Post by jimmy on Jul 29, 2014 21:54:17 GMT -6
Don't Fear The Reaper
–
"Dying is easy, it's living that scares me to death"
-Annie Lennox
Like every good story, it started with
me snorting cocaine off a toilet seat at a Ritz Carlton. I had just
signed a nice, juicy contract for a new wrestling company:
Visionaries of Wrestling. I knew quite a few members and former
members. I had had my wars with Matt Slater, Ryan Omega, Bobby
Backdoor and Cera, I had befriended Shane Sparx, and have fantasized
about Reya Serra. I went down to the bar, ordered a steak and decided
to celebrate with a woman. You see, a lot of guys like to think about
making love to many women, but I prefer just one. Just one, but a
different one every night. So I tried my luck, and picked up a
gorgeous blonde. And yes, blondes are more fun.
Her elegant, warm hand ran down my bare
chest, small fingers tracing my pectorals and belly button. Her
feminine, smooth tongue stabbed under my chin before maneuvering its
way around and reaching it's destination, my mouth.
Another woman, another hurt soul. I
wish I could be everything this woman wanted me to be, but some
people aren't cut out for that. I guess that's me. A therapist's
nightmare. Many could point to Sigmund Freud's Oedipus complex
theory. My mother was a slut, therefore, I was attracted to a fast
lifestyle. I don't feel as if that's fair to my mother, Maria Dathan.
She loved all of those men with all her heart, I don't love these
women. She was a good person, and for whatever reason, this apple
fell far from the tree. Hell, I'm not even an apple, I'm a friggin'
orange.
I've always been one for creativity. To
me, innovating is just as much as an accomplishment as winning a
title or string of matches. If I go in there, make women wet, make
guys gasp, and make parents cover their child's eyes, I did a good
enough job. I've grown up keeping everything playful, I guess it's
just in my nature. It's not that I don't take my opponent seriously,
it's just how I operate. I guess you could say that innovation is
inherent for me.
I also grew up with a familiarity with
the word: accountability. My mother cheated on my dad, so she got
beaten. My dad was a drunk who abused his wife, so he got killed. I
wrestled my entire life, so I understood that every action had an
equal and opposite reaction, and that the best thing I could do was
own up to my actions. Imagine wearing the modified 'onsie' and
stepping onto those mats in front of all of your peers. All of your
friends (for me, they were few and far between) and in front of all
the women you wanted to make the beast with two backs with (now that,
there were more of). And then you get pinned. You have no excuses. In
wrestling, you're forced to rise to the occasion. No matter what is
said about me, I guess that's my strongest, most redeemable quality.
For, if I'm not honest with myself, how
can I grow, and how can I be honest with those around me? Honesty is
something that is not found in many people. Many people would be fine
kissing ass and sucking up to those in power in order to get ahead
and fly under the radar. But you see, those are the people who aspire
to be normal, those are the people who don't succeed, those are the
Patrick Jones of the world. There's good, and then there's excellent.
There's a wrestler, and then there's Judas Dathan.
I grabbed her hips, thrusting myself
and my pelvic region back into reality (no, her name was not
Reality). “Judas...” I heard the soft moan as I kissed her
throat. I don't quite know why, but it seemed a bit lumpier than
normal, but I kissed on. I'm not one to complain. As I peppered her
neck with kisses, she grabbed my skin flute and began pulling with
all her might, yet nothing happened. She continued stroking
rhythmically, yet, again, nothing. I couldn't do it, there was
something bothering me.
“Is everything alright baby?”
“No, I'm sorry, everything's not
alright though.” I sat up, clutching my face, realizing the mistake
I had previously made. There was much speculation as to what company
I would be making my return to, but I shocked the world and joined
VOW. Why? Because I viewed VOW as a playground for me. It would be a
fresh start, a place where I could innovate and excel. However, there
was one issue: my first match.
“Well, what's wrong?” She said, her
voice almost crackling in the process. She truly cared, I felt bad
that I would be abandoning her once we both shared a beautiful night
together. But at least she'll be able to tell all her friends.
“Remember how I told you that I'm a
famous wrestler? Well, half of that is right. The second half! I used
to be the famous, but then, I saw what match I was put in for my
debut! And now I see how low I truly am on the totem pole!” Tears
began flowing down my face, making a pitter-patter sound on the
bedsheets below, turning them from white to blue. She began patting
my back, stroking the firm ridges, but it was no use, the
ego-crushing damage had already been done. I knew where I stood in
the eyes of everyone; the fans, the other wrestlers, those in charge
– everyone!
I mean, it's bad enough I'm in a match
with a man who's name is “Death.” That's an embarrassment in of
itself. The man lacks enough creativity to come up with a name. And
guess what? He believes in making those who are carefree, wasteful
and sinners pay. Super original. You can add him to the same list as
Plague and everyone else who's trying to make a name for themselves
but are too dumb and untalented to successful. The best thing he is
probably able to think about me is the fact that I use the name
Judas. Well, I'm sorry for using the name of some dude who didn't
even kill Jesus a couple thousand years ago. And is that the best he
has? What about the fact that I watched my father die and enjoyed it?
The fact I sleep with a new woman every night? Maybe the fact that I
haven't paid taxes in fifteen years? I'm as morally bankrupt as you
get, and all he can say is: “Uhhhh, Judas killed Jeebuzzz!”
And furthermore, he believes that all
people fear death. This is simply untrue; I, and many others, welcome
death. I'm not sure what it has in store for me, but anything is
better than the shitty planet I live on. The fear of death is
irrational, why be afraid of something that will inevitably happen to
every human being on the planet? It's happened to billions of people,
and it will continue to do so. The only thing we have is our legacy.
That's all we can make permanent.
His level of creativity is only
paralleled by Ziu Zhong. A happy go lucky Asian wrestler? Let me
guess, he also is a high flier or submission specialist? The man is
about as generic as you can get. With both of their talent and
creativity put together, these two could maybe earn as much money as
a clown who makes balloon animals at birthday parties.
“I'm sorry, just give me a second.”
I spoke, in between sobs, shaking my head in the process. But as if
it wasn't insulting enough, I had to go against Patrick Jones,
captain mediocrity. This man is an eternal mid-carder. I don't quite
understand how he has a job in any company, he's simply a gate
keeper. I mean, he's a great indicator of if you're ready to be in
the main event. If you run through him in like, two minutes, you're
ready.
But the funny thing, is that I owe my
career to Mr. Jones. Without him, I wouldn't have gotten into Total
Extreme Wrestling, which means, I would have never improved the way I
did. So, in a way, I owe my career to PJ. However, just because I owe
that to him, doesn't mean I should be burdened in being in a match
with him.
The tears continued dripping down my
face until my lover calmly put her feminine fingers on my chin and
lead me towards her mouth, she kissed me before laying back. “You
don't look like you want to talk, but I got something for you to do
with your mouth.” She pulled her panties to the side as I hungrily
anticipated the best only inches away from her groin.
That's when it hit me.
Quite literally, that's when
her/his/it's penis hit me in the face. I looked up, mouth gaping
(now, completely regrettably) as she looked down. “It's not gonna
suck itself.” I was in a state of awe. It wasn't big, in fact, it
was a little small, but I don't think I have ever misjudged someone
so bad since I thought PJ was a good wrestler. That's when she spoke
again.
“My name's Jenny Rain...and I'm your
road agent. I believe we met before.”