Post by Ross Hanson on Jul 11, 2021 11:17:22 GMT -5
The time is 10:13 AM, Eastern Standard. The location is my bedroom. The mood is….troubling.
"The fuck you mean indefinitely?"
I had just got pulled out of bed like a magnet to metal by my phone blasting in my ear.
"No. Two weeks. That's it. After that, you sign her over to me…"
Normally it takes me about an hour, a piss and my son jumping on me to get me fully awake. The conversation I'm having is doing the same thing, but with the side effect of making me want to punch the next psychologist that I see on the street.
“What even happened? I talked to her literally two days ago, and she was fine. Well, fine by her standards…”
Maybe I should get dressed. Let’s put the phone on speaker, that way I can put clothes on while dealing with this bullshit.
“Last night with two more, Ross. That’s what happened.”
“Wait...what? Like, at the same time?”
“You said you had a tight leash on her. Clearly, that was not true. Also, she fought the police when they responded to the laundromat. One of them had to go into surgery. Ross, this is the most dangerous thing about your stepmother.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s a Black Widow...almost literally. Even with schizophrenia, even with bi-polar disorder, and even with all of the things in her mind that she’s losing...the one thing she's still good at is hurting people. She’s not the typical woman that comes through our facility. She’s a trained killer, Ross. You do know she had an FBI dossier on her in the late 2000s and early 2010s? She’s caught bodies.”
That absolutely floored me. I knew that Dad was involved in some really shady stuff, but I always thought that Mom was just there for moral support. I would have never suspected that she was the one getting her hands dirty while Dad just got high and counted the money. I feel disgusted. I feel frightened. I feel...like I need to take a shit.
“We’ll give you a call once we’ve got her intake completed, and she’s in a room. You can give us the contact information at that time, and we’ll make sure that she’s able to call you or vice-versa.”
“...thank you.”
“I’m sorry, Ross. I really am. I know she was trying so hard...but we’re going to take care of her. I promise.”
I just hung up on her. What else do you want me to do? I can hear the mini-human in the other room. I need to go check on him. I am wearing crew socks with sandals, that’s where I’m at today. I’m also calling someone who can REALLY help me figure this shit out.
“Come on, pick up you furry fucker…”
Thank God. He answered.
“Wow. You’re up early. This is either important or you are in jail.”
“...more like your husband’s favorite redhead is in jail. Actually, she’s in the Franklin County Mental Health Facility, waiting transfer to either Marysville or Athens.”
I can’t see what’s happening over there, but I’m picturing Ken on speakerphone looking concerned, while Graham is probably making the Jack Nicholson GIF smile-nod.
“What happened?”
“They caught her doing two guys in the bathroom at the laundromat on Ridge Ave.”
I hear Graham howling so damn loud that my ears are ringing. The phone drops.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“SHE IS A REAL WHORE! I TOLD YOU THEY EXIST, KEN!”
Graham is laughing so hard that I think he’s about to cough up both of his lungs in a moment.
“This isn’t funny, Graham.”
“YOU’RE RIGHT...THIS IS FUCKING PLATINUM!”
Graham sounds like someone just grabbed him by the nuts from how high his voice got in octave towards the end of that sentence. The laughter is still clear, but stifled. It sounds like Mutley...what the hell?
“She also went after the cops, I guess, she hurt one of them pretty bad…”
“Oh my God…”
“YES!!! THERE IS A GOD!!!”
Graham sounds like he was just given the gift of immortality with the maniacal laughter that just continues.
“I’m sorry, Ross… What can I do, since my husband thinks this is the best thing to ever happen in the history of the Earth?”
“Help me sell the story to the dirt sheets. I need the money.”
“ToO lAtE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Yeah, Graham’s already texting his Dad… Oh, God…”
“Seriously, though, I’m going to need a new babysitter. I don’t know anybody at Revo, and the guy who tried to kidnap my kid still works there.”
“Say no more, bring him here.”
“THAT LITTLE FUCKER’S STAYING IN THE DUNGEON!”
“You’re still not over him dropkicking you in the balls, are you?”
