Waffle House

(2/2/2024- PRIME ReVival 42- Kerry Kuroyama vs. Adam Ellis) Ellis tries a weak kick to the side of Kuroyama’s thigh, but the veteran catches it- pausing a moment as though to say “no more” and pops off a brutal- 

Nick Stuart: DERECHOPLEX FROM KUROYAMA!

Richard Parker: Dear lord, that has to be it!

The spin-out backdrop driver equals lights out for Ellis.

Kerry takes a moment to look to ringside where Scott Hunter is giving him two enthusiastic thumbs up- and in his best disembodied Mortal Kombat announcer voice advises Kerry to “FINISH HIM!” at the top of his lungs. A request Kerry obliges- after what Ellis just put him through, obviously the situation calls for a little overkill. Kerry HOISTS Ellis onto his shoulders- the fans know exactly what’s coming. Kuroyama makes brief eye contact with the camera… with us, before waylaying Ellis with a spine compressing Emerald Flowsion.

Nick Stuart: KUROYAMA DRIVER II

Elvis Nixon slides into position even as Kuroyama drops down and hooks the leg- not a tight pin cover either. Kuroyama knows this one is over…

So… Kerry Kuroyama.  I have two words for you… fuck you.

You thought it would be easy.

You thought you could step through the ropes and this vanilla fuck would just roll over for you.

Guess you were wrong.

Obviously, that didn’t happen because you had to pop not one but two of your “big” moves to beat me… AND… you had to make sure I was going to stay down.

Hmmm… guess I was a little bit tougher than to beat that you thought I would be.

Vanilla fuck huh?

You wanna know why I was smiling during the match?  Because for all the “steely-eyed intensity of the Paragon of Professional Wrestling Excellence” bullshit of yours, the fact of the matter is this vanilla fuck kid from the Midwest showed he could hang with you in the ring.

But here’s the difference between you and me Kerry. I don’t need to be a raving, douchebag asshole to be good at this.  I just need a little bit more experience and going up against the caliber of opponent Kerry Kuroyama is… and he is despite the fact that he’s a raving, douchebag asshole… only helps the learning curve.

Next time, with a little more experience in my back pocket, this vanilla fuck will put you on the ground, Kerry.  Count on it.

Richard Stuart… fuck you too.  Charisma-less?  Newsflash, Richard. I don’t wrestle for your entertainment… I wrestle for the fans entertainment… I wrestle because it’s my fucking job.  Your job is to supposedly be providing color commentary for the match.  Unfortunately, you were too busy licking Kuroyama’s boots to actually comment on what was happening during the match.

So yeah, I was a little aggravated coming out of ReVival 42... then this happened the other night…

(2/20/2024- MISSOURI VALLEY WRESTLING-Wrestling Night in the Heartland- MVW Champion ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson vs. Adam Ellis) Dickinson pulls Ellis up into the powerbomb position.  He takes three steps forward and slams Ellis hard onto the mat.

Thunderbolt Smith: SOUTHERN FRIED POWERBOMB!

‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall: And that should do it, Thunderbolt.

Dickinson rolls Ellis up.  Referee Davey Keels slides in for the three count.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

Keels calls for the bell.

Thunderbolt Smith: And that is it. 

Rolling into the ring, the lovely MVW ring announcer Heather Cooper stood there. Her brunette hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the lights above to shimmer like strands of silk. Her sultry brown eyes scanned the passionate crowd as her curvaceous figure, clad in a form-fitting outfit, commanded the attention she was accustomed to.

Heather Cooper: YOUR WINNER AT SIX MINUTES AND TWENTY-FIVE SECONDS… AND *STILL* MVW CHAMPION!  ‘REDNECK’ BILL DICKINSON!  

Dickinson extended a meaty hand toward the fallen Ellis, chest heaving, the battle scars of their epic encounter etched into every inch of his exhausted body, and pulled him up with a strength that belied his fatigue. The gesture seemed one of sportsmanship, a nod to the tenacity Ellis had displayed.  The audience tentatively began clapping, appreciating the moment of respect between the two warriors.

Well until, without warning, Dickinson drove a ruthless knee deep into his gut.   Dickinson then slammed Ellis down with a thunderous Southern Fried Powerbomb. The ring shook upon impact, the violence of the maneuver leaving no doubts about Dickinson's merciless intentions.

The raucous energy of the arena shifted in an instant as Chris Janson’s “White Trash” blared through the speakers.

Rick: Uh oh.

Thunderbolt: IT’S THE ALABAMA GANG!

