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Dylan Graves

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Dylan Graves last won the day on March 13 2016

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    psn: oldcousinkooter

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  1. Oh, I'm going to beat you. Then Bill is going to beat you. Then we'll reverse that process over and over. We're going to make an example of you, Abbott. We may even take a break from beating you...play a game of paper, rocks, scissors to see who lands the pin. Either way, you're looking at lights. You find a partner yet, loudmouth? You seem like the type who has a hard time making friends. OOC: Thanks, man. Looking forward to this showdown.
  2. Thanks for catching that. I made those corrections.
  3. Bill Ding turned his van into the Cherry Grove RV Park & Marina. It had been three days since anyone heard from Dylan. It was well past time to leave to make the week’s Turmoil taping. He didn’t want to leave without Dylan, but he would. He parked in front of site 17 and took a look at Dylan’s Fleetwood. The door was open and it was clear someone was inside. He approached the door, yelling inside: Bill Ding: Dylan, baby…it’s the Dinger. It’s time to go, kid…what’s your hold up? There was a hurried scurrying inside the camper. Bill Ding and Dylan Graves had become the type of friends who didn’t have to knock. He reached for the door. As soon as he opened it, he was thrown backward by a fat girl, who darted out. She was messy and barely clothed. She began her walk (well, run) of shame. The Dinger stepped in. Bill Ding: Hey, hey. Now I see what the hold up was, baby! The question is how did she hold up? Dylan? Dylan’s usually tidy Fleetwood was in unusually astounding condition. It smelled of cheap whiskey, and unclean women. There were empty bottles and trash everywhere. There he lay. He wasn’t ready to go anywhere. Bill didn’t speak another word. He grabbed a half empty bottle of Coca-Cola and emptied it on Dylan’s face. Dylan awoke, violently. Panicked and startled, he saw Bill standing over him. Bill Ding: Yeah, you’re awake now…stupid! What the hell is wrong with you? Dylan Graves: There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m just tired Bill. I’m sleeping. Bill Ding: Bullshit. Basically, the only instruction the lawyer gave you was no drugs or alcohol, baby! Now, here you are in this condition? You been hanging out with Jackson or something? You better remember, I’m on the hook for five grand for you. If you do something stupid…I could lose that money. Bill Ding doesn’t lose money, kid. That’s what I build these days, bankrolls. There’s only three things the Dinger is good at: fighting, getting paid, and getting laid. Dylan Graves: I haven’t been drinking, Bill. I don’t drink. Bill Ding: Then how do you explain all these empty bottles of Jack? Dylan: I bought them, but I bought them for Heather. Bill Ding: Heather, is that the healthy chick that threw deuces when I walked up? Dylan was sitting up and had begun to stir. Bill mentioning the girl made him hang his head in shame slightly. He had hoped no one would see. Bill Ding: Kid, you’re telling me you landed the fattest chick in the land and still had to get her drunk? You’ve got no game at all, baby! Let the Dinger teach you a few things. Dylan: Mold me, no build me! I’m just really glad you came and woke me up. I was having the worst dream! Dylan was moving about, though clearly still not entirely awake. He shuffled about, holding onto walls to help his balance. He began elaborating on his dream. Dylan: It was crazy stuff, Bill. I dreamed I lost to Bray Spur at a Riot/Turmoil supershow. The whole match he was just verbally abusing me. He just kept saying “I’m the Best in the World!” I asked him what he was the best at…I suspect he might have been talking about the wrestling game, but it wasn’t clear. He never did say for sure! But, the really weird stuff started when Tank botched the hell out of their match. There was a huge stink backstage and he was stripped of the Turmoil belt! Then, he quit…but he came back...then I think he quit again…but he definitely came back. But, he came back as like…gay, pot-smoking Tank. Mind. Blown. Dylan opened the bathroom and two roosters came flying out. He dove for cover behind the door yelling: Dylan: What the hell? Weird! He got up and went in the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Bill opened the front door and used his foot to encourage the chickens to leave. Dylan raised his voice to talk through the thin walls and continued. Dylan: Anyway…it was just this ongoing thing. Kass and Tank were going at each other for hours, Austin Lee was trying to hurt people’s feelings, there was a new 'rasslin police team, there were hashtags everywhere, and I speak with the highest authority when I say there was entire conversation about men swallowing semen! Bill Ding: I hate to break it to ya…but I don’t think a single word of that was