There is a lot on my plate right now, just call me the Miraculous Wrestling Buffet.
Since I made people care about watching Doozer and Cancer Jiles when I didn’t even break a sweat in taking Jiles apart I have seen some…odd things. I am not just talking about Cancer Jiles getting a World Title shot for losing every match he has been in for over two months…
I am also talking about the resurgence and now retirement of the amazing Holy Water. I was not expecting it to explode in such circumstances but when you are given a death to deal with you make profit from it. That is the old saying, right?
Capitalism at its finest and I happen to be an artist with this shit.
It has not been all Miracles and Suplexes though…
November 1st 6:30PM
Miracle Enterprise Apartment.
It has been a few days since we returned from San Francisco, I almost missed the stench of piss on the sidewalks but then again, I did not miss Alcatraz and all its ghosts and blood that stain it. It was supposed to be a meeting about the Holy Water Limited Edition labels but when Jack meandered to the TV and turned it on the local news had a story that caught our attention quickly.
“State Police were involved in a shootout today with a farmer who began shooting at police when they drove up to his metal barn.”
I froze right away with Sandys comment “its loo late,” echoing in my head. Just one sentence from this reporter made it painfully obvious to me what this was about. I became nervous expecting police presence to come upon me at any minute. I squinted at the TV all my attention focusing on it as Sandy said something I did not understand.
“State Police had been given info that this man’s small farm was involved in illegal business and it was clear it was not a lie when he pulled a shotgun out and began firing on Police.”
“Do you have a name for the person involved?”
“We have a first name right now as it was reported in the info but when someone is killed in a police officer shootout, we do not want to guess on names for the family’s sake.”
I blinked. Norm is dead? That is where I concluded this whole report was going. At the same time, I felt maybe I was just being paranoid after my conversation with Sandy, but I could not deny that every detail was leading to a Miracle Enterprise mess.
“What led to this fiery situation?”
“I was told it was just a visit to see if claims off illegal milk production were true.”
“What is illegal milk production?”
“From what officers were saying this man had been creating and selling Milk that was not from cows.”
“I am afraid to ask any more questions, but people have the right to know…what was it made from?”
“Ok, well people at home please prepare yourself…”
At this point Rebecca was straight staring at me knowing this sounded eerily familiar. Jack just sat playing on his phone while I pretended everything was fine. It was not easy to do as sweat was forming on my beautiful bald head and a few fingernails had been crunched on repeatedly. I closed my eyes knowing what was coming.
“The officers found an assortment of animals from raccoons, badgers, and possums all hooked up to small man-made milking machines.”
“Oh god…I am going to be sick.”
“It also seems he was selling to a new start up company called Miracle Enterprise.”
DEAD. FUCKING. SILENCE.
“Are you saying this was being sold around town? Did this Miracle whatsitsface know about this?”
ALL EYES ON ME.
“From what we understand this man owned the Milk and Miracle Enterprise just distributed it for him supposedly with no knowledge what was going on.”
CLICK, TV OFF
A long deep breath followed. A rubbed my forehead on the sleeve of my T-Shirt and then looked at Rebecca who shook her head at me until it made her so dizzy, she had to sit down. Jack started laughing as he watched Rebecca stumble one time on her way to the chair in front of the dining room table.
“Miracles work in amazing ways,” was the snappy comment I came up with. I walked to the kitchen sink and tossed cold water on my face for ten seconds and stared at the water go down the drain. A victorious smile came to my face followed by a frown from having lost control and not knowing what had happened.
“NOW WHAT?” Rebecca asked loudly from her chair.
I leaned back from the sink and slowly walked back out. I put on my best Miracle smile and walked out. I stopped in front of Rebecca, “I guess we pay for a cremation and toss some ashes into the woods.”
“So, you are admitting to this?”
I nodded, “I will always admit to being charitable man.”
She rolled her eyes at me, “No more milk puns, huh?”
I sighed, “I guess not…Doozer will be so sad.”
“Wait…I drank that!” Jack exclaimed as he suddenly became aware of what was going on.
“And it was grand wasn’t it, Jack?” I responded with what I can only guess a twinkle in my eye.
The Marley Mon stood up and looked at me and shook his head, “I never wanted to say this, but I guess I can now. It tasted horrible.”
I took a step back in surprise at this outburst by that stoner and then stood up straight and poked him in his scrawny chest. “As I have said before and will no doubt say again…good help is hard to FIND!”
Unbeknownst to me at that time I would be saying that on November 7th as well when I bore witness to the biggest bitch bodyguard of all time.
For now, though I watched as Jack took a step back from me showing a little fear from my comment but not enough was all I could think of, “I am just telling you I took one for the team, mon.”
He took one for the team. I stood there dumbfounded by such a comment coming out of the mouth of Jack Marley. It had a rough ten minutes with the ultimate demise of Miracle Milk and the realization that control had been taken from me without me even knowing it had occurred. My smiles and bravado were just masking my deep desire to grab Jacks tongue and walk him towards the balcony and toss him over. I finally shook my head to clear the cobwebs, “I will trend I didn’t hear that and that what you really meant is that you loved the extra vitamins it gave you.”
