Post by "The Asshole" Whitey Ford on Aug 14, 2017 19:40:55 GMT -5
The end of summer in Maine is a pleasant thing, regardless of where you live in the state. The days are still hot and ripe for swimming and hiking; the nights cool and comfortable, perfect weather to sit around a fire and drink yourself stupid if you're into that kind of thing (and in Maine, EVERYONE is into that kind of thing whether they admit it or not.) There was no fire this early evening, but Whitey was still enjoying the brisk air that gave warning of the cold fall to come. An overpriced but strong drink in one hand and the World Title in the other, he leaned against a railing on the Old Orchard Beach Pier, his lofty words of his accomplishments and violent successes fighting with the soothing sound of the waves lapping on the shore. Around him stood half a dozen revelers, hanging on every one of his words. There had been more onlookers, but Whitey had promptly told them to fuck off. He wanted to relax; he wanted to have his personal space. And why not? Ford had Return to Glory off.
Or so he thought.
Standing a few dozen feet away were Bob King and Jamie, both with their arms crossed and brows furrowed. "I showed him the card, Jamie. I don't know what to do. He believes he doesn't have to wrestle at Return to Glory. Nothing I can say has changed his mind." Bob says with a sigh, and hands Jamie an advertisement poster for Return to Glory. She reads the headliner out loud.
"'The Asshole Whitey Ford vs The Hangtown Horror Grimm for the Pure Class Wrestling World Championship'" She shakes her head in disbelief. "It's right fucking here! It even has a picture of him and Grimm having a stare down! I sometimes doubt his intelligence and his ability to read, but I know he's pretty well versed with pictures. This is self explanatory."
"He said--" Bob starts to explain, but Jamie has already started marching towards Whitey Ford with a purpose, her fists balled up and her jaw clenched. For a woman who's a whopping five feet tall, she can be pretty headstrong and intimidating.
"...So here he comes. I've already kicked out of half a dozen Harvests, and even though I'm the baddest S.O.B. on the planet I know I can't kick out of another!" Whitey says loudly, retelling his conquest for his most recent title win. He holds the belt over his head, raising his voice as well. "So I stood up, cocked back, and PUNCHED HIM IN HIS STUPID FACE!" His entourage cheers and laughs, really getting into the story that Ford is spinning; most of them had seen the match and knew parts were exaggerated, but didn't care. Whitey was grinning ear to ear, but the smile was wiped from his face as Jamie slapped the promotional poster across it.
"I have a feeling he said the same thing about YOU!" Jamie snarled in his face. "Read that, Whitey. Tell me what it says!"
Ford lets the poster drop to the ground, and grins wolfishly. "I already read it. It's a joke by the PCW higher ups. And an insult! They know I'm a fighting champion and that I'll fight anybody and everybody, but this is just funny. I've already beaten Grimm. I've already vanquished Seromine! There is no reason for me to fight either of them again; it's tried and true, I'll win every time. There's no way they'd book the same old match a second PPV in a row! They gave me the night off for bringing class back to Pure Class Wrestling!"
"You fucking idiot, I don't even think you know what that means anymore." Jamie spat out. One of the revelers timidly holds his hand up.
"Uh...man, I'm sorry, but that match is real. That poster is real, man. I already booked my tickets to South Carolina. The entire world knows about it, it's one of the biggest rematches in PCW history. You're going to fight Grimm at RtG, buddy." An ice cold and somehow confused stare from Whitey shuts the man up. Ford just stares at him for a few moments longer.
"No I'm not." He responds, deadpan.
"Yes you are." Jamie replies, her arms crossed over her chest again. "You need to take this seriously, I don't want to be around you if you lose the title on your first defe--"
"No I'm not." Again, Whitey retorts with barely any inflection.
"Yes you are."
"No I'm not."
"Yes...you are--"
"NO I'M NOT!" Ford spikes his full drink on the deck of the pier, stamping his foot several times in anger. "I've already beat him! There are dozens of superstars in the PCW...well, at least a dozen...and this is old! I finally get a new opponent in Seromine, I beat him, and now I have to go two steps back to fight Grimm again!" Ford stomps his feet again.
"Whitey...calm down..."
"I DON'T WANNA!" Whitey turns to the nearest body, which happens to be the man who confirmed he was wrestling at Return to Glory, and slaps the taste out of his mouth! With a loud scream, Whitey rips his shirt off and throws it in the face of the next man to his other side. Wrapping it around the guys skull, Whitey delivers a solid three straight rights to his face, dropping him to the deck.
