Post by Deleted on Sept 30, 2012 15:28:48 GMT -5
“And in the end, the love you take,
is equal to the love you make.”
-The End, by: The Beatles
It took some convincing, but eventually Waylon's would-be mugger agrees to get in the car, and come back to the wrestler's house. He squeezes his gigantic, trench coat laden frame into the passenger seat, as Waylon brings the car to life with a turn of the key. The ride is mostly silent, and completely awkward. Eventually, they wind their way through the country-side, and make it back to the humble mobile home. Cash smiles, as he guides the large man up the rickety steps. The look on Trent's face is everything Waylon hoped it would be. His eyes go as wide as they've ever been, as he jumps up from the couch.
Trent:What the hell?
Waylon:This is Drew... he wants to be a wrestler... you're gonna train him.
The grin on Cash's face quickly becomes one of the “shit-eating” variety, as Trent glares at him.
Trent:Can I talk to you in the other room?
Waylon leaves Drew in the living room, and follows Trent through the farthest door. Once inside the guest room, Trent slams the door shut, and spins around to stare daggers at his old friend.
Trent:Are you outta your fuckin' mind? Where the hell did you find this guy, anyway?
Waylon:He tried to mug me while I was gettin' smokes.
Trent stares at the wrestler for a moment, trying to decide whether he's joking or not. Once it's decided that he's serious, Trent rests his palm against his forehead, and stares at the ground with a look of exasperation.
Trent:You're insane. All that fuckin' hippie lettuce has finally rotted away your brain.
Waylon:Look, this guy obviously needs help. He damn near turned me into a shish-ka-bob. If we can help him, maybe we stop him from killin' someone else. Let's do good for the world, and turn this mugger into a wrestler. Big Blake did it for you, now it's time to pay it forward. Where'd you be if that old bastard hadn't taken you off the street? You'd be in jail now, or dead.
It's clear that Trent is having an intense internal debate, as a knock comes at the door. Slowly, it eases open, and the delicate features of Roxxanne Savage come into view.
Roxxy:What's going on, and why is there a scary man in my living room?
The curvy female makes her way into the room, as Waylon explains.
Waylon:That's Drew. Trent's gonna be trainin' him.
Trent:Where are you gonna be while I'm training this giant?
Waylon:I been thinkin' about that. I know FPV like I know green. I ain't too worried about him. What I gotta do is figure out Johnny Fly.
Trent:I have a feeling this story ends with you goofing off while I do all the actual work.
Waylon:What I gotta do is find out what it's like to live a day as Johnny Fly. I'm gonna spend the day getting' into his mindset, and tryin' to figure him out. It's gonna be some hard work.
Trent:You're an asshole.
Waylon:So, you call Isaiah, get a trainin' session goin', while Roxxy and I go out and win me a World title.
Trent:You haven't heard a word I said.
Waylon turns on his heel, and leads Roxxy out of the house, to a chorus of inappropriate language from Trent Page. They share a laugh, as they approach Waylon's purple and gold lincoln. Cash stares at his ride for a minute.
Waylon:I think the first thing I gotta do is rent a more... Fly-esque car.
___ _ _ _ ___ ___
The sunlight gleams off of the numerous cars that line the parking lot of the rent-a-car building. Waylon and Roxxy move through the mass of cars, searching vigilantly for the perfect one. They pass by a few that catch Waylon's eye, but nothing like what they're looking for. After about twenty minutes of searching, and employee approaches them.
Brandon:My name is Brandon. Is there something I can help you with?
Waylon:I'm lookin' for somethin'...
As he searches for the right words, his eyes fall on a vehicle about a hundred yards away.
Waylon:...that!
Cash jogs lightly toward the sleek, red Lamborghini. He stops in front of it, running his fingers over the shiny paint job. Roxxy walks toward him, laughing loudly at his choice.
Roxxy:Good god, Tex. That's the ultimate douchebag mobile.
Waylon speaks lightly, as if he is in a trance.
Waylon:I know... it's perfect.
The salesman steps up, writing a few things on the piece of paper attached to his clipboard.
Brandon:I must let you know, the cars in this area are three hundred dollars a day.
The look on Waylon's face goes from joy, to anger very quickly. He stares over at Brandon, with indignation in his eyes. Roxxy can only laugh.
Waylon:You sayin' somethin'? You sayin' I can't afford this? You think, just because I look like this, that I'm some poor, white trash piece of shit!?
