Naked Shane Reynolds
This might as well be a continuation from the last piece. If you’re not aware then go and do your homework because you’re seriously missing out. Truly compelling, and more importantly.. creative piece of storytelling this side of The Octane. Though, I’d imagine it’s like Japanese torture for Jonny O’Dell as he remains in the most deepest and darkest depths of his own mind.
The song ‘Lady Gypsy’ by David Brent is being played on loop for hours.. perhaps days. Who knows? All we know is that whatever was in that potion concocted by his very own Lady Gypsy then that is the reason for his inner peril. Well, I say that… the blow to the head via the sheep skin baton probably caused the blackout. The random song, however? That’s the potion. Overall prediction: the beginning of one gnarly head trip, dude!
Then… a voice. A voice of a lady…
LADY: Come with me, Jon..
O’DELL: But I’m scared..
LADY: Let me show you the way..
O’DELL: Please, show me the way..
With that said, the darkness begins to separate and the most brightest colors of the rainbow burst into action. They spread until darkness is filled in its entirety. The song ‘Lady Gypsy’ doesn’t seem as hard on the ears now – but rather.. inviting. The colors, meanwhile – create shapes and then the shapes create objects. The image of a field – the same field that O’Dell and his mate Gavin usually hangout.. only different. There’s no dog shit; they’re daisies.. and trees. So many trees; they’re the most brightest of green.
But there, dominating the image is a man.. or is it? It feels like it should be Jonny O’Dell but it isn’t.. just feels that way. But it’s not a man – it’s a bearded lady. She’s dressed in a navy blue traditional gypsy robe; it’s flowing. She smiles.. it beams and feels so warm. Her eyes… seductive and alluring. I can’t really explain… she feels so close yet so far away all at the same time.
In his helpless state, Jonny calls out and the bearded lady starts to become known. She giggles (hand over mouth) like a schoolgirl. Gradually, the facial features of arguably the greatest HOW ICON champion, Shane Reynolds comes to light. It still doesn’t look like the real Shane Reynolds but it can bizarrely be identified as exactly him. Shane turns away from us and skips further and further away. What is probably seconds, but seems like hours.
O’DELL: No. Come back..
When I had known only 18 summers
I headed west into the Whitley Wood
To make my fortune and find a lover
The song is sang with complete serenity and bliss. Further and further out of sight Shane Reynolds skips. Until.. Shane couldn’t be seen any longer.
Lie, La, La lie, la la lie
Oh La la lie, la la lie, la la lie
A sense of deep pitted sadness suddenly fulfills O’Dell. The separation from the Shane Reynolds-like apparition has made him longing for her. Running.. cashing after her until we reach the lake. She appears from nowhere.. teasing. Only this time Shane Reynolds is completely naked with only the ICON title fastened around her waist to hide her lady-garden.
And by the lakeside, just South of Didcot
I spied an angel just standing there
Shane Reynolds blows a kiss
She was a traveler, but she was pretty
And clean, she was in the water, washing her hair
With those lyrics sang so beautifully – Shane Reynolds then proceeds to wash her hair. The water… running down her naked breasts. Immense arousal becomes an imminent emotion to how O’Dell is feeling.
I lost my heart to a lady gypsy.
So long ago I forgot her name
But I still remember, the smell of the flowers
And the way, my life, would never be the same
Jonny O’Dell is frolicking with Shane Reynolds in the lake, both naked. We can’t visually see the apparition of O’Dell but it certainly feels like it’s exactly him. All we can see is her. She’s mesmerizing. They are splashing water at each other and a strong sensation of happiness consumes.
The song ‘Lady Gypsy’ peaks volume with the voice of David Brent singing his frickin’ heart out.
I LOST MY HEART TO A LADY GYPSY
SO LONG AGO I FORGOT HER NAME
BUT I STILL REMEMBER, THE SMELL OF FLOWERS
AND THE WAY, MY LIFE, WOULD NEVER BE THE SAME
Shane Reynolds leads the disembodied spirit of Jonny O’Dell into a cave by the hand; seeking refuge from the rain. It’s getting dark out. I reiterate, like they’ve spent the whole day together when in reality it could simply be merely only minutes.
The image is fixated on her face that her eye’s truly dominate.. we can almost forget they are naked. The intimacy is at a close proximity where her gaze could tell a thousand words. But we can only feel one… love. What is happening..
LIE, LA, LA LIE, LA LA LIE
OH LA LA LIE, LA LA LIE, LA LA LIE
On an fabricated axis… spinning. Whilst the HOW old-guard romantically… kiss. With the feeling of complete ecstasy. Fanciful fireworks explode in the background and this could quite well be the best day of Jonny O’Dell’s shitty life.
