05-31-2022, 12:06 PM
Light bursts into a room and fills an otherwise black space. A chair is bolted to the floor in the middle of the room, and a woman is strapped to that chair by every appendage. As the light sweeps across her face, she wakes up and sits up. But her eyes do not open. They do not remain closed out of fear of being blinded by the light that has been violently introduced. But because they are either swollen shut from the damage that’s been done to them or sealed shut by the dried blood caked over them. The woman’s head swivels from side to side, and her mouth curls in preparation to produce a blood curdling scream to match the blood boiling anger and fear she now feels.
That scream does not come. But a calmness does. Her head which had been too heavy for her shoulders the moment the light touched it had now steadied. Her fingers which had clawed at the wooden arm rest she was strapped to until her fingertips, still devoid of fingernails, began to bleed, relaxed and settled, even wiggling genially as they settled still. The man entering dropped a tool bag at the woman’s feet. It wasn’t sealed and several instruments poked out of the top. All were rusty. Most were bloody.
Squatting down and leaning on his knees, the man smiled and looked into the slits the woman had for eyes, and blinked slowly. He looked pleasant enough with his scrubs and butches apron. He even smelt nice, what little her broken nose could smell. And then snapped the rubber glove on his left hand, to signal that they were about to begin. Again. Pulling a pair of pliers from the back, he stood up and greeted her the way he’d always done so.
“Good morning Do-”
Miles and an entire year away from that room, Sarah wakes up in a much different one. She does not swing dramatically for a face that isn't there. She does not grab at her wrists trying to free herself from confines long since removed or anything like that. She throws her feet over the side of the bed and grabs her cigarettes off the nightstand. She smacks the bottom of the soft pack and grips the one that pops out with her teeth. A moment later the zippo lighter is back on the table and her lungs are filling with smoke. She doesn’t look at her wrists and the marks that those straps left behind. She doesn’t feel her fingernails to remind herself they’ve grown back.
She just stands up, cracks her back, shoulders and neck and starts her day the same way she’s started it every day since then.
Angry as fuck.
She stepped into the kitchen of her basement apartment, which is just the corner of the one room, and looked into the fridge. Half a Vitamin water. An almost empty bottle of vodka. Some milk that isn’t quite cottage cheese but has long since passed the ‘liquid’ stage. And a single piece of cake on a disposable plate that has made the napkin covering it a part of it completely. Mumbling under her breath, Sarah shuts the door and ashes her cigarette into the sink. Grabbing a pair of pants off the floor, she slides them on and slips her feet into some boots without concern of socks, and heads out the door.
Walking slowly down the sidewalk with the cigarette between her lips, she passes mailmen delivering mail, and crossing guards getting ready for children to exit nearby schools. And not one of them looks in her direction. Fear or experience, we can’t be sure. But she is, and it warms her black heart just a tiny bit.
Reaching the Cowboy cafe, Sarah pulls on the door but finds it locked. Inside, an older-than-she-looks, but looks-pretty-fucking-old woman is behind a counter, counting money while two young men wash tables like 19 year olds fuck. They’re not really doing a good job and they just want to finish already. Looking up from the cash in hand, she shakes her head no, and Sarah shakes her head yes just as emphatically. The woman slams the money down and walks over to the door, opening it slightly.
