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DIRTY AMERICAN DREAM
"The human ice sickle"

Living isn’t living until you’re dying. All day long you sit with your thumb up your ass and you never think about how bad ass it is to breathe. Speaking from experience, breathing beats the shit out of the alternative. Breathing in fumes of gasoline, this love for life is all you think about. The thugs. They’re about ready to strike flame and turn my monkey ass into a fireball.  The gas was already burning my skin.  I'm kneeling in thirty degrees below zero covered in liquid that doesn’t freeze.

We’re over that already. Numb. I’m trying to think of my next move but I want to give in to flashbacks. Yeah: Let it settle and do the whole “life before my eyes” bit and go chill out with Jesus and God and The Bible.

Still there’s one last load in my pecker and I’m not lookin to blow it in my hand.

I rise up. Every muscle in my body wants to give me the ole heave hoe and give out. Face first, I don’t care what end of me turns charcoal. I grow wings. I fly up into the clouds. My body though, it’s still on the ground. Flesh, muscle, bones, and everything else is looking mighty vulnerable.

That’s when my neighbor Jesse hollers.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!”

Jesse… Real long story. Let’s just say that neighbors in Alaska can be five miles away. The reason Jesse’s brandishing an AK-47, that’s an even longer story. The thugs turn their guns to Jesse who immediately opens fire.

“Get your fucking head down Shane!” Jesse commands.

I’m back on the ground and I’m surrying behind the truck. Tits. They rode in on snowmachines. I leap on the nearest one and fire it up. This is gonna be some dicey shit but I gotta get the fuck on. I rap the machine out and bore a hole in the wind.

The ratta-tat of automatic gunfire dissipates behind me. I’ve gotta find a place to pull over and warm up. All I can think about is black spots. When you start seeing black spots it’s all over. I’m terrified of them. I open the snowmachine up and give it hell. Someone’s behind me.

When I was a kid I use to tear up these trails. Hell, half of them I cut myself. I was only happy when I was on the back of my snowmachine. I had an El Tigre back in the day and my heart broke at breakup every year.

BRRAAAAPPP

Must go faster, must find warm place. Suddenly I’m thinking about pussy. The guy behind me is not friendly, I lower my head as bullets zip past my head. A bullet zips right through the windshield. The next one’s gonna rip through my head. I veer off the trail and down into a ditch and stop the machine. The thug flies past and I roar up to follow him. At first he doesn’t notice me.

I can almost feel that old El Tigre’s bitchy suspension against the trail. The vision of my father ahead of me breaking trail. Yeah, some of our best times were spent silently on the trail. We never agreed on anything but bad wrestling and good snowmachining. Ahead though isn’t my father. We’re not heading towards hot cocoa. None of that. He turns around and opens fire.

Bullets tear the shit out of the cowling and black smoke begins to pour out of the engine. I bail. The snowmachine eats shit and the guy’s still shooting. He’s completely unaware of the corner and the trees.

CRASH

The snowmachine keeps going but the guy’s wrapped around a tree. I don’t care if he’s live or dead, I just want that goddamn jacket. It’s no good though. I get to the jacket but I’m once again at gun point. I stick my hands in the air.

“Chill the fuck out man.”

It’s Smokey. Thank god.

“Look at this rad machine gun I found.” Smokey laughs.

“Dude, watch the fuck out!”

Before I could do a damn thing, a bullet hit Smokey in the neck. Smokey hit the ground and I gave up my fight for the damn jacket. I see red.

I stand up. There are four of them. Each one more menacing than the next. Each one of them looks as if carved from stone. Real meat head types these guys.

“Put down the weapons and kick my ass if you’re so bad.” I say.

All four of them share a pause before slinging their weapons to the side and approaching me. My muscles want to lock up, full body Charlie horse. I’ve already stopped shivering.

I close my eyes waiting to see black spots. I open them and burn holes into the thugs. They’ll see stars.

“Shane! What the fuck Shane?!” Smokey asks, holding his neck.

“Stay put!”

“Oh I ain’t goin nowheres.” Smokey assures me.

“Bring it on fuckwads.” I holler.

The one I’m assuming is in charge barks out some orders in Pigfucker-language. I rise up on the nearest thug without a knife out. I put him back into another thug with two quick punches to the chest and a third to the head. I tug at his jacket desperate for warmth but to more come up behind me slamming forearms into my back.

“STOP!”

The biggest one of them all pulls them off of me. I turn to face the guy, raising my dukes.

“I settle this.” Says the thug.

This dude is a "plump when you cook it" hotdog in a snow suit. I’m telling you he’s gotta be juicing some’n furious. Yeah. No neck. I recognize that first and feel right at home.

“Yeah. Let’s settle this.” I say with a wink.

To my back is probably the most narrow bent in the Gulkana river. Yeah, it’s deep too, me and my pals use to call this spot the swimming pool back in the day. Too deep for leeches. Plenty deep for this fucker. He’s pushing three hundred pounds and you know the only cliché. The harder they fall.

