Post by Awesome Stick Labor on Feb 29, 2016 1:18:51 GMT
Authentic Wrestling Gods, Premiere Wrestling Alliance, and Redemption Wrestling.
Do those places sound familiar to y'all folks? If not...then I'm gonna spell it out as best I can. Ya see, those are the three places in which I called "home" prior to yours truly joinin' the Imperial Wrestling Federation, stops on the road during my almost nine-year-old career. Everywhere I went, from small dance clubs to the larger football stadiums, I made it a livin' to provide every single fan with the best amount of thrills, excitement, and suspense as I can possibly give 'em. To a varying degree, I've had some successes and, yes, even the occasional fuck-up or two.
So I joined the Imperial world, hoping to be able to replicate the runs I've had with the other organization. To a degree...things haven't exactly gone the way I've wanted 'em to, but it's through them bad times in my life that I sit down and tell myself "get a move on, fucker." And I did exactly what I've set myself out to do--I kept pluggin' away at my craft, evolvin' and watchin' with great intention as the other wrasslers did their thing. Regardless of wins or losses, I never lost sight of the thing that's drivin' me ever since I got my start in Boston all those years ago.
It's called "respect."
Many people in the world we live in today take that simple, seven-letter R-word for granted, often usin' it for their own selfish means. I question people like, for example, Donald Trump in that regard--askin' things like "what the fuck has HE done in the political arena to earn the respect of his constituents?!" I'd simply say no--I mean, shit, the guy was born with a silver spoon up his keister and spends more money than Jesus Himself...
...okie-doke, so maybe that was a bit of a stretch.
Hopefully ya get my drift.
The point, though, is real simple: I go out to that ring, and I couldn't give a damn about whether or not I win or lose on any given day. I go out there and EARN respect from my peers, for myself and for the love of this l'il game we play every day. I never captured my lone Invictus title 'cause I was a goddamn billionaire who wants to be a politician; I won it 'cause I busted my ass and stayed true to my principles. People might tend to bash me over my own bravado, but deep down...I've had a tremendous amount of respect for the folks who've come through IWF before me and helped me grow along the way.
Names like Malaki Toala, Nighthawk...
...or you, Spike Kane.
----------
Do those places sound familiar to y'all folks? If not...then I'm gonna spell it out as best I can. Ya see, those are the three places in which I called "home" prior to yours truly joinin' the Imperial Wrestling Federation, stops on the road during my almost nine-year-old career. Everywhere I went, from small dance clubs to the larger football stadiums, I made it a livin' to provide every single fan with the best amount of thrills, excitement, and suspense as I can possibly give 'em. To a varying degree, I've had some successes and, yes, even the occasional fuck-up or two.
So I joined the Imperial world, hoping to be able to replicate the runs I've had with the other organization. To a degree...things haven't exactly gone the way I've wanted 'em to, but it's through them bad times in my life that I sit down and tell myself "get a move on, fucker." And I did exactly what I've set myself out to do--I kept pluggin' away at my craft, evolvin' and watchin' with great intention as the other wrasslers did their thing. Regardless of wins or losses, I never lost sight of the thing that's drivin' me ever since I got my start in Boston all those years ago.
It's called "respect."
Many people in the world we live in today take that simple, seven-letter R-word for granted, often usin' it for their own selfish means. I question people like, for example, Donald Trump in that regard--askin' things like "what the fuck has HE done in the political arena to earn the respect of his constituents?!" I'd simply say no--I mean, shit, the guy was born with a silver spoon up his keister and spends more money than Jesus Himself...
...okie-doke, so maybe that was a bit of a stretch.
Hopefully ya get my drift.
The point, though, is real simple: I go out to that ring, and I couldn't give a damn about whether or not I win or lose on any given day. I go out there and EARN respect from my peers, for myself and for the love of this l'il game we play every day. I never captured my lone Invictus title 'cause I was a goddamn billionaire who wants to be a politician; I won it 'cause I busted my ass and stayed true to my principles. People might tend to bash me over my own bravado, but deep down...I've had a tremendous amount of respect for the folks who've come through IWF before me and helped me grow along the way.
