08-15-2020, 12:06 AM
Thomas had been a delivery truck driver most of his life, and had delivered a wide range of items, but today’s assignment was possibly the oddest in his career.
“...let’s see...yeah, this is the place…”
Looking up from his handy-dandy clipboard, the view over his tall dash is of a massive wrought-iron gate with “G-L” written in cursive in the center. In the distance, he can see a large white house, oddly shaped like an egg, with a large yard of green grace between them. Looking to his right, attacked to the gate, he sees a small guard post with a man inside. The man’s uniform makes Thomas’ anxiety rise a bit, as that is not normal rent-a-cop uniform; indeed, all black and with silver pins along the collar, it looked more like some kind of military dress than a security guard.
“Hey there!”
Thomas gives the man a wave through the passenger door, and his blood runs cold as the guard looks up from a monitor. With steely dark eyes in a face that looks like it has never laughed in it’s life, the man with the close-cropped hair returns his greeting with a silent stare that makes him shiver. That look makes Thomas want to nervously stroke his beard, but he holds himself in check.
“I...um...delivery for-”
He looks down at his handy-dandy clipboard again, just to make sure of the name.
“-Mrs. Grey-Lacklan?”
A few seconds of silence pass and the guard cocks his head sideways, reminding Thomas of a dog trying to get another view of an intruder.
“Which ‘n?”
Thomas blinks a few times in confusion. The man’s accent was hard to understand...kinda sounded like Herman Munster when he was in that movie about the cat and kid that came back to life...what was it called…?
“Um...is there more than one?”
The man turns his head the other way, and Thomas definitely gets that “guard dog” vibe.
“Ayuh.”
Thomas blinks again. Why couldn’t people just talk normal like everyone in California? He looks back to his handy-dandy notebook and shrugs.
“Just says ‘Mrs Grey-Lacklan.’”
The guard regards him in silence for a long moment and then presses a button on the dash before him. A large creak announces the opening of the gate, and Thomas sees the “G” and “L” separate in half as the gate swings towards him.
“Jus’ keep tha cah on tha road. They live apiece up past tha fountain.”
Thomas doesn’t bother trying to decipher that the military man said and instead gets his truck moving. The semi had gotten a lot of weird looks on the drive, but he was used to that in Hollywood. Some of his competitors had already switched to those dumb electric trucks in order to appease the snooty clientele around here, and he was looking at one, as well. This particular job was a hefty one, after all. More like this, the better!
Up the road he travels, away from the main street and the small guard stall, and through a large grassland. The grass was far too green for this time of year, what with the heat coming down and all, and that told Thomas that these people had far too much money. Good for him! Toward the end of the property, just as the guard had mentioned, was a fountain. A garish one, at that, not that Thomas had too much authority on the subject. But then the portly man’s eyes bugged out when he realized what the shape of the fountain was: Two women, nude, in an embrace. One had dark braids that fell to her waist and the other had little rubies in her eyes. And their boobs were out!
Thomas shakes his head as he drives past the fountain and...whatever “apiece” meant...comes up to the house. It was massive! Two stories with winding staircasing from the top to the floor, and it was, as he thought when he first say it from a distance, shaped like an egg, for some reason. The drive circled up to the front and continued back toward the guard and the street, which he was glad to see; a lot of times in places like this, you had to back your truck up down a hill or something. He continues to make his way around the front and comes to a stop along the curve, then jumps out and heads toward the door.
He whistles as he sees the car parked off to the side. With more than a little gristle in his beard, anyone his age would recognize THAT car: A replica of KITT from Knight Rider! All black, sleek, even had the cool front headlights! Curious, Thomas gets closer and looks through the window to see what the interior looked like. Red velvet, huh? Pretty swanky. And what looked like a LOT of parking and speeding tickets. Looked like more money in those tickets than this job would make him!
“Move around back, ayuh?”
A voice coming through a loudspeaker catches the driver off guard and makes him just. Looking around, Thomas sees the speaker attached to the top of the doorframe and recognizes the voice of the guard.
“Tha Princess and tha Dutchess are in tha back. Go on and meet ‘em. Best watch out for critters, though.”
