[Carlton Gluck] Bonfire
Jan 28, 2024 21:02:00 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, edwarddubin0604, and 3 more like this
Post by Old Line Jeff on Jan 28, 2024 21:02:00 GMT -5
There was a bonfire.
Country folk don’t really need much of an excuse to start a fire.
Extra high water bill? Fire.
Lost a job? Or ragequit it? Fire.
Family coming in from out of town to visit? Fire.
Feeling existential angst over a feud that isn’t working for no clear reason and a pro wrestling career that isn’t going well?
Start a fucking fire.
Chapps isn’t around. There’s no sense in trying to track him down. Chapps marches to the beat of his own drum and he’s just too unpredictable for guessing where he’s at.
But in the front yard of the Gluck Shack - 25 feet from both the house and the live oak, mind you - a bonfire is burning, and Carlton Gluck is sitting on a lawnchair watching it with a bottle of Gentleman Jack in his hand. And his sister Cherie, a box of White Claw hard seltzers on the ground beside her chair, is watching it with him.
“So you’re really giving it up?”
“Well, ah mean, me an’ Chapps basically got until our current contracts expire t’ sign new ones. An’ if we don’t, we c’n jump to another XHF promotion, not that that’s happenin’, or a thirty day no-compete kicks in. Which ain’t a problem if we don’t go back to pro rasslin.”
“An’ if you quit rasslin, then what?”
“Ah dunno. That’s why me an’ Chapps decided to stick it out for a couple more months. Cos I tell you somethin’, Cherie. That fuckin’ weirdo in the bug mask who cain’t shut up about how evil he is gets my blood boilin’ more when he acts like he’s carryin’ us, then all them High Rollers do.”
Cherie pops the tab of a White Claw.
“So why exactly aren’t you foamin’ at th’ mouth t’ tear th’ High Rollers apart?”
“Ehhh…” Carlton rumbles, then takes a deep swig from his bottle. “Cos Ah’ve done it a couple times so it ain’t like Ah don’t know Ah can already. An’ besides, all they ever do is yak back an’ forth about stupid shit and then get my name wrong on purpose.”
“So why don’t you jus’ go ‘Say my name libtard say my name’ on ‘em?”
“Aight well first of all we can’t say that on the XHF. They can call us Trumptards all they want, but the minute we start, how do them fuckin’ citykids say, clappin’ back, butts get ruffled.”
“Then what about ‘Squeal my name cityboy?’”
“Cos if a movie like Deliverance had any combination of races and genders aside from white southern men as the bad guys, it’d be keepin’ Song of the South company and we’d be able to find some buncha acronyms t’ help us get some of that High Roller billionaire money because discrimination. As it is, fuck Deliverance, fuck everyone who had a hand in makin’ that atrocious piece of shit movie, and doublefuck anyone who ever brings it up again. As for my name, y’can say that th’ High Rollers are fuckin’ it up just to be annoyin, but it’s the same thing that two consecutive fucking webmasters did, and the fucking promoter did, and they did it to Jeffrey Daniels and Kirsty McKinney too. Maybe they’re all illiterate half-deaf mushmouths, or maybe they’re just tryin’ t’ make me mad. Well, X Pac Heat is a kind of mad, so mission fuckin’ accomplished. Ah’m mad. Just th’ kind of mad that makes me want to go do literally any goddamn thing else.”
And with that, he takes several long swigs from the bottle before slamming it down in the mud.
Cherie’s eyebrows go up.
“You alright there brother?”
“Mrrrrrrrr…” Carlton growls. “You know what, Ah don’t think Ah am. But then Laird Derpmanishcuss - see, getting names wrong is about as funny as a fuckin’ brain tumor - LORD DOMINICUS comes in with HIS shit, about how much he hates associatin’ with th’ Glucks, an’ how he hates havin’ to carry us, an THAT… see, that makes me want to stick around, keep winnin’ matches for him an’ makin’ HIM mad for a change. An if we’re up against th’ High Rollers all’s the better, because lord knows Ah need all th’ motivation Ah can get when it comes t’ th’ High Rollers.”
“So what you’re actually sayin’…”
Cherie has a particular face she makes when she’s about to mess with someone. Usually one of her brothers. She kind of smiles on one half of her face, and it makes a crinkly spot appear on her nose.
“Is that you do best against th’ High Rollers when you got Dominicus in your corner t’ motivate you.”
“Mmmgh.”
“So isn’t that kinda like… bein’ carried?”
Carlton sits in silence for a moment, as his alcohol-addled brain processes that.
“Well shit.”
“Ah’m just sayin’.”
Cherie drinks another White Claw while Carlton stares into the fire.
“You ever thought about tryin’ to get in on all that evil stuff with Dominicus?”
“No.”
“Well, remember them stories ma used t’ tell us about the Loup-Garou?”
“Yeah. But this ain’t the PTC so werewolves can’t wrestle.”
“Yeah well it sure ain’t DEFIANCE is it?”
“Ah was never in that fuckin’ place.”
“Well Ah wasn’t either, but Heidi’s told me some stories. Then Deanna told me about the crap that’s made it on the air, like The Industrial Woman. A robot whose finisher was squirting oil all over the mat. Then Ah know they just left, but all them immortal clowns who could take an axe to the head and not die. And of course we can’t go without mentioning-”
“BEAR-O-BUTTFUCKING-DACTYL!”
Carlton’s bellow and ensuing guffaws practically shake the walls of the Gluck Shack.
Cherie opens another White Claw, waiting for her brother to calm down.
“Carlton. Carlton. Hey, Carlton. ‘Member the feu-follet?”
“Yeah, Ah ‘member.”
“You gonna ‘member tomorrow?”
“Prolly not.”
