The Tsunami Thrill Ride | Chapter Four – You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet

Things changed after Rod got his epic beat down from Keith. Life was different. Peggy and Louise patched up their differences and we moved back in with her. It was odd at first having some sort of normalcy in our lives but after what some would consider a brief adjustment period, things started to even out for us. My mom finally finished her masters and started teaching again, this time right in Dearborn and for once in our crazy life things started to look up. Uncle Jack would come by sporadically and we would hang. Mostly I would hang with him while he smoked pot. He would tell me all about these trips he was taking. At this point in his life Jack was consumed with culture. He would travel to Europe, Asia, India, you name it. He would just go with a backpack and a camera and live. Jack was the coolest. Anyway, like I said, life was good for a couple of years. It was good while it lasted anyway. Right around my eleventh birthday Peggy met Dave Kennedy. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Here goes Peggy meeting some other d-bag dude who beats on Johnny. Couldn’t be further from the truth. Dave was the principle at the school where Peggy was working. He was Michigan State educated and wore really tight khaki pants but except for those two egregious things he was a pretty great guy. He treated Peggy like the princess she was. The problem is, when you’re eleven, you don’t see any of that shit. All you see is another dude who is going to ruin your life. So, in typical Johnny fashion, I fucked with that man hard.

I give Dave a ton of fucking credit. He stood in there like I champ and I gave him some serious shit. I would do all my classics like letting air out of his tires, pissing on his front seat, stealing all the cash out of his wallet, but the dude never faded. He soldiered right on and to tell you the truth, we were all better for it. It was the summer of 2005 when they got married and it was a really nice wedding. We had a party in Jack’s backyard with pretty much everyone we knew at the time, which to a twelve year old is a lot of fucking people. Jack had just met Candy, who would later end up being Mrs. Jack, so he invited her to the party. I can’t say for sure, but I’d bet a ton of dough that she was high during the ceremony. Dave had a daughter from his first marriage that was a couple of years older than me. Her name was Hannah and I had the biggest crush on her. She was tall with really long legs and really bright blonde hair that she would wear in this really classy braid. She fucking hated me though and I don’t blame her. I was a terror back then. I mean I was an absolute monster and it all came to a head when I started Junior High School that fall. We had moved to Howell where Dave’s house was. Howell was a little too suburban for my taste and I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had grown pretty early on so I was much taller than anyone else in my grade and I was also much more of an asshole. I was the quintessential school bully. I would beat kids up for no reason at all and it seemed like I was getting detention or suspension every other week. The worst was when I punched my English teacher in the face during testing week.

Mr. Maurer was a total fucking prick. He was about six feet tall and about five feet wide, full of fat. He had about three chins and a really thick pair of glasses and sat on the front of his balding head. I gave him a lot of grief and looking back, I was kind of mean, but when you’re twelve years old the concept of “mean” is kind of lost on you. Anyway, back to me punching him in the face. It was during the standardized testing week in December of 2005. I skipped out on my homeroom to smoke a cigarette with some of the kids in my grade so when I showed up for my test, I reeked of smoke, which was a big no no in the suburbs of Michigan apparently. When I walked in and sat down Maurer made an off-handed comment to me. I can’t even remember what he said but I remember it being kind of mean so I responded by telling him to fuck himself. He yanked me so hard by the color that he ripped my Chili Peppers t-shirt nearly off my back. He ripped me into the hallway and shoved me against the wall. Now mind you, this was after about four months of me being the most terrorizing student you could possibly think of so shit was just boiling over at this point. He shoved me against the wall hard a second time and then told me he was gonna kick my ass if I ever spoke to him like that. I don’t remember what I said in response to that but it prompted him to tell me that if I felt like I was a man to go ahead and throw a punch. I think that was meant as some sort of scare tactic or something because it definitely threw him off guard when I cracked him in the nose. I remember him just staring at me after that, not even talking or anything, just wide eyes and a look of shock on his face. That was my last day at Howell Junior High unfortunately. My mom was getting pretty fed up with me too at that point. God bless Dave for being the saint that he was but I was a lot to handle. It was at this point that we started talking about me going to live with Keith.

It had been almost six years since Keith beat the living shit out of Rod. The judge wasn’t very hard on him because of what Rod had done to me. He was give six months of probation and some community service. Right around my tenth birthday though, he got a job in Venice Beach working for a Harley shop and he headed out west. He came to visit once a year but other than that, I didn’t see him or talk to him much. So you could imagine my surprise when he agreed that it might be better for everyone involved if I went out there with him for a bit. Looking back I think my mom was trying to punish me in some way but this was the best news I had ever gotten. Keith was my fucking idol so going to live with him was a fucking dream come true. So on my thirteen birthday I boarded a plane in Detroit to Los Angeles and that…that is when shit really got real…

To be continued…

---

The camera turns on and we see Johnny standing in front of it. He’s wearing his black hat, slightly turned to the side, a green military style jacket over a black tank top, and tight, ripped blue jeans. He takes a quick drag of a cigarette and then tries to focus on the camera.

