Sunday Morning Coming Down
Feb 4, 2021 15:45:49 GMT -5
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Post by Johnny Bacchus on Feb 4, 2021 15:45:49 GMT -5
It’s Morning Again in America.
And it’s Raining Again in Portland.
It always rains on Sunday. Two things you can guarantee for a Sunday: it’s raining and Chic-Fil-A is closed. And J. Bacch is still drunk at 7 am. So I guess that’s three things.
To quote the Bard (aka Kris Kristofferson): “I’d smoked my brain the night before on cigarettes and songs that I’d been picking.” That Stump Town medium roast was stomach turning, but the food truck mecca down the block from Sizzle Pie kept me peppy AF. All things considered? Not a bad first time in Portland. 9/10. Wasn’t AW just here – like – a couple weeks ago? No complaints, just wish there was indoor dining.
As it stands, Ya Boy’s on that soggy public park bench #naplife rocking the women’s sunglasses and a fresh ushanka like a Soviet Santa Claus Pymp. That means busting five ropers for all God’s proletariat. I even got most the checklist complete last week. But now? Keep that Murder Train a’rollin’ like I play Mississippi Delta Blues.
Hand Check: Crème Brule Juul? Check. Watermelon Crush (added shot of Wray Overproof)? Check. Magic 8-Ball? Check.
That’s when I hit the Blue Steel for the camera Jen is holding (because she’s the only roomie in that godforsaken hole cool enough to humor me in this endeavor) and go TF in on a bitch.
[•REC]
Bacchus: Get daFUK ready – y’all thought Johan Sebastian Bacchus – aka Yung Toon Summon Skull aka Mom’s Best Buoy aka Twitter God-King Mongol – was gonna lose his first match?
Lawl. You and my roommate. Seriously, eat shit Karen.
Fresh off the break – locked in a dressing room so the new Aye-Dub soopa-hero wouldn’t catch a case for assaulting the only pig Circe Cicero wouldn’t kiss (I’m talking about the cop). But that’s then, now’s now. We’re flipping Trap Cards and Special Summoning brain damage to rookie-ass duelists. And for those in the Front Office who have no idea what I’m talking about, grow the fuck up and watch a 4Kidz show sometime. Embarrassing.
We’re here in Rip City – Rose City – those are all nicknames for Portland, for those of you who got a hotel here and were too lazy to pick up a brochure in the lobby (Google it). That’s like basically flipping my Field Card. And before you call me a nerd, I’m actually cute as Hell and have plenty of sex. And unlike either y’all, I got a match under my belt.
Bacchus tilts his shades up and winks.
Bacchus: Welcome to the opening act, gents. All things considered? Not a bad spot to be in – whole card is a tournament, save us. We could be Debbie Moe, probably havin’ to run a talk show segment just to get her face on TV. Maybe you’ll be here next week – maybe you’ll beat me – buuuuut….
He gives the Magic 8-Ball a shake, barely lifting his head to check the answer.
Bacchus: “My sources say No.”
He gives a shrug before letting the 8-Ball roll off his fingers to the sidewalk beneath him.
Bacchus: Jeff-Jeff, two weeks ago you signed the contract three hours after me, and I was already in your corner trying to help a yung player get on the Boob Tube. Observe:
What matters is those questions are irrelevant because I didn’t lose. So instead, I’m gonna say it’s because I was homesick, wanted a hug, and if I asked DebMoe I’d look pretty sus. That said, I’m gonna go softly on you – that’s the exact way you fall into the obvious trap. I watch this show too much for that shit. But I’m gonna be really mad at you when everyone’s pissed at me for beating up the competitive equivalent of a Telatubby.
But because the powers that be hate me, it don’t end with that? Wouldn’t that be convenient? Nah, “Sorry Johnny, not only do you have to beat up this guy who’s entire shtick is being nice, you also gotta beat up a priest. You sure you don’t wanna fight Debby Moe, too?”
Bacchus sits up, taking the sunglasses off and jabbing them at the camera.
Bacchus: I see you. I’m gonna remember this when Hollywood’s trying to poach me.
He slides the sunglasses back on his face and reclines on the bench.
Bacchus: All due respect, Father, you don’t want me in your flock. You probably peeped the last name and started crossing yourself for holy war against the degenerate heather – which is tough but fair. You can tell I’m wearing my Sunday Best for the Lord’s Day – only the most appropriate attire for ya – and I’m taking this as seriously as it deserves.
And that’s why I’ma keep it 💯, you’re in the same position as I was two weeks ago: fresh meat trying to make a big name off the backs of the semi-established. No place for a holy man here on the bottom – this the lion’s den and you ain’t Daniel. It’s dog eat dog, and killing is a sin.
He sits up and leans down, picking up the Magic 8-Ball again.
Bacchus: But we believe in divine providence, yeah? How about a sign? Heavenly Father, is John Bacchus goin’ 2-0?
He gave a shake, checked the answer, and held it to the camera.
Bacchus: Outlook good.