"Nightmare in Dreamscape"
(Continued from The Bourb's "Consequences")




-ROBBIE BOURBON DOJO FOR THE COMPETITIVE ARTS-


In the words of Peter Gabriel: "I'm on my way, I'm making it". _This_ is the big time, _this_ is living the dream for a man who'd been a wannabe-now-welcomed Bourbon Man.

I hip toss a Bourbon Man trainee in the ring and help the kid back to his feet before we lock up. All too easily I land a short kick to his stomach, doubling him over, wrap my right arm around his neck, grab a handful of trunks with my left hand and lift. I hold him there, boots to the roof as my closest physical comparison in this business the late Davey-Boy would. I give it a few more seconds before ending the delay and dropping his brain to the mat. The boys surrounding the ring whoop and clap.

Helping the kid to his feet once again, I offer a few pointers and invite another to enter. The two square off as I step through the ropes and stand by to coach for a few minutes, having powered through the line of youngsters one by one myself during Rob's promo. I clap and let fly a few compliments as the kid I'd just brainbusted executes a nigh perfect mirror of the move on his sparring partner.

As the two continue I can't help but allow my neck to crane, my gaze to shift, from the ring to Robbie and his closest friends in the Bourbon Men.

Cool guys, Diamondback and Cyberjaw. I'd enjoyed their antics and impersonations in The Robster's man cave promos. They reminded me of the old days and my old clique members "Superstar" Jay-Cal and of course "The Monsoon Warrior". Although I could tell, to them, I seemed slightly off they'd been as cordial and respectful as I'd been in finally meeting them.

_Frankendick_ had been, well, a dick...and something about him, probably his handle, brought to mind the early 90s, a knife and a wife named Lorena.

I don't see Han Solo. Maybe he'd taken his hatred of fedoras into the lavatory to play who REALLY shot first with a green urinal cake.

'Weird. You'd think after risking life and limb to keep one throughout 2 blockbusters, a "meh" and a "what the fuck was _that_?" the good doctor would love that kinda kick-ass cranial accoutrement.'

Probably why he _doesn't_ actually.

'He better not have left, you need to get a pic with him! And he can sign your shirt, "to the galaxy's most vicious Vader's helmet, dark side dickhead extraordinaire, Darth Cae-"'

That's enough of that. I doubt he'd have the energy anyway, dude is fading fast.

'Whadja thinka Blue?'

I've seen her before in Rob's promos. Cool name, first of all. My favorite color, second. Third, she seemed a bit shy with a bite to her not far beneath the surface should you ever fuck with her. I like that. Beautiful young lady, I dig her style. Rob's a lucky guy and she's a lucky girl. When I think back to what Brandon Moore said about her to rile my buddy up it still pisses me off. She'd not appeared in his man cave promos since and it was a fucking shame he had to take such action to protect his heart. In my opinion, Rob was justified to have pulled an insinuating blade on cam in response. I'd have done the same...well, most likely a bit more being psychotic, if anyone had spoken of Holly that way. People incapable of seeing the beauty inside and how it reflected on the outside in combination with the natural were doomed to be blind forever. And yes, I'd said arguably the same and at times worse to Holly in fights with her when responding to baby dick insults and shit. We'd even had our fist fights but that's how she and I rolled. A toxic though very much in love couple.

'It's a shame she couldn't be h-'

Stop.

Yet now, as I watch Robbie finish his promo and turn to Blue...hear her offer him support in his ear...witness the two embrace and share a kiss...I can do naught to halt the better-times-memories of _my_ love...



























Like sharing a home with her and Red...


























...our times spent in the wild...


































...spending time at Cabrillo Beach back home...








































...taking in _her_.





































And suddenly, back for more mental malice, my mind's eye switches the snippet to my normally rem state recording of the trailer in Phelan in flames and I'm now reliving a _waking_ nightmare...

_No_...

'Easy there. Push it down......bury it deep.'

I do so but it's already done it's damage and I'm absolutely taken aback feeling my tear ducts sting for the first time in years. While conscious, however, they'd never dare tread above the surface. My dead heart won't allow it. I wish it would sometimes...but my eyeballs remain barren. Bone dry.

I have to take a moment so I make for the back exit. Robbie notices and asks what I'm up to.

"I'll be right back. I just need a minute or two to collect my thoughts."

He asks if I'm ok.

"Yeah, I'm cool bro."

I part the double doors and step out into the warm afternoon sun. I walk around the back lot for a moment before stopping to stare up into the sky. It's unfair that the days, the earth...life itself continues while the people we care about...

"Somethin' wrong kid?"

'So this is where the galaxy's greatest _scoundrel_ had slipped off to...'

"I was wondering where you'd wandered Han."

"Harrison, please. Call me Harrison. Even Harry."

"I'm feeling a bit down Han. Much as you must have felt watching Leia kiss Luke before you all knew it was incestual."

"You know, _The Fugitive_ was a great film too- aw to hell with it. ...I sense this is an issue about a girl."

"It's an issue about...yeah, it's about a girl."

"She dump ya kid? If so, take a look in the mirror and realize you can probably land any dame you want."

"No, nothing like that, much worse. And I was over booty calls in my early 30s. Chemistry is what matters most to me. Anyway...now nothing in context matters anymore."

We stand in silence for a few moments.

"Look, kid...in love and life...shit happens. I don't mean to sound callous so let me put it to you this way: we've all- Well _most_ of us have been through some serious shit in life. Some worse than others but it isn't a contest. There is no _worse_ when you take into account that when lives suffer, they suffer, and that's all there is to it. No one knows what worse means until they experience it and as their own tragedies pile up, each hits harder than the first. Sometimes it hits hard enough to make one wanna give up. Wanna die."

