Post by Deleted on Feb 6, 2010 22:56:20 GMT -5
It’s a cold night in Hartford. A fresh layer of snow and ice coats the sidewalks and the city streets. The big trucks with the big plows from the public works are doing their work to clean the roads for motorists, though there aren’t many people on the road at this late hour. Most of the souls who are fortunate enough to have a place of residence are resting comfortably inside said residence, oblivious to the foul weather outside.
Chad Evans is one of those fortunate souls. He’s resting on the futon bed inside of his studio apartment. A futon isn’t a real bed, not in the traditional sense, but it’s close enough for a red-blooded man who needs his rest. It’s certainly a far cry from the nights that Chad spent on dirt floors in wooden shacks in small villages in Brazil and Japan. Back then Chad was traveling the world and fighting for food and pocket change, but mostly for experience. It was hard work but the path to becoming a champion is rarely smooth. Chad has become a better man and a better fighter because of those experiences.
As Chad rests the gentle glow of the television provides the only source of light in the apartment, with the overheard ceiling light turned off and the curtains drawn closed. Chad looks peaceful as his handsome face and jostled blond hair rest comfortably on a plush pillow. A thick wool blanket covers his body, protecting him from the chill in the air. This is a drafty old apartment. There’s supposed to be a heating system, in fact there’s a vent in the wall, but it’s never been activated during Chad’s residence at the apartment. That’s another issue that Chad has been meaning to speak with his landlord about, in addition to the aforementioned bathroom situation, but the son of a bitch is never around when Chad is in town. What a slumlord.
The minutes tick away on the digital clock on top of the television as Chad is getting his much needed slumber, after a long day of training at Ultra Nova Dojo. Chad put in many hours of hard work with his trainer Bolts Quackenbush in preparation for his upcoming title defense. The Royal Family will be putting their WCF Tag Team Titles on the line at Slam against the duo of Anastasia Petrova and Trent Townsend. Chad is putting all of his focus into training for this match. He’s not overlooking his opponents despite their lack of experience as a team. Chad often has harsh words for his opponents, as he did for Petrova and Townsend a few days ago, but he never takes his opponents lightly. He knows that any man or woman can defeat any opponent inside of the WCF ring, regardless of what the so-called experts are predicting. The same experts who are touting The Royal Family as favorites against Petrova and Townsend had labeled them as underdogs one week prior against The New Confederacy. We all know how that worked out.
Chad’s not worried about the match per se, but he’s approaching it with a healthy dose of caution. The Royal Family would be crippled as a viable force in the WCF should they lose the tag titles in their very first defense. Chad has been working like a dog to make sure that doesn’t happen, but he is concerned by the lack of communication from his tag team partner Prince Jimmy Dean. The Prince has not been seen or heard from by anyone in Chad’s camp since Sunday night in Reading, Pennsylvania. It’s not unusual for the Prince to disappear in the days leading up to a match, but that was before The Royal Family became champions. The stakes for every match are much higher now, especially with a million dollar prize riding on the outcome of the WCF Tag Team Classic.
Chad doesn’t look like a man who’s worried about any of that as he sleeps like a baby. Peaceful, serene rest, that’s the ticket for a champion. You can’t prepare for a title defense if you don’t catch your Z’s. Hmmm…what was that? Was that a twitch? Did Chad’s leg just twitch? That can’t be a good sign. Maybe it was just an itch? Sometimes people get an itch while they’re sleeping and they involuntarily scratch it. That’s probably what happened. Uh-oh…his leg is working overtime now. He’s twitching like a drug addict who needs a hit. This is bad. This is very, very bad. Wake up, Chad! Wake up! You’re having a bad dream!
Chad does wake up, but he doesn’t find himself in bed. He finds himself aboard a rickety old rowboat in the middle of the sea. This is certainly unexpected but there’s no need to worry. It’s a warm sunny day without a cloud in the clear blue sky. Wherever Chad is he’s far away from the winter cold of Hartford, and that’s something to be thankful for. The sea is calm and tranquil without a wave in sight. The water is crystal blue, almost abnormally so, like a picture in a nature magazine. This is nature, untainted and unencumbered by pollution. Why can’t the entire world be like this?
Chad takes a few moments to let his surroundings soak in. He looks around in admiration of the beautiful, wide-open sea. He looks to the sky and admires the soft blue color. If Chad had the talent to paint a picture he would paint this scene to preserve it for future generations. Chad grabs the wooden oars of the old rowboat and with a grunt he begins to paddle. He’s not sure exactly where he’s going or how he arrived here for that matter. He’s too busy enjoying the peace and tranquility of his surroundings. He lets his mind drift as he enjoys the scenery. The golden yellow sun is beaming down on Chad’s naked body, but it does not burn his skin. Chad is naked? Better find a pair of pants before someone sees him. Ahh, it’s no matter. There’s no one around and if there was they would no doubt enjoy the view.
As the minutes pass and Chad continues to paddle with the oars it occurs to him that there’s an almost eerie silence permeating the vicinity. Chad is happy to be rid of humans and their misgivings, but where is all the wildlife? He’s in the middle of a crystal blue ocean and there’s not a sign of animal life anywhere in sight. What the fudge is going on? This isn’t paradise after all…it’s tedium! Chad would give anything to see a sign of life, something, anything, a bird shitting on his head for crying out loud. Chad is so desperate that he’s actually longing for those painful moments when he would watch Brad Kane promos on the backstage monitor at Slam.
Chad’s plea for companionship goes unanswered, but there’s nothing that he can do about that. He has no choice but to continue paddling with those damned dirty wooden oars. Where the hell is he going anyway? He’s in the middle of an ocean and there’s no sign of land in any direction. Chad conceives a plan. He reasons that if he spits a loogie into the air, then the wind will catch the loogie and carry it in the direction of land. That plan doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s all that Chad can think of at the moment. Chad clears his throat and takes a deep breath. He does his damnedest to conjure all of the mucus in his nasal and throat passages, and then he hocks the biggest loogie that he can muster straight up toward the sky. The loogie flies two, maybe three feet into the air before dive-bombing onto Chad’s upturned face.
Chad Evans: “Ugghhh!! That’s gross! You motherfucker! What the fuck, wind? What the fuck?!”
If Chad weren’t in such a frenzied and desperate state of mind he might have realized that there is no wind, not even a slight ocean breeze. This is the kind of perfect, picturesque, sun-shiny day that people dream about, especially sailors and seamen. Chad leans over the side of the row boat and splashes water onto his face with his hands, to wash off that nasty loogie. Chad must have forgotten that the open seas consist of salt water, not fresh.
Chad Evans: “Arghh, my eyes! It burns! The salt burns! Goddamn you, Motherfucking Ocean!”
Chad frantically rubs his sensitive, irritated eyes with the palms of his hands in an effort to give them some relief. He’s just rubbing more salt water into his eyes with his wet hands. Realizing this he wipes his hands onto his smooth, hairless body to dry them. He turns his efforts back to rubbing his eyes with his hands and has greater success this time. After rubbing his eyes for several moments Chad is able to open them minus the burning sensation. Chad’s vision is initially blurry but it gradually comes into focus. On the negative side he hasn’t reached dry land, but on the positive side he has recovered his vision. That should be considered a victory at this point, and indeed Chad has a sense of accomplishment as he returns to paddling with the oars. Chad is beaming with confidence as he makes greats strides, gliding along the massive ocean in his tiny rowboat. After an indeterminate period of time Chad spots a glimpse of land in the horizon. It appears to be an island.
Chad Evans: “Yes! I’m the man! I’m the goddamn man! Who else could get dropped into the middle of the sea and row his way all the way back to land by himself? Nobody! Chad Dogg is the only one! Eat it, Sergio Garcia!”
Chad’s enthusiasm propels him forward as he paddles closer to the island. Nothing in the world can stop Chad from reaching dry land now, absolutely nothing. Whoa…hold the phone. What was that? There was a blip in the water. There it is again. What is that? Oh no…a dorsal fin has emerged from the water and it now appears to be circling Chad’s tiny boat. Chad’s paddling slows considerably.
Chad Evans: “What the hell is that? That’s got to be a dolphin, right? There aren’t any sharks around here. This is a shark-free ocean. Right? Hey guys, there’s no sharks in these waters, right?”
Chad looks around for someone to reassure him, but predictably he finds no one. He takes a deep breath and lets out a troubled sigh.
Chad Evans: “Damn.”
For a brief moment Chad considers resigning himself to a most gruesome fate, but he quickly rejects that idea. Chad decides to make a break for it. With a sudden burst of energy Chad paddles for all that he’s worth, desperate to reach the shore.
Chad Evans: “Yes! I’m doing it! I’m doing it! That stupid shark can’t stop me!”
Suddenly the tiny rowboat is throttled as the massive creature nudges it from below. Chad is thrown from his seat and the boat nearly capsizes. Chad struggles to steady himself and the boat in the suddenly raging tide.
Chad Evans: “No! No! This isn’t happening! Where the hell is my Glock? Somebody hand me my Glock! Help! Save me with your hairy chest, David Hasselhoff!”
