Kenath Israel vs Inkt

[Deleted]

For the PCW Television Championship

1 RP a piece. Good luck.

[Inkt]

"well fuck my ass. If it's not one thing, it's a fuckin 'nother, huh?"

We find Inkt looking through the The Oakland Tribune.

"what?"

"What do you mean what, X? Look at this shit!"

Inkt tosses the paper on the table between the two of them. Staring up at them on the front page was the image of Full House's Danny Tanner. Bob Saget was dead.

"dude, that's old news, inkt. Hell he's been dead almost a week now. I didn't know you were a fan."

"Are you kidding me? America's funniest home videos? Full House? Come on man. I grew up with this fucking guy man. The Tanners might as well be childhood friends."

"...And now he's dead. Anyways, moving on, you gettin in on this shit or what? New map pack, come on. You need to get down, at least once."

"Nah man, im not in the mood. This shit's got me all sorts of stirred up. I'd probably end up rage quitting and breaking something. Besides, I need to go out and get some food."

"I could eat. What are you gonna get?"

Inkt looks to X, and simply replies:

"Church's."

"I don't think i've ever seen you eat anything other then red meat. The hell you gonna do with some Yard Bird?"

Inkt ponders the question for a brief moment and once more simply states:

"See what it's like to be black."

For a moment, X stares at Inkt, shaking his head ever so slightly.

"Some times i wonder about you, dude. White people eat fried chicken too you know."

"Yeah, but its not a life style for us. It's not like when we get home from church on sundays, or whatever the fuck they do, we cook up a mess of Fried chicken. Cause let's face it. We've got better shit to do. Like, Internet porn, football... I dont know, anything but."

"Now see, that's just a negative stereo type. People in the south fry chicken all the time too."

"Yeah, but that's cause they can't afford to go out to any decent places. They go to wal mart, buy them up a whole mess of bagged chicken legs, cause they're the cheapest. Use some secret family recipe that they claim is the absolute best in the world, and yet won't market it..."

"Just stop, okay. Stop. Cause now you're really making me want some yard bird."

Inkt stand up, and X notices Inkt's pants are half past his ass with his white boxers hanging out the top.

"Pull up your fucking pants."

"Can't. Gotta be black."

X takes a deep sigh and begins to rub his temples.

"Is there anything else i need to know about you being black?"

Walking over to his room in the suite, Inkt replies.

"Yeah. A couple of things. But im not tellin you shit."

"And im sure you don't have to tell me anything. Im confident I can pick them out."

Just as soon as Inkt went in, he re emerged with a tank top on, and is rockin a black doo rag. Dangling from his neck, of course, is some fake ass bling he got on the internet.

"Che'a"

"shut up."

"No. Uhhgh. Bowss."

"The fuck was that?"

"Just tryin to get the lingo down. I saw a rick ross video last night, and, uhgh."

"Ugh what?"

"Bowss"

Inkt cracks a smirk as he grabs the most gaudy lookin flat billed Lakers hat he had found at the store the other night. Slapping it on and cocking it to the side, the one size too big had seemed to just rest on his head.

"You look like a tool."

"Like a bowss."

"No, like a tool, and stop talking like that. "

"Ughh."

"So, you're seriously gonna go through with this?"

"X, if you were to check my pockets right now, you know what you'd find?"

"A crack pipe and some food stamps?"

"Close.. Crack pipe. Shit, i forgot they love crack, don't they."

"almost as much as fried chicken."

"Think we can get some crack on the way to church's?"

"Probably. It's too bad Bob Saget's dead. He could have hooked you up."

"Danny Tanner doesn't smoke crack."

"No, You're right, Danny Tanner didn't smoke crack. He was on anti depressants."

"How do you figure?"

Inkt asks as he places his hand on the handle of the door, cracking it open.

"Would you be happy knowing that your wife was dead, and that you had to raise three girls, while your two brothers free loaded off of your house? I mean that gets me to thinkin, how many damned rooms did that town home have?"

