Post by Gēmu on Sept 20, 2017 1:30:54 GMT -5
I so don't want to be here...
It's been over a year (or maybe two?) since I've dealt with anything that has to do with the WCF. I thought I was clear of the shit that is the world of professional wrestling. Guess I was wrong.
Things have been much better since I departed company from the WCF. I'm sober, married, family is in a somewhat better place, so why come back to the WCF? Even for a cameo appearance? For the soldiers. For the sailors. For the marines and airman who want to see one of their own inside of the ring facing a bunch of fake tough ass munchers who think they're the real deal. Meanwhile, I've gained so much weight, I'm starting to physically resemble Alex Richards during my better days in WCF.
What ever happened to that guy? Does he even still wrestle? Probably not. He made my drug problems look meek in comparison. I salute him, wherever that bald-headed ugly fucker happens to be these days.
Truth be told, my better days inside of the ring are behind me, and I'm okay with that. I'm on to bigger and better things. Things that I understand much better than the pseudo-political BS that runs professional wrestling at its very core, regardless of whatever wrestling federation I found myself in.
So now I'm about to sling my footless 260-something pound out of shape body into the ring as a sacrifice to the Gods of Professional Wrestling. As a sober person, too. So help me God...
So there I was at the water cooler, about to get me a conical cup of cold fresh goodness that everyone requires once in awhile after a steaming hot cup of dehydrating, yet satisfying, coffee. Japan, for all of its little quirks, manages to do well in the department of keeping its visiting white people quite happy in regards to caffeine products.
Oh yeah, why the fuck am I in Japan, you ask? Well, to tell you would mean I would have to kill you. At least the specifics as to why my cracker ass in here. The short and broad answer is simple. North Korea. The longer answer is that I work for a think tank that is contracted to the Office of Naval Intelligence. And the even longer answer without having to kill you all is we're trying to figure out how to invade and/or defend from North Korean aggression without too much loss of our own lives and resources in the process.
Ah yes, back to the water cooler. So some guy that I don't even really know walks up to me like a silly fanboy and asks me the most ridiculous question about the WCF. He says...
Guy: So you're George Murdock. Any chance you're the guy that used to be Gonzo?
I roll my eyes as I attempt to keep the vomit that rolled up my stomach contained inside of my mouth, as I swallow another cone of water. I toss the cup away after finishing with it and walk away hoping the moron wouldn't press the issue. Yeah, one could hope that people aren't that fucking stupid, as he says...
Guy: You know they have a show going on in Tokyo this coming week.
Gonzo: Good for them.
Guy: You're not going? To compete? Or watch?
Gonzo: No.
Guy: Well that's a damn shame. Me and my guys back in Afghanistan used to watch you crush the shit out of those other WCF pretenders back in the day. Made us feel like there was at least someone out there that knows what REAL fighting was all about. That the shit we do isn't just some big game for the rich to prosper off of. That, and I really loved how you made those Millennial fucktards uncomfortable whenever they wanted to bag on real life shit.
Gonzo: Whatever.
Guy: Hey. Seriously, you should be proud of that shit. So what you didn't get the World Title? It was fucking amazing you made it as far as you did with your foot being the way that it was. You really were an inspiration to a lot of people out there. Own that shit.
Gonzo: I do. And I also own my drug problems, my out of wedlock children, and all the other crazy shit that transpired during my time in the WCF as well. I also own the fact that if I had stayed, I probably would be dead, for real. Not that Hollywoo bullshit that we played off as my death to the world so I could attempt to have a normal fucking life again, either.
Guy: Hollywoo?
Gonzo: I've been watching a lot of BoJack Horseman lately. It got stuck in my head. Point being is that Gonzo is dead, but I'm still here. I had to get through a ton of shit to get to where I am now. Somewhere that the life of a professional wrestler would never allow me to be. Or as a field agent, for that matter.
Guy: You were still working intelligence while in the WCF?
Gonzo: I thought that shit was common knowledge by now. Figured they were teaching that shit at Langley, and what NOT to do when working such a gig. It's a miracle I still have a security clearance.
Guy: Well shit. I kind of feel like a fucking asshole for bringing it up. I'm glad you managed to work through it, though. So about this meeting...
Gonzo: North Korea, I know. Their movements on the coasts and in the water...
