Post by Steve Sinclair on Dec 31, 2017 15:50:08 GMT
December 27th 2017
Las Vegas
Just outside of the lights and tourist traps that makes up Las Vegas, a mile from the famed “WELCOME TO LAS VEGAS!” sign that is in its own right is a tourist attraction, outside of the big high rise hotels, big money casinos and high dollars hoes, is this rinky dinky roadside motel and “casino” where some of the seedy unkempt locals who have been banned from every place on the strip hangs out during the day spending their “disability” checks. At this run down, broken down eyesore from the 50’s is where you can get yourself a working lady, one that has been ridden hard and put away wet. A female companion that has some mileage on her. The high mileage models, ones that are far from perfect. Ones that has been bashed, bruised and abused but this is the only line of work they know.
The blacktop parking lot is riddled with potholes, faded yellow stripes and the windswept sands have infiltrated it and is slowly taking it over. The “Casino” with it’s aqua blue doors, sandblasted by the wind and sand over the years, bullet holes in the windows, the trash can overflowing with trash, and the homeless man who lives behind it, this dump, as it is referred to by those who drive it by it on their way to the bright lights and lure of big money in nearby Vegas is known worldwide. Yes, this slice of American pie was once on the lips of everyone in the Sports Entertainment World. Cuz as you see, This ladies and gentlemen, is the Bad Ass Hotel!
The half burnt out neon light open sign buzzes away as some very shady walks of life loitering inside and outside the main entrance. The double decker motel with a functioning inground pool, a perk and welcome sight in middle of a dessert is also home to some colorful characters and while we could spend the rest of the light telling their story, we will just have to skip all of that and just focus in on one room. The “suite”. The “big room!” The most expensive room to rent….if it was for rent that is. This is where the owner of the Bad Ass Hotel and Casino lives and procreates on a almost nightly bases with one, or several lovely ladies.
It has been said from time to time that the man, the Little Monster among Men has been quoted more than once that he is “Thankful that god created the light switch because I tell you what, Man I need it with some of these bitches.”
As much as we would all love to reconnect with the Bad Ass One, James Kelloggs, we’re not here today for him. Refunds, if you are so inclined to request one, can be had at the door. Thanks for coming. No my friend we’re here for someone else. Someone who has called this dump home for the last year. Someone who feels like the world has tried to blackball him from the sport he has grew up in. Blacked balled from his only true calling in life. He has given his life to this sport and he’ll be damned if someone was going to take it from him. Today he starts to take it back……
Stepping out on the balcony of the Bad Ass Hotel is Double J Joe Jones. Wearing white board shorts and no shirt, flip flops with his phone in his hand he leans on the old black iron pipe railing that has been painted green some 30 years ago and the lead paint has been chipping away for the last 20 years. Joe is scrolling through his messages and raises an eyebrow over one.
“Hmmmm” Joe goes as he stands up straight, turns 180 and leans up up against the railing and flicks his thumb a couple of times and holds the phone up to his ear.
After a solid 40 seconds. “Hey. Got your message. Yeah I got a passport but seriously, Mexico? Listen, yeah I get that. I might have heard of that group on some web sites here and there....but do I personally know them? No.”
Joe rubs the stubble on his chin.
“I don’t have to wear a mask? This isn’t 1996 and I’m not going back to Disgruntled. Fuck! This isn’t 2013 and I’m not doing that Racing Tyme shit again. I’m done with the whole mask thing. They get Double J or nothing.”
Joe strokes his chin and taps his finger on his lips as he listens to what is being offered on the other end of the line.
“Yeah work has been hard to find, not going to lie. I’ve done some shit shows in town, crap that doesn’t pay anything but I have managed to keep myself in shape. I’m not some reclamation project, you better make that perfectly clear! If I get my car and cross that border and stamp my passport with the Mexican flag, I’m there for real. I’m there to win. I’m there to take gold. No bullshit. No Universal shit.”
Joe glances up at the doorway and turns away from it and covers his phone with his hand, shielding it.
“No tag team…” Joe says as he starts to slowly walk away from the room.
