Post by joe on Nov 14, 2013 15:29:21 GMT -5
“Ah come on!” barked Joe. His two fists slammed down on the display case. The man behind the counter pointed accusingly at him “Hey! You get out my store now!” the accent was hard to pinpoint but at the current moment it didn't matter as any semblance of diplomacy had been thrown away with Joe’s bartering supplies, “I don’t want, is crap!” the angry employee exclaimed.
The soon to be debuting wrestler snatched up the few things he had brought in with him while his gravelly voice dripped defiance, “You don’t need to be such a jerk, guy. A simple ‘no’ woulda done it.” He stood up and fired off a look of pure hostility. “I don’t care, you leave now or I call police.” The ultimatum seemed to come as a standard response.
“Don’t worry, I ain't sticking around for the pleasant customer service.” sarcasm, obviously. Joe backed out of the store and then hawked up a sizable gobbet of phlegm right in front of the door. He looked up at the store sign which read ‘Friend Pawn.’ And uttered “My right foot...” As he angrily marched off.
A large sigh escaped the bulky bruiser as he opened the trunk to his mustard colored jalopy and tossed his few tools and other collateral inside. His took a seat in the driver’s side of the old hatchback and sighed, brushing his hair back while he took a moment to think. A rapping on his window snapped him back into reality.
“Hey buddy, you gotta move this piece of crap. I got a tour bus coming to take these seniors gambling and it should be here any minute now.” The chittering voice seemed fit rodent-like face peering at Joe. A middle-aged upset man with a buzz cut and an overly starched white shirt started to scan the trash bags and debris inside the vehicle.
Joe rolled down the glass. “Look I know man, it broke down. I’m just trying to get a couple of bucks together so I can have the thing towed or fix it myself.” Joe tried his best to sound sympathetic.
“I don’t care how you do it, I need this eyesore gone right now.” said the annoyed man.
“What is it detracting from all the liquor stores with bars on the windows and cracks in the sidewalk?” quipped Joe.
Buzz cut rolled his eyes, “You’re blocking my business; this is in front of my property.”
“Public street, bud.” replied Joe, starting to feign inspecting his nails.
The rat faced annoyance huffed and turned away. Joe could hear him complaining to the group of geriatrics huddled in the shade nearby. Suddenly the rumbling machinery of the approaching party bus showed up and began honking loudly at the broken down vehicle. Joe sighed.
The heavyweight wrestler kicked his car door open and walked over to the disgruntled bus driver. Though it was only a dozen feet or so, the numerous sets of eyes on Joe were tangibly unsettling. Joe became only too aware of what a stranger gazing upon him would see, a stocky frame covered in the sweat-stained grey tee-shirt, blue jeans with a patch over the right knee, a wild bushy mane with a face half covered by even more hair. Though self-conscious at the moment he let none of it show as he walked up to the bus door and knuckled a short staccato.
“Heya, my car kinda broke down, you wouldn't mind picking up these folks like half a block down or somethin’ would ya?” he asked as the door slid open.
The driver wore a look of exasperation, “This is my designated loading zone. I’m not allowed to pick up anywhere else around here. I got a schedule to keep, move it.” The door snapped closed.
Clenched teeth and a low growl were all Joe could muster as he made his way back to his car. He immediately started digging through his various packs, hoping to find anything that could help him out of his current jam. He started wishing for the title belt he held in NAW, at least he could have made money off that. After digging through the empty fast food containers, water damaged books, miscellaneous scraps of metal, and bits of scavenged clothing he came up empty handed.
A cacophony of voices began to assail Joe as he desperately sifted through the pitiful vestiges of a barely lived life. Just as he was about to get out and explode with something most likely regrettable, a simple advertisement on a bus bench caught his eye.
“Listen, you gotta phone I can borrow? I think I might have a way to take care of this.”
The better part of an hour later a procession of elderly gamblers were loading up into a party bus and a greasy looking man in a cheap suit with a bad comb over was stacking bills into the bulky bruiser’s hand. A tow truck bearing the slogan “We Buy Junk Cars” began to take off with Joe’s hatchback affixed to it. The representative stopped counting.
“Two hundred and fifty bucks?” a sour note on the face of Martinez reinforced his surprised dissatisfaction.
“Yes sir, that’s all it’s worth.”
“You guys said six hundred over the phone.”
“And you said it was in far better condition than it is.”
