Stitches, Staples, Trust, and Promises (Special Guest Star:
Nov 1, 2014 12:45:47 GMT -5
Steeltoe Joe, Kaz, and 2 more like this
Post by Deleted on Nov 1, 2014 12:45:47 GMT -5
Stitches and Staples
It wasn't supposed to go down this way...
Did I want to send a message to The Pack that I'm not a man to be trifled with? Yes. Was I out there trying to hurt The Pack? Yes, but I was aiming to mostly damage their pride. Did I want to injure Jay Omega and put him out of action? Not so much. If anything, I wanted him to stick around for a bit, so I could relieve him of his hardware, leaving The Pack without any trace of gold. So much for that idea...
And now I'm saddled with the burden of being that guy who "deliberately" injured another competitor in the ring. As if I don't have enough notoriety. Yes, I've injured several people in my time, and ended a career or five in the process, but I was also young, unpolished, and stupid during those times. I thought I was past this shit! Hell, the last time I sent a guy to the hospital, I was right there with the guy! Cage and I beat the hell out of each other, and our goal was to injure each other. That was 2007. Seven years later and it seems that I still have much to learn.
As I walked through the corridors to my dressing room, I find that nobody wants to make eye contact with me. The few who did averted their eyes quickly. I guess nobody else wants to be Jay's roommate at the hospital, and I'm okay with that. Although the one person who probably SHOULD avert their eyes is instead making a beeline towards me, microphone in hand, and a camera right behind him. Hank Brown starts out with...
Hank: Deuce, were you really trying to injure Jay Omega this evening?
Gonzo: I did what every person on The Pack wanted to do to me, I just struck first!
Hank: Yes, but you had him beat! Why did you continue to hold on?
Gonzo: Because I could, and I really wanted to send a message to The Pack! Now did I want to hospitalize someone from The Pack? Abso*******lutely! Did I want to put Jay's ass out of commission long-term? Not so much. I wanted to personally take the last little piece of shiny that The Pack desperately wanted to hold on to so they could stay relevant! So no! I didn't want injure him! But being as he's just as broken down as I am, I shouldn't be surprised that he wound up in the hospital.
Hank: What is your beef with The Pack?
Gonzo: What? Besides the constant disrespect they love to throw around to everyone other than the people who are established ass-kickers? You don't see them barking up Jonny Fly's tree, or Orbit's, and especially not ICE! But me? They think they can f*** with me? Well, who's doing the f****** now, bitches? Huh? HUH!?
Hank: You know that now, The Pack will target you even harder...
Gonzo: They think they can bury me, then be my F****** guest! Many have tried to lay me low, and all have failed. From the battlefield to the wrestling ring, I always get back up. And this is no different! And everyone wants to say, "Oh man, six guys in The Pack! They're going to eat you for lunch!" Horse****! If we want to do this by the numbers, then I say that I have a pretty good winning record against The Pack! They eliminated me at War, and that's all. Who have I defeated? Half of the roster that makes up The Pack, is who I've defeated! And I won't stop until I have the scalps of every last one of those motherf****** on the wall, in my bus!
Now I'm sure you little nitwits are going to come up with something witty and clever to say, or you might just drop all pretenses and admit the danger you put yourselves in. Or you guys are going to go into full-on revenge mode. That's your prerogative. But when you disrespected me, you found out that you just f***** with the wrong man, and I will continue to make you pay for running your mouth until I feel that I've made my point. And that point is you don't toy around with a man who has his own toy store!
I grunt at the camera, as I turned away to go back to my own dressing room. Most of the people had cleared out by now, so the staring was down to a minimum. I think the worst part about all of this is now everyone is going to say that "I don't want to work with Deuce" as a result of this disaster. But at least I put it out there that I didn't deliberately injure Jay, as long as you are able to read between the lines. Yes, I was there to fuck shit up with The Pack, but not in a sense that the guy isn't going to be in the ring anytime soon.
I got to the locker room, and everyone had already cleared out, except for my lawyer. I thank God, or whoever is watching over me, and I drop all pretenses, as I say to Lazlo...
Gonzo: How bad is he?
Lazlo: You dislocated his kneecap, for sure. Doctors are doing MRI's to determine the damage caused internally, but the outlook for him returning anytime soon is kind of bleak.
I flip the training table in anger, before kicking a bench over as I shout obscenities, as Lazlo looks on unfazed. After I gain a semblance of calm, Lazlo then says...
Lazlo: Anything I can do?
Gonzo: Yeah. I want you to make sure that his bills are taken care of. Make it anonymous, though. Last thing I want those fuckers in The Pack to do is play on my guilt. I feel bad enough as it is now that the whole fucking roster is looking at me like I'm a fucking monster.
Lazlo: Fuck what they think! You're not the only guy who hospitalized someone. Jeff Purse put Fly in the hospital tonight. With a steel chair.
Gonzo: At least I'm not that fucking pussy. (Accented) I don't need no stinking chair!
Lazlo chuckled a bit, and the mood lightened up a bit. Lazlo then says...
Lazlo: So pay Omega's hospital bills. Done. And Seth said that after the show, he wanted to speak to you in his office.
Gonzo: Oh, shit... How did he sound?
Lazlo: Couldn't tell. Its not like I could look him in the face and see his emotions.
Gonzo: True. Alright, let's get this ass-reaming over with...
Lazlo: Alright, but first, let's take care of that eye. I've got your staples here...
I grunted, but I put the training bench back in its original position, before sitting down on it, while my lawyer plays doctor with my eye. Five staples later, and some pain that has somehow dulled my emotions about injuring Jay Omega, we departed the locker room for Seth's office. The din of the crowd had died down, indicating that Helloween was unofficially over. I didn't even bother to see who had won. I was beyond that pettiness at this time. And I didn't survive, so it wasn't like I had anything to roost over, other than the fact that The Pack was one member short for the time being.
It didn't take long before we were knocking on Seth's door, and he himself answered the door. He shook hands with Lazlo, before offering me his hand. I shake it, albeit halfheartedly, before he directs us to take a seat. He moved to his side of the desk, as he says...
Seth: Jay is probably out for at least a few weeks. Probably a month. Maybe more, once I get the results from his MRI.
I nod my head, as I look down at the ground. Seth was quick to pick up the emotion, as he says...
Seth: What are you so upset about? You did the WCF a great service tonight! You struck a deafening blow against The Pack, and Jay wasn't doing anything with the U.S. Title, and now you're getting a shot at gold. Big time gold. We're not talking the People's Title, this is the second-biggest title in the WCF! Be happy! Especially after all the shit you said about me this week.
Gonzo: I apologize for not being thrilled at injuring another wrestler. After all, I am a professional, and what happened out there was not professional. I lost control. You should probably suspend me.
Seth: Nonsense! People in wrestling get hurt all the time. Its what you would call an "occupational hazard". I wouldn't worry about it so much. Just go out and smoke some pot or whatever it is you do in that bus... And speaking of the bus, I was thinking of having you do a running segment, where you invite people to your bar that you advertised about a month ago?
Gonzo: I fired my bus driver. He was the bartender. About the only thing I make is a mean White Russian, and an occasional Bloody Mary. I still can't get Mojitos down.
Seth: Well, hire some people! Everyone knows you can afford it.
Gonzo: I don't need to flaunt my money, but if my next bus driver is also a bartender, then I'll consider it.
Seth: Either you hire one, or I hire one for you. And I won't give a shit if you like the person or not.
I sigh, as I sinks deeper and deeper in the chair, before I say...
Gonzo: Fine, I'll get a damn bartender. Anything else?
Seth: You can be a little grateful for the opportunities that I've laid out for you...
Gonzo: Oh, so you mean this is the part where you want me to kiss your ass! Well, how does it feel to want?
I get to my feet, as I say...
Gonzo: Thank you Seth, for affording me these opportunities, even though most people would probably suspend me for what happened tonight. But I do have to say that if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have a job, and I'd probably be sitting in a trailer somewhere in New Mexico, with a fresh shotgun blast to the face. So thank you.
I got to my feet and walked out of the office. Lazlo follows me after a few moments, probably trying to smooth things over with Lazlo, before he meets me outside of his office, and we head to the bus. Lazlo then says...
Lazlo: Be careful with him, man. I don't know what you're thinking talking to him like that.
Gonzo: Look, I'm nobody's bitch. Seth is no exception. If that lillywhite asshole wants someone to tongue his asshole, he can get some fresh rookie to do it. I may be new around here, but I've paid my fucking dues and then some. And don't you ever fucking forget it.
Lazlo: Okay, I get it. But if you don't let up on him, he's going to make your life suck. And I may not be around to stop it.
Gonzo: My lawyer and agent wants to bail? Is that what I'm hearing?
Lazlo: I got shit going on at home, man. As much as I'd love to stay and all...
Gonzo: Just when shit is getting interesting, and my career is going in the right direction, and the royalty checks are rolling in.
