Never Judge A Lost Pimp by Their Cover, Stranger

[synn]

One drop of water contains billions of water molecules.

When something gets over-saturated, it isn’t special anymore. Water is the very basis of life and death on this planet. It has saved the lives of so many, but has taken just as many. Some of the worst disasters this floating space rock has ever encountered have been water-related. Something so big, so powerful, so necessary, is made up of so many parts that are all exactly the same. Why do we worship it so much? Why do we fear it?

The OCW is a wave crashing towards shore at a fever pitch. A massive, destructive, yet beautiful and mysterious anomaly all made up of exactly equal parts. Nothing sets them apart from the other, nothing to cut the monotony.

Until now.

With a sigh, Juniper sat on the docks, letting her feet swing over. It was nice to be back “home”, but she was certainly worse for wear. Her knee was jacked up, her body felt as though it had been through 3 tours in ‘Nam in succession, and her mind was a giant migraine.

Looking out at the water in Florida is nothing like Alaska. It’s just flat blue/green emptiness. A vast abyss of salty liquid with no end in sight. Sitting in an OCW tank top, mini skirt and army style commando-boots, she never quite felt like she fully mastered this 'Florida' thing. Or, did she? Her sweaty feet made her happy, though.

All the talk had been about her as of late. Awards, hype, promo clips, you name it. It was all so overwhelming!

The ‘ocean’ back home was surrounded by beautiful white capped mountains, vibrant green trees and a giant sky. It was pristine, there was a landscape, it made you feel at home. This water? It was flat, boring, and lifeless. It was all starting to make sense why this promotion was anchored here……its flat and lifeless, with no scenery to liven it up. Could she be the one to change that? She sure hoped. She wanted to make a difference, not just be ‘different’. Lord knows they needed it. She knew that if SYNN had anything to say about it that—-

“You lost, stranger?”

A silky smooth voice buttered the air behind her, and she whipped her torso around. A man with medium length, perfectly quaffed hair stood there with a gaggle of ladies around him–most of them fake looking Tearra Skye type blondes. He had muscles, and his wife beater and designer jeans were far too tight for any man to acceptably wear. His gold chain’s pendant read “IN CHARGE”.

Surely, he couldn’t be talking to her. Could he? A pimp of his apparent stature would never be interested in someone like her. She turned further to see what looked like a homeless man in a tattered suit stumbling up the boardwalk, his shaggy, greasy bangs in his eyes. He had apparently encroached on the pimp man’s territory, and he didn’t want his ladies exposed to whatever ‘he’ was. He asked again with the silky smooth voice of his.

“You lost, stranger?”

Everything came rushing back like a tidal wave.

"You lost, stranger?"

People in Alaska were quite friendly, it is their calling card. The man in the card sure did seem lost, and out of place. He looked very Los Angeles, dressed in purple valor, a puffy purple coat and hat, with big chains hanging down from his neck. His fingers had more rings than a jewelry store.

“You lost, stranger?” the man in the bummy looking clothes asked again. People in Alaska dressed for comfort. “If you need directions, I can tell ya where to go. Can get confusing around these parts. Right now, though, you are heading for the water so you might wanna turn around.”

The man in the car didn’t say anything, just stared straight ahead. He didn’t trust this man, he wasn’t on his level.

A pimp only has his mind on one thing, and this crummy looking greaseball couldn’t provide that. Coming out of the country store, 10 year old Juniper stared at the car in awe, almost dropping her Sno-Cone. She had never seen someone dressed so fancy before. Or a car that nice, for that matter. Her family’s car barely had hubcaps and only started once every third key turn.

The local man seemed perplexed by the quiet demeanor of the seemingly important out-of-towner. He stepped closer to the car. “You sure do have a lot of gold.” He chuckled to himself. “I sure would love to have gold like that…..”

He was almost leaning in the window now, attempting to be friendly with the man. Just then, the man inside the car drew a pistol, and before Juniper could blink the man inside the car fired three shots.

POP POP POP

The local man stumbled back as blood flew through the air like hundreds of tiny red birds. He hit the snow on his back. The man in the car turned his head and stared Juniper straight in the eyes. Her Sno-Cone became a Ground-Cone, and she felt her hand shake. She felt fear, real fear, for the first time in her young life. But she stood firm, and didn’t move. The man in the car eventually pulled his pistol in, and the engine roared. He pulled away, driving right past her. Could you ever truly trust a PIMP?

Reality smacked her in the chest like those bullets hit that local man. Her hairs stood up on her arms.

The grungy looking man paid the super important man no mind. He just kept walking, past the flaunting group of compensating whores. IN CHARGE pendant man scoffed.

“Look at him, ladies. He’s a loser. He will never have what I have.”

Juniper didn’t think he said it loud enough for the man, several feet away, to hear. She did, though. Just when it seemed as though the man was going to pass, he spun on his heels. There was a small pistol hidden in his sleeve. Three quick, quiet but effective shots connected with his chest.

POP POP POP

The girls screamed, and ran. A couple fell into the water, others fell as they scrambled away.

