Post by JD Driftwood on Apr 22, 2022 1:10:10 GMT
Brief, rhythmic flashes of scene after a scene under a black and white filter.
Cutter driftwood in a rebel flag tee shirt and underwear in the pouring rain, screaming at a chubby redhead child to stand the fuck up - his face caked with dirt.
The jumbled slamming of bodies on a make-shift ring and the smell of sweat and copper in the air, bloodied teeth on a mat.
An argument between Cutter and an unknown woman, beer bottles being thrown across the living room - wrestling figures in small hands trying to drown out the screaming.
“Fuckin’ prick.”
JD scoffs underneath his breath as he pulls the Marlboro red away from his lips, smoke drifting upward into the soggy air of Florida’s bayou. The sound of buzzing insects and the chirping of various wildlife consume the background noise as the son of the Intimidator clears his head of wayward memories. His greenish-brown bloodshot eyes flicker for a few moments before focusing on the camera in front of him.
A faint layer of dirt and sweat clings to his pudgy cheeks, as he sits on the edge of a large airboat that has been pulled into one of the many dunes in the deeper parts of the Florida everglades. JD had spent his childhood making these backwoods his home, he knew every inch of it like the back of his hand and had spent many nights out here. This is why it’s no surprise that he was packing heat, a pump shotgun at his side - leaned up against the airboat. From the corner of his eyes, he glances down at it before looking back at the camera, crossings his arms against his chest and digging his boots into the dirt. Clearing his throat and spitting on the ground, he begins to speak - a pandering cockiness in his voice.
“ Stupid sons of bitches come out here thinkin’ they gon’ have a good time, ya’ know? Florida, they fucking party capital of the world and all that shit. Drunken tourists gettin’ lost out here in these marshes, torn to pieces by gators, devoured by the swamp itself. Many never to be seen again.
They remind me of stupid fucks like you Max, thinkin’ they some kind o king asshole but really just a two-bit piece of shit prick with no business being here. Just like you ain't got no business being at Jonestown Reunion, no business being in that ring with me. Definitely not with that purdy little strap around your waist - boy it weighs more than you do soaken fuckin’ wet.
But more than that it represents something that you wear like fuckin’ eyeliner on one of them lil twinky emo boys I keep seeing poppin’ up on Twitter. You wearin’ it like it’s fashion because Deathmatch is the in thing, so why not go all fuckin’ crazy right, Max? Put on your blackest clothes, jerk off to columbine, and start fuckin’ shootin! Am I right?
You look like you lost your virginity with Marilyn Manson playin’ in the background.
And I’ll judge that fuckin’ book, by its FUCKIN’ cover! Cause you ain’t shown me shit else so far, sure you won your match, and I lost mine. But when word broke out that I be gettin’ a shot at that SNUFF championship everyone and their god damn momma knew I would be walkin’ out of Jonestown with it. “
The Chirping sound from before has ceased, something JD takes notice of as he raises an eyebrow and looks past the camera for a moment - a faint sound of something heavy slowly making through the tall grass. Driftwood stares off at it for a few moments, before returning his sights to the camera. He takes the last drag off his cigarette and flicks it into the brush, casually uncrossing his arms and letting one hand rest on his shotgun.
“ And maybe that’s just me underestimating your ass, I mean… You did fight Connor Mcgregor, right? Aint no, Dog Face Donnie, Roscoe Jenkins, or double D Delaney Donovan… But I guess that chumps alright. I mean you’d think you woulda fought someone worth fighting, but whatever boy. It’s your life you're pissin’ away chasing every god damn dream that sparks into your ree’in brain.
See I’ve only ever had one dream and it was whooped into me since I could enter them fuckin ropes, understand? My dream is the be the baddest motherfucking wrestler there’s ever been. Meaner than Cutter, tougher than ol Santana, and more hard hittin’ than the Artemis Kaiser and Aoki Zombie combined!
You like them name drops boy? They mean something to you? Cause to be fuckin’ honest they don’t mean piss all to me. Just a list of my peers, who one by one I plan to stomp into the fuckin’ dirt. Just like I plan to do to you. I don’t see the past, I don’t see the future, I just see yo bitch ass laid out in the grass holding onto something that I think I’d like. Something for me to take, to push you down in the mud and steal!