Lazlo: Well, the ball is already rolling. I've talked to Eric Price, and he...
I stopped dead in my tracks. Eric Price? Slicky E?
Gonzo: Are you fucking kidding me? Guy's a total teetotaler! Don't get me wrong, he's alright, but HIM?
Lazlo: He said he's willing to overlook it, as long as you maintain some sort of professionalism...
Gonzo: I'm stone fucking sober right now, and you don't know how close I am to ripping your fucking heart out. No, I take that back, because I think you lost your heart. And your balls!
Lazlo rears back, and I stand still for him, as I say...
Gonzo: Go ahead. Fucking hit me. Then get the fuck out of my life, if all you want to do is run away! Pussy...
Lazlo stops for a moment, then he fires off a punch, in, of all fucking places, my bad eye! I curse rather loudly, as I found my feet, both artificial and real, buckle underneath of me. I grab the wall for support, and I turn around, waiting for another one, but instead, all I see is his back, as he's walking away from me. Then the flash, I saw how enraged the wolf inside of him was. I figured it was time to oblige the wolf. I race to catch up, as he turns and says...
Lazlo: You want another one, asshole?
Gonzo: Outside, fucker! YOU AND ME! You think you can take me? Well come on, chunky britches! LET'S GO!
Lazlo: Are you calling me fat?
Gonzo: No, I called you chunky britches, you fat tub of lard!
Lazlo: I'll still take your cracker-ass down, fat or not!
Gonzo: Well, race to it, camel jockey!
We continue to trade insults about our heritage, moms, implied incest and bestiality, and favored sports teams, before we finally take it out into what appeared to be a loading dock. This place was just as good as any to throw the fuck down. I snapped off a few jabs, before he swung wildly with a haymaker. He didn't land the punch, but he caught me around the shoulders, and pulled me off of my feet.
We rolled around on the ground like schoolchildren, swinging wildly at each other, before he finally managed to stop the roll, as we got to the bottom of the loading dock. He had passed my guard, so unless I did something drastic, I was fucked. I grabbed him by his hair, and yanked him off of me, as I assumed the top position, in his guard. I surpassed his guard by clawing at his midsection, literally, before he curled up. I beat on him, before he hits me low. Like, testicles low. And then he hit me there again, and then applied a genital claw. I instinctively grabbed him by the throat. Not the neck, like you see all those clowns on television do when they're trying to choke someone. No, I'm talking Scent of a Woman, blind Al Pacino grabbing that asshole by the throat with what he called the "Ranger Choke". He immediately let go, as he knows what could happen next. And I know he knows, because I showed him how to do this move, and he's used it himself. I then say...
Gonzo: Are you done? Blink twice for yes...
He blinks twice, and I let him go and quickly back off. I'd pissed off the monster within him, and I knew that he or I would be staying at the hotel tonight, and the other would be on the bus. He then says...
Lazlo: Fuck! This was my favorite suit...
Gonzo: You still quitting? I still gotta hire some people...
Lazlo just shakes his head, and waves his hand at me, as he says...
Lazlo: I'm going back to the bus. Fuck today, man...
As much as I hated him right now, he was right. Today was a fuck of a day. First I go back to the bus after being kidnapped in the wee hours of the morning, before I did a jog around Mall of America to settle my nerves. Even in the wee hours, I drew the attention of the early risers/fans. It is kind of strange to see a guy in a multicolored toboggan, hunting vest, jean shorts, and flight deck boots jogging, regardless of what time of the day it is. I eventually gave up on the pipe dream of making it around the mall once, and caught a shuttle back to my bus.
I then injure one of the members of a group that I've had issues with since War. Granted, I wanted to send a message, and that message was sent, but with WAY more juice than I wanted to send it with. I'm just waiting now for them to come out of the woodwork and attack me somewhere down the line. And the way I feel now, I could give a shit. Take your best shot, assholes! I'm like motherfucking "Rooster". Ain't found a way to kill me yet, but you come to snuff old Rooster. Well, come at me, already! What the fuck are you waiting for?
I go back to the bus to grab my shit and head for a hotel. Z won't go anywhere if I'm not on the bus, so I pack a bag and head for a hotel. And I think I know the hotel to go to...
Trust and Promises
(Special Guest Star: "Macho Man" Randy Savage )
I knock on the door of the hotel room, with bag in my hand. It's a little late, but I'm sure I can get her attention. She was always at her best when the sun went down.
I heard her footfalls as they approached the door, then I heard the bar get removed, before she opens the door wearing an old, oversized Alan Jackson t-shirt. I laugh as I say...
Gonzo: You still have that ratty-ass old t-shirt?
Ryann: I've had this longer than your wrestling career, and its comfortable. What do you want? And why do you have your bag?
Gonzo: Long story short, Z and I got into a fight. Business stuff, mostly.
Ryann: I bet he wasn't thrilled that you hurt that guy in the ring.
Gonzo: You know I don't injure people on purpose in the ring. I got blackballed for that shit once.
Ryann: Yeah, and you're the only guy that I've seen that's been able to overcome it, twice.
Gonzo: First time was luck and time. Second time, well, let's not go there. How did Taylor react?
Ryann: She got a little scared. You looked like a psychotic madman in there. And you pulled out your stitches. Jesus, George.
Gonzo: Well, I got staples now, and Z really drove them in. Now I got fucking pits in my skull.
Ryann: So if the fight wasn't about the injury...
Gonzo: Z wants to get off the road, but this is such a bad time for that shit. I got shit with five people now who want to crucify me, and I'm a little concerned about the management that he wants to place me with.
Ryann: Eric Price?
Gonzo: Yeah, how did you know?
Ryann: He talked to me about whether or not I want to go back out on the road. I told him I have a tour to get ready for in December, and I think my days in the ring are over. After Jax, I just couldn't take it anymore. And you were right. Falling in love complicates shit.
Gonzo: No kidding. So can I take the couch?
Ryann: What? You don't wanna encore performance?
Gonzo: I was nuts balling you before a big event, and now that I'm sore, like REALLY sore, I don't even want to try. I just want a few cocktails before I attempt to go to sleep.
Ryann: Oh, and thanks a lot, asshole! I know you jacked all of the booze. Left me with beer and Hypnotiq, you jerk!
Gonzo: I thought you would appreciate that. Remember when you and I took everything from half the WCWF roster? Bill was so pissed, and Mikey, too. And you got so trashed off of the Hypnotiq bottles. You drank them all!
Ryann: Oh yeah... That was the first time you were nice enough to hold my hair up while I talked to Ralph on the big white telephone. Thank God you never asked me to do that shit.
Gonzo: Not so much a sympathetic vomiter. And thank God Taylor is out of diapers. If I had to change one of those, then maybe I'll throw up. Remember the guy by the Humvee I told you about that got hit by .50 caliber machine gun fire through the genital areas? Yeah, he was carrying a heavy load when he went. All I could smell was shit and blood. Only time I vomited during combat.
Ryann: Well, you're weird like that. But that doesn't stop me from caring...
Gonzo: Stop...
And then set in the awkward silence.
I didn't want to get her hopes up on anything. As much as I still loved her, I can't trust her. And I probably won't ever trust her again. The only reason why I keep in some sort of contact with her is because of Taylor, and even that is tenuous at best. Hell, she saw Daddy go ape shit on a guy in the ring, damn near twisting the bottom part of a guy's leg off in the process. With a smile on his face, no less. I wonder what she'll think of me next, and then I realize this is probably the first time in my life that I honestly give a shit about what someone thinks of me. Well, maybe the first person since I generally stopped giving a fuck about what everyone thought about me.
And then Ryann says...
Ryann: I don't get you, sometimes. You came in here last night, saying the sweetest things about us, only to find you gone and my minibar raided. Then you come knocking on my door asking for a sleepover, only to just crush me in mid-sentence.
Gonzo: Do I look like a guy that's ready for a commitment? Seriously, look at me. I dress like an asshole, and I do it on purpose so people are apprehensive about coming up to me. And now EVERYONE comes up to me. I'm not used to this shit.
Ryann: Well, you were always a great heel. It was kind of weird hearing the crowd cheer for you like that. You used to do the same thing, with the look in your eyes, and people would throw shit at you.
Gonzo: Yeah, I remember Springfield, Massachusetts. A fucking whiskey bottle to the head. Started wrestling in a lot of cage matches after that...
Ryann: Its still fucking weird... I want to be so mad at you right now...
Gonzo: Don't get mad at me. You're the one who ended it when you went to him. And yet here I am, trying like hell to remain on friendly terms with you, and you're trying to get back into my good graces. Just as things are looking up for me, no less. I've got to think you're just trying to use me, abuse me, and then lose me again. I'm not going on that fucking ride again. And fucking shame on you if you're using Taylor as a reason to get close to me. But if you want to get mad at someone, go look in a fucking mirror and get mad at that person.
I'll be on the fucking couch...
I go to walk past her in the corridor, when he all of a sudden, in a high-pitched voice, says...
