I Have No Mouth, but I Must Sigh!
Jul 12, 2015 15:21:25 GMT -5
Kaz, Crow McMorris, and 2 more like this
Post by Jack Coston on Jul 12, 2015 15:21:25 GMT -5
America: Land of the free, home of the brave. The country with the good ole' fashioned know-how (the glorious know-how, the god-like know-how) to get the job done, even if it has no clue what that job really is. The waver of the red, white, and blue. The fighter of terrorists and wrong doing. The nation built on hard work and determination. What other eye-catching tabloid-inspired tag lines would one need to know that this country was handpicked by The Almighty himself to be the very best? What kind of horrible pink-o, nazi, child-beating, woman-hating, terrorist would have the gal to look at this country and think that its anything but the perfect picture of good clean living?
...Jack Coston...
Jack Coston would be that Pink-o Bastard.
Here is the glorious thing about opinions, dear reader. Everyone has one. In fact, the world is so saturated with opinions that, much like dirt or your collection of rocks that look disturbingly close to Jay Leno, they are worthless (yep, that's right, you blathering on about how PC gaming is superior to console gaming will better no one's life in the slightest, so please stop sending me those stupid links on facebook, Jason). So yes, Jack's opinion might be different from yours, but find solace in the fact that his is worth just as much as yours (which is to say nothing at all).
Don't get it twisted though, dear reader, despite their absolutely fabricated and worthless nature, people often treat opinions like the be all or end all. People have fought for opinions, people have built nations over opinions, people have destroyed relationships for opinions, people have DIED for opinions (so be careful when discussing the latest Season of Game of Thrones). See, there are people in this world who might want to hang our faithful protagonist for his opinion on this beloved country of ours. You could even say that THEIR opinion of HIS opinion would be quite volatile.
What is Jack's opinion on this country? Well, let's just a bit back in time (queue Doctor Who theme...ready...aaaaand play!) and ask dear ole' Teenage Jack Coston. Spiked denim Jack Coston, before-he-was-allowed-to-drink-but-did-anyways Jack Coston, "Dead Kennedys are the best band ever" Jack Coston, the naturally rebellious and over zealous Jack Coston with a heart-full of fool's gold and a brain full of simulated fire, always and only angry Jack Coston. If we were able to get teenage Jack to sit still for a moment (between school, some concert no one cares about, and practices for the band he is starting which equally as many people care about) and ask him what is opinion on this country was, it might go a little something like this:
-This country is like a small scrappy mother fucker who got a good couple hits early on in a fight and suddenly thinks he is King shit. Its the classic David and Goliath syndrome. They start to think they are this great underdog who managed to over come the odds. Granted, that's how it started, but now imagine that same small sonofabitch a couple years later, about a foot taller and with 70 more pounds of muscle picking a fight with a bunch of guys who are about as small as he used to be; the under dog story kind of stops applying, but your fucked in the mouth if you dare say that to any dumb fuck yokel waving that stupid piece of cloth in the air.
You can't say anything about this country. People with lynch you for that shit. This country's one greatest accomplishment is being able to trick itself into believe the mythology it has set up for itself. Its gotten to the point where the country is its own religion. All a man has to do is stand on a pulpit in front of a crowd of millions with an American flag and you'll be damned if they don't start listening to his every word. This is our holy symbol! This cloth represents the glorious strength our God, Washing, has bestowed upon us. Praise be to land! and then from the crowd of millions, you hear a roaring God Bless The US and then the 'preachatician' continues on,
OH, FAITHFUL MILLIONS! You surely are filled with the spirit of Lincoln! I can feel it in you! He speaks to me! Yes, this very instant! He says you are all beautiful, you are all glorious! There is no need to better yourselves, you are great the way you are! Praise be to the land! and again the crowd roars, God Bless The US. Its all wrapped up in itself. This is their be all - end all. They pride themselves in being the land of the free where all have this more-than-a-ghost of a chance, but then its FUCK THE GAYS! FUCK THE IMMIGRANTS! FUCK THE UNFAITHFUL! BE MANLY! IF YOU AREN'T LIKE US, YOU ARE AGAINST US! STOP BEING HAPPY AND BE PART OF THE GROUP! God Bless The US
There is no reasoning with someone trapped in a belief like that. People in this country want so badly to be right that they make up enemies that they can beat. They don't argue, they shout you down. Its all God Bless The US God Bless The US God Bless The US. Fuck The Poor. Work For Your Cut. Become A Real Man. Don't Question Anything. We Are The Light. What kind of world is that? This world is fucked from beginning to end, so why spend your life thinking you are better than someone else just because you were born in a particular country? All these lines are a mess of thoughts. They're only worth anything because we make them worth something.
Without humanity, there would be no borders, no concepts of worth, no concepts of spiritual superiority. We make a mess of all this shit to make ourselves something we aren't and then we hold it over their heads. Wouldn't it simply be easier to be kind? To ignore the bullshit and just do what we can to help? Why do people who preach peace get shot or left in obscurity while men of considerable power and allowed to toss this country into a worth of shit and hate? Why do we support that? Wanna know why? Because we've been taught to help wave our country's big ole' dick to show we aren't weak. It always comes back to that. You could ignore everyone else's opinion of you, but nope, you have to tell these people that our military industrial complex is so out of control because it makes us look tough! Fuck helping! Fuck being reasonable! Fucking being rational! Its our country! Support it until death! Kill a commie! God Bless The US!!!!!!!
Fuck your pride man, its all bullshit! Your pride is going to kill the rest of us! I don't hate being in this country. I'm glad I'm not starving or being oppressed by a religious theocracy (well, not the kind that do public beheadings), but that doesn't mean I have no right to complain when people get stupid. People pride strength over intelligence, pride pride over truth, pride winning over the best result. Its hard to watch. How can people not be angry when they watch a mob mentality create something so incredibly Orwellian on a social structure?!
That's why I became a punk rocker. Its kind of like a place for the discontent, for the tired and frustrated. Its dirty, its unconcerned with lines, and it prides rationality and free thinking above anything else. People here get it, they aren't looking for carbon copies. Its the one group I can honestly believe wouldn't just create enemies if it ran out of the ones it currently had. They aren't looking to win by any means necessary (via. lying, changing their argument, twisting their words), they just want whats best and they stick to their guns. That's what I would love to see more of in this world.
Now, if you don't mind, I have a Mighty Mighty Boss Tones show to go to...-
What a dirty, unAmerican fuck, amiright?!
Keep in mind that angry Jack Coston, that piss and vinegar Jack Coston, that Jack Coston of visions and ideals, that carrier of old band patches and stickers, that Jack Coston so full of life that was yet to be had. What would ever become of that shining star of misguided optimism? "What optimism" you ask? While it is true that our hero was filled with bones to pick and bridges to burn, if one were to pay attention, a fleeting glimmer of hope lined the edges of what many would consider "unpatriotic hate speech"; Punk Rock. That little pathetic movement that started sometime in the 60's took ten years to gain any traction, and then was quickly banished to obscurity (aka dirty basements, hole-in-the-wall-clubs and retrospective DVDs).
