Post by Kurt Burton: Script Doctor! on Nov 14, 2007 9:06:05 GMT -5
The world is a blur. It’s one of those nights when your thoughts run rampant, tearing at your mind. You can feel the pressure surrounding you, bearing down on every part of your mind and body. Negativity fills your head, and the whole world seems against you. I’ve been having a lot of these nights as of late. I don’t quite understand what is going on with me. Ever since I came out of rehab, horrible dreams have haunted me, dreams of my life unraveling. No wonder I don’t want to get any rest right now. And so I walk, clad in only my pajama pants and leather jacket.
The freezing New England air bites my lungs, and slaps my face like an insubordinate child’s. The mist from my breath billows forth on this foggy street, shrouded in darkness. This is that part of town that every town has, the part that is so dangerous they don’t even have working streetlights. Why waste the money fixing it up, people will still get mugged anyway. A police cruiser is the only vehicle I can see on the streets. The pig behind the wheel eyes me cautiously. But he eventually speeds up and drives off.
These dreams I have been having still plague my thoughts. What do they mean. Are they the harbinger of some fated doom soon to befall me? Or are they the manifestations of a pathetic drunk’s sad abused brain? Whatever they are, they are pissing me off. Maybe I am just nervous. Clean and sober for about two months now. I haven’t physically felt this good since high school. I am in the best shape of my life. And I’m going to need that conditioning. I am facing the unstoppable combination of CBT and EBR. Two shitheads without names, just initials. I hate that crap.
They hate each other, and that gives me an edge. I know first hand what its like, when there is friction between a tag team
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Forever Unscarred- April 29, 2007
We have been dominating this fucing match, but this bunghole doesn’t know when to give up. And what has Thunder been doing, wasting every opportunity we have had. That son of a bitch is going to get us humiliated. He just hit that Spider Suplex. Yukio landed right on his neck, probably broke it. Good.
“Keep your ass put.” I scream. Thunder stays where he is. “Let’s see how Blaze likes a little trebuchet action.” I climb with no effort, wrapping my arms around Thunder’s waist, and hurling him with all my hate. I can tell by the disheartened reaction of the crowd, the moonsault hit. As I climb down, I can hear the ref’s hand slap the mat twice. But where is the third. I spin around on my heel, and that fuck has his shoulder up. Thunder looks heartbroken. He gets up.
“You didn’t hook his leg?”
“ I couldn’t breathe”
“That is no fucking excuse. Get the hell out of my ring, you’re going to cost us this match.”
"Fuck you.”
Thunder climbs out of the ring. I turn my gaze back to Blaze. This little worthless piece of crap is going to pay. The crowd is chanting his name. “Let’s go Blaze! Let’s go Blaze!” I grab him by his scruffy piece of crap beard. I drag him up. But he moves, quickly, unexpectedly, and his foot collides with my head. I feel my brain play pinball inside my skull, before I know it, he has dumped me on the mat. He turns me onto my stomach, and grabs hold of my arms, pulling them back. As I start to realize what he’s doing, its too late. My face meets the mat. The vision leaves my eyes, but I know I am awake, I can hear those retards chanting “Holy sht! Holy sht!” I begin to drag myself back to my feet, I see thunder, his arms wrapped around Blaze’s skull, ready for an Ace Crusher. But Blaze shoves him off. Here he comes.
There I go. I crash against the mat, and the air flees my lungs like rats flee a sinking ship. The world goes black. The next thing I hear.
“You’re winner, and the new tag team champion… Yukio Blaze!” They love it. Those idiot fans love it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I drank a lot that night. The humiliation of losing to someone so far beneath me, when we had every advantage. We just couldn’t pull our heads out of our asses long enough to get the win. Remember that Kurt.
I see a nice looking Skylark crawl by me. The man driving has a salt and pepper coif atop his head, and a suit that would put Thunder to shame. He’s probably cruising for some night life. He’s in the right part of town. The chicks haunting these corners would do literally anything for two dollars an a pack of Newports.
He speeds off. Guess he didn’t see anything. I look around noting all the condemned buildings, and the absolute lack of inhabitants on this street. Except for me. I walk alone. That’s ironic. The man only known for tag team competition, walking alone. What a waste.
When I broke into this company, I had many detractors, mostly those overweight, underlaid slobs who call themselves the IWC. But I had a following. I guess I’m one of those people. You either love me, or you hate me, there is no in between. But my followers had a bold prediction. Super Brawl five main event, Burton versus McGurk. And look at me. I am exactly where I was one long year ago, in the tag team division.
Is it fate? Is it destiny? Is this where I am going to spend the rest of my years. One day, after I have held sixteen world tag team titles, will some young fan see me stumbling out of a bar, and say “It’s so sad, he could have been someone. He could have been World Champion.”
I feel that dryness in my throat. I want a drink. But I will not lower myself. My cravings have subsided a lot over the past week. But tonight it’s flaring up again. I will not succumb to this beast raging with in me.
