Post by thedoc on May 16, 2014 18:16:23 GMT -5
I don’t really know how this is supposed to go to be honest, I have never done this. I have not one time stepped into a professional wrestling ring and to boot, I am almost forty years old. Sure, I realize that I received this contract based on who my husband is, and sure I realize that I literally have no place entering a tag title tournament at this age with my experience level.
But as my husband would say, what the fuck right? He would say, “Hell, you are in good shape and you are tough as hell so just go punch some people in the face and have a good time.” A good time? Sure, I can see that slapping someone around would be exciting, but they are going to try and hit me back and I will be honest, I haven’t been hit a lot. Not since getting out of my home, not since running away at the age of fifteen.
See, everyone has a story, and what I am going to do is tell you part of mine, it is therapeutic and being a doctor of psychology I feel that I should engage in a similar way that I expect my patients to. See, I haven’t had an outlet, I never wrote the obligatory journal article showing how I was able to conquer adversity, I never constructed a book about how a poor black girl living in the inner city was able to become a well-respected doctor, so this is my chance to do that.
This is my chance to receive the therapy instead of giving it.
So I beg you, bear with me as I, for a change, share my story with you because I feel in my heart of hearts that this story is important, and if it helps one person rise above the ideology that you are what you are bred then I feel that I have been successful in my goal.
Which is to help people.
And that makes my choice of using my gift of psychology to systematically tear people down so intriguing, because as much as I want to help people, there are some people that are beyond help, they are beyond words and they are beyond resolve. And with my physical gifts paired with the tutelage of my husband and his son, I am bound to be at least decent at this wrestling thing.
Or I won’t.
But it matters not, because nothing is given to a person that doesn’t try. I know it is corny, and I will completely wear that hat because it is one that everyone wears at one point or another. I mean it could be worse right, I could be quoting The Road Less Traveled or A Dream Deferred those are two often quoted poems that people often misinterpret and act like intellectuals over, but instead, before I give to you a piece of my psyche, a piece of myself I will leave you with a portion of my favorite poem…
{Scene opens to what appears to be a small apartment, there is no silence, there is no quiet as constant yelling from people who aren’t in this apartment. Anytime there is a lull in the noise you hear something, like a car horn honking or a crashing sound outside.}
Voice: Where you at ho?
{The voice of a man breaks into the room where a woman sits at the table, a cigarette dangling from her hand and a glass of what we know isn’t orange juice sitting in front of her. A baby cries, and in walks a young girl carrying a baby, the baby is upset, scared and likely undernourished, the woman at the table looks over at the young girl, who we can assume has grown into the Doc and yells at her}
Mom: Would you shut that damn baby up?
Girl: I tried momma, I really tried but I think she is hungry, where is the formula? I couldn’t find any…
{The woman screams from this visceral scene, on the counter are dirty dishes piled up seemingly to the ceiling, the man of the house walks in and looks enraged}
Father: Jesus H. Christ, that damn baby won’t shut up. What is wrong with you woman? What did you do ride too many rollercoasters when you were pregnant for her?
Mom: You know I ain’t never been on no roller coaster. We need formula, the baby is hungry and you need to go get some.
Father: I ain’t got money for that.
Mom: Where is the money you had yesterday? Gamble it away?
Father: You shut your mouth, I am the man of this house and will be treated with respect.
Mom: You want respect? Earn some damn respect…
{Quickly and violently he reaches back and strikes her across the face with such ferocity that she falls to the floor and sits there, not unconscious but certainly not seeing straight. The young girl, our heroine runs from the room with her little sibling. She goes into her room and starts rummaging around under her bed mattress, one that looks like the sheets haven’t been cleaned in a solid couple months she pulls out a couple bills and, taking her sister climbs through the window to the area outside. From her window we hear her father yelling}
Father: Honey come back, you know I love you. Your mom, she just… She just says things and I can’t control myself. Come back honey.
{The young girl, who we can assume is likely about 9-10 years old turns}
Girl: Your daughter needs formula, and I am going to get it.
Dad: Oh, that’s a good girl, you go get that formula and come home and everything will be good. We can eat at MacDonald’s tonight even; you’ll see everything will be all right.
