Does the Madman feel feelings? (WAR RP 1)
Sept 23, 2014 9:44:24 GMT -5
Kaz, Bonnie Blue, and 1 more like this
Post by Deleted on Sept 23, 2014 9:44:24 GMT -5
Personal Entry
Six Days Until WAR...
War... It never changes.
War has been waged since the beginning of time for various reasons. The earliest reasons for war usually revolved around food, water, land, and other valuable resources. Sometimes it was to take captives in order to strengthen their numbers. As time continued to advance, these reasons for waging war continued to exist, but other reasons became more prevalent. Religion, politics, and drugs have been the most recent reasons why we wage war these days.
You could say that the WCF is no different. War is being waged in Phoenix for the opportunity to gain a shot at the World Heavyweight Title.
You could also say that at this particular time in the WCF, that many within its ranks have a bone to pick with someone over idealistic differences. And I'm no exception. There are a few people I'd love to get my hands on again, and I like the fact that I will get to take a shot at the so-called "top dogs" of the WCF.
But this was just men and women inside of a roped-off squared circle. These weren't men and women taking up arms in order to repel a threat or obtain resources. Well, maybe resources if you count the World Title. However, the chances of death occurring are slim to none.
If there is one thing that I've learned in my 11 years that I spent training and fighting is that war changes a person. During those 11 years, I've engaged in combat operations on five different continents. Six, if you count the asshole I punched out in Antarctica during an emergency stop while flying over the South Pole, but I digress. During all of those encounters, gunfights, and even the few hand-to-hand fights to the death, I realized something that has devastated me through it all...
War changed me. And not for the better.
There are times that I wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, while my mind takes me back to every encounter that has somehow destroyed a part of me. The most disturbing are those where I can see the light leave their eyes. The child soldiers in Africa that I was forced to engage. The boat. The women and children. I can still hear the screams…
Will that become my legacy? The amount of people throughout my life that I've extinguished? Perhaps the substance use and abuse is what keeps me from acting on the impulse to kill, even when it’s someone who deserves to be extinguished. But it’s becoming harder and harder to hold back the will to kill every shitbag that I run across, because it seems to me that the shitbags are starting to outnumber the good, wholesome people of the world who just want to make a good living for themselves at nobody's expense.
Or am I the shitbag? Have the drugs altered my vision enough to skew it so that I see the exact opposite of everyone else? Am I the real evil?
I guess that I can take solace in the fact that in Phoenix, when "War" is waged, everybody gets to go home at the end of the night. Or at least Buzz will, since he's from nearby Apache Junction. Note to self, I need to get with Buzz so when we get to Phoenix, he can point out all the awesome places to go. And with any luck, I can add to my Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt collection that I've been working on since I first joined the military.
Something tells me that this "War" will not have the same mental effect on me as the wars prior to this I've fought in. Perhaps that is my edge, to not get too excited about this. The last thing I do want to do is underestimate this match or the others competing in it. However, I find the whole title to this event to be sorely lacking. Maybe perhaps a 10-man elimination Tag Team match could hit a bit closer to home than a battle royal, but that's just me. Why couldn't they just call it "The Barfight"? Has no ring to it. But "War"? This match is far from a war. War indicated there are sides to a fight. Yet all I see is every man, woman, and child in the ring out for themselves. And to win a war involves teamwork, but where are the sides?
Maybe I'm just an asshole and somewhat elitist because most of these clowns in the ring have never had to actually fight for their lives, but the more I think on this, the more the name of this event further chaps my ass...
Perhaps I'll use that as motivation, and really show the other competitors just what it really is like to fight for their lives. Maybe Jahani will cross me, or Brent, or maybe one of the so-called “greats” of WCF like Jonny Fly or Steve Orbit will, and I just tear their fucking throats out in front of the entire world.