It would be so easy though. Right across the street, there it is. A liquor store, with its bright shining neon lights. It is telling you, stop here. I will make everything better. But I won’t. And I can’t. My wallet is in my pants. That’s why I came out here in my pajama pants. No temptation. I am so damn smart, I can outsmart myself.
A young girl, dressed in the garb of streetwalkers, appears from the shadows. I guess she might not be a hooker, it is how the kids are dressing these days. A skirt so short and tight if she were to bend over I could see her heaven, and a shirt made from so little it looked like she draped a handkerchief over her chest. It really doesn’t hide anything, and that is sad, because she does not have much to hide. She saunters up to me, swinging her hips.
“You got a smoke I can bum?”
“Aren’t you a little too young to be smoking, or walking the streets after midnight?” She rolls her eyes at me. I roll my eyes at myself. I am just a tad bit immature to be parenting this chick. Although she needs parents, and bad, or else she’s going to end up hurt.
“Look man it’s destiny. You see, my momma was hooked on smack when she was my age. And her momma had had her by my age. I ain’t ever had a chance to turn out decent. It’s all fate.”
“A little young for cop outs aren’t we?”
“Hey mister, can I get a smoke, or not?”
Tenacious, I like that. I reach into the pocket of my jacket, and grab my pack.
“Hope you don’t mind full flavors.”
“ Sht I’d smoke non-filters at this point.”
I produce the stick of death for her, and study her face. Bags under her eyes, probably from lack of sleep, or drugs. Maybe both. Poor thing. She snatches it from my hand faster than Rosie O’Donnel would snatch a doughnut, and she skips away.
“Hey.” I call out to her.
“Thank you,” she calls back to me, as she crosses the street and heads down a nearby alley. She puts her back to the wall, and takes a deep drag. She shouldn’t thank me. I have just joined the growing list of factors that are going to contribute to her untimely demise. I’m starting to get tired, I’ve been walking for what seems like hours. I sit down on a rickety bench, carefully to avoid any splinters. “We buy ugly houses!” is written on the bench. Glad someone will. I grab a smoke for myself, and as I slide my hand into my other pocket and search for my lighter, I make a terrible discovery. It’s rectangular, and leather. It can’t be. I pull it out, and I see the object is my wallet. Fuck
Now that light is shining so much brighter. It says “Liquor, Smokes and More.” I wonder what the more is. I could just pop in for a second. No I can’t. Then I’ll buy booze. I know me. I’m not that strong.
I need help. I need help now. I grab my cell phone out of my pocket, and start to call Kat. I can’t call her. I hang up the phone. She’ll think I’m weak. She does think I’m weak. That’s why she asked me to move in. She said it was to save money, but I know better. She’s a terrible liar. But I need her. So I’ll call. I’ll just say I got lost, and I need a ride. She wouldn’t believe that. I am right in front of a goddamn liquor store.
I know. I’ll call Wayne. He may be in Mexico, but he can talk me through this. He’s a great listener. And good at cutting to the chase. He’ll help me out. That’s what partners do.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ascension- March 6th, 2007 Post match.
Thunder and I are flying high right now. He has the most expensive champagne I have ever tasted, the girls and I are all sitting backstage, awaiting the news. He is pouring Vanessa a glass.
“Here’s to the champions”
This is my cue to do something incredibly stupid. I start to sing.
“ No time for losers, cuz we are the champions…”
“Shut up.” Kat smacks my arm hard. It sends a sharp pain down my elbow.
“Watch it, I’m a little sore right now.” It was the truth, Danny Vice had hit a viscous moonsault, and his knee connect right with the point of my elbow.
“What’s the matter champ, your arm hurt.” Thunder looked concerned
“A little. Nothing to worry about.” Yeah, I’m not going to own up to how bad it really hurts. I think I may have torn something.
“Well, eat drink and be merry. Wayne will finish his match soon, and we’ll go back to the hotel, have some fun, and when we’re finished, you will get the best doctor that money can buy.”
“Thanks man.” I extend my glass, and he clinks it against mine. “We’re here on top of the fucking world man.”
“And nothing is going to bring us down. It's destiny.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s so weird. I never knew his name was Michael. Bizarre how you could hang with someone for so long, and really not know a single thing about them. I just assumed he had been one of those weird nutcases, who had changed his name to his ring name.
That Skylark drives past again. Man, that guy must be hard up tonight to put out all that effort. He eyes that girl. Sick![]()
fuck. She’s probably only fifteen, tops. He speeds away.
Wayne’s not picking up. Probably banging Vanessa right now. Good for him. I’m glad someone is getting laid. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s avoiding me. Serves me right. He was the other one, destined to go far, ripped away from his fate, and now, he’s circling the bottom with the likes of me. Maybe he doesn’t want to think of how far he’s fallen. A month ago, he was the top contender for the World title, but now, he’s holding the most worthless title in professional wrestling, and he’s holding it with me, a washed up pathetic drunk. Yeah, I bet he’s not bitter at all. I hang up the phone, and it dawns on me. He knows I am going to let him down. That’s what partners do. They let you down.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Backstage at Odium- 9/10/2006
He looks at me, dead in the eye. I want to yank that pretentious goatee right off his smarmy little face, and crack that chrome dome wide open. I’d love to see his blood spilt on this linoleum.
