“What?!” she groaned.

“Miss Thomas? I’m contacting you on behalf of-..”

She cut him off.

“Let me guess... I've been selected to win a prize, which is merely a hoax and even if it wasn't, i'd end up getting a fucking fruit basket instead of a new car.”

“Well, no-..”

Again, she cut him off.

“Or! You're from Sprint, and you're calling to tell me about all your wonderful new wireless options which, even if I don't sign up for, you'll probably find a way to charge me for it anyway. And in the midst of explaining your new plan you'll go off into some mindless babble which is intended to confuse me so that I give up and just sign a contract correct? Tell me Sparky, how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? NONE! Because it isn't his job. Just like it's not my job to listen to your bullshit when I could be sleeping and wasting away like a normal fucking person at.. eight in the morning.”

The caller sighed deeply. Maybe he’d experienced her stubbornness before.

“I’m from EWO. They need you in England.. UK Trauma Tour, remember?”

Jalie sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Right, right. Seth got the tickets. We’re leaving tonight I believe. Next time, call at a reasonable fucking hour.” She hung up and looked at the clock. 8:14. Grumbling, she climbed out of bed to throw open the curtains and hiss at the stream of sunlight. The door cracked open and Seth walked in holding a cup of tea. He smiled as she stood there wearing his flannel pajamas, her hair ruffled.

“I know you hate coffee... But you need caffeine, so here’s a compromise.” he said, handing her the cup. She took it and sat down on the bed. Seth followed and placed an arm around her.

“We leave tonight. You excited?”

Jalie rolled her eyes. “For a colder, foggier New York? Sure... I’d be delighted. I have to go with Nick to that Hobo thing though. The cook-off or something. He kept talking about boot stew.. Or something. Cat ceviche, I don’t know. You coming with?”

Seth shrugged. “I might. I’m supposed to call Chris back... I’ve just been putting it off but it needs to be done. Maybe i’ll meet you guys there. It’s at the swap meet, correct?”

Jalie nodded, draining the last of her cup. She set it on the floor and lept to her feet. “Come on! I’ll make you breakfast. Eggs and bacon and biscuits and food. Sound good?”

Seth nodded, her enthusiasm making him smile despite feeling like a weight was pressed to his chest. He got up and took her hand as she led him out of the room.

.Dos.

Inside the car Jalie had sprayed ungodly amounts of Febreze over the passenger side seat. Most likely in hopes of dissuading Nick’s persistent body odor. She sat in the car with the radio blaring a nameless metal band. Hobo Nick finally emerged from the house wearing his tightie whities, an apron that reads ‘Kiss The Cook’s Ass’, and his long brown trench coat. He lumbered down the steps and threw the car door open to slump into the seat.

“What is this shit?! I can’t even hear myself! It’s kinda cool! Maybe this is what it’s like to be deaf!”

Taking the hint, Jalie turned the volume down and pulled out of the driveway.

“So Nick, what exactly is this thing?” she asked, making a left and giving the finger to the mini-van she just cut off.

“All the local bums go to make their best recipes. Some of them travel cross country. Hitch-hiking and such. We have to scavenge our own ingredients. At the end of the day, the best meal wins the contest. It’s a pretty big thing. Everyone looks forward to it.. Mostly for the free food.”

“Scavenge?” Jalie asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m glad I ate before we left.”

She made another left and pulled into the parking lot of a large swap meet area. Several booths were placed around the desolate desert area, showcasing foods with names that gave away the ingredients. ‘Boot Brew’, ‘Recycled Coffee’, and ‘Doggy Danish’ were just a few of the disturbing courses. She pulled off a terrible parking job and climbed out of the El Camino. The weary engine could be heard ticking away it’s heat, even over the commotion from the food festival. Nick reached into the back and began pulling out pots and pans, along with a few cooking utensils that somewhat resembled torture devices. Lastly, he pulled out what seemed like a vice. However on one end a long spike was attached that screwed inward. And on the other, was what looked like a small muzzle. Above it was a foam covered handle for easy carrying.

“Nick, what the fuck is that thing?” she asked.

