If this doesn't make you smile...

...you, in fact, have no soul. Perhaps you're Hitler? Not sure.

Thanksgiving

Thursday Nov. 26th.

AWOL is walking down the freezer aisle of a grocery store. The fluorescent lights overhead shine down balefully upon the shopping cart he pushes in front of him, seemingly dwarfed by the size of his massive frame. The wheels squeak, irritatingly. He steers constantly to keep it from turning sideways, smashing into the glass of the freezer door. His dagger glare, penetrating down the length of the aisle, informs all present that he is well aware and affected by these irritations.

He pauses the cart next to a particular freezer cabinet, turning towards the door. He throws it open with an irritated twitch. White mist spills out to the floor. He reaches in, pulling out a frozen dinner. The door slams shut with a loud “thwump.” Reaching down, he wipes off the frost, reading the label. A sigh escapes his lips, echoing from somewhere in the bottom of his boots.

The label reads “Turkey Dinner with Mashed Potatoes.”

He throws the dinner into the cart with his other sundries. He turns the cart back straight again, walking towards the checkout counter. He pauses again, however, as a beeping tone comes from the pockets of his pants. He pulls out a cell-phone, flipping open to the cover. The screen blinks back “1 Message.” He presses a button, revealing the words “From: Maya. Hey, where R U? Had a great time last night. Call me.”

He grimaces, flipping the lid shut and shoving the phone back into a pocket.

A man in a cardigan sweater walks past him, pausing at the exhalation and spying the ugly expression on his face. He stops, looking at him with a concerned expression of his own. “Hey man, it’s alright. Life’s not so bad.”

AWOL looks up, fixing the man with a glare.

***

You made a mistake, Christian Savior. Before the Tag Team Gauntlet at the Overbooked Extravaganza you overlooked me. You wrote me off. I believe you may have spray painted the words “Forgettable” on my chest, or at least on the chest of a cardboard cut-out of me. In your place, as someone who was trying to prove how above an opponent I was, I may have gone with irrelevant or inconsequential, but let’s not quibble over diction. You did this to me, a former world champion from a time when this company actually had competitors that were worth a shit. You did this to a founding member of the fucking Empire, one half of the greatest tag team this company has ever seen, and friend and ally to the greatest champion the company has ever known. Oh, and let’s not forget, you did this to a man who has done what you have promised and failed to deliver on, namely defeating Johnny Kingdom. I am bigger than you. I’ve probably been wrestling longer than you (don’t quote me on that, I can’t be assed to go look at your history,) and anything you’ve achieved I’ve achieved then some. The things you don’t know about me could probably about fill a goddamn book, and you wrote me off as forgettable?

Well.

We know how that worked out, don’t we? Specifically, I walked into the tag-team gauntlet and I pinned you, eliminating you and your stooge from the match and, in doing so, denying you the Cartel Title and your chance to win the world heavyweight championship by defeating Johnny Kingdom. So tell me one thing, Christian.

Do I have your attention now?

***

Wednesday Nov. 25th

Dr. Ferraro- I’m concerned about this pattern of behavior you’re establishing for yourself, AWOL.

AWOL-Pattern?

Dr. Ferraro- Every week you come to your appointment, and it seems like you’ve drop to a new low. At first I was very encouraged by your progress, but now you talk about destroying your employers’ company. You’re going back to your old violent release or aggression in the ring. And now this girl, Maya. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re doing it on purpose.

AWOL-I’m at a new low? All I said was that I found a new girlfriend.

Dr. Ferraro- Stripper. You just told me you had a one night stand with a stripper.

AWOL-The term is “exotic dancer.” And what’s your point? Strippers can’t be girlfriends?

Dr. Ferraro- She takes off her clothing for money, and there is every possibility that she is doing basically the same thing with you right now. And more importantly, this is a dangerous time for you to be developing any new connections with members of the opposite sex. You shouldn’t be starting a new relationship right now. Anything you try to create will be afflicted with the emotions you’re carrying from your marriage. You’re not looking for a girlfriend right now, you’re looking for validation.

AWOL-Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?

Dr. Ferraro-Besides your therapist?

AWOL-Yes.

Dr. Ferraro-I’m someone who knows. I have experiences with a number of cases like yours. I know what you’re going through.

AWOL-Wonderful, the books told you all about me. I’m very relieved.

Dr. Ferraro-Your tone is very belittling.

AWOL-Maybe that’s because I want to make you feel small. Maybe that’s because I come in here week after week spilling my goddamn guts out to you, and all you do is answer me back with shit I could have programmed a speak and spell to respond with. All you’ve done is make me feel worse and confuse me, twist me up into knots and make it so I don’t know what I’m thinking from one minute to the next. What the fuck do you know about the real world, anyway? All I ever see you do is sit in this goddamn room every day. Do you ever leave? What the fuck do you know about anything?

*sound of a clipboard being slammed onto the floor*

Dr. Ferraro-I’ve been divorced for three years, you insensitive prick!

*a long pause, sounds of loud breathing.*

Dr. Ferraro-I married a banker. He told me he loved me, that everything would be good while we were together. He told me I could trust him, and three years ago I discovered he was sleeping with a woman ten years younger than me. When I confronted him about it, he couldn’t tell me why he did it, just that he got bored with me and looked for someone new. He left me. He left me for that bimbo and now he’s probably off in a goddamn yacht with her while I’m left here barely scraping by on the copays my patients can manage to bring in every week. So yes, Anthony, yes, I know something about what it’s like to have to put your life back together after a divorce. The only difference is that I didn’t end up in this situation because I was an insensitive ass of a spouse.

*another pause. After a moment the sound of the clipboard being picked back up from the floor. Dr. Ferraro clears her throat.*

Dr. Ferraro-I’m sorry, Mr. Wolworth. I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to treat you anymore.

