Post by jacksoncaine on Jul 10, 2018 22:43:38 GMT -5
“Whatever Makes You Happy...Whatever You Want..
You’re so Fucking Special..I Wish I Was Special..
But I’m a Creep..I’m a Weirdo…
What the hell am I doing here? I don’t Belong Here..
I don’t Belong Here…”
Its a warm, sunny day in Los Angeles.A scan across the skyline reveals why people spend their whole lives dreaming about being here. A breeze rustles palm trees along La Cienega Boulevard as a Bentley cruises through an affluent neighborhood. For the poor, it is also a place of belonging, as, just over the hill from affluence and luxury, children in their swimsuits run around a modest yard in front of a modest house playing a game only they know truly the object of with a garden sprinkler, while their parents sit on the house steps, feeling richer than those folks just over the hill watching their children. Los Angeles is a city of opposites; light and dark, rich and poor, the famous and the infamous. People are quite the same way; underneath their sometimes heavily constructed social veneer lies layers they themselves only know. Los Angeles is a city of liars, a city of appearances, and the perfect city for Jackson Caine to call home.
Chapter 1: The Apology
Judging by the way the sun shone through french doors leading to the balcony of Jackson Caine’s luxury apartment, to quote the immortal Dishwalla, must have been late afternoon. Jackson Caine lounges on a black sofa in black and grey pajama pants and no shirt. Since his suspension, Jackson has undergone a noticeable change in appearance. His hair is a little longer, necessitating the need to push it from his face repeatedly as he stares intently at his Television screen. What is displayed on this 40” marvel of modern technology is a match from WCF Blast where Bonnie Blue and David Sanchez attempt to defend their Tag Team Titles. Jackson grabs his small remote, presses pause and replays a moment of the match. One may think this was a moment where Bonnie may have provided a nip slip or some other physical evidence that she was all woman. Many in the WCF would have expected Jackson to masturbate right there, but no. Jackson paused and replayed a scene of Bonnie performing a wrestling maneuver and having it reversed. Jackson picks up a notepad and writes some notes down, then proceeds to turn the match back on full tilt. Just then A knock on the door.
Who is it?
WCF Camera Crew to record your formal apology.
Shit, that was today?
Jackson turns off the television and runs into his bedroom, returning buttoning up a white dress shirt, because thats what he was told to wear. He opens the door; the crew that enters consists of a cameraman, a lighting and mic duo, some equipment, and a greasy looking guy in a suit who flashes his fake smile at Jackson, shaking his hand as if to prove a point.
Mark Meadows..Image Consultant..I am here on behalf of Corey Black..
I know..In fact everyone knows who you are. And we aim to make it so that they like you a little more..
Jackson shook his head. This was unfamiliar territory for him; After all, it was only a short time ago that Jackson Caine destroyed a dressing room in a fit of rage, which led to his suspension. From that day, Jackson had taken to social media to address his frustrations until recently when he was instructed to delete his Twitter page due to what was called in the phone call “Inappropriate badgering of the talent”. This comment stung, for Jackson had given up everything he had known to pursue professional wrestling in the greatest organization of its kind in the world, and it never occurred to them to use the term “fellow talent”. It was then his ego burned like magnesium. The sting of pride. The sting of failure. Things he had never dealt with before were now rearing their collective heads in his psyche and for the first time in his life, Jackson knew he had to buckle down.
So, over here is okay?
Yes, we just have to get the lighting right and set up.
Jackson sat forward. Another feeling he was not used to was the sting of nervousness. He fidgited slightly, jostling one leg up and down. He looked around not unlike a confused animal. Soon, the cameras were on Jackson, Mark standing behind the lighting rig with a big smile on his orange, tanned face. One man held cue cards out of sight of the camera but to where it would appear Jackson was speaking directly into the lens. The man holding a boom mic counted with his fingers, and then with a point, Jackson started reading.
To the current and former employees of the WCF, management, and most importantly to the fans of the WCF, I want to offer my sincerest apologies for my behavior since becoming a part of the WCF roster. I have embarrassed my family, those few that I call friends, and above all, the talent and management of the WCF. In an effort to make things right, I am here to reveal that I have begun to attend anger management and rehabilitation courses for alcoholism and anti social behavior. I also want to thank the management of the WCF for allowing me to continue in their employ during this time, and I look forward to competing with the gr...wait what?
You want me to call her “THE GREAT” Bonnie Blue? What the fuck is this?
Mark was angry, as evidenced in his pursed lips and trite demeanor.
