Gravedigger Jane stewed in the middle row next to the aisle
of the college auditorium, a place that was nearly packed with hee-hawers and
pot smokers. She wished she could have some pot to soothe her boiling anger,
but if she tested positive for it, it could mean the end of her college boxing
career. Instead she pulled a metal flask out of her hooded vest and took a swig
of booze. She shook her head at the hypocrisy of allowing alcohol but banning
marijuana. What the fuck was that all about? No matter what her drug of choice
was, hopefully it would get her through this god-awful performance.
As Jane relaxed in her seat with her sneakered feet on the
empty chair in front of her, the madness was about to begin. Royal trumpets
blasted over the sound system and almost gave her a migraine. While holding her
ears with her taped hands, she turned around to see why such ludicrous music
was playing at an obnoxious volume. There he was in all of his nose-in-the-air
arrogance: Chris Duncan riding a horse while wearing a musketeer outfit: a blue
tunic with a crucifix on it, black leather pants, knee-high brown boots, and a
fedora with a feather in it. His bloated neckless bodyguards were also dressed
in musketeer garb.
Chris swung his thin blade and pointed it at Jane before
giving her a saucy smile and a wink. Jane responded with a shake of her head
and a bruised middle finger, to which Mr. Duncan gave a royal belly laugh. The
audience around her didn’t know whether to cheer or boo, so they just sat in
wide-eyed silence. Then again, that could have been the pot talking. Jane took
another swig of booze as Chris dismounted his horse and slapped it on the ass
to send it trotting out of the theater. The speaker took the center of the
stage with his bouncers standing at the edge, arms folded and attitudes in
check.
The speaker adjusted the mini-microphone on his tunic and
said, “Testing, testing, one, two, three.” Sure enough, everybody could hear
him loud and clear as evidenced by the mixture of cheers and boos. The initial
shock of Chris Duncan coming down in a musketeer outfit war off in a big
fucking hurry once they figured out what he really came to talk about. Knowing
that time was near, Gravedigger Jane took yet another swig and let out a
monstrous burp.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” opened Mr. Duncan. “You’re probably
wondering why I’m out here dressed as a musketeer. Two reasons: one, the
musketeer has always been a symbol of loyalty to king and country. I’m loyal to
my country and I would like to make it great again, if you know what I mean!”
The mixed reaction blasted through the arena once again, but Gravedigger Jane
sat still and clicked her knuckles.
Pacing around the stage and swinging his saber, Chris said,
“The other reason I’m wearing this outfit is because it doesn’t look anywhere
near as ridiculous as the dresses men put on to pass as women. You’ve got big
ass men with neck beards going down to their knees walking into women’s
bathrooms and locker rooms and this university doesn’t do a damn thing about
it! It’s time we scrubbed this politically correct filth from college campuses
everywhere! Political correctness is a threat to our free speech rights in the
same way these so called transgender students are a threat to our purity! And
while we’re at it, let’s get rid of the rest of the fag population!”
While the auditorium unleashed a firestorm of half-cheers
and half-boos, Gravedigger Jane’s muscles were bulging in red hot anger. Her
teeth were clamped tightly enough to make her granite jaw ache. She popped both
of her wrists while staring bullets into Chris Duncan. The sick prick pointed
his musketeer sword at her and she knew it was time to get her violence on, but
not just yet.
“You see that man slash woman over there? Boxing fans might
know that person as Gravedigger Jane. But I know him as Kevin Ferguson!”
snapped Chris. The combination of hearing her old name along with the
catcalling of the crowd caused the blood vessels in Jane’s eyes to pop like hot
air balloons.
Chris had only begun his verbal assault. “Thanks to your
school’s lenient policy on gay crap, Kevin over here can waltz into a woman’s
locker room without so much as a bat of the eye! He can swing his dick around
like a baseball bat and let his nuts hang down to his feet in front of all
those poor women! Not only that, but he can punch out women legally and split
their skulls down the middle! You call this equality?! I call it bullshit!
You’re a fucking man, Kevin! You will always be a man!”
The guffaws of laughter, the screaming, the vulgarity of
Chris Duncan’s speech, they all led to the tightly-muscled, predatory-faced,
and stone-fisted Gravedigger Jane to pop out of her seat and storm down the
aisle towards the stage. The fat bouncers formed a blockade between Chris and
Jane while the former dropped his saber and backed off, screaming, “Whoa!”
multiple times in rapid fire succession. Jane breathed heavily and punched her
fists together while the students chanted, “Fight!” repeatedly.
