Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2010 8:29:32 GMT -5
The witching hour has fallen upon Hartford, Connecticut. For most residents this is the time for rest and relaxation, but for certain unsavory characters this is the time to come out and play. This is the time when pimps, prostitutes, drug dealers and their clientele tarnish the image of a once proud, working class city. Legendary actress Katharine Hepburn used to call the city of Hartford her home, and so too did actor and comedian Charles Nelson Reilly. Due to white flight and the subsequent rise of drug and gang-related violence, Hartford is now another urban war zone like so many others that are portrayed on the nightly news. For decades the local politicians have claimed that they are working tirelessly to alleviate the city’s problems, but the corruption and greed of these bureaucrats has only exacerbated matters. The community has run out of patience.
The time is ripe for a man who stands tall above all others to rally support among the working class in this city. In recent times one man’s name has become synonymous with drawing attention to the plight of the workers and fighting for their rights. That man’s name is Chad Evans. Chad isn’t afraid to walk the streets of Hartford alone and unarmed in the early morning hours when the creeps are performing their ugly misdeeds. The police don’t dare to trespass upon these quarters for fear of retribution from the populace, but what does Chad Evans have to fear from such excursions amid the abyss? Chad is a man who is respected by honest and decent folks, and feared by lowlifes and criminals. Unlike the crooked cops and politicians, Chad Evans doesn’t take kickbacks. Evans cannot be bought off or bribed to keep silent and look the other way. Chad is compelled to act upon that which is just and righteous. Don’t be surprised to find Chad’s palm violently entering your chest cavity and dispensing of your vital organs should you make the mistake of pedaling dope on his street corner.
The pushers and pimps on these streets aren’t the only dirtbags who draw Chad’s ire. The present incarnation of the Wrestling Championship Federation is plagued by the same kind of tyranny, corruption and cronyism that has rendered the American political and judicial system obsolete. Seth Lerch is the ringleader of WCF’s single ring circus, a man whose only loyalty is to the Yankee dollar. Lerch is not to be trusted so far as he can be thrown, though a Strongman could likely toss the scrawny Lerch quite far. Chad Evans knows that in order to slay the serpent one must first sever its head. Seth Lerch must be destroyed and Chad will be the man to do it, in due time. Such matters are never as simple as putting a bullet into the oppressor’s skull. That has been proven time and time again throughout history. Chad’s strategy is to purge WCF of its lowest minions and gradually work his way to the Lerch throne. This will take time, but patience has always been a virtue for the man known as Chad Dogg.
At the present time Chad is walking down a dreary sidewalk in Hartford, patrolling the streets as he’s prone to do. Chad is wearing a large, black insulated winter coat to protect himself from the harsh New England cold, along with a pair of rugged blue jeans and Timberland boots. At this time of year the weather can be every bit of dangerous as the sadists who lurk among the shadows. The temperature is sub-freezing and in many places the ground is coated with a thin layer of ice. Chad never could understand how the prostitutes are able to walk the streets in their miniskirts and fishnet stockings. The fortunate ones wear fur coats as protection from the elements, but most are lucky if they have any jacket at all.
Of course when you’re hopped up on smack like most of these young ladies it’s easy to lose sight of such predicaments. Their drug-induced state helps shift their perception from an unwanted reality, but it certainly does not ensure survival. Quite the opposite is true. Their dependence on these chemicals enslaves them to their supplier and destroys their mind and body. Once every so often you’ll find a dead hooker in an alleyway around these parts.
One needs to keep their wits about them to survive in a place like this. They need the ability to think on their feet. They need to constantly look over their shoulder, not for reasons of paranoia but simply to be aware of all possible threats. It shouldn’t have to be like this. It won’t be like this forever, not if Chad’s efforts come to fruition and bear the fruits of his labor.
