Post by Jericho Salazar on Jul 8, 2016 20:50:32 GMT -6
When you take a blow to the back of the head, the world has its brightness turned down. The volume, turned down. It’s finally quiet, something I haven’t heard in a long time. Peace is not something I have felt in a long time, not since th3 wav3. Just before you can relax though, you hear the ringing. The inescapable ringing is a drill in both ears meeting in the middle. It’s something that fades in and out as the now darkened world gets its own haze like in a smoking room, it envelopes your peripheral vision. You can yell as much as you want but the ringing trumps all.
You wake up in your bed, how did you get there? Feel the wound Jericho. How many stiches did you earn in that ring? Run your fingers down it, who fixed the hole in your head? A better question is how much did you pay him? Four stiches Jericho, you earned four stiches. Someone is going to pay for these stiches, who should it be? The one who did it or your next opponent?
The ringing is fading, no its changing. Its changing to something more mechanical, the ringing is blaring. Its grinding in a continuous rate, it hurts more than the overwhelming ringing. Why doesn’t it stop Jericho? Make it stop! Get up! Get up and let the world kick you in the nuts like it always does.
Jericho: One day I’d like to get up without this fucking clock going off. Fuck this thing.
Jericho slaps his alarm off, knocking it over and onto the floor. He looks at it and scoffs, before getting up and sliding on his work pants then looking outside into the ghetto he lives in. Coke is being sold by dirty, nappy haired junkies in torn clothing in the park next to him, hooded thugs are breaking into cars to steal radios and packs of cigarettes left in them, and bums huddle around the warmth of a trash fire. Cops don’t show up in this neighborhood, why would they? The gangs use their cars for target practice anyway. The gun shots have started early today, someone must have been cought on someone else’s turf. Jericho scowls and walks down to his kitchen, ghettos like this are home to him, they are a part of him, after living in the worst part of East Oakland.
Jericho: Fuck me, out of bananas. Guess I gotta go to the grocery today. Fuck it I’ll call in sick, not work’n with this head ache.
Jericho slaps on a stained shirt left on a broken chair in the kitchen, smelled good enough to be clean. He sinks a spoon into his last jar of crunchy peanut butter, swallows a spoonful and tosses it into a mug filled with dirty water. His kitchen is dark with only one window looking out above his sink and no lights. His fridge is big enough to fit all the banana bushels and peanut butter jars he buys and survives off of. He walks out into his almost empty living room and back up his creaky stairs to his cell phone he left charging on the night stand next his old bed.
Going through his contacts list he eventually finds his work number under the contact: HELL.
Phone: …. …. ….
Jericho: C’mon Fuck head answer.
Phone: Front desk, Joanne speaking.
Jericho: This is Jericho Salazar, tell Andre I’m calling in sick.
Joanne: Of course sir, I’d be happy to connect you to him.
Jericho: Wait what? Oh Bitch!
Jericho falls back onto his bed and puts his face into his palms, letting out a tired grunt, with his phone falling next to him.
Andre: Andre speaking
Jericho: It’s me Jericho, I’m calling in sick
Andre: Ok but I could really use your he-
Jericho swiftly hangs up his phone before Andre could try to coax him into coming in for work.
Jericho: pffffffft, fuck it, time to get my boots on. Walk down to the fucking store.
Jericho stands up from his bed, his frustration with the day has already put a permanent scowl on his face. A sweet cigarette will calm your nerves Jericho. He puts the filter to his lips and strikes a match left on the black dresser. Drag it deep Jericho. You earned this.
Jericho: ooooooowHAt thHHHe fffffffUCk?
Its time again Jericho, its time again. Go back Jericho, you need to go back. Fasten your seat belt Jericho, make sure it fits snug, tighter Jericho, don’t let the blood seep out. Apply pressure to the wound, you made a promise Jericho, you need to keep it. Put your seat back to its full upright position, the TV isn’t so much dim as it off. The darkness is beginning to fill in for your sight. We have taken off Jericho, you are weightless, you finally feel free. You are happy. We will be landing shortly. The ringing is back.
