Jalie was walking along a dreary back alleyway, glancing into each dumpster as she came to it. In her right hand she carried a pair of scuffed black boots, a small tarp, a red stapler and a stuffed camel. The term ‘One man’s trash is another man’s treasure’ seemed to hold special meaning for her. The majority of her personal belongings had belonged to at least two people before her. Her search being finished, Jalie headed back to her El Camino and tossed the items in the back. Hobo Nick sat up from his napping spot beside the spare tire, the tarp draped over his head.
“Some people call that stealing, you know.” Nick pointed out.
“Yeah, well, others call it shopping. Lay down. I don’t need another ticket.” Jalie ordered. She hopped into the driver’s side and pulled away from the curb. Nick crawled upward and poked his head around the side of the car to speak to Jalie through her window.
“I really feel that we should have a discussion about your safety precautions. I’m concerned you’re not being careful enough.”
As luck would have it, Nick’s point was proven when Jalie slammed on the brakes and swerved to avoid hitting a cricket. Nick was thrown from the back of the El Camino and smacked face-first into a street lamp. Jalie leaned out the window with a grin.
“Point taken. Now quit dicking around and get in the car.”
..dos|// chillaxin’ (someone slap me for actually saying that).
Jalie’s fucked up El Camino pulled into the courtyard of her and Seth’s home. The dented and paint-chipped vehicle was in a stark contrast to the beautiful multi-million dollar home. But what the fuck did they care? Jalie stepped out of the car and ordered one of the busty bikini-clad “gardeners” to unload her stuff. Jalie slapped the blonde on the ass before heading in the side door to the kitchen. The usual motley crew was inside: Jay, Nick, Seth, and a couple of Jay and Jalie’s latino cousins - aptly named, “The cousins”. At the fridge stood the youngest, Enrique. Contrary to local belief, that was not his real name. He had acquired it as a child due to the oversized mole on his face. While most others tried to subtly avoid it, Seth continued to openly gawk at it; and had taken the recent step of referring to him as Moleo Iglesias.
“Hey, Moleo, toss me another beer, man.”
See?
“You know one day he’s gonna snap and cut all you motherfuckers, right?” Jalie assured them. Typical male laughter filled the room.
“No, no I’m serious. He’s gonna go fuckin’ postal and people are gonna be like, ‘Jon Benet who?’… You just watch. Him, AND his mole are gonna fuck you up. Double team. Ain’t that right Enrique?”
The young man smiled, nodded, and disregarded the comments as usual. His attention followed Jalie out the door after she grabbed a beer. Cyprus had just pulled up in a piece of shit pick-up truck. Enrique and two other cousin’s followed her outside, but stopped at the sliding glass door to lean against it. Once Cyprus made eye contact, the three of them raised their heads to her in the universal latino gesture of ‘whats up?’. Cyprus rolled her eyes and turned to Jalie. The two of them headed across the courtyard to the living room. Hobo Nick had migrated in there with the rest of the family and was explaining the logistics of the governments Intergalactic Peace Treaty, and where they’d gone wrong. Cyprus wanted to stop and listen but Jalie pulled her away.
“Trust me, it all ends in how the government plotted and eventually had Saved By the Bell cancelled because Slater was inspiring metro sexual Hispanic men to wear muscle shirts.” Jalie informed her.
Cyprus nodded and the two of them found themselves sitting at the back of the room next to Jalie’s aunt Daniela.
“Where’s your husband, meha?”
“In the kitchen, with Enrique and the others.” Jalie replied.
“Oh, si Enrique. Such a nice boy. Mira, mira Lie… Did he ever get that, that thing removed?”
Jalie cringed and shook her head. Daniela sighed and returned her attention to Nick’s speech. He was now being ushered out of the way of the TV.
“I kid you not! Free yourselves! Fight the power, or the power shall never cease fighting!”
A rousing chorus of ‘shut the fuck up’ rose from the crowd, who merely wanted to watch the boxing match.
“Why is it the guys only cheer for the latino fighters?” Cyprus asked.
