-continued from Dolly Waters: The curious life of a combat prodigy. Episode 5-

-Episode 6-


"I's the best around them times. Just a young studly hunk of Pike County Pride, brash and unbridled- I bursted through the doors of the X-dubya-ef and proceed-a-fided ta' kick more ass and raise more hell on a route to being undefeated and in line fer' major endorsement money.

Duck Dynasty?

I's a guest of honor.

Big Daddy's Bait Shop?

I's in theys commerical.

NASCAR?

Dale Earndfart Junior had my face on his fender.

Muddy was the undisputed creme day la can of dip.

THEN! When that fat fuck Heyman rolled out the red carpet fer that faggit Karl Cross, and he was supposed ta' be all that and a sack of possum patties- who beat the dog shit outta' him and sent em' packin' his pussy back to Angland?

Muddy fuckin' Waters."

"Face it Muddy, you're dog shit."

"I ain't a gunna' concede to that there propist-sishtin"

"Oh why? Because there's so much evidence around here to negate it, Muddy?"

I commanded to him while picking up a piece of his cardboard mansion just down the alley from where I finally caught Muddy and slinging it out into the damp streets. For the last twenty minuets or so, Muddy had been trying to convince me that he actually was a person worthy of wrestling in the XWF still- and without the added ulterior motive of being a pawn of suckary to get Dolly Waters to reenter the fray- so I could FINALLY produce this documentary.

And he attempted his plea by forcing me down to his lavish estate built of cardboard boxes, tarps and skinned skunk fur. He had somehow rationalized that with all of the trash he'd picked from the dumpsters over the years- that he had accumulated wealth. Broken AC window units, random tire rims and hubcaps, spring exposed mattresses oh and last but not least, his most prized possession of all...

"Look at this here mutherfucker! Makers only made fifteen hund-errd of these!"

An empty red wax top Maker's Mark bottle featuring Rick Pitino, commemorating the University of Louisville's 2013 National Championship that would go on to be vacated for the prostitution scandal.

"Yeah, that would maybe be worth a couple of thousand if it were still sealed and contained bourbon..."

Muddy's face sinks.

"Did you drink the bourbon Muddy?"

He looks even further to the ground somehow.

"Who'd you steal the bottle from, Muddy? An elderly? Perhaps a paraplegic? Maybe from a one time adoring fan of yours who wanted you to autograph that piece of shit, you swipe it and run- listen, Muddy you're-"

"NO YOU LISTEN TO ME BOY!"

Muddy gets fired up and again, I have to admit I'm a tad intimidated. If Muddy were to get ahold of me, he'd likely hurt me very badly. But I cant let him know that. The coming down from my whiskey high was leaving me agitated and my head a bit achy- and Muddy's purposeless posturing was beyond rubbing me raw.

"Fuck you!"

I slap the bottle out of his hand, and for a moment time seems to slow down. My face twists with intimidate regret as I watch Muddy, diving toward the ground in slow motion blabbing out:

"NoooooOOOOoooooooOOOOORrRRawWWWLlllLLLALASfUUUCKK"

Like I was watching a fucking movie or something. And as predictable as the slow motion scene there itself, the bottle shatters into the pavement just outside of the finger tips of Muddy as he face plants.

There's an eternity of silence while Muddy just lies there on the ground. I look over to my AV guy Matthew, and he sends me a quizzical shrug of the shoulder that matched my own feeling. Feeling almost forcibly remorseful I walk over to Muddy, trying to help him from the ground.

"Hey big guy, I'm sorry m-"

Muddy grabs my arm as I touch him and wraps into some variate triangle hold.

"YOU GUNNA DIE NOW BOY!"

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

This is the worst fucking pain I've ever experienced. I'm certain that my arm is already broken.

"MATTHEW! FUCKING DO SOMETHING!!!!"

I scream out while Muddy continues growling n my face like a wild animal,

"Fuck that! You broke his shit, not me, dude!"

