Mr. S£im Citrus

.... Drea, you have a very subversive sense of humor; I kind of like that...

Johnny Dangerous steps off the brow of the Lisa J II and onto the deck of Pier 14 in Morgan’s Bluff. He quickly runs to the end of the pier and hails a taxi. “Good aft’noon, suh,” says the cordial cab driver. “Where d’you need t’go today?” “Do you know how to get to the LeCroix residence,” asks the Secret Agent. “Oui,” replies the driver. “Ever’body dis way know who be de LeCroix. Kind folk, dey was. Dey might have been hit harder by de hurricane den anyone.” Johnny blinks twice as he processes this information. “Take me there, please.” “Sure t’ing, suh. Right away.” With that, the taxi begins to speed along, Johnny staring out the window as his mind recalls the words on the letter that led him here: Johnny, As you know, I am a man of few words, so I will keep this brief; I am writing this letter to say goodbye. By the time that you read this, I will have most likely done that which has been on my mind for the past several weeks now… Johnny grips the letter tightly in his fist, continuing to stare out the window of the taxi as it takes him towards the LeCroix family residence. Flashing in front of his face as the cab speeds along are the homes of the unfortunate souls whose homes were destroyed at the hands of Hurricane Jeanne. … I’m sorry that I’m so weak. I thought for weeks that I might be able to deal with this, to live with this pain, but it has proven to be too much for me to bear. I am sure that you find it strange for me, someone whom you always thought had a happy outlook on life, to even be considering such a thing, but losing your entire family in a hurricane will do that to some people… it certainly has to me… “Damn shame what happened t’ dose poor souls.” The unexpected sound of the cabbie’s voice startles Johnny out of his reverie. “Huh?” “Jus’ t’inkin’ how it’s a shame ‘bout all dese people dat were lost t’ de storm, mistah…” The cabbie pauses in thought. “I don’ believe I got your name, suh.” “I didn’t give it.” If Johnny’s terse demeanor irritated the driver, he gave no sign. “May I ask what brings you down t’ see de LeCroix?” “I’m here to see Dominic,” he replies. “He’s a friend of mine. I just learned about what happened, and I… I wanted to check up on him; you know… see how he’s doing.” The driver nods his head in understanding. “Fin’ young boy, dat one. He went t’ school wit my grandson; dey were on de track team t’gether… Everybody ‘roun’ here was proud t’see him on de TV, representin’ de Bahamas so strong… terrible for a young man t’lose his family like dat.” Johnny remains silent as the taxi continues to speed along, his thoughts drifting back to Dominic’s letter: … I can still remember growing up as a kid on Andros; my friends and I used to play football on the beach in Nicholl’s Town… Ironically enough, the taxi drove past that same beach just then. Johnny looked out the window to see miles of debris, fragments of people’s houses and scattered trees cluttering the once pristine sand. As the cab continued on, Johnny lapsed back into a semi-conscious state, still dwelling over the ominous words written by his best friend: … But that beach is in ruins now. And even though people around here have already started to rebuild, there are some things that simply can’t be repaired… like my soul… Suddenly, the taxi had come to a stop in front of the decimated ruins of the LeCroix family estate. “We’re here, suh,” says the driver. Once again, the cabbie’s words jolt Johnny back into reality. “Eh? Oh, uhh… thanks.” The Secret Agent absentmindedly tosses a handful of bills into the front seat as he climbs out of the taxi. “Do you need me to wait around, suh?” Johnny pauses for a moment, trying to decide what he’s going to do here if what he came to prevent has already happened. “Uhm… that won’t be necessary, mister…” “Pearman’s de name,” says the driver with a grin, pointing to the placard inside his cab. “Joseph Pearman, but folk ‘roun’ here jus’ call me Mistah Jo-Jo.” “Alright then,” Johnny says uncertainly, “Mister… Jo-Jo. I’ll call the cab company when I need a ride back.” “You de boss,” says Jo-Jo. “An’ tell li’l Nicky dat Mistah Jo-Jo said hey!” With that, the taxi drove off, leaving Johnny to walk into the gate alone. … There’s no amount of repairs that can give me back my baby sister; Lillian used to follow me around all the time, her basket full of freshly-picked orchids, always trying to stick some in my hair when I wasn’t looking. I always used to tell her to knock it off, and would tease her for always following me and my brother Marius around, but I was secretly happy that