Ryann: You know what? Get the fuck out of here! I don't give a fuck where you sleep, but you are no longer my concern! Asshole!
And then she kicks me in the dick. Literally. My balls were taking a beating tonight, and not of the pleasant type at all! Give me a scrotum stretching anyday, just quit assaulting my balls!
Gonzo: Ah, bitch, I could kill you now... Ahh... You're fucking lucky you're the mother of my child, or I'd turn your red-headed twat into a fucking grease spot right now...
She was not responding, but rather heaving my ass out of the door, slamming the door into my head as she opens the door. I grab my bag and get out of the door before she starts stomping me. I get out the door and regain my feet, just as I see her slam the door in my face.
Well, so much for that...
This was turning into the night of absolute Hell for me! I haven't had my ass kicked this bad since 2009. GODDAMN THAT FUCKING WOMAN! GODDAMN EVERY MOTHERFUCKER ON THE PLANET EARTH RIGHT THE FUCK NOW! Is there no escape from all of the leeches and scumbags who just want to make money off of you? Or live comfortably doing nothing because of you? Am I that fucking horrible of a person that people only associate with me while I'm successful, and they walk away when I am not? I feel as if I don't have a real friend in the world right now. I feel lower than whale shit right now.
Even my parents are shitty like this. The only times I ever heard from my mother was to ask for money on occasion. Yet when I need something, its "Oh, I gotta ask Joe", to which I usually get a big "Fuck you, handle it yourself, superstar!" Yes, this is the person who, after I dragged my stepfather off of her, and beat his ass into a state of unconsciousness after nearly choking her to death, went out and found this asshole, after a year and a half of practically leaving me to my own devices. I used to say that I left home at 16, but she practically left me when the threat of step-dad was over when I was 14. She used me to get over him, and then abandoned me when I proved to be seemingly useless. At least until the next time she needs something from me. And it's been rather, rinse, and repeat with almost every goddamn woman I've ever let into my life. Like I'm a fucking glutton for punishment.
And Rick the Dick, my step-dad, would always try to angle in on some semblance of fame by claiming to be his biggest martial arts influence as far as instruction was concerned. In reality, I was just a punching bag to him. If anything, that's why I'm able to take the beatings like I can, because the child was put in a cage and poked with a stick until it became monster enough to take that stick away and stuff it up his ass. In reality, I had not spoken to him for 13 years, until he called me to his deathbed. While some matters were resolved, others were not. Yet he still left me with half of his estate, which was worth much more than I had ever imagined. After all, he was always a building maintenance/custodian guy, and everyone makes jokes, but I guess he made some serious cashish sweeping floors and teaching people how to fight. And he ran an electrical business, which was where most of his money derived from. Well, he did have a stroke on a ladder while installing a fan. I was surprised the old bastard hung on as long as he did.
And my real father, probably one of the few people in the world that has always bet against me. It was like he had something against me from the very start. I honestly think the only reason he taught me how to wrestle was because, once again, I find a male role model who just wants to kick my ass all the time. And the bad part is, I didn't pick these assholes! My asshole mother did! I WAS RAISED BY ASSHOLES!!!
Is this why I'm so fucking angry all of the time? Between that and the burden of how I tried to quell that anger have put me in this place right now. I want to blame the people so bad. Those people who turned me into this asshole. But I played right into it. Much like my grandfather before me, who he himself had been married seven times, and produced 17 children as a result of those marriages, and who knows how many potentially out of wedlock. But nobody in my family ever thinks of that. He was drafted into service shortly after Pearl Harbor, and stayed on for the duration of the war, and even into Korea. His military career was cut short, due to Type II Diabetes. He bounced around, unable to ever find himself a woman to that would accept him for who he was and love him despite his successes or failures, to include my grandmother, who he all but wrote out of his final will and testament because of her unfaithfulness at the end of his life. I guess that fucked my mom up a bit, being the youngest of their children.
I too, have crashed and burned on numerous occasions. I never really had the opportunity to have a "high school sweetheart", and the vast majority of my knowledge of sex comes mostly from pornographic movies and personal research. Especially on STD's, when I was hitting on this one chick, and the other wrestlers warned me that she would give me the clap, or worse, and I had no clue what the fuck the clap was. When I did find someone that loved me back, someone took that away from me for doing my job. I extracted my revenge, but it didn't make me feel any better. The life of Frank Castle was not one that I cared to take on, especially when there were so many loud-mouthed, overblown assholes in professional wrestling. I would always rather tell a story than be the story, because being a story in today's world usually has some sort of negative connotations. TMZ, anybody?
And now my lawyer wants to leave. I'm getting entrenched into some deep shit and he wants to bail. Lazlo has finally lost his balls, and he's turning his back on one of his oldest friends for a woman he stays married to only because of the kids. And he's done quite well for himself on the road since we kicked this moving party off. And I told him this was what was going to happen with an arranged marriage in the United States. Bitch had attitude, and I knew something about that first-hand. I even think she went so far as to sleep with me just to try and get him to call it off, even though she claims she didn't know how close I was to Z. There it is again! Getting used by people to hurt other people.
Fuck my life...
How long have I been sitting out here? I grab my bag and make my way down to the lobby, where I check my ass into a room for the night. Once I got to my room, I proceeded to clear out the entire minibar, to include the wine coolers, but there wasn't enough alcohol in the world to get me drunk enough. I decided to try and pull myself out of this funk, so I dropped some acid and went swimming. It felt as though I was in my environment again. I was comfortable in the water. If there could be a wrestling match that could be held underwater, I'd be part of it in a heartbeat. I had to haggle with the security officer, since I would be swimming after hours, but after greasing his palm with $100, and getting recognized despite the fact that almost half my body is a burnt wreck, I got to have my way with the pool.
I came to for a little bit, as I found myself on the bus again, with Lazlo at the wheel, and I was on his usual sofa/bed. There were shrimp cocktail rings and Bloody Mary's all over the table, and a guy that I had never seen before in my life. He was saying something about butterscotch pudding to what sounded like a child, by the tone of his voice. I passed out again, in my mind, at least. Then I found myself in what seemed to be my bus, but instead of the large bed, there was now two single bed in this room, as what appeared to be a prostitute was lying on the bed opposite of me. Why I thought prostitute, I have no clue. But Z was always a fan of black girls, but they were not big fans of him, so he sometimes had to pay for their company. The best gift I ever gave him was four black hookers for two hours in San Juan. Granted, I was $3,200 lighter in the pockets, but he had fun. He returned the favor, only he managed to find the only redheaded Puerto Ricans willing to fuck, and there was only three of them, but damn I had fun, too! Again, I found myself unwilling to confront this issue, and I rolled over.
Just out of curiosity, I look at the date on my watch, and it read November 1, 2014. Jesus fuck! I'd been out of it for six days? Was I on auto-pilot? Or have I been here the whole time? On the bus? Partying? I got to my feet, and found myself falling on the hooker in the bed. My head lands on her stomach, and she says...
Hooker: The fuck! OW!
And then she swats me in the ear, which didn't feel very pleasant. I had forgotten that somewhere down the line, I must've taken my foot off before I went to sleep. At least she quit slapping me when she sees why I landed on her, to which she simply says...
Hooker: Moron!
Gonzo: Who the fuck are you, bitch?
Hooker: Bitch? Really?
Gonzo: Yeah, who the fuck are you?
Hooker: Who the fuck are you trying to get up on me, nigga? I'm only here to sling the drinks! That's what you told me. That, and you were going to pay my ass $4,000 a month to do practically nothing compared to the shitty place I used to sling drinks at...
Oh shit... This wasn't a hooker... I must've been busy being an unconscious motherfucker. I guess I hired a bartender who either dresses like a slut or used to work at slutty places. Or was that the wardrobe samples that were sent by WCF? Are they trying to assassinate my character, or is she?
Gonzo: When the fuck did I say this shit? You know contracts are null and void when under the influence of alcohol or drugs. You know that, right?
Bitchy Bartender: Your lawyer wasn't drunk, and he signed that this contract was in your best interest. And I worked my ass off for you. You said I was the only bitch or motherfucker that was on point with all of your chosen drinks.
Gonzo: So what exactly did I drink?
Bartender: A White Russian, Bloody Mary, Mojito, Irish Coffee, and an Irish Car Bomb. And you hired my ass on the spot. I was so happy getting out of that place, I thought that if I worked there any longer, I was eventually going to catch something just by leaning on something.
Gonzo: Where was I?
Bartender: A place called the Tits 'R Us.
Oh great, I hired a strip club bartender. The snobbiest and most entitled of the bartender world. And while this was ego talking, there was much truth to be garnished from this next statement I made to her...
