[ FIGHT-NYC | CHAPTER 4 ] – Self(?)-Hatred

By: Graham Clauson

Date: 6th Aug 2021

—————-
“PLEASE TRUST ME”
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[ Matt ]: “It’s a shame we couldn’t trust you to work with us, Apathy… You would have loved to have seen all of this…”

[ Matt’s desk and workstation are even more cluttered. Ross Hanson’s birth certificate is on the board. It shows he was born at exactly midnight on January 1, 2000. His father is listed as Jeremy Cundiff, birth date listed as June 8, 1985. The mother’s name is not familiar to anyone outside of those who knew her personally, but her birthday is listed as February 21, 1984. ]

[ Matt ]: “Looks like your friend had a lot of dirty secrets, son…”

[ A death certificate is also present, with the same name as Ross’ birth mother. Dated February 20, 2004, it lists the cause of death as “gunshot wound to frontal lobe.” Another nearby newspaper clipping touches on the story that her younger brother was the one who had killed her, although the reasons were never known publicly as he himself was killed in a fight with his older brother, who also died in the struggle. ]

[ Matt ]: “….a lot more than I thought.”

[ Ross’ certificate of adoption is also present, with signatures from both his biological parents as well as his adoptive parents and from the State of West Virginia. ]

[ Matt ]: “It’s time for me to start putting this plan of mine into fruition. There’s only one secret that I care about knowing, and so help me God…”

[ None of these are what Matt was looking at. He is instead looking at a picture from 2017, with Graham visiting Jeremy in his home hospice bed. Jeremy appears extremely frail, perhaps even days from death. However, he is still managing to push a smile through the picture. Graham, on the other hand, couldn’t have smiled for this if he had Gorilla Taped the corners of his mouth upright. ]

[ Matt ]: “…I will find out how someone was able to do what only You should be able to do.”

[ Matt picks up the desk phone with frigid determination. ]

[ Matt ]: “Hello.”

[ Matt provides only a moment of brief silence, the caller seemingly brief in their reply. ]

[ Matt ]: “I’ll be quick. I need you to trust me on this…please…”

 

—————-
“APPLE CORE”
—————-

[ Inside the Clauson-Felder household, Graham is hanging up on a call on his cell phone, looking a little perplexed at the phone call he just received. Ken walks into the room. ]

[ Ken ]: “Who was that?”

[ Graham ]: “Would you believe that it was Rob?”

[ Ken ]: “Your Uncle?”

[ Graham ]: “He wants me…well, us…to…talk to Jeremy about how he ended up dead but still alive, he claims he doesn’t understand it.”

[ Ken ]: “And this bothers you? What do you think is going on?”

[ Graham ]: “Well… I can’t say for sure… I haven’t talked to Rob since he and I got into it over me not telling him I was dating you.”

[ Ken ]: “More like you had ulterior motives and thought getting to me would get you to Ross, which would get you to Jeremy. You didn’t trust anyone.”

[ Graham ]: “Well, who can I trust Ken? Other than you?”

[ The conversation is interrupted by someone hitting a trash can with their car while trying to park outside of the house. Guess that’s one question we won’t get an answer to, until we do…hmm? ]

[ Graham ]: “Hold that thought…”

[ A knock at the door is heard, to the tune of the 20th Century Fox jingle. Ken opens the door, where a familiar face awaits. ]

[ Graham ]: “Nice drum roll, or was that a trash can roll?”

[ Ross ]: “Sorry about that. Brakes on that piece of shit are kind of spongy.”

[ Ken ]: “Try using them sooner, perhaps?”

[ Graham ]: “You’re paying for that, by the way!”

[ Ross ]: “You mean Mom’s paying for that. And last time I did that they quit working. How’s Mini-Human?”

[ Graham ]: “I sold him to the folks doing the forensic audit in Montana, they needed fresh fingerprints to pull some bullshit. You want me to CashApp you a third of it? I only got like 15 bucks for him, the cheap bastards…”

[ Ken ]: “He’s asleep.”

[ Ross ]: “I’m just gonna wait until in the morning to try and take him home, if that’s cool with you. He’ll never go back to sleep if I wake him up now, and last time the little fucker managed to climb up a chair and reset the thermostat from 72 to 58.”

