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Supercard Archives / Re: World Championship: Mac Bane (c) v Austin James Mercer v Brother David v Senor V
« on: January 21, 2022, 11:25:23 PM »


Kristjan’s Condo; December 24th, 2021…


I swear to you that I protested this as much as humanly possible.  I was sure I was not going to show up to the Christmas party under any circumstance.  I mean, I literally bailed on Kristjan in front of his entire family, and I was mortified by that fact alone, not to mention all of the destructive thoughts I had leading up to my decision to jump on a plane and head back home early.  I was petrified of any sort of family dynamic at this point, thanks to my “wonderful” parents.  They had instilled this fear in me that I just could not shake.  But, if you’ve met my sister, then you know that when she gets an idea in her head, she will not let up.  Honestly, I knew deep down that she was right.  And her constant antagonizing drove me to do the right thing, so… here we are.

Imagine the streets are lit up more than usual.  Different caroling groups from all around the nation, and even some internationally, were lined up and down the strip.  People had a reason beyond just being bored with their lives to be here.  The spirit of the season was in full swing, even though many here were not celebrating the traditional way.  Not to mention, those of other faiths, living their daily life like it was any other Friday.  Finding guest parking was difficult, and was almost a reason to turn around like I secretly wanted to.  But, my sister insisted on driving for that reason alone.  We open up the car doors, me a lot more hesitantly than her and Andrey.  The chill in the air sends shivers down my spine as we look up at the building.  Andrey is polite enough to grab the gift bags as Esther hooks her arm under mine to usher me toward the door.

Esther:  Are you ready for this, big brother?

Me:  No…

She laughs, knowing she shouldn’t have asked.  She opens the door for Andrey and myself.  Once through the lobby, we go to the elevator to go to his floor.  Andrey sets the bags down to rub his hands together to warm them up.

Andrey:  It is no Russian Winter out there, but is very, very cold, da?

I nod along, still shivering, but for different reasons.  I pick up some of the bags as we near his floor.  My breathing gets more shallow and difficult, but I battle through it.

Esther:  You’re going to be alright, David.  You’ve been through far worse than anything they could ever throw at you.

Me:  Have you not met Kristjan?  I feel like they could throw a lot more at us than our psychotic parents.

Esther:  Maybe so, but you weren’t supposed to say that!

Andrey:  Kristjan is, as you say, soft on the inside.  His hard exterior is defense, and likely earned through hard life experience.  I have feeling that his parents and siblings are much more like Aron than Kristjan, or worse as you fear.

I take his words in and listen.  They make me feel better.  But, at the same time I look over to Esther and give her a look.

Me:  You could have tried harder to reassure me like your sweet, loving husband did.

Esther:  It’s called tough love.  You need to suck it up buttercup and do what you need to do, since you seem to think that you can handle this all by yourself, without the doctor I referred you to.

Me:  Okay, okay!  Fair point, and the point has been taken.

Ding!

The elevator opens up and I stare right at Kristjan’s door.  I already smell the delightful smell of food coming from inside his condo.  I can hear the laughter and celebration, and the warmth.  However, I can’t help but feel like I don’t deserve to be here.  I am ushered out of the elevator to finish thinking it over as my sister corrals me.  I finally make it halfway to his door when I stop.  I’m still shaking.  Of all of the crazy things I’ve done in my life, without batting an eye at it, I’m mortified by this.  Esther grabs onto my face and lowers it to hers.  She looks right into my eyes.

Esther:  Look at me.  Look here.  You’re in the moment.  You’re not in the future.  You’re not in the past with our horrible parents.  You’re 20 feet from the man you love, and the family that only wants the best for him.  You love Kristjan, don’t you?

Me:  I mean, we haven’t really said it, but… yeah…

Esther:  Then you need to do this.  Even if you just show that you’re making an effort, and have to leave after a few minutes, it’s better than not showing up.  Now, go give your man a big, sloppy kiss under the mistletoe, champ.

Esther literally slaps my backside, pushing me toward the door.  Without giving me a second longer to think about it, she knocks loudly and assertively on the door.  Here goes nothing, right?  Just then, a woman, tall and majestic, with golden hair flowing down her shoulders, and piercing blue eyes that remind me of Kristjan, stares me up and down.  She is gorgeous, as if she had just stepped out of a magazine.  Flawless, eyes of a wolf, and sternly quiet, she looks me up and down until Kyssa rushes over toward the door and jumps up on me.  I drop the bags to the ground to rub on her face, letting her attack me with kisses as we gently rough house together.  I take a deep breath and look back to the woman in front of me.

Me:  Hi there.  I’m David Shepherd…

She continues staring me up and down before giving a definitive nod.  She lifts my upper lip up and inspects my gums, and then fixes a couple stray hairs before looking back into the condo.

Eva:  Kristjan, ég tek undir það (I approve).

She turns back to me and takes my hand to lead me inside to meet the rest of the family.  I have somewhat of a star struck moment as Eva leads me just a few feet from the Christmas Tree that is set up in the middle of the entry hall.  Esther and Andrey follow after me, drinking in all of the winter wonderland beauty before them for the first time.  Something that Dani Weston herself had designed.  I’m pretty sure even Esther mutters “wow” under her breath.  Once we are near the front and center of the family, one by one, the conversation dwindles down to nothing.  Kristjan has his back to me, and a bottle of beer in his hand.  He takes a sip and then turns around to see what everyone is staring at and mumbling about.  So, I have literally near 50 eyes resting on me at this point.  I gulp and rub my lips together, trying to hide my fear with a smile, and it just isn’t working out.  However, there is a hint of ice to her smile as she leans in to her son.

Eva: Meiddu son minn aftur og ég mun hafa eyrnalokkana þína.

And then she disappears back into the room with the rest of the party.  I can’t help but wonder what she has said, and it leads me to see that it wasn’t necessarily anything good.  I want to ask, but I wait a moment.

Kristjan:  You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve just showing up like this after that stunt you pulled!

I scoff, because this is a moment when I feel like the give and take isn’t where it should be.  I look him in the eyes and I ask him.

Me:  Is there somewhere we can talk?

Kristjan:  Do you see anyone else with us? Talk.

I purse my lips together and I glare at him, unamused by what I secretly know is not a joke, yet I treat it as one.  He sighs and places his beer down on the counter after a deep exhale of pure annoyance.  Our true fault is our tempers, and this is a prime example of both of us struggling with things.  Driven by my own guilt and pain in my eyes, I look around the apartment at the happy things, hoping for a distraction.  As we’re walking back toward his bedroom, I can’t help but ask.

Me:  What did your mother say back there?

Kristjan:  Pretty much she said if you ever hurt me again, she’d have your balls for earrings…

Okay, maybe this is as bad as I originally thought it would be.  I haven’t been here five minutes, and my well-being is already threatened.  I suck in a sharp breath and look toward the door ahead of us.  As soon as it is opened, I move inside before Kristjan.  He closes the door behind him, and immediately, I poke him right in the chest, trying to keep my voice down, but letting out the floodgate.

Me:  First off, mister, I came here to try to make things right.  I fucked up the other day, and while I sat there, trying to justify how fucked up my head still is, my sister dragged me here because it truly was the right thing to do.  But don’t you, for one fucking second, think that you or your family can talk to me any old kind of way, because I know exactly where the door is.

Kristjan:  Then why don’t you walk out of it?  You’re good at that, as I learned a few days ago.

I start pacing back and forth.  See nothing, and have partially dissociated myself from the situation.  The words of his are more like an echo, and I take a deep breath to try to ignore that statement, but I can’t.  The anxiety is driving me too heavily right now.

Me:  Yeah, I’m a master at getting out of completely fucked up situations.  I’ve had to do it my whole life, but thank you for the reminder.  I really needed that right now. Boyfriend of the Year material right there…

My pacing intensifies, as does my breathing.  My reptilian brain goes from flight to fight officially as I stop pacing and stare directly at Kristjan.  While I might still know what’s going on, I have lost control, other than to keep my voice low enough not to be heard by the party outside of the room. Before he has a chance to speak, I cut him off.

Me:  So, because you’re such a sensitive being, and your empathy is so strong, I’m sure you’re aware that I have PTSD and anxiety thanks to my wonderful family dynamic. Since you know everything, I guess you’re choosing to take this as a personal slight despite knowing my struggles, and yet you’re still choosing to hold it against me.

Kristjan:  I am holding nothing against you other than the fact that I’m offended you didn’t decide to disclose this information to me sooner so that I would not have insisted you meet my family before you were ready.  Contrary to what you believe, I am not a mind reader, and I do not know everything.  In a relationship, communication is key, and we’re lacking that right now.

Me:  Thank you Captain Fucking Obvious… That’s what I came here to talk about.  I thought I had it under control, but clearly I didn’t.  And in the moment, I couldn’t articulate that because I was having a panic attack.  Just like I was having until you decided to elevate it to full blown anxiety in the hallway.  So if we can just drop the snark and get to the bottom of this, that would be fucking great…

And in that moment, I can’t breathe.  I get dizzy from the adrenaline, and I stumble back against the wall and slowly lower myself onto the bed, leaning against the headboard.  I can’t see straight.  My heart is pounding out of my chest, and an icy fire is pumping from my chest and out into the rest of my body, making my hands and feet numb.  If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought I was having a heart attack.  This is not the first time, as I’ve seen a doctor briefly about it.  I have an emergency prescription, and like an idiot, they are sitting on my dresser at home because I was too proud to take it today, or bring it.

Kristjan:  David?

It is even more of an echo than before. I can barely make it out.  I strive to take deep breaths as Kristjan looks toward the door, ready to bring Esther in to assist.  However, he begins to gently scratch my back, sending shivers up and down my spine.  However, the distraction brings me back to a tolerable pace for a moment.  I’m sweating bullets despite feeling cold as ice.  My nerves are overwhelmed, and I’m shaking.  Kristjan begins to hum a melody as he slowly wraps his arms around me.  Before long, we find ourselves lying down, and I’m in true little spoon position, getting my breathing under control.  My stomach is in knots as I fight the urge to throw up.  Thoughtfully, Kristjan reaches around and rubs my stomach.  With the humming continuing, it doesn’t take long for me to close my eyes, and focus on my other senses, leading to me falling asleep.

What seems like a minute later, turns out to have been nearly two hours.  Yet, the merriment in the main areas of the condo are still alive with big voices, and cheers for the season.  Kristjan is still holding onto me, and I curl up under his arm for a moment.

Kristjan:  There he is…

His voice is a soft, seductive whisper, yet it further calms me from the shock of waking up.  I turn over and look into his eyes while leaning my head on his forearm.  I try to lighten the mood with a smile and a soft chuckle.  My eyes wander over his face, noting the lack of any visible emotion, but I can feel his caring nature.

Me: So… I guess I owe you an apology, huh?

Kristjan:  You guess?

We both softly chuckle before I sigh, running my hands through my hair.  I turn over and look up at the bedroom ceiling.

Me:  Yeah, I guess… I mean, I was kind of an asshole.  I was trying to talk to you about something I should have brought up a long time ago.  But… we’d just unloaded a bunch of personal history that definitely qualifies as baggage, and… I felt a little embarrassed to bring up even more.  I see how hurtful it must have been for you to have me just up and leave like I did.  It wasn’t fair to you, or your family.  And while I’m being honest, it’s a major reason I was so torn up about coming here today.

Kristjan:  My family is frightening.  I will not say that they are not.  They can be a lot.  My sisters, my mother… Come to think of it, Aron might be the most normal of us all if you can believe it.

I look at him, studying his eyes and a sly smirk comes across my face.

Me:  Mmmm… yeah, I can believe that.  If they are anything like you, anyways.  And clearly I see where you get your temper, because mommy dearest is teeming with it.

Kristjan:  We’re all crazy in some way.  But, if you are worried that my family is anything like yours, then I beg you to come out here and meet them so you can see that they are not.  My mother already has a pair of testicle earrings, and I’m not sure yours would fit any of her outfits.

I can’t help but laugh, and I cover my mouth to stifle it some so not to give the other party guests the wrong idea about what is going on in here.  I look over at him and snicker.

Me:  Plus mine are big, and your mother seems the type to not want to have droopy earlobes.  She’s perfect, so why ruin that with my goose eggs?

Kristjan now laughs, but gives a suggestive raising of the eyebrows and looks down to verify.  He leans in and kisses my cheek.  I turn and kiss him on the lips.  But, as I do, something interesting catches my eye.  Faux leather cords hanging from the bedpost, leading down to some very shiny pendants… or, rather… rings? The same skillfully crafted ones from the market we visited in Iceland.  I gasp as I look at them, and then at Kristjan.  He can’t help but smile.

Kristjan:  I wanted to give you our Christmas present early because of your previous state of mind.

Me:  I can’t believe you, you sneaky sonuva…

I take one off of the bedpost and I start to put it around my neck.  However, Kristjan covers my mouth for a split second to stop me from finishing my sentence.  He then takes the necklace and gently places it around my neck.  I then do the same for the other, putting it on him.

Kristjan:  So long as you wear this necklace, I will be there with you, humming Alligator to you, scratching your back, rubbing your belly. To calm you in your worst times, and to be there for you during your best times.

Me:  You already are.

I lean in and steal another kiss as I play with the necklace, and his chest.  I bite at my bottom lip, even though I know now is not the time.  We stand up and he takes my hand, leading me to the door.  I take a deep breath and look to him for comfort.  I then open the door and we walk out.  It takes all of two seconds before a shrill voice cuts through the air.

Bobbie:  YOU TWO COULDN’T HAVE WAITED UNTIL AFTER THE PARTY?

A round of laughter at our expense causes her to let out a bit of a smile, looking around the room.  She then cups her hand around her mouth again.

Bobbie:  OR AT LEAST INVITED ME TO WATCH!

The room goes silent and Bobbie gives me and Kristjan a wink.  I roll my eyes as Kristjan holds onto my lower back.  Dani walks over and leans in to whisper into my ear.

Dani:  Make sure you don’t do that again, because if Eva leaves any bit of you left, I’ll rip it apart, kay?

Me:  Noted…

Dani hands me a beer and I probably down half of it right then and there.  Fenris stands by me as we once again come face to face with Eva, but with her light hearted husband, Benedikt, there to lighten the mood.

Benedikt:  David, it is a pleasure to meet you finally.  How does the holiday find you?

Eva:  He is here, at least.

Me:  The shade of it all.  No, I wasn’t going to miss this chance to hopefully make up for what transpired a few days ago.  In fact, somewhere around here is Vínarterta cake from an Icelandic bakery nearby.  I, um, ate the one that I intended to bring to you when the homesickness got the best of me.

I give a very apologetic bow of respect to Eva.  And while I do not humble myself, I let it be known that I did not just up and leave for no reason, and it seems to be understood with a nod from both parents.

Benedikt:  That is very thoughtful of you.  We Icelandians love our baked goods, especially around the holidays.  We are just so happy that you came, and your sister seems to be getting along with Viktoria and Elin very well over there.

I look over to see that it is almost as if Esther had split into three, except the other two made much better fashion choices.  Sorry, not sorry, sis.  I smile because maybe it’s a sign that our families truly do blend well.  I see Andrey talking to Freyja, Aron, and Dani.  They are joined by Kristjan once he sees the conversation has become more than civil.

Me:  I’m so glad that your family has opened itself up to me twice now.  I know there was a rather interesting start to our relationship, but I care about him oh so much.  My family dynamic is something of a mess, to put it lightly, so I was very afraid of running into something like that again.  I just want you to know that it was nothing personal, and it was nothing that you guys did that made me wary.  I mean… the testicle earrings might have given me a panic attack, but…

Benedikt looks over to Eva and narrows his eyes a bit.  She shrugs her shoulders and then pats me on the shoulder.

Eva:  Come, child.  I was only half joking.  I don’t think I am bold enough to try to pull that off.  But, maybe in a jar?

I smile and laugh at her quip until I realize it is anything but a quip.  She then returns to her husband’s side with a glass of red wine in her hand.

Eva:  We truly are happy you have joined us tonight, and we look forward to many more meetings with you.  My boy deserves the world, and I want to make sure you are giving as much of it to him as possible.

Me:  I am a meek person.  I don’t have a lot.  But, I will rob a bank if it would make your son smile.  I haven’t really told him this yet, but… I love him.  I hope that we can keep this secret between us for now. I’m still feeling things out.

Eva:  What is there to feel out?  Our son is obviously in love with you.  The heartache you both have given to one another is proof of that, because he would not stick around if he didn’t.  Be bold, because that is the way to our son’s heart.  Take a chance, love.

Take a chance.  Be bold.  These are things I do in my every day life, so naturally I should consider them now.  Why was I being so caught up in my head about this whole thing?  Perhaps it was a bit of a personal victory for me to have met the parents, and I was now riding on a high because of it.  A warmth flows through my veins as I look over to Kristjan.  I start to walk over when Esther rushes up to me and grabs onto my arm.

Esther:  We need to go.  Now.

Me:  But…  What, why? I just got here for real, and I’m not about to run off on everyone again.  I already did that damage.

Esther:  We need to go right this very fucking second, do you hear me?

Her volume is low enough so not to cause a scene, but the tears in her eyes let me know something else was going on here, and I needed to listen.  Worry comes over me as I look over to Kristjan’s sisters who are already in the know, giving me the urgent look to listen to my sister.  I walk over to Kristjan and kiss his cheek.

Me:  Babe, I need to go.  I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s something family related, and I think it’s bad.

He wraps his arms around me in a tight hug.  I hug him back as Esther gathers Andrey up.  In that moment, I almost let it slip, but I wanted the first time to be more special than this.  Once we finally let go, I politely excuse myself the rest of the way toward the door, and we were on our way to the hospital to see my parents.






Sunrise Hospital and Medical Center; December 24th, 2021…


Here we sit, waiting.  Waiting for any news after my mother fell ill with what turned out to be COVID.  Everything in my being wants to scream and shout at everyone right now.  Another part of me wonders why I’m even here.  Of course, I can’t even stand to look at my father.  Virginia and Andrew are on the other side of the room while Andrey and I sit on the far end.  The looks I’m getting from my ex fiancee would frighten anyone else under any other circumstance, but my nerves are still too shot to deal with it.  Esther is between me and my father, periodically checking in to see if anyone needs anything, like a mother hen.  I’m not used to seeing this side of her, so it’s a bit confusing at first.  While she is fetching some water for Gerald, Andrey looks over to me, patting my shoulder.

Andrey:  Knowing your family, this will pass and she will be fine.

Me:  If what you mean to say is that she’s too miserable of a human being to go out so easily, then you’re probably right.

This comment draws the ire of Andrew and Virginia, and a glance from my father that reads sorrow and disappointment.  I’m not sure if that disappointment is in me or in himself, but it is clearly there.  I huff as Andrey tries to fix the situation.

Andrey:  Your mother is a fighter.  Even if her physical abilities to fight have been taken away, her spirit is stronger than most.  She will overcome this.

Me:  True.  Only the good die young.

Ginny and Andrew speak amongst each other from afar, but it is clear that they are talking about me.  So, instead of indulging in them, I stand up and walk out of the room.  I go to the vending machines where everything is quiet, and no one is around, and I begin kicking the shit out of a Pepsi machine.  So much so that I get a free Mountain Dew out of the situation.  That will come in handy later, I’m sure.  But for now, I turn and begin punching at the solid stone wall, busting my knuckles wide open in the process.  I don’t feel the external pain.  Only what is welling up inside.  I then put my forearm to my mouth and scream into it until I feel slightly better.  However, in doing so, I find the necklace Kristjan had given to me as a gift, and I clench onto it with all of my might.  I close my eyes to imagine the feeling of his fingernails gently going up and down my back, and the melody of “Alligator” playing in my head.  I hum along to it as I feel a warmth come over me.

You might ask yourself why Kristjan didn’t come with me.  Let me address the first reason.  He was hosting a party of his own.  That’s simple enough, right?  Could he have left?  Yeah, but then we hit the second reason why he didn’t come along.  He and my father hate each other.  Though, I think it is more that he hates my father.  But, despite what gets said in front of the cameras, my father does not approve of our relationship.  Hello, FATHER Gerald, of the Church of the Good Shepherds.  It’s not rocket science people.  Plus, I felt like this needed to be something we did as a family, and the added stress on him would just have been unfair.

So, here I am, self soothing in a hospital hallway, by myself.  I lean against the wall, and I sink down.  I sit there, trapped in thought for a moment.  Would I regret holding onto these feelings caused by the abuse of my father, allowed to happen by my mother?  Would I regret casting them out of my life for the better part of 5 months now?  Would I regret putting the blame on my mother for what my father did, since she is a victim in this as well?  What would happen if tonight was the last night of Mavis Shepherd’s life?  These questions race through my mind like a speedcar, and ultimately lead me to roam the halls of the hospital until I find a chapel.  I make my way inside, finding it empty.  Of course, it is a Catholic chapel, which is basically one step away from a Pagan chapel, so it doesn’t instantly burn me up inside to walk in.  I take a seat in the front left pew and I kneel down before the statue out of habit.

Me:  If you’re out there.  If you haven’t completely abandoned your supposed creation, I need you now more than ever.  I need your wisdom.  I need your guidance.  I need your mercy.

My voice trails off as I wait for some kind of feeling.  Anything.  Yet, I get nothing.  I feel nothing but the same painful emotions that have been tearing my insides up since we left the party.  My stomach isn’t just in knots, but in ragged bloody pieces.  Yet, I don’t acknowledge it right now.  Instead, I stand up and I look at the depiction of Christ on the cross and I approach it.

Me:  I devoted so much of my life to you, and you can’t even bother to pick up the fucking phone?!  I bled for you!  I was beaten for you!  I spoke for you as a witness to your glory, but it was all one big fucking lie!  You want to talk about Lucifer and all of his misdeeds, and warding off evil, yet you’re the greatest deceiver of them all!

I punch the statue right in the face, three times, tearing my knuckles up just a little bit more.  I still don’t feel it.  Instead, I spit upon the crucifix and go to settle down in my seat again.

Me:  I suffer now more than ever because of you and your beloved son.  My life wasn’t great before, but ever since I accepted you into my life, you have taken every single pleasure out of life.  You have ripped apart any joy that didn’t come from praising you.  You broke me down and made me a lesser man.  Subservient to your wishes.  And here I sit, on the eve of your son’s supposed birth, asking for just a single sign that you ever even noticed me, let alone my painful struggles, and I can’t even be afforded that.  Well, fuck you.  Fuck you for everything that you ever took from me.  Fuck you for destroying everything that ever made me who I am and who I was.  Fuck you for making me have to pick up the pieces and try to put them back together.  And fuck you for trying to take away my chance to one day make amends with my mother in a healthy manner.  Fuck you in general, God, and fuck your sacrifice, because was it really a sacrifice if you abandoned him to die alone, but on display for thousands to see?  What does my father even see in you?  Because truthfully, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you or your miracles.  Anything I have received in life, I have earned.  Nothing has been handed to me.  Including this World Heavyweight Championship match at Inception.  I earned it all on my own by being the fastest rising star in SCW.  People can’t keep my name out of their mouth, and they want to see me carry the company as if I were the modern day Jesus Christ.  The only difference is that I’m not nearly delusional to believe I’m that.

I scoff.  The defiance in my eyes as I stare at the crucifix is completely unrivaled.  I shake my head and turn away from the statue.

Me:  You know, now I understand why you require praise.  You’re not good enough to stand up on your own.  You want to sit up high in the sky, distanced from the problems that you created.  You want to avoid the conflict of man.  You wanted to send down your “only begotten son” to do it for you.  And when people started to praise him and his mother, you know, the only two actually doing shit about the sad state of the world, you couldn’t handle it.  You used your son as a scapegoat to push an agenda.  To continue getting praise.  You’ve incited wars and genocides, all in the name of you.  You changed your name to “God” because you wanted to push out the belief in Gods and Goddesses that actually took action, because you are weak and you are vengeful.  You were surpassed by a fucking mortal, or half mortal, and you couldn’t take it.  That reminds me of SCW’s almighty World Heavyweight Champion, Mac Bane.  He has what every man in SCW covets.  He sits high in the sky, sending minions to do his dirty work because he simply cannot be bothered.  But the fans aren’t as stupid as they seem, and Mr. Bane has finally caught on to that.  He has seen that his time is coming to be pushed out into the nethers once more.  He sees a rising star, a shining beacon of hope in an unorthodox heathen such as myself.  He knows I’m a threat, and he chooses to hide behind his army.  However his day of reckoning has a date, but it isn’t written in any book. That date is January 23rd, and there will be no more hiding.  There will be no armies to protect him.  And that is the gospel truth.

My anger has been projected, and I’ve gotten on my rant.  There’s no stopping it now.

Me:  And just as the Pharisees knew that they stood no chance of dethroning Jesus should his message make it to the people, Senor Vinnie wants to make sure that no one gets the chance to hear what I have to say.  He doesn’t want me to be at the top of Mount Sinai.  He wants me to be dwelling the caves with the Maccabees.  He knows that if I make it to my true potential, he stands no chance of bringing me back down.  His fear of irrelevance will become too real to deny it any longer.  Plus, should he and I bump into each other, I just might lose my cool and further injure him.  I might fracture him the way Jesus fractured the reign of the Pharisees.  Or perhaps I’m mistaken.  Perhaps Vinnie is more like the Sadducees. Rather than fearing a power grab, he wants to deny any existence of power within me.  He doesn’t see me as a threat, even though I nearly ended his career.  Instead, he wants to believe that I am just another run of the mill young pup trying to beg for scraps at the big boys table.  He wouldn’t be the first.  And when someone is blinded so heavily by their faith in what they believe, there is no proving them wrong.  Much like Jesus turned water into wine, I turned a ladder match into a Roulette Championship for myself.  Much like the story of loaves and fishes, I took a match with Agosto Romano, and I turned it into an Internet Championship reign.  And now, I will take Vinnie, and I will turn him into a true believer.

Promises, promises.  I look back to the crucifix once more, drawing some sort of intensely hateful energy from it.

Me:  And let us not forget Austin James Mercer.  Much like last time, I don’t have much bad to say about him.  There is a respect.  There is a common ground between us.  Out of any other competitor, I hold him in high regard.  Much like Jesus did with Judas.  Unlike Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, I will have my eyes peeled.  Unlike the trusting nature of our supposed savior, I am not a fucking fool.  I’m not naive, and I’m not going to fall for any tricks.  Halloween was nearly three months ago.  On January 23rd, I plan on walking out of Inception with the World Heavyweight Championship around my waist, and I’m not going to put trust in anybody.  I will leave no room for error.  And while I proposed an alliance with Austin recently, I don’t intend on turning a blind eye to him or his devious tendencies.  I know Austin, and I respect Austin, but I do not trust him because I have studied his career.  I have seen what he’s capable of.  Deception aside, the respect is great.  But it also shows me what I can expect, and I will be ready for that.  Perhaps it is the “snake in the Garden of Eden” effect.  Hopefully it is not like Jezebel and the hounds in Babylon, tearing her apart limb from limb, peeling the flesh from her bones for her blasphemy.  Though I hope I’m wrong, but I see it as more like Joseph being sold out by his jealous brothers.  Perhaps you think your time has passed, and a new face will be emerging.  Out of all of the candidates, I am the most likely to succeed.  So naturally, it would make sense that you would try to strike me down before I can reach that point, and honestly, in this match, you are the only one capable of striking me down, period.  But don’t ignore the prophecies.  My time is nigh.

And with that, I stand up from my seat now.  I turn my back on the statue and I slowly begin walking up the aisle, looking right into the camera.

Me:  While you celebrate the birth of our dear savior, think about this.  Two thousand years have passed, and it is time for the second coming.  A true Sin City Savior stands before you.  But instead of demanding worship and praise, instead of demanding to be looked at as the only true king, I want each and every one of you to look at me like a slimy snake in the grass.  Not high above, but down below.  A true man of the people, but slippery and hard to keep up with.  A bright red target on my back, but I’m moving too quickly for anyone to slaughter.  My kingdom doesn’t promise eternal peace and happiness.  It requires you to step up and be better.  I won’t give you wine or bread or fish.  I will be a role model of what it takes to get to your fullest potential.  On January 23rd, 2022 at Inception, I will be your new savior.  I will be your Jesus Christ…

And with that fire in me, I reach forward and turn the camera off.  We fade, with my message still hanging clear in the air.

2
Supercard Archives / Re: World Championship: Mac Bane (c) v Austin James Mercer v Brother David v Senor V
« on: January 15, 2022, 11:12:44 PM »


Just Outside the Heiðmörk Woods in late December…


I was standing there in an arctic wonderland.  Everything looked like blown glass, decorated in so many lights, and I swear the whole place is covered in pine.  If I thought Fenris’s condo was maxed out on Christmas, I saw nothing.  Especially as we visited the famous marketplace near the Heiðmörk woods.  The air was thick with the smells of fresh baked goods and smoke from fireplaces and bonfires.  If I didn’t know any better, I would have said that I was standing in the middle of the North Pole.  While I like to keep a general sense of “I don’t give a fuck” about literally everything and anything, I think the child inside of me was scratching and clawing, trying to get out and run around, stuffing my face with cookies and cakes.  I’d say this had manifested in a big smile on my face.  Kristjan looked over at me with a bit of a smile himself.  However, there was a tinge of pride on his face as he watched my eyes wander about the scenic view.  I turn to him and wrap an arm around him as I feel myself wanting to bounce up and down, though I stop myself.

Me:  Just… take my money already!  This place is like the happiest, best, most fantastic place on earth.

Kristjan:  That is why I always make sure to stop here when I visit this time of year.

I continue to look around, as we haven’t even entered the ground yet, officially.  The excitement of it all cannot be contained any longer as we begin walking the path.  There are homemade wreaths to our left, and I turn to the booth, and Kristjan does a very long, drawn out sigh.  However, he finds it endearing as I look through the different designs of traditional holly, down to winter flowers preserved with a sparkling coating of some sort.  I find myself pining… heh, get it? … for the traditional holly and pine cones, and I buy one, placing it around my neck.

Kristjan:  I did not think you to be the holidays type.

Me:  As hard as I try, I just cannot be miserable and angry all of the time, and these lights just… the trees… the… season. They just speak to me.

Kristjan:  It was not a complaint. I think it’s… cute…

Me:  Well, you’re cute…

I lean in for a kiss, but as I get too close, we find ourselves the victims of a thousand tiny stabs.  I look down, embarrassed, and Kristjan pulls the wreath from around my neck for just a second, to sneak a kiss.  A man with a cart comes by, speaking in the native tongue, and by the smell of it, he is selling hot cocoa.  Kristjan stops him and orders us two.  After paying, he hands a cup to me, and I slowly sip on it, warming myself back up a little with each sip.

Me:  So, is this normal, or are we trying to compensate for the pandemic or something?  This is almost too much.

Kristjan:  This is very normal.  If anything, it might be a bit drab because of the pandemic.  We Icelandians take the holiday season very seriously.  Like we invented the season or something.

Me:  Well, you guys do a very good job of it.  Better than anything I’ve ever seen.  And the funny thing is that I was obviously very devout for a long time.  It’s kind of sad.

Kristjan looks around as we move by a group of fellow shoppers.  To the other side of us, there’s a stand with more cheese than I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and strings of sausages.  Part of me wants to buy one of the larger wheels of cheese just to say that I have, because… who does that?

Me:  Can we?

Kristjan shakes his head.  Of course, he has to be the voice of reason.  I sigh and move along.  My digestive system is safe for another day.  We spot a display of handmade jewelry, and I have to stop to look, no permission needed.  There are silver pieces that are ever so slightly tarnished, which lets the authenticity shine through.  I look at some of the necklaces, hung with leather, the pendants are very viking in appearance.  There is one with the head of a wolf, with turquoise eyes, which I pretend not to notice because… Christmas present achieved!  I wait until Kristjan is not looking, and I snatch it from the display and discreetly pay for it.  The attendant winks as I stuff it quickly into my pocket.  I casually look down to the rings before us.

Merchant:  These go very quickly this close to Christmas.  I have only two left, and they are my favorites.

I look down at them.  While they are white gold, and I don’t tend to go for anything but silver and steel, there is a charm in the etchings.  And the obsidian decal is very intricate.  It is a shame to see these two gorgeous pieces amongst nothing but plain hematite rings.

Me:  May we see those?

The merchant pulls them out of the case and places them on top of the case.  I pick up one of them and slide it onto my ring finger.  I can tell that this makes Kristjan a little nervous.  It’s too loose anyway.  But the piece is wonderful.  I try it on my middle finger, and it fits like a glove.  Kristjan sees this and picks the other one up.  He puts it on his middle finger, and it seems to fit quite well.

Me:  It’s a sign, I think.

Kristjan:  Rings… And it doesn’t seem too soon for this kind of jewelry?

I shake my head before I even realize it.  I nip at my bottom lip before I remove the ring and place it back on the case.  Kristjan does the same.

Me:  I understand your past hurt, and your need to go at a certain pace.  It’s quite alright.

Kristjan smiles warmly and I look around to see where I want to go next, ignoring that small pang of hurt within my chest.  Cakes, and lots of them.  It seems the perfect place to get over it, because I meant what I said, and chocolate cures everything.  Kristjan nods to the merchant as he sees where my eyes have landed.  A hearty chuckle precedes our departure.  We go over to the stand and we look at all of the extremely unhealthy, AKA extremely delicious, looking bakery items.  Something of a winter ambrosia cake, labeled as “JÓLAKAKA” seems rather festive for the moment.  I instantly think of it as a gift to our host for the evening, Jokull’s mother.  I purchase it as I continue to look.  The pastries look wonderful, and I order one for now, as I’ve not eaten since I woke up this morning.  Then, the artistry for the Vínarterta, a multi-layered cake with jam filling, catches my eye.  I order one of them as well, and Kristjan looks at me with an eyebrow raised.  He laughs as I smack his arm playfully.

Kristjan:  What?  It’s a lot of cake.

Me:  One of them is a gift, one of them is for now, and one of them is for later.

Kristjan:  With my family?

I look around, trying to find an alternative to this, but I can’t think of one.  So I slowly begin to nod and look over to Kristjan with a wide smile on my face.

Me:  Yes… that…

Not my most convincing moment, but it will do.  I take my boxes and try to balance them carefully as Kristjan puts the wreath around my neck.  I look at him with betrayal written all over my face, scoffing at him as he walks empty handed.

Kristjan:  You need to start working off that cake early.  Especially if you want to stay in shape for your World Heavyweight Championship match at Inception.

Me:  I can think of better ways to work off the cake, and I think it would benefit both of us.  Greatly.

Kristjan:  Oh yeah?

He looks deeply into my eyes, teasing, tempting.  I lick my lips, preparing for a kiss.  However, Kristjan smacks my ass and moves me along.  We go along to another booth where Kristjan picks up some smoked fish for later at Jokull’s mother’s house.  The smell is a bit, as in a lot, intimidating.  I am just glad to have the wreath around my neck, blocking out a lot of that smell.  We visit several more booths along the way, and I’m regretting not taking a stop by the car to drop off the cakes.  But by this time we’ve visited almost every stand at the market.  Just a few more to go, and I look over to the rings, wishing I could own one.  I think about going over to get the one, because I really liked it.  However, when I look over to the case, I notice that they are both gone and my heart sinks.  I sigh and continue walking along. I think to myself just how good that ring would look on my finger.

Kristjan:  Is there something on your mind?

I think for a second.  While I don’t really find use in lying, I truly don’t want to pressure anything, so I simply shake my head to the negative.  I balance the purchases in one arm and reach out to hold his hand.  While I already know he’s not much for public displays of affection, and have already gotten a kiss out of the trip… I know he cares about me enough to take my hand as we walk along.  He holds onto it tightly, despite his reluctance.  The bravery gives me hope of something long lasting, and something about that makes me forget the cold nipping at my forehead, threatening to freeze my eyeballs in place.  The warmth of his hand, even through the glove, makes me forget about everything else.  Good and bad, the crowds of people, the lights, everything.  It’s just the two of us, and I know he feels that too, with each passing moment, the tighter his grip gets.

Me:  Thank you for letting me come along.  I know it doesn’t seem the most traditional of things, the awkwardness of taking me to meet Jokull’s mother.  I know I feel it, so I can’t imagine how you must feel about it.

Kristjan stops just short of the car and thinks about it for a minute.  I can tell that he’s trying to think of the best way to put what he’s thinking.  He hangs on the opening word for a moment, coming out like a painful moan.  I squeeze his hand in a comforting way, letting him know that he can just say what he needs to say.  He sighs as he leans against the car, unlocking it so that I can place the boxes of cakes and wreath inside of the car and close the door.  I stand next to Kristjan as he stares off into the distance.

Kristjan:  It is awkward.  It’s very awkward.

Me:  I probably shouldn’t have forced my presence here.  I honestly just want to support you in everything that you do.  I’m not really sure if that’s where our relationship is, but it just felt right in the moment.  If it means that much to you, I can just go back to the hotel while you visit.

