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So there lies seven cans of Other Half beers of various names on the floor of the hotel room. Frankie, passed out on the bed with LEGo pieces from the Pac-Man set strewn across it. He made it to like step six of who knows how many hundred that mega set has. Me, I’m of course sitting on the chair next to it, YouTube videos now running on the TV as I certainly wasn’t keeping Star Wars on after Frankie tapped out for the night.
Of course the insomnia continues as I crack open my eighth can of beer and do the math on how many I have left. These fuckers are not going to last long. Think I can make a deal with The Devil for some more… oh shit, already played that card.
Oh I’m sure we can make a deal for something. Willing to sell Frankie’s soul for a hundred more beers?
Fucking eh, he just passed out, can I have a fucking moment of peace?
You’re the one that brought up my name.
How about two hundred beers.
I can make that happen.
…nah, I can’t do that to him. I think I can suffer through some half-ass Mexican craft IPA.
Your choice… let me know if you wanna reconsider.
I’m not gonna on that, but you try to pull anymore shit with me and I will make your life a living Hell.
…Seriously? You know… yes, you do know who the fuck you are talking to. Wow, you got some fucking balls Scottywood.
And you know me just as well. WHen the fuck have I ever shut my mouth when it has been smart to do so? Just because you’re The Devil, doesn’t make you special. I’m not stepping down from a fight with ya.
Whatever Scotty, you can pretend you have any kind of upper hand with me, but just like everyone else, you will realize that I always win.
Well then go fuck off until you wanna try and throw your weight around. I don’t have time for your shit right now. I’ll be lucky if he is out for four to five hours and then I’ll have to dive back into the LEGO and Star Wars universe. So I need to do some soul… or soulless searching to prep for War Games. To somehow get myself into the right mindset to bring the true Hardcore Artist into the a match in which I should fucking dominate in.
You don’t want my advice on War? I literally started like all of them. Except for the Vietnam one… I was too busy getting all high with all the hippies and somehow that shit just broke out on its own.
Sorta a odd fucking flex man… even for The Devil. Plus this isn’t an actual war… it’s War Games. No one is bringing real guns… I think… don’t get any ideas Solex… into the fucking match. I think even that is a fucking stretch… and that is coming from me, the man who has made a career in doing as little actuall wrestling in his wrestling matches. If there is a weapon out there, I have fucking used it in a match at some point. Except a literal fucking gun.
Suit yourself, but I bet you’ll wipe the floor with everyone if ya did.
Who the fuck am I going to brag about my win then too? Can’t trash talk someone if they are fucking dead. Sure Stevens bragged about beating me at Rumble at the Rock… but I was dead, so who the fuck care…
Ok, this ain’t making much sense, even for my own drunken ramblings. Just go fuck off for right now. You’re dragging me down into some shit ass rabbit holes. I mean I know you’re The Devil and all, you thrive on feeding people’s addictions… but you’ve already fueled enough of mine.
DRINK!
DRANK!
DRUNK!
What? Nothing to say to that? You’ve gone silent?
Fuck, I’m trying to spark an actual fight with The Devil… I barely even wanna step into War Games and fight, but I wanna taunt The Devil right now. My priorities are fucking fucked right now.
Lucky that Frankie is a heavy sleeper, especially after who the fuck knows how long it took for him to travel here from New York City. I might not have given him kudos for finding out where I was staying… but kudos for traveling all the way here by himself and not getting kidnapped by some Mexican cartel… or just getting pushed into the subway tracks in New York City. Fuckers are getting crazier and crazier in the city these days. Or at least what the news wants you to believe to just scare you.
Ok, talk about rabbit holes to fall into, we won’t fucking touch that shit tonight.
Maybe sometime after I retire from wrestling I’ll get a job on a news network and talk about my political thoughts, cause that is what everyone wants to fucking here… fucking eh! Someone call his fucking mama to get her to convince him to shut the fuck up!
Nah, I just wanna retire and do beer reviews on YouTube, I think that shit would be fun, though I can’t imagine too many people would give enough fucks about my opinions on that either to make it profitable. I’d have to be financially independent already and just do it for fucking fun. Unless I can find some kind of cool gimmick to draw the people in. Get those subscribers, those likes… people to hit that bell to get notifications on my latest videos!
Need to find myself a hot beer nerd chick… that could draw some eyes onto… the videos.
Wrestling… not rabbit holes. None of this shit is helping me get ready for War Games. I wanna say that this whole series is going to tie up into a nice ending. An ending where I am ready to tear into that War Games cell and revive my passion for wrestling.
But not everyone gets happy fucking endings, especially here in HOW, so why the fuck am I going to pretend like I am heading for one. You know how War Games is going to end for most of us? In a pool of fucking disappointment. None of the others think that is going to happen, but the reality is that is how it will end for the overwhelming majority of the roster.
So why even enter it? Why even put myself through this all if I know it is just going to end in fucking misery. Cause I signed a contract… and while I have some fear of pissing off The Devil, fucking with Lee Best scares me even more. I made an agreement and I am going to keep my fucking word. Plus I am a glutton for punishment, a fucking masochist.
“I need a two by four white brick!” Nearly screams Frankie in his sleep as I almost fall off the couch. Fuck, I forgot he was there, I almost forgot that I was in reality and not just some fucking void in my own head.
It’s easy to get lost in the fucking mess here… a mess where a thousand thoughts are all racing around at the same fucking time. That’s probably the best way I can describe what is going on in my head… and that is only with half a fucking brain, imagine if it was all there. Fuck me.
Had to make one last brain joke if this is it for me.
I thought coming back is what I wanted… but I haven’t found anything to prove that was the right decision. Shit, I can barely even find proof that it was right for me to come back when HOW returned. Maybe I should have just left it where I did, stayed in retirement and saved my body and my mind so much torture. Saved my own life. Though that’s of course assuming that staying out of HOW would have made my life better.
Like I said, none of us can really tell if one decision or another would have led to a better or worse outcome. I’ve done what I’ve done and I have to live with those choices and do the best I can moving forward. The future is what we can… we’ll not control, but what we can work on to try and shape it into the present we are happy to be in.
Time is a fucking beast of a thing, something that will melt your mind if you try to think about it too much. Sometimes it’s just best to crack open a beer, sit back and live in the moment as it is.
CRACK!
Opening up a fresh beer, I’ll cheers everyone in War Games. Good luck to everyone, cause there are going to be a lot of unstable fucking minds locked in there and I can only dream about the amazing horrors that will come to life inside of there. Can’t wait to see what kind of fucked up shit will go down and who… maybe myself… but probably not… will win it all.
So let’s fucking go!
Ok, maybe I found a hair bit of passion… enough for that nightmare of an ending though?
No… not even fucking close.
Fuck off Devil!
You mean fuck off yourself?
Of course I do, you didn’t think I didn’t know I was The Devil this entire time, did you?
Well yes… if I am you.
Think I confused everyone yet?
No, cause there is no chance anyone is still reading this.
Fair enough, let’s just finish the cheers then and get the fuck out of here before Frankie wakes up.
Getting up from the couch I collect the few belongings I have and the remaining Other Half beers and make my way to the door of the room. Opening it up I take one more look back at Frankie and smile for a brief moment… before it fades away and I close the door on him. On HOW?