“Cat carrier. You pull the spike back and shove ‘er up kitty’s hind quarters. This way you can take your cat with you everywhere and you don’t look stupid for using a leash.”

Jalie nodded slowly, looking a little disturbed. “Right. God forbid you look stupid...”

The two of them headed for Nick’s booth, by passing a few of Nick’s buddies. Nick’s booth contained two lawn chairs, a large ice chest and a wide stove that sat behind the counter. The whole thing was enclosed by a green awning, except for an open window section along the counter to serve the food. Nick pushed aside a flap and walked in, setting the pots on the stove. He opened up the ice chest and began digging out ingredients, stopping midway to hand Jalie a Corona. On shelves below the stove she spied several old shoes, buckets of used up grease, and other assorted ingredients.

“What exactly are you making?” she asked as he shut the ice chest.

“Kitty Crunch.” he replied proudly. She looked confused.

“...What makes it crunch?”

Nick simply stared at her as if she were an idiot. He turned on the burners and poured a bucket of water in each one before filling them with numerous ingredients from below the counter.

“Jalie you like cats, right?” he asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. She wasn’t quite sure how to answer.

“I guess so, yeah...”

“Then look over there.” He pointed to the opposite wall of the tent. Jalie turned and stared at it while Nick rummaged beneath the counter. A sawing noise was heard for a while and then a splash as the item was dropped into the pots.

“Aright.”

She turned around and sat down. A man with long stringy brown hair stopped at the booth and looked in at Jalie curiously. She studied him, noting his tye dye shirt and torn jeans.

“Hippy Joe...?” she asked. The guy smiled widely and carefully climbed up and over the counter, whilst Nick protected the food from any... contamination. Joe hopped to the ground and took the lawn chair next to her.

“What’s up little lady? Man I didn’t think i’d ever see you again. Not since the Boston tribute band reunion, man.. You m’emer that, man? Back in Boston, man...”

“Yeah I remember. That was when you got stoned and joined the band on stage.” Jalie replied, smiling at the memory.

“Hell yeah, man. Best weed I ever had, man. I been living here now... I love the atmosphere, you know, man? The sun, the palm trees.. The dirt... The sun.. And the palm trees are beautiful. Seriously man, NEVER climb them. They’re pointy and shit, man.” he looked her dead in the eye as he said this, as if it were a matter of life or death. Jalie simply nodded.

“Never planned on it. Want a beer?” she asked. Joe shook his head vehemently.

“I quit drinking, man. That shit is bad for you, man. You do too much of it. Used to, anyway.. “ he spied the beer in her hand. “Or still do. Whatever, man. I ain’t about changing lifestyles, you know, man? Nobody has the RIGHT to do that. Especially not parole officers.. Or fuckin’... Fucking bakeries!” he began to sob. Jalie stared at him blankly, but then seemed to understand.

“Your uncle fired you from Donut-O-Rama...?” she asked. Joe nodded, sniffling.

“And my parole officer is on my ass, man. Can’t smoke. Can’t drink.” he explained.

“I thought you didn’t drink?”

“I don’t, man! I can’t! He watches Martha Stewart, man. It’s breakin’ me down, man. Theres only so many times a man can look into the eyes of Satan while he makes pastries.”

Nick walked over and handed Joe a bowl of the curious stew he’d been brewing. Without question, Joe took a spoonful and began to chew.

“It’s a little crunchy.” he noted, though still eating. Jalie looked away and took a sip of her beer.

“So I hear you’re wrestling again?” Joe prodded, making an attempt at conversation. Jalie nodded.

“Yep.” she said simply. Suddenly Nick perked up as a bell was rung. Jalie peeked out of the tent to see the “judges” circling the booths and testing the food. Finally they came to Nick. Each judge, which were in fact just bums with a pin that read ‘judge’ attached to their jackets, took a big spoonful of the stew. They circled the last few booths before returning to the center.

“The winner, of this years cook off is none other than......... Than.......”

He was dragging it out purposely. The judge beside him began making a drumroll noise.

“The winner is Mister Nick’s Kitty Crunch!”

Nick gave out a shout, hopping over the counter to run out and claim his prize: a pair of semi-used Nike’s and a bag of fritos. She slid on the Nike’s and began making his victory lap as the cameras went black.