I don’t think you understand your position Mr. Caine..You have absolutely ZERO leverage. You are nothing but an irritant! You don’t win matches, you destroy property which costs Mr. Black money! And furthermore, your promos are vomit inducing pieces of snuff porn which shouldn’t be viewed by anyone with half a brain! Oh, and fans? THEY LOATHE YOU! Yet Mr. Black, in his infinite wisdom, has entrusted ME to attempt to rehabilitate you into something that resembles PALATABLE! NOW YOUR GOING TO READ THE FUCKING APOLOGY AS ITS WRITTEN OR ELSE YOU’RE GONNA BE BUSTED DOWN TO CATERING BEFORE YOU CAN SAY BOO!
Now normally, Jackson would have taken this overgrown cloved orange, removed his head with his bare hands, and shoved it straight up his ass so he could taste his lunch twice. But it was different now. Jacksons fists clenched, he sat back down..
TAKE IT FROM THE TOP! AND GET IT RIGHT THIS TIME YOU FUCKING JOBBER!
…...and I look forward to facing the Great Bonnie Blue at XIII! Tune in to XIII Presented by WCF and Corey Black this weekend, its two nights of great action coming your way on the WCF Network!
Jackson flashed his fakest smile and pointed at the camera. After the lights and camera went down, Jackson walked out to his balcony. Mark followed him, being sure to keep a safe distance while Jackson lit a cigarette from a box on the balcony railing.
Great! Hey man, I’m sorry about what I said
No you’re not. And its fine. I get it. I wouldn’t want to work with me either.
As Jackson looked over the beautiful downtown L.A. Skyline, he couldn’t help but be somewhat proud of his restraint. The sooner they were gone, the better. Mark kept trying to play good cop. Jackson never looked his way.
So, I was thinking, we could meet once a week. Mr. Black has me on retainer to help you because he feels you have immense talent waiting to be unlocked. And I am here to make sure it happens, and make sure you get over.
Fine..Give me a call after XIII..I’m all yours..
Splendid! Well, looks like the boys and I are gonna..
Just then, a commotion at the front door. A man, with a bald head, haggard features and aviator sunglasses that complimented his Armani suit had just dispatched two members of the camera crew into the hallway. He took off his sunglasses and stared directly at Mark and Jackson..
You’re in my apartment.
Excuse me, who are you?
The man approaches slowly with a slight limp, and speaks as he approaches.
That is none of your concern. Your only concern is your well being if you don’t leave my fucking apartment.
Mark went pale, as though he had seen a ghost.
Mr. Black will hear about this! And I’m sure John..
John Rabid..yeah, he’s gonna be pissed. Speaking of which, you may want to ask my friend Charles for a new pair of pants..It appears you’ve spilled yourself..
With that, Mark runs for the door, partially ashamed, partially terrified. The man walks up to Jackson, who bears a look of confusion and wonder..The next question he asks, he knows the answer to.
And who exactly are you?
Call me Arch…
Chapter 2: Slings and Arrows
It is evening. Since his appearance, Arch has graced Jackson with quite a few tales of WCF debauchery..
..So after Dethfort..
Yeah, they said I died of Cancer, and kayfabe wrote me off as a hero at Dethfort. Least they could have done.
So..they actually replaced you with someone else?
Yeah..Like 4 somebodies..I tell you this place is fucked up.
Both men take shots from a shared tequila bottle; Jackson to deal with the amount of information Arch has given him, and Arch to forget.
So thats why I came Jackson. I’ve been following the WCF since I left. Oh, and the real reason I left you asked earlier? CTE..I once fought in the King of the Deathmatch tournament, which left me broken physically, and mentally. I should have never continued but I kept going. Apparently, I’m walking around with the body and brain of a 70 year old.
Jackson took a moment to process this information. An amazing litany of creative missteps and failures had left this man in a state of decay.
Well, you look like you’re doing allright.
Yeah, I took back control of my company, SlamCast. My brain is still okay enough to run it for a while, but I’m looking at an early retirement whether I like it or not. Which is why I came to talk to you..
Jackson arose from the sofa and started pacing.
If you are coming here to try and talk me into quitting..
Arch rose, hands in a defensive yet calming position in front of him.
Relax Jackson. I’d never do that. I know you’ve dedicated your life to this field. I’m here to help you. Give you some perspective as to what you are dealing with, and introduce you to my friends the Santino Brothers down the street to help you with the wrestling aspect. Though, you were taught by another personal friend of mine, so I’m not sure what else you can pick up.
Jackson continued to pace.
Arch..I thank you for this, for the liquor, and for the good stories. But you don’t..
Understand? You think not, huh? After all I told you, you think I don’t know what its like to be fucked by the brass? Heres where I went wrong; I tried to take them head on. You’ll never win that way. The only way you win with these jackals is in the ring. Its the one thing they can’t twist. Results are history. Results are fact. And you’re results they..they aren’t that good.
Jackson paused for a moment and his head bowed before he straightened up and walked out into the cool air of the Los Angeles evening for a smoke. Arch followed, and bummed one from Jackson.