“Look, Jimmy…can I call you Jimmy? I gotta be honest. I don’t really know anything about you. I mean, I know I’m supposed to do my research and learn and think but all that stuff is kind of hard for me to do, you know? I like to think of myself as more of a do-er than a think-er, capisce? This whole idea of a promo really kinda throws me off because, shit man, I like to just work with what I get in front of me. I like to get in that ring and have some fun. I like to just live in the moment. I haven’t planned shit in my life and now I’ve got to plan how I’m not only gonna beat you but also how I’m gonna talk about beating you? Shit just doesn’t make much sense to me. But I like you, Jimmy. I respect you, so I’m gonna try it out for a bit and see how to goes.”

He cracks his neck and then jogs in place for a second, all while having his Newport hang out of his mouth.

“So we actually faced each other once before, kind of any way. When I was teaming with that lazy piece of shit Caleb we faced you and Dmitri in a tag match. I don’t remember much about it to be truthful, but I remember we lost. I don’t remember if I took the pin or not…”

Johnny looks up as if he’s thinking as he takes a drag of his cigarette.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. That loss really meant nothing to me in the way you probably think it did. Shit, if you ever saw me wrestle before then you would know I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to losing so it’s really not a big deal to me. Evie always says I should start caring more but I always tell her there’s no point. I get paid whether I get pinned or whatever so does it really matter in the long run? I don’t know…I don’t think so anyway. Shit…where was I?”

Johnny again looks away from the camera as he tries to remember the point he was trying to make.

“Right. Look as far as I’m concerned you and me have a clean slate; a fresh start. A blank canvas just waiting to get covered with all sorts of shit. You see Jimmy, you and me; we’re not so different. Sure I am I don’t have a crazy uncle who’s so detached from reality that he thinks he can just go join the mafia on some crazy escapade…the mafia doesn’t exist, James.”

He leans into the camera.

“Or does it?”

He steps back, taking another drag.

“But back on point. You and me, we’re cut from the same cloth. We both love what we do. Shit I don’t know much about you but I can tell you’re a decent dude. A dude I can respect. That’s why all this is so hard for me, Jimmy. It pains me to know that I have to beat you this Sunday. I mean, I don’t really have to. For the past shit I don’t know, like two years I’ve just come to work for a paycheck. I’ve come to work literally so I can get high for a few more days. And I know what you’re thinking…he has a sad fucking life…”

He takes one more drag and then tosses the cigarette.

“But that’s where you would be wrong, Jimmy. I have a great fucking life. I get to do whatever and who ever I want. Except Evie…I never get to do Evie…”

He rolls his eyes.

“The point is Jimmy, and believe me there is a point somewhere in this fucking rambling, that I do what I want, when I want. I don’t answer to anyone else’s calling than my own, you dig? And you know what? I think I’m ready to turn over a new leaf. I think I’m ready for something different. I’ve dealt with some of the same shit over and over and over again and you know what? I’m ready to change it up. So when I beat you on Sunday, Jimmy, trust me when I say this, it has fuck all to do with your title, the money, the glory, or the accomplishment, or whatever other lie you say you do it for. I’m gonna beat you because I’m fucking bored. I’m going to beat you because I can.”

He steps closer to the camera, grabbing it on both sides.

“So make sure you tell Uncle Pinky and his Joe Pesci-wannabe fat ass to shine up that Roulette belt nice and fresh because Johnny’s coming for it. I ain’t just coming for your belt, Jimmy boy, I’m coming for it all. I’m coming for your glory, your accomplishment, your pride, and your fucking winner’s paycheck. I’m coming for your whole fucking life…except that whole fake mafia thing. You can keep that…”

Johnny slams the power button on the camera and the camera cuts to white fuzz.

END FEED

 



FREE FALLING WITHOUT A PARACHUTE

“Does this really fucking matter? I mean what’s the point anyway? I don’t believe in ghosts, goblins, monsters, or especially fucking vampires. What do I believe in? I believe crack pot weirdos who cosplay like Tom Cruise in that Anne Rice movie and pretend to be Dracula. You ain’t foolin’ nobody bro. You’ve been caught red handed. The jig is up and we’re not gonna take it anymore. Besides I saw you in the sunlight the other day...and you didn’t even sparkle. Look...I know you’re a former Internet Champion Dmitri...I get it. You’re somebody. And I mean me? Shit some people thought I was a nobody. But do you know what I’m not? I’m not some no talent hack that won a title on accident and couldn’t figure out how to defend it. Yeah, that was you that couldn’t successfully put away Rage right? If there’s one thing that Tommy Knocks has taught me these past twelve weeks it’s that if you can’t defend that strap...you’re a loser. In fact, you’re so much a loser that you had to go randomly find Jimmy Two Times to try and make yourself better. I understand the desire to stay in the limelight and to feel like you’re making a difference. I can imagine and relate to how much of a d-bag loser you felt like when you lost your belt on your first defense….but partnering up with this guy? That shit just screams desperation, bruh. Like smells really like it. Awful like. I mean….you could’ve just teamed with Casey Williams if you wanted someone who held a Roulette belt and will amount to absolutely nothing in this company. At least Casey isn’t a cheese fest maniac. Truth.”

