[Johnny Tsunami]

 Scene One: Take Off | Off Camera

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

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

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


Scene Two: The Wanderer | Off Camera

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

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

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

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


Scene Three: Shooting with Skittles | On Camera

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

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