(https://media4.giphy.com/media/qdHckxD24CPh6/200.gif)
Desperation
Observation Deck of the STRAT; Las Vegas, NV 7/4/2021
The last couple of weeks have really been an up and down rollercoaster ride. All of the twists and turns have been enough to fill me with dread, test my anxiety, and make my stomach fly up into my throat. But it’s also provided me with some joys, a strong sense of adventure, and made me smile wider than I have in a long time. I’m still trying to decide if it is “worth it” or not, but I’m just living life, one day at a time.
Despite my last attempt at a date going so wrong, I decided to try it again. A real bad boy this time. Someone who might not care about my very recent past, someone who I felt a connection with pretty quickly. Someone who just looked as if they could see past the bullshit and only see me for once. Call it intuition. Call it whatever you want to call it. Just don’t judge me for what’s about to happen.
I reserved a table, and used a bit of my clout in Sin City to make sure said table had a wonderful view of the firework display over the Las Vegas Strip. The table was spruced up a bit with a tasteful white rose to match the seating and table cloth. A candle was placed in the center, and there was already a bottle of top shelf champagne, authentic champagne, in an ice bucket off to the side. But none of this compares to the view of the city. It’s almost too much for my eyes to drink in all at once. Not only can I see most of the Las Vegas Strip, but I can see clear across most of the city. I had timed the date so that we might be able to see the first firework shot up as the appetizers were being brought out.
Come to think of it, I might have shot myself in the foot with this, because it’s going to be hard to surpass this first date. But, maybe I am overcompensating. If you knew the full truth, then maybe you would know why. My water glass isn’t even empty yet as our waiter brings a pitcher and refills it. I give a nod to thank him silently, and he nods back, respecting my discretion at the moment. I take in another drink of the beautiful city that lasts just long enough for my date to arrive.
“Trevor?”
The voice brings back so many painfully beautiful moments of my past, and nearly a tear to my eye. I am flooded with more than my body was prepared to handle at that moment, and I can’t even look at my date yet.
Me: It’s beautiful, isn’t it?
My date stops to admire the view for a moment, silent. But I can feel his heart racing a bit out of nerves, but calming from the quiet view of the city that never sleeps. He pulls his chair out and takes a seat as I seem to shield my face at first.
Dax: I can’t lie. This would be a bit of overkill if I didn’t wanna see how this adventure plays out so bad.
Still shielding my face, I offer a chuckle in response, letting him hang on that statement for a moment.
Me: Adventure is an understatement…
I lower my hand and turn to face Dax. The color drains from his face almost instantly. He scoots his chair back and starts to get up when I reach across the table to grab onto his hand. That old familiar spark ignites something within me.
Me: Please don’t go.
Dax scoffs and rolls his eyes, ripping his hand away from me. My old flame did not feel the same way that I was feeling right now.
Dax: You catfished me, and expect me to sit here? Not to mention the literal hell you and your family put me through? Fuck you. I don’t owe you a goddamn thing.
Me: You’re right. You don’t. But I owe you more than I can atone for right now. Hopefully you are willing to give me time to make things right.
Dax’s eyes are filled with fire. Almost too dark for me to recognize, and yet, it feels like home. He pushes his chair in hard enough to rattle the champagne bottle in the bucket.
Me: You have to let me make it right, Dax.
Dax: I don’t have to do anything, David! That’s the point. And I think you knew that when you signed up a fake profile on a dating site to even get me to show up here. Just face the facts. You’re toxic. You’re incapable of anything right now. You’re held down by your dad, bruh, and you always will be.
This is where I get highly irritated. I scoff now and I am able to somehow capture his attention. Now that I have it, I must make the most of it.
Me: Shows how much you know. I told my entire family to fuck off over a month ago. They don’t have shit to do with me or my decisions anymore.
Dax glares down at me, as I have yet to get up. He doesn’t say anything for a bit, letting an uncomfortable silence engulf us both.
Dax: Everything you do is to impress your father. You tried being a good little soldier. You and me have thrown fists against each other just because your dad told you to because of my “sinful lifestyle”. You went to SCW to impress him, to chase down his foe and make them pay for what they did to him. You only took the Roulette Championship because you wanted to impress him.
Me: Are you not listening to me when I say that I told him to go fuck himself?
Dax turns and pulls out a seat next to me to sit, but mostly so that we would be at eye level.
Dax: I hear you loud and clear, bruh. The problem is that you are rebelling against him to show him that you can be an adult, and do what he does, because you want to be him. He never gave you enough hugs or some bullshit, and now, your entire world view is based on his fucked up rewrite of the Bible, a book that’s already fucked up on it’s own. Going against that isn’t breaking away from him. It’s throwing a temper tantrum to keep his attention. You’re just a child, David. You’re never going to grow up.
Those words are like a fiery sword going right through my ribs, and straight through my heart. I’m not ashamed to admit that a tear breaks free from the dam I thought I had built strong enough not to leak.
Me: So, you only want to hurt me? If that’s all you want to do, then it’s best that you leave.
Dax: Your father tortured me, pretending to do it as a kindness because I was a “wayward soul”. He tried to snuff out our flame for so long. And when you didn’t follow me out of the doors of that church when I was thrown out with just the pants on my legs, because I can’t even say the shirt on my back. He wasn’t kind enough to even let me keep that. When you sat there and cried like a little bitch… I knew that you had snuffed out that flame for him, and that we were just a fun story to tell people, and not the perfect love story. When I had to walk barefoot through the rain to a bus stop, I knew that you were the worst torture I went through in Tulsa. I thought I made it clear when me and the rest of Over the Edge donated to your drive, that I came to set myself free, and nothing more.
