Post by Deleted on Dec 31, 2012 21:45:33 GMT -6
La Jolla, California
The Apartment: 8:30 AM.
Sunshine spilled into the dreary apartment. It brought me back to reality. I sat up in the sheets with absolutely nothing on, except the orange dome that had slowly became more a part of me than I would have liked. It concealed me from the world, from any type of responsibility for my outlandish actions.
I loved it.
I rolled out of bed as quietly as I could. Silver Squid was in the next bed, fast asleep and totally oblivious to the world. I didn’t feel like being a dick for once and decided to let him to sleep. I exited the room while pulling up a pair of his boxers. I hadn’t done laundry in quite a while and you know, I’m an octopus.
“It’s a little tight around the crotch. He must have a little penis down there. No wonder he always angry.” I said aloud to no one in particular. I walked over to the couch and plopped myself on down.
Knock, knock.
I ignored it.
Knock, knock.
I played with my penis some.
Knock, knock.
I sighed and got up. I marched on over to the door and opened it. I was very surprised to what was staring at me from the other side.
“HEY, MY NAME GREG.” A short, stumpy man with bad acne and what appeared to be a helmet used for cycling on his head. He had two left feet and still more rhythm than Silver Squid.
“How can I help you, Greg?” I replied.
“I LIVE NEXT DOOR, I WANT TO SAY HI.”
“O—“
“HI, MY NAME GREG.” He blurted out while spitting saliva something fierce. He pushed his tongue against his yellow, crooked teeth as if to keep it from escaping.
“Hello, Greg. I would love to continue this conversation, but I’m about to throw that dick to my Cunny Bug Polaroid.”
“DO YOU WANT SOME MONEY?” Greg said while digging into his white underwear. This also happened to be the only garment he was wearing. I couldn’t help but notice to the rampant skid-marks.
But this made me sick to my stomach. I wasn’t about to stand around and take advantage of this obviously incapable human being. I hated people that did so with a passion that could probably be more overly described by Leisureforce. “Yea, that’d be kewl.”
“OK, MY NAME GREG. I GIVE YOU MONEY NOW.” Greg reached his grubby fingers into his pockets and withdrew some mean green. “I ONLY HAVE 39 DOLLARS; I GAVE 42 TO THESE TWO PEOPLE IN MEXICAN MASKS.”
“That was mighty dumb of you.” I said while taking the wad of cash and pocketing it in my boxers.
“CAN I COME INSIDE YOUR APARTMENT AND BE INSIDE IT?”
“Nah, I think that’d make me feel uncomfortable.”
“CAN I COME INSIDE YOUR APARTMENT.”
“Alright.” My wall came down fast. Greg skipped on inside my place right behind. He shut the door with his head and licked the doorknob. I sat down on the couch and he took a spot right beside me.
“MY NAME GREG.” He shouted. I think he was afraid I may have forgotten.
“That kewl.”
“IF YOU TURN ON THE TV, THEN IT WILL BE ON.” Greg was some sort of Einstein because I was fairly certain that that was exactly right.
“I’ll turn it on.” So I did. One of those commercials about oldies CD collections was on.
“MY SHARONA, MY SHARONA, MY SHARONA.” Greg started to sing/scream.
“This song is pretty good.” I confessed.
“SUCH A DIRTY MIND, GREG ALWAYS GET IT UP. WOOOO!”
I just observed the solo performance in silence.
“WHEN GREG OPEN HIS MOUTH, WORDS COME OUT, HUH?” Greg looked at me with his eyes cocked like a pistol.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“GREG ENJOY MUSIC.” He said in an as a matter of fact tone.
“We all do.” I looked around and saw the rather subdued surroundings. I mean, apart from Greg shouting and playing with his poop.
“WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND, GREG CAN SEE YOU ARE THINKING.”
“I was just wondering, do you want to smoke some weed?”
“That’d be kewl.” Greg said.
…
“…Kewl.” I reached underneath the couch and withdrew a couple of bags of the finest Jake Devins weed this side of the border. “Don’t tell ****** that I hide it here.”
“THANK YOU FOR USING STARS WHEN YOU SAY HIS NAME, GREG LIKE HOW YOU TRYING TO WORK AN ANGLE.”
“Yeah, I’m horny too.” I hadn’t really been listening, but that answer seemed to always suffice. I rolled up a fat blunt and started puffing.
“GREG SAY PUFF-PUFF-GIVE, NIGGA.” He said as he clenched his tongue in-between his teeth.
