Tuesday, May 11th, 2021
Montezuma Night Club
If I die on Saturday Night; at least I’ll go out with a bang. Training at Burnt Boot Camp eroded any joy I felt in life. Every twist and turn led to one path: an everlasting verbal bludgeoning from Sergeant Edwards. Pain continued to surge throughout my body. Any time I took a single step; it felt burdensome to me. It was the most intense training I’d ever experienced. While I loved how my muscles toned up to levels I hadn’t seen in almost 10 years; the wear and tear made me question exactly how much conditioning I wanted to continue after leaving Arizona. I couldn’t keep this regiment up if I tried.
16 years of professional wrestling caught up to me in a day and a half’s time. My back creaked and cracked each time I tried moving. Pins and needles rushed up my arm so much I could barely feel it when I used it. I kept nodding off at the obstacle course because I felt so exhausted.
But Bill Braxton and a bunch of trainees had this bright idea to pry my old, dilapidated ass out for a night filled with drinks and shenanigans. Enticing me with the whims of becoming carefree like Cool Cancer Jiles; how could I pass them up?
After all, I recognized the stark contrasts between Jiles and me. I’ve always buried my nose deep in training; never letting up when I lost. I valued my competitive nature. However, Jiles always took time to stop and embrace his awkward teenage years whenever he got the chance. Whenever you found nonsense in HOW; you found Jiles a few steps behind it.
Desperately, I needed to understand what made him tick. He’d won the HOW World Championship before me, and I’d beaten him nearly 80% of the time I brawled with him and the Bandits. How the fuck did he capture lightning in a bottle and get away with it? I busted my ass off for nearly 7 years trying to hold the HOW World Championship. Obviously, I came to terms that I lived in a reality where Jiles won the big one. But the idea still made me cringe that he became the epitome of cool just like he promised.
My natural instincts to continue training gnawed at my soul. But deep in my heart, I needed to live a little. Growing out of my awkward stage of workaholism would only broaden my horizons before the 3 on 1 handicap match. As Bubsy the Bobcat always says, “What could possibly go wrong?” Besides, I NEEDED a Rum and Coke to take the edge off everything.
Longing I stare at the glass while the bartender pours the rum down into the glass. My hands shake in anticipation of the burning sensation of the alcohol hitting my throat. As she tops my drink off with Coke, she places it directly in front of me. I rip the cup out of her hands and down it like a shot. “Another, please! Make it a double!” I shout out as she grabs my glass and makes me another drink.
“YEAH, MAN! THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” Bill shouts out enthusiastically as he pats me on the back. “You needed to de-stress from all the pressure you’re putting on yourself in this match.”
Nodding in agreement, I shoot him a Thumbs Up gesture as I chug down the rest of my second drink. Fuck yes! I needed this! The tension releases from my shoulders as a smile cracks my dead panned face. A tingling, warm sensation rolls down my back. As the bitter taste of the rum and the sweetness of the coke hit my taste buds, I let out a huge sigh of relief. “It’s been nearly 3 years since I’ve stepped out of a gym or some sort of training session. I’d forgotten what the outside world is like.” I enthusiastically say as I place the cup down on the counter.
Bill strokes his bushy red beard rather puzzled. “Wait, you haven’t stopped working in 3 years? Whhhhy?”
I responded, “I’m committed to my job, man. It’s the only thing that’s stayed constant in my life. It took a helluva lot of effort to get noticed by Lee Best. He demands your unbridled commitment to improvement. If you fail, you don’t get to have fun. You’re forced to train harder until you break your losing streak.” The weight of that statement caused me to look to appreciate the smaller things happening around me.
Flashing lights, bumping music, and the cheers of people letting loose filled my head and heart. Embracing the nightlife fully, I bobble my head in place to each beat of the techno music blaring over the speakers.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Nudging my right side sternly, Bill throws his arms up in bewilderment, continuing to egg me on. “What the fuck are you doing, man? Stop smelling the damn flowers. Don’t keep sitting here at the bar all night. Go dance! Get laid! Do what wrestlers do, man. You only have one life to live. Enjoy it! Embrace the coolness of it all.”
I nearly stumble out on the dance floor as Bill pushes me out of my chair and points toward a group of women dancing over in the corner. Suddenly sweat beads form on the palms of my hands. My mouth quivers as the thoughts of rejection swirl in my brain. My right hand nervously fans my head as I leisurely progress towards them. Taking a large swig of my Rum and Coke; I nervously stutter while introducing myself.
“Hi, um, hi! I’m…uh….uh…uhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
My throat closed off as I forcefully paused and awkwardly stood in place frozen trying to force my arm to wavewave. Every woman in the dance circle cackles hysterically before brushing me off. Great! Another failure I needed to sequester deep in my soul before the handicap match. Just what I fucking ordered! Nearly 15 years passed without Zion getting laid and I didn’t need the extra fucking pressure. I couldn’t grasp the Cool Cancer Jiles way if I tried. I’m just the awkward turtle of HOW. Call me Buzz Killington now.
