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Bite The Hand; Dean Davies
Topic Started: Nov 29 2016, 03:45 PM (32 Views)
Mikey
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Don’t bite the hand that feeds you unless you want bit back.
-Dean f'n Davies



I've had certain issues my entire life, dating back to childhood. I've always been completely full of myself, as if my shit didn't stink. The other problem has always been one of respect - I lack any of it.

There comes a time in life when you have to grow up and move beyond it. It's like an epiphany or an Oh-Shit moment - a wake up call.

I had my wake up call right out of fucking high school. I can still picture it vividly as if it was just yesterday. For that matter, I can fool myself into still having the taste of the air on my tongue and the stench in my nose. It's amazing what the brain can do.

I was a black sheep - as if you didn't see that one coming. I had the well-to-do parents. Daddy was a lawyer turned politician, mommy was a rich bitch with a large bank account and her self-gratifying non-profit organization she ran. How I hated it. Knowing me, it was no big surprise that I bucked them at every turn, refusing to fit into their nice little box in their nice little community in their perfect little fucking utopia. At every turn, I did everything in my power to piss them off. Every expectation they set for me, I purposely went the opposite direction with no regard for them or their wants.

It was my life, I'll fuck it up like I see fit. It's my God given right a human being to be a fuck up.

That afternoon we'd had the most magnificent fight. Daddy dearest wasn't too happy when a nineteen year old Dean Davies knocked up the cleaning lady. Truth be known, if she spoke a word of English or was even legal for that matter it might not have mattered, but heaven forbid a Senator's son lay his spawn in the illegal help. NO! The great American family would never do that.

In the midst of this caterwaul, we traded zingers back and forth and I went for every low blow I could think of; from false allegations that Daddy dearest had fooled around with the same help while mommy dearest was at the country club, to telling mom she needed to take a night off from riding on the knob of her tennis instructor.

It was completely disrespectful that day, I said it. Eventually I clamored off in my car with a bottle of Jack in my hand and a bottle of Jim under my seat while I looked for some good old fashioned decadence. After all, what kind of youth would I be without making bad choices that I could enjoy? One thing was certain though, I never felt that pang of regret.

That evening, after an afternoon of complete destruction of my liver at the ports with my friends, I was enjoying the calm of the night. The top was down on my Mustang convertible while the wind blew my hair like one of those Vidal Sasson commercials. With the moon crested above me illuminating a starry night, I came up on flashing lights on Interstate 95. A panic washed over me while three letters flashed through my mind. D-U-I. I almost said "fuck it", let daddy explain that one to the papers along with his illegal grandkid. Then the thought of those flimsy mattresses and sharing a pisser with a crack addict overtook my rebel instinct, so I began to dig in glove compartment for a bottle of Scope.

It was when I turned up the bottle of Scope and began tossing it around my clasped mouth that it dawned on me what I was looking at and then the anxiety began to set in. I wasn't about to get arrested at a sobriety checkpoint that are all too known in suburbia.

It was the smell of flames and the stench of burning flesh that made me take pause at first. As I turned up the mouthwash, I could make out the white Cadillac sedan engulfed in flames as it rested upside down and wedged against an embankment.

Though it would be four hours later before I "knew", I knew. I recognized the vehicle and I knew the license plate.

Six days later I buried both of my parents. The last thing I said to them was loaded with venom and now, looking back, regret. A little bit of love and respect could have went a long way. Despite my misgivings about their handling of me and mapping out my future without my fucking say so, they did give me life.

It's a touching story, isn't it? It makes the heart wrench and it twists the insides. It teaches a lesson of regret and respect. It can also teach you not to bite the hand that feeds you.

It would be all the better if the story were true, because it's not. Mommy dearest and Daddy dearest are both alive and kicking. Though I must say, I did knock up the cleaning lady, but a little money and a good planned parenthood clinic and no one ever knew.

I tell this story because I wanted a story about respect to bridge into this next part, and frankly, I'm not very good with respect myself.

I lack respect - it’s always been an issue of mine. Once you earn it, it’s hard to lose it but respect isn’t something I give freely. Think what you want of me. I’m a vile and absurd son of a bitch, but I do have a respect for this business and what it has done for me - because without it I’d probably be in prison somewhere.

Which brings me to Gwen Massey, or as she’ll be known from here on out - Silly Bitch.

Silly Bitch think she’s matters and has visions of grandeur. She think she’s important enough to show back up here when no one really noticed she was gone in the first place, she meant so little, veto a match against a Grand Slam winner, and run down half the damn roster and this company.

Now don’t mistake me for a good guy - I’m anything but. Nor am I a defender of this company. But who the fuck does Silly Bitch think she is? She came to Redemption a total unknown. No real talent, nothing to set her aside. This company took a chance on a minimal talent reject and then paired her with me and I fucking made her what she was in Redemption. She became a multiple time tertiary champion because I made her a multiple time tertiary champion. I took a nice pretty package, wrapped it up with a fucking bow, handed it to her and said “here’s your fucking Redemption career”.

And that silly bitch fumbled the ball. She muffed the fucking punt and became a forgettable name and face that was lost in the shuffle. To sum it up, she fucked up because that’s what she does, she fucks up.

So tell me - where does this silly bitch get off returning and acting like she matters? Where does she get the right to say who she will and won’t fucking fight in her debut? It’s a slap in the face to myself and every other person on this roster who shows up and fights whoever we are slated to fight. Not that I give two damns about anyone on this roster not named Davies or Broussard, but it’s a slap in the face to me and my wife.

It’s showing me disrespect and I won’t be disrespected by anyone, especially someone like that silly bitch.

I already know what she’ll say. She beat me for a title that doesn’t mean anything and is currently defunct. She has such and such days as that champion. This company held her down booking the same old shit over and over, and she’ll polish it up and drag it out for as long as she possibly can, making anyone who cares dose on and off through her mouth spewing, diarrhea filled diatribe.

I don’t care. It doesn’t matter because she don’t matter.

I’m cashing in for points. I’m teaching someone not to disrespect me and my own.

I've been dealing with people like Gwen my entire life. Self important, holier than thou. People who think their shit don’t stink. You know what I do to those people? I break them into fucking pieces. It’s what I do, it’s what I’m good at - it’s what I fucking enjoy.

I’m going to take great pleasure in ripping this silly bitch to shreds - more than I normally do. I’m going to break her not physically - that’s far too simple. I’m going to break her mentally. What happens when you take someone so full of themselves - so full of unrequited self importance and you completely take it away from them?

The very idea of it makes my dick hard, my bones tingle. I’ll relish in her mental anguish when her entire reality comes crashing down around her, suffocating her as she grasps at her throat unable to breath when she realizes just how truly sad and pathetic she is - just how much she doesn’t matter.

For her it’ll be the end of the world, her run ending before it ever began. For me, it’ll be just another day at the office. Me doing what I do best.

I am the king of controversy. I am the destroyer.

Gwen is nothing more than a fucking bug I’ll squash with my boot heel and never give her a second thought.

Gwen, she’s bit the hand that feeds her. Now that hand is about to bite back.
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