I used a writing prompt from the generous Maria Kelly
http://mariakellyauthor.com/2011/07/28/writing-prompt-11-crazy-tie/

Jim E. James finished recording the promo for the Hardcore Cookout pay per view. He sat back in his chair in his office and for once had a smile on his face. He looked down on his new tie; a colorful array of flowers on a wide, white tie. A few of the workers shared a laugh and it seemed morale was increased. Jim straightened his shoulders and looked over his desk.

 Not a drop of whiskey could be found. All papers were stacked in different piles and a telephone was plugged in and positioned an arms-length away from him. A smile was planted on his leathery face and looked around. He was happy, yet he had no idea why. He went to sooth his hair, but was only able to scratch his bare head.

 Suddenly a knock at the door broke his gleam. He had an open door policy with his employees, so no one in NLW ever knocked. Like a thunder in the distance his smile slowly faded. A sixth sense came over him; he could smell the musky cologne even with the door was closed…

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August, the hottest time of year, is about to get much more hot! Live on pay per view NLW invades every house party in Tampa Bay, Florida. It’s Hardcore Cookout August 21st. Be sure to order tis hot pay per view:

 NLW isn’t all about blood, gore and beer. It’s a showcase of high aerial, ground tactics and all around great wrestling. You get that and more in this International Showcase! Jose Rico vs. Riley O’Hare vs. Othello Plato vs. Akimitsu Hyosuke vs. Tommy Smith vs. Rekhyt.

It’s a catfight to end all catfights. Rachel has been running her mouth for years, and running from Sabrina Cox almost as long; now there is nowhere to run when you’re tied to your challenger! Rachel vs. Sabrina Cox in a Dog-Collar Match.

Whip it! Rocco “The High Roller” Rockefeller has been stealing victories thanks to the interference of his bodyguard Tyrone Butler. Now Tyrone is done being the whipping boy for the golden boy. Rocco “The High Roller” Rockefeller vs. Tyrone Butler in a Singapore Cane match.

The Douchebags have been under the skin of everyone since they came to NLW. Pig Vomit wants to keep their tag team gold and send them packing. The Douchebags vs. Pig Vomit in a Dumpster Match for the NLW tag team championships!

The Violent New Breed seeks retribution against the one man who has been destroying their ranks. Jason “The Man” Turtle vs. The Silencer and Judge Mental with Nick “Fade” Gordy

 And finally in our main event, it’s history in the making for the NLW Heavyweight championship. Shannon Shooter has proven herself capable of handling her own, and Jihad Sullivan has welcomed her challenge since eliminating longtime foe Onyx the Corpse. Can the Devil hold onto the championship or will Shannon make history? Jihad “The Devil” Sullivan vs. Shannon Shooter for the NLW Heavyweight Championship!

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

  The pain filed voice of Hank Williams Sr. filled the country bar. A lone bartender, a burly man with a Hulk Hogan type mustache, filled a pint glass full of Budweiser and handed it to a thirsty customer. The bar was not empty, but it wasn’t packed. It was just a weekday and not yet quitting time. Other than the classic country music, the sound of a pool game broke the silence. None of the drinkers even dared to look at each other, almost like the different herds of animals on the savannah.

 The only two exceptions are at the end of the bar. A large man with short hair with a wide white tie with many flowers on it, and a scrawny man with thin, yet longer hair. Louie Heart downed his beer and called for another. His companion only stirred his glass.

 “You need to come back. People think you’re dead,” Louie finally whispered. “Get cleaned up.”

 A soft chuckle escaped the scrawny man. “A drunk telling a druggie he needs to get clean. That’s comic gold, Lou.”

 Louie shook his head, “I’m serious, Chris. Eddie almost saw you at the Round Up. Jim’s been looking for you.”

 “Jim’s been looking for me? Oh well that ought to mean I better get clean and make the old man proud!”

 Louie took the beer and drank a sip. “Keep your voice down. And you owe Jim, Chris. He took you in.”

 “Took me in?”

 “Yeah, everyone knows he pretty much adopted you at 17 when your mom kicked you out. For this habit you still haven’t broken.”