The pudgy salesman steps backwards, as he stammers out a frightened response.
Brandon:I... I didn't mean that sir. I just wanted to make sure you were aware.
By this time, Waylon is nose to nose with Brandon, and Roxxanne is struggling not to roll on the pavement with laughter. Waylon removes his wallet from his jeans, and pulls out three, one-hundred dollar bills. He holds them in front of the salesman, almost daring him to take the money.
Brandon:I-I'm afraid it doesn't work that way... there's forms-
Waylon:You callin' me stupid now?
Brandon:No! Not at all. Sorry sir. The car is all yours.
Brandon slowly pulls the money from the wrestler's hand, expecting him to attack at any moment. Instead, Cash pulls a set of keys from his front pocket. He stuffs them into Brandon's hand with a smile.
Waylon:These are the keys to my car. It's the purple one out front. If I come back, and there's a single scratch on it, I'm gonna rip your spine out through your asshole, dig?
Brandon nods, before handing Waylon the keys to the rented vehicle, and sprinting off in the direction of Cash's car. Waylon pulls the door upward to open it, and slides into the driver's seat. Roxxanne quickly joins him, as he fires up the Italian sports car.
Roxxy:So, what's next?
Waylon ponders for a moment, before looking down at his humble attire.
Waylon:Well, I ain't gonna be able to get into the mindset of Johnny Fly dressed like this.
Cash throws the vehicle into gear, and slams down on the gas, sending them rocketing out of the parking space, and down the aisle. Quickly, they turn to the left, and begin their journey down the streets of Macon.
___ _ _ _ ______ __ _ _
Roxxy sits on a plush, white couch in the middle of a huge store full on nothing but suits. Shes rests her head in her hands, struggling to stay awake. After exhausting every suit store in Macon, she had convinced Waylon to make the hour and a half drive up to Atlanta, and she instantly regretted it, as they had not yielded many results from this venture so far. The mixture of soft music, and air conditioning slowly lulls her into a half-awake state. Just as she is about to pass out from sheer boredom, she hears the voice of her fiance yell from the dressing rooms.
Waylon:Perfect! This is it, hon!
Cash throws open the curtain with a flourish, and Roxxy bursts out in an uncontrollable gale of laughter. On Waylon's feet sit a pair of alligator skin shoes, accenting the alligator skin belt holding up his white pants. On his slim shoulder is draped a white sport coat, over the top of a powder blue shirt. This is all held together by a bola tie with a large, sapphire clasp. His eyes are covered by a huge pair of aviator sunglasses, and a white cowboy hat tops it all off.
Waylon:What're you laughin' at? I look damn good.
Roxxy:I have seen you wear some ridiculous things, but this has got to be the worst. You can't seriously go out like that.
Waylon:Can, and will. We're gonna go out for a nice dinner.
roxxy rolls her eys, and gives her man a sympathetic hug.
Roxxy:If you say so, Boss Hog.
Waylon smiles at the comparison, as Roxxanne hands the cashier his credit card.
Waylon:Wait, you meant the Burt Reynolds version, right? I always thought I looked kinda like the Bandit.
Roxxy:Oh Jesus Christ, would you sign the receipt, so we can go?
Cash looks down at the piece of paper, and sees a line where it says “Tip”. Immediately, he glares up at the cashier.
Waylon:You think you deserve a tip? Do you know who I am?!? You're a jobber! You're a nobody! I'm Waylon Cash!!! JOBBER!!!
Waylon quickly jots down a fifty dollar tip, and signs the line at the bottom.
Waylon:Have a good day, jobber!
Waylon throws his arm around Roxxy, as they exit the store, and make their way toward the rented car.
Waylon:I think I'm startin' to get it. I'm startin' to slip into Fly's mind... I can feel it.
Roxxanne chuckles at her fiance, as they climb into the low riding vehicle. Waylon turns it on, and they quickly speed off, searching the Atlanta streets. They mvoe smoothly over the pavement, their eyes searching each building.
Waylon:Where would Johnny Fly eat?
He scans the brick facades that glide past them, as they make their way through the city. Suddenly, Waylon brings them to a stop along the side of the street, next to an expired parking meter. Cash quickly jumps out, and throws a bunch of quarters in, as Roxxy looks at the sign above the door that reads “Ho-Jon's Sushi Palace”.