Chad Evans: “When Torture referred to me as ‘Guy who tells not funny jokes’ during one of his promos leading up to our match last year, I knew that my career as a comedian had been cut short. I knew that it was time for me to find a new path in life. It wasn’t hard for me to find the inspiration for that new path. All I had to do was take a look around my hometown of Hartford, a city that’s falling apart, crumbling like the empires of yesteryear. Why are so many hearts plagued with greed and deceit? Is that a consequence of the human condition? I suppose that it doesn’t matter why, it’s not for me to understand. Someday the answers may come but for now I will continue my work as a crusader for justice, my new purpose in life. I will soldier forth with the fist of righteousness like my brothers and sisters before me. We’ve lost our way as a society. For far too long it’s been the same old song and dance. Politicians and corporate profiteers have rendered our neighborhoods uninhabitable. Even the simplest of beauty doesn’t find its way to these parts very often. I am a man who can help change all of that. I walk alone as I walk these streets, but I do not walk alone on my path. News of my anarchist crusade has traveled through the grapevine and garnered much support. As I speak plans are being formulated to organize community watch groups that will rid these streets of their vile predators and vermin. When we walk these streets we won’t carry bells and whistles to alert the police of criminal activity, and we won’t arm ourselves to the teeth. We’ll simply push the pushers until they break.”
Smoke emits from Chad’s mouth with each word that he says, a result of the New England winter cold. These cruel and inhuman temperatures represent a hazard to many people, but they don’t bother Chad. He was born and raised in these conditions. The cold, much like the violence, has been a way of life for Evans since he was a young boy. Chad can’t control the weather, but he can control the more immediate aspects of his surroundings, whether in Hartford, Connecticut or the WCF.
Chad Evans: “Speaking of pushing the pushers, I would like to address my opponent for the next episode of Slam. How does it feel, Johnny? How does it feel now that you’ve realized that you will be fighting for your livelihood on January 31st in Reading, Pennsylvania? WCF’s tenth anniversary gala will be a night of celebration for many, but not for the New Redneck Coalition. It’s like I told your depraved misfit of a tag team partner. I looked Dog Henry square in the eye and I dropped this bit of funky science. I told him ‘I am something greater than you can ever be.’ How else could I possibly own your mind, body and soul, Johnny? How else could I make you twist and turn like a branch in a gusting wind? You never had a chance to win this Civil War. You are the Martha Coakley to my Scott Brown. When you poured your fuel onto my fire you sealed your fate. You ensured that you would feel the blunt of my onslaught, the wrath of my furor. You sentenced yourself to hell, and I’m not talking about the fictional Hell of Christian folklore. I’m talking about a living and breathing misery sequence, torment from which you can never escape. Unlike you I am not a man who can be tamed. I do not desire worthless material nonsense. I desire a better way of life, not for myself, but for all of the working class people who have been exploited by the corporate machine for generations.”
Chad grits his teeth as he hocks a loogie and spits that shit onto the sidewalk. Hopefully it will turn to ice and some degenerate slimeball will slip and fall on it. Death by loogie, now that would be apropos.
Chad Evans: “Perhaps that was something that you did not understand, Johnny? Perhaps you thought that the Big Dick Superstars were just another tag team trying to make a name for themselves with an outlandish gimmick? Perhaps you thought we were trying to cash in on your hard work, the job that you’ve done to bring respectability to the WCF tag team division? Let me assure you that I don’t give a shit about cashing in, Johnny. If I cared about that then I would be a millionaire more times over than you can count. I care about bringing honor and integrity to the Wrestling Championship Federation. I care about bringing equality to all of the people who bleed and sweat to make a better life for their families. I don’t care about getting my piece of the pork barrel pie, and I’m damn sure not a joke.”
Chad swaggers onto the front doorsteps of a known drug pusher and petty thief. Chad wastes no time and ascending the steps and walking right up to the front door. Chad clenches his fist and pounds on the door.
Chad Evans: “Hey, Balla dope pusher! Open the door! I got your shit!”
A crack-headed mofo in a polyester suit opens the door and looks stunned to see Evans standing there in his doorway.
Crack Dealer: “Yo Chad, I didn’t expect to see you here, son. What can I do for you? Hit you up with some of them poppers and zappers?”
