Horizons - Episode III

[Johnny Gillmen]

JOHNNY'S LOG
April 17, 2016

'Sup dudes and dudettes?!

Last week was totally awesome for me on so many different levels of awesome—got my first VWS singles victory and all that goodness that goes along with it. With that bein' said, I ain't gonna let a singular win get into my mind as the one “shining moment” of my career. Nahhh...I'm gonna be movin' on and pickin' up more W's as the weeks come to pass, but more importantly...I'm gonna go out there, bust my hindquarters each and every week, and EARN my respect.

Speakin' of respect, I gotta give some out to you, Duke Andrews. I heard from local scuttlebutt—that's the rumor mill in Navy vocabulary—that ya weren't exactly feelin' your best in that ring against me last Tuesday. But ya know somethin' bud...it's always nice to see an opponent walk out to that squared circle and still put on a show even if your body doesn't wanna cooperate. Make no mistake about it Duke...we gotta do this again—and the next time you and I meet, I want you to be at a hundred percent, ready to go, ready to live that dream of yours that you hold very close to your heart.

Now that I got that outta the way, it's time to have some fun at the expense of a rich kid who loves throwin' money around like he's Johnny Manziel or Jerry Jones.

But regardless of what he says, he's still worth my time and patience.

~~~~~~~~~

Episode III
“REDHAWK”

April 17, 2016 – 10:00 AM

Johnny Gillmen needed a break from the grind—the daily routine—if only for a short time.

For the last four weeks or so, his regimen consisted of the following: non-stop photo ops, autograph sessions, and loads of promotional interviews with a variety of radio stations from all over the world. So when he landed in Corpus Christi last night after several weeks in the so-called “Sin City,” the Islander alum decided to start off this rather damp and miserable Sunday morning by walking into one of his favorite watering holes, the Keg Room—a small bar owned and operated by a generous 65-year-old, gray-haired lady named Agnes--affectionately nicknamed “Miss Aggie”--after the fact that her entire family, from her parents to her four grandchildren, studied at Texas A&M's main College Station campus at some point in time.

When the maroon-clad bar owner spotted Johnny, she immediately began to eke out her signature smile.

MISS AGGIE: Johnny Gillmen! How've you been doin' hun?

JOHNNY GILLMEN: Been doin' the proverbial grind for four weeks runnin'.

MISS AGGIE: I heard about ya—very proud of what you've been doin' lately. Would you like the usual?

Johnny nodded his head.

JOHNNY: Bud Light—thank ya ma'am.

MISS AGGIE: I'll run a tab for ya.

Johnny sat down at the old wooden bar, slowly opening his ice-cold bottle of Bud Light and savoring his first taste.  Although the Islander alum normally doesn't care for drinking beer too much, he'll have one on a special occasion.  And given the fact that he's spent nearly a full month shilling nothing but Gatorade as part of a sponsorship deal, Johnny's slow nursing of a chilled bottle of alcoholic brew made him feel at ease in a world that, in his mind, "has gotten itself in a big, damn hurry..."

Gillmen's left eye peered at a man, sporting a green polo shirt and spiky brown hair, hunched over in one of the Keg Room's smallish booths, face-down on a table with two empty bottles of Jack Daniels on their sides.

JOHNNY: Ain't that Benny sittin' over there?

Indeed, Agnes nodded upon seeing Benny, a local cab driver for the Green 'N' Go Cab company, burying his head in his arms on one of the drinking joint's booth tables.

JOHNNY: 'Sup with him?  I've never seen him this drunk or depressed before...

The bar's owner takes a napkin and writes a message on it with black permanent ink; Gillmen reads the note, perking his right brow up in stunned silence.

JOHNNY: ”Laid off?!” What's the haps?

MISS AGGIE: Some multi-zillion dollar company named Redhawk Industries bought out Green 'N' Go while you were on the road. Cutbacks, they were sayin'.

"holy crap," the college grad thought to himself as he raised his left brow.  Green 'N' Go was a prominent cab company in the Corpus Christi area--Johnny's primary mode of transportation from place to place--so hearing the news of the company's takeover was a legitimate shock to his system.

"No wonder way I was two hours late gettin' home last night..." he muttered under his breath.

JOHNNY: You're jokin'...!?! I've hailed Green 'N' Go for ten years—they took me everywhere in this l'il burgh, and they were ALWAYS on time.

MISS AGGIE: No I ain't kiddin' around cutie-pie...and ya wanna know what's worse? I heard it through the grapevine that Redhawk's talkin' about buyin' out Corpus Christi's entire public transit system as well. Now ain't that a trip or what?!