“What did you just say?” I want to hear it again, make sure I’m not hearing things.
“I’m leaving. I’m done. I have my first bout back in the world of MMA scheduled on Tuesday.”
The words sting. I can feel the dagger plunging deep into my back.
“You can’t do this to me Manny. We’ve worked so hard, we’re on top of an entire division right now.”
“Yeah… thanks to me. I have to be the one, out there in that ring, busting my ass, while you stagger around the ring, oblivious to anything going on. I’m tired of it Kurt. And it’s not like there is any real challenge here. We won these straps our first night. FIRST NIGHT. We have beat every valid contender here, and now they are just taking some washed up former main-eventers and throwing them at us just for the sake of ratings. Well, I’m not going to sit around, and squander my gifts and my talents. I am destined for so much more than just being some crappy secondary champion in some two bit organization. I’m out. You can tell your skank all about it later.”
“What about tonight?”
“Tonight… Kyzer told me if I’m going out, the belt stays here. So, I’m not going to be giving it my normal hundred and fifty percent.”
He’s throwing the match. He is throwing the goddamn match.
“See you around Burton.”
He turned, and walked out of the locker room. I got up. So basically, boiling it down, I’m taking on EBR and Alex Sean by myself tonight. I open my locker, and pull out my fifth of Jack Daniel’s. Why wait?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Who the hell would want to tag with me? I’m worthless. I’m not even worth a bottle of booze, or a pack of smokes. I can see now why Manny left, and Thunder was more than happy to get out of a team with me. But he wasn’t. He didn’t turn his back on you, you instigated every fight you ever had with Thunder. You are the one responsible. You and you alone.
You shouldn’t be looking to others to solve your problems. Step number three, the magic step. “Seek assistance from God, as you understand him."” What a load of crap. I believe that God lives inside of us, that he is not this tangible all knowing presence the Christians would have you believe. And if he’s been here the entire time, a lot of help he’s done me.
I think I’ll have that drink now.
I stand up, and place my belongings back in their rightful pockets. That
ing Skylark is back. Sitting there, parked on the corner. Lights off. This is not the normal action for a prowler of sins of the flesh. I should know. I perfected the art. The man clutches his head, impatiently, and throws open his door. As he adjusts his jacket, I can see the butt of a gun sticking out from his pants. He charges into the alley, the same alley she was in.
Fuck! I should just get my drink, and get out of Dodge. It’s not like she isn’t asking for it. Out this late, dressed like a whore, she is literally begging for bad things. I find my hand tracing the scar running down my face. I stayed out all night, partying, doing drugs, destroying my liver, and that doesn’t mean that I deserve what happened to me. To have my life and soul ripped away, and leave me this hollow shell of a man.
I find myself walking, calmly towards the alley. I’m going to get myself killed. Not like I have anything to live for anyways. I walk into the alley, and my senses are immediately overwhelmed with the stench of urine. This must be where the homeless live. I walk cautiously between the buildings, and I see a door on one of the buildings, barely clinging to its wall.
I hear a shriek. I’m too late. Or maybe not. Nothing worse can happen if I just peak my head in for a minute. I push the door open, and I can see it’s the boiler room of the building, the feint glow of a fire fills the room with a haunting light. Through the orangish flicker, I can see him, pulling his belt away from his pants with one hand, and holding a gun, pointed below him. And I see her, her clothes torn, ripped. Exposed to the eyes of this monster. The sick sadistic grin on his face says it all. He is enjoying her sobs as he prepares himself. He hasn’t noticed me. Not yet.
I look to my left. A rusty antique storage unit sits there, and to my delight, I see it. A lead pipe. I grip it, firmly in my hand. The metal rubs against metal, making that irritating sound, I quickly hide it behind my back, as I have gained his attention.
His eyes are covered in shadow, but I can feel the rage in them burning a hole in me. He advances, pointing his pistol right at my chest.
“Look, this is none of your business, just turn around and walk out the door.” I stand my ground as he approaches, each step, with a plodding certainty. Take his offer Kurt, turn around, walk out the door. I can feel my bladder empty itself.
“Are you deaf? I don’t want to kill you, but I will.” He pulls the hammer back. I look to the floor, the girl’s eyes full of terror, tears dripping down her chin.
“DO YOU THINK this is a game?”
Now is my chance, I swing, hard and fast, pipe cracking against his hand. I hear the bang, and a hot sting rips through my side. His gun hits the floor. He grips his mangled hand with care. The pain fades away, quickly replaced with rage and fury. I bring the pipe up high, and slam it down across his gray dome. The cracking sound is sickening, as he falls to the ground, limp. A pool of blood forming around his head. I kick him in the ribs.
