Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2019 8:03:40 GMT -5
Jubei: Not everyone is tall enough to go for the throat. Tonchiki! I want you to swing at Hachiro-san’s kneecap with this metal bat.
Hachiro: Please, give me all your strength, Teijin.
Jubei: Shut up! Tonchiki! Swing the bat at his knees!
Teijin: I can’t uncle.
Jubei: Don’t think of Hachiro-san… think of your useless father then. I know you can strike that bastard.
Teijin springs from his hotel covers, blinded in seconds by the endless daylight of Las Vegas. He groans feeling a head rush. AW’s medical staff had to patch him up for the second week in a row, following the unprovoked attack by one Phoenix Lestrange. A blind hand, wrist deep in his room’s ice bucket, fishes out an icepack from a tepid layer of water. He applies it while responding to a text chain:
”I’m fine, don’t worry about me, sis.”
”Mom said you got concussed >:<
bakayaru…”
”I know that, but just be careful
We all miss you ani-chan…”
In lieu of deflating her concerns, he seeks a refreshing blast of cold water from the bathroom sink. One of the nicer amenities afforded by Action Wrestling’s roots in Sin City. Yellowing bruises blotch his eye—nothing a little concealer can't fix. The very moment he regrets leaving his baby sister on hold, whose knowledge of contouring could make all the difference. Teijin opts for the Jessie Pinkman look instead.
Teijin wanders from there with his Juul pen and a tiny bottle. He sits a while blowing O’s with a vape tricks tutorial video going off his phone. Dawn breaks through the limelight darkness of the Vegas Strip, but it still gives off a mechanical feel. The last piece of Teijin’s morning ritual leaves him in a better state: Painting his nails a metallic shade equivalent to cornflower blue—what the designer named “Neutron Blue”—with dreams of matching Jeffrey Star’s acrylics game.
”Nice nails for a slob”
He arrives at Avis where his rental awaits. He reserved a sport option that he can speed, and maybe, Tokyo drift in on the long road to San Antonio. It’s not long before the call of the wild—those smothered “Animal Fries” from In and Out—brings him to a quiet parking lot at 10:45 AM.
“Where were you Action Wrestling? Am I not destined to leave your repetitive cycle of addiction for a safe zone? Somewhere where I can be me, and not have another sad panda day.”
Teijin wipes off that money shot of pinkish-orange sauce from his lips. He does so with attention for his precious blue nails, which take on a new sheen in the true daylight in Kingam, Arizona.
“Thanks for noticing, Twitter, but my nail game is just the first thing you need to know about me before you can truly ‘follow’ this pan boi’s energy. Do I slay it everyday… fuck yes. Do I intend to bring that potency to Action Wrestling as it has never seen before… guess you’ll find out why I’m not a snapchat darling. Because what’s left in my wake lasts longer than 10 seconds. I alter the goddamn biodome!”
“How did Peter Parker overcome Flash when he still doled out noogies and gave nerds the Riverdale equivalent of waterboarding? He stumbled onto super powers and became Spiderman! And while I prefer Gwen Stacey as my web shooter, there’s something to be said about defending yourself in the modern age. Homecoming changed the entire game board. Flash doesn’t ‘froggy’ your arm until it forms a goose egg. Nowadays, he’s a wimpy millennial like me – too terrified of a physical challenge with only sarcasm as his edge. Gone and dead are the tough guys who stood up to bullies… or so the boomers want us to think.”
Teijin blows a couple O’s from his vape pen. He fails at the “jellyfish” trick he’d been practicing for weeks, leading to another massive handful of Animal Fries shoveled into his grungy gob. Vibrations surge across the hood of his rental car.
“It’s true that people stopped talking face-to-face. No more rendezvous or tête-à-tête with Mr. Darcy. The hunks of old are gone. Now the people have to follow my humungous sack of shit personality. Although there's a common experience that pushes people to wallop the Scut Farkus’es of everyday turmoil: bullying. And no Corey, this isn’t a bad pun or some TikTok game. I tap dance around oafs like you because I stab straight into hearts of humanity and bite their pumping vessels like MF’ing Kano while you’re still on a soapbox pontificating. Yeah, I waste my education on doomsayers and virgin misers. But hey, if you keep playing your cards right—even Jaws from James Bond found true love… before he died space… but hey, just keep looking for the Bride of Bull… and with it, you’ll see there’s a folly in your stars after all.”
“How much Celine Dion have you been listen to??”
