Post by PIC on Mar 9, 2023 12:07:27 GMT -5
—March 9, 1987 12:45PM | Clemson, SC—
~Nineteen year old Amick Dogeron and the man simply known as Ozzy walk out of the Clemson student union in nearly identical suits. The two stand at the doorway and shake hands with students from all backgrounds thanking them for attending the Vitaco seminar. Once all of the students have left, Amick and Ozzy walk back inside where Douggie sits behind a table counting a stack of money quietly to himself.~
Amick: How much did we get?
~Douggie pauses for a moment, trying not to lose count. He holds up a finger until he places the last bill on the stack.~
Douggie: $3,540. We ended up with 24 students joining as partners, too.
~Amick smiles, patting Ozzy on the back.~
Amick: That’s great news for you. All 24 will now be a part of your sales team. Not to mention you get 10% of that haul.
Ozzy: You serious? I get $350 just off of what these guys bought?
Amick: Yep. That’s how multi-level marketing works, my man. The more people you got buying and selling under you, the more money you make.
Ozzy: It’s almost too good to be true.
Amick: It’s the American Dream man.
Ozzy: You think some of the folks in my congregation at church would be interested?
Amick: Do they like money?
~The two share a laugh.~
Amick: Hey Ozzy, I’ve got a money bag to put this stack in out in the car. Can you run out and grab it for me?
Ozzy: Sure thing.
~Amick tosses his keys to Ozzy who hurries out the door and into the parking lot. He turns to Douggie to see his accomplice smiling.~
Douggie: That dude has no idea, does he?
Amick: Not a clue.
Douggie: Do you feel bad?
Amick: For what? The kid is making money. We’re making money. So he ends up holding the bag when it’s all over with… that’s not my fault.
~Douggie shakes his head, impressed.~
Douggie: I still can’t believe people are so gullible.
Amick: Everyone likes money, but Ozzy… he’s always had a bad habit of letting others tell him what to do. He’s a follower, not a leader. Back when we were rolling with TK and his crew, Ozzy didn’t have it in him to think for himself. Now he’s joined up with the Jesus Freaks down the road and now they tell him what to do. He thinks he’s some changed man. We’ll see how changed he is when we skip town with all his money in our pockets.
~Amick smirks and pats Douggie on the back just as Ozzy returns with the money bag.~
Ozzy: Here it is! So, when do I get paid?
~Amick and Douggie share a glance before bursting out into laughter.~
Ozzy: Sorry… I’ve got a habit of being impatient.
Amick: It’s all good, brother. I was just about to count out your share.
—March 9, 2023 6:41AM | Key West, FL—
~PIC finds himself back on the winning track after he and TLS put down Donnie Harris and SYNN on last week’s Massacre. He’s rented an apartment in Key West for when OCW stays local during the weekly shows and spent all day yesterday moving Sarah into the spare bedroom. New York is great, but nothing compares to southern Florida beaches in winter.
He sips coffee from his deck as he looks out across the ocean; the sun is just beginning to rise. A calm ocean breeze wafts the smell of salt his way. Peace. Tranquility. Nothing like the chaos of the past few months. It’s been days since he’s heard from his stalker. He knows better than to assume whoever it is has gotten tired and moved onto something else. But for now, he’ll take the reprieve.
A commotion below startles him from his quiet reflection. He looks over the balcony to see a scantily-clad brunette arguing with a large behemoth of a man. He grabs her by the wrist and tries to pull her into his apartment but she seems reluctant, trying her best to pull away. PIC tries to ignore it, but he’s got a bad habit of sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.~
Woman: Let me go!
~That is the last straw. PIC stands up and leans over the railing.~
PIC: Hey! You heard her. Let her go!
~The big man continues holding onto her arm but turns his attention toward PIC’s third floor apartment. He curses loudly.~
Behemoth: Mind your own business.
~He curses again. PIC looks into the scared blue eyes of the woman.~
PIC: Just let her go. She clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you.
~More swearing. The behemoth releases his grip as she pulls her arm back, rubbing her wrist.~
Behemoth: We were just having some fun.
