Post by Gēmu on Sept 22, 2017 0:10:22 GMT -5
Doc: Did you fall off the wagon? Because the only way I'll accept that you took this match is that you must've been fucking high!
Ah yes, my doctor. The guy who's doing my pre-match physical, for insurance purposes. Fun stuff.
Gonzo: It was for a good cause! Not like I can get worse off than I already am.
Doc: So you're not satisfied with dying, you gotta now die in a wheelchair. Is this some bucket list shit?
So yeah, if you haven't figured it out yet, I'm on my way out the door. That thing about if I actually win and then I'm blowing off ONE? Not because I want to. I'm not that big of an asshole. Or that vindictive, for that matter. You guys should really cheer the fuck up. None of you douchebags like me that much, anyways. CELEBRATE FUCKERS!
Gonzo: Actually, this is on just about everyone's bucket list. Beat the shit out of the people that have made your life difficult? Granted, I got to do that quite often, but to do it while dying just seems really cathartic. Satisfying. Knowing after the fact, they're left with that beating. From a guy who was on their way out, it seems even more embarrassing.
Doc: So this is how you want to spend your last few good weeks. In a hospital bed. You dumb fuck.
Gonzo: And what would you do? Cozy up to your friends and family? Most of my friends are dead, and my family are nothing but shit heels. I have my wife and son. I'm not even allowed to see my other children! And what makes you think I'll allow myself to be bedridden and all shitty-looking at the end? I REFUSE to do that to my wife and son. To allow them that to be their last memory of me.
Doc: So you're going to off yourself? You know I have to report that.
Gonzo: It's way more dignified than going out in pain and with a shitload of hoses attached to me while I watch my wife and son cry. At least they'll know I went out on my own fucking terms, and not let this cancer eat away at me until I'm nothing. So yeah, report that. And then I'll be heading off to Oregon, so I can die with some fucking dignity. So are you going to clear me for this match? Or are you going to whine like a little bitch about how what's left of my life will not be very quality?
The doctor looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and stamped my physical. He then says...
Doc: That's Seth's call to make. At least I'm making it his call. If you want to ruin what's left of your life, who am I to stand in the way? The only thing that I ask is tell your wife, at least. She deserves to know your terminal.
Gonzo: You know, I finally find someone who I'm not only happy with, but seems to be happy with me. Doesn't try to force me to change or any of that shit, and I have to go fucking die on her. Seems quite unfair to let her know that our relationship is on borrowed time. If anything, it's like I'm asking her to change for me and my condition. Seems unfair. Thanks for the unsolicited relationship advice, but kindly mind your own business. Are we done?
The doctor grimly nods, as I button up my shirt and throw my sport coat back on. I leave the office with no further issues, as I begin to focus more on this upcoming match.
Steele: What the fuck, Murdock? Why didn't you say anything?
Major General Michael S. Steele is now going to read me the Riot Act, now. Seems my doctor snitched me out to ONI, and I'm now being relieved of duty. As I'm clearing out my desk and being disgraced for not disclosing my cancer diagnosis. And why would I? It wasn't affecting my job performance. And when it did, I would have stepped aside. Yet another way the government makes a guy feel disposable, I suppose...
Steele: I called in some major favors to get your ass reinstated, and this is how you repay me?
Gonzo: Gee Mike, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to catch cancer just to make you look bad in front of a bunch of suits. I'm the biggest fucking asshole on the planet for that move. I found out three months after I was reinstated. Turns out it's the aggressive version of cancer. When they found it, it was in my lungs. Now its in my testicles and my liver. Doc and I are taking bets on where it lands next. You want in? I'm thinking maybe bladder...
Steele: Glad you got jokes, asshole. But now you're going to still wrestle in WAR? You don't have to do that. I would've never asked if I had known.
Gonzo: You know, at first I was pissed about it, but Seth brought up some good points. This is an excellent opportunity. A golden bucket list opportunity to kick everyone in the dick as I walk out of the WCF for the last time. I wish I was in better physical shape before I got into the match, but I'll take what I can get. It's not like I have contagious cancer, though some of those assholes would probably deserve it. Especially if some of the assholes from my past show up. Flash deserves cancer. Asshole cancer. So does Jared Holmes. Maybe that's where my cancer will land next. I am kind of an asshole. It would be kind of funny.
Steele: What is wrong with you?
Gonzo: Just consider yourself lucky you're an orphan. Family is so not worth the hassle or drama. My advice? Find yourself a lady to love, and force her to have some children. Make them love you. Or at least give them reasons to do so.
Steele: No, seriously. Your nose...
