Post by "Dreamcatcher" Ariel Shadows on May 28, 2019 8:37:35 GMT -5
Welcome to the show, friends. If this is your first time, let me introduce myself. My name's not important and I'm not telling you who I am. I'm your friendly neighborhood narrator. I used to be somebody really important, but for now, lets just leave me alone and focus on the story at hand, okay?
"Listen. I don't care about any of that chick. I got enough money to do whatever I want, and we both know I don't need much. Long as I got a place to put some stuff and hide for a while in between work, I'm happy."
This is Ariel Shadows, everybody. Ariel is kinda tall, she's got that Taylor Swift thing going on...you know? She's cute as all get-out, but looks like she could jump over your head and make a NBA Jam-esque slam dunk. Right now, she's exiting a Red Rood Inn's lobby while talking on her cell phone. Nice John Elway jersey, by the way. I miss the Orange Crush. For real.
"Like anything's gonna change. We're still gonna hang out, we just both know we have to be at work on Monday. You'll be working at the same place, I'll be on tour. Only difference. Long as I show up at the right town by Sunday, I'm good."
From the looks of it, she's checking out. Bags go in the backseat of...wait. Is that a fucking 1987 Volkswagen Rabbit?
IT IS! That's the 1987 Volkswagen Rabbit Cabrio, drop-top, with diesel engine rated for approximately 55MPG. If you clean it out and drop a couple new parts under the hood that easily becomes 60MPG, and that's some gas efficiency you can masturbate to.
"True....meh, it is what it is. I'm gonna go see if Action needs anything from me. I love ya. Stay safe."
Ariel hangs up her cell phone, opens the door to her car, and hops in. I always wanted one of these, but never could find one that wasn't totally fucked up. Figures. I die and THEN all the shit I wanted to happen when I was alive starts happening. Maybe I should have fought the cancer and tried to live. Too late now, though. Ain't gonna ret-con this one into a hot shotted return angle, kids. By the way, Ariel's turning on the car, and then the radio. Because fuck seatbel-HOLY SHIT THAT'S LOUD
"I BOMB ATOMICALLY! SOCRATES' PHILSOPHIES! AND HYPOTHESIS CAN'T DEFINE HOW I BE DOPPIN' THESE!"
Ariel starts jamming out, as we did everytime a Wu-Tang song showed up on our playlist. But something's different...she's stopping...oh Lord, we're going into a flashback!
This would have been sometime in the summer of 2016. I remember this. I'd recently learned my lung cancer was in stage three, meaning it was probably about to start invading other organs and tissues any day now. I was still smoking cigarettes, despite the entire world begging me to stop. At this exact moment in time, I was smoking a blunt bigger than Lyndon B. Johnson's penis.
"Mockeries, lyrically perform armed robbery, flee with the lottery, possibly they spotted me..."
Triumph by Wu-Tang was on. It was Ariel, myself, and a shit ton of our friends. I was basically having one of my "gonna die anytime now, let's party until I do" parties.
"Pass! The! Blunt! Are you trying to ask it on a date?"
"Bro, eat my fucking dick lint and take it!"
"Whoa, you're being pissy today!"
"It hurts to breathe, dear."
There, asshole, take the blunt. Actually he's not an asshole, that was my tag team partner and best friend for like, half a decade. If I told you who he was, you would know who I am, and then that ruins everything. I forgot that in 2016, we still didn't think Donald Trump would become President and everything was gonna be all right. Likewise, Ariel thought I was gonna just wake up one morning and decide to go ahead and kill this cancer shit once and for all.
Obviously, as we all learned, not everything is gonna be all right. I'm dead; and so are the reproductive rights of women and the checks and balances intended to prevent a President from becoming a dictator. Also, you can't post porn on Tumblr anymore. Man, 2016 doesn't sound so bad now.
"Well, then go get your lungs fixed."
"We've been through this. It's my time, I'm ready."
"Dude, you got ANY idea how long you're gonna have to suffer through this? This is not going to be a quick death, whatsoever."