PIC: Didn’t sound like fun to me.
Behemoth: Tell ya what. You come on down here Mr. Tough Guy and we’ll see just how much fun I can be.
~Sarah, being awoken by the commotion, opens the sliding glass door to see what’s going on.~
Behemoth: Bring that pretty little thing too so she can see what a real man looks like.
~Mentioning Sarah always gets PIC fired up. He tries to rush past her to head downstairs but she grabs him by the arm.~
Sarah: Dad.
PIC: I’m not gonna let him talk to you that way.
Sarah: It’s ok. You’ve got a habit of trying to fight all my battles for me. But you can’t. You can’t fight everyone else’s battles either. Sometimes they have to learn to fend for themselves.
~PIC shakes his head.~
PIC: But that girl is in trouble.
~Sarah motions for him to look down below. The man, still with his chest puffed out, has placed his arm around her shoulders. Though still shook, it’s clear from her expression that it’s consensual. When he realizes PIC isn’t coming down, the behemoth curses again and the two walk into his apartment together.~
Sarah: See, dad? You can’t help everyone.
PIC: I don’t get it. She clearly doesn’t like him. He was treating her like garbage. Why is she staying?
Sarah: I don’t know, dad. I’m not a psych major by any means. But girls like that, they stay for a reason. Maybe she’s scared to leave, or maybe she really does love him. Could just not be sure of who she is as a person.
~PIC eases up. The two of them sit down on the outside couch and look out onto the ocean. Even after a minute or two passes, he’s visibly shaken.~
Sarah: She reminds you of someone, doesn’t she?
PIC: How’d you know?
~Sarah puts her hand on his shoulder.~
Sarah: Your match this week. Alice Knight. I know you’ve always respected her.
~PIC sighs.~
PIC: It’s more than respect, Sarah. I know what she’s capable of. I know that deep down she’s not just some eye candy on the arm of a man who does all the heavy lifting. She was a world champion. She’s in the hall of fame. She—
Sarah: She just doesn’t know who she is right now, dad. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s not your job to fix her.
PIC: I know. I mean, I think I know. But then I see her with Bifford. I know the kind of man he is, and I’d like to think I know the kind of woman she is. And I… I just don’t get it.
Sarah: It’s not your job to get it, dad. It’s your job to win wrestling matches. You can’t go into this feeling sorry for her. She’s a grown woman making her own decisions. If she wants to tag with Bifford, so be it.
~PIC reaches his arm around her neck and pulls her close, still looking out onto the ocean. He smiles.~
PIC: You know… you’ve got a really bad habit of being wise beyond your years.
Sarah: I learned from the best.
~Nineteen year old Amick Dogeron and the man simply known as Ozzy walk out of the Clemson student union in nearly identical suits. The two stand at the doorway and shake hands with students from all backgrounds thanking them for attending the Vitaco seminar. Once all of the students have left, Amick and Ozzy walk back inside where Douggie sits behind a table counting a stack of money quietly to himself.~
Amick: How much did we get?
~Douggie pauses for a moment, trying not to lose count. He holds up a finger until he places the last bill on the stack.~
Douggie: $3,540. We ended up with 24 students joining as partners, too.
~Amick smiles, patting Ozzy on the back.~
Amick: That’s great news for you. All 24 will now be a part of your sales team. Not to mention you get 10% of that haul.
Ozzy: You serious? I get $350 just off of what these guys bought?
Amick: Yep. That’s how multi-level marketing works, my man. The more people you got buying and selling under you, the more money you make.
Ozzy: It’s almost too good to be true.
Amick: It’s the American Dream man.
Ozzy: You think some of the folks in my congregation at church would be interested?
Amick: Do they like money?
~The two share a laugh.~
Amick: Hey Ozzy, I’ve got a money bag to put this stack in out in the car. Can you run out and grab it for me?
Ozzy: Sure thing.
~Amick tosses his keys to Ozzy who hurries out the door and into the parking lot. He turns to Douggie to see his accomplice smiling.~
Douggie: That dude has no idea, does he?
