Vooooooooodooooooooooooo!!
chyeah.. voodoo. why?
because david bowie said so, motherfucker
and what bowie says goes...
because he is the one and only man that can look even remotely cool in tights. mmhmm. i said it. tights.
and the hair. like, labyrinth hair. how fucking cool is that?
fuck toby, he'd be a cute goblin. I SHALL BE THE QUEEN!
And ronny will be my goblin king, my david bowie...
...only without the tights.
./scene 1\. __terrible misunderstandings
In a sense, I do hope that no one finds me an insincere bitch for my feelings toward my newly recovered sister. Rest assured, I’m glad she lived. She’s happy go lucky as always. Like a god damn mouseketeer. But truly? I’m a little bit cynical. Antagonistic. Bitchy… And yeah, jealous. Carmen hurts and the world stops spinning. Jalie? She hurts and the world asks her for another beer. Unappreciated. Everybody’s got this feeling like I’m always gonna be around, man. That ain’t the case. But shit… With all the gratitude I get, would anyone even know if I wasn’t? Jay would notice if I didn’t order dinner. Maybe I’m a push-over. Maybe that’s why people figure it doesn’t matter. Special dates, if I’m sick, had my foot run over by the garbage truck… You know, the usual. ‘Cause Jalie always forgives. Always. Treat her like a fucking stranger. Not worth your time.
Not worth the expense of making a long distance phone call once a month. Or the strain of asking how she’s doing after a close friend dies. You didn’t know him, so why care? She’ll get her crying out when she’s alone. Pretend to care and she might buy you a six pack. Let’s move on that. You know she’s hurting when she buys you shit. Anything for you to spend time with her; anything so she doesn’t feel alone. Flash a smile. Maybe you’ll get that car you’ve been eyeing. Bastard.
Jalie interrupted these morose thoughts by switching on her radio. She was seated in her black 1970 El Camino, waiting in the drive through of a fast food restaurant. Finally the car ahead pulled away. Jalie, not bothering to turn down her sound system, leaned out the window to speak with the cashier: an acne-ridden gangly young man named Josh. This was an unfortunate name. His braces wouldn’t permit him to speak his name without showering the listener in saliva at the same time.
“My name’s Josh welcome to McDonalds how can I help you?”
Jalie removed her sunglasses and wiped them off on her t-shirt.
“Uhh, I need creamer. Coffee creamer. The little plastic cups of it. A lot of ‘em.”
The clerk gave her a strange look, but Jalie’s expression told him she wasn’t kidding. Moments later a bag full of the cheap cups was handed over to her. Any question of a charge was disregarded as the El Camino rumbled out of the drive. A camera cut later, she was pulling into the ridiculously long driveway of her Yucca Valley home. Smoke billowed in the distance as the recent fires swallowed up the landscape she called home. The coffee creamer? No purpose whatsoever.
“What the fuck is this?” Seth questioned. He’d just come out of their home gym across the courtyard, a towel around his neck and wearing a pair of black boxing shorts. He peered in the passengers side window of the El Camino to see the seat covered with tiny cups of creamer.
“I felt like doing something irrational. Is that a problem?” Jalie asked. Her tone was daring him to object, and he knew it. Instead he called Jay away from the pool girls attentions to put them into the fridge. Jalie climbed out of the car and headed straight for the sliding glass door leading into the kitchen. She brushed past Jay and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. Seth followed, draping his towel over Jay’s head when he passed by.
“What’s wrong? Or is this one of those woman times when you pretend you wanna be left alone, only to bitch about it later?” He questioned. Jalie raised an eyebrow.
“You have such a gentle manner, babe. But trust me. I’m fine. Besides, since when does bringing home fifty cups of creamer signify emotional trauma?”
“Since I married a nutcase?”
Seth dodged the now empty beer bottle Jalie pitched at his head. It shattered against Jay’s instead, who was just making his way back in the kitchen. He dropped like a rock, not that either of them noticed.
“I love you too, honey.” Seth responded with a smile. “So,” he added, gently easing into a new topic, “Carmen’s back at her place. She and Cody are back together but I think we all saw that coming. There’s been some shit going on with an old friend of Cody’s. I guess uh, Carmen was pregnant.”
Seth gave this information a moment to sink in. Jalie remained expressionless.
“But this guy, he uh… There’s been a lot of fighting. I guess he caused Carmen to have a miscarriage. Big nightmare. She’s been in and out of the hospital again, but she’s fine. Just really shaken up.”
Jalie set the empty bottle of her second beer on the counter casually. “Pity.” She said simply.