Yeah, not going to bore you all with the babble about what we know about North Korea and how they seem to be putting up an aggressive front towards the entire world and how we're trying to exploit their mistakes during their movements. But I was hoping that maybe this guy from the NSA, as I later found out, would be the last person to bring up my past life/career.
Boy was I wrong...
So later on, I get called into a Vice Admiral's office at the offices of the Seventh Fleet in Yokosuka. Once upon a time, this would've been something to fear. I got in a lot of trouble while wearing the uniform. Enough, in some instances, that warrant talking to a flag officer, which is never a pleasant experience.
Much like politicians, speaking to executive officers of any military branch leaves you feeling marginalized and dirty at the end of those conversations. Especially when you have something, or can do something, that they in most other cases cannot do themselves.
This conversation was going to make the Top 5 of how exploited I was going to feel after the meeting was over. Perhaps number 1, with a bullet. That I wanted to implant in the middle of that Admiral's skull.
So I get called in to his office, where I see not only the salty-haired not as tall as I thought Admiral, but I also see my once upon a time comrade and current Deputy Director of the National Clandestine Service Major General Michael Steele standing to greet me as I walk in.
My sphincter tightened as if I was getting shipped to GitMo as both smiled and offered their hands to me to shake. Vice Admiral Thurmond spoke first, as he says...
Thurmond: Dr. Murdock, so glad to finally meet you. The General and I were just talking about you and how you know each other.
Gonzo: You didn't tell him about Thailand, did you?
Steele: I thought Thailand was like Vegas. As in we never mention that shit ever again.
Thurmond: As a man with his own Thailand story, I have to agree with that. The Vegas Rule also applies to Thailand. But he did mention something about an opium den and massage parlor in Hong Kong...
Gonzo: Of course he did. Without them, he'd still be lost somewhere in Central Asia still living the life of Colonel Kurtz. I hope you didn't give them away by name, Mike.
Steele: Oh hell no. You never give away a connection like that! That place was full service!
We have a laugh, as we all sit around the Admiral's desk. After the Admiral offers up some scotch, I pass on the offer, in an effort to maintain my sobriety. As he sits down, a highball in hand, he comes out with why he asked me here. I assumed it wasn't for a reunion with my old comrade in arms.
Thurmond: So it's come to my attention that some of your old employers have come to town, George. How do you feel about that?
Gonzo: It's impolite to speak ill of someone who's not here to defend themselves. I'll just leave it at that.
Steele: You're still mad at the WCF? Come on, it wasn't that bad...
Gonzo: You weren't there when the shit really hit the fan, Mike. You got to go back to an office and to something that made sense. I almost got left out in the cold because of my association with them.
Thurmond: Be that as it may, we still have a mission for you that may require your association with the WCF. Though it isn't what you think.
Gonzo: I dare ask what this job is. Because if you haven't noticed, I'm not really suited for the field anymore.
Thurmond: I've noticed. It's real simple. It's more of a morale thing rather than an actual operation. We were wondering if you could talk to Seth Lerch and see if you could secure some tickets to this WAR event that is happening in Tokyo. I was hoping to distribute those tickets to my fighting men. Sort of a boost to their spirits in light of all that is North Korea.
Steele: And before you asked, I tried to talk to him, but he doesn't remember me. Not that I tried to make myself memorable. He did give me a ticket, though I think it was so I would stop bothering him.
Gonzo: I hope he gave you a cheap seat.
Thurmond: The point is we were hoping you would have better luck with Seth.
Gonzo: The guy probably hates me, if he even remembers me. Last I knew he was still a total lush. Why didn't you just get him drunk and put him in a compromising position with a tranny, or something?
Steele: Yeah, nobody cares about such things anymore. Thanks to Obama and his marriage equality and the lifting of "Don't ask, don't tell". Besides, Seth still has Jayson Price on his roster, so nothing we do to Seth will ever top that guy.
Gonzo: Jayson Price is still alive? Well, if that's the case, I guess I could just ask. Hell, there's no way he'd put me in the ring, looking the way I do...
Later that night, I called my wife back home to see how little George was. Then the conversation steered towards the WCF, to which she wasn't thrilled about what had been asked of me.
