Lot of Saltwater Taffy Here.
I watched as Teddy Palmer fell from the USS Octane. I turned back and dropped the chair I had in my hand. It wasn’t like I felt bad about this because Teddy had brought the chair to the party first and seconds before had thrown the murder cowboy off the ship. This was just a receipt and his ability to swim or not was the last thing on my mind.
As I looked up, I saw the forces of wince, the Wizards of ugh running towards me with as serious faces as a group with Jeb and Conor could muster. I counted…
1…Jeb Martin, I got this.
2…Ray McAvay, still got this.
3…Conor Fuse, where the hell is The BA?
4…Lindsey Troy, um…this is what I get for relying on old people and…my best bud.
I sighed and cracked my back from where Teddy hit me with the chair. It felt like I was just carrying a lot of extra weight which I have become accustomed too with my partnership with Colonel COOL Jiles.
The BA was running behind which left me to my own defenses and all I saw were people who couldn’t beat me but even I knew 4 against 1 is not good odds. I don’t make the BEST Bets because I ignore stats. You certainly can ignore Silent Witness’s bet of the week though because that shit isn’t happening.
I lifted both my hands and extended my fingers with a maniacal laugh leaving my mouth which even surprised myself.
I quickly realized that I would rather not stay where I was. I ran back towards the ring because I did not want to join Dirt Pidgeon and that guy I already beat, in the dark cold ocean water below. You see what Salt does to Jiles just imagine what it does to someone who takes care of himself. Low sodium please.
My run ended quickly as that young gun Conor Fuse beat everyone to me and jumped at me and hit me with a Super Mario punch that made me fall back a few steps and then they all descended on me like a pack of hungry wolves. They were trying to eat the talent even knowing they cannot earn skills by doing so.
I dare say someone spit on me. Probably that mumble mouth goof, Jeb.
Finally, The BA got there and what felt like forever was probably less than a minute, but those four pieces of shit left their marks on me. With the numbers advantage I peered through my hands and watched as SeKane tossed Fuse off me. I rolled on top my back and lifted my hands off my face and stared at the stars and listened to the yells ands screams of several people in pain. It did not matter who because all the voices just sounded the same at this point. Maybe I had a contact high from earlier or maybe all of this carnage was just becoming the norm.
It was exhilarating.
I didn’t say it wasn’t painful.
I was not sure how many welts I would be sporting in the morning, but it was worth it. I did what I said I would do and that was take care of Teddy Palmer and then stand up to numbers that would make any sane man run. Of course, there is no where to run on the USS Octane but off it and as mentioned that is not an option worth deliberating on.
When it was all said and done, I lied in my cot with upwards of ten different ice packs covering my body and the knowledge that I tossed someone off a boat with a chair shot and put the gray haired superman in the infirmary.
I had to do so much just to rid the stench from The BA losing to Darin Zion. Having two people fall overboard was still not enough for people to forget the embarrassment that was JPD getting pinned and costing The BA money for his fiery transgressions. Of course, Darin himself already made it pointless with his prittle-prattle excitement fun times GO! news. Non caffeinated is your friend, Zion. After Conor Fuse’s news post crying about EA Mike that may have been the saddest one ever recorded.
Grapplers Local 214 (yep, I said it correctly for once because they bore me to death now) is about to be led by Darin Zion and then sunk into irrelevance by Arthur Pleasant and his assassination of anything interesting. You group of malcontents are becoming more worthless by the week so when War Games is over, we can just call it pity murder and move on.
Not even Dan Ryan can save you guys after he lost to our secret weapon: HR.
The only thing you have going for yourselves is Teddy Palmer and that is because he has ducked me like I am INS asking for his work visa. I am sure Arthur Pleasant will really turn you guys around… back towards the cliff at a quicker pace then before. I would think about thanking him but that would mean I have even an ounce of respect for this towering inferno of try-hard.
I had a dream.
I woke up.
…On this damn ship and I will make the most of it and bury you clowns at sea.
“Mr. Harrison, we are going to dock in Japan shortly.”
Steve Harrison, the man who creates Miracles and feeds sharks with oily douchebags rolls over in his cot and sighs. Saturday night was a whirlwind of craziness and it is all worthwhile when a bag of dirty cash is tossed your way. At least, that is what Steve had always thought. After putting the finishing touches on Doozer though it started to feel a tad too much but Steve shook that off as empathy he buried in his past.
There are no friends in this business or any business his dad echoes in his head.
“There are no friends,” he muttered to himself.
Exactly, just keep saying it.
It was more being eGGed on by Colonel COOL that made it feel dirty to Steve because he had no love for Doozer or Bobby Dean which should not surprise anyone. He just did not enjoy being told what to do by his supposed partner. Being a team player is not easy especially after you hear StarrSek will now defend the tag titles at War Games. Do the work, lose the glory, and then depend on someone else to hold on to it. How irritating.
