It has been several weeks since I defeated Chris Kostoff and was attacked afterwards.
I suppose I should thank Lee Best for giving me some time off to recover from the unprovoked assault I received.
–Miracle Milk cured my ills in mere days.
So, for weeks now I have had to watch HOW circle around the drain and cheer for the eGG Bandits. It was only right that Bobby Dean lost whatever was left of his manhood. This man child, this pillowcase of socks, this 260-pound skin tag getting a World title shot.
It was like I was in a coma all over again and was stuck in a very long nightmare.
He lost, phew.
It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders, I didn’t have to utter the words World Champion: Bobby Dean.
I would like to point out that I actually listened to Rebecca Hines and Jack Marley a few weeks ago and offered an eGG and Milk branch.
I should be receiving praise for being the bigger man. Yet all I hear is that I am a child or dishonest or cowardly or some group of morons who continue to say I need a Miracle.
Ugh, what pedestrian word play, Jiles, I hope you die of Cancer.
But let’s get to how I attempted to have a real conversation with Bobby Dean.
Jack Marley speaking on my behalf because I had a sore throat that evening communicated with Fatback Dean. I did not want to strain my voice too much because I do need to hawk, I mean sell my wonderful Miracle Enterprise products. Could you imagine if I was unable to bring the Miracles to the masses because I was having a conversation with Bobby Dean that suddenly ended up being a talk about being Intolerant of lactose?
I would be shamed forever.
Jack Marley and Bobby Dean are two fuckwads in a pod.
It was cringe worthy, this rotund hairless kangaroo acting like a child right before his big match. Right then I knew–he was going to lose. I still attempted with all my patience not to staple his skin to the wall and then he pointed at me.
Bully, he said. ME?
The Man of Many Miracles is here to help everyone, and I am called a bully. What a pack of lies that man puked out of his mouth. I dare anyone to go through my history in HOW to find one instance of me bullying Bobby Dean.
I have constantly talked the man up and tried to help him, it is not my fault he would rather listen to a piece of fucking cardboard then take my brilliant advice.
Calling Steve Harrison a bully is like calling Gandhi a selfish prick. Neither are honest definitions of the men. I have gone out of my way to GIVE to Bobby Dean and if he cannot shake my hand and welcome me to HOW, then who is the real bully?
I am all by myself, was shipped away for ten years without any friends and have come back to the wrestling world and have been shunned.
I don’t know many people while Bobby runs around with numerous wrestlers, playing games, eating at IHOP, and none of them caring that their shared IQ amounts to 100.
I am alone.
I work hard to bring the Miracles to all the morons without caring that they are indeed: morons.
Nobody understands me and nobody attempts to try to understand me.
No…that’s you Bobby and your RT News Conspiracy Theory stable the eGG Bandits, the new KGB of wrestling.
I do not want your sympathy, people, I just want a match to prove that the Suplex Saint is indeed the future of HOW.
Speaking of futures: do not think it is gone ignored that I have been wrestling the past in each match.
The last gasp charlatans…
The High Flyer’s of the wrestling word…
Works for me.
June 20th, 2020
Miracle Enterprise Apartment
Hello sir or madam,
It has come to my attention that as usual your budget has either been slashed or has stayed at its low amount. We at Miracle Enterprise understand the hardships you must endure and have a new product that can help you greatly.
It is Miracle Milk and we can get it to you at 50% less then what you are paying now. Everyone wants Milk in their cereal, everyone likes to make chocolate milk, and all kids need milk to grow up strong. Miracle Milk has all the vitamins and nutrients all human bodies crave and need.
“I am confused, mon.” The annoying voice of Jack Marley spews out of his mouth. A freshly rolled blunt lies in front of him on top of his newly purchased autobiography of Mike Best. After two chapters the sheer sadness made it useful for only breaking up weed on top of it. Another failed cocaine binge for the champ.
Steve Harrison puts his hands to his head and starts rubbing it, a headache seemingly creeping quickly to his head. Steve walks over and sits down in his favorite recliner and sighs. He takes his sneakers off, some old school Adidas Black Sambas and tosses them to the ground loudly making Jack jump in surprise. “You see—there are certain organizations,” Steve leans back in his recliner, “that do not have a lot of funds.”
