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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 17 2016, 04:38 AM (26 Views) | |
| Drew | Nov 17 2016, 04:38 AM Post #1 |
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"Life is not tried, it is merely survived/ If you're standing outside the fire" - Garth Brooks So once again, I won a contest that required outside assistance... Okay, maybe not REQUIRED, but certainly appreciated. To the Danger Man and his indiscriminate chair, I offer my thanks. Apparently, I wasn't the only one that the Davies boys pissed off. We've finally reached the end of our roundabout quest to crown the Classic champ... Time to separate the wheat from the chaff, and cast the worthless into the fire. Bring it on. ------------ Location: Permian High School, Odessa, TX Date/Time: 12APR90, 1246 Hours CDT I couldn't believe it. One minute, I'm sitting in Mrs. Jonas's 4th period English class, wishing I was anywhere else but there. The next, I'm in the office and in handcuffs while the cops try to find my mom and tell her I won't be home anytime soon. JD: Will somebody tell me what's going on? The secretary just stared at me. JD: What do I have to do to get some answers around here??? Detective: You can start by telling me where you were at 9:30 last night. I looked up and saw a man I've known almost my entire life. Rogerio Lopez, homicide detective, Odessa Police Department. He was Ricky's dad--my teammate on the defensive line, and I spent almost as much time at that guy's house as I did my own. He'd spent 15 years on the force, and he used to be a uniform-wearing police, but he moved up. JD: Mr. Lopez-- Detective Lopez: DETECTIVE Lopez, son. Now, answer the question. Where were you at 9:30 last night? JD: Detective Lopez... I don't know what you're talking about. I was at home, like a good boy's supposed to be. He sighed. It was that 'dad look' that I'd recognized right away. Kind of like when a parent knows that you're lying. Detective Lopez: JD... you know that's a lie, just like I do. You were at Sharkey's Bar off of University. JD: I'm not old enough to drink, Detective-- Detective Lopez: You know that Darryl has a soft spot for you Panther players when you come by... he knows he shouldn't serve you, but we both know he does. Now STOP... trying to lie to me. Just then, my mom showed up, and she looked PISSED. Guadalupe Smith: John David Smith the Third, I have no idea why I'm here, but if you did something stupid... She turned to Detective Lopez. Guadalupe Smith: Why is my son in handcuffs? Detective Lopez: There was an incident down at Sharkey's last night. Before I could blink, my mom was slapping me in the back of the head repeatedly. Guadalupe Smith: I TOLD you to stay away from those places, pendejo! Por Dios y mi madre, if you did something to embarrass me... Detective Lopez: You may want to sit down, Mrs. Smith. I could feel my ears burning. Mom wasn't going to like what Detective Lopez had to say, and I almost got sick thinking about her reaction. Guadalupe Smith: I don't WANT to sit down! I want to know what he did that was so important to take me away from my job! Detective Lopez decided to stop trying to tell my mother what to do and just escorted her to a chair. Detective Lopez: Your son is being accused of manslaughter. That coiled it. My mom, who had been mad before, was beyond irate now. She flew up out of her seat, recoiling from me like I was some sort of monster. She even crossed herself, for good measure. Guadalupe Smith: Ay Dios mio... No no no no... Por favor... JD: Mama, I have no idea what this man is talking about! I mean, yeah, I went to Sharkey's, like he said, and maybe Darryl served me some beers, but I didn't kill anyone! Detective Lopez: Then what happened to your knuckles, JD? I looked down at my hands, which were pleading for my mom to come closer... and I saw the scabs. I had seen them a million times before, having fought for most of my childhood. Jesus... what did I do? ------------ Location: Sharkey's Bar and Grill, Odessa, TX Date/Time: 11APR90, 2118 Hours CDT I walked into Sharkey's, stuffing my dad's old truck keys into my jeans pocket. The bartender working tonight, Darryl, knew my dad, and he never knew how to say no to Permian High football players that came in. I knew I really shouldn't be in there, but nobody was going to stop me. Soon as I sat down, Darryl was there with a shot and a beer. I'd been stealing alcohol from Mama since I was 8... I knew what I liked. And a shot of tequila with a Corona chaser did the trick. Now, for the record, I'm all of 17. I'm a junior at Permian High, and a starting defensive tackle for the Permian Panthers. But in West Texas, football is life. So instead of chasing me away, he let all the Panthers drink here. I guess he figured it was better in the bar than in some field or whatever. Kept us out of the public eye and let us blow off steam. After my third shot and while nursing my second beer, some idiots from over in Midland came into the bar, hooting and hollering. Like they always did. Now, for those who don't know, Midland is to Odessa like the Texas Longhorns are to them damn Oklahoma Sooners--we ain't ever gon' like each other. So when they come in, acting rowdy and talking shit, and they see an object of their forever scorn, they decided to test me. Drunk Midlander #1: Eyyyyyyy! Ain't that that Smith kid from over Permian way? Drunk Midlander #2: Whahey! I reckon it is! Ey Darryl! What's this shitbird doin' in the bar? Ain't he too young to be here? Everything these assholes did and said pissed me off. One of them stumbled over to me. Drunk Midlander #1: I betcha the boy ain't even drinkin' nothin'! His daddy was a bitch about it anyways... You know somethin', I remember your daddy comin' into this bar, bitchin' and moanin' about his wife and fuck-up kid... and now you're here, in that same shitbird seat, drinkin' that piss warm beer and that bottom-shelf tequila... you ain't no better than he ever was. I gripped the beer bottle a little tighter in my right hand, but I remained as calm as I could, staring into the bar mirror opposite me. Drunk Midlander #2: And ain't no Permian pussy EVER gonna be as good as our beloved Midland Lee Rebels! I watched in the mirror as both guys crowded around me, chanting "REB-ELS!" over and over again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Darryl, and he was smirking at