[Underground]

Walking on Broken Glass)
Mandarin Oriental Luxury Hotel; Mandarin Oriental, Washington D.C. 10/6/2021


The invitation had been received in no certain order.  I was given an address, and a rough time estimate of when to arrive.  I had barely just unpacked everything for the few days I would be in town.  They found their temporary home, and I had kicked my feet up on the bed in the most comfortable of fashions.  But, some things take priority over rest.  Action is necessary.  At least that’s what Dr. Liddel had said in our last session when we discussed the topic.  The jury is still out on that one.  But, I made sure I was half way presentable before leaving for what seemed like a very long journey, even though it was just a few miles away from where I was staying.

I arrived, and with no certain hesitation, I knocked on the door.  I waited as I could hear the soft talking within the suite.  I even checked my phone to make sure I had the right room, and it most certainly was.  I could tell by the hallway alone that this hotel was leaps and bounds above where I was staying.  The grey was so clean that it almost sparkled like silver.  The whites were crisp and almost glowed under the fluorescent lighting.  And the tasteful mahogany tables periodically spread through the hallway with fresh floral arrangements made evident by the sweet smell permeating from the buds added just a touch of colorful pop.  Needless to say, I was quite envious.

The banter proceeded once the door opened, and I found myself standing there impatiently.  It took little time before my cheeks started to burn, showing that my annoyance was going to escalate.

Me: Well? …  I’m not the pizza guy. Are you letting me in or leaving me standing here?

And just like that, Kristjan steps aside, and I get the most wonderful view of the room.  Needless to say, it puts the hallway to shame.  The floor to ceiling windows shrouded by shimmering grey curtains are letting in light to show off the perfectly pressed sheets upon the bed in the distance.  A chair is next to the main window, with the most exquisite view of the water.  It’s almost mesmerizing.  I can see a small end table next to the chair, with a book turned over as if I had somehow interrupted him.  It felt almost passive-aggressive.  But then I remind myself that he is not my mother, and I walk further in, feeling Kristjan’s eyes glued to my backside.  I take a certain level of joy from the ego boost.  But as I begin to take in the details of the family room I’m in, envy starts to show.

Me:  Wow.  You’re living large. How the hell is it that you have a suite like this and I end up in a room looking more like Motel 6??

Fenris:  What can I say? My manager likes me more than your manager.

I simply roll my eyes, unbeknownst to my host.  After an offer of alcohol and some unpleasant small talk, I sip on the honey infused scotch and continue to look around.  The small glance of the bathroom was enough to make me want to live there.  Yes.  In the bathroom.  The conversation turns to what is going on now.  Sure, “the talk” hasn’t been brought up yet, but this man’s constant need to keep everything private has me certain that we will be alone soon.  And that is when Kyssa is brought up.

Me:  Who is Kyssa?

Aron:  This is Kyssa.

And instantly, my heart melts a little.  Yes, this cold, dead heart finds a way to become alive again, even if only just a little.  The white husky who I swear has some wolf in her, comes running from the room.  Aron attempts to keep a firm lead, but I come down to my knees, and my arms fly wide open.  For a moment, I am human again as Kyssa gives me a thousand fast, excited kisses.  I start to stand, but she is not finished, and she lets me know it by jumping up.  I take her paws in my hands and we share an instant bond.  My face almost hurts from smiling, but I can’t help it.  Now, this… this I would hate to gather the attention of TMZ, because I have a reputation of being an asshole to uphold.  I dance around with Kyssa before realizing that I may have just fallen into a trap.  I gently release her paws and I straighten myself out, returning to a state of resting dick face.  Aron has seen through this, and so has Kristjan.

Aron:  There is plenty to see, so we may be gone for quite some time.

Fenris:  That’s fine. We may need every bit of that time.

Me:  Maybe…

I let the uncertainty hang in the air as the two brothers have a bit of a silent conversation between themselves.  Aron pleasantly excuses himself, and Fenris motions to the couch.  One that I can already tell will not let me get up without some sort of a nap first.  Hesitantly, I accept the invitation and have a seat.  Another sip of the rich scotch, and I detect the notes of honey much stronger with the second taste.  Fenris puts his glass down on the glass top coffee table, but I choose to swirl mine around a bit with a few solid flicks of the wrist in just the right motion and frequency.