'And sometimes you're hit so many times you stop feeling anything at all.'

"What keeps us alive and kicking is never giving up. Never giving in. What you do is you _force_ that bitter pill down your Goddamn throat. Let the acid release the poison...absorb it...gain strength from it...and unleash the motherfucker on whatever you have to to turn your life around."

I can feel the light and life draining from my icy blues. Han has no idea how his words of wisdom pertain to my suffering, how I'll use them. If he did he would've said it another way to prevent violence. Too late...and I couldn't be happier. As I zombie up and feel the spread of decay throughout my soul as never before I look to Solo and he shudders uncomfortably.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Oh no...you said everything just right. Ever directed before, Mr. Ford?"

"Uh, no. But thanks for calling m-"

"You will now."

I ready my phone and hand it to Han.

"Get me in frame and hit the red dot."

.................................

"Cadryn Tiberius...if I had the capacity to laugh I'd be doing just that. Instead, I'll hammer at your brain some more until Rob and I can physically bludgeon it in the ring in El Paso. If you thought anything I've been saying is out of sync with what I've _been_ saying all along, any less spiteful, you truly have lost your syphilis-softened fuckin' mind. You've been trolling with an empty hook, hack. Furthermore, what you've been saying doesn't even enter the arena of 'trolling'; it stinks of weakening. Shriveling. Dying. You've been mentally battered, beaten and bloodied by a man who for weeks you've been teasing and working on. You've been hyped up and hard on the thought of what would happen when we face one another again. You've been expecting me to stumble once more and you had every intention of embarrassing the fuck outta me. You thought you had. You thought I was an easy target like Nico did. You thought the backstage rumors and predictions that you and Killjoy would take Round One of Lethal Lottery IV against the Bourbon Men was a premonition and to start, you did indeed show your ass. Ultimately, however, on all accounts...you were dead wrong. You fucked up, Cadryn. And you know what? I think everyone knows it including you.

I know your last promo was a futile answer to my zeroing in on your lost smile and sense of humor. It was pathetic. It wasn't you. It failed. The condensed soup of The Cereal Killer has been pissed in, all the flavor overflowed and what's now left over is the wetness and stench of the same sidewalk on which you urinate. You've been watered down, your tasty marshmallow tidbits devoured, your whole wheat shapes soggied and left to mold in a shallow warm puddle of soured milk. You've gone rancid. You were a swelling boil on my ass but I sat down so definitively and swiftly that you exploded...and what's left of your will has been draining down my leg ever since. You're pus, pussy, and nothing more.

Feel free to fire another one or two blanks at the Bourbon Men. Believe that Killjoy will jump in at the last second to save the day. You think the way things have been going Rob and I won't be able to wipe our asses clean of whatever that clown has concocted and shove the soiled tissue down both your throats? I shake my head. Delusions. By the time that idiot arrives your wake will be kicking off, Cadryn, and Killjoy's cowardly cornball ass can stick his squirting posey on your stiff fucking corpse and kiss it goodbye.

Speaking of Killy, he should be kissing his _own_ ass goodbye as well. Killjoy I'm sick of waiting on you to sprout some nuts and nail some silly jag-off joybuzzery. I guess you weren't kidding in those meetings begging the brass for more time to hock your wares before having to actually compete. Your sparse and successful contention but lack of ability to warm-up reveals you most likely won't _ever_ be up to the challenges in the XWF let alone facing the teaming of Bourbon and Caedus. You don't have what it takes to remain consistent in this business so you _won't_ have what it would take to defeat us and ascend to greatness in this tournament. It could've been glorious but you've turned out to be one bitch bummer of a partner for Cadryn. As much as I despise the douche he deserves more from you but regardless of what you might have planned, you've _already_ let him down. You don't give a shit though. You'd rather joke around and strum your limp dick with your thumb than get your hands dirty and your fuckin' face pushed in. I don't blame you. If I'd sat back and watched this amount of abuse pile up I'd tiptoe away too. No, I retract that. I would've done something because I'm not a fence-riding fuck-off. I'm not afraid of the odds and I couldn't care less how insurmountable the opposition appears to be. Robbie and I, we're warriors. You, you're the one who piles up the bodies for burning after we've left to bed down an entire brothel. You disgust me. In fact- I rip my Killjoy T from my torso and toss it aside. "-I never should've wasted my hard earned dough on one of your shirts in the first place. You owe me twenty-five fuckin' dollars motherfucker and if you don't fork it over I'm gonna break your fuckin' fingers and take it out of your hiding hide. Fuck that, I'm gonna fuck you up anyway for being such a spineless sop. You, a man of inaction, like the multitude of faces who saw me and mine suffering, who saw our plight, offered empty words of support and baseless promises and never fucking delivered. I owe YOU, Killjoy. I owe YOU one enacting of revenge representing all those who sit idly by and allow shit to happen to those around them. Prince of Pranks? You're the court jester. The class clown headed for failure in life. You peaked when they pulled you from your momma's pussy and you've been declining ever since. Allow the Bourbon Men to shuffle you loose this strain and end the game in Round One fame.

Cadryn, Killjoy...no one's laughing anymore. Fuck you both. We're the Bourbon Men, we come for blood and that's reality on the rectum ripping rocks.

Cut it."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Jesus, what was that all about?"

"War, Han. War. Thank you for your help."

I retrieve my phone from a perplexed Solo and the two of us walk back into the dojo.

Robbie notices immediately I've lost my shirt. He asks if I'm sure I'm ok. I walk over silently, snatch a Bourbon Man T from a short stack on a nearby bench and pull it on.

"Never better, brother. Never better."