This little-human-who-could was quite the advocate for such a moment back in his teen years. He would go to the shows, buy the CDs, watch the DVDs, buy the T-shirts, listen to the interviews, and preach the good word of "supporting local music" to his many friends who couldn't give half of a shit. He was the picture perfect punk kid, the kind that only comes around once every five minutes. He thought the world of Punk Rock and saw the sub-culture as a home away from home (though, there wasn't anything wrong with his home, it was just normal, an godforbid any be happy with normal).
To Jack, it was a movement for those who were left behind by everything else. They weren't talented enough to be in real rock bands, they weren't smart enough to be the beloved writers of a generation, and they sure as hell weren't organized to be considered anything close to a real political revolution. It was ugly and chaotic, and thats why Jack loved it. How could anything so broken look down on anyone else? How could anything so familiar with rock bottom ever think of itself as superior? How could anything so a part of the disenfranchised ever turn anyone away from its doors. Well, with like most things you humans are a part of, you found a way.
When Jack first got into the music genre for rebels, he was so enamored by the aspect of something built purely on passion that he payed no attention to the man behind the curtain so-to-speak. He saw only what he wished to see (an activity afforded only to those who haven't been there long enough or those who have been there too long) and completely missed the incredible hypocrisy that sat behind every spray painted venue or CD release party, the delicious hypocrisy that would shatter Jack's view of his beloved home away from home.
Instead of trying to go into such uninteresting and objective detail about what such things were occurring in a local Minnesota punk scene, lets give the spotlight back to young Jack Coston, a little older now, hardly wiser, but different in all the same ways and see what he has to say about the hip little thing the kids these days are calling "PONX RAWK!":
-Its all a bunch of bullshit now! A bunch of elitist fucks trying to pure breed punk into their perfect view of it. They don't give a shit about getting anything done. Despite the fact that its been around for over forty years and has spread to almost every country on the map, they are so obsessed with being the underdog that they throw themselves down into the dirt just so they can look up at everything and scoff at how high and mighty everything acts.
They'll kick the shit out of anyone who is a bit different, because everyone else is a part of the system and if you aren't part of the solution then you're part of the problem. Godforbid these kids might just want to go to the shows to actually enjoy the music (which, how can you when a bunch of old fucks are always complaining about how nothing was like how it was back in nineteen fucking eight six), or that maybe some of them might be down for the cause, NOPE, gotta kick them out because they aren't like us cool-punkrockanarchy types. Punk Rockers just want enemies so they can feel like more of an underdog.
All it takes is one spiky haired mother fucker with a megaphone to pipe up and before you know it, every dumbass with a "Crass" patch is standing in line, waiting to agree with this master of ceremonies. HEY FELLOW FUCKWADS! FUCK THE ESTABLISHMENT, AMIRIGHT?! THEY THINK THEY CAN CONTROL US BUT FUCK THEM! IN FACT, BUTT FUCK THEM! WE MAY BE FEW, BUT WE ARE STRONG! LETS KEEP IT THAT WAY! WE ARE THE REVOLUTION! WE ARE THE LONERS! THE FIGHTERS! THE SCRAPPERS! WE KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE ON THE BOTTOM! WE COULD CONTROL THE WORLD! BUT ALSO, FUCK THE WORLD! WE DON'T WANT THAT SHIT! WE WON'T BE CORRUPTED BY THAT KIND OF POWER! PRAISE BE TO CHOKING VICTIM! To which the congregation of multi-colored hair and nose rings will reply with a hearty UP THE PUNX! Screaming as ugly and disharmoniously as they can muster. Then the man with the mega phone will continue...
ALSO, FUCK THOSE EMO FAGGOTS! HOW DARE THEY BRING ANY KIND OF EMOTION BUT ANGER AND HATE INTO OUR MUSIC! ALSO, FUCK THE JOCKS FOR TRYING TO BE SO MACHO ALL THE TIME! FUCK ANYONE WHO ISN'T US! AND FUCK THE REDNECKS FOR BEING SO INTOLERANT! AND FUCK CATHLINE HANNAH FOR EVER TALKING TO THAT HANNAH MONTANA CUNT! ALSO, FUCK ANYONE WHO TELLS US HOW TO BE OR WHO TO ASSOCIATE WITH! PRAISE BE TO NO CASH! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX!
WE LIKE OUR PUNK HOW PUNK SHOULD BE! DRUNK! UP THE PUNX! ANGRY! UP THE PUNX! FAST UP THE PUNX! UNCHANGING! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX!UP THE PUNX! DON'T EVER CHANGE! YOU ARE OURS! YOU BELONG TO PUNK! NEVER SPEAK AGAINST US! WE'LL KICK YOUR ASS!
Its not a movement worth following! It'll just disappoint ya and leave ya out in the cold the first time you question it, and its so overloaded with that mob mentality that if you tried to change it, you'll receive almost instant backlash from a bunch of drunk Henry Rollins wannabes. Its fucking depressing, man. You think you've found a place looking for to make the world a better place, and all you do is run into a bunch of assholes determined to win and crush everyone else.
Don't get me wrong, I still love the music. It still means something to me, and when I see someone who gets it, I have hope that maybe they'll do more good in that position than I ever could, but after watching the ground be pulled from under you, how do you move on from that? You trust these people and then you don't mean shit to them. Its a mess.
Fuck dude, I need a drink.-
Now, with a little less direction, a little more alcohol, and a bit more anger than before, Jack was learning the hard truth, albeit very slowly; hold your standards too high, and they'll get smacked down. Now, not only was he unpatriotic, he wasn't punkrockanarchy either. He was a man without a country...well, not entirely. He was a fighter...
No, not that he "hangs in there" bullshit, I mean like a real fighter...
I mean he punches people in the face.
The great thing about fighting is the fact that everyone from around the world does it. They all love punching each other in the face. I have to admit, at your dumbest, you humans are fairly amusing. You love knocking each other's teeth out. Jack knew this too and felt it was finally the great equalizer he was looking for. Which might seem odd, being that his complaints so far have been people's need to win and their need to feel tougher than everyone else, but at least in fighting, at least how Jack thought, it was pure honesty. You fought until someone fell down, and the best man one. It taught people to admit defeat, something Jack learned to do as well.
However time, as it often did, brought out the truth. Even in the art of fighting, where win and loss records were kept, there was no ambiguity about the turn out, and where skill should be the only factor; people found a way to ruin that too. They cheated, they lied, they complained, they disputed the results, they interfered, and all for the sake of never losing their spot.
Now, this is not to say that Jack is a sweetheart honest Abe type. No, this is the same dumb fuck who was once a part of a house show while the owners of said house on vacation on unaware, but complete strangers to every one who had attended. Jack had done plenty of dumb things in his past, but the difference between a stupid mistake and stupid ego were always as plain as day to Jack. Being naive was his biggest crime.
However, the point is that Jack was getting fed up with it. Everyone wanted to keep their spot. They got a point where they were happy with themselves and even if they were no longer good enough to hold onto that spot, they woul burn the whole world down just to hold onto it. It was a dirty game and it was breaking Jack's heart. No longer angry, no longer hateful, Jack was just defeated. What had made him so vehement against his own country was no longer just in The US; The US opened up into the world. Jack realized that one culture didn't create this mentality, this was how people were. This world was made up of K.L. Hensons, Alex Richards, and Kaz Mazys; people who would do whatever it took to keep their spot, even lie to themselves that they were worthy of it.
