Before I get started, let’s look at all this Days of Our Lives bullshit with Brandi, Carson and Rick. So who’s Jalie gonna side with? Does she go with her sister’s man, Carson, or her best friend, Brandi?

How about neither?

Yes, folks, neither. I’m neutral. Indifferent. Beige. Taupe, whatever. I don’t fucking care. This is Carson’s fight. Supposedly with Rick. But apparently, he felt the need to be pissed at Rick’s girlfriend for his actions. Then again, folks, that is the keen mind of your world champion at it’s best. So as for me, I’m just gonna sit back and watch Cody make an even larger ass out of himself.

Assuming that’s even possible.

Now, on to more important, or, at least, more interesting things. In the past I developed a list. Upon which, I would name people that bothered me and aim to kill them. However, seeing as the current laws prevent me from doing so, I’ve settled for maiming them beyond recognition within the confines of my profession. So considering Rumbler already got on the wrong end of my crowbar, I’m moving on to someone else. That someone being…

*half-assed drum roll*

…Adonis. Yes, folks, the puberty-stricken flamer with the foot fetish.

Lately he hasn’t done shit except chase after Jimmy Stryker like a pre-teen girl with a crush. Granted, like seeing Stryker suffer but that doesn’t change the fact that Adonis is FUCKING CREEPY! So he’s gay. Bi. Whatever. I don’t give a shit what he does in his spare time. But must he shove his femininity and altogether disturbing persona upon us? The innocent viewers? I’d like to know what the hell I did in a past life to deserve this. And the feet? What is with the feet? In a sense, I suppose I should applaud him. It takes a hell of a lot to make me gag. The whole toe sucking thing? Yeah, totally got me there. Some things just shouldn’t be videotaped, dude.

Sorta like Brandi and Rick, heh… But that’s another story entirely.

.scene//taking out the trash

“God DAMNIT! Bring that back in here! Those do not belong to you!”

Jalie’s scream ripped through the still night air, causing the neighbors to peer nervously from behind the safety of their curtains. A man who has been absent from AWA television for quite some time now appeared on screen hauling a black trash bag into the can outside. Glass bottles could be heard clinking together inside it. Seth Thomas closed the lid and turned to his sober and resultantly distressed wife. She looked a wreck in a pair of olive dickies and one of his white button-down work shirts splattered with motor oil. Her eyes were puffy and red and her lips were settled into a pout. Jalie shuffled her bare feet on the front walk, eyeing the trash bin with suppressed longing. Seth noticed this and took a step forward to grip her by the shoulders.

“Nothing worked. The meetings you wouldn’t go to, the hobbies, the job, begging… This is the only way to get you to quit. You’re gonna be on your fifth liver before you hit forty!” He pleaded.

“Pfft, you don’t really need your liver. That’s just a myth. Just like your pancreas and your left kidney.” Jalie replied with a snort.

Seth gave her a confused look.

“Left kidney? But.. No, listen, the point is this is getting out of control. Sober up, at least for a while. For me. Please?” Seth looked her in the eye.

Jalie groaned and turned around to stomp back into the house. Seth took this is her assent and followed her in. Once inside, it became clear the place was horribly crowded. Hobo Nick was passed out on the couch in his tightie whities. Jay was taking bets on who could wake him up and with what. The rest of the house was occupied with a motley assortment of people, most of them Latino and making Seth seem rather out of place. A drinking game had been set up in the kitchen involving a few bums and a man Seth recognized as Jalie’s uncle Vargas. He was a tiny fellow with a bushy black beard that reached his chest. He had both thumbs hooked behind his suspenders and was carefully watching his final opponent, a friend of Hobo Nick’s that some of you may recognize from last years Hobo-Thon. Seth cursed under his breath. His drastic efforts to purge the house of any and all liquor had failed; there on the table sat a tall bottle of Black Velvet…. And his wife, he noticed, was gazing at it like Gandhi at a buffet. But he didn’t dare remove the bottle, or do anything to upset Vargas. Seth’s last encounter with him had left him with two new scars and half his hair singed off. Painful memories, to say the least.

“And he’s up! Who had money on the sandwich? Pay up, boys…”

Jay’s voice rang out from the living room. Apparently, someone’s idea of enticing Nick into consciousness with a sandwich had landed him a substantial amount of cash. Moments later Hobo Nick waddled into the room, gripping his peanut butter and banana sandwich like it had severely offended him. The other hand was still tucked inside his briefs.

