CONTENT

Title: Do I Lip Synch?
Featuring: Abdul bin Hussain
Date: 22/01/16
Location: Unknown
Show: Victory XLVI

 
Abdul bin Hussain exited the hotel and waited for his limousine. Rafiq, Abdul’s associate was waiting for them outside the hotel. Abdul was dressed in a black designer suit made of the best Persian silk that money can buy. He looked towards the paparazzi who were taking their photograph because he was news worthy at the moment.
 
“Abdul,” he rumbled nodding at his friend. “How were the personal appearances? Did you get as much racist remarks off of the infidels as usual?”
 
“Were they racist?” Abdul asked sarcastically. "They actually were actually really quiet. Because this week we have been made aware by the mainstream media that American Politicians in and around Flint, Michigan have been committing some of the most heinous terrorist acts I have ever read. They poisoned people. They knew full well it was being done and did it anyway. But no outrage, no cute Face Book profile picture filters, nothing. These part time patriots are pathetic. And for all you Christian types you do know the Bible says if you do not love your neighbour you do not love your God; Hypocritical infidels all of you. We will talk about that later when I have some time but for now I have work to do. Do you have the camera?”
 
Rafiq nodded as he held it up, “I cannot believe these people, they think that they are all that but to be honest they are just pathetic. They will learn the hard way once Sharia Law is in place in this country.”
 
Abdul nodded, “Hypocrites the lot of them but they will learn or suffer.”
 
“True, bit like this drug taking Negro that you face this week,” Rafiq said, his fake Jamaican accent sounding out of place as it did not seem to come from an overweight Arab. “Anyway, let us get it done.” 
 
Abdul looked out at the road outside of the hotel as he motioned his associates forward. They waited outside the hotel, a monstrous decadence set within an area of slum. Inside, it was even more decadent with gold and silver wall hangings. 
 
“How could this happen to us?” Abdul asked as he continues to walk. “We had to let our careers depend on the incompetence of someone that sits in his office at the UTA’s head office that does not know anything about pro wrestling and booked me against this man.” 
 
Abdul looked down the camera lens. The limo arrived and they entered.
 
“Why am I not in the main event as I should be?” he asked. “I cannot believe that the once mighty Abdul bin Hussain has to entertain the mere fans of this promotion by taking it out on some Jamaican fun boy. He thinks he can entertain the fans with his witty one liners and his glib drug commentary but he is just a degenerate who needs to wake up from their drug enhanced coma. Anyway we will get back to this later”
 
The limousine bounced over a too-deep rain gutter as it headed towards the restaurant.
 
It was supposed to be a classy, overwhelmingly beautiful restaurant which seemed to be in some kind of converted red-brick townhouse, facing onto a bustling downtown street, right across from a luxury hotel.
 
Outside the front of the restaurant a limousine slowly pulled up. There was full valet parking provided but it did not need that.  The valet ran up to the limousine and held open the limousine’s back door, and guests exited. 
 
They were walked under a well-lit canopy to the wooden double doors. A maître d’ directed them towards the well-appointed bar; if they so desired but after Abdul gave them a look of utter disdain he motioned them directly to the table they had reserved.
 
The restaurant was decorated throughout in subdued, warm colours based around a burgundy palette, and the atmosphere was both sophisticated and relaxed. This was a place for the in crowd to dine, to host and to be seen. Candlelit booths were nestled in warm corners, each set comfortably apart from the rest. Vaulted ceilings carry and reflect the light, conveying flattering illumination to every place in the site.
 
The cuisine had a French Mediterranean focus, and the tantalizing scent of spice and baking bread was in the air. It was fully packed. The bar was surrounded by seated patrons enjoying a drink, the tables are all occupied and bartenders, waiters and hostesses are busily moving back and forth making sure every customer was content. 
 
A lot of them stopped and stared as Abdul and his majorly overweight manager were led across to their table. Rafiq sat down but the seat braced itself from the weight. He then accepted the menu from the maître d’ as Abdul looked about him at the looks they were getting.
 
Was it because Abdul was of Arabic descent? Maybe; or just because one side of his face had a huge scar upon? Very possible. 
 
He sat down opposite Rafiq and accepted the menu.
 
“Can I get you gentlemen some drinks before you order?” the maître d’ asked with some dodgy French accent.
 
“Do we look like infidels that drink alcohol?” Abdul asked. “Just get us some water and we will motion for you when we want to order some food from your establishment.”
 
“I am sorry sir?” the maître d’ said.
 
“Water, now leave,” Rafiq said before he turned towards Abdul. “So I cannot believe that they tried to screw you over once again Abdul. Whoever that mook you got saddled with in the ring was not even worthy enough to lace your boots; And then the audacity of them booking me with Lisil Jackson of all people. Why book me with some drugged up minority?”
 
Abdul smirked as he looked at his manager, “I was awarded third place in this pathetic Ring King tournament when they wrote me off in the first round. I cannot believe that they are embarrassing me with another glorified jobber in this Jamaican. What do they think I will do? Do they think that if a miracle happens that I will not show my face for months from the embarrassment? “ 
 
“That is correct,” Rafiq said. “I do not know how many more times we can say this but you should not be dirtying your hands with someone like him. He should know his place and just go back to the Jamaican Hood.”
 