“It feels good to be back in SCW. I don’t really know why I left. Oh wait...I do...Tim Staggs didn’t like what I fucked his girl. Truth be told, I’m glad I left. I needed that break. I needed to go out on my own and learn what it’s really like to be the bad ass mofo that I am. I used to look in the mirror and be disgusted. I used to look in the mirror and hate what I saw. I would see a punk kid who had no direction and no drive. I’d see a kid who didn’t know how to use the God-given talents he had. But that all changed when Caleb came callin’. It all changed when Evie Baang stood by our side. I can now hold my head up straight livin’ when I look into that mirror. Because I don’t see that lazy,s hit for brains, d-bag that I used to see. You want to know what I see now? I see pride! I see power! I see a bad-ass mother who don't take no crap off of nobody! And if you get that reference I’ll give you a lolly pop. Seriously….a cherry one.”

“I don’t care if I ever become a champion. No really, I don’t. It’s not because I don’t see that value it can bring or the great feeling an achievement like that can give you. That shit is just super low on my priority list. First off….I’d rather do a speed ball and a shot of tequila than do some sort of press junket where I have to talk to some people who are gonna ask me questions about shit I don’t have the answers to. I’d rather hit the street and casino, gamble a bit and maybe fall into some shit than kiss anyone’s baby or sign anyone’s awkwardly airbrushed photograph of me. I’d rather stay in bed and fuck the living shit out of Remi than get on a radio show in Cleveland and tell them all about SCW’s anti-bullying campaing. That ain’t me, babe, it ain’t me you’re looking for. But you know what? All that shit considered...if I were Mark Ward or Christian Underwood...I’d still rather have Johnny A. Tsunami holding my Roulette belt than some wack-a-doo that takes direction from some guy named Pinky that’s no more Vito Corleone than Jimmy the guy who used to sell me hot dogs in Greektown. I don’t care if he’s your Uncle James, lose the Fugazi..it’s sad. I know you probably cut a promo about how you beat all them dudes at into the Void and how you just beat Casey...but if you want to know how I feel about Casey Williams then just hit the rewind button for about thirty seconds. The truth is James...you’re about to get yupped up and you don’t even know yet. Ya can’t even realize. This Bad Company thing ain’t about no title belt or some match or some pay check. It’s a lifestyle, fam. It’s who we are. And you and Lestat are about to figure that shit out. For reals.”

---

What do you do when you REALLY need to get the blood pumping? Well, it’s quite simple actually. Step one get on an airplane. Step two climb to 15,000 feet. Step three …. Jump. It’s quite simple actually. There’s only two ways skydiving can possibly end. A rush of adrenaline to the body. Or a rush of the body to the earth. I know the first one doesn’t hurt. I think it’s safe to say the second one doesn’t either, but what do I know? Anyway... shall we?

The plane was a bit old, rickety even, but hey Caleb and Johnny didn’t need to land in the damn thing. All they needed to do was last long enough for that little green light above the door to click on and then like Tom Petty they’d be free.. Free fallin. Caleb could feel the humming of the engine inside of his chest as he leaned against the metal inside of the plane. Sitting on the ground in front of him was a black and yellow parachute bag he fiddled with the straps impatiently as he kept leaning forward every few seconds taking a glimpse at the light above the door which unfortunately was still red.

Caleb: Are we there yet?!

Caleb asked. Much like an impatient toddler in the backseat of a car. This was about the seventeenth time he’d asked. The ‘nos’ and the head shakes have stopped. Now all he got was a middle finger by the irritated pilot. If it wasn’t for the lawsuit the pilot would’ve already thrown him out the door. With or without the chute.

Caleb: Asshole...

Caleb responded as he pouted, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He flopped back against the inside of the plane, and blankly stared across at Johnboy.

Johnny: Will you fucking relax?

Johnny was getting noticeably irritated. Caleb had dragged him out of his bed, where a near naked Remi was sleeping next to him, so he could jump out of  a fucking airplane? All Johnny could think about what his new found rainbow-haired friend’s buttocks and the small bag of cocaine he forgot to grab off of the nightstand. It had been about thirty minutes since his last cigarette, two hours since his last bump and about a day since his last real fix. This day fucking sucked in his mind and all he could do is stare at Caleb.

Johnny: Why the fuck are we here again?

Tsunami grilled him, hoping for a deep, meaningful answer from his Bad Company brethren.

Caleb: “Why are we here?” “WHY are WE HERE?!?”

Caleb was flustered by this question. It’s been obvious for his whole life Caleb has lived his life one way. On the edge. If there was something he shouldn’t do you better believe he was going to do it. He lived his life a mile a minute. There was no stopping. No relaxing. None of the sort. The early part of his life was spent cooped up inside the same four walls for hours, days even, at a time. Now that he had stacked a little bit of money he was living life the best way he knew how.

Caleb: Once that door opens up you’ll realize why we’re up here. That free fall will hammer it home, too. See once you’re out that door there really is no turning back. It’s just you, and the air. In the back of your mind the only thing you can think about is ‘what if the chute doesn’t open?’ ‘what if I hit a power line?’ It’s a fucking rush.

Caleb had cheated death, on more than one occasion, and only in those moments did he really feel like he was living his life.

Johnny: Nah bro. The rush would’ve been doing what’s sitting in my nightstand and what’s laying in my bed. Instead I’m sitting on this plane about to jump out of a fucking plane in a t-shirt…

Johnny looks around a bit, paying close attention to the details inside of the plane.

Johnny: Didn’t Evie say she was coming?

He could’ve sworn Evie said she’d be here. As much as he tried to hide it and lie about it, no matter how much time he spent with Remi, he couldn’t shake Evie out of his head.

Johnny: Thought she was coming too..

