Post by The Anarchist on Aug 14, 2015 0:08:03 GMT -5
BEFORE
By nature, I am an introvert. Years ago I thought of myself more as a "reclusive mastermind" than anything associated with anarchy. I honestly still do. Outside of my best friend and his family, my wife and our children, I really have apathy for society as a whole. If not for all of them being in my life, I would be a hostile loner. But in just a matter of hours, the chance to become a tag team champion again will be bestowed upon me. At the moment, I was left with my thoughts in isolated solitude.
"Keep calm" I repeated to myself while sitting inside my empty locker room. I was having a range of emotions going off in my head as I sat there. My futile attempt to musically medicate was barely putting a dent in the swirling chaos, one that if I didn't find a way to control, would have me under it's spell...
The song playing in my ears was by rock group Craving Lucy, by way of their first single, "Therapy". It was an apt title with a catchy arrangement. I had my hair tied off in multiple braids that swung around my head, a look I first began in Two-Thousand Two. With my head down, they acted as some kind of shield for my eyes, concealing the signs hiding in my green irises.
I let out a sigh before anxiety could say hello over the magnitude of my match. What if Loc and I fail to come out victorious? Kelli Starr and Nathan Saniti are a formidable challenge for us, no matter how confident I felt about securing the win and the gold. Would our years of experience be enough this time? We had the two of them beat in every way possible as it pertained to actually BEING a tag team. Or so I told myself. Johnny and I traveled all corners of the globe, taking on and taking down all comers for years. I genuinely did respect our opponents. After all, they have tasted individual accomplishments and had more chemistry than an alchemist. But I also was indifferent to their existence...
"Just another pair of pretenders" I muttered to myself with a little anger behind each syllable. Lifting my head up, my hair flung back onto my shoulders. I could really feel my unhinged friend tugging at the neurotransmitters that gave it life. Not literally of course, but I knew the warning signs. Had for over half of my life. One was coming head on like a runaway train. No longer giving a shit about the well being of Psychedelica later tonight, I had better call my voice of reason before I became something of a dangerous loose cannon. Better known as, my reality.
"FUCK THE BOTH OF THEM!" I yelled out of rage, frantically dialing home to speak with Destiny. It was best to get this under wraps before Loco came back and saw me ready to go full Alexa Black on everyone.
Soon. Soon. Soon.
-------------
BEGIN RECORDING:
“My name is Jason Willard. I am known as "The Anarchist" and as of this recording on August Thirteenth at Four O’ Clock in the afternoon...I am a THREE-TIME PCW TAG TEAM CHAMPION!!!”
Sorry, I got carried away with yelling there. In just a matter of days, I am going to celebrate with the masses here in Anaheim, a parade fitting for a real champion. Yeah suck on my title, Ducks and Angels. Before I get ready, a thought just crossed my mind. For years people have said my wife resembled Gwen Stefani.
Pause.
I don't want to sound rude here and disagree, but...I just don't see it. I mean Gwen is drop dead gorgeous. Destiny, while very beautiful...
Background noise can be heard. It's the sounds of footsteps creeping up behind him. The recording picks up what sounds like Willard having to finish his remark with Destiny near.
“Destiny! What I was going to say is that while Gwen is drop dead gorgeous, she is ugly when compared to you. I...I…I love you-she doesn't comp...”
The tape player hits the floor as Willard can be heard yelling, albeit muffled. Destiny laughs about something she did to him. As she walks away, you can faintly hear her say something suggestive. Willard restarts his speech, after clearing his throat.
“Sorry about that interruption. The wife insisted I needed to have my tonsils looked at. I told her they had been removed years ago, and she proceeded to play doctor by shoving her tongue down my throat. Guess I better go inspect her body and return the favor.”
I better be careful though. Every time we have sex, she ends up pregnant...
Pause.
WAIT! That didn't come out right. I've been with this woman for fifteen years. I've bagged her more times than a clerk bags groceries. What I MEANT to say was that I better use protection, so that she DOESN'T get pregnant. But she is on birth control, so I have nothing to worry about, haha…
Anarchist OUT!
END RECORD.
-------------
Fifteen Minutes Later
If you want my body and you think I’m sexy
Come on honey, tell me so
“Cut the music”.
Willard pauses the Rod Stewart hit song.
“What I'd like to have right now...is for my beautiful...sexy...highly attractive wife and mother to our four children...take off her clothes and brace herself, as I remove my clothes and ravish her in bed. Hit the music.”
