Sunday September 12, 2010
The Zoo- Daniel Pollaski’s Locker Room
Los Angeles, California
9:10 PM Local Time
“WAAAAHOOOOOOOOO!”
Pollaski’s scream as he burst through the locker room door could only be described as primal. Wendy Briese, her daughter Theresa, and their nanny Cassie all looked up in alarm at the big guy entering the locker room. Theresa, with a shriek of joy, ran at “Uncle Powaski”, her arms wide open in exuberance. Cassie arched an eyebrow, clearly annoyed by the sudden onslaught of noise- even if it was a victory cry.
“Congratulations” Wendy said, smiling at her manager and friend, although, she rubbed her ear with her hand, trying to get the sudden ringing to stop.
“Thanks,” Pollaski replied as he lifted the four year old girl up into his arms, lightly tousling her hair as he did. Theresa hugged him for just a second, then turned her attention to the shiny belt that was now draped over his shoulder.
“Is this it?” she asked, tapping the belt.
“Yup,” Pollaski replied, grinning. “The CeePeeDubya Bamboo Championship.”
“Well won, dude,” Terrence Thompson said as he entered the locker room, slapping his manager on the back in congratulations. “Feel good,”
“Yar,” Pollaski said as he set Theresa down, handing her the belt. The golden strap was too heavy for Theresa to carry, so she dragged it with her as she ran back to her coloring books, the adults all chuckling at the scene.
“No crayons, Terr-Bear,” Wendy said warningly as the four-year old sat down. She shrugged at her manager. “She scribbled on the PWX Tag Titles, and it took almost three hours to get the crayon off...”
“I’m not too fussed,” Pollaski said, stretching. “Not like anyone’s going to be taking that off of me anytime soon.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Wendy said warningly. “Pride goeth before a fall, it is said.”
“Bah, let the kid enjoy his moment,” Terrence said to his wife, laughing. “He’ll find out soon enough that these things are harder to hang on to than they’re worth.”
“Yeah, well, unlike you guys, I’m not going to fall into this idiotic notion of defending as often as possible.”
“Great,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes. “One of THOSE champions.”
“Well, I’m not going to bi-” Pollaski cut himself off, remembering Theresa “erm, wuss out of it. But I’m not going to risk my reputation for just anyone. Whoever wants a shot is going to have to earn it in my eyes.”
“Really?” Wendy replied mildly, although her arms crossed over her chest, and the glare in her emerald eyes belied her annoyance.
“Well yeah- or they annoy me so much that I use the belt as a lure to get them in a match to where I can pummel them senseless.” Pollaski remarked offhandedly. “But I don’t see that happening.”
“Right,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes.
“Heh,” Pollaski replied, grinning. “Now let’s watch this ‘mystery guy’ beat the living tarstains out of Joey Flash.
With that, Pollaski kicked his tennis shoes across the room, pulled up a folding chair, and plopped down in it, turning his attention to the small TV the Birdz kept in their locker room.
Wendy looked over at her husband, sighing. “I think we’ve created a monster...”
“I’ll say,” Terrence said, although his eyes were fixated distastefully on the pair of shoes Pollaski had just kicked off, rather than the manager himself. “You wouldn’t to have any Odor-Eater with you, do you?”
Wendy sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose as if she had a migraine. “That’s not really what I meant.”
====================================
The following blog was posted at whirlybirdz.com. The opinions expressed herein do not reflect the opinions of the WhirlyBirdz VHS, CPW or anyone but the author. So please don’t sue them.
So at what point do I transcend being just that damn good into pure fucking awesomeness?
I mean, we already know that I was the greatest manager in the history of professional wrestling. I’m the greatest columnist, I’m the greatest blogger. And now... I’m the greatest Bamboo Champion EVAR!
Okay, so maybe I’m the ONLY bamboo champion, but y’know...
So I suppose everyone’s wondering why the great Daniel Pollaski, so soon after his first championship (well, the first championship I didn’t win in the middle of a title scramble, only to lose less than five minutes later), is willing to put that belt up for grabs the very next show? Could it be that the Polish Powerhouse, the Northwestern Nightmare is going to be what they call a ‘fighting champion?’
