The Promotion
Jun 17, 2016 11:31:23 GMT -6
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Spencer Adams, The Polar Phantasm, and 1 more like this
Post by Mr. Wright on Jun 17, 2016 11:31:23 GMT -6
A Taylor Wright Tale
Chapter 7: Reemergence
As I sit in the back of the shitty abandoned warehouse we wrestle in having my knee checked out by a hot nurse I suddenly forgot why I was there. I was enamored by her fat titties that seemed to heave with each breath taken towards me closer and closer. Hours seemed to go by and I couldn’t take my eyes off hose bad boys. They seemed to grow larger and larger and it was becoming increasingly harder to control my urges. I had to get me a taste. I had to motorboat those puppies… I’m a motor-boating sum’ bitch.
I reached forward, slowly yet aggressively. I was gon’ grab me a piece of them. And as my hands got closer the excitement down nearly came to a climax and as my fingertips clasped down around the huge mama jamas I felt nothing but my own hand.
What the hell happened? I reached again and again and my hand went right through them like they were holograms or some shit. It was fuccin’ annoying as shit. So I stopped and revaluated where I was. Suddenly things came into a bit more focus. The stunningly attractive nurse was no longer there, but substituted with an empty room with shipstock walls.
I could see every imperfection in the wall, every blotch; every mis-painted panel. It was poor craftsmanship at best and then I eyed the door to the exit. I had no idea wat fuccin’ time it was or really where I was but the room was closing in on me and I busted ass outta that room.
I was in that shitty fuccin’ warehouse where Lazarus was taking place. And then my knee hurt. And then I remembered that fuccin’ prick Julian Mercury decided to chop block me after I kicked his ass in our match. That pussy ass bitch, thinks he’s gon’ get away wit’ that. I’ll make sure he’s admitted into Hope Valley Hospital soon enough.
But for now I was coming down off what I assume is an oxycodone trip, I had been on enough trips to know the difference between Oxy and Vicadin, and after that awesome hallucination I had I got a hard-on I can’t keep down. In my travels I had found a nice rub and tug place and thought that it was better than getting a whore at this hour.
As I walked down 3rd Ave I found it hard to recognize any of the landmarks. My mind was going in and out but I had been through a lot of shit lately. Neon lights and oncoming traffic made it harder to concentrate than normal. I thought about Sara, and how happy she must be with her new family. I longed to reach out to her, to touch her, to hold her again, but I knew that it would only hut her. And as good as it would make me feel in the moment it would be the wrong thing to do.
Maybe I reveled in my own self-pity. Maybe it was easier for me to let her go then to have to take care of her… this selfless act I thought I was undertaking may be one of the most selfish things that I’ve ever done. It don’t matter at this point. At this point she belongs to that family now and I just have to hope that the decision was right.
I was fairly certain about the decision I was gon’ make soon. The lovely Asian woman rubbing my back asked me to turn over. She move the towel out of the way and pointed at it.
“You want me massage that?” She asked with a smile and not really waiting for me to respond before grasping it with kung-fu grip.
“Yes.” I answered unenthusiastically. And as she yanked away at it I simply sat there and waited for it to feel good. Maybe it was the Oxy, or maybe it was because she wasn’t really that hot or anything, or maybe she sucked at it (if only she literally sucked at it, amirite?) but I just laid there and even though I felt what was happening I didn’t particularly enjoy it.
In the past I used to think about baseball or some shit to help me last longer… this time I wanted to speed it up. The soothing music with bells and a sitar was oddly relaxing and the dimmed lights covered with red sheets added to the intimacy of the room and almost made me forget that another guy got jerked off here probably like 10 minutes ago, and another guy was getting jerked off like 10 feet away.
I closed my eyes and thought of some of the more erotic experiences of my life and it started to feel a bit better, but still nothing great. She lifted her shirt and let me touch her and yes, we were finally done shortly after, but I didn’t feel satisfied.
I guess that happens from time to time. I guess that sometimes meaningless sexual experiences begin to become uninteresting without having an underlying familiarity beneath it. I thought back to that amazing Uber ride I took back on Long Island and that stunningly attractive Hungarian chick that drove me. She was so smart, and so funny. She was a 7 on a scale of 1-10 but her personality made her a 12.
If I could only find a chick like her, I thought as I walked back down the streets of Hope Valley. The place really needed a lot of work. Gun shots could be heard in the distance; people screaming… if only there were some superheroes or sumthin’ like in the comic books to help us rid the streets of the scum. But then again, I used to be that scum, and at any moment could very become that scum again.
