[140] – Call Me A Wrestlist (Uno)

Entry #1
September 2008
Romeoville, IL

A loud buzzing vibration summoned me awake and my eyes flicked open naturally. The relaxation that generally follows coming to from a wonderful slumber was quickly numbed by utter confusion. And then just as quickly, panic flooded said uncertainty.

Unless I’d randomly lost my sight during the snooze, blackness had run rampant over my lifeless body. What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! I struggled mightily not to freak out but my mind felt differently. The pitch dark put a stranglehold on me as the non-visible walls began closing in. Breathing suddenly seemed like too tall of a task. Instinctively, my head popped up from the cold hard ground. Moving around in the confined space was a bitch as I frantically searched for any sign of light (to no avail). My hands attempted to peruse the area but I did so with minimal success. I sensed my sanity wavering a bit as the buzzing grew deafening. I fidgeted like dying roadkill; hoping to roll a certain way and break out of the abyss or trigger a trapdoor… Wait a minute.

A trapdoor? HOLY SHIT.

I’d been buried alive! On national television no less in front of thousands. Who was the culprit? Did we put on an entertaining match for the fans at least? You mean to tell me that Undertaker didn’t lose for once? Bah fuck all that nonsense! Main concern was freeing my ass from this artificial resting place and then going from there. I rolled onto my stomach and grasped for something. Anything. There had to be a switch or lever just beyond my reach. The inability to survey my surroundings was still eating away at me like termites in a Home Depot. I thought about yelling for help but not until it was absolutely necessary.

After nearly fifteen seconds of investigating, my left hand made contact with a previously undetected object. I breathed a sigh of relief as my ears were serenaded by the subtle clinking of metal. Trying to pull it close was met with resistance. Alas, I’d discovered the latch to freedom! Unfortunately, my tugs and yanks resulted in wasted efforts. But instead of desperation setting in again, I was determined on escaping and going to pull the handle bar until it either broke off or did its’ motherfucking job.

I managed to unearth the object and fell backwards; clunking the back of my skull on a tough flat surface. While I rubbed the sore spot, my hand explored the jumbled metal and hmmmmm… Interesting.

They were keys.

SERIOUSLY? Keys for what!? You’re telling me there’s a keyhole somewhere that I’m supposed to magically stumble upon? The Phenom does this same routine every couple years? Legit? God dammit get me the fuck outta here already! I ran my hands across the four walls repeatedly but no luck. Couldn’t hurt scanning the ceiling again, right? Hold on a second… I touched something wiry and smooth. My hands journeyed down the cables and met the adjacent wall. Nothing. Bastard! Not ready to admit defeat, I inspected the section above my head and grazed another item. Seemed like a knob of some sort! I could feel a satisfactory grin stretch across my mouth and pulled on the knob like a door separating me from ten million dollars, invincibility, nude super models, etc.

Dead end apparently. I fancied a few more jerks and then collapsed in frustration. Why was I being punished!?!?! Who of importance did I piss off to this extent? My aggravation boiled over and I punched the left wall whilst shouting the foulest of expletives at nobody in particular. Releasing the inner anger felt magnificent and thus I struck the wall again and again and again and again until my fists begged for mercy. Kicking and screaming didn’t sound like such a terrible idea so I reared back and blasted the southern wall via foot. The temper tantrum continued for a decent stretch without interruption. I spun ninety degrees and sent my boot directly into the middle of the right wall.

Believe my surprise when it gave way and pushed forward. Light poured in as I immediately wondered who’d be anticipating me on the other side. After sitting up slowly, I forced the trapdoor open further and raised an eyebrow in Rock-esque fashion.

This didn’t add up. Where…. Seats? A windshield? There was a large gray building twenty or thirty yards up ahead. My curiosity stalled momentarily as the buzzing resumed. The noise appeared to be coming from my crotch region and I situated into a crouched position. The cold hard ground in my imagination turned out to be nothing more than upholstery. Huh. And laying on it was a black cell phone; the screen lit up with a series of numbers and the words “Incoming Call”. The name “Hector” blinked below the sequenced digits. Out of habit, I picked up the phone, pressed the appropriate button and answered groggily.

SkitZ: H-hello?

Hector: Yo Josh – Gary’s looking for you. Hurry up and get your ass back in here.

SkitZ: For reals? Shit! What should I say when he asks for an explanation?

Hector: I dunno. Tell him you were using the bathroom.

SkitZ: Oh right because it takes… (glances at the phone’s digital clock)… two and a half hours to squeeze out a couple marbles.

Hector: Well think of something good. He checked the aisles a minute ago and knows you’re missing. I just played stupid.

SkitZ: Alright cool. I’ll sneak in when the coast is clear.

Hector: Later pimp.

Wow what a dumbass. I crawled out of the whole and peered around. Yep I must be borderline retarded. As I sat in the back seat of my car, the events prior to dream street resurfaced. I was in the parking lot of my job. A suburban warehouse literally minutes from the casa. On my eight o’ clock (a.m.) break, I’d retreated to my Pontiac G6 for a little shut eye. Workers were only granted fifteen minutes and I’d informed my buddy Hector that yours truly had other plans. There were no meetings scheduled for the day and since our Team Manager Gary rarely ever popped up during the early hours, I figured me ditching inventory and stealing some extra sleep seemed totally doable. Worried that co-workers would spot me snoozing in the front seat, I outsmarted them all and secluded myself in the trunk. Simply ingenious! Or something along those lines…

I’d bought the vehicle mere days earlier at a used car dealership in town. Therefore, I wasn’t 100% familiar with the G6 yet and hadn’t known of an accessible lever from inside the trunk. Sir Fruity managed to accomplish the impossible. Honestly, how many people can admit to locking themselves in their own car and falling asleep? Oh suck it, bitches. I was dealing with a nasty divorce and whatnot. I tiptoed towards the entrance door and feared the worse; fully prepared to face Gary’s hell, fire and brimstone.

Hola homies. If the column title or main header didn’t trigger any red flags, I’m putting together a small mini-series for shits and giggles. They will more or less follow a similar pattern; each inspired by a true story. This was the first of possibly four or five installments. The total number will be dictated by my A.D.D. and amount of hatemail received worth reading. Meanwhile, I wanted to make a few comments regarding the TripleBanger Promotional Tour and where we left off. My bad for not setting up a better way to alert everybody of the eventual winner. The Candyman had every intention of announcing said writer in the last TMR but got sidetracked and forgot. Oops? Anyways, the final vote tallies are as followed: OniBarubary – 34 / Rey Ca$h – 27, Mavsman – 22. Major congratulations to Oni for vanquishing eleven other tremendously talented columnists and owning the competition. His debut piece should be posted here on the Main Page before the weekend concludes so stay tuned. Another thanks to the participants and MP audience who sent in their votes throughout the tournament. I hear "It’s Time To Play The Game" is gearing up for a second run!

Stroke And Bust

The Kings Of WrestleMania series is over, the world’s ending, boo hoo hoo, blah blah blah. Quit your sniveling and fall in love with another one of Mazza’s creations…
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Before he shows up on the Main Page and makes us all look bad in comparison, OniBarubary whipped up a dandy for the CF’s most recent competition. Cue link…
>>> An Argument on the Subject of Mental and Emotional Distance… (ColuMania)

YourAyatollah & Degenerate never cease to grab hold your attention when they walk into a room. In a literary sense of course. Fellow Texans and Puerto Ricans unite!…
>>> The Power Trip: Badassery (Columania)

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