He looked back at me and must have seen something he did not enjoy. He just nodded back to me and walked back over to the couch and sat down. Throughout all this Rebecca had walked out the front door without saying anything but made it clear to me she was leaving when I heard the door slam. I jumped in surprise. I looked back at Jack who just shrugged at me and then went back to playing on his phone. I shook my head and walked towards my room.
RIP Miracle Milk, I whispered to the door while I opened it. I jumped on top od the covers and turned over. I then stared at the ceiling for the next hours trying to come up with answers on what just occurred.
I knew who.
Sure as hell not how.
I finally fell asleep who knows what time it was, but it was shitty.
At least I can say Miracle Milk went out with a bang…
That is more then my next opponent can say about his recent PPV matches.
He has left with initials on his chest in one of them and an injured arm in the other.
The result were losses in both…you know…something I know nothing about it. Do not get me wrong, I have lost a lot in in the past while wrestling and just recently in life. These have all been experiences I have learned from and when Miracle Milks ashes were tossed into the wind I did not smirk, I frowned. This is not something I am proud of. I am not proud of getting away with my part because I know exactly who made that possible.
It wasn’t me.
That is what angers me the most.
I didn’t learn a fucking thing except that certain people wish to control the New World and more importantly, ME.
What have you learned throughout your lengthy career, Mr. Dane?
Don’t burn bridges, when you have no other way across?
Invest your money wisely?
I am certain I could sit down across from you and listen to hours upon hours of your wrestling war stories. I am sure you have a candy jar of Black Licorice you will offer me to eat from while going in and out about injuring your neck to when the Early Bird specials start at IHOP.
I don’t need to sit down and communicate with you, Eric. I don’t need to learn anything from you because watching you walk, watching you talk, and just looking at you tells me everything I need to know. I see the battle scars, I see the braces on every limb, I see the unkept graying beard, and I see you training wrestlers that don’t do anything but give you someone to talk to. You don’t care if they succeed if they are still there to listen to you moan about ANOTHER injury occurring in the wrestling ring.
At least I have these few wannabes who I have tricked into thinking my career is respectable not incredibly sad is what that small part of yourself says. You know…the part that understands facts.
You love this sport though. I will give you that. You love parading your battle scars like all your injuries were for something other then your own ego. It is fine, Eric. I have no problem with someone being confident in their abilities or buttering themselves up for their own personal crab leg party. What I do have a problem with is that this person has the mentality of a teenager in the body of a 49-year-old man.
Therefore, I don’t want to take any lessons from the book Eric Dane. I know you have had a storied career and won titles and had great feuds and matches. I was not there for any of it, but it is safe to assume when you have been in this business for over twenty years you will get lucky a few times.
It isn’t just the fact you are literally held together by duct tape and Gorilla Glue, but you are the embodiment of failure.
Failure to move on with your life.
Failure to learn a new trade.
Failure to save your money.
I could probably list things you have failed at till I lose my voice and I don’t personally know you. But I do know people like you, Eric. You are like the aging businessman that will not step aside and let the younger and hungrier employee move up. You latch on, steal ideas, and attempt to hold them down by any means necessary. I know your type, Mr. Dane. You are the type that will never give respect to others but you will dangle it to an opponent in a promo just so you seem genuine. The old grizzled veteran facing the PRESENT greatness. I am not the future…I am the present. I am undefeated, I am the number contender to the LSD title, and I am the one who doesn’t give a shit about making money off a dead man.
I don’t respect anything.
This isn’t about my lack of transparency though. This is about Eric Dane being a broken-down piece of shit who is probably bankrupt as well. How many drugs did you do as a youngster? How many whores did you pay to suck that micro penis? How much money did you spend on your neck, on your knees, and any other bullshit injury you harp on and on about?
That is another thing, Eric. Stop raping our ears with your injury of the week promo. You did this to yourself, buddy.
What I am leading to, should be painfully obvious. I don’t think it matters how great your career has been when you cannot even retire to enjoy the spoils.
But…hey, you love rasstlin.
This is when someone says Steve Harrison is a phony because he doesn’t love wrestling.
I have had to defend myself on talk like this in the past and I can openly admit I do not love wrestling. I love the exposure wrestling brings me and I love using my platform to edify my vision for The New World.
But wrestling? Nah.
I do enjoy hurting people though.
I am honest about my feelings for this business. What makes me different though is that I don’t take days off. I don’t use that as an excuse to run around like Cancer Jiles or Doozer who have been wrestling for a long time, so they don’t feel like they need to put the work in anymore. They are handed title shots and opportunities while I have beaten everyone, including them, that are put in front of me.
I love winning.
I love being a success.
I love deleting a little of my past self every time I hit someone with It’s a Harracle and see my arm raised.
This could be fucking chess, Eric.
This could be fucking pottery, Eric.
This could be fucking dodgeball, Eric.
I want…no…that is a lie. I NEED to win at whatever I am doing.
All of this is a means to end. An end that will occur when I retire before I cannot walk, before I cannot move my head from side to side, and before I have done so many drugs I cannot smell the food sitting at the table in front of me.
