Quebec Unlimited Entertainment Elite 'Rasslin'

[LandMass]

"But Jeremy..." He started, voice riddled with desperation. Click. Gone. He hung up. That god damned bastard hung up. The man slumped down on the armchair. After all that he had done for Jeremy, the bastard still had the nerve to hang up. Was there no decency left in the world? No loyalty? The man shifted his feet onto the coffee table. He was going to lose this place now. No need to be worried about the scrapes his shoes would surely leave. Somewhere, right now, Vince McMahon was probably lounging in a nice warm bath, being fed grapes by a scantily clad woman chained to his side. Or on his corporate jet, banging some stewardess while trying not to spill that expensive champagne on his 900 dollar suit. Maybe even in the coliseum, jerking his thumb up or down to decide the fate of a gladiator. **** Vince McMahon. One click of the remote control and Hulk Hogan was lecturing her daughter's boyfriend on something. The man didn't have time to catch what as his thumb hit the up button on the remote. Hack. Was this what people thought of when they reflected on wrestling? Within moments, the television set was off again, as the man took time to eye the phone hungrily. Someone would phone him soon. They HAD to. It wasn't as if the whole wrestling world could just forget him. He picked it up and placed it to his ear, just to make sure it was still working. The low groan of the dial tone said it was. Tempermentally, he slammed it down. Who did the Jarretts think they were, anyway? Did they really think they were better than him? No one was. Not the Jarretts. Not Vince. And certainly not Hogan. They would all pay for what they did. What went around, went around again. He picked up the cordless and pressed speed dial. There was a plan forming in his head. They were only rough ideas at this point but the man concerned himself little with this fact. They could be fleshed out later, when everything had been set in motion. On the fourth ring, the other phone clicked on. "Dallas?" There was a pause and what sounded suspiciously like a sigh before the man was met with an answer. "...Yeah. What do you need?" "Dallas, I'm hurt. Can't I call up an old friend to catch up?" "You can but you never do...unless you need something." The conversation lapsed for a minute, both men breathing softly. "So TNA doesn't want me?" "Yeah, that's what Jeff said." "...Can I borrow some money?" "Smooth. How much do you need and what for? It's not for drugs or anything like that, is it?" "Of course not." The man hissed. "I'm investing in my future." *** "**** the future." He slurred, leaning dangerously close to me. "**** the future in it's ****ing ass." His breath stunk of booze. Not overly suprising, as Manny had downed at least 12 in front of me and who knows how many more before the show. ****. This wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday night. In fact, being my drunken boss' leaning post was not very high on my list. Truthfully, it was very low. Under being used as a fire hydrant by a pack of rabid canines. "Quebec's going down the ****ing toilet, man." He placed the large cuban cigar into his mouth and puffed the smoke out, right into my face. "No ****ing loyalty anymore. Just a bunch of pricks running around, looking for a god damn rub." Truthfully, it was rare to see Manny not drunk or high. But tonight, he was a whole different man. The troubles he was dealing with had taken the party out of him and gingerly replaced it with depression and anger towards the undercard around him. "Half these ************s couldn't draw a dime from their ****ing grandparents." He announced loudly, to no one in particular. Most of the roster had now become accustomed to either ignoring his presence in the room or just steering clear of him. Twiggy, one of the wrestlers who had, at one time, been a road agent like me, shot me a dirty look. Or perhaps the hating glance was directed at the man I was practically babysitting. Before I could tell, his friend and tag team partner, Pornstar Juan, tugged at his arm, leading him into the next room. "I'm going to take a ****ing piss." Manny informed me, so close to my face that I was almost afraid that a kiss was coming next. He shifted off me and walked away, bumping into people as he made his way through the crowded room towards the washroom. I watched him go and breathed a small sigh of relief. Now was as good a time as any to sneak away. Sure, any possible plans for hanging with my friends were shot but at least I could get a good sleep. It was better than nothing. Sometimes, I wished my dad had never encouraged me to jump into this business with eyes closed.