Kristjan holds a hand up to stop me from going further.

Kristjan:  No, no, no.  I guess we should better define where we are, but I don’t feel like now is the right time.  But, I do like that you wanted to come, and I want you to be there with me.  It feels like the right thing.

I smile, because secretly, I hoped that he would say that.  Even though this is going to be sufficiently awkward, I do agree that we need to face this together.  This is part of him, and it’s a part that he felt comfortable enough to share with me.  I place my hand on his arm.

Me:  I don’t mean to ruin this tender moment for us, but… I’m on the verge of freezing my balls off, and…

Kristjan:  Right, right…

He opens up the car door for me, and then goes over to the driver’s seat.  He starts the car on, and the blast of freezing air nearly knocks my cap off as I hold onto it, shivering.  We wait there, holding hands once again as the car warms up, and we prepare to make our departure.





A Few Hours Later


The light of day has already faded at this point, and the still chill of night has set in.  I stand in the doorway of Jokull’s mother’s home.  She gives me a hug, having accepted me as part of Kristjan’s life, and we exchange the traditional “bless” as a farewell.  She pats Kristjan on the shoulder before disappearing back inside of her home.  This leaves us to stand there awkwardly for a moment before leaning in for a warm embrace in the cold.  He lingers, and I can tell that he doesn’t want me to leave… but we both know it is not best if I stay.  The embrace turns into a light makeout session, which confirms exactly why I should go.  Once we both accept this fact, we slowly pull away.  I hold onto his hands, still not wanting to go.  Eventually, as I step backward more and more, our hands break.  I walk over to the car and open it up, warming myself up eventually.  I start driving, and I see him watching me disappear into the horizon.  I smile from my eyes before I turn to focus fully on the road.  It’s a beautiful sight, seeing every house decorated above and beyond what I’ve ever seen back in the United States.  I find myself lost in all types of thoughts as I look around, and part of me wonders what it would be like if I moved here.  Is that too serious of a thought?  The logistics don’t make sense, but most things in my life don’t make sense right now.

I snap out of my GPS guided trance as I arrive at the hotel.  I gather the extra cake from the back seat and my bag, and I carry them upstairs with me.  Once inside of the room, I lay the bag and cake on the table before removing my jacket.  I sigh as I look around.  Sitting there at the desk is my open laptop, and an incoming video call from “The Azarov’s”.  I roll my eyes, but clearly I’m happy to hear from my sister… or less likely, my brother-in-law.  I go over to the computer and sit down, answering the call.

Me:  Hello?

My sister, and her husband both are seen sitting inside of a Saxon Hotel suite.  She settles down in the seat, taking the focus of the screen.

Esther:  Ugh, fin-uh-lly! I was starting to think you got captured in a hostel by billionaires wanting to saw you in half or something… They didn’t, did they?

Me:  Do I look like I’m sawed in half?

Esther:  But you could have escaped like Freddy Rodriquez and… Nevermind, tell me how being in the middle of nowhere for another whole week is going…?  Are you having lots of hot, steamy man sex to keep warm in your wool hut or tend or whatever?

I roll my eyes as I look over to the cake and instantly think about grabbing a piece, but I hold off for a moment.

Me:  There’s no wool huts.  If anything, their houses have much better craftsmanship than what we have.  It’s colder than a witches tit outside, and zero sign of that inside of the hotel room.  Plus, if I was having “steamy man sex”, I wouldn’t answer the call.

Esther:  Yeah, you didn’t answer.  That’s my point.  So, I guess you’re not training for your match?  Taking a break for the holidays?  Awww… Step it the fuck up!

Me:  Excuse me for wanting to celebrate the holiday a little like any normal fucking human being.

Esther:  Um, I’m not even booked for anything, but I’m keeping in shape, and do you know why?

I shrug my shoulders, which Esther takes this as my answer.

Esther:  Because I have not given up on my career.  I might have married a world class fighter, but my career is still important to me.

Me:  Excuse me?  I have not given up on my career.  I have a World Heavyweight Championship match coming up in a month.  A month.  I have time, but I’d say I’m taking my career pretty seriously right now.

Esther growls.

Esther:  No.  You’re not.  You’re just letting the ring rust begin to settle in.  Mac Bane isn’t doing that.  Senor Vinnie isn’t doing that.  And you can bet your ass that Austin James Mercer isn’t letting that happen.

Me:  And I’m not either.  I’ve still been going for runs. I lift in the hotel.  Kristjan and I have been sparring, keeping in shape for the ring.  Don’t assume that I’m just sitting around, eating cake, and being lazy.  Thanks.

Esther:  Okay, whatever.  Just don’t blow this.  You have the biggest opportunity of your career, and I just want to see you prove to everyone that you’re worthy.  It makes me look good, so…

Me:  So that’s what this is really about.  How you’re going to look if your brother somehow finds a way to win the big enchilada.

Esther holds her finger up in the air as she laughs.  She begins shaking it at me, trying to hold back any further laughter.

Esther:  Oh, please, please, please don’t ever say that again!  That was horrible.  That was something dad would say… Ahhhhhhh!

Me:  Please don’t mention that droopy ball having shit bag in front of me again, and thank you.  I have nothing to say about him, or that wretch of a wife.

Esther:  That’s a little extreme, but… hey, I’ve been there.  Look, mom and dad wanted me to get in touch with you about Christmas plans.  They said Fenris is invited to come along, because I honestly think they think that is his real name instead of Kristjan.  It’s sad, but… they did bore us into this world, so…

I lock my jaw and purse my lips.  She instantly gets the hint and clears her throat.

Esther:  So… big title match is cool and all… You said some pretty heavy things about Mac Bane last week.  Do you think you might have poked the bear a little too much?

She was right.  I had said plenty of things to say.   And admittedly, I meant every word of it.  I loosen up my jaw now and smirk a little.

Me:  I wouldn’t say that.  If he took offense to it, then that’s on him.  It must have made what I said ring true to him.  Repeating the same old washed up “take over” routine like so many before him.  Some kind of GRIME, Erik Staggs hostile invasion, Sin City Saviors situation.  Something that we’re just doomed to repeat, over and over and over.  I’ve lived through it myself once, and it was much more menacing than this Island of Misfit Toys batch.  Granted, I’m more familiar with Mac than the rest of them, and sadly, I have to say… I’m not scared.  I’ve beaten Mac Bane before, and I think I can do it again.  Pretty easily.

Esther:  Yeah, probably.  But you’re not just facing Mac.  You’re facing Austin James Mercer, and…

Me:  I respect the hell out of Mercer.  If there’s one person in this match besides myself that I hope wins this match, it’s Austin.  He has been one of the few that I’ve seen eye to eye with since I joined SCW, coming up from SCU.  He was the only person who didn’t treat me like I was some kind of joke act brought up from the basement brand.  He gave me the respect that I deserved for my accomplishments at the time.  Sure, I was a Hardcore Tag Team Champion, now called the GRIME Tag Team Championships.  A title that oh so many look at as a joke, but Austin knew better.  He knew that it was only something that toughened me up, preparing me for the Roulette Championship that I won in my debut match.  He knew that I was on the rise, so he respectfully stayed out of my way.  And I let him continue to rough up the upper carders.  I can only assume that, now that I’ve been added to the big leagues, that he’ll show me respect and stay out of my way.  It would be for the best.

Esther blinks a few times, but stays relatively quiet.  I only bring this up, because it’s uncharacteristic for her.

Esther:  Maybe… don’t you think that it might help if the two of you can come up with some sort of alliance?  The way you two did when Austin was beating the fuck out of your current boyfriend when you were still acting like an eight year old, picking on your crush?

My eyebrows furl and I take a deep breath so that I can start to ignore the comments made by my lovely, lovely sister.  I exhale slowly as she sticks her tongue out at me.

Me:  Perhaps I can reach out to Austin about something.  But, he is smart enough to know that I will not take any prisoners, I will hold back no punches, and I will not hesitate to pin him if the opportunity presents itself.  So, if he will hold no ill will against me for winning the belt for the first time, I would absolutely be willing to align myself with him during this match.

Esther:  Aww, that’s so cute.  But, you do seem to get lucky pretty often with singles titles.  It’s keeping them that seems to be your struggle.

Me:  A select few have had my number, I cannot tell a lie.  But, you still can’t take away my accomplishments, even if you don’t like me.

Esther acts like she has a rope around her neck, gagging and sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth as her eyes cross.  I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head.

Me:  And this means…?

Esther:  You’re a choke artist.  Either that, or you just enjoy the chase and not actually being the champion.  Not like me and the Combat Championship anyway.

Me:  I’m not a choke artist.  Not in the least.  I just have… difficulties… some… times…

Esther’s eyes widen as she seems shocked by that statement.  She looks around before looking back to the screen.

Esther:  You’re kidding, right?  I mean, we all know what to expect.  Even if you win this title, what’s to stop you from losing it on the next show?  Or, like, two matches in?

Me:  You’ll just have to trust me.  Maybe I’m just meant to be at the top?

Esther:  Or…?  Maybe Senor Vinnie is meant to win the belt by finally getting his long awaited revenge on you?  Oh, it’s poetic, David!  Just imagine…

I push the screen down, because her taunting has officially just gotten under my skin.  However, I don’t close it.  I just hide the completely pissed off expression on my face for a moment before something else comes over me.

Me:  You know what?  No.  This is not about Senor Vinnie.  He’s had his time, and he’s proven over and over again that his time is up.  He’s more or less some kind of nostalgia act to make us up and comer’s look good.  Giving us someone credible to beat.  I mean, he likes to talk about how I’m not shit.  Okay, let’s concede for a minute and pretend that it’s true.  Okay, but then I beat you, Vin.  Not only did I beat you, but I put you on the fucking shelf for months.  So, if I’m nothing, then what does that make you?  Past your prime, bucko.

Esther is about to speak, but stops to look over her shoulder as if perhaps Vinnie were standing behind her and she just wasn’t aware of it.  But, I don’t give her time to say anything.

Me:  I know, you’ve made it abundantly clear that I’ve done you wrong, and you want some payback.  You’ve attacked me during matches, after matches, backstage… Have you given one single ounce of thought to why I haven’t retaliated?  Has it ever crossed your mind that I just don’t give a shit about you anymore?  I’m the same as all of the fans, the fairweathers that forgot about you the second your relevance dwindled down to practically non-existent.  It’s kind of sad that you haven’t realized this yet.  And as someone who is moving up the ranks quickly, I don’t have time to acknowledge you in my rearview mirror.  While you spend so much time focused on your glory days, despite your failures such as sustaining a relationship or holding the World Heavy for a substantial amount of time… I’m focusing on being what you could never be, porn stache… I’m going to be a real winner.  The fastest rising star in Sin City history.  Not the first to get to the top, but the first to rise to the top, all the way from the bottom, hitting milestones like some kind of prodigy.  By November, I’ll already be considered for the Hall of Fame.  I’m eclipsing you, and I know that your jealousy is hard to conceal, but please try to go down with some dignity, kay?

I smile warmly and nod toward “Vinnie”, all while Esther is just nodding along with each word.  When I’m done, she claps her hands.  She then picks up her phone and acts like she’s talking to someone.

Esther:  Hello?  Yeah, my brother is completely fucking delusional.  Yeah, he’s talking to people that aren’t even there.  It’s sad and scary, but mostly sad.  Please, do come.

Me:  They’re coming to take me away, ha haaaaa! They’re coming to take me away. Ho ho, hee hee, ha ha!

Esther: To the funny farm, where you belong.  So, think about Christmas, which was the actual reason I called.  Mom and dad would be so happy to see you.

Me:  Byeeeeeeeeeeee……..

I quickly close the laptop and throw it across the room.  I open up the box of cake and take a fork to it immediately, going into a shameful display of binge eating.  But, in my defense, plum jam and cake go together extremely well, and they compliment the almond flour so much.  But, let’s cut this out before we get to how much of that cake I ate in that particular setting…




The Next Morning…


Normally, my tale for the week would have ended in that particular moment, but there was one thing that I was particularly not proud of that took place during this trip.  The very next morning, closer to eleven in the morning, I had packed my things.  It was the big morning where I go to meet Kristjan’s family.  I’d heard so many things about them.  And… honestly, I was feeling overwhelmed.  Mine and Kristjan’s things were being loaded into the car, including the remainder of that cake… don’t ask how much that means…  Kristjan realizes that he’s left a bag of gifts under the bed, and he excuses himself to go fetch it.

I am warming up in the car when something begins to settle in.  I’m… going to meet his family.  Like, I’m actually going to do it.  I bite onto my bottom lip and look around me.  This is going to be a perfectly normal meet, right?  I mean, not all families can be nightmares like mine.  Some families actually sit down and drink tea together, talking about all of the normal things they’d done that day.  Not crazy can drives, or atoning for your homosexual sins with whips and glass shards and cattle prods.  I mean, some are fairly dysfunctional, yeah.  Some even get defensive of their loved ones.  In an unhealthy way.

Oh my lack of a God… What if they’ve heard about how we… met?  What if they watched me bloody up their brother, their son?!  I mean, they have to know that things just get out of control on television, right?  I did do those things, but it was in an attempt to raise ratings.  Surely they would understand that, right?  Right?

Let’s say that they understand.  Icelandic folks are known for being very understanding, right?  Aron was very understanding, and he’s even taken up being somewhat of a manager for me.  And Kristjan’s friend Dani is now my friend.  I even know her name is Danielle Weston.  That’s strides right there.  Improvement.  Why can’t I feel my tongue?  What is that icy feeling traveling through my veins right now?  Let’s just focus on all of the good that could come from meeting his family.  Aron will be there, and I know him.  Surely he and I can talk most of the time.  And I’ve heard his dad is an absolute peach.

Kristjan:  Are you sure you do not want me to drive?

Kristjan queries as he gets inside of the car, closing the door behind him.  I shake my head as he straps on his seatbelt.  He puts the address into the GPS, and we are on our way.  I know Kristjan is talking to me.  I can hear him faintly.  And I’m even answering on auto pilot, but I am not aware of our conversation.  Instead, I am being eaten alive by the idea of what is about to happen.  Sure, a normal person wouldn’t have this much anxiety about meeting the parents.  Or the entire family for that matter.  I mean, there will be so many siblings there, I’m sure they will be busy catching up with Kristjan, and talking amongst themselves.

As I’m talking myself into this, we pull up in front of the house.  Exquisite design, and the lights rival those all around them.  This means that family is very important to them.  They’ve welcomed their children home with lights that they won’t even be around to enjoy on Christmas.  Before Kristjan can open the door, I put the car back into drive.

Kristjan:  What are you doing?  That was the house.

Me:  I, uh… I just need to drive around the block a couple of times.  I’m getting a little nervous is all.  Dry throat, pounding heart… shallow breaths.  Kind of like a heart attack, except… you know, only in my head.

Kristjan:  Just breathe, please.  This is nothing to worry about, I assure you.  Take a drive around the block, and we’ll come back.  Everything is going to be fine.  Everyone will love you.

I nod my head.  I’m pretty sure that there is sweat all over my face, despite how cold I feel.  This isn’t normal.  The heat is blasting in my face now like hellfire, but I’m… still… cold!  I try to steady my breaths as we come back around to the house.  Yet, I’m not ready.  I go for another drive around, and Kristjan looks forward, placing a hand on my knee as I do another circle… and then another.  On the fifth go around, I finally feel like I’ve got myself under control.  I park in front of the house and close my eyes, finding my center as I breathe.

Kristjan:  If you need another few minutes, allow me to unpack some things from the car, and I will come and get you.  Just focus on your breathing.

I nod again, but don’t say a word.  I begin to control my breathing as I hear the bags rattling, zippers being undone and redone.  I feel the cool breeze coming from the back seat.  I see the twinkling lights.  I taste the cake from the piece I had moments ago at the hotel for breakfast still.  I smell Kristjan’s cologne gently wafting to my.  I’ve practiced the mindfulness, and I open the car door.  Kristjan smiles as he shuts the back door.  However, I slam the car door shut and I just cake off.  I see Kristjan still standing in the middle of the street, and the only thing I can think to do is to book a plane ticket back to Las Vegas and I head toward the airport.  As I get further and further away from that, I feel better, and yet awkwardly sure of my rash decision to jump on a plane that gets me just back to my home country where I can begin to sort through this whole thing.  I just needed… time…  Yeah.


3
Climax Control Archives / Machines and Monsters
« on: December 17, 2021, 11:01:16 PM »


Like and Life
Fenris's Condo 12/16/2021


The world is evergreen right now in preparation for Christmas, which is but a mere 9 days away. The Las Vegas Strip is a hustle and bustle of people fresh off of Christmas shopping, or doing a bit at the shops there. Those who come from shopping, are looking to recuperate their wallets with some day drinking and gambling. Others are trying to satiate the combat sport of holiday shopping. Either way, the overcast gives the lights a time to shine during this dreary day, lighting up the mood. Somehow, some way, I'm feeling a bit of the spirit. So sue me. I'm not perfect. Nor do I claim to be. Thoughts of missing my family enter my mind, and my least favorite Christmas story floods over me. Rather than tell it all over again, let me just recap.

It is a rainy, borderline icy night in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The growing congregation of the Church of the Good Shepherds provided a potluck style dinner after a service filled with fire and brimstone in the name of Jesus H Christ. Hatred for anything not sanctified in The Good Book. Fun times. So, I'm stuffing my face with ham, potato salad, and green bean casserole, going with the motions. Next thing I know, the door flies open and the most handsome man I'd ever seen to date walks in from the cold, looking for sanctuary from the cold wind and near icy rain. My father saw another subject. I saw something more. I fell for him, hiding my feelings for an entire year. Then, we stopped hiding them from each other. And… things didn't work out. My heart continues to ache, five years later.

Anyway… enough about that, because the details are about to be discussed. See, earlier, I had a conversation with Fenris about his first love lost. I decided that I wanted to keep my heartache away from him, but it's not fair to do that when I occasionally cross paths with Dax to this very day. I'd rather be honest about this now rather than it becoming an issue later. Did I just presume that this is going to have longevity? Am I falling deeper and deeper into this beautiful darkness? I find myself having second thoughts and even more shockingly, I pull my phone out and quickly dial up someone. It doesn't take long before they answer.

Me: Dani?

There is a slight pause before a sigh comes out of the speaker of the phone.

Dani:  Don't overthink it. Just do it.

Me: How do you know that I'm even calling about that, or anything in particular? Maybe I was just calling to say "hi"...

Dani: Hi. Now get over there and talk to him. Besides, I need your opinion on something. I did a thing over there, and I'm just curious what you think.

Me: Uhhh… okay? But, before then, since we're on the topic… Do you really think that I should taint his heartfelt confession by talking about my past dramas? I mean, I'm not the selfish type who needs everything to be about…

Dani: We're not doing this right now. You're going to go upstairs, talk to him, and see what I did. But, before you talk to him, just tell me what you think.

I look to the call button on the building I'm standing in front of, towering over most of the city of Las Vegas. Though honestly, it looks like it's piercing the sky. It could be the dread of opening up to someone about something so deep, so personal. After a moment of feeling something heavy in the pit of my stomach, I bite the bullet and press the call button. It doesn't take but a few seconds before I'm buzzed in.

Dani: Good, you're there.

Me: Yeah, I am. I'm just getting into the elevator now. So, explain to me why this is so necessary again? I mean, I could easily just go up to see him and one thing could lead to another, and I could forget to even mention it. I mean, he might be the White Wolf, but he's a real Jackhammer in some areas.

Dani: I've heard. Mostly during the Summer XXXTreme cruise.

Me: Overly dramatic.. I call bullshit. We weren't even bunking near each other.

Dani: My point exactly.

The elevator bell dings and I walk to the door. It is propped open for me. I stop, blushing at Dani's comment, but feeling the need to argue my innocence.

Me: Look, I'm not trying to spread Kristjan's business because I learned that he hates that. But, I think you're reaching a little.

Dani: I heard a "ding" but I didn't hear any knocking.

Me: That's because it's open. I just thought we should address…

Dani: Go. In. Side…

I scoff and turn to the door, pushing the door open as I look inside. The scene takes my breath away.

Me: Wow………

Dani: Thanks!

The phone clicks off as I drink it all in. Silver and gold in elegant doses. Pine and holly scents tickling my nose. The white marble floor is a delicate touch that looks like glazed over snow as far as the eye can see. It's a true winter wonderland that awakens something inside of me, some childlike wonder, like anything and everything is possible. Therefore, I hate it. No, but I wish I hated it. Softened edges are not what I'm known for. Yet, I can't help but take it all in slowly. I walk over to the hearth and look into the glistening tinsel on the garland. I take a piece between my finger and twirl it slowly around as I get lost in thought. It is then that I feel an arm wrap around my waist, followed by another, with a pint of beer in his hand. He hugs onto me tightly and I can tell by his reaction that he wants to do construction on my back alley. I lean my head back for a soft, slow kiss.

Kristjan: Hello there.

Me: Hmmm… hello there.

I turn around and drape my arms over his shoulders. Our eyes meet and linger as our lips pang together a few times. As much as I want to make love in the North Pole, right next to Rudolph, while the elves dance around us… I came here for a reason. My eyes wander down to the floor so that the passionate flames between us do not take over and consume us both. I bite my bottom lip out of regret, even as Kristjan kisses my scruffy cheek.

Kristjan: What is wrong?

I look into his cool eyes and try not to get lost. I can feel myself smiling from my eyes.

Me: Nothing. Nothing at all.  I just wanted to… I came here to… I mean…

My eyes look down at the ground again as I release my hold on him. I take him by the hand, guiding him past the huge 7 foot decked out Christmas tree and toward the couch. I him down, still holding onto his arms gently, sitting down to join him. I think over the best way to say what I came to say.

Me: You shared something very deep with me earlier, and, well… I wanted to share something personal about me, with you. Similar in fashion, I guess.

Fenris takes a sip from his beer and then finds a place to set it down amongst the decorations on the coffee table. He settles in to listen, giving me the floor to speak.

Me: Well, you told me about your experience with Joküll, and it got me thinking about my own little story.  The first time I felt anything close to what you and I have.  And… It ended badly.

Kristjan:  I am sorry that you felt a pain similar to mine. I do not wish this on my own worst enemy.

I look him in the eyes, and for an instant, it is as if we can feel each other’s pain.  I hold onto his hand as I am the weaker one that sheds a tear.  However, I don’t let it be seen as I quickly yawn and rub at my eye nonchalantly.  I straighten up, and continue on.

Me:  We met on what could have been described as the worst day imaginable for a Christmas day.  It was cold, windy, and rainy, in Tulsa, Oklahoma.  Not that I fully expect you to know why that’s so strange.  But, it was uncharacteristically cold.  A church dinner was coming to a close, when he came walking in, looking for a place to get out of the cold.  My father offered him a place to stay.  The second I saw those dark eyes, I felt at home.  I watched him long before I even greeted him.  I felt his energy drawing me in from across the room.  And when we finally did meet, I felt a magic that I’ve never felt before, and hadn’t felt until… you.

I gave him those eyes.  You know, the ones that could melt just about anyone, despite the glints of ice within them.  Somewhat like Kristjan’s, really.  I open my mouth to speak as he nods with what I am saying, ever so slightly, but just enough for me to pick up on.

Me:  We denied it for a long time, but we both knew.  It was almost like a game to see who could resist the longest.  And with my father watching over us, it only made things that much more intriguing.  We found time to sneak a savory kiss.  Catching looks as we got ready for bed.  Finally, we admitted to ourselves what was going on.  Yet again, on Christmas day.  This time, with the family preoccupied with the festivities, we gave into all of those urges.  Those uninhibited, forbidden, carnal urges.  And it was as if he was the key that unlocked my true self.  For the first time, I felt as if I were flying free.  It was glorious.  But, it had to be kept secret.  It was no ordinary tryst.  It was bliss.  And through getting to know each other, we felt like a perfect match.  The more time we spent together doing mission work, or food drives, or preparing the church for service, the closer we got.  Our bond was unbreakable. Again, like a Christmas miracle.

I knew I was smiling too brightly for the topic of conversation.  The normally jealous White Wolf was somehow at ease, listening to me calmly, and letting me feel what I feel.  Freedom.

Me:  It was synchronicity at it’s finest.  There was a true, almost childlike love between us.  He was frustrated with having to keep things a secret.  Though I understood, I argued that what we had couldn’t be wrong, and it would come to the surface when it was time.  Despite his occasional slip up, he waited for me.  He waited until the day when I felt comfortable to run away with him to Japan.  We had planned out every detail of that trip, too.

I laugh, but it is to cover up a bit of wincing, letting another tear drop from my eye, and onto my hand before I could even hide it.

Me:  We knew a good deal of wrestling technicalities, but we wanted to be refined, and protected at the same time.  Even though Japanese culture is even less accepting of homosexuality than the US, it was a far cry from how we were living.  We stashed any extra money that we could for that trip.  We were only a couple hundred dollars short, too, when we were discovered…

I almost can’t even look at Fenris.  I start to stand up, but he pulls me back to the couch and into his arms as I let some of it out.  I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t hear anything. I start to freak out a little, but Fenris holds me closer, and more still. The instinct to struggle fades as I feel a cool wave slowly washing over me.

Kristjan:  I know, I know… I think I understand.

After a second of blubbering into his chest, I pull it together enough to speak again.

Me:  We were beaten mercilessly by that… that… that…

Kristjan:  That devil parading around as a man?

I nod my head slowly against his chest.  He hands me a tissue, and I wipe away at my eyes, cleaning myself up as I continue to try to gain composure.

Me:  He cast Dax out, and he gave me the choice to run away with Dax as a heathen, a deplorable abomination, and a disowned child… or to stay and redeem myself and my name. Aside from the beatings, I was locked in a basement, chained to a wall, brought up in front of the crucified Christ statue, and whipped, flogged, lashed with glass on strings, and… well, some things are best unsaid.  I’m not even sure that I am capable of talking about what else right now.  But, I… chose to try to please my father. Dax left for Japan, and he’s hated me ever since. Not that I can blame him.  But, my family was such an important thing to me.  They were always there, but Dax could have been taken away from me at any moment, and that heartache was not something I could have dealt with.  These words were spoken to me by my mother in between my father and other members of the congregation ripping apart my flesh.  She begged me, her voice like that of an angel.  But instead, she was just a victim of Stockholm Syndrome like the rest of us.  The only difference is that me and Esther know now, and she still has no idea.  And what makes this so cruel is the fact that I did have a choice, even if I never actually did.  I could have run off, and my life would have been so different.  And I would have never lashed out at you.  I never would have drug your heart through a field of barbed wire and broken glass.  I never would have hurt you.

Kristjan grabs onto my hands again and leans forward to speak now.

Kristjan:  You always had a choice.  Your will is just so strong, and you were manipulated so badly that you didn’t see it.  I had not even a hint of a choice. Jokull is never coming back.  Dax is still out there.

Me:  How does that make it any better?  The fact that you got a chance to be at peace with what had happened…

Kristjan:  I have never been at peace with what happened!

Me:  Well neither have I!  The only difference is that I look around and I see his ghost. Everywhere. I smell him in everything. I hear his voice whistling in the wind. I feel his warm caress.  Just as you do with Jokull.  Except I also have to see him and hear about him.  I can’t turn around without somehow running into him, or some part of him that I just want to escape.  I can’t escape it unless I am here with you, but we always have to find something to fight about.  Look, I’m sorry I thought you might want to hear something that makes us even more similar than we thought.  My mistake.  I…

Kristjan pulls me in close and silences me with a kiss.  He nips at my bottom lip, and I return the favor.  He pulls away and looks me in the eye once again.

Kristjan:  Sometimes you are so wrong.  This time, you are right.  It is not our job to compare our pain with another’s.  We should focus on helping each other heal. Letting each other in.

Me:  I’m… so relieved to hear you say that. I luh…like you very much, and I want to help you heal.  That’s why I’m going to Iceland with you after Climax Control 320.

Kristjan’s eyes light up as he leans me back on the couch.  He rips his shirt off as I rip mine off.  He hovers over me as… Hey, wait a minute.  Do you guys mind giving us a little privacy?  Sheesh!





Machines And Monsters
Abandoned factory; 12/17/2021


The darkness overtakes the screen. We can hear the squeaking of rats running around inside of the structure we are in.  We can hear the leaky pipes, the wind whistling through the interior, howling at the doors.  Finally, the door opens and we see a figure in a fedora and trench coat walking through in the silhouette of the moonlight.  We can hear his Italian leather shoe heels clicking against the concrete, and we see pieces of broken down factory machinery.  As the footsteps get closer and closer, we hear the whispers.

“Sometimes monsters are hideous.  Sometimes they are ugly.  Sometimes they are filthy.  But, sometimes, monsters look just like you and me.  Are you a monster?”

As they get louder and more present, the lights turn on, one row at a time, illuminating my… David Shepherd’s, face.  I am smiling from ear to ear, but the disingenuous nature of the smile gives it a creepy vibe.  Or like a bad cartoon villain.  I’m just not sure yet.  Either way, I run my fingers across the dusty conveyer belt in front of me, moving my fingers against one another as it sprinkles to the floor, filled with even more of it.  I leave tracks as I walk along.

Me:  Machines.  There’s just something about them.  They always do what you tell them to do.  They follow orders.  They execute functions with a simple keystroke or press of a button.

I walk over to one, and I flip a switch to turn it on.  It begins working, but ever so slowly.  However, it begins to spit out dust and smoke, and it rattles until it nearly shakes apart.  I’m forced to flip the switch back off.

Me:  And… sometimes they don’t.  They require maintenance to work properly.  The upkeep is work.  And one, just one, wrong move?

I then shoot forward with a Superkick that shatters pieces of the machinery, and it clunks against the dusty concrete flooring loudly as it rolls in every which way.

Me:  And the whole thing falls apart.  Technology is useful, but only when it works properly.  Otherwise, it just complicates things.  That’s why Mac Bane and his merry band of degenerate goons won’t last.  I mean, first off, his “secret weapon” is about to get his fucking head kicked clean off of his shoulders.  Then who will be left to do your dirty work?  One of your henchmen?

I can’t help but chuckle a little, shaking my head.

Me:  I get why you attacked one of the most dominant forces in SCW.  Don’t get me wrong.  There was a time when I would’ve done the exact same thing.  As a matter of fact, I did.  And just like your mentally fragile friend, I was very sorry that I did.  Just like everyone in your little collective will be, starting with Supreme Machine.

I turn my head ever so slightly, motioning back to the broken piece of machinery that is still lightly smoking.

Me:  I get what you’re doing, Mac.  You were incapable of grabbing the “big one”, so you got your feelings hurt and decided that you were going to make us all pay.  The same old tired song as so many others.  And what are you hoping to accomplish?  Bringing in people who will fall to our feet in an instant?  Or is this something bigger than that?  Is this another attempt at an insurrection? Heh. I hate to break it to you, but I’ve already lived through one much bigger than you’re capable of insighting.  Never once was I broken, and I had an entire GRIME roster waiting around every corner to take me down.  Yet, here I stand.

I take my fedora off and hold it against my chest as I clear my throat.  I turn around to look directly at the camera, jerking my head to motion for it to follow me.  On my way, I pick up a lead pipe, and I smack it against machine after machine, taking my time until each one in my path is broken.

Me:  See, I know I wasn’t the one targeted, because I’m still basically a nobody around here. I had a two week Internet Championship reign, a decent Roulette Championship reign, but really… what have I done here that someone else hasn’t done already?  What makes me stand out?  Nothing.  I’m no threat to anybody… except those who don’t see me as a threat.  Mac Bane and his lackeys.  And, if I weren’t so fucking pissed off about targeting my boyfriend, I might have even looked the other way.  But you brought this on yourself, Mac.  You’ve signed a death wish to Supreme Machine.  You have bitten off more than you can chew, right out of the gate.

I finish pounding one last piece of machinery before I throw the pipe to the ground.

Me:  Do not mistake me as the end of this.  I’m going to be on you guys like a fly on shit.  The only problem is that Fenris is going to come along for the ride.  You’re going to have to deal with both of us.  You guys are machines.  We are monsters.  What we do to people gives us a sick thrill.  I mean, what sane person signs up for this profession?  Fenris and I aren’t some programmed pieces of machinery who follow orders, doing as we’re told.  No.  We enjoy causing harm to others, and we just found a legal way to do it.  We have the element of free will, and that’s what separates us from you.  This is what makes the monsters a much bigger threat than the machines. So get ready for the war.

As I wrap things up, I walk back over toward the door.  Halfway there is a pole with all of the light switches.  I’m about to turn them off, but I am not finished.  There is more to discuss.

Me:  Let me switch things up and talk directly to my opponent.  Supreme Machine?  I know that you’re a few circuits short of a circuit board, so I hope that you’re able to understand what you’ve done.  I don’t expect your “handler” to explain this to you, so this is the one and only kindness I’m passing along your way.  I will be walking out of Climax Control 320.  It may or may not be victorious, but I will be walking out.  You, however, won’t be walking out if I have anything to say about it.  The second you put your hands on Fenris was the second that you made sure that was going to happen.  I asked for two weeks to get my hands on you. Lo and behold, it’s a Christmas miracle.  I get to step foot in that ring and fuck you up worse than I just did these old pieces of shit in here.  And for once, I just might get the crowd to cheer for me, because I am going to be a real beast.  The kind that you couldn’t even conjure up in your worst nightmares.  So take that as a warning, because you will not get another one.  Instead, you can eat my boot and bend over for the other one, because I’m going to kick it in so hard that my feet will meet somewhere in the middle, and they’ll need to be surgically removed.  And I might just bring back your teeth as an early Christmas gift for Fenris.  I think he’ll love it…

And with that, I grin widely again, feeling my inner evil shining through.  I turn the lights off, and one by one, they flicker out, leaving me in total darkness as I whisper.

“Sometimes monsters are hideous.  Sometimes they are ugly.  Sometimes they are filthy.  But, sometimes, monsters look just like you and me.  I am a monster…”

4
Supercard Archives / Re: CALEB STORMS (c) vs BROTHER DAVID SHEPHERD - INTERNET TITLE
« on: November 05, 2021, 07:22:03 PM »


Who Invited You?
Rockefeller Center; Manhattan, NY 11/4/2021


It was a crisp Thursday morning, and I decided that a nice run was in order.  Little did I realize that it would turn into some sightseeing, and distancing myself further than intended from the hotel I’m staying at.  I found myself looking up at the Rockefeller Center building.  It took me a moment to figure out where I was at, but once I did, I reveled in the sight.  It was enormous, majestic, and really brought about a sense of unity with all of the flags flying out front.  I could get lost in the cool wind flapping through the flags of so many nations.  I put my hands behind my head as I adjust my breathing on the way over to a bench.  I take a seat and catch my breath before I can hear the girlish giggling approaching.  Great, a few fans who are into my boyish good looks, who probably want a photograph with me…

Nope.  I would be so lucky.  Instead, what do I find but two young ladies approaching in colorful clothing.  Of course, it doesn’t dawn on me until they get much closer, exactly who they are.  They open up their jackets, pretending to not see me there.  The GRIME Tag Team Championships give away their identity quickly before they come over and sit on my lap.  Winter Elemental on my right leg, and Tatsu Ikeda on my left.  The Kawaii Dragons wrap their arms around me, and I’m at a complete loss for words.

Winter:  David, it’s been so long since we’ve seen you around!  Where have you been?

Tatsu:  Oh, silly Winter-san.  We know he has been up in SCW, winning championships and forgetting about alllllllll the little people…. Bitches…

Winter does a facepalm and then lets out a “duh”.  Tatsu smells my hair and then quivers.

Tatsu:  Smells like success!

Winter:  That’s just Old Spice and sweat.

Tatsu:  Same thing, yes? He he.

I know, it’s fun and all, hearing them patronize me, but I’m just not feeling up to it this morning.  I start to stand up, and they move along with me, giving me all of six inches of space.  I sigh and look down at the shortest chicks on either roster.

Me:  Fancy running into you two here.  Now, mind telling me what the fuck is happening here?  We’ve never been friends.  Hell, if anything, we’ve warred over those title belts you’re wearing.  We took them off of you at one point.

Tatsu:  Brother David take things off of Kawaii Dragons?  I thought he liked boys, just like Uncle Dax…

Winter:  From what I’ve heard, he and Dax took things off of each other all of the time before he was “Uncle Dax”.

Tatsu pouts her lips out, and now things have gotten uncomfortable.  I back away from them and shake my head.

Me:  Well, it’s been real, but I’ve never hit a woman before, and I’m not about to start now.  So, if you’ll excuse me…

Tatsu and Winter smirk at each other, but they walk with me as I start to move away.  Somehow, they corral me toward the ice skating rink.  Winter hugs onto me and Tatsu lets me know that I’m not going anywhere.  We get to the ticket booth and Winter leans in, putting her arms on the counter.

Winter:  Three please!