On another note, we should be getting into El Paso hopefully before the day is over. It'll give me some time to get my backup wrestling gear and boots. I was furious to find that Lazlo had taken a shit in my bag. It was further exacerbated when I found that it wasn't a solid turd that he left in my bag. Needless to say, I am not speaking to him right now. I've had to use TMac as my intermediary for the foreseeable future. Perhaps with a little bit of luck, I might find a better lawyer/manager/agent when I get to El Paso, but I'm not going to hold my breath.
Personal Entry
Five Days Until WAR...
I made it back to my adopted home in El Paso, Texas. Yay me! Of course, as soon as I'm home, I'm pelted with offers to perform more stand-up comedy in the local area. Granted, I never managed to make it big as a professional comic, but I do have a following here. Or, I should say, I'm considered "That funny white guy" here in El Paso.
Its funny to me that my biggest following here in my own adopted hometown that I have are more interested in the funny shit that I have to say on a stage rather than the wrestling that I've done for 15 years, and that’s totally cool of people in town not hassling me about professional wrestling. It gives me a break from my professional life from time to time. And the fame that I have earned from the ring doesn't hurt, either.
Since it was Tuesday, I got booked at Coconuts. Yeah, the name is silly. Sounds like someone is trying to cash in on the tiki bar scene. Or worse. When I first heard about the bar, I was given the impression that this was some sort of male strip joint, which I had already had my share of that shit when I bounced at a male strip joint back in 2004 when I was hard up for money. Fortunately for me, none of it was the case.
When I walked in, I was given a heroes welcome. It had been a long time since I graced the stage at Coconuts. At least a year. So it did come as a shock when an old conquest of mine was still there tending bar at Coconuts. At first, I was leery of making an appearance since she "caught feelings" for me, but it was quickly ended when I saw the ring on her finger. Or should I say a rock. But regardless of the rock, that didn't stop her from getting inappropriate with me. But I digress. The show was a hit, or at least as big of a hit that you can give in eight minutes. That was always the problem with comedy. You're always limited when it comes to time.
The biggest jokes that I've always won with in El Paso has always revolved around the similarities between Mexicans and white people. Or should I say, between the Mexicans and the Irish. With a name like Murdock, its kind of difficult for Mexicans to say how wrong I am as far as how Catholics operate. One of my bigger hits is when I mentioned that I'm the middle child of Irish Triplets, but considering the whole Catholic thing, and the location, maybe it was more appropriate to call us Mexican Triplets. For those not in the know, Irish Twins are born within a year apart. In the case of myself and my brothers, I was born almost nine months after my eldest brother was born. My younger brother is 11 months younger than me. Needless to say, we were all born within 20 months of each other, hence the whole Irish Triplets thing. Our sisters were born almost two years later, and they were Irish Twins at that. And then my mom stopped giving birth to children, and thank God. Seven assholes in a house with one bathroom was enough for my ass. It was a small part of the reason why I left home when I was 18, as opposed to everyone else, except my youngest sister, who nobody knows what has happened to her. So much for me being the "wild one". And of course, I had to talk about my balls. All comedians always talk about dicks, vaginas, and tits, but never about balls. And I’ve got an excellent set of balls. My life has proven that particular fact.
After the show, Jennifer made her feelings known towards me, which was not news to me. But it's still difficult to me to accept the love of another. I'd been burned by this so-called "love" in the past, and I'll be damned if I let it happen again. She was sweet enough, considering that she gave me my drinks for free. And she was gorgeous enough. She was a blonde with a great ass and a decent rack. But every time that I've fallen in love and pursued it, it has burned me badly. My first wife, for example, carried our child for eight months before she hemorrhaged on the delivery table and died, taking our son with her. It devastated me to the point that I spent a lot of time at the bottom of a bottle, back when I was in the military and other drugs were not an option.
Then there was the woman who helped me recover and managed to get me out from the bottom of a bottle, though now, I'm still kind of baffled at what kind of game she was playing. No sooner did we marry that she started to fuck around on me with another man. Granted, I was on the road a lot, but what the fuck? Who the fuck gets married and almost immediately starts fucking around?
