Post by PIC on Mar 23, 2023 13:22:09 GMT -5
—March 21, 1987 7:14PM | Clemson, SC—
~Amick Dogeron and “Ozzy” sit next to each other in a small group in the basement of East Clemson Baptist Church. Several others in their early twenties round out the circle. Pastor Greg, a few years older than most, reads from his Bible.~
Pastor Greg: Likewise, ye younger, submit yourselves unto the elder. Yea, all of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with humility: for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble. Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time: Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.
~Amick snickers. Pastor Greg stops reading as the others in the group turn in his direction.~
Pastor Greg: Is something wrong?
~Amick squirms in his seat. He sits up and fidgets with the collar of his shirt. Ozzy elbows him.~
Amick: Oh… no. Nothing wrong. Carry on.
~Pastor Greg pauses momentarily, then continues.~
Pastor Greg: I know sometimes as young adults the cares of life can leave you swirling. It’s in those moments you must look to God for the answers. According to Peter, find someone you can look up to, an elder or pastor. Accountability in our faith makes us stronger. And when life gets you down, take it to the Lord in prayer. He wants to carry your burden.
~Pastor Greg continues for a bit longer, then concludes the lesson with a prayer. Amick pops out of his chair immediately and heads up the steps and out onto the church parking lot. Ozzy hangs back to talk to a few of his friends, but emerges several minutes later.~
Ozzy: What was that?
Amick: Nothing man, don’t worry about it. I just… look I told you I’m just not into the religion thing, ok? You said some of these people might be interested in Vitaco, but all they seem interested in is my eternal soul.
Ozzy: And that’s a bad thing?
~Amick doesn’t answer. He stares out onto the horizon as the remnants of the first day of spring disappear beyond the tree line. Religion never suited him, not after living with hypocritical foster parents who used the Bible as a means of control. They’d make a big deal about God in public, but live like hell behind closed doors. Hypocrites. All of them.~
Amick: I don’t know man.
~He changes the subject.~
Amick: But I do know supplements. And I know how to make money. So are these people interested or not?
Ozzy: Pastor Greg said I shouldn’t bring it up. He thinks I should be careful around you.
Amick: What’s there to be careful about? The job is easy, and the money’s great.
Ozzy: Well, you know that scripture he was reading in there? The one from 1 Peter?
Amick: About casting your cares?
Ozzy: Yeah, that one. Did you happen to read the next verse?
Amick: I didn’t even read that one.
Ozzy: Well, it says to be sober and vigilant, cause the devil’s walking around like a roaring lion trying to gobble you up. We gotta resist him.
Amick: So what? He saying I’m the devil?
Ozzy: No, no. Just that I should… be careful. There’s a lot of money at stake.
~Amick continues staring out in the darkness of night. A cool breeze wafts through his hair causing it to wisp momentarily. He looks up into the trees to see them swaying back and forth as leaves twist in the air.~
Amick: You see them leaves? How they’re all spinning around?
Ozzy: Yeah.
Amick: Ain’t there some scripture about how you know the truth by what’s going on around it, like when you can’t see the wind but you can see the effects of it?
Ozzy: Yeah. That’s over in… uh… I wanna say... John?
Amick: So wouldn’t evil work the same? You can’t see it, but you can see the effects of it.
Ozzy: That makes sense.
Amick: So you see any effects of evil with Vitaco? You're making money aren’t you? Working hard? All your clients happy with how it’s going?
Ozzy: Well, yeah. It’s the best job I’ve ever had.
Amick: Then you oughta know there ain’t nothing to be cautious about.
Ozzy: I mean… I know that. But Pastor Greg?
~Amick places his hand on Ozzy’s shoulder.~
Amick: Look. That guy might have your best interests at heart, but seems to me he got you spiraling out of control over this. At the end of the day you gotta do what’s best for you and ain’t nobody else gonna be able to tell you that but you.
~Ozzy stays silent, but nods in agreement.~
Amick: Now, I came here to sell supplements and get you some more clients. Where’s Greggy?
