Post by Deleted on Jan 12, 2009 12:35:12 GMT -5
I'm still steaming like clamshells about the way that I was treated. Is it acceptable? No, no it's not acceptable. In fact that's an understatement so let me say it again. No, no it's not fucking acceptable! You can't be doing this shit to people! What the fuck is the matter with you people? Who's talking? Who's spitting the verses? I'm a little bit tired of all this bullshit. Evans ain't hanging around to get fucked with. Gravedigger spit the shit on Sunday Slam and he stuck his nose in young Chad's beeswax. Not smart, Gravedigger! You are not a big brass man with big brass balls. What's on your mind? What's in your conscience? You are a monkey throwing banana peels for old ladies to slip on. Your idea of nobility is a stopgap romance between two ends of a car crash. There ain't nothing honorable about that.
Where am I right now? Am I inside of a man's conscience? Am I sitting inside of an office space? Perhaps young Chad is sitting in an office, a gym, a dojo, a dungeon, the WCF Arena, the Agway parking lot, wherever it might be. We must pick one... let us say that Chad is sitting in Bolts Quackenbush's office at the Ultra Nova Dojo in Brooklyn, NY. Chad is sitting there on a cream-colored leather sofa. Bolts and his right hand man Nick Katsopolis are seated across the office from Chad, they're sitting in big black office chairs at opposite sides of a solid oak desk. This is not just merely some sociable gathering, these men are discussing important business, important work regarding Chad Evans and his tag team match on Monday Slam. Evans is teaming (not teething or seething) with Prince Jimmy Dean against the ungodly and hellacious tandem of Chestnar and Dobless. Oh what a sad, weeping world we live in when these little wiener children, Gravedigger's pawns/peons, can inflict damage upon a martial arts expert and burgeoning wrestling star such as Evans. Their fiendish sneak attack on Evans was mandated by a seemingly higher power, a man for whom the clouds would part?
Chad Evans: "Where do I begin to spit my shit, from the bottom of a barrel? That's where I should find you, Gravedigger, hunky dory hypocrite. What's in your mind, should I split your face, double back around again? I will not be silenced, processed and dismissed like cattle at the killing floor. You will heed my words, young man. Do you hear me? I hear thee loud and clear, this message that you've sent, the price that you've placed upon my head. I shall respond with a full artillery onslaught, a devastation so complete that it will appear more proactive than reactive. But then it always was about appearances with you wasn't it, Gravedigger? A grown man who struts around in a suit of armor, playing the role of proud rooster strutting around the hen house. In reality you are a chicken with his head cut off, a lost little boy with no direction home. Read the instruction manual for your Ferrari Testarossa, you proud dictator, because you're about to hit a pit stop. You are about to find yourself at the foot of a cavernous Chad with his head placed on backwards, or so it would seem. In truth I'm focused like an immune deficiency and I'm about to take you out. Yes I mean kill you, not go on a date. Are you man or mouse, Gravedigger? Are you a virtuous king among men or a villainous vermin destined for the big sleep, the clap trap, the ancient hills of Roland Garros?"
Yes it's true that Evans is seated in Bolts' office "discussing" strategy and game planning for his match and all the other cliches, but he might as well be creeping along the mulberry bush outside of Gravedigger's house. Evans can think of no one else and nothing else, his mind is focused solely on Gravedigger. The musings of a jilted mind will provide neither comfort nor solace to thine enemies. Can Evans hear a word that Bolts is saying? No, no, Evans' mind is spewing forth its venom and vitriol, unaware of the presence of any other man in this room. To understand this forthright act of concentration you must understand a simple fact: The dojo is to the disciplined fighter what the recording studio is to the rock and roll superstar. This dojo can literally be a brick and mortar building with all of the accommodations, but it can also be a chamber inside of one's mind. In this chamber Evans continues to spit his shit while Bolts and Nick talk to a wall.
