Post by Deleted on Jul 20, 2024 4:49:21 GMT -5
The scene opens to a swanky hotel room paid for by TFO whether they like it or not, probably the Ritz, where a crowd of unsavory-looking folk cheers on a sight most would cringe at. It’s EPW Anarchy champion V Mont, which we only get a shot of from the chest up, with the EPW Anarchy championship acting as the only source of clothing to keep her gigantic, voluptuous breasts concealed. She’s had to reinforce the buckling and strap with extra length to make the title act as her bra because that’s how gloriously huge her bewbs are.
V MONT: You wanna screw me, Brit? Huh bitch? You.. mmmm *moans* better get in L— L— mmmmm Line.
Behind her, we can make out the figure of a muscular African American male with prison tattoos. His body is moving harmoniously with hers in what can be construed (or misconstrued?) as sexual. He suddenly thrusts with power, making her eyes cross, leaving the viewer to wonder if this is a legit sex video or more of V Mont’s bullshittery and some kind of softcore porn fakeout.
V MONT: Brit, you’ll never s–ss—screw.. Mmmmm… *squeaks* screw me like my friend Jayvon.
Her lip trmebles and she sucks on her teeth as Jayvon grinds harder, a rhythmic “slapping and smacking” sound echoing off the walls as the others around them applaud. With each sound, and with each squeak from V Mont’s lips, the Anarchy title loses it’s value - a great disgrace to the men and women who’ve left their heart and soul and pieces of their physical bodies in the ring to hold the prestigious goldent strap.
V MONT: You w–wanna t-t-take this *moan* belt from me B–Brit.. Mmmm fine I’ll leave it mmmmmm valueless. Brit–y–
Her eyes suddenly fling open as far as they possibly can and a guttural, primal groan mixed with a moan rushes out of her mouth. She convulses with an enormous satisfied expression on her pleasured face. And with that, she collapses out of frame. The man also exits the frame. Moments later the camera hovers over V Mont lying on the bed, showing her only from the chest up. She looks spent. Panting heavily. A big grin on her face.
And then, the unthinkable. From somewhere out of the camera frame, a stream of mysterious white fluid splashes across the sacred and honored Anarchy championship belt still acting as her only source of attire up top. The mob of people around them hoots and holler and chant “HOLY SHIT.” Even Jeeves is seen bouncing off the walls in support of this complete shitshow of a vignette.
The renowned golden side plates featuring past champions such as Alexandra Calaway and Easton Alexander are tarnished forever as they’re not spared from being covered in the thick and sticky mystery substance.
And V Mont couldn’t possibly care less even if she studied hard for it for twenty years.
After thirty seconds she’s gathered enough energy to gesture at those around her.
V MONT: Aight homies let’s piss off Bitchlyn even more since the stupid cunt wants to claim I’m ruining the legacy of this shit pile title.
Some of the people pop their heads into view and empty some lines of a mysterious white powder on parts of the championship belt not covered in the white goo. They take turns snorting the powder, as does V Mont herself, before finally ending their bullshit by gulping down 40-ounce malt liquors.
V MONT: Yooooo Jayvon…. Do you still want that classic Shelby Mustang?
He nods off-screen while puffing on a Black and Mild cigar.
V MONT: Aight. Bet.
She fishes one of her platinum TFO expense cards from her purse and tosses it to him.
V MONT: Go get yourself one. Shit, get you seven. One for each day of the week.
He greedily nabs the card and virtually flies out the door.
For the next few moments, V Mont lies there in camera view, still only from the chest up, and stares into the lens without saying anything. She’s probably too high, toasted, drunk, and possibly freshly fucked if this wasn’t some fake-out nonsense.
V MONT: Fuck Britlyn Baylor.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hartford, CT.
General Manager Jaxson Cain barely has a chance to sit down at his desk to enjoy the nice plate of food he’s gotten from catering when the door flies open with a reckoning. He bolts to a stand and furrows his brows as EPW Anarchy Champion V Mont barges in with Jeeves at her side. The monkey jumps onto his desk and does the “shh” gestures before threatening Jaxson with the “cut your throat” gesture.
GM JAXSON CAIN: WHAT THE FUUUUUCK IS THIS?
