Julie Doyle

"From the moment I saw you I knew I would love you forever."

Julie Doyle was taken aback from the rather bold proclamation presented to her by the handsome guy in front of her. He held his hand to his heart and looked her directly in the eye. She blushed because she felt the same way.

Taking his hand in hers she replied, "And from the moment I learned your name I knew that it would be the only one I would ever hold in my heart."

She stared back into the eyes of her lover and everything else seemed to fade. They were alone, in darkness, holding hands and holding eyes for eternity.

"And cut!" yelled the professor.

Julie quickly snapped back to reality and blushed as she realized she was still holding the guy’s hand.

"Sorry," she said quietly as she pulled her hand free. She wished she could be like the lead in the play they were rehearsing. That woman was filled with confidence and had the love of her life in front of her. She was still single and wondered what she was doing wrong. Her appearance didn’t seem to be the problem because she always noticed people looking at her in a lusty manner, but no one had approached her for anything serious. She didn’t consider invitations to Hooters on all you can eat wing nights as something serious. In fact it made her want to vomit.

"It’s okay, you did really good."

She smiled at the guy in front of her as he gave her a smile back. He had nice teeth she thought as the pair got off the stage to make room for the next pair. She wished the director had never yelled cut and she could go back to her fantasy of love and passion.

As if on cue her partner interrupted her thoughts, "Hey my name is Matt by the way."

He extended his hand in a customary manner. She shook it and smiled. He seemed confused and Julie once again began questioning what the hell she was doing wrong.

"And yours is?"

She was so silly. He told her his name and shook her hand, he clearly expected her to respond in a similar fashion. Now she looked like a dummy and to make matters worse she was deep in thought again instead of giving a simple answer.

"Julie, my name is Julie."

Her name finally escaped her lips. Not the best introduction in the world, but at least she hadn’t forgotten her name like she did one time in high school. She smiled back at Matt and hoped he could forgive her slight blunder and thankfully it seemed like he didn’t mind.

"Hey um, there’s a food fair this weekend where they have all sorts of food from around the world and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?"

She smiled, "Sure, I’d love to." Who needs the daydreams she thought, since reality could be that much sweeter.

Shawn Christopher

Journal Entry #2 – November 10, 2009

"God, that was painful. Not only was the acting just dreadful, but that little exchange of hormones was just pathetic. He wants to fuck her; he should just tell the damn bitch that they’re getting some dinner and then heading to his house. Done and done. Fucking food fair, what the fuck was that all about?

I rush over here after watching Walter and that fat fuck stuff their mouths and for my efforts I’m rewarded with that performance. She couldn’t even manage to get her name out of her mouth. She wants to be a big Hollywood star? What the fuck is going on in that obviously tiny brain of hers? The only kind of star she’ll ever be is the kind on all fours with a big fat dick in her ass. I bet she won’t have any trouble yelling out my name then. Fuck, look at the time. It’s time I go pick up Walter and give him a ride. I’ll have her yell out daddy one day, no questions about that."

Walter Doyle

He couldn’t believe his rotten luck. Slamming his hands on the steering wheel he performed the customary pull of the car hood lever. He exited the car and went to the front and peered inside at the engine and other parts that he had no idea about. What was the point of even popping the hood? He didn’t know anything about cars. His father warned him that being a man required he at least know the basics about automobiles, but like many things his father had said that advice fell on deaf ears.

His car’s oil light was flashing, but he couldn’t believe it was an oil problem since he had only recently had it changed. He was running through what he was going to do if he found out that a shoddy job had been done.

His stomach growled as if he didn’t already know that he was going to be late for dinner. His wife was finally settling in after a long hard day and now she would have to come out half an hour to pick him up. What a crappy way to end a great day he thought as he dialed the number. Before he could complete the call a car pulled up behind him and a hairy and bearded large man exited the car.

He looked Walter over and then the car and asked the only question possible in the situation, "Car trouble?"

Walter hated when people asked obviously questions.

"No, I just felt like stopping on a highway and walking around for no good reason!" was what Walter wanted to say. Of course he didn’t. It wasn’t this man’s fault his car broke down, hell he should be thankful that the man even decided to stop. He knew he wouldn’t have.

