Get A Job, You Bum (PART ONE)

[Elliot Bowman IV]

TITLE OF PART ONE: Sounds Like Work Our subject is a spoiled rotten brat who spent most of his life mooching off of his family's wealth. Nobody really knows how his family came to be so extravagantly "loaded," but let's leave that for the I.R.S. to figure out, shall we? Point is, he never HAD to work a day in his life, so he never stayed at a company more than a couple weeks, or a month, tops. His grandfather, knowing there would come a time when Elliot Bowman IV would be the last of his namesake still living, "encouraged" Elliot to find a... *gulp*... career. Now we begin the story... starting sometime in July 2017. "The biggest rewards should come from having to do the least amount of work," said the man who would one day infect the Extreme Wrestling Corporation under the alias Echo Boomer. "I mean, if you have to work every day to make a living, you have less time to do anything with the money you've slaved to get. If you don't work, you can't afford to live. Either way you get gypped. What kind of life is that? Why does it have to be one or the other? Why can't I have both time AND money? Life is so unfair. I'm depressed." Elliot allowed himself to fall face first onto his much-too-large bed, his arms pinned at his sides. "Your grandpa told you to get a job, huh?" Max, the closest thing to a friend that Elliot ever had, ventured a guess as to what had Elliot's panties in a bunch. He didn't even look up from the dirty magazine he was 'reading' as he sat cross-legged on Elliot's bedroom floor. "I don't wanna talk about it," came the muffled voice of Elliot, his face pressed into the mattress. "Mmhmm. Then what DO you wanna talk about?" "I wanna talk strategy. What can I do that requires the least amount of effort, but offers the biggest payout?" Elliot finally turned his face sideways to talk after Max had informed him he couldn't understand a single freakin' thing he said with his face buried. "I don't think that job exis--" "It has to!" Elliot barked, then shoved himself up and started to pace around the room. "I mean, the government pays farmers to NOT grow crops. Something about supply and demand, I think. Big corporations can charge more for their goods and services if they make us think there's not enough to go around." "Yeah, but I only get paid when I DO grow," Elliot said, then he pulled out a doobie from his breast pocket and sparked it up. He took a few long, deep puffs as he continued to pace around the room. "Maybe you ought to move to like Colorado or something and open up a dispensary." "That wouldn't work; too much competiton." If there was one thing Elliot hated more than a career commitment, it was other people making him look bad. Deep down, Elliot felt he could do that himself easily enough. It was a tender subject, and Max should've thought about that before he proposed such a ridiculous idea. "Probably." "No, what I need is one of them dream jobs." "Well, what's your dream job?" "Huh? No, I mean I wanna job where I get to sleep in all day and get paid for it." "Who wouldn't? But I don't think there's a job like that." "Figures." "I know, right? That would be awesome." "No, no. I mean 'Figures.' I need something in the six or seven figures. Your boy's got expensive taste." "I feel like we haven't accomplished much with this conversation, bro." "Forget YOUR feelings; what are we gonna do about ME?!" "Well I'M gonna beat your ass if you keep talking to me like that!" Max shot a glare up at Elliot before turning his attention back to the magazine. "That's IT! Max, you're a genius!" Elliot announced, staring at a poster of a female wrestler he had pinned to the wall near the bedroom door next to an entire assortment of other posters. "Well, duh! But what was I right about this time?" "I know exactly what I'm going to do, and I'll get rich doing it!" "And that is...?" "I'm going to sign you up to become a professional wrestler!" "Come again? I don't think I like where--" Max finally put down the magazine and stood up. "Yeah, yeah. I've heard enough about what you think. See, first you're gonna have what's called matches, which is when opponents wrestle each other in what's known as a ring.  Except it's not usually circular like a ring.  It's normally square, that's why they refer to it as the squared circle," Elliot explained, as if he and Max didn't watch wrestling several nights a week together. Must've been the pot. "But anyway, you'll probably be really, really bad at it. Which is good, because I'M going to bet against you. You, in turn, will become, like, super-famous! Known all over the world as the worst wrestler who ever lived. Win-win. Whattayasay? You up for it? I'll cut you in for 10% of the profits." Elliot rested his hand on Max's shoulder until Max shrugged it off, but not before taking the doobie out of Elliot's hand and puffing on it. "Uh, no? Why not do this the other way around? I mean, I wouldn't want you to lose out on all that fame." "Yeah, but you don't have any money. You can't bet money if you don't have any," Elliot grabbed the doobie back. "Then you can lend me some of yours, though it's technically still your grandpa's money." "You want me to wrestle AND risk my inheritance? No way! What's in it for me?" "All the aforementioned money and fame, my friend," Max said, apparently it was his turn to rest a hand on Elliot's shoulder. A moment of silence followed, though only briefly. "So while I'm doing all that, what will YOU be doing?" "Me? I'll be there beside you every step of the way, my man." "So I'm gonna lose matches intentionally, risk losing my fortune due to the off-chance I accidentally win, AND I'll have to put up with your ass the whole time I'm doing it?" "It's not like we don't already hang out every single day," Max retorted. "I... I don't know. This 'career' thing. It's already starting to sound too much like work." To Be Continued