Now, there is no younger Jack Coston to go to. This was the present. No more time traveling needed. He was the wrestler, the WCF employee, the man with three wins, one loss, and one draw, and as he looked up at the set laid out before him, all he could think of were all the times in his life he realized people lied for the sake of maintaining their spot.
It was a pulpit; a stage covered in red, white, and blue. On each side of the pulpit was a gigantic sign with Jack Coston's face drawn on it, smirking like an idiot. Under his face, both signs read "I want to be YOUR US Champ!" in bold letters befitting to every campaign sigh back in the fifties. Right above the podium were lights of the same Red, white, and blue that decked out everything else in front of him. To use Jack's own words, "It looks like Uncle Sam came by and jizzed all over everything."
"Oh, come on, its a theme!" Frank proclaimed as his stretched out his arms, trying to present it to Jack in a new light, "You're currently going for the United States championship! That's one hell of an honor, especially considering you totally botched your chance at the internet title."
"I didn't botch it! K.L. Henson inter-"
"Don't want to hear it," Frank interrupted, "What's done is done, no going back to the past now." This was unless, of course, you were the narrator of this story and needed to keep reaching into the past to bring out perspective, because Jack himself wasn't interesting enough by himself to carry a narrative week in and week out...but besides the point. "We're going to do this week right! We are going to get people to notice you!"
"Notice me by making me every politician ever?"
"Its a gimmick, Jack," Frank rolled his eyes, "Its just this week, then we can move on...to whatever the theme is next week. Thankfully I have a cousin who does set designs, so I can pull a few strings and we can do this for a couple more weeks. Either way, don't worry about it, its not like you're actually running for Student Council or whatever, you're just going to go up there and rip Kazface a new one. Here, I even have a script for you to follow."
"A wha-," but before Jack could question it, Frank had already pulled out a couple pages stapled together and handed them over to Jack for him to read, "You can't be serious."
"As serious as a heart attack from God my friend," Frank looked proud...like a giant proud idiot, "just read this and I can gauranfuckingtee that the audience will be pulling for you. Those idiots are so easy to read that we'll have them eating out of your palms in a month."
"That's not-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it, that's not what you're about. I've had to hear this argument countless times already, will you just give my way a fucking chance? Not that hard buddy, you don't even have to think. Just read the paper, be lovable and charismatic, and we will be on our way to the top in no time!" Jack looked down at the piece of paper and sighed heavily.
"Whatcha readin'," Jack heard a voice call out from above him. Jack looked up to see a man hanging from a harness above the stage in an Abraham Lincoln costume. Not just any man, mind you. It was the one and only Seth "Dumb Dumber is my favorite action film" Dominics.
"What is he doing here," Jack asked Frank, pointing up at the man suspended above him.
"Oh, ran into him at the supermarket," Frank responded plainly, as if nothing was weird about this, "said he was a friend of yours, so I figured he would be down to help. It really is hard to find any friends of yours, Jack, should probably fix that."
"I'm George Washington!"
"Abraham Lincoln," Jack responded, still staring dumbfoundedly at Seth Dominics.
"You're playing Abraham Lincoln," Seth asked without a hint of irony.
"No, I mean you're Abraham Lincoln."
"No, I'm Seth, don't you remember me? You got into my car that one day, we were being chased by hippies."
"What?" Frank interjected.
"Nothing, lets get back to this stupid script of yours," Jack responded, taking his gaze away from the flying Seth Dominics.
The script read a little something like this:
Dear my fellow Americans.
Jack stopped reading and looked up at Frank, "Seriously, dude?"
"Shut up and keep reading," Frank responded, pushing the pages up into Jack's face to continue reading.
The script continued:
It has been brought to my attention that this great country of ours has been insulted by an evil that was previously inconceivable to the human mind. An evil in the form of a single human being. A man, if one can call him that, by the name of Kaz Mazy. He has taken the United States Championship, a title so very close to all of our hearts, and has turned it into a sign of pure unpatriotic terrorism, much like how HITLER (All caps means to emphasize, Jacky boy) took the swastika and turned it into something so hateful and unamerican (by the by, if you can fit a couple more "unamericans" or "evils" into the speech when describing Kaz, that would be great, Jack boy) that this great country had to step into World War Two and end it like so many other countries couldn't.
Now, much like our grand nation, I must step in and do the job so many others couldn't. I will end the awful reign of that communist scumbag once and for all. Much like Dirty Harry, John McClaine from Die Hard, and The Man With No Name from A Fistful of Dollars did (never saw any of those movies, but I assume you have, so feel free to correct if needed), and I will take back that title and turn it into the beacon of hope that it has been for so many years!
Kaz, I'm talking direct to you now, you rat of a man! (Remember to get all fiery and shit for this part, Jack. Make sure the people believe you are going to come down like superman and put this guy in his place!) You've made a mockery of this country's title and you've made a mockery of this industry! Its time for you to pay! Not only will I be stripping you of that prestigious title, but in doing so, I will be taking away your one chance into The Ultimate Showdown! In your place a real man will walk in! Wanna know why I can say that with such confidence? Because just like this GREAT COUNTRY OF OURS (emphasis, Jack, emphasis!) I have the strength and fire power to take out the competition! Those who oppose me are the same people who oppose this land and thus oppose the wonderful fans of the Wrestling Championship Federation!
Sure, no one is pulling for me in this match. Everyone seems to think that evil is doomed to win, but this country was founded by under dogs, it was won by under dogs, and goddamn it, it is held up every day by under dogs! The people that will be in those stands during our match all know what it is like to face an evil and over come it, because they are strong! They fight every day and I will not stand for anyone, especially not a commie, American Hating, Godless bastard like you, mock their struggle!
(Now at this point, Seth will descend to the stage dressed as Abraham Lincoln. He will have an American flag on his back, which he will then take off and place on your shoulders. You'll shake his-)
"Wait, I have to ask," Jack rubbed his forehead, trying to message the headache away, "why is Abraham fucking Lincoln flying down to the set?" He couldn't get what Kaz said in his promo out of his head. About how Frank was only in it for the money, that he was Sketchy. Jack had had his suspicions for sometime, but having someone else point it out had brought it out into the open, making it impossible to ignore.
"It was my idea!" Seth proclaimed in excitement, "Do you like it?"
"Also," Frank said, clearly pleased with his script, "majority of polls show that people like Abraham Lincoln. He is a pretty popular president."
"I'm a Benjamin Harrison guy, myself," Seth spoke as he waved his arms, pretending to swim through the air, like one often does. He began to swing back and forth, no longer in control of the ropes movements.
"Seth, knock it off!" Frank yelled, watching the machine holding up Seth start to tilt back and forth as Seth swung.
"I can't someone get me down!" Seth screamed in fear, flailing his arms about making the matter worse, "I can't die in a fake beard and top hat! I don't want to go out like my dad!"