Chad grabs the spaced out Caucasian with the doofy afro by his neck and threatens to split his wig if he moves a muscle.
Chad Evans: “Do not fuck with me, Roofy. I told you time and time again, do not push your shit on my streets! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t paint the steps with your brain mist right here and now?”
Roofy the crack-headed dealer gulps hard. The urine flows freely down the legs of his polyester pants.
Roofy: “Chad, calm down, baby! Listen man, I know that I’m a no good pusher, but don’t blame me. It’s the system, man! The system made me this way! I’m a product of Reagan/Bush!”
Chad releases his grip on Roofy’s throat. Roofy drops to the ground in an instant. His body goes limp. He doesn’t dare shudder, breathe or make a move of any kind.
Chad Evans: “Do you think that I don’t know what it’s like, living in one nation under sedation? I’ve seen more dumb fucks like you take a flip off the deep end than I care to remember. I never touched any of that hard shit. I hit the Buddha when I’m in the mood, but not enough to give me brain damage. Motherfuckers like you be trippin’ so hard that you wanna suck the rest of us down with you. No more, Roofy. This shit ends, starting tonight. All of the soft brothers will end up as tossed brothers, and you’re the softest brother that I know. This is gonna hurt both of us, Roofy, but especially you. Call it tough love if you want to, but you fucked with me and now it’s a must that I fuck with you.”
Roofy screams out in terror as Chad gets that look in his eye.
Roofy: “Nooooo! Chad, don’t do it! I’m sorry! Please give me another chance! Nooooo!”
It’s too late for Roofy. Chad shows no mercy as he assails the hapless drug dealer with a barrage of soccer kicks and stomps that end Roofy’s pleas and protestations. Roofy will not be pushing his dope on the good people of Hartford tonight, or ever again. Roofy’s limp, blood-soaked carcass is sprawled in his doorway. Chad studies his handiwork with a scowl on his face and shakes his head.
Chad Evans: “If anybody cares about this sack of shit then they’ll call an ambulance for him. Otherwise he’ll die in the gutter like the hood rat that he is.”
Chad looks down at his boot and notices a speck of red liquid on the toe.
Chad Evans: “Damn! I got blood on my brand new Tim’s. Ah fuck, it’s all in a night’s work.”
Chad bends down and grabs the handkerchief from the pocket of Roofy’s polyester sport jacket. He wipes the blood from his boot then drops the rag. It floats down onto Roofy’s face, covering it like a sheet on a body at the morgue. Chad turns toward the street, walks down the steps and continues his late night stroll.
Chad Evans: “There’s an important message in all of this, Johnny. The Big Dick Superstars might have a humorous moniker but as you now realize we’re no joke inside or outside of the wrestling ring. Up to and including this point in time there’s something that you have failed to understand. Big Dicks don’t play! It’s life and death inside of the wrestling ring, just like it’s life and death on these streets. Do you think that’s a joke? Do you think that’s a game? Do you want to lose your tag team titles? If you do then keep on playing while the men do their work. While you and the Dogboy were busy hawking your cheesy wares upon lonely American housewives during Monday Night Slam, the Prince and myself were making final preparations for combat. That’s something that you never counted on. You assumed that the New Redneck Coalition would walk all over the Royal Family, a cakewalk and then some. When you assumed such idiocy and heresy you made an ass of you and not me. Only one man can walk in my size 13’s and that’s me, and I damn sure don’t let anybody walk all over me, at least not without having paid for it first.”
Chad clears his throat, creating a pause in his dialog. His last statement leads him to thinking about the joyful experiences that he’s shared with the young ladies in his life, the sauntering and eroticism that he’s enjoyed. Chad doesn’t let his mind drift for long. He snaps out of his trance after that brief interlude of fond memories, and now he’s back to work talking tough and walking tall while spewing vitriol at Johnny Reb.
