”It has been a very eventful two months for me. I caused waves with the New X-Treme’s. I lost my first match in SCW, a tag match against Justin Underwood and my heated rival, the big boss “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward. I asked my girlfriend of six years (for the second time) to marry me and she said yes. All while I worked my ass off to stay in the NWA rankings. Then, I planned a wedding, attended the wedding, stated my love for this ‘woman’ in front of thousands of people, only for her to throw a curveball by knocking me in the family jewels, spitting in my face, and all in front of our children.
“Then, there is the aftermath. Hallucinations start getting stronger while struggling to pretend to be okay in front of friends, family and co-workers. I still went out there and put on a show the only way I know how to. I turned it to eleven, and made the fans eat up every minute of it. It would have been blockbuster had The Aristocrats not came out and ruined it with their cheap tactics, running away from me because they couldn’t get me with a sneak attack.
“And then, there was the messy chairshot with the barbe… Hold on just a second there, that is an entirely different point there. Let me rewind back to Wrestle Classic 2012 in case you missed it. NWA World Heavyweight Champion, soon to be former champion that is, was walking through the halls at the SCW hosted show, when he became the unfortunate victim of “Chicken Nuggets”, my brother Jamie’s running prank at the moment. Short version, yellow chicken suited Jamie kicked Jack in the nards, and dumped barbeque sauce all over him while the majority of the SCW locker room laughed at his expense. Of course, I *happened* to be the one laughing the loudest, and I *might* have mentioned that I had my eyes on his belt…
“Fast forward a few months, and we get back to Berlin, just days ago. After inviting the champ to Germany for what was supposed to be a friendly show of sportsmanship between the two of us, Kraven graciously accepted. In turn, I was ecstatic to have him in front of the Berlin crowd. I had spent a great deal of my life in Frankfurt and Berlin where my family had been from before coming to the United States a few generations ago. My family was there watching. My kids were in the audience cheering us on, and my aunts, uncles, and many cousins were in attendance to see this glorious moment in my career.
“Let me go ahead and fast forward just about five minutes from there. We will skip through the friendly bullshit banter, and the heartfelt apology to Jack. Let’s just ease on past the acceptance, and the friendly handshake. Let’s move right up to the moment that Kai FUCKING Kennedy jumped the guardrail, invaded that ring, and knocked me out with a chair from behind. PAUSE! Why should I pause before the good stuff? Why, because it just seems right to do so since this was a very, VERY pivotal moment in this entire story. This was the point where I went from starstruck, kid in a candy shop, to pissed off bull in a china shop. If we take a moment to do a slow-mo of my face as I am falling down to the ground, you will see the transition…
“The joyful glisten in my eyes starts to lose that naïve sparkle. *Blink* My eyes slowly open, and a bit of confusion welling up in them. There is a sort of desperation that seems to come over my eyes. *Blink* They shoot open again and this time, I saw the old Spike staring back at me with that sinister, sadistically masochistic grin on his face. It was a bit confusing because the old Spike would have been the one with the chair in his hand, attacking some poor bastard. But I digress. There is something in that last stare before my eyes close and I lose consciousness.
“The clever little prick, Jack Kraven thought it would be a riotous display to dump a bottle of KC Masterpiece all over me as I lay prone on the ground. Maybe I am too close to it, but I don’t find it very funny. Is it ironic? Hell yes it is. Was it a smart move on his part? Hell no it wasn’t! The smart move would have been to play nice to my face, and save the backstabbing for the match. Then he might still have a chance at winning this match. Instead, he tossed me his entire game plan, and gave me two weeks to study the hell out of it, all while he hasn’t even seen a fraction of what I am capable of… I would still like to say good luck to the champ, because he is surely going to need it.
“But I did not feel this way from the beginning. Like every great story with a great ending, there is usually a tragic beginning. Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom to see the full picture. This is my fall…
Scene 1: Shots!It started off pretty tame, just a few of us sick of the city of love. Amour had dug into my nerves after being left at the altar, and I was just ready to forget it all. The nerve she had to tweet at me about being responsible… I planned on showing her I just didn’t care anymore, and then I heard the voice just shouting into my ears…”If you’re not fucked up ladies and gentlemen, get ready to get fucked up!”[/b]
” SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! EVERYBODY! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! EVERYBODY! “
I’m not sure most people would consider Lil Jon to be a voice of reason, but it was good enough for me. I shared shots with the likes of Tom Dudely, Giani Di Luca and the Fuhgeddaboudit crew, most of the Seven Deadly Sins, New X-Treme’s, and of course my brothers. Paris was not about to get to me, not if I had anything to say about it…Jamie Staggs: You… you’re a good fuckin’ dude, broham. She’s *hiccup* she’s not worth the heartache. Just drink to forget about her.