To quote Angel Kash... “As if!’
No, I’m secure enough in my reputation to not have to dangle my belt around at every opportunity to show what a great champion I am. I’ll defend when and if Valerie Belmont and Camilla Pazzini (who are both very lovely, sexy ladies, and full of charm and niceness), see fit that I do.
So then, why did I agree to defend my title against Michelle Taylor? Pretty much two reasons.
1. It will shut her up.
2. This is going to be the easiest title defense EVAR.
Here’s a random question- what is with my opponents in CPW? I went from David Anderson, who was retarded and drunk, to Angel Kash, who was retarded and rich, to Tori Bishop, who was retarded and hypocritical... why don’t they change the name to Retarded Panda Wrestling?
No offense to the Panda of course. But when the fucking animals are smarter than half the locker room- well, Houston, we have a problem.
So now I get Michelle Taylor, who is retarded and... well, actually, that’s the only adjective that comes to mind about her. I suppose I could whip out a thesaurus and find a few more, but that would just be redundant, and I’m trying to avoid that. “Keep it short and sweet,” my cousin Tiffany used to say. It’s a pretty good mantra to live by- especially when you’re a five-dollar hooker.
ANYWAYS...
Where was I?
Ah yes, Michelle Taylor = Stupid.
I mean, where oh where can I begin? First of all, Michelle has the vocabulary of a second grader. And not just any second-grader: We’re talking the cross-eyed ones that literally drooled all over their homework, wet themselves during recess, and ate paste in art class. Michelle’s verbal arsenal generally consists of such eloquent terminologies as “fuck”, “ass”, “fight”, and “derp!’
Second of all, Michelle Taylor has less common sense than your average politician. I’m sure if most of you people are anything like me, you probably had the horrible horrible image of Michelle Taylor VOLUNTARILY hopping into a dumpster filled with slurry. I mean it was truly a sight to behold- I haven’t seen dumpster diving like that since ESPN2 stopped televising the Homeless Olympics.
But what exactly did that prove, other than that Michelle is a dirty, smelly guttertrash skank whore (Hey look, I found more adjectives!)? That she ENJOYS plopping into rancid dumpsters? Isn’t the point of a dumpster match to where the ending subjects the loser to the humiliation and torture of being put into an absolutely disgusting predicament? Guess not. Well, in the end, Michelle got to take another lap around the slurry pool, while Joey Flash kept his title, so everybody ended up going home happy!
Except, for you know, anyone who has to wrestle her after that. I mean, seriously, if ANYONE out there has an idea to where I can beat the Garbage Pail Kid in a wrestling match without actually touching her- please feel free to offer advice. I suppose I could always buy gloves and a hazmat suit- but that shit costs money.
Then again, I did make the match no Disqualification, so I could hire a sniper to stand up in the rafters and shoot her the moment the bell rings. I’ve done it before, don’t even THINK I’m above it.
Hell, maybe I’ll even have them use a real bullet instead of a tranquilizer dart. Make the world a much better place.
Wait... that wouldn’t work. I forgot that Michelle Taylor doesn’t have any brains to blow out.
So what does anyone think Michelle’s doing to prepare for this match? If she’s going dumpster-diving to prepare for a dumpster match, do you think for a No-DQ match she’s spending her training time hitting herself with chairs?
The sad part is, Michelle’s so dumb, hitting her over the head with a chair would probably actually add brain cells.
Yeah, so believe me when I say that I have nothing to worry about come this Sunday at the Zoo. Provided Michelle can find the ring, there’s no way she’s going to be leaving it with my Bamboo title.
Meanwhile, I’m going to go buy a LOT of Purell sanitizer. I have a feeling I’m gonna need it when this one is over.
POLLA OUT!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
EPISODE 46: The Head of Snake
Sunday September 19, 2010
The RV- Main Cabin
Oak Park, Illinois
11:27 PM Local Time
===================
“Tuesday night.”
“One way or another, it’s all going to end.”