Dejected and despondent, I shuffled my way back towards Bill. Shaking my head rather annoyed, I murmured under my breath. “This lifestyle isn’t for me, Bill. I wanna go home. I’d rather just suffer at Sarge’s hands.”
Fumbling through his pockets determined, Bill acknowledges me while his eyes are focused. “Hold on, little buddy! I got something that’ll take the edge off. It’s my happy pills. I guarantee they’ll knock your damn socks off!”
“No thanks, Bill. I don’t want it!” I exclaimed sheepishly, shirking him off. As I turn away from him, he grabs my right hand, pulling me towards him and dropping a small, white circular pill with a smiley face on it. As he walks away, I examine the pill thoroughly before reconsidering. It looks like a Flintstones vitamin; I’ve never seen an anti-anxiety medication like this. I shrug my shoulders before washing the tablet down with the rest of my drink.
As I finish downing my drink; I let out a loud bletch before continuing the endless pursuit of a dance partner. Walking halfway back to the dance floor, my ears perk up as Bill shouts from a far. “HOLD ON! DON’T TAKE THAT PILL!!!! I MEANT TO GIVE YOU THE XANAX IN MY LEFT POCKET!!!!”
Suddenly the room around me feels uneasy. My heart sinks in my chest as I slowly hobble back towards him. I now crave water uncontrollably. My body trembles as the lights glowly exceedingly bright. A bright orange blur charges towards me as Bill hands me a glass of water as I cackle uncontrollably and I speak to him
“Man, what the fuck did you give me? I’m seeing pretty colors. Am I trippin’ mad balls right now? Am I dying before my handicap match? Because God damnit there’s so much I want to do in life, hahahahahaha”
Stealing the water from his hands; Bill shoots his eyes to the ground trying to collect his thoughts. He mutters quietly under his breath: “Calm down man, I might have accidentally slipped you the ecstasy I was saving for later tonight.”
My anger slowly subsided as my heart raced tightly against my chest. The loud thumps of the music led me towards the dance floor. Rather I was dancing or convulsing; I didn’t give two shits. I only wanted to touch the cotton candy clouds above me. Leaping up and down like an uncontrollable maniac, pictures of eggs whirled around me.
And then Zeus came floating down the stage! Holy Fuck! I needed the world to know what I was seeing!!!!!
“HEY ZEUS! ZEUS! TELL ME HOW TO BEAT YOUR BFF JILES! ZEUS!!!! GIVE ME YOUR AUTOGRAPH! I CAN DISTRACT JILES WITH IT! HAHAHA! HE WILL NEVAH BELIEVE I MET YOU!!! HE WILL BE TOTES JELLY!!!”
Flailing around like a fool; I didn’t need to know Bill was facepalming as I heard his voice echoing through like it came through a megaphone. “What the fuck have I done?”
But he released the kraken of craziness. He had to deal with the consequences.
I just want to dance all night long. I didn’t want tonight to end. Finally I felt freedom after years of being restricted to a gym to please Lee Best. Embracing the weirdness liberated my soul. As sweat drenched my face, the intensity raged hard in my body. Like Reggie Fils-Aimé my body was ready. As Bill incessantly kept chasing me down while I partied; my mind stopped thinking. I could finally enjoy the night and be cool. Finally, I could understand Jiles.
I just didn’t want to go back to being shackled to the damn gym!
Wednesday, May 12th, 2021
Burnt Boot Camp Barracks
“You embarrassed me out there, man.” Bill scolded me while he continued to drag my ass back to camp.
Word to the wise: do not trip out on molly when you’re stressed out about a match with a former Egg Bandit. You see weird shit, man!
Limply sprawling my body all over Bill’s backseat; my head pulsated as I clung the ice bag tightly to my head. I might have crashed down head first on the stage in front of everyone. Sure I embarrassed myself after a hard night of partying. But the pain and discomfort totally felt worth it. Moaning out inaudibly like a zombie, I respond back by yelling out what I wanted.
Bill’s car pulled up to the parking lot at the main cabin. He hopped out of the car and hurled my dead weight body over his shoulder as he carried me back towards the Barracks. I could feel his head shaking just as we travelled up the hill in awkward silence.
“I’m soooooorrrry,” I bellowed out deep from my lungs echoing across the distant night sky. He hammered his elbow against my leg as I continued yammering on. “Buuuuuuut I needed that. Thank you, Bill! You set me freeeee!” Immediately I start sobbing and try to hug him awkwardly as he nails me right in my right ass cheek.