~Amick puts his arm around Ozzy as the two walk back inside the church. He seems to have kept Ozzy from spiraling any further with his quick wit. After all, the devil’s always in the details.~
—March 21, 2023 4:27PM | Sevierville, TN—
PIC: *shouting* I’m starting to have second thoughts.
~Who could blame him? Flying at an altitude of 15,000 feet standing at the edge of a wide open plane hatch with nothing between himself and the ground but clear blue sky. It’s an abnormally sunny day in the American midwest, a fact PIC might normally relish if he wasn’t clutching the side of a plane for dear life. He’s decked out head to toe with gear ranging from the helmet and goggles on his head and the parachute attached to his back. The color drains from his face as he glances at the instructor to his right.~
Instructor: It’s up to you, pal. I get paid either way.
~PIC leans out the open door onto the vast cumulus sea below. He ponders the jump, wondering if it’s really necessary. He’d gotten another message from his stalker days earlier. The message contained a promise to end the shenanigans once and for all and included GPS coordinates to a location in the middle of the Smoky Mountains. He tried every method of transportation he could think of, but the terrain was too treacherous to travel by car or on foot. Nothing was going to get him within a day’s walk of the location. Nothing, except this plane and the parachute on his back.~
PIC: I just don’t know.
Instructor: Well it’s now or never. The pilot’s not gonna make another pass. I guess you gotta decide if what’s down there’s worth the jump.
~PIC pauses. He reflects on the past few months. The Times Square hacking. His FBI friend getting fired. The dead fat man in Ohio. Sarah. The real Amick Dogeron and how much he meant to him. PIC can’t just let it go, he’s got to clear his name. The red begins to come back into this cheeks. Now, more determined than ever, he grips both edges of the door.~
PIC: Here goes nothing.
~PIC jumps. He spreads both arms and legs as the wind flaps through his clothing. His body hurdles toward the thick forest near a small clearing with no one for miles to hear his screams. Once the plane is out of the way, he pulls the cord.~
NOTHING
~Frantic, PIC tugs repeatedly at the device with no results. He pulls at the backup. It releases, but the chute is missing, having been cut off at the strings. He accelerates as the earth’s gravitational pull takes over, his body now spinning in a free fall. With only a thousand feet remaining between him and certain death, he pulls at the cord one more time, closes his eyes and prepares for the inevitable.~
PIC: Jesus!
~Amick Dogeron and “Ozzy” sit next to each other in a small group in the basement of East Clemson Baptist Church. Several others in their early twenties round out the circle. Pastor Greg, a few years older than most, reads from his Bible.~
Pastor Greg: Likewise, ye younger, submit yourselves unto the elder. Yea, all of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with humility: for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble. Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time: Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.
~Amick snickers. Pastor Greg stops reading as the others in the group turn in his direction.~
Pastor Greg: Is something wrong?
~Amick squirms in his seat. He sits up and fidgets with the collar of his shirt. Ozzy elbows him.~
Amick: Oh… no. Nothing wrong. Carry on.
~Pastor Greg pauses momentarily, then continues.~
Pastor Greg: I know sometimes as young adults the cares of life can leave you swirling. It’s in those moments you must look to God for the answers. According to Peter, find someone you can look up to, an elder or pastor. Accountability in our faith makes us stronger. And when life gets you down, take it to the Lord in prayer. He wants to carry your burden.
~Pastor Greg continues for a bit longer, then concludes the lesson with a prayer. Amick pops out of his chair immediately and heads up the steps and out onto the church parking lot. Ozzy hangs back to talk to a few of his friends, but emerges several minutes later.~
Ozzy: What was that?
Amick: Nothing man, don’t worry about it. I just… look I told you I’m just not into the religion thing, ok? You said some of these people might be interested in Vitaco, but all they seem interested in is my eternal soul.
Ozzy: And that’s a bad thing?
