Post by Shawn Savage on Oct 12, 2024 14:08:26 GMT -5
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It had been an ordinary week in the world of an extraordinary individual, and to the surprise of the ones around him one day they had disappeared with barely a trace of half-dried White Claw to track him down with. The day Shawn Savage disappeared was one of great mystery, since it was before such an important moment that he had worked towards for the entirety of his budding wrestling career.
On the doorstep of not just his first potential title win, but most importantly a date with Britlyn Baylor, Shawn Savage had vanished, leaving only the people that knew him to try and retrace the steps to maybe find out where Shawn Savage could truly be.
First there had been his closest friend, his confidante, his one and only hypeman, HYPE Moses who we spoke to, hiring an expert team of linguists to try and decipher his words, most of them gave up within three minutes, what you shall be getting is his unedited words, perhaps the viewers themselves can figure out what they truly mean.
“Yo that shit was whack, yo. We usually hang out in the morning like homies, get some shit food in whatever shit city the boss sends us to be. But the weirdest fucking thing happening, because you know usually the S-Dog will be the first one there, sunglasses to hide our collective raging hangovers, can of The Claw in his hand, yet this time around he wasn’t there… So I waited, probably three and a half minutes went by before I understood something was massively fucked up, yo. So I called his chicks, and they hadn’t found him in their beds either?!”
Our reporter, intrepid as always, tried to inquire further about the nature of Shawn Savage’s ‘chicks’.
“Yeah, so S-Dog has like seven side hustles, right now. There’s Monica, and I think then there’s Erica and Rita. Some days he hits up Tina and Sandra, too. But Mary and Jessica are the hottest, no cap they are like fuckin’ Earth’s best top model, that prime Tyra level of fine-ness.”
Our reporter lacked the heart to tell HYPE Moses that the women he described had all been lifted out of the 1999 hit single, Mambo No. 5 by Lou Bega. So we left Mr. HYPE in the idea that his best friend was a monumental player, at the time of recording we couldn’t track down any active girlfriends or ‘side hustles’ in Shawn Savage’s life.
“So anyways, I also hit up the Drip Don, he got some of that heinous shit from him a few weeks back, that Superman Super Saiyan Michael Jordan secret sauce kinda hit that is probably not OSHA, FEMA, or FCC approved, y’kno. It’s called ‘Prime Claw’, I heard it goes harder than fentanyl, Crocodil, and baby cough syrup combined. It’s a combination of White Claw and that Prime shit that that bitch ass Paul dude shills. It just shows how determined my dog was at trying to impress the bosslady that he would start chugging that shit with zero thought about his mental and physical and like meta-physical health.”
Whilst HYPE was rambling about equating energy drinks to the American opioid crisis, our reporter tried our best to track down this mythical “Drip Don”, whilst we didn’t get a chance to find this person, we did get a quote from their representation.
”Baby Gronk a mad throat goat, copium addict. Sigma Rizzler skibidi hard for the bussin ice spice.”
Our investigators are reasonably assured that the message was pure gibberish, but our cryptology departments would require eighteen months to be certain.
“We also like dropped our asses into some dumpsters for a dumpster match, y’kno the real dumpster was that bitch Alexandra Callaway who probably let any ol’ loser hit that harder than Mark McGwire. Shit impressed the bosslady, though, so that’s how he went down his dark path of chugging that Prime Claw by the dozen, it changed him, or maybe the chance to hit that pussay did, either way bro got kinda crazy deranged, like he was purely focused on that and forgetting who he was, starting to focus on winning rather than being the #1 trailer messiah that was out there changing the biz, ya dig?”
Trying to get a better idea about the mindset of Number One’s, we used our connections to contact a former #1, Michael Jordan.
“Stop contacting me for your shitty documentary, call me when it’s about me, or you wanna pay off my gambling debts.” – Michael “Don’t ask about 1995” Jordan
”I started worrying when my girlfriend didn’t call me back for a few days, but I always knew that bitch was a pig!” – Kermit the Frog
Trying to uncover the mystery of where Shawn Savage might be, we contact an expert in missing person’s cases, some old fuck talking head that we plucked from National Geographic.
“Usually when people go missing, the first forty-eight hours are the most important of all. But honestly, that requires the missing person to be missed by anybody, from what I can see other than his clingy life partner, Shawn Savage seems to be a person that nobody would miss.”
The old man would take a drag of his cigarette before being kicked out for smoking indoors, fortunately we found another talking head to help us in our search.
“Now I am not saying that Shawn Savage was abducted by aliens, but all the signs are there. You see, if you look at the pyramids, they could never be constructed by human beings that lived six-thousand years ago, they simply are too stupid, no way any sort of human is able to amass such a large workforce to work on vanity projects of rulers, nor is humanity ingenuous enough to be able to use any sort of architecture… You might ask me what this has to do with Shawn Savage? Nothing, really, but all the signs are there. But if you ask me, he probably died from that sugary shit he drank… Or maybe he got so much sugar in his system that he became a beacon for the aliens to study, all the signs are there, do your own research is all I’m saying!”
We asked Aaron Rodgers for his opinion, but he threatened to fire another Head Coach or go onto Pat McAfee’s show to shit out another conspiracy theory. We chose not to press the issue.
As the hours ticked by, it was clear that time was running out to find Shawn Savage, or another way to end the investigation with an adequate enough cliffhanger to get Netflix to pay for another season of this True Crime shit.