Willard hits play and begins to strip.
If you really need me, just reach out and touch me
Come on sugar, let me know
Once down to his boxers, he locks his fingers behind his head and with a wide smile, proceeds to swivel his hips at Destiny, who has long been naked. She slinks under the sheets, shooting Willard a grin and wink as he flexes his biceps. He runs his hands from midsection to chest and then flings his hands forward at his wife, puckering his lips and blowing her a kiss with it. Taking off his last piece of clothing, Willard gets under the covers, as they begin the activity.
If only any of this were actually true and accurate.
AFTER
It was something I played in my head, to put a band-aid over the fact I returned home without the gold. The idea we won, that I was going to celebrate by having sex with Destiny, was all conjured by a chaotic mind. A delusion. The loss left a bitter taste in my mouth, but Loco and I went down swinging. For all of our bravado and laurels, Tha UnHoly Alliance was beat by a worthy pair of challengers. My feelings hadn't changed about Nathan Saniti and Kelli Starr. I still respected them, and knew the tag titles were in good hands. They earned a hard fought victory over us, and were more than entitled to the spoils of such.
"I guess Destiny will have to put her arms around my waist instead..."
The words dripped with melancholy. I loved the affection my wife was prone to showing, and once I went inside my house, I'm sure she would be there to lift up my spirits. But sitting outside on the lawn, I wasn't ready to go in and greet her yet, or anyone else for that matter. I wanted to sit with my thoughts, let them wash over me before I had to put them in the rear view mirror somehow and move on. Perhaps this was nature's way of paying us back for our past in-ring transgressions. After all, we were hated. If we had been wrestling in the seventies or eighties, police would be needed to escort us for safety purposes.
Looking up and down at palm trees near and far, the warmth of Anaheim's weather crossed with the dead lawns found littered around Southern California, could contrast with the pendulum of a certain mental illness that was still actively haunting me.
"Fucking Psychedelica...Fuck me for not taking my medication..."
I looked up just in time to see a car drive by, with a bumper sticker that was Pro-Republican in content. "FUCK REPUBLICANS!" I yelled as loud as I could. To say I hated the right wing would be a gross understatement. I was a bleeding heart liberal (don't let the Anarchist name lead you to believe different) and just the idea of any conservative in the Oval Office next year, made my blood boil. As did the realization that Loc and I would be forced to team with members of The Black Hand at the next Trauma.
"Fuck The Black Hand" was my final words before picking myself up and finally going inside. So instead of dancing on the faces of the devils in the pale moonlight in Hangtown, we were scheduled to team with them to combat the aforementioned Psychedelica and number one contenders, Cosmic Nac---The Late Night Express. Beautiful Bobby would approve.
What stuck in my craw was that our partners decided to attack us. That’s something I promise will be rectified one way or another. Still, we would have to co-exist for a night. Maybe. I have no problems burning the men who fancy using two m’s in their name, and then spreading their filthy ashes all over Kentucky, making it the Black and Bluegrass State right after. We never crossed paths with Phinehas, but Justin was a different matter. His venture over to the dark side will be met with the same failure that his venture in Havoc Inc was with us. But that’s a different matter for some other time.
”We lost, Destiny. But seeing you, makes up for the vacancy of the missing championship”.
She was sitting on the couch, greeting me with a warm smile. Walking over, I stretched out on the couch, my head gently resting on her thigh. Per usual, she began to play around with a few of my braided hair strands, looking down at my face as she searched my features. Whatever my brain thought it was going to continue doing, just met it’s demise. Destiny really was the only person who could calm the storm. It wasn’t always an easy task, but when you are with someone for as long as we have been, you reach a level of intimacy that melds two souls into one. She knew everything about me and vice versa.
”You can’t win them all, my love” she said after gently kissing my head “The fact you guys reached the final after coming out of retirement, should be a testament to your legacy. I watched the show with the girls. You guys left everything you had in the ring. The outcome isn’t what you hoped for, but don’t beat yourself up too much over it”
Easier said than done. But it wasn’t a discussion I wanted. Loco and I will get together and regroup. For now, the matter at hand was Trauma and the scheduled Main Event for the evening.
”Wait a second, where are the girls?”
I knew it was awfully quiet for a reason. Still, I welcomed the chance to relax the best I could, and have some alone time with Destiny. Having children makes that difficult, so we have to take it when we get it.
