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    Wrestler 3: Wrestler, #3
    Wrestler 3: Wrestler, #3
    Wrestler 3: Wrestler, #3
    Ebook337 pages4 hours

    Wrestler 3: Wrestler, #3

    By charles fisher

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    About this ebook

    More fun and adventure as the girls continue to torture poor Jim Gooley. Things improve businesswise, and Gooley gets into a few things he shouldn't have.

    LanguageEnglish
    Publishercharles fisher
    Release dateAug 9, 2017
    ISBN9781386011002
    Wrestler 3: Wrestler, #3

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      Book preview

      Wrestler 3 - charles fisher

      Table of Contents

      Wrestler 3

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | July, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance | Monday Night Mayhem TV Show | Bridgeport, Connecticut | July, 2009

      Office of Dr. Joan Manning, M.D. | Bridgeport, Connecticut | July, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Press Conference | Bridgeport, Connecticut | July, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | July, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance | Monday Night Mayhem TV Show | Bridgeport, Connecticut | August, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | August, 2009

      Conan | Burbank, California | August, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | August, 2009

      Conan | Burbank, California | August, 2009

      WWA Pay-Per-View | Blood And Naked Girls | The Arena at Harbor Yard | Bridgeport, Connecticut | August, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance | Monday Night Mayhem TV Show | Bridgeport, Connecticut | August, 2009

      Kirisawa’s Japanese-American Diner | Stamford, Connecticut | August, 2009

      The Delamar Hotel at Greenwich Harbor | Greenwich, Connecticut | August, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | August, 2009

      Residence of Shannon Flynn | Greenwich, Connecticut | September, 2009

      The Greenwich Marine Club | Greenwich, Connecticut | September, 2009

      Residence of Shannon Flynn | Greenwich, Connecticut | September, 2009

      Ristorante De Greenwich | Greenwich, Connecticut | October, 2009

      Residence of Shannon Flynn | Greenwich, Connecticut | October, 2009

      Home of Jackie  Di Mattio | Hyde Park | Chicago, Illinois | October, 2009

      Residence of Shannon Flynn | Greenwich, Connecticut | October, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | October, 2009

      WWA Pay-Per-View | Higher Education, Lower Morals | The Arena at Harbor Yard | Bridgeport, Connecticut | November, 2009

      Manetti’s Steak House | Southport, Connecticut | November, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance | Monday Night Mayhem TV Show | Bridgeport, Connecticut | December, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | November, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | November, 2009

      City of Bridgeport | Residence of Angela Moretti-Gooley | November, 2009

      Residence of Shannon Flynn | Greenwich, Connecticut | November, 2009

      Darien, Connecticut | Friendly’s Restaurant | November, 2009

      Nutmeg Bowl | Fairfield, Connecticut | November, 2009

      Mr. and Mrs. Billiards | Bridgeport, Connecticut | November, 2009

      The Sissy Trainer’s Club | Bridgeport, Connecticut | November, 2009

      Testamara’s Italian Family Restaurant | Madison Avenue | Bridgeport, Connecticut | December, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | December, 2009

      Testamara’s New Italian Family Restaurant | Madison Avenue | Bridgeport, Connecticut | December, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | December, 2009

      WWA Christmas Pay-Per-View | Girly Hell; Naughty But Nice | The Arena at Harbor Yard | Bridgeport, Connecticut | December, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | December, 2009

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters | Bridgeport, Connecticut | December, 2009

      Wrestler 3

      Blood and Naked Girls

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters

      Bridgeport, Connecticut

      July, 2009

      ––––––––

      "Do you like my new look?" Gooley said as he twirled in his office.  Gone was the bad toupee, replaced by a shiny, clean shaven head. He now sported a short beard and mustache, and was dressed in a two thousand dollar Brooks Brothers suit. He held a fifteen dollar cigar in his hand, and wore  a two hundred dollar pair of sunglasses.

      You don’t smoke, Billy Jo sighed.

      It’s a prop, Gooley said. Just because you have something in your hand, it doesn’t mean you really use it.

      Jeez, Billy Jo snorted, clamping her hand over her mouth as she stared at the front of Gooley’s pants. You got that right.

      Very funny, Gooley said. Does everything I say around here have to end up as a penis joke?

      You said it, not me, Billy Jo said. What do you want, anyway? I’m busy.

      Doing what? All you do since you got married is stare out the window with that silly grin on your face. Don’t tell me Cole’s tongue is that long.

