Post by Jack Puffer on Oct 3, 2019 19:22:15 GMT -6
It’s earlyish on a Thursday morning. A familiar waitress lingers in Dean’s kitchen, perhaps a little too long. Dean is nowhere to be found. The nosey woman surveys the area, locating a phone on the kitchen counter. She plays with it for a bit, activating the screen. A second phone chimes; hers. One look at the screen brings about a sense of purpose. She drops the unfamiliar phone and heads for the blinds, pulling two apart. Upon peering out, she spots an Uber ride.
With the walk of shame complete, she opens the back door and hops in, playing with her phone. The car pulls away.
Inside the apartment, Dean emerges, carefully. He tiptoes into the kitchen. He turns the corner, toward the kitchen. He bumps into Eugene. Both men jump. Eugene shrieks. Dean raises his fists. Once they recognize each other, they calm.
“Shit, sucka…you scared me.”
“I haven’t screamed that loud since I finally got around to watching Hotel Transylvania.”
Dean pauses, staring down at Eugene. He had a comeback but decides against using it. Instead, the near-naked man reaches for the fridge, grabbing some necessary items to ignite the day. Eugene, dressed in slacks and a nice, tucked in polo, finds a seat at the dining table with a healthy smoothie and egg whites.
“Would you like one of these?” Eugene offers, pointing at his red smoothie.
“No thanks,” Dean frowns, “I start my day the same way I have for years.” He cracks open some eggs and dumps their insides into a blender. He tosses some tuna in there…a few vegetables, as well…along with other, unidentifiable options. The blender activates, mixing the items into a dark, grey sludge. Next is the coffee. He brews his own.
Dean rips the glass jar off the blender and pours himself a cup of Dean’s ‘homebrew’. It looks like crude oil. He takes a seat across Eugene and sips from the glass container. Eugene wrinkles his nose, quickly clamping it shut. Dean swallows down a third of what resides within his coffee cup.
“Any word from Derek?” Eugene’s nasally voice inquires.
“Nah, you?” Dean replies, taking another sip of his disgusting, gray drink.
“No…” Eugene’s head lowers, nose clamped. He fears the worst.
Dean considers comforting the diminutive fellow but, ah, fuck it. He has breakfast to finish. Besides, if Derek has any shot to emerge victorious on Sunday night then he needs to start figuring shit out on his own.
Back inside the Uber, the weird driver stares at the waitress in the back seat. It’s pretty obvious by her situation that she participated in a wild romp the previous evening. “Rough night?” he asks.
“Oh just time with my boyfriend,” she replies. “He’s an athlete.”
The driver nods, figuring that would be the end of the conversation. No need in pursuing an involved woman, especially one attached to a professional athlete. Uber drivers aren’t exactly known for their physical strength.
“We just click, you know?” the waitress continues. The Uber driver turns up the radio.
Back inside the apartment, Dean is nearly finished with the unholy blended concoction. He pulls his phone out from within his boxers. Eugene wears a puzzled expression. Dean notices without looking up. “Had to put it somewhere. Didn’t want that bitch going through my phone.”
Eugene frowns, “I thought she was kinda nice.”
Dean chuckles, pulling up a contact for ‘waitress’.
We return to inside the Uber car. The radio is louder than ever yet the waitress remains undeterred in describing her relationship. The car’s speed picks up pace, taking a wild right at a red light. They pass a construction site. People are digging into the Earth. They don’t appear to be your typical construction crew. No, this seems to be some type of philanthropic effort.
The waitress sighs, whimsically. Her eyes turn toward the construction site where she spots – Derek Mobley. “ohmygosh!!!” The Uber nearly veers into a ditch, killing the driver but, most likely sparing the waitress, because that’s how life works.
“Geezus, lady! Everything okay?” The Uber driver’s heart races faster than Ed Houston when faced with taking the next step in his wrestling career.
“I’ve located a missing person. My boyfriend’s friend. I need to call him, ASAP.”
