I Feel Bad About What’s In Here But I’m Fired, So What the Hell….Not Like You Can Fire Me Again

Mortimer loves Kohime Mori.   That much he knows to be true.   He knew it ever since the Waffle House.   They were sitting in a booth.  She had waffles.  He had a plate of cholesterol (a greasy steak, bacon, and hashbrowns).  There was a moment where she shoved an entire waffle in her mouth, a bit of syrup drizzling on her chin.  She looked like a chipmunk.   Even now, he smiles while thinking about that night.

Mortimer Knighitngale.  Man in love (or, at the very least, intense infatuation). 

The nights he spent just dreaming of how it would feel to take her hand into his, their fingers interlocked, and walk down the street as if they were fused together into a single entity whose happiness would be the envy of others.   He would often fantasize about Kohime teaching him the finer intricacies of anime and manga while he would introduce her to Broadway musicals and such classic American films as “St. Elmo’s Fire”, “Pretty in Pink”, “Mannequin” – McCarthyism at it’s finest – and the Alicia Silverstone blockbuster “Clueless”.    She would introduce him to true Ramen, not the kind you find in a grocery store in a microwaveable cup.   In turn, he would introduce her to true New York Pizza, not the fake “New York Style Pizza” places like Wyoming, Ohio, and Florida claim.  New York Pizza is only found in one place:  New York, dammit!!!!

Mortimer could see himself changing for the better because of her….for her.   He could see himself being the best version of himself.   To become the man someone like Kohime Mori deserves.  

When she clasped his face in her soft, delicate hands, and told him that he could change……

He saw the look in her eyes…..

She believed every single word she said.

He could see a path in front of him.  Not as Mortimer Knightingale but as Rowan Scatino.   They would become inseparable.  Soulmates.  Maybe platonic.  Maybe romantic.  Either way he would be thankful for each day she was in his life.   And, if the stars had aligned just right, maybe they would have shared a kiss.    And maybe it would have been a “unicorn kiss” 

As an aside, “Unicorn Kiss” was a term coined by a young woman Mortimer knew a lifetime ago when he was working at Macy’s.  Her name was Sonia, she was a certifiable ten.  They shared an appreciation for similar music and movies, they hit it off.   One day, during one of their shared lunch breaks, sitting at the bar in Ruby Tuesday’s, she shared elements of her promiscuity with Mortimer.  She, by that point, was engaged to her then boyfriend for about three months, chose to confide that she knew they were meant to be because they shared a “unicorn kiss”.  She explained that any other kiss she had shared with another was “naked”. Mortimer initially presumed she only kissed during sex, she quickly corrected that a “naked” kiss was shallow and devoid of any passion or emotion.  A “unicorn kiss”, according to Sonia, was an indescribably magical feeling of connection between her and her boyfriend – passionate, kind, sensual, perfect, sweet all at once.  

It would not surprise Mortimer if a kiss from Kohime would be a “unicorn kiss”, she is, after all, a unicorn herself – genuine, beautiful, and special in every way…..a beacon of light in an otherwise ugly and bleak existence.   

Looking into her eyes, he envisioned his own happiness….

But…..

The level of happiness that he has built up in his mind is not sustainable.  Mortimer knew in his heart of hearts that there would be no Happily Ever After for him.  To him, happy endings only exist in movies, fairy tales, and seedy massage parlors (some of which may or may not be owned and/or funded by Tony Gamble). 

There were a number of reasons the relationship would have been doomed….they were complete opposites and the age difference would be two and three on the list.  But top spot would be Mortimer, true to form, would fuck everything up.   It might not have happened right away, it may have taken weeks, months, maybe even years, but he would fuck it up and she would be devastated.

Mortimer needs Kohime Mori more than she would ever need him and eventually, she would see him for what he and Tony Gamble know he is, an enormous piece of shit.  She would look at him with disappointment in her eyes, which would be heartbreaking for him, but not quite as so if, after the inevitable fuck up, she would reflect on all the time she wasted on him, then she would feel stupid for not seeing it sooner, turn to alcohol and drugs until finding herself in wet t-shirt contests and standing on a street corner offering up her “services” for enough money to score her next fix. 

