Post by CJ on Sept 20, 2011 15:51:12 GMT -5
Glasses bang together, a thick smell of cigars and burning tobacco fill the senses. A small gathering of men enjoy drinks, huddled together inside of an old wooden bar, it’s exterior cobbled together by hastily pieced together timber. A large jukebox plays a classic tune, the melody sung by Johnny Cash. Nearby, a group of four men stand around an aged pool table, the green felt ripped and water damaged. One man in particular, dressed in a black and red flannel and dirty blue jeans, inhales a healthy bit of nicotine only to remove it from his lips before speaking:
Bar Patron 1: I am tired of playing this game. It’s always the same results, anyway. I win and you all kiss my ass so you don’t have to pay me later. Why can’t I just find one new fucker who could put a challenge down before me! This shit is ridiculous…
None of the others reply to the man as he tokes on his cigar once again. Satisfied with his rant, he then tosses his cue stick unto the table and heads toward the bar. As he finds his way towards a beauty who waits with bottle in hand, a new presence catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. A man sits in a booth, partially enclosed by the natural shadows of the bar. His bald head leans forward, as he stares into a half emptied bottle of beer. Looking forward now, the patron then reaches the bar and motions for the bartender to come to him, his eyes once again on the bald man in the distance.
Bar Patron 1: Hey honey, I will take a whiskey.. Straight up.
Bartender: Sure thing, Burt.
Bar Patron 1 (Now known as Burt): Hey, who is the new guy in that booth? I don’t remember seeing him around before.
The bartender slides a shot glass of whiskey to Burt and smiles. She then looks at the bald man in the back of the room.
Bartender: Oh, that’s Chuck Johnson!
Burt: The kid who became a wrestler last year?
Bartender: I reckon that’s who he is. He doesn’t do that thing anymore though. Apparently he had a falling out with the EUW. He comes in here every night and tips a few back. Doesn’t say much.
Burt: Oh? Let’s see what he will tell me..
Bartender: That is not a good idea, Burt. He isn’t the same guy that was on the tube a few months ago.
Burt: I will take my chances.
Carrying the shot glass, Burt approaches the table. He stands before Chuck Johnson a moment, but receives neither a greeting nor a response of any kind. Frustrated, Burt then slides into the booth beside C.J. Swishing the bottle in his fingertips, C.J remains silent. His blue eyes stare down into the bottle as if he is a world away.
Burt: Hey, you that wrasslin’ guy?
CJ: (No answer)
Burt: What say we share a drink? Care for a game of pool? You seem like you could handle a good stick.
Johnson says nothing until he suddenly reaches out and snags the shot glass of whiskey out of Burt’s hand. He slams it down and slides it back, offering nothing but a wink in return.
C.J: I have a lot on my mind.
Burt: Well, I’ll be damned! Looks like the wrasslin’ wash out has a bit of an edge to him these days. What happened anyway? Did you get tired of getting your ass kicked and finally decided to walk away? I recall some pretty boy shoving his nine year old boot up your ass at your last match. What was his name?
C.J: Danny.. Tenfold.
Burt: Right! Danny Tenfold! I would have walked out of that shit too if I sucked as bad as you. It just goes to show ya’. You just can’t take an imbred country boy and put him on television!
Slamming the last of his drink, Chuck Johnson smiles. He looks at Burt a moment before nodding his head. As the jukebox switches it’s song to “Whup a man’s ass” by Trace Adkins, Burt continues to rattle on.
Burt: You know, this bar needs better tunes. Trace Adkins is the most queerest son of a bitch that I have ever heard. You know, I bet-
C.J suddenly slams his empty beer bottle over the head of Burt, stunning him! He then grabs the patron behind the head by his hair and brings him face first into the table, shattering it upon impact. The entire bar looks over at the chaos as Chuck Johnson stands up amidst the wreckage. Below, Burt is out cold, not saying a thing.
C.J: A man can take a lot of abuse for the shit he has done. I know I have been three shades of a mess over the last year. What I will not take is some fool disrespecting some good country music! Have a nice sleep asshole. This imbred country boy has himself a date.. On television once again.
Chester, Montana. The Johnson Ranch.
9/17/11.
“Let me get this straight.. You're done with the EUW? Why the hell is this happening?!”