With one more swipe of its body the shark finishes the job. In an instant the vessel is capsized and Chad is thrown violently from the boat and into the water. He trashes wildly as he struggles to keep his head above the tide. In that moment Chad forgets about the shark, he’s trying to avoid drowning. The waters grow calm once again and Chad is able to regain his equilibrium. Chad gazes at the ravaged rowboat that he previously occupied, noting the destruction caused by the great beast. Looking around it appears that the shark has vanished for the moment. Chad seizes the opportunity and begins swimming toward the island with all of the strength and energy that he can muster, paddling furiously with his arms and legs. A rush of adrenaline brings Chad ever closer to the shore, but he’s suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of impending doom. Chad peers over his shoulder while he continues to paddle. Chad’s jaw drops and his eyes grow wide from what he sees. Trailing roughly a hundred yards behind Chad is the largest great white shark that he has ever seen. The damn thing must be thirty feet long if it’s an inch. Panic races through Chad’s mind. He turns away from the shark and tries to put the image out of his mind. He focuses all of his efforts on reaching the island. He’s only about twenty yards away. With a mad dash he can surely make it.
Chad is gaining confidence as he draws nearer to the shore. Unbeknownst to Chad the shark is quickly gaining on him. Chad keeps paddling with his arms and legs despite the drain on his muscles. He’s tired but he cannot stop or he will surely die. His adrenaline is carrying him at this point. Chad is ten yards away from the shore. Now he’s only five yards away. He’s going to make it! Chad is going to out-swim the shark and reach the shore! Chad doesn’t even have to swim now, the water is shallow enough that he can stand up and run! Chad runs through the water and collapses onto the sandy shore. His body is too strained to move another inch. Chad closes his eyes and takes deep breathes. When he opens his eyes he sees the shark’s fin circling in the water just off the shore. Chad laughs at the defeated shark and flips him the bird.
Chad Evans: “I beat you, shark! You can’t kill Chad Evans! Nobody can kill Chad Evans! I’m never gonna die! Kiss my ass, stupid shark!”
Chad laughs some more as he closes his eyes again. He gradually drifts to sleep. Chad is awakened by the feeling of his body floating in water. He opens his eyes and sees that he’s once again in the sea. Chad flails with his arms and legs before steadying himself in the water. The bright sun has given way to dusk. The rising tide must have come and carried Chad to sea. Chad looks around for the island and sees it roughly thirty yards in the distance. Oh well at least that pesky shark doesn’t appear to be around anymore. Chad paddles toward the shore without a care. Chad is making good time when suddenly the dorsal fin of the shark rears up from the water five yards in front of him. Chad stops paddling. His mood grows very serious now as he realizes that he’s trapped. The shark is now circling Chad, perhaps toying with him before moving in for the kill.
Chad knows that he’s in a dire situation but he does not panic. He’s beaten the shark before and he’s confident that he will do it again. Chad seizes the opening when the shark circles behind him. He makes a burst toward the shore, paddling as quickly as he can with his arms and legs. The shark quickly catches up to Chad. The shark rises along the top of the water, opens its massive jaw and clamps down with its razor-sharp teeth onto Chad’s leg. Chad screams out in agony while wildly thrashing.
Chad Evans: “GAHHHHH WAHHHAHHH ARNGHRRRRRRRHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Chad springs to life in the comfort of his futon. He’s no longer in the ocean. He’s in his apartment now. Cold sweat is dripping from his brow as he looks around the darkened room and gains his bearings. The digital clock on top of the television reads 2:08 AM. Chad takes a deep breath and exhales in a sigh of relief.
Chad Evans: “Oh thank goodness…thank goodness. It was just a dream. God those painkillers that the doctor gave me are strong. They’re screwing with my mind. I’m thirsty. I’ve got to get something to drink.”
Chad pushes his heavy wool blanket aside, revealing his naked body. He rises to a seated position in his bed and takes a moment to wipe the sleep from his ears. He stumbles to his feet, his heart still racing from the terrifying dream. Chad looks at the laundry baskets filled with clean clothes and linens that are sitting on the floor next to the bed. He picks up a clean white towel from the linen basket. He uses the towel to wipe his face and chest as they’re soaked with sweat. When he’s finished he tosses the towel into the laundry hamper next to the baskets. He walks over to the refrigerator and opens the door. The refrigerator light hurts his eyes at first and he turns away. After a couple of seconds he slowly turns back to the refrigerator, giving his eyes a chance to adjust to the light.
He grabs a bottle of water from the shelf on the door and then closes the door. Chad is standing in relative darkness save for the glow of the television. Chad twists the cap off the water bottle and places it onto the counter next to the refrigerator. He raises the water bottle to his mouth and takes a long drink from the bottle. Chad eagerly gulps down the cold, refreshing liquid as it rushes into his mouth and down his throat. After having his fill and consuming roughly half of the 16-ounce bottle he places it down onto the counter top. Chad starts walking back toward his bed when he hears the faint sound of music. He pauses in his tracks. The music isn’t coming from the television, because the volume is muted. It sounds like the music is coming from the hallway. Chad walks toward the apartment door. He grabs his white bathrobe from the coat rack next to the door and puts it on.
Chad opens the apartment door and walks into the hall. The music grows louder now though it’s still faint and distant. It sounds like Earth, Wind & Fire, but it’s hard to say for certain. Chad turns to the left and he doesn’t see doesn’t see anything. He turns to the right and suddenly he finds himself thrust into the middle of a ballroom. The music is blaring now and in fact it is Earth, Wind & Fire; it’s “Shining Star” to be specific. The room appears to be decorated for a gala. A crystal chandelier hangs high above the room; a red carpet adorns the floor. This party wasn’t cheap, that’s for sure. There are several dozen guests in attendance for these festivities. The men are dressed in tuxedos and the women are each wearing long, flowing gowns. Some of the guests are laughing gaily and dancing to the music on the ballroom floor. Others are seated at small, circular tables with white table clothes, no doubt engrossed in brilliant philosophical discussions. Many of the guests seated at the tables are sipping on glasses of champagne, while fancy entrees sit on plates in front of them, lobster, steak, oysters and the like.
Most of the guests appear to be mature folks in their forties or fifties, with some even older than that. There are a few young women in attendance, young women that Chad would like to pursue. Chad considers which young woman he would like to mingle with first. Suddenly he remembers that he’s wearing nothing more than his bath robe. Chad looks down at his body and sees that the robe has been replaced with a fancy black tuxedo and a pair of black leather shoes. Chad no longer has any worries about his attire. A spindly male server with a pencil-thin mustache in a red vest approaches Chad with a tray of drinks in hand. Chad doesn’t notice the man, as he’s too busy checking out the ladies.
Spindly Male Server: “Sir, would you care for a glass of champagne?”
The man’s subtle French accent snaps Chad from his train of thought. Chad turns his attention to the server.
Chad Evans: “Oh, uh, me? Uh, yeah, yeah, that sounds good. It’s not American, is it?”
The spindly male server lets out a deep, bellowing laugh, atypical for a Frenchman of his stature.
Spindly Male Server: “Of course not, sir! This is the good stuff, Dom Pérignon.”
Chad perks up as he lifts a glass of champagne from the server’s tray.
Chad Evans: “Thank you! Uh, do I tip you?”
The spindly male server lets out another deep, bellowing laugh.
Spindly Male Server: “Of course not, you silly American!”
The spindly male server shakes his head and laughs to himself as he walks away with tray in hand.
Chad Evans: “A young man could grow accustomed to this kind of service.”
Chad downs the glass of Dom Pérignon in one quick swig. He walks over to the buffet area and surveys the entire selection of food. There’s a spread of most every kind of food that one can imagine, but one dish in particular catches Chad’s eye. Chad picks up a glass containing a shrimp cocktail from the table. Chad dips one of the shrimp into the sauce and places it into his mouth. Chad savors each bite of the tender, succulent shrimp. He cannot contain his hunger. Chad devours the rest of the shrimp in short order, barely chewing them. Once he’s finished eating the shrimp he drinks the remaining red sauce from the glass. He lets out a loud belch; thankfully no one is around to hear or smell it. Chad doesn’t know what to do with his empty champagne and shrimp cocktail glasses, so he holds onto them as he walks around the room.
Chad surveys the room and spots the young woman whom he believes to be the most attractive of all in attendance. She’s glamorously beautiful, like a movie star from Hollywood’s Golden Era. Her long, golden hair flows down the back of her strapless, champagne-colored gown. Her skin is a pale white, it looks soft and smooth. Her copious bosoms are nearly bursting out of her dress. In some parts of the world it’s illegal for a woman to show that much cleavage; thankfully this ballroom was built on liberated soil. Chad cannot stand idly by while such a beautiful woman is seated alone at a table, sipping on champagne and nibbling on duck a l'orange. That would be foolhardy and a crime. Chad strides confidently toward the young woman until he reaches her table. Chad clears his throat. The young woman looks up from her plate and looks at him. She’s even more beautiful up close.
Chad Evans: “Hello, my name is Chad Evans. I am a man of considerable prestige and acclaim. Would you like to dance the Charleston or perhaps even the Boogaloo Shrimp with me?”
The expression on the young woman’s face reveals a hint of hesitation with regard to this strange man’s request, though her deep blue eyes show a trace of curiosity. Surely it’s not everyday that she’s approached by a strapping young man with bleached blond hair and a horny look in his eyes.
Beautiful Woman: “I don’t know that I’m quite ready for that wild ride, Chad. Don’t get me wrong I’m curious, but I hardly know you. If you’ll excuse me I have to—“
Chad cuts the woman off as she rises from her seat. Chad presses against her body with his. His lips are right next to her ear.
Chad Evans: “Don’t misunderstand me, darling. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’m not the pervert in my park. I’ve got a rocket in my pocket and this is your ticket to ride”
The young woman pauses for a moment to consider the invitation. The young man nuzzles her hair and ear with his nose and lips. He’s certainly passionate and persistent, and he’s not altogether unattractive.
Beautiful Woman: “Before I make my decision I want to give you something to consider. My name is Kristen. Does that appeal to you?”
