Sunday September 19, 2010
THE RV- Main Cabin
Interstate 65 near Clarks Hill, Indiana
9:10 AM Local Time
Jeremiah was a Belmont!
He was older than expensive wine!
He liked to run around and play Dracula
But his wife, well she sure was fine....
Joy to the world!
All the boys and girls, now!
Joy to the Birdies as the ref counts three
Joy to you and me!
“I’m gonna kill him...” Terrence Thompson vowed through clenched teeth as his grip tightened on the RV’s steering wheel until his knuckles were white.
“Who?” his half-amused wife asked from the copilot’s seat beside him. “Jeremiah, or Pollaski?”
“Both,” Terrence replied darkly.
Sunday morning had finally arrived, the Birdz departing for the Chicagoland area early, hoping to arrive at their campground by mid-afternoon, set up camp, and enjoy the rest of the day relaxing, and preparing themselves for their matches on Tuesday night.
So far, the drive had gone well, with the Birdz taking advantage of the lack of traffic to quickly get out of the city limits as the Newman King Aire, barreled up Interstate 65. Pollaski, however, had decided to pass the time by making up PWX related parodies of songs. Luckily for him, Theresa had put on headphones to listen to an audio book, so Pollaski was free of any language restrictions as he warbled off key renditions of various songs, including a very lewd version of “Poker Face” about Victor Jace and Ashley Graves that Wendy put the kibosh on before the second verse even started.
“Ah, come on, I’m just having some fun.” Pollaski protested as he rose from his seat on the couch, and worked his way forward, fighting against the swaying of the RV. For a second, Terrence fought the nearly overwhelming temptation to slam on the brakes, and see how far he could get the portly manager to fly.
Terrence did no such thing, however, and Pollaski, stretching lazily, plopped down on the floor, the gap between Terrence’s and Wendy’s seats just wide enough for him to fit. “So, how you feeling about all this, anyways?” Pollaski asked.
“I’m thinking that I’m needing a muzzle for my manager,” Terrence replied sourly.
Pollaski chortled, then stretched again. “Actually, I was talking about your match,” he replied with a yawn.
“A bit nervous, to be honest,” Terrence confessed, although he tried to shrug nonchalantly as he did so. “I need this win.”
“Bah, you got this.” Pollaski snickered. “Jeremiah’s too stupid to realize what’s about to hit him.”
Terrence shook his head. “I’m not taking anything for granted this time,” he replied. “It’s no disqualification too, and those are extra unpredictable. But I’m not about to let that title get away from me a second time.”
“Look we’ve been training all week,” Pollaski reminded Terrence. “We’ve looked at this match from every possible angle there is. You go out there, and you wrestle the way you’ve been wrestling week in and week out, Jeremiah doesn’t have a chance. We’ve gone over Jeremiah’s big impact moves, and we’ve found ways to counter every single one of them. You just got to be perceptive, know what to look for, and react accordingly. There isn’t anything he has that should surprise you. Unless...”
Terrence, who had been nodding along with Pollaski’s pep talk, suddenly shot a curious look at his manager. “Unless...?”
Pollaski grimaced, as if trying to debate whether or not to tell Terrence. Finally he shrugged. “Well, there is a chance that Jeremiah might try to lick you.”
“WHAT?” Terrence was so startled he had to quickly correct the RV as it veered onto the shoulder.
“Think about it dude. Its late in the match, and you two are both at the end of your tanks. You’re busted open, and blood is running down your forehead. Jer’s desperate, and he needs a hit, so he...”
“Why do you ALWAYS get this way before the freakin’ pay-per-views?” Terrence demanded, cutting his manager off before he could say another word.
“Stupid?” Wendy asked.
“Homo,” Terrence replied, drawing an eyeroll from his wife.
“Hey, you pay me to help you prepare for your matches!” Pollaski angrily responded. “I’m just trying to help. Now, if he DOES try this particular attack, the best thing you could do is-”
“Grab his tongue and rip it out?” Terrence responded quickly.
“Well, I was gonna say lick him back, but I like your idea better.”
Pollaski looked up, and saw both his wrestlers staring at him, expressions of horrified disgust on their faces. “I had a good reason for that, but I can’t remember what it was. If anything, at least Wendy and Valerie will find it hot.”
*SMACK!*
“OW!” Pollaski protested, rubbing his head where Wendy had just backhanded him. “Okay, maybe just Valerie, then.”
“Why DO you always do this?” Wendy echoed her husband in irritation.
“Seriously, I’m not trying to be homo, I just...”
“NO!” Wendy snapped, silencing her manager’s blathering. “I mean, why is it, every time we face the Belmont’s you have to subject us to horrible vampire jokes?”
“Because they’re funny?” Pollaski responded, still rubbing his head.