“ Barb…” The woman says, using the name Sarah has given her. “ We’re closed. You know we close at 2pm each and every day, and yet each and every day you show up at 2pm on the dot. ”
“ Gladys, I am far too hungry to go through this. I know it’s our schtick, and I’m very fun to talk to, but just let me get my food and I’ll be gone. You know you’re going to let me in. Why waste both our ti- ”
“ FINE! ..come on in a’ready. ”
“ Thank you, I love you SO much. ” Sarah didn’t love her. In fact Sarah stopped listening to her the second she stepped foot inside. She’d say that and Gladys, the oldest whore in Medora, would go on and on about her husband and all the cliche shit women say about them before going home and licking their taint so hard their old balls empty onto their shoulder. Sarah would wait until these terrible anecdotes were over and then she’d say the same thing she’d always say…
“ Tell your boy to make me a Turkey BLT, extra mayo on the SIDE, with some fries and rings, and…what pie you have left? ”
“ We ran out of all ‘cept Raisin Sour Cream. ”
“ huh. Wonder why. Ok. Just that then. ”
“ We actually got some good rice pudding. It’s not pie.. ”
“ You’re right. It’s not. So no thank you. ”
“ Doesn’t have any raisins in it, though. On account of that we used them all for the sour cream and raisin pie. I could pick some of them out from the pie, if you’d like. ”
“ No. Just the TBLT and fries, please. ”
“ No onion rings? ”
“ …yes. I want onion rings. I’m sorry I neglected to say it that time. ”
“ you know what… ”
“ …what... ”
“ I bet you if I took some of the raisins and just scooped them into the pudding, you’d never know the difference. Bet that sour cream is gonna just mesh with the rest of it, because we did use a little to offset the sugar in the pudding. ”
Sarah Wolf was not currently known for, nor never would be again, known for her restraint. She was a vile and vicious woman who sought to hurt others as she had been hurt. Not because it’s freeing, or because it shows you the value of the life you have. But becase fuck you.
She wanted to slam the saddle bagged bitch upside the head with a napkin holder until her face fell off. They frown on stuff like that, unfortunately. So kindness was the name of the weapon she’d have to kill her with.
“ Gladys. Please put in my order. I really don’t want to keep you here any longer than I have to. ”
“ It’s not a bother at all. Just sit yourself right down and I’ll be back in a flash. ”
“ Great. Thank you. ”
Sitting at the counter, Sarah watched as the sun dried whore vanished into the back of the kitchen. Sarah took a breath. A deep one. The hard part about working two jobs where you get to hurt people is that often it bleeds into the parts of life where it doesn’t belong. Civilized society says that you can’t knock someone's teeth down their throat for not using a turn signal and cutting you off, or having too many items in the express lane. Civilized society says you have to be understanding. Civilized society says you have to just go home and drink a glass of wine and pretend it didn’t make you want to break a jaw.
Civilized society should get fucked like a two dollar whore on payday.
____________________
“ One thing I’d like to make crystal clear to anyone and everyone is my intent. I am not a midcarder. I am not a ‘free meal.’ I didn’t come here to just be a contender. To just be a nameless face or faceless name lost in a crowd of 38 others who couldn’t hack it. I didn’t come here to ‘make a name.’ I already have a name. I came here to make a reputation.”
“I have one currently. One that I’ve built and rebuilt from the ground up. I started as a fan, transitioned to a manager, to an agent, and then finally a competitor. Not because there wasn’t any talent worth being a fan of, or managing or being an agent of. Because there wasn’t any talent that was anywhere as good as me. That’s how I used to see it, anyhow. Now I’ve got a different perspective.”
“ I’m not going to proclaim myself to be this unmovable object. Puff out my chest and tell you that ‘you’ll never get past me because I’m’ whatever nickname or monicker I’m using that week. We’ve all heard that a hundred times from a hundred different people in a hundred different ways. The only thing more common than it not being true is the fact that literally everyone in this business thinks it’s absolutely false about everyone else and absolutely true about them. Call me the wild card but I don’t think I’m the best ever. Quite the contrary.”
“ I am literally the worst. ”
“ Maintaining friendships or even healthy work relationships? The worst. Keeping my nose out of other people's business? The worst. Treating people with dignity and respect? Again and again, if there is a qualifier of some sort that makes someone a good person, you can bet your very last dollar with one hundred percent certainty that in a list of 1 to 100…I’m going to be dead last, the worst fucking one of the lot. 38 other SC W’s are going to climb into that ring, and one of us is going to be remembered as the winner. The one with the prize of going all the way to the top to challenge for the most coveted prize in the industry. And another is going to be remembered as the literal worst behaved person anyone has ever seen. The one who took advantage. The one who caused needless suffering for no reason other than the sheer joy it brought them. Did they want to win? Or did they just want to watch someone scream? Guess which one I intend on being?”
“Wrong, you muppet made of a jizz sock.”
“It’s both.”