Joe sighed in resignation as the man in the cheap suit hailed the tow truck and hopped aboard. The last decade and then some had been spent inside the vehicle that was now being hauled out of his life. For some reason he couldn't really think of too many memories he was fond of. Joe pocketed his money then shouldered the canvas sack and the duffel bag he had shoved his essentials into. He took a seat on the bus bench and waited. “Guess I better check in with PURE offices; hope it actually involves a check.” He muttered to himself.
A short while later Joe did his best to maintain his balance as the gentle rocking of the bus carried him towards the main office of PURE. He stood over his impromptu luggage, somewhere inside himself he regretted giving up his seat for the elderly lady that now occupied it but no one else had offered. Now the incessant wailing of a small child was all he could hear as a very flustered looking young lady did her best to quiet it. Joe bit his tongue though his temperament would have easily lent itself well to some sort of tirade. Luckily the ride was just short enough that he was approaching the office building on foot before he knew it.
The rotunda gleamed and something in the air smelled of an impeccable crispness. The idyllic expectation of a shiny new office building was somewhat shocking when it actually came true.
“Name?” Someone inquired from behind the glossy counter, Joe had the impression it was genuine marble.
“Martinez, Joe.” He replied.
“Oh yes, Mr. Martinez head straight down that hallway.” The young trendy receptionist flashed him a movie quality smile and pointed him onward.
The bulky bruiser approached cautiously, not really sure what to expect. He finally reached a door marked ‘Human Resources’ where he entered and found a small panel of people in suits waiting for him. Feeling grossly under-dressed he put his belongings down and went to shake the hand of the person nearest to him, fully aware of the fact his fingers were covered in motor oil and axle grease.
“Oh hey there, I thought this was just a small informal signing, I talked to the uh, the boss men over the phone and they said this was basically just to get my John Hancock so I could be on my way. I thought I was already on board.” He nervously managed to say as he approached.
An uptight looking woman with a yellow blazer looked back at him and reluctantly returned his hand shake. “Mister Martinez, don’t feel intimidated by us. I can see you must have just flown in.” she said, remarking on Joe’s large bags. “We figured we’d get a few things out of the way at once. Seeing as how you’re here to sign, we figured we’d brief you on a few things and knock out your first promotional video. Are you familiar with what that is Mister Martinez?” She peered over at him with her hands folded as she adjusted her seating position.
Joe sat down at a spot opposite her and looked around at the unfamiliar faces. “Oh yeah, I've done it before. I checked out the last show and all that. Got a look at the other wrestlers you got around here and stuff.”
The woman tented her fingers, seeming to approve. “Very well, then let’s have you sign off on the paperwork and then we’ll put you to work.”
Joe spent the next span of time scribbling his signature and being briefed on company policy, mostly half hearing what he was being told due to a sense of excitement clouding his ability to focus. Afterwards he was led by young lanky intern to a simple room and a camera was aimed his way. They quickly briefed him on his opponents; mostly things Joe had researched himself already. Soon a camera was aimed his way and he was told to talk…
-------------------------------------------------------------
Joe seems to be talking to someone off camera.
“Pretty professional set up you guys have here. What? Oh I’m on?”
Joe rests the thumb side of a fist next to his mouth as he clears his throat but it does nothing to clear up the gravelly bass tone. He stares intently into the camera as he begins.
“So I've been teamed up with a young lady named Alessandra in a match against two other individuals, a guy they call the ‘Main Attraction’ and a guy who, from what I gather, seems to not be playing with a full deck’a cards. Funny that they call us team beauty and the beast. I can’t say much for my upcoming partner other than any man with a set of eyes can affirm it’s an appropriate moniker but I got no doubt that someone who’s got the guts and gusto to get signed in PURE is a force to be reckoned with.”
Joe pauses to look down for a moment and gather his thoughts.
“I can also tell you that beast is an appropriate way to describe who I am and what I do. You see when it’s time to compete I’m a primal force of ferocious fury. I don’t worry about the surgical precision and the perfect timing. I rain pain on ya non-stop like monsoon season. How else do you use hammers like these -”
Joe shows his battered, bruise covered knuckles to the camera.
“Other than swinging’em until you nail the opposition down?”
He lowers his fists and brushes his long tangled black mane back.
“Now Lucien Mephisto the second is the first part of our opposing team. A guy I vaguely remember hearing about in the papers. I can’t quite recall your whole background, but with a name like that I can tell you ain't the most ordinary citizen to grace these parts. As I understand it, Lucien is a guy who gets the privilege of being watched by some kinda goon squad the entire time he’s in the ring. Somewhere deep down inside I can say I might'a been you if I didn't have my wits and sense about me.
