Post by Deleted on Apr 12, 2012 20:53:18 GMT -5
(Our eyes fixate upon the sign at the entrance gate. It reads Stubbs Hill Cemetery. As we pass through the old, black, metal gate we view a hilly crest and beyond that a spacious clearing with rows upon rows of gravestones. The stones vary in size, shape and decor-- some are large and elaborate, chiseled from marble with golden placards adorning their face. Most are relatively common in stature and appearance, plain slabs with names, dates and epitaphs inscribed upon them. As our view gradually pans the scope of the cemetery we see visitors that have come to pay their respects to their departed loved ones. Some have arrived in groups and others by themselves. Some are finely dressed in suits and dresses, while still others wear a casual attire. A girl in a white dress who can't be more than five years old places a bouquet of red roses upon her grandmother's headstone.
Elsewhere a forty-something man, clean-shaven and wearing a neat black suit, bursts into tears while staring at his father's tombstone. The cherished memories of their time together flood through the man's conscious mind while tears stream down his cheeks. Further along, we see an African-American family with their eyes closed and heads collectively bowed in silent prayer, as they mourn the loss of their family's patriarch. We dare not linger at any one of these spots, that would be intrusive, an invasion of privacy. We traipse along the paved path that winds through the cemetery, the scent of flowers and freshly mowed grass lingering in the air. The grass provides a vibrant green accent to the powder blue sky, which is dotted with fluffy, white clouds.
We lose ourselves in the picturesque scenery of the beautiful spring day, and the song of chirping birds, as we continue our stroll through these memorial grounds. After a few moments pass we feel our forward progress come to an abrupt halt. We lower our gaze and find Jam Willy Jesus seated upon the ground, leaning against the back of a tombstone, his legs stretched out in front of him. As was the case on Slam, Jam Willy's face is clean-shaven and his formerly black hair is dyed a deep shade of red and tied back into a ponytail. In stark contrast to his appearance on Slam, or anywhere else for that matter, Jam Willy is wearing a black suit with a solid white dress shirt and thin black tie. Black leather shoes adorn his feet. It is the first time that Jam Willy has been seen in public wearing anything other than jeans and T-shirts. Whatever Willy's reason for being here is, it is obviously very important to him.
In Jam Willy's right hand he is holding a bouquet of pink orchids. In his left hand he's holding a bottle of Jack Daniels. Willy lays the bouquet on the ground next to him and then removes the top from the bottle of Jack. Willy takes a long drink of Jack, savoring the inebriating comfort of the whiskey, before setting the bottle on the ground. Willy takes a deep breath. He sighs. He stares at the ground ahead of him, consumed by the thoughts of a burdened man.)
Jam Willy Jesus: "What can a son say to a mother that he thoroughly disappointed? What can a son say to a mother whose heart he broke? What can a son say to a mother that he sent to an early grave? 'I'm sorry'? I'm sorry doesn't cut it."
(Jam Willy pauses to collect his thoughts. He digs his tongue into his cheek, strokes his chin and casts his stare into the distance.)
JWJ: "My mother, my mama died in 1997. I was seventeen years old. The pain of losing her was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was greater than the pain of having a bastard drunkard father who would run out on us every night and fuck anything with a vagina... pulse or no pulse. It was greater than the pain of living in abject poverty in a dead end town in the middle of nowhere. My mama was my sole provider throughout my youth. She juggled jobs to keep a roof over my head, clothes on my back, food on the table, medical care when I needed it. We didn't have much of anything but she made sure that we had enough to get by. It wasn't magic that kept us alive. It wasn't God above or the Devil below. It was my mama and her tireless work ethic, her tireless dedication to me... her pride and joy."
(Willy sniffles his nose... a solitary tear rolls down his face.)
JWJ: "Her baby boy. If not for her burden, if not for me, the bastard son of a rat bastard father, she would still be alive today. She would be happy and healthy. She would be chasing her dreams, perhaps even living them. People talk about sacrifice as if that's a word that they can honestly comprehend. Few can. My mother sacrificed. She sacrificed everything so that I could have anything. If I didn't fully appreciate the extent of her sacrifice then, as a naive teenage boy, I certainly do now. I sit here a grown man of little accomplishment though increasing wisdom. The lessons that my mama taught me have formed the foundation of my character. For fifteen years I have been overcome with feelings of pain, guilt, regret for what I did to my mama. She worked herself to death because of me."
(Willy removes the kerchief from the chest pocket of his jacket and wipes his face dry. He clears his throat before speaking again.)