“Well Ah’ll jes have t’ remind you t’morrow when you sleep this off. Then you’ll ‘member. Then Chapps’ll ‘member. And then? Make them cityfolk learn.”
Country folk don’t really need much of an excuse to start a fire.
Extra high water bill? Fire.
Lost a job? Or ragequit it? Fire.
Family coming in from out of town to visit? Fire.
Feeling existential angst over a feud that isn’t working for no clear reason and a pro wrestling career that isn’t going well?
Start a fucking fire.
Chapps isn’t around. There’s no sense in trying to track him down. Chapps marches to the beat of his own drum and he’s just too unpredictable for guessing where he’s at.
But in the front yard of the Gluck Shack - 25 feet from both the house and the live oak, mind you - a bonfire is burning, and Carlton Gluck is sitting on a lawnchair watching it with a bottle of Gentleman Jack in his hand. And his sister Cherie, a box of White Claw hard seltzers on the ground beside her chair, is watching it with him.
“So you’re really giving it up?”
“Well, ah mean, me an’ Chapps basically got until our current contracts expire t’ sign new ones. An’ if we don’t, we c’n jump to another XHF promotion, not that that’s happenin’, or a thirty day no-compete kicks in. Which ain’t a problem if we don’t go back to pro rasslin.”
“An’ if you quit rasslin, then what?”
“Ah dunno. That’s why me an’ Chapps decided to stick it out for a couple more months. Cos I tell you somethin’, Cherie. That fuckin’ weirdo in the bug mask who cain’t shut up about how evil he is gets my blood boilin’ more when he acts like he’s carryin’ us, then all them High Rollers do.”
Cherie pops the tab of a White Claw.
“So why exactly aren’t you foamin’ at th’ mouth t’ tear th’ High Rollers apart?”
“Ehhh…” Carlton rumbles, then takes a deep swig from his bottle. “Cos Ah’ve done it a couple times so it ain’t like Ah don’t know Ah can already. An’ besides, all they ever do is yak back an’ forth about stupid shit and then get my name wrong on purpose.”
“So why don’t you jus’ go ‘Say my name libtard say my name’ on ‘em?”
“Aight well first of all we can’t say that on the XHF. They can call us Trumptards all they want, but the minute we start, how do them fuckin’ citykids say, clappin’ back, butts get ruffled.”
“Then what about ‘Squeal my name cityboy?’”
“Cos if a movie like Deliverance had any combination of races and genders aside from white southern men as the bad guys, it’d be keepin’ Song of the South company and we’d be able to find some buncha acronyms t’ help us get some of that High Roller billionaire money because discrimination. As it is, fuck Deliverance, fuck everyone who had a hand in makin’ that atrocious piece of shit movie, and doublefuck anyone who ever brings it up again. As for my name, y’can say that th’ High Rollers are fuckin’ it up just to be annoyin, but it’s the same thing that two consecutive fucking webmasters did, and the fucking promoter did, and they did it to Jeffrey Daniels and Kirsty McKinney too. Maybe they’re all illiterate half-deaf mushmouths, or maybe they’re just tryin’ t’ make me mad. Well, X Pac Heat is a kind of mad, so mission fuckin’ accomplished. Ah’m mad. Just th’ kind of mad that makes me want to go do literally any goddamn thing else.”
And with that, he takes several long swigs from the bottle before slamming it down in the mud.
Cherie’s eyebrows go up.
“You alright there brother?”
“Mrrrrrrrr…” Carlton growls. “You know what, Ah don’t think Ah am. But then Laird Derpmanishcuss - see, getting names wrong is about as funny as a fuckin’ brain tumor - LORD DOMINICUS comes in with HIS shit, about how much he hates associatin’ with th’ Glucks, an’ how he hates havin’ to carry us, an THAT… see, that makes me want to stick around, keep winnin’ matches for him an’ makin’ HIM mad for a change. An if we’re up against th’ High Rollers all’s the better, because lord knows Ah need all th’ motivation Ah can get when it comes t’ th’ High Rollers.”
“So what you’re actually sayin’…”
Cherie has a particular face she makes when she’s about to mess with someone. Usually one of her brothers. She kind of smiles on one half of her face, and it makes a crinkly spot appear on her nose.
“Is that you do best against th’ High Rollers when you got Dominicus in your corner t’ motivate you.”
“Mmmgh.”
“So isn’t that kinda like… bein’ carried?”
Carlton sits in silence for a moment, as his alcohol-addled brain processes that.
“Well shit.”
“Ah’m just sayin’.”
Cherie drinks another White Claw while Carlton stares into the fire.
“You ever thought about tryin’ to get in on all that evil stuff with Dominicus?”
“No.”
“Well, remember them stories ma used t’ tell us about the Loup-Garou?”
“Yeah. But this ain’t the PTC so werewolves can’t wrestle.”
“Yeah well it sure ain’t DEFIANCE is it?”
“Ah was never in that fuckin’ place.”
“Well Ah wasn’t either, but Heidi’s told me some stories. Then Deanna told me about the crap that’s made it on the air, like The Industrial Woman. A robot whose finisher was squirting oil all over the mat. Then Ah know they just left, but all them immortal clowns who could take an axe to the head and not die. And of course we can’t go without mentioning-”
“BEAR-O-BUTTFUCKING-DACTYL!”
Carlton’s bellow and ensuing guffaws practically shake the walls of the Gluck Shack.
Cherie opens another White Claw, waiting for her brother to calm down.
“Carlton. Carlton. Hey, Carlton. ‘Member the feu-follet?”
“Yeah, Ah ‘member.”
“You gonna ‘member tomorrow?”
“Prolly not.”
“Well Ah’ll jes have t’ remind you t’morrow when you sleep this off. Then you’ll ‘member. Then Chapps’ll ‘member. And then? Make them cityfolk learn.”