“You fucking teflon motherfucker.”
That’s my neighbor, Jay Rivers. He’s rented the apartment across the hall for longer than I’ve been here. He doesn’t work, he’s on some kinda disability but between you, me, and the teenaged junkie he’s probably got passed out in his bathroom, he doesn’t need it.
We’re sitting at my kitchen/dining room/living room/family room/bedroom table with six Natty Boho empties in front of us and two half full, as I’ve just told him I’m off to make my fortune in the wrestling business.
“What’chu mean, brah,” I asked, draining the can.
He laughed. “All the respect, brah. But you know you’re bout to get rubbed out, right?”
I leaned back in my seat. “No fuckin’ way, brah.”
Rivers shrugged, and leaned back in his chair, opening the fridge to pull out another beer. “Yeah, y’are. You know what you did, right?”
“All I did was get my rightfully earned contract that I won off that raffle ticket.”
“A raffle ticket you faked.”
“Hey!” I said, standing up and shrugging my shoulders, “If they’re too dumb to know when something’s a fake, is that my fault?”
Since I just made such a great point, Rivers didn’t reply while I threw my empty can into the garbage can and retrieved another for myself. “You know how much money these losers can make? Six figures, bro. Seven, even.”
He nodded at me. “Yeah, that’s true. But you need to be top of the heap for that, yeah? Mike Best, or Lindsay Troy, or Cecilworth Farthington, or one of them.”
“Yeah but how hard is it gonna be to get there?”
“You’re facing one of them?”
“Naaah,” I said. “I’ve got… some cowboy, I think.”
He looks at me like I don’t know what I’m doing. “What?”
“This cowboy, he was trained as a wrestler, right?”
“I suppose? Why?”
And again, he shrugged. More exaggerated this time, like I should know what he’s saying.
“What,” I repeated. “What do I need to know to beat up this loser?”
“Guy’s probably been trained as a wrestler,” said Rivers, “which means he knows what he’s doing in that ring. This is where you’re gonna regret conning Lee Best into a contract.”
“Hah!” I said, “That bald, blind motherfucker doesn’t know what’s goin’ on. I could’ve stolen his wallet, laptop, and pants that night and that fuckin’ guy wouldn’t know what happened.”
“What would you do with his pants?”
“You just said you’d steal his pants.”
“Yeah, I could. But it’s just an expression.”
“And what made you think of his pants?”
“Do you think his power lies in his pants? Are you worried about a HR violation?”
Rivers laughed. Despite his asshole-ness, I laughed too. That was a good one.
“Seriously,” he said, “You know Lee Best is like, the most dangerous guy in pro wrestling, right?”
I laughed this time. “He’s a bald, blind little fucker. Handed over a contract without a second thought.”
Rivers smirked. “Who are you facing off again?”
Huh. Good question. I went looking through a pile of papers, since I was given an opponent name with my contract and travel voucher, but, in all honesty, who cares?
“Some fucking cowboy,” I continued. “What’s this idiot got that I don’t?”
“Might’ve been trained,” said Rivers.
“Please,” I replied. “You don’t need to be trained to wrestle. I can punch, I can kick, I can pick some cowboy bitch up and drop him back down. What all do I need?
With that, Rivers looked at me like I was speaking some foreign language like hispanics or whatever.
“Have… have you ever seen a pro wrestling show?” he asked me.
“Course,” I said. “I’ll kick this cowboy douchebag’s ass and be home in time for a blowjob and a baloney sandwich. What?”
I drained half my drink in one shot, while Rivers opened the refrigerator one more time.
“Bruh,” he said, “You might wanna buy some baloney before you make that kinda brag.”