She pays for entry, and they get their ice skates.  This is not the weirdest thing that has happened to me since coming to New York, so I decided to just go with it for a minute longer.  I got my skates and we went over to a bench to get laced up.  Granted, I’m not in the best attire for such a situation, a pair of z grey sweatpants, sweatshirt, and jacket.  I make my way over to the rink as the two waddle right past me.  They grab hands and begin spinning around, almost like pros, while I waddle into the rink, slipping a bit until I find my footing.  I begin moving in a straight line, taking notice of the fact that we’re amongst the very few on the rink at this hour.  I see the two off on their own, and I get acquainted with the motion.

I can’t help but think about Fenris, and how it might be nice to move on the ice together, holding hands.  I quickly ask myself why I’m thinking like this, even though I know the answer.  My brother-in-law and sister, and Fenris’ own brother pointed out in no certain terms that me and Fenris are dating.  Couples do this sort of thing.  But… do we?  Would he do something like this?  Has he done something like this?  Would he laugh at the very idea?  Certainly he would.  It is too cheesy, reminding me of a Lifetime Christmas movie.  But, is that so bad, in all honesty?  Maybe I should invite him.  Maybe I shouldn’t.

While I’m lost in thought, I don’t see the two Kawaii Dragons rushing up beside me.  They each take an arm and begin spinning around in a circle as we move along.

Me:  Hey!  I’m… I’m not so sure about this.

Winter:  Isn’t this exciting?  Don’t you want to have fun?

Me:  I was just out for a morning run!  I didn’t intend on doing this.  And I still don’t even know how this happened!  Or why it’s happening!

Tatsu:  That’s all part of fun, Brother David.  You need to let loose and stop being caught up in whatever it is on your mind.

Me:  But…

I’m getting dizzy from the spinning.  But, I can’t deny that it does tussle with something very childlike within me.  Dare I even say that a smile creeps upon my face.  I’ve spent so much time being uptight that I never stopped to think about why I deny myself such pleasures in life.  Is it to appease my father, even though we haven’t spoken in nearly four months?  Is it because “that’s what a grown up does”?  Is it to promote some sort of macho man act to make people see me a certain way?  Acting like I don’t care, when really, I care too much?

Winter:  Pull the stick out of your ass for like two minutes and just go with it. Free yourself and get lost in the moment.

They let me go, and I’m faced with two options.  One, I stop and go right to the edge of the rink, grab hold of the railing, and make my way to the exit.  Or two, continue on with the motion, and spin free.  As appealing as option one is, option two is just too exhilarating to not do.  I feel like a small tornado is surrounding me, but there is a calming peace at seeing everything spin around me.  I hold my arms out at my side until I feel like stopping… and then I keep going.

Tatsu:  He did it.  He let go, Winter-san.

Winter:  Damn right he did.

I stop spinning too quickly, and then I spin out and fall right on my ass.  Winter and Tatsu chuckle as they come over to put their hands out to me.  I grab on as they help me up to my feet.  I brush myself off, feeling the slight ache in my backside and my hips, but it is quickly fading.  I shake my head as the redness of embarrassment enters my cheeks.

Me:  Why did you two even make me do this?

Tatsu:  Oh, stop asking questions.  Does it really matter?

Me:  Yes!  Yes it does.  There’s a reason for everything that happens in life.  You don’t just see some random person on the street and think “Hey, wouldn’t it be fun to take them ice skating?”

Winter:  You don’t? Huh…

Winter thinks about it, and Tatsu matches her with a confused look.  They eye each other up for a second suspiciously.

Me:  No!  It’s not normal.  And, if I were more awake than I was when you two approached me and practically sexually assaulted me, I would’ve pushed you two off of me and walked away.  You’re fucking weird.  Everything you do is fucking weird.  You run around with rhinos and a drunk, washed up musician, and a midget.  You’re not fucking normal!

Winter and Tatsu look at me as if I were trying to explain the square root of pi down to the decimal.  Not so much confused.  More unfazed.  They nod their heads to show that they are listening and that they understand, but the words are not cutting them like knives as intended.

Winter:  Yes.  That’s all true.  But, why does that anger you?  Is it because you wouldn’t know a good time if it slapped you across the face?

Tatsu:  This is true.  Sometimes having fun is scary.  Sometimes doing what you want to do isn’t easy.  Worst part is prison built around oneself by oneself.

Me:  That’s some real fortune cookie shit right there.  Do you feel better now?  You made an ass of me.  You accomplished what you came to do.  I hope you are happy with yourselves.

Winter and Tatsu nod their heads.

Winter:  We are.  But, we didn’t come to embarrass you.  We saw someone lonely sitting on a bench and we decided to include them in a fun activity.

Me:  I wasn’t lonely.

Tatsu:  Face said otherwise, David-san.

I want to argue, but I really can’t.  Instead, I start to head toward the railing, storming off in a huff, but they follow me.  I pretend not to notice at first.

Me:  No need to end the Kawaii Dragons On Ice show on my account.

Winter:  Oh, this isn’t about you, sourpuss.  This is us going to get hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.  Or, do we need your approval first?

Tatsu:  Yeah… bitches…

Something about that did sound delightful.  I waddle over to the small concession stand and order three to pay them back for the tickets in some small way.  I start to walk off with my cup, having not even taken a sip yet, but they are halfway finished with theirs.

Me:  What is this, a contest?

Tatsu:  No, we have own contests to worry about in few days.  Winter and Tatsu have to beat 2 Broke Chick’s asses again, and you have title to take from Caleb-san.

Winter:  Both things will be happening.  Someone who is just given a title belt can hardly be a challenge.  Just like the watered down gangster wannabe version of us.  Imposters!

Tatsu:  Yeah, emo Stitch looking bitch version of Tatsu no good.  Fakkyou Roppongi bishhhhhh…

Tatsu does this certain swagger that is just spot on for Chi Chi, while Winter grins ear to ear.  She then gets this stone cold bitch look on her face and begins walking around.

Winter:  Don’t you dare look at my retarded wife and make fun of her, or I’m going to wait until you turn your back and smack you with a baseball bat like you were a drag queen.  Don’t test me.

It’s almost spot on.  I can’t help but half grin as they seem to cheer me up instantly.  I even offer them a light laugh.  It was all the approval that they needed.  They high five one another and then they look at me expectantly.

Me:  What?

Tatsu:  Um, now you do impression.  Is very therapeutic.

They both nod quickly.  I shake my head, because I’m not about to go there.  Except that it took no more than that one little gesture to get me there.  Tatsu unhooks her GRIME Tag Team Championship belt and puts it on my shoulder.

Me:  Oh my atheist belief system, someone just gave me a title?!  This is the greatest day of my life!  Now, I’m going to be one half of the GRIME Tag Team Champions until next November, regardless of how many times I lose on my first defense!  Surely no one will just give me a title twice in a lifetime, so I have to wait for the first opportunity to catch someone off guard to take advantage of a situation.  I mean, if nothing else, I can be a professional transitional champion for the rest of my career.  And I’m shameless enough to accept that fate.

Tatsu and Winter are practically squealing.  Tatsu sprays a mist of hot chocolate, choking on it while Winter claps for me, egging me on further.

Me:  And then… then! I will walk around and talk out of my ass like I am some sort of walking unintentional comedy act.  An unaware punchline, and punching bag, because I’ve rotted my mind with flavor of the month metal band after shitty flavor of the month metal band.  I know it makes me an edgelord, but who doesn’t love a good neckbeard?  You’ve never heard of the bands I listen to, and that’s literally my entire personality.  As a matter of fact, the reason I can only win titles by finding and exposing a kink in someone’s armor, and not because of my skills, is because I’m far too concerned with the latest metal band.  It makes me both different and better than the rest of you.

Tatsu is practically wheezing with laughter as Winter claps her hands for my performance.  But, I’m not done yet.  I’ve just begun, I feel.

Me:  That’s why I don’t bother to do even the slightest bit of research about my opponents.  Sure, it causes me to get my ass kicked more often than not, but at least I’m cool and edgy, right?  I mean, I’m literally putting on a blindfold going up against some of the bigs and bads of SCW.  The only thing I can see is the light at the end of some imaginary tunnel where I’m the latest and greatest thing to enter the scene in SCW.  What?  Even a broken clock is right twice a day…

Winter slaps my arm, a bit of a wheezing mess herself, slobbering from laughter.

Winter:  Sss… stop, man.  Let us catch our fucking breath for a minute.  I mean, if we weren’t looking right at you, we’d swear Caleb Storms was standing right in front of us.

Tatsu:  Yes.  David-san should be actor on TV.  Is very good at impersonations.

Me:  I’m done impersonating.  I’m not some basement dwelling narcissist.  My narcissism is right there at the surface, and I’m not afraid to admit it.  Do I give a shit about Caleb Storms?  Not particularly.  He could fall off the face of the earth, and I wouldn’t be one of the people mourning the loss.  Do I feel like tuning in to hear anything he has to say?  No, because it’s uneducated bullshit.  Do I want to give him even an iota of my effort and energy?  Fuck no.  I’d rather be in bed with my boyfriend, dating partner, whatever is going on there.  That wrestling match between the bedposts is far more challenging than Caleb Fucking Storms inside of the six sided circle.  But, there’s a difference.  I actually bother to educate myself on every opponent.

Tatsu and Winter join me at a table, drinking their cocoa and listening to me shoot the shit to the camera.

Me:  Big or small, I always dig a little deeper.  That’s right.  Even though I don’t want to, I research ALL of my opposition.  As boring and generic as they might be, I take the time.  And do you want to know why?  Because I’m not an idiot, and I don’t want to sound like one.  See, last week, Caleb had some strong words about me.  Kudos, once upon a time, he saw my name and associated it with my time in SCU as a member of The Church of the Good Shepherds.  Good work, Einstein.  A friend told you all about that.  Just like a very special friend of mine told me a story about you pissing your pants when you had to go up against them.  Twice.  You all but soaked through your tights at the mere mention of Fenris.  I get it.  I quiver when I hear his voice too, but that’s for a different reason.  While he’s busy piledriving you inside of the ring, he’s busy piledriving me in the bedroom, and I swear he takes away my ability to walk for a day.

Tatsu looks confused, and Winter leans over to explain it for her.  Tatsu’s eyes widen, and then she nods, waiting for me to continue as she snickers under her breath.

Me:  But, in all seriousness, you heard a snippet of my past and decided that it was all I am and ever will be.  Despite endless promotion of my Church of Heathens, my publicly making out with a man that you revere like a living God, telling the pious motherfuckers associated with my dad, hanging out with my loser of a sister, hell, even my ability to sit here with these two dipshits and not Superkick the dollar store makeup off of their faces, is all proof that I’m not that person anymore, and haven’t been for quite a long time.  Further proof that you don’t deserve the title hanging on your shoulder.  I mean, aside from the fact that you can’t wrestle your way out of a paper bag unless someone gives you a roadmap.  But that was so obvious, I didn’t need to emphasize it.  Truth is, kiddo, your reign is just like your last reign, and any reign you may have with any other title.  It’s going to be over before it well and truly begins.  I am just glad that I get to be the bearer of bad news.  It’s almost like I’m being handed the title, except I had to earn my shot, and I am subjected to hearing the garble of what is supposed to be words of wisdom and insults coming from your mouth, while peppering my name into your generic hogwash.  So, I’ve more than earned this, which is far more than you will ever get to say about yourself, Caleb.

I take a sip from my cocoa as Tatsu and Winter lick at the foam from the lid, biding their time until I’m finished so they can get more.

Me:  I’m not going to take up too much more time talking about something that is just as important as a knob on a wall, holding a title that I want.  So, come Sunday, I hope that Caleb has someone to console him once I take the only thing making him matter at the moment.  He’s going to need a shoulder to cry on, and a new goal in life, because as long as I’m the Internet Champion, he doesn’t stand a fucking chance.  Sunday, the internet will have something better to talk about than it’s former champion, and it will be thanking me for that.  It’s a shame that neither of us believes in God, because that just means that there is no one to have mercy on his soul, because I damn sure won’t hesitate to crush it.  But, let me wrap things up here, because I’ve honestly spent too much camera time giving attention to you, Caleb.  Enjoy your last few days as champion, because, just like your last Internet Championship reign, it’s going to be over before you know it.  See you on Sunday.

And just like that, I stand up to buy another round of hot cocoa for us.  The two ladies with me cheer me on as if I were their very lord and savior, and I can’t help but enjoy the moment before shooing the camera away.

5
Supercard Archives / Re: CALEB STORMS (c) vs BROTHER DAVID SHEPHERD - INTERNET TITLE
« on: October 30, 2021, 06:34:40 PM »


Thinking of You
Paesano of Mulberry Street; New York City, NY 10/26/2021


Lemon sherbert… That’s what it came down to. I had a strong feeling that I wasn’t going to get the best of future Hall of Famer Kris Ryans.  I’m just a young buck, and he’s been doing this for a very long time.  But things could have gone much better.  However, I’m watching as my brother-in-law gently scoops a spoonful of lemon sorbetto from the bowl in front of him, teasing me with it, and smiling all the while.  If it weren’t too soon, I’d find it funny, but I’m not quite there yet.  He savors the sweet, tart treat as I try not to even acknowledge it.

Andrey:  Since Sunday night, I craved this.  And, you know, I cannot figure out why…

His thick Russian accent makes it sound much more strange in my mind than it should.  I guess I’m still not used to it.  Either way, I choose not to acknowledge his comment as I look down at my phone.  My stone cold demeanor is heavily tested when I open up a text from Kristjan.  It reads:

”If you win that Internet Championship, you can be on top for a whole week.”

I’m not giving anyone the satisfaction of cracking a smile, but I have to admit that fighting it is starting to hurt.  I guess some hint of my deceit cracks through, because Andrey grabs my phone and squints to read it.

Andrey:  Ohhhhh-ho!  Your sister owes me $10 American!

Me:  Shut the fuck up and give me that back…

Andrey’s thumbs go to work quickly, even as I try to get the phone back.  He swerves around, avoiding me until it is too late, and I hear the heart sinking sound of a message sent.  Andrey puts the phone face down on the table and slides it over to me ever so slowly.

Me:  Do I even want to know?

Andrey shrugs and takes another bite of his ice cream.  I pick the phone up and read his response, along with the fast response from Kristjan.

”Only if I can wear the belt during.”

“Do you even have to ask ;)”

I purse my lips as I feel a light heat in my cheeks.  Andrey laughs and gives my shoulder a playful shove.  I think about replying, but the waiter brings our food to the table, and instantly, the smell of a smoky red cream sauce fills my nostrils first.  That plate goes in front of Andrey, when a large plate of spaghetti and one giant meatball is placed in front of me.  The meat sauce instantly makes my stomach growl and my mouth water.  I pick up my fork to dig in, but Andrey smacks my hand and gives me an odd look.

Andrey:  We must say grace first, child.

Me:  You’ve been spending way too much time with Gerald.  Miss me with that.

Andrey:  Heathen…

Andrey picks up his fork and plays with the food a bit.  I reach over and steal a shrimp and penne noodle from his plate with my fork and take a bite.  I switch our plates, but Andrey switches them right back and spits on his food to “claim it”.  He continues to stir as I feel a little less hungry because of it.

Andrey:  So, things are going good with Fenris, yes?

Me:  I don’t really know what you mean.  We’re just feeling things out, enjoying each other’s company.  We’re friends.  With benefits.

Andrey:  Ah, yes. I have those.

Me:  I don’t want to hear about that.  You’re married to my sister.

Andrey shrugs and takes a bite of food.  He begins speaking with his mouth full, another pet peeve that I’m trying to control my reaction to. Plus, with his accent, it makes it slightly harder to understand him.

Andrey:  She has also. We are, as you say here, not vanilla when it comes to bedroom activities.  But, I do not go on dates with my benefit friends.

Me:  We don’t go on dates.  We hang out at the bar and stuff.  And we, ya know…

Andrey chortles.

Andrey:  You make love.  You don’t fuck.  There is difference.  Big difference.  You cuddle afterwards.  You text each other motivational speech to win titles with promises of ongoing sexual… obligation?  Is very romantic, in manly sort of way. You are lucky now.

Me:  Lucky?  Now?  What does that even mean.

Andrey thinks on it for a moment.  English is not his first language, so sometimes clarification is needed.  He mulls it over with a couple of bites of food before his eyes light up.

Andrey:  You wish for love to enter your life, yes?  You think Virginia is it.  But she is not.  And you pretend she is.  You follow Gerald’s wish to become engaged.  But it does not feel right.  Fenris feels right to you.  But Gerald fucks your brain up with his electricity, cattle prodding, whipping, beating.  Is more, I am sure.  This I hear from your sister.

I listen and nod along.  Flashbacks be damned, I make it through the whole thing with a straight face until these reminders take me through a time warp.


December 17th, 2015

The warmth of his body against mine is enough to make up for the cool air breezing through the window.  We are wrapped up in each other, not a shred of cloth covering us at first.  Despite this, I can only find myself lost in his deep, passionate brown eyes.  At any moment, my parents could enter our room and discover what we have been doing for nearly a year.  But any punishment seems worth it, just for another second of staring into those eyes, noticing the glints of red within the brown.  Feeling his hairy, sweaty chest heave against mine.  Having his wrapped up in my arms, and quivering with each warm breath of his that wanders across my neck and face.  Our lips meet for what seems like forever, and only a second, all at the same time. Our bodies react to the cold, and he pulls the blanket over us and leans his face against the pillow.

Dax:  How did I ever get so lucky?

I lower my head to his level, and selfishly take another moment to stare into his eyes.  I notice his eyes squint in that way that almost guarantees a smile upon the lips.  His beard doesn’t hide it very well, either.

Me:  I’m not sure it’s luck.  If anything, it’s an abomination.  But it feels so right at the same time.

Dax:  I don’t think something that feels so natural could be anything but lo… compassion.

I lean up just a little bit above him.  He looks up into my eyes, and his lips beg for mine.

Me:  What we’re doing is not compassion.  It’s lust.  It’s the commitment to damnation of our souls.

Dax’s smiling eyes fade into something close to anger.  Correction.  He’s flat out pissed.  He removes my arm from around him and he spins up to a seated position.  He sifts through our clothes on the floor and he finds a pair of black trunks that he pulls on.  He stands up and finds his jeans, and a white undershirt.  He pulls the jeans on, seeming to be in a hurry.

Me:  You don’t have to leave me so soon.  We’ve already done the misdeed.  What’s wrong with taking comfort in the punishment He will dole out to us?

Dax:  The punishment isn’t what could happen to us.  The punishment is being in love with you.  How could God find what we have so wrong? I mean, other than your constant doubt and putting what we have down like you do.

I pick up a pair of white briefs and pull them on under the covers.  Dax rolls his eyes.  I come from under the covers and I collect my clothes, a pair of faded jeans, a white t-shirt, and a tan jacket.  Dax looks out of the window as he sees headlights approaching in the distance.  He just watches, and I can feel an “off” energy about him.  After pulling my clothes on, I wrap my arms around his shirtless torso and I hold him close.  He doesn’t resist. Instead, he melts into me.

Me:  I’m… I’m trying to wrap my head around this.  Being tortured and told that how I feel is wrong is hard.  Especially when all I want to do is make my father proud of me for once in my life.  Seeing him turn his life around, I’m trying to be understanding.

Dax is quiet for a moment as he watches my father and mother get out of the church van.  Esther, Scott Devereaux, Virginia Mae Putnam, and Andrew Borg come out of the back.  Luckily, their eyes never look in our direction.  Dax rubs my right arm as he looks back at me, and our lips meet softly for all of a second.

Dax:  I’m trying to be understanding, too.  Your father took me in when nobody else would give me a second glance.  He has, in his own way, tried to help me to be a better person.  But watching those conversion therapy sessions is the hardest form of torture I have ever witnessed in my life.  It’s medieval and barbaric.

I nod my head as I run my hands over his stomach and chest, trying to comfort him, even as I feel him quiver in my grasp.

Me:  There’s a purpose for us meeting.  A lesson to be learned.  Deep in my heart, I know it’s love.  But… I’m scared. And at the same time, it makes it that much more exciting. I’m trying to figure out if that’s what makes this so appealing, or if we’re meant to be.

Dax:  I discovered who I was when I went backpacking through Europe.  I had partaken in some very intense psychedelics in Amsterdam, and I wound up in a very open collection of hands on individuals.  A man named Claude who was visiting from Champagne took me on a day-long journey that showed me things I never even dreamed possible.  The ecstasy was unparalleled… until I met you.  I was chasing dragons, and then I found one.

He turns around and I hand him his shirt.  He puts it on and pulls down the back, but he leans his bare chest against my shirt, looking right into my eyes.

Dax:  Now that I’m here, I just don’t want to get burned by your breath, and that is what scares me the most.  I love you, David Shepherd.  And right now, that’s all that matters.

He leans in once more, pressing his lips against mine.  For the first time, I sense vanilla.  The flavor.  Bursting strong.  To this day, I remember that taste.  I don’t know why, but it was such a warm sensation.  Notes I never truly took time to appreciate.  The simplicity, yet the depth.

The snapping fingers in my face bring me back to reality, and yet, I can still taste the vanilla on my tongue, and I feel a pang of guilt for the memory, and the reaction my body has decided to take down below.  I uncomfortably shift in my seat as I look down at my plate, still piping hot, which lets me know that the memory had not played out in real time in my mind.  Andrey removes his fingers from my face as my eyes begin to shift.

Andrey:  Ground Control to David Shepherd.  Are you with me?

Me:  Yeah, I, um… I’m just feeling the effects of that crutch.  Kris sure did a number on me.

Andrey:  You need to be checked out?  Or, perhaps you should take many shots of vodka until you feel right again.

Me:  But, if I do that, I’ll just get shitfaced.

Andrey:  My point exactly…

He laughs and smacks my shoulder before looking down to my full plate.  He slides the garlic bread basket over to me.

Andrey:  Now you eat.  You will feel better in no time.

I twirl my fork in the pasta, and I take a bite just to appease Andrey.  Though I don’t want to lose that lingering vanilla taste, I can’t help but fall into literally the best pasta I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.  I quickly take another, and then another, before biting into the most tender and flavorful meatball I’ve ever had.

Me:  Ahh, this is better than sex… Mmmmm…

Andrey:  Somehow I doubt that, especially with your new beau. Looks like he can deliver a beating in all the right ways.

I don’t even acknowledge him as I continue to shove the food in my mouth.  Halfway through the plate, I wave down the waiter as he is starting to pass by.  I can barely take the time to break from the food to talk, but I somehow manage.

Me:  Can I get two of these to-go? No, make it three…

The waiter smiles and nods, taking it down quickly on his order pad as he makes his way to the back.  Andrey raises his eyebrows, regretting the offer to pay the tab.  But my eyes look down to the now empty sorbetto bowl in front of him, and he gets it now.

Andrey:  We must soon leave.  I have early morning appointment with your boyfriend to spar so I can be ready for High Stakes.  So unless we are getting shitfaced, we should probably return to hotel.

Me:  He’s NOT my boyfriend.  We’re not dating.  None of that.  I don’t have time for that, and I’ve minced it every possible way I can think of.  We’re just… having fun.

Andrey:  Yes, and me and your sister are just playing house. I get it.

I sneer at Andrey, who winks at me and finishes his last bite, while I still have much to go.  Though, it will be no time before I finish as well.  The waiter brings us the bill and lets us know that the to-go orders will be finished in no time.  Andrey slaps down his card, and we finish the meal in silence, before he signs the slip and we are on our way with a plastic bag of three heavy ass servings of spaghetti and meatballs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Revelations (Part 11)
GYM NYC of Mulberry Street; New York City, NY 10/26/2021


Inside of the gym, several people are seen running on treadmills, while others set to enhance their arms, lifting deadweights.  Others slowly work out their chests, or legs, on the appropriate machines.  Meanwhile, we can see a padded area off in the corner of the dark grey concrete and steel interior.  On this padded area, SCU Combat Champion Andrey Azarov and former World Heavyweight Champion, Fenris, are in their fighting gear.  Fenris has arm pads, and he is taking several hard hits from Andrey.  Kicks and punches, all in rapid succession, with great form.  Fenris barely catches the last kick with his pads as Andrey breaks from being in “the zone”.  He takes a break and walks over to a nearby bench and picks up a water bottle, spraying himself in the face with it as it drips down his bare chest.  Fenris catches his breath.

Fenris:  You took a little too much time to think about stopping.  You must have the control to stop, just as much as the control to land your strike.

Andrey nods his head, taking another sip of his water.  Meanwhile, in the front row of treadmills, you can see me, with Aron Baltasarsson and Dani Weston, getting in their our workouts to prepare for High Stakes XI. I am is shirtless, drawing much attention from some of the other gym goers, but I’m a bit oblivious to it, as their eyes follow each trickle of sweat going down my smooth, bare chest.  They also try to pay attention to the movement inside of hmy gym shorts.  Even Dani is caught taking a gander at one point.  Aron’s machine goes off, and soon after, so does Dani’s.  I keep going for nearly a minute longer before my machine shuts off as well.  Aron has approached with spray bottles of sanitizer and paper towels as he sprays down his machine and Dani’s.  The two wipe down the machines as I catch my breath.

Dani:  Somebody is taking Caleb Storms a little too seriously.

I close his eyes and rub at my temples, shaking off a hard night of play.

Aron:  Or maybe he’s trying to compete with my brother for “best legs in the business”.

Dani:  It would be “best everything in the business”.

Me:  I don’t even care about that.  Dani’s right.  I’m focusing too much on Caleb.  The fact that I tanked so hard against Kris last Sunday, and the fact that Caleb actually has a win over me… I think I might be doubting myself.

Dani and Aron gasp in sarcasm as they look over at me, wiping down my machine.  I can’t help but shoot them a look that says “Fuck off”.  Aron takes the spray bottle back to where it belongs as I look at Dani.

Me:  I know I come off as confident…

Dani:  More like cocky as fuck.

She’s not wrong, so I shrug and get back to finishing up on the machine.  I begin to walk over toward the leg press machines.

Me:  But, I just don’t see it happening for me this time.  Not unless I really take this match seriously.  More seriously than I have taken a match so far in my career.

Aron approaches once more.

Aron:  I think I am going to head over to the ellipticals.

Dani:  I think leg presses are in order for this girl.  I’m going to need them to shove this boot as far up Mikah’s righteous ass as possible.

I give Dani a grin, and then I remember why I was starting to like this one.  We go over to the presses, and we each take one.  I set mine to 100lb resistance, and she sets hers to 75lb.  I give another nod of approval as we take our spots on the machines, and begin our sets.

Dani:  Look, I’m taking on someone as intimidating as Mikah, a Hall of Famer, longest reigning World Bombshell Champion, and most over bitch in SCW history.  If I can do that with no fears, no doubts, then you should be able to as well.

I never really thought of it that way.  Was I making much more out of this than I should have?  Was I just waiting for the other boot to drop, like I do with everything in my life?  Sure, my career has not been perfect up until now, but I’m a former champion, damnit.  I’m quickly becoming a household name.  Not a legend, but a well known competitor.

Me:  You’re right.  I can’t sit here and get in my head about this all.  It’s how I completely choked when I faced Kris last Sunday.  I have to do what is best for me.  I owe it to myself to go the distance on this one.  It’s not like I didn’t earn my chance to face Caleb by beating down that pompous piece of shit, Brayden Hilton.

Dani is getting into pumping the weights, even though I can tell that she’s listening.  She’s focused on what she’s doing more so than trying to speak.

Me:  Caleb Storms is a different beast though.  In one way, I respect the kid.  He found a way to con someone into giving him the very title we’re fighting for.  How exactly does one do that?  Quick title matches are one thing, but to be handed a title is just… chef’s kiss. Respect.

I struggle with the last of my third set, but I extend my legs out and hold it there as the muscles in my legs bulge out, showing extreme definition.

Me:  Now, I’m not going to sit here and say that you didn’t earn the title back.  I mean, you were given the title some time ago, and you surely haven’t had that many successful defenses.  Not with the likes of Agostino Romano on the roster.  You found a way to weasel your way back into the picture.  And even more surprisingly, you found a way to win the damn belt.  Congratulations, Caleb.  A round of applause for you.

I see Dani crack a bit of a smile as she continues on with her sets.  I lower the press, as my knees are nearly against my chest.  I feel Fenris looking over to appreciate the sight, which leads to Andrey accidentally hitting him in the face.  I go on to start another set.

Me:  Just like it took three tries to actually find the courage to stand up and challenge Fenris.  And, how exactly did that turn out?  No, let’s go back a few paces here.  You literally ran away from him.  Ran away screaming.  You practically shit yourself when the name “Fenris” was mentioned.  I have had my time in the ring with Fenris, and I may not have been victorious, but I certainly never ran away.  That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in wrestling, and it’s saying a lot, considering where I came from, and who my father is, and what I used to do.  I feel shame for a lot of those actions.  But crying like a little bitch and ducking challenges is the ultimate offense.  Couple that with accepting a title that was literally handed over to you without even having to compete in a match?  J2H couldn’t even get inside of the ring with you, lay down, and put you over to show some small amount of respect to you?  What?  Were you just the nearest person to him when he decided he didn’t want the Internet Championship?

I strain a little, letting me know that I’m coming close to my limit.  Though, I can’t decide if it’s from the topic at hand, or the intense leg and ass workout.

Me:  Needless to say, after all of the greatness that has touched that belt of yours, you’ve managed to make it mean fuck all.  You’ve found a way to make people take it less seriously than an SCU title.  You’ve tarnished the reputation of that belt just by being the one to hold it.  I have to admit that I’m almost regretting even trying to participate in this match.  I should have just rolled over and let a Hilton beat me, because even that is somehow less embarrassing than holding that belt above my head like it were some sort of worthy prize.  But, I'll tell you what.  I’ll take that belt, and I’ll make it mean something.  Even if only for a little while.  I’ll defend it against the best that SCW has to offer, and undoubtedly, that will not include you.  I’ll make sure that people never equate that belt to you ever again.  It will be equated to greatness once High Stakes XI comes to pass.

I now know it’s time to rest the legs, even as Dani continues to go.  I pick up my towel and wipe at my forehead.  I take a drink from the water bottle near me, and then look back to the camera.

Me:  Forget your delusions of grandeur, Caleb.  Ignore that nagging desire to brag about having a win over me from Supernova 4.  Take off your rose tinted glasses and look at things for what they are.  Your win was because of me voluntarily walking away, refusing to participate in a farce of a match where I was not given a fair shake from the very beginning.  Don’t look at it as some sort of monumental achievement, because, truth be told, it was nothing more than a gift to you.  Nothing to be proud of.  But, then again, you do seem to have a habit of taking gifts and trying to pass them off as achievements.  Just know that the season of giving is not right now.  Right now, it is about taking, and I plan on doing just that with your title come High Stakes XI.  From then on, it will be known as my title.

Suddenly, Dani startles me from behind as she taps me with a bottle of sanitizer.  I stand up and begin spraying down the machine, and wiping it up with paper towels nearby.

Dani:  Go get’em, tiger.

Me:  There’s no doubt in my mind about that one, Dani.

And with that, I size up the distance to the trashcan nearby, and I prop my arms up high, shooting the paper towel, and seeing it land right in the trashcan, nothing but net… er, bag… That is when Dani and I rejoin Aron at the bench for cool water, and the viewing party in front of us, Fenris and Andrey circling each other.

6
Climax Control Archives / Revelations (Pt 9)
« on: October 01, 2021, 07:23:19 PM »


Revelations (Part 9)
Church of Heathenous Shepherds; Las Vegas, NV 10/1/2021

Welcome back to the home of depravity, sickness, unadulterated pleasure, addiction, and acceptance for all.  Unless you’ve been able to attend in person services, you’ve probably missed it here.  Not much has changed.  It still looks like an abandoned church, something that should be condemned.  There’s still scorch marks on the walls, spray painted idolatry and tag marks, and the most rag tag bunch of believers I’ve ever seen in my life.  Basically, you haven’t missed much.  My number of followers has increased, though.  Imagine that.  In the City of Sin, people love being told to give into their innermost temptations.  Surprise, surprise.  We’ve reached a total of 438 members prior to tonight’s sermon.  Let’s see if I can’t reach a few more ears this evening, shall we?

Everyone is seated as best as they can be.  Others are lining the walls, reminding me that an “outdoor expansion” might be necessary soon.  Paying tribute to me are several horny individuals, making out and… worse, against the walls, in the pews, and even on the altar.  I must admit that a tear came to my eye as I peeked through the curtains.  I have The Good Book in my arms, and I’m ready to tear it apart in front of everybody.  But there’s a bit of a pause in me as I think about what is ahead of me.  It’s always a fun show, and I get a chance to vent… at least, I thought I was able to vent.  Do I need to censor myself going forward?  Do I break my own cardinal rule?  I don’t have time to think about it when there is a cold set of claws appearing on my shoulder that sends a shiver down my spine.  It feels like the Dark Prince himself, and no, I don’t mean Ozzy.  The cold burns into my shoulder, but I know I must face Him.  So I turn, and what I see is nothing like I would have expected to see.

Filth:  You don’t seem surprised.  That’s good.

I simply stare with contempt.  There is a moment where I even think about throwing the Seraph of Sleaze out of the door myself, but she’s right.  I’m not shocked at all that she’s appeared.

Me:  I honestly expected this sooner.  But, I can’t say that I’m thrilled considering what you’ve done to my family.

Filth:  Another grudge holder… I knew I liked you for a reason.

I scoff at her remarks as she runs her finger down the exposed chest of my half buttoned shirt.  I push her hand away effortlessly.

Me:  You put my mother in a wheelchair, and my fiance relies on crutches, and probably will for a very long time.

Filth:  Mother Mavis is on crutches now as well.  That’s an improvement, right? I mean, it’s not like you’re a family man these days, David…

I’ve had enough and I am pretty sure that my face says that.  Not like I have to ask, but I do anyway…

Me:  What do you want?  I’m about to deliver my sermon that I’m already running late for.

Filth:  I don’t like answering questions where the answer is obvious.  So why don’t we just cut to the chase? How much?

I stop for a second, because, while I know her motivation is to sneak her way into my organization, her question doesn’t make sense.  I stumble on my words for a moment.

Me:  W-what do you mean?

Filth sighs and she reaches into a bag she’s carrying.  She pulls out a few bundles of Benjamins and sets them in my arms, curling them around the money.

Filth:  Is that not enough?

She reaches into her bag again and pulls out a checkbook.  The ease of transferring so much money comes as a shock to me when I consider that she’s just an indy wrestler in the basement brand.  She drafts a number on the check and holds it up, and I’m still in shock.

Filth:  I can keep going, David.

Me:  What are you doing?  What is this for?  I refuse to sell my rights to anything.

Filth:  I wouldn’t dream of it, filthy.  I simply want to pledge to your cause.  Well, we do…

Skag comes walking from around the corner, half skull paint fully intact.  He walks over to us and he drops down to his knees, clasping his hands in front of himself.

Skag: Vergib mir, Vater, denn ich werde mich an den Freuden des Fleisches erfreuen, denn ich habe kein Geld zu spenden. (Forgive me Father, for I'm about to take joy in the pleasures of the flesh for I have no money to donate.)

Skag goes to unzip my pants, and I drop the money on his head.  Some of the bands snap, causing the hundred dollar bills to go everywhere.  His blue eyes look up at me in wanton, but my stomach turns in utter disgust.  My pants drop to the ground and Skag continues on his mission as Filth flicks her tongue at me, in some weird way of giving me permission.

Me:  You’ve got this all wrong, and YOU’VE got me all wrong.

Skag:  I know what you want, herr.  I know I am no replacement for the Icelandic one, but I promise it is worth your time.

Filth:  He wants it more now than ever.  They’re on the rocks, and we know he likes to run at the first sign of trouble.

Skag:  Ja fraulein. I just want to give your glied a warm, wet hug. I want to pledge to you.

Me:  Not interested.

Skag:  He says so, yet his body says differently.

Filth snickers as she looks down and sees that he is, in fact, right.  I pull my pants up and uncomfortably fumble with the button, trying to relieve the pressure by leaning forward a bit, quickly getting my thoughts elsewhere.

Filth:  Your church needs funding and it needs people to help spread your message.  I think you know that.  Your father has a similar model, and you really want to stick it to him.  It’s evident.  I can provide both.  I have friends in very low places.

She looks down at Skag, who opens his mouth, all but begging me to give him what he wants.  I feel obliged to give it to him, but then my senses break through and I turn from the two, walking to open the curtains again.

Filth:  We’ll be in touch.  Keep the cash as a sign of good faith.  Call me when you’re ready to talk business.

I look over my shoulder as Filth saunters over to Skag and unzips her ragged black jeans, dropping them to the ground as Skag gets ready to deliver, even if it is not for me, as he leans way back and Filth goes to straddle his face.  I literally do barf a little in my mouth, spitting it to the ground as I walk through the curtains, placing The Good Book on the podium.  The events of what just transpired are still weighing heavily on my mind, but I know I must push past them.  I clear my throat into the microphone as everyone stops what they are doing to look up at me out of respect.

