The match has concluded and the unbelievable just happened. I, “Beautiful” Bobby Dean, have just won! I beat Steve Solex! I can’t be fired now!
My glee and enthusiasm can barely be contained as I walk the halls back to my locker room. A smile from ear to ear plastered on my face. I stop everyone I pass and give them a huge hug, not caring whether they want one or not. That is, until I see Darin Zion down the hall. No hug for him, he’d then expect one every time our paths crossed in the future..
Every time I win a match in HOW I feel like I’ve lost my virginity all over again. I’m full of disbelief, joy, and an overwhelming anxiousness to do it again as quickly as I can! The sad reality is, much like sex, winning in HOW comes few and far in between.
But, winning tonight gives me the rights to pick our next stipulation! That creates a whole slew of problems I hadn’t considered when I agreed to this cockamamie Best of 7 idea.
What in the world kind of stipulation should I pick!?
We find ourselves back in the home of Bobby Dean. His house is littered with half empty boxes, as if he were in the process of either moving in, or moving out. The only room that seems to be completely unpacked is the living room, where a large television is currently running.
Shock. A guy who shook my hand and told me he was ready to go to war, but as soon as I turned my back started crying about taking the L. Newsflash, folks, I’m gonna be handing out L’s like M, N, O and P are on backorder until further notice, so I’d rub a little Johnson and Johnson into those big doe eyes until there are No More Tears. How do I know Conor is salty? How do I know that Jace Parker Davidson has been pitching fits about my spot in HOW? How do I know that for a solar based deity, the now retired Rah is a bit of a cunt when it comes to the Son? It’s because like I said, none of you motherfuckers can be trusted as far as I can throw Bobbinette Carey on Thanksgiving night.
Mike’s face fills the TV as he rants and raves.
I’m not going anywhere.
Across from the television is a large sectional couch, and splayed across said couch is none other than the gentle giant himself, “Beautiful” Bobby Dean. He’s on his back, one leg kicked up, resting along the top of the couch, while the other leg is hanging akimbo off the couch. His face is turned to the ceiling and it appears as if he is sound asleep.
Go to Defiance. Go to the secret warehouse where OCW is still running shows and catch Mario talking shit about me where he thinks he can’t see it. Go reactivate your Twitter account and join the sea of two million guys who all look like the same handsome Samoan man tweeting “ACKNOWLEDGE ME”, and find your destiny elsewhere. Because the shy starve here, and if you’re busier complaining than you are hustling, you don’t belong here.
His snoring takes a turn as he suddenly begins to stop breathing. I guess his severe sleep apnea is acting up as he begins to choke. The sounds are quite disturbing, but have no fear, it only lasts for a few seconds before he’s back to snoring regularly, and quite loudly once again.
I’ll give it to Woodson, the Little Engine That Couldn’t has bigger balls than the rest of this roster combined. He’s got three strikeouts and a walk at the plate against the Son of God, but at least he’s still swinging. At least he isn’t afraid to shoot his shot. At least he hasn’t taken his glove and gone home. That’s where we’re at these days— the only people willing to fight me are the ones you all make fun of. The Zions, the Deans, the Stevens’. The motherfucking Scottywoods. They’re also the only people around here not named Farthington who show me the fucking respect that I deserve. Who acknowledge what I contribute to this company. Who know the score, and act accordingly.
Suddenly Bobby jerks awake, struggles to an upright position, looking around the room as if he heard someone mention his name but can’t seem to find who it was. Seeing Mike on the television he reaches over for the remote and with a click of a button mutes it.
Mike continues talking, but you can’t hear the words, as Bobby falls back onto the couch. With a quick scratch to the underside of the massive belly peeking out from his t-shirt, he is soon happily snoring once more.
I don’t know about you all but I love mid afternoon naps.
As a child I hated them. More time sleeping meant less time playing. But now, more time sleeping meant less time wasted on listening to people rant and rave about the same shit they always rant and rave about.
