Jack'd the Ripper:
I had a dog once, did you know that? A beautiful little Corgi, and I think he had a bit of Jack Russell terrier breed mixed in. I was never sure. I was very young, after all. All I know was, he was my best friend. I loved him. We did absolutely everything together. He slept in my bed and made sure that I woke up on time every morning for school on weekdays, and when it was time to rise early on Saturday mornings for cartoons. We ate together. Played together. The only mystery where he was concerned was how I got him in the first place. To me, he just showed up from out of the blue. Like a little angel that I needed so badly at the worst time of my life.

When my mom left my dad without telling either of us, and she took me in the dead of night from our home and we left for Whitechapel without my father’s knowledge.

---

Little Jack's Mom:
I still don’t know about this. He’s not ready for a pet! He’s much too young!

Little Jack's Grandma:
He’s just a little boy and in a strange city. He needs a friend now before he can make any when school starts up.

Little Jack's Mom:
He doesn’t need a friend! He has me!

Little Jack's Grandma:
Sweetheart, he’s your son. Not your best friend. Thinking otherwise is just unhealthy.

Little Jack's Mom:
I think I know what my son needs!

Little Jack's Grandma:
Just … give it a chance.

---

Little Jack laughed in glee, as any small child of five years would when he was playing with such an energetic puppy. The small dog yipped merrily as it tore about the house with Jack in hot pursuit, neither paying heed to the growing frustration of Jack’s mother as she watched and dealt with the aftermath of the constant ‘play dates’ between her son and the newest member of their small family.

It was almost as if Jack’s mother was growing jealous over the attention her darling little boy lavished on the puppy, rather than pay attention to and spend time with her. But that would just be ridiculous, right? A grown woman, a mother especially, jealous over a puppy?

---

Pound Employee:
Now you understand that once turned over, you lose any and all rights? You can’t ask to take him back? You can’t even ask how he is or whether or not he’s been adopted?

Faking a tear, obviously, Jack’s mom nodded as she passed little Charlie over into the arms of the dog pounds male employee.

Little Jack's Mom:
I understand. We-we just can’t handle having a dog.

---

Little Jack’s wails of dismay could be heard all the way outside of their small house and into the street when he had arrived home from his grandparents’ house in Whitechapel and was told the dreadful ‘truth.’

Little Jack's Mom:
I know, honey. I’m sorry! But the door had been left open and he got out and Charlie ran away!

Jack’s mom took her little boy into her arms and held him as his tears flowed.

Little Jack's Mom:
I know. I loved him too.

---

Jack'd the Ripper:
It was only later in life when I had found out the truth. When I had found out that my beloved Charlie did not, in fact, run away but my mother simply got rid of him. I suppose it could have been worse. She could have taken him for a drive somewhere in the country and dumped him, leaving a puppy on his own to fend for himself. But instead, she showed she had at least some semblance of a heart and took him to the pound where he at least stood a chance. And as a puppy, he had a much higher chance at being adopted before getting put down, than a grown adult dog did. That if i could not love him and care for him, some other little boy or girl could.

Small consolation.

After that, when i knew the truth of my mother’s deceit. I found I had little love for dogs any longer. Almost less than I had for mothers, for women. Almost. So imagine my amusement when I am contacted to tell me I have to be in Las Vegas this weekend as a substitute for Brother David.

Against a Bulldog.

Card subject to change? Funny how these things work out.

A camera focused on the screen of a 24 inh, flat HDTV. Yet the news footage was not in color. It was in black and white, archived news footage of a tragedy that had happened over sicty-five years ago. Footage of the 1955 Le mans disaster; a major crash occurred during the 24 Hours of Le Mans motor race at Circuit de la Sarthe in Le Mans, France. Large pieces of debris flew into the crowd, killing eighty three spectators and French driver Pierre Bouillin and injuring nearly one hundred and eighty more.

The light of the televisions images reflected in a macabre dance in a closeup of two eyes that filled the screen in their madness.

Jack'd the Ripper:
"I have to admit, that I never really understood the fascination with motorsports, NASCAR and race car driving. That sort of thing. I never understood why this 'indulgence' was even considered a sport in the first place. I mean, what you're basically watching is a number of cars racing around in a circle, continuously. Over and over. Just to see who is fastest, and who can cross that finish line first."

"I suppose there are the random breaks, where the race car driver pulls in for a quick tune up, to have tired replaced or rotated, and then we're treated to a display of who can fix their car the fastest, and back to the race that really matters. Fascinating!"

"At least, my mother believed so."

White Chapel -
1989

Little Jack'd:
"Mommy...?"

Little Jack'd had finished his breakfast of cold cereal and toast, eager to run to the family living room and turn on those all-important Saturday morning cartoons. Only to find his mother in her recliner, with the television already turned on -- to the races. A little piece of Little Jack'd and his hopes felt crushed. To a child in school, Saturday mornings were the time to most look forward to, and five glorious hours of animated entertainment. Only his mommy did not know, or did not care, and her only care was for her own amusement.

Mommy:
"Shh! Can't you see I'm watching the races?"

What, like she couldn't carry on with an exchange with her only son while the races were on? Was she afraid she might miss the wave of a flag or something?

Little Jack'd:
"I want to watch cartoo-"

But his words were cut off by a sharp cuff to the side of the head, sending him tumbling to his bottom on the hard wood floor of their apartment.

Mommy:
"I said I'm watching the races!"

