Ride the Fate Train to Hug-A-Rainbow Land

[Delikado/J-Noble]

Alright, Johnny, time to get to work. The name of the name is a God, God of Thunder, to be more precise. Now, there are three things I don’t personally believe in: Global warming, true democracy, and God(s). Does that mean they could all actually come true or exist? Sure, I’ll bite, they could. But for now, on August 22nd, I’ll be sticking to my beliefs. Chris Strike may fancy himself as the God of Thunder, but to me, he’s Chris Strike. No more, and especially no less.

My process of getting educated on an opponent comes from reliable people in the Kingdom of Pride video archives. Beyond that, it’s personal stories from men who have faced him in the ring, and trips to Starbucks for the Internet access to video footage. Hardly the greatest means of prep...

Chris Strike is a lot of things, and my mental process of elimination on how to approach the match and the man himself is to give him everything I have. After all, it IS what Ray wants, right?

Ass.

The Kingdom of Pride may have plans for Strike, and it may have plans for me. But right now, it’s too late to change my game plan. In less than 24 hours, Mr. Thunder is going to get the fight of his life, or at least as much as I’m willing to give. A standing ovation isn’t much good to me if I’m wheeled off to an ambulance and then off to the hospital.

Chris Strike is my toughest opposition so far. He’ll supply me with a lot to handle and a lot to take from this here one-on-one. It’ll be a hell of a fight…and this is coming from an atheist talking about a match with a god.

Chris, you play even with me, and I will do the same. Be prepared.



Ride the Fate Train to Hug-A-Rainbow Land

Day 21
The Monopoly
8:46 AM

The chirping sound of Johnny’ iPhone awoke him from his deep sleep on the couch. The young Noble shakes his head and looks around, momentarily forgetting where he is yet again. However, he recovers in a split second and rubs the sleep from his eyes as he turns off the alarm on his iPhone and sets it on the table in front of him. Johnny also realizes the television has been on through the entire night as he slept. Apparently Noble had kept himself from dozing off long enough to set his alarm, but not turn off the TV. Maybe that’s why all his dreams carried the distant sounding voice of infomercial people screaming at him…

Johnny: There goes a reasonable electricity bill…

Johnny grabs the remote and turns off the TV. He rises to his feet and stretches by bending backward until the muffled pop of his back is heard and Johnny groans like an old man with satisfaction. After an accompanying yawn, Johnny checks his clock and continues preparing for the day ahead. A shower and a small breakfast consisting of a sausage and biscuit from the small mom-and-pop joint down the road gives Johnny enough energy to snap out of his zombie state and begin thinking of the important events that need to be handled before his match with Chris Strike. As Johnny makes his way through The Monopoly parking lot, he catches a momentarily glance of that strange German girl who palled around with those two giant bastards that never spoke but still made enough noise to make some nights unpleasant to sleep through. She’s currently throwing some trash in the dumpster and Johnny starts to help her out as she struggles with a heavier bag, until his iPhone goes off and he instead answers it, walking away from the scene.

Johnny: Hello?

Ray: Wakey, wakey, Johnny!

Johnny: Ray? What the hell do you want already?

Ray: Just checking to make sure you didn’t go and fall off into some sewer after our little chat yesterday. I know big dummies like you think it’s the end of the world if you lose a little cash, and I wanted to see if you were one of them.

Johnny: Well, I’m not. Now, you got anything of use that you want to say, or can we cut the war of words short for today?

Ray: Actually, I always got something of use to say, Johnny. It’s you who ain’t got any real lessons to teach. Then again, that’s why I’m here to begin with.

Johnny: Hanging up…

Ray: Alright, alright, chill out, tough guy. Listen, at that palace you’re living at, you met someone named Jason Summers?

Johnny gives the name a five second run-through in his head before responding.

Johnny: No.

Ray: Yeah, well I want you to. He’s this lousy hippie schmuck who does some band work here and there for a living. That is, when he ain’t being a deadbeat pothead.

Johnny: Hippies and pot? I’m speechless…

Ray: Heh, yeah…the point is, this guy’s up in room 420 and I want you to go pay him a visit.

Johnny: Why?

