"A Lion's Tale" by Chris Jericho

BOOK TITLE: A Lion’s Tale: Around the World in Spandex

AUTHOR: Chris Jericho (with Peter Thomas Fornatale)

YEAR: 2007

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Pro-Wrestling Memoir

GRADE: Pass

From humble beginnings in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada to landing his dream job in the WWE, Chris Jericho details the many hardships and hilarious moments he went through on his quest to be a well-known professional wrestler. As a child, he would watch Hulk Hogan, The British Bulldogs, and the Hart Family on TV and in the arenas dominating their competition and putting on a show. This prompted Jericho to want to train at the infamous Hart Dungeon, where students were pushed to their breaking point with painful submission holds and wrestling tactics. Jericho would continue to gain experience around the world in places like Mexico, Japan, Germany, and eventually in the good old US of A. It was only a matter of time until the Titan Tron counted down the seconds before Y2J’s official entrance into the WWE. A legend was born that night.

If you’ve ever wanted to know what the wrestling business was like behind the curtain, Chris Jericho was more than happy to tell you in his memoir. Every aspiring wrestler had to have an extreme amount of physical and mental toughness in order to take as many athletic risks as they do. Jericho didn’t even have a breaking point when it came to the abuse he took. Knowing how to wrestle was only the first half. The second half of what the industry entails is having the business sense and creativity to negotiate yourself into winning predicaments and having a good gimmick to go with them. Chris Jericho comes off as an encyclopedia of this kind of knowledge, which is one of the reasons he’s a respected legend in the industry today.

Of course, the other thing that made this book memorable was his quick-paced, humorous writing style. He can get away with using pop culture references and one-liner jokes, because neither of those two things bogs down the storytelling. Even the laziest reader could get through all five-hundred plus pages of this book and feel like a champion afterwards. Chris Jericho knows what the people want and it’s a chuckle-worthy and delightfully-honest memoir. An example of his sense of humor comes when he gets in a brawl with a former convict and says, “I’m going to throw hands with you Winnipeg style!” What the hell does that even mean? Yes, the ex-convict was laughing too. If the reader was to flip to a random page in the book, he would find a lighthearted line somewhere in there, even during some of the dour moments of the book. Never a dull moment!

The only gripe I have about this book is so minor that it doesn’t take away from the four stars I plan on giving it. I would have liked to see him go into a little more detail about some of his wrestling matches. I’m sure a few descriptions of the choreography and storytelling wouldn’t have slowed the pace down at all. When I read Ronda Rousey’s memoir earlier this year, she went into full detail about how she beat the crap out of her opponents on the judo mats and in the MMA cage. While Chris Jericho could easily be just as descriptive, it’s not the biggest flaw this book has. In fact, any reader will enjoy it no matter what walk of life he comes from.

Do you like stories about overcoming adversity, toughing it out, and making dreams come true in the end? Look no further than “A Lion’s Tale” by Chris Jericho. It’s fast, intelligent, and hilarious throughout the whole thing. The sorrowful moments are few and far between, but they’re still important to this man’s story and the writing about them was executed perfectly. There are a few people who would be uncomfortable with Chris Jericho constantly praising Chris Benoit (a wrestler who murdered his wife and son before committing suicide in 2007). However, as the author’s not clearly states, this book was published before Chris Benoit’s double murder-suicide, so Jericho had no way of knowing what the hell was going to happen. If you’re really bothered that much Benoit’s presence in the book, toughen up like Chris Jericho has throughout his career. This is an awesome book and you shouldn’t expect anything less from the former six-time WWE Champion and nine-time Intercontinental Champion.