I did a few extra puffs before passing it over to Greg. He took a mad size hit and eased back into the leather couch.
After taking the blunt back, I took another hit. I then came to the realization that I was smoking weed with a retard.
Thank you, America.
--------------------------
La Jolla, California.
The Apartment: 11:45 AM.
I awoke to somebody kicking my legs. I looked up with bloodshot eyes to Silver Squid standing with lots of tentacles on his hips.
“Sup.”
“Why is there a special needs kid in our bathroom; high and masturbating to your Cunny Bug Polaroid?” He said while looking rather pissed.
“His name Greg.”
“MY NAME IS GREG.” Greg shouted from the bathroom and in-between jerks.
“So, let me get this straight, you invited a handicapped boy over to smoke weed?”
“I’m an octopus.”
“That shit doesn’t work with me!” Silver Squid punched me in the arm.
“Ouch! I’m not high.” I shook my large orange dome back and forth.
“What’s your opinion of Daniel Prophet promos?”
“Totally lucid, totally cool.”
“You are high as a kite.” Silver Squid sighed and then marched off to do whatever Silver Squids do.
“Whatever, Squid. I’m going to go throw that dick!”
“GREG IS THROWING HIS DICK FIRST.” Greg shouted from the bathroom.
----------------------
La Jolla, California
Unknown Location: 3:45 PM.
This abandoned warehouse wasn’t so abandoned these days. We had come in and bought the lease for the next twelve months. All of our stuff was here. That meant everything that I was trying to run away from was here too. My life had taken me in so many directions and places that I no longer knew where home was.
The ring was arguably the only spot that Silver Squid cared about. I wasn’t that crazy about it. While the ring was a constant companion to him, it had been a constant adversary to me. It was the only place where I could make a decent living and showcase to the world my ability. But it didn’t define me. Wrestling had stopped defining me a long time ago. I no longer had anything to prove to anymore. Juliana was gone. She was never coming back.
I knew that now.
I walked through the place without any of the garb on. It was just me in a pair of jeans and a white tee. My long hair hadn’t been properly washed in weeks. It looked dirty and ragged. I just got poetic about it and made the excuse that it was an outward personification of who I was inside. That shit worked for me all the time.
I sat down on a random chair. When I sat down on it, I couldn’t help but to remember all of the times that I had been hit with a chair throughout my career. My body had been beaten brutally by them. I had suffered unnumbered concussions from them. I knew that they were in part responsible for forgetting things. But that was something I was desperately trying to ignore.
Silver Squid and I were different people. He was honorable in his time. I was always vicious and unforgiving. He always got the fame, I always got the blood. He was a beacon for the right way to do things and I was a reminder of what not to do. We were like oil and water.
But somehow it always worked. I loved him. He was the only person I had left in this life. Although I wasn’t entirely crazy about this wrestling thing anymore, I was interested in being at his side and fighting the last good fight we would ever know together.
I stood up from the chair and walked over to the picture on the wall. It was a group photograph of a promotion that nobody cared about anymore and of people that for the most part were better off not being in the business anymore. I even saw Jon Collins and Rufus Frost peaking from the very back. Then I focused in on myself and Squid. We were so young back then.
I felt a tear sting my eye, but crying was for pussies so I just wiped it and walked away.
------------
La Jolla, California.
Fifth Avenue: 9:00 PM.
Johnny Diaz was a young pledge to The Southside Boys. He was only seventeen and didn’t know any better. He walked with a couple of his friends down the sidewalk. They were up to no good and everybody that they passed knew it. However there was getting to be nobody on the street. Everybody knew that this was a bad time to be out in this neighborhood.
Johnny knew he had to make his bones tonight. They weren’t going to keep giving him a pass to prove himself. When the group of boys saw the orange octopus waddling from the other direction, they knew what had to be done.
“This is the one, essa.” Johnny whispered to his companions. He walked ahead of them and right up to the man in the octopus suit.
“What you thinking you’re doing, essa? Coming into our turf and wearing this getup? Give me your money.” Johnny barked and pulled out a switchblade.
“I’m not looking for any trouble, Pancho.” The Octopus replied sarcastically.
The Mexican boy lunged forward and punctured the suit with the knife. However the blade got nowhere near the actual flesh of the man in the suit. The Octopus grabbed ahold of the boy’s wrist and broke it with a swift tug. The knife dropped to the ground.
“That’s what happens, kid.” The Octopus said with a waving tentacle and started to walk off.