And who could forget my well-publicized romance with Ryann Hardy? The woman with who I was rivaled with her squeeze. Of course, nobody really knew what went on behind the scenes. Her boyfriend was distant and damaged, kind of like I am now. But yet she latched on to me and I returned her love. But the business started to drive us apart. She started working with that asshole Brad Jackson, and I was left in the cold. What hurt more was the fact that I went almost five years without knowing that she fathered a child of mine. At least I get to see her on occasion.
But how could I forget my "abusive relationship"? I had married a few years ago to a charming lady, only to find out just how cruel-spirited she was. I can only thank God or whoever is watching over me that she was unable to take anything from me worth taking. I gave her the house and everything she wanted, and that was the end of our relationship. Though in the grand scheme of things, I still felt like she used me to get the things she wanted. It was too bad that she couldn't hang on to those things that I had got her during our marriage.
And of course, just when I thought I found someone who really cared about me, when we had spent a year together planning the rest of our future together, she leaves me when I lost my foot, suffered severe head trauma, and was on the verge of dying. Like the Megadeth song, in my darkest hour, she wasn't there. Instead, she bolted. And this was the absolute last straw. I could not place my trust in this leggy blonde bombshell, or any dusky beauty, or redhead princess, for that matter. I have ran out of love, but not lust.
Of all the horrendous things that I've done in my life, I've never felt the urge to lie to women to get laid. I've never had to break out "I love you" to get myself some tail. Perhaps that has led me to chase the undesirable and the proven shitbag women of the world. I've always understood that anything worth having is hard to obtain and maintain, but if I've ran across any women worth having in my life, they always seemed to be moving in the other direction. I guess this raises the question again of am I really that big of a shitbag? Am I really cursed? Am I destined to live alone?
If you were to ask my lawyer, the answer is "yes". But even the most despicable people in the world that I've had the displeasure of meeting had families that cared for their well-being. Hell, when I was involved in drug operations in South America, I had family members of the former Cali Cartel come after me to avenge their lost loved ones. Why the fuck can't I have that?
Its late, and I'm tired. And in the morning, I'm going to have to explain to Jennifer why I can't take her with me, away from the bar, her boring-ass fiancée and all of that jazz. And there is never enough alcohol or drugs to try and numb the pain of having to let someone down easy. Especially now, when I have my career and "War" to think about. Yes, "War" is still riding on my mind. Especially the thought that I'm going to have to face, potentially, 32 other wrestlers inside of that ring. And that is considering if I'm one of the first competitors inside of that ring.
In 15 years that I've been competing as a professional wrestler, I still wonder just exactly how does one prepare for a match like this? A match that is designed to be bedlam in what could be considered, in the grand scheme of things, a closet. When you stuff 33 people inside of a ring, it feels like you're stuck inside of a closet.
But again, I'm tired and I'm sure tomorrow is not going to bring me any comfort. I will have to prepare for leaving behind this poor girl who has chosen to hang her hopes on the wrong person, which is me. With any luck, I will be here tomorrow to write the conclusion to this sad story.
Personal Entry
September 24, 2014
Well, it looked like Jennifer saved me a whole load of trouble in the morning. When I woke up, she was gone and there was a letter attached to the mirror in the bathroom. I relieved myself before taking down the note to read what it said...
I put the letter down and looked at myself in the mirror for a few moments, before I turned away in disgust. She was right. I really hated myself at this moment. Story of my life. Granted, I was going to run her out of here this morning, but it still hurts when the end comes to any relationship. Hell, I hated my father, and I still cried like a little bitch when I found out he was no longer with us.
I called the guys and told them to get ready to blow town. Initially, I had planned on staying until Thursday for a little hometown R&R, but this recent event had me longing for the road once more. And with any luck, I might get myself a few more bookings for meet and greets, autograph signings, and other side projects. And I really wanted to get in touch with Buzz to get the scoop on the Phoenix party scene.