I back up on ‘em, all the way to the river. My leg muscles burn hotter but I’m too numb and pissed off to care.

“Fight me here.” I say.

The big guy looks like he’s out of his element. He walks out onto the ice and I can tell that he’s more of a fan of concrete. Perfect. I’m waiting for the ice to crack under his feet. He’s so busy trying not to fall. I can’t help but laugh.

I rush him and duck his clumsy bear hug attempt and lay a knee drop into the ice below his feet. The ice cracks but now he’s got me by the neck. He pulls me up off my feet so I’ve got a bird’s eye view of the ice splintering beneath him. Fuck I can’t get free of his arms. I attack his grip, I kick and knee his gut. Nothing’s working. I gouge his eyes. He starts to crumble. We both fall—demolished building style—right through the ice.

The shock of this alone should kill this fucker. If not, that heavy assed snow suit will.

I slide behind him and throw his ass into a headlock and fight to hold my breath. He’s still got some fight in him, more than I have. It’s that snow suit. He’s already gained a hundred pounds. It’s too dark to see.

Fuck…

He goes limp but in the wrestling around I can barely tell which way is up. It’s so damn dark.

All I can see are black spots.
 

THE DIRTY MANIFESTO
"Helms-King revisited and Hate"

At some point someone had to go to Michael Jordan and convince him that a stint in Major League baseball would be a winner of an idea.  Someone agreed.  I'm not going to contend that Mr. Jordan is not a great athlete.  He made his mark on Basketball and no doubt showed great bravery in trying out baseball.  Still, someone said it would be a great idea, told him it'd increase underwear sales worldwide.  It probably did move more undies out the door but it also made Air Jordan into a mortal guy who is mediocre at baseball.  I think the same person that told Air Jordan it was a good idea to play major league baseball also told Nigella it would be a great idea to wrassle.  I'm serious here kids.

She's days off a pimple-popping crusade and chases more than just boys.  Hell, before the match I hear she's taking her SAT's.  Gotta get that grade. 

I don't know where this girl gets off thinking she can talk down to a guy like me.  ME?!  Usually girls her age are brighter than this.  I've found anyway.  No doubt inside eight years of "No Child Left Behind" this chick fell through the cracks.  That's the problem at hand kids.  Bozos like this little girl are passing classes just so they don't take up any extra funds inside a public school building.  "Nigella Child Left Behind" you could say.

Without a doubt, the most important thing you will ever attain in this life is an education.  No matter what life you choose, knowledge will play the pivotal role.  Nigella's chewing bubble gum, falling asleep in Science class.  An education can be the difference between a job at Burger King or Being King.  Nigella is only concerned with who is "hottest" or "best looking" or even "most dreamy."  The key to life is to never stop learning.  Once we give up on learning new things we become dated.  Nigella wants all the new stuff, right now.  When we accept material possessions as a replacement for education, our lives lose meaning.

Nigella Child Left Behind.  Your very own Dirty American Dream.  With dreams like these, who needs nightmares?

One two three four five six seven eight--you know what I really hate? I am sick and damn tired of fuckos talking about how much they "hate this and that."  Drives me bonkers quite frankly.  Spending all this time lining out all these loves and hates and then recounting them to anyone who will listen.  You know what I hate?  I hate it when you don't shut the fuck up about your life.  Gab gab gab.  The gossip.  Keep talking and talking until you're blue in the face but at least shut the fuck up about what you hate.  You don't really even hate anything because you don't understand what that word means.  It's lost on you just like the word love.

I'm not just addressing Nigella. 

You sure as shit don't have a clue what love is.  All you know is lust.  You let lust suffice for love because real love requires work and commitment.  Those are two things you definitely aren't capable of.  Yea.  I said it.  Hate it.  Just don't tell me about it. Just like hate you don't know love.  You think better clothes and a better look is going to bring you love?  Think again. 

Do you think your stuck up hateful attitude supplements brains?  No.

Just like you work for love and make a commitment to it you do the same for Hate.  Trust me, I've known hate.  It's never had to do with a remote control or a band or a fucking food dish.  Nah.  Remember?  You know what I hate?  I hate phony fuckfaces that celebrate mediocrity.  Yeah.  You're a drug dealer.  You're a scientist.  You're a cannibal.  You're a fucking riot.  Whatever you are--you aren't wrestlers.  I was born and bread for this shit.  I cut my teeth while you guys cry about broken nails.  None of you measure up and let it be known that I hate posers.

When you're a poser, you pose no threat.

Now.  Think about all that's been said.  Think about how amazing it would be to hold court with the king.  Think about that shit long and hard.  Each and every one of you will find out, starting with Nigella.  You might not want to admit it now but you know just as well as I do that I'm taking this shit over.  The big question at this point is who survives?

DIRTY AMERICAN DREAM
"Or Nightmare."

I’m surrounded by warmth. I didn’t commit suicide but I've killed myself. It’s life and it’s afterlife. It’s so warm. So warm and delicate.