the drunk guys. I thought to myself, "would anyone miss these idiots?" but continued to mind my own business. Drunk Midlander #1: I betcha yer daddy weren't even in the ground before yer mama went huntin' for that good Midland Lee dick... Ain't that right, ya little bastard-- I could tolerate just about anything; growing up in my house, with an abusive alcoholic father, you had to have tough skin. But talk about my mama... I swung around and smashed the empty Corona bottle against the one guy's skull. He crumpled in a heap, a bloody mess. His friend came at me, but I was nowhere near drunk enough to let the guy hit me. I stepped aside, letting him go by me. As he passed, I grabbed his disgusting mullet and slammed his face into the bartop. With both guys down, I had a chance to get my bearings. But I didn't take it. I was on the guy who I'd hit with the bottle of beer, screaming "MO-JO!" over and over as I rained hammer fists into his skull. My heartbeat was thundering in my ears. I couldn't think. I couldn't hear. By the time my arms started to burn, I was driving wet pieces of skull and brain into the wooden floor. I looked down at what I'd done, and I blanched. I scrambled away from the body and ran out to my truck, not bothering to wait and see what would happen to me if I stuck around. I fought with the keys and finally got the door unlocked after switching to my left hand; my right was ripped raw. I have no idea what happened after that; I could only guess I somehow made it home and collapsed in my bed. ------------ Location: Permian High School, Odessa, TX Date/Time: 12APR90, 1307 Hours CDT Detective Lopez: John David Smith III, you're under arrest for the murder of Charles Leroy Jenkins. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you? I couldn't believe it. I sat there, with my head in my hands... well, as best I could with them cuffed together. My mama was crying, and couldn't even look at me. Detective Lopez: JD? JD: Wh-what? Guadalupe Smith: Por favor, no... Detective Lopez: Do you understand the rights I've read to you? JD: I guess so. He led me out of the principal's office, arms in front of me, while half the school was gathered outside the room. As I 'perp walked', I could hear a snicker or two from some of my classmates. At that point, I knew that nothing would be the same. Nothing. ------------ And then there were four. You know, all four of us have the same situation: we all lost in the first round of the Redemption Title tournament. Some consolation prize we have ahead of us though, right? I'll discuss all of you in an orderly fashion, but I've been wrestling with how I should do it. Do I do it in order of most championships won? That'd be me. Do I do it in order of seniority in the business? That's me, too. Do I do it on the basis of sheer time on this earth? Still me. So I decided to go in order of importance. We'll start with the least of you; Landon Dalman. Now, I have no idea what you did to get where you got. I've seen your game film, if you will, and I'm not impressed. There's been a billion of you that showed up in this business since I started, and there'll be a billion more after you're done here. The trick of it is to stand out. You know, do more than showboat your way through an endless losing streak. It's almost like you want us to feel bad for you and your inability to ever get off the starting line when you only have yourself to blame. Did you face some quality opponents in your time here? Of course. But who hasn't? From top to bottom, this company is a murderers' row of competition every week. If you haven't gotten better yet, you won't. My next target, I had to flip a coin to decide who to talk about next. It came up heads, so it'll be you, JC. I'll admit to not knowing much about you, but I sure knew your father. He was one of he few out there who had stuck around just about as long as me, and is in almost every Hall of Fame there is to be in. And if you ask me, that's one hell of a large shadow to be fighting out of. The question I've had since I saw you was, 'can he do it?' Can you be bigger than the legend of Jake Keeton? Can you ever become your own man, and create your OWN legend? Only time will really tell, but do I think you're going to do it in a contest like this one? FUCK no. I ain't about letting you make your name off mine, son. Not this week, not this time, not this company. And finally... the woman of the hour. I'm just mentioning you so I won't get fined. ........ Just kidding. You didn't think I'd forget about you now, did you? Eva Broussard, you've done more to me in the short time you've been in this game than anyone I can think of in my 15 years of professional wrestling. Have other people did bigger things? Maybe. But nobody's been a constant thorn in my fuckin' side like you. You... aren't overt. You're subtle. You have big moments, like the time you kidnapped the woman I love and treated her worse than a Somali pirate captive. Like the time you put the scars on Roxy's back. Like the time you helped Rubberized Bimbo Barbie get in my head. And like the time you thought you could get your man to work me over. Eva, I'm about to do something I never thought I'd do; I'm going to tell you how I feel, for real. I hate your fucking guts. You've run, unchecked, through the minefield for too long, and this time you've tripped the wrong switch. I'm not going to show you any mercy. I'm done searching for anything redeeming in you; there IS none. You can put on all the pretty airs you want, but you're still the same person I bumped into two years back who threatened to have me arrested for just being in the way. Your outside may be one of pure beauty... but it's hiding one ugly soul inside. I just hope you can understand the hole you've dug. Maybe you don't care. Maybe you think this is just bluster from an old man who's never going to clear out of your way. Maybe nothing I say will ever resonate. Fine. Guess I can just let these old fists do the talking. My best communication tools for over a decade and a half. I'm done talking about this shit. It's time to put up or shut up. So at Reloaded, everybody on this list better bring ALL they have. I will. And we'll see how it shakes out. I want that title--I want that piece of history. I'll run through the fires of hell--and ALL of you--to get it. See you Thursday, bitches. |
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7:16 PM Jul 11
