Post by JD Driftwood on Jul 29, 2023 0:08:30 GMT
It takes a certain kind of psychopath to live in the Florida backwoods. The heat builds up to the point of exhaustion, soggy hot air like a wet blanket on the soul on days like today. With the sun beaming overhead, a certain haze in the air morphed the landscape - as if any second it could come ablaze. It clings to the lungs like tar from a freshly smoked cigarette, leaving those not adjusted wheezing and gasping for air. It was a hard life, one that had taken many too soon. You read in the paper almost every day, Florida man did this, Florida man did that. It was a never-ending cycle of broken people doing deranged things, almost as if the state welcomed the damage with open arms.
“ I withstood em’ all... Every attack, every onslaught they brought at me. Because that’s just the kind of motherfucker that I am. They wanted to narrow me out, take me from the heard - but I been a long fuckin’ wolf my entire life. Aint no pack animal that can be corraled, ain't no follower of broken words and pretty lies. They fucked up! And now that belt is right where I fuckin’ want it. “
Cutter’s doublewide trailer stood off the beaten path, on a plot of land he had invested in years back. He wanted to build a legacy here, a home for his children - a home that he would run them out of. This was all he had to his name at the end, this trailer, and the ring that sat a few yards away from it - stained with the blood of his son, and sons of others. Because JD didn’t teach regular wrestling, no he taught his style of wrestling. The hard-hitting, the bone-cracking, the pulling, and the stretching, he would make a hooker out of you inside of those ropes if you let him. Not the kind who made a living on their back, but the kind who could cripple you if they so chose.
It was a hard way to learn, paid in blood and torn ligaments.
“Like a fly on shit, I knew I’d find my way back to that New World Championship, little did I know I’d find it right where I left it. Wrapped around the waist of some fuckin’ ditzy fuckin’ cunt who couldn’t get it done by herself. Nineteen years old and the champion of my fuckin’ CULT, my goddamn stomping grounds. Pathetic as fuck! And that fact that Backass couldn’t keep that shit on him, just tells me what we’ve all known since I first stepped foot back in this company… The New World Champion fears JD Driftwood… Don’t matter who holds it, because they know the baddest motherfucker walking is coming for it..”
The ground starts to shake, as an engine roars off in the distance getting closer and closer as the rumbling intensifies. Then in a loud almost deafening crash, a bulldozer drives right through the middle of the trailer - splintering it in half. It whips around and goes back through one end, coming out of the other and scattering the debris in multiple directions until nothing was left of the trailer but broken glass and splintered wood. As the bulldozer backs up, you finally catch a glimpse of the driver - JD Driftwood dressed in nothing but a pair of jean shorts and boots.
He pushes the remains of his childhood home out of the way, piling it up near the driveway. With a heavy exhaust of air, JD turns the bulldozer off and climbs down. Paying the camera no attention as he uses a can of Bush light to cool down his cherry-red face. Sweat was dripping down his face and body, and his shorts are so drenched that he might as well just crawled out of a lake. JD chugs down the beer and lets out a sigh as he sets his attention to the ring that was still a few yards away.
“ People living in other realities, think this is their own. Grace Leary, this isn’t for you… You understand? That championship, that main event, all the glory that you think you’re deserved… It ain't nothin’ but bullshit, spewed from a little girl with parent issues.. We all got em bitch, just ask JJ, just ask sugar tits!… Cult is a fucking broken hearts club, and each one of them think they deserve that belt! That they earned it! But they all are just on borrowed time, and time is coming up, because once I see my fuckin’ championship… Once that bell rings, I’m dropping every single one of you motherfuckers on your heads, I’m kicking the dog shit out of each of you! I’m tearing you the fuck open, and showing the bible belt just what the fuck man and woman is made of! “
Morning, gradually turns into afternoon, the heat rising with the sun as JD begins to meticulously take apart the ring. He undoes the turnbuckles, tears up the mat, and starts to remove the boards underneath - hauling all of it to where Cutter’s house once was. The sweat on his brow is one earned from hard work, determination, a goal that he has set his sight on. The long, wooden boards of the ring he stacks on his shoulders in triplicate, letting out the occasional grunt and swear word as he marches them across his property.
