"So that's why I'm here Mr. Cauldwell, to tell you if you keep spending money like you're currently doing. At the rate you fly through your funds, you'll be filing for bankruptcy before spring. Mr. Cauldwell? Mr. Cauldwell, are you paying attention to what I'm telling you, at all?"


It was a stupid question. I knew the answer. He wasn't. I knew this. Yet I asked anyway. With a mirror piled in cocaine, placed in front of him on the desk, dollar bill stuffed in his nostril; for quick easy access, bottle of Jameson whiskey in the grasp of his left hand and a high class hooker's mouth on his cock - there was no way, he was listening to my words. Not in the sort of capacity one would, while also being able to fully comprehend them. It wasn't possible. Still, I rambled out the whole speech, ending it on a warning, cautioning him on what was to come and for what?


The man clearly doesn't care. He just wants to burn through his income, until there's nothing left and then he'll expect me to fix everything. Without liquidating his assets or putting forth an expense plan for him to follow and strictly adhere to, of course. Like I'm some sorta fairy fucking godmother. Well, I'm not a fairy fucking godmother. I don't have a magical wand, to wave and make his problems, go away. Just - POOF! Disappear. This isn't a fantasy realm of make believe in a storybook.


This is the real world and all I have to offer is the cold, harsh reality of the truth. What will for sure happen, if he doesn't wise up and get his shit together. As a good financial consultant and accountant, should be able to do. Advise their client on what they need to do, in order to save themselves from losing everything and protect their asses from incurring debt, that they'll never be able to pay off. Be their brain when they clearly don't have one. That's my job. I'm not his mother or his wife... or his god damn, prostitute. I'm not here to coddle him or make him feel better, I'm the voice of reason. Logic. The guy that says... look motherfucker, if you keep swimming underwater and you don't come up for air, you're going to drown. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean he has to listen to me. He needs to hear me and heed my words, but he won't.


Most don't and then when shit hits the fan, I'm expected to fix everything. Like I'm Azrael Erebus, I can simply snap my fingers and make everything go away, completely rectify the situation. Even though Azrael is my father and I was born with extraordinary abilities because of that, I can't do that. I can't do what he does or did, with him being technically missing, locked inside the mind of a girl named - Rocket. Who knows what he's capable of doing now? Clearly not remembering who he was, not without some unknown, mystery trigger being used to aid in the recovery process, anyway.


Till then the world can wait, with its dick in its hand for him to come back to us. In the meantime, we all have to remain vigilant and live our lives. Which brings me to doing my job. Aside from being a professional wrestler in the XWF, I am also a freelance accountant and financial consultant. I love my work, I'm good at it and I live for it, but sometimes... sometimes, it places me in the type of scenarios, that make me wanna smash my head through a brick wall.


I suppose it could be worse. I could wind up getting Sebastian Duke's fucking vagina of a son, requesting to be one of my clients. To which, I'd most likely accept because more clients means more money and more money means, I can afford the lifestyle that I do so enjoy. That suits me and fits me well. Biting my tongue, the entire time that I'm in his presence, in order to stop myself from calling him a cunt. Fuck. Maybe I'm not so different from the whore that's currently doing her very best impression of a vacuum cleaner. Yeah. Shut up, do your job and take the load, slut. That's all you're good for anyway. Swallowing the bitter taste of life and pleasing people with your supreme ability of making them feel good. Content and happy.


Christ.


I'm in a fucking mood. I think I need to smoke a bowl when I leave this asshole's office.


"I told you, call me Preston."


"Preston. Have you heard anything, that I've told you, thus far?"


"Yeah."


He really means no.


"Of course, I have, Donnie."


I really hate it when people call me, Donnie. I know it's a shortened variation of my name but damn, why does everything have to be cut down and made shorter? My name is Donovan. It's one letter longer than Donnie. Shouldn't be that hard to pronounce. It really isn't that difficult, to say Donovan, instead of Donnie. Though, I guess, it could be far worse. He could have called me, Don. Yeesh. Don't get me started on how much I hate that.


"It sounds like you need a toot of blow and a woman's mouth on your dick, more than I do."


Crap. Can he read minds? Did he just hear everything that I was thinking? With the massive outbreak of advanced humans, supernatural beings and individuals with extraordinary gifts and abilities, one can never really know what another is capable of doing. For instance, Sebastian Duke and his amazing power to simultaneously, talk and morph into a brainless, simpleton. A walking contradiction. A living punchline, to the most hilarious joke that's ever been uttered, in the entire evolution of the spoken word and humor, in general. Fucking eyeliner wearing, cape sporting magician, Lurch looking, Frankenstein's monster motherfucker. Gah. I really am in a mood, aren't I?