[Even though it’s not even an hour later, we fade into a much different scene than we did for Terrence’s promo. The RV’s lights have been dimmed to the point where only a small, slender feminine silhouette can be seen sitting on the hide-a-bed. Of course, even in the dimmed light, one can easily tell its Wendy Briese by the ever-present ponytail, and the rigid sitting position]
“For the past three months, Brian Hollywood and his buddies have done everything in their power to destroy what is good about Pro Wrestling X. Brian has shamelessly promoted himself over other, more deserving challengers. Anybody not agreeing with the Cartel way- which is pretty much anyone with a lick of sense, has been stalked, and jumped and pummeled.”
[Wendy’s voice is a mixture of anger, frustration, and sorrow as she recounts the last several months of her career. All the while, the silhouette doesn’t move.]
“So one match. One match to decide the fate of our company. And at the end of the day, either Brian Hollywood, or John Parker Olesen, will control PWX, for better or for worse.”
“But this match...”
[The Wendy-silhouette shakes her head]
“Anyone who knows me knows that I detest deathmatches. They’re nothing more than an exercise in brute sadism. This isn’t an athletic contest between two highly trained individuals, This isn’t even wrestling. All deathmatches are are ways for men and women with little talent- and even less common sense, to needlessly destroy themselves in some misguided attempt to gain acceptance from other men and women with little talent and common sense.”
[Pause]
“Funnily enough, that’s the exact same thing this whole ‘emo’ movement appears to be about.”
[One short, almost harsh laugh from Wendy at her attempt at a joke, but then silence fills the RV again.]
“But if the fate of PWX is to be decided inside the trappings of a steel cage, amidst shattered glass and coiled barbed wire, then I will enter that cage willingly.”
[Wendy’s voice picks up in determination, and one can imagine that if her eyes were more visible, they would be boring into the camera right now.]
“The entire time I’ve been here, I’ve tried to do things my way. I’ve believed that if you had a problem with someone, you take it up with them in the ring. The problem was, every time we tried to settle our differences the proper way, the result wasn’t to the Cartel’s liking. So they’ve resorted to cheap attacks, backstabbing, and gang beatdowns. Its fairly disheartening when every big win you’ve gotten is accompanied by three to five people running out and attacking you, just for the crime of being the better wrestler.”
[A long pause, as Wendy looks down at the floor for several seconds. Finally, her silhouette looks back up at the camera.]
“This time, my way didn’t work, so now we have to settle things the Cartel’s way. Instead of simple competition, we have to settle it in a match so brutal, so violent, that careers and lives could be ended in an instant on Tuesday night.”
[Small sigh]
“This saddens me. To save the PWX, my team and I have to become like the very people who are trying to damn it. I doubt that Victor Jace finds this a problem. I don’t know about Zion or Wright, although Zion willingly competed in the King of the Death Match. But me, I’m disgusted by it all.”
“If I had my way, there would be only one casualty from this match. The source of all this trouble can be traced back to one person.”
[Pause]
“Brian Hollywood.”
[The name is said with about as much hatred as Wendy can muster]
“From the day I’ve arrived in PWX, Brian Hollywood has been nothing but a disgrace to this company. He was a disgrace as its champion. He was a disgrace as a roster member. And he was a disgrace as an owner and president.”
“Obviously, I don’t approve of Pariah’s, Ojeda’s and Willett’s actions, but Brian Hollywood is the glue that holds the Cartel together. He is the head of a poisonous snake that lies in the grass, threatening the safety and well being of all nearby.”
[Another long pause, as Wendy considers her words and actions]
“The best way to kill that snake is to bring a heavy object, such as a garden hoe, right behind its head, decapitating it. The snake must die, so that those around it may be safe. The moment all eight of us are in that ring, all we need to do is bring that hoe down. And if it falls upon me to be the one to slay the serpent...”
[A sharp intake of breath]
“Then so be it.”
[Wendy exhales, and what little scene we have fades out.]
The RV- Main Cabin
Oak Park, Illinois
11:27 PM Local Time
===================
“Tuesday night.”