Evil Men

VERSE 1

She doesn’t owe you her body or mind

A definitive no is all that you’ll find

But you transform from man into monster

Your next move is an act of dishonor

You take everything she has in one night

Her virginity, her soul, and her inner light

It’s time to make an example out of you

Your punishment for rape will reign true

CHORUS 1

Evil men walk this scorched earth

Evil men give demons their birth

Evil men get away with everything

Evil men manipulate the evidence

VERSE 2

A slap on the wrist, a suspended sentence

Your victim is dishonorably mentioned

You used every excuse for wicked abuse

The raging public now has a broken fuse

Alcohol, clothing, flirtatious behavior

You act like you’re some sexual savior

You are a threat to women and children

If you don’t traumatize them, you kill them

CHORUS 2

Evil men don’t take responsibility

Evil men claim so-called divinity

Evil men walk away with smiles

Evil men cover up their guile

BRIDGE

The gravy train has made its last stop

Take your luggage and get the fuck off

You’re a dead man in the very worst sense

Your assassin doesn’t work for dollars and cents

VERSE 3

You’ve effectively placed a bounty on your head

For all of the violence and the shit you’ve said

Revenge is the greatest thing since sliced bread

Bang, bang, motherfucker! Your ass is dead!

CHORUS 3

Evil men will get what they deserve

Evil men won’t be able to swerve

Evil men get locked in a cell

Evil men spend their lives in hell

So this is how the story will end

You have no allies, family, or friends

Take your medicine like a man

Your evil ass is forever damned

Quicksand Dance Floor

VERSE 1

When you stand next to her, you start to shiver

You feel the coldness of a raging white river

You feel the illness of a rollercoaster rider

You feel the depression, you’re sick and tired

Shrug it off; it’s just a first world problem

You and the world have nothing in common

Put it in perspective, because it works every time

Ignore the heartache and the tears in your eyes

CHORUS 1

This is your life for the next thirty years

This is your sadness for the next hundred tears

Welcome to the quicksand dance floor, my friend

You lost your soul to a coming of age trend

VERSE 2

You missed your chance to be a bona fide stud

Now everyone is laughing at you like Elmer Fudd

Dante could never survive this brutal comedy

You could never survive this mental sodomy

You kick yourself repeatedly for never being brave

To your own disaster, you are the humble slave

Don’t worry, you wouldn’t want her anyways

She’ll scream in your ear every night and every day

CHORUS 2

This is your life until you’re old and cold

You always did as your detractors told

Welcome to the quicksand dance floor, old man

The corner is there, do something with your hands

BRIDGE

It’s too late to take her hand

It’s too late to join her band

It’s too late to rise from the sand

Your magnum opus was critically panned

VERSE 3

Turn back the clock to the very last hour

Before you kicked the bouquet and became sour

A simple question for the lovely lady

Yes or no? You could settle for maybe

CHORUS 3

This is your life with your newfound wife

You’re wearing a suit, she’s wearing white

Turn your back to the quicksand dance floor

Run wild and free while asking for more

Current Events

***CURRENT EVENTS***

You would think that with all of the political poetry and short stories I post that I would be more active when it comes to talking about current events. Truth is I don’t like talking about current events at all. I might make a few posts on my friends and family’s Face Book memes, but that’s about it. It’s not because I don’t care about tragedies. It’s because if I do talk about them, I’m going to sound like a ticking time bomb instead of a reasonable human being. A lot of these news stories make me angry, but not nearly as angry as the disgusting reactions to them on the internet and in the media.

I don’t intentionally engage people on the internet about recent stories because I’d rather people learn to get along than argue furiously with each other. Whenever there’s a story about gun violence in America, we don’t all come together and be the good neighbors we should be. Instead, we get all fired up about the second amendment, free states, and all this other ridiculous nonsense that has nothing to do with love or understanding each other. After I posted a story called “Putting the Ass in Assault Rifle” online, you should all know by now how I feel about gun control, but that’s not the point of this journal.

For just one moment, can we all come together and be friends and neighbors to each other instead of pushing and shoving to be the loudest person in the group? Is it too much to ask to give each other hugs and hair fuzzles, maybe even a few kisses? Am I really demanding a lot out of you when I ask that you pet your kitties and belly rub your puppies? Positivity isn’t just a new age buzz word; it’s a way of life for those who refuse to become bitter at the world over news stories.