____________________
The bag of food tucked securely under her arm, Sarah exits the cafe and places her sunglasses back over her eyes. Muttering to herself over the fact that she left her cigarettes at home, she picks up her pace, and is just about to cross the street, when she is stepped in front of by Christy Suarez. whose mother’s full time job is hairdresser and her part time job is match maker, and Christy had made it her mission in life to grow up just like mom.
Sarah was at the point where she wanted to duct tape her to an out of state bound truck.
“ Christy. Please. Not today. ”
“ Now you just hold on and let me make my case, Barb! Have you seen that Jeremy West? He is just about the cutest thing. And I hear tell he don’t mind your tattoos none much either. ”
“ Christy. I am no- ”
“ Don’t tell me you aint interested when I know every car gonna need a mechanic and from the look on your face I can tell you ain’t had your hood with someone up under it in quite some time. This is my business, I know these things, hon! ”
“ Jesus Christy, you have to stop quoting your mom… ”
“ Barbara..Just go out with him once. Maybe ya’ll will hit it off! ”
“ Christy, I’ll tell you what. I want you to go to this James.. ”
“ Jeremy. ”
“ …And I want you to ask him how he feels about pegging. If he agrees to do it with me, I’ll gladly go out with him. Ok?”
“ ….ok, but what is that?. ”
“ It’s like dancing. Do you like dancing? ”
“ I do! Is it fun? ”
“ It’s the most f-...Listen I’m gonna be honest with you, this got away from me. So I’m going to give you some money, and you promise me to never mention any of this again, ok? ”
“ aw, that was a bad word? ”
“ How bad of a word do you think it is? ”
“ $20 bucks worth? ”
“...done. ”
Sarah pulled out her wallet and slipped a $20 bill into the little girl's hand. The girl smiled, and rode off. Sarah had known for quite a while that the girl had only ever talked to her in the hopes that Sarah would say something off color, and the little girl could blackmail her for it. But when a child rides up to you and gives you the chance to curse them out for $20, well that’s what she would call a win-win. Also, what she called ‘therapy.’
And at least this time it was cheap. Last time she made a remark about moving somewhere with less kids and while she never said where exactly she was referring to, Christy made a very good case as to what others would believe.
Whatever nest egg this kid was building off Sarah’s inability to not say the wrong thing might have doubled if not more.
____________________
“ Growing up, one of my favorite types of restaurants was always the buffet ones. As a child you are told what to eat, how to eat, when to eat it, etc. Protein and Veg and starch and then you have dessert. Or salad, and then pasta, and then protein, and then dessert. But at a buffet all the rules went out the window. You could have your dessert alongside your veg and then have your protein later. You could eat pasta and cake at the same time if you chose. Why did this rule only exist within the confines of a buffet restaurant? Why didn’t it exist anywhere else in life? Here at SCW, it does. At Flame, 39 others and myself get to behave as if this business doesn’t have layers or levels or rules of engagement. The newcomers like myself get the chance to take on tried and true veterans and veteranettes, who we’d usually have to go weeks before even getting a glimpse of, let alone put fists to face. We can fight the appetizer Ducky, as well as the starch that is Konrad Raab. I’m not going to compare all of these people to food because there’s 39 of them and that shits just boring to even think about doing. But you see my point. You get my point. ”
“ But do you get my reasoning? Do any of you see why this match appeals to me in such a way? So many people all at once, all vying for one thing. It is chaotic and it is almost impossible to win. Why would anyone look forward to something that could very easily go so wrong so quickly? Maybe it’s because the chaos is the reward, and seeing things go wrong for other people is just the right kind of sexy? Or so you might think. And so you’d be wrong. ”
“ I get the feeling a lot of you are wrong about a lot of things, though. Looking at the lot of you, ‘wrong’ is a word that comes up often and is redfined by some of you. Dancing bear and a badly named luchadore as tag team champions. Is it wrong that I think they’re only champions because the rest of you can’t stand each other enough to stop them? Is it wrong to think that some of you came here because gimmicks are more rampant than having the same last name, which is boggling if true? Is it wrong for you to think that I am only in this match to try and reach the pinnacle of the SCW championship? Would you be wrong to think that?”