Look Jackson, you’re only chance to shut these people up is now. You lose to Bonnie Blue, you may as well lay down and have Corey Black wipe his boots on your back. And the other fucking longtime parttime guys? They will have a field day with you. You want respect? It has to be earned son! You gotta play the game, but most importantly..YOU GOTTA WIN!
Jackson took a deep drag, and exhaled into the night air.
I love her Arch...All those things I said..
I get it. I once thought I loved a crazy bitch named Lilith..This was while I was dealing with tremors and hallucinations and shit, but I had to face her. Every time we locked up, I was wanting it to be in another way. I let her beat me senseless. You can’t do that Jackson. You have to channel your feelings, harness them..And use them to prove to her the man you really are. The only way to gain that respect is to win. You will never win Bonnie’s heart, but you can earn her respect. Stop being a creep. Stop being a dick. And be a fucking wrestler. Show Corey and the rest of those assholes what you are truly made of. Because I know you aren’t some immortal who can talk to Gods. And I know you aren’t some fucking Vampire. Its all a role you play, and you do it well. But you want to make it in this business, the inside has to match the outside brother. You’re losing because its not Jackson Caine in that ring. Its who you want them to think you are. You’re only playing into their bullshit. Think about it.
With that, Arch snuffed his cigarette and placed it into the ashtray also on the balcony rail. With a firm handshake and a few words, Arch departed, leaving Jackson alone with his thoughts on this clear, moonless night.
Chapter 3: Bonnie
When Jackson wanted to be completely isolated, alone from any possible temptations to post a nasty message on Twitter, or be reminded of how he had everything and nothing all at once, he went to Desert Center. Desert Center is between Palm Springs and Blythe off the I-10. Founded by eccentric Steve Ragsdale as a bastion for people who wanted to leave the city behind, it was quite a successful getaway and resort town, even boasting its own School District. Now, it is merely a shell of its former glory, a collection of decayed buildings and dirt roads. This is where Jackson Caine came to process his more complex emotions and feelings with no city noise or distraction. This time however, Jackson was not alone, for the eyes of the WCF are always open. So Jackson uses this time to get a promo in, talk about his recent change in attitude, and in a way clear his name. He sits on a rock in front of a dilapidated trailer, just enough light to show his face against the setting desert sun. His blue eyes pierce the lens as he speaks calmly, but with resolve.
At XIII, I get the ultimate chance to win against a supposed legend in this business and, in some ways, to mend a broken heart. It will not be easy, Bonnie, when I enter the ring to face you. I remember the first time I ever saw your face; it was in a promotional booklet for WCF that I received when I had signed on. You were one of the featured stars, a living legend. But all I saw were your eyes. In your eyes burned the fire of competitive passion, a fierce resolve behind them. Then I read more on your history, and fell even deeper into an infatuation that I soon could not control. All of your adventures and accolades..I was stunned. Not only were you beautiful, but you had more to you than any mortal woman. I had to know you. I made sure to introduce myself upon my arrival, but when the event actually happened, I should have taken note. I look back, and blinded by infatuation and drunk on your past, I did not see who you’ve become. Rather, I saw who you once were. You still have a body that begs to be gently ravaged, and a face as beautiful as ever. But looking back, it was the eyes that should have tipped me off.
Those eyes, deep as the deep blue sea, are now vacant, dead. Immune to the disappointments of a thousand failed attempts at gaining respect, vacant from any sort of original thought. Behind those eyes, the ideas of a wrestling aristocracy that you have aligned yourself with to gain favor, title shots, and a sense of belonging that you so desperately wanted. Throughout the years, you have degraded from a champion of tremendous promise, to playing second fiddle to a deposed member of Goverment and scumbag such as David Sanchez. You have gone from a role model for girls and women everywhere due to your relentless heart, a champion in a mostly male dominated world, and truly a trailblazer, to a footstool and occasional treat for that homeless delusional wanna be millennial, that worthless, bedraggled piece of sea scum known as Wade Moor. Tell me Bonnie, if you are the receptacle of Aquaman’s sea foam, what does that make you?
How far the mighty have fallen.
Truth is, when I came to these conclusions and saw you from the outside, you are nothing more than a trinket in the perverbial jailhouse, passed on from one member of the WCF to the next like a pack of cigarettes.
Jackson lowers his head, shaking it a bit in a convincing show of remorse. But then with a cocky smirk he continues..
But you see Bonnie, you could have done away with all of that nonsense! In me, you had a man who has lived through countless eons of bullshit. You had a man infatuated with you who would have done anything for you. And you knew this Bonnie! And yet you still decided to side with those relics of the old guard! Sure you had some great times; but they’ve all moved on. John Rabid, whom you fought so bravely with at the Battle of Dethfort, won’t even acknowledge you anymore. Wade Moor...Wade Fucking Moor. I’m reminded of the scene in an Austin Powers movie where he asks Heather Grahams character how she could possibly fuck Fat Bastard, not because of feelings, but because of Physics! I feel the same way when thinking of you and Wade getting it on..
