Post by marlboroman on Aug 30, 2018 1:07:19 GMT -5
Marlboro: Yup.
Marlboro: Got it.
Marlboro: Yeah.
Marlboro closes his Nokia flip phone and takes another drag from his cigarette. It's been over thirty five years since he's wrestled anything other than a drunk bar fly. He had just gotten off the phone with Corey Black. He had expected to get back to him sooner rather than later, but he didn't expect the US Mail service to be so slow nowadays.
Email?
Insta what?
He took another drag thinking of all the technology he refuses to get sucked in to. Maybe that's what's wrong with the world and generation today, too much technology.
He chuckles to himself.
It doesn't matter he thinks. He's a wrestler again and he's gonna show these kids you don't need to teach an old dog new tricks. He tried to remember the names Mr. Black had mentioned; Dune, probably hopped up on Spice. Stephen Singh, is that Chinese... He'll be crying soon enough. Michael X, a family so embarrassed of him they wouldn't let him take their last name.
These were nobodies as far as he's concerned.
He thought back to his day. These people couldn't compare to the wrestlers of his decade; Wiseguy Willie, Prohibition Paulie, and his Tag Team partner Camel Carl.
Now those were some fighters.
He might be a little older, but thinking of the last questions Corey Black had asked him got the blood flowing back to certain areas of the body. "You do realize you're twice the age of some of these guys?" "If it starts to seem like you don't have this in you anymore I'm gonna pull you out of here." "Do you realize what can happen to you?"
Just as his cigarette was about to end he's subconsciously trained himself to have a fresh one ready at a moments notice. With his dusty pickup full with his stuff he begins to head out to officially sign his contract papers.
As he turns the corner to head out onto the highway he asks himself outloud to last thing Corey suggested for him.
Marlboro: What the hell is a Twatter?
Marlboro: Got it.
Marlboro: Yeah.
Marlboro closes his Nokia flip phone and takes another drag from his cigarette. It's been over thirty five years since he's wrestled anything other than a drunk bar fly. He had just gotten off the phone with Corey Black. He had expected to get back to him sooner rather than later, but he didn't expect the US Mail service to be so slow nowadays.
Email?
Insta what?
He took another drag thinking of all the technology he refuses to get sucked in to. Maybe that's what's wrong with the world and generation today, too much technology.
He chuckles to himself.
It doesn't matter he thinks. He's a wrestler again and he's gonna show these kids you don't need to teach an old dog new tricks. He tried to remember the names Mr. Black had mentioned; Dune, probably hopped up on Spice. Stephen Singh, is that Chinese... He'll be crying soon enough. Michael X, a family so embarrassed of him they wouldn't let him take their last name.
These were nobodies as far as he's concerned.
He thought back to his day. These people couldn't compare to the wrestlers of his decade; Wiseguy Willie, Prohibition Paulie, and his Tag Team partner Camel Carl.
Now those were some fighters.
He might be a little older, but thinking of the last questions Corey Black had asked him got the blood flowing back to certain areas of the body. "You do realize you're twice the age of some of these guys?" "If it starts to seem like you don't have this in you anymore I'm gonna pull you out of here." "Do you realize what can happen to you?"
Just as his cigarette was about to end he's subconsciously trained himself to have a fresh one ready at a moments notice. With his dusty pickup full with his stuff he begins to head out to officially sign his contract papers.
As he turns the corner to head out onto the highway he asks himself outloud to last thing Corey suggested for him.
Marlboro: What the hell is a Twatter?
