You Don't Know What Love Is

Richmond, Virginia. Wrestling Championship Federation flew through the city and state selling more seats for ass than the average career span a prostitute could sell ass for.. ass. After the shocking night it's weekly popular Sunday Slam event held, a press conference with some of the featured superstars of the show was in high demand from the fans. Particular, the shocking unannounced return of Logan which was kept tightly under wraps, the most respected of wrestling insiders and media were completely astonished and fooled. Questions needed to be answered, it was only necessary, it was only right.

The cameras lights flashed and reflected off the six foot fivers shades, he calmly sat behind a wide stretched table, completely spot light immune to the media frenzy. The reporters shot questions, the fans chanted, the spot lights shined, the camera men steadied, all for one person... Logan.

Reporter #4: Logan!

Fan #53: Logan!

Hotdog Mascot: Logan!

The decade established star, aged with perfection like whiskey, didn't blink an eye underneath his dark eyewear. He encouraged order to the chaotic crowd directing them to go one at a time.

Logan: You.

Fan #31: Me?!?

Logan: Eh.. nevermind.

Poking fun with his fans and shifting his 'finger of treachery' to another overly excited one.

Logan: You.

Fan #78: THANK YOU FOR RETURNING--I LOVE YOU--SETH LERCH IS A BASTARD--YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE HAD TO WAIT A MONTH TO RETU--

Logan: Boudle.. quiet.. quiet..

Fan number seventy-eights mouth dropped and eyes froze with star struck as his hero named him a boudle. An anxious reporter took the opportunity.

Reporter #22: What did you mean at Slam when you addressed yourself to Torture as, 'the one and only'?

Logan: Obviously, that's his catch phrase. This isn't a mind game. I'm the one and only, for Torture. Take that as you will.

Reporter #13: You spoke of not wanting to get involved with Madd Dogg being a reason to your hesitation of resigning a contract. Could you shed more light on that?

Logan: Do you, personally, mingle with your stalkers? No?

The reporter hides his face, blending into the crowd and dodging the stars own question. A fan exposes the reporter shouting, 'owned!.

Reporter #27: How do you feel about working your way back up the ladder this late in your career?

The star answers before purposely adjusting his shades with a middle finger.

Logan: It'll be a learning experience, again. Nothing wrong with that. But, honestly, as many of you found out at Richmond's Slam there is only one real thing that's going to make me re-climb that ladder... Torture.

Reporter #0: What do you think of WCF?

Logan: ...

What do you think of WCF?

Logan '00: Ha! What do you think of me?

What do you think of WCF?

Logan '01: If it stayed open long enough I'd let you know.

What do you think of WCF?

Logan '02: You can relate back to your '00 answer.

What do you think of WCF?

Logan '03: Can you say.. War winner?

What do you think of WCF?

Logan '04: If it wasn't for the all new speculate talent I'd be bored.

What do you think of WCF?

Logan '05: I think it's beginning to change.

What do you think of WCF?

Logan '06: It's changed...

What do you think of WCF?

Logan '07: The pay is nice.

What do you think of WCF?

Logan '08: No comment.

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Dan Shepard. The old man among children, the gray haired odd ball of the group, the one the kids were taught to look up to but didn't. With the combined number of ages, the furrowed eyebrowed had experienced more and dealt with more than the likes of them ever would. He was a dying breed, a final echo of the 'hard' generation. The era of sweat and blood, the era of pride for lower back pain. This withering heart of the old man that took work to beat didn't believe in the modern times, there was no change for him. He was, in his own right, the men today's men wished to be, the men of mice. Their was no one harder.. not in his eyes. Why would there be? How could this IPod society man over his days of towing a garden with a belt buckle and blade of steel? No drooling amount of sweat could match. Of course, honestly, every generation was superior than the last. For every generation you'd get a senior that didn't just understand kids these days, the old neighbor bastard who always kept to himself happily self-confined to his stoop. That would and could easily describe.. Dan Shepard.