Jericho opens his eyes to a blur of images, from his boots, to his dresser, to his bed, all of it was spinning in a drunken hurricane. The images all begin to slow until finally everything is in its place. His cigarette had gone out and landed in front of him. His window illuminates his room, dust being settled on things, his work shirts scattered around his room, his unmade bed.
Jericho begins to muster the strength to get up. Inch by inch he pushes his body off the cold hard wood floor, his reflection in his closet mirror mocking him as his does it. Every motion causes a twinge of pain to shoot through his head wound. Making sure to grab his cigarette first, he uses his blood stained bed to haul the rest of his body up to its feet.
Jericho: its getting to be that time again. Time for me to go home, I’ll go after my match. For fuck sake who am I even facing? Where is my phone? There you are you little fuck.
Jericho looks through the UCI website till he finds his match against Eli Young. He takes a moment to look at his picture.
Jericho: OH OK SURE LETS JUST HAVE ME GO UP AGAINST ANOTHER FUCKING CLOWN, TWO WEEKS IN A ROW! WHAT, AM I GOING UP AGAINST SCARECROW NEXT SO I CAN JUST FIGHT ALL THE FACE PAINT FAGGOTS IN A ROW? I mean god damn look at this kid! Congratulations you look like you want Tech 9 to butt fuck you behind stage. “URGH I DON’T WEAR SLEEVES CUZ IM SO FRICK FUCKING EXTREME!” Like oh man how more of a faggot can this guy be? And what the fuck did you really leave the house that morning and say, “ya that looks good!” I HOPE HIS MASCARA RUNS DOWN TO HIS VAGINA ONCE I MAKE HIM CRY!
And oh boy he is from an asylum? So what am I just beating the fuck out of the mentally retarded now? That’s not even fair I can fucking murder this kid! “UGH I CAN’T DROWN MY DEMONS, THEY KNOW HOW TO SWIM!” HOLY SHIT IM GOING UP AGAINST ANOTHER FUCKING 12-YEAR-OLD EDGE LORD. And on top of that this one looks like he needs to lay off the donuts cuz he got a bit ‘o gut on ‘em don’t he! Man I hope I can get my arms around this fat tub ‘o lard! Oh man maybe if I play Colored houses he’ll start jacking off in the ring like, “OH YA TECH! UGH! TELL ME HOW BLACK PEOPLE DON’T LIKE YOUR MUSIC! YA, I UNDER STAND CUZ NO ONE LIKES ME EITHER, AND IF THEY DID I WOULDN’T LIKE THEM BACK CUZ THAT WOULD BE GAY! JUST LIKE ME, I MEAN IM NOT GAY. IM TOO MANLY TO BE GAY.”
DUDE, I bet this is the guy that hired Logan Demon Joker to be the clown at his birthday! Eli, you want to see violence I’ll show you violence you little fag. You are so unprepared for what you are going up against. I was looking for something to take out this frustration on and its gonna be you. Doctor Jericho Salazar is in the house and your gonna need every treatment that asylum offers to recover from the torture I put you through, you ass clown. You’re gonna wake up in a cold sweat for MONTHS when I’m done with you. There’ll be no need to bring a stretcher to this fight because they are gonna drag your faggoty-clown ass away in a body bag. I’m gonna knock your ass all the way to the shrink’s office you fucktard. You try and pull that barbwire bat out and I’ll snap your arm in three places, take that bat, shove it up your ass, and turn you into a clown-sicle. If you’re a good boy I might even spit on it to lube it up first. Only hardcore you are gonna see, other than the hardcore gay porn you watch, is the hardcore beat down I give to you when we meet.
