Post by JD Driftwood on May 28, 2023 0:25:25 GMT
Heat, the kind that was dry and clung to your armpits. The kind of heat that turns your skin red should you sit in it for too long. And yet that didn’t stop the parish of Waco Baptist church from dressing in their Sunday best, old ladies wearing heavy dresses with flowers, men in full suits, sweat staining the lining as they funneled into the building. The church was off the beaten path, down an old dirt road, and centered in surrounding fields. A single tree almost as high as the steeple stood aside the declining wooden structure, pressing up against itself while also casting shade down onto a few tombstones that lean as if time had forgotten them. As the last member of the congregation enters the church, the camera begins to pan away - showing just how barren the surrounding area was.
A dozen or so cars lined the only road which lead to the church, one standing out more than the others. The cherry red 79’ Ford which belongs to CULT’s resident badass motherfucker, JD Driftwood. Smoke fills up the interior, blocking any view from outside as the camera starts to move in closer, getting just up to the door before it’s swung open - The stench of skunk wooshing out along with all of the smoke.
Cutting to inside of the church, the pastor has just given his opening sermon, an older man dressed in all black - sweat dripping down his face as the low hums of a few fans do nothing but move the heat from one side of the room to the other. The older ladies have hand fans, wafting their overbeating perfume throughout the church. A few children snicker as their parents scold them, telling them to be respectful in whispered tones.
“ Ahem, if I could have your attention, please. “
His tone was soft, but empty, you could imagine it at one point being comforting but now the pastor just sounded tired. Like a lifetime of tradition, a routine has made him numb to any sort of feeling that wasn’t already scripted by his denomination.
“ We have a guest speaker today, he is a professional wrestler, and will be competing in a uh, match this coming month. JP Dirtwood!... No… That doesn’t sound right. “
He moves around a few papers on the podium in front of him before squinting down at one.
“ Ah, no! JD Driftwood. He’s here to, uh, talk to us about his relationship with god and how that affects his wreslting. Or so I’m told. JD if you would, uh, come in please.”
With a loud, door-shattering bang - JD Driftwood enters the church, the crunching of a beer can before the clanging as it hits the floor. He lets out a long, and deep burp - one that echoes throughout the church as the entire congregation turns and looks at the man who was standing in the light of this dimly lit building - the sun behind giving him an almost ethereal appearance. One that was only enhanced by his dyed white Jorts, a white suit coat with the sleeves torn off effectively making it a vest, and gold framed, ray-ban aviators. His ginger hair was short at the top, but he had let it grow out in the back - the beginnings of a mullet.
Clearing his nostrils, Florida’s sickest son looked about the building - all the wide, some frightened eyes staring at him, no one knowing what to expect. JD’s normal scowl was pulled back in favor of a shit-eating smirk, his half-drunken gaze scanning the pews as he chuckled under his breath. In his left hand he carries an elongated black case, which he glances down at before making his way down the pews.
“ God damn, y’all some fuckin’ old ass motherfuckers ain’tcha? “
There's a notable consecutive gasp in the room like the air had pulled out of it. The pastor at the front, perks up, looking confused as JD walks up to him.
“ What. What did you just say young man? “
“ Shut the fuck up preacher bitch, it's my show now. “
And with that, JD shoves the old man to the ground and turns to face the congregation - who looks absolutely mortified. A couple of the middle age men stand up, acting as if they’re about to do something but JD shoots them a look.
“ And what in the god damn fuck are y’all bitch fucks gonna do about it? Sit the fuck down! “
“We’re leaving!” One woman shouts.
JD quickly throws his finger forward, pointing at her.
“ The fuck you are bitch! Sit the fuck down! All of you! Sit the fuck down right goddamn now before I go ATF and burn this shitshack down, ya hear me? “
With obvious resentment and trepidation, everyone sits down as JD composes himself. He places his case on the podium in front of him and leans forward - resting his arms on it.
“ Now I come here, 'cause I wanna talk about the father and the son. Now ya’ see, the father is supposed to protect the son, care for the son, raise the son! And the son is supposed to cherish the father, be better than the father, learn from his mistakes, and be a better person because of it. Now that all sounds like some fuckin’ bullshit to me, but when I look at ol’ piss stain JJ, and hear the way he whines and cries at me like I’m his daddy… I think I understand what Jesus was trying to say. “
“ I don’t think that's in the Bible,” says a small child in the back row.
“ I really couldn’t give a shit, kid, interrupt me again and I’ll make yo father my lil squeelin bitch.”
He taps the top of the case, a glint of destruction in his eyes as he continues.
