Untitled
by Rage

   I had a meeting with Eric Bischoff.

   Not the bullshit "I was a backstage worker in the WWF" meeting with Eric
Bischoff, but a tried-and-true meeting with the man himself. Not that I
considered him "the man". I thought he was a piece of shit with a bad
haircut.

   Still, I'd gained a little respect for the fucker after the whole Gold
Club scandal. I wasn't meeting his worthless ass at Titan Towers or anywhere
like that...he was coming to me. I have no idea how he found out about me,
but it gave me a scare, because the last people I want to know my contact
info are the Titan executives.

   Of course, my thinking then was "Bischoff is just an employee. He's no big
swinging dick like he was in Turnerland. Fuck him."

   The meeting was going down at some shithole diner I picked at random. I
don't even remember the name of it, but there was no one there. It was after
hours. On my right I had my lawyer, Cicero. No, that's not his fucking real
name. Why would I use his real name to tell a story like this? That would
fuck him RIGHT in the ass. Besides, did you ever hear of a black guy named
"Cicero"? Probably not. On my left, there was Crazy Joe No-Dick. We call him
that because he's Crazy, he's named Joe, and he has no dick.

   This rape and death shit doesn't go down like in stories. As soon as women
start to not give a fuck anymore, they don't just go limp. They bite your
cock off. That's what happened to Crazy Joe. Still, he's a violent psychopath
and I'd rather have the dickless fuck on my left than behind me.

   Cicero isn't the typical black guy you'll find in the bullshit pages.
First of all, he can speak English and he doesn't listen to fucking P Diddy.
He wears Armani suits and is a suave motherfucker. I only keep company with
suave motherfuckers...except, of course, for CJ No-Dick. He's just a
motherfucker. Literally.

   So we're in the shithole diner and in comes Bischoff. It's obvious he has
a gun in his waistband but we couldn't give a fuck because we all have guns
as well. Cicero has two. The difference was that Bischoff had a shitty-ass
Saturday Night Special and I had a chrome .45. No, I am not bullshitting you.
Here comes Eric fuckin' Bischoff.

   How did this all come about? Well, it turns out I actually did Vince a
favor when I killed Ivory at the behest of some crazy fan who found her
annoying...she was about to sue the shit out of the company for sexual
harassment. Though Sable didn't get too far with that one (she DID settle
out of court for a fuckload of money, though), it turns out she wasn't the
only one who'd had her gym-bag shit in. Fans had gotten tired of seeing
females parading around on WWF/E TV, pretending that the fans actually gave
a fuck about something other than jerking off to their pictures while they
imagined a nice spray of semen right in their pretty faces.

   I think it started with that fucking Chyna, who gave a speech every other
night about how she was empowering women, then posed in Playboy. Anyhow, fuck
her and fuck you, by the way. I'll continue.

   Vince knew the fans felt this way, but of course they would never admit it
and neither would society at large. He started going about the business of
getting WWF women to quit by acting like fucking sleazeball. As a side bonus,
some of them apparently took him up on his propositions. In this case, seems
Vince went up to old Ivory and told her she could have a push if she would
drop and gobble. He wanted her to lick his balls, eat out his asshole, then
take a good throatfucking and swallow the evidence.

   She wouldn't do it, and the night that they were going to get her hammered
on a flight to Worchester, Mass. and take some incriminating photos of her
sucking dick and doing lines of coke off of Vince's balls, I got to her first
and killed her off. Then the ratings went through the roof because of the
whole "Ivory" mystery.

   Vince is one resourceful guy. Ratings are down and now he wants me to do
it again.

   "Are you Rage?" asked Uncle Eric, once he'd seated himself across from us.
No, that is not my fucking real name. What tipped you off? Stupid fuck.

   I just nodded.

   "He wants you to grab Stephanie."

   We just burst out laughing at this, and Eric allowed a smile to come
across his face. "Something funny to you?" he asked.

   "Yeah," I said. "Vince is almost as sick a fuck as me. He does understand
what is going to happen to her, doesn't he?"

   Eric only nodded in reply, but the motion didn't even come close to moving
his hair. It was like a rock. "Oh, he knows." And then he put a stack of cash
on the table. He produced it seemingly out of thin air. I like Ben Franklin
when he comes out of thin air. Dead presidents. "He wants you to really work
her over, give her the full business. Then leave her somewhere for people to
find."

   "Ok Easy E," I continued, "you just bought yourself one more minute of our
time. Where's the rest?"

   Eric shrugged. "It's out in the car, with the rest of the agreed payment.
You can take her in three days when we swing out this way for Smackdown."

   Cicero laughed, and I knew why. Three days was not going to happen. Eric
was probably used to booking things out of his ass on no notice, but we sure
as fuck didn't do things that way. I decided to let Cicero do the talking
for me, in his deep, James-Earl-Jones voice. That voice can carry a lot of
weight.