"Whitey! What the fuck are you doing?!?" Exclaims Jamie, her hands on top of her head as she stands in awe. Whitey isn't done, however...he drops the World Title to the deck and rips his pants down around his ankles. As he awkwardly tries to kick the pants off his feet, one of the security guards of the pier approaches with his arms outstretched. He's only a small guy, maybe 5'8, but has a Goliath of a partner in quick pursuit behind him. "STOP! You're going to get arrested and then you won't be able to compete in a few days!" Jamie pleads.
The small security guard tries to grab Whitey by the shoulders, but before he can even say a word Ford claps his palm on the back of his head and sends him over the railing onto the beach below! His larger partner cocks an elbow back, trying to catch Whitey off guard, but the World Champ uses his ring awareness (or pier awareness?) to snap out a jumping superkick, catching his would be aggressor under the jaw and knocking him out cold, all the while his jibbly bits waving around in the wind. "Jesus Christ, Whitey, cover yourself up..." Someone in a crowd nearby cries out in dismay.
"Don't act like you're not impressed!" Ford scoops up his World Title belt from the pier and straps it around his waist before sprinting a twenty or so yards to the end of the pier and diving off. Onlookers rush over as they hear a splash, followed by a lot of cursing. Ford is struggling in the water, the weight of the title belt threatening to drag him down under the ocean water. Bob King and Jamie lean over the railing, shaking their heads.
"What do you think he was trying to do?" Jamie enquires, covering her face with a palm.
"I was trying to make an escape, but this belt is heavy and the water is cold and I HATE MY LIFE!" Ford cries back, overhearing his girlfriend and her gripe.
King chuckles to himself. "He just threw a tantrum as an adult, ripped off his clothes, stomped his feet, and assaulted innocent bystanders. Is it really so hard to imagine that he wouldn't think that gold is heavy in the ocean current?"
Jamie sighs once more. "You're right. I thought he was on drugs but I guess this is fairly normal. It doesn't take Whitey long to find an area shallow enough to stand up, and he begins to awkwardly run to the shore. The peanut gallery is laughing and mumbling amongst themselves, as some find this to be a hilarious schtick and others see it as a lewd act by an unprofessional...professional. Whitey quickly finds the shoreline, and takes off at a dead ass, naked ass sprint down the beach.
"You'll never catch MEEEE!!!" He cries out as he heads off into the distance. Families shield their children's eyes, and a police cruiser is already seen following him from the road that runs paralell to the beach.
"There's no way were going to catch him. Where's he going?" Jamie asks, knowing that if they don't find Whitey before the police do, her boyfriend has a more than fair chance of being stripped of the World Title before he can even defend it.
Bob gives a wry grin, and leads her away from the railing by her shoulders. "I haven't seen Whitey throw a tempter tantrum of that magnitude for years...wait, no. Weeks. And every time, he goes to the same place if he's in Old Orchard. Come on, I know where he's going."
_________
As the pair opened up the creeky door of a run down abandoned apartment, they had to strain their eyes to see anything in the dark living room. The only light coming from the domicile was from a room to the left, but no shadows were cast about the room they were in. It appeared to be completely gutted. "Whitey?" Jamie called out timidly, hoping that Bob hadn't been wrong in his hunch.
"I'm in here!" Whitey's voice called out cheerfully. "I'm training!" Bob and Jamie made their way carefully through the dirty room, heading into an adjacent space to find Whitey sitting in a folding steel chair with a laptop on his...lap. One ancient touch-lamp was plugged into the wall and seated next to him, but did little to shed light into the room. More was illuminated by the glow of the computer screen. The pair in pursuit of the World Champ meekly shuffled beind Ford, only to find him playing...
"Fucking vidoe games?!?! You said you were training! What...what are you playing? What is this?" Jamie's patience was running thin.
"It's called Papa's Doggeria. It's a game where you take orders and make hot dogs and soda and popcorn."
"WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK!?!" That was it, the final straw. Jamie kicked the lamp over, breaking it's glass settings with a loud crash. "You know, I get it. You're immature. I can totally see you running off and playing video games. I'd expect you to play Skyrim, or Halo, or...fucking Modern Warfare. I'd even be ok with you playing World of Warcraft up until the second we had to get on the flight. But you're playing A FUCKING GAME MEANT FOR PRE-TEEN GIRLS! What the--" Jamie's tirade was cut short by Whitey's matter of fact tone.