Me:  I don’t really want to beat around the bush here, Kristjan.  We both have questions, and we both have answers.  I’m just a bit shocked that you care so much about where I’ve been, considering my phone never rang once other than my sister checking on me.  Not FUCKING once, dude.

There is a bit of regret on Kristjan’s face, and the tinge of pain requires a sip of scotch, from both of us.  Almost in unison, we drink.

Fenris:  As you said.  Communication is a two way street.

Me:  Oh don’t you dare act all high and mighty all of a sudden.  I’ve had enough of that in my life, let me tell ya…

Fenris:  What is the saying?  What’s good for the goose is good for the gander?

I feel my teeth grinding inside of my mouth, yet somehow it makes no discernable sound.  I can tell my nostrils are flaring up, and that red heat in my cheeks is swelling up.  Of course, part of that last one could be from the potent scotch.

Me:  If you only knew what I was going through, then you might understand why I didn’t feel the need to call you.  I’ve never had a shoulder to lean on in my entire life.  I don’t need it.  But that doesn’t mean I’m required to bend to the every whim of others.

Fenris:  By calling me to let me know how you are doing?

Me:  And tell me why the HELL would I do that when our last exchange was you practically denying my existence?  Telling people that we are nothing?  Shaming me for being proud to be with you, and not being afraid to shout it to the world?  If it wasn’t clear, Kristjan, you fucking hurt me.  You mortally wounded me.  You reached into my soul, found every little fucking thing that I was insecure about, and you threw them at me, all at once.

The audacity; it seems to be stored in the balls.  I can’t even concentrate on Kristjan in front of me, not even enough to hear his next words.

Fenris:  You’re right.

Me:  You humiliated me in front of a bunch of strangers.  You made me out to be a piece of shit just because I have the unfortunate condition of having feelings for you.  That’s fucked up.  It tore me in half!  It made me feel two inches tall, and in the very worst ways possible.  We had a rocky start, but I am the one who is new to this lifestyle.  I’m the one who admitted I screwed up by projecting on you.  I’m the one who made an effort to come to you to apologize, and make things right.  That should have been a sign.  A big red flag, waving around, repeatedly smacking me in the face.

Again, I don’t hear his words.

Fenris:  You’re right…

Me:  I took responsibility for my actions.  I’ve owned up to them, and I think I’ve proven myself to you that I am loyal, despite the many, many advances I’ve gotten since coming out.  Yet, you’re still ashamed of me?  On social media, denying me.  Denying us.  That would be hurtful to the most loud and proud homosexual.  But considering I’ve just stepped out of that closet built by religious extremist conversion therapy…

The tears are not coming.  My pride won’t allow them, even if they are attempting to well up in my eyes.  Instead, I grit my teeth, trying not to show my anger anymore, because at this point, it just doesn’t seem worth it.  I turn my head and then knock back the remainder of the scotch in the glass.  With this small distraction, Fenris moves over to the couch beside me and forces me to turn my head.  He looks right into my eyes with his own ice blue eyes.

Fenris:  You’re right!  David!  You’re right…

Me:  You… wait, what?  Did… did you just say…?

Fenris:  Three times now.  Maybe you should get your ears cleaned out.  Or at least settle down.  You have to understand where I was coming from.

I take a second to regulate my breathing and calm myself down, but I rebound quickly.

Me:  And you have to understand that I am not Kris Ryans.  I am not Ty West.  I’m not going to get us caught on security surveillance and I’m not going to parade you around like some token boyfriend, forcing you to go to parties with my besties.  And you have to know that I could never do the last part, because I’m a miserable bastard who has no friends.  And I’m not exactly girly.  I’m happier going out for a few beers, watching a Sooners game, four wheeling at the sand dunes…

I’m pretty sure that I’ve reassured him of a few things, but the apprehension is still there.

Fenris:  I have always been a private person.  I do not like the details of my personal life, be it familial or even romantic, being broadcast to the entire world.

Me:  You do realize that I am an anti-pastor for an anti-church, right?  We did some very filthy things in that cabin on that ship.  Sometimes I have to lead by example.  You unlocked something carnal within me.  And I can’t promise I won’t do it again.  But not every detail is meant to be spread. I am not trying to be persuasive, but I do want you to know that I’m not going to air our business on a regular basis, because I’m not a drama queen.

With a nod, Fenris seems to understand where I am coming from.  Whether he agrees or not is an entirely different story.  He sighs and looks away from me for a moment, giving a long pause before turning back to me.

