Post by Mason St. Croix on Feb 22, 2015 18:36:53 GMT
“Howdy Roomie!”
Mason stood in the open doorway to his apartment to see the smiling face of Hank who had a backpack on his back, a large rolling suitcase behind him and a duffle bag sitting on the floor next to him.
“What are you doing Hank?” Mason asked.
“I’m moving in.” Hank replied enthusiastically. “Grab that bag.”
Mason reluctantly picked up the duffle bag as Hank rolled the suitcase past him and into the apartment. Hank took off the backpack and tossed it on the bed before taking a seat on the foot of the bed and slipping off his shoes.
“Seriously Hank, what are you doing?” Mason asked again.
“You don’t listen real well do ya boy? I told you I was moving in.” Hank stated.
“Why?”
“Cause I’m gonna help you find out what went on those two years you were gone and I can’t do it from a bungalow on the beach.” Hank stood up and walked over to the kitchenette area of the tiny studio apartment. “Ya got anything to eat?”
“Look Hank, I appreciate you wanting to help.” Mason began “But there’s barely enough room for me in here much less another grown man.”
“Sure there is, I’ll take the bed and you can have the couch.”
“What?” Mason paused “Why do you get the bed?”
“I’m too old to be sleeping on a couch; my old bones would be so stiff I couldn’t move.”
Mason nodded his head in agreement and dropped the duffle bag before taking a seat on the couch.
“Careful with that kid, it’s fragile.”
“What’s in…” Before Mason could finish his question someone knocked on the door. Mason stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it to see Walt Jenkins sitting in his wheel chair.
“Hey Walt.”
“Mason we gotta talk, I lied to you.” Walt stated.
Mason stepped to the side and Walt rolled into the apartment, slightly taken back by Hank sitting on the bed.
“What do you mean you lied?” Mason asked, shutting the door before sitting back down on the couch.
“Who’s the old dude Mason?”
“Name’s Hank Murphy.” Hank said “I’m his roommate.”
Walt looked around the small apartment, “Roommate? In this tuna can.”
“Don’t ask, that issue is still unresolved.” Mason stated “So what do you mean you lied? About what?”
“I ain’t real comfortable talking in front of some guy I’ve never met. Can we go somewhere?” Walt requested.
“I trust Hank.” Mason quickly replied.
“Alright, if you trust him then he’s good in my book.” Walt responded.
“So what’s up?”
Walt’s eyes shot to the floor and he appeared deep in thought for a few moments. He looked over at his friend his eyes full of remorse.
“I don’t know how to say this any other way so I’ll just spit it out. I never saw you in Iraq. A man named Major Brent Asher paid me to tell you that I saw you over there torturing people.” Walt confessed “I’m so sorry Mason, I was about to get married and my little boy was about to be born. Shit’s expensive, bro.”
Mason just sat in silence, stunned at the news.
“You alright kid?” Hank chimed in trying to break silence.
“Yeah…” Mason answered, the short response was all he could muster.
Fade to black.
The End.
This thing between The Brother’s Black and Creed and I was over as soon as it began so the end actually came at the beginning. Way back that fateful day when my “friends” Frank and Eddie once again proved that they’re both a couple of spineless cowards who can’t think for themselves and they pushed a disabled war hero off a 15 foot high stage while he was strapped to a wheelchair. That was the moment everything changed and they won’t even acknowledge it.
Another thing they won’t acknowledge is that every time, every single fucking time I’ve looked across the ring at someone with the last name Black I’ve walked out the winner. Sure they look like they’ve got our number when it’s a sneak attack or after we’ve already beaten some other piss poor excuse for a team but when it counts in a match the outcome has been the same. I began my IWF career by beating one of the Black’s and proceeded to do so almost every week it seemed like my first few weeks in IWF. Me and Killian took their belts a month ago. See a pattern here?
This time won’t be a damn bit different.
You boys don’t even deserve a rematch considering you haven’t wrestled a match since the last time we handed you your asses but I’ll admit it I broke down after you tossed me off that stage and I gave in. You tried to break me, you tried to end my career but just like most things you do you fucking failed. I wanted revenge, but really that’s what this has been about all along.
It’s all been about revenge.
Revenge comes from high above the ring at Danger Zone in a Scaffold Match. I said it last week that while I was overseas fighting in a war for nearly 11 years that during downtime we watched a lot of wrestling on really crappy portable DVD players. One type of match that I really enjoyed was a Scaffold Match and I figured since Frank and Eddie like throwing people off of things…
We’d get a little higher.
20 feet to be exact. Just four guys high above the ring where there’s no room for error, first team to have both members fall from the scaffold to the ring wins and walks out IWF Tag Team Champions. I’ve done my research and from what I can gather there hasn’t been a match like this in 15 years. It brings out the true danger in Danger Zone. We’re going to make history on Sunday night, careers could end and lives might change forever.
I know it’s a risk wanting such a dangerous match especially with the two of you because as much as I’ve discredited either of you for having any real wrestling ability you can fight. That’s what this going to be too, there’s not a lot of room up there to pull off any big moves. It’ll be a lot of kicking, punching, and maybe a few suplexes so it actually plays in to your favor but don’t think for a second that Creed and I can’t bring the fight just as well as we can wrestle a technical match.
We proved that by taking these belts in a street fight.
I just want this to be over. I’m tired of talking about you. I’m tired of the unoriginal tough guy routine that you use on everyone only to lose in most cases. I’m tired of the cheap shots and the sneak attacks. I’m tired of the way you look, the way you talk, the way you smell, I’m just fucking tired of you both all around. I can’t wait to toss you worthless sacks off shit off that Scaffold and see you lying broken and beaten in the ring.
