There is a question that has persisted since the dawn of human civilization. A question that, while seemingly simple on the surface, has never been answered, and not for a lack of trying. Countless philosophers throughout the course of human existence that have tried to provide an answer, to no avail. Socrates tried and failed, and thus chose to sip hemlock like it was lean. Kant fucked around and introduced the idea of the Democratic Peace, but couldn't answer this question. Nietzsche was so distraught about his inability to answer it that he became an emo and invented Nihilism. You know the question, don't act like you don't.

Who let the dogs out?

Oh, hell. I have just been informed that the preceding pseudo-philosophical pandering is entirely out-of-place because this is, in fact, not a Jenny Myst promo.

Fuck it. Hit the music and the accompanying epithet.

D.A. James Said:This dumb fuckin' bitch wouldn't know 'perfection' if it cockslapped her upside the damn forehead. Lemme prove this shit to y'all.

D.A. James couldn't help but hear the voice of Bob McNair bungling a simple idiom in his head as he skimmed one of the many think-pieces from #woke sports journalists in the wake of his own PR fiasco. All of them seemed to bleed together, using the same condescendingly outraged tone, the same word choices, the same accusations to arrive at the same conclusion: Desmond Antonio James II was a vile, repulsive misogynist.

"You know, you're lucky you didn't choose football," said his agent — a fresh-faced, straight out of college analytics nerd named Karl Nykvist. "If you were anything but a wrestler, you'd be on a fucking cross already. Look at Newton."

Karl's office — if you could even call it that — was a cramped, narrow, oppressively hot room tucked into a forgotten wing of the Kingsley Talent Agency. He'd once joked that it used to be a storage closet, and as D.A. fidgeted in his chair and rubbed his eyes to try and wash the stinging claims made against him from his mind, he wondered how much of a joke that statement really was.

"Shit, yeah."

"You never told me what made you shy away from the NFL, dude. If nothing else, you could've avoided this shitshow."

D.A. chuckled and shook his head.

"It's complicated, man. I can't even begin to explain it."

Karl sighed at his client's non-answer. A follow-up question lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he kept his mouth shut. This wasn't the time for prodding, he decided. It was time he and D.A. grabbed shovels and dug themselves out of this nightmare.

"What the fuck were you even thinking, man? You can't tell me you didn't know what was gonna happen when those words left your mouth. The first thing out of your mouth, the wrestling world's first impression of you, and you say that. You target a girl for your debut match. Don't tell me you don't see the massive red flags popping up all around you."

"They should know me already."

"You told the NFL to fuck themselves, Dez. No one cares that you were a beast at Oklahoma; that ship sailed already. You were a headline for a week and that fact is only tangentially interesting now because you're finding your way back into the public eye."

Karl felt the familiar burn as his cheeks turned red. He held a trembling hand out in front of him and took shallow breaths, assuring himself on exhale with a simple two word mantra: "I'm cool."

"You need me to step out for a second?"

D.A. rose from his seat preemptively, but Karl shook his head and urged him to sit back down. Karl, however, did the exact opposite and began to pace around the minuscule area behind his desk.

"I just wanna know why they're singling me out."

Karl stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face his client, silently urging him to elaborate.

"It's like they ain't even seen the shit that goes on in the XWF. Some Elliot Rodger lookin' ass nigga has prolly said the same shit about the same shit and I ain't ever seen any of these bloggin' fuckin' all up in their shit. Hell, I'm pretty sure that Myst bitch is dating a school shooter, or at least she was. I dunno, I don't keep up with that Days of Our Lives soap opera shit."

"Don't lead with that."

"The fuck?"

"I agree with you. It's total bullshit that they're trying to smear you for doing the same shit everyone around there does but you can't go on the offensive when it comes to shit like this. They don't like being called out and they'll cry loud enough to drown you out completely. I hate to say it man, but the first step to getting out of this mess is to apologize."

D.A. pounded his hand on the top of Karl's desk and sprung out of his seat. He stomped around the side of the table and grabbed Karl by his shaking hands.

"What the fuck do I gotta apologize for?"

"They think you did something wrong, man. Perception is reality."

D.A. loosened his grip.

"And then what? When I say anything slightly critical of this bitch, they're gonna go right back at it with how insincere that apology is, even though by that point they're throwin' their chips in with one of those annoyin' 'not like other girls' cliche dispensers who couldn't give a damn about their fuckin' movement."

"We're not gonna give them anything to stand on."

Karl yanked his arms away from his client before straightening his shirt.

