Post by Renaissance on Aug 29, 2020 19:28:25 GMT -5
  That’s what they’re going to say. They only have a name. They don’t know me, their opponents, and some - not even themselves. They only have a name. What can be done with only a name? They’re racking their brains, desperate to squeeze something original out of the ‘name game’, but they can’t. We’re all forced into what should be a high context relationship, yet we have no context of each other at all. Some can watch tape, some can have others stand in with similar styles, but will they really ever have anything more than a name, in this low context association we share? Oh and sometimes that name is so vanilla. So ordinary. Names that fail to grant even the smallest fraction of insight into who the person really is. The imaginative ones will take a name and create an extensive narrative. Sometimes they’re right, sometimes they’re wrong. But is it really anything we’ve not heard before? If only there was a nickname to further extrapolate on. Then and only then would the narrative truly take flight. But isn’t that what’s always done? When there’s only a name, a shallow connection is made and it always ends the same - there is no ‘true knowing’ until the ring is shared. Until that relationship is thrust into the open and highlighted by the sun above, we still only have our names. Conversely, there are those who wish to prove to us that their names are more than a simple title, but something of an honorific. Just by their name, they expect to be granted the privilege of a heightened status. They’ve done this - they’ve done that - and they’re more than just a name. Moreso, the name holds more meaning than any of these other names. Then, just by hearing their name, we should have some advanced ‘knowing’ of who and what they are. A ‘knowing’ that we simply cannot shake. And yet, they cry at night, because ultimately all they really have is a name. But this is the game we play, isn’t it? The game where we prove that we’re more than just a name.  I’m going to explain this to you all in a peculiar way, but I insist that you hang in till the end where it will all come full circle and make sense to you. Those of you who somehow aren’t following this right now, feel free to change the channel immediately, because you’re thick-witted and should be shot. In March I decided to buy a home in the country. I wanted to stretch out, as it were, and reduce my dependence on the outside world while also distancing myself from a world which I believed was soon going to enter the apocalypse. It was this move to the countryside that led to my meeting a man named Otis. Otis was my next door neighbor and we never achieved a friendly relationship. His house was in a sad state of disrepair and he boasted a menagerie of animal friends. He had a large dog that barked and growled and looked rabid. Then there were the two older dorgs who wined and howled all night long. On top of that, he had cats. Stray cats I counted fifteen of them. Filthy little creatures. There were so many cats, I thought that I never saw the same one twice. On top of all of that, Otis believed that my property was his, in that he had been there longer and somehow had some kind of stake in the land I had paid good money for. Are you following me? Do I need to explain? I’ll give you a hint: count the numbers. Unfortunately for Otis I’m not the type to succumb to intimidation and furthermore, I’m a creative problem solver. I started by opening five cans of tuna and leaving them out every night. For a week I did this. By the end of the week, I had all of his stray cats trained to come to my back door for a meal every night at the same time - 9:30. The next thing I did was to befriend his two old dogs and for them, I started giving them whole cans of SPAM I found in the cellar of the house I bought. You know, the gelatinous meat in a can? I’d never have it, but the two old dogs just loved it. Soon, I had friends in the two old dogs and all fifteen of the cats. His big dog though, the mean one, it never liked me. Two or three times a day, I would go outside and I’d stand near the fence in one of the two security camera blind spots and I would run up to the fence and shake it and when the dog ran to the fence, I’d stand just out of its reach and smile at it. I did this for days. Each time the dog seemed angrier than the last and tried a bit harder to get at me. Then Otis himself. For as grumpy and mean as he was, he was never too far away when I went to take a dip in my pool. I picked out bikinis by Beach Bunny and each day, the bikini became skimpier than the last. An aside: Did you know that the creator of the bikini, Louis Réard, named his creation after the Bikini Atoll? Bikini Atoll was one of the US proving grounds for the atomic bomb. Louis named the bikini after that, because like the A-Bomb, he knew that once the world saw the Bikini, it would never be the same again. Each bikini - skimpier than the last. I worked Otis into a frenzy each night. I’d always leave my towel on the ground so as I exited the pool, I had to bend over to collect it. I’d give