a dream. That stuff really happened, baby! Dylan: Shit. I really lost to Bray Spur? Bill Ding: Yep. Dylan: I can’t stand that guy! Dylan came out of the bathroom, grabbed his bags, and both men walked out the door. Dylan locked it behind them. As they walked to Bill’s van, the big man replied. Bill Ding: Well, nothing you can do but move on. You’ll get another shot at him. I know you’ve been struggling since you got here, baby! But, we…you and I…WE have a huge opportunity this week. We get to step into the ring with some big-time talent, kid. We get Trance and Aries in a little tag team action. I need you to focus that a little more. Forget about the singles problems, baby. When Dylan and Ding get a three count against those two, people will notice. Then, we are going to fulfill an appointment with Sebastian Abbott. I’ve got a lot of sandwich anger to get off my chest with him. As a matter of a fact, after we beat him…I’m going to shave that stupid mustache off of his face…right there in the center of the ring! Dylan: I’ll all for it, Bill and I like your optimism and energy today! But, we’ve got to be realistic. So far, our tag-team record leaves a bit to be desired as well. They entered Bill’s van. He started to pull away from lot 17. Next stop, the Turmoil taping. Bill Ding: No, kid. We’ve never done it this way. We’ve never done it my way. I’m not talking about our previous efforts. I’m talking about our future efforts. Up to this point, it’s been about Bill Ding and Dylan Graves, individuals…with egos. Forget that stuff. It’s gotta be me and you…a real team,kid. This place is savage. We have to help each other. Dylan: So, if it’s not Bill Ding and Dylan Graves….who, or maybe what is it? Bill Ding: That’s easy, kid. It’s not about who it is, as much as it is what we’re going to be doing, baby….Billding Graves! As in Billding Graves for the whole Turmoil roster. Anyone who gets in our way is getting buried, baby! We’re already a team, kid. We might as well do it right! Dylan: You’ve don’t have to tell me twice! Let’s go. From now on, there is no Dylan Graves in OCW. There is no Bill Ding, either. We are a unit. When someone speaks to me, they’re speaking to you. They book me, they’re booking you. The adventure of Billding Graves is about to hit overdrive!
  4. Turmoil is taking a lot of shit because it's full of rookies. I know the show can improve. I know we can all individually improve as well. What bothers me is the lack of mentorship we discussed last week (and again this week). I'm not trying to throw anyone at all under the bus. But, I'm going to be honest about some of my OCW experiences: I've DM'd with vets looking for FPR feedback. All I got was "enough with the fucking running moves"....even though my character and his moveset are designed for springboard offense. That doesn't help me. It's basically just saying "I don't like that." I've asked about the creative process, matches, works, stuff like that...I didn't get much real feedback. Until last week...BOOM we all got on blast publicly for something we didn't know. Guess what, we are asking. No one answered. I've been on Turmoil for damn near 2 months. I still haven't been 1 on 1 with a Vet, on the headset & in the ring...to talk about OCW or FPR. I don't know that I've formally been FPR tested, to be honest. Over 1/2 of my matches, I've had to record vs CPU and turn in that way for one reason or another (servers, schedules, etc). Now, I know that's not ideal, even acceptable, really...but I'm new and trying to prove that I can meet deadlines and be taken seriously. What else am I to do? No one will ever get to say Dylan Graves didn't come through, even if it wasn't great...he was there and met his obligation. When I'm booked against other folks, I can't control whether they show or if their technology works well. I can prevent that clusterfuck from being assigned to my name by turning in the match I was booked to compete in. I've tried helping answer people's simple questions in the chatbox and been called out & gotten my balls busted a bit simply because my name is green. So guys, if we aren't getting to FPR test and DM against vets...it's genuinely hard to work on FPR. I want to get better. Tank does too. He's on here asking for DMs all the time. I roll around with him several times a week, both trying to get better. But, I can't teach him the OCW way. Yeah, Tank has some FPR work to do. But, I don't see anyone trying harder to correct their fault than Tank is. Don't lose faith in Turmoil or the people who are making it happen. We aren't disregarding rules or the OCW way. We don't know them well yet and we don't have many folks on that show to help us learn...we are trying to teach ourselves. Get a ps4 and be part of the solution!
  5. I think that could only happen as an unintended consequence of devouring too many salty, carb-laden treats. Sure, the salt just makes you thirsty...those 16 bags of pretzels? Yeah, diabetes could be a concern. You know, biologically speaking.
