▶THERE'S AN ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM AND HE'S GOT A BAZOOKA
J O.
From here on out, these are the most important letters in this company. More important than the three in the..
"John?"
For a moment, the world stands still. Studio lights hit the corneas like a kick to the grapefruits with a blinding white so pure and distracting that it becomes auditory. My eardrums ring as the shine deletes some things and replaces them with others, blurred and indiscernible.
"John?"
The air in the room thins before seemingly dissipating altogether only to be replaced with notes of metal and gunpowder.
"Hellooooo, Joh-"
Internally, there’s a sharp inhale and my lungs fill up as if someone hit a factory reset.
Yeah, all good here. Say, be a good sport and just keep it rolling, would ya?
I see the hesitation in his body language, stuck between raising the camera back up or pressing with further intervention. Then again, money talks and him going the former route is in his own best interest. It’s funny how that works, how much a little dangling green can influence those around you. It’s powerful.
"Rolling in 3-2-1.. "
His thumb came up before taking control of the hammer, pulling it back towards himself. Staring into the barrel camera, I feel my body tense up. I’m desperate to make it act naturally and let my mouth get us to the finish line, but the lens is unblinking. It’s hard not to be fixated on the feeling of permanence staring back at me, but I was made for this, carefully molded to be John fucking Obvious.
I just have to be..John fucking Obvious.
"Everything’s looking really great, Mr. Lowe. The swelling should subside with time. We’ll send in the script for the cephalexin. Other than that, we’d just advise some bacitracin for some of the incisions. In the meantime, we just ask that you take it easy and we’ll see you back here in a week to follow up."
What about the next one?
"The next what?"
Procedure.
"I understand having a desire to seek further change, but it’s probably best that we focus on the healing process for now, Mr. Lowe."
My jaw wants to clench hard and I find just enough self control not to let it happen as the acid in my stomach bubbles up with frustration.
That’s your job, right? I get it.. You have to do things your way, go by the book and all that jazz. That said, I do sorta need you to do me a favor.
"What’s that?"
I need this to be faster. I don’t care how many days were able to trim off the waiting game. I just…I’m gonna need this to be faster, Dr. Deveaux.
She hesitates, maybe noticing the urgency that’s holding back a response that would be a lot nastier if I let it slip out.
"I’ll…see what we can do."
I nod my head, looking towards the door with my pointer finger doing high speed taps against a bouncing right leg.
Thanks.
"If you have any other questions, please feel free to call."
There’s been a lot of blackouts lately. Any time that I find myself between locations, events, or next steps, I lose track of the transitions. Feet carry me from A to B. That much I can feel, but my mind seems to blitz through the journey.
"Close the door."
I wouldn’t call him my friend. Friends grill out. They watch ball together and crush a Coors or twelve. They know each other's names. I don’t know his name nor do I know what I’d call him other than necessary. I think that’s enough for me.
"Face looks good."
Yeah. Good.
"You’re getting there. Everything’s a work in progress."
Let me ask you something.
I take his silence as a green light as the limo creeps up on red.
When’s the last time that you were on the sidewalk and flinched at a leaf moving, because you thought it was something else?
Still no response.
Do your palms itch very often? Mine do all the time. Well..not all the time, really just in the face of things I’m not ready for. Not sure how you go about fixing that one other than doubling down.
"What’s the point?"
Might need another doctor.
To the collective of the CeeDubyaEff locker room, I do hope you didn’t fill up too much on the crappetizers that your contemporaries have fed you to this point, because I’ve got a big one for ya in the form of my not-so-little Johnny. Raw, sauteed, deep fried. It doesn’t really matter. When it’s all said and done, you WILL end up eating my di-
"John..?"
I hear him say it again and again, but it filters in and out as if shouted down at me from above the water’s surface. All I can see is the center of the lens locking its eye with my own before letting one go that connects dead center. Reaching up to the impact area, there’s a feeling that’s thick and wet, an unmistakable crimson that I don’t have to see to recognize.
"John?"
I need a smoke.
At least to my ears, the tone of my voice comes out chopped and screwed.
Blackout.
"John? Are you sure you’re good to go? John? John!"
"John! Oh, John! I’m gonna-"
She’s enough of a looker, I guess. I wouldn’t call her anything more. That would entail a night out together beforehand or any sort of budding history between the two of us. Much like those who keep me company in the back of limousines, I don’t even know her name. Just like the men in the limo, I know that she’s necessary.
"John?"
For once, I didn’t get to the next destination via blackout. I actually remember every second of the trip to the bathroom. I was there to turn on the shower and tell the bluetooth speaker to play some .38 Special in an attempt to drown out the sounds of my last couple meals being ejected into the bowl.
"John?"
With a flush of the toilet and a quick dip of my head under the stream, I reach back for the handle, prepared to be John fucking Obvious.