[ Graham ]: “Oh good Lord…”

[ Ross ]: “Yeah. My boy is wicked smart. Too smart. I don’t know how he came from my bloodline, my family is not known for their breakthroughs in science.”

[ Graham walks over to the coffee table in the room, pulling out a glass jar that apparently contains the “stash” and rolling papers. ]

[ Ross ]: “Damn, that smells like a skunk’s pussy and you haven’t even opened the jar yet.”

[ Graham ]: “I’m sorry; my house, my rules?”

[ Ken ]: “On that note, enjoy your toke!”

[ Ross ]: “Why aren’t you hanging around?”

[ Ken ]: “He smokes enough to where being in the same room would likely cause me to fail a drug screen.”

[ Graham looks at Ross like he’s out of his gourd for even commenting on the scent, but Graham just continues to slip out a paper and a nugget out of the jar without losing his line-of-sight on Ross. Ken has since left the room without any fanfare, since Graham understands exactly why Ken does not typically stick around. ]

[ Ross ]: “Nah, don’t be. Let me in on that.”

[ Graham has already set the paper down on the flat lid of the jar, breaking up the nugget onto the paper. He has still not taken his eyes off Ross, but his eyebrow has raised in curiosity. ]

[ Graham ]: “You…? You smoke?”

[ Graham has finally taken his eyes off Ross for a moment, making sure he’s broken up everything well enough before Graham rolls the paper. ]

[ Ross ]: “Not really, but if I’m gonna hang out with you for any length of time I better get used to it. Besides, I’m not going back to fighting for Khan yet until after I deal with Gaia. So I can afford to piss dirty just this once. ”

[ By the time Ross has finished his sentence, Graham has apparently licked his thumb and had enough saliva to cover the edge of the paper to force a seal. It seemed to be a pin-joint rolled, but it was quick and is holding up – all that he needed it to do. ]

[ Graham ]: “You know…for me, this is anti-anxiety. For your Dad…this shit was his actual nicotine.”

[ Graham picks up the joint and pops the lid onto the jar, sitting it down before picking up a lighter from the coffee table and sparking it. ]

[ Ross ]: “I thought he smoked cigarettes too anyway?”

[ Graham takes a decent drag off the start. He exhales as he speaks, but clearly causes his voice to be stifled in volume since he’s also expelling smoke slowly. It somewhat billows around his mustache and beard, interestingly… Since he’s lower in volume, the editor was nice enough to put in subtitles since Graham sounds like he’s half choking on his shit anyway. ]

[ Graham ]: “He smoked green as heavy as a cigarette smoker. He could smoke $200 in two days easy. Marlboro would’ve made bank if they would’ve actually had the shit selling in packs on him alone.”

[ Ross ]: “Yeah. It’s a shame lung cancer didn’t actually kill him like the warning on the packs said it would.”

[ Graham ]: “Yo, I get you and your Dad don’t get along, but you know that he and I are like brothers. Unfortunately for you, that makes you one of my Godkids, and I didn’t want any of you fuckers. So, one of these days when he’s done with his recovery, I’m getting you two higher than balls, sitting you in a locked room…”

[ Graham takes another drag, holding it in a bit before he exhales, this time expelling all the smoke before he finishes. ]

[ Graham ]: “…and making you cucks figure your shit out.”

[ Ross ]: “I’ll tell you right now why that ain’t gonna happen. He had twenty years to get a hold of me and do that. He didn’t. He let me spend my Christmases in homeless shelters and my birthdays sleeping under bridges, knowing full well I was out there somewhere. Instead he got high and pretended to be a wrestler.”

[ Graham ]: “Ross, I truly don’t even think he knew about you. He seriously thought he was sterile.”

[ Ross ]: “….he never told you about me, did he?”

[ Graham ]: “If he did, I would’ve been around probably earlier than I was.”

[ Ross ]: “Trust me. He knew. He definitely knew…”

[ Graham ]: “Trust you? I’m lucky enough to have two people I can trust. One’s in the other room and the other’s still in a hospital room. I’ve only really known you for a few weeks if we’re being honest. Ken knows you way better than I do, and that’s because you two used to roll around the mat together…”

[ Ross ]: “You’re right. I’m sorry. That wasn’t the best choice of words. Believe me, he knew?”

