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Noah Jackson · (10-03-2019)

Untitled Noah Jackson Promo

It was a short flight from Miami to Grand Bahama.

I arrive in the city of Freeport. The airport, to be blunt, was cunted. You could easily tell a lot of the debris was hastily cleared, most likely to help to get planes in and out for the relief effort. I'm walked through the almost empty building, ceiling lights dangling low on swinging wires through the halls as my foot hits random puddles in mismatched places. I think the saddest sight was people still working there. Passing the shops filled with duty-free goods while employees smiled as me and my agent passed. I bought some choccy and a few bottles of whisky for the road.

It's odd.

This is meant to be a paradise. A place people visit to get away from their troubles and this airport is meant to be that welcome mat to a carefree week or two, yet, this is the most depressing sight I've seen in a long time.

It feels alien.

It feels wrong.

Getting out of the airport, Freeport actually looked decent. You could obviously see the damage but it was all covered up well but this wasn't my destination, I was only passing through. The contents of the boxes I hold weigh on my arms heavily. It's not much, just clothes and bottles of water but it feels like I'm carrying gold, as I rest the boxes into the boot of our taxi. We enter and make our way to the docks where we're chartering a boat to the Abaco Islands where the damage was apparently at its worst and clean up efforts were virtually non-existent compared to Freeport and the rest of Grand Bahama.

There was a runway strip at Abaco but it was pulled out of the fucking ground. Nowhere to land by plane, even in the small jet me and my agent were in. On the drive to the docks, I see things are still bad for the people here. Trees uprooted, empty lots where houses should be and shredded metal littering the shores. I get a strange pit in my stomach, butterflies almost.

We wait at the docks for what feels like a lifetime. The boxes in my hands cause my arms to become numb as I bake in the sizzling sun. The weather app said rain today, I fucking wish, cunt. Then again, guess these lot could use some sunshine for a while. My agent keeps giving me inspecting looks, most likely because I haven't said a word since we got off the plane. I just let her walk me through everything.

What should I say? Sorry, your beautiful home was destroyed? What good is that gonna do?

Nah, just stay quiet. Most people would consider that a blessing from me.

Just be respectful, Noah, then let the 'gold' in your arms do the talking.

We finally get a boat, old mate takes us over to the islands. Chipper cunt. Smiles as we leave, tells us about his kids, says one of them is around my age. Then the smile fades, talks about where he was when Dorian hit. Points out the planks that used to hold up homes floating past us in the waters... He goes quiet when we pull up to the sands in front of us.

He tells my agent he'll wait here until we're done. My agent thanks him and offers a few dollars as I take my first few steps onto the island.

Jesus.

Words can't do it justice.

It looks like a wretched cunt of a bully smashed his palm on the fucking place. It's just... A jagged hellscape.

There's nothing besides scattered shipping containers, broken homes and FEMA tents.

We continue walking forward to a small area where people are gathered, volunteers listening to the natives and handing out what they can. I see the crowd and think if what I'm holding is even enough.

My agent walks ahead and speaks to one of the volunteers who gives a kind smile to her and then to me. I nod back, watching my footing over the piercing wood jutting out of the earth as I approach.

My agent speaks to them, to quiet for me to hear as I'm still struggling to make my way across this shit. The volunteers leave and my agent turns to look at me, patting the large wooden table in the centre of the camp. With a heavy breath, I place the two boxes down on the table and crack them open. I take out a water bottle and I guess the sight of a famous white cunt holding two large boxes catches the eye of the locals as they start to come close with a gentle smile and a sense of intrigue. I turn to my agent and quietly ask.

"Where did those two cunts go?"

"I asked if we could borrow the table for an hour and they obliged. I think they're going to help with the cleanup."

"No wuckas."

I say standing up straight. I unload the contents of the boxes, just unsold t-shirts of mine and some limited edition Noah Jackson sweatpants. They say 'Sick Cunt' on the ass like those 'Juicy' ones. They're fair ripper. Along with the clothes, I place a few water bottles on the table too with the help of my agent. Before I know it there is a crowd of people in front of me, children giddily looking at the graphics and words on my tees and giggling, showing each off to their friends.

An older gent, in ragged clothes, wears a loving smile and passionately shakes my hand whilst grabbing a t-shirt.