And that’s why I could never score a classy broad like Derin and that’s why I hit the closest bar to my apartment building. I ordered a Zimquila and they told me about the only place in town that could legally sell that to me. So I got some Patron because if I really want to have a shitty night I have me some Patron.
I found myself a bitty who was D.T.F. with some D.S.L. and a tight little A.S.S. The booze helped me forget my lack of desire from earlier and I led her down the street towards my shitty little apartment. She couldn’t keep her hands off me as we got near, and I had a hard time reaching into my pocket to get to my key. I had to push the bitch off me so I could open my door.
She laughed… she was drunk as shit, but I didn’t care, I was even drunker. I flipped on the lights and said,
“Wanna drink?” I had to be careful because I didn’t want her to get too drunk and lose her shit, but I carefully calculated the best I could in this state and figgered one more shot wouldn’t hurt.
“Yea, baby.” She said. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know my name. I didn’t care, I didn’t know her name either. In my head she was Derin.
“What are we drinking?” Damn, the bitch was even beginning to sound like Derin too. This shit I was drinking was strong.
“I gots some J-Mo… it reminds me of college.” I lied as I poured the whiskey. “We used to do a half shot of J-Mo, half shot of Bailey’s and drop em into a half pint o’ Guinness and we called it an Irish Car Bomb.” Probably more racist a name than I realized. “Just J-MO tonight, though, babe.”
“I thought you didn’t go to college?” She said and now I was confused as shit. This shit I’m drinking might be too strong, maybe I shouldn’t have poured this shot, but I’ve gone too far now. My whole thing was that I was a college athlete who got an ACL injury and that’s how I scored this chick in the first place. I turned around with 2 glasses and saw the two women… whatshername staring menacingly towards the last person I was expecting but the first person on my mind.
Wait… 2 women?
“Derin… what are you doing here?” I asked, ignoring the drunken slut that looked like she was ready to pounce. I was horribly embarrassed. I never wanted this woman to see me like this, I only wanted her to see me at my best and right now I was far from it.
“Hey Taylor,” She started, surprisingly apathetic about the situation she found herself in. “Mr. Sanchez gave me a job on his administration. You’ve got a press conference tomorrow and he wanted me to prep you for it.” Though outwardly she seemed unfazed by my situation, I swear I saw a twinge of disgust in her eye… or maybe it was my own disgust reflecting back at me.
“Press conference?” I asked,
“Press conference!” Whosit said with an exotic and erotic tone to her voice. Apparently the prospect of sleeping with a quasi-celebrity masked the fact that another woman was in my room.
“Press conference.” Derin smiled, God, even though her teeth are a bit crooked in the front it adds such a unique quality to her face that I couldn’t pull myself away from. “You’ve gotten a promotion- Ambassador of Urban Relations… ummm…you know what, maybe I should come back tomorrow. We have to prep for the address and perhaps right now isn’t the best time. I’ll call you in the morning.” She finished while walking towards the door.
I wanted to stop her. I wanted to tell her to stay, to tell her that I loved her. But then I looked around my room, my disgusting room, and I looked at the whore standing by the doorway. I looked at myself, covered in sweat and despair, reeking of tequila and of cheap perfume. I wanted her to see me at my best. THIS, was far from it.
So as I watched her leave I watched my dreams fade with her. The sloshed jezebel watched as well and her eyes glowed with anticipation as the door closed and it was just the two of us. She was still down and I didn’t want to let her down,
But I’m pretty sure I let her down.
A Taylor Wright Tale
Chapter 8: Cut From the Same Cloth
A Press Conference. I’ve never been part of one before. The dozens of reporters standing in front of me made me nervous. I had stripped at low end strip clubs. I’ve fought in front of a thousand people in this little shitty place in Chicago. I’ve even pretended to be a flight attendant to get a free trip to Hawaii but public speaking gave me the heebie jeebies.
Derin told me about being proper. Her help ranged from telling me to not use bad words, all the way to saying ‘Yes’ instead of ‘Yea.’ I wasn’t ready for this. Scripted reading ain’t exactly… I’m sorry… isn’t exactly my thing. That’s another thing she told me to say. She said to say ‘Isn’t’ instead of ‘Ain’t.’ It all sounded like a bunch of B.S. to me.
I wanted to speak from the heart. I wanted to first talk about my match, because that was the least important thing I had to discuss to the masses this week. Polar Phantasm was a formidable opponent, but he stood no chance against the likes of me.
