Post by Buster Gloves on Dec 15, 2022 9:03:07 GMT -5
HUMBLE PIE
Everybody says they’re trying to get their piece of the pie. They don’t realize that the world is a kitchen – you can make your own pie.
~~~
To the Punisher, I dedicate this message to you.
When you look back on the unhappiest parts of your life, do you think about who to blame? Do you have any guilt about the things you’ve done? Have you left the world better than you found it?
Santa’s been watching and he knows what you’ve been up to. You’ve convinced yourself that your enemies are the reason things aren’t working out for you, and you’ve done some naughty things because of it. Giving is the true spirit of Christmas, so let me give you the truth. You may be the most miserable person I’ve ever met, and I hope your Christmas sucks.
You wanna blame the good guys for your poor childhood, for your lack of opportunity, for your black Christmas? Go ahead. See what it gets you. You want to blame your parents, your boss, your coworkers for your poor position? Be my guest. But happiness never rests at the end of a pointed finger.
You’re in a life-long struggle with the ghost of your past. That dark persona, hiding under a mask, isolating you from the rest of the world. It prevents you from letting anyone else inside the ice fortress you call your heart. If you can ever find a way to suppress your ego, there’s no limit to what you can do.
~~~
Inside the office of Licensed Mental Health Therapist, Doctor Younan Saanp, Buster reclines on a fancy brown leather couch with silver buttons. He rearranges pillows like deck chairs on the Titanic. Today marks his third appointment with his therapist. One that was recommended to him by a former employer and mandated by a current one to help deal with his actual PTSD, not the faux PTSD that Sonya Benson claims she has. The tiny, educated man, in a powder-blue v-neck sweater, peers over a set of reading glasses, pretending to take notes.
“Pro Wrestling is bullshit.” Buster opines, finally opening up about his feelings.
Dr. Saanp makes a note on his pad. “Why is it bullshit?”
“I’ve been doing my best out there, every week, and it’s still not good enough.”
“Good enough for what?”
“For my peers, I guess? I don’t know. It just feels like everybody wants me to fail.”
“When did this feeling begin?”
“I don’t know. Day one, I guess. Let me give you an example. I had this match with an important guy. His name is Vaughn. Peter Vaughn. I had two chances to beat the guy and I still couldn’t get it done. Maybe I’m not good enough. Maybe he’s too good. Doesn’t matter. I lost and after that, three separate people in the back came up to me and offered me drugs and alcohol to cope with the loss.”
“And what do you believe were their intentions by offering you?”
“They all know that I’ve been trying to stay on the right path. No pills. No drinking. But around every corner, there’s somebody offering me poison. One crazy bitch even offered to bang me in the closet as long as I left the lights off.”
“Maybe she just needed a friend and thought that if she offers you sex it will be easier for you to become friends with her.”
“No. That’s not it. She was coming on to me saying that she’s not a sex addict anymore, but she misses that part of herself and would make an exception for me.”
“And you didn’t feel the same way for that person?”
“Are you seriously asking me that? No Sir, Doc. I only have eyes for Emily.
“Do you feel the same way about your drinking that this other woman feels about her sexual adventures?”
“No… well… Maybe. Being a drunk was a lot more fun than being sober. But things are a lot safer these days. And I have a greater capacity to love myself and others.”
“Do you still think about the drugs and the alcohol?”
“Every day. But that’s not why I’m here. I moved to Las Vegas for a bit of exposure therapy. Intentionally putting myself around triggers. I’m doing pretty good with it, but I still struggle some days.”
“When do you find yourself struggling?”
“When people are counting on me. I want to be a good father and a good partner and a good role model. I put a lot of pressure on myself to be a good person.”
“Last time you were here, you mentioned that you’ve been struggling with your friendship with your friend Lexi Gold. Is it possible that you’re putting pressure on yourself to befriend her because Emily will see you as a kinder, more generous person?”
“I suppose so. I don’t normally become friends with women that I’m not sleeping with. I feel like I SHOULD be her friend, but something doesn’t feel right about it. I’m torn about what to do.”
“You also mentioned that Lexi needs friends and that you’re trying to help. Do you think you help others because somehow it will help you in the future?”
“…What’s your problem, Doc?! I came here to cope with losing and you want to talk about my relationships with women?”
“Ok then, let’s shift gears and go back to your topic in question. Tell me again what happened in your last match.”
“Sure. So, I’m killing it and I might actually win this one. I knew he would cheat. So, I cheated first. But it still wasn’t good enough. His buddy distracted the ref and didn’t see the pinfall. He’s the only guy I’ve ever seen take a full force punch to the dick and kip up a minute later. After that, my fears start kicking in. It’s like this guy isn’t even human.”
“How did it feel when the referee didn’t see the pin?”