“ Yes. ”
“ Yes you would be. ”
“ This match does not make me wet because I could win a world title. This match makes me THROB because I get to hurt a lot of people in a very small amount of time. I don’t have to wait to be booked against this one or that one. I simply have to reach out and grab them. This isn’t a match. This is a buffet. And I intend to fill my plate multiple times. Whether I start with the obvious filler shit like onions rings, Calliope, or the goddamn snow crab legs, Matthew Knox. And just like the buffet places, I may not like it all, but I’ll finish it all. ”
“ And that’s why you’re wrong about this match, and you’re wrong about me. ”
“ And much like there are levels and layers to a buffet and this business, there are levels and layers to being wrong. You can expect a great fight out of someone like Tsunami, but you’d be barking up the wrong tree. You could expect to make someone like Datura that while they may have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed, that others were born on the wrong side of the tracks. You could be on the level that Asher Hayes is, who looks like the kind of guy who got off on the wrong foot with whatever happened to his face, or you could look at Kim Williams who laughs on the wrong side of her face. Or, you could be like me and assume a bunch of stuff about a bunch of people you didn’t have time to actually look into it, and have to find out just how wrong you can be. ”
“ But to the lot of you. Show up to this match and discount me because you don’t know me. Tell yourselves I’ve done nothing to no one worth knowing. Whatever it is that we do in this business when met with something we don’t fully understand; do that. And at the end of this, when all is said, and all is done. You will look at me. You will look to me. And find out the last and final layer or level to wrong, is being dead wrong. ”
“ And you might be one, or you might be the other, but for some of you jizz muppets.. ”
“ It’s going to be both. ”
____________________
Sarah sat down at the small table in her basement apartment and unloaded her bag of food. She looked down at the TLBT, the Fries, The Onion Rings, and a small container of rice pudding that had a metric fuck ton of raisins which were covered in a material that was thicker than the rest of the pudding. Of course, from the earlier conversation we know this to be sour cream. Sarah would grab a spoon and put her feet up. She ate every drop of the rice pudding as sour cream be damned, it was very good.
The phone call that came an hour later on the other hand was not. A distressed mother asking why her daughter was searching for ‘pegging’ on ‘the google.’ With a laugh, Sarah grabbed her clothes and the few personal things she had and headed off to the next small town that would inevitably have enough of her shit.
Of course, they’d have other things to worry about besides giving chase. Like how someone went and burnt down that nice little cafe in the middle of the night.
That scream does not come. But a calmness does. Her head which had been too heavy for her shoulders the moment the light touched it had now steadied. Her fingers which had clawed at the wooden arm rest she was strapped to until her fingertips, still devoid of fingernails, began to bleed, relaxed and settled, even wiggling genially as they settled still. The man entering dropped a tool bag at the woman’s feet. It wasn’t sealed and several instruments poked out of the top. All were rusty. Most were bloody.
Squatting down and leaning on his knees, the man smiled and looked into the slits the woman had for eyes, and blinked slowly. He looked pleasant enough with his scrubs and butches apron. He even smelt nice, what little her broken nose could smell. And then snapped the rubber glove on his left hand, to signal that they were about to begin. Again. Pulling a pair of pliers from the back, he stood up and greeted her the way he’d always done so.
“Good morning Do-”
Miles and an entire year away from that room, Sarah wakes up in a much different one. She does not swing dramatically for a face that isn't there. She does not grab at her wrists trying to free herself from confines long since removed or anything like that. She throws her feet over the side of the bed and grabs her cigarettes off the nightstand. She smacks the bottom of the soft pack and grips the one that pops out with her teeth. A moment later the zippo lighter is back on the table and her lungs are filling with smoke. She doesn’t look at her wrists and the marks that those straps left behind. She doesn’t feel her fingernails to remind herself they’ve grown back.
She just stands up, cracks her back, shoulders and neck and starts her day the same way she’s started it every day since then.
Angry as fuck.
She stepped into the kitchen of her basement apartment, which is just the corner of the one room, and looked into the fridge. Half a Vitamin water. An almost empty bottle of vodka. Some milk that isn’t quite cottage cheese but has long since passed the ‘liquid’ stage. And a single piece of cake on a disposable plate that has made the napkin covering it a part of it completely. Mumbling under her breath, Sarah shuts the door and ashes her cigarette into the sink. Grabbing a pair of pants off the floor, she slides them on and slips her feet into some boots without concern of socks, and heads out the door.