I wanted to say that Polar has been around the fuccin’ universe, but in all his travels he ain’t seen the likes of me. He’s fought alien races, but when it comes to fighting humans, his skill just ain’t there. He don’t have what it takes to fight a man on earth, you know, with gravity and shit.
And he don’t understand the gravity of the situation I’ve been put in. He has no idea that he’s stepping into the ring with a man who’s lost it all. I’ve got no kids, and I’ve got no family. And the girl of my dreams thinks I’m a drunken slob who don’t even know how to contain himself in front of a crowd so she has to tell me that I can’t ‘Curse.’
But I’m sure he’s heard it all before. He and I have heard all this same shit before, because the way I understand it, he lives on the streets of space, if that makes sense. He may be able to travel the universe and go on adventures, but he ain’t nothing but a drunken slob just like me. He and I are cut from the same cloth, it seems.
When push comes to shove, we both just want the same things. We both want to save people. I’m working on a smaller level, a macro level, as Derin has informed me, and he’s working on a much bigger scale, but at the end of the day we’re both qualified for different things. I’m qualified to make sure that we down here on Earth, in the real fuccin’ world, are safe and sound. He can go galavanting form planet or planet or whatever to help out in his own way.
But one thing he’s gotta realize that this is Chicago, this is where I’ve been calling home for some time, and I see myself as a Chicagoan now. I’m from these streets, I’m from these slums. I am one of them, and ain’t no one, or nothing is gon’ try to take it away from me. This is home… Polar has no home. He best not think he’s coming here to take my home… I’ll piss all over the place to mark my territory.
I wanted to say all of that and more, but I had to gather myself and ‘act professional.’ The man in the suit- Johnson or Dick or Shlongson, or something else that means penis introduced me.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of Chicago, thank you for joining me at City Hollow. Allow me to introduce the Sanchez Administration’s NEW Ambassador of Urban Relations… Taylor Wright!”
I entered the stage from the left and did a political wave at the constituents of the crowd. That’s my $20 word of the day. I had my script waiting for me on the teleprompter in the Podium. I had to read a bit ahead, memorize it and look up. But here’s the problem. I don’t read too good. So I did my best.
“H…Hello. My name is Taylor Wright and I’m the new Ambassador of Urban Relations.” Look up, smile. “You may be wondering what this means? Well, allow me to information you. Mister Sanchez has given me the great r-resp-responsibility of entering the streets of Chicago and using my ex-exper-experts to give the lower class a chance to succeed.” Look up… smile.
Nailed it.
“Speak from the heart.” Look up… smile.
“No… speak form the heart!” A man shouted form the side and I remembered. At this point they wanted me to talk about my past, and why I think Sanchez chose me for this job. This part I felt comfortable with, even if I missed my mark.
“Ha… speaking from the heart…” Nailed it… “I have to say that I was surprised that Sanchez asked me to do this. I grew up with no mom and no dad. I was not lucky enough to be an orphan bouncing form foster homes. I had to grow up and scrounge for food in the garbage in the streets of New York. And, yes, even though I didn’t grow up here, I grew up just like the rest of the poor souls here. I never thought that I would be part of such an amazing political campaign.
And I believe that I am the right man for the job. I believe that I understand the needs and desires of the people and that I can help make their lives better. Mayor Sanchez has already began with the opening of Hope Valley Hospital, and hundreds have already received the best healthcare they’ve ever received.”
The crowd cheered and I smiled. My best line was my own and… yes… Fuccin’ Nailed It! A Lady raised her hand and I instinctively pointed at her, before remembering Derin telling me not to accept any questions.
“Lana Hotblonde; Chicago Tribune- With this election Day Overload episode looming in UCI, why are you so vehemently campaigning for David Sanchez, rather than yourself?”
I was shocked. I didn’t think Overload was going to make such a quick appearance here in this Press Conference, but it has apparently hit Chicago by storm and the fact that this underground phenomena will be hitting the streets of Chicago next week has not been lost on the media.
“Well, thanks to the efforts of Mayor David Sanchez, UCI is no longer illegal, so I feel that it is my duty to promote him as the future UCI World Champion rather than myself.”
Lana followed up. I shouldn’t have let her, but I felt I was on the right path here so I went off script.
“But this could potentially be a four-way match. Why wouldn’t you at least want to be a part of it? At the very least wouldn’t it help Mayor Sanchez win the match if you were fighting on his behalf?”
“That… is very true, but… well… it’s not what we discussed.”