I touch my top lip under my nostrils, and pull my hand out to find bright red blood flowing from my nose. I raise my eyebrows as I say...
Gonzo: Hmm... Maybe the cancer is in me brain, now...
I don't remember much after that. I think Michael rushed over as my knees gave out underneath of my chunky body, but that's about it.
Susan: George? George? Are you in there?
Gonzo: No. This is all a bad dream. You aren't here watching me die. That is not what I wanted!
Susan: I've known, George. For awhile.
I raised my eyebrows at the revelation she just dropped on me. I look at her, as she nods her head in a knowing manner. And my black, darkened heart broke one more time.
I never wanted her to ever have to watch someone she loved ever go out like this. In a hospital bed, as doctors desperately try to keep a dying man alive for just a few minutes longer. What was the point of that? That was way more disturbing to me than any suicide case I've ever heard in my life. My mind went to my DNR for a second, before Susan says...
Susan: And I understand why you didn't tell me. Truth be told, I don't know if I could watch you go out in your final days.
Gonzo: I wouldn't want you to. I don't want you to ever remember me like this. I would have found another way out long before I wound up like this.
Susan: But what about little George? How would I explain that to him?
Gonzo: You could tell him his old man went out on his own terms, rather than drag everyone through the pain of watching him die. Maybe he understands, maybe not. Either way, that would be the truth.
Susan: Is this why you bought land in Oregon? Because you saw this coming?
Gonzo: Yes. An old friend of mine was nice enough to sell me 5 acres. Once I'm done, it reverts back to him. As for you and George, you'll be taken care of. The insurance will pay out in Oregon.
Susan: I don't care about the money! When I found you, you were broken. Financially, physically, emotionally. I didn't care then and I don't care now! I don't know what to do! All I want to do is cry!
Gonzo: Then cry. God knows I want to cry, too.
She crawls into the bed, the hoses and lines be damned, and we cry in each other's arms. For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of a woman. I couldn't do so ever before. Not with my mother, or any ex-wife, or the probably hundreds of other women I've had sexual relations with, not anybody. I let that soak in, as we both bawled like newborn children in each others arms.
Seth: Dude, I'm sorry for your plight, but I don't think it's really the best move to let someone in the ring who's terminal...
These were the words that he greeted me with as I wind up in his makeshift office inside of the Tokyo Dome. I expected him to perhaps be a bit more angry, considering how many times I'd blown off the WCF because of previous health reasons, but maybe he's just used to it now. But this was also a first, as he considers not letting me perform in the ring.
Seth: I'm going to shoot straight with you. The WCF isn't quite what it used to be. When you and the DRG and Flash and BeachKrew were around, the money was just rolling in left right and center. Nowadays, the money is solid, but it's just not the same. There's no real drama, conflict. The matches just don't look as good anymore. Hell, before you guys, there was at least Fly and Orbit and even the shit with Twilight even managed to bring some controversy, and with it cash. That's why I love it when you guys from the past roll in. That shit sells!
But I don't know how I'll feel if you were to just keel over and die in the middle of the ring. We had something like that happen before, when whatshisname blew himself up inside of the ring, and that was some ugly shit.
Gonzo: Seth, I have a terminal disease. I'm not in my deathbed yet. Doc says I have 9 months at most. I probably only have 6 months, because I'm not going to drag my death out. That's not fair to the people closest to me. Hence my move to Oregon City when I leave Japan.
And believe me when I tell you, I have no fucking plans of dying in the middle of that ring. I'm not going to let one of those cock jockeys have the honor of killing me. That honor will belong to someone on a real battlefield who earned that shit. Though it looks like that ain't fucking happening, either.
All I'm looking for is a last hurrah. You said it yourself, I owe you a match. I'm not backing out of this. Especially considering you've sent the tickets out.
Seth: I would've given you the tickets anyways. I may not agree with war being an answer, but I do like being able to sleep at night without worry that someone is going to murder me in my sleep. Are you at least insured?
Gonzo: Oh, I've got plenty of insurance. Pretty much up to the day I die, I'm covered.
Seth: Alright. You get your final stand. Get yourself ready for WAR. Just please do not die in my ring. Or kill anybody, for that matter.
I sarcastically groan my displeasure at the last statement, but I agree NOT to render anybody dead in the upcoming match. Maimed, with broken bones, and potentially bleeding out superficially, but nothing life threatening. At least not on purpose. Next on my docket was Last Will and Testament. Basically the last official document that the GOV was going to allow me before I depart company with ONI. I guess you guys can get a peek...
Ah yes, my doctor. The guy who's doing my pre-match physical, for insurance purposes. Fun stuff.
Gonzo: It was for a good cause! Not like I can get worse off than I already am.