The old rough sand papered neck man sat among a group of elementary schoolers. Burrowing his wrinkled finger tips into his thighs, smelling the scent of puppy youth he himself had so long ago, and he hated that smell of the snot nosed soiled pants youngsters. That certain smell you'd only get from a six year old relentlessly tugging your hand for permission to use the bathroom even though he already went in his shorts. That smell. That innocence of youth yet to be corrupted. So, Dan was there, the chalk board reading 'Mr. Shepard' in gigantic spaced out letters behind him. Dan Shepard, in a gawd damn elementary classroom. If it wasn't for the fire that still pumped through his blood, he wouldn't be here. Dan had strong morals and even though some of those morals went against actual law.. he still strongly believed in his morals, and that, of course, is what has him prisoner to a classroom for the afternoon. Mr. Shepard broke the law a few months prior to this community service torture. His theft charge should've brought about jail time, however, at eighty two years old with a heart of stone and honesty, the judge seen it fit Dan avoided being thrown behind bars with criminals less than half his age in exchange that he agree to the terms of community service. Dan's charge was little, it was over a gallon of milk he believed to be free after six purchases, the coupon expired a day short, and Mr. Moral seen it fit to not pay for such and freely carry it out from the market. Just another typical senior moment, right? Right. That's what brought him here, that's what skipped any small amount of jail time, that's what brought Dan Shepard to a place he hadn't seen in seventy five years... elementary school. At a man his age the judge couldn't swallow Dan serving his service time with labor, instead, a few others and the judge himself who knew Dan was infamous for his old bitter bastard of the neighborhood image all thought it'd be best if they punished him with something else.. reading a children book to the local schools PM class throughout their county once a day for five days. It'd be a breeze or almost a joy to any lonely senior living off retirement with nothing better to do than watch the grass grow, but, to Dan Shepard, it was exactly as the judge implied for his sentencing.. punishment.

The small four page book of a donkey befriending a goat laid in his lap, a book which anyone under a reading level of third grade could read. If it didn't read it to the small indian styled group it'd be a violation of his community service term. Dan knew when to swallow his pride and this was just one of those times he had to. Flipping the front cover open he gritted his teeth, some of the kids cocooned in bean bags thankfully applauded, thankful, in the sense that it took him an entire twenty minutes to do so and they were becoming anxious.

Dan Shepard: "There once lived a donkey, his name was Jack.."

He couldn't do nothing but shake his head, it had already taken him a life time to bite his tongue and turn his head to the way this generations society raised their children, but, naming a donkey 'Jack' in a kids book? Disgusting. He felt it necessary to finish the donkeys name with 'Ass', he almost did, and really.. being a old man he could easily get away with it.

Dan Shepard: "..and he lived on a big grass hill green as the pine trees."

The book shut closed.

Dan Shepard: The end.

The teacher supervising off quietly at her desk casted a firm eyebrow, noticing that, Dan sighed and nodded trying to make something out of nothing.

Dan Shepard: You kids want a story?

Kids: Yeah!!

Dan Shepard: Just grow up, you'll make one for yourself. One day when you get my age and stuff starts moving faster than a Japanese suicide bomber, you'll look back, and know, that the ones succeeding you, the ones after, the next guy in line will live life just a little bit easier than you had to. And you know why? You! You either worked a path for the future to walk on, you worked for something you had to crawl across so they can skip across. Kids these days, really. You could all care less, you have no idea about honor or morals, you THINK your accomplishing something, you THINK your better than the last, you're not! I broke my back paving the road you damned fools piss on--

Teacher: Mr. Shepard!

A small amount of the kids who weren't sleeping or too busy picking their nose gasped in response to his dirty words. The teacher and Dan shared glares, she had obviously had enough of the old one. Just then, breaking their hating moment for another, the class room door opened. A kid appeared in the doorway with an embarrassing nervousness to him.

Teacher: Logan, that's the third tardy this week.

Logan. One of the kids on the eleven person 'roster'. That's it, just a kid with nothing to worry about in the world besides playing. Logan. One more playful kid of many in the elementary school.

The child stuffed his pockets with hands.

Teacher: Please join the rest of the class, Logan.

He ran over and leaped on one of the bean bags a class mate, Seth, was currently occupying. The kids remained seated waiting for old Dan Shepard to tell the story of a donkey and a goat.

What do you think of WCF?

Logan '09: ...I'm not being looked at as that old washed up veteran. I feel like a kid again, it's great!

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