She was relentless, and not in an Andre Holmes sorta way, I wish I remembered to ignore her in the first place.
“But the odds would be in the favor of the people helping make this city great again if you did. Why do you succumb to the whim of Mayor Sanchez like this? Why don’t you fight for yourself?”
“I ALWAYS fight for myself. For my entire life every fight I’ve been in… and I mean EVERY fight has been for self-preservation. It’s been to protect myself from the dangers of living on the street. A bum would come up to me and try to piss in my box… I couldn’t have his scent in my home so I would knock him the fuck out…”
Some admins in the Sanchez organization whispered loudly at me to stop from off stage, but it was too late. This bitch reporter was trying to get into my head, and I wasn’t gon’ let her fuck wit’ me like dat. The polite boots were taken off and the ass kickin’ boots were placed on.
Time to kick ass.
“Listen, bitch…” I was gon’ get fined for that one. “I don’t go over there and tell you which crayons to use while coloring in your book ‘dere, don’t you come at me with wild accusations telling me that I don’t fight for myself. I know what’s best for me right now more than anyone else could know. No one knows me better than I do, and no one other than me is going out there to put my life on the line every day.
You sit there in your hundred dollar coat and your million dollar smile and you act all high and mighty, but what have you done in your life to make you relevant. Nuttin’ that’s what. You ain’t done jack shit but ask people who other people admire leading questions to drive them to this break point.
I’m out here every day, tryin’ to do whats right for the people of Chicago, and most of all, and call me selfish or whatever, I’m tryin’ to do what’s right for me. Maybe going for the World Title isn’t the best idea for me, ever think of that. Maybe I’m content to grow as a person and as a wrestler without having outlandish and unattainable goals for myself, huh?
The way I see it, the way I’ve ALWAYS lived my life is to take it one step at a time, one day at a time. Last week I faced someone named Julian Mercury and this week I face a guy named Polar Phantasm. I’m stayin’ up in the clouds but it’s time to crash back down to reality. It’s time for me to show this Phantasm what a real fighter looks like.
This guy goes out, hunting baddies in space while I’m here helping baddies and good guys alike because people ain’t bad, they just got no other choice, ya dig? We gotta help these people, not hurt them. We gotta teach them how to be better. People like Polar Phantasm and the rest o’ dose Guardians gotta see that this ain’t science fiction, this is reality, and when it comes down to it, my gat will knock this shit outta their cardboard light sabers or whatever shit they got going on…
You see…”
Suddenly, two burley security guards came and dragged me off the stage. I screamed and cursed, but it didn’t do nothin’.
“I fight for what’s right. Fuck if you know what I know. You don’t know shit!” I screamed as these guys had me overpowered, and I’ve been in enough shitty situations to know why my number was called. They dragged me across the street and that magical door opened and this time I was tossed in with fuccin’ authority.
I saw the menacing and diabolical face of David Sanchez looking back at me, and for the first time he laid his hands on me. Well, the back of one hand as he bitch slapped me across the face.
“What are you, fucking stupid? You’re a fucking imbecile. This was your opportunity to shine. I gave you a promotion that I could have given to anybody because I trusted you could handle it. You let me down, son… you don’t want to let me down.”
“That bitch was egging me on…” I explained but he stopped me short.
“Of course she did. That’s her job, to get a story out of you. You weren’t even supposed to take questions. You’ve let your hubris take over once again and look where you are. That apartment that you…” He shook his head as his phone vibrated in his pocket. “100 plus notifications?”
He opened up his @cityhollow Twitter account and read them aloud.
“@1xbitten2xshy: Finally somebody saying the right thing @cityhollow really chose the Wright Man for the job.
@blackrichard: Wright knew what he was talking about. @cityhollow really knows whats best for Hope Valley
@gatsgatsgats: @cityhollow Gats gats gats gats… well that one doesn’t make sense.
But I have to admit. I might have underestimated the stupidity of this city. And in turn underestimated your stupidity.”
“Thanks?” I asked… I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a compliment.
“My approval ratings are through the roof with your outburst. And to think, I was going to remove you from your position. Even the greatest minds can make mistakes. HOWEVER, do NOT think you’re going to get away with this. I expect a public apology to be given next week.”
I got lucky. He kept talking but it was hard for me to get through my shame. I thought I had lost it all, but a public apology was a small punishment considering that I could be living on the streets again. Suddenly I heard Sanchez again.
“But that being said, I think it’s time that we expand our territory a bit.”