It takes him a few moments to cut through the instructions, but he makes his way around the egg-shaped house, handy-dandy clipboard in hand, wondering what “princess” and “dutchess” meant, and keeps an eye out for any of these supposed “critters.” His eyes find many trees all along the house, tall pepper trees and palm like he has seen all around these parts, and some well-groomed bushes. Finally, he makes his way around the side and into what turns out to be a massive backyard full of amenities. He sees a small pool...which was being tended over by one of the largest men he has ever seen in his life...a bearded behemoth smoking a cigar and waving a net through the water. In the far distance, he sees a wood and net aviary filled with small white birds. But the thing that catches his attention right away was two women on a half basketball court.
“DAMNIT!”
“YOU CAN’T BALL, BITCH!”
A black woman, with braids falling down to her waist, dribbles a basketball in front of another woman, this one pale white and with a single braid down her back. Both wear loose t-shirts, gym shorts, and sneakers, proper attire for basketball, thinks Thomas, in matching colors of purple and gold. Go Lakers!
“GaH!”
The black woman charges forward, and the white woman tries to back up, but then loses her balance and falls on her butt. The black woman then drives forward, bouncing twice, and leaps into the air for an easy lay-up.
“That’s 17-5!”
The white woman growls as she gets to her feet...not a sound Thomas had expected from such a young and beautiful woman...and she snatched the bouncing ball from the ground.
“You’re still cheating!”
“Nope!”
“Yep!”
“Being better than you isn’t cheating, Babe!”
Babe? Thomas’ mouth drops open a bit at that realization dawns on him. Ohh! THAT’S what the guard meant by “which one.” They were some of THOSE people.
“...living in West Hollywood is kind of on the nose…”
He shakes his head after whispering to himself and clears his throat loudly.
“Hello there!”
He waves his hand, including his handy-dandy clipboard, and the two woman stop and turn toward him.
“I have a delivery for...well...one of you?”
The two women look at each other and then they shrug together.
“‘Sup?”
“Who is it from?”
Thomas stops waving and looks down at his notes as the two women approach him, but he keeps his eyes covertly on the two. Both were short...very short...and the white girl had a lot of muscle on her, must be some kind of powerlifter or something. Probably one of those Instagram chicks his Belgian buddy jerked off over three times a day. The black girl, who had whooped the bodybuilder’s butt at basketball, was thinner and had an athletic body.
His eyes went wide and he stared unabashedly at her.
“I know you!”
The two stop before him and the black girl tosses back her braids away from her face.
“Oh? One of my movies? Which one?”
“...bet it was that leaked footage of Vegas in 2017…”
“...shit...up…”
“No, not from a movie. Are you in movies?”
The black girl tosses her hair back again.
“Yep! Maybe you recognize me from my show, Hexx? Billboards all over the place with my face on it!”
Thomas shakes his head.
“No, not from a show. From the LFL!”
The white girl suddenly starts to laugh hard enough to make her bend over at the waist.
“HAHAHAHA! All of your stuff and THAT is what people recognize you for! Throwing balls to the wrong people while wearing your underwear!”
The black girl scowls and flips off the white girl.
“Listen, for what it’s worth, I think you were robbed when you didn’t get that Pro Bowl Ms. Grey.”
The white girl stops laughing as suddenly as she started and stands to her full height and puts a fierce look on her face.
”Mrs Grey-Lacklan, thank you so much.”
Thomas tries to respond but just sputters in response. Thankfully, the black girl waves a hand at the white girl.
“Don’t let Mrs. Stick-Up-Her-Butt get to you, mang. What’s the delivery?”
Thomas looks back down at the notes on his handy-dandy clipboard.
“Not sure. It’s in French. I can put it through-”
“GIMME GIMME GIMME!”
The clipboard is snatched out of his hands and the white girl reads over the notes while a smile comes to her face.
”Je nettoie le manoir, ma fille. Ce sont vos affaires.”
The woman hops up and down a few times and claps her hands.
“Mumsie sent me stuff. Let’s go see!”
The black girl, Kenzi Grey from the Cincy Hitgirls, as Thomas realized, suddenly had a face of wide-eyed shock.
“It better not be that stupid horse!”
She lunges forward and grabs Thomas’ forearm. The eyes looking up at him were full of panic.
“Please tell me you didn’t bring that horrible beast here!”
Before Thomas could even say anything, he heard the oddest sound coming from the white girl, like a ball bearing scraping against the inside of a joint. Looking at her, he sees that the sound was, apparently, the girl rolling her eyes so hard that it defied what little he knew about anatomy.
“She loves you, Beloved.”
Kenzi shakes his arm.
