Post by america on Sept 20, 2020 21:15:18 GMT -5
Who makes America?
Is it our founding fathers, setting out to create something greater than what their homelands could offer?
Is it our politicians, driving us forward by making law and order out of chaos?
Is it our people, who work themselves day and night to reflect the absolute best of this country?
Who makes America?
Albuquerque, New Mexico
September 7, 2020
John Davison sits in the second row for APW Monday Night Metal. He had to get temperature checked to get in and the mask on his face left him sweaty and uncomfortable. He was disgusted by how the company had let itself be pulled into safety considerations due to a leftist hoax, but he’d worked too many overtime shifts saving up for these tickets to not show up when the time came. In spite of the sweat on his brow from the heat of his breath turning back on him, the view was tremendous. He had a great time watching a match between World Title contenders and seeing John Blade deal out another US open challenge.
When the main event segment started, John was elated. He’d been a fan of the Storm since the moment they burst on the scene. When Battlecade hit and they cleaned house on the top singles titles, the roof might as well have blown off the top of his house. There they were, good old American boys speaking the truths that so many were afraid to say. In a time when it was out of fashion to support his President and love his country, John stood firm in his belief in god and country. It filled him with pride to see men standing up for the same things in his favourite wrestling company.
It was with mixed feelings that he watched as America Jackson became APW World Champion. He was disappointed to see Zaigon Carter’s reign end so soon, but if he had to lose it, who better than to someone who shared his very name with this great country they lived in? Zaigon’s decision to move elsewhere was similarly disappointing, but John was heartened to find that America would still remain in his place to defend the ideals they had stood for so far.
Watching from the crowd, John let out a whoop when America announced he would be keeping both of his titles. He cussed as Jason Ryan attacked and cheered once more upon the debut of the Octopus and the beating that followed. When the show was over, he hit the merchandise table and bought what he could before heading out in the open air and letting out a contended sigh. The arena had largely emptied already, but as he walked to his car, he spotted a large group of people. Looking closer, he recognized the Troops, ushering America Jackson to his car. John couldn’t help himself. He went over to speak to the champ.
At first, the Troops stood in his way, but the champ waved them away. He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Hey man, how you doing tonight?” John asked about the Coronavirus and America laughed. “I ain’t worried about a fuckin’ virus.” John shook his hand gratefully and told him how much his success had meant to him. How he was sure that with a leader like America, they could take wrestling back from the leftist scourge. “Sure man.” America said. “Hey, you want a selfie? Maybe for me to sign something?” John had already bought a signed Polaroid but America laughed and signed it again. “Make it fresher.” he joked. John laughed. They took a photo and John knew his little brother would be crazy jealous.
As America stepped into the car, John called out. “Thank you for being our champion!”
America grinned.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
What makes America great?
Freedom.
I can rest secure in the knowledge that if I want to, I can get drunk off my face, go shoot some shit with my own damn guns, buy altogether too much food, then hit up a titty bar to end the night before waking up in the morning and walking into church. We have this little idea of society that we hold up, sure. We talk a big game about how we hold each other up and we’re better together. It’s a nice little lie.
America is about the freedom to not give a fuck about each other.
There’s some truth for you. When my family was fighting the wolf at the door, ain’t nobody showed up with socialist nonsense about getting paid for nothing while the guy down the street worked to earn. We suffered as bad as anyone and we lost everything for it and why? So our taxes could go fund some lazy drug addict sleeping in a comfy bed with better a/c than we got?
I have scraped and clawed and worked my way up to the top. Not because I thought I was owed shit but because I knew, down to my bones, that I wouldn’t be given anything I didn’t do my part to earn. I looked at the people around me and they had all the pity and contempt and good feelings I could take, but not a one of them cared to give a helping hand because they knew the same as I do.
This isn’t a land of handouts.
Take what you can hold.
Hold what you can keep.
You wanna survive?
You wanna thrive?
Ain’t nothing that’ll fill your belly more’n being hungrier than the rest.
Ain’t nothing’ll kill you faster than losing that hunger.
Some folks think having these titles makes me a touch full, but I promise you.
I am fucking ravenous.
John had been thinking since he met America. About how he could do more for his country. About how he could do more for himself. After all, if America Jackson could go out and become a paragon like he did, what was holding John back from standing up for what he believed in? The idea festered like something just below the skin. It clawed at him a little at a time. It clawed until the gun he kept for safety wasn’t enough anymore. He could keep his house safe, sure. But his country? He got something bigger. Something flashier and faster and deadlier. He’d be ready.