AWOL-It’s…it’s fine. I deserved that. We’ve got it out of the way now, we can restart this. We can-

Dr. Ferraro-No, I’m sorry Anthony, you don’t understand. I have a lot of patients that engage in self-destructive behavior because they don’t know any better or don’t understand what is best for them. With you this is not the case. You are intelligent, and I believe you are aware of your situation. You seem to delight in self-destruction. You choose to take the wrong path BECAUSE it’s the wrong path, and I quite frankly don’t think you have the mental focus required for successful therapy. Since we’re laying our cards on the table, I’m tired of wasting my time on someone who doesn’t want to be helped.

***

I’ve been informed that it is necessary for me to add more direct, match related content to my promotional materials. Thus, the direct address. I apologize if the transitions are abrupt, but I thought this was the easiest way of expressing myself clearly regarding this match. So, to be clear, I detest you Christian.

However, unlike our mutual acquaintance Mr. Johnny Kingdom, this detestation does not prevent me from expressing a degree of admiration for your achievements thus far. I currently find myself amused by the prospect of this company burning to the ground, and an important piece of this objective can be provided by the Five Star Society. Frankly, I can think of few things that would be worse for the long term survival of the IWC than letting your bunch of washed-up never-weres run the place into the ground. You’ve got Dan Douglas’ power backing you now. You have more people in your stable than I can really count. Hell, as far as I can tell you’ve either got the World Champion under your boot or signed on as a card carrying member of your stable. Things are looking pretty good for you right now, I’ve got to say. By all forms of measurement, you have this place on the ropes, ready to topple.

You seem, however, to have made a few mistakes. Allow me to provide some pointers.

First of all, your current master stroke appears to revolve around pinning your plans behind the addition of Porno Lad to your stable. I mean, honestly, it feels ridiculous even saying that. That’s the big reveal? The guy in the Xavier mask was Porno Lad the whole time? That’s it? I mean, clearly a man who hires Katelyn Buehler must have an indescribable ability to judge talent, but I have to question this decision. Have you listened to him talk? Have you watched him in the ring? He’s everything that’s wrong with this place, and that’s what you’re going with? What’s the next step, you pull a rubber mask off Dan Douglas and reveal that he’s actually Dink the Clown?

If you want to look like a legitimate threat, surround yourself with legitimate threats. We tolerated Jackson Adams in the Empire, admittedly, but we didn’t push him into the main event. If you were looking for someone to be the muscle for your group, I’m forced to point out that my services were available at the time you were putting this thing together. No call? Insulting. And to be honest, I am not a man it is wise to insult.

Second, you chose the wrong people to make your statement against. Johnny Kingdom and I are not people who respond to your sorts of threats. Well, that’s not true. Actually, you’re getting a response right now, and you’re going to see even more of a response in the future. You had the drop on us before, Savior, and I will completely admit that. Now, however, the cards are on the table. There is no more mysterious Mister X. Porno Douche is now clearly on your side. The battle lines are drawn, and now all bets are off. It is time to cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war. And, frankly, if you think that I am somehow going to be intimidated by your hatchet…lad coming down to the ring and hitting me with a stun-gun, you have another thing coming. I’ve lost more sleep over taking Hurse to a nice restaurant than I will over the threat of Porno Sad coming down to the ring and interfering in my matches. Step one of the dismantling of your group begins on Riot! this week. Sit back and take notes, actually. You might learn something.

Finally, I’m forced to point out to you that you are, despite what I’m sure you think, not unique or special in any way. Mr. Savior, I’ve faced more opponents like you than I care to recall. You are literally a clone of every greased hair, too high opinion of himself, millionaire, power hungry weasel heel I’ve had the misfortune of encountering in my career. I’m not going to score points with either of you by saying so, but it’s ironic that the person you remind me of most is Johnny Kingdom. Specifically, when he came into the ULW initially he played a game not that different from yours: the parody promos, the run-ins, all that shit. The difference is that, where what he did had substance, you are simply a bad imitation. A carbon copy. He didn’t grab everyone he could and put them into Creative Control, he grabbed one protégé with potential and together they shook the company to its knees. And also, please, as someone who actually enjoys a well-done parody, I have to point out that yours basically fail on every meaningful level to be either entertaining or pointed in the slightest. When you do them correctly, they have meaning. They’re not just a spoof, you put something clever together. You form an allegory. You use the story to prove a point about the person you’re mocking. If you characterize someone, it should be for a purpose. You, on the other hand, seemed to pick Alice in Wonderland because it had enough characters to represent everyone in the match and because it let you call Too Mag and Cagero Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb. You called me “A-Wall” for fuck’s sake. What were you thinking? When you initially had that idea, did you honestly sit down and say to yourself “My word, Savior, you’ve done it again. He’ll be quite steamed when he sees that I’m calling him a room divider.” It didn’t even fit with the story. And the Hurse caterpillar? Fuck, I’m not even going to get into that.

You’re a Xerox scan of every stable-leader I’ve ever seen, is what I’m getting at, and frankly I’m just getting tired of it. You’re all the same, and you’re all equally resistant to the idea that this is, in fact, the truth. That’s why it’s time to end this, and quickly, before I get any more bored of you. Step one is to beat you this week. There is nothing else to it.

It’s just business.

***

The ceiling fan spins silently over the top of the bed. AWOL rests on his back, staring up at it with eyes half lidded. A lithe female form is curled up against him, tucked beneath his arm. Her blonde hair cascades down the bedside behind them, and she purs contentedly like a cat, nuzzling her face into his neck and knocking her glasses askew. A smile creeps onto his face.

Maya-That was amazing.

He grunts his agreement, nodding. She reaches over, twirling a long, manicured fingernail in a circle on his chest.

Maya-So who were you thinking about?

AWOL’s eyes open in shock before quickly narrowing in suspicion.

AWOL-What?

Maya-Don’t be mad. You just weren’t all here with me, I could tell.

AWOL-The fuck are you talking about?

Her lips turn out into a pout, one leg moving under the sheets and wrapping playfully around his.

