“After I beat you, were going to fucking hug it out so suck it the fuck up.”
The piercing voice of Bobbinette Carey is heard on speaker of Scotty’s iPhone as he shakes his head and takes a drink of his Guinness in a fairly packed Irish Pub in Chicago. It’s St. Patrick’s Day and that is really the only acceptable beer to drink on this day. Even for a beer snob who loves his hazy IPAs… it’s all about the low ABV Guinness that allows those drunken bastard Irish to keep drinking all day long.
Speaking of drunken bastards…
“Really Bobbinette… a drunk voicemail?” Rhetorically asks Scotty to the shaky camera that is in front of him as he shakes his head at Chet and Tanner.
“Really guys… you have one job between the two of you. Hold a fucking camera straight. Frankie has been able to do it for over fifteen years… and he somehow ate a fucking LEGO piece accidently last week.”
“Sorry Scotty, but we saw a sweet snipe wearing a shirt that said “Hands Off My Shamrocks” and now I really wanna touch them.” Tries to explain Chet… but it obviously isn’t helping his case.
“They were some real four-leaf clovers Scotty.” Adds Tanner as Scotty just downs the remainder of his Guinness and signals for another from the bar.
“Just hold the camera, shut the fuck up and keep it in your fucking pants boys. I’ve got Bobbinette right where I want her. I’m in her fucking head. I’m in her fucking nightmares. You might have kidnapped Frankie, but he’s still talking to me. He told me about your dreams… me putting you in a coffin and raising your children.” Smiles Scotty as the idea of putting that bitch in a box overjoys him.
“Don’t worry though, I’d never raise your kids… I’d put those fuckers in a orphanage and let them fucking rot there. Making sure no one ever adopts them. No one ever loves them again. Yeah, you think your nightmares about me are bad Bob? Well the real me in reality is way fucking worse.” Promises Scotty as a new pint of Guinness is brought over to his table.
“You’re not ready for this match Bobbinette… You could never be ready to face me. To face The Hardcore Artist. You can give me all the pieces of your mind… but it is truly the one that is fragile. You had a bad dream about me and it drove you to drink like some Real Housewife of Ohio? I thought the great Bobbinette Carey was stronger than that.” Sighs Scotty as he shakes his head in some feigned attempt at disappointment.
“Don’t you ever give me shit about my fucking drinking again. I don’t do it to forget who I am. I like who I am Bob, I like bein the mother fucker who is willing to stab his former best friend in the fucking eye for costing me the biggest win in my fucking career. You think we were even? EVEN? Fuck you Carey… yes, I’ll use he fucking C-word there because I can’t believe you actually think this. And you wonder why white men wanna tell you what to fucking do. It’s because you have dumb ass fucking ideas like this.” Rants Scotty as you can feel a few assholes pucker as he heads to the obvious fucking trap of shitting on women’s rights.
“And take it fucking easy Bob, I’m not saying I agree with any of that bullshit. Though I did wanna bash the soft spot of my skull against the wall listening to you talk about the science of the female reproductive system. Not because it’s gross… it’s certainly no more gross than stabbing someone in their eye. No, it was because you sounded like a low budget high school teacher. This is HOW Bob, not a fucking classroom. Do you think anyone here is writing or has any say in the shitty fucking abortion bills that are being passed in those backwood, illiterate, shithole states?” Again rhetorically asks Scotty as he’s lucky he’s in a loud and drunk filled bar. Pretty sure a guy two booths over is ranting even louder about the lies behind vaccines… so yeah…
“Fucking Texas. They gave us the Texas Heartbeat Act and Scott Stevens…” Adds Scotty as he realizes he is starting to get a bit… or a lot off track. He downs some more of his Guinness before getting the train back on the rails.
“The point though is Bob, I saved you from a humiliating loss to Mario Maurako. He was gonna pin you Bob, he was going to go over clean and hold that over you forever. But I saved you by getting you DQed so that Mario’s win is fucking stained forever. There is shame in losing to Mario Maurako clean… but there is no shame in losing to Mike Best clean. Plus I actually could have won that match… I was so fucking close… and then you had to stick your fucking nose in and make it about you. Bobbinette Carey had to be in the fucking spotlight… had to be in the front of it all. You could never play number two… you always had to be the so-called leader. Ascension, Knights of Epicness… whatever other shitty stables you had. But keep thinking you and I are fucking even.”
“But throw your fucking female fits, with your safety glass picture frames… wouldn’t want you to get cut before I stab you in the eye. Remember the good ole days when you were mediocre at fucking best. Where you got into the Hall of Fame because you were the best woman in HOW… when there were no others. Before people could compare you to the title reigns of Tara Davidson or the dick sucking skills of Kirsta Lewis. Shit, even Carmen Jennings was better than you were and no one even talks about her anymore. You wanna be treated equally? Then give back your HOW Hall of Fame ring… because the fact you have a vagina is the only reason why you have it.” Smiles Scotty know just how much that single line will make Bobbinette lose her fucking mind.
“You are right Bob, you know my playbook… and I know what buttons to press to piss you off. I know what will make you go crazy and whether I really believe it or not, it’s fucking hilarious to say and rile you all up. It’s too fucking easy. That is why I needed a challenge going into March to Glory. I needed to do something that wasn’t just picking the low hanging fruit of you being a woman. I needed to find someone who could cut you even deeper than I could…” Trails off Scotty as he looks over to the door of the bar. You can almost hear Bobbinette Carey’s heart racing from whatever penthouse her hungover ass is waking up from. Wondering just who Scotty dug up.