I am going to break you, your body, your spirit, and your mind. Your body when I crush you with everything I have. I am going to hold no punch and I won’t stop until I leave your fat, clown carcass a bloody smear on that mat, they are going to have to glue you back together in hell. That body bag I mentioned is just gonna be full of chunks of meat when I’m done with you. Your spirit when every punch you throw does nothing to me because you are week. Your last opponent was some fat ass virgin, much like yourself, but me I’m a whole other ball game bitch.
You wake up in your bed, how did you get there? Feel the wound Jericho. How many stiches did you earn in that ring? Run your fingers down it, who fixed the hole in your head? A better question is how much did you pay him? Four stiches Jericho, you earned four stiches. Someone is going to pay for these stiches, who should it be? The one who did it or your next opponent?
The ringing is fading, no its changing. Its changing to something more mechanical, the ringing is blaring. Its grinding in a continuous rate, it hurts more than the overwhelming ringing. Why doesn’t it stop Jericho? Make it stop! Get up! Get up and let the world kick you in the nuts like it always does.
Jericho: One day I’d like to get up without this fucking clock going off. Fuck this thing.
Jericho slaps his alarm off, knocking it over and onto the floor. He looks at it and scoffs, before getting up and sliding on his work pants then looking outside into the ghetto he lives in. Coke is being sold by dirty, nappy haired junkies in torn clothing in the park next to him, hooded thugs are breaking into cars to steal radios and packs of cigarettes left in them, and bums huddle around the warmth of a trash fire. Cops don’t show up in this neighborhood, why would they? The gangs use their cars for target practice anyway. The gun shots have started early today, someone must have been cought on someone else’s turf. Jericho scowls and walks down to his kitchen, ghettos like this are home to him, they are a part of him, after living in the worst part of East Oakland.
Jericho: Fuck me, out of bananas. Guess I gotta go to the grocery today. Fuck it I’ll call in sick, not work’n with this head ache.
Jericho slaps on a stained shirt left on a broken chair in the kitchen, smelled good enough to be clean. He sinks a spoon into his last jar of crunchy peanut butter, swallows a spoonful and tosses it into a mug filled with dirty water. His kitchen is dark with only one window looking out above his sink and no lights. His fridge is big enough to fit all the banana bushels and peanut butter jars he buys and survives off of. He walks out into his almost empty living room and back up his creaky stairs to his cell phone he left charging on the night stand next his old bed.
Going through his contacts list he eventually finds his work number under the contact: HELL.
Phone: …. …. ….
Jericho: C’mon Fuck head answer.
Phone: Front desk, Joanne speaking.
Jericho: This is Jericho Salazar, tell Andre I’m calling in sick.
Joanne: Of course sir, I’d be happy to connect you to him.
Jericho: Wait what? Oh Bitch!
Jericho falls back onto his bed and puts his face into his palms, letting out a tired grunt, with his phone falling next to him.
Andre: Andre speaking
Jericho: It’s me Jericho, I’m calling in sick
Andre: Ok but I could really use your he-
Jericho swiftly hangs up his phone before Andre could try to coax him into coming in for work.
Jericho: pffffffft, fuck it, time to get my boots on. Walk down to the fucking store.
Jericho stands up from his bed, his frustration with the day has already put a permanent scowl on his face. A sweet cigarette will calm your nerves Jericho. He puts the filter to his lips and strikes a match left on the black dresser. Drag it deep Jericho. You earned this.
Jericho: ooooooowHAt thHHHe fffffffUCk?
Its time again Jericho, its time again. Go back Jericho, you need to go back. Fasten your seat belt Jericho, make sure it fits snug, tighter Jericho, don’t let the blood seep out. Apply pressure to the wound, you made a promise Jericho, you need to keep it. Put your seat back to its full upright position, the TV isn’t so much dim as it off. The darkness is beginning to fill in for your sight. We have taken off Jericho, you are weightless, you finally feel free. You are happy. We will be landing shortly. The ringing is back.