He tried to play it off as best as he could.

Johnny: Fuck, this. Let’s just fucking tell them to land. I’m not into this bro.

Johnny started to sweat. He could feel the cold beads drip down his forehead as he finally started to freak out about jumping out of that door. He was coming down hard and was in no mood to jump.

Caleb: Evie… Evie… EVIE! It’s always about Evie. Yes, she was supposed to be here. No, she didn’t answer her phone when I called her.

Caleb said as he rolled his eyes. Johnny was smitten by everything with two legs, and boobs. Caleb began to bang his head against the inside of the plane. His impatience growing as each second went by. Caleb heard a loud buzz from inside of the plane, and after a few seconds the door opened up, and the green light clicked on. Like a little school boy Caleb began to bounce his feet up and down anxiously.

Caleb: TOO LATE!

Caleb yelled over the air now rushing inside of the plane. He looked toward Johnny who was beginning to look a bit nervous about the whole situation. Caleb laughed a bit at him as he grabbed his parachute bag, and walked his way over to the door.

Caleb: Just take a look at this.

Caleb said as he placed his right hand on the top of the doorway looking down at the ground below him. Well at least the glimpses of it he could see from the clouds.

Caleb: See you at the bottom!

Caleb dropped his parachute bag inside of the door, and leaned forward somersaulting out of the door.

Johnny: Fucking guy….

Johnny stood up and quickly strapped on his parachute. He walked over to the open door and tremendous winds nearly sat him back down in his seat. He picked up Caleb’s parachute and then stood there frozen for a moment. He shut his eyes, mumbled something under his breath, and then took off. It felt weird at first as all of the wind gust by his face. He opened his eyes a bit to see Caleb spinning through the air, laughing.

Caleb: La la la….

Caleb hummed to himself his eyes closed. As he spun through the air Caleb placed his hands behind his head, and crossed his legs as if he was lounging away on the couch. Carelessly falling down to the earth.

Caleb: OOOF!

Caleb let out a large breath as his parachute was slammed into his chest by a headfirst falling Johnny. Reaching up Caleb grabbed the chute. After some wringing, and fighting Caleb was able to maneuver his way into his parachute. Dejected he looked down at the fast approaching ground before pulling the cord for the chute. As it extended Caleb’s momentum was stopped suddenly as the air caught the canvas.

Johnny: Asshole!

Johnny screams across the air at his tag team partner as the two float aimlessly down toward the ground.

Johnny: Now how the fuck am I supposed to steer this thing? And I think I lost my fucking cigarettes…...asshole!

Caleb: Steer? Just pull those little wires hanging down at either side. But it doesn’t really matter all you have to do is make sure you don’t break your ankles when you hit the ground.

Caleb yelled through the air as the two got closer and closer to the ground. After what seemed like forever of just floating through the air Caleb’s feet finally touched the ground again. He disengaged the chute as he took a few steps forward getting his balance again. He looked around for Johnny but didn’t see him. Out of nowhere, he heard screaming…

Johnny: Watch out!

Caleb ducked as Johnny flew past him, smacking the ground hard.

Caleb: Idiot.

Caleb said as he shook his head, and looked around the Nevada desert.

Caleb: Now, get a us a ride home.

Johnny: Fuck you...give me a cigarette.

Caleb reached into his pocket and handed Johnny a crushed pack of Newports.

Johnny: Really?

Johnny carefully slid a half crushed cigarette out of the box and sparked it with his Bic lighter.

Johnny: How the fuck am I supposed to get us a ride home? You’re the only person I know with a car.

Caleb: Call fucking uber or something asshole. I don’t have my phone on me. Jesus christ, do I have to fucking do everything?

Caleb said flustered. For as much of a rush as Johnny was in Caleb was surprised he didn’t have someone waiting out here on the ground for them. Caleb shook his head as he looked over at Johnny. He gave him a look like, hurry up, as he tapped his foot on the sand.

Johnny: Alright I’ll fucking call someone.

Johnny rolled his eyes, thinking about how he has to do everything, and then shoves his hands into pockets to search for his phone. He moves them around frantically when he doesn’t feel it.

Johnny: Umm….

He checks the pockets again for good measure.

Johnny: So you don’t have your phone either huh?

Caleb: ….. Are you some kind of retarded?

Caleb asked Johnny. Flabbergasted at the fact Johnny hadn’t brought his phone with him,

Caleb: You’re always on the damn thing. Texting Remi, playing candy crush, or watching porn. What the hell is going on with you?

Caleb had no idea what Johnny did with his phone, but Caleb liked to live in his own little world, and create this stories. It’s just all part of what Caleb Houston is.

Caleb: Well…. I guess we better get walking. If I miss the morning cartoons I’m going to kill you.

Caleb started walking toward the beat up road about three hundred yards away. Johnny watched him walk and took a long drag of his Newport and smiled as he blew out the smoke. He looked down at the cell phone in his hand and read the text.

REMI

Be there in twenty….start walking.

Johnny laughed to himself as he walked to catch up with Caleb.

---

Johnny couldn’t find his hat. He had a red hat, with the words ‘Truck You’ written across the front. It was his lucky hat. He thought he had left it at Caleb’s so he headed over there. He knocked on the door but no one would answer. He knew someone was home, he heard loud noises coming from right behind the door, but still...no answer. He knocked again, this time harder.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Still no answer. He turned the door handle and low and behold, the door opened. In the living room Caleb and Derek were having a standoff. Caleb was standing there in his boxers. His heavily inked body exposed. In his right hand was a large foam sword that he had pointed at Derek.

