Post by jdfranchise on Jan 22, 2015 4:16:22 GMT -5
Rule Number 1: Never let yourself get personally involved.
***
"It's 7:30 in the morning, Josh." Dave says as the airport bartender hands me a Budweiser. "Are you really going to start drinking now?"
"Helps calm my nerves so I can sleep on the flight."
"You know I flew with you over to London and back to the states, so that's a lie."
"We also took a red eye both times." I smirk, taking a swig of my beer. "Kinda hard to sleep on one of those."
I examine my beer upon sitting it down, seeing Dave staring at me through my peripheral vision. He knows me well enough to know that I'm avoiding talking to him about what's really going on in my mind. But it's hard to talk about, let alone try to explain something that I'm still trying to process.
"Well, we got a long flight ahead of us and a tag title eliminator coming up soon." Dave says, motioning for the bartender to bring us two more bottles. "So do whatever helps you relax."
"When did you talk to Lila?"
"Yesterday." Dave responds, nodding to the nice lady. "Told her that we wanted in the mix. Whole reason we took that connector flight in Boston."
"Cool." I say, sliding the mug back and forth between my hands. "Make sure you thank her at some point."
"I will, but for what?" Dave inquires. "We earned it."
"It's always a good thing to be polite."
I don't know about customs and traditions in the rest of the world, but in the south being polite is still a revered quality. Even growing up in a culture where drugs, prostitution, and violence were the norm, I was conditioned to say please, thank you, yes sir, no sir, yes ma'am, no ma'am, pull out chairs and open doors for others. The irony writes itself, but that southern "charm" has opened a lot of doors for me personally and professionally.
It's too bad sometimes that I still have a hard time picking and choosing which traits I retain. I make a conscious effort to maintain a level of professionalism and attract the bees with honey. Is it sometimes fabricated? Of course but we all have our veils, some thinner than others. Better to have even the most transparent guise of courtesy than to let the years of being surrounded by violence and hatred consume me. It'd be so much easier to justify becoming a remorseless criminal and committing acts that would make Zmey look like a common thug, especially when pushed. It's hard to resist giving in to the temptation of maiming another human being for the simple pleasure that comes with proving superiority. But due to values I put in place for myself, I stay in constant conflict of what I consider excessive.
The Clash is one of those times I gave in, I believe. The vindication I got was due, but I didn't need to do what I ended up doing.
"Ok, what?"
"Being courteous will help you continue to curry favor with Lila." I begin, raising the bottle and knocking back the remaining contents. "Sure, she loves us now because of what we stand for. But what about when this war is over?"
"Well, I'd like to think she'd be in debt to us."
"Do you seriously buy that, Dave?"
"She hasn't given me a reason to doubt her."
"Ok, well tell me about your meeting." I retort. "Did you ask for your rematch?"
"Yeah."
"Yet we're in a tag team match." I say as I fix my gaze on him. "Don't that seem a little bit odd to you?"
"She said she's wanting to protect my long term health."
"Right. That's so she can keep you as her workhorse." I hiss. "You and I both know that promoters don't always have clear intentions."
Dave looks ready to say something, but stops himself. He takes a swig from his beer.
"You ok man?" He asks, patting me on the back. "You're not acting like yourself."
"I just want to make sure we don't end up on an island."
"All this talk about conspiracy, Josh, I swear I should be the one sounding like this."
"I can't help it, something doesn't add up to me at the moment."
The images are still fresh from my annihilation of Yukio Blaze. I'm not entirely sure if he could breathe in that moment I finally let go of the razor wire that reduced him to a lifeless form sprawled out on the canvas. I certainly didn't need to dig the sharpened steel into his carotid arteries with intentions of severing them. The sound of his temporal bone caving from the impact of my baseball bat cause my teeth to grind mid cringe. And that's not even mentioning how reflecting about the massive craters of flesh tearing away from his back and arms turn my stomach. It's not because I'm squeamish at the sight of blood, but rather the violent levels I have proven to be capable of that keeps me up in cold sweats.
Maybe I'm not as refined as I'd like to think and that's the real mind f*ck to it all. Was the Jason mask just for show or an avenue for me to morph into what I try to tell myself I want to avoid? The switch in my brain flipped so easily to that of a savage despite knowing early in the match that I'd have little problem dispatching him that it scares me, but I can't tell Dave. I look down at my hands and I can't stop them from trembling as they rest on the bar. I have another person's blood on my hands because I made the fight personal.
Just like I did against Demon.
Just like Schneider.
Can I even blame Yukio anymore for what happened in London?
What's worse, can I expect anyone to believe my desperation for separation between the two sides?