Susan and I had actually met when I was in the process of getting my security clearance back. During that time, I had offered my services as a wrestling instructor down in Louisiana for a short period of time. She was one of my students, though she was doing it mostly to stave off boredom.
Prior to becoming a CPA, she had worked briefly as a field analyst for the CIA. Her area of study was nuclear physics, though she was later compromised in North Korea. In short, she hated that I was here, but hoped that I could in any way stick it to North Korea somehow, and she had been quite an asset in helping me with this particular job, even from 9,000 miles away. As for the help with the WCF, that was another story.
My only saving grace was that this particular task was more about military morale, rather than some itch she thinks I want to scratch. I also gave her some peace of mind when I told her that itch just doesn't exist as it once did. Then her concerns turned towards my health. Never mind being out of shape, but also the drug and alcohol recovery. The Addison's Disease doesn't help, either. Which in hindsight was a major contributing factor to the fall of my career.
After getting off of the phone with my wife, I turned in and went to sleep at an early and reasonable time. Because I knew I would have to be well-rested and have to exercise some patience with Seth Lerch the next day.
So much for my in-ring retirement. Guess my fat ass is going to be shaking it for some free tickets. I just hope that those 5,000 military service members know just how much shit I'm going to have to go through for their own personal happiness.
The meeting with Seth was not surprising. He looked to be swimming in pools of vodka these days. How his liver is holding up now is beyond my comprehension. I figure someday soon, he'll keel over and vomit every single organ inside of his body all over his own feet. But today, he was still as difficult as ever to deal with...
So as I walked into his office, he holds out a glass of scotch, which I refuse, as he says...
Seth: So the rumors are true. Gonzo Murdock sober. Say it isn't so...
Gonzo: I'm also fat and out of shape. Care to take a shot at that, too?
Seth: I guess I could recommend a good steakhouse that's right inside of Dome City, if you care to balloon some more.
Gonzo: Ha ha...
Seth: So what are you doing in Japan? I thought you were dead, which was why I took this meeting to see that you were who you said you were. So what are you doing here?
Gonzo: I'm in Japan because of North Korea, but talking to you because some high-ranking military members think it would be absolutely swell of you to donate about 5,000 tickets to give to some service members. Morale before they have to fight a potentially devastating war.
Seth: And what do I get out of it? What does the WCF get out of it.
Gonzo: The undying gratitude of the Armed Forces of the United States. Maybe a fancy bottle of scotch from a Vice Admiral's private stock. Perhaps a get out of jail free card somewhere down the line if and whenever you're caught in a compromising position with a dead transsexual...
Seth: Hmm... As great as that all sounds, especially in case I do find myself in a catfish situation and I just roll with it, I still think there's something you can do for me. I feel like you owe me a match, for some reason.
Gonzo: Didn't you tear up my contract along with everyone else's like back in Mexico?
Seth: I did, didn't I? No, that's right! You were supposed to come back LAST WAR! AND YOU NEVER SHOWED UP!
Gonzo: Yeah, then Lazlo died, and I went into rehab. Thanks for bringing that up. Please don't ask me to get into that ring.
Seth: I'm not, unless you want those tickets. Otherwise, we have nothing else to talk about.
Gonzo: So all that time I spent putting guys over and helping you rake in tons of cash...
Seth: Your time in the WCF has brought nothing but conflict and strife in the backstage area. I almost threw everything away because of some of you fuckheads. To include yourself. Especially because of you! But I'm willing to overlook that and give you and the Armed Forces of the United States what they want if you give me your last match. You don't just owe me that, but you owe your fans.
Think of it! You made your first real bang in the WCF at WAR! You knocked Jonny Fly on his ass! Eliminated some big names at the time! When you left that match, you were going nowhere but up! Now maybe you don't have much left. Hell, to think of you as winning this match may be crazy to think! But maybe on your way out you stomp the head of someone that's still around that you don't like. Maybe that Omega guy you were supposed to have a feud with. That was disappointing...
Gonzo: Damn that Addison's Disease and all. Fine. When you put it that way, I guess there's worse ways to go out than at WAR. And maybe Omega and I can have that showdown after all. Though it'll probably be a huge disappointment. Fuck it, I'll be there.
So there it is, ladies and gentlemen. My last match. With some hope I don't embarrass myself too badly on the way out.