"You said your dad died in a Hot Dog eating contest," Jack watched Frank run over to the small crane hold Seth up. Frank threw his body weight on top of it, but it kept tilting.
"YOU WANNA DISCUSS LOGISTICS OR DO YOU WANT TO SAVE ME!" Seth in full panic mode began to swing his arms. Eventually the crane tipped too far on way and Seth swung through the air and came crashing down on the Patriotic set, crashing through the middle, hitting a support and toppling over the entire structure.
The metal holding the lights cave in and crashed through more of the set, showing just how weak the wood being used was. Dust was kicked up through the air, obscuring Jack's view, but he didn't need to see it to know the whole thing was collapsing inwards, the noises told him that on their own.
The noises ceased and the dust began to settle, revealing the fragmented remains of what once had been. A perfect metaphor if you were to task this not-so-humble narrator. Jack began to push around the rubble, and after about fifteen minutes of searching, he managed to uncover Seth Dominics, his beard half gone and his hat crushed upon his head.
"You okay there, buddy," Jack asked as he looked down at the decimated Lincoln at his feet. Seth, remaining silent, raised his thumb up in response. "Good to hear it. Might just want to lay there for a while. Doesn't look like this set is going anywhere anytime soon." Seth's raised thumb fell to his side, where he remained for the next half-an-hour or so.
Jack walked away from the wreck and looked back just to see the damage. Nothing was salvageable. Seth had done one hell of a number on it, and even though Frank was on his knees before the structure with his hands in his hair, Jack couldn't be happier.
A van pulled up to the destroyed set and out came a camera crew from WCF, peering at the mess that once was an American Orgy and pride and nationalism.
"The fuck happened here?" One of the cameramen asked.
"An opportunity," Jack replied, smiling for the first time that day.
-.-.-
As did life in the universe, all started out dark, but the dark was replaced with a light as the camera began to record, panning over the destroyed set, focusing in on the shards of wood that seemed to sprout out of the ground. The camera shot over the spot where Seth Dominics continued to lay, still in costume, still mostly covered in debris. He didn't wave at the camera, because Jack told him just to remain still as the filmed the spot, just act dead. So Seth was told, so Seth did.
The camera pulled back from the mess and Jack Coston came onto the screen, not bothering to look back with the camera, he faced forward and peered into the lens.
"What were the words from The Omen?" Jack pondered for a moment, "oh yeah, 'Its all for you, Damien'. Well, take a look here. This WAS all for you, Kaz, comrade. Someone cared enough, that someone not being me, to set up this entire thing just for the sake of letting me 'tear you apart' as he put it. Unfortunately, life is kind of funny and it seems that I won't get to stand at a podium like some important person and 'rain hellfire' down upon you. Instead, I'll have to talk to you like I am, a grounded man waiting to look at you face to face.
"I watched your shoot on me, broheme, and I have to say you made some good points. I mean, yeah, felt like I was watching some dorky dude's vlog, but honestly, when you make a point, that rest of that shit doesn't matter. First, you're right. I was a bit naive to think I could find some honest competition. It took me a little bit, but I started to realize that the only person actually bringing the real competition in the ring during my matches was me.
"I mean, sure, whatever. Go on about how you 'let' us beat the shit out of Gemini because 'you didn't give a shit'. Real easy thing to say. Always is, in fact, I'll say it now; I don't give a shit about this match. I don't give a shit about any matches. See, super easy. I could do it all day, but the truth is, I do give a shit. In fact, my nerves are fucking RACKED before I go into that ring, but that's because I'm putting my chips on the table, I'm not going out there with a lame ass net like a security team.
"Which leads me to the second thing you were right about, You have been here longer than I have, ten months longer as you brought up. This was just one of the few points you illustrated about how you and I are different. Another being that I have no clue what you've had to do to get your place, how you had to go those routes. That's fair, I mean, yeah, its a tough game to play, especially when you have a target on your back. Holding onto it can be hard, but it often makes me think how people will look back on it...
"'Oh, that Kaz, he sure did fight...sometimes.' Maybe I'll change after I spend a bit more time in this company, and if I do, you can tell me all you want that you were right...right behind your team, the whole time. As far as right now though, the one difference between you and I that I'll bring up is I'm not some bitch with one too many dick jokes. I have what I got, which isn't a lot, but I'm going to stick to it until I'm put with that ultimatum that you were given, either manipulate the game or get hit with a shit storm way beyond you. I really do hope when I get to make that choice, I can make the right one and think of myself as a little bit better of a fighter than you are, even if I don't win that US title at Slam.
"Again, you were right, maybe it'll just be a matter of me stacking up those losses and questioning myself. I might look into the abyss and see what a, as Petrov might put it, 'pussy fuck' I am. You gotta risk that shit. Your born, risking death. You eat, risking choking. You win, risking losing. You learn about yourself, risking finding something you didn't want to know, but for the love of all that is good and holy in this pathetic fucking universe. If I find that I am a bitch, put me out, take me down, burn me to the ground, just don't let me try and stay longer than warranted.
"I'd rather have that than live in a delusion. I rather feel the bullet hit. Again, if I am a bitch, let me at least know it so I again can be that much better of a fighter than you. That's all I ask.
"If I can't get an honest fight out of anyone, than let be honest. Let me be the one thing in this industry that has even a bit of truth to it. I want to know better and be closer to what is really going on. Maybe then, if you'll excuse the heavy handed metaphor, I can be a sort of mirror. Right now, people are ashamed of losing, when I'm done, I want people ashamed of what they did to avoid losing."
Jack looked back at the pile of wood and ribbons behind him, chuckled, and faced the camera once more, "Ya know, when I was REALLY little. I use to love this country. My mom use to fill my head with the bravery of other men who fought for this country. How they went into it all head first and did what they could for their country. Back then, good and evil where as polarized as possible. Nothing was subjective, it was all like the flip of a switch, one way or another.
"However, when I got older, as many do, I found out more, the world became more defined, but at the same time, a bit grayer. I watched this country's people, I saw how they acted. The word 'indignant' comes to mind. They took this all for granted and scream when anything goes wrong. They don't like the fight, they don't like facing hardships. Naturally so, what is bad is bad, and boy to people hate the bad, but thing that bothered me was that so many people professed to be a part of the same America I loved as a child, but then gave of this air of being part of this mutated thing that the country actually was. It was like watching millions of people hallucinating and failing to see the truth around them.
"These aren't the kind of Americans that movies had made the world think there was. These were not the kind of people who saved lies, defeated monsters, and won honest fights. No, these were assholes, liars, cheaters, indulgent fucks. I mean, it seems weird that I bash on these people, its not a matter of malice, I don't want their hate. I just want people to be honest for once. To challenge themselves. I want a better country. I'm not unpatriotic, because I think this place is fucked up, I'm patriotic, because I want to make it better. Maybe that'll have to start here.
"I'll go ahead and be the dumb new kid with bright eyes and hope for the future, you can go ahead and be the big-dick-swinging cynic who can't wait to see the industry spit me out. We'll meet in that ring, I'll rip that title off of your waste, and then maybe people will see whats better. This one-month working little scrub will take out the eleven month can't-be-beat 'veteran' with my honest competition, because if it has to start there, then that's where I'll start.