"Josh....JOSH!" Dave screams while shaking me which startles me back to focus. "Dude, talk to me."
I reach for the fresh beer, sighing.
"Did I go too far against Yukio, Dave?"
"I guess that depends." Dave responds. "Did your safety feel threatened in any way?"
"No, plunder doesn't worry me."
"Ok, do you feel like you did the right thing?"
"Yeah, but I don't know by who."
***
I should feel good coming out of a lose-lose with my hand raised. I should feel like my stock is rising within the WFWF landscape to where I can dictate what direction I want to go. Even if the victory was somewhat hollow due to Yukio Blaze's current level of apathy, a win over a guy with his status in company history shouldn't be dismissed.
But here I am, feeling like I'm in a holding pattern despite my stellar showing at the Clash. And boy, the detractors are coming out of the woodwork.
I predicted this would happen, flat out told Yukio Blaze that I am better than him and that I would give him the death wish that he craved. And unlike mine and Dave's opponents, I did exactly that. But now that it's over, I feel a sense of remorse. He wasn't getting out of the B.S.E and I could feel the tendons in his arm start to give, but I still chose to use that unforgiving weapon to finish the job. I chose to put his life in danger because of the personal animosity I allowed myself to have toward Yukio over ancient history.
I'm better than that and I know it, which is why it disgusts me that I violated a very sacred code that has brought me to the forefront of this industry and kept me there for the past twelve years. A grudge is a very powerful thing, especially if it's out of one's character to hold it.
But now Lila Sleater has presented Dave and I with an opportunity, one that frankly we feel we've earned and would be stupid to pass up. The one true team in WFWF has finally positioned themselves to claim the prize that signifies the pinnacle of teamwork.
There's that key word Jayson and Chase, teamwork. Judging by the way you two act in each other's company, you guys are still a long way away from understanding that. And it dissapoints me, because I would've thought that after a near nine month reign as champions maybe something would've sunk in.
Guess that's what I get for giving Hollywood Unhinged credit. In fact, it's quite foolish on my part to give a couple kids respect that isn't warranted.
I won't make that mistake again, you can bet the house on that. Because see, I've been around this business long enough to recognize when people have the potential to be great and I think that both of you have that ability which is why I'm not treating you like a joke. I see your current situation and I understand by looking into my partner's eyes the desire to regain what you feel KKK stole from you. And I seriously hope that you carry at least a fraction of that fire to Homecoming because this match has the potential for major box office appeal with my ability to promote this revived initiative for tag team wrestling.
So please do me a favor, make it worth mine and Dave's time.
****
"Unless you're a complete piece of garbage, most people have a set of beliefs and some semblance of a code they live by." I say, resting my head on top of the chair back. "You live by one, I live by one, even guys like Trace Demon and Donny Monty Kent live by a set of guidelines that govern their actions. Does that make the deplorable things they do acceptable, or even make sense?"
"No." Dr. Timothy Remke says, scribbling notes down in his notepad. "It doesn't make it acceptable. But what about your personal guidelines? Have you ever had to change them?"
"More than I care to admit."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Survival."
"That's kind of a vague answer."
"You're kinda asking me a vague question, aren't ya?"
"Ok." Dr. Remke conceeds, lowering his notebook. "Elaborate on survival."
"We live in a world where everyone's looking out for numero uno." I begin. "People are always looking for an angle, willing to step on anyone to get there. Willing to do things that are out of character, disregarding the very thing that keeps us from being just like the animals..."
"Ok, let's explore that." The doc interrupts. "What are we disregarding that makes us like animals?"
"Darwin was right when he theorized natural selection." I state, flashing him an uninterested look. "But he made a grave oversight."
"Darwin was talking about animalistic behaviors, Josh."
"Haven't people been trying to prove for centuries that humans are basically talking monkeys?" I inquire. "Wasn't that what Darwin was implying?"
He lets out a deep, audible sigh. While I'm speaking candidly, I'm wanting to him to use that doctorate to figure out why a guy of great international acclaim and financial prosperity like me is coming to him as a patient. I'm already guilty of having a preconceived notion about a psychiatrist's job of listening to people complain about a life that probably isn't that bad. Maybe I should give him a chance, drop a few bread crumbs and let him make that connection.
"Well, I think certain behavior traits can be transferrable between animals and humans." Dr. Remke finally responds, rubbing his brow. "But I believe humans have learned how to expand on the ability to use their brain."
"Are you sure about that, in your professional opinion?"
"Well, I'm not going to pretend that the human brain has been entirely figured out." Remke retorts. "In the psychology field, we're just beginning to scratch the surface of human thought processes and emotions."