Names like Malaki Toala, Nighthawk...
...or you, Spike Kane.
----------
March 23, 1988 – 7:30 AM
On what would be best described as a picture perfect spring day in Arlington, Texas, we find five-year-old Jack Gaither sitting in the passenger seat of the 1973 Chevy Vega, which is parked outside his house on its driveway, next to his parents' brand-new gray 1988 Ford LTD Crown Victoria.
March 23rd, 1988...
It started off like any other day in my life--with me sittin' in the passenger seat of the ol' yellow Vega, watchin' intently as my mom sent my dad, clad in a clean, spiffy Navy uniform, off to work every mornin'. Pretty soon, I would be goin' through another day at Beckham Elementary School, takin' on new challenges and gettin' a solid education in the process.
I sat in the car, peering my eyes upon the people that I loved the most as they went through their mornin' agenda.
It started off like any other day in my life--with me sittin' in the passenger seat of the ol' yellow Vega, watchin' intently as my mom sent my dad, clad in a clean, spiffy Navy uniform, off to work every mornin'. Pretty soon, I would be goin' through another day at Beckham Elementary School, takin' on new challenges and gettin' a solid education in the process.
I sat in the car, peering my eyes upon the people that I loved the most as they went through their mornin' agenda.
KIRK GAITHER: Hey hun, are ya thinkin' about takin' the ol' bananamobile?
LINDA POHLER: Yeah dear. What's up?
KIRK: I think the brakes might be goin' bye-bye real soon. Had to jam on 'em last night on the way home from work—might need to get 'em checked.
Linda, sporting a red blouse, threw her hands up in the air in frustration. The fifteen-year-old Chevy, the first car Kirk Gaither and his wife Linda owned together, was--for the most part--generally kept in top condition. Yet on this day, the Californian couldn't fathom the prospect of having to get its problems resolved.
LINDA: Ugh, not again! I thought we had that fixed the first time around.
KIRK: I know...they're sayin' that parts for ol' Chevy Vegas are goin' by the wayside. They just don't make 'em like they used to no more.
Jack's father shook his head as he hopped into the driver's side of the newer Ford.
KIRK: Might be time to get rid o' the ol' girl...
LINDA: Don't worry sweetie—I”m gonna take it slow and easy today, see if that helps. I'll swing by Barney's and see what he's got to say.
Jack watched as Linda gave her husband a quick peck on the cheek before leaving for his job. He looked down at his stuffed animal--a turquoise-blue frog named "Dumbo"--and smiled as his mother got into the old car and started its engine.
LINDA: You're bringin' Dumbo with you?!
YOUNG JACK GAITHER: I'm gonna show him for show and tell because you, Grammy, and Grampy made him.
It's hard to imagine me ever having a stuffed animal but "Dumbo" was my favorite.
"Show and tell" was every kindergartner's favorite joy when it came to school. Once every month, we would bring somethin' to our class that we considered "unique" and shared it with everyone. To me, that l'il stuffed froggie represented my hopes and dreams; yet more importantly, it represented my mother's spirit.
And I wanted to share that spirit with Miss Kimble.
"Show and tell" was every kindergartner's favorite joy when it came to school. Once every month, we would bring somethin' to our class that we considered "unique" and shared it with everyone. To me, that l'il stuffed froggie represented my hopes and dreams; yet more importantly, it represented my mother's spirit.
And I wanted to share that spirit with Miss Kimble.
–---------
Ain't it funny, Spike, that you and I date back to the ol' Premiere Wrestling days?
When I first saw ya in a PWA ring, I--along with a host of other folks--made the assumption that you were just a new dude on the block without even takin' a closer, more in-depth look into your career. I ain't afraid to admit that I've made mistakes like that plenty of times; yet I'm happy I ain't alone in that l'il regard. I was only able to catch a small glimpse of what you were able to do out there in that ring. Allow me to set your DeLorean's time circuits...to December 15th, 2010.
Destination: Glendale, Arizona's University of Phoenix Stadium.
Event: PWA's "Redemption IV."
