10 Years Ago
“You have to leave the country.” The knowing voice of Rebecca Hines said urgently. She was Steve Harrisons Publicist hired to give him a better image outside and inside the wrestling world. Usually she had failed but occasionally Steve would show humility. That would soon be a thing of past, she realized when she found out that his wrestling world was crumbling, and his personal life was being tossed about because of the return of his father.
Steve Harrison leans back in his lazy-boy, his flip phone to his ear. His brown hair slicked back to show his bloodshot eyes and a black eye that has started to turn yellow. He nods, seemingly understanding the words being told to him. A glass of WhistlePig Rye Whiskey is in his right hand the ice melting slowly. He takes a slow sip from the glass, “ah.”
“Are you listening, Steve?”
Steve leans forward, puts the glass down on a cheap looking table with multiple stains and cracks showing. “I have a match this week.”
“AWC Closed, Steve.”
Steve strokes the stubble on his chin that only a child would be proud of. “That is bullshit, how am I supposed to get revenge for this black eye?”
“Look–you leave the country, or you get your fathers wrath. Ask yourself this: does my father care about my wrestling career when he doesn’t even care about me?”
Steve frowns and kicks the cheap table, the expensive whiskey flies across the room and shatters on the floor. “It took me a long time to become the paradigm of excellence. My greatness shining through the clouds of these delusional peons. I went from a nobody to a hot new wrestling prospect and you are saying I need to leave the country?”
“Your dad is back in charge; your brother is in the ER with an unknown illness and you are an embarrassment to him. What do you think happens next if you stay?”
Steve freezes and stares at the phone, his hand shaking, “so I hear some island some where is nice this time of year.”
“Yes, and he has agreed to give you an allowance.”
Steve jumps from his chair, “SHWING.”
“Will Peyote Jones be joining you?”
Steve’s left eyebrow rises, completely forgetting that sitting in the corner mumbling to himself, sweating profusely all over himself tripping on acid sat, Peyote Jones. Yes, Peyote Jones the former JUST Wrestling Champion, a freaked-out mess and someone Harrison decided to look after, in hopes it would count as community service after his arrest. “Oh—I doubt he could get past customs.”
“Ok, get packed right away–a car is on the way to get you.”
“Ok,” Steve flips his phone shut and runs to his room and starts throwing everything he can in his luggage and then turns to Peyote, “so—uh—hmm–you can stay here, I guess.”
Peyote looks up, his hands reaching like he is petting a large dog, “Meh.”
Steve shrugged at Peyote with a glimmer in his eye like maybe he would miss this drugged out maniac and ran out the door to wait for the car.
9 ½ Years Later.
Steve Harrison: the embodiment of greatness, the essence of orgasms, the personification of CBD essentials, and the island man entrepreneur.
That is me.
I was told that bumper sticker was too long but when you really are that amazing it takes a lot of words and sticky back paper to show it.
I have taken my fathers allowance and made a killing on the mean streets.
I have my CBD Stores, (disclaimer, cannot promise THC is not present, skip your drug test, fellas).
My “dating,” company, (BYOC—don’t make me spell it out for you–wink, wink, buddies).
My other multiple businesses:
Like, my Bleach miracle cure company–
–My methadone clinic with REAL heroin. (You cannot say I am not a charitable man).
–My food to home diet company (now with real chicken).
I have so many great things going on that I probably forgot multiple awesomely grand accomplishments.
But today I have a meeting with the prime minister. It took over nine years to work my way up to this type of power.
“Mr. Harrison, I have really enjoyed your dating service,” the prime minister said with a wink and a nudge.
Steve nodded in agreement his sunglasses bouncing off his tanned nose. “No problem, PM, you mind if I call you PM?”
“Oh—um—Mr. Prime Minister it is then,” Steve responded with a worried smirk moving across his twitching face.
The Prime Minister laughed and slapped Steve across his shoulder. “I am just kidding, Mr. Harrison, anybody who understands that what happens on a dating company stays between the dating company and the customer.”