“That thing hates me! I tried riding her once...ONCE! And the bitch kicked me off and then kicked mud in my face!”
“He was being playful.”
“Have you ever seen a horse in real life, mister? They are MEAN.”
“First of all, Fireheart is positively kind. And secondly...c’mon!”
Kenzi tries to say something, but the white girl snatches her hand and pulls her away and to the side of the house. Thomas hustles to keep up, but the girl’s steps turn into a skip, with Kenzi grumbling and telling her to slow down. Eventually, the three stand before the big truck and Thomas sets to opening the back.
“I wonder what Mumsie sent me?”
“...probably a ‘How to be a Racist Cunt’ book authored by her…”
“What did you say, Beloved?”
“Nothing baby, love you so much?”
“Oh! Love you too, obviously.”
Thomas wasn’t sure if he heard Kenzi’s whispered mumble to herself correctly, but it made him want to scratch his head. He liked the LFL, sure, who didn’t? Women in their underwear hitting each other? It was great. But he didn’t understand a word of what she and her wife were talking about. He shrugs his shoulders and raises the gate of the truck, and the gasp behind him makes him turn around. The eyes of the white girl...she was wearing red contacts, which he thought was stupid, but not surprising considering the people who lived in West Hollywood...were wide and she flashed a smile that nearly blinded him in reflected sunlight.
“My stuff!”
Thomas exclaims as he’s pushed aside and the girl climbs into the truck. She tears through the tightly-packed contents like a whirlwind, and before he knows it, Thomas is assisting her with taking items out of the truck. This wasn’t strictly part of his job, but she had lifted an eyebrow at him, and he began to help, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Before long, the three of them stand before several sets of boxes, a few large linen-wrapped items, and at least two dozen garment bags.
“This is gonna be AWESOME!”
“What is all this, Babe?”
The white girl opens the box clearest to her and pulls out an item. Rectangular and shiny, the item looked to be a plaque of some sort. She holds it next to her face with one hand and motions to it with the other, as if she were Vanna White at a celebrity basketball game.
“My plaque for being in the ‘08 Lacklanland Elementary School Spelling Bee when I was ten!”
Kenzi’s face falls and she sighs dryly.
“Let me guess...you won?”
“Third year in a row!”
Thomas blinks at this exchange...another in a long line of blinks over the exchanges between these two odd little girls. But before he can ask any questions, the girl hands him the plaque and she moves on to another box. Like the whirlwind inside the truck, she blows through the boxes and unearths many more trophies, from plaques to buttons and more.
“Ohh! This was when I won the Lacklanland Archery Tournament!
“Wow! My Golden Ballet Slippers from when I was 6! It has been an AGE!
“‘Best Smile: Lifetime Achievement Award’ from the Lacklanland Dentistry Association!
“The Cup commemorating my ‘Best Deadlift: Women’s Teens’ division from the Lacklanland Bodybuilding and Fitness Expo!
“Hey! My Lacklanland Dodgeball Champion trophy! Ya know, that would make a GREAT promo for that dumb dumb Ruby’s match!”
Thomas again finds himself blinking as he and the two women are surrounded by dozens and dozens of the various trophies. He didn’t know what or where “Lacklanland” was, but they sure did like handing out trophies to the woman! That said woman again flashes her smile and puts her hands on her hips.
“Mang, these are gonna look GREAT next to all of our wrestling awards!”
“We are NOT putting this stuff on the mantle.”
“Like hell we aren’t!”
“Wrestling?”
The two stop bickering and turn to him.
“Obviously! TONS of awards and titles and such.”
Thomas looks her up and down.
“You’re a wrestler?”
He couldn’t keep the doubt out of his voice and the woman’s eyebrows furrow downward.
“Of course I am! Don’t you recognize me?!”
He gives a small shrug and her eyebrows turn so far downward that it looks like it’s painful.
“I am literally THE champ in a fighting league that is twenty years old!”
Thomas gives another shrug.
“I don’t watch wrestling, but aren’t you a little...small...to be a wrestler?”
The woman’s eyes go wide.
“Small?! Have you SEEN these guns?!”
The woman raises her right arm and flexes her bicep, which popped impressively, Thomas had to say. Yeah, his Belgian buddy would be buddy would be tent-poling if he was here.
“Stop drooling, Beloved.”
Thomas notices that, yes, Kenzi was drooling. The white girl turns her head and he can partially see a wink.
