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DIRTY AMERICAN DREAM
"Bring you up to speed."

It all started with Donny Bramble, son of professional boxer Randy Bramble came out of the closet. He didn't come out willingly.   Randy Bramble, three time World Champion caught his son with the neighbor boy’s cock in his hand. Randy beat Donny and grounded him. Soon after that Donny lost his cell phone, his credit cars, his car, and even the right to spend time with his boyfriends. Shortly after that, Donny started to run away. Randy couldn’t stand his son’s cock sucking and it was bad publicity. The kind of bad publicity you don’t turn into good publicity.

Soon Donny and Randy grew apart.  Donny moved in with a couple friends and they agreed to disagree.  Even though Randy spit slurs at his son, Donny stopped retaliating.  Donny started to wish he wasn't a gay man.  He felt like he was betraying his father, his entire family line.  He started to treat his boyfriends like pieces of meat.  Any feelings of love he use to have for them vanished.

Last year at Christmas, Kate Bramble brought Randy and Donny together for Christmas. She wanted them to enjoy each other’s company. She also wanted to celebrate Randy’s upcoming Title match. It was big, it was on HBO.  Donny bought himself a present. He told Randy that they would share it and Randy joked that it better not be gay.

See, Randy was raised in a family that didn’t tolerate any kind of sex other than married missionary style relations.  They never talked about it.  The birds and bees were animals and insects.  Homosexuality was perversion and anti-biblical. Randy never thought that he would be responsible for bringing another homosexual into the world. Randy prayed at the Christmas eve sermon for Donny to abandon his homosexuality. Donny prayed for forgiveness.

That night with Randy and Donny on their knees, I found myself on my knees as well. I was praying alright, I was praying for my life. Debt had finally caught up to me that night with thugs to match. The first one took my knees out and the second sprung a gun on me. They both told me I had a week to get their boss his money or else my brains were going splat on the wall. I didn’t make a move, I should have, I had my ass kicked and I was dropped off in a trash can kitty corner to a Bookie. That’s right, I’m the guy that put every last dime on Randy Bramble in his last heavyweight bout.

Donny and ultimately Randy both got what they wanted on Christmas morning. Everything went normally. Breakfast, coffee, opening presents. They laughed, they smiled, they tested out everything they got. Randy posed in his new fishing vest with his new pole. Kate loved the robe and the slippers. Donny waited to open his present for last. While Kate poured more hot coffee and put the lid on the potatoes, Donny unwrapped his Christmas present. Randy was far too engrossed in the instruction manual from his new GPS to notice. Donny pulled a silver three fifty seven magnum from the present box. And looked to his father. Randy though didn’t look up until Donny asked him to. Kate was almost back into the living room when Donny pressed the gun to his temple. Donny apologized to Randy and pulled the trigger.

I could swear I heard the echo of a bullet when I walked out of the Bookie's with empty pockets. Then I might have seen it coming. I should have listened to the advise my father gave me too I guess: They call it gambling for a reason. Yeah. A dumbassed solution for a life or death situation.

When fight night came around it was on everyone’s mind. The Champion’s son commits suicide. The press and all the bleeding hearts fell upon the event like bubonic plague. Reporters ripping and tearing at him as he walked down the aisle. The Champ looked good. I waved at him and he waved back. Boxers and Wrestlers have a strange bond. Randy Bramble was in his prime. He looked like a gladiator. His opponent was a bum. All I had to do was flip my bills once too. It seemed so sure I was ready to pop a rod and stick it in the plastic blonde beside me. It was that good.

Randy had a present for everyone that night. Yep. The bell sounds and off they went. Randy put his bum of an opponent on the mat half way through the first round and that sent me off exclaiming. Yeah, money wasn’t in my thoughts. Self preservation was the ticket. With every punch Randy threw I felt that much closer to having my brother’s curse off my shoulders. Randy Bramble won the first round decisively and I figured the guy was going down in the second. Ten seconds into the second round I noticed Randy’s legs start to go rubbery and his dukes fell to his waist. His bum of an opponent knocked his head off. I mean he hit Randy so fucking hard it sent him head over heels. At least that’s what everyone thought. Ten seconds later it was all over. Randy had his first stress induced seizure that night. A fucken epileptic fit right there in the middle of the ring. Bramble will never fight again.

It was time to run.

When I made it back to my home in Alaska they were already waiting for me in my own driveway. Eight guys in parkas brandishing high tech assault rifles. Paramilitary shit. I knew right then and there that I was dealing with no pansy assed Mafioso or thug-life gangbanger. This was eastern European shit. I couldn’t run anymore when they filled my truck full of holes. I did my best to take cover but one ripped through the firewall and took the tip of my right pinkie finger off.

Fuck it hurt. Ridiculous. I was laying there hugging my hand and waiting to die. I figured it would be a bullet to the head. I figured it would be painless.