“I heard about a place right outside of Hope Valley… It sells Zimquilas…”
“Perfect.” Sanchez said as he sipped his whiskey.
Chapter 7: Reemergence
As I sit in the back of the shitty abandoned warehouse we wrestle in having my knee checked out by a hot nurse I suddenly forgot why I was there. I was enamored by her fat titties that seemed to heave with each breath taken towards me closer and closer. Hours seemed to go by and I couldn’t take my eyes off hose bad boys. They seemed to grow larger and larger and it was becoming increasingly harder to control my urges. I had to get me a taste. I had to motorboat those puppies… I’m a motor-boating sum’ bitch.
I reached forward, slowly yet aggressively. I was gon’ grab me a piece of them. And as my hands got closer the excitement down nearly came to a climax and as my fingertips clasped down around the huge mama jamas I felt nothing but my own hand.
What the hell happened? I reached again and again and my hand went right through them like they were holograms or some shit. It was fuccin’ annoying as shit. So I stopped and revaluated where I was. Suddenly things came into a bit more focus. The stunningly attractive nurse was no longer there, but substituted with an empty room with shipstock walls.
I could see every imperfection in the wall, every blotch; every mis-painted panel. It was poor craftsmanship at best and then I eyed the door to the exit. I had no idea wat fuccin’ time it was or really where I was but the room was closing in on me and I busted ass outta that room.
I was in that shitty fuccin’ warehouse where Lazarus was taking place. And then my knee hurt. And then I remembered that fuccin’ prick Julian Mercury decided to chop block me after I kicked his ass in our match. That pussy ass bitch, thinks he’s gon’ get away wit’ that. I’ll make sure he’s admitted into Hope Valley Hospital soon enough.
But for now I was coming down off what I assume is an oxycodone trip, I had been on enough trips to know the difference between Oxy and Vicadin, and after that awesome hallucination I had I got a hard-on I can’t keep down. In my travels I had found a nice rub and tug place and thought that it was better than getting a whore at this hour.
As I walked down 3rd Ave I found it hard to recognize any of the landmarks. My mind was going in and out but I had been through a lot of shit lately. Neon lights and oncoming traffic made it harder to concentrate than normal. I thought about Sara, and how happy she must be with her new family. I longed to reach out to her, to touch her, to hold her again, but I knew that it would only hut her. And as good as it would make me feel in the moment it would be the wrong thing to do.
Maybe I reveled in my own self-pity. Maybe it was easier for me to let her go then to have to take care of her… this selfless act I thought I was undertaking may be one of the most selfish things that I’ve ever done. It don’t matter at this point. At this point she belongs to that family now and I just have to hope that the decision was right.
I was fairly certain about the decision I was gon’ make soon. The lovely Asian woman rubbing my back asked me to turn over. She move the towel out of the way and pointed at it.
“You want me massage that?” She asked with a smile and not really waiting for me to respond before grasping it with kung-fu grip.
“Yes.” I answered unenthusiastically. And as she yanked away at it I simply sat there and waited for it to feel good. Maybe it was the Oxy, or maybe it was because she wasn’t really that hot or anything, or maybe she sucked at it (if only she literally sucked at it, amirite?) but I just laid there and even though I felt what was happening I didn’t particularly enjoy it.
In the past I used to think about baseball or some shit to help me last longer… this time I wanted to speed it up. The soothing music with bells and a sitar was oddly relaxing and the dimmed lights covered with red sheets added to the intimacy of the room and almost made me forget that another guy got jerked off here probably like 10 minutes ago, and another guy was getting jerked off like 10 feet away.
I closed my eyes and thought of some of the more erotic experiences of my life and it started to feel a bit better, but still nothing great. She lifted her shirt and let me touch her and yes, we were finally done shortly after, but I didn’t feel satisfied.
I guess that happens from time to time. I guess that sometimes meaningless sexual experiences begin to become uninteresting without having an underlying familiarity beneath it. I thought back to that amazing Uber ride I took back on Long Island and that stunningly attractive Hungarian chick that drove me. She was so smart, and so funny. She was a 7 on a scale of 1-10 but her personality made her a 12.
If I could only find a chick like her, I thought as I walked back down the streets of Hope Valley. The place really needed a lot of work. Gun shots could be heard in the distance; people screaming… if only there were some superheroes or sumthin’ like in the comic books to help us rid the streets of the scum. But then again, I used to be that scum, and at any moment could very become that scum again.