Me:  Welcome brothers, sisters, and all of you depraved, sick motherfuckers.  You are home.  If you’ve been looking for a place where you are accepted for who you are, then look no further.  Everyone here has been cast aside by society for embracing the things that make us who we are rather than hiding behind a mask of normalcy.  We have so many new members that I can’t even begin to name you all, but know that this dwelling is yours just as much as it is mine.  If you’re looking for answers, you can book an appointment with me, and we’ll figure it out together.  If anyone here is going through a hard time, thinking about ending it all, I beg you not to.  Things are heavier now than they ever have been, and support seems nonexistent.  Even though we tend to reject most teachings of our Christian counterparts, we do maintain one similarity.

I can’t help but gag, and this gains laughter and praise from the fellowship.  I swish water around in my mouth before spitting it to the side.

Me:  If you are unable to reach me, please rely on your fellow heathens.  We require support just like anybody else.  My recent mental health struggles made me realize that I needed to make sure that we understand our calling.  We have been so used to bearing our own sins, and keeping them to ourselves, not realizing just how much it’s tearing us up inside.  So please, please don’t go through that alone.

I look down at The Good Book on my podium before me, and I glare at it with contempt, refocusing myself on the matter at hand.

Me:  We are chosen, called forth to restore chaos to the City of Sin.  Just because we are dedicated to one another doesn’t mean that anyone outside of these walls are immune to this mission.  We do what we must to show a united front.  We do not owe ourselves to this dark, cruel world.  Only to our cause.  So, if you’re tempted to pickpocket that ignorant tourist on The Strip, go for it.  Give in to your carnal desires.  But do not forget our core values here.  Being a douchebag is not the way.  Never feel entitled.  Never feel like this world owes you anything, because it will not feed you.  It will piss in your mouth and laugh in your face.  It will take, take, and take even more from you.  The world will not take care of you.  Grow some fucking nuts and take what you want.  You don’t want to be some lonely podcaster cutting promos in his mom’s basement.  A literal neckbeard.  I endorse hedonism to the fullest.  But I do not support laziness.

I step from behind the podium as I look out into the audience.  I see a number of people who look as if they could match the description I’ve given.  Rather than singling them out, I decide to move on to the main point.

Me:  Be better than that.  You see, this Sunday, I plan on celebrating by knocking around a man who holds laziness as his highest standard.  A man whose ambition is not equal to his drive.  A man so deplorable that even I cannot get behind him.  I am, in fact, talking about Gabriel Wank.  You may know him as “The Troll”.  Or the man with the worst win-loss record in the history of Sin City Wrestling.  There is only one thing I can admire about him, and that is the fact he coveted his neighbor’s wife, and he went for it.  Sure, it didn’t turn out as he’d hoped, and watching him piss his pants by fighting a non wrestler was priceless.  But he is exactly what is wrong with this generation.  He should’ve been a wank stain in his dad’s underwear, but instead, his sow of a mother allowed these defective seeds to spill upon her fertile pastures, and now we’re all forced to breathe the same air as him.

I look around the crowd as I begin to slowly walk back and forth.  There is a ginger manchild in his thirties, wearing thick black rimmed glasses, looking down, and I choose to speak right to him.

Me:  Degenerates aren’t always useless members of society who don’t contribute.  We’re not always driven by an unfounded need to be right while not actually giving something back to this world.  Nihilism isn’t the same as gluttony and sloth and envy.  Make a change.  Bring down a sliver of the establishment.  Rebel with action, not stagnation.  Action is key.  Without it, you won’t get anywhere.  And come Sunday, I’m taking action to draw a line in the sand.  In my return match, I will show that I’ve not missed a beat.  Of course, against someone who is even lazier than the person who books matches like this in SCW, there’s only so much I can do.  But, believe me when I say that I am going to enjoy this thoroughly, regardless.  It will be my first time back in the ring in over two months, and I plan to make the most of it.  I will teach The Troll where blind ambition gets him.

I look at a twiggy teenager with greasy hair, pimples, and a Dungeons and Dragons t-shirt on.

Me:  I will show him the light of day when I put him on his back.  When he’s staring up at those bright lights, much brighter than the ones on his parent’s basement ceiling, and they burn brighter than the gleam of his own self indulgence of the pitiful two inch creature between his legs, maybe… just maybe… he will understand where he’s gone wrong, and he will do better.  Maybe he will act better.  Maybe he will BE better.  And in showing him the error of his ways, I will be doing my good deed for the week, in front of millions of viewers worldwide.  And if I’m capable of opening up someone’s mind, then so are you!  So I implore each and every one of you to open up the minds of the soul-less, thoughtless robots surrounding you.  For that is our true mission.  Now, go forward and be blessed brothers, sisters, and depraved motherfucks!

Congregation:  AMEN!

And with that, I pick up The Good Book.  As people disperse, I hold a large pillar candle up to it, watching the pages slowly burn in a brilliant mixture of yellow, orange, and black.  I drop it to the ground and watch it as I slowly walk backward.  Take that, dad...

7
Climax Control Archives / Revelations (Pt 8)
« on: July 30, 2021, 10:12:10 PM »


Revelations (Part 8)
Church of Heathenous Shepherds; Las Vegas, NV 7/39/2021

People talk. It’s what they do.  They want to follow your life like it’s a damn soap opera.  I’m a wrestler, and that’s not my top priority.  I was told by my sister that I was featured on TMZ.  Fucking TMZ! I didn’t sign up to be a celebrity.  I signed up to fight people and to put on a show in a gritty underground setting.  Pride made me go to the big time brand.  And for a while, I was able to avoid tabloids.  As an Indy wrestler, I never really put much thought into my own celebrity.  Or, maybe it’s the celebrity of the salami I’m smuggling in my back pocket.  Either way, I didn’t expect to see a ten second snippet of me on a rumor show.  I also didn’t know that I was being recorded.

”News of Brother David Shepherd, formally of the Church of the Good Shepherds, was seen entering the cabin of MMA specialist, “Fenris”, Kristjan Baltasarsson’s cabin late one night on the SCW summer extravaganza, Summer XXXTreme IX.”

There is footage of David walking past the door, and then stopping to turn back around.  It shows him contemplating knocking before finally doing so.  As the door opens, it shows him pushing Fenris into the room, but nothing further.

“Reportedly, nearby cabins complained that they couldn’t get any sleep as these two spent the night together.”

We come into focus on David’s sister, Esther Azarov, standing by with her husband Andrey.  A microphone is held to her mouth.

Esther:  At certain points, it sounded like The Arbitor dying in Halo 3.  Other times, it sounded like there was a rabid dog squeaking around in an old bed.  How two human beings can force us to believe that anything else was going on is beyond me. Kudos.

The view switches back to David leaving the room well in the afternoon, his shirt hanging around his neck, his belt dragging on the ground behind him, and his pants unbuttoned, looking disheveled as he walks to his cabin and closes the door.

“Other complaints stated that children were heard running around the boat, yelling ‘How do you like that, bitch?  Wait, I don’t care!’  and MAV called for the immediate cancellation of David Shepherd.  While it is unclear as to whether he will face the cancel culture movement or not, SCW has booked him in a match this weekend against Shane Borderlands, so it appears that David will not be going anywhere soon.”

We move back to see Andrey Azarov rubbing the back of his head, looking confused as he centers his sights on the camera.

Andrey:  I don’t understand question.  Am unsure what smuggling salami in back pocket means.  Perhaps pocket is too small for log of salami?  If this is metaphor of me winning SCU Combat Championship, then yes.  I am of smuggle a lot salami in back pocket.  And I will continue to smuggle salami in back pocket for long as pocket can take salami.  No further comments.

Before Andrey can move away, he finds himself playfully slapped with a log of salami, right against his mouth.  TMZ replays this is slow motion as we watch the moment of impact jolting Andrey’s features to his right.

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Then the camera moves slightly to see Jamie Staggs standing by, holding the log of salami.

Jamie:  Heh, that’s not the only place this salami is going.  You just got Dick’d SON!!!

They record scratch on the actual feed of the show, and then remix Jamie’s words

Jamie:  You just got… *Skkkkkkkratch* You just got…. *SKKKKEEEERATCH*  Just got, just got, just got DICK’D SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!!!

As I play this on the monitor behind me, the congregation gives a mixture of laughter and annoyance.  I stare out amongst them, my features chiseled firmly onto my face as I admire the growth of numbers.  Big players, and street thugs.  The homeless, and the fortunate.  All drawn together by their darkest desires, and their will to live within them.  The video begins all over again, and as it plays, I study each and every person in this 140 member congregation, one by one.  I see their energies, and I know their intentions.  And as a collective, I feed off of it.  I feel it powering me up in a way that I’ve never been powered up before.  Not only by strength, but determination, charisma, and overall spirit.  I feel the icy fire coursing through my veins, and it gets me ready to speak.

Me:  I’m not one to kiss and tell, but allow me a minute to bang and brag.  Yes, me and Fenris went… all… night… long…

Crowd:  HELL YEAH!!!

Me:  We did it on the bed!

Crowd:  TELL ME MORE!

Me:  We did it on the floor!

Crowd:  TELL ME MORE!

Me:  We did it on the counter!

Crowd:  TELL ME MORE!

Me:  Then we did it some more!

Crowd:  TELL ME MORE!

Me:  We did it for an hour!

Crowd:  TELL ME MORE!

Me:  Then he hit it in the shower!

Crowd:  TELL ME MORE!

Me:  We did it under the moon!

Crowd:  TELL ME MORE!

Me:  We did it while he was big spoon!

Crowd:  TELL ME MORE!

Me:  We did it in the mouth.

Crowd:  TELL ME MORE!

Me:  Then we went back south!

Crowd:  TELL ME MORE!

I am about to speak again, when I stop myself.  I hold my hand up to them and I look around, as if I were stunned by this behavior, even though I’m really not.

Me:  WE…! You’re a bunch of filthy fuckers, aren’t you?  Well, with his track record, there will be a taped leaked soon.  I just hope they got my good side.

Crowd: FENRIS HAD YOUR GOOD SIDE!

I can’t help but laugh a little at that one.  I look back at my ass and shrug my shoulders, because, well, they’re not wrong.

Me:  Truth!  Though, I’ve heard that my mouth is a very close second.  Anyway, we’re not here to talk about my sexcapades.  We’re here to discuss how healthy some *air quotes* “sins” are.  Like lust, which I’ve finally freed myself from the prison which denied me of this.  Stealing.  Cheating.  Violence.  Gluttony.  They are all guilty pleasures, because we have been trained that these acts are immoral.  We deny ourselves pleasure because a bunch of people with sky daddy complexes who wrote the world’s oldest fan fic tell us that we should.  The real “sin” is holding back from everything that you deserve!

Crowd:  YEAHHHHHH!!!

Me:  The truth of the matter is that there is only one sin to be aware of.  And that is the sin of pride.  You should be proud of what you acquire, what you accomplish, what you take back from this cruel bitch we call life.  But, pride is used as a weapon.  It has become synonymous with guilt.  It is used to instill shame if we feel any form of pleasure that isn’t chemically induced by a pill from your doctor.  It coerces us into working jobs that we hate just to barely make ends meet, pulling overtime for pennies on the dollar while the fat cats sit above us and laugh at our little rat race, waiting to pick us up, one by one, and swallow us alive.  Pride, in the wrong mindset, kills.  It destroys the soul, far worse than catching a little premarital strange, knocking a guy out with a steel pipe, or lifting a candy bar from the local corner shop.  Pride stops us from being who and what we truly are.

The crowd murmurs as they take in everything that I’m saying.  I nod my head, giving them time to drink it up.  I can hear the certainty in their voices as they level out.

Me:  There comes a certain age when your body tells you to “stop”.  Especially in professional wrestling.  You’ve taken too many bumps.  You’ve broken a few bones.  Arthritis begins to set in.  You can’t live a functioning life without pain pills.  Your body knows better.  It hasn’t been trained into an illogical loop of self destructive behavior like your mind has.  Again, the world is cruel, fucked up, and will swallow you whole.  Like I did to Fenris…

There is a bit of a chuckle from the crowd, but I’m on a roll, so I continue.

Me:  And yet, pride, the kind that keeps us trapped inside of this machine, forces our brains to think it proves something to ignore the call of the body.  We can’t give up, or it means we’re a p*ssy.  We have to keep going because we have some idiotic point to make by nearly killing ourselves for the benefit of our rich bosses.  We have become indentured servants, but not bound to it by law.  Bound to it by our minds.  It is precisely why my opponent, Shane Borderlands, is set to take me on.

I stop and look around, finding that the crowd is still interested in what I have to say.

Me:  He thinks he still has to prove something, to someone, somewhere, somehow.  He doesn’t.  This truth shall set him free.  But, because his feeble mind refuses to acknowledge that he’s no longer needed, nor wanted in this sport, that he has to become relevant or something.  He feels like there’s still more for him in this sport.  He ignores the doctors telling him that he’s well past his prime.  He pushes through the pain, the agony, the self doubt, because that’s all he knows.  Without purpose, we fade away long before we’re dead.  As a man, we are taught to leave our mark on this world.  Many in this business, who don’t suffer from some sort of mental incapability or disability, find that we leave our marks by being a macho man.  Casting pain aside.  Masking the pain.  Telling ourselves that we “have to”.  No, we don’t.  There’s no shame in letting the younger generation take over, Shane.

I shrug my shoulders.

Me:  No need to feel guilty.  You’ve done your part.  You’ve made your point.  Anything else is just going to tarnish your record, and embarrass you.  Much like I plan to do on Sunday at Climax Control.  Don’t get me wrong, I love a solid fight.  I don’t mind kicking your ass all over that ring.  And I won’t feel guilty about it, because it’s time for me to leave my mark.  But, I’m going to do it my way, and my way only.  See, I’m not going to buy into the machismo.  I won’t run around here, flaunting my toxic masculinity.  I’m just going to enjoy the fact that I get to rub up on men, cause them pain, knock them out for three seconds or force them to submit to my dominance, and do it all over again next week.  Not because I think I need to prove something, but because I want to, and my body isn’t nearly as worn down as yours, Shane.

And with that, I take a break, letting my congregation rally behind me, along with the video of TMZ still playing behind me for irony’s sake.

Me:  You paved the way for the younger generation.  And for that, I admit, I’m thankful.  But you really need to heed my warning.  Whether it is now or a month from now, you need to hang up the boots.  Maybe manage a bright young talent and show them the way.  Someone who needs pointers, at least.  Someone not smart enough to figure this business out on their own.  Someone I can humiliate inside of the ring, just for the helluvit.  That way, for my own amusement, I can prove that I would’ve beaten you back in your hay day too.  Your cerebral attacks are nothing to me.  Your skills are as dated as your face is in this business.  Your mouth only writes out checks it can no longer cash.  You’re not just washed up, you’re the fossil that fueled my car ride up here.  Now, if you’re looking for a purpose in life, I can help you with anti-spiritual advice to get your life where you want it to be.  Are you a hedonist?  A sadist?  A masochist?  It doesn’t matter.  I’ll take you there, free of charge… unless you would like to donate to the Church of Heathenous Shepherds, or course.  Now, be a pal and subscribe to my channel, would ya, Shane? And for the viewers at home, I’ve added a donation button below.  Be a part of something real.

And with that, I tip my invisible hat to Shane and my other viewers.  I step down from the podium upon the charred altar, and I shake hands with people as I pass along.  I also punch one guy, tongue kiss another, and refused to touch an ugly baby.  I hold my hand up as I make my way to the exit, turning once more to watch the salami slap Andrey across the face in slow motion, getting a chuckle before leaving.

8
Supercard Archives / Re: FENRIS/BROTHER DAVID v SENOR VINNIE/BULLDOG BILL BARNHART
« on: July 16, 2021, 05:41:12 PM »


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.




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)))

9
Supercard Archives / Re: FENRIS/BROTHER DAVID v SENOR VINNIE/BULLDOG BILL BARNHART
« on: July 09, 2021, 03:09:27 PM »


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.




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.

10
Climax Control Archives / What Goes Around, Comes Around
« on: June 18, 2021, 09:54:43 PM »


What Goes Around Comes Around
Saxon Hotel Bar, Las Vegas, NV 6/13/2021

Sure, it’s typical, right?  Anyone going through some sort of life changing event is going to, at some point, find themselves sitting up in a bar, downing drinks, wallowing in their own self pity, looking for “feel better sex” if one is single or just an asshole.  If you look around me, you will see, I am, in fact, in a bar.  I’m surrounded by businessmen and women, Vegas performers who have finished their shifts and are looking to unwind, and tourists taking advantage of some of the COVID restrictions being lifted.  Plenty are single, and plenty are already drunk at 7pm on a Sunday, the Lord’s d… sorry, it’s going to take a minute to stop doing that…

But, this is completely atypical.  This is not about me trying to come to terms with what happened at Into the Void X, or since then.  This is about me being free to be myself.  Sure, I can’t say I’m not a bit depressed.  I can’t say that I’m not angry.  I still don’t believe lying is an acceptable behavior.  But, I’m in a good place.  I recently joined a dating site and found that I am quite attractive based on the number of responses I’ve gotten.  But, one person really caught my eye.  There was an instant attraction from the moment I swiped right.  The conversation was good, and we decided to skip the show and we agreed to meet here.

That’s right.  I am on a date!  I’m moving on in the world, like I didn’t spend ions hating myself instead of celebrating myself.  He should be here any second now, and I’m beyond excited.  Is it wrong that I’m already imagining what it would be like to find someone who makes me happy.  Get married.  Have a couple kids from a friendly lesbian surrogate down the street, boys of course.  Lucas and David Jr.  A dog, probably a husky, to grow up with the boys.  The whole white pickett fence fantasy.  That’s weird.  I’m being weird.  But I’m just so nervous.

I keep looking at my phone until I receive a text saying “Here. Parking now”.  The doubt leaves my face, and I wave to the waiter for a glass of water and a bowl of pretzels.  Thinking ahead, just like a gentleman.  The waiter brings the pretzels and goes to fetch the water.  My mind begins going all over the place.  How big is he.  Will he actually like me once he gets to know me?  Is he the type that eats cookies in bed?  Does he snore? How big are his feet? And every single bit of that comes to a halt as I feel the ice cold sting of water splashing across my face.

I’m jolted back to reality, and I look to the bartender as if to say “I didn’t ask for my water to-to” when I realize he has a full glass in his hand, and looks just as shocked as I do.  It only takes a second to realize who is standing in front of me, using one crutch to balance herself.  Virginia Mae Putnam… my ex-fiancee.  Luckily she follows up the water with a slap, because otherwise, every vein in my body would have been ice cold.  Her cheeks are redder than a tomato, and her knuckles are white from clenching her fists so tightly.

Virginia:  You scum!  You cretin!  You… You…! Rrrrrrgh!

To be fair, she has every right to do this, and I’m not above admitting that.  She clubs me on the shoulders and chest as fast as she can on one crutch, and it hurts.  She is a trained wrestler afterall.  But I take it.  The names she deserves to call me are well beyond what she calls me.  I grab onto her wrist to stop her as her front of anger begins to dissolve into tears of hurt and pain as she rests against my chest.

Pause scene. As a little refresher course for those who are just tuning in, The Shepherd family were once no-good pieces of shit who lived in a rundown apartment building in Tulsa, Oklahoma.  Father was an alcoholic army veteran with PTSD.  Mother was a depressed pill junkie turned heroin addict.  Esther was the most normal of us all, just trying to survive the environment.  I was, well, a closeted homosexual who picked up habits from both parents, and brought numerous skanks and sluts home to try to “fuck the gay away”.  My parents split up because they were just a little too toxic together to work out anymore.  Father stepped out on mother with a young blonde with the greenest eyes you’d ever seen, and her name was Virginia Mae Putnam.  She encouraged him to form the Church of the Good Shepherds.  His side whore while he “fixed” mommy and me.  Once we were “fixed”, she was to be my wife.  I never truly got over the fact that my to-be wife once had my dad’s staff parting her pink sea.  And, unpause.

Virginia:  You’re a real piece of shit, you know that, David Shepherd? If it wasn’t bad enough what you did to your family last week, you gone and kissed that man at Into the Void, all while your fiancee is recovering from a possibly career ending injury!  What kind of man are you?

Me:  I…

Virginia:  You don’t get to speak, David Shepherd!  You lost that chance when you ignored my calls for a month!  You knew you gave up that chance when you locked lips with that… that… unrepentant heathen!  But I could have forgiven that if you’d have just talked to me.  We coulda gone through your therapy together as the Lord intended!

Me:  I don’t think no one intended for me to get beaten and shocked like some animal, or else I wouldn’t be here about ready to go on a date.

Ginny’s eyes widen.  Uh oh.  The crazy is about to really come out.  She laughs, and her eyes glaze over in a way that lets me know I’m about to walk through hell.  She drops the crutch out of pride, and she begins limping around to any man that is not with anyone.  She picks up the arm of a balding businessman in a nice suit, and his watch is expensive.  But he’s not really my type.

Virginia:  Are you here to date my fiancee?  Did you know he was engaged to a woman?

Me:  Ginny… Come on now.

Virginia:  NO!

She turns to a pretty hunky backup dancer type with just enough tattoo work to let me know he’d be a wild ride.  But the frosted tips let me know he’s not relationship material for me.

Virginia:  How about you?  Where did you two meet, a Lady Gaga concert?  Liza Minelli show?  In some heathenous establishment, dancing bare chest to bare chest to Kylie Minogue? TELL ME!

Man 2:  No, but I like the way you think, sis.

He gave me eyes that let me know I could ask for his room number.  Snap out of it, David!  This is not the time, nor the place.  I walk over to Ginny and I pull her away from Frosted Flake.  She instantly rips her arm away from my hand.

Virginia:  DON’T YOU TOUCH ME, FILTHY MONGREL!!! Do NOT put your hands on me ever again.  You’re disgusting, and I hate to admit that I can no longer make direct comments about your sexuality per church law, but do not mistake that I’m not thinking them right at you, David!  Just you!  Derek Barry backup dancer here is okay.  And if you are looking to find God, I’ve got a pamphlet for you.

Man 2:  I’ll have what you were having.  I’m sure I could find God twice as fast, hon.

Ginny ignores that and starts over to… my date for the night.  Nate - 29 - post grad, working in urology.  Non-smoker with a cigarette fetish, knows how to cook, and would love to prepare a meal for me sometime…

Yeah, not anymore.

Virginia:  Or you?  I bet he told you he was hung like a horse.  But I think he meant to say “seahorse”.  He has horrible morning breath, and thinks he can sing Johnny Cash, but he sounds like someone is strangling Foghorn Leghorn.  He is a man child, with no maturity.  Heck, he couldn’t even tell me our engagement was broken off, and yet here you are, on a date with an engaged man, because he’s too chicken shit to confront me!

Nate:  That sure would make for an awkward sleepover, wouldn’t it?  Shower time would be a real drag. I’m sorry you are going through all of this.  Can I buy you a drink?

And just like that, Lucas and David Jr evaporate, along with the husky, the fence, and the friendly lesbian down the street.  All gone as she lets go of his hand.  He seems to have calmed her down.  They go to the other end of the bar with Frosted Flake, and the three share laughs at my expense.  My only reaction is that the bartender never even once tried to call for security so that I could play the good guy and tell them they weren’t needed.  We could’ve gone to a more quiet place to talk and maybe we could’ve been friends still.

No, that situation is fucked beyond all repair.  Instead, I take a deep breath, look at my phone to see a new text alerting me of my match with Mac Bane next week, and I just roll my eyes.  Of course I have to fight this one right now.  But, not exactly “right now”.  I slap a twenty down on the bar because I refuse to be that guy, lonely and humiliated at a bar.  It’s too typical, and I’m not ready for that level of normalcy right now.

I walk out of the bar as Nate and Flake wave goodbye, and Ginny laughs, taking the red wine as the blood of Christ a little too heavily right now.  I go to my room, and I slam the door shut, kicking at it.  I tangle my fingers up in my hair and I lean against the door, taking in a deep breath.  Eyes are closed, and I can hear the sound of my own breathing, and somehow, I smell the scent of cigarette permeating off of my body from the bar… that was smoke free…

Esther:  Look here you little annoying vaginal itch…

Grooooooooaaaaaaaaan… My eyes slowly open as I see my sister sitting on my white pleather couch, looking directly at me with her legs crossed, looking all proper and shit, despite wearing a pink letterman’s cheer sweater and matching skirt.  She stands up and walks over to me.  She wraps her arms around me in a hug that is sadly too genuine for my liking.  However, I let her have that comfort while returning none of it.  She lingers with it too, and just before I’m about to break free from her emotional grasp, she lets go of me.

Esther:  Don’t you know how to return a call, bitch?  You had me worried.  Like, as in, still worried.  Because you’re off your rocker, big time buddy boy.

Me:  I’m fff…

Esther:  Don’t feed me that “I’m fine” bullshit.  You’re not fine, at all.  Clearly.  You’re forcing yourself to go through this alone, which is… fucking stupid.  You nearly burned down the Las Vegas chapter of the church.  And while I find that extremely funny, I know you wouldn’t have done that.  Or that horribly awesome paint job you gave it.  I’m pretty sure I can’t give you credit for the wicked graffiti, but it looks pretty cool. I would go to that church.

I rolls my eyes as Esther ushers me over to the couch.  She points to the bottle of water on the table, and had it been opened, I’d be afraid of what she might have tried to slip in there, and I would not have drank from it.  But, it is sealed, and I crack it open and take a sip.

Me:  You’re blowing this way out of proportion.  Yeah, I had a little misstep, but I said my piece to the family, and now I’m chill.  I mean, I just had a bad date, so I’m a little annoyed by that, but I’m good.  Doing really good, actually.

Esther looks over to the empty bottles scattered near the bed, and then slowly looks back to me, like she’s asking me “Really?”  I sigh and try to change the subject.

Me:  So, how are things now that dad has openly accepted you and Andrey into his loving arms?  Is Andrey converting?  Has he pressured you for kids yet?

Esther:  Nice try, dickwad.  This is your one person intervention, and I’m not leaving this room until you spill it.  You act like I don’t know you like the back of my hand, and you lying is really starting to piss me off.

She’s not going to give up.  That much is clear.  I don’t want to talk, but I also don’t want a sleepover with my sister either.  I’m trapped between a rock and a hard place, because I’ll rip anyone to shreds should they ever put me in this position, but this is my sister, and we’ve gone through so much together that I would never dream of it.  Sigh. Deep breath.

Me:  I’m not doing great, honestly.  I mean, I don’t know to make heads or tails of any of this.  One minute, my head tells me this is what should’ve happened years ago.  The next, it says that dad is an asshole who put us through hell for literally no good reason.  And mom allowed it.  Suddenly, it’s okay to be gay, and every poke, prod, shock, flay of the whip means nothing, and I’m supposed to unpack all of that like it’s no big deal.  I’m supposed to just move on with my life like none of that ever happened.  Up is down, wrong is right.  I can’t… I can’t keep up with this.

I stop so she can say some smartass thing like she always does.  But she doesn’t.  She looks as if she wants to cry, but her pride in the overly applied mascara stops her from doing it.  Her lip quivers as she looks away from me, because she can’t even stand to look at me.

Me:  I chose the wrong time to come out against my own will.  I truly hate that man.  I hate Kristjan.  I hate him, and yet he won’t get out of my head.  He’s truly wicked, and this is coming from the man who just burned a Jesus statue two weeks ago.  We can say that we were playing head games, and that’s fine.  But the fact of the matter is that I lost that match in so many ways.  On official record, I lost.  Mentally, I lost.  Physically, I lost, Spiritually, I lost.  I was humiliated in every single way, where for a split second, before I even knew what was happening, time stood still, and all of those booing assholes at ringside were quiet.  The warmth of the lights shined down on us, and… everything felt fine.  I felt free.  I felt trapped.  I felt at ease.  I felt overwhelmed.  I was overtaken by his warmth, and it felt just as if what dad always said was true of God himself.  Nothing made sense, but I felt so… good… but my senses kicked in, and I realized that I wasn’t meant to feel good because of this man.  Then and there, I decided I hated him.  Even as he stole his gum away from me, I hated him so deeply for opening that door and letting everything just flood out.  All of that pain, all of my will, he took from me, but continues to make me stare it right in the fucking face.  I fucking hate Fenris so much that I never want to see, taste, touch, smell, or feel him ever again.

The words feel so painful coming out of my mouth as I say them.  It’s like my chest is being ripped open from the inside out.  Not in an emotional sort of way, but physically, like a xenomorph is trying to escape my chest.  Esther lights another cigarette and puffs on it softly before putting a hand on my shoulder.

Esther:  Brother?  Can I give you my honest opinion?

I look to her and nod my head, even though I’m not sure I want to hear it.  She offers me a warm smile.

Esther:  To me, that sounds like true love.  I felt the same way about Andrey at first.  As I got to know him, I realized all of those feelings were meant to be, and we just… were.  I threw away everything because I knew that those who cared would be by my side no matter what.  And you were there for me during that time.  That’s why I want you to understand that this is a good feeling.

I laugh because, if I didn’t, I’d probably chuck the glass coffee table well across the room.  Or I’d start screaming at her to get out, because, how much more wrong could she possibly be about my feelings for Kristjan?

Me:  You have no idea what you’re talking about.  Just because you like being mentally abused by Boris Fuckwadzikov doesn’t mean that I’m looking for that kind of “love”.

Esther:  I would’ve expected a better insult from you, Dave.  Something about being a commie, maybe?  At least it was kind of original, but man…

Me:  I guess I need to work on that for when it comes time to talk up my match next week against Mac Bane, huh?

Esther nods her head, but isn’t letting me out of this conversation just yet.

Esther:  If you’re going to suck, then suck with Kristjan.  At least then, some of his greatness might rub off on you, or in you at least.

Cringe.  That’s all I was thinking at the moment.  But then, it turns into a situation of “maybe if I’m quite, she’ll leave it be” situation.  The embarrassment of it all gets to me.

Me:  I’m not in a place for a relationship right now, with anybody, let alone Fenris.  I can’t even start to figure that out right now.  My head is such a mess, and I really have a lot to unpack.  Like, where do I start, honestly?

Esther:  I don’t mean this in a bad way, but you need help.  If you try to do this on your own, you’re in for a long, hard road.  And since you’re too damn stubborn to let anyone help you, then maybe you should see a therapist.

I shake my head.

Me:  Nope, not happening.  Simply not, huh-uh, no way.  I don’t need help.  I can handle this the way I was meant to by nature.  They didn’t have therapists way back when, and people did just fine.

Esther:  Yeah, with their sky daddy complexes, wars to make up for their small penises, burning people at the stake for being “witches”, stealing, murdering, raping… that’s all very healthy, isn’t it?  Fuck that, David, go see a therapist.  If it helps, I can give you the name of mine.  He really helped me through some tough times.

Me:  Hard pass, sis.  I’ll do just fine on my own.  I doubt I’ll be waging genocidal wars or murdering anyone.

Esther:  Just drinking yourself into a coma like a stupid piece of shit.  Got it.

I am about to start fighting back on this matter, but she pulls her phone out and overtalks my attempts to object.  She grabs a cocktail napkin and writes down a number on it.

Me:  No, I don’t need it, but thank you.  I appreciate your concern, but…

Esther:  I’m just going to leave “this” here.  After your bad date sets in, and your encounter with Ginny resonates, you will…

Me:  Wait, how did you know about Ginny.  Did you…

Esther:  Byyyyyyeeeeeeee…

Esther chuckles a bit, but she knows I’m going to chase her down for answers, so she hurries out of the room and closes the door.  I can hear the scuffs of her tennis shoes against the floor in the hallway as she rushes back to her room.  I plop back down on the couch and pick up the napkin.  Dr. Kenneth Mansfield.  Sounds like a douche…




Revelations (Part 7)
Church of the Good Shepherds - Las Vegas Chapter 6/18/2021


The place is a real dump.  The paint is splashed all over the walls, reminding me what a headcase I was.  The burn marks make this place look as if it should be condemned.  Yet, there is a group of people inside, seated in the pews, others sleeping on the floor.  And not to be judgmental or anything, but they seem like the bottom of the barrel of society.  And I don’t mean this in a bad way, because I feel like I’m right there with them.  Sure, I might not be a junkie.  I might not be an alcoholic yet.  I might not be as dirty as they look, having to squat in an abandoned church, but my soul is even more filthy than theirs.  And I’m here to celebrate it.  To own it.  No one bats an eye as I walk down the aisle and right to the damaged pulpit.  I walk up to the podium and I look out at everyone, half of whom are still not looking at me.  I check the microphone switch, and after a whir through the speakers, it is functional as is evident by my breaths into the mic.  The sound gets everyone’s attention immediately.  Those on the floor crawl into the pews, so not to be disrespectful, while others make a run toward the door.

Me:  This is private property, owned by me, and I ask that you all stay.

A few wary folks leave through the main doors, but most stay seated, about 20 or so fellow miscreants.  I am silent, because, obviously this wasn’t planned.  It was supposed to be working off some stress by getting things done around the building.  But inspiration has struck, and here I am.

Me:  Jesus did this, Moses said that.  Abraham hit me with a wiffleball bat…

A Little Nicky reference seemed appropriate at the moment.  However, some of the younger crowd doesn’t get the reference.  Two more people get up and walk toward the doors.  I hold my hand up.

Me:  I'm a good Catholic girl in the way that Madonna is. In the sense that I'm not that good at all.

The two headed toward the doors as I quote Heather Graham.  They turn and stare curiously at me for a second.  I think I’ve got them.  I take a deep breath and give my favorite Stigmata quote.

Me:  You know what's scarier than not believing in God? Believing in him. I mean, really believing in him. It's a fucking terrifying thought.

Woman:  Why are you quoting movies?

I shrug my shoulders.

Me:  Why are you squatting in my establishment?  I mean, we all have our reasons, even if they don’t make sense to others… or me… at this point… “I ain't through with you by a damn sight! I'm gonna get medieval on your ass.” Pulp Fiction.  "Mama always said life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." Forrest Gump. “That is one big pile of shit.” Jurassic Park.

As I look around, I see people are as confused as can be, because they are scratching their heads.  I guess they weren’t prepared for me right now, and that’s okay.  I’ll let them in on it soon enough.

Me: Welcome to my world.  Confusion has been the way I’ve been living life for the last several years, but especially the last month or so. Everything has been jumbled, but I’m starting to see a moment of clarity.  No, I’m serious.

They still don’t know what I’m talking about, and I truly feel most of them are hanging around here because they have nowhere else to go.

Me:  I might… just maybe… I might see things like I’ve never seen them before, and I think I’m going to be okay.  But then, BAM! Blindsided! Knocked over in… shock isn’t quite strong enough of a word to describe it, but… confusion is the theme of the day.

As I say “BAM!” I knock over the podium and begin walking back and forth across the stage.  I’m channeling my inner Father Gerald now, and I kind of think some of the crowd is here for it now.

Me:  You’re confused! I get it, trust me. Only now, you know how I felt when I saw the card for this week’s Climax Control.  I admit, I expected something along the lines of Caleb Storms.  A sad little man who is trying so hard to rebound from only winning a title because it was handed to him.  All the way up to Alex Jones, so maybe I could get my rematch for the Roulette Championship.  Or, even a competitor worth the trouble.  Or, let’s say I’ve impressed people enough, then maybe I could go on to face Mark Cross for a round two, to bring that historic Sin City Underground match to life for the SCW fans.  But no.

I shake my head and shrug my shoulders.  I can tell now that the group gathered before me has pieced together exactly who I am, even if they don’t fully know me.  My exposure in SCW has given me something, at least, for better or for worse.

Me:  I get Mac Bane… Not to take anything away from the Internet Champion, but why the fuck am I facing Mac Bane?  Where in the fuck does that make any sense at all?  It’s like they booked everybody and decided they needed one more match, and we were the table scraps left over.  Otherwise, I don’t see a point in this at all.  I mean, in what universe is this logical?

I stop moving back and forth across the stage and stop as people are getting interested, even if they didn’t gather here to hear me talk about my match.

Me:  Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m honored to fight the Internet Champion.  During my time as a star on the rise, I’ve thought long and hard about where I’d like to see myself within the next couple of months, and it certainly is as the Internet Champion.  Hashtag career goals.  And what better way to prove that I’ve moved on to the next level than to beat the Internet Champion?  Newsflash, there isn’t.  And some might say “Well, that’s your explanation right there, Dave!”  First off, don’t ever call me Dave or I’ll fuck you in the butt.  Second, they don’t know that’s my next step.  So I have no issues in fighting the Internet Champion.  As a matter of fact, that made my day.  It’s just a shame that the champion is Mac Bane…

There are a couple of “ooooh’s” from my makeshift audience that let me know I’m on the right path to touching some nerves.  But, they don’t know me well enough to know that this is just child's play.