The guys seemed quite thrilled to leave town. When I inquired about what they did the night before, there was a lot of awkward looks and gestures to go along with TMac's busted lip and Lazlo's black eye. It seemed that my attorney the night before ran afoul of some military personnel in gentleman's club, and a fight ensued between my guys and the military guys. I guess they did okay, considering they were not in jail or the hospital. I didn't push the subject any further, and they seemed relieved by that fact.
We packed and restocked the bus before blowing town. We had almost seven hours until we hit Phoenix. TMac was behind the wheel, while Lazlo was on the phone wheeling and dealing. The world was once again right and good.
Lazlo further surprised me when he handed me a bag with brand-new wrestling boots in them. The same black glossy finish with "GONZO" embroidered into the back of each boot. I'd forgiven the bastard long ago, considering I accidentally gave him pinkeye once when I tea-bagged him in a drunken state years ago. I think I may still have that picture when I put gum on his face.
With any luck, this trip will take my mind off of "another one that got away", so I can really get down to business. Hopefully some videos of my competition will do the trick. I've already faced at least three other competitors with very little luck, while observing a fourth up close and personal on my team. Perhaps these losses aren't as bad as I've been taking them. And Brent Alpine winning the title was pure luck, because his ass was about to get drilled into that mat, "Bat Country" style. At least I've learned a ton about those four men. The other 28? Well, that was a different story.
But I have time on my hands, and plenty of video to shuffle through during this trip. With any luck, I'll be well-prepared to take on any swinging dick or twat that comes my way once "War" commences.
Six Days Until WAR...
War... It never changes.
War has been waged since the beginning of time for various reasons. The earliest reasons for war usually revolved around food, water, land, and other valuable resources. Sometimes it was to take captives in order to strengthen their numbers. As time continued to advance, these reasons for waging war continued to exist, but other reasons became more prevalent. Religion, politics, and drugs have been the most recent reasons why we wage war these days.
You could say that the WCF is no different. War is being waged in Phoenix for the opportunity to gain a shot at the World Heavyweight Title.
You could also say that at this particular time in the WCF, that many within its ranks have a bone to pick with someone over idealistic differences. And I'm no exception. There are a few people I'd love to get my hands on again, and I like the fact that I will get to take a shot at the so-called "top dogs" of the WCF.
But this was just men and women inside of a roped-off squared circle. These weren't men and women taking up arms in order to repel a threat or obtain resources. Well, maybe resources if you count the World Title. However, the chances of death occurring are slim to none.
If there is one thing that I've learned in my 11 years that I spent training and fighting is that war changes a person. During those 11 years, I've engaged in combat operations on five different continents. Six, if you count the asshole I punched out in Antarctica during an emergency stop while flying over the South Pole, but I digress. During all of those encounters, gunfights, and even the few hand-to-hand fights to the death, I realized something that has devastated me through it all...
War changed me. And not for the better.
There are times that I wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, while my mind takes me back to every encounter that has somehow destroyed a part of me. The most disturbing are those where I can see the light leave their eyes. The child soldiers in Africa that I was forced to engage. The boat. The women and children. I can still hear the screams…
Will that become my legacy? The amount of people throughout my life that I've extinguished? Perhaps the substance use and abuse is what keeps me from acting on the impulse to kill, even when it’s someone who deserves to be extinguished. But it’s becoming harder and harder to hold back the will to kill every shitbag that I run across, because it seems to me that the shitbags are starting to outnumber the good, wholesome people of the world who just want to make a good living for themselves at nobody's expense.
Or am I the shitbag? Have the drugs altered my vision enough to skew it so that I see the exact opposite of everyone else? Am I the real evil?
I guess that I can take solace in the fact that in Phoenix, when "War" is waged, everybody gets to go home at the end of the night. Or at least Buzz will, since he's from nearby Apache Junction. Note to self, I need to get with Buzz so when we get to Phoenix, he can point out all the awesome places to go. And with any luck, I can add to my Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt collection that I've been working on since I first joined the military.