“ These motherfuckers got it all wrong. They think that just because ol JJ beat me some weeks back, that I’m done for… That I’m spiraling, but I ain't never been down. Not once in my motherfuckin’ life! I bounce off the fuckin’ pavement and come back ten times harder, a hundred times more pissed the fuck off. Because beat me once, good fuckin’ job. Do it again? That shit just don’t happen. So I guess JJ and Serenity are both shit outta luck. They done had their shot, and I got the fuck back up. Fact they didn’t end my ass was their second fuckin’ mistake! The first… Was thinkin’ you could even try. “
Once it’s all dissembled, and moved. JD looks up at the sun, wiping the sweat from his brow with his hands on his hips before getting right back to work. Plopping a cigarette between his lips, JD goes about setting up the ring - just like his father had taught him. It was therapeutic in a way, a reminder of when he started out in this business. Where he would do this sometimes twice in one day, every day - while riding up and down the roads paying his dues.
The stubborn bastard didn’t want his father's name giving him any breaks, and Cutter wouldn’t allow that anyway. So JD started at the bottom and worked his ass to lead him where he was today. Finishing reconstructing the ring as a monument to his father, and a testament to the training he withstood as a child. Each blood stain had a memory, the twang of the ropes still filling his with a certain giddiness.
With the sun setting, the temperature began to lower, giving some reprieve from the ball-sweltering heat of the day. JD grabs a tall boy of bush and rolls in the ring, running the ropes a few times and taking a few bumps in the center - making sure everything was up to snuff. He let his hand run over a few stains before his eyes glared up at the camera.
And from then on, it was a snarl on his face - you could see his attitude change as he drove his fist into the mat and pushed himself up. Backing himself up to the corner he climbed up to the second rope, taking a seat on the top as he cracked open his beer. Holding it up as if to cheers the camera before taking a good long drink. He smacks his lips together and lets his elbows rest on his knees, as he begins his lecture.
“You know the difference between people like Serenity Holmes and myself, compared to JJ and Grace? We ain’t wanna do anything else with our lives, we ain't go to no fucking college, we ain’t fuckin join to fuckin military to try and make us some hoo-rah badasses. Nah, we just wanted to be wrestlers… And that’s why Serenity holds what's mine right now, instead of either of you real-life rejects. You got the degrees, the pedigrees, you hold yourself so high above your own asshole, that you can’t even smell the shit leaking out… Now that’s something y’all share with young child tho.
Three turds straight from the dog's asshole, just waiting to be smeared across that canvas. Talkin’ in your big fancy fucking words, showing your education and pompous fuckatude! You confused these motherfuckers with philosophical bullshittery, meanwhile, I’m exactly where the fuck I said I’d be the second I walked back in this company. While y’all play tag ass, with Cassanova Valentine, I kick fuckin’ ass! I beat motherfuckers down, and I take what's mine. I don’t need to over-extended bullshit, some fucking fancy picture that y’all trying to paint. Because wrestling ain't no fucking artistry, it’s a goddamn shitshow! And I’m the fuckin’ asshole! “
Just as he has done so many times before, JD reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He places it between his lips and lights it as his eyes gleam into the camera - the way the moonlight hits his pale white flesh triggers a flashback to the night he beat his father half to death. He’s now sitting there covered in blood, but only for a few seconds before glitching back to normal.
“I don’t need to fucking explain a goddamn thing as to why I’m going to take back my New World Championship, words ain’t shit to me, I’ll throw hands at any motherfuckin time! With any fuckin’ one! Belt on the line, belt not on the line…Deep down I couldn’t really give a fuck! I don’t step in that ring with the intent on losing, that shit don’t even cross my mind. “
Jumping down off the ropes, his boots hit the mat with a clash and for another few seconds he’s covered in his father's blood.
