The Downfall Of Eric Simms. A Tragedy.
By: the wizard of id.
(Also a PARODY! NOT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY!)

Eric Simms sprawled on the sidewalk outside the still smoldering ruins of Derek Gordon’s Jewelry Pawn Shop, crying in a viscous puddle of his own excrement and other anally voided fluids and items. He stared morosely at the cum bubbles rising to the surface of the mass his bowels had just released and wondered: “How? How did I end up like this? I had everything going for me! (sob) What happened?” He picked idly through some of the blood, cum and shit-stained treasures and booty he had worked so hard to acquire and secret away in his rectum…now jettisoned like worthless flotsam.

A wave of deep despair and depression overwhelmed Eric and he decided to crawl into traffic to end his anguish. He dragged himself slowly through the stinking swamp while pedestrians jay-walked to avoid passing the reeking creature making choking, pitiful noises. He fished Tiny Tim’s cane from the gelatinous lake of shit, vomit, cum and blood and used it to pull himself feebly towards the curb. “I can’t go on” he whimpered, “I’m gonna kill myself.” Just as he was about to throw his stinking carcass in front of a speeding bus, his cell phone, buried deep under his intestinal spewing, began to ring!

Simms paused. His phone continued it’s insistent plea. Simms, stared back at the festering pool, so representative of his life, wondering after all he’d been through, if he should answer the call. “Who would bother to call me?” he thought, “Especially the way my life has gone to hell.” The phone continued to ring and Simms, blankly watching a blowfly drown in a particularly sticky DNA deposit on the sleeve of his tattered coat, found his thoughts drifting back over the events that brought him to this state of worthless self-loathing. The cell phones insistent ringing seemed to fade as Simms mind went back…..way back….back to where it all went wrong in the first place…..

“IRON SHEIK, #1!!! IRAN, #1!!! USA? Hawk! Petew!!! I, GREAT IRON SHEIK SPIT ON USA, AND YOU, JEWBOY COCKSUCKER, I SPIT ON YOU!!! BUT YOU SWALLOW FOR GREAT IRON SHEIK!!!” The Iron Sheik screamed like a madman (which of course, he is) and continued ramming past Simms gag reflex. Simms had come back from procuring more cocaine, pot and heroin for the Sheik, totally unaware his scamming and dirty dealings had been discovered by the irate Iranian strongman. And now he was paying the price.

Sheik, tired of waiting for Simms to return with his goodies, had snorted half a can of Lysol and a few lines of Javex. He was attempting to order ‘The Best Of Naked Gay Lex Luger’ from rf video on the internet when he stumbled purely by chance onto the DOI website. There, on the message board he discovered the truth about Eric Simms stealing money from his booking fees. When Simms returned from his drug buying mission (which saw him use his Jew wiles to scam the dealer into selling at a loss) The Sheik immediately grabbed him and forced oral sex on him.

“Mmph, gelk, urgle, oomph!” Simms said, as the Sheik continued his assault. Eric knew he was in danger of suffocating so in a desperation move he tossed the drugs across the room to distract the crazed Arab. Sheik dropped him and staggered bow-legged towards the goodies. While the Sheik was ears deep into the bag of drugs, Simms managed to grab his cell phone and began crawling toward the door. It was a struggle because he was still choking on the sandy residue of Sheik’s assault, while attempting to hide the phone up his ass. Just as he opened the door the Sheik, newly fortified on the coke, kicked Eric squarely in the ass, burying not only Eric’s cell phone but also his own pointy-toed boot deep inside Eric’s anus. Simms leapt to his feet and ran away, chuckling that he had succeeded in stealing one of Sheik’s boots, which he figured to sell on his own website: AnIndyVendor/MaleRatWhoRobs&StealsFromWrestlers.com.

Simms knew he needed a scam fast as his Iranian meal ticket was onto him. He thought about calling Jake the Snake but, remembering the touch of cold reptile skin against his genitals when Jake “gave him his notice” caused him to reconsider. And besides, his cell phone was currently too far up his ass for him to reach. With nothing better to do he ended up at a WXW card.