Chad Evans: “My only regret regarding last Monday night’s match-up is that I wasn’t able to focus my wrath solely upon you during our clusterfuck of an eight-man tag match. I wasn’t able to harness my aggression solely upon your cranium due to the presence of additional imbeciles in our match. We can thank the brilliant booking of the WCF front office for that minor flap, a managerial misnomer that will be rectified in due time. Rest assured that when I get you alone in Baltimore, Maryland I will dispense a brutal and archaic brand of punishment upon your person from which you will not soon recover. I relish the opportunity to soften you up before our championship match at Ten. I shall concede one point between you and I, Mr. Reb. You are the superior Redneck in the New Redneck Coalition. There are no ifs, ands or buts about it. When I tenderize your body and soul with my torrent of violence at Slam, I will be making my work that much easier at Ten.”
Chad licks his lips as he thinks about the opportunity that awaits him at Slam, an opportunity that he has cherished for so very long.
Chad Evans: “I cannot even explain to you how long I’ve wanted to fight you, Johnny. You have been placed into a most precarious position through no fault of your own. I have targeted you for assassination specifically because you are one of the top grapplers in WCF. Your partner is a two-hundred and thirty-five pound pile of dog shit, Johnny. But you, you are something special. It is honestly a marvel to watch you perform inside of the wrestling ring. It is a privilege to admire your specter as you glide effortlessly and fluidly throughout the ring, like an eagle soaring on high. That’s why I’m willing to sacrifice my body to bring harm to yours, Johnny. That’s why I desire to thrash you so. You have the talent but you’re terrified of actually taking a stand and making a difference in this world. When you think about it you’re just another pencil-pushing bureaucrat, scrambling for your piece of the American pie. What you fail to realize, Johnny, is that the kitchen is closed, the lights are turned out, and the fat cats have eaten all of the pie. Life’s a bitch sometimes ain’t it, boy?”
Chad shakes his head in bemusement as he thinks about all of the shit that he sees and hears in modern times, all of the delusions of hope and change from a brainwashed mass. People line up like pigs to slaughter to support candidates and initiatives that deprive them of their basic rights and freedoms. A countless many have already lost their jobs, their homes and their loved ones due to the misdeeds of charlatans in the so-called “land of milk and honey”.
Chad Evans: “It’s depressing to think about the steaming pile of bullshit that constitutes American democracy, but there are clever cats among us who strive for something greater. They always manage to take matters into their own hands and dismiss all of the bullshit that they see and hear. I hold zero ego or pretense with regard to my accomplishments in this world, but I cannot help but admire the anarchy and carnage that I’ve already reaped during my brief return to WCF. I destroyed WCF co-commissioner Brad Kane. I ended the Big Time Jerks’ stint as serious title contenders. I’ve wreaked havoc upon the reigning WCF Tag Team Champions, the New Redneck Coalition. My latest victim on Slam was the proverbial third wheel of the Big Time Jerks, Mr. Alex Jones. I couldn’t be happier that I defeated that conspiracy shilling nitwit and caused his membership to the exclusive Big Time Jerks club to be permanently revoked. It speaks volumes about a man’s career when he’s too much of a loser to hang out with the Big Time Jerkoffs. Perhaps Alex will return to his day job regurgitating conspiracy theories to his mindless followers?”
Chad rubs his smooth, clean-shaven chin with a cold hand as he carefully considers his next words.
Chad Evans: “I don’t want anyone to fear me. I want to be a tourniquet for the masses, a tourniquet for their pain and suffering, and their ultimate retribution. I want to deliver their retribution in lethal form upon the skulls of all tyrants and dictators. I want to purge society of its unpleasantness, all of the scoundrels who scheme to hold us down. I don’t want you to be scared, Johnny. I don’t want you to fear that which is inevitable. I want you to understand that you are part of a necessary cleansing. You stand in the way of progress and for that you must be eliminated. There’s no point in worrying because there is absolutely nothing that you can do to change your fate. You have reached the point of no return. Rest assured that your agony and suffering will not be in vain. Your demise will pave the way for future generations to enjoy the peace and prosperity that their ancestors have been denied. You are sacrificing yourself to make a better tomorrow for others. That is a selfless and courageous act. You will achieve more in death than you ever could have achieved in life. For that you deserve to be commended, and mark my words you will receive a hero’s burial.”