“Thank you, though.”
She turns back to him and her face is again red and angry.
“Furthermore, I-”
“SARAH WE HAVE A PROBLEM!”
Thomas and the girls turn to their left as the ground begins to shake. The owner of the booming voice, the massive man he had seen on the way into the backyard, jobs towards them, his feet causing the shaking of the ground. Thomas notices that his feet are wet, and droplets fling with every shaking step.
“THE POOL IS FLOODED AGAIN.”
The girls groan, with the white girl shaking her head and Kenzi facepalming.
“Damnit, Sar!”
“It’s not my fault!”
“AXLY!”
“Quiet, Thunder!”
“Ugh...help me, Tom Cruise...I’ll handle this…”
Kenzi sighs and walks towards the back of the house.
“C’mon, Muscles-for-Brains, I’ll help.”
The giant man follows Kenzi around the house and the white woman lets out a massive sigh.
“Man, those tears have been a TORRENT for the last few weeks!”
Thomas blinks in surprise and the woman shakes her head.
“You saw our pool, yeah? We had it put in last year when I won this big tournament, right? Well, after a little while, we added this feeding fountain head thing, right? Ornamental piece of this gross dude. Anyway, pool is fed by the tears of this one dude and they have been flowing so much over the last few weeks that the pool has flooded over four times! It’s SUCH a pain.”
She looks up at Thomas with a frown.
“You really don’t know who I am?”
He gives an apologetic shrug and she puts her head back and sighs again.
“Sweet Baby Jesus, I have GOT to get on top of that XWF marketing team. Freakin’ amateurs.”
She looks back at him and frowns again.
“You recognize the quarterback of a middling girl’s underwear football team on sight but NOT Sarah Lacklan: Universal Champion?!”
Thomas gives a shrug.
“I like the LFL. Wrestling hasn’t been good in 40 years.”
“Ohhhhh! You’re one of THOSE guys!”
Thomas opens his mouth to ask what that meant, but the girl...Sarah, apparently...keeps going.
“Haven’t watched it since you were a kid, huh? Typical. A LOT of people think that wrestling was only ‘good’ when they first got exposed to it. But that’s where I come in! Bringing people back for God.”
...God?
“Hey! 40 years, huh? That means you missed a LOT of trash. Still had a good deal of racism...freakin’ aparthied and Nazis…but you missed all of the garbage. Count yourself lucky.”
“Huh?”
Sarah grabs her dodgeball trophy and flashes that smile of hers.
“Grab a box, follow me, and listen!”
She turns and heads towards the front door, and after a second, Thomas grabs one of the boxes and follows her. Through the door they go and Thomas comes to a halt. The place was HUGE! Racks upon racks of neatly-arranged shoes, hats, and parasols on one side, and carelessly discarded clothing and chip and snack cake wrappers on the right. Directly in, a baby grand piano sits in the center, along with a large television with a couch, and entire area set up for painting, the hallway to what looked to be a kitchen on the right, a staircase leading upwards, and a fireplace set along a wall. Thomas got moving again as Sarah approached the wall and placed the dodgeball trophy alongside numerous other trinkets, enough to completely cover up the mantle, including two large championship belts.
“You see, a couple of decades ago, professional wrestling as we knew it began to change. Once upon a time, it was about men and women beating the snot out of one another in the ring, with the winner capturing the larger portion of the purse, all in hopes of moving up the rankings and getting a chance to be the champion. A variety of companies existed throughout the country, and even more across the world, each with distinct flavors and blends, from blood-soaked brawls in the south, to technically-minded affairs in the north, and all kinds in between. THAT is the wrestling you remember, yeah?”
Thomas nods as he sets down his box.
“Unfortunately, a LOT of that changed. We tend to all it the ‘territory’ days, because that was when a handful of promoters had these mini monopolies which spanned various territories throughout the country. You could fight in one, do well, and then perhaps run your course. Maybe you fell into a losing streak and needed to try a different league or camp. You could say ‘So long and thanks for all the fish’ to that particular league, drive a few states away, and then BLAM! New lease on life against people you’ve never fought before and championships you had yet to earn. It wasn’t a perfect system, or anything, but there was a plethora of styles and opportunities. But then cable came around and BOOM! Regional sports died a horrible death, not unlike in baseball.