Being positive doesn’t mean we should feel happy for doing nothing. Being positive means we have the power to change the world for the better. You don’t have to be Superman or Batman in order to change things. Hell, you don’t even have to be a character from Mr. Robot. Even the smallest gestures can have the biggest impact. You could donate money to the victims’ families, whether it’s ten dollars or five hundred. You could post heartfelt and honest songs on your Face Book page. You could give a hug to someone who has been deeply affected by the tragedy. No one person can do everything, but everybody can do something. If everybody does something positive on a regular basis, that’s a lot of good deeds that the world will remember for almost eternity.

We’ve got ears, say cheers! I say that all the time whenever I write a journal entry. I stole it from a Disney-themed kids show called Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Such simple words are one of my small contributions to a happier world. It’s microscopic at best, but as long as one person gets the message, it’ll spread to everyone eventually, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it’ll happen one of these days.

***SLIPKNOT X MARILYN MANSON CONCERT***

This past Saturday, I was expected to see Slipknot and Marilyn Manson in concert at the White River Amphitheater in Auburn, WA. Unfortunately, the concert date was moved to August 11^th because the lead singer for Slipknot, Corey Taylor, had to have emergency spinal surgery. Keeping with the theme of positivity, instead of complaining about a postponed concert, I’m going to wish Corey Taylor a speedy recovery. I’m not sure if he’ll want hair fuzzles, though. Hehe!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

For this week’s contest, the admins decided to use one of my prompt suggestions, which I’m thankful for. The theme is “Stained Glass” and my story is called “Vampire Empire”. It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Michael Finn, Vampire Warrior

Paul Singer, Devil Worshiper

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The satanic church has stained glass windows.

SYNOPSIS: Michael needs a place to stay during the day so that he doesn’t burn up. Paul offers him sanctuary in his satanic church, but on one condition. Reverend Singer wants Michael to turn him into a vampire so that he can have the powers necessary to take over the world and spread satanic culture wherever he goes. Michael tries to explain to Paul that being a vampire isn’t as glorious or powerful as it seems. The reverend gets offended to where he threatens to kick his guest out of the church.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next is the eponymous King Blizzard, who will look a lot like Sabertooth from the X-Men series because I used an action figure of him to represent that character when I played with my childhood friend Lance. Over the decades, Blizzard went from being an indestructible giant to a guy who sat on a pile of furniture and punctured his intestines. Ouch!

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call a fuzzy doll modeled after Daniel Bryan?

A: B-Plush Player.

The Cryomancer

Olivia Snow could feel the frozen energy surging through her body. A cool breeze blew past her and little snowflakes were descending upon her. To this elf wizard dressed in black ninja gear, this form of magic was known as cryomancy. She had spent tireless years perfecting this beautiful, yet deadly art. With the eight-foot tall fat-ass obnoxious ogre standing in front of her with a bloody smile on his face, Olivia knew she had to be ready to use it at a moment’s notice.

The ogre swung its mighty club down upon Olivia, but the elf cartwheeled out of the way and allowed the heavy weapon to create a spider web crack in the stone ground. The ogre continued to swing with wild rage and unquenchable bloodlust, smashing down trees all in the name of trying to hit this swift ice maiden. She flipped and flopped away from every powerful strike.

When it was her turn to strike, she extended her fingertips and blasted the gigantic weapon with an icy mist. The weapon went from being a gigantic popsicle to diamond dust as it shattered after the ogre dropped it. The monstrous warrior flexed his muscles and roared to the sky in his loudest voice.

Olivia shook her head no at the raving beast and blasted him with a gigantic glacial spike, piercing him through his black heart. Even then the ogre was able to rip out the spike and scream in fury some more. Even though he was bleeding profusely from his chest, he yelled out, “Is that the best you’ve got, woman?! You’re a dead bitch!”

The ogre stampeded his way toward the now vulnerable cryomancer, creating impressions and craters in the ground with every thunderous step. Olivia flipped backwards onto a treetop and rained down smaller glacial spikes upon her opponent. This time he bled even more profusely and his tough guy mentality couldn’t save him from becoming a limp and lifeless corpse on the ground. Once the ogre hit the floor and his blood splattered everywhere, his body crumbled into snowflakes and the wind blew him away.