"Emotions get people crippled in my line of work."
"How so?"
"Because if you show your emotions, then you run the risk of leaving yourself open." I begin. "And there are people in this line of work that are so good at keying on them."
"But you have to remember that emotion can be a good thing if you can control it."
"Yeah, this coming from a guy that openly makes his living off treating people who can't." I quip. "I work in a business where everyone is highly trained in the ability to damage another human being physically. But now, there's a paradigm shift to where the physically inferior can level the playing field."
I point deliberately to my head, making sure he understands how the in ring battle has changed over time.
"Guys are getting smarter, doc." I continue. "It's not enough to physically pin or make your opponent submit anymore, but how can you humiliate and demoralize them. When you let your emotions get the best of you is when you end up like that."
"Have you ever been in that situation?"
"Like what?" I respond, folding my arms. "Compromising myself by thinking irrationally?"
Make no mistake surviving is something you do, not something you can fit in a neat little box. It requires situational awareness and adaptation in order to put yourself in a position of control. In this, the hurt business, survival is bastardized as a buzzword to describe a person who's just waiting for a referee to save them from a beating they can't stop. They cower in the fetal position and wait, hoping that another human being will show enough compassion to intervene before the consequences become dire. This frail man can sit there attempting to relate with me but will by and large be rendered clueless, because judging by his straight nose and smooth jaw line, he's never been in a real fight. It's one thing to study human behavior and how it alters under duress, but another when it's yours under fire. He hasn't lived through what I have, so I can't expect him to understand how I've become so well adjusted.
I can't even explain it.
But there's something in his perplexed demeanor I notice that makes him uncomfortable, like he's trying to figure me out as if I were a jigsaw puzzle. I've always considered myself a pretty simple, straight forward kind of guy. I guess I'm more complex than I'd like to lead on. Maybe it's my surprising intellectual insight on a very specific topic that scholars have been debating since its inception that he didn't expect a product of the hood with a GED to provide.
"In a word, yes."
"I used to a lot when I was younger." I declare. "Made me evaluate a lot of things. But just once since I left WFWF the first time until I came back."
"Care to talk about it?" He asks. "May help both of us understand a few things."
"It was 2011, and I was in a bad place in my life."
Dr. Remke begins to nod, which makes me a little more comfortable talking. That muggy, rainy night is one I'll never forget. Raven's scowl still sticks out to me because until that moment, I remembered her as a laid back woman who found herself selling weed as a matter of circumstance and familiarity. But the second I saw her pull out the Glock 45, I saw a side of her put that cliche phrase in a new light and changed the very course of our relationship. The image burns in my mind and suddenly it's like I'm back there again.
"I don't know if this is the best way to go about it."
"What do you suggest I do?" Raven asks, cleaning the barrel of the Glock. "I have to do this."
"Why do you HAVE to?" I ask, looking her in the eye. "Don't you understand what's at stake?"
"Yeah, my credibility."
"Your credibility?" I huff. "What about my livelihood? I'm surprised we were able to get over here without being tailed because I'm in the public eye as much as I am."
"We won't get caught, babe." Raven says, rubbing my leg as she smiles. "We're just going to scare Curtis."
"That's when you get caught." I respond, leaning my head back on the head rest. "This isn't planned out very well, Raven."
"Do you always worry this much?" She inquires, sitting the Glock on the dashboard. "Look, if I don't respond then word will get out that I'm soft. My business goes to sh*t and I ain't having that."
"Why don't you give up the game?" I question, turning to look her in the eyes again. "You don't need to do this sh*t. You can do hundreds of things."
"That's easy for you to say, because you have a lot of money because of your job."
"And what you're contemplating here can put all that in jeopardy." I say, running my fingers through her hair. "Is that what you want?"
"No, but can you really ask me to stop?"
There's just certain way that Raven appeals to my better nature. She was right though. It'd be like someone asking me to quit wrestling, because at this my point in my life I was really starting to enjoy it again. I can relate to her logic of doing something for long enough that it becomes part of your identity, and I think in hindsight is the reason I didn't put the car in drive and take us away from there then and there. When something becomes your identity, you take a lot of pride in being the best you can be. I could appreciate that, even though I didn't agree with her choice. But when you care for someone, sometimes you become blinded.
"I understand this the kinda comes with the territory." I say as I take her hands. "I don't have to like it, but I'm here because I support you."
"No matter what?"
"Yeah."
"Ok, well let's go get my money. Nobody shorts me and gets away with it."
Raven picks the Glock off the dashboard and suddenly I could feel my pulse climbing.
"Just warning shots, right?" I ask. "A murder charge won't look good come contract time."