“I mean, I know I beat him. The fans saw it. But do I still feel like a failure? Yeh, a little bit. Maybe I could have done something differently and got the win. I don’t even know anymore. The guy finds ways to win and I don’t think I’M the one that’s gonna stop him. Not right now. “
“You lose the match. What happens after?“
“That’s another thing! I wanted to end this thing with Vaughn. Shake his hand and walk away. But this other guy, who goes by the name ‘The Punisher’, couldn’t even give me that. I was trying to do the honorable thing and let Vaughn appreciate the win, but even that was taken from me. I’ve been telling everyone that Vaughn and his gang are snakes, but the Punisher is something beneath that.”
“In your eyes, is humiliation worse than physical pain?”
“Much worse. Vaughn could have beaten me to within an inch of my life and I’d be fine with that. What I can’t take is the constant interference. The theft. How can I ever get over with this audience if every performance I have is overshadowed by some dirty asshole?”
“And you’re feeling like someone owes you an apology?”
“Apology? Hell no. The Punisher owes me a pound of flesh. I’m beating that guy until I’m satisfied. It’s all legal and above board, but I’m gonna have fun with this.”
“And once you beat him, the anxiety and struggle in your life goes away?”
“Look, I’ve been saying for months that people have been plotting against me. I’m paranoid. A doctor told me that it’s part of my PTSD and that I can take meds for that. But I’m not taking any pills. I refuse. And if that means I need to deal with mood swings and paranoia, then so be it.”
“And how do you feel now?”
“I have one more match with the Punisher. It’s in a cage. No escape. No outside interference. I was upset about it for 24 hours. I was out of my mind. But then I started to get some clarity. I went home and spent some time with my kids and realized that I’ve been looking at this stuff all wrong. I've been dealing with this kind of stuff for most of my life and without any help. So, I’m asking, Doc. Do you think I can be helped or am I too f*cked up in the head already?
~~~
There’s a steel cage waiting in Las Vegas. It’s decorated with multicolored lights, tacky ornaments, and flammable tinsel, but it’s beautiful. It has everything a Christmas Cage could ever need, except the star on top. I’m that star and I shine bright as f*ck.
I wanna make snow angels in Punisher blood. He thinks he’s headed inside a cage to fight every person who's ever let him down, but he’s coming to confront something way worse… his own shadow.
He and I aren’t that different. Similar story. His mother didn’t love him enough. Everything he’s accomplished, he’s done on his own. He should have failed. He should be dead by now, but he’s not. He’s a survivor and we can smell our own. But there IS one major difference. Unlike him, I KNOW I’m gonna die someday. And that makes me infinitely better. Because this guttersnipe was never born at all.
Pun looks at me and sees the thing he hates the most; himself. He knows where I came from and what kind of parents I had. He sees a familiar boy, drowning in a lonely ocean, and it pisses him off that I just might understand him.
Big Pun, you don’t have to be like this! Sonya Benson isn’t your friend. She’s manipulating you. You’re a no-good piece of sh*t, but you’re better than that. You can stop being so hard on yourself too. Just let the world wash over you and relax.
~~~
The Bull of the North, Buster Gloves is dressed in a charcoal gray sports jacket with a crisp, white, button-p shirt. On his right arm, a pretty companion, nine years his junior. They glide on cloud shoes towards Brezza, an exclusive Italian restaurant in the Velvet Rabbit Las Vegas.
“Reservation for two. Under the name ‘William’. I requested a corner booth.” He says proudly as he slips a folded twenty-dollar bill across the counter.
The mousy hostess at the front podium scans her list before grabbing a couple menus. “Right this way.”
Buster insists that Emily walk first and escorts her all the way to the table. He pulls out her chair and waits for Emily to sit before he does. Once in his chair, he examines the menu like an Egyptian map, and summons his anxiety.
“Oooh, this is so fannncy. I’m so glad we’re finally having a date night together.” Emily says while eyeing the dessert menu.
“Yeh, me too.”
“How are we doing this evening?” says the beautiful mocha-colored waiter with the carefully groomed chinstrap beard.
“Great.”
“Fantastic.”
“Can I start you off with something to drink?”
Emily is about to speak when Buster interrupts, “Two glasses of your house red. Whatever isn’t too sweet or too dry.”
“Sure thing. Any appetizers this evening. Our special of the night is scallops with currant and rock pear.”
“Just the wine for now. I don’t think we’re ready for food just yet. Can you give us a few minutes.”
“As you wish.”
Emily and her grumbling stomach watch the waiter, and any chance of expedited food, walk away. When she looks back down at the table a ring box is planted in front of her.