Roxxy:I'm not sure fly would eat here.
Waylon:What are you talking about? It's perfect! We'll have some sushi, like big shots! Come on.
reluctantly, Roxxy gets out of the car, and follows the wrestler into the seedy looking building. They stand near the entrance for a moment, before a small, asaian waitress approaches them.
Waitress:Let me help you to your seat.
Waylon:Do you know who I am?! You're just a jobber! I'm a former World Champion! I don't let Nobodies like you tell me where to sit!
Waylon reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a ten dollar bill, which he hands to the waitress with an apologetic look on his face.
Waylon:Now, show me to my seat, jobber!
The waitress looks confused, but guides them both to a small table, before walking away, muttering what are surely Japanese obscenities under her breath.
Roxxy:I'm not sure you're getting it exactly, but it'll do.
From a distant table, a nervous looking young man approaches, holding a small notebook. He hesitates, but walks up to the table, and holds it out for Waylon.
Fan:Mr. Cash. I'm a big fan. I don't wanna bother you, but could I maybe get your autograph?
Waylon sneers at the fans, before taking the fan's book, and writing his name in it.
Waylon:You're a nobody! Why should I sign an autograph for you?! I'm Waylon Cash! I don't sign stuff for jobbers!
Cash hands the book back with a wink, sending the fan off, confused. The rest of their dinner goes smoothly, and on the starlit ride home, Roxxy falls asleep, with her head on Waylon's shoulder. As they finish their long drive, and pull into the driveway of Waylon's home, they are treated to the sight of a struggling Trent Page, begins held in a headlock by his trainee, Drew. Waylon laughs, as he helps Roxxanne out of her side of the car.
Trent:Get this giant son of a bitch off of me! He's had me in this hold for two hours! He took a fuckin' nap!
Waylon:Alright Drew, days over. Let him go.
The fledgling wrestler happily obliges, allowing Trent to stand to his feet, and gasp for breath. Cash rolls his eyes, as he leads Roxxy into the mobile home.
Roxxy: well, I'm heading to bed. You coming?
Waylon:Gimme a few seconds, I got somethin' I gotta do.
Roxxy nods, before disappearing into their bedroom. Waylon takes his hat off, and settles himself into his war torn couch. He throws open his laptop, and after allowing it to boot up, opens his webcam, and begins recording.
Waylon:Hey there WCF faithful. Waylon Cash here. Some of you might not recognize me after my little hair cut. I hope Tek enjoys his victory, because in the end, havin' little Blake as his manager, means he will lose. I wish him the best of luck, but next time we meet, it's gonna be different, that I can say for sure. I couldn't save you from Blake. Now, you can only save yourself. Good luck buddy.
Movin' on, I got a match this Sunday with two of the toughest men I've ever faced. I'm in a three way for the world title with FPV, and Johnny Fly. Whatever happens, I'll say I consider it an honor to be in a title match, at a pay per view, with these two men. Maybe I'm bein' cocky, but I'd say we're the three best in the game today. This is gonna be one helluva match. FPV, you and I seem to understand each other. I like you. I respect you. That bein' said, you ain't walkin' out of WAR with that belt. I wouldn't be surprised if you and I trade wins back and forth for the rest of our careers, but this match, this night, this title is mine. I ain't stoppin' short of dyin', and I expect the same outta you, but I'm at the top of my game, and for one night, Sunday night, I'm gonna prove that I'm the best in the business.
Waylon slides a cigarette out from behind his ear, and slips it into his mouth. He smiles, and forgets to light it, before continuing his speech.
Waylon:Fly, I been tryin' like hell to understand your mind. I can't do it. The only thing I know for sure, is that I really don't like you. You're an arrogant little prick, and it's time someone kicked the shit outta you. You're like a kid I knew in my class. His name isn't important, but he would talk shit, and annoy everybody. He thought he was the greatest thing on God's green earth. After a few years, he finally pissed off the wrong person, and got an ass-whoopin' like you wouldn't believe. After that, I guess he learned to keep his mouth shut. I think that's all you need Johnny. I think you need someone like me, to come along and beat the stupid off of you. You need to be taught a lesson, and if I happen to win the title while I beat your ass, that's just icing on the cake, baby. Enjoy how that gold looks around your waist, because come Sunday, it's comin' back to Georgia, where it belongs.
