Wet DREAM

Wet DREAM

Posted on July 29, 2021 at 7:39 pm by Doozer

“A waste of water?”

Even after repeating himself, at my request, the kid still didn’t make any sense. So there I sat, underneath an overcast sky, wearing my 97 red jumpsuit Lee required by contract. Blond hair faded, face wrinkled, blue eyes dimmed, they say there’s nothing like getting old with those you love.

I still got Bobby, at least.

“Uh, alright buddy, but what’s that even mean?” Normally I wouldn’t hold much of an ongoing conversation with a fan in the autograph line, but this little dude was the line.

Yeah, shit’s been tough. I know it’s mostly on me not having made any public appearances outside my two scheduled matches, but it still stings. I wonder, for the slightest of seconds, if this is how all the greats feel after they’ve fallen off the cliff. Then I chuckled to myself, like I was ever great. Surely not considered anything close to it here.

And don’t call- no. Nevermind. I’m not him.

The young’n shrugged, “Dad’s real smart. He says we’re all like ninety percent water. And-”

I hold up my free hand to stop him right there.

“I got it.” I’d heard of wasting air, breath, and space. Been around long enough for all the cliches. This was a new one, though. Good for his dad, I guess. Solex would probably like him. Not sure about Kutter, though. Not sure if he likes anyone. “Anyway, your old man got a name?”

“Mark.” My only fan, wearing a Superman t-shirt and a Boston Red Sox hat like it was the good old days, looks at me with his head cocked to the side like a confused pup. “But he tells other adults to call him Dr.  Meltzer.” His little eyebrows scrunched up. “He said he was going to try and get Clay Bird and Mitch Quinlan’s autographs while I was here. Sutler’s, too, if he’s lucky. He probably doesn’t want anything from you, though…”

I nod.

“Heh, I wonder why?”

Could’ve sworn I asked that rhetorical question under my breath, but that’s what ya gotta love about kids. Perfect hearing and absolute ignorant honesty. Two things that we all eventually lose. Well, except for Fuse… maybe.

The kid shrugged again. “Probably the water thing.”

I smiled my first real smile in months. “Yeah, probably that.”

The little guy, hands in his pockets, looked down at his feet as he made imaginary circles with the toe of one shoe. “He didn’t always think that, though.”

Aw, that’s cute. He’s trying to make me feel better.

“It’s alright, bu-”

“No really!” He squeaked, while straightening up like a soldier at attention. “He used to record all your matches in Dream and I get to pick one to watch whenever I’m a good boy and get all my chores done. As long as I’m being a good doozer, like you, he said! And like that show! You’ve probably never heard of it.

I wish.

“But it was so cool how you’d sprint down to the ring and beat up all the bad guys like a real superhero!” He continued on, then the young fan deflated as quickly as he inflated just moments prior.

“But I’m not allowed to watch the shows for the place you’re at now; High Octane, right? Anyway, ma says it’s too late and even if it wasn’t, I’m not old enough yet. But I hope you keep kicking butt this time! Dad said you pulled off a real miracle win in your first match back!”

With my head as cloudy as the skies above us, I couldn’t quite follow, so again, I requested some clarity. 

“Miracle win?”

The kid nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah! It’s okay, dad also said you probably wouldn’t remember it after the last fight you had with the milk man.”

I sat back, nodding as I was finally tracking.

Beating Brian fucking Hollywood is a miracle win for The Dooze these days.

Coming from my only fan, who doesn’t even watch my shows right now.

Seems about right, I guess. I didn’t even think I could beat Hollywood this time around…

I used to be the cockiest motherfucker on any roster that would have me. And I used to deserve to be.

Oh how the turn tables.

As I hunched over in my seat, soaking in my own depressed monologue, I realized Smart Mark’s son in front of me was still talking away… but for whatever reason, I couldn’t hear a thing. And it wasn’t just him, but the whole world around me just seemed to go mute all of a sudden

The clouds darkened fast. I looked up to see them literally turning black above me. Then I brought my attention back down to tell the little guy to go find his dad because a bad storm was about to open up on us.

But he wasn’t there.

No one was there.

Nothing was there.