"It doesn't matter."

Inkt places his hand on the back of his pants. Slowly, he lifts up his shirt, showing off the butt end of a glock.

"Jesus christ! What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Streets is watchin, nugguh. Shut yo mouf."

"Streets is watch... Okay, you know what. Yeah, im gonna hang out with you from a distance for the rest of the day, or at least until your match is over with. This shit's gettin out of hand."

"Ughh."

"ENOUGH!"

"SHOOSH nugguh."

Inkt draws the piece from the back of pants, and sticks out of the slightly opened door. Pressing a little more, he pokes his head out and looks from side to side.

"You see da government?"

"What?"

"Dey took mah baby."

"Enough. Can you at least act normal till we get there? I seriously have a hard time understanding you. Or even knowing what you're gonna do."

"Yo, you got a basketball, X?"

Inkt places the gun back in its rightful place as he sees the coast is clear.

"No."

"Damn son, we could get down and rep for da c.r.u. son. It'd be tight, ya hurd?"

"STOP!"

"You stop. Yous nothin more then a bitch ass hater."

"Haters gonna hate, Inkt, and right now? I think I hate you more then i ever have. Seriously, you're such a fuckin moron."

"Yo, you betta watch what you be sayin, kid. I'll drop bombs right now."

Inkt shuffles back and flexes at X.

"I dropped bombs on your mom last night....Yo."

"Bitch, you bettah watch what da fuck you be sayin bout mah moms, son. I mean, I know we tight an all, but you talk like that again, an there's gonna be a whole day full of consequensities."

"Consequensities?"

"Che'a!"

The two of them some how manage to make it down the hall in silence. Inkt thinkin to himself as he usually does at times like this, suddenly stops.

"Scratch tickets!"

"What?"

"Che'a! We needs ta get some scratch tickets too. Fo real son. Can't win it if I ain't in it, uhgghh."

"Fine man, shit we'll get some scratch tickets too. You think we need anything else? And of course, by we, i mean you."

"An escalade. Grape and or Orange soda. Uhm, some Kool Aid with too much sugar. I need, hmmm, i need... Oh! 40's! Like three of them. OH! And if we see any homies on the street rollin dice? Che'a we need to get in on that shit."

"Okay, now you're mixing your white with your black, and you sound even more retarded."

"You're face is retarded."

The elevator doors open into the lobby. Inkt struts out with an overly emphasized Swagger to his step. He had almost made it look like he had been shot in the knee or some thing and couldn't tell if he was limping, or trying to be cool.

"You look like an ass."

"You're face looks like an ass."

X sighs once more, and continues to follow Inkt from a distance. Waiting for them out in the valet parking area was an all black escalade with some of the biggest damned rims you'd ever seen.

"That's us, isn't it?"

Inkt turns his head and peers over his shoulder, trying to exemplify cool as he throws up deuces.

"Bowss"

X takes a deep breath as the two of them make their way out the doors and to the car.

"I can't believe you bought an Escalade."

"I didn't buy shit. This is a rental."

"figures."

"Imma rep this bitch though like it were mine. Ughh"

The valet opens the door for Inkt, while another opens the passenger door for X. X offers a tip to his valet, while Inkt stares at his up and down.

"Close the doe' nugguh!"

The valet looks to inkt and closes the door as Inkt gets settled into his seat. He presses a couple of buttons on the lower part of the seat, and the chair slowly begins to recline.

"How the fuck are you even gonna see?"

"I grew up on these streets, son. Don't need to see. Sides, if Im rollin in plain sight, imma get pulled over, cause the cops is gonna thing im ridin dirty."

"fuck da police."

"Ughh. Che'a Nugguh."

"I was kidding. I mean, fuck em, of course, but yeah. I didn't mean to feed into your new persona. So, you got a new name to rep with? In jersey, you were what was it, Inky-B or some shit?"