I barely remember watchin' you and your buddy Rob Diamond--'Awesomeness Personified" if I recall--team up for a tag-team title match against Captain Howdy and some other dude who formed the old "Mutually Assured Destruction" unit. From what I gathered at the time, it was one of the sickest tag-team matches I'd ever seen in nmy life--full of blood, gore, violence, all that good shit that's made you into the "Blood God" or all those other nicknames. If I ain't mistaken, ya didn't win them championships but got a shit-ton of stitches to go on that massively fucked-up face of yours.
At least...I hope ya had fun that night.
So I came into IWF--and lo and behold, there ya were, doin' what you've always wanted to do. At was right around that time when I started to realize that I was wrong in my old assumption. I'm pretty sure that, when ya first saw me in Imperial, you were figurin' "gee, Gaither is the newbie 'round here" and labeled me as nothin' more than a "political piece of shit" or somethin' to that effect. But guess what? Politics ain't got jack crap to do with the wrasslin' bidness--for deep within my very own soul, I respected you as a professional. Despite what you might've thought regardin' my ego or how I shaped my ego, I was probably one of a few ex-PWA folks who truly enjoyed watchin' you perform in front of a crowd.
Hell, I respected you and 'Hawk more than, say, someone like Jake Keeton.
I can relate to ya when it comes to havin' a wounded pride--for I was able to take pride in the fact that I've generally won my battles without no one helpin' me; now I can't say that no more. I understand how our last match ended Spike...and to be perfectly fair and honest, I didn't like the way in which I won it. Everything would've been a l'il bit better had that rat-faced pencil-neck geek you call a son fucked things up. If I would've beaten you on my own, your pride might've been damaged just a tad--but not for a guy like me to say, without a shadow of a doubt, that you're the greatest competitor that ever lived.
That's right...I went there.
So what if Warren decided to meddle into things that weren't his! I still respected you. Even as ya continued to press the issue, I still considered you as somethin' very special. Lemme tell ya somethin' ya already know: despite our constant beefs with each other, I always kept things on a professional schematic. Somewhere durin' your twenty years of service to the gig, you've probably had that same tenet in your mind. Our fights were gonna be settled one-on-one, face-to-face, man-to-man...yet they would all turn out the exact same way, with me always showin' you the respect you deserved for all them accolades.
Alas...you took a simple l'il beef--one that stemmed from Twitter as well as the Open Fight Night--and made it personal last week.
Now you're gonna see a side of me that you'll never, ever wanna see again.
–---------
Ain't it funny, Spike, that you and I date back to the ol' Premiere Wrestling days?
When I first saw ya in a PWA ring, I--along with a host of other folks--made the assumption that you were just a new dude on the block without even takin' a closer, more in-depth look into your career. I ain't afraid to admit that I've made mistakes like that plenty of times; yet I'm happy I ain't alone in that l'il regard. I was only able to catch a small glimpse of what you were able to do out there in that ring. Allow me to set your DeLorean's time circuits...to December 15th, 2010.
Destination: Glendale, Arizona's University of Phoenix Stadium.
Event: PWA's "Redemption IV."
I barely remember watchin' you and your buddy Rob Diamond--'Awesomeness Personified" if I recall--team up for a tag-team title match against Captain Howdy and some other dude who formed the old "Mutually Assured Destruction" unit. From what I gathered at the time, it was one of the sickest tag-team matches I'd ever seen in nmy life--full of blood, gore, violence, all that good shit that's made you into the "Blood God" or all those other nicknames. If I ain't mistaken, ya didn't win them championships but got a shit-ton of stitches to go on that massively fucked-up face of yours.
At least...I hope ya had fun that night.
So I came into IWF--and lo and behold, there ya were, doin' what you've always wanted to do. At was right around that time when I started to realize that I was wrong in my old assumption. I'm pretty sure that, when ya first saw me in Imperial, you were figurin' "gee, Gaither is the newbie 'round here" and labeled me as nothin' more than a "political piece of shit" or somethin' to that effect. But guess what? Politics ain't got jack crap to do with the wrasslin' bidness--for deep within my very own soul, I respected you as a professional. Despite what you might've thought regardin' my ego or how I shaped my ego, I was probably one of a few ex-PWA folks who truly enjoyed watchin' you perform in front of a crowd.