~Amick doesn’t answer. He stares out onto the horizon as the remnants of the first day of spring disappear beyond the tree line. Religion never suited him, not after living with hypocritical foster parents who used the Bible as a means of control. They’d make a big deal about God in public, but live like hell behind closed doors. Hypocrites. All of them.~
Amick: I don’t know man.
~He changes the subject.~
Amick: But I do know supplements. And I know how to make money. So are these people interested or not?
Ozzy: Pastor Greg said I shouldn’t bring it up. He thinks I should be careful around you.
Amick: What’s there to be careful about? The job is easy, and the money’s great.
Ozzy: Well, you know that scripture he was reading in there? The one from 1 Peter?
Amick: About casting your cares?
Ozzy: Yeah, that one. Did you happen to read the next verse?
Amick: I didn’t even read that one.
Ozzy: Well, it says to be sober and vigilant, cause the devil’s walking around like a roaring lion trying to gobble you up. We gotta resist him.
Amick: So what? He saying I’m the devil?
Ozzy: No, no. Just that I should… be careful. There’s a lot of money at stake.
~Amick continues staring out in the darkness of night. A cool breeze wafts through his hair causing it to wisp momentarily. He looks up into the trees to see them swaying back and forth as leaves twist in the air.~
Amick: You see them leaves? How they’re all spinning around?
Ozzy: Yeah.
Amick: Ain’t there some scripture about how you know the truth by what’s going on around it, like when you can’t see the wind but you can see the effects of it?
Ozzy: Yeah. That’s over in… uh… I wanna say... John?
Amick: So wouldn’t evil work the same? You can’t see it, but you can see the effects of it.
Ozzy: That makes sense.
Amick: So you see any effects of evil with Vitaco? You're making money aren’t you? Working hard? All your clients happy with how it’s going?
Ozzy: Well, yeah. It’s the best job I’ve ever had.
Amick: Then you oughta know there ain’t nothing to be cautious about.
Ozzy: I mean… I know that. But Pastor Greg?
~Amick places his hand on Ozzy’s shoulder.~
Amick: Look. That guy might have your best interests at heart, but seems to me he got you spiraling out of control over this. At the end of the day you gotta do what’s best for you and ain’t nobody else gonna be able to tell you that but you.
~Ozzy stays silent, but nods in agreement.~
Amick: Now, I came here to sell supplements and get you some more clients. Where’s Greggy?
~Amick puts his arm around Ozzy as the two walk back inside the church. He seems to have kept Ozzy from spiraling any further with his quick wit. After all, the devil’s always in the details.~
.::Spiraling. It happens in the wrestling business when a guy who’s had great success suddenly loses and has it all come crashing down around him.
It’s what I could have done after losing at The Great Illuminatus. And after 210 consecutive days as either the Savage or OCW World champion, it might have even been expected. Some might have thought I’d disappear for two months like the Paradigm Champion.
But that’s not me. That lacks character. Instead, I marched into Welsh’s office, not demanding a rematch for my title, but an opportunity to earn it against one of the most decorated superstars in wrestling today: Vhodka Black.
Vhodka is a name synonymous with success everywhere she’s been, including a brief stint in OCW as the TransAtlantic Champion. A second place finish in the World Series of Wrestling to a former OCW world champion is a big deal. And while I hadn’t had the pleasure of working with her before The Great Illuminatus, I walked away from that encounter more than impressed.
Sure, I sometimes wonder if things would have been different had Plethora not broken into the top tier so early. Would I still be walking around with championship gold if I had only faced him, or Meyhu, or even Vhodka in that final chamber one-on-one?
I know it doesn’t matter. I just didn’t get the job done, period. I limped away with my proverbial tail between my legs and had to face the facts that on February 26th I simply didn’t have what it took to win.
Little did we know that the landscape of OCW would change forever in the weeks to come. Welsh’s plane went down somewhere near ‘the island’. Matt Meyhu was stripped of the world title after refusing to defend it like the coward he is. And Harmon Egan? That baby cried all the way home to his dead mommy because he couldn’t handle facing the two of us in the same match.