“MOTHERFUCKER!” The pain returns, biting at my ribs. I stop pummeling him, and I look at my side. A trickle of blood is forming a puddle around my leg. My arm clutches my side. And I drop the pipe. I look to her, she is cuddled up in the corner, sobbing hysterically. Words can’t come to mind. I just take off my jacket, and toss it to her. I lean back against the cold brick, and slide down. Man, this fucking hurts. I can hear the siren approaching, and I close my eyes.
****************************************************
The cops had wasted no time, rushing to get here. The donut boy I saw earlier was still in the area, and heard the gunshot. He quickly called for backup. It’s all a blur right now, questions from a dozen different officers. I retell the story, over and over again. Right now, I’m telling it to a detective, as I sit on the back of an ambulance, getting looked at by a butch paramedic. She smiles every time she touches my wound. I look at the girl, the shock is fading from her.
“She’s going to be all right. You’re real lucky pal.”
“What?” The shock of the past ten minutes has not worn off. And it’s hard to pay attention while someone is jabbing at your side.
“I said you’re real lucky pal. Normally, we’re sending the heroes down to the morgue. But you’re lucky. You’re just going to need a few stitches.”
“I’m fine.” My shaky hand and urine soaked pants told a different story.
“And, that perv you fucked up… he’s still breathing. Which means we’re not going to have to question you for homicide. After you get you’re stitches, we’ll take your official statement, and you’re free to go.”
My official statement, I’m going to have to go through this disaster, again. He stepped away, and signaled for them to take me. The woman helped me to my feet. We turned to get in the ambulance.
“Wait.”
I turn, and I see her, her eyes bloodshot from tears. The little girl, staring up at me.
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Kurt… but you can call me Mr. Burton.” I crack her a half hearted smile, to let her know it was a joke.
“I’m Cynthia.” She pauses awkwardly. Her mind must be going as nuts as mine right now. The flashing lights, the craziness of the last hour. “Here’s your jacket back.”
She hands it to me. I take it from her, and smile.
“Thank you.”
And with that, she scurried off back to the officer, he put her in the back of the cruiser.
“If you really want to thank me, you’ll stay off the goddamn street.”
Why did I say that. There was no call for that. The woman next to me groaned, and assisted me into the ambulance. I sat there thinking about what that officer had said. That I was lucky. Luck wouldn’t have brought me in front of that liquor store, wallet in hand. Luck wouldn’t have given me my favorite weapon, right when someone was in need. This wasn’t luck at all. This was fate.
The crude bandage the EMT had slapped on my side had already turned pink. I have to keep my mind elsewhere, try to think of anything other than what had just happened. I never expected anything like this to ever happen in my life. I never thought I would be responsible for someone else’s safety.
Oh my God.
I am responsible. I am responsible.
Scars and Stripes 2006- Tag Team Tables Gauntlet
My fucking ribs. That German did a number on me with that bearhug. Just Breathe Kurt. Breathe. Look around. My eyes are still pretty hazy. What do you expect, you just got dumped on your head. I have been in this massacre for what seems like an eternity, and there is only me. I have been on my own throughout this entire match it seems. Don’t get down on yourself, you have a job to do.
Is that smoke? God damn, is the building on fire. No, the tables are on fire. That German fuck is on the most horrifying monstrosity I have ever seen. Is that what Tyger meant by Pyramid of Hell. Jesus Christ.
Where is Tyger? It’s just us, or am I gone. I don’t even know now, I have had my ass kicked from here to Timbuktu. If I was out of the match, they probably would have taken me away, so I must still be in this thing.
There he is, that cocky son of a bitch. He is on the turnbuckle, getting the crowd ready for whatever stupid move he has in mind. I got one better for him. I get to my feet, quickly. I shock myself. I run up the ropes, I shock Tyger. Before he can say a word, I have him hoisted up, on my shoulder. He is squirming. He can Squirm, it won’t do him any good. This is the most perfect Fireman’s carry I have ever performed, I line him up, and I throw him, hard, I hear the crash, the crack, the splinter. I smell Charred flesh.
I collapse, thunking onto the mat. There it is. It’s all over. Tyger and that fat German guy are both getting doused by a ring attendant’s fire extinguisher. It’s taking a little long to put out Tyger’s shorts.
Good.
The bell sounds, I try to lift myself to my knee. Manny has rushed out from the back. He slings my arm over his shoulder, and raises me up. The official takes my hand, and raises it. The crowd is chanting “Holy Shit!” Yeah they just got their money’s worth.
The official hands me my belt. Drops of blood stain it instantly. I guess it is from my face, I can’t tell, it does feel really wet. Manny is laughing. He hugs me, and as he does untold damage to my most likely cracked ribs, he ignores the grimace on my face. He just looks at me, and he says, “You did it.”
The EMT looks at me.
“You did it. That girl is safe now because of you.”
I did it. I did it.
Whatever may come, whatever Sunday throws at me. Whatever horrible move EBR makes me tap out to, or I make him tap to. No matter how long or how short I last in that Battle Royal. Whatever this event throws at me, I am ready. All along, I have had the power, had the ability, had the knowledge. Others could see it. Kat could, Wayne could, some fans could, but I couldn’t. Now, my eyes are open. I can see.
