Post by The Last Real Man on Sept 29, 2016 17:16:42 GMT -5
September 19th, 2016
Denver, Colorado
“It's not broken. That's the good news,” she said as she tilted my head back as far as it could possibly go, whilst gently and gingerly touching the bridge of my nose. “And since there hasn’t been any excessive bleeding, or a clear deformity, it's safe to assume you’ve merely got a fracture. Nothing worth bringing me down here all the way from Pasadena.”
“Maybe I just missed you,” I replied sarcastically, as I leaned upright, sniffing a few times to make sure everything was still working the way it was supposed to. “I mean, you still get paid, so it couldn't have been a total waste, Doc. Even got to use those frequent flyer miles.”
“Perhaps,” she said with an eye roll, “a cold compress should reduce the swelling. Uhhhh, some Tylenol should help reduce the pain. Ummmmm, don't get punched in the nose for a while. Really that's all I got.”
“Fine what about the other stuff,” I asked casually, as I grabbed a pack of RAWs off the table. “Can you write me up another script?”
“Another? You couldn't have run out already, not if you were taking the suggested doses. You're overdoing it, aren't you?”
“I'm not a fucking drug addict, Doc,” I scolded, ironically as I broke up the kush in my grinder, “I'm a professional wrestler. I use my knees a lot. They're bothering me more than usual, the pills help me tolerate the pain is all. You see it's all about pain management,” I elaborated, as I dumped my medicine onto the paper and began to roll it up.
“Pain management huh, and what's that for,” she asked, pointing at the perfectly rolled joint held in my fingertips.
“Peace of mind,” I told her, as I sparked it up and took a wonderfully long pull before blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.
“If your knees are as bothersome as you would lead me to believe, I suggest you come in for an X-Ray so we can get to the root of the problem. Like I said before, if your MCL has weakened, or you've suffered a new tear to the ligament, percocets aren't going to solve anything,” she ranted, “how's about we treat the condition and not the symptoms?”
“Tell you what-” I started, before suddenly coughing up a lung. I could feel her sneering down at me as I nearly choked to death. That lets you know you’ve got some good product. When you take one hit and feel your chest on fire. Once I finished wincing I looked up to notice her disapproving gaze, “we’re in Denver, it's legal,” I explained, flagging her off before bringing things back to my original point, “as I was saying, how's about you write me up one more script, and after it runs out if there's been no improvements I'll schedule an appointment for you to look under the hood. Sound like a plan?”
She shook her for a few seconds, prompting me to use the puppy dog eyes. I wasn't proud of myself, but sometimes you gotta stoop low to get high. I know that sounds too.
“Listen, John, I'm not going to enable your addiction. My older brother was an addict. I know the signs now. One more, after that you get proper treatment,” she ordered.
“Scouts honor,” I said, cheering as I held my hand over my heart as if I were pledging some sort of allegiance. Imagine that. Me giving my loyalty to something other than myself. That doesn't even sound realistic.
*************************************************************************
“I've booked our flight out, we head back to the west coast in the morning,” Goodrich said, having already packed his luggage, and set it up neatly by the door, “how come you're not doing the old towel trick?”
I scoffed as I ashed the roach, “for what I paid for this room, they can go fuck themselves if they've got a problem with me smoking in here,” the cheapest rooms in the Westin Westminster Denver-Boulder usually start around one-twenty. Of course, if you're going to pay a pretty penny to stay at a five star hotel you may as well pull out that black card and go all out by grabbing a suite. I mean, I can't call myself a king but sleep like a peasant. That’d be hustling backwards.
“How'd it go with Dr. Andrews? Anything to be worried about?”
“I won't need any plastic surgery if that's what you're wondering,” I said.
“Damn, I guess you're going to be an ugly son of a bitch you're entire life,” he joked as my phone suddenly starting ringing. He was the closest to it so he immediately picked it up off the arm of the sofa, “it's Carmine.”