Gonzo: Well that's fucking great. You don't fucking work there anymore, sweetheart! You work for me now. I'm certain my lawyer's credibility will hold up, but since I am your boss, you will treat me some fucking respect and courtesy. I was not trying to fuck you. I just sometimes forget. Its only been a little over a year, and and only seven months of it has been on my proverbial feet. So I sometimes forget. And I jarred you out of your beauty sleep, but consider this your first and last warning. You ever disrespect me again, and you will know what its like to get thrown the fuck off of a moving bus. UNDERSTAND?!
For the moment, as I saw the look of fear and regret enter her eyes, as she nodded that she understood...
Gonzo: I wanna hear you say it!
Bartender: I-I-I understand...
Consider her spirit crushed if she ever thought she was going to run rampant on me. But I soften the blow with this...
Gonzo: If you play this right, you can get more coverage than any bartender in the United States. Think of all the kinds of shows you could pull off on a dining channel? This is your chance to become a fucking star. Don't fucking blow it by being an asshole. I've spent over half of my life kicking ass for a living, and don't think because you're a woman that if you attack me, I won't kick your fucking ass! You got an anger management issue, you check it at the door, or you take it in the ring. As for drugs...
Bartender: I don't do drugs.
Gonzo: Well that's a bummer. The next thing I was going to say was stay away from my drugs, and do you have any drugs. But that's solved. But help yourself to all the weed you want. That's always up for grabs.
Bartender: Awesome. I don't consider weed a drug.
Gonzo: Well at least we see eye to eye on that. What is your name?
Emily: Emily.
Never met a black girl named Emily before. It was always something that ended with an "a". Like Laquisha, or Deltasha, or Faniqua, or some shit like that. Its kind of like its own class of names for chicks. You got your ghetto names like this, and then you got your white trash names, like Brittney, Chelsea, or any name that you can add Lynn to as a middle name. Like Bobby Lynn, or Suzie Lynn, or Tammy Lynn. And then there's Old Money names, like Eleanor, Ethel, Eunice, Evelyn, Edna, Blanche, Rose, and Agnes. Whatever. A name is just a name. It doesn't define who you are, unless your nickname is "Cleveland Steamer", then yeah, I might reconsider my stance with you. So I say...
Gonzo: Just call me Gonzo or Deuce. Though I might let you get away with Asshole every once in awhile, I wouldn't make a habit of it like today. Remember. Moving bus.
I then managed to find my foot, and I attach it to my leg quickly. I rise, and I go into the living area, where it is occupied by my sleeping lawyer. I nudge him with my foot, and he looks at me and says...
Lazlo: What's up?
Gonzo: What the fuck have we done in the last few days?
Lazlo: You don't remember?
Gonzo: No. Last thing I remember doing lucidly was swimming, after I dropped acid.
Lazlo: No wonder you've been so chill these last few days. Man, it was like you turned a new leaf. But wow, that shit must've hit you hard. Six days, but at least your opponent seems to be a self-obsessed jerk who likes to talk about himself in the third person.
Gonzo: Is he worth a damn in the ring?
Lazlo: He's alright, but he's young, impulsive, and knowing your reputation, and what's at stake, I would guess he might consider cheating to get over you. So you might want to mentally prepare for the possibility to writing a Love Letter during the match.
Gonzo: What's his name?
Lazlo: The young man's name is Ryan Blake. And he's not a very big one. Barely six feet tall, and weighs 180 pounds.
Gonzo: So I should really expect cheating. Just don't ever grab a hold of my dick ever again.
Lazlo: Speaking of that, I've decided that I will be splitting time with you at your matches and at Television, and the rest of the time will be with my family. I'm starting to drift from my girls, and I don't want to let that happen. Eric said he'll do other duties, like ringside stuff or even match negotiations, since he's obviously been able to navigate efficiently and at a good percentage when the buyouts come rolling in. And he's willing to overlook some of your drug use, just as long as you come to the matches sober.
Gonzo: I can't go into matches without drinking a beer. I get angry, and the next thing I know, I break a guy's kneecap, or some shit like that. Hell, I drank five beers that night. One for every opponent. I should've had the last one, and we might've averted this whole thing.
Lazlo: The buyouts for the next events are already sold out. And everything else between here and One is getting to that point as we speak. Shows are selling out up to the end of December. You made some people happy when you stated on Twitter that you would be a fighting champion if you won that title. And you're a centerpiece to this tournament. Not even Johnny Reb, Jay Price, or Jeff Purse are getting that much of a boost. And those guys are former World Champions.
Gonzo: Don't remember writing that, but that sounds like something I would say regardless of my condition. Fuck, even when I was the bad guy, I would still defend the hell out of belts. Had a few short title reigns here and there, but nobody can ever accuse me of being a coward. And titles don't make the wrestler, the wrestler makes the title. And the last reigns have been very lackluster, to say the least. In the last year alone, the people who were the US champ usually wound up leaving shortly after their title reign ends. Although ICE is the exception to this.
Lazlo: Get your mind off of him, and focus on Ryan Blake. We're going to do television, and then get right into the match. I scheduled your television as close as I could to curtain. And its only about an hour before curtain.
Gonzo: I appreciate that. Thanks.
Lazlo: Some people gave up their time slots. People are really pulling for you. Just as long as you follow through on your threat to defend often.
Gonzo: It might be a short reign, but it won't be a cowardly reign, like Jay's was.
Lazlo: Yeah, use that shit on screen.
Gonzo: Maybe I should go all Clint Eastwood on his ass
(Imitating Clint Eastwood) Listen, PUNK! The only thing you are to me is dog shit! And a lot of things can happen to dog shit. It can be stepped on and squashed all over the place, or it can dry up and die, or maybe you wind up getting scraped up off of the sidewalk. So you keep that in mind when the next time the dog shits you!
Lazlo: How many packs of cigarettes did you have to smoke to get your voice to go that deep and gravelly? You were pretty good.
Gonzo: Impersonations are a gift. You either have the ability, or you don't. I got one of Macho Man Randy Savage in heaven.
(Impersonating Randy Savage) Oh yeah! The "Macho Man" Randy Savage is coming to you live from Heaven! We've got an amazing card for you tonight! In the Main Event, its the Triple Threat Match involving Andre The Giant, Big Boss Man, and Big John Studd!
For the ladies, we have my lovely and luscious Missus Savage Elisabeth facing off against my hag-faced ex-manager the Evil Queen Sherri, although on the DL, she gives great helmet!
We also got Curt Hennig facing off against the British Bulldog Davey Boy Smith, with special guest referee, Road Warrior Hawk! And you know he's not going to put up with any of their crap!
And as always, we have a special seat available for Jake "The Snake" Roberts whenever he feels the urge to grace us with his presence!
And, of course, the buzz backstage is the newest arrival to HEAVEN Championship Wrestling, the Ultimate Warrior! He may have buried a lot of hatchets with the living, but I know that myself and a certain Ravishing One would be thrilled at the change to give him the beating he totally deserves! And I know Andre has no love for him, either!
But the only guy that I really want to talk about is HOGAN! I WANT HOGAN! CENTER OF THE RING! IN FRONT OF GOD HIMSELF! EVERY ANGEL IN THE SKY FOCUSED ON THIS ONE, BABY! AND YOU BETTER BRING YOURSELF A PAIR OF MITTENS, BECAUSE I'M TOO HOT TO HANDLE, AND TOO COLD TO HOLD. DIG IT!
Lazlo: Wow! I don't know whether to laugh or be offended. Why wasn't Earthquake in the match of the huge guys? Or Yokozuna? You have something against fat guys?
Gonzo: I put Bossman in there!
Lazlo: Well as cute as all of that shit was, we don't want to overlook him at all.
Gonzo: Who? Ryan Blake? Well, didn't get to see much of him in his match. Hell, it looked like a clusterfuck of non-talented hacks in the ring. Reminded me of my debut here, and that was on Revenge, in my first match. And then the next thing you know, I started slacking off. Now kid, this is strictly business but if you want to play, you better play nice, or I'll etch a Love Letter deep into your heart. You'll never forget it. But make no fucking mistake about this, I will be walking out of this tournament the next United States Champion for the WCF. And you're in my fucking way.
Now I'm sure that by now, you've let a little butt juice squirt out of your backside a little bit at the mere mention of the fact that I'm wrestling you next. Well, with them, the Brady Bunch, it was kind of personal. They disrespected me and fought with dishonor, and they are paying for it, piece, by piece, by piece, as I knock down all their little Legos and I relieve them of a title that made them sort of relevant, even though Jay Omega never got a worthy challenger, or he never accepted a worthy challenger. Bottom line, Jay Omega's reign as the U.S. champion sucks, and the fans deserve a better class of champion. And I am that better class of champion.
So kid, you better be some sort of spectacular and special if you've even remotely think you have a chance, because I don't see it. You got youth, and that's about it. Now I work hard, and you're going to feel like you've been through the meat grinder, but you're going to learn something when I face you, is how good is your defense. You might also learn just how effective is your offense is, but don't worry, many have tried to break me, and all have failed. Don't let my foot fool you. Because if that's the case, some asshole before I was born planted that fucking mine that blew my fucking foot off! And I'm not only walking, but I'm wrestling at a world-class level right now a little over a year after the incident. So give me your best fucking shot, kid. I can take it.