Something tells me that this "War" will not have the same mental effect on me as the wars prior to this I've fought in. Perhaps that is my edge, to not get too excited about this. The last thing I do want to do is underestimate this match or the others competing in it. However, I find the whole title to this event to be sorely lacking. Maybe perhaps a 10-man elimination Tag Team match could hit a bit closer to home than a battle royal, but that's just me. Why couldn't they just call it "The Barfight"? Has no ring to it. But "War"? This match is far from a war. War indicated there are sides to a fight. Yet all I see is every man, woman, and child in the ring out for themselves. And to win a war involves teamwork, but where are the sides?
Maybe I'm just an asshole and somewhat elitist because most of these clowns in the ring have never had to actually fight for their lives, but the more I think on this, the more the name of this event further chaps my ass...
Perhaps I'll use that as motivation, and really show the other competitors just what it really is like to fight for their lives. Maybe Jahani will cross me, or Brent, or maybe one of the so-called “greats” of WCF like Jonny Fly or Steve Orbit will, and I just tear their fucking throats out in front of the entire world.
On another note, we should be getting into El Paso hopefully before the day is over. It'll give me some time to get my backup wrestling gear and boots. I was furious to find that Lazlo had taken a shit in my bag. It was further exacerbated when I found that it wasn't a solid turd that he left in my bag. Needless to say, I am not speaking to him right now. I've had to use TMac as my intermediary for the foreseeable future. Perhaps with a little bit of luck, I might find a better lawyer/manager/agent when I get to El Paso, but I'm not going to hold my breath.
Personal Entry
Five Days Until WAR...
I made it back to my adopted home in El Paso, Texas. Yay me! Of course, as soon as I'm home, I'm pelted with offers to perform more stand-up comedy in the local area. Granted, I never managed to make it big as a professional comic, but I do have a following here. Or, I should say, I'm considered "That funny white guy" here in El Paso.
Its funny to me that my biggest following here in my own adopted hometown that I have are more interested in the funny shit that I have to say on a stage rather than the wrestling that I've done for 15 years, and that’s totally cool of people in town not hassling me about professional wrestling. It gives me a break from my professional life from time to time. And the fame that I have earned from the ring doesn't hurt, either.
Since it was Tuesday, I got booked at Coconuts. Yeah, the name is silly. Sounds like someone is trying to cash in on the tiki bar scene. Or worse. When I first heard about the bar, I was given the impression that this was some sort of male strip joint, which I had already had my share of that shit when I bounced at a male strip joint back in 2004 when I was hard up for money. Fortunately for me, none of it was the case.
When I walked in, I was given a heroes welcome. It had been a long time since I graced the stage at Coconuts. At least a year. So it did come as a shock when an old conquest of mine was still there tending bar at Coconuts. At first, I was leery of making an appearance since she "caught feelings" for me, but it was quickly ended when I saw the ring on her finger. Or should I say a rock. But regardless of the rock, that didn't stop her from getting inappropriate with me. But I digress. The show was a hit, or at least as big of a hit that you can give in eight minutes. That was always the problem with comedy. You're always limited when it comes to time.
The biggest jokes that I've always won with in El Paso has always revolved around the similarities between Mexicans and white people. Or should I say, between the Mexicans and the Irish. With a name like Murdock, its kind of difficult for Mexicans to say how wrong I am as far as how Catholics operate. One of my bigger hits is when I mentioned that I'm the middle child of Irish Triplets, but considering the whole Catholic thing, and the location, maybe it was more appropriate to call us Mexican Triplets. For those not in the know, Irish Twins are born within a year apart. In the case of myself and my brothers, I was born almost nine months after my eldest brother was born. My younger brother is 11 months younger than me. Needless to say, we were all born within 20 months of each other, hence the whole Irish Triplets thing. Our sisters were born almost two years later, and they were Irish Twins at that. And then my mom stopped giving birth to children, and thank God. Seven assholes in a house with one bathroom was enough for my ass. It was a small part of the reason why I left home when I was 18, as opposed to everyone else, except my youngest sister, who nobody knows what has happened to her. So much for me being the "wild one". And of course, I had to talk about my balls. All comedians always talk about dicks, vaginas, and tits, but never about balls. And I’ve got an excellent set of balls. My life has proven that particular fact.