“Ignore it,” I told him, as I headed for the kitchen, where inside the refrigerator was a bottle of Smirnoff that was just begging to be opened. Besides, with everything I’ve got going on right now I can't have drinks on short supply.
“Trouble in paradise,” Quinn remarked, prying as usual, looking for things that aren't there. “What's up with you two lovebirds? I've noticed you haven't been in much contact since -”
“Since he cost me my FGA World Championship?” I interrupted, walking back into the living room quarters.
“Yeah, since then the two of you haven't really communicated that much. Less phone calls, less meetings, less time spent hanging out. Hell he’s been out of action for like a month and you two haven't really connected in that time frame. But then again, I can understand why you’d distance yourself.”
“What're you going on about now,” I sighed, as I opened up the vodka and drank it straight.
“I mean, if I were you I wouldn't really want to be around him either. I'm just saying if I were the man on top, and I held the world in the palm of my hands, and then I suddenly lost it all because you got beat, I’d probably hate you.” He explained. I felt like he was projecting his feelings onto me, trying to coerce me toward a certain point of view. It's no secret he was never fond of Sunshine, but I couldn't be too sure, I mean his points were valid, and I'd be lying if the thought hadn't crossed my mind. Subconsciously, I agreed with him.
I mean he did cost me EVERYTHING.
“Yeah, well I don't feel that way,” I shook my head, trying to dismiss the ideas from my thoughts. I hadn't been in the right frame of mind since Above and Beyond. Losing the title was just the tip of the iceberg. With Kharissa playing hardball with William, and the lack of sleep, and the new pill popping hobby I picked up, I didn't need to poison my mind with any more irrational thoughts.
“You're a better man than me,” he said, somewhat shocked by my level headed response, “I’d be furious if I were you, having to watch him in the Main Event after he was just on vacation.”
That did tick me off. The Front Office, the locker room, they keep trying to paint this narrative, push this agenda that Tony’s better, that he’s the head honcho in the New Kings. It's as if they ignore the fact that I’m the one who beat Zero, not him. Even after everything I accomplished this year -- winning Gold Rush, winning the World Title, they still refuse to acknowledge me as the best.
“He represents the Kings, Quinn. Regardless of which one of us is in the spotlight, it's a win for us both. We’re a team. We’re partners. We’re a unit.” I replied, taking another swig of my vodka.
“Yeah, well what about you,” he said, “because I'm not Tony’s manager. I'm not his friend either. I'm your’s. What was it, twenty something years ago, more than that when we first met, and your dad and my dad were sharing bourbon and war stories and we were out back in the yard talking about our dreams. Remember what you told me?”
“Yeah, I remember,” I said, as I thought back to that day. I recalled every detail and nuance with lucidity. It was vivid. The smell of the grass, the heat on that hot summer day as we waited for my mum to finish preparing supper.
“What did you tell me that day?”
“I said I wanted to be the greatest fighter that ever lived.” I proclaimed confidently.
“Yeah, and I told you that I’d do everything I possibly could to help you reach that goal. Well here we are, with your legacy in front of you, and your dream within an arm's reach. Yet, you're doing nothing about it. I thought you wanted to be the greatest? I thought you wanted to be the World Champion?”
“I do.” I confessed. “Nothing will stop me from doing it. I will become a two time World Champion. I will get back everything I've lost.
“Yeah, well if you ask em you're not doing enough to prove it. You're supposed to be using every tool and advantage at your disposal. You're supposed to stop at nothing to get back to the top.”
“Well what the fuck do you suggest, cause if me busting my ass in the ring, beating whoever they fucking put in front of me isn't enough, well great sage please, enlighten me!” I spat, slamming my bottle on the table as I waited for an answer.
“Why do you think I wanted Rother and the Suspects to join us?”
“To get a hold of the Tag Titles and increase our capital.” I said.
“I don't give a bloody damn about those belts, about Rother, the Suspects, Danny Diamond, or anybody else. They're just here to push you back to the top. Expendable assets. Hired guns. There is no New Kings or any King’s Courts, it's just YOU.” He stressed.