Maya-Don’t be mad. It’s just that I’ve been with enough guys who were trying to get away from somebody, and I want to get the conversation out of the way now. Who is she? Your wife?

He starts to protest before she reaches up, playfully plucking his left hand into the air, waggling it around by the ring finger.

Maya-Don’t worry, it’s cool. It’s not the first time I’ve spotted the mark from a wedding band on one of my lovers.

He looks like he’s going to argue, but finally shrugs.

AWOL-Ex-wife. She’s my ex-wife. We’ve been divorced for a few months now.

Maya rubs her finger slowly in a circle around the base of his ring finger, giving him a smile.

Maya-Aha, I see. And thus the scar has not faded yet.

He nods.

Maya-I understand. Unlucky for her, but lucky for me.

He smiles again, closing his eyes contentedly.

Maya-So, were you imagining that I was her?

Definite irritation now. He starts to rise from the bed, but she wraps her arms around his neck, holding him down.

Maya-I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You don’t have to tell me. Jesus.

He settles back with a sigh and she resumes her position against his side, laying her head against his chest.

Maya-You don’t have to tell me, but know it doesn’t bother me. You’re with me now, that’s all that matters. I just don’t understand why you’re so touchy about it.

She shrugs.

Maya-I mean, it’s not like I was thinking about you.

***

You see, Savior, there’s one thing you haven’t counted on here. This Mafioso, Gestapo crap that you run on the average joes on the roster relies on intimidation. I know, I’ve done it before. If someone has a belt, you take it away from them. If someone has a good place on the roster, you knock them out of it. If they’ve got a family you kidnap them or threaten them and, if the fans love them, you drag the wrestler into the ring and you make them watch while you beat their hero into submission. It’s not complicated.

The problem is, you can’t do it to me.

You can’t do it to me, Christian Savior, because I’ve got nothing for you to take. The tag title doesn’t mean shit to me, and you don’t have two people in your group who could take them off of Johnny and I anyways. Through one of the greatest fucking injustices in the world you’re somehow higher up in the federation than me, so there’s no point in taking away my place. As this promo no doubt demonstrates, my personal life is a god damned train wreck. And the fans? Don’t make me laugh. Most of them wouldn’t notice if I was gone, and the rest would be probably think you did them a favor.

No, Christian, you have walked into the living embodiment of the man who has nothing to lose. All I am is a miserable son of a bitch who has nothing better to do with his free time than to walk into the most violent venue in the world of professional wrestling and bash annoying pricks like you in the skull repeatedly for cash. And I assure you, Christian, I intend to continue with that hobby during our match. This isn’t about winning or losing, it’s about the start of things to come. This is the opening salvo that leads up to this thing’s conclusion at the next pay-per-view. It’s like what Connery said in The Untouchables: you put one of ours in the hospital, now it’s time for us to put one of yours in the morgue. And, unless Cagero has officially signed on the dotted line with your group, there is exactly one Empire versus 5SS match on the card.

So I guess you drew the short straw.

***

Thursday Nov. 26th

“Hey man, it’s alright. Life’s not so bad.”

AWOL reaches up, wringing the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“Do you do that a lot?”

The man looks confused.

“Do I do what a lot?”

“Make stupid statements to random people.”

The man’s jaw drops open.

“Do you know what the problem with telling people ‘Life’s not so bad’ is?”

Without waiting for a response, he reaches out with one hand, snatching the man from the ground by his throat. AWOL steps forward, his sneering face an inch away from that of the man in the cardigan sweater.

His voice is a sinister whisper. “Eventually you meet the guy whose life really is fucked up beyond recognition, and maybe he’s tired of this shit, and maybe he has this tin can of Jolly Green Giant brand green beans in his free hand,” He hefts a one gallon can of the vegetables, holding it up next to the man’s face, “And maybe he loses his fucking mind and bashes your skull in with it because he can’t stand the sound of false fucking pity from a complete stranger who could give a shit anyways.”

His nostrils pulse, rhythmically, as the bystander’s eyes widen in terror. AWOL raises the can, his arm physically twitching. He wants more than anything to swing, to be thrown out of this place, to be arrested and fired and thrown into jail. He can see the spray of blood, picture the brain matter splattering against the frosted glass. It’s sweet. He can taste the coppery warmth of the red gore in his mouth. He wants it, more than anything.

But he doesn’t. He drops the man to the ground, reaches up, and brushes off the front of his sweater. He tosses the can onto the ground and turns back to his cart.

AWOL walks away, snorting in disgust. “Life’s not so bad,” he chuckles.

“How’s your life now, asshole.”

Thank a Virus Today, They Pretty Much Are Responsible for Keeping You Alive

Give it a look. Our view of viruses is built primarily around what we see and experience of them as humans: IE they make you sick, scare the crap out of the media, and perhaps turn you into zombies (ok, not that one. As far as you know...) Still, it's important to keep in mind that we're surrounded by them all the time, and many of them perform important functions. For instance, without some of the viruses discussed in this article, no rain clouds. You know, those aren't important. Who needs rain?

Like we didn't have enough to worry about.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/8361863.stm


This is a story I found through my RSS "Latest Headlines" feed published by the BBC. In case you think this is something new, it isn't. We've been concerned about this possibility for a while now, starting with observations made by organismal biologists that certain animal species (I remember seeing a video about everglades alligators who were being affected by this when I was a freshman), presumably as a result of exposure to these feminizing chemicals from plastics. I wouldn't say stop using anything plastic, by any stretch, but there looks to be something here. Admittedly, a behavior study is sort of sketchy evidence, but if you look up this Dr. Shanna Swan's publications list, she has a lot of material out there with much more quantitative, solid results. There is more work to be done, to be certain, before a conclusion can be made, but maybe give one of these new aluminum water bottles a try, anyway.

Performers

If the question is, “Why did you go to a strip club last night AWOL?” the answer is “Because I’m stupid enough to be friends with Hurse.”