“SHUT UP! Sarge can’t catch us out like this. You don’t want to see what happens if he catches us.” He exclaims.
“SHHHHHHHH” I balk at him slowly missing his earlier point completely lost in intoxication. As we wobble slowly back to my sleeping quarters; Bill sets me on the ground and I collapse again. I giggle flailing around on the ground trying to make dirt angels, squealing out in excitement.
Bill’s right hand smashes me straight in the jaw. He continued to rebuke me. “You need to gain your composure right now. It’s only a few feet back to your bed from here. You gotta make it back now. I have faith.”
Clenching desperately to the cabin wall, I subtly scurry towards the cabin door. Before I could reach the handle, bright headlights flashed on directly into the pupils of my eyes. Covering my sensitive eyes, I audibly gulped, recognizing the marching pattern of the footsteps. Quaking for fear I dropped to my knees as Sergeant Edward’s shadow covered the headlights to his jeep.
Veins protruded from his overly extended neck. He ceaselessly pounded his fists together chackling manically while Bill and I cowered at his feet.
“Well what the fuck did the cat just drag in for me? It seems two worthless maggots decided they could sneak out and have some fun. A junkie and a raaaasssslin’ junkie thought they could outsmart Sergeant Edwards.”
My head sank towards the little specks of grass extending from the dirt. “Sorry, sir! We just…”
Sarge’s fist connected directly across my jaw dropping me straight to the ground. As I struggled to pull myself up; his size 15 boot planted itself right against my sternum. Desperately gasping for air; I try to reverse his firmly planted foot to no avail. “I didn’t ask for your raaasssslin’ opinion, fuck stick. You think your Eesteen with that ole’ rocket science brain of yours, dipshit.”
“EINSTEIN, you moron” I corrected him before he stomped his boot stiffly against my chest.
His thick Texan accent rolled straight off his tongue as he popped off more insults.“You roid ragin’ you redneck rasslin’ maggot? You must be roid ragin’ if you’re shootin’ yer damm mouth off to me. Bet yer parents wished they’d terminated your ass in the womb. Yer such a disappointin’ sack of shit. Yer not a politician so yer opinion don’t matter hurr.” He laid a stiff kick straight into my rib cage before he yanked me off the ground and glared me directly in the eyes.
Jittering from full blown rage as I pulled myself off the ground; I tried opening the door before a massive wad of spit nailed me directly in the face. “You need better role models, shit for brains. Mr. Junkie’s way of life just leads you down a path of more failure. You should look up to me. I busted my ass for our country.”
I jiggle the door handle before he slams his hand unrelentlessly against the door. Sinsterly laughing, his smirk curls around his ears while he shakes his head. “Maggots like you don’t deserve sleep. I’mma make yer life a livin’ hell tonight, boy.”
Tensions continued to rise between the Sarge and I. I cocked my fist back ready to strike, but instead I bowed my head. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be Jiles. Let alone Solex. I needed to learn my own lessons in this camp and grow. Maybe I didn’t take this handicap match as seriously as I should. I’d thrown away my sobriety losing myself more.
Maybe I was coming to the end of myself finally. I’d squandered opportunities left and right in HOW and here. I couldn’t rely on half-baked training schemes to get me out of taking on the forces of Jiles, Solex, and JPD. It was time to deal with the unrest in my soul head on before I left Refueled in a body back.
Sagging my shoulder in defeat; I sauntered along behind the Sarge as I waved at Bill. I knew not what abuse laid at the Sarge’s hands. But I knew I needed to withstand his onslaught before I made it back to handle the biggest match of my career.
“Jiles, you damn well know I’m proud you vanquished Mike Best for that HOW World Championship. You captured the most prestigious prize in HOW. You defeated HOW’s final boss. I bet your confidence is at an all time high. Finally Lee Best sings your praises, you have access to any HOW owned piece of equipment. You’ve probably sat on GOD’s personal throne.
Bet you’re already cutting those Zion jokes feeling all mighty about yourself. You’ve got every right to celebrate earning the accomplishment that has evaded my grasp for the last 7 years of my career. Toot your damn horn proudly for 3 more nights because reality is about to crash down on that fragile egg shaped skull of yours.
Let me ask you a question, Jiles. Which one of you am I facing on Refueled this week in the handicap match? Am I facing the World Champion Cool Cancer Jiles with a chip on his shoulder and everything to prove? Or am I facing the one that balks in the face of fighting the ‘lowly’ Darin Zion and decides to take a damn week off?
Judging by your promo; history’s about to repeat itself.
