Post by Blue Suede Bruce on Jul 4, 2014 13:59:48 GMT -6
“O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave. O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”
I swing the Fender acoustic guitar behind me as I raise my arms up with the people of Memphis cheering me on. It felt good especially with the recent happenings in Mankato. Vance LaRoc did the despicable. He threw Ole Blue into the river and there is no recovering her. My only heirloom from the man who helped Melinda Willis raise me. Ole Blue was more than a faithful friend in my quest to honor the one true king of rock n’ roll, Elvis Aaron Presley. Ole Blue was the legacy of ‘Fast Fingers’ Bob Willis and was passed down to me.
The crowd here at the Independence Day Festival here in the church grounds go wild for my performance of our nation’s anthem on this the anniversary of our independence. I look out to them and it’s time to speak.
“Before we continue celebrating America... Years around Memphis and Las Vegas, I performed like clock work just like the pocketwatch my daddy Bob gave to my oldest brother, Michael. The spirit of Bob Willis possessed me and my fingers to strum and to fret to the rhythm in my soul. It was all possible by my beloved guitar, Ole Blue. But on June 24th. My world was torn apart when Vance LaRoc from Mankato, Minnesota. He stole my guitar. He threw it into the St. Anthony Falls and proceeded to tell me that he performed his civic duty and made it possible for himself to be arrested. I ask you the fine folk of Memphis... Does that make it okay? Does that make it okay for lowlife scumbag to do the things he’s done?”
The crowd start jeering in disapproval of what Vance LaRoc is done.
“I didn’t think so. I tried to not let it bother me. The despicable actions. of Vance Michael LaRoc. However I came to the conclusion that this. This is my day of independence. Blue Suede Bruce declares his independence from treasonous swine in the North who allowed Vance LaRoc to take my father’s guitar and throw it into the mighty Mississippi. Blue Suede Bruce declares his independence from those who turned a sacred American holiday into a nothing more than a hot dog eating competition or a pyrotechnic display.”
The people in the crowd start roaring, unsure of my words.
“And when Blue Suede Bruce drives back up to Minnesota with his brother, Cadillac Jack. You’re gonna know one thing, and one thing alone. Patrick Kay Anthony. This is nothing personal against you, but I got burned by one scene kid. When I see you. I see another scene kid. You have your raven black hair splashed with a little bit of Kool-Aid fruit punch. The guyliner. How do I know you’re not the same as Vance LaRoc? How do I know that you’re not the a punk rocker who makes excuses for the things he does?”
I see Jackie on the stage with his fingers swaying over his throat as if he’s telling me to stop what I’m saying. The crowd is getting more restless. I see iPhones and video cameras taking in my image. Good. I want them to put this on Youtube. I want them to see that Blue Suede Bruce is fed up and irritated with how professional wrestling as come and gone.
“I left the great south for Minnesota because I heard Visionaries of Wrestling was the place to go if you wanted a fair shake and a handshake before each match. A place where two athletes come together for the sake of competition and sportsmanship. The promise to me was that it was a decent place to work for a decent blue collar American. What did I get? Our Boy Blue will tell you. He got treated like a joke. Nothing more than a laughing stock. Why? Because I wanted to look like my idol, Elvis Aaron Presley? Does anybody who looks or act different get ridiculed? Do they have a possession that belonged to their late daddy, thrown into a body of water never to be seen again? What did I do to deserve that? Then while I’m coping with my loss? I’m given the task of going one-on-one with PKA? Is this a mockery to say my counter-culture isn’t as counter-culture as that of the grunge movement of Vance LaRoc or PKA’s emo scene?”
In a fit of anger my hand reaches out and knocks the microphone stand over. The audience in the crowd start booing now as Jackie looks on in horror at the public relations disaster just waiting to happen. He hustles over to me.
“Brucie, baby! What are you doing? Compose yourself. These people were behind you.”
I shove my brother on his ass.
“Where were they when daddy’s guitar was tossed over the bridge. I don’t need them. I don’t need any of them. I can take PKA on my own, and either you’re with me or you’re not. And I reckon since you’re my older brother, you want to be by my side when I show Patrick Kay Anthony what it’s like to be on the recieving end of a great American bash.”