"Here. Take the rolled up dollar out of my nose and have at the snow, man. Hehe. Snowman."


Holy fuckballs, he's an idiot. Why am I here again? Oh right. Cause he's paying me and it's my job. Much like the hooker that's sucking his cock. Fantastic.


"When Candy has finished me off, you can give her a go."


Gross.


"No thanks. I'm good."


"Are you sure? Once you get sucked off by Candy, you'll never feel the same way about blowjobs again. I'm telling ya, it's practically a spiritual awakening, it'll totally change your life."


Yeah. Probably because you're riddled with sooooo many sexual diseases, it's like you're playing fucking Pokemon and winning. Since you've caught 'em all. No. I'd rather not have green shit spewing from my dick hole. Thank you very much.


"I'm sure. Thanks for the offer though."


"Okay. You don't know what you're missing though."


I think I'll live without being able to witness the interior of a V.D clinic.


"I think I'll live. I like having a girlfriend and wanna keep it that way."


"Hah! Girlfriend. That's cute. I've got a wife and an ex-wife and I fuck both of them still. Sometimes at the same time. That doesn't stop me from getting head from Candy."


Classy.


"Yeah well, I doubt Abigail, would be that flexible and yielding, to that sort of concept."


"Fuck it. Then you don't tell, Abigail. She sounds like a prude anyway. Abigail. What is she a librarian? A school teacher? Former nun? Abigail. Ugh. Even her name sounds reprimanding and strict."


And now I want to put him through a wall. Take a breath Donovan, keep your wits, remain calm and relax.


"Can we get back to talking about your financial situation?"


"Financial situation? What financial situation?"


"The one that I spent the better part of an hour explaining to you. In detail. The one that's going to send you to the poor house, if you don't start paying your income any mind and maybe formulate a budget plan to stick to... for your own sake."


"Wait. Are you saying that I'm broke?"


"Not yet. Give it a couple of months and you will be though."


"Can't you do something to stop that from happening? Isn't that what I pay you for?"


"You pay me for what I'm doing. Advise you on how to fix financial issues, before they become major catastrophes and crises."


"Just move some of my funds around and make it work. Cook the books if you have to... just don't get caught."


"Excuse me?"


"Did I stutter?"


"No. I don't think you understand the full gravity of the situation though."


"I understand that I pay you to handle my money and fix my problems. So find a solution. Or find yourself another client."


"Fine. I'll look things over and figure something out."


I don't know what I'm going to do but I'll rack my brain tonight and come up with... something. Or just let him fucking drown. I really don't fucking care anymore. I have other clients. Ones that appreciate my advice and can follow my instructions.


"I'll get back to you when I've come up with something."


Just don't hold your breath. Cause you might be shopping for a new accountant and financial consultant, by morning. One that isn't even halfway as good as I am at their job. But will be about as pathetic as you are, you disgusting slime. Preston Cauldwell's face is smashed into a mound of blow, so he doesn't see me roll my eyes, before I do an about face and head for the door.


"I'll be in touch, Mr. Cauldwell."


He snorts loudly and bellows out, like the drug infused maniac that he clearly is...


"Preston."


Another eye roll.


"I'll be in touch, Preston."


"Cool. Catch ya laters, Donnie."


Fuck off.


"Take care... Preston."


With that, I exit his office and make my way to the elevators. God damn, I need to smoke a fucking bowl.

---

"Oooh weee!"


"Mr. Poopy Butthole aka Sebastian "Abra Cadabra - Now, For My Next Trick, Watch Me Pull These Anal Beads... Outta My Ass" Duke, sure had a lot to say."


"You know for someone that says I'm a windbag, he certainly had quite a lot of hot air to blow my way. It really is uncanny. He's quite the fucking hypocrite. I suppose he did learn from the best though. Being friends with a Nazi that tossed his belief system away every time they got together, for one of their Black Circle jerk sessions. Hey, Dukes of Hazard, did you know my sister hit that racist piece of trash too? At the same time that she was dating Griffin MacAlister and now, she might be having his kid. The baby might come out, half Nazi werewolf. Isn't that insane? I think it's pretty damn nutty."


"I'm just thankful that the XWF camera creeps, weren't lurking around and filming then. I'd have to fucking douse my eyeballs in bleach. Just to cleanse them of the filth that they witnessed. Now come on, say something stupid, like this is me, admitting that I want to see Lila, getting it on with Nathaniel Adolph Zachary "Wannabe Hitler" Idenhaus. Go on you know you want to. I mean, you already have proven that you like to twist things completely, out of proportion and get shit wrong."