      It ain’t that long, but I taught him how to use it, Billy Jo said. I even got him to go around and do the back. Not like you, creep face, she smirked, eyeing Gooley up and down. You wouldn’t do that if somebody held a gun on you.

      Remember the Spanish girl last month who sprayed some poor bastard who was doing exactly that in the alcove? There you go. I think he had to be treated for radiation burns.

      I ain’t Spanish, Billy Jo said. I don’t eat that spicy crap. My poop ain’t toxic.

      Thank you for that. That should be on a Hallmark card. Are the contracts ready for the next pay-per-view?

      Yeah. We want a Cotton Pony Match. Mixed tag team. The guy on the losing team has to eat the winner’s  tam.....

      Stop, Gooley said. That has to be illegal.

      We can fake it. We’ll use tomato sauce and a Manicotti.

      No, and that’s final. Did Connors get those new girls? I haven’t seen him all week.

      He got them, and one of them got him, Billy Jo giggled. She just got released from Niantic, and she ain’t had any in two years. She made him go to a motel. They had to take him to St. V’s to get all his body fluids replaced.

      Cute. She must be a real peach.

      She uses a cucumber, Billy Jo said. "Peaches are for guys. We call that Doing the Del Monte. You make him suck out the pit, and then you sit on the peach and then you make him.........."

      Enough, Gooley said. That’s almost as bad as The Candy Company. Don’t you girls ever think about anything else?

      It’s normal, Billy Jo pouted. Guys ain’t the only ones that want it. Then we get stuck with assholes like you who won’t do anything we like, and it makes us nuts.

      As if you needed help. Okay, so how many matches feature men this time?

      Five. Sid against Ricky Delmar from the NWA, Barnes against Slambaugh, the Big Bad Bastards against the WWE guys in a rematch, you know, that asshole Miz and the other fag, some new guy named Decker Parsons against Sphincter, and Black Belt Bercowitz against a Catholic priest.

      What? Gooley laughed. What Catholic priest? We don’t have one of those. You trying  to make trouble for me? Christians outnumber my people by a lot.

      He’s not a real priest, Billy Jo sighed. If he was, we’d have him wrestle little kids in Baby Oil or something. He used to work for Vince, but he got fired for grabbing Stephanie’s ass.

      That would do it, Gooley said. What er, is his ring name?

      Cardinal Campbell  Heinz Bush. He’s from Boston, Billy Jo said, trying not to laugh.

      This better not be what it sounds like, Gooley said. Who is Tracy going to kill I mean wrestle?

      Darla James. They know each other.

      I’ve heard of her. She’s from California. Who are you wrestling?

      I got one of the new girls from the joint; Roxanne Reynolds. She wrestled for TNA before she went away. She got stopped in Connecticut for speeding going to a show, and she had a key on the front seat.

      I assume that wasn’t the key to her room.

      Nope. Felony weight coke. She pled it out to avoid a federal charge and got three years.

      That’s not bad. She blow I mean know somebody?

      I’ll never tell, Billy Jo said. Let’s just say there’s a prosecutor out there who still can’t get the smile off his face.

      Or her either, I imagine. What a wonderful justice system we have.

      They call that the lickety split plea agreement.

      Tracy came in and sat down, eyeing Gooley.

      Where’s Jim? she said, trying not to laugh.

      I’m Jim, you moron, Gooley huffed. Do I look better?

      Better than what? Tracy snickered as she lit a joint.

      What did I tell you about smoking in here? Especially that stuff?

      Not to do it, Tracy said as she leaned back and took another hit. What about it?

      You don’t pay attention to a word I say, do you.

      Nope. Tracy crossed her legs and starting playing with her shoe, showing everything she had. Why should I? You never do anything for me.

      I pay you, and very well at that. You’re making six figures now. What else do you want?

      Seven figures and a tongue bath, Tracy said as she fiddled with her new pink silk nylons. Hot in here, isn’t it, she grinned.

      There’s a zucchini in the fridge, Gooley said. Let me know if you need a bigger one.

      "You need a bigger one, Tracy said. If you even have one at all."

      What’s up with Darla James? I never saw her wrestle, Gooley said.

      You don’t want to, either. You think I’m mean? Wait until you see her.

      Then why take the risk?

      There’s no risk; I’ll beat her ass. The NWA is paying me an extra ten grand to give her a title shot.

      Why wasn’t I told about that?

