe you need to stop inhaling so much cigar smoke. You know you aren’t even supposed to do that, right? Wait, why am I asking if you know anything at this point? I’ve never met somebody more oblivious to their surroundings and I grew up with Adam Wolfe. Talking about not needing ‘materialistics’ yet you want the title. A title that is nothing more than an object. I’ve spent the last few weeks listening to a Brazilian ask strangers for blowjobs and yet you prove you’re much more dense right out of the gate. You should try learning another language. At least then you will sound smart while being unquestionably simple. That means really stupid. Happy to help.”
Another glass of water poured. Another drank. Number eleven. Austin’s mouth had never felt this dry after a little bit of ranting. This meeting was going to be hell.
Austin: “You spoke a lot about Executive Action, Christian. How are the boys feeling after your match? Still waddling around like you have a saddle horse glued between your thighs? I’ve never heard someone brag so much about winning because they were kicked in the dick. That’s not impressive. Nobody likes a guy who has to walk around with frozen peas on his nuts. While you were in the back having a doctor look at your family jewels, I was busy with more important things. You see, while you are new to the company and as such are fighting other new employees, I was fighting for the fate of the company. Now, I came up short. I didn’t win the title. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t ‘retain my title’. But it was still more important than writing a victory speech while cupping my balls.”
Austin winces in pain. Seriously, this headache could go away any time now. Maybe some food would help. That could probably be squeezed in before this meeting.
Austin: “Christian, you mentioned me probably wearing loafers, a button up and checking the stock markets. Probably? Are you unsure? Are you questioning whether I wear exactly what I wear in all my promos? For Christ’s sake, pay attention. But no, I don’t watch the stock markets. I have people that do that for me. You say there are people with talent and people with money. Then you said you had money. Does that mean you have no talent? I mean, you’ve certainly proved that by only winning via disqualification. You’re not a big dog. You’re not a king. You’re nothing. You need to take your eyes off of Tommy Stone, pal. I’m your opponent. Or do you think you’re facing Tommy again? I really can’t tell when you know. Maybe I should have spent the last five minutes talking about how Tommy beat you. How you low blowed him and he’s proud of it. We would certainly be on an even playing field then. Dipshit.”
Glass of water number twelve. Austin wasn’t used to drinking this much non-alcoholic fluid. His father always said ‘Water was for bathing, not drinking’. Maybe that’s why this hangover wasn’t going away.
Austin: “I’m going to end this thing here. I have to hire a new cameraman and all this water is making me have to piss like a racehorse.”
Rising to his feet, Austin buttons up his jacket. He grabs his phone and uses the video to adjust his hair.
Austin: “Oh and by the way, a clique is a group of people. The term you were looking for was ‘walking cliché’. Imbecile.”
Stopping the recording, Austin slips in the phone in his pocket before walking out the door. The hunt for a bathroom was on.
Fade to black.
Austin was alone in a large, empty, boardroom. His phone was out and on the table, propped up so that the screen was facing him. Rubbing his head as if that would clear the hangover in a way that the fifteen Advils could not. Today was going to be a long day. Hitting the record button on his phone, it was time.
Austin: “I have meetings coming out my ass today. I’m still trying to replace that useless cameraman even though the table is currently doing a better job than he ever did. I have a hangover so fierce that I’d actually rather be paying attention to what happens in AWE. And to top it all off, I have to film another one of these god forsaken promos for my match. This is really not my day.”
Pouring himself a glass of water, Austin chugs it in one shot.
Austin: “Can you believe that’s my tenth glass of water and I still feel like this? Fucking bullshit. I’m going to make this quick so I can go throw up again before my next meeting. Christian Jones. Are you that clueless or just retarded? And I mean like American Tommy, possible Down Syndrome, level retarded. Did you really just waste all of our time talking about me losing my title? Talking about falling flat on my face instead of retaining my title? You do realize that Zack Fantana was the champ, right? Maybe you need to stop inhaling so much cigar smoke. You know you aren’t even supposed to do that, right? Wait, why am I asking if you know anything at this point? I’ve never met somebody more oblivious to their surroundings and I grew up with Adam Wolfe. Talking about not needing ‘materialistics’ yet you want the title. A title that is nothing more than an object. I’ve spent the last few weeks listening to a Brazilian ask strangers for blowjobs and yet you prove you’re much more dense right out of the gate. You should try learning another language. At least then you will sound smart while being unquestionably simple. That means really stupid. Happy to help.”
Another glass of water poured. Another drank. Number eleven. Austin’s mouth had never felt this dry after a little bit of ranting. This meeting was going to be hell.
Austin: “You spoke a lot about Executive Action, Christian. How are the boys feeling after your match? Still waddling around like you have a saddle horse glued between your thighs? I’ve never heard someone brag so much about winning because they were kicked in the dick. That’s not impressive. Nobody likes a guy who has to walk around with frozen peas on his nuts. While you were in the back having a doctor look at your family jewels, I was busy with more important things. You see, while you are new to the company and as such are fighting other new employees, I was fighting for the fate of the company. Now, I came up short. I didn’t win the title. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t ‘retain my title’. But it was still more important than writing a victory speech while cupping my balls.”
Austin winces in pain. Seriously, this headache could go away any time now. Maybe some food would help. That could probably be squeezed in before this meeting.
Austin: “Christian, you mentioned me probably wearing loafers, a button up and checking the stock markets. Probably? Are you unsure? Are you questioning whether I wear exactly what I wear in all my promos? For Christ’s sake, pay attention. But no, I don’t watch the stock markets. I have people that do that for me. You say there are people with talent and people with money. Then you said you had money. Does that mean you have no talent? I mean, you’ve certainly proved that by only winning via disqualification. You’re not a big dog. You’re not a king. You’re nothing. You need to take your eyes off of Tommy Stone, pal. I’m your opponent. Or do you think you’re facing Tommy again? I really can’t tell when you know. Maybe I should have spent the last five minutes talking about how Tommy beat you. How you low blowed him and he’s proud of it. We would certainly be on an even playing field then. Dipshit.”
Glass of water number twelve. Austin wasn’t used to drinking this much non-alcoholic fluid. His father always said ‘Water was for bathing, not drinking’. Maybe that’s why this hangover wasn’t going away.
Austin: “I’m going to end this thing here. I have to hire a new cameraman and all this water is making me have to piss like a racehorse.”
Rising to his feet, Austin buttons up his jacket. He grabs his phone and uses the video to adjust his hair.
Austin: “Oh and by the way, a clique is a group of people. The term you were looking for was ‘walking cliché’. Imbecile.”
Stopping the recording, Austin slips in the phone in his pocket before walking out the door. The hunt for a bathroom was on.
Fade to black.