[Crusader]

 It was a tough opening night into the profession of wrestling for The Modern Day Crusader.  He failed to achieve his mission on a variety of levels.  Not only did he lose his opportunity to compete for the Roulette Championship – he also bypassed the chance to speak some truth on national television.

The great thing about life is that a person is allowed the opportunity to make mistakes.  Mistakes are as common as success – in fact, they are prevalent.  People make mistakes continuously.  It’s as human as lust, ego, and hunger.  

The key to making a mistake is learning.  Pick yourself up, review the mistake, pinpoint what went wrong and try again, this time correcting the error.  Eventually, you will succeed.  This was The Modern Day Crusader’s strategy.  He was determined now, more than ever to succeed at this wrestling stuff.

“I told you we should have snuck some garlic into my gear,” The Modern Day Crusader lamented, stepping out of the covered wagon.  Crusader 1 had camp set up and was busy rationing some dried meat for dinner.

“I can go get you some, sir!” an enthused crusader offered.

“No, that’s okay.  The vampire people call Crimson has already won.  It’s over, for now.  Next time, however, garlic will be necessary.  So, don’t let me forget…we’ve got to have an Italian crusader around here…” The Modern Day Crusader looked around at his fellow crusaders.  None of them appeared to be of Italian descent.

“Crusader 15,” Crusader 1 answered, “he’s Italian, but, unfortunately, he’s back at the Camp of Truth.”

“Terrible oversight,” The Modern Day Crusader responded.  He took a seat in front of the fire and stared into the flames.  â€œThese are dark days, my crusaders.  We must atone for this failure.”

The Crusaders were set to head toward Sydney, the site of SCW’s next Climax Control.  The Modern Day Crusader had been booked for a bounce back opportunity.  He had been booked against a mysterious man named Caleb Storm.  

The journey had already been a long one.  Traveling nearly six hundred miles along the coast of Australia via a covered wagon would wear many an ordinary man down.  It’s a good thing the crusaders weren’t ordinary men.

The Modern Day Crusader gnawed off a piece of jerky, “You remember our side project, don’t you crusaders?”

A bunch of heads nodded.  Their fire was growing with intensity due to the darkening sky.  In the backdrop we saw lights from a city.  It was a city they would dare not venture toward – a city full of corruption.  

Finished with his stick of jerky, The Modern Day Crusader slinked back, into a comfortable position and fell asleep.  

The following day the covered wagon trudged through the woods.  A tumultuous, rocky journey.  Cars whizzed nearby.  Judging by the sound and shaking leaves, brought about by the vehicular speed, it would appear only a few, small trees and bushes separated the crusaders from highly trafficked roads.

A few crusaders would sigh, whimsically upon hearing the cars rush alongside.  They would certainly have made it to Sydney by that point, if they chose a mode of transportation that wasn’t formulated two hundred something years earlier.

Alas, this was the life of a Crusader.  Forsaking the pleasures of modern technology in an effort to keep one’s mind pure, their thoughts free flowing…it prevented their visions from being clouded by trickery and deception.

After several hours of treacherous terrain, the group encountered a welcomed sight.  A few curious animals hopped around in the distance.  Crusader 1 stopped the covered wagon and motioned toward everyone, saying, “Look, over yonder!”

“Yonder,” The Modern Day Crusader uttered, “a word that doesn’t get used near enough.  No doubt a casualty of the media’s heavily perpetuated propaganda!”  The other crusaders nodded along.

“We can discuss vernacular oppression during the next two days of travel.  For now, how about we undertake our kangaroo venture?” Crusader 1 asked, hoping to keep the group on task.

“Great idea, Crusader 1!  Fellow crusaders, let’s pounce on these bow legged, scientifically altered creatures and get to the bottom of the kangaroo tracking device!”

“Yes, Crusader!” they all recanted in response.  

One by one, each crusader filtered out from under the covered wagon.  They spread out, dispersing a wide net around the kangaroos.  Soon, a giant circle of crusaders began to close in.  The closer they got, the smaller the holes within the encasement.  The kangaroos were none the wiser.  These were brave, if not foolish kangaroos.  They lived, ate, and copulated near a busy roadway.  Quite simply, these kangaroos did not give a fuck.

The Modern Day Crusader mimed something with his hands.  It was an amalgamation of something resembling an elaborate baseball signal and involuntary spasms.  The fellow crusaders nodded and thrust forward, pouncing on the kangaroos.  

The kangaroos freaked.  They hopped about, whipped their tails around and kicked their giant legs.  Several crusaders were thrown around like little children.  Crusader 1 shouted instructions while standing next to the Modern Day Crusader.

“Grab them by the neck!”