"No shit. That's what all the weed is for."
"What about all of us?"
Oh, this is why we're going back to this. This is the night Ariel and I got into a super bad fight over it all. And I do mean bad. You'll see.
"What do you mean?"
"Him. Me. Everyone else who loves you."
Ariel points around at everyone she's talking about. I answered her the best I could.
"Yeah, y'all will be fine without me. Hell, you ain't seen me since January and look, I signed a manager's contract all on my own! Can't wrestle anymore but by God I can still draw a fuckin' house!"
"It's not about selling fucking tickets! It's about you choosing to die at thirty-two when you could go get fucking treatment, go fix yourself up like you did after you had the heart attack, and stay here!"
"You want me to let some undergrad student pump my balls full of radiation, then I gotta have a bunch of motherfuckers try to cross stitch my shit back together after they cut the tumors off? Make sure they use the GOOD scissors, those Dollar Tree ones wouldn't even cut through the tension in this room right about fuckin' now..."
Remember when I said this fight was bad? Here's why.
"How about that? Did that cut through your thick fuckin' skull? Or should I try it again?"
She. Fucking. Slapped. Me. Like, hard. All right. I need to focus, so we're gonna use traditional narration for a second here. Ariel stares down at her husband, who stands up very slowly from his chair. The music is still playing very loudly, and only a couple of people have noticed the now-turned-physical altercation.
"Try slapping me on the ass, you fuckin' butch. Fuck you. This is my decision, not any of yours. When y'all have lived the shitty life that I have, then you can come talk to me about my choices."
"I should kick you in the god damn mouth, right now! You have half a billion dollars in fucking assets! You live better than 99% of the fucking planet, and you're gonna waste all of that on some fucking self pity?"
Ariel's husband strikes her back with an open hand slap of his own. Ariel barely recoils from the fierce slap, which appears to have taken a bit of energy from the slightly shorter man. However, he still has plenty of fight left in him, which he chooses to express verbally.
"THIS WORLD IS SHIT! Give me ONE good reason to stick the fuck around! What, wait for all the fuckin' food and water to vanish? Wait to see which nutjob fundamentalist religious cult gets a hold of one of those missing Soviet Union nukes and fucking sends us all into nuclear winter? Oh, I got a great one. What if Donald Trump DOES become President and turns the country into Celebrity Apprentice 2? Yeah! I REALLY wanna be alive to see that! Put Ben Carson in charge of HUD too, why don't ya? FUCK YOU!"
When he turns his head to look to his right, Ariel drills her husband with a right snapping roundhouse kick. Connecting the top of her foot with the side of his head and the shin right into his mouth, this knocks him back over the chair and sends him rolling on the floor, where he stops prone looking into the sky.
"FUCK ME? FUCK ME, RIGHT?"
Picking up the chair, Ariel's eyes nearly turn red with rage. She raises the chair over her head, while her husband's mouth bleeds profusely from a torn bottom lip. He simply laughs when he looks up to see her.
"Love you too, honey."
Ariel throws the chair down at him. We're talking a fucking full-size living room chair here. You know, like one of those your grandma has? Yeah, I'm back again. Basically, Ariel beat the shit out of me because she didn't wanna admit she had a problem with rage deep down inside her. That, and I came to learn the real reason she was such a rage filled bitch...
"As the world turns, I spread like germs! Bless the globe with the pestilence, the hard-headed never learn!"
...she didn't want to be alone. Which now she is. Alone. Sitting in her car. Crying. Remembering the memories triggered by this song, that she is no longer singing along with. Everything she sees is a memory of something. And all memories come back to the same conclusion: she's alone and she's hurting.
But by God, she ain't gonna let anybody else know that. Wipe your eyes, put on them Aviators and turn that shit up even louder.
"In the line of fire holding back, WHAT? MY PEOPLES, IF YOU WITH ME, WHERE THE FUCK YOU AT?"
Light a blunt, and drive away. That's my Ariel. Man, Action Wrestling better not piss her off. She might tear a piece of the ring off and beat you to death with it.