[ Graham ]: “At this point, I’m going to give you the benefit of doubt, but know that I truly think your father didn’t know about you until it was, at least in his mind, too late to be of any help. Now: Smoke more, before you are Skip.”

[ Ross ]: “Good idea. We can talk more about it later.”

[ Ross has clearly hit more people than he has joints. He coughs so hard Ken almost went to Kroger and bought an over-the-counter COVID test, and he isn’t even in the room. Ross hands the joint back over to Graham, who takes it so it doesn’t get dropped. ]

[ Graham ]: “You good?”

[ Ross ]: “…oh…my…”

[ Graham ]: “George Takei, get out of my house.”

[ Ross ]: “…..fffffffffffffuuuuuuu……”

[ Graham ]: “Pussy. You’ll live. Or do you need a drink to survive that?”

[ Ross ]: “….cherry….cherry ale-ei…”

[ Ken overheard the coughing and has already entered the room by the time Ross has uttered his plea for a specific soda, but Ken only has a bottle of water in hand for him. ]

[ Ken ]: “Graham, what the fuck did you do to him?”

[ Graham ]: “He wants Cherry Piss, you heard the kid. Let him choke on his toke.”

[ Ken shakes his head, handing the bottle to Ross. ]

[ Ken ]: “You really got to watch sharing your good stuff, he’ll be lucky to drive home.”

[ Ross ]: “…can sleep…in garage…”

[ Ross lifts his head, his face beet red. In fact he coughed so hard he may have busted open one of his stitches. ]

[ Ken ]: “Oh, fuck. Not on the rug, we just bought that!”

[ Graham ]: “Well, Ariel bought it technically. We just picked it out. Plus, lemon juice and cold club soda if he bleeds out…”

[ Ross ]: “I’m fine…these are the brand name Band-Aids. More absorbent than just slapping it with a MaxiPad wrapped in a ShamWow.”

[ Ken leaves the room, knowing the smoke is going to continue, making a snide comment towards Ross with a clear tone of jest. ]

[ Ken ]: “And he says he isn’t like his Father…”

[ Ross ]: “Here. You can have this back…and hey, just so you know, Austin thinks we’re friends now.”

[ Graham ]: “Huh?”

[ Graham has since taken the joint back, taking another drag. ]

[ Ross ]: “Yeah. Go check Ken’s Twitter.”

[ Graham exhales, giving Ross resting bitch face in the process. ]

[ Graham ]: “You know I don’t have Twitter…and why are you telling me this?”

[ Ross ]: “Just thought you’d like to hear it from me first.”

[ Graham shakes his head. ]

[ Graham ]: “Well? Are you friends with him?”

[ Ross ]: “No. But I was being friendly.”

[ Graham ]: “Friendly, or you ran your mouth?”

[ Ross ]: “Didn’t really run my mouth. I mean, I’m not gonna invite him to the next felony assault I commit, but to be fair he’s just trying to defend himself.”

[ Graham ]: “Uh-uh, man. He started this fight.”

[ Ross ]: “Yeah. On the Tweetbox! After Ken threatened to show up in a pimp suit because he made a reference to How High, and I’m surprised he even knew of that reference.”

[ Graham ]: “I’m surprised YOU know of that reference.”

[ Ross ]: “We had DVD players in the group home… And besides – if we tried to throw everyone down a flight of stairs who talked shit to us on Twitter, we’d need rotator cuff surgery by the time we even got to Hollywood, Florida. There’s plenty of people to fight without having to go out and look for one. ”

[ Graham ]: “If he didn’t want this fight, he could have left it alone and quit commenting with the same one-note bullshit. And you know the golden rule of ‘Hood: Don’t start no shit, there won’t be no shit. And he started shit. Now there is shit. And I don’t just start shit. I finish shit.”

[ Graham offers the joint back over to Ross, who refuses it this time. ]

[ Graham ]: “He kept running his mouth with his multiple personality disorder on full display for everyone to see. When are we gonna get to meet the real Austin, ya know? And I honestly don’t care which Austin I get.”