Doc: So you're not satisfied with dying, you gotta now die in a wheelchair. Is this some bucket list shit?
So yeah, if you haven't figured it out yet, I'm on my way out the door. That thing about if I actually win and then I'm blowing off ONE? Not because I want to. I'm not that big of an asshole. Or that vindictive, for that matter. You guys should really cheer the fuck up. None of you douchebags like me that much, anyways. CELEBRATE FUCKERS!
Gonzo: Actually, this is on just about everyone's bucket list. Beat the shit out of the people that have made your life difficult? Granted, I got to do that quite often, but to do it while dying just seems really cathartic. Satisfying. Knowing after the fact, they're left with that beating. From a guy who was on their way out, it seems even more embarrassing.
Doc: So this is how you want to spend your last few good weeks. In a hospital bed. You dumb fuck.
Gonzo: And what would you do? Cozy up to your friends and family? Most of my friends are dead, and my family are nothing but shit heels. I have my wife and son. I'm not even allowed to see my other children! And what makes you think I'll allow myself to be bedridden and all shitty-looking at the end? I REFUSE to do that to my wife and son. To allow them that to be their last memory of me.
Doc: So you're going to off yourself? You know I have to report that.
Gonzo: It's way more dignified than going out in pain and with a shitload of hoses attached to me while I watch my wife and son cry. At least they'll know I went out on my own fucking terms, and not let this cancer eat away at me until I'm nothing. So yeah, report that. And then I'll be heading off to Oregon, so I can die with some fucking dignity. So are you going to clear me for this match? Or are you going to whine like a little bitch about how what's left of my life will not be very quality?
The doctor looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and stamped my physical. He then says...
Doc: That's Seth's call to make. At least I'm making it his call. If you want to ruin what's left of your life, who am I to stand in the way? The only thing that I ask is tell your wife, at least. She deserves to know your terminal.
Gonzo: You know, I finally find someone who I'm not only happy with, but seems to be happy with me. Doesn't try to force me to change or any of that shit, and I have to go fucking die on her. Seems quite unfair to let her know that our relationship is on borrowed time. If anything, it's like I'm asking her to change for me and my condition. Seems unfair. Thanks for the unsolicited relationship advice, but kindly mind your own business. Are we done?
The doctor grimly nods, as I button up my shirt and throw my sport coat back on. I leave the office with no further issues, as I begin to focus more on this upcoming match.
Steele: What the fuck, Murdock? Why didn't you say anything?
Major General Michael S. Steele is now going to read me the Riot Act, now. Seems my doctor snitched me out to ONI, and I'm now being relieved of duty. As I'm clearing out my desk and being disgraced for not disclosing my cancer diagnosis. And why would I? It wasn't affecting my job performance. And when it did, I would have stepped aside. Yet another way the government makes a guy feel disposable, I suppose...
Steele: I called in some major favors to get your ass reinstated, and this is how you repay me?
Gonzo: Gee Mike, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to catch cancer just to make you look bad in front of a bunch of suits. I'm the biggest fucking asshole on the planet for that move. I found out three months after I was reinstated. Turns out it's the aggressive version of cancer. When they found it, it was in my lungs. Now its in my testicles and my liver. Doc and I are taking bets on where it lands next. You want in? I'm thinking maybe bladder...
Steele: Glad you got jokes, asshole. But now you're going to still wrestle in WAR? You don't have to do that. I would've never asked if I had known.
Gonzo: You know, at first I was pissed about it, but Seth brought up some good points. This is an excellent opportunity. A golden bucket list opportunity to kick everyone in the dick as I walk out of the WCF for the last time. I wish I was in better physical shape before I got into the match, but I'll take what I can get. It's not like I have contagious cancer, though some of those assholes would probably deserve it. Especially if some of the assholes from my past show up. Flash deserves cancer. Asshole cancer. So does Jared Holmes. Maybe that's where my cancer will land next. I am kind of an asshole. It would be kind of funny.
Steele: What is wrong with you?
Gonzo: Just consider yourself lucky you're an orphan. Family is so not worth the hassle or drama. My advice? Find yourself a lady to love, and force her to have some children. Make them love you. Or at least give them reasons to do so.
Steele: No, seriously. Your nose...
I touch my top lip under my nostrils, and pull my hand out to find bright red blood flowing from my nose. I raise my eyebrows as I say...
Gonzo: Hmm... Maybe the cancer is in me brain, now...
I don't remember much after that. I think Michael rushed over as my knees gave out underneath of my chunky body, but that's about it.
Susan: George? George? Are you in there?
