[It is late spring in Kansas City, Missouri. A thunderstorm is rolling through, rain showers down over the Sprint Center which is playing host to Professional RPG Wrestling. In the backstage common area, just a few hours prior to show time, caterers have laid out the dinner buffet. Production managers, technicians, officials and talent alike line up to grab a bite.]Josh Brunswick: I gotta hand it to the caterers, Doug, this barbecue looks delicious!
Doug Smith: You would. Always have to be the kiss-up don't you, Brunny? Well, I prefer the Kansas-side food to this Missouriable gruel.
Josh Brunswick: Haha, I see what you did there. Very clever. Now just shut up and lets go eat.
[The two men walk off, plates and soda cans in hand. Others move up to get their fill. Scoops of potato salad and cole slaw, handfuls of chips, baked beans, grilled corn, sliced bread and of course the barbecued meat. Baby-back ribs, brisket, hot links; to a fat kid this just might be the meal ideal.]Daydream: Damn, where's the cream pie and Faygo?
[The wonderful aroma of the foodstuffs fills the air. People mill about the spread grabbing seconds and thirds. Among them is Alex LeBlanc, newly crowned tag team and Cyanide champion. He is last in line, wearing plain clothes and with a duffle bag in his hand. He looks disgusted with the offering of such fatty, disgusting food; things that may taste good but are unworthy of a champion's body.]Alex LeBlanc: Bleh, look at this stuff.
[As he pecks at the food, a wretched frown on his face, a commotion is heard down the hallway. It sounds as if people are arguing accented with the loud clicking of a woman's heels against concrete.]GET YO' DAMN HANDS OFF ME!
[From around the corner bustles an extremely formidable looking woman. Formidable meaning large. Large meaning morbidly obese. You could just splice the words together forming a new one. Morbese, the lady is morbese. Clutching her arm is a dimunitive man being drug along. It is none other than Basemah Peeples and her husband Mr. Peeples.]Mr. Peeples: But, Basemah! We have a meeting scheduled, you don't want to keep the Commissioner waiting.
[With a sure and arrogant look on her face, Basemah pays no attention to her husband. She just keeps moving along, sporting a lavender pant suit that must have been cut from tent canvas. Under that, a frilly white shirt puffs out acting as a pedestal for her enormous head. As always, her hair is done up, purple eye shadow, lip stick and fingernail polish for accent. Basemah is notably a few inches taller, and wider one might add, thanks in part to a pair of tasteful black pumps. The straps across her bulbous feet make it appear as if rye bread baked around twine.]Basemah Peeples: Forget the suit, who schedules a meeting at supper time anyhow? Some dopey ass fool, that's who!
[Mr. Peeples let's go, giving up on his vain effort. He stands and dusts off his gray suit. Basemah struts off towards the buffet table, all eyes on her. There's something in the way she moves that makes the other eaters sick to their stomach. It is most likely due to motion sickness as her tremendous thighs move like waves in a turbulent ocean.]Mr. Peeples: *sigh* Don't call him a fool...
Basemah Peeples: Keep quiet! Mama's gotta eat.
[This gargantuan nubian woman eyes the feast on the table before her, she licks her lips and gyrates her hips slightly. Just as if she were making love.]Mr. Peeples: You just ate, hun.
Basemah Peeples: Wha'choo talkin' about? I ain't had a bite since two, chump! I'm positively famished and these tender morsels of brisket got my name written all over 'em.
[Mr. Peeples waves her off and walks away. Meanwhile, his wife stands behind LeBlanc who is still picking at the food, trying to find something suitable to munch on. What he does not note is the giant, bruised grape of a woman standing behind him. So, Leblanc continues his snobby acts of turning ribs over and poking at perfectly edible chow. Waiting politely, Mrs. Peeples slowly becomes peturbed.]Alex LeBlanc: God, what is this crap?
[Knowing her manners, Basemah continues to wait but now crosses her arms and begins tapping her foot. She cannot grab a plate until he moves on down the line. It is becoming too much for her.]Basemah Peeples: Ahem.