Chad Evans: "How much do I care about what you've taken from me, Gravedigger? I care so much that I can see, hear, smell, taste and touch every last morsel, every last fiber of disgrace that fell upon my face. My sixth sense is a sickness, an obsession with competition that knows no bounds. You have stirred the passionate juices of competition that flow through my veins. With that passion comes a commitment to integrity. There needs to be order and justice. These are notions that you will never comprehend, Gravedigger. From your luxurious position suffering has never felt so good. A man in your position cums mighty hard while other men are spilling their blood and sweat for chicken change, getting their body parts rearranged. You appear to me little more than a big man with a shrimp dick. You seem weak and selfish. I can imagine a vision. I can imagine one noble truth. I can imagine the dark cavernous layers of your tortured mind, peeled back like the layers of an onion, revealing your stinking and rotted core."
Nick makes all the vigorous attempts to flag Mr. Chad away from his stream of subconscious thought. Do you know the men with glow sticks whom guide the airplanes on the airport runways at night? Nick has transformed into one of these men. Bolts is just kicking back enjoying a toke, he don't really give a fuck about nothing right now. He's just enjoying the holiday spirit. For once Nick is the one to jump on the ball. Kind of weird, yeah? But then too much shit ain't really made sense lately.
Nick Katsopolis: "These heinous acts must not go unpunished. Gravedigger is a ruthless maniac who will stop at nothing to destroy everyone in his path. Chadwick, after the crazy shit that happened last week on Slam, I am asking you here and now, do you want us to start accompanying you to ringside? Don't worry about appearances or what it might look like. I am trained in Kenpo karate and Bolts was a professional boxer for many years, including a knockout win over former welterweight contender Julio 'Night Train' Norris at the twilight of that fighter's career. We can even start sporting black leather jackets to make us look like street toughs, now wouldn't that be nifty?"
Chad stands up from the comfort of the couch and walks over to the chair where Nick is seated. Chad taps his fingernails on Nick's shoulder, creating a similar visual to raindrops falling upon cedar. Nick is blown away by this display, but Bolts is cool as a cucumber. He's seen it all before back in Vietnam.
Chad Evans: "Please hold no concerns, my friend. The man that you see before you is a hybrid, a manimal, half man and half beast. The only time that Gravedigger and his goons will hit me is when I want them to hit me. I want them to hit me because it will give them false hope in the temple of their dreams. I will build up those grotesque nihilists just to see them fall like so much timber in the Minnesota wilderness, along with those lonely blue-balled timber wolves. The next time that Gravedigger plus goons see this man I'm gonna be packing heat."
Chaddy boy plants his alligator skin boot clad foot onto the desk and rolls up his pant leg to reveal a well-toned thigh. At first Nick believes that Chad is flirting with him, but then Nick gazes further down Chad's leg and notices the tip of a switchblade that Evans has slipped into his boot. Nick is mouth slightly agape while Bolts does the Joker slow hand clap with the matching "Oh you dastardly devil you, how clever" expression on his face.
Chad Evans: "It sure makes you glad that you stay home on Sundays, doesn't it Nicholas? Although I suppose that Monday is the new Sunday. Don't be alarmed, Nick. There's nothing to be worried about. Bolts knows full well of my plans and he doesn't necessarily approve of what I must do, but he understands that I must do it. Allow me to fill in the blanks for you, Nick. I possess the heart of a Labrador retriever and the tenacity of a spry, young pit bull. It's very easy for me to walk into a minefield where other men would quiver without setting nary a toe. Why would I do it? For the money, the fame, am I merely obsessed with something that could never be? You tell me and listen good before you speak. I'm obsessed with the notion of redemption. It takes a rare thing, a turning point, to free oneself from any obsession. Be it prejudice or hate, or, even love, we must be shell-shocked to an awakening, a realization that we cannot live for solely one moment or one purpose. The good news is that my redemption is on the horizon and my obsession will soon be bulldozed by the fact that I am bigger and stronger than any obstacle that Gravedigger can throw at me."
Pizza is now delivered to the office space, a rare treat for these three hard-working professionals at this esteemed dojo. Normally such snack treats would be off limits at this time of year, but we need something to break the tension. We need levity and pizza provides just the kind of fun-filled, good timin' chatter that can brighten up any day in any way. Was this the same pizza place that Logan ordered his extra onions from? Well I don't want to reveal too much info, but you can use your imagination. All three men were enjoying the pizza and the tone was certainly lightened, but Chadwick wasn't ready to fully shift gears just yet. Here's some more funky lyrics, yo.
