Weeping and Gnashing Of Teeth
May 24, 2023 9:02:58 GMT -5
markflynn, "Cholo" Giovanni Santana, and 1 more like this
Post by outcast on May 24, 2023 9:02:58 GMT -5
![](https://64.media.tumblr.com/8aff0d381f84fd558e25546107face16/tumblr_inline_nv98vuVWQx1qd0qka_500.gif)
Where do bad folks go when they die?
They don’t go to Heaven where the angels fly
They go to the lake of fire and fry
They don’t go to Heaven where the angels fly
They go to the lake of fire and fry
People seem to draw their own conclusions about what Hell is like. Some people believe it will be a party. Some think Satan comes along and shoves a pineapple up your anus. Some say that flames can char your skin while you experience endless agony. None of those is the case. We are told Hell is a place of weapons and gnashing of teeth, and it certainly is. Hell is a place devoid of light, devoid of anything good. The worst moments of your life are on a constant replay, and you feel the same emotions you felt in those moments over and over again. Personally, I’d rather have the burning of my flesh and the pineapple up my anus.
My body hangs suspended in nothingness. I’m embedded in complete darkness. No senses are stimulated, except the sense of touch. There is nothing to stimulate the other senses, but my sense of feel is firing on all cylinders as my body hangs from hooks that have pierced through the flesh of my body. The collar bones, my shoulder blades, my hips, and between my tibia and fibula, are all pierced with the hooks. Honestly, I welcome the pain, because it is my only distraction from the nothingness.
I hear the sound of the projector powering on again. I try to block out the pain by squeezing my eyes shut, though the smaller hooks still manage to stab through my eyelids. I do my best to keep them sealed tightly, but they are opened up right before they rip off. I don’t know which memory is coming, and I feel the anxiety welling up inside of me as the memory of my life begins to unfold in front of me.
This particular day, October 11th, 2003, the day of my son Victor’s funeral, the second-worst day in a life that has been filled with bad days. I remember the only thing I felt was numb. Physically numb from painkillers, and emotionally numb because it overwhelmed me with the entirety of the situation. I was then at the pinnacle of my career up to that point in time. I was the OCW Savage champion, a genuine star with a beautiful wife, a massive house, new cars, a new motorcycle, a new boat, and more money in the bank than I had ever dreamed possible. And I would have traded it all for one more day with Victor.
The words of the Preacher officiating the funeral pass through my mind as I stare at the casket in front of me. The same thoughts that were running through my mind then begin running through my mind now. Thoughts of how it should be me in that casket and not Victor. Thoughts of how this is all my fault, and the thought of no matter how much I had said I’d never be like my father, I wound up exactly like him. Nothing but a druggy and a drunk who only cared about himself.
My then-wife, Nicole, grasped my hand. I don’t know if it was to comfort me or for her own self-seeking comfort, but either way, I hated her for it. I wanted to wallow in this misery, and now I am getting that wish. I had wanted to get into that grave and be buried, along with Victor. I was so angry with her for seeking comfort for herself or for me. I knew life was pain, and thought that existence was punishment, and wallow in it, but now I know what true pain and punishment are. At that moment, I realized that I was broken, though I was physically in my prime, but mentally I was shattered. My son suffered the same cruel fate that I had, and that was being born of a broken man.
The tears dripped from my cheeks and fail into the nothingness that I hung above. As I watched Victor’s casket lower into the dirt, I tried to lower my head, but the hooks in my eyelids pulled tighter to lift my head back up. I gnash my teeth and shove my head down with everything I have in my body. The hooks, and the chains holding them, do not give way, but my flesh does.
My eyes sear with pain as my eyelids rip from my face. The pain is incredibly harsh, but it is worth it for a bit of a reprieve from my tortured memories. A moment is all it was, though. As I feel fresh skin back on my face, new eyelids had instantly grown back. Hooks sink by into them, and now hooks sink into the cheeks, and lift my head up, forcing me to view the next horrid memory.
As I wait for the reel to roll, I feel raindrops begin to fall on my naked, bloody body. My nostrils fill with the scent of whiskey and marijuana. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and I know what comes next, the worst day of my life.
F**K YOU!!!
YOU F**KING A$$HOLE!!!