[She flutter's her eyes nicely, lips pursed. LeBlanc pays no heed.]Basemah Peeples: Excuse me.
[Basemah lays on a little more attitude and clicks her teeth. Still no response from the Cyanide champion as he watches a spoonful of barbecue sauce drip like thick snot from above the bowl.]Alex LeBlanc: Fucking gross. They can't even provide decent food for me. I mean, they know I might want a snack.
[LeBlanc then picks up a piece of brisket, sniffs it and is repulsed. He whips the slow cooked piece of goodness into the trash at the end of the table. Alex might as well have slapped one of Peeple's children, that is if she had any. At any rate it is now on.]Basemah Peeples: Oh hell naw, fool!
Alex LeBlanc: Huh? Wha-!
[A meaty palm grasps Alex's shoulder, he is spun about to meet a most angry, a most hungry and a most hideous Basemah Peeples. In their first encounter the Soul Queen is fixing to tell this young man just how it is. LeBlanc has no idea what to think or how to react. This is a woman, he assumes, and he'd hate to hit a lady. If you could call her that. Still the urge to take her down is there.]Basemah Peeples: Now, listen up you cracka' ass cracka'! I'm tired and my feet are sore! My hunger pains me and your honky self is standin' there keepin' me from my supper! This just ain't gon' do!
Alex LeBlanc: Good God, you're massive...
[Basemah's eyes bulge in their sockets, LeBlanc speaks in awe and is unable to catch his words before they are uttered. Basemah's fist clench and her body begins to tremble in rage.]Basemah Peeples: I'M GONNA TEACH YOU PROPER!
[CRACK! Basemah's wrist lands upside of LeBlanc's face. He is altogether surprised and enraged. His bag drops to the floor and he ends up turned back towards the table, hands shoving some of the food onto the floor. He can scarcely react before the beastly women makes her next move: she grabs him by the nape of his neck, rears Alex's head back and slams it into the potato salad.]Basemah Peeples: Got your fill now, huh!? Like the taste of what big mama's got cookin'!?
Alex LeBlanc: Son of a bitch, lady!
[He spits out hunks of mayonnaise coated potato, his face covered in a creamy, delectable mask of dressing. Next, a fleshy knee to the gut. Basemah reaches for the bean pot, poors it all over the back of his neck and head. The heat scalds LeBlanc and causes him to swear.]Basemah Peeples: Boy, where'd you learn to talk like that? Cussin' like that is for men, not punks like you!
[She reaches for a silver platter on which the ribs are placed. She empties it of the baby backs and uses it's reflective surface as a mirror, held in front of Alex's face. He sees his mug covered in food and distorted in the metal.]Basemah Peeples: Oooh, you're a looker!
[WHAP! The mirrored platter becomes a weapon as it slaps on the back of the champ's bean splattered head. He collapses chest first against the table. Basemah then grabs at the buffet and turns it over on the young man, sending food and beverages spilling onto the floor. Alex struggles to get out from under the mess, he becomes entangled in the tablecloth before reaching a vertical basis. He swings wildly and jams "Lady Soul" in the gut.]Basemah Peeples: Umph. What's this now? Punk wants to beat up a lady!? You're in for it now!
Alex LeBlanc: Oh, shit!
[Mrs. Peeples raises the point of her shoe into LeBlanc's genitalia, doubling him over. Following that, she steps forward and clinches him in a hammerlock as if it were a chicken wing. With her other arm around his neck, Basemah is poised for a Detroit DDT. With all in the room watching she falls back onto the floor in a hot mess. Alex's head bounches off the concrete. Basemah sits up to stand, rolling him over onto his back. On her way up she puts a few ribs on a plate, cleans herself off and places her foot on the champion's chest.]Basemah Peeples: What're ya'll lookin' at? Shows OVER!
[She takes a ravenous bite out of her porky delight, indulging in every succulent taste of it. She closes her eyes while chewing unaware that a referee is standing by to make a count!]Pin Attempt! 