"Who knows, maybe you'll wise up as well, buddy. Maybe you'll realize that that security is doing less for you than you think. Just maybe. So, show up to Slam and try to show the world what a bitch I am, I can't wait."
The camera ceases to roll, the screen goes dark and now all there is for Jack to do is wait...and wait...and wait...and hope.
...Jack Coston...
Jack Coston would be that Pink-o Bastard.
Here is the glorious thing about opinions, dear reader. Everyone has one. In fact, the world is so saturated with opinions that, much like dirt or your collection of rocks that look disturbingly close to Jay Leno, they are worthless (yep, that's right, you blathering on about how PC gaming is superior to console gaming will better no one's life in the slightest, so please stop sending me those stupid links on facebook, Jason). So yes, Jack's opinion might be different from yours, but find solace in the fact that his is worth just as much as yours (which is to say nothing at all).
Don't get it twisted though, dear reader, despite their absolutely fabricated and worthless nature, people often treat opinions like the be all or end all. People have fought for opinions, people have built nations over opinions, people have destroyed relationships for opinions, people have DIED for opinions (so be careful when discussing the latest Season of Game of Thrones). See, there are people in this world who might want to hang our faithful protagonist for his opinion on this beloved country of ours. You could even say that THEIR opinion of HIS opinion would be quite volatile.
What is Jack's opinion on this country? Well, let's just a bit back in time (queue Doctor Who theme...ready...aaaaand play!) and ask dear ole' Teenage Jack Coston. Spiked denim Jack Coston, before-he-was-allowed-to-drink-but-did-anyways Jack Coston, "Dead Kennedys are the best band ever" Jack Coston, the naturally rebellious and over zealous Jack Coston with a heart-full of fool's gold and a brain full of simulated fire, always and only angry Jack Coston. If we were able to get teenage Jack to sit still for a moment (between school, some concert no one cares about, and practices for the band he is starting which equally as many people care about) and ask him what is opinion on this country was, it might go a little something like this:
-This country is like a small scrappy mother fucker who got a good couple hits early on in a fight and suddenly thinks he is King shit. Its the classic David and Goliath syndrome. They start to think they are this great underdog who managed to over come the odds. Granted, that's how it started, but now imagine that same small sonofabitch a couple years later, about a foot taller and with 70 more pounds of muscle picking a fight with a bunch of guys who are about as small as he used to be; the under dog story kind of stops applying, but your fucked in the mouth if you dare say that to any dumb fuck yokel waving that stupid piece of cloth in the air.
You can't say anything about this country. People with lynch you for that shit. This country's one greatest accomplishment is being able to trick itself into believe the mythology it has set up for itself. Its gotten to the point where the country is its own religion. All a man has to do is stand on a pulpit in front of a crowd of millions with an American flag and you'll be damned if they don't start listening to his every word. This is our holy symbol! This cloth represents the glorious strength our God, Washing, has bestowed upon us. Praise be to land! and then from the crowd of millions, you hear a roaring God Bless The US and then the 'preachatician' continues on,
OH, FAITHFUL MILLIONS! You surely are filled with the spirit of Lincoln! I can feel it in you! He speaks to me! Yes, this very instant! He says you are all beautiful, you are all glorious! There is no need to better yourselves, you are great the way you are! Praise be to the land! and again the crowd roars, God Bless The US. Its all wrapped up in itself. This is their be all - end all. They pride themselves in being the land of the free where all have this more-than-a-ghost of a chance, but then its FUCK THE GAYS! FUCK THE IMMIGRANTS! FUCK THE UNFAITHFUL! BE MANLY! IF YOU AREN'T LIKE US, YOU ARE AGAINST US! STOP BEING HAPPY AND BE PART OF THE GROUP! God Bless The US
There is no reasoning with someone trapped in a belief like that. People in this country want so badly to be right that they make up enemies that they can beat. They don't argue, they shout you down. Its all God Bless The US God Bless The US God Bless The US. Fuck The Poor. Work For Your Cut. Become A Real Man. Don't Question Anything. We Are The Light. What kind of world is that? This world is fucked from beginning to end, so why spend your life thinking you are better than someone else just because you were born in a particular country? All these lines are a mess of thoughts. They're only worth anything because we make them worth something.
Without humanity, there would be no borders, no concepts of worth, no concepts of spiritual superiority. We make a mess of all this shit to make ourselves something we aren't and then we hold it over their heads. Wouldn't it simply be easier to be kind? To ignore the bullshit and just do what we can to help? Why do people who preach peace get shot or left in obscurity while men of considerable power and allowed to toss this country into a worth of shit and hate? Why do we support that? Wanna know why? Because we've been taught to help wave our country's big ole' dick to show we aren't weak. It always comes back to that. You could ignore everyone else's opinion of you, but nope, you have to tell these people that our military industrial complex is so out of control because it makes us look tough! Fuck helping! Fuck being reasonable! Fucking being rational! Its our country! Support it until death! Kill a commie! God Bless The US!!!!!!!
Fuck your pride man, its all bullshit! Your pride is going to kill the rest of us! I don't hate being in this country. I'm glad I'm not starving or being oppressed by a religious theocracy (well, not the kind that do public beheadings), but that doesn't mean I have no right to complain when people get stupid. People pride strength over intelligence, pride pride over truth, pride winning over the best result. Its hard to watch. How can people not be angry when they watch a mob mentality create something so incredibly Orwellian on a social structure?!
That's why I became a punk rocker. Its kind of like a place for the discontent, for the tired and frustrated. Its dirty, its unconcerned with lines, and it prides rationality and free thinking above anything else. People here get it, they aren't looking for carbon copies. Its the one group I can honestly believe wouldn't just create enemies if it ran out of the ones it currently had. They aren't looking to win by any means necessary (via. lying, changing their argument, twisting their words), they just want whats best and they stick to their guns. That's what I would love to see more of in this world.
Now, if you don't mind, I have a Mighty Mighty Boss Tones show to go to...-
What a dirty, unAmerican fuck, amiright?!
Keep in mind that angry Jack Coston, that piss and vinegar Jack Coston, that Jack Coston of visions and ideals, that carrier of old band patches and stickers, that Jack Coston so full of life that was yet to be had. What would ever become of that shining star of misguided optimism? "What optimism" you ask? While it is true that our hero was filled with bones to pick and bridges to burn, if one were to pay attention, a fleeting glimmer of hope lined the edges of what many would consider "unpatriotic hate speech"; Punk Rock. That little pathetic movement that started sometime in the 60's took ten years to gain any traction, and then was quickly banished to obscurity (aka dirty basements, hole-in-the-wall-clubs and retrospective DVDs).
This little-human-who-could was quite the advocate for such a moment back in his teen years. He would go to the shows, buy the CDs, watch the DVDs, buy the T-shirts, listen to the interviews, and preach the good word of "supporting local music" to his many friends who couldn't give half of a shit. He was the picture perfect punk kid, the kind that only comes around once every five minutes. He thought the world of Punk Rock and saw the sub-culture as a home away from home (though, there wasn't anything wrong with his home, it was just normal, an godforbid any be happy with normal).