Johnny could hear the giggles of his companions and his face grew red. He reached down with his good hand and picked up the knife. Johnny lunged again, but this time for the head piece and knocked it off. The man’s grizzly face was exposed to the world and a struggle ensued.
That’s when it clicked in the Octopus’ head. Instinct took over and the Octopus wrestled the knife from the boy’s grip. He stuck it deep in the boy’s ribs. He then hurried to put his dome back on and ran off.
Johnny Diaz laid on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes. His companions had scattered and nobody even knew he was lying in the gutter. There were some people that just weren’t to be fucked with, but Johnny was only seventeen and didn’t know any better.
Now he did. And now it was too late.
----------
Promo Vignette #4
RIMAC Arena.
The Orange Octopus stood in front of a modest EXODUS PRO banner. He also thought it was funny how everybody in the promotion had stolen this idea from him, but he ignored it for now and nodded his orange dome gleefully.
“The only thing that your old orange pal has to say about my match last week is; Cunny Bug.”
He nods. This was some serious business.
“I just want to move on, look ahead and see what’s coming my way. Now I know all about Zortalk. Or at least about Space Egypt. The Orange Octopus here has visited a couple times with a lady named Mary Jane. It’s a cool place, but they produce some retarded gimmicks.”
Octo-stare.
“I know you think you’re cool, but you’re not. You’re not hip. You’re not edgy. You don’t smoke as much as weed as I do. I don’t want to hear anything about how creative you think you are or how creative your persona is. I'm more creative. And I've slept with more bitches. Lots more.”
Octo-nod.
“Now I don’t respect you. And frankly, I don’t care about anything you have to say. This week is more about the Orange Octopus getting back on track and getting to that PAY WINDA. But there is ONE thing that the Orange Octopus likes about you.
He holds up one tentacle.
“You hang out with Omar Wise. Now Omar Wise, there’s going to come a day when you and I are at Longjohn Silvers and there’s going to be one popcorn shrimp left and we gonna throw hands. I know this. But until that day, I would like it to be known that the Orange Octopus and the Gorilla Barilla are going to meet in that ring and magic is going to happen.”
Orange Octopus paces around for a bit before continuing.
“I’m not done with Leisureforce. Cunny Bug? I’mma throw that dick. Even if I have to throw it all from the Space Egypt, baby.”
And with that, the Orange Octopus crabwalks out of frame like a boss. Absolute boss.
The Apartment: 8:30 AM.
Sunshine spilled into the dreary apartment. It brought me back to reality. I sat up in the sheets with absolutely nothing on, except the orange dome that had slowly became more a part of me than I would have liked. It concealed me from the world, from any type of responsibility for my outlandish actions.
I loved it.
I rolled out of bed as quietly as I could. Silver Squid was in the next bed, fast asleep and totally oblivious to the world. I didn’t feel like being a dick for once and decided to let him to sleep. I exited the room while pulling up a pair of his boxers. I hadn’t done laundry in quite a while and you know, I’m an octopus.
“It’s a little tight around the crotch. He must have a little penis down there. No wonder he always angry.” I said aloud to no one in particular. I walked over to the couch and plopped myself on down.
Knock, knock.
I ignored it.
Knock, knock.
I played with my penis some.
Knock, knock.
I sighed and got up. I marched on over to the door and opened it. I was very surprised to what was staring at me from the other side.
“HEY, MY NAME GREG.” A short, stumpy man with bad acne and what appeared to be a helmet used for cycling on his head. He had two left feet and still more rhythm than Silver Squid.
“How can I help you, Greg?” I replied.
“I LIVE NEXT DOOR, I WANT TO SAY HI.”
“O—“
“HI, MY NAME GREG.” He blurted out while spitting saliva something fierce. He pushed his tongue against his yellow, crooked teeth as if to keep it from escaping.
“Hello, Greg. I would love to continue this conversation, but I’m about to throw that dick to my Cunny Bug Polaroid.”
“DO YOU WANT SOME MONEY?” Greg said while digging into his white underwear. This also happened to be the only garment he was wearing. I couldn’t help but notice to the rampant skid-marks.
But this made me sick to my stomach. I wasn’t about to stand around and take advantage of this obviously incapable human being. I hated people that did so with a passion that could probably be more overly described by Leisureforce. “Yea, that’d be kewl.”
“OK, MY NAME GREG. I GIVE YOU MONEY NOW.” Greg reached his grubby fingers into his pockets and withdrew some mean green. “I ONLY HAVE 39 DOLLARS; I GAVE 42 TO THESE TWO PEOPLE IN MEXICAN MASKS.”