It wasn't supposed to go down this way...
Did I want to send a message to The Pack that I'm not a man to be trifled with? Yes. Was I out there trying to hurt The Pack? Yes, but I was aiming to mostly damage their pride. Did I want to injure Jay Omega and put him out of action? Not so much. If anything, I wanted him to stick around for a bit, so I could relieve him of his hardware, leaving The Pack without any trace of gold. So much for that idea...
And now I'm saddled with the burden of being that guy who "deliberately" injured another competitor in the ring. As if I don't have enough notoriety. Yes, I've injured several people in my time, and ended a career or five in the process, but I was also young, unpolished, and stupid during those times. I thought I was past this shit! Hell, the last time I sent a guy to the hospital, I was right there with the guy! Cage and I beat the hell out of each other, and our goal was to injure each other. That was 2007. Seven years later and it seems that I still have much to learn.
As I walked through the corridors to my dressing room, I find that nobody wants to make eye contact with me. The few who did averted their eyes quickly. I guess nobody else wants to be Jay's roommate at the hospital, and I'm okay with that. Although the one person who probably SHOULD avert their eyes is instead making a beeline towards me, microphone in hand, and a camera right behind him. Hank Brown starts out with...
Hank: Deuce, were you really trying to injure Jay Omega this evening?
Gonzo: I did what every person on The Pack wanted to do to me, I just struck first!
Hank: Yes, but you had him beat! Why did you continue to hold on?
Gonzo: Because I could, and I really wanted to send a message to The Pack! Now did I want to hospitalize someone from The Pack? Abso*******lutely! Did I want to put Jay's ass out of commission long-term? Not so much. I wanted to personally take the last little piece of shiny that The Pack desperately wanted to hold on to so they could stay relevant! So no! I didn't want injure him! But being as he's just as broken down as I am, I shouldn't be surprised that he wound up in the hospital.
Hank: What is your beef with The Pack?
Gonzo: What? Besides the constant disrespect they love to throw around to everyone other than the people who are established ass-kickers? You don't see them barking up Jonny Fly's tree, or Orbit's, and especially not ICE! But me? They think they can f*** with me? Well, who's doing the f****** now, bitches? Huh? HUH!?
Hank: You know that now, The Pack will target you even harder...
Gonzo: They think they can bury me, then be my F****** guest! Many have tried to lay me low, and all have failed. From the battlefield to the wrestling ring, I always get back up. And this is no different! And everyone wants to say, "Oh man, six guys in The Pack! They're going to eat you for lunch!" Horse****! If we want to do this by the numbers, then I say that I have a pretty good winning record against The Pack! They eliminated me at War, and that's all. Who have I defeated? Half of the roster that makes up The Pack, is who I've defeated! And I won't stop until I have the scalps of every last one of those motherf****** on the wall, in my bus!
Now I'm sure you little nitwits are going to come up with something witty and clever to say, or you might just drop all pretenses and admit the danger you put yourselves in. Or you guys are going to go into full-on revenge mode. That's your prerogative. But when you disrespected me, you found out that you just f***** with the wrong man, and I will continue to make you pay for running your mouth until I feel that I've made my point. And that point is you don't toy around with a man who has his own toy store!
I grunt at the camera, as I turned away to go back to my own dressing room. Most of the people had cleared out by now, so the staring was down to a minimum. I think the worst part about all of this is now everyone is going to say that "I don't want to work with Deuce" as a result of this disaster. But at least I put it out there that I didn't deliberately injure Jay, as long as you are able to read between the lines. Yes, I was there to fuck shit up with The Pack, but not in a sense that the guy isn't going to be in the ring anytime soon.
I got to the locker room, and everyone had already cleared out, except for my lawyer. I thank God, or whoever is watching over me, and I drop all pretenses, as I say to Lazlo...
Gonzo: How bad is he?
Lazlo: You dislocated his kneecap, for sure. Doctors are doing MRI's to determine the damage caused internally, but the outlook for him returning anytime soon is kind of bleak.
I flip the training table in anger, before kicking a bench over as I shout obscenities, as Lazlo looks on unfazed. After I gain a semblance of calm, Lazlo then says...
Lazlo: Anything I can do?
Gonzo: Yeah. I want you to make sure that his bills are taken care of. Make it anonymous, though. Last thing I want those fuckers in The Pack to do is play on my guilt. I feel bad enough as it is now that the whole fucking roster is looking at me like I'm a fucking monster.
Lazlo: Fuck what they think! You're not the only guy who hospitalized someone. Jeff Purse put Fly in the hospital tonight. With a steel chair.
Gonzo: At least I'm not that fucking pussy. (Accented) I don't need no stinking chair!
Lazlo chuckled a bit, and the mood lightened up a bit. Lazlo then says...
Lazlo: So pay Omega's hospital bills. Done. And Seth said that after the show, he wanted to speak to you in his office.
Gonzo: Oh, shit... How did he sound?
Lazlo: Couldn't tell. Its not like I could look him in the face and see his emotions.
Gonzo: True. Alright, let's get this ass-reaming over with...
Lazlo: Alright, but first, let's take care of that eye. I've got your staples here...
I grunted, but I put the training bench back in its original position, before sitting down on it, while my lawyer plays doctor with my eye. Five staples later, and some pain that has somehow dulled my emotions about injuring Jay Omega, we departed the locker room for Seth's office. The din of the crowd had died down, indicating that Helloween was unofficially over. I didn't even bother to see who had won. I was beyond that pettiness at this time. And I didn't survive, so it wasn't like I had anything to roost over, other than the fact that The Pack was one member short for the time being.
It didn't take long before we were knocking on Seth's door, and he himself answered the door. He shook hands with Lazlo, before offering me his hand. I shake it, albeit halfheartedly, before he directs us to take a seat. He moved to his side of the desk, as he says...
Seth: Jay is probably out for at least a few weeks. Probably a month. Maybe more, once I get the results from his MRI.
I nod my head, as I look down at the ground. Seth was quick to pick up the emotion, as he says...
Seth: What are you so upset about? You did the WCF a great service tonight! You struck a deafening blow against The Pack, and Jay wasn't doing anything with the U.S. Title, and now you're getting a shot at gold. Big time gold. We're not talking the People's Title, this is the second-biggest title in the WCF! Be happy! Especially after all the shit you said about me this week.
Gonzo: I apologize for not being thrilled at injuring another wrestler. After all, I am a professional, and what happened out there was not professional. I lost control. You should probably suspend me.
Seth: Nonsense! People in wrestling get hurt all the time. Its what you would call an "occupational hazard". I wouldn't worry about it so much. Just go out and smoke some pot or whatever it is you do in that bus... And speaking of the bus, I was thinking of having you do a running segment, where you invite people to your bar that you advertised about a month ago?
Gonzo: I fired my bus driver. He was the bartender. About the only thing I make is a mean White Russian, and an occasional Bloody Mary. I still can't get Mojitos down.
Seth: Well, hire some people! Everyone knows you can afford it.
Gonzo: I don't need to flaunt my money, but if my next bus driver is also a bartender, then I'll consider it.
Seth: Either you hire one, or I hire one for you. And I won't give a shit if you like the person or not.
I sigh, as I sinks deeper and deeper in the chair, before I say...
Gonzo: Fine, I'll get a damn bartender. Anything else?
Seth: You can be a little grateful for the opportunities that I've laid out for you...
Gonzo: Oh, so you mean this is the part where you want me to kiss your ass! Well, how does it feel to want?
I get to my feet, as I say...
Gonzo: Thank you Seth, for affording me these opportunities, even though most people would probably suspend me for what happened tonight. But I do have to say that if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have a job, and I'd probably be sitting in a trailer somewhere in New Mexico, with a fresh shotgun blast to the face. So thank you.
I got to my feet and walked out of the office. Lazlo follows me after a few moments, probably trying to smooth things over with Lazlo, before he meets me outside of his office, and we head to the bus. Lazlo then says...
Lazlo: Be careful with him, man. I don't know what you're thinking talking to him like that.
Gonzo: Look, I'm nobody's bitch. Seth is no exception. If that lillywhite asshole wants someone to tongue his asshole, he can get some fresh rookie to do it. I may be new around here, but I've paid my fucking dues and then some. And don't you ever fucking forget it.
Lazlo: Okay, I get it. But if you don't let up on him, he's going to make your life suck. And I may not be around to stop it.
Gonzo: My lawyer and agent wants to bail? Is that what I'm hearing?
Lazlo: I got shit going on at home, man. As much as I'd love to stay and all...
Gonzo: Just when shit is getting interesting, and my career is going in the right direction, and the royalty checks are rolling in.
Lazlo: Well, the ball is already rolling. I've talked to Eric Price, and he...
I stopped dead in my tracks. Eric Price? Slicky E?
