I sit at the bar…looking at the coworker and friend that I thought was fallen off the face of the earth standing in front of me with a proverbial gun against his head and who knows what is behind that mirror…it definitely looks strange. I mean...I wonder if there is that double sided mirror I hear happens in different mob scenes so that they can keep an eye on their partners who, let’s face it, are big fat fucking snitches who need to be shut up…

…again, I need to stop watching these damn movies and TV shows that, pretty much, shape the way people view Italians, like me. However, I am sitting here in a bar filled with Italians…and they all fit that mobster like stereotype. The fun stereotypes, that is. The stereotypes that make Italians seem like they are loud and obnoxious. The stereotypes that make Godfather, Good Fellas, and the Sopranos a staple in the minds of many Americans and, for that matter, many people around the whole friggin’ world. God, I still need to stop watching that shit.

I still don’t know what the hell is going on though, I mean…here I am….SITTING IN A BAR FILLED WITH MOBSTERS….WITH GUNS! LOADED MOTHER FUCKING GUNS! I look down at my half-finished beer and look at myself in the brownish black bottle, noticing that there are two guys right behind me…getting into a little argument…an argument that, pretty much, I don’t even want to know about…but you can tell when it’s going to get heated…the voice gets louder, and louder, and louder….the guy begins banging on the table when he really wants to emphasize a very stout point that he wants to make. Chairs move in tense moments, almost like a 1950s Western movie, only instead of big ol’ cowboy hats, stirrups, and a big fucking belt buckle they wear custom made suits, dress shoes, and probably carries more than one fucking gun in his holster, probably is wearing a bulletproof vest, and will probably be more deadly because his gun is a semi-automatic and will probably make your body look like Swiss fucking cheese in a matter of one point nine seconds, take that Michael Tarver.

I look at Bruce, who is cleaning a glass and talking to another guy…an older gentlemen…in, of course, a sports coat and looking damn spiffy, if I may say so myself. But the two men disperse and Bruce smirks and comes over to me.

You saw that guy talking to me, right?

Just now? Yes. I did, in fact, see him. Why, what is he? He has to be someone like a mob boss to get your full attention like tha…

And you would be right, Rizz. He’s the boss’s second hand man. He gets up, people look. He wants a beer, he gets served before you…because, well, he’s ten times better than any man, woman, or child in this bar, as of right now. To these people, Rizz…this man IS God! This man can’t do any wrong, unless….well, I think you know what happens when he doesn’t get his, or the boss’s, way. You, um, “disappear.”

Eh, just try to keep stuff to yourself. Don’t tell him…anything demeaning. You know?

Rizz, you don’t have to tell me twice. I know where I stand. A mob bartender is not one of the most lucrative jobs in the world; I think its right behind a hospital janitor in desirability rankings. However, right now…I would probably take a janitorial position in the crappiest hospital, right now.

Really? Why?

Bruce leans in over the table and tells me to come closer.

Job security. If I want out of a hospital…I can just say “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! What? You’re firing me? Can’t! Already quit, bitch!” But here…If I want to leave…and say “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” I wouldn’t even get out the first “Fuck” before I am shipped away in a box to Hoboken, New Jersey in a big white van without any damn windows and not found until fifty years later only to find out that I have no feet because they broke off when…

Bruce stops talking. I look at him confusingly before looking behind me and seeing an old man, with three other men with sunglasses surrounding him. He passes us without incidence and Bruce waves me back in.

…That’s the boss…I don’t want him to hear me talk to you about…some of the dangerous stuff.

But…um…you weren’t saying anything that bad. Were you?

It doesn’t matter, Rizz. If someone SUSPECTS you talking about the crimes someone may or may not have committed…you’re just signing your death certificate right there on your own. And, like I was saying before I was interrupted by him, I have heard stories where people found bones and bone fragments floating down the river but, as with the case with these guys, they are usually found without the feet.

Cement blocks in ocean?

Cement blocks in ocean, you got it chief.

I start squirming in my seat. I can’t believe I know about that stuff. I can’t believe someone actually does that and I can’t believe someone’s body, let alone two or three bodies were found floating in the river without any feet, like that.

Why haven’t you gone into wi…

Before I get my sentence out, Bruce throws my beer on him and then looks shocked and angry…what the hell?

LETS TAKE THIS OUTSIDE! COME ON!