And that’s why I could never score a classy broad like Derin and that’s why I hit the closest bar to my apartment building. I ordered a Zimquila and they told me about the only place in town that could legally sell that to me. So I got some Patron because if I really want to have a shitty night I have me some Patron.
I found myself a bitty who was D.T.F. with some D.S.L. and a tight little A.S.S. The booze helped me forget my lack of desire from earlier and I led her down the street towards my shitty little apartment. She couldn’t keep her hands off me as we got near, and I had a hard time reaching into my pocket to get to my key. I had to push the bitch off me so I could open my door.
She laughed… she was drunk as shit, but I didn’t care, I was even drunker. I flipped on the lights and said,
“Wanna drink?” I had to be careful because I didn’t want her to get too drunk and lose her shit, but I carefully calculated the best I could in this state and figgered one more shot wouldn’t hurt.
“Yea, baby.” She said. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know my name. I didn’t care, I didn’t know her name either. In my head she was Derin.
“What are we drinking?” Damn, the bitch was even beginning to sound like Derin too. This shit I was drinking was strong.
“I gots some J-Mo… it reminds me of college.” I lied as I poured the whiskey. “We used to do a half shot of J-Mo, half shot of Bailey’s and drop em into a half pint o’ Guinness and we called it an Irish Car Bomb.” Probably more racist a name than I realized. “Just J-MO tonight, though, babe.”
“I thought you didn’t go to college?” She said and now I was confused as shit. This shit I’m drinking might be too strong, maybe I shouldn’t have poured this shot, but I’ve gone too far now. My whole thing was that I was a college athlete who got an ACL injury and that’s how I scored this chick in the first place. I turned around with 2 glasses and saw the two women… whatshername staring menacingly towards the last person I was expecting but the first person on my mind.
Wait… 2 women?
“Derin… what are you doing here?” I asked, ignoring the drunken slut that looked like she was ready to pounce. I was horribly embarrassed. I never wanted this woman to see me like this, I only wanted her to see me at my best and right now I was far from it.
“Hey Taylor,” She started, surprisingly apathetic about the situation she found herself in. “Mr. Sanchez gave me a job on his administration. You’ve got a press conference tomorrow and he wanted me to prep you for it.” Though outwardly she seemed unfazed by my situation, I swear I saw a twinge of disgust in her eye… or maybe it was my own disgust reflecting back at me.
“Press conference?” I asked,
“Press conference!” Whosit said with an exotic and erotic tone to her voice. Apparently the prospect of sleeping with a quasi-celebrity masked the fact that another woman was in my room.
“Press conference.” Derin smiled, God, even though her teeth are a bit crooked in the front it adds such a unique quality to her face that I couldn’t pull myself away from. “You’ve gotten a promotion- Ambassador of Urban Relations… ummm…you know what, maybe I should come back tomorrow. We have to prep for the address and perhaps right now isn’t the best time. I’ll call you in the morning.” She finished while walking towards the door.
I wanted to stop her. I wanted to tell her to stay, to tell her that I loved her. But then I looked around my room, my disgusting room, and I looked at the whore standing by the doorway. I looked at myself, covered in sweat and despair, reeking of tequila and of cheap perfume. I wanted her to see me at my best. THIS, was far from it.
So as I watched her leave I watched my dreams fade with her. The sloshed jezebel watched as well and her eyes glowed with anticipation as the door closed and it was just the two of us. She was still down and I didn’t want to let her down,
But I’m pretty sure I let her down.
A Taylor Wright Tale
Chapter 8: Cut From the Same Cloth
A Press Conference. I’ve never been part of one before. The dozens of reporters standing in front of me made me nervous. I had stripped at low end strip clubs. I’ve fought in front of a thousand people in this little shitty place in Chicago. I’ve even pretended to be a flight attendant to get a free trip to Hawaii but public speaking gave me the heebie jeebies.
Derin told me about being proper. Her help ranged from telling me to not use bad words, all the way to saying ‘Yes’ instead of ‘Yea.’ I wasn’t ready for this. Scripted reading ain’t exactly… I’m sorry… isn’t exactly my thing. That’s another thing she told me to say. She said to say ‘Isn’t’ instead of ‘Ain’t.’ It all sounded like a bunch of B.S. to me.
I wanted to speak from the heart. I wanted to first talk about my match, because that was the least important thing I had to discuss to the masses this week. Polar Phantasm was a formidable opponent, but he stood no chance against the likes of me.