“You want me to leave the fucking group? We’re the best thing in FGA. The most dominant faction in wrestling today”
“No,” he smiled, “I want you to take control. I want you to take control of your life again in every phase.”
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September 23rd, 2016
Los Angeles, California
“What's on your mind handsome,” she asked, as she sat her soft, voluptuous bosom down in my lap.
“You this nice to all your patrons?”
“Only the ones that pay well, and come see me twice in one week,” she laughed, as she spun around and started to throw it back. Whatever loud, illiterate rapper playing in the background was perfect for the setting. As she did her thing, I could feel the edge being taken off. Maybe that had to do with her losing a few articles of closing as well. We'll call it a coincidence.
“What makes you think I've got something on my
mind?”
“Men don't usually come to the club, and ask for private rooms unless they're trying touch something or talk about something. And since you ain't doing too much touching boo, you must want to talk.” She said, breaking it all down. Who knew Ace of Diamonds employed such insightful folk. But I guess it's stereotypical of me to think a stripper can't be intelligent. I mean, they're not all whores right? If she's shaking her ass to get through college, then I’m happy to help pay her tuition.
“I'm just dealing with a lot on my plate right now. Baby momma drama. Pressure at the workplace. You know, the usual.”
“What do you do for a living,” she asked, as she turned back around to shove my face in her plastic breasts. I wasn't complaining. They were Double D’s and they felt real to me.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I motor boated.
“You're a bad guy huh,” she joked, as she leaned my head back, allowing me to come up and breathe in the sweaty, musty, gonorrhea polluted air.
“Not really, I just do bad things.”
“What's the difference,” she asked, as she did a full split, before throwing her legs up and wrapping them around my neck.
“I do a lot of things that I probably shouldn't do, but it's out of necessity. Sometimes you don't have a choice. You're a stripper, surely everyone you know doesn't respect you because of it.”
“That's fine. I'm not concerned with respect,” she said, releasing her grapevine and swinging back around to put her cake back in my face, shaking and twerking to the beat, “I’m doing what I have to do to eat out here. Who gives a fuck about what people think? You gotta do what you gotta do to get that bag, you feel me? If you don't, how else you gone get that bag?”
Wise words from a wise woman. I was speechless. The way she put it, I think I just had an existential epiphany.
“Word,” I said, slapping her right on the cheek to show my appreciation.
I needed that.
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As the scene opens up when see Johnny Cannon sitting in a lounge chair, a glass of bourbon in his hand as he stares into the camera. The room he resides in is empty, and the lighting is dim, there's just enough illumination to reveal him and everything previously mentioned -- including his bloody tuxedo.
“Let's get right to the chase, Noelle. I'm not feeling quite like my usual self, a consummate, eloquent and sophisticated gentleman. And quite frankly, you're not worth the pleasantries. So I'm not going to waste my fucking breath talking out of my ass for the sake of building you up to be something you're not just to sell this match, and give people a reason to watch Vertigo this Saturday -- because ONE I’m Johnny fucking Cannon. I don't need anything but my name to sell tickets. And TWO I'm Johnny fucking Cannon. I'm the reason people pay for basic cable just to get the WGN Network.”
“But that's common knowledge. I don't have to tell you of all people. From the very moment I stepped foot in FGA you sang my praises, and recognized me not only as someone who was better than everyone else, but as someone who was better than you. That hasn't changed, Noelle. It took me less than a year to put your entire career to shame. And now your aspirations of greatness have been relegated to proving your mettle against people that can't light a goddamn candle to me. But I suppose I should applaud you for your self awareness, because you're not like the majority of this air headed roster that believes we exist in the same universe. At least you realize you’re on that second and third tier with Fujiko, Izzy, Johnny Karma and all the other brown nosers at the bottom of the ecosystem.” He claims, as he grabs his drink.