O’DELL: Tell me we can be here forever, Shane…
Shane does not answer as O’Dell puts a bit of her hair behind her ear. She flutters her eyes but it’s like O’Dell can read her thoughts. I don’t know.. this is weird. Clearly something from the Twilight Zone.
O’DELL: What must I do..?
It’s like Shane is telepathically giving O’Dell the ideas. Like imaginary jigsaw pieces for him to put in order and finish for himself.
O’DELL: But I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here and be iconic like you..
She just looks lovingly back. No words, just creation. That imagery is fixated for some period of time. Giving O’Dell ideology and the notion, perhaps reality – that he can’t stay here forever. He doesn’t belong here. He needs to go back home like E.T. For he is not an icon………… yet.
O’DELL: Tap my heels three times and repeat there’s no place like home – yeah.. I get it; like I’m Dorothy.
Shane replies with her eyes, but again.. no words just the gaze looking deep inside of O’Dell.
O’DELL: And twirl around and fart?! That didn’t happen in the Wizard of Oz..
Shane Reynolds now… seemingly set further away.
O’DELL: No. Don’t go. I need more time..
Shane Reynolds begins to drift further out into obscurity. The feeling of deep loss and frantic panic stricken O’Dell. The heartache that Naked Shane Reynolds must stay and live the rest of his life as an icon in ICON Land whilst O’Dell must prove his credentials in the real world, particularly HOW. There is refusal from Shane to cross into the real world, too – but O’Dell knows deep down that isn’t possible either.
O’Dell’s eyelids begin to slowly open. His vision remains blurry but there’s clear movement around him. O’Dell remains motionless on the ground and someone is doing something to a dog that I quite simply don’t want to acknowledge. Or, in fear of being rightly vilified and outed as a bad apple by an unforgiving community – I will simply keep my mouth shut. Meanwhile, O’Dell does what any normal human being would do in this situation.. pretend like it’s not happening by shutting his eyes and will let someone else sort out the problem.
Perhaps he wants to revisit ICON Land again and shag Shane Reynolds? Maybe he believes that ICON Land is a far happier world to live in than the current world? That Shane Reynolds would keep him safe in the comfort of his bosom from the poisonous real life manifesto. That ICON Land is the safe haven for all of the retired wrestling icon’s to be naked and free.
Finding meaning for what has just transpired in the spiritual portal created by Lady Gypsy in O’Dell’s mind can not be rationalized. However, my own thought process on it is that O’Dell’s paranoia has been heightened by being in the public eye again. Maybe it’s the pressure of performing, I don’t know. Though such imagery like Shane Reynolds and the ICON title are very nostalgic and current to what he’s experiencing in today’s life. Maybe the nakedness symbolizes a vulnerability? Though, the sexual aspect of it simply blows my mind. Like there’s a need there, a lust… but for another man’s cock? Or the bigger picture being the ICON championship where if crowned.. all of his boyhood dreams will come true.
Butttt I want a pony and you can’t always get what you want. He wants to live in a perfect world but in reality he’s stuck here with the scum that is human beings. O’Dell just lies there, eyes firmly shut – wild thoughts running through his head but seems very content to stay there as well.
O’DELL: Classic case of a baby throwing its toys out of the pram when nothing goes its way. About time you act your age, Cecil. Fucking here’s your milk you spoilt brat now get to bed because you’re grounded. Much like when your best mate Mike did when he threatened retirement. Dangling that fucking carrot, are we? Even though it’s fucking crocodile tears and the boy that cried wolf.. trust me; Mike’s not retiring – we’ve got a return match before he does eventually fuck off. It’s just a bad publicity stunt.. or gay attention-seeking like what you’re doing, Fartington. We know his names Michael but we didn’t know his last name was Jordan. Check his birth certificate, Lee – if it says Black American.. be worried. Just fucking smoke and mirrors, all it is. Much like you’re not fucking off to OCW – especially with the ICON title. I mean.. how fucking old are you? Twelve? You’ll be threatening to run away from home next. That would do us all a favor actually.. pack your bags and fuck off. We can’t be doing with any HOW part-timers. Plus, I’m far too brittle to carry your arse.
