Post by Deleted on Oct 13, 2019 20:47:03 GMT -6
....starring in….
”(no subject)”
A shiny, brand spanking new laptop is pulled from its’ box and plastic wrapping before being placed on the table of another sketchy hotel. A heavily banged up and bruised Shane Sparx takes a seat at the table, wearing nothing more than a robe. He waits for his new purchase to boot up as he taps his fingertips along the edge of the desk. With every ‘new update available’ message he receives, he rolls his eyes, obviously anxious to get started on God only knows what.
”Shit. I still need to cancel my subscription to Brazzers before a scene with Blair Buchannan pops up under the ‘Latest Scenes’ tab. Pretty sure I’d die.”
Shane changes his facial expression to one of complete disgust.
”But first, I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Just hope it doesn’t stink as bad as she does between her legs.”
Shane clicks the ‘Google Chrome’ icon on his desktop and immediately starts a new Google Doc. He interlocks his hands away from himself and cracks his knuckles before getting started.
Alright. Let's try something a little different here.
Deep breath.
Dear Journal,
I know you don't know me too well yet, so just imagine that I'm saying this all in my best Doug Funny voice. Damn this is a long intro to a journal entry, huh? And by typing this I'm just adding to it. And when Jarek flips open my laptop and snoops through my shit to see this he's gonna be like 'Whaaat the fuck?!' And when my currently non-existent but maybe one day children see this in twenty years, given that this laptop still has juice and that laptops are still a thing by then, even they'll say to themselves, 'Get to the point, pops!' Alright, alright. Let me stop fucking around. DEAR JOURNAL! OH... But first, just know that I'm TOTALLY rocking a belt around my head right now in honor of Mr. Quail Man himself. Naw, journal. I'm no clown like some tricks tend to think. I'm a whole treat! Besides, it's Halloween season!
And another deep breath.
Fuck, I’m nervous, Marty. Marty! That’ll be your name. But if something really amazing or provocative ever happens to me, don’t mind it if in the future I start entries out with ‘Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch! Let me tell you what happened to me today!’
Okay, Okay.. So here I am. Sixteen years into my professional wrestling career, and still keeping secrets from folks. Mind you, the skeletons in my closet aren't express checkout lane, magazine stand worthy but they're still remnants of a man, broken. Treasures that shouldn't be completely buried six feet under and forgotten about in the physical sense. But, perhaps locked away in a safe place so that one day the pieces of the puzzle can be put back together and studied as something beautiful, and as something that shape who I am. Don't sigh at me, Journal. There will be moments that I'm a little more ratchet. There will be moments where I might break out into spells of writing erotica porn because my internet’s out or too many Jack and Cokes have given your man whiskey dick. But entry numero uno will not be that way. Well. Not entirely.
Back in 2006, just three years after I made my debut, I was going through some hard times. Colossal Wrestling Federation had closed a year or so prior, and unlike established performers like Damon Riggs and Nick York, I was unable to find work. Performing random internship jobs to self-promote and pick up sponsors along the way wasn’t really a thing back then. So in the midst of hiring agents at that point to help me reach out to wrestling promotions as to why they should hire on Shane Sparx, I was also taking matters into my own hands: doing things that would instantly bring in the dollars.
Nah, Marty. I never stripped. I couldn’t pull it off as well as the beautiful Anicka Swan, so why even try? I didn’t want that attention anyway. I wanted to do something where I could literally just walk in, and in a few hours, walk out with a check and not have to worry about receiving phone calls or text messages from horny lurkers wanting to “go to Waffle House” after my shift, because we all know that was the 2006 version of the classic “Netflix and Chill?” pickup. AmIright? Damn, I’m legit asking a merely blank document in Google Docs about how men picked up chicks thirteen years ago.
But anyway, there was a casting opportunity, and I was intrigued by the amount of money promised for God only knows what. As I pulled up, I was expecting a line wrapped around the corner. I was expecting to have to walk two miles to the building where this ‘casting opportunity’ was to take place because there would be no vacant parking spot in sight. Instead I saw an ordinary building with an ordinary door that opened with the most gentle of pulls. I was guided to a small room off in the very back of the building that literally had THREE things: lighting, cameras and a big red couch. I was directed to sit on this couch, so that’s what I did. Twiddling my thumbs and rubbing my hands together slowly, studying every line of my palms like I was about to receive some type of spiritual guidance in this moment.