By nature, I am an introvert. Years ago I thought of myself more as a "reclusive mastermind" than anything associated with anarchy. I honestly still do. Outside of my best friend and his family, my wife and our children, I really have apathy for society as a whole. If not for all of them being in my life, I would be a hostile loner. But in just a matter of hours, the chance to become a tag team champion again will be bestowed upon me. At the moment, I was left with my thoughts in isolated solitude.
"Keep calm" I repeated to myself while sitting inside my empty locker room. I was having a range of emotions going off in my head as I sat there. My futile attempt to musically medicate was barely putting a dent in the swirling chaos, one that if I didn't find a way to control, would have me under it's spell...
The song playing in my ears was by rock group Craving Lucy, by way of their first single, "Therapy". It was an apt title with a catchy arrangement. I had my hair tied off in multiple braids that swung around my head, a look I first began in Two-Thousand Two. With my head down, they acted as some kind of shield for my eyes, concealing the signs hiding in my green irises.
I let out a sigh before anxiety could say hello over the magnitude of my match. What if Loc and I fail to come out victorious? Kelli Starr and Nathan Saniti are a formidable challenge for us, no matter how confident I felt about securing the win and the gold. Would our years of experience be enough this time? We had the two of them beat in every way possible as it pertained to actually BEING a tag team. Or so I told myself. Johnny and I traveled all corners of the globe, taking on and taking down all comers for years. I genuinely did respect our opponents. After all, they have tasted individual accomplishments and had more chemistry than an alchemist. But I also was indifferent to their existence...
"Just another pair of pretenders" I muttered to myself with a little anger behind each syllable. Lifting my head up, my hair flung back onto my shoulders. I could really feel my unhinged friend tugging at the neurotransmitters that gave it life. Not literally of course, but I knew the warning signs. Had for over half of my life. One was coming head on like a runaway train. No longer giving a shit about the well being of Psychedelica later tonight, I had better call my voice of reason before I became something of a dangerous loose cannon. Better known as, my reality.
"FUCK THE BOTH OF THEM!" I yelled out of rage, frantically dialing home to speak with Destiny. It was best to get this under wraps before Loco came back and saw me ready to go full Alexa Black on everyone.
Soon. Soon. Soon.
-------------
BEGIN RECORDING:
“My name is Jason Willard. I am known as "The Anarchist" and as of this recording on August Thirteenth at Four O’ Clock in the afternoon...I am a THREE-TIME PCW TAG TEAM CHAMPION!!!”
Sorry, I got carried away with yelling there. In just a matter of days, I am going to celebrate with the masses here in Anaheim, a parade fitting for a real champion. Yeah suck on my title, Ducks and Angels. Before I get ready, a thought just crossed my mind. For years people have said my wife resembled Gwen Stefani.
Pause.
I don't want to sound rude here and disagree, but...I just don't see it. I mean Gwen is drop dead gorgeous. Destiny, while very beautiful...
Background noise can be heard. It's the sounds of footsteps creeping up behind him. The recording picks up what sounds like Willard having to finish his remark with Destiny near.
“Destiny! What I was going to say is that while Gwen is drop dead gorgeous, she is ugly when compared to you. I...I…I love you-she doesn't comp...”
The tape player hits the floor as Willard can be heard yelling, albeit muffled. Destiny laughs about something she did to him. As she walks away, you can faintly hear her say something suggestive. Willard restarts his speech, after clearing his throat.
“Sorry about that interruption. The wife insisted I needed to have my tonsils looked at. I told her they had been removed years ago, and she proceeded to play doctor by shoving her tongue down my throat. Guess I better go inspect her body and return the favor.”
I better be careful though. Every time we have sex, she ends up pregnant...
Pause.
WAIT! That didn't come out right. I've been with this woman for fifteen years. I've bagged her more times than a clerk bags groceries. What I MEANT to say was that I better use protection, so that she DOESN'T get pregnant. But she is on birth control, so I have nothing to worry about, haha…
Anarchist OUT!
END RECORD.
-------------
Fifteen Minutes Later
If you want my body and you think I’m sexy
Come on honey, tell me so
“Cut the music”.
Willard pauses the Rod Stewart hit song.
“What I'd like to have right now...is for my beautiful...sexy...highly attractive wife and mother to our four children...take off her clothes and brace herself, as I remove my clothes and ravish her in bed. Hit the music.”