Me:  Let’s rewind a bit here.  Let’s talk about O’Malley.  This man was a jurassic waste of roster space.  He’s as shit in the ring as he is at being a father.  He’s a student of the great Gabriel Stevens, but somehow finds a way to suck ass.  It doesn’t make sense.  And the social media representation he gives any title he touches makes the company of said title look like absolute shit to be held by such a whiny, bitchy, poor excuse for a human being.  And yet, as I stand here, reliving that “feud”, which should be heard as “the few times I royally kicked his ass and embarrassed him and took a title off of him”... I also find myself wishing I was fighting him instead.

Murmurs escape the lips of the crowd as they seem more confused than before.

Me:  At least… AT LEAST… O’Malley had a reputation.  His idiot brother brought fans to his side, and he put asses in seats.  What does Mac Bane do here in Sin City?  Fail.  He’s a failure as sure as I am standing here before you all, he’s nothing.  Being in a match with him is like advertising that I’m fighting a useless sack of flour.  Sure, professional wrestlers have drawn big fighting inanimate objects, but let’s keep in mind that this one is a human being somehow.  He’s more dry than The Troll’s sex life.  He’s big, yeah, and he smells like manly man, but what else is there?  He’s dicking down the World Bombshell Champion?  Cool, give me something else, because that doesn’t mean a thing to me.

I feel it welling up inside now.  That sneer that lets people know I’m taking things personal, and acting in kind.  I begin pacing again as I deliver it like a sermon given from God himself.

Me:  “He almost won the Blast From the Past 2021 Tournament”.  Almost.  As in he failed.  He’s a failure, and that’s the first bit of solid proof, heathens.  He couldn’t get the job done against Mark Cross.  It’s a big, gaping hole in his armor, his biggest weakness.  Either he wasn’t man enough to take down the half man known as Mark Cross, because he lacks the skill to do so, or… OR… he purposely tanked for his lady friend.  She must be as wild as she looks, or else there is no way that snap trap would be enough for him to tank a match that would give him supreme power here in SCW, where he could have become the World Heavyweight Champion, just like Mark Cross did.  I have to believe that no one is simp enough to give all that away from the kitty.

I throw my free hand up in the air, as if to ask God “Why?”  It just doesn’t make sense, further adding to my own confusion.

Me:  Mac Bane has to be such a sad sack of shit for that to happen.  But then, I question… is it worse to lose to Mark Cross?  That’s a pain I’ve felt before.  It’s humiliating, and yet somehow encouraging.  I lost to him, and I took the next step.  I came to SCW, I won the Roulette Championship in my second match here.  I moved on to bigger and better things.  And Mac Bane very well might have done the same thing.  I would bet money on it if he didn’t feel the need to brag about being part of Carnage Wrestling as one of their champions.  That’s literally the home of literally literal bags of excrement.  Like, human, dog, bull, horse, gorilla shit.  That’s worse than the time Tim Staggs mentioned joining Carnage Wrestling, and everybody shit on him for like a month.  You’re just inviting it, Mac…

Duh!  What is he, an idiot?  Wait, wrong question, because...

Me:  So we’ve established that you’re the human equivalent to a turd.  You simped out your biggest chance at winning “the big one”.  You’re more boring than Lincoln Daniels.  And just as predictable, too.  You somehow made it past O’Malley to win the Internet Championship, and it was considered the biggest upset of Into the Void X.  Against. O’Malley.  Ooooooooh’Mallllllllllleyyyyyy… That was the upset.  The more I talk about you, the more I feel sorry for you.  Genuinely.  Why don’t you just do yourself a favor and not show up on Sunday.  Disappear like you did before the tournament and don’t look back.  Because as much as I feel sorry for you, I won’t lighten up on how I handle business in the ring.  I’ll fuck you like I’m buying you dinner afterwards.  Because, unlike you, I don’t let my personal feelings interfere with how I perform in the ring.  And, bear with me, because I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, and that IS the best case scenario…

People are cheering like I’m paying them to, now.  Some are praising me as if I’m testifying the Truth before them.

Me:  Now, I have to admit something.  I have heard whispers backstage about Mac wanting to face me ever since my father got his gal’s panties in a twist on Twitter.  Apparently, there was hopes of a David Shepherd and Austin James Mercer versus Fenris and Mac Bane petition going on, and Mac was riding that train all the way to Relevenceville.  I know, I know, I should have listened and gotten this ass beating out of the way much sooner, but, priorities.  I guess I had forgotten until just now.  So, it’s some sort of justice really.  Kind of.

I stop pacing and step down from the pulpit, amongst the gathering of heathens before me, and I shake hands as I start to walk down the aisle.

Me:  But, not really.  See, this match is outshadowed by what should be instead of what hasn’t been.  See, the true injustice is the fact that Mac Bane has wanted to fight me, and yet he isn’t going to petition to put his belt on the line.  Evidence exhibit B.  He knows what would happen if his title was on the line.  I’d be the champion, and he’d fade back to obscurity.  He would lose the only thing that people pay attention to him over.  How sad would that be for him?  But, it also proves why he shouldn’t be the champion.  A REAL champion would be a fighting champion.  A REAL champion would be someone who would demand his title be on the line against any and all competition.  A REAL champion wouldn’t hide behind the “non-title”.  He would at least make an attempt to put that shit on the line.  And yet, here he is, being a sack of shit, and avoiding it.  Essentially avoiding me and trying to hide any legitimacy I might have.  And yet… I’ve beaten the last three champions.  And I’d gladly take the fourth most recent one too.

I turn back around and start making my way back down the aisle and toward the pulpit.

Me:  Make no mistake about it.  I’m going to leave my mark.  I’m going to destroy Mac.  I’m going to shrug him off, and I’m going to move on to bigger and more relevant things.  I’m going to remind Mac that he’s nothing more than a stepping stone to what he’s lucky to actually have.  And I’m going to make him regret hoping to ever face me.  As Brother David Shepherd, of Church of the Good Shepherds, I would have been half the battle I am today.  I would have been bound by rules and guidelines.  Now, I’ve got nothing to lose, and everything to gain.  As Brother David of the Church of Heathens, name in the works, I know no limits.  I have no guidelines or boundaries.  For you see, I, too, and a giant bag of shit.  But I’m a bag of shit that gets results.  And I ask everyone in attendance tonight to spread the word.  Come here to congregate amongst your fellow human waste.  Escape judgment, and be free.  As humiliating as it might be for Mac, even he is welcome. After I beat that ass on Sunday, that is.

Mic drop.  I’ve wasted enough time on Mac, and I have nothing else to say with my mouth, only my fists.  The group gathered before me cheers me on, for my message has been heard,  In this wasteland, there is reprieve, but that does not come at no cost.  The price is high.  It is their humanity and their humility.  I sneer as I begin walking toward the door to leave my building.  I turn back and give my congregation one last look of admiration before exiting.

11
Climax Control Archives / The Aftermath
« on: June 04, 2021, 09:42:13 PM »


The Aftermath
Golden Ring Casino, Las Vegas, NV 5/23/2021


Pain.

I’m not sure if that’s the right word to describe it.  I can feel the sting of my father’s arm as I brush past him.  Not that he hit me, but his touch inspires so much resentment, rage, anguish, that every nerve in my arm tingles, burns, and reminds me that he touched me just seconds ago.  Like an electrical current running straight up my arm, into my chest, and then shooting through every inch of my body.  The burn is stronger than anything I’ve felt in the last couple of years.

I see myself tucked in a public bathroom stall, pressed against the door of the stall, and for the life of me, I don’t even remember coming in here.  My breaths are hard and shallow, and my face is dripping wet.  Tears.  Anxiety.  Blood.  Sweat.  And it is so cold that I can’t even manage to feel my face beyond the breeze of air flow against my cheeks.  I look around, becoming aware of my surroundings.  I stare down at the strangely luxurious toilet in front of me, and I fall to my knees.  Some taste comes over my entire mouth, and I begin retching.

Him.  Fenris.  The White Wolf.  Kristjan Blatasarsson.  The bane of my existence at the moment.  I taste him like a toxic poison that floods my mouth, washed away only by the bile, until the bile stops, and then it’s him that I taste once more.  Even though it is only seconds, it feels like I’ll never be able to wash this disgustingly sweet taste out of my mouth.  And I’m dead set on being resentful about it.  Once I get a grip of my stomach, and my heart rate slows just enough, I listen for the silence in the restroom.  I step out of the stall and walk over to the sink.

I can’t even bare to look at myself in the mirror.  I turn on the water and I spit.  Blood.  Bile. Remnants of the day’s breakfast of oatmeal and blueberries.  I wait a second and study it as it goes down the drain, and then I lean down and splash water into my mouth to wash it all away.  I clean my face up, the splashes of cold water burn more than anything until I seem to have washed it away.  I pat my face with paper towels until it is dry.  I can hear the crowd out in the venue, and it brings it all flooding back.  I can’t be here.  I can’t be anywhere.

I am quick when I go to the locker room.  I keep my head down, but all of the eyes are on me.  All of the whispers.  “The kiss” is the topic of the week.  Not the pure hell Fenris and I just put each other through with the most violent non-hardcore match on the show so far.  I just pull my jeans on over my boots and tights.  I half button up my shirt, grab my bag, and I leave.  On my way out of the venue, I quickly buy a GRIME mask to cover my face.  Ironically, it’s red.  I pull it over my face and turn it on, and I just walk.

Around the hotel, which is mostly empty as people are still at the Into the Void X event, I find some piece of mind.  I pace back and forth in the hallway in front of the fountain.  My hands go into my hair as I do so.  My emotions are arbitrary.  Hate.  Love.  Rage. Peace. Sadness. Manic.  So interchangeably that I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.  The pacing continues until I spot Virginia Mae Putnam and my mother coming down the elevator through the glass.  Mother is still in her wheelchair, and Ginny is down to one crutch now, but her face is pained more than I can bare.  I rush through the lobby and out onto the streets before they can even see me.

I’m not even sure why, but I stop and buy a pack of cigarettes for the first time in 6 years.  I walk down the Strip with a cigarette constantly burning between my lips.  Each cloud of smoke exhaled seems to relieve just a small piece of my mental anguish.  All the way until I arrive at the Las Vegas chapter of The Church of the Good Shepherds.  I walk inside after unlocking the chain.  I go straight to the steps to the altar, and I fall upon my knees.  Sobbing, begging, repenting as hard as I can.  If anyone were to be listening in, I guarantee they wouldn’t know what I was saying.  Heck, I barely did.

I look up at our savior on the cross before me, and through the wavering in vision caused by the tears, I see Him clear as day.  He stares back at me, judging me, filling me with even more self hatred.  There is nothing about mercy in that stare.  No forgiveness.  One might say this is because it’s a statue, a piece of wood, painted.  But there was definitely a reaction.  Disappointment isn’t the answer.  Rage.  Hatred.  A desire for pain and anguish, as if I haven’t been feeling enough of that.

The only thing I can think to do is to reach under the stairs and pull out dad’s old kit.  I grab the first thing I can, which happens to be a whip with glass embedded into it.  I clench my eyes closed as I whip it at my own back, feeling the sting of release.  The bloodletting as atonement for my sins.  I go once more.  And again.  And again.  Until I start to feel better, which doesn’t come.  I still see the judgment, the resentment from the Lord before me.  I can almost hear a roar.

”More…. More…. MORE!”

It isn’t divine or angelic.  It is straight up demonic.  I approach the statue, blood dripping down my back and through my ripped shirt.  The horns protruding through the head of my Lord, and fire filling his eyes.  I approach it slowly.  With each step, I’m flooded with a memory.  More pain.  More whippings.  More burnings.  More electrocutions.  The last was the worst, and the demon in this statue knows that.

BZZZZZZZZ!

My eyes whirl around in my head for a moment.  I almost lose my balance.  The blueish white currents dancing around in my eyes, disturbing my vision as I look over at Dax being cattle prodded.  But I catch my balance and I take another step.  His brown eyes, tears welling up in the corners, out of concern for me more than his own pain.  And the tears welling up in mine for the same reason, that only makes the dancing currents more intense.

Through the vision of the past, the anger builds up even more inside of me.  Each forced flashback of the torture that I endured just for being myself builds a barrier.  I growl back at the statue as we are met with a battle of will.  The attempts at reminding me of my own personal hell mount, but so does my resistance.  The same resistance that couldn’t hold up to the lips of Fenris, I am reminded of by the evil within this statue.  I feel it’s wrath radiating,  tearing at my nerves, but I do not stop until I wrap the whip around the neck of this demonized version of my Lord, and I choke it.  I scream at it as I feel the electricity flowing through my head, the flaying of my back, the burning on the flesh of my groin, the shocks of the cattle prods in my ribs.  And it all causes me to do one thing.  I pull on the statue, tugging on it until I can hear the plaster behind it crackling and falling to dust on the floor underneath it.  I only pull harder, and harder yet, until it comes crashing down to the ground.  I light the candelabra one wick at a time before pushing it over on top of the statue.  My memories continue to haunt me, but with the demonic roar escaping from the crucifix, it doesn’t hurt me physically anymore.  Only mentally, leaving me no better off than when I came in.  Perhaps with an arson charge on top of it.

But watching it burn only brings me a little piece of mind.  I was no longer fighting the war of my father.  I was fighting my own war now, and it was completely internal.  Undoing a lot of what was done to me was going to be hard, but it was the only way for me to truly figure it all out.  Being my authentic self was only the first step.  And whatever may come from my burning alive in this building, let it come.

I watch as the flames spread like wildfire, and the demonic roar coming from the statue only serves to bring me to my knees before them.  I feel the warmth consuming me, and it’s not a bad feeling like most would think.  Instead, I bow down before them, a wicked smile spreading across my face.  Is this really me, or has the demon wormed it’s way into my soul? It’s really hard to tell.




Revelations (Part 6)
Church of the Good Shepherds (Las Vegas Chapter); 6/4/2021


The aftermath of my mental breakdown wasn’t as horrible as I had thought it would be.  The statue was charred, yet still whole.  Flames flicked against the walls, leaving their mark, but no structural damage was done.  Burn marks scatter across the floor, but there was some sort of force protecting this place.  Sure, there is still that distinct smell of smoke wafting throughout the place, but we don’t have to close it for very long.  That’s good news to my father, I’d assume.  But part of me wanted to watch this place burn to the ground.

Flashbacks of the fire dance through my head as I look around.  Watching them all around me.  Especially when I look at the floor and see where I was kneeling.  There is a perfect circle of undamaged flooring, surrounded by whipping burn marks.  As if I were being protected.  I think back to seeing the flames come for me, but they can’t touch me.  Only the smoke.  Filling my lungs, causing me to cough, and eventually pass out.  But, before that… how did I get out?  I remember a pair of hands reaching through the flames, dragging me across the floor.  But, when I think back, I can’t see a face, or even a form.  Blinded by the light of the flames, I see nothing but the hands.

I snap back to reality when I look down to see the buckets of paint for the walls, and the sander, buffer, and stains for the floor.  Afterall, this was my domain.  I had my father’s blessing to open this chapter of the church, and I am known to these patrons as Father David, unless in the presence of Father Gerald, out of respect only.  Therefore, my father doesn’t know about this situation, and he does not need to.  I will restore this place on my own.  This is my sin, and this is what I am signalled to do to repent.

I pick up one of the paint cans and I put it on one of the rows of pews.  I pry the top off and I begin to stir it.  Of course, I wanted a camera here for this, so I finally acknowledge that it is rolling.

Me:  Do you know what’s funny?

I wait for a response from the cameraman, but I don’t get one right away.  After some hesitation, he answers.

Cameraman:  Looking around, I don’t see anything funny about this.  I’m sorry for this happening to you.

I shake my head, because this isn’t at all where I was going.  I continue stirring, almost as if channeling my anger through that stick, like churning butter.  Once I’m satisfied, I give the stick a few swats against the bucket.

Me:  Really?  I think the whole thing is funny.  The fact that I was driven insane by one simple action.  The fact that this action served as the only thing people will actually remember about Into the Void.  The kiss that launched a thousand ships.  I never got that expression until just now.  It wasn’t about beauty, or power.  It was about jealousy achieved by those two things, at least I thought.  But now?  On the precipice of what I just found out is an entire month dedicated to such acts, I’ve launched hundreds of Twitterers into a frenzy.  People can’t stop talking about it.  “The Shepherd who was led astray.” they say…

I chuckle.  Of course I chuckle, because it’s ironic.  Something I worked so hard to build just comes tumbling down in a misdirected lashing out of buried emotions, like a zombie reaching out from the grave and grabbing onto Fenris.  I tried to kill it so much that it became undead and primal.

Me:  Isn’t that funny?  Even in the slightest?

Again, the cameraman doesn’t speak.  Only this time, it’s not a delay, it’s flat out ignorant in nature.  I don’t take offense though.  Instead, I pick up a paintbrush and begin to paint.

Me:  Nevertheless, this event has changed the way I look at life.  I’m questioning so many things.  A near death experience will do that to someone.  I’m questioning the rationale of literally everything.  What’s real?  What’s manipulation from demonic forces?  Can love be wicked and evil?  Can hate be pure as snow?  Lies are true, and truths are lies.  Nothing is what it seems anymore.  Am I mad as a hatter?  Am I sane as… well, what exactly is sane anymore?

I dip the brush back into the paint, and I begin stroking across the wall in a nonsensical fashion.  I feel myself getting angry, but my face is smiling.

Me:  “And what is the use of a book,” thought Alice, “without pictures or conversations?” Hmmm… “How funny it’ll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downwards! The antipathies, I think…” Indeed. “Curiouser and curiouser!” this entire thing becomes.

Cameraman:  Are you alright?  What’s going on?

I turned back to the camera, my lips curled into a grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat.  The paintbrush drips onto the floor as I slowly walk closer.

Me: “I'm afraid i can't explain myself sir. because i am not myself you see.”  I’ve gone down the rabbithole, and I can’t find my way back out.  Up is down, and down is up here.  Nothing makes sense, yet everything is sensical.  Blips of my past are becoming part of my present.  In just a few short days, I will have Butterfly Effected my way back to former Internet Champion, Agostino Romano.  What a story that was, and will be.

I turn again, silently, and begin to paint a patch of the wall.  I continue to see the char marks bleeding through the paint, as if I can never escape them.

Me:  I fell victim to Agostino once before.  And I’d bet my bottom dollar that he thinks it will happen again.  He likely sees it like he’s witnessed my moves.  He knows when I will punch, kick, Clothesline, Ray of Light.  And under any other circumstance, I would say that it’s true. And if, by chance, he didn’t see what happened at Into the Void X, and since he has no Twitter presence, nor a peek into my personal life since, I could easily see his logic.

These damned spots won’t go away, so I begin painting harder, as if that will somehow make it better instead of worse.  I bang my head against the wall a few times before resting it there, and turning slightly.

Me:  I’m not going to sit here and say that my opponent is trash.  I do not view myself as trash, so why would I call him such?  He did beat me, fair and square, inside of the ring.  I’m not trying to be a nice guy, but instead a logical one, as much as I can right now.  He beat me, and frankly, it wasn’t hard.  I’m embarrassed by that fact, and I would be regardless of who it was that treated me as such inside of that ring.  I didn’t step up to SCW to have everyone run roughshod over me.  I’ve had the occasional victory over O’Malley, a current champion.  Bill Barnhart, another current champion.  Lincoln Daniels.  I’ve got nothing to say about that one… I’m oh and one with Agostino.  And I’m man enough to admit that.  And in a few short days, it’s very likely that I’ll be oh and two.

I shrug my shoulders as I turn away from the wall.  Paint sticks to my forehead and the side of my face. It is on my shoulder, down part of my upper arm.  I drop the paintbrush and start walking toward the camera, and the cameraman slowly backs away with each forward step that I take.

Me:  But this time, it will not be from a lack of trying.  It won’t be because I held back.  If I lose, I can bow down and accept that defeat.  But, whose to say that I won’t just beat the living fuck out of him, causing a disqualification?  I’m certainly not above doing that right now.  A loss, but a street justice victory.  Win-win.  I’m not myself right now, so one could not blame me for losing my cool.  My entire match against Fenris was fueled by rage.  I got inside of his head, and I played around until I got lost in it.  It turns out I’m really good at cerebral torture.  I wonder where I got that from.

My grin returns, more wicked than ever.  Of course, I am speaking of my father, and the hellfire he has dragged me through over the last 20 something years.  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.  A little chuckle precedes my next words.

Me:  Since evil is kind, and good is unmerciful, I feel comfortable admitting that I like it.  I shudder to think of what I’m truly capable of inside of that ring.  As disgusting as it might seem, I like it.  And if all else fails, at least I showed this new level of brutality inside of the ring.  Finding more creative ways to inflict pain, being more inventive in the process.  It’s truly invigorating to think about.

I dip my fingers into the paint and slowly begin to drag them across the wall.  The camera follows me, even though I really just wish they would stay in place.

Me:  What is not fun to think about is the fact that people think I am distracted.  I’m not distracted at all.  If anything, I’m hyper focused on my in-ring work.  My performance inside of that ring is my distraction from all of the things I’d rather not think about.  Yes, the kiss.  Yes, the impact it has on my standing in The Church of the Good Shepherds.  Yes, the failed engagement.  Yes, literally everything BUT my upcoming match.  I can confidently say that Agostino will be in for a real treat when we come face to face with one another.  All hope of an easy match flies right out of the window.  If he’s going to win, he’s going to have to work at least three times as hard as he did last time, because of the hyper focus.  You’re my distraction, Agostino, but not in a good way, my friend.  Not at all.  So go ahead and tell me that you’re ready for what’s to come.  Tell me about how you are going to beat me.  Tell me how you’re going to get inside of my head, because neither one of us is pretty, but you’re pretty enough to give the Fenris treatment to.  The accent.  The “real dude” look.  I dig it.  I’ve done things only Fenris could dream of with a guy like you, and…

I glare at the camera.  I begin to quiver at the thought of a brief yet intimate interaction with Romano, but my impulses are instantly affected by the conversion therapy, and I begin to shudder in pain.  I hunch over and take a deep breath as I hold myself steady on one of the pews.  I then growl and begin throwing the paint and the stain across the chapel area.  It bursts and splashes everywhere.  I find myself grabbing onto the sides of my head, my eyes clenching closed.  I sink down the wall, and the paint and stain drips down my entire body, but I can’t find it in me to even care about that.  Only the pain radiating through my fucking skull, burning at my brain.  I feel one of the empty paint cans roll against my leg, and I violently kick it away, causing it to splatter the remnants once again.  As my eyes open, I see the cameraman right on me, focusing in.

Me:  I’m FINISHED HERE!!!

I push him away, and that’s where the camera feed ends.  For fuck’s sake, it should have ended much sooner.  I couldn’t even muster up the train of thought to come to an actual conclusion.  Instead, the thought of kissing my opponent was enough to make me go haywire.  But, it could be my key to mental warfare, and to winning this match.  Either way, this is where the story ends, for now. Tune in next time for another edition of “David Shepherd’s Fucked Up Life”.

12
Supercard Archives / Re: FENRIS vs BROTHER DAVID SHEPHERD
« on: May 21, 2021, 04:44:38 PM »


The Origin Story (Part 5)t
Church of the Good Shepherds; 5/9/2019


”We’re finally ready”

Those three words changed so much for me the moment they left my father’s lips.  I looked around to Father Gerald, Mother Mavis, and Sister Esther.  I saw Sister Virginia Mae and Andrew Borg applauding us, waiting for their turn.

And I saw the buxom blonde in the corner, giving Sister Esther her praise.  She looked the most out of place here with her many necklaces and bracelets, like a young girl who just stepped out of a mall, had it not been for her wrestling gear.

Mother Mavis looked the most proud of us all as she applauded for the rest of those deemed ready.  For the first time since the beginning of the church, she smiled, and that smile was real, a glimmer of her former self shining through.

Brother Andrew approached me and patted me on the back, offering his congratulations.

Andrew:   I told you from the beginning that you could do it.  You’re about to make your dreams come true, David.

I thought about it for a moment.  Letting the words truly sink in.  But I just couldn’t shake the sound of insincerity in his voice, and before I knew it was coming, I spoke up.

Me:  Please, spare me the motivational speaker shtick, would you?  I’m not some guy in the audience who knows he will never be worth the dust from the rocks he kicked when his life turned into a bad country song.

Andrew looked at me and smirked.  He shook his head as he walked along to take Esther’s hand, speaking his congratulations to her.  Instead, it is Ginny who approached next, giving me a hug.

Virginia:  I knew you would be among the first wave of us to enter.  You are his son, and his blood runs through your body.  Congratulations.

Me:  Thank you, Sister Virginia Mae.  I can’t lie that I had my doubts.  I mean, Andrew’s skills in submission are bar none the best of any of us.  I’ve fallen to his Rear Naked Choke many of times.

Ginny patted my shoulder and giggled.  I knew this giggle, and at the time, it made me sick to my stomach.  I could’ve told her that her mother was a wretched whore who was choking on Satan’s… ya know… and the reaction would have been the same.  Still, I forced a smile.  Until she spoke again.

Virginia:  The familiarity of the situation lulled you.  You know, having a man with his arms wrapped around you, his legs wrapped around you, behind you.  I imagine it’s comforting until you realize that he’s choking the life out of you.

She ran her hand down my arm, admiring the muscle tone.  Her green eyes dancing across every inch of my bare flesh, she let me know that this was less of an insult, and more of a desire.  But, in the presence of God Himself, she couldn’t leave it as such.

Virginia:  Perhaps one day, bound by the sacred bonds of marriage, I will be able to experience that same feeling, minus the sodomy, of course.

She let those sickening words linger in the air as she walked over to Mother Mavis to congratulate her.  I can’t help but let my eyes rest on the shy girl in the corner, staying to herself.  Until Esther approached and gave me a playful shove.

Esther:  You actually did it, big brother.  You found a way to catch Father’s eye so that he would let you join us on the march.

Me:  Why is everyone so surprised?  I match Father on almost every level, and surpass him on many others.  I could lead this charge if I wanted to.

Esther rolled her eyes and snickered.

Esther:  Yeah, I’m sure.  Look, I was only trying to work you up.  You’re my brother, and I’ve seen you put up with a lot.  You’re the second strongest person I know, and you’re going to do great things.  Just don’t let that one sink her claws into you.

Esther glanced over at Ginny, though I didn’t need the reference to understand who she was talking about.  I nodded my head along with her.

Me:  I’m trying to resist.  Each advance she whispers makes me more and more sick.

Esther leaned in and whispered to me.

Esther:  She’s a homewrecking bitch, and sooner or later, one of us is really going to hurt her.  You’re going to break your heart when you reunite with Dax, and I’m going to break her damn neck.

I looked into her eyes, and the wickedness shining back let me know that she was only along for the spiritual ride out of necessity.  I wanted to drop to my knees and pray for her right then and right there, so that God could reach down and slap some sense into her.  But that last bit of weakness still sat inside of me when it came to my little sister.  All of the horrors we endured growing up, and she did what I was unable to do.  She twisted what Father forced her into, and she turned it into a mask, and a quite convincing one at that.  Her wicked smile faded into a sweet one as she wrapped her arms around our Father, and embraced him tightly.

Esther:  Thank you so much, daddy!  This was the greatest news I could have ever received!

Gerald:  By God’s good grace, we were given an offer of four to start, and what better lineup could I have put together than this one?

Father looked over to me and smiled with pride.  He pulled me into a hug.

Gerald:  Son, I do hope the embrace of another man doesn’t bring on old urges.

Me:  You’re my dad.  Even in the eye of that wretched storm, it wouldn’t have inspired anything.  This isn’t ancient Greece, or Game of Thrones.

He looked at me, not quite understanding the references.  And right there, his true nature showed itself to me for the first time.  He was taunting me, toying with me, in front of everyone.  And in my position, all I could do was pretend to laugh it off, even though the anger was boiling inside of me.  Esther knew it, and she watched with joy and hope that it would boil over.  I did not give her the satisfaction.

Me:  So, what is this place like that we will be wrestling in?  Is it close?

Esther:  I hope not!  I would love to spread His Holy Word beyond Tulsa, and see the world.

Me:  Are there any big names there?  Will be truly be challenged inside of the ring?

Esther:  It better be an Angel Kash company!  There’s like 80 of them that she fights in.  Ohhhhh! I bet it’s EPIC! Please tell me it’s EPIC!  Oooooooh, or One Wrestling Movement!

Father loves this kind of adoration.  He knew what we didn’t, and that power over us was an exciting thing for him.

Gerald:  No, yes, yes, and no.  It’s not entirely too far away.  It’s based in Las Vegas.

Me:  Disgusting!  I can’t believe you would even consider that.

Esther:  I think it will be fun to punish all of the sinners.  The more to punish, the less bored we’re going to get.

Father patted Esther on the head, letting us know that she had the right attitude about it.  Of course I didn’t.  I was somewhere between his greatest joy and his greatest failure.  Always.

Gerald:  That’s right, my little angel.  And it should make you happy that Angel Kash will be present there, along with many other big names for us to crush.

Esther:  I KNEW IT!  OHHHHH! I can’t wait until she tries to buy me out, and then I’m like “Sorry, I don’t serve money.  I serve the Lord.” and then SALVATION SLAM!

Gerald:  Tomorrow, I will fly out to Las Vegas to meet with a couple people to sign the paperwork.  Of course, I’ll have my lawyer look at every detail before I agree to sign.  But then, we will be flying out to Las Vegas weekly to compete for Sin City…

Esther:  WRESTLING!!!  Oh my Heavens, I just knew it!  Ohhhhhh, daddy, I love you so so so much!

Gerald… Underground… Sin City Underground, the developmental brand for Sin City Wrestling.

Me:  That place is for the weak…  Why in God’s name would we ever want to even dip our big toe into that cesspool of forgotten humanity?  It is beneath those who fight there, let alone the Church of the Good Shepherds.  You’re aiming too low, Father.  I...

Gerald:  On the contrary, child.  It allows us to start at the foundation.  It’s a chance to recruit others like us, and when we have the numbers, we can work our way into Sin City Wrestling and truly begin our work.  Of course, I will lead this charge, but I know we are more than capable of doing this.  You just need to have faith.

I knew what he was saying, and on some level, I agreed with him.  But on another level, I did not, and I needed that voice to be heard.

Me:  Who are we going to convert to our side?  Helluva Bottom Carter?  Alex Rush? Kelli Torres?  None of those heathens are capable of ushering in the new wave of sin eradication.  No one there is.  And do you really think that it’s wise for us to wander into Las Vegas, given the level of moral decay and corruption there?  Especially in my state of recovery.

Gerald:  Pardon me for saying, but does wrestling not already pose that risk for you?  You’ve been redeemed, son, and now it’s time for you to prove to us, and most importantly, yourself, that you can do this.  Like I said before, you need to have faith.  Now, if you don’t have faith, then you have a problem and we need to work on that quickly, because there’s a form that needs your signature immediately.  And while Ginny, Andrew, and Skye wait to be finished with their training, we need you at your best.

His words sunk in, and while I was still riddled with doubt, there’s nothing like looking into the eyes of a parent who is telling you that you’re stronger than you believe you are.  I felt weak, anxious, and pretty well unraveled by the idea.  I knew I would spend any time not working out, eating, or sleeping, in a state of constant prayer and vigilance.  I had to live up to the expectations of my father, and I wouldn’t let him down for anything.  I would pray for that level of conviction that my father had.  I would ask our Heavenly Father to give me armor comparable to that of the Archangels to prepare myself for this battle.  I made a promise to myself and God most high, that I would do all of these things once I signed those papers.  And I did.  Day in, day out, until the day we stepped foot into Sin City Underground, all the way until today.  And plans to continue on tomorrow through eternity.




Revelations (Part 4)t
Into The Void X Supercard Kickoff Event; 5/21/2021


It is clear that I had been gaining popularity, from those who enjoy the bad guys, of course.  But, it is helping to raise funds for my mission through this limited meet and greet.  Of course, with the times, there was no shaking of hands.  It is all about fist bumps and lots of hand sanitizer.  I feel the difference in this very moment, that we weren’t quite out of the clear with COVID-19 just yet.  But, I hold on to certain parts that resemble the past.  I am uncharacteristically in a great mood, almost carefree.  It is a cool 65 with a light breeze, but full sun.  The kind of day that I imagine would be in the Garden of Eden should Eve not have forced her sin upon the first of men.  I opted to forgo the shade of an umbrella, instead basking in this glorious day.  Come to think of it, it’s likely the vitamin D talking.

I have pretty well coasted until this very moment.  Like I said, fist bumps, hand sanitizer, and autographs.  I did catch wind that a fan referred to my smile as “oddly effervescent”. And I took it as a compliment, even though it was meant as a mockery of my good mood.  It isn’t until I catch a glimpse of a picture on a t-shirt of a white wolf that my mood changes.  I look up to see a chunky, early twenties, zit faced overzealous fanboy standing in front of me with a signed picture of our promotional picture.  He sneers at me as I look up at him, glaring.

Fanboy:  I was wondering if you could sign the bottom of this picture for me.  Fenris already signed it too big, so you’re gonna hafta find a way to squeeze it in.

Without a word, I take the picture from him and scribble my signature onto it, overlapping with Fenris’ signature.  I slide it back across the table, not dignifying his attitude with any verbal response.  He scoffs as he looks at the picture.

Fanboy:  Great!  Now it’s ruined, you idiot!  You couldn’t even do that one simple task! Not that any of us do, but how the fucking hell do you expect to beat Fenris?  Do you expect divine intervention?

I glare at him longer as he is holding up my line.  But he refuses to move out of the way.  A member of security is paged by Esther, who is standing by, along with Andrey Azarov.  Not booked anywhere on the program, they decided to stand by in case any situations arise.  I hold a hand up as the security approaches.

Fanboy:  What’s wrong?  “White Wolf” got your tongue?  I paid good money to interact with the stars and bombshells of SCW, and I intend to get my money’s worth.

Me:  I assure you, the full service buffet has plenty of greasy, inedible food to fill your disgusting gullet with.  I know walking is an inconvenience you’re not open to dealing with, so for a nominal fee, you can rent a sterilized motor scooter to haul every ounce of that fat ass over to the buffet to get you money’s worth!

The crowd laughs and cheers, because even they know this guy is being obstinate just to get my goat.  More and more of the crowd gather as the fanboy looks completely distraught by my words.

Fanboy:  Fat shaming is so twenty years ago in civilized cities.  But, you wouldn’t know anything about that, you confederate flag waving, Trump supporting, sexist, homophobic elitist!  Why don’t you go grab your sister by the pussy, since you seem to support that kind of shit!

Andrey walks over to the young “man” and gets as close as the security will allow him to.  His eyes indicate a sadistic smile under his mask.

Andrey: Kak naschet togo, chtoby nachat' s togo, chto skhvatil tebya za vaginu, nevynosimyy kusok der'ma? (How about I start by grabbing your vagina, you intolerable piece of literal shit?)  People don’t hate you because of fatness.  They hate bad attitude you are having…

Fanboy:  You’re in America!  You need to speak English you commie bastard!

I can’t help but chuckle at this.

Me:  Ha!  You truly are a Fenris fanatic!  Double standards.  Liberal. Crybaby.  “You’re in America!” Now who sounds like a Trump supporter, big guy?  Here, let me do you a favor…

I pick up a photograph of the promotional banner for my match against Fenris, and I put my face down to it.  I sign my name in the most teeny, tiny way that I can, to where it looks like a couple dots to the naked eye.

Me:  Why don’t you go over to the table where this nastiness is tolerated, and have him re-sign it for you.  And get the ever-loving heck outta here you literal waste of space…

Cool, calm, and collected, the words deceive their meaning due to the tone they are spoken and the faint smile they are delivered with.  And before he has the opportunity to rebut against my wishes, I pull his ragged ten dollar bill out of my jar, and I reach past the plexiglass to shove it right in his mouth.

Me:  Get him out of my sight!

Security obliges as they usher him away, practically kicking and screaming.  Andrey walks to the front of the line and asks for patience while I take a break, even though I don’t think I need one.  Esther hands me a bottle of water and urges me out of my chair silently.  After a few seconds, I oblige and get up to walk behind the curtains.

Esther:  You know, you don’t have to deal with assholes like that, and after what you and dad have done to Fenris over the last few months, you’re going to get way more than that.

I turn to her and the anger is present upon my face.  I just know it with that distinct burning in my cheeks, and the tightness of my jaw.  It takes much extra effort to speak, but the adrenaline helps make it just a bit easier.

Me:  You have no idea what I’ve been going through these last few months to cause this.  What has been going through my mind.  What I’ve held back on.  Any of it! You have no freaking clue!

She looks at me with those green eyes, and maybe because she’s my sister, she can read me like a book.  It’s almost like some kind of witchery or something, because she speaks the truth.

Esther:  You’ve been thinking about Dax again.  He was a special guy, and nobody has gotten to know him the way our family did.  And a lot of what he’s gone through is because of our family.  But he’s a changed man.  Deep down, you know it.  You love the old him, and you think it’s completely wrong.

Me:  Because it is!  It’s explicitly in The Good Book that man shall not lie with another man.

Esther:  Then find at least one more, because it says nothing about a man lying with multiple men.