”And that was exactly what I planned to do that week in Paris…”The bar was on fire tonight as Sin City Wrestling, and a couple BACW stars graced the hole in the wall establishment. Once word of their presence had circled around town, wrestling fans and ring rat floozies lined up out of the doors to have a drink with any one of the wrestlers currently inside of the bar. The bartenders were working extra hard just to quench the thirst of Spike and his wrestler friends, let alone all of their supporters. They work double time, and the waitresses worked just as hard. The music plays loudly in French, but the melodies are very reminiscent of old bar folk music.
Spike sits down in the center of the booth between his partners in crime for the past several days, Kittie, Brandi Shotze, his brothers, and oddly enough, Misty’s own sister Desiree. In the center of them all, Spike forces himself as the center of attention. He pours a shot down his throat and then goes on about something or another, stirring up laughter amongst the table. He goes on rambling, causing the laughter to intensify.
”My memory is a bit hazy from this point on, all the way through the plane ride to Berlin, but I remember a few key points. Number one being, no matter what song was playing where ever we went, ‘Shots’ was playing in my head. That’s why I think I have a chronic headache still to this day… The second point is…”Spike stands up in the booth and motions with his hand, what is supposed to be tossing a bottle of brew back, but looks a little more like he is calling someone a jerk off… on his face? A group of men come up to the table and begin shouting in French while clearing the empty shots and bottles off simply by sweeping it off. The Staggs boys waste no time acting big and bad, and though she doesn’t qualify as “one of the boys”, Kittie refuses to back down as well. Spike leans down and gives the men an ornery glare.
Spke: Why are you trying to step up to me… Aren’t the French known for giving up fights instead of starting them?
Spike waves a white napkin in their faces, eliciting further shouting from the men. Jamie gets in their faces, and Tommy balls up his fists in front of him. Kittie tries pushing forward, but Jamie does his best to keep her back while maintaining his hilarious version of a serious face. The people around them start throwing things ranging from bottles to chairs.
”Tommy took a bottle to his eyebrow, and that Frenchie must have really packed a punch because I had a bloody nose and a black eye in point 3, which was…”Spike is holding a cocktail napkin to his nose as he stumbles down the street on their way to their next destination. As they walk the cobblestone, Spike trips and bumps into Brandi Shotze. He raises his hand apologetically.
Spike: I am… soooo… sorry. I didn’t mean to do that, but say…
He stands up on his own once more as she looks down at her phone in anger. She taps away at it and then slides it back into her pocket.
Brandi: It’s all good, Spike. It just means we gotta get to the next place so we can drink more. You gotta forget Misty and stay off Twitter for a bit.
Spike nods his head as he closes his eyes, then widens them quickly sobering up a little more than he would like to be. He looks to Brandi to thank her for her support, but his eyes rest on her ample bosom instead. He tries to peel his eyes away, but isn’t very successful for a while. Finally he is able to look at her face.
Spike: You know… You are… just so… cool and stuff. And I don’t mean to be, um… disrespectful but… your breasts… They are like mountains that I want to climb up and never come down fro…
Brandi reaches back and slaps Spike hard across his face, looking a bit annoyed at his strange sense of flirtation. She steps forward to him as he holds his cheek in a bit of shame. She winks at him.
Brandi: Thank you.
Not meaning to, Brandi takes a quiet feminine sort of step in her walk as they trek on to the next place. Spike feels the little bit of sting and he smiles sheepishly, almost as if having shared a tender kiss with the woman.
”That slap rang out across the entire street. After that, it gets kind of blurry again until we get to the club. How could I forget most of the events at the club? Well, here is how…””Let’s Go Round Two…”” SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! EVERYBODY! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! EVERYBODY! “ We fade to the inside of a Parisian dance club where Spike is surrounded by the same group, with the addition of Giani Di Luca, all cutting it up on the dance floor. Giani and Spike are eyeballing two brown eyed blondes who look more like “ladies of the night” than actual club patrons. The girls quickly notice the stares. Even despite Spike’s extremely pour and erratic version of dancing, they lock eyes as the girls view the boys as prey. Simultaneously the girls place their straws to their lips and walk on over. They waste no time putting their arms around the boys, dancing up on them. They lean in to whisper into the boys ears, but unfortunately for them, they don’t understand a word of French and they both nod their heads excitedly. After a few moments, Spike and Giani lead the ladies back to their table. They call for the waitress who eyes them all suspiciously as she takes their orders. Spike leans in and kisses his twin while Giani pours his shot into his mouth only to feed it to his twin. Spike’s girl grabs his hand and slowly slides it down her stomach as he gets a sort of giddy smile on his face. Once past the belt, however, his face sours and he stops to think about it. Then his eyes widen in a sort of horror.
