Post by Baz Jacobi on Jul 21, 2020 17:37:57 GMT -5
| KILL ORDER |
L!GHTS OUT #39 - July 31, 2020
Black River Coliseum in Poplar Bluff, Missouri
vs. Michael Hayden
Whispers Gentlemen’s Club. The building is run down and in severe need of a fresh coat of paint. Garbage litters the parking lot and there are more than a few unseemly individuals hanging around the entrance. A giant Samoan door man clad in all black stands sentry at the door. A few of the dirtbags are trying to plead their way into the building but our steadfast door man is not even listening.
Inside the building we see the neon strobes and hear the pumping music. The entirety of the club has mounted speakers on the walls but a great deal of them are blown which leads to an uneven sounding mix. A shame really because the stock hip hop track that is playing really deserves some more respect (in the minds of some).
There is a woman on stage in a pale pink g-string which gives the illusion of her being fully nude. Her giant store bought breasts bat one another back and forth as she dances and writhes on the stage. A knee brace on her left leg is likely the reason that she is far from the profession defining pole. She goes through the motions and tries not to wince with each step.
Toward the back of the near empty club sits a single man in a booth. He has long, straight, greasy brown hair and a lengthy beard that is oddly tamed. He is in a simple black t-shirt and his arms are decorated with scores of tattoos in varying states of fading. In front of him are several empty shot glasses with a small puddle of whiskey that never found its mark. In hand, he holds a bottle of the cheapest beer that the establishment serves. We can’t say what brand it is because the label lays in torn pieces on the table. He smirks and begins speaking.
It’s your best pal Baz Jacobi. Ol Yuckers, The Sunday Morning Regret, Jailbird Joe, Mr. Low Credit Score -- I’ve been called a lot of shit in my thirty some years on this rock and yeah, I spent some time in prison.
Jacobi mad dogs the camera, glaring into the lens while sporting an underbite. This lasts but a moment before he smiles once again.
What relevance does my colorful past have? None really. I mostly kept my head down and did my time. Now I can’t vote, which sucks because I’ve got some feelings about this current administration. But that is neither here nor there. I was in the joint and now I’m not.
Jacobi takes a swig of beer and his eyes drift off to the dancer. We hear that her name is Temperance and that seems like a strange pseudonym choice given the venue. The DJ says that a new dancer is coming to the stage and that it is her first shift back since getting arrested for a DUI. Her name is Phoenix and why the DJ would tell us of her troubles is beyond Jacobi.
I am set to debut in Union Battleground this week. Oh joy. Who am I? What the fuck am I worth? Probably not a lot in most people’s eyes. I haven’t done anything of note anywhere, I haven’t really proven myself. That’s not because I can’t get it done between the ropes -- but I haven’t had the opportunity to do it on a big stage. I’ve done another kind of time -- I’ve worked all of the terrible indies that you can imagine all over the continental United States. They’ll hire anyone. When it comes to the big leagues, most companies aren’t super fond of employing an ex-con. That reality honestly hurts my feelings given some of the characters you see in this racket. I mean I don’t cry or anything...I turn that sadness into hate. It’s proven to be a wicked good coping mechanism that definitely won’t have any lasting effects on my psyche! Haha fuck.
The reason that I mentioned my incarceration is because I wanted to get that out of the way in this debut promo. I didn’t want anyone to assume that I walk around thinking I’m tough as nails because I spent time as a guest of the government. That’s not what makes me tough, alright plugs? What me tough is that I’m not afraid of anything. At all. My complete lack of regard for my own well-being makes me tough. As tough parking a semi when blind. Truth is, I’m not sure what makes me this way but you best believe that it takes a lot to keep me down. I can take an inhuman amount of pain. How does that translate to the ring? Well, it often frustrates whomever is unlucky enough to be dancing with me and when they are at their most angry...that’s when Baz strikes. That’s when I move. Cheeky bugger.
On July 31st I get to roll into Black River Coliseum with my main dude Shortcut and I get to show everyone that I am worth...something. Shortcut and I were cellmates and because I owe him a chit he became my manager. He is completely unqualified for such a giant responsibility but I’m not really qualified to be a member of society so -- who gives a shit? He’s a weird looking little freak and I like having him around. If he gets involved in my match it’s because he chose to, not because I told him to. I would never ask him to do anything so shady -- unless I’m losing.
Some people call me a scumbag, namely my grandmother Sheila, but she is on dialysis most of the time so what the fuck does she know? I don’t listen to people when they call me mean names because I have a strong sense of self. I know who I am. I know what I’m capable of. What I’m capable of is winning big money matches and making it look like I know what I’m doing. Ain’t nothin’ gonna slow ME down, ain’t nothin’ gonna break MY stride. You know the song.
What that means for Michael Hayden when I roll into Poplar Bluff, Missouri is that he’s in trouble. You’ve got a cockroach problem my man. I know that you’re experienced, I know that you’ve been all over the world -- like everyone else in this fucking racket. Thing is that I’m not looking at this as a wrestling match. This is a fight busta and I’ve never lost one. This is what I know how to do.
Before I went inside I puttered around the ring as a happy go lucky blue eye but since I got out I’ve found that doing that is not me. It’s not an accurate portrait of Ol Baz. So I said fuck it. I started doing whatever it took to win. I will literally do the most low down shit just to get a W. Doesn’t matter where I’m slated on the card. Dig me? Winning and making sweet, sweet cheddar are the only things that I care about in this world. I know all the tricks. You probably are a talent, a real ring general but listen to me when I tell ya ponyboy...you ain’t never had a friend like me. Wait. No. Let me run that back -- you ain’t never faced scum like me.
I’m a nasty bitch Hayden. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t know a wrist lock from a wristwatch or whatever that fucking boomer phrase is. I can get it done and I WILL! What kind of a job boy loses in their first match? Not me that’s who! I’ll die before I lose. Hear me bucko? I’ll fucking DIE!
The volume of Jacobi’s voice on that last bit made some of the few patrons look his way. Jacobi just took another swig of his piss warm beer and ignored them.
Are you willing to commit murder Hayden? Will you go that far? I sure hope not because a lot of people would see it. That would actually be wicked dumb of you so put it far from your mind. But just know that if you don’t, I ain’t losin’ pal. Fuck, this went off the rails faster than I thought. I’ll just leave you with this -- I’m gonna come at you with hurricane force joe and you’re gonna see some evil (which is me). See ya real soon.
Jacobi slammed down the beer bottle on the table and called over the waitress. He muttered “Fuck this pace is really nice…” before we fade to black.