Steve turned over and hugged his pillow as he attempted to fall back asleep. Sleep was not something that came easy these days. Memories of failures and Rebecca disappearing because of his own father made it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything but destroying necks of the non-believers. I mean I guess he could kill his dad and wax poetic about being a badass killer…if that is what you call Arthur Pleasant’s annoying nonsense. Poetic…uh…maybe cringeworthy is a better definition. Ass bucket, puckered starfish…blah, blah, does anyone take this moron serious?
“You there?” The new voice says again.
Yes, his name is Igor.
No bump but all the awkwardness.
He was Laser’s lesser known assistant who made sure The Best Alliance had clean towels and fresh water in case Jace wanted to start a fire like some horror movie villain. Hughie Freeman? Fuck him, he can burn with his Pumpkinhead buddy. Jace should have just kept his lighter fluid for that bonfire.
“NOOOOOOOOO,” Steve bellows into his snuggle pillow.
Don’t @me, you all do it.
“Laser told me you need to get up and eat some fruit to start your day energized and ready to work out for your match.”
Igor was annoying like Cancer Jiles after a blunt and a family size bag of Flaming Hot Funyuns. Jiles is a gassy man who loves his junk food so let’s just say for once it isn’t his mouth that is making people run for the hills.
Harrison groans which is custom for him, “do you have Nashi?” Nashi was the Japanese term for the Asian Pear in case none of you know how to use google.
“Um…you do, or you don’t you fucking Janitors lackey?” The BA Soul asks as he rolls over again and stares at the sun peeking through his small Aircraft Carrier window. He holds his head as a headache rolls over him, still feeling the results of being ambushed by the 214.
“I can send someone to get some as soon as we dock, sir,” the shaky voice of Igor says from outside the room. He was new at this and his voice gave away the obvious fear he had of any wrestler not to mention one from The BA who take no prisoners during times of WAR. Death isn’t the reason they just don’t want to be around them after they defeat them is all. Let them slink away and share a cabin with Bobby Dean after a night of eating cheese fondue. That is a lactose intolerant joke not a fat joke I think we can all agree Arthur Pleasant has ruined that for everyone. He took a shashka (Russian sword, I do research on my opponents unlike most of these wrestlers) cut fun in half and then proceeded to drink shitty vodka and piss all over nuance.
The Miracle Man rolls his eyes and then sits up in his bed numerous melted ice packs were scattered throughout the room. On the nightstand was a prescription bottle that looked like it was already half empty. Not full because this is always going to be a negative portrayal because of the dangers of addiction. Just look at John Sektor. They have ruined his personal life and most recently had him forget that Steve and Jiles won the tag titles. To say his memory is good is like saying Arthur Pleasant doesn’t torture cats for his own orgasmic delight.
Well don’t worry, Steve Harrison is the apex of this sport for a reason the only thing in that prescription bottle is a high-count Ibuprofen to help with the aches and pains from Saturday night. There are not opioids involved so when someone says The Man of Miracles isn’t a role model you make them aware that he is a responsible man who tries to stay clean.
You know…except for heavy Whiskey use, but nobody can say no to several high balls…every night with the occasional woman of the night. Money scattered everywhere and NDA’s scribbled on with fucking crayons.
Role model deactivated.
He stands up and kicks several melted ice bags out of his way. He tosses on a Miracle Mets (Yea, I heard you Witness, Miracle is trademarked by me, tread lightly) T-Shirt with The BA logo in the corner. He slowly walks towards the door and opens it up to see Igor standing there his eyes darting back and forth like a tweaker needing his fix.
Harrison snaps his fingers repeatedly in front of Igor’s face. Finally, Igor focuses and looks carefully at Steve but lowers his gaze as to not stare directly into the face of Miracle Man. Looking into the eyes of such an amazing man can make another mans eyes burn from the amazingness of the situation. “Uh…uh, sorry sir.”
Harrison tosses his arms up in the air in annoyance at Igor’s total lack of confidence, “get some coffee you pleasant…I mean peasant.” Igor nods with a look of concern on his droopy face and turns to leave.
Suddenly Jack Marley runs around the corner and runs into Igor dropping both like cartoon villains trying to catch their prey on their respected asses. Steve smacks his head and then wishes he had not done so as he takes a step back seemingly dizzy from his own palm strike. He shakes it off and leans against the wall for a few seconds.
“I must have done some horrible shit in another lifetime,” Steve says as he stares down at the two bumbling idiots trying to help each other up. One slips and falls back down while one loses his grip and falls back on his butt. Finally, they are both up and Igor runs away for the coffee. Jack looks up at Steve and smiles as if he had just stolen Jiles’s stash and replaced it with Oregano.