“Do they have a Hood?” Abdul asked. “Do not think so. Nothing changes in the UTA’s racism. Do they not see what is happening around the world? Do they live in their own little bubble?”
 
Rafiq nodded. “Seems so. Also with the All or Nothing pay per view just around the corner you will show them what a true wrestler is. You are not here to entertain them; you are here to be the champion.”
 
“True,” Abdul mused. “I have let the past mistakes with Madman and Jackson to hold me back. I have had some of the most amazing matches that this promotion has ever seen and it is those two that I will always be remembered for as they screwed me out of my UTA Championship belt.”
 
“Maybe you should use that as your motivation to reclaim what they took?” Rafiq asked. “I can picture their faces when you shock the world…….”
 
“Shock the world?” Abdul said interrupting Rafiq. “Shock the world? It is mine to take Rafiq. I will win the All or Nothing match. The debt that they owe me for stealing my life by taking that belt from me is unpayable Rafiq. Once I claim that belt back I will not waste it. I might even be that kind of competitor and defend the belt on the same night. Can you imagine that Rafiq? I win the All or Nothing match and then I challenge someone to come out to the ring and defend MY UTA World Championship? Can you picture it?”
 
A waitress brought a tray of drinks to the table. She smiled awkwardly at Abdul slightly as she put it down. 
 
Abdul nodded and turned back to Rafiq.
 
“The All or Nothing match seems to thrive on chaos,” Abdul stated. “And I will be the one that will bring it to this match. At the end of the Pay per view I tell you now they will not be talking about anyone from that match but they will be talking about Abdul bin Hussain. Do you understand the significance of this Rafiq?”
 
“I do Abdul,” Rafiq said. “Probably more than most. I know how you got screwed when you were top of the pile. They screwed you and threw you a bone by bringing you back to America as some kind of gesture of hope for you. It has not passed me that they brought you back this time just after trouble happened once again in the Middle East. I hope they appreciate what you bring.”  
 
“Hope?” Abdul asked abruptly. “Every man in this match who has rotted away, wasting their potential will look up at me and know that the threat is real. They will sit like shipwrecked men turning to sea water from uncontrollable thirst as they see me being crowned the UTA World Champion once again. There will be true despair in their eyes as I grasp the belt in my hands.”
 
“And the women in the match?” Rafiq said.
 
“Women?” Abdul mocked as the corner of his mouth lifted in a contemptuous smile. “Are they really women? With their designer vaginas and big hair, I do not think so. Nazirah would have a better chance of winning in this match but she would not get into a man’s game anyway as she knows her place.”
 
“So true……..” Rafiq started. “You do need to make a statement to the world. Women are nothing but personal property to someone, be it their father’s or husband’s and those that try to break the cycle need to be punished.”
 
Abdul furrowed his brow as he took this all in.
 
“We will have to talk over strategies at a later date Rafiq,” Abdul said. “Lisil Jackson must first be put in an early grave before I get to the pay per view. What people seem to forget is that I am the best pound for pound wrestler in the UTA’s varied locker room. I will steal this show Rafiq and then they will believe that I am more than just a wrestler from Iraq. The locker room are like cockroaches, I will hunt them down. They can be found everywhere, hidden in the cracks, coming out of their locker room. Those infidels must be destroyed.”
 
“It is hurtful how they look at us just because of the colour of our skin and what our people have perpetrated,” Rafiq said. “It is just blatant racism, pure and simple. They will pay for what they have done to our people. This is more than oil, this is just personal now. What do you need to bring to the ring? Scimitars?”
 
“I will not be saddled with this terrorist gimmick that they have saddled me with,” Abdul said. “I am more than what they think I am. I am Abdul bin Hussain, and I hate them all for what they are doing to me. Not only will the locker room feel my wrath but also any of the fans in the arena that gets in my way. They will all be shocked at what I am willing to do to prove a point Rafiq.”
 
A waitress was waiting off to the side. She looked like she was trying to get their attention without making it to blatantly obvious. Abdul ignored her and took a swig of the water. He gave a look of utter contempt before putting the glass back down. “Even the water in this country is disgusting, full of all sorts of chemicals. These American’s will put anything into their bodies but I digress. With their racial stereotyping I will use it as a weapon against them.”
 
“What?” Rafiq asked. “What have you got in mind?”
 
“Rafiq, there will be carnage; and no conisation at all in it. They have awakened a sleeping djinn, and filled me with a terrible resolve,” Abdul smirked as he caressed the scars on his face. “I will let you know shortly as I believe that they need to be taken in hand and taught some respect. Why are you looking at me like that?”
 
“We are both different Abdul,” Rafiq smirked. “Gone is the wrestler that I brought here from Basra, the loud mouthed, arrogant hater of those Americans and that have poisoned this world. I see now that you are the alpha male here in the UTA and you do not care who they put in front of you as you will steal the show.”
 
“Show Stealing?” Abdul laughed. “Familiar sounding but I will own it. The powers that be will be cursing my name when once again I control my own destiny and the winner of the All or Nothing match. Now where is that lazy waitress? I want a sandwich.”


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