  6. Here's the deal, B-17: I'm glad you're annoyed. Your emotions are your problem, not mine...but your fear in particular is shining through. Just try not to start stuttering and shaking the next time I walk into the locker room. You're right, a letter like this is a bit old fashioned. I wouldn't expect anything less from you though. The B-17 is an old-fashioned aircraft. There's a word to describe it, obsolete. No one has actually used one of those things since the late 60's...especially for battle, & they're just too brittle nowadays. Besides, nearly 50 years of innovation means the "flying fortress" just isn't that impressive of a war machine in today's world. Park it in a hanger, sell it to a collector, it's time to move on. Try to keep up, I'll break this down Barney-style so you can understand it; try not to take too much of it personally. Since the moment I stepped foot into OCW, I've been telling folks that you're not championship material. That's not just because I don't like you. You don't have the heart, or the work ethic to be Turmoil's Champion. Your silly letter is a perfect example of why I say that. No, I haven't noticed that your hands are full at all. Let me tell you what I (and the rest of the OCW community) have noticed: Last week at Certified Greatness, you were in the ring with me. Tank was nowhere to be found, now was he? That means, a week ago...the mighty RE-134a wouldn't have even been on the PPV card unless the Dinger and I showed up on the roster looking for a fight. You're welcome for that, otherwise you'd have been like every other B-17...grounded and watching from home. Tell me again, how important are you. You feel that? It's pride, kid. Don't let it get the best of you. As far as Tank is concerned, of course I haven't missed Tank...he's our champion. I'm smart enough to steer clear of him. I know I'm not in his league right now. I know my place, it's you who insists you belong at the top despite the fact that most times you get booked in a main event...you stink the joint out and end up with another tally in the "L" column. Your desperation is stifling. As a matter of a fact, without your "drunk best friend" Jackson, you would've gotten your butt beaten at CG as well. All the highlights of our match seem to show B-17 waiting patiently on the apron, like a good boy. You're more like Jackson's little brother honestly. Sure, he takes you to some cool places. But, your ass always has to wait in the car! Goodness, there's masked bad guys and Daryl is being a meany? Get over yourself. You're too delusional to realize you're not nearly as important as you think you are. You're not busy, preoccupied with Tank, you're stressed...the sad story of a man with potential who cracked before he reached the top. You're tired, you're nervous. You haven't made it anywhere in OCW and you're already caving to the pressure? That's why you're not championship material and the roster can see it from a mile away. A dozen more men, none of them named after an ancient aircraft, may hold that belt before you even realize I'm right. You don't want me to look sideways at you anymore? I don't even know what that means, so...I'll try this. I'm staring you right straight in the eye. Why? Don't flatter yourself. You're nothing to behold, nor are you something to fear. The world sees it every time Turmoil airs. Let me show you how a man, real championship material responds to a challenge. You want to use this as an opportunity to get your friends booked? I'll play along. I have nothing but respect for Loki. Put him in the ring with me, my hand will be in the air at the end. If Axton wants some, he can come walking down that aisle...but he better remember is a long walk back to the locker room in defeat. Then, after that...no excuses. I will have played your game...beaten your friends...then I'm going to beat you.
  7. My question/response has been posted backstage. No need for it here, in the public eye.
  8. You cheated like hell to win the match, Abbott. You drew me out of the ring and took advantage. Not only that, but you hit an early finisher on me as well. What'd you expect me to do? Gift wrap the video in your favorite chanty?
  9. Tank, Champ...sir....you can have your jail back. I never want to go there again, I assure you. Straight and narrow for Dylan Graves!
