Odin Bodies Another Dork: The Saga Continues
Oct 16, 2021 18:52:39 GMT -5
Trey Bouchet, Johnny Bacchus, and 1 more like this
Post by Odin Balfore on Oct 16, 2021 18:52:39 GMT -5
“You should tell him.” I graveled, sitting across from Pasta who looked at me with contempt from across the room in the reflection of his office windows.
Pasta steamed internally. “This is where I tell you about him.”
Tell ME about him? I couldn't help but laugh. “There is nothing to tell.” I replied. “ I’ve saying that there's debts to be paid.”
“Exactly what debts; How my dad keeps you around because you’re nostalgic to exactly four people. Because by my calculation, that's a debt. That's a debt you owe us and you cant even repay something as simple as that.”
“Yah, Balfore you have a part to play and yet to cant handle it.” Says Jaice Wilds, coming into the room. “You can't stand that you’re not in charge. It bothers you,” Laughs Jaice with his weasel laugh. “Face it Balfore, you’re an attraction. No one is going to build a company around your broken down ass.”
“Careful, Jaice,” I reply, cracking my knuckles.
“No, no, you be careful.” Says Jaice. “We don’t want you to blow a quad or have a stroke in that ring.”
“I’d hate to say it, Odin, but he has a point. Long gone are the days of sayin prayers, eatin’ vitamins. Of stylin and profilin.’ Its a new world in wrestling and you aint it.” says Pasta, turning to face me.
“Don’t let Max beat you too bad. The AARP can be a nightmare to deal - ARGHHRH!”
I reach out, grabbing Jaice by the throat.
“It’s all on your head, Pasta. All of it. “
WHAM!
I lift Jaice up and chokeslam in on to the floor.
ALL OF IT
_________________________
My home in St. Cloud was cold. I had a fire going that danced with amber gowns to a classical score that only they could hear. As much I enjoyed the cold and the solitude, the damp air from this morning left my bones with an ache that I couldn’t shake as I thumbed through old magazines and scrapbooks. I haven’t been here prior to 2010, not in any real capacity, anyway. This is my last morning in the house as I’m set to drive out to Arkansas today. My breakfast had already been eaten and it was time to pack but I couldn’t help but think about what Max said on Clash about me.
" Max, you're a fucking child. A 6 yr old with wide eyes. You see this match and you think:
Yah, I get to do whatever I want to Odin balfore
Children say that when they get their tonsils out. They repeat the montra: all the ice cream I can eat.
That's you. This un-tested, Unproven lump of shit. I have more time in that ring than you have living time on this planet.
Talkin about how hard you hit.
Boy, ya mommas cervix hits harder than you
But you don't know her, do you? Shame. You should call collect, get scoops Callahan to try and find her for you. Let her give you some fuckin, fucking tips.
You be talking about ultra-violence and your stroke game is just giving you a fucking stroke.
You talk like I ain’t been in fights or bleed or faced guys like you.
Every 20 yr old with a copy of Devil May Cry and an internet connection thinks they’re this edgy embodiment of angst and nihilism. You clearly didn’t fall far from the Hot Topic tree on that one. when in truth you couldn't handle a call of duty lobby circa 2007. Hell, you prolly have a Jack Skellington tramp stamp
But you’re ready to face me? BAH!
You're ready to face me while skirting twitter rules cuz you don't want to be canceled.
You're not a fighter. You're not a wrestler. You're not a man.
You're a boy who's playing in daddy's boots.. Speaking of which.”
Getting up I walk over to my bedroom and over to a cedar closet. Opening it reveals my ring old ring gear. A black singlet and white boots. I’m not much for the singlet but the white boots that were flopped over at the collar, scuffed and stained with dried blood. I pull them out, look at them for a moment before throwing them on the bed and continuing.
“This match ain't about hitting hard. I'll knock a planet outta orbit. This match is about the fire in your heart
You aint got it.
You're just glad to be here. Eager to show what you can do.
Like a child in little. Fucking boots.
You won pure wrestler. You won pure titles
But being pure in this business is an oxymoron you don't win. You don't get crowned.
You earn it. You do it by betraying who you are on a fundamental level. You grind that shit out in the ring. You come back every damn week - even when everyone else doesn't want you.
Like life and winning, that's how wrestling is done.
The strong do what they can and the weak endure what they must and all you're life you been doing nothing but enduring.
There ain't no thriving in your vocabulary. Not in your life. Not in your career and not at execution.
You're a demon now? Half Angel, Half Demon, trying to make his way through the world little a single female lawyer. I’m shocked a country music star hasn’t sang your entrance music yet. Damn, Son Just a trash bag, a dream, and nothing else. Wrestlings been kind to you're kind. Too damn kind if you ask me. Seth lerch used to go down to the used kid emporium and opium den the same way hipsters flock to the apple store.