"Are you good? Did you..want me to finish you too?"
Maybe on round two, babe.
"Really?"
I was feeling charitable. Now? I feel like a cigarette.
She pulls a high angle smile before reaching for the Marlboro red soft pack and slipping one between my lips and holding flame to the end of it. I give her a playful smack on the backend before inhaling deep, trying to override the taste of vomit.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nT43dsYhw0k
“There's a bomb in my car
There's a bomb in my car
There's a bomb in my car
There's a bomb in my car
There's a bomb in my car”
It was only ever a matter of time that was really just dependent on my saying yes and don’t get it twisted, folks. The owner lady’s been on my dick about putting pen to paper from the first handshake. Can’t say I blame her, but I do want you to know that however much of a priority and asset you consider yourselves to this fanbase or to the top brass, you are not an equal to The Last Man in America. I didn’t turn down other organizations to be here, I simply left them on read. When I was given my pick of any and every booker with a ring and a venue, I chose here.
I chose the city of brotherly love, because I like to live a little. Knowing that they’ve gotta grease the goddamn lightpoles to stop this freak ass population from swarming up at the top and running up the count on casualties, that they’ll burn shit to the ground no matter who wins or loses? I’m prepared to revel in that kind of shit show and see what an extra dash of kerosene does to uncivilized society. Whether they call me hero or villain, I’m making them double down on the feeling just to see if Philly will finish the job after I’ve done my shit between the bells.
I picked CeeDubyaF(uck us. Is that John Obvious come to ram his shaft so far down our gullets that Miss Frizzle eventually stumbles into an HOA his DNA started?), because of this rumble. The soft-bodied will always dread this sort of thing as they see the odds and tell themselves that they’re at the mercy of them, but I don’t marinate in loser talk the way most people would. I look ahead at the age old clusterfuck of all clusterfucks and I see an opportunity to drop trou and rip a thick, ropy piss down on *insert random jay-brone* here like a Calvin bumper sticker. Through Golden Intentions, I get to do a speedrun of wrassler wack-a-mole.
I am all in on this, because I know how much all of you are going to want it, how you’re salivating at the thought of being the one to leapfrog into the marquee against Moretti. Right now, you’re strategizing through tape study and everything you were ever told by Fat Fuck Mahoney in a garage gym and you’re building up that confidence, as self assured as my not being here yet has allowed you to be. How’s that saying go? Everybody has a plan until they get DUH’d in the face? As you tell yourselves “I don’t want this, I NEED this” or a similar line of shallow, motivational doo doo, recognize that I am your opposite. I don’t need this. I don’t NEED to have my hand raised at the end of GI or to go mushroom stamp Ol’ Harlan’s forehead like a 6ix9ine face tat. I just want to. :D
And it’s all, because you’re telling yourself NEED it. Kevin O’Leary has data centers in Utah, I have this company and the legendary Paul Rodgers to help me serenade the ticketholders before leaving their former favorites lost to the hasbeen abyss. There are levels to this and the one that I’m on says you get the pleasure of wielding the same iron fist that will rock the world of fourteen other people’s mamas, because they deserve a Hell of a lot more than the last minute checkout lane bouquets their old men get them on a Sunday in May. Where everyone else in their dumpy families disappoint, I rise to the occasion.
Championship Wrestling other word, prepare to have your guts rearranged.
Get ready to have your hierarchy toppled with its occupants sent off to dumb dumb class.
The second I step foot in a CeeDubyaEff ring, the culture shifts away from everything you’ve come to know and love about the promotion you call home. You get seated at the weird kids table next to the booger eaters and kids who tuck their peckers up into their waistbands the second they see the company I keep, all while I’m getting fed grapes and spitting every fourth off of your forehead for the love of the game. When the time comes, don’t fight it. Embrace it. Accept the inevitability of your mug face down under my boot where you’ll spend the rest of your days, dragging your tongue across the ground I’ve walked on just to get an idea of what greatness tastes like.
There’s no JOY for you to be had in John Obvious Yuniversity, because I’m here to commit bully, to let you know that this doesn’t have to be personal, but I’ll make sure it is anyways. My one kindness to you is a fair warning to get on the JO train before it leaves the station rather than end up on the wrong end of the trolley problem at the full mercy of somebody else. Get behind me before I have the chance to get behind you, bend you over a barrel, and take you on a tour through Johnnytown while the “It’s a Small World” animatronic talk you through it. If you don’t…well let’s not have to consider the alternative or learn what future endeavored feels like, yeah?
Listen to Kalshi and Polymarket.
Listen to your lovers while you’ve still got’em.
Listen to your captain.
Because there’s an elephant in the room and he’s got a bazooka aimed at your hollow noggins and inside it is a sole projectile engraved with three letters locked and loaded to destroy and rebuild CeeDubyaEff in MY image and that is..
D-U-H!