Johnny-Come-Lately

We flashback to the Following compound in the lead up to Dandy and Kemp defending their tag titles against the HR Department at Revolution.

Dandy sat in a folding chair outside of the ring that stood in the middle of the training facility of the compound. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared a thousand-yard-stare downward at nothing in particular. Kemp worked in the ring with Chase, doing drills and preparing for the biggest challenge of their tag run to that point. As Kemp looked over and spotted Dandy’s absent stare, he held a hand up to Chase, stopping their drills.

“Dandy, you ok?”

Dandy didn’t stir. Chase looked over and his brow furrowed in concern as well. Kemp called out again.

“Dandy? Hello?”

Dandy shook his head and looked up at Kemp.

“Uh, yeah, what’s that? Sorry. I was just somewhere else, man.”

Kemp nodded.

“Where was that?”

Dandy subtly smiled.

“I was imaginin’ what’s gon’ happen to these Philidor fuckers when we punk they li’l bitch tag team. What that shit’s gon’ mean in the scope of our war on they bullshit. What kinda fuckin’ legend we gon’ make fo’ ourselves when The Followin’ is the harbinger of fuckin’ doom for those fat cat mo’fuckas.”

Dandy’s smile grew more prominent.

“We been at this fo’ months, boys. We been the only fuckin’ force in this game that’s been able to mount a fuckin’ assault on them Philidor fucks. Up to this point, they set they sights on somethin’, and they fuckin’ take it. Ash has the fuckin’ strap. Shaw has All In. But us? We the trios champs, an’ after this fuckin’ weekend, we gon’ be the mo’fuckas who knock the bloom off Saltair and Garvey’s rose garden.”

Chase got into Dandy’s message.

“Fuck yeah!”

Dandy stood up and rolled into the ring.

“This is our fuckin’ moment, Kemp. Them belts? They ours. This company? It’s OURS! We the fuckin’ nail in that Philidor coffin, and they ain’t nothin’ gon’ stand between us an’ puttin’ them down like fuckin’ dogs!”

Kemp and Chase patted Dandy on the back as their excitement boiled over in what they’d only later understand was one of the group’s final moments of real unity.

---

When the shit first hit the fan, Philidor looked like the unstoppable machine. Ash Blake was lookin’ like Ash Ketchem as she presided ova the collection of talented star after talented star AND Derrick Vayden.

But what happened to take they shine off? Well, the answer’s The Followin’. After months of other mo’fuckas takin’ shit on the chin an’ lettin’ Philidor run roughshod, The Followin’ stood firm in they face and beat ‘em back. Don’t forget that sumbitch Saltair was supposed ta be the next fuckin’ thing. The big dog. The puppet master who let Ashy look like shit was runnin’ the show. And what happened wit’ him an’ Garvey? They got fuckin’ punked out and tucked tail. Saltair got fuckin’ scared outta the ring to be a fuckin’ spector or some shit, and Garvey hightailed it out to play bitch-boy to Carter Shaw.

The biggest guns them mo’fuckas had, and The Followin’ broke ‘em in one fuckin’ match.

Now, sure, Carter weasled he way inta our shit and helped to hasten the fuckin’ implosion, but the critical shit here is that The Followin’ lit the fuckin’ fire that burned down Philidor.

And that’s where we find ourselves today, ain’t it, Johnny? I stand here as one of the few men in this company who had the fuckin’ nuts to step up to that machine when it was at its peak, and you? You jus’ some li’l punk bitch runnin’ a stolen valor scam.

You walked inta the picture in the middle of a fuckin’ hunt after I already shot the fuckin’ monster. You slit the mo’fuckas throat when it was already bleedin’ out from the damage I done to it - we made the HR boys disappear, I slapped the shine off Shaw, an’ the Philidor strategy of rallyin’ ‘round the fuckin’ strap blew up on ‘em when I became a two time champ. You looked at the work I did, an’ what’d you do from there? Was you just thinkin’ this is my story now! Cause that’s the thing, Johnny...it was never your story. When mo’fuckas talk about who fuckin’ ended the run of The Followin’, fo’ betta or worse, the names that’ll come to the tip of e’rybody’s tongue is gon’ be Kyle Kemp and Dandy DiVito. Period. Ain’t nobody gonna name drop yo ass ‘cause you wanted to dip yo’ wick in a biohazard, Bacchus.