“Yo mon, COOL Jiles has some star gazing shit and the Saltwater taffy is too die for,” The Jewmaican says proudly.
Ok, so he did steal it.
Harrison rolls his eyes and then turns heel and begins walking down the hallway where The BA members stay while on the USS Octane. Jack runs after him put stops a few steps behind him. “Any news?” Harrison asks without turning to see the prince of the purple punch.
“Last I heard from William he was following some scientist.”
Harrison stops and turns to look at Jack, “some scientist?”
Jack gulps and nods, “he said he saw your dad talking to him outside Ruth Chris in Crystal City and they both left together.”
Steve sighs, “how the hell does he know he is a scientist, do you purposely leave out most details, so I have to keep talking to you?”
Marley Mon actually nods back, “maybe…ok, so he followed them until the guy went home and then he ran his plate number. He specializes in brain injuries and how the brain works.”
Harrison turns back around a confused look on his face, so he changes subject for now, “Ok, any word on the new product for Clay Byrd?”
“You mean the life preserve…”
Before he can finish a door opens in front of them and out steps Clay Byrd looking as surly as always with a cup of the blackest coffee you have ever seen, and his grayish Cowboy hat pointed down to block the sun or the gaze of anyone he hates (everyone). It was probably just a cup of tobacco spit, but nobody is going to ask him that. Harrison nods at him and Byrd just stares at him, “Cowboy Hat,” Steve looking at Jack hoping he can read his mind to shut up says loudly.
Harrison clears his throat, “The Clay Byrd BA Cowboy Hat. They will fly off the shelves!”
“Ahem, so the horseshoe idea was dumb, but everyone loves a good Western and you are a… rancher? A gravedigger? Look, I am not sure what Unforgiven character you are going for but, COWBOY HATS! That’s a fucking profit maker.”
The Man who might need a Miracle at this moment takes a small step back and then tries his best smile. “I am sorry about Saturday but that dirty cheat Teddy Palmer used a chair. I hope you got a few water slaps on him when I tossed him in after you.”
Harrison nods trying his best to get Clay on his side, “I agree and look I am certain that during War Games you will become the LSD champion and what better then to have all the Japanese fans wearing your Cowboy Hat in the TOKYO DOME!”
SIX STARS IS THE MIND OF THE GREAT STEVE HARRISON!
Clay Bird, the man who will drag a corpse behind his horse if you cross him finally eases up a bit and tips his hat to Steve. Steve gives him the thumbs up taking this as Byrd being ok with the cowboy hat idea.
Yet the door is still slammed shut.
Steve lets out a deep breath and starts a brisk walk away from the door. After getting twenty feet away Jack says, “do you think he heard about the life preserver?”
Harrison stops and looks around puts his finger up to his mouth to tell Jack to shut up and whispers, “I don’t think so, make sure they are ready to go for War Games.”
Marley gives the thumbs up and takes a small sticky pad out of his pocket and starts scribbling on it. “What color?”
“97Red, black writing and hey…toss a small cowboy hat pic on it.”
The Heart and Soul nods, “while you are at toss 1K on team Jace Jiles Best to win this coming Saturday. I feel lucky but if Jiles and Jace lose again Lee might make me toss them overboard.”
Haha, come on champ, step up.
Steve gets to the entrance of Bamboo Lounge and walks in and thankfully it is empty. He sits down on the lounge chair and looks down at the area the ring once stood last Saturday. A smirk comes to his face and then Igor walks in with the coffee shaking in his hand spilling on his hand and probably burning him. He puts it out for Steve to grab.
“WHO THE HELL STOLE MY WEED?!?”
The door flies open with an angry COOL JIles walking in. Harrison taken surprise jumps and knocks the coffee to the ground and all over Igor’s feet. He had crocs on like a moron and he jumps up and down in pain. Jiles sees this and forgets about his stolen weed for a second to start laughing at Igor and Steve. Jack takes advantage of this and carefully walks behind Jiles and sneaks out of the lounge giving Steve a smile as he does so.
“That bastard,” Harrison says softly.
“What?” The COOLEST Mofo this side of Asia says.
Steve sighs, “nothing, what is this about your weed? You trying to smoke away the memories of Doozer?”
Jiles laughs, “oh god no… hey you,” he points at Igor. “We need coffee and weed, don’t spill either or you will join the barnacles.”
“Yes…yes sir!” Igor runs off again.
Steve lies back in the lounge chair as Jiles starts talking about weed, Bobby Dean, best buddies, Doozer, thank yous, and Darin Zions War Game decision being more important than whatever Lindsay Troy is doing but Harrison doesn’t register any of it as he closes his eyes and imagines the next victory that is upcoming in comfy Korakuen Hall.
The nap was good.
The coffee was bad.
The company was unbearable.