she was there. Lilly was the emotional barometer for my whole family, whenever I smelled those wild orchids, I knew that everything in my world was going to be just fine… Amidst the wreckage and debris, there was a clearing of freshly planted orchids in bloom. A small dirt path split the flowers into two separate patches, and Johnny followed this path several hundred yards until it took him into a small grove. … Lilly was a little jealous of me and my brother Marius because Mama and Papa retired from the circus before she was old enough to join the act. Marius and I were like best friends. Even though he was only a year younger than me, we did everything together. Everyday after school, we used to race down to the reef and spend hours diving, having contests to see who could perform the most acrobatic dives. I was usually able to beat him, but every year, it got harder and harder. If I had never met you, Johnny, I probably would have asked him to join me in the SWF. The Flying LeCroix’s would have been something to see, I guarantee you that! Near the back of this grove, Johnny noticed five headstones. Four of them stood at the head of freshly covered graves, with the fifth standing at the head of an as-yet empty grave. Johnny noticed a large handmade wreath made of orchids adorning one of them, guessing correctly that Lillian must be buried there. As he walked closer to the graves in order to inspect them further, Johnny notices something completely unexpected at the head of Marius’ grave, which he resolved to talk to Dominic about, if he happened to find him… Mama and Papa were wonderful people, two of the kindest people that I ever met. I couldn’t have asked for better parents. Some of my happiest memories are of traveling with them in the circus. Even though what we did was very dangerous, my parents always make me feel safe. After they retired from the circus, Papa became a fisherman because, well, there’s not much else to do down here (smile). He used to take me and Marius out with him when we didn’t have school, and he would talk to us about life. Mama was a saint. Devoted to Papa from the day they met, she was rarely away from his side in nearly twenty-five years of marriage. She nurtured us without smothering us, which I always appreciated. I got my upbeat attitude from her, in case you ever wondered. You’d never see Mama anywhere without a smile on her face; even when her mother fell ill a few years ago, she never let us see her cry. She was perhaps the strongest person I’ve ever met; I can’t get through this without her… Henri Dominic LeCroix 1955-2004 Devoted Husband and Father Diana Marie Beaumont LeCroix 1957-2004 Beloved Wife and Mother Dominic Joseph LeCroix 1982-2004 Honored Son and Brother (EMPTY) Marius Henri LeCroix 1983-2004 Honored Son and Brother Lillian Diana LeCroix 1986-2004 Cherished Daughter and Sister Johnny’s heart stopped at sight of his best friend’s name on an empty grave. He leaned over the grave fearfully, dreading the idea that he may have come too late to save him. Finding the grave unoccupied, Johnny sighs audibly, allowing himself to breathe for what seemed to be the first time in several minutes. No longer able to restrain the emotions that he had been holding back throughout his long trip here, he dropped to his knees at the head of the grave, leaning against the headstone for support as he recalled the remainder of the note: Please do not blame yourself for what I am about to do. What I have chosen, I have chosen freely. It was not an easy decision for me to come to, but I can’t bear to wake up to this emptiness any longer… I need to make the pain go away. I also ask that you do not hate me for my cowardice. I simply seek peace… an ending… an escape. I do not want for you or anyone else to be subjected to the sight of seeing me slowly destroyed over the years by my grief. I will always cherish the time that we were partners in crime. I want you to know that, if nothing else, of all the people that I have known in my life, you were my best friend. You have a noble spirit, and I always looked up to you. I know that this will not be easy for you to accept, but I hope that, in time, you will be able to forgive me for what I am about to do. Goodbye, my friend. Dominic PS – I guess I wasn’t so brief after all (smile)… Still clenching the note firmly in his hand, Johnny raises his head, tears streaming from his eyes. He pats the headstone as he slowly rises to his feet. “Please God,” begs Johnny as he casts his eyes skyward, “don’t let me be too late!” With that, he leapt back onto the path and ran towards the house as fast as he could go. END PART TWO