JWJ: "The time has come for me to honor my mama, not through words of loving tribute, but by living the life that she intended for me. Living the life of a man who can stand on his own two feet in this world and conquer any obstacle. My mama didn't raise no fool. I know that Rome wasn't built in a day, but all great things start somewhere. My ascent to the top of Wrestling Championship Federation will start on Friday night in Tokyo, Japan. WCF has seen a glimpse of what I can do. They've had a taste of the rustic smorgasbord of inebriated mayhem that I bring to the table. My feud with Switches the Clown put WCF on notice that I am not a man to fuck with, even if you're a crack-addicted serial killer in a clown costume. It doesn't matter to me if you're Switches the Clown, or even if you're a self-proclaimed anarchist and former WCF World Champion with spiky, piss-blond hair."
(Willy's eyes narrow. His glare shoots straight into our collective souls.)
JWJ: "That's right, Chadwick, I seen your little promo and I must say that I'm ever so sorry if I somehow hurt your feelings. Let me guess -- you're upset because I injured your friend, that black asshole who wears the Burger King crown and prances around like a little royal faggot? Did that bother you, Chad? Did I get under your skin when I crushed King Jimmy's skull with that tire jack? If I did then that's just... too damn bad, son! You're showing me what kind of delusional little pussy world you live in if you think I care about your thoughts and feelings, or your friend's health. Do you think that's pain, what I did to King Jimmy? Do you think those concussions that sidelined you for two whole years were painful? You don't know the meaning of pain, Chad Dogshit. I'll teach you though. I'll give you a first hand lesson in what real pain feels like at XIII."
(Jam Willy takes another swig of Jack Daniels, his demeanor having dramatically shifted from sorrow to anger.)
JWJ: "You spoke some real ignorant words, Chad. Most of them rolled right off my back, but I'll be damned if you didn't cross the line when you called me a miserable son of a bitch. I might be miserable, but there is no way on Heaven or Earth that I am the son of a bitch. I will make you rue those words, Evans. I will make your blood run like a sanguine tide through the streets of Tokyo. I will give you credit for one thing, though. You spoke prophetic words when you stated that this will be no mere wrestling match. This will be a massacre, a human sacrifice the likes of which have not been seen since the days of the ancient Mayans. It will be the validation of a lifetime of potential that has been squandered... the potential that I will now seize. My mother's dreams of glory and greatness for her baby boy, dreams that once seemed so remote, will come to fruition."
(Willy raises his head, a triumphant air about him as he glances to the heavens. He takes a moment to savor the feeling and take it all in before he speaks again.)
JWJ: "You talked about career opportunities, Chad. You said that I should be thankful for the opportunity that you've given me to face you, a former World Champion, at XIII. Believe me, Chad, I am ever so thankful that you have chosen me for the first and final stop on your comeback tour. My gratitude shall be exacted upon your skull with the vengeance of a man who knows no relent, no mercy, no compassion for the obliviously arrogant who step into the grim reaper's path, suspecting nothing of the brutal demise that awaits them. I can't respect a man like you, Chad. You're not a man at all in my eyes. You're a bitch -- and there just happens to be a black man beneath the surface of my pale white skin just waiting to breakthrough and prison rape your sweet blond ass."
(A sadistic sneer spreads upon Willy's face as his eyes grow wild.)
JWJ: "You can talk all the self-motivational bullshit about how you're not afraid to face me, you're just anxious. You can preach it until you're blue in the face. I know the truth, Chad. Now that we've been face to face on Slam and I've seen the horror in your eyes, I know that you are deathly afraid of me. I know that you are deathly afraid of the fate that awaits you at XIII. I don't need a Clockwork Orange House of Fun match, a Master of Horrors match or even an Akihabara Street Fight to violently expel the plasma from your body, Chadwick. This brain--"
(Willy taps his forehead with his forefinger.)
JWJ: "And these fists are all that I need to eviscerate your mind, body and soul, expunge your will to live, much less compete, and emasculate your supposed... big dick."
(Jam Willy snickers. He knows that Chad's pee pee ain't anything special.)
JWJ: "Of course, you already know these things, Chad. I'm just giving the viewing audience added incentive to hand over their hard-earned cash to buy XIII and watch me commit the second ever homicide in WCF's proud and illustrious history. Do you know what I think, Chad?"
(Jam Willy rises to his feet, brushes himself off, straightens his tie and picks up the bouquet of pink orchids.)
JWJ: "I think mama would be proud."
(Willy walks around to the front of the gravestone and reads the inscription.)
(Willy kneels down in front of the gravestone and places the bouquet of orchids at the base of the stone.)