Walking slowly down the sidewalk with the cigarette between her lips, she passes mailmen delivering mail, and crossing guards getting ready for children to exit nearby schools. And not one of them looks in her direction. Fear or experience, we can’t be sure. But she is, and it warms her black heart just a tiny bit.
Reaching the Cowboy cafe, Sarah pulls on the door but finds it locked. Inside, an older-than-she-looks, but looks-pretty-fucking-old woman is behind a counter, counting money while two young men wash tables like 19 year olds fuck. They’re not really doing a good job and they just want to finish already. Looking up from the cash in hand, she shakes her head no, and Sarah shakes her head yes just as emphatically. The woman slams the money down and walks over to the door, opening it slightly.
“ Barb…” The woman says, using the name Sarah has given her. “ We’re closed. You know we close at 2pm each and every day, and yet each and every day you show up at 2pm on the dot. ”
“ Gladys, I am far too hungry to go through this. I know it’s our schtick, and I’m very fun to talk to, but just let me get my food and I’ll be gone. You know you’re going to let me in. Why waste both our ti- ”
“ FINE! ..come on in a’ready. ”
“ Thank you, I love you SO much. ” Sarah didn’t love her. In fact Sarah stopped listening to her the second she stepped foot inside. She’d say that and Gladys, the oldest whore in Medora, would go on and on about her husband and all the cliche shit women say about them before going home and licking their taint so hard their old balls empty onto their shoulder. Sarah would wait until these terrible anecdotes were over and then she’d say the same thing she’d always say…
“ Tell your boy to make me a Turkey BLT, extra mayo on the SIDE, with some fries and rings, and…what pie you have left? ”
“ We ran out of all ‘cept Raisin Sour Cream. ”
“ huh. Wonder why. Ok. Just that then. ”
“ We actually got some good rice pudding. It’s not pie.. ”
“ You’re right. It’s not. So no thank you. ”
“ Doesn’t have any raisins in it, though. On account of that we used them all for the sour cream and raisin pie. I could pick some of them out from the pie, if you’d like. ”
“ No. Just the TBLT and fries, please. ”
“ No onion rings? ”
“ …yes. I want onion rings. I’m sorry I neglected to say it that time. ”
“ you know what… ”
“ …what... ”
“ I bet you if I took some of the raisins and just scooped them into the pudding, you’d never know the difference. Bet that sour cream is gonna just mesh with the rest of it, because we did use a little to offset the sugar in the pudding. ”
Sarah Wolf was not currently known for, nor never would be again, known for her restraint. She was a vile and vicious woman who sought to hurt others as she had been hurt. Not because it’s freeing, or because it shows you the value of the life you have. But becase fuck you.
She wanted to slam the saddle bagged bitch upside the head with a napkin holder until her face fell off. They frown on stuff like that, unfortunately. So kindness was the name of the weapon she’d have to kill her with.
“ Gladys. Please put in my order. I really don’t want to keep you here any longer than I have to. ”
“ It’s not a bother at all. Just sit yourself right down and I’ll be back in a flash. ”
“ Great. Thank you. ”
Sitting at the counter, Sarah watched as the sun dried whore vanished into the back of the kitchen. Sarah took a breath. A deep one. The hard part about working two jobs where you get to hurt people is that often it bleeds into the parts of life where it doesn’t belong. Civilized society says that you can’t knock someone's teeth down their throat for not using a turn signal and cutting you off, or having too many items in the express lane. Civilized society says you have to be understanding. Civilized society says you have to just go home and drink a glass of wine and pretend it didn’t make you want to break a jaw.
Civilized society should get fucked like a two dollar whore on payday.
____________________
“ One thing I’d like to make crystal clear to anyone and everyone is my intent. I am not a midcarder. I am not a ‘free meal.’ I didn’t come here to just be a contender. To just be a nameless face or faceless name lost in a crowd of 38 others who couldn’t hack it. I didn’t come here to ‘make a name.’ I already have a name. I came here to make a reputation.”
