Post by Ziggy Morgan on Jun 1, 2021 5:53:17 GMT -5
I was never that good at hiding my emotions.
My anger was most evident to the shitbox Nissan i’d bought as I did my best to beat the shit out of the driver’s side door. Out here. In the middle of the night. In my ring gear. Giving Jimmy the crackhead a run for his money on shithouse rat crazy. I withdrew my hand into my abs, cradling it as i back into the car and slide down. I must look like a fuckin’ kid out here. I hoped deep down Nao didn’t hear it. Much as, maybe even further down, I hoped she did.
Fucking Ricci. Fucking Maggie. Two god damn weeks in the sun, that’s all it got me. Finding it in me to take out Antonio Ricci, overcome all odds and become the number one contender for the greatest prize in this company and all it got me was fourteen fucking days of “attaboys” and then, suddenly, i’m thrown into a match like a fucking rookie. Gettin the rub from the champ against someone I already beat, and the silver medal holder.
Of course, we won. I fought like hell. The champ actually showed up. Then I make my move, like Matt always said. You got their eyes, take their ears, the heart follows. I was gonna rip her fuckin heart out through her ears. Carve her up using the ink as a fucking trace line. But no, here comes college karate boy and his charcanfuckery. By the time I came to, all I could see was ugly ref faces and everyone had dipped. I was half surprised Jenny didn’t drag me away.
And then, twist the knife more. Maggie posts a video tryin to flex, making the match they booked for her and Ricci a title match along with that stupid fuckin stipulation. So all that fight, that story, that heartwarming tale of the little engine that could blowing its smoke into the thin haired tyrant kings eyes and taking him out? It’s a side tale now. It’s old news, nah man our crowned prince of fuckbaggery needs his fucking moment!! We need to draw!!
I thumped the back of my head on the car door, feeling the disgust bubble up anew in my stomach. What I hated the most, was feeling like that mountain I just climbed double in size with all it’s new height springing from the exact summit I had just barely conquered. Shit like that is what makes you second guess the whole operation. The whole fucking climb Like, maybe there is no fucking summit yo. Maybe we’re all just clawing up some infinite mountain, nails digging into each other as we try to push the other further down while simultaneously lifting ourselves.
The light coming up above my head could have been symbolic had I been a man of bright ideas. But instead, it calmed the fire and iced my veins. She was up, and moving about. And so should I be. With a grunt of effort, I push up from the asphalt and dust myself off. I check my knuckles, finding them properly red and swollen before shaking my head and digging my hands into my hoodie pockets.
It had gotten easier, far as I can see. We hadn’t really talked much about it. About anything except the day, really. I couldn’t define what this was if I had a gun to my head, but it was nice having someone around. Another voice. One not so angry, or out for themselves. It blew me away, how she was the one in need but was always the first one of us to ask the other if they were alright.
Week and a half or so, I’d be in the ring with someone who had specialized in fucking basic thuggery while the guy who lived to tell me how much I don’t matter to him cashes in on my opportunity before me, because the one holding the prize decided it was halloween and title shots were candy.
Nah. Chill, Bert. I took a calming breath, halting my stride and collecting that anger, that bile and that fucking venom. I shoved it back in that secret place we all have, but never acknowledge to anyone but ourselves.
“One day. One step..” I mutter to myself, before turning the key on that lock, and heading up to be with my friend in misery.
“Fire….shit, look at me. Right out the gate with a cliche. Bet thats two points off of style and substance, huh?”
The camera pops on to reveal Bert McAlroy sitting on a sidewalk somewhere in downtown Indy. Behind him, an alley stretches into a fiendish darkness. He’s dressed in a white hoodie, the hood laid back to reveal a matching bandana tied around his forehead. He wears no shirt, and a pair of sweatpants to complete the ensemble. As per usual between his thumb and forefinger was pinched a joint with the cherry ablaze.
“Speaking of substance..”
He takes a hit, holding it a split second before exhaling the smoke.
“Fire, like I was saying. Ain’t a thing like it to us shaved monkeys, yo. Its like, the universe’s version of “fuck”. We’ve assigned so many meanings and like..moods to it. Its positive, its negative, its victory and its fuckin tragedy. Good god damn get me a pen, i’m a fuckin poet over here!”
Bert’s pearly whites flash as he smiles, some of that boyish charm bubbling tot he surface over the pissed off stoner facade. He cleared his throat, taking a moment to center himself and refocus.
“Right now, i’m the fucking fire in Level Up. There is no one, NO one hotter than me right now, yo. Last week you coulda said Sidroy but, look at that shit. I got the W over the guy with a W in his championship. That’s a hat trick, bitch! Your man is 3-0 since stepping in and stepping up to fuckin’ Legion. Jenny, Ricci, Jenny and Sidroy. Contenders and champions and top ranked all notches in my fuckin bed post..” a pause, a cringe “not..literally. I aint tryna let anyone think I slept with Queenie.”