Chad stops nuzzling her for a moment and thinks about her question.
Chad Evans: “Kristen’s not a bad name. Allison is better but you don’t really look like an Allison.”
The woman is taken aback. She doesn’t know whether to be revolted or attracted to this audacious young Chad.
Kristen: “What exactly does an Allison look like?”
Chad Evans: “Allison is a hippie chick with bad breath. Don’t worry, you’re much prettier. Allison’s have the better name but Kristen’s are far more attractive. Do you have a last name, Kristen?”
Kristen: “Van Den Plonk.”
Chad Evans: “Kristen Van Den Plonk. That is the greatest name that I have ever heard. Is your father in attendance tonight, Kristen? I want to thank him for giving you such a great name. I also want to ask him for his blessing. I wish to marry you and take your last name.”
Kristen gracefully extends her dainty arm and points afar into a specific direction.
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “My father is that man dancing on the table while Sly & The Family Stone blares on the sound system.”
Chad Evans: “I thought it was Earth, Wind & Fire?”
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “It was but the song changed. That does happen from time to time, Chad.”
Chad recognizes that the song has indeed changed to “Everyday People”, one of his all-time favorite songs. Chad wishes to cut a boogie with this beautiful woman, but there is a protocol that must be followed.
Chad Evans: “What is your father’s name, Kristen?”
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “Burt, like the Sesame Street character, but obviously he’s not a homosexual.”
Chad Evans: “You could have gone with Burt Reynolds for your example.”
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “I could have but what would have been the fun in that?”
Chad Evans: “I agree. You are always one step ahead of me, my darling.”
Chad dips Kristen like a dancing partner and plants a kiss on her lips. He digs into her mouth with his tongue, and their two tongues dance to the rhythm of the music. Chad pulls Kristen up to a standing position once more, but she’s unsteady on her feet and takes a seat. Chad winks at the luscious babe before parting ways. Chad takes strides toward the white-haired man with the pudgy cheeks who’s dancing the robot on a tabletop. The man is well-dressed in his tuxedo and dancing shoes but it’s obvious that he’s not altogether sane. A dapper woman in a dark blue gown hands a lampshade to Burt. Burt places the lampshade upon his head and busts out some more of those snazzy robot dance moves.
Burt Van Den Plonk: “Calling all attractive female politicians: Use your enumerated powers to save me! I’m talking to you, Senator Kirsten Gillibrand and Congresswoman Stephanie Herseth Sandlin! We must bring peace to this Earth! Muhahahaha!”
Chad takes steps backward from the crazed man wearing the lampshade hat. He turns and runs back to Kristen’s table. Kristen is staring at her entrée with nary an expression on her face. Chad taps her on the shoulder.
Chad Evans: “Kristen, your father is frightening me. Can we go someplace warm and quiet and make love?”
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “Of course we can, Chad. What took you so long to ask?”
Kristen leads Chad through a crowd of people and eventually away from the party altogether. They leave the ballroom and walk down a hallway. They keep walking until they reach a door at the end of the hall.
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “This is the coat room. We can lock the door behind us and fuck in here. No one will bother us.”
Chad Evans: “What if someone needs their coat?”
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “Then they’re shit out of luck. I fuck for hours and I don’t stop for anything. I don’t care if a bomb falls on the building.”
Chad Evans: “I’ve got a bomb in my pants, girl. We can detonate that shit right now.”
Kristen opens the door and walks into the room. Chad keeps his eyes locked on Kristen’s plump ass as he follows her into the room. The room isn’t a coat room and Kristen is no longer here. She’s disappeared without a trace as Chad finds himself in what appears to be a television studio. The studio is empty save for the television camera that’s pointed directly at him and the microphone that’s lying on the floor. The décor of the walls looks like something from a 1970’s game show, a tacky mixture of light orange with crescent shapes of brown and white. The floor is made of old white tiles with black specks that remind Chad eerily of his days in grammar school.
Chad is uncertain of what he should do, so he does what comes natural to him. He kneels down and picks up the microphone from the floor. He notices that he’s no longer wearing the tuxedo. He’s now wearing his black warm-up robe that he wears before matches and his wrestling trunks and boots. He stands up with the microphone in hand and looks into the television camera. Chad can’t see or hear anyone but something inside of him is telling him to cut a wrestling promo. As Chad begins to speak into the microphone a red light suddenly lights up above the camera.
Chad Evans: “Is this thing on? One, two. Mic check, one, two. I don’t know if this is going out over the airwaves, but if you can hear me then listen up. This is a message for the big mouth that The Royal Family is defending their titles against on Monday Night Slam. What’s that punk’s name? Tranny? Trent? Tranny Trent Townsend, you’ve got trouble headed your way, boy…or girl. I listened to the litany of ignorance that spewed from your mouth in your most recent promotional video. It was all so absurd and convoluted that I hardly know where to begin with my retort. Why don’t I just dive right into it like your whore girlfriend dives into a sea of sperm with strange men? You vociferously accuse me of living in the past, Trent. Never mind that the past that you’re alluding to was just a few nights ago when I captured the WCF Tag Team Titles as one half of The Royal Family. Never mind that the past that you are alluding to is actually the present. That’s why I stand here as one half of the reigning WCF Tag Team Champions.
“A young man in your position has to tell himself that the past doesn’t matter. He has to keep repeating that phrase over and over again until he honestly believes it. You have to tell yourself that the past doesn’t matter because when one examines your past he finds that you really haven’t accomplished much of anything in your life, Mr. Townsend. You would have the world believe that your lack of accomplishment is irrelevant because the only thing that matters is the future, and in the future Trent Townsend will conquer the Wrestling Championship Federation. I’m not sure on what you are basing that prediction, Mr. Townsend. Am I supposed to interpret your lack of success at this point in time as a harbinger of great things to come? Somehow I’m not really buying that, no matter how hard you’re pushing it. You push your propaganda on the viewing public like the dope dealers push their drugs on you, but I see through your lies. I see through your façade of arrogance and audacity. I see a scared little boy who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing with his life. I see a scared little boy who doesn’t know how the hell he got himself into this mess.”
As Chad is talking, a song filters into the studio, courtesy of some unseen power. The song is “Trouble” by singer/songwriter Ray LaMontagne. Chad peers around the room with a quizzical expression on his face, searching for the source of the music as he speaks, but he doesn’t let the song distract him. It plays at a moderate volume and settles into the background as Chad delivers his promo.
Chad Evans: “You are merely days away from challenging an undefeated team for the WCF Tag Team Titles and you have no idea what the hell you’re going to do. You have no idea how you’re going to escape the pain, suffering and agony that await you on a cold February night in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. You try to exude an air of confidence. You try to exude maturity beyond your years, but all that you’ve really accomplished is to expose your immaturity. You’re not yet a man but you try to conduct yourself in a way that you think is manly. You get drunk, you get high, and you fuck groupies and lackeys. What does all of that really prove, Trent? What are you doing with your life? Your most noteworthy achievement in life is knocking up some cheap floozy, the woman who you call your girlfriend…your girlfriend who fucks other guys. How do you know that it’s even your kid, Trent? How do you know that Fort Knox isn’t the father? I’m not saying anything. I’m just saying that I heard some rumors. The boys in the locker room like to talk and word is that Torrie and Knox had a fling one night at your pad, while you were hanging out at the gay bar. Instead of pleasing your woman at home you were smoking pole at some sausage party. I guess Torrie didn’t feel like spending the night alone so she called Foxy Knoxy for an all-night bedroom romp. Oh shit did I just make it personal, Trent? Should I not have “gone there”?”
Chad does the air quotes gesture with his hands, as he sarcastically mocks his opponent.
Chad Evans: “I’m about to make things very personal, Trent. See, in the past I was willing to give you a free pass. I thought that after I dropped those pearls of wisdom in my last promo you would have an epiphany. I thought that you would approach our match as a learning experience, an opportunity to better yourself as a man and a wrestler. Now I realize that you’re too fucking stupid and too goddamn stubborn to open your eyes and your mind and let the knowledge seep in. You think that you can defeat this man, Chad Evans?”
Chad vigorously pounds his chest three times with his fist, like an angry ape.
Chad Evans: “You think that you can take his WCF Tag Team Title away from him? You are in for a rude awakening, little boy. You have more trouble headed your way than you could ever imagine. Before you made the decision to run your mouth about this man you should have stopped yourself. You should have asked yourself what motivates him. If you had done that then you would have understood that his convictions run deeper than the blood in his veins. Unlike you I don’t live with my head in the clouds, young daydreamer Trent. I speak many bolds words and I back them up with many bold actions. You think that I’m living in the past? You think that I have to prove myself to you, a punk kid who can barely lace up his boots? I am the present in this company and I alone am the future, not you. I am at the top of the food chain in the Wrestling Championship Federation. I am one-half of the WCF Tag Team Champions. You are a shit stain planted in the wrestling ring by society’s asshole. You won’t get any closer to my belt then I would get to your girlfriend’s stretched-out, disease-ridden pussy.
“Speaking of Torrie, I do want to commend her on making the responsible decision to abort her child. The girl has finally done something right after the lifetime of calamitous choices that have led her into a relationship with you, Trent. The birth defects that her poor child would have suffered as a result of the mother’s decision to abuse drugs while pregnant, would have almost certainly rendered the child permanently handicapped and deprived him or her of having a normal life. Even if by some miracle of fate the child were born perfectly healthy, it wouldn’t take long for you two shit heads to fuck up the poor kid’s life. Now that you’ve been deprived of your opportunity to be a father, I suppose that you’ll try to fill that emotional void by winning the WCF Tag Team Titles? That will be your incentive, your rallying cry. I have to ask you, Trent: What do you want with a title belt anyway? You’re a junkie. You’re going to die with a needle in your arm. What the fuck does it even matter if you win the WCF Tag Titles, the WCF World Title, or the Nathan’s Hog Dog Eating Title? You’ll never amount to anything more than a waster and a burnout. That’s how you’ll be remembered by society, if you’re remembered at all. You’ll be just another foolish young celebrity who had talent but threw it all away for a hit.