The End, again.
Mason stood in the open doorway to his apartment to see the smiling face of Hank who had a backpack on his back, a large rolling suitcase behind him and a duffle bag sitting on the floor next to him.
“What are you doing Hank?” Mason asked.
“I’m moving in.” Hank replied enthusiastically. “Grab that bag.”
Mason reluctantly picked up the duffle bag as Hank rolled the suitcase past him and into the apartment. Hank took off the backpack and tossed it on the bed before taking a seat on the foot of the bed and slipping off his shoes.
“Seriously Hank, what are you doing?” Mason asked again.
“You don’t listen real well do ya boy? I told you I was moving in.” Hank stated.
“Why?”
“Cause I’m gonna help you find out what went on those two years you were gone and I can’t do it from a bungalow on the beach.” Hank stood up and walked over to the kitchenette area of the tiny studio apartment. “Ya got anything to eat?”
“Look Hank, I appreciate you wanting to help.” Mason began “But there’s barely enough room for me in here much less another grown man.”
“Sure there is, I’ll take the bed and you can have the couch.”
“What?” Mason paused “Why do you get the bed?”
“I’m too old to be sleeping on a couch; my old bones would be so stiff I couldn’t move.”
Mason nodded his head in agreement and dropped the duffle bag before taking a seat on the couch.
“Careful with that kid, it’s fragile.”
“What’s in…” Before Mason could finish his question someone knocked on the door. Mason stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it to see Walt Jenkins sitting in his wheel chair.
“Hey Walt.”
“Mason we gotta talk, I lied to you.” Walt stated.
Mason stepped to the side and Walt rolled into the apartment, slightly taken back by Hank sitting on the bed.
“What do you mean you lied?” Mason asked, shutting the door before sitting back down on the couch.
“Who’s the old dude Mason?”
“Name’s Hank Murphy.” Hank said “I’m his roommate.”
Walt looked around the small apartment, “Roommate? In this tuna can.”
“Don’t ask, that issue is still unresolved.” Mason stated “So what do you mean you lied? About what?”
“I ain’t real comfortable talking in front of some guy I’ve never met. Can we go somewhere?” Walt requested.
“I trust Hank.” Mason quickly replied.
“Alright, if you trust him then he’s good in my book.” Walt responded.
“So what’s up?”
Walt’s eyes shot to the floor and he appeared deep in thought for a few moments. He looked over at his friend his eyes full of remorse.
“I don’t know how to say this any other way so I’ll just spit it out. I never saw you in Iraq. A man named Major Brent Asher paid me to tell you that I saw you over there torturing people.” Walt confessed “I’m so sorry Mason, I was about to get married and my little boy was about to be born. Shit’s expensive, bro.”
Mason just sat in silence, stunned at the news.
“You alright kid?” Hank chimed in trying to break silence.
“Yeah…” Mason answered, the short response was all he could muster.
Fade to black.
The End.
This thing between The Brother’s Black and Creed and I was over as soon as it began so the end actually came at the beginning. Way back that fateful day when my “friends” Frank and Eddie once again proved that they’re both a couple of spineless cowards who can’t think for themselves and they pushed a disabled war hero off a 15 foot high stage while he was strapped to a wheelchair. That was the moment everything changed and they won’t even acknowledge it.
Another thing they won’t acknowledge is that every time, every single fucking time I’ve looked across the ring at someone with the last name Black I’ve walked out the winner. Sure they look like they’ve got our number when it’s a sneak attack or after we’ve already beaten some other piss poor excuse for a team but when it counts in a match the outcome has been the same. I began my IWF career by beating one of the Black’s and proceeded to do so almost every week it seemed like my first few weeks in IWF. Me and Killian took their belts a month ago. See a pattern here?
This time won’t be a damn bit different.
You boys don’t even deserve a rematch considering you haven’t wrestled a match since the last time we handed you your asses but I’ll admit it I broke down after you tossed me off that stage and I gave in. You tried to break me, you tried to end my career but just like most things you do you fucking failed. I wanted revenge, but really that’s what this has been about all along.
It’s all been about revenge.
Revenge comes from high above the ring at Danger Zone in a Scaffold Match. I said it last week that while I was overseas fighting in a war for nearly 11 years that during downtime we watched a lot of wrestling on really crappy portable DVD players. One type of match that I really enjoyed was a Scaffold Match and I figured since Frank and Eddie like throwing people off of things…
We’d get a little higher.
20 feet to be exact. Just four guys high above the ring where there’s no room for error, first team to have both members fall from the scaffold to the ring wins and walks out IWF Tag Team Champions. I’ve done my research and from what I can gather there hasn’t been a match like this in 15 years. It brings out the true danger in Danger Zone. We’re going to make history on Sunday night, careers could end and lives might change forever.
I know it’s a risk wanting such a dangerous match especially with the two of you because as much as I’ve discredited either of you for having any real wrestling ability you can fight. That’s what this going to be too, there’s not a lot of room up there to pull off any big moves. It’ll be a lot of kicking, punching, and maybe a few suplexes so it actually plays in to your favor but don’t think for a second that Creed and I can’t bring the fight just as well as we can wrestle a technical match.
We proved that by taking these belts in a street fight.
I just want this to be over. I’m tired of talking about you. I’m tired of the unoriginal tough guy routine that you use on everyone only to lose in most cases. I’m tired of the cheap shots and the sneak attacks. I’m tired of the way you look, the way you talk, the way you smell, I’m just fucking tired of you both all around. I can’t wait to toss you worthless sacks off shit off that Scaffold and see you lying broken and beaten in the ring.
The End, again.
Well howdy there pardner.