"Yeah, I think something’s wrong with the oil. I recently had it changed and it seems a poor job was done."

The large man shrugged his shoulders. His thick, full beard hung off his chin and gave him an outdoorsy look that was uncommon for this area of New York. Walter would always play a game with himself where he would try and guess where random people were from. Originally that is. With this man he guessed somewhere out west, maybe Montana.

The large man shook his head as if disappointed by something, "Getting someone to work on your car is a dangerous operation. It’s not that they can find a lot wrong with the car, it’s that they will. Plus, they may do a bad job so you have to come back and have them fix it. It’s all about money these days, no one’s got it, but everyone wants it. That’s why I prefer to work on my car myself."

Walter looked at the man’s beat up pickup truck and could only guess the kind of work it took to keep it running. Still, this man’s car ran, while his nice new BMW was stuck.

"I don’t have any tools or anything with me otherwise I’d help. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay. Now I’ve gotta head off home. 124th street can get really busy at this time and my wife is waiting at home."

Walter nodded in agreement. He knew the area; in fact it was very close to where he lived, "Yeah that part of town gets busy around now and in the morning as well. That’s why I tend to leave home a bit early and leave work a bit early so I can avoid the traffic."

The large man smiled and for some odd reason the smile did not comfort Walter in the slightest. In fact it did the opposite. It was a very creepy smile. It was a smile of a man that knew more than he was letting on.

"You live around 124th street?" he asked.

Walter nodded, "Just off it on Williamsburg."

"Well if you’d like I can give you a ride home so your wife doesn’t have to come out here and get you."

Walter seemed confused, "My wife? How do you know I’m married?"

The large man pointed to his ring finger. It had a nice wedding band on it and Walter smiled feeling like an idiot. His own ring finger was adorned with the same jewelry.

"Come on."

The large man motioned for Walter to follow him as he climbed into his truck. Walter still felt a bit uneasy around the large man, but figured he could put up with the man for thirty minutes. He climbed into the passenger side of the car and the two of them were off.

Shawn Christopher

Journal Entry #3 – November 10, 2009

"Say what you will about PWE and about being on television, but it does have its benefits. For example, free and clear access to costumes and such. Sometimes it isn’t good to be the big, bad wolf. Sometimes it's good to hide in plain sight."

Joyce Doyle

Joyce nervously checked her watch every five minutes in anticipation of her husband pulling up to the driveway. He was almost never late and when he was he would always call. Today she hadn’t received a phone call and Walter hadn’t shown up yet. She tried to keep the bad thoughts out of her mind. It wasn’t good to go down this road again, her psychiatrist would be mad at her if she kept assuming the worst. She rocked her newborn son Eric back and forth as he slept in her arms. She had been so happy lately, beating her depression and giving birth to their third child. A beautiful angel sent to them from heaven and one that she truly treasured.

Dennis was just about to hit puberty and would most likely be a handful to handle and Julie was just about grown up. She didn’t need her mom watching over here like a hawk. Working all day with young children had made Joyce want a third child and while it took some convincing on her part Walter simply couldn’t stay upset when he saw his beautiful new son smiling at him.

Dennis ran around the front yard chasing Barry and rolling around with the dog. Dennis grabbed a tennis ball and chucked it across the yard as Barry gave chase. The scene brought a smile to Joyce’s face who always envisioned a happy family playing together.

Julie was inside washing up and setting the table for dinner and as soon as Walter arrived the family would eat together. Dennis and Julie had complained about being hungry, but Joyce treasured their time together as a complete family. They so rarely got to spend time together that she wasn’t even listening to their complaints about eating without their father.

A beat up pickup truck pulled to a stop in front of the Doyle’s home. A large man stepped out of the driver’s side. A smile quickly filled her face as she saw her husband emerge from the passenger side. She rushed over to him and gave him a kiss as he hugged her and kissed his sleeping son.

"What happened Walter? You had me worried."

Walter frowned slightly. It was his idea in the first place that Joyce went to a psychiatrist over her worries and depression and he hated when she worried. She smiled and drove the fear and doubt from her voice.