Spike: BALLS! BALLS, DUDE!
Giani’s expression widens and the two share a look before slowly backing away. This turns into running for the exit rather quickly, leaving everyone dancing on the floor without a clue as to their whereabouts.
”And on to point number five… This one truly is the clincher, and why I should never drink another day in my life… It’s bad enough going through this sober, but when you add the drinks, it goes to a whole new level.”Lastly, we fade into Spike’s hotel room. On the television is a commercial for Cool Whip. The light, fluffy, creamy… *WHIP* that you just can’t get enough of. It’s good on *WHIP* or even slap a little *WHIP* on your hot sticky buns. The camera pans out just a little to see a leather clad figure boasting a whip, a real Amazon of a woman. Shackled to the bed is Spike Staggs, face down biting a pillow and grunting in a strange sort of pained pleasure mixture. Red lines trace down his back as he grits his teeth. He looks back to the woman who is wearing a stern look on her face, and then over to the nightstand where a bottle of Jack Daniels sits, staring him down. Once Roxanne notices his staring at the bottle, She lashes him with the whip once more. She shakes her head in disgust as he winces, and groans and shivers before resting up. He looks back at Roxanne.
Spike: If you’re going to take away my drink and punish me, at least stop whipping me like I’m made of glass! Let me feel it, dammit! BREAK ME!
Roxanne: You would like that too much. See, I’m not here to break you because you’ve already broken yourself. I’m not here to fix you either, but rather to make sure your head is in the game. You just found out last week that you have the biggest match of your LIFE and what do you do? Hm? Do you go to the gym and work out to tone up your old man flab? Do you find sparring partners? Do you even give this match a second thought? No, you go out and throw a pity part because “Boo hoo, Misty left me at the altar so I’m gonna throw my life away.” FUCK THAT SPIKE!
Spike sneers back at her, only to find her leaned over to his side. She grabs onto his face and clinches it tightly, digging her nails into it to break the skin a little. She leans in and headbutts him, and then she crawls on top of his back, straddling him in an almost Camel Clutch sort of submission hold.
Roxanne: You created me with your mind in your twisted little world because when I was alive, I pushed you forward. I kept you focused when you wanted to throw it all away. I taught you to focus it on others rather than yourself. Even in my most harsh moments with you, deep down you knew that everything I did was out of love for you. And in the end, you threw it all away on some little emo bitch who used you to push herself ahead. You see what happened the second you *kind of* asserted yourself, she dropped you like a bad habit, cut you out cold turkey, but you are the one withdrawing from her poison. Excuses are over now, Spike. It’s time to man up and act like you have external genitalia. Show the world those grapefruits, Spike. Start off by taking that giant leap toward the NWA Heavyweight Championship.
Roxanne crawls off of him once he stops putting up a fight. He tilts his head back, and she leans down, parting her lips to meet with his. She stops short, and spits in his mouth before slapping him across the face.
Roxanne: Right now, Spike… You are nothing but a little punk. Not even your imaginary dead ex girlfriend wants to lock lips with you. As it stands, you don’t stand a chance against Jack Kraven. Have you seen what he can do? He is a real man, Spike… And, as it stands, he will embarrass you in front of the entire SCW locker room, and in front of all the fans in London, and the hundreds of thousands streaming it online. Until you get your act together, you don’t stand a chance. Now, I will leave you here to stew in it overnight, and when I come back in the morning, you had better take a different attitude toward this whole thing. Otherwise, you might as well have just followed suit as Misty’s bitch like “Big” Steve Scanlon said, and just stayed retired.
Spike tenses up in a bit of anger as he looks over to her. She leans against the headboard, resting and watching him in a sort of motherly way. Spike spits back at her, missing her by nearly a foot.