“ A squeelin bitch, just like JJ. See JJ wants to see me as his father, he wants to use that resentment for the man to fuel his anger at my ass. Because he sees something in me, that just makes him hate himself that much more. Every time he glances in my direction he gets the feelin’ of inadequacy, and it’s not just because that boy's muscles got his balls shrunk. It’s because he wants my approval, my respect, and I refuse to give him that. Because in the end, JJ Slayer is just a fuckin bump on my cock, a temporary setback that I’ll forget about in a few months as I move on to bigger and better things. As I reclaim my place atop the fuckin’ CULT, sit my back down on my throne! And beat any motherfucker who steps to me! Walks in my direction! I don’t give a fuck who they are, what they want when I got my fuckin’ championship! I’m the goddamn predator! X on my back? That’s a fuckin’ decoy because the second you get too close I stomp you fuckin’ shit into the dirt! “
Spit flies from his lips as the tone in his voice spews anger, the congregation jumping at his idle threats, as the growing feeling of terror creeps up through the pews. JD unlatches his case, running his hand along it before turning his back to it and looking up at the large crucifixion of Christ which stood as the focal point of the church.
“ See now, like Jesus, I gotta fuckin’ not put this boy down once, but I gotta put him down twice, but really… This’ll be the third time I planted his ass in the motherfuckin muck…But because of a goddamn technicality that don’t count… But we both know, don’t we JJ. “
Through the corner of his eyes, he looks into the camera for the first time - his cocky grin stretching through his bushy beard.
“We both know that I got the fuck up and walked away, while you was laid the fuck out having just taken a full on header. Sure, you can call the match a draw, but the fight? I won fuckin’ that bitch… Just like I’ll win it this time, because I don’t give two fuckin shits how many times I gotta beat yo’ ass. I don’t give a fuck how many times I gotta make you pay, make you see, beat some fucking brains in you! Because while you out there, trying to paint a fuckin’ masterpiece, I’m doing what I’m paid to do… And that’s beat yo’ fuckin’ ass. “
Turning back around he finally opens up his case revealing what's inside, reaching in he pulls out an assault rifle, the same make that the Branch Davidians had used in their defense of the Waco compound. At the site of the gun one of the old ladies clutches at her heart, screaming in pain and shock as someone screams out she's having a heart attack. The entire congregation looks at JD, who eyes the women up and down before motioning to the gun with the door.
“ Well, get her the fuck out of here I suppose, fuckin’ rude ass bitch. “
The entire group tries to leave the building but JD pops off a few rounds into the air, proving that this gun was an Automatic.
“ I said she gets to leave, the rest of you dumbfuckin’ pricks sitdown. Tweedlefuck and Toodledipshit, help her out. “
He points to two of the younger men in the crowd and they help her out of the building, through the doors JD had kicked down earlier. As they exit, JD picks right back up where he left off.
“ I ain’t no fucking artists JJ, and I ain’t yo fuckin’ daddy. See I’m a god damn wrestler, that’s what my own father beat into me. And unlike you, I don’t hate him for it. In fact… I love that son of bitch when no one else would! Because he made me into the man I am today, through hard fuckin’ knocks and bloody fuckin’ noses! He made me into the god damn walking apocalypse I am now! So don’t you fuckin’ compare me to that shit stain you longing for, because we ain’t nothin’ alike. If I had a kid, I’d raise that motherfucker the same way I was raised, shitty, but I’d be in his life… Which I guess that's why you flocked to me so quickly, you wanted someone to take the place of that piece of fuck that shot you into your whore cunt of a mother. But I will disappoint you, boy… Cause I ain’t you daddy… And you ain’t my son. “
Swinging himself around, he opens fires at the crucifixion, bullets ringing out into the small church as the congregation takes this time to get the fuck out of there.
“ FUCK THE FATHER! FUCK THE SON! I AM CULTS MOTHERFUCKING MESSIAH!”
As the crucifixion comes crumbling down to the ground with a loud thud, it splinters through the wooden flooring and into the dirt below. Landing just before where JD was standing, he doesn’t flinch instead he just throws his assault rifle to the ground and turns back to the camera, a look of angered bewilderment on his face when he realized everyone has left.
“ Ungrateful motherfuckers. “
He says as he reaches into his Jorts pocket and pulls out a pack of Marlboro reds, placing one between his lips and lighting it up before his eyes meet back up with the camera.
“ You think these people want you to lead them, to be something to them. But you ain’t fuckin’ shit boy… These CULT fucks are mine, and it ain’t because I’m out there thinkin’ I’m some fuckin Picasso ass motherfucker… It’s because every time I go out into that ring, I leave it all in there…I fight until I can’t fuckin’ fight anymore, I throw these hands like fuckin’ clubs and anyone who eats 'em knows that they done just fucked up… So don’t be thinkin’ about no title opportunities JJ, don’t be thinkin' of me as your father, all that bullshit will just cloud your fuckin’ mind. Leave you on the wrong side of a full on header… I’m JD fuckin’ Driftwood. “
Taking a long drag of his cigarette, JD lets the smoke drift from his nostrils as he intently looks through the camera as if he was talking to JJ face to face.