”Corey Bull is the harbinger of Action Wrestling’s demise, or so he told us by mopping our ring with LDJ. An act of environmental terrorism so heinous that Bull spread more genetic material across the squared circle than a single season of CSI: Miami defiled million-dollar beachside mansions. He dropped a dirty chokebomb… and we weren’t better because of it. Logan Demon Joker might be the worst sort of pariah, but he didn’t deserve your brand of ritualistic cleansing!”
Teijin follows that huffing and puffing with another messy swipe of fries.
”Where will Action Wrestling be when the Corey Bulls, Bobby Rages – and yes, even soul-eaters like Walter – carve this promotion into cuts of beef? Relegating anyone that can’t reach those high up cabinets – where mom hid THE BEST cookies – because only big, scary boys get the best rewards. Well I say no more. I’m ready to die upon a hill at Clash, even if I really die in the process. Because the rise of sneak attacks, scuzzy valets and private armies is killing us from the inside, Action Wrestling. When will you fans wake up to an unpopular rumbling in your tummy? Heartburn from digesting Turmoil: Wrestler of the Year. These queasy thoughts of tomorrow and a world ruled by bullies. God save the god-fearing.”
His vape coils a contrail of purple smoke around him, but still, he cannot complete the trick.
”Adel Mode Activated… when people like Corey Bull are going to scope out his match on the card with a stupid chortle. Then he’ll do some druid shit in the woods before gliding each leg over the top rope. Closing in on me with an intent to destroy my career. He’ll see a non-threatening bitch ass in the other corner. A bell will ring, and we will have a meeting of wills. Wherein I will belt a note so beautiful that the world will lose a heartbeat and weep. Adel Mode deactivating...."
Teijin scarfs down the last of his heart attack basket to face his phone like a swollen John Schnatter living off 40+ pizzas over 30 days.
We can’t help ourselves… we stick to one road and never swerve. If you’re seeing the cycles of victimization and redemption, then good, you might just pass this class on thug-a-nomics. You’re probably wondering why I’m still here since most of AW wants to punch me in the face. It’s because my pointless life – that once was Minecraft grief’ing and gamer fuel – gained meaning. I am the chosen one from wardrobe to defeat evil, including you, Hatebringer. Don’t look sad Quellor when Teddy Ruxpin ruins your evil plots again, and again, and again. Baddassery is all in the heart.”
“Celine Dion, you fucking Queen”
”Time to be a lifestyle podcast and address some in-house business… First, Shadowlove, fuck you. Don’t think I’m going to let your beautiful army get away with ruining my streak with a fatass’ dream of a Double DQ. Also, you have something that belongs to my family. Jubei is rotting in his grave, but my mom wants to enshrine it as an heirloom. How long do you think I can lie about not wearing it before she gets suspicious? So… I now have to crack your skull. You might have your eyes our shiny, new US title… but my day of reckoning is much closer than you think.”
“Can anyone tell me why some chick bashed my skull in with a weapon last week? I get that I complain about the Right on Twitter – as every good snowflake should – but am I that much of a target that a rogue agent is free to ambush me during concussion protocol. I WILL bring justice to you and anyone that opens their doors the same, Lestrange. You might be bottom of my shit list… but you’re still squarely on it IN BOLD.”[/colot]
Teijin throws away his trash, but not without dropping a final zinger.
“Hey Bull, I hope you like getting Aaron Carter’ed Motherfucker.”
The distance between Vegas and San Antonio takes its toll. Masuda fights to keep his head from resting on the steering wheel. Wherein he drives into a perfect storm: a food coma, plus another sleepless night, all while anxiety goes for a soul crushing reach-around. That melting road blurs with scenic views of old Yokohama… where the demonic spirit of his dead uncle dwells. Where it still has power over him. Japanese returns as if riding bike, except, it comes in the form of Masuda Jubei.
Jubei: Stand for yourself, Tonchiki!
Teijin: I’m not a dingbat!
Jubei: Spoken like a man… but are we convinced, Shoda-san?
Shoda: Not in the least, Jubei-sama.
Something flashbangs his sight: Xenon headlights cauterizing his retinas. A panicked swerve almost sends him off the road. His breathing seizes and constricts. Palpitations leave him shaken. He looks down at his shameful lap and cries to the top of his lungs:
”Phone! Call Doctor Boyce!”
”To use talk to touch—”
”Call Doctor Boyce!”
There’s a long pause before it even dials his emergency contact. Finally, a voice comes through, but not sensing his level of urgency.
“Teijin, are you crying? Did you remember to your breathing exercises?”
Here’s back… help me!
Hachiro: Please, give me all your strength, Teijin.