Willard hits play and begins to strip.
If you really need me, just reach out and touch me
Come on sugar, let me know
Once down to his boxers, he locks his fingers behind his head and with a wide smile, proceeds to swivel his hips at Destiny, who has long been naked. She slinks under the sheets, shooting Willard a grin and wink as he flexes his biceps. He runs his hands from midsection to chest and then flings his hands forward at his wife, puckering his lips and blowing her a kiss with it. Taking off his last piece of clothing, Willard gets under the covers, as they begin the activity.
If only any of this were actually true and accurate.
AFTER
It was something I played in my head, to put a band-aid over the fact I returned home without the gold. The idea we won, that I was going to celebrate by having sex with Destiny, was all conjured by a chaotic mind. A delusion. The loss left a bitter taste in my mouth, but Loco and I went down swinging. For all of our bravado and laurels, Tha UnHoly Alliance was beat by a worthy pair of challengers. My feelings hadn't changed about Nathan Saniti and Kelli Starr. I still respected them, and knew the tag titles were in good hands. They earned a hard fought victory over us, and were more than entitled to the spoils of such.
"I guess Destiny will have to put her arms around my waist instead..."
The words dripped with melancholy. I loved the affection my wife was prone to showing, and once I went inside my house, I'm sure she would be there to lift up my spirits. But sitting outside on the lawn, I wasn't ready to go in and greet her yet, or anyone else for that matter. I wanted to sit with my thoughts, let them wash over me before I had to put them in the rear view mirror somehow and move on. Perhaps this was nature's way of paying us back for our past in-ring transgressions. After all, we were hated. If we had been wrestling in the seventies or eighties, police would be needed to escort us for safety purposes.
Looking up and down at palm trees near and far, the warmth of Anaheim's weather crossed with the dead lawns found littered around Southern California, could contrast with the pendulum of a certain mental illness that was still actively haunting me.
"Fucking Psychedelica...Fuck me for not taking my medication..."
I looked up just in time to see a car drive by, with a bumper sticker that was Pro-Republican in content. "FUCK REPUBLICANS!" I yelled as loud as I could. To say I hated the right wing would be a gross understatement. I was a bleeding heart liberal (don't let the Anarchist name lead you to believe different) and just the idea of any conservative in the Oval Office next year, made my blood boil. As did the realization that Loc and I would be forced to team with members of The Black Hand at the next Trauma.
"Fuck The Black Hand" was my final words before picking myself up and finally going inside. So instead of dancing on the faces of the devils in the pale moonlight in Hangtown, we were scheduled to team with them to combat the aforementioned Psychedelica and number one contenders, Cosmic Nac---The Late Night Express. Beautiful Bobby would approve.
What stuck in my craw was that our partners decided to attack us. That’s something I promise will be rectified one way or another. Still, we would have to co-exist for a night. Maybe. I have no problems burning the men who fancy using two m’s in their name, and then spreading their filthy ashes all over Kentucky, making it the Black and Bluegrass State right after. We never crossed paths with Phinehas, but Justin was a different matter. His venture over to the dark side will be met with the same failure that his venture in Havoc Inc was with us. But that’s a different matter for some other time.
”We lost, Destiny. But seeing you, makes up for the vacancy of the missing championship”.
She was sitting on the couch, greeting me with a warm smile. Walking over, I stretched out on the couch, my head gently resting on her thigh. Per usual, she began to play around with a few of my braided hair strands, looking down at my face as she searched my features. Whatever my brain thought it was going to continue doing, just met it’s demise. Destiny really was the only person who could calm the storm. It wasn’t always an easy task, but when you are with someone for as long as we have been, you reach a level of intimacy that melds two souls into one. She knew everything about me and vice versa.
”You can’t win them all, my love” she said after gently kissing my head “The fact you guys reached the final after coming out of retirement, should be a testament to your legacy. I watched the show with the girls. You guys left everything you had in the ring. The outcome isn’t what you hoped for, but don’t beat yourself up too much over it”
Easier said than done. But it wasn’t a discussion I wanted. Loco and I will get together and regroup. For now, the matter at hand was Trauma and the scheduled Main Event for the evening.
”Wait a second, where are the girls?”
I knew it was awfully quiet for a reason. Still, I welcomed the chance to relax the best I could, and have some alone time with Destiny. Having children makes that difficult, so we have to take it when we get it.