Suddenly, it dawned on A.J. that she was surrounded and everyone was advancing on her from all sides now. One cardinal rule during a Too Cool ring dance was this: You NEVER, EVER, under any circumstances, stole the shades off whomever Rikishi chose to wear them! That was NOT Too Cool! Little A.J., all by herself in the ring, just trying to have some fun, was now trying to remember which manipulative face to wear in order to get what she needed. Mischievous? No. Playful? No. Ah, there it was! Remorseful! Rikishi's heart melted at the sight of A.J. with her moist, saucer-like anime eyes.
Then, without any provocation, A.J. skipped around the Samoan Stinkface Machine in that preschool Ring-Around-the-Rosy manner which we'd come to know as an A.J. pastime.
She then faced the north corner of the ring and, with one hand pointing to the bottom turnbuckle, she flashed him an atomic grin, an electric smirk, a mushroom cloud of body language which seemed to percolate and say "Okay, I know I must be punished." If that didn't turn Rikishi's world upside down, the next thing did, when she actually said that, and a whole lot more.
"Okay, Rikishi…" she said, positioning a microphone three inches away from her mouth as they'd taught her to prevent feedback, "I know I have to be punished. I'll submit myself to your inarguable stature in this business and your unalienable authority, which I will now uphold. I won't even try to talk my way out of it. I know it's not up for debate and I have no choice but to bend to your will and obey the instructions of a future Hall of Famer or face penalties and fines levied against me in Wrestlers' Court. I hereby recognize that, since locker room rule of law is unwritten, unregulated code, I COULD pursue some form of legal recourse but I hereby waive any rights to do so and offer up my body at your discretion… I am but a woman in a sea of men and I long to be instructed! Teach me, Mr. Fatu!"
Rikishi couldn't believe the endless torrent of words coming out of this girl's mouth. This bitch is crazy, period! End of story! She's gone! He thought to himself, flummoxed, In all my years in this business, the only thing she mentioned I have any clue about is Wrestlers' Court. What was all that other stuff? I've never seen this in all my years in this sad, strange, mondo bizarre business, and as he composed his thoughts, she was still prattling on. Everyone else had left the ring in fear, boredom or an even mixture of both.
"-A firm hand to guide me because of that! I'm a woman, and that means that… That I sometimes feel things I don't mean, even though I mean to feel them! What I guess I'm trying to say, Kish, is that I'm ready for my close up. You're going to stinkface me, and there's nothing I can do to prevent it."
A.J. extended her arms outward as if going in for an embrace of a close friend.
"Come and get me, you golden Buddha, you! Finish me off, big boy!"
A.J. threw herself down with anxious fury to land in the corner. She was giggling softly to herself as she tied up her hair into a firm bun, holding up her right hand to pause the proceedings, then when she was well and truly ready, she beckoned Rikishi to to come park it on her impish complexion. Rikishi picked up the microphone she had laid at her feet. He was in absolute shock; Stunned, speechless, incredulous, baffled. Any one would suffice but still couldn't capture the unique exasperation which decorated the Samoan entertainer's face.
There were mixed reactions about what he should do with this itty bitty slip of a young woman with the perky titties and the butt that could heat an entire city (no wait, the butt was Rikishi's!).
Large portions of the audience demanded he honor her REQUEST for him to smother her amazingly faun-like features between his fleshy gravy biscuits. The dissenters were a bit more scattered, but their boos did sting the Kish's surety.
"C'mon, you gotta be a gentleman, Rikishi!"
Rikishi nodded to the anonymous fan as he surveyed the crowd for a consensus. The camera scanned too, and actually caught a fan scribbling on the backboard of their sign in red magic marker these pleading words: Don't do it! Finally, the dance master spoke.
"Honey, people have been warning me about you ever since I got to the building earlier today. 'Stay away from A.J.' 'Kish, so glad to have ya back, but what ever you do, don't make eye contact with A.J.' Honey, this is not the answer and I'm half tempted to back dat ass up awn ya just for being stupid enough to ask me to! I mean… Let me fill you in on a little secret… The stinkface is not fun! Call it cruel and unusual punishment! Call it poetic justice! The Parent/Teacher Board once referred to it as 'scatological pornography.' I prefer to think of it as 'Karma at the End of the Line.' It's all those bad things you did, you knew you shouldn't have, but you did em anyway, and now it's time to taste the music… I mean face the music! You're actually asking me to do this to you. Ask anybody back there how it feels to be picking shit out of your teeth for a week after!"
A.J. put her hand over her heart, comical considering what they were arguing about. She fiddled with the clasp of a locket. She stood up in the corner and crept toward him with steps of reservation and weakness. The locker clearly meant a great deal to Rikishi because he grabbed for it, but A.J. dangled it out of reach, making it clear she could outrun and outmaneuver him.
"What does Sua have that I don't?" asked A.J. in a strikingly more adulterated tone. It gradually reverted back to the sing-songy temperament of an early adolescent.
"Now I want you to get mad!"