Olivia Snow sat down on the tree branch and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She was so exhausted that she could have fallen asleep in that tree. And then the familiar pounding footsteps rang out across the forest and the elf wizard opened her dreary eyes to see at least five more of these hideous ogres lusting for her death. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” she said to herself. She even stood up on the tree branch and yelled to the sky, “Julian, what the hell is wrong with you! Give me a goddamn break!”

In a small apartment in Hollywood, California, Julian Kane took a break from writing his epic screenplay at the computer and asked, “Did that bitch really just talk to me?” He tried to shake off the tiredness in his eyes and even slapped his own face for good measure. The harder the screenwriter tried to wake up, the more he slacked backwards and snored.

After letting out a ferocious yawn, the scraggly haired and pajama-dressed Julian dragged himself out of his seat and headed toward the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He looked blurrily at the clock on the stove and said, “No fucking way” when he realized he had been writing and editing that script from the early morning to the dark of night.

He would have gladly gone to bed if it wasn’t for the fact that this movie script was due tomorrow morning at the director’s office. Instead he made his pot of coffee like he set out to do. When he poured it in a cup and tried to drink it however, it was colder than a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. It even triggered sensitivities in his teeth. “Goddamn, man, I need to get to bed,” Julian said to himself. He absentmindedly threw the cold coffee into the sink and shattered his mug.

Mr. Kane got to his bedroom doorway and sobbed to himself when he realized he couldn’t go to bed until his movie script was finished. What broke him out of his sobbing spell was looking out the window and seeing a snowstorm outside. That’s right: a snowstorm in Hollywood, California in June. “What the fuck is going on here?” he said.

Julian trudged back to his computer to put the finishing touches on his masterpiece. He heard a familiar feminine voice ask him, “Do you really think pitting that many ogres against me will make me the strong feminine hero everybody wants to see? There’s a difference between paying your dues and being screwed over. Nobody will want to watch this movie.”

“Jesus, lady, what the fuck do you know about screenwriting? It’s an art form. Besides, if you beat all those ogres, I’m sure…” Julian’s dialogue was cut off by him chattering his teeth. “Goddamn, it’s cold in here.”

“Yes, Julian, I agree. I am after all a cryomancer. That is what your movie will eventually be called, right? How do you think it’s going to do at the box office if I somehow get a fluke victory in an fight a clearly can’t win? All the ice magic in the world isn’t going to save me from getting stepped on or pounded into the ground. Then again, what kind of a hero would I be if I could just the entire world’s population into ice cream sandwiches?”

Julian formed a confused look on his face and asked, “Wait a minute, why am I talking to my own character? You’re not even real. Besides, you don’t get to question me and my decision making. You’re a character. You do what you’re told and that’s it!”

One of the windows in his apartment shattered and snow began covering his carpeted floor. Julian Kane looked on with saucer-like eyes and a trembling jaw. “No! This isn’t real! There’s no such thing as cryomancy! It’s all bullshit! You hear that, Olivia? You’re no different from Pinocchio or the Three Little Pigs! You’re a cartoon and nothing more!”

His front door was the next thing to burst open and the snowstorm followed, turning the entire apartment into a winter wonderland. Standing in the doorway with glowing blue eyes, black ninja garb, and blue energy forming at her fingertips was none other than Olivia Snow. She pointed at the convulsing Julian and said, “You’re no screenwriter and you will not be the author to my pain!”

From her fingertips, she shot a tightly-packed snowball and pinged Julian in his stomach, causing him to double over and clutch his wound. Another snowball flew his direction and hit him in the shoulder. Another came and hit him in the leg. The final blow was smack dab in the middle of his forehead, which caused him to flip around and land flat on his back. His breathing was shallow and his vision was fading.

Olivia knelt down beside his victim and whispered in his ear, “You’re the hero of my screenplay now. If you can get through this, you can get through anything. So what are you going to do about all of this? Are you going to pay your dues or are you going to break like a little bitch?” The elf bit down hard on Julian’s earlobe and drew blood.

