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[Opponent: Whoever] ____After Murder Scene____
I had never realized the intense tension in the locker room after a Murder Scene. Perhaps it was because I was usually drunk, but none the less, the backstage animosity was everywhere. Workers gave me pissy looks, divas scoffed as I walked past, and wrestlers paid me no heed. It was as if after the cameras stopped rolling you were a totally different person.
Then again, that's how fame affected people. Their heads grew, their IQ shrunk, and their testicals...well...the divas' grew and the men’s' shrank. It was a common affect due to the massive consumption of genetically modified airplane food we had grown accustomed too.
Either way, it had seemed that all chances of backstage interaction had been lost. However, every now and then I ran into a new, much more innocent face as was the case this dreary Monday night. As I approached the young woman, I recognized her as one of the new comers Amber Raines. Her name sounded slightly sexual, but who was I to judge?
As I approached her, she gazed at me. It was one of those "Holy shit, what the fuck" kind of glances. The ones you give people who you haven't seen in years, or family members you don't care to know. I rested my hands in the pockets of my pants and she turned away.
I coughed lightly trying to get her attention. She turned to me and raised her eyebrow. I could tell she was confused.
“What in the…”
She shook her head. I asked if she’d ever seen a pirate before, but she didn’t respond. Instead she turned and continued looking through some magazine. I coughed again waiting for her to stop ignoring me.
She turned, but I didn’t get the reaction I wanted. Instead, she slapped herself in the face a few times as if trying to figure out if she was awake.
“There are no pirates…”
What the hell was I then? I asked her calmly if she was alright, but she just shook her head.
“There are no pirates”
This girl was obviously bright. I rubbed my temples lightly as if trying to come up with a convincing argument. Instead out of the corner of my eye I saw a quick movement. It reminded me of watching a car dart by, but, it was more human.
I turned lightly and felt a huge wave of annoyance. As if I was being Punk’d, from the end of the hallway came running a fully clothed ninja, gripping a large sword. I looked to Amber, who returned the same look I gave her. I rolled my eyes and pulled out my own sword.
The ninja was fast, but I was faster. Every move it tried, I matched with ease. When it jabbed, I would simply sidestep, overhand blows were easily countered and turned into an offensive blow, and every would-be crushing blow was parried.
As it came in for a quick jab I spun one hundred and eighty degrees, elbowing it in the head. It stumbled forward, getting its sword stuck in the wall. I took this chance and stopped forward, planting my boot into the assailant’s back. It stumbled forward and amusingly bonked its head on the wall. It stumbled back and then got a club to the head, via a bottle of rum.
I turned to Amber, who still looked on in disbelief. I wrapped my arm around her waste and grabbed onto a conveniently placed rope, swinging us to safety and away from any more would be ninja attackers. Although I wasn’t scared…
Pirates are ALWAYS better than ninjas.
____After_____
Canada!
Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
Jericho found himself carelessly roaming the Canadian country side. Behind him side was a tour guide, who pointed out sites and landmarks that he I could care less about.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!
They slowed down as they began to go down a large hill. Flowers that would make any gardener orgasm were thrown about in droves.
From far and wide,
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
They were now on a mountain, getting blasted with cold air and snow. Jericho shook out his dreads and muttered a few curses.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee
They passed through small towns were everything looked perfect. People were working, animals were obedient, and everything was gorgeous.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee
Jericho shook his head and stood up, getting out of the cart. Surrounding him, were theme park workers lining up people to ride the ‘Tour of Canada” ride. Jericho spit on the ground and shook his head.
That song makes no fucking sense…Canada doesn’t even have a bloody big army.
Jericho sighed as he stormed past the theme park workers, confused and annoyed.
This week I have to go against a talented wrestler in Fred Debonair, a mediocre cruiserweight in James Jefferson…and…Slayer.
I thought I’d start this off right and talk about my Hierarchy partner, Mr. Debonair. See, he hit the nail right on the head when he said the Hierarchy wasn’t dead. In fact, no that that mask wearing mammoth is gone, I think we’re functioning better than ever. It was as if we had an enlarged…rhyming spleen that we needed to get rid of. Now that we have we can function as a cohesive unit once again.