Caleb: Hand it over!!

Caleb yelled out to Derek. Who responded with a loud growl as he pulled a the black remote in close to his body.

Johnny: What the fuck are you guys doing….and where the fuck is my hat?

Both Caleb and Derek turned quickly to see Johnny. Caleb looked at Johnny irritated as he pointed the sword back at Derek. Inching closer to him.

Caleb: This little asshole stole the remote. Fuck your hat I threw it away. Shit was ugly as hell anyway. Fucking middle school lingo on it.

Caleb said. Visibly irritated by the whole situation going on inside of his house right now. It had been a long night, of no sleep, as Caleb was up most of the night playing MLB The Show making sure he could make it to the big leagues with his RTTS player.

Johnny: Dude...my hat bro?

The hat was special to Johnny for no real reason at all. He bought it a some highway stop in California but for some reason, he liked it.

Johnny: Who cares if Derek has the remote?   

Caleb: FUCK YOUR HAT.

Caleb yelled out as he threw the sword onto the ground, and lunged towards Derek. Caleb wrapped his arms around the panda bear, and wrestled him down to the ground trying to pry the remote from his paws.

Caleb: Because he’s going to make us watch Kung Fu Panda, again. You fat stupid idiot.

Caleb yelled out. Clearly today was going to be a long day. There was no coffee to be found, and Caleb was in one of his moods already.

Johnny: Ok….

Tsunami walked into the living room to where Caleb was wrestling with Derek. As the two fought on the floor, Johnny simply leaned over and ripped the remote out of Derek’s hands. He pointed it at the television and turned on Kung Fu Panda.

Johnny: There….done. Now where’s my fucking hat?

Irritated Caleb stood up from the ground, and walked over to the large trash can in the kitchen. Picking it up he carried it over into the living room, and launched it over Johnnys head nearly hitting him with it.

Caleb: Fucking find it…

Caleb yelled out as the trash can spun through the air, and connected with the middle of the 65” flat screen television. Sending it toppling off the stand and crashing onto the ground.

Caleb: You owe me a TV.

Caleb said as he stomped off toward the balcony. Johnny turned to Derek who just looked up at him and remarked.

Derek: PARSNIPS!

Derek called out as he stuck his tongue out at the obviously irritated Caleb. Johnny watched Derek walk off before shaking his head and walking towards the balcony where Caleb was standing. He took out a Newport and lit it up. He took a deep drag before letting out the smoke.

Johnny: You know….that was my favorite hat, man. Not cool.

Caleb looked over at Johnny and just shook his head. He leaned over the balcony a bit as he looked down at the cars driving up and down the Las Vegas strip.

Caleb: It’s … a …. Hat.

Caleb said. Possessions were never something Caleb really cared much for. So he didn’t understand the chubby Johnny got from wearing his hat. As a matter of fact Caleb’s favorite articles of clothing were things he had traded for. Such as the TMNT T-shirt he had traded his jeans for in Japan.

Johnny: Whatever….look….you and Edie….that for real?

He took another drag.

Johnny: Because Remi is cool and all but...I ain’t ready for all that.

He thought about Evie again.

Johnny: I mean we’re cool….we fuck and shit but…..wanna get high, bro?

He took another drag as he anxiously awaited Caleb’s answer.
Caleb nodded his head.

Caleb: Yeah, it’s real. She’s the first person who’s never really ditched me for something better after the first few days. Most of them see money, and a face get what they need and dip.

Caleb shook his head.

Caleb: Not today. Not in the mood. I’d rather just go back to sleep, or something.

Johnny: Sleep? Look at this day, kid. You don’t get better weather than this in Vegas.

Johnny pulls a small piece of cellophane out of his pocket.

Johnny: This day is gorgeous.

He opens up the cellophane and shoves his nose inside.

SNIIIIIIIIIFFFF!

Johnny: ...gorgeous…

He leans back in the small chair and his eyes widen as he zones out for a minute, not paying attention to what Caleb was saying.

Caleb: It’s hot. It smells weird.

Caleb said. Visibly uninterested with anything that was going on in Vegas. His mood changed drastically from day to day. Hour to hour even. He never really stayed one emotion too long. It’s just the way he was.

Caleb: Have fun with that. Hopefully you know how to fix yourself up when Christian asks you to piss in a cup for him.

Caleb said as he leaned up against the railing of the balcony. His gaze was blank, and his left eye twitched as he stared aimlessly off into the distance.

Johnny: Nothing a bottle of water can’t fix, kid.

Johnny hopped up to his feet.

Johnny: Mind if I take the kid out for a walk or something? He should get out…

Caleb: Water…. Yeah.

Caleb said shaking his head.

Caleb: Go for it. Don’t give him any candy. If you do I’m dropping him off with you and Remi tonight.

Caleb told him.

Johnny: Cheer up, fam. Gonna be a good weekend. Maybe we’ll get to kick that Joshua d-bag in the face again….

He walks towards the door.

Johnny: Try not to be so miserable when Edie comes over….

Caleb just shrugged it off as he played with his beard a bit.