The man turned back on his heels and like nothing happened, continued to walk. When he was out of site, Juniper got up and ran over to the downed man. He was coughing, spitting up blood. She looked down at the dying man. She felt her lip curl, and her face spasm.

She reached down and took his IN CHARGE chain off, throwing it into the vast blue ocean.

“Had” SYNN said with a smirk before driving her boot into the man’s face.

“Some would say the deck is stacked. Some would say that Donnie and I have no shot in this tag match. Some would say I am in over my head. I say, it's a new challenge and I love a new challenge. I came into this company shooting for the top, why would I back down now? I went after Nickels, and pushed him to the limit. I beat an OCW old-head in Dylan Thomas, I beat Bourbon and my tag partner this week, I pushed Harmon Egan further than anyone else ever has. I EARNED my title shot. But all the dirt sheets, they want to say that SYNN may need to pray to a saint to survive this week.

A good tag team is built on trust. Does PIC trust TLS? Visa Versa? Didn’t you pin this same man at Margarita Mix? Wasn’t this the same man who tried to take your title from you last month? This is the same man who tried to take your entire livelihood, and now you must rely on him. Sounds a bit foolish, yeah? But then again, you’ve been a fool all along, haven’t ya PIC?

A man who was a paper champion, holding the belt until real competition came along. Let me ask you, have you truly been challenged? The toughest challenge you’ve had in months is your own partner this week, and even then you were lucky to escape with a win. I’ve been watching you, PIC. I have been studying you. I expect that you have been studying me, as well. Though, a man who calls himself PIMP IN CHARGE is too dense to realize that a pimp IS in charge, so therefore he doesn’t need to be labeled as such. It sounds like you want us all to know you’re in charge, mmm?

You aren’t even in charge of yourself.

You are a scared little boy at heart, and your thimble nuts are shriveling more and more with each passing day. You are perhaps the softest champion in the entire wrestling business—err let me correct that–were. A company is only as strong as those it has on top, and lets just say when I got that phone call from Marcus about coming here, his tone was desperate. He wanted to shake things up, and he needed someone crazy enough to take this gelatin company to solid state.

Don’t get me wrong, I am happy to be here–it's a lifelong dream of mine as a fan. But, when I was a wee lass watching OCW on a fuzzy television in my room, it seemed so much…..better. I want to get it back to that state. I want to go back to the days I used to love, and to do that I need to wipe guys like you off the map. And I can.

Just ask Harmon.

He still isn’t right, because he knows that if I wanted his title, I could have taken it. Same with you, PIC. If I wanted that World Title, I would have taken it. I let Meyhu handle the light work because I am still nursing this knee. If I am gonna be the champ, gotta make sure I am medically cleared to defend it.

“The Lost Stranger….everyone’s favorite part-timer. Only wrestling the big shows, huh? It’s okay to have an ego, just another glass house for me to shatter. Another heart to shove my fist through.

KALI-MA

KALLLLLLII–MAAAA

Good movie, you should check it out. It may resonate with you, hit a different kind of way. Why would a Harrison Ford movie from 1984 resonate with you? Because Monday Night the OCW arena becomes your own personal Temple of Doom.”

*chuckle, she cracked herself up sometimes*

“This is no laughing matter, however. You’re good, nobody says you aren’t. You’re perhaps the best we have here, if not, one of them. But the bigger they are, the harder they fall, mmmm? I am here to cleanse the OCW and like the old adage goes–the best way to kill a snake is to cut off its head. If you want to hit a homerun, you have to swing for the fences. You’re content with a bunt single, sliding into first. As long as you get there, it doesn’t matter to you how you did. You call it being dominant, I call it weak ass booking, as you like to say. The only “weak ass” here, is you. Remember way back in November when you recounted how PIC pinned you, and you shrugged your shoulders like “well, someone had to win?”

DAMNIT T, WHERE IS YOUR FIRE?

What kind of competitor are you? You’ve surrounded yourself with the upper echelon here to hide your flaws and insecurities, but inside, you’re soft. You haven’t had “real” competition in a long time, and when you do, you’ll fold like the party tent after the tailgate. You haven’t had a match with someone who has pushed you to your very limit, to the very edge of what you believed humanly possible………”

*she snarls into the camera, but it fades into a smile. She extends her hand.*

“Hiya! I’m SYNN. I am the demon from Anchorage, and I am here to haunt every molecule in your body until you can’t take a piss in your own home without looking over your shoulder. I am going to take the ‘University of TLS’ and reduce it to rubble. You told my partner this week Donnie Harris, a few weeks back, that it is time to “shit or get off the pot.” You have the most wins of anyone on this roster currently, but you don’t hold a title, you failed your cash in attempt, and you’re fighting on basic cable and not even in the Main Event. Maybe it's time you get off the pot yourself, mmm?

Harmon Egan is 18-1 because of ME and this week when the “shit” starts, you’ll realize that maybe the best place for you is right there on the pot."

8-3

OH SHIT CONTRACT HOLDER