"Why not keep on that path?"


"You know, cause it really showcases your full mental capacity and potential for sounding like an utter crackpot. Seriously, I thought Mastermind was the only one who could prove that existence without a brain was possible, then you came along. Please never team up with that guy. I don't think I'd be able to handle that pure, unadulterated ignorance, that only the two of you, could provide. Fucking in stereo. That's what it would sound like."


"You say I sound like Azrael? Well, I am his son, so I suppose I can see that. Although, I really think that I'm my own man and can produce thoughts and words, of my own volition and creation. Much like my abilities in the ring and my career thus far, in the XWF. I believe, I have proven that I am not some kind of clone of Azrael, nor do I live in his shadow. Did you know that unlike my father, I won a title in my second match? Not just any title either. The number two title in the company. That I held that belt for over two months, defending it valiantly, on an almost constant basis. That I'm a phenomenal, literal fucking marvel in the ring and that I've taken on some of the best?"


"Nah."


"You don't because you refuse to look into your opponents' history. You can't even be bothered to keep track of your own information or even... I don't know, simply remember what happened, since that sorta thing shouldn't be difficult. You fucking lived through it, right? Why would that be a stretch? To merely recall your past? Oh right. Cause you're a cracked brain, moron that floats through your life on autopilot. Real nice."


"Even worse, anyone who does their job and actually can do research, you think of as a stalker. Someone who wants to ride your jock. Why was that assumed? Because I wanted to face you in the ring? You sure that's how you want to see that? It's not maybe because my father beat you more than once? Took two titles from you and made you his bitch? Nah. That has nothing to do with it. I didn't find the concept of kicking the shit outta the dude that my father pummeled into another reality funny. I'm enamored by you. Obsessed. Head over heels in love. Now who's projecting? Sorry Duke, I'm just not that into you."


"I mean, what do I look like, Peter Gilmour?"


"The guy that you teamed with, on more than one occasion and lost matches alongside. The chicken parm addicted, sack of shit that you recruited into your cult. Yeah. Cult. I know you want to call it anything but that... but hey, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, guess what? It's a duck. Not a mongoose or a squirrel. A fucking duck. Geez louise. Put the barbiturates and applesauce down, Marshall Applewhite the comet already passed you by. "


"Clearly you must be taking something, you think Azrael was multiple beings. That he was more than a single entity. What the fuck? Are you for real, right now? Damn. I thought Dexter Bright was bad when he convinced himself that my father was ALF but this takes the cake. Maybe you oughta stop drinking the cyanide laced, grape Flavor Aid, Jim Jones. I think your way past your limit. My father is one being. He may have wore different faces or facades but underneath his disguises, he was still only one being. Even after, his essence combined with a Gaia - the living computer and navigation system, from a spaceship that he stole when he first left his homeworld. See when that happened, they were unified. Meaning, they became one. Oh but here I go... assuming that you actually pay attention to stuff. Wasn't he your friend? Didn't you guys talk and share information? Oh no, I must be thinking about the owner of the company. Right. Azrael and Shane , were bffs. Ride or die homies. Okay. Sure. Whatever you say, David Koresh."


"Yet, I'm the fool. Jesus Christ. You can't even site things that I said in my most recent promo, correctly. Dude. I never suggested anything that implied the concept of our lives being staged. I merely stated that it was weird that the XWF camera creeps, were usually there to record all the odd, off the wall shit that happens to us, that more or less inferred, that perhaps there was a connection to all the strange twists and drama and their innate ability to capture it. Maybe it was something extra-sensory, that drew them there to record at that precise second. Possibly they're psychic. I don't fucking know, man. It's probably just dumb luck. Perhaps they never stop filming and only select to show the interesting stuff."


"That can't be it though cause they like to film you when you're doing all kinds of boring stuff. Like stand by a lake and talk to yourself, like you're rehearsing for the role of Hamlet. Or MacBeth. Or King Lear. Like your life is one giant fucking Shakespearean play. You need to get your soliloquies on. No wonder your kid ran around in a crown. You had him really believing he was living the real life version of Once Upon A Time."


"You also failed to recognize that after I speculated about the potential connection with the XWF camera freaks and the peculiar turns of events and unusual situations that go down, I also said I sounded like a conspiracy nut or Mastermind, rambling insane theories and deluded perceptions, pertaining to what's going on in the world around me. It's seriously like you only heard parts of what I said and supplied the rest yourself. Cause why get someone's statements correct, when you can simply make shit up, right?"

Donovan Blackwater
Former 1x...