She hoped to clear my mood with a joke, but it doesn’t work.  It doesn’t even really register with me in my fit of rage.  It slips through one ear and out of the other.  I push my hands through my hair and keep them on the back of my head.

Me:  Every urge that I feel every single day of my life is wrong, and I’m forced to fight them every day, because I believe in father’s cause.  I’m not going to abandon him just because it’s easier that way.  I’m not going to run off and marry someone I don’t even know, who is so against God’s way that it’s not even funny!

Esther takes this verbal lashing.  She doesn’t get mad.  She doesn’t try to make excuses, or to justify what she’d done, despite the very obvious hint that I’m talking about her.  Instead, she puts a hand on my shoulder.

Esther:  Who says it’s wrong?  Dad?  He’s not this pillar of virtue that he tries to make himself out to be.  I love him, and I will respect him, and I will damn sure fight for him.  But don’t you make the mistake of thinking that I agree with everything that he says, because I don’t.  I never really did.  I just didn’t have a choice but to go along with it until Andrey came into my life.  You, mom, dad, and the rest of the church thought it was wrong.  And even for a minute, I thought it was wrong.  But it felt so right, and it still does.  I never really understood how you felt with Dax until my relationship with Andrey grew to what it is now.  And now, my heart hurts for you, brother.  Put aside all the bratty, bitchy stuff, I really am sorry that you lost the love of your life.

If I were a normal person, I would have cried at least a little, because that speech really tugged on the heart strings.  But no, I can’t, and I won’t.  I stuff it all down with anger.

Me:  Dax was a mistake.  He was a dirty bum, sent by God to test me, and I failed.  I failed hard.  And I won’t make that mistake ever again.  You can bet on that, sis.  I wasn’t happy.  I was ignorant.  I was blindly following exactly what the devil wanted while enjoying the sins of the flesh.  And I think you know more about that than anyone else I know.

Again, she takes it.  I’ve been a real jerk to her in the past, but this conversation takes the cake.  And yet, she refuses to try to hurt me back.  The first real conversation we’ve had since she left GRIME Wrestling to rejoin our family in the Good Fight, and I’m seeing that she’s a different person.  Numb.  Godless.  Yet fearless.

Esther:  Deflect the issue all you want, but it doesn’t change the facts.  There’s more to this fury that you’re directing at Fenris.  And I think, deep down, that you know it.

Me:  Bullshit!

Esther:  Look here you little bitch!  You can fool a lot of people, but you can’t fool me David Ezekiel Shepherd!

Me:  You’re delusional! Downright crazy.  I guess that’s what happens with the Russian Meat Injections you’ve been taking over the last year, huh?

She shrugs her shoulders.  She turns and walks away just as we hear footsteps approaching.  She was meant to be my protection, yet someone is approaching me, and she abandons me?  Not like I don’t deserve it, but still.  I turn, ready to fight, but it’s not a fight that is headed for me.

Rocky:  Hello Brother David.  You’ve got quite the line outside, but I was wondering if I might be able to get an interview with you to play over the Sin City Tron set up outside for the All Access Passholders and members of the Sin City Network?

I clench my teeth as I stare at her, because, really?  Right now?  Of all the times.  I have two choices.  One is to run her off.  The other is to seize the opportunity to say what is and has been on my mind for a long time now.  I nod, and Ms. Rocky Mountains calls for the live stream.

Rocky:  Ladies and gentlemen and inbetween.  I am lucky enough to be able to catch a few minutes with Brother David Shepherd, who will be taking on “The White Wolf” Fenris, in just two short days.  Their feud has seen some big surprises, and is one of the most anticipated grudge matches at Into the Void X.  I was wondering if I might get your thoughts on the match?  But let’s start off with the obvious question.  Why Fenris?

It doesn’t take me but a second to start answering this one.

Me:  Have you not watched any of my promotional packages over the last month or so?  I’m not going to give you a boring rehash, but I was raised to answer what is asked of me in a respectful manner, and you haven’t ticked me off yet.  The answer is simple as it gets.  Fenris is everything that me and my family are against.

Rocky:  Let me just say that I’ve kept up with everything you’ve done back to your SCU days.  I am asking for new fans who might not be up-to-date.

I roll my eyes, even though I don’t mean to.  But, I take a deep breath and try to work past the annoyance of the situation.

Me:  Then I’ll say this.  Fenris is every single deadly sin rolled into one.  His pride might be rivaled by many in this business, but it is ever present.  His gluttony goes hand in hand with his pride and his lust, which I’ll get to in a moment.  His sloth is newer, but still very much at the forefront.  He lacks ambition and goals.  He captured the top prize in a matter of months, and he’s become lazy.  Yet, he envies others for being more disciplined than him.  He acts on his rage to cover up the fact that he has nowhere else to go in this company.  He’s a slouch, yet he’s greedy for more accolades.

Rocky:  You can easily say this about anyone on the roster.  There are many accomplished stars and bombshells who find new ways to improve their art and skill to accomplish even more.

I lick at my bottom lip, because she just opened this up for me… like, wide open…

Me:  And Fenris envies them, because he’s not creative enough to go anywhere else.  His arrogance, ahem, pride… made it so that he went right for the top prize.  I’ve been told by many of the recruiters and talent agents that I could have done the same.  But I didn’t want to.  I didn’t even intend on staying in Sin City Wrestling.  But, once I saw my mission was clear, and I already had the Roulette Championship under my belt, I figured I had a clear path to being a rising star instead of a star that burns out as fast as it is visible.

Rocky:  Although I don’t agree, I can see where you are coming from with this.  Now, you said something about his sin of lust.  I think I know where this is going.

I smirk and nod my head.

Me:  And that’s because it’s that obvious.  Fenris makes no bones about it either.  As a matter of fact, he wears his sins like medals of honor.  While his lust might not be the forefront of his “honors”, it is certainly the one that has caught my eye.  Unrelenting, unapologetic.  Those were words I have used to describe it.  But it is more like tasteless, heathenous, and downright disgusting, parading around with every Tom, Dick, and Harry.  Openly defying the Lord with it, along with his religious practices.  He might as well join up with Le Coven so that those two can find the courage to come out as a couple! They can cast hexes and be defilers all they want, and maybe they’ll stop forcing it on us.

Rocky:  I can see that you’re very passionate about this.  Is there any particular reason that his personal life affects you so much?

Me:  What kind of idiotic question is that?!  He openly acts against the very being that I believe in.  Every explicit rule given by God, he repeatedly breaks.  He’s unrelenting!  He’s literally an abomination, and I’ve come to stomp out that fire before it spreads.  And in Sin City, there’s plenty of kindling, so it will spread faster than a Southwestern wildfire!

Rocky:  But, you’re here to compete.  What doesn’t affect you personally should not affect the way you fight.  It creates wonderful drama for television, but this isn’t just TV.  It’s personal.  Why?

I can’t respond to this as fast as I would have liked.  The question angers me because it is such a simple answer.  But… it doesn’t feel that simple for some reason.  I look back to the cameras and I just open my mouth to speak so that it might come to me.

Me:  It does affect me in so many ways.  My mission is that of my Father.  And that of his Eternal Father.  The wisdom Father Gerald preaches is one of justice and redemption.  It may not seem like it, but it’s also about mercy… for those who deserve it.  Don’t you want to live in a world that is akin to the Garden of Eden?  Do you not want to live in eternal glory, where your sins just melt away? That can only happen in the afterlife, and can only happen once your soul has been saved.  I’m here to save souls and usher them into the Eternal Heavenly Light.  That requires repentance and work.

Rocky stares at me, blinking as if I just told her there was a pig on her nose.

Rocky:  So, you’re trying to save Fenris?

Me:  God, no!  I’m trying to end his time here in Sin City.  I’m trying to drive him back to whatever ice cave he crawled out of!  Let him become a Swedish philosopher, or whatever he is.  Let him find a career in singing to those in the icy hell he calls home, sounding like the male Bjork.  Let him do literally anything as long as he’s confined to a wheelchair back in Iceland, I think it is.  He’s beyond redemption.  He just needs to be eradicated from the roster so that the healing might begin.

Rocky:  Well, we’re just about out of time, but…

Me:  I’M NOT FUCKING FINISHED! …

I cover my mouth, having slipped with profanity.  I gulp down the embarrassment and continue.

Me:  I’m not finished yet.  Fenris can wear his sins like badges of honor.  He can revel in his sin.  He can parade around, seducing men or attacking them from behind, since that’s the only position his kind understand.  He can go around doing all of that… for the next two days.  Because come Into the Void X, he will meet his reckoning.

I step closer to the camera so that I am the only thing it focuses on.  I move in even closer so that Fenris can read my lips.

Me:  Fenris.  I hope you’re listening.  I hope you have the volume on your device turned all the way up.  And I hope you’re close enough to the speakers of the Sin City Tron to hear this carefully.  I’m coming for you.  That much is obvious and clear.  I have plans, and you’re not gonna like any of them.  You’re gonna fight.  Heck, you might even beat me.  But that reckoning I spoke of.  It’s not based on me or my ego to need to fulfill it.  That’s simply the mission I’m on, and that mission comes straight from Yahweh, Our Heavenly Father, God of Justice and War.  I’m going Old Testament on you, but it may not be me.  But trust me when I say that sooner or later, God’ll cut you down. See you on Sunday, His day…

And while the camera in front of me cuts off, and Ms Rocky Mountains moves away to set up her next interview, I know I’m still being focused on.  I’ve said all that I need to say.  However, my opinions cut into my line as I see people stepping away, even as I poke my head through the curtains.  Esther pulls my seat out, and I continue doing what I’ve done since this video started, and I sign autographs, take pictures, and give out fist bumps.  Apply hand sanitizer.  Repeat.
[/size]

13
Climax Control Archives / Straight to the Point
« on: May 07, 2021, 06:14:04 PM »


Straight to the Point
Las Vegas, NV; 5/7/2021


“Evil surrounds us in this world.  It hides in every dark shadow in every dark alleyway.  It takes cover behind every leaf of every tree.  It tempts us with it’s false promises of instant gratification.  It lures us in with riches and power beyond our wildest dreams.  Evil is obvious.

“But evil is also cunning.  Evil is present in the light.  It is right in our faces.  It is in our own reflections.  Evil walks freely in the daylight.  It courses through every brick of this church.  It threatens to tear down what we’ve taken years to build in mere seconds.  The temptations are present in this very building.”

We find ourselves surrounded by the delicately built and decorated Las Vegas chapter of The Church of the Good Shepherds.  Everyone is standing to testify to this truth spoken by Father Gerald Shepherd at the helm of this tribe of spiritual warriors.  His wife sits in a wheelchair on one side of the stage.  Virginia Mae Putnam standing with crutches on the other side of the stage.  Brother David stands to his father’s right side, studying the ornamental decoration of the church, seeing it has been finely crafted with gold and stained glass.  He almost finds the sermon to be somewhat of a background music to his search for… who truly knows?

Gerald: That’s right my brothers and my sisters, sons and daughters.  Evil knows no bounds.  And I think we often forget this when we stay in fear of the shadows, and trust all that has been brought to light.  We judge others based on their sins, but it was the Lord who said that we should forgive them of their tresspasses, so they can forgive us of our own.  What truly matters is not the sin, but the person who is sinning.  The person’s ability to recognize that sin, and to ask for forgiveness.  Their passion for strength to overcome those sins.  Is it not said that he who is without sin may cast the first stone?  Please, if you are without sin from birth until this very moment, I beg of you to stand before me right now!

Gerald looks out across the entire congregation.  Shy of a few small children, and others who look as if they are the perfect models of young Christian teens, no one stands up.  Gerald gestures toward the youngest child.

Gerald: Brother Michael, do you not wish for thy neighbor’s latest and greatest technological advancement?  Harold’s iPad?  Renee’s Xbox Series X?

The small voice peeps out a “Yes, Father.”.  Gerald nods his head, and the young blonde child takes a seat next to his mother.  A few other small children sit back down.  He then looks to a young auburn-haired girl in her finest garment for church.

Gerald: Sister Ruthie, do you not go to school and look at the girl with ragged clothes, free of name branding and sullied, and think to yourself that she is beneath you?  Do you not look at the boys with your leg flower attempting to control your thoughts?

The girl snickers and looks almost defiantly at Gerald as she questions “Leg flower?”  Gerald continues to nod his head.  “You yourself are not free of sin Father.  Why do you stand?”  Gerald looks around and he nods his head.  He pulls a chair up from behind him and he takes a seat.  He looks out into the crowd from his seat, which David pulls a seat up next to him, ready to strike down this young girl for speaking out.

Gerald:  You’re right, child.  I am not free of sin.  I have sinned more times than I care to count.  And it shames me.  But I am human enough to admit it, and to take my own advice when brought up.  Thank you for reminding me.  Yet, you have not denied my claim.

The girl looks around and takes a seat, not enjoying the taste of humble pie.  Gerald looks around as everyone in the building is seated, shy of Virginia, who is not able to with the cast around her hip and left leg.

Gerald:  We all sin, and we all expect to be forgiven for these sins, able to act upon His eternal promise to enter His Kingdom.  Why should we not expect the same of our fellow man?  I beg you to tell me differently.

David:  But Father, what should we expect of the unrelenting, unrepentant souls who don’t expect forgiveness because they deny His true existence?

Gerald looks over to his son, the only person who dares to defy his words this evening.

Gerald:  Then we must use force against the infidels.  We are asked to guide these souls into His everlasting Light.  It becomes our responsibility as Shepherds, our birth given name, to shepherd the flock who is lost.

David:  And those who continue to defy, deny, and rub their sins in our faces?  Are we to just stand by and allow it to happen?  Do we turn a blind eye, or do we strike them down with His most Holy vengeance?  Better yet, do not answer, Father.  I will take it from here.

Gerald has no time to argue with his son as David stands up.  He walks to the podium.  There are two candles before him, and as we get closer, we see there are pictures of Fenris and his brother Aron sitting in front of the candles.  David pinches out the flames one by one with his bare fingers.  He looks out as Gerald looks back at him, begging him to stop.

David:  In just two short days, my father and I will go into battle against two, which my father has opted to pray for this evening?  Tell me, when did we start praying for the wickedest of men?  Why do we not honor the likes of Hitler?  Vlad the Impaler?  Atilla the Hun?  Jeffrey Dahmer?  The Pope?  Why should we pander to men who have decided that they are full of sin, and they are, and never will be, sorry for their decisions?  Much like Fenris and Aron, they rely on cowardice and backhanded tactics to get the better of us.  They are unapologetic for their blatant disregard of our Lord, God.  As a matter of fact, I believe that they still pay homage to the old false idols of the Vikings.  Who in God’s good name still does that?

David looks out as Gerald prepares to speak up.  However, David is already on a roll and does not wish to stop.

David:  These men are perfect examples of today’s culture and exactly where it has gone wrong.  I dare not disparage my father’s name, but I will argue that mercy is not the answer.  We should not beg them to see the light.  We should shine it so brightly in their eyes that they go blind from it’s glory!  We should show them the err of their ways, and we should be relentless until we do!  They want this fight, well then, by God, they’ve got it!

Congregation:  AMEN!

David:  They want to defile and “normalize” sin, well then we ought to cut the head off the snake right now before it slithers into the minds of our city, our neighbors, our children, our wives… We reside in the land of the Snake, the City of Sin.  Sunday, upon the Lord’s Day, we will send a message to these snakes.  We will no longer tolerate this!  We are waging a war on wickedness, and it starts by taking its capital city! Starting with Fenris and Aron! Who is with me?!

Congregation:  I am!  I am! I am!

David looks around, having riled up the community that is used to thriving on hatred and anger to reach an end to their means.  He smirks wickedly as he looks over to his father, who looks mixed in his feelings on the matter.  David is so blinded by his own battle cry that it is easy for him to view this as approval from his father.  He waves and walks into the crowd to shake hands as Gerald stays seated, watching it all.

14
Supercard Archives / Re: Brother David Shepherd (c) v Lincoln Daniels - Roulette Championship
« on: January 23, 2021, 07:28:27 PM »


The Origin Story (Pt 4)
Tulsa, OK; May 7th, 2016

As I knelt before him, I looked into his eyes.  To anyone else, the eyes would merely be wooden and empty, but I felt as though I was literally looking into the eyes of Christ himself.  I often found myself in prayer in this fashion, but today, I needed a real heart to heart.  Today, I came to him, bearing my soul, looking for eternal redemption.  And there was no way that my father could find out.

My mind could not stop playing it, over and over again.  The devil had put a false sense of joy into my heart.  I felt butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. I felt dizzy, but in a good way. Warmth flowed through my entire body like a sip of the finest ale.  Serotonin was to blame.  And while this felt as innocent as anything could possible be, it felt so right, but I knew in the recesses of my mind that it was wrong.  I needed His forgiveness like none other, and that was exactly what I was seeking out, for hours, on my knees before Him.

Five months earlier…

I watched as Dax was eyeballing my father from the second he and Andrew Borg entered the ring to spar.  Father was teaching Andrew a few different holds.  Some of the same ones he had taught Mother Mavis and Sister Esther, but he refused to teach me because he thought it might “confuse” me.  There was an almost vacant stare in Dax’s eyes, but upon further inspection, there was oh so much going on in that well of brown and gold. They flashed around as bright as brown eyes could.

I studied him, trying to figure out what was going on.  Ideas of admiration of the skills was the first thought that crossed my mind. And if I didn’t know any better from the body movements and light grunting, and the soft “get ‘ems” he was muttering, I’d think that was it.  But I was getting a different vibe from him than that.  It wasn’t until I noticed the licking of the lips that it hit me.

Dax had a thing for Andrew Borg!  He set down The Good Book on the bench and I walked over to the ring.  I leaned inside to get Father’s attention.  He tapped Andrew’s arm while in the Rear Choke to let him know to let go.  Of course, Andrew had to rub it in for a second, as Father taught him to do.  But then he let go, and Father walked over to me.

Me:  I think it’s important that you and I have a talk right now.

Gerald:  It can’t wait thirty more minutes?

I shook my head and he looked back to Andrew.

Gerald:  Son, please give me a moment. I need to have a heart-to-heart with David.

I looked over at Dax, who had picked up The Good Book to look at it.  That was a good sign, but I still had my own reservations.

Me:  I think Andrew should be part of this as well, Father. Could you please join us?

Andrew slid out of the ring and gave my backside a slap, before realizing that it probably wasn’t the best idea.  The three of us walked away from the ring, and toward the locker room area we had recently raised money to build.  I walked over and turned on the water of one of the three stalls to drown out our conversation.

Me:  I think we have a problem with Brother Dax.  It is a struggle that I know all too well.  I can see it in his eyes, and he needs our help immediately.

Andrew:  He is so strong willed.  He can, and he will overcome this.

Me:  I hope he does in one sense, and not so much in another.  And you should feel the same way.

Gerald:  Son, you’re burning daylight.  Get on with it.

I paused because I knew from personal experience what homosexual tendancies can do to a person, and the price to pay to move on from them.  It isn’t easy.  It’s difficult, and would take so much work to get past.  I almost wished I hadn’t initiated this conversation, but it was for his own good.

Me:  I caught Dax looking at Andrew with a certain look in his eyes.

Andrew:  Maybe he is envious that he is not quite ready for the MMA training.  You two are on the sidelines while the rest of us are practicing it.  Myself and Esther really have a knack for it.

I shook my head.  But then, it struck me.

Me:  And why am I on the sidelines?  Why?

Gerald:  David, this isn’t the time to bring that up.  We’ve been over it a thousand times, and you can’t expect to change my mind about it.

Me:  No!  You’re not listening!  I’m on the sidelines for this part of the training because of the demon on my back.  I think the same demon torments Dax.  I caught him licking his lips while watching Andrew getting put into different holds that might seem compromising if not in a wrestling ring.  I think it’s important that we start conversion therapy with him immediately.

Gerald stops and looked at Andrew.  He then looked at me.  I gave no indications that I was joking or being overly dramatic.  Gerald sighed as he looked out at the obviously straight man sitting on the bench.

Gerald:  He is covered in tattoos.  His beard is far more manly than anything you could grow.  His wrist is so unlimp that I can’t imagine that you read the situation right.  Are you reading into something that’s not actually there, because Dax’s masculinity makes you question yourself.

Andrew:  If you can dream it, you can be it.  I have an entire chapter dedicated to that in my book.  You can be a straight man once you purge the demon out of you fully.

Me:  Guys!  I am as straight as an arrow.  My impure thoughts belong to good Christian women in media.  I’ve listened to every Amy Grant album out there.  I even thought about fixing a car the other day, and I didn’t have to look up a catalytic converter to know what it was.  Meanwhile, I hard Dax whistling to a Lady Gaga song while preparing for a bubble bath.

Andrew and Father looked to one another.  I nodded and had a look that probably appeared far more comical at the time, but I was dead serious.  And in three days time, the truth would rise like our Savior himself.  It was time to approach the situation with delicacy and poise.

Four months, 3 weeks, 5 days earlier…

The electrical sizzle was sick.  There was a smell that came off of him, and it was like burnt hair and frankincense.  It made my stomach hurt just thinking about going through it myself.  The same reel of tape on the projector in front of us.  A rubber tool in Dax’s mouth nearly fell out after the shocks had fatigued him.  Drool moved down his beard in beads, and onto his chest.  His eyes were filled with sadness as he looked around at the three of us, as if silently begging us to stop.  But Father kept going.  A luscious blonde jezebel moved around the screen, teasing the viewer with shimmies and sashays.

Dax simply nodded as he watched the woman move around.  He grunted as he tried to reach up and point to her.  His brain waves were off due to the shock.  His readings were off, and it was probably not safe to continue.  But, Father Gerald felt that Dax’s spirit was stronger than we knew, and that his body could withstand it.  So he continued.  A clean shaven man known in the gay community as a “twink” in a red speedo came into the shot.  His skin was well oiled and tanned, glistening from just having gotten out of the pool.  Dax’s brain waves responded, and he got another shock.  All seemed well until a few seconds after when Father was about to switch the image over.  Dax convulsed again, and he began shaking and making a choking noise on the rubber protector.  It was like he was being shocked again, but there was no voltage being conducted.  I quickly removed the gear and pulled the tongue depressor out of his mouth.  He began foaming as he had a seizure.

I began performing CPR on him immediately.  Chest compressions were in full swing.  The foaming stopped, so I brushed it away and began the breath process.  I was able to stabilize him rather quickly until Father pulled me off of Dax and threw me against a wall.

Gerald:  Don’t you EVER interrupt the process!  This is a very delicate matter, and we nearly had things where we needed them to really make a breakthrough!

Me:  He was going into shock!  He was going to die!

Gerald:  One less faggot to worry about!

He snapped at me and my jaw hung open.  Had my father been trying to kill Dax?  I couldn’t even imagine the thought. I pushed him out of the room and locked the door.  Though he could see through the glass, he couldn’t interfere any longer.  I placed Dax into the recovery position on his side, with an arm to prop his head up as he finished expelling the foamy liquid with a few choking sounds.  I patted his back as I glared at my father.  We shared the same glare with one another for what seemed like years, but was more like 15 minutes.  He walked away, leaving me to help Dax recover.  I had done this to him, and I would never let myself forget that.

1 day earlier…

Dax had, in fact, recovered, as you all know now.  He had come through, and after a few visits to the neurologist, we had concluded that there was some mild brain damage done during the process.  Of course, Dr. Green agreed to the “toaster gone wrong” scenario, and kept it hush hush.  In fact, it had made me feel sad for him.  He truly was a good man, just on the wrong path.  His kindness was unrivaled, and his willingness to please others was all that had really been needed.

Over the months that followed the conditioning, I had seen a more vulnerable side of Dax.  Brain damage be damned, he had picked up quickly on The Good Book.  He made it through the book in weeks, faster than I had.  We studied together a lot, and we did good deeds to make up for our inner demons.  We spent nearly every waking moment together, and he had grown to become my best friend.

We were just finishing up folding the tables up from outside of the local shelter in Tulsa.  It was a beautiful day out, and I couldn’t help but feel refreshed after handing out bagged lunches to the homeless.  I felt like one less thing had been taken off of my shoulders.

Mother Mavis stood near the pick up truck, unlatching the hatch as Dax and I carried the tables over on our backs.  Three at a time.  It was great for a miniature workout.  We made it to the truck, and mom offered to help us lift the tables into the truck.

Dax:  Mother, this isn’t work for you.  It is our cross to bare.

Mavis:  You boys are doing such good work.  Our Heavenly Father smiles upon you both.  But at least take a break and let me get you some lemonade.

Me:  We only want to repent for our sins.  Please, feel free to head back to the church with Ginny and Esther to prepare for our next stop.

There was something there that didn’t quite sit right in her hesitation.  She poured glasses of lemonade anyway.  She handed them to us one at a time, giving us a pat on the back for appreciation of our discipline.

Mavis:  Do not take me as one who will leave before the job is done.  It is my sins that have passed unto you, David.  I’m in just as much need of repenting as you both.

It was true.  Mom had said it time and time again that my condition was a result of her sinful lifestyle prior to finding faith.  She had fallen into habits involving pills and alcohol.  She had been unfaithful to Father while he served in the military.  The list truly went on.  But, I felt there was something more at play here.  However, I conceded, and took a sip of the lemonade.  Dax and I loaded the tables in, and I have to admit that I caught myself staring at the glistening sun reflecting off of his sweaty body.  Thankfully, the look was not returned, and I was able to silently pray the feeling away.

As we tightened the straps in on the tables and coolers in the bed of the truck, we were finished.  However, mom saw the trash strewn about by the filthy heathens who were used to living in trash and grime that they had no respect for the land.  She sighed and pulled out a trash bag.  She began picking things up as Dax and I started over to help.

Mavis:  You boys go on now.  I’m sure Ginny and Esther have made enough sandwiches to help bag by now.  This is the least I could do after you two did most of the work.

Me:  Well, that’s what men do.  It is our duty.  And do you really think this park is safe at 3pm on a Friday?

Dax looked around at the children playing on the swings, and the parents texting… whoever parents text when they’re ignoring their children.  He scratched his head and I saw his point.  I nodded as I slammed the hatch closed.

Me:  You got your phone ready in case there’s trouble?

Mavis:  Gone and git! The Lord’s work needs to be done!

She shooed us away, and we both entered the truck.  I immediately turned on the air as soon as the ignition was switched.  Dax slid his undershirt back on, while I chose not to.  We looked to one another, admiring our work.  I flipped the truck into drive as we began going back to the Church.

Dax:  You know, I really like these good deeds. Think I actually like them better than reading a book inside of the church.  It just makes me feel… bigger than myself.

Me:  And that’s what happens when God smiles upon us for living in his light.  We feel that warm glow all over.

Dax nodded his head.  The sweat had begun to soak his undershirt, and I noticed he was shivering a bit.

Dax:  Not sure it’s warmth I feel right now, bruh.  Think it’s more like an arctic chill…

We both chuckled a bit when I turned down the air.  Dax rolled down a window as his hand hung out of the window, positioned as if it had a cigarette between his fingers.  He mimicked the actions of smoking, and I could tell he missed the habit.

Me:  You know, purifying the body is one small way of getting closer to God.  But, sometimes we do deserve a reward for all the hard work we do.

It was then that we deviated and stopped for a pack of cheap cigarettes.  Truth was that I missed it too.  We knew that we could only do one, and the rest of the pack would have to go into the trash.  We parked around back so that no one from the church would see us smoking.  It made my nerves ease, and that fuzzy feeling flowed through my body as I leaned back into the seat.  Dax did the same.  We then decided that it would be such a shame to waste 18 cigarettes, so we had another, and another… We talked, laughed, shared stories of our past without shame.  He had mentioned his family back in Anaheim, California.  His parents that lacked spine to discipline him, even though that’s what he truly wanted all along.  His sister who was a real nightmare.  The light, and the dark.  Something that resonated completely with me.

I shared a bit of my past as well, but I drew back.  Dax put his hand on me knee and looked me right in the eyes.  I almost couldn’t look back, so I focused on the cross on his right cheekbone.

Dax:  I just told you that I fought bums for money, and you can’t even tell me what has you so wound up about seeing a half naked man?  Were you touched as a kid?  I mean, there’s other reasons to be gay, but…

Me:  I am not gay!

I tensed up and turns to shove Dax back a little.  Dax held his hands up in surrender.  The cigarette burned at the interior, and embers rained down on us.

Me:  I’m not gay.  I had welcomed a demon into my body long ago when I was living a heathenous lifestyle.  I’ve since expelled that demon.

Dax:  Me too.  Me too.  You know I have trouble with words sometimes. I meant to ask how the demon entered your body. I didn’t mean to call you a Sodomite.

I eased some as I began wiping at the burn, and it wasn’t as bad as I had thought.  It was barely noticeable, but that is when Dax threw the pack out of the window.  He began spraying air freshener over himself, and I picked up the pack of gum.  We traded off, sitting in silence for a minute.

Me:  I don’t remember a day where I didn’t like men until after my conversion.  I remember looking at underwear models as a kid.  Sneaking up at midnight to watch cable to try to see things I shouldn’t see.  I just feel like the demon was with me from the womb, thanks to my mother’s sinful lifestyle. But it’s my cross to bare.

Dax put the pack of gum down and put his seatbelt back on.

Dax:  Me too.  I mean, I think I liked girls and stuff, but I never wanted them. I felt more interested in hanging out with the boys and having sleepovers, cuddling up to them.  Nothing more until puberty, but I think I always knew. I just didn’t realize how bad that was.

Me:  It’s not even our fault!  It’s our parent’s fault.  Mine didn’t give a fuck about me until they saw me having adult sleepovers with boys.  Then it was “insert a cornucopia of homophobic name callings here”.  Then, it was shocking my brain until I couldn’t get a boner if I tried!

Dax nodded as if to say “Amen”.  But, that would be sacrilege, so he let that one go.

Me:  I mean, why the fuck do we even bother sometimes?  I say that I don’t like guys, but I just can’t do anything about it with my mother watching over me all the time, and the only thing to look at is Andrew Borg.  And he’s really just kind of an asshole!

Dax laughed at this.

Dax:  He’s a giant gaping asshole, bruhhhh… I just thought I was the only one.

Me:  I don’t even trust him.  I mean, who trusts somebody with a rat tail? Fuck me!

Before I knew what hit me, Dax leaned over and hovered over me.  He stared into my eyes, and there was a daring look hidden in the deep pools of brown and gold.  I couldn’t breathe.  My veins went cold.  He hung over me for a long, drawn out five seconds, before his face changed into one of sadness and shame.

Dax:  I thought that was a request.  I’m… so sorry… I…

And that is when I leaned over to get it out of my head.  I kissed him.  He reciprocated and I started to pull away.  Except that I grabbed his wrist and held it up against the doorframe.  He leaned back and went with it, and our energies were in perfect harmony.  Even as I knew how wrong it was, I didn’t care.  It had been months in the making.  I tried to stop, but there was no stopping what had been started.

And that was why I needed God to forgive me.  I had worked so hard, and had years of being free of that sin, and I ruined it.  I cried, and I begged for forgiveness.  I denied that lie in my heart that said I loved this man.  It felt too good to be true, and that level of sin could not produce a true love.  I actively denied it, so I couldn’t be surprised when Dax had disappeared the next day.  An answered prayer, or most likely, he head me crying and asking to remove those feelings from my heart.  Either way, it was for the best, and while I don’t feel those childlike feelings of freedom and wonderment with Ginny, I know I will once I am bore a son, or even maybe a daughter.  I was better off without him, and my life would soon show just that.






Revelations (Pt 5)
Saxon Hotel - Las Vegas, NV; 1/23/2021

So much was happening, so fast.  I had opened up my own chapter of The Church of the Good Shepherds.  I had established it in the most unlikely of places.  I had won the Roulette Championship.  I had defended it, even.  Yet, I had not been at my best.  I have not been fully present since I won the title.

But, that time was over, because I had someone I was not very familiar with that had become the number one contender to my title.  I had done some research on Lincoln Daniels, who was a fairly new face to Saved City Wrestling.  I had watched some tapes, staying up all night to do so, actually.  But, this morning, there was something more important than talking about a regional wrestler like Lincoln Daniels.

Standing in kiddie pool inside of the Saxon Hotel, I finish blessing the water.  It took a great deal of money to get the Saxon’s to allow this, but God smiled upon us when we were able to pool together the funds.  There weren’t a lot of people here to begin with, but the numbers begin to grow as the sun starts to come up.

Me:  By the power of God, the blood of Christ, and the spirit of the Holy Ghost, I bless this water and deem it fit for the baptism of anyone who wishes to save their eternal souls!

The line of people in their swimsuits begin to line up as I continue to read scripture of baptism.  One by one, for well over an hour, I save nearly 75 souls.  And the cameras bear witness to this miracle.  After the last person, I stop and smile, my suit soaking wet, but I feel refreshed nonetheless.

Me:  There is still time to come down and save your eternal souls.  Anyone who does not feel one hundred percent confident that their eternal souls will be saved for when the rapture is enacted, please come down to the pool area now.

I stop for a second as the water drips off of me.

Me:  That includes my opponent for next week, Lincoln Daniels.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  There’s a lot said for us southern boys and how we walk with God just a little better than the yanks and the west.  If anything, I think you are one who probably already has seen God.  He lives in the south.

I flash my charming smile.

Me:  But, one look at your wife, and I’m going to guess that you probably turned your back on him.  If I’ve learned one thing about tattooed people is that they’re nothing but filthy heathens.  They leach off of your goodness and light.  It isn’t hard to see that it’s probably why you’re doomed right from the start in this booking.

I walk over to the edge of the pool to lean against it slightly.

Me:  The heart lies.  It is easily swayed.  Trust me when I say this.  Your wife is disgusting, and you can do so much better under the light of God upon your return.  That is why I’m inviting you down here to save your soul.

I wave him down and smirk.  I know it’s a long shot, but it’s my duty to try.

Me:  Just imagine the possibilities.  You could be a champion one day.  It’s true.  I’m living proof of that.  God works in mysterious ways, but I think I’ve solved this mystery.  We were meant to meet up.  It was destiny.  You and me will go round and round in the ring.  It’s not gonna be pretty.  I don’t mean to sound like some kind of divination witch or something, but it’s just facts.  I’m going to throw you all around that six sided ring.  I’m going to put you on your back.  I’m going to pin you for the three count.  These aren’t opinions.  They are facts.  No doubt in anyone’s minds.  They see us booked against one another, and they’re going to go to the bathroom, because it’s predestined.

I stop and push off of the side of the pool.  I stand up from my seated position and my entire dress suit rains down upon the kiddie pool.

Me:  They know that I’m going to win.  And no matter whether you accept my offer or not, I will do what I say I’m going to do.  Don’t get me wrong.  You are talented.  You’re a decorated competitor in Georgia and Florida.  I’ve seen your skills.  Like I said, I stayed up all night watching your tapes.  But, you’ve got one huge disadvantage.  And that’s being held back by a heathen.  That’s not being saved, truly.  As my father has done in SCU, and as I have done in opening a new chapter of The Church of the Good Shepherds, I am looking to recruit people with promise.  And that is you.  You have everything needed to be successful in this business, except the right people in your corner, and without God by your side.  That truly makes you no better than your wife, or any of these disgusting pieces of gutter trash that pay to come watch us compete. But unlike a lot of them, there is still a chance.  So I beg you to come down and get saved.  Join me.  Join something bigger than you are already a part of.  This invitation doesn’t go out so easily.  So please, listen to your head, and not your lying heart.

I remove my jacket and send it onto the deck of the pool.  I brush my hair back out of my face as I step out of the pool and onto the landing.

Me:  The mystery is that you are supposed to lose to me so that you can truly see what you lack.  Destiny has written that you must lose to see what you’re missing out on, but what God can restore to your life.  This is your wakeup call, Lincoln!  And I know losing is scary.  I know that losing is humiliating.  But, you find God best when you’ve lost everything, and you’re down on your knees, begging for life to end your miserable existence!

I take a deep breath, because I can feel myself getting intense, a little too intense for someone as fragile as Lincoln to not be threatening.

Me:  And the fact of the matter is that, yes, your life as you know it will end.  You have the chance to shed your less than admirable body to ascend to what YOU truly deserve.  See, after I beat you down to your knees, and look down at you begging me to stop, I will not.  I will continue to beat you down until you are on your back.  And once you are there, I will become victorious.  I will leave with the SCW Roulette Championship.  I will go on to the next challenger.  But, unlike others who have and who will defeat you with a fair amount of ease, I will leave you with something…

I hold up a pocket copy of The Good Book in a plastic bag.  I shake the water off of my hands, and the book itself.  I take it out of the bag and hold it up.