Caleb: Been there done that. Time to move onto some bigger, and better things in SCW. No point going after the same weak link over, and over again.

Johnny: Derek! Let’s go get some candy!

Caleb rolled his eyes as Johnny walked back inside.

---

You know…. This second run in SCW is starting off an awful lot like the first run. Come in. Make an impact. Rise to the top. It’s pretty much the same situation for me each and every promotion I step foot into. It’s almost as if I’m meant to be the top dog no matter what ring I’m standing in. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. When I walk around the halls of SCW I see a lot of familiar faces from my first run. Most of them still with a sour taste in their mouth because of the way the last exit happened. Honestly, fuck them. I’m not here to prove anything to anyone. Let’s face it as butthurt as they are to have me back none of them will have the balls to step up and say a word about it. There will just be crossed eyes when I pass, and whispers behind my back. I’m used to that. See people always hate the alpha, and that’s exactly what Caleb Houston is.

A few weeks ago Johnny and I took care of the surfer boys. Easy match. Easy win. Johnny had fun. I had… whatever. I’m not that concerned with the bullshit SCW is going to run out to the ring opposite me. The result is always going to be the same. Victory.

Coming up in a few days at Climax Control 1 billion Bad Company gets a shot at the Unholy Alliance. Just two more speed bumps on the Bad Company fast track to the top. I could care less what these two did in my time away from SCW. Who they beat. Who they lost to. Any of it. None of it really makes a difference because at the end of the day all they are is another warm up. They’ll talk a big game. But when your head is a full of air of course your lips are going to leak from time to time. It’s all business. I like their confidence. That actually gives me a little more motivation when I step in the ring. Generally, I like to win. But when someone flaps their gums a little too much most of that like turns into a desire. Passion even. That’s not the version of Caleb Houston you want standing across from you in the ring. That’s when people get injured. That’s when the Gold Rush comes out in full force.

Now, sure they’re going to talk about how much bigger they are then Johnny and myself. But as we’ve seen multiple times in the past the bigger they are the harder they fall. See size doesn’t necessarily mean anything in sports. If you take a brief look through history that won’t be too hard to figure out. But when you don’t have anything else going for you of course you’re going to focus on that, and only that. Have to give them credit though. They seem to actually have passed a remedial math course they were able to add Johnny and my weights together. Let’s all take a second and give them a small golf clap. It doesn’t matter if you’re 5 feet nothing or 7 feet 10 when these hands and feet start flying they’re going to connect. It’s a matter of how long your jaw can take it before you go Down in Flames.

Couple negatives I’ve taken from Dimitri and James is that all they did was look at height and weight. They honestly think Caleb Houston is the new guy on the block? Next time you guys might want to look and learn a bit about something you should take a little bit more than a quick glimpse. Had you gentlemen put your three combined brain cells together you’d have realized that Caleb Houston has indeed competed in SCW before. Hell, I even held those little tag team titles everyone holds so near and dear to their hearts. It’s okay though. I forgive you. It wouldn’t have changed the outcome in the match Sunday night anyway. We all know how this one is going to end. Let’s hope you’re a little more dedicated to training than you are a promo. I’d at least like to break a sweat this week gentleman. If you can do that for me I promise I’ll make this as painless as possible. Until then boys enjoy that burning in the pit of your stomach. Come Sunday night you’re going to find what That Sinking Feeling is all about.

 Scene One: Take Off | Off Camera

I’ve never been a huge fan of flying. My father once told me that it takes about fifteen minutes to fall from forty thousand feet in an airplane. So the worst thing about crashing wasn’t actually crashing, but it was coming to terms with the fact that you’re about to die a fiery death and there was fuck all you could do about it. He told me this when I was nine years old and about to get a plane for the very first time. He had a way with words like that. So you could imagine how I felt, sitting between a cute young girl with hair that was dyed a bright shade of violet and a hugely oversized woman with an attitude and who kinda smelt like pickles, about to fly across an ocean for the first time in my life. Combine that with the fact that I hadn’t used in about thirty-six hours…yeah I was pretty fucking miserable. I was sweating like a bitch and the girl next to me kept putting her hand on my knee. She was like thirteen years old and her parents and younger brother were sitting right behind us. I could feel her pops’ eyes burning me in the back of the head like I was doing something wrong. What could I do? I was stuck in a small seat between a fat, smelly, bitch and a chick who clearly was about to rage into hormone overload, looking at me like I was Justin Bieber with a penis. I was knee deep into the first stage of withdrawal when the plane took off. I couldn’t take it. The big bitch kept stealing my armrest and the purple-haired teenager kept staring at me, and that’s when it hit me. I remembered, as if the memory was just stuck in my brain by Jesus himself, about a little bit of shit I still had left in the bottom of my pack of Newports. I had to make a break for it.

