Fuck Me In The Ass 'Cause I Love Jesus
Oct 17, 2022 22:54:54 GMT
Ernie, C̸̣̠̑̊ŗ̸̙̔͠u̵̗̾̾Z̴̗̺̿̀e̷̛͓͕̕, and 1 more like this
Post by grovit on Oct 17, 2022 22:54:54 GMT
When I was like 13 or 14, I got into a fight behind a Kroger. I can’t even remember what it was over. I just remember going at the guy who went at my aunt, and then taking a butterfly knife into my right kidney. They couldn’t bring me back for surgery because nobody knew my blood type. I had no medical records. Most homeless kids don’t.
“Dad! Dad! Deathclaws!”
“Well, son, you shouldn’t have tried to take the Quarry Junction shortcut out of Goodsprings.”
“But my Perception is 10!”
“Did you put any points in Guns?”
“Um…um…”
“Yeah. Exactly. You’re trying to use an Anti-Materiel Rifle when you don’t have the skills for it. That’s why every shot in VATS goes wide and lands somewhere in Zion Canyon.”
“NOOOO!!! HE KILLED ME IN ONE HIT! NOT FAIR!”
“Why didn’t you just go the way you were supposed to through Primm and Nipton?”
Fast forward like eight or nine years, and I actually do own a house now. It’s even got more than one bedroom with a door on it. I have a five year old son, who’s about to turn six and has already hit Level 19 in New Vegas. He loves his life; when he’s not here ignoring me with his face in the TV he’s with his grandfather learning how to be a failure and blame everybody else for it. I stuff a few hundred dollar bills in his overnight bag, and go about my business. This is the way.
“Oh…I forgot! ED-E is in Primm!”
“Yup. And I bought you the DLC so he’s actually useful. Remember that he’s a workbench and ammo reloader.”
“YAY! THANKS DAD!”
“No problem, son. Now what do we do when we see Caesar’s Legion?”
“THROW THEM ALL OFF HOOVER DAM!”
“You’re damn right.”
It’s been almost two months since I quit drinking, and I still instinctively try to drink a beer that isn’t actually there. Alcohol was such a cornerstone of my existence, I forgot who I was without it. The first couple of weeks after SOLSTICE in UPRISING, I was convinced that alcohol WAS who I was, and that without it I was a nobody. I now know that’s bullshit. I was a nobody even when I was an alcoholic. I just figured that maybe now, there’d be less liver damage and more clear minded decision making. I can always relapse and drink myself to death once Lil’ Man goes to college.
“HEARTACHES BY THE NUMBERS!”
“...troubles by the score…”
I wonder if Guy Mitchell knew before he died that in sixty years, his song would become one of the anthems for one of the greatest games to ever exist. And even if he didn’t, he still made sure to sprinkle enough crack into this song to make it sing-along material no matter how fucked up you are in the head at this particular moment in time.
“EVERY DAY YOU LOVE ME LESS!”
I turn my head, trying to be cute knowing damn well it’s just going to piss her off…only to see her with a god damn phone recording me.
“Each day I love you more…”
Yep. She’s definitely staring at me.
“Are you fucking recording me right now?”
“I done tole you I was! You’s supposed to be doing a promo, remember?”
“Oh, trust me, I remember. I’m just trying not to.”
“That’s why I’m here, to make sure your dumb ass ain’t forget!”
“I don’t record you at random, do I?”
“I ain’t wait ‘til the last minute to be doin’ my promos.”
“God damn it. Quit being right. I’m tired of being wrong.”
Yeah, I know I’ve got a pretty big match to talk about. But the second I do, the reality of the situation will hit me and at that point I’ll just break down and go buy a fifth of Johnnie Walker. If that happens, there is a good chance that the two people in this house won’t be here anymore and honestly they are the only two people I care to be around right now. And one of them, it’s just because he swam out of my balls, cannonballed into the uterus of a Jehovah’s Witness, and became my legal responsibility. If the kid hacks another bank account to monetize his YouTube channel, I’m signing him over to the boys’ school in Marysville.
“Quit sulking wit’cha damn head down! You ain’t no goddamn bum…”
I’m not hanging my head, I’m looking at this script for Last Call that I can barely read. I didn’t bother telling Splat before I signed a contract that I can barely read because I don’t have any education whatsoever past the second grade and poking my nose in a few books while trying to warm up at the library. When you’re trying not to get kicked back out into the rain, you try to pretend to be reading as long as possible.
“Or no big shot movie star, neither!”
“I know. They can pay people to go to rehab for them.”
“Ross, knock that shit the hell off.”
“Look. I’m just speaking facts here, okay? The truth of the matter is this…”
Since I can’t grab a beer, I’ll just roll this movie script up and pretend it’s a bottle. That shit works for quitting cigarettes, doesn’t it?