Nah, man. Motivations fuckin’ matter, an’ wit’ The Followin’, we was always aimin’ for the fuckin’ heart of that monster for the best fuckin’ reasons: we wanted to eliminate the corrupting force an’ break the death grip them fucks had on the throat of this comp’ny. We was aimin’ to end it fo’ e’rybody. You? You waltzed in at the most convenient time to take aim at them fucks an’ yo ass did it ‘cause you wanted to help yo’self to some of that rotten gash.

Remember back when? You know… them days when you first waltzed into the fuckin’ picture, Johnny? Them days when you was jus’ that li’l mo’fucka livin’ WAYYYYYYY up to the fuckin’ OBNOXIOUS name an’ forcin’ yo’ fuckin’ selfie game on e’ry mo’fucka who was kind ‘nough to let yo ass snap a pic ‘stead a’ them snappin’ yo’ fuckin’ neck?

An’ I let you take one wit’ me…

An’ you damn near worshipped my ass for months ova it.

You ‘member? ‘Cause I do, John. I remember when we was cool. I remember when you defended me agains’ the fuckin’ onslaught of dipshits in an’ outta AW on them fuckin’ Tweets. I remember when you treated me like I was some kinda fuckin’ inspiration.

But I also remember somethin’ else… I remember when you showed yo whole ass an’ got all butthurt that I went after yo’ li’l flame, Lissie. Now, junior, since I know you, I’m sure you’re confused, so listen close, and I’ll show you how li’l ol’ Dandy figured out the fuckin’ emperor ain’t got no clothes:

If you knew fuck all ‘bout AW ‘fore you came in, you’da known that Dandy DiVito ain’t got fuckin’ time fo’ none a’ Lissie Hope’s self-servin’, self-agrandizin’ horseshit. They ain’t no fuckin’ moistness in that woman that’ll be tantalizin’ ‘nough to get me to overcome the pure fuckin’ disgust wit’ the kinda manipulative spread leg disease factory that wipe-back-to-front dipshit Lissie Hope been her whole ass life. But you, JB? Well hell, for that li’l drip drip, you’d kill yo’ own fuckin’ mother an’ shit all over the one fuckin’ guy who would even give yo’ ass the time of day.

And here I was thinkin’ you had promise an’ you gave me a li’l bitta--uh, no pun intended--fuckin’ hope. But nah, you just a thirsty li’l glory hound with a fetish for self-importance.

Listen close, bitch: you ain’t a fuckin’ hero in this shit, JB. You ain’t even a fuckin’ afterthought. You just a punk fuckstick who ain’t got shame enough to do right. You jus’ the shithead kid who putin’ yo’ name on my A+ homework, and I ain’t ‘bouta stan’ fo’ it, son.

You don’t just get to show up on yo’ own fuckin’ schedule, whenever you damn well please an’ take credit fo’ the fuckin’ battles that’s already half done in the war. You don’t get to be Johnny-Come-Lately even though you tryin’ like hell to pull that shit off. This was my fuckin’ war. You out here tryin’ to steal my fuckin’ thunder. You ridin’ my fuckin’ nuts. Well, junior, the fuckin’ ride’s over, an’ now? I’ma show you that they’s consequences for this kinda shit.

You ain’t no new kid in town no more. You don’t get to hide behin’ yo’ inexperience and rookie status. You gotta own yo’ fuck ups and take yo’ fuckin’ lumps over ‘em. You either gon’ learn yo’ lesson or I’ll beat yo’ ass ta death tryin’ ta teach ya.

---

Dandy sits in Zooey’s front room again sipping on an iced tea as the pair chats.

“So talk to me about it. Tell me how that makes you feel.”