Fenris:  I told you I was a toxic boyfriend.

Me;  Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the most sane person myself.  That’s got to count for something, I guess… I mean, who asks someone out by beating them down in the name of “God”?

Kristjan looks at me, and I swear I almost saw a smile on his face.  You know, one that isn’t taunting or smartassed in any way?  But, it could be the lighting, I guess.  Despite his best efforts to unwittingly push me away, I pick up his hand and hold it in mine.  He doesn’t so much as squirm, but instead he holds my hand tighter.  We sit there in silence for a good long moment, just staring out of the window at the water outside.  And for a moment, I feel completely at peace.  Until he turns and looks at me again.

Fenris:  You still never answered my question.  Where have you been, and why did you just randomly disappear?

I think about it for a moment, and then I smirk as I tilt his chin up just a touch with my free hand.

Me:  Are you going to sit there and ask questions, or are you going to kiss me?

With little to no thought, Kristjan leans into me, that cold burning Icelandic passion nearly knocking me through a loop.  My hands go up in surrender as Kristjan continues on, making my eyes flutter back behind my eyelids.


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Where Have You Been?!?
Water Taxi near the Wharf; Washington D.C. 10/7/2021

“Are you sure?”

The smoky cloud brushes past my face, interrupting the view of the water.  My concentration is broken as I turn to look at my sister.  Her husband is looking down at his phone, but is proudly displaying the SCU Combat Championship on his shoulder.  He does a duck lip selfie, making me snigger a bit.  Esther raises her eyebrows, holding her arms out to the side as if to remind me that she asked me a question.

Me:  Why wouldn’t I be? I’m tired of sitting at home anyway.  Plus, I had a match last week.

She rolls her eyes and flicks her ashes into the water as we fly by.

Esther:  Yeah, against The Troll.  That’s like fighting Sheldon Cooper on massive amounts of Twinkies.

Me:  It was a match.  It helped me shake off what little ring rust I had during my absence.  I’m ready for a real match.  It’s just unfortunate that I have to go up against the spawn of Christina Rose…

Esther takes another drag, refusing to give in to talking about that one.  Instead, she leans on the railing of the boat taxi.

Esther:  Are you just going to ignore the entire reason that you’ve been gone for two months?  There’s a reason, and it’s a pretty serious one at that.

Me:  Really?  You’re going there with me?

Esther:  You were asked by your bosses to take a mental health leave.  I came and visited you in a psychiatric ward back in Vegas for two weeks.  It’s not like you were on some sort of soul searching sabbatical or whatever bullshit.

Me:  And that’s my business.  You didn’t have to come and visit me.  You chose to.  And honestly, I’m surprised that you didn’t need to take leave also.

Esther looks at me with an expression that asks “Are you fucking serious?”  She lets it hang there for a very, very long minute.  Almost uncomfortably long.  Even when I return my gaze to the water, I can feel the stare on me.

Me:  We lost grandpa.  That took a real toll on me.  I’m sorry if I’m just more of a loving grandchild than you are.

Esther:  Fuck you for that one.  No, there’s more to it.  A lot more.  And if you had spoken to Dr. Liddel sooner like I asked you to, then you might not have been forced to take a leave of absence and risked actually getting fired.

Me:  For all you know, I could’ve just been trying to duck Senor Vinnie.  Did you ever think of that?

Esther:  Oh, yeah… I’m so sure that’s what it was.  Not that he couldn’t kick your ass if loverboy wasn’t around to protect you, but you’re too damn stubborn to ever let that enter your mind.  Plus, your bosses checked in with me regularly.  Christian even gave me a list of medications that wouldn’t cause soft peter syndrome.  But, thinking back on that, it might have been for other reasons… But Mark also checked in like every few days.  We talked about what was going on.  You got drunk and got into a fight with a catering guy because he didn’t have vegan sausages.

I smirk, because I remember that situation, even though I make it a point to deny remembering it to anyone who asks.

Me:  Shit happens.  The important thing is that I got my head screwed back on a bit, and I’ve been hitting the gym to stay in shape.  Your lovely husband over there has helped me with sparring sessions.  I am ready to get back to business as usual.  Plus, I think me and “loverboy” worked things out a bit.  We seem to be on the same page for once.

Esther:  For now… You two like imagine what would be the best thing to do in regards to your relationship, and then you do the opposite.