“Bill!” a drunken Samoan yelled at Simms when he snuck into the dressing room area, “Bill Apter! Are you here to cover our show? Want a beer?” Simms realized that the inebriated islander had mistaken him for esteemed wrestling journalist Bill Apter. “Hmmmm….We DO look a lot alike” thought Simms. “This is too good to pass up.” Simms figured the Samoans, being drunken jungle savages, would never guess he wasn’t Apter and the 17 fans in attendance collectively hadn’t accrued 12 years of schooling. No worries about THOSE inbreds catching on. A quick glance around the locker room showed mostly students and ticket-sellers and the couple of real “veterans” were so wasted on painkillers and beer that they couldn’t recognize their own mother (which might explain why one of them slept with his after the show, but that’s another story.) Nope, the locker room wasn’t going to pose a threat to Simms’ “Apter Scam.”

Posing as Bill Apter, Simms had free run of the venue. He wasted no time going to work, rifling first through the personal belongings of the wrestlers in the dressing room. As he is a master of traditional Jewish distraction techniques and sleight of hand, Simms was able to do this even in a room full of shit-faced, half-awake has-beens and working marks. In no time he had a total of $14, 2 packs of smokes, some MacDonalds gift certificates and an autographed copy of Mick Foley’s “Have A Nice Day.” He swiftly stashed all these items up his ass beside Sheik’s boot and his cell phone.

Simms moved to the front door but quickly realized no paying customers meant no opportunity for ticket skimming. He moved to the merchandise tables where he managed to steal 9 bootleg WWE DVD’s and 5 T-shirts (fake, of course) from the Hebner brothers. He also sold 2 blank tapes for $10 to some Hayseed looking for a Best of Steve Lombardi collection. Simms, as Apter, stashed his new booty up his ass and made his way to ringside hoping to maybe steal a timekeeper’s stopwatch, or at least the bell. As he approached ringside, he spotted the bell ringer and realized his cover might be blown.

“Tiny Tim!” hissed Simms through clenched teeth, “You resilient bastard!” Determined to bluff his way out of trouble, Simms greeted the diminutive bell keeper and said “Hi, I’m Bill Apter, King of Kayfabe. And you are…” Tiny Tim wasn’t fooled for a second as he knows Bill Apter personally, having worked for him as a lawn jockey the past 3 summers on Bill’s palatial Florida estate (right beside Dusty’s!) so he started screaming for security. After a couple of minutes Tim realized HE was security so he attacked Simms with his cane. Simms fought valiantly but was overwhelmed and in danger of being beaten unconscious. The crowd, thinking this was part of the show started chanting “You Suck! You Suck!” and “HBK! HBK!” because sadly, that is all they know how to do.

Finally, desperate to get Tiny Tim off him, Simms pointed to the back and yelled “Look! It’s April Hunter Naked!” Tim spun around so fast he tripped over his own cane, toppling into the empty first row seats. Simms jumped up, grabbed the bell and smashed Tim in the head with it. He grabbed Tim’s cane and stuffed it and the bell up his ass before running from the building chuckling that he had got away clean. As he jumped on the back of a truck hauling live chickens to make his get-away he could hear a very pissed off Tiny Tim calling for his lawyers. “Let Tim sue Apter” Eric laughed, giddy with the haul stuffed up his ass and the thought of spending a night of unbridled highway passion with the chickens on the truck.

The next day, with his loot safely stashed in his ass (but now packed with chicken feathers), Simms figured he’d try his Apter Scam again…This time at a NWS show. He introduced himself as Apter to Joe Panzarino. Now, Joe knew that the esteemed wrestling journalist Bill Apter would NEVER have anything to do with his shitty little fed unless it was to expose his charity rip-offs so he had to think fast. “Hello Mr Apter” Joe said, “Please make yourself comfortable in my office.” and he led Simms to a door.