But through all the drama, there’s been one constant: me. I’m not the guy that sits at home whining about title shots. I don’t want anything handed to me; I want to earn it. Giving out title matches is the kind of #WEAKASSBOOKING this place needs to shed from its reputation.
To be the best, you have to beat the best. And by all accounts, across the entire wrestling landscape for the last few years, Vhodka… you’re the best.
Excuse me.
WERE
You were the best.
Now, the best word to describe you might just be SHORT.
Like your short reign as TransAtlantic Champion.
Or when you came up short at the World Series of Wrestling.
Or short like your time in OCW after I beat you and put the belt back around my waist where it belongs.
You see Vhodka, unlike yourself, I’m not a part-time talent that was brought in for a quick ratings boost. I bleed OCW. I didn’t just read a flyer about a cool match and think it would be fun to give it a try and I’m sure as hell not getting wrapped up into an imaginary conglomerate’s quest for world-wide wrestling domination.
I am, and have been that one constant this company has needed for almost a year. Week in, week out, you’ll find me at Massacre. Sometimes it’s a wrestling match, sometimes it’s a segment or promo. I’m the freaking workhorse for this company. Get too close and I’ll mule kick you square in the face.
So I’ve continue to do what a work horse does. After losing the belt, I faced Donnie Harris and SYNN in a tag team match. I defeated yet another Hall-Of-Fame legend in Alice Knight.
All the while preparing for you. I’m ready, Vhodka. I’m ready to prove once again why I am the best this business has to offer. And while I respect your accomplishments, I’m not one to back down from a challenge. Whether it’s dominating inside the squared circle or smashing never-ending pasta bowls at Olive Garden, I face every challenge head on. Keep the breadsticks. Do with them whatever you like. But this Sunday at You Can Do It!, I’m walking out as a two-time OCW World Champion and there’s not a thing you can do about it.::.
—March 21, 2023 4:27PM | Sevierville, TN—
PIC: *shouting* I’m starting to have second thoughts.
~Who could blame him? Flying at an altitude of 15,000 feet standing at the edge of a wide open plane hatch with nothing between himself and the ground but clear blue sky. It’s an abnormally sunny day in the American midwest, a fact PIC might normally relish if he wasn’t clutching the side of a plane for dear life. He’s decked out head to toe with gear ranging from the helmet and goggles on his head and the parachute attached to his back. The color drains from his face as he glances at the instructor to his right.~
Instructor: It’s up to you, pal. I get paid either way.
~PIC leans out the open door onto the vast cumulus sea below. He ponders the jump, wondering if it’s really necessary. He’d gotten another message from his stalker days earlier. The message contained a promise to end the shenanigans once and for all and included GPS coordinates to a location in the middle of the Smoky Mountains. He tried every method of transportation he could think of, but the terrain was too treacherous to travel by car or on foot. Nothing was going to get him within a day’s walk of the location. Nothing, except this plane and the parachute on his back.~
PIC: I just don’t know.
Instructor: Well it’s now or never. The pilot’s not gonna make another pass. I guess you gotta decide if what’s down there’s worth the jump.
~PIC pauses. He reflects on the past few months. The Times Square hacking. His FBI friend getting fired. The dead fat man in Ohio. Sarah. The real Amick Dogeron and how much he meant to him. PIC can’t just let it go, he’s got to clear his name. The red begins to come back into this cheeks. Now, more determined than ever, he grips both edges of the door.~
PIC: Here goes nothing.
~PIC jumps. He spreads both arms and legs as the wind flaps through his clothing. His body hurdles toward the thick forest near a small clearing with no one for miles to hear his screams. Once the plane is out of the way, he pulls the cord.~
NOTHING
~Frantic, PIC tugs repeatedly at the device with no results. He pulls at the backup. It releases, but the chute is missing, having been cut off at the strings. He accelerates as the earth’s gravitational pull takes over, his body now spinning in a free fall. With only a thousand feet remaining between him and certain death, he pulls at the cord one more time, closes his eyes and prepares for the inevitable.~
PIC: Jesus!