“I can try to do everything in the world to be a better person and none of that shit matters from bell to bell. I could be Humanitarian Of The Year and if I can’t hit a dropkick, I’m fucked. Now, I might be halfway decent at good technical wrestling, but I haven’t really had a chance to prove it. I get booked in Spirit Halloween matches with a literal fucking blue dragon necromancer where we’re expected to beat each other over the head with granite tombstones for fifteen minutes, or a match that is basically the fucking Nipton Lottery.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
I adjust my position on the couch, since it’s clear this is as close to promo as we’re going to get out of me right now.
“The Nipton Lottery. When Caesar’s Legion showed up to the town of Nipton, they held a lottery for all of the citizens. Nobody knew what it was for until they drew the winner. The winner got to live, and leave Nipton. The runner-up got their legs broken and dragged into a side building, and everyone else either got burned to death or crucified. This is literally the perfect god damn analogy for this Four Corners Suspension match.”
She’s actually following along with me. Oh my fucking God, someone understands me.
“Whoever wins gets to take the Moonstone and space walk their happy ass on back to the locker room. Everyone else gets nailed up and hung for the world to see. Five of us in that match are going to be permanently fucked up as a result of it, all because we dared not to win a four corners match with six participants. All because we dared not to be the lucky one who got their lottery ticket drawn first.”
“...whoa. Shit’s fucked up.”
“Welcome to Fallout New Vegas, welcome to WrestleVerse, and welcome to my reality. Even if you lose your tag match, you get to wrestle again another day.’
“Not if I get my goddamn leg blown up or some shit, I ain’t…”
“Right. So you get it. This might literally be the last match I ever wrestle. That’s why I’m doing THIS…”
I hold up the movie script in my hand.
“...trying to find something else to do to feed my fucking son, because I’m clearly never going to get anywhere within the world of professional wrestling! I have to spontaneously develop another skill when the only thing I’ve ever been able to do in my life is wrestle! And now, in my very first fucking match for this company, it has an…hang on a second…”
It’s not a Ti-83, but it adds and subtracts. Okay, five divided by six…
“There’s an 83% chance it’ll be my last match for this company, maybe period. Please forgive me for not being as optimistic about my future as you are. I haven’t even bothered to watch Eternal #5 to see Erik and TJ win that tag match that was supposed to be pretty good, or to see Quinn Castillo’s promos. I don’t know shit about Axis, I barely know his friend CruZe. Is this Savannah’s debut too? Now I have a week to figure out their tells so I can get one up on them. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can figure out how to out-wrestle five people, win the Moonstone, and most importantly still be able to use the muscles in my god damn back!”
The kid shooting up a camp of Powder Gangers is the only sound heard for several seconds.
“That’s where my mind is right now, Hayley. ”
“Dad! Dad! Deathclaws!”
“Well, son, you shouldn’t have tried to take the Quarry Junction shortcut out of Goodsprings.”
“But my Perception is 10!”
“Did you put any points in Guns?”
“Um…um…”
“Yeah. Exactly. You’re trying to use an Anti-Materiel Rifle when you don’t have the skills for it. That’s why every shot in VATS goes wide and lands somewhere in Zion Canyon.”
“NOOOO!!! HE KILLED ME IN ONE HIT! NOT FAIR!”
“Why didn’t you just go the way you were supposed to through Primm and Nipton?”
Fast forward like eight or nine years, and I actually do own a house now. It’s even got more than one bedroom with a door on it. I have a five year old son, who’s about to turn six and has already hit Level 19 in New Vegas. He loves his life; when he’s not here ignoring me with his face in the TV he’s with his grandfather learning how to be a failure and blame everybody else for it. I stuff a few hundred dollar bills in his overnight bag, and go about my business. This is the way.
“Oh…I forgot! ED-E is in Primm!”
“Yup. And I bought you the DLC so he’s actually useful. Remember that he’s a workbench and ammo reloader.”
“YAY! THANKS DAD!”
“No problem, son. Now what do we do when we see Caesar’s Legion?”
“THROW THEM ALL OFF HOOVER DAM!”
“You’re damn right.”
It’s been almost two months since I quit drinking, and I still instinctively try to drink a beer that isn’t actually there. Alcohol was such a cornerstone of my existence, I forgot who I was without it. The first couple of weeks after SOLSTICE in UPRISING, I was convinced that alcohol WAS who I was, and that without it I was a nobody. I now know that’s bullshit. I was a nobody even when I was an alcoholic. I just figured that maybe now, there’d be less liver damage and more clear minded decision making. I can always relapse and drink myself to death once Lil’ Man goes to college.
“HEARTACHES BY THE NUMBERS!”
“...troubles by the score…”
I wonder if Guy Mitchell knew before he died that in sixty years, his song would become one of the anthems for one of the greatest games to ever exist. And even if he didn’t, he still made sure to sprinkle enough crack into this song to make it sing-along material no matter how fucked up you are in the head at this particular moment in time.