"Somethin like that. An' you know, I been puttin all sorts of thought into it, an I was thinkin, somethin like, lil kiki."

Once more, X was at a loss for words. By now he had expected to never be taken off guard by inkt, but that last comment, that one did it. After what seemed like ages of staring, X sighed and shook his head once more.

"Seriously, dude. I can't wait till this week's over."

Not paying attention to X, Inkt reaches for his gun, and places it on his lap.

"Muh fuckuh's muggin the shit outta me, son. He's about to git got, ya dig? Yo, do me a favor, if shit goes south, you just drive on nugguh. I was raised on da streets, an imma die on dem too."

Just then, Inkt pulls the suv over to the side of the road, and honks twice. Just then, three women come up to the window, all lookin fuckin dressed to the gheto nines. One's missing the same amount of teeth as hunter, another, has a mole on her forehead that could be mistaken for a tumor, and the last one, well, she couldn't reach the window.

"Yo, Bitches, where's mah money?"

"Daddy, we ain't pulled no tricks yet. Come on, give us some more time."

"A'ight. You wanna know somethin?"

Inkt takes his glock from his lap and presses it firmly onto the mole.

"Imma get some food, an if on my way back ain't none of you bitches gots any money fo me? Some one's gonna get dead, ya dig?"

"Sorry, daddy, we'll work harder, we'll get you your money. I swear."

"That's what I thought. Get the fuck on."

Once more, X takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

"Pimp too?"

"With Chris gone? Some one needed to take over his bidness. An so i did."

"Hm. I see. And how's 'bidness' ?"

"Shit."

Inkt responded plainly.

"It's hard out here for a pimp, nugguh. Specially when you gots ta get your bitches in check. Bitches was lucky you were here, cause they'd of gotten a hell of a whip."

"You beat them?"

"Im black."

"Right. My bad, dawg."

Inkt looks to X through his crazy eyes.

"You mockin me son?"

"No, we strait, we strait."

Once more a moment of silence. As the two drive through the gheto bumpin gheto tunes, watching ghetto kids playing their ghetto games.

"You know something?"

"What?"

"I dont think i wanna be black any more. This shit sucks, man. I mean, we're still gonna go to church's, but, yeah. If this is what its like to be black, then maybe ken does deserve to win this week."

"Don't talk like that. He doesn't know any better like you and I. For us, its a novelty. To him? It's a way of life. You know? Roll a blunt, smoke it up. Kill people, steal, cheat... you know?"

"Yeah.. I guess I do. Hey? You wanna go swimming?"

"Why? Black people can't swim."

"I know, that's why I asked. Im seriously tired of being in this shit hole. Fuck Oakland."

"I know what you mean. Sucks even more for you cause you're like the only white raiders fan... any where."

"Fuck you, dick. The raiders are awesome."

"Not awesome enough to make the playoffs."

"The broncos didn't do any better. Those fucks just kept getting lucky."

"By the grace of god."

Just then, X makes a tebow pose with his fist.

"Fuck tebow."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck Ken."

"Fuck this."

"Yup. You wanna go to KFC instead?"

"I could totally go for some KFC. Get down on one of those mashed potato bowls or something."

"I mean, don't get me wrong, X, but that shit sounds good man. I love fried chicken and all, but look at us man, we're rich. Why wouldn't we go to KFC?"

"Cause... Yeah, i dont know. I mean, there's only one step above KFC and that chick filet."

"Yeah, but i dont want a sammich. I want... Dude, you had to mention the bowl didn't you. I want like two of them, six biscuits, some green beans, and potato wedges."

"You're high, aren't you?"

"Lil bit. Kiki's gotta get his smoke on, son."

"Che'a"

"Bowss."

"okay, that's enough."

With the escalade parked, and Inkt and X enjoying their chicken the two of them seem to be happy for the most part.

"You have any plans for the future, X."

