Post by Zevon on Jul 27, 2007 21:57:35 GMT -6
JR Zevon is seated alone, in his faithful lawn chair, studying video footage on a TV monitor. He is constantly rewinding and watching in slow motion the final moments of the Eastern Heavyweight Championship match from Red, White, and Bruised. Every time, out of nowhere, John Anthony pins Zevon’s shoulders to the mat using a simple roll-up. Zevon looks extremely distraught; sweat is dripping down his face. He does not notice the camera and Lee Cash waiting in the wings. Zevon’s voice is low and morose.
Zevon: Simplest move in the book. And his nerve to say he never meant to disgrace the fans by winning with such a pedestrian maneuver. Daring to insult the very man who sheds blood, sweat, and tears to defend and honor his craft. The gall…
He wipes his brow with his forearm before suddenly and violently throwing the remote control across the room. Zevon sulks back into the comfort of his aluminum seat, cradling his head in his hands. The video continues to play showing John Anthony’s post-match celebration and his proposal to Julie.
Zevon: He defiles the ring by inviting in a syphilis ridden streetwalker. And where am I? Off-camera, calmly exiting center stage. Shirking my duty to defend the sanctity of the ring. First by dropping the title to a miscreant, and then by sulking off instead of battling the forces of decay.
Zevon bangs his closed fists against his forehead. Tears are beginning to swell in his eyes.
Zevon: I drove from Ohio, left Mr. Kitters behind and rose to the top. Like a dirigible filled to the brim with only the purest hydrogen. Straight to the top, leaving Eddie and Enrique and Mick Cormac shells of their former selves. One after the other they fell, without so much as leaving a scratch on my morally sound frame. But then, BOOM! Here comes John Anthony with some the magic spark… and down the zeppelin of virtue burned…into the deepest bowels of Philadelphia. Leaving the once honorable champion as a laughingstock. Everything in control. This hunk of space matter steadily becoming a better place. And then… A f**kING ROLL-UP!
Zevon haphazardly opens the DVD player and crushes the disc in his hand. Blood trickles down to the floor.
Zevon: And of all people to kick some sense into my clouded mind, Horatio Haberdasher! The most loathsome organism to ever suck oxygen into its lungs. Beret. Walking Stick. Snooty, poorly executed French laugh. Invisible slave-child. Haberdasher! I should have ended him when I had the chance. From Champion of Everywhere to following Haberdasher around like a stooge.
Zevon sits and stews for a moment before his body experiences a great tremor.
Zevon: HABERDASHER!
Zevon wipes the perspiration off his brow once more, but exceeds only in leaving a streak of blood across his forehead.
Zevon: And Mr. Kitters, majestic creature. Noble companion. Mr. Kitters sits at home unaware of my failure. I cannot lie to such a noble creature, and I did not, but I sure as Cheney’s assholishness withheld the truth. Just as despicable. He must be worried sick… no contact in three weeks. I hide and sulk in a dank basement while his noble soul openly weeps upon the lap of his hardworking, dependable, Latina feline caretaker. I am a bloody disgrace.
Zevon is silent. He is making no sound. His form doesn’t even twitch. Lee Cash boldly enters the room. Zevon immediately turns his head and meets Lee Cash with the evil eye. Cash freezes. Zevon’s voice is borderline demonic.
Zevon: How did you get in here? The entrance was sealed.
Cash: The man in the beret…
Zevon: Haste Pokeable One, take the stick of walking and end his deplorable existence.
Cash remains frozen. He has dealt with Zevon many times. He’s seen the anger flow in his eyes. He has never truly feared for his life until now. The words, the evil in the eyes, most notably the voice, the truly demonic voice, send a paralyzing shiver down Cash’s spine. Luckily for Cash, the cameraman has enough gumption to pull Lee out of the room. The cameraman strategically positions himself out of sight. Zevon knows he’s still being watched but he no longer cares
Zevon: One last heave… one more chance at redemption. One final chance to cleanse the world of John Anthony. A steel cage match. Dangerous, much too dangerous… but oh so necessary…
Zevon breaks into an intense fit of lamentation, tears rolling from head to toe.