I unclicked my seatbelt and stood straight up. I reached underneath my seat and scooped up my backpack in a rapid motion, hoping the evil looking flight attendant with the wrinkled dress didn’t see me. I basically stepped on the fat woman’s lap, which in hindsight was not a very nice thing to do, and bee lined it for the bathroom. Just before I reached the bathroom, a very nice flight attendant dude stopped me in my tracks. “You can’t go in here right now.” he said. “We’re in the middle of our ascent and the Captain still has the seatbelt sign on.” He said it very nicely even though he could’ve just told me to go sit back down. I wanted to listen to him, so I did. I turned back around and headed for my seat when it just hit me. I had an uncontrollable urge to just not listen to whatever the fuck anyone said to me. I spun around and again bee lined it for the bathroom, and again the nice blondie male stewardess met me at the door. “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to please sit down.” He stared at me with a stern look like I was being scolded. I had to think quickly. “Denny….” I read his name off his nametag, who the fuck name’s their kid Denny? “I have a really bad case of explosive diarrhea and I’m about to shit all over that nice lady and young girl over there. Maybe you can help me clean up my diarrhea .” His eyes widened at the thought of what that mess could’ve actually looked like. He didn’t even respond. He just nodded a bit and let me pass.

I busted into the bathroom and locked the door behind me, this bitch was definitely not vacant. I ripped open my old school Jansport like a man possessed and searched frantically for my pack of cigarettes. I freaked out for a short moment when I couldn’t find it right away, but then after about six seconds of looking, there she was; a beautiful pack of Newport box. As was my custom, I put on my ear buds and clicked my iPod on to shuffle. My good friends King Harvest blasted in my ears as I removed that small but beautiful bag of off-white powder from the bottom of the pack. I smiled as wide as I could before shoving my nose into the small plastic bag and sniffing as hard as I could. There it was. That feeling that I missed, loved, and hated all at the same time. Without thinking, I lit up a Newport and sat down on the toilet, singing ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ probably a lot louder than I should have. I took a deep drag of my cigarette and then I’m pretty sure I passed out for a second, only to be awoken by loud knocking on the door. I quickly flushed my cigarette and the now empty baggy before opening the door to see my new friend, Denny. “Are you smoking in here?!” he demanded. I couldn’t help but smile at him for a second. “Dude….I…it’s an airplane, bruh.” He got a bit angrier but I just couldn’t care any less at that moment, something I sure he picked up on. “If you don’t go back to your seat right now sir, I’ll have no choice but to have you removed from the plane when we arrive in Monaco.” he snapped. I stared at him for another long moment before I realized what he had just said. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do so I just blurted it out. “Monaco?” He nodded, a bit confused. “Fucks, dude. I’m supposed to be in Morocco!” He just shook his head and continued to threaten me if I didn’t just sit down. I spent the next several hours drooling on the shoulder of the big lady and I’m pretty sure the teenage chick tried to grab my wang a of couple times. When I woke up I was sober, broke, and in a foreign country. Correction, I was sober, broke and in the wrong foreign country. Things weren’t starting out great for my new job and me. Oh by the way…me? My name’s Johnny, but you can call me Tsunami.

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Scene Two: The Wanderer | Off Camera

Music has been the single most important thing of my life, like for real. I can’t remember a huge moment in my life that I didn’t either have something playing in the background or something thumping out of a bud and into my ear. It had totally written itself into my autobiography. It showed up one day and never left and I’m probably better off because of it. During every great moment of my life, music has been there; and this time was no different. It was a Sunny afternoon in Las Vegas. I was there on a motocross thing, probably not qualifying, and I just need to get wasted. I figured what better place to score some shit than the Las Vegas strip, right? I must’ve looked like a total fucking junkie because I wasn’t standing on that corner more than three minutes when two whacked out dealers approached me. I bought some pretty weak shit and paid like it was some really good shit, fucking Vegas, but I was happy because I was about to get high. I started looking for a nice little spot somewhere to do my business. Mind you this was about three in the afternoon in downtown busy fucking Las Vegas, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do right? I settled in a small parking lot, behind some crap looking café and started my small but special ritual.

First, I put on some tune-age. For this specific day I chose ‘The Wanderer’ by Dion. It was an oldie but a goodie that a warm spot in my heart. When I was a kid, my grandmother used to play that record like it was on fucking repeat. We would dance around and she would just love shit like that. She was a nice lady who just happened to have a cunt for a daughter, but that’s a different story for a different day. I guess it’s pretty fucked up that the only song in this world that reminds me of my grandma was in constant rotation on my smack playlist. Oh well, she did raise a cunt after all. So here I was, listening to my iPod and about to really enjoy my Vegas afternoon when this tall, lanky ass, red headed dude comes up in my way. “You can’t be back here.” he barked at me, trying to sound as tough as he possibly could. The kid was really a kid, seventeen years old, and green looking as fuck but I give him credit. He was trying to do the right thing. I, on the other hand, completely fucking ignored him and took a huge rip of my shit right in front of him.

At first I think he was stunned. I don’t think he quite new what I just did, and if he did, he probably would’ve run inside and called the cops anyway. I hit pause on Dion and reached out my hand toward. “Dude…I’m Johnny.” Still stunned, he reached out his hand as well, grabbing mine and loosely shaking it. “I’m Tim.” I liked him from that moment. I don’t know if it was his innocence or the fact that I saw all the good qualities in him that I once ruined for myself, but I liked him. “Hey you guys got cheesecake?” I asked as I lit up a cigarette, the third and final step in process. “Uh…no.” he responded, all monotone and shit like he didn’t want to be talking to me anymore. “That’s umm…I…pie?” I was fading and doing it fast. I think at this point my new buddy Tim figured out what he was dealing with. He invited me inside the small café and sat me down at the counter. It was at this point that I passed out.