One thing I have heard about you though, is that you’re a man with a cause. There’s nothing more dangerous in the whole of human history than a fanatic with a crusading mentality. It makes ya determined, volatile; willing to do anything you can to further your cause. Means at PURE number two there’ll be no slipping on my part. No matter what else comes our way, you’re the one to keep an eye on when not in between those ropes.
Everything you do is meant to intimidate the opposition, but that’s the nature of head games, eh? From the photos I saw of you in the spook vest, to the crazy talk about some kind of unholy war you’re supposed to be waging. It’s likely to have most folks quaking in their boots, but I've been all around this fine land and I've seen your kind of delusional nut-job mania before; granted it’s usually standing on a street corner holding a cardboard sign.”
Joe chuckles to himself a little before stroking his beard as he conjures up another bit of inspiration.
“As cautious as I am about facing Mister Mephisto, I’d be a damn fool if I didn't address the fact a guy like the Main Attraction is slated to stand against my partner and I as well. Young Mannie, as I hear it you’re a guy with a reputation for doing what it takes to win regardless of the means. Much like your partner it seems that the two of you are a pair of unscrupulous, underhanded, unsavory, undesirables. I know that Young Mannie is a name that’s built an empire unto itself. You've established a whole legacy off of being a guy known for his staying power, off of being a rising threat. In your mind you've already got this won and it pains me to say it but out of anyone of us it seems like you’re the favorite to take this match by storm.”
Joe shakes his head, he lowers his gaze as he continues, seeming introspective.
“And why wouldn't people expect it to be that way? Lucien and Mannie are two men in their physical prime; both alpha male stereotypes with the attitude and cockiness of prize fighters. People look at me and see the bulk, they see the hair, the weathered face, the battered hands and they write me off. I’m looked at like a crazy old barfly – a bum on a downward slope. You ain't the first ones to note it, trust me. It’s easy to see me as just another back-alley brawler, assume I’m some thick skulled former delinquent. There’s no nutritionist on the road, no home cooked meal when you come home to sleep in a car or a cheap motel. I've eaten my fair share of deep fried processed fast food. Hell who can argue with a forty-two cent taco or a dollar ninety-nine bacon burger? It’s cheap, fast and delicious damn it – I know I won’ be gracing the front cover of body building muscle mag monthly anytime soon. Especially when considering not just my opponents but the tag team partner they got me standing next to. It’s almost shameful, but I know who I am and what I got to work with. So go ahead, write me off. Dismiss me as a dime-a-dozen unwieldy head-banger chasing a hoop dream. I’m coming into this with no reputation and a pocketful of aspiration. It’s the crowd’s expectation that the girl and the drifter get beaten and sent on their way.”
A slight uneasy tremble overtakes him, his words begin to seethe with a subtle disdain.
“I have to ask you this though. How much stock will the Main Attraction name mean when it’s reduced to being a sideshow? How much clout will people expect from Young Mannie when he’s got a tanned fanny from being spanked come PURE? Young Mannie: the hedonistic haughty hack, living a high-profile life while having a lowbrow appeal. You’re trying to establish yourself as dominating force but your biggest folly is underestimating guys like me. You think yourself above the rest of the so called ‘common folk’ while placing yourself on a pedestal like some sort of icon, unfortunately for you it’s the twilight of the idols.”
Joe now picks up a frenetic pace; his nervous shuddering vanishes as he spews words with a venomous inflection.
“If I have to become the god-slayer so be it. If I have to become the demon hunter, so be it. Come PURE, the two of you will have the misfortune of facing a hard-hitting, skull-splitting war-bringing, fist-swinging tempest of devastation and determination. This company paired up Alessandra Nayara - a high-intensity athletic spitfire bombshell with Joe Martinez – a thunderous rampaging force of chaos. I may not have the shady devilry the two of you employ, I may not have the glitz and glamour, I may not be the favored athlete in this upcoming match, but I’m the one who’s got nothing to do but gain from this match.”
A final set of words escape Joe’s mouth as he glares no-nonsense style at any viewers.
“I've overcome before, I’ll do it again. While Young Mannie’s been surrounded by his clique, living a posh life squaring off against the occasional inconvenience in his path to stardom, I've been at the ground level taking every step as an uphill battle all alone. Lucien Mephisto may be two missed pills away from ending up back in the loony bin but let me tell ya something, the funny farm’ll spare ya harm – I won’t.”