"Oh God, not 'The B' too," Johnny gasped, knowing full-well that the eventual privatizing of his current residence's transportation infrastructure will affect him in more ways than he can ever imagine.  After all, Gillmen depends on public transportation to get around wherever city he's at--for he doesn't even have a driver's license, just a state of Texas-issued I.D.  But more importantly, his thoughts focused upon Aggie and the other citizens who frequently use cabs or buses instead of their own vehicles to get to and from work every day in order to keep the air quality levels at a healthy rate.

The ex-Islander student gritted his teeth, perceiving this new company as an affront to him and those around him.

JOHNNY: Ohh...this is heavy. Who's the Plinkohead owns this Redhawk company?

MISS AGGIE: Nobody knows—big secret.  In the meantime...just enjoy your brew.

Johnny sighed, sitting firmly in his barstool as he took another sip from his beer.  His heart sank--he felt really bad for his friend Benny, who not only lost his job but also his livelihood.  But more importantly, Gillmen felt bad for the city of Corpus Christi and its denizens who would soon be forced to dirty the environment by using their own cars or trucks to make ends meet.

All Johnny Gillmen wanted to know was one simple thing: "Why?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Landon Dalmon, haven't ya learned your lesson the LAST time you and I met in a VWS ring?

If I ain't mistaken, it was also the first time. Ya know, that five-way cluster, right? I figured you'd think twice about throwin' all them gold coins around the ring, but alas...you're still the same ol' rich kid born with a silver spoon up your butt, aspirin' to be the J.R. Ewing of professional wrestlin', a ruthless greenback-totin' dictator who's got delustions of grandeur by makin' the over-cliched claim that I ain't “worth the time.” Well guess what bubba...it ain't wise to make the same mistakes twice over in life.

You'll just keep payin' for 'em 'til your nothin' but dead broke, bankrupted, and livin' like a common man.

You don't even realize this...but you and I are gonna be dukin' it out for a chance to see who gets to compete for the Velocity Championship, and make no mistake about it, I'm gonna be gunnin' for that thing just as much as you are. Except the fact of the matter is real simple—I don't need a massive bank vault or an insanely hot chick for a sister to help me win my matches. I'm gonna be goin' out to that ring...and I'm gonna do things the right way, MY way.

'Cause I may have only one good eye, but my heart ain't made out of gold bullion unlike yours is. My ticker's real, it's alive...and this week, it's gonna be racin' past ya at a hundred miles an hour.

Ya see Landon, I'm the dude who's the torchbearer for the VWS, shinin' my light upon the darkness that exists around me. I'm the simple kind of man who makes an honest livin' while bringin' happiness and joy to the millions and millions of people in a world that condemns those things in favor of dollar signs or world domination. And come this week dude, I'm-a-gonna prove that to ya in a way that even someone as narro-minded and short-sighted as you will fully understand.

It'll be fun...trust me, it'll be LOADS of fun.

At your expense, that is.

Oh, I can imagine it now. You'll be ridin' that proverbial gold-and-diamond studded surfboard, thinkin' of yourself as grindin' high on the wave of success. You're gonna be usin' your vast amounts of dough to make a case as to why ya should challenge for that Velocity trophy, throwin' tons of lettuce like its confetti in the annual Times Square New Years Eve ball drop. But there's just one teensy-weensy l'il problem.

Money never talks, for it is the root of all evil.

Bogus, you say? I think not...it's a fact of livin' an honest life.

When ya least expect it, you're gonna wind up slippin' on that gold-plated board, and that wave of success you once rode will turn into nothin' more than a wall of crashin' water that consumes every minute detail of your supposedly Hollywood A-grade body, makin' you as humble as a preacher on a Sunday mornin'.

You'll have no one to blame—not even your totally hot sister Lizzy—for the uber-gnarly Wipeout that you'll be experiencing...except yourself. For in the end, you'll be doin' nothin' else except thinkin' about how in the livin' heck a blind guy ever got the best of ya.

It's 'cuz I dared to live when the docs told my parents I wouldn't survive my first night on this earth.

It's 'cuz I dared to work when nobody in the wrestlin' business thought I could be somethin' special.

It's 'cuz...I dared to dream.

See ya Tuesday Landon—and keep on dreamin'.