Waylon lights his cigarette, and takes a deep drag, before shutting off the camera.
is equal to the love you make.”
-The End, by: The Beatles
It took some convincing, but eventually Waylon's would-be mugger agrees to get in the car, and come back to the wrestler's house. He squeezes his gigantic, trench coat laden frame into the passenger seat, as Waylon brings the car to life with a turn of the key. The ride is mostly silent, and completely awkward. Eventually, they wind their way through the country-side, and make it back to the humble mobile home. Cash smiles, as he guides the large man up the rickety steps. The look on Trent's face is everything Waylon hoped it would be. His eyes go as wide as they've ever been, as he jumps up from the couch.
Trent:What the hell?
Waylon:This is Drew... he wants to be a wrestler... you're gonna train him.
The grin on Cash's face quickly becomes one of the “shit-eating” variety, as Trent glares at him.
Trent:Can I talk to you in the other room?
Waylon leaves Drew in the living room, and follows Trent through the farthest door. Once inside the guest room, Trent slams the door shut, and spins around to stare daggers at his old friend.
Trent:Are you outta your fuckin' mind? Where the hell did you find this guy, anyway?
Waylon:He tried to mug me while I was gettin' smokes.
Trent stares at the wrestler for a moment, trying to decide whether he's joking or not. Once it's decided that he's serious, Trent rests his palm against his forehead, and stares at the ground with a look of exasperation.
Trent:You're insane. All that fuckin' hippie lettuce has finally rotted away your brain.
Waylon:Look, this guy obviously needs help. He damn near turned me into a shish-ka-bob. If we can help him, maybe we stop him from killin' someone else. Let's do good for the world, and turn this mugger into a wrestler. Big Blake did it for you, now it's time to pay it forward. Where'd you be if that old bastard hadn't taken you off the street? You'd be in jail now, or dead.
It's clear that Trent is having an intense internal debate, as a knock comes at the door. Slowly, it eases open, and the delicate features of Roxxanne Savage come into view.
Roxxy:What's going on, and why is there a scary man in my living room?
The curvy female makes her way into the room, as Waylon explains.
Waylon:That's Drew. Trent's gonna be trainin' him.
Trent:Where are you gonna be while I'm training this giant?
Waylon:I been thinkin' about that. I know FPV like I know green. I ain't too worried about him. What I gotta do is figure out Johnny Fly.
Trent:I have a feeling this story ends with you goofing off while I do all the actual work.
Waylon:What I gotta do is find out what it's like to live a day as Johnny Fly. I'm gonna spend the day getting' into his mindset, and tryin' to figure him out. It's gonna be some hard work.
Trent:You're an asshole.
Waylon:So, you call Isaiah, get a trainin' session goin', while Roxxy and I go out and win me a World title.
Trent:You haven't heard a word I said.
Waylon turns on his heel, and leads Roxxy out of the house, to a chorus of inappropriate language from Trent Page. They share a laugh, as they approach Waylon's purple and gold lincoln. Cash stares at his ride for a minute.
Waylon:I think the first thing I gotta do is rent a more... Fly-esque car.
___ _ _ _ ___ ___
The sunlight gleams off of the numerous cars that line the parking lot of the rent-a-car building. Waylon and Roxxy move through the mass of cars, searching vigilantly for the perfect one. They pass by a few that catch Waylon's eye, but nothing like what they're looking for. After about twenty minutes of searching, and employee approaches them.
Brandon:My name is Brandon. Is there something I can help you with?
Waylon:I'm lookin' for somethin'...
As he searches for the right words, his eyes fall on a vehicle about a hundred yards away.
Waylon:...that!
Cash jogs lightly toward the sleek, red Lamborghini. He stops in front of it, running his fingers over the shiny paint job. Roxxy walks toward him, laughing loudly at his choice.
Roxxy:Good god, Tex. That's the ultimate douchebag mobile.
Waylon speaks lightly, as if he is in a trance.
Waylon:I know... it's perfect.
The salesman steps up, writing a few things on the piece of paper attached to his clipboard.
Brandon:I must let you know, the cars in this area are three hundred dollars a day.
The look on Waylon's face goes from joy, to anger very quickly. He stares over at Brandon, with indignation in his eyes. Roxxy can only laugh.
Waylon:You sayin' somethin'? You sayin' I can't afford this? You think, just because I look like this, that I'm some poor, white trash piece of shit!?