Bitch I’ll be your fuckin’ bully, because lord knows someone needs to put you into fuckin’ check.
You talk this big bad motherfuckin’ game, but I see the whimper in your fuckin’ eyes boy. I see that hesitation in your throat every time another cocksuckin’ word flaps out of that purty snatch you call a mouth. I hear it in your voice, this fuckin’ sheep wearing wolves clothings - trying to convince everyone that he's so god damn badass, I mean look at your fuckin name! Max Daemon, it’s like some child who grew up getting his lunch money stolen made up this badass personality. One that didn’t take no shit! But you did take that shit didn’t you Max? I bet it was a long fuckin’ time before you grew the balls to even throw a punch at a motherfucker talkin’ down on you.
And you know what? I bet it felt good once you finally did, I bet something snapped in you like…” Oh fuck, this is what I shoulda been doing all along.” It’s a crazy thing when the prey learns to be a predator when the meek realize all they had to do was swing for the fences, and it woulda saved them a lifetime of agony. I hope you swing for the fences with me Dayman, I hope you fucking load up your guns and pull the trigger right in my mother fuckin’ chest! “
Smashing his gorilla-like fist up against his exposed flesh, his blue and red sleeveless plaid vest almost flew off him from the impact. JD grins, running his tongue along the top row of slightly yellow teeth - his eyes gleaming with amusement as he reaches back into the airboat, fiddling around a little bit before bringing forth a glass bottle of Busch. Placing the metal cap in between his teeth, he pops it off and spits it onto the ground before downing half of the bottle in a few glugs. Letting out a grated sigh of pleasure, JD wipes his mouth off and smirks as he limply holds the bottle in front of his face, staring through the tinted glass.
“You know what you god damn are Max Geekmon? “
And before he could finish his train a though, the rustling from before catches his attention. You can see a change in his stance and an overall vibe change as he quickly places the bottle down on the boat and grabs and pumps his shotgun - aiming it up, past the camera.
BANG!
“ SON OF A BITCH! “
JD had missed his shot, but that did not deter him from the task at hand, in a rushed fashion he tosses the gun down to the ground and runs out of frame, you hear the sounds of stomping, and a few cracks followed by JD muttering some shit talk underneath his breath. As the camera pans around, JD is already making his way back - a large python with its head smashed draped over his shoulders. The grin on his face was one of pride, his eyes lighting up as he points into the camera.
“ Invasive god damn species, Max! That’s what the fuck you are! “
Hauling the carcass up and onto the airboat, it’s a good 9-10 feet. JD examines it, still looking as giddy as a whore in vegas, he’s quick to pop out his knife hanging from his denim shorts and start going to work on skinning it.
“ A snake in the motherfucking grass, you waited and slithered your way to that championship, tipped over someone elses bucket and stole all they blood. I seent it! Meanwhile, I’m tearing the god damn house down with Owen, doing some actual motherfucking wrestling. You wanna know why everyones expecting me to walk out this match with that Snuff championship? You wanna know why everyone already has decided that I’m fuckin’ beatin’ you? “
He raises his the knife pointing towards the camera, the Floridian sun gleaming off the exposed metal as blood drips from the tip.
“ Because I fuckin’ will. I’m a sure god damn thing. Ten out of ten times, I walk into motherfucking Jonestown and force-feed you my own brand of fucking Koolaid. Ten out of ten fucking times, I put your ass fuckin’ down, and take your fuckin’ belt! “
Flipping the knife back down into it’s base, JD grins, tossing his head side to side in a cocky manner. He then places the knife back down on his belt, grabs at the base of the snake’s neck, what hasn’t been stomped out, and pulls - tearing the skin from meat.
“You wanna test them odds, Max? That’s fine… See I ain’t gonna stand here like them other motherfuckers and even act like I give a shit about you. What you done, who you beat, that ain't me, boy. When I see something I fuckin’ want I pounce on it, when I smell blood in that water I motherfuckin’ kill! You understand that? So while you can stand there and say what a bad motherfucker you are, I’ll prove it every god damn time.”
He leans foreward, his gut smashing up against the exposed anaconda’s meat and opens up a cooler - the same cooler where he got his beer from earlier. In one clean sweep he pushes the meat, as well as the skin into the cooler, the ladder clanging against the glass bottles.