Amick: Not a clue.
Douggie: Do you feel bad?
Amick: For what? The kid is making money. We’re making money. So he ends up holding the bag when it’s all over with… that’s not my fault.
~Douggie shakes his head, impressed.~
Douggie: I still can’t believe people are so gullible.
Amick: Everyone likes money, but Ozzy… he’s always had a bad habit of letting others tell him what to do. He’s a follower, not a leader. Back when we were rolling with TK and his crew, Ozzy didn’t have it in him to think for himself. Now he’s joined up with the Jesus Freaks down the road and now they tell him what to do. He thinks he’s some changed man. We’ll see how changed he is when we skip town with all his money in our pockets.
~Amick smirks and pats Douggie on the back just as Ozzy returns with the money bag.~
Ozzy: Here it is! So, when do I get paid?
~Amick and Douggie share a glance before bursting out into laughter.~
Ozzy: Sorry… I’ve got a habit of being impatient.
Amick: It’s all good, brother. I was just about to count out your share.
.::Alice Knight.
All the talent in the world and enough insecurities to fill an olympic-sized swimming pool.
Do you remember, Alice? Do you remember when things were going great? When you were at the top of the OCW heap with the world championship around your waist? Put yourself back in that moment. What did it feel like? Do you remember the feeling of… what’s the word?
RELEVANCE.
Yeah… neither does anyone else.
That’s because all we see is wasted talent and a litany of piss poor decisions.
What is it that causes a legitimate Hall Of Fame, once in a generation talent such as yourself to fall so far from grace?
Don’t worry about answering. The question was rhetorical. I know the reason. You’re self-destructive. You have terrible habits; and those habits have come back to bite you in the end.
For starters, you have a habit of hitching your wagon to the worst partners. CJ O’Donnell. Paramount. The Big Bifford. Horrible people hell bent on destroying the careers, and in some cases, lives of others. These are the types of wrestlers the Alice Knight of old would have stood up to. She’d have put her neck on the line and fought them all off one by one until none were left standing. Now you’re just content riding the coattails of others. The hoot queen’s been demoted to the wacky sidekick in her own story. How Pathetic.
There’s also that habit of running when things get tough. Lose a match? Hiatus. Boyfriend quits? Hiatus. Run out of “cute” photos to share on Twitter? You see where this is going. I never knew owls were so prone to tucking their tails between their legs and cowering at the first sign of adversity. Call it the fighting spirit or killer instinct, you don’t have either. Face it, you just can’t cut the mustard.
But perhaps most egregious is your habit of losing when it matters most. Identifying as an owl doesn’t mean you have to go around laying eggs. I mean a former OCW World Champ entering and exiting Tier 1 in The Great Illuminatus? You didn’t even put up a fight. They trotted you out there like the prize animal at the county fair and led you right to your first round slaughter. You allowed a lesser talented tag team specialist to dominate you like the curtain jerking enhancement talent you’ve become.
I don’t want to make this all about you, though. After all, I’ve got habits of my own: like winning.
El Linchador. Lurrr. Titan 3. Bob Grenier. Outcast. Mike Zybala. Bifford.
All OCW Hall of Famers. All, with the exception of Zybala, have held the world title. And all of them, every last one, has an L on their record courtesy of me… the P.I.C.
I also have a habit of putting my money where my mouth is and finishing what I start. When I say I’m going to win, it’s not just idle speech. I expect to succeed. I’m not wishy-washy, I don’t “give it the college try”. It’s all or it’s nothing every time I step into that ring.
So rest assured, I’m winning this week. I’m going to take every bit of offense you have and throw it right back in your face. You’re getting me at my very best, laser-focused, and perhaps more driven than I’ve ever been. I lost the one thing in this business that I hold dear. At Massacre, I’ll leave your dead carcass in the ring on my road to reclamation.
Another victory. Another former champion. Another Hall of Famer.
They’re going to be telling tales of my championships for years to come, but one word will follow “Owl Is Night” throughout the annals of time:
Who?::.