"I think something is wrong with the oil change I had done last week. Luckily Hank here was driving by and offered me a ride."

The large man, Hank, nodded. She didn’t like him from the second she saw him. He seemed like a creepy, evil man. She couldn’t understand why she felt that way and the only thing he had done was give her a husband a ride home. Still, the sooner he left the better she would feel.

Walter turned towards Hank, "Thanks again Hank. I won’t keep you from your wife."

He shook the large man’s hand. Walter turned to his wife and together they headed for the front door with their two sons and dog. Joyce turned to see the large man cross the yard and step off the curb towards his car. He opened the door to his truck and suddenly stopped. Joyce followed his eyes to the ground where a large ant was scurrying around. The large man smiled as he raised his boot and brought it down on the ant crushing him flat against the pavement. With a gleeful and sickening smile the large man climbed into his truck and drove off. Despite her husband’s concerns and the medication running through her system she couldn’t keep the bad thoughts away.

The following promotion is brought to you by the former XWF World Television King, and future Lord of the Ring... The Cult Icon, Shawn Christopher.

"... Broken…

A suitable title for your career Rage. Was I supposed to impress because your dropping promos left and right? While others are quick to believe in the reincarnation of the Anarchist, I see nothing but a flash in the pan. You had to show up for this, otherwise all the hype that surrounds you would air you to be nothing more than a pure grade A bitch

It is great to see you in full force Rage, I look forward to the next line of work… Six months down the road.

Your whole career, you’ve done nothing but faded in and out retirement.

Faded into obscurity.

When was the last moment you mattered in the wrestling world? The last moment you mattered in the spotlight? The last moment anyone but your roving show of freaks and fucks knew who the fuck you were?

When was the last time anyone cared?

This week, you don't have to worry about the deep inner workings of my psyche, what I do, why I do it, how it relates to what happens in the ring or how you could use that information to hide whichever obscure mental handicap makes you spew what you spew onto the video screens of Funyun eating spectators worldwide.

This week, your tremendous strategy of begging your opponents to rip out your intestines, show them to you, and skip rope with them double Dutch style long enough for you to stand at your shooting locations, find a clever riff on your background music, print out a copy of their promo, and leech off of it, then display some sophomoric commercial to mask your naked assbaggery finally pays off for you.

This week, I focus on what you and the biggest mouthbreathers in professional wrestling care about - hurr hurr, Rage sucks and this is why. And you get to focus on doing what you do best - embarrassing yourself in front of a camera slightly less than you do inside of a wrestling ring. And once I'm done writing a blueprint on how to make you sound like a moron, and once you're done showing off how you're the perfect blueprint for a Perpetual Failure Machine, you just might realize that insisting on my personal attention was roughly as smart as signing onto this place to begin with.

By the way, Rage, before I introduce your self-esteem to the same black hole this company will vault into the second your pimple ridden sausage fingers leave dead skin cells against any match of significance in this company - you can really stop with the faggot stuff, OK? Point well made - juvenile antics can't get you over.

Nothing can.

I did not arrive here via a fucking fluke. I didn't showcase my amazing ability to bend my ankles behind my head. I am really, really, really better than you, and it pains me that your own pride won't allow you to admit it. I don't mean to brag –

Wait. What am I saying

I mean to brag

I mean to irritate you

I mean to frustrate and annoy you

I mean to be insufferable, because nothing is permanent and I might break my ankle tomorrow or get hit by a bus so who knows how long I'll be this much better than everybody in this company. I mean to preen. I mean to make you envious. I mean to make you desire with all your exhausted heart to shut me up, and I mean to get a little bit of security in the knowledge that unless you come to the ring with two handguns and a really biased referee that there's absolutely no chance of it ever happening. And even then, can you fit your fingers around a trigger? Doubt it.

In the end, I mean to ruin you.

I have dozens of ways to embarrass you, Rage. I'm not exaggerating. Dozens

I've worked with, worked against, beaten down and destroyed people who that don't sound like dollar store magicians and I'm on the roll of my career, and I will NOT be stopped by, because of somebody named Rage."

End feed.