Post by Furious Julius Fairweather on Jul 12, 2021 15:51:32 GMT -5
In 1975, a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Still wanted by the government, they survived as soldiers of fortune. If you had a problem, if no one else could help, and if you could find them....maybe you could have hired The Mother Fuckers.
JULIUS: Goddammit, momma! I don’t want to hear that shit!
The bad motherfucker could not contain the look of disgust on his face as he pulled the hotel phone away from his ear. After shaking his head and trying to block the images of his biological parents getting it on, he pulled the phone back to his ear in time to hear his mother’s response.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: But baby, I’m trying to explain like one of those motion pictures you like so much…
JULIUS: Ain’t no amount of dramatic set-up gonna prepare a motherfucker to hear about his own conception!
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Now what did I tell you about using that language with me? You just calm your ass down before I get on a plane for Australia and knock some manners into you!
At that moment, Julius was thankful that his mother was all the way back in Detroit so that she couldn’t smack him upside the back of his head.
JULIUS: Yes, Momma.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Now you've gone and ruined my story. The bottom line is that Eustace Carter is your daddy, whether you like it or not. I never told you about him because I didn’t know where to find him and I didn’t want you to think less of your momma for having a one-night stand.
JULIUS: Ugh...Momma…
Another look of disgust came across Julius’s face, as if he were looking down upon bloated roadkill with maggots oozing from its orifices.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: The truth is that Eustace never knew about you either! It wasn’t like his team had a hotline I could call. They were long gone by the time I found out you were even a thing.
JULIUS: That don’t mean I gotta play nice with the motherfucker…
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Language!
He could almost feel the palm of his mother’s hand hitting the back of his head, and despite being thousands of miles away, he knew that she would remember that one and save it for his next trip home.
JULIUS: Yes, Momma…
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: You can’t run from that man forever. You may be able to stay on the road with Project: Honor for now, but sooner or later, you’re gonna have to come back home. When that happens, you’re gonna have to face Eustace and work all of this out for your own good and his.
JULIUS: I swear, Momma, I’m gonna make James Edgebrook pay for sticking his nose in my business…
He was desperate to change the subject and focus all of his frustration and disgust on his hated rival, but Julius’ mother was not about to let things slide so easily.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Now you just stop right there! You don’t know that he’s the one who hacked into your show and revealed your daddy to the whole world. Even if he did, maybe you had it coming…
JULIUS: What? Don’t tell me he’s gotten to you too…
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Baby, you know I’ll always be on your side, but maybe you were a little too hard and that skinny, white boy. All he wanted was to have his little show where he could talk about rasslin’, and maybe you didn’t agree with his predictions or opinions, but that didn’t give you no right to ruin his life.
JULIUS: Aw, I was just having a little fun with him…
Julius had never felt an ounce of guilt over what he’d done in his little war with James Edgebrook, but the disapproving tone his mother gave him was beginning to change all of that.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Fun for you maybe, but to some of us it looked a lot like you were bullying that poor boy. I know I didn’t raise you to be no bully, did I?
JULIUS: No, Momma…
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Good. Now you think about what I’ve said and what you need to do about it, but don’t you let it distract you from those seven shifty-looking folks you’re gonna be fighting on Pay Per View. I’m having some of my lady friends over, and the last thing I want them to see is my baby getting his backside handed to him by some dirty ho named Latoya or whatever on God’s Green Earth a Yelich is.
As much space in his mind as his estranged father and his rivalry with Edgebrook occupied, Julius knew that his mother’s concern was unwarranted. If there was one thing he needed to take out his frustrations, it was a multiple-person match against a bunch of people that he had no qualms about hurting.
JULIUS: Don’t you worry about that Momma, I won’t let you down.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: You never have, baby. Now you tell that sexy Jason Long I said hello and make sure Pyro gets those cookies I sent! Love you, baby!
JULIUS: Love you too, momma.