So I woke up at what I’m pretty sure was about two hours later but it could’ve been longer, or maybe shorter, my brain is kind of fuzzy on this. My tongue was actually hanging out of my mouth and resting on the counter. Thank Jesus that no one saw it because that could’ve seriously altered the course of my life. After he noticed I was awake, Time came right up to me with a glass of water and slice of key lime pie. The pie tasted like shit but the water was right on spot. The kid was a good egg and I new that from the start. He sat down next to me and started to ask me all sorts of questions; who I was, what I was doing there, and blah blah blah. It was a nice change of pace because no one ever actually noticed me, not unless they were a prostitute or a drug dealer anyway. We ended up chatting for quite a bit. He told me all about his cunt of a mother, something I completely related to, and about his prick father….also something we had in common. What we didn’t have in common, which was something I was super jealous about, was this tall skinny prick was about to be a pro wrestler. I mean was fucking jealous. So naturally, like I always do, I lied and told him I was one too. I was pretty sure he knew I was full of shit, which he later confirmed for me, but I didn’t care. The dude was moving to Arizona and just getting after so I wanted to do it to. He told me I should come with him, to Tucson, and try out with him. So I said fuck it, I sold my dirt bike, bought a bus ticket, and wandered on down the road.

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Scene Three: Shooting with Skittles | On Camera

So there I was, standing all alone like a dick, about to cut my first ever SCW promo in Tunisia out of all fucking places. I was clearly scheduled for eleven o’clock as outlined in my itinerary. The fact that it was eleven o’clock at night, it was pretty fucking obvious that I was a #Nobody to these people. I was in front of the camera, right where the production staff told me to be when it was my time, but no one was fucking there. It was like everyone had gone back to the hotel for the day and just forgot to turn the lights off. I figured everyone was on break or something so I thought I’d check out the grub in the vending machine. When I walked up, everything was in fucking Arab or whatever. The only thing I recognized was a bag of skittles. I dropped my last two whatever they fuck they call dollars over there and picked up the familiar looking red bag. As I made my way back over to the sound stage, it was pretty fucking clear that no one was coming. I figured, instead of just dicking around, I would turn the camera on for myself. So I did, and thus my on camera SCW career officially started. But first, I popped a few skittles in my mouth and tasted the rainbow.

“You know people keep saying that I’m brand new here. That I just showed up and I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on. Well let’s clear that shit up right now. I ain’t just arrived. I’ve been walking around with my hoodie on for months now, you dumb fucks just haven’t even paid any attention. I’ve been here, with Tim, since day fucking one, and just because you assholes pay more attention to some dick with a teddy bear, it doesn’t mean I ain’t here and that I haven’t been making my presence felt. Truth is, we already run this mother fucker, and you guys have your heads so far up Gabriel’s ass that you haven’t caught on yet.”

I popped a few more skittles in my mouth as I spoke. Something felt so gratifying at that moment.

”The truth is I don’t really give a fuck about any of you. I don’t care how many championships you held, and how many hardcore matches you’ve been in, and I really could give two fucks about any group of people that calls themselves Seven when there’s really only three of you around. Kinda fucking dumb if you ask me. Look, Gabriel is the World Heavyweight Champion. That shit is no joke. I ain’t gonna sit here and discredit him ‘cause that would just be a bunch straight shit talk that makes no sense. The dude is a champ for a reason. He’s a maniacal fuck and I like. Wife’s a dirty ho though….what? It’s the truth…even he knows it. That’s why he sent her ass back to wherever the fuck to keep that dirt off the TV. But for real, the man’s got more skills than I do so what can you really say other than the fact that’ll be really cool to drop kick his fucking head off.”

Again I popped a few more skittles in my mouth and looked around a bit for this camera crew that was supposed to be here, but no one was fucking around.

”Now Chris Shipman, that dude is a crazy mother fucker. I like that. I can dig that. I can enjoy a man who just doesn’t give a fuck and will put his body on the line just to make some cash and put on a good show. Shit…that’s my modus operandi motherfucker. The dude is a straight sociopath and it’s fun as hell to watch. I have respect for a guy like you, hombre. There are so few of us left and I know you know what it’s all about. Act first, think later. It’s this kind of behavior that leads to huge hospital bills that neither one of us will probably actually ever pay. Kudos to you Chris….I hope one day we can beat the shit out of each other with some chairs and shit. Could be fun.”

I got half way through the bag of skittles and then dumped the rest on the floor, stepping on them in the process. Too much sugar if you ask me. I looked around again for some sign of life from some sort of crew member but again, I got nothing, so I continued.

”Despayre is the one wild card. Truth is, you the weirdest cat in this place. I don’t know if you’re brain just hasn’t developed past a four year old or if your weird fucking daddy just touched you in the wrong places when you were a baby but you weird kid. It’s all good…no judging just loving…that’s what my scum bag old man used to say to me when I was a kid. Truth is, all you crazy motherfuckers are fun to watch. You a walking, talking tag team folk hero, kid, and it’ll be an honor to be in the ring with the legendary Sinful Obsession. I can’t wait for it…there ain’t no better way to debut than against the best and you…”

THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

Just as I was getting my fucking groove on….every single light in the fucking building went off, leaving me standing in the center on a motherfucking sound stage in the motherfucking dark. I had an eleven o’clock appointment, dicks. I guess I really was a #NOBODY.