I yell at the top of my lungs, but I don’t even know who I’m yelling at. There is no echo. My voice just floats off into the void. I hear the project startup and immediately begin to weep. I see myself and again feel everything I was feeling then.
It was September 30th, around 1 am. I was driving back home to Chicago after an OCW in Detroit. I don’t recall who I faced that night, or if I had a championship, but my history would indicate I had some sort of gold. What I do remember has nothing to do with my match, and everything to do with my own actions.
Nicole had nagged me to take Victor with me. It shouldn’t have been such a fight for her to get me to take him with me. He missed his dad and wanted to spend time with me, but I didn’t want him getting in the way of me picking up some rats. How was I supposed to party with the boy, while my son was watching me snort lines off some day-shift strippers flat a$$? So, I begrudgingly took him with me.
I headed home after the show. It was a four-and-a-half-hour drive, and I should have stayed overnight, but I was no good with him by myself and wanted to get him back home asap. Of course, I couldn’t make that drive sober, but I couldn’t do sh*t sober then. I chased two somas with a six-pack as I was making the drive through the night. I was about two and a half hours and five beers into the drive when he finally fell asleep.
I looked in the rearview mirror to see Victor sound asleep. The sight of him wearing a Titan 3 shirt while holding a Silverfreak and Andy Murray action figure really chapped my a$s. I shook my head with a bit of disappointment, not disappointment in him for loving those guys, but disappointment in myself for not even being my own son’s favorite wrestler. F**l, there I go feeling feelings again.
I opened the middle console and pulled out a spliff that would impress Cheech & Chong. I lit it up and opened my last beer. I inhaled deeply from the spliff, and I noticed a line of unburned weed along the edge of the joint, a common issue when you roll joints on muscle relaxers. I sit my beer in the cup holder, hold the steering wheel of my Expedition with my knees, and begin fixing the run. My hands are shaky, my vision blurry, and my reaction time slowed, so it takes more attention, effort, and time than usual.
I look back up to see I am drifting off the road and grab the wheel to correct it. As I gripped the wheel, a deer runs from the side of I-94. I jerked the wheel fast and hard, too fast, and too hard. The Expedition went off the road into the median and rolled over as it did. I don’t know how many times it rolled, but it was a lot because I was definitely going too fast.
The SUV rolled across the median into the other lane and into oncoming traffic. As we landed upside down, we were struck by a GMC Sierra. The SUV spun like a top and flew off the interstate and down an embankment. I don’t know how long I was out, but when I woke up I was upside down, being held in by my seatbelt and the airbag.
I was able to find my knife still in my pocket, and use it to deflate the airbag and cut my seatbelt loose. I was hurting, but I couldn’t remember a day in my life when I hadn’t been in pain, so I knew how to push through it. I pulled myself from the car and crawled to the back and looked through the window to see Victor wasn’t there.
Even now I feel that same panic setting in that I felt at that moment. I feel all the pain, panic, and dread that I felt at that very moment. I begin to look around frantically and shout for my missing child.
VICTOR!!!
Then I see a lump of something laying near the top of the embankment. My eyes are filled with a mixture of tears and blood, so I’m not able to make out what it is exactly. I try wiping my eyes clear, but they are filled with blood as fast as I can wipe them. I crawled frantically up the hill until I reached him.
As I got to the lump, I could finally see it was Victor. I took him into my arms and, as I pulled him to my chest, my heart sank. His body was limp, his neck bent farther back than natural. I tried pulling his head up as I pleaded. I pleaded out loud, for the first time ever asking for help from a higher power. I cried and screamed until my body gave out and I fell to the ground beside Victor.
The loss of blood, the trauma, and the substances had taken their toll on my body. Darkness begin to overtake my vision, and I began to slowly blackout. I tried to fight it. I tried to shove myself up and hold on to Victor. I pulled him closer and the last thing I remember seeing was his blue lips as my body shut down.
F**K….
F**K ME!
I killed him.
I sacrificed my own son at the altar of self-satisfaction. I sacrificed him to drugs, alcohol, and self-pleasure. I deserve this. I deserve to be in hell.
![](https://jesuswithoutbaggage.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/hell2.jpg?w=640)
_____________________
I’m sure you’ve heard the saying, “desperate times, call for desperate measures”. Well, Peter Vaughn must be real f**king desperate if he is digging my old a$s up to be on his team. Of course, he’s desperate. Nobody likes that f**king guy, but plenty of people respect his ability, and that includes me.