"Don't assume my gender, you bigot. Is that the right word? Bigot?" Bob goes to answer, but Whitey doesn't give him the chance. "Besides, chill the fuck out. I AM training. See, there are four stations to this. First is the order station. It's where people tell me what they want, and let's just look at that as my game plan. I need to stick to my game plan to beat Grimm, because let's face it; I've already proven that I'm tougher than him physically. The real threat that Grimm poses is that he's a great at getting in his opponents heads. I need to make sure I stick to my game plan.
Next is the grill station. I cook the hot dog until it's done on each side. That's me finalizing my plans and making sure they're perfect. Evenly thought out, evenly cooked, same thing. Third station is the build station, where...well, let's face it, this is where things can go wrong. Because no matter how hard you try to stick to the plan, shit happens. Ketchup drips off the edge of the FUCKING HOT DOG BECAUSE THIS GAME IS FUCKING...rigged...god damnit." Whitey takes a deep breath after messing up with the build station on the game. "But it's inevitable, no plan is ever going to be perfect. But I need to stick with my plan as well as I can, because I can make it up in the--"
"Popcorn Station?" Bob King adds in, hopeful his answer is correct.
"Yes, Bob! FUCKING YES!" Whitey reaches out his hand for a high five, and gets one. "I made a mistake here, see? I'm going to make a mistake against Grimm, and it's going to be a hard fight. But as long as I finish out the plan and give the customer the right popcorn and soda...it'll have the same ending. I score 100% on almost everything and BAM. I keep my title and move on to the next...customer or whatever."
Third times a charm, and Jamie sighs once more. "So you're not afraid you're going to lose?"
"Oh, no, you can't lose at this game. That's why I like it."
"WHITEY! You know...I don't think I'll ever understand you."
"That's my trump card, honey. Grimm will never have my number, because I don't think anyone in the world will be able to predict how my mind works. Not even the Hangtown Horror. Now come on, let's get out of here. I stole this laptop and lamp...which someone will be very upset about, by the way...and bought electricity to this building in my name. Cops will be here soon. I don't want you to get in trouble for breaking a lamp."
"You...you burgled someone's house buck ass naked?"
"And you don't think it's ok for a man to play games about cooking. So much about equal rights. And don't say 'burgled' and 'naked' in the same sentence. It sounds...rapey."
That was Whitey's last sentence for a while. The laptop was kicked out of his hands, and in the dark of an abandoned apartment in Old Orchard Beach, Maine, Whitey Ford got the shit kicked out of him for being an idiot. It didn't bother him much though; almost all of his career has been much of the same.
Or so he thought.
Standing a few dozen feet away were Bob King and Jamie, both with their arms crossed and brows furrowed. "I showed him the card, Jamie. I don't know what to do. He believes he doesn't have to wrestle at Return to Glory. Nothing I can say has changed his mind." Bob says with a sigh, and hands Jamie an advertisement poster for Return to Glory. She reads the headliner out loud.
"'The Asshole Whitey Ford vs The Hangtown Horror Grimm for the Pure Class Wrestling World Championship'" She shakes her head in disbelief. "It's right fucking here! It even has a picture of him and Grimm having a stare down! I sometimes doubt his intelligence and his ability to read, but I know he's pretty well versed with pictures. This is self explanatory."
"He said--" Bob starts to explain, but Jamie has already started marching towards Whitey Ford with a purpose, her fists balled up and her jaw clenched. For a woman who's a whopping five feet tall, she can be pretty headstrong and intimidating.
"...So here he comes. I've already kicked out of half a dozen Harvests, and even though I'm the baddest S.O.B. on the planet I know I can't kick out of another!" Whitey says loudly, retelling his conquest for his most recent title win. He holds the belt over his head, raising his voice as well. "So I stood up, cocked back, and PUNCHED HIM IN HIS STUPID FACE!" His entourage cheers and laughs, really getting into the story that Ford is spinning; most of them had seen the match and knew parts were exaggerated, but didn't care. Whitey was grinning ear to ear, but the smile was wiped from his face as Jamie slapped the promotional poster across it.
"I have a feeling he said the same thing about YOU!" Jamie snarled in his face. "Read that, Whitey. Tell me what it says!"