Dean’s phone goes off. He looks down to catch ‘Don’t fucking answer’ flashing on the screen. He flips his phone face down and finishes his gray concoction. The legendary competitor towers over the sink, washing out the glass container when a song by the Pet Shop Boys plays. Eugene grabs his phone. Dean’s head swivels.
“Who in the hell is calling you?”
“Hmm, unknown number.”
“Don’t answer that, sucka,” Dean is well versed in the ways of crazy waitresses.
“A man is always supposed to answer the phone, Dean. It’s called responsibility.” Eugene answers the phone. Dean’s fists clench. He envisions a beautifully violent scenario in which Eugene flies through the window.
“Hello?” Eugene flashes a huge smile, giving Dean a thumb up.
A few hours later.
“If you didn’t want to see her then you should have told me.”
“It’s guy code, sucka. You don’t answer the phone after a stray has been let out the house and, if by some fucked up reason you do, you damn sure don’t set a second date for your ‘bro’ without asking!”
“Well excuse me for thinking of you.”
The duo halt their sidewalk stroll. The philanthropic scene resides a hundred feet ahead. Mobley stands out, towering over the rest, spiking his shovel into the dirt. He sports a hard hat. Nobody else does…why he chose the hard hat is anyone’s guess. We figure he just felt like it belonged. His GCWA Title is around his waist.
“Great job, everyone!” the organizer for the effort yells. Mobley pauses, wiping sweat from his brow. The sun is rising. The heat is increasing. He’s drenched in sweat. The GCWA champion looks down and rotates the belt. He unhooks it. He inhales and re-hooks it…and YES! He reaches the third notch!!! One to go!! He looks up and smiled, feeling the first sense of achievement in forever.
“Sucka!”
His moment of bliss vanishes.
“You guys found me…”
Dean doesn’t answer, choosing to survey the area. “Well, while not my choice of exercise, it’s nice to see you putting forth some effort.”
“Excuse me?” the organizer walks over, spotting Dean’s mammoth stature. “Are you here to help out?”
“A-Haha,” Dean guffaws. “No fucking way, man. I’d rather cut a check.”
“Oh…well, in that case…”
Dean slaps the guy in the chest, “I’m going to be at the bar across the street. Meet me over there when you’re done, Mobley.” Dean walks away.
“I can help!” Eugene kindly offers.
The organizer sizes Eugene up, “No thanks.” Eugene shrugs, taking no offense. He rushes to catch up with Dean.
At the bar, Dean orders a giant mug of beer. Eugene secures a White Claw, lime-flavored. The place murmurs. Television trucks arrive at the event. Dean tosses one glance over his shoulder and perks up.
“Yo, bartender, put that shit on TV.”
The bartender peers up at the soccer game, “But blah blah blah blah…” The blah blah blah is substituted for the teams playing in whatever league they are assigned. We really couldn’t be bothered to care.
Dean’s eyes bulge. He grabs his mug, chugs the beer, slams the mug into the bar, and crushes it with one hand. The entire place empties upon seeing the visceral act of violence. Eugene finishes his White Claw. He coughs and struggles before finally crushing part of the can with both hands.
“Okay, okay!” the bartender locates the broadcast.
“And here we are at a local charity event where volunteers are helping with the gentrification of the once downtrodden downtown area,” a heavily practiced, almost robotic female voice announces. Dean snares some napkins to wipe fresh blood from his palm. “And I’m told a celebrity is helping out!”
“Aw fuck yea,” Dean smiles. Eugene gets excited.
The female reporter heads toward Mobley. Derek prepares for an interview. However, before she reaches him the attorney from the previous evening jumps into the frame.
“Why thank you!”
“Damnit, Derek! Man the fuck up!” Dean growls. Eugene pounds his fist into the counter, carefully.
“It’s great to give back,” the haughty attorney sports a fearless smile. “I’ve spent my entire life helping this community. Like, for instance, when people get into wrecks they often feel as though it’s their fault. Well, I’m here to tell you that single-car accidents don’t mean you’re a bad driver. Street signs are being placed in increasingly dangerous places, causing many…”
“If you don’t do it, Derek…then I will.” Dean is prepared to do some murdering.