Each word is like a little razor, sliding against my skin until it goes beneath the skin, and to my insides. I can’t even say a word. The fireworks display begins outside, but the beauty of it all is wasted on this moment. Each pop in the sky serves only to make me jump a little. My most vulnerable moment, crushing me under it’s weight.
Me: But… I’ve always loved you. I hoped I could show you just how sorry I really am.
Dax: Oh, you have. I know it’s not right, but if you loved me, you wouldn’t have brought cameras here to record this. You would have given me the respect of doing this in private. Forget the catfishing. If this were private, I would have heard you out so that you could let me go the way I let you go. But you couldn’t even give me that. You say you’re sorry. I believe you. You’re a sorry ass excuse of a man, no, a child. You will drag down anyone you try to get involved with. I feel sorry for whoever that might be. And I’m glad that Fenris dodged that bullet. Until you get some help, you will only ever hurt people. Right profession, wrong attitude for a “happily ever after”. And those are the facts. Now, if you will excuse me…
Me: Please. Don’t go…
But he does. He walks right out of those doors, leaving me to sit there, all alone, broken, mangled, empty. In that very moment, I knew I had to never let myself get brought down to that level again. The tears were immediately sucked back up inside. My face turns to that of stone. I pour a cup of champagne and I down it. My face twists into disgust as I wave the waiter over. However, instead of the waiter, my lovely sister shows up once again. I sigh and roll my eyes as she takes a seat, uninvited.
Me: Do you ever give up?
Esther: Um, no. I can’t keep watching you shoot yourself in the foot. I came to watch you with your date, and what I found instead was just…
She looks down, eyes wide, and she makes this wet explosive sound as she shakes her head. She looks back at me and sighs.
Esther: It was just messy. It’s worse than I imagined. I mean, I thought it was going to be like some Tinder rando, or a Grindr date, but… Dax? That’s beyond fucked up, bro.
Me: I don’t think I asked for your opinion, or your company. Goodbye little girl.
Esther: Look here you little bitch. You can insult me and push me away, but I’m not going to leave you alone to go through this. I never have left you alone, because I’m your pesky little sister, and I’m going to keep being that. You’re stuck with me, bitch. Get used to it.
I sigh and go for another drink of the champagne. Esther takes the bottle before I’m able to get it. She looks past me and to the fireworks display outside, taking the bottle to the head. She belches after and then wipes her mouth.
Me: You really are disgusting. And annoying.
Esther: Right back atcha, asshole. Now, what is super disgusting is the fact that your waiter has been eye fucking you since the second you were seated. He literally fought another waiter to get your table. And you’re too wrapped up in your little “Wahhh, I wanna be a girl and flock back to my ex who wants nothing to do with me.” to see it. C’mon, man… grow a pear and fuck your waiter in the men’s room.
I don’t know whether to find that funny or be offended by it. But, my body answers for me as I chuckle, looking back to see exactly what she’s talking about. He’s a bit lanky, but he makes up for it in one perfect place. He licks at his bottom lip, and I turn back to my sister, laughing.
Me: Yeah, like I want my first time in six years to be in a tight space, in public, that has more germs than a dog’s dirty ass.
Esther: No! No. I’ll babysit this bottle of champagne, and you go get you some sexual healing. Get your dick wet…
Again, I laugh. But I look back at the waiter, who is taking off his cumberbun and grabbing his jacket from the rack behind the bar. He, along with more than a few people in the restaurant have heard the conversation, and he walks over to the men’s room. Esther pushes me from behind, trying to get me to leave my chair. Finally, I get up and walk slowly to the men’s room. Esther walks behind me with the bottle of champagne to block the door after I’ve entered.
I’m not one to kiss and tell, or to bang and brag. But, Esther was right. It was completely seedy and disgusting, but it didn’t matter, because we used every inch of that stall, and got sweatier than hogs, slapping against each other. At one point, I lost myself in the fireworks display through the skylight, matching my very moment of climax. Wide mouthed and wide eyed, veins popping out in my forehead as sweat dripped down my face. It truly was the best medicine. And for a moment, I felt calloused enough to immediately get dressed. He dressed himself too, and then slid his number into my shirt pocket. We pushed our way through the stall doors, washed up a little, and then out of the door. Esther is fending patrons off from entering. As the waiter tries to rush ahead to exit, I grab onto his hand, and invite him back to my room, to which he very much obliges.
(https://i.makeagif.com/media/12-17-2018/HImHpu.gif)
Revelations (pt 7)
Former Church of the Good Shepherds; Las Vegas, NV 7/9/2021
The bags are packed for my long weekend. They’re in the back of my Suburban, waiting for me. And yet, I couldn’t leave Las Vegas without saying goodbye to my new following. Some might call it a cult, while others might realize it is exactly what it is; a mockery of the various cults of Christianity. Ridiculous promises made by some sadistic, apathetic sky daddy do not apply here. Only doing what you feel most compelled to do. And not surprisingly, the people of Las Vegas are loving it.