[ Ross ]: “I get it. But from where I’m sitting, it looks petty. You busted yourself down from the top spot to middle of the card just to prove what point? If you wanted to fight in the main event, don’t waste your time calling out a mid-carder. Shit defeats the purpose.”

[ Graham ]: “And I’ll get more main event time after I rip his ass cheeks open – no homo, looks like an elementary school student with fake tattoos.”

[ Ross ]: “Last I recall, you don’t do that.”

[ Graham ]: “Just because I like to fuck like a female every so often doesn’t mean I wouldn’t tear you apart if you ever gave me the chance.”

[ Ross ]: “I…did not need to know that.”

[ Graham ]: “Welcome to being friends with a gay couple.”

[ Ross ]: “Could be worse. You could be feminists.”

[ Graham ]: “Um…we are…?”

[ Ross ]: “Somewhat.”

[ Graham ]: “We’re gay Democrats. It kind of automatically goes with the territory.”

[ Ross ]: “You know, I think I’ll take that doobie now.”

[ Graham offers what’s left back to Ross, clearly having his fill at the moment. ]

[ Ross ]: “Look, dude… You already beat Vincent Black at his own game, after you beat up every kid he had at the same time. Compared to that, what does beating Austin Ramsey get you? It’s like watching Andre The Giant beat up a paraplegic that came out to the ring wearing an insulin pump full of fentanyl. You have nothing to gain and everything to lose, because how the hell are you gonna make a case to be a top star if you can’t pin a guy who died on the way to the ring?”

[ As Graham speaks, Ross hits the joint with a little bit more courage than last time. While he is not choking to death, his eyes clearly go bloodshot almost in real time. ]

[ Graham ]: “Personal vindication. I can’t stand gays like Austin…as self-hating as that sounds.”

[ Ross ]: “Wait, there are types of gays? Is it like D&D classes or something? ”

[ Graham grumbles in annoyance, everything but no-selling this retort. Ross passes the now-roach back over to Graham, who picks it up easily with the short amount left. ]

[ Graham ]: “The fact I am a homosexual is always going to be a thing that is going to be used against me, let alone anyone else who is open about it. We’re always going to be less-than to someone in the locker room, if not out in the crowd. Remember, my job is to entertain people to the point where they’re willing to pay the company top dollar to see me as the face of the company. Being a top star in wrestling is not just being able to put on a good match, you know? Dude, I have to show that what I do in the bedroom isn’t the only thing I am to everyone. I have to prove that constantly to someone, even with the fact that society is fine enough now with me actually being able to be legally married to someone who has a penis.”

[ Graham takes a long drag off the roach, nearly burning his fingertips before he drops it into a nearby ashtray, letting it start to slowly burn itself out. ]

[ Graham ]: “You realize that once dudes come out as gay, that’s all people think of them, right? Look at George Michael. Until he came out, bitches wanted to fuck him. When he came out, we all realized that old men wanted to fuck him in the bushes. Not only do I have to defeat Austin for the gay stereotype that he is, but I have to prove I’m not the stereotype even though I can embrace the fact that I am and make jokes about it. I know shit about interior design, so I’m already disqualified partially from the stereotype. But, you get what I’m getting at, right?”

[ Ross ]: “When you put it like that, yeah. Y’all aren’t the first gay people I’ve been close to. I know enough. Remember, there used to be a bathhouse on Livingston? The people there looked after me better than most of the people in the system who were being paid to do it. So I got a spot in my heart for your cause. Just make sure that this isn’t you just trying to justify what you started, and that you really really believe that’s what this fight is all about.”

[ Graham ]: “He ran his mouth, that was all the reason I needed. Just his existence makes me want to beat him. So…what now?”

[ Ross ]: “Nothing changes at this point. You show up in the ring, I got your back outside of it. Even if I think the fight is a stupid one, I still got your back.”

[ Graham ]: “Then why even say anything to me about it?”

[ Ross ]: “What kind of a homie would I be to you or Ken if I didn’t? Whatever the reason this all started doesn’t matter, the fact still remains that there’s one of you, one of Ken and one of everybody else. Someone’s gotta keep lookout.”