That was the sharp pain that awakened the screenwriter from his dream while hunched over his keyboard. Julian’s neck and back were sore from the awkward sleeping position and his eyes were blurry as he tried to read his computer screen. “Screw the director. I’m going to bed. This is bullshit.”

Julian stood up and fished around in his pajama pocket for his smart phone. As soon as his eyes adjusted, he speed dialed the number for his director. He wasn’t picking up, so the screenwriter left a zombie-like message. “Hey. It’s Julian Kane. Listen, I’m not going to be able to get you the script for The Cryomancer tomorrow. I’ve been exhausted lately trying to figure out my own plot holes and shit. Well, that and doing all of these media tours you keep booking me for. I’m going to bed for the evening. You’ll get your movie script in a couple of days, maybe even a week. If you don’t like the timetable, then quit exhausting the shit out of me. Bye!”

Mr. Kane tossed his smart phone on the couch and did his zombie walk back to his bedroom. He didn’t bother brushing his teeth or taking his medication. He just plopped on the bed and covered himself up.

He felt an icy hand on his shoulder and a gentle whisper in his ear from a familiar feminine voice. “You made the right decision, honey.”

“You’re damn right I did. Wait a minute, what?” said Julian as he flipped over to see who was in his bed. It was nobody. His mind was playing tricks on him again even when he agreed to go to sleep. He tiredly laughed it off and covered up his head. He snored and drooled like a tranquilized animal, though he kept wondering why his ear was scarring over and why there was blood on his pillow.

The snow continued to fall over the magical city of Hollywood. Magic? What kind of magic? It wouldn’t happen to be cryomancy, would it?

Dark Fantasy Gimmicks in Wrestling

***DARK FANTASY GIMMICKS IN WRESTLING***

There actually used to be a time in the history of professional wrestling where everybody took it seriously and didn’t question its fictitious nature. When Hulk Hogan body slammed Andre the Giant, it was a proud American moment. When the N.W.O. took over WCW, it felt like being a part of the battlefield. Suspending disbelief was as easy with professional wrestling as it was with movies and television shows. And then the internet boomed with popularity and everyone was finding out wrestling’s dirty little secrets. Chris Jericho says in his first memoir “A Lion’s Tale” that being a wrestling fan in the 1980’s is different from being one in the 2000’s.

Before the internet became as popular as it is now, were dark fantasy gimmicks to blame for the inability to suspend disbelief? Many wrestling insiders thought so. In 1992, a voodoo priest named Papa Shango used to cast spells on his opponents and make them shake and vomit into unconsciousness. Instead of being feared by adults, he was given the following awards from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter that year: Worst Gimmick, Most Embarrassing Wrestler, and Worst Feud of the Year (vs. The Ultimate Warrior).

Then again, the WON is the same publication that gave The Undertaker the Best Gimmick award from the years 1990 to 1994 for being an undead wrestler. We all know zombies don’t exist in the real world (unless they’re extremely tired or high on drugs), but how was The Undertaker more believable and likeable than Papa Shango? This is a guy who made lightning crash all around him, who put his opponents in body bags and caskets, and teleported to the ring at will when the lights went out.

What’s my opinion of occult gimmicks in wrestling? You should all know by now just from reading my stories that I love the dark fantasy genre and therefore have no problem with seeing those kinds of characters in wrestling. Yes, wrestling is supposed to be believable, but that doesn’t mean it always is. If it works in movies like Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and the upcoming Warcraft, why can’t it work in WWE? Kayfabe died a long time ago when Scott Hall, Kevin Nash, Triple H, and Shawn Michaels hugged each other in Madison Square Garden back in the 1990’s.

You’re probably going to think I’m crazy for saying this, but I actually enjoyed the Stardust gimmick. He came to the ring with silver paint on his face, a black jumpsuit, and a red cape with spikes for shoulder pads. That’s some serious dark fantasy shit right there! Yet in 2015, the readership of the WON voted Stardust as having the Worst Gimmick of that year. Cody Rhodes got so upset with portraying Stardust that he recently asked for his release from WWE and was granted it along side his wife Eden Stiles. Poor Cody. Poor, poor Cody.