Jubei: Shut up! Tonchiki! Swing the bat at his knees!
Teijin: I can’t uncle.
Jubei: Don’t think of Hachiro-san… think of your useless father then. I know you can strike that bastard.
Teijin springs from his hotel covers, blinded in seconds by the endless daylight of Las Vegas. He groans feeling a head rush. AW’s medical staff had to patch him up for the second week in a row, following the unprovoked attack by one Phoenix Lestrange. A blind hand, wrist deep in his room’s ice bucket, fishes out an icepack from a tepid layer of water. He applies it while responding to a text chain:
”I’m fine, don’t worry about me, sis.”
bakayaru…”
”AW has better doctors than my last
promotion. People with degrees...”
”I know that, but just be careful
We all miss you ani-chan…”
In lieu of deflating her concerns, he seeks a refreshing blast of cold water from the bathroom sink. One of the nicer amenities afforded by Action Wrestling’s roots in Sin City. Yellowing bruises blotch his eye—nothing a little concealer can't fix. The very moment he regrets leaving his baby sister on hold, whose knowledge of contouring could make all the difference. Teijin opts for the Jessie Pinkman look instead.
”You can run from being a Masuda
Maybe it’s time you learned that…
I did”
Teijin wanders from there with his Juul pen and a tiny bottle. He sits a while blowing O’s with a vape tricks tutorial video going off his phone. Dawn breaks through the limelight darkness of the Vegas Strip, but it still gives off a mechanical feel. The last piece of Teijin’s morning ritual leaves him in a better state: Painting his nails a metallic shade equivalent to cornflower blue—what the designer named “Neutron Blue”—with dreams of matching Jeffrey Star’s acrylics game.
”Nice nails for a slob”
”You’re just jelly ”
He arrives at Avis where his rental awaits. He reserved a sport option that he can speed, and maybe, Tokyo drift in on the long road to San Antonio. It’s not long before the call of the wild—those smothered “Animal Fries” from In and Out—brings him to a quiet parking lot at 10:45 AM.
“Where were you Action Wrestling? Am I not destined to leave your repetitive cycle of addiction for a safe zone? Somewhere where I can be me, and not have another sad panda day.”
Teijin wipes off that money shot of pinkish-orange sauce from his lips. He does so with attention for his precious blue nails, which take on a new sheen in the true daylight in Kingam, Arizona.
“Thanks for noticing, Twitter, but my nail game is just the first thing you need to know about me before you can truly ‘follow’ this pan boi’s energy. Do I slay it everyday… fuck yes. Do I intend to bring that potency to Action Wrestling as it has never seen before… guess you’ll find out why I’m not a snapchat darling. Because what’s left in my wake lasts longer than 10 seconds. I alter the goddamn biodome!”
“How did Peter Parker overcome Flash when he still doled out noogies and gave nerds the Riverdale equivalent of waterboarding? He stumbled onto super powers and became Spiderman! And while I prefer Gwen Stacey as my web shooter, there’s something to be said about defending yourself in the modern age. Homecoming changed the entire game board. Flash doesn’t ‘froggy’ your arm until it forms a goose egg. Nowadays, he’s a wimpy millennial like me – too terrified of a physical challenge with only sarcasm as his edge. Gone and dead are the tough guys who stood up to bullies… or so the boomers want us to think.”
Teijin blows a couple O’s from his vape pen. He fails at the “jellyfish” trick he’d been practicing for weeks, leading to another massive handful of Animal Fries shoveled into his grungy gob. Vibrations surge across the hood of his rental car.
“Are you recording more bullshit?
Or are you avoiding me again?”
“It’s true that people stopped talking face-to-face. No more rendezvous or tête-à-tête with Mr. Darcy. The hunks of old are gone. Now the people have to follow my humungous sack of shit personality. Although there's a common experience that pushes people to wallop the Scut Farkus’es of everyday turmoil: bullying. And no Corey, this isn’t a bad pun or some TikTok game. I tap dance around oafs like you because I stab straight into hearts of humanity and bite their pumping vessels like MF’ing Kano while you’re still on a soapbox pontificating. Yeah, I waste my education on doomsayers and virgin misers. But hey, if you keep playing your cards right—even Jaws from James Bond found true love… before he died space… but hey, just keep looking for the Bride of Bull… and with it, you’ll see there’s a folly in your stars after all.”
“How much Celine Dion have you been listen to??”
”Stop spying on my Spotify!