“Maybe it won’t even be a drug overdose that kills you. Maybe you’ll contract AIDS from sharing needles with your junkie friends and fucking your whore girlfriend without a rubber. How’s that for a goal, Trent? You can be the first WCF wrestler to die from full blown AIDS. I suppose that your real reason for wanting to take my belt from me is because you want to sell it so that you can buy yourself another fix? If that happens then I can’t really lose. Even if you and Petrova defeat The Royal Family and take our titles away from us, at least you’ll be taking one step closer to the grave, and soon enough I won’t have to deal with you at all. Losing has never sounded so appealing. Of course I’m just having a lark, Trent. I don’t plan on dropping my title to you on Monday. I could tolerate losing to someone that I respect, but I would never allow myself to lose to someone like you. I don’t care if I have to expend every ounce of life’s blood and energy that I have in my body, I will defeat you. People like you and your girlfriend Torrie make me sick.”
Chad feigns spitting on the ground as a look of disgust permeates his face.
Chad Evans: “Do you know why that is, Trent? Let me explain it to you from my perspective. I think that it’s deplorable that you don’t care about the world around you, but that’s your decision. I think it’s deplorable that you don’t care about your own well-being. You only have one life to live and you’re throwing it away, but that’s your decision. My real reason for despising you and people like you is your callous disregard for the life that you create. You don’t use protection while having sex and you erroneously conceive a child. After spending one hot minute thinking about your dilemma you decide to throw the child away like it’s a bag of trash instead of a human life. Why should anybody have regard for your life if you don’t have regard for your child’s life? You and Torrie are selfish cowards. While I’m sure that none of that really matters to you, it does matter to me, Trent.
“It means a lot to me. That’s why I’m going to take the bold action of imploring you to get a vasectomy. I don’t want you to spread your seed, Trent. I don’t want you to conceive a child who will end up being as fucked up as you. The world doesn’t need to be burdened with more antisocial rejects. If you don’t learn from anything else, learn from the tragic situation that you currently find yourself in. Your girlfriend would rather murder her child than raise her child with you. That should cause alarms to go off inside your head, man. Torrie, I want to say something to you as well. I want you to get your tubes tied. You’re a drug addict and a whore and if you ever give birth the baby will probably look like Benjamin Button. If that does happen then at least he or she will have a future in the circus. The circus would provide your child with a more loving and stable home than you two junkies ever could.
“I think I’ve said enough about your personal life, Trent. I’m tired of talking about it and I’m tired of hearing about it. Let’s talk about something important. Let’s talk about our match at Monday Night Slam. On Monday night in Philadelphia you are going to learn that a humbling defeat is a far more valuable learning experience than the instant gratification which you seek. It’s not that I’m selling you short, Trent. You’re just not that good yet. Keep working and I’m sure you’ll get better, if you don’t kill yourself with hard drugs first. Instead of hard drugs you need to do some hard work. You’re part of this spoiled younger generation that wants everything handed to them without working to earn it.
“That might have worked when you were a kid but now you’re an adult. It’s time to stop partying, kick the whores and the queers out of your bedroom, strap up your boots and do some work, son. I’ve been busting my ass training this week at the world class Ultra Nova Dojo in New York, preparing to make my first tag team title defense. What have you been doing? You’ve been playing with yourself and getting high. What type of bullshit is that? Do you really have the audacity to compare yourself to The New Confederacy? Excuse me while I have myself a chortle.”
Chad takes a few steps back from the camera and tries his hand at chortling. It sounds more like the cackling of a hyena than a proper chortle, but Chad has made his point.
Chad Evans: “Get off the drugs, Trent. You’re delusional. You’re not in the same universe as The New Confederacy. Those guys have busted their asses to reestablish the tag team division here in WCF. You’ve done jack shit. You’re not a veteran who’s paid his does. You haven’t put in work. You’re a petulant child. You’re a crybaby. You’re a goddamn, melodramatic pansy. Your hormones are more female than male. What’s worse than all of that is the fact that you don’t even have a tag team partner who can cover for your shortcomings. You don’t have any coattails to ride, son. You’re teaming with Anastasia Petrova!”
Chad takes a few steps back from the camera and tries his hand at another chortle. He’s improving but his chortle still sounds more like the quacking of a duck than a proper chortle.
Chad Evans: “Where is your tag team partner, Trent? I think a cat has got Anastasia’s tongue. Or maybe she’s too busy sucking me off while I’m running my mouth about you, her tag team partner.”
Chad’s face starts to spasm and contort, like a man who’s receiving sexual pleasure. He grunts and moans as his facial expressions grow more intense.
Chad Evans: “Oh yeah, Ana. You’re doing good, girl. Your lips feel so soft and supple as they slide up and down my massive cock that experts have estimated as measuring between twelve and fourteen inches. What would you say, Ana? Is it closer to sixteen? Oh fuck that feels good!”
The sensation is too intense and Chad can no longer contain himself. Chad’s body twists and spasms as he begins cumming furiously and uproariously. His orgasm is intense and he loves every moment of it as he screams and bellows with joy.
Chad Evans: “Oh fuck yeah, mama!”
Chad stumbles in the afterglow of orgasm. His wrestling trunks are pulled down to his knees and his considerable Johnson is standing prominently between his legs. It continues to shoot wad after wad of sperm. After several moments Chad’s ecstasy turns to panic. He’s no longer orgasming, but he cannot stop the flow of cum that’s being forced from his penis.
Chad Evans: “What the hell? I’ve filled grown women with the good stuff before, but it was never this powerful.”
Chad tries to at least enjoy the excess flow of ejaculate but the sensation of orgasm has worn off. Thick, white, gooey sperm is covering the floors in the television studio. Chad’s boots are getting flooded in cum as it covers his feet and works its way to his ankles and up his legs.
Chad Evans: “God, this isn’t good. Come on, CJ. You got to knock it off, man. This isn’t funny!”
Chad searches for a way out of the room, a door, a window, something, but there’s nothing, no exits. As Chad’s penis keeps cumming, the excess of sperm lifts Chad off his feet like a wave in the ocean. Chad manages to float on top of his ejaculate as the tide of sperm continues to rise. Chad looks up and notes that the ceiling is drawing nearer. Pretty soon he isn’t going to have anywhere to go. Chad laments the predicament that he finds himself in.
Chad Evans: “No, no, no, I can’t drown in a sea of sperm. This isn’t how I want to die. I want to die from a heart attack when I’m eighty years old and I’ve got a Chinese girl sitting on my face. I can’t die like this. I know that I’ve committed crimes against heterosexuality by philandering with boy toys and Valentino’s, but I deserve better than this.”
Chad wants desperately to escape, but he doesn’t see how that’s possible. He sighs as a defeated man, knowing that his end is imminent. He tries to enjoy the moment. He pretends that the cum belongs to Johnny Depp, his all-time favorite actor and number one male crush. This fantasy comforts Chad in his final moments, though the ejaculate is now flowing even more rapidly. The wave of cum lifts Chad’s body to the ceiling and presses him against it, smothering him. Chad turns his head to the side, desperately seeking oxygen. The thick, white goo quickly enters his mouth and nose. He tries to fight it as he struggles to breathe, but it’s no use. He lets out a final desperate scream as he’s now completely submerged in sperm.
Chad Evans: “Gllllluuuuuurrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Chad’s thrashing body comes back to life as he awakens in his bed. Chad is panicked at first but he slowly begins to recognize his surroundings. He realizes that he was just having a nightmare.
Chad Evans: “Oh, man…what the hell was that about?”
Chad sits up in his bed and massages his forehead with his fingers. He’s trying to settle himself after that bizarre series of dreams. Chad notices the glimmering light of the television in front of him. He looks at the screen and sees that part four of a Jaws marathon is playing on AMC. He recalls that he was watching Jaws earlier in the night before he fell asleep. That explains at least one of his dreams.
Chad Evans: “Stupid television.”
Chad stumbles out of bed with the remote control in hand. He walks over to the apartment door. He flicks the light switch next to the door, turning on the ceiling light. Chad flicks off the television with the remote. He walks over to the refrigerator and opens the door. He notes the container of New England-style clam chowder sitting on the top shelf of the refrigerator, leftovers from lunch. That explains another of his dreams.
Chad Evans: “Stupid clam chowder.”
Chad closes the refrigerator door. He places the remote control down on the counter next to the refrigerator. He notices a half-empty water bottle sitting on the counter.
Chad Evans: “That’s funny. I don’t remember leaving that there.”
Chad picks up the water bottle from the counter and raises the bottle to his lips. He drinks the crystal clear liquid contained within. Despite sitting on the counter for an indeterminate period of time, the water is cold and refreshing thanks to the cool draft in the apartment. Chad caps the now empty water bottle and places it in the bag of empty recyclables that sits in the cabinet under the counter. Chad’s bladder is suddenly feeling a bit strained.
Chad Evans: “Hmmm…should I take a piss?”