“And you’re just somebodies kid. “
A dozen or so cars lined the only road which lead to the church, one standing out more than the others. The cherry red 79’ Ford which belongs to CULT’s resident badass motherfucker, JD Driftwood. Smoke fills up the interior, blocking any view from outside as the camera starts to move in closer, getting just up to the door before it’s swung open - The stench of skunk wooshing out along with all of the smoke.
Cutting to inside of the church, the pastor has just given his opening sermon, an older man dressed in all black - sweat dripping down his face as the low hums of a few fans do nothing but move the heat from one side of the room to the other. The older ladies have hand fans, wafting their overbeating perfume throughout the church. A few children snicker as their parents scold them, telling them to be respectful in whispered tones.
“ Ahem, if I could have your attention, please. “
His tone was soft, but empty, you could imagine it at one point being comforting but now the pastor just sounded tired. Like a lifetime of tradition, a routine has made him numb to any sort of feeling that wasn’t already scripted by his denomination.
“ We have a guest speaker today, he is a professional wrestler, and will be competing in a uh, match this coming month. JP Dirtwood!... No… That doesn’t sound right. “
He moves around a few papers on the podium in front of him before squinting down at one.
“ Ah, no! JD Driftwood. He’s here to, uh, talk to us about his relationship with god and how that affects his wreslting. Or so I’m told. JD if you would, uh, come in please.”
With a loud, door-shattering bang - JD Driftwood enters the church, the crunching of a beer can before the clanging as it hits the floor. He lets out a long, and deep burp - one that echoes throughout the church as the entire congregation turns and looks at the man who was standing in the light of this dimly lit building - the sun behind giving him an almost ethereal appearance. One that was only enhanced by his dyed white Jorts, a white suit coat with the sleeves torn off effectively making it a vest, and gold framed, ray-ban aviators. His ginger hair was short at the top, but he had let it grow out in the back - the beginnings of a mullet.
Clearing his nostrils, Florida’s sickest son looked about the building - all the wide, some frightened eyes staring at him, no one knowing what to expect. JD’s normal scowl was pulled back in favor of a shit-eating smirk, his half-drunken gaze scanning the pews as he chuckled under his breath. In his left hand he carries an elongated black case, which he glances down at before making his way down the pews.
“ God damn, y’all some fuckin’ old ass motherfuckers ain’tcha? “
There's a notable consecutive gasp in the room like the air had pulled out of it. The pastor at the front, perks up, looking confused as JD walks up to him.
“ What. What did you just say young man? “
“ Shut the fuck up preacher bitch, it's my show now. “
And with that, JD shoves the old man to the ground and turns to face the congregation - who looks absolutely mortified. A couple of the middle age men stand up, acting as if they’re about to do something but JD shoots them a look.
“ And what in the god damn fuck are y’all bitch fucks gonna do about it? Sit the fuck down! “
“We’re leaving!” One woman shouts.
JD quickly throws his finger forward, pointing at her.
“ The fuck you are bitch! Sit the fuck down! All of you! Sit the fuck down right goddamn now before I go ATF and burn this shitshack down, ya hear me? “
With obvious resentment and trepidation, everyone sits down as JD composes himself. He places his case on the podium in front of him and leans forward - resting his arms on it.
“ Now I come here, 'cause I wanna talk about the father and the son. Now ya’ see, the father is supposed to protect the son, care for the son, raise the son! And the son is supposed to cherish the father, be better than the father, learn from his mistakes, and be a better person because of it. Now that all sounds like some fuckin’ bullshit to me, but when I look at ol’ piss stain JJ, and hear the way he whines and cries at me like I’m his daddy… I think I understand what Jesus was trying to say. “
“ I don’t think that's in the Bible,” says a small child in the back row.
“ I really couldn’t give a shit, kid, interrupt me again and I’ll make yo father my lil squeelin bitch.”
He taps the top of the case, a glint of destruction in his eyes as he continues.
