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+--- Thread: The players are different, but the scene remains the same. (Alexandra 1) (/showthread.php?tid=5820)
The players are different, but the scene remains the same. (Alexandra 1) - AlexandraCallaway - 08-20-2013
"I suppose it’s odd, you finding me here at this random Splitsville in Lower Greenville. I don’t know why you find it odd, I live in Highland Park. You know the place, every Dallas-ites dream zip code, still in the city but nearly crime free, where even the tiny old houses will set you back an easy two point five million. What? Just because I ride a Harley, it is a 2014 Wide Glide not a 1986 Honda piece of shit, that I’m some kind of low class trollip? Well you’re wrong on two counts. But honestly, how else is one going to blow off some steam before taking out two steaming piles? I could crack a few balls, I probably will before the night is done. I could have a few cocktails. No, you simple little pervert, I didn’t say cocks. You really should have that dirty mind of yours ran through the dishwasher. But what is more fitting that tossing a fifteen pound bowling ball at ten little pins?"
"That’s all these opponents really are. Pins. They get propped up by the machine and I find myself morally, spiritually, hell empirically, obligated to knock them back down again." Alexandra sends the bright orange ball spinning down the lane and it cracks down 8 pins, leaving the four and seven still standing. "Well shit the bed." The ball takes a moment to process through the system as the machine clears out the fallen pins. "Four and Seven. Four and Seven. Four and mother fuck me Seven. I suppose it could be worse."
Alexandra sends the ball flying back down to clean up the mess that I left. The backslash shows on the score card, spare. Another sweep of the machine, another lumbering tumble of the bright orange ball back to the return, another ten pins drop into place.
"This game really is a metaphor for wrestling, for life. You beat one batch and another little upstart group of pins pops right back up into the fallen one’s place."
"You could say that I’m not giving, what were their names again? Oh yeah, Duke and McAlister. You could say that I’m not giving them their fair worth. Are they good?"
Alexandra shrugs. "Meh. It doesn’t really matter to me just how good they think they are. It doesn’t matter what they’ve done before. It matters not who they’ve beaten, the titles that they’ve won and lost, the ring rats they’ve snuck behind the bushes with. I’ve accomplished more than they have and that was just by being born. I am a legacy. I have no qualms about saying that. I am the greatest thing since they put the pocket in the pita. I am all that and a bag of kettle cooked jalapeño potato chips, Zapps bitches, not some rejected nationwide chain brand. Am I resting on my laurels? Who the fuck do you think you are? What gives you the right to judge me and what I’ve done? What’s your record? How many titles have you held in your illustrious career as a used car salesman? Speaking of which, Carmax is hiring right? I think these two boys are going to need to find alternative means of supporting their addictions, oh and their families; can’t forget their poor, sad, sweet, little mommies and daddumses."
Alexandra took a moment to pause.
"This will be utterly humiliating for them. Two strapping, puffed up, little dodo birds are about to be relieved of twenty-two pounds of excess baggage by none other than little old me, well little old me and the bubblegum bimbette that is my partner. I have no doubt in my mind that I’ll be the one doing the heavy lifting in this match. Come on, do the math. Maria, wait, what’s her… Christine, yeah that’s it. Christine is maybe a buck two, buck five, and that’s after Ward has ejaculated. So really, she’s a bit of a hindrance. Both of us have faced down two hundred pound monsters in our careers; my experience has been in the ring while hers has been on the casting couch. I know we’re at a disadvantage but that doesn’t faze me at all. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Hell mother fucker, I’ll say it until Ion stops fucking manikins behind the dumpster that sits stinking up the Uncle Ed’s Friend Chicken and Donuts in Oak Cliff. I am the best in the damn business. I am greatest thing since sliced bread. Those who doubt me shall bow before me!"
Alexandra shrugs again with a chuckle.
"And that, you narrow mother fucker, is that."
The old man just stood there and stared, wondering just what the fuck happened and probably just what the fuck I was talking about. Alexandra laughs, shruging off his look as the manager comes over thanks to my excessive abuse of the word fuck.
"Tightwads."