“The real deal this time. I’m going to show this fucking sport why I was once the most talked about man in this industry. Why I was the most in demand star on the face of the planet.”
Joe stops and tilts his head back some. He nods.
“See what you can do man. Let me know. Kay. See ya soon.”
Joe ends his call. He wants to smirk but fights the urge.
“Who the fuck was you talking to?”
Joe snaps around and standing on the balcony is James Kelloggs. And he is nude. In the doorway is a girl who ten years ago was a top draw stripper intown, now, not so much. Bad Tats, botched boob job and a belly will do that. Plus a habit she has to feed. She’s naked too so there’s that. Do you feel dirty yet? You should cuz it is.
Joe slowly turns. “Oh, Ralph again.”
“Oh? And what does Ralph want?”
“He’s working on booking another show. Wanted to know if I was interested.”
“Yeah? So we’re in right?”
Post DarcPro life hasn’t been the greatest for the pint size brawler. The phone really never rang for him and other than teaming up with Joe intown, he spends his time running his casino, pocketing the profits and fucking ugly chicks. Oh and drinks pretty much non stop. Alcoholics shouldn’t own bars. That should be a general rule in life. He has regressed inside the ring that the only way for him to “make it” in the ring is part of a tag team and Joe is getting tired of it.
“Well.” Joe begins, wondering how he’ll get out of this cuz Ralph didn’t call and there isn’t a show coming up and he needs something that he knows James will turn down. “No tag match but he has a spot for Scrappy.”
James narrows his eyes. He growls a little bit and reaches down and scratches his shaved ball sack.
“Fuck that fucking prick. Motherfucker thinks I’m getting in a clown suit! He can suck my mother fucking dick! You just wait till I see that fucking cock again! I’ll bitch slap him right across the dick kisser!”
Inside Joe hopes that James keeps his word and does just that. Serves him right for stiffing him on his last match. “That match was on the house.” I’m a 20 year vet Ralph, there is no more “On the house” matches.
“You do that.” Joe says. “I’ve got to get going though. You...you have fun okay?”
James smirks. “That pretty boy is back yeah?”
“Something like that.” Joe says with a wink and a nod.
Fade out……………………...
Las Vegas
Just outside of the lights and tourist traps that makes up Las Vegas, a mile from the famed “WELCOME TO LAS VEGAS!” sign that is in its own right is a tourist attraction, outside of the big high rise hotels, big money casinos and high dollars hoes, is this rinky dinky roadside motel and “casino” where some of the seedy unkempt locals who have been banned from every place on the strip hangs out during the day spending their “disability” checks. At this run down, broken down eyesore from the 50’s is where you can get yourself a working lady, one that has been ridden hard and put away wet. A female companion that has some mileage on her. The high mileage models, ones that are far from perfect. Ones that has been bashed, bruised and abused but this is the only line of work they know.
The blacktop parking lot is riddled with potholes, faded yellow stripes and the windswept sands have infiltrated it and is slowly taking it over. The “Casino” with it’s aqua blue doors, sandblasted by the wind and sand over the years, bullet holes in the windows, the trash can overflowing with trash, and the homeless man who lives behind it, this dump, as it is referred to by those who drive it by it on their way to the bright lights and lure of big money in nearby Vegas is known worldwide. Yes, this slice of American pie was once on the lips of everyone in the Sports Entertainment World. Cuz as you see, This ladies and gentlemen, is the Bad Ass Hotel!
The half burnt out neon light open sign buzzes away as some very shady walks of life loitering inside and outside the main entrance. The double decker motel with a functioning inground pool, a perk and welcome sight in middle of a dessert is also home to some colorful characters and while we could spend the rest of the light telling their story, we will just have to skip all of that and just focus in on one room. The “suite”. The “big room!” The most expensive room to rent….if it was for rent that is. This is where the owner of the Bad Ass Hotel and Casino lives and procreates on a almost nightly bases with one, or several lovely ladies.
It has been said from time to time that the man, the Little Monster among Men has been quoted more than once that he is “Thankful that god created the light switch because I tell you what, Man I need it with some of these bitches.”