“One way or another, it’s all going to end.”
[Even though it’s not even an hour later, we fade into a much different scene than we did for Terrence’s promo. The RV’s lights have been dimmed to the point where only a small, slender feminine silhouette can be seen sitting on the hide-a-bed. Of course, even in the dimmed light, one can easily tell its Wendy Briese by the ever-present ponytail, and the rigid sitting position]
“For the past three months, Brian Hollywood and his buddies have done everything in their power to destroy what is good about Pro Wrestling X. Brian has shamelessly promoted himself over other, more deserving challengers. Anybody not agreeing with the Cartel way- which is pretty much anyone with a lick of sense, has been stalked, and jumped and pummeled.”
[Wendy’s voice is a mixture of anger, frustration, and sorrow as she recounts the last several months of her career. All the while, the silhouette doesn’t move.]
“So one match. One match to decide the fate of our company. And at the end of the day, either Brian Hollywood, or John Parker Olesen, will control PWX, for better or for worse.”
“But this match...”
[The Wendy-silhouette shakes her head]
“Anyone who knows me knows that I detest deathmatches. They’re nothing more than an exercise in brute sadism. This isn’t an athletic contest between two highly trained individuals, This isn’t even wrestling. All deathmatches are are ways for men and women with little talent- and even less common sense, to needlessly destroy themselves in some misguided attempt to gain acceptance from other men and women with little talent and common sense.”
[Pause]
“Funnily enough, that’s the exact same thing this whole ‘emo’ movement appears to be about.”
[One short, almost harsh laugh from Wendy at her attempt at a joke, but then silence fills the RV again.]
“But if the fate of PWX is to be decided inside the trappings of a steel cage, amidst shattered glass and coiled barbed wire, then I will enter that cage willingly.”
[Wendy’s voice picks up in determination, and one can imagine that if her eyes were more visible, they would be boring into the camera right now.]
“The entire time I’ve been here, I’ve tried to do things my way. I’ve believed that if you had a problem with someone, you take it up with them in the ring. The problem was, every time we tried to settle our differences the proper way, the result wasn’t to the Cartel’s liking. So they’ve resorted to cheap attacks, backstabbing, and gang beatdowns. Its fairly disheartening when every big win you’ve gotten is accompanied by three to five people running out and attacking you, just for the crime of being the better wrestler.”
[A long pause, as Wendy looks down at the floor for several seconds. Finally, her silhouette looks back up at the camera.]
“This time, my way didn’t work, so now we have to settle things the Cartel’s way. Instead of simple competition, we have to settle it in a match so brutal, so violent, that careers and lives could be ended in an instant on Tuesday night.”
[Small sigh]
“This saddens me. To save the PWX, my team and I have to become like the very people who are trying to damn it. I doubt that Victor Jace finds this a problem. I don’t know about Zion or Wright, although Zion willingly competed in the King of the Death Match. But me, I’m disgusted by it all.”
“If I had my way, there would be only one casualty from this match. The source of all this trouble can be traced back to one person.”
[Pause]
“Brian Hollywood.”
[The name is said with about as much hatred as Wendy can muster]
“From the day I’ve arrived in PWX, Brian Hollywood has been nothing but a disgrace to this company. He was a disgrace as its champion. He was a disgrace as a roster member. And he was a disgrace as an owner and president.”
“Obviously, I don’t approve of Pariah’s, Ojeda’s and Willett’s actions, but Brian Hollywood is the glue that holds the Cartel together. He is the head of a poisonous snake that lies in the grass, threatening the safety and well being of all nearby.”
[Another long pause, as Wendy considers her words and actions]
“The best way to kill that snake is to bring a heavy object, such as a garden hoe, right behind its head, decapitating it. The snake must die, so that those around it may be safe. The moment all eight of us are in that ring, all we need to do is bring that hoe down. And if it falls upon me to be the one to slay the serpent...”
[A sharp intake of breath]
“Then so be it.”
[Wendy exhales, and what little scene we have fades out.]
EPISODE 45: Disharmony
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]
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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