If the question is, “Why are you telling us this in a narrative rather than a typical promo?” the answer is somewhat lengthier, but no less pithy. Most clubs of this nature don’t even allow you to take out a cellular phone for fear you may be taking video, let alone a camera crew. I wasn’t planning on making it into a promo anyway, but rather was just looking to blow off some steam. You could say that, since my crew of unwanted admirers felt they needed to ruin what was headed towards being one of the greatest Riot! main events of all time by interfering, I’ve been in a foul mood. Johnny Kingdom has been unsurprisingly silent on the matter towards the public or towards me. My training has suffered as a result. I’m angry, and unlike what most people would lead you to believe, you do not get a better workout when you’re furious, you just expend your energy on useless fits of strength that don’t fit into your training plan and more likely than not end up hurting yourself. And so Hurse, for reasons that make sense only to him, thought taking me out for a “guy’s night” would somehow help matters. When inquiring about the locale of said evening, he informed me it was somehow appropriate to the title I was fighting for this week.

Don’t ask, folks. We quit trying to understand why Hurse does things a long time ago.

Anyway, the intention was not to create a promo, as I was saying. Later, when I was thinking back on the evening, I discovered there were insights there that I felt I should share with the IWC audience at large as well as with you, Too Mag. I considered hiring a film crew and actors to recreate the scene, but ultimately I remembered who I’m facing and decided that was more effort and budget expenditure than you deserved. So instead you get this, me talking at you. Deal with it. I have to put up with your nonsensical ranting every time you’re in a match with me, so it seems only fair I return the favor.

The usual spread of carnal delights was on display for all to see. This club, through what I’m led to understand is a loophole in zoning laws, has literally no limits to what its entertainers are allowed to do on stage outside of the levels of prostitution (and, if rumors are true, some of the performers may even dabble in this as well.) The mind dulling pounding of rock music played to a volume where the bass lines can be felt vibrating in the jelly of your eyes acted as a siren call, bringing tantalizing flesh to the stage and men’s money free from their wallets. Women of all description were available, from petite flowers to gorgeous amazons straight from the pages of Greek myth. A man could be led to believe that in this place any desire was available. These women may dance every evening, shoving the faces of countless random men into their chests and moving on without a second thought, but clearly they only have eyes for YOU, and if you want them as well they can be yours.

If you have the cash, that is.

I first saw Maya as the third bachelor in the last hour was being drug onto the stage to be beaten with a leather belt, ground into a chair, and have water spat into his face. I looked around for something interesting, spying at first only the same visions of debauchery that had been present since I arrived. Here an olive skinned woman climbed a brass pole to the ceiling. There a girl from the crowd, obviously a worker planted by the owners, was being pulled onto the stage and stripped bare, one piece at a time, as the men she was with made it rain singles onto her supine form and howled with delight. Next to me, Hurse was trying to explain to a bouncer who was nearly my size that, in fact, the brunette glaring at him from onstage was mistaken and he had not tried to run his tongue down the length of her cleavage.

I was about to turn and suggest that we should leave before we end up on TMZ, when I finally saw something that made me pause. A woman was making her way downstage to our seats, her garter already stuffed full with singles. She had clearly been at this for several hours already, as even through the flashing red and blue lighting of the club I could see the lines of fatigue in the creases at the corners of her eyes. Random strands of her blonde hair were starting to escape the tight bun tied to the top of her head and her black glasses were perched precariously on the edge of her nose, probably one turn on the pole away from coming flying off. Still, she flashed the smile that I could tell was a big part of her success at us as she turned, dropping instantaneously into a split-legged pose inches away from the face of three fraternity brothers. She reached out, taking off one of their crooked baseball caps and putting it onto her blonde head as she pulled them in to earn the tip money placed in front of her. I must have been staring, because as she turned around to offer them the rear view she caught my eye, holding contact for a split second and flashing a smile and a wave across the stage before returning her concentration to the matter at hand. I may have smiled back, I can’t recall for certain. In any case, the moment passed quickly, and shortly thereafter she moved on to separate more fools from their money.

Later, as the hour was drawing on towards closing, I found my thoughts starting to drift back towards my upcoming match. Clearly, I was not in the mood for this place, but I had realized hours ago that Hurse had simply been looking for an excuse to come here and, in truth, I could get up and leave at any point and he would probably not notice I was gone until he realized that he now had no ride back to the hotel. I stood, leaving my seat for someone who actually wanted to be there, and wandered towards the lobby for some air. As I walked, I remembered Too Magnificent’s repeated advances towards me, how he had somehow taken it as a personal crusade to get into my face and insinuate that I somehow had something to prove to him. I must confess, I was thoroughly amused by Too Mag’s plight during last week’s show. I hate to say it, but the Brat Pack certainly came up with an appropriate metaphor for his worthless career when they threw him into a dumpster and lit him on fire. I don’t often compliment them, but that particular bit of symbolism was spot on. I wish I had thought of it myself.

I also remembered, with no small flash of anger, Simon Cagero’s boasts that somehow things were going to be different with him in charge, that somehow he was going to rise above the level of the common IWC competitor and that his Motherfuckers were somehow going to hold themselves to that higher standard for the betterment of…well themselves, mostly, but also what they perceived to be the dip in quality of the company. And yet, when the chips were down, what did we see from these reformists? When Christian Savior struck Johnny in the middle of the tag-team gauntlet, which I will reiterate neither Simon Cagero nor Too Magnificent should have been competing in at this point, did Simon make good on this claim? No. He stepped in and hit his own finisher and walked away with his ill-gotten gains. And yet, we are still to believe that Cagero is Savior’s enemy, that the two hate each other? It was laughable, and yet the irony of my criticism in light of my own situation with Psycho and Riggs did not escape me.

