Post by Deleted on Jun 6, 2016 8:51:48 GMT -5
It all started two weeks ago. I was laying in my bed at home, a little, but not much of, a hungover from the previous nights festivities. The amount of liquor ingested is inhuman, but I've never been quite human. Most people would have either passed out piss drunk, or ended up puking before passing out with their heads on the toilet.
Yet somehow, I wake up with out even that much of a hangover. I used to wonder how this was possible. Now I don't even seem to care.
I opened my eyes ever so slightly just to look at the clock. Half past Nine and the TV is still on in the living room for I can still hear the programming. I don't remember what it was I was watching or how I even wound up in my bed, I just know the last Chuck Norris tasting more like vodka then a mix drink.
Ring Ring Ring. Ring Ring Ring.
I roll over and reach over to my cell phone. I know it has to be either my agent or my lawyer, as I refuse to change the ring tone for either.
"Hello?"
"Logan?"
Oh god, it's my agent. Last time I heard from him, I tried to tell him that I wasn't looking for any work. "What is it, David?"
"I got some good news, and some bad news." Great, the two things my lawyer usually tells me, so if it's coming out of my agent, then there is absolutely no good to come of this. "Which would you like to hear first?"
"David, I don't outright care what you tell me first, just spill it out."
"Ok, well, last week I got a call from your lawyer."
Oh great. This is not going to be any kind of your normal bad, either. I think I may need a fucking pint, and it's not Ten in the morning yet. Great.
"We managed to figure out a way to help with that multi-million dollar lawsuit from your ex-wife, Victoria Diamond."
Victoria Diamond. That's a name I wont soon forget. She was the daughter of the former CEO of the top wrestling company on the G-Fed Network, who had managed to slip some sort of really fucked up drug into my gin one night, and wound up getting me to marry her. Shortly after the company closed its doors after the G-Fed network was shut down due to illegal insider trading, she divorced me for 15.8 million dollars. We tried to fight it, claiming she was more then just crazy, she was fucked in the head, but the courts ruled in her favor.
"So we found a wrestling promotion that agreed to pay you the amount you owe to her."
"David, what the fuck is your problem? I don't want to get back into wrestling. You know whats going to happen when I do."
"Well, Logan, you really don't have a choice. Now, we've given them a sweet deal. Paul Enterprises.."
Great, another name I didn't want to hear. Paul Enterprises. They have one of the largest hotel chains in the world, but when I get involved with wrestling, and their hotel chain gets involved with wrestling, something... bad always ends up happening.
"Please... Please don't tell me that they..."
"They agreed to allow all of the wrestlers free room and board until the term of your contract is done, which more then covers the contract you are now under with..."
"Now wait just one god damn minute. The contract that I am now UNDER?"
"Yeah, with Wrestling Championship Federation, the one you agreed to last night, with me, CEO of WCF, Seth L. and the CEO of Paul Enterprises, Mike Paul, over the phone."
Ok, so I must have been REALLY fucked up last night to not remember agreeing to a wrestling contract like this. "Whoa, slow down, David. WHAT contract?"
"Well, you have a term contract with WCF, for 15.8 million dollars, however all of that goes directly to your ex wife."
"So what your fucking telling me is that I'm wrestling.. for fucking FREE?"
"Yes."
I roll out of bed and burst out of my room with my cell phone still in hand. "That's just fucking great, David. What the fuck where you thinking letting me agree to this without being there IN PERSON. Verbally binding contract is..."
"Oh, you signed it. I faxed it to you after you agreed to it."
"What the fuck do you mean..." I stop, turn towards my office door, which is slightly open, and slam right into it.
BAM.
It hits the book case as the door swings wide open. Quickly I walk over to my fax machine and notice a stack of papers sitting next to it and one sitting right at the top, indicating something had been faxed over. I yank it out and glance at the bottom.
"YOU MOTHER FUCKER!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, Logan. You where all happy about it last night because we worked in creative control, a guaranteed world title shot, with a stipulation mind you, and of course, they can't fire you unless they buy out your contract for twice what it's worth."
"David," I said about as calm as I could under the circumstances, "you do realize that all this is going to do now is cause..." At this point, I couldn't hold back my anger anymore. "FUCKING PROBLEMS WITH EVERYTHING!"
I grab my fax machine and outright toss it to the ground causing the chords to rip out of the wall and the machine to break into more then a few dozen pieces. Plastic and glass shatter and bounce all over the floor. "DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER THE NEWS REPORTS FROM 3 YEARS AGO? DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER HOW MANY FUCKING DEAD PEOPLE THEY FOUND IN THOSE HOTELS?"
"Hey, cal..."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I take a deep breath and crumple the remains of my copy of the contract. "Listen to me very carefully, David. I will not be held responsible for anything that happens until my contract is up, do you understand me. I am NOT going to be held responsible."