Me:  Says the one who got married after like a month of dating someone.

Andrey looks away from his phone, scowling at me.

Andrey:  Nyet. Me and your sister have very passionate relationship, da.  We get each other.  Like peas in pod.  You and Kristjan are, as you say, water and oil.

Me:  So, you’re saying that you don’t think he and I are meant to be?

Andrey:  This is not what I say.  I say, right now, both of you find ways to fight and be mad at each other.  Unlike with me and Esther, you two get violent, or refuse to talk.  Strong skulls.  Thick is maybe right word?

Esther laughs and points at me.

Esther:  Yeah, we communicate.  Ya know, because we’re not infantile.

I don’t say anything.  Instead, I look out into the water, wondering if Kristjan and I are just a messy timebomb, waiting to explode.  The salty sea air stops me from getting too deeply into that thought.  Esther smacks my shoulder playfully.

Esther:  Oh, come on.  I’m just busting your balls, bruh.  Truth is, after what you went through, I don’t blame you for not knowing up from down.  And your breakdown was just proof that there was way too much damage done by that “conversion therapy” than even I realized.

Andrey:  It is not good for psyche to suppress one’s true nature.  Growing up in Russia, I understand hiding sexuality.  As a bisexual man, I too had to hide in shame.  This part, I understand.  Conversion therapy, not so much mon capitaine.

Me:  Oh my dog, please don’t.  It’s hard enough to understand you with the Russian accent, but then you go and throw another language in there?

Andrey cracks a smile of his own.  He rubs my shoulder in a brotherly manner.

Andrey:  You have full support from me as well as your sister.  We are family, and despite rough start, we support each other.  And it is one reason I cannot trust Gerald fully, ever.  What he did to you both is disgusting.

Esther:  Hey, enough about our piece of shit parents.  Why don’t we go back to making David squirm.  It’s my favorite pastime.

Esther begins poking me in the side, trying to stir something up.  I try not to let it do anything to me, but eventually I start to laugh.  I hate it when people try to cheer me up, and I hate it even more when it works.  However, that can only last a moment before my phone rings with a number I don’t quite recognize.  I answer it.

Me:  Hello?

There is a cackling in the phone speaker, along with the sound of squeaking.  Without a second’s hesitation, I cut the caller off from the beginning.

Me:  Skag… and here I thought I only had to deal with you at shows and at my church…

Skag:  Hallo herr David.  Wie Gehts?  Did you miss meeeee?

Me:  No…

Esther:  What the fuck is that weirdo doing calling you?

Skag:  Hallo Esther!  We miss you.  Somebody had to take the falls and make the rest of us look good, ja?

Me:  She can’t hear you, and I’m not repeating that.

Esther:  What?!  Tell me what that prick said!

I turn away from Esther and Andrey and I start walking away so that I can have a private conversation.

Skag:  Liebchen, are you there?  Have we been disconnected?  Oh bother…

Me:  No, I’m still here.  Look, what do you want?  I’m trying to visit with my family before they have to leave.  Not to mention, I don’t really want to talk to you as it is.

Skag:  Mein heart.  Ouch.  Filth wonders if you have received her pledge because she has not heard from you.  And I still look to pledge mein mund to dein glied, herr Shepherd.  Mmmmm…

Sigh, eyeroll that he cannot see, and the threat of vomit tickling at the back of my throat as I wretch a little.

Me:  I’m still thinking it over.  The pledge to the church, anyway.  Mein glied will go nowhere near your mund, I promise you.

Skag:  Your loss, liebchen.

Me:  Look, I’m not trying to be on the phone longer than I have to be.  Tell your boss that I’m astounded at the fact that her pockets seem to be bottomless, and that could be very much of value to me.  And your methods have proven to work, somehow.  I’m going to say yes to the proposal.

Skag:  Wunderbar! We shall see you on Sunday, David.  Auf wiedersehen, zucht!

Before I can finish shuddering from that statement, he hangs up the phone.  I stand there, almost shocked with myself for agreeing to work with those two.  No amount of money is quite worth all of that mess.  But, my thoughts are interrupted by Esther as she stands on the tips of her toes to look at my phone.

Esther:  What the fresh hell was that all about?

I could answer the question, but I’m not in the mood to hear about it.  I slide the phone back into my pocket.  I take the cigarette from her fingers and take the last drag before flicking it out into the ocean.  I hold it in for a few seconds longer than intended before blowing it right in Esther’s face.