However, this week this will not be the case. Upon reflection, I would’ve liked to team up with Debonair, but instead I have to fight him for his title. It’s a pity two friends have to battle it out, because it’s so much more appealing to see two valiant heroes fight battles together. Regardless, I will not be taking it easy on my comrade in arms.
Instead, I will guarantee that we will put on a show worth watching. One can look at the other names and think this match will be a sleeper, and you’d be right…if it wasn’t for me. I don’t want to pat myself on the back or anything but if it wasn’t for me, Captain William Jericho, this would be the match where the guys go solicit sex in men’s bathroom stalls and the women go drop their babies in the toilet.
Instead, it will be a heart pounding adventure between two valiant knights, etching to…Oh, who the hell am I kidding. There isn’t much of a use going through all this. TV Land, know this. At Monday Night Murder Scene, Captain William Jericho will be walking out with the Canadian Title. If you have to ask why, you remind me slightly of Terry Shaivo, but I'll tell you anyway.
Because lately, I have been in a slump. I'm not going to lie, I've lost a ton of matches recently and I'm not going to act like I have some sort of bug or disease or problem. I've just been off, I've been outwrestled time and time again. However, last week I went up against Hunter Spade. I didn't win in a glorious fashion, but that's not what's important. The fact is, I won. That gave me the confidence I neeeded. Before, I was drifting. I went into every match drunk, although that part hasn't really changed, and just kind of hoped for a great outcome. No more!
Now I know I can beat the best of them. Fred Debonair is good, but he's not amazing. I've been watching his matches lately, and he's defininatly been slipping. A botched move their, a missed counter here, and a crappily executed crap crapped up by the crapmiester himself.
What I'm getting at is, we're on different ball parks now. Debonair is slowly slipping and i'm rising to the top. I can promise you, on Monday Night Murder Scene Captain William Jericho will walk out the Canadian title!
Wait...Debonair doesn't have the Candian Championship...he's the Xtreme Champion
Jericho stares angrily into the camera
Great, way to confuse me. SOmeone might want to fix that for future notice. Shit, make make me waste my time. Oh well, it's not a big bother. The fact remains the same. I will defeat Fred Debonair for whatever the hell title he has because it doesn't matter which title you hold, I'm still comin for ya.
Jericho shakes his head
Christ, get me all excited to change the name and then I'm just goin for the Xtreme Title. As if jumping off of ladders and slamming people through tables makes you cool or something.
Jericho chuckles
Oh wait, it does. Look mate, i've been in so many barfights you can't count them using the numbering system alone. I've cracked chairs, pol sticks, tables, lawn gnomes, plastic flamingos, car doors, ecetera ecetera for the main duration of my life. You think throwing me in the right with three different guys is gonna change the blood outcome?
If you did, you're retarded. I don't quit, I don't lose, and I never go down in a good old fashion fight. Wrestling match, sure. But when it comes down to rough and tumble, weapon swinging, party, good ol' time, I will always take the cake. At the end of the night I will walk out the Xtreme bloody champion.
anything less and I promise you will never have to look at Kevin Conners face ever again...
...at least it's a promise I can keep.
_____AFTER THAT ____
I had forgotten how Rum tasted. Since my incident at the bar I had tried to stay away from alcohol, but you can see how that went. Quitting is admitting defeat.
I sat against a coffee shop sofa, sipping spiked tea discussing like with some random Indy kids. As they smoked their foreign cigarettes and discussed music, I couldn’t help but occasionally look to Amber Raines. She seemed right at home, but she gave of a feeling that was made her seem so out of place.
I stood up and walked over, where she sat alone sipping her coffee. Her gorgeous eyes stared out into space as if she was drugged. I waved my hand in front of her face, making her blink confused.
I looked at her troubled and asked if she was okay. She nodded solemnly and took a sip of her coffee. An extremely awkward silence passed over before she finally set down her glass and looked to me. It felt somehow as time just stood still. She gazed to the floor and tapped her toes against the hard tile
In the distance, soft jazz could be heard echoing through the room as the pungent smell of coffee littered the air. It gave a false sense of calm and security. As if you were wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, sheltering you from the storm.
She gazed up to me and raised her eyebrow, biting her lip. Her posture was strange and her body language gave off an uncomfortable feeling.
“So...”
Yes, I replied questioningly hoping to get something out of her.
“You are real?”
I slapped my forehead, going back to my alcoholic beverage.
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