"Yeah." She says as she sits the Glock in my lap, grabbing my hand and placing it on her breast. "If it'll help you feel more comfortable, you can be the one to do it."
"Ok." I say, mesmerized as I pull her huge chocolate breast out of her low cut shirt. "But what are you going to do?"
"Don't worry, I'll stay busy."
She lowers her head toward my crotch and the next thing I know I'm putting the car in drive and slowly creeping up on the block where Curtis lives. The rain stops as I reach for the Glock and roll down the window, trying so hard to focus but enjoying the benefit.
There he is and I can feel my blood boil. He's taking something from someone I care about and now he must face the repercussion. This cold steel regulator will be my vehicle to teach the scumbag that there would be consequences.
"I fired two shots, and one hit Curtis in the shin." I say as I run my hands through my hair. "Raven and I were not caught thankfully, but I know how f*cking stupid that decision was."
"That's fascinating, Josh." Dr. Remke says, continuing to jot in his notebook. "It's amazing what people will do when they feel something for another person."
"Listen doc, I'm not proud of that night because it was the one of the few times in my life I didn't make a sound decision due to letting my emotions cloud my judgment." I begin, touching the butterfly stitches that grace my forehead. "That's what I did in London and now Yukio Blaze's life is permanently altered, just like Curtis. And I had nothing to gain from either time. That's the difference between animals and humans is that animals use their brains to survive, not caring for a second about emotion."
Dr. Remke rubs his brow as he closes his notebook.
"You know Josh, I'd like to continue to meet with you." He says, sitting his notebook in the side table. "I think at least talking to you and seeing how you prepare for matches will help me be able to understand you further."
"Ok, but we do this my way."
"Of course, we're both going to be working after all."
****
To Whom it may Concern,
If there was ever a time where I should take a match personally, this would mark the occasion. All the elements are there for me, such as your cheap attack with a steel chair among other instances that you've stuck your nose in my business. I must applaud you for that, because you two are finally starting to make people notice. But I believe that one turn deserves another, so Dave and I have decided to interject ourselves in your business.
This match had to happen because you used to possess something that we want. And what a better way to put KKK on alert than to dispatch the former champs in shorter order than they did.
For the sake of being real with both of you, it's no contest to recognize who the superior team is. Because a team comes together with one goal in mind, not because they're thrown together out of convenience by people trying to hold serve. In almost a year of teaming together, your public perception of each other is still the same and it's causing people like Kent to see an easy mark for his goons. And you two couldn't get out of your own damn way for long enough to realize just how much you need each other.
Because before Hollywood Unhinged, the career trajectories of Jayson Garrett and Chase Landon didn't look so hot, did they? Neither one of you were able to truly branch out on your own and accomplish anything of worth. So when the Tag Team Titles made their return, you two decided that you could give your career upward mobility by winning them. I don't know who's idea it was, don't care either, because the plan worked out. You managed to beat three other thrown together combinations and finally get a taste of championship gold.
Really all you showed the world is that you were the best of a bad bunch, which makes you look worse by association considering Kyle Matthews is the only other person in that match still with the company.
Then Chase has a nervous breakdown and disappears. Yeah, the best member of your "team" cracks under the pressure of knowing that there would be expectations. And he couldn't have that because it would crush this mentally unstable, weak link, emo bullish*t shtick he tries to play. You can believe it if you want Jay, but I choose not to. But since I'm putting both of you to task, it astounds me how fragile your ego is. I mean, I've heard of people being vain before, but you take the cake dude. And the funniest part is that you're dumb enought to play right into Chase's hands by asserting yourself as the Alpha male on the team.
Everyone can see the strings but you.
As for SOS, we're here with one goal in mind, which is to eliminate all the trash that litters this company so that it can survive to see another year pass. If we find gold around our waists in the process, that's no accident either. That's what we call icing. But beyond that, we really don't want to see you two become collateral damage in a war you aren't armed enough to fight, but what we can do is show you just how vulnerable of a unit you really are. I believe in putting the cold hard facts in front of people's faces and making them look at it. Maybe then, you two can make an educated decision about your own futures, once again helping us in our mission.
But don't think for one second I've forgotten what you two did to me at Men and Monsters. Giving someone better than you in between those ropes an incentive to kick your ass wasn't a smart move, even if it turned out to be your finest hour. Because you got my attention and you'd be wise to reference what I did to Yukio Blaze at the Clash as an example of how nasty things can get for you now that my attention is focused on you.
I just thought I'd extend extend the common courtesy of let you know that what happens to you at Homecoming isn't personal, just business. You aren't important enough to make it personal.