To Jack, it was a movement for those who were left behind by everything else. They weren't talented enough to be in real rock bands, they weren't smart enough to be the beloved writers of a generation, and they sure as hell weren't organized to be considered anything close to a real political revolution. It was ugly and chaotic, and thats why Jack loved it. How could anything so broken look down on anyone else? How could anything so familiar with rock bottom ever think of itself as superior? How could anything so a part of the disenfranchised ever turn anyone away from its doors. Well, with like most things you humans are a part of, you found a way.
When Jack first got into the music genre for rebels, he was so enamored by the aspect of something built purely on passion that he payed no attention to the man behind the curtain so-to-speak. He saw only what he wished to see (an activity afforded only to those who haven't been there long enough or those who have been there too long) and completely missed the incredible hypocrisy that sat behind every spray painted venue or CD release party, the delicious hypocrisy that would shatter Jack's view of his beloved home away from home.
Instead of trying to go into such uninteresting and objective detail about what such things were occurring in a local Minnesota punk scene, lets give the spotlight back to young Jack Coston, a little older now, hardly wiser, but different in all the same ways and see what he has to say about the hip little thing the kids these days are calling "PONX RAWK!":
-Its all a bunch of bullshit now! A bunch of elitist fucks trying to pure breed punk into their perfect view of it. They don't give a shit about getting anything done. Despite the fact that its been around for over forty years and has spread to almost every country on the map, they are so obsessed with being the underdog that they throw themselves down into the dirt just so they can look up at everything and scoff at how high and mighty everything acts.
They'll kick the shit out of anyone who is a bit different, because everyone else is a part of the system and if you aren't part of the solution then you're part of the problem. Godforbid these kids might just want to go to the shows to actually enjoy the music (which, how can you when a bunch of old fucks are always complaining about how nothing was like how it was back in nineteen fucking eight six), or that maybe some of them might be down for the cause, NOPE, gotta kick them out because they aren't like us cool-punkrockanarchy types. Punk Rockers just want enemies so they can feel like more of an underdog.
All it takes is one spiky haired mother fucker with a megaphone to pipe up and before you know it, every dumbass with a "Crass" patch is standing in line, waiting to agree with this master of ceremonies. HEY FELLOW FUCKWADS! FUCK THE ESTABLISHMENT, AMIRIGHT?! THEY THINK THEY CAN CONTROL US BUT FUCK THEM! IN FACT, BUTT FUCK THEM! WE MAY BE FEW, BUT WE ARE STRONG! LETS KEEP IT THAT WAY! WE ARE THE REVOLUTION! WE ARE THE LONERS! THE FIGHTERS! THE SCRAPPERS! WE KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE ON THE BOTTOM! WE COULD CONTROL THE WORLD! BUT ALSO, FUCK THE WORLD! WE DON'T WANT THAT SHIT! WE WON'T BE CORRUPTED BY THAT KIND OF POWER! PRAISE BE TO CHOKING VICTIM! To which the congregation of multi-colored hair and nose rings will reply with a hearty UP THE PUNX! Screaming as ugly and disharmoniously as they can muster. Then the man with the mega phone will continue...
ALSO, FUCK THOSE EMO FAGGOTS! HOW DARE THEY BRING ANY KIND OF EMOTION BUT ANGER AND HATE INTO OUR MUSIC! ALSO, FUCK THE JOCKS FOR TRYING TO BE SO MACHO ALL THE TIME! FUCK ANYONE WHO ISN'T US! AND FUCK THE REDNECKS FOR BEING SO INTOLERANT! AND FUCK CATHLINE HANNAH FOR EVER TALKING TO THAT HANNAH MONTANA CUNT! ALSO, FUCK ANYONE WHO TELLS US HOW TO BE OR WHO TO ASSOCIATE WITH! PRAISE BE TO NO CASH! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX!
WE LIKE OUR PUNK HOW PUNK SHOULD BE! DRUNK! UP THE PUNX! ANGRY! UP THE PUNX! FAST UP THE PUNX! UNCHANGING! UP THE PUNX! UP THE PUNX!UP THE PUNX! DON'T EVER CHANGE! YOU ARE OURS! YOU BELONG TO PUNK! NEVER SPEAK AGAINST US! WE'LL KICK YOUR ASS!
Its not a movement worth following! It'll just disappoint ya and leave ya out in the cold the first time you question it, and its so overloaded with that mob mentality that if you tried to change it, you'll receive almost instant backlash from a bunch of drunk Henry Rollins wannabes. Its fucking depressing, man. You think you've found a place looking for to make the world a better place, and all you do is run into a bunch of assholes determined to win and crush everyone else.
Don't get me wrong, I still love the music. It still means something to me, and when I see someone who gets it, I have hope that maybe they'll do more good in that position than I ever could, but after watching the ground be pulled from under you, how do you move on from that? You trust these people and then you don't mean shit to them. Its a mess.
Fuck dude, I need a drink.-
Now, with a little less direction, a little more alcohol, and a bit more anger than before, Jack was learning the hard truth, albeit very slowly; hold your standards too high, and they'll get smacked down. Now, not only was he unpatriotic, he wasn't punkrockanarchy either. He was a man without a country...well, not entirely. He was a fighter...
No, not that he "hangs in there" bullshit, I mean like a real fighter...
I mean he punches people in the face.
The great thing about fighting is the fact that everyone from around the world does it. They all love punching each other in the face. I have to admit, at your dumbest, you humans are fairly amusing. You love knocking each other's teeth out. Jack knew this too and felt it was finally the great equalizer he was looking for. Which might seem odd, being that his complaints so far have been people's need to win and their need to feel tougher than everyone else, but at least in fighting, at least how Jack thought, it was pure honesty. You fought until someone fell down, and the best man one. It taught people to admit defeat, something Jack learned to do as well.
However time, as it often did, brought out the truth. Even in the art of fighting, where win and loss records were kept, there was no ambiguity about the turn out, and where skill should be the only factor; people found a way to ruin that too. They cheated, they lied, they complained, they disputed the results, they interfered, and all for the sake of never losing their spot.
Now, this is not to say that Jack is a sweetheart honest Abe type. No, this is the same dumb fuck who was once a part of a house show while the owners of said house on vacation on unaware, but complete strangers to every one who had attended. Jack had done plenty of dumb things in his past, but the difference between a stupid mistake and stupid ego were always as plain as day to Jack. Being naive was his biggest crime.
However, the point is that Jack was getting fed up with it. Everyone wanted to keep their spot. They got a point where they were happy with themselves and even if they were no longer good enough to hold onto that spot, they woul burn the whole world down just to hold onto it. It was a dirty game and it was breaking Jack's heart. No longer angry, no longer hateful, Jack was just defeated. What had made him so vehement against his own country was no longer just in The US; The US opened up into the world. Jack realized that one culture didn't create this mentality, this was how people were. This world was made up of K.L. Hensons, Alex Richards, and Kaz Mazys; people who would do whatever it took to keep their spot, even lie to themselves that they were worthy of it.