“After that, the world of wrestling changed and consolidations happened. And with that, much of the flavor of wrestling changed. Polished up for television and a national, if not international, audience, wrestling became as streamlined and mainstreamed as anything else. After a few years, there became a hankering, a hunger, for something different, something which harkened back to the previous generation. Unfortunately, PART of that was the desire for blood-soaked fights, and THAT turned into garbage wrestling.”
Sarah shakes her head and her face fills with disgust.
“That is the world my father entered in the late 90s. He fought for God’s vision of a world of wrestling filled with honor and prestige. He fought for the destruction of people smacking each other with chairs and boards and slamming each other onto thumbtacks. God doesn’t want that crap! He wants rules! He wants honor! He wants the strategic beauty of people being disqualified for tossing someone over the top rope. He wants objects to remain foreign and not become commonplace within matches. He was ORDER! And Daddy fought until his very last breath to see that happen. And, over the last few years, it has been my job to see God’s vision come to fruition. And, as you can see, I’ve done a heck of a job!”
She motions towards the pile of awards and pictures on the mantle. Thomas sees awards, trophies, cups, and a lot of pictures of the two women, and others, holding up various championship titles.
“I have done my father proud, and have done God proud.”
She puts a big smile on her face and Thomas chews his lip.
“What...what does God have to do with it?”
Sarah whirls back to him, causing Thomas to take a reflexive step backward, and her eyes are suddenly full of fire.
“Everything, Mr Delivery Man!”
Her smile became as wide as her eyes.
“This entire WORLD has fallen into disarray. Lawlessness, chaos, disease, famine. Entire countries and societies who have not only lost their way, lost the light of God, but they may not even be on the same map, anymore! God wants us to be on the Path of Light, though. He wants to bathe His children in His love. He wants to embrace us with His love like a warm blanket. But in order to do that, we have to be worthy of Him. We have to see Him. We have to understand him. And to do THAT, we have to live the way He wants. Which is where wrestling comes into play. His favorite sport!”
She motions back towards the awards.
“Imagine it! A world based upon the tenants of His favorite sport! A world based upon laws, upon rules, upon sportsmanship. A world where combatants face one another in the center of a ring...or in this case a squared circle...and engage in combat. The victory goes to the man or woman who is able to reign supreme and keep their opponent down for a count of three, or to force them to submit, or else be unable to continue. No cheating! No unfair tactics! No outside interference! Just a fight of righteousness to honor God.”
She walks forward and reaches up to the mantle, where the two championship belts rest. She touches one of them, far larger than the other, with a reverence in her movements.
“The world needs a messiah, Mr. Delivery Man. A person who can stand tall above the rest of the populace, who can stand tall with back straight and chin raised. Who can embody His tenants, become His desires incarnate. A champion...a true champion. Some might call it ‘World.’ Others ‘Ultimate.’ Others…”
She pulls the championship down from the mantle and holds it before her, the faceplate seeming to be as large as her entire torso.
“...Universal…”
She turns back to Thomas and hefts the title so that it rests on her shoulder.
“My job in life, Sir, is to erase the rabble of this world. To scrub away the uncleanliness. To erase the things which would defile God’s love. And I have been-”
“Are you trying to convert someone to your religion in here?!”
Sarah’s face immediately adopts the plainless of innocence as Kenzi enters the room.
“NoooOOOOOoooo!”
Kenzi risks as she walks by with a box in her hands.
“I 100% believe you. Now get your white butt moving and help me with this junk!”
“It’s not junk!”
“Yes it is!”
Kenzi shakes her head and heads back outside and Sarah turns back to Thomas.
“Ignore her. She’s a Scientologist, anyway.”
She shakes her head and sighs.
“Anyways, I-”
She cuts off as several DING!s fill the air.
”Un instant s'il vous plaît.”
She reaches into her gym shorts and pulls out a black iPhone and her face lights up.
“Sweet, messages! Let’s see...a bunch of RSVPs for our anniversary party...a cute cat pic from my sister...a psalm from Mumsie...hmmm, another spam email that I’ll delete unread...that makes, like, six this week...my brother put up a new workout video...hey! Check it out! Gilly ended up choosing ‘Same Shit, Different Day!’”
Thomas raises his eyebrows and Sarah laughs at his confused expression.
“Long story, but here’s the short one: So, I’m champ, right?”
She pats the title on her shoulder.
“And I’ve got a defense coming up. My first! And I hand-picked my opponent, though the reasoning escapes him, because he’s a dumbass. Now, before you ask, I’ll explain: Remember how I mentioned all of that garbage wrestling stuff? About how the business tried to move beyond the mainstream style it fell into but instead found itself just doing dumb and gross stuff? This dude is, like, the poster child for it. You see, this league or federation I’m in, however you want to think of it, is FULL of people who think this garbage is acceptable. FULL of it! People have different words for it, like ‘trash’ or ‘spooky shit’ or a bunch of other things, but I believe that garbage is the way to go. After all, in a sport where we have rules and commissions and referees and more, the idea of certain people basically turning every match into a fight to the death inside a Dragon Ball Z episode fought across a landfill is insanely offensive to the sensibilities of what God wants most, so garbage is perfect! And this dude, Gilly? The WORST of it all.”
She shakes her head.
“Dumb dumb thinks that I picked him because he is some sort of easy win, or whatever, but that’s just dumb. If I wanted an easy win, I would have a Blackwater! I’ve been beating up those fuckfaces since literally Day One! Or maybe given the spot to one of the B.O.B. losers who routinely lay down for me and Rubes."
...Thomas is completely lost at this point, but his confusion doesn’t seem to register on the ranting woman’s face at all…
“But I didn’t do that. In fact, I chose someone who DESERVES to be in this match. Why, it’s been quipped before that no Universal Title reign is legitimate unless they get passed Gilly, ya know? And I would be loathe to give my detractors any ammunition in THAT regard, let me tell you. I have enough people whispering to their circle jerks about how undeserving of a champion I am, all the while conveniently too afraid to put their names on a contract for a fight. But Gilly? Not one of those! Instead, he’s one of the most vocal people around, one of the most cocksure douches you’ll ever meet. He deserves to be in this match. And deserves to get the asskicking that’s coming.
“You see, Gilly might well be the living embodiment of what is wrong with the business. Offensive, loud, racist, sexist, and with a lack of self awareness which is so blatant that it is not just comical, but it has become legend. I gave him a chance, right? Told him to give me his absolute BEST. Told me to give me ALL of him. And what does he do? He busts out the Choose Your Own Adventure book, snorts at the very idea of doing ANYTHING interesting, new, creative, or insightful, and instead just tells me that I need to suck his dick. After all, nothing says ‘This is the answer to life!’ quite like Peter’s Super Dick up my ass, right? Ha! Like he’s anywhere NEAR big enough to get me to switch teams!”
“...size queen…”
Sarah ignores Kenzi’s remark as she drops off another box, gives her a dirty look, and heads back out the door.
“Mind you, the worst thing about what Gilly has had to say going into this insane ladder match of ours...well, besides doing literally exactly what I said he was going to do in the most bland and boring way possible...was question why me mentioning records matter. Dumb Dumb’s position is...and I shit you not…’so what if I don’t back up what I say?’ Like, seriously? Can you even IMAGINE someone in ANY line of work saying that and being taken seriously?!
“Hey, sorry that I can’t throw the ball as fast as repeatedly I said I could. You’ll still strike out, right?
“Hey, sorry I can’t run as fast as I repeatedly said I could. I still get to cross the finish line first, right?
“Hey, sorry that I can’t deliver the packages I repeatedly signed up for. You’ll still pay me, right?
“Hey, sorry that I can’t read, despite me saying that I’m the greatest author ever. You’ll still buy my book, right?
“No, Gilly! NO!”
Sarah starts pacing back and forth, her sneakers making a screeching sound on the hardwood every time she turns to go the other direction.
“The whole POINT of being a competitor is to WIN! Win matches! Win championships! Win accolades! Win points! WIN! And whenever any adopts an attitude OTHER than that, like say...oh I don’t know...that being unable to defeat anyone other than a pig...like, literally the boss’ hog...it’s an insult to the entire PREMISE of our sport! wrestling! When we DON'T win, it is our DUTY to go back, figure out what went wrong...some of my contemporaries would literally say 'back to the drawing board' right here because they're derivative trash...and come back with a better plan. That's what I've done!
"But not Gilly! Nope! It's just 'lolsuckmydick' while he whines about no one respecting him and harping on how big of a loser he is. It's just 'check out my hot demon chick' while he helps organize another swerve because he can't get anything accomplished straight up. It's just a continual sadistic grin and laugh while he doesn't understand why 'legends' like him and Drezdin get constantly referenced for comedic relief. It's just more of the same shit, different day which has given this company, and this very business, a flavor so disgusting and without regard to taste that even the dregs of society have to ask themselves a few times over whether or not signing with the XWF is a step up from working in a carnival or rec center for a dozen fans.