[LandMass]

Part 2 "Are you sure we're in the right place?" I asked skeptically as our worn yellow taxi stopped in front of a seedy looking building on the bad side. The entrancing techno beats could be heard from outside, confirming that this was, in fact, a club. However, it's appearance would have tipped one's scale in favour of crackhouse. The oddly plain cement walls screamed poverty and the violence that went hand in hand, coupled with it. I cringed as a man, scantily clad in very tight black leather walked out, eyeing us as we stood outside. "Yes." Viking replied, struggling to translate his next words to english. "I tell him...twice." He held up two chubby fingers and I nodded my understanding. English was never his strong point, one of the reasons he'd never really got big in the States. It seemed all Quebec talent that was anything went to the States when they could. Ring of Honor, CHIKARA, anywhere they could get work. They showed off their skills and became big. Not Viking. He was still the chubby party guy he had been when I first started working for Manny some 3 years ago. He often remarked that he had more fun in Quebec than he would wrestling for a workrate focused promotion in the States. Lost in my own musings, I hadn't noticed Viking sliding his pants down. One glance over and I got an eyeful of his fat ass. I mean, literally, he had a sagging fat ass. He s******ed, shaking it just to add more soap to my already burning eyes. "Come on, man!" My hands shot up to conver my eyes from what would likely give me nightmares for years to come. With a flash, I swung my foot out, aimed at him. Unfortunately, a simple hop was all it took to get him out of range and my kick sent me off balance and on my ass. He took a look at me as he pulled his pants up and burst out laughing. It was an odd, crazy sound, reminding me of what the guffaw of a caveman would sound like. Dusting myself off, I reluctantly followed Viking into the club, pushing my way through what appeared to be a sea of men. My first thought was SAUSAGE FEST!~ Guys everywhere and not a woman in sight. I looked around to see where they had been shooting the Village People music video. Truthfully, I didn't say anything as we made our way to the bar, not wanting to hurt Viking's feelings. For a big guy, he sure was sensetive. He pouted for 3 straight days when I forgot to call him about a party a week ago. Scanning the room, I began to notice that there was absolutely no women in the club. None. I thought I spotted one and was just about to stand up when she turned around. Man face and an Adam's apple. I adjusted myself on the seat, trying not to shudder. That was about the ugliest woman I'd ever seen, topped only by Viking's mother. He downed his shot with suprising quickness as the grey haired bartender watched him with a seemingly inappropriate look in his eyes. Turning to me, he asked, "What'll it be, mac?" "I'm good." I said, turning away and dismissing him with a shake of my hand. Viking was mesmerized at something in a dark corner of the club. I craned my head back to see what it was. He gave me a sharp jab, ignoring the ice cold glance I gave him and pointed in the same direction I had been trying to look. My eyes followed his gaze and stopped on a oddly dressed man with long black hair. He was concentrating on his drink. "Is that...?" I swiveled the stool towards Viking, awaiting confirmation. He just nodded. I gazed back at the man in the booth, still not convinced. Why would he be in Montreal, Quebec? It had to be a look-a-like. He couldn't be the real thing. Could he...? I leaned over to Viking, cupping my hand while my eyes noted the man's sporadic glances away from the table and his drink. "Here's what we're gonna do..." *** Slouched back in his booth, the man with the long black hair was considering his options. He was down a home but on the plus side, he did have some money left. More than enough to forget his troubles tonight. He tried to imagine what he would do with the rest. He couldn't buy a house with it, at least not one that he wouldn't be ashamed to live in. It wasn't enough to fly him anywhere else and start a new life. Still, it was a good chunk of change. He opened his eyes and surveyed the prospects. The guy in the sailor's outfit looked kind of cute but hardly anything worth making an advance towards. He was grinding up on a burly lumberjack anyway. Obviously, he had no taste. Out of disinterest, he began to gawk at a rather rotund, short man who looked like he had walked in by mistake. His eyes were everywhere, darting all around in a futile attempt to track down a member of the opposite sex. None of those here. He staggered into a less crowded area and stood waiting. From behind, another man pushed up to him. The taller, more broad one latched onto the fat one's shoulder and spun him around. STRAIGHT INTO A KANYON CUTTER!~ Kanyon clutched at his mouth, trying to stiffle the laugher. It didn't help much but all it got him was a few dirty looks. Much less than what the two performers were getting. Hell, they were smiling and bowing. Like they thought any type of attention was good attention. Sometimes, it was. As they peered hesitantly towards him, the first openly gay wrestler smiled and beckoned them over with a wave of his hand. They shrugged and approached, unaware that their little act had put the first smile in months on Kanyon's face. The taller one was rubbing his messy hair as he looked just slightly to the left of the former WCW and WWE. The heavier one just grinned like the Chesire cat, eagerly sliding into the booth. His friend sat down on the side, looking ready to bolt at any moment. He had already sized up the exits and from the way he was slanted, taking aim at the nearest one, should problems arise. "Funny stuff." Chris commented soothingly, still focused on the man on the outside of the booth. "What do you do for an encore?" Both men s******ed and the mood immediately was more friendly. The fat man leaned in, speaking in broken English. "I like...big dick." "Who doesn't?" Kanyon shrugged and the group shared another chuckle. The tall man spoke up next, breaking the smile into a more serious look. "What brings you to Montreal?" "Business." Kanyon replied non-chalantly. "Always business." "I used to love you in WCW." fawned the tall one. "You're not out of wrestling now, are you?" Chris shook his head and the tall man breathed a small sigh of relief. Each man fidgeted in the booth as the conversation lulled, letting their own thoughts overwhelm them. "You're a wrestling fan?" Kanyon broke the silence by questioning the tall one. "Sure am." The tall man answered proudly and the fat shorter one gestured to himself, despite the fact that the question hadn't been directed to him. "He wrestles. Kanyon couldn't keep his suprise hidden. ""There's wrestling around here?" Another set of nods. "Really?" Kanyon was skeptical. "Oh yeah." The tall one stepped in. "This area's the future of wrestling. I work as a road agent for a local promotion. There's so much young talent that just needs to break through." The man seemed like he was about to say more but stopped himself short. Kanyon's eyes drilled into him, discovering more than he had meant to say. The short fat man was unaware of what was transpiring around him as he chatted with a male waitor. He passed the man some money and turned back to the table, where the discussion had sputtered to a halt again. "Let's drink." He suggested, though it was obvious that he intended to, whether or not they agreed. Both men looked tentatively at each other and slowly nodded. To a passing waitor, it looked like three men catching up on old times. To the participants, it was something more. Something much more. A business venture that none of them thought would ever get off the ground. The scariest part was that it did.