Jack nods, “ok and we want to help?”
“We want to help them help ME,” Steve responds nonchalantly as he slowly takes the black with white striped Adidas sock on is right foot off with his right toe. A lazy motion if there were one but at least he keeps his feet pedicured like a classy businessman with high standards unlike some of these other pieces of garbage that inhabit HOW.
Jack picks his blunt up and puts it to his lips, “this shitty book really made me glad I stuck with weed, mon.” Jack picks up his lighter.
Harrison slaps the lighter from Jacks hand. “I am curious…are you listening to me? Are you focused on the success of Miracle Enterprise?”
Marley shrugs, “come on, mon, you know I cannot concentrate until my after brunch blunt.”
It was 1PM, he had eaten pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, a chicken cutlet, funyuns, funyuns, flaming hot funyuns, funyuns, ramen, and you guessed it… funyuns.
Steve leans forward in his recliner, his right eye beginning to twitch from the words coming out of Jacks mouth. “Listen to me very carefully.”
Jack nods and slowly put his blunt back on that abortion of a book. “I gotcha.”
“Your job is to pick up the Miracle Milk and drop it off at the places I have tricked—I mean helped in purchasing our wonderful product.”
“Nice, mon, you have a car?” Jack Marley responds a big shit eating grin on his face. It is not insulting to state that Jack Marley is not someone you should feel comfortable operating a motor vehicle. If history is any indication, he hasn’t had a license in over six years. What he does use is mountain bikes and has had several biking while baked events where the race doesn’t… actually end, because everyone ends up hot boxing some shed that just randomly always shows up.
Steve pauses and shakes his head. Since coming back to the States, Steve has not driven. It is rather easy to decipher he probably does not even have a legal license at this point. He pulls his wallet out and checks, expired 12/16/2011.
Oh, nobody can drive in Miracle Enterprise but Rebecca Hines and that isn’t going to happen.
Hot damn, Steve had a nice set of hair and looked like a completely different person, most people would say happy or maybe handsome but Steve, “ugh, what a loser.”
Harrison shakes his head, “nothing, but no…I don’t have a car.”
“I have an idea, mon.” The confident tones of a stoner.
Steve raises his left eyebrow startled by this moron having an idea, “uh,” was all that came out. Nobody in their right mind would think this fool could come up with an idea. Better yet, he knows how to read?
Jack Marley hopped up slowly one foot at a time. This amazing feat of dance hops made Jack feel like he was moving as fast as Bobby Dean to ANY fried food, oh fuck it, any food in general. He grabbed his blunt and slowly pushed that shitty book to the floor, a mild chuckle from Steve is heard. The quiet noise the book made as it hit the floor was indicative to the vast emptiness of that piece of trash.
“Peace in the middle east, mon,” was the last words Jack said as he moved in slow motion out the door.
Stevey H rolled his eyes as the door closed, “peace in the middle east? Did High Flyer tell him that corny ass old saying?”
Let’s be real, High Flyer still uses:
Prints of Google Map Directions
You get the point?
He is old.
It is not funny because it is true, but it is both.
It’s a redemption story.
It is always a fucking redemption story.
Every time some former wrestling veteran has a tough stretch, they attempt to turn it around with their redemption story.
I said veteran, just because you have been around for over twenty years it doesn’t make you a legend, Mr. Harmen. I know you have a two match winning streak but you are facing THE undefeated Miracle Man. Eat your vitamins, dick.
I respect longevity though but if you are left behind by MJ Flair you are pretty much THE bottom of the talent barrel.
I am sure my morals will be questioned, my Miracles called a scam, and I will hear about his experience being the key for him to beat me.
I mean…seriously, the guy has a longer list of wrestling federations competed in then Miracle Enterprise has wonderful products to shill—I mean sell.
I don’t give a shit.
There is no Miracle I can perform that can make you young again. Sometimes it just takes a good beating for someone to give up on their amazing comeback story. I have said it repeatedly but, let me hit the point home once again: I am not here for your return to the top. I cannot accept a defeat this early in my HOW career. The downtrodden need someone they can look up to, an undefeated Miracle Man that will lead them to new happiness in their lives.
What an odd last few weeks though right, Jack?