“I mean, it ain’t good, right? I been doin’ e’rythin’ better for a fuckin’ year, an’ still, I can’t shake the bullshit. Sam’s a good illustration, right? He makes heself scarce wheneva I’ma be ‘round, right? I been here a fuck ton a’ times now, an’ yet, I ain’t seen Sam once.”

“No, no, Dandy. He’s just busy. With the movie release and all that, he’s been all over the place. He’s not avoiding you.”

“Ok, fine. But you still got e’rybody else expectin’ me to be the fuckin’ guy I was before. The asshole. The cheat. The fuckin’ shithawk. And I’m doin’ my bes’ not ta be, Zooey. I really am. The kid’s ‘bout here, right? I gotta make sure that li’l one sees daddy in a good light, but yet… I’m starin’ down the barrel of Turmoil and settin’ my sights on that World Title match, too, and I can feel the ire of them fucks in the locker room.”

“Well… success breeds jealousy, right?”

“It’s mo’ than that.”

“What is it then?”

“They fuckin’ hate me, Zooey. They all think I’m gonna bite ‘em like a snake.” [/color]

“Hmm…”

“What?”

“I have a thought, but I don’t want you to run too wild with this, ok?”

Dandy looks at her with narrowed eyes as if expecting something crazy to come from her mouth.

“If they all think you’re that guy, why not weaponize it?”

Dandy’s jaw and gaze both drop as his brow furrows.

“Go on…”

“Well, if they say you’re that guy regardless of who you are trying to be, what’s stopping you from being that guy at work and then being someone else at home, you know, for the baby?”

Dandy snickers.

“Can you imagine how Sam would react to you telling me to lean into the Shithawk?”

Zooey giggles.

“Let’s keep that between us, Dandy.”

“I dunno, Zooey. Narcin’ you out to Sammy seems like the Shithawk move, don’t it?”

The pair share a laugh. The room fills with silence as both Dandy and Zooey think about her idea.

“If perception is reality, then I guess I am what they say I am already, huh?”

Zooey shrugs her shoulders and nods her head.

“I…I guess so.”

“Hmm. That’s definitely somethin’ ta think ‘bout, Zooey.”

Zooey shoots back a smile.

“I’m sure it is.”

Dandy’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and as he glanced at it, his casual demeanor turned frantic in a moment’s notice.

“OH SHIT!”

“Is everything ok?”

“Uh...she’s... uh...it’s...FUCK! BABY! BABY’S COMIN’!”

“YAZ IS IN LABOR?!”

“YES! AHHHH!”

---

But maybe you right ‘bout me in one way, John. Maybe I ain’t the fuckin’ guy I wanna be. Maybe I ain’t a fuckin’ role model. Maybe I ain’t someone anybody should look up to. But I think I’m ok wit’ that. I been doin’ this damn-near-a-good-duy shit for the better part of a year, an’ no matter what I do, I still got mo’fuckas like you waitin’ in the rafters ready to rub my nose in any kinda mistake I ever made.

So fine then, I guess. You win that specific battle. You can have it. Instead a’ tryin’ ta be the guy I wanted to be fo’ my fuckin’ kid, maybe I’ll just be the guy I am fo’ me. But you, man? You’ll just keep being the guy you think other folks wanna see. You spent more months than I can fuckin’ remember paradin’ around the back holding on to a title that means you’re no more than a midcarder as if it made you King Shit while all your supposed enemies in Philidor was off doin’ they thing without a care in the world. I mean, shit, what happened when you put yo’ thumb in Philidor’s eye finally? They snatched your li’l paperweight of a belt right outta yo’ hands. They did the work that such illustrious challengers as Kazim and Max Daemon and CJ “I-More-Or-Less-Got-Handed-A-Title” Phoenix just couldn’t manage to pull off. Such an accomplishment. I mean, fuck, John, you spent most of yo’ time with that belt spinnin’ yo’ wheels mo’ than a mo’fucka who ain’t know how ta play Mario Kart.

But that’s just who you is, right, Mr. Obnoxious? You just live to excel at nothin’ all while claimin’ you the best in the world at what you do. That’s all well an’ good if you got you an internet job like drawin’ cartoons or sellin’ butthole selfies, but that shit don’t exactly fly when yo profession of choice is steppin’ into a fuckin’ ring wit’ someone who wants to know how many fuckin’ ways exist that they could hurt you.