Me:  You reeeeeeeeeeeally don’t want to know.

And with that, I turn and take a seat out of the sun.  Esther stomps, throwing a bit of a fit as she tries to get me to speak, but I take the hat off of my head and put it over my face as I act as if I’m about to take a nap, which I wind up actually doing just out of spite.


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Revelations (Part 10)
Church of Heathenous Shepherds; Las Vegas, NV 10/8/2021

Me: My duties as Brother Shepherd have certainly changed over the years.  In fact, I became Father Shepherd about a year ago when I opened the Church of the Good Shepherds Las Vegas Chapter, but it just didn’t feel right to take on the same alias as my father, Gerald.  So instead, I stuck with the pseudonym.  And before you try to tell me “David, don’t you mean ‘alias’?”  No, I do not.  See, also in the last year, I’ve learned that religion is bullshit.  Christianity is a farce far greater than any other “faith”.  Pious, indignant, arrogant, judgmental, and a whole lot of blood on their hands.  I hear you thinking “But David, can’t you say that for just about any major religion?”  Yes.  But, what group holds the most power in their hands in the Americas, most of Europe, a large percentage of Africa, Australia, and even Asia?  As a matter of fact, this blind skydaddy cult is in the lead worldwide by point four BILLION.  So, ever since I took on the name of “Brother David Shepherd”, it was all based on lies, fiction.  So I’m sticking with the word “pseudonym”.

As I was saying, my path in life has changed drastically.  And it is all part of a plan.  Not God’s, but of my own.  I was snapped back to reality while somehow also being flung into insanity.  I attempted to burn down my church.  The one that I built independently of my family.  I tried to fix it, but it was not in me.  Instead, I let it be a shadow of what it used to be.  I embraced that darkness.  For, in the darkness, you are protected.  The darkness tells no lies.  It is the light where the real monsters roam freely.  It is in the light where narcissism was born, where people’s vanity is most present.  In the darkness, they shake and their insecurities come to light.  In order to find peace in the darkness, you must face yourself.  You must overcome your demons.  I never said it would be easy, but it’s the honest truth.

I have a duty to my congregation to be there for them.  Even though my bread and butter is wrestling, and we’re currently on the road up the east coast, I still make time every Friday night to come and preach to them.  The ones deemed most foul by society, damned by traditional religion for being run by their “demons”, which I call their impulses that make them who they are… they all gather before me.  The rich and the poor.  The well and the sick.  All different backgrounds and orientations gather before me to hear me speak to them.

And yet, I don’t know a single member of my church personally.  I look out at the faces, and not one of them brings me comfort.  It has occurred to me that I have never taken the time to go out amongst my people, and why?  I travel over a thousand miles to speak to them, to stir something inside of them that other religions have made them repress, oppress.  Sins that harm no one, that are second nature to them, and my heart aches for each of them, as a survivor of conversion therapy.  Instead of standing behind a podium, I take the microphone with me and I walk down the steps from the altar and into the aisles.

Me:  While we don’t owe this world a fucking thing, we must distinguish ourselves from those who do not organize their madness, or their “perversions”.  Just because we don’t believe in the word “excess” does not mean that we do not have some sort of a moral compass.  If you don’t, then you’re probably not in the best place.  But, we celebrate your happiness anyway.  That is why, last week, I encouraged you to lean on one another, form a community to go along with this congregation.  It never occurred to me that I was preaching something I was not practicing.  I invited you all to request counsel with me when needed, and that offer still stands.  Those who are struggling with something, anything, I will do everything I can to be a shoulder to lean on.  And I vow to be an inspiration through my performances as well as my sermons.

I begin slowly walking to people randomly, shaking hands with them as I go along.  Surely it isn’t the wisest thing right now, but I have plenty of Purell on my person.  Each member is elated to make my personal acquaintance.

Me:  I find myself going up against many people who, despite my trash talking, are great competitors.  If they weren’t, I wouldn’t be there.  Sometimes, I am not impressed with my competition, and I don’t keep that a secret.  I’m looking right at you, O’Malley, ya sonuvabitch.  Bitching and whining isn’t very becoming.

I look out into the crowd around me, and they laugh as if I had cued them to do so simply by looking at them.  Perhaps it was the unimpressed look on my face that prompted them.  Either way, it was too perfect.