I walk into the desecrated church, and people are already seated. I am their messiah, and they stand for me as I walk down the aisle of the dimly lit, flickering lighting. I look forward to my favorite touch, a stained glass window, depicting my face upon the body of Christ, crucified in surprisingly graphic detail. There are two barely dressed men, dirty from the streets, who walk around the altar, lighting the candles to give this room a bit more oomph. I realized I love theatrics. I step up onto the altar, and kiss one of the dirty men before punching the other in the face. Both are equally pleased with the results, as is the congregation. They cheer and I wave to them before I take the podium.
Me: Hello all of my fellow Heathens! Saturday night’s alright for fighting, but Fridays were made for fucking shit up!
Congregation: AMEN!
I look around at the group of about sixty filling the pews. Some are there, loyal only to the fact that I provide them showers and shelter. Others who are funding this farce just enjoy the depravity of it all. Both are equal in my eyes.
Me: I want each and every one of you to leave here tonight and vandalize something, beat the shit out of someone, have the filthiest consentual sex possible, or, I don’t know… steal a car or something. Make up for the fact that you won’t get to gather before me for two weeks. Spread my message across the City of Sin. Reclaim your power!
Congregation: AMEN!
Me: For inspiration, let me tell you about something very personal. I spent years covering up who I was, and it drove me a little nuts. I did everything to please someone else, and that didn’t serve me at all. I’m out here making up for lost time. Instead of damning my sin, I’m embracing it. I’m living it. I am embodying it. Rage and Lust belong to me. I just want to fight and fuck.
Congregation: HELL YEAH!
I smirk.
Me: Tomorrow night, I will be in Canada, where the hellfire burns just a little softer. I will be taking on Caleb Storms again. I call that an easy victory. I’m not concerned about that. And with Fenris as the referee? Bring it on, buddy! Help Caleb get a victory, because I won’t hesitate to knock you out. It means nothing to me.
I shrug my shoulders as the crowd gets behind me even more. They clap and whistle for me, making my cheeks blush a little. Before I even know what I’m going to say, I begin speaking.
Me: And the same can be said for my match at Summer XXXTreme. Bill Barnhart is a nobody. I don’t give a shit about him. And the fact that Senor Vinnie holds him in his cabinet, that just proves what a joke he is too. And as he pointed out on Twitter earlier this week, I owe him an ass beating, and a true victory over him. I already have a few over boring Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade. French fried taters, mmmmmh…
No laugh, but I had to try anyway. I take the microphone from the podium and I begin walking down the steps of the altar and to the aisles.
Me: But, more on that later. Let’s address the white wolf in the room, Fenris. Let’s talk about that for a minute, since what I do with my dick seems to be everyone’s fucking concern these days. Forget about my ability to win matches. Forget about all of the training I do to stay in top shape for wrestling. People just want to stare at my ass. Please do. I’ve worked hard at maintaining it. Where has my mouth been? Among other places, against Fenris’ in a disgustingly sloppy, horny, angry, vindictive way, stealing the gum from his mouth. I left him wondering what else I could do with that tongue.
This gains some laughter, and some clapping as well. A few people look on in a sinister manner as they imagine just what my tongue is capable of. I flick it out, fast and agile, as I look around. This gets the crowd going even more.
Me: My next exhibition could charge big money on Pornhub, not the SIn City Network. I might even join the Mile High Club tonight and put that out there. I am not ashamed of my sexuality anymore. I’m embracing it. So, instead of making all of these backhanded comments on Twitter, or in your promotional videos, why don’t we just fuck and get it over with? Oh right, because you’re not the savage that you claim to be. You beat my ass, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Truthfully, I had it coming because I was being an impetuous child. I did kind of enjoy that though. You were fun to mess with. And now that I’m in a better place, I’d gladly give you a go. Just let those furry wolf balls drop, and we’ll have some fun, if you’re capable of that, you pompous, arrogant, boring turd.
Everyone grows louder as they begin to volunteer themselves for my own pleasure. I don’t feel like obliging them at this very moment, but the offers are nice. I turn to face the other side of the congregation.
Me: My true potential was unlocked because of Fenris, but I don’t owe him a ring. I don’t owe him anything. Not even the stroking of his ego inside of the ring for our match. He can walk around like I’m under his spell, but really… it’s clear he’s under mine. Granted, I didn’t mean to, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m at least a bit attractive. If I wasn’t, people wouldn’t pull their phones out at the gym and record me on the bike. So, I can’t really blame him when I gave him a little taste. My only fear is that he will not be able to keep it in his pants to focus on our match at Summer XXXTreme.
As arrogant as that sounded, it is a legitimate concern of mine.
Me: I know that Bill and Vinnie aren’t exactly in the best places they’ve been in their careers, so this could easily be something for them to capitalize on. This dysfunction is obvious, and has been for quite some time. Now, I’m not sure which personality of Vinnie’s is more likely to stoop to that kind of level for an easy win, but we all know Bill. He’s not been the same since AWA. Where’s the crazy fucker that stabs people with forks? Where did he go? Because this washed up version of him is just sad. It’s boring. And I’ve just got to say that the person I feel most sorry for in this whole situation is Bea. I mean, someone who is that boring can’t be a good lay. And even if he was, how can one bring herself to want his sweaty body hovering over her, trying to make up for all of his shortcomings, aching from the numerous ass kickings he gets, week in and week out, and still feel like he’s a real man? I bet she doesn’t. I bet she googles the best ways to let down a partner softly, without bruising an ego. “Sorry, honey. I’ve got a headache.” “My back hurts from getting my ass kicked by (insert any Bombshell’s name here).” “I left the oven on.” “Why don’t we just cuddle anymore?” Such a good wife, and yet, completely unsatisfied. But, I bet that two week stretch that they had the Mixed Tag Team Championships, they fucked over every inch of those belts.