No guidance. Just another guy. He was dressed just as plain Jane as I was - a cheap t-shirt under an even cheaper button down shirt with some blue jeans that he MIGHT have bought off the clearance rack at Abercrombie and Fitch. Timberlands on his feet. They go with everything, no?
I already knew where this was going, but the other guy’s face was priceless. You could tell the guy was oblivious. The camera man winked at us after shutting and locking the door of this small room. I took a deep breath and looked over at the guy. He didn’t make eye contact with me, simply because he didn’t know what was coming. I knew that in less than five minutes I was more than likely going to have to get physical with this guy, so I might as well give him a few look overs, right?
But the more I did, the more I would come to the realization, “I know this guy”. As we were asked a round of preliminary questions, I listened closely to his answers, the way he would speak, right down to his body language: trying to pick up on clues. When asked our names, I simply told them ‘Dylan’. Obviously a fake name. The other guy told them ‘Skylar’. An even faker name. So he HAD to have known what was coming next, right? Maybe not so much.
Upon being asked to take off our clothes, he immediately glared a hole through the cameraman and rebelled, with a defiant “EXCUSE ME?!” As for me, shit, I sprung up. My zipper was already down and my button was half undone as ‘Skylar’ finally looked over at me and asked “What are you doing?!” as he stood up to possibly leave. I responded to him, “Come on man. You can’t be that stupid.” He looked me up and down, as I would do the same to him. I figured he was feeling me out and succumbing to the task at hand so we could both get our money and go. But instead, he turned away. It was as if he knew me too, and didn’t quite know what to say.
“No, I’m not doing this shit”, ‘Skylar’ would continue as he started to walk away. I captured his hand with mine, and told him “Naw, man. Think about what you’re doing. You need the money just like I do, right? We’re literally… two broke straight boys.” and the cameraman LOVED that line, declaring to us that it was a “nice plug”. ‘Skylar’ took a deep breath as I pulled him in closer. He had a look of disgust but it slowly melted away as I eased in a little bit. Don’t judge me, Marty. I was just doing what I had to do at this difficult time in my life.
He rubbed a single finger down my chest, as in unison, the cameraman and I said “That’s it”. That’s when ‘Skylar’ brought his finger back up along my chest and thrusted the birdy finger right up against my fucking face! “FUCK YOU, AND FUCK YOU!” is what he left us with. And there I was, giving myself a huge facepalm as ‘Skylar’ walked away. Unless the cameraman could think of a plan B, I knew I wouldn’t be getting my money that day. As a last ditch effort, I would yell, “HUDSON”. ‘Skylar’ would turn around, now knowing full well that we knew one another. He turned his back and walked even faster towards that door, almost destroying it before realizing the cameraman had locked it.
The cameraman was curious as to how we knew each other. He was probably going to tell me about how great an idea it would be for ‘two friends’ to get together and fuck for the cameras. It would increase traffic on the site, and there might be more money in it. But at that point, I was done. It wasn’t worth it. Just nice to know that someone else was going through it, and even if we were two acquaintances who didn’t keep in contact or even acknowledge each other at the time, I knew that if our paths ever crossed again, we would have this moment in common to perhaps look back on, and say “Damn. It came to that?!”
But sometimes, Marty. It just does. It’s all about where ya go next from moments like THAT!
Deep fuckin’ breath.
Shane minimizes the Google Chrome tab before looking down at his cellphone.
”I guess I need to check in and see what I’m even getting myself into this week.”
Shane gets side tracked as he pulls up the webcam program on his laptop and starts… admiring himself?
”Well, damn. There goes that idea I had for later tonight: Creating a profile on one of those cam sites and seeing who would tip me the big bucks. But looking like this? Nah, brah. Thanks a lot, B-Moore. You’re still a piece of shit in my eyes, but you did kick my ass. And I’ll be back for that X-Core title, even if not against you. Sorry, mom.”