He cleared his throat, furrowing his brow “Anyway, yo. Like...I’m next in line. No matter what the fuck Maggie and Ricci think is gonna happen, i’m the next relevant chapter to the story of the Final Boss title, the story of Level Up. Like, i’m pissed about this main event. Hell, mans might even do somethin. But no matter what happens, no matter what goes down whoever is in that ring, with that belt, at Dead by Daylight? They’re just FedEx bro, bringing me whats mine.”
“But hey, I got a bad habit of dreaming big and out loud. Which, for all them brave ones happy pride month. Love is love, yo..Love is HOT, which brings me right the fuck back to FIRE...shit, I never shoulda got out the TV game...at least I got my post-ring career already lined up, yo...shut, fuck.”
He takes the joint between his lips, sucking in another hit as he wave off his horrible roaming habits.
“Hot. Fire. Me. I’m fuckin snappin necks and cashing checks yo. I’m startin to get it in my fucking BLOOD, yo. And now I aint just some sidekick, people got eyes on me because of who I am and not because of who I know...unlike the motherfucker i’m about to fight. Cuz see, Isaac, you aint nothin but Tweedle Dum for that fuckin Wilcox douche. I’d like to be positive and tell you to break them chains, chokeslam his bitch ass through somethin, and strike out on your own...but I don’t think you got it in you, you.”
“All you’re known for here is basic thuggery. Interfere for Drake, beat up some small dude. Bump the ref. Tag with the other big fucker - who your boss chose to fight with instead of you this week, yo - and collect a check. Jesus man, you’re literally the fucking faceless ninjas they cast just for Jackie Chan to yeet em out a window!”
At this, Bert can’t help but break out laughing for a moment, and really want to watch a Karate Movie after he’s done here.
“But Forreal. On God, I am the fire here right now. I’m the one people are watchin, half of em wanton the little stoner to whip ass, half of em wantin to laugh at the other half if I crash and burn. One I know is watchin cuz he loves me, one I know is watchin cuz she loves and hates me. But all them? 50, 50, 1, and 1? Gonna be watching the same thing at EXP 8”
“They’re gonna watch me knock your big ass out and show the world that not even some big hired goon can beat me down. They’re gonna know that by laws of cinematic universes, I am no longer a sidekick and have gotten the nod for a fucking solo film. And just like all them other solo films, my first solo villain is just some big, dumb fuck who works under some small slimy fuck. So hey, live it up and party with the boss while you can Isaac. Cuz at EXP 8, i’m gonna show everyone that I-Suck, Bitch!!”
Bert pauses.
“Wait No, I mean like...HE sucks but his name is Isaac..get it? Isaac- I-suck? Yo, how much time we got left on this --”
The feed cuts to black
“Ah, c'mon bitch!!”
My anger was most evident to the shitbox Nissan i’d bought as I did my best to beat the shit out of the driver’s side door. Out here. In the middle of the night. In my ring gear. Giving Jimmy the crackhead a run for his money on shithouse rat crazy. I withdrew my hand into my abs, cradling it as i back into the car and slide down. I must look like a fuckin’ kid out here. I hoped deep down Nao didn’t hear it. Much as, maybe even further down, I hoped she did.
Fucking Ricci. Fucking Maggie. Two god damn weeks in the sun, that’s all it got me. Finding it in me to take out Antonio Ricci, overcome all odds and become the number one contender for the greatest prize in this company and all it got me was fourteen fucking days of “attaboys” and then, suddenly, i’m thrown into a match like a fucking rookie. Gettin the rub from the champ against someone I already beat, and the silver medal holder.
Of course, we won. I fought like hell. The champ actually showed up. Then I make my move, like Matt always said. You got their eyes, take their ears, the heart follows. I was gonna rip her fuckin heart out through her ears. Carve her up using the ink as a fucking trace line. But no, here comes college karate boy and his charcanfuckery. By the time I came to, all I could see was ugly ref faces and everyone had dipped. I was half surprised Jenny didn’t drag me away.
And then, twist the knife more. Maggie posts a video tryin to flex, making the match they booked for her and Ricci a title match along with that stupid fuckin stipulation. So all that fight, that story, that heartwarming tale of the little engine that could blowing its smoke into the thin haired tyrant kings eyes and taking him out? It’s a side tale now. It’s old news, nah man our crowned prince of fuckbaggery needs his fucking moment!! We need to draw!!
I thumped the back of my head on the car door, feeling the disgust bubble up anew in my stomach. What I hated the most, was feeling like that mountain I just climbed double in size with all it’s new height springing from the exact summit I had just barely conquered. Shit like that is what makes you second guess the whole operation. The whole fucking climb Like, maybe there is no fucking summit yo. Maybe we’re all just clawing up some infinite mountain, nails digging into each other as we try to push the other further down while simultaneously lifting ourselves.
The light coming up above my head could have been symbolic had I been a man of bright ideas. But instead, it calmed the fire and iced my veins. She was up, and moving about. And so should I be. With a grunt of effort, I push up from the asphalt and dust myself off. I check my knuckles, finding them properly red and swollen before shaking my head and digging my hands into my hoodie pockets.
