Juices – August 12, 2018

August 12, 2018
“Candi’s” in Denver

In her bar in Denver, Candi Bratton has the cleaning crew getting the place ready for opening for the day as she sits in her office and types a few things into the computer. It took her a while to figure it out, but with the help of a geek, she was finally able to start tracking the bar’s finances on the computer.

She finally reaches over and turns off the screen and leans back in her chair as she recalls the incident of the previous week. Her altercation, if you’d call it that, with Jansen Myrrh. Lance Mikes’ interference. And the unconscious Myrrh in the aftermath. She kind of felt sorry for the kid, but she can’t really worry about that at the moment. She needs to talk to the kid, but it’ll have to wait.

She has Mikes at Hardcore Kingdom on Monday.

But more important than that, she is starting to get those competitive juices flowing again now that the bar is up and running and making a profit. She’s ready to get back in the ring and start beating people up again. She knows just who she wants to start with.

Man Called Skrabz.

For weeks after her title loss to Skrabz, she honestly didn’t feel anything. She didn’t feel the loss of the championship. She didn’t even feel like getting in the ring, other than that pussy Mikes. But being in the ring last week, even if the match didn’t take place, it’s kind of gotten her juices flowing.

She knows she’s not going to get her shot at the PPV, but she is deserving of a title rematch, so she’ll have to get it before the PPV. She wants to show the world she’s not done. Not yet.

She’s going to have to show it on Monday.

Candi Bratton is not finished in the wrestling business. Not by a long long ways.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“Let’s me tell you something, Lance Mikes.”

Candi Bratton is outside of a Planet Fitness in Denver.  She points behind her, “I’m gonna make a day of it training for our match tomorrow in Detroit before I hope a flight and hit that motherfucking city to prepare to beat the holy living shit out of you tomorrow.”

She grins as she points to a parked car.

“You see, I don’t really care where I fight. Ring. Outside the ring. The locker room. The goddamned concession stand. Or a motherfucking parking lot. You see in a parking lot, I can use an entire car as my weapon if I so choose. And when I get your pussy ass in that parking lot, I’m going to take my sweet motherfucking time to take you apart piece by goddamned piece.”

As the camera pans back, the viewers can now see she’s wearing a t-shirt that reads in big bold print, “Lance Mikes is a Pussy!”

“You see when you confronted me after the Rise in Fucking Phoenix, you called me a loser. And you know what, you were right. I fucking lost that match with Skrabz. I have the balls to admit that he was the better competitor in the ring. I beat the best that Mile High Wrestling has to offer. Who did you beat, you overhyped piece of shit?”

Candi laughs, “You beat the fucking promoter and his lackey who has never amounted to a goddamned thing in this business. He hasn’t beaten anyone worth a fucking wooden nickel. That’s who you beat. That’s who you are bragging about beating. You could have fought a dozen wrestlers in Mile High Wrestling who are ten times better than those those motherfuckers combined, but you came in — beat the least that Mile High has to offer and had the walnuts to fucking brag about it. You fucking suck.”

“You didn’t challenge Forge, or Mitchell, or Bullet, or Hamilton, or Cain, or even fucking Emily Falls. No. You challenge the very bottom of the barrel. Everyone knows that Shithead Holmes hasn’t beaten a goddamned anyone in his fucking life. Things get hard and that piece of shit bails, running for his goddamned life. Mack, well he had it once but he hasn’t been passionate about being in the ring since he was run out of your goddamned company earlier this year. He’s a goddamned office worker now. He’s a pencil pusher. An idea guy. And you know what? It fucking showed in the ring. I’m almost certain he uses lead-based paint for makeup. But, hey — you came in an conquered, didn’t you?

Candi spits out a giant luge. “That’s what I think of you and your fucking win at Rise in Phoenix. What have you fucking done lately, Mikes? Former World Champion. Former stooge is more like it. You haven’t done shit in this business since you lost that goddamned belt.”

“Don’t you fucking worry. When I take your head and drive it into a window, or when I body slam your puny ass on top of a car, you’re gonna wish that you never opened your goddamned mouth to me in Phoenix. You’re gonna wish that you had just kept walking with your girlfriend Tyke Index on out that goddamned door.”

The camera moves in on Candi Bratton to get a closeup. “Hardcore Kingdom. At the end of the day, when the fucking shit has hit the fan. My hand is going to be raised as I watch with glee as your motherfucking carcass is taking the gurney ride to the ambulance on the way to the goddamned hospital, just remember one thing.”

“In a few short days later, I’ll be in the Mile High Wrestling ring, demanding my rematch for the Mile High Wrestling Championship. You’ll be laid up in the hospital watching it all on your insurance provided television wishing you had never heard of the name of “Tattle Tail” Candi Bratton.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I have some training to get to.”

She turns around and walks to the right as the camera follow her as instead of going into the gym, she disappears into the local liquor store.