OOC: The portions in green italics are Tony's internal thoughts, while simple green text without italics is Tony speaking aloud (with italics included in certain portions to show that he's emphasizing a certain point).

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Santos: Newark, New Jersey. What a fucking shithole. Dirty ass criminals polluting our commute. Things were just fucking fine from Boston, but they just HAD to take these motherfuckers on, didn't they? Now I have to watch everything from my flask to my god damn coat to ensure they don't pawn it off for some crack and a primo street corner in D.C. Perfect, just fucking perfect.

We find ourselves on the Acela Express from Boston to Washington, D.C. Tony Santos, having made a brief trip back to Boston to grab his belongings from the hotel that he'd been camping out at for the past few weeks, decided it was time to venture onwards, planting himself in a different, random U.S. city for a few weeks, with intermittent trips to XWF wrestling events in between. Anything to avoid Miami. Anything to avoid Shannon.

Santos: Look at this fat, grotesque mass of a man sitting in front of me. I had a pretty little bimbo for the first leg, but she decided that dropping her eggs in Newark was a good fucking idea. Good for her, but terrible for me. She smelled like a mix of roses and pomegranate, well, if they were covered in a solid coating of semen from at least a dozen men of varying ethnicities. Now, NOW I've got a human, sweat coated pepperoni roll dropping his chair on to my god damn lap. Those rolls. All that perspiration. That greasy, dandruff-filled hair. How does greasy hair collect dandruff, anyway? Doesn't greasy hair indicate an oily scalp? Is this man some sort of special case of human waste?

And the conductor. That butch, three packs a day, octogenarian with a birthdate in the 1970s. Fuck her. Almost dropping me off in New Haven just because I smell like whiskey. I don't even DRINK whiskey. Well, maybe I did from that guy outside of South Station. Fuck, I don't know! But that bitch had no god damn right to sit a police escort next to me! No fucking right whatsoever! I'm an American who needs alcohol to drift off in to the sweet abyss that is my mind. If not, I'm up until six in the morning ripping my nails from my fingers, practically tearing the skin from my face like some low rent, meth head wannabe. Do they want to see me attempt to cook bacon and eggs from my tray table? Do they want to see me burn this damn place down with my culinary skills?

Fuck them. This fucking escort. Some burly, black, human log of shit with no prospects in life besides protecting trains from innocent delinquents while the combined prison time of those sitting around him is a solid 200 years and a few life terms that were overturned thanks to the work of some activist judges and their persistent hard ons for criminals, as well as their reliance on them continuing to exist for their jobs to be justified. Fuck this guy. He's been laying in that chair to my left for a solid hour with little sign that he's even alive, let alone churning out coherent thoughts from that bit of pink goo up top. What's to stop me from shanking the bastard right here, right now? Hell, what's to stop some other nutjob from letting off another pressure cooker, releasing our heads from our bodies, and creating another Boston Strong-esque campaign. Like, New Jersey Strong or some shit.

Jesus, New Jersey Strong. The last thing we need is any sort of solidarity for the polluted, corrupt, less appreciated sibling of New York. Can you think about that garbage? Black "NJ Strong" t-shirts being worn by anyone, not ironically, and not because it was supposed to "NY Strong" and the printers screwed up, resulting in hundreds of thousands of faulty shirts being shipped off to poor children in Africa? Kids with little clothing to speak of, who'd STILL refused to wear them?

Fuck.

Tony sits on the Acela Express, sitting in the current northeastern snow "storm" that put everyone in a panic, cancelling flights and stranding passengers in cities throughout the country. No worries with the Acela, though. These things will truck on through just about any conditions, no matter how harsh. And that was why Tony took this instead of a plane. This would be a chance to appreciate the east coast a bit. The suburban communities in Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, and Maryland before finally arriving in our nation's capital. The sights, the sounds, the people...

The fact that this ride only cost $100. Tony had been reeling a bit from his two recent losses following his return to the XWF...

Santos: I'm not reeling from shit.