Why did people think I would want to have anything to do with them? Is it so inconceivable that these morons simply think they are recruiting me by interfering in my matches and that, in truth, their assistance is neither sought nor desired by me? I could hear the rebuttals already. How could I make that claim but still point the finger at Cagero and Savior? Simple. Cagero has only benefitted from Savior’s patronage, and he has accepted this benefit willingly. Riggs and Psycho cost the Empire the world title just as surely as Savior or Cagero during the Tag Team Gauntlet. Moreover, Simon’s unconscious form was not drug onto Johnny’s body for a three count as mine was at the end of last week’s Riot!. He saw Savior interfere. He was aware of what happened, and he chose to act, to do what everyone else in his situation would do, and finished Johnny off for the title. That’s what bothered me about it, I realized. It’s not that it happened. I’ve had countless matches stolen from me in similar fashion. It is simply the predictability of it all, the sheer mind-numbing regularity of the clockwork that drives us as professional wrestlers. Why is it so far outside any of our paradigms to do the right thing, or even just the unexpected thing in a given situation? Why must it always be the same story with different actors being put forward on our stage week after week? And the same criticism could be leveled at Too Magnificent. He was performing a knee jerk right now, challenging the biggest dog in the yard to try and establish himself as the new Alpha big man in the federation. I had seen this play out before as well, though usually it was from incoming talent from another federation, not a washed up, broken down piece of meat trying to play Mickey Rourke and make one last, big comeback. I was going to squash him and put him in the same box as Bluhd Raige, Andre Bates, and a thousand other nameless meatheads that thought they had what it took to break me. But I could tell I wasn’t going to enjoy it. It’s not something I was looking forward to, or even cared about. It was all so…played out. I just wished someone else could see it the way I do.

I realized then that it was up to me to give them something new to talk about this week, and I was afraid it would have to be done at Too Magnificent’s expense. I resolved then and there that, at the end of this show, the world will know for certain where my allegiance lay with regards to Psycho and Riggs.

I was thinking these bleak thoughts, sitting in a chair far enough from the entrance to avoid the stench of cigarette smoke wafting in from the outside, when a set of well-manicured purple fingernails drug their way lightly up the back of my neck. I turned, alarmed that I had let my guard down that far, only to find blue eyes framed by black glasses looking at me, a glimmer of amusement in them to match her alluring smile. “Your friend said you could use some company. Would you like to come to the back with me for a dance?” I turned, confused, only to spy Hurse sitting with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his stupid face, lifting his massive, blue, fruity drink to me in salute. My eyes narrowed and I resolved to shove the paper umbrella poking out of the top of his glass somewhere unpleasant when this was over, but allowed myself to be led away from the lobby.

“What’s your name?” she asked over her shoulder as she led me down a hallway.

“Anthony,” I replied, knowing that she didn’t actually care.

She smiled, flashing teeth that were crooked, but only just enough to make them remarkable. “I’m Maya,” she answered. “Do you come here very often?”

“No,” I answered, trying not to let the irritation creep into my voice. This wasn’t her fault, after all. She was just doing her job, just like the rest of us, in a way. “I’m with the…I’m an entertainer. I’m just in town for the week.”

“Cool,” she replied, stepping through the door into a dimly-lit back room. “What kind of entertainment?”

Pausing a moment as I settled myself into an overstuffed arm chair, I flashed a sardonic smile. “I don’t know anymore, to be honest. Some nights it feels like I’m basically just doing what you’re doing, flashing my assets in front of random strangers night after night to satisfy their primal needs.”

She gave me a sort of sad smile, dropping the subject. Maybe she could tell I didn’t want to talk about it, or maybe the twenty-five bucks for a lap dance didn’t require her to pretend she was an amateur therapist. She looked up for a moment, listening to the song overhead moving on into the second verse, before kicking off her foot high platform shoes and plopping down into my lap, an arm draped around the back of my neck. My nose filled instantly with the overwhelming scent of her body-lotion. “I’ll wait for the next song, hon,” she said, giving me that crooked smile again.

An awkward moment passed, both of us waiting for the music to progress so we could get on with the show, when she finally dropped a sigh that sounded like it had to have started somewhere around her toes. “Ugh, I just want to be sober,” she said with a laugh.

Here was something new, I thought.

“I’m sorry?” I responded.

“Not your fault, honey,” she said, looking me in the eye again. “It’s part of the job, helps me get up there every night. Between you and me, I’ve been doing this four years now, and I still get stage fright.”

“I suppose it takes a little encouragement,” I said, giving her a genuine smile of my own. “You’re so…well you’ll pardon the term, but ‘exposed’ up there. It’s got to be tough.”

“What, you mean getting naked?” She laughed, dropping a hand onto my chest playfully. “Anthony, I stopped worrying about that after my first week. It’s flattering, really, having guys drooling in their seats at just the sight of me. It’s empowering. And it’s perfectly safe, since I know what’ll happen to any poor bastard stupid enough to lay a hand on me.”

I blinked. Had this stripper really just used the word ‘empowering’ in conversation with me? I was shocked, and equally shocked at myself for letting such a blatant stereotype into my thinking.

“No, it’s just, I don’t know,” she continued. “It’s stupid I guess. I take my clothes off for money after all, but I guess I want to put on a good show when I’m up there. At the end of the day, I want to feel like I’ve earned it. So many of the people I know in this job just go through the motions week in and week out, and it’s not really like the guys care, or even notice. I don’t know, I guess I’m just not built that way. I don’t know how to be ok with half-assing something.” She suddenly flashed a self-conscious smile, looking away in embarrassment. “Aaand I just spilled my guts out to a customer. Awesome. You’re probably about ready to head back to your seat now.”

She turned back to me, and I could see the surprise on her face at the earnest sympathy and understanding on mine. Apparently even strangers could tell how out of place the expression was. I nodded, slowly. “I know how you feel. Maybe better than you know.”

We resumed waiting in silence, the final chorus starting up. Examining her with freshly opened eyes, I saw a tattoo behind her right shoulder, a large letter A clearly evident in the center. “What’s this?” I asked, prodding it gently. The bouncer started to step forward before she gave him a look, letting him know it was alright. There was something else in her expression, something unreadable. “Take a look,” she said, turning her body to bring it closer. There were numbers written down the sides. I realized that, despite being written to be read as the numerals descended, they were dates, the first being 8-23-83 and the second, 9-13-09. Underneath was the phrase “501st Infantry” and, beneath that, “Always Remember.”