“Easy there, Kimbo Slice!” shouted Chris. “You’re not going
to do a damn thing to me! This is America and I’ve got free speech
until the day I die! Nobody’s making you be here! Go run off to your safe
space, little boy!” To add spice to his already flaming rhetoric, Chris stood
on the edge of the stage and pointed his chin out to the crowd. “You want to
hit me so badly, go right ahead! I’ll sue the shit out of you and have you
blackballed from the sport! Come on, tough nuts! Throw a big one! Knock my ass
out!”
“I’d love to knock your ass out, you little turd biscuit!”
shouted Gravedigger Jane. Despite the raucous noise of the crowd, she was as
audible as every news pundit who liked to turn it up to eleven. She even threw
her hood back and revealed her corn-rowed hair and rolled back demonic eyes. Chris’s
own eyes were wide with horror as he slowly backed away while Jane gave her
oratory.
Jane continued with, “I paid for my tuition by beating
people up! I’ll punch you so fucking hard you’ll be shitting teeth for two
weeks straight!” Using her taped hand for visual references, she gritted her
own teeth and throatily bellowed, “Your nose will be stapled to the back of
your head! Your eyes will explode like little hand grenades! Your brain will
splatter like a bucket of paint! I’m not even sure you’ll have a fucking head
by the time I’m done with you!”
Chris slipped on his ass and convulsed in terror as the
students chanted, “Fight!” some more. Gravedigger Jane looked like one of her
punches could tear this whole building down. She looked like a simple left jab
could turn these bouncers into protoplasmic jelly. She was ready to start
swinging and show why she was a multiple time boxing champion.
But then a tear rolled down her cheek and her bear trap jaw
trembled and ached with sorrow. Once that one tear rolled down, several more
followed. The levies in her eyes broke in the same way her heart did. With a
shaky voice, she said, “You’re right about one thing, though: if I punch you or
your bouncers out…I could lose my career. I could lose my scholarship. I could
lose everything. You’re not worth it. You’re loud and stupid as hell, but
you’re not worth it. I…I…um…”
The avalanche of tears interrupted her passionate speech to
where all she could do was storm out of the theater with half of the students
chanting, “Get a job!” in succession. She slammed the door behind her and
plopped backwards against the brick wall. The tears wouldn’t stop coming. They
raged on and on while all Gravedigger Jane could do was punch the bricks behind
her and scream with no audience…except for the horse.
“What are you looking at? Huh?” asked Jane with trembling
lips, the same trembling lips that took yet another swig of booze. And another.
And another. The horse gazed at her with innocent puppy dog eyes and Jane said,
“Aw, fuck it, you can have some too.” She gently poured some booze into the
horse’s mouth and watched it drink the last of the liquid courage. “That’s some
strong shit, isn’t it. It’s not doing a damn thing for me right now, but oh
well.”
As Jane tucked the flask in her vest, the horse started
shaking its head and neighing in a thunderous voice. The transgender boxer
watched the erratic behavior turn into violent galloping and said, “What the
hell?” More neighing and more galloping ensued before the lightweight drunken
horse stormed inside the theater to the sounds of horrified screams.
Jane placed her ear against the door and heard even more
heavenly sounds: furniture being destroyed, bones shattering, even Chris Duncan
and his bouncers couldn’t help but cry like bitches in pain and terror. She
even heard Chris yell, “Why, sweet god, why?!” The next “Why?” he let out was
more like a child’s whine and less like a brave and mighty musketeer. This put
a smile on Jane’s face as she wiped away the tears.
She was nearly bowled over as students flooded all exists in
an attempt to escape the drunken horse’s mad kicking. Soon enough the horse
itself chased after a winded bouncer and toppled him before stomping the shit
out of the poor bastard. Jane’s smile was even bigger than before and her rainy
tears were all but gone.
As soon as the doorway was cleared, she peeked inside and
saw broken bodies of students and bouncers lying about in total agony while
theater chairs were splintered into nothing. Chris Duncan huddled in the fetal
position while holding his groin and coughing up blood. He cried like a baby as
he met Jane’s warrior gaze.
“For the record,” Jane shouted. “I didn’t lay a finger on
you! Your stupid horse did! I guess the horse won’t have a boxing career after
all! Maybe that big ass thing shouldn’t be trotting into women’s locker rooms
with his saber sticking out! Adios, amigo!” Gravedigger Jane blew Chris Duncan
a kiss before shutting the door behind her and leaving her haters covered in
blood and darkness. Freedom of speech wasn’t free. In fact, the price was
higher than Chris’s new soprano voice.