“Don’t worry Bob… I didn’t go after your daughters. They are also low hanging fruit. Easy targets. I mean you shit on me for going after your boy toy crush… that was fun though. Easy also… but fucking fun. Kidnapping your kids though… that’s something only a monster does. Hope you enjoy fishing LEGO pieces out of Frankie’s shit by the way.”
Finally the door to the bar opens and almost on cue we see a young man walk in. He’s dressed in… fucking clothes, this isn’t some fashion runway bullshit. He walks in and over to the table where The Hardcore Artist is sitting.
“He’s someone you may not recognize immediately Bob, cause you’re a horrible mother… or as you would maybe say, birth mom, but let me re-introduce you to Duncan Christopher Richards… your son.” Smirks Scotty as he shakes Duncan’s hand as he sits down at the table.
“I can sense you just seething already Bobbinette. With so many questions racing through that little head of yours. Like how did I find him? How did I get him to agree to even meet me? What do I have planned for all this?” continues to smile Scotty as he is loving the idea that Carey has fucking lost it already.
“I’ve heard you mention him from time to time over the past fifteen years… but very rarely. It’s always about Mimi and Majandra. Figures the vag always sided with Maj all these years.” Chuckles Scotty, Chet and Tanner all chuckle at the joke as Duncan just stays stone faced, unamused by the crude humor.
“Majandra… My biological twin sister, the one that clang onto that so-called fame that my birth mom has with her wrestling. I don’t know about the other one. But I actually have a future that doesn’t revolve around getting TBI’s… Traumatic Brain Injuries for those of you not smart enough to be in the medical field.” States Duncan as you can see the mention of brain injuries quickly trigger Scotty.
“Easy there with the brain jokes…” Warns Scotty as Duncan quickly seems confused as to what has struck a nerve with a drunk man who could easily snap him in half.
“What jokes?” Questions Duncan, obviously having no idea about Scotty’s past.
“Just take it easy… we aren’t on that level yet, plus you haven’t even had a drink.” Again states Scotty as he motions to the bartender to bring them two more pints of Guinness.
“Something that kills even more brain cells than those dumb chair shots to the skull birth mom takes. I’m all set on drinking, I’d rather save my brain cells to help people.” Somewhat snobby, states Duncan as the bartender places the two pints down on the table and Scotty just pulls both of them towards himself.
“Fine, I’ll just have both of them… why did I even invite you here… oh yeah, we both hate your bitch of a birth mother.” Remembers Scotty as he once again gets shit back on track.
“She’s been dead for me for decades. But you both being petty and stooping to ridiculously low levels to see who could hurt the other more suggests you both have unresolved adolescent issues regarding maturity. She’s a feminist, not a mother. My gammy was a better mom, she’s selfish and her immaturity has dragged me into this world because you’re all poor at communicating.” Rants Duncan as you can just feel the smugness just ooze from his pretentious ass.
“If you keep communicating that you think you’re better than me, I’ll make sure you’re really poor at communicating. I’ll make you the poster child for TBI’s.” Warns Scotty as he down nearly half of his first pint of Guinness.
“This is what I was afraid was gonna happen when you reached out to me. I have no interest in getting into a physical altercation with some drunk who makes a living by giving people in my profession more unneeded work. I’ve heard horror stories from people in the Chicago ERs from the messes you wrestlers have brought upon them. I hope you and my birth mom destroy each other at whatever show you’re fighting at, so that part of this horrible endless cycle of violence will end.”
“Well aren’t you a fucking buzz kill. I invited you here to dish on your shitty mother… and instead I’m getting a lecture from the wannabe Doogie Howser. You might think that you have nothing in common with your Bobbinette, but you certainly get your pretentious “I’m better than you” attitude from her.
“I’m “pretentious” as you say because I am actually better. Better than her, better than you and certainly better than all the idiots that watch your product. Evolution has left you and my birth mother behind. I… apparently unlike you… have the brains to back that up, and I’ve gone to the best schools because of that. I’ve been given opportunities and I have not… and will not squander them by getting involved anymore with this barbaric, savage and cavemen obsession with violence and vile words, for some fleeting moments of fame. I will heal people, physically and emotionally with a double doctorate in medicine and psychology. While you drink double Guinness beers and kill what few brain cells you have left.” Slams Duncan as he’s left The Hardcore Artist a bit shocked, not expecting a moral talking down to by some barley post-teen kid.
“Fuck… now I definitely agree that Bobbinette should have swallowed. No wonder she likes her other children better. You’re a fucking little shit stain. I don’t care how many fucking degrees you will have, you’ll never learn how not to be a fucking dick. Now how about you just get the fuck out of here before I not only regret asking some sober fuck out for drinks on St. Patrick’s Day and killing my fucking buzz… but also regret not taking your fucking eye like I will your mom’s. Cause I can fix that regret real fucking fast.” Threatens Scotty as Duncan quickly gets the picture The Hardcore Artist is painting and makes his exit from the bar.
“He was certainly a mistake Bob… but don’t think it’ll give me any sympathy for you. If anything I wanna stab you in the eye even more for bringing that abortion of a human into this world. For not having the balls you do now to tell a man to fuck off back in the day and tie off those fucking egg shooters. He’s a piece of shit Bob… he got it from his father… and he got it from you. And maybe… but maybe if you’re lucky, after I stab you in the eye… I’ll kick you so hard in your cunt, that you’ll never have to worry about popping one of those out ever again. Happy Fucking St. Patrick’s Day. Bring me another beer bartender!” Yells Scotty as you can feel the uncomfortableness in the room as Scotty sinks back into the booth as the bartender brings him over two more pints of Guinness.
Chet and Tanner stop recording as they lower the cellphone. Even they have nothing to say… no jokes to make… shits getting real. It’s getting… epic.