Gonzo: Are you fucking kidding me? Guy's a total teetotaler! Don't get me wrong, he's alright, but HIM?
Lazlo: He said he's willing to overlook it, as long as you maintain some sort of professionalism...
Gonzo: I'm stone fucking sober right now, and you don't know how close I am to ripping your fucking heart out. No, I take that back, because I think you lost your heart. And your balls!
Lazlo rears back, and I stand still for him, as I say...
Gonzo: Go ahead. Fucking hit me. Then get the fuck out of my life, if all you want to do is run away! Pussy...
Lazlo stops for a moment, then he fires off a punch, in, of all fucking places, my bad eye! I curse rather loudly, as I found my feet, both artificial and real, buckle underneath of me. I grab the wall for support, and I turn around, waiting for another one, but instead, all I see is his back, as he's walking away from me. Then the flash, I saw how enraged the wolf inside of him was. I figured it was time to oblige the wolf. I race to catch up, as he turns and says...
Lazlo: You want another one, asshole?
Gonzo: Outside, fucker! YOU AND ME! You think you can take me? Well come on, chunky britches! LET'S GO!
Lazlo: Are you calling me fat?
Gonzo: No, I called you chunky britches, you fat tub of lard!
Lazlo: I'll still take your cracker-ass down, fat or not!
Gonzo: Well, race to it, camel jockey!
We continue to trade insults about our heritage, moms, implied incest and bestiality, and favored sports teams, before we finally take it out into what appeared to be a loading dock. This place was just as good as any to throw the fuck down. I snapped off a few jabs, before he swung wildly with a haymaker. He didn't land the punch, but he caught me around the shoulders, and pulled me off of my feet.
We rolled around on the ground like schoolchildren, swinging wildly at each other, before he finally managed to stop the roll, as we got to the bottom of the loading dock. He had passed my guard, so unless I did something drastic, I was fucked. I grabbed him by his hair, and yanked him off of me, as I assumed the top position, in his guard. I surpassed his guard by clawing at his midsection, literally, before he curled up. I beat on him, before he hits me low. Like, testicles low. And then he hit me there again, and then applied a genital claw. I instinctively grabbed him by the throat. Not the neck, like you see all those clowns on television do when they're trying to choke someone. No, I'm talking Scent of a Woman, blind Al Pacino grabbing that asshole by the throat with what he called the "Ranger Choke". He immediately let go, as he knows what could happen next. And I know he knows, because I showed him how to do this move, and he's used it himself. I then say...
Gonzo: Are you done? Blink twice for yes...
He blinks twice, and I let him go and quickly back off. I'd pissed off the monster within him, and I knew that he or I would be staying at the hotel tonight, and the other would be on the bus. He then says...
Lazlo: Fuck! This was my favorite suit...
Gonzo: You still quitting? I still gotta hire some people...
Lazlo just shakes his head, and waves his hand at me, as he says...
Lazlo: I'm going back to the bus. Fuck today, man...
As much as I hated him right now, he was right. Today was a fuck of a day. First I go back to the bus after being kidnapped in the wee hours of the morning, before I did a jog around Mall of America to settle my nerves. Even in the wee hours, I drew the attention of the early risers/fans. It is kind of strange to see a guy in a multicolored toboggan, hunting vest, jean shorts, and flight deck boots jogging, regardless of what time of the day it is. I eventually gave up on the pipe dream of making it around the mall once, and caught a shuttle back to my bus.
I then injure one of the members of a group that I've had issues with since War. Granted, I wanted to send a message, and that message was sent, but with WAY more juice than I wanted to send it with. I'm just waiting now for them to come out of the woodwork and attack me somewhere down the line. And the way I feel now, I could give a shit. Take your best shot, assholes! I'm like motherfucking "Rooster". Ain't found a way to kill me yet, but you come to snuff old Rooster. Well, come at me, already! What the fuck are you waiting for?
I go back to the bus to grab my shit and head for a hotel. Z won't go anywhere if I'm not on the bus, so I pack a bag and head for a hotel. And I think I know the hotel to go to...
Trust and Promises
(Special Guest Star: "Macho Man" Randy Savage )
I knock on the door of the hotel room, with bag in my hand. It's a little late, but I'm sure I can get her attention. She was always at her best when the sun went down.
I heard her footfalls as they approached the door, then I heard the bar get removed, before she opens the door wearing an old, oversized Alan Jackson t-shirt. I laugh as I say...
Gonzo: You still have that ratty-ass old t-shirt?
Ryann: I've had this longer than your wrestling career, and its comfortable. What do you want? And why do you have your bag?
Gonzo: Long story short, Z and I got into a fight. Business stuff, mostly.
Ryann: I bet he wasn't thrilled that you hurt that guy in the ring.
Gonzo: You know I don't injure people on purpose in the ring. I got blackballed for that shit once.
Ryann: Yeah, and you're the only guy that I've seen that's been able to overcome it, twice.
Gonzo: First time was luck and time. Second time, well, let's not go there. How did Taylor react?
Ryann: She got a little scared. You looked like a psychotic madman in there. And you pulled out your stitches. Jesus, George.
Gonzo: Well, I got staples now, and Z really drove them in. Now I got fucking pits in my skull.
Ryann: So if the fight wasn't about the injury...
Gonzo: Z wants to get off the road, but this is such a bad time for that shit. I got shit with five people now who want to crucify me, and I'm a little concerned about the management that he wants to place me with.
Ryann: Eric Price?
Gonzo: Yeah, how did you know?
Ryann: He talked to me about whether or not I want to go back out on the road. I told him I have a tour to get ready for in December, and I think my days in the ring are over. After Jax, I just couldn't take it anymore. And you were right. Falling in love complicates shit.
Gonzo: No kidding. So can I take the couch?
Ryann: What? You don't wanna encore performance?
Gonzo: I was nuts balling you before a big event, and now that I'm sore, like REALLY sore, I don't even want to try. I just want a few cocktails before I attempt to go to sleep.
Ryann: Oh, and thanks a lot, asshole! I know you jacked all of the booze. Left me with beer and Hypnotiq, you jerk!
Gonzo: I thought you would appreciate that. Remember when you and I took everything from half the WCWF roster? Bill was so pissed, and Mikey, too. And you got so trashed off of the Hypnotiq bottles. You drank them all!
Ryann: Oh yeah... That was the first time you were nice enough to hold my hair up while I talked to Ralph on the big white telephone. Thank God you never asked me to do that shit.
Gonzo: Not so much a sympathetic vomiter. And thank God Taylor is out of diapers. If I had to change one of those, then maybe I'll throw up. Remember the guy by the Humvee I told you about that got hit by .50 caliber machine gun fire through the genital areas? Yeah, he was carrying a heavy load when he went. All I could smell was shit and blood. Only time I vomited during combat.
Ryann: Well, you're weird like that. But that doesn't stop me from caring...
Gonzo: Stop...
And then set in the awkward silence.
I didn't want to get her hopes up on anything. As much as I still loved her, I can't trust her. And I probably won't ever trust her again. The only reason why I keep in some sort of contact with her is because of Taylor, and even that is tenuous at best. Hell, she saw Daddy go ape shit on a guy in the ring, damn near twisting the bottom part of a guy's leg off in the process. With a smile on his face, no less. I wonder what she'll think of me next, and then I realize this is probably the first time in my life that I honestly give a shit about what someone thinks of me. Well, maybe the first person since I generally stopped giving a fuck about what everyone thought about me.
And then Ryann says...
Ryann: I don't get you, sometimes. You came in here last night, saying the sweetest things about us, only to find you gone and my minibar raided. Then you come knocking on my door asking for a sleepover, only to just crush me in mid-sentence.
Gonzo: Do I look like a guy that's ready for a commitment? Seriously, look at me. I dress like an asshole, and I do it on purpose so people are apprehensive about coming up to me. And now EVERYONE comes up to me. I'm not used to this shit.
Ryann: Well, you were always a great heel. It was kind of weird hearing the crowd cheer for you like that. You used to do the same thing, with the look in your eyes, and people would throw shit at you.
Gonzo: Yeah, I remember Springfield, Massachusetts. A fucking whiskey bottle to the head. Started wrestling in a lot of cage matches after that...
Ryann: Its still fucking weird... I want to be so mad at you right now...
Gonzo: Don't get mad at me. You're the one who ended it when you went to him. And yet here I am, trying like hell to remain on friendly terms with you, and you're trying to get back into my good graces. Just as things are looking up for me, no less. I've got to think you're just trying to use me, abuse me, and then lose me again. I'm not going on that fucking ride again. And fucking shame on you if you're using Taylor as a reason to get close to me. But if you want to get mad at someone, go look in a fucking mirror and get mad at that person.
I'll be on the fucking couch...
I go to walk past her in the corridor, when he all of a sudden, in a high-pitched voice, says...
Ryann: You know what? Get the fuck out of here! I don't give a fuck where you sleep, but you are no longer my concern! Asshole!