That is until a giant hand snares the arrogant attorney by the shirt. The attorney chokes…his confidence flees. Mobley steps into frame, chucking the attorney about ten feet out of view. He poses in front of the camera and beams like a champion.
“Alright!” Eugene cheers. “Another White Claw!!”
“Fuck yea…” Dean half whispers, slapping his bloody palm onto the bar counter.
“I’ve been hiding from the limelight long enough. It’s been tough getting back into the swing of things. Heck, I’m not sure I could even cut a promo anymore…” The interviewer sighs with relief. “But, I’m going to try. You see, this Sunday I defend this,” he slaps the plate of his GCWA title, “against Lurrr. A former ally and nemesis. One of the greatest wrestlers of all time.”
“Okay, wonderful…”
Derek cuts her off, “Along for the ride will be Ed Houston. My personal choice for the next face of GCWA. However, rather than hand that kid anything, I’m going to make him earn it. It’s the only real way a true legend is made.”
“Sounds like…”
She’s cut off again, “And, finally, we reach The Big Bifford. Purveyor of arbitrary murder and conspicuous business practices. He’s about as delusional as a homeless man after swallowing a heavy mixture of bath salts and cum. That one’s for you, Warrick.” Derek winks at the camera, hoping his lost buddy is watching, somewhere.
“I think we’ve…”
“It’ll be a great event! Homecoming, this Sunday! GCWA is back and The Thriller is ready!”
The feed cuts away. Somebody important within the newsroom had seen enough.
Dean and Eugene meet Derek in front of the worksite. The female reporter is wrapping up, a bit disgruntled. “By the way,” her bitchy voice sounds out, “the new building going in at this site is one of those Bifford chicken chains.” A parting shot from an angry woman.
Eugene pates Derek on the arm, “Don’t let that bother you, Derek. You didn’t know.”
Derek notices the White Claw in Eugene’s left hand, “Are you supposed to take that out of the bar?”
Dean steals the title from Derek’s waist. “Hey!” Derek yells.
“I think you’re ready. But I need to see it.” Dean motions for Derek to take the belt away. Derek charges at him. The two tussle. All the volunteers become spectators, cheering on. After a few minutes of back and forth, Derek picks Dean up and SLAMS him into the concrete with The Thriller!!!
He pops to his feet, cheering. The ‘fans’ join in. Dean’s hand slowly rises with his faint voice saying, “Help.”
Derek stands over Dean inside a hospital room. The heart monitor slowly beeps. Dean looks over, “Derek, my boy.”
Derek leans in, “Yes, Dean?”
“You’re ready.”
“But I’m only on the third notch.”
“It was never about notches, Derek. It was about what’s in here…” Dean’s bandaged hand kind of hits Derek in the stomach, but Derek gets the point. He grabs Dean’s hand, fighting back tears.
Dean motions for Eugene. He whispers into Eugene’s ear. He then turns back to Derek, “Go out there and win one, Derek. Win one for the Deano.” Dean goes limp. Eugene wails. Derek grabs him and escorts Eugene out of the room. Dean’s right eye opens, slightly.
A nurse enters to check on him. With Derek and Eugene absent, we see Dean reach around and pat the nurse on the ass.
Derek and Eugene stand outside the hospital. “What did he tell you?”
“A five-minute mile. You do that and your training is finished. And, even better, you can get a treat.”
Derek looks to the setting sun, “I can do that.”
Derek, covered in dark orchid sweats, jogs along a bridge with Eugene in front of him, riding a Vespa. Mobley is running hard. Eugene shouts encouragement.
They reach their destination.
“You did it!! 4:55!!!”
Mobley looks up a long staircase which feeds into a food court.
“I hear they have some good ice cream up there. 4.5 on Yelp,” Eugene mentions. “We’d better hurry, they close in five minutes.”
Mobley sprints up the steps with the Rocky theme playing in the background. He reaches the top and checks out his belt…it reaches the fourth notch!! He cheers, shadow boxing! Eugene rides his Vespa up the handicap ramp, nearly running over a few crippled patrons.
“We did it, Eugene. We did it.” Derek feels complete. “Now, let’s get some ice cream.”