His instructions were falling by the wayside.  In the heat of battle, these crusaders were losing focus of their practiced technique.  The kangaroos were proving to be much stronger than anticipated.  The feral nature of their involuntary reactions surpassed the practiced, methodical attack of the average man.

One by one, the kangaroos hopped away.  Finally, the smallest kangaroo of the group was cornered.  Several crusaders hopped on top of it, tackling it to the ground.  It writhed and made several panic induced noises.  Eventually, the crusaders managed to subdue the kangaroo enough for The Modern Day Crusader to feel comfortable approaching.

“Finally,” he shook his head, pleased, albeit with a hint of disappointment, “now we will reveal to the world the diabolical tracking devices planted within these creatures.”

He stepped forward.  Several crusaders stood the kangaroo up and held it back much like a mob would restrain an enemy.  The Modern Day Crusader stood face to face with the kangaroo.

“Hello in there,” he spoke, staring into the Kangaroo’s eyes.  â€œI know you’re watching us.”  The kangaroo tried to writhe free, but the crusaders had it on lockdown.  The Modern Day Crusader held his arm in the air.  He shut his eyes and filled his lungs with the Australian air.

“And now, my crusaders, let’s shine some light on the truth!”  He thrust his hand downward, into the kangaroo’s pouch.  The kangaroo’s eyes widened, it let out a scream that sounded like violation.  The Modern Day Crusader’s eyes continued to remain shut with a wry smile across his face.  His hand maneuvered about within the pouch.

Several moments passed.  The kangaroo’s body language became withdrawn.  The other crusaders started to wonder what was taking so long.  The Modern Day Crusader’s eyes opened, he, too, looked uncertain of what was happening.

“It’s in here somewhere, I know it!” He continued to probe, poke and who knows what else inside the kangaroos pouch.  

“Aye!  What are ya doin?!” a thickly accented Australian accented man called out.  The crusaders turned at the sound of the voice.  A man stood, staring angrily at the happenings.  

The only person unmoved was The Modern Day Crusader.  He continued to dig, “Looking for one of those mini cameras placed inside the pouch of this beast.  They are meant to spy on the common man!”

“You’re crazy!”

The crusaders, having their attention diverted, ease up on their grip.  The kangaroo springs to life.  He kicks The Modern Day Crusader in the gut and takes off, hopping away into the woods.  The Modern Day Crusader, flat on his ass, seems more embarrassed than anything.  He’s helped to his feet by a few crusaders.  He shoves them away.

“Failures!”  Working his hair back into place, he continued, “How can we fight elitist tyranny if we can’t subdue a kangaroo?!”

“Kangaroo?” the dumbstruck Australian shouted back.

“Well of course!” The Modern Day Crusader returned.

“That wasn’t no kangaroo!  That was a damn wallaby!”

“Well…” The Modern Day Crusader paused.  An imaginary light bulb flashed over his head, “That explains everything, doesn’t it?”  He snapped his fingers, “No wonder there weren’t any cameras in the pouch!  We grabbed the wrong animal!”

The Modern Day Crusader opened his Book of Truth and made a note, “Wallaby’s are innocuous creatures.  Not wanted by the government.  They are safe.  Kangaroos are the true enemy.”  He underlined enemy several times, each proceeding line with more intensity than the previous.  

“You, Australian man,” he turned his attention toward the appalled local.

“Yea?”

“Where can I find some kangaroos?  It’s a matter of human privacy!”

“Are you gonna put your filthy hands inside their pouch?”

“Nevermind my motives!  Just tell me where they are!”

“I will not be a party to molesting anything.  In fact, I have half a mind to call the authorities.”

That did not sit well with The Modern Day Crusader.  So, he said, “Hmm, that doesn’t sit well with me.”

With a nod of the head, his crusaders rushed forward and tackled the Australian.  The Modern Day Crusader strutted his way toward the man, who was held back much like the wallaby moments earlier.

“Sir,” he said, grabbing the man by the chin, “this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.  Perhaps this act will open your eyes to the atrocities you seem so willing to protect.”

The Modern Day Crusader lunged forward with a head butt, knocking the Australian man out.  The crusaders released the man’s lifeless body, allowing it to crumble to the ground.  The Modern Day Crusader rubbed the top of his head, “OW!”  He kept rubbing, “Why didn’t anybody tell me that would hurt so bad!”

Crusader 1 spoke up, “Well, you did bang your head into his.”

“I know, but still…” he was now using the palm of his head to massage the throbbing pain.  â€œThat will NOT be in my wrestling repertoire.  Good heavens, my brain feels like poorly scrambled eggs.”

Crusader 1 motioned toward the covered wagon.  They decided to set up camp at that location, given The Modern Day Crusader’s throbbing head ache.  