You should read more...

Feh; back to the Peanut Gallery with you... You appoint yourself to be Toxxic's flapper, or something?

You jobbed yourself in a title match? Who do you think you are, me?

Good song, but they weren't a one hit wonder as they also had "I Wanna Be Your Man" as a hit. That depends on how you define "hit." I never heard "I Wanna Be Your Man" on the radio.

"Don't Disturb This Groove," by The System "Believe it or Not," by Joey Scarbury "No Diggity," by Blackstreet "Hey Mr. DJ," by Zhané "Jump," by Kris Kross "Mr. Loverman," by Shabba Ranks

How do you lose a ladder match to a three hundred fifty-pounder?

What the hell?

coughhartfoundationcough

Yahoo's main page is reporting 103% percent voting complete in New Mexico... and they still haven't called the state...

"College Republicans?" I thought they only had those at engineering schools; I do remember a fairly large Republican contingent when I went to GT...

But that would be balanced out by the fact that high population density states would not be able to dedicate all of their votes to one candidate; California being forced to divide it's fifty-four electoral votes (or however many it has) would be more significant than Colorado being forced to divide its nine.

No one has ever been able to satisfactorily explain to me why this is so... The way that the process should work (at least, in theory), this being a representative republic and all, is that each electorate should vote in accordance with whatever the popular vote is in their respective electoral districts. And each electoral vote should stand on its own; a state shouldn't award all of it's allocated electoral votes to whomever wins the overall popular vote for that state. For example, since Colorado has nine electoral votes, if five districts vote for Kerry, and the other four vote for Bush, that probably means that Kerry won the overall popular vote, but that shouldn't mean that Colorado automatically awards all nine to Kerry.

Dude, after three and a half years, I can barely even remember what sex feels like, let alone write about it...

Isn't that kid close to four by now? I could have sworn that Pete said Ian was two a couple of years ago...

Have I mentioned recently how much Taamo looks like my ex-brother in-law?

I'm just sayin, though; Sarah really knows LDP, Thugg really knows X, Janus really knows Crow, Mark really knows King... I don't know any of you... Although, to be fair, none of you are anywhere close to my age, except for Mark, King and Johnny, so it's not as if we'd ever by likely to travel in the same circles...

It still boggles my mind that some of you actually know each other IRL; aside from when I was stationed in Norfolk, I don't think that I've ever even been within three hundred miles of any of you...

I don't understand what you mean by that, IRDMTB; I didn't actually call e-feds anything... I just want to understand why Agent looks at e-feds disdainfully, since they're (well, at least ours is, anyway) essentially just competitive creative writing groups that use wrestling as the motif. Are you disgusted by the fact that we write competitively, Agent, or just that we write about wrestling? If it's the latter, what could we write about that you wouldn't look down upon?