[ Graham ]: “You need to hurry up and just call HQ. Get yourself on the roster while you still can.”

[ Ross ]: “Not yet. Not until I get my hands on Gaia. That comes first. I might not be gay, but I have my own stereotype to defeat.”

[ Graham ]: “What’s that?”

[ Ross ]: “I am Ross Fucking Hanson, not Madman Szalinski’s son. You are Graham Clauson, and you are not some one-trick pony, nor are you just Ken Felder’s bottom bitch.”

[ Graham shakes his head, a smirk on his face. Clearly, the weed is hitting them both. ]

[ Ross ]: “And anyone who doesn’t see that can get slammed on their fucking head.”

[ Graham ]: “Or shot, depends on the neighborhood.”

[ Ross ]: “Hey b0ss…”

[ Graham ]: “Yeah?”

[ Ross leans over and giggles. ]

[ Ross ]: “I’m tripping balls, man.”

[ Graham ]: “What a fuckin’ lightweight…”

[ Ross continues to giggle like a schoolgirl, Graham with a smirk and an almost evil glee in his eyes as the scene fades to black – he knew this stuff was creeper weed. ]

 

—————-
“AND, AND, AND”
—————-

“GOD HATES JOBBERS”
“EZEKIEL 23:20”
“PINK KIA SOULS ARE A SIN AGAINST THE LORD”
“TODRICK DID 9/11”
“SORRY ABOUT YOUR PENIS X”
“R.U.N. YET?”
“LUBRADERM IS NOT LUBE”
“BISEXUALS FOR TED CRUZ 2024: HE’LL FUCK US, EVERY ONE”
“CHICK-FIL-A SUCKS…YEAH I SAID IT”
“THIS PROMO WAS SPONSORED BY RAID: SHADOW LEGENDS”

[ Graham sits in the interrogation room in a metal folding chair. Surrounded by signs that look like they came straight from a Westboro Baptist picketing, random items from Pride celebrations such as Mardi Gras beads in rainbow color scheme, different banners with corporate logos… It almost looks like a Pride Parade exploded in here, but yet it all looks like its been war-torn for some odd reason… ]

[ Graham ]: “Why do you hate us so much, Austin? Or, really, I should be asking why it’s actually me who hates you. Or is hate too strong of a word to use here? Is it because you ooze everything that is wrong with gay culture and why straight people hate on us and why I can’t even take the gay community seriously sometimes?”

[ The scene pauses and goes into grayscale. Suddenly, we see another Graham walk on screen in full color. ]

[ Graham ]: “After I thought about things before this went live for everyone to see on the Tube of You, I had to make sure I cut off the SJW’s at the cuff and say that this video is probably full of trigger warnings and I know I’m considered part of the culture that I’m getting ready to let a metric-ton birdshit on. But before you take a shot at me, look at the target before you judge me. I, at least, admit I’m a piece of shit. Thank you.”

[ This full-color Graham walks off, the promo continuing as if no interruption occurred. ]

[ Graham ]: “You’re used to being in front of the camera, having it focused on the good and bad. Unfortunately, what you reality show brats fail to remember is that this is the real world and not the Real World, ya dig? This isn’t the days of early 1990’s MTV where they wanted interesting television, this is the age where producers look for good-looking cast members to tongue-rape into acting out their failed paid-cable sitcom narratives for ratings. You exited Tha Life, and entered Tha Reality, and you’ve not adjusted to well. You have finally realized that your only talent in life is your looks, and I’ve already put those in jeopardy. Your jet-set life of running around and not being able to keep it in your pants, or keep your head on-correct is coming back to haunt you in the form of me.

Do you know what ends up happening to the gay guys who can’t do anything else than look like rough trade, Austin? They wind up making jelly doughnuts, although half of you won’t get that joke. Not unless you watched gay porn on Pornhub in the early 2010s. But usually, most people who look like rough trade? They’re usually mentally unstable, abusive in multiple forms, and are either extremely smart or a walking rock. The ones who are smart know they are fucked up, so they use it to their advantage and manipulate those around them with calculated, Chess-like maneuvers. I’ve been with one of those types, and they sure knew how to move the pieces around the board. Look-wise, you’re exactly what the boys want, Austin – you look like you could be in Playgirl, but get cast by Treasure Island Media and Falcon Studios. I could tell just by looking at you that you were not the kind of guy that would be boyfriend material, let alone husband material. You look like the guy I could find in the back of any random leather bar trying to ride everyone like a damn horse. There are plenty of dogs like you, and Toddy had to go and adopt you from the halfway house for us to deal with.