With that the screen fades out.
The soon to be debuting wrestler snatched up the few things he had brought in with him while his gravelly voice dripped defiance, “You don’t need to be such a jerk, guy. A simple ‘no’ woulda done it.” He stood up and fired off a look of pure hostility. “I don’t care, you leave now or I call police.” The ultimatum seemed to come as a standard response.
“Don’t worry, I ain't sticking around for the pleasant customer service.” sarcasm, obviously. Joe backed out of the store and then hawked up a sizable gobbet of phlegm right in front of the door. He looked up at the store sign which read ‘Friend Pawn.’ And uttered “My right foot...” As he angrily marched off.
A large sigh escaped the bulky bruiser as he opened the trunk to his mustard colored jalopy and tossed his few tools and other collateral inside. His took a seat in the driver’s side of the old hatchback and sighed, brushing his hair back while he took a moment to think. A rapping on his window snapped him back into reality.
“Hey buddy, you gotta move this piece of crap. I got a tour bus coming to take these seniors gambling and it should be here any minute now.” The chittering voice seemed fit rodent-like face peering at Joe. A middle-aged upset man with a buzz cut and an overly starched white shirt started to scan the trash bags and debris inside the vehicle.
Joe rolled down the glass. “Look I know man, it broke down. I’m just trying to get a couple of bucks together so I can have the thing towed or fix it myself.” Joe tried his best to sound sympathetic.
“I don’t care how you do it, I need this eyesore gone right now.” said the annoyed man.
“What is it detracting from all the liquor stores with bars on the windows and cracks in the sidewalk?” quipped Joe.
Buzz cut rolled his eyes, “You’re blocking my business; this is in front of my property.”
“Public street, bud.” replied Joe, starting to feign inspecting his nails.
The rat faced annoyance huffed and turned away. Joe could hear him complaining to the group of geriatrics huddled in the shade nearby. Suddenly the rumbling machinery of the approaching party bus showed up and began honking loudly at the broken down vehicle. Joe sighed.
The heavyweight wrestler kicked his car door open and walked over to the disgruntled bus driver. Though it was only a dozen feet or so, the numerous sets of eyes on Joe were tangibly unsettling. Joe became only too aware of what a stranger gazing upon him would see, a stocky frame covered in the sweat-stained grey tee-shirt, blue jeans with a patch over the right knee, a wild bushy mane with a face half covered by even more hair. Though self-conscious at the moment he let none of it show as he walked up to the bus door and knuckled a short staccato.
“Heya, my car kinda broke down, you wouldn't mind picking up these folks like half a block down or somethin’ would ya?” he asked as the door slid open.
The driver wore a look of exasperation, “This is my designated loading zone. I’m not allowed to pick up anywhere else around here. I got a schedule to keep, move it.” The door snapped closed.
Clenched teeth and a low growl were all Joe could muster as he made his way back to his car. He immediately started digging through his various packs, hoping to find anything that could help him out of his current jam. He started wishing for the title belt he held in NAW, at least he could have made money off that. After digging through the empty fast food containers, water damaged books, miscellaneous scraps of metal, and bits of scavenged clothing he came up empty handed.
A cacophony of voices began to assail Joe as he desperately sifted through the pitiful vestiges of a barely lived life. Just as he was about to get out and explode with something most likely regrettable, a simple advertisement on a bus bench caught his eye.
“Listen, you gotta phone I can borrow? I think I might have a way to take care of this.”
The better part of an hour later a procession of elderly gamblers were loading up into a party bus and a greasy looking man in a cheap suit with a bad comb over was stacking bills into the bulky bruiser’s hand. A tow truck bearing the slogan “We Buy Junk Cars” began to take off with Joe’s hatchback affixed to it. The representative stopped counting.
“Two hundred and fifty bucks?” a sour note on the face of Martinez reinforced his surprised dissatisfaction.
“Yes sir, that’s all it’s worth.”
“You guys said six hundred over the phone.”
“And you said it was in far better condition than it is.”
Joe sighed in resignation as the man in the cheap suit hailed the tow truck and hopped aboard. The last decade and then some had been spent inside the vehicle that was now being hauled out of his life. For some reason he couldn't really think of too many memories he was fond of. Joe pocketed his money then shouldered the canvas sack and the duffel bag he had shoved his essentials into. He took a seat on the bus bench and waited. “Guess I better check in with PURE offices; hope it actually involves a check.” He muttered to himself.