"Not that I can think of. Why do you ask?"

"I got plans, man. Big ones. Im already tired of this belt, you know? I want something more. Something that'll give me a challenge."

"I don't think that's the belt's fault, bro. I think that's the fact that there's a small line of people who actually want... Wait, I guess that is the belt's fault. I stand corrected."

"Exactly, I mean, i know i had asked pugh a long time ago... like at least two weeks or something, that I wanted to take a run at the tv title belt. But shit man, this is kind of boring, you know? Not too much action all the way down here at the bottom."

"You kind of did that to yourself. You could have basically said you wanted to go after anything, but instead, your lazy ass is clutching that belt like its your ball sack or something."

"I do love clutching my balls. Bowss."

"Remember, we said enough of that shit."

"My bad. But that one's fun to say."

"But you aren't the 'bowss' of shit."

"I could be. You don't know me. Im the bowss of this belt, see? What now?"

From time to time, x had felt as though he had been talking with a child when it came to certain members of the cru. From time to time, he'd wonder why he'd even gotten out of bed. The simple answer? He did it for the entertainment. As ridiculous as Inkt was, and even more so when he was with pugh, X still found them to be entertaining as hell. besides, when he was with them, he was able to look down on them. Something else that made him feel good.

"The hell you thinkin?"

Inkt looked to X's plate where he saw the piled up chicken skin."

"I don't like the skin."

"Then don't order FRIED chicken. Get the grilled shit or something. Seriously? You're not gonna eat that?"

"No. Why, you want it?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods and wipe his ass with a white rabbit? You damn right I want that stuff. Seriously, dude, this is the best part of the meal."

"Of course, nutritionally speaking, the worst part of the meal is the best part in your eyes. What's next?"

"Wash it down with some gravy, that's what. Here, give me your plate."

X slides the partitioned plate over to Inkt. Shit you not, Inkt lived up to what he said. He took the remainder of the gravy that was left in the styrofoam cup and dumped it onto the chicken skin. Smiling, he rubbed his hands together, and began to eat into it like it was a huge thing of macho nachos or something.

"Ughh."

"Was that you bein a bowss again?"

X balled up his fist ready to deck inkt in the side of the head.

"No..."

Inkt tried to speak with his mouth full, but ended up dribbling gravy down his chin. Quietly, he put up his index finger, and continued to chew. After swallowing he smiled.

"It was me making the noise of satisfaction. I love chicken skin. Seriously, if i could just order the skin, I would. Hell, and not even chicken skin. You ever had a fried turkey?"

"I think so."

"Yeah, that's like a big ass chicken. Soo much fried skin. It's not breaded but it still has the same overall effect. Actually, you know? You put gravy on that too.. Maybe im just a gravy fan, you know they have bacon flavored gravy?"

X shakes his head and looks to inkt as he eats.

"Nope. I think this conversation is more suited for you and Pugh, but go on."

"Wuhl..."

Inkt puts up his index finger again noting silence, and once more, swallows with a smile.

"Well, I haven't tried it yet, but they got bacon everything man. Bacon ranch, bacon mayo, bacon gravy. Shit, they've even got bacon scented candles. I couldn't imagine my place smelling like bacon all the time. Talk about a cock tease. What's worse, is knowing me? I'd come home all drunk and hungry and shit, and start smelling the candle, right? Well then guess what?"

"Mouth full of wax?"

"Mouth full of wax, indeed. Not a good way to spend the rest of the night. I mean, wax is wax, but bacon scented/flavored wax? Once more, dude, just a big ass tease. OH! And they have bacon flavored microwave pop corn."

"I've seen that one."

"Have you tried it?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Cause, im not the marketing whore that you are."

"You're a piece of shit though, and even pieces of shit enjoy bacon, am i right?"

"Im not a piece of shit, im a dick, or an asshole... You know what? No. Enough. We're done again. You aren't allowed to speak to me for the rest of the day."