Chad places his hands together and bows in memoriam of Johnny Reb. He pauses for a moment of silence. Once he’s finished Chad turns his attention to the more immediate business at hand. Wrestling banter serves its purpose, but the night is still young and the streets of Hartford will not cleanse themselves.
The time is ripe for a man who stands tall above all others to rally support among the working class in this city. In recent times one man’s name has become synonymous with drawing attention to the plight of the workers and fighting for their rights. That man’s name is Chad Evans. Chad isn’t afraid to walk the streets of Hartford alone and unarmed in the early morning hours when the creeps are performing their ugly misdeeds. The police don’t dare to trespass upon these quarters for fear of retribution from the populace, but what does Chad Evans have to fear from such excursions amid the abyss? Chad is a man who is respected by honest and decent folks, and feared by lowlifes and criminals. Unlike the crooked cops and politicians, Chad Evans doesn’t take kickbacks. Evans cannot be bought off or bribed to keep silent and look the other way. Chad is compelled to act upon that which is just and righteous. Don’t be surprised to find Chad’s palm violently entering your chest cavity and dispensing of your vital organs should you make the mistake of pedaling dope on his street corner.
The pushers and pimps on these streets aren’t the only dirtbags who draw Chad’s ire. The present incarnation of the Wrestling Championship Federation is plagued by the same kind of tyranny, corruption and cronyism that has rendered the American political and judicial system obsolete. Seth Lerch is the ringleader of WCF’s single ring circus, a man whose only loyalty is to the Yankee dollar. Lerch is not to be trusted so far as he can be thrown, though a Strongman could likely toss the scrawny Lerch quite far. Chad Evans knows that in order to slay the serpent one must first sever its head. Seth Lerch must be destroyed and Chad will be the man to do it, in due time. Such matters are never as simple as putting a bullet into the oppressor’s skull. That has been proven time and time again throughout history. Chad’s strategy is to purge WCF of its lowest minions and gradually work his way to the Lerch throne. This will take time, but patience has always been a virtue for the man known as Chad Dogg.
At the present time Chad is walking down a dreary sidewalk in Hartford, patrolling the streets as he’s prone to do. Chad is wearing a large, black insulated winter coat to protect himself from the harsh New England cold, along with a pair of rugged blue jeans and Timberland boots. At this time of year the weather can be every bit of dangerous as the sadists who lurk among the shadows. The temperature is sub-freezing and in many places the ground is coated with a thin layer of ice. Chad never could understand how the prostitutes are able to walk the streets in their miniskirts and fishnet stockings. The fortunate ones wear fur coats as protection from the elements, but most are lucky if they have any jacket at all.
Of course when you’re hopped up on smack like most of these young ladies it’s easy to lose sight of such predicaments. Their drug-induced state helps shift their perception from an unwanted reality, but it certainly does not ensure survival. Quite the opposite is true. Their dependence on these chemicals enslaves them to their supplier and destroys their mind and body. Once every so often you’ll find a dead hooker in an alleyway around these parts.
One needs to keep their wits about them to survive in a place like this. They need the ability to think on their feet. They need to constantly look over their shoulder, not for reasons of paranoia but simply to be aware of all possible threats. It shouldn’t have to be like this. It won’t be like this forever, not if Chad’s efforts come to fruition and bear the fruits of his labor.