“Well, of course, I wouldn’t want people to know you like fat underage transvestites—right?” Harrison responded with nod a drop of sweat slowly moving down his left cheek.
The PM’s smile faded, and he nodded reluctantly as he took a glass of wine from a waitress not caring that it wasn’t his waitress or order and downed it in one gulp. “Yea,” he responded angrily, “maybe not mention that again, unless you want all your companies seized by my people.”
Steve’s smiled faded and he nodded slowly, wiping the sweat from his cheek. The sun began to hide behind a cloud so Steve lowered his sunglasses and stared directly into the PM’s eyes, “I would never dream of harming your reputation, sir.”
The PM nodded, his Hawaiian shirt and sunhat making him look like a tourist, he was known to hide in plain sight this way. “I am happy we have an understanding. You see, I believe your money and contacts can help shape this island into a paradise. We don’t have disease harming our people and there are no homeless people begging on every corner. All we need now is the immunity to do whatever we want without any sceptics or activists trying to stop us. I mean jeez—we have money—we can do what we want, right?”
Steve looked on skeptically at the PM knowing that the young homeless end up working for his dating service and the elder homeless are sheltered together in the middle of the island in a broken-down train car. Of course, that was the good story, the bad story is that they are killed at a slaughterhouse. Worse yet there was a rumor they got into the meat. “Yes, the homeless can be a problem in a democracy.”
Steve laughed in agreement, “I am curious about the health of your people though. Can you accurately claim people don’t get sick? The rich and powerful are rich and powerful because they are careful, they will not believe such a claim without proof.”
The PM grabbed a small plastic bottle from his pocket and placed it down in front of he and Steve. “The miracle cure!”
Steve’s eyes became anime. He gulped in fear and attempted a fake smile, “Wha—wha—what you got there, buddy?”
The PM gave out a loud laugh and tapped his right index finger on the bottle cap. “You should know, I heard you told someone it cured everyone in Florida of herpes.”
Oh, come on…
…Florida is all herpes.
“Yea—so, you know,” Steve stuttered out and continued, “I need to make sure you are doing it correctly.”
“Sip a day, keeps the herpes away, right?” The PM said confidently.
Steve nodded slowly and began to stand up one inch at a time in hopes to not make the PM nervous. He knocked his shades back down and he stretched looking around him to make sure he could escape. “PM, you are a great guy. I cannot wait until this island is a paradise. But if you need my help, I better get at it. You know, palms to grease, girls to whor—I mean date, and all the none homeless people meat to sell to the diet conscious people of the island.”
The PM took the cap off the bottle and took a small sip. “It doesn’t go down too smooth and burns like hell, but I swear I can see EVERYTHING!”
Steve saluted the PM and walked away every step faster then the last. “Oh shit, oh shit,” he grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and pushed a contact and waited for an answer. “Come on, come on, goddamit what time is it there?”
“Hel-hell-hello?” a woman’s voice said sounding half asleep.
“REBECCA GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
“finish up your beer?” Rebecca sing sang back to Steve.
Steve stomped his foot to the ground like the petulant child he is, “no, no, no, it is not last call. I NEED TO GET OFF THIS ISLAND!”
“It has almost been ten years, Steve. Last I heard you had the scummy businesses down pat, why would you want to return now?” Rebecca replied sounding more awake by the word.
Harrison jumped in his car and motioned for his driver to drive as he slammed the door shut. “Well you know the miracle cure is the best, but you also know—it is pretty much poison, right?”
“Well, say you know someone who is on the ‘I see EVERYTHING,’ stage…”
Rebecca interrupts Steve, “is there a good stage?”
Steve stares out the car window and sighs, “as Dave Chappelle once famously said, ‘so, some people say cucumbers taste better pickled.’”
“Huh. I will be at the airport in twenty minutes, pick me up when I come back to the states,” Steve said looking frenzied, a look of utter fear growing on his face. He looks in the car fridge and pulls out some miracle cure and throws it out the window.
“You do remember why you are gone right?”