“HE TRIES TO STEAL MY WEED!”
“Well, put it in your pocket then!”
“WHILE I’M SMOKING IT!”
“Yell at Dad then, I would have snapped the blunt in half if I’d been there. I ain’t him.”
“No, Ross, he seriously goes to find Graham just to hit him while he’s smoking. It’s a game to him.”
“That’s because he’s a heel and I taught him to not like heels.”
“Your child is not a K-9 unit, this isn’t Chicago.”
“It’s Columbus. Only difference is the lake and Ohio State.”
“Either way, bring him over when you’re ready.”
“KICK THE BABY!”
“Dammit, Graham! You’re horrible!”
“I’ll get his stuff packed, I’ll be down there as fast as the morons going down I-70 get out of the way. Either of you need anything from up here while I’m in town? I can go break into her apartment and get her ATM card, there’s like seven million on there…”
“IT ISN’T BREAKING AND ENTERING WHEN YOU’RE HER LEGAL GUARDIAN! GET ME A MILLION OUT IN SMALL DENOMINATION, NON-SEQUENTIAL SERIAL NUMBERS OR IT’S FUCKED!”
“Listen, if you’re going to do that, bring the kid here first and then go do hood shit so at least we can get custody if you and the poli’ get friendly?”
“FREE SLAVE LABOR!”
“You are having way too much fun with this heel shit, man.”
“No, he really has it out for Lil’ Man. Just keep me updated, don’t bother calling the other Godparent. I’m sure by the end of the night he’s going to have him hanging from his ankles by a belt and trying to use him as a pinata.”
"If that happens, make sure my boy's form with the kicks to the chest is clean."
“FUCK YOU, CUFFY!”
“Wow...this is the happiest I’ve seen Graham in weeks, even though he’s been more crotchety than ever.”
"See, he really does love the little guy!"
“HE’S ONE-FOURTH BURGTRAMP, I’LL SELL HIM TO THE LOWEST BIDDER FOR A DIME BAG AND BALL OF DICK LINT!”
I had to stop and laugh, no matter how much I didn’t want to.
“Thanks, both of you. Give us about an hour, we’ll be by.”
“30 MINUTES OR THE DOOR IS LOCKED!”
“Just text me, ignore his ass.”
End call. Deep breath. Got work to do. Can’t think about it.
”Mini-Human! Let’s go for a ride!”
"The fuck you mean indefinitely?"
I had just got pulled out of bed like a magnet to metal by my phone blasting in my ear.
"No. Two weeks. That's it. After that, you sign her over to me…"
Normally it takes me about an hour, a piss and my son jumping on me to get me fully awake. The conversation I'm having is doing the same thing, but with the side effect of making me want to punch the next psychologist that I see on the street.
“What even happened? I talked to her literally two days ago, and she was fine. Well, fine by her standards…”
Maybe I should get dressed. Let’s put the phone on speaker, that way I can put clothes on while dealing with this bullshit.
“Last night with two more, Ross. That’s what happened.”
“Wait...what? Like, at the same time?”
“You said you had a tight leash on her. Clearly, that was not true. Also, she fought the police when they responded to the laundromat. One of them had to go into surgery. Ross, this is the most dangerous thing about your stepmother.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s a Black Widow...almost literally. Even with schizophrenia, even with bi-polar disorder, and even with all of the things in her mind that she’s losing...the one thing she's still good at is hurting people. She’s not the typical woman that comes through our facility. She’s a trained killer, Ross. You do know she had an FBI dossier on her in the late 2000s and early 2010s? She’s caught bodies.”
That absolutely floored me. I knew that Dad was involved in some really shady stuff, but I always thought that Mom was just there for moral support. I would have never suspected that she was the one getting her hands dirty while Dad just got high and counted the money. I feel disgusted. I feel frightened. I feel...like I need to take a shit.
“We’ll give you a call once we’ve got her intake completed, and she’s in a room. You can give us the contact information at that time, and we’ll make sure that she’s able to call you or vice-versa.”
“...thank you.”
“I’m sorry, Ross. I really am. I know she was trying so hard...but we’re going to take care of her. I promise.”