“ A squeelin bitch, just like JJ. See JJ wants to see me as his father, he wants to use that resentment for the man to fuel his anger at my ass. Because he sees something in me, that just makes him hate himself that much more. Every time he glances in my direction he gets the feelin’ of inadequacy, and it’s not just because that boy's muscles got his balls shrunk. It’s because he wants my approval, my respect, and I refuse to give him that. Because in the end, JJ Slayer is just a fuckin bump on my cock, a temporary setback that I’ll forget about in a few months as I move on to bigger and better things. As I reclaim my place atop the fuckin’ CULT, sit my back down on my throne! And beat any motherfucker who steps to me! Walks in my direction! I don’t give a fuck who they are, what they want when I got my fuckin’ championship! I’m the goddamn predator! X on my back? That’s a fuckin’ decoy because the second you get too close I stomp you fuckin’ shit into the dirt! “
Spit flies from his lips as the tone in his voice spews anger, the congregation jumping at his idle threats, as the growing feeling of terror creeps up through the pews. JD unlatches his case, running his hand along it before turning his back to it and looking up at the large crucifixion of Christ which stood as the focal point of the church.
“ See now, like Jesus, I gotta fuckin’ not put this boy down once, but I gotta put him down twice, but really… This’ll be the third time I planted his ass in the motherfuckin muck…But because of a goddamn technicality that don’t count… But we both know, don’t we JJ. “
Through the corner of his eyes, he looks into the camera for the first time - his cocky grin stretching through his bushy beard.
“We both know that I got the fuck up and walked away, while you was laid the fuck out having just taken a full on header. Sure, you can call the match a draw, but the fight? I won fuckin’ that bitch… Just like I’ll win it this time, because I don’t give two fuckin shits how many times I gotta beat yo’ ass. I don’t give a fuck how many times I gotta make you pay, make you see, beat some fucking brains in you! Because while you out there, trying to paint a fuckin’ masterpiece, I’m doing what I’m paid to do… And that’s beat yo’ fuckin’ ass. “
Turning back around he finally opens up his case revealing what's inside, reaching in he pulls out an assault rifle, the same make that the Branch Davidians had used in their defense of the Waco compound. At the site of the gun one of the old ladies clutches at her heart, screaming in pain and shock as someone screams out she's having a heart attack. The entire congregation looks at JD, who eyes the women up and down before motioning to the gun with the door.
“ Well, get her the fuck out of here I suppose, fuckin’ rude ass bitch. “
The entire group tries to leave the building but JD pops off a few rounds into the air, proving that this gun was an Automatic.
“ I said she gets to leave, the rest of you dumbfuckin’ pricks sitdown. Tweedlefuck and Toodledipshit, help her out. “
He points to two of the younger men in the crowd and they help her out of the building, through the doors JD had kicked down earlier. As they exit, JD picks right back up where he left off.
“ I ain’t no fucking artists JJ, and I ain’t yo fuckin’ daddy. See I’m a god damn wrestler, that’s what my own father beat into me. And unlike you, I don’t hate him for it. In fact… I love that son of bitch when no one else would! Because he made me into the man I am today, through hard fuckin’ knocks and bloody fuckin’ noses! He made me into the god damn walking apocalypse I am now! So don’t you fuckin’ compare me to that shit stain you longing for, because we ain’t nothin’ alike. If I had a kid, I’d raise that motherfucker the same way I was raised, shitty, but I’d be in his life… Which I guess that's why you flocked to me so quickly, you wanted someone to take the place of that piece of fuck that shot you into your whore cunt of a mother. But I will disappoint you, boy… Cause I ain’t you daddy… And you ain’t my son. “
Swinging himself around, he opens fires at the crucifixion, bullets ringing out into the small church as the congregation takes this time to get the fuck out of there.
“ FUCK THE FATHER! FUCK THE SON! I AM CULTS MOTHERFUCKING MESSIAH!”
As the crucifixion comes crumbling down to the ground with a loud thud, it splinters through the wooden flooring and into the dirt below. Landing just before where JD was standing, he doesn’t flinch instead he just throws his assault rifle to the ground and turns back to the camera, a look of angered bewilderment on his face when he realized everyone has left.
“ Ungrateful motherfuckers. “
He says as he reaches into his Jorts pocket and pulls out a pack of Marlboro reds, placing one between his lips and lighting it up before his eyes meet back up with the camera.
“ You think these people want you to lead them, to be something to them. But you ain’t fuckin’ shit boy… These CULT fucks are mine, and it ain’t because I’m out there thinkin’ I’m some fuckin Picasso ass motherfucker… It’s because every time I go out into that ring, I leave it all in there…I fight until I can’t fuckin’ fight anymore, I throw these hands like fuckin’ clubs and anyone who eats 'em knows that they done just fucked up… So don’t be thinkin’ about no title opportunities JJ, don’t be thinkin' of me as your father, all that bullshit will just cloud your fuckin’ mind. Leave you on the wrong side of a full on header… I’m JD fuckin’ Driftwood. “
Taking a long drag of his cigarette, JD lets the smoke drift from his nostrils as he intently looks through the camera as if he was talking to JJ face to face.
“And you’re just somebodies kid. “