“ An Invasive species stepping up into my territory, tryina make it something it’s not. We don’t need little bitches like you Max, men who don’t even know who the fuck they are. People who treat this wrestling shit like some sort of soap box to air out their shitty lives. I came to CULT because I heard it was where the fuckin’ fringe lies. It’s where the outcasts come to do business, and that business is violence. That buisness is bloodshed. But you Max? You just came here because it looked good on that ever growing resume, you did it for fucking fashion. “
With snake blood dripping down his hand JD grabs his beer and chugs the rest of it before smashing it onto the metal surface of the air boat. He then grinds his knuckles into the glass, the sharp squealing sound glass on metal cutting through the bayou as JD lifts his hand up in a closed fist, - just like the knife, the sun glimmers off shards of beer bottle lodged into his flesh.
“ And come Jonestown, ima make you wear this season's best. Because a little bit of glass, driving into these knuckles ain't nothing but an advantage. One I ain’t need, but one I’m happy to take. I don’t need the tape, because I ain't no fucking pussy. This the Snuff championship we talkin’ bout ain't it? As real as it fuckin’ gets! You want glass to stick to skin? You just fuckin’ shovin’ it in, now don’t ya’ boy? “
Extending, then clenching his fist JD smiles, his asshole like nature really showing through, bursting from his southern dialect. He looks up to the sky at the setting sun, before glancing back over his shoulder to where the seat of the airboat was. As he turns his back to the camera, he continues speaking.
“ Way I see it, you aint really done nothing wrong beside be a fuckin’ chump in the wrong god damn company. I’m sure that shit gets over where ever the fuck you call home. But every ring i’m in is home to me, and I aint gonna lose the respect I’ve earned by gettin’ bled out by some pixie lookin’ bitch.
Just the way it is, nothing you can do about it… Just the way she goes, sometimes she goes, sometimes she doesn’t… And in your case? At Jonestown?”
With those words, JD sinks his boots into the bank and pushes - veins in his neck showing themselves as does the underlying muscle of his physic as he shoves the airboat back into the water and hops on. Grabbing an unopened beer from the cooler, he makes his way to the seat at the back and fires up the engine with a loud gusting roar. Before he pulls off he makes sure to look back to the camera one more time.
“ She fuckin’ doesn’t! “
Cutter driftwood in a rebel flag tee shirt and underwear in the pouring rain, screaming at a chubby redhead child to stand the fuck up - his face caked with dirt.
The jumbled slamming of bodies on a make-shift ring and the smell of sweat and copper in the air, bloodied teeth on a mat.
An argument between Cutter and an unknown woman, beer bottles being thrown across the living room - wrestling figures in small hands trying to drown out the screaming.
“Fuckin’ prick.”
JD scoffs underneath his breath as he pulls the Marlboro red away from his lips, smoke drifting upward into the soggy air of Florida’s bayou. The sound of buzzing insects and the chirping of various wildlife consume the background noise as the son of the Intimidator clears his head of wayward memories. His greenish-brown bloodshot eyes flicker for a few moments before focusing on the camera in front of him.
A faint layer of dirt and sweat clings to his pudgy cheeks, as he sits on the edge of a large airboat that has been pulled into one of the many dunes in the deeper parts of the Florida everglades. JD had spent his childhood making these backwoods his home, he knew every inch of it like the back of his hand and had spent many nights out here. This is why it’s no surprise that he was packing heat, a pump shotgun at his side - leaned up against the airboat. From the corner of his eyes, he glances down at it before looking back at the camera, crossings his arms against his chest and digging his boots into the dirt. Clearing his throat and spitting on the ground, he begins to speak - a pandering cockiness in his voice.
“ Stupid sons of bitches come out here thinkin’ they gon’ have a good time, ya’ know? Florida, they fucking party capital of the world and all that shit. Drunken tourists gettin’ lost out here in these marshes, torn to pieces by gators, devoured by the swamp itself. Many never to be seen again.
They remind me of stupid fucks like you Max, thinkin’ they some kind o king asshole but really just a two-bit piece of shit prick with no business being here. Just like you ain't got no business being at Jonestown Reunion, no business being in that ring with me. Definitely not with that purdy little strap around your waist - boy it weighs more than you do soaken fuckin’ wet.