~~~
When you saw our matchup on the marquee, how did it make you feel Pun? Were you happy? Were you afraid? Or did you feel nothing and not understand why? There’s a very real chance that you’re gonna fail. There’s a real chance that you’ll be embarrassed and revealed for the fraud that you are. I know that’s how you feel, because I feel it too.
I punish myself at the gym until I can’t feel anything anymore. I turn my own physical pain into future results. But somehow, I doubt that you’re doing the same. You’re an amazing athlete Pun, with talent on loan from the Wrestling Gods, but you’re wasting it. You should already be at the top of our industry, way above where I am, but you aren’t. You’re a henchman from some privileged wanna-be trust fund turbo-c*nt named after a shitty gender-swapped Conan movie.
You and I have been playing this game against each other for too long. It has to end before we kill each other. It ends inside a steel cage, or it’ll never end at all. We could have ended this thing after our first match. You made a mistake and I beat you. So what? I was the lucky one that night. And things went my way, but it doesn’t make me any better than you. It didn’t need to be anything more than an exhibition match. We could have walked our separate ways, waved to each other backstage, swapped Christmas cards. But no. You couldn’t just let it go. You tried to blind me. You tried to take out my eye.
Unfortunately, the same compulsion you had to redeem yourself after losing rests inside me, telling me to do the opposite. I’m on a mission of mercy now. Ready to scoop out YOUR eyes and put an end to this thing for good.
Whatever idea you have of how this match is gonna go, forget it, because that’s not how it’s gonna be. I’ve been eating healthy and saving up my energy. I’m focused on this one moment. A lifetime of guilt, reforged, and sharpened for one match.
~~~
Emily looks at the ring box in front of her.
Buster sheepishly waits for her to open it, already knowing what’s inside, unsure about what to expect.
Emily picks up the cream-colored box with both fingertips. She cracks the hinge, ignoring any of the other people in the packed restaurant. Inside the box is a folded-up piece of paper on top of a modest sapphire stone set on a silver ring. She looks at the ring, then at Buster, and begins breathing heavily. “Is this what I think it is?”
“It sure is. That’s the hitlist James Raven gave me.”
Unamused, Emily shows her frustration. “…I was talking about the ring.”
“Oh, the ring… That’s a promise ring.”
“A promise ring?”
“Yeh. I know it’s kind of stupid. Who hands out promise rings. We aren’t 16. I just think you’re pretty and perfect and I wanted to give you something pretty and perfect.”
Her heart melts a little bit, unsure and a little insulted that the ring didn’t have a more significant meaning. She places the paper on the table and examines the ring closer.
“Don’t you want to look at the list?”
“Of course, I want to look at the list, but this ring is gorgeous. Can I put it on first?”
“Sure. Put it on and check out my list.”
Emily makes prolonged eye contact, disobeys the order until she’s ready, then slides on the ring with all the urgency of sloths dry humping. Then, once she’s satisfied with the fit, she unfolds the paper.
☒ DONNY MASON
☐ XAVIER LUX
☐ PETER VAUGHN
☐ HOLDEN ROSS
☐ BAM MILLER
☐ J MONT
☐ FRED DEBONAIR
☐ MARK FLYNN
~~~
I was wrong to think that I was more important than I am. The wrestling world doesn’t need saving. It doesn’t need a bright and shining light to come in and purge the unclean. Professional wrestling existed before me, and the history books won’t remember my name when I’m gone.
I’m smart enough to realize that I’m not ready to be in the top echelon of this sport. To think that I could systematically take down and make an example of the most successful stable in the business was a miscalculation on my part. I was wrong about that, but I’m not wrong about The Punisher.
This guy is the world’s greatest arch-nemesis. In his twisted brain, where physical abuse is the same as emotional connection, he’s trying to mangle me in an effort to bond us together forever. He’s ready to drag me to hell for an afterlife cuddle party. But he doesn't have any real reason to dislike me. I’ve already told him that I want no part of him, but here we are again.
Pun, as we enter the final chapter to this war, how do you feel? Are you anxious? Relieved that it’s almost over? Or are you sad? Have you considered that once you destroy me, you won’t have any purpose left? And when you go to Trap Queen Sonya Benson for guidance, all you’ll find is the same tough love you’ve always had. It’s why you’re in cahoots with her, because she reminds you so much of the dysfunctional mother figure you never had.
You could be an amazing pro wrestler Pun. You really could be. There’s potential there, but you’re getting in your own way. If you could just let the anger go, you could begin to heal, and you could start climbing your way up the mountain.
I used to be obsessed with revenge too. I blamed Peter Vaughn for all the things I didn’t have. But I found a way to let it go. You do whatever you need to in our match. Get it out of your system and start realizing your potential.
I baked a humble pie for both of us. I’m willing to eat most of it, but I saved you the slice with the cyanide.
~~~
~~~