”Corey Bull is the harbinger of Action Wrestling’s demise, or so he told us by mopping our ring with LDJ. An act of environmental terrorism so heinous that Bull spread more genetic material across the squared circle than a single season of CSI: Miami defiled million-dollar beachside mansions. He dropped a dirty chokebomb… and we weren’t better because of it. Logan Demon Joker might be the worst sort of pariah, but he didn’t deserve your brand of ritualistic cleansing!”
Teijin follows that huffing and puffing with another messy swipe of fries.
”Where will Action Wrestling be when the Corey Bulls, Bobby Rages – and yes, even soul-eaters like Walter – carve this promotion into cuts of beef? Relegating anyone that can’t reach those high up cabinets – where mom hid THE BEST cookies – because only big, scary boys get the best rewards. Well I say no more. I’m ready to die upon a hill at Clash, even if I really die in the process. Because the rise of sneak attacks, scuzzy valets and private armies is killing us from the inside, Action Wrestling. When will you fans wake up to an unpopular rumbling in your tummy? Heartburn from digesting Turmoil: Wrestler of the Year. These queasy thoughts of tomorrow and a world ruled by bullies. God save the god-fearing.”
His vape coils a contrail of purple smoke around him, but still, he cannot complete the trick.
”Adel Mode Activated… when people like Corey Bull are going to scope out his match on the card with a stupid chortle. Then he’ll do some druid shit in the woods before gliding each leg over the top rope. Closing in on me with an intent to destroy my career. He’ll see a non-threatening bitch ass in the other corner. A bell will ring, and we will have a meeting of wills. Wherein I will belt a note so beautiful that the world will lose a heartbeat and weep. Adel Mode deactivating...."
Teijin scarfs down the last of his heart attack basket to face his phone like a swollen John Schnatter living off 40+ pizzas over 30 days.
We can’t help ourselves… we stick to one road and never swerve. If you’re seeing the cycles of victimization and redemption, then good, you might just pass this class on thug-a-nomics. You’re probably wondering why I’m still here since most of AW wants to punch me in the face. It’s because my pointless life – that once was Minecraft grief’ing and gamer fuel – gained meaning. I am the chosen one from wardrobe to defeat evil, including you, Hatebringer. Don’t look sad Quellor when Teddy Ruxpin ruins your evil plots again, and again, and again. Baddassery is all in the heart.”
“Celine Dion, you fucking Queen”
“Love you too, imoto-chan ”
”Time to be a lifestyle podcast and address some in-house business… First, Shadowlove, fuck you. Don’t think I’m going to let your beautiful army get away with ruining my streak with a fatass’ dream of a Double DQ. Also, you have something that belongs to my family. Jubei is rotting in his grave, but my mom wants to enshrine it as an heirloom. How long do you think I can lie about not wearing it before she gets suspicious? So… I now have to crack your skull. You might have your eyes our shiny, new US title… but my day of reckoning is much closer than you think.”
“Can anyone tell me why some chick bashed my skull in with a weapon last week? I get that I complain about the Right on Twitter – as every good snowflake should – but am I that much of a target that a rogue agent is free to ambush me during concussion protocol. I WILL bring justice to you and anyone that opens their doors the same, Lestrange. You might be bottom of my shit list… but you’re still squarely on it IN BOLD.”[/colot]
Teijin throws away his trash, but not without dropping a final zinger.
“Hey Bull, I hope you like getting Aaron Carter’ed Motherfucker.”
The distance between Vegas and San Antonio takes its toll. Masuda fights to keep his head from resting on the steering wheel. Wherein he drives into a perfect storm: a food coma, plus another sleepless night, all while anxiety goes for a soul crushing reach-around. That melting road blurs with scenic views of old Yokohama… where the demonic spirit of his dead uncle dwells. Where it still has power over him. Japanese returns as if riding bike, except, it comes in the form of Masuda Jubei.
Jubei: Stand for yourself, Tonchiki!
Teijin: I’m not a dingbat!
Jubei: Spoken like a man… but are we convinced, Shoda-san?
Shoda: Not in the least, Jubei-sama.
Something flashbangs his sight: Xenon headlights cauterizing his retinas. A panicked swerve almost sends him off the road. His breathing seizes and constricts. Palpitations leave him shaken. He looks down at his shameful lap and cries to the top of his lungs:
”Phone! Call Doctor Boyce!”
”To use talk to touch—”
”Call Doctor Boyce!”
There’s a long pause before it even dials his emergency contact. Finally, a voice comes through, but not sensing his level of urgency.
“Teijin, are you crying? Did you remember to your breathing exercises?”
Here’s back… help me!