Not having the heart to tell his mom that Pyro detested cookies of all shapes, sizes, and flavors, Julius was content to say his goodbyes without the risk of hurting his saintly mother’s feelings. As he hung up the phone, he could not help but think about the story his mother had told him regarding Eustace Carter. For most of his life, Julius wanted nothing more than to learn that his real father was Samuel L. Jackson, but having his dad turn out to be a soldier of fortune, righting wrongs for the common man? Even he had to admit that was pretty badass. He found himself drifting into thoughts of these Viet Nam vets, this group of elite Special Forces operatives, and he could not help but wonder about their unique personalities and quirks as they came together as a team. In a way, it almost reminded him of his recent alliance with Pyro and what their future might hold. While they had been able to combine their different personalities and styles into something that worked, Julius also knew that they’d be fighting their own battles at Guts, Gold, and Glory. Not only that, but they’d both be facing a combination of individuals, nearly every bit as unique as themselves.
With his thoughts drifting to those various opponents, Julius slipped on his sunglasses and headed for his hotel room door. Not only was the time for his scheduled promo approaching, but it also happened to be happy hour. After a short trip to the first floor via the elevator, Julius made his way into the hotel bar, lowering his sunglasses just enough to take note of those gathered inside. Satisfied by the low number of patrons and confident that he would not be bothered by over-enthusiastic fans, he proceeded to make his entrance. Taking a seat in a dimly lit booth, Julius sat back and watched the other patrons mingle amongst themselves as he waited for the arrival of his waitress.
JULIUS: Hennessey, neat. Keep ‘em coming, pretty momma.
He gave the young waitress a wink as he slid a c-note into her hand, and as she walked away with a smile, Julius noticed a nervous-looking young man entering the bar with a handheld camera. He made a subtle motion with his finger to let the camera operator in on his location, and then watched quietly as the young man made his way through the bar with all the grace of a two-legged elephant.
JULIUS: Motherfucker, you must be new. I like to do this shit on the down-low to avoid drawing in a crowd. You feel me?
CAMERON THE CAMERA KID: Yeah, sorry about that Mr. Fairweather. This is my first assignment. My name’s Cameron by the way. It’s a pleasure to be working with you…
JULIUS: Shut the fuck up, Cameron.
CAMERON: Yes, sir.
JULIUS: Now here’s how we’re gonna do this shit. I’m gonna talk about the seven motherfuckers I’m facing at Guts, Gold, and Glory, and while I do that, I’m gonna enjoy a nice glass of cognac. So you just follow my lead, point the camera in the right direction, stay as quiet as a motherfucking church mouse, and we’ll be cool. You dig?
CAMERON: Um...yes, sir.
Moments later, the camera was rolling, Cameron was silent, and the suave motherfucker with a fresh glass of Hennessy was ready to address his friends and enemies.
“Just when I start to think I’ve got Christian DeMarco figured out, the motherfucker pulls the rug out from under me. Week after week and month after month, I’ve been stepping into that ring against Pyro in one kind of match after another. Then, when me and that arson-loving asshole actually get on the same page, The Artist Formerly Known as Caliban puts us in separate matches. Not only that, but he’s decided to put everyone’s favorite motherfucker against seven relatively new faces for a shot at the Ascension Championship. Now seeing as how I’ve yet to get my first taste of gold in this company, having a shot at that belt suits me just fine. Not only that, but I’m one of the few Fallout originals still representing this brand, so I can’t think of anyone better to serve as the Gatekeeper for a bunch of motherfuckers who may not be able to cut the mustard.”
“Take Curtis for example; a motherfucker who can’t be bothered to tell us his last name. He’s a happy little dude who’s full of love and positivity. Hell, that motherfucker is probably just happy to be here. You know who wasn’t happy to be here? That motherfucker’s tag team partner. With me and Pyro putting our hatred toward a common goal, I was already sizing up Curtis and Bam Miller for an eventual showdown. Only Bam couldn’t take the heat and wandered off with his motherfucking tail between his legs. Pretty sure happy-go-lucky Curtis will follow him into the sunset sooner or later, so I’m not even gonna waste any more time talking about that motherfucker.”