But if you're cool with her, she'll take you out for pizza and beer after the show.
"Listen. I don't care about any of that chick. I got enough money to do whatever I want, and we both know I don't need much. Long as I got a place to put some stuff and hide for a while in between work, I'm happy."
This is Ariel Shadows, everybody. Ariel is kinda tall, she's got that Taylor Swift thing going on...you know? She's cute as all get-out, but looks like she could jump over your head and make a NBA Jam-esque slam dunk. Right now, she's exiting a Red Rood Inn's lobby while talking on her cell phone. Nice John Elway jersey, by the way. I miss the Orange Crush. For real.
"Like anything's gonna change. We're still gonna hang out, we just both know we have to be at work on Monday. You'll be working at the same place, I'll be on tour. Only difference. Long as I show up at the right town by Sunday, I'm good."
From the looks of it, she's checking out. Bags go in the backseat of...wait. Is that a fucking 1987 Volkswagen Rabbit?
IT IS! That's the 1987 Volkswagen Rabbit Cabrio, drop-top, with diesel engine rated for approximately 55MPG. If you clean it out and drop a couple new parts under the hood that easily becomes 60MPG, and that's some gas efficiency you can masturbate to.
"True....meh, it is what it is. I'm gonna go see if Action needs anything from me. I love ya. Stay safe."
Ariel hangs up her cell phone, opens the door to her car, and hops in. I always wanted one of these, but never could find one that wasn't totally fucked up. Figures. I die and THEN all the shit I wanted to happen when I was alive starts happening. Maybe I should have fought the cancer and tried to live. Too late now, though. Ain't gonna ret-con this one into a hot shotted return angle, kids. By the way, Ariel's turning on the car, and then the radio. Because fuck seatbel-HOLY SHIT THAT'S LOUD
"I BOMB ATOMICALLY! SOCRATES' PHILSOPHIES! AND HYPOTHESIS CAN'T DEFINE HOW I BE DOPPIN' THESE!"
Ariel starts jamming out, as we did everytime a Wu-Tang song showed up on our playlist. But something's different...she's stopping...oh Lord, we're going into a flashback!
---------------
THREE YEARS AGO
---------------
This would have been sometime in the summer of 2016. I remember this. I'd recently learned my lung cancer was in stage three, meaning it was probably about to start invading other organs and tissues any day now. I was still smoking cigarettes, despite the entire world begging me to stop. At this exact moment in time, I was smoking a blunt bigger than Lyndon B. Johnson's penis.
"Mockeries, lyrically perform armed robbery, flee with the lottery, possibly they spotted me..."
Triumph by Wu-Tang was on. It was Ariel, myself, and a shit ton of our friends. I was basically having one of my "gonna die anytime now, let's party until I do" parties.
"Pass! The! Blunt! Are you trying to ask it on a date?"
"Bro, eat my fucking dick lint and take it!"
"Whoa, you're being pissy today!"
"It hurts to breathe, dear."
There, asshole, take the blunt. Actually he's not an asshole, that was my tag team partner and best friend for like, half a decade. If I told you who he was, you would know who I am, and then that ruins everything. I forgot that in 2016, we still didn't think Donald Trump would become President and everything was gonna be all right. Likewise, Ariel thought I was gonna just wake up one morning and decide to go ahead and kill this cancer shit once and for all.
Obviously, as we all learned, not everything is gonna be all right. I'm dead; and so are the reproductive rights of women and the checks and balances intended to prevent a President from becoming a dictator. Also, you can't post porn on Tumblr anymore. Man, 2016 doesn't sound so bad now.
"Well, then go get your lungs fixed."
"We've been through this. It's my time, I'm ready."
"Dude, you got ANY idea how long you're gonna have to suffer through this? This is not going to be a quick death, whatsoever."
"No shit. That's what all the weed is for."
"What about all of us?"
Oh, this is why we're going back to this. This is the night Ariel and I got into a super bad fight over it all. And I do mean bad. You'll see.