Me:  I will leave you with the cheat sheet to live in glory.  From there, you will try to think about it, with that nagging pain going up your neck from the Ray of Light I will give you, and you will have a choice.  The right one, and the wrong one.  Trust me, I will be waiting.  I look forward to hearing what you have to say about that… next week.  Not in a few hours when this airs on the Sin City Network.  But, I have a feeling that’s asking too much.  Either way, Sunday, January 31st, 2021, the first super card of the year will be where we meet, where it all begins again for you.  Think long and hard about where you go from here, Lincoln.  See you next Sunday, my brother in Christ…

And with that, I leave the blind heathen to think about it.  I let him stare at The Good Book.  I make him face the glory that comes along with the greatest piece of literature ever written.  But then, I let him see my face as we fade out.

15
Climax Control Archives / FWD: To Whom It May Concern/"Hot Stuff" Mark Ward
« on: January 08, 2021, 11:58:33 PM »
[color=redRevelations[/color]

To whom it may concern/”Hot Stuff” Mark Ward,

As I am establishing the Las Vegas chapter of The Church of the Good Shepherds, I would like to take this time to apologize for not gifting you with my words of wisdom face to face. I simply cannot organize charity drives, put together a sermon for Sunday morning, hand out hot meals to the homeless, and all of the other good works that I am responsible for, on top of training to wrestle with Brother Andrew Borg, and work out twice a day, and still invite a camera to film me.  A man has to sleep.

And while I understand that this is not very champion-like, and I do not intend to make a habit out of this, I regret to inform you that I will not be able to record a promotional video by the deadline given.  I do not wish to breach my contract, so I have prepared this manifesto in hopes that I can save myself from having to talk to the jezebels presented before me for interviewing purposes.  And do not get me started on the crossdresser. Her and I have had our wars, and I am not interested in furthering that. Instead, I’d rather focus on saving souls who want to be saved instead of wasting effort on heathens that celebrate their sins, rather than repent them.

Prior to the holiday break, which presented much more work at the Church’s new chapter than I had anticipated, I was given talent that was on my level. At least, on paper. I fought against Stephen Callaway and Kedron Williams, along with Bill Barnhart, and one that most would look at as a stretch for me to even consider calling out, in the form of that whisky swilling, child abandonment spokesperson, O’Malley.  While I did not truly take these talents lightly, I knew that God had meant for me to win those matches and to hold my rightful place on the throne as king of the Roulette Division.

I try not to be a prideful person, but I take my career very seriously. I, well, take pride in my performances. I give it one hundred and ten percent every time I go out to that ring. I roll with the punches, and I sharpen my wit and intellect to be on the lookout for anything I can use to my advantage. I use my mind more than any other muscle in my body. This puts me in a different class from the Bill Barnhart’s, the Stephen Callaway’s, and the Kedron Williams’.  This justifies taking on someone as well known as O’Malley, who has some skill, but a lot of value based on his namesake from all of the work that his deceased wife put into this company, your company.  I was given the opportunity to succeed, twice, and I have not let you down. I am forever grateful for the opportunities you have presented me. I will do everything that I can to come through and prove what a valuable asset I am to your company.

With that said, I also want to thank you for giving me time off over the holidays to do my good works, to begin turning this from “Sin City” to “Saved City”.  If you trademark that, I would like a cut of the profits for the Church of the Good Shepherds Las Vegas chapter. It also gave me a lot of time to think as I tuned out all of the dirty faces of those who crawled out of the sewers, or wherever homeless people stay at that gives them that constant smoker’s cough that never seems to go away, even when they haven’t been able to afford cigarettes since their last meal two weeks ago.  I thought long and hard as I made sure I couldn’t even remember the sad look on their faces when I had to tell them that the meals were reserved for people who looked homeless.  A couple pats of dirt would not fool this guy.  But, while I repeated myself like a broken record, I thought long and hard about many things.

As well as this is a manifesto taking place of my camera time I have failed to give to Saved City Wrestling (I’m starting already), it is also a petition to you, Mr. Ward Jr. I am asking you kindly to please evaluate the methods of booking going forward.  I understand that you are likely only half responsible, and getting black out drunk and letting that Underwood character do whatever he wants seems like the right thing to do, but it is not.  I know from experiences in the past that allowing “some people” to do as they please while you are incoherent leads to a lot of bad choices, and a trip to the clinic for “anal gonorrhea” a few days later. Expel those demons, and come down to the Church sometime. We’ve all been there.

Mind you, I have never been inside of your office, your board meetings, listened in on your Skype or Zoom meetings, but I can tell you that this has been made apparent to all in Saved City.  I am sure that you have more than enough money to buy out your partner and do things in a respectable manner. Besides, certain people should not be in charge of half naked males, greased up, paid to hold onto each other and press bodies together while fighting over large accessories. It isn’t good for their sinful urges.

Moving further on to my point, I am asking this, because not even God can justify the blunder made last week as it pertains to Climax Control this week.  Putting your Roulette Champion up against the man who just lost the World Heavyweight Championship seems like a real mess up.  I am not sure if that was a typo, and perhaps my name got placed next to that of Jack Washington, or if it was a deliberate act to try to embarrass me, but I assure you that it is not good for business.  Refute all you like, but the fact of the matter is that there is no benefit from this match.  Allow me to explain myself:

Jack Washington wins!  Who truly wins here?  Your former champion, is going to face Kris Ryans in a rematch, should you graciously offer him that as it is not guaranteed in any contract clauses we sign upon entry to the company, or upon entering championship matches.  What does that do for him?  He beat some rookie, fresh out of SCU, who “lucked out” by winning the SCW Roulette Championship less than a month ago in his second match. Yes, I hear them talk, and I see them stare at me with envy.  I don’t hold it against them.  It’s hard to stare success in the face and realize that you will never be able to be that guy to walk into the company and win a championship.  Not even Jack Washington.  That’s already come and gone for him. But, what he does have on me is that he was the World Heavyweight Champion up until a few weeks ago. And that’s almost insulting to him to have to face the  person who is looked at as being, not one, but two tiers below him.

He gains nothing from beating me. Literally nothing.  Zip.  As a matter of fact, I hope he beats me, or else this entire company looks like a joke. The structure fails.  The next thing you know, some random person who is the Ghost of SCW Past like Matthew Kennedy comes back and becomes the World Heavyweight Champion.  Holly Wood becomes the first ever Bombshell Champion with a penis.  O’Malley becomes a good father. Blood rains from Heaven.  You get where I’m going with this.  If you can tell me one reason why this match is best for business, I will literally kiss your rump in the middle of the ring as if we just left the “Attitude Era”. But it has to be justifiable.  I am that certain that you can’t.

Now, let’s look at the alternative.

Brother David wins!{/i]  “PRIMETIME” “THE LORD” MATTHEW KENNEDY BECOMES YOUR WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION!!!  Do I need to say anything more?  I shouldn’t have to, but let’s just continue anyway.

I beat your former World Heavyweight Champion.  Everything goes out of whack. Considering I have only been wrestling professionally for less than two years, and came from your “inferior product” of Saved City Underground.  I’ve already made waves by capturing the Roulette Championship.  I have aspirations of gaining the Internet Championship.  Seeing as that just gets handed to people, that shouldn't be hard to earn and hold onto.  Perhaps I will find a suitable partner for the Mixed Tag Team Championships.  Lastly, I would like to win the World Championship.

In due time!

I’m still finding my legs in Saved City.  I’m being served up on a platter to Jack Washington, and that’s fine. The guy needs a win, honestly. It would have to really gnaw at one’s craw to lose to Kristopher Ryans.  Possibly the biggest heathen in Saved City, and the most annoying to boot. You’re not going to live that down because he is a social media kingpin. Jack is in a rut now, and I might actually stand a fair chance against him.  Which is even worse, and doesn’t prove that you care about your talents.  Kick ‘em when their up, kick ‘em when they’re down, much like Drake Green.

But do realize that when I beat Jack Washington, you will be making Ben Jordan, all the way down to Gabriel Stevens, look bad. You are giving me free range in one fell swoop to make Saved City look bad.  All because you gave control over the show to the one who is over there fighting for the women to win as it pertains to filling Blast From the Past slots. Like, who actually cares about that?

Please, boss. Be reasonable. Buy out Underwood, and make this company what it’s always supposed to have been.  A place of passion and glory, like the Eye of the Tiger, if said Tiger were God.

And, boss? Please tke it easy on me. This manifesto will take longer to read than it took to load and watch my last opponent’s promotional video. See you on Sunday.

Sincerely,

Brother David Shepherd

16
Climax Control Archives / Season of Giving
« on: December 18, 2020, 08:50:30 PM »


The Origin Story (Pt 3)
Tulsa, OK; December 26th, 2015

Before the cross, I think of many things. Where I came from. What I’ve been through to get to where I am. Mistakes. Blessings. And through all of it, I am thankful. The scars of my mind, and of my body, all disappear once I’ve knelt before Him, confessing all that’s broken. Each time, I feel like something has been fixed, and little by little, I become the man that I’m supposed to be. So on this day, I came to humble myself before The Lord, after the day of His son’s birth, to reflect, and to ask for the ultimate healing.  My biggest sin, the only thing that is tying me to this earthly plane.

The night before, I spent Christmas with the members of the Church of the Good Shepherds.  Inside of the church, we had my father, mother, sister, and myself. We were joined by Andrew Borg who accompanied my sister to the feast.  Plus, the more than a dozen congregation members who were able to make it to the celebration.  Father had just delivered an amazing sermon not more than fifteen minutes ago.  The intimate lighting of the banquet center is accented by the warm glow of white Christmas lights tastefully lining the room.  Candles adorn the large wooden table, lined with cloth and place settings for everyone who arrived, and who may arrive.

This had truly been the first Christmas where things felt right.  The spirit was alive and flourishing throughout the entire room, and I was living in it. Everything just felt so… perfect.  Mother and Ginny served dinner, and mom rang the dinner bell.  There was a hush around the room as people moved to find a proper seat amongst those they were closest to.  I walked over and took an empty seat at the edge of the table where no one else was seated on either side of me. Seeing the couples, the mothers, fathers, and their grown children, I just felt better to sit off to the side, and not to encroach upon their celebration, and I was in a much better place to not be bothered by it.

I stare down at the empty plate as my dad takes a glass of wine and a silver spoon. He taps the side of it to finish drawing attention to the head of the table.  The smell of honey ham, sweet potatoes, cornbread, greens, and the kind of macaroni and cheese that sticks to your gut just filled my nostrils, and I was once again at peace. With all eyes on him, Father Gerald cleared his throat and started to speak.

Gerald:  Thank you all for joining us this evening. The eve of the birth of our Lord and Savior.  Congregation is so important at this time of year.  We grow in spirit when we gather. But this season brings more power when we remember that Jesus Christ laid down his life to forgive us of all our sins. He died so that we may live. And it is our duty to remember this, and to live according to scripture. We…

Just then, the door flew open and the cool wind blew in fallen leaves and a rain so cold that it can be felt on the other side of the room.  Standing there is a man in wet and tattered clothing.  A scarf that is stained with soot and greyed out.  His knitted cap flew off of his head and across the room when all eyes turned to him.  He apologetically closed the door tightly and looked around at everyone staring, judging him instantly.  His drenched locks dripped down his face and neck as he shivered relentlessly. I got up immediately and found the first thing I could to wrap around him.

Me:  Child, what is your name?

He didn’t speak, but I could tell that he didn’t appreciate being called “Child” by someone who was likely younger than him. But he accepted the blanket and he took a seat near the hearth burning in the corner.  His voice was raspy and dry as he tried to speak up.

Man:  Sorry, sorry. Sorry to interrupt.

Dad looked at him with head tilted to the side. He was studying the man. I brought him a cup of coffee and another blanket.

Gerald:  Son, what brings you to us on this, the evening of the Lord?

The man gulped down the scorching hot coffee like his life depended on it, and it likely did. He placed his cup down, still shivering.  The man tried to muster up the words, but between the embarrassment and the cold, it was truly a struggle.

Man:  Nowhere else to turn. I’ve… lost… everything. When I warm, I can go.

Me:  Nonsense. We are just about to enjoy a Christmas feast, and we have extra place settings. We insist that you join us.

Afterall, that was the spirit of the season.  As a good Christian, that’s what we were supposed to do. Father looked at me as if I had just suggested the sky were green and falling upon us.

Man:  Thank you.

Gerald:  Might I suggest a… warm… shower first?

The man reluctantly nodded. Esther started to stand up, but Father held her back and gave me the nod. I led him from the banquet center, down the hall to the stairs.  In the attic, we had a space set up as living quarters for the wayward. Mostly women with children that had been misplaced due to domestic abuse and overcrowding of shelters.  A trip through the lost and found and I was able to find some clothing fitting for the evening.  I brought them back up to the room as the man finished preparing for his shower.

Man: I can’t turn on the water. Could you help me?

I walked into the room, assuming the wrong thing entirely. He had not been wearing a single stitch of clothing, and my eyes drank in his physique. Tattoos, hair, and a very proud endowment. My eyes quickly turned away as I stumbled over to the shower stall, I fumbled around to crank the water on. It had truthfully been tricky due to old fixtures that needed replaced. He stepped into the shower and I left him to his task. My eyes couldn’t help but watch the dirt and soot drain off of him and toward the drain. But then I realized something. My eyes were not fixated on him, and this felt like a major victory.

I stepped outside to make sure he didn’t need anything else. Within twenty minutes, the man had finished the shower, dried, and was getting dressed. The pants had been slightly big, so I rummaged to find a belt.  He was ready for dinner now, and we returned to the banquet center. Father eyed me suspiciously, but I give him a confident nod, having passed the test he set before me. There was pride and relief on his face when I sat down at the table in my original spot. To my surprise, the man sat down next to me. I could tell he was a bit nervous to be around all of these people.

No one spoke to him, not even me. However, I did help him to fix his plate.  He sat silently as he ate like a starving wild man. This drew in the ire of everyone as they looked at him in disgust. Part of me thought that he knew this, but the other part of me thought that he couldn’t help it. He was skinny as a rail. I found myself caring for this person on a level I had not felt before, ever. I thought that I had found my cause.

Everyone finished dinner before I did, even passing around the bowls for seconds, thirds in the man’s case.  He finally finished, and muffled a burp politely. His humanity spoke to me. His humility made me see so many things that spoke of our Lord and Savior. He even had a look that reminded me of him, and the little I knew of him, he seemed much like our very own second coming. But, I found myself straying in thought too much.

Dinner had concluded, and the choir sang Christmas carols.  Dessert was served. We concluded with another prayer, and at 11:30pm, we had concluded to all be with our families.  Throughout this whole time, the man sat next to me, following me almost like a scared puppy who only trusted me.  I felt this so much so that when we had our own family prayer at midnight, celebrating the host, he celebrated with us. Father hadn’t taken much time to get to know the man, and he seemed to not have much trust.  And that lack of trust apparently also spilled over to me. He pulled me to the side, away from the man.

Gerald: There is a lot of valuables here, son. This vagrant might try to hock some of it to make drug money. He seems the kind.

Me:  Is this not a sign from God Himself? A man shows up, void of anything, cold, alone, in need more than anyone I’ve ever seen, and on Christmas Eve no less? It seems like we should care for him instead of judging him.

Father snorted at the idea. He shook his head as he glared at the man, who was talking to Esther and Andrew, starting to warm up to them.

Gerald:  Fine. But, if anything goes missing, I will hold you personally responsible. I want you to stay with him and heal him from the inside out with scripture. These Bohemians need it more than ever. And keep your temptations out of it.

Me: I have seen him unclothed, and it did nothing for me. I am truly healed.

Gerald: Then let this be the test. Because I feel that if you were truly healed, you would have asked one of the Winthorp sisters to accompany you instead of sitting off to the side like a pouting child.

But, before I can say another word, Father joined up with the family and they soon left to go home. This left me with the man who looked as if he were going to pass out into a food coma.  I helped him to the bed, put down fresh linens, and offered a pair of pajamas, but apparently the boxer shorts were all that was required. I left him to dress, and then returned to the room with The Good Book. I read scripture until the sun rose in the eastern sky, and we fell asleep, he in bed, and I in the chair next to it.

I reflected upon this as I stared up at the cross, and it became apparent. This is exactly what I was meant to do. And next to me, he was knelt before the cross, his head bowed as he sought out the healing. I had finished, and I felt rejuvenated entirely on the birthday of the Lord. I stood up and walked toward the door, and the man stretched as he got up. He continued to stare at the cross for a minute, and I couldn’t help but call for him, because there was plenty of time for reflection after Father’s sermon.

Me:  Dax?  Are you coming?

The bearded man slowly turned away from the cross and looked at me.  His hair pulled back into a ponytail, his face tattoo staring us right in our faces as the realization of who this man actually is starts to settle in.









Revelations (Pt 3)
Las Vegas, NV; December 18th, 2020

Everyone has a certain feeling about The Church of the Good Shepherds. They think we’re just this collective of holier than thou jerks who think they are better than everyone. And trust me, that’s not far off. But, we’re not entirely bad. I had personally taken up the task of organizing a food and clothing drive back in Tulsa, and had christened the opening of the chapter here in Las Vegas to continue the drive from there.  I was astonished by the amount of donations I was able to gather with Ginny at my side. We had gathered scarves and hats, clothing for all ages and sizes, and enough food to feed over one hundred families.

As we speak, Ginny, Andrew, and myself are passing out clothing to families in need.  The line is formed, going down the street with social distancing.  Respectfully, all are wearing masks provided by Mother Mavis.  We were as welcoming as possible, and I feel truly alive in the Spirit.  Seeing the faces light up as we hand out the holiday meal packages to the families coming through just brings a smile to my face.  Shaking hands as if this were 2018 rather than 2020, but with hand sanitizer.  The Good Shepherds choir is singing carols behind us, and even a Santa from the Salvation Army is walking down the streets. And between handing out masks, mom is handing out hot cocoa. It is everything that I had hoped for.

Coming through the line, I see a familiar face, and I have to roll my eyes. It’s ridiculous given the state of our friendship. Dax Beckett walks by Ginny, who smiles wickedly and hands him a bag. He holds a hand up and shakes his head.  Once it is time, he comes up to me, and there is one wicked stare down between us that seems to last a solid thirty seconds before I break the silence.

Me:  Well, well, well. Look who we have here. Your new heathen friends couldn’t spare anything to help you out?

Dax shakes his head and strokes his beard.  I can tell for a second that he doesn’t want to fight, and that only serves to intrigue me.

Dax:  Look, I know your crew and my crew got beef in the ring. I don’t have anything against you personally.

Me:  Well, the feeling is very much not mutual.

Dax nods his head.

Dax:  I figured. But that doesn’t change the reason I’m here.  I didn’t forget what you and your family did for me. Some of it might’ve been kinda fucked up with the conversion therapy, which obviously didn’t work.

Me:  As is evident by your failed marriage to two men.  Couldn’t even keep one.

I sneer at Dax.  He holds back whatever it is he truly wants to say, and just licks at his bottom lip in an annoyed sort of way.  He gets that dumbfounded look he’s well known for before speaking again.

Dax:  Despite that part, you and your family put clothes on my back when I needed it the most. You guys fed me. You got me back on my feet. And you guys trained me in the ring. You gave me a purpose. And even though it’s not the same purpose that you guys had hoped for, you’ve turned my life around. I couldn’t think of a way to thank you all until now.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a check. Obligatory scoff from me and then I roll my eyes.

Me:  I don’t want your blood money. No amount of money is worth compromising over for everything you’ve done. Forgiveness is off the table, because you are far too gone for that.

Dax:  You mean to tell me that I’m beyond redemption?  Didn’t you teach me that nobody is beyond that? Ever? Or maybe I just read it in a Book somewhere.

Dax winks at me, trying to be playful and argumentative as well. I simply don’t have time for this.

Me:  Take your money elsewhere and let the line continue to move, please.  Or I may have to call the cops.

Dax sets the check down on the table, folded up.  He shakes his head.

Dax:  No need. I will go.  But, I am leaving what I collected from everyone in OTE, which wasn’t easy to do. And I matched the total collection. This isn’t about forgiveness. It’s not about you and me. It’s about these people standing in line, and those who will be standing in line over the next six days, to make sure there’s enough for no child to go hungry or cold. That’s what it’s truly about…

Before I can say anything, Dax walks off.  As the next family shows up, I stop and take a look at the check out of curiosity. And indeed, it is a lot of money. So much that even I nearly fall out of my seat.  I watch as Dax walks over to a black vintage Challenger and gets inside. He takes off as I blindly hand a ham to the people in front of me, and my jaw is very likely hanging open until Father Gerald comes walking up to me.  He gives me a tap on the shoulder.

Gerald:  They’re ready inside.  And they want you.

For a second, I can hear the pride in my father’s voice. No hint of jealousy or resentment.  No, he saves that for when I get up and walk to the door.  The check is still clutched to my chest until I place it in my suit jacket pocket.  A few members from back in Tulsa take off my leather jacket for me, and help straighten out the suit jacket.  Another one hands me The Good Book as the other two rush to open the double doors.  Of course this is much more of an intimate space than in Tulsa, but it looks almost exactly the same.  I walk down the white carpet, pure as snow, until I make it to the pulpit. I take the few steps up, nodding to the altar of lit candles and the blood and body of Christ symbolically displayed and ready to be consumed after the service.

Upon inspection, everything seems in order.  But, I can’t seem to stop myself from thinking about the check. This check was truly a game changer, not just for the drive, but for the church in general. A quarter of a million dollars. Wow. Now, I walk up to the altar and I stand, looking at the crowd gathered. Social distancing isn’t even a factor, as we’re packed to capacity. Everyone wears masks, and they spread out as much as they can, but it’s still not up to code. However, this is not about COVID right now. It’s remembering the purpose of the season. Therefore, I open The Good Book to where it needs to be. I straighten out my jacket, and then I look out into the crowd.

Me:  Good evening, and welcome to the opening of The Church of the Good Shepherds, Las Vegas chapter.  It was brought to my attention that this drive would be incomplete without a special sermon.  On a Friday night?  I’m just as shocked as you, and yet, here we are, and I could not be more thankful.

There is an ovation for me. For the church that I’ve kicked off.  And unlike back home, these people seem like real people. Not uptight, stick-up-their-backside-holes, pious jerks.  Everyday people who need God in their lives.  Most are likely here due to my level of celebrity within wrestling, but that’s all part of the grand design.

Me:  We are in the season of perpetual hope, wonderment, joy, peace, love, and so many other wonderful things. We are kinder to one another. We give.  And that has been proven to me by all of the families who are going home with kits to make a proper holiday meal tonight thanks to the generosity of this community. So please, give yourselves a round of applause. And me, because I organized this.

More clapping. It makes me feel like a rock star, but a Christian one like the John Cooper of Skillet.

Me:  It just warms my heart so much to see.  The collection baskets will begin going around now, and once again at the end of the service. Tithe. Give to a worthy cause; your eternal souls.

As it comes out of my mouth, it sounds fake as heck, but the smile on my face sells it as everyone begins reaching for their wallets for the basket coming around.

Me:  Hope.  It is something that we don’t think about a lot this time of year, and yet it’s everywhere.  Little Bobby Sue wants that new Veggie Tales video so bad she can hardly stand it.  Billy Joe wants that practice pistol to exercise the Second Amendment as Americans.  Mom wants the indulgent spa day that her husband has worked so hard to pay for.  And Dad wants that flat screen TV to watch the Sooners on.  And Stephen Calloway wants the SCW Roulette Championship.

While most would cheer at this idea, my congregation boos loudly at it.  I nod my head to them all, gesturing to them as well.

Me:  Wanton is hope. Selfishness, but hope.  And sometimes it’s attainable.  But, like Stephen Callaway, it may not be. His entire career has proven that. One failed attempt after another, and he’s still chomping at the bit to be something he never will be.  At least, not on my watch.

The boos have turned to cheers now, and I watch as the crowd really gets into it, while still tithing to the collection baskets.

Me:  And while it is the season of giving, I will be damned if I’m going to give the SCW Roulette Championship to him.  There is no way in Heaven or earth that I will do that. I proved it two weeks ago when I won the belt in a Ladder Match, which included Stephen himself. A lot of words were spoken, but the truth of the matter is that, well, none of that mattered. In the end, I walked out with the title, and he walked out with another failed attempt under his belt.  Another chapter in his career with nothing of note to show for it.

I almost feel bad for him at this point. It truly is sad. I shrug my shoulders and continue.

Me: The joy that I will feel as I beat the heathen out of him on Sunday is unrivaled.  For anyone who doubts that a relative rookie is capable of beating a ring veteran, all you need do is rewind about two weeks and watch me beat him, another ring veteran, and the former champion, in one fell swoop. I climbed the stairway to Heaven, and I came back with God’s bounty.  Just as I will walk through fire if I have to. Or crawl through barbed wire. Or whatever maniacal hellscape the Roulette wheel chooses for me.  Stephen Callaway can say the same potentially, but not with the added bonus of carrying the strap back with him.

I realize I have gone off on a tangent, but those in attendance are appreciating it, so a sly smirk comes across my face.

Me:  Inner peace is what is brought to me by the Roulette Championship.  A validation that I’m not just some lucky schmuck who came out of the ladder match as a fluke winner.  When I beat Callaway, I know that the stirring deep within my soul, the nagging question from all of the naysayers will fade away.  And that is something that I’m going to love.  See?  I’m feeling the spirit of the season.  And this can be a lesson for all of you in attendance today. You, too, can enjoy all of the Lord’s bountiful blessings just by confessing your sins, giving up your struggles, fears, and worries to Him.  Anything that you dream can truly be yours.

I stop because this is the part where I need to give credit where credit is due. I give a gesture to the back.

Me:  Andrew Borg, everybody.  Give it up for the man who taught me how to unlock every achievement, and the many more that rest before me.  His best selling book Yes You Can, available for purchase in our all-Christian bookstore, or online at the Sin City Wrestling merchandise shop next to The Good Book itself.  Combine the two together, and you will be turning your dreams into reality.  Even Stephen can.  You know what?  It is the Christmas episode of Climax Control, and in the spirit of giving, I will bring Stephen both books as a showing of good faith.  By the time he gets through them, I’m sure I will have moved on to bigger and better things. And then he can be the Roulette Champion finally. He’s got a better shot than Bill Barnhart afterall.

I shrug my shoulders because no one can argue that fact.

Me:  So if someone like Stephen Callaway can achieve greatness, then surely you can too. It all rests within the Lord.  And your continued support of the Church of the Good Shepherds Las Vegas chapter will ensure that we are there for you to help you along the way.  Now, if you will excuse me, I need to return to the drive.  Any volunteers in the crowd are more than welcomed to join me.  Or, feel free to check out the bookstore for great literature, and be sure to join us for Christmas Eve dinner in the banquet hall. Mother Mavis’ candied yams are life changing.  Amen!

Crowd:  Amen!

I wave as the audience claps. A few members of the choir begin singing “Hallelujah” as I make my exit from the stage.  I shake hands and kiss babies like a politician.  After several minutes of meeting my new congregation, I make my way out of the door and back to the streets to continue what I’m doing before total darkness settles in.

17
Supercard Archives / Re: O'Malley v Brother David
« on: November 19, 2020, 12:36:01 AM »


The Origin Story (Pt 1)
Tulsa, OK; August 27th, 2013

I remember it like it was yesterday.  The moment everything happened.  I was on my knees, looking up at the cross before me, and I felt something stir inside of me.

Wait, let me back up a little bit, because there’s way more to the story that I need to get to.

Two weeks before this moment, I found myself in some dimly lit club I’d never heard of before, meeting up with some friends for drinks.  I know I was only 17, but if you knew my dad back then, you would know that this was nothing new for any of us.  I’m wearing my leather pants, a red and black tank top over a fishnet shirt.  And lots of glow sticks all over my body.  I have a pacifier in my mouth that blinks red, along to the beat of the music.  Oh yeah, and I’m feeling sensations I’ve never felt before.  The sweat of a dozen other people drips down my body as I dance to the music.

My phone is on vibrate, so I don’t hear it when my friend tries to call me.  I feel it, but at this point, it’s hard to tell what I’m actually feeling, and what the drugs are doing to my body.  Jerry and Tom brought me here tonight, but they found their way to some older gentlemen who should not have been wearing leather vests and chaps over tight jeans.  But, you could see exactly how fat their wallets were, so I understood what was going on.  I later found out that they went viral, in more ways than one, via XTube and HPV.

They told me that Jack was going to be there tonight, but he was not.  At first, he was running late, and then he just never texted or called… until I had already decided to numb the pain in other ways.  I was riding the bull when I started to lose control.  I stumbled back against the wall, and my vision started to blur.  I fell down to the floor, feeling overheated.  I tried to ask for water, but everyone just nodded their heads and laughed, because they knew what I had done.  It’s almost funny how ignorance and sin go hand in hand.

But that was not the wake up call.  No, not by a long shot.  What woke me up, I still don’t know exactly.  I just remember waking up in a puddle of my own vomit, next to several used rubbers and empty bottles of Southern Comfort and Jack Daniels.  When I looked over next to me, there was a man who was about my dad’s age, in all of his naked glory, pale skin practically glowing in the morning sunlight.

His face was dripping with vomit too, and I can’t honestly say whose it was.  All I know is that I got up and left, and swore that this secret would go to the grave with me.  I took oaths a lot less serious back then.  Turns out, Harold Lemann died in his sleep, choking on his own vomit.  And without getting into the gory details, I had a bit of a battle with the law.  My DNA was very present, and there was no denying that I was there the moment he died.

Shame filled me, and I almost couldn’t stand to bare the Shepherd name.  And at that time, that really said something, because my whole family was victim to their own personal vices, except little Esther. She hadn’t been screwed up yet, or so we thought.  My family damn near booted me out of our home.  I got called every name in the book, no matter how much I swore I was not one of those fairies.

Turns out, I was.  Was, being the key word.  I was plagued by my own vice, just like my daddy and his liquor and weed, and my momma and her pain pills.  My vice was lust.  Lusting for men.  Just days before the moment I spoke of at the beginning, I found myself on my knees, crying, and begging for God to help me through this.  If this went to trial, I would be tried as an adult.  I was in it deep.  I asked Him to cleanse me of my sins.  I accepted Him as my Lord and Savior.  I was literally down on my knees, willing to throw myself at His mercy.  And why should he listen to me?  A possibly murderous homosexual, deranged thanks to the use of illegal and immoral substances.  Why would I deserve any kind of mercy?

Because I truly meant it.  I asked for forgiveness, and He gave it.  I asked for mercy, and a new lead in the case put someone else there, and they admitted to the whole thing.  Epicac oil in the Jack.  I slept on my side, Harold did not.  I realized at that very moment as I stared up at the cross, that I had truly been saved.  And dad told me all about his conversation with an up and coming author, now known for his famous book, Yes You Can.  He brought me to this old, dusty building, just begging for us to help breathe some life into God’s temple.  And boy did we ever.  More than just a new coat of paint.  Splintered hands from refinishing the cross I’m kneeling before, and the pews.  We put our hearts and our souls into it, even as momma laid up in the attic with Ginny, detoxing from the pain pills.  And once we were ready to open those doors, momma was right as rain.

We put our vices aside to set a good example for Esther.  To be better people ourselves.  To spread the message of God to the masses.  But now I’m getting too ahead of myself.  I’m down on my knees, praying with everything I’ve got, thanking the Lord for his mercy, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.  I turn back to see dad standing there.

Gerald:  You’re doin’ great, son.  Just five more minutes kneeling on that rice, and God will have forgiven you.

Me:  Just five?  I feel like I owe so much more than that, father.

Dad smiled.  He rubbed my shoulder and allowed me to pay my penance for as long as I felt it right.

Gerald:  You’re a good boy, David.  Honestly.  You just got tangled up with the wrong crowd.  People who wanted to see you stoop to their level.  Misery loves company, and in this world, we’re all in good company.  That is, until we reach up and ask for His help.

Me:  Amen.  He has delivered me from the hellfire, by His own divine mercy.  I’m not worthy of His mercy.

And that’s when dad stopped rubbing my shoulder.  He knew I would not get up yet, because three hours kneeling on rice was not nearly long enough to atone.  He knelt down and tilted my head to look at me.

Gerald:  You stop that right now.  Jesus himself muddled through the crowds of sinners, saving them. Don’t you think that he can forgive us our trespasses, son?

Me:  I…

I paused.

Gerald:  He chose me, for whatever reason, to speak through.  He chose you, your momma, Esther, Ginny, and Andrew to spread his message.  He brought us together through trials and tribulations so that we could become strong enough to carry that burden.  As long as you can keep yourself out of the arms of another man, you can handle it.  Long as I can keep the bottle away, I know I can handle it.

I looked up into his eyes and there was no taking “no” for an answer.  I nodded my head because I didn’t even have the words to speak at the time.  Dad got up and left me to it.  And when I saw the literal glow of the glory of the cross, it made all the pain, all the suffering, all too worth it.  I shed a tear.  After a couple more hours in silent prayer, I got up.  The rice was embedded in my knees, and blood trickled from the punctures.  I stumbled through the pain, because it was all too worth it.  I heard a commotion downstairs in the basement of the church, and I made my way downstairs.  And what I saw, I just couldn’t believe.  A wrestling ring.

I was confused. I was excited. I was terrified. I was… happy.  My dad took me under his wing, and he trained me how to fight.  And not the way he had ten years earlier when his only advice was “Kick ’em in the nuggets” or “punch 'em dead center in the nose”.  He had taken much time to teach himself the art of professional wrestling, and he shared all of his tricks with me.  He had mom do the same, and she shared her tricks with Esther and Ginny.  We were one big happy family… until we came to Sin City…





Conflicted Faith
November 15th, 2020; Saxon Hotel - Las Vegas, NV

Why do I always do this to myself?  God has a purpose for me, and it’s so much greater than I can even dream.  So why do I always yearn for the past?  The way things used to be?  It’s good to remember one’s roots, but if you’re not careful, you’ll wind up going into the clay, and you might never get out.

Yet, here I stand, in front of room 2702 of the Saxon Hotel, debating on whether or not I should knock on the door.  I smell that old familiar smell of weed trickling from under the door, and I find myself in silent prayer for Esther.  Never once do I doubt my own faith, but I find myself wondering why Esther wasn’t strong enough to resist temptation.  She was the most pure of us all.

Before I have the chance to knock on the door, a strange man pushes a yellow GRIME mask over his face.  I don’t even get to see his face in time to make out whether I know them or not.  They laugh and step to the side for me to enter.  A firm grab of the buttocks gets my attention before he leaves and closes the door.

Andrey:  Brother!  Welcome to our humble abode.  Please, make self comfortable.

I glare at the man who was responsible for my sister’s fall from grace.  She is curled up in his lap, moaning as she turns to look at me.  A sheepish smile comes over her face.

Esther:  David…! Did you finally see the light?

Me:  I saw the light seven years ago. When I fell to my knees in front of the cross for the first time, and truly believed in what father was saying. When I saw his miracles before my very eyes.

Esther:  Bullshit. I call bullshit. You got lucky, and daddy dearest talked you into believing that it was a sign to not be yourself.  To choke back who you really are.

I find myself getting angry, and as much as I try not to yell, I know that I won’t make it out of this room without shouting at her.

Me:  Who I am is not who I was. I was an unrepentant sinner.  I lived this life that you’re clinging to right now, only I found myself in the company of other men.

Esther:  Too ashamed to be yourself. Look, I’ve tried just about everything once at this point, and I can assure you, I have yet to burst into flames with my soul ripped down to the fiery pits of hell.  You’re buying into a bunch of hogwash, brother.

Andrey:  And who is to say company of others, man or woman, or man and woman, or man and man, or woman and woman, or…

I hold my hand up because I can literally feel my stomach churning as he speaks.  His eyes dancing across my body, and my own sister just letting it happen. It’s enough to make me sick.

Me: I get the picture.  You better be lucky that I don’t walk over there right now and drag your worthless ass off of that couch and teach you a thing or two about fighting, and not just throwing hands.

Andrey:  We can teach each other many things, brother-in-law. Many, many things.  But to teach someone, their minds must be open to learn.  Your father has minds closed all around him.

Esther:  I love it when you talk bad about my dad…

Esther turns over and slides up Andrey’s body.  She wraps her arms around his neck and she begins kissing on him. I’m at a complete loss.  I… I… just don’t know what to do.  I walk over and I pull my sister off of her husband and turn her around to look at me.

Esther:  What the hell, David?

Me:  Exactly!  What the hell is going on here?  The things shared between a man and his wife is meant strictly for bearing children, and strictly for behind closed doors.

Andrey:  Doors are closed. Maybe man and his wife can share you? And we can learn a few things?

Esther:  Andrey!  Gross. This isn’t the 1700’s, nor is it Arkansas. But, boys will be boys, and I gotta take a piss and check my Twitter. I never get on that fucking thing, so I might be a while.

Esther sneers at me. I think part of her knows that I never would.  But another part of her wants to exploit my greatest sin and my greatest vice to punish me for being the favored child of our father.  She disappears into the bathroom, so tactless, and reminding me of our mother before our revelation. I glare over at Andrey as I sit back down on the couch.  He slides a bottle of vodka in my direction, but I ignore it.

Me: I don’t even really know why I’m here.  It wasn’t to break bread with you, heathen.

