The orangish glow of the last bit of sun filters in through the blinds like lasers beams, slowly moving across the bedroom. After a bit of time, as if finally finding their mark, the beams shoot directly into the already squinted eyes of Lucas Greene. You would swear he really did get shot, as his knee jerk response to the blinding light nearly sends him ass over tea kettle out of the La-Z-Boy in which he is seated. The thick layer of smoke above him swirls and dances as he waves his free hand to block the light, whilst keeping a firm grip on the XBox controller in his other hand, as he is playing one of those multiplayer, first person shooter, war simulation games. In front of Lucas, sits an old tube television set that his technologically impaired parents gifted him. On the 24 inch screen, his character moves erratically around the battlefield, as Lucas continues to be distracted by his current, luminous predicament. Unfortunately for Lucas, the distraction proves deadly, as his character takes a sniper bullet to the brain pan, and drops like a sack o' potatos.
“Aww, duuudes…” Lucas moans into his headset as he regains his sight just in time to see the blood splatter, “that's not cool! I was totally blind! How you gonna play a brotha?”
Lucas takes a drag off the blunt pursed between his lips as gets an earful of trash talk from the foulmouthed teen that just killed him.
“F**king noob b***h, I f**king pwned your b***h ass!!!” the kid screams, his voice cracking with every curse word.
Lucas pulls the headphones away from his ears, as the kid's yelling is incredibly loud and obnoxious. He sucks back on the blunt once more, and slides his headphones back over his ears once the volume dies down.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Lucas cries out, finally getting tired of hearing this same kind of thing all session. “Is there really any need for that kind of language?”
Suddenly, it is as if the entire universe laughs at Lucas in unison. Actually, it's just everyone with the chat enabled, but it's still a lot of laughing.
“Oh, f**k off!” another unruly youth exclaims, “You sound like one of those grown ass men who still lives at home and watches wrasslin’ with his parents!”
Lucas doesn't say anything, he just stares straight ahead, knowing the kid was just about spot on. He takes the last drag off the blunt, and then buts it out in the ashtray next to the tv set.
“Let me guess,” a third, older sounding voice chortled, “you already have that CWF WrestleFest crap ordered on pay per view, don't you!?”
Again, laughter erupts over the airwaves.
“What a wrestling nerd!”
“What kind of a loser likes fake fighting?”
“Yeah!! You gonna cry when that f**knead, Azrael, beats up your stoner boyfriend???”
“Wait,” Lucas cuts them off, startled by the last comment made, “what was that last one? Stoner boyfriend? You mean… Lucas Greene?”
“ Yeah, yeah,” the voice retorts with a snort, “whatever his name his. He has a street fight with Azrael, and he's going to get his f**king stoner ass beat good!”
Lucas can only stop and think as hard as he can. Wasn't he already finished up with CWF. He's certain he had met all his contractual obligations… and it dawns on him.
“Oh snap,” Lucas shudders, remembering the deal he struck with management, “I totally spaced on that match I agreed to!”
In the hurry of all hurries, Lucas launches himself out of his chair and raced for the bedroom door.
“MOOOM!?” Lucas cries out at the top of his lungs, “WHERE IS MY WRESTLING GEAR??? AND CAN I BORROW MONEY TO GO TO NEW YORK???”
With that, Lucas disappears out into the hallway in search of funds and fashions to pack for his trip back across the country.
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."