I looked up into her sad smile. “I’m sorry,” I said, the only thing that came to mind.

She nodded in thanks. “His name was Adam,” she quietly answered, “He was my best friend.”

The music stopped. For a moment, neither of us moved, not wanting to break the moment. She, however, was a professional, and stood up from my lap, removing the night-gown that barely covered her frame. In an instant the mask was back in place, the mark of a pro that I recognized from years of doing it myself when entering personal appearances, filming promos, and walking out to the ring. I settled in and was rewarded with…an event I’m not going to describe to you, Too Magnificent. Suffice to say, there was more going on than a business transaction during that dance. Even still, as I sit here composing this message, the memories play through my mind in sweet, short bursts of bodily contact. We were two injured people, looking to replace a missing piece of themselves with the warmth of a stranger. It was indescribable.

And then it was over. The song ended, and with a kiss on my cheek she whispered “I hope I did a good job for you,” breathily in my ear. I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. My eyes told her everything she needed to know.

I stood, towering over her now that she didn’t have the platform heels adding half a foot to her height. With a smile and a muttered “Thanks,” I walked back out to Hurse’s seat, watching as a six foot three blonde slapped his belt down repeatedly onto his rear end. She paused, turning to the crowd and holding the belt into the air, waiting for the encouraging shouts from the audience before bringing it down yet again, the loud crack of the leather reverberating painfully across the room. I smiled as I winced, wondering how many times I’ve done the exact same thing with a steel chair or a crowbar in the middle of a wrestling ring.

Idly, I reached into my pocket for my cellular phone, looking for the hundredth time to see if Johnny had responded to any of my messages of apology. Instead, with it I found a piece of paper that I knew had not been there previously. I pulled it out, unfolding it as a smile slowly drifted onto my face.

“I get off at 4. Stick around if you want to go grab a drink together. –Maya”

The Real Problem with the BCS

Very few people actually think the BCS is the correct solution to determining the best two teams in college football and having them face off for the championship. Even the BCS's supporters tend to argue that yes, the system has flaws, but supposedly there is no better solution to the problem and that yes, in fact, the system does in fact result in the two best teams coming out the other end. You can debate the merits of either system until you're blue in the face, and many have, but the bottom line is that this does not in fact represent the true danger of this system. The truth of the matter is that teams like Boise State and other teams that, in NCAA basketball, would be called "mid-majors" every year become progressively less and less likely to make it into the title game. Why? Because now no one wants to play them. When the possibility of playing against these teams comes up, the big schools don't see an opportunity to help out their peer universities, they see a threat. In their mind, they see Oklahoma getting beat by a statue of liberty play in the 2007 Fiesta Bowl. They see Oregon getting knocked off at the beginning of this season. They see all of these lower conference schools stepping up and knocking down the perennial powerhouse schools in college football and they realize that, in fact, there is no advantage to them to schedule these teams. There's nothing to gain and, in the current college football environment, everything to lose when one loss can potentially eliminate you from national title contention. I was one of the loudest voices decrying Boise's scheduling of UC Davis this season, but when they offer teams to not even do a home and home, simply travel to the big school's field and give them a home game with nothing in exchange, and they still get shut down I don't know what you expect Boise to do. They can't help that their conference is terrible. The only option they have is to join a major conference like the Pac-10 (which, admittedly, they're probably going to need to do to move forward) and that simply smacks of non-competition to me. This doesn't sound like something that should be decided by university presidents or NCAA committees, it's something that should be decided by an anti-trust attorney.

Want to Avoid the Flu? Go Get A Cold...apparently.

http://www.eurosurveillance.org/ViewArticle.aspx?ArticleId=19354

So here's an article I found through another blog that claims to show a correlation between the rise in the presence of rhinoviruses (that cause the common cold) and the decrease in flu in Sweeden during spring of last year. While it's tempting to jump on the bandwagon here, this is ultimately just correlation. It's important to keep in mind that the climate is changing as well, potentially leading to changes that could make transmission more favorable for one virus and less for another. Also, despite some assertions at the top of the intro, we don't even really have a clear understanding of the cause for why seasonal flu is seasonal, and what effect weather and humidity have on flu transmission. There needs to be more experiments done to continue with this line of research, and this is just a posting of a hypothesis, but I thought it was sort of interesting and so I'm reposting it here.

Ideology

[With a click and a hiss, the recording begins to play.]

“At last he speaks. I know I’ve been waiting anxiously, as has the rest of the IWC audience, to hear what Johnny Kingdom had to say after his title was taken away at the OBE2, and he did not disappoint. Admittedly, he made us wait until the day before the show to hear it, but you know, I suppose it was intended to build anticipation. Johnny is, of course, a showman first.

“If you’re confused about the format of this promo, by the way, it was made using a magical invention known as a ‘tape recorder.’ I know it’s a fairly recent creation, only having been in existence since 1898 when the telagraphon was created by Vauldemar Poulson to perform the world’s first magnetic recordings, so I can understand why Johnny wasn’t familiar with them. I know you would prefer if I was on the screen talking and offering snarky parenthetical asides, but it’s all I realistically could put together given the vast amount of response time you’ve left me with to offer my rebuttal.”

“I suppose I’ll also mention that this is the same one I take with me to my sessions, to eliminate the confusion. The therapist wasn’t entirely crazy about the idea of me using my appointments for promo material, but since ultimately the only privacy I was violating was my own and I was willing to sign a release indemnifying them from any liability, she ultimately didn’t care. So, there you go, Johnny. I know this isn’t anywhere near as exciting as the infamous Bluhd Raige ‘invisible cameras,’ but I am happy to at last you in on the secret of how I’m recording my therapy sessions for publication in the IWC.”