“I'm an apex predator. You don't hunt me, I hunt YOU. I'm not food like the rest of you. You don't chase after the Mamba, you run and fucking hide, and pray to God or whoever the hell it was that blew your piece of shit soul into your bag of bones that it's not your name next to mine when the cards released -- because if it is that means you're going to be in for the longest night of your pitiful existence, of which by the end of it you won't be able to recognize your ass from your elbow because I’ve beaten you like a tired cliche. I put the fear of God into an atheist. I'm as serious as cancer. The toughest wrestlers in this business dread stepping into the ring with me. Ask Zero McHannon, even ask your beloved Sunshine and anyone else who's actually worth a damn, they’ll tell you what it's like to stand across from the Baddest Man on the Planet. They’ll tell you they don't fear me necessarily, after all I'm just a man right? However, they do fear what their mind and bodies will be put through, and that's a meat grinder. Regardless of the outcome, they know they’ll never be the same because I don't wrestle people, I WRECK people. Even the ones on my level can't handle the heat in my kitchen, and you Noelle, well unlike them you're nothing to brag about.”
“You're like a stripper. You're simply nice to look at. Maybe even nice to touch, and fantasize about what you look like with your annoying trap shut and your cheap clothes off. But nobody's bringing you home to see their folks. And you know that. You know you’ll always be a bridesmaid but never the bride.” He says coldly. “How many times have you attempted to win the Pride Title? How many times have you been put in some tournament, or some Cup with a chance to even win the World Title? I’ve lost count. I feel like you’ve been given several chances over a span of a year, yet you never caught the bouquet. Not even once. Every time you watched your friends and rivals get married at the altar while you were left finger fucking yourself, wondering when it’d be your turn. It’ll NEVER be your turn, Noelle. Last Vertigo proved that. After you returned and talked about why you deserved the Pride Title, you went and showed us all while you’ll never win it.”
“It's because you haven't changed,” he scoffs. “You claim you've improved, and that you're New Noell, but you're really just the same Noelle of old, tweeting for Chandler Scott’s affection, posting half nude photos for likes because you can't post a winning record, or respectable victory, or a championship. So tell me, how are you any different than the girl that failed time and time again throughout 2015. Wait I remember, that wasn't really you, was it? Right? Back in the Lion's Cup… yeah, it was your sister, or your doppleganger, or your stunt double or your… look I don't really give a fuck who it was to be honest. All I know is that neither one of you have a chance, but in any event you might want to go find them and have them take your place again so you're not the one who’s getting the brakes beat off em.”
“Let's cut the bullshit, Noelle. Let's get right down to the nitty gritty. I don't give a damn what you think about me. Your opinion is much like your talent - shit. You can try to diminish my accomplishments, and you can try to marginalize my achievements in the desperate attempt
and hope of knocking me down a peg, and off my pedestal - but just remember that you’ll NEVER reach the same heights. You can tell me about all the things, and all the people that I’m not, but just remember what I am.”
“I USED TO BE THE FGA WORLD CHAMPION!” He proclaims as he downs his bourbon in one shot before violently slamming it down on the arm of his chair. “I won the 2016 Gold Rush Rumble. I've main Evented Vertigo's. I’ve headlined PPVS. I've been in and WON marquee matches. I HELPED PUT THIS COMPANY ON THE MAP! I'm the reason it's mentioned with the HKW’s of the world. ME! Not you, not anybody else, it was ME. I've done everything you fucking WISH you could do, but Noelle, you’ll never close the gap between us, not even if you were driving the Mach-5 strapped to the back of the Flash could you ever make up that distance, and I'm going to show you exactly why this Saturday in front of thousands at the Compuware Arena in Plymouth Township, Michigan.”
“When that bell rings I'm going to show you exactly why I AM FGA, while you're just somebody in in it when I TORTURE, and MAIM you, and BREAK you to the point that you won't even be able to even SCREAM in pain because I've BEATEN the fight out of you -- and it's only THEN, only at that moment when you kneel before your KING will I snuff out your miserable, inconsequential fucking life by KNOCKING YOU THE FUCK OUT!” He says with the utmost malice.
Fade.
