Grip Daddy

As much as he hated to admit it, The Detective was watching English’s career closer than anyone else. He wasn’t surprised at the way the match ended at Proving Ground. The killer instinct in Casanova English was always evident to him. Hell the company is lucky he didn’t choke TJ to death. A man like him isn’t one to care about win loss records.

The Detective took a draw off the flask he kept tucked inside his jacket and coughed into his hands briefly before flicking on his recorder.


“I’ve been reading and reading Casanova's old diaries. Traumatic stuff really, talking about his mom's many suitors, the drug use and domestic dispute they brought along with them.”

The Detective flips the pages continuing to read from Casanova’s diary…

My mom’s dating one of those white boys who wants to be a rapper. Quit his day job just to feel a minuscule amount of oppression. I never understood those guys, the ones who have it so good they can afford to do bad. At least he’s got a steady stock of cigarettes. On top of stealing them to smoke myself I can get a buck for one at school. Makes lunch pretty easy when mom’s too fucking stoned to give a shit. It’s funny, this grown ass man from a buck fuck Canadian town thinking he can make it in a realm so far removed from where he is, not just geographically -- culturally.

It was like a first draft of a manifesto, ideas a young English scribbled to keep from going insane, not knowing he was shaping his own philosophy.

It’s amazing what people will do for 15 minutes of fame -- or to keep exiting in the illusion that it’s close and shit… might be sustainable. It never just falls in your lap, touring the same local bar keeps you stagnant and if you were such a big fish well… see what the ocean is like. Sometimes I wonder what my dad would be like, where I come from -- if he’s off chasing the same bullshit dream. It’s tough when the only man in your life is sick. I’m going to see grand dad tomorrow, see if he still fucking remembers who I am. Who can blame him, sometimes I forget.

All that teenage angst, drama, it was a normal stage The Detective had to admit, but there was something about Casanova’s thought process that stuck him, made him feel dangerous. Or maybe it was all the booze, feeding the paranoia.

The journal fell out of The Detective’s lap.. Onto the ground and opened to the prefect page like a Hollywood film. His eyes widen as they refocus trying to account for the drink.

“Well, it appears daddy wasn’t the first person English may have played a hand in killing.”


A goat looked at me dead in the eye, horns and all -- symbolic of the acronym.

“Does this have anything to do with me being a Capricorn?” I ask V.

No, she says picking up the leash guiding the poor fragile thing toward Bash. Who stood in the middle of the warehouse with a large Reesemart sledgehammer slug over his shoulder. A vegan’s worst nightmare, though he didn’t eat meat either -- just enjoyed the slaughter -- kinda fucked up.

“You have this boy you are up against and all he cares about is lavish things in life, he doesn’t think about where it comes from, what is sacrificed… he thinks of no one’s struggle but his own.”

Petey tried his best to save TJ before I could do any permanent brain damage, but I hope to God I put the prick on the shelf. I’m tired of people like him and Petey. Extinction is the goal, gold accessories are just a bonus.

“So let’s show him where the fur he wants to wrap himself in comes from -- what it looks like to skin a snake for leather. How many lives were lost mining diamonds.”

V pulls a bit of feed from her pocket and cups it gently so the goat can eat.

“So I think we need to show him the brutality of it all. Show him what he will have to go through if he wants his name on the billboards with a fucking crown atop his head. Pete has to learn what it is like to actually fight and earn… and you’ll teach that lesson daddy should have. I saw the way his eyes widened when he realized you would destroy TJ right in front of him just to prove a point -- fuck this win this is about blood and Casanova English drinks to get drunk.”

I was feeling good. The situation with The Detective was cleaned up to the best of my knowledge and it’s about time I focus on the task at hand, becoming the greatest this industry has ever seen. I’m sick of being the honorable mention in listacles because of my politics -- when I sit atop the mountain once again -- it’ll be undeniable. Judge the artist on the art right. That’s what I am doing with Lil’ Petey. I’ve listened to his Soundcloud, downloaded the crap on Spotify just to get a idea of who he really is, but like most kids these days -- he’s a fucking chameleon -- adapting with the whatever new wave passes by. A relevance horny manchild.

“I’m going to knock Petey into reality, it’ll be TJ at his bedside at the ICU when he wakes up… if he knows what is good for him. What I do to Petey won’t be a statement, it’ll be punctuation. I’ll be a send off for him in this division. Either he tries to move on to chase the Grand Championship… or maybe he will fall down to the undercard. Regardless after I am done with him, it's going to be too traumatic for him to even be in the same dressing room as me.”

I could hear Bash’s leather gloves grip the wooden handle of the sledgehammer as he moved it down by his leg, getting ready to hoist it.

“I wish I could be as ignorant. None of this matters to Petey, the lifestyle, the blood, he just wants to get it under his nails to up his fucking street credit. Get 50 scars to be the bargain brand whitewashed 50 Cent. Well I don’t mind doing the honors. While he is focused on his larger goals, well that’s when I slip in… like a fucking sledgehammer.”