Mike Best must’ve given your ass CTE when he kneed you right out of the cage if you think that just because you won that HOW World Championship; it automatically erases our history. If my memory serves me correctly; I’m the one who’s ended a majority of your championship reigns here in HOW. Every time we’ve crossed paths; you spin those damn wheels trying to figure out your training regimen for me, you pick up the damn microphone with your shitty Zion name play, you lose yourself down the damn rabbit hole of trying to be the Fisher Price Trash talker you are; and you end up looking at the damn lights by the end of the night. You lost the first round of the HOW World Championship tournament to me. You lost your HOW Tag Team Championships to me. Hell, I tossed your ass out first with 7 other wrestlers in the ICONIC clusterfuck match. You’ve only beaten me once when I completely lost my temper and pulled your shit.
If you think I’m coming into this match unfocused with the current reigning HOW World Champion I’ve defeated on multiple occasions as one of the participants; you’re missing the big ass bright red ass target clearly painted on your fucking back. Well Stevie Wonder, maybe if you took those damn sunglasses off your damn head; you could clearly see it.
It’s always your overconfidence and ego that costs you against me, Jiles. You’re floating on Cloud 9 when you’ve barely squeaked out your last 3 victories. They’re marred in controversy. Your World Championship reign started out on a fluke when Mike Best kneed you right out of the cage. You didn’t pin his shoulders to the mat or submit his ass. He prematurely ejaculated your ass straight out of the cage by underestimating your cunning wit.
It didn’t stop there, Jiles. After selling your soul to the Alliance, Sutler held your hand through that defense against Conor Fuse and gave you a fast count victory. You’d think that would end it all. You’d go into attack mode and earn a clean victory over the Union, but Milkman Harrison creamed Ray McVay straight in the damn nuts with an unsanctioned low blow to set you up for the Terminal Cancer that won you those HOW World Tag Team Championships.
Someone with your clout would spin that and say ‘winning is winning’ you’re in no position to talk, you loser. Go ahead, ask me about my HOW World Championship credentials. Underestimate me like everyone else on this roster has done. But deep down in your soul; you know I’m not just shit talking to you right now. Hell, I’m not rallying some motivational speech for me. I’m telling the cold hard truth.
The HOW roster smells blood surrounding your World Championship reign. Any twit with half a brain can look up your track record on Stevenspedia and compare it with your name lining the list of some of the HOW World Champions of this era: Mike Best, Cecilworth Farthington, Max Kael…
Come on now Jiles, I know you’re binge watching Sesame Street right now on the USS Octane right now. Sing the song with me:
♫Three of these things belong together
Three of these things are kind of the same
Can you guess which one of these doesn’t belong here?
Now it’s time to play our game♫
Your challengers already see the asterisks lining your championship reign readying themselves to pounce, Jiles. It’s beginning to define your reign just like it did in all 7 of my ‘lesser’ HOW Championship victories. Just like you, I sat comfortably and conceited over my tainted wins. I touted my plunder failing to realize the gravitas of every match I wrestled holding championship gold. And you damn well know where I ended up.
It’s easy to comfortably mock the leper when you have an army of 3 men standing against the pathetic Zion. But it’s also easy to forget you have the most to lose in this match.
Imagine for a second if I pin Solex and beat you in this match. Everyone on the roster is going to load their proverbial promo pistols at you at War Games. And if I beat you; well, good luck surviving the firing squad defending your championship at War Games. You can kiss that #97Red belt goodbye if that happens.
But me; I have everything to gain with a win over any of you three. I could easily punch my ticket into the War Games match or hell, I can earn a future opportunity against you. There’s not much more I can lose other than my dignity at this point, and I recognize that. But I’m not focused on the future opportunities or clout. Unlike you; I know the odds are stacked against me. I don’t have Crazy Uncle JPD or The Biggest Loser Steven Solex on my side. I don’t have any Union support. I have my two fists and your egotistical delusional attitude to help me out.
This week, I’m fighting on a wing and a prayer. Witness’ odds are against me because I’ve lost six straight matches. I have to endure the endless amount of torture the Best Alliance will dish out to strike at the right moment and survive this match. I’ve got to use your egos against you and lean on what energy lies left in my tank after the six years of beatings I’ve suffered. History definitely shows I haven’t done that.
Yet in my defiance; I hold out hope all of you Best Alliance fuckers lean on your complacency because I’ve capitalized when that happens. The Best Alliance’s complacency is my key to victory. I don’t care if I roll you up or catch a break in this match and win clean out right. It takes one egotistical member like Jiles to make sure the entire stable wears egg on its face.
I have to ensure the victory to rally hope for my Section 214 comrades because I’m starting to break and give up hope. I have to fight to survive this match. I can’t let you beat me into submission and become a mindless slave to Lee Best.
This could be my last damn stand, but I ensure you guys; I won’t go down without a fight. You may have my funeral planned and the casket picked out, but I promise; I’m not leaving Refueled in those.
I’m leaving Refueled in victory and I’m making sure Jiles chokes once more.”