What the fuck am I thinking?
It's been over a year (or maybe two?) since I've dealt with anything that has to do with the WCF. I thought I was clear of the shit that is the world of professional wrestling. Guess I was wrong.
Things have been much better since I departed company from the WCF. I'm sober, married, family is in a somewhat better place, so why come back to the WCF? Even for a cameo appearance? For the soldiers. For the sailors. For the marines and airman who want to see one of their own inside of the ring facing a bunch of fake tough ass munchers who think they're the real deal. Meanwhile, I've gained so much weight, I'm starting to physically resemble Alex Richards during my better days in WCF.
What ever happened to that guy? Does he even still wrestle? Probably not. He made my drug problems look meek in comparison. I salute him, wherever that bald-headed ugly fucker happens to be these days.
Truth be told, my better days inside of the ring are behind me, and I'm okay with that. I'm on to bigger and better things. Things that I understand much better than the pseudo-political BS that runs professional wrestling at its very core, regardless of whatever wrestling federation I found myself in.
So now I'm about to sling my footless 260-something pound out of shape body into the ring as a sacrifice to the Gods of Professional Wrestling. As a sober person, too. So help me God...
So there I was at the water cooler, about to get me a conical cup of cold fresh goodness that everyone requires once in awhile after a steaming hot cup of dehydrating, yet satisfying, coffee. Japan, for all of its little quirks, manages to do well in the department of keeping its visiting white people quite happy in regards to caffeine products.
Oh yeah, why the fuck am I in Japan, you ask? Well, to tell you would mean I would have to kill you. At least the specifics as to why my cracker ass in here. The short and broad answer is simple. North Korea. The longer answer is that I work for a think tank that is contracted to the Office of Naval Intelligence. And the even longer answer without having to kill you all is we're trying to figure out how to invade and/or defend from North Korean aggression without too much loss of our own lives and resources in the process.
Ah yes, back to the water cooler. So some guy that I don't even really know walks up to me like a silly fanboy and asks me the most ridiculous question about the WCF. He says...
Guy: So you're George Murdock. Any chance you're the guy that used to be Gonzo?
I roll my eyes as I attempt to keep the vomit that rolled up my stomach contained inside of my mouth, as I swallow another cone of water. I toss the cup away after finishing with it and walk away hoping the moron wouldn't press the issue. Yeah, one could hope that people aren't that fucking stupid, as he says...
Guy: You know they have a show going on in Tokyo this coming week.
Gonzo: Good for them.
Guy: You're not going? To compete? Or watch?
Gonzo: No.
Guy: Well that's a damn shame. Me and my guys back in Afghanistan used to watch you crush the shit out of those other WCF pretenders back in the day. Made us feel like there was at least someone out there that knows what REAL fighting was all about. That the shit we do isn't just some big game for the rich to prosper off of. That, and I really loved how you made those Millennial fucktards uncomfortable whenever they wanted to bag on real life shit.
Gonzo: Whatever.
Guy: Hey. Seriously, you should be proud of that shit. So what you didn't get the World Title? It was fucking amazing you made it as far as you did with your foot being the way that it was. You really were an inspiration to a lot of people out there. Own that shit.
Gonzo: I do. And I also own my drug problems, my out of wedlock children, and all the other crazy shit that transpired during my time in the WCF as well. I also own the fact that if I had stayed, I probably would be dead, for real. Not that Hollywoo bullshit that we played off as my death to the world so I could attempt to have a normal fucking life again, either.
Guy: Hollywoo?
Gonzo: I've been watching a lot of BoJack Horseman lately. It got stuck in my head. Point being is that Gonzo is dead, but I'm still here. I had to get through a ton of shit to get to where I am now. Somewhere that the life of a professional wrestler would never allow me to be. Or as a field agent, for that matter.
Guy: You were still working intelligence while in the WCF?
Gonzo: I thought that shit was common knowledge by now. Figured they were teaching that shit at Langley, and what NOT to do when working such a gig. It's a miracle I still have a security clearance.
Guy: Well shit. I kind of feel like a fucking asshole for bringing it up. I'm glad you managed to work through it, though. So about this meeting...
Gonzo: North Korea, I know. Their movements on the coasts and in the water...