“Double scoops?” a wide-eyed Eugene asks.
“Double scoops.”
They head toward the eatery. They reach the quick-service counter. The metal door is yanked down and locked.
Is this a preview of Mobley’s fate? Is he too late? Tune in Sunday to find out!
With the walk of shame complete, she opens the back door and hops in, playing with her phone. The car pulls away.
Inside the apartment, Dean emerges, carefully. He tiptoes into the kitchen. He turns the corner, toward the kitchen. He bumps into Eugene. Both men jump. Eugene shrieks. Dean raises his fists. Once they recognize each other, they calm.
“Shit, sucka…you scared me.”
“I haven’t screamed that loud since I finally got around to watching Hotel Transylvania.”
Dean pauses, staring down at Eugene. He had a comeback but decides against using it. Instead, the near-naked man reaches for the fridge, grabbing some necessary items to ignite the day. Eugene, dressed in slacks and a nice, tucked in polo, finds a seat at the dining table with a healthy smoothie and egg whites.
“Would you like one of these?” Eugene offers, pointing at his red smoothie.
“No thanks,” Dean frowns, “I start my day the same way I have for years.” He cracks open some eggs and dumps their insides into a blender. He tosses some tuna in there…a few vegetables, as well…along with other, unidentifiable options. The blender activates, mixing the items into a dark, grey sludge. Next is the coffee. He brews his own.
Dean rips the glass jar off the blender and pours himself a cup of Dean’s ‘homebrew’. It looks like crude oil. He takes a seat across Eugene and sips from the glass container. Eugene wrinkles his nose, quickly clamping it shut. Dean swallows down a third of what resides within his coffee cup.
“Any word from Derek?” Eugene’s nasally voice inquires.
“Nah, you?” Dean replies, taking another sip of his disgusting, gray drink.
“No…” Eugene’s head lowers, nose clamped. He fears the worst.
Dean considers comforting the diminutive fellow but, ah, fuck it. He has breakfast to finish. Besides, if Derek has any shot to emerge victorious on Sunday night then he needs to start figuring shit out on his own.
Back inside the Uber, the weird driver stares at the waitress in the back seat. It’s pretty obvious by her situation that she participated in a wild romp the previous evening. “Rough night?” he asks.
“Oh just time with my boyfriend,” she replies. “He’s an athlete.”
The driver nods, figuring that would be the end of the conversation. No need in pursuing an involved woman, especially one attached to a professional athlete. Uber drivers aren’t exactly known for their physical strength.
“We just click, you know?” the waitress continues. The Uber driver turns up the radio.
Back inside the apartment, Dean is nearly finished with the unholy blended concoction. He pulls his phone out from within his boxers. Eugene wears a puzzled expression. Dean notices without looking up. “Had to put it somewhere. Didn’t want that bitch going through my phone.”
Eugene frowns, “I thought she was kinda nice.”
Dean chuckles, pulling up a contact for ‘waitress’.
We return to inside the Uber car. The radio is louder than ever yet the waitress remains undeterred in describing her relationship. The car’s speed picks up pace, taking a wild right at a red light. They pass a construction site. People are digging into the Earth. They don’t appear to be your typical construction crew. No, this seems to be some type of philanthropic effort.
The waitress sighs, whimsically. Her eyes turn toward the construction site where she spots – Derek Mobley. “ohmygosh!!!” The Uber nearly veers into a ditch, killing the driver but, most likely sparing the waitress, because that’s how life works.
“Geezus, lady! Everything okay?” The Uber driver’s heart races faster than Ed Houston when faced with taking the next step in his wrestling career.
“I’ve located a missing person. My boyfriend’s friend. I need to call him, ASAP.”
Dean’s phone goes off. He looks down to catch ‘Don’t fucking answer’ flashing on the screen. He flips his phone face down and finishes his gray concoction. The legendary competitor towers over the sink, washing out the glass container when a song by the Pet Shop Boys plays. Eugene grabs his phone. Dean’s head swivels.
“Who in the hell is calling you?”
“Hmm, unknown number.”