"But it's okay, right Gilly?! It's ALL COOL to be such a flailing loser that even Mastermind's dreadful accomplishments seem an object of admiration, right? It's TOTALLY FINE to be a listless failure of such a degree that even Liam Roberts finds pity for you. It's EXTREEEEEME to be such an utter abortion of the competitive spirit that even the Jobber Family have to take a step back and be all, 'Damn, Pete, you need a hug?' when watching him fumble and stumble at his attempt to speak for more than five seconds without a break, right? Right?!
"IT'S ALL COOL TO BE GILLY! SUCK MY DICK WHILE I DIGRESS SADISTICALLY!"
"At least buy me dinner first."
Kenzi’s comment as she enters the room with yet another box makes Sarah stop her pacing and laugh. Thomas is still completely confused about what the woman was talking about and the names she said.
"Oh, I better get a lot more than that for dinner. You are an expensive date!"
Kenzi smirks at her and tosses her braids over her shoulder.
"Worth every penny."
Sarah growls at her and Thomas suddenly feels very awkward.
"Well...um...I had better-"
"And in conclusion!"
Sarah whirls on him and sticks her finger out.
“Wrestling is supposed to be about what God wants! It's supposed to be about people fighting fairly in the middle of the ring, with no nonsense, no bullshit, no weapons, no garbage no ‘extreme’ things, and no ‘comedy.’ We're talking about lockups, collar and elbows, transitions, chain wrestling, hard-hitting legal tricks, and clean breaks. That's what God wants out of His preferred spor! Not people jerking off on themselves. Not people talking about sucking their dicks instead of coming up with actual analytical content. Not people busting out demons instead of actual relationships, both positive and negative. Not people getting infected by viruses or time traveling. Not people having ‘fun’ with Guy Fieri instead of making sense on a consistent basis. Not people impregnating cows like a Greek god and having children with superpowers. Not giving away condoms filled with skat and calling it fun and creative. Not people being born in a test tube and becoming a fighter pilot war hero and leading a nation. Not suddenly wearing a clown mask to get a little edgy...or worse, a hockey mask. Not becoming a drug addict and beating up or cheating on your spouse. None of garbage!
"Wrestling is supposed to be heralded by the best competitors and the best athletes in the main event inside giant stadiums in front of appreciative crowds. When I first came to the XWF, I made sure everyone understood the importance of who I am and what I am. I sold out Madison square garden in the main event of my first match here for a reason: Because I am the epitome of what this business is about. I am the face of this generation, the GREATEST wrestling generation, and cast off trash like Peter Gilmour will be embarrassed when they have to face me l, because all they have is the same rhetoric over and over again: 'suck my dick stop laughing at me and my abilities in the ring and respect me because I'm the EXTREEEME God.' Please. In a world where Charlie Nickles gladly carries around a barbwire 2x4, the only 'extreme' thing Gilly can lay claim to is disappointment. To put it in a classy way, he is to 'extreme' wrestling what High School Musical is to Broadway!
"In a few days, he and I are gonna find ourselves in Paris. We're gonna to look up at the top of the Eiffel tower and gonna see this championship atop the spire, gleaming in the light a beacon of hope for the world. And we're gonna climb that tower and I'm gonna to let him stay with me. I'm gonna let him keep up with me. I will set an easy pace so that we're neck and neck at the very end so that he thinks he has a chance, and I'm even gonna let him reach up and almost to the title. And as he does, I'm gonna kick that arm of his, that arm that his buddy Hanari put into an arm breaker, then kick it over and over again until he can't hold on. Then I'll take that arm and drive it across my shoulder and snap it out of place. And as I grab my championship and put it around my waist, I will watch him fall and fall and fall all the way down until he splatters on the ground of the Champ de Mars, and by God...that will be…beautiful."
Thomas finds himself holding his breath as the woman grows more impassioned as she rants. Behind her, Kenzi stands there, breathing hard, with a familiar look in her eyes:
Lust.
Thomas isn't sure exactly how he ended up outside and alone, but he remembered Kenzi thanking him for coming to a "Sar Talk," whatever that was, and pushing him out the door quickly. If nothing else, this job gave him something up think about!
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