“Ehh, because. We never know which one might be related to us.” Jalie responded casually. “Hey, you heard we’re up at the pay per view, right? We’ve got tag title shots.”
“I thought you hated titles, Lie?” Cyprus questioned.
“Yeah, I do, but whatever… It increases my paycheck. It’s not like I haven’t held title belts before. Doesn’t mean I’ll carry the fuckin’ thing around with me everywhere like Seth does, though. I swear to fuckin’ gods he’s gotta take it into the bathroom while he primps his hair.”
The two of them shared a giggle at Seth’s expense.
“Hey, no matter what, holding gold is gonna be a boost for the stable, though. Get Wicked Intentions back into the limelight. Fuck some people up, break some rules. You know, the usual. It’ll be weird without Cody, though.”
Jalie risked a glance at Cyprus at the mention of his name, but she seemed unperturbed. That was a relief. If the whole stable idea was going to work, they all needed to be on the same wavelength. Lately Cyprus was back to her usual bouncy self. That meant random outbursts of squeaks and cart-wheels. Not to mention the high-kicks that brought all the cousins attention to their area. A round of applause went up when they caught sight of her panties. Jalie rolled her eyes.
“Don’t you guys have anything better to do?” She asked. A solemn ‘no’ went round the room. Jalie stood and grabbed Cyprus by the arm to pull her into the next room, a formal dining area that was never used. Jay had set himself up in here with three of the carpenters that had been fixing a window Jalie had recently thrown Jay out of. On the table were three face-down playing cards, bent vertically so they were easily shifted. Jay stood across the table from the seated men, speaking in a voice so quick an auctioneer would be jealous. Jalie smiled. For once she was fairly proud of her brother. The guys laid their bets and cards were flipped over to disappointed groans. Jay shoved the bills in his pocket and apologized to them. Two of the men left the room. The third stood slowly, remarking how pissed his wife was going to be. He reached out to view the rest of the cards and Jay grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
“A good dealer never reveals his secrets.”
“You’d almost think you cheated us, man…”
“Now that is a serious accusation, sir. If you’d like, you can take it up with the complaint department.” Jay pointed to Jalie, who was waiting with an earth-shattering right hook. Cyprus bounced up and down, clapping her hands.
“And here I thought I never taught you anything.” Jalie smirked.
“Hey, I learned from the best baby.” Jay replied. In an expression of his gratitude, he handed Jalie a twenty. “Consider it a royalty. Thanks to you I found out how to turn a painful incident of broken glass into a profitable coincidence. ‘Scuse me, ladies…”
Jay stepped over the carpenter’s limp form and out the back sliding glass door where a bevy of pool-girls awaited. “It’s good to be the prince.”
Before Jalie and Cyprus had the opportunity to leave the room, a well-known journalist crawled out from beneath the dining table.
“Ah fuck me…” Jalie cursed, draping her fingers over her eyes. Cyprus looked confused.
“I’d like to get to know you better before we become intimate, Miss Dumas.”
Gunther Boohiney stood and brushed non-existent lint from his impeccable Armani sport coat. Beneath this were a pair of Garfield boxers. He wore two mis-matched socks, velcro sandals and a black bowler hat perched upon his head. Cyprus giggled.
“You know what I meant, slutbag. And it’s Mrs. Thomas now, remember?”
“I was under the impression that Seth divorced you for a Canadian farm-hand named Lisa.” Gunther stated matter-of-factly.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.” Jalie muttered.
“But… You just did.” Gunther pointed out. He then dodged the framed photograph Jalie removed from the wall and tossed at him. He seated himself upon the table, crossed his legs femininely, and pulled a tape recorder from his coat pocket. Cyprus giggled.
“Tell me, Miss Dumas… What’s it like coping with a failing marriage? Do Seth’s frequent visits to modern day bath-houses upset you? Do you join him, perhaps? How did you and Cyprus meet? Do you think she’s trustworthy? Do either of you find my lips luscious?” Gunther pointed the recorder in their direction and pursed his lips as he awaited answers. Cyprus was now in a fit of uncontrollable giggles.