You’re just something pretty for gay boys to use to get Roto-Rooter’d by, and by the way Toddy coddles you and has to scold you like a child to get you to modify your behavior, its clear you two are having some form of weird-ass sexual roleplay relationship going on here that isn’t healthy… Yeah, there is about an eight or nine years difference between Ken and I, but at least I don’t have to be asked to come home via Twitter because I chose to run away and hide. Then yet you turn around and you’re trying to be the smart one? Are you sure Todrick wasn’t posting as you on your account? You sure ain’t that smart. You’re sneaky enough to where you can go get your junk polished by some random crack-whore on Grindr, but you couldn’t be smart enough to post half of those tweets, bro.”

[ Graham laughs, although slowly and clearly holding malice within its tone. If this were a feature film, I’d be scared of that laugh. He sighs, shaking his head. ]

[ Graham ]: “This is why gay people, especially gay men, have such a bad name. It’s not the fact that men are biologically whores who only give a fuck about getting their dicks wet. We’ve determined this is true enough that society gets it now and doesn’t completely shame the idea. It’s the fact that you have to sit there and broadcast this shit like this is a normal, romantic relationship between two males. No, this drama bullshit isn’t normal. Ken and I have had disagreements and what not, but we’re not getting onto Twitter and every bit of social media trying to look all cool, attractive and important for likes and attention. At a certain point, it becomes obnoxious and fake, but you’re an exception, because that’s exactly what you are.

And fake ain’t even half of it. You are more fake than a drag queen’s tits, kid. When I was beating the shit of you, you were screaming like a white bitch faking an orgasm. Reminded me of my ex-wife, to be honest, but digressing – it was hysterical. I didn’t want it to stop because I didn’t want you to stop screaming, but it had to end sometime. So, you got pushed down the stairs. Again, I maintain, you can only be drugged out to survive a smack to the orbital like that and come to beat me with a damn copier…

…but this time, there isn’t a copier, there isn’t a scanner, there isn’t even a keyboard. I’m not even going to bring up any more office supplies, because I’m not calling Xerox Tech Support to ask them how to wash the toner off my dick again. This is a straight-up match, Austin, so now you’re in my true element now. There aren’t any lacrosse sticks or other items for me to chase you down a hallway with while you do your best not to sound like you can hit falsetto, and you can’t jump me from behind with office equipment since you’re a one-hit wonder who can’t let go of something. I won’t even have any of these dumbass signs surrounding me, and these are enough to assault anyone’s senses. I’ve already hurt you once, Austin…but this match? I’m not just trying to hurt you this time.”

[ Graham stops, rubbing right under his eye. It’s clear he’s motioning specifically to the orbital bone that Austin hit from his fall down the stairwell in the FIGHT Tower. ]

[ Graham ]: “By the way, how’s that orbital feeling, kiddo? That was just the start. This time I’m not just trying to hurt you; I’m actually trying to hurt your feelings, too, if that wasn’t already apparent. If how you acted when I brought the fight to you was any indication of how things are going to go, I want to make one thing clear: Toddy is the one who I expected to be the Top, but he apparently can Top himself with how much of a bitch you are.

You know that Ken trolling you is because you’re an easy mark, right? I didn’t even coach him through any of that, he just decided he was tired of you posting your ghetto-trash and thought it would be funny to give you shit. And he’s from outside of Chicago, he knows of the shit that can go down in the ‘Hood. You couldn’t even take a joke, bruh. You got more bent out of shape that you may as well have dislocated half of your shit into your own rectum, if not for the ream of dot-matrix printer paper I decided not to ram up your virgin asshole two weeks ago. And the fact that you couldn’t take a ‘Translation’ joke of your tweet and realize it was an outright, intentional bending of your own words?