But more than that it represents something that you wear like fuckin’ eyeliner on one of them lil twinky emo boys I keep seeing poppin’ up on Twitter. You wearin’ it like it’s fashion because Deathmatch is the in thing, so why not go all fuckin’ crazy right, Max? Put on your blackest clothes, jerk off to columbine, and start fuckin’ shootin! Am I right?
You look like you lost your virginity with Marilyn Manson playin’ in the background.
And I’ll judge that fuckin’ book, by its FUCKIN’ cover! Cause you ain’t shown me shit else so far, sure you won your match, and I lost mine. But when word broke out that I be gettin’ a shot at that SNUFF championship everyone and their god damn momma knew I would be walkin’ out of Jonestown with it. “
The Chirping sound from before has ceased, something JD takes notice of as he raises an eyebrow and looks past the camera for a moment - a faint sound of something heavy slowly making through the tall grass. Driftwood stares off at it for a few moments, before returning his sights to the camera. He takes the last drag off his cigarette and flicks it into the brush, casually uncrossing his arms and letting one hand rest on his shotgun.
“ And maybe that’s just me underestimating your ass, I mean… You did fight Connor Mcgregor, right? Aint no, Dog Face Donnie, Roscoe Jenkins, or double D Delaney Donovan… But I guess that chumps alright. I mean you’d think you woulda fought someone worth fighting, but whatever boy. It’s your life you're pissin’ away chasing every god damn dream that sparks into your ree’in brain.
See I’ve only ever had one dream and it was whooped into me since I could enter them fuckin ropes, understand? My dream is the be the baddest motherfucking wrestler there’s ever been. Meaner than Cutter, tougher than ol Santana, and more hard hittin’ than the Artemis Kaiser and Aoki Zombie combined!
You like them name drops boy? They mean something to you? Cause to be fuckin’ honest they don’t mean piss all to me. Just a list of my peers, who one by one I plan to stomp into the fuckin’ dirt. Just like I plan to do to you. I don’t see the past, I don’t see the future, I just see yo bitch ass laid out in the grass holding onto something that I think I’d like. Something for me to take, to push you down in the mud and steal!
Bitch I’ll be your fuckin’ bully, because lord knows someone needs to put you into fuckin’ check.
You talk this big bad motherfuckin’ game, but I see the whimper in your fuckin’ eyes boy. I see that hesitation in your throat every time another cocksuckin’ word flaps out of that purty snatch you call a mouth. I hear it in your voice, this fuckin’ sheep wearing wolves clothings - trying to convince everyone that he's so god damn badass, I mean look at your fuckin name! Max Daemon, it’s like some child who grew up getting his lunch money stolen made up this badass personality. One that didn’t take no shit! But you did take that shit didn’t you Max? I bet it was a long fuckin’ time before you grew the balls to even throw a punch at a motherfucker talkin’ down on you.
And you know what? I bet it felt good once you finally did, I bet something snapped in you like…” Oh fuck, this is what I shoulda been doing all along.” It’s a crazy thing when the prey learns to be a predator when the meek realize all they had to do was swing for the fences, and it woulda saved them a lifetime of agony. I hope you swing for the fences with me Dayman, I hope you fucking load up your guns and pull the trigger right in my mother fuckin’ chest! “
Smashing his gorilla-like fist up against his exposed flesh, his blue and red sleeveless plaid vest almost flew off him from the impact. JD grins, running his tongue along the top row of slightly yellow teeth - his eyes gleaming with amusement as he reaches back into the airboat, fiddling around a little bit before bringing forth a glass bottle of Busch. Placing the metal cap in between his teeth, he pops it off and spits it onto the ground before downing half of the bottle in a few glugs. Letting out a grated sigh of pleasure, JD wipes his mouth off and smirks as he limply holds the bottle in front of his face, staring through the tinted glass.
“You know what you god damn are Max Geekmon? “
And before he could finish his train a though, the rustling from before catches his attention. You can see a change in his stance and an overall vibe change as he quickly places the bottle down on the boat and grabs and pumps his shotgun - aiming it up, past the camera.
BANG!
“ SON OF A BITCH! “
JD had missed his shot, but that did not deter him from the task at hand, in a rushed fashion he tosses the gun down to the ground and runs out of frame, you hear the sounds of stomping, and a few cracks followed by JD muttering some shit talk underneath his breath. As the camera pans around, JD is already making his way back - a large python with its head smashed draped over his shoulders. The grin on his face was one of pride, his eyes lighting up as he points into the camera.