I just hung up on her. What else do you want me to do? I can hear the mini-human in the other room. I need to go check on him. I am wearing crew socks with sandals, that’s where I’m at today. I’m also calling someone who can REALLY help me figure this shit out.
“Come on, pick up you furry fucker…”
Thank God. He answered.
“Wow. You’re up early. This is either important or you are in jail.”
“...more like your husband’s favorite redhead is in jail. Actually, she’s in the Franklin County Mental Health Facility, waiting transfer to either Marysville or Athens.”
I can’t see what’s happening over there, but I’m picturing Ken on speakerphone looking concerned, while Graham is probably making the Jack Nicholson GIF smile-nod.
“What happened?”
“They caught her doing two guys in the bathroom at the laundromat on Ridge Ave.”
I hear Graham howling so damn loud that my ears are ringing. The phone drops.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“SHE IS A REAL WHORE! I TOLD YOU THEY EXIST, KEN!”
Graham is laughing so hard that I think he’s about to cough up both of his lungs in a moment.
“This isn’t funny, Graham.”
“YOU’RE RIGHT...THIS IS FUCKING PLATINUM!”
Graham sounds like someone just grabbed him by the nuts from how high his voice got in octave towards the end of that sentence. The laughter is still clear, but stifled. It sounds like Mutley...what the hell?
“She also went after the cops, I guess, she hurt one of them pretty bad…”
“Oh my God…”
“YES!!! THERE IS A GOD!!!”
Graham sounds like he was just given the gift of immortality with the maniacal laughter that just continues.
“I’m sorry, Ross… What can I do, since my husband thinks this is the best thing to ever happen in the history of the Earth?”
“Help me sell the story to the dirt sheets. I need the money.”
“ToO lAtE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Yeah, Graham’s already texting his Dad… Oh, God…”
“Seriously, though, I’m going to need a new babysitter. I don’t know anybody at Revo, and the guy who tried to kidnap my kid still works there.”
“Say no more, bring him here.”
“THAT LITTLE FUCKER’S STAYING IN THE DUNGEON!”
“You’re still not over him dropkicking you in the balls, are you?”
“HE TRIES TO STEAL MY WEED!”
“Well, put it in your pocket then!”
“WHILE I’M SMOKING IT!”
“Yell at Dad then, I would have snapped the blunt in half if I’d been there. I ain’t him.”
“No, Ross, he seriously goes to find Graham just to hit him while he’s smoking. It’s a game to him.”
“That’s because he’s a heel and I taught him to not like heels.”
“Your child is not a K-9 unit, this isn’t Chicago.”
“It’s Columbus. Only difference is the lake and Ohio State.”
“Either way, bring him over when you’re ready.”
“KICK THE BABY!”
“Dammit, Graham! You’re horrible!”
“I’ll get his stuff packed, I’ll be down there as fast as the morons going down I-70 get out of the way. Either of you need anything from up here while I’m in town? I can go break into her apartment and get her ATM card, there’s like seven million on there…”
“IT ISN’T BREAKING AND ENTERING WHEN YOU’RE HER LEGAL GUARDIAN! GET ME A MILLION OUT IN SMALL DENOMINATION, NON-SEQUENTIAL SERIAL NUMBERS OR IT’S FUCKED!”
“Listen, if you’re going to do that, bring the kid here first and then go do hood shit so at least we can get custody if you and the poli’ get friendly?”
“FREE SLAVE LABOR!”
“You are having way too much fun with this heel shit, man.”
“No, he really has it out for Lil’ Man. Just keep me updated, don’t bother calling the other Godparent. I’m sure by the end of the night he’s going to have him hanging from his ankles by a belt and trying to use him as a pinata.”
"If that happens, make sure my boy's form with the kicks to the chest is clean."
“FUCK YOU, CUFFY!”
“Wow...this is the happiest I’ve seen Graham in weeks, even though he’s been more crotchety than ever.”
"See, he really does love the little guy!"
“HE’S ONE-FOURTH BURGTRAMP, I’LL SELL HIM TO THE LOWEST BIDDER FOR A DIME BAG AND BALL OF DICK LINT!”
