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MadDog · (02-07-2023)

I snapped into my Slim Jim, as I stood outside the men's restroom of the Pilot station waiting on Sunny. I had already purchased road snacks, a couple of drinks, and a tube of Skoal. “What the heck is taking Sunny so long, he must be crappen his guts out”, I think to myself as I take another bit of that spicy meat stick. Guess I better go and check on him.

I walk into the truck stop gas station, which is almost as bad as walking into a wrestling show in the middle of Sally Talfourd and Xavier Lux match. Shoot, the smell of this place would make old Peter Vaughn gag. I look under the stalls and see Sunny’s loafers with his slacks around his ankles. Through chomps of my meat stick, I ask, “Everything coming out ok?”.

“Just finishing up my Sally, and about to wipe my Talfourd”, Sunny replies.

Haha, brother, you’re crazy. But, if you don’t hurry up we are gonna be behind schedule, I ain’t trying to go through Atlanta at rush hour.

Uh, yeah that would be a bigger pain in the butt than this John Waye toilet paper this truck stop has.

John Wayne toilet paper?

Yeah, I guess I could call it Mark Wright toilet paper too. Tough as hell, and don’t take sh*t from anybody.

Sunny, I’m both flattered and disgusted at the same time.

Oh, hang on, there is some more Sally coming out.

The sounds I hear from the other side of this small metal door are nothing short of stomach-churning. Makes me really glad I didn’t get that truck-stop burrito and opted for the bologna sandwich my old lady had packed for me. I finally hear the violent rumbling from behind the door stop.

Sunny, are you going to be able to make this trip?

Yeah, Mark. I’m pretty much emptied. Kind of like Sally’s brain.

Brother, you really about to cut a promo from the big white throne?

Why not? After all, I’ve been called the king of sh*t talking. Just make sure you pull out your phone and press record so people know this is the part they’d actually watch.

I can't help but laugh as I take another bite of my Slim Jim. I pause for a moment and realize I’m eating in a truck stop restroom, but it can’t be any more dangerous than eating a potted meat sandwich underground in the mines. I pull out my flip phone to make sure I don’t miss a word of Sunny’s verbal evisceration of Sally.

Sally must have the contents of this toilet bowl for brains. That dimwitted dame thinks Mad Dog killed someone on live television. Does she think Mad Dog has a camera following him around and recording his every word twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five? Mad Dog doesn't live stream his every thought and move, he's not a clout chaser like you, Mad Dog is a paper chaser.

Mad Dog isn't out for likes on social media, hearts on Twitter don't pay the bills sister. Do you think if Mad Dog killed someone on live television he'd just be walking around a free man? No, you moron, you don't understand metaphors or storytelling. You also, obviously do not know when you are outmatched, and already destined to lose.

While you are live streaming yourself trying to figure out what dress to wear, Mad Dog is supporting his family. While you show up to the city two weeks early to rack up a room service bill on Vinnie Lane’s dime, Mad Dog is getting back to his roots that made him a vicious and terrified force everywhere he has ever been. You know, as vicious and terrifying as a rabid dog.

Because no one has ever referenced Mad Dog being rabid. Just like no one has ever talked about how you treat a rabid animal, talked about putting him down, and no one has ever made any Old Yeller references. Gosh, Sally where do you get that fresh material you come up with like that? It is almost as fresh as the truck stop burrito that has me plopping out mini-Sally’s into this porcelain bowl.

These mini-Sally’s are landing with as much force as this potty-themed promo because it helps to stay on point, and the point is that Sally is a giant turd. Sally, you want to say that this isn’t going to be a professional wrestling match, that it is going to be a fight. You are such a sh*t for brains, I’m surprised you don’t have diarrhea squirting out of your ears. In a professional wrestling match, you might be able to stand a chance against Mark Wright, but in a fight, well he’s going to eat you alive.

Mad Dog is claimin' this tournament as his territory, and do you know what a dog does when it stakes its territory, Sally? Of course, you don’t know, because you don’t have the sense the good Lord gave an Emu. I know you probably already Googled, “how does a dog mark its territory” because you think you are smart and Google has all the answers, but that just shows how dumb you really are. Obviously, Mad Dog isn’t going to hike his leg and piss on the ring post, or even piss on your unconscious body after he has knocked you out, come on, he’s Mad Dog Mark Wright, not Robert Kelly.

When a dog has marked his territory, he becomes very protective of it and also becomes very aggressive when someone tried to enter that territory. Dogs fight over territory and protect their pack. My client, Mad Dog Mark Wright isn't just fighting for his territory, he's fighting for his pack. He's fighting for a wife and two kids. He's fighting for his family's name and legacy. He's fighting for all the people of the Appalachian mountains who are counted and shunned just because of where they come from. What are you fighting for Sally? A few more ugly polka-dotted dresses? A few more views on your live stream?