“Ugh, gods help me… Firstly, my marriage is perfectly fine. Seth is NOT bi-curious, contrary to popular belief. And if he was, no, I would not join him. I met Cyprus at a bus station when I was thirteen. I know she’s trustworthy because she was the only one who regularly visited me when I was-”
“Having episodes.” Cyprus finished. “Jalie had long episodes.”
“Yeah, episodes. And your lips disgust me along with everything else about you, you fucking fruitcake.”
“I enjoy fruitcake as well. Lovely of you to ask.” Gunther smiled sincerely.
Jalie and Cyprus shared a wide-eyed glance.
“Miss Lolita! Woo, that’s fun to say. Lo-leet-ah. Lo-lo-lo… Lee-tah…”
Cyprus blinked.
“Right! To the point. How long have you been in the wrestling profession? Why are you so hyper? Do you think personal insecurities make you so eager to draw attention to yourself? What are your thoughts on Janet Jackson’s fluctuating weight issues? How many screwdrivers can you drink in a row before unconsciousness? Ever held a championship before? How do you think clear heels came to be the dress code of strippers nationwide?”
Again, Gunther pressed the tape recorder to Cyprus’ face, his lips pursed.
“How long? Not too long.. I didn't get into it for the money. I did because everyone else was doing it. Cause it was fun. I started at the beginning of the new year for AWA. 8 months, about. Hyperness, I'm naturally wound up a bit too tight. Oh, and crack. As for insecurities? Fuck yes. Isn't that how everyone is? I'm insecure as shit, but it has nothing to do with drawing attention to myself. I draw attention because I'm just flamboyant. Whenever someone acts like themselves, without inhibition, it draws attention. My insecurities make me who I am and so does my flamboyance. Janet Jackson… Um, I think everyone should sit back, have a sandwich and mind their bidness.. I can drink about 9 screwdrivers after I take my shirt off. And… I beat both Angela Jameson and Skylar Black for the Youngblood and FemX for short periods of time. Clear heels, well, they were taking cue from the street-corner hookers. Everyone knows that. Plus they look better in strobe lights.”
Gunther looked satisfied at such a straightforward answer. He tipped his hat and wandered out the back door to join Jay outside, probably for another round of interrogation. Jalie and Cyprus shook their heads simultaneously and left the room as the scene went black.
It is after this that the infamous Bram Stoker novel began. It discusses his fall from the Christian faith (Which I have to assume already happened with the whole “villagers on spikes“ hobby. Unless of course he was doing it “in the name of God“, which is certainly feasible), the death of his wife, and his supposed transformation into the original vampyre.
However, as with the Christian Bible, there are many untruth’s and contradictions in Bram’s fictional work. Vladimir fled the castle when it was under siege, his wife already dead. He carried his infant son with him in the retreat from the castle, only to drop him and have him trampled by the following men. He then kept running. Vladimir Dracul was a sociopath that lived centuries ago. Vampyre legends existed long before his birth. Not to mention the entire story is based upon his former faith in Christianity. Callisto is supposed to be Greek, is she not?
Point… Calli is nothing but a girl with dreams of grandeur. Some imbecile masquerading as a vampyre. Granted, maybe he just liked the name and wasn‘t trying to emulate a historical figure. There‘s that possibility. There‘s also the possibility that he‘s a jackass anyway for pretending to be Buffy the Fucking Vampyre Slayer. It‘s like all the shitty TV shows are making a comeback through one dumbass.
Ahh, but now she’s falling for her pansy ass team-mate. Barrows, who’s been acting as her little lapdog for the past while. He plays right into it. All of it. Pathetic, really. Lack of self esteem, maybe… Or daddy issues. Has to live up to his fathers so-called legend. But for fuck sakes, his dad was a joke as well. He tries to play it off as though the name Barrows holds any sort of respect whatsoever. The Bronx Badass? Aye. This whole thing makes me wanna take a nap. That’s just about how fucking entertaining these people are. The fact that I would rather sleep than be subjected to their presence has to mean something. Maybe I’m narcoleptic. Maybe they just fucking suck. Maybe both. We may never know. Until next time…
This has been one FucKKeD up production.