Post by Bobby Cairo on Jul 30, 2007 4:27:27 GMT -5
The shoddy motel room with slavished wears and cockroach-a-plenty sets the stage for a post-modern breakdown. Bobby Cairo, a once great and hailed wrestling champion, has fallen upon hard times. Cairo's career returns have floundered in recent efforts. The prospect of being washed up at 24 never seemed so real. Cairo is not alone in his misery. Mexico's high flying sensation known as Biohazard is Cairo's closest friend and confidante. Together they travel the longest road, sometimes as tag partners, other times as rivals, but always with the clearest mindset of achieving gracious glory. These aspirations have gone disappointed as Cairo and Biohazard have, both collectively and individually, dropped so far down the wrestling ladder so as to become virtually anonymous. What went wrong for these brash young competitors? Was it a case of too much too soon? Or perhaps their respective career peaks were nothing more than aberrations, accidents of God's creation? Regardless, Cairo and Biohazard awaken their dreary slumber to find themselves in the crass confines of an "economy lodge." Although they are given the dignity of separate beds, these two gentlemen are afforded few other luxuries. Cairo is especially nonplussed as he stares into the mirror above the sink and wipes the boogers from his eyes.
Bobby Cairo: Man, I don't know about sleeping in a cardboard box, but I know about sleeping ON a cardboard box. My back feels like it just got Racked by the Total Package. Jesus Christ, I went from eating seven-course meals with chicks on my dick at the Waldorf-Astoria to rotting away at the Motel 6 with a box of granola bars. It doesn't get much more depressing than this, Bio.
Biohazard, with remote in hand, flips through the five or six available channels on the TV and stops on a PBS documentary about the boll weevil.
Biohazard: Things could be a lot worse, Bobby. We could be down and out in the gutter like a couple of bums. Look at it this way, all it takes is one big win to get us back to the pay windah.
Bobby Cairo: What are you, insane? There are no "big victories" when you're buried in the undercard. Why do you think I attacked Kevin Sensation? I'm trying to get my name out there. I'm trying to get back on the weekly TV racket. This could be my big break, Bio.
Biohazard: I do not agree with your attack against Kevin Sensation! I find his antics amusing and I am a subscriber to his weekly newsletter!
Bobby Cairo: So what are we doing? Are we falling apart? Bio, you need to understand some things, bro. You can tell yourself "This is not a competition!", but you and I both know better than that. Or at least we should know better by now. If you don't think this is the end of the world, then perhaps I've given you too much credit for all of these years.
Biohazard has an exasperated expression on his face.
Biohazard: How can you say that about a world where one can watch the Cosby Show and eat spaghetti and meatballs whenever they please?
Bobby Cairo: Basic cable and Puerto Ricans trying their hand at Italian food? Is that why I'm doing this? Listen, Bio, I'm going for dynamacism. My goal is massive, impactful resonance. Can you even begin to comprehend what that means? I could give a fuck about this bourgeois masturbation syndrome. This is my machine, and my machine is built for chaos, destruction and all out war. Now you think about that the next time you're washing down chicken quesadillas with a bottle of Coca-Cola.
Cairo turns and heads into the bathroom to take a leak, but stops and turns back to Biohazard.
Bobby Cairo: One more thing to remember, Bio; Aristocracy forms a vacuum, effectively marginalizing the downtrodden masses.
Biohazard: Downtrodden or crestfallen?
Bobby Cairo: The difference is negligible.
Cairo walks into the bathroom and takes a leak, closing the door behind him. Biohazard focuses intently on the weevil documentary on the TV, when suddenly there's a knock at the door.
Man Outside Door: Yo, Leroy! Your rent's due, motherfucker!
Biohazard jumps to his feet and walks over to the door. Biohazard checks the peephole and then cautiously opens the door to reveal a fifty-something African-American gentleman with a lit cigar in his mouth.
Biohazard: Sir, there is no Leroy present in this room.
Man Outside Door: Oh, I'm sorry. I've been drinking and farting all night. Please accept ten thousand apologies.
The man humbly bows to Biohazard before walking away. Biohazard closes the door and then plops back into his chair to finish watching the show. Cairo emerges from the bathroom and washes his hands at the sink.
Bobby Cairo: Bio, we need to drive down to IHOP and get some flapjacks, man. I just jerked off to Maggie Gyllenhaal. Now that I'm no longer distracted by sexy thoughts, I'm starting to feel those hunger pangs in my stomach.