Chad considers putting on his bathrobe and taking a stroll down the hallway to the lone bathroom on the floor. He reminds himself of the weird scene that he stumbled upon the last time he ventured into the hallway. He doesn’t want to chance it. He decides to hold it in and go back to sleep instead. Chad flicks off the light switch by the door. The room falls to darkness.
Chad Evans is one of those fortunate souls. He’s resting on the futon bed inside of his studio apartment. A futon isn’t a real bed, not in the traditional sense, but it’s close enough for a red-blooded man who needs his rest. It’s certainly a far cry from the nights that Chad spent on dirt floors in wooden shacks in small villages in Brazil and Japan. Back then Chad was traveling the world and fighting for food and pocket change, but mostly for experience. It was hard work but the path to becoming a champion is rarely smooth. Chad has become a better man and a better fighter because of those experiences.
As Chad rests the gentle glow of the television provides the only source of light in the apartment, with the overheard ceiling light turned off and the curtains drawn closed. Chad looks peaceful as his handsome face and jostled blond hair rest comfortably on a plush pillow. A thick wool blanket covers his body, protecting him from the chill in the air. This is a drafty old apartment. There’s supposed to be a heating system, in fact there’s a vent in the wall, but it’s never been activated during Chad’s residence at the apartment. That’s another issue that Chad has been meaning to speak with his landlord about, in addition to the aforementioned bathroom situation, but the son of a bitch is never around when Chad is in town. What a slumlord.
The minutes tick away on the digital clock on top of the television as Chad is getting his much needed slumber, after a long day of training at Ultra Nova Dojo. Chad put in many hours of hard work with his trainer Bolts Quackenbush in preparation for his upcoming title defense. The Royal Family will be putting their WCF Tag Team Titles on the line at Slam against the duo of Anastasia Petrova and Trent Townsend. Chad is putting all of his focus into training for this match. He’s not overlooking his opponents despite their lack of experience as a team. Chad often has harsh words for his opponents, as he did for Petrova and Townsend a few days ago, but he never takes his opponents lightly. He knows that any man or woman can defeat any opponent inside of the WCF ring, regardless of what the so-called experts are predicting. The same experts who are touting The Royal Family as favorites against Petrova and Townsend had labeled them as underdogs one week prior against The New Confederacy. We all know how that worked out.
Chad’s not worried about the match per se, but he’s approaching it with a healthy dose of caution. The Royal Family would be crippled as a viable force in the WCF should they lose the tag titles in their very first defense. Chad has been working like a dog to make sure that doesn’t happen, but he is concerned by the lack of communication from his tag team partner Prince Jimmy Dean. The Prince has not been seen or heard from by anyone in Chad’s camp since Sunday night in Reading, Pennsylvania. It’s not unusual for the Prince to disappear in the days leading up to a match, but that was before The Royal Family became champions. The stakes for every match are much higher now, especially with a million dollar prize riding on the outcome of the WCF Tag Team Classic.
Chad doesn’t look like a man who’s worried about any of that as he sleeps like a baby. Peaceful, serene rest, that’s the ticket for a champion. You can’t prepare for a title defense if you don’t catch your Z’s. Hmmm…what was that? Was that a twitch? Did Chad’s leg just twitch? That can’t be a good sign. Maybe it was just an itch? Sometimes people get an itch while they’re sleeping and they involuntarily scratch it. That’s probably what happened. Uh-oh…his leg is working overtime now. He’s twitching like a drug addict who needs a hit. This is bad. This is very, very bad. Wake up, Chad! Wake up! You’re having a bad dream!
Chad does wake up, but he doesn’t find himself in bed. He finds himself aboard a rickety old rowboat in the middle of the sea. This is certainly unexpected but there’s no need to worry. It’s a warm sunny day without a cloud in the clear blue sky. Wherever Chad is he’s far away from the winter cold of Hartford, and that’s something to be thankful for. The sea is calm and tranquil without a wave in sight. The water is crystal blue, almost abnormally so, like a picture in a nature magazine. This is nature, untainted and unencumbered by pollution. Why can’t the entire world be like this?
Chad takes a few moments to let his surroundings soak in. He looks around in admiration of the beautiful, wide-open sea. He looks to the sky and admires the soft blue color. If Chad had the talent to paint a picture he would paint this scene to preserve it for future generations. Chad grabs the wooden oars of the old rowboat and with a grunt he begins to paddle. He’s not sure exactly where he’s going or how he arrived here for that matter. He’s too busy enjoying the peace and tranquility of his surroundings. He lets his mind drift as he enjoys the scenery. The golden yellow sun is beaming down on Chad’s naked body, but it does not burn his skin. Chad is naked? Better find a pair of pants before someone sees him. Ahh, it’s no matter. There’s no one around and if there was they would no doubt enjoy the view.
As the minutes pass and Chad continues to paddle with the oars it occurs to him that there’s an almost eerie silence permeating the vicinity. Chad is happy to be rid of humans and their misgivings, but where is all the wildlife? He’s in the middle of a crystal blue ocean and there’s not a sign of animal life anywhere in sight. What the fudge is going on? This isn’t paradise after all…it’s tedium! Chad would give anything to see a sign of life, something, anything, a bird shitting on his head for crying out loud. Chad is so desperate that he’s actually longing for those painful moments when he would watch Brad Kane promos on the backstage monitor at Slam.
Chad’s plea for companionship goes unanswered, but there’s nothing that he can do about that. He has no choice but to continue paddling with those damned dirty wooden oars. Where the hell is he going anyway? He’s in the middle of an ocean and there’s no sign of land in any direction. Chad conceives a plan. He reasons that if he spits a loogie into the air, then the wind will catch the loogie and carry it in the direction of land. That plan doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s all that Chad can think of at the moment. Chad clears his throat and takes a deep breath. He does his damnedest to conjure all of the mucus in his nasal and throat passages, and then he hocks the biggest loogie that he can muster straight up toward the sky. The loogie flies two, maybe three feet into the air before dive-bombing onto Chad’s upturned face.
Chad Evans: “Ugghhh!! That’s gross! You motherfucker! What the fuck, wind? What the fuck?!”
If Chad weren’t in such a frenzied and desperate state of mind he might have realized that there is no wind, not even a slight ocean breeze. This is the kind of perfect, picturesque, sun-shiny day that people dream about, especially sailors and seamen. Chad leans over the side of the row boat and splashes water onto his face with his hands, to wash off that nasty loogie. Chad must have forgotten that the open seas consist of salt water, not fresh.
Chad Evans: “Arghh, my eyes! It burns! The salt burns! Goddamn you, Motherfucking Ocean!”
Chad frantically rubs his sensitive, irritated eyes with the palms of his hands in an effort to give them some relief. He’s just rubbing more salt water into his eyes with his wet hands. Realizing this he wipes his hands onto his smooth, hairless body to dry them. He turns his efforts back to rubbing his eyes with his hands and has greater success this time. After rubbing his eyes for several moments Chad is able to open them minus the burning sensation. Chad’s vision is initially blurry but it gradually comes into focus. On the negative side he hasn’t reached dry land, but on the positive side he has recovered his vision. That should be considered a victory at this point, and indeed Chad has a sense of accomplishment as he returns to paddling with the oars. Chad is beaming with confidence as he makes greats strides, gliding along the massive ocean in his tiny rowboat. After an indeterminate period of time Chad spots a glimpse of land in the horizon. It appears to be an island.
Chad Evans: “Yes! I’m the man! I’m the goddamn man! Who else could get dropped into the middle of the sea and row his way all the way back to land by himself? Nobody! Chad Dogg is the only one! Eat it, Sergio Garcia!”
Chad’s enthusiasm propels him forward as he paddles closer to the island. Nothing in the world can stop Chad from reaching dry land now, absolutely nothing. Whoa…hold the phone. What was that? There was a blip in the water. There it is again. What is that? Oh no…a dorsal fin has emerged from the water and it now appears to be circling Chad’s tiny boat. Chad’s paddling slows considerably.
Chad Evans: “What the hell is that? That’s got to be a dolphin, right? There aren’t any sharks around here. This is a shark-free ocean. Right? Hey guys, there’s no sharks in these waters, right?”
Chad looks around for someone to reassure him, but predictably he finds no one. He takes a deep breath and lets out a troubled sigh.
Chad Evans: “Damn.”
For a brief moment Chad considers resigning himself to a most gruesome fate, but he quickly rejects that idea. Chad decides to make a break for it. With a sudden burst of energy Chad paddles for all that he’s worth, desperate to reach the shore.
Chad Evans: “Yes! I’m doing it! I’m doing it! That stupid shark can’t stop me!”
Suddenly the tiny rowboat is throttled as the massive creature nudges it from below. Chad is thrown from his seat and the boat nearly capsizes. Chad struggles to steady himself and the boat in the suddenly raging tide.
Chad Evans: “No! No! This isn’t happening! Where the hell is my Glock? Somebody hand me my Glock! Help! Save me with your hairy chest, David Hasselhoff!”
With one more swipe of its body the shark finishes the job. In an instant the vessel is capsized and Chad is thrown violently from the boat and into the water. He trashes wildly as he struggles to keep his head above the tide. In that moment Chad forgets about the shark, he’s trying to avoid drowning. The waters grow calm once again and Chad is able to regain his equilibrium. Chad gazes at the ravaged rowboat that he previously occupied, noting the destruction caused by the great beast. Looking around it appears that the shark has vanished for the moment. Chad seizes the opportunity and begins swimming toward the island with all of the strength and energy that he can muster, paddling furiously with his arms and legs. A rush of adrenaline brings Chad ever closer to the shore, but he’s suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of impending doom. Chad peers over his shoulder while he continues to paddle. Chad’s jaw drops and his eyes grow wide from what he sees. Trailing roughly a hundred yards behind Chad is the largest great white shark that he has ever seen. The damn thing must be thirty feet long if it’s an inch. Panic races through Chad’s mind. He turns away from the shark and tries to put the image out of his mind. He focuses all of his efforts on reaching the island. He’s only about twenty yards away. With a mad dash he can surely make it.
