Post by Patrick Jones on Jul 29, 2014 22:59:56 GMT -6
In life, it is said there are two kinds of people. What those two types are tends to vary based upon what the person dividing the rest of the world wants to point out by the divisions. It is incredibly simplistic. We are all driven by varying desires and motivations. For instance, some people want to show everyone else their mortality, others want to mortally wound everyone else, and furthermore, a third type of person just wants to take selfies. Surely, when juxtaposed with the first two types, the third has a special camera which grants immortality or possibly even kills the photograph’s subject.
As incredible as that would be, I have never heard of suicide by selfie, much less giving yourself immortality from selfies. Teen girls may be trying their hardest to make this immortality happen, and it may well be in development. It is just a pipedream as of yet. So, yes, with mortality coach and destroyer of bodies, there exists a man just intent on taking as many pictures of himself with as many people as possible. What a strange world we live in today when this is true.
A three way fight between men with those descriptions would certainly be an internet sensation. Just imagine for a moment the strangeness of that scene. Obviously, the pain-hungry man would be the off-the-cuff favorite…right? That line of logic makes perfect sense, but what if the man wanting to show us all that we are merely mortal uses that intellect and has a devious plan? What better way is there to show someone that they will not live forever than to bring them to the brink and leave them there? Where does the selfie addict fit into the equation? The other two could be embroiled in destroying each other that he can pick up the scraps. Then all that would be left is to take a quick snap of him and his demolished opponents before finishing the fight. On the flip side, the two more outwardly violent pair could simply finish him off before squaring off against each other. The hypotheticals certainly do nothing to diminish what the fight could be if it occurred.
However, those three are apparently not enough. Visionaries of Wrestling does not want to leave the possibilities that one man either hangs out to minimize his involvement or that one man gets double teamed and effectively eliminated by incapacitation. Stefan Frei, Ryan Omega, and Sky Sangue saw fit to add one of the most polar men in wrestling. No, he does not necessarily divide the fans like some wrestlers, but he does have a fairly good following among the fans. The fourth man’s polarity is in his performance level. In VOW alone, he had two great showings to start with which earned him two wins. His next two matches were losses. The next two matches were losses. Neither was a particularly poor performance, but the edge needed to win was noticeably lacking.
Beyond his wrestling ability, what character does combatant number four bring to the table? The other three have such strongly identifiable oddities. VOW must have put him into things for a reason other than to stabilize the numbers game. Maybe he hates the self-obsessed and antagonizers of the world. Actually, that explanation would not be far off when it comes to his personality, so it is a valid point. More obviously though, his personality is an incredible departure from them by just being so laid back and average. Yes, Patrick Jones gets to be the normal guy in the insanity of those three. There really are not many better men for that though considering he has been whispered about as “Captain Mediocrity” on more than one occasion.
So what does such a normal man do to prepare for that madhouse?
“So what clever way to shirk you duties do you have in mind for us today?”
The smartass remark from Jenny as she comes through the door to her bedroom is no doubt referencing how I managed to nearly sabotage myself two weeks ago. Sitting lazily on the couch watching television is certainly not projecting the best image either. Her referenced incident had been a remarkable oversight on my part. It was definitely not one of my prouder moments as I had been noticeably out of touch in the 4 corners match. Mr. E had handled me fairly easily before Brett Carson moved in to claim victory. That hate-mongering bigot really has zero class or dignity. He does have a pinfall victory over me though, and wins are what matters in this business ultimately.
“Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe we’d just to a buffet and eat until we are so stuffed that I have to wobble out to the ring for the match.”
Shrugging and throwing her hands up as if to admit defeat, Jen exaggerates her reaction.
“That sounds bloody brilliant! Which 5 class establishment of all-you-can-eat have you gotten us reservations at?”
In a moment spawning much inner satisfaction, I keep my face and voice totally deadpan as I reply.
“Blast.”
“Blast?”
The questioning, repeated reply is accompanied by a raised eyebrow and look of skepticism.
“Yep. And by the way, you’re going to need to wear something comfortable. It might be a more…athletic meal than you’re expecting.”
My pause is accompanied by a small and unstoppable upward twitch at the corners of my mouth. The joke that I am playing on her is difficult to maintain.
“Athletic meal? Jones, how athletic is this going to get? What kind of freaky things do you have in mind? Is this one of those places where you eat in the dark?”
If it was a dark-eatery, that certainly could lead to some certain acts of athleticism mid-meal. Although, I do know those places have infrared cameras to prevent patrons from committing lewd acts. The restaurant does have to protect their health code standards. Having bodily fluids of that nature leaking onto your furniture and possibly eating utensils is certainly not within the acceptable bounds of those codes.
“Uh…no. Just wear those clothes I bought you yesterday.”
Looking at me suspiciously, having actually not looked at the clothes since the bag is still sitting on the island counter in the kitchen, she walks over to the bag. She reaches in and pulls out a pair of Nike athletic shorts and matching short-sleeve shirt.
“These are NOT dinner clothes. Pat…what are you doing?”
“I technically never promised a real meal. You just assumed that was the case since I mentioned a buffet.”
She retreats to her room to change, and I do the same. Separated from her for a moment, my thoughts go to the match. It truly is a match of three very distinctive personalities with a tag-along. Ever since our days in TEW when Judas had proven himself against me and earned my respect, he has been trying to kill his opponents. Maybe kill is a bit sensationalist, but I have seen him do amazing damage with just his body as a weapon. The man is as close to a robot in the ring as I have ever seen. The only difference is that robots tend to have a pattern their programming causes. It is almost fitting then that a man who uses the very clever pseudonym of “Death”. Sadly, his in-ring performances have resulted in two losses which make the intimidation of his name flicker like a dying flame. Ziu Zhong plays an almost better opposite than I ever could by being known as Mr. Selfie. Surprisingly, for having such a digital-age nickname, he uses a Polaroid camera. However, no matter how odd the trio might be, what is to come with Jenny is going to be a fun way to get ready.
The two of us reconvene in the living area of the hotel room before making our way to my Camaro then finally to our destination, Blast! Fitness. Jen was right, it was not a dinner date. When we arrived, she was not impressed.
“Really? You had to drag me along? Are YOU trying to say something to me?”
Of course, she has to take it as an insult. She could not be more wrong. The British woman was in remarkably good shape for someone that I had never seen actually work out. She also did not seem to be overly healthy conscious. Either way, her figure had nothing to do with this plan.
“Oh yeah, you’re sooo fat. I’ll make sure they don’t try to turn you into bacon when we walk in.”
The very miffed look on her face is accompanied by a mildly hard slap on the arm before huffily getting out of the car. Laughing, I get out of my own door.
“Actually, it just gets boring by myself. Besides, I wanted to try some of those more womanly things like Zumba or something similar to work on flexibility. I didn’t want to look like a perv by being the lone man in a room of fit women in spandex or short shorts.”
“Ok, fine. Maybe I had been wanting to get a workout in too. Let’s go, girly man. It’s time to dance.”
Great…maybe this was NOT such a good idea. She is going to find every way to make a joke at my expense. Whatever. I will do what I need to do in order to fix these damned inconsistencies. If it means that I am wiggling my hips in a less than masculine fashion, oh well. I’ll just dance to the back after victories if I have to.