“Someone I will talk about is a big, bad motherfucker by the name of Thorborg Aaronsson. Goddamn, that name alone is a mouthful. Of all the motherfuckers in this match who should only be going by one name, it’s this dude. He’s dealing with more unnecessary vowels and consonants than Vanna White trying to handle a contestant with a speech impediment. Still, I ain’t about to take this motherfucker lightly. He’s a big boy who’s all about that Viking lifestyle. Hell, this company’s had more Vikings than The History Channel lately, but that’s cool. I’m all about that Norse shit, even if they didn’t have a lot of brothers in their mythology. He can come to the Pay Per View looking to rape, pillage, and plunder, but I’m still gonna drop him on his bearded ass. Thorborg might be prepared to fight frost giants or dragons, but he damn sure ain’t prepared to throw down with a bad motherfucker like me. That’s a fact.”
“Here’s another fact for all my Motherfucking Friends of Fairweather; Thorborg ain’t the only motherfucker who’s fixing to get his head knocked off by my hard right hand. There’s another dude by the name of Earl Boyde that I’ve got my eye on. Unlike some motherfuckers in this match, old Earl actually seems to fit the Fallout mold. He’s a bar room brawler; the kind of motherfucker who loves a good fight. While I might be down with that, I ain’t ever gonna be down with someone by the name of Earl. None of us get to pick our names when we’re born, but when you become a professional wrestler, you’ve got the motherfucking option to fix that shit. This motherfucker is either too damn proud or just plain stupid, cause he kept Earl Boyde when there’s a whole world of badass names out there. He could have been Ricardo Darkstar or Dirk Handsome, but he stuck to his guns and put ‘Earl Boyde’ down on that contract. Someone from marketing needs to have a talk with this motherfucker, but until then it’s gonna be just like those Dixie Chicks said; “Goodbye Earl”.
“We don’t just have ugly motherfuckers like Thorborg and Earl in this match. We’ve also got a fine piece of cheesecake by the name of Latoya Hixx. Now this lady may be nice to look at, but she’s also the kind of Tinder hook-up that would make a motherfucker wish he was deaf. On one hand, she’s looking to be a role-model for all the little girls out there. On the other hand, her bio on the Project: Honor database lists her as The Hoeski. Well, color me intrigued. Either she’s got some obtuse ideas about the future women of the world, or she’s as goddamn stupid as the name Earl sounds. While I may be a suave motherfucker who likes the company of a lovely woman, you can ask any of the ladies around Fallout about my respect for the opposite sex. From Savannah Sunshine to Kayla Richards, I appreciate what the women bring to our business inside of that ring. Then you’ve got someone like Latoya, who can’t even bother to respect herself. I don’t pride myself on hitting a lady, but I’ll gladly knock out a hoe when the situation calls for it. I guess Latoya Hixx is gonna find out just how strong my pimp hand can be.”
“Hold onto your butts, cause I’m only halfway done. I can’t wrap this shit up until I’ve mentioned that weird motherfucker named Yelich! So far we’ve got big guys, ugly guys, and hoes in this match, and now we’ve got another tiny motherfucker who only goes by one name. At least this motherfucker picked a single name that makes you think twice. Other than that, I don’t see anything special about this kid other than the fact that he really is...special, if you know what I mean. He claims he’s never lost, which I can respect since I’m also undefeated in the hearts and minds of my fans. On the other hand, he thinks everyone around him smells funny. Motherfucker, the only thing you’re gonna smell on me is the sweet fragrance of successful man musk! If you’re smelling something foul, maybe it’s time you take a long look in the mirror and then spend twice as much time in the showers. Have no fear, little man, after I beat your ass alongside the rest of these outcasts, you can head back to the locker room and scrub under those skinny arms until you’re smelling like roses. Of course, you ain’t ever gonna be able to wash away the smell of defeat after stepping into the ring with me.”
“Let’s keep going with those motherfuckers with the single names, only this time we’ll add in the fact that he can’t spell either. Maybe Bezerk spells his name that way because he’s crazy, but one look at the motherfucker and it’s easy to see he ain’t no valedictorian. This is the kind of dumbass who thinks a bedpan is for cooking breakfast in bed. Yeah, he might have the kind of hardcore style that will help him fit in with the Fallout crowd, but it ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before. So he likes to swing a chair and gets aroused by the feeling of barbed wire on his skin. That shit doesn't make you scary, it makes you a freak who wasn’t hugged enough as a child! The best part about Bezerk ain’t his deep-seated emotional issues or his ability to replace an ‘rs’ with a ‘z’ when spelling his name, it’s the fact that the motherfucker don’t like ladder matches. Leave it to DeMarco to put the motherfucker in his least favorite match with a man like me. By the time I’m done with him, that ladder might just be a permanent part of his private anatomy.”
