Joe's Official Goodbye and Farewell

[DWoods]

“Guess where Ol’ Joe at? Ain’t the fuckin’ BURBS, IS IT!? Naw, it’s the pits – fuckin’ cocksuckin’ streets. Doesn’t anybody fuckin’ litter anymore!? Ol’ Joe’s been sprawled on that pavement for five consecutive nights and he ain’t found a SINGLE GODDAM FUCKIN’ SMOKE BUTT! The hell kinda world are we livin’ in, son?

“But the streets is where I belong. City came in, bulldozed my house AGAIN, and salted the muthafuckin’ EARTH. They whipped out their tiny cocks and pissed on the smoldering remains! And the mayor just stood there and laughed and laughed and laughed. I did get his teenage son addicted to airplane glue… but Ol’ Joe is hesitant to believe that those two things are in any way related. So fuck it. Ol’ Joe ain’t scared of the tramplin’ loafers. Bring it on, fuckers.”

Days Later

“Got booted in the head by two crazy looking Asians with kung-fu shoes on their feet! They said I stole their monkey – fuckin’, no, I didn’t do shit. Ol’ Joe punched it in its mouth, like, eight times and drown’d’it in fruit punch! I didn’t steal crap, bitch – check the toy chest in your attic.

“I bled a whole bunch a lot; now, shit’s blurry. But guess what, ALSO? Ol’ Joe’s fucked up on a game day cocktail and he’s LOOKING for a fight. Who said he ain’t brought the brew? Ol’ Joe’s got a WHOLE DAMN CASE of that Indian ciggy cider!”

More Days Later

“WHO THE FUCK STABBED ME LAST NIGHT!?!?”

Weeks Later

“Finally got ‘em. Case closed.”

Month(s?) Later

“Young Timothy brought Ol’ Joe six hunnid t’day.

“Second time dis month…

“I’s wuz leanin’ on that wah-wah ciggy brew when I swatted ‘im the first goddamn tahhhhm! Then he came at me with a microwave oven so I toaster ovened him. Ol’ Joe didn’t even throw that toaster oven out. Still in use, cunts – makin’ toast right the fuck now!

“KIDS GOTTA LEARN OL’ JOE DOESN’T TAKE SIX HUNNIDS! BRING ME STACKS OR BRING ME NOTHIN’! I EATS THE WORLD… FROM THE INSIDE… FUCKIN’ OUT. LIKE A GIMMICKED PIZZA FROM THE 90S! OL’ JOE… FUCK… WHO PUT THE JUNK IN MY CRACK PIPE!? YOU THINK I CAN’T DISCERN JUNK FROM CRACK!?!?”

Present Day

“Signed a fraudulent loan with a made-up bank based outta the Philippines. $50 grand to sink into a new shithole in an even worse part of town – hope it keeps the pryin’ eyes out as well as the last one!

“Everyone worries about Ol’ Joe’s brain health and financial health. I dunno about any of that shit. It ain’t somethin’ I know much about. I just do what I do and I take the consequences as they come! I’ve literally carried around a mouthful of my own shattered teeth `cause I was so fucked up on drugs that I thought if I made it back to my own bed before dawn that the tooth fairy would come and give me a fuckin’ fortune.

“I swallowed them all.

“That’s fucked up. They’re lodged somewhere in my intestines. Should kill me in five or six years if I don’t get the surgery. I’ve been carved up and diced up so much over the years, from my brain to the ligaments in my hands and feet, that it shouldn’t bother me none. More scars, more debt!

“BUT OL’ JOE AIN’T LOSIN’ HIS TEETH FER NUTHIN’, MAN, Y’SEE!?

“I’M LIKE A REVERSE TOODLES – I AIN’T LOSIN’ MY MARBLES!

“I’m done losin’ flesh and I’m done losin’ blood for the sake of a few pallets of stinkin’ venison meat. I ain’t made a dime. I eat that rotted up crap like jerkey nowadays! And if you were here right now – right here, RIGHT NOW – YOU’D TURN YOUR NOSE UP AT OL’ JOE! DISGUSTED BY HIM!

“So, fuck it, I gave up my streak on purpose. Some Italian in neon green windbreaker gave me a brand new tool shed and a set of winters for me takin’ that dive. Whatever. Call me a bitch for leakin’ shit. Ol’ Joe’s got a brain-bruise the size of a baseball that turns his economics into digital radio!!

“I got problems. I got hospital bills. I got disease. Swoll up on fuckin’ disease! Only thing Ol’ Joe ain’t got…?

“A fuck to give.

“I ain’t comin’ back, not never. Gonna devote my time to underground seatbeltless destruction derbies and twine-fist boxing.

“Gonna miss my fans. Those retarded fucks. Writin’ Ol’ Joe in backwards English in fuckin’ crayon on a fuckin’ crumpled up cocktail napkin with their pa’s whore’s number written on it! AT LEAST TURN THE FUCKIN’ THING OVER AND WRITE ON THE OTHER SIDE – I CAN IGNORE THAT! YOU FUCKS BEEN SCRAWLIN’ OVER THE SLUT’S DIGITS!

