“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” Jalie exclaimed, leaping from Cody’s misshapen couch and throwing her hands in the air.
Simultaneously, Cody dropped to the floor, Hobo Nick dove behind the kitchen counter, and the cable guy managed to electrocute himself. When the dust settled, Cody looked up at her angrily.
“What the fuck was that about?”
“Nothing, really. I just always wanted to say that.” Jalie sat back down looking quite satisfied with herself.
The cable guy adjusted his ridiculous comb-over and went back to hooking up the TV.
“So, will he get porn?” Jalie inquired casually. The cable guy turned to look at her.
“Uh, if he subscribes to one of the channels, then yes… I imagine he will.” He replied.
Jalie looked at Cody pleadingly.
“I already subscribed to Playboy.” Cody informed her. She accepted this new information with an excited giggle and clap of her hands.
“Will you record the Saturday night directors cut for me? We’d have it at our place, but I’m cheap and I’d rather you paid for it.”
Cody blinked. He watched her for a moment in vague disbelief, then nodded. “I never thought I’d be recording porn for a woman, let alone a woman I count as my sister. Albeit a hot sister… That I wouldn’t feel guilty about poking… But a sister nonetheless.” He added.
Jalie hugged him and sat back to observe the cable guys ass-crack, peaking from the top of his navy blue dickies. She lowered her voice to just above a whisper and leaned over to Carson.
“Do you suppose it’s a requirement of some professions to either lack the use of a belt, or have an ass so flabby that no pants on earth could contain it?” She asked, speaking in what her mother called her “Church voice”. Jalie could still remember being eight years old, leaning over to her father and inquiring something similar.
“Dad, do you think it’s a requirement of priests to wear black robes so they seem more hypocritical when preaching about black masses?”
Jalie snapped back to reality when Cody poked her in the forehead.
“Sorry… Memory relapse.”
“Do tell.”
“The last day I ever went to church. When I was getting the body of christ from the priest, I told him god seemed awfully stale and asked for cheez-its instead. Then I asked him why we couldn’t come to church sky clad, because stuffy Sunday clothes were even more meaningless than his wife’s insistence that she and the 15 year old altar boy were having piano lessons.” Jalie explained.
Cody nodded slowly, as if coming to a realization after many years.
“That explains part of it, at least. You were this weird as a kid, too. And what the hell is sky clad?”
“Naked. Like for full moon rites and the solstice celebration. I was into it as a kid but I prefer robes now… So don’t get your hopes up come Yule.” She pointed out. Cody frowned.
“Sometimes I think you tell me things just to get my hopes up, and then crush them.”
Before Jalie could respond, the cable guy stood up and announced that he was finished. He had Cody sign a few papers, took the installation fee, and got the hell away from them as quickly as his bow-legged waddle would allow. Hobo Nick peeked from behind the counter.
“Whew, he’s gone. I was beginning to think I’d go blind with the moon shining directly in front of me. Disgusting, tactless. No decency whatsoever.” He meandered out from behind the counter in his baggy tightie whities, one hand down the front of them scratching mercilessly. Jalie and Cody exchanged a glance but opted not to say anything. Nick’s face lit up when he pulled his hand out from his underwear, now clutching a horribly mangled peanut butter and banana sandwich.
“…Did you just find that in your briefs, dude?” Cody asked, grimacing. Jalie nodded. “He stuffs them down there when he has extra.. That way when he scratches or adjusts, he’ll be pleasantly surprised.” She explained.
“Okay, you’re not really gonna eat that though, are you?” Carson asked. Nick eyed him carefully as he slowly began to raise the sandwich to his mouth.
“No, dude, really…”
He brought it closer, keeping solid eye contact and looking dead serious.
“Come on man, that’s disgusting!” Cody pleaded.
Closer… It was nearly there. Nick’s tongue darted from his mouth to touch the bread and Cody flinched.
Nick didn’t even crack a smile as he continued to torment him. Cody began to look sick.