Investigating his opposition would take a lot of time, after all, all five of his would-be opponents had a golden reason to not want his wildcard spirit in the match, perhaps the knowledge of his earlier activity in multi-man matches being a warning sign that even if Shawn Savage did not win, he always seemed to be a wildcard that could let another would-be winner end up with nothing… There’s also the boss herself, Britlyn Baylor, who might feel threatened enough by Shawn’s sudden success to want to ensure he didn’t win a date with her, she or any of her current allies could have plenty of ability to make a man like Shawn Savage disappear, if only long enough to prevent the impossible.
There’s also the potential chance that an eclectic spirit such as Shawn Savage’s merely got distracted by other things, and had forgotten all about his earlier desires to attain wrestling success, or work his way into the heart of a cold-hearted wrestling promoter knowing it was a pathway where success was as unlikely as him going into space.
At this point, our reporters had spent our entire budget on legal fees to pay hush money to bullied personal assistants. So we were drawing a blank, we knew that there was only one person who knew where Shawn Savage could be…
“Man, don’t fucking ask me where the fuck I was these past hours? Where do you think I was, dog? I was fucking passed out and my fucking phone battery was flat, I showed up and that dumbass HYPE Moses had already ran off thinking I was dead or something… Don’t tell me I called him dumb, he’s my homie, but dude’s sometimes loves to get all dramatic and shit and try to hire you lot to find me. Maybe he’s just a bit scared about the match, he thinks I changed or some shit, but you know what, I ain’t changing for shit, but when a bro can get some snatch, you gotta work for that shit, you know.”
Shawn Savage was perhaps the best choice for finding Shawn Savage after all. At this point most of the crew started throwing hands with each other, knowing they wasted all this time on nothing, but the footage of the brawl would definitely get us another season on Netflix.
“So yeah, hear this, this Prime Claw shit is the bomb, it’s like fucking jedi juice, before you know it I will be going Jar-Jar Binks on Britlyn’s coochie and making that chick realize why they call me the Trailer Park Messiah, baby, cause I am like the baby jesus of cunnilingus up in this bitch. Even if I don’t win, like, she’ll be so impressed that she can’t help herself, she’ll jump these bones right backstage, maybe in the motherfuckin’ ring or something, give everyone a real happy ending that’ll scar all the kids in the front row something fierce, you know. That’s what it’s all about, flips and chicks, treat that girl in ways that she never knew even existed in this world cause I ain’t just a player, I am a fuckin’ gentleperson that nobody knew was even possible.”
Cracking open a bottle of this ‘prime claw’ liquid, whoever hadn’t ended up brawling in the studio passed out from the smell as Shawn Savage found himself one on one with just the camera in front of him.
“So straight up, I ain’t usually doing this shit, but if you’re any of those five cucklords in the match, just put your ears to the feed and hear what I have to say. Holland, Jagger, the two furries, and that Rick and Morty soyboy, you’re all just spare parts in this fucking adventure, yeah? You want a belt, sure, go fucking ham on that sandwich and try and get it. But just know this ain’t about gold, you can get that shit in a fucking trix box for all I care, hell, if I win it I’ll give it to the first fucker who asks the Messiah nicely, because I am that kind of good dude who takes pity on charity cases. Cause I got a higher calling, call it a mission from god, or just a man that knows what he wants and likes…”
“I’m here for the boss, this ain’t playin’, this is just real talk from one G to a special girl. I play shit, I joke shit, but this ain’t that kind of shit, this is the closest of getting a heart to heart with the person that matters. I likes you, I wants you, and whether or not I win that match, I ain’t gonna stop looking to impress you. You can treat me like a joke, or start realizing I’m dead fucking serious, I’ll crawl through glass, I will smash my head on dumpsters, because all that matters is what’s in here, right in my chest. This heart to your heart, like some Khaleesi and Drogo shit without the weird zombie shit or the non-consent shit, you wanna be a princess, I will make you a princess. You wanna get freaky, hell I’ll be a bigger superfreak than the late great Rick James, if you know what I mean. I don’t care who you’re dating, but the real truth is that none of those cucks you run around with matches up to me, in the ring, in bed, or wherever you want Shawn Savage to be.”
“Think about it, cause this right here can be unconditional, ain’t talking bout that gushy love shit, talkin’ about getting yourself 185lbs of pure fuckin’ maniac. Trust me, you’ll never want anything else, you’ll never need anything else, cause if you need me to be the fucking end boss, I’ll be as big of a bullshit end boss than Shao fuckin’ Khan in MK9.”
“You just have to ask, win or lose… Fuckin’ unconditional, and unconditional fuckin’.
“Yo, my dog, I thought you were fucking dead bro?!” HYPE Moses would walk in, looking elated that his best buddy wasn’t a ditch ornament somewhere… “What’s with all the people passed out, is this some tiktok shit?”
Standing up, Shawn clapped his best friend on the shoulder with a smile and a nod.
“They couldn’t handle the sauce. Let’s hit it, dog.” Shawn said, brimming with confidence.
Walking away, the camera tracked the two of them as Shawn Savage was the definition of pre-fight confidence. But as he stood at the door, he’d glance back for a final time.
“Unconditional…”
[END]
(Netflix would cancel “Where in the World is Shawn Savage” after one season, to the surprise of nobody)