Sitting in a colonial styled kitchen, Chuck Johnson leans back at his checkered dining table, his muddied boots up on the table. An aged white phone rests upon the side of his head as he twirls a pencil in one hand. On the other end of the phone is Jack Bull. These two men had quite the history together, once the team known fondly as “Drunk Ass Men”. Due to recent contract disputes though, Bull was recently released by the company, leaving Johnson alone.. and on unfamiliar ground. The EUW was now the Asylum, and most of the top draws in the company were a thing of the past. Listening to Jack Bull speak on the phone, Chuck Johnson began to question the need to step in the ring once again at all!
Jack Bull: We just couldn’t get the contract done, man. It’s the nature of the business. Shame really, I was looking forward to kicking that self righteous asshole’s face in! Once again, Immanuel Taylor finds himself with a healthy dose of good luck!
C.J: Immanuel Taylor? Who the hell is that?!
Jack Bull: He is a dude who apparently had a small problem with the things that I said out in that ring. You know, the truth hurts. Taylor just couldn’t take it. Oh well, he escapes a beat down.
Picking up a left over barbeque rib from a nearby plate, C.J drops it on the kitchen floor as his trusty pit bull approaches and begins to feast upon it. Johnson strokes the back of the neck of the dog, as he continues to listen to his friend.
Jack Bull: Listen man. You are getting a second chance in that ring. Not many get one. I believe in you and have always felt you were better than the others made you out to be. Don’t let the shit that happened to me get in the way of what you can do now. Show them who the real Chuck Johnson is.. All of them. The fans have never stopped cheering from you, dude. It’s yours for the taking if you really want it.
C.J: Hell, I know. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake off the taste for some down right wrasslin’, that’s for sure. As for showing them who I am, well, first I have to show myself who I am. You know, take it day by day.
Jack Bull: What’s first? Do you have your first opponent picked out then? Remember, you’re only as good as your last match..
Chuck Johnson turns to a small television that rests on top of the kitchen counter. An image of Immanuel Taylor is ironically being shown for a commercial for the Asylum. Smiling, C.J answers:
C.J: Hell yeah, brother. I know just where to start. I always wondered if I could compete well enough in a Hardkore match..
Jack Bull: You just can’t help yourself.. Can you?
C.J: Hail the Ale..
Rome, Italy. The site of Sunday Night Vengeance.
9/18/11
The fans cheer loudly as the sounds of two men competing inside the ring are heard in the distance. With a heavy bag slung over his right shoulder Chuck Johnson barges through a set of double doors, his face focused and scanning the hallway before him. Various employees of the Asylum scatter about, all doing their best to ensure that the presently aired show goes off without a hitch. C.J finds himself nodding at a few competitors whom he has never seen before. They do not respond at all, choosing instead to walk away to an undisclosed location.
C.J: So much for the welcoming party…
Climbing a short flight of steps, Chuck Johnson catches an eagle eye view of the event. Standing in the ring is Immanuel Taylor. C.J shakes his head as the current Hardkore Champion rants to a very animated packed house.
(): Chuck? Chuck Johnson?
Caught off guard, Chuck turns around and catches sight of a familiar face. Standing before him is Bane. He smiles back at Bane and reverts his attention once again to Taylor down below.
Bane: Hell man, it’s great to see you around again! What have you been up to?
C.J (Still looking down at the ring.): You know, just keeping busy and shit. Let me ask you a question. Is that Taylor down there?
Bane looks over the edge of the balcony and answers with a frown.
Bane: Yup. He is pissed because I am facing him later tonight, and not Jack Bull. Taylor has been one tough man to beat since that strap was placed upon his shoulder. I just hope I have what it takes to get the job done. To tell you the honest truth, I think the fans would rather see Bull out there than me.
C.J: Bullshit! You put in as much work as the next man here! You do what must be done and show the world that you ain’t no one’s bitch. You’re Illidian Bane.. The next hardcore champion!
Bane: Yeah.. And what are you?
C.J: I am the man who is going to teach that stupid son of a bitch a lesson.. Tonight. You see, he said a few very unnecessary things about a friend of mine that I found offensive. Jack Bull isn’t here to defend himself, but I am. This shit is personal.
Bane: I hear you. Hey, for it’s worth.. Welcome back, C.J. I better get ready.
CJ nods as Bane heads back down the steps towards his destiny. Now by himself, Chuck Johnson begins to speak to himself, as he watches Taylor in the distance..