.[Violence].

Andrew Powers. Look, folks, mini-Jarvis. You act just like he does. Narcissistic. Idiotic. And most of all... Ignorant. I suppose it hasn’t dawned on you that there are probably about 34987645387546485 people in the wrestling world that can beat you right now. Easily. Really, it’s a little bit sad and a little bit humorous. But if you’re trying to be intimidating, it’s not panning out well. All you’ve succeeded in is looking like a jackass on camera. Take my advice... Shut the fuck up, Barbie. Earn your dues.

David Jax. I now know who you are. You are an imbecile. A talentless fucknard. A blatant waste of human life and oxygen. Why do you go on? It perplexes me... Why you would continue trudging through life when you are in such a hideous state of being. A shell of a man, some would say. Yet you continue on, obviously convinced in some manner that you’re a force to be reckoned with. It’s kind of like watching one of those nature shows, where the deformed runt of the litter struggles to survive. And he does okay for a while, but you know eventually some ugly ass, snorting, hairy hyena is gonna come up and eat the hell out of him.

And no, I don’t know how he would ‘eat the hell out of him’ in place of just eating him. Maybe he would eat him really hard, or something. Or eat him slowly so it’s all agonizing and stuff. No! I have now decided that eating is a euphemism for kicking ass. So that fugly, smelly ass hyena is going to eat the living hell out of him. And you know what, Jax? I am that hyena.

...I mean. Fuck. Nevermind.

Jarvis.

Dear god you’re a long winded bastard aren’t you? Okay... Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? You’ve somewhat redeemed yourself. As for the slut comments, anyway. For one, maybe I do hear voices. Who’s to say? And yes... I am a crazy ass bitch. I don’t see that as a problem. Maybe it bothers you... But hey, that’s something you’ve got to consider now isn’t it? Threatening to sue the company... Tsk tsk. If you’re that worried about me why not drop out? Why not run like a little bitch.. Just like Dunn at Avengement? Nah, don’t worry, I don’t expect that of you. I’m flattered that you seem to be deathly afraid I might snap on you though. Keep wondering. You never know what anyone will do when they’re adequately provoked. Much like a cat when backed into a corner. Will it cower, or will it strike? Ah, but you’re not fighting a pussy, Jarvis. And no amount of bullshit will save you. The way I see it, you’re only trying to convince yourself... Because nobody else sees it. Your tag partners? Please. They’d drop you in a fucking second just to get a little recognition from the higher ups. Because they have the same mentality as you. Maybe you look at that as a plus. That’s up to you to decide. But you’ve opened your mouth. And it’s too late to close it again.

As for Seth. Give me a fucking break. I’m holding onto him? Ever heard of ‘terms of endearment’? Yes, I was locked up. And released. Who gives a flying fuck? You look at Seth as mentally unstable and depressing. I look at him as an adoring husband who was there for me when I needed him, and now i’m returning the favor. His parents were murdered. I think that’s adequate reasoning for a little depression. Seth is beyond you, Jarvis. And you can’t face the fact because you’re still holding on to what dignity you have left. For fuck sakes, you can’t even take out Carson. Seth’s little protege’. How in the hell do you expect to take me and Seth both out? In the same match? You can’t. Plain and simple... You’re striving for a goal that you’ll never reach. But you are trying. And I admire your courage. You can do it, little guy. If you respect your superiors. Yeah. I said it. Superior. Deny it. Go on, I know you will. Because you’re flat out convinced that you are in fact better than anyone in this business. Then why are you only the Primetime champion? If you’ve been in this business seventeen years, why lie dormant in the shadow of a jackass like Johnny Legend? Maybe deep down you realize your inability to live up to your own hype. Ever heard the saying, ‘eyes bigger than his stomach’?