Vaughn knows I’m the perfect man for this match because I’ve seen and done much worse than what will happen in the confines of those cages. As many great poets, authors, and generals have so elegantly stated, “War is Hell”. Who knows more about waging wars and hell than me?
When I look across the battlefield at our opposition, I believe this will be more like the Spanish-American War than an endless war like Operation Enduring Freedom. We aren’t exactly dealing with The Roman Empire here, more like a cobbled-together group of inbred losers, you know, more like a Confederate Army.
We are facing a team led by a manic-depressive, delusional schizophrenic. A general of an army, with the only thing being more fragile than his ego, is his glass jaw. Jim Caedus, trust me, no one thinks about you as much as you think they do. No one is lying awake at night plotting and skimming against you, because you aren’t important enough to lose sleep over. As a matter of fact, I’ll be curled up snugly in my bed, sleeping like a baby as your world spirals out of control when you lose this War Games match. Go ahead and pack up your bags, Jimmy. Cause everyone knows that after I kick your a$s so hard that you have to take your shirt off to take a sh*t, that you'll take your ball and go home.
Call Sally at the trailer park and tell her you’ll be back home soon with your past-due lot fees. Jimmy, my army is gonna kill yours like we are the hitmen that work for Hillary Clinton when the witness finds the emails that’ll get her sent to prison. Of course, with an army like you’ve assembled, Vaughn doesn’t need a team of all killers, which explains some of his picks.
Look at your army, Jimmy. You dug up some genuine relics for this one, Robert “dissociative identity disorder” Main. Omega, that fits, the last letter of the Greek alphabet, and the last man I’d pick to be by my side in war. I suppose that is why Jimmy picked you, cause when the going gets tough, the Apex gets going. Apex my a$s, cause when it comes to predators, you aren’t the Apex, but definitely the Omega Wolf. Don’t know what the Omega Wolf is? Read a book, you illiterate son of a b*tch. An omega wolf or male refers to a weak, unsuccessful loser. Huh, guess you are the Omega after all.
Lycana, why is absolutely no one surprised that Jimmy picked you? You’re some all-powerful witch, right? Drop the W, which Jimmy will certainly drop the W, cause he only holds onto L’s. But, as I was saying. Drop the W, and replace it with a B, and you got exactly what everyone thinks of Lycana. You’re no witch. The only power you got over Jimmy is the power of the P.U.S.S.Y. And I heard that power hangs like the sleeve of a wizard. You’re not a witch, you’re a delusional schizophrenic. That must be why you and Jimmy get along so well.
Rounding out the mentally disabled army is Spencer Adams. A classic case of narcissistic personality disorder. Spencer, you have an unreasonably high sense of your own importance. You constantly need and seek too much attention, and you want people to admire you. Thing is, the only person who thinks Spencer Adams is great is Spencer Adams. You think you spit hot fire, like some fire emoji, but the only thing I see coming out of your mouth is eggplant emojis.
Jimmy didn’t want you, or pick you for his team, but you’re a perfect fit with the rest of the mentally ill egomaniacs. You fit the theme of suffering from a mental disorder and being a straight-up b*tch. Just like the rest of your team, when the going got tough in AW, Spencer Adams got going.
All of you have tucked your tail and dipped out when the going got tough. War Games aren’t just going to be tough. NO! We have established that war is hell. Believe me when I tell you that War Games is going to be Hell. But this time, you won’t be able to run. No, you are going to be locked inside the war-zone. Locked in Hell. Locked in with the man who is living, breathing, and fighting Hell.
I’m back from Hell for War Games, and I’m bringing the demons with me.
_____________________
As Outcast sags forward, bloodied and damaged, we zoom out, showing that we’re watching him from inside a mirrored portal. The camera spins around, showing everyone standing in a circle, staring down: Cholo, Bane, Flynn, and Vaughn. Mac is shaking his head, looking stunned at what he’s seen.
They all stare at Vaughn, each with different levels of disbelief. Vaughn turns, smirking at them.
Vaughn: We go get him.
Vaughn starts revealing his plan, as we focus on Outcast once more. It’s almost like he heard them, as he’s staring upwards.