The USS Octane is the Best Alliance playground. You hangers-on and bit players (I mean people like Sean Stevens, not Link, Conor) cannot even comprehend the greatness that the battleship is.
I survived it all though to just land on having to concentrate on my next opponent. The wrestling equivalent to Sarah Palin. I can see Russia from my home so I may as well join an international gang over there. I can imagine Alaskan education is lacking which would explain your splendid decision to become a pig controlled by Oligarchs and a shirtless dictator.
I feel like a lot of what I say goes over most people’s heads.
Shoot first ask NO questions later.
You are just Hughie Freeman with a new accent and a hangman’s kink. Here is to you faking your own suicide but not coming back afterwards. Blame it on your Insomnia, Robin Williams.
I guess you fancy yourself an unhinged man who enjoys a good brawl. A rough and tumble scarred twat who thinks bragging constantly about beating the help is going to get him HOW cred. You need to beat more then the catering crew and the guys who put the ring together to be anything more then a guy on a rankings sheet. Your adventures with Teddy and LT have not gone unnoticed either. I am certain that was the point always the provocateur, right?
I didn’t say it interested me, but it did make me chuckle at how far the Grapplers have fallen that they even let you in the room. Playing your games and promising to make a mark at War Games is the way you move, and everyone knows it’s just self-serving slop. You don’t deserve to even have a bed on the USS Octane at this point in your illustrious HOW career. You haven’t proven anything in HOW other than you can beat the scraps of a bone nobody gives a fuck about anymore. Even Scott Stevens dog has lost interest in those bones.
But congrats, Arthur all your posturing has got you a shot at the big time. It is insulting to me to say the least to see you at War Games, but I guess it could have been anyone since it is 9 a side now. I am surprised Lee didn’t let LT recruit Eric Dane since we went so far down the roster it seemed inevitable.
I have no issue showing you what The Best Alliance is all about this Saturday because I don’t take days off and I don’t cheat the system. I do what needs to be done to kick the system in the head and continue to decimate the competition when I am not given a roughing the vocabulary penalty.
Oh, and look that is all you got, HOW pathetic. I am sure we will all take neck beard advice from a man proud of his Matricide. Get the fuck out of here you meandering hypocrite. This is not a child’s game, but you come at it from a child’s perspective and it is cute until you ask: are we there yet for the one hundredth time in a promo.
Watch out imma get you now.
Uh, you can claim your words mean anything to me but like you said afterwards, it is all nothing.
Just admit you did not do any research on me. All I saw was a cookie cutter promo full of bullshit you say to everyone but just change the names around. How devoid of creativity, Arthur. I am surprised you just didn’t talk about me being bald.
This is pitiful. You claim to be a big personality but really you just want attention because your family wishes they had given you a Vikings funeral when you were born.
OH NO NOT MY RING ATTIRE!?!?!
Sigh, what a waste of my time.
Just ether yourself so you don’t make it to the ring you annoying walking, talking hemorrhoid. I am certain you carry a bottle just in case you want to feel good again and forget the voices in your head telling you what you just said had any semblance of wit. Surprise, it didn’t, and you are quite horrible at this.
I do what needs to be done for me to advance in this organization. You must make noise and by the looks of your involvement in War Games it doesn’t matter how annoying a noise it is. The only people that might have it out for you are on your own team, so it seems like this is all counter intuitive which tracks when it comes to anything involved LT and Dan Ryan.
Don’t think because you survived Dan Ryan and his murderous ways that you somehow get a respite by facing me. Do some real research, try some yoga so you are flexible it really does not matter what you do because I am going to run through your neck and leave you looking like Potato head (genderless now): just an ugly misplaced looking face, two legs, and those scrawny dick pullers you have for arms. I am sure you will enjoy it since you have a high tolerance of pain. That would explain you being able to listen to yourself everyday try to sound edgy and scary.
Just kick out at ONE and keep claiming yourself as anything more than a mid-tier act at best and when Saturday is done you will realize that War Games is not worth you getting the opportunity to rub up on LT like a cat that needs to be spayed. The best-case scenario is LT leaving HOW and going elsewhere so you can stalk after her and leave HOW. Then… finally you corner her on a ledge and you both go over and are never seen again. I am certain I just stole your own fan fiction on that ending but I am not going to apologize on you being easy to read. Any attention is good attention for a self-described crazy person, I guess.
Look, I am going to show you that I am the last person you want to tussle with. I am not going to put up with your shit and when we are in that ring, I don’t give a fuck if you want to get hardcore. Get your weapons. I will come with my brain and leave your face impaled on the very tools you brought because you are nothing to me but a warm body to make Zion seem bearable to…well…to everyone.
You are done.
You got nothing.
You are nothing.
Your tombstone will say literally nothing.
You are an inconsequential person in life and especially in HOW.
We are in Japan and that little space will do wonders for hearing your voice echo in pain for all to cringe at.