      Because it’s none of your fucking business, is why, Tracy said. I have a separate contract with the NWA as long as I hold the title. I need the money. Trashy underwear keeps going up.

      Yours keeps going down, Gooley smirked. Around your ankles. Why not have a raincoat match?

      With who, you? don’t make me laugh.

      You could use Parsons, Billy Jo giggled. Now, there’s a real man.

      Another new guy? Why doesn’t anybody fill me in about these dudes?

      I hope he fills me in, Tracy nodded. He could do it, too.

      Oh, I see. He must have something like the ring post in his pants, otherwise you wouldn’t be interested, Miss Bottomless Pit.

      You don’t know who he is, do you, Tracy grinned.

      No. Where is he from?

      South Carolina. They call him the South Pole.

      Is he Polish?

      Sure, you stupid fucking twerp, Tracy laughed. You’ll find out. He’ll be on Mayhem next week.

      World Wrestling Alliance

      Monday Night Mayhem TV Show

      Bridgeport, Connecticut

      July, 2009

      ––––––––

      My, my, it’s hot in here, Creighton laughed as he watched two girls drag customers into the alcove. Be careful, fellows, you know how bacteria multiplies in the heat. We now have kneepads for the girls, he said as the two vixens disappeared under raincoats. I hear the Iconix Brand Group just signed up for 30,000 feet of space in Manhattan. They own London Fog, who makes our stain resistant raincoats. I wonder if they know what we use them for.

      Fuck those Brits! Fuck those Brits! Fuck those Brits! the crowd chanted.

      Excellent response, you uneducated arseholes, Creighton said. London Fog was and remains an American company from Baltimore. They made waterproof clothing for the Army. Hopefully it still repels foreign liquids, he smirked as the two girls engaged in a contest in the alcove. One of the customers held out a stopwatch as the girls pounded away. We are about to find out.

      Suck that dick! Suck that dick! Suck that dick! They chanted as the producer bleeped the feed.

      You are wasting your breath, just as these girls are holding theirs, Creighton said. No encouragement seems necessary. My, my, that second girl is very fast, isn’t she? I’m surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.

      The first girl suddenly stopped, moved back, and opened her mouth.

      We have a winner! Creighton laughed. Right between the eyes, too. Look at that; Dennis Rodman couldn’t have made that shot. Where is that girl with the floor mop bucket and towels when we need her?

      The second girl finished as well, and the two of them ran off to the bathroom, waving a handful of twenties.

      And they say capitalism is dead, Creighton sighed. You two fellows might want to think about stopping by the free clinic later, I hear they have a cure for just about anything these days.

      We aren’t live yet, are we? Gooley said backstage.

      Are you serious? If we put that on the air we’d be in prison.

      We have immunity, Gooley grinned. We still have those videos of the cops soliciting girls in the parking lot.

      Prostitution and blackmail, Rebecca sighed. What a business.

      Beats politics. A lot cleaner, too.

      When the feed went live, Creighton smiled at the camera.

      You don’t know what you just missed, he grinned. Our customer in the alcove didn’t miss, though; he made a direct hit on one of our lovely ladies. Talk about taking one for the team, he sighed. Oh well, she’s in the back washing her face, and we must proceed with wrestling, as much as it pains us to do so. I know you degenerates would rather see the forehead surprise, but you’ll have to buy a ticket to do so, or to become an active participant. Our first descent into stupidity is scheduled for one fall or an adult movie contract, whoever comes first. Introducing from Harlem, New York, weighing 237 government cheese inspired pounds, he is the man who has more bitches than a pissed off labor union negotiating with General Motors, our very own symbol of what a black man should not be, Tyrell Kilmead, the Irish Jig.

      Tyrell came down the ramp with Sapphire, who wiggled for the crowd and licked her lips.

      Isn’t she adorable? Creighton laughed. Where else could you find such an alluring creature, other than in  a police holding cell?

      You watch yo mouth, Sapphire warned, pointing at Creighton. I’ll put somethin’ in yo big mouth for y’all.

      I wonder what it would be, Creighton said. A bust in the face? A crack in the teeth?

      My foot in yo British ass, Sapphire snarled.

      Thank you, Dear. I assume the engagement is off. And Mr. Kilmead’s opponent, weighing 247 pounds, he is 6 feet, eleven inches, from South Carolina, a man who packs more meat than the Chicago stockyards, Decker the Pecker Parsons.

      Jesus! Gooley yelled. Now I know who this asshole is. He was a porn star, wasn’t he?

