It was a balmy night outside as another episode of Refueled is moments away from starting. The crowd is amped up and ready, the people backstage marching around with purpose. And here I am, sitting in my car staring out my windshield at the back of the venue.
I’m not scheduled for a match tonight, and lately I haven’t really felt like I deserve a coveted segment slot. I mean, what agenda am I here to push? That I’m fat again? That I’m the biggest sack of shit this place has ever seen? Heck I’ve never felt like doing a segment just to do a segment was a smart move. If only some of the others felt the same way…
I look at the time glowing from my dashboard and realize the show has started and they’re already 35 minutes in. With a reluctant sigh I put my car in drive and head on out, back to my hotel, and the vat of raw chocolate chip cookie dough I have waiting for me to gorge on.
I look down at the phone sitting next to me and see the name of some faceless stooge from the back offices of High Octane is calling me. I know what he wants, as he’s the one that calls me to tell me if I’ve been scheduled for an appearance on any upcoming shows. And since he’s calling, that could only mean one thing.
I’ve been booked.
I hit the little red button to reject the call and send him to a voicemail that I know is already full. I turn my attention back to the television. I was two episodes into Squid Game on Netflix, and that meant I was busy.
I roll over angrily, slapping my hand down on the phone, rejecting yet another of the persistent phone calls, before rolling back over and going back to sleep. Sure it was 3 o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, but big boys like their naps.
“God damnit!” I curse aloud, as the phone call interrupts the current Clash of Clans game I was playing. “Can’t a guy shit in peace?” I ask the empty bathroom, because where else would someone play Clash of Clans?
“Hellooooo!” I answer cheerily, as if I were oblivious to the last 68 rejected attempts.
“Bobby!?” the faceless stooge calls out with a huff.
“Of course,” I say with a laugh. “Who else would it be?”
“Do you realize how many times I’ve called!?” he shoots back, with even more huff in his voice. “Do you even care that tomorrow is Refueled and you’re scheduled to appear?”
“I am!?” I ask with astonishment, while cursing to myself. Why did I think if I ignored them all long enough they would forget about me? “Why haven’t you told me!? Why did you wait so long? Jeeez man, how am I supposed to prepare and train, and watch film in time? I swear, I think you want me to lose!”
The man on the other end audibly gulps before he starts stammering, looking for a response. But before he can eek one out, I ask the hundred penny question.
“Who am I losing to this week?”
Ignoring my tone he proceeds to inform me, “You and Lust are facing Greed and Envy.”
“Oh goodie! I can help my friend Doozer win a match.” I chuckle, “He needs all the help he can get these days! Especially with Hollywood as a partner. I mean, if he had worse luck he’d be partnered with Eli…”
My deadpan delivery is lost on the faceless stooge, as he simply ignores me.
“Yeah, well, we’ll see you tomorrow. Please don’t be late, Lazer has already been pushing for you to return to your cell at the Rock. I think he’s getting close to getting his wish.”
I end the call before he can continue, and lazily toss the phone onto the couch just out of reach. Returning my attention back to the television as the last episode of Squid Games continues. I can’t help but imagine Lee Best running his own Squid Games. “Mike would probably win it.” I mutter to myself.
It was a balmy night outside as yet another episode of Refueled is moments away from starting. The crowd is amped up and ready, even more so tonight as Cecilworth Farthington makes his return! Yet, here I am, sitting in my car staring out my windshield at the back of the venue.
“This is going to suck!” I say aloud to the empty car. “My “partner” shouldn’t be Lust, she should be Sloth. She’s out-Slothing the most Slothiest Sloth there ever was! I mean, I may not be the greatest, or the most attentive, or the hardest trying, but at least I’m willing to put forth the bare minimum!”
Ugh, another loss to the Bandit’s Kryptonite that is Brian Hollywood. I shake my head in dismay and quiet surrender. Turning the car off, I slowly open my door and step out, hoping against all hope that I manage to trip and fall and pull a muscle, or blow out my knee. Hell, I should just slam the car door on my head and go back into a “coma.”
“UGH! Let’s get this shitshow over with.”