All this time, I have let EBR, Obo, Reverend Shadow, the established, hold me down, push me back. But that is to be no more. For the past year, so many people have believed in me. Now, it’s time I start to believe my own hype.
The freezing New England air bites my lungs, and slaps my face like an insubordinate child’s. The mist from my breath billows forth on this foggy street, shrouded in darkness. This is that part of town that every town has, the part that is so dangerous they don’t even have working streetlights. Why waste the money fixing it up, people will still get mugged anyway. A police cruiser is the only vehicle I can see on the streets. The pig behind the wheel eyes me cautiously. But he eventually speeds up and drives off.
These dreams I have been having still plague my thoughts. What do they mean. Are they the harbinger of some fated doom soon to befall me? Or are they the manifestations of a pathetic drunk’s sad abused brain? Whatever they are, they are pissing me off. Maybe I am just nervous. Clean and sober for about two months now. I haven’t physically felt this good since high school. I am in the best shape of my life. And I’m going to need that conditioning. I am facing the unstoppable combination of CBT and EBR. Two shitheads without names, just initials. I hate that crap.
They hate each other, and that gives me an edge. I know first hand what its like, when there is friction between a tag team
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Forever Unscarred- April 29, 2007
We have been dominating this fucing match, but this bunghole doesn’t know when to give up. And what has Thunder been doing, wasting every opportunity we have had. That son of a bitch is going to get us humiliated. He just hit that Spider Suplex. Yukio landed right on his neck, probably broke it. Good.
“Keep your ass put.” I scream. Thunder stays where he is. “Let’s see how Blaze likes a little trebuchet action.” I climb with no effort, wrapping my arms around Thunder’s waist, and hurling him with all my hate. I can tell by the disheartened reaction of the crowd, the moonsault hit. As I climb down, I can hear the ref’s hand slap the mat twice. But where is the third. I spin around on my heel, and that fuck has his shoulder up. Thunder looks heartbroken. He gets up.
“You didn’t hook his leg?”
“ I couldn’t breathe”
“That is no fucking excuse. Get the hell out of my ring, you’re going to cost us this match.”
"Fuck you.”
Thunder climbs out of the ring. I turn my gaze back to Blaze. This little worthless piece of crap is going to pay. The crowd is chanting his name. “Let’s go Blaze! Let’s go Blaze!” I grab him by his scruffy piece of crap beard. I drag him up. But he moves, quickly, unexpectedly, and his foot collides with my head. I feel my brain play pinball inside my skull, before I know it, he has dumped me on the mat. He turns me onto my stomach, and grabs hold of my arms, pulling them back. As I start to realize what he’s doing, its too late. My face meets the mat. The vision leaves my eyes, but I know I am awake, I can hear those retards chanting “Holy sht! Holy sht!” I begin to drag myself back to my feet, I see thunder, his arms wrapped around Blaze’s skull, ready for an Ace Crusher. But Blaze shoves him off. Here he comes.
There I go. I crash against the mat, and the air flees my lungs like rats flee a sinking ship. The world goes black. The next thing I hear.
“You’re winner, and the new tag team champion… Yukio Blaze!” They love it. Those idiot fans love it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I drank a lot that night. The humiliation of losing to someone so far beneath me, when we had every advantage. We just couldn’t pull our heads out of our asses long enough to get the win. Remember that Kurt.
I see a nice looking Skylark crawl by me. The man driving has a salt and pepper coif atop his head, and a suit that would put Thunder to shame. He’s probably cruising for some night life. He’s in the right part of town. The chicks haunting these corners would do literally anything for two dollars an a pack of Newports.
He speeds off. Guess he didn’t see anything. I look around noting all the condemned buildings, and the absolute lack of inhabitants on this street. Except for me. I walk alone. That’s ironic. The man only known for tag team competition, walking alone. What a waste.
When I broke into this company, I had many detractors, mostly those overweight, underlaid slobs who call themselves the IWC. But I had a following. I guess I’m one of those people. You either love me, or you hate me, there is no in between. But my followers had a bold prediction. Super Brawl five main event, Burton versus McGurk. And look at me. I am exactly where I was one long year ago, in the tag team division.
Is it fate? Is it destiny? Is this where I am going to spend the rest of my years. One day, after I have held sixteen world tag team titles, will some young fan see me stumbling out of a bar, and say “It’s so sad, he could have been someone. He could have been World Champion.”
I feel that dryness in my throat. I want a drink. But I will not lower myself. My cravings have subsided a lot over the past week. But tonight it’s flaring up again. I will not succumb to this beast raging with in me.
It would be so easy though. Right across the street, there it is. A liquor store, with its bright shining neon lights. It is telling you, stop here. I will make everything better. But I won’t. And I can’t. My wallet is in my pants. That’s why I came out here in my pajama pants. No temptation. I am so damn smart, I can outsmart myself.