Ford lets the poster drop to the ground, and grins wolfishly. "I already read it. It's a joke by the PCW higher ups. And an insult! They know I'm a fighting champion and that I'll fight anybody and everybody, but this is just funny. I've already beaten Grimm. I've already vanquished Seromine! There is no reason for me to fight either of them again; it's tried and true, I'll win every time. There's no way they'd book the same old match a second PPV in a row! They gave me the night off for bringing class back to Pure Class Wrestling!"
"You fucking idiot, I don't even think you know what that means anymore." Jamie spat out. One of the revelers timidly holds his hand up.
"Uh...man, I'm sorry, but that match is real. That poster is real, man. I already booked my tickets to South Carolina. The entire world knows about it, it's one of the biggest rematches in PCW history. You're going to fight Grimm at RtG, buddy." An ice cold and somehow confused stare from Whitey shuts the man up. Ford just stares at him for a few moments longer.
"No I'm not." He responds, deadpan.
"Yes you are." Jamie replies, her arms crossed over her chest again. "You need to take this seriously, I don't want to be around you if you lose the title on your first defe--"
"No I'm not." Again, Whitey retorts with barely any inflection.
"Yes you are."
"No I'm not."
"Yes...you are--"
"NO I'M NOT!" Ford spikes his full drink on the deck of the pier, stamping his foot several times in anger. "I've already beat him! There are dozens of superstars in the PCW...well, at least a dozen...and this is old! I finally get a new opponent in Seromine, I beat him, and now I have to go two steps back to fight Grimm again!" Ford stomps his feet again.
"Whitey...calm down..."
"I DON'T WANNA!" Whitey turns to the nearest body, which happens to be the man who confirmed he was wrestling at Return to Glory, and slaps the taste out of his mouth! With a loud scream, Whitey rips his shirt off and throws it in the face of the next man to his other side. Wrapping it around the guys skull, Whitey delivers a solid three straight rights to his face, dropping him to the deck.
"Whitey! What the fuck are you doing?!?" Exclaims Jamie, her hands on top of her head as she stands in awe. Whitey isn't done, however...he drops the World Title to the deck and rips his pants down around his ankles. As he awkwardly tries to kick the pants off his feet, one of the security guards of the pier approaches with his arms outstretched. He's only a small guy, maybe 5'8, but has a Goliath of a partner in quick pursuit behind him. "STOP! You're going to get arrested and then you won't be able to compete in a few days!" Jamie pleads.
The small security guard tries to grab Whitey by the shoulders, but before he can even say a word Ford claps his palm on the back of his head and sends him over the railing onto the beach below! His larger partner cocks an elbow back, trying to catch Whitey off guard, but the World Champ uses his ring awareness (or pier awareness?) to snap out a jumping superkick, catching his would be aggressor under the jaw and knocking him out cold, all the while his jibbly bits waving around in the wind. "Jesus Christ, Whitey, cover yourself up..." Someone in a crowd nearby cries out in dismay.
"Don't act like you're not impressed!" Ford scoops up his World Title belt from the pier and straps it around his waist before sprinting a twenty or so yards to the end of the pier and diving off. Onlookers rush over as they hear a splash, followed by a lot of cursing. Ford is struggling in the water, the weight of the title belt threatening to drag him down under the ocean water. Bob King and Jamie lean over the railing, shaking their heads.
"What do you think he was trying to do?" Jamie enquires, covering her face with a palm.
"I was trying to make an escape, but this belt is heavy and the water is cold and I HATE MY LIFE!" Ford cries back, overhearing his girlfriend and her gripe.
King chuckles to himself. "He just threw a tantrum as an adult, ripped off his clothes, stomped his feet, and assaulted innocent bystanders. Is it really so hard to imagine that he wouldn't think that gold is heavy in the ocean current?"
Jamie sighs once more. "You're right. I thought he was on drugs but I guess this is fairly normal. It doesn't take Whitey long to find an area shallow enough to stand up, and he begins to awkwardly run to the shore. The peanut gallery is laughing and mumbling amongst themselves, as some find this to be a hilarious schtick and others see it as a lewd act by an unprofessional...professional. Whitey quickly finds the shoreline, and takes off at a dead ass, naked ass sprint down the beach.
"You'll never catch MEEEE!!!" He cries out as he heads off into the distance. Families shield their children's eyes, and a police cruiser is already seen following him from the road that runs paralell to the beach.
"There's no way were going to catch him. Where's he going?" Jamie asks, knowing that if they don't find Whitey before the police do, her boyfriend has a more than fair chance of being stripped of the World Title before he can even defend it.