Seth lerch always lookin for the new model of fuck boy to fuck up.
That you? Lol yeaaa it's gonna be you.
You wanted wrestling to take care of you and you gravitated to ultra-violence because you think it's gonna insulate you
Wear it like armor
When all I'm gonna do is wear you out.
Odin balfore slumps another orphan. The saga continues
How many dudes do you think I jobber killed over my career?
A dozen, two, six?
Not my job to keep track. The government does that. Orphans and pedophiles.
But you, Wana make a name. You wanna go the distance, shut me up, shut me down. End me.
End me.
Funny how many times I've heard that. Funny how it all blends together.
Funnier still how none of you can come up with a more tragic life story than lack of parental supervision.
Lotta parents out there in that crowd though. Beyond those lights. A lot of smiling faces in that darkness beyond those lights. Adults who will enjoy seeing me break you down. Kids, who will cry when they see what I've done to you. You'll learn how much a person can bleed. You'll learn how much you're willing to take and you'll learn it aint worth it, just to fucking fail at my feet. There are no belts. There's no prizes. Just your shitty pride that you got because you chose violence over viability in this industry. I'm about to educate you on the difference.
And trust me, there's a fuckin difference.
You with your dumb pride. You think you're gonna stop me
Maybe it'll be over quickly
Maybe you want me to suffer
'Maybe' is a dreamers holocaust, max.
There are no dreams in hardcore. Just hardcore holocaust.
And the saga continues.”
Pasta, I told you many times that it was a mistake to send me home. Now you got me in a no DQ match with half-angel, half-demon, full cringe mode anime avatar of the living embodiment of incels. This is your mistake. This is on your head. I want you to remember that.
______________________________________
There is a bar just outside of St.Cloud. A final stop before hitting the road for the night. A final farewell for Lord knows how long. I’m sitting at a small table, just waiting for you to come on in. Glass of whiskey in front of me.
“Ah, Max, you made it. Come, sit, drink. Half Demon, Half Angel, you love week-old fermented cereal grains and the lingering taste of bacteria. Me?”
Sip.
“Well, me, I’m a recovered alcoholic and truth be told, a recovered alcoholic is just a lush in denial. Me, I aint denied a day in my life the shitty person that I am. All the friends I betrayed. All the bodies I’ve stepped either on or over. Drinking my life away cuz why not, something gotta kill me.”
Sip.
“Well, I aint dead yet. You gone be the one this week? Aye, you aint the one. Every person who thinks they got it either forgets the gun or the slugs- they always bring the salt though. When the week prior to fighting Odin Balfore your friends gotta remind you to remind yourself to be yourself - you lost the god damn plot.
But you though, Half Demon, Half Angel, FULL CAPS LOCK, drinking and wrestling and getting cash money because them Holy Wars arnt going to fund themselves. So sit down, and start sippin on the god damn truth.
Dante, *visible cringe * of all the horrible things that I am, a liar, isnt one of them. Not in this business. This business already does enough of that when Pasta played in your face and you took it like a pearl necklace instead of a gold watch. When he told you that your half demon, half angel, half a monkey’s ass that you could be something. Look the fuck around you, if it wasn’t you, it’d be another one of those orphan lost boys that he finds at that soup kitchen. Guys like you exist to fill time and pad a roster.
Al Envy
Adam Young
Gemini Battle
Jay Omega
Ryan Lockhart
Garham Baker
Lissie Hope
Malicai Wonderlust
Death Reaper
Shane Knight
FPV
Some of those names you heard of and some of them, aint nobody heard of. Guys to pad out the roster. You want guys with swords, I can give you guys with swords. I can give you psychopaths, other demons, other Gods, Golden Gods, aliens, Zombies. I met them all, I’ve beat them all
What I’m telling you is that, you aint special and no one cares. Cept you and that's honestly, less than nothing. So from one All-Father to some out-of-work errand boy, have a drink on me because that's all the hospitality you’ll get. After this and at Execution, you’ll just be another fucked up faced with a lame-ass backstory that I’ve buried under the ring with my vast experience.
Now, you may sit across from me and lie to me like Pasta. Tell me about your lifetime’s worth or even on a cosmic scale. That shit don’t impress me. You don’t get it done in the ring and all I really heard from you is that you survived ZMAC. Even I beat ZMAC at his own game. It’s like 4D chess and boy, I’m damn good at chess.
So, what’s your opening move going to be at Execution? Gonna beat me up? Gonna use your Incel powers and get me banned from Reddit? It’s a no DQ, no holds Bar, anything goes and you’re sitting here right across from me and you still aint got a fuckin clue.”
*sip, swirl, sip. refresh.*
“This is where I make you famous.”
The beeps and chirps echo in the bar as all the phones light up. Yours lights up. You check it.
SILVER ALERT flashes across the screen.
See you real fuckin soon.