John looked for a protest. A betrayal of the institutions that held up this country he loved. Anti-President. Anti-Police. Anti-Capitalist. All these fucking scumbags coming out with one hand extended and their mouths spouting nothing but criticisms. The demands for safe spaces and preferential treatment and the attempts to get the cops off the streets and let crime overtake them.
John showed up to the protest with a coffee in one hand and an automatic in the other. As things got hot, he kept feeling his finger on the trigger and thinking to himself that he could do it if he needed. He could do it. He could do it. He could…
John did it.
It was so fast. He almost didn’t realize that he’d done it. He walked off like a ghost. No one stopped him. He got back in his car with another man’s blood on his shoes and he drove home. When they came to get him in the morning, his name was all over social media. He had been called a monster and an attempted murderer. For what? Shooting some little fucking commie? He should be a hero. That’s what he said as they loaded him into the car. He should get a fucking parade, he said as they booked him in the cell. As he felt the cold slate on his fingers, John was sure he’d lost the country.
He’d write America Jackson fan mail from his cell.
Every letter would go unopened.
What maintains America?
The Troops, obviously.
We send them out to fight for us. To show the world just who the fuck we are and make sure that our way of life can keep on ticking ahead all the same. We bribe them with money and school and valour and we send them off to die so that we can keep on living the way we have. We have to respect their sacrifice. We have to. Without the Troops, we couldn’t have this country that we love.
Are you a good little troop as well, Liberty?
Tossed out to face the best in the world on your first night in the company, surrounded by enemies on all sides for what? A moment of valour? You let them talk up the idea that this is a chance, right? The chance to make your career. The chance to beat a World Champion on night one. But that’s not what you’re here for.
You’re here to be expendable.
You’re here to get ripped apart by a real American.
Your work isn’t enough.
Your hunger isn’t enough.
Your dreams aren’t enough.
On this night which celebrates all things American, you get to embody what it truly means to be American.
You get to be a sacrifice to something bigger than yourself.
Don’t be sad.
This is how it was meant to be.
The great…the truly great…
We’re beyond consequence.
Beyond sacrifice.
I gave and I gave for years.
Now it’s my turn to take.
Now I get everything that I want.
And all I want?
Is everything.
And that?
That is what it means to be American.
Is it our founding fathers, setting out to create something greater than what their homelands could offer?
Is it our politicians, driving us forward by making law and order out of chaos?
Is it our people, who work themselves day and night to reflect the absolute best of this country?
Who makes America?
Albuquerque, New Mexico
September 7, 2020
John Davison sits in the second row for APW Monday Night Metal. He had to get temperature checked to get in and the mask on his face left him sweaty and uncomfortable. He was disgusted by how the company had let itself be pulled into safety considerations due to a leftist hoax, but he’d worked too many overtime shifts saving up for these tickets to not show up when the time came. In spite of the sweat on his brow from the heat of his breath turning back on him, the view was tremendous. He had a great time watching a match between World Title contenders and seeing John Blade deal out another US open challenge.
When the main event segment started, John was elated. He’d been a fan of the Storm since the moment they burst on the scene. When Battlecade hit and they cleaned house on the top singles titles, the roof might as well have blown off the top of his house. There they were, good old American boys speaking the truths that so many were afraid to say. In a time when it was out of fashion to support his President and love his country, John stood firm in his belief in god and country. It filled him with pride to see men standing up for the same things in his favourite wrestling company.
It was with mixed feelings that he watched as America Jackson became APW World Champion. He was disappointed to see Zaigon Carter’s reign end so soon, but if he had to lose it, who better than to someone who shared his very name with this great country they lived in? Zaigon’s decision to move elsewhere was similarly disappointing, but John was heartened to find that America would still remain in his place to defend the ideals they had stood for so far.
Watching from the crowd, John let out a whoop when America announced he would be keeping both of his titles. He cussed as Jason Ryan attacked and cheered once more upon the debut of the Octopus and the beating that followed. When the show was over, he hit the merchandise table and bought what he could before heading out in the open air and letting out a contended sigh. The arena had largely emptied already, but as he walked to his car, he spotted a large group of people. Looking closer, he recognized the Troops, ushering America Jackson to his car. John couldn’t help himself. He went over to speak to the champ.
