Post by Jimmy Winner on May 3, 2017 16:10:55 GMT
“Jimmy doesn’t like this game.”
A zoo. Winner in jeans and a B.L.R. t-shirt.
“This your destiny, Jimmy.” Wes Chubbman tells him. He drinks a flute of champagne as he stands in front of the monkey exhibit in his orange-cream colored tracksuit. A fleet of children run by, holding balloons on a string.
Wes stands off to Jimmy’s side and whispers into his ear. The words he recites seem more like a countdown or a ritualistic exercise.
“See a monkey…”
The young wrestler stares into the eyes of the creature that has poked its head through the bars of its cage.
Can this adorable primate sense the next move?
Does he know what awaits?
“… SLAP! … a monkey…”
Jimmy hesitates. He doesn’t want to do it, but, well, Wes carries a Glock in his tracksuit and has the best lawyers on the planet.
He closes his eyes, rears back his hand, and delivers a smack to the cute little monkey’s face!
With childlike innocence and fear the monkey dashes off into the corner and of its cage and holds its cheek.
Jimmy Winner hangs his head in shame.
Wes Chubbman grins a devil with a soul to steal.
“… Tell a monkey…”
Winner can feel the hot breath from Chubbman’s mouth and can almost feel his lips brushing against his ear. The sensation revolts him. He has not yet opened his eyes. Too afraid of this new world. Too afraid of what Wes wants him to become.
“I… AM… ME!”
Jimmy opens his eyes. The monkey stares at him with fear from across the cage with a glare of betrayal. Winner can't bear it and shuts his eyes once more.
“Say it, Jimmy…”
“Jimmy can’t say it like that… Jimmy is Jimmy…?”
“No,” Wes growls., “you’ve got to say it the exact way that I did… ‘I… AM… ME!’ Just like that.”
“Jimmy… is… Jimmy.”
“God damn you!” Wes grabs Jimmy by the throat, his cold skinny fingers cupping his neck. His Adam’s apple rests in Chubbman’s sweaty palm. “How do you expect to become a champion if you can’t even conquer your dumbass speech impediment, huh?”
His voice trembles. “Jimmy’s mannerisms make him unique.”
“I’ll tell you what makes you unique, kid… Snorting a line of coke while bungee jumping into a volcano in Nepal… writing lyrics for Tupac and Elvis – oh yes, they’re alive, I know cause we bang the same chicks – we like fatties… shitting on a ghost, pissing on the Wolfman, and getting drunk with the Creature from the Black Lagoon… fucking an alien doggy-style, and I’m talking the ‘E.T. phone home’ kind of alien, believe you me…”
Jimmy appears disgusted as Wes continues to rattle off examples of fornicating with cryptozoological creatures and getting high with dead celebrities.
After several minutes, Wes eventually ends his list, “ … and finally, taking a bath with a Hare Krishna. Those are the kinds of things that make you unique. Speaking less intelligibly than Hammerstein does NOT make you unique.”
Winner’s eyes remain closed. He holds his head in his hands. “Jimmy is Jimmy… Jimmy is…” His fingers form fists that clutch and tug at his hair. “Jimmy… Jimmy… Jimmy…”
The poor, disoriented wrestler howls into the sky. His eyes open and the clouds above him seem to part from the sonic waves created by his unholy, abominable roar of agony.
Chubbman smirks like the serrated edge of a knife – lethal, corrupting, and creating wounds not easily stitched. The eccentric, disturbed CEO pats Jimmy on the shoulder.
“That’ll do, my young dumbass. That’ll do. Now go. Follow the yellow brick road…”
As Wes turns and departs, Jimmy Winner remains standing in front of the cage. He makes eye contact with the monkey.
The monkey hold a piece of shit in his hand. It’s obvious that he picked it up to fling at Jimmy, but he has paused. The monkey’s anger turns to sympathy for Jimmy.
The monkey drops the poop. It hits the earth and melts into the soil.
The wrestler turns his back on the cage.
“Jimmy is sorry, monkey. Jimmy will find a way to restore your honor.”
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walks away. He knows that only one path can restore dignity to this world.