“Yeahhh… even those stupid fuckin’ spittin’-Liptons bitches I’m gonna miss! Lookie here, Ol’ Joe failed at life, he made no money and zapped himself of 30 or so years of life, and now he’s fuckin’ majorly, like… actually… yeah… it’s gotten dark, bitch… Ol’ Joe’s scared. He… he… uh… he can’t say no to the---

“NUH-UH! I’M ON EIGHTEEN DIFFERENT THINGS RIGHT NOW AND I’VE GOT A PLACE TO SLEEP TONIGHT! I AIN’T NO BITCH SLEEPIN’ OUT IN THE RAIN, GETTING’ STABBED BY PSYCHOS JUST ASKIN’ FOR A FIGHT! I’D FIGHT ‘EM BUT THEY’D SQUEAL AND OL’ JOE CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE BILLY STICK SHOTS TO THE NOGGIN! ONE MORE AND THAT’S IT FOR OL’ ME!!

“Stay outta my life. Or don’t – but give me some money. Or steaks. I’d take some steaks, too.”

 

[EastPrez]

(FADEIN: To NFW President, ‘Hot Property’ EDDIE MAYFIELD, standing arms-folded in front of a NFW PRESIDENTIAL SEAL backdrop. He is wearing a Charcoal Grey PRADA suit, with a sea-green tie and matching pocket square. His head is closely shaven, contrasting his thick reddish brown ‘Yukon Cornelius’ beard. He looks down and produces a pack of Camel Reds and starts slapping the pack against the palm of his hand, looking disgusted.)

MAYFIELD: “GOOD DAY NFW CONSTITUENTS. It is I, Eddie Mayfield, your President in good standing, and overseer of all that’s good and just in this fair world. (an alligator’s smile crawls across his face as he shakes out a loose cigarette) I have a lot on my plate these days, but I wanted to take this moment to address The Great Unwashed, the Tragic Hero, Joseph Theodore Plummer, or not using his ‘Gubment’ name, JOE THE PLUMBER. (frowns)

“Listen Joe the Plumber, I was going through the dailies a few days ago, and one of the line producers told me to ‘lookit this’ and emailed me a link to a Dropbox file that had your video in it, Joe - your FAREWELL SPEECH, as you call it. It almost - ALMOST brought a tear to my eye. But it was really just dust. Joe, I, and if you still claim to have ANY fans left - don’t wanna hear your BS farewell. We never saw eye-to-eye, mainly because I was too busy with mine closed because your smell sealed them shut - but one thing about our ‘working relationship’ was this - you were at the top of the food chain, and you were UNBEATABLE during your reign, and you were LOYAL to the New Frontier, Joe - I always respect loyalty. I gritted my teeth when you were the top dog, but I’ll be honest and say you spiked our ratings - people loved to see you, and they loved to see you and me at each other’s throats.

“So now, what I get, from a QUITTER, who couldn’t deal with the heat when he was on top of the mountain, was to tuck tail and run, and leave the promotion that made him a star - the audience that made him RICH, decides that he’s too much of an embarrassing mess to CONTINUE. Well Joe - where the hell are you now? You’re the Greasy Goblin or whatever right? I thought guys like you couldn’t feel pain. I thought guys like you snacked on danger and dined on diarrhea. But what you really wound up being, Joe, was a stepping stone to guys like Dorchester Stratton, who put you through the meat grinder.

What you REALLY are, Joe, was a guy, just like a TON of guys in this business- not able to EVOLVE. You get your big piece of chicken at the dinner table, but when it’s gone, you don’t know how to cook your own meals. You don’t know how to LEVEL UP, Joe. You lost your spark so it’s time to quit. (Lights the camel, wincing as he takes a test charge and slaps his zippo shut) But I also hear that you're BROKE, Joe. Another Rags-to-Riches-to-Rags story. I'm not going to see you in my Yahoo! feed one morning as Another Dead Wrestler, not if I have something to do about it.


“Well, Joe, I have a proposition for you - to (looks away for a beat) to... right some wrongs. I’m giving you a chance at REDEMPTION, Joe. Of a chance to get yourself out of your own way. A chance to get you paid for Doing What You Do, that does not involve snaking a shitty toilet. Our dalliance of eagles never crashed to earth correctly - there’s an open chapter between, you, myself and this company, Joe. What I want from you - is ONE MORE MATCH. (smiles) One final match between JOE THE PLUMBER, THE ASTERISK NFW CHAMPION and me, your Friendly Neighborhood Eddie Mayfield, at a NFW card of my choosing. Let’s end this the right way, Joe. Do what’s GOOD FOR BUSINESS. I'll pay for your membership into a gym so you can do some hindu squats, and TRY not to shit your shorts on the way down - ALL FOR THIS: TO GET YOU IN THE RING WITH YOUR NEMESIS EDDIE MAYFIELD FOR THE FIRST, AND LAST TIME. (Streams smoke through his nose, looking directly at the camera) I'll guarantee the payday, Joe - you bring the literal, and figurative, funk to my NFW ring for one last time.

“Joe, THIS needs to happen. YOU need this. I need it. NFW WANTS this. You know my number - make the call, Joe. I’ll make it worth your while. (Makes the 'money' gesture, rubbing his fingers together and smiles again, which washes into a frown. FADE TO BLACK)