JWJ: "This one's for you, mama."
(Willy kisses the gravestone, nods his head solemnly and rises to his feet. He takes one last look at his mother's grave and walks away. Willy picks up the bottle of Jack and takes another long swig as he prepares psychologically for the work that he will do at XIII...)
Elsewhere a forty-something man, clean-shaven and wearing a neat black suit, bursts into tears while staring at his father's tombstone. The cherished memories of their time together flood through the man's conscious mind while tears stream down his cheeks. Further along, we see an African-American family with their eyes closed and heads collectively bowed in silent prayer, as they mourn the loss of their family's patriarch. We dare not linger at any one of these spots, that would be intrusive, an invasion of privacy. We traipse along the paved path that winds through the cemetery, the scent of flowers and freshly mowed grass lingering in the air. The grass provides a vibrant green accent to the powder blue sky, which is dotted with fluffy, white clouds.
We lose ourselves in the picturesque scenery of the beautiful spring day, and the song of chirping birds, as we continue our stroll through these memorial grounds. After a few moments pass we feel our forward progress come to an abrupt halt. We lower our gaze and find Jam Willy Jesus seated upon the ground, leaning against the back of a tombstone, his legs stretched out in front of him. As was the case on Slam, Jam Willy's face is clean-shaven and his formerly black hair is dyed a deep shade of red and tied back into a ponytail. In stark contrast to his appearance on Slam, or anywhere else for that matter, Jam Willy is wearing a black suit with a solid white dress shirt and thin black tie. Black leather shoes adorn his feet. It is the first time that Jam Willy has been seen in public wearing anything other than jeans and T-shirts. Whatever Willy's reason for being here is, it is obviously very important to him.
In Jam Willy's right hand he is holding a bouquet of pink orchids. In his left hand he's holding a bottle of Jack Daniels. Willy lays the bouquet on the ground next to him and then removes the top from the bottle of Jack. Willy takes a long drink of Jack, savoring the inebriating comfort of the whiskey, before setting the bottle on the ground. Willy takes a deep breath. He sighs. He stares at the ground ahead of him, consumed by the thoughts of a burdened man.)
Jam Willy Jesus: "What can a son say to a mother that he thoroughly disappointed? What can a son say to a mother whose heart he broke? What can a son say to a mother that he sent to an early grave? 'I'm sorry'? I'm sorry doesn't cut it."
(Jam Willy pauses to collect his thoughts. He digs his tongue into his cheek, strokes his chin and casts his stare into the distance.)
JWJ: "My mother, my mama died in 1997. I was seventeen years old. The pain of losing her was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was greater than the pain of having a bastard drunkard father who would run out on us every night and fuck anything with a vagina... pulse or no pulse. It was greater than the pain of living in abject poverty in a dead end town in the middle of nowhere. My mama was my sole provider throughout my youth. She juggled jobs to keep a roof over my head, clothes on my back, food on the table, medical care when I needed it. We didn't have much of anything but she made sure that we had enough to get by. It wasn't magic that kept us alive. It wasn't God above or the Devil below. It was my mama and her tireless work ethic, her tireless dedication to me... her pride and joy."
(Willy sniffles his nose... a solitary tear rolls down his face.)
JWJ: "Her baby boy. If not for her burden, if not for me, the bastard son of a rat bastard father, she would still be alive today. She would be happy and healthy. She would be chasing her dreams, perhaps even living them. People talk about sacrifice as if that's a word that they can honestly comprehend. Few can. My mother sacrificed. She sacrificed everything so that I could have anything. If I didn't fully appreciate the extent of her sacrifice then, as a naive teenage boy, I certainly do now. I sit here a grown man of little accomplishment though increasing wisdom. The lessons that my mama taught me have formed the foundation of my character. For fifteen years I have been overcome with feelings of pain, guilt, regret for what I did to my mama. She worked herself to death because of me."
(Willy removes the kerchief from the chest pocket of his jacket and wipes his face dry. He clears his throat before speaking again.)
JWJ: "The time has come for me to honor my mama, not through words of loving tribute, but by living the life that she intended for me. Living the life of a man who can stand on his own two feet in this world and conquer any obstacle. My mama didn't raise no fool. I know that Rome wasn't built in a day, but all great things start somewhere. My ascent to the top of Wrestling Championship Federation will start on Friday night in Tokyo, Japan. WCF has seen a glimpse of what I can do. They've had a taste of the rustic smorgasbord of inebriated mayhem that I bring to the table. My feud with Switches the Clown put WCF on notice that I am not a man to fuck with, even if you're a crack-addicted serial killer in a clown costume. It doesn't matter to me if you're Switches the Clown, or even if you're a self-proclaimed anarchist and former WCF World Champion with spiky, piss-blond hair."