Spike: Screw Steve Scanlon! That little bastard isn’t shit here and he wants to throw around insults? I’d like to see what happens if we ever meet face to face. Maybe he will sing it in a different tune? I will go out there at London Brawling, and I’ll beat Jack Kraven and bring home the NWA World Heavyweight Championship for everyone to see that I am not broken. I still have what it takes. Just like Jordan and I will beat Rage and Gabriel tomorrow night. It’s because I still got it, and I’ve never lost a beat. No one here in SCW has pinned me or eliminated me in any match. I have been the winner in all but one contest where I wasn’t pinned. I rule this place, and I will rule the NWA title match too. I just need to blow off a little steam right now, but you are trying to ruin that. You are doing this because you always wanted to see me fail. But I won’t. I am going to bring home that belt, no matter what anyone else thinks or says on the matter…
Roxanne’s hard eyes soften up and she cocks her head to the side. She leans in, stroking his cheek gently, and her crimson lips part into what should be considered a gentle smile. A bit of red flushes her porcelain cheeks as she leans forward just a little bit.
Roxanne: Aww, sweetie… Do you REALLY believe any of that?
And with that, she gets up from the bed, leaving his side for a moment. Then, she sticks a silly straw into the opened bottle of Jack Daniels, and she props it up on the bed near his mouth. She pats his head as he tenderly finishes off the last bit in the bottle. And with that, she disappears into thin air.
”Some might think that this is rock bottom, and if I didn’t know how this story ends, I might think so too. Drinking is like a medication, but usually it only postpones the inevitable. You have to face reality sooner or later… But, more on that, well, later. I’ve got somewhere I need to go to really clear my mind. –Spike”
Scene 2: Man In the Mirror”As I woke up, the absence of the stinging marks on my back made everything from the night before disappear, except for the drunken feeling from downing countless shots and a bottle of Jack.”Spike’s eyes slowly flutter open, and they struggle to really see what is going on around him. The same Cool Whip commercial is playing on the television, and Spike’s dry mouth causes him to reach for the water bottle on the nightstand. As he does, he notices his arms are still cuffed to the bedpost. He uselessly struggles to free himself for a few minutes before shouting out “DAMMIT!” His arms go limp, hanging there. What he is surprised to see is a mirror on the ceiling that he hadn’t noticed before. At first glance, all he sees is a messy haired, half naked image of himself tied to a bed, half way under a sheet. He growls as he goes back to tugging away at the red and black furry cuffs, and struggles to kick his legs as well, only to find they are also tied down.
Spike: Dammit all! What is the point of this? Huh? Prisoner of my own mind bullshit?
Just then, Roxanne emerges from the bathroom, wearing her fishnets from the night before, but the rest of her body is barely covered up by a chic black satin robe. She runs a brush through her shoulder length fiery red hair. Her mascara and eyeliner is blotched, showing that she has just awakened as well. Her red lips part into a smile as she slowly walks toward the bed.
Roxanne: You pretty much hit that nail right on the head, Spikey… You were always such a smart one.
She leans down over the bed, planting a kiss on Spike’s forehead as he struggles to evade it. She lightly grips the side of his face to hold him in place. After the kiss, she gently runs her fingers down his face, then tenderly across his neck, and going down his heaving, pale chest. She rubs around on it for a lingering moment.
Roxanne: If I didn’t tie you up, then you would just go back to hitting the bars with your retarded brother and his psychotic, appropriately white trash wife. You would hit on transvestites, and get into bar fights, and you wouldn’t really see the big picture.
Spike: Oh, I see the big picture because it’s staring at me from under the sheets like a monster ready to attack…
Roxanne’s mouth parts in anticipation and surprise. Her greenish blue eyes light up in excitement, but she is quick to avert her attention from that region. She straddles over Spike’s stomach and looks down into his eyes, showing a fire that outshines Spike’s fire by about a hundred times.
Roxanne: You still have nerve, and that is what I always admired about you. You were the only man that could ever tame me… But that was many years ago. Now, I wouldn’t take a whipping from you if you paid me.
Spike: Now you are dead, living only in my mind. As a part of me, I assume this means I don’t want to fuck myself. I’m starting to feel healthier already.
Roxanne: Ohhh harsh…
Roxanne leans back a little to show him just how dead she is right now. His eyes widen, and then narrow in a sort of awkward attempt at seduction. She leans back a bit further to allow Spike ample opportunity to look at himself in the mirror. She grips his chin and forces him to have a look.
Roxanne: Never mind all of that. Tell me exactly what you see when you look at yourself in the mirror. Do you see someone that you can be proud of? Do you see someone you would like your children to look at as an example of a real man?
Spike takes a long, hard look, squinting a bit. He shrugs his shoulders and sheepishly nods his head for a moment before speaking.
Spike: Yeah. Yeah, I do honestly.