“Why I’m doing it, however, is a slightly more complicated question. I know it bugs you, as do apparently all promos that don’t involve someone standing in front of a camera and blathering for entirely too long, IE promos that are different than yours. By the by, I haven’t mentioned before how incredibly ironic it is that all of a sudden we find Johnny Kingdom standing up for traditional, non-parody promos. Frankly, I find the majority of the stuff being put out by people like Savior just as revolting as you do, but still, of all people to be complaining that everyone needs to start doing classic, stand in front of the camera and spit out slander about one’s opponent promos, I think you probably have the least right to do so. The mastermind behind Creative Control wants us all to start doing things the old fashioned way? Say it ain’t so, Joe!”

“But I digress. I also find it somewhat hypocritical that you’re going to put me on the spot for getting help. First of all, we’re supposed to accept that you’ve evolved since we last faced each other at Paranoia, but somehow I’m not allowed to? I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, Johnny, but you have to understand that I’ve basically got no reason to trust you. The only time I’ve seen you in this situation before you went completely apeshit and tore apart everything we built. So sorry if I’m a bit more cautious this time around. You haven’t exactly been the model of self-restraint before now.”

“You might want to stop listening for a few minutes, by the way Johnny, because I’m going to be sounding like a human being with emotions for the next part, and I know how much that bugs you. I promise later on I’ll go ahead and start yelling ‘AWOL Smash!’ at the top of my lungs so you can feel comfortable.“

“Anyway, I go to a therapist. It helps me. I didn’t really want to do it at first, but now I’m glad that I did. I feel better during the week because I talk to somebody. I know that that doesn’t do a whole lot to sell me as a big scary monster guy who dominates people in the ring, but I really could not care less. It’s my life, I want to live it the way I want to live it, and I’m putting it out as my promos. At first it was because I was lazy and thought it would be a good way to kill two birds with one stone. More recently, I got the crazy idea in my head that it would humanize me and, in turn, make me more relatable to the audience. And, more importantly, I’m doing it because it helps me to organize my thoughts into a sensible form that I can work with. It keeps me going when for a long time I didn’t believe I really had any reason to even wake up from one morning to the next.”

“And yes, Johnny, I was really that low for a long time. That’s what happens to people when they lose the ones they love. I had a plan for the way things were going to go forward from this day onward. It was all established and laid out. And no matter what happened, no matter what came, I KNEW that there was at least one person who would have stayed with me. There was one person I KNEW I could count on. I took a chance on someone. I dedicated myself to that person mind, body, and soul.”

“I made a mistake.”

“It happens. It may be difficult to believe, given the character I portrayed for a number of years in the ULW, but I was naïve enough to think that even though ninety nine percent of the people in the world are assholes that wouldn’t piss on you when you’re on fire, that she was different. I thought that I meant the same things to her as she meant to me, and I was wrong. You of all people in this company should understand how that feels, Johnny, but apparently you are some sort of fucking heartless robot, so I’ll explain it to you. It’s not just sadness. It’s not just depression. It’s a complete blackening of the fucking world. It’s a malign paradigm shift straight out of an M. Night Shyamalan film. The sun doesn’t shine as brightly as you remember it did just a few days earlier. Nothing matters. My entire world was completely turned upside down and shattered, and your advice to me is ‘Hey, buck up buddy, it’ll be ok.’? Wow. So that’s what I’ve been doing wrong this whole time? I’ve got to say, I wish we would have had this match earlier so that kind of incredible insight could have been laid on me earlier. It would have fixed my everything. And here I thought that sort of self-denial would only work for miserable bastards like you with no trace of humanity.”

“Now that might seem harsh, but you started playing the personal life cards first. You’ll notice I’m not saying ‘If you really believe that, I’m not surprised why your wife left you,’ or anything along those lines, because I know that life doesn’t work that way. Sometimes marriages don’t work. There isn’t a 50% divorce rate in this country because that many guys drink and beat their spouse. Ultimately you do just have to put the past out of your mind and move on, and I understand that. It’s what you’ve done, and what I’ll do once I get some distance and perspective between her and myself. However, for the time being, I needed a little help, if only to try and find some meaning in life again when I couldn’t see one previously. You will be happy to know, then, Mr. Kingdom, that I have made progress. I have a new cause, a new reason to get out of bed in the morning. That cause, as you have astutely pointed out, is the utter and complete termination of this failed experiment we call the IWC.”

“And as another aside, did you really quote Ledger’s Joker in regard to me? Really? You are aware how bush league that sounds, right? That’s the sort of thing I expect from Too Magnificent, not you.”

“Anyway, back on topic, I don’t think you really understand WHY this place needs to be destroyed, so I will take a moment now to enlighten you. You seem to be under the impression that I’m interested in destruction for destruction’s sake. This is simply not the case. I am simply doing what needs to be done for the sake of progress. Our goals, you see, are not that dissimilar. I too want to see this place improve. However, I have a different perspective than yours. I was the GM of ULW/ICW for quite a long time, and I did everything I could to try to push the roster to improve. I booked interesting matches. I made people defend titles. I encouraged the advancement of character and tried to get the quote-unquote talent to do everything they could to put out the most entertaining product we could put on the television screen. I truly, honestly believed that, if it was pointed out that it was in their own interest to make this company great, that the individuals that were holding the IWC back would get the message and get onboard the fucking train before it ran over them.”

“And again, I made a mistake.”