Chad is gaining confidence as he draws nearer to the shore. Unbeknownst to Chad the shark is quickly gaining on him. Chad keeps paddling with his arms and legs despite the drain on his muscles. He’s tired but he cannot stop or he will surely die. His adrenaline is carrying him at this point. Chad is ten yards away from the shore. Now he’s only five yards away. He’s going to make it! Chad is going to out-swim the shark and reach the shore! Chad doesn’t even have to swim now, the water is shallow enough that he can stand up and run! Chad runs through the water and collapses onto the sandy shore. His body is too strained to move another inch. Chad closes his eyes and takes deep breathes. When he opens his eyes he sees the shark’s fin circling in the water just off the shore. Chad laughs at the defeated shark and flips him the bird.
Chad Evans: “I beat you, shark! You can’t kill Chad Evans! Nobody can kill Chad Evans! I’m never gonna die! Kiss my ass, stupid shark!”
Chad laughs some more as he closes his eyes again. He gradually drifts to sleep. Chad is awakened by the feeling of his body floating in water. He opens his eyes and sees that he’s once again in the sea. Chad flails with his arms and legs before steadying himself in the water. The bright sun has given way to dusk. The rising tide must have come and carried Chad to sea. Chad looks around for the island and sees it roughly thirty yards in the distance. Oh well at least that pesky shark doesn’t appear to be around anymore. Chad paddles toward the shore without a care. Chad is making good time when suddenly the dorsal fin of the shark rears up from the water five yards in front of him. Chad stops paddling. His mood grows very serious now as he realizes that he’s trapped. The shark is now circling Chad, perhaps toying with him before moving in for the kill.
Chad knows that he’s in a dire situation but he does not panic. He’s beaten the shark before and he’s confident that he will do it again. Chad seizes the opening when the shark circles behind him. He makes a burst toward the shore, paddling as quickly as he can with his arms and legs. The shark quickly catches up to Chad. The shark rises along the top of the water, opens its massive jaw and clamps down with its razor-sharp teeth onto Chad’s leg. Chad screams out in agony while wildly thrashing.
Chad Evans: “GAHHHHH WAHHHAHHH ARNGHRRRRRRRHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Chad springs to life in the comfort of his futon. He’s no longer in the ocean. He’s in his apartment now. Cold sweat is dripping from his brow as he looks around the darkened room and gains his bearings. The digital clock on top of the television reads 2:08 AM. Chad takes a deep breath and exhales in a sigh of relief.
Chad Evans: “Oh thank goodness…thank goodness. It was just a dream. God those painkillers that the doctor gave me are strong. They’re screwing with my mind. I’m thirsty. I’ve got to get something to drink.”
Chad pushes his heavy wool blanket aside, revealing his naked body. He rises to a seated position in his bed and takes a moment to wipe the sleep from his ears. He stumbles to his feet, his heart still racing from the terrifying dream. Chad looks at the laundry baskets filled with clean clothes and linens that are sitting on the floor next to the bed. He picks up a clean white towel from the linen basket. He uses the towel to wipe his face and chest as they’re soaked with sweat. When he’s finished he tosses the towel into the laundry hamper next to the baskets. He walks over to the refrigerator and opens the door. The refrigerator light hurts his eyes at first and he turns away. After a couple of seconds he slowly turns back to the refrigerator, giving his eyes a chance to adjust to the light.
He grabs a bottle of water from the shelf on the door and then closes the door. Chad is standing in relative darkness save for the glow of the television. Chad twists the cap off the water bottle and places it onto the counter next to the refrigerator. He raises the water bottle to his mouth and takes a long drink from the bottle. Chad eagerly gulps down the cold, refreshing liquid as it rushes into his mouth and down his throat. After having his fill and consuming roughly half of the 16-ounce bottle he places it down onto the counter top. Chad starts walking back toward his bed when he hears the faint sound of music. He pauses in his tracks. The music isn’t coming from the television, because the volume is muted. It sounds like the music is coming from the hallway. Chad walks toward the apartment door. He grabs his white bathrobe from the coat rack next to the door and puts it on.
Chad opens the apartment door and walks into the hall. The music grows louder now though it’s still faint and distant. It sounds like Earth, Wind & Fire, but it’s hard to say for certain. Chad turns to the left and he doesn’t see doesn’t see anything. He turns to the right and suddenly he finds himself thrust into the middle of a ballroom. The music is blaring now and in fact it is Earth, Wind & Fire; it’s “Shining Star” to be specific. The room appears to be decorated for a gala. A crystal chandelier hangs high above the room; a red carpet adorns the floor. This party wasn’t cheap, that’s for sure. There are several dozen guests in attendance for these festivities. The men are dressed in tuxedos and the women are each wearing long, flowing gowns. Some of the guests are laughing gaily and dancing to the music on the ballroom floor. Others are seated at small, circular tables with white table clothes, no doubt engrossed in brilliant philosophical discussions. Many of the guests seated at the tables are sipping on glasses of champagne, while fancy entrees sit on plates in front of them, lobster, steak, oysters and the like.
Most of the guests appear to be mature folks in their forties or fifties, with some even older than that. There are a few young women in attendance, young women that Chad would like to pursue. Chad considers which young woman he would like to mingle with first. Suddenly he remembers that he’s wearing nothing more than his bath robe. Chad looks down at his body and sees that the robe has been replaced with a fancy black tuxedo and a pair of black leather shoes. Chad no longer has any worries about his attire. A spindly male server with a pencil-thin mustache in a red vest approaches Chad with a tray of drinks in hand. Chad doesn’t notice the man, as he’s too busy checking out the ladies.
Spindly Male Server: “Sir, would you care for a glass of champagne?”
The man’s subtle French accent snaps Chad from his train of thought. Chad turns his attention to the server.
Chad Evans: “Oh, uh, me? Uh, yeah, yeah, that sounds good. It’s not American, is it?”
The spindly male server lets out a deep, bellowing laugh, atypical for a Frenchman of his stature.
Spindly Male Server: “Of course not, sir! This is the good stuff, Dom Pérignon.”
Chad perks up as he lifts a glass of champagne from the server’s tray.
Chad Evans: “Thank you! Uh, do I tip you?”
The spindly male server lets out another deep, bellowing laugh.
Spindly Male Server: “Of course not, you silly American!”
The spindly male server shakes his head and laughs to himself as he walks away with tray in hand.
Chad Evans: “A young man could grow accustomed to this kind of service.”
Chad downs the glass of Dom Pérignon in one quick swig. He walks over to the buffet area and surveys the entire selection of food. There’s a spread of most every kind of food that one can imagine, but one dish in particular catches Chad’s eye. Chad picks up a glass containing a shrimp cocktail from the table. Chad dips one of the shrimp into the sauce and places it into his mouth. Chad savors each bite of the tender, succulent shrimp. He cannot contain his hunger. Chad devours the rest of the shrimp in short order, barely chewing them. Once he’s finished eating the shrimp he drinks the remaining red sauce from the glass. He lets out a loud belch; thankfully no one is around to hear or smell it. Chad doesn’t know what to do with his empty champagne and shrimp cocktail glasses, so he holds onto them as he walks around the room.
Chad surveys the room and spots the young woman whom he believes to be the most attractive of all in attendance. She’s glamorously beautiful, like a movie star from Hollywood’s Golden Era. Her long, golden hair flows down the back of her strapless, champagne-colored gown. Her skin is a pale white, it looks soft and smooth. Her copious bosoms are nearly bursting out of her dress. In some parts of the world it’s illegal for a woman to show that much cleavage; thankfully this ballroom was built on liberated soil. Chad cannot stand idly by while such a beautiful woman is seated alone at a table, sipping on champagne and nibbling on duck a l'orange. That would be foolhardy and a crime. Chad strides confidently toward the young woman until he reaches her table. Chad clears his throat. The young woman looks up from her plate and looks at him. She’s even more beautiful up close.
Chad Evans: “Hello, my name is Chad Evans. I am a man of considerable prestige and acclaim. Would you like to dance the Charleston or perhaps even the Boogaloo Shrimp with me?”
The expression on the young woman’s face reveals a hint of hesitation with regard to this strange man’s request, though her deep blue eyes show a trace of curiosity. Surely it’s not everyday that she’s approached by a strapping young man with bleached blond hair and a horny look in his eyes.
Beautiful Woman: “I don’t know that I’m quite ready for that wild ride, Chad. Don’t get me wrong I’m curious, but I hardly know you. If you’ll excuse me I have to—“
Chad cuts the woman off as she rises from her seat. Chad presses against her body with his. His lips are right next to her ear.
Chad Evans: “Don’t misunderstand me, darling. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’m not the pervert in my park. I’ve got a rocket in my pocket and this is your ticket to ride”
The young woman pauses for a moment to consider the invitation. The young man nuzzles her hair and ear with his nose and lips. He’s certainly passionate and persistent, and he’s not altogether unattractive.
Beautiful Woman: “Before I make my decision I want to give you something to consider. My name is Kristen. Does that appeal to you?”
Chad stops nuzzling her for a moment and thinks about her question.
Chad Evans: “Kristen’s not a bad name. Allison is better but you don’t really look like an Allison.”