Yeah, not going to bore you all with the babble about what we know about North Korea and how they seem to be putting up an aggressive front towards the entire world and how we're trying to exploit their mistakes during their movements. But I was hoping that maybe this guy from the NSA, as I later found out, would be the last person to bring up my past life/career.
Boy was I wrong...
So later on, I get called into a Vice Admiral's office at the offices of the Seventh Fleet in Yokosuka. Once upon a time, this would've been something to fear. I got in a lot of trouble while wearing the uniform. Enough, in some instances, that warrant talking to a flag officer, which is never a pleasant experience.
Much like politicians, speaking to executive officers of any military branch leaves you feeling marginalized and dirty at the end of those conversations. Especially when you have something, or can do something, that they in most other cases cannot do themselves.
This conversation was going to make the Top 5 of how exploited I was going to feel after the meeting was over. Perhaps number 1, with a bullet. That I wanted to implant in the middle of that Admiral's skull.
So I get called in to his office, where I see not only the salty-haired not as tall as I thought Admiral, but I also see my once upon a time comrade and current Deputy Director of the National Clandestine Service Major General Michael Steele standing to greet me as I walk in.
My sphincter tightened as if I was getting shipped to GitMo as both smiled and offered their hands to me to shake. Vice Admiral Thurmond spoke first, as he says...
Thurmond: Dr. Murdock, so glad to finally meet you. The General and I were just talking about you and how you know each other.
Gonzo: You didn't tell him about Thailand, did you?
Steele: I thought Thailand was like Vegas. As in we never mention that shit ever again.
Thurmond: As a man with his own Thailand story, I have to agree with that. The Vegas Rule also applies to Thailand. But he did mention something about an opium den and massage parlor in Hong Kong...
Gonzo: Of course he did. Without them, he'd still be lost somewhere in Central Asia still living the life of Colonel Kurtz. I hope you didn't give them away by name, Mike.
Steele: Oh hell no. You never give away a connection like that! That place was full service!
We have a laugh, as we all sit around the Admiral's desk. After the Admiral offers up some scotch, I pass on the offer, in an effort to maintain my sobriety. As he sits down, a highball in hand, he comes out with why he asked me here. I assumed it wasn't for a reunion with my old comrade in arms.
Thurmond: So it's come to my attention that some of your old employers have come to town, George. How do you feel about that?
Gonzo: It's impolite to speak ill of someone who's not here to defend themselves. I'll just leave it at that.
Steele: You're still mad at the WCF? Come on, it wasn't that bad...
Gonzo: You weren't there when the shit really hit the fan, Mike. You got to go back to an office and to something that made sense. I almost got left out in the cold because of my association with them.
Thurmond: Be that as it may, we still have a mission for you that may require your association with the WCF. Though it isn't what you think.
Gonzo: I dare ask what this job is. Because if you haven't noticed, I'm not really suited for the field anymore.
Thurmond: I've noticed. It's real simple. It's more of a morale thing rather than an actual operation. We were wondering if you could talk to Seth Lerch and see if you could secure some tickets to this WAR event that is happening in Tokyo. I was hoping to distribute those tickets to my fighting men. Sort of a boost to their spirits in light of all that is North Korea.
Steele: And before you asked, I tried to talk to him, but he doesn't remember me. Not that I tried to make myself memorable. He did give me a ticket, though I think it was so I would stop bothering him.
Gonzo: I hope he gave you a cheap seat.
Thurmond: The point is we were hoping you would have better luck with Seth.
Gonzo: The guy probably hates me, if he even remembers me. Last I knew he was still a total lush. Why didn't you just get him drunk and put him in a compromising position with a tranny, or something?
Steele: Yeah, nobody cares about such things anymore. Thanks to Obama and his marriage equality and the lifting of "Don't ask, don't tell". Besides, Seth still has Jayson Price on his roster, so nothing we do to Seth will ever top that guy.
Gonzo: Jayson Price is still alive? Well, if that's the case, I guess I could just ask. Hell, there's no way he'd put me in the ring, looking the way I do...
Later that night, I called my wife back home to see how little George was. Then the conversation steered towards the WCF, to which she wasn't thrilled about what had been asked of me.
