May 15, 2018
You know, if I ever thought that one of my girls would make something worthwhile of themselves, it was going to be Lara. Certainly, the other three freeloaders that I call my kids certainly aren’t going to be worth a pile of shit. Not saying I don’t love them or thier kids, but fuck how do you not fucking learn from the mistakes of your older siblings as they ruin their goddamned lives.
As I watch Lara’s impressive performance on this Violent Behavior broadcast, I can’t even recall being in more than maybe a couple of matches in a single night. I recall her as a fucking scrawny kid, telling me she wanted to try to wrestle like me and I was sure as shit certain she would get her ass beat and then go do something more intellectual, but fuck if she hasn’t turned 180 degrees on this thing. She used to get her ass handed to her on a weekly basis. Then something clicked, but not completely. Not in the ‘championship material’ way, anyhow. But damn, if I’m not feeling awfully proud of her right now.
Winning three of four matches, that’s pretty good if you ask me.
It’s not something I often feel when it comes to my own kids but I’m feeling pretty fucking proud, right about now.
The following day, Candi Bratton is “training” for her upcoming tag team match with Streetz. And by training, that basically means she’s down at the bar and having a couple of beers and complaining about shit. She’s feeling very patriotic today as she sports her MAGA hat and her lovely pro-2nd amendment T-shirt. She is more than happy to take on the debate, but for today, she’s still feeling the feels from watching her daughter compete last night.
“You should have seen her, Greg. She was fucking phenomenal. Four goddamned matches in one night. Won three of them. Won a championship. Almost two.”
Greg is cleaning a glass before setting it under the bar, “How’s she feeling today though?”
“She’s fucking sore as shit. Doc says she has a cracked rib, sprained knee. Big ol’ smile, I could tell. She did good.”
“Glad to hear it Candi,” Greg responds as he takes her near empty glass and pour more beer into it. “Don’t you gotta match coming up?”
Candi takes a drink and then wipes the foam from her lip with her sleeve, “I gotta match. A goddamned tag team match.”
Greg laughs, “Oh fuck. How’d that happen. You don’t have any friends and you don’t get along with anyone.”
Candi smirks and flips Greg the bird, “Fuck if I know. Pencildick promotor gotta hardon for pissing people off, I guess. This fucking goody goody Anya Banana chick he’s strapped me with as a partner is a real piece of work. Seems to be the whole treehugger type. She actually goes to the fucking gym.”
“So what’s your plan?” he asks as he continues to wipe down the counter and generally clean up his area.
Candi shrugs, “What am I supposed to do? I wanna get paid, so I gotta go out and beat up Three Live Crew or whatever they’re fucking name is. Beat them up, send them on their way. They’ll probably trip on their sagging pants getting into the goddamned ring. Fucking waste of space, if you ask me.”
Greg just chuckles, “Shit, Candi. You’ve certainly got some opinions.”
“Damn right I do, fucker. I suppose if someone doesn’t like them, they can kiss my ass or shut me up. It’s been a long time since I’ve been a champion and after watching Lara win hers the other night, I’m getting that itch again. Plus, it may be time to replace Old Hal.”
Greg stops cleaning and stares at her, “Are you serious?”
“What?” Candi looks at him, “Poor guys having a hard time moving around these days and I can only patch him up so often before I gotta get him replaced. Trust me, I’m kind of attached to him, but it may just be that time to put him in the ground once and for all. I’ve done all I can for him.”
Greg whistles, shaking his head, “I never thought I’d hear those words coming out of your mouth, Candi. That old truck has been with you forever.”
Candi holds up a fist, “Shut the fuck up. You’re gonna get me all sentimental and shit. Don’t make me punch you in the nads.” She finishes her beer and pushes it towards him. “I suppose I should take care of some vermin I saw on my way over here.”
“What are you talking about?”
Candi smirks, “Some some tree-hugger gun-stealers protesting down at the gun store. Figure I’ll go fire off a few shots and see if I can get them to scramble. Do they even know what state this is? Gun control here is just to make sure it doesn’t fall on your head while it’s strapped behind you in your truck.”
Greg laughs, “Well, don’t get arrested. You gotta match coming up.”
“I know the Sheriff. He’ll let me off with a handy.”
“Shit Candi, do you have any shame whatsoever.”
“What’s the point of that?”