Gonzo: No. This is all a bad dream. You aren't here watching me die. That is not what I wanted!
Susan: I've known, George. For awhile.
I raised my eyebrows at the revelation she just dropped on me. I look at her, as she nods her head in a knowing manner. And my black, darkened heart broke one more time.
I never wanted her to ever have to watch someone she loved ever go out like this. In a hospital bed, as doctors desperately try to keep a dying man alive for just a few minutes longer. What was the point of that? That was way more disturbing to me than any suicide case I've ever heard in my life. My mind went to my DNR for a second, before Susan says...
Susan: And I understand why you didn't tell me. Truth be told, I don't know if I could watch you go out in your final days.
Gonzo: I wouldn't want you to. I don't want you to ever remember me like this. I would have found another way out long before I wound up like this.
Susan: But what about little George? How would I explain that to him?
Gonzo: You could tell him his old man went out on his own terms, rather than drag everyone through the pain of watching him die. Maybe he understands, maybe not. Either way, that would be the truth.
Susan: Is this why you bought land in Oregon? Because you saw this coming?
Gonzo: Yes. An old friend of mine was nice enough to sell me 5 acres. Once I'm done, it reverts back to him. As for you and George, you'll be taken care of. The insurance will pay out in Oregon.
Susan: I don't care about the money! When I found you, you were broken. Financially, physically, emotionally. I didn't care then and I don't care now! I don't know what to do! All I want to do is cry!
Gonzo: Then cry. God knows I want to cry, too.
She crawls into the bed, the hoses and lines be damned, and we cry in each other's arms. For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of a woman. I couldn't do so ever before. Not with my mother, or any ex-wife, or the probably hundreds of other women I've had sexual relations with, not anybody. I let that soak in, as we both bawled like newborn children in each others arms.
Seth: Dude, I'm sorry for your plight, but I don't think it's really the best move to let someone in the ring who's terminal...
These were the words that he greeted me with as I wind up in his makeshift office inside of the Tokyo Dome. I expected him to perhaps be a bit more angry, considering how many times I'd blown off the WCF because of previous health reasons, but maybe he's just used to it now. But this was also a first, as he considers not letting me perform in the ring.
Seth: I'm going to shoot straight with you. The WCF isn't quite what it used to be. When you and the DRG and Flash and BeachKrew were around, the money was just rolling in left right and center. Nowadays, the money is solid, but it's just not the same. There's no real drama, conflict. The matches just don't look as good anymore. Hell, before you guys, there was at least Fly and Orbit and even the shit with Twilight even managed to bring some controversy, and with it cash. That's why I love it when you guys from the past roll in. That shit sells!
But I don't know how I'll feel if you were to just keel over and die in the middle of the ring. We had something like that happen before, when whatshisname blew himself up inside of the ring, and that was some ugly shit.
Gonzo: Seth, I have a terminal disease. I'm not in my deathbed yet. Doc says I have 9 months at most. I probably only have 6 months, because I'm not going to drag my death out. That's not fair to the people closest to me. Hence my move to Oregon City when I leave Japan.
And believe me when I tell you, I have no fucking plans of dying in the middle of that ring. I'm not going to let one of those cock jockeys have the honor of killing me. That honor will belong to someone on a real battlefield who earned that shit. Though it looks like that ain't fucking happening, either.
All I'm looking for is a last hurrah. You said it yourself, I owe you a match. I'm not backing out of this. Especially considering you've sent the tickets out.
Seth: I would've given you the tickets anyways. I may not agree with war being an answer, but I do like being able to sleep at night without worry that someone is going to murder me in my sleep. Are you at least insured?
Gonzo: Oh, I've got plenty of insurance. Pretty much up to the day I die, I'm covered.
Seth: Alright. You get your final stand. Get yourself ready for WAR. Just please do not die in my ring. Or kill anybody, for that matter.
I sarcastically groan my displeasure at the last statement, but I agree NOT to render anybody dead in the upcoming match. Maimed, with broken bones, and potentially bleeding out superficially, but nothing life threatening. At least not on purpose. Next on my docket was Last Will and Testament. Basically the last official document that the GOV was going to allow me before I depart company with ONI. I guess you guys can get a peek...
Last Will & Testament
As Per the Wishes of
Dr. George S. "Gonzo" Murdock, II
Past all of the legal mumbo jumbo, which my lawyer will put everyone through soon enough; I, Dr. George Spencer Murdock, II; being currently of sound mind and body on this day of our Lord, September 22, 2017, do hereby bequeath my worldly belongings...
To my beautiful wife, Susan Murdock-Moon, I bequeath thee my estate and monies associated with said estate, with the exception of the following...