Zevon: I will not stand before Mr. Kitters a failure… I cannot… I cannot look him in his majestic little face with such shame cast upon me. The quest moving forward beautifully, not a bump sturdy enough to spill an ice cold beverage. And then John Anthony! Mr. Kitters… I love you. I will not let you down again… Our precious… Revenge will be ours.
Zevon is unable to control his angst. The camera politely yields to the darkness.
Zevon: Simplest move in the book. And his nerve to say he never meant to disgrace the fans by winning with such a pedestrian maneuver. Daring to insult the very man who sheds blood, sweat, and tears to defend and honor his craft. The gall…
He wipes his brow with his forearm before suddenly and violently throwing the remote control across the room. Zevon sulks back into the comfort of his aluminum seat, cradling his head in his hands. The video continues to play showing John Anthony’s post-match celebration and his proposal to Julie.
Zevon: He defiles the ring by inviting in a syphilis ridden streetwalker. And where am I? Off-camera, calmly exiting center stage. Shirking my duty to defend the sanctity of the ring. First by dropping the title to a miscreant, and then by sulking off instead of battling the forces of decay.
Zevon bangs his closed fists against his forehead. Tears are beginning to swell in his eyes.
Zevon: I drove from Ohio, left Mr. Kitters behind and rose to the top. Like a dirigible filled to the brim with only the purest hydrogen. Straight to the top, leaving Eddie and Enrique and Mick Cormac shells of their former selves. One after the other they fell, without so much as leaving a scratch on my morally sound frame. But then, BOOM! Here comes John Anthony with some the magic spark… and down the zeppelin of virtue burned…into the deepest bowels of Philadelphia. Leaving the once honorable champion as a laughingstock. Everything in control. This hunk of space matter steadily becoming a better place. And then… A f**kING ROLL-UP!
Zevon haphazardly opens the DVD player and crushes the disc in his hand. Blood trickles down to the floor.
Zevon: And of all people to kick some sense into my clouded mind, Horatio Haberdasher! The most loathsome organism to ever suck oxygen into its lungs. Beret. Walking Stick. Snooty, poorly executed French laugh. Invisible slave-child. Haberdasher! I should have ended him when I had the chance. From Champion of Everywhere to following Haberdasher around like a stooge.
Zevon sits and stews for a moment before his body experiences a great tremor.
Zevon: HABERDASHER!
Zevon wipes the perspiration off his brow once more, but exceeds only in leaving a streak of blood across his forehead.
Zevon: And Mr. Kitters, majestic creature. Noble companion. Mr. Kitters sits at home unaware of my failure. I cannot lie to such a noble creature, and I did not, but I sure as Cheney’s assholishness withheld the truth. Just as despicable. He must be worried sick… no contact in three weeks. I hide and sulk in a dank basement while his noble soul openly weeps upon the lap of his hardworking, dependable, Latina feline caretaker. I am a bloody disgrace.
Zevon is silent. He is making no sound. His form doesn’t even twitch. Lee Cash boldly enters the room. Zevon immediately turns his head and meets Lee Cash with the evil eye. Cash freezes. Zevon’s voice is borderline demonic.
Zevon: How did you get in here? The entrance was sealed.
Cash: The man in the beret…
Zevon: Haste Pokeable One, take the stick of walking and end his deplorable existence.
Cash remains frozen. He has dealt with Zevon many times. He’s seen the anger flow in his eyes. He has never truly feared for his life until now. The words, the evil in the eyes, most notably the voice, the truly demonic voice, send a paralyzing shiver down Cash’s spine. Luckily for Cash, the cameraman has enough gumption to pull Lee out of the room. The cameraman strategically positions himself out of sight. Zevon knows he’s still being watched but he no longer cares
Zevon: One last heave… one more chance at redemption. One final chance to cleanse the world of John Anthony. A steel cage match. Dangerous, much too dangerous… but oh so necessary…
Zevon breaks into an intense fit of lamentation, tears rolling from head to toe.
Zevon: I will not stand before Mr. Kitters a failure… I cannot… I cannot look him in his majestic little face with such shame cast upon me. The quest moving forward beautifully, not a bump sturdy enough to spill an ice cold beverage. And then John Anthony! Mr. Kitters… I love you. I will not let you down again… Our precious… Revenge will be ours.
Zevon is unable to control his angst. The camera politely yields to the darkness.