The woman is taken aback. She doesn’t know whether to be revolted or attracted to this audacious young Chad.
Kristen: “What exactly does an Allison look like?”
Chad Evans: “Allison is a hippie chick with bad breath. Don’t worry, you’re much prettier. Allison’s have the better name but Kristen’s are far more attractive. Do you have a last name, Kristen?”
Kristen: “Van Den Plonk.”
Chad Evans: “Kristen Van Den Plonk. That is the greatest name that I have ever heard. Is your father in attendance tonight, Kristen? I want to thank him for giving you such a great name. I also want to ask him for his blessing. I wish to marry you and take your last name.”
Kristen gracefully extends her dainty arm and points afar into a specific direction.
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “My father is that man dancing on the table while Sly & The Family Stone blares on the sound system.”
Chad Evans: “I thought it was Earth, Wind & Fire?”
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “It was but the song changed. That does happen from time to time, Chad.”
Chad recognizes that the song has indeed changed to “Everyday People”, one of his all-time favorite songs. Chad wishes to cut a boogie with this beautiful woman, but there is a protocol that must be followed.
Chad Evans: “What is your father’s name, Kristen?”
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “Burt, like the Sesame Street character, but obviously he’s not a homosexual.”
Chad Evans: “You could have gone with Burt Reynolds for your example.”
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “I could have but what would have been the fun in that?”
Chad Evans: “I agree. You are always one step ahead of me, my darling.”
Chad dips Kristen like a dancing partner and plants a kiss on her lips. He digs into her mouth with his tongue, and their two tongues dance to the rhythm of the music. Chad pulls Kristen up to a standing position once more, but she’s unsteady on her feet and takes a seat. Chad winks at the luscious babe before parting ways. Chad takes strides toward the white-haired man with the pudgy cheeks who’s dancing the robot on a tabletop. The man is well-dressed in his tuxedo and dancing shoes but it’s obvious that he’s not altogether sane. A dapper woman in a dark blue gown hands a lampshade to Burt. Burt places the lampshade upon his head and busts out some more of those snazzy robot dance moves.
Burt Van Den Plonk: “Calling all attractive female politicians: Use your enumerated powers to save me! I’m talking to you, Senator Kirsten Gillibrand and Congresswoman Stephanie Herseth Sandlin! We must bring peace to this Earth! Muhahahaha!”
Chad takes steps backward from the crazed man wearing the lampshade hat. He turns and runs back to Kristen’s table. Kristen is staring at her entrée with nary an expression on her face. Chad taps her on the shoulder.
Chad Evans: “Kristen, your father is frightening me. Can we go someplace warm and quiet and make love?”
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “Of course we can, Chad. What took you so long to ask?”
Kristen leads Chad through a crowd of people and eventually away from the party altogether. They leave the ballroom and walk down a hallway. They keep walking until they reach a door at the end of the hall.
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “This is the coat room. We can lock the door behind us and fuck in here. No one will bother us.”
Chad Evans: “What if someone needs their coat?”
Kristen Van Den Plonk: “Then they’re shit out of luck. I fuck for hours and I don’t stop for anything. I don’t care if a bomb falls on the building.”
Chad Evans: “I’ve got a bomb in my pants, girl. We can detonate that shit right now.”
Kristen opens the door and walks into the room. Chad keeps his eyes locked on Kristen’s plump ass as he follows her into the room. The room isn’t a coat room and Kristen is no longer here. She’s disappeared without a trace as Chad finds himself in what appears to be a television studio. The studio is empty save for the television camera that’s pointed directly at him and the microphone that’s lying on the floor. The décor of the walls looks like something from a 1970’s game show, a tacky mixture of light orange with crescent shapes of brown and white. The floor is made of old white tiles with black specks that remind Chad eerily of his days in grammar school.
Chad is uncertain of what he should do, so he does what comes natural to him. He kneels down and picks up the microphone from the floor. He notices that he’s no longer wearing the tuxedo. He’s now wearing his black warm-up robe that he wears before matches and his wrestling trunks and boots. He stands up with the microphone in hand and looks into the television camera. Chad can’t see or hear anyone but something inside of him is telling him to cut a wrestling promo. As Chad begins to speak into the microphone a red light suddenly lights up above the camera.
Chad Evans: “Is this thing on? One, two. Mic check, one, two. I don’t know if this is going out over the airwaves, but if you can hear me then listen up. This is a message for the big mouth that The Royal Family is defending their titles against on Monday Night Slam. What’s that punk’s name? Tranny? Trent? Tranny Trent Townsend, you’ve got trouble headed your way, boy…or girl. I listened to the litany of ignorance that spewed from your mouth in your most recent promotional video. It was all so absurd and convoluted that I hardly know where to begin with my retort. Why don’t I just dive right into it like your whore girlfriend dives into a sea of sperm with strange men? You vociferously accuse me of living in the past, Trent. Never mind that the past that you’re alluding to was just a few nights ago when I captured the WCF Tag Team Titles as one half of The Royal Family. Never mind that the past that you are alluding to is actually the present. That’s why I stand here as one half of the reigning WCF Tag Team Champions.
“A young man in your position has to tell himself that the past doesn’t matter. He has to keep repeating that phrase over and over again until he honestly believes it. You have to tell yourself that the past doesn’t matter because when one examines your past he finds that you really haven’t accomplished much of anything in your life, Mr. Townsend. You would have the world believe that your lack of accomplishment is irrelevant because the only thing that matters is the future, and in the future Trent Townsend will conquer the Wrestling Championship Federation. I’m not sure on what you are basing that prediction, Mr. Townsend. Am I supposed to interpret your lack of success at this point in time as a harbinger of great things to come? Somehow I’m not really buying that, no matter how hard you’re pushing it. You push your propaganda on the viewing public like the dope dealers push their drugs on you, but I see through your lies. I see through your façade of arrogance and audacity. I see a scared little boy who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing with his life. I see a scared little boy who doesn’t know how the hell he got himself into this mess.”
As Chad is talking, a song filters into the studio, courtesy of some unseen power. The song is “Trouble” by singer/songwriter Ray LaMontagne. Chad peers around the room with a quizzical expression on his face, searching for the source of the music as he speaks, but he doesn’t let the song distract him. It plays at a moderate volume and settles into the background as Chad delivers his promo.
Chad Evans: “You are merely days away from challenging an undefeated team for the WCF Tag Team Titles and you have no idea what the hell you’re going to do. You have no idea how you’re going to escape the pain, suffering and agony that await you on a cold February night in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. You try to exude an air of confidence. You try to exude maturity beyond your years, but all that you’ve really accomplished is to expose your immaturity. You’re not yet a man but you try to conduct yourself in a way that you think is manly. You get drunk, you get high, and you fuck groupies and lackeys. What does all of that really prove, Trent? What are you doing with your life? Your most noteworthy achievement in life is knocking up some cheap floozy, the woman who you call your girlfriend…your girlfriend who fucks other guys. How do you know that it’s even your kid, Trent? How do you know that Fort Knox isn’t the father? I’m not saying anything. I’m just saying that I heard some rumors. The boys in the locker room like to talk and word is that Torrie and Knox had a fling one night at your pad, while you were hanging out at the gay bar. Instead of pleasing your woman at home you were smoking pole at some sausage party. I guess Torrie didn’t feel like spending the night alone so she called Foxy Knoxy for an all-night bedroom romp. Oh shit did I just make it personal, Trent? Should I not have “gone there”?”
Chad does the air quotes gesture with his hands, as he sarcastically mocks his opponent.
Chad Evans: “I’m about to make things very personal, Trent. See, in the past I was willing to give you a free pass. I thought that after I dropped those pearls of wisdom in my last promo you would have an epiphany. I thought that you would approach our match as a learning experience, an opportunity to better yourself as a man and a wrestler. Now I realize that you’re too fucking stupid and too goddamn stubborn to open your eyes and your mind and let the knowledge seep in. You think that you can defeat this man, Chad Evans?”
Chad vigorously pounds his chest three times with his fist, like an angry ape.
Chad Evans: “You think that you can take his WCF Tag Team Title away from him? You are in for a rude awakening, little boy. You have more trouble headed your way than you could ever imagine. Before you made the decision to run your mouth about this man you should have stopped yourself. You should have asked yourself what motivates him. If you had done that then you would have understood that his convictions run deeper than the blood in his veins. Unlike you I don’t live with my head in the clouds, young daydreamer Trent. I speak many bolds words and I back them up with many bold actions. You think that I’m living in the past? You think that I have to prove myself to you, a punk kid who can barely lace up his boots? I am the present in this company and I alone am the future, not you. I am at the top of the food chain in the Wrestling Championship Federation. I am one-half of the WCF Tag Team Champions. You are a shit stain planted in the wrestling ring by society’s asshole. You won’t get any closer to my belt then I would get to your girlfriend’s stretched-out, disease-ridden pussy.
“Speaking of Torrie, I do want to commend her on making the responsible decision to abort her child. The girl has finally done something right after the lifetime of calamitous choices that have led her into a relationship with you, Trent. The birth defects that her poor child would have suffered as a result of the mother’s decision to abuse drugs while pregnant, would have almost certainly rendered the child permanently handicapped and deprived him or her of having a normal life. Even if by some miracle of fate the child were born perfectly healthy, it wouldn’t take long for you two shit heads to fuck up the poor kid’s life. Now that you’ve been deprived of your opportunity to be a father, I suppose that you’ll try to fill that emotional void by winning the WCF Tag Team Titles? That will be your incentive, your rallying cry. I have to ask you, Trent: What do you want with a title belt anyway? You’re a junkie. You’re going to die with a needle in your arm. What the fuck does it even matter if you win the WCF Tag Titles, the WCF World Title, or the Nathan’s Hog Dog Eating Title? You’ll never amount to anything more than a waster and a burnout. That’s how you’ll be remembered by society, if you’re remembered at all. You’ll be just another foolish young celebrity who had talent but threw it all away for a hit.