“Dude, just quit looking. I’m telling you, he’s gonna eat the damn thing so you best stop watching.” Jalie warned.
Sure enough, before Cody could take his eyes away, Nick crammed the sandwich into his mouth and started chewing, his eyes half closed in an expression of pure happiness. Cody stood up and strode to the front door. He threw it open and went outside to get some fresh air. The first thing that met his eyes was Carmen Dumas, on the balcony beside him. She was vacuuming her welcome mat and had a pair of headphones on, utterly oblivious to her surroundings. She was singing something in Spanish he didn’t remotely understand, but he did know that her ass looked incredible in the pair of daisy duke’s she had on. To express his feelings, he approached her and gave her a smack on the ass. Carmen shut the vacuum off and stood upright, taking her headphones off.
“Jalie, he touched my ass again!” She called, sounding like a five year old tattle-tale. Jalie stepped out of the apartment and gave Cody a look that would make lesser men hit their knees. However, she didn’t verbally bitchslap him.
“Carmen I think you’re thoroughly capable of handling this yourself, that is if it was even unwanted. Judging by your outfit I find it difficult to believe you weren’t asking for it, but I digress. If it pissed you off, take the hand tool on your vacuum and um… Get creative.” She said with a smile.
Carmen grabbed the hand tool and turned to Cody, but he was back inside his own apartment before she could get any more ideas.
“So!” Jalie began, dropping onto the couch and carefully avoiding the protruding spring, “apparently you and I are now tag team partners. Fancy that. If you’d have told me that back in RWA I would have said you were smoking something even I wouldn’t recommend. Funny how things change, eh?”
Cody shrugged. “Yeah, this match is gonna be a piece of fucking cake though. I’m more concerned about the main event…”
“Ha! You have to put in effort!” She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Yeah well, my championship just so happens to be worth a hell of a lot more than yours.” Cody shot back.
“…Championship? ……” She bit her lower lip, thinking back. “AH! Yeah, that one. Who gives a shit? Besides I don’t really uh… Have it anymore….” She trailed off.
Cody raised an eyebrow. “How the fuck do you lose a title without a match?”
“Well I didn’t lose it in that sense. The things worthless. I just uh… Well,” She sat up and pointed to the watch she was wearing.
“Is that a mens rolex?” Cody asked.
“No. It’s a knock-off. But it’s shiny.”
“And where exactly did you get it…?” Cody asked, though he already knew the answer.
“The pawn shop towards Barstow. I traded.”
Cody huffed and sat down on the floor in front of the couch.
“Management is gonna kill you.”
“Nonsense. They never have to know. I’ve already got it figured out. For one, if I don’t lose the title, I don’t have to present it to anyone. Second, if anyone asks, I’m having it polished. That is until I get the new one I ordered.”
“Why did you pawn it if you’re just ordering a new one?”
“Not another Chaosweight one. I ordered one of those WWE replicas. The John Cena one with the spinner thing.” She told him, smiling.
Cody stared at her blankly. “You are unbelievable.” He said simply. “Although, you do realize Williams will just have another one made. Even though it’s going to cost him. But eh, whatever. You can fight your own battles. I have my own shit to deal with.”
“Ah, yes.” Jalie started, knowing where this was headed. “You know I’ve yet to give you shit for the incident last week due to you being so fucking pissy lately. You’re acting just like Seth.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Cody demanded.
“Nothing! Fuck, dude… Just that you’re both in a fucking uproar over this shit… I wish you could both just drop it.”
“Drop it? How the fuck am I supposed to drop it, Jalie? Seth was my fucking brother! And he stabbed me in the fucking back… How am I supposed to feel? You know, since you’re the queen of handling your emotions. You can’t look at a disaster in my life and tell me how to handle it when you haven’t even handled your own… Not after all these years. So don’t you fucking lecture me!” Cody stood and crossed into the kitchen, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge.