{She doesn’t respond just walks out of the narrow alleyway and down the street where it meets a sidewalk, as she turns the scene fades}
I guess being new here, and being the least experienced in the ring I don’t know really what to say about my opponents, I know the two girls that we are facing in the first round kind of fit the bill of most girls that are in this business, they are rude, mouthy and born with a silver spoon in their mouth…
{We hear a voice coming from off stage, you as a fan of professional wrestling realize that the voice is Gib’s, her husband and many time former world champion and hall-of-famer.}
Gib: Jesus H. Christ, what did I tell you, you need to decimate them, you need to make them angry and freakin’ rattle their cages. I told you, I like the silver spoon thing but instead of saying in their mouth, say born with a silver spoon up their asses.
{She looks at him puzzled}
Doc: But I don’t really understand why I would say that, there is no reason for a spoon to be there.
Gib: God woman, this isn’t all about logic and making sense it is about striking fear in your opponents. Here, I will cut a promo in a true amazing fashion, so you can learn. Now be careful, my promotional material has been known to impregnate the common person.
{Gib takes a deep breath and then raises his eyes to the camera, a freakish look courses through them like those of a wild platypus, ready to reek havoc upon a community of unsuspecting mongooses}
Gib: Oh lookey here, this week I am in a tag team tournament and I am facing against two little prissy hot bitches that think they are soooo special because they are rich and still like to get their hands dirty in the wrestling ring, well, here is a little something for you to think about. So, Mackenzie and Angel if you like getting your hands dirty why don’t you put them on…
{He stops, his wife stands there with her mouth agape, waiting for the horrid comment}
Gib: A syringe full of bull semen, and then inject that semen into the reproductive system of a cow, because that is what you are good at, getting fat cows pregnant… HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Doc: Wait, they are women. So the whole argument doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t you say that they like getting impregnated by a bull or something?
Gib: What? That is disgusting; you should see someone about that because that is just downright gross. My god woman what in the hell is wrong with you? Sometimes I wonder why I married you.
{She smiles; she loves this about her husband. For someone that has spent her whole life reasoning things using valid thoughts and that type of things there is something about the crass behavior of her husband that she just loves.}
Gib: Ok, so you got that taken care off, talk about that, so if you win who do you face in the second round?
Doc: Either Circus of Madness…
Gib: Another cliché group of clicky bitches…
Doc: Or EMF, Zelda and Skye…
Gib: Oh shit, you are fucking screwed, my daughter will totally kick your ass, because I created her using my semen, and that makes her a wrestling goddess.
Doc: Thanks for the vote of confidence.
Gib: Was there an election? I am sorry, I am a realist and I know she is one bad bitch. Who knows, I am going to teach you this move call the roll up, you might be able to catch her with that.
Doc: Ok, I think that is something up my alley, sounds easy.
Gib: But you have to put your hand by another person’s crotch. Hence the reason it is my favorite move.
{Doc just smiles, and embraces her Neanderthal of a husband. The scene fades}
I guess I should talk about the elephant in the room, and that of course is the possible matchup against my own daughter –in-law and her friend this weekend. I know that you weren’t happy when your father and I got married because you were worried that I would be a total bitch to you, hopefully you have come to understand that the only thing I want from your father is his unconditional love.
I don’t want his money, I don’t want what comes with his fame or being associated with him. I just want him and all of his goofy glory, there is something about your Dad, he is special, he is something different. When people are around him they just feel better, they can open up and allow their inner child to roam free for a while because he doesn’t judge you for what your first reaction is like so many others.
But I guess with all that said I hope that you and Skye, or the Carnival Chicks or the other clique of girls that aren’t together aren’t taking me lightly. I understand that this is my very first foray into the wrestling world. I understand that this is my very first chance to prove that I am tough enough to survive in this business. But I am not coming in cold. It isn’t like I haven’t been training; it isn’t like I don’t have the tutelage necessary to be successful.
Because of Gib and his son Xander, I am prepared. TEAM ER, oddly named being that I am a psychologist and not a doctor you would ever see in an emergency room has a lot to prove. And who knows, this weekend when the smoke clears and all is said and done, perhaps the biggest underdogs in this tournament will be holding the women’s titles, perhaps the longshot will win one for the Gifford.