To my first born child; Madison Rachael Hardy-Murdock, aged 9 years; I bequeath in trust $5,000,000 for her ongoing care until she reaches the age of 21. To include her educational needs should she choose to pursue such ventures. The remaining balance left after she reaches the age of 28 is to be released to her personal care to do with as she pleases. I wish that I was a better father to you when I was alive, but I am who I am. Warts, scars, and all. I love you, baby girl. I wish you peace, love, and safety for all of your remaining days.
To my second born child; Jacob Ari Gould, aged 5 years; I bequest in trust $5,000,000 for his ongoing care until he reaches the age of 21. To include his educational needs should he choose to pursue such ventures. The remaining balance left after he reaches the age of 28 is to be released to his personal care to do with as he pleases. Furthermore, I am also including $100,000 per year for each year that he serves in the Israeli Defense Force, for a minimum of 2 years, as mandated by the State of Israel. I may have not met you son, but know that I wish that I did. I love you, and wish you peace, love, and safety in your life.
To my third born child; Michael Avery Laurence, aged 3 years; I bequeath in trust $8,000,000, as per the agreement previously agreed upon in mediation during my previous custody rights contest. Of which, $3,000,000 will be immediately released into the estate of his mother, Eva Lynn Laurence, to be used exclusively for the care and needs of my child. The remaining $5,000,000 will remain in trust until he either enrolls in a list of colleges of my choosing, (See Following List) or until he reaches the age of 28. Should he attend college, what remains of the trust when he reaches the age of 28 will be released to him. Should he choose not to attend college, his remaining trust will not be released to him until he reaches the age of 40. Your mother and I do not get along very well, but know that I really do care about you, despite how this reading may seem. I really do care about you, and you will thank me in the long run. As with all of my other children, I love you, and wish you peace, love, and safety for you. Regardless of what BS your mother tries to fill your head with.
To my fourth born and youngest child; Spencer George Murdock, aged 3 months; upon your mother's death, I bequeath my estate and any monies associated with said estate, as a secondary inheritor, should anything that would prevent your mother, Susan Murdock-Moon, from her duties befall her. Upon receiving his undergraduate degree from a college of my choosing (See Following List) or attaining the rank of E-6 or above, regardless of military branch he may choose, and retirement from military service, he will immediately become co-executor to my estate one day after his graduation or retirement. I wish that I was able to have more time with you young man, but know that I love you very much and wish you peace, love and safety. Words will never be able to describe. Take care of your mother for me, young man.
To all of my children, regardless of nationality or parentage, I bequeath an additional $100,000 per year to do with as you wish during your years in college and/or the military. Upon retirement from the military or government service, should you wish to pursue that career, my estate will pay you a further $2,000,000 for services rendered to your country by me, along with covering any medical care and expenses incurred that is denied to you during your service. Should you choose not to enter military or government service, but your children do, this will apply to my grandchildren. While I wish there was no need for rough men and women who guard the shores of their homes, it is unfortunately necessary to sometimes combat evil with necessary evil. Should you choose to do so, I will ensure you are taken care of, even in my absence.
To Ryann Hardy, I leave you my tour bus, the memory of Barranquilla, Columbia, the full rights to my song and royalties of "Through Blood and Tears", our time on the road, and my journals dated from December 2006 thru January 2009. I was never able to emotionally open up to you the way I would have liked. Perhaps these journals will help, as I was never as good with my words in an intimate setting, as opposed to on stage. May your musical career outshine your professional wrestling career.
To Irina Gould, I leave you my Desert Eagle with the galvanized rubber grips and flat black matte finish and my Kimber Arms 1911 with sandalwood grips and matte black finish in your more than capable hands. They served me well when we were assigned to the joint task force, and may they continue to serve you well in your future endeavors. Stay safe and know that I will always be by your side in spirit. You will always hold a special place in my heart, Warrior Woman.
To Eva Lynn Laurence, while you may hate me and I loathe what you did to me, I still leave with you my condo in Ocean City, Maryland. We will still have those memories of the days in which we both tried to find ourselves in this maelstrom shitstorm we call a life. May you one day think well of me and not poison our child with your seething hatred of me.
To my brother, Corporal Douglas Jeffery Beaumont Murdock, USMC; Killed in Action in the Kandahar Region, Afghanistan, March 21, 2016. May he find the love and peace in death that he could not find in life. I will be seeing you soon, and I will be there to once again block all of your pathetic shots on goal and to pick your ass back up when you fall on the ice. For you, I will break my sobriety. Meet me with a case of Yuengling. We've got a lot to catch up on. I also leave you a marble monument and a place in my private burial lot, since my family was petty enough to excommunicate him from the family lot. You will never be alone, my brother.