It had gotten easier, far as I can see. We hadn’t really talked much about it. About anything except the day, really. I couldn’t define what this was if I had a gun to my head, but it was nice having someone around. Another voice. One not so angry, or out for themselves. It blew me away, how she was the one in need but was always the first one of us to ask the other if they were alright.
Week and a half or so, I’d be in the ring with someone who had specialized in fucking basic thuggery while the guy who lived to tell me how much I don’t matter to him cashes in on my opportunity before me, because the one holding the prize decided it was halloween and title shots were candy.
Nah. Chill, Bert. I took a calming breath, halting my stride and collecting that anger, that bile and that fucking venom. I shoved it back in that secret place we all have, but never acknowledge to anyone but ourselves.
“One day. One step..” I mutter to myself, before turning the key on that lock, and heading up to be with my friend in misery.
[O REC]
“Fire….shit, look at me. Right out the gate with a cliche. Bet thats two points off of style and substance, huh?”
The camera pops on to reveal Bert McAlroy sitting on a sidewalk somewhere in downtown Indy. Behind him, an alley stretches into a fiendish darkness. He’s dressed in a white hoodie, the hood laid back to reveal a matching bandana tied around his forehead. He wears no shirt, and a pair of sweatpants to complete the ensemble. As per usual between his thumb and forefinger was pinched a joint with the cherry ablaze.
“Speaking of substance..”
He takes a hit, holding it a split second before exhaling the smoke.
“Fire, like I was saying. Ain’t a thing like it to us shaved monkeys, yo. Its like, the universe’s version of “fuck”. We’ve assigned so many meanings and like..moods to it. Its positive, its negative, its victory and its fuckin tragedy. Good god damn get me a pen, i’m a fuckin poet over here!”
Bert’s pearly whites flash as he smiles, some of that boyish charm bubbling tot he surface over the pissed off stoner facade. He cleared his throat, taking a moment to center himself and refocus.
“Right now, i’m the fucking fire in Level Up. There is no one, NO one hotter than me right now, yo. Last week you coulda said Sidroy but, look at that shit. I got the W over the guy with a W in his championship. That’s a hat trick, bitch! Your man is 3-0 since stepping in and stepping up to fuckin’ Legion. Jenny, Ricci, Jenny and Sidroy. Contenders and champions and top ranked all notches in my fuckin bed post..” a pause, a cringe “not..literally. I aint tryna let anyone think I slept with Queenie.”
He cleared his throat, furrowing his brow “Anyway, yo. Like...I’m next in line. No matter what the fuck Maggie and Ricci think is gonna happen, i’m the next relevant chapter to the story of the Final Boss title, the story of Level Up. Like, i’m pissed about this main event. Hell, mans might even do somethin. But no matter what happens, no matter what goes down whoever is in that ring, with that belt, at Dead by Daylight? They’re just FedEx bro, bringing me whats mine.”
“But hey, I got a bad habit of dreaming big and out loud. Which, for all them brave ones happy pride month. Love is love, yo..Love is HOT, which brings me right the fuck back to FIRE...shit, I never shoulda got out the TV game...at least I got my post-ring career already lined up, yo...shut, fuck.”
He takes the joint between his lips, sucking in another hit as he wave off his horrible roaming habits.
“Hot. Fire. Me. I’m fuckin snappin necks and cashing checks yo. I’m startin to get it in my fucking BLOOD, yo. And now I aint just some sidekick, people got eyes on me because of who I am and not because of who I know...unlike the motherfucker i’m about to fight. Cuz see, Isaac, you aint nothin but Tweedle Dum for that fuckin Wilcox douche. I’d like to be positive and tell you to break them chains, chokeslam his bitch ass through somethin, and strike out on your own...but I don’t think you got it in you, you.”
“All you’re known for here is basic thuggery. Interfere for Drake, beat up some small dude. Bump the ref. Tag with the other big fucker - who your boss chose to fight with instead of you this week, yo - and collect a check. Jesus man, you’re literally the fucking faceless ninjas they cast just for Jackie Chan to yeet em out a window!”
At this, Bert can’t help but break out laughing for a moment, and really want to watch a Karate Movie after he’s done here.
“But Forreal. On God, I am the fire here right now. I’m the one people are watchin, half of em wanton the little stoner to whip ass, half of em wantin to laugh at the other half if I crash and burn. One I know is watchin cuz he loves me, one I know is watchin cuz she loves and hates me. But all them? 50, 50, 1, and 1? Gonna be watching the same thing at EXP 8”
“They’re gonna watch me knock your big ass out and show the world that not even some big hired goon can beat me down. They’re gonna know that by laws of cinematic universes, I am no longer a sidekick and have gotten the nod for a fucking solo film. And just like all them other solo films, my first solo villain is just some big, dumb fuck who works under some small slimy fuck. So hey, live it up and party with the boss while you can Isaac. Cuz at EXP 8, i’m gonna show everyone that I-Suck, Bitch!!”
Bert pauses.
“Wait No, I mean like...HE sucks but his name is Isaac..get it? Isaac- I-suck? Yo, how much time we got left on this --”
The feed cuts to black
“Ah, c'mon bitch!!”