And one last thing, and I apologize for this but your father made me promise to say it.
Zelda, I am going to make you call me momma.
But as my husband would say, what the fuck right? He would say, “Hell, you are in good shape and you are tough as hell so just go punch some people in the face and have a good time.” A good time? Sure, I can see that slapping someone around would be exciting, but they are going to try and hit me back and I will be honest, I haven’t been hit a lot. Not since getting out of my home, not since running away at the age of fifteen.
See, everyone has a story, and what I am going to do is tell you part of mine, it is therapeutic and being a doctor of psychology I feel that I should engage in a similar way that I expect my patients to. See, I haven’t had an outlet, I never wrote the obligatory journal article showing how I was able to conquer adversity, I never constructed a book about how a poor black girl living in the inner city was able to become a well-respected doctor, so this is my chance to do that.
This is my chance to receive the therapy instead of giving it.
So I beg you, bear with me as I, for a change, share my story with you because I feel in my heart of hearts that this story is important, and if it helps one person rise above the ideology that you are what you are bred then I feel that I have been successful in my goal.
Which is to help people.
And that makes my choice of using my gift of psychology to systematically tear people down so intriguing, because as much as I want to help people, there are some people that are beyond help, they are beyond words and they are beyond resolve. And with my physical gifts paired with the tutelage of my husband and his son, I am bound to be at least decent at this wrestling thing.
Or I won’t.
But it matters not, because nothing is given to a person that doesn’t try. I know it is corny, and I will completely wear that hat because it is one that everyone wears at one point or another. I mean it could be worse right, I could be quoting The Road Less Traveled or A Dream Deferred those are two often quoted poems that people often misinterpret and act like intellectuals over, but instead, before I give to you a piece of my psyche, a piece of myself I will leave you with a portion of my favorite poem…
So boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now—
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
{Scene opens to what appears to be a small apartment, there is no silence, there is no quiet as constant yelling from people who aren’t in this apartment. Anytime there is a lull in the noise you hear something, like a car horn honking or a crashing sound outside.}
Voice: Where you at ho?
{The voice of a man breaks into the room where a woman sits at the table, a cigarette dangling from her hand and a glass of what we know isn’t orange juice sitting in front of her. A baby cries, and in walks a young girl carrying a baby, the baby is upset, scared and likely undernourished, the woman at the table looks over at the young girl, who we can assume has grown into the Doc and yells at her}
Mom: Would you shut that damn baby up?
Girl: I tried momma, I really tried but I think she is hungry, where is the formula? I couldn’t find any…
{The woman screams from this visceral scene, on the counter are dirty dishes piled up seemingly to the ceiling, the man of the house walks in and looks enraged}
Father: Jesus H. Christ, that damn baby won’t shut up. What is wrong with you woman? What did you do ride too many rollercoasters when you were pregnant for her?
Mom: You know I ain’t never been on no roller coaster. We need formula, the baby is hungry and you need to go get some.
Father: I ain’t got money for that.
Mom: Where is the money you had yesterday? Gamble it away?
Father: You shut your mouth, I am the man of this house and will be treated with respect.
Mom: You want respect? Earn some damn respect…
{Quickly and violently he reaches back and strikes her across the face with such ferocity that she falls to the floor and sits there, not unconscious but certainly not seeing straight. The young girl, our heroine runs from the room with her little sibling. She goes into her room and starts rummaging around under her bed mattress, one that looks like the sheets haven’t been cleaned in a solid couple months she pulls out a couple bills and, taking her sister climbs through the window to the area outside. From her window we hear her father yelling}
Father: Honey come back, you know I love you. Your mom, she just… She just says things and I can’t control myself. Come back honey.
{The young girl, who we can assume is likely about 9-10 years old turns}
Girl: Your daughter needs formula, and I am going to get it.
Dad: Oh, that’s a good girl, you go get that formula and come home and everything will be good. We can eat at MacDonald’s tonight even; you’ll see everything will be all right.