—March 9, 2023 6:41AM | Key West, FL—
~PIC finds himself back on the winning track after he and TLS put down Donnie Harris and SYNN on last week’s Massacre. He’s rented an apartment in Key West for when OCW stays local during the weekly shows and spent all day yesterday moving Sarah into the spare bedroom. New York is great, but nothing compares to southern Florida beaches in winter.
He sips coffee from his deck as he looks out across the ocean; the sun is just beginning to rise. A calm ocean breeze wafts the smell of salt his way. Peace. Tranquility. Nothing like the chaos of the past few months. It’s been days since he’s heard from his stalker. He knows better than to assume whoever it is has gotten tired and moved onto something else. But for now, he’ll take the reprieve.
A commotion below startles him from his quiet reflection. He looks over the balcony to see a scantily-clad brunette arguing with a large behemoth of a man. He grabs her by the wrist and tries to pull her into his apartment but she seems reluctant, trying her best to pull away. PIC tries to ignore it, but he’s got a bad habit of sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.~
Woman: Let me go!
~That is the last straw. PIC stands up and leans over the railing.~
PIC: Hey! You heard her. Let her go!
~The big man continues holding onto her arm but turns his attention toward PIC’s third floor apartment. He curses loudly.~
Behemoth: Mind your own business.
~He curses again. PIC looks into the scared blue eyes of the woman.~
PIC: Just let her go. She clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you.
~More swearing. The behemoth releases his grip as she pulls her arm back, rubbing her wrist.~
Behemoth: We were just having some fun.
PIC: Didn’t sound like fun to me.
Behemoth: Tell ya what. You come on down here Mr. Tough Guy and we’ll see just how much fun I can be.
~Sarah, being awoken by the commotion, opens the sliding glass door to see what’s going on.~
Behemoth: Bring that pretty little thing too so she can see what a real man looks like.
~Mentioning Sarah always gets PIC fired up. He tries to rush past her to head downstairs but she grabs him by the arm.~
Sarah: Dad.
PIC: I’m not gonna let him talk to you that way.
Sarah: It’s ok. You’ve got a habit of trying to fight all my battles for me. But you can’t. You can’t fight everyone else’s battles either. Sometimes they have to learn to fend for themselves.
~PIC shakes his head.~
PIC: But that girl is in trouble.
~Sarah motions for him to look down below. The man, still with his chest puffed out, has placed his arm around her shoulders. Though still shook, it’s clear from her expression that it’s consensual. When he realizes PIC isn’t coming down, the behemoth curses again and the two walk into his apartment together.~
Sarah: See, dad? You can’t help everyone.
PIC: I don’t get it. She clearly doesn’t like him. He was treating her like garbage. Why is she staying?
Sarah: I don’t know, dad. I’m not a psych major by any means. But girls like that, they stay for a reason. Maybe she’s scared to leave, or maybe she really does love him. Could just not be sure of who she is as a person.
~PIC eases up. The two of them sit down on the outside couch and look out onto the ocean. Even after a minute or two passes, he’s visibly shaken.~
Sarah: She reminds you of someone, doesn’t she?
PIC: How’d you know?
~Sarah puts her hand on his shoulder.~
Sarah: Your match this week. Alice Knight. I know you’ve always respected her.
~PIC sighs.~
PIC: It’s more than respect, Sarah. I know what she’s capable of. I know that deep down she’s not just some eye candy on the arm of a man who does all the heavy lifting. She was a world champion. She’s in the hall of fame. She—
Sarah: She just doesn’t know who she is right now, dad. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s not your job to fix her.
PIC: I know. I mean, I think I know. But then I see her with Bifford. I know the kind of man he is, and I’d like to think I know the kind of woman she is. And I… I just don’t get it.
Sarah: It’s not your job to get it, dad. It’s your job to win wrestling matches. You can’t go into this feeling sorry for her. She’s a grown woman making her own decisions. If she wants to tag with Bifford, so be it.
~PIC reaches his arm around her neck and pulls her close, still looking out onto the ocean. He smiles.~
PIC: You know… you’ve got a really bad habit of being wise beyond your years.
Sarah: I learned from the best.