"It's cool man, I'd rather be a dick then an asshole, personally. At least if you're a dick, you aren't getting fucked. HA! See what I did-"

THunk. Inkt's body fell out of the chair and hit the ground, motionless. X had finally had enough. If it wasn't one thing with Inkt it was another. Hell, if anything a stiff punch would do every one some good today. The people in the joint stare in fear at x. Putting his hands up in defense he smiles.

"It's okay, we're professionals."

Leaning down, he scoops up Inkt and carries him out the the escalade, and slides him into the passenger's seat. A few miles down the road, Inkt begins to stir a bit.

"Well, good morning, sunshine, sleep well?"

"What?"

"You, you dumb ass, did you have a good snooze?"

"Y..Yeah? Where are we?"

"Are you tellin me that you don't remember anything?"

"I don't think so. I had a weird ass dream though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah... and I have a craving for some fruit punch. Can we stop at a gas station?"

"CHE'A!"

End.

[KeNath Israel]

[not my longest, but i felt i had a tangible idea and ran with it, anymore would just zig zag the tone more than it already is]

The fuck is this shit? It’s bad enough I had to team with Slater, and this this shit happens. Fuck, I need a blunt right now. I don’t even know what’s worse losing to Matt Slater, or losing with Slater. They both really show how much I need to kick the guys ass and get my title back, but not now, not fucking now.

Thanks alot Mr. PCW.

Now I’m out in the locker room, putting on my clothes, nothing to fancy for the Krayz. Just a white T and some baggy ass jeans. I look pissed don’t I? Fuck yeah, shouldn’t I be? I’ve been screwed for three weeks, ever since that fuckin Referee rang the bell on me.

“Ay, bro, we’re goin to a bar get hammered, man. You should come, get the feelin’ back in yo jaw.”

I took a deep as breath. That referee was my best friend, as much as I wanted to punch him, I couldn’t afford to get fined for hitting another ref. And even if I would, I still got screwed this week by my own tag partner. The guy’s more bitch jelly than a gold nugget to me, I still don’t know what everyone sees in him The guy couldn’t handle his business so I had to make the save for his sorry ass. Couldn’t even get Keif down long enough for me to go in and put the handles on the situation.

I put on my Jordans and looked at my reflection in the patent leather. Eyes clear, and wide, footprint on my chin, yeah that was me. The nigga who just got downed as soon as he got in, then downed again by Matt “Fuck you” Slater.

I turned to Wonda who stood next to James in black and white jordan tracksuits respectively. Though they did look nice, The logo of the cRu was small, but as long as I’m getting screwed by em, they’re outta here.

“Fuck that. The fuck yall wearing?”

James snickered at Wondabread as the two stood back to bag arms folded with matching Kanye shades. They looked kinda like if Millie Vanilli were on an episode of Hole in the Wall.

“Whaddya mean? This shit is kinda fly.”

“Yeah bro we kickin it Old School tonight! Look, I’m MC Squared.”

“I’m DJ Funk!”

(in unison)”It’s 80’s night.”

“And where the fuck am I in your goddamn shenanigans? “

James pulled out a cane and fedora from a place I really don’t give a fuck about right now.

“you’ll be Big Daddy Def!”

“How bout Big Daddy Fuck you!” Both fingers extended.”I don’t wanna see those suits ever again.”

“Why, man?”

“Fuck the cRu. I’m on my Nocturnal shit. Take them suits, and flush down the toilet or some shit.”

“What’s your problem bro, mad they switched your match?”

Am I mad? Yes. Hell fucking yes. I grabbed Wondabread by his throat and pressed him against the black lockers.