Your Twitter feed is the second example that shows who you are. You’re immature, insecure, vain, selfish, and vapid. I don’t have to elaborate on immature and insecure, you prove that every time you ask if you got yourself in trouble again. Vain? Truthfully, if you let yourself go, you’d look like the meth-head Wish.com Batista from Tiger King. The only guys you’d be able to turn-out are the ones you’d have to find on the other corner you weren’t working, and they would charge you. And the sad thing is, you know that deep down inside. But selfish and vapid?”

[ Graham lets out a quick scoff, appearing to remember something. After a short pause, he points towards the camera as if he’s looking right into Austin’s eyes as he continues. ]

[ Graham ]: “You remind me of a guy in high school that was in my Junior-year Ecology class. Our teacher, fuckin’ cool as shit dude, decides that the day the reports are due is actually not the due date and wanted to see rough drafts to mess with all of us and passes them back to us all at random to proofread… That kind of instructor who would pull that kind of shit but could also talk shit with you. We get to the one guy in the class, clearly the jock ‘Mo who can’t wait until they turn 18 so they can escape to college and go suck all the dick they want, but they only have the skill of being good looking and good at sports, turned in a fucking two-page run-on sentence. I swear to RuPaul, and to God, that this dumb mother fucker’s paper legit had one period. At the end of the paper. And the. And the. This is Junior year, so you should know by now what a fucking run-on sentence is, and this mother fucker acts like this normal speaking structure. And the, and the, and the, and the…

And why do I tell this story?”

[ Graham shoots out of his chair, the anger exploding and getting close to the camera. ]

[ Graham ]: “BECAUSE YOU ARE “AND THE”, AUSTIN! YOU ARE AN EMBARRASSMENT AND A WASTE OF BREATH WHO THINKS THEY CAN COAST ON THEIR LOOKS AND MAYBE ONE NOTABLE SKILL THAT IS THEIR PEAK IN LIFE! DON’T BLAME YOUR SHIT ON YOUR MEDS, BLAME YOUR SHIT ON YOURSELF! THIS MOTHER FUCKER THOUGHT THAT WAS GOING TO GET HIM A GOOD GRADE! THAT’S YOU! YOU FUCK UP JUST BY BREATHING AND YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO BE FORGIVEN AND REWARDED BECAUSE YOU’RE CUTE?! YOU ARE THE GAY EQUIVALENT TO AN AIRHEAD, AND I THOUGHT THE METHHEAD JESUS FROM QUEER EYE HAD THAT DOWN PAT! YOU ARE A LOW-EXPECTATION HAVING [RADIO EDIT] THAT COULDN’T DO ANYTHING FOR HIMSELF EVEN IF HE TRIED! THE FUCK MAKES YOU THINK THAT YOU ARE GOING TO WALK OUT OF THE TOWER WITHOUT A NECKBRACE?!”

[ As the narrator, I beg of you! STOP! STOP! HE’S ALREADY DEAD! ]

Graham backs away from the camera, realizing he’s losing his composure. He takes a deep breath, turning away from the camera. His arms raise up towards his head, apparently trying to brush his beard back down since he’s clearly caused it to bush up in his fury of getting right up in front of the camera. He then turns around, calmer – but clearly knowing what he plans to do on the next Venom show. ]

[ Graham ]: “…you know what? I’ve got just the reward for you that you’ve been begging for, Austin. I’m going to hoist you onto my shoulders and drop you onto your head. That shit’s going to bust open like a pinata, and everyone’s going to realize that your head has nothing in it. Just like who you are, Austin. You’re nothing, and you’ll never amount to anything. Your reward is exposing that you’ve got no business in a wrestling ring, and the only thing you’ll ever amount to being any good at is things that involve the chili ring, if you get my drift. Since clearly trying to kill you didn’t deter you, I may as well finish things up on camera and get paid for it.”

[ Graham smiles, the clear evil intent in his eyes for Austin visible for anyone with a soul to see. Eerie, remorseless… ]

[ Graham ]: “Did those words sting? Are some of them words that you heard all the time growing up? Truth hurts.

So do I.”

[ The promo cuts out cold into black. ]