Bruce goes outside, everyone is looking at me…I think I should follow him to the back…what the hell is going on? I reluctantly come outside and look around. There is no Bruce. I look between the door and the wall…nothing. I look around the cars…nothing. That idiot! He left me again! What the hell is his problem? I mean, first off he dresses up in a disguise…tells me to meet him somewhere…doesn’t show up…leaves some stupid picture in my fucking pants…I come to this place…he throws beer on himself…tells me to come outside and what happens? He is nowhere in si… ---===We Will Be Right Back===--- Jordan Penn. Jordan, I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. However, I NOW know you well enough to know that you are not the smartest man in the world but you have the balls to do something to get a name for yourself. Pinning Daniel Malcolm is big enough, congratulations…you pinned a watered down Daniel fucking Malcolm…after I was the one who did most of the damage to him, and to you of course. But…that’s not what I am talking about. If you would have just pinned Daniel Malcolm, celebrated like you won the damn Special Olympics, and just walked out…I would have been fine with it. People would have started to take notice of you for the good that you did in that ring, the good wrestling ability that comes with being Jordan fucking Penn. However, Jordan fucking Penn didn’t think so. Jordan did pick up the win…Jordan then did something so idiotic…so different…so dumb that it boggles my mind…he jumped me and didn’t give one of the best reasons that would have made me go “Hmm…he attacked me but, you know something? He had a good reason to…so I am not going to do anything about it.” And you know something? I probably can tell you with one hundred and ten percent that Jordan Penn didn’t expect anyone to stand up the way that I did and, to be honest, he should have expected better from someone who has been in this business, who has been in the XWF, who was been jumped on and never really done anything about it. Jordan Penn, next week…your ass is going to see how attacking me…will be the one mistake…the only mistake that you will never ever make again.

Now, on to my opponent for this week…an opponent who…is a legend. That’s right; I get another shot at a LEGEND in this damn game. And, yet again, this legend happens to be Dynamic Dynamite…a three time Universal champion. A man who has done just about everything right here in the X-Treme Wrestling Federation…has now become an X-Treme champion. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, the man who claimed that the title that he has right now, before getting that title, was beneath him. It’s beneath him…but we sit here and say the “X-Rated Icon” or whatever the hell he is…is the X-Treme champion. For now.

However, Dynamite…you, holding that championship, blame ME for ruining that championship when, to be quite honest with you, I have done more with that belt than your three runs as the Universal champion combined. I have been in matches that people who have held that title only DREAM about having. Main events, cage matches, Helldome, Multi Man Metal Mayhem, the list goes on and on my friend; I don’t think it HAS an end. Yet, you say I did NOTHING with that title? I have been in many feuds with the extremist of the extreme, Famine of the Vile and Trent Gein topping that fucking list. And you know what? I did everything in my power for that title and I showed the extremist of the extreme that not only do I belong in that elite category of crazy ass mother fuckers, but I belong…while holding that duct taped belt that is below you…in the elite class of the X-Treme Wrestling Federation. That title, that you hold, is the reason my name is in the XWF. That title, that you hold, is the reason why the PEOPLE call me the “X-Treme Icon!”

Yes, I know that you held the Universal title and had a more successful run as the Universal champion. Yes, I know that you are a legend, something that I want to be, something that I am striving for, something that I am well deserving of…even though that I don’t have that “HUGE TITLE RUN” like you have. Yes, Double D. I know I don’t have all of those things. But look at me, Dizzle Dazzle, I don’t need that long run. Yes, it would be good to have one to cement my legacy. It would be good to have a World title or another Universal title…

However, in my case…I’ve seen guys that are worse than my ass get into the Hall of Legends. I have seen guys mosey on in that, God damn, got me scratching my head…that got me wondering…how the hell did they get in before me? I am not going to name any names, I am not that insecure or selfish that I would tell you people the men and women that I think that I should be in before they do. I am not saying that they aren’t deserving to become the Legend that is enshrined in the Hall as we sit here and speak…I am just saying that…maybe some people in the Hall of Legends committee…not sure if that is actually a committee, but I am going to roll with it…overlooked the fact that I am pretty better than two or three legends that are in the Hall right now.

Doogie Doggie, you are not one of them…you, however, are a legendary figure and, yes, you could make that claim that people remember your title runs more than mine…your matches more than mine…your talent more than mine. However, I will tell you this, Dynamic Dud, this upcoming match…the match that pits you and I together ONE! MORE! TIME! But…different. It’s different because…there’s no one to blame. I don’t have Famine of the Vile on my side to point my finger at…but, Dynamite, you think you scare me…you think that your cocky but demanding tone gets to me…but I have heard better and I have heard worse…you’re not going to like facing me…you’re not going to like what I do to you, Dee Dee.