Susan and I had actually met when I was in the process of getting my security clearance back. During that time, I had offered my services as a wrestling instructor down in Louisiana for a short period of time. She was one of my students, though she was doing it mostly to stave off boredom.
Prior to becoming a CPA, she had worked briefly as a field analyst for the CIA. Her area of study was nuclear physics, though she was later compromised in North Korea. In short, she hated that I was here, but hoped that I could in any way stick it to North Korea somehow, and she had been quite an asset in helping me with this particular job, even from 9,000 miles away. As for the help with the WCF, that was another story.
My only saving grace was that this particular task was more about military morale, rather than some itch she thinks I want to scratch. I also gave her some peace of mind when I told her that itch just doesn't exist as it once did. Then her concerns turned towards my health. Never mind being out of shape, but also the drug and alcohol recovery. The Addison's Disease doesn't help, either. Which in hindsight was a major contributing factor to the fall of my career.
After getting off of the phone with my wife, I turned in and went to sleep at an early and reasonable time. Because I knew I would have to be well-rested and have to exercise some patience with Seth Lerch the next day.
So much for my in-ring retirement. Guess my fat ass is going to be shaking it for some free tickets. I just hope that those 5,000 military service members know just how much shit I'm going to have to go through for their own personal happiness.
The meeting with Seth was not surprising. He looked to be swimming in pools of vodka these days. How his liver is holding up now is beyond my comprehension. I figure someday soon, he'll keel over and vomit every single organ inside of his body all over his own feet. But today, he was still as difficult as ever to deal with...
So as I walked into his office, he holds out a glass of scotch, which I refuse, as he says...
Seth: So the rumors are true. Gonzo Murdock sober. Say it isn't so...
Gonzo: I'm also fat and out of shape. Care to take a shot at that, too?
Seth: I guess I could recommend a good steakhouse that's right inside of Dome City, if you care to balloon some more.
Gonzo: Ha ha...
Seth: So what are you doing in Japan? I thought you were dead, which was why I took this meeting to see that you were who you said you were. So what are you doing here?
Gonzo: I'm in Japan because of North Korea, but talking to you because some high-ranking military members think it would be absolutely swell of you to donate about 5,000 tickets to give to some service members. Morale before they have to fight a potentially devastating war.
Seth: And what do I get out of it? What does the WCF get out of it.
Gonzo: The undying gratitude of the Armed Forces of the United States. Maybe a fancy bottle of scotch from a Vice Admiral's private stock. Perhaps a get out of jail free card somewhere down the line if and whenever you're caught in a compromising position with a dead transsexual...
Seth: Hmm... As great as that all sounds, especially in case I do find myself in a catfish situation and I just roll with it, I still think there's something you can do for me. I feel like you owe me a match, for some reason.
Gonzo: Didn't you tear up my contract along with everyone else's like back in Mexico?
Seth: I did, didn't I? No, that's right! You were supposed to come back LAST WAR! AND YOU NEVER SHOWED UP!
Gonzo: Yeah, then Lazlo died, and I went into rehab. Thanks for bringing that up. Please don't ask me to get into that ring.
Seth: I'm not, unless you want those tickets. Otherwise, we have nothing else to talk about.
Gonzo: So all that time I spent putting guys over and helping you rake in tons of cash...
Seth: Your time in the WCF has brought nothing but conflict and strife in the backstage area. I almost threw everything away because of some of you fuckheads. To include yourself. Especially because of you! But I'm willing to overlook that and give you and the Armed Forces of the United States what they want if you give me your last match. You don't just owe me that, but you owe your fans.
Think of it! You made your first real bang in the WCF at WAR! You knocked Jonny Fly on his ass! Eliminated some big names at the time! When you left that match, you were going nowhere but up! Now maybe you don't have much left. Hell, to think of you as winning this match may be crazy to think! But maybe on your way out you stomp the head of someone that's still around that you don't like. Maybe that Omega guy you were supposed to have a feud with. That was disappointing...
Gonzo: Damn that Addison's Disease and all. Fine. When you put it that way, I guess there's worse ways to go out than at WAR. And maybe Omega and I can have that showdown after all. Though it'll probably be a huge disappointment. Fuck it, I'll be there.
So there it is, ladies and gentlemen. My last match. With some hope I don't embarrass myself too badly on the way out.
What the fuck am I thinking?