Just… darkness.

~~~

A Hospital Room

Somewhere in Chicago, I guess

Most Likely the Day after HOFC1

 

I woke up to the crack of thunder, the sound of what’s gotta be torrential rain outside the window, and a GOD awful splitting headache.

“Glad to see those blue eyes open up again, dear.” The same nurse who cared for me after the Dan Ryan incident muttered the words so softly I could barely hear her over the ringing in my ears.

“Was there…” I took a deep breath, almost like I knew better, but continued regardless. “Was there a kid here just now? Had a picture of me to sign?”

The older, red haired lady in green scrubs smiled as soft as she spoke, “No, dear. You asked that here the last time, too, ya know?

Oh, good. Dementia and down to a single fan, who doesn’t exist outside my subconscious. Maybe I should ask Harrison for a rematch at HOFC2 so he can finish the job…

“Try to eat some soup, deary, and drink some fluids here.” The nurse brought over a tray next to my bed and had me lean forward a nudge while she fluffed my pillow. “Then get some more rest.”

I grunted, or moaned, or something in between. Whatever it was, it was in a thankful manner if that’s possible. I took a few spoonfuls of the soup down. Chicken noodle. Can’t be beat when you feel like shit. Then I followed with a couple gulps of nice, cold water. The nurse made her way to the door, turned back to me and smiled.

“You gotta get back into that ring soon, before my husband stops watching.” That soft smile turned into an almost creepy grin, but I hung on every word. “He can’t stand all this new age crap. From the spoiled Sutlers, to the incessant Fuses, and all the others in between.” She leaned in. “And to be honest, dear…” She looked over her shoulder like it was necessary. “I can’t either.”

I could feel my eyes getting heavy again, and all the muscles in my body relaxing… except the ones on the top of my cheeks.

~~~

HOTv Studios

The Room

Right Now

 

I’m not gonna lie, Mitch. I don’t know you that well. And I can’t say I care to, either. High Octane needs another religious freak about as much as they need another family tree to cross roots a la the Reynolds Kael Starr Best royal circles, or however we’re supposed to order them.

Don’t take that the wrong way, kid. You’re more than that shtick, I’m sure. I mean, I hope so. From what I have seen, you have a ton of promise, at the very least. 

You’re relatively young. You know, around these parts, you are. You’re a top notch technician, too. You know who else started his career as a technical specialist? You guessed it. Yours truly. I decided long ago to bulk up and lean toward powerhouse, but you never know… maybe that was my mistake.

At least at this point in your career, it seems technical wrestling has gotten you to High Octane… so it must be working for ya. You’ll just need to make sure you adapt to those, like me, who know the ins and outs just as good, if not better, than you do. Not to mention those, like me, who know better than to specialize. Like how you seem to be focused so much on DDT variations. Similar counters work for similar moves. And as someone with a DDT variation finisher, you could count me in that group.

Again, that’s not a knock. That’s just years adding up and I’m almost old enough to be your pops. So be wise and take the advise. Not everyone around this place gives it away for free like I do.

Honestly, if anything, I’m looking forward to brushing up on some of those old skills when we meet each other in the squared circle this weekend. Bollywood didn’t give me the challenge I was hoping for… and we all know HOFC has never been my thing.

Just did it because I had to. But that’s a story for a different day.

Look, I know I sound like a broken record with this latest return to the ring, but I can’t shake the feeling of being the underdog. Yes, even against someone who has yet to notch their first victory here at HOW. Unlike some, though, I would never make the mistake of underestimating a talent that just hasn’t been able to land that elusive W. I know how tough things are around here, and someone as determined as you will see plenty of pins in their favor.

When your time comes. Don’t worry, it will.

However, I did notice that issue you had with your left knee a few shows back against my boy, Bobby Dean. I hope you’ve been smart and worked on how you’ll better protect it.

Not to mention, it didn’t seem like you were on top of your game when ya lost your next bout against Dresden, though. And boy, oh boy, if you thought Eli was perseverant and difficult to keep down, I hope you know me better than I know you. ‘Cause it’s gonna take a lot more to pin this old bull for a three count.

Because I don’t submit. Thy Kingdom Come, thy won’t be done.

You can ask Brian about just how resilient The Dooze can be, on Earth as he is in Heaven, then do one of your fancy little prayers… and hope for a miracle.

Because at the end of the day, Quinlan, it’s pretty simple. Despite the flesh, bones, and muscle… we are mostly blood, sweat, and tears.

Water, Mitch.

Guess it’s time, come Saturday night, to figure out what kind you’re made of…

You gonna turn into a puddle?

Or are you gonna make it rain?

I know what I plan on doing.

And if you don’t come correct, The Forever Lost Boy better plan on getting Doozed and Abused.