Mad Dog is so much more than deciding to wear a pattern that an overweight, bleached blonde, son of a plumber wore better. Mad Dog is so much more than getting a few more fans to his OnlyFans to sell a few more feet pictures too. Mad Dog Mark Wright is fighting for something bigger than himself, and you simply are fightin' for yourself, Sally. So, when the going gets tough, who do you think is going to be able to dig down deeper and find those energy reserves? This tournament will chew people like you up, and spit them out, it takes someone much tougher than you to win this thing, Sally. It takes a man fighting for his life and the lives of others, it takes a MAD MAN to win this thing. Sally, you don’t have what it takes to win the March Madness tournament, so it’s a good thing you damn sure don’t have what it takes to beat Mad Dog Mark Right.

I hear Sunny begin to grunt and strain again and turn the phone around to face me rather than the black stall door. I shake my head as I see the stupid grin that Sunny’s toilet humor has put on my face. I tip my Bass Pro shop back to get a better view of my ugly mug before delivering a few go-home lines.

Sally old girl, all of Sunn’y poop references aside, he really is right. You ain’t nothing but a pile of old dog poop one of my hounds left in the yard. Something I stepped in on my journey to the promised land. I’m gonna wipe you off my boot and keep on marching through this tournament. Get back to practicen your magic act. I’m sure that once I take ya outta this tournament you can find some third-rate casino to put you up in an exhibition hall to perform ya trick in. If not, I’m sure Chris Page can talk his old lady into maken you a regular at the Velvet Rabbit, cause I know how much ya into haven people watch ya.

Sally, I don’t know if this is personal or just business, but to me, I take my business personally because this business, this sport, it’s how I put food on the table. Times are tough right now, so I gotta be a helluva lot tougher than the times. So, come Weekend Warfare, old Mad Dog is gonna be a magician too. Cause I’m gonna make you disappear from this here March Madness tournament Sally. I’m sending you on your way to do your interviews, press conferences, fashion shows, or whatever the heck else you do. I ain’t here to be a celebrity like you Sally, I’m here to be a champion. You are trying to stand in the way of that Sally, so it’s time I knock you outta my path and keep on heading down it. After Weekend Warfare Sally, I’m going to the sweet sixteen, then the elite eight, then the final four, and then I’m winning this dag-on thing. And you Sally, well, you are just going to go mad.

I cut the video off as I hear Sunny flushing the toilet. After two flushes Sunny comes out and washes his hands because he isn’t a filthy animal. We begin heading back outside, but when we get to the parking lot I notice something, or I guess I should say, I don’t notice something,

Sunny, where is your Cadillac? I thought you parked here, did you move it while I was buying snacks?

Move it, Mark I was just crapping my guts out for nearly half an hour, when would I have moved the car?

I shake my head and jog up to where the car had been parked, and all I found was an empty spot with some shattered glass on the ground. I pull my hat off and throw it down in anger. About that time Sunny finally catches up, he is slower than normal right now, slowed down from his bathroom battle.

WHERE THE F**K IS MY CAR!?!

I shake my head as I turn to face Sunny.

How the heck are we gonna get to Houston?

HOUSTON!?! HOUSTON!?! MY F**KING CAR IS GONE MARK!!!

Shoot Sunny, I know that. My dag-on bag was in there too.

Sunny begins letting out a string of profanity that would make Ralphie’s Dad from a Christmas story blush. All I can do is shake my head in pure bewilderment, and wonder how I’m going to get to Houston in time for my match. Then it hits me, I’ll share a ride, or use rideshare, whatever that stuff is.

Alright, Sunny, I got us an Uber Eats to the Atlanta Airport, we just gonna have to fly from there.

Sunny looks at me like I’m crazy, and shakes his head.

Uber Eats, do you mean an Uber?

Same thing.

One is a ride-sharing service, and one is a food delivery service.

Fine, I’ll eat some McDonald’s on the way to the airport if I gotta. I just gotta get to Houston. This is my last dag on chance Sunny, and I ain’t missing it for the world. I’m sorry about ya car, I really am, but brother I can’t let this opportunity slip through my fingers I got too much riding on it.

Sunny sighs and shakes his head.

Ok, let me just call the police and my insurance company.

Alright Sunny, cause we got a long way to go and a short time to get there.

East bound and down, loaded up and truckin'

A-we gonna do what they say can't be done

We've got a long way to go, and a short time to get there

I'm east bound, just watch ol' "Bandit" run

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