A short while later Joe did his best to maintain his balance as the gentle rocking of the bus carried him towards the main office of PURE. He stood over his impromptu luggage, somewhere inside himself he regretted giving up his seat for the elderly lady that now occupied it but no one else had offered. Now the incessant wailing of a small child was all he could hear as a very flustered looking young lady did her best to quiet it. Joe bit his tongue though his temperament would have easily lent itself well to some sort of tirade. Luckily the ride was just short enough that he was approaching the office building on foot before he knew it.
The rotunda gleamed and something in the air smelled of an impeccable crispness. The idyllic expectation of a shiny new office building was somewhat shocking when it actually came true.
“Name?” Someone inquired from behind the glossy counter, Joe had the impression it was genuine marble.
“Martinez, Joe.” He replied.
“Oh yes, Mr. Martinez head straight down that hallway.” The young trendy receptionist flashed him a movie quality smile and pointed him onward.
The bulky bruiser approached cautiously, not really sure what to expect. He finally reached a door marked ‘Human Resources’ where he entered and found a small panel of people in suits waiting for him. Feeling grossly under-dressed he put his belongings down and went to shake the hand of the person nearest to him, fully aware of the fact his fingers were covered in motor oil and axle grease.
“Oh hey there, I thought this was just a small informal signing, I talked to the uh, the boss men over the phone and they said this was basically just to get my John Hancock so I could be on my way. I thought I was already on board.” He nervously managed to say as he approached.
An uptight looking woman with a yellow blazer looked back at him and reluctantly returned his hand shake. “Mister Martinez, don’t feel intimidated by us. I can see you must have just flown in.” she said, remarking on Joe’s large bags. “We figured we’d get a few things out of the way at once. Seeing as how you’re here to sign, we figured we’d brief you on a few things and knock out your first promotional video. Are you familiar with what that is Mister Martinez?” She peered over at him with her hands folded as she adjusted her seating position.
Joe sat down at a spot opposite her and looked around at the unfamiliar faces. “Oh yeah, I've done it before. I checked out the last show and all that. Got a look at the other wrestlers you got around here and stuff.”
The woman tented her fingers, seeming to approve. “Very well, then let’s have you sign off on the paperwork and then we’ll put you to work.”
Joe spent the next span of time scribbling his signature and being briefed on company policy, mostly half hearing what he was being told due to a sense of excitement clouding his ability to focus. Afterwards he was led by young lanky intern to a simple room and a camera was aimed his way. They quickly briefed him on his opponents; mostly things Joe had researched himself already. Soon a camera was aimed his way and he was told to talk…
-------------------------------------------------------------
Joe seems to be talking to someone off camera.
“Pretty professional set up you guys have here. What? Oh I’m on?”
Joe rests the thumb side of a fist next to his mouth as he clears his throat but it does nothing to clear up the gravelly bass tone. He stares intently into the camera as he begins.
“So I've been teamed up with a young lady named Alessandra in a match against two other individuals, a guy they call the ‘Main Attraction’ and a guy who, from what I gather, seems to not be playing with a full deck’a cards. Funny that they call us team beauty and the beast. I can’t say much for my upcoming partner other than any man with a set of eyes can affirm it’s an appropriate moniker but I got no doubt that someone who’s got the guts and gusto to get signed in PURE is a force to be reckoned with.”
Joe pauses to look down for a moment and gather his thoughts.
“I can also tell you that beast is an appropriate way to describe who I am and what I do. You see when it’s time to compete I’m a primal force of ferocious fury. I don’t worry about the surgical precision and the perfect timing. I rain pain on ya non-stop like monsoon season. How else do you use hammers like these -”
Joe shows his battered, bruise covered knuckles to the camera.
“Other than swinging’em until you nail the opposition down?”
He lowers his fists and brushes his long tangled black mane back.
“Now Lucien Mephisto the second is the first part of our opposing team. A guy I vaguely remember hearing about in the papers. I can’t quite recall your whole background, but with a name like that I can tell you ain't the most ordinary citizen to grace these parts. As I understand it, Lucien is a guy who gets the privilege of being watched by some kinda goon squad the entire time he’s in the ring. Somewhere deep down inside I can say I might'a been you if I didn't have my wits and sense about me.