Now, there is no younger Jack Coston to go to. This was the present. No more time traveling needed. He was the wrestler, the WCF employee, the man with three wins, one loss, and one draw, and as he looked up at the set laid out before him, all he could think of were all the times in his life he realized people lied for the sake of maintaining their spot.
It was a pulpit; a stage covered in red, white, and blue. On each side of the pulpit was a gigantic sign with Jack Coston's face drawn on it, smirking like an idiot. Under his face, both signs read "I want to be YOUR US Champ!" in bold letters befitting to every campaign sigh back in the fifties. Right above the podium were lights of the same Red, white, and blue that decked out everything else in front of him. To use Jack's own words, "It looks like Uncle Sam came by and jizzed all over everything."
"Oh, come on, its a theme!" Frank proclaimed as his stretched out his arms, trying to present it to Jack in a new light, "You're currently going for the United States championship! That's one hell of an honor, especially considering you totally botched your chance at the internet title."
"I didn't botch it! K.L. Henson inter-"
"Don't want to hear it," Frank interrupted, "What's done is done, no going back to the past now." This was unless, of course, you were the narrator of this story and needed to keep reaching into the past to bring out perspective, because Jack himself wasn't interesting enough by himself to carry a narrative week in and week out...but besides the point. "We're going to do this week right! We are going to get people to notice you!"
"Notice me by making me every politician ever?"
"Its a gimmick, Jack," Frank rolled his eyes, "Its just this week, then we can move on...to whatever the theme is next week. Thankfully I have a cousin who does set designs, so I can pull a few strings and we can do this for a couple more weeks. Either way, don't worry about it, its not like you're actually running for Student Council or whatever, you're just going to go up there and rip Kazface a new one. Here, I even have a script for you to follow."
"A wha-," but before Jack could question it, Frank had already pulled out a couple pages stapled together and handed them over to Jack for him to read, "You can't be serious."
"As serious as a heart attack from God my friend," Frank looked proud...like a giant proud idiot, "just read this and I can gauranfuckingtee that the audience will be pulling for you. Those idiots are so easy to read that we'll have them eating out of your palms in a month."
"That's not-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it, that's not what you're about. I've had to hear this argument countless times already, will you just give my way a fucking chance? Not that hard buddy, you don't even have to think. Just read the paper, be lovable and charismatic, and we will be on our way to the top in no time!" Jack looked down at the piece of paper and sighed heavily.
"Whatcha readin'," Jack heard a voice call out from above him. Jack looked up to see a man hanging from a harness above the stage in an Abraham Lincoln costume. Not just any man, mind you. It was the one and only Seth "Dumb Dumber is my favorite action film" Dominics.
"What is he doing here," Jack asked Frank, pointing up at the man suspended above him.
"Oh, ran into him at the supermarket," Frank responded plainly, as if nothing was weird about this, "said he was a friend of yours, so I figured he would be down to help. It really is hard to find any friends of yours, Jack, should probably fix that."
"I'm George Washington!"
"Abraham Lincoln," Jack responded, still staring dumbfoundedly at Seth Dominics.
"You're playing Abraham Lincoln," Seth asked without a hint of irony.
"No, I mean you're Abraham Lincoln."
"No, I'm Seth, don't you remember me? You got into my car that one day, we were being chased by hippies."
"What?" Frank interjected.
"Nothing, lets get back to this stupid script of yours," Jack responded, taking his gaze away from the flying Seth Dominics.
The script read a little something like this:
Dear my fellow Americans.
Jack stopped reading and looked up at Frank, "Seriously, dude?"
"Shut up and keep reading," Frank responded, pushing the pages up into Jack's face to continue reading.
The script continued:
It has been brought to my attention that this great country of ours has been insulted by an evil that was previously inconceivable to the human mind. An evil in the form of a single human being. A man, if one can call him that, by the name of Kaz Mazy. He has taken the United States Championship, a title so very close to all of our hearts, and has turned it into a sign of pure unpatriotic terrorism, much like how HITLER (All caps means to emphasize, Jacky boy) took the swastika and turned it into something so hateful and unamerican (by the by, if you can fit a couple more "unamericans" or "evils" into the speech when describing Kaz, that would be great, Jack boy) that this great country had to step into World War Two and end it like so many other countries couldn't.
Now, much like our grand nation, I must step in and do the job so many others couldn't. I will end the awful reign of that communist scumbag once and for all. Much like Dirty Harry, John McClaine from Die Hard, and The Man With No Name from A Fistful of Dollars did (never saw any of those movies, but I assume you have, so feel free to correct if needed), and I will take back that title and turn it into the beacon of hope that it has been for so many years!
Kaz, I'm talking direct to you now, you rat of a man! (Remember to get all fiery and shit for this part, Jack. Make sure the people believe you are going to come down like superman and put this guy in his place!) You've made a mockery of this country's title and you've made a mockery of this industry! Its time for you to pay! Not only will I be stripping you of that prestigious title, but in doing so, I will be taking away your one chance into The Ultimate Showdown! In your place a real man will walk in! Wanna know why I can say that with such confidence? Because just like this GREAT COUNTRY OF OURS (emphasis, Jack, emphasis!) I have the strength and fire power to take out the competition! Those who oppose me are the same people who oppose this land and thus oppose the wonderful fans of the Wrestling Championship Federation!
Sure, no one is pulling for me in this match. Everyone seems to think that evil is doomed to win, but this country was founded by under dogs, it was won by under dogs, and goddamn it, it is held up every day by under dogs! The people that will be in those stands during our match all know what it is like to face an evil and over come it, because they are strong! They fight every day and I will not stand for anyone, especially not a commie, American Hating, Godless bastard like you, mock their struggle!
(Now at this point, Seth will descend to the stage dressed as Abraham Lincoln. He will have an American flag on his back, which he will then take off and place on your shoulders. You'll shake his-)
"Wait, I have to ask," Jack rubbed his forehead, trying to message the headache away, "why is Abraham fucking Lincoln flying down to the set?" He couldn't get what Kaz said in his promo out of his head. About how Frank was only in it for the money, that he was Sketchy. Jack had had his suspicions for sometime, but having someone else point it out had brought it out into the open, making it impossible to ignore.
"It was my idea!" Seth proclaimed in excitement, "Do you like it?"
"Also," Frank said, clearly pleased with his script, "majority of polls show that people like Abraham Lincoln. He is a pretty popular president."
"I'm a Benjamin Harrison guy, myself," Seth spoke as he waved his arms, pretending to swim through the air, like one often does. He began to swing back and forth, no longer in control of the ropes movements.
"Seth, knock it off!" Frank yelled, watching the machine holding up Seth start to tilt back and forth as Seth swung.
"I can't someone get me down!" Seth screamed in fear, flailing his arms about making the matter worse, "I can't die in a fake beard and top hat! I don't want to go out like my dad!"
"You said your dad died in a Hot Dog eating contest," Jack watched Frank run over to the small crane hold Seth up. Frank threw his body weight on top of it, but it kept tilting.
"YOU WANNA DISCUSS LOGISTICS OR DO YOU WANT TO SAVE ME!" Seth in full panic mode began to swing his arms. Eventually the crane tipped too far on way and Seth swung through the air and came crashing down on the Patriotic set, crashing through the middle, hitting a support and toppling over the entire structure.