“Jesus christ, Lie-” Seth began, only to be sharply interrupted.
“DON’T… Say that fucking name in this house. Christianity is nothing more than a cult following that gained military support. That is the only reason it was shoved down everyone’s throats. It’s an excuse to slaughter innocent people. Because they have different beliefs. It’s no better than any other puffed up religion that claims anyone else is a heretic. If I have to hear one more person talk about ‘saving’ me, I’m gonna burn down every fucking house of worship in the vicinity - just like they did to our temples. Don’t think I haven’t been tempted!”
With that, Jalie left the kitchen. Seth followed her into the living room.
“Lie, she’s your fucking sister. Personally, I like her. She pisses me off, but I like her. Even I have sympathy for what she’s been through lately. I thought you of all people would be raging at this shit. Instead you’re brooding like a selfish fuckin’ child.”
Jalie turned slowly on her heel. Her heavy boot thumped upon the carpet in a steady rhythm and her arms crossed themselves over her chest. She was pissed.
“A child, am I? Fine. Maybe you’re right. Don’t think I’m not hating myself for the way I feel but I can’t help it. As for you, don’t be so quick to judge. Such sympathy for the young couple! It’s touching, love. Truly. But I see through you. You bicker with Carson like he was your wife and not me. This is just another chance to pin some unfortunate mishap on him. After all, it was his former friend that hurt her, right? Some worthless military man named Justin. Yes, I’ve kept up on it. And in your view, Carson should have kept it from happening. At least that’s what you’ll put across to make yourself feel superior. Unless of course you’re over all of this. In which case you’ll need to prove it to me, before you try feigning sympathy for my poor mistreated little sibling.”
Jalie’s voice, like poison, trailed off. Seth stepped forward and kissed her with a smile.
“I’ll get over it at some point. He is, in a sense, my brother… I just have to decide what to do with him to settle things.” Seth explained. Both of them knew each other far too well to be stung by mere words.
“Love and hate in equal measures - one of life’s unwritten treasures.” Jalie quoted in a sing-song voice. She kissed Seth’s cheek then darted off for the bedroom.
Hobo Nick, sitting on the couch all this time, finally piped up.
“You two are some crazy ass motherfuckers.” He said plainly.
“Shut up and eat your sandwich.” Seth quipped.
..dos…
The cameras returned to show Jalie and her long time friend Cyprus Lolita sitting outside of a Circle K in Yucca Valley. An aged and battered boom box was placed in between them, thumping out TuPac Shakur’s “I just don’t give a fuck”. Jalie sat in a pair of her usual baggy blue jeans, worn ragged and scribbled on in a black sharpie. Her white tank top had purple stains down the front where her slushie had dripped. She didn’t seem to care. Cyprus was leaning over and doodling on Jalie’s black boots with a pink paint pen. Her purple plaid mini-skirt was lifted and exposing her black panties beneath, but she didn’t seem to care either.
“Do you suppose Tupac actually did give a fuck? I mean, maybe he was just putting on a gangsta front for his homies in an effort to restrain his elegant feminine side.” Cyprus suggested.
“Anyone who can kiss Janet Jackson and not cringe at the thought that she’s related to Michael and LaToya is a true fuckin’ gangsta.” Jalie replied.
Cyprus finished up her painting and capped the pen. Jalie’s left boot now read ‘Slikken porno tispe fflt dobbolt overprisa’.
“Lollipop porn bitch? Why, thank you.” Jalie noted. Cyprus, pleased with herself, grinned widely. The CD switched to NWA’s early 90’s cover of ‘Express Yourself’ and Cyprus got up to dance. She dragged Jalie up with her and the two started doing a samba to the chorus.
Why? How the fuck should I know?
A beat up orange Datsun pickup pulled into the parking lot. Inside was former AWA world champion and current SFT hotshot, Cody Carson. Cyprus had just whirled Jalie into a dip when she caught sight of Carson and consequently let Jalie drop to the asphalt.
“…Hey.” Cody said lamely.
Cyprus replied with a grunt. Jalie, still lying on the ground, giggled.
“Awkwaaaaard….” She snickered.
Cody reached down to grab Jalie’s hand and lifted her up with ease. He nodded back to the truck where Carmen was sitting in the passengers side. She had a large dog sitting on her lap - some sort of mix between a great dane and a rottweiler. Carmen pushed it aside and leaned her head out the window to talk to her sister. Without hesitation Jalie reached in and slapped her.
“What the fuck?!”