I had to stop and laugh, no matter how much I didn’t want to.
“Thanks, both of you. Give us about an hour, we’ll be by.”
“30 MINUTES OR THE DOOR IS LOCKED!”
“Just text me, ignore his ass.”
End call. Deep breath. Got work to do. Can’t think about it.
”Mini-Human! Let’s go for a ride!”
You know one thing I never liked about these promo blogs they make us do?
They want us to talk shit.
It’s literally in the handbook of almost all of your favorite companies. It’s a prerequisite that if you’re ever in front of a camera, you have to talk shit.
Me, I’d rather just make them eat shit. I used to come to the ring with a monkey on my shoulder, and he would just throw shit at them. Literal shit.
As unsanitary as that sounds, it’s still better than just talking shit.
And yet, one of the core components of what it takes to get a job in this industry is your ability to talk shit. Forget about whether or not you can back it up, whether you can actually wrestle or not, because that’s not what sells tickets. People don’t pay to see me beat somebody up, no...they pay to see me talk about beating somebody up.
Man, that sounds like a really shitty way to make money.
So for everyone who clicked on this expecting me to talk shit about Mark Kelly, sorry to disappoint you. I got nothing. No snide comment about him cheating to win matches, because he hasn’t done it. No jab at his personal pride, because he’s not a prideful person. No call-out for disrespectful behavior, because he’s shown respect.
How am I supposed to talk shit about somebody like that?
Do you want me to say I’ll break him in half? Would it fulfill my contractual obligations to say that I’m stronger than he is and I’ll crush him? There. At Tuesday Night Sin, I’m going to stomp Mark Kelly in the nuts. I’m going to shove the International Title so far up his ass, you could hang him over the ring at Rebirth and make the triple threat a ladder match.
Is that what you wanted to hear?
The truth is, yes. I do believe I am stronger than Mark Kelly. I believe I’m stronger than a lot of people in this business. I believe I’m tougher than a lot of people in this business. I believe I’m a better wrestler, and a more determined fighter. And yes, that means that I’m publically saying that I think I’m better than Mark Kelly.
But I have to. I have to, not because I need to show confidence to get people to watch the show...but because that’s how you win matches. Mark Kelly won the International Title because he believed he could, and he did. He probably believes he can beat me too. Hey, he might. It’s possible. If he came into this match thinking “oh no, I saw his GCC title fight with Alejandro Rivera and if that guy couldn’t beat him after 22 minutes of knees and elbows only to almost get his arm broken in 30 seconds and tapping out, I’m gonna get my ass kicked!” then that’s exactly what would happen. You set yourself up for failure, and you set yourself up for success.
I got this funny feeling that Ace and I are gonna both be going to St. Louis to set ourselves up for success.
And it ain’t gonna be a bunch of shit talking, either. It ain’t gonna be gum-flapping, or personal beef, or Twitter drama that drives this match. It’s just gonna be two guys who think they’re better wrestlers than the other, and Kylie Moore is gonna pay us both to find out which one actually is.
No trash talk, no bullshit, just a handshake and a bell ring. That’s all I want out of the build-up to this match. That’s all I want out of Mark. Just a handshake and a clean wrestling match. I respect you, I’m cool with you, I think you’re one of the best things that’s happened to Revo1...but I’m still gonna win this match, dude.
I work too hard. I spent too much time studying technique. I dedicated every breath that comes out of my body to being the best wrestler physically possible. And once I reached my limits, I found ways to surpass them. I will only be stronger, faster, smarter, and better. This isn’t me blowing smoke up my own ass. This is just the mindset I have about being a wrestler.
If you’re anything like me, you already know that we’re not built for theatrics. We’re not actors, and we’re not comedians. We’re not here to make jokes about each other’s mothers, or insult our skills. We didn’t come here to make dick references or talk about our daddy issues. We’re here to get in the ring and fucking wrestle.
I mean...that’s the one thing I’m still good at.
Good luck, champ. You might need it.
Good luck, champ. You might need it.