Fucking got this attitude like you’re hard done by when you’ve lived on a bastard pot of gold all of your life. I wouldn’t care, you’re not even fucking Irish. I just thought you were going with the whole spoilt rich kid thing… but all I’m seeing is a Leprechaun Cunt. Where’s me gold..? I don’t know – how about turn up, put some graft in and simply don’t be a cunt about it when I’m crowned ICON champion. Because if there’s anything that I learned from my match with your pal Mr. Bestwick – which you will always find you learn something from every match – that’s the beauty of the job – even after thirty plus years, still leaning… like a sponge. Fuck, you know what I mean. Anyway, what I learnt from that gobshite was you need to give a fuck. Fair enough I don’t give a fuck about him or his accomplishments – but I give a fuck about me and my fucking match. Because it’s MY match.. not his, yours or any cunts. And try and stop ‘The Fab One’. You fucking might, you know.. Mike did. But man, take that spotlight off of me… you cannot. It belongs on me, never fucking left me actually. Even in my darkest of days it was there in spirit – created in a plastic torch-like shell.. it merely only needed batteries to get going again.
But fuck.. simply downing tools because it’s not going your way is not the fucking answer. Imagine if I did the same in my match against Mick. Just leave mid-match because I can’t get my own way. Jesus man, have some respect. Then you want to fuck off to OCW with the ICON title. I tell you what.. if you can manage to throw my old ass over the top rope and win then I’ll fucking turn up at OCW myself. I’ll dirty protest and fucking shit on your bastard parade. How would you like that? Because over my nearly dead body are you making it across the boarder to OCW with the ICON title. Your dial-up will fuck up before you get there.. I promise you. And if you do get yourself logged-on.. I’m the virus, daddy-o! Browse a blank screen when I knock you clean out with The Fab Foot. You don’t fucking quit HOW.. HOW quits you. It eats you up and shits you out like you weren’t even fucking born, kid. Today’s hero and tomorrow’s zero. Yeah, I bet you think I’m that zero don’t you punk – well AOL is making a motherfuckin’ comeback. But don’t call it that.. because I’ve been here for years.
Imagine if you were a heart surgeon and you just slammed down your scalpel because the room was too hot or something. You go and tell little Jimmy’s parents why little Jimmy can’t have a new heart then. And tell the truth.. bottle job. That’s all you are. When times get hard you want to run and hide with your tail between your legs. Telling ya.. if you can’t handle the heat don’t be here in HOW. Quit the guilt trip and fucking perform. And who fucking sent that letter? Your dad or something? Well he needs a slap, too. He needs a good old fashioned slap. Letting his boy dictate what he wants happening. I don’t know it might not even be your dad either.. just what I heard. But if it is your fucking daddy he needs to put you in line. Trouble with you kids – it’s your mess you gotta clean it up. Fucking expecting everyone else to wipe your arse for you. Get a grip, man. And this could potentially be an ICON champion… fuck, we’re all screwed. Gunna strap a chastity belt on myself for extra weight. I know lead in my boots would be much easier but I currently don’t have any……… you know, boots.
Fucking whiner. I tell ya, you rival your mate Michael for being The World’s Biggest Crybaby. Not like that’s a title you want… but knowing Michael, he’d fight you all the way to the death for that cunt.
Now there’s two things my old trainer Bobby ‘Beatdown’ Thompson – god rest his soul – told me never to do in this business. And that was never to wrestle a girl……………..
Oh… you want to know the other thing…? You nosey shit?!
Yeah, they’re aggressive little shits and bite. Anyway, fucking wrestling a chick? Yeah sure, if we’re butt-naked and rolling about in mud. I’m sure Aunt Flo would like that, too – only fuckery is that I’m as broke as Johnny Depp right now. So I’m no use to you, Flo. Sorry. Maybe if I save my pocket money I’ll give you a call. But, even then.. a wank is much cheaper, love.
Fucking wrestling women. It’s gunna be a comedy match, ain’t it? And let me tell you, sweetheart.. I don’t do comedy. I’m the most professional bastard you will ever meet and when that bell rings and you step in the ring with ‘The Fabulous One’.. then it’s all business. Not your kind of business, either. All you’re good for is opening your legs – and to be honest at my age I’d much prefer to stay in and watch the horse racing with a large glass of red. No hard feelings though, Flo – just do what you do best and lay down for me. Believe me, sugartits – if I’m in the mood.. I’ll fuck you till you love me. I mean.. why does Mike have to get all of the girls? What? Don’t you think I can be sexy? I once was you know. But it was in a far better world than this. This world is shit and if you ever want to meet up for just a chat – because it can be lonely sometimes – we can get you off the streets and get you back on your baby dear legs again.
