Post by The Last Real Man on Oct 13, 2016 17:33:16 GMT -5
October 10th, 2016
Hillsborough, California
“I just think it's the best thing for him right now,” Kharissa explained, but I was hearing none of it, “you’re not yourself right now, I can see it all written on your face. And after the last incident, I don't think it's safe for me to be here.”
“Oh fuck off,” I said, totally incensed, “that was on you. You put us on this path, letting that fucking cunt spin her web and whisper all that fucking nonsense in your ear. You can't even see it, this is what she does. She did it ten damn years ago because she’s a cold hearted bitch and she never liked me. She never approved of me from the get go. That's what this is all about, it's personal.”
“My mother has no part in this, she isn't in my head, she doesn't have a say in any decision I make when it comes to William.”
“Bullshit,” I responded, as I knocked the case off the dining room table, sending it crashing to the floor to shatter into a million pieces. I didn't even notice that she was startled, nor did I notice how I was beginning to fly off the handle, “how can she not have a say when you're trying to move under her bloody roof? Do you take me for some fuckig idiot? You think I'm a fucking fool, don't you?”
“See this is what I'm talking about. You're out of your mind, I don't what’s gotten into you. You were doing better, we were doing better. I even filtered with the possibility that maybe ee’d even reconcile because of William, and try to become what we failed to be ten years ago. But you, you're sick. You've got problems that you refuse to deal with, and that's not the type of environment I want to raise my son in.”
“Oh, but running men in an out of this house, getting fucked in the middle of the night, yeah that's a better environment, right? No that's not toxic at all. It's perfectly fine for him to see another man in bed with his mother.” I said, and subconsciously I knew I had crossed the line. That little voice in my head that usually screamed when I was making a huge mistake was yelling as loud as he could right now, but his voice has been long drowned out by my anger and depression. This was a culmination of all the pills and sleepless nights.
That and the slap across my face as her hand kissed my cheek.
“How dare you, how fucking dare you? I'm not one of your fucking hoes, unlike you I'm not running around with some twenty-two year old having a midlife fucking crises. I'm by trying to be a teenager again. I'm a mother. I made some poor decisions in my life, and now it's caught up to me. Now I've got to think about somebody other than myself, and I know that's foreign to you because all you’ve ever cared about is you,” she went off, “back then it was always about you, and MMA. You couldn't make time for me because you needed to train for your fights. Now you can't be there for him because you need to wrestle. Your career is more important to you than being a father to your fucking son. That's why I need to get away from you because I'm not going to subject him to a world where his father is never around and always breaks his promises.”
*************************************************************************
October 13th, 2016
St. Paul, Minnesota
“You think the two of you can co-exist,” Goodrich wondered, as I sat by the window, puffing hard on a cigar. I was thinking about Karma though, and more importantly about the loss of his father. It reminded me of how I vowed to stop smoking after he passed. Two years later, here I am smoking like a chimney.
“I keep telling you there's no problem, and the dynamic between the two of us hasn't changed one bit. Once we’re done with Karma the focus will be back on the World Championship.”
“Back on? See that's your problem right there. Your attention and focus should be on it at all times,” he chastised, as he cracked open a brew to go along with his meal; house salad. He said he was trying to cut down on the calories af get back in shape. Yeah, right. “Even now, having to deal with Johnny Karma once again, you can't get sucked into his saga. You have to end him now, don't let him hang around.”
“You think I'm not,” I said, sucking my teeth, “I'm going out there with bad intentions, like I've done since Above and Beyond. I'm not interested in pussyfooting around anymore. I'm all business.”
“Well it may be time to change the business, and cut a few ties,” he suggested, giving me a side eye as his words lingered in the atmosphere of the hotel for a few seconds, before mixing into the cloud of smoke I was puffing out, “if you catch my drift.”
“What exactly are you insinuating?”
“The thing that you've been hearing for months, what you're going to here from Johnny Karma in a few days, and what you're going to continue to hear from everyone who's anyone in this business - that it's all about Tony, and that you're second fiddle to him,” he said as he leaned back on the couch, pointing his beer can at me. I stewed for a moment, continuing to pull toxins into my jet black lungs.
“Anyone who thinks that it is a fucking moron at this point. I've accomplished everything I set out to accomplish, while he faded to the back of the line. I TOOK the lead. Even he knows that.”
“Suuuuuure,” he responded, “this is the same guy that called you the fuck up. The New Kings wouldn't be what they are without you. You made Tony Carmine. Yeah, the guy was a Pride Champion and a top guy and all that rubbish, but you did something not even Chandler fucking Scott could do for that jackass and that's elevate his game. He went from one of the faces of the company to the face of FGA, all because he was standing beside you. If you ask me, I think you’ve done all you can do for him, which means you’ve gained all you can from this, what do you call it, business association?”