To Vincent Briggs, I leave you the ten acres your ass has been squatting on for the last 5 years or so, along with at least enough lumber and building materials for you to pound out a better home than that shitbox trailer you and my brother shared. Furthermore, I don't give a fuck about your status with my brother. I didn't like you very much, but my brother did, and I will respect his wishes. I do, however, thank you for making him happy when our family failed to do so. I also leave you a spot in my private burial lot, right next to Doug, for when your time comes.
To the Dark Riders Motorcycle Club, I leave you my 2007 Triumph Rocket III Roadster. Crank her up and take her out from time to time. It'll be a damn shame if she just sits somewhere and collects dust. I also leave $10,000 per charity event, to fund and/or donate to charity during our many different rides for charity per year, for as long as my estate stands. If my estate meets financial difficulties, as determined by my trust lawyers, such donations may be halted until my estate recovers financially. We really shook the pillars of Heaven back in 2015. Too bad that same Heaven came crashing down onto our heads.
To Joey Bauer, better known to the world as Steeltoe Joe; I bequeath $50,000 yearly to his church. While I may not have been on great terms with the Big Man Upstairs, that does not mean I disrespect your belief. Alas, I respected you greatly for it, and I respected you for trying to help me (unsuccessfully) to see the Light. Keep on keeping on, and I hope you can touch more lives with the Light of God.
To the WCF, I leave my collection of artificial right feet that I had specially made and manufactured for competition in your promotion. I figure you can stuff them somewhere, or hang them somewhere. Give them to my former opponents as mementos for them to do with as they wish. I really don't care what you do with them. I also leave my gratitude in allowing a crippled, washed up fuck like myself a chance to give professional wrestling the bad name it probably doesn't deserve. Not that I was the only one who tried during my tenure with the company.
To Seth Lerch, the Chairman and CEO of WCF, LLC. I bequeath unto you approximately 10,000 gallons of Stolichnaya Vodka to fill your swimming pool with. I know it was a dream of yours. Never say I gave you nothing, if not at least a hard time. Speaking of hard times, I think I should give you Eva Lynn's number. Thank you, once again, for allowing me the sometimes pleasurable, but mostly painful, chance to wrestle inside of your ring.
To those that I did not mention (notably most of my living blood relatives), consider yourselves fortunate that before I die, I do not murder you in your sleep for the disrespect you've shown me by writing me out of the family will (like I needed your fucking money) and the following accusations made at my expense. First off, Doug made his own decisions, and you need to stop blaming me for that. Second, you are the reason why I became the bastard that I became. The Madman of Madison County, as you and the rest of the town so colorfully put it in my teenage years. Until you drop your bullshit and accept responsibility for your own faults, such as pushing Doug away from you and driving myself away from you, for starters, I offer you nothing but the pain and sorrow you inflicted on us as children. I hope you fucking choke on it!
On that final betrothal of my worldly goods and wishes, I leave you all the words of the late Peter Steele. Nobody lives forever, and who the fuck would ever want to on this shitbag planet?
As Per the Wishes of
Dr. George S. "Gonzo" Murdock, II
Past all of the legal mumbo jumbo, which my lawyer will put everyone through soon enough; I, Dr. George Spencer Murdock, II; being currently of sound mind and body on this day of our Lord, September 22, 2017, do hereby bequeath my worldly belongings...
To my beautiful wife, Susan Murdock-Moon, I bequeath thee my estate and monies associated with said estate, with the exception of the following...
To my first born child; Madison Rachael Hardy-Murdock, aged 9 years; I bequeath in trust $5,000,000 for her ongoing care until she reaches the age of 21. To include her educational needs should she choose to pursue such ventures. The remaining balance left after she reaches the age of 28 is to be released to her personal care to do with as she pleases. I wish that I was a better father to you when I was alive, but I am who I am. Warts, scars, and all. I love you, baby girl. I wish you peace, love, and safety for all of your remaining days.
To my second born child; Jacob Ari Gould, aged 5 years; I bequest in trust $5,000,000 for his ongoing care until he reaches the age of 21. To include his educational needs should he choose to pursue such ventures. The remaining balance left after he reaches the age of 28 is to be released to his personal care to do with as he pleases. Furthermore, I am also including $100,000 per year for each year that he serves in the Israeli Defense Force, for a minimum of 2 years, as mandated by the State of Israel. I may have not met you son, but know that I wish that I did. I love you, and wish you peace, love, and safety in your life.