[LandMass]

Part 3 Ugh. You know those days when you wake up and your head feels ready to implode with every sudden movement? Yeah, today was one of those days. The sluggish ones where you barely have enough energy to pull yourself from the bed. And the moment you're on your feet, you realize that you have nothing of importance to do today. Well, almost... I struggled over to my answering machine and pressed the button, collapsing on the coach. "First message." The answering machine announced. "Hey. This is Manny." The message revealed. This couldn't be good. The only time I ever got messages from Manny was in a drunken/stoned rage or when I had done something wrong. Once, I had forgotten to tell Excess about a spot he was supposed to do and recieved a furious phone message the next day about how I was the worst road agent in the world and lucky to have a job with my incompetance. That had been the point, though there had been a lot more "****s" uttered. "You ****ing piece of ****. You ungrateful ****ing piece of ****. You think this thing with Kanyon is gonna work? **** no. You'll be bankrupt by the end of the ****in' week. And you ain't gonna use any of MY IWS guys. Any of those ************s who tries to work both is gonna be out on their ****in' ass with you." What was he talking about? Thing with Kanyon? Wha...? This was all a little too much for me, considering the size of my headache at the moment. "You two are ****ed now. You're up **** creek without a paddle. Oh, and I fired your buddy, Viking. I hope he enjoys working for a nothing indy. He could have been the IWS champion but now he's ****ed. Just like you. Good ****in' luck. You're gonna ****ing need it." Click. Beep. Good talk. Kanyon's voice was the next one. "Hey, Jermaine. I was just calling to say that I'm really psyched about this..." That makes one of us. I'm minus a job right now. "Oh, and to remind you that you need to get us some talent. Just undercarders, you know. No one that'll overshadow me. I'll bring in a couple of friends and TA-DA!~ We've got ourselves a promotion to be proud of." Oh god. Oh god no. My computer was booted up and I quickly headed to my favourite site on all things wrestling, WrestleCircle. Sure, it was no PW Insider or anything but it got the job done. Plus, it was usually reliable enough without needing to report on every rumour. [QUOTE][IMG]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v75/Born2Die/WWF/EWR_net2.jpg[/IMG] [I]March 1st, 2006[/I] [SIZE="3"][B]Kanyon to start new indy promotion...in Quebec?[/B][/SIZE] We at Wrestlecircle have been informed by various sources that Chris Klucsaritis, better known as Chris Kanyon, has been telling friends that he plans to run a new promotion based in Montreal, Quebec. Details are sketchy but it is thought that he has the help of some locals and that they are aiming for an event at the end of the month. No name has been given to the mystery promotion yet but it will be run primarily by Kanyon himself, with input from some of the more experienced Quebecers. The general consensus from the area is one of skepticism and muted curiousity. More on this odd story as we get it. [/QUOTE] A quick check of Kanyon's MySpace page, which promoted the endeavour as a place for all the underdogs of pro wrestling to shine, confirmed my fears. I was in deep. Real deep.