“ Invasive god damn species, Max! That’s what the fuck you are! “
Hauling the carcass up and onto the airboat, it’s a good 9-10 feet. JD examines it, still looking as giddy as a whore in vegas, he’s quick to pop out his knife hanging from his denim shorts and start going to work on skinning it.
“ A snake in the motherfucking grass, you waited and slithered your way to that championship, tipped over someone elses bucket and stole all they blood. I seent it! Meanwhile, I’m tearing the god damn house down with Owen, doing some actual motherfucking wrestling. You wanna know why everyones expecting me to walk out this match with that Snuff championship? You wanna know why everyone already has decided that I’m fuckin’ beatin’ you? “
He raises his the knife pointing towards the camera, the Floridian sun gleaming off the exposed metal as blood drips from the tip.
“ Because I fuckin’ will. I’m a sure god damn thing. Ten out of ten times, I walk into motherfucking Jonestown and force-feed you my own brand of fucking Koolaid. Ten out of ten fucking times, I put your ass fuckin’ down, and take your fuckin’ belt! “
Flipping the knife back down into it’s base, JD grins, tossing his head side to side in a cocky manner. He then places the knife back down on his belt, grabs at the base of the snake’s neck, what hasn’t been stomped out, and pulls - tearing the skin from meat.
“You wanna test them odds, Max? That’s fine… See I ain’t gonna stand here like them other motherfuckers and even act like I give a shit about you. What you done, who you beat, that ain't me, boy. When I see something I fuckin’ want I pounce on it, when I smell blood in that water I motherfuckin’ kill! You understand that? So while you can stand there and say what a bad motherfucker you are, I’ll prove it every god damn time.”
He leans foreward, his gut smashing up against the exposed anaconda’s meat and opens up a cooler - the same cooler where he got his beer from earlier. In one clean sweep he pushes the meat, as well as the skin into the cooler, the ladder clanging against the glass bottles.
“ An Invasive species stepping up into my territory, tryina make it something it’s not. We don’t need little bitches like you Max, men who don’t even know who the fuck they are. People who treat this wrestling shit like some sort of soap box to air out their shitty lives. I came to CULT because I heard it was where the fuckin’ fringe lies. It’s where the outcasts come to do business, and that business is violence. That buisness is bloodshed. But you Max? You just came here because it looked good on that ever growing resume, you did it for fucking fashion. “
With snake blood dripping down his hand JD grabs his beer and chugs the rest of it before smashing it onto the metal surface of the air boat. He then grinds his knuckles into the glass, the sharp squealing sound glass on metal cutting through the bayou as JD lifts his hand up in a closed fist, - just like the knife, the sun glimmers off shards of beer bottle lodged into his flesh.
“ And come Jonestown, ima make you wear this season's best. Because a little bit of glass, driving into these knuckles ain't nothing but an advantage. One I ain’t need, but one I’m happy to take. I don’t need the tape, because I ain't no fucking pussy. This the Snuff championship we talkin’ bout ain't it? As real as it fuckin’ gets! You want glass to stick to skin? You just fuckin’ shovin’ it in, now don’t ya’ boy? “
Extending, then clenching his fist JD smiles, his asshole like nature really showing through, bursting from his southern dialect. He looks up to the sky at the setting sun, before glancing back over his shoulder to where the seat of the airboat was. As he turns his back to the camera, he continues speaking.
“ Way I see it, you aint really done nothing wrong beside be a fuckin’ chump in the wrong god damn company. I’m sure that shit gets over where ever the fuck you call home. But every ring i’m in is home to me, and I aint gonna lose the respect I’ve earned by gettin’ bled out by some pixie lookin’ bitch.
Just the way it is, nothing you can do about it… Just the way she goes, sometimes she goes, sometimes she doesn’t… And in your case? At Jonestown?”
With those words, JD sinks his boots into the bank and pushes - veins in his neck showing themselves as does the underlying muscle of his physic as he shoves the airboat back into the water and hops on. Grabbing an unopened beer from the cooler, he makes his way to the seat at the back and fires up the engine with a loud gusting roar. Before he pulls off he makes sure to look back to the camera one more time.
“ She fuckin’ doesn’t! “