“That was mighty dumb of you.” I said while taking the wad of cash and pocketing it in my boxers.
“CAN I COME INSIDE YOUR APARTMENT AND BE INSIDE IT?”
“Nah, I think that’d make me feel uncomfortable.”
“CAN I COME INSIDE YOUR APARTMENT.”
“Alright.” My wall came down fast. Greg skipped on inside my place right behind. He shut the door with his head and licked the doorknob. I sat down on the couch and he took a spot right beside me.
“MY NAME GREG.” He shouted. I think he was afraid I may have forgotten.
“That kewl.”
“IF YOU TURN ON THE TV, THEN IT WILL BE ON.” Greg was some sort of Einstein because I was fairly certain that that was exactly right.
“I’ll turn it on.” So I did. One of those commercials about oldies CD collections was on.
“MY SHARONA, MY SHARONA, MY SHARONA.” Greg started to sing/scream.
“This song is pretty good.” I confessed.
“SUCH A DIRTY MIND, GREG ALWAYS GET IT UP. WOOOO!”
I just observed the solo performance in silence.
“WHEN GREG OPEN HIS MOUTH, WORDS COME OUT, HUH?” Greg looked at me with his eyes cocked like a pistol.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“GREG ENJOY MUSIC.” He said in an as a matter of fact tone.
“We all do.” I looked around and saw the rather subdued surroundings. I mean, apart from Greg shouting and playing with his poop.
“WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND, GREG CAN SEE YOU ARE THINKING.”
“I was just wondering, do you want to smoke some weed?”
“That’d be kewl.” Greg said.
…
“…Kewl.” I reached underneath the couch and withdrew a couple of bags of the finest Jake Devins weed this side of the border. “Don’t tell ****** that I hide it here.”
“THANK YOU FOR USING STARS WHEN YOU SAY HIS NAME, GREG LIKE HOW YOU TRYING TO WORK AN ANGLE.”
“Yeah, I’m horny too.” I hadn’t really been listening, but that answer seemed to always suffice. I rolled up a fat blunt and started puffing.
“GREG SAY PUFF-PUFF-GIVE, NIGGA.” He said as he clenched his tongue in-between his teeth.
I did a few extra puffs before passing it over to Greg. He took a mad size hit and eased back into the leather couch.
After taking the blunt back, I took another hit. I then came to the realization that I was smoking weed with a retard.
Thank you, America.
--------------------------
La Jolla, California.
The Apartment: 11:45 AM.
I awoke to somebody kicking my legs. I looked up with bloodshot eyes to Silver Squid standing with lots of tentacles on his hips.
“Sup.”
“Why is there a special needs kid in our bathroom; high and masturbating to your Cunny Bug Polaroid?” He said while looking rather pissed.
“His name Greg.”
“MY NAME IS GREG.” Greg shouted from the bathroom and in-between jerks.
“So, let me get this straight, you invited a handicapped boy over to smoke weed?”
“I’m an octopus.”
“That shit doesn’t work with me!” Silver Squid punched me in the arm.
“Ouch! I’m not high.” I shook my large orange dome back and forth.
“What’s your opinion of Daniel Prophet promos?”
“Totally lucid, totally cool.”
“You are high as a kite.” Silver Squid sighed and then marched off to do whatever Silver Squids do.
“Whatever, Squid. I’m going to go throw that dick!”
“GREG IS THROWING HIS DICK FIRST.” Greg shouted from the bathroom.
----------------------
La Jolla, California
Unknown Location: 3:45 PM.
This abandoned warehouse wasn’t so abandoned these days. We had come in and bought the lease for the next twelve months. All of our stuff was here. That meant everything that I was trying to run away from was here too. My life had taken me in so many directions and places that I no longer knew where home was.
The ring was arguably the only spot that Silver Squid cared about. I wasn’t that crazy about it. While the ring was a constant companion to him, it had been a constant adversary to me. It was the only place where I could make a decent living and showcase to the world my ability. But it didn’t define me. Wrestling had stopped defining me a long time ago. I no longer had anything to prove to anymore. Juliana was gone. She was never coming back.
I knew that now.
I walked through the place without any of the garb on. It was just me in a pair of jeans and a white tee. My long hair hadn’t been properly washed in weeks. It looked dirty and ragged. I just got poetic about it and made the excuse that it was an outward personification of who I was inside. That shit worked for me all the time.