The crowd's anticipation turned to dread as the two men charged down the ramp like a pair of wild boars, their eyes locked on the vulnerable figure of Adam Ellis…

So yeah, so after Dickinson flattened me with a second Southern Fried Powerbomb, The Alabama Gang (R.G. Jenkins/Mark Hendry) came down and I was the unfortunate one on the receiving end of Alabama Slams from both R.G. Jenkins and Mark Hendry.

Then to top it all off, Dickinson gave me a third Southern Fried Powerbomb.  Lovely.

Suffice to say, I was not in the best of moods when I left the Knapp Center that night.  I was going to spend the night in Des Moines and make the trip home in the morning.

But I changed my plans…

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

Heading Home Adam grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white with frustration as he speeds down I-35, leaving Des Moines, Iowa in the rearview mirror. The lights of passing cars blur together, mimicking the chaos in his mind. The radio plays country music and he’s turned the volume up high so the music blares from the speakers of his Volkswagen Jetta, but Adam hardly hears it over his racing thoughts.

As he crosses the state line into Missouri, the road stretches out before him like an endless path towards his destination - the apartment his wife Ginny and him have in Warrensburg. The clock on the dashboard reads 11:05 PM, but Adam knows he won't be getting much sleep tonight. It’s another two and half hours back home. Plus, his mind is consumed by what happened earlier at the MVW show with 'Redneck' Bill Dickinson and the Alabama Gang- in some sense, it’s a blessing since the adrenalin coursing through him and keeps him wide awake.

Adam still hear the jeers and taunts from the crowd directed towards Dickinson and The Alabama Gang after they attacked him on Wrestling Night in the Heartland. He still feels the heat of anger rising in him as he stood face to face with Dickinson, wrestling him for the MVW Title, only to come up short.  He also feels the pain and aches in his back from the three Southern Fried Powerbombs. The post-match attack and beatdown only rubbed more salt into the wound and the long drive ahead gives him plenty of time to stew over everything that was said and done, replaying each moment in his head and trying to figure out where things went wrong.

The highway is almost empty at this late hour, save for a few trucks and occasional cars speeding past. But Adam barely notices, too lost in his thoughts to pay attention to anything else. Even the flashing blue and red lights off to the side of the road ahead… a Missouri state trooper is in the process of administering a field sobriety test to a motorist he’s pulled over… doesn’t stop Adam from dwelling on the events of the evening.

The yellow ‘gas’ light on the dashboard display comes on.

“Dammit.  I know I should have filled up before I left.”

Adam pulls off the highway at the Eagleville, Missouri exit ten miles south of the Iowa state line and swings into a Love’s Truck Stop to fill up the Jetta with gas. The fluorescent lights illuminate the dark parking lot, casting an eerie glow on the few parked trucks and cars scattered about. As he steps out of his car, Adam can feel the chill in the air, a foreboding sign of what's to come.

He grabs the nozzle and begins to fill his tank, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling creeping up his spine. He glances around, noticing a lone figure smoking a cigarette by one of the trucks. Adam quickly finishes filling up and heads inside to get snacks for the drive home. The ringing of the bell above the door echoes through the empty convenience store as he enters.

The shelves are stocked with snacks and drinks, but there is no one behind the counter.

“Hello?” Adam calls out. He receives no answer and begins to feel uneasy. Adam decides to leave his cash on the counter and grab a few energy drinks before heading back to his car.

As he walks out, he sees two men arguing by their truck in the corner of the parking lot. Their voices get louder and more aggressive as Adam approaches his car. He quickly gets in and locks the doors, trying not to draw attention to himself.  He’s had enough of putting up with assholes the past couple weeks.  He just wants to get home.

Adam wearily rubs his tired eyes. He knows it’s only a few hours drive back home, but he feels drained after a long day.  Before starting the engine, he reaches for his phone and dials Ginny's cell phone.

“Adam?”

"Hey," he says in a soft voice, "sorry to wake you. I just wanted to let you know I'm coming home tonight instead of staying in Des Moines."

"Ah... okay." Ginny's voice sounds muffled and tired on the other end of the line.

Adam frowned, sensing something off in her tone. "Are you okay?"

He hears her sigh heavily. "Sorry, been a rough night."

"What's going on?" Adam asks with concern.

"Our dang neighbor upstairs been blarin' music all dern night and I can't sleep."

Ginny’s frustration bleeds through the speakers of Adam’s cell phone.

"Have you called the office about it?"

"Yeah, but they ain't done nothin'. I'm plum exhausted and aggrevated." Ginny pauses before adding, "Don't ya worry. Ain't gone and pulled out my shotgun or buck-bombed their apartment."

