Trash and Treasure
Jan 7, 2016 3:21:35 GMT -5
Post by AshCandor on Jan 7, 2016 3:21:35 GMT -5
‘Come on girl, pull yourself together… you’ve got this. Don’t fall apart now. You’ve got to pull through.’
The conversation was taking place in Salem’s head, her palms sweaty and mouth felt like it was full of cotton, dry and choked off.
‘This is important, this day you will never forget. Put your best foot forward. Don’t screw this up!’
She ran a hand through her hair as the crowd looked on. The official stood there looking stern and confident as the proceedings were about to come to a head. Across the way from her stood one of the fiercest competitors she’d ever known in professional wrestling.
“And do you… Salem, take Artemis to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold as long as you both shall live?”
Blinking.
“I… I do.”
Nervous happy smile, looking into Artemis’ eyes.
“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you happily married. Salem, you may now kiss your bride.”
She stepped to Artemis, a big goofy grin spreading.
“Come here, you.”
“My witch.”
“My demon.”
And then they kissed like nothing else mattered in that moment, because nothing else did. They looked out at the small assembled crowd of friends and family. It was a smaller more intimate contingent than the first time that Salem had stood for ill-fated nuptials. An undertaking that had been annulled not long afterwards. No, the major awkward embarrassment from that had made Salem push for a small ceremony, that Artemis was happy enough to oblige. Many people didn’t even know that Salem and Artemis were getting married until the actual day of the event, a midday ceremony on New Year’s Eve. They had done this by design, they wanted to ring in 2016 as a true union.
They had been together for several months, and in the grand scheme of things especially in pro wrestling it seemed a bit of a soap opera regarding who was sleeping with who, who was married to who. It really wasn’t all that important to the actual business. Salem and Artemis had chosen to not make it a focal point of daily conversation. It was just one girl who was in love with another girl, soul mates.
As the music played them out, the couple saw friendly faces in the crowd: Nina Stokes, Ryan Cavallari, Becca Raze, Kaya Lovelace, Salem’s sister Morgan, her mother and father Elizabeth and David, and all the Kaiser clan to name a few. So many smiles but none that shined brighter than the ones on the faces of Salem and Artemis. As they walked out and got into the waiting limo that was heavily decorated with streamers and ‘Just Married’ on the back, they just looked at each other speechless. It wasn’t until the car door was shut that they were somehow knocked out of their stunned euphoria.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Cartier”
“Same to you, Mrs. Cartier”
A massive amount of giggling ensued as Artemis kissed Salem and rested her head on her shoulder.
“Thank you for saying yes, Artemis. You saved me, you know?”
“I think we saved each other, Salem. We both were venturing down some deep dark places that looked pretty bleak. I regret nothing.”
“Here I was saying I’d never date another wrestler…”
“Ha, well I think you shot that all to pieces, Salem. Sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Artemis. Nothing at all.”
They clinged to each other as the car traveled on to the reception, where they would entertain friends and family before Salem had a match later that night.
It was a couple of years ago when Salem started getting the terrorizing phone calls again. She’d just started wrestling in HKW in fact. After a while she couldn’t even bear answering them anymore, and let it go to voicemail, where she’d often hear things that amounted to this:
“Thanks for coming to visit me so many times in rehab, sis…. not! How could you forget about me? Couldn’t stand the heat the times you did come see me? It’s all your fault, you know. You and mom and dad. Your very existence made my life miserable growing up. Who wouldn’t run off and drink and drug and bang everything in sight?!? I was sooo much happier when I was the only child and you weren’t around, little sis.”
Variations of this would hit her voice mail from time to time, until finally she got a call and decided to answer it for some reason. Maybe she was done being chicken and ready to confront Morgan again on all her bullshit.
“Salem, sis… guess what, bitch? I finally got the all clear, I’m out of the rehab facility. I’m coming to see you. Then I’m going to go see mom and dad. You all are gonna get a piece of my mind firsthand, no more ducking and dodging me. Face to face, you hear me? I’m gonna wring your little ---”
And then the phone went dead, but not before Salem heard what sounded like screeching tires and busting glass.
“..... Morgan?”
Salem had such a sinking feeling, her heart dropped, her stomach felt in knots. She started crying. A short while later, someone else called her phone. It was a representative from the hospital.
“Hello we are trying to reach family for one Ms. Morgan Cartier. We could not get in touch with her parents. You are her sister, correct?”