“I have one currently. One that I’ve built and rebuilt from the ground up. I started as a fan, transitioned to a manager, to an agent, and then finally a competitor. Not because there wasn’t any talent worth being a fan of, or managing or being an agent of. Because there wasn’t any talent that was anywhere as good as me. That’s how I used to see it, anyhow. Now I’ve got a different perspective.”
“ I’m not going to proclaim myself to be this unmovable object. Puff out my chest and tell you that ‘you’ll never get past me because I’m’ whatever nickname or monicker I’m using that week. We’ve all heard that a hundred times from a hundred different people in a hundred different ways. The only thing more common than it not being true is the fact that literally everyone in this business thinks it’s absolutely false about everyone else and absolutely true about them. Call me the wild card but I don’t think I’m the best ever. Quite the contrary.”
“ I am literally the worst. ”
“ Maintaining friendships or even healthy work relationships? The worst. Keeping my nose out of other people's business? The worst. Treating people with dignity and respect? Again and again, if there is a qualifier of some sort that makes someone a good person, you can bet your very last dollar with one hundred percent certainty that in a list of 1 to 100…I’m going to be dead last, the worst fucking one of the lot. 38 other SC W’s are going to climb into that ring, and one of us is going to be remembered as the winner. The one with the prize of going all the way to the top to challenge for the most coveted prize in the industry. And another is going to be remembered as the literal worst behaved person anyone has ever seen. The one who took advantage. The one who caused needless suffering for no reason other than the sheer joy it brought them. Did they want to win? Or did they just want to watch someone scream? Guess which one I intend on being?”
“Wrong, you muppet made of a jizz sock.”
“It’s both.”
____________________
The bag of food tucked securely under her arm, Sarah exits the cafe and places her sunglasses back over her eyes. Muttering to herself over the fact that she left her cigarettes at home, she picks up her pace, and is just about to cross the street, when she is stepped in front of by Christy Suarez. whose mother’s full time job is hairdresser and her part time job is match maker, and Christy had made it her mission in life to grow up just like mom.
Sarah was at the point where she wanted to duct tape her to an out of state bound truck.
“ Christy. Please. Not today. ”
“ Now you just hold on and let me make my case, Barb! Have you seen that Jeremy West? He is just about the cutest thing. And I hear tell he don’t mind your tattoos none much either. ”
“ Christy. I am no- ”
“ Don’t tell me you aint interested when I know every car gonna need a mechanic and from the look on your face I can tell you ain’t had your hood with someone up under it in quite some time. This is my business, I know these things, hon! ”
“ Jesus Christy, you have to stop quoting your mom… ”
“ Barbara..Just go out with him once. Maybe ya’ll will hit it off! ”
“ Christy, I’ll tell you what. I want you to go to this James.. ”
“ Jeremy. ”
“ …And I want you to ask him how he feels about pegging. If he agrees to do it with me, I’ll gladly go out with him. Ok?”
“ ….ok, but what is that?. ”
“ It’s like dancing. Do you like dancing? ”
“ I do! Is it fun? ”
“ It’s the most f-...Listen I’m gonna be honest with you, this got away from me. So I’m going to give you some money, and you promise me to never mention any of this again, ok? ”
“ aw, that was a bad word? ”
“ How bad of a word do you think it is? ”
“ $20 bucks worth? ”
“...done. ”
Sarah pulled out her wallet and slipped a $20 bill into the little girl's hand. The girl smiled, and rode off. Sarah had known for quite a while that the girl had only ever talked to her in the hopes that Sarah would say something off color, and the little girl could blackmail her for it. But when a child rides up to you and gives you the chance to curse them out for $20, well that’s what she would call a win-win. Also, what she called ‘therapy.’
And at least this time it was cheap. Last time she made a remark about moving somewhere with less kids and while she never said where exactly she was referring to, Christy made a very good case as to what others would believe.
Whatever nest egg this kid was building off Sarah’s inability to not say the wrong thing might have doubled if not more.
