A Stick in the Spokes

A Stick in the Spokes

Posted on January 13, 2020 at 8:27 pm by Steve Solex

Cue the God awful, fuck-tastic 1950’s television theme music.

This is only the second one, and I don’t know if I can take it much longer.

As per the new norm, the scene fades into a house in middle suburbia as the music plays in the background. The front yard is well kept and full of lush grass. The white picket fence out front is freshly painted, and the outer rim of the yard is perfectly accented with a random, yet organized, flower garden. Like last time, the words “Filmed in front of a live studio audience” are displayed on the lower third of the screen. The words fade as the scene transitions to the living room of the home. Steven Solex is shown sitting, in a floral patterned couch that surely wasn’t purchased this century. He sits with one leg crossed over the other, some reading glasses perched on the bottom of his nose, and his face buried in a newspaper. Who the fuck reads the newspaper anymore? Can’t he just get online like anyone else? It’s 20-fucking-20 for God’s sake. The corny ass music finally begins to fade, as Steven’s son Jebidiah is shown hustling down the stairs behind the couch. Jedibiah is outfitted in some kind of boy-scout get up, again…not from this fucking century, and like any little asshole kid, he interrupts his old-man’s quiet time.

“Dad?” Jebidiah asks, his voice as high as can be with a small twinkle in his eye. I don’t know how the fuck he got a twinkle in his eye, it’s probably a sty.

Steven folds the newspaper and places it in his lap. A slight look of frustration comes over his face, as he takes off his cheaters and places them in his shirt pocket.

“Yes, sport?” Steven responds with a half-grin.

“Can we go outside and ride my bike? Can we? Can we?” The little shit begs, pouring salt into the open wound.

The crowd lets out a collective “ooo” as the situation in the living room grows tense.

Steven’s half grin immediately turns sour, and he stands up from the couch. Steven drops to a knee, and gets eye to eye with the little boy.

“Son, you don’t know how to ride a bike.” But he does, Scott Stevens fucking taught him. We all saw it. The whole world saw Scott Stevens steal that moment from Steven Solex. And now, it really hurts. The pain of that moment being stolen from him and his son is written all over Steven’s face.

“Son, right now your father is enjoying his quiet time. How can I read the newspaper, and play catch with you at the same time?” Steven tries to deflect to another topic, but the little prick is persistent.

“But, Dad! I do know how to ride a bike, Mr. Stevens showed me…”

Steven raises a fist in the air, and the crowd gasps. But, fuck it. He should deck the little fucker in the head. I mean, the kid did let that shit head Stevens teach him how to ride a bike. Fuck that Scorpion bitch.

“Now, Jebidiah,” Steven says as he lowers his fist. “You know, darn well, that you don’t know how to ride a bike. And if you do, whomever taught you, taught you wrong.”

“But, Dad!”

“That’s enough Jebidiah! Go get your bike, you’re going to show me how that good for nothing, chicken-hearted, fribble, fussbudget Scott Stevens taught you how to ride a gosh darn bike!”

The crowd again lets out a collective “oo” as Jebidiah hands his head down low. A tear trickles down the young boy’s cheek as Steven points toward the front door. “Go, Jebidiah!”

Jebidiah quickly hustles out the front door, Steven right behind him. The two head outside, and the little shit grabs his bike from the front porch and pushes it down the wooden steps out into the street.

“Watch for cars son!” Steven shouts, but you can tell from the tone in his voice that he secretly wishes an eighteen-wheeler would zoom by and smash the kid like a bug. Steven slyly grabs a stick off the front lawn and hides it behind his back as heslowly approaches his son. Steven drops to a knee, once again getting eye to eye with the boy.

“Now, you be careful. Scott Stevens is quite the ignoramus, and I’m sure he didn’t teach you well.” Steven looks camera-side and winks, as the crowd laughs.

The boy perches up on his bicycle, ready to push forward. But, Steven jams the stick that he retrieved from the front lawn in between the spokes of the back wheel. What a closet asshole this guy is. Just as Jebidiah pushes forward, he goes crashing over the handlebars, face first into the ground. The crowd gasps, and boos loudly. Steven looks camera side and just holds his hands out and shrugs as his young son begins whaling from the ground. Some inconsiderate assholes in the crowd pander to his shit and chuckle a bit, while the most wholesome of the bunch continue to boo and jeer. Seriously? He just fucking assaulted this kid, and some of the half-wits are laughing?

Steven hustles over to his son, and lifts him up from the pavement. The kid’s face is scraped and bruised, blood trickles from his nose and into his mouth. The kid looks like he just took a right hook from a prime Mike Tyson, and Steven can barely hold back his laughter. The crowd has turned on Steven, and they continue to boo loudly.

“Are you alright, son?” Steven says, with a smile hidden behind a generic look of concern.

The little boy can’t fight back his tears, and screams in agony as Steven is hardly sympathetic.

“I told you, son. Scott Stevens couldn’t teach a bird to fly, and you expect him to teach a young boy to ride a bicycle? Come on, son. You’re smarter than that!”
The boy continues to sob, as Steven begins to get more and more angry with him.

“Go see your mother Jebidiah, and get yourself cleaned up. And I never want to hear the name Scott Stevens come out of your mouth again!”

The little boy wrestles himself free from his Dad and runs into the house. Steven stands up and wheels his bike over to the front lawn. He ghost-rides into toward the front steps and it crashes hard in front of the house.

“Hey, Steven!”

The crowd cheers as Steven’s neighbor comes jogging up. The old fashioned jerk comes jogging up to Steven, his socks pulled all the way up to his knees. Steven gives him a cross look as he jogs across the freshly cut lawn.

“Hey, Teddy. I hate to be a stick in the mud, but would ya’ mind?” Steven asks, pointing down at the grass. The crowd “oo’s” again.

“Oh, sorry about that neighbor!” Teddy says as he quickly hops off of the grass, and onto the sidewalk. The crowd laughs at his goofy little hop. This shithead is about as cheesy as the milkman, perhaps worse.

“So, Steven. I saw your boy outside here riding his bicycle the other day, with some odd looking man?”

Again, the fucking crowd “oo’s.” When will this shit end?!

Steven’s still pissed after teaching his son, whatever kind of lesson that was, and he damn sure isn’t going to sit here and listen to Teddy’s shit.

“Look, Teddy. I don’t come over to your home and poke my nose in your business, do I?”

“Well, no. You sure don’t, Steven,” Teddy says with the goofiest of smirks on his face.

“Then, why would you come over here and pry into my business, Teddy?”

“Well, no reason Steven. Stacy and I were just concerned, is all.”

The goofy prick is trying to be nice, but Steven’s just not in the mood.

“I mean, Steven,” he says, looking over both shoulders. “The man was tattooed, and looked like a real scoundrel.”

Steven leans back, and places his hand over his stomach as he laughs along with the crowd.

“He certainly is a scoundrel, Teddy. I’ll give you that. But, the one thing he’s not, is a man.”

The crowd laughs with Steven. All of a fuckin’ sudden, the sheep in attendance seem to be back on Steven’s side.

“So, who was this dunderhead?” Teddy inquisitively asks, still appearing to be concerned.

“Oh, Teddy. He’s just some fool that I have a wrestling match against next week.”

“Is it, Scott…”

“Look, Teddy, we don’t say his name around here anymore. But, yes that is him.”

“Don’t the two of you have history? I mean, I’ve heard of the all-out brawls the two of you have had in the past.”

“The past is the past, Teddy. But, one thing about the past remains true. He has never beaten me. Not a once.”

The crowd cheers. It’s almost as if these ass-hats completely forgot, that no more than three minutes ago, Steven Solex nearly decapitated his shit-eating son on his bike. What the fuck is this?

“Not once?” Teddy asks, as if he didn’t fuckin’ here him the first time.

“Not a once,” Steven replies, with some dumb ass response.

“But wasn’t he the LPW World Champion? And weren’t you in the LPW at that same time?”

“Why yes, Teddy. You seem to know your wrestling history,” Steven says as he places his hand on Teddy’s shoulder.

“But, he never beat me. In fact, Teddy, he didn’t win the World Championship until I was forced to vacate that very same championship earlier that night.”

“Is that right?” Teddy asks the stupid fucking rhetorical question, like we all knew he would.

“Yes, Teddy…that’s right. And when I see this fluff-bucket next week, the result will be exactly the same as it was nine years ago. The result will be me, Steven Solex, pinning that tattooed, no-good, termite once again.” These insults are fucking ridiculous, someone let Steven Solex that this is 2020, please! For the love of God!

“Is that right” Are you fucking kidding me, Teddy?

“That’s right, Teddy.” Jesus Christ.

Cue the piped in applause as the crowd cheers, definitely forgetting that Steven Solex potentially committed felony child abuse a few minutes ago.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me Teddy. I’ve got to go inside; Karen says dinner will be done any moment.”

“Alrighty, Steve-a-reno!” Teddy exclaims. Steven looks over his shoulder with a look that could pierce a North-Kaelrean bullet-proof vest.

Karen walks out the front door and onto the porch as Steven slowly stomps up the steps. Steven places a hand on her shoulder, and slowly moves it to the back of her neck.

“Everything ok, sweetheart?” She asks, grimacing as Steven tightens his grip.

“Everything is fine, cupcake. But we’re going to have ourselves a chat, about why another man was teaching my son how to ride a bicycle.”

Steven grips her neck tighter, and forcefully moves her into the house.

“I think, we need to take Jebidiah to see the doctor, Steven.”

“Oh, he might not be the only one who’s going to pay a visit to Dr. Greenly.”

The crowd gasps, as the scene fades to black, and it’s about fucking time. I still got some shit to say.

I know, this isn’t my job. But you’re just going to have to bear with me. Scott Stevens is a nothing when compared to Steven Solex, and you don’t have to take my word for it. Look at the history, look to the past if you want to see the future. Scott Stevens and Steven Solex do have history, and for Scott Stevens that history is filled with disappointment and ass-whoopings. Steven Solex was the man in Legacy Pro Wrestling, and on more than one occasion, Steven Solex beat the living shit out of Scott Stevens. Scott Stevens will forever be in the shadow of Steven Solex’s greatness, and he fucking knows it. Sure, Scott Stevens came to High Octane Wrestling and made a bit of a name for himself, but nobody remembers that Scott Stevens won the HOW World Championship, they only remember the dumb shit that he’s done and the nasty shit that’s been done to him. His career in HOW has been an embarrassment, but somehow Scott Stevens tries to put on the charade that he’s proud of what he’s accomplished. It’s all a farce.

No man in their right mind would be proud of the career that Scott Stevens has had in HOW, ask any real man. Scott Stevens career in HOW is like a tape of football-follies. One minute, it looks like shit might work out but just as he appears to be setting up something great, he gets a bloody tampon shoved down his fucking throat. That’s all anyone remembers about Scott Stevens and his HOW career. Scott Stevens is not known as a former World Champion, former LSD Champion, former anything. He thinks he beat Scottywood into retirement, but just like anything that Scott Stevens has ever done, he didn’t. He couldn’t beat Steven Solex, he couldn’t keep Scottywood retired, and when it’s all said and done, when all of these guys are retired and everyone goes to watch the archives, it will all boil down to that small piece of blood soaked cotton. That’s your legacy Scott Stevens.