Me:  Sometimes, I just don’t care.  It’s another ass to kick. *cou-Caleb Storms-gh! Cough!*  You know, the type of guy who makes a backhanded comment like that, and then asks for a cough drop like he’s sly or something.  He’s about as impressive inside of the ring as a blow up doll.  And let us not forget his shitty taste in music.  He’s about as bad as Jessie Salco.

Wink, wink.  More laughter from the crowd.

Me:  Now, as is customary, when I am competing, I like to give a little attention to my opponent for the week.  Something this guy is just begging for.  He’s got serious “pick me” vibes.  But, I’m sure you are wondering where he lies on my radar.  Do I respect him?  Do I think he’s a joke?  Could I care less?  That’s a tough spot to pinpoint.  It really is…

I tap my chin as I begin walking up and down the aisle, pacing.  It really is a tough question.  I mean, I barely know the guy.

Me:  By process of elimination, I can say that I do not respect this young man.  He hasn’t paid his dues in the business.  Hell, I barely have, but I’ve done enough to earn my spot at High Stakes, going for the Internet Championship more so than this guy.  I mean, for fucks sake, he’s still a child.  A little boy, who has somehow done less than his sister, which is a hard thing to accomplish when you have parents like they do.  I have some respect here.  I really do.  Being a third generation star is something that I have always admired.  I could say plenty about his parents, but I cannot take away accomplishments that they have made over the years.  Especially mummy dearest.  A Triple Crown Champion.  2018 Hall of Fame inductee. Blast From the Past winner.  Woman of the Year… I mean, the accolades are just so impressive.  And papa bear is not one to snub your nose at either.

The crowd looks at me questioningly, as I seem to be explaining the opposite of what they would expect based on my ruling out respect.

Me:  But the one thing that gets second, third, and further generation stars is that they think they can ride on their parents’ coattails.  They fade into obscurity because they don’t do anything of actual note.  People such as Tim Staggs.  His father was the first to be inducted into SCW’s Hall of Fame.  He carried the brand on his shoulders, and, despite his own arrogance telling him that he deserved more and more, he very well might have done more than just set a standard for SCW.  But his son?  A tag title reign or two?  Whining and crying about not getting what he deserves, when really, he was getting more than he deserves?  The parallel is uncanny.  The entitlement is coming from inside the house…

I say the last part in a spoopy type of voice to add effect to the sarcasm of the statement.  I turn and start to walk back toward the altar, and then the podium.

Me:  I have to at least give Brayden credit for the fact that he is so confident in his skills that he changed his last name to Hilton.  After the circus show his mother has turned this sport into, that’s a brave choice.  I mean, come on!  Even she changed her name because of the embarrassment!  She got so full of herself and screwed the pooch so hard that she had to try putting on a mask, and then taking it off months later without the previous name to hold her back.  Unfortunately, she underestimated people’s ability to remember, as if we were all babies falling for the old peek-a-boo trick.  Not so smart.

I shrug and stop to look at the graffiti on the walls, enjoying it and drawing inspiration from it.

Me:  But you?  You’re an academic of the highest quality up in Michigan State.  A star athlete, Division 1 in Baseball.  Holy wow!  On paper, this kid is a bright, promising young man.  He has everything going for him.  He even has a “hot wife” from Colombia, and a brand new baby.  Simply amazing.  So, why would he risk all of that, week in, and week out?  Why would he put his health, his life, and his future on the line in this sport?  This sport is very unforgiving, afterall.

The crowd begins to ponder as I pause to give them time for it.  I look around, wondering if anyone will be able to solve this riddle, but no one does.  The sly smirk on my face says that the ball is about to drop, and the crowd quiets down.

Me:  It’s because he came from the rotten split in the earth between Crystal Hilton’s legs!  The moment she shat him out into the hands of the doctor, the second he turned Brayden upside down and slapped that ass, Brayden was a Hilton, and god forbid a Hilton knows what humility is!  Just look at his mother.  Not only is she a fucking idiot, but she cannot stand not being the center of attention.  That’s right.  She’s an attention whore of the highest order.  And that worm filled apple didn’t fall far from the tree.  It’s not enough that he got his father’s intelligence, or at least escaped his mother’s lack thereof.  No.  It’s not enough that he’s been gifted with the ability to one day play ball in the big leagues.  He has to selfishly squander it away by literally sticking his neck out on the line, and his shitty attitude is practically begging people to break that neck!