Bash swings the hammer down with all his might hitting the goat so hard most it’s brain matter gushed out of his eye sockets. I didn’t flinch when the blood hit me. Didn’t even wipe it away. I placed a cigarette in my lips smirking at the carnage as I bring a flame up to ignite it.

I’m sitting in a makeshift throne made of animal bones all tied together with twine. You can’t see anything but me sitting on the throne, a spotlight highlighting me. As the camera moves closer you can see I have the carcass of the goat hollowed out and slung over myself like a robe, his face still intact -- although slightly deformed. Horns hanging from the top. I peer from underneath looking like Tom Green in the 90’s.

A large diamond hangs around my neck, crimson just melting off of it. As I sigh thinking of my upcoming match.

“You beat me TJ. I will give you that -- I won’t make any excuses. But the thing is, we play with a whole different set of rules. In my world there is no mercy, there is no reversing a decision already made, in my world consequences are king and you and Petey will witness that when I pry the title from his baby soft hands.”

“I know you are worried about being the next drip daddy, well let me tell you something… that hold I locked in on TJ is nothing compared to the grip I’ll have on the Warrior Rising Championship. It’ll be with me for so long the leather will forever reek of cigarette smoke and sadness, the faceplate will be unrecognizable, caked with ash and dried blood and piss because it’s the only thing I’ll have on staggering to the bathroom. There won’t be another warrior to fucking rise, I’ll lop their heads off as they pop them up… I’ll grasp that title so long they’ll call Grip Daddy because I put a stranglehold on this fucking division. I’m sad to say Petey, it all starts with you.”

I pull a cigarette from a small pouch installed on the interior of the goat robe, and flip it around on my fingers for a moment.

“I’ve been dealing with people like you since I got into this industry. False bravado and confidence wrapped up in a fun loving little package and these kids eat it up don’t they. They want to be told their feeble dreams might be accomplished and that’s what you are selling them… not action figures… not rap albums… false fucking hope. See some of those people coming to our shows spent their last check on it, they are oppressed they didn’t have to sink their life’s savings into a music career just to feel like it. You take everything these people love and turn it into a joke and they still eat out of the palm of your hand. Well lucky for them, I came to take the title and swing the ideology of wrestling my way… and at the end of it you’ll all thank me for it.”

I light the cigarette and blow a plume of smoke toward the camera. I move my hand down on the skeleton arm rest and flick the ashes off gently.

“I’ll never understand clout chasers, how they maintain relationships, but lets be honest you're not too good at that are you Petey? Eventually you and your buddy TJ will have to shout over one another to ensure you remain part of the conversation. It’s best I just do the job this week and yank the title from you -- we wouldn’t want you and TJ fighting over who the greatest Warrior Rising Champion is -- I’ll make that clear in the months that come. A wrestling career, you’ll be lucky to have a singing career with the amount of pressure I’m going to put on your larynx. I did what I said I was going to, I forced you to watch me choke the life out of one of your best friends -- and a man better than you on paper. Someone who has the most title defenses in this division… a whole two. But numbers don’t matter to me, you saw that last Proving Ground. And this company can conspire all they want to taint my win loss record, but the truth remains my shoulders have never been pinned to the mat and I have yet to tap out. This week after I am done with you, they can reverse the decision, they can press charges, they can wipe me from Project Honor history because of the hideous things I will do -- but they will all see it live, and for those fans it’ll engrave in their memories the day I drip, drip dropped you on your head, cut off the small amount of remaining blood filled oxygen making its way to the few remaining brain cells and became a champion.”

“You have no idea what it means to be a warrior -- but you will. At Proving Ground I am going to grab all your attention. I am going to force your ADHD ridden mind to focus on Casanova English and the task at hand. You won’t hear that crowd, they won’t feed you like they use to, you’ll hear your heartbeat in your ears. For me this isn’t just about capturing the Warrior Rising Championship. This is about showing you what it takes to be the GOAT. You don’t care in what space that is in do you? You're just a cheap whore for fame and at Proving Ground I make you work for it sweetheart. TJ can pick up the championship if he wants and hit me all he wants, I am not going to let go Petey. I am not going to let go until I see the true fear in your eyes and the realization it can all be taken away. I’m going to beat the appreciation of this sport, of this reality in your head if it’s the last thing I do. I hope the lights don’t sting your frontal lobes too bad when you come too."

I take a few sharp puffs off the cigarette and let it hang between my lips.

“All these things you think that represent fame, fortune, it all comes from a place of pain. A place of suffering, naive people like you putting diamonds on your watch not realizing how many lives were lost to secure the bag. To me you didn’t even earn that championship, and it’s time I strip you of the luxury and humble you in front of this entire roster. See if I beat you Petey, I technically put down a former Grand Champion. Petey, I am going to use you for my own fortune and my own fame. You’ve become a very product of what you are chasing, just something shiny to play with.”

I lift up the mangled goat serving as a coat and hoist up it’s head blowing smoke up through letting it flow through the empty eye sockets.