Adam couldn't help but chuckle at her dry humor, even though he knows she’s feeling miserable. "Are you okay? You sound really tired."

Ginny lets out a weary sigh. "Naw, I been feelin' sick too. Been a rough few days."

"Gin, I'll be home soon, don't worry. Just try to get some rest."

"Thanks Adam. Love ya."

"Love you too." As he hangs up, Adam feels a mix of worry and anger swirling inside him. His emotions are already roiling following the Des Moines show.  The addition of Ginny’s issues only fuel his anxiety.

Adam revs up the engine and exits the Love’s Truck Stop parking area.  Adam steers the Jetta back onto I-35 southbound and accelerates to full speed, determined to get home as quickly as possible to take care of his wife.

The Reckoning The Jetta steadily rolls down Business Route Missouri 13 just north of Warrensburg, Missouri.  Adam continues to have the radio turned to the local country station and sings along to Riley Green’s “Different ‘Round Here” as he approaches the outskirts of town.  The green Warrensburg city limit sign greets him and soon a roundabout appears in the distance.  Adam slows and makes his way around the roundabout.  Instead of continuing on the business route, he swings around and turns towards the east on Hawthrone Blvd.  He passes by the Brentwood Shopping Center on the left and a Zaxby’s restaurant on the right followed by several box stores and an AMC movie theater on Hawthorne before coming up on the Crestwood Apartments on the left- a relatively new apartment complex.

Parking his Jetta in an empty spot, Adam takes a deep breath before gathering his gear and trudges to the main door.  He puts his keycard in and the green light flashes allowing him entrance to the building.  Adam slowly makes his way up the steps towards the second floor.  The higher he goes, the beat of loud music can be heard… growing in volume and greets Adam as he enters the lobby with a wall of sonic noise.  It’s clear the neighbors upstairs have not turned the music down and remain in full swing with their mid-week partying. With each step he takes down the hallway, Adam feels the vibrations from the bass pulsating through his body.

“All right, we’re gonna put an end to this.”

So rather than heading straight to their apartment and informing Ginny of his arrival, Adam decides to walk up another flight of stairs to confront their neighbors and demand they turn down the deafening music. Fuming with irritation, he storms down the hallway past apartment doors that intermittently open and close with the heads of furious tenants poking out and then retreating back into their unit.

Adam pounds on their door with enough force to make it rattle on its hinges. A few moments passed before the door finally swings open, revealing a smirking neighbor holding a cold beer in hand.

“Dude!” the man says.  “Take it easy on my door.  What’s the problem?”

"Hey, can you turn that music down? My wife and I are trying to sleep!" Adam replies, trying to stay cool and in control.

"What? Can't handle a little party?" the neighbor taunts, taking a swig of his drink.

Adam clenches his fists, his anger boiling over. "Dude.  It’s two-thirty in the morning. Turn the music down or I’m going to call the cops.”

The neighbor simply laughs.  “Fuck you.”  Then he flips Adam off and slams the door shut on him.

“Fine.  You want to do it the hard way.”  Adam turns and goes back downstairs as the door of more apartment units open and the heads of the aggrieved tenants appear and disappear.

Adam runs down the stairs and unlocks the door to his apartment.  Ginny awaits him inside.

“Adam!” Ginny says, dressed in a oversized t-shirt that covers her ever-growing belly. “What happened?”

Adam doesn't respond.  Instead he marches straight to the closet and pulls out a steel-folding chair.

“Adam?”

“Be right back.”

Adam storms out of the apartment, back up the steps, and pounds on the neighbor's door again. The neighbor opens the door with a scowl and shouted, "What the fuck do you want-"

*WHAP*

The second the neighbor opened his mouth, Adam swung the chair with all his strength and pie faces him in the face.

The blow leaves the neighbor stunned and on the verge of falling.

“Come on,” Adam says, motioning to him to come forward in much the same fashion Doc Holliday did in the movie Tombstone after shooting Johnny Ringo in the head. The neighbor takes a stumbling step forward and finally collapses to the ground in a heap, out cold.

“You ain’t no daisy.”  Adam then turns his glare and points the chair towards the other roommate- who had not foreseen the possibility that someone would actually come up to their apartment and take out his roommate with a steel-folding chair.

“Well?” Adam says.

“Right then.”  Holding up his hands in surrender, he walks over to the stereo and quickly shuts down the music. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he apologizes in the most profuse way possible, “won’t happen again.”

“It better not.”

The man quickly nods and then proceeds to grab his unconscious friend’s legs and drag him unceremoniously back into the apartment.