“Morning sunshine.” Jalie said.

Nick grunted in response and took the bottle of Black Velvet from the table. Vargas started to object, but thought better of it when Nick unexpectedly hissed at him. The bum tottered out of the room with Jalie and Seth following him.

“Is it just me, or does he get stranger with age?” Seth wondered aloud.

Jalie merely shrugged. In her eyes, his behavior was nothing but normal. Then again, this is Jalie we’re talking about. Her idea of a good day involves a couple six packs of Corona and a high powered pellet gun. Once inside the living room, Seth was distracted by Jay and his crowd of miscreants. Jay had set up an auction block and was attempting to sell Seth’s plasma screen TV to the highest bidder. Nick and Jalie took the opportunity to slip outside.

They sat down with their backs to a large rock settled in the middle of the front yard. Seth kept claiming it was decorative, but Jalie’s wifely instincts told her he just didn’t want to move it. Nick passed her the bottle of Canadian whiskey and looked off across the street.

“Lielee, do you remember the day we met?” He asked.

“No…” She murmured.

“Me either. I was just wondering.”

“The earlier years of my life were spent in a drunken stupor.. I don’t remember much of anything, you know that..” she said, closing her eyes. “what a fool I was…”

Nick glanced at her, but opted not to say anything.

“Alright… You wanna get the fuck outta here? Go have some fun? I got an itchin‘ to dance.” Nick proposed.

Jalie shrugged as she got to her feet.

“Aright, let‘s go before Seth realizes I‘m missing…” Jalie agreed. They both cast a nervous glance at the front door before climbing into Jalie‘s beat-up black El Camino.

.scene//a step in the right direction?

Sunlight played across the features of Jalie’s face, illuminating her dark shadowed eyes. Seth had pulled the drapes open in a feeble effort to wake her. That, and perhaps a small part of him wanted to aggravate her hangover. She reached for the covers but Seth anticipated the move and pulled them off the bed. Jalie groaned and pulled a few messy locks of blonde hair over her eyes. Seth stepped over to the stereo, flicking on the radio. The station was blasting out the latest release from Nine Inch Nails. He turned the dial, listening carefully until he finally found what he was searching for. Turning the volume up, he smiled as Britney Simpson Beyonce something or other started proclaiming she didn’t need a man; contrary to her last single - “Can’t Live Witout U”. Jalie rose from the bed with a growl. Seth ducked just in time as one of her boots crashed into the stereo and knocked it off the dresser. This didn’t turn it off, however… In fact the volume increased. Jalie clutched at her hair, glaring at Seth and stomping out of the room. Seth heard the bathroom door slam shut across the hall. He shook his head, unplugging the stereo. He was prepared for a bloody rebellion, but if it meant the health of his wife, then he was willing to brave her wrath. Seth headed downstairs to fix some coffee. Upon entering the kitchen, he was instantly deterred by a sudden explosion coming from his right.

“MORMONS!” Hobo Nick shrieked, poking his head into the kitchen nervously.

Seth shook his head, shaking bits of pop tarts out of his hair.

“No, no mormons… Just dipshit over here.” He said, pointing to Jay.

The microwave door was hanging off it’s hinges and looking blackened. Inside were the remnants of two packages of pop tarts, still wrapped in foil. Jalie’s brother, Jay, looked at Seth innocently.

“I thought I was supposed to roast it for a couple minutes.. I didn’t feel like cooking so I thought this would be quicker…” His explanation only made him sound stupider.

“You toast it for a couple minutes, dumbass.” Seth explained.

Jalie skidded into the kitchen in her boxers and tank top, wide-eyed.

“Mormons?” She asked, casting a nervous glance at Nick. He shook his head.

“Someone let your brother near machinery.” Nick muttered.

He glared at Jay before disappearing back into the living room.

“So… I guess they’re done then, huh?” Jay said with a grin.