And then she kicks me in the dick. Literally. My balls were taking a beating tonight, and not of the pleasant type at all! Give me a scrotum stretching anyday, just quit assaulting my balls!
Gonzo: Ah, bitch, I could kill you now... Ahh... You're fucking lucky you're the mother of my child, or I'd turn your red-headed twat into a fucking grease spot right now...
She was not responding, but rather heaving my ass out of the door, slamming the door into my head as she opens the door. I grab my bag and get out of the door before she starts stomping me. I get out the door and regain my feet, just as I see her slam the door in my face.
Well, so much for that...
This was turning into the night of absolute Hell for me! I haven't had my ass kicked this bad since 2009. GODDAMN THAT FUCKING WOMAN! GODDAMN EVERY MOTHERFUCKER ON THE PLANET EARTH RIGHT THE FUCK NOW! Is there no escape from all of the leeches and scumbags who just want to make money off of you? Or live comfortably doing nothing because of you? Am I that fucking horrible of a person that people only associate with me while I'm successful, and they walk away when I am not? I feel as if I don't have a real friend in the world right now. I feel lower than whale shit right now.
Even my parents are shitty like this. The only times I ever heard from my mother was to ask for money on occasion. Yet when I need something, its "Oh, I gotta ask Joe", to which I usually get a big "Fuck you, handle it yourself, superstar!" Yes, this is the person who, after I dragged my stepfather off of her, and beat his ass into a state of unconsciousness after nearly choking her to death, went out and found this asshole, after a year and a half of practically leaving me to my own devices. I used to say that I left home at 16, but she practically left me when the threat of step-dad was over when I was 14. She used me to get over him, and then abandoned me when I proved to be seemingly useless. At least until the next time she needs something from me. And it's been rather, rinse, and repeat with almost every goddamn woman I've ever let into my life. Like I'm a fucking glutton for punishment.
And Rick the Dick, my step-dad, would always try to angle in on some semblance of fame by claiming to be his biggest martial arts influence as far as instruction was concerned. In reality, I was just a punching bag to him. If anything, that's why I'm able to take the beatings like I can, because the child was put in a cage and poked with a stick until it became monster enough to take that stick away and stuff it up his ass. In reality, I had not spoken to him for 13 years, until he called me to his deathbed. While some matters were resolved, others were not. Yet he still left me with half of his estate, which was worth much more than I had ever imagined. After all, he was always a building maintenance/custodian guy, and everyone makes jokes, but I guess he made some serious cashish sweeping floors and teaching people how to fight. And he ran an electrical business, which was where most of his money derived from. Well, he did have a stroke on a ladder while installing a fan. I was surprised the old bastard hung on as long as he did.
And my real father, probably one of the few people in the world that has always bet against me. It was like he had something against me from the very start. I honestly think the only reason he taught me how to wrestle was because, once again, I find a male role model who just wants to kick my ass all the time. And the bad part is, I didn't pick these assholes! My asshole mother did! I WAS RAISED BY ASSHOLES!!!
Is this why I'm so fucking angry all of the time? Between that and the burden of how I tried to quell that anger have put me in this place right now. I want to blame the people so bad. Those people who turned me into this asshole. But I played right into it. Much like my grandfather before me, who he himself had been married seven times, and produced 17 children as a result of those marriages, and who knows how many potentially out of wedlock. But nobody in my family ever thinks of that. He was drafted into service shortly after Pearl Harbor, and stayed on for the duration of the war, and even into Korea. His military career was cut short, due to Type II Diabetes. He bounced around, unable to ever find himself a woman to that would accept him for who he was and love him despite his successes or failures, to include my grandmother, who he all but wrote out of his final will and testament because of her unfaithfulness at the end of his life. I guess that fucked my mom up a bit, being the youngest of their children.
I too, have crashed and burned on numerous occasions. I never really had the opportunity to have a "high school sweetheart", and the vast majority of my knowledge of sex comes mostly from pornographic movies and personal research. Especially on STD's, when I was hitting on this one chick, and the other wrestlers warned me that she would give me the clap, or worse, and I had no clue what the fuck the clap was. When I did find someone that loved me back, someone took that away from me for doing my job. I extracted my revenge, but it didn't make me feel any better. The life of Frank Castle was not one that I cared to take on, especially when there were so many loud-mouthed, overblown assholes in professional wrestling. I would always rather tell a story than be the story, because being a story in today's world usually has some sort of negative connotations. TMZ, anybody?
And now my lawyer wants to leave. I'm getting entrenched into some deep shit and he wants to bail. Lazlo has finally lost his balls, and he's turning his back on one of his oldest friends for a woman he stays married to only because of the kids. And he's done quite well for himself on the road since we kicked this moving party off. And I told him this was what was going to happen with an arranged marriage in the United States. Bitch had attitude, and I knew something about that first-hand. I even think she went so far as to sleep with me just to try and get him to call it off, even though she claims she didn't know how close I was to Z. There it is again! Getting used by people to hurt other people.
Fuck my life...
How long have I been sitting out here? I grab my bag and make my way down to the lobby, where I check my ass into a room for the night. Once I got to my room, I proceeded to clear out the entire minibar, to include the wine coolers, but there wasn't enough alcohol in the world to get me drunk enough. I decided to try and pull myself out of this funk, so I dropped some acid and went swimming. It felt as though I was in my environment again. I was comfortable in the water. If there could be a wrestling match that could be held underwater, I'd be part of it in a heartbeat. I had to haggle with the security officer, since I would be swimming after hours, but after greasing his palm with $100, and getting recognized despite the fact that almost half my body is a burnt wreck, I got to have my way with the pool.
I came to for a little bit, as I found myself on the bus again, with Lazlo at the wheel, and I was on his usual sofa/bed. There were shrimp cocktail rings and Bloody Mary's all over the table, and a guy that I had never seen before in my life. He was saying something about butterscotch pudding to what sounded like a child, by the tone of his voice. I passed out again, in my mind, at least. Then I found myself in what seemed to be my bus, but instead of the large bed, there was now two single bed in this room, as what appeared to be a prostitute was lying on the bed opposite of me. Why I thought prostitute, I have no clue. But Z was always a fan of black girls, but they were not big fans of him, so he sometimes had to pay for their company. The best gift I ever gave him was four black hookers for two hours in San Juan. Granted, I was $3,200 lighter in the pockets, but he had fun. He returned the favor, only he managed to find the only redheaded Puerto Ricans willing to fuck, and there was only three of them, but damn I had fun, too! Again, I found myself unwilling to confront this issue, and I rolled over.
Just out of curiosity, I look at the date on my watch, and it read November 1, 2014. Jesus fuck! I'd been out of it for six days? Was I on auto-pilot? Or have I been here the whole time? On the bus? Partying? I got to my feet, and found myself falling on the hooker in the bed. My head lands on her stomach, and she says...
Hooker: The fuck! OW!
And then she swats me in the ear, which didn't feel very pleasant. I had forgotten that somewhere down the line, I must've taken my foot off before I went to sleep. At least she quit slapping me when she sees why I landed on her, to which she simply says...
Hooker: Moron!
Gonzo: Who the fuck are you, bitch?
Hooker: Bitch? Really?
Gonzo: Yeah, who the fuck are you?
Hooker: Who the fuck are you trying to get up on me, nigga? I'm only here to sling the drinks! That's what you told me. That, and you were going to pay my ass $4,000 a month to do practically nothing compared to the shitty place I used to sling drinks at...
Oh shit... This wasn't a hooker... I must've been busy being an unconscious motherfucker. I guess I hired a bartender who either dresses like a slut or used to work at slutty places. Or was that the wardrobe samples that were sent by WCF? Are they trying to assassinate my character, or is she?
Gonzo: When the fuck did I say this shit? You know contracts are null and void when under the influence of alcohol or drugs. You know that, right?
Bitchy Bartender: Your lawyer wasn't drunk, and he signed that this contract was in your best interest. And I worked my ass off for you. You said I was the only bitch or motherfucker that was on point with all of your chosen drinks.
Gonzo: So what exactly did I drink?
Bartender: A White Russian, Bloody Mary, Mojito, Irish Coffee, and an Irish Car Bomb. And you hired my ass on the spot. I was so happy getting out of that place, I thought that if I worked there any longer, I was eventually going to catch something just by leaning on something.
Gonzo: Where was I?
Bartender: A place called the Tits 'R Us.
Oh great, I hired a strip club bartender. The snobbiest and most entitled of the bartender world. And while this was ego talking, there was much truth to be garnished from this next statement I made to her...
Gonzo: Well that's fucking great. You don't fucking work there anymore, sweetheart! You work for me now. I'm certain my lawyer's credibility will hold up, but since I am your boss, you will treat me some fucking respect and courtesy. I was not trying to fuck you. I just sometimes forget. Its only been a little over a year, and and only seven months of it has been on my proverbial feet. So I sometimes forget. And I jarred you out of your beauty sleep, but consider this your first and last warning. You ever disrespect me again, and you will know what its like to get thrown the fuck off of a moving bus. UNDERSTAND?!