The crowd can’t stop laughing from their bellies. Very guttural and it just keeps me going as I walk to the pulpit and turn around to face the congregation.
Me: I sure hope Austin and Tempest had those belts steam cleaned, or thrown out and replaced with new ones. I bet his sweat is still leaking out from the crevices of those belts, and the stench of failure just doesn’t come out. But, I’m not saying anything that no one else is saying. I’m not bringing up anything fresh. And for that, I’m sorry. It’s hard to make a good sandwich out of a moldy loaf of bread. Without meat. Or cheese. Or condiments. Devoid of any and all flavor, except must. So instead, let me remind everyone of one thing. Bill has been made my bitch time and time again inside of that ring. His hopes of being a Roulette Champion crushed thrice by my own hand. That was me. I did that. Sure, it involved a championship belt, but just to say that I’ve never been beat by Bill Barnhart, I will carry my team to victory, like I’ve come to terms with happening already.
A simple shrug before I pick up one of the candlesticks. I run my finger through the flame, daringly. I raise it up close to my face to cast a shadow upon it.
Me: Much like watching a Bill Barnhart promotional video, I’m bored of him. But, is Senor Vinnie really that much more interesting? Even with two personalities, he still lacks any sort of depth. Let’s face it. He’s the Christina Rose of the Men’s Division. I’m surprised that Vinnie hasn’t pulled any muscles with his reaching efforts. At least Christina, Crystal, La Paloma, horny housewife with a split personality… er, sorry… that was someone else. But we all thought it! Oh, right, at least the purple haired one is so ridiculous that people… wait, just like Vinnie, they don’t watch her either. I was trying not to insult Vinnie that badly, because even I think that was kind of harsh. I almost feel bad about it. But, the problem lies with you, Vinnie. Be better.
I slowly set the candle back down on the altar as I walk in front of it, fanning the flames with my passing hand, going through the flames in the process.
Me: While this team of abysmal personality has a lot in common, there is one thing that is different here. See, Bill has the sex appeal of a grapefruit with a hole in it. I feel bad for Bea. But, I feel jealous of Valora West. And I have to believe that deep in my heart, Vinnie dumped her. Because Vinnie looks like a 90’s porn fantasy come to life. Like, I look at him, and I’m reminded of my private time in the computer room. My vision goes slightly grainy, and he’s got a pizza in his hand. He apologizes for getting there thirty-one minutes after I ordered, and hopes it doesn’t affect his tip. I assure him it won’t, if he delivers something else. And then music from the 80’s starts playing, because it’s so low budget. And the smell of Jergins fills my nostrils all over again. Senor Vinnie, hell yeah. He’s insane, so the sex would be good.
I stop passing the candles and turn back to the congregation.
Me: Either way, I don’t have time to entertain the idea of either of them pinning me. And Fenris is far too self-important to let himself lose to Team Scrubs. And, let’s be honest here. If we were to lose, I would do what any sensible human being would do. Locate the propeller system of the boat and chuck myself over the edge and into the propeller to become shark bait. Because that would be career suicide, and I’m far too young to do that. So, even though I don’t view these two ass hats as viable challenges, independently or combined, I’m going to treat this like a World Heavyweight Championship match. I’m going to bring the fire, and I’m going to rain hell down on Vinnie and Bill. This is my promise to you, my fellow Heathens! So please, make sure you commit a felony act or two, and then tune into Summer XXXTreme IX, live on the Sin City Network on July 18th, 2021 to watch me make up for not knocking Vinnie’s cock off the last time we met in the ring! Amen!
Congregation: AMEN!
And with that, I knock over the podium and begin stomping it to pieces. The congregation begins to dismantle some of the pews, throwing them around. Others start to bust out windows with rubble on the ground. It puts a smile on my face. However, my flight leaves relatively soon, so I make haste toward the aforementioned Suburban to start my trip to Vancouver for Supernova IV’s pre show.
(https://i.pinimg.com/originals/a9/55/57/a955575cc74638c6302966783bfab2b0.gif)
Determination
Sun Princess Cruiseliner on the open seas; 7/16/2021
I had made it in one piece. I survived the dreaded encounter with Caleb Storms. Wait, let me rephrase that. I had survived facing him with Fenris as the referee. At any moment, I was about to defeat Caleb, and everyone knew it. They knew that the second they saw the booking for the Supernova 4 pre show card. It was as obvious as the sky appears blue above this ship as we speak. I admit, several days on the ship, my third time on the ship, and I’m still mesmerized watching the waves, hearing them as they are lapping against the side of the ship, all from my cabin window. I could spend hours with a cup of coffee, experiencing this. As a matter of fact, I had, pondering the upcoming match where I’m forced to team with Fenris to take on Bill Barnhart and Senor Vinnie. But, it is time for me to exit my cabin and experience all the depravity this ship offers. Adult swim, comedy club, movie theater, dance club… Heck, maybe I’d do all of it.