Chad Evans: “When Torture referred to me as ‘Guy who tells not funny jokes’ during one of his promos leading up to our match last year, I knew that my career as a comedian had been cut short. I knew that it was time for me to find a new path in life. It wasn’t hard for me to find the inspiration for that new path. All I had to do was take a look around my hometown of Hartford, a city that’s falling apart, crumbling like the empires of yesteryear. Why are so many hearts plagued with greed and deceit? Is that a consequence of the human condition? I suppose that it doesn’t matter why, it’s not for me to understand. Someday the answers may come but for now I will continue my work as a crusader for justice, my new purpose in life. I will soldier forth with the fist of righteousness like my brothers and sisters before me. We’ve lost our way as a society. For far too long it’s been the same old song and dance. Politicians and corporate profiteers have rendered our neighborhoods uninhabitable. Even the simplest of beauty doesn’t find its way to these parts very often. I am a man who can help change all of that. I walk alone as I walk these streets, but I do not walk alone on my path. News of my anarchist crusade has traveled through the grapevine and garnered much support. As I speak plans are being formulated to organize community watch groups that will rid these streets of their vile predators and vermin. When we walk these streets we won’t carry bells and whistles to alert the police of criminal activity, and we won’t arm ourselves to the teeth. We’ll simply push the pushers until they break.”
Smoke emits from Chad’s mouth with each word that he says, a result of the New England winter cold. These cruel and inhuman temperatures represent a hazard to many people, but they don’t bother Chad. He was born and raised in these conditions. The cold, much like the violence, has been a way of life for Evans since he was a young boy. Chad can’t control the weather, but he can control the more immediate aspects of his surroundings, whether in Hartford, Connecticut or the WCF.
Chad Evans: “Speaking of pushing the pushers, I would like to address my opponent for the next episode of Slam. How does it feel, Johnny? How does it feel now that you’ve realized that you will be fighting for your livelihood on January 31st in Reading, Pennsylvania? WCF’s tenth anniversary gala will be a night of celebration for many, but not for the New Redneck Coalition. It’s like I told your depraved misfit of a tag team partner. I looked Dog Henry square in the eye and I dropped this bit of funky science. I told him ‘I am something greater than you can ever be.’ How else could I possibly own your mind, body and soul, Johnny? How else could I make you twist and turn like a branch in a gusting wind? You never had a chance to win this Civil War. You are the Martha Coakley to my Scott Brown. When you poured your fuel onto my fire you sealed your fate. You ensured that you would feel the blunt of my onslaught, the wrath of my furor. You sentenced yourself to hell, and I’m not talking about the fictional Hell of Christian folklore. I’m talking about a living and breathing misery sequence, torment from which you can never escape. Unlike you I am not a man who can be tamed. I do not desire worthless material nonsense. I desire a better way of life, not for myself, but for all of the working class people who have been exploited by the corporate machine for generations.”
Chad grits his teeth as he hocks a loogie and spits that shit onto the sidewalk. Hopefully it will turn to ice and some degenerate slimeball will slip and fall on it. Death by loogie, now that would be apropos.
Chad Evans: “Perhaps that was something that you did not understand, Johnny? Perhaps you thought that the Big Dick Superstars were just another tag team trying to make a name for themselves with an outlandish gimmick? Perhaps you thought we were trying to cash in on your hard work, the job that you’ve done to bring respectability to the WCF tag team division? Let me assure you that I don’t give a shit about cashing in, Johnny. If I cared about that then I would be a millionaire more times over than you can count. I care about bringing honor and integrity to the Wrestling Championship Federation. I care about bringing equality to all of the people who bleed and sweat to make a better life for their families. I don’t care about getting my piece of the pork barrel pie, and I’m damn sure not a joke.”
Chad swaggers onto the front doorsteps of a known drug pusher and petty thief. Chad wastes no time and ascending the steps and walking right up to the front door. Chad clenches his fist and pounds on the door.
Chad Evans: “Hey, Balla dope pusher! Open the door! I got your shit!”
A crack-headed mofo in a polyester suit opens the door and looks stunned to see Evans standing there in his doorway.
Crack Dealer: “Yo Chad, I didn’t expect to see you here, son. What can I do for you? Hit you up with some of them poppers and zappers?”
Chad grabs the spaced out Caucasian with the doofy afro by his neck and threatens to split his wig if he moves a muscle.
Chad Evans: “Do not fuck with me, Roofy. I told you time and time again, do not push your shit on my streets! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t paint the steps with your brain mist right here and now?”
Roofy the crack-headed dealer gulps hard. The urine flows freely down the legs of his polyester pants.