He plucked out what he could of the pastry and slipped nervously past the couple. Seth went about making coffee while Jalie dropped into a chair at the table. She looked like hell. The previous night, Seth had finally found her and Nick performing a rendition of Chicago in a local gay bar at 1:30 A.M. Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased. Nick had considered covering for her, until he remembered that he was an asshole. Thus, the three of them made their way home.. With Nick telling anyone who would listen that Jalie had threatened to kill his wife and kids if he didn’t get shitfaced along with her. When Seth reminded him he was single, and had (thankfully) never fathered any children that Nick knew of, he lapsed into a fit of sobbing and wouldn’t stop until Seth relinquished the last bottle of booze. Jalie claimed this was unfair, and staged a full-scale riot in the backseat of the SUV.

“We need to talk, babe.”

The words sent a chill down Jalie’s spine. Talk? That meant listening while getting scolded… At least when she was drunk she could tune it out by singing the theme from Welcome Back Kotter in her head.

“Talk…?” She gulped.

“Yes… As in I talk, you listen. I looked up a program this morning…” Seth began.

“Ahh, fuck…” Jalie rolled her eyes. She knew exactly where this was going and didn’t like it in the slightest.

“Just listen. No group meetings… It’s just one chick. You hang out with her once or twice a week and she talks to you.. Gives you advice and stuff. She sounds pretty cool. I don’t know the exact itinerary or anything but from what I can tell it seems pretty low key. I want you to promise me you’ll do this. Go meet her whenever you’re supposed to. Stick with it - no matter how much you hate it. This is a last ditch effort baby… I want you to promise me. No matter what.” Seth finished, looking her in the eye.

“Ugh… Okay… If you can get a hold of her within the week, and set this shit up… Then I’ll do it…”Jalie grumbled. Inside her head, the wheels were already spinning. Their phone service might be mysteriously cancelled. No gas in the cars. Computer accidentally busted. What else….?

Seth’s words interrupted her musings with news she wasn’t prepared to hear.

“I already called her.”

“What?! Why would you do that?! Did you- .. But you-… God damnit, you didn’t even give me a chance to fuck it up!” She exclaimed furiously.

Seth continued, oblivious to her protests.

“Your first meeting with her is tomorrow. I’ve given you today to rest from last night, get cleaned up, whatever. And today, instead of booze, we have tea. Fancy that, eh? So drink up, enjoy today.. And remember, you promised.” He said.

He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving the room. Jalie sat there, dumbfounded and furious as the pop tarts continued to smolder in the microwave.

---

Presler… Presler… Where the fuck have I heard that name before? Chyeah, right.. Nowhere. Ehh who gives a shit, right? Fights a fight. Now this fella’s got plenty of his own bullshit to deal with without getting’ his shorts in a twist about some bitch he’s facing at the pay per view. I’ve got nothing against him, as of yet.. But there’s always room for one more bastard on my shit list. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that, for his sake. Far as I know, he’s an old friend of Rick Young’s.. Came back supposed to avenge Rick’s old lady or some shit. Personally, I don’t care for Rick. But to be fair, I don’t really care for anyone but a select few. I tolerate the balding bastard because Brandi’s got a thing for him. Just like I tolerated that bloody redneck Josh something or other. I tolerated Carson for years until I decided I kinda liked the jackass. But this is neither here nor there… So I digress….

Presler, m’dear, you’re probably wondering what you’re up against. Well, nothing, really. You may or may not already know that I am the greatest thing to hit womens wrestling since double stick tape. I’m a fucking genius. But not in that cool, Nobel prize winning way. No, I’m more of the… Basement laboratory, nervous twitch kind of genius. I’m probably better than you at a lot of things. Although wrestling may not be one of them. I’ll give you a treat, seeing as you just got back and all. I’ll tell you what I’m not good at, instead of babbling about my strengths like most. Ready?

Wrestling.

Yeah, you heard me. I suck at wrestling. Mat wrestling. Horrible. You may ask how the fuck I got in this business. Well, I’m good at fighting. There’s a distinct difference between the two. But there you have it. I couldn’t pull off an amateur match to save my fucking life, but give me a ladder and a lead pipe and I’ll put asses in the seats quicker than Ozzfest.

Singing.

Sadly, yes. Did you need to know that? No. But never the less, I thought I’d share.

Rollerskating.

Never got the hang of it. I just end up looking like Gumby on speed.

So there you have it. Strap me in skates, toss me a microphone and lock in a sleeper and I’d say you’ve got this thing in the bag.