Makin’ Ghosts

Makin’ Ghosts

Posted on January 14, 2021 at 10:59 pm by Clay Byrd

Yer gonna rape me…?

Did ya find the nearest nineteen year old edge lord and ask him what the dumbest most offensive thing ya could say was? Are ya fuckin’ serious? That’s the fuckin’ best ya could come up with?

“I’m gonna rape you.” 

That’s some shit they say on them video games ta each other. I’m pretty sure the Fuse boys have heard that line come through their headset from a thirteen year old a time or two. Act yer fuckin’ age John, talk ‘bout retirement plans, IRA’s, stocks, talk ‘bout what nursin’ home yer plannin’ ta check inta. Stay away from the kids John. 

Listen up amigo, that was some pathetic shit. Almost as desperate as yer rollin’ ‘round like a fuckin’ gator comment. Johnny, I get it, yer broken record talk of ‘tiein’ me in a knot’ is supposed ta make me think Johnny boy Sektor is this great wrasslin’ master who cares so much fer the business. Ya cared so much ya sacrificed everythin’ yer daughter, yer marriage, the drugs, ya gave it all up fer this cruel business. 

Here’s the reality amigo. Nobody gives a fuck. This is fightin’ compadre, bein’ able ta put me in a hammerlock ain’t gonna make ya a revolutionary. They ain’t gonna be puttin’ yer face on a t-shirt like Che Guevara. Ya said I wasn’t athletic? John, they gave me a hundred thousand dollar education because I’m an athletic freak. Because I’m not normal, ya can’t walk out inta any bar and Texas and pull a feller like me off the stool. There’s a million people just like ya John, yer every other six foot tall vanilla midget with bad facial hair and a dumb tattoo. I get it, ya weren’t given immense physical abilities, the Lord didn’t break the mold when he made ya John. Yer upset ‘bout it, but John, here’s the truth. Brains only get ya so far. 

Yer gonna be a normal man in that octagon starin’ across it at a real life giant, and unlike David they ain’t gonna have no sling in sight ta help ya slay Goliath. Instead I’m gonna walk across that cage, rip yer arms off and beat ya ta death with them. ‘Cause see John, what yer believin’ is some fairy tale bullshit Lee Best’s assistant must of filled yer ears with. Ya think they just let me walk in the door? Ya think they didn’t vet some sources ta find out what the fuck they were gettin’ inta? Make sure this time wouldn’t be like all them other times… 

I get it, ya and Jat got a real good thing goin’ on bein’ High Octane’s version of Statler and Waldorf. Yer a live action version of a fuckin’ muppet, Lee Best has his hand so far up yer ass that somehow in yer stupid fuckin’ mind ya believe and regurgitate the propaganda ‘bout how great this place is. That yer some type of unkillable hitman out here ta dispatch the junkies and street thugs they found outside the arena last night. ‘Cause that’s what happened before, ‘cause that’s the history of this place. Did some idiot on the radio give ya that line? Or, Waldorf, did the puppeteer squeeze yer ass hard ‘nough ta get ya ta say the words? Jesus, ya look just like that fuckin’ puppet, it’s like the spittin’ image of John Sektor at fifty. 

Yer a fuckin’ joke John, a runnin’ gag fer Lee ta get his kicks off with. I get it, he signs yer checks, he pays the bills. But sometimes John, like you, the joke gets old. Sure, every time ya hear that old knee slapper it might put a smile on yer face. But each time it gets retold the smile begins ta fade, the joke gets borin’ and eventually John ya replace it with a new one. They decided ta walk ya out back like they did with ol’ yeller, but instead of clappin’ that dog in the back of the skull with a rifle John, they fed ya ta the new up and comer. 

They put ya in the octagon with yer worst nightmare. They decided this bracket and thought ta themselves, ‘How do we get rid of John Sektor.’ The answer was puttin’ ya in there with me. I’m the one comin’ ta put ya in that coffin. 

See John, I ain’t gonna be in the octagon chasin’ ghosts, I’m gonna be in the octagon makin’ one.