“Y-yes… is it… is it ...bad?”
“Miss, please come to the hospital. We’ll fill you in once you arrive.”
“O-okay…”
A short time later Salem had arrived to find Morgan in an induced coma, swelling on the brain and many bones broken, fear of a punctured lung. Salem looked on at her laying there, bandaged and frail looking, eerily peaceful. A far cry from the usual Morgan: loud, obnoxious, foul-mouthed and full of vibrant energy. Salem could only sit by the bed, put her head in her hands and cry. And there she remained for several days, a vigil of sorts. The girls’ parents were actually away on one of the cruises they would often take for vacation, out of the country.
Salem was in the same position when she heard a voice, weak and strained.
“S-Sal...Salem?”
Looking up, Salem saw that Morgan’s eyes were somehow open, a heavy-lidded squint.
“Can… you turn off the lights?”
“Y-yeah...okay”
Salem dimmed the light way down and moved closer to her. She grabbed her hand, and Morgan tried to pull away for a moment, but relented and allowed Salem to hold it.
“I… was coming.. to see you, Sal… I was coming to mess you up… good”
Morgan tried to chuckle but just groaned due to the state of her ribs.
“Morgan, please… will you stop being so angry with me? What did I ever do really? I was born. You going to hold that against me forever?!?”
Morgan weakly shook her head.
“Sal… just… that car… made me realize some things. Everybody here is born… and everybody… they die too. This… this made it very clear to me. When you’re young you… you think you know everything and you can live forever… but just like that it can get taken away. I just… I just…”
Salem frowned and patted her shoulder.
“Morgan, you just stop and rest… conserve your strength okay. You’re busted up, they’re gonna fix you.”
“Sal… yeah… I think I’m extremely lucky… the body mends. but sometimes the mind takes longer. Could… could you go into my things and...and get that envelope out of my purse?”
“Okay, Morgan.”
Salem looked through the purse on the countertop nearby. The envelope in question was very familiar to her; Salem had written a letter and enclosed it. She’d gone to New York and given it to Morgan when she was bartending, shortly after Salem had left the retreat community in Virginia. Salem had given her the envelope then, and had walked along shattered. Finding a bridge and fully intending on jumping off and killing herself. That was when he kind old man had stopped her, offered her a job at his gym. The night the gears really turned and steered her toward wrestling.
Salem turned and handed the envelope to her sister, it was still sealed. Morgan had never opened it after all this time.
“I think… I think I need some time alone to read this, Sal… can you come back in a little bit?”
“S-sure… sure. Take all the time you need.”
Salem got up to leave and was nearly out the door.
“Salem?”
“Yeah sis?”
“I’m…. I’m sorry.”
Salem looked back at her sister and swallowed hard, trying to choke back tears.
“I...for whatever reason, I believe you, sis. Better late than never, I guess…”
With that she nodded and walked out of the room. Things were odd and unfamiliar, the status quo was in flux.
Frustration and aggravation, you thrive on these things, I bet Mr. Tony Carmine. You like to needle someone, just stick the tip of the knife in and give it a quarter turn, watch ‘em squirm, is that it? Oh man, Sunshine Scandalous…. I hate to admit it, but you got me. Last Vertigo, I was all set. Ready to go, to lock up with you and close out my 2015 stint with FGA on the last show of the year. I made my entrance, and so did you. But you never quite made it to the ring. For one who prides himself on calling out others for ducking and running...well, you didn’t exactly run from our match did you? More of a walk; a pimp strut after you said your colorful little piece, right? That was as well as you could manage, what with those drunk-looking bubble-headed ladies of the night you figure as part of your rotating entourage of rent-a-skin hanging off you and pawing at your metrosexuality..
To say the least when you refused to get in the ring, I was disappointed. But I shouldn’t really be surprised. After all, I’m just not relevant right? I’m just some garbage you two-step past on your way to the trendy new nightclub, never giving a second thought to. I’ve never done anything impressive in FGA or anywhere else right? I mean, it’s not like I’m a two time champion in Hard Knox Wrestling. HKW, you remember that place right? I can’t remember, you were there right? My memory is foggy, dude. Maybe it’s a tad taboo to talk another promotion, apples and oranges and all that? Okay, it’s not like I took it to the limit twice with a former FGA World Champion in Jimmy Page, did I? Must’ve been somebody else, my bad.
