Post by hk on Aug 22, 2007 21:35:45 GMT -6
Thwack.
Scott Lanegan: “You know, I never really thought about it before…”
Thwack.
Scott Lanegan: “But I haven’t really got much fame during my stints at POW…”
Thwack.
Scott Lanegan: “You think it’ll start now?”
I was once again in James Gagne’s office. I sat back in a small chair, across from his desk. My feet were propped up on that same desk. I was flicking pens at the wall once again. James Gagne sat at the other end, attempting to listen. I threw another pen at the wall, this time, hitting his TV.
Smack.
Scott Lanegan: “My bad.”
James Gagne: “…yeah.”
Scott Lanegan: “Uhh, so…this match…people are really hyping it, huh?”
James Gagne: “Well, yeah. It’s for the Television Championship. What else is there to say?”
Scott Lanegan: “Come on, dude. You got Silver, whom thinks that he’s a neck-snapping action star or something. Then you got Eddie “The Painter” Jones. Oh, and me. But then again, I’m not really all that popular anyway, so who cares?”
James Gagne: “If you manage to win this title, people might.”
I shrugged.
Scott Lanegan: “Yeah, if I lose, I might suffer the same fate as Silver and Lestat.”
James Gagne: “The Shadow thing?”
I nodded.
James Gagne: “Well, get some motivation, Scott. And…for f**k’s sake…train! Work out! Something! You can’t just sit on your chair and watch TV all day.”
Scott Lanegan: “Why not? This match is for the Television Championship. It’s a perfect title for me.”
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
I later had to visit the local post office. I stood inside the large building. Large glass windows, a tall ceiling, marble floors and Americana stuff filled the place. I stood in a long line, which ended at a large marble desk. Various employees stood behind it, left-to-right. I was last in line.
Employee: “Next!”
I moved up a step.
Employee: “Next!”
I moved up a step.
Employee: “Next!”
I moved up a step.
Employee: “Next!”
I moved up a step.
Employee: “Next!”
I moved up a step.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
Employee: “Next!”
And there I was, right in front. I walked over to the desk to look at the employee. He had on the usual blue uniform that these workers had to wear.
Scott Lanegan: “Yeah, uhh…I need a few postage stamps.”
Employee: “Okay Mr. Lanegan, which type?”
I raised my eyebrow.
Scott Lanegan: “Uhh, you know me?”
Employee: “Of course. You wrestle for POW. That place is really giving Kansas City the popularity it needs.”
I grinned.
Employee: “Of course, you’re lower card. I don’t see you wrestling against Reck Maverick, John Anthony, Big Ci and others. Instead, it’s, what, the Television Championship? Haha. Anyway, how about the 10 cents?”
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
Greg Kilgreen: “…and that’s what happened.” [/color]
I sat in my locker room, lounging on my couch. I looked up at Greg Kilgreen, whom was telling me a story while standing up. He had his notepad out, ready to jot down my responses.
Scott Lanegan: “So…what happened to this lame stain?”
Greg Kilgreen: “Erm, I just told you, his half-brother died, went to a-“
Scott Lanegan: “Yeah yeah, did he mention me or Eddie?”
Greg Kilgreen: “Umm…a little bit. You never faced Silver one on one.”
I thought about it for a second. I put my hands behind my head and stretched.
Scott Lanegan: “Hmmmm…you know what…you’re right. It wasn’t Silver, it was Lestat.”
Greg Kilgreen: “Huh?”
Scott Lanegan: “Yeah, my bad, must have got them mixed up. Ah, who cares, they’re all the same, anyway. Same family troubles, same stable, yada yada. Did you want my thoughts on the match, or something? I thought that I’d be able to avoid you this week, but nope…”
Greg Kilgreen: “Actually, yeah, one question…since this is your chance at the Television Championship, are you going to work harder? Any extra strategies or what not?”
Scott Lanegan: “Uhh…no?”
Greg Kilgreen: “…”
Scott Lanegan: “What? I’ll go out there and do what I usually do.”
Greg Kilgreen: “…?”