Chad Evans: "Gravedigger is a very paranoid man. He hears a butterfly flapping its wings in Argentina and he thinks it's a hurricane. That's a paranoid motherfucker, ego tripping, running sneak attacks with his henchmen. I almost feel compelled to donate to the man, not a princely sum, but at least a tithe in advance of his inevitable legal defense. After all power and paranoia do not mix, just ask the disembodied spirit of Richard Nixon."
Nick is wiping sauce from his chin with a folded cloth napkin, still chewing the pizza.
Nick Katsopolis: "Speaking of which, have you seen Frost/Nixon? It is simply spellbinding."
Bolts is kicked back at his desk, eating, not really paying attention to the conversation.
Chad Evans: "No I haven't. I'm holding out for the next installment, Frost/Bush. Sounds like a porno movie, doesn't it? Gotta break out my blowtorch and melt that Frost/Bush, am I right?"
Nick giggles like a schoolgirl, Chad grins the type of shit-eating grin that you might expect from a Hollywood playboy, and somewhere a hobo is fighting back bile deep within his throat.
Nick Katsopolis: "Steve Carr would like that joke. I'm gonna send that one to Steve Carr."
If only Tiger Woods and Barack Obama could see Chad Evans doing the Tiger Woods fist pump and the Barack Obama regal stare while addressing the audience.
Chad Evans: "You do that, boy. Run tell dat to Steve Carr."
Evans can't figure out the math as he stares at the shot glass on Bolts' desk. He remembers back to New Year's morning, that early morning when he woke up with the strange woman lying next to him in bed. Her body was warm and soft, her hair long and dark. Her buttocks were pressed together like two croissants at either end of a breakfast buffet table. This was truly a special and delicate young lady, but Evans was damned if he could place her.
Chad Evans: "I didn't tell you guys because I didn't want you to think I was losing my marbles. The truth is that I woke up on New Year's morning. I don't know the time, but I was at home in Hartford, in my bed at the cabin. When I woke up I found a girl in my bed, a beautiful girl was lying next to me. That sounds all well and good, but listen to this, I don't know if she was real or not."
Nick chokes back cynicism and disbelief, spitting his apple juice from the can. Bolts is even raising an eyebrow at this point, lifted from his dreary afternoon slumber.
Nick Katsopolis: "You mean she was really a he?"
Evans shakes his head in wholly protest and really starts aggressively lifting his finger in Nick's face, kind of like a rude Russian dude dancing too aggressively with the ladies at a club in San Francisco.
Chad Evans: "No, no, don't misunderstand me. I told you to never misunderstand me, I hate when you misunderstand me. What I mean is that after I saw her in bed next to me, I inexplicably went back to sleep instead of waking her for sex. When I woke up again she was gone. Now I don't know if she was ever really there or if she was just a figment of my imagination all along. I do know this, I had a dream when I went back to sleep after I first saw the girl next to me."
Nick has now officially become flippant, he's flipping his hands like a flippant person, or something.
Nick Katsopolis: "A dream? What about? What on earth could you have possibly dreamed about under that context, during that set of circumstances?"
Chad plums his shapely fingers through his bleached blond hair, at first struggling to find the words to respond to Nick's question. Suddenly Evans finds those words exactly where he left them.
Chad Evans: "Do you remember the 'lady in the radiator song' from Eraserhead?"
Chad pleads with a sort of hopeful expression on his face as he begs into Nick's eyes.
Nick Katsopolis: "Uh, yeah. You mean 'in Heaven everything is fine?' Is that the song that you're talking about, Chad?"
Nick gestures with his hands, trying to back Chad away from him because Chad is acting kind of jittery and weird. Bolts is kind of bobbing his head, just sittin' and chillin' at the desk, listenin' to the exchange between Nick and Chad.