Simms walked into the dark room and Joe slammed the door shut behind him. Too late, Simms realized he had walked into a trap! He stared in fear at the 600pound mass of human manatee rocking itself up from a stained mattress on the floor. Simms heart sank when he saw the bloated, black ankles on the creature…it was Gino! “SIMMS! YOU FUCKING JEW BASTARD!” roared Gino spraying Simms with saliva, mucus and half a ham sandwich. “YOU STOLE MY PORNO!!! I’M GOING TO FUCK YOU UP BIG TIME FOR THAT!!!” Skin tags flew everywhere as Gino punched, kicked, bit, eye-gouged and bludgeoned a helpless Simms. Beaten and bloodied, Simms was barely aware of Gino setting up a camera. “YOU WANT A MOVIE? I’LL GIVE YOU A MOVIE YOU THIEVING JEW PRICK!!!” Gino tore Simms pants off and grabbed his favorite dildo, The Purple Bomber. “SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND!!!” Gino grunted and shoved the latex spear deep into Simms rectal cavity, tearing his taint and simultaneously infecting Simms with AIDS, Hepatitis, Herpes, Scabies, Rabies and the heartbreak of Psoriasis.

Later, Simms was vaguely aware of being passed around the NWS locker room and being used as a male rat before being dumped from Gino’s van on the side of the interstate. He was badly beaten and his rectal orifice was leaking blood and spuzzum but at least he had managed to steal the camera while Gino was having a mid-beating snack and it, along with the Purple Bomber, were safely tucked up his ass with the rest of his spoils. So, it wasn’t a total loss.

Still, thing weren’t going well and Simms was determined to attempt his Apter look-alike Scam one more time trying for the big score. He knew the WWE was in town so he thought he’d try to scam his way into the big money. Unfortunately, he never even made it to the gate. Triple H spotted him while his limo was approaching the arena. “Hey Apter! Is that you?” Triple H asked. Simms couldn’t believe his luck! Here was his ticket to the big time! “Yea, Hunter. What’s up?”

Hunter got out of the limo and smashed Simms in the face with a sledgehammer, then pedigreed him 3 times. “THAT’S for not making me number one in the PWI 500 this year!” Triple H spat before returning to a freshly shaved Stephanie in the limo. Simms slowly picked himself up and, using Triple H’s discarded sledgehammer as a crutch, he limped away vowing never again to impersonate Bill Apter. Later that night, when his leg felt better, he stashed the sledgehammer up his ass with the rest of his treasures.

Simms was very hungry and tired so he went to Carmine’s house because he knew Carmine would be there. Carmine was so happy to have company that he never even noticed Simms steal his uber-rare, anatomically correct Al Snow action figure, the special “Penis Suplex Edition.” In the morning fed and rested (although a strange memory of Carmine dressed in Saran Wrap pajamas feeding him kosher weenies while giving him a hand job kept flashing through his head) Simms, with Al Snow up his ass, bid Carmine farewell and headed out again.

Simms was running low on cash and was unwilling to part with any of his stolen prizes. He needed another score. As luck would have it, UXW was running a show that very evening! Simms figured Frank Goodman to be a stupid, easily duped stooge….ripe for the picking. He headed for the show and secured tickets by so confusing a 145lb wannabe wrestler that HE paid Simms for the tickets AND gave the tickets to him. Eric immediately sold the extra tickets and stashed the $100 up his ass.

When he got to the show he found his way to Frank’s office. Goodman was sitting at his desk, working at his computer. He had a weird smile on his face and was sweating slightly. He was not happy to see Simms… “SIMMS, YOU MAGGOT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Goodman roared. Eric thought he’d try the suck-up offense: “Hello Mr. Goodman…” he began. “AW SHUT THE FUCK UP JEWBOY! I AIN’T GOT TIME FOR YOU…I’M TRYING TO CATCH UP ON MY FIREHAWK POSTS!!!” Eric tried again by saying: “I thought maybe I could book some talent with you Frank.”

