Post by Hope Diamond on May 14, 2017 14:01:36 GMT -6
Just out of town and very convenient.
I have to maintain a rental car and pay for travel expenses so this all sounded very reasonable. From now on I have to be careful with Lou´s sense of humor.
Janko´s Wrestling Pit is located in an abandoned homestead, dirtier than your average police cell and crammed with third-hand equipment.
These are the good news.
Then there is the owner of the place.
Janko is an evolutionary throwback to the times when pro wrestling was done by drunken Pollacks.
I´ve seen the type before or heard about it.
Janko is a washed-up wrestler piling up years and belly fat, mid card at best in his prime, technically skilled enough but never won any important titles, can take a direct hit from a car and walk away from it but will never have the brains to stop jaywalking and wait for a green light.
I´m a believer in reading people´s eyes. Janko has dark and beady ones half hidden behind wrinkled tear sacs. He´s always seizing you up, looking for an opening.
Janko is as mean s a bear caught in a steel trap. He has a couple of students who look like they are the result of some secret military inbreeding program. I don´t know if they can tell day from night. I don´t know if they can tell sparring from raping either. This is no training ground. This is f***ing survival by street rules. Oh I´m sure I have some protection here because I won´t make any money for Lou Thirteen if I´m dead or crippled. Other than that rules are out of the window.
Janko talks to me.
“Got someone waiting for you. Your motivational coach.”
He has a voice like a gravely whisper and when he laughs at his own jokes it like he´s coughing up muck.
My motivational trainer, huh? Something tells me he went to humor school with Lou Thirteen.
Maybe they hired Floyd Mayweather to spar with me. Only Floyd wouldn´t come within ten miles of this shack and then only in a space suit.
Janko opens a squeaky backdoor and call out the special guest.
Okay, it is not Floyd Mayweather.
It is Akida Nariko the Steel Butterfly, the rightful owner of the last guy I had cardio training with and she stares daggers at me.
“Now let´s go girls. Le´t hit the ring.”
Now can you tell why I picked Lou Thirteen as a manager. The guy is just lovely. He knows exactly how to bring out the very best in you every hour of every day. Because it´s either that or you are dead.
I have to maintain a rental car and pay for travel expenses so this all sounded very reasonable. From now on I have to be careful with Lou´s sense of humor.
Janko´s Wrestling Pit is located in an abandoned homestead, dirtier than your average police cell and crammed with third-hand equipment.
These are the good news.
Then there is the owner of the place.
Janko is an evolutionary throwback to the times when pro wrestling was done by drunken Pollacks.
I´ve seen the type before or heard about it.
Janko is a washed-up wrestler piling up years and belly fat, mid card at best in his prime, technically skilled enough but never won any important titles, can take a direct hit from a car and walk away from it but will never have the brains to stop jaywalking and wait for a green light.
I´m a believer in reading people´s eyes. Janko has dark and beady ones half hidden behind wrinkled tear sacs. He´s always seizing you up, looking for an opening.
Janko is as mean s a bear caught in a steel trap. He has a couple of students who look like they are the result of some secret military inbreeding program. I don´t know if they can tell day from night. I don´t know if they can tell sparring from raping either. This is no training ground. This is f***ing survival by street rules. Oh I´m sure I have some protection here because I won´t make any money for Lou Thirteen if I´m dead or crippled. Other than that rules are out of the window.
Janko talks to me.
“Got someone waiting for you. Your motivational coach.”
He has a voice like a gravely whisper and when he laughs at his own jokes it like he´s coughing up muck.
My motivational trainer, huh? Something tells me he went to humor school with Lou Thirteen.
Maybe they hired Floyd Mayweather to spar with me. Only Floyd wouldn´t come within ten miles of this shack and then only in a space suit.
Janko opens a squeaky backdoor and call out the special guest.
Okay, it is not Floyd Mayweather.
It is Akida Nariko the Steel Butterfly, the rightful owner of the last guy I had cardio training with and she stares daggers at me.
“Now let´s go girls. Le´t hit the ring.”
Now can you tell why I picked Lou Thirteen as a manager. The guy is just lovely. He knows exactly how to bring out the very best in you every hour of every day. Because it´s either that or you are dead.