  10. Corrections Officer: Graves! Dylan Graves! You’ve made bail, on your feet. The cold, hard cement of a jailhouse floor has never been much in the way of comfort. Of course, an unexpected incarceration wasn’t great for Dylan’s anxiety either. He had been sitting with his back to a corner, resting uncomfortably in an overcrowded jail cell. With that announcement from the guard, Graves jumped to his feet and scurried across the floor, approaching the door, eager to dodge the cast of characters he’s spend the last 32 hours locked up with. Corrections Officer: Stand back! Toes on the yellow line. Now turn around, facing away from the door and back to the door slowly. Dylan followed the instructions to perfection. Corrections Officer: Good. Now place the palms of your hand together behind your back and back towards my voice slowly. Central, open C-32. A brief alarm sounded, the door released it’s magnetic hold and the officer entered the cell and secured Dylan’s hands behind his back with cuffs. He cinched the steel cuffs a few extra links for good measure, whispering in Dylan’s ear: Corrections Officer: Enjoy the feel of that steel, boy. I don’t think pieces of shit like you who beat their partner should even get bail. You’re lucky I’m no judge. Dylan rolled his eyes, laughing at the officer’s arrogance, his mouth unloaded: Dylan: I’m sure there are a lot of people who are lucky you’re not a judge…just like you’re lucky all the guys in here have to wear cuffs when you talk big and bad to th… WHACK! The officer elbowed Dylan in the kidney. Graves grunted in pain as he struggled to catch his breathe. He remembered where he was. He remembered the importance of silence. Corrections Officer: Follow the yellow line, asshole. Dylan began slowly and peacefully leading the trailing officer down a long corridor, following the yellow line as instructed. Finally, they arrived at the out-processing desk. The female officer behind the desk took lead. She was much kinder, an aging & experienced guard with a smile on her face and a pleasant attitude. She spoke with the sweetest voice. Female Corrections Officer: All right, Mr. Graves. Let’s get those cuffs off of you. She removed the cuffs without any of the formality it took to apply them. She was gentle and swift. When the buckles released, Dylan instinctively began clinching and relaxing his fists, a calculated move to reestablish circulation. Female Corrections Officer: Mr. Graves, I need you to sign this form in three places. Each place is marked on this form. Then step right over here to receive your possessions. Dylan scribbled his name carelessly on the form in all three places, then stepped to his left to gather his things at a long metal table. The guard handed him a brown paper bag, stapled and sealed with a sticker. His name was written on a line at the top. Female Corrections Officer: Mr. Graves, inside the bag you’ll find your things. These are the possessions you had on you at the time of your arrest that haven’t been classified and held as evidence in your case. You’ll also find an inventory sheet. Please check your things, make sure the inventory sheet is accurate. Then you’ll need to sign it, give it to me, and we’ll move forward in the process. Dylan: Yes, ma’am. He pulled the top of the paper bag free of the binding staples and peeked inside the bag. Inside he found his cashless wallet and his dead cellphone. After checking the inventory sheet, he found it accurate. He signed the form and returned it to the officer. Dylan: Here you go, ma’am. Female Corrections Officer: Thank you, Mr. Graves. Now, if you’ll follow me it’s time for your final stage. Please turn to your right. When the door opens, you’ll be released to your public defender and to the gentleman who posted the money for your bond. You’re free to leave after the terms of your release have been reviewed. Do you have any questions? Dylan: No, ma’am, I don’t think so. Female Corrections Officer: Good, I expect I won’t be seeing you here again. The door buzzed loudly and the latch released, opening the door only an inch or two. Dylan pushed the door open and immediately saw a familiar face sitting at the narrow end of a metal conference table…Bill Ding was there, slurping on a chili dog and visibly practicing his pencil drumming technique. Dylan: Bill! Where have you been? Bill Ding: Dylan, baby! How are ya? You know your buddy Bill Ding’s gotcha covered…I’m not gonna let you rot in here! Dylan: I appreciate that, Bill. But, couldn’t you have say…I don’t know…stopped me from being arrested to begin with? Bill Ding: No, I couldn’t have gotten to you any sooner. I was busy with Angela! Dylan looked over to the muscular woman sitting to Bill’s right side. He extended his hand, struggling to smile. Dylan: …and you must be Angela. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Sue Yurassov: I’m sorry to disappoint. That’s incorrect, Mr. Graves. My name is Sue Yurassov. I am the public defender that has been assigned to represent your interests in this case. Dylan: Oh! I’m terribly sorry for the confusion. Of course, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well! So, Bill…who is Angela. Bill was finishing his chili dog, opening the wrapper on a honeybun, and sipping down a Mountain Dew. Predictably, with his mouth full…he began to speak. Bill Ding: Well, you remember that… Sue Yurassov: Gentlemen, I don’t know about you two…but I have other things to be doing and other clients awaiting my attention. This is a routine release counseling. If we can just move on with this business, we’ll be finished soon and you can spend the rest of the day sorting out Angela? Bill and Dylan looked at each other silently, then back at Sue. They were intimidated. It had been ages since a confident, powerful women had ordered either of them around like that. Silently, they continued giving her their full attention. Sue Yurassov: Both of you have very important roles in Dylan’s release. Naturally, Dylan…you’re the accused. Bill has posted your bond in the amount of $5000. As I’m sure you recall from your arraignment yesterday morning, your next court appearance is on March 30th. You are legally required to attend that hearing. You are also legally bound to Bill Ding until that date has passed. If you fail to appear at that hearing, a “failure to appear” warrant will be issued and you’ll be arrested. Bill, if this happens…you will also forfeit your $5000 bond to the court. As long as Dylan appears at his hearing on the 30th, all should be fine. Dylan looked over at Bill, as if to assure him that he won’t lose his money. Bill, still chewing, stared back at him as if he already knew his money was safe. Sue Yurassov: Typically, a charge like this is accompanied by a legal requirement to not leave the state. However, due to your line of work…and the fact that you’re so broke you’re bumming a ride in late model work vans…I managed to get that waived for you. But, you must remain clean of any and all drugs or alcohol during this time. You may be subjected to random toxicology screenings. If you fail one, it's the slammer for you until the hearing. Dylan: Oh, that won’t be a problem at all! Sue Yurassov: Good. Do either of you have any questions? Dylan: Well, I have a lot of them. But, perhaps this one can clear up the rest. It’s clear that all of this is a huge misunderstanding! First of all, I hit Bill with that pipe to stop him from choking! I probably saved his life. Second, they charged me with Criminal Domestic Violence (CDV)! There’s nothing domestic about this partnership…we are tag team partners. Why can’t Bill just tell them he doesn’t want to press charges? Bill Ding: I did tell them that, baby. I told ‘em it wasn’t domestic…hell, Bill Ding can’t even be domesticated…many have tried and many have failed! I’m an animal, not to be tamed! Sue smiled at Bill coyly. She bit her lip playfully and drew a deep sigh. After a brief moment she came to, and shook her head slightly to compose herself. Bill hadn’t seen her blush. Sue Yurassov: It’s not quite that simple, Dylan. Since Bill currently has no official address, the Castle Doctrine applies to his automobile. As his new passenger, you were cohabitating that space with Bill at the time of the crime…so legally you can be charged with CDV. Also, in this state, CDV is a crime against the public. Meaning, even if the alleged victim wanted to drop those charges…they have no authority to do so. Dylan’s jaw remained extended downward, where it had been trending since Ms. Yurassov’s episode moments earlier. He hadn’t thought it could be this serious, not in a million years. Sue Yurassov: But, it’s ok…don’t panic. Bill is going to testify that you were acting to save his life. With that testimony, the hearing is basically a formality. They’ll read the charges, I’ll open with a statement…Bill will testify and we’ll be out of there in time for Ellen. You’ll be found not guilty, the charges expunged from your record…everything will be back to normal. Just make sure you’re here on March 30th. Now, if you guys don’t mind…I really do have to get to another meeting. I’m sure you’re both ready to get on the road as well. You’ve got 200 more miles to go if you plan on making your TV show tonight. I’ll be in touch, Bill! Ms. Yurassov stood up from the table and walked turned toward a door that had been on the wall behind Bill in the room. She pressed the bar in the center of the door and it opened without a buzzer. Dylan realized he was finally free to go as well. He and Bill stood and moved toward the door, Bill significantly slower than the excited Dylan. Dylan looked back over his shoulder and spoke, intiating a conversation as they exited the building, and mounted up in Bill's van. Dylan: So, who is this girl you were talking about? Bill Ding: Which one was it? Tiffany or Angela? Dylan: There’s two? Dylan hid the dismayed look on his face as he internally pondered “How does Bill do that? Will he teach me?” Bill Ding: Two? Yeah, two since you were locked up. Could’ve had more if I’d had a proper wingman! Anyways, you know Angela! She was that smokin’ cop from the other night…the one with the legs, baby…the legs. Homerun, baby! Dylan was getting angry now. He took some deep breaths to calm