Sincerely yours,
"The Franchise" Josh Dean
[/b][/b][/div][/b][/b][/div]***
"It's 7:30 in the morning, Josh." Dave says as the airport bartender hands me a Budweiser. "Are you really going to start drinking now?"
"Helps calm my nerves so I can sleep on the flight."
"You know I flew with you over to London and back to the states, so that's a lie."
"We also took a red eye both times." I smirk, taking a swig of my beer. "Kinda hard to sleep on one of those."
I examine my beer upon sitting it down, seeing Dave staring at me through my peripheral vision. He knows me well enough to know that I'm avoiding talking to him about what's really going on in my mind. But it's hard to talk about, let alone try to explain something that I'm still trying to process.
"Well, we got a long flight ahead of us and a tag title eliminator coming up soon." Dave says, motioning for the bartender to bring us two more bottles. "So do whatever helps you relax."
"When did you talk to Lila?"
"Yesterday." Dave responds, nodding to the nice lady. "Told her that we wanted in the mix. Whole reason we took that connector flight in Boston."
"Cool." I say, sliding the mug back and forth between my hands. "Make sure you thank her at some point."
"I will, but for what?" Dave inquires. "We earned it."
"It's always a good thing to be polite."
I don't know about customs and traditions in the rest of the world, but in the south being polite is still a revered quality. Even growing up in a culture where drugs, prostitution, and violence were the norm, I was conditioned to say please, thank you, yes sir, no sir, yes ma'am, no ma'am, pull out chairs and open doors for others. The irony writes itself, but that southern "charm" has opened a lot of doors for me personally and professionally.
It's too bad sometimes that I still have a hard time picking and choosing which traits I retain. I make a conscious effort to maintain a level of professionalism and attract the bees with honey. Is it sometimes fabricated? Of course but we all have our veils, some thinner than others. Better to have even the most transparent guise of courtesy than to let the years of being surrounded by violence and hatred consume me. It'd be so much easier to justify becoming a remorseless criminal and committing acts that would make Zmey look like a common thug, especially when pushed. It's hard to resist giving in to the temptation of maiming another human being for the simple pleasure that comes with proving superiority. But due to values I put in place for myself, I stay in constant conflict of what I consider excessive.
The Clash is one of those times I gave in, I believe. The vindication I got was due, but I didn't need to do what I ended up doing.
"Ok, what?"
"Being courteous will help you continue to curry favor with Lila." I begin, raising the bottle and knocking back the remaining contents. "Sure, she loves us now because of what we stand for. But what about when this war is over?"
"Well, I'd like to think she'd be in debt to us."
"Do you seriously buy that, Dave?"
"She hasn't given me a reason to doubt her."
"Ok, well tell me about your meeting." I retort. "Did you ask for your rematch?"
"Yeah."
"Yet we're in a tag team match." I say as I fix my gaze on him. "Don't that seem a little bit odd to you?"
"She said she's wanting to protect my long term health."
"Right. That's so she can keep you as her workhorse." I hiss. "You and I both know that promoters don't always have clear intentions."
Dave looks ready to say something, but stops himself. He takes a swig from his beer.
"You ok man?" He asks, patting me on the back. "You're not acting like yourself."
"I just want to make sure we don't end up on an island."
"All this talk about conspiracy, Josh, I swear I should be the one sounding like this."
"I can't help it, something doesn't add up to me at the moment."
The images are still fresh from my annihilation of Yukio Blaze. I'm not entirely sure if he could breathe in that moment I finally let go of the razor wire that reduced him to a lifeless form sprawled out on the canvas. I certainly didn't need to dig the sharpened steel into his carotid arteries with intentions of severing them. The sound of his temporal bone caving from the impact of my baseball bat cause my teeth to grind mid cringe. And that's not even mentioning how reflecting about the massive craters of flesh tearing away from his back and arms turn my stomach. It's not because I'm squeamish at the sight of blood, but rather the violent levels I have proven to be capable of that keeps me up in cold sweats.
Maybe I'm not as refined as I'd like to think and that's the real mind f*ck to it all. Was the Jason mask just for show or an avenue for me to morph into what I try to tell myself I want to avoid? The switch in my brain flipped so easily to that of a savage despite knowing early in the match that I'd have little problem dispatching him that it scares me, but I can't tell Dave. I look down at my hands and I can't stop them from trembling as they rest on the bar. I have another person's blood on my hands because I made the fight personal.
Just like I did against Demon.
Just like Schneider.
Can I even blame Yukio anymore for what happened in London?
What's worse, can I expect anyone to believe my desperation for separation between the two sides?
"Josh....JOSH!" Dave screams while shaking me which startles me back to focus. "Dude, talk to me."