And then you have some more dark fantasy creative fuel with The Wyatt Family, a backwoods cult consisting of 300 lb. giants with scraggly beards and dingy clothes. I guess The Wyatt Family was a little more realistic than other dark fantasy gimmicks, because cults do exist in this world. Maybe that’s why The Wyatt Family won Best Gimmick in 2013. But then why would Bray Wyatt, the leader of the group, get nominated for a Worst Gimmick award in 2014? Wasn’t he doing the same things he was doing a year earlier?

I don’t see why wrestling fans get their knickers in a twist over dark fantasy gimmicks in the WWE or any other organization. It didn’t bother them when they were playing Diablo II on their computers. It didn’t bother them when they were gathering around the table playing D&D and eating Doritos. It won’t bother anybody who eventually goes to see the new Warcraft movie, which I’m dying to see. So why should it be bothersome in WWE? We know it’s fiction, so why not go the full nine?

Combining dark fantasy elements with professional wrestling is basically what I’ve done when I wrote and published “Occupy Wrestling”. Mitch McLeod, a professional wrestler with the body of Mike Haggar and the hair of Goku, kicks the asses of and gets his ass kicked by skeletons, ogres, orcs, demons, devils, and even a group of hooded mask-wearers called The Snakes of Jehovah. I actually had a beta reader named Layla who told me that combining urban fantasy with pro-wrestling was a bad idea. I had two chick lit-reading women give my book a two-star rating. Thank god I have people like Marie Krepps (Babe-a-Licious Mondo), Edward Davies (The Delightful Brit), and Andy Peloquin (The Kick-Ass Canadian) who believe in me and my ideas.

In fact, now that I’m almost finished editing the shit out of Occupy Wrestling with Marie, she’s given me some valuable advice that I’ll definitely take to heart. Once it’s been republished, I should market it to people who are both wrestling and fantasy fans, who will most likely be males ages 20-29. I may have to search far and wide for these people, but they’re worth finding, because they’ll love what I’ve got. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Marie. It’s a debt I can never repay in my lifetime.

So what about it, Dave Meltzer (the Editor at Large for the Wrestling Observer Newsletter)? What awards will you give Mitch McLeod? Wrestler of the year? Feud of the year (vs. Keegan Day)? Dare I say, Most Overrated or Worst Gimmick? I sincerely hope the newest version of Occupy Wrestling makes it in the mailboxes of some of these wrestling insiders. They may be harder to get a hold of than the 20 to 29-year-old males, but it would satisfy my curiosity at least. It would be worth it to hear Jim Cornette scream in his Kentucky drawl. Hehe! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

The new contest is already here and I’m damn well ready for it. Speaking of dark fantasy, I have yet another short story ready with the suffix “mancer” in the title. The theme this week is “Dark Truth” and my story will be called “The Cryomancer” (a wizard who controls ice). It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Julian Kane, Human Screenwriter

Olivia Snow, Elf Cryomancer

PROMPT CONFORMITY: After being exhausted by his relentless work schedule, Julian’s fried brain doesn’t now what the dark truth is anymore.

SYNOPSIS: Julian’s latest movie script features Olivia as a fictional character as she does battle with an army of orcs. In the middle of writing, Olivia starts talking to Julian as if she was a real person. The exhausted screenwriter figures that it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, but when it starts hailing outside and his apartment becomes unexplainably cold, he begins to think that maybe Olivia’s requests for a lighter battle schedule seem reasonable.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Continuing with the theme of dark fantasy, my next drawing will be of someone who in no way can cast a decent spell. His weapon of choice is a modified blunderbuss and his diet of choice is meat from the carcasses of the game animals he kills. He is a chubby motherfucker named Joseph Stone and he comes straight from the short story “Unleash the Animal”. Stinger Crushwar may have been the most obnoxious character in that story, but never forget who the real villain is. That’s right, Joseph, I’m looking at you, fat boy!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“All my life they let me know how far I would not go. But inside the beast still grows, waiting, chewing through the ropes. Who are you to change this world? Silly boy! No one needs to hear your words. Let it go. Carnivore! Carnivore! Won’t you come digest me? Take away everything I am. Bring it to an end. Carnivore! Carnivore! Won’t you come and change me? Take away everything I am. Everything I am.”