I set my cup of coffee down on the end table as I pick up my swim bag. I look around, making sure I have my room key, wallet, phone. Check, check, and check. I slide them into the side pocket of the bag and put it over my shoulder. I feel the light jab of the tanning oil into my back before the suit and towel smooth it out. I flip off the lights and I exit the cabin. I turn around to make sure the cabin is locked, because I know how dishonest people are. I’m one of them. I chuckle to myself as I think that one over. I’m ready to enjoy the many activities of the ship when I turn slightly and find… him… Fenris.
Me: What are you doing here?
My eyes drink in the tanned skin, the long, golden hair, the abs, the pecs, the biceps, the bulge of the white speedo he’s wearing… No! I look back to his face. His cocky smirk lets me know he saw me checking him out.
Fenris: This is my room.
His Icelandic accent tickles at my ears, trying to force a smile to my face. But I won’t let him hold that power over me. I nod my head at the statement as if to say “Yeah right.” But the open door being closed behind him lets me know he’s being honest. How have we not run into one another yet? How did I get so lucky as to avoid this for five whole days?
Me: I see…
And with that, I refuse to entertain the idea of… well, entertaining him any further. However, I know there is a trip that I must make before I start enjoying my morning and afternoon. I walk briskly down the deck of the ship. I pass several doors at such a speed that I can’t even make out the numbers on them. That is, until I get to the one wreaking of that skunky smoke, and laughter coming from within. I pound on the door, not once, not twice, but three times before Andrey answers the door. He holds his arms out, giving me a brotherly hug and an awkward, rough kiss on the cheek.
Andrey: Welcome to the celebration party…!
I see the SCU Combat Championship prominently displayed upon the coffee table. He rushes me inside and closes the door. Inside, I see Rory Rockefeller rolling one up as my sister drinks from a bottle of Jack Daniels.
Me: Are you guys getting drunk and high this early?
Esther: You’re fucking up my crossfade, bro! And for your information, no. We’re not getting fucked up this early. We’re getting fucked up this late.
I swipe the bottle from her hand and glare at her. She is about to protest when I put the bottle to my lips and take a swig. She hands me a bottle of coke as a chaser, a smile on her face. I shake my head and take another swig, feeling that burning in my throat as it warms all the way down to my stomach.
Esther: Now the party is really starting!
I glare over at Rory, who lifts his head up with a “Sup” kind of motion. He hands me the devil’s lettuce, but I pass it off to Andrey. I smirk politely, and then I grab Esther’s arm and drag her to the bathroom. I close the door and she stumbles to the toilet.
Esther: I had to piss anyway, you asshole.
Me: Gross. Now let me just ask you this. What in the actual fuck is that big limp dick doing in what is supposed to be MY cabin?
Esther rolls her eyes and then bounces up and down, doing the “pee pee dance”. I turn around and tap my foot impatiently as she gets settled.
Esther: Since GRIME won that stupid Mayhem Survival, we need to make some old friends. Ones who weren’t so far up Filth’s or Omasa’s asses that we might stand a chance of still having a job. Well, me anyway.
A few more moments of “privacy” are required, but since we’re doing this right here, right now, I begin speaking again.
Me: Stinking up my cabin with that shit… You’re paying the fee for that, I hope you know. Hell, you owe me a lot more than that. You owe me an explana….
Esther flushes the toilet and gets herself adjusted as she walks over to the sink to wash her hands. I figure I’m safe to turn around again when she cuts me off.
Esther: I thought this was going to come to me sooner. I actually thought I got away with it, or that it worked and you two are having hot, sweaty, monkey sex through the entire cruise. See, originally, me and Aron were booked next to each other. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that we needed to get you two roomed next to each o…
My turn. I slam my hands on the sink vanity and glare right into her eyes. Just like the bitch that she is, she sneers back at me.
Me: I can’t stop Aron from doing anything, but you need to butt out of my business! Me and Fenris are not getting together. No matter how much fun it is to meddle in my lovelife, and no matter how good you think your intentions are, they’re not. They are screwing me up. They are making this whole “coming to terms with myself” thing like, impossible! I desperately need you to back off.
She snorts and then looks to me, her eyes a bit glazed over at this point. She dries her hands off and then crosses her arms over her chest.
Esther: Right. Because catfishing your ex worked out so well for you. If you had opened up to me about that, I could have told you that was a terrible idea.
Me: But it was my mistake to make! So was screwing the waiter in the bathroom stall. So was signing up for a dating app. Everything has come together as it’s supposed to.
Esther brushes a loose strand of hair out of her face and then looks up a little at me.
Esther: Let’s see. You met a date at the Saxon Hotel bar, and your beard showed up and ruined that. So you went and burned down a church. You fooled Dax into meeting you, and then you collected a bunch of idiots who like being told what to do with their money, just like dad, but in the opposite direction. Yeah, it’s working out great for your mental health. Did you ever contact that therapist?
I’m not going to answer that. I chuckle and shake my head, with a very breathy sigh. I look back at her, and she’s still waiting for an answer.
Me: They’re my mistakes to make. Quit getting yourself involved, because me and Fenris are never going to be a thing.
Esther: Fine. I’ll accept that, and once we leave this ship, I won’t push that anymore. But… you’ve got to let me help you in some way. People are social creatures, and you’re not supposed to be alone when you’re going through things. I know we had a fucked up childhood that taught us to do all the wrong things, but that’s not an excuse to keep living your life in ignorance and self-destructive behavior. Just because we don’t work for the same company doesn’t mean that we can’t still be there for each other.