They ripped the driver’s side door off the hinges. They yanked me out by my feet yanking my shoes off and fending off kicks. I fell face first into the snow as they beat me with the butts of their guns. I couldn’t fend them off. I was way too fucken stiff, it was thirty below zero. I looked up at my house already roaring with flames. They screamed at me in a language that can only be described as pigs-fucking. That’s when I started smelling gas. I got up to my knees because they were all backing off. I was drenched in the gas, kneeling in a puddle of it.

One of those bozos produced a zippo.

THE DIRTY MANIFESTO
"Helms-King."

Yes I wanted a match of a year candidate.  Did I get one?  Hmmm.  Shawn Walsh got one.  Mike Hunt got one.  So did Starr.  Me?  What do I get?  I get Nigella Helms-King.  The girl with the name no mortal man can pronounce.  Fantastic for me?  I'd say no.  I'm second fiddle to Walsh and Havoc and thanks to Nigella we're barely keeping rhythm.  I'm not saying that I have to have a super ppv quality opponent at every outing but I deserve better than this.  I expected more out of you Fight One.  Here I am, right about at twenty eight, I'm in my prime.  I haven't delivered at the level I am now ever.  This is new territory and frankly you're stepping on toes when you waste Me on a boring little girl like Nigella Helms-King.

I was eighteen once.  Yep.  I raised cane back then too.  All that shit you do when you think you have it all figured out, I did it.  You go out with your friends and raise all kinds of hell.  You race around in trashy cars that go fast and use a shitload of gas.  Try drugs, try alcohol, smoke as many cigarettes as you can.  It's all a part of growing up.  Some use it for debauchery and some use it to a better end.  The people that use it to a better end wind up running the country.  The ones that don't?  Yeah, they end up working for it.  Some don't just work for it too, a lot pay for how they act when they're eighteen.  This pivotal age can shape the rest of your life.  What does Nigella Helms-King choose to do at this pivotal age?  Yeah, she decides that it's a good idea to call out the greatest wrestler in the world.  She calls out Shane Clemmens.  Mmhmm.  Brilliant.

I know you've got your panties in a bunch over Fry-gate but please shut up.  I really do hope you realize how ridiculous you look and sound when you spout off about that kinda shit.  Maybe you should have talked to your mom about me before you went off on this tangent.  That's right, your moms and I met in wrestling while you were still playing with barbie dolls and looking at your girl part in the fucken mirror.  Your mother knows well were I'm coming from.  Perhaps when your mom shit you out she forgot that nugget of humor at the end.  Your face was humorous enough, right?  Yeah, maybe if you had a sense of humor you'd see how delightful some ribbing can be.  Maybe you'd be much more than a bad non-soviet Annika knock off.  The girl with no personality.  The girl with nothing going but black heads.

          "I'm a single man, I really don't need a wife."
    "Yes, I'm gonna stay this way cuz oh what a wonderful life."

I know you're in some dark territory Nigella.  You're still wondering if that last pregnancy test read correctly and if cocaine really does burn the cartridge out of your nose.  You're so afraid of becoming separated from your mother but you still can't seem to get out of your rebellious know-nothing existence to recognize it,.  You're still trying to knock off that bad habit of sucking your thumb.  I know this.  This dark territory you find yourself in just had the lights shut off.  Now your immaturity will only be matched by your inability.  You're going to be stepping out of your little powder puff girl existence into mine on Sunday.

I have more titles than you've had zits.  I've been in more matches than your mother.  I've taken down more people in this business than you'll ever even know.  Hell.  You were tugging on your mom's leg asking for a new dolly when I first stepped into the ring.  You're still watching One Tree Hill and imagining yourself leading that same superficial existence.  You're not ready for me.  My main problem with this whole thing is that I didn't get a decent opponent.  A smaller part of it though is that you are plain unprepared for a match of this magnitude.

This is the biggest match of your life and all you can talk about is who pelted who with a french fry?  No pun intended but that's small potatoes compared to what I do to people in the ring.  Fuck, there are people in this world that would pay me good money to throw a fry at them.  Millions that'd just love that kind of recognition.  Fuck you should be thanking me for recognizing your cow of a mother.  You should want my fucking autograph, not my finisher.  You've asked for it though girlie and you're going to get it.  You're going to get everything I've got and it'll be the last time you bring up french fries outside of a McDonalds Happy Meal.

THE SHANE CLEMMENS SHOW
"Impromptu vacation."

When I was a kid I use to think that I was going to get to do just like the men in my family. Become a wrestler, win some titles, get into a hall of fame, and open a promotion of my own. Yeah, you know, start a promotion, go bald, and live off the dividends. I never imagined that when I got to the “retire and start a promotion” part that I’d lose it all. Didn’t see that one coming. Ole Bronwen showing back up? That was an even bigger shocker.

Bronwen’s asleep. We’re half way there. I’m chillin out sippin beers zoning out to the constant roar of the engines. My head’s against the fuselage and I’m soaking in the vibrations. The sea’s stretching out as far as I can see out of the tiny window. I can see myself out there, lost at sea.