There is no denying that you’ve accomplished a heck of a lot more here in FGA than I have, being the current and two-time Pride Champion, for example. But truth be known, you’ve kinda been here a lot longer than I have too, ya know? Give the Witch time, let’s see what she does, buddy. Maybe she’ll get a reign or two going for herself. But no, you’ve got that belt all shined up, looking good with your hair on point, the flashy clothes, the sunglasses. You keep being you, Sunshine… Lord knows I wouldn’t think anyone else would volunteer for such a fate.
On the last Vertigo, you might wonder why I did what I did, stopping the referee’s count and refusing a victory over you. You and I both know that would’ve been shallow and empty, holding no actual weight to it whatsoever. I figured, why add fuel to the farce that was your disrespecting me and the fans of FGA by choosing not to compete. A count out win on paper that isn’t worth the ink it would take to mark it down. Nothing officially happened, a no contest. A pretty pointless night for me in general, but I had to make a stand for my wishes. A small victory was had just by convincing the referee to throw it out. In my heart I knew it was the right thing to do.
Anyway, let’s flash forward to this week. Just so the FGA viewing audience knows, this is not a re-run; the Scandalous One and the Witch One are indeed slated to face each other once again. Better yet, it’s in the main event. I wonder, how does that sit with you, Tony? Not only does the FGA brass do the sensible thing and schedule us again for combat, but golly gee wiz… last match of the night. Now I know main events are nothing new to you, but now you’ve got, to paraphrase your own words… main event garbage across the way staring at you. Oh woe is Tony Carmine. Does it frustrate you? Does it aggravate you? Pardon me for saying so, but I hope it does. Not only that, you don’t get to sashay your way out and fire off some quips then head to the back. Not this week, not by a long shot.
Just a little stipulation was added this round. Something… oh what was it? That’s right. You don’t get in the ring and compete with me then you get stripped of your Pride Championship. Stripped of your pride… oh sweet hubris. So what’s it going to be? I’m pretty sure I know the answer. I do hope you choose to lower yourself to my level and fight me. I’m sure all of your…*ahem*... /fans/ want to see you get in there and give it a go, the old college try is that what they call it? Should be familiar to an old frat boy for life like yourself, the Italian fella going Greek. Me? I never went to college, closest I ever got was visiting my dad at work on campus; him being a history professor and all.
Tony, you can call this week whatever you want. A waste of time in your eyes, maybe? Heaven forbid someone holding a belt called the Pride Championship would be respectful, or even honest. Don’t worry, it’s not a title match so there is no chance of you losing that belt… unless you don’t show, of course. But then again I imagine you as a topsy turvy sorta fellow, Mr. Carmine. Disrespect is your form of respect. You live that life of yours off the chain, without a care or restraint shown to the words coming out of your mouth, or even to the flashy shirt on your back. Loud and in living color you stride, that’s fine. You don’t know any better, that’s your frame of reference and I’m sure you sleep like a peaceful little baby every night. When this match ends, I also want to send you off sleeping like a baby, believe it or not Tony. That is, screaming like a baby with big ol’ crocodile tears in your eyes knowing that some garbage somehow, someway crept out of the trash bin and got that win, son.
You should know a thing or two about loud obnoxious screaming. I mean, you still got Fran as your #1 lady friend right? Besides all the other top dollar hos you’ve got waiting on you, that is. You two deserve each, no doubt. Peas in a pod, you are. Maybe you can run back to sweet baby’s arms and find some solace after daddy gets shown up in front of the FGA faithful. So at worst you’ve got that going for you, which I suppose is nice. Makes me want to shudder, personally. But then again, I’m not you.
There’s nobody quite like you. All anyone has to do is ask you, you’ll tell them. You say it yourself, that you are FGA’s last star. The Scandalous Sun hanging in the sky, shining brighter than anyone else. You fire burning hotter than anyone else possibly could. Me? I like the nightlife… I love to boogie. As you are the sun, I like to think of myself as the moon. Ever watchful in my various phases over the night, knowing that even in darkness you need not be afraid. When the moon is full, the air is filled with mystery, a slight tinge of danger that gets the blood pumping. I am no stranger to darkness, I welcome it…. love it, I’m a part of it. The tranquility as a wolf or owl breaks the silence with a howl. Watch me howl, buddy boy. Because you know, even though it still burns on, nobody sees the sunshine at night. I can still wear my sunglasses at night though, because I’m cool like that.