Roxanne: BULLSHIT! You can’t lie to me, Spike! I’m a figment of your FUCKING IMAGINATION! You see a bold-faced liar, and do you know how even Stevie Wonder could see that? Because you can’t even really look yourself in the eye. You even see how pathetic you are…
Spike: Oh, do tell… Because I know you are going to anyway, and apparently I’m not going anywhere anytime soon…
Roxanne grips Spike’s chin, digging her nails into his skin as she widens her eyes to let him in on this little “secret”.
Roxanne: You know you are just a piece of trash that had his fifteen minutes and you think everyone should give a shit about you just because of it. Well, guess what? People are only going to buy that crap for so long before they see what I see…
Spike struggles to free his chin from her grip, but she almost seems to have an incredible grip. Was it the booze, or was she superhero strong? Spike opens his eyes and she holds a handheld mirror about a foot from his face. He stares hard into it, standing by his convictions.
Spike: You know what I see when I look into that mirror? I see the next NWA World Heavyweight Champion. I see the man who is going to bring home the top prize to SCW. I see the proud father of two beautiful children whom I adore. I see a man who has been a bit jaded recently, blowing off some steam, underneath a bitch who is determined to take all of that away from me with a bullshit theory that Angelica cooked up to ruffle my feathers.
Roxanne: That slut is as dim as a burned out light bulb. She is a poor, poor imitation of me, if you take away the sensibility, courage, edge, and general intelligence. So for her to point out something with validity, you should take it with more than a grain of salt. If you don’t, you will go to London Brawling and you will not only embarrass yourself, but you will embarrass Sin City Wrestling in the process. Christian Underwood buys into your bullshit, but you will make him out to be a fool as well.
Spike clinches his eyes closed, trying as hard as he can to make it all go away. He jolts his head from side to side as much as he can with Roxanne’s Wonder Woman grip still intact. He mouths “No, no, no…” to himself while Roxanne nods her head to the contrary.
Spike: Why the hell am I trying to do this to myself? Why so close to such a big match? Why am I trying to sabotage myself when I have a once in a lifetime opportunity knocking at my door?
Roxanne: You have to understand that there is still time to turn things around. You have gone into meltdown mode, and instead of using that angst and pent up aggression to push yourself forward, you are drinking yourself into a stupor. You are becoming the man you used to be when we parted ways, only you lost your edge. The sooner you admit that, the sooner you can go out there and take what was always meant to be yours. You have to confront yourself, and defeat your demons. It’s the only way for you to move forward, Spike.
Roxanne releases his chin, little trickles of blood coming from her nail imprints. He takes a deep breath, with a sigh of relief. As his eyes open, he sees flashes of his demons in his reflection. He sees himself nearly a decade ago, his face masked in a crimson waterfall that reminds him of his humble hardcore beginnings. Then he sees himself as slightly older, eyes glowing with a red intensity that reminds him of his darkest of hours where he last melted down like this. Then he sees the empty shell of a man that he used to be before his daughter was born. Then, he sees himself now, bloodshot eyes, matted hair, and he realizes that he would never want his children to be anything like the images he has just seen. He surrenders, letting his head hit the pillow as he closes his eyes. A tear trickles down his cheek as he takes in deep breaths. Roxanne sets the mirror down next to Spike’s head, and then she gets off of him. She shows a strange sense of vulnerability now as she begins unshackling Spike.
Roxanne: Now that you’ve seen what I see, you can turn it around. Start out by taking charge. If you want something, have no shame in taking it. The world could really be yours for the taking.
Spike: Yeah… I guess.
Roxanne unlatches the last set of cuffs, setting Spike free. However, instead of getting up, Spike just lays there. Roxanne looks a bit saddened by his lack of fight, but they both know Spike won’t give up until he has the world in the palm of his hand. She nurses him the bottle of water as the scene fades out.
************************************************************
”This end is just the beginning… The beginning of what, you might ask? I wish I knew the answer to that myself. I know there is a long road ahead of me still, but I am enjoying the ride. I have a feeling that there are big, BIG things in my future. However, in order for me to get there, I had to see that I was travelling down the wrong road. That road was headed straight into a train wreck. Like I said, I don’t know the outcome to this story yet, but if I am headed for another train wreck, then I’m sure as hell going to enjoy the crash.
“Jack Kraven, beware. I might have been distracted in the beginning, but I can assure you, that has changed. There are high stakes and I will go out in a blaze of glory at London Brawling. Sorry, I couldn’t think of a clever way to insert December to Dismember… What? I’m still sobering up, cut me some slack…”