-Starset singing “Carnivore”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

It’s just a coincidence that the next Dark Fantasy Warrior is a guy who eats too much meat and the lyrics of the day come from a song called “Carnivore”. Then again, I just ate a whole Meat Lover’s Pizza from Pizza Hut earlier today, so maybe it’s not much of a coincidence anymore.

Subway Smackdown

The damage to Venice Reyes’ car was sickening: side view mirrors shattered into pebbles, the windshield reduced to snowflakes, the metal twisted and bent, the tires punctured, and the top of the car caved in completely. What other method of transportation was there to get her to her next modeling gig? As she thought of the ultimate answer, her stomach burned with anxiety and her skin welled up with goose bumps. She had to take the subway train. She threw up in her mouth a little bit at the thought of it.

Venice boarded the train wearing a red cocktail dress and black heels, obviously dressing for the job she had. She wasn’t onboard for a few seconds when the stench finally assaulted her nostrils: monstrous body odor, stale food, vomit, urine, and shit. The sexy model contributed to this mess when she doubled over and threw up bile on the already disgusting floor.

The monsters, orcs, ogres, and goblins riding the train with her laughed like hyenas with sore throats. Venice gave them all a frightened smile as she grabbed onto one of the overhead hand railings, struggling to keep herself standing straight. The subway train lurched forward and the model fell right on her ass into the puddle she puked up. The slimy skinned and diaper odor monsters laughed yet again at her plight, this time causing her to shed a few silent tears.

Venice once again grabbed hold of the railing and managed to stay up this time. Her dress was a disaster. How was she supposed to do a convincing photo shoot with her clothes in such horrible condition? She needed the money, smashed car aside. If only she could have caught the bastard who did that to her vehicle. Venice was a lover, not a fighter, but even she would have been capable of reducing a punk ass vandal to blood chunks if given the opportunity. Damn that vandal and damn this subway!

After a few minutes of being lost in her own thoughts, she was accosted by a throaty laugh behind her. She begged whatever god was up there that the monster wasn’t interested in her. She slowly turned around with tears in her eyes and snot in her nose to see a seven foot tall piece of bloody meat named Khan Shou, a famous boxer she had seen on television a few times when there was nothing else on.

Television didn’t do Khan justice. Venice looked like a small child standing next to him. His shark-toothed grin sent chills up her spine. His swollen red body was dripping with green slime. Venice secretly begged for this subway ride to be over, but it was just beginning.

“You must be Venice Reyes. Yeah, you’re definitely her! I’m a big fan of your work!” said Khan as he held out a magazine with her on the cover. The publication was covered in red and green goops as well as goop from a more intimate place. “Will you give me an autograph? I’ll pay you whatever you want: fifty credits, a hundred credits, two-hundred credits, hell, I’ll give you my life savings if you’re willing to do a little more for me!” Khan licked his lipless mouth with a combination of hunger and lust.

The model stared at her monstrous assailant with wide eyes, a quivering body, and a terrified smile as she held up her hands defensively and slowly backed away, obviously giving a no answer. As she backpedaled, she tripped over a homeless orc’s legs, prompting the passengers to laugh at her some more and prompting the orc to yell, “Watch it, bitch!”

Venice gently and apologetically giggled at the orc before standing up and stumbling toward the women’s bathroom, slamming the door and locking it tightly. Compared to the outside of the bathroom, this tiny stall smelled like a botanical garden. Venice used this opportunity to take deep breaths in and out and enjoy the beautiful air. She sat down on the toilet shaking and clutching her knees to her chest, still feeling the trauma of riding this subway.