____________________
“ Growing up, one of my favorite types of restaurants was always the buffet ones. As a child you are told what to eat, how to eat, when to eat it, etc. Protein and Veg and starch and then you have dessert. Or salad, and then pasta, and then protein, and then dessert. But at a buffet all the rules went out the window. You could have your dessert alongside your veg and then have your protein later. You could eat pasta and cake at the same time if you chose. Why did this rule only exist within the confines of a buffet restaurant? Why didn’t it exist anywhere else in life? Here at SCW, it does. At Flame, 39 others and myself get to behave as if this business doesn’t have layers or levels or rules of engagement. The newcomers like myself get the chance to take on tried and true veterans and veteranettes, who we’d usually have to go weeks before even getting a glimpse of, let alone put fists to face. We can fight the appetizer Ducky, as well as the starch that is Konrad Raab. I’m not going to compare all of these people to food because there’s 39 of them and that shits just boring to even think about doing. But you see my point. You get my point. ”
“ But do you get my reasoning? Do any of you see why this match appeals to me in such a way? So many people all at once, all vying for one thing. It is chaotic and it is almost impossible to win. Why would anyone look forward to something that could very easily go so wrong so quickly? Maybe it’s because the chaos is the reward, and seeing things go wrong for other people is just the right kind of sexy? Or so you might think. And so you’d be wrong. ”
“ I get the feeling a lot of you are wrong about a lot of things, though. Looking at the lot of you, ‘wrong’ is a word that comes up often and is redfined by some of you. Dancing bear and a badly named luchadore as tag team champions. Is it wrong that I think they’re only champions because the rest of you can’t stand each other enough to stop them? Is it wrong to think that some of you came here because gimmicks are more rampant than having the same last name, which is boggling if true? Is it wrong for you to think that I am only in this match to try and reach the pinnacle of the SCW championship? Would you be wrong to think that?”
“ Yes. ”
“ Yes you would be. ”
“ This match does not make me wet because I could win a world title. This match makes me THROB because I get to hurt a lot of people in a very small amount of time. I don’t have to wait to be booked against this one or that one. I simply have to reach out and grab them. This isn’t a match. This is a buffet. And I intend to fill my plate multiple times. Whether I start with the obvious filler shit like onions rings, Calliope, or the goddamn snow crab legs, Matthew Knox. And just like the buffet places, I may not like it all, but I’ll finish it all. ”
“ And that’s why you’re wrong about this match, and you’re wrong about me. ”
“ And much like there are levels and layers to a buffet and this business, there are levels and layers to being wrong. You can expect a great fight out of someone like Tsunami, but you’d be barking up the wrong tree. You could expect to make someone like Datura that while they may have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed, that others were born on the wrong side of the tracks. You could be on the level that Asher Hayes is, who looks like the kind of guy who got off on the wrong foot with whatever happened to his face, or you could look at Kim Williams who laughs on the wrong side of her face. Or, you could be like me and assume a bunch of stuff about a bunch of people you didn’t have time to actually look into it, and have to find out just how wrong you can be. ”
“ But to the lot of you. Show up to this match and discount me because you don’t know me. Tell yourselves I’ve done nothing to no one worth knowing. Whatever it is that we do in this business when met with something we don’t fully understand; do that. And at the end of this, when all is said, and all is done. You will look at me. You will look to me. And find out the last and final layer or level to wrong, is being dead wrong. ”
“ And you might be one, or you might be the other, but for some of you jizz muppets.. ”
“ It’s going to be both. ”
____________________
Sarah sat down at the small table in her basement apartment and unloaded her bag of food. She looked down at the TLBT, the Fries, The Onion Rings, and a small container of rice pudding that had a metric fuck ton of raisins which were covered in a material that was thicker than the rest of the pudding. Of course, from the earlier conversation we know this to be sour cream. Sarah would grab a spoon and put her feet up. She ate every drop of the rice pudding as sour cream be damned, it was very good.
The phone call that came an hour later on the other hand was not. A distressed mother asking why her daughter was searching for ‘pegging’ on ‘the google.’ With a laugh, Sarah grabbed her clothes and the few personal things she had and headed off to the next small town that would inevitably have enough of her shit.
Of course, they’d have other things to worry about besides giving chase. Like how someone went and burnt down that nice little cafe in the middle of the night.