To my third born child; Michael Avery Laurence, aged 3 years; I bequeath in trust $8,000,000, as per the agreement previously agreed upon in mediation during my previous custody rights contest. Of which, $3,000,000 will be immediately released into the estate of his mother, Eva Lynn Laurence, to be used exclusively for the care and needs of my child. The remaining $5,000,000 will remain in trust until he either enrolls in a list of colleges of my choosing, (See Following List) or until he reaches the age of 28. Should he attend college, what remains of the trust when he reaches the age of 28 will be released to him. Should he choose not to attend college, his remaining trust will not be released to him until he reaches the age of 40. Your mother and I do not get along very well, but know that I really do care about you, despite how this reading may seem. I really do care about you, and you will thank me in the long run. As with all of my other children, I love you, and wish you peace, love, and safety for you. Regardless of what BS your mother tries to fill your head with.
To my fourth born and youngest child; Spencer George Murdock, aged 3 months; upon your mother's death, I bequeath my estate and any monies associated with said estate, as a secondary inheritor, should anything that would prevent your mother, Susan Murdock-Moon, from her duties befall her. Upon receiving his undergraduate degree from a college of my choosing (See Following List) or attaining the rank of E-6 or above, regardless of military branch he may choose, and retirement from military service, he will immediately become co-executor to my estate one day after his graduation or retirement. I wish that I was able to have more time with you young man, but know that I love you very much and wish you peace, love and safety. Words will never be able to describe. Take care of your mother for me, young man.
To all of my children, regardless of nationality or parentage, I bequeath an additional $100,000 per year to do with as you wish during your years in college and/or the military. Upon retirement from the military or government service, should you wish to pursue that career, my estate will pay you a further $2,000,000 for services rendered to your country by me, along with covering any medical care and expenses incurred that is denied to you during your service. Should you choose not to enter military or government service, but your children do, this will apply to my grandchildren. While I wish there was no need for rough men and women who guard the shores of their homes, it is unfortunately necessary to sometimes combat evil with necessary evil. Should you choose to do so, I will ensure you are taken care of, even in my absence.
To Ryann Hardy, I leave you my tour bus, the memory of Barranquilla, Columbia, the full rights to my song and royalties of "Through Blood and Tears", our time on the road, and my journals dated from December 2006 thru January 2009. I was never able to emotionally open up to you the way I would have liked. Perhaps these journals will help, as I was never as good with my words in an intimate setting, as opposed to on stage. May your musical career outshine your professional wrestling career.
To Irina Gould, I leave you my Desert Eagle with the galvanized rubber grips and flat black matte finish and my Kimber Arms 1911 with sandalwood grips and matte black finish in your more than capable hands. They served me well when we were assigned to the joint task force, and may they continue to serve you well in your future endeavors. Stay safe and know that I will always be by your side in spirit. You will always hold a special place in my heart, Warrior Woman.
To Eva Lynn Laurence, while you may hate me and I loathe what you did to me, I still leave with you my condo in Ocean City, Maryland. We will still have those memories of the days in which we both tried to find ourselves in this maelstrom shitstorm we call a life. May you one day think well of me and not poison our child with your seething hatred of me.
To my brother, Corporal Douglas Jeffery Beaumont Murdock, USMC; Killed in Action in the Kandahar Region, Afghanistan, March 21, 2016. May he find the love and peace in death that he could not find in life. I will be seeing you soon, and I will be there to once again block all of your pathetic shots on goal and to pick your ass back up when you fall on the ice. For you, I will break my sobriety. Meet me with a case of Yuengling. We've got a lot to catch up on. I also leave you a marble monument and a place in my private burial lot, since my family was petty enough to excommunicate him from the family lot. You will never be alone, my brother.
To Vincent Briggs, I leave you the ten acres your ass has been squatting on for the last 5 years or so, along with at least enough lumber and building materials for you to pound out a better home than that shitbox trailer you and my brother shared. Furthermore, I don't give a fuck about your status with my brother. I didn't like you very much, but my brother did, and I will respect his wishes. I do, however, thank you for making him happy when our family failed to do so. I also leave you a spot in my private burial lot, right next to Doug, for when your time comes.
To the Dark Riders Motorcycle Club, I leave you my 2007 Triumph Rocket III Roadster. Crank her up and take her out from time to time. It'll be a damn shame if she just sits somewhere and collects dust. I also leave $10,000 per charity event, to fund and/or donate to charity during our many different rides for charity per year, for as long as my estate stands. If my estate meets financial difficulties, as determined by my trust lawyers, such donations may be halted until my estate recovers financially. We really shook the pillars of Heaven back in 2015. Too bad that same Heaven came crashing down onto our heads.