Khan ripped the door off the bathroom and tossed it aside like it was a piece of paper, not caring who he hit with it. Venice screamed in horror as the seven foot creature said to her, “It’s not exactly the mile-high club. More like the six-feet under club. Either way, I’m a happy guy. Come on, pretty girl, what do you say? Are you ready for some goddamn fun?!”

“Hey, shit head!” yelled the homeless orc from before, who was now sporting a giant lump on his forehead. “Watch where you’re throwing that fucking door! You almost gave me a concussion, asshole!”

“Who are you calling an asshole, you queer?!” yelled Khan as he and the orc were pushing and shoving each other with the subway passengers cheering them on like animals.

Venice had spent most of the time covering her face in fear until she saw an opportunity. While Khan was distracted, the model got on her knees and crawled beneath the monster’s oversized legs. She then stood back up and ran towards the back exit of the subway. As Khan yelled for her to get back to where he was, Venice didn’t care if the subway was still in transit. Her modeling gig was over the minute she boarded this god-awful train.

She continued to run until she jumped through the back window and landed on the train tracks. The subway train left her behind while she was lying on the tracks covered in glass and blood. Venice was slipping in and out of consciousness while crying softly to herself. She may have gotten to safety, but that didn’t mean her troubles were over. She needed money in the most desperate way. She needed to buy a new car, get a new apartment, and get food in her stomach. She was sure to be late to her modeling gig, not that she was in any condition to be there anyways.

After what seemed like centuries of lying on the train tracks, Venice Reyes slowly picked herself off the ground, pieces of subway glass getting imbedded into her once lovely hands and knees. When she stood, she was on wobbly legs. When she walked, she struggled to stay upright.

“You look like you just had the world’s greatest orgy!” said a familiar throaty voice behind her. Venice silently said, “Oh no!” to herself over and over again as she turned around and saw Khan Shou smiling at her from a short distance. The hideous circus freak thudded and thumped on the train tracks as he stalked his sexual prey, licking his lips like he was about to eat a slab of prime rib.

Venice started running down the tunnel despite wearing heels and despite being in bloody pain. In her mind, she was running faster than a cheetah bolting through the African plains. She looked like a bolt of lightning flashing through the sky. She was a blur to the naked eye. She could see the boarding platform and it looked like the gates of heaven with the light shining down upon it. With one mighty leap, she grabbed hold of the edge and attempted to pull herself to safety.

And then she felt the chokingly tight grip of Khan Shou’s monstrous paws clutching her ankle. Venice screamed at her highest pitch, but nobody was around to hear her, not even the transit cops. She pulled her leg as hard as she could, but her diminutive strength was no match for the vice-like grip of the hellacious ring warrior, who whispered at her sexually and clicked his tongue.

So this was what the life of a famous sex icon was like in a dystopian world. Even in a normal world, Venice would have been treated like a sex slave to the public. Was putting her body out there really worth all of this unwanted attention? Of course not, which was why she took off the high heeled shoe on her good leg and jammed the stiletto in Khan’s left eye.

For a guy who was a brutal ring warrior, Khan showed a childlike lack of toughness when he danced around clutching his smashed eyeball. He screamed and bled all over the train tracks before finally removing the hell with brute force and staring a hole through Venice, who was crab-walking her way toward the platform exit.

Khan Shou growled like a grizzly bear when he said, “I’m going to snap off your arms and legs like the Barbie doll you are! I’m going to chew your brains like a giant wad of fucking bubblegum! I’m going to drink your blood like a bottle of Coors Light! I’m going to…” His lovely oratory was interrupted by a speeding subway train that splattered him all over the platform like a rotten tomato. He smelled just as bad as one too.

Venice laid backwards and breathed deep sighs of relief. The subway ride was over, Khan Shou was a dead man, and Venice Reyes was safe from male perversion. The only question now was, what would she do for money now that her modeling gig was a bust? She didn’t dwell on that too much. She instead closed her eyes and drifted off into a haunted sleep. There were other modeling gigs for someone as beautiful as her. Just a few more photo shoots and she could afford to move onto something else. Maybe she could also afford a therapist.