I hang up on David, not wanting to hear anything else he has to say. Now knowing the full extent of the situation I got myself into in my drunken stupor last night, the path leads straight into hell.
"FUCK"
Yet somehow, I wake up with out even that much of a hangover. I used to wonder how this was possible. Now I don't even seem to care.
I opened my eyes ever so slightly just to look at the clock. Half past Nine and the TV is still on in the living room for I can still hear the programming. I don't remember what it was I was watching or how I even wound up in my bed, I just know the last Chuck Norris tasting more like vodka then a mix drink.
Ring Ring Ring. Ring Ring Ring.
I roll over and reach over to my cell phone. I know it has to be either my agent or my lawyer, as I refuse to change the ring tone for either.
"Hello?"
"Logan?"
Oh god, it's my agent. Last time I heard from him, I tried to tell him that I wasn't looking for any work. "What is it, David?"
"I got some good news, and some bad news." Great, the two things my lawyer usually tells me, so if it's coming out of my agent, then there is absolutely no good to come of this. "Which would you like to hear first?"
"David, I don't outright care what you tell me first, just spill it out."
"Ok, well, last week I got a call from your lawyer."
Oh great. This is not going to be any kind of your normal bad, either. I think I may need a fucking pint, and it's not Ten in the morning yet. Great.
"We managed to figure out a way to help with that multi-million dollar lawsuit from your ex-wife, Victoria Diamond."
Victoria Diamond. That's a name I wont soon forget. She was the daughter of the former CEO of the top wrestling company on the G-Fed Network, who had managed to slip some sort of really fucked up drug into my gin one night, and wound up getting me to marry her. Shortly after the company closed its doors after the G-Fed network was shut down due to illegal insider trading, she divorced me for 15.8 million dollars. We tried to fight it, claiming she was more then just crazy, she was fucked in the head, but the courts ruled in her favor.
"So we found a wrestling promotion that agreed to pay you the amount you owe to her."
"David, what the fuck is your problem? I don't want to get back into wrestling. You know whats going to happen when I do."
"Well, Logan, you really don't have a choice. Now, we've given them a sweet deal. Paul Enterprises.."
Great, another name I didn't want to hear. Paul Enterprises. They have one of the largest hotel chains in the world, but when I get involved with wrestling, and their hotel chain gets involved with wrestling, something... bad always ends up happening.
"Please... Please don't tell me that they..."
"They agreed to allow all of the wrestlers free room and board until the term of your contract is done, which more then covers the contract you are now under with..."
"Now wait just one god damn minute. The contract that I am now UNDER?"
"Yeah, with Wrestling Championship Federation, the one you agreed to last night, with me, CEO of WCF, Seth L. and the CEO of Paul Enterprises, Mike Paul, over the phone."
Ok, so I must have been REALLY fucked up last night to not remember agreeing to a wrestling contract like this. "Whoa, slow down, David. WHAT contract?"
"Well, you have a term contract with WCF, for 15.8 million dollars, however all of that goes directly to your ex wife."
"So what your fucking telling me is that I'm wrestling.. for fucking FREE?"
"Yes."
I roll out of bed and burst out of my room with my cell phone still in hand. "That's just fucking great, David. What the fuck where you thinking letting me agree to this without being there IN PERSON. Verbally binding contract is..."
"Oh, you signed it. I faxed it to you after you agreed to it."
"What the fuck do you mean..." I stop, turn towards my office door, which is slightly open, and slam right into it.
BAM.
It hits the book case as the door swings wide open. Quickly I walk over to my fax machine and notice a stack of papers sitting next to it and one sitting right at the top, indicating something had been faxed over. I yank it out and glance at the bottom.
"YOU MOTHER FUCKER!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, Logan. You where all happy about it last night because we worked in creative control, a guaranteed world title shot, with a stipulation mind you, and of course, they can't fire you unless they buy out your contract for twice what it's worth."
"David," I said about as calm as I could under the circumstances, "you do realize that all this is going to do now is cause..." At this point, I couldn't hold back my anger anymore. "FUCKING PROBLEMS WITH EVERYTHING!"
I grab my fax machine and outright toss it to the ground causing the chords to rip out of the wall and the machine to break into more then a few dozen pieces. Plastic and glass shatter and bounce all over the floor. "DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER THE NEWS REPORTS FROM 3 YEARS AGO? DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER HOW MANY FUCKING DEAD PEOPLE THEY FOUND IN THOSE HOTELS?"
"Hey, cal..."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I take a deep breath and crumple the remains of my copy of the contract. "Listen to me very carefully, David. I will not be held responsible for anything that happens until my contract is up, do you understand me. I am NOT going to be held responsible."
I hang up on David, not wanting to hear anything else he has to say. Now knowing the full extent of the situation I got myself into in my drunken stupor last night, the path leads straight into hell.
"FUCK"