She threw down the locket and stomped it into fragments. Rikishi was furious. Then, she reared back and slapped him so hard her hand was imprinted on his tanned face. He backed her up into the corner, her following his lead, matching him step for step with a dirty corner store glint of debauchery in her frosted over discs of vision. He was none too gentle as he placed his hand on the top of her ditherbrained lil cranium and shoved her straight down into the corner. She landed awkwardly as he demonstrated his physical dominance over her species of frailty, too soon engineered fpr humanity's continuance. He was man. She was woman.
In the wrestling business, that last bastion of undisturbed chauvinism (for long anyway) declared his the winning argument by default. Women were still fundamentally social accessories and cuddle slaves and babymakers in McMahon's idealized, shareholder-run fraternity.
Anyway, she knew she was in deep shit now (literally). Her face, ears and neck were scathingly inflamed and red. It appeared all this was turning her on. Rikishi watched her on the Titantron at the top of the stage. She was pinching her right nipple through the fabric of her blouse.
"Give it to me, PLEASE!" A.J. begged as she cupped his ass cheeks in her tiny hands, which was like an ant colony trying to move a sand dune. Rikishi decided to go about this a little differently. She might live to regret asking Santa Kish for this present, he thought humorously as he pulled down his tights completely so that they dropped around his ankles. A.J. Lee was about to become the first diva ever to receive a bare ass stinkface! And she was still excited, kicking and swinging her feet around like she'd found Wonka's Golden Ticket.
"OH, YES! PUNISH ME! PUNISH MEEEE! PLEEEEASE!" she cried, moaning out the final string of syllables as she pounded her fists against his flab.
Rikishi had had enough. He would punish her, and she would not enjoy it as much as she thought she would. He crouched down so his knees were bent, then pressed upward to raise A.J.'s chin to meet her fate. He pressed his pelvis forward in order to increase the impact, then crashed into Miss Lee's face with reckless abandon. Her face was now submerged in the same area that kept Rikishi's toilet warm. Speaking of which, he'd had a rough battle that evening with a backstage stall, so that parts of the menu from the Indian restaurant kept sluicing out of his bowels in juicy, gushing torrents. He'd wiped and wiped, but the sweat and anal leakage made it a lost cause. AJ was tasting it at such high doses as he smothered the nerd queen's face that it would inform the flavor of everything she ate for two weeks and no perfume would mask it for at least three, which made her colleagues both male and female keep her at a considerable distance from them lest her body odor rub off on them.
A.J. had had boyfriends who passed gas in front of her, and back in high school, she'd had a particularly obnoxious one who thought it would be funny to give her a dutch oven, where he would fart and then hold her head under the covers. This was like that if he'd held her head in the toilet bowl instead of under the covers. She was really regretting the fact that she'd put in for this request now, because her mousy nose nestled so deeply into the Samoan crack that her nose was as wet as a dog's. She struggled to breathe as her mouth swished open and closed, open and closed, taking Rikishi's tanned and hairy cheeks into her mouth repeatedly and sloshing the spidery veins and milky pimples across her lips and tongue. She bared her teeth against his butt flab, biting them slightly, which Rikishi rewarded with a straight up-and-down wiping motion, which further consolidated the death clench his sphincter had on her. A.J. moaned in disgust, which drew both ire and laughter from Rikishi as he farted so hard that it blew her hair back off her face. She felt the hot blast of wind spray the back of her throat with such surprising force, that she had to swallow, tasting corrosion as it dripped off her tonsils. Her eyes were bloodshot from burning as his fumes contaminated her sockets. A.J. tried in vain to push him off of her, but her left arm and fingers of her right hand simply sank into his bulbous backside like quick sand, leaving her even further incapacitated. He farted again, sending her back, then again and again, until her groans of distaste worked in tandem with his bodily eruptions.
He was having fun with this, he realized. He'd stand up like he was going to end it and let her up, then plop himself back down to smother her some more.
Finally, he released A.J. from her penance. The look on her face said it all. She wiped the perspiration and bilge from her lower face, then pulled back her hand to examine it, fearing what she would see. Nothing. Yet she smelled like an outhouse in the sun.
Just as it seemed like A.J. would never be able to show her face on tv again, the flames erupted on the walkway. Kane, the Big Red Machine, the Devil's Favorite Demon, sauntered out to hand a reprisal to the flabtacular Rikishi. He blocked a savate kick from Rikishi and chokeslammed him with reckless abandon. Rikishi's back had never been the same since that fearsome bump off the top of the Hell in a Cell into that truckbed. Kane went to console A.J. She was already pointing her balled up fists at her face in fury and humiliation.
"I don't want you to smell me! Go away!" A.J. said with shame and embarrassment.
Kane ignored the petite beauty's cautioning at first, until he got within a foot of her. He started to crouch down and pick her up, but the smell made him stagger. He sat her back on the ground and fanned the air between them. He turned to leave, then swiveled back around to look at A.J.
"YOU ASKED HIM TO DO IT! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU!?"
"I-I-I don't know! It was poor judgment! I thought you'd come and save me!"
Kane plugged his nose in disgust and continued to back out of the ring. He threw up his hands.
"Kane's leaving! He's had enough!" said Michael Cole, on commentary.
"You know, it's gotta be bad if Kane's afraid to come near you!"