I reach for the fresh beer, sighing.
"Did I go too far against Yukio, Dave?"
"I guess that depends." Dave responds. "Did your safety feel threatened in any way?"
"No, plunder doesn't worry me."
"Ok, do you feel like you did the right thing?"
"Yeah, but I don't know by who."
***
I should feel good coming out of a lose-lose with my hand raised. I should feel like my stock is rising within the WFWF landscape to where I can dictate what direction I want to go. Even if the victory was somewhat hollow due to Yukio Blaze's current level of apathy, a win over a guy with his status in company history shouldn't be dismissed.
But here I am, feeling like I'm in a holding pattern despite my stellar showing at the Clash. And boy, the detractors are coming out of the woodwork.
I predicted this would happen, flat out told Yukio Blaze that I am better than him and that I would give him the death wish that he craved. And unlike mine and Dave's opponents, I did exactly that. But now that it's over, I feel a sense of remorse. He wasn't getting out of the B.S.E and I could feel the tendons in his arm start to give, but I still chose to use that unforgiving weapon to finish the job. I chose to put his life in danger because of the personal animosity I allowed myself to have toward Yukio over ancient history.
I'm better than that and I know it, which is why it disgusts me that I violated a very sacred code that has brought me to the forefront of this industry and kept me there for the past twelve years. A grudge is a very powerful thing, especially if it's out of one's character to hold it.
But now Lila Sleater has presented Dave and I with an opportunity, one that frankly we feel we've earned and would be stupid to pass up. The one true team in WFWF has finally positioned themselves to claim the prize that signifies the pinnacle of teamwork.
There's that key word Jayson and Chase, teamwork. Judging by the way you two act in each other's company, you guys are still a long way away from understanding that. And it dissapoints me, because I would've thought that after a near nine month reign as champions maybe something would've sunk in.
Guess that's what I get for giving Hollywood Unhinged credit. In fact, it's quite foolish on my part to give a couple kids respect that isn't warranted.
I won't make that mistake again, you can bet the house on that. Because see, I've been around this business long enough to recognize when people have the potential to be great and I think that both of you have that ability which is why I'm not treating you like a joke. I see your current situation and I understand by looking into my partner's eyes the desire to regain what you feel KKK stole from you. And I seriously hope that you carry at least a fraction of that fire to Homecoming because this match has the potential for major box office appeal with my ability to promote this revived initiative for tag team wrestling.
So please do me a favor, make it worth mine and Dave's time.
****
"Unless you're a complete piece of garbage, most people have a set of beliefs and some semblance of a code they live by." I say, resting my head on top of the chair back. "You live by one, I live by one, even guys like Trace Demon and Donny Monty Kent live by a set of guidelines that govern their actions. Does that make the deplorable things they do acceptable, or even make sense?"
"No." Dr. Timothy Remke says, scribbling notes down in his notepad. "It doesn't make it acceptable. But what about your personal guidelines? Have you ever had to change them?"
"More than I care to admit."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Survival."
"That's kind of a vague answer."
"You're kinda asking me a vague question, aren't ya?"
"Ok." Dr. Remke conceeds, lowering his notebook. "Elaborate on survival."
"We live in a world where everyone's looking out for numero uno." I begin. "People are always looking for an angle, willing to step on anyone to get there. Willing to do things that are out of character, disregarding the very thing that keeps us from being just like the animals..."
"Ok, let's explore that." The doc interrupts. "What are we disregarding that makes us like animals?"
"Darwin was right when he theorized natural selection." I state, flashing him an uninterested look. "But he made a grave oversight."
"Darwin was talking about animalistic behaviors, Josh."
"Haven't people been trying to prove for centuries that humans are basically talking monkeys?" I inquire. "Wasn't that what Darwin was implying?"
He lets out a deep, audible sigh. While I'm speaking candidly, I'm wanting to him to use that doctorate to figure out why a guy of great international acclaim and financial prosperity like me is coming to him as a patient. I'm already guilty of having a preconceived notion about a psychiatrist's job of listening to people complain about a life that probably isn't that bad. Maybe I should give him a chance, drop a few bread crumbs and let him make that connection.
"Well, I think certain behavior traits can be transferrable between animals and humans." Dr. Remke finally responds, rubbing his brow. "But I believe humans have learned how to expand on the ability to use their brain."
"Are you sure about that, in your professional opinion?"
"Well, I'm not going to pretend that the human brain has been entirely figured out." Remke retorts. "In the psychology field, we're just beginning to scratch the surface of human thought processes and emotions."
"Emotions get people crippled in my line of work."
"How so?"