To Joey Bauer, better known to the world as Steeltoe Joe; I bequeath $50,000 yearly to his church. While I may not have been on great terms with the Big Man Upstairs, that does not mean I disrespect your belief. Alas, I respected you greatly for it, and I respected you for trying to help me (unsuccessfully) to see the Light. Keep on keeping on, and I hope you can touch more lives with the Light of God.
To the WCF, I leave my collection of artificial right feet that I had specially made and manufactured for competition in your promotion. I figure you can stuff them somewhere, or hang them somewhere. Give them to my former opponents as mementos for them to do with as they wish. I really don't care what you do with them. I also leave my gratitude in allowing a crippled, washed up fuck like myself a chance to give professional wrestling the bad name it probably doesn't deserve. Not that I was the only one who tried during my tenure with the company.
To Seth Lerch, the Chairman and CEO of WCF, LLC. I bequeath unto you approximately 10,000 gallons of Stolichnaya Vodka to fill your swimming pool with. I know it was a dream of yours. Never say I gave you nothing, if not at least a hard time. Speaking of hard times, I think I should give you Eva Lynn's number. Thank you, once again, for allowing me the sometimes pleasurable, but mostly painful, chance to wrestle inside of your ring.
To those that I did not mention (notably most of my living blood relatives), consider yourselves fortunate that before I die, I do not murder you in your sleep for the disrespect you've shown me by writing me out of the family will (like I needed your fucking money) and the following accusations made at my expense. First off, Doug made his own decisions, and you need to stop blaming me for that. Second, you are the reason why I became the bastard that I became. The Madman of Madison County, as you and the rest of the town so colorfully put it in my teenage years. Until you drop your bullshit and accept responsibility for your own faults, such as pushing Doug away from you and driving myself away from you, for starters, I offer you nothing but the pain and sorrow you inflicted on us as children. I hope you fucking choke on it!
On that final betrothal of my worldly goods and wishes, I leave you all the words of the late Peter Steele. Nobody lives forever, and who the fuck would ever want to on this shitbag planet?
Six Months from now...
Gonzo has been dead for a few months, thanks to a sudden stroke caused by the onset of an aggressive brain tumor. He died in the process of climbing Mount Hood three weeks after WAR concluded. He was with his wife, his friend and former colleague Major General Michael S. Steele, and his new wife during the climb. They were in the process of descending from the mountain when he had his stroke.
Many of Gonzo's former colleagues, both in the intelligence field and professional wrestling, attended the ceremony in Madison County, New York. All of his children were in attendance, and met each other for the first time. Steeltoe Joe presided over the procession, and among his pallbearers were Thomas Uriel Bates, Michael Steele, and Vinny Briggs. The DRG rode off into the sunset with his ashes, to be scattered in the Chihuahua Desert in Mexico, as per his request.
However, security never rests, and thus, intelligence never rests. And Major General Michael S. Steele, as part of his new oversight as Senior Deputy Director of the National Clandestine Service, now oversees a project that had made some inroads in cloning a few years ago, but closed after their only success managed to escape The Pentagon after being designated for erasure.
Much to General Steele's shock, their one and only success was cloned using DNA samples from a 24 year-old former Black Ops agent who was previously a Navy SEAL and CIA Special Activities Division operative with extensive medical training and combat record.
The project was designated Echo-Charlie. The subject's name was George Murdock.
Steele: My God...
Gonzo has been dead for a few months, thanks to a sudden stroke caused by the onset of an aggressive brain tumor. He died in the process of climbing Mount Hood three weeks after WAR concluded. He was with his wife, his friend and former colleague Major General Michael S. Steele, and his new wife during the climb. They were in the process of descending from the mountain when he had his stroke.
Many of Gonzo's former colleagues, both in the intelligence field and professional wrestling, attended the ceremony in Madison County, New York. All of his children were in attendance, and met each other for the first time. Steeltoe Joe presided over the procession, and among his pallbearers were Thomas Uriel Bates, Michael Steele, and Vinny Briggs. The DRG rode off into the sunset with his ashes, to be scattered in the Chihuahua Desert in Mexico, as per his request.
However, security never rests, and thus, intelligence never rests. And Major General Michael S. Steele, as part of his new oversight as Senior Deputy Director of the National Clandestine Service, now oversees a project that had made some inroads in cloning a few years ago, but closed after their only success managed to escape The Pentagon after being designated for erasure.
Much to General Steele's shock, their one and only success was cloned using DNA samples from a 24 year-old former Black Ops agent who was previously a Navy SEAL and CIA Special Activities Division operative with extensive medical training and combat record.
The project was designated Echo-Charlie. The subject's name was George Murdock.
Steele: My God...