himself a bit before asking, simply: Dylan: …and Tiffany? Bill Ding: Ah, Tasty Tiff! That’s right, you didn’t get to meet her! She’s a smokin’ little blonde number that works at a shoe outlet on the other side of town. I went by there to pick up Dylan interrupted him, abruptly. Dylan: You let me sit in a jail cell , unnecessarily, for more than 30 hours while you ran about romancing women on the road? What the hell is wrong with you man? Bill Ding: Who? Me? You talking about Bill Ding? Ain’t nothing wrong with Bill Ding…I got mine, baby! And Bill Ding doesn’t romance anyone, you Ding that? You’re just sour you got locked up! Now, here we are…and you want to get sideways with me? It’s not my fault you got in trouble, baby! It’s my fault you’re out of it…and I’m the one on the hook for 5 Grand, because of you! Ding started the van and began driving, destination Turmoil. Dylan: I saved your life Bill. You would have choked to death, right there on the side of the road! Bill Ding: You’ve been riding with me for less than a week, kid. Do you have any idea how often the Dinger gets choked up on a tasty treat? I know how to self-rescue…I’m like a walking defibrillator, a real shocker, just ask the ladies! I’ll jump start your heart just like I built this city, baby! You made your own choices. But, I do appreciate you helping. People don’t go out of their way to help me very often. Look behind the seat. I picked up a little surcy for you when I went to see Tiffany, baby! Dylan was frustrated with the events of the past few days. But, there was no reason to ride down the road angry. He sighed and turned to retrieve a large white shoebox. Dylan: You picked up the shoes for me? Awesome! I was thinking about getting the right shoes the whole time I was in jail. I didn’t think we’d have time. He removed the lid from the box, folding back the red tissue paper. These new shoes were incredible, and far less bulky. They were over ankle, black patent leather mat shoes with white soles. The shoes of a real winner. Dylan: Bill, these are great! I’m going to wear them tonight! I’ll bet I win in these bad boys! Thank you, I mean it. Bill Ding: Don’t thank me. Next time we come through town, thank Tiffany…she earned ‘em, baby!
  11. I have some tag team action going on with Bill Ding....not much going on in singles action for me. No real feuds or storylines.
  12. Hey Dylan...You involved in a feud or storyline?
  13. Bill Ding and Dylan Graves are riding down the highway in Bill’s 1993 Chevy Astro work van. They’re headed to the next show following their loss to B-17 and Jackson Montgomery at Certified Greatness. The silence and awkwardness inside the cabin of the vehicle is stifling. Dylan: Thanks for letting me ride with you Bill. I knew my old Saturn wasn’t going to run forever, but I really needed it to last a few more months. Bill: Well, I don’t mind helping out. You’ve got potential kid. I'm going to ask for a rematch when we see those guys again. We almost won that thing! I can't believe you let him kick you like that. The whole arena knew it was coming. It looked like you lost your footing and slipped! I think...I think you need new shoes or something, bud. Having a good look goes a long way in this business, if you can’t look the part…you’ll never live the part. Can you Ding that? Bill and Dylan were both rather frustrated with the loss. More so, Bill was frustrated with Dylan. The losing team rode beside each other down the highway. Dylan was getting hungry. But, he didn’t want to ask Bill to stop, especially since he was already upset. Bill sighed deeply and as if we were a mind reader, began rummaging through his pant pockets. Bill: “Ah ha!” Dylan looked up from staring at the floor, to see Bill eating what was taken from his pocket...a flattened chicken salad sandwich that had been salvaged from the Certified Greatness catering 2 days before. Dylan: Hey, Bill! That's not cool, man. Do you have another one of those for me? Dylan asked eagerly. "And, exactly what is wrong with my shoes? I think I have a good look, dude. I even have my own logo...that's fresh, huh? Bill Ding: Fresh? Like eat fresh? I used to go there, until there were one too many foot longs being given out. As for that design...your buddy Bill’s got your appetite covered. Bill digs in his pocket and pulls out a second sandwich. It looked like it had been in his pocket during the match. It was flattened and of unrecognizable age and texture. Bill: It's still good, eat it! Dylan sighed and shook his head in frustration, but quickly began devouring the sandwich. With his mouth stuffed full of aging salami, he starts to mumble. Dylan: Whatever man, if it's my shoes that are to blame, I will get some new ones. Why don't you just stop somewhere and show me what I need to be using? That way we'll be on the same page, no more excuses, no more blame. Bill: That’s not a bad id... Bill started speaking too quickly and began choking on chicken salad. After several fits of panicked coughing, he stops the van and exits. He began bumping his chest into the fender of the van in a desperate attempt to get air. Dylan