      I don’t remember, Rebecca said innocently. Want me to go find out?

      You stay here and keep your panties on. Whose idea was this?

      Not mine, Rebecca huffed.

      Six feet eleven inches my ass, Gooley said, He isn’t that tall.

      You really are an asshole, Rebecca giggled.

      Parsons came down the ramp thrusting his crotch at the female fans, who went crazy and tried to climb onto the ramp.

      No! he laughed as he got in the ring and took the mike. You fat, disgusting Bridgeport sweat hogs could never have me. You can only dream of having me. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take off my robe and show you what a real man is all about. Then I’m going to beat this..... thing, then I’m going to take his woman backstage and let her ride the South Pole.

      That works, Gooley shrugged. He’s imitating Rick Rude. Does he really have...... never mind.

      Oh yeah, he does,  Rebecca said.

      How do you know? Gooley smirked.

      Well, when a wrestler uses a nickname, we make him prove it, Rebecca grinned.

      Tramp, Gooley muttered as he watched the prompter. I didn’t think you had it in you. I guess that was a bad choice of words, huh.

      I’ll never tell, Rebecca giggled. He can make your tonsils tickle.

      Kilmead began by sucker punching Parsons when he wasn’t looking, then kicked at him until he fell out of the ring. Sapphire strutted over and began riding Parsons.

      What y’all gonna do now, big man? she laughed. What you got in there, anyway? Black man got more than you.

      Parsons ignored her and got back into the ring. He tied up with Kilmead and pushed him into the corner. When the ref told him to break, he cracked Kilmead hard across the face and flexed his arms for the crowd. Kilmead responded by kicking him square in the nuts.

      There goes that porn career, Gooley sighed as he watched Parsons hop around the ring in agony as the crowd cheered. Kilmead grabbed him by the hair, stuck his head under Parsons’ chin, and delivered a jaw breaker. He followed up with a swinging neck breaker, a vertical suplex, and a power slam. He climbed to the top rope and executed his finishing move, Welfare Reform. He  made a perfect 360 degree somersault dive, landing on Parsons’ chest. Johnny counted three and Tyrell got up.

      Y’all ain’t shit, big dick motherfucker, he scowled as Johnny raised his hand.

      Parsons had to be helped to the treatment area, where Bassick tossed him an ice bag.

      I fucking quit, Parsons growled. I don’t have to take that shit from anybody.

      Suit yourself, Bassick said. Go tell Gooley. I’m not the match booker.

      Creighton climbed into the ring and shook his head in dismay.

      Don’t pull on that thing like that, young lady! You’ll break it, he laughed as one of the arena hookers lent a helping hand to an audience member near an exit while she licked his neck. That should produce the desired result, he hooted as she added hand cream to the mix. That’s quite a technique; she must have worked on a dairy farm. I bet our Mr. Parsons would enjoy that, although she’d need both hands from what I hear.

      The girl worked faster and faster until her customer couldn’t take any more; he emptied himself into a coffee cup the girl was holding in front of him.

      Ready, aim, fire! Creighton laughed. Cream and sugar with that? Excellent trajectory, young man! Cleanup on aisle six, he said as the audience howled. Get any on you? Creighton said as the girl took out a baby wipe and ran for the bathroom. Imagine the DNA samples our illustrious police could collect back there if only they weren’t asleep in the parking lot. They could probably solve half the rapes and parental cases for the last ten years. The customer buttoned up, waved, and headed outside. Enjoy your evening; please come again, Creighton said. Talk about being jerked around, he sighed. Perhaps if he had paid a bit more, he could have found out if the lass still has her molars.

      I’m wearing out the bleep button, the producer sighed.

      Bassick stuck his head in the door. Write off that Parsons dude, he said. He grabbed his gear and left. He said he ain’t coming back.

      Damn it, Rebecca groused. And here I thought we finally had somebody good.

      Yeah, maybe for you and the rest of the dirt bags around here, Gooley laughed. Find somebody to replace him at the pay-per-view, and sue his ass for breach of contract.

      Creighton took the mike as the police chased a teenage street girl to no avail.

      She’s much too fast for you, Creighton laughed as the audience howled in glee. In more ways than one. It does not appear that she has consumed as many donuts as you officers, although what she likes to eat doesn’t have any calories anyway. It does have that syrupy white glaze on it like the donut shops use, though, he mused. Oh well, I suppose the police have to get some exercise once in a while, bench pressing a teenager off their faces notwithstanding.