"What do you mean?"
"Him. Me. Everyone else who loves you."
Ariel points around at everyone she's talking about. I answered her the best I could.
"Yeah, y'all will be fine without me. Hell, you ain't seen me since January and look, I signed a manager's contract all on my own! Can't wrestle anymore but by God I can still draw a fuckin' house!"
"It's not about selling fucking tickets! It's about you choosing to die at thirty-two when you could go get fucking treatment, go fix yourself up like you did after you had the heart attack, and stay here!"
"You want me to let some undergrad student pump my balls full of radiation, then I gotta have a bunch of motherfuckers try to cross stitch my shit back together after they cut the tumors off? Make sure they use the GOOD scissors, those Dollar Tree ones wouldn't even cut through the tension in this room right about fuckin' now..."
Remember when I said this fight was bad? Here's why.
"How about that? Did that cut through your thick fuckin' skull? Or should I try it again?"
She. Fucking. Slapped. Me. Like, hard. All right. I need to focus, so we're gonna use traditional narration for a second here. Ariel stares down at her husband, who stands up very slowly from his chair. The music is still playing very loudly, and only a couple of people have noticed the now-turned-physical altercation.
"Try slapping me on the ass, you fuckin' butch. Fuck you. This is my decision, not any of yours. When y'all have lived the shitty life that I have, then you can come talk to me about my choices."
"I should kick you in the god damn mouth, right now! You have half a billion dollars in fucking assets! You live better than 99% of the fucking planet, and you're gonna waste all of that on some fucking self pity?"
Ariel's husband strikes her back with an open hand slap of his own. Ariel barely recoils from the fierce slap, which appears to have taken a bit of energy from the slightly shorter man. However, he still has plenty of fight left in him, which he chooses to express verbally.
"THIS WORLD IS SHIT! Give me ONE good reason to stick the fuck around! What, wait for all the fuckin' food and water to vanish? Wait to see which nutjob fundamentalist religious cult gets a hold of one of those missing Soviet Union nukes and fucking sends us all into nuclear winter? Oh, I got a great one. What if Donald Trump DOES become President and turns the country into Celebrity Apprentice 2? Yeah! I REALLY wanna be alive to see that! Put Ben Carson in charge of HUD too, why don't ya? FUCK YOU!"
When he turns his head to look to his right, Ariel drills her husband with a right snapping roundhouse kick. Connecting the top of her foot with the side of his head and the shin right into his mouth, this knocks him back over the chair and sends him rolling on the floor, where he stops prone looking into the sky.
"FUCK ME? FUCK ME, RIGHT?"
Picking up the chair, Ariel's eyes nearly turn red with rage. She raises the chair over her head, while her husband's mouth bleeds profusely from a torn bottom lip. He simply laughs when he looks up to see her.
"Love you too, honey."
Ariel throws the chair down at him. We're talking a fucking full-size living room chair here. You know, like one of those your grandma has? Yeah, I'm back again. Basically, Ariel beat the shit out of me because she didn't wanna admit she had a problem with rage deep down inside her. That, and I came to learn the real reason she was such a rage filled bitch...
-----------
PRESENT DAY
-----------
"As the world turns, I spread like germs! Bless the globe with the pestilence, the hard-headed never learn!"
...she didn't want to be alone. Which now she is. Alone. Sitting in her car. Crying. Remembering the memories triggered by this song, that she is no longer singing along with. Everything she sees is a memory of something. And all memories come back to the same conclusion: she's alone and she's hurting.
But by God, she ain't gonna let anybody else know that. Wipe your eyes, put on them Aviators and turn that shit up even louder.
"In the line of fire holding back, WHAT? MY PEOPLES, IF YOU WITH ME, WHERE THE FUCK YOU AT?"
Light a blunt, and drive away. That's my Ariel. Man, Action Wrestling better not piss her off. She might tear a piece of the ring off and beat you to death with it.
But if you're cool with her, she'll take you out for pizza and beer after the show.