I wanted to say that Polar has been around the fuccin’ universe, but in all his travels he ain’t seen the likes of me. He’s fought alien races, but when it comes to fighting humans, his skill just ain’t there. He don’t have what it takes to fight a man on earth, you know, with gravity and shit.
And he don’t understand the gravity of the situation I’ve been put in. He has no idea that he’s stepping into the ring with a man who’s lost it all. I’ve got no kids, and I’ve got no family. And the girl of my dreams thinks I’m a drunken slob who don’t even know how to contain himself in front of a crowd so she has to tell me that I can’t ‘Curse.’
But I’m sure he’s heard it all before. He and I have heard all this same shit before, because the way I understand it, he lives on the streets of space, if that makes sense. He may be able to travel the universe and go on adventures, but he ain’t nothing but a drunken slob just like me. He and I are cut from the same cloth, it seems.
When push comes to shove, we both just want the same things. We both want to save people. I’m working on a smaller level, a macro level, as Derin has informed me, and he’s working on a much bigger scale, but at the end of the day we’re both qualified for different things. I’m qualified to make sure that we down here on Earth, in the real fuccin’ world, are safe and sound. He can go galavanting form planet or planet or whatever to help out in his own way.
But one thing he’s gotta realize that this is Chicago, this is where I’ve been calling home for some time, and I see myself as a Chicagoan now. I’m from these streets, I’m from these slums. I am one of them, and ain’t no one, or nothing is gon’ try to take it away from me. This is home… Polar has no home. He best not think he’s coming here to take my home… I’ll piss all over the place to mark my territory.
I wanted to say all of that and more, but I had to gather myself and ‘act professional.’ The man in the suit- Johnson or Dick or Shlongson, or something else that means penis introduced me.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of Chicago, thank you for joining me at City Hollow. Allow me to introduce the Sanchez Administration’s NEW Ambassador of Urban Relations… Taylor Wright!”
I entered the stage from the left and did a political wave at the constituents of the crowd. That’s my $20 word of the day. I had my script waiting for me on the teleprompter in the Podium. I had to read a bit ahead, memorize it and look up. But here’s the problem. I don’t read too good. So I did my best.
“H…Hello. My name is Taylor Wright and I’m the new Ambassador of Urban Relations.” Look up, smile. “You may be wondering what this means? Well, allow me to information you. Mister Sanchez has given me the great r-resp-responsibility of entering the streets of Chicago and using my ex-exper-experts to give the lower class a chance to succeed.” Look up… smile.
Nailed it.
“Speak from the heart.” Look up… smile.
“No… speak form the heart!” A man shouted form the side and I remembered. At this point they wanted me to talk about my past, and why I think Sanchez chose me for this job. This part I felt comfortable with, even if I missed my mark.
“Ha… speaking from the heart…” Nailed it… “I have to say that I was surprised that Sanchez asked me to do this. I grew up with no mom and no dad. I was not lucky enough to be an orphan bouncing form foster homes. I had to grow up and scrounge for food in the garbage in the streets of New York. And, yes, even though I didn’t grow up here, I grew up just like the rest of the poor souls here. I never thought that I would be part of such an amazing political campaign.
And I believe that I am the right man for the job. I believe that I understand the needs and desires of the people and that I can help make their lives better. Mayor Sanchez has already began with the opening of Hope Valley Hospital, and hundreds have already received the best healthcare they’ve ever received.”
The crowd cheered and I smiled. My best line was my own and… yes… Fuccin’ Nailed It! A Lady raised her hand and I instinctively pointed at her, before remembering Derin telling me not to accept any questions.
“Lana Hotblonde; Chicago Tribune- With this election Day Overload episode looming in UCI, why are you so vehemently campaigning for David Sanchez, rather than yourself?”
I was shocked. I didn’t think Overload was going to make such a quick appearance here in this Press Conference, but it has apparently hit Chicago by storm and the fact that this underground phenomena will be hitting the streets of Chicago next week has not been lost on the media.
“Well, thanks to the efforts of Mayor David Sanchez, UCI is no longer illegal, so I feel that it is my duty to promote him as the future UCI World Champion rather than myself.”
Lana followed up. I shouldn’t have let her, but I felt I was on the right path here so I went off script.
“But this could potentially be a four-way match. Why wouldn’t you at least want to be a part of it? At the very least wouldn’t it help Mayor Sanchez win the match if you were fighting on his behalf?”
“That… is very true, but… well… it’s not what we discussed.”
She was relentless, and not in an Andre Holmes sorta way, I wish I remembered to ignore her in the first place.