      They’re going to shoot that asshole in the parking lot some night, Billy Jo giggled as she headed for the ring.

      We’ll film it if they do, Gooley said.

      "Our next extravaganza involves a newcomer and one of your favorite girls. Introducing the newly married Queen of Jiggle, weighing oh, maybe 125 or so, and who cares because it’s all in the right places, just voted by Pro Wrestling Today as The Girl I’d Most Like to Commit an Obscene Act With and The Girl I’d Love to See on a Pogo Stick, Miss.... I’m sorry, Mrs. Billy Jo Sikes-Randall."

      Billy Jo came out in a white bikini that left very little to the imagination, and a bridal veil.

      White is for virgins, Dear, Creighton laughed. I believe the expiration date on your bagel lapsed while you were in grammar school.

      Eat that bagel! Eat that bagel! Eat that bagel! the audience chanted.

      I’m sure that if you have some  spare change she’ll accommodate you, Creighton said. Cream cheese is extra.

      Billy Jo gave Creighton the finger and wiggled seductively for the crowd.

      Isn’t she charming? What a mammary I mean memory she has. There are some things you just never forget how to do.... riding a bicycle, calling your bail bondsman, eating with your hands, and shaking your money maker for a pack of degenerate arseholes in a wrestling arena. And speaking of arseholes, our next convict I mean contestant is newly arrived from Los Angeles, California, weighing 129 pounds, a woman who has had more people ride her than the New York Subway System, The NWA California State Women’s Champion, Miss Darla James.

      James came out in a flimsy gray bikini and started in on Creighton as the crowd howled. She ripped his jacket off and tore it to shreds, then kicked him in the ass a few times. He finally escaped and ran for the back as Darla launched a huge lunger at him.

      Johnny gave what passed for rules in the WWA and looked at Darla.

      Don’t kill each other, he said. You have a pay-per-view coming up.

      Mind your own fucking business, you chooch, Darla said, and shoved Johnny in the chest. She looked at Billy Jo. You’re next, silicone girl, she nodded. I’m an NWA champion, and you ain’t.

      Billy Jo responded by putting her finger alongside her nose;  she  blew a giant snot at Darla, which hit her right between the eyes.

      How you like that, tough guy, she grinned as Darla stared at her in disbelief.

      You fucking whore, she seethed. You’re dead meat now.

      Maybe, but I don’t got a booger on my face.

      Darla charged Billy Jo, who sidestepped her and threw her out of the ring onto the floor. A fan threw a soda at her; she attacked him and tried to drag him over the rail, but two more referees stopped her. Get in the ring, one of them warned. Or else.

      Darla rolled in, stood up, and took a chair shot in the face that opened up a two inch gash over her left eye. She fell into the ropes and got all tangled up; Billy Jo came over and proceeded to pound the piss out of her with the chair. Finally, Johnny got it away from her and pushed her back. Billy Jo got loose from him and spread eagled herself over Darla; she then bounced up and down on Darla’s face like a rodeo rider. Johnny pushed her back again and got Darla out of the ropes.

      Don’t do that crotch ride again unless it’s me, Johnny said to Billy Jo.

      Yeah, like you’d enjoy that, you pud gobbler, she laughed. We know about you; back door Johnny.

      Darla snuck up behind Johnny and shoulder blocked him as hard as she could, driving him into Billy Jo, who fell through the ropes onto the floor.

      That’s it, Johnny said as he got up. He called for the bell. You’re disqualified.

      Boo fucking hoo, Darla laughed. I’m going to break that bitch in half. She rolled out, but Billy Jo was laying for her and came up off the floor with the timekeeper’s bell. She slammed Darla square in the face with it; Darla rocketed backwards into the ring post, opening up cut number three. Her blonde hair soon became the same color as Tracy’s. Billy Jo grabbed her bloody mane and swept all the equipment off Joey Styles’ table.

      No! Joey yelled. Not this! You’re going to kill yourself! Don’t do it!

      Shut up, you squirrely little fuck, before I do it to you, Billy Jo snarled. She laid Darla out on the table, patted Darla’s leg, and did her John Cena you can’t see me thing with her hand as the crowd roared. She climbed to the top turnbuckle with a steel chair in her hands; Darla inched over to the best position, braced herself, and waited.

      Nooooo! Styles screamed as Billy Jo flew. She landed on the table next to Darla and drove the chair

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