Somewhere in Florida. There is a party every night amongst the rich and the famous, and those who wish they were. In one such party, a man not seen in several weeks mingles with the other guests, having been invited by his lovely date for the evening, Victoria Lake… not that it mattered anyway. What she brought to the table was… well, what was below the table... The Agent, dressed all in black, was in the middle of hearing other men in the circle tell of their brave exploits. Not wanting to look inferior to the Secret Agent Wrestling Superstar in their midst… “So then this bear comes out, and everyone’s panicking—running all over the place, and I looked that bear dead in the eyes-” “That’s so brave, Fredrick!” one of the females said. “You fought a bear on top of Pleasure Mountain? I didn’t know you could go camping up there.” “Yeah, well,” said Johnny, “finish your story Fred, I’m going to go get a drink real quick.” Johnny sighed a breath of relief as we strolled off towards the bar. “Geez,” he thought, “I never thought I’d get out of that conversation!” “What can I get for you, Agent Dangerous?” said the Bartender, smiling proudly for recognizing the SWF star as he walked up to the counter. “I’ll take a martini,” Johnny said. He leaned his elbow against the bar and glanced back towards the numerous partygoers. “Let me guess,” the Bartender says as he begins concocting the drink before looking up at Johnny with a smirk and continuing. “You want it shaken… not stirred.” A joke the Barracuda has heard numerous times before, and while funny the first few times, it had now become rather annoying. “Ha… ” Johnny replied, shaking his head, “and here I thought I heard them all by now.” He grabbed his drink and begun to make his way back to the party while making a mental note never to hire that bartender for any more parties. “Johnny?” a grisly male voice called from behind the Barracuda, startling him in mid-sip of his martini. Dangerous cautiously glanced over his shoulder, only to get an eye full of a man he’d thought he’d seen the last of. They called him… Sam “The Butcher” Standing at six foot five and two hundred-ninety pounds of muscle, Sam was certainly not a face you’d want to cross in a dark alley. In fact, meeting him in broad daylight in the middle of an open field wasn’t too high on the list of wishes for the Barracuda either. He’d crossed Sam on more than one occasion as a secret service agent, and on the last meeting Johnny ended it with an ice pick to the Butcher’s eye. “Johnny Dangerous—I’ve waited a very long time for our paths too cross again!” he growled, rolling up his sleeve as he crept towards the Barracuda, who could just watch wide eyed in…well bewilderment. “I’ve got a glass eye now thanks to you, and you cost me 50 bucks with your sorry excuse for a Genesis Five showing, you sorry sack of--” SPLASH! “OOF!” Quick as lightning, Johnny slung the remaining martini onto Sam, startling the Butcher just long enough to send a spinning heel kick into the side of his foe’s jaw-- CRACK! “OH MY GOSH, THERE’S A FIGHT, RUN! EEEEEK!” --and kicking the Butcher so hard that he went flying back and crashing into the buffet table! It split at its seams when Sam fell onto it, bringing all the various food dishes down on top of the notorious Butcher. Once again his plot would be foiled, only this time… “SAM!?” the kitchen manager shouted from the swinging door to the kitchen. “SAM!? What the hell are you doing startling the guests!? Get back in here…NOW!” “But, Boss,” begged Sam, standing to his feet and covered in pasta. “I SAID NOW!” Begrudgingly, the Butcher obliged, but not before calling a final warning to his wish it were arch nemesis. “Well meet again, Johnny, and when we do… there’ll be HELL to pay!” Johnny watched carefully—martial arts stance posed—as the Butcher growled and muttered the entire way back into the kitchen. “Sam the Butcher is a caterer now?” he thought, rather perplexed at the notion. It seemed rather strange that a former Henchman of the Belgium Liberation Team would make such an unexpected career move. Indeed, this required further investigation… “So much for a vacation,” Johnny muttered as he began creeping towards the kitchen door. He could here shouting and the banging of pots coming from inside the kitchen. The first thought that came to his mind was that Sam was throwing a tantrum, and killing off all the caterers one by sweet merciful one. No doubt that he’d be using his favorite assassination weapon of choice—a dry spaghetti noodle through the throat—on his coworkers. Slowly, Johnny pushed open the door just enough to peer inside, but nothing could be seen and so he decided to go all the way in! “FREEZE!” shouted Johnny, only to find the kitchen barren of all workers… except for one man sitting at a table in the middle of the kitchen. Frank Thornton, director of the CIA. “Hello, Agent Dangerous,” greeted Frank, motioning Johnny to come in. “Why don’t you have a seat.” “Great,” muttered Johnny, cursing himself for making an investigation into the matter. He could have just left the party and went home, but now he’d have to wade through an attempt by the CIA to get him to come back to the agency. “Sorry to use Sam on you,” said Frank, smirking, “but I needed some way to get you to come meet with me. You haven’t returned any of our calls, so since Frank was out of work with the BLT I hired him to draw you in. Here, have a drink.” he said, sliding a beer in front of the Barracuda. “Well, I’m on vacation,” replied Johnny. “Taking a break from work you know.” “Had a rough time in the SWF, did you?” “Just get to the point, Frank.” “You know, Agent Dangerous,” he begun, and already he could tell that the Barracuda was growing uneasy, as well as he should. Frank visiting one of his agents always meant an assignment wasn’t far away. He knew it, and Johnny knew it… he showed it. “It’s been nearly a year since the unfortunate events that occurred in the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation occurred-” “Unfortunate…” Johnny repeated, half smirking and half wondering if Frank was serious. “What happened in the SWF was far from that. In fact I’d call it a case of total bullshit—what you put me through… Hell, what you all put Nic through-” “Look, Agent Dangerous, I’m not here to re-spin what happened with that. However, It’s been a year since it happened, and a year since you were granted a leave of absence from the CIA, to end at your discretion-” “That’s right, Frank, I can take as long of a vacation from the agency as I want. One year… five, ten, it’s totally up to me, thanks… well…thanks to your predecessor who screwed quite a few people to fill her pocketbook.” Johnny took a sip of his drink, not wanting to let any emotions rule his thoughts. “Well,” Frank, taking the moment of Johnny’s mouth not running stood from his seat. “I’m not going to let this turn into a debate, Agent Dangerous, I just wanted to make sure everything is well with you. Your one of my best Secret Agents, and I’m going to need you pretty soon. I’m just giving you a heads up,” said Frank. He quickly turned to make his exit, but stopped as he neared the doorway. “Oh,” he called back to Johnny, reaching inside his coat pocket. “A letter came for you… I think you might want to take a look.” He finished off, tossing the envelope onto the table before spinning on his heel and exiting out the back door. “Lousy son of a…” Johnny muttered as he furrowed his brow. Finally, he looked down at the envelope, and it immediately got his attention when the stamp was marked with “Bahamas”. “About time that crazy kid got in touch with me.” Johnny excitedly tore into the envelope and begun to read the letter it contained, with a wide grin. However, that grin soon faded and his eyes widened while reading through the entirety of the letter, and his hands began to tremble. Slowly he lowered the letter from his face. “Oh, my God,” he said in disbelief. For a moment all he could do was just stare blankly off into space while taking a few slow breaths. “No,” he muttered. Johnny balled up his fist and quickly jumped from his seat and reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone, and frantically dialed the numbers. “Hello? Sadie, this is Agent Dangerous, I’d like you to get me on the first flight to the Bahamas…” “… It’s an emergency.” END PART ONE

The concept of a creative writing contest makes you taste bile?

So, since it turns out that SD was actually a ringer after all, I've been meaning to ask, does that mean that Toxxic is, too?

Why?

Further proof that Edwin is the coolest guy to ever write for a wrestling e-fed.