A zoo. Winner in jeans and a B.L.R. t-shirt.
“This your destiny, Jimmy.” Wes Chubbman tells him. He drinks a flute of champagne as he stands in front of the monkey exhibit in his orange-cream colored tracksuit. A fleet of children run by, holding balloons on a string.
Wes stands off to Jimmy’s side and whispers into his ear. The words he recites seem more like a countdown or a ritualistic exercise.
“See a monkey…”
The young wrestler stares into the eyes of the creature that has poked its head through the bars of its cage.
Can this adorable primate sense the next move?
Does he know what awaits?
“… SLAP! … a monkey…”
Jimmy hesitates. He doesn’t want to do it, but, well, Wes carries a Glock in his tracksuit and has the best lawyers on the planet.
He closes his eyes, rears back his hand, and delivers a smack to the cute little monkey’s face!
With childlike innocence and fear the monkey dashes off into the corner and of its cage and holds its cheek.
Jimmy Winner hangs his head in shame.
Wes Chubbman grins a devil with a soul to steal.
“… Tell a monkey…”
Winner can feel the hot breath from Chubbman’s mouth and can almost feel his lips brushing against his ear. The sensation revolts him. He has not yet opened his eyes. Too afraid of this new world. Too afraid of what Wes wants him to become.
“I… AM… ME!”
Jimmy opens his eyes. The monkey stares at him with fear from across the cage with a glare of betrayal. Winner can't bear it and shuts his eyes once more.
“Say it, Jimmy…”
“Jimmy can’t say it like that… Jimmy is Jimmy…?”
“No,” Wes growls., “you’ve got to say it the exact way that I did… ‘I… AM… ME!’ Just like that.”
“Jimmy… is… Jimmy.”
“God damn you!” Wes grabs Jimmy by the throat, his cold skinny fingers cupping his neck. His Adam’s apple rests in Chubbman’s sweaty palm. “How do you expect to become a champion if you can’t even conquer your dumbass speech impediment, huh?”
His voice trembles. “Jimmy’s mannerisms make him unique.”
“I’ll tell you what makes you unique, kid… Snorting a line of coke while bungee jumping into a volcano in Nepal… writing lyrics for Tupac and Elvis – oh yes, they’re alive, I know cause we bang the same chicks – we like fatties… shitting on a ghost, pissing on the Wolfman, and getting drunk with the Creature from the Black Lagoon… fucking an alien doggy-style, and I’m talking the ‘E.T. phone home’ kind of alien, believe you me…”
Jimmy appears disgusted as Wes continues to rattle off examples of fornicating with cryptozoological creatures and getting high with dead celebrities.
After several minutes, Wes eventually ends his list, “ … and finally, taking a bath with a Hare Krishna. Those are the kinds of things that make you unique. Speaking less intelligibly than Hammerstein does NOT make you unique.”
Winner’s eyes remain closed. He holds his head in his hands. “Jimmy is Jimmy… Jimmy is…” His fingers form fists that clutch and tug at his hair. “Jimmy… Jimmy… Jimmy…”
The poor, disoriented wrestler howls into the sky. His eyes open and the clouds above him seem to part from the sonic waves created by his unholy, abominable roar of agony.
“JIMMY…........ IS…......... ME!!!”
Chubbman smirks like the serrated edge of a knife – lethal, corrupting, and creating wounds not easily stitched. The eccentric, disturbed CEO pats Jimmy on the shoulder.
“That’ll do, my young dumbass. That’ll do. Now go. Follow the yellow brick road…”
As Wes turns and departs, Jimmy Winner remains standing in front of the cage. He makes eye contact with the monkey.
The monkey hold a piece of shit in his hand. It’s obvious that he picked it up to fling at Jimmy, but he has paused. The monkey’s anger turns to sympathy for Jimmy.
The monkey drops the poop. It hits the earth and melts into the soil.
The wrestler turns his back on the cage.
“Jimmy is sorry, monkey. Jimmy will find a way to restore your honor.”
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walks away. He knows that only one path can restore dignity to this world.
Follow the yellow brick road...