Shane looks back down at his phone and then back up at his laptop, giving himself one more glance over.
”I mean, I guess I can just take my head completely out of the shot.. And maybe turn around. Let the fans watch that ass clap. Then again… that’s probably banged up too. …..Damn, wrong choice of words.”
Shane finally focuses, and within moments, realizes what he’s up against this week at Ignite. NOMAD!
Deepest fuckin’ breath of all time.
”Damn, can a mother fucker catch a break?! Rest in peace, by the way, Denise Buchannan. But seriously, who’s even running this place anymore?! Donald Trump?! Kick a good man while he’s down?! Someone seriously just needs to take a cheese grater to that fucker’s face. But I digress for the fourteenth time. Nomad is a solid competitor. Even if he does look just like someone who would be calling the action at the commentary table. Do I think that in ten years he’d still be a viable competitor? Eh, maybe. He’s quite the demagogue around here.”
Perhaps you have Jesse Styles to thank for handing out title shots like Halloween candy this go ‘round..
”You’ve captivated the audience with your ability to shut down the sharpest of tongues before they’re even able to maneuver around to take that initial stab. You’ve been able to stare down the mightiest of the mighty in New Edge, and you’ve been able to take down every last opponent you’ve gone against, even winning two high-profile multi-men matches to secure yourself the title shots that came along with doing so.”
Yeah. There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it. You DEFINITELY have Jesse Styles to thank!
”Why? Because come to think of it, I wasn’t in that half-ass silver briefcase ladder match where you and Kyle Manson not-so-gracefully took a joint tumble with the briefcase in both your clutches. It was nice and metaphoric - seeing two rising superstars have a moment to bask in success right before taking their fall from grace. But I will at least say, you show a little more promise than Kyle Manson in the ring, so let’s continue to exhibit B, shall we? The big rumble match. The one where I was taken out midway, thanks to Brandon Moore, and come to think of it, Ryan Pugh was ALSO taken out by Brandon Moore AND Johnny Stylez which left you winning that match in the first place, by default.
’By default’. Two words that explain your ‘flash in the pan’ success in New Edge Wrestling!
”Because if you WERE the best jobber in the silver briefcase match, and you WERE heavily helped to pick up the Rumble win, and you haven’t really battled against anyone who poses a huge threat outside of Roger Wright? You have TECHNICALLY been winning by default. You haven’t had the pleasure of competing against one Shane Sparx yet. You haven’t had the pleasure of watching these ‘pussy vacuum lips’ as you called them, move just for you. I know up until now you’ve been a little jealous of that, and I apologize, but ya see, I had some REAL competition to take care of first! And even though I just lost my FIRST singles match back at Cold Front? The fire is still burning, and it’s burning higher than ever.”
Plus, it’ll be nice going against a walking fluke such as yourself. My face needs a week off so I can make those proper cam coins, boyeeeee!
”All things considered, do I still think you’d be a viable competitor in ten years? You fighting me this week is when that ‘maybe’ turns into an ‘absolutely, positively not’. You see, I’ve also captivated the audience but not in that political, make promises only to retract them later on kind of way. I’ve done so in the way that I don’t HAVE to constantly push down their throats that I’m going to put on a good match. I don’t HAVE to cut these promos to bury people just so the fans know I mean business. I always have and I always WILL mean business. So why DO I cut these meaningless promos, then, if I can just continue to kick the asses and take the names of any and every dick snort who hopes to last longer than two minutes in a wrestling match with me?
TO WARN YOU.
”And YOU specifically this week, Mr. Default. Because while you might be playing lightly to the fact that you’ve got me this week, out buying vans so you can pull up in style to the latest cutter fetish conventions, you know deep down that this might be your retirement match. I just might be the man that ends you, and that really fucking scares you. Heed the warning, and just head the opposite way, little guy.”
Or else you just might be overtaken by the fire that burns the brighest. Just like your name spelled backwards.
Regular sigh.
”And y’all thought I was scared."
Shane pulls his journal entry back up, takes one more deep breath and then smirks at his computer. He closes his laptop and unfastens the belt from around his head and lies it down beside him on the table as the scene fades to black.