Is it ok if I call you, Jack?
High Flyer just seems so…so…so hmm–childish? I like to jump off the turnbuckle, HYUCK.
Weeks ago, MJ Flair and you were talking about there being no bad blood between you too. Now, MJ Flair is gone…
Just like that.
I am certain she once again did not ask for your advice on her career trajectory and why would she? You have joined and left more feds then years she has been alive.
What a duo, the whiny and the washed up.
The washed up has stuck around though.
Round of applause everyone, a wrestler didn’t quit because they had a losing record.
People seem to think I overlook other wrestlers because of my attitude towards most of them. It is not that I overlook wrestlers like you, Jack. I just don’t see the point of “legend” worship. You are here for people like ME to learn from and make sure that the past doesn’t repeat itself. I take notes, I put it to memory, and I make damn sure I don’t end up as a shell of myself.
When it is time—it is time.
Look at your watch.
Maybe an hourglass?
Not sure what your generation used, sorry.
Whatever you decide to use, the answer will be the same: time is running out and this is not a happy retirement tour, Mr. Harmen. The best I can say is that you will be a name in the early record book of my climb to the top of the wrestling world.
Do not blame me when I drop kick your shin that you lose your leg in the process. I cannot control body parts being decrypted before a match starts.
I wish you luck—
–On paying your hospital bills.
Miracle Enterprise will be here when you get released to show you a new career because wrestling will not be an option.
Embrace the light, Jack.
Enlightenment comes first.
It’s a Harricle comes last.
Have a Miraculous day…
June 20th, 2020
Miracle Enterprise Apartment
Red wine slowly filled up a wine glass. Rebecca puts the wine bottle down on the counter and plugs the bottle back up with the cork. She slow swirls it and takes a small sip. She had come to visit Steve Harrison with documents he had asked for and the only thing she could think of was drinking wine before the following conversation began. Today was a shorts and t shirt day for her. The weather had gone from 95 to 98 degrees with humidity staying consistent at incredibly high and one of the last things she wanted to do was have Steve complain as usual.
“WHAT?” The exasperated voice of Steve Harrison is heard booming through the apartment.
Rebecca sighed and took another sip of wine. She was amazed it took this long for Steve to reach the end of the documents. She slowly moved from the kitchen bringing her wine with her into the living room where Steve looked up at her and then back at the documents repeatedly trying to sell his amazement. “Yes?”
Harrison smacked the documents, “Do I work at fucking McDonalds?”
Rebecca shrugged, “it is what all the new signings receive.”
Steve drops the documents to the table and puts his hands in his face, “He owns a damn aircraft carrier and I am making 48K a year?”
Another sip of wine.
“I mean—it is a boss move to own an aircraft carrier,” Harrison responds attempting to not anger the GOD of HOW so early in his career.
She rolls her eyes watching Steve double back like a coward, “I agree it is not a lot of money. You said you wanted to wrestle again, and this is the best I could find.”
Harrison groans but stops before complaining because at his heart he is a suck up to those paying him. “HOW am I surviving, again?”
“what the hell,” Steve mutters. He walks over to his window and looks down. There he sees Jack waving his hand from a car and motioning for him to come down. Harrisons eyes get large as he stares at the car, an actual smile of happiness follows.
“What is it?” Hines asks following it up with a soccer mom sized gulp of her wine.
“That motherfucker did it,” he says as he sprints out of the apartment. Rebecca finishes her wine and slowly follows Steve out of the door and closes it behind her. She loses sight of Steve quickly as he decides to use the stairs. She pushes the elevator button and waits patiently wondering what mistake she made in her life to be where she was. Of course, she knew it was meeting Sandy Reed-Lawson, the elevator opens and down she went as the annoying sounds of generic pop music played in the background.
The elevator door opens and Rebecca walks towards the front door to the apartment complex and exited wishing she had tossed some more wine in a solo cup at this point. She looks to her right and all she sees is Steve looking up at the sky his hands balled in fists, his face beat red, and yelling—
She looks in front of Steve and starts laughing her ass off, tears dripping down her face in joy as she looks at a hideous monstrosity of a car.
Echoes in the parking lot.
Rebecca Hines ended up having an OK day.