CJ: Keep on talking, asshole. You screwed up now. This time around, I am not stepping in the ring to get drunk and make a fool out of myself for no reason at all. Nope, now it’s about my legacy.. and getting drunk. First though, let’s make it so you take me seriously. I think I will be Bane’s insurance policy.. and rid you of that Hardkore Title.
…and with that, Chuck Johnson heads back down the stairs, towards the ring.
Bar Patron 1: I am tired of playing this game. It’s always the same results, anyway. I win and you all kiss my ass so you don’t have to pay me later. Why can’t I just find one new fucker who could put a challenge down before me! This shit is ridiculous…
None of the others reply to the man as he tokes on his cigar once again. Satisfied with his rant, he then tosses his cue stick unto the table and heads toward the bar. As he finds his way towards a beauty who waits with bottle in hand, a new presence catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. A man sits in a booth, partially enclosed by the natural shadows of the bar. His bald head leans forward, as he stares into a half emptied bottle of beer. Looking forward now, the patron then reaches the bar and motions for the bartender to come to him, his eyes once again on the bald man in the distance.
Bar Patron 1: Hey honey, I will take a whiskey.. Straight up.
Bartender: Sure thing, Burt.
Bar Patron 1 (Now known as Burt): Hey, who is the new guy in that booth? I don’t remember seeing him around before.
The bartender slides a shot glass of whiskey to Burt and smiles. She then looks at the bald man in the back of the room.
Bartender: Oh, that’s Chuck Johnson!
Burt: The kid who became a wrestler last year?
Bartender: I reckon that’s who he is. He doesn’t do that thing anymore though. Apparently he had a falling out with the EUW. He comes in here every night and tips a few back. Doesn’t say much.
Burt: Oh? Let’s see what he will tell me..
Bartender: That is not a good idea, Burt. He isn’t the same guy that was on the tube a few months ago.
Burt: I will take my chances.
Carrying the shot glass, Burt approaches the table. He stands before Chuck Johnson a moment, but receives neither a greeting nor a response of any kind. Frustrated, Burt then slides into the booth beside C.J. Swishing the bottle in his fingertips, C.J remains silent. His blue eyes stare down into the bottle as if he is a world away.
Burt: Hey, you that wrasslin’ guy?
CJ: (No answer)
Burt: What say we share a drink? Care for a game of pool? You seem like you could handle a good stick.
Johnson says nothing until he suddenly reaches out and snags the shot glass of whiskey out of Burt’s hand. He slams it down and slides it back, offering nothing but a wink in return.
C.J: I have a lot on my mind.
Burt: Well, I’ll be damned! Looks like the wrasslin’ wash out has a bit of an edge to him these days. What happened anyway? Did you get tired of getting your ass kicked and finally decided to walk away? I recall some pretty boy shoving his nine year old boot up your ass at your last match. What was his name?
C.J: Danny.. Tenfold.
Burt: Right! Danny Tenfold! I would have walked out of that shit too if I sucked as bad as you. It just goes to show ya’. You just can’t take an imbred country boy and put him on television!
Slamming the last of his drink, Chuck Johnson smiles. He looks at Burt a moment before nodding his head. As the jukebox switches it’s song to “Whup a man’s ass” by Trace Adkins, Burt continues to rattle on.
Burt: You know, this bar needs better tunes. Trace Adkins is the most queerest son of a bitch that I have ever heard. You know, I bet-
C.J suddenly slams his empty beer bottle over the head of Burt, stunning him! He then grabs the patron behind the head by his hair and brings him face first into the table, shattering it upon impact. The entire bar looks over at the chaos as Chuck Johnson stands up amidst the wreckage. Below, Burt is out cold, not saying a thing.
C.J: A man can take a lot of abuse for the shit he has done. I know I have been three shades of a mess over the last year. What I will not take is some fool disrespecting some good country music! Have a nice sleep asshole. This imbred country boy has himself a date.. On television once again.
“Angry: Chapter 1”
By Chuck Johnson.
By Chuck Johnson.
Chester, Montana. The Johnson Ranch.
9/17/11.
“Let me get this straight.. You're done with the EUW? Why the hell is this happening?!”
Sitting in a colonial styled kitchen, Chuck Johnson leans back at his checkered dining table, his muddied boots up on the table. An aged white phone rests upon the side of his head as he twirls a pencil in one hand. On the other end of the phone is Jack Bull. These two men had quite the history together, once the team known fondly as “Drunk Ass Men”. Due to recent contract disputes though, Bull was recently released by the company, leaving Johnson alone.. and on unfamiliar ground. The EUW was now the Asylum, and most of the top draws in the company were a thing of the past. Listening to Jack Bull speak on the phone, Chuck Johnson began to question the need to step in the ring once again at all!
