I can’t remember the last time I was ever in this position. Undefeated. A title strapped around my waist, you know, if I suck in and hold my breath long enough I can barely get the two ends to connect. Confidence oozing out of me. Finally able to hold my head up high once more. And lo and behold, I actually scored the night of the last episode of Pandemonium.
With the latest string of successes I’ve been floating along on cloud nine. One more week, one more Pandemonium, you’ll see a Bobby Dean that’s 3-0 for the first time in his career. I’ll move up the Power Rankings. And who knows, maybe then I won’t be the only one voting for myself in the Fan Poll on who will defeat Lunchbox Larry!
So here we are. Tucked away in a small recording studio, a camera in my face, a boom mic over head, and a crew of about 30 people milling around waiting for me get my shit underway.
“Listen here fellas, my name is “Beautiful” Bobby Dean. The Name That Entertains. The Long Dong from Hong Kong. The 400 Pound Wonder of the World. The sole remaining eGG Bandit of eGG Banditry fame. And now, I am the Career Ender!”
I bellow out triumphantly.
“Danielle Leslie is gone. I will miss her, but after one match with me she’s never to be heard from again. Stalker? Either he’s the greatest person to play Hide and Go Seek, or he’s pulled a Leslie and disappeared!
“Boy, do I have a challenge for you!
“CUT!!!” the director calls out as a phone begins ringing.
I take a moment to fish out the ringing cell phone from deep within my sky blue tights and see that my dear old mom is calling her favorite/only son. “I’m so sorry, but I have to take this, it’s my mom, and I think she may be dying.”
“Let’s take a break guys.” the director calls out with a tinge of annoyance in his voice as he walks off to check whatever a director checks in between takes. At least this time it wasn’t because I wanted to take a bite out of the concessions table.
“I can’t believe it!” she calls out before I can even say howdy, like all Texans do when answering a phone call. “You are facing Shawn Kutter on the next Pandemonium!”
“Wait.” Wait. What? “What!?” No, no, no, no. I was told I was going to face Kentucky Tarzan next. “That can’t be right. Where did you hear this?”
My mom stutters a bit, shocked at how unhappy I sounded at this turn of events. “Well, honey, it was all over the Twitter thing.”
“But you don’t follow me on Twitter, mom.” I shoot back, clearly flustered.
“Well yeah, but I follow the FWF and I saw the new commercial advertising your match.” she answers. “Why are you so upset by this honey? Mr. Kutter seems like a nice gentleman. You see, I was actually calling to ask if you could possibly get his autograph for me after your match with him.”
I couldn’t believe it. The Bobby Dean curse has struck again. Should I start shopping for the next promotion to join? Should I looked forward to my next retirement? What was I going to do?
“Bobby?” my mom asks, not for the first time apparently.
“Yeah, ma, I gotta go.” I answer with a frown that she can’t see. “Sorry, I’ll give you a call a little later though. Love you mom!”
“Are we ready to wrap this up?” the director asks, well more likely states, clearly hearing that my mom wasn’t dead. “Alright, people, places. Let’s get this done so we can get outta here a little earlier than usual, please.”
3. 2. 1.
“Uhm, yeah! Shawn Kutter, I’ve got a challenge for you.”
I stand before the camera, sweat pouring down from my hairline as I reach up and nervously flick it away with the back of my hand. My hand shaking as I lower back to my side, my eyes wavering as I can’t seem to focus on the camera in front of me.
“I’m the Career Ender, and come January 22nd, I’m going to end yours! You see, I’m willing to put my career in the FWF on the line against yours! This contest won’t be just for my title belt, no, this content will be for the whole she-bang. I’ve already got this beautiful strap around my beautiful waist, so when I beat you next Wednesday I want it to mean something! And what could mean more than your stuffed carcass mounted about my mantel to go along with the rest of my trophies?”
The whole time I fidget nervously. The sweat, which was moments ago gently seeping from my pores, is now running down my face like someone turned on the goddamn faucet. My confident voice slowly drops, and fades altogether, turning into a monotonous drone that someone was simply reading a teleprompter.
“I’ll see you in the ring, champ. I mean.. Yeah…”
And with that the screen goes blank.
I wonder if HOW will take my fat ass back...
- Kentucky Tarzan