Jackson pauses for a second, swallowing a dry heave
Yecch..I’ve seen cleaner toilet seats at rest stops than that man’s beard. The fact he loves fish must not bother you. You must have gone nose blind to his rotten stench. Perhaps because you are so used to yours…
But I digress.
.Before you internet warriors talk about me as some kind of woman hating idiot, lets review the facts: At least I will fight a woman as an equal and give her the same amount of respect as a man. Same can’t be said for Shane Styles. Shane longs for the halcyon days when women could not vote, and knew their place. Moron..
But, back to Bonnie..Bonnie, you had your opportunity to actually have real respect from a man and not be treated like the little sister who gets cycled through by her little brothers friends. For once, you would have a man who would stand by you, help you achieve that greatness you so long for and desire on your own. Instead, when I made my feelings clear, you acted just like you were too good for me, that you couldn’t be bothered to even give me a chance. Because the pimps that you associate with didn’t want to share the sugar. Now granted, I did some pretty funky things..The hotel room, the blood tea...Okay I went overboard. What can I say? I portray a pretty convincing psychopath; certainly more interesting a character than Kid Dynamo. Until I was told to cool it a bit. The gimmick was getting in the way of actually winning. So the Jackson Caine you see at XIII will not be the Jackson Caine you are used to, that you and the rest of the WCF mocked in envy. This is no art project anymore. This is REAL.
Truth is, I’m a wrestler. I don’t have any bodies hidden in my closet, or skeletons either. But I do have a sincere and burning loathing for you, Bonnie Blue. Your mockery, your snarky comments, coming from a washed up old hag shouldn’t mean anything to me, but they do. At XIII, Jackson Caine will be reborn..A Phoenix rising from the Ashes, and you will be burnt in the fire.
When you lose to me at XIII Bonnie, watch how your friends scatter like cockroaches when a light is turned on. Thats how they operate. They won’t want you after you lose to me Bonnie, then what are you left with? You are simply the shell shed from a life well lived. And knowing the filth that resides within this organization, don’t expect anyone to come to your aid or defense. Where’s Sanchez? Been pretty quiet for a while. Ever since your tantrum on Slam, he’s disappeared. Fact is, he was only there for your lovin and someone to share the titles with. Guess the lovin wasn’t that good, huh? Glad I never found my way to that septic tank.
Wrestling wise, your time has passed. It is so sad to see someone trying past their prime. Flash, Rabid, Omega, and the rest of the part time mafia aren’t around anymore because they know they can’t hang with the new generation of wrestlers full time. That, and drug money. They all need that drug money. Or perhaps Corey knows the score and just pays them in dimes or rocks. Bonnie, you should join this cast of once great men. Maybe find some bleach, disinfect your babymaker and, if it works, have a kid! Find some poor sap who knows nothing about you or your past liasons and have a baby. Maybe perhaps that will fulfill your sickly empty life. Think of all of the opportunity out there for a B- List wrestler such as yourself! You can blog! You can You Tube! Perhaps you can film your final moments before accidentally offing yourself on a mixture of antidepressants and Boones Farm! So much opportunity after I humiliate you at XIII! And will I feel bad about ending you? Not at all. Because I gave you a chance to resurrect yourself from the doldrums of this organization. You decided to side with those men who have used you and put up with you for so many years.
Choices are at the center of our lives. Every day, one can make the right choice, or the wrong choice. You Bonnie, have made the wrong choice. And this message goes out to the rest of the WCF. Like Vlad Dracul of the ancient Romanian empire, my statement at XIII will be the first body on a pike. Vlad impaled those who crossed him, and hung their lifeless stinking bodies outside his castle on a long sharpened pole. This would serve as a warning to those who came to wage war. And so, when I tear Bonnie limb from limb, and destroy the time witch permanently, it will serve as a warning. A statement. To those who have mocked me. To those who have decided it would be fun to play with the new guy in the funny clothes. Do you even watch the news? What happens when those people finally snap? In the end, they get satisfaction. And WCF, that is where I am. After being suspended, losing because of fast counts and trickery, all of the ridicule that I have had to endure because these prepubescent man children want to feel important, that all changes at XIII. No fast counts, because Bonnie’s corpse will not answer a 10 count. And there won’t be come calvary coming in to save you Bonnie. Because you are through. Washed up. I will make sure I am the nail that seals your fate. And WCF..I’m watching those boards, those promos. Don’t think that after I am finished with Bonnie, the rest of you are safe. From Black on down, you have been warned.