“Don’t answer that, sucka,” Dean is well versed in the ways of crazy waitresses.
“A man is always supposed to answer the phone, Dean. It’s called responsibility.” Eugene answers the phone. Dean’s fists clench. He envisions a beautifully violent scenario in which Eugene flies through the window.
“Hello?” Eugene flashes a huge smile, giving Dean a thumb up.
A few hours later.
“If you didn’t want to see her then you should have told me.”
“It’s guy code, sucka. You don’t answer the phone after a stray has been let out the house and, if by some fucked up reason you do, you damn sure don’t set a second date for your ‘bro’ without asking!”
“Well excuse me for thinking of you.”
The duo halt their sidewalk stroll. The philanthropic scene resides a hundred feet ahead. Mobley stands out, towering over the rest, spiking his shovel into the dirt. He sports a hard hat. Nobody else does…why he chose the hard hat is anyone’s guess. We figure he just felt like it belonged. His GCWA Title is around his waist.
“Great job, everyone!” the organizer for the effort yells. Mobley pauses, wiping sweat from his brow. The sun is rising. The heat is increasing. He’s drenched in sweat. The GCWA champion looks down and rotates the belt. He unhooks it. He inhales and re-hooks it…and YES! He reaches the third notch!!! One to go!! He looks up and smiled, feeling the first sense of achievement in forever.
“Sucka!”
His moment of bliss vanishes.
“You guys found me…”
Dean doesn’t answer, choosing to survey the area. “Well, while not my choice of exercise, it’s nice to see you putting forth some effort.”
“Excuse me?” the organizer walks over, spotting Dean’s mammoth stature. “Are you here to help out?”
“A-Haha,” Dean guffaws. “No fucking way, man. I’d rather cut a check.”
“Oh…well, in that case…”
Dean slaps the guy in the chest, “I’m going to be at the bar across the street. Meet me over there when you’re done, Mobley.” Dean walks away.
“I can help!” Eugene kindly offers.
The organizer sizes Eugene up, “No thanks.” Eugene shrugs, taking no offense. He rushes to catch up with Dean.
At the bar, Dean orders a giant mug of beer. Eugene secures a White Claw, lime-flavored. The place murmurs. Television trucks arrive at the event. Dean tosses one glance over his shoulder and perks up.
“Yo, bartender, put that shit on TV.”
The bartender peers up at the soccer game, “But blah blah blah blah…” The blah blah blah is substituted for the teams playing in whatever league they are assigned. We really couldn’t be bothered to care.
Dean’s eyes bulge. He grabs his mug, chugs the beer, slams the mug into the bar, and crushes it with one hand. The entire place empties upon seeing the visceral act of violence. Eugene finishes his White Claw. He coughs and struggles before finally crushing part of the can with both hands.
“Okay, okay!” the bartender locates the broadcast.
“And here we are at a local charity event where volunteers are helping with the gentrification of the once downtrodden downtown area,” a heavily practiced, almost robotic female voice announces. Dean snares some napkins to wipe fresh blood from his palm. “And I’m told a celebrity is helping out!”
“Aw fuck yea,” Dean smiles. Eugene gets excited.
The female reporter heads toward Mobley. Derek prepares for an interview. However, before she reaches him the attorney from the previous evening jumps into the frame.
“Why thank you!”
“Damnit, Derek! Man the fuck up!” Dean growls. Eugene pounds his fist into the counter, carefully.
“It’s great to give back,” the haughty attorney sports a fearless smile. “I’ve spent my entire life helping this community. Like, for instance, when people get into wrecks they often feel as though it’s their fault. Well, I’m here to tell you that single-car accidents don’t mean you’re a bad driver. Street signs are being placed in increasingly dangerous places, causing many…”
“If you don’t do it, Derek…then I will.” Dean is prepared to do some murdering.
That is until a giant hand snares the arrogant attorney by the shirt. The attorney chokes…his confidence flees. Mobley steps into frame, chucking the attorney about ten feet out of view. He poses in front of the camera and beams like a champion.
“Alright!” Eugene cheers. “Another White Claw!!”
“Fuck yea…” Dean half whispers, slapping his bloody palm onto the bar counter.