"Thank you, sir."

I put up a palm.

"Don't worry about it, mate. My pleasure."

He gives a nod, a tear forming in his eye, he begins to walk away.

"Hold up, cunt, $39.99 that!"

He turns around to me in shock as the nearby crowd of people quiet down.

"Excuse me?"

"I said $39.99, cunt! That is my newest Vegemite of Wrestling t-shirt!" I reach over and place a finger and thumb on the tee, gently caressing the material. "You feel that? That is 100% cotton and made in Italy! Look at the quality of the Noah Jackson Vegemite symbol™, nowhere else in the world of wrestling merchandise could you find that kind of colour in a logo. And the best part is, this will last longer when you hand wash it and since I doubt any of you cunts have a washing machine, that'll be fucking handy!"

The cunt stutters.

"I-I do not have 40 dollars!"

"39.99, cunt." I correct him. "And how not? Did the fucking hurricane blow all your money away too?"

A gasp comes from the crowd. Most likely to me correcting the amazing price of my merch! I see some little cunt try and sneak away with one of my 'Hardest Worker in the XWF' t-shirts. I fucking swipe at that little shit but his reflexes are too quick.

"You tryna fucking steal from me cunt!? I fucking make you wish that Dorian pulled a Dorothy on you!"

The kid fucking cries and runs away like a baby. I scoff and take a swig of water from beside me, my agent appears mortified. No idea why. Out the corner of my eye, I see a woman's hand reach for a water bottle. Still drinking I slowly follow her arm and look to her staring back to me. I swallow the crisp, refreshing spring water and place a hand on my hip glaring at the cheeky cunt.

"You cannot be fucking serious, cunt? They're $5. Pay up!"

She chokes on her words, slamming the bottle back down.

"You cannot be serious! Water is a basic human right!"

She yells at me. I tut.

"Tell that to Nestle, cunt." I throw a dismissive hand. "Go on, fuck off. No time for cheapskates."

She leaves in a huff, mumbling under her breath. The crowd turn to me, looking a bit angrier. I clap my hands together and rub my palms.

"Right, cunts. We making a deal or you all gonna waste my fucking time?"

Silence.

They all turn to each other and make a charge at the table and myself.

This is when things get a bit fuzzy.

I sit back in my favourite chair at home, resting an ice pack on my temple. I go to speak but a tooth hits my fat lip and causes me to wince in pain. I lower the ice pack and look to the camera with my swollen black eyes.

"Well that was a fucking bust."

"THANKS, CENTURION!"

"YOU FAT CUNT!"

"..."

"This was a fucking terrible idea. Not just going to the Bahamas but hosting a fucking show there? In what fucking arena, cunt? In case you haven't noticed the whole place is going for a fucking swim in the Atlantic! Here I was! Offering my help, being a kind soul after the bullshit that was Relentless and I get a ruined modelling career and a few cracked ribs while you use a fucking disaster as a way to boost your publicity after getting a luck win over Santos! Putting your fucking own selfish cunt self in the main event!"

"You fucking cunt."

"And what does Noah Jackson get? The sick cunt that pinned you clean and showed the world what a fucking clown you are, I get thrown into a match against a friend!"

"A FRIEND, CENT!"

"That is some low, petty bullshit even from you!"

"Torturing me, a man who has no cat! I DON'T HAVE A CAT, CENTURION! I could have but thanks to your friend Drew Archyle, I got screwed!"

"You fucking APEX PROPHECY cunts! Just love turning the fucking knife don't you!"

"Trying to make it so you all have the spotlight, so you have the glory. Meanwhile, the truest hardest workers in the XWF have to dance like puppets for you! Because you need to feel like you have some power over something because you're such despicable cunts who are most likely all impotent!"

"You want to feel power over something? Run a train on Main's sister. Leave me the fuck out of it."

"But no! Because you need to prove something, you have me, the man who beat you versus the REAL ANARCHY CHAMPION in the fucking opener to your biased show!"

"Fucking bullshit, cunt."

"Eat shit, you fucking worm!"

"I hope you die in a slow and painful manner with no one by your side!"

"Fucking shit cunt."

"..."

"Hi VV, by the way."

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