You claim that you must deal with the matters at hand before you can reach the top. How many matters have you had to attend to, Jarvis? Are they that pressing that yu have to sit back and let the likes of Dunn, Dynamite, and Legend pass you up? Or are you making excuses because you realize you simply can’t measure up? Yes, Jarvis. People laugh at you. I laugh at you. Seth laughs at you. Cody definitely laughs at you. Fans laugh at you. It’s a fact of life. Act like the village idiot, and get treated like the village idiot. Supposedly you’ve seen people like me before... Coming in and out of this business. Is that so. I’ve been around the wrestling world, Lawrence. I’ve made a name for myself. Not by being a cocky asshole but by proving my worth, and doing what I say i’m going to do. Yeah, I have had a couple of sweet victories. That meant nothing. Not a damn thing. Because my opponents were abut the likes of Jax and Powers. But that’s only in ewo, Jarvis. I don’t know your record outside this company and I don’t care. Just know that I have my own as well and I didn’t get it by sucking and fucking. I got it by going out there week after week and blowing peoples expectations up in their faces. I excel, I succeed, and I don’t take shit from people who speak without thinking.

Jarvis you claim i’m repetitive? I said once that Seth was out of your league. You, my friend, are the one that felt the need to bring it up over and over again. It seems I found a button. Fancy that. The fact that there’s a guy out there who can take you out seems to bother you. And not only that, a chick too. That has to hurt. But... To my point. You are overly cocky. And you are lacking in the self esteem department. And it’s proved by the fact that you’re so fucking cocky. You’re obviously making up for something. Trying to draw attention off your personality flaws and, most likely, that fucking nose. And as for ‘making up for something’... No, I don’t mean in size. I don’t even wanna know, so don’t try and claim that’s what i’m thinking. You’ll only get shot down. Again. You can’t even attempt to deny this because even in the time i’ve been here, it’s become pretty damn obvious.

You claim that you are going to tear me apart. Take it to me like no one else. Take me for the ride of my life. Sounds like a schoolboy crush to me.

As for slapping me around, I know that isn’t what you’re going to set out to do. And yes, this match is going to be better than my previous ones simply because you’re putting up somewhat of a fight. Weak as your shit might be. But I hope you don’t have your goals set up too high. Your hopes are pretty fragile. I noticed your little challenge to Seth. For the title, no less. I applaud your bravery. Or maybe it’s ignorance. Whatever it is, you‘re out of luck. Because you’ve succeeded in making my husband giggle. And that’s just about it. Seth and I see you for exactly what you are. The guy who couldn’t make it in the world title bracket. So he tried International and you couldn’t even grip that. So you settle for primetime. And then you try and intimidate the little people that surround you on that level. In other words, a sixth grade bully with a second grade reading ability.

But here’s the kicker. Carson challenged you to another match because you’re pissy about the win he got over you. And you said no! Thereby proving everything i’ve said about you. You can’t beat Carson. You know this now, so you won’t even face him again. You don’t want another blemish on that little record of yours. You fucking pussy. Do you know how many times I have kicked Cody’s ass? Do you know how many times Seth has kicked Cody’s ass? And you couldn’t even pull it off once. So spare me the bullshit about being the best in the ewo. How can you do that when you don‘t even want to face someone who’s beaten you? How do you expect to learn from the mistake? I suppose you don’t give a shit. Just looking to keep your record nice. That’s fine, if you don’t mind looking like a cowardly tool. But what about your reputation?

Bill Dynamite? Jarvis you really are that god damn thick. Bill Dynamite quit. He’s gone. Poof. No more. Off the fucking roster. Don’t you pay attention? Obviously not. Or maybe it’s yet another ploy to make yourself look better after denying Carson’s challenge. You already looked like a little bitch so you figured you’d make up for it by challenging a guy who’s gone. Knowing full well he wouldn’t hear you. Nice. Or maybe you were hoping that no one else would realize he’d quit? Whatever it was, you still look like a dumbass. Just more so than before. I said before that you disgust me. But this is just downright pathetic.

So finally... What makes you think you even have the right to step into the ring with me? Yes, I am fairly new. To ewo. But that doesn’t make you better. I’m only pointing out what everyone else already knows. And what I think you know as well. Deep down, maybe. You keep building yourself up in hopes that someone, anyone... Will believe your hype. But it’s not falling together like you wanted. Somebody’s fucked you up. Cody did. And now you’re digging your own grave. You keep talking, and the whole keeps getting deeper.

Fin.

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