I sat down on a random chair. When I sat down on it, I couldn’t help but to remember all of the times that I had been hit with a chair throughout my career. My body had been beaten brutally by them. I had suffered unnumbered concussions from them. I knew that they were in part responsible for forgetting things. But that was something I was desperately trying to ignore.
Silver Squid and I were different people. He was honorable in his time. I was always vicious and unforgiving. He always got the fame, I always got the blood. He was a beacon for the right way to do things and I was a reminder of what not to do. We were like oil and water.
But somehow it always worked. I loved him. He was the only person I had left in this life. Although I wasn’t entirely crazy about this wrestling thing anymore, I was interested in being at his side and fighting the last good fight we would ever know together.
I stood up from the chair and walked over to the picture on the wall. It was a group photograph of a promotion that nobody cared about anymore and of people that for the most part were better off not being in the business anymore. I even saw Jon Collins and Rufus Frost peaking from the very back. Then I focused in on myself and Squid. We were so young back then.
I felt a tear sting my eye, but crying was for pussies so I just wiped it and walked away.
------------
La Jolla, California.
Fifth Avenue: 9:00 PM.
Johnny Diaz was a young pledge to The Southside Boys. He was only seventeen and didn’t know any better. He walked with a couple of his friends down the sidewalk. They were up to no good and everybody that they passed knew it. However there was getting to be nobody on the street. Everybody knew that this was a bad time to be out in this neighborhood.
Johnny knew he had to make his bones tonight. They weren’t going to keep giving him a pass to prove himself. When the group of boys saw the orange octopus waddling from the other direction, they knew what had to be done.
“This is the one, essa.” Johnny whispered to his companions. He walked ahead of them and right up to the man in the octopus suit.
“What you thinking you’re doing, essa? Coming into our turf and wearing this getup? Give me your money.” Johnny barked and pulled out a switchblade.
“I’m not looking for any trouble, Pancho.” The Octopus replied sarcastically.
The Mexican boy lunged forward and punctured the suit with the knife. However the blade got nowhere near the actual flesh of the man in the suit. The Octopus grabbed ahold of the boy’s wrist and broke it with a swift tug. The knife dropped to the ground.
“That’s what happens, kid.” The Octopus said with a waving tentacle and started to walk off.
Johnny could hear the giggles of his companions and his face grew red. He reached down with his good hand and picked up the knife. Johnny lunged again, but this time for the head piece and knocked it off. The man’s grizzly face was exposed to the world and a struggle ensued.
That’s when it clicked in the Octopus’ head. Instinct took over and the Octopus wrestled the knife from the boy’s grip. He stuck it deep in the boy’s ribs. He then hurried to put his dome back on and ran off.
Johnny Diaz laid on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes. His companions had scattered and nobody even knew he was lying in the gutter. There were some people that just weren’t to be fucked with, but Johnny was only seventeen and didn’t know any better.
Now he did. And now it was too late.
----------
Promo Vignette #4
RIMAC Arena.
The Orange Octopus stood in front of a modest EXODUS PRO banner. He also thought it was funny how everybody in the promotion had stolen this idea from him, but he ignored it for now and nodded his orange dome gleefully.
“The only thing that your old orange pal has to say about my match last week is; Cunny Bug.”
He nods. This was some serious business.
“I just want to move on, look ahead and see what’s coming my way. Now I know all about Zortalk. Or at least about Space Egypt. The Orange Octopus here has visited a couple times with a lady named Mary Jane. It’s a cool place, but they produce some retarded gimmicks.”
Octo-stare.
“I know you think you’re cool, but you’re not. You’re not hip. You’re not edgy. You don’t smoke as much as weed as I do. I don’t want to hear anything about how creative you think you are or how creative your persona is. I'm more creative. And I've slept with more bitches. Lots more.”
Octo-nod.
“Now I don’t respect you. And frankly, I don’t care about anything you have to say. This week is more about the Orange Octopus getting back on track and getting to that PAY WINDA. But there is ONE thing that the Orange Octopus likes about you.
He holds up one tentacle.
“You hang out with Omar Wise. Now Omar Wise, there’s going to come a day when you and I are at Longjohn Silvers and there’s going to be one popcorn shrimp left and we gonna throw hands. I know this. But until that day, I would like it to be known that the Orange Octopus and the Gorilla Barilla are going to meet in that ring and magic is going to happen.”
Orange Octopus paces around for a bit before continuing.
“I’m not done with Leisureforce. Cunny Bug? I’mma throw that dick. Even if I have to throw it all from the Space Egypt, baby.”
And with that, the Orange Octopus crabwalks out of frame like a boss. Absolute boss.