“My naiveté seems obvious now, but that is only apparent in hindsight. I realize the truth, now. This company is overrun from top to bottom with rot. It’s malignant. It cannot succeed because it is saturated with a spoiled, entitled roster full of children. Everyone thinks they deserve a title or a top-run storyline. Everyone thinks that the main-event should, simply by virtue of their being there, include them every night regardless of their win-loss record or the quality of their performances in and outside of the ring. It’s the same thing that is ruining regular society, really, this atmosphere of entitlement. It pervades every level of our culture. It makes girls think they will all be beautiful and famous and every guy deserves a top-end high paying job or a future as an athlete or a rapper, and none of them think they need to work to achieve it. No one believes they need to earn their rewards, and maybe most horrifying of all is the fact that society is changing to support this notion. People get famous by being the biggest horse’s ass on a reality program. Celebrity debutants get top billing on our news networks because we see them blowing some equally unknown asshole in nightvision on the internet. Our music is saturated with auto-tuned garbage done by people who make a good TMZ clip but don’t have clue one about how to actually make music. Do you understand what I’m saying? WE HAVE CREATED A DEVICE TO SING FOR CELEBRITITES! The world is a sick, poisoned, dying heap of shit, and it is time that someone did something to stem the tide.”

“See? I told you the old AWOL was still in there somewhere. AWOL SMASH!!! Indeed.”

“The same filth has made it into our beloved IWC. As you point out, people win world championships and then don’t bother to defend it. Teams get eliminated from the Tag-Team Gauntlet, only to be magically re-entered into the competition by people in the backstage because presumably they want them to be a part of the match finish. At the very least, the bookers at least appear to understand the mistake they’ve made, given that they’re burying Cagero in the mid-card against Psycho who, it should be noted, played just as much of a role in earning him the world title as any other competitor. I look around at it all, and in a word, it sickens me.”

“Something has to be done, and unlike you I am going to do what’s necessary for change to happen. This is not an Obama campaign promise, it’s simply fact. I realized a long time ago that all the pretty, encouraging words in the world will never change these people. I mentioned Bluhd Raige earlier, you’ll recall, and I’ll bring him up again as an example of what I’m talking about. You remember the good old days with Bluhd as well as I do. You remember the promos where he would use the aforementioned invisible cameras to show him careening through the streets at top speed in, if I remember correctly, a gun fight with someone. You remember him waking up in piles of naked women. You remember him accusing me at one point of being a pedophile because I used a character representation of his daughter in one of my promos. He was awful. Everyone hated him, and we told him over and over again the things he was doing wrong. But some people just don’t listen. The only thing that fixed him, the only thing that finally made things improve, was when you and I made his life so completely miserable that he had no choice but to walk away. He left the company, and things got better. I realized this, and realized that, in truth, this was the only way progress could be made. This was the only way, and it’s been true time and time again. I got rid of Andre Bates at the first Paranoia when I threw his nearly eight feet of arrogant prickishness through all three levels of the Weapons Lair and ended his ULW career. I did it at the beginning of my career when I broke a competitor with an equally undeserved high opinion of himself named Anarchy, and when I forced a waste of genetic material named Shawn Hall to retire from wrestling entirely to avoid any more of the hell I was turning his life into.”

“Hell, there were people who told me the same things were true when I beat you at Paranoia and put you on the shelf.”

“Sometimes the village has to be burned down to save it. It’s cruel, and it’s hard, but it’s also true. Nature knows this. When a cell is infected with a virus, the body doesn’t coddle it and provide encouragement to try and make it all better. The immune system kills the infected cell to stop the virus’s spread. Doctors don’t try to talk cancer cells into not metastasizing and killing the patient, they pump their bodies full of chemotherapy poisons and radiation to destroy the tumor cells. Only when the corruption has been expunged can the healing begin, and this is why I want this place to fail. Robin Brooks has not progressed in the entire time I’ve been here. Other than the presence or absence of face-paint, Simon Cagero promos are identical today to what they were from day one. Too Magnificent will fade from his current string of actually promoing. Psycho will continue to put on masks or take them off based on his mood, and through it all this place will continue to stagnate and fester unless someone has the will to act and force this place to change, and I am that person.”

“You’ve tried it your way before, Johnny, and it didn’t work. You criticized my therapist for just asking obtuse questions and sounding concerned, but your own tenure here is evidence of why preaching at people and telling them what they should be doing is doomed to failure from the start. Do you understand that, Johnny? Can you admit it? The Team Leader has failed, and he was going to fail from the start, because people have to want to change. You think you can inspire them by example? Maybe, but all you’ve inspired is their hatred and dismissal. The argument could be made that this place is actually WORSE because of you, if only because rather than getting better from week to week they’ve simply banded together, combining their mediocre talents into equally mediocre stables that are still unable to actually draw fans or even attempt to entertain. So I’m taking a different approach. Criticize it if you want, but if these people have failed to be inspired by your example, then I will inspire them with horror. I will make this place a nightmare for people like the Brat Pack. I will brutalize them. War is the answer, Johnny, and the only solution is a final solution. I will break them down one by one, and this place will be stronger for it. They’ll hate me, but I’ll take their hate eagerly. I thrive on it.”

“It’s tempting, then, to sell this match as perhaps a clash of opposing ideals, with the future of the company on the line. If you want to cast yourself as the white hat, I am more than happy to don the black one. And unfortunately, Johnny, you’re going to lose. Yes, I did take the diplomatic route last time, but I did so out of respect for you. Since you clearly can’t return the favor, I won’t bother. I’m better than you, always have been. You’re quoting me out of context when you said that I believed I could take the title away from you at any time, but ultimately it’s still the truth. I have the evidence. I’ve got the tape to prove it. I did it once, and if I had been so inclined I could have done it again. But I didn’t, because I enjoyed working with you again and because having the World Title has no bearing on my life. It’s got no luster to me because it’s a lie. But tonight on Riot! I am going to beat you, and I’m going to do it for the same reason you believe you’re going to beat me. I believe I’m the best competitor in this place, and frankly the opportunity to create a losing streak for you, even if it only lasts two matches, is too good to give up. When you were describing this place devolving into anarchy as a result of your losing two matches in a row, I was honestly salivating. It helps my goals, so you’re going down tonight. Hate to break it to you, but then again, we both understand that this is just a match and we’re both professionals. You’ll lose, we’ll move on, and that will be that.”

“But we’ll see if you still feel like giving me that hug once all is said and done.”

[There is a clatter as the tape recorder is clearly being picked up, and with a click the sound shuts off.]