A young girl, dressed in the garb of streetwalkers, appears from the shadows. I guess she might not be a hooker, it is how the kids are dressing these days. A skirt so short and tight if she were to bend over I could see her heaven, and a shirt made from so little it looked like she draped a handkerchief over her chest. It really doesn’t hide anything, and that is sad, because she does not have much to hide. She saunters up to me, swinging her hips.
“You got a smoke I can bum?”
“Aren’t you a little too young to be smoking, or walking the streets after midnight?” She rolls her eyes at me. I roll my eyes at myself. I am just a tad bit immature to be parenting this chick. Although she needs parents, and bad, or else she’s going to end up hurt.
“Look man it’s destiny. You see, my momma was hooked on smack when she was my age. And her momma had had her by my age. I ain’t ever had a chance to turn out decent. It’s all fate.”
“A little young for cop outs aren’t we?”
“Hey mister, can I get a smoke, or not?”
Tenacious, I like that. I reach into the pocket of my jacket, and grab my pack.
“Hope you don’t mind full flavors.”
“ Sht I’d smoke non-filters at this point.”
I produce the stick of death for her, and study her face. Bags under her eyes, probably from lack of sleep, or drugs. Maybe both. Poor thing. She snatches it from my hand faster than Rosie O’Donnel would snatch a doughnut, and she skips away.
“Hey.” I call out to her.
“Thank you,” she calls back to me, as she crosses the street and heads down a nearby alley. She puts her back to the wall, and takes a deep drag. She shouldn’t thank me. I have just joined the growing list of factors that are going to contribute to her untimely demise. I’m starting to get tired, I’ve been walking for what seems like hours. I sit down on a rickety bench, carefully to avoid any splinters. “We buy ugly houses!” is written on the bench. Glad someone will. I grab a smoke for myself, and as I slide my hand into my other pocket and search for my lighter, I make a terrible discovery. It’s rectangular, and leather. It can’t be. I pull it out, and I see the object is my wallet. Fuck
Now that light is shining so much brighter. It says “Liquor, Smokes and More.” I wonder what the more is. I could just pop in for a second. No I can’t. Then I’ll buy booze. I know me. I’m not that strong.
I need help. I need help now. I grab my cell phone out of my pocket, and start to call Kat. I can’t call her. I hang up the phone. She’ll think I’m weak. She does think I’m weak. That’s why she asked me to move in. She said it was to save money, but I know better. She’s a terrible liar. But I need her. So I’ll call. I’ll just say I got lost, and I need a ride. She wouldn’t believe that. I am right in front of a goddamn liquor store.
I know. I’ll call Wayne. He may be in Mexico, but he can talk me through this. He’s a great listener. And good at cutting to the chase. He’ll help me out. That’s what partners do.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ascension- March 6th, 2007 Post match.
Thunder and I are flying high right now. He has the most expensive champagne I have ever tasted, the girls and I are all sitting backstage, awaiting the news. He is pouring Vanessa a glass.
“Here’s to the champions”
This is my cue to do something incredibly stupid. I start to sing.
“ No time for losers, cuz we are the champions…”
“Shut up.” Kat smacks my arm hard. It sends a sharp pain down my elbow.
“Watch it, I’m a little sore right now.” It was the truth, Danny Vice had hit a viscous moonsault, and his knee connect right with the point of my elbow.
“What’s the matter champ, your arm hurt.” Thunder looked concerned
“A little. Nothing to worry about.” Yeah, I’m not going to own up to how bad it really hurts. I think I may have torn something.
“Well, eat drink and be merry. Wayne will finish his match soon, and we’ll go back to the hotel, have some fun, and when we’re finished, you will get the best doctor that money can buy.”
“Thanks man.” I extend my glass, and he clinks it against mine. “We’re here on top of the fucking world man.”
“And nothing is going to bring us down. It's destiny.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s so weird. I never knew his name was Michael. Bizarre how you could hang with someone for so long, and really not know a single thing about them. I just assumed he had been one of those weird nutcases, who had changed his name to his ring name.
That Skylark drives past again. Man, that guy must be hard up tonight to put out all that effort. He eyes that girl. Sick
Wayne’s not picking up. Probably banging Vanessa right now. Good for him. I’m glad someone is getting laid. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s avoiding me. Serves me right. He was the other one, destined to go far, ripped away from his fate, and now, he’s circling the bottom with the likes of me. Maybe he doesn’t want to think of how far he’s fallen. A month ago, he was the top contender for the World title, but now, he’s holding the most worthless title in professional wrestling, and he’s holding it with me, a washed up pathetic drunk. Yeah, I bet he’s not bitter at all. I hang up the phone, and it dawns on me. He knows I am going to let him down. That’s what partners do. They let you down.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Backstage at Odium- 9/10/2006
He looks at me, dead in the eye. I want to yank that pretentious goatee right off his smarmy little face, and crack that chrome dome wide open. I’d love to see his blood spilt on this linoleum.
“What did you just say?” I want to hear it again, make sure I’m not hearing things.