Ray: He owes me, how would you put it…a little “something, something” after I bailed him and his deadbeat buddies out of some trouble a few weeks back.

Johnny: You’re kidding. I’ve got my own things to deal with right now, Ray. I’m not your pickup boy.

Ray: Hey! Stop with the negativity, Jonathan! After what just happened between us, I would think you’d be wanting to get back on my good side, you know?

Johnny: No, I don’t. Screw you.

Johnny starts to hang up when Ray’s voice starts up again on the other end.

Ray: Ring, ring, hello, screw this, moron: this little “pickup” as you put it, could be the start of a productive business relationship between the Kingdom of Pride and our own little band crew. Now, you can totally hang up on me right now and kill this little sponsor before it even begins. I’m sure Kurt will be pleased to hear his no-good, troublemaking brother screwed up a financial opportunity just because he had some God knows why problem with me!

Johnny grits his teeth and exhales angrily, as if he can tell Ray is wearing that smug little smile of his on the other end.

Ray: Your silence says it all, John boy. Now, get going. The room’s 420 in case you no-doubt forgot.

Johnny’s eyes slowly move toward the building and the fourth floor.

Johnny: Fine.

Ray: Oh, and make sure you get your ass back to the arena before tonight. Just because you’re helping out the company getting this deadbeat going doesn’t mean you can be a deadbeat yourself and miss out on your match tonight with Strike, you hear me?

Johnny: Aw, and here I was hoping you’d give me a free pass…

Johnny slowly forms a grin at his own cheeky sarcasm and hangs up. He then makes his way back to the hotel, goes up to the fourth floor, and eventually finds room 420. As soon as he reaches the door, he clenches his fist and knocks on it heavily, in part because his own anger toward this lousy errand. The voice on the other end sounds shaky and like someone who is amused to the point they want to laugh but don’t.

: H-h-hello? Who is there at my door?

Johnny: Johnny Noble. I’m here doing work Ray Caravelle is too lazy to do on his own.

The door can be heard unlocking on the other side and moments later, a pudgy man with greasy, shoulder-length hair wearing a Pac-Man ghost t-shirt and pink sunglasses pokes his head out and looks Johnny from head-to-toe.

Redmond Dashdepot : Hey, hi, hello, I am Redmond Dashdepot. What can I do for you on this terrific Friday?

Johnny: It’s Sunday.

Dashdepot: Ah, but friend, every day is Friday when you are as fried as me.

Johnny can’t help but lift an eyebrow of bewilderment as the strange hippie-man nods his head like he agrees with his own words.

Johnny: Right…anyway, I’m looking for Justin Summers. Is he around?

Dashdepot: Nay, nope, no, no sir, he is not. Would you like for me to take a message and deliver it to him when He has risen again?

Johnny exhales slowly but the young hippie doesn’t recognize Noble’s bitter attitude right now, possibly because of the pink shades…or the pot…maybe both.

Johnny: Look, Ray told me to pick up something that Summers evidently “owed” him. Now, I don’t know what that is. Do you have any idea?

The man’s eyebrows lift suddenly, as if he’s thinking of something serious, and he twirls his goatee.

Dashdepot: Ray? As in “Ray Caravelle, the Carousel”?

Johnny: You know him?

Dashdepot: Not all that personally, brother, but I know enough from the Summers of Just that he is one of the swords of… “the man.”

Johnny: Oh, he’s a tool of the man, alright, but I think a sword is giving him too much credit…

Dashdepot continues to twirl his goatee, eyeing Johnny through his bright shades.

Dashdepot: I must acquire who you are standing before me, friend.

Johnny cocks his eyebrow again but responds anyway.

Johnny: Johnny Noble, like I said.

Dashdepot takes a step back into the hotel room and leans against the wall for a few seconds.

Dashdepot: Ahhhh…brother Noble to the brother Kurt who owns Ray and is also the prodigal son and carrier of the legacy of “the man”.

Johnny: Sure, whatever.

Dashdepot: And you come here on behalf of Ray the Carousel?

Johnny: Not by choice, more of by blackmail, really.

Dashdepot nods his head slowly and finally stops twirling his goatee.

Dashdepot: Ahhhhh…so it would seem the brother of the brother Kurt, prodigal son of “the man” is being pressured by “the man” into acting on actions he’d rather not act. Am I feeling you, dude?

Johnny checks his watch, an action that goes unnoticed by the hippie, and shrugs his shoulders with a sigh.

Johnny: If you say so, man.

Dashdepot nods his head firmly and with a grin forming.

Dashdepot: You know, Johnny brother, I sense a lot of hostility within you, man. You need to relax, become one with your inner femaleness. Be soft, gentle, and understanding of the world on which you walk on in the bare feet of your body and mind, never forgetting that the rocky road is only there for you if you make it so.

Johnny: What the HELL are you talking about?

Dashdepot: Oh, you’re giving me a lot of stories to tell the rocks in my sand garden, brother Johnny.

Johnny: Look, what’s your name? Redmond?

Dashdepot: Redmond Das-

Johnny: Ok, Redmond, I’m just here to pick up something from your roommate Justin on behalf of some asshole whose face I would rather smash into the sidewalk than look at for another five seconds. Obviously, given what’s wrong with you and where I’m currently at, I’m guessing it’s drugs or something similar. So if you wouldn’t mind giving what I want so I can get the hell out of here, because I have a wrestling match to get to at the arena down the road, I would be in a better mood, ok?

Dashdepot scratches his head as he thinks.

Dashdepot: “Wrestling match,” you say? Would you be a Kingdom brother?

Johnny: Yeah, sure, why not.

Dashdepot: Dude, that’s rad. I can respect that, man.

Johnny: Uhh…thanks…I guess…

Dashdepot: Ya know, I had a feeling someone like you was going to show up one day. I had, like, a vision this one time in my circle’s triangle where we saw a buncha dark clouds and heard lots of thunder, the voice of the gods and the like. It was pretty killer.

Johnny waves his hand and shoves his way past the hippie, who actually takes no offense to the normally rude action. Noble looks around the room and spots a shelf with some “products” on it. He walks over to the shelf and looks around, shifting the half-empty and totally empty products as he goes through them carelessly. Meanwhile, Dashdepot moves in the background, still acting as if he’s talking to Johnny like he’s paying attention.

Dashdepot: And after that all went out, the thunder and clouds faded away, dude, and a brother like yourself was standing there outlined in gold glittering lights and rained down upon by slithering confetti. It was like…it was a magical experience, dude.

Johnny holds up one bag of “product” that is actually full and Dashdepot points to it.

Dashdepot: Yeah, man, it was actually in that bag right there! You wanna try and see if we can recreate that epitome of our society’s better half?

Johnny: No.

Johnny takes the bag and stuffs it into his pocket, satisfied that, what Ray wanted or not, he’ll just have to get over and accept. After all, this “something, something” is the only type of “something, something” that Johnny has seen in the room. As Johnny begins to exit the room, Dashdepot follows alongside him.

Dashdepot: You know, dude, we’d make a pretty rockin’ team, you and me. Like, my visions could help you and all that awesomely radness.

Johnny laughs as he keeps walking.

Johnny: Don’t piss yourself. I make it a choice to not work with deadbeat subcultures.

Dashdepot: Alright, man. It’s just, this wrestling match you got coming, as well as my vision and then you showing up, all of it connecting and occurring this close together…tis fate, man. Truly fate.

Johnny: Sure, sure. I’ll let the God of Thunder in on it as well and we can all ride the Fate Train to Hug-A-Rainbow-Land…

Dashdepot: Dude, God of Thunder?! The vision had thunder, the voice of gods in it!

Dashdepot tugs on Johnny’s sleeve as Noble exits the hotel room and enters the hallway.

Dashdepot: And you’re the golden outlined figure, man! With the confetti and the sparkling glitter!

Johnny: Fantastic, now go away.

Johnny rips his sleeve from Dashdepot’s hand and exits the building. The hippie just stands there for a few seconds and grins as he rubs his goatee again.

Dashdepot: Dude…my inner femaleness is ringing right now. I need to meditate.

And with that, the weirdo hippie goes back to room 420 and shuts the door as the scene fades out.

Ride the Fate Train to Hug-A-Rainbow Land