scurried behind him to administer the Heimlich maneuver, but Bill’s too large! Dylan’s arms simply can’t lock around the super heavyweight. Dylan: Hold on, Bill. I’ll save you! He runs to the rear door of the van and grabs a short piece of steel pipe from the cargo bay. He runs around to the front of the van and begins walloping Bill in the abdomen, trying to dislodge the rogue bite. After what seemed like a dozen or more strikes, a thick chunk of chicken salad came shooting out of Bill’s mouth, landing on the van’s windshield. Ding gasped to catch his breathe, but genuinely seemed no more winded than he normally does after walking to the ring. He composed himself quickly, grabbed the hunk of sandwich from the windshield and put it in his mouth. Dylan looked on in pure disgust and disbelief as Ding again started to speak, it was as if nothing had happened at all! Bill: Now you’ve got the right idea. I built this city and I can build you into a star. But, that look has got to go. There’s an outlet mall up here. Have no fear, you’ll be lookin’ good in no time. The van began to move, Bill was ready to merge back into traffic. Before he could make his move, another vehicle pulled in behind them, with lights flashing. The driver cautiously approached the van. Police officer: License, registration, and proof of insurance please. Bill Ding laid his arm casually out of the lowered window and smiled playfully at the officer, an attractive female. Bill: Come on, officer…is all that really necessary? You know who I am, baby. Bill Ding built this city, you gotta know that! Can I get you an autograph? Souvenir foam hammer? I got ‘em in the back, gifts for the whole family...starting just $9.99! But a girl like you can get one for free. The officer reaches for a handset clipped to her shoulder. She presses a button, the radio squawks, and she speaks into it. Police officer 1: Dispatch, 4-14 requesting backup. Call the captain, we’ve got a celebrity here. The cop turns her eye quickly back to Bill. She finally returns his near-lustful stare. Something in her expression suggests her smile may be a bad omen. Police officer 1: Mr. Ding, I’m going to have to ask you and your passenger to slowly step out of the vehicle. The officer’s call for backup had not gone unnoticed. Sirens could be heard in all directions and it was only moments before several more policemen arrived on the scene. Bill and Dylan both did as they were instructed, exiting the vehicle slowly. Immediately, Dylan was tackled to the ground and subdued by several officers. The attractive female officer walked slowly over to Bill Ding. Police officer 1: You come with me. We need to have a talk. In no time at all, Dylan Graves had been handcuffed as was being searched near the front of the van. With Bill Ding’s departure, a male officer began to question Dylan. Police officer 2: Mr. Graves…how long have you and Mr. Ding been partners? Dylan: Um…just a few days, really. We’re still getting to know each other. But, we have really great chemistry and I think we’re going to make a serious run together! Police officer 2: I see…and do you two fight often? Dylan: Oh, gosh yes. We fight all the time. We even fought with each other when we were just singles, you know? I beat him good that time. Since we’ve been together…we only fought once. It was against two other guys. We lost that fight because of me and he’s been mad at me about it for days. Police officer 2: Is that what you two have been fighting about here today? Dylan: Fighting? Here? Today? Man, we’re not fighting here. We got a house show tomorrow night, but that’s in Houston…not here. Police officer 2: Mr. Graves, I don’t have time for this, so I’ll be frank. A citizen reported an assault at this location and has produced cellphone video of you striking your partner in the stomach with a metal pole, more than ten times, right here on the side of the road. I do not know where you’re from, but we do not tolerate that behavior here. It’s my duty to inform you that based on the evidence on that video and your statement to me today; you are being placed under arrest for criminal domestic violence. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say… Dylan cut him off. His eyes couldn’t have been any wider. His pulse really began to race. He started thrashing and screaming. Dylan: Criminal? Domest..DOMESTIC? No, you’ve got it all wrong man. We're not that kind of partners! TAG TEAM PARTNERS! Bill! Bill! You gotta tell them, Bill. Bill? You’ve gotta believe me officer, this is a huge misunderstanding. BILL!!!!!! Police officer 2: I’m sure it is, son. Watch your head. Dylan was placed in the back of the police cruiser and the door was closed. Inside, he continued screaming for Bill’s help. But, no one could hear him through the soundproof glass. Two cars behind, he was looking at Bill; over there…alone with the female officer. He hadn’t seen Dylan get locked up. Dylan: Come on, Bill. Don’t let me down. You’ve gotta straighten this out.
  14. Plenty of folks will help you learn more. Just send a PM or swing by the chatbox.
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