Now, I know, JB, you gon’ scream I beat Kemp! I beat Shaw! And I gotta hand it to you, you did. But when Kemp comes at you straight up like he did wit’ you, that mo’fucka’s just a piñata that’s full a’ shit. He straight up beggin’ to get beat to death wit’ a fuckin’ stick. It’s when that sumbitch comes at you sideways when he’s dangerous. It’s when he’s hidin’ under a hood as Grayson Ward or when he’s sneak ass cashin’ in that All-In that he’s like a caged animal. You beat him when he didn’t have no games to play, so man, all I gotta say is who fuckin’ cares?!

As far as yo’ win over Shaw? I’ma need you to follow me down a bit of a rabbit hole, man. You remember how Scooby Doo jumped the shark by brinin’ in that mo’fucka Scrappy Doo? Li’l bitch would scream PUPPPPPPPPPYYYYYYY POWEEEEEEERRRRR and do somethin’ dumb as fuck, right? Well, you Scrappy Doo screamin’ PUSSSSSSYYYYYY POWERRRRRRRRR into that echoin’ void that resides between ol’ Lissie’s haggard fuckin’ thighs. You like the li’l 100 pound mama who sees a minivan rolling back over her baby and she musters all the energy an’ strength in her to lift that shit off the youngin’, but you see yo’self ‘boutta crush that pus dribblin’ puss an’ you summon the strength of men much better than you to steal a fuckin’ win.

I can’t fuckin’ wait to tell you I tol’ you so when she gets that insatiable hankerin’ for another genital buffet an’ leaves you high an’ dry with yo penicillin shots, John. Gonna be funny as shit. It’ll be a great learning opportunity fo’ you, JB. You can finally see that throwin’ yo’self away fo’ some strange ain’t gonna end well fo’ you or nobody else. You can finally see that swingin’ yo’ dick to impress a li’l thang like that skeevy fuckin’ rat Lissie is yo’ personal Don Quiotie moment where you just swingin’ that shit at windmills thinkin’ you accomplishin’ somethin’. All you doin’, John, is pissin’ square into the fuckin’ wind.

When you try to steal Dandy DiVito’s thunder, when you try to puff yo’ chest out by braggin’ ‘bout some fuckin’ nothin’ resume of accomplishment, when you throw mo’fuckas under yo’ bus to get yo’ dick wet, you gonna learn I provide fuckin’ consequences. I’m movin’ on in Turmoil. Yo ass is gonna go home. Maybe if you ask nice, Lissie will massage all the fuckin’ lumps, bruises, and wounds I beat into yo’ ass.

Just don’t forget to have that bish sanitize them hands first. You ain’t know where them things have been afterall.

---

Upon his arrival at the hospital, Dandy had marched in and figured out how to head in for Yaz’s labor process. He stands bedside with her now as the doctor provides simple instructions about breathing and pushing which Yaz follows religiously. Dandy leans down to talk Yaz through everything.

“I’m so glad I made it for this, Yaz. You’re doin’ great. Squeeze my hand as hard as you need to. I can handle it.”

Yaz bears down and grips the hell out of Dandy’s hand as she gives her last push everything she’s got. A pall of silence falls over the room until the baby’s cries disrupt the awkward stillness. The doctor speaks as well, anxiety and tension oozing from the limited speaking he can muster.

“Um…”

Dandy looks at the doctor sternly.

“What’s wrong? Is our baby healthy?”

A nurse looks over to the doctor and then wide-eyed looks back to Dandy. Her instincts immediately kick in and she tries to usher Dandy out of the delivery room.

“Um, dad, can you come with me quick?”

Dandy’s confusion and anger rise.

“What?! Fuck no! Let us hold the bab…”

Dandy moves toward the doctor and sees what the medical staff had seen right away.

“WHAT THE FUCK, YAZ?! THE BABY’S FUCKIN’ BLACK!”