Okay, he wasn't reeling. Nonetheless, he was in a bit of funk following his tough loss to Neonero, followed by the fairly clear domination that his long hated man from space, Mr. Supernova, and the King, Theo Pryce, displayed in their victory over Tony and Steve Davids. To add insult to injury, Tony found himself, flat on his back, his mind in clouded by a haze that wasn't alcohol-induced. The time on the ground in a concussed state of defeat did give him time to reflect a bit, though.

Why was this happening?

Why was his return so stupendously disappointing?

Why were there little tooth fairies dancing around his head, searching for his missing tooth.

Yeah, he'd been in a bit of an 'off" state of mind.

Santos: Look at it outside. Snowy, cold, and really freaking gorgeous. Well, gorgeous until tomorrow. Tomorrow, HUMANS happen. They'll pollute the sweet sugar earth coating. They'll dirty it with the fecal matter from their cars. It'll no longer be beautiful. It'll be cold, hard, and covered in human waste, sort of like Barney Green.

Actually, like a spitting image of Barney Green.

That's the cycle. Every season, every moment, every memory. They start off exciting, full of promise, full of expectations and unknowns. So much hope, so much optimism. Then they're crushed and vomited on. That's like my fucking career. Like my fucking return. Come on in, get thrown in some fucking main events, get everyone's collective panties in a bunch, then proceed to cause them to soil those same fucking bunched, granny vagina carriers when I myself shit the bed.

Boom, what was once beautiful and full of hope is now covered in human waste. Just like these granny panties... that... well, granny panties aren't exactly ever beautiful and full of anything other than tired genitalia that's run the gauntlet of childbirth and many a pounding by rods...

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Shitty metaphor! A pun that wasn't just fucking intended! Shit! Another fucking pun! This is stupid. Why am I on this fucking train? Why are there fucking cokeheads talking about their commuted prison sentences? Why am I listening to the Bee Gees?

Why is this escort still not fucking moving?!

An agitated Tony anxiously scans the train. Metropark Station. He sees some advertisements plastered on the walls of the station.

"Your Career... Accelerated.

Earn your AA, BS, or MBA

Finish your degree in about 2 years

1 night per week online

$4,500 MBA SCHOLARSHIPS

Now in Edison.

CentenaryCollege.edu/Edison"

Santos: Instant unemployment. Why pay for a fucking spot in the unemployment line when you can get there by simply putting on a pair of pants? Hell, that might not even be REQUIRED in this state.

"When it Comes to Patient Safety, We Know the Score.

RWJ

New Brunswick

Hamilton

Rahway

RWJHealthSystem.org"

Santos: Good on them. They'll let you know when your LDL level is higher than Chris Christie. They'll let you know how soon you're gonna perish in this godforsaken state. This recurring nightmare that we call life.

Get these fucking fairies away from my head!

"888 Casino

GET
$10 FREE

PLAY TO WIN
$1,000,000

888casino.com"

Santos: So, if I start with my FREE!!! $10, I can turn that in to $1 million?! Count me in.

Stupid shits.

That promise is about as empty as a promised King's match. Like good ol' Theo stepping in to the ring with REAL competition. Like him not taking advantage of his stacked deck to get the match that HE wants. The match that HE desires. He's playing with house money, while we're just oh so fortunate to get our pittance in hopes of hitting it BIG!

Fuck that.

Tony swipes at his head.

Santos: Get the fuck away from me, fairies! You can't have any of my teeth! I'm keeping the rest. Go find Barney Green. His gums must be sanded down by all that dip to the point where his entire set is bound to fall out any day now. You're missing out on a gold mine! All for some drunk on a train who lost one freaking tooth, thanks to a hammer.

Idiots. You're ALL FUCKING IDIOTS!!!

The train, currently still parked in Metropark Station, quiets as the passengers, including Tony's police escort, stare at him; not with a look of confusion or slight fear, but a look of "shut up before we boot you off of the train." Just then, the power on the train goes off, dropping the lights and leaving the train with nothing but a quiet hum of the engine to be heard.

Santos: Fucking fairies.

The scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion