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Darin Zion… most people who have stuck ‘round this shit hole of pain and misery are incredible legends. I mean ya really think about it, ya can use words and phrases like ‘Best, Greatest, Insanely Interestin’, The Finish Line’ ta describe them. What words can we use fer a feller like yerself Darin? Let’s get that lil smart phone out of yer pocket fer a moment. And I want ya ta type up ‘Things that won’t go away’ in that google machine of yers. Tons of great examples right there. Let’s go through some of the highlights: Glitter, migraines, people who have mullets, chevy cavaliers and herpes.
Persistence.
That’s the word we get ta use ta describe ya. Yer persistently here, badgering, poking, groveling, screaming, demanding. Whatever the fuck it is ya manage ta get out of your suck hole when ya open it. Ya fuckin demanded a chance at The Best Alliance. Ya went on TV and fuckin’ begged fer it.
Because ya deserve a belt?
Why?
‘Cause yer persistent?
Bud, I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase: Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. Yer not even fuckin’ close though. If we’re talkin’ ‘bout a football stadium and yer tryin’ ta get ta the end zone yer starting from row double H on the side of the opposite end zone. Not in the stadium ya fuckin’ moron, I’m talkin’ ‘bout that row in the fucking parking lot ya need ta start in. That’s how fuckin’ close ya are ta High Octane gold Darin. The field is a hundred yards long, and yer ‘bout 600 yards away.
Jesus, ya really are a fuckin’ idiot. Conor Fuse skipped ya? What, he skipped over whippin’ yer ass this season? It’s like a right of passage in High Octane Wrasslin, take a turn pastin’ Zion ta the fuckin’ canvas.
We all make mistakes Darin, yers might be continuin’ ta breathe air, but we all make errors and have lapses in judgement. Look at Harrison last week, he made a mistake and almost lost an eye over it. He got humiliated in public by a blind man for his mistake. What’s the price of yer miscalculation Darin?
Will ya get humiliated in front of thousands at an arena and millions watching at home?
Will I take yer eye? At least this time if ya change yer name it can make some sense. Maybe ya can be Darin Blackbeard, or Darin Sparrow. Be just like one of them discount Disney Pirates.
Will I break yer bones? You and Lee can have some wheelchair races at shows. I’m sure he’ll let ya entertain him while Red rips yer arms off.
Will ya fuckin’ die? There’s a possibility Darin. Based on the recent results, the trend of current events, the way things have been workin’ out fer ya? It’s a distinct possibility. Call it off now Darin, call up Lee and beg fer yer life. Plead with the man upstairs, the benevolent ruler of HOW, and beg him fer his forgiveness. I’m sure in his current state he’d appreciate some groveling.
Of course he’d tell me ta kill ya anyway, and I wouldn’t bat a fuckin’ eye.
Because scum like yerself doesn’t deserve ta walk the earth. People with no fuckin’ talent, not a single ounce of natural fuckin’ ability, six foot nothin’, two hundred pound sacks of shit don’t deserve ta breathe my fuckin’ air.
Fuckin’ hell, it took the boss what? Four or five weeks ta remember ya had called out the entire Alliance? Took Dan Ryan droppin’ him on his fuckin’ head ta shake that one out of the cobwebs? That’s how insignificant ta High Octane Wrasslin’ ya are Darin. It takes the boss four weeks ta respond ta yer call out, ‘cause he fuckin’ forgot. He’d rather sit in the dark and stroke his cock ta Rum explainin’ what a hooker looks like than address yer fuckin’ challenge.
“GET OUT HERE BEST ALLIANCE AND FIGHT ME! I’M GONNA WHIP YOUR ASSES AND GET ME SOME GOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLDDDDDDD!!!! AHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”
Fuckin’ kill me.
Seriously, if I ever have ta watch ‘nother ‘This time things will be different’ Darin Zion promo, come to my fuckin’ hotel room with a noose. Slip it ‘round my neck, pull it up nice and tight, and throw my ass off the fuckin’ balcony at the hotel. I don’t even care if ya fuck up the knot, I’ll strangle happily, not even kickin’ my fuckin’ feet, not even a lil bit. As long as I can have the peace of mind that I’ll never have ta hear yer pathetic ass utter the phrase “Things are gonna change.” Ever. Fucking. Again.
Holy shit, does it get fuckin’ tiring?
Bein’ that fuckin’ pathetic has ta be hard. Gettin’ yerself convinced every week that this one will be the one. This will be the moment Darin Zion climbs the proverbial mountain. Do ya go see a motivational speaker every week? Ya ever hear of that guy yellin’ Thank God Its Monday or whatever? I mean ya could call that guy, he might deliver ya a personal speech weekly. “THANK GOD YER CAREER GETS TA GO ON ‘NOTHER WEEK! DON’T DIE THIS WEEK UNTIL I CASH MY CHECK!”
So I’m gonna fix the fuckin’ problem fer ya Darin. I’m gonna do what someone in High Octane should of done fuckin’ years ago. I’m goin’ ta put “Persistent” Darin Zion out of his fuckin’ misery. I’m gonna stack yer body along with the rest of the fuckin’ trash Lee has asked me ta take out. Lay ya over there with Lester, Zeb, and that dumb announcer fuck.
I’m gonna fuckin’ hurt ya Zion.
I’m gonna fuckin’ embarrass ya.
I’m gonna take yer fuckin’ eye.
I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ya.
This is the worst case scenario Zion. Mr. Best askin’ me ta fuckin’ kill ya? Consider the job done, hand me my fuckin’ ice pick. It’ll make me fuckin’ happy. Cause it saves me the agony, it saves ya all the hard work. Killin’ ya will be doin’ ya a favor. So much less work if yer takin’ the long dirt nap. Ya can be as persistent with them maggots as ya want ta be. Give ‘em hell buddy, at least ya won’t be fuckin’ annoyin’ me.
God I fuckin’ hate you. I see why Lee wants ta forget ya exist, I see why he wants me ta take out the trash one of the 2016 idiots left here by mistake. He actually wants this bastard child of High Octane Wrasslin’ aborted. He wants the fetus kicked inta the fuckin’ desert in Las Vegas.
At least what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
I mean, the whole me killing ya part, that goes fer everywhere. But the whole me bein’ liable fer the death of a co-worker. I think the Vegas rule applies, if I cleave yer head inta row HH it’s just bonus points. They give me points fer style, give me some weird wanted star like its grand theft auto, then I just leave and come back and nobody ever notices.
I’ve been bustin’ my ass fer fuckin’ weeks, and here ya are sayin’ it’s easy? I beat some newcomers? YOU DUMB SON OF A BITCH. I KNOCKED A HALL OF FAMER OUT. He hasn’t been the same since, I broke John Sektor. Fuckin’ ruined him. That’s how I got fuckin noticed ya fuckin’ cockroach.
And that’s what I’m gonna do ta the joke of High Octane Wrasslin’. You’ll just be ‘nother callin’ card. Just like what I did ta that dumb fuck Lester, just like what I did ta that fuckin’ idiot announcer, just like what I did ta Zeb fuckin’ Martin, and just like what I did ta John Sektor. I’m gonna fuckin’ break ya.
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Refueled LX was a fucking disaster for The Alliance. There was no other way to put it. From Jatt’s incoherent rambling, to the embarrassment of Harrison, to the show ending with Lee Best laying in a puddle of his own blood. Nothing went right for The Alliance. JPD and Solex couldn’t finish the mission, Harrison got fucking mauled by a maniac. I guess you could call The Alliance persistent? They were persistently all over the show, drowning in their own piss and shit.
“Fuck me…” Clay said to nobody as he sat and stared at the glass of whiskey on the mahogany bar. He snarled as he tipped it back, finishing the drink. He placed it back on the bar and motioned for the bartender for another. Two more Jim Beams came in rapid succession before Clay picked himself up and stepped into a small booth by himself.