“But the odds would be in the favor of the people helping make this city great again if you did. Why do you succumb to the whim of Mayor Sanchez like this? Why don’t you fight for yourself?”
“I ALWAYS fight for myself. For my entire life every fight I’ve been in… and I mean EVERY fight has been for self-preservation. It’s been to protect myself from the dangers of living on the street. A bum would come up to me and try to piss in my box… I couldn’t have his scent in my home so I would knock him the fuck out…”
Some admins in the Sanchez organization whispered loudly at me to stop from off stage, but it was too late. This bitch reporter was trying to get into my head, and I wasn’t gon’ let her fuck wit’ me like dat. The polite boots were taken off and the ass kickin’ boots were placed on.
Time to kick ass.
“Listen, bitch…” I was gon’ get fined for that one. “I don’t go over there and tell you which crayons to use while coloring in your book ‘dere, don’t you come at me with wild accusations telling me that I don’t fight for myself. I know what’s best for me right now more than anyone else could know. No one knows me better than I do, and no one other than me is going out there to put my life on the line every day.
You sit there in your hundred dollar coat and your million dollar smile and you act all high and mighty, but what have you done in your life to make you relevant. Nuttin’ that’s what. You ain’t done jack shit but ask people who other people admire leading questions to drive them to this break point.
I’m out here every day, tryin’ to do whats right for the people of Chicago, and most of all, and call me selfish or whatever, I’m tryin’ to do what’s right for me. Maybe going for the World Title isn’t the best idea for me, ever think of that. Maybe I’m content to grow as a person and as a wrestler without having outlandish and unattainable goals for myself, huh?
The way I see it, the way I’ve ALWAYS lived my life is to take it one step at a time, one day at a time. Last week I faced someone named Julian Mercury and this week I face a guy named Polar Phantasm. I’m stayin’ up in the clouds but it’s time to crash back down to reality. It’s time for me to show this Phantasm what a real fighter looks like.
This guy goes out, hunting baddies in space while I’m here helping baddies and good guys alike because people ain’t bad, they just got no other choice, ya dig? We gotta help these people, not hurt them. We gotta teach them how to be better. People like Polar Phantasm and the rest o’ dose Guardians gotta see that this ain’t science fiction, this is reality, and when it comes down to it, my gat will knock this shit outta their cardboard light sabers or whatever shit they got going on…
You see…”
Suddenly, two burley security guards came and dragged me off the stage. I screamed and cursed, but it didn’t do nothin’.
“I fight for what’s right. Fuck if you know what I know. You don’t know shit!” I screamed as these guys had me overpowered, and I’ve been in enough shitty situations to know why my number was called. They dragged me across the street and that magical door opened and this time I was tossed in with fuccin’ authority.
I saw the menacing and diabolical face of David Sanchez looking back at me, and for the first time he laid his hands on me. Well, the back of one hand as he bitch slapped me across the face.
“What are you, fucking stupid? You’re a fucking imbecile. This was your opportunity to shine. I gave you a promotion that I could have given to anybody because I trusted you could handle it. You let me down, son… you don’t want to let me down.”
“That bitch was egging me on…” I explained but he stopped me short.
“Of course she did. That’s her job, to get a story out of you. You weren’t even supposed to take questions. You’ve let your hubris take over once again and look where you are. That apartment that you…” He shook his head as his phone vibrated in his pocket. “100 plus notifications?”
He opened up his @cityhollow Twitter account and read them aloud.
“@1xbitten2xshy: Finally somebody saying the right thing @cityhollow really chose the Wright Man for the job.
@blackrichard: Wright knew what he was talking about. @cityhollow really knows whats best for Hope Valley
@gatsgatsgats: @cityhollow Gats gats gats gats… well that one doesn’t make sense.
But I have to admit. I might have underestimated the stupidity of this city. And in turn underestimated your stupidity.”
“Thanks?” I asked… I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a compliment.
“My approval ratings are through the roof with your outburst. And to think, I was going to remove you from your position. Even the greatest minds can make mistakes. HOWEVER, do NOT think you’re going to get away with this. I expect a public apology to be given next week.”
I got lucky. He kept talking but it was hard for me to get through my shame. I thought I had lost it all, but a public apology was a small punishment considering that I could be living on the streets again. Suddenly I heard Sanchez again.
“But that being said, I think it’s time that we expand our territory a bit.”
“I heard about a place right outside of Hope Valley… It sells Zimquilas…”
“Perfect.” Sanchez said as he sipped his whiskey.