Jack Bull: We just couldn’t get the contract done, man. It’s the nature of the business. Shame really, I was looking forward to kicking that self righteous asshole’s face in! Once again, Immanuel Taylor finds himself with a healthy dose of good luck!
C.J: Immanuel Taylor? Who the hell is that?!
Jack Bull: He is a dude who apparently had a small problem with the things that I said out in that ring. You know, the truth hurts. Taylor just couldn’t take it. Oh well, he escapes a beat down.
Picking up a left over barbeque rib from a nearby plate, C.J drops it on the kitchen floor as his trusty pit bull approaches and begins to feast upon it. Johnson strokes the back of the neck of the dog, as he continues to listen to his friend.
Jack Bull: Listen man. You are getting a second chance in that ring. Not many get one. I believe in you and have always felt you were better than the others made you out to be. Don’t let the shit that happened to me get in the way of what you can do now. Show them who the real Chuck Johnson is.. All of them. The fans have never stopped cheering from you, dude. It’s yours for the taking if you really want it.
C.J: Hell, I know. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake off the taste for some down right wrasslin’, that’s for sure. As for showing them who I am, well, first I have to show myself who I am. You know, take it day by day.
Jack Bull: What’s first? Do you have your first opponent picked out then? Remember, you’re only as good as your last match..
Chuck Johnson turns to a small television that rests on top of the kitchen counter. An image of Immanuel Taylor is ironically being shown for a commercial for the Asylum. Smiling, C.J answers:
C.J: Hell yeah, brother. I know just where to start. I always wondered if I could compete well enough in a Hardkore match..
Jack Bull: You just can’t help yourself.. Can you?
C.J: Hail the Ale..
Rome, Italy. The site of Sunday Night Vengeance.
9/18/11
The fans cheer loudly as the sounds of two men competing inside the ring are heard in the distance. With a heavy bag slung over his right shoulder Chuck Johnson barges through a set of double doors, his face focused and scanning the hallway before him. Various employees of the Asylum scatter about, all doing their best to ensure that the presently aired show goes off without a hitch. C.J finds himself nodding at a few competitors whom he has never seen before. They do not respond at all, choosing instead to walk away to an undisclosed location.
C.J: So much for the welcoming party…
Climbing a short flight of steps, Chuck Johnson catches an eagle eye view of the event. Standing in the ring is Immanuel Taylor. C.J shakes his head as the current Hardkore Champion rants to a very animated packed house.
(): Chuck? Chuck Johnson?
Caught off guard, Chuck turns around and catches sight of a familiar face. Standing before him is Bane. He smiles back at Bane and reverts his attention once again to Taylor down below.
Bane: Hell man, it’s great to see you around again! What have you been up to?
C.J (Still looking down at the ring.): You know, just keeping busy and shit. Let me ask you a question. Is that Taylor down there?
Bane looks over the edge of the balcony and answers with a frown.
Bane: Yup. He is pissed because I am facing him later tonight, and not Jack Bull. Taylor has been one tough man to beat since that strap was placed upon his shoulder. I just hope I have what it takes to get the job done. To tell you the honest truth, I think the fans would rather see Bull out there than me.
C.J: Bullshit! You put in as much work as the next man here! You do what must be done and show the world that you ain’t no one’s bitch. You’re Illidian Bane.. The next hardcore champion!
Bane: Yeah.. And what are you?
C.J: I am the man who is going to teach that stupid son of a bitch a lesson.. Tonight. You see, he said a few very unnecessary things about a friend of mine that I found offensive. Jack Bull isn’t here to defend himself, but I am. This shit is personal.
Bane: I hear you. Hey, for it’s worth.. Welcome back, C.J. I better get ready.
CJ nods as Bane heads back down the steps towards his destiny. Now by himself, Chuck Johnson begins to speak to himself, as he watches Taylor in the distance..
CJ: Keep on talking, asshole. You screwed up now. This time around, I am not stepping in the ring to get drunk and make a fool out of myself for no reason at all. Nope, now it’s about my legacy.. and getting drunk. First though, let’s make it so you take me seriously. I think I will be Bane’s insurance policy.. and rid you of that Hardkore Title.
…and with that, Chuck Johnson heads back down the stairs, towards the ring.