“Last on my Guts, Gold, and Glory hit list is Mr. Jordan Bishop. This motherfucker actually reminds me a little bit of myself. He’s got moves in his repertoire from boxing, MMA, and wrestling, just like yours truly. He’s also got a pretty big ego, but I won’t hold that against him. What I will hold against him is losing his debut match to Vickie “The Mouth” McKenzie. You came in here looking to shut her up, and instead she laid you out like a chump. Despite the size of her thighs, Thick Vick uses that mouth for more than just “All You Can Eat Day” at Dunkin’ Donuts. She used it to call your motherfucking bluff, and in the process she showed the world that you’re more bark than bite. Now all that’s left for me to play with is a man with shaken confidence and a bunch of moves I learned to counter with my eyes closed. You’ve got one thing in common with the other motherfuckers on my list, Bishop. Guts, Gold, and Glory ain’t gonna be your motherfucking day in the sun.”
“So there you have it. Seven motherfuckers who don’t have a damn clue what DeMarco has gotten them into. I don’t give a goddamn if we’re climbing ladders, fighting in a cage, or beating each other upside the head with barbed wire ax handles. Daddy’s looking to get himself that first taste of gold, and if I’ve got to go through every gimmicked up name on the motherfucker roster to get my chance at it, that’s exactly what I’m fixing to do. As of today, you’re all looking at Fallout’s motherfucking Gatekeeper, and I can’t think of a better accessory for the guardian of Fallout’s front door to have than The Ascension Championship. You’ve all got a problem, no one else can help, and if you can find your heads from your asses, maybe you can get beaten up by this bad motherfucker. So be cool, because after Guts, Gold, and Glory, you’ll be gone.”
With a nod of his head, Julius signals to Cameron that he's finished saying everything that needs to be said, and the young camera operator stops filming.
CAMERON: That was pretty good stuff, Mr. Fairweather. Straight and to the point. You didn't even make me walk backwards while you were walking down the street or anything like that!
Julius takes a sip of his cognac while keeping his eyes locked on the young camera man.
JULIUS: I ain't got time to waste with that shit, motherfucker. We're in Australia, and I'm fixing to get 'down unda' with as many ladies as possible before that Pay Per View rolls around.
Cameron chuckles and blushes in a way that makes Julius realize he's talking to a young man inexperienced in the ways of women. Feeling somewhat generous, and perhaps missing some of his old sidekicks, an idea enters his head.
JULIUS: Say Cameron, how would you like to be my personal camera man from here on out? I could show you the sights and maybe even teach you how to be a proper wingman. You feel me?
CAMERON: Really? You mean it? Gosh, Mr. Fairweather, that sure would be swell!
Julius continues to keep his eyes on the young man as he puts down his last swallow of Hennessy, silently hoping that he hasn't made a terrible mistake.
Miles away and hours later, back in the Detroit apartment serving as the headquarters for the disgruntled former sidekicks known as The Fairweather Revenge Squad...
THADDEUS HIERONYMUS CRAFT: I've just received word, our man has made contact and Julius took the bait just like you thought.
The thin man with the crooked teeth and receding hairline gives a fiendish smile to his allies.
NIGEL HALFWEATHER: Of course he did. Just look at that motherfucker's track record and it's easy to see he likes taking naïve motherfuckers under his wing. Indy Darling, Winston Winfield, and even your scrawny ass.
The diminutive yet surly man fires back as he puffs on a Cuban cigar.
RAS A' LIN: So now we have eyes on Julius whenever we need them. Revealing his father's true identity may not have embarrassed him as we'd hoped, but our vengeance cannot be tamed so easily!
The elderly Asian man puffs on his long pipe as all three men begin to cackle amongst themselves. Outside of the apartment, lightning crashes and thunder rolls in the distance, an ominous sign of the approaching storm...