For the moment, as I saw the look of fear and regret enter her eyes, as she nodded that she understood...
Gonzo: I wanna hear you say it!
Bartender: I-I-I understand...
Consider her spirit crushed if she ever thought she was going to run rampant on me. But I soften the blow with this...
Gonzo: If you play this right, you can get more coverage than any bartender in the United States. Think of all the kinds of shows you could pull off on a dining channel? This is your chance to become a fucking star. Don't fucking blow it by being an asshole. I've spent over half of my life kicking ass for a living, and don't think because you're a woman that if you attack me, I won't kick your fucking ass! You got an anger management issue, you check it at the door, or you take it in the ring. As for drugs...
Bartender: I don't do drugs.
Gonzo: Well that's a bummer. The next thing I was going to say was stay away from my drugs, and do you have any drugs. But that's solved. But help yourself to all the weed you want. That's always up for grabs.
Bartender: Awesome. I don't consider weed a drug.
Gonzo: Well at least we see eye to eye on that. What is your name?
Emily: Emily.
Never met a black girl named Emily before. It was always something that ended with an "a". Like Laquisha, or Deltasha, or Faniqua, or some shit like that. Its kind of like its own class of names for chicks. You got your ghetto names like this, and then you got your white trash names, like Brittney, Chelsea, or any name that you can add Lynn to as a middle name. Like Bobby Lynn, or Suzie Lynn, or Tammy Lynn. And then there's Old Money names, like Eleanor, Ethel, Eunice, Evelyn, Edna, Blanche, Rose, and Agnes. Whatever. A name is just a name. It doesn't define who you are, unless your nickname is "Cleveland Steamer", then yeah, I might reconsider my stance with you. So I say...
Gonzo: Just call me Gonzo or Deuce. Though I might let you get away with Asshole every once in awhile, I wouldn't make a habit of it like today. Remember. Moving bus.
I then managed to find my foot, and I attach it to my leg quickly. I rise, and I go into the living area, where it is occupied by my sleeping lawyer. I nudge him with my foot, and he looks at me and says...
Lazlo: What's up?
Gonzo: What the fuck have we done in the last few days?
Lazlo: You don't remember?
Gonzo: No. Last thing I remember doing lucidly was swimming, after I dropped acid.
Lazlo: No wonder you've been so chill these last few days. Man, it was like you turned a new leaf. But wow, that shit must've hit you hard. Six days, but at least your opponent seems to be a self-obsessed jerk who likes to talk about himself in the third person.
Gonzo: Is he worth a damn in the ring?
Lazlo: He's alright, but he's young, impulsive, and knowing your reputation, and what's at stake, I would guess he might consider cheating to get over you. So you might want to mentally prepare for the possibility to writing a Love Letter during the match.
Gonzo: What's his name?
Lazlo: The young man's name is Ryan Blake. And he's not a very big one. Barely six feet tall, and weighs 180 pounds.
Gonzo: So I should really expect cheating. Just don't ever grab a hold of my dick ever again.
Lazlo: Speaking of that, I've decided that I will be splitting time with you at your matches and at Television, and the rest of the time will be with my family. I'm starting to drift from my girls, and I don't want to let that happen. Eric said he'll do other duties, like ringside stuff or even match negotiations, since he's obviously been able to navigate efficiently and at a good percentage when the buyouts come rolling in. And he's willing to overlook some of your drug use, just as long as you come to the matches sober.
Gonzo: I can't go into matches without drinking a beer. I get angry, and the next thing I know, I break a guy's kneecap, or some shit like that. Hell, I drank five beers that night. One for every opponent. I should've had the last one, and we might've averted this whole thing.
Lazlo: The buyouts for the next events are already sold out. And everything else between here and One is getting to that point as we speak. Shows are selling out up to the end of December. You made some people happy when you stated on Twitter that you would be a fighting champion if you won that title. And you're a centerpiece to this tournament. Not even Johnny Reb, Jay Price, or Jeff Purse are getting that much of a boost. And those guys are former World Champions.
Gonzo: Don't remember writing that, but that sounds like something I would say regardless of my condition. Fuck, even when I was the bad guy, I would still defend the hell out of belts. Had a few short title reigns here and there, but nobody can ever accuse me of being a coward. And titles don't make the wrestler, the wrestler makes the title. And the last reigns have been very lackluster, to say the least. In the last year alone, the people who were the US champ usually wound up leaving shortly after their title reign ends. Although ICE is the exception to this.
Lazlo: Get your mind off of him, and focus on Ryan Blake. We're going to do television, and then get right into the match. I scheduled your television as close as I could to curtain. And its only about an hour before curtain.
Gonzo: I appreciate that. Thanks.
Lazlo: Some people gave up their time slots. People are really pulling for you. Just as long as you follow through on your threat to defend often.
Gonzo: It might be a short reign, but it won't be a cowardly reign, like Jay's was.
Lazlo: Yeah, use that shit on screen.
Gonzo: Maybe I should go all Clint Eastwood on his ass
(Imitating Clint Eastwood) Listen, PUNK! The only thing you are to me is dog shit! And a lot of things can happen to dog shit. It can be stepped on and squashed all over the place, or it can dry up and die, or maybe you wind up getting scraped up off of the sidewalk. So you keep that in mind when the next time the dog shits you!
Lazlo: How many packs of cigarettes did you have to smoke to get your voice to go that deep and gravelly? You were pretty good.
Gonzo: Impersonations are a gift. You either have the ability, or you don't. I got one of Macho Man Randy Savage in heaven.
(Impersonating Randy Savage) Oh yeah! The "Macho Man" Randy Savage is coming to you live from Heaven! We've got an amazing card for you tonight! In the Main Event, its the Triple Threat Match involving Andre The Giant, Big Boss Man, and Big John Studd!
For the ladies, we have my lovely and luscious Missus Savage Elisabeth facing off against my hag-faced ex-manager the Evil Queen Sherri, although on the DL, she gives great helmet!
We also got Curt Hennig facing off against the British Bulldog Davey Boy Smith, with special guest referee, Road Warrior Hawk! And you know he's not going to put up with any of their crap!
And as always, we have a special seat available for Jake "The Snake" Roberts whenever he feels the urge to grace us with his presence!
And, of course, the buzz backstage is the newest arrival to HEAVEN Championship Wrestling, the Ultimate Warrior! He may have buried a lot of hatchets with the living, but I know that myself and a certain Ravishing One would be thrilled at the change to give him the beating he totally deserves! And I know Andre has no love for him, either!
But the only guy that I really want to talk about is HOGAN! I WANT HOGAN! CENTER OF THE RING! IN FRONT OF GOD HIMSELF! EVERY ANGEL IN THE SKY FOCUSED ON THIS ONE, BABY! AND YOU BETTER BRING YOURSELF A PAIR OF MITTENS, BECAUSE I'M TOO HOT TO HANDLE, AND TOO COLD TO HOLD. DIG IT!
Lazlo: Wow! I don't know whether to laugh or be offended. Why wasn't Earthquake in the match of the huge guys? Or Yokozuna? You have something against fat guys?
Gonzo: I put Bossman in there!
Lazlo: Well as cute as all of that shit was, we don't want to overlook him at all.
Gonzo: Who? Ryan Blake? Well, didn't get to see much of him in his match. Hell, it looked like a clusterfuck of non-talented hacks in the ring. Reminded me of my debut here, and that was on Revenge, in my first match. And then the next thing you know, I started slacking off. Now kid, this is strictly business but if you want to play, you better play nice, or I'll etch a Love Letter deep into your heart. You'll never forget it. But make no fucking mistake about this, I will be walking out of this tournament the next United States Champion for the WCF. And you're in my fucking way.
Now I'm sure that by now, you've let a little butt juice squirt out of your backside a little bit at the mere mention of the fact that I'm wrestling you next. Well, with them, the Brady Bunch, it was kind of personal. They disrespected me and fought with dishonor, and they are paying for it, piece, by piece, by piece, as I knock down all their little Legos and I relieve them of a title that made them sort of relevant, even though Jay Omega never got a worthy challenger, or he never accepted a worthy challenger. Bottom line, Jay Omega's reign as the U.S. champion sucks, and the fans deserve a better class of champion. And I am that better class of champion.
So kid, you better be some sort of spectacular and special if you've even remotely think you have a chance, because I don't see it. You got youth, and that's about it. Now I work hard, and you're going to feel like you've been through the meat grinder, but you're going to learn something when I face you, is how good is your defense. You might also learn just how effective is your offense is, but don't worry, many have tried to break me, and all have failed. Don't let my foot fool you. Because if that's the case, some asshole before I was born planted that fucking mine that blew my fucking foot off! And I'm not only walking, but I'm wrestling at a world-class level right now a little over a year after the incident. So give me your best fucking shot, kid. I can take it.