One thing I have heard about you though, is that you’re a man with a cause. There’s nothing more dangerous in the whole of human history than a fanatic with a crusading mentality. It makes ya determined, volatile; willing to do anything you can to further your cause. Means at PURE number two there’ll be no slipping on my part. No matter what else comes our way, you’re the one to keep an eye on when not in between those ropes.
Everything you do is meant to intimidate the opposition, but that’s the nature of head games, eh? From the photos I saw of you in the spook vest, to the crazy talk about some kind of unholy war you’re supposed to be waging. It’s likely to have most folks quaking in their boots, but I've been all around this fine land and I've seen your kind of delusional nut-job mania before; granted it’s usually standing on a street corner holding a cardboard sign.”
Joe chuckles to himself a little before stroking his beard as he conjures up another bit of inspiration.
“As cautious as I am about facing Mister Mephisto, I’d be a damn fool if I didn't address the fact a guy like the Main Attraction is slated to stand against my partner and I as well. Young Mannie, as I hear it you’re a guy with a reputation for doing what it takes to win regardless of the means. Much like your partner it seems that the two of you are a pair of unscrupulous, underhanded, unsavory, undesirables. I know that Young Mannie is a name that’s built an empire unto itself. You've established a whole legacy off of being a guy known for his staying power, off of being a rising threat. In your mind you've already got this won and it pains me to say it but out of anyone of us it seems like you’re the favorite to take this match by storm.”
Joe shakes his head, he lowers his gaze as he continues, seeming introspective.
“And why wouldn't people expect it to be that way? Lucien and Mannie are two men in their physical prime; both alpha male stereotypes with the attitude and cockiness of prize fighters. People look at me and see the bulk, they see the hair, the weathered face, the battered hands and they write me off. I’m looked at like a crazy old barfly – a bum on a downward slope. You ain't the first ones to note it, trust me. It’s easy to see me as just another back-alley brawler, assume I’m some thick skulled former delinquent. There’s no nutritionist on the road, no home cooked meal when you come home to sleep in a car or a cheap motel. I've eaten my fair share of deep fried processed fast food. Hell who can argue with a forty-two cent taco or a dollar ninety-nine bacon burger? It’s cheap, fast and delicious damn it – I know I won’ be gracing the front cover of body building muscle mag monthly anytime soon. Especially when considering not just my opponents but the tag team partner they got me standing next to. It’s almost shameful, but I know who I am and what I got to work with. So go ahead, write me off. Dismiss me as a dime-a-dozen unwieldy head-banger chasing a hoop dream. I’m coming into this with no reputation and a pocketful of aspiration. It’s the crowd’s expectation that the girl and the drifter get beaten and sent on their way.”
A slight uneasy tremble overtakes him, his words begin to seethe with a subtle disdain.
“I have to ask you this though. How much stock will the Main Attraction name mean when it’s reduced to being a sideshow? How much clout will people expect from Young Mannie when he’s got a tanned fanny from being spanked come PURE? Young Mannie: the hedonistic haughty hack, living a high-profile life while having a lowbrow appeal. You’re trying to establish yourself as dominating force but your biggest folly is underestimating guys like me. You think yourself above the rest of the so called ‘common folk’ while placing yourself on a pedestal like some sort of icon, unfortunately for you it’s the twilight of the idols.”
Joe now picks up a frenetic pace; his nervous shuddering vanishes as he spews words with a venomous inflection.
“If I have to become the god-slayer so be it. If I have to become the demon hunter, so be it. Come PURE, the two of you will have the misfortune of facing a hard-hitting, skull-splitting war-bringing, fist-swinging tempest of devastation and determination. This company paired up Alessandra Nayara - a high-intensity athletic spitfire bombshell with Joe Martinez – a thunderous rampaging force of chaos. I may not have the shady devilry the two of you employ, I may not have the glitz and glamour, I may not be the favored athlete in this upcoming match, but I’m the one who’s got nothing to do but gain from this match.”
A final set of words escape Joe’s mouth as he glares no-nonsense style at any viewers.
“I've overcome before, I’ll do it again. While Young Mannie’s been surrounded by his clique, living a posh life squaring off against the occasional inconvenience in his path to stardom, I've been at the ground level taking every step as an uphill battle all alone. Lucien Mephisto may be two missed pills away from ending up back in the loony bin but let me tell ya something, the funny farm’ll spare ya harm – I won’t.”
With that the screen fades out.