The pudgy salesman steps backwards, as he stammers out a frightened response.
Brandon:I... I didn't mean that sir. I just wanted to make sure you were aware.
By this time, Waylon is nose to nose with Brandon, and Roxxanne is struggling not to roll on the pavement with laughter. Waylon removes his wallet from his jeans, and pulls out three, one-hundred dollar bills. He holds them in front of the salesman, almost daring him to take the money.
Brandon:I-I'm afraid it doesn't work that way... there's forms-
Waylon:You callin' me stupid now?
Brandon:No! Not at all. Sorry sir. The car is all yours.
Brandon slowly pulls the money from the wrestler's hand, expecting him to attack at any moment. Instead, Cash pulls a set of keys from his front pocket. He stuffs them into Brandon's hand with a smile.
Waylon:These are the keys to my car. It's the purple one out front. If I come back, and there's a single scratch on it, I'm gonna rip your spine out through your asshole, dig?
Brandon nods, before handing Waylon the keys to the rented vehicle, and sprinting off in the direction of Cash's car. Waylon pulls the door upward to open it, and slides into the driver's seat. Roxxanne quickly joins him, as he fires up the Italian sports car.
Roxxy:So, what's next?
Waylon ponders for a moment, before looking down at his humble attire.
Waylon:Well, I ain't gonna be able to get into the mindset of Johnny Fly dressed like this.
Cash throws the vehicle into gear, and slams down on the gas, sending them rocketing out of the parking space, and down the aisle. Quickly, they turn to the left, and begin their journey down the streets of Macon.
___ _ _ _ ______ __ _ _
Roxxy sits on a plush, white couch in the middle of a huge store full on nothing but suits. Shes rests her head in her hands, struggling to stay awake. After exhausting every suit store in Macon, she had convinced Waylon to make the hour and a half drive up to Atlanta, and she instantly regretted it, as they had not yielded many results from this venture so far. The mixture of soft music, and air conditioning slowly lulls her into a half-awake state. Just as she is about to pass out from sheer boredom, she hears the voice of her fiance yell from the dressing rooms.
Waylon:Perfect! This is it, hon!
Cash throws open the curtain with a flourish, and Roxxy bursts out in an uncontrollable gale of laughter. On Waylon's feet sit a pair of alligator skin shoes, accenting the alligator skin belt holding up his white pants. On his slim shoulder is draped a white sport coat, over the top of a powder blue shirt. This is all held together by a bola tie with a large, sapphire clasp. His eyes are covered by a huge pair of aviator sunglasses, and a white cowboy hat tops it all off.
Waylon:What're you laughin' at? I look damn good.
Roxxy:I have seen you wear some ridiculous things, but this has got to be the worst. You can't seriously go out like that.
Waylon:Can, and will. We're gonna go out for a nice dinner.
roxxy rolls her eys, and gives her man a sympathetic hug.
Roxxy:If you say so, Boss Hog.
Waylon smiles at the comparison, as Roxxanne hands the cashier his credit card.
Waylon:Wait, you meant the Burt Reynolds version, right? I always thought I looked kinda like the Bandit.
Roxxy:Oh Jesus Christ, would you sign the receipt, so we can go?
Cash looks down at the piece of paper, and sees a line where it says “Tip”. Immediately, he glares up at the cashier.
Waylon:You think you deserve a tip? Do you know who I am?!? You're a jobber! You're a nobody! I'm Waylon Cash!!! JOBBER!!!
Waylon quickly jots down a fifty dollar tip, and signs the line at the bottom.
Waylon:Have a good day, jobber!
Waylon throws his arm around Roxxy, as they exit the store, and make their way toward the rented car.
Waylon:I think I'm startin' to get it. I'm startin' to slip into Fly's mind... I can feel it.
Roxxanne chuckles at her fiance, as they climb into the low riding vehicle. Waylon turns it on, and they quickly speed off, searching the Atlanta streets. They mvoe smoothly over the pavement, their eyes searching each building.
Waylon:Where would Johnny Fly eat?
He scans the brick facades that glide past them, as they make their way through the city. Suddenly, Waylon brings them to a stop along the side of the street, next to an expired parking meter. Cash quickly jumps out, and throws a bunch of quarters in, as Roxxy looks at the sign above the door that reads “Ho-Jon's Sushi Palace”.
Roxxy:I'm not sure fly would eat here.