After the show, Jennifer made her feelings known towards me, which was not news to me. But it's still difficult to me to accept the love of another. I'd been burned by this so-called "love" in the past, and I'll be damned if I let it happen again. She was sweet enough, considering that she gave me my drinks for free. And she was gorgeous enough. She was a blonde with a great ass and a decent rack. But every time that I've fallen in love and pursued it, it has burned me badly. My first wife, for example, carried our child for eight months before she hemorrhaged on the delivery table and died, taking our son with her. It devastated me to the point that I spent a lot of time at the bottom of a bottle, back when I was in the military and other drugs were not an option.
Then there was the woman who helped me recover and managed to get me out from the bottom of a bottle, though now, I'm still kind of baffled at what kind of game she was playing. No sooner did we marry that she started to fuck around on me with another man. Granted, I was on the road a lot, but what the fuck? Who the fuck gets married and almost immediately starts fucking around?
And who could forget my well-publicized romance with Ryann Hardy? The woman with who I was rivaled with her squeeze. Of course, nobody really knew what went on behind the scenes. Her boyfriend was distant and damaged, kind of like I am now. But yet she latched on to me and I returned her love. But the business started to drive us apart. She started working with that asshole Brad Jackson, and I was left in the cold. What hurt more was the fact that I went almost five years without knowing that she fathered a child of mine. At least I get to see her on occasion.
But how could I forget my "abusive relationship"? I had married a few years ago to a charming lady, only to find out just how cruel-spirited she was. I can only thank God or whoever is watching over me that she was unable to take anything from me worth taking. I gave her the house and everything she wanted, and that was the end of our relationship. Though in the grand scheme of things, I still felt like she used me to get the things she wanted. It was too bad that she couldn't hang on to those things that I had got her during our marriage.
And of course, just when I thought I found someone who really cared about me, when we had spent a year together planning the rest of our future together, she leaves me when I lost my foot, suffered severe head trauma, and was on the verge of dying. Like the Megadeth song, in my darkest hour, she wasn't there. Instead, she bolted. And this was the absolute last straw. I could not place my trust in this leggy blonde bombshell, or any dusky beauty, or redhead princess, for that matter. I have ran out of love, but not lust.
Of all the horrendous things that I've done in my life, I've never felt the urge to lie to women to get laid. I've never had to break out "I love you" to get myself some tail. Perhaps that has led me to chase the undesirable and the proven shitbag women of the world. I've always understood that anything worth having is hard to obtain and maintain, but if I've ran across any women worth having in my life, they always seemed to be moving in the other direction. I guess this raises the question again of am I really that big of a shitbag? Am I really cursed? Am I destined to live alone?
If you were to ask my lawyer, the answer is "yes". But even the most despicable people in the world that I've had the displeasure of meeting had families that cared for their well-being. Hell, when I was involved in drug operations in South America, I had family members of the former Cali Cartel come after me to avenge their lost loved ones. Why the fuck can't I have that?
Its late, and I'm tired. And in the morning, I'm going to have to explain to Jennifer why I can't take her with me, away from the bar, her boring-ass fiancée and all of that jazz. And there is never enough alcohol or drugs to try and numb the pain of having to let someone down easy. Especially now, when I have my career and "War" to think about. Yes, "War" is still riding on my mind. Especially the thought that I'm going to have to face, potentially, 32 other wrestlers inside of that ring. And that is considering if I'm one of the first competitors inside of that ring.