Granted, it is unlikely that someone like Kohime Mori would resort to such extreme measures and travel down the path of drugs and depravity, but it does not change the fact that in the end, he fears that he would change her for the worse.  She deserves far better than him.  To Mortimer Knightingale, it was better to bruise her now than to break her later.  

Truth is, Mortimer did what he did out of real love.  

And make no mistake, he knew the second he punched Kohime Mori in the face that his fate was sealed.  If he could not achieve personal happiness, perhaps then, he should focus on professional success and that his only way to achieve that in PRIME would be to join Tony Gamble and suffer whatever petty indignities he had in store for Mortimer.   It wouldn’t be the first time.

Mortimer knew there would be some repercussions for what he did.   What he did not expect was the level of absolute hatred that would be levied against him.

Mortimer Knightingale, three days after the punch seen around the world, arrives at the parking lot of a Whataburger near the Toyota Center.  His first day as a willing participant of the Gamble Adoration Syndicate.   It did not start off very well.   After he left his hotel sporting a charcoal gray pinstripe suit, a purple dress shirt, and a certain satin tie.   It was all downhill from there.   

The insults that were thrown his way:

“Asshole!”

“Woman Beater!”

“Racist!”

“Scumbag!”

“Bigot!”

“Dickless Shitbag!”

Sticks and stones are one thing, but one particularly upset young man threw an iced coffee at him, nailing him in the crotch.  Naturally, the cup basically exploded all over him upon impact.   He had to change his clothes three times.  He went from wearing a suit to a t-shirt that says “These Colors Don’t Run” and tracksuit pants.  He was insulted, spat on, threatened.   Luckily, his Lyft driver, Luis, was not a PRIME fan and did not drop him off in a seedy part of town with orders to murder him.   Luis did, however, quickly make an exit from the parking lot after Mortimer exited the white Lexus RX and for a moment he questioned whether or not this was the correct Whataburger parking lot.

As Luis speeds off to his next fare, Mortimer looks around, looking as jumpy as a junky looking for their next fix, worried that Joe and Jane Q. Public will approach him and barrage him with phlegm.

Some of the paranoia subsided when he saw Frank Pastore giggling into his phone while leaning against a black Mercedes with an Enterprise Rent-a-Car sticker in the window.   Mortimer approached, trying not to look bothered by the less than stellar treatment he has received from the Houstoners.   Frank looks up and smiles as he outstretches his arms.

FRANK:  The Mori Mauler!

There was a twinge of pain that shot through Mortimer’s stomach when Frank said those words.  He could almost feel his entire face twitch.  He must have misheard Frank, right?  

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  What’d you say?

FRANK:  “The Mori Mauler”!  It’s all over Twitter!  

MORTIMER KNiGHTINGALE:  I don’t use the Twitter.  It rots the brain and poisons the soul.  So what the fuck you talkin’ about?

FRANK:  You are trending!   Hashtag FIRE MORTY.   Hashtag JUSTICE FOR KOHIME.  You are not coming off very good.

Frank hands Mortimer his phone.  Mortimer takes a look at one comment.  “Mortimer Knightingale shuld get a dog and the dog shuld die of lepercy while Mortimer watches and dies from anal cancer.”   Not an English major by any means.  Mortimer just swipes and scans the comments.  No kind word from anyone.   

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  What the hell!  Who am I, Jack the Fuckin’ Ripper here?!  Bill Cosby?!?!  When did I become “person au gratin”?!

FRANK:  Not everybody hates you….

Frank begins swiping at his phone….and swiping some more…..and then a bit more…..more swiping before…..

FRANK:  Here we go!  RedneckRandy supports you.  He says “Send that bitch back to China.  U.S.A!  U.S.A.!”

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE (yelling at the phone):  SHE’S JAPANESE!!!!