We are going to start off 2016 much better than how we ended 2015, any way you slice it. Vertigo, be ready Tony. ‘Tis the Season. Put that in your cauldron and stir it.
The conversation was taking place in Salem’s head, her palms sweaty and mouth felt like it was full of cotton, dry and choked off.
‘This is important, this day you will never forget. Put your best foot forward. Don’t screw this up!’
She ran a hand through her hair as the crowd looked on. The official stood there looking stern and confident as the proceedings were about to come to a head. Across the way from her stood one of the fiercest competitors she’d ever known in professional wrestling.
“And do you… Salem, take Artemis to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold as long as you both shall live?”
Blinking.
“I… I do.”
Nervous happy smile, looking into Artemis’ eyes.
“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you happily married. Salem, you may now kiss your bride.”
She stepped to Artemis, a big goofy grin spreading.
“Come here, you.”
“My witch.”
“My demon.”
And then they kissed like nothing else mattered in that moment, because nothing else did. They looked out at the small assembled crowd of friends and family. It was a smaller more intimate contingent than the first time that Salem had stood for ill-fated nuptials. An undertaking that had been annulled not long afterwards. No, the major awkward embarrassment from that had made Salem push for a small ceremony, that Artemis was happy enough to oblige. Many people didn’t even know that Salem and Artemis were getting married until the actual day of the event, a midday ceremony on New Year’s Eve. They had done this by design, they wanted to ring in 2016 as a true union.
They had been together for several months, and in the grand scheme of things especially in pro wrestling it seemed a bit of a soap opera regarding who was sleeping with who, who was married to who. It really wasn’t all that important to the actual business. Salem and Artemis had chosen to not make it a focal point of daily conversation. It was just one girl who was in love with another girl, soul mates.
As the music played them out, the couple saw friendly faces in the crowd: Nina Stokes, Ryan Cavallari, Becca Raze, Kaya Lovelace, Salem’s sister Morgan, her mother and father Elizabeth and David, and all the Kaiser clan to name a few. So many smiles but none that shined brighter than the ones on the faces of Salem and Artemis. As they walked out and got into the waiting limo that was heavily decorated with streamers and ‘Just Married’ on the back, they just looked at each other speechless. It wasn’t until the car door was shut that they were somehow knocked out of their stunned euphoria.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Cartier”
“Same to you, Mrs. Cartier”
A massive amount of giggling ensued as Artemis kissed Salem and rested her head on her shoulder.
“Thank you for saying yes, Artemis. You saved me, you know?”
“I think we saved each other, Salem. We both were venturing down some deep dark places that looked pretty bleak. I regret nothing.”
“Here I was saying I’d never date another wrestler…”
“Ha, well I think you shot that all to pieces, Salem. Sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Artemis. Nothing at all.”
They clinged to each other as the car traveled on to the reception, where they would entertain friends and family before Salem had a match later that night.
*****
It was a couple of years ago when Salem started getting the terrorizing phone calls again. She’d just started wrestling in HKW in fact. After a while she couldn’t even bear answering them anymore, and let it go to voicemail, where she’d often hear things that amounted to this:
“Thanks for coming to visit me so many times in rehab, sis…. not! How could you forget about me? Couldn’t stand the heat the times you did come see me? It’s all your fault, you know. You and mom and dad. Your very existence made my life miserable growing up. Who wouldn’t run off and drink and drug and bang everything in sight?!? I was sooo much happier when I was the only child and you weren’t around, little sis.”
Variations of this would hit her voice mail from time to time, until finally she got a call and decided to answer it for some reason. Maybe she was done being chicken and ready to confront Morgan again on all her bullshit.
“Salem, sis… guess what, bitch? I finally got the all clear, I’m out of the rehab facility. I’m coming to see you. Then I’m going to go see mom and dad. You all are gonna get a piece of my mind firsthand, no more ducking and dodging me. Face to face, you hear me? I’m gonna wring your little ---”
And then the phone went dead, but not before Salem heard what sounded like screeching tires and busting glass.
“..... Morgan?”
Salem had such a sinking feeling, her heart dropped, her stomach felt in knots. She started crying. A short while later, someone else called her phone. It was a representative from the hospital.
“Hello we are trying to reach family for one Ms. Morgan Cartier. We could not get in touch with her parents. You are her sister, correct?”
“Y-yes… is it… is it ...bad?”
“Miss, please come to the hospital. We’ll fill you in once you arrive.”