“HE SEES EVERYTHING! That shit was for the poor and stupid not the fucking Prime Minister. I would rather try to survive back home then become poor, homeless, and then dead on this island!”
“Ok, fly into Dulles.”
“Praise, Alien Jesus!”
Steve Harrison sits in a chair in his hotel room. The hotel is edited for privacy but is found outside of Washington DC in Northern Virginia. He stares outside the window, only a small part of the window is not covered by the curtain as rain pours down outside. He is wearing Christmas tree boxers, a faded yellow Hostility Wrestling shirt, and socks with SANDALS! The monster. A glass of something brown in a chalice you can find at the Halloween store as part of a Pimp costume sits half empty, as Steve licks his lips. He clears his throat and turns smiling like a maniac.
“Turn around, every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes, turn around, bright eyes, every now and then I fall apart.”
And you all NEED me, you NEED me more than ever, and you NEED to hold me tight.
I am like that snake in the tree that promises you knowledge from eating an apple. I believe it was in a children’s book where that was first told to the masses. I believe wholeheartedly that what I say is oxygen for the people. I bring you up with me, just ask me about my Amway account. We all can be Founders Crown Ambassadors if you follow my lead.
The wrestling world has missed me. It has been ten years since I went to Hostility as a fool that could not win a match. I was in a horrific car crash that left me in a coma for several months and nobody came to see me. That is when I realized I really was a NOTHING, a NOBODY, and a FAILURE.
I turned the corner and became a different person. Some would say GRAND or EXCEPTIONAL or straight FIRE from a blacksmith forge. The truth was that none of these phonies could accept that they no longer were going to get a win against me and so they plotted against me.
I heard that when I was in JUST Wrestling winning two matches in a row and then losing the next match, THREE times was the definition of choking. PA-SHA!!! Tim Shipley was just holding me back, especially after Jay Terror cried like a baby when I beat him.
Peyote Jones won the damn title, I don’t think anyone can understand how insulting that is. Peyote Jones was high—on EVERYTHING!
Just when you think your new Last Action Hero was turning the corner in AWC, everything closes, and I am threatened with, what can only be, death by MY own father.
I have wasted ten years, oh, let’s be honest, I lived like I was on a ten-year sex vacation. But who would think selling (redacted for safety) as a miracle cure would result in me coming back to the states? I lost most of my money when the Prime Minister passed away from—NATURAL causes.
But as I stated, you all NEED me. I am the shining light that leaks through your curtains in the morning. I mean sure, you hate me at first but eventually you realize how beautiful it is. That is when you attempt to become a parasite and HOLD me. You want to suck my essence, to become me before you fall apart.
Just so you know Bonnie Tyler stole that song from me, just disregard she sang it before I was born. I heard we have time travelers these days, who knows? Huh-huh-huh??? Who would question my scruples? I have proven over and over how sincere I am.
Steve picks the chalice up and circles the ice cubes around and takes a sip. He reaches down and pulls his left sock above his shin.
Copper Fit Energy socks, for the win!
Harrison winks with glee and clasps his hands together.
To flourish and have respect in this world you need multiple streams of money. I have no discernible skills other than throwing suplexes and my entrepreneurship. Hah, I guess that is a lot but when in America my freedoms are not as free as most people. Rebecca Hines has knocked it into my head for the last six months that I am still here because I haven’t angered my father yet.
I have stayed in this hotel for six months. I have gotten the same rotten take out every day from some generic sounding Italian restaurant, I have slept in the same uncomfortable bed, and I have seen every movie available—EVERY.
Finally, just days ago Rebecca told me she found a wrestling organization that employed Bobby Dean.
First, I angrily asked why she didn’t stab him when she had the chance. Of course, she suggested her job in Public Relations did not include assassination. Pssh—women these days, am I right?
Rebecca then mentioned it wasn’t a hard sell to get them to hire me. You hear that, Bobby? I haven’t wrestled in ten years and your mere existence in HOW meant that they would hire just about everyone.