I’m eighteen and I’m in my bedroom. Limp Bizkit’s rocking softly on the stereo. I’m all alone with her again. Sarah and I. My bed is so warm against my skin that I pet it. Sarah’s laying beside me radiating heat, luscious heat. Sarah’s rocking her head back and forth. Her mouth too is very warm. I breathe out without a sigh and lean back. The light nearly burns my cheeks. I’m so very alive. I’m eighteen and this is the first time I’ve felt this. It’s been a long time coming because it feels great. I’m full of words but speechless. Her soothing pillowly lips.

She comes up for air and I feel her hand tighten around me. Her strokes make ripples and her words are so sweet.

“Is that good? Does it feel good?” She asks.

Yes, it feels great.

All over the walls are statements about me, my life, and my credentials. It seems it spans my entire lifetime. To my left I’m pure energy, to my right I’m withering away.

It’s so warm. Her tongue dances around me, I’m on fire inside her. Some memories never budge.

It was like this till I lost her. Everything was warm and everything was free. Part of me went with her. She slashed more wrists than her own. I want to reach out to her and hold her close. I want to save her from a ridiculous fate but I can’t go through it all again. History repeating. It runs across the wall.

Sarah comes up again, “Tell me when.”

I will. I will.

I grit my teeth and close my eyes. She’s gonna go away just like before and I can’t let it hunt me down at night anymore. I have to run away. All I do is pet the warm fabric and grit my teeth. With my pleasure stricken my air begins to run out. I wanna dig nails into my surroundings, I want to run out the door. I can’t feel my legs. My hands are useless to me. I’m stuck inside my head trying not to cum.

Sarah comes up but now she’s dead and rotting. Her eyes sink back into her head.

“I take care of my man.” She growls.

No.

She takes me back into her mouth and bites it off.

NO!

I’m underwater. I’m stiff but I’m still breathing. I swim up. I’m caught inside a black spot. The ice is ridged. I can’t break through. I can’t break through the ice. I slam against the ice with my fists until the bones crack and snap. There’s nowhere to go.

I’m suffocating.

I’m suddenly confronted by Bronwen.

I’m in a white room, she’s in a crimson red chair. There’s no room for me. I try to walk closer to her but she’s constantly further away. There’s no way to reach her. I call out. She can’t hear me.

Something’s got to give.

There’s a jolt. Bronwen stands up, turns and smiles. She pulls an oversized detonator from her pocket. One with a huge red button. She smiles.

“Right to the top baby.” She winks, “Out of this world.”

It’s not suicide but I’m about to kill myself. I am now strapped to a intercontinental ballistic missile. Strapped right over the US Flag. I’m Slim Pickens.

There's a jolt.  Bronwen pushes the button and launches the missile.

I’m airborne and no one can catch me. I’m zooming over the landscape looking down. The air feels warm in my hair. I can’t move my body. I can’t even check if I still have my dick. Is this life or is this death?

There’s a jolt.

The missile detonates one hundred feet over the ground. I’m a blinding bright light. Everything surrounding me for miles is vaporized. I’m pushing over trees and demolishing buildings, setting humans ablaze as I go. I’m the blast wave. I’m scorched earth. I’m pure energy. I’m withered.

I’m a mushroom cloud.

There’s a jolt.

“We got him back.”

I open my eyes to see the eyes of someone in a mask. They won’t let me close my eyes.

“Shane? Can you hear me?” I hear Jesse.

I cough.

“Everything’s gonna be ok buddy. We’re gonna thaw you right out.”

That black spot returns… I close my eyes…
 

DIRTY MANIFESTO
"Why so cold?"

How now Brown Cow?  Who'd you fuck with today?  Yeah, you choose me and you choose wisely.  Congratulations.  I'm super stoked for you and your achievement.  I was thinking about that the other day, achievement.  Was it me or was that shit in the old promotion whack mainly because everyone had held the titles?  Sure, there was never a "Fill the blank" World Champion Shane Clemmens but if I had put the time in there would have.  What I'm saying is everyone put the time in and got the food pellet at the end of the line.  It gets me thinking about the Universal Title and the future of Fight One.  I'm going to hit you with the futuristic stuff right now...

The future I see for the Universal Title is much more simple than the old way.  It is not held by everyone and their mother because they were there long enough to get lucky and get a fucking match for it.  Heck no at all.  The future I see for the Universal Title is lined in the blood and hard work of each and every person that holds it.  The future is good for the Universal Title because it's going to be a title worth fighting for and I'm going to make sure myself.  Follow?

I will be the first Universal Champion in the history of Fight One.  I declare that right fucken now and there isn't a damn thing any one of you can do to stop me.  Whisper in my ear, put me in a headlock, and even slam me in the head with a chair, none of it will stop me.  Fight One deserves a great Champion.  It is my job to make that a reality.  Come one, come all, to the best show in the whole fucken place.  The Dirty Dog Show.

I will fuck your life faster than face herpes.  Bitch.