“Come on, Quinn. This has been the best leg of my career by far. I've more important here in FGA thanks to the Kings than I ever was back in San Diego. You don't think Tony played a hand in that,” I said, trying to convince him, or maybe I was trying to convince myself. “I owe Carmine,”
“You don't owe him a fucking thing,” he spat, slamming his beer on the table, “he came to you, not the other way around. It's him that needs you, understand me? You came in this company and turned it on its head. When you came here the guard changed. It used to be Chandler Scott and everyone else, that was the pecking order. You stepped in the door, and made this company legitimate. You made everyone raise their game because you raised the goddamn bar. Tony wanted to wan with you because he knew in the end you’d pass him too. All this has ever been for him was a scheme to get to the top and it's blown up in his face.”
“Be that as it may, to turn my back on him? Like I did to Abby? I don't know. He at least still has his use. We’re still the hottest thing in wrestling.”
“Yeah, the thing is there's only so much longer than two kings can rule over the same dominion. How much longer do you think you’ll be allowed to achieve greatness at his expense? How much longer do you expect him to stand in the background as you take the mantle,” he said, “he’s got jealous eyes. When he talks I can hear the envy in his tone. He knows he’s expendable, and that makes him unpredictable because the fear of being cut loose makes him dangerous. You can't afford to keep ties with anyone you can't trust. Not anymore.”
*************************************************************************
“I've got too much going on right now. Too many problems and not enough answers...”
I thought to myself as I clutched a bottle of ‘whatever the fuck i’ll be throwing up in the morning’ because they're all the same at this points. Just methods to treat the symptoms and not the illness -- and failed ones at that no matter what happens I always seem to get worse, yet somehow amidst this downward spiral I find a measure of happiness, if at that, because every time I pop a pill, or inhale a blunt or stab my liver with hard liquor I always feel slightly better than I would if I was sober.
Because when I'm sober I hate myself.
I hate myself for what I've become.
I hate myself for what I've allowed to transpire.
I hate myself for what I'm about to do.
“Don't do it, you're better that this…”
I said as I stared at a line a cocaine on the toilet lid. It was a lie. I wasn't better than this, I am this. The setting was perfect. My life had gone to the shitter, and here I was slumped over the gutter, about to flush it all down for good.
I knew I shouldn't, but the noise was getting too loud. Between Kharissa, Goodrich, Tony, hell Zero, and everyone around me talking and talking about this and that, I couldn't hear myself think. I couldn't function.
It’s been almost a year since I cut off this addiction. But a lot changes in a year.
SNIFF.
And right now I need to think.
*************************************************************************
As the scene opens we see a bottle of Jack Daniels and a shot glass resting on a table top. As the camera begins to own out to show the surrounding area, a patron is revealed to be sitting in what appears to be an empty bar. From the blood stained tuxedo, and accoutrements, it's obvious that man is none other than Johnny Cannon. The British Mamba spins the bar stool halfway as he stares into the camera.
“Three up, three down,” he says, as he grabs the shot glass and taps it onto the counter. “Bond, Tyler, Smith. All have come knocking, and they’ve all gone missing. They’ve all stepped in the ring fueled by their respective ambitions, fueled by their desire to prove their mettle against the toughest son of a bitch walking the halls of FGA, and I've made short work of each one of them. I’m wearing the proof right now. I continue to don this jacket, not because I can't afford a new one because I can, but rather because I like the feeling it gives me.” He admits.
“When I first wore this tuxedo jacket it was clean and crisp. Spotless. Perfectly tailored. Custom made. Perfect for a man of my esteemed stature,” he brags, “but now when I look at it, when I look at it stained with the Battle Hardened Bitches’ blood, it reminds me of everything I had to go through to get to the top of the FGA mountain. All the sweat, all the tears, all the blood I had to spill to become the FGA World Champion, every time I wear this tuxedo to the ring it reminds me of what I'm capable of. And I'm capable of doing unspeakable harm, and irreparable damage to anyone I see fit when I'm motivated to do so. And right now, that's exactly what I am. I’m hungry and I'm pissed the fuck off.”
“Saturday Night I’m going to watch Zero McHannon and Chandler Scott go one on one for my title! MINE! I never lost the FGA World Championship. That's an irrefutable fact, regardless of how you want to cut it. I'm a real man which means I tell it like it is, and not how I want it to be. And the truth -- well the truth is that Zero McHannon didn't pin me at Above and Beyond. Zero McHannon has never beaten me in his career. Zero McHannon will never beat me in his career. That's not an opinion that's a consensus based on evidence and like I always say you can simply look at the tapes to see for yourself. Yet despite that, despite ALL of that he’s walking around holding what belongs to me. What should have never left my possession. And it SICKENS me.” He confesses, getting his teeth angrily.