Footage from the Old Bridge Township Raceway Park in 2008 danced in those manic eyes. A race that saw Scott Kalitta, one of the most successful racers in American drag racing history, involved in a fiery and horrific crash. His engine had exploded in the race, damaging the parachute meant to slow the car down. The dragster continued through the sand trap and over a retaining wall at approximately 125mph before striking a crane.

Jack'd the Ripper's head tilted to the side, like a puppy engaged in watching something both curious and fascinating.

Jack'd the Ripper:
"I always thought that more were drawn to the sick relish of car wrecks in these races than they were the actual races themselves. People have always celebrated the violent and the macabre. In hockey if the game ends without a single fight, tooth knocked out or face plastered against the guard partisan's, you can feel the disappointment from the masses. If a car race ends without a single crash, the sick and twisted wonder if they can get their money for their ticket refunded or not. And, in wrestling, people no longer care for a clean cut athletic contest. They want to see tables and ladders and chairs -- Oh MY! They want to see fights taken out into the audience! Faces raked across razor sharp barbed wire!"

His head tilted to the opposite shoulder.

Jack'd the Ripper:
"So you'll understand, won't you -- Agostino Romano?"

"It's nothing personal, and has absolutely nothing to do with you being a virtually useless racecar driver. Or former one -- whatever. It's all about entertainment, you and I giving the crowd what they want. Giving them their money's worth. Or rather .... me, giving them what they want. Your blood. Your broken bones. Scar tissue. Your sad little cries of anguish. Until there's simply nothing left of you to play with. Your career, an endless cycle of hopelessness. The never ending race car loop. The never ending cycle."

"The snake, eating its own tail."

 
Little Jack had never been a popular child. Not in school, not at home with his single mother. A single mother who blamed her only child for her husband leaving their family, and relegating her to supporting herself as well as the small boy on the salary of a waitress. Of course, the fact that she was an altogether unpleasant individual was completely lost on her.

It simply had to be someone else’s fault.

So Little Jack was quite surprised when, on his birthday, he was led into his absolute favorite place to be -- McDonalds -- to be greeted with several of his classmates shouting “SURPRISE!” and sernading him with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” A birthday party at McDonalds! Was there anything better!?

Little Jack sat with the colorful party hat on his head, the center of attention, as a handful of the invited children played games with him and gifted him with some of the best toys he had ever laid his hands and eyes on -- because he had so few. His mother’s meager income simply did not warrant such luxuries -- even if it did warrant her spending enough on herself for makeup, movies and beer.

But his mom told him to wait until they got home to open them, and focus instead on playing with his friends, eating that glorious greasy McDonalds food, and of course -- the cake!

Imagine then his heartbreak when he was brought home, and his new toys locked in his mom’s closet.

To be sold.

To pay for his own birthday party.

---

Jack'd the Ripper:
“And here all this time, I thought they didn’t like me.”

“They didn’t like that I touched their precious Belinda, that I wanted to say ‘hello’ to her up close and personal. Maybe they thought I wished her harm, but if anyone wanted to hurt someone, I’d say that it was that blonde tart who jumped me. Did I lay a hand on him?”

Jack’d rocked back and forth, shaking his head with an emphatic ‘no.’

Jack'd the Ripper:
“I did not! And their security. They put their hands on me, and forced me out of the building and do you know, they didn’t even let me get my luggage. They threw it out to me, and then one of the bosses -- I forget which one -- told me I was suspended until further notice. Fancy that. Suspended for taking a liking to Belinda Simone, but the men who attacked me? Nothing. And then … oh and then…”

He smiled a toothy smile that showed his pearly whites, and a cracked tooth from a previous battle no doubt.

Jack'd the Ripper:
“I thought I was being brought back early to face Jack Russow, but we all know what happened then. The boy was afraid, but to protect him they just extended my punishment and gave him all the time in the world. Time enough from what I hear to lose his title in his first defense and then he wimps out and walks away. Says he needs a break but he just gets discovered working somewhere else where the competition isn’t so high.”

Jack’d looked up at the camera from the side.

Jack'd the Ripper:
“And then there’s you, Austin James Mercer.”

He giggled.

Jack'd the Ripper:
“Just when I thought they didn’t like me, didn’t trust me -- didn’t want me around … they give me you. THEY give ME you! The Internet Champion! The second-tier from the top! Oh sure, sure! There’s the Roulette Champion -- whatever his name is -- but that title lost a lot of what it was when Russow beat Griffin Hawkins. Now the first match the new champion is in, he loses?”

Jack’d nibbled the tip of his forefinger and closed his eyes, his shoulders shaking in merriment.

Jack'd the Ripper:
“But not you, right Austin? When was the last time you lost a match? When was the last time your shoulders were pinned to the canvas? When was the last time you looked across the ring into the eyes of a man staring right back and you thought to yourself…”

Jack’d eyes focus into the camera and there is a vacant stare behind them.

Jack'd the Ripper:
“...’I’m fucked.’ Hm? I don’t even care that your Internet title isn’t on the line. It’s no real consequence to me. I beat you this time, then it will be next time. Maybe you thought the same thing I did when this match was announced, huh? Austin? Did you? Did you think that because they put their mighty Internet Champion against the new guy -- the guy not seen in weeks -- it meant that they liked you? It meant that they thought you deserved an easy ride? Maybe even a guaranteed win?”

He shook his head, eyes closed, with a smile and held up a finger.

Jack'd the Ripper:
“No. Nononono. If anything Austin, it means the exact opposite. They don’t like you. They want to see you hurt. Battered. Bruised!”

He turned his head and grabbed the camera and pulled it right up into his eyes.

Jack'd the Ripper:
“Broken!”