“Stop getting into trouble! Carmen this, Carmen that. Boo fucking hoo. I can’t take care of you if you surround yourself with fucking idiots!” Jalie growled.
“So that’s what this boils down to? Right? You couldn’t save me from this so you stop calling. You have the weirdest fuckin’ logic, Lie.”
“You should know that by now, little. So who’s the pooch?”
Jalie disguised the hurt in her eyes with a change of topic. “Rufus. I picked him up at the humane society today. Cody said his furniture’s trashed anyway so Rufus won’t make much of a difference.”
Jalie made to respond but was interrupted by the shouting match coming from the parking lot.
“You’re a fucking liar! Just admit it, that’s all I want! Grow the fuck up!”
“Fine! Yes, I’m a child! I changed my mind! Is it so bad to wanna be with my fiancée?”
Jalie stepped back from the truck and stepped between Cyprus and Carson. The look on her face was enough to make them both go silent.
“Enough. Cyprus, you’re crazy. Loco. Cody, you’re immature and an asshole. GET THE FUCK OVER IT ALREADY! Shit didn’t work out. Life goes on. Trust me.” Cyprus turned to Cody, her face stoic. Carson had a begrudging frown.
“…Truce?” He asked.
Cyprus nodded. The two of them shared a swift handshake and Jalie seemed satisfied.
“About fucking time.”
The three of them turned to see Hobo Nick climbing out of the back of Cody’s pickup. He hopped to the ground and brushed off his brown trench coat. A smashed powdered donut was in his left hand in place of the usual sandwich.
“Now who wants to get wasted?!” Nick demanded.
Each of them raised a hand as the scene faded to black.
Plain and simple: Why should I show up for this shit when it’s unwanted, and I have better things to do? Such as sleep? Quite frankly I see no reason. Besides, looks like these two teams have a bitter rivalry going on. Seth and I are just space fillers. Disgraceful. Which is why I’m not having shit to do with this. Let them fight amongst themselves. Who gives a shit. They’re too caught up in their own bickering to realize who the fuck they’re talking to. I’ll make this easy.
Simon? Decent guy. Reliable, yet simple. Let him think he’s hot shit. Anyone with any knowledge of who the fuck I am knows that if I actually gave a damn, I could breeze past the little bastard. But why ruin his reputation? He seems so settled into himself.
Polo is nothing more than a cheap representation of Simon. They both have the humor and entertainment value of Martha Stewart on downers.
Barrows.. Aye. Throughout my illustrious and confusing career I’ve made countless speeches on ‘these’ kind of people. The ones that think originality means using the word ‘bitch’. Fantastic. Fucking imbecile. No matter how many times you try to politely tell them they will never be anything more than mediocre, they don’t believe you. They don’t even try to better themselves. They think they’re already some hot commodity. Which is sad, really. But in my time in this business I’ve realized that it isn’t worth the time it takes to tell them otherwise. So I’ll let him be. I feel bad enough for this guy having to team with Callisto. Which brings me to my final topic.
Callisto. How. Bloody. Original.
I am baffled by you, dear. My first task was figuring out whether or not you genuinely believe your own hype. And in time I realized yes, you do in fact believe your bullshit. If you’re really a two thousand year old goddess, you’d think you could come up with a better wrestling gimmick.
It appears someone never got out of her ten year old ‘Xena, Warrior Princess’ phase. Fucking spare me. Now you’ve gotta throw yourself into some slutty demeanor because it’s the only thing you’ve got to make you feel better about yourself. So tell me, what is it? Daddy issues? Maybe Zeus made you feel insecure as a child. He was fucking Aphrodite on the side, right? Maybe it made him more secure with his feeble excuse for a ‘lightning bolt’. Your mother was always drunk and fuckin’ around with Hades, eh? And this left you on Mount Olympus while Hermes said “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours”. And this leads up to your insecurities. Which, in turn, makes you act like a fuckin’ skank to gain approval.
You sicken me. Although, I did enjoy your earlier promo. The whole graveyard cliché. Nicely done. But is it really necessary to hire fucking actors? How much effort did you have to go through to find look-a-likes? To be honest, it was almost as funny this time as the first thirty times I’ve seen it done. Dumbass.
Feeble minds resort to feeble attacks. They make excuses. Hell, you made a mini B horror flick. At least have the ability to laugh at yourself when you’re being ridiculous. Then people might be able to tolerate you. As it is… No one can fucking stand you. Misplaced arrogance is not mistaken for talent, doll. Get over yourself. Maybe some day you and I can have a real match. But right now? Well, as they say, it’s impossible to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person.