Me: Do you really think that I want to burden you with my shit? Is that what you believe? I’m so messed up, as you gladly pointed out. I’m supposed to be your support. As your brother.
Esther looks into my eyes and she sees something there. She studies them for what seems like a really long time, but is likely only a few seconds. I can see a tear coming from her eye.
Esther: Screw that archaic bullshit. Men can have feelings too. Just as much as you were there for me, I can, and will, be there for you. And I’m so sorry that you believe that I can’t be, or that I’m not able to handle what you’re going through. We went through very similar struggles. And I was with you through all of the canings, all of the beatings, all of the prothletising, all of the self degradation, along with all of the absentee parents before The Church. What I didn’t go through personally, I saw it being done. I even received beatings for trying to defend you and Dax. And guess what? I’m still here. And so are you.
The old familiar sting from behind my eyes makes me purse my lips together. I fight back the blurry mess that’s trying to leak out from behind my eyes. I even try to turn away from Esther, but she grabs onto my head, not letting me. She puts her forehead against mine, and she stares right into my eyes.
Esther: I see you. And I still love you, brother.
If I open my mouth right now, I’ll lose control, so I don’t even bother trying to respond. I close my eyes, because I can’t let her see me this way. It hurts so bad, but I’m stronger than this. I can hear her sniffling, and I feel her shaking as the tears come out. Her pain is added onto mine, and I can’t help but blubber a bit. I open my eyes, and the tears start streaming down my face. I can’t speak, but I try. It only comes out as more blubbering. Leaning against the wall, I slowly sink down to a seated position. She doesn’t let go. She lowers herself with me, making me look at her. I slowly shake my head, but she moves with me before making me nod my head along with her.
Esther: Let it out. Feel the pain. Don’t deny it anymore. Let dad’s words exit your mind through your tears. Just a little bit at a time, okay?
The nodding of our heads now comes from me. I do everything I can to not look into her eyes, looking around without moving my head. But, I always find myself refocused on her hazel eyes. She kneels over me, making me stay in the moment, living and feeling that pain. She then hugs onto me once I’ve gotten a grip over myself. I hug onto her as well. I feel something wash over me. I don’t know exactly what it might be, but it’s something like relief. I feel… healed in some way.
*Knock knock knock*
Us: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!
Rory: Um, I just need to take a leak…
The timing could have been worse, so we aren’t too mad. We both laugh it off as we get up to our feet. We walk out of the bathroom as Rory enters and quickly shuts the door. I swear, it was a solid five minutes of stream that I could hear as I did small talk with my brother-in-law. I took off before the next round of space cigarette was sparked up.
I spent my day going around the ship, getting acquainted with it again. I found myself at the pool for a good portion of the day, working on cardio and tanning up a bit. I even took some time to get a haircut. Then, I changed into a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a fitted tank top and Adidas slides. I had a casual meal at the sports bar, where I saw many SCU and GRIME folks congregating amongst themselves. I caught sight of a few fellow SCW stars, and even a few special appearance legends, whom I’ve been sworn to secrecy about.
There’s something about chicken strips and waffle fries that just hits different with a few bottles of Busch, on a cruise ship. Especially while watching the Red Sox spank the Yanks. But, eventually, it’s time for me to go. I had set up a very, very important date tonight, and I’m a bit nervous about it. I have to go get ready.
(https://thumbs.gfycat.com/HeavenlyFlatGrunion-size_restricted.gif)
Revelations (Part 8: Relief)
Sun Princess Cruiseliner on the open seas; 7/16/2021
It’s dark as the patrons begin collecting their drinks from their waitresses. The clanking echoes throughout the bar. We only really see the neon Budweiser, Pabst Blue Ribbon, American Honey, and Jose Cuervo signs lit up at the bar. Somehow, the lights become even more dim as a spotlight shines on the stage. It’s so bright that it’s almost like entering the stage of an old SCU show for me.
Oh, that’s right. I forgot to mention that I’m the attraction tonight. My date isn’t a person. It’s a crowd, who has gathered to hear me take a stab at stand up comedy. And, what better way to really test my chops than when I’m facing off with two branded jokes like Bill and Vinnie?
As I walk out onto the stage with a bottle of water in my hand, and a dazed look in my eyes, I get a mixed reaction from the audience. Some raise their glasses to me, while others boo me. After all, we are on an SCW hosted cruise, so I’m sure people don’t care for me given my father and all of his “mighty works”. Or, the fact that I’m an asshole probably has something to do with it too. Either way, I jog a few steps and wave to my left. Then to my right. I step up to the microphone and look around at the audience, but don’t see much due to the darkness. I still make an effort though.
As I pretend to catch my breath, and force a smile onto my face, I ponder what I’m actually going to say. I pull out a piece of paper and speak with all the energy of a stoned sloth.
Me: Hello. Welcome to the show. It’s great to be here tonight, looking at all of your beautifully absent faces…
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
I tuck my notes back into my pocket and chortle.
Me: Wow, tough crowd. I’ve had better reception from a crowd in the Church of the Good Shepherds when I ripped ass into the microphone. Or, maybe the ripped ass came from getting it pounded so hard by my daddy…
There’s not even a single boo from the audience. Only an uncomfortable silence. Then, I realize how that sounded, and I get why.