I know you will have no problem hitting me in my nose with your forearm as many times as you can. I know you will poke my eyes. I know you will do whatever it takes to win because you are not a good person.
The Only Star with Only One Fan, not only fans.
Only One Testicle.
Only One Dollar in your bank account.
Only One STD…currently.
One thing we have in common is that we go about this business by ourselves and I can nod my head in agreement to several of your beliefs. We differ on reasons though, don’t we? You are by yourself because you have no other place that will have you and it just so happens everyone in HOW hates you as much as you hate yourself.
I am a BUSINESS by myself. Miracle Enterprise does not need the Zeb Martins, the High Flyers, or The LindsYAY Troy’s mucking up my gross margin. I need those loyal to the bone…or cheap.
Second one is important.
Do not fret, Mr. Dane, I am taking this match as seriously as I can. I will not succumb to laziness just because I have a guaranteed LSD title match coming up against my old buddy Hughie Freeman. He wants me to keep my perfect record and I see no reason to argue the opposite of that. Everyone wants to be the one to finally put a 1 in the right-hand column of my record. Bragging rights are probably not as important as attempting to shut me up.
Haha, I admit I do talk a lot.
I know through your travels you understand that a victory against someone like me can go along way and I am not a man who enjoys giving handouts. You must work your hardest to even come close to getting a result against me. I see you like I see Scott Stevens, like I see Hughie Freeman or how I see Cancer Jiles. I am not saying you are any of those people. I am saying I put the same energy into whomever I am facing so don’t get a big head because you have been throwing hands since I was in elementary school.
Experience doesn’t mean anything when it is met with an unmoving man who is desperate to keep his record intact. That might be my only weakness right now, but it will also result in me being an even worse person than you inside the ring.
Anything goes to keep me the role model of excellence in HOW.
I don’t feel bad—about anything.
I bring forth Miracles for myself, a new chapter is beginning, Eric.
You will just be the first sentence with the chapter ending with the LSD Title being around my waist.
Have a Miraculous evening, Eric.
Come Saturday you will be another one to fall and get behind the new STAR that will be way to bright for your old eyes to comprehend.
November 10th, 2020.
The pathetic showing of a hired bodyguard to protect me from the unwashed masses that come to HOW shows has showed me a mistake I made. Miracle Enterprise needs to be an organization where everyone buys in regardless if you are being paid for your services. That muscle-bound freak went down like LT at a gloryhole… from a bottle cap. A freaking bottle cap to the eye, I mean goddamit what a waste of money. I had to even call him an Uber to take him to the hospital. The amazing mind of Steve Harrison started thinking and remembered a man who would be perfect to watch his back.
Jack Marley and I had taken the Miracle Whip. Ugh, I shudder every time I have to say that word or even drive this ruined classic car. Anyway—we willed the car up with every remaining bottles of Miracle Milk we could find and headed down to the woods in bumfuck Virginia near where Norm had lived. Of course, Jack was forced to carry the ashes of man behind Miracle Milk. I am not a liar and I meant what I said about spreading his ashes in the woods. It is the least I could do after his stupidity made me an innocent man.
I am innocent of course.
I never once said I knew what type of milk it was.
Try to find a time.
“Right here?” Jack asked me as he pointed in the woods.
I raised my left eyebrow quizzically because all he was doing was pointing to the woods and it went on for miles down in this part of the state near Norms ‘farm.’ “I don’t care where you toss them.” I had a big sorts bag and unzipped it.
“Are you going to empty it?”
Jack was asking about the several bottle of Miracle Milk I pulled out. I shook my head, “fuck no, I am going to toss these as far as I can.”
Jack breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh thank god, should I just…”
“Yes, asshat, toss that fucking box of ashes as far as you can.” I watched was the stoner under hand tossed a box of ashes into the woods. Was not hard to see where they landed as he had the arm strength of Bobby Dean after a ten-hour jerk off session. I shook my head in disappointment and then began tossing Miracle Milk into the darkness of the trees. A small tear dropped from my eye knowing I would miss the greatness but hey…I prefer my freedom.
I changed the subject of course, “I need information on William Morris.”
Jack turned and stared at me. His eyes opening all the way in surprise at the mention of that person. He took a few steps out of the woods hoping I would follow. “Uh…why, mon?”
I walked out of the woods and brushed the leaves off my sports coat. I began walking towards the car and motioned for Jack to follow me. He reluctantly started moving and I turned around and stopped, “I asked a question. I expect an answer not another question.”
The Marley Mon stopped moving and his shoulders dropped in defeat, “I am just thinking he is not a person we should talk about.”
I laughed, “He is not Candyman, Jack. I need a new bodyguard and from what I know, he has all the right qualities.”
“Convicted attempted murderer has the right qualities?”
I turned away from Jack and walked towards the car again. I unlocked the door and looked back at Jack, “I knew it…he is perfect.”
Jack sighed and sat in the car, “I dunno, mon…the boss keeps him on retainer for his own reasons.”
“Now that is a story I need to hear,” I replied as I turned the ignition over and started my drive back to Fairfax just in time for my plane ride to Chicago.