Goodman roared with laughter and began rocking behind his desk. “HA! THAT’S RICH! I CAN FALSE ADVERTISE MY OWN NO-SHOWS!” He said, “I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP TO SQUEEZE THE MARKS!!” Goodman started sweating more and rocking even faster at his desk. Simms, desperate to find an angle said: “You know Frank, just the other day DANA said to me…..” Goodman cut him off, screaming: “YOU DARE MENTION THAT RAT’S NAME TO ME YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!!!…DEBLASI!! SWALLOW THAT AND THROW THIS FUCKING DOUCHEBAG OUTTA HERE!!!” Simms was amazed to see DeBlasi crawl out from under Frank’s desk. His chin appeared to be chafed.

In his weakened state Simms was unable to defend himself against the biggest pussy in all of wrestling and DeBlasi was able to beat him at will. (But only for about 3 minutes before DeBlasi totally ran out of gas and collapsed, wheezing on the floor.) Goodman was so disgusted at Simms being beaten up by Deblasi that he didn’t even feel like ass-raping him, so instead he burned Simms nuts with cigarettes for a while before resuming his fake posting of Firehawk’s family. Eventually, Simms found the strength to drag himself away.

Eric was almost delirious with pain and desperate to find another scam…In his foggy state he somehow remembered hearing that Sean The MiC, from the DOI website, would be at the UXW show. That meant he’d be staying at a nearby motel. “If I can just convince Sean to give me another chance at the DOI, I might have a chance to save myself from this bad luck” Simms thought as he scoured motels and bars for some sign of The MiC.

Finally, a doorman at a cheap roach motel said The Mic was in room 13a. Simms, desperate to beg for his DOI job back burst through the door and stopped dead in his tracks, astonished by the tableau in front of his blackened, swollen eyes….Sean The MiC, on the bed…naked, face down….obviously unconscious. On the bedside table, empty beer bottles and a bottle of GHB. Also on the bed…also naked….kneeling behind Sean, holding a heavily lubricated rubber duck in one hand and a laptop in the other….Hyatte! “Get the fuck out of here!” Hyatte yelled, “Can’t you see I’m trying to write?”

Simms managed to steal Sean’s wallet on his way out of the room but was dismayed to find it held only $2 and Gina Levy’s phone number. Still, it was better than nothing, so Simms stashed it up his ass and dragged himself far enough away from the motel that Hyattes screaming and panting (was he singing Madonna songs?) could no longer be heard.

Simms was beside himself. He had to do SOMETHING to change his luck! His life was falling apart. He was black & blue, suffering from multiple cuts and broken bones. His sphincter had also been seriously damaged but thankfully, his rectal storage capacity had not been compromised. Suddenly, Simms had an idea… “I’ll go to Cyberspace! Firehawk is such an mark that I’ll be able to rob him of everything! I’ll be on top of the wrestling world again!” Simms would have laughed out loud at the brilliance of his own ‘Jewish Agenda’ but the pain of his broken ribs and shattered teeth prevented such outbursts. So he picked himself up, stole a child’s bicycle and headed slowly to NWACyberspace.

He arrived at the Cyberspace show where Gina Levy was (mis)handling tickets at the door. Simms staggered up and tried to bluff his way inside but Gina, a scam artist in her own right, refused to let him pass. They began to scuffle and just as Simms was getting the upper hand, Dave Levy showed up! He jumped on Simms back and rammed a fistful of old flyers up Simms’ ass! It looked bad for Simms until Gina Levy was distracted by a passing naked black man and Dave, seeing the lust for Africa in his wife’s eyes, ran into the night crying like a baby. Simms took the opportunity to crawl inside the venue.