“Fuck yeah I’m mad. I’m mad that I got screwed out of a title. I’m mad you screwed me outta my title. I’m mad that Slater beat me. I’m mad I had to work with the buster. I’m mad that I lost to Kief, And Hell yeah I bullshit you not when I say I’m mad they took away my chance, my last goddamn chance at taking on Slater after losing to him twice. And Ryan Pugh pulls some fucking shit on me like that. Slater now has Kief cuz him and Johnny are smoke buddies or whatever the fuck, and I got Inkt. I got fuckin Inkt, I don’t know what that tatted up Freakshow is bout to do to me come Mon...whenever the fuck!”

I cut the grip on the chokehold I had around Wonda. He raised his chin up to me, but I couldn’t take a swing on him. At least not sober. James stepped in between us.

“First off it’s Sunday. The show. Next uh, I think you gotta chance against Inkt.”

“Payoff?”

“Slim/non kinda category. but it pays off 15 to one, so don’t go in hoping to lose. You kinda tend to lose when you do that.”

"But I can win right?"

"Just Inkt can't capitalize a damn sentence don't mean he can't capitalize on a win."

“Graah!” I punched a locker leaving a slight dent, I was tired of all this bullshit.

“Fuck this, I’m heading over to the fatass. Fuck that, he ain’t gonna live.”

“Yo, Ken man, This aint the way to do it.”

He was right. I can’t kill Pugh, at least not until he stops sending me checks. But I have a bone to pick with him. James and Wonda followed me as I headed for Ryan Pugh’s office. We left the locker room and headed down the halls.

A cameraman and one of my old aquaintences shoved a microphone into my face.

“Mr. Israel, James Ceweun, Poppa K.com. What are your thoughts on these events mere minutes after Ryan Pugh ushered that unprecedented announcement?”

“No comment.”

“Obviously, you want to tell your fans how you think, don’t you?”

“No comment.”

“Come on, everyone but us wants Inkt to win, you aughtta `give us something!”

I stopped.

“To all my fans. You might not see me after next week. Hell some of my niggas will be seeing tonight if I can’t run fast enough. Next week we in Oakland for the super show. I don’t care if you aint got tickets to the show, watch me on the boob tube like yall been doin, I know yall watchin me, I don’t need yall busting yo ass for me to see. But if you see anyone next week, anyone with anything that says cRu. Especially if they slippin’, I want yall to take out the Glockmatic and bust like a bad drug deal. i'm on my Jake Youngblood shit! Hell yeah I got thoughts about what just happened. I’m mad as hell. I don’t give a fuck if you with me or Inkt, I really don’t but one of us is gon be badly dissapointed. My thoughts? I’m mad as shit.”

I kept walking and James wanted to follow me, but James brushed him off before he could get a step further.

“My client has nothing more to say.”


I kept walking until I got to his door. The hindges were screwed back on, though lazy and the door was kind of off balance. I stopped and stepped a few steps back walking up to kicked the door, once more shouldn’t do anything. My foot went into the already weakoned door and split it in half each side falling into their respective sides of the room.

“What the hell? Again?”

Ryan Pugh stood his fatass up and glared at me. He held up what looked like some legal papers that I didn’t give a shit about. As I walked in the smell of some top shelf kush rushed out of the office. I almost had a contact high for a about a second.


“What are you doing busting into my off-”

“IgiveaFUCK!”

LAJohnny Stlyez passed the joint to Pugh and made a couple steps to me. He opened his mouth slur a crappy ass insult.

“IgivaFUCK!”

I continued my walk, and to the right side of Pugh opposite Johnny stood the new dickhead Roger Wright. Ever before he said something I came at him.

“I can give ten shits about a sellout!”

I placed my hands over Pugh’s desk, leaning over him just long enough to snatch the jooint out of his hand and take a long ass puff. I took a few steps back towards James and Wonda, getting my guard up. I took another hit.

“Look, Pugh I ain’t gon ask you to change the match. I ain’t never gon back down from someone, especially one of yo boys, and my fans wanna see me run the street over him. So I aint gon bitch over that. I will tell you this tho, I don’t appreciate you putting me in that match with Slater. I definitely don’t appreciate the little switcheroo you pulled out of your ass few minutes ago.”