 “Notice I never said I wanted in?”

 “Well you are. Jim cares about you like a son.”

 A huff, “And he abandoned his kid.”

 Louie slammed his beer down. “Jim E. James is a fucking saint, Chris and you know this. His wife couldn’t handle the fact he made more than her so she left. Fucking feminist.”

 “Or maybe he abandoned her needs,” Chris pressed on. “Nothing is like it seems, Lou. Everything is permitted.”

 “It’s because of you everyone thinks I’m some drunk. Even Eddie thinks so. Why do you keep doing this? You look terrible.”

 Chris was silent for a moment. Louie drank half his pint before Chris spoke. “I see him again.”

 “Who the clown? That’s where everyone gets their drugs.”

 Chris shook his head, “No, not the clown. Kurt.”

 Louie spit his beer out, “You’re seeing the ghost of Kurt Cobain?”

 He nods, “Every time I break the astral plane, I see him.”

 Louie was left with his jaw open and beer drooling out. “I think it’s time we get you to a meeting, Chris.”

 “No!”

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

The fresh taste of mint filled his mouth as Curt Evans chewed a piece of spearmint gum. He looked at himself in the mirror that hung crooked. Curt ignored the sticky bathroom floor, the peeling wall paper and even the roach that balanced on the curtain liner. He didn’t check into this no-tell motel for a rejuvenating day the spa, hell he never even been in one of the bathrooms! Yet today he was left staring at himself in the mirror, completely naked. He leaned forward, pressing his hands against the sink; his triceps burning from the previous hour of ‘sex-ups’, where he did push-ups while having sex.

  His eyes burned a hole into his reflection, it seemed like a stranger was in front of him. He didn’t recognize the shaggy blond hair that was drowned in sweat, he didn’t recognize the tanned and toned athletic abdomen and chiseled chest. He did, however, recognize the one thing that has been the focus of his entire life on and off the past year—his penis. Although he never remembered getting it pierced, his hand slowly swept down and touched the metal rod and his eyes bulged. It was new! When did he get a prince albert?

 His mind raced, trying to think of what he does remember. His baby blue eyes turned distant, his memory has become hazy. Clowns, sex, needles, bright lights, body slams, money, gun blasts, a little girl on a tricycle, a crying woman… They all spun together in a cycle of moments, like they were connected. He touched his face, he mouthed the words ‘Where is Curt?’ but no voice came from his throat.

After a long, silent moment of remembrance Curt’s concentration was broken by the view behind him. Licking her full lips and leaning against the doorway stood his naked mistress. Her thick chestnut hair hung down her head, her doe eyes came alive with lust. Her full breasts bobbed slowly up and down as she slowly inhaled. Being a full foot shorter than Curt, her body gave way to a few extra pounds that carefully created dangerous curves of sex appeal.

 Her name was completely misleading; she was not an innocent lamb. She was Rachel. No compassion came from her warm body; many of her past lovers would call her the reincarnation of the first evil woman, Lilith. When she spoke, Curt’s skin crawled with sensation.

 “My, my, you really are a dirty boy,” she cooed as she looked around at the bathroom.

 Curt hung his head, he did not respond.

 “Your wife called,” she hissed.

 Curt looked up, but only to look at her in the mirror.

 “Poor little Emily,” she faked a whiny noise, “My husband is cheating on me with a hottie that I can only wish to be like and I can’t prove it,” she gave a soft laugh. “What did you ever see in that bitch, Curt? Curt? CURT, ANSWER ME!”

 Curt couldn’t think of what to say. He couldn’t think of anything at all. He just stood there.

 “I don’t need this abuse, Curt. There are many other men who will treat me better,” she hissed again. Crocodile tears filled her eyes. Curt has seen it a thousand times but he couldn’t stop it. He knew what was coming next, but he couldn’t brace it. “You’re just like your father.”

 It got the effect she wanted. Curt swung back, grabbed her by the hips and threw her onto the bed. The moment of reflection paled in his lifetime of proving he wasn’t his father. Yet the more he tried not to be, the more he became Curt Evans, Sr.

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