Waylon:What are you talking about? It's perfect! We'll have some sushi, like big shots! Come on.
reluctantly, Roxxy gets out of the car, and follows the wrestler into the seedy looking building. They stand near the entrance for a moment, before a small, asaian waitress approaches them.
Waitress:Let me help you to your seat.
Waylon:Do you know who I am?! You're just a jobber! I'm a former World Champion! I don't let Nobodies like you tell me where to sit!
Waylon reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a ten dollar bill, which he hands to the waitress with an apologetic look on his face.
Waylon:Now, show me to my seat, jobber!
The waitress looks confused, but guides them both to a small table, before walking away, muttering what are surely Japanese obscenities under her breath.
Roxxy:I'm not sure you're getting it exactly, but it'll do.
From a distant table, a nervous looking young man approaches, holding a small notebook. He hesitates, but walks up to the table, and holds it out for Waylon.
Fan:Mr. Cash. I'm a big fan. I don't wanna bother you, but could I maybe get your autograph?
Waylon sneers at the fans, before taking the fan's book, and writing his name in it.
Waylon:You're a nobody! Why should I sign an autograph for you?! I'm Waylon Cash! I don't sign stuff for jobbers!
Cash hands the book back with a wink, sending the fan off, confused. The rest of their dinner goes smoothly, and on the starlit ride home, Roxxy falls asleep, with her head on Waylon's shoulder. As they finish their long drive, and pull into the driveway of Waylon's home, they are treated to the sight of a struggling Trent Page, begins held in a headlock by his trainee, Drew. Waylon laughs, as he helps Roxxanne out of her side of the car.
Trent:Get this giant son of a bitch off of me! He's had me in this hold for two hours! He took a fuckin' nap!
Waylon:Alright Drew, days over. Let him go.
The fledgling wrestler happily obliges, allowing Trent to stand to his feet, and gasp for breath. Cash rolls his eyes, as he leads Roxxy into the mobile home.
Roxxy: well, I'm heading to bed. You coming?
Waylon:Gimme a few seconds, I got somethin' I gotta do.
Roxxy nods, before disappearing into their bedroom. Waylon takes his hat off, and settles himself into his war torn couch. He throws open his laptop, and after allowing it to boot up, opens his webcam, and begins recording.
Waylon:Hey there WCF faithful. Waylon Cash here. Some of you might not recognize me after my little hair cut. I hope Tek enjoys his victory, because in the end, havin' little Blake as his manager, means he will lose. I wish him the best of luck, but next time we meet, it's gonna be different, that I can say for sure. I couldn't save you from Blake. Now, you can only save yourself. Good luck buddy.
Movin' on, I got a match this Sunday with two of the toughest men I've ever faced. I'm in a three way for the world title with FPV, and Johnny Fly. Whatever happens, I'll say I consider it an honor to be in a title match, at a pay per view, with these two men. Maybe I'm bein' cocky, but I'd say we're the three best in the game today. This is gonna be one helluva match. FPV, you and I seem to understand each other. I like you. I respect you. That bein' said, you ain't walkin' out of WAR with that belt. I wouldn't be surprised if you and I trade wins back and forth for the rest of our careers, but this match, this night, this title is mine. I ain't stoppin' short of dyin', and I expect the same outta you, but I'm at the top of my game, and for one night, Sunday night, I'm gonna prove that I'm the best in the business.
Waylon slides a cigarette out from behind his ear, and slips it into his mouth. He smiles, and forgets to light it, before continuing his speech.
Waylon:Fly, I been tryin' like hell to understand your mind. I can't do it. The only thing I know for sure, is that I really don't like you. You're an arrogant little prick, and it's time someone kicked the shit outta you. You're like a kid I knew in my class. His name isn't important, but he would talk shit, and annoy everybody. He thought he was the greatest thing on God's green earth. After a few years, he finally pissed off the wrong person, and got an ass-whoopin' like you wouldn't believe. After that, I guess he learned to keep his mouth shut. I think that's all you need Johnny. I think you need someone like me, to come along and beat the stupid off of you. You need to be taught a lesson, and if I happen to win the title while I beat your ass, that's just icing on the cake, baby. Enjoy how that gold looks around your waist, because come Sunday, it's comin' back to Georgia, where it belongs.
Waylon lights his cigarette, and takes a deep drag, before shutting off the camera.