Steve points to himself and laughs. The sun from the small gap through the curtain begins to darken. Harrison takes another sip from his chalice. His now shaggy beard showing slight drop of liquid that did not make it into his mouth. He places the chalice on the table and runs his right hand across his bald head, another thing that has occurred in the last ten years.
People dared mock me this past week for my large muscles, saying things like “meth head body.” I am not sure what method those supreme athletes use for their greatness, but I can tell you sex on a beach ain’t just a drink as part of the Miracle Method.
I can accept that Brian Hollywood is my first opponent.
I can accept he is a two time HOW World Champion.
I can accept many things, but it does not mean I have to respect any of it.
This is all about HIM, I am just fodder to this mans climb back up the rankings. ‘Throw him the new guy,’ they said with a laugh. Look, I am not here to play second fiddle to Hollywood’s feud with Darin. I am here to take Hollywood’s A-List credentials and shove them down his dick sucking throat–I heard he was the Best.
Harrison laughs like a mad man.
Ten fucking years.
Harrison points to his head, his hands beginning to shake in excitement.
I have played my next match in my mind for ten fucking years. There are emotions that boil up in me when I think about this, unfortunately I do not understand any emotions. I just shake uncontrollably knowing I get to knock down the guy who single handedly closed HOW last time.
Let us be honest, Brian Hollywood was the Icon and LSD Champion when HOW closed their shutters last time.
The fans saw this pretty boy moron holding two titles and just walked out. They were done with this place and Lee Best had to come to terms that Brian Hollywood has been a thing of the past for over five years. Yet here we are trying this experiment again. I hate bad science, how many times must you see this man is nothing but a disaster for this wrestling promotion? I suppose, it will take a MIRACLE to show you the way, huh?
Brian Hollywood is the definition of a paper champion. Holds a title, ratings plummet, loses title quickly, and ratings begin to go back up.
I am not even sure if beating him means anything anymore.
I did not join HOW for it to close within three weeks because it decided to back Brian Hollywood again.
I guess–I am doing all of us a favor by breaking his neck.
I do this for everyone.
I will make sure we are still employed and able to advance in the Miracle Enterprise Rankings. Those are the only rankings that truly matter.
Even Hollywood is invited to invest in himself WITH me. I will not deny anyone who truly knows deep down in their wallet that they need to make a change.
You are riding a high after fighting off Darin Matthews after he has bludgeoned you repeatedly. As mentioned, I can accept you have some fight in you, but when it comes down to peeling peasants off the mat for taking me lightly, I have reached Sainthood.
I bring you acceptance, Brian.
That is as kind as I can be.
I don’t care about your focus being on War Games.
I am the one that will make a statement this coming Saturday. If I were you, I would lie my head on my pillow tonight remembering all those great memories I have had, because when you wake up Sunday you will be thinking nothing but of being converted by the Miracle Man.
I am back—
–Glory be to the future: ME: Steve Harrison.
2 Weeks Ago
“Mr. Harrison, how are you?” The voice of Rebecca Hines is heard questioning the man over the phone.
“This call is coming six months late, Ms. Hines.”
“Oh, so you know that Steve is back in the country?” Rebecca replies slowly her hand shaking in fear.
Rebecca nervously pulls on her brown hair, “should I be worried?”
“If something was going to occur it would have been six months ago. I am questioning your loyalty though. I am certain that you are paid by me, not that jack off son of mine.”
“I will give him some free range for now. He is a moron, but for ten years he made me quite the profit.”
“You had acces—” Rebecca pauses and nods, “of course, you had access to his bank account since you set it up.”
‘Exactly. He has seemingly—for now—paid for his freedom. I am not going to worry about how things might look, he has been gone so long he may as well be a ghost.”
Rebecca’s shoulders relax as her death or disappearance has been cancelled from her mind. “That is great but aren’t you—you know, worried about his numerous businesses?”
“You make sure nobody dies, well at least (laughs) nobody important.”
Rebecca’s eyes open wide and she slowly puts her cell phone down. She lets out a long sigh as she stares at the ceiling. “Fucking Steve Harrison, he is going to be the death of me or the death of hundreds of other people.”