“I’ve been hiding from the limelight long enough. It’s been tough getting back into the swing of things. Heck, I’m not sure I could even cut a promo anymore…” The interviewer sighs with relief. “But, I’m going to try. You see, this Sunday I defend this,” he slaps the plate of his GCWA title, “against Lurrr. A former ally and nemesis. One of the greatest wrestlers of all time.”
“Okay, wonderful…”
Derek cuts her off, “Along for the ride will be Ed Houston. My personal choice for the next face of GCWA. However, rather than hand that kid anything, I’m going to make him earn it. It’s the only real way a true legend is made.”
“Sounds like…”
She’s cut off again, “And, finally, we reach The Big Bifford. Purveyor of arbitrary murder and conspicuous business practices. He’s about as delusional as a homeless man after swallowing a heavy mixture of bath salts and cum. That one’s for you, Warrick.” Derek winks at the camera, hoping his lost buddy is watching, somewhere.
“I think we’ve…”
“It’ll be a great event! Homecoming, this Sunday! GCWA is back and The Thriller is ready!”
The feed cuts away. Somebody important within the newsroom had seen enough.
Dean and Eugene meet Derek in front of the worksite. The female reporter is wrapping up, a bit disgruntled. “By the way,” her bitchy voice sounds out, “the new building going in at this site is one of those Bifford chicken chains.” A parting shot from an angry woman.
Eugene pates Derek on the arm, “Don’t let that bother you, Derek. You didn’t know.”
Derek notices the White Claw in Eugene’s left hand, “Are you supposed to take that out of the bar?”
Dean steals the title from Derek’s waist. “Hey!” Derek yells.
“I think you’re ready. But I need to see it.” Dean motions for Derek to take the belt away. Derek charges at him. The two tussle. All the volunteers become spectators, cheering on. After a few minutes of back and forth, Derek picks Dean up and SLAMS him into the concrete with The Thriller!!!
He pops to his feet, cheering. The ‘fans’ join in. Dean’s hand slowly rises with his faint voice saying, “Help.”
Derek stands over Dean inside a hospital room. The heart monitor slowly beeps. Dean looks over, “Derek, my boy.”
Derek leans in, “Yes, Dean?”
“You’re ready.”
“But I’m only on the third notch.”
“It was never about notches, Derek. It was about what’s in here…” Dean’s bandaged hand kind of hits Derek in the stomach, but Derek gets the point. He grabs Dean’s hand, fighting back tears.
Dean motions for Eugene. He whispers into Eugene’s ear. He then turns back to Derek, “Go out there and win one, Derek. Win one for the Deano.” Dean goes limp. Eugene wails. Derek grabs him and escorts Eugene out of the room. Dean’s right eye opens, slightly.
A nurse enters to check on him. With Derek and Eugene absent, we see Dean reach around and pat the nurse on the ass.
Derek and Eugene stand outside the hospital. “What did he tell you?”
“A five-minute mile. You do that and your training is finished. And, even better, you can get a treat.”
Derek looks to the setting sun, “I can do that.”
Derek, covered in dark orchid sweats, jogs along a bridge with Eugene in front of him, riding a Vespa. Mobley is running hard. Eugene shouts encouragement.
They reach their destination.
“You did it!! 4:55!!!”
Mobley looks up a long staircase which feeds into a food court.
“I hear they have some good ice cream up there. 4.5 on Yelp,” Eugene mentions. “We’d better hurry, they close in five minutes.”
Mobley sprints up the steps with the Rocky theme playing in the background. He reaches the top and checks out his belt…it reaches the fourth notch!! He cheers, shadow boxing! Eugene rides his Vespa up the handicap ramp, nearly running over a few crippled patrons.
“We did it, Eugene. We did it.” Derek feels complete. “Now, let’s get some ice cream.”
“Double scoops?” a wide-eyed Eugene asks.
“Double scoops.”
They head toward the eatery. They reach the quick-service counter. The metal door is yanked down and locked.
Is this a preview of Mobley’s fate? Is he too late? Tune in Sunday to find out!