Scott Lanegan: “I’ll win. Sure, I can go on and say ‘I’ll be on the top’, ‘I’ll kick ass and chew bubble gum’, ‘I’m the best wrestler to ever step foot in this ring’ and blah. But really, it’s all the same. I’ll win. Do I need to say more to make myself look fancy?”
Greg Kilgreen: “I don’t think with your current attire you’d like fancy anyway.”
An awkward silence entered the room, uninvited.
Scott Lanegan: “Greg?”
Greg Kilgreen: “Yeah?”
Scott Lanegan: “You’re wasting my nap time.”
Greg Kilgreen: “Right.”
He moved towards the door and out of my room.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
FLASH.
Something bright went into my eyes.
FLASH.
I was almost blind.
FLASH.
Something was wrong with me. One moment I’m lounging in a couch, cracking jokes at an intermediate interviewer. The next moment I find myself in a pool of shit. Once again, no pun intended. This time around, the darkness and shadows surrounded me. To be honest, I was tired of the dark. It was getting generic and boring…but I couldn’t help it.
At least a dozen shadows surrounded me. I managed to lift up my right arm, but none of the figures followed. I tried my left arm, but once again, no followers. They were going the wrong direction. Maybe I was going the wrong direction?
Rex Vinkle: “Sup mayne!”
I heard Rex’s voice but couldn’t quite see where he was. The blackness was too hard on me.
Rex Vinkle: “Mayne, dis busta be knocked out. If he continues dis shit, he ain’t gonna win dat match.”
FLASH.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
Scott Lanegan: “What the hell?”
I was still in my locker room, still on my couch, still in the same place. I jerked myself up and looked around. Rex Vinkle and Blake Ryder stood at the door, looking at me with an odd look on their face.
Rex Vinkle: “Homie S, you takin sum of dat shit again?”
Blake Ryder: “He all f**ked up.”
Scott Lanegan: “No…I’m fine. Just a little tired, had a long day.”
Rex Vinkle: “You outta go train fo yo match.”
Scott Lanegan: “Why does everybody tell me that?”
And I was back to cracking jokes.
Scott Lanegan: “You know, I never really thought about it before…”
Thwack.
Scott Lanegan: “But I haven’t really got much fame during my stints at POW…”
Thwack.
Scott Lanegan: “You think it’ll start now?”
I was once again in James Gagne’s office. I sat back in a small chair, across from his desk. My feet were propped up on that same desk. I was flicking pens at the wall once again. James Gagne sat at the other end, attempting to listen. I threw another pen at the wall, this time, hitting his TV.
Smack.
Scott Lanegan: “My bad.”
James Gagne: “…yeah.”
Scott Lanegan: “Uhh, so…this match…people are really hyping it, huh?”
James Gagne: “Well, yeah. It’s for the Television Championship. What else is there to say?”
Scott Lanegan: “Come on, dude. You got Silver, whom thinks that he’s a neck-snapping action star or something. Then you got Eddie “The Painter” Jones. Oh, and me. But then again, I’m not really all that popular anyway, so who cares?”
James Gagne: “If you manage to win this title, people might.”
I shrugged.
Scott Lanegan: “Yeah, if I lose, I might suffer the same fate as Silver and Lestat.”
James Gagne: “The Shadow thing?”
I nodded.
James Gagne: “Well, get some motivation, Scott. And…for f**k’s sake…train! Work out! Something! You can’t just sit on your chair and watch TV all day.”
Scott Lanegan: “Why not? This match is for the Television Championship. It’s a perfect title for me.”
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
I later had to visit the local post office. I stood inside the large building. Large glass windows, a tall ceiling, marble floors and Americana stuff filled the place. I stood in a long line, which ended at a large marble desk. Various employees stood behind it, left-to-right. I was last in line.
Employee: “Next!”
I moved up a step.
Employee: “Next!”
I moved up a step.
Employee: “Next!”
I moved up a step.
Employee: “Next!”
I moved up a step.
Employee: “Next!”
I moved up a step.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
Employee: “Next!”