“I’m so good no one wants to face me.”
“The only people who want to face me are the people that don’t offer me any challenge!”
“My Daddy, blah blah blah”
It also meant less time for me to unpack.
Yes, you heard that correctly, unpack!!! Why am I unpacking? Because I won!!!
I’ll be honest, I thought this whole setup was just a scheme to give Lee a chance to fire me. I know, I know, if Lee wanted to fire me he wouldn’t need to cook up a scheme, he’d just stick a pen in my eye and say good day. But I also know Lee likes to take advantage of any chance he can to be devious.
He’s kind of like a psychopathic serial killer of our emotions.
The good news is I no longer have to move in with my mother. Oh man, to be that 30 something year old, fat slob, living in his mother’s basement… Whew! I swear, this whole thing has been stressing me out. I normally don’t give much thought to winning or losing, because really, what does it matter?
I’m not here for a title shot. I’m not here to be the best. I’m honestly just here to watch Mike make you all cry with his hurtful words. It’s hilarious!
Speaking of hilarious, what in the world was Solex thinking? Dr. Devastation? Doesn’t he know you can’t out Doctor me!? I’ve been playing Doctor since I was… Well, let’s just say if my mom found out how young I was when I got my “doctorate” she’d probably have sent me to military school.
According to Bobbinette Carey you don’t really “need” a doctorate to become a doctor. You just need a job in a somewhat similar field, and then tell everyone. If she were on a plane and someone got hurt and they ask “Is there a doctor on the plane?” I wonder if she would stand up and say, “Yes! Sorta…”
I’ve been wracking my brain trying to come up with a stipulation that heavily favors my lack of skill, and something that is so ridiculous that Solex cannot derive any advantage from. So far my top picks have been: anything food related.
Bobbing for apples, pie eating, hot dog eating, the Paqui One Chip Challenge, how many grapes can you fit in your mouth?
But the more food ideas I come up with the more hungry it makes me, thus the more distracted I find myself. So my focus then shifts. What kind of “wrestling” stipulation can I come up?
Object on a pole. Blindfold match. Dog collar match. Scaffold match. I was really leaning towards a Lumberjack match, but I don’t have enough friends in HOW. I’m worried if I find myself ringside, I’m going to have 20 people just beating the shit out of me. I can barely handle the one guy beating the shit out of me, I don’t think I could handle 20 of them!
So now my mind shifts to the type of matches that would combine wrestling with shenanigans. Bra and panties match. Jell-O wrestling. A match where we each select a person as our “champion” to wrestle, so that we don’t have to do it ourselves.
I swear, my head hurts from all the thoughts I’ve been sifting through the past four days. I go to bed each night with a headful of useless ideas, but as soon as my head hits that pillow it’s like a “reset” button is pressed. All the stupid ideas go out the window, and they’re replaced with thoughts of the ultra soft feather stuffed pillow beneath my head.
I think I may have an idea!
I remember once watching a match where the ring ropes were covered in light tubes. They were taped to the top rope at six inch intervals. Throughout the match when someone wanted a tube they just reached over and yanked one free. Smash it over their opponent’s face, and then grab the next one.
Now, when I think of that match I see pillow cases attached to the top ropes. Each case is stuffed with a large pillow just waiting to be swung in Solex’s face! Ooooooh man, I’m going to cave in that man’s skull with a sack full of duck feathers!
Last week Solex picked a match that was meant for him to win. I mean, swinging a chair is like his thing. What happens if I pick this pillow fight, and he beats me… If I lose and he gains control over the stipulations once more, I’m worried that I’ll never gain control again! Everyone keeps talking about how great we would be at ICONIC, but am I the only one who wants to finish this thing BEFORE ICONIC? If we make it to ICONIC that means we’re going to go 6 matches deep! I don’t know if I can do this.
Shit… Now I’m worried.
Is it too late to switch it to a Bra and Panties match?