“I’m leaving. I’m done. I have my first bout back in the world of MMA scheduled on Tuesday.”
The words sting. I can feel the dagger plunging deep into my back.
“You can’t do this to me Manny. We’ve worked so hard, we’re on top of an entire division right now.”
“Yeah… thanks to me. I have to be the one, out there in that ring, busting my ass, while you stagger around the ring, oblivious to anything going on. I’m tired of it Kurt. And it’s not like there is any real challenge here. We won these straps our first night. FIRST NIGHT. We have beat every valid contender here, and now they are just taking some washed up former main-eventers and throwing them at us just for the sake of ratings. Well, I’m not going to sit around, and squander my gifts and my talents. I am destined for so much more than just being some crappy secondary champion in some two bit organization. I’m out. You can tell your skank all about it later.”
“What about tonight?”
“Tonight… Kyzer told me if I’m going out, the belt stays here. So, I’m not going to be giving it my normal hundred and fifty percent.”
He’s throwing the match. He is throwing the goddamn match.
“See you around Burton.”
He turned, and walked out of the locker room. I got up. So basically, boiling it down, I’m taking on EBR and Alex Sean by myself tonight. I open my locker, and pull out my fifth of Jack Daniel’s. Why wait?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Who the hell would want to tag with me? I’m worthless. I’m not even worth a bottle of booze, or a pack of smokes. I can see now why Manny left, and Thunder was more than happy to get out of a team with me. But he wasn’t. He didn’t turn his back on you, you instigated every fight you ever had with Thunder. You are the one responsible. You and you alone.
You shouldn’t be looking to others to solve your problems. Step number three, the magic step. “Seek assistance from God, as you understand him."” What a load of crap. I believe that God lives inside of us, that he is not this tangible all knowing presence the Christians would have you believe. And if he’s been here the entire time, a lot of help he’s done me.
I think I’ll have that drink now.
I stand up, and place my belongings back in their rightful pockets. That
ing Skylark is back. Sitting there, parked on the corner. Lights off. This is not the normal action for a prowler of sins of the flesh. I should know. I perfected the art. The man clutches his head, impatiently, and throws open his door. As he adjusts his jacket, I can see the butt of a gun sticking out from his pants. He charges into the alley, the same alley she was in.Fuck! I should just get my drink, and get out of Dodge. It’s not like she isn’t asking for it. Out this late, dressed like a whore, she is literally begging for bad things. I find my hand tracing the scar running down my face. I stayed out all night, partying, doing drugs, destroying my liver, and that doesn’t mean that I deserve what happened to me. To have my life and soul ripped away, and leave me this hollow shell of a man.
I find myself walking, calmly towards the alley. I’m going to get myself killed. Not like I have anything to live for anyways. I walk into the alley, and my senses are immediately overwhelmed with the stench of urine. This must be where the homeless live. I walk cautiously between the buildings, and I see a door on one of the buildings, barely clinging to its wall.
I hear a shriek. I’m too late. Or maybe not. Nothing worse can happen if I just peak my head in for a minute. I push the door open, and I can see it’s the boiler room of the building, the feint glow of a fire fills the room with a haunting light. Through the orangish flicker, I can see him, pulling his belt away from his pants with one hand, and holding a gun, pointed below him. And I see her, her clothes torn, ripped. Exposed to the eyes of this monster. The sick sadistic grin on his face says it all. He is enjoying her sobs as he prepares himself. He hasn’t noticed me. Not yet.
I look to my left. A rusty antique storage unit sits there, and to my delight, I see it. A lead pipe. I grip it, firmly in my hand. The metal rubs against metal, making that irritating sound, I quickly hide it behind my back, as I have gained his attention.
His eyes are covered in shadow, but I can feel the rage in them burning a hole in me. He advances, pointing his pistol right at my chest.
“Look, this is none of your business, just turn around and walk out the door.” I stand my ground as he approaches, each step, with a plodding certainty. Take his offer Kurt, turn around, walk out the door. I can feel my bladder empty itself.
“Are you deaf? I don’t want to kill you, but I will.” He pulls the hammer back. I look to the floor, the girl’s eyes full of terror, tears dripping down her chin.
“DO YOU THINK this is a game?”
Now is my chance, I swing, hard and fast, pipe cracking against his hand. I hear the bang, and a hot sting rips through my side. His gun hits the floor. He grips his mangled hand with care. The pain fades away, quickly replaced with rage and fury. I bring the pipe up high, and slam it down across his gray dome. The cracking sound is sickening, as he falls to the ground, limp. A pool of blood forming around his head. I kick him in the ribs.
“MOTHERFUCKER!” The pain returns, biting at my ribs. I stop pummeling him, and I look at my side. A trickle of blood is forming a puddle around my leg. My arm clutches my side. And I drop the pipe. I look to her, she is cuddled up in the corner, sobbing hysterically. Words can’t come to mind. I just take off my jacket, and toss it to her. I lean back against the cold brick, and slide down. Man, this fucking hurts. I can hear the siren approaching, and I close my eyes.