Pugh interrupted me by banging his fist on the desk.

“I don’t appreciate you busting into my office! And I damn sure don’t like you bitching about me “freshening up” the card a bit.”

“Freshining up, the fuck?”

“Yes. People are bored of seeing the same matches.”

“And they aint bored of seeing you and yo homies give belts to each other like a secret santa every week?”

“Who do think you’re tal-”

I turned to Roger and stepped up to him a bit.

“You sold my goddamn contract for a muthafucking penny. I know who I damn well am talking to. A punk bitch who’ll rather shower around with six other punk bitches and not help his brother who was getting punked by a bitch. You turned down ownership for a T-shirt and a title you’ll have to give to Al Envy as soon as Pugh gives it to you! Eat a dick, bitch!”

I turned back to Ryan. Taking another puff I blew the smoke in his face.

“You don’t think I can beat Inkt? I can tear his eyeballs out of his ass you hear me? You tell him to bring his fucking game I’m sick and fucking of being screwed. I didn’t say shit when you and your buddies, and your lackey Inkt tried to wear pretty little nWo shirts color coded like the goddamn power rangers and handing over the World Title to each other like a drunk bitch. I didn’t say shit when you opened up this crappy little promotion again and tried to poach talent. I didn’t say shit when Roger right there put me in a tag match he knew I was gonna get jumped in, then sold me for a penny to your fat ass. But I will say this. I’m screwed in anyway between now and after I get my Youngblood title, which will go good with my new TV belt, I’m personally coming for yo ass.”

“Honestly I don’t care what you do. You’re not gonna beat Inkt, you damn sure can’t beat Slater and last time we faced I literally kicked you into next week! If you want that to happen again, then go for it! You can’t beat any of us in a match.”

I nodded my head and took another long hit of the joint. Reaching into the back of my pants between the blue boxers and blue pants, I pulled out a Baretta pistol and laid it on Pugh’s desk.

“Maybe not in a match. But when you fuck with me, I say fuck the ring! I take my business ventures from the streets not the arena. Just some incentive to stop fucking me around like Tat-n-Fat in the highschool showers! I can’t stand getting screwed and when I’m screwed somebody gonna need screws in em.”

“Do you have any phuckin idea who you’re talking to? We’re the damn cRu, we own you.”

Johnny took a few steps closer. With the burner on Pugh’s desk I wouldn’t have time to grab it before he swung a punch, I was on my fists for now. And fuck if I didn’t want to beat somebody in a cRu shirt’s ass right then and there.

“I give a fuck about my contract right now. I can go anywhere and take on some cookie cutter bitches just like your asses out without the heat.”

Pugh, his face reddening was obviously angry at the angry black man angrily cussing him out in anger. In an anger of his own, he pushed the gun off his desk and it fell to the ground, firing off on impact and silencing everyone in the room.

“First off. I don’t like you, you don’t like me, so what? I’m not screwing anyone I’m making for a good product. And if you want to get anywhere in PCW, you’re going to need a better attitude than that if you think about backing out of a TV title match. Hell I can’t even trust you with the youngblood championship if you’re going to act like a bitch. Inkt eats guys like you for breakfast and if you even have a glimmer of hope that you’ll win the TV title, or even survive the match, I’d suggest lowering that bass in your voice before you’re fired and out on the streets again, where NEW picked you up and right now I’m thinking about keeping you or dropping you off.”

I picked up the handgun. and looked at all three men in front of me. I put the matic ack into my pants and backed out of the room

“Fuck PCW fuck the cRu and Fuck Ryan Pugh!”

Taking one last long puff, I dropped the doubie on his rug and stomped it out.

“You can, naww Fuck That! I’ll tell Inkt he’s fucked when I see him Sunday.”

I flipped off Pugh as I backed out of his office.

“FIRE ME!!”