And there I was, right in front. I walked over to the desk to look at the employee. He had on the usual blue uniform that these workers had to wear.
Scott Lanegan: “Yeah, uhh…I need a few postage stamps.”
Employee: “Okay Mr. Lanegan, which type?”
I raised my eyebrow.
Scott Lanegan: “Uhh, you know me?”
Employee: “Of course. You wrestle for POW. That place is really giving Kansas City the popularity it needs.”
I grinned.
Employee: “Of course, you’re lower card. I don’t see you wrestling against Reck Maverick, John Anthony, Big Ci and others. Instead, it’s, what, the Television Championship? Haha. Anyway, how about the 10 cents?”
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
Greg Kilgreen: “…and that’s what happened.” [/color]
I sat in my locker room, lounging on my couch. I looked up at Greg Kilgreen, whom was telling me a story while standing up. He had his notepad out, ready to jot down my responses.
Scott Lanegan: “So…what happened to this lame stain?”
Greg Kilgreen: “Erm, I just told you, his half-brother died, went to a-“
Scott Lanegan: “Yeah yeah, did he mention me or Eddie?”
Greg Kilgreen: “Umm…a little bit. You never faced Silver one on one.”
I thought about it for a second. I put my hands behind my head and stretched.
Scott Lanegan: “Hmmmm…you know what…you’re right. It wasn’t Silver, it was Lestat.”
Greg Kilgreen: “Huh?”
Scott Lanegan: “Yeah, my bad, must have got them mixed up. Ah, who cares, they’re all the same, anyway. Same family troubles, same stable, yada yada. Did you want my thoughts on the match, or something? I thought that I’d be able to avoid you this week, but nope…”
Greg Kilgreen: “Actually, yeah, one question…since this is your chance at the Television Championship, are you going to work harder? Any extra strategies or what not?”
Scott Lanegan: “Uhh…no?”
Greg Kilgreen: “…”
Scott Lanegan: “What? I’ll go out there and do what I usually do.”
Greg Kilgreen: “…?”
Scott Lanegan: “I’ll win. Sure, I can go on and say ‘I’ll be on the top’, ‘I’ll kick ass and chew bubble gum’, ‘I’m the best wrestler to ever step foot in this ring’ and blah. But really, it’s all the same. I’ll win. Do I need to say more to make myself look fancy?”
Greg Kilgreen: “I don’t think with your current attire you’d like fancy anyway.”
An awkward silence entered the room, uninvited.
Scott Lanegan: “Greg?”
Greg Kilgreen: “Yeah?”
Scott Lanegan: “You’re wasting my nap time.”
Greg Kilgreen: “Right.”
He moved towards the door and out of my room.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
FLASH.
Something bright went into my eyes.
FLASH.
I was almost blind.
FLASH.
Something was wrong with me. One moment I’m lounging in a couch, cracking jokes at an intermediate interviewer. The next moment I find myself in a pool of shit. Once again, no pun intended. This time around, the darkness and shadows surrounded me. To be honest, I was tired of the dark. It was getting generic and boring…but I couldn’t help it.
At least a dozen shadows surrounded me. I managed to lift up my right arm, but none of the figures followed. I tried my left arm, but once again, no followers. They were going the wrong direction. Maybe I was going the wrong direction?
Rex Vinkle: “Sup mayne!”
I heard Rex’s voice but couldn’t quite see where he was. The blackness was too hard on me.
Rex Vinkle: “Mayne, dis busta be knocked out. If he continues dis shit, he ain’t gonna win dat match.”
FLASH.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
Scott Lanegan: “What the hell?”
I was still in my locker room, still on my couch, still in the same place. I jerked myself up and looked around. Rex Vinkle and Blake Ryder stood at the door, looking at me with an odd look on their face.
Rex Vinkle: “Homie S, you takin sum of dat shit again?”
Blake Ryder: “He all f**ked up.”
Scott Lanegan: “No…I’m fine. Just a little tired, had a long day.”
Rex Vinkle: “You outta go train fo yo match.”
Scott Lanegan: “Why does everybody tell me that?”
And I was back to cracking jokes.