****************************************************
The cops had wasted no time, rushing to get here. The donut boy I saw earlier was still in the area, and heard the gunshot. He quickly called for backup. It’s all a blur right now, questions from a dozen different officers. I retell the story, over and over again. Right now, I’m telling it to a detective, as I sit on the back of an ambulance, getting looked at by a butch paramedic. She smiles every time she touches my wound. I look at the girl, the shock is fading from her.
“She’s going to be all right. You’re real lucky pal.”
“What?” The shock of the past ten minutes has not worn off. And it’s hard to pay attention while someone is jabbing at your side.
“I said you’re real lucky pal. Normally, we’re sending the heroes down to the morgue. But you’re lucky. You’re just going to need a few stitches.”
“I’m fine.” My shaky hand and urine soaked pants told a different story.
“And, that perv you fucked up… he’s still breathing. Which means we’re not going to have to question you for homicide. After you get you’re stitches, we’ll take your official statement, and you’re free to go.”
My official statement, I’m going to have to go through this disaster, again. He stepped away, and signaled for them to take me. The woman helped me to my feet. We turned to get in the ambulance.
“Wait.”
I turn, and I see her, her eyes bloodshot from tears. The little girl, staring up at me.
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Kurt… but you can call me Mr. Burton.” I crack her a half hearted smile, to let her know it was a joke.
“I’m Cynthia.” She pauses awkwardly. Her mind must be going as nuts as mine right now. The flashing lights, the craziness of the last hour. “Here’s your jacket back.”
She hands it to me. I take it from her, and smile.
“Thank you.”
And with that, she scurried off back to the officer, he put her in the back of the cruiser.
“If you really want to thank me, you’ll stay off the goddamn street.”
Why did I say that. There was no call for that. The woman next to me groaned, and assisted me into the ambulance. I sat there thinking about what that officer had said. That I was lucky. Luck wouldn’t have brought me in front of that liquor store, wallet in hand. Luck wouldn’t have given me my favorite weapon, right when someone was in need. This wasn’t luck at all. This was fate.
The crude bandage the EMT had slapped on my side had already turned pink. I have to keep my mind elsewhere, try to think of anything other than what had just happened. I never expected anything like this to ever happen in my life. I never thought I would be responsible for someone else’s safety.
Oh my God.
I am responsible. I am responsible.
Scars and Stripes 2006- Tag Team Tables Gauntlet
My fucking ribs. That German did a number on me with that bearhug. Just Breathe Kurt. Breathe. Look around. My eyes are still pretty hazy. What do you expect, you just got dumped on your head. I have been in this massacre for what seems like an eternity, and there is only me. I have been on my own throughout this entire match it seems. Don’t get down on yourself, you have a job to do.
Is that smoke? God damn, is the building on fire. No, the tables are on fire. That German fuck is on the most horrifying monstrosity I have ever seen. Is that what Tyger meant by Pyramid of Hell. Jesus Christ.
Where is Tyger? It’s just us, or am I gone. I don’t even know now, I have had my ass kicked from here to Timbuktu. If I was out of the match, they probably would have taken me away, so I must still be in this thing.
There he is, that cocky son of a bitch. He is on the turnbuckle, getting the crowd ready for whatever stupid move he has in mind. I got one better for him. I get to my feet, quickly. I shock myself. I run up the ropes, I shock Tyger. Before he can say a word, I have him hoisted up, on my shoulder. He is squirming. He can Squirm, it won’t do him any good. This is the most perfect Fireman’s carry I have ever performed, I line him up, and I throw him, hard, I hear the crash, the crack, the splinter. I smell Charred flesh.
I collapse, thunking onto the mat. There it is. It’s all over. Tyger and that fat German guy are both getting doused by a ring attendant’s fire extinguisher. It’s taking a little long to put out Tyger’s shorts.
Good.
The bell sounds, I try to lift myself to my knee. Manny has rushed out from the back. He slings my arm over his shoulder, and raises me up. The official takes my hand, and raises it. The crowd is chanting “Holy Shit!” Yeah they just got their money’s worth.
The official hands me my belt. Drops of blood stain it instantly. I guess it is from my face, I can’t tell, it does feel really wet. Manny is laughing. He hugs me, and as he does untold damage to my most likely cracked ribs, he ignores the grimace on my face. He just looks at me, and he says, “You did it.”
The EMT looks at me.
“You did it. That girl is safe now because of you.”
I did it. I did it.
Whatever may come, whatever Sunday throws at me. Whatever horrible move EBR makes me tap out to, or I make him tap to. No matter how long or how short I last in that Battle Royal. Whatever this event throws at me, I am ready. All along, I have had the power, had the ability, had the knowledge. Others could see it. Kat could, Wayne could, some fans could, but I couldn’t. Now, my eyes are open. I can see.
All this time, I have let EBR, Obo, Reverend Shadow, the established, hold me down, push me back. But that is to be no more. For the past year, so many people have believed in me. Now, it’s time I start to believe my own hype.