“It sickens me because I've YET to be awarded my rematch. I've YET to be given my contractual opportunity to reclaim what is rightfully MINE. I’ve YET to be given the proper respect I deserve, the respect I've EARNED. If there's one thing a KING doesn't tolerate, it's disrespect,” he scoffs, “and there's nothing more disrespectful than to see myself pitted against a man like Johnny Karma for the umpteenth time as if I haven't already washed my hands of him. And to top it all off, they've made it a handicap match in a pathetic attempt to make the contest compelling, because let's be frank, despite how great Tony Carmine and myself are, not even we could resurrect his dead career.” He says coldly.
“You’re as dead as your old man, Karma. The only difference is you're still collecting paychecks, and pissing people off due to your mere useless fucking existence. And it's downright shameful how you had your squeeze break the news of him kicking the bucket just to get some sympathy points. To think you would stoop that low just for attention. But I understand why. You're desperate. You’ve become an afterthought, and have been leapfrogged by your contemporaries. You realize that you’ll never be able to make the climb and get over that hump. Again, that's not my opinion, that's a fact. I have the receipts.”
“You beat Tony Carmine for the Pride Championship. That's an accolade that should have catapulted your career. Hell, I couldn't even do that. You should have been elevated. But you somehow managed to regress. A Pride Title reign that nobody noticed, or cared about, hell the only reason we knew you were champion was because Fujiko kept mentioning it because that Championship was clearly her ceiling in FGA just as it was yours -- hell, I forgot she even beat you for it, that's how much the title was depreciated. A belt some suggested on the same level, if not more prestigious than the World Title for its pure wrestling merits, and it was devalued with ease. That kind of futility is legendary, Johnny.”
“You tried to reach the skies again, and hell, you looked like you might actually break through and shock the world, becoming a World Championship contender. We thought we might have to take you seriously for once. I began to think, “well maybe all the ass lickings the Kings have given him have helped him unlock his potential”, but in reality you've already become as good as you’ll ever be. You're good enough to beat the nobody's at the bottom, but you just can't hang with the big boys at the top. You might get lucky once in a while, but when the lights are shining at their brightest, on the biggest stage, with everything riding on a victory - you come a small. That's Chandler beat you in the Lion’s Cup Finals.” He claims.
“And it's the same reason why The Kings have gone on to achieve everything we said we would. Look at the landscape for a second, Karma. Pull your head out of your ass for a moment and actually pay attention to what has happened in your company. The two men that you vowed to stop have become the biggest faces - no we ARE the faces of Frontier Grappling Arts, with or without the FGA World Championship. We’re the ones everyone’s gunning for. We’re the ones that move the needle. When we do something the world talks, and when we step out they can't look away. And we continue to grow, our hold over FGA continues to expand, continues to grow. Soon we’ll have the Tag Team Championships in our camp, and what will you have,” he asks, as he begins to pour himself a shot, “Ah yes, you’ve got your unyielding pride and your never ending mission to stop Johnny Cannon and Tony Carmine. Take a shot if you’ve heard that bullshit before,” he says as he drinks his bourbon.
“Karma I know you have an obsession with us, so I know you’ve been paying attention every time I step in front of a camera, which means I know that you know that I'm not in the best of moods for reasons I've documented at the outset of this little dialogue. Equipped with that knowledge, and taking into account the number of bodies I've laid to waste in as many weeks, you should know that stepping into the ring with just me would have been a tall order for someone like you at this stage in the game -- and that's someone with nothing going for himself, and nothing to look forward to -- except a funeral, and the dividing of a vacated estate, and probably a few uncomfortable conversations with relatives you haven't seen in bloody years. But to think you have a chance going up against BOTH of us,” he laughs at the thought, as he pours himself another shot, “are you that lonely, and that depressed that you want to kill yourself just to see him again?” He takes a another shot.
“It's customary to drink to a man’s dying wish. And you're a dead man, Saturday, Karma. There’s no other outcome. There's nothing you can do to avoid what you have coming to you. All you can do is simply take this beating like a man with a small on your face, that way you’ll at least finally earn my respect. I don't want you to cower like a pussy, or run in fear. I want you to come to that ring knowing once the bell sounds I’m going to tear beat the fucking shit out of you. I'm coming for blood, Johnny. This has always been a personal affair between us, and you know what happens when things get personal. You end up like Evangelista. You end up like Chris Bond. You end up reminiscing about what could’ve been as you either hang up your boots or leave for less competition disguised as greener pastures because continuing to compete in FGA and go against the Kings is a detriment to your health.”
“Because when you go against the Kings you end up with concussions.” He says, drinking from the bottom now.
“You end up leaving in an ambulance.” Another drink, as he chugs halfway through the bottle.
“You end up in a pool of blood, and Johnny,” he looks into the camera with a murderous look, “I know you think you're a man with nothing to lose, but i want to let you know that's a lie. You still have Cherry, and you should think about how much she loves your good-for-nothing ass before you step through those curtains because the last thing she wants to do is bury you.”
FADE.