At first, the Troops stood in his way, but the champ waved them away. He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Hey man, how you doing tonight?” John asked about the Coronavirus and America laughed. “I ain’t worried about a fuckin’ virus.” John shook his hand gratefully and told him how much his success had meant to him. How he was sure that with a leader like America, they could take wrestling back from the leftist scourge. “Sure man.” America said. “Hey, you want a selfie? Maybe for me to sign something?” John had already bought a signed Polaroid but America laughed and signed it again. “Make it fresher.” he joked. John laughed. They took a photo and John knew his little brother would be crazy jealous.
As America stepped into the car, John called out. “Thank you for being our champion!”
America grinned.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
What makes America great?
Freedom.
I can rest secure in the knowledge that if I want to, I can get drunk off my face, go shoot some shit with my own damn guns, buy altogether too much food, then hit up a titty bar to end the night before waking up in the morning and walking into church. We have this little idea of society that we hold up, sure. We talk a big game about how we hold each other up and we’re better together. It’s a nice little lie.
America is about the freedom to not give a fuck about each other.
There’s some truth for you. When my family was fighting the wolf at the door, ain’t nobody showed up with socialist nonsense about getting paid for nothing while the guy down the street worked to earn. We suffered as bad as anyone and we lost everything for it and why? So our taxes could go fund some lazy drug addict sleeping in a comfy bed with better a/c than we got?
I have scraped and clawed and worked my way up to the top. Not because I thought I was owed shit but because I knew, down to my bones, that I wouldn’t be given anything I didn’t do my part to earn. I looked at the people around me and they had all the pity and contempt and good feelings I could take, but not a one of them cared to give a helping hand because they knew the same as I do.
This isn’t a land of handouts.
Take what you can hold.
Hold what you can keep.
You wanna survive?
You wanna thrive?
Ain’t nothing that’ll fill your belly more’n being hungrier than the rest.
Ain’t nothing’ll kill you faster than losing that hunger.
Some folks think having these titles makes me a touch full, but I promise you.
I am fucking ravenous.
John had been thinking since he met America. About how he could do more for his country. About how he could do more for himself. After all, if America Jackson could go out and become a paragon like he did, what was holding John back from standing up for what he believed in? The idea festered like something just below the skin. It clawed at him a little at a time. It clawed until the gun he kept for safety wasn’t enough anymore. He could keep his house safe, sure. But his country? He got something bigger. Something flashier and faster and deadlier. He’d be ready.
John looked for a protest. A betrayal of the institutions that held up this country he loved. Anti-President. Anti-Police. Anti-Capitalist. All these fucking scumbags coming out with one hand extended and their mouths spouting nothing but criticisms. The demands for safe spaces and preferential treatment and the attempts to get the cops off the streets and let crime overtake them.
John showed up to the protest with a coffee in one hand and an automatic in the other. As things got hot, he kept feeling his finger on the trigger and thinking to himself that he could do it if he needed. He could do it. He could do it. He could…
John did it.
It was so fast. He almost didn’t realize that he’d done it. He walked off like a ghost. No one stopped him. He got back in his car with another man’s blood on his shoes and he drove home. When they came to get him in the morning, his name was all over social media. He had been called a monster and an attempted murderer. For what? Shooting some little fucking commie? He should be a hero. That’s what he said as they loaded him into the car. He should get a fucking parade, he said as they booked him in the cell. As he felt the cold slate on his fingers, John was sure he’d lost the country.
He’d write America Jackson fan mail from his cell.
Every letter would go unopened.
What maintains America?
The Troops, obviously.
We send them out to fight for us. To show the world just who the fuck we are and make sure that our way of life can keep on ticking ahead all the same. We bribe them with money and school and valour and we send them off to die so that we can keep on living the way we have. We have to respect their sacrifice. We have to. Without the Troops, we couldn’t have this country that we love.
Are you a good little troop as well, Liberty?
Tossed out to face the best in the world on your first night in the company, surrounded by enemies on all sides for what? A moment of valour? You let them talk up the idea that this is a chance, right? The chance to make your career. The chance to beat a World Champion on night one. But that’s not what you’re here for.
You’re here to be expendable.
You’re here to get ripped apart by a real American.
Your work isn’t enough.
Your hunger isn’t enough.
Your dreams aren’t enough.
On this night which celebrates all things American, you get to embody what it truly means to be American.
You get to be a sacrifice to something bigger than yourself.
Don’t be sad.
This is how it was meant to be.
The great…the truly great…
We’re beyond consequence.
Beyond sacrifice.
I gave and I gave for years.
Now it’s my turn to take.
Now I get everything that I want.
And all I want?
Is everything.
And that?
That is what it means to be American.