Fucking pussy. I seriously need a better sidekick. Here was Muddy Waters, a 230 pound brick shit house literally ripping my arm out of the socket and foaming at the mouth with tears in his eyes screaming:

"I AM A MAN! I AM WORTHY! IMSA KILL EM LORD! IMSA KILL EM FER YOU! KILL EM FER DOLLY!"

Eh... maybe I was being irrational. See in Muddy's half functioning brain he had justified all of his alcoholism and drug addiction as a sense of entitlement to living what someone like Muddy would consider the easy life. Life as a truly free and unbound transient. He viewed his brief stint in the XWF with beergoggles. Easily recognizing the few successes he experienced, and being totally oblivious to the rest of his trainwrecked career. The most notable of that trainwreck being the Bad Medicine 2015 pay-per-view.

Through all of that, Muddy also justified leaving Dolly behind. Believing that this was some form of evolutionary endowment- that he had left behind a legacy for her to uphold and eventually supersede. Nothing could be further from the truth. In her own journal entries, Dolly Waters described this sinking feeling that I believe tormented her all of her life. This feeling of not wanting to be associated with this natural failure that surrounded her family's name. She felt to be the great vindicator of her father's mediocrity. And rightfully so.

This is my entire intention. Get Muddy back to the XWF and he'll pull a Muddy. He'll likely have some rather lucky, rather light weighted success for maybe a few weeks, he may even experience a renewed sense of vigor and determination. Probably cleaning up from the booze, broads and barbiturates for a month or so- landing a shot at a major title, then the fear inside of him will eat him alive. He'll get wasted, lose, embarrass himself and back will return our pint-sized dark knight, possessing ever attribute and strength contrary to that of Muddy's. Back will return the greatest story ever told. Dolly fuckin' Waters.

But maybe I'd gone about this the wrong way with Muddy. Maybe I've been a little too hard on him. He's obviously a proud man. Why? I haven't a fucking clue. But he is- and nonetheless, he's about to murder me in this back alley and I'm scared as shit to die. So here goes nothing:

"M-m-uddy! You did it! See!"

"DID WHAT BITCH!? FUCKED YER' MOMMA!? I KNOWD DAT ALREADY BOY!"

"NO! NO! NO! MUDDY! IT WAS A TEST! YOU'RE READY! YOU'RE READY TO FIGHT!"

Despite my having my ass handed to me just now, when speaking in relation to the rest of the XWF, Muddy was nowhere near ready to compete.

Muddy's eyes widen as he loosens the hold.

"Test?"

Muddy seemed very unfamiliar with the word.

"Yes, Muddy. I wanted to make sure that you still had that same fire. That same ability you had when you were the greatest x-dubya-eff superstar ever! This is a most perfect, most vicious triangle hold! Now please let me go all the way before you SHATTER MY FUCKING ARM!"

"Oh..."

Muddy finally lets all the way go and helps me to my feet.

"Muddy, we're going to get you back in that ring- hell! I don't think you even need to train!"

Exactly what I want this hick to think.

"We've already got you a match booked in Libya next Wednesday, against someone the booker called Ghost Taint. When you rise up and defeat this fiendish Phantom of the Taint, it will fill your daughter with pride once again, Muddy. And she will return to wrestling. You'll get your daughter back, and I will get the documentary of my dreams."

"Muddy's a hearin at there Stang song about the fields of gold up in his mind. I'mma purge Tank's taint, make me some damned ol' drankin' money and get my Dolly back. It's all so GOT DAMN RAPTUROUS!"

"Indeed, Muddy. Indeed it is!"

I over zealously say, trying to play into Muddy's sudden...




Sudden....




Ummm what the fuck is the....





uhhhh.





God damn, I think I'm becoming delirious from the pain of my broken arm. I need a hospital.





And I need......






Muddy to drive?

"LETS SADDLE UP YER SLENDER SACKS! DA PRIDE OF PIKE COUNTY IS BACK BITCHES!"

God help me.

-end episode 6-