Later in the evening, with a fire crackling, The Modern Day Crusader turned his thoughts toward his upcoming match.  The Australian man appears in the distances, tied to a tree.  He moves about, slowly, his muscles fatigued from trying to escape.  His mouth is bound shut by rope.

“So, this Tommy Crimson…”

“Ahem,” Crusader 1 interrupted, “he was last week.”

“Yes, I’m aware.  I just figured rational logic would indicate a rematch considering he didn’t defeat me.  He defeated that abhorrent zodiac follower.”

“True, but he’s moving on to the Roulette championship.  You’ve been ushered back down the card.”

“Card?”  The Modern Day Crusader shuffled atop his log, “what type of card?”  He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes in an inquisitive manner.

Crusader 1 responded with a miffed expression, “What do you mean?”

“Diamond?  Spade?  Heart?....Club?  Tell me it isn’t a Club!”

“It’s not an actual playing card, sir.  It’s pro wrestling vernacular indicating the hierarchy of in ring talent.  The more a wrestler wins, the higher they are placed.  The more they lose…the lower.”

“Whew, well that’s a relief!  Playing cards were designed by the elites to hammer into our minds the idea of a monarchy.  Kings, Queens, Jacks…it’s all a bunch of mind control bullshit.  The Club deck is the worst of them all.”

“Why is that?” a random crusader asks.

“It’s in the Book of Truth,” The Modern Day Crusader responded, turning and spotting the Book of Truth five or six feet away.  He didn’t feel like moving and retrieving it, “A story for another time.”

The crusaders nod their heads in unison.  

“Anyway, back to your match.”

“Yes, way to keep things on point Crusader 1.”

“Caleb Storms is your opponent…”

“Huh?” The Modern Day Crusader broke in, staring at the lineup within Crusader 1’s hand.  Using his pristine 20/20 vision, he was able to read the name of his opponent.

“What?”

“It says Caleb Storm.  Are you developing a lisp?”

“No, I’m not!” Crusader 1 responded more defiantly than a normal person should.  â€œI’ve seen it spelled both ways.  But he calls himself Storms, so that’s what I’m going with.”

“My goodness.  The orgasm manipulators at SCW can’t even get this man’s name right.  He must truly be something special.”

“How do you figure, sir?”

“It’s textbook misdirection.  Act like he’s so diminutive that you can’t get his name right.  It causes the opponent to underestimate them only to feel the fury of their immense talent.  This Caleb Storm…Storms guy is going to be a force.”

“Well, you really need a win, sir.  People tend to believe successful people more than failures.”

“Very true, Crusader 1,” The Modern Day Crusader leaned forward, “do you think this Caleb Storm…Storms studies weather manipulation?  Could he be behind the recent hurricane outbreaks within the Atlantic?”

“I doubt that, sir, he seems…well, he seems fairly simple.”

“Don’t let simplicity fool you, Crusader 1.  Classic misdirection!  No doubt this man is cunning.  I may have to resort to the dreaded head butt.”

“I thought you were placing a self imposed ban from performing that move.”

“Desperate times, Crusader 1.  As you said, the words of a failure fall upon deaf ears.  We must succeed in an effort to fulfill our task.”

“Well, okay then.  Should we get you headgear?”

“Absolutely not.  It squishes my ears.  Hurts.  No thanks.  I will utilize the limited wrestling knowledge I have acquired from watching Youtube videos.  If that fails…headbutt time.”

“Do what you’ve gotta do, sir.”

“Rest assured, crusaders.  Caleb Storm…Storms will be rendered ineffective on Sunday night at Orgasm Manipulation.”

“Climax Control.”

“Yes, I know.  I’m simply using a reverse euphemism.”

“I don’t think they like that, sir.  Best not to piss off your employer.”

“I will never bow to the man!”

“Yea, well then they may fix the match.”

“Oh,” The Modern Day Crusader thought on this for a moment.  â€œAlright, fine.  Climax Control…and, crusaders, I’m certainly not kneeling.  I’m utilizing…MISDIRECTION.”

“Ahhhh,” the crusaders responded.

“But, yea, Caleb Storm…Storms is going down on Sunday…is that how they say it, Crusader 1?”

“Good enough, sir.”

The Modern Day Crusader smiles and laid his head to rest.  He dreamed dreams of smashing Caleb Storm…Storms into the mat and earning his first ever pro wrestling victory.

Meanwhile…somewhere in Australia.  The heartbroken, violated wallaby has assembled a bunch of other wallaby’s.  Its story is told in heartbreaking fashion.  The other wallaby’s become outraged.  We have no way of knowing what they are saying because they are speaking Wallabese.  However, one thing is clear…they want vengeance against The Modern Day Crusader.