Post by pete on Nov 26, 2013 19:00:13 GMT -5
'A woman, John Jacob. You took your frustrations out on a woman.'
The well-appointed middle-aged woman shoots John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt a stern look over her spectacles, but the unfortunately-named wrestler just shrugs, turning his shoulders in defensively.
'So what? Aren't they always screamin' for equality? She was in there with the others, wasn't she? I saw somebody to hurt, I hurt 'em. And the only thing I regret is not having hurt the other two as well.'
The lady clucks disapprovingly:
'John Jacob, we have talked about this. This...wrestling...experience was supposed to be a way to deal with your pent-up anger, not exacerbate it. And besides, isn't it all supposed to be scripted?'
Triple J glowers at his interloper, looking like he has some choice words for her. To his credit, however, he holds back - this time - and instead goes for a well-known Internet phrase, a bit of a meme in the wrestling world:
'It's real to me, dammit!'
He then turns away again, indicating his willingness to talk about his feelings has expired. His silence only lasts a moment, however, before he adds, his tone now more pleading than aggressive:
'You didn't hear 'em, Doc. They were singing that song. That goddamn...stupid...MOTHER...FUCKING...SONG!'
Without warning, John Jacob stands up and motions to grab his chair. But as his interloper cowers and shrieks in genuine fear, it is instead his glass of water that flies across the room to shatter against the wall. Seething, the PURE Wrestling superstar resumes his seat, as his shaken doctor does her best to regain composure. To her surprise, John Jacob then buries his head in his hands to groan in despair:
'I just don't know anymore, Doc...I'm never geting rid of that song...never EVER...doesn't matter how many companies I work for...how many matches I win...UGH, I wish they'd let me change my stupid name!'
The superstar is becoming quite petulant, his speech beginning to sound like that of a self-victimizing high school student. Sensing this is the time to change tack, his therapist - for that is who she is - places a hand on his arm lightly.
'There, there, John. Let's concentrate on positive things. Aren't you participating in the next event for this company you have signed with?'
John Jacob nods:
'A Triple Threat match. This time, I know I can take on these guys! They might THINK it's scripted, but the J3S experience is about to throw out the script!'
A tad alarmed by this new-found determination, the psychiatrist stands up quickly:
'John Jacob, please don't do anything rash. No more brutal attacks, all right?'
Triple J's first reaction is to glower again, but he soon concedes, with a sigh of resignation:
'I'll try, Doc. But if they start singing that STUPID SONG, I can't make any promises!!'
Sensing another temper flare coming, the doctor quickly intercedes:
'Ignore them. Shut them out. Please, John Jacob, you have to.'
John turns to her again, a pained expression now on his features:
'I TRY, Doc. You think I don't try? I TRY! Week in, week out, I TRY. It just never works! IT NEVER WORKS!'
At this point, to her surprise, the PURE Wrestling superstar collapses on her shoulder and begins to sob. As she pats him on the back reassuringly, the therapist can do little more than comfort herself with the thought that not all her clients are this difficult to handle. And hope, in her heart of hearts, that the people at the next show will not see fit to sing 'that song'.
The well-appointed middle-aged woman shoots John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt a stern look over her spectacles, but the unfortunately-named wrestler just shrugs, turning his shoulders in defensively.
'So what? Aren't they always screamin' for equality? She was in there with the others, wasn't she? I saw somebody to hurt, I hurt 'em. And the only thing I regret is not having hurt the other two as well.'
The lady clucks disapprovingly:
'John Jacob, we have talked about this. This...wrestling...experience was supposed to be a way to deal with your pent-up anger, not exacerbate it. And besides, isn't it all supposed to be scripted?'
Triple J glowers at his interloper, looking like he has some choice words for her. To his credit, however, he holds back - this time - and instead goes for a well-known Internet phrase, a bit of a meme in the wrestling world:
'It's real to me, dammit!'
He then turns away again, indicating his willingness to talk about his feelings has expired. His silence only lasts a moment, however, before he adds, his tone now more pleading than aggressive:
'You didn't hear 'em, Doc. They were singing that song. That goddamn...stupid...MOTHER...FUCKING...SONG!'
Without warning, John Jacob stands up and motions to grab his chair. But as his interloper cowers and shrieks in genuine fear, it is instead his glass of water that flies across the room to shatter against the wall. Seething, the PURE Wrestling superstar resumes his seat, as his shaken doctor does her best to regain composure. To her surprise, John Jacob then buries his head in his hands to groan in despair:
'I just don't know anymore, Doc...I'm never geting rid of that song...never EVER...doesn't matter how many companies I work for...how many matches I win...UGH, I wish they'd let me change my stupid name!'
The superstar is becoming quite petulant, his speech beginning to sound like that of a self-victimizing high school student. Sensing this is the time to change tack, his therapist - for that is who she is - places a hand on his arm lightly.
'There, there, John. Let's concentrate on positive things. Aren't you participating in the next event for this company you have signed with?'
John Jacob nods:
'A Triple Threat match. This time, I know I can take on these guys! They might THINK it's scripted, but the J3S experience is about to throw out the script!'
A tad alarmed by this new-found determination, the psychiatrist stands up quickly:
'John Jacob, please don't do anything rash. No more brutal attacks, all right?'
Triple J's first reaction is to glower again, but he soon concedes, with a sigh of resignation:
'I'll try, Doc. But if they start singing that STUPID SONG, I can't make any promises!!'
Sensing another temper flare coming, the doctor quickly intercedes:
'Ignore them. Shut them out. Please, John Jacob, you have to.'
John turns to her again, a pained expression now on his features:
'I TRY, Doc. You think I don't try? I TRY! Week in, week out, I TRY. It just never works! IT NEVER WORKS!'
At this point, to her surprise, the PURE Wrestling superstar collapses on her shoulder and begins to sob. As she pats him on the back reassuringly, the therapist can do little more than comfort herself with the thought that not all her clients are this difficult to handle. And hope, in her heart of hearts, that the people at the next show will not see fit to sing 'that song'.
