Cab Driver (in Pakistani accent): Where do you want to go?? You can no just sleep in my cab all day.

Santos: Uh, hrmph. Yeah, East Boston. Need to get over there in like 30 minutes. Make it...

Tony lifts himself up by the separator between the cab driver and the passenger area of the cab and squints at the meter.

Santos: 120 bucks??? What the hell, man?

Cab Driver: You told me to drive 'round city for an hour. I circled 'round city for 30 miles. At 40 cents per eighth of a mile, that is $96. Then you told me to sit at curb while you slept. Another $24 per hour for sitting.

Tony rubs his eyes, looks back at the meter for confirmation of his incredible mistake, and just waves it off, resigned to the fact that he'd be paying a three-figure cab fare to get around the city that he'd soon be leaving for... Miami. There was something incredibly distasteful about that city... even uttering its name was tough for Tony. Born to an Irish-Catholic family in Boston, then spending his entire, well, life in the Northeast, he'd become used to other Irish-Catholics, and developed the underlying racism that permeates throughout the city of Boston to this day. Not only was he moving to a new climate that included very few jean and hoodie days, but he was moving to a place where the Latino population lived and thrived.

The seemingly endless nightlife. The beach, beautiful women, bright lights and fast cars. This was heaven for most people, but not for Tony. No, no, he'd be yearning for Fall in New England, where the leaves change color and the air has a way of letting your skin just, breathe. He'd be wishing he was caught in multiple-foot snow storms in the Winter, stuck trudging along step by step, dealing with stalled public transportation and angry, crammed, and cold passengers.

This was, oddly enough, heaven for Tony Santos.

Santos: Fine, whatever. I haven't been a charity case for some poor fuck like yourself in a while, so what the hell? Today's my day to be nice. East Boston, now.

The cab driver ignores Tony's biting remarks and unfriendly tone, just letting his head rest against the, well, headrest, and cruising along without a care in the world. A $150 or so cab fare makes it easier to deal with the passenger's shit.

Tony pulls his cellphone from his left pocket. 17% battery life remaining. Fantastic, Tony thinks. After fumbling with his passcode (which he can seemingly never remember, despite the fact that he hasn't changed it since he bought the phone over a year ago), he hits the camera icon and flips it to video mode. With the wonders of dual cameras, one on each side, Tony can admire himself while he also films a brief rant for the likes of Andrew Morrison, Christine Nash, and the rest of The Family.

Tony ruffles his hair up a bit, picks out an eye booger or two, and checks his teeth. He wants to believe that his teeth are white, but, as a habitual coffee drinker, his teeth are your typical coffee drinker's light shade of yellow, something that he only noticed when he'd slap white shaving cream on his face in the morning, which pronounced the difference between the two shades.

Santos: Andrew Morrison. Let me just start right there, bud. I took the time to watch your two incredible rants. They were doozies, but I made it through both of them, and you should really consider yourself honored by that. Why? Because it's really god damn difficult to watch a man have his period on the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, followed by some deep thoughts on some god damn porch. It was tough, Morrison. Really, motherfucking tough.

Your first promo really did encapsulate me, though, Andrew. It really did. Unfortunately, the only reason that I kept watching was because you were sitting atop a bridge known more for its suicide attempts (and successes) than its beauty.

I was expecting you to jump off, is what I'm getting at, Andrew.

See, it's funny how the folks in this company that never deserve opportunities are always the ones bitching about how they deserve them the most. Alex Shawn comes to mind, along with Swift Ion and Peter Gilmour. You're on the level of those three fucks, Morrison, so congratulations. Oh, don't get me wrong, Sweet Pete was at one time impressive, and he did mean something, but over the past few months, he's fallen to the level of company laughingstock, so don't be getting too uppity about facing him in the ring, my friend, because that, oh, that means absolute shit at this point. You'd be better off bragging about some of the many folks that you've stepped in to the ring with and lost to.

That is all that you have to talk about, isn't it, Morrison? People you've lost to. You mention that my number of victories, which do, in fact trump yours, are in the past and completely insignificant to the current conversation, and then you go and talk about the people that you've faced, the things that you've done...

Tony stops and grins at the camera.

Santos: Excuse me, the things that you haven't done. Guess what, Andrew? This may come as a shock to you, but those are also, well, in the past. The past is completely god damn relevant, and it's why I've main evented multiple times in this company, had two shots at the US Title, a TV Title shot, a shot at the god damn King, and beat three other fools to win the Xtreme Title, while you've been pitted against the likes of JTC, Swift Ion, Faze, and Matt Lennox.

Good for you, Andrew. Really! Good for you! You can talk about how I haven't deserved the opportunities that I've been given, and honestly, I wouldn't give a damn. You wanna know why? Because I'm a heel, you stupid son of a bitch! My "fans" that you speak of love the fact that I don't stick to my word. They love that I'm a lying, cheating, condescending son of a bitch!

That is, if my fans exist at all.

So here's the thing, Morrison. You can make all of the high-brow dick sucking jokes that you want about The Brotherhood. You can say that we're in this to please Sebastian Duke and take enough of an ass raping to reach the top, but it won't matter. Not coming from you. You know why? Because The Brotherhood never saw you as worthy of joining. You'll never be worthy of joining. That's the reason that you bash us. Because you're not talented enough to make it in to the group yourself.

Instead, you're in The Family...

Tony frowns at the camera in a "you've got to be shitting me" manner.

Santos: Heh, "The Family." You've come together as one for the same idiotic goals as the rest of the morons in this company; because being in a faction is "cool," and no one wants to be the one left out of the fun. However, Andrew, your motives are even lower, even more pathetic, aren't they? See, you couldn't beat John Austin, so you said, fuck it! I'll join him.

Good for you, Andrew! You're swallowing your pride and disappointing your fans in the exact same manner that you accuse me of! Good work! I guess we're on the same level then, aren't we?

Heh, only, we're not. I've made my presence felt in this company, while you've sat on the sidelines, crying about not getting your shots, not getting your opportunities, while you're stuck in midcard hell. Keep it up, Andrew my boy. Maybe someday you'll have the honor of taking on The Second City Warriors in the fucking dark match of Shove-It. I really, really do wish that you can some day reach that peg on the ladder. I really, really do.

Tony moves the camera from his face and places it outside of the cab window. He lets the camera sit and film the cars and buildings passing by as his cab driver speeds down the Mass Turnpike. Tony focuses the camera on Lansdowne Street as they pass Fenway Park from below.

Santos: Morrison, I want you to see this right here. I want you to appreciate the beauty of the city that I call home. Appreciate what happiness really is, because you're clearly not very happy. I've been blessed with, if not a loving family or friends, I've been blessed with New England. With Boston. Seriously, take a close look.

The camera zooms in on the buildings off to the side of the road. Signs indicating the speed limit, various upcoming exits, and the like pass by in a blur. Just then, the camera shakes uncontrollably. Nothing in the shot is comprehensible, and anyone viewing would think that either Massachusetts was hit with an unprecedented earthquake, or that Tony's car had hit some frighteningly large potholes.

Then, Tony can be heard laughing.

Santos: Oh, fuck you, Morrison. I hope you're vomiting the newborn that you likely had for breakfast after watching that, you god damn cannibal. I can't wait to turn you into fucking mush on Monday. Until then, STAY HAPPY!

Tony smiles for the camera, then follows with blowing a kiss.

The scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion