Post by >V< on Aug 6, 2009 20:04:00 GMT -5
The best thing about inheriting a substantial amount of money from your long-dead parents is that you're more or less immune to the terrors of being shackled to the unpredictable economy of this once-great nation. You're set for life, so any money you do make is inconsequential. Thus, Mickey Dragon's so-called "Target" feels carefree as he cruises the mean streets of Orlando in his gunmetal grey 1951 Mercury coupe with his wife Nicole riding shotgun.
He relishes the feeling of living in the moment, enjoying the tsunami of metal that is Pantera's "Cowboys From Hell" from the ridiculously expensive stereo. This is not a man who feels the need to dwell on past tragedies and transgressions. He doesn't beat himself up mentally at the thought of what happened to him when he was a snot-nosed kid. You won't catch him going to therapists or counselors, no matter how cool their tattoos are. He's a man, goddammit. There's no crying in wrestling, you know.
His mind is free, alive with the pleasure of having no worries at all. He needn't concern himself with the current recession or downturn or whatever the fuck the talking heads are calling it this week. I assume they're talking about it, anyway, since I can't bring myself to watch any of those fucking 24-hour "news" channels. I estimate they must have worked their way back to it by now, though. They've got to be done talking about "Octo-Mom" and "Jacko" or John and Kate or what the fuck ever.
KvK: "I would definitely fuck Kate. How's a chick with eight kids have a body like that?"
I've got no idea, but I applaud that woman.
Nicole: "Well, that was pretty random...."
KvK: "Yeah, sorry. The voices again."
Nicole: "Oh. Right. Well, do those goddamn voices ever tell you that maybe your shouldn't tell your wife about other women you want to fuck?!"
She suppresses the urge to flee, to just open the passenger door of this lavishly customized car and jump. She'd have to tuck and roll, of course, but a few scrapes and scratches might be worth it. The past few years haven't gone at all like she'd planned.
Sure, it all started out well. He seemed like such a nice guy, like he was really different. It seemed like he really cared about her, like was interested in sharing her hopes and dreams for the future. Of course, the fact that he was handsome and rich didn't hurt, either. Let's not lie to each other, girls. We can lie to ourselves all we want, but just between us BFFs, we know the truth.
In the few years since they've been married, he's grown more and more distant. He's never got time to listen to what she's got to say, he's always so goddamn busy with his stupid macho car collection or drunken retard friends or barbaric so-called wrestling career. She stews over these thoughts, arms crossed over her chest, staring straight ahead out the windshield. The silence between the couple is thick, almost a physical presence, before it's shattered by a scoff.
KvK: "Oh, come on...you know you'd probably fuck her too."
All that emerges from behind her tightly clamped, subtly painted lips is a small "humph" of indignation. He can be so aggravating sometimes, always bringing up her younger years of experimentation and throwing it in her face at the most inopportune times. Still, she has to admit....just between us girls of course....that Kate does have a pretty damn good body for what's essentially been a mass-production baby factory.
KvK: "That's funny, I thought the narrator was a dude all this time..."
Nicole: "WHAT?!"
And then there's that. The goddamn voices all of a sudden. Her husband's never been the most sane guy she's ever met, but lately things have taken a very scary turn. She's tried to ignore the matter, foolishly hoping that it'll go away, but perhaps it's more than just a cry for attention.
KvK: "The narrator. I've always thought it was a he."
Well, that's certainly creepy. It's almost like he could read her thoughts. It's enough to send a shiver down her spine, and she turns to him.
Nicole: "You know, I think you should probably get some therapy."
KvK: "You mean like that asshole Mickey Dragon?"
Nicole: "Well, I'd hope you'd pick someone a little bit more reputable, honestly. On second thought, maybe I should be the one to make the choice."
KvK: "Yeah, right. That's all I need, some crazy tattooed bitch to make me cry about my childhood and get all pissed off when someone plays a harmless prank on me. No thanks."
Ignoring the obvious retort that many of their late night post-coital chats have been just that sort of thing, she decides to let the matter rest for now. She reaches across the center console and gently lays a hand on her husband's thigh. She smiles at him, ever the dutiful wife. Things could be a lot worse, she’s admits to herself. Just because there’s plenty of fish in the sea, that doesn’t mean that many of them are worth the trouble of reeling in. Besides, he might be one crazy son of a bitch, but damn it…he’s her crazy son of a bitch.
Nicole: "Whatever you say, hun. Now, can we get some lunch?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Some time and an awkwardly quiet yet otherwise decent meal later, KvK opens the passenger-side door and holds it for his wife. She ignores the deeply-ingrained reflex to make a big fuss over this transparent attempt at chivalry, slipping silently into the seat. She smiles politely, refusing to be won over so easily, and drops her hands onto her lap with fingers interlaced.
KvK: "Well, you're welcome..."
Shutting the door with a thud to mute out any possible reply, KvK ignores the voice of a man calling his name. He fishes his cell phone out of his pocket as it begins to vibrate, the tiny sound of the ring tone drowned out by the calls of the unknown man as he comes charging across the parking lot from the entrance to the restaurant, face lit up with excitement, waving a paper napkin over his head. Just another autograph seeker, then....how exciting. KvK turns away from him, flipping the phone open and pressing it to his ear.
KvK: "Nnnnyellow?"
He almost drops the phone, startled at the sound of a horrible crash and the trademark squeal of tires on pavement behind him. A Toyota Tacoma that was driving way too fast through the parking lot in an attempt to cut the corner and avoid the red light has struck the man with the napkin, sending him flying about 30 feet to ricochet off the back of an old but well-maintained Buick sedan. Several people nearby scream in varied degrees of horror as the import truck, grill dented and blood splattered all over up onto the hood, squeals the tires as it takes off once more. The piece of shit is actually fleeing the scene, what a classic display of character from someone whose previous biggest crimes were to buy a Japanese pickup and use it to break traffic laws.
KvK: "Gotta be fuckin kidding me...."
He surveys the scene, then listens to the voice on the other end of the line.
KvK: "Huh? Boy I wish! It looks like I might have one less fan in the world, though."
He casually strolls over towards the bloody, rumpled form of the hit-and-run victim, ignoring the shrieks of terror and shouted pleas for someone to stop the driver. Some random middle-aged woman nearby points at KvK, her face a twisted mask of shock and horror.
Random Lady: "You, there! Call an ambulance! Call 911!!"
He ignores her, listening to whoever called him.
KvK: "No, some guy came charging out of the restaurant after me, probably wanted an autograph, and some fuckin asshole ran him down in the parking lot! Yeah, no shit right? The guy took off, too."
He turns as an older man hurries over, reaching out to take the phone, snatch it away with his shaky arthritic hands.
Old Guy: "Come on, son. He needs medical attention!"
With all the strength he can muster, he hits the old man right in the mouth with a left-handed jab. The poor old fool collapses to the pavement with a squawk.
KvK: "What? The fuck d'ya mean 'he said no?!'"
He stands over the bloodied, twitching form of the hit-and-run victim, still clutching the napkin that's now stained with droplets of red. His hand twitches as he looks up at his mom's favorite wrestler, making muffled sounds which would be words if his jaw wasn't shattered. Probably words about how he's in excruciating pain, but also possibly words about how he'd like an autograph. I guess we'll never know for sure, which is kind of sad.
KvK: "Well, I guess we should have expected that. Thick-headed son of a bitch, always did have to do things the hard way."
He surveys the scene again, looking around the parking lot, seeing some people looking towards the rapidly disappearing Tacoma, perhaps trying to make a mental note of the license plate. Several people are hurrying over, although it's obvious that there's nothing that they can do. If the guy's gonna live, it's because of a highly-trained doctor, not some random jackass in a blisteringly hot parking lot. Then again, perhaps they could help the old man look for his false teeth. The should start the search in his esophagus.
KvK: "It's not your fault that he can't take a goddamn joke."
He turns away from his battered soon-to-be former fan and strides back to his car, listening to the voice on the other end of the line.
KvK: "Yeah, me too. Well, if they want a fuckin war over a harmless prank, then I guess they've got one."
He relishes the feeling of living in the moment, enjoying the tsunami of metal that is Pantera's "Cowboys From Hell" from the ridiculously expensive stereo. This is not a man who feels the need to dwell on past tragedies and transgressions. He doesn't beat himself up mentally at the thought of what happened to him when he was a snot-nosed kid. You won't catch him going to therapists or counselors, no matter how cool their tattoos are. He's a man, goddammit. There's no crying in wrestling, you know.
His mind is free, alive with the pleasure of having no worries at all. He needn't concern himself with the current recession or downturn or whatever the fuck the talking heads are calling it this week. I assume they're talking about it, anyway, since I can't bring myself to watch any of those fucking 24-hour "news" channels. I estimate they must have worked their way back to it by now, though. They've got to be done talking about "Octo-Mom" and "Jacko" or John and Kate or what the fuck ever.
KvK: "I would definitely fuck Kate. How's a chick with eight kids have a body like that?"
I've got no idea, but I applaud that woman.
Nicole: "Well, that was pretty random...."
KvK: "Yeah, sorry. The voices again."
Nicole: "Oh. Right. Well, do those goddamn voices ever tell you that maybe your shouldn't tell your wife about other women you want to fuck?!"
She suppresses the urge to flee, to just open the passenger door of this lavishly customized car and jump. She'd have to tuck and roll, of course, but a few scrapes and scratches might be worth it. The past few years haven't gone at all like she'd planned.
Sure, it all started out well. He seemed like such a nice guy, like he was really different. It seemed like he really cared about her, like was interested in sharing her hopes and dreams for the future. Of course, the fact that he was handsome and rich didn't hurt, either. Let's not lie to each other, girls. We can lie to ourselves all we want, but just between us BFFs, we know the truth.
In the few years since they've been married, he's grown more and more distant. He's never got time to listen to what she's got to say, he's always so goddamn busy with his stupid macho car collection or drunken retard friends or barbaric so-called wrestling career. She stews over these thoughts, arms crossed over her chest, staring straight ahead out the windshield. The silence between the couple is thick, almost a physical presence, before it's shattered by a scoff.
KvK: "Oh, come on...you know you'd probably fuck her too."
All that emerges from behind her tightly clamped, subtly painted lips is a small "humph" of indignation. He can be so aggravating sometimes, always bringing up her younger years of experimentation and throwing it in her face at the most inopportune times. Still, she has to admit....just between us girls of course....that Kate does have a pretty damn good body for what's essentially been a mass-production baby factory.
KvK: "That's funny, I thought the narrator was a dude all this time..."
Nicole: "WHAT?!"
And then there's that. The goddamn voices all of a sudden. Her husband's never been the most sane guy she's ever met, but lately things have taken a very scary turn. She's tried to ignore the matter, foolishly hoping that it'll go away, but perhaps it's more than just a cry for attention.
KvK: "The narrator. I've always thought it was a he."
Well, that's certainly creepy. It's almost like he could read her thoughts. It's enough to send a shiver down her spine, and she turns to him.
Nicole: "You know, I think you should probably get some therapy."
KvK: "You mean like that asshole Mickey Dragon?"
Nicole: "Well, I'd hope you'd pick someone a little bit more reputable, honestly. On second thought, maybe I should be the one to make the choice."
KvK: "Yeah, right. That's all I need, some crazy tattooed bitch to make me cry about my childhood and get all pissed off when someone plays a harmless prank on me. No thanks."
Ignoring the obvious retort that many of their late night post-coital chats have been just that sort of thing, she decides to let the matter rest for now. She reaches across the center console and gently lays a hand on her husband's thigh. She smiles at him, ever the dutiful wife. Things could be a lot worse, she’s admits to herself. Just because there’s plenty of fish in the sea, that doesn’t mean that many of them are worth the trouble of reeling in. Besides, he might be one crazy son of a bitch, but damn it…he’s her crazy son of a bitch.
Nicole: "Whatever you say, hun. Now, can we get some lunch?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Some time and an awkwardly quiet yet otherwise decent meal later, KvK opens the passenger-side door and holds it for his wife. She ignores the deeply-ingrained reflex to make a big fuss over this transparent attempt at chivalry, slipping silently into the seat. She smiles politely, refusing to be won over so easily, and drops her hands onto her lap with fingers interlaced.
KvK: "Well, you're welcome..."
Shutting the door with a thud to mute out any possible reply, KvK ignores the voice of a man calling his name. He fishes his cell phone out of his pocket as it begins to vibrate, the tiny sound of the ring tone drowned out by the calls of the unknown man as he comes charging across the parking lot from the entrance to the restaurant, face lit up with excitement, waving a paper napkin over his head. Just another autograph seeker, then....how exciting. KvK turns away from him, flipping the phone open and pressing it to his ear.
KvK: "Nnnnyellow?"
He almost drops the phone, startled at the sound of a horrible crash and the trademark squeal of tires on pavement behind him. A Toyota Tacoma that was driving way too fast through the parking lot in an attempt to cut the corner and avoid the red light has struck the man with the napkin, sending him flying about 30 feet to ricochet off the back of an old but well-maintained Buick sedan. Several people nearby scream in varied degrees of horror as the import truck, grill dented and blood splattered all over up onto the hood, squeals the tires as it takes off once more. The piece of shit is actually fleeing the scene, what a classic display of character from someone whose previous biggest crimes were to buy a Japanese pickup and use it to break traffic laws.
KvK: "Gotta be fuckin kidding me...."
He surveys the scene, then listens to the voice on the other end of the line.
KvK: "Huh? Boy I wish! It looks like I might have one less fan in the world, though."
He casually strolls over towards the bloody, rumpled form of the hit-and-run victim, ignoring the shrieks of terror and shouted pleas for someone to stop the driver. Some random middle-aged woman nearby points at KvK, her face a twisted mask of shock and horror.
Random Lady: "You, there! Call an ambulance! Call 911!!"
He ignores her, listening to whoever called him.
KvK: "No, some guy came charging out of the restaurant after me, probably wanted an autograph, and some fuckin asshole ran him down in the parking lot! Yeah, no shit right? The guy took off, too."
He turns as an older man hurries over, reaching out to take the phone, snatch it away with his shaky arthritic hands.
Old Guy: "Come on, son. He needs medical attention!"
With all the strength he can muster, he hits the old man right in the mouth with a left-handed jab. The poor old fool collapses to the pavement with a squawk.
KvK: "What? The fuck d'ya mean 'he said no?!'"
He stands over the bloodied, twitching form of the hit-and-run victim, still clutching the napkin that's now stained with droplets of red. His hand twitches as he looks up at his mom's favorite wrestler, making muffled sounds which would be words if his jaw wasn't shattered. Probably words about how he's in excruciating pain, but also possibly words about how he'd like an autograph. I guess we'll never know for sure, which is kind of sad.
KvK: "Well, I guess we should have expected that. Thick-headed son of a bitch, always did have to do things the hard way."
He surveys the scene again, looking around the parking lot, seeing some people looking towards the rapidly disappearing Tacoma, perhaps trying to make a mental note of the license plate. Several people are hurrying over, although it's obvious that there's nothing that they can do. If the guy's gonna live, it's because of a highly-trained doctor, not some random jackass in a blisteringly hot parking lot. Then again, perhaps they could help the old man look for his false teeth. The should start the search in his esophagus.
KvK: "It's not your fault that he can't take a goddamn joke."
He turns away from his battered soon-to-be former fan and strides back to his car, listening to the voice on the other end of the line.
KvK: "Yeah, me too. Well, if they want a fuckin war over a harmless prank, then I guess they've got one."