“O-okay…”
A short time later Salem had arrived to find Morgan in an induced coma, swelling on the brain and many bones broken, fear of a punctured lung. Salem looked on at her laying there, bandaged and frail looking, eerily peaceful. A far cry from the usual Morgan: loud, obnoxious, foul-mouthed and full of vibrant energy. Salem could only sit by the bed, put her head in her hands and cry. And there she remained for several days, a vigil of sorts. The girls’ parents were actually away on one of the cruises they would often take for vacation, out of the country.
Salem was in the same position when she heard a voice, weak and strained.
“S-Sal...Salem?”
Looking up, Salem saw that Morgan’s eyes were somehow open, a heavy-lidded squint.
“Can… you turn off the lights?”
“Y-yeah...okay”
Salem dimmed the light way down and moved closer to her. She grabbed her hand, and Morgan tried to pull away for a moment, but relented and allowed Salem to hold it.
“I… was coming.. to see you, Sal… I was coming to mess you up… good”
Morgan tried to chuckle but just groaned due to the state of her ribs.
“Morgan, please… will you stop being so angry with me? What did I ever do really? I was born. You going to hold that against me forever?!?”
Morgan weakly shook her head.
“Sal… just… that car… made me realize some things. Everybody here is born… and everybody… they die too. This… this made it very clear to me. When you’re young you… you think you know everything and you can live forever… but just like that it can get taken away. I just… I just…”
Salem frowned and patted her shoulder.
“Morgan, you just stop and rest… conserve your strength okay. You’re busted up, they’re gonna fix you.”
“Sal… yeah… I think I’m extremely lucky… the body mends. but sometimes the mind takes longer. Could… could you go into my things and...and get that envelope out of my purse?”
“Okay, Morgan.”
Salem looked through the purse on the countertop nearby. The envelope in question was very familiar to her; Salem had written a letter and enclosed it. She’d gone to New York and given it to Morgan when she was bartending, shortly after Salem had left the retreat community in Virginia. Salem had given her the envelope then, and had walked along shattered. Finding a bridge and fully intending on jumping off and killing herself. That was when he kind old man had stopped her, offered her a job at his gym. The night the gears really turned and steered her toward wrestling.
Salem turned and handed the envelope to her sister, it was still sealed. Morgan had never opened it after all this time.
“I think… I think I need some time alone to read this, Sal… can you come back in a little bit?”
“S-sure… sure. Take all the time you need.”
Salem got up to leave and was nearly out the door.
“Salem?”
“Yeah sis?”
“I’m…. I’m sorry.”
Salem looked back at her sister and swallowed hard, trying to choke back tears.
“I...for whatever reason, I believe you, sis. Better late than never, I guess…”
With that she nodded and walked out of the room. Things were odd and unfamiliar, the status quo was in flux.
[On Camera]
Frustration and aggravation, you thrive on these things, I bet Mr. Tony Carmine. You like to needle someone, just stick the tip of the knife in and give it a quarter turn, watch ‘em squirm, is that it? Oh man, Sunshine Scandalous…. I hate to admit it, but you got me. Last Vertigo, I was all set. Ready to go, to lock up with you and close out my 2015 stint with FGA on the last show of the year. I made my entrance, and so did you. But you never quite made it to the ring. For one who prides himself on calling out others for ducking and running...well, you didn’t exactly run from our match did you? More of a walk; a pimp strut after you said your colorful little piece, right? That was as well as you could manage, what with those drunk-looking bubble-headed ladies of the night you figure as part of your rotating entourage of rent-a-skin hanging off you and pawing at your metrosexuality..
To say the least when you refused to get in the ring, I was disappointed. But I shouldn’t really be surprised. After all, I’m just not relevant right? I’m just some garbage you two-step past on your way to the trendy new nightclub, never giving a second thought to. I’ve never done anything impressive in FGA or anywhere else right? I mean, it’s not like I’m a two time champion in Hard Knox Wrestling. HKW, you remember that place right? I can’t remember, you were there right? My memory is foggy, dude. Maybe it’s a tad taboo to talk another promotion, apples and oranges and all that? Okay, it’s not like I took it to the limit twice with a former FGA World Champion in Jimmy Page, did I? Must’ve been somebody else, my bad.