Bob gives a wry grin, and leads her away from the railing by her shoulders. "I haven't seen Whitey throw a tempter tantrum of that magnitude for years...wait, no. Weeks. And every time, he goes to the same place if he's in Old Orchard. Come on, I know where he's going."
_________
As the pair opened up the creeky door of a run down abandoned apartment, they had to strain their eyes to see anything in the dark living room. The only light coming from the domicile was from a room to the left, but no shadows were cast about the room they were in. It appeared to be completely gutted. "Whitey?" Jamie called out timidly, hoping that Bob hadn't been wrong in his hunch.
"I'm in here!" Whitey's voice called out cheerfully. "I'm training!" Bob and Jamie made their way carefully through the dirty room, heading into an adjacent space to find Whitey sitting in a folding steel chair with a laptop on his...lap. One ancient touch-lamp was plugged into the wall and seated next to him, but did little to shed light into the room. More was illuminated by the glow of the computer screen. The pair in pursuit of the World Champ meekly shuffled beind Ford, only to find him playing...
"Fucking vidoe games?!?! You said you were training! What...what are you playing? What is this?" Jamie's patience was running thin.
"It's called Papa's Doggeria. It's a game where you take orders and make hot dogs and soda and popcorn."
"WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK!?!" That was it, the final straw. Jamie kicked the lamp over, breaking it's glass settings with a loud crash. "You know, I get it. You're immature. I can totally see you running off and playing video games. I'd expect you to play Skyrim, or Halo, or...fucking Modern Warfare. I'd even be ok with you playing World of Warcraft up until the second we had to get on the flight. But you're playing A FUCKING GAME MEANT FOR PRE-TEEN GIRLS! What the--" Jamie's tirade was cut short by Whitey's matter of fact tone.
"Don't assume my gender, you bigot. Is that the right word? Bigot?" Bob goes to answer, but Whitey doesn't give him the chance. "Besides, chill the fuck out. I AM training. See, there are four stations to this. First is the order station. It's where people tell me what they want, and let's just look at that as my game plan. I need to stick to my game plan to beat Grimm, because let's face it; I've already proven that I'm tougher than him physically. The real threat that Grimm poses is that he's a great at getting in his opponents heads. I need to make sure I stick to my game plan.
Next is the grill station. I cook the hot dog until it's done on each side. That's me finalizing my plans and making sure they're perfect. Evenly thought out, evenly cooked, same thing. Third station is the build station, where...well, let's face it, this is where things can go wrong. Because no matter how hard you try to stick to the plan, shit happens. Ketchup drips off the edge of the FUCKING HOT DOG BECAUSE THIS GAME IS FUCKING...rigged...god damnit." Whitey takes a deep breath after messing up with the build station on the game. "But it's inevitable, no plan is ever going to be perfect. But I need to stick with my plan as well as I can, because I can make it up in the--"
"Popcorn Station?" Bob King adds in, hopeful his answer is correct.
"Yes, Bob! FUCKING YES!" Whitey reaches out his hand for a high five, and gets one. "I made a mistake here, see? I'm going to make a mistake against Grimm, and it's going to be a hard fight. But as long as I finish out the plan and give the customer the right popcorn and soda...it'll have the same ending. I score 100% on almost everything and BAM. I keep my title and move on to the next...customer or whatever."
Third times a charm, and Jamie sighs once more. "So you're not afraid you're going to lose?"
"Oh, no, you can't lose at this game. That's why I like it."
"WHITEY! You know...I don't think I'll ever understand you."
"That's my trump card, honey. Grimm will never have my number, because I don't think anyone in the world will be able to predict how my mind works. Not even the Hangtown Horror. Now come on, let's get out of here. I stole this laptop and lamp...which someone will be very upset about, by the way...and bought electricity to this building in my name. Cops will be here soon. I don't want you to get in trouble for breaking a lamp."
"You...you burgled someone's house buck ass naked?"
"And you don't think it's ok for a man to play games about cooking. So much about equal rights. And don't say 'burgled' and 'naked' in the same sentence. It sounds...rapey."
That was Whitey's last sentence for a while. The laptop was kicked out of his hands, and in the dark of an abandoned apartment in Old Orchard Beach, Maine, Whitey Ford got the shit kicked out of him for being an idiot. It didn't bother him much though; almost all of his career has been much of the same.