Andrey shrugs and takes the bottle back.  He unscrews the cap and drinks at it like water.  He slams it down on the table and shakes his head as he screws the cap back on.

Andrey:  I think you know more than you realize, brother.

Me:  I am not your brother.  One day, Esther will see what she is to you, and what you do to her, and she will come back to us.

Andrey:  If being loving husband, full of adventure and excitement, who wants only to see her real self makes me bad person, then slap cuffs on wrists now.

Andrey puts both fists down on the table, glaring at me to handcuff him.  Part of me wonders if it’s a euphemism or if he’s being sincere about loving my sister.

Andrey:  I will not apologize for loving your sister, ever.  To set someone free is most loving thing one can do. To unlock the chains around heart and let run wild is love. Not putting locks and chains around hearts. One thing O’Malley said which is much truth.

Me:  Trying to save someone’s eternal soul is the hardest thing to do.  Love is hard, and it takes discipline.  It’s painful, but it’s for one’s own good.

Andrey smiles as if indulging a child who doesn’t understand what he’s saying.  He reaches across the table to put his hand on top of mine.

Andrey:  If this is how you love, then you are doing love wrong, brother.

I pull my hand away and glare across the table at Andrey.  He looks sad for me.  How dare he look that way at me. I don’t need or want his pity.  I get up from the couch and he gets right up with me.  He steps in front of me before I can do the same to him.  I go to push him, but he grabs onto my wrist and stares with those cold, dead blue eyes.  But, they aren’t actually that dead.  There’s a spark in the back of them, signifying life.  But it’s not enough for me to care.

Me: I love just fine, thank you.  I’m an engaged man, so I must be doing something right.  And if you ever dare to insult my father again, or call me your brother, I will break you in half.

Andrey:  You can try your best, David.  I’ll be waiting for this moment.

Esther:  Are you guys done yet? I forgot no one ever gets on Twitter except Kelli Torres, H.B. Carter, and Dave’s Characters!

Esther peeks from behind the door to see that we’re fully clothed, and she enjoys watching me tense up in anger.  She moves in front of Andrey and wraps her arms around my neck, giving me a peck on the cheek.

Esther: I love you, bro. But you really do need to loosen up.  Just because you replaced random dicks with a giant stick up your ass doesn’t mean eternal salvation. You’ll see that soon enough.

And just like that, without realizing it, I’m outside of the hotel room door.  I don’t know if I walked outside by myself, or if she pushed me, or even worse, if he pushed me.  But, there I stand, cold and alone.  More alone than I’ve felt in quite some time.  And the sinister chill going down my spine just screams… something that I can’t comprehend. And that’s when I feel that itch in the back of my head.  That buzzing of the brain.  The old demon has come back to try to deter me from my path of glory.  What starts as a buzz, a scratch, a whisper, slowly becomes a pure shock, a clawing, and a guttural scream within my head.  Something that I just can’t shake like I always had before. I stood there, having thoughts of what would have happened if I had shoved him down on the couch, punched him in the face, and then leaned down and kissed his lips. A blush floods my cheeks, as my mind takes me deeper and deeper into the sinful and immoral thoughts placed in my head by the serpent himself. The painful pleasure. The sizzling lust. Feeling the blood course through my every vein. I only redden my cheeks more by slapping myself across the face.  I walk down the hallway as I pull my phone from my pocket.  Immediately, I dial Ginny.





A Higher Purpose
November 16th, 2020; Saxon Hotel - Las Vegas, NV

A man does not show weakness by crying. He does not break. He is to be made of stone, and never let anyone see a single emotion besides anger.  That’s what it means to be a man.  So what I’m doing right now is the exact opposite of that. I am lying in my own room at the Saxon Hotel, on the couch, tears rolling down my cheeks. Ginny has my head in her lap, stroking my hair as she just shakes her head.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not blubbering. But, there’s a few tears stained on my cheeks.  I’m going on about everything that happened when I made my visit to Esther’s room.  She babies me, which admittedly feels nice.  She looks down into my eyes, and she wipes a tear away for me.  She smiles, a smile like I’m not used to seeing on her face, ever.  She leans down and kisses my forehead.  She waits for me to explain everything… except for the carnal desires. I’m not that distraught right now to not be able to realize that it’s just a wicked temptation.  But, once I’m done, Ginny continues to brush my hair out of my face, the mess that I am.

Virginia:  Hun, can I be brutally honest with you?

Me:  Definitely. I need to hear this. I am strong enough to take it.

Virginia:  You should never have gone to see your sister.  I’ll spare you my thoughts on that bratty little troll doll, but there is a reason Father Gerald is not pursuing her return to the flock. You have to trust in that.

Me:  You don’t know her the way I do.  We grew up together in a messed up situation.  We looked out for each other the best we could. We’re just as much a part of how things turned out as my mother and father. There would be no Church of the Good Shepherds if not for us

Ginny stops rubbing my head.  She stiffens up and I know this is my time to sit up.  She folds her arms across her chest as she looks off into the distance, pretending I’m not even there.  For the life of me, I can’t figure out what has gotten into her.

Me:  Would you talk to me, please, Ginny?

She turns even more away from me to let me know that she won’t.  I shake my head because I don’t have time for this.  I stand up and I walk over to the only thing that has made sense to me over the last year or so; The Good Book. As I pick it up, Ginny looks back to me with a smile on her face.

Virginia:  That is why there is a Church of the Good Shepherds.  Right there in your hand, hun.  Don’t be such a megalomaniac. Humble yourself to His divine word.  Have your little bout with injustice, take on O’Malley, and return to us.  Your father simply thinks you’re being ridiculous, and I have to agree.

I turn to look at her, because I can’t believe she’s just said that.

Me:  And that’s a problem, Virginia!  I am your future husband, and you should believe in my mission.  You should stand by my side and support me.  Yet, I had to call you, having a mental breakdown to get you to show your support.

Virginia:  Don’t you paraphrase scripture at me, David Michael Shepherd!  You have my full support, but I am also devout to the words in that book, and I have a duty to perform.  So why don’t you be a man and do what needs to be done.  Separate the wheat from the chaff and leave Esther be, ya hear?

Me:  Don’t bark orders at me, and do NOT call my masculinity into question again, EVER! “Ya hear?”

Mocking her with the last part, I turn back away from her.  I need the Word right now, more than I have in ages.  The images continue to flood my head, and there’s nothing else I can think to do to stop them.  Ginny is only making me want to go back to 2102 and tongue wrestle Andrey into submission, and I ffffff-rickin’ hate it!

Virginia:  Then be a man and suck it up, buttercup.  We don’t need no regression, now do we?

I ignore her, because if I say anything else, it will be “Go to hell, but leave my engagement ring by the door.” I can’t afford that kind of stress right now.  I continue reading the word with all of my might, hearing it echo inside of my head.  Ginny waits uncomfortably for me to say something, anything, but I won’t. I can’t.  Finally, she comes up and puts her hand on my chest.

Virginia:  Come on now, baby.  We both got tempers. I am sorry for sayin’ that. I just want to motivate you to do what needs to be done, to listen to reason.  Esther is a lost cause.  SCW is a lost cause. You don’t belong there, and you’ve only gone there to try to prove your worth to your father, which is… insane. He knows your worth.

Me:  Oh?  Did his attitude change since the last time I saw him, in the box seats at Underground a month ago?  Has he suddenly seen that I am more than just a deacon to him, but a true messenger of God?  Ready to carry out His will in any way necessary, including slaying the ego of that contemptuous O’Malley?

Virginia:  Well, no, but…

Me:  But nothing.  We really should re-evaluate things.  My father is content with staying in SCU, but the dream was always to expand to SCW.  The company that has been around for nearly a decade now. The reason any of us have jobs.  We were always meant to come here.

Ginny rubs my arm, but I pull it away. A little more sass enters her voice.

Virginia:  We still are meant to enter SCW… when we’re ready.  Do you honestly think you’re ready?

Me:  I’m not the man who lost the Hardcore Tag Team Championships because of an irrational fear of rhinoceros.  I’ve won my fair share against the roster there.

Virginia:  And you’ve lost your fair share as well.  You are not the champion because you lost to O’Malley, remember?

Like a stinging slap to the face, I clearly remember that loss. I can’t even rebut that.  So, instead, I just continue reading The Good Book, finding my peace there.

Virginia:  You are gonna make one hey of an SCU Underground Champion.  And an even better SCW World Heavyweight Champion.  Some day. When you’re ready.  Your father just wants what is best for you. He doesn’t want you to get embarrassed by overshooting this thing with O’Malley. We kinda already saw how that played out last time.

Me:  My father created me. He lifted me up from the cesspool of sin I was living in. He trained me how to fight.  He built me to be a soldier of the one true God. For him not to believe in me is for him not to believe in himself. Even if I don’t always agree with my father, I do want to make him proud. But it stings that none of you believe in me whatsoever. It makes me feel alone going into this fight with O’Malley.

Ginny nods her head. It’s her turn to sit by quietly while I preach the truth. She just wraps her arms around me and leans her head in.

Virginia:  You’re right. I can’t argue with you there, hun. I just wish you could see that he loves you, and what he’s doing is for you.  He wants to lay down the righteous path for you, so that you can carry the torch when he’s gone. And he doesn’t wanna see you get hurt.

Me:  It’s funny.  I see a fork in the road in front of me.  The one where I hear him tell me what’s right, what’s wrong, and who I’m supposed to be. And then I see two choices. One where I humble myself and trust that he knows what’s best for me, and fall back in line. And one where I rebel against everything he’s taught me, like Esther did.

Virginia:  And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t talk with Esther again. She will tempt you down the wrong path. You are right, you’re on a righteous path, and you see the light ahead of you.  And you see your sister trying to hold up a small lantern in the darkness down the other path.  That’s what I been trying to tell ya, hun. That’s what your father’s been trying to tell ya too.

It makes sense. I cannot deny it.  This is the part where I have to truly say goodbye to Esther.  This time, I don’t let Ginny see me shed a tear for my sister.  She is dead and gone, and all that remains is her seized soul, tormenting me, and only me.  She is truly the walking dead now.  Gone forever. The tear falls onto the page with Psalms 23.





Outrun the Past
November 18th, 2020; Floyd Lamb Park - Las Vegas, NV

The weather is lovely this morning, so I find myself outside, enjoying all of God’s glory.  The cool breeze from the lake along the trail is a great way to clear my mind, and get focused on my upcoming match.  It is time to push the anger and hatred out of my heart, and focus on the task at hand.

I put on my gray sweatsuit before leaving, and a pair of sunglasses, accompanied by my white sneakers for the attire, hoping to blend into the crowd more.  I didn’t really feel like being noticed, because I wanted to get out and get a change of scenery.  My disposable mask clings to my face as I run against the breeze.

A mother and her children go the opposite way on bicycles, laughing and smiling as they, too, enjoy the day.  It brings a smile to my face, under my mask.  I give a nod to a man who jogs behind them, until I notice the markings on his skin.  Something called “Slipknot” with a devil star on his upper arm.  And already, the rage is boiling inside of me.  I clench my fists together as I weave around an elderly man enjoying a morning walk.

I see a homeless man asleep on the park bench.  I go off the path to check on him.  He smells of rotten urine, cigarette butts, and rust.  I reach into the pocket of my jacket and pull out a few bills, and I set them in his pocket.  He jumps up and grabs onto my arm, trying to pull me over, but his attempt is feeble at best.  I pull back and he sputters in his toothless way.

Man:  Tryin’ to get fresh with me, sonny boy?  I don’t do any of that stuff, not for free!

I wretch a little in my mouth.  I pull the bills back out of his pocket and sneer at him.  Ye of so little faith.  Though, I don’t want the money anymore, because it had been infected by his filth, so instead, I tear them up and throw them in the trashcan next to him.  I pull out a bottle of hand sanitizer, and I apply it, letting him see the disgust as he walks over to the can to try to collect the pieces of the twenties I disposed of.

The old me would have called him a jackass, but instead, I just think it as I go back on my jog.  I go around the entire park twice, and the fatigue is setting in.  But the truth is that I can’t give up yet.  I have to work on my speed training.  Of course, a few of the most devout stop me in my tracks and they hold out their copies of The Good Book for me to sign.  One woman even asks for a baptism in the lake, which I am more than happy to oblige.  Once the excitement is over, and the woman leaves anew, I go back to jogging.  Before I know it, I have gone for 4 hours, stopping very little.  Hungry, cold, and tired.  But, I keep going.  I continue to jog faster and faster until it turns into a sprint, and then a full on run.  In the back of my mind, I find myself thinking the same thing.

“I’ve gotta catch’em.  I’ve got to be able to keep up.”

Over, and over.  O’Malley has outrun so much in his life that it is time one of his problems catches up to him.  Before I even know what’s happening, I run from the park.  I run all the way to… I don’t really know where I’m going.  Not until I get there, at least.  There is it, though, glaring me right in the face.  A flowered cross by the side of the highway.  As I reach it, I find myself knelt down right in front of it.  I can’t help but stare those haunting blue gray eyes head on.  That darker than midnight hair, faded only by time and age.

Me:  Gosh damn it!  Why did you have to leave us so soon, Misty?!

I shed a few tears, wiping them away as the wind picks up, blowing my hair all around, and sending a chill through my legs and feet from the wet clothes.  I pull the picture off of the cross as I fall into the cross.  I lean against it as I catch my breath and hold back the flow of the tears.

Me:  You were so young, with so much potential!  Victim of an accident on a rainy, slick highway.  You left behind two children.  Eden Staggs, who is taken care of by her abomination of a father.  And an orphaned Owen O’Malley, taken care of by your family, because his own father couldn’t stand the thought of raising him without you. Or at all.

I shake my head as I bring the picture closer to my face to see it more clearly as it flaps in the wind.

Me:  Spike Staggs is a horrendous human being. We all know that.  But, he has two things your widower does not.  A successful career, and the spine to raise his bastards to adulthood.  He owns his mistakes in life, including you.  He wins top tier championships.  He handles his obligations, to the point that he breaks bones for them, or gets kicked in the testicles for them.  Thinking back, you probably did him a major favor.

I’m smiling, and I know it.  So I force a fake cry as I hold the picture close to my chest, sobbing without tears as I look up at the sky.

Me:  WHYYYYYYYY?!?

And then I pull the picture back out so that I can look at it again.

Me:  But, God has a way of evening the score.  You missed out on a mutual life of sin with Spike, but he got a wife that is responsible for at least seven point eight million sock babies, while you got stuck with… Hmmm…

I hope that she knows who I’m talking to, because I don’t have the heart to say his name out loud right now.  Not during this tender talk.

Me:  … you know… But, you bore a beautiful baby boy into this world, and with the help of a man who is the man of your dreams.  At least I would hope, because why else would you fornicate and marry to cover up the bastardization of your then unborn child?  That’s beyond me, honestly.  But, either way, you and your husband shared the glorious gift of life.  Owen O’Malley.  Such beauty, right?

I nod, because I know she would absolutely agree with me.

Me:  And after just a couple years, it all ended so abruptly and unexpectedly.  Social media was shocked for days, at least for the nerds who pay attention to wrestling Twitter. It was probably trending, right?  It’s not like Delia Darling was a thing at the time… ohhhhh…. Sorry…

I suck air through my teeth, trying to apologize to Misty for being so forgotten and lost in the shuffle. The same way C.S. Lewis was forgotten when JFK was mowed down on the same day.

Me:  Your husband decided he wanted to honor you by training to wrestle. That’s noble, right? I mean, yes, but it would’ve been more noble not to abandon your son with your family while he’s off fornicating with some chick who tried to erase your memory entirely. Or, do I just not truly understand my fellow man? They’re engaged to be wed, did you know? Gosh, I can be such a gossip.

I flash a bit of a smile, but then I return to my heart to heart with Misty O’Malley.

Me:  He ran from your memory instead of honoring it. He ran from your son to pursue his career and his new love interest. He ran from Ben Jordan until he got called out on it. He ran from my father.  He ran from SCU. He just ran.  Sort of the way your car did, from the actual road. Yours is much more tragic, because you didn’t have control… unless you actually meant to do that?

I give her a sideways glance.

Me:  I sure hope not, because that would be a mortal sin, damning your soul to hell for all eternity.  Not wise.  But, at least it would be understandable.  Your career was in the tank. You were with a second string while your first string was off fornicating Mikah, and putting a ring on that.  Delia had the spotlight. Mikah had your man. And so did Delia, I hear.  Everyone but you had him.  He’s like the rich man’s Kristopher Ryans.  So I get why taking the easy way out would be so appealing.  Especially when you realize that you’re trapped by O’Malley.  You’re a victim of his, really. I mean, how quickly did he move on once he was established as a wrestler?  I clung to your name until it’s meaning faded, and then he clung to the GO Gym’s reputation for as long as it would carry him.  He used you as a stepping stone, just like Drake Green did.  Just like Spike did. Just like Delia, Odette, Roxi, and Vixen did. Being used up until there’s nothing left isn’t a good feeling, I’d imagine.

I sigh as I give her a nod.  But then, I shrug my shoulders.

Me:  Well, too bad you killed yourself.  Now you reside in Hell with Satan.  But, you were kind of destined to get there anyway after the whole “Queen of the Damned” thing.  P.S. screw you for leaving us to deal with Ruby. Why couldn’t she have been in the car instead of you?  Or even with you?  Life is so unfair.  Anyway, I hate to cut this short, but I need to get back to training.  I have to keep up with your deadbeat husband.

And just like that, I step back and let the wind take the picture, right into a mud puddle.  I’d help her out of the pit, but it’s too late at this point. I resume running along the side of the highway.






Revelations (Pt 1)
Undisclosed date, time, and location

The room is dark, barren of any sort of light.  The only sound is that of a dripping pipe.  If you could see anything, it would only be the dampness of this underground bunker. I turn on a light in the center of the room once I find the string to pull on.  You can see that the walls are lined with shelves containing anything one would need to survive a nuclear blast, or worse.  Food, water, blankets, pillows, lanterns, batteries of all sizes. Then, in the middle of the room, is a cot that I’m standing next to.  It’s not glamorous, but it is practical.

Me:  Welcome to the end of times. The bunker for those who will not be lucky enough to feel God’s love through the rapture  Me?  I don’t need to worry about surviving, because I already know I will be called to everlasting life.

I shrug, because I know it’s not a popular opinion.  But, it is what I truly believe in my bones.

Me:  Others, who have not repented for their sins and made things right by God, will need to worry.  They will find themselves living in this environment, underground, hiding from the world outside.  That’s a very common thing, isn’t it?  Hiding from stuff.  People do it through sex, drugs, drinking, fitness, mindless wandering through satanic dribble that comes out of Hollywood, or molests our ears through the radio… Oh, and avoidance.

I nod because this one is very important.  I can’t help but let the audience know that by cracking a bit of a smile.  My eyes light up as I point at the camera.

Me:  Hey, speaking of avoidance, I have a match coming up against O’Malley.  You know, the king of avoidance.  The perpetually yellow-bellied, quicker than lightning, faster than a speeding train when it comes to obligations.  Contracts. Children. Honoring his deceased wife.  The list goes on and on.  The man is a real piece of work.

I turn to look at a jar of dehydrated meat, and I can’t help but to be distracted by the fact that this is probably the most disgusting, unnatural thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Me:  This looks very valuable to the dwellers of the underbelly.  I’m going to just leave this right here.

I put the jar back on the shelf and I turn to see all of the equipment made to make life easier after society collapses. As I tinker with it all, I continue.

Me:  People have been asking me a lot of questions lately, like they are just now realizing that I exist.  But the biggest question, and the one that just digs deep into every last nerve of mine is this; “Brother David!  Why did you attack O’Malley?” Shoot, it was even in the preview released to the public.  Do people just not pay attention to anything that doesn’t cause a ding on their phone?  Are people really that fricken vapid? I will give you a little lesson that should go a long way.

I raise up my hand with one finger.

Me:  The Sin City Network is a great thing. That’s probably how you’re watching this promotional video right here. You can watch Climax Control every week. And Super Cards like High Stakes X.  You can access all things Sin City Wrestling.  It’s great, right?  Maybe a bit lewd, but once I get past O’Malley, I’ll help take care of that for y’all.  But, if you just drop down a few categories, you will find this thing called Sin City Underground and GRIME. Equally as lewd and disgusting, but my father, mother, fiancee, and good friend, Andrew Borg are working on that as we speak.

My second finger is now up and my other hand is wrapped around it.  The sarcasm is rolling thick off of my tongue now, even through my attempt to educate.

Me:  Now that I’ve told you where you can find all things SCU and GRIME, how about you take advantage of that money that you could be tithing to the Church of the Good Shepherds, and pay some fucking attention to the sister company, and I wouldn’t have to waste my time explaining why I attacked O’Malley.  I mean, seriously. You don’t even have to watch the show.  Just knowing it exists, and a few highlights would tell you why I went after O’Malley.  Do you even follow his Twitter?  Or are you too busy fawning over the half naked bombshells to pay attention to literally anything?

I catch myself yelling now.  I pinch the bridge of my nose, because I want so badly to hurt somebody right now.  Some sinner, any sinner would do.  But, here I am, all alone with a camera and a bunch of survival gear and supplies.

Me:  Okay, now, since I know how little my word means to you, which should have been obvious enough by the total disregard for His almighty word, I’ll back it up a little bit.  O’Malley used to be the Underground Champion.  Shocking, right?  His time as the champion even overlapped with his abysmal Roulette Championship reign.  Does that ring a bell?  Some of you?  Good.  So, people fought him for the title for three months, where he acted like he couldn’t even be bothered to show up, let alone carry the belt with integrity.  He defended it, and sometimes GRIME caused him to retain by mobbing everybody in the ring at the time.  Then, in God’s very own, well, thought out plan, He destined my father, Father Gerald Shepherd for those who are too worried about giving into their sins and vices to know that, to be the one to take the belt off of O’Malley. Do you follow?

I clap my hands together for the idiots watching this that might, mayyyyybe, understand what’s going on.  For the majority, though, I continue.

Me:  Once O’Malley wasn’t able to just walk around with two titles and not put any work into being a champion, let alone a double champion.  So he made up some tired excuse about focusing on his other title in SCW.  Well, we all saw how that turned out, right?  Right.  So, he never made an effort to come back to SCU, instead focusing on SCW, the “main brand”.  My father seemed to get a good laugh out of this, because he spent a month telling everyone what a coward O’Malley was, and he took it a step further and dropped his SCU contract just as quickly as he dropped custody of his son to his dead wife’s family.  I didn’t find it so comical.

I shake my head.  There is so much more than anything I could ever say inside of my head at this moment.

Me:  I took offense to that. He got to go to SCW to wrestle while my father, and the members of my congregation were delegated to the “basement brand”.  I wasn’t going to stand for it.  And I even said that on Underground.  So I showed up to get O’Malley right where I wanted him.  And it worked.  Because on Sunday, I get to make an example of O’Malley, and show just how far the reach of The Church of the Good Shepherds really goes.  And you can count on that, as God is my witness.

I bring my hands down to my side as I come closer to the camera.

Me:  I’ve said all I want to say about O’Malley, because he doesn’t even deserve that much mention.  He couldn’t be bothered to mention anyone in his time as the SCU Champion, except Ben Jordan.  You know, the man he blindsided with a briefcase and stole the SCU Championship from him, and then couldn’t even own his actions.  That’s how little he is able to commit.  If I were Darcy, I’d be worried about that little fact.  Even that Jezebel deserves better than that, and that says a lot.  But, if God decides to have mercy on her, O’Malley won’t be able to walk out of that ring.  I just might end him altogether, but only if it is God’s will.

I want so badly to leave off the last part, because it is almost more of a guarantee than a request.  But, as a good Christian, I just can’t.

Me:  In closing… “May God have mercy on your soul, because I sure as hell won’t.”

And with that, I turn the camera off, leaving all to look forward to my match with O’Malley on Sunday, November 22nd, 2020, live on the Sin City Network.

18
Supercard Archives / Brother David vs Mz Holly Wood
« on: July 26, 2020, 06:52:48 PM »
 “A wicked person earns deceptive wages, but the one who sows righteousness reaps a sure reward"  - Proverbs 11:18

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We enter the inner chambers of The Good Shepherd’s suite on the Sun Princess cruise liner.  Father Gerald and Mother Mavis are out, preparing a sermon for the arriving guests of the ship.  David has opted to stay behind and gather his thoughts.  This comes across as sitting at a desk with his arms laid out across the top of it and his eyes narrowed as he stares off at something that appears to make him angry.

Ginny walks through the area and throws open the curtains to reveal a view of the decks.  She grunts as she goes over to the desk and sits on it, smoothing out her Sunday best.  She waits for any kind of response from David but she is not given that courtesy so she lets what is on her mind flow out.

Virginia:  Why are you sitting here in the dark, looking like someone done trampled over your spirit?

David doesn’t move. He continues to look forward silently.  Ginny waits and waits for an answer, but one doesn’t come.  She then leans in closer.

Virginia:  Honey? What’s going on with you lately? I can understand staying quiet with your parents, but I’m your future wife and I deserve to know what’s going on with you.  I’m here for you, but you gotta talk to me.

David:  No, I don’t. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone but the man upstairs.

Ginny growls at this but tries to keep herself calm.  She puts her hand on David’s shoulder but he shakes it off and stands up.

Virginia:  David, what in God’s name is going on here? We’re a family and we need to work things out before they get out of control.  It is what God wants, David.

David jumps out of his chair and looks right at Ginny.  He glares silently for a minute and Ginny practically challenges him.

David:  What in Heaven are you talking about?  My father diminishing my accomplishments because he’s upset that he didn’t get the opportunity to enter the Mayhem Survival? Or the opportunity to take the SCU Television Championship from the heathen, Holly Wood?  He’s jealous and he’s taking it out on me.  That’s NOT what God would want for this family.

Virginia:  But-

David’s eyes open up wide as he challenges her, but he doesn’t give the opportunity for her to speak.

David:  “But” nothing!  There’s nothing besides his own pride and greed that is getting in the way of our true mission.  He has his sins.  All of His holiest creations do.  But when I sin, I get lashings. I get told I’m going to hell.  I am humiliated in front of the church.  What happens when he sins?  God is loving!  God is forgiving!  He understands and provides mercy!  What a great fucking God he is suddenly!

Ginny gasps.

Virginia:  David!

David:  That’s my name.  Do not wear it out!

David storms out of the room and out onto the deck.  He seems to be on a mission which he doesn’t even seem to know where that mission will lead.  He comes to a door and stops, knocking without even thinking about it.  He taps his foot, the reality sinking in as he starts to turn away.  However, the door opens and Andrey Azarov of GRIME answers the door.  He grins widely and steps to the side.

Esther:  Babe!  Who is it?

David straightens out his dress shirt and walks into the room.  It’s just as nice as the one he was just in, but with a smoky aura in the room.  He looks around and then to the couch where Esther is seated.  Her hands are wrapped up around the palms, but a cigarette sits between her fingers.  She giggles as she sees David standing there.

David:  Hey, sis.

Esther jumps up from her seat and wraps her arms around David, hugging onto him for a long time.  She finally breaks the hug and steps back, keeping her hands on David’s arms as she looks up at him with a big smile.

Esther:  Did you finally come to your senses about joining GRIME?  I will give you a glowing recommendation, and-

David:  No.  I- I came to check on you.  See how you were doing. I- I missed you, but this was probably a bad idea.

Esther shrugs as she walks back over to the couch.  She sits down and crosses her legs as she flicks her cigarette ashes into the ashtray.  David reluctantly walks over and sits down on the couch.

David:  Please tell me that you’re still praying every night.  You can abandon everything else, but not that.

Esther:  I say “Oh God” multiple times every night thanks to Andrey.  And clearly Vixen took me to church at Into the Void.

Esther waves her hands up so David can see the obvious.  He nods and takes a deep breath, sighing in disappointment.

David:  You made your point. Forget mom and dad.  You have to do what is right for your soul.  You have an eternity of an afterlife to look out for.  Just keep that in mind.

Esther:  Thanks for the advice, Brother.  But instead of worrying about my afterlife, why don’t you focus on what’s right in front of you with Holly Wood and that TV title?  That’s something you actually stand a chance of saving.

David and Esther share a smile of recognition, bonding just like the olden days.  She puts her cigarette out and uncrosses her legs to lean forward.

David:  I already know I will represent SCU’s Television Division much better than a man that dresses as a woman, flaunting his sexuality like a badge of honor.

Esther:  Just like you wish you could do instead of being tethered to that awful, plain, father fucking, slut for Christ.  You can be yourself. I feel like if there truly is a God, then he would want you to do that. And if not, then fuck him.  Live YOUR truth and you might find that stick sliding out of your ass.

David:  I am not gay.

Esther watches as David looks away from her, giving her the exact opposite impression.

David:  I just don’t want to have him rubbing his body all over me, taunting me, and making a mockery of my beliefs.  All while the fans laugh at me and cheer for him.  I try to save his eternal soul, and I’m the bad guy?  That’s backwards.  But also, that’s fine.  When I walk out of Summer X-Treme, because I refuse to acknowledge the other two “X”s, with the Television Championship, then I can stand in his glory.  And Father will be forced to humble himself and acknowledge me as a credible member of The Good Shepherds.

Esther rolls her eyes and tunes out while David makes his speech.  Andrey just watches silently with a smile on his face.  David is ready to continue when Esther stands up and yawns in an exaggerated manner.

Esther:  Well, it’s already- 5pm, wow, I really should get some shut eye.  But you know where I’m at if you are able to open your eyes.

David looks a little shocked.

David:  Early to bed, early to rise to do His work, I suppose.  I will be in touch.

They embrace as Andrey comes up behind and joins a group hug.  David pauses and looks back as Andrey nuzzles in close.

19
Sin City Underground OOC and IC info can be found here / SCU review/Feedback for Blaze Of Glory 2020
« on: April 13, 2020, 08:34:18 PM »
 Favorite Match: Since I can't say all of them I have to say Kelli versus Celeste
Why: That match went the distance and gave the Hotwire's list of SCU top stars legitimacy. Well done!

Favorite Segment: Green and Orange speak
Why: I know a few of the G.R.I.M.E. members identities but I don't know these two. Hearing them speak and after Vixen unmasked I am curious about these two.

Favorite Surprise(If any): Vixen unmasks
Why: I was not around but I did some research and this turns the tables like Erik Staggs said it would. G.R.I.M.E. just went next level.

Highlight of the Night: Vixen unmasked; a rhino is a champion
Why: I don't need no damn explanation. It's in the title question.

Favorite Wrestling Spot of the Night: Shorty drops out of a lockbox
Why: I wanted to say the whole boxing match but that's Combat. I love seeing returns and cameos.

Male Face that stood out the most: Edwin Robert
Why: He stole the pre show.

Male Heel that stood out the most: Andrey Azarov
Why: He tried his best to keep G.R.I.M.E. in the running of the male Combat Division. He failed and in his own natural setting has got to piss him off.

Female Face that stood out the most: Celeste North
Why: She almost seemed heel until that speech at the end. It all came together.

Female Heel that stood out the most: Angel of Filth and Vixen
Why: They put on a great match where we saw two heels drawing cheers from the crowd and put everyone on the edge of their seats.

Most standout Tag Team/Stable: Team GO
Why: They put on a great show with The Three Way which either team could have earned this spot. They put on a great show and it came down to Team GO scored the win.


Best Spot in our match? The Rhino hooking Gerald's tights to stop him from breaking up the hold Alex had on David. I love how you used my segment to blend into the match using his fear of rhinos and horned animals to make Gerald run around hysterically.


What spot would you like your wrestler to be doing more of or less of? I love how he is being used as he is.


Anything you would like to add about the show can be added here. More segments please. Matches were a great read. If you guys need more help with stuff matchwise let me know. I would love to have seen more matches but I understood why.

20
Climax Control Archives / Some thoughts
« on: March 20, 2020, 11:28:56 PM »
 
”Terrors frighten him on every side, and chase him at his heels.”
-Job 18:25


The orange glows bright from the setting sunshine casts an angelic glow around Mother Mavis as she walks down the side of a crystal clear chalk stream.  The blades of grass, while looking more the color of hay during this time of the year, brush up against her blue gown while she goes, alone.  She looks across the stream to see more of the same, but with Reading in the not far enough distance from where she’s at in North Wessex Downs.  She chooses to look away from the sight of the city and she finds a spot to sit just at the edge of the stream.  She kicks off her shoes, and despite the cold temperatures of the water, she rests her feet in it.

Mavis:  Ah, the beauty of the countryside.  I just could not pass up the opportunity to stay out of the hometown that birthed that- thing- Kate Steele.  I apologize.  Your Bombshell Internet Champion.

Mavis uses her fingers to make air quotes on each side of her head as she speaks.  She sweetens her otherwise chilly smile.

Mavis:  Birds of a feather do flock together, they say.  And no, that was not a shot at one of my opponents for this week, unfortunately.  But rather a shot at Kate herself.  She has been keeping rather G.R.I.M.E.y company when it relates to the ring lately.  I can only imagine the scoundrel is hanging around in that city somewhere, and I am liable to…

Mavis covers her mouth though it is clear that the anger is boiling over from the inside out.  She stops herself right where she sits and proper minds her tone.

Mavis:  Well, as a good Christian woman, I just can’t even go into what it is I am liable to do.  God knows your heart and I must abstain from such horrible thoughts toward the man who turned poor Esther against her family.

Mavis pulls out a picture of Esther from her breast pocket.  She looks at it painfully for a moment before she drops it into the stream, allowing the stream to do with it as it pleases.  It carries it away before taking it under.  She tries to look upset by this, but it’s not too hard to see that she is not.

Mavis:  GRIME is like a swarm of mosquitos that, no matter how often you bat them away, they just keep coming back, with bigger and bigger numbers.  Just waiting to suck the life right out of you.  It is mighty unfortunate to say the least.

Mavis curls her lips into a smile that is just as devious as ever.  She then pauses for dramatic effect before exaggerating a gasp.

Mavis:  Why, that reminds me of something.  Something quite relevant.  Sierra Williams.  Quite literally, I just defeated her and that scum sucker, Hitamashii, last week.  Like the pest that she is, after swatting her away, she’s back again.  I still have not forgotten about my taco, Sierra.

Mavis folds her arms over her chest while the swaying grass waves in front of her.  The chill in the air causes her to lock on the hold of herself.  She seems to stare right into the camera.

Mavis:  I realize that you had some surprisingly nice things to say about my husband and myself.  I applaud you for having the courage to say them in such a public forum.  It was very humbling of you, much like your part time job at Taco Bell.

Mavis smirks sweetly through the chill.  Perhaps it is because of the fact that she, herself is cold-hearted and cold natured.

Mavis:  To be fair, I respect your in-ring skills as well, Sierra.  However, you as a person, could use a little work.  You had better make light of the fact that you are simply a second chance participant who was already knocked out in the first round of the tournament.  It’s quite unfair to those of us who are here in the second round by, I don’t know, actually winning.  It has to be a tremendous amount of pressure on you to prove everyone wrong.

Mavis watches the setting sun while is starts to cast an orange glow across her and yet somehow her blue eyes sparkle.

Mavis:  But the blame does not rest solely with you, Sierra.  It rests with SCW as a whole.  The culture of not caring is rampant through Sin City.  The apathetic ones often make me wonder if this is truly the mission The Good Shepherds were meant to be on.  We have had quite an easy time in ruling over SCU.  SCW is an entirely different tale altogether.  How can we expect a good example to be set when our own general manager decides to step aside to allow a second chance participant to take her place?

Mavis is getting heated, but she reaches to her chest and grabs onto her cross pendant to take a deep breath.  She tries to calm herself down but it only goes so far.

Mavis:  One could argue that she’s the general manager and therefore she shouldn’t have to fight at all.  But the fact of the matter is that she signed up and she did not see her obligations through.  Instead of going down fighting, she simply tapped out before the real challenge began.  But I get it.  Going up against one of the Good Shepherds is not desirable because it is simply not something just anyone can successfully do.  Brooke ran scared when she saw the bracket for this week and she decided it was best not to humiliate herself.  It’s actually quite understandable.  But it is still frustrating to know that our general manager is such a coward.  And it makes me feel bad for Sierra.  Perhaps God will have mercy on her this weekend. Because He knows that I will not.

Mavis looks at her watch.

Mavis:  Unfortunately, I am out of time for this evening.  I must reflect quietly in prayer, and I simply do not have ten hours to talk about what is wrong with Teddy Warren.  There is just not enough time left in the world to dissect that one.  Again, I am tempted to forget about the taco out of sheer pity on Sierra for having to team with- *that*.

Mavis shudders at the thought of Teddy Warren.  She waves to the camera and sinks down to her knees, pulling The Good Book out of her pocket, opening it up for reflection.


//OOC I'm very sorry to Aron B, as well as Sierra Williams and Teddy Steele for my lackluster work. I just wasn't feeling the roleplay spirit this week with various things going on. No excuses. I dropped the ball.

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