Frank Pastore pulls back the phone and continues to read through the tweets, chuckling at himself as he does so as Mortimer’s anger continues to build.  The masked wrestler takes a deep breath, trying not to let recent events affect him emotionally.   He notices a young couple exit the fast food establishment, bag in hand, and the thought of being beaned with a chili burger pops into his head and a twinge of worry is felt.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  I feel like a sittin’ duck out here.  Can we wait in the car?

FRANK:  Not yet.  We have to wait on Tony.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  And where’s Tony?

FRANK:  You’re late.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  I’m sorry.  I was spit on more times than that chick on “Game of Thrones”!  I had to change my clothes.   You want me showin’ up with fuckin’ loogies drippin’ down my suit?  

FRANK:  I don’t know anything about that, however, Tony has a message for you, and I quote, “I don’t wait for you.  You wait for me.”  End quote.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  That motherless fuck.  I thought he was supposed to help me with this Darin Zion jagoff.  

FRANK:  What do you want me to say?   You were late.

Of course, this is exactly how Mortimer’s day would go.  Reviled and treated like an eighteenth century pauper, wearing a t-shirt that does not reflect his personal style, and now, left in front of a Whataburger, of all places.  Last time he has a Whataburger, he had diarrhea for three days.   

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  How the fuck did this happen?

FRANK:  You beat a girl bloody.  People don’t take kindly to that kind of violence. 

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  It’s not like I….I pulled my punches!  If I were to beat her, like really fuckin’ beat her, she’d be eatin’ through a fuckin’ straw.

FRANK:  A small suggestion?  If you don’t want to be maligned for beating a young girl, maybe don’t justify it by saying you could beat her much worse.  At least not outside the confines of a wrestling ring.

There is a beat as Mortimer Knightingale looks down at his Reeboks.  A lot is going through his head.   It baffles him that after applauding him, chanting his name that the people would turn on him so quickly without giving him the benefit of telling his side of the story.   They have judged him in the court of public opinion and it did not go his way and it disturbs him.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:   I dunno if I can handle this.  I did the right thing and I’m the fuckin’ villain?  They’re actin’ like I beat the shit outta her in a hotel elevator!  It was barely a punch.  Some fuckin’ eight year old flipped me off like I was wearin’ an Eli Mannin’ jersey at Lincoln Field.

FRANK:  I say again, not many people are going to see you in a positive light after what you did.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  They can’t really fire me for that, right?

FRANK:  There’s an online petition with over twelve thousand signatures so, who knows?

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  Should I even fuckin’ bother showin’ up for this match?

FRANK:  You do you.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  You are about as helpful as a tit on a bull.

FRANK:  Can I let you in on a little secret?  I really don’t care.   I’m just here now because you weren’t here before and I lost the coin toss.  

“I don’t really care.”   Those words cut Mortimer like a serrated blade.   After what he gave up, after what he did, and they don’t care.   It just places a giant neon sign that reads “SUCKER” in flashing hot pink right on the situation.   

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  Perhaps we should ruminate on the fact that the winner of this match faces Kohime Mori, the winner of which becomes the inaugratorial Alias Champion at “Culture Shock”, somethin’ I know Tony wants me to do, even if he don’t wanna admit it, in the name of the Gamble Adoration Syndicate.  So, in my opinion, I believe that it would, in fact, be in both your interest and Tony’s to give the smallest of shits about that.   I didn’t do what I did just so you fucks could leave me in the middle of fuckin’ What-It’s-Burger with my dick in my hand.   

FRANK:  Who said I’m leaving you here?  We’re waiting on Mister Gamble.  Like the man said, you wait for him, not the other way around.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  And how long am I supposed to wait?!  Any second now some froggy feelin’ prick is gonna nail me in the head with a milkshake and I might just snap.

FRANK:  Maybe that’s not a bad thing.  Really lay into them.  Then use that same level of aggression on Darin Zion.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  So, that’s it then?  We just stand here like a couple of fuckin’ mooks until Lord Shitpants calls?

FRANK:  Probably don’t call him Lord Shitpants.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  Fuck.  I’m sorry.  I’m on edge, is all.