You are in my world, now. You hold MY title; you hold the X-TREME title. And you, just like me, are a big name holding that title and people who are a big name that hold the X-Treme title…get big names as their opponents…Dynamic Dynamite, say hello to your first big name. Not only are you holding MY TITLE and not only are you going up against your first BIG opponent holding MY TITLE, in me. You are going to be facing me…for MY title…in MY match. A match, just like that title, I MADE FAMOUS! You, Dynamic Dynamite, face ME, THE X-TREME MOTHER FUCKING ICON, in an X-Treme MOTHER FUCKING rules match!

You may be a legend, you may be the “X-Rated Icon”…but I am the “X-Treme Icon” and you are about to get your “Welcome to the Big Tyme moment!”

---===Welcome BACK to the Big Tyme===--- ---===No Smoking, please.===--- …I wake up…in the back of a moving van. I’m strapped in tight…the car is moving at 100 miles an hour, as the only thing that I see, from the driver’s window, are straight lines, that I think are cars…my head’s still foggy as hell…I don’t know what the hell is going on. The guy driving the van looks back at his rear view mirror. I pretend like I am still unconscious from…something…I am still not sure what happened. I look next to me…there’s a steel pipe lying vertical to where I am. There is blood on the edge of the pipe…I think it’s mine…I can feel something trickle down my forehead…but I can’t check to see what the substance is…wait a minute…I look down at my shirt…it’s splattered with blood.

I feel funny, though. I don’t know if it is from the pipe shot or the excessive loss of blood…everything is still blurry…everything still seems weird. Fuck it.

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!

I kick the back of the driver’s chair hard. The driver looks pulls into a parking lot…I don’t know what it is…all I know it’s a parking lot due to the fuzzy shapes that, I think, are cars. The driver gets out of the car…but doesn’t open my door, yet. What is this guy waiting for? I can hear him outside, though, his feet hitting the pavement walking back and forth near the sliding door. Is he loading his gun? Am I about to die? Is this the last stand? The hell is going on here?!

The door slides open…it’s Bruce…he unlocks my straps and, as soon as I get free I punch him across the jaw before pulling him in the car and sliding the door closed again. I slam him against the door and look at him with eyes that can make a grown man commit suicide…twice.

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?! YOU GOT ME LOCKED UP IN HERE?! NOT KNOWING WHERE THE FUCK I AM! NOT KNOWING WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN A FUCKING MURDERER FOR ALL I FUCKING KNOW, BRUCE!

I slam him against the car door, again.

ANSWER ME, FUCKER!

GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME AND I WILL TELL YOU! I’M UNARMED! I AM NOT GOING TO HURT YOU, ANYMORE! I saved you…Please, let me explain, Rizz. Please let me explain.

I throw him across the van and lock the door so that he doesn’t get out. I can’t wait to hear this shit.

OK, Bruce…let me hear it…why the hell did you just kidnap me in a white van after not seeing you for over two damn years?

Well, I haven’t been quite honest with you…

…again, I know. But…when you said that thing about witness protection…don’t you think that I’m not in that already? I already told you that I had problems and I already told you that I can’t leave this place...unless I am in a box. I lied…but I am doing something that, pretty much, could be life and death…everything needs to be in order…nobody needs to know about me and the mafia because, if it all goes to plan, people like that douche bag of a “boss” and the shit that he does NEEDS to end and, to be honest, I need to stop it. I need to live my life again.

But Bruce…if you do that…another guy will take its place and come at your face like a hyena.

Why do you think I was on the fucking plane, Rizz?! Why do you think I was so hesitant in telling you this? Hell, I’m wearing a wire right now and, to be honest, these guys that are on the other line are probably going to have a fucking fit because I just told someone this…DON’T WORRY, HE’S GOOD!...You are…good, right Rizz?

I look at Bruce…confused to whole high hell…I don’t know what to do. Fuck it.

Yeah, I got you. Look at me, though. You are better than this…but don’t try anything I would do. Don’t turn into the thing you are chasing, Brucie. Don’t go out there and go all Rambo on people. Just keep it cool, don’t hurt yourself. Please, don’t hurt yourself.

You got it, chief.

Can I go now?

Yeah, how is your head, Rizz?

Blood dried up…I think. But if you ever do that again…I will stick that pole so far up your ass you will be shitting giant logs.

I get outside…I look around…and I get back into the van.

Um…I am not sure where the hell I should go.