“I don’t think they are.” Wendy said. “And I don’t think they do either.”
“Oh, boo hoo,” Terrence snapped, surprisingly coming to his manager’s defense, which earned a moment of silent shock from Wendy. “Look, hon. How many ‘secretly horny slut’ jokes have you had to endure over the course of your career? And how many ‘pussywhipped’ jokes have I had to take?”
“They’re not funny, either,” Wendy said crossly, folding her arms.
“Well, some of them are,” Pollaski muttered under his breath, thankfully unheard by either WhirlyBird.
“No, but they go with the territory,” Terrence responded. “But Jeremiah, God, he takes himself way too fuckin’ seriously. Spouts off all this crap about how superior he is because he drinks blood and shrivels up in daylight, yet he gets all hot and bothered the moment anyone with a goddamned sense of humor shows up.”
Pollaski shrugged. “Heh, maybe he’s the president of the Vampire Anti-Defamation League...”
“They’re not really va-” Wendy began.
“Yes they are-” Pollaski rebutted.
“Oh, Christ, not THIS road again,” Now it was Terrence’s turn to be exasperated.
“If they’re not vampires, then why does Holy Water hurt them?” Pollaski argued.
“If they are vampires, and there’s no God, like Valerie claims, then why would Holy Water hurt them?” Wendy responded. “NONE of it makes sense”
“It’s supernatural! It’s not supposed to!” Pollaski snapped, then broke into a smile “But we go around in circles again. I’ll tell you what. If I manage to prove that Jeremiah and Valerie are really vampires, you have to do my laundry for six months. If somehow we discover that they’re faking it, I’ll wash your Vespa every week for a year.”
“And until that ever so happy day arrives, this stupid little argument NEVER gets brought up again...” Terrence put in.
Wendy pondered for a long while. “How would you prove it?” she finally asked.
Pollaski shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”
Wendy thought for another few seconds, then shrugged. “Deal.” she said, finally. “But NOTHING at the pay-per-view, Dan.” Wendy warned. “There’s too much going on here for you to risk everything by causing more trouble.”
“Fine.” Pollaski said, extending his hand to Wendy. Wendy smiled, and for a second, the two clapsed hands.
“Well, now that’s over with, how about some music?” Terrence said, wanting to change the subject.
“Sure,” Wendy agreed.
Both regretted their careless choice of words the moment Pollaski cleared his throat.
All I can say is that the Cartel’s pretty lame...
“NO!” Both Terrence and Wendy screamed in unison.
“Phooey,” Pollaski grumbled, as Terrence reached for the dial on the RV’s radio.
============================================
Sunday September 19, 2010
The RV- Main Cabin
Oak Park, Illinois
10:41 PM Local Time
“Wow, Jeremiah...”
“Just... wow.”
[Well, the Birdz made it up to the Chicagoland area in fairly good time, arriving at their campground in the suburb of Oak Park just in time to watch the afternoon wave of football games. There was much crying as Pollaski’s beloved Seahawks were monkey stomped by those damned Broncos. At least Terrence got to watch the Colts win the Manning Bowl.]
[So, with those words, we open in the RV, with Terrence, still wearing his Colts jersey, sitting on the couch. As would be expected for nearly 11:00 at night, the window behind him shows nothing but blackness. Still, the RV’s interior is fairly brightly lit. Terrence also seems to be the only one in the cabin at the time, as Pollaski has ran to the store, and Wendy, Cassie, and Theresa are in the bedroom, chatting.]
“I gotta hand it to you, Jeremiah, you have a penchant for the dramatic that should make my wife jealous. Standing in front of a raging inferno. Wearing a mask that makes you look like a High School production of the Phantom of the Opera. Your wife entering at the end to caress your body,as if you were some sort of vampiric Adonis.”
[Terrence tried to get Wendy to do that for his promo as well. Wendy responded with a look that she generally reserves for cockroaches and rats.]
“And the stirring speech you delivered. How you haven’t come all these years only to lose to me now. How if I want this title, I will have to pry it off your dying body. How you will take my words, my jokes, and my foolish ego, and you will CRUSH THEM ALL!”
[As Terrence finishes, his voice is raised slightly, and he curls his right hand into a fist, as if he’s crushing a bug inside of it. He then breaks into a smile, and sarcastic applause rings throughout the cabin.]
“Bra-VO Jeremiah. Seriously, good show, chap.”
[Terrence stops applauding, although he remains smirking]
“But let’s step away from the big, scary burning building for a second, take off the mask, and start looking at things from a realistic standpoint.”
“I’ve been in the PWX for almost six months now. Twice, you and I have competed together in the ring, once as opponents, and once as tag partners, and you still don’t have a clue in the world about who you’re facing on Tuesday, do you?”