Hobo Nick observed the scene quietly, knowing Cody’s words had crossed some sort of invisible boundary. Slowly, he began to back out of the apartment. Carson downed half his beer and turned his glare back to the woman on his couch. Jalie looked diminished, pale. Immediately Cody regretted his words… But admitting where he was wrong wasn’t one of his strong suits. He’d rather dig himself a deeper hole, convincing himself he was a piece of shit rather than trying to put it right. So instead, he opted to make things worse.
“Awfully quiet now, aren’t we? Don’t try and make me feel bad… You’re just as much of a failure as I am…” He trailed off.
Suddenly his lava lamp went careening at him, just giving him time to duck and avoid the shattering glass when it struck the cabinet. In an instant Jalie had grabbed her car keys and stormed out of the apartment, leaving Carson to brood.
Michael Ryba.
WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!
…I find myself asking. You’ve had a really shitty streak going here lately. And now suddenly you have a title shot? Albeit a shitty title, but a title shot nonetheless. What have you done to deserve it? Lately, absolutely nothing. Hell, you’ve hardly even been around. So this brings me to the conclusion that I dislike you. Highly. I don’t see any reason why I should even bless you with my presence, except for the fact that I wouldn’t mind beating the shit out of you.
Why?
Because. I dislike you.
Now! We take the bold leap from simplicity to unyielding, droning, ceaseless mediocrity. Oh how I hate mediocrity.
The Young Guns… And yes, I realize they spell it with a ‘z’ but that is… Well, for lack of a better description, utterly retarded. I also realize that Rick and Mike have been having somewhat of a family feud as of late over Rick’s ex-wife Tiffany, or Theresa.. Whatever the fuck her name is. I would think Mike would be happy that Rick at least found someone who can make him look better, instead of joining him in the downward slope commonly known as his career. No, instead, Brandi James is pushing Rick to the top as if he were something special. Because, apparently, he’s a decent lay. Balding, but a decent lay. But, honestly, what’s the secret behind Rick’s unreasonable success if not Brandi? Either him, or his equally pathetic sibling will be entered into the world title match.
But why? This has been tormenting me. Is Max Williams’ head honestly THAT far up his ass? You walked out on that match with Adonis because you know damn fucking well that kid would have made you his bitch. You couldn’t cut it, so you tried to make yourself look big by turning tail and leaving. You’re nothing but a sore fucking loser who couldn’t stand to have one more loss on his record. Bloody hell… I can think of so many other worthy participants than that mid-level imbecile. Obviously I would be a first choice if it weren’t for the fact that I want nothing to do with the world title, nor the responsibility it entails. But Angela Jameson? Adonis? Hobo Nick, for fuck sakes. All exceed Rick’s talent with a single fucking breath but still… Still, they want this long-winded baboon as an example of the best the AWA has to offer.
Do you know what people think when they look at the card and see your name, Rick? “What the fuck were they thinking?”
You are nothing if not second class. And that is never going to change. Personally, I don’t have much against you other than the fact you’re a bloody idiot. But you make Brandi happy, and in turn I feel consequentially obligated to tolerate you. I don’t know why. It’s like Brandi is sharing what little conscience she has with me. It’s going to take some getting used to.
So, Mike Young. Not much to say about you that doesn’t apply similarly to your lackwit brother. The same mediocre talent, the same horribly misplaced self confidence… All of it simply makes me want to laugh at you. And you… YOU were once the world champion. Once. Although Cody has it now. Fancy that. I imagine you have high hopes of coming out of the cage match a champion once more. But sadly, that is a physical impossibility. Why, you may ask? Because every single one of the men in that match could beat the shit out of you, blindfolded, high, and hog-tied. You are way out of your league. And considering I’m easily of their caliber, how the fuck do you think you and Rick are going to come out of this tag match with the championships? You’re not entirely clueless, Mikey. You should recognize defeat when you see it. Goddess knows you’ve had enough experience with it.