“EVERY DAY YOU LOVE ME LESS!”
I turn my head, trying to be cute knowing damn well it’s just going to piss her off…only to see her with a god damn phone recording me.
“Each day I love you more…”
Yep. She’s definitely staring at me.
“Are you fucking recording me right now?”
“I done tole you I was! You’s supposed to be doing a promo, remember?”
“Oh, trust me, I remember. I’m just trying not to.”
“That’s why I’m here, to make sure your dumb ass ain’t forget!”
“I don’t record you at random, do I?”
“I ain’t wait ‘til the last minute to be doin’ my promos.”
“God damn it. Quit being right. I’m tired of being wrong.”
Yeah, I know I’ve got a pretty big match to talk about. But the second I do, the reality of the situation will hit me and at that point I’ll just break down and go buy a fifth of Johnnie Walker. If that happens, there is a good chance that the two people in this house won’t be here anymore and honestly they are the only two people I care to be around right now. And one of them, it’s just because he swam out of my balls, cannonballed into the uterus of a Jehovah’s Witness, and became my legal responsibility. If the kid hacks another bank account to monetize his YouTube channel, I’m signing him over to the boys’ school in Marysville.
“Quit sulking wit’cha damn head down! You ain’t no goddamn bum…”
I’m not hanging my head, I’m looking at this script for Last Call that I can barely read. I didn’t bother telling Splat before I signed a contract that I can barely read because I don’t have any education whatsoever past the second grade and poking my nose in a few books while trying to warm up at the library. When you’re trying not to get kicked back out into the rain, you try to pretend to be reading as long as possible.
“Or no big shot movie star, neither!”
“I know. They can pay people to go to rehab for them.”
“Ross, knock that shit the hell off.”
“Look. I’m just speaking facts here, okay? The truth of the matter is this…”
Since I can’t grab a beer, I’ll just roll this movie script up and pretend it’s a bottle. That shit works for quitting cigarettes, doesn’t it?
“I can try to do everything in the world to be a better person and none of that shit matters from bell to bell. I could be Humanitarian Of The Year and if I can’t hit a dropkick, I’m fucked. Now, I might be halfway decent at good technical wrestling, but I haven’t really had a chance to prove it. I get booked in Spirit Halloween matches with a literal fucking blue dragon necromancer where we’re expected to beat each other over the head with granite tombstones for fifteen minutes, or a match that is basically the fucking Nipton Lottery.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
I adjust my position on the couch, since it’s clear this is as close to promo as we’re going to get out of me right now.
“The Nipton Lottery. When Caesar’s Legion showed up to the town of Nipton, they held a lottery for all of the citizens. Nobody knew what it was for until they drew the winner. The winner got to live, and leave Nipton. The runner-up got their legs broken and dragged into a side building, and everyone else either got burned to death or crucified. This is literally the perfect god damn analogy for this Four Corners Suspension match.”
She’s actually following along with me. Oh my fucking God, someone understands me.
“Whoever wins gets to take the Moonstone and space walk their happy ass on back to the locker room. Everyone else gets nailed up and hung for the world to see. Five of us in that match are going to be permanently fucked up as a result of it, all because we dared not to win a four corners match with six participants. All because we dared not to be the lucky one who got their lottery ticket drawn first.”
“...whoa. Shit’s fucked up.”
“Welcome to Fallout New Vegas, welcome to WrestleVerse, and welcome to my reality. Even if you lose your tag match, you get to wrestle again another day.’
“Not if I get my goddamn leg blown up or some shit, I ain’t…”
“Right. So you get it. This might literally be the last match I ever wrestle. That’s why I’m doing THIS…”
I hold up the movie script in my hand.
“...trying to find something else to do to feed my fucking son, because I’m clearly never going to get anywhere within the world of professional wrestling! I have to spontaneously develop another skill when the only thing I’ve ever been able to do in my life is wrestle! And now, in my very first fucking match for this company, it has an…hang on a second…”
It’s not a Ti-83, but it adds and subtracts. Okay, five divided by six…
“There’s an 83% chance it’ll be my last match for this company, maybe period. Please forgive me for not being as optimistic about my future as you are. I haven’t even bothered to watch Eternal #5 to see Erik and TJ win that tag match that was supposed to be pretty good, or to see Quinn Castillo’s promos. I don’t know shit about Axis, I barely know his friend CruZe. Is this Savannah’s debut too? Now I have a week to figure out their tells so I can get one up on them. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can figure out how to out-wrestle five people, win the Moonstone, and most importantly still be able to use the muscles in my god damn back!”
The kid shooting up a camp of Powder Gangers is the only sound heard for several seconds.
“That’s where my mind is right now, Hayley. ”