There is no denying that you’ve accomplished a heck of a lot more here in FGA than I have, being the current and two-time Pride Champion, for example. But truth be known, you’ve kinda been here a lot longer than I have too, ya know? Give the Witch time, let’s see what she does, buddy. Maybe she’ll get a reign or two going for herself. But no, you’ve got that belt all shined up, looking good with your hair on point, the flashy clothes, the sunglasses. You keep being you, Sunshine… Lord knows I wouldn’t think anyone else would volunteer for such a fate.
On the last Vertigo, you might wonder why I did what I did, stopping the referee’s count and refusing a victory over you. You and I both know that would’ve been shallow and empty, holding no actual weight to it whatsoever. I figured, why add fuel to the farce that was your disrespecting me and the fans of FGA by choosing not to compete. A count out win on paper that isn’t worth the ink it would take to mark it down. Nothing officially happened, a no contest. A pretty pointless night for me in general, but I had to make a stand for my wishes. A small victory was had just by convincing the referee to throw it out. In my heart I knew it was the right thing to do.
Anyway, let’s flash forward to this week. Just so the FGA viewing audience knows, this is not a re-run; the Scandalous One and the Witch One are indeed slated to face each other once again. Better yet, it’s in the main event. I wonder, how does that sit with you, Tony? Not only does the FGA brass do the sensible thing and schedule us again for combat, but golly gee wiz… last match of the night. Now I know main events are nothing new to you, but now you’ve got, to paraphrase your own words… main event garbage across the way staring at you. Oh woe is Tony Carmine. Does it frustrate you? Does it aggravate you? Pardon me for saying so, but I hope it does. Not only that, you don’t get to sashay your way out and fire off some quips then head to the back. Not this week, not by a long shot.
Just a little stipulation was added this round. Something… oh what was it? That’s right. You don’t get in the ring and compete with me then you get stripped of your Pride Championship. Stripped of your pride… oh sweet hubris. So what’s it going to be? I’m pretty sure I know the answer. I do hope you choose to lower yourself to my level and fight me. I’m sure all of your…*ahem*... /fans/ want to see you get in there and give it a go, the old college try is that what they call it? Should be familiar to an old frat boy for life like yourself, the Italian fella going Greek. Me? I never went to college, closest I ever got was visiting my dad at work on campus; him being a history professor and all.
Tony, you can call this week whatever you want. A waste of time in your eyes, maybe? Heaven forbid someone holding a belt called the Pride Championship would be respectful, or even honest. Don’t worry, it’s not a title match so there is no chance of you losing that belt… unless you don’t show, of course. But then again I imagine you as a topsy turvy sorta fellow, Mr. Carmine. Disrespect is your form of respect. You live that life of yours off the chain, without a care or restraint shown to the words coming out of your mouth, or even to the flashy shirt on your back. Loud and in living color you stride, that’s fine. You don’t know any better, that’s your frame of reference and I’m sure you sleep like a peaceful little baby every night. When this match ends, I also want to send you off sleeping like a baby, believe it or not Tony. That is, screaming like a baby with big ol’ crocodile tears in your eyes knowing that some garbage somehow, someway crept out of the trash bin and got that win, son.
You should know a thing or two about loud obnoxious screaming. I mean, you still got Fran as your #1 lady friend right? Besides all the other top dollar hos you’ve got waiting on you, that is. You two deserve each, no doubt. Peas in a pod, you are. Maybe you can run back to sweet baby’s arms and find some solace after daddy gets shown up in front of the FGA faithful. So at worst you’ve got that going for you, which I suppose is nice. Makes me want to shudder, personally. But then again, I’m not you.
There’s nobody quite like you. All anyone has to do is ask you, you’ll tell them. You say it yourself, that you are FGA’s last star. The Scandalous Sun hanging in the sky, shining brighter than anyone else. You fire burning hotter than anyone else possibly could. Me? I like the nightlife… I love to boogie. As you are the sun, I like to think of myself as the moon. Ever watchful in my various phases over the night, knowing that even in darkness you need not be afraid. When the moon is full, the air is filled with mystery, a slight tinge of danger that gets the blood pumping. I am no stranger to darkness, I welcome it…. love it, I’m a part of it. The tranquility as a wolf or owl breaks the silence with a howl. Watch me howl, buddy boy. Because you know, even though it still burns on, nobody sees the sunshine at night. I can still wear my sunglasses at night though, because I’m cool like that.
We are going to start off 2016 much better than how we ended 2015, any way you slice it. Vertigo, be ready Tony. ‘Tis the Season. Put that in your cauldron and stir it.