   "Mr. Bischoff, that isn't going to happen. We'll need two months to plan.
We'll want all the money in our possession for a period of at least two weeks
before it goes down."

   Bischoff raised an eyebrow. "McMahon wants a ratings boost NOW, gentlemen.
This deal may not be here in two months."

   Cicero was unimpressed. "Two months," he repeated.

   Bischoff leaned over the table a little. "Do you guys understand how much
two million dollars is? You fucks won't have to work for the rest of your
lives."

   No-Dick started to lean over the table, hands shaking wildly, but I pushed
him back before Bischoff could have a heart attack at the sight of him.
"We'll think about it. For now, it's time for you to finish paying for the
meeting."

   Eric nodded, and he got up out of his seat and paged someone using his
cellphone. A moment later, I heard some footsteps and Jim Dotson came in
carrying an unconcious Lilian Garcia. Eric flashed a smile. "As agreed. We'll
be back in an hour to pick her up. Don't do anything too drastic." Then he
and Dotson, that short little bitch, were gone.

   Lilian was wearing a thong and a white, lacy bra and that was about it.
She was richly tanned, but I don't really need to tell you that, since you've
probably seen her yourself. She was obviously drugged to shit, and when we
picked her up she drooled a little and mumbled something I couldn't
understand, swaying from side to side with heavy-lidden eyes. I yanked out
my nine-incher and I saw Cicero dropping his pants to take out what
conventional authors usually call an "ebony fuckstick". Whatever, I'll stick
with what works. He's nine-inches as well. It least my dick is as big as my
lawyer's.

   No-Dick...well....No-Dick couldn't do fuck-all...since he had no dick. He
went into the back room so he didn't have to watch the proceedings.

   I slapped my big cock on Lilian's face and she turned lazily in my
direction. Cicero was wiping his pre-cum dripping mushroom tip on her right
cheek at the same time, and I figured it was time to get things started so
rammed by cock down her throat, using her hair for leverage. Her throat was
slick with drool and I started thrusting in and out, producing wet, sloppy,
*squish squish* sounds like a broken windshield wiper. Her throat was wet
and hot, and my fuckpole was ramming past her tonsils with each stroke. Her
nose would bounce off my pubes each time, while Cicero was teabagging her
eyes with his sweaty balls, all the while jerking his rod.

   She put a weak hand up to my abs to push me away, but whatever shit she
was on had her really fucked up...she could barely push at all.

   "Fuck you, bitch", I said, (what do you want? Fucking Shakespeare? What
would YOU say, you fucking limp-dick faggot?!) and I kept pummelling her
windpipe with my slick prick helmet. She was drooling all over the place, big
loogies of whitish-clear spit were oozing out of the tight seal her pouted
lips were making on my manhood, dripping down her chin and spraying all over
her bra-covered tits as I whipsawed my cock in and out of her throat.

   The sound of Lilian Garcia gagging on my choke-fucking cock was like the
spin cycle of a washing machine. Thrust, gag, drool, thrust, gag, gasp,
drool...repeat. It felt pretty damn fucking good.

   After about thirty seconds of facefucking, Cicero ripped off her
drool-drenched bra and started smearing his pre-cum all over her perky little
nipples, all the whole stroking his big black bone. I figured it was time to
give him a shot at the bitch, so I sped things up for a few seconds, and
OHHHHH SHIT, pulled out, and fired a volley of scalding man chowder right
into Lilian's spit drenched face. Two shots. Three shots. Four shots. Five...
and we're done. Not bad.

   When it was done, she was blubbering something incoherent and swaying from
side to side. I couldn't resist slapping her in the face. Hard. Spit and jizz
flew three feet, and she toppled over onto the floor.

   "Fucking whore." I grumbled.

   Cicero chuckled. "Nice one, boss."

   I shrugged. "I try."

   Lilian was a fucking mess. She had spit and phlegm dripping down her chin
and unto her chest, and sticky white jizz all over both eyelids, her
forehead, and around the edges of her mouth. We would have broken her arms
or something fun like that, but Bischoff said that sort of stuff was out of
bounds. Fuck him anyway...but I need that two million.

   Now it was Cicero's turn to start pounding her face, stabbing her
drugged-out tonsils with his massive black fucktool. I had about 50 minutes
before Bischoff got back, so I decided to grab a cigarette, head into the
back room, and wait for him to make her puke all over his fuckstick. Cicero
got off on that sort of shit. I closed the door just as she started heaving,
and I could see throat goo coming out of her nose while he drilled her
palette with jizz-drooling prick helmet.

   Cicero fired off on her face about ten minutes later. Now it was time to
wait for Bischoff to get back.