"Because if you show your emotions, then you run the risk of leaving yourself open." I begin. "And there are people in this line of work that are so good at keying on them."
"But you have to remember that emotion can be a good thing if you can control it."
"Yeah, this coming from a guy that openly makes his living off treating people who can't." I quip. "I work in a business where everyone is highly trained in the ability to damage another human being physically. But now, there's a paradigm shift to where the physically inferior can level the playing field."
I point deliberately to my head, making sure he understands how the in ring battle has changed over time.
"Guys are getting smarter, doc." I continue. "It's not enough to physically pin or make your opponent submit anymore, but how can you humiliate and demoralize them. When you let your emotions get the best of you is when you end up like that."
"Have you ever been in that situation?"
"Like what?" I respond, folding my arms. "Compromising myself by thinking irrationally?"
Make no mistake surviving is something you do, not something you can fit in a neat little box. It requires situational awareness and adaptation in order to put yourself in a position of control. In this, the hurt business, survival is bastardized as a buzzword to describe a person who's just waiting for a referee to save them from a beating they can't stop. They cower in the fetal position and wait, hoping that another human being will show enough compassion to intervene before the consequences become dire. This frail man can sit there attempting to relate with me but will by and large be rendered clueless, because judging by his straight nose and smooth jaw line, he's never been in a real fight. It's one thing to study human behavior and how it alters under duress, but another when it's yours under fire. He hasn't lived through what I have, so I can't expect him to understand how I've become so well adjusted.
I can't even explain it.
But there's something in his perplexed demeanor I notice that makes him uncomfortable, like he's trying to figure me out as if I were a jigsaw puzzle. I've always considered myself a pretty simple, straight forward kind of guy. I guess I'm more complex than I'd like to lead on. Maybe it's my surprising intellectual insight on a very specific topic that scholars have been debating since its inception that he didn't expect a product of the hood with a GED to provide.
"In a word, yes."
"I used to a lot when I was younger." I declare. "Made me evaluate a lot of things. But just once since I left WFWF the first time until I came back."
"Care to talk about it?" He asks. "May help both of us understand a few things."
"It was 2011, and I was in a bad place in my life."
Dr. Remke begins to nod, which makes me a little more comfortable talking. That muggy, rainy night is one I'll never forget. Raven's scowl still sticks out to me because until that moment, I remembered her as a laid back woman who found herself selling weed as a matter of circumstance and familiarity. But the second I saw her pull out the Glock 45, I saw a side of her put that cliche phrase in a new light and changed the very course of our relationship. The image burns in my mind and suddenly it's like I'm back there again.
"I don't know if this is the best way to go about it."
"What do you suggest I do?" Raven asks, cleaning the barrel of the Glock. "I have to do this."
"Why do you HAVE to?" I ask, looking her in the eye. "Don't you understand what's at stake?"
"Yeah, my credibility."
"Your credibility?" I huff. "What about my livelihood? I'm surprised we were able to get over here without being tailed because I'm in the public eye as much as I am."
"We won't get caught, babe." Raven says, rubbing my leg as she smiles. "We're just going to scare Curtis."
"That's when you get caught." I respond, leaning my head back on the head rest. "This isn't planned out very well, Raven."
"Do you always worry this much?" She inquires, sitting the Glock on the dashboard. "Look, if I don't respond then word will get out that I'm soft. My business goes to sh*t and I ain't having that."
"Why don't you give up the game?" I question, turning to look her in the eyes again. "You don't need to do this sh*t. You can do hundreds of things."
"That's easy for you to say, because you have a lot of money because of your job."
"And what you're contemplating here can put all that in jeopardy." I say, running my fingers through her hair. "Is that what you want?"
"No, but can you really ask me to stop?"
There's just certain way that Raven appeals to my better nature. She was right though. It'd be like someone asking me to quit wrestling, because at this my point in my life I was really starting to enjoy it again. I can relate to her logic of doing something for long enough that it becomes part of your identity, and I think in hindsight is the reason I didn't put the car in drive and take us away from there then and there. When something becomes your identity, you take a lot of pride in being the best you can be. I could appreciate that, even though I didn't agree with her choice. But when you care for someone, sometimes you become blinded.
"I understand this the kinda comes with the territory." I say as I take her hands. "I don't have to like it, but I'm here because I support you."
"No matter what?"
"Yeah."
"Ok, well let's go get my money. Nobody shorts me and gets away with it."
Raven picks the Glock off the dashboard and suddenly I could feel my pulse climbing.
"Just warning shots, right?" I ask. "A murder charge won't look good come contract time."