Chad Evans: "Yes that's it. I had that dream, the same dream that Henry Spencer had in the movie. The deformed woman, the lady in the radiator with the giant Frankenstein glands on each side of her face was standing on the stage and she was singing her song to me and gesturing to me with her hands. I don't know why because I was weirded out, but man I became hard as a rock, like granite. I'm talking this ugly bitch got me Gwen Stefani hard, Katy Perry hard. You believe that? I woke up with the flash of white light as we ascended to Heaven and then I jerked it hard into the sheets. I must have cum a gallon or two of cum."
Nick kind of scratches his noggin and has a half-smile, kinda not wanting to smile and trying to hide it, but also weirded out look on his face.
Nick Katsopolis: "That's weird Chad but I wouldn't put too much stock into it. I've had some pretty weird dreams about guys like Hogan and Luger and I know that I'm not gay. Besides you had way too much to drink on New Year's. In fact we all did so you can't really be surprised that you had some crazy ass dream."
Chad looks kind of frustrated, exasperated, like a man who wants to express his feelings but doesn't know how.
Chad Evans: "I know that strange shit happens in dreams and we all try to brush it off like it's normal, but man nothing has been normal or straight about my life lately. I've lost my mentor and trusted confidant, Mr. Cairo. That is the single biggest blow ever to land against my soul. Then something happened that's not nearly comparable but also worth mentioning. I lost a hard-fought, blood, sweat and tears, barnburner against Torture. That defeat really tore away at my soul. Now on top of all that Gravedigger is fucking me with and I must now trust a man whom betrayed me, I must team with Prince Jimmy Dean. My life is fucked up, isn't it though?"
Nick consoles Chad with a pat on the shoulder and a gleam in the eye.
Nick Katsopolis: "That's just the onions and sausage talking, champ. You're gonna be fine. You know what you need? Some new pants and shirts. We're gonna drive down to the mall and buy you a new wardrobe. You're looking kind of drab, like a Trotskyist. What do you think, Bolts, does Chad need some color in his life?"
Bolts gives the old thumbs up and nods his head, almost as if wearing a cowboy hat.
Bolts Quackenbush: "Fuck getting a new wardrobe, he should go out there and fuck a black girl. That's how we did it in Texas, ahh-roof!"
Bolts and Nick laugh it up, exchanging yahoos and high fives with a reckless abandon. Chad just looks kind of emo sad and depressed by his recent run of bad luck. If this new reality was to be the roll call, the procession of life, then it was going to be a long Thursday afternoon and beyond, Chad told himself.
Where am I right now? Am I inside of a man's conscience? Am I sitting inside of an office space? Perhaps young Chad is sitting in an office, a gym, a dojo, a dungeon, the WCF Arena, the Agway parking lot, wherever it might be. We must pick one... let us say that Chad is sitting in Bolts Quackenbush's office at the Ultra Nova Dojo in Brooklyn, NY. Chad is sitting there on a cream-colored leather sofa. Bolts and his right hand man Nick Katsopolis are seated across the office from Chad, they're sitting in big black office chairs at opposite sides of a solid oak desk. This is not just merely some sociable gathering, these men are discussing important business, important work regarding Chad Evans and his tag team match on Monday Slam. Evans is teaming (not teething or seething) with Prince Jimmy Dean against the ungodly and hellacious tandem of Chestnar and Dobless. Oh what a sad, weeping world we live in when these little wiener children, Gravedigger's pawns/peons, can inflict damage upon a martial arts expert and burgeoning wrestling star such as Evans. Their fiendish sneak attack on Evans was mandated by a seemingly higher power, a man for whom the clouds would part?