Once inside he was met by Eric Nyeinhouse who, gesturing around at the 30 or so fans in attendance, proudly said “Hi Simms! Come to see what a house of over 600 paid looks like?” Simms was nauseous from lack of food and all the beatings he’d taken. “Got to think…” he muttered to himself “How can I get by this idiot to find Firehawk?” Before Simms could think of a plan they were interrupted by a large, well muscled and obviously VERY pissed off individual, who yelled: “I’M JOE KUNG FU! WHICH ONE OF YOU FAGGOT COCKSUCKERS IS ERIC VALE TUDO?” Nyeinhouse quickly pointed at Simms and said: “He is!” and ran away. Joe Kung Fu laid a very serious beating on Simms before leaving him for dead at ringside.

He woke up during the 3 second long main event of the evening. He couldn’t believe it!….Why hadn’t HE thought up a money-maker finish like the ‘finger poke of doom’?…And, was that REALLY Firehawk jumping up and down, marking out like a ‘short-bus ticket holder’ right beside him? Simms knew he had to act fast. “Firehawk!” he said, “I can get LOTS OF BIG NAME STARS TO APPEAR AT CYBERSPACE AND SIGN YOUR BELT!”

Firehawk took the bait like a big old ugly catfish swallowing a used condom, grabbing Simms and leading him backstage to his office. They had to do business in the hall though because April Hunter and Slyck Wagner Brown were using Firehawk’s desk. April had ‘Excaliber’ strapped on and was ramming Slyck from behind like a dog on a dead fish!

“Well Simms…who can you get to sign this beautiful belt?” Firehawk asked. Simms could barely think straight. He stammered: “I,…I…can get Eddy Guerrero, Chris Candido and Josh Cody” Firehawk kicked Simms in the nuts! “YOU FUCKING JEW COCKSUCKER!” he yelled, “THOSE GUYS ARE DEAD!!” Simms snatched Firehawks belt from the outlandishly dressed fat man and ran as quickly as he could off into the night where, safely hidden behind a garbage dumpster, he stashed it up his ass.

The morning light found Simms still there amidst the trash. Depressed and lonely, Simms thought of an idea that MIGHT save him…He’d go see Derek Gordon! Surely, his fellow Jew wouldn’t turn him away!

So Simms, now reduced to a pathetic whimpering shell of his former self, dragged his beaten and abused body towards Gordon’s shop. It took all his will to control his damaged anus and not lose the things he had suffered so much to acquire. All that kept him going was the belief that Gordon would help him…

When at last Simms reached the Jewelry Pawn Shop he was dismayed and shocked! All that remained was a smoldering ruin where Gordon’s shop had stood. On a blackened wall, someone had spray-painted: “THIS KIKE SHOP FIREBOMBED AS A PUBLIC SERVICE BY GERMAN MICROWAVE.” That’s when Simms gave up and collapsed, sniveling and sobbing onto the sidewalk. His despair was so great he could no longer control his sphincter and fell into violent spasms of diarrhea and vomiting, finally just laying still in a stinking effluent lake of his own creation……

*RING*… *RING*…

The still ringing cell phone shook Simms from his daze and he fumbled to find it in the stinking pool. Finally he grasped it in his trembling fist…

*RING*… *RING*…

Simms hesitated. “Who would be calling ME?” he wondered, “I’m worthless! My life is a mess. I ruin everything I touch. Everyone hates me. Everyone in wrestling thinks I’m a lying, stealing, dishonest piece of shit! Who would call me? Who would be so desperate that they would call me?

*RING*… *RING*…Simms answered the phone…

“Hello?… Yes, this is Eric Simms… Who?…Gabe?… Gabe Saplosky?… Why, yes! It would be an HONOR to work for you!… Head Booker? No problem!… Listen, Gabe, I’m a little short of cash…..”

And at that moment, Xias, I’M NOT QUINLAN & other rohbots felt a cold foreboding shiver run down their spines, a shadow crossed the sun and the wind seemed to whisper: Something evil this way comes…..

++++++++++++ The End? +++++++++++++