Breathing heavily and feeling satisfaction wash over him, the other residents on the floor cheer Adam as he makes his exit and soon returns downstairs with a victorious smirk. He opens the door and again Ginny’s right there waiting.

“Adam?”

"I think we've solved our noise problem," he announces to Ginny as he closes the door to their apartment.

Ginny looks up at the ceiling.  “Thank you, Lord.”

Help Arrives? Sitting at a Waffle House restaurant just off the I-70 exit north of Columbia, Missouri- the midway point between Kansas City and St. Louis, Adam puts his arm around Ginny in the booth and pulls her closer to him.

“Why again are we meeting up with your cousins?” he inquires.

“Cletus rang us up, said he had somethin' 'portant he needed to talk with us 'bout.”  Ginny catches a visual of the hulking 300-pound Cletus T. Johnson wearing just a white t-shirt, jeans, and boots accompanied by his slightly smaller brother Enos (he only weighs 285 pounds) who matches his big brother’s wardrobe choices.  “Ah. There they are.”

“GINNY!” Cletus calls out.

Ginny slides out of the booth and goes over to hug Cletus and Enos.

“Adam. Ginny!” a woman’s also voice greets the couple.

Adam does a double-take as Dawn McGill saunters in behind them, clad in a low-cut top that clings to her curves and tight jeans that show off her toned legs. Her bright red open-toed heels click on the floor as she confidently makes her way towards them, her teased out, medium length hair swishing back and forth.

After the five of them exchanged pleasantries, Cletus and Enos exchange knowing looks before turning to face Adam, their faces set in determination. "We know y'all been havin' some troubles, Adam," Cletus drawls with a hint of sympathy in his voice.

"You do?"

"And we got ourselves a little proposal for ya," Enos adds with a sly smile, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Dawn's voice cut through the tense atmosphere. “Since Ginny needs to be off the road, and since you're family now... I’m offering my services to be in your corner going forward… in both PRIME and Missouri Valley Wrestling.” Her eyes locked onto Adam's, her body tense with determination.

“I can fight my own battles,” Adam replied defiantly.

“I know you can fight your own battles but you're just one man.  You need someone who's not afraid to get their hands dirty in your corner,” Dawn continued, her gaze unwavering.

Adam couldn't help but feel slightly put off by her words. “What are you talking about?”

“Adam, we all know you're pissed off and frustrated after that loss to Kerry Kuroyama. And then what happened on Tuesday night with Bill Dickinson... I know you don't want to just sit back and let it slide.  I know you want with every fiber of your being to fight back at them and do to them what they did to you.  but that’s not what Adam Ellis is all about.

“I’m not going to stoop down to their level,” declared Adam firmly.  “I’m better than that.”

“And you shouldn’t, Adam,” Dawn agreed, her voice softening. “That’s not you. Listen, not only are you a nice guy and all but you’re also a damn good wrestler who just needs more time in the ring.  You can win matches and be successful without being a condescending jack-off.  You are who you are and you should be unapologetic about it.  If Kuroyama calls you a vanilla fuck… well, fuck Kerry Kuroyama.  Kerry Kuroyama got all pissy with you because he almost got beat by a ‘vanilla fuck.’  Let him go circle jerk with Scott Hunter and his Vae Victus buddies.  If Bill Dickinson sees you as a mortal threat to his MVW title and decides to powerbomb you out of spite… well, fuck him too. Dawn shrugs and rolls her eyes. “Bill Dickinson is who Bill Dickinson is.  You of all people shouldn’t be surprised that he turned on you like that… especially since you are a threat to his title reign in MVW. But yeah, Dickinson and the Alabama Gang can go fuck themselves.  Adam, I know you're pissed off at them but you don’t have to act like them to be successful in this industry.  You're better than that.  I, on the other hand, can be that person. Trust me, I gave up pretending to be a pure face a long time ago. Let me have your back, let me fight for you like no one else will.”

Adam nods and listens intently.  Ginny leans forward and props her chin up with her arms, elbows on the table.

“You need to be focused on one thing.  Harley Walker.”  Dawn leans back in the booth and hails a passing waitress.  “Harley Walker is here for the same reason you are… to make a name for himself... to be the best wrestler he can be.  He took a loss in his first match.  He’s going to want to get a win.  You’ve lost a few in a row.  I know you desperately want a win.  So if you let me be in your corner, I promise you the only you’re going to need to be concerned about is using your talents to take down Harley Walker.  You’re not going to disrespect him.  You’re not going to disregard him.  Adam, you’re simply going to beat him.”