Hell, I respected you and 'Hawk more than, say, someone like Jake Keeton.
I can relate to ya when it comes to havin' a wounded pride--for I was able to take pride in the fact that I've generally won my battles without no one helpin' me; now I can't say that no more. I understand how our last match ended Spike...and to be perfectly fair and honest, I didn't like the way in which I won it. Everything would've been a l'il bit better had that rat-faced pencil-neck geek you call a son fucked things up. If I would've beaten you on my own, your pride might've been damaged just a tad--but not for a guy like me to say, without a shadow of a doubt, that you're the greatest competitor that ever lived.
That's right...I went there.
So what if Warren decided to meddle into things that weren't his! I still respected you. Even as ya continued to press the issue, I still considered you as somethin' very special. Lemme tell ya somethin' ya already know: despite our constant beefs with each other, I always kept things on a professional schematic. Somewhere durin' your twenty years of service to the gig, you've probably had that same tenet in your mind. Our fights were gonna be settled one-on-one, face-to-face, man-to-man...yet they would all turn out the exact same way, with me always showin' you the respect you deserved for all them accolades.
Alas...you took a simple l'il beef--one that stemmed from Twitter as well as the Open Fight Night--and made it personal last week.
Now you're gonna see a side of me that you'll never, ever wanna see again.
–---------
12:30 PM – Later that day, in recess...
I wanted to take "Dumbo" out to recess with me and show it off to the rest of our group that was present. The first and second graders that comprised the first recess period got a kick out of the froggie, admiring its hand-stitched design and meticulous attention to detail.
After the famous Scott Farkus rumble, I became somewhat of a campus celebrity--yet I didn't want to flaunt that image. Instead, I thought of "Dumbo" was something to gaze upon whenever I felt the need to lose my temper, and that--along with Miss Kimble's kind heart--helped keep me mentally calm in a school where anything and everything could happen in a heartbeat.
Here I was, talkin' to my friend and classmate Latoya--the little African-American gal who encouraged me to try the monkey bars before that piece of shit Farkus cut me down--came up to me and asked...
After the famous Scott Farkus rumble, I became somewhat of a campus celebrity--yet I didn't want to flaunt that image. Instead, I thought of "Dumbo" was something to gaze upon whenever I felt the need to lose my temper, and that--along with Miss Kimble's kind heart--helped keep me mentally calm in a school where anything and everything could happen in a heartbeat.
Here I was, talkin' to my friend and classmate Latoya--the little African-American gal who encouraged me to try the monkey bars before that piece of shit Farkus cut me down--came up to me and asked...
LATOYA: Jackie...will you swing across the monkey bars with me?
My eyes widened, for I haven't been on that certain playground apparatus since the day of my fight. At first, as I watched my other classmates complete the course in record time, I wasn't sure on whether I'd want to take another stab at them again, but all I heard from the smilin' six-year-old--after watchin' her make it across--was...
LATOYA: C'mon Jackie...you can do it!
Remembering the lessons about cowardice that he learned from his teacher--not to mention Latoya's classic line--Jack nodded his head before racing toward the five-foot tall, all-metal piece of playground equipment. Slowly but surely, Jack climbs onto the imposing structure and places both hands firmly on the first bar of ten; he makes it to the fifth one before falling off and landing hard on his rear. Latoya springs to life, running over to the stricken boy as he's about to start sobbing.
LATOYA: Miss Kimble says...
Miss Kimble always had a cliche in her mind: "if first ya don't succeed, you can always try again." Latoya pulled me back up and walked me back to the beginning of the course, smiling as I slowly made my way back up to the first bar.
I wasn't gonna look down at all--I was gonna take it easy. Inch by inch, bar by singular metal bar, I swang across. When I got to the fifth again--the same spot I fell off of--my other classmates began huddling around, watching me as my entire five-year-old frame started to shake. This was the same spot Farkus shot me off of on my very first day at school, and I had just fallen on my ass a minute ago. Yet this time...somethin' kicked in.
It was manifested in that stuffed animal I had--that spirit my mom had me keep in my heart whenever things got bad.