“ They ain’t gonna be no beatins’ in the bible belt… Just one bad motherfucker, taking back what's his. And beating? That just ain’t the right kind of word for what the fuck I’m about to do. “
He takes a step forward, now back to normal as the reddish-orange cherry of cigarette illuminated his shadowed face - which is now stretched back in a menacing grin.
“ No… It’ll be more of a slaughter. “
Once again he’s covered in blood.
“ Run rabbits… Run. “
“ I withstood em’ all... Every attack, every onslaught they brought at me. Because that’s just the kind of motherfucker that I am. They wanted to narrow me out, take me from the heard - but I been a long fuckin’ wolf my entire life. Aint no pack animal that can be corraled, ain't no follower of broken words and pretty lies. They fucked up! And now that belt is right where I fuckin’ want it. “
Cutter’s doublewide trailer stood off the beaten path, on a plot of land he had invested in years back. He wanted to build a legacy here, a home for his children - a home that he would run them out of. This was all he had to his name at the end, this trailer, and the ring that sat a few yards away from it - stained with the blood of his son, and sons of others. Because JD didn’t teach regular wrestling, no he taught his style of wrestling. The hard-hitting, the bone-cracking, the pulling, and the stretching, he would make a hooker out of you inside of those ropes if you let him. Not the kind who made a living on their back, but the kind who could cripple you if they so chose.
It was a hard way to learn, paid in blood and torn ligaments.
“Like a fly on shit, I knew I’d find my way back to that New World Championship, little did I know I’d find it right where I left it. Wrapped around the waist of some fuckin’ ditzy fuckin’ cunt who couldn’t get it done by herself. Nineteen years old and the champion of my fuckin’ CULT, my goddamn stomping grounds. Pathetic as fuck! And that fact that Backass couldn’t keep that shit on him, just tells me what we’ve all known since I first stepped foot back in this company… The New World Champion fears JD Driftwood… Don’t matter who holds it, because they know the baddest motherfucker walking is coming for it..”
The ground starts to shake, as an engine roars off in the distance getting closer and closer as the rumbling intensifies. Then in a loud almost deafening crash, a bulldozer drives right through the middle of the trailer - splintering it in half. It whips around and goes back through one end, coming out of the other and scattering the debris in multiple directions until nothing was left of the trailer but broken glass and splintered wood. As the bulldozer backs up, you finally catch a glimpse of the driver - JD Driftwood dressed in nothing but a pair of jean shorts and boots.
He pushes the remains of his childhood home out of the way, piling it up near the driveway. With a heavy exhaust of air, JD turns the bulldozer off and climbs down. Paying the camera no attention as he uses a can of Bush light to cool down his cherry-red face. Sweat was dripping down his face and body, and his shorts are so drenched that he might as well just crawled out of a lake. JD chugs down the beer and lets out a sigh as he sets his attention to the ring that was still a few yards away.
“ People living in other realities, think this is their own. Grace Leary, this isn’t for you… You understand? That championship, that main event, all the glory that you think you’re deserved… It ain't nothin’ but bullshit, spewed from a little girl with parent issues.. We all got em bitch, just ask JJ, just ask sugar tits!… Cult is a fucking broken hearts club, and each one of them think they deserve that belt! That they earned it! But they all are just on borrowed time, and time is coming up, because once I see my fuckin’ championship… Once that bell rings, I’m dropping every single one of you motherfuckers on your heads, I’m kicking the dog shit out of each of you! I’m tearing you the fuck open, and showing the bible belt just what the fuck man and woman is made of! “
Morning, gradually turns into afternoon, the heat rising with the sun as JD begins to meticulously take apart the ring. He undoes the turnbuckles, tears up the mat, and starts to remove the boards underneath - hauling all of it to where Cutter’s house once was. The sweat on his brow is one earned from hard work, determination, a goal that he has set his sight on. The long, wooden boards of the ring he stacks on his shoulders in triplicate, letting out the occasional grunt and swear word as he marches them across his property.