"Yeah." She says as she sits the Glock in my lap, grabbing my hand and placing it on her breast. "If it'll help you feel more comfortable, you can be the one to do it."
"Ok." I say, mesmerized as I pull her huge chocolate breast out of her low cut shirt. "But what are you going to do?"
"Don't worry, I'll stay busy."
She lowers her head toward my crotch and the next thing I know I'm putting the car in drive and slowly creeping up on the block where Curtis lives. The rain stops as I reach for the Glock and roll down the window, trying so hard to focus but enjoying the benefit.
There he is and I can feel my blood boil. He's taking something from someone I care about and now he must face the repercussion. This cold steel regulator will be my vehicle to teach the scumbag that there would be consequences.
"I fired two shots, and one hit Curtis in the shin." I say as I run my hands through my hair. "Raven and I were not caught thankfully, but I know how f*cking stupid that decision was."
"That's fascinating, Josh." Dr. Remke says, continuing to jot in his notebook. "It's amazing what people will do when they feel something for another person."
"Listen doc, I'm not proud of that night because it was the one of the few times in my life I didn't make a sound decision due to letting my emotions cloud my judgment." I begin, touching the butterfly stitches that grace my forehead. "That's what I did in London and now Yukio Blaze's life is permanently altered, just like Curtis. And I had nothing to gain from either time. That's the difference between animals and humans is that animals use their brains to survive, not caring for a second about emotion."
Dr. Remke rubs his brow as he closes his notebook.
"You know Josh, I'd like to continue to meet with you." He says, sitting his notebook in the side table. "I think at least talking to you and seeing how you prepare for matches will help me be able to understand you further."
"Ok, but we do this my way."
"Of course, we're both going to be working after all."
****
To Whom it may Concern,
If there was ever a time where I should take a match personally, this would mark the occasion. All the elements are there for me, such as your cheap attack with a steel chair among other instances that you've stuck your nose in my business. I must applaud you for that, because you two are finally starting to make people notice. But I believe that one turn deserves another, so Dave and I have decided to interject ourselves in your business.
This match had to happen because you used to possess something that we want. And what a better way to put KKK on alert than to dispatch the former champs in shorter order than they did.
For the sake of being real with both of you, it's no contest to recognize who the superior team is. Because a team comes together with one goal in mind, not because they're thrown together out of convenience by people trying to hold serve. In almost a year of teaming together, your public perception of each other is still the same and it's causing people like Kent to see an easy mark for his goons. And you two couldn't get out of your own damn way for long enough to realize just how much you need each other.
Because before Hollywood Unhinged, the career trajectories of Jayson Garrett and Chase Landon didn't look so hot, did they? Neither one of you were able to truly branch out on your own and accomplish anything of worth. So when the Tag Team Titles made their return, you two decided that you could give your career upward mobility by winning them. I don't know who's idea it was, don't care either, because the plan worked out. You managed to beat three other thrown together combinations and finally get a taste of championship gold.
Really all you showed the world is that you were the best of a bad bunch, which makes you look worse by association considering Kyle Matthews is the only other person in that match still with the company.
Then Chase has a nervous breakdown and disappears. Yeah, the best member of your "team" cracks under the pressure of knowing that there would be expectations. And he couldn't have that because it would crush this mentally unstable, weak link, emo bullish*t shtick he tries to play. You can believe it if you want Jay, but I choose not to. But since I'm putting both of you to task, it astounds me how fragile your ego is. I mean, I've heard of people being vain before, but you take the cake dude. And the funniest part is that you're dumb enought to play right into Chase's hands by asserting yourself as the Alpha male on the team.
Everyone can see the strings but you.
As for SOS, we're here with one goal in mind, which is to eliminate all the trash that litters this company so that it can survive to see another year pass. If we find gold around our waists in the process, that's no accident either. That's what we call icing. But beyond that, we really don't want to see you two become collateral damage in a war you aren't armed enough to fight, but what we can do is show you just how vulnerable of a unit you really are. I believe in putting the cold hard facts in front of people's faces and making them look at it. Maybe then, you two can make an educated decision about your own futures, once again helping us in our mission.
But don't think for one second I've forgotten what you two did to me at Men and Monsters. Giving someone better than you in between those ropes an incentive to kick your ass wasn't a smart move, even if it turned out to be your finest hour. Because you got my attention and you'd be wise to reference what I did to Yukio Blaze at the Clash as an example of how nasty things can get for you now that my attention is focused on you.
I just thought I'd extend extend the common courtesy of let you know that what happens to you at Homecoming isn't personal, just business. You aren't important enough to make it personal.
Sincerely yours,
"The Franchise" Josh Dean
I dont know good luck 