Chad Evans: "Where do I begin to spit my shit, from the bottom of a barrel? That's where I should find you, Gravedigger, hunky dory hypocrite. What's in your mind, should I split your face, double back around again? I will not be silenced, processed and dismissed like cattle at the killing floor. You will heed my words, young man. Do you hear me? I hear thee loud and clear, this message that you've sent, the price that you've placed upon my head. I shall respond with a full artillery onslaught, a devastation so complete that it will appear more proactive than reactive. But then it always was about appearances with you wasn't it, Gravedigger? A grown man who struts around in a suit of armor, playing the role of proud rooster strutting around the hen house. In reality you are a chicken with his head cut off, a lost little boy with no direction home. Read the instruction manual for your Ferrari Testarossa, you proud dictator, because you're about to hit a pit stop. You are about to find yourself at the foot of a cavernous Chad with his head placed on backwards, or so it would seem. In truth I'm focused like an immune deficiency and I'm about to take you out. Yes I mean kill you, not go on a date. Are you man or mouse, Gravedigger? Are you a virtuous king among men or a villainous vermin destined for the big sleep, the clap trap, the ancient hills of Roland Garros?"
Yes it's true that Evans is seated in Bolts' office "discussing" strategy and game planning for his match and all the other cliches, but he might as well be creeping along the mulberry bush outside of Gravedigger's house. Evans can think of no one else and nothing else, his mind is focused solely on Gravedigger. The musings of a jilted mind will provide neither comfort nor solace to thine enemies. Can Evans hear a word that Bolts is saying? No, no, Evans' mind is spewing forth its venom and vitriol, unaware of the presence of any other man in this room. To understand this forthright act of concentration you must understand a simple fact: The dojo is to the disciplined fighter what the recording studio is to the rock and roll superstar. This dojo can literally be a brick and mortar building with all of the accommodations, but it can also be a chamber inside of one's mind. In this chamber Evans continues to spit his shit while Bolts and Nick talk to a wall.
Chad Evans: "How much do I care about what you've taken from me, Gravedigger? I care so much that I can see, hear, smell, taste and touch every last morsel, every last fiber of disgrace that fell upon my face. My sixth sense is a sickness, an obsession with competition that knows no bounds. You have stirred the passionate juices of competition that flow through my veins. With that passion comes a commitment to integrity. There needs to be order and justice. These are notions that you will never comprehend, Gravedigger. From your luxurious position suffering has never felt so good. A man in your position cums mighty hard while other men are spilling their blood and sweat for chicken change, getting their body parts rearranged. You appear to me little more than a big man with a shrimp dick. You seem weak and selfish. I can imagine a vision. I can imagine one noble truth. I can imagine the dark cavernous layers of your tortured mind, peeled back like the layers of an onion, revealing your stinking and rotted core."
Nick makes all the vigorous attempts to flag Mr. Chad away from his stream of subconscious thought. Do you know the men with glow sticks whom guide the airplanes on the airport runways at night? Nick has transformed into one of these men. Bolts is just kicking back enjoying a toke, he don't really give a fuck about nothing right now. He's just enjoying the holiday spirit. For once Nick is the one to jump on the ball. Kind of weird, yeah? But then too much shit ain't really made sense lately.
Nick Katsopolis: "These heinous acts must not go unpunished. Gravedigger is a ruthless maniac who will stop at nothing to destroy everyone in his path. Chadwick, after the crazy shit that happened last week on Slam, I am asking you here and now, do you want us to start accompanying you to ringside? Don't worry about appearances or what it might look like. I am trained in Kenpo karate and Bolts was a professional boxer for many years, including a knockout win over former welterweight contender Julio 'Night Train' Norris at the twilight of that fighter's career. We can even start sporting black leather jackets to make us look like street toughs, now wouldn't that be nifty?"
Chad stands up from the comfort of the couch and walks over to the chair where Nick is seated. Chad taps his fingernails on Nick's shoulder, creating a similar visual to raindrops falling upon cedar. Nick is blown away by this display, but Bolts is cool as a cucumber. He's seen it all before back in Vietnam.
Chad Evans: "Please hold no concerns, my friend. The man that you see before you is a hybrid, a manimal, half man and half beast. The only time that Gravedigger and his goons will hit me is when I want them to hit me. I want them to hit me because it will give them false hope in the temple of their dreams. I will build up those grotesque nihilists just to see them fall like so much timber in the Minnesota wilderness, along with those lonely blue-balled timber wolves. The next time that Gravedigger plus goons see this man I'm gonna be packing heat."