The conversation amongst the congregation picks up some, while some members simply laugh.  Others cheer in agreement with me.  I flip the page of the sermon dialogue, but I’ve gone off the rails already.

Me:  It’s proof that being an asshole is genetic.  Granted, I already knew that, given that I, too, am an asshole.  But Brayden?  He’s a selfish asshole who believes that the world owes him something.  I hate to break it to the kid, but I know at least half of you here know the cold, hard fact that the world doesn’t owe anyone shit.  Privilege is the number one way to make me want to break a face.  And I would hate for Brayden to have to look down at his child and have his child scream in horror for what’s been done to his mug.  That’s why I’m going to leave his face alone as much as I can.  But, nothing else is safe.  Arms, legs, neck, spine, ribs, ass, or pelvis.  Everything else is fair game.  But, trust me when I say that I’m not doing this because I hate the kid.  Hell, in some ways, I kinda admire his tenacity.  But the attitude is the wrong one to have in this business.  Maybe I’m looking out for him, because his genetics are to blame for the asskickings he’s going to get as he tries to rise up the ranks.

I look up, because I’m in his same position, and barely so.  I begin pointing as if pointing to the stars as I name them.

Me:  Jack Washington.  Fenris. Mac Bane. Austin James Mercer. Top tier performers, and none of them are going to deal with that attitude.  Honestly, they’re going to look at it for what it is; pussy ass shit.  Now, I’ll talk shit on any of them, but that’s because I’m going to back it up.  I’m going to bring the fight to them without any hesitation.  I don’t need my sister at ringside to tug my opponent off of me to break up a pin, or to distract the referee, or to put my foot on the rope.  Not that I’m fully above it, and not that it’s never happened, but tell me this… when has it not happened with Brayden?  That’s not skill.  I’d say it’s not smart, but here you are with an SCW contract, so it is what it is.  I don’t get upset when the fans boo me, but I damn sure don’t need help from the outside.  And the fact that I know that this is the tactics he relies on, I may just have my sister come out to keep your sister out of my hair.  It’s bad enough that I have Senor Vinnie to worry about.  I don’t need a snot-nosed, entitled princess added to the list of who I need to watch my back over.

I look behind me, and then dust off my shoulder.  I see the camera phone recording this, and I wave them in closer.  They zoom in on my face, very closely, very seriously.

Me:  So, allow me to say this directly to Brayden.  At the end of the day, you are a mistake.  You are unwanted, unloved.  Not fully and truly loved or wanted, anyway.  Your mom might be an idiot, but the fact that she threw you to the wolves is proof enough that you don’t need to be mixed up in grown folk business.  Go on and live the American dream, finishing up college in Michigan, playing ball for the many scouts.  But don’t do what your incubator did, and split the focus in too many directions.  You’re supposed to be smarter than that.  Lean into your dad a little more.  Drop the “Hilton” and pick up the “Williams” if you want people to take you for someone with an IQ in the triple digits.  Or hell, fuck them both and go back to the name “Matthews” and have a fresh start.  Don’t try to cash in on someone who obviously didn’t want anything to do with you.  Of course, there’s the sob story about your mommy giving you up because she was so young and didn’t know how to raise a child on her own… except she fucking did.  She chose the “Brat Princess”, and she gave her everything she could ever want from a natural parent.  Materialistic things.  Support.  Love.  She didn’t leave sissy with an emotional Napoleon Complex.  And that’s very evident by her attitude.  The fact that you even want to be in the same hemisphere as either of those two really makes me question your ability to make good decisions.  Therefore, I can tell that you’re not ready for a shot at the Internet Championship.  I’m sure you’re a little raw about what I’m saying, but the truth is that I don’t care.  I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.  I’m simply saying that you don’t belong in this match, and probably not even this company.  Definitely not this sport.  If you don’t like it, fight me.  Make me eat those fucking words, kid.  I’ll die on this hill, I promise you.  But hey, maybe one day, you’ll thank me?

I shrug.

Me:  Anyway, that’s enough about that.  I hope you all enjoy your weekend.  Please stay safe, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.  Trust me, that leaves a loooooooooooot of room…

I wave as if I were signing off.  The crowd cheers for me, and I can’t help but smile.  Not just because of the crowd, but because of how much I’m going to enjoy taking Brayden Hilton down, and moving toward my next goal… the SCW Internet Championship!