The reigning Anarchy champion once again is only wearing the championship belt as her attire across her chest, but this time we see her full body, which is clad in cut off daisy duke shorts and black combat boots.
V MONT: This is your fucking wake up call homie. You better check yourself and listen the fuck up.
J Mont’s shitty kid sister leans toward the GM, resting her palms on the top of his nicely glossed and pretty desk.
V MONT: Relay this to Brilyn Baylor. I’m not playing her fucking games. Ya feel me, dick face?
Jaxson tries to interupt but gets spinning backfisted by Jeeves, shutting him up for the moment. The GM rubs his jaw more confused than hurt by the sudden blow.
V MONT: Tell that bitch she needs to check herself. She’s all butt hurt over me when she has a company full of shitters running around kidnapping people, randomly quitting, and randomly appearing in world title matches without having a FUCKING contract here. Brit’s running this place like she lied on her application to be a manager at an understaffed McDonald's during the swing shift. All that cunt had to do was strip me of the title and not give me a choice in deciding between the BMJ title or this shit heap title. That trick ass hoe is all bent over me when she had the power to end this shit instantly. It’s her fucking fault that she didn’t do that shit. It’s her fucking bitch ass fault for trying to book my brother against me when she had a roster full of people who wouldn’t have fucked her over like my brother did. How the FUCK is that my fault? I went to that damn ring prepared to fight whatever shit-fuck she decided to throw at me because I’m a GOOD FUCKING EMPLOYEE and she wound up eating shit because of her own fuck up. Somehow, I’m the bad guy in that, and now?
V Mont throws her hands up in exasperation.
V MONT: That fat-faced cunt is running them dick-beaters like I’m the worst champion ever. When that Calaway cunt had this title she was protected with non-title matches out the fucking wazoo and was given nights off at pay-per-views. And that dead dick shitter Easton? Did he even win a match as Anarchy champion? I don’t think so. There’s not even a video catalog of title matches on the official site, bruh. Like WTF, Jaxson?
The GM stops rubbing his jaw long enough to open his mouth, but once again he gets “chimp slapped” by Jeeves.
V MONT: That slack-eyed bitch out here forgetting that the Rebellion and Rise titles are the ones that are supposed to be defended every show for fuck sake but uh let’s take a look here *checks imaginary notebook in hand* neither is being defended this show. But I’m the bad guy, motherfucker? Yo, WHAT? Is Brit trying to be the Erich Bischoff of wrestling company owners except with less logic or some shit? Like, what’s with these booshit stipulations for my match? Blake can’t get DQ’d but I can and I lose the title if I do? Does Brit know he’s the one with the numbers, the faction, all that stuff? Is that cum struck dumb shit trying to book me as a babyface?
Once more the GM tries to answer. Jeeves fires a shot at him but this time Jaxson blocks it. However, he can’t block V Mont grabbing him and banging his face flush on the desk one good time to straighten his ass up.
V MONT: I know Blake is confusing lately. One moment he speaks highly of the fans, claims he’s fighting for them, blah blah fucking blah, and then the next he or his shit-brained manager Sinclair are heeling it up like a motherfucker. I get that shit but you tell Brit I’m not a glad-hander to those piss-bucket fans. And you tell her I’m not playing her games. Alessia and a bunch of peeps on Twitter were right about her. She likes to spam titles and title shots to her pets, her favorites, especially the “day oner’s” and all that shit. I’m a rookie who hasn’t had my first fucking wrestling match yet and she’s throwing me in there with the leader of the Dynasty, who already have the tag straps, and she wants to reward Blake for being here since day one and beating some of the heavy hitters along the way by throwing my little rookie ass to him with trumped up stips. Naw, fam. I’m not playing that game.
V Mont removes the EPW Anarchy title from her massive naked tits and tosses it on the GM’s desk.
V MONT: I’m giving this shit to you now cause when the bell rings I’m kicking Blake in the dick and getting DQ’d. I’m not gonna brawl over some weird butt-hurt shit like that.
Jaxson rubs his face and looks shocked by the turn of events. His brows raise as he inspects the championship on his desk.
GM JAXSON CAIN: What’s this dried stuff on it?
V MONT: Cum and cocaine.
The GM yelps and tosses the belt off his desk like it has the plague. Jeeves steals his plate of food and leaves with V Mont.