him one of those cutesy back-glances while I bent. Each night I gave Otis a show that he’d never had before and would never have again. Some of the nights I’d even flash him a knowing little glance and some faux pouty lips. I would eventually approach Otis’s house. I’d do it in the second security camera blind spot. I’d stare at him. I wouldn’t say a word. The first few times, he ignored me. But once I started approaching his house, down that narrow path, without any clothing on, he warmed up to the idea. Are you still following? Do I need to explain? It might be too late for you. The stray cats. The old nice dogs. The big mean dog. Otis. They were all my enemies. Even if we could have gotten along, in some way shape or form, they were standing between me and my goal. You could call them opponents. All I wanted was peace and quiet. If I have to explain this further, then you aren’t worth my time. The rest happened so fast... The last time I put the tuna out for the stray cats, I mixed a quarter of a cup of Prestone concentrate engine antifreeze into it. The last time I gave SPAM to the two old dogs, it was laced with a tablespoon of some old D-Con rat poison I also found in the cellar of the house I bought. The last time I saw the big bad dog was as it was being hauled away by animal control to be put down, because, in full view of the cameras, it had charged me and attacked me. The last time I saw Otis, he was being taken away by the police because he entered my house while I was sleeping and sexually assaulted me. Oh how it all happened so fast. I breathed a sigh of relief. All threats had been eliminated and I was, unsurprisingly, the last one standing. Oh and it begs mentioning that I love the peace and quiet of my new home. It’s quite lovely.  All of these betas are struggling to prove themselves the alpha. Nineteen of them will step into the ring with me - each one thinking he or she is better than the next. They’re all ready to fight to the end to prove what? Some want to prove that ‘Alpha’ belongs to them - they’re the ones who have been here; they’ve been ‘holding down the fort’ and see the rest of us as threats needing to be put down. Others have returned to Alpha after leaving, for good or for ill; these people look to prove they were always worthy of glory in Alpha and that this is that moment where they make the big comeback. Then there are the new people - the ones who are looking to make a big splash and they’re excited about the thirty percent chance they have at walking away from the match with a title shot. And while we’re at it - look at them all. Look at this tapestry of diversity. What an achievement for the ‘woke culture’. Those in front and behind the lens of this promotion must be so proud. So many will come just because Alpha Pro Wrestling showcases that if you ‘want it, you can do it’. Lovely. So this works out for all involved, doesn’t it? It’s a big match full of a diverse group where, even if none of the participants make anything of themselves in Alpha, what a diverse group in one hell of a card filler match. In a world where hand-outs are becoming increasingly common, Alpha Pro will hand out six championship opportunities for the final six competitors. Essentially the professional wrestling equivalent of a participation trophy. Let’s go as far as to call it ‘social assistance’ and see who we offend. If you can’t actually win the match, just hang in there - if you can last through fourteen opponents, you can walk out of the match a winner - even if you lost. What a statement. Is there a Championship belt made out of EBT cards? This was not my idea. If it were up to me, only one person would win in this match and the rest would become instant pariahs with no other avenue but self-flagellation. Maybe not exactly that, but something awful and masturbatory, nonetheless. Yes, if it were up to me, each and every opponent would realize that they’ve stepped into some alternate timeline where they are merely fodder before Alpha enters a new renaissance. They’d all know to smile big and play it up after they’ve been eliminated, because that moment will be the last meaningful moment they will ever have in this sport - and probably their mundane little lives. I’m not naming names. You all know who you are. You might think, in your vacuous way, that I’ll be thinking about you in the moments leading up to the match. Subsequently, you might be thinking that I’ll be thinking about you afterwards. I won’t. Beyond the ticking of your heart and your ability to step into the ring, you have little meaning nor purpose. Even in the thumping of your little heart, there is little meaning. I will not think about you before or after this event. I will think about what must be done and how you must be handled, but beyond that, you’re meaningless to me. I won’t commit you to memory. Understand? Do I need to explain it further? If you answered ‘yes’ to the latter, then you’re clearly as opaque as I assumed you to be. I’m going to carry out what’s been tasked to me by Alpha Pro, but I want you to remember that none of this was my idea. Goodbye.  |