“ These motherfuckers got it all wrong. They think that just because ol JJ beat me some weeks back, that I’m done for… That I’m spiraling, but I ain't never been down. Not once in my motherfuckin’ life! I bounce off the fuckin’ pavement and come back ten times harder, a hundred times more pissed the fuck off. Because beat me once, good fuckin’ job. Do it again? That shit just don’t happen. So I guess JJ and Serenity are both shit outta luck. They done had their shot, and I got the fuck back up. Fact they didn’t end my ass was their second fuckin’ mistake! The first… Was thinkin’ you could even try. “
Once it’s all dissembled, and moved. JD looks up at the sun, wiping the sweat from his brow with his hands on his hips before getting right back to work. Plopping a cigarette between his lips, JD goes about setting up the ring - just like his father had taught him. It was therapeutic in a way, a reminder of when he started out in this business. Where he would do this sometimes twice in one day, every day - while riding up and down the roads paying his dues.
The stubborn bastard didn’t want his father's name giving him any breaks, and Cutter wouldn’t allow that anyway. So JD started at the bottom and worked his ass to lead him where he was today. Finishing reconstructing the ring as a monument to his father, and a testament to the training he withstood as a child. Each blood stain had a memory, the twang of the ropes still filling his with a certain giddiness.
With the sun setting, the temperature began to lower, giving some reprieve from the ball-sweltering heat of the day. JD grabs a tall boy of bush and rolls in the ring, running the ropes a few times and taking a few bumps in the center - making sure everything was up to snuff. He let his hand run over a few stains before his eyes glared up at the camera.
And from then on, it was a snarl on his face - you could see his attitude change as he drove his fist into the mat and pushed himself up. Backing himself up to the corner he climbed up to the second rope, taking a seat on the top as he cracked open his beer. Holding it up as if to cheers the camera before taking a good long drink. He smacks his lips together and lets his elbows rest on his knees, as he begins his lecture.
“You know the difference between people like Serenity Holmes and myself, compared to JJ and Grace? We ain’t wanna do anything else with our lives, we ain't go to no fucking college, we ain’t fuckin join to fuckin military to try and make us some hoo-rah badasses. Nah, we just wanted to be wrestlers… And that’s why Serenity holds what's mine right now, instead of either of you real-life rejects. You got the degrees, the pedigrees, you hold yourself so high above your own asshole, that you can’t even smell the shit leaking out… Now that’s something y’all share with young child tho.
Three turds straight from the dog's asshole, just waiting to be smeared across that canvas. Talkin’ in your big fancy fucking words, showing your education and pompous fuckatude! You confused these motherfuckers with philosophical bullshittery, meanwhile, I’m exactly where the fuck I said I’d be the second I walked back in this company. While y’all play tag ass, with Cassanova Valentine, I kick fuckin’ ass! I beat motherfuckers down, and I take what's mine. I don’t need to over-extended bullshit, some fucking fancy picture that y’all trying to paint. Because wrestling ain't no fucking artistry, it’s a goddamn shitshow! And I’m the fuckin’ asshole! “
Just as he has done so many times before, JD reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He places it between his lips and lights it as his eyes gleam into the camera - the way the moonlight hits his pale white flesh triggers a flashback to the night he beat his father half to death. He’s now sitting there covered in blood, but only for a few seconds before glitching back to normal.
“I don’t need to fucking explain a goddamn thing as to why I’m going to take back my New World Championship, words ain’t shit to me, I’ll throw hands at any motherfuckin time! With any fuckin’ one! Belt on the line, belt not on the line…Deep down I couldn’t really give a fuck! I don’t step in that ring with the intent on losing, that shit don’t even cross my mind. “
Jumping down off the ropes, his boots hit the mat with a clash and for another few seconds he’s covered in his father's blood.
“ They ain’t gonna be no beatins’ in the bible belt… Just one bad motherfucker, taking back what's his. And beating? That just ain’t the right kind of word for what the fuck I’m about to do. “
He takes a step forward, now back to normal as the reddish-orange cherry of cigarette illuminated his shadowed face - which is now stretched back in a menacing grin.
“ No… It’ll be more of a slaughter. “
Once again he’s covered in blood.
“ Run rabbits… Run. “