Biohazard: No problem, homes. Do they still have those breakfast burritos at IHOP?
Cairo chuckles heartily at his friend's question.
Bobby Cairo: You really want beans this early in the morning?
Biohazard: I'm Mexican.
Bobby Cairo: Touché, my friend. Let's ride!
Each man grabs their leather jacket and sunglasses and piles into their rented Toyota Corolla. Biohazard hastily pulls out of the parking spot, startling a nearby family with his aggressive driving tactics and leaving one spectator to note "I've never seen a Corolla burn rubber like that before!"
Bobby Cairo: Man, I don't know about sleeping in a cardboard box, but I know about sleeping ON a cardboard box. My back feels like it just got Racked by the Total Package. Jesus Christ, I went from eating seven-course meals with chicks on my dick at the Waldorf-Astoria to rotting away at the Motel 6 with a box of granola bars. It doesn't get much more depressing than this, Bio.
Biohazard, with remote in hand, flips through the five or six available channels on the TV and stops on a PBS documentary about the boll weevil.
Biohazard: Things could be a lot worse, Bobby. We could be down and out in the gutter like a couple of bums. Look at it this way, all it takes is one big win to get us back to the pay windah.
Bobby Cairo: What are you, insane? There are no "big victories" when you're buried in the undercard. Why do you think I attacked Kevin Sensation? I'm trying to get my name out there. I'm trying to get back on the weekly TV racket. This could be my big break, Bio.
Biohazard: I do not agree with your attack against Kevin Sensation! I find his antics amusing and I am a subscriber to his weekly newsletter!
Bobby Cairo: So what are we doing? Are we falling apart? Bio, you need to understand some things, bro. You can tell yourself "This is not a competition!", but you and I both know better than that. Or at least we should know better by now. If you don't think this is the end of the world, then perhaps I've given you too much credit for all of these years.
Biohazard has an exasperated expression on his face.
Biohazard: How can you say that about a world where one can watch the Cosby Show and eat spaghetti and meatballs whenever they please?
Bobby Cairo: Basic cable and Puerto Ricans trying their hand at Italian food? Is that why I'm doing this? Listen, Bio, I'm going for dynamacism. My goal is massive, impactful resonance. Can you even begin to comprehend what that means? I could give a fuck about this bourgeois masturbation syndrome. This is my machine, and my machine is built for chaos, destruction and all out war. Now you think about that the next time you're washing down chicken quesadillas with a bottle of Coca-Cola.
Cairo turns and heads into the bathroom to take a leak, but stops and turns back to Biohazard.
Bobby Cairo: One more thing to remember, Bio; Aristocracy forms a vacuum, effectively marginalizing the downtrodden masses.
Biohazard: Downtrodden or crestfallen?
Bobby Cairo: The difference is negligible.
Cairo walks into the bathroom and takes a leak, closing the door behind him. Biohazard focuses intently on the weevil documentary on the TV, when suddenly there's a knock at the door.
Man Outside Door: Yo, Leroy! Your rent's due, motherfucker!
Biohazard jumps to his feet and walks over to the door. Biohazard checks the peephole and then cautiously opens the door to reveal a fifty-something African-American gentleman with a lit cigar in his mouth.
Biohazard: Sir, there is no Leroy present in this room.
Man Outside Door: Oh, I'm sorry. I've been drinking and farting all night. Please accept ten thousand apologies.
The man humbly bows to Biohazard before walking away. Biohazard closes the door and then plops back into his chair to finish watching the show. Cairo emerges from the bathroom and washes his hands at the sink.
Bobby Cairo: Bio, we need to drive down to IHOP and get some flapjacks, man. I just jerked off to Maggie Gyllenhaal. Now that I'm no longer distracted by sexy thoughts, I'm starting to feel those hunger pangs in my stomach.
Biohazard: No problem, homes. Do they still have those breakfast burritos at IHOP?
Cairo chuckles heartily at his friend's question.
Bobby Cairo: You really want beans this early in the morning?
Biohazard: I'm Mexican.
Bobby Cairo: Touché, my friend. Let's ride!
Each man grabs their leather jacket and sunglasses and piles into their rented Toyota Corolla. Biohazard hastily pulls out of the parking spot, startling a nearby family with his aggressive driving tactics and leaving one spectator to note "I've never seen a Corolla burn rubber like that before!"