"You are not going to make any more 'misogynistic' comments. Everything you say about her will be completely gender-neutral. And we're gonna get you a female publicist. Nothing says 'I love women' more than tokenism."

D.A. chuckled, his face finally displaying an emotion other than scowling, barely-suppressed rage for the first time since he stepped into the sweltering pit that his agent called an office. A bemused smile crept across his lips as he asked:

"Rattlin' shit off like that, guessin' you know someone."

"Know of someone. Savannah Draisaitl. She even has experience with the wrestling business. We met once, got a couple mutual friends."

"And you know she'll sign on?"

Karl's heart beat like a drum in his chest as he struggled to keep the arrogant smirk on his face. He hoped D.A. didn't see that his lips were quivering, threatening to give the ruse away. His hand fumbled into his pants pocket and he retrieved his cell phone, before he navigated to his contacts and began to compose a message to the number labeled "Savannah".

"I'll make her an offer she can't refuse."

D.A. playfully punched Karl on the shoulder before making his way around the desk, toward the door. A soft ding from Karl's phone made him turn around and glance at the jittery wire-thin blonde whose face was one wrong word away from meeting his fist just a few moments ago.

"She wants to meet face-to-face. The Trappist at six."

"You know me, fam. I'll be there."


Text message conversation between D.A. James and Cincinnati Bengals running back Joe Mixon:

JAMES: yo fam, i need your help

MIXON: with what??

JAMES: how do i beat up a girl?

MIXON: fuck off man

MIXON: that shit ain't funny

JAMES: i ain't fuckin jokin nigga

JAMES: i gotta smack the fuck out of a bitch but my moms told me never to raise a hand to a girl

MIXON: stop playin

JAMES: nigga i aint playin

MIXON: just fuckin swing nigga wtf r u on

MIXON: fuckin punch the bitch if u really gotta

JAMES: real shit?

MIXON: what the fuck you think it is nigga? rocket science?

JAMES: im just trippin man

JAMES: all this media attention and shit got me crazy

MIXON: i feel ya cuz

MIXON: that shit will pass man

JAMES: im gonna knock that cunt out

MIXON: know you will fam

MIXON: u should head to Cincy some time fam

JAMES: i will

JAMES: ill hyu later fam

JAMES: gotta meet my agent


Seated on a bench looming over a small, circular table, D.A. felt as cramped as he had in Karl's office. He glanced up at his agent, who was much more focused on shoveling prosciutto from the overpriced meat and cheese board he ordered into his mouth than looking out for this Savannah Draisaitl — the mystery woman who'd help sweep this whole mess under the rug.

"So this Savannah chick... what's she like?"

"She's... good at her job."

"Ringing endorsement."

Karl swallowed a half-chewed mouthful of meat and cleared his throat.

"I never said you two would be best friends or anything. She's the type of person you'd want working in your favor, dude. Ain't that really what you want anyway?"

D.A. sipped the beer Karl ordered for him — Karl smugly explained that it was Belgian as if that was supposed to mean something to him — and nodded.

"You right."

The door swung open and Karl rose from his seat. "That should be her now."

He stepped out further and waved his hand at the new arrival, beckoning them his way.

D.A. didn't know what he expected Savannah Draisaitl to look like, but she didn't expect this:


She strolled over and took a seat on the bench next to D.A., straightening her T-shirt as she turned to face him.

"Looked into your case a little. Easy fix in the short term. We're going to draft a public apology and then I'm going to take over any promotional materials for this match with the Myst girl."

D.A.'s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head at the woman barking orders at him through a flat, monotonous voice.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. I'm sure Mr. Nykvist here has informed you about my experience in this business. You really don't need to worry: I promise I won't make you look bad."

"Fuck it, alright."

"Good," she chirped, fishing out her cell phone. "I've already written the apology, give it a once over and we'll see how we can make it feel more genuine."


PUBLIC APOLOGY:

I would just like to say how deeply sorry I am for the words I said in regards to Jenny Myst. Nothing I said was okay. My words were crude, immature, and most of all hurtful. I understand how my words and actions could be perceived as predatory, another instance of a man picking on a woman to feel powerful. I was wrong and stupid and while I do not deserve forgiveness from her or anyone who was hurt by what I said, I would like to apologize again for my behavior. It does not reflect my views on women, nor does it reflect well on me as a person.

D.A. James

(1) Comment

Anonymous - a few seconds ago
what about the texts to mixon??? why did he not address those???