Chaddy boy plants his alligator skin boot clad foot onto the desk and rolls up his pant leg to reveal a well-toned thigh. At first Nick believes that Chad is flirting with him, but then Nick gazes further down Chad's leg and notices the tip of a switchblade that Evans has slipped into his boot. Nick is mouth slightly agape while Bolts does the Joker slow hand clap with the matching "Oh you dastardly devil you, how clever" expression on his face.
Chad Evans: "It sure makes you glad that you stay home on Sundays, doesn't it Nicholas? Although I suppose that Monday is the new Sunday. Don't be alarmed, Nick. There's nothing to be worried about. Bolts knows full well of my plans and he doesn't necessarily approve of what I must do, but he understands that I must do it. Allow me to fill in the blanks for you, Nick. I possess the heart of a Labrador retriever and the tenacity of a spry, young pit bull. It's very easy for me to walk into a minefield where other men would quiver without setting nary a toe. Why would I do it? For the money, the fame, am I merely obsessed with something that could never be? You tell me and listen good before you speak. I'm obsessed with the notion of redemption. It takes a rare thing, a turning point, to free oneself from any obsession. Be it prejudice or hate, or, even love, we must be shell-shocked to an awakening, a realization that we cannot live for solely one moment or one purpose. The good news is that my redemption is on the horizon and my obsession will soon be bulldozed by the fact that I am bigger and stronger than any obstacle that Gravedigger can throw at me."
Pizza is now delivered to the office space, a rare treat for these three hard-working professionals at this esteemed dojo. Normally such snack treats would be off limits at this time of year, but we need something to break the tension. We need levity and pizza provides just the kind of fun-filled, good timin' chatter that can brighten up any day in any way. Was this the same pizza place that Logan ordered his extra onions from? Well I don't want to reveal too much info, but you can use your imagination. All three men were enjoying the pizza and the tone was certainly lightened, but Chadwick wasn't ready to fully shift gears just yet. Here's some more funky lyrics, yo.
Chad Evans: "Gravedigger is a very paranoid man. He hears a butterfly flapping its wings in Argentina and he thinks it's a hurricane. That's a paranoid motherfucker, ego tripping, running sneak attacks with his henchmen. I almost feel compelled to donate to the man, not a princely sum, but at least a tithe in advance of his inevitable legal defense. After all power and paranoia do not mix, just ask the disembodied spirit of Richard Nixon."
Nick is wiping sauce from his chin with a folded cloth napkin, still chewing the pizza.
Nick Katsopolis: "Speaking of which, have you seen Frost/Nixon? It is simply spellbinding."
Bolts is kicked back at his desk, eating, not really paying attention to the conversation.
Chad Evans: "No I haven't. I'm holding out for the next installment, Frost/Bush. Sounds like a porno movie, doesn't it? Gotta break out my blowtorch and melt that Frost/Bush, am I right?"
Nick giggles like a schoolgirl, Chad grins the type of shit-eating grin that you might expect from a Hollywood playboy, and somewhere a hobo is fighting back bile deep within his throat.
Nick Katsopolis: "Steve Carr would like that joke. I'm gonna send that one to Steve Carr."
If only Tiger Woods and Barack Obama could see Chad Evans doing the Tiger Woods fist pump and the Barack Obama regal stare while addressing the audience.
Chad Evans: "You do that, boy. Run tell dat to Steve Carr."
Evans can't figure out the math as he stares at the shot glass on Bolts' desk. He remembers back to New Year's morning, that early morning when he woke up with the strange woman lying next to him in bed. Her body was warm and soft, her hair long and dark. Her buttocks were pressed together like two croissants at either end of a breakfast buffet table. This was truly a special and delicate young lady, but Evans was damned if he could place her.
Chad Evans: "I didn't tell you guys because I didn't want you to think I was losing my marbles. The truth is that I woke up on New Year's morning. I don't know the time, but I was at home in Hartford, in my bed at the cabin. When I woke up I found a girl in my bed, a beautiful girl was lying next to me. That sounds all well and good, but listen to this, I don't know if she was real or not."
Nick chokes back cynicism and disbelief, spitting his apple juice from the can. Bolts is even raising an eyebrow at this point, lifted from his dreary afternoon slumber.
Nick Katsopolis: "You mean she was really a he?"
Evans shakes his head in wholly protest and really starts aggressively lifting his finger in Nick's face, kind of like a rude Russian dude dancing too aggressively with the ladies at a club in San Francisco.
Chad Evans: "No, no, don't misunderstand me. I told you to never misunderstand me, I hate when you misunderstand me. What I mean is that after I saw her in bed next to me, I inexplicably went back to sleep instead of waking her for sex. When I woke up again she was gone. Now I don't know if she was ever really there or if she was just a figment of my imagination all along. I do know this, I had a dream when I went back to sleep after I first saw the girl next to me."
Nick has now officially become flippant, he's flipping his hands like a flippant person, or something.
Nick Katsopolis: "A dream? What about? What on earth could you have possibly dreamed about under that context, during that set of circumstances?"
Chad plums his shapely fingers through his bleached blond hair, at first struggling to find the words to respond to Nick's question. Suddenly Evans finds those words exactly where he left them.
Chad Evans: "Do you remember the 'lady in the radiator song' from Eraserhead?"
Chad pleads with a sort of hopeful expression on his face as he begs into Nick's eyes.
Nick Katsopolis: "Uh, yeah. You mean 'in Heaven everything is fine?' Is that the song that you're talking about, Chad?"
Nick gestures with his hands, trying to back Chad away from him because Chad is acting kind of jittery and weird. Bolts is kind of bobbing his head, just sittin' and chillin' at the desk, listenin' to the exchange between Nick and Chad.
Chad Evans: "Yes that's it. I had that dream, the same dream that Henry Spencer had in the movie. The deformed woman, the lady in the radiator with the giant Frankenstein glands on each side of her face was standing on the stage and she was singing her song to me and gesturing to me with her hands. I don't know why because I was weirded out, but man I became hard as a rock, like granite. I'm talking this ugly bitch got me Gwen Stefani hard, Katy Perry hard. You believe that? I woke up with the flash of white light as we ascended to Heaven and then I jerked it hard into the sheets. I must have cum a gallon or two of cum."
Nick kind of scratches his noggin and has a half-smile, kinda not wanting to smile and trying to hide it, but also weirded out look on his face.
Nick Katsopolis: "That's weird Chad but I wouldn't put too much stock into it. I've had some pretty weird dreams about guys like Hogan and Luger and I know that I'm not gay. Besides you had way too much to drink on New Year's. In fact we all did so you can't really be surprised that you had some crazy ass dream."
Chad looks kind of frustrated, exasperated, like a man who wants to express his feelings but doesn't know how.
Chad Evans: "I know that strange shit happens in dreams and we all try to brush it off like it's normal, but man nothing has been normal or straight about my life lately. I've lost my mentor and trusted confidant, Mr. Cairo. That is the single biggest blow ever to land against my soul. Then something happened that's not nearly comparable but also worth mentioning. I lost a hard-fought, blood, sweat and tears, barnburner against Torture. That defeat really tore away at my soul. Now on top of all that Gravedigger is fucking me with and I must now trust a man whom betrayed me, I must team with Prince Jimmy Dean. My life is fucked up, isn't it though?"
Nick consoles Chad with a pat on the shoulder and a gleam in the eye.
Nick Katsopolis: "That's just the onions and sausage talking, champ. You're gonna be fine. You know what you need? Some new pants and shirts. We're gonna drive down to the mall and buy you a new wardrobe. You're looking kind of drab, like a Trotskyist. What do you think, Bolts, does Chad need some color in his life?"
Bolts gives the old thumbs up and nods his head, almost as if wearing a cowboy hat.
Bolts Quackenbush: "Fuck getting a new wardrobe, he should go out there and fuck a black girl. That's how we did it in Texas, ahh-roof!"
Bolts and Nick laugh it up, exchanging yahoos and high fives with a reckless abandon. Chad just looks kind of emo sad and depressed by his recent run of bad luck. If this new reality was to be the roll call, the procession of life, then it was going to be a long Thursday afternoon and beyond, Chad told himself.