[A low chuckle from Terrence]
“See, Jeremiah, you might think I’m the official PWX ‘funnyman,’ but you need to be paying a little closer attention. I might crack a few jokes, and I might do some ridiculous shit backstage, and I might even set fire to the occasional car in the parking lot. But I prefer to be remembered more for what I do INSIDE the ring, than outside of it, and when that bell rings, I’m all business.”
[Its almost unnoticeable, but Terrence has sat up just a little straighter, and is looking a little more intense than he was just a few seconds ago.]
“Do you remember when we tagged together last June, against the Brother’s of the Won’t? I was just as angry as you were about the shit Jacob Wright pulled during that match. Because I know that there’s a time and place for everything, and the middle of a wrestling match is no time for shenanigans.”
[Derisive snort]
“Nor will I be a flash-in-the-pan champion, as you so foolishly predict. Look at my track record, Jer. I’ve held many, many titles over the course of my career. That probably matters nothing to you, but this will-”
[Terrence leans forward just a bit, his eyes boring into the camera]
“Out of all those titles, I”ve NEVER lost a title on my first defense. Ever.”
[Blink]
“See? Flash-in-the-pans don’t get to bear that distinction. They get in, they luck into the belt, and they immediately lose it the first time a legitimate challenger comes along. Believe me when I say that YOU stand to be in far more danger of attaining that label than I ever will.”
[Terrence’s smirk breaks into a wide grin at that.]
“It’s also interesting that you felt the need to mention our last match not once, not twice, but three separate times over the course of your monologue. See, Jer, I know the outcome of that match has no bearing on our upcoming bout. It’ll be a fresh slate on Tuesday night, both of us will be three seconds from defeat at any moment. But here’s a question you need to ask yourself before you start running your mouth-”
[A second’s pause]
“If anyone can win by touching all four ring posts, why couldn’t you?”
[OH SNAP!]
[...eh]
“You’re talking a big game, Jer, but reading between those lines, I see a man who’s worried. And you have every right in the world to be. The moment you pulled down that title, you put yourself in the targeting crosshairs of one of the most dangerous and consistent wrestlers this company has ever seen, and that is hardly a fun place to be in.”
[Terrence’s scoffs, and shakes his head but once]
“But by downplaying everything I’ve accomplished over the past few months, Jeremiah, you’re creating two very unfortunate problems for yourself. First, you’re deluding yourself into some false sense of security that I’m not really a threat to your belt. A sense of security that’s going to be shattered very quickly once that bell rings.”
[As he talked, Terrence put his index finger into the air, indicating “one”. In truth,he’d have preferred to put a different finger up. He does raise the middle finger now, although since the index is still extended, the gesture more indicates “two” than “fuck you!”]
“Second, you’re annoying the hell out of me. I’m sure you could chalk it up to ‘mind games’ to make me so angry I approach this match recklessly, but I’m really not that dumb. Even so, ‘annoyed’ is hardly a state of mind you want me to be in when I have a chair in my hands.”
[This time the smile’s fairly disingenuous]
“As for me, I think I have a bit better handle on how things really are than you do. I respect you, Jer, because I’ve seen what you’re capable of. And I know how far you’re willing to go for this belt. But I’m willing to go further.”
[Pause, and Terrence looks as if he’s considering something]
“However, I won’t be so callous as to guarantee a victory Tuesday Night. I already got burned by that once. But I will promise you this, Jer- You will never find a tougher challenger out there than me, and if, by the grace of God, you manage to walk out of Civil War with that belt still around your waist, you will be able to consider your victory a masterpiece.”
[A pause, as Terrence blinks twice]
“And I mean truly, a masterpiece. Because you like to throw that word around WAY to much.”
[And the smirk is back]
“You do know what a masterpiece is, right? It’s a work so outstanding, so phenomenal, that it comes to be regarded as a defining moment of who you are. Like Melville’s Moby Dick, or Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, or Dale Earnhardt’s victory in the 1998 Daytona 500.”
[Hey, he’s an auto racing fan! Just go with it!]
“So when you toss that word around every freakin’ match, it kinda water’s down the effect.”
[As he did in his first promo, Terrence cringes in exaggerated fashion, as if he misspoke]
“Yeah yeah, I know. Catch phrase. Welcome to my massacre, yada yada yada.”
[Eyeroll]
“You better be ready, Jeremiah. Because you’re less than forty-eight hours from the match of your life. Burning buildings, creepy masks, even creepier wives, and blown out hyperbole aren’t going to save you. You’re either going to leave everything you have out there in that ring, or you’re going to be leaving that belt with me. And I think we ALL know which option I’m preferring.”
[And once again, that smirk flitters into a full blown grin. The grin of a predator spotting his prey.]
“See you Tuesday, ‘Miah.”
[Fade]
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