Halloween has come and gone. The doorbell rang. The candy bowl was emptied. Kids no longer say Trick or Treat. In it’s stay, they’d rather know the gender of the Snickers bar they’re about to choose.
But, as they say, that’s a story for another time.
Instead of holiday hijinx, let us discuss something else that has come to pass.
Rumble at the Rock.
What a show.
I can still smell the bay air.
And the bird shit.
THERE was my match. The important one on the card. The hotly contested, do or die, truth or dare, Seven Deadly Reesemarts populate the yard for the HOTv Championship Match.
First things first, I know.
You don’t have to tell me.
Trust me, it is safe to say you’re not the only ones who were a little upset that there wasn’t a spot involving Kevin Capone sitting in his uncle’s old jail cell. I think it goes without saying, but it feels like a missed opportunity.
That said, I do and will digress.
My EPIC at the Rock.
Well, I survived it. That’s what was/is important. Not to mention I still got my hair, my shades, and all of my teeth. Outside of that I was happy neither of the Woods’ won. Same goes for Doozer and Bobby. Although more Bobby than Dooze for no reason other than it being an odd day of the week. Toss in that idiotmoronhead QT– real glad he didn’t win. Which, of course, means that John Jeffery Jingleheimerforehead retained his Championship.
Congrats to my friend, too.
I’m sure going back to jail wasn’t easy for him.
Then again I’m sure opening his eyes isn’t easy to do with that squished down forehead either, so maybe he’s used to doing things the hard way.
Heh, the hard way.
As for the match itself, there was a zamboni. Someone might have lost an arm. Solex was there– I think? Bobby muttered to me while he had me in a headlock that I was right about him being Gluttony. There might have been blood. Of course Hollywood got Greedy, I’m guessing.
All in all, while I’m upset I didn’t capture ANOTHER Championship Title in the Refueled Era, it was a fun romp that again, I’m happy to have survived.
That said, let us pull up the rug and grab the broom.
MOVING RIGHT ALONG TO FOGGY LONDON TOWN.
MOVING ON TO REDEMPTION NOT BEING SPELLED E.L.I.
MOVING ON TO J.J.R. BEING ABLE TO LEAVE THE COUNTRY WHILE ON PAROLE.
MOVING ON TO ME. C.C.J.
Halloween is over.
It’s time to take the mask off and hide behind italics instead.
<pink>:::Could be worse?:::</pink>
I have let you all down.
From Azula to Zion. Starr to Sektor. Best to Best. Egg to Bandit. Holly to Wood.
From the very bottom of my aching nonexistent heart, I do apologize for DOING such A THING. It’s not you. No, it is certainly not you. YOU, you have all been great. You have razzled, you have dazzled, and you have brought the house down. It’s me. It was never my intention to lose the will to perform. It’s not like I don’t like living inside the studio, or being a fixture on Refueled.
Truth is I hit the wall. You all know the one. The one we throw ourselves against to succeed. My problem is I never got up. I just laid there, like a crumb. Turns out success is a lot of things to a lot of people. For me, success robbed me of my desire. It made me complacent. It made me no longer yearn for things I thought I could never achieve.
It took the salt out of my shoes.
And yes, while it was fun to walk around in those shoes, and I’ll never forget just HOW small the world looked, success took the wind out of my sails and I did not see THAT coming. Probably because success had eluded me so many times before; so I didn’t quite know how to handle it.
I’d love to say that you don’t have to worry about that anymore, but the truth is you do. However, I will not hide from it. I will not run from it. I don’t know if it’s possible to succeed again– it is quite the ditch I find myself in. Plus, it sure doesn’t help that every time I emerge from behind the curtain I feel like I got shot by a sniper’s bullet.
Insert Zion joke here.
That’s life in the big city.
Took me three days to find my passport.
I looked everywhere for it.
Even got to the point where I said enough is enough and was ready to quit all together because everyone knows I’m far too lazy to get another passport.
But then I found it.
Under my pillow.
Like the tooth fairy left it there.
So I got myself a ticket. I jumped on a plane. I crossed the pond and all the while during the flight I wondered why they never caught Jack the Ripper. True story. I even wondered if it was possible that he was still alive, and if so did he know that Brian Hollywood played him in an off broadway biopic called “I rip”. I then fell asleep because the flight was no puddle jump, and when I awoke for some reason or another I was convinced Jack was still alive, and that for the last decade he was hiding in the shadow of JJR’s cleft forehead this whole time.
I shouldn’t have gummied up before boarding.
Live and learn.
But now I’m here. I’m on foriegn soil. If Eli was from here, I’d even say I’m behind enemy lines. I’d make a crude sex joke but then I’d be stealing Jace’s gimmick so I’ll just say good thing she isn’t.
You know what they say about a woman scorned?
Hopefully she’s not European.
I have traveled long and far to find my way back.
Hopefully the trip turns out to be worth it.