Speaking of lonely fuckers… Shawn Stevens. Now I might have got you mixed up for somebody else. Shit.. did I just call you Shawn again? I mean Scott. Fuck. Ok Scotty.. there’s no bad feeling this way, brother. The same invitation is there for you also my friend. Ha.. but fuck me, you’re dead like that other Stevens you know. Just in the sense where he was a loser-child also. He was his own icon. Granted, all for the wrong reasons but he still left a fucking legacy. Tell ya.. better legacy than that Mike Best that’s for sure.
He was tragic that guy. He’d call himself a loser – no, maybe that was just us… but he kept pestering me to ride with him. Strictly two separate cars.. I’ll be a lonesome star, too – if it meant riding with that boring bastard. Be like sharing with Mike Best. Fuck, I couldn’t imagine how fucking painful it would be to sit in a car and listen to how shit the guys life is, you know? Fucking bucking trend here in HOW – all asking why me? Crying over spilt milk.. Mike, Cecil and now you Shawn – fuck.. I mean Scott. Scott. That’s it. Why you? It’s not always fucking about you. Gotta get that clarity, man. Gotta see that light.. fucking empowering. I’ve been there and you can’t fight it Steve’o – you gotta embrace it. Fuck, you might not like embracing the shit-bucket that is professional wrestling but there’s only one winner there, mate. Believe me. Just take one look at me.. it’s your future. It’s enough to turn off Lindsey Lohan for fucks sake. Not Flo, though.. she’d do anything for a couple of dollars.
Then you got fucking Bobbinette Carey talking about fucking breast feeding? Well tell ya what, girl… you’ll have a lot of that to do once this thing is over. Over? Just fucking be on standby like a fucking EMT because these babies need their milk. Or they get cranky… and cry retirement. You could just sit topless at ringside; Mike Best on one titty, his best mate on the other (Cecil) and the rest can form an orderly queue around the ring post. Fuck, there’s so many hungry babies in HOW that you’ll be sold out. Once the match is over you’ll be so flat chested that you could pass as a man. Or worse.. Nicole Ritchie. And do you think that will stop them wanting more? Naw, they’re greedy. They’re like the walking dead.. they’ll only stop when they get those title reigns…. or titty milk. Lots and lots of titty milk.
Everyone in this match wants a bit of ‘bitty’ it seems. Fuck, even get some lesbo action in this bitch and get Flo in on the action… though, that’d be pretty hot. I’d probably pay to see that. Not participate, because I’m too old for that shit – but I can get some enjoyment at least by just watching. So cheers, girls. Don’t let me get in your way. Then when it’s finally properly over… get the dinner on. That’s all your good for. The other can wash my gear as it’s not been washed since 2010 and job’s and good one.
Who else? Cool Jiles? A bit of the wild card you could say. Or he’d say.. because he doesn’t shut up. Mr. Out There Man.. yeah, cool – far out, bro. Bring a surf board to the Battle Royal and I’ll fucking surf you over the top rope you annoying twat. Then when your swept back to shore, with your trunks down to your ankles – don’t feel embarrassed when everyone is laughing at you because you can’t ride the wave, man. It’s a damn shark tank out there in that ring – believe me, bro.. I’ve survived it. Lived to tell the tale and breathing the very fumes of the shit you are talking. Grow up. Fucking wearing sunglasses indoors.. show some respect. Nobody thinks you’re cool. They think you’re a twat… join the queue for Bob’s titty milk.
Then there’s Chris Kostoff. Nothing but fucking respect right there. Two old pro’s… man, how did we manage to last the test of time? I’ve cheated death more than Charlie Sheen. Wait.. he is still alive, right? And Chris Kostoff..? Got more lives than Garfield that cunt. A lot of similarities, but in terms of iconic status.. Kostoff is riding first class on his way to ICON Land. Fuck, at this stage I’d have to hide in his luggage for me to get there. Kostoff is an icon – with probably half of the ‘achievements’ Mike Best has – but he has a true legacy.
And as for me, this is it… make or break; one match. After thirty plus years dedicated to this business.. Shane Reynolds hangs his dick like a pendulum. One side I’m crowned an icon and on the other I keep searching. But at fifty five years old I do realize my time is limited and this opportunity might not ever come around again.
I’ve never been picked for War Games, never had a straight up HOW title match.. and come to fucking think of it – I couldn’t even begin to tell you what the inside of Lee Best’s office looks like cos I’ve never been in it. Yet here I am; not whining, crying or fucking threatening retirement. I am here wanting clarity and THE NEEWWW.
Take me back, Shane.