Slowly but surely, I inched my way across the bars until I hit the tenth one; at the urging of my friends, I let go--this time, I managed to land on my feet. I wasn't aware that I was bein' mobbed by a group of children that comprised my kindergarten class. I didn't see Miss Kimble racing toward me and giving me the most wonderful hug a person can ever receive in his lifetime.
This was the biggest day I ever had--and I hoped to have more days like it.
At least...that was the plan. After this moment in time...
...nothin' would ever be the same again.
I wasn't gonna look down at all--I was gonna take it easy. Inch by inch, bar by singular metal bar, I swang across. When I got to the fifth again--the same spot I fell off of--my other classmates began huddling around, watching me as my entire five-year-old frame started to shake. This was the same spot Farkus shot me off of on my very first day at school, and I had just fallen on my ass a minute ago. Yet this time...somethin' kicked in.
It was manifested in that stuffed animal I had--that spirit my mom had me keep in my heart whenever things got bad.
Slowly but surely, I inched my way across the bars until I hit the tenth one; at the urging of my friends, I let go--this time, I managed to land on my feet. I wasn't aware that I was bein' mobbed by a group of children that comprised my kindergarten class. I didn't see Miss Kimble racing toward me and giving me the most wonderful hug a person can ever receive in his lifetime.
This was the biggest day I ever had--and I hoped to have more days like it.
At least...that was the plan. After this moment in time...
...nothin' would ever be the same again.
----------
Lemme tell ya somethin' that you oughta know about the one you thought it'd be cute to spike on her head last week.
Despite the fact that we weren't exactly together for a long time, Fiona and I have known each other since 1998. That's EIGHTEEN YEARS, son, and even though we went our seperate ways for a good long while for all of the 2000s and into part of the 2010s, we never fully lost sight of one another. In spite of the fact that most people in IWF--especially a few of its Diamonds--considered her as nothin' more than a piece of pussy,
Fifi has--and always will be--like a mother to me, like the mom I used to have when I was a child growin' up. We both fucked up at some point in our lives; yet we've always stuck to our principles, guidin' each other through our darkest hours, and watchin' each other grow and evolve as livin', breathin' human beings.
Look at yourself in the mirror bud--think about what ya did, long and hard, before ya step into that ring and see me standin' across from you.
All those achievements and accolades that you've won throughout your twenty year career don't mean jack shit to me. As far as you oughta be concerned, I lost ALL respect for ya the moment ya decided to put your hands on Fiona. Somewhere along the road that represents your career in this gig Spike, you probably learned the most important rule of professional wrasslin': "thou shalt settle your disputes in the ring, like a man, with honor, dignity, and respect for the game and for those around you."
As much as I hate to accept it, I DID beat you in that ring the last time, and even though it wounded my pride that Warren decided to fuck things up, I didn't take things personally like you did. I dunno whether or not he has a girl, and quite frankly it ain't none of my business, but I would NEVER stoop to such lows as layin' a hand on a woman just 'cause I had that need to put a teeny-tiny l'il Band-Aid on my ego.
You, Spike? You threw everything out the window the instant you decided to deck Fifi.
Now you're gonna have to live with the consequences for the rest of your goddamn life.
Start prayin' to God and confessin' your sins. Go on a tour of Mecca and consult with the prophet Mohammed. Make a stop at a Zen Buddhist temple and think about your own Nirvana, 'cause when all the smoke is cleared, you're gonna wish ya NEVER decided to put your grubby hands on someone who's meant more to me than you'll ever realize. I'm gonna make you suffer, watchin' as ya lie on the deck at my feet, blood pourin' outta your nostrils 'til the zebra-man finishes his ten-count. I hope that Obamacare's got your happy ass covered, 'cause in the end, you're never gonna look at me with the same amount of contempt again.
Think about your pride dude. Think about what's gonna happen when ya see me at Danger Zone--it'll be the LAST time ya piss me off. Reflect upon your career with great pride--'cause the ass-whuppin' Jake Keeton laid on ya will be NOTHIN' compared to what I've got in store.
If you're gonna whup my ass...you're gonna have to kill me.