In 15 years that I've been competing as a professional wrestler, I still wonder just exactly how does one prepare for a match like this? A match that is designed to be bedlam in what could be considered, in the grand scheme of things, a closet. When you stuff 33 people inside of a ring, it feels like you're stuck inside of a closet.
But again, I'm tired and I'm sure tomorrow is not going to bring me any comfort. I will have to prepare for leaving behind this poor girl who has chosen to hang her hopes on the wrong person, which is me. With any luck, I will be here tomorrow to write the conclusion to this sad story.
Personal Entry
September 24, 2014
Well, it looked like Jennifer saved me a whole load of trouble in the morning. When I woke up, she was gone and there was a letter attached to the mirror in the bathroom. I relieved myself before taking down the note to read what it said...
Deuce,
I really had a great time last night, but I cannot do it anymore. As you know, I found someone. He's absolutely great, just like you... deep down inside. But he's also settled and at peace with himself, which I don't think I can say the same for you. Maybe that is what I loved about you. The wild streak. The "take no prisoners or shit" attitude was what really attracted me to you to begin with. But I also knew going in, somewhere deep inside, that it wasn't going to last. I also know how bad you've had it for the last few years and I just wanted to help you get back on the right track.
However, after what I've seen of you since the accident, I don't know if it is ever possible for you to ever find peace with yourself. Hell, I don't even think you like yourself. And I made peace with the fact that you are probably never going to settle down. I'm starting to push 30, and I want the nice house and a good life without all of the hustle attached to the fast lane. And Jeremy is willing to provide all of that for me.
I hope you find whatever it is that you're looking for out there, whether it's love, money, fame, power, or even, as you once put it "The Good Death", whatever that means. Just remember that there are people out there that care about you.
Love Always,
Jennifer
I put the letter down and looked at myself in the mirror for a few moments, before I turned away in disgust. She was right. I really hated myself at this moment. Story of my life. Granted, I was going to run her out of here this morning, but it still hurts when the end comes to any relationship. Hell, I hated my father, and I still cried like a little bitch when I found out he was no longer with us.
I called the guys and told them to get ready to blow town. Initially, I had planned on staying until Thursday for a little hometown R&R, but this recent event had me longing for the road once more. And with any luck, I might get myself a few more bookings for meet and greets, autograph signings, and other side projects. And I really wanted to get in touch with Buzz to get the scoop on the Phoenix party scene.
The guys seemed quite thrilled to leave town. When I inquired about what they did the night before, there was a lot of awkward looks and gestures to go along with TMac's busted lip and Lazlo's black eye. It seemed that my attorney the night before ran afoul of some military personnel in gentleman's club, and a fight ensued between my guys and the military guys. I guess they did okay, considering they were not in jail or the hospital. I didn't push the subject any further, and they seemed relieved by that fact.
We packed and restocked the bus before blowing town. We had almost seven hours until we hit Phoenix. TMac was behind the wheel, while Lazlo was on the phone wheeling and dealing. The world was once again right and good.
Lazlo further surprised me when he handed me a bag with brand-new wrestling boots in them. The same black glossy finish with "GONZO" embroidered into the back of each boot. I'd forgiven the bastard long ago, considering I accidentally gave him pinkeye once when I tea-bagged him in a drunken state years ago. I think I may still have that picture when I put gum on his face.
With any luck, this trip will take my mind off of "another one that got away", so I can really get down to business. Hopefully some videos of my competition will do the trick. I've already faced at least three other competitors with very little luck, while observing a fourth up close and personal on my team. Perhaps these losses aren't as bad as I've been taking them. And Brent Alpine winning the title was pure luck, because his ass was about to get drilled into that mat, "Bat Country" style. At least I've learned a ton about those four men. The other 28? Well, that was a different story.
But I have time on my hands, and plenty of video to shuffle through during this trip. With any luck, I'll be well-prepared to take on any swinging dick or twat that comes my way once "War" commences.