(Willy's eyes narrow. His glare shoots straight into our collective souls.)
JWJ: "That's right, Chadwick, I seen your little promo and I must say that I'm ever so sorry if I somehow hurt your feelings. Let me guess -- you're upset because I injured your friend, that black asshole who wears the Burger King crown and prances around like a little royal faggot? Did that bother you, Chad? Did I get under your skin when I crushed King Jimmy's skull with that tire jack? If I did then that's just... too damn bad, son! You're showing me what kind of delusional little pussy world you live in if you think I care about your thoughts and feelings, or your friend's health. Do you think that's pain, what I did to King Jimmy? Do you think those concussions that sidelined you for two whole years were painful? You don't know the meaning of pain, Chad Dogshit. I'll teach you though. I'll give you a first hand lesson in what real pain feels like at XIII."
(Jam Willy takes another swig of Jack Daniels, his demeanor having dramatically shifted from sorrow to anger.)
JWJ: "You spoke some real ignorant words, Chad. Most of them rolled right off my back, but I'll be damned if you didn't cross the line when you called me a miserable son of a bitch. I might be miserable, but there is no way on Heaven or Earth that I am the son of a bitch. I will make you rue those words, Evans. I will make your blood run like a sanguine tide through the streets of Tokyo. I will give you credit for one thing, though. You spoke prophetic words when you stated that this will be no mere wrestling match. This will be a massacre, a human sacrifice the likes of which have not been seen since the days of the ancient Mayans. It will be the validation of a lifetime of potential that has been squandered... the potential that I will now seize. My mother's dreams of glory and greatness for her baby boy, dreams that once seemed so remote, will come to fruition."
(Willy raises his head, a triumphant air about him as he glances to the heavens. He takes a moment to savor the feeling and take it all in before he speaks again.)
JWJ: "You talked about career opportunities, Chad. You said that I should be thankful for the opportunity that you've given me to face you, a former World Champion, at XIII. Believe me, Chad, I am ever so thankful that you have chosen me for the first and final stop on your comeback tour. My gratitude shall be exacted upon your skull with the vengeance of a man who knows no relent, no mercy, no compassion for the obliviously arrogant who step into the grim reaper's path, suspecting nothing of the brutal demise that awaits them. I can't respect a man like you, Chad. You're not a man at all in my eyes. You're a bitch -- and there just happens to be a black man beneath the surface of my pale white skin just waiting to breakthrough and prison rape your sweet blond ass."
(A sadistic sneer spreads upon Willy's face as his eyes grow wild.)
JWJ: "You can talk all the self-motivational bullshit about how you're not afraid to face me, you're just anxious. You can preach it until you're blue in the face. I know the truth, Chad. Now that we've been face to face on Slam and I've seen the horror in your eyes, I know that you are deathly afraid of me. I know that you are deathly afraid of the fate that awaits you at XIII. I don't need a Clockwork Orange House of Fun match, a Master of Horrors match or even an Akihabara Street Fight to violently expel the plasma from your body, Chadwick. This brain--"
(Willy taps his forehead with his forefinger.)
JWJ: "And these fists are all that I need to eviscerate your mind, body and soul, expunge your will to live, much less compete, and emasculate your supposed... big dick."
(Jam Willy snickers. He knows that Chad's pee pee ain't anything special.)
JWJ: "Of course, you already know these things, Chad. I'm just giving the viewing audience added incentive to hand over their hard-earned cash to buy XIII and watch me commit the second ever homicide in WCF's proud and illustrious history. Do you know what I think, Chad?"
(Jam Willy rises to his feet, brushes himself off, straightens his tie and picks up the bouquet of pink orchids.)
JWJ: "I think mama would be proud."
(Willy walks around to the front of the gravestone and reads the inscription.)
Here lies Shirley Jane Llewellyn
1955-1997
Beloved mother, daughter, sister and wife
May she rest in peace
1955-1997
Beloved mother, daughter, sister and wife
May she rest in peace
(Willy kneels down in front of the gravestone and places the bouquet of orchids at the base of the stone.)
JWJ: "This one's for you, mama."
(Willy kisses the gravestone, nods his head solemnly and rises to his feet. He takes one last look at his mother's grave and walks away. Willy picks up the bottle of Jack and takes another long swig as he prepares psychologically for the work that he will do at XIII...)