To do that...you're gonna have the heart and desire to stand up to me and gimme everything ya got.
And to do that...ya gotta be ready and willin' to plot a grave for yourself.
#DieSpikeDie
See ya Sunday.
----------
Lemme tell ya somethin' that you oughta know about the one you thought it'd be cute to spike on her head last week.
Despite the fact that we weren't exactly together for a long time, Fiona and I have known each other since 1998. That's EIGHTEEN YEARS, son, and even though we went our seperate ways for a good long while for all of the 2000s and into part of the 2010s, we never fully lost sight of one another. In spite of the fact that most people in IWF--especially a few of its Diamonds--considered her as nothin' more than a piece of pussy,
Fifi has--and always will be--like a mother to me, like the mom I used to have when I was a child growin' up. We both fucked up at some point in our lives; yet we've always stuck to our principles, guidin' each other through our darkest hours, and watchin' each other grow and evolve as livin', breathin' human beings.
Look at yourself in the mirror bud--think about what ya did, long and hard, before ya step into that ring and see me standin' across from you.
All those achievements and accolades that you've won throughout your twenty year career don't mean jack shit to me. As far as you oughta be concerned, I lost ALL respect for ya the moment ya decided to put your hands on Fiona. Somewhere along the road that represents your career in this gig Spike, you probably learned the most important rule of professional wrasslin': "thou shalt settle your disputes in the ring, like a man, with honor, dignity, and respect for the game and for those around you."
As much as I hate to accept it, I DID beat you in that ring the last time, and even though it wounded my pride that Warren decided to fuck things up, I didn't take things personally like you did. I dunno whether or not he has a girl, and quite frankly it ain't none of my business, but I would NEVER stoop to such lows as layin' a hand on a woman just 'cause I had that need to put a teeny-tiny l'il Band-Aid on my ego.
You, Spike? You threw everything out the window the instant you decided to deck Fifi.
Now you're gonna have to live with the consequences for the rest of your goddamn life.
Start prayin' to God and confessin' your sins. Go on a tour of Mecca and consult with the prophet Mohammed. Make a stop at a Zen Buddhist temple and think about your own Nirvana, 'cause when all the smoke is cleared, you're gonna wish ya NEVER decided to put your grubby hands on someone who's meant more to me than you'll ever realize. I'm gonna make you suffer, watchin' as ya lie on the deck at my feet, blood pourin' outta your nostrils 'til the zebra-man finishes his ten-count. I hope that Obamacare's got your happy ass covered, 'cause in the end, you're never gonna look at me with the same amount of contempt again.
Think about your pride dude. Think about what's gonna happen when ya see me at Danger Zone--it'll be the LAST time ya piss me off. Reflect upon your career with great pride--'cause the ass-whuppin' Jake Keeton laid on ya will be NOTHIN' compared to what I've got in store.
If you're gonna whup my ass...you're gonna have to kill me.
To do that...you're gonna have the heart and desire to stand up to me and gimme everything ya got.
And to do that...ya gotta be ready and willin' to plot a grave for yourself.
#DieSpikeDie
See ya Sunday.
----------
3:15 PM – After school...
After that wonderful recess period, the rest of the school day went by like a gentle spring breeze.
Miss Kimble and I patiently waited at the front of Beckham Elementary—with me hopping up and down in anticipation of the glowing report she was going to give my mom when she pulled up. Now I'm gonna go on the record and admit that I had some bad days as a kid, but my parents were always there to guide me—to teach me how to learn from my mistakes.
I watched with an aura of jubilation as the familiar yellow Chevy Vega came to a stop.
Miss Kimble and I patiently waited at the front of Beckham Elementary—with me hopping up and down in anticipation of the glowing report she was going to give my mom when she pulled up. Now I'm gonna go on the record and admit that I had some bad days as a kid, but my parents were always there to guide me—to teach me how to learn from my mistakes.
I watched with an aura of jubilation as the familiar yellow Chevy Vega came to a stop.
“MISS KIMBLE”: There's your mum, darling. Ready, and...off we go!