{She doesn’t respond just walks out of the narrow alleyway and down the street where it meets a sidewalk, as she turns the scene fades}
I guess being new here, and being the least experienced in the ring I don’t know really what to say about my opponents, I know the two girls that we are facing in the first round kind of fit the bill of most girls that are in this business, they are rude, mouthy and born with a silver spoon in their mouth…
{We hear a voice coming from off stage, you as a fan of professional wrestling realize that the voice is Gib’s, her husband and many time former world champion and hall-of-famer.}
Gib: Jesus H. Christ, what did I tell you, you need to decimate them, you need to make them angry and freakin’ rattle their cages. I told you, I like the silver spoon thing but instead of saying in their mouth, say born with a silver spoon up their asses.
{She looks at him puzzled}
Doc: But I don’t really understand why I would say that, there is no reason for a spoon to be there.
Gib: God woman, this isn’t all about logic and making sense it is about striking fear in your opponents. Here, I will cut a promo in a true amazing fashion, so you can learn. Now be careful, my promotional material has been known to impregnate the common person.
{Gib takes a deep breath and then raises his eyes to the camera, a freakish look courses through them like those of a wild platypus, ready to reek havoc upon a community of unsuspecting mongooses}
Gib: Oh lookey here, this week I am in a tag team tournament and I am facing against two little prissy hot bitches that think they are soooo special because they are rich and still like to get their hands dirty in the wrestling ring, well, here is a little something for you to think about. So, Mackenzie and Angel if you like getting your hands dirty why don’t you put them on…
{He stops, his wife stands there with her mouth agape, waiting for the horrid comment}
Gib: A syringe full of bull semen, and then inject that semen into the reproductive system of a cow, because that is what you are good at, getting fat cows pregnant… HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Doc: Wait, they are women. So the whole argument doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t you say that they like getting impregnated by a bull or something?
Gib: What? That is disgusting; you should see someone about that because that is just downright gross. My god woman what in the hell is wrong with you? Sometimes I wonder why I married you.
{She smiles; she loves this about her husband. For someone that has spent her whole life reasoning things using valid thoughts and that type of things there is something about the crass behavior of her husband that she just loves.}
Gib: Ok, so you got that taken care off, talk about that, so if you win who do you face in the second round?
Doc: Either Circus of Madness…
Gib: Another cliché group of clicky bitches…
Doc: Or EMF, Zelda and Skye…
Gib: Oh shit, you are fucking screwed, my daughter will totally kick your ass, because I created her using my semen, and that makes her a wrestling goddess.
Doc: Thanks for the vote of confidence.
Gib: Was there an election? I am sorry, I am a realist and I know she is one bad bitch. Who knows, I am going to teach you this move call the roll up, you might be able to catch her with that.
Doc: Ok, I think that is something up my alley, sounds easy.
Gib: But you have to put your hand by another person’s crotch. Hence the reason it is my favorite move.
{Doc just smiles, and embraces her Neanderthal of a husband. The scene fades}
I guess I should talk about the elephant in the room, and that of course is the possible matchup against my own daughter –in-law and her friend this weekend. I know that you weren’t happy when your father and I got married because you were worried that I would be a total bitch to you, hopefully you have come to understand that the only thing I want from your father is his unconditional love.
I don’t want his money, I don’t want what comes with his fame or being associated with him. I just want him and all of his goofy glory, there is something about your Dad, he is special, he is something different. When people are around him they just feel better, they can open up and allow their inner child to roam free for a while because he doesn’t judge you for what your first reaction is like so many others.
But I guess with all that said I hope that you and Skye, or the Carnival Chicks or the other clique of girls that aren’t together aren’t taking me lightly. I understand that this is my very first foray into the wrestling world. I understand that this is my very first chance to prove that I am tough enough to survive in this business. But I am not coming in cold. It isn’t like I haven’t been training; it isn’t like I don’t have the tutelage necessary to be successful.
Because of Gib and his son Xander, I am prepared. TEAM ER, oddly named being that I am a psychologist and not a doctor you would ever see in an emergency room has a lot to prove. And who knows, this weekend when the smoke clears and all is said and done, perhaps the biggest underdogs in this tournament will be holding the women’s titles, perhaps the longshot will win one for the Gifford.
And one last thing, and I apologize for this but your father made me promise to say it.
Zelda, I am going to make you call me momma.