The metal holding the lights cave in and crashed through more of the set, showing just how weak the wood being used was. Dust was kicked up through the air, obscuring Jack's view, but he didn't need to see it to know the whole thing was collapsing inwards, the noises told him that on their own.
The noises ceased and the dust began to settle, revealing the fragmented remains of what once had been. A perfect metaphor if you were to task this not-so-humble narrator. Jack began to push around the rubble, and after about fifteen minutes of searching, he managed to uncover Seth Dominics, his beard half gone and his hat crushed upon his head.
"You okay there, buddy," Jack asked as he looked down at the decimated Lincoln at his feet. Seth, remaining silent, raised his thumb up in response. "Good to hear it. Might just want to lay there for a while. Doesn't look like this set is going anywhere anytime soon." Seth's raised thumb fell to his side, where he remained for the next half-an-hour or so.
Jack walked away from the wreck and looked back just to see the damage. Nothing was salvageable. Seth had done one hell of a number on it, and even though Frank was on his knees before the structure with his hands in his hair, Jack couldn't be happier.
A van pulled up to the destroyed set and out came a camera crew from WCF, peering at the mess that once was an American Orgy and pride and nationalism.
"The fuck happened here?" One of the cameramen asked.
"An opportunity," Jack replied, smiling for the first time that day.
-.-.-
As did life in the universe, all started out dark, but the dark was replaced with a light as the camera began to record, panning over the destroyed set, focusing in on the shards of wood that seemed to sprout out of the ground. The camera shot over the spot where Seth Dominics continued to lay, still in costume, still mostly covered in debris. He didn't wave at the camera, because Jack told him just to remain still as the filmed the spot, just act dead. So Seth was told, so Seth did.
The camera pulled back from the mess and Jack Coston came onto the screen, not bothering to look back with the camera, he faced forward and peered into the lens.
"What were the words from The Omen?" Jack pondered for a moment, "oh yeah, 'Its all for you, Damien'. Well, take a look here. This WAS all for you, Kaz, comrade. Someone cared enough, that someone not being me, to set up this entire thing just for the sake of letting me 'tear you apart' as he put it. Unfortunately, life is kind of funny and it seems that I won't get to stand at a podium like some important person and 'rain hellfire' down upon you. Instead, I'll have to talk to you like I am, a grounded man waiting to look at you face to face.
"I watched your shoot on me, broheme, and I have to say you made some good points. I mean, yeah, felt like I was watching some dorky dude's vlog, but honestly, when you make a point, that rest of that shit doesn't matter. First, you're right. I was a bit naive to think I could find some honest competition. It took me a little bit, but I started to realize that the only person actually bringing the real competition in the ring during my matches was me.
"I mean, sure, whatever. Go on about how you 'let' us beat the shit out of Gemini because 'you didn't give a shit'. Real easy thing to say. Always is, in fact, I'll say it now; I don't give a shit about this match. I don't give a shit about any matches. See, super easy. I could do it all day, but the truth is, I do give a shit. In fact, my nerves are fucking RACKED before I go into that ring, but that's because I'm putting my chips on the table, I'm not going out there with a lame ass net like a security team.
"Which leads me to the second thing you were right about, You have been here longer than I have, ten months longer as you brought up. This was just one of the few points you illustrated about how you and I are different. Another being that I have no clue what you've had to do to get your place, how you had to go those routes. That's fair, I mean, yeah, its a tough game to play, especially when you have a target on your back. Holding onto it can be hard, but it often makes me think how people will look back on it...
"'Oh, that Kaz, he sure did fight...sometimes.' Maybe I'll change after I spend a bit more time in this company, and if I do, you can tell me all you want that you were right...right behind your team, the whole time. As far as right now though, the one difference between you and I that I'll bring up is I'm not some bitch with one too many dick jokes. I have what I got, which isn't a lot, but I'm going to stick to it until I'm put with that ultimatum that you were given, either manipulate the game or get hit with a shit storm way beyond you. I really do hope when I get to make that choice, I can make the right one and think of myself as a little bit better of a fighter than you are, even if I don't win that US title at Slam.
"Again, you were right, maybe it'll just be a matter of me stacking up those losses and questioning myself. I might look into the abyss and see what a, as Petrov might put it, 'pussy fuck' I am. You gotta risk that shit. Your born, risking death. You eat, risking choking. You win, risking losing. You learn about yourself, risking finding something you didn't want to know, but for the love of all that is good and holy in this pathetic fucking universe. If I find that I am a bitch, put me out, take me down, burn me to the ground, just don't let me try and stay longer than warranted.
"I'd rather have that than live in a delusion. I rather feel the bullet hit. Again, if I am a bitch, let me at least know it so I again can be that much better of a fighter than you. That's all I ask.
"If I can't get an honest fight out of anyone, than let be honest. Let me be the one thing in this industry that has even a bit of truth to it. I want to know better and be closer to what is really going on. Maybe then, if you'll excuse the heavy handed metaphor, I can be a sort of mirror. Right now, people are ashamed of losing, when I'm done, I want people ashamed of what they did to avoid losing."
Jack looked back at the pile of wood and ribbons behind him, chuckled, and faced the camera once more, "Ya know, when I was REALLY little. I use to love this country. My mom use to fill my head with the bravery of other men who fought for this country. How they went into it all head first and did what they could for their country. Back then, good and evil where as polarized as possible. Nothing was subjective, it was all like the flip of a switch, one way or another.
"However, when I got older, as many do, I found out more, the world became more defined, but at the same time, a bit grayer. I watched this country's people, I saw how they acted. The word 'indignant' comes to mind. They took this all for granted and scream when anything goes wrong. They don't like the fight, they don't like facing hardships. Naturally so, what is bad is bad, and boy to people hate the bad, but thing that bothered me was that so many people professed to be a part of the same America I loved as a child, but then gave of this air of being part of this mutated thing that the country actually was. It was like watching millions of people hallucinating and failing to see the truth around them.
"These aren't the kind of Americans that movies had made the world think there was. These were not the kind of people who saved lies, defeated monsters, and won honest fights. No, these were assholes, liars, cheaters, indulgent fucks. I mean, it seems weird that I bash on these people, its not a matter of malice, I don't want their hate. I just want people to be honest for once. To challenge themselves. I want a better country. I'm not unpatriotic, because I think this place is fucked up, I'm patriotic, because I want to make it better. Maybe that'll have to start here.
"I'll go ahead and be the dumb new kid with bright eyes and hope for the future, you can go ahead and be the big-dick-swinging cynic who can't wait to see the industry spit me out. We'll meet in that ring, I'll rip that title off of your waste, and then maybe people will see whats better. This one-month working little scrub will take out the eleven month can't-be-beat 'veteran' with my honest competition, because if it has to start there, then that's where I'll start.
"Who knows, maybe you'll wise up as well, buddy. Maybe you'll realize that that security is doing less for you than you think. Just maybe. So, show up to Slam and try to show the world what a bitch I am, I can't wait."
The camera ceases to roll, the screen goes dark and now all there is for Jack to do is wait...and wait...and wait...and hope.