Takin' in the serenity of the 80-degree North Texas weather, Miss Kimble and I slowly walked toward the waiting Vega. My teacher opened the passenger door for me, and I happily hopped into the old Vega. Mom got out of the old banana-hued machine to talk to my teacher for a few moments.
My mind was so entranced by the sounds that emanated from 97.1 KEGL—the Kidd Kraddick show on “The Eagle”--I wasn't fully aware of the conversation that was going on between the two ladies. I think mom was talkin' about bringin' the old hunk o' junk over to Barney's auto shop to have them brakes checked.
Then again, ll I could make out of it was...
My mind was so entranced by the sounds that emanated from 97.1 KEGL—the Kidd Kraddick show on “The Eagle”--I wasn't fully aware of the conversation that was going on between the two ladies. I think mom was talkin' about bringin' the old hunk o' junk over to Barney's auto shop to have them brakes checked.
Then again, ll I could make out of it was...
“MISS KIMBLE”: I am very proud of Jack.
LINDA: What'd he do?
“MISS KIMBLE”: Conquered the monkey bars for the first time.
Jack merely watched from the passenger seat as Linda and Miss Kimble kept on talking, smiling at each other before parting ways after around five more minutes. He placed the stuffed froggie into a plastic sandwich baggie before putting it into the car's glovebox.
“MISS KIMBLE”: Drive carefully, and...tell him about the big surprise.
LINDA: Hahaha...I will. Take care, hun.
I watched with joy as the two woman gave each other a slight, respectful embrace. Mom then opened up the driver's door and hopped in; before putting the ol' girl in drive, she reached over to give me a very warm hug.
LINDA: Love ya, baby—Miss Kimble was VERY proud of you for what ya did today—and so am I.
The young boy warmly smiled, humbly nodding his head as the Vega lurched forward.
LINDA: I know that your birthday's not 'til tomorrow, but your dad's gotta work a l'il bit of overtime. So tonight, we're gonna meet him at the house, bring out the Crown Vic...and have ourselves an awesome early birthday dinner at ShowBiz!
Ahhhh...YES!! ShowBiz Pizza--”where a kid can be a kid.”
At least once or twice a month, my parents would take me out to dinner at this heavenly establishment. To this day, I can still remember watchin' the likes of an mechanized, animatronic delights like Billy Bob or Chuck E. Cheese perform on a small stage, much to my heart's delight as I munched on numerous slices of pepperoni-and-onion excitement or kicked lots of ass in the latest games.
On this day, however, I was in for a surprise as we drove down Southeast Parkway--not even realizing the dangers that lied ahead...
...'til it was too late.
At least once or twice a month, my parents would take me out to dinner at this heavenly establishment. To this day, I can still remember watchin' the likes of an mechanized, animatronic delights like Billy Bob or Chuck E. Cheese perform on a small stage, much to my heart's delight as I munched on numerous slices of pepperoni-and-onion excitement or kicked lots of ass in the latest games.
On this day, however, I was in for a surprise as we drove down Southeast Parkway--not even realizing the dangers that lied ahead...
...'til it was too late.
LINDA: Guess who's gonna join us at ShowBiz tonight?!
The young boy's face began to eke out a wide grin, his eyes widening with joy as he figured out the big reveal.
YOUNG JACK: Miss Kimble!?!
LINDA: Yeppers!
Linda and her son exchange high fives—unaware that a 1985 model Ford Bronco was approaching them at an extremely high rate of speed in the wrong direction. Jack screamed with terror over the danger that lied just ahead of them.
YOUNG JACK: MOMMYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!
Linda gasped as she looked ahead, but she was too late to react as she tried to swerve to no avail. The speeding white truck plowed straight into the Vega's front end, causing shards of glass to fly in all directions. Little Jack went into unconsciousness, unaware that both vehicles had burst into flames, uncognizant of the wailing police sirens that would eventually make to the scene in a matter of seconds.
The damage had been done. He never made it to ShowBiz after a rousingly fun day at school.
The idyllic, clean-cut, all-American world—one that the young boy named Jack Gaither had lived in throughout the first five years of his life—was no more.
He survived the crash.
His mother Linda did not.
Well howdy there pardner.