“Maybe it won’t even be a drug overdose that kills you. Maybe you’ll contract AIDS from sharing needles with your junkie friends and fucking your whore girlfriend without a rubber. How’s that for a goal, Trent? You can be the first WCF wrestler to die from full blown AIDS. I suppose that your real reason for wanting to take my belt from me is because you want to sell it so that you can buy yourself another fix? If that happens then I can’t really lose. Even if you and Petrova defeat The Royal Family and take our titles away from us, at least you’ll be taking one step closer to the grave, and soon enough I won’t have to deal with you at all. Losing has never sounded so appealing. Of course I’m just having a lark, Trent. I don’t plan on dropping my title to you on Monday. I could tolerate losing to someone that I respect, but I would never allow myself to lose to someone like you. I don’t care if I have to expend every ounce of life’s blood and energy that I have in my body, I will defeat you. People like you and your girlfriend Torrie make me sick.”
Chad feigns spitting on the ground as a look of disgust permeates his face.
Chad Evans: “Do you know why that is, Trent? Let me explain it to you from my perspective. I think that it’s deplorable that you don’t care about the world around you, but that’s your decision. I think it’s deplorable that you don’t care about your own well-being. You only have one life to live and you’re throwing it away, but that’s your decision. My real reason for despising you and people like you is your callous disregard for the life that you create. You don’t use protection while having sex and you erroneously conceive a child. After spending one hot minute thinking about your dilemma you decide to throw the child away like it’s a bag of trash instead of a human life. Why should anybody have regard for your life if you don’t have regard for your child’s life? You and Torrie are selfish cowards. While I’m sure that none of that really matters to you, it does matter to me, Trent.
“It means a lot to me. That’s why I’m going to take the bold action of imploring you to get a vasectomy. I don’t want you to spread your seed, Trent. I don’t want you to conceive a child who will end up being as fucked up as you. The world doesn’t need to be burdened with more antisocial rejects. If you don’t learn from anything else, learn from the tragic situation that you currently find yourself in. Your girlfriend would rather murder her child than raise her child with you. That should cause alarms to go off inside your head, man. Torrie, I want to say something to you as well. I want you to get your tubes tied. You’re a drug addict and a whore and if you ever give birth the baby will probably look like Benjamin Button. If that does happen then at least he or she will have a future in the circus. The circus would provide your child with a more loving and stable home than you two junkies ever could.
“I think I’ve said enough about your personal life, Trent. I’m tired of talking about it and I’m tired of hearing about it. Let’s talk about something important. Let’s talk about our match at Monday Night Slam. On Monday night in Philadelphia you are going to learn that a humbling defeat is a far more valuable learning experience than the instant gratification which you seek. It’s not that I’m selling you short, Trent. You’re just not that good yet. Keep working and I’m sure you’ll get better, if you don’t kill yourself with hard drugs first. Instead of hard drugs you need to do some hard work. You’re part of this spoiled younger generation that wants everything handed to them without working to earn it.
“That might have worked when you were a kid but now you’re an adult. It’s time to stop partying, kick the whores and the queers out of your bedroom, strap up your boots and do some work, son. I’ve been busting my ass training this week at the world class Ultra Nova Dojo in New York, preparing to make my first tag team title defense. What have you been doing? You’ve been playing with yourself and getting high. What type of bullshit is that? Do you really have the audacity to compare yourself to The New Confederacy? Excuse me while I have myself a chortle.”
Chad takes a few steps back from the camera and tries his hand at chortling. It sounds more like the cackling of a hyena than a proper chortle, but Chad has made his point.
Chad Evans: “Get off the drugs, Trent. You’re delusional. You’re not in the same universe as The New Confederacy. Those guys have busted their asses to reestablish the tag team division here in WCF. You’ve done jack shit. You’re not a veteran who’s paid his does. You haven’t put in work. You’re a petulant child. You’re a crybaby. You’re a goddamn, melodramatic pansy. Your hormones are more female than male. What’s worse than all of that is the fact that you don’t even have a tag team partner who can cover for your shortcomings. You don’t have any coattails to ride, son. You’re teaming with Anastasia Petrova!”
Chad takes a few steps back from the camera and tries his hand at another chortle. He’s improving but his chortle still sounds more like the quacking of a duck than a proper chortle.
Chad Evans: “Where is your tag team partner, Trent? I think a cat has got Anastasia’s tongue. Or maybe she’s too busy sucking me off while I’m running my mouth about you, her tag team partner.”
Chad’s face starts to spasm and contort, like a man who’s receiving sexual pleasure. He grunts and moans as his facial expressions grow more intense.
Chad Evans: “Oh yeah, Ana. You’re doing good, girl. Your lips feel so soft and supple as they slide up and down my massive cock that experts have estimated as measuring between twelve and fourteen inches. What would you say, Ana? Is it closer to sixteen? Oh fuck that feels good!”
The sensation is too intense and Chad can no longer contain himself. Chad’s body twists and spasms as he begins cumming furiously and uproariously. His orgasm is intense and he loves every moment of it as he screams and bellows with joy.
Chad Evans: “Oh fuck yeah, mama!”
Chad stumbles in the afterglow of orgasm. His wrestling trunks are pulled down to his knees and his considerable Johnson is standing prominently between his legs. It continues to shoot wad after wad of sperm. After several moments Chad’s ecstasy turns to panic. He’s no longer orgasming, but he cannot stop the flow of cum that’s being forced from his penis.
Chad Evans: “What the hell? I’ve filled grown women with the good stuff before, but it was never this powerful.”
Chad tries to at least enjoy the excess flow of ejaculate but the sensation of orgasm has worn off. Thick, white, gooey sperm is covering the floors in the television studio. Chad’s boots are getting flooded in cum as it covers his feet and works its way to his ankles and up his legs.
Chad Evans: “God, this isn’t good. Come on, CJ. You got to knock it off, man. This isn’t funny!”
Chad searches for a way out of the room, a door, a window, something, but there’s nothing, no exits. As Chad’s penis keeps cumming, the excess of sperm lifts Chad off his feet like a wave in the ocean. Chad manages to float on top of his ejaculate as the tide of sperm continues to rise. Chad looks up and notes that the ceiling is drawing nearer. Pretty soon he isn’t going to have anywhere to go. Chad laments the predicament that he finds himself in.
Chad Evans: “No, no, no, I can’t drown in a sea of sperm. This isn’t how I want to die. I want to die from a heart attack when I’m eighty years old and I’ve got a Chinese girl sitting on my face. I can’t die like this. I know that I’ve committed crimes against heterosexuality by philandering with boy toys and Valentino’s, but I deserve better than this.”
Chad wants desperately to escape, but he doesn’t see how that’s possible. He sighs as a defeated man, knowing that his end is imminent. He tries to enjoy the moment. He pretends that the cum belongs to Johnny Depp, his all-time favorite actor and number one male crush. This fantasy comforts Chad in his final moments, though the ejaculate is now flowing even more rapidly. The wave of cum lifts Chad’s body to the ceiling and presses him against it, smothering him. Chad turns his head to the side, desperately seeking oxygen. The thick, white goo quickly enters his mouth and nose. He tries to fight it as he struggles to breathe, but it’s no use. He lets out a final desperate scream as he’s now completely submerged in sperm.
Chad Evans: “Gllllluuuuuurrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Chad’s thrashing body comes back to life as he awakens in his bed. Chad is panicked at first but he slowly begins to recognize his surroundings. He realizes that he was just having a nightmare.
Chad Evans: “Oh, man…what the hell was that about?”
Chad sits up in his bed and massages his forehead with his fingers. He’s trying to settle himself after that bizarre series of dreams. Chad notices the glimmering light of the television in front of him. He looks at the screen and sees that part four of a Jaws marathon is playing on AMC. He recalls that he was watching Jaws earlier in the night before he fell asleep. That explains at least one of his dreams.
Chad Evans: “Stupid television.”
Chad stumbles out of bed with the remote control in hand. He walks over to the apartment door. He flicks the light switch next to the door, turning on the ceiling light. Chad flicks off the television with the remote. He walks over to the refrigerator and opens the door. He notes the container of New England-style clam chowder sitting on the top shelf of the refrigerator, leftovers from lunch. That explains another of his dreams.
Chad Evans: “Stupid clam chowder.”
Chad closes the refrigerator door. He places the remote control down on the counter next to the refrigerator. He notices a half-empty water bottle sitting on the counter.
Chad Evans: “That’s funny. I don’t remember leaving that there.”
Chad picks up the water bottle from the counter and raises the bottle to his lips. He drinks the crystal clear liquid contained within. Despite sitting on the counter for an indeterminate period of time, the water is cold and refreshing thanks to the cool draft in the apartment. Chad caps the now empty water bottle and places it in the bag of empty recyclables that sits in the cabinet under the counter. Chad’s bladder is suddenly feeling a bit strained.
Chad Evans: “Hmmm…should I take a piss?”
Chad considers putting on his bathrobe and taking a stroll down the hallway to the lone bathroom on the floor. He reminds himself of the weird scene that he stumbled upon the last time he ventured into the hallway. He doesn’t want to chance it. He decides to hold it in and go back to sleep instead. Chad flicks off the light switch by the door. The room falls to darkness.