Joining The Alliance has been a fucking disaster. The faction ripped apart at the seams as The Grapplers seemed to be presenting a united front. This was always going to be the nature of The Alliance though. The Alliance wasn’t a group of friends out to right a wrong. They were the hired guns, the mercenaries. While The Grapplers united under pressure and persecution The Alliance showed cracks in the foundation when The Grapplers had the upper hand.
The Alliance needed some momentum, and here Clay was on the side lines for another week. This upcoming Refueled would be the third week in a row that Clay had rode the pine against The Grapplers. Sure, taking care of Zion would give the boss some amusement, but was it going to be an issue, a challenge? Before that it had been Moregrimes.
Did Darin Zion win a raffle?
“Fuck me…” Clay uttered again as he sent another round of Jim Beam to the depths of his stomach. The purple and green neons careening around the bar had an almost hypnotic effect as Clay sat quietly. Each girl that approached The Behemoth he shooed away, everything going on in Vegas this was his distraction, the place to clear his head. He’d found the rattiest looking strip club in town and walked through the door. It was dark, it was quiet, there weren’t three slot machines taped to every wall. The seedy shit hole was perfect. Plus, the drinks were cheap.
Being the guy in the strip club sitting in the corner saying fuck me over and over again while sitting beside yourself staring at the lights was going to be odd and different, but it managed to let Clay stay by himself for a longer period of time.
Was The Alliance the right choice after all? The tax free donations to The Byrd Ranch 501c3 had surely helped keep the school running. The envelopes full of money that Lee handed out were great, but truthfully had it been the right choice? If he could do it again, would he?
Clay wasn’t entirely sure.
Now, it was too late to change his mind. When you begin to slide, the only thing you can do is steer into it. Just let it happen, hope you gain traction at some point and can reverse course. Until then, he had to keep it together. Was there a path to The Alliance regaining control? Sure.
At least Jiles had held up his part of the bargain. While the rest of the Alliance stumbled, sputtered, and faltered. As much as Lee wanted to say it was embarrassing, what Cancer had said in the middle of the arena was true. We are The Best Alliance. We’re supposed to be terrifying, bullies, these men were supposed to be experts at asserting there will. Instead, Jatt Starr said the word Fopdoodle, Harrison got bitch slapped. They looked like a fucking joke out there.
They looked ‘Persistent.’ Lee would cram pieces together against pieces of The Union until he had recaptured the Tag Team Championships. He’d throw bodies into Teddy Palmer until one came back with the LSD Title.
This was The Union versus The Confederacy. The North versus The South, The Rebels vs The Yankees. For The Alliance this wasn’t a war of intricate maneuvers and tactical decision making. This was a war of attrition. Lee Best would throw bodies at the problem until it sorted itself out.
He’d run the current Alliance members into the ground trying to achieve his goals, and if they continued to fail him, he’d reload. If you threw enough money at any problem it would eventually manage to resolve itself. The Alliance would win in the end, but what would General Best have The Alliance look like at the end?
The losers and miscreants would be removed to attrition or they’d be motivated by the pen. The machine would march on. The Grapplers would never win, they couldn’t. The might of Lee’s bank roll would always bend High Octane Wrestling to his desires. But would his servants look the same by the end of it? How many would Palmer, Troy, Fuse, McAvay, and Martin go through?
Clay snarled, as he waived a half naked woman over for another shot of bourbon. The Monster from Plainview knew it was a matter of survival. If he proved his worth, outlasted the other morons, did his job, did what was asked without questions. Doing anything for Lee Best was the opposite of ‘easy.’ Ask Harrison, stressful, intense, the pressure was through the rough. He had to have faith that if he continued to do his job, continued to stack bodies, Lee Best would take care of him.
He had too.
As Clay downed the last bourbon he looked down at the ground and mumbled to himself.
“Fuck me.”
“Hun, you have to go out of town for that,” the waitress said as she walked away laughing. Clay shook his head at the scolding he received. Pulling out a wad of cash, he tossed part of it on the table and stumbled off into the Las Vegas night.