Me: No, I didn’t mean like that. I meant that he tenderized my ass like a tough piece of raw, bloody meat. Like how I felt when he was done with me.
Heckler 1: WHAT IN THE YEE HAW ALABAMA BULLSHIT IS THIS?! GET OFF THE STAGE!
Me: Jokes on you! I’m from Oklahoma, jackass! Sit down and stop embarrassing yourself in front of your poor wife. She sees enough of that when you pull down your pants to make unsatisfying sex with her.
There’s a few laughs. I’m getting there. Note, I repeated myself from last week when I told Bill how I felt bad for his wife. But, these guys don’t watch my promos, so I’m safe. Nailed it.
Me: Anyway, I could take turns going off on each and every one of you, but we don’t have all night. What I really wanted to talk about was…
Heckler 2: YOU SUCK!
My eyes widen and I look out in the direction the voice came from. I narrow it down to a bald man in glasses, sitting at a table with what appear to be his elderly parents. Low hanging fruit. I’m better than that.
Me: Not lately! Nor as much as I want to. But, if you’re offering, I think I’ll pass. It’s awkward for parents to have to hear the squeaking springs of the lower deck cabins. Those walls are literally made of paper. I mean, unless your dad is into that kinda thing. Call me.
A bit more of a chuckle rings throughout the crowd. I wait for an answer from “grandpa” but he doesn’t give one, despite eye fucking me all the way down.
Me: Goddamn, I think I might need a pregnancy test after that one, pops. Why don’t we just skip the son, and I screw the father to assert dominance over him? Sounds like… a pathetically boring time. Anyway, as some of you might have realized, looking past the *air quotes* “big draw matches” like Jessie Salco versus Christina Rose, Mac Bane versus Mark Cross, Myra Rivers versus Amber Ryan, the Ultimate X matches for the Roulette titles… that I actually have a match here in just a few short days.
Heckler 3: HE’S LYING! NO ONE WOULD PAY TO SEE HIM IN A MATCH!
Me: IT’S CALLED A PISS BREAK MATCH, JOSH! Get over it. So, anyway, I have a match, where I’m teaming up with possibly the biggest prick on this boat, and I hear Kristopher Ryans is on the boat. Hey-o!
Silence. But as I trot a couple paces along the stage, using my arm to depict a huge, erm, male genitalia, I get a few bits of laughter. I shake my head.
Me: So, anyway. I was told that I’m too hyper focused on that fact. And I’m talking about my tag partner, and not his penis. God, get your heads out of the gutters you lowlife pieces of shit… I mean, c’mon. You came to see me do stand up comedy. You’ve clearly got nothing better to do, and you know what you signed up for.
Heckler 4: DON’T QUIT YA DAY JOB!!!
Me: So what is it, then? Do you want to see me wrestle, or not? I’m confused. And not because you’re a lousy piece of shit, but because you don’t realize that I wrestle once a week, at night. And I’m good enough to do it and still get paid. You’re as dense as Bill Barnhart! Speaking of Bill, what’s the difference between Bill and an apple? Anybody? Anybody?
I wait a minute as people chuckle and mutter indistinctly. I encourage them, but I’m not hearing the answer I’m looking for.
Me: There’s many answers here. Like, for instance, an apple doesn’t make me fall asleep just by watching a ten minute video clip of it talking. And, an apple doesn’t make you want to jump over the side of this boat, right into a propeller like Bill does, the second he opens his mouth. Or, an apple keeps the doctor away, while Bill makes me wish I didn’t have ears, so I am tempted to cut them off Van Gogh style so that I don’t have to hear that gravelly Bruce Willis style voice saying such insignificant, neverending, mind dulling, trivial bullshit. I… I could keep going, but it all ends with the fact that an apple doesn’t make me wish I was never born, in all the wrong ways. Apples aren’t a great example of why people across the world really should buy more into “pro choice” legislations. Bill Barnhart is.
This gets a bit more from the crowd than I expected. I hold up a hand to get the attention back to me.
Me: Who tells jokes like “What do you call a fly that can no longer fly”? Oh, right. Bill Barnhart. Someone who wishes to educate us on why he’s going to win, and we’re not. But, I hate to break it to him, so I’ll only leave this here for you guys… In order to “educate” someone on something, doesn’t it actually have to be true? I mean, I could tie my hands behind my back, bind my legs, blindfold myself, and still find a way to fall on top of that man for a three count. And, spoiler alert, the most interesting part of his last promotional video against me was the flies he kept comparing me to. Brother, I don’t walk on shit. I pin it to the mat every time I’m forced to go against it. Say, how many times have I beat you? In one way or another? How many dreams of being a singles champion did I squash in front of you, your dreams were the fly, and I was you…
And with that, I can’t help but vomit all over the stage. The crowd lets out a horrified and disgusted shriek. The hecklers are all going at once, and I can’t keep it all straight. I hold my finger up as I try to get my stomach under control, but nope… there goes the chicken strips, waffle fries, and Busch. Done-zo. Gone. I wipe at it softly with my left hand, and then take a sip from the water bottle to clean my mouth out, spitting it to the floor.
Me: I’m sorry. Remind me to never compare myself to Bill Bbbb…
There was almost a third explosive, projectile vomit, but I am able to squelch that back, puffing my cheeks out as I dry heave a little.