Jericho opens his eyes to a blur of images, from his boots, to his dresser, to his bed, all of it was spinning in a drunken hurricane. The images all begin to slow until finally everything is in its place. His cigarette had gone out and landed in front of him. His window illuminates his room, dust being settled on things, his work shirts scattered around his room, his unmade bed.
Jericho begins to muster the strength to get up. Inch by inch he pushes his body off the cold hard wood floor, his reflection in his closet mirror mocking him as his does it. Every motion causes a twinge of pain to shoot through his head wound. Making sure to grab his cigarette first, he uses his blood stained bed to haul the rest of his body up to its feet.
Jericho: its getting to be that time again. Time for me to go home, I’ll go after my match. For fuck sake who am I even facing? Where is my phone? There you are you little fuck.
Jericho looks through the UCI website till he finds his match against Eli Young. He takes a moment to look at his picture.
Jericho: OH OK SURE LETS JUST HAVE ME GO UP AGAINST ANOTHER FUCKING CLOWN, TWO WEEKS IN A ROW! WHAT, AM I GOING UP AGAINST SCARECROW NEXT SO I CAN JUST FIGHT ALL THE FACE PAINT FAGGOTS IN A ROW? I mean god damn look at this kid! Congratulations you look like you want Tech 9 to butt fuck you behind stage. “URGH I DON’T WEAR SLEEVES CUZ IM SO FRICK FUCKING EXTREME!” Like oh man how more of a faggot can this guy be? And what the fuck did you really leave the house that morning and say, “ya that looks good!” I HOPE HIS MASCARA RUNS DOWN TO HIS VAGINA ONCE I MAKE HIM CRY!
And oh boy he is from an asylum? So what am I just beating the fuck out of the mentally retarded now? That’s not even fair I can fucking murder this kid! “UGH I CAN’T DROWN MY DEMONS, THEY KNOW HOW TO SWIM!” HOLY SHIT IM GOING UP AGAINST ANOTHER FUCKING 12-YEAR-OLD EDGE LORD. And on top of that this one looks like he needs to lay off the donuts cuz he got a bit ‘o gut on ‘em don’t he! Man I hope I can get my arms around this fat tub ‘o lard! Oh man maybe if I play Colored houses he’ll start jacking off in the ring like, “OH YA TECH! UGH! TELL ME HOW BLACK PEOPLE DON’T LIKE YOUR MUSIC! YA, I UNDER STAND CUZ NO ONE LIKES ME EITHER, AND IF THEY DID I WOULDN’T LIKE THEM BACK CUZ THAT WOULD BE GAY! JUST LIKE ME, I MEAN IM NOT GAY. IM TOO MANLY TO BE GAY.”
DUDE, I bet this is the guy that hired Logan Demon Joker to be the clown at his birthday! Eli, you want to see violence I’ll show you violence you little fag. You are so unprepared for what you are going up against. I was looking for something to take out this frustration on and its gonna be you. Doctor Jericho Salazar is in the house and your gonna need every treatment that asylum offers to recover from the torture I put you through, you ass clown. You’re gonna wake up in a cold sweat for MONTHS when I’m done with you. There’ll be no need to bring a stretcher to this fight because they are gonna drag your faggoty-clown ass away in a body bag. I’m gonna knock your ass all the way to the shrink’s office you fucktard. You try and pull that barbwire bat out and I’ll snap your arm in three places, take that bat, shove it up your ass, and turn you into a clown-sicle. If you’re a good boy I might even spit on it to lube it up first. Only hardcore you are gonna see, other than the hardcore gay porn you watch, is the hardcore beat down I give to you when we meet.
I am going to break you, your body, your spirit, and your mind. Your body when I crush you with everything I have. I am going to hold no punch and I won’t stop until I leave your fat, clown carcass a bloody smear on that mat, they are going to have to glue you back together in hell. That body bag I mentioned is just gonna be full of chunks of meat when I’m done with you. Your spirit when every punch you throw does nothing to me because you are week. Your last opponent was some fat ass virgin, much like yourself, but me I’m a whole other ball game bitch.