I swing the Fender acoustic guitar behind me as I raise my arms up with the people of Memphis cheering me on. It felt good especially with the recent happenings in Mankato. Vance LaRoc did the despicable. He threw Ole Blue into the river and there is no recovering her. My only heirloom from the man who helped Melinda Willis raise me. Ole Blue was more than a faithful friend in my quest to honor the one true king of rock n’ roll, Elvis Aaron Presley. Ole Blue was the legacy of ‘Fast Fingers’ Bob Willis and was passed down to me.
The crowd here at the Independence Day Festival here in the church grounds go wild for my performance of our nation’s anthem on this the anniversary of our independence. I look out to them and it’s time to speak.
“Before we continue celebrating America... Years around Memphis and Las Vegas, I performed like clock work just like the pocketwatch my daddy Bob gave to my oldest brother, Michael. The spirit of Bob Willis possessed me and my fingers to strum and to fret to the rhythm in my soul. It was all possible by my beloved guitar, Ole Blue. But on June 24th. My world was torn apart when Vance LaRoc from Mankato, Minnesota. He stole my guitar. He threw it into the St. Anthony Falls and proceeded to tell me that he performed his civic duty and made it possible for himself to be arrested. I ask you the fine folk of Memphis... Does that make it okay? Does that make it okay for lowlife scumbag to do the things he’s done?”
The crowd start jeering in disapproval of what Vance LaRoc is done.
“I didn’t think so. I tried to not let it bother me. The despicable actions. of Vance Michael LaRoc. However I came to the conclusion that this. This is my day of independence. Blue Suede Bruce declares his independence from treasonous swine in the North who allowed Vance LaRoc to take my father’s guitar and throw it into the mighty Mississippi. Blue Suede Bruce declares his independence from those who turned a sacred American holiday into a nothing more than a hot dog eating competition or a pyrotechnic display.”
The people in the crowd start roaring, unsure of my words.
“And when Blue Suede Bruce drives back up to Minnesota with his brother, Cadillac Jack. You’re gonna know one thing, and one thing alone. Patrick Kay Anthony. This is nothing personal against you, but I got burned by one scene kid. When I see you. I see another scene kid. You have your raven black hair splashed with a little bit of Kool-Aid fruit punch. The guyliner. How do I know you’re not the same as Vance LaRoc? How do I know that you’re not the a punk rocker who makes excuses for the things he does?”
I see Jackie on the stage with his fingers swaying over his throat as if he’s telling me to stop what I’m saying. The crowd is getting more restless. I see iPhones and video cameras taking in my image. Good. I want them to put this on Youtube. I want them to see that Blue Suede Bruce is fed up and irritated with how professional wrestling as come and gone.
“I left the great south for Minnesota because I heard Visionaries of Wrestling was the place to go if you wanted a fair shake and a handshake before each match. A place where two athletes come together for the sake of competition and sportsmanship. The promise to me was that it was a decent place to work for a decent blue collar American. What did I get? Our Boy Blue will tell you. He got treated like a joke. Nothing more than a laughing stock. Why? Because I wanted to look like my idol, Elvis Aaron Presley? Does anybody who looks or act different get ridiculed? Do they have a possession that belonged to their late daddy, thrown into a body of water never to be seen again? What did I do to deserve that? Then while I’m coping with my loss? I’m given the task of going one-on-one with PKA? Is this a mockery to say my counter-culture isn’t as counter-culture as that of the grunge movement of Vance LaRoc or PKA’s emo scene?”
In a fit of anger my hand reaches out and knocks the microphone stand over. The audience in the crowd start booing now as Jackie looks on in horror at the public relations disaster just waiting to happen. He hustles over to me.
“Brucie, baby! What are you doing? Compose yourself. These people were behind you.”
I shove my brother on his ass.
“Where were they when daddy’s guitar was tossed over the bridge. I don’t need them. I don’t need any of them. I can take PKA on my own, and either you’re with me or you’re not. And I reckon since you’re my older brother, you want to be by my side when I show Patrick Kay Anthony what it’s like to be on the recieving end of a great American bash.”