Me: Sorry. I… Bo Burnham, but I try. Kind of like Senor… I mean… KING VINNIE. Your royal, delusional highn-ass. Hey, I’d still fuck him though. Just saying. Anyway, King Vinnie tries so hard. He tries to work against his multiple personalities to succeed. He did become King for a Day, and he booked a card that attempted to dethrone Mark Cross. He tried to entertain the fans, but he just made them uncomfortable and sad. And clearly he didn’t dethrone Cross. He’s here, booked in this piss break of a match instead of headlining against Mac Bane, a man I also defeated. I mean, he could’ve been in that match. He could’ve stood a chance of getting a win. He could have tried to recapture that glory, but Mark Cross was just too much.
Heckler 5: BOOOOO! BE FUNNY!!!
I glare off in that direction and pull the microphone from the stand and walk over to the edge of the stage.
Me: Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was here for your entertainment. Just kidding. But, you’re a piece of shit, and I hope your cabin catches on fire, and that your wife and kids burn alive inside as you’re forced to watch from outside of it. Now shut the fuck up and let me get there. See, King Vinnie just isn’t funny. I mean, he’s a nut job. He’s a living abortion. He’s forced to fight in the most meaningless match of his career on the same ship that his wife married him on before disappearing shortly after. He’s a former champion, trying to relive his glory days when he never truly had any glory days. None of that is funny. It’s tragic… and that’s kinda funny…
I can’t help but chuckle at the thought. The crowd gives off that same mixed reaction as when I first entered the stage. Some of these sick bastards find it funny, while others find it offensive.
Me: Vinnie is somehow the least of my worries in this match. I need to watch out for a fallen piece of blue ice landing on my head than I do for Vinnie to beat me. I need to worry about a plane crashing down on the ship more than I need to worry about Vinnie beating me. I need to worry about failing another Katta Pult Suplex Challenge than I need to worry about Vinnie beating me. I need to worry about making this match last longer so that we stand a chance of people actually getting back to their seats to watch it after their piss break than I need to worry about Vinnie beating me. And, I’m sorry, but I can’t make this funny. It’s impossible. The only funny thing will be the way I beat his ass and make him eat his words, reminding me that I never officially beat him. Let me rectify that right now.
I’ve lost the crowd. Some of them have gotten up and left the club. Others are gathering their things. The lights come back up part way as I’m being forced off the stage. I can take a hint. Or, can I?
Me: With all of the problems Fenris and I have, it’s like we’re already dating. We fight. We avoid each other when we’re mad. We’re always mad. He fawns over me publicly while I flirt with other guys. If things continue this way, it will definitely seem that I’m the bitch in the relationship.
A few chuckles redeem me. The lights don’t go back down, but people’s asses do. The chuckles slowly build up.
Me: Putting us together in this match must be the universes way of telling us to fuck or kill each other. Judging by the elevator video footage, it could very well be both. Thankfully I take yoga classes and keep hydrated, am I right?
Crowd: Hahahaha!
Me: But seriously, if I wanted to disappoint two people at once, I’d have dinner with my parents. Get it? Because Fenris is one person, and his penis is big enough for it’s own social security card? Got it.
Even more laughs. I can’t help but smirk as well. This is the kind of stuff people came to see. Not talk about a boring log of shit that this fly walks on. Not the most unfunny joke to ever be told in Sin CIty. Penis humor.
Me: No, really. Fenris and I could never work out. I don’t want to live in Depends in my mid twenties. I don’t need to be split in half like I’m a scene from Resident Evil. I can’t wrestle with a prolapsed anus. Not until I at least ask for advice on that matter from Helluva Bottom Carter, right?
I look over to my side to see the producer telling me that the clock is running out for my allotted time. I sigh and nod my head at him as I walk to the front center stage and look out to those still watching, laughing, and enjoying themselves.
Me: Hey, apparently my time is up, so I just want to remind those not on the ship, watching this promotional video, to tune in live on July 18th, 2021 from the Princess Cruise Ship to watch this match, and all of the better ones lined up. Thank you! Thank you all!
I wave to the cheering crowd as I leave the stage. After the show closes out, and I grab another drink from the bar, it’s time to return to my cabin. I deposit my bottle in the recycling, and then I walk out of the door. There’s something almost romantic about the moon in a waxing crescent, smiling down on me. Something peaceful about the night. I am walking down the deck, on my way to the cabin when I look across the sea. It’s like a dream, but I’m not asleep. I sit there and watch the waves, just as I had earlier in the day. But the mystical deep of the sea at night is much more calming. It feels like almost hours of this before I decide to go into the halls to my cabin.
As I’m walking, I can feel the gentle swaying of the boat. I’m set at ease, completely. I walk up to my door and open my bag to pull out the keys. I stick the key into the lock and start to turn, when I can’t help but look over at my neighboring door. I stare at it for a moment before shaking my head. I open my door and see the light shining in on my cold cup of coffee. I look around, feeling the still of the silence. The loneliness is almost paralyzing. I slowly step back and close the door, locking it. I put the keys in my cargo pocket as I stand in front of Fenris’ door. I raise my hand to knock, but I stop myself.
I feel the pull of the moon to knock, but I resist it. It’s not right. It won’t be right. It can never be right. I start to turn back toward my door, but I feel like there’s a wall that won’t let me through. As much as I try, I can’t go back. I can never turn back from this. I raise my hand, my breath shallow and harsh as I try to stop it. But I can’t. Welp, here we go… (((TBC)))