I can smell her on my fucking clothing. Rosie.

“This is a perfect time to talk about these fines.” Rosie says, coming up from the forward compartment.

She sits down across from me and glares at me with those big green eyes of hers which are already glazed. I think she pop pills. Maybe she needs to. Either way.

“Mr. Kane isn’t upset. He’s pretty happy about things. Wants you to succeed.”

A change of heart from the head honcho but I don’t see the connection. Rosie here made things much worse with Annika. She didn’t exactly shine in front of the General Manager either. I really should be telling her to watch her ass but there’s something about her lunacy that makes sense.

I tell her: Look. Obviously if we go back and forth more and more the shit’s gonna get worse. Hitting Annika with that fire extinguisher was one of the greatest things I’ve ever heard of. Don’t worry about her either.

“Your fine still stands.” Rosie smiles, “I’d like to pay for it. I figure it’s the least I could do. Also I have a surprise for you when we get back to the states. It’s your new car. Dodge is pretty desperate so I brokered a pretty sweet little deal.”

This girl is capable. She’s just a bit of a spaz. She’s not taken very seriously and I’ve been no help. I know how Kane works though… She doesn’t. The fact that he’s tickled pink right now is more of a shock than it is a blessing. I’ll have to check into that later.

I nod toward her legs and apologize for the coffee thing. I assure her that I figured it was an iced latte considering how fast she was chugging it. Didn’t mean to burn the girl, just meant… I look over Rosie’s shoulder at Bronwen sleeping. I lose my concentration.

“Shane…” Rosie leans forward, laying a hand on my knee. “If we work together you will succeed beyond your wildest dreams. Your future lays ahead of you and it’s that Universal Title. You take that and you hold the keys to F1X. I won’t win the matches for it but I’ll damn sure make sure you’re in those matches. I’ll work hard for you. I just need a little more…”

I lay my hand on hers.

“I know, and I will. It’s all good.” I say as I lock eyes with her.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Rosie exhales.

Moments pass and soon now we're holding hands.  I don't know if she did first or if it was me.  But when we noticed this both our hands pulled back.  Rosie smiles and Bronwen makes quite a stir as she repositions...  Rosie swallows hard a moment but keeps her kind eyes.

"She hates me doesn't she?"  Rosie asks.

"Hate's a pretty strong word to use in regards to Bronwen.  She scowls a lot but I think buried in her chest is probably one of the biggest hearts ever."  I light up a smoke, "I doubt she'd settle for hating you on the first day.  It'd take longer than that."

"So you and she have something going on?  Do I see a romance blooming?"  She laughs.

"I couldn't tell you.  She's pretty secretive about that kinda stuff.  I mean, we paw around...  I don't think she sees the two of us like that though."  I exhale and gaze as Bronwen as she sleeps.  "Too much is going on inside that head I think."

Bronwen scratches her nose a moment before snuggling up some more.

""But you want her, right?"  Rosie sneaks a peek at her.

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh, I see the way you're looking at her...  She is kinda cute.  Though I wouldn't let her hear me say that."  Rosie laughs.

"Yeah, good call."  I stop giving her my eyes, I look back out the window, "No, I don't think we could ever be serious."

Rosie switches seats and plops down right beside me, she smells like tangerines.  She draws a circle on the top of my hand and licks her lips.

"I also see the way you look at me."  Rosie whispers.

This chick is a trip.  She's already tried to kill me once and she most recently tried to get me fired and I spilled hot coffee on her crotch.  Now she's wanting to play kissy face.  Some girly dominance play in front of a sleeping Bronwen.  No.  I pull my hand free.

DIRTY MANIFESTO
"Fight One Xperience."

When I first laid eyes on F1X I was quite taken.  I saw a lot of people I wanted to work with and a lot of people who needed their asses kicked.  I see hope and it's not just because Bush is gone.  I think we can all ramp this bad puppy up and knock the fan's socks off.  Or you guys could wuss the fuck out and cry like little Nigellas.  Don't think for a second a warm body gives me hope.  The rest of you had better man the fuck up and show up at Aftershock.  We have the chance to put the wrestling world on its ear and that's the only way we're working together.  You fools start stumbling on the battlefield; there's only so much I can do.  Yeah.

I'm looking to take my game Universal.  There's nobody out there that'll rival this.  I'm walk into that ring with purpose without a doubt in my mind.  Nigella Helms-King will serve in one fashion and that's a statement that the roster is on notice.  It's only a matter of time till we're duking it out over the top strap.  I challenge each and every one of you with Universal dreams to step right up to the line and take your shot.  An A-Game and a Brain are required.

Before we go I want to leave you with some things to think about.  Food for thought so to speak.  We've already seen a group or possibly two form in Fight One.  What if the very best in this promotion came together and formed a posse to rival all others?  What if say the day of Fight One's inaugural show, a new group rises aimed for a take over?  The big what if, I know, but I would suspect that at it's early age, Fight One may fall under the spell of a certain kind of elitism.

You never can tell.