Post by Jack Puffer on Nov 13, 2019 21:34:18 GMT -6
It’s that time of year again.
Pumpkins. Turkeys. Evergreens. Or fakes, if you’re one of those people.
Gifts. Family. Cards. Cold weather. Warm alcohol.
And, oh yea, the fucking flu.
First major cold front of the year and I’m stricken with some sort of junk that has me bed ridden like a 70 year old chain smoker in the latter stages of lung cancer.
Kill me now.
Or don’t.
As with most things in life, this will pass.
But that doesn’t make it suck any less, in the present.
I’d received a lead on Warrick Hill’s whereabouts. I traveled toward the Omaha only to come down with this horrifying strand of malicious viral components. A brick wall bringing me to an abrupt, harsh stop.
Omaha will not be happening.
By the time I recover and am able to leave this arbitrary Motel 6, Warrick will be gone. A man like Mr. Hill has no home. He doesn’t sit still. His whereabouts are more capricious than a fast moving storm. The man will be far removed from the home of college baseball’s world series by the time I breach the city limits.
So, what now? Wait for another lead. That’s all a detective can do.
In the meantime, I’ll focus on the rubber match. I’ll focus on downing Extreme. Yes, Extreme. I found that missing E, remember?
With High Rollers still visible in GCWA’s rear view, the people driving this vehicle turn toward the future. They turn toward what’s next in GCWA’s path toward renewed glory.
This is the point where someone like Tony Savage or Dylan Thomas would wax poetic about how they are next. About how the mileage maker on the left side of the road reads their name, followed by a relatively small number of miles.
And, well, good for them. That’s their thing. They are eager to establish themselves as the face of this grand company.
As for me, I’m a placeholder. I have a singular job…to find Warrick Hill. And, in the meantime, to hold his spot in this company. Derek didn’t give me any strict orders on how much success I needed to enjoy. Ascending the GCWA ladder in Warrick’s absence was not a requirement.
I’m a pragmatic man. Most of the time. I know that, while grand success isn’t a prerequisite, I know that I need to maintain a modicum of in-ring dignity. Derek vouched for me. Warrick’s claiming my spot once he’s found. It’s only proper that I maintain the current abode in the interim.
Extreme is a good first hurdle. I won’t sit here and lie to you. I’ve had minimal success in my wrestling career. Go to the OCW website and look up Jack Puffer. He’s right there with Chaminade. The joke of the Maui Tournament.
In ring, it’s been an epic failure. The financial end, however, has managed to keep my detective agency afloat, albeit barely.
3 years. It’s been 3 years since I entered the foray of Professional Wrestling. I had no idea what would become of me upon entering. I guess, if I had to come up with a previous prediction, I might have wagered that I would have absconded from the profession within a year – especially given how my first few matches went.
Yet, I stuck it out.
To the point of complacency.
Running on a treadmill. Waking up, putting forth some effort, only to remain in the same place day after day after day after day.
Life is short. None of us are getting any younger.
At what point does complacency become a disease? Now, probably.
I’ve got a second chance in GCWA. A second chance in both of my careers. Derek offered me a spot far above the one I clung to while in OCW. While I may not be recognized as one of the up and comers, I’m certainly no joke around here…at least not at the level I was in OCW.
And, as if that weren’t enough motivation, I’ve landed the biggest case of my career. To locate a man who has made more of an impact in 30 years of life than the population of a Midwestern town.
All opportunities are the same, no matter how high the ceiling. It’s up to the recipient to determine whether or not the opportunity blossoms into success.
If I lose to Extreme on Friday night, you might as well put this opportunity on life support. I doubt the higher ups in GCWA are going to tolerate a former jobber, current low level detective eating up space on their show, money from their account only to be failing once again. Returning to his former self. Becoming the joke of GCWA.
The stakes are too high for that. It’s time to seize this opportunity. It’s time to take advantage of the gift I’ve been given.
So, yes, I feel like shit. Yes, I’m lying in a dark, cheap motel room, hoping a pounding headache will subside so that, at the very least, I can open my eyes and do some research.
But, I will not let this or any other unforeseen road blocks get the best of me.
I will show up to Inferno. I will take it to Extreme. I will defeat this man in our rubber match, proving that I am, at the very least; better than I was in OCW.
So, Mr. Extreme…or Mr. Treme…or Mr. Eme…whatever you like to go by. You’ve enjoyed far more success in our ‘feud’ than I should have ever allowed. Tis the season, I suppose.
But that’s coming to an end. I’m done playing games. This Friday, at Inferno I’m putting an end to our piddling rivalry.
And, once it’s over, you have my permission to misplace that E and go back to being Xtreme. I don’t know why someone would choose to go that route but, then again, we’re talking about you, aren’t we?
Once I’m finished with you, I will scour the Earth to find Mr. Hill.
Failure will not define me, not this time.
Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to try and read some of this Blue Thunder comic book for inspiration…assuming this headache will permit such an activity.
Pumpkins. Turkeys. Evergreens. Or fakes, if you’re one of those people.
Gifts. Family. Cards. Cold weather. Warm alcohol.
And, oh yea, the fucking flu.
First major cold front of the year and I’m stricken with some sort of junk that has me bed ridden like a 70 year old chain smoker in the latter stages of lung cancer.
Kill me now.
Or don’t.
As with most things in life, this will pass.
But that doesn’t make it suck any less, in the present.
I’d received a lead on Warrick Hill’s whereabouts. I traveled toward the Omaha only to come down with this horrifying strand of malicious viral components. A brick wall bringing me to an abrupt, harsh stop.
Omaha will not be happening.
By the time I recover and am able to leave this arbitrary Motel 6, Warrick will be gone. A man like Mr. Hill has no home. He doesn’t sit still. His whereabouts are more capricious than a fast moving storm. The man will be far removed from the home of college baseball’s world series by the time I breach the city limits.
So, what now? Wait for another lead. That’s all a detective can do.
In the meantime, I’ll focus on the rubber match. I’ll focus on downing Extreme. Yes, Extreme. I found that missing E, remember?
With High Rollers still visible in GCWA’s rear view, the people driving this vehicle turn toward the future. They turn toward what’s next in GCWA’s path toward renewed glory.
This is the point where someone like Tony Savage or Dylan Thomas would wax poetic about how they are next. About how the mileage maker on the left side of the road reads their name, followed by a relatively small number of miles.
And, well, good for them. That’s their thing. They are eager to establish themselves as the face of this grand company.
As for me, I’m a placeholder. I have a singular job…to find Warrick Hill. And, in the meantime, to hold his spot in this company. Derek didn’t give me any strict orders on how much success I needed to enjoy. Ascending the GCWA ladder in Warrick’s absence was not a requirement.
I’m a pragmatic man. Most of the time. I know that, while grand success isn’t a prerequisite, I know that I need to maintain a modicum of in-ring dignity. Derek vouched for me. Warrick’s claiming my spot once he’s found. It’s only proper that I maintain the current abode in the interim.
Extreme is a good first hurdle. I won’t sit here and lie to you. I’ve had minimal success in my wrestling career. Go to the OCW website and look up Jack Puffer. He’s right there with Chaminade. The joke of the Maui Tournament.
In ring, it’s been an epic failure. The financial end, however, has managed to keep my detective agency afloat, albeit barely.
3 years. It’s been 3 years since I entered the foray of Professional Wrestling. I had no idea what would become of me upon entering. I guess, if I had to come up with a previous prediction, I might have wagered that I would have absconded from the profession within a year – especially given how my first few matches went.
Yet, I stuck it out.
To the point of complacency.
Running on a treadmill. Waking up, putting forth some effort, only to remain in the same place day after day after day after day.
Life is short. None of us are getting any younger.
At what point does complacency become a disease? Now, probably.
I’ve got a second chance in GCWA. A second chance in both of my careers. Derek offered me a spot far above the one I clung to while in OCW. While I may not be recognized as one of the up and comers, I’m certainly no joke around here…at least not at the level I was in OCW.
And, as if that weren’t enough motivation, I’ve landed the biggest case of my career. To locate a man who has made more of an impact in 30 years of life than the population of a Midwestern town.
All opportunities are the same, no matter how high the ceiling. It’s up to the recipient to determine whether or not the opportunity blossoms into success.
If I lose to Extreme on Friday night, you might as well put this opportunity on life support. I doubt the higher ups in GCWA are going to tolerate a former jobber, current low level detective eating up space on their show, money from their account only to be failing once again. Returning to his former self. Becoming the joke of GCWA.
The stakes are too high for that. It’s time to seize this opportunity. It’s time to take advantage of the gift I’ve been given.
So, yes, I feel like shit. Yes, I’m lying in a dark, cheap motel room, hoping a pounding headache will subside so that, at the very least, I can open my eyes and do some research.
But, I will not let this or any other unforeseen road blocks get the best of me.
I will show up to Inferno. I will take it to Extreme. I will defeat this man in our rubber match, proving that I am, at the very least; better than I was in OCW.
So, Mr. Extreme…or Mr. Treme…or Mr. Eme…whatever you like to go by. You’ve enjoyed far more success in our ‘feud’ than I should have ever allowed. Tis the season, I suppose.
But that’s coming to an end. I’m done playing games. This Friday, at Inferno I’m putting an end to our piddling rivalry.
And, once it’s over, you have my permission to misplace that E and go back to being Xtreme. I don’t know why someone would choose to go that route but, then again, we’re talking about you, aren’t we?
Once I’m finished with you, I will scour the Earth to find Mr. Hill.
Failure will not define me, not this time.
Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to try and read some of this Blue Thunder comic book for inspiration…assuming this headache will permit such an activity.