Roofy: “Chad, calm down, baby! Listen man, I know that I’m a no good pusher, but don’t blame me. It’s the system, man! The system made me this way! I’m a product of Reagan/Bush!”
Chad releases his grip on Roofy’s throat. Roofy drops to the ground in an instant. His body goes limp. He doesn’t dare shudder, breathe or make a move of any kind.
Chad Evans: “Do you think that I don’t know what it’s like, living in one nation under sedation? I’ve seen more dumb fucks like you take a flip off the deep end than I care to remember. I never touched any of that hard shit. I hit the Buddha when I’m in the mood, but not enough to give me brain damage. Motherfuckers like you be trippin’ so hard that you wanna suck the rest of us down with you. No more, Roofy. This shit ends, starting tonight. All of the soft brothers will end up as tossed brothers, and you’re the softest brother that I know. This is gonna hurt both of us, Roofy, but especially you. Call it tough love if you want to, but you fucked with me and now it’s a must that I fuck with you.”
Roofy screams out in terror as Chad gets that look in his eye.
Roofy: “Nooooo! Chad, don’t do it! I’m sorry! Please give me another chance! Nooooo!”
It’s too late for Roofy. Chad shows no mercy as he assails the hapless drug dealer with a barrage of soccer kicks and stomps that end Roofy’s pleas and protestations. Roofy will not be pushing his dope on the good people of Hartford tonight, or ever again. Roofy’s limp, blood-soaked carcass is sprawled in his doorway. Chad studies his handiwork with a scowl on his face and shakes his head.
Chad Evans: “If anybody cares about this sack of shit then they’ll call an ambulance for him. Otherwise he’ll die in the gutter like the hood rat that he is.”
Chad looks down at his boot and notices a speck of red liquid on the toe.
Chad Evans: “Damn! I got blood on my brand new Tim’s. Ah fuck, it’s all in a night’s work.”
Chad bends down and grabs the handkerchief from the pocket of Roofy’s polyester sport jacket. He wipes the blood from his boot then drops the rag. It floats down onto Roofy’s face, covering it like a sheet on a body at the morgue. Chad turns toward the street, walks down the steps and continues his late night stroll.
Chad Evans: “There’s an important message in all of this, Johnny. The Big Dick Superstars might have a humorous moniker but as you now realize we’re no joke inside or outside of the wrestling ring. Up to and including this point in time there’s something that you have failed to understand. Big Dicks don’t play! It’s life and death inside of the wrestling ring, just like it’s life and death on these streets. Do you think that’s a joke? Do you think that’s a game? Do you want to lose your tag team titles? If you do then keep on playing while the men do their work. While you and the Dogboy were busy hawking your cheesy wares upon lonely American housewives during Monday Night Slam, the Prince and myself were making final preparations for combat. That’s something that you never counted on. You assumed that the New Redneck Coalition would walk all over the Royal Family, a cakewalk and then some. When you assumed such idiocy and heresy you made an ass of you and not me. Only one man can walk in my size 13’s and that’s me, and I damn sure don’t let anybody walk all over me, at least not without having paid for it first.”
Chad clears his throat, creating a pause in his dialog. His last statement leads him to thinking about the joyful experiences that he’s shared with the young ladies in his life, the sauntering and eroticism that he’s enjoyed. Chad doesn’t let his mind drift for long. He snaps out of his trance after that brief interlude of fond memories, and now he’s back to work talking tough and walking tall while spewing vitriol at Johnny Reb.
Chad Evans: “My only regret regarding last Monday night’s match-up is that I wasn’t able to focus my wrath solely upon you during our clusterfuck of an eight-man tag match. I wasn’t able to harness my aggression solely upon your cranium due to the presence of additional imbeciles in our match. We can thank the brilliant booking of the WCF front office for that minor flap, a managerial misnomer that will be rectified in due time. Rest assured that when I get you alone in Baltimore, Maryland I will dispense a brutal and archaic brand of punishment upon your person from which you will not soon recover. I relish the opportunity to soften you up before our championship match at Ten. I shall concede one point between you and I, Mr. Reb. You are the superior Redneck in the New Redneck Coalition. There are no ifs, ands or buts about it. When I tenderize your body and soul with my torrent of violence at Slam, I will be making my work that much easier at Ten.”