As much as we would all love to reconnect with the Bad Ass One, James Kelloggs, we’re not here today for him. Refunds, if you are so inclined to request one, can be had at the door. Thanks for coming. No my friend we’re here for someone else. Someone who has called this dump home for the last year. Someone who feels like the world has tried to blackball him from the sport he has grew up in. Blacked balled from his only true calling in life. He has given his life to this sport and he’ll be damned if someone was going to take it from him. Today he starts to take it back……
Stepping out on the balcony of the Bad Ass Hotel is Double J Joe Jones. Wearing white board shorts and no shirt, flip flops with his phone in his hand he leans on the old black iron pipe railing that has been painted green some 30 years ago and the lead paint has been chipping away for the last 20 years. Joe is scrolling through his messages and raises an eyebrow over one.
“Hmmmm” Joe goes as he stands up straight, turns 180 and leans up up against the railing and flicks his thumb a couple of times and holds the phone up to his ear.
After a solid 40 seconds. “Hey. Got your message. Yeah I got a passport but seriously, Mexico? Listen, yeah I get that. I might have heard of that group on some web sites here and there....but do I personally know them? No.”
Joe rubs the stubble on his chin.
“I don’t have to wear a mask? This isn’t 1996 and I’m not going back to Disgruntled. Fuck! This isn’t 2013 and I’m not doing that Racing Tyme shit again. I’m done with the whole mask thing. They get Double J or nothing.”
Joe strokes his chin and taps his finger on his lips as he listens to what is being offered on the other end of the line.
“Yeah work has been hard to find, not going to lie. I’ve done some shit shows in town, crap that doesn’t pay anything but I have managed to keep myself in shape. I’m not some reclamation project, you better make that perfectly clear! If I get my car and cross that border and stamp my passport with the Mexican flag, I’m there for real. I’m there to win. I’m there to take gold. No bullshit. No Universal shit.”
Joe glances up at the doorway and turns away from it and covers his phone with his hand, shielding it.
“No tag team…” Joe says as he starts to slowly walk away from the room.
“The real deal this time. I’m going to show this fucking sport why I was once the most talked about man in this industry. Why I was the most in demand star on the face of the planet.”
Joe stops and tilts his head back some. He nods.
“See what you can do man. Let me know. Kay. See ya soon.”
Joe ends his call. He wants to smirk but fights the urge.
“Who the fuck was you talking to?”
Joe snaps around and standing on the balcony is James Kelloggs. And he is nude. In the doorway is a girl who ten years ago was a top draw stripper intown, now, not so much. Bad Tats, botched boob job and a belly will do that. Plus a habit she has to feed. She’s naked too so there’s that. Do you feel dirty yet? You should cuz it is.
Joe slowly turns. “Oh, Ralph again.”
“Oh? And what does Ralph want?”
“He’s working on booking another show. Wanted to know if I was interested.”
“Yeah? So we’re in right?”
Post DarcPro life hasn’t been the greatest for the pint size brawler. The phone really never rang for him and other than teaming up with Joe intown, he spends his time running his casino, pocketing the profits and fucking ugly chicks. Oh and drinks pretty much non stop. Alcoholics shouldn’t own bars. That should be a general rule in life. He has regressed inside the ring that the only way for him to “make it” in the ring is part of a tag team and Joe is getting tired of it.
“Well.” Joe begins, wondering how he’ll get out of this cuz Ralph didn’t call and there isn’t a show coming up and he needs something that he knows James will turn down. “No tag match but he has a spot for Scrappy.”
James narrows his eyes. He growls a little bit and reaches down and scratches his shaved ball sack.
“Fuck that fucking prick. Motherfucker thinks I’m getting in a clown suit! He can suck my mother fucking dick! You just wait till I see that fucking cock again! I’ll bitch slap him right across the dick kisser!”
Inside Joe hopes that James keeps his word and does just that. Serves him right for stiffing him on his last match. “That match was on the house.” I’m a 20 year vet Ralph, there is no more “On the house” matches.
“You do that.” Joe says. “I’ve got to get going though. You...you have fun okay?”
James smirks. “That pretty boy is back yeah?”
“Something like that.” Joe says with a wink and a nod.
Fade out……………………...