FRANK:  Chill out.  No one’s gonna bother you.  He’ll call when he calls, until then, we wait.

MORTIMER KNIGHTINGALE:  Well, fuck.

And wait they did, for thirty-eight more minutes until Frank got the text to transport Mortimer Knightingale to an undisclosed location.  During the ride, Mortimer’s thoughts turned to Kohime Mori.   Wondering what she must think of him.  How would he face her should he defeat Darin Zion at “Revival 25”?   Could allowing Darin Zion to gain a victory over him be his way of atoning?  Tony Gamble desperately wants Mortimer Knightingale to win the title for him, so taking a dive might be a nice fuck you to Tony Gamble for making him wait.  Unfortunately, he committed himself to G.A.S..  And besides, who is to say what kind of person Darin Zion is with a championship on the line.  Maybe Real Love is a Real Sicko.  A lot to consider.   Soon he will be escorted to Tony Gamble where his training will begin.  

An open mind.  That is the one thing he tells himself that he needs to keep.

 

*******************

 

What the fuck you callin’ yourself?  Real Love?  Tough Love?  Douche Love?

I don’t think know what love is, Darin.   From what I can gather, no one really fuckin’ likes you much less loves you other than that Vicki chick who, let’s face it, is a whiny bitch.   Maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe I’m missin’ somethin’.  I ain’t as smart as Doctor Reform.  

But I ain’t a fuckin’ idiot, either.

Look, I ain’t gonna bullshit you.  I don’t have fuckin’ clue one who you are.   I know you run around with a top notch skank with a voice that makes me wanna take an icepick, shove it in my ear, and swirl it around like I’m mixin’ a fuckin’ cake.  

But what this is, isn’t about Icky Vickie.  It’s about a young woman who was wrongly wronged.  By me.   I adore Kohime Mori, I admit it.  I don’t change what I did but I ain’t gonna hide that fact from anyone.  Tony Gamble might find that bit of knowledge hemorrhoidal in it’s level of irritation to him but, tough shit, as they say.   

And I cannot help but prostulate the level of which you would go to obtain the Alias Championship.  As I considered not givin’ it my all but then I think, you look like a hookah shell and neon yellow tanktop away from douchebaggery, but how dangerous are you?  What lengths are you willin’ to go at “Culture Shock”?  

If I lose and you take on Kohime Mori and you end up doin’ somethin’ career endin’ to her, I don’t think I could forgive myself.   So, the thought of that makes me want to rip you apart at the joints.   There’s a group of people who would be glad that they didn’t get the level of beatin’ that I have in store for you.   I wanna beat you so bad, it immaculates you to the point that Icky Vicky won’t want anything to do with your Icky Sticky, if you get what I’m sayin’.   You want that Alias Championship?  Fuck you.

That bein’ said, there is also a part of me that hopes you do beat me, Darin.  I hope you beat me so that I don’t have to look into Kohime’s dark, enchantin’ eyes after what I did to her.   Would I do what needs to be done?  Would I hit her again, this time hit her where it fuckin’ hurts?  Would I stand by and allow her to get out all of her anger?  That is assumin’ that she can feel anger.  It worries me to find out.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m gonna throw it to you.  Fuck no!  Losin’ to a snaky prick like you would be an embarrassment.  

Which part wins out, Darin?  Do I fuck you up beyond all recognizable congnicenses and hope maybe I don’t flip out in a fit of adrenaline inflated rage or do I do just enough to beat you and hope maybe that there’s a chance I don’t.  

I don’t know, Darin.   I just don’t fuckin’ know…..

But I want you to remember somethin’, Darin, if I choose to put all my chips in on this match, go all fuckin’ in and out.  I went easy on Kohime because I adore her.   Imagine how much fuckin’ worse it’s gonna be for you, someone I find to be repughensible.  So, might I suggest somethin’ in the way of a prayer to whatever god, if any, you worship, and pray the fuck that I’m not particularly upset comin’ into this match because if I am, make no mistake, I will shit you out like yesterday’s meatballs and make you wish your mother miscarried.