Imagine this.
You’re used to being single. You’re
not very good at it and things aren’t moving at
any great speed or interest for you. You’re walking
aimlessly looking for “new friends.” Everyone
thinks you’re a useless piece of shit. In truth,
you are a useless piece of shit.
Then, one day…the wind changes.
The birds chirp in the trees. The sun shines on your
daffodils. You’ve been chosen. It’s your
time.
Just like that, a new relationship starts.
You never even saw it coming.
Your new partner is older than you. Nothing
major. A little out of shape too. You can handle that.
Your newfound interest has seen better days in general
but, word on the street is; your new mate was once the
best around. And anyway, you know that in this world,
beggars can’t be choosers.
Your partnership is prearranged. You don’t
mind. You’ve no pride. You just hope that you’re
worthy.
Then you get the invite. “See you
tonight at eight.”
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehawwwwwwwwwwwww. No
more singles action. You knew you were never much good
at it anyway. Here’s a way to stay in the game.
You’ve been blessed you lucky bastard. But the
thought does cross your mind; why me? Of all the men
around this place, why was I chosen?
Who cares.
You rush around trying to peroxide your
hair and shave your armpits at the same time. You put
on that little red number that has seen you this far
and flex a little in the mirror. Tonight’s the
night big boy. No more “friends” for you.
Time to go and start a new relationship.
You arrive at the door and get hurriedly
invited inside. You’re nervous. Of course you
are. The person before you is a bone fide legend. They
possess a reputation that gets you all excited just
thinking about all the sweet times ahead. And rightfully
so. This is as high up the ladder as you’ve been.
You’re now growing a little more confident. You’re
hot. You’re ready to go baby.
Then your new partner looks at you.
You catch a glimpse of disappointment
in their eyes but it’s quickly hidden when your
line of sight connects.
“What?” you ask, checking
your nuts are still at home.
“Nothing, maybe we should do something
with your hair before we go out in front of any people
tonight.”
You don’t really care. Hair is hair
is hair. You’re not going to arguing over a literal
splitting of hairs. No sir, this night is too important
for that.
So you sit down ready for some grooming
and you notice a little gold framed picture on the dresser.
It has a picture of your new partner in celebratory
clinch with another person. It reads ‘RIP. Me
and you always.’ Your curious thoughts are broken
by the buzz of a shaver. Peroxide hair falls onto your
shoulders. That’s fucking strange you think. It’s
too late, the shaver has run from the front of your
head to the back. You internally spasm and panic but
never move a muscle. You begin to scream “what
the fuck?” in your head over and over but you
can feel the wait of their eyes on the top of your head.
A few weird minutes later and you check
yourself in the mirror beside the ‘RIP’
picture. You’ve got a Mohican. Now what do you
do?
“Your face isn’t right”
“Huh?” you ask, half dazed,
half confused.
“It’s all wrong.”
Your new interest checks the ‘RIP’
picture then you, then the picture, then you again.
You’re desperate you turn a blind eye but you
know what one date will do for your status. No more
of this looking for “friends” shit.
“Wait,” you weakly protest.
“You want to go out there with me
or not?”
You give in without saying a word. Now
you’re wearing makeup. Stupid white makeup. Just
like the other face in the picture. Your hair is uncannily
similar too. You’re the same, only not.
“This is special. I want you to
wear it too,” the new voice tells you.
You turn to find a different costume from
your own in front of you now. It’s the last piece
of the jigsaw. You are now the other person in the picture.
“Ready?”
“Yessis”
“Have you got a lisp?”
He then moves away without even a comforting
hug and stands by the curtain. You meekly follow.
“What do I do……
“Shush bitch, this was our song.
He meant everything to me. I loved him. Do you hear
me?”
The music plays. “OOoooooooaaaaaaa
what a rushhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
“Don’t forget to mention my
new DVD. Mind those spikes. Do you hear me? D….V…..D.
Shut up”
E-Mail Paul at:
Paul@WorldWrestlingInsanity.com