Chad licks his lips as he thinks about the opportunity that awaits him at Slam, an opportunity that he has cherished for so very long.
Chad Evans: “I cannot even explain to you how long I’ve wanted to fight you, Johnny. You have been placed into a most precarious position through no fault of your own. I have targeted you for assassination specifically because you are one of the top grapplers in WCF. Your partner is a two-hundred and thirty-five pound pile of dog shit, Johnny. But you, you are something special. It is honestly a marvel to watch you perform inside of the wrestling ring. It is a privilege to admire your specter as you glide effortlessly and fluidly throughout the ring, like an eagle soaring on high. That’s why I’m willing to sacrifice my body to bring harm to yours, Johnny. That’s why I desire to thrash you so. You have the talent but you’re terrified of actually taking a stand and making a difference in this world. When you think about it you’re just another pencil-pushing bureaucrat, scrambling for your piece of the American pie. What you fail to realize, Johnny, is that the kitchen is closed, the lights are turned out, and the fat cats have eaten all of the pie. Life’s a bitch sometimes ain’t it, boy?”
Chad shakes his head in bemusement as he thinks about all of the shit that he sees and hears in modern times, all of the delusions of hope and change from a brainwashed mass. People line up like pigs to slaughter to support candidates and initiatives that deprive them of their basic rights and freedoms. A countless many have already lost their jobs, their homes and their loved ones due to the misdeeds of charlatans in the so-called “land of milk and honey”.
Chad Evans: “It’s depressing to think about the steaming pile of bullshit that constitutes American democracy, but there are clever cats among us who strive for something greater. They always manage to take matters into their own hands and dismiss all of the bullshit that they see and hear. I hold zero ego or pretense with regard to my accomplishments in this world, but I cannot help but admire the anarchy and carnage that I’ve already reaped during my brief return to WCF. I destroyed WCF co-commissioner Brad Kane. I ended the Big Time Jerks’ stint as serious title contenders. I’ve wreaked havoc upon the reigning WCF Tag Team Champions, the New Redneck Coalition. My latest victim on Slam was the proverbial third wheel of the Big Time Jerks, Mr. Alex Jones. I couldn’t be happier that I defeated that conspiracy shilling nitwit and caused his membership to the exclusive Big Time Jerks club to be permanently revoked. It speaks volumes about a man’s career when he’s too much of a loser to hang out with the Big Time Jerkoffs. Perhaps Alex will return to his day job regurgitating conspiracy theories to his mindless followers?”
Chad rubs his smooth, clean-shaven chin with a cold hand as he carefully considers his next words.
Chad Evans: “I don’t want anyone to fear me. I want to be a tourniquet for the masses, a tourniquet for their pain and suffering, and their ultimate retribution. I want to deliver their retribution in lethal form upon the skulls of all tyrants and dictators. I want to purge society of its unpleasantness, all of the scoundrels who scheme to hold us down. I don’t want you to be scared, Johnny. I don’t want you to fear that which is inevitable. I want you to understand that you are part of a necessary cleansing. You stand in the way of progress and for that you must be eliminated. There’s no point in worrying because there is absolutely nothing that you can do to change your fate. You have reached the point of no return. Rest assured that your agony and suffering will not be in vain. Your demise will pave the way for future generations to enjoy the peace and prosperity that their ancestors have been denied. You are sacrificing yourself to make a better tomorrow for others. That is a selfless and courageous act. You will achieve more in death than you ever could have achieved in life. For that you deserve to be commended, and mark my words you will receive a hero’s burial.”
Chad places his hands together and bows in memoriam of Johnny Reb. He pauses for a moment of silence. Once he’s finished Chad turns his attention to the more immediate business at hand. Wrestling banter serves its purpose, but the night is still young and the streets of Hartford will not cleanse themselves.
