The Complete "Get A Job, You Bum!" Trilogy

[Elliot Bowman IV]

Title: 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."

Title: Get a Girlfriend, You Bum!

December 2017

"What's the worst that could possibly happen? You wake up some day, old and frail, and you see an equally old woman lying in bed next to you? Man, that means you made it! You know how many people would kill to have that?"

"And do YOU know how many people kill BECAUSE of that?"

Elliot replied. "No thanks. I'm not meant to be a one-woman kinda guy. I can't change what I am, Max."

"Maybe if you'd just try once in a while, you'd be surprised," Max mumbled under his breath, but Elliot heard him anyway, sitting less than a foot away.

"Come again? You have something to add?"

"What's the point? You've clearly already made up your mind."

Max and Elliot had just left the Bowman Gym after a grueling 6-hour workout. Both men were soaked in sweat and sore AF. Too sore to change out of their clothes, they practically had to carry each other acrossed the parking lot to Elliot's Mercedes Benz. The sun, reflecting off freshly-fallen snow, was blinding them, but Elliot was too sore to lift his arm high enough to put the key in the ignition, anyway. So there they sat, discussing Elliot's love life and trying to get feeling back in to the parts of their bodies they'd all but thought had fallen off already.

"Annabelle doesn't want anything to do with me, Max. Every time I offer to take her clothes shopping, or out to a fancy dinner, she laughs in my face!"

"So?"

"So? So why bother?"

"Has the thought ever entered that thick skull of yours that maybe she doesn't want your money?"

"Oh, get outta here with that Dr. Phil bullshit."

Max rolled his eyes and sighed, which took a considerable amount of effort because it hurt just to blink.

"Dude, you're gonna be 30 next month. What are you waiting for?"

"What's another year, Max? I've had the hots for Annabelle since we were twelve. Besides, she has TWO KIDS and I doubt I could lose BOTH in baggage claim, if you catch my drift..."

"Maybe, if you cleaned up your act, you could be their stepfather."

"Ha! You're one to talk about cleaning up. You smell like ripe horse manure."

"I think that's you you're smelling, homie."

"Whatever. Let's just get outta here. My masseuse is gonna be working overtime today."

With a struggle, Elliot slid the key into the ignition and winced as he turned it over. Max looked out the passenger window and offered a small wave to Annabelle, who was smoking a cigarette outside Annabelle's Antiques--a company she owned and operated next door to the Bowman Gym--but she pretended not to notice.

"Just think about it, okay? Life's too short to leave anything to the what-if."

"K, Doctor."

Elliot threw the car into drive and slowly started to pull out of the parking lot, affording himself a brief looksy at the woman who wouldn't even give him the time of day despite the fact she sold some actual clocks, but whatever.

"I'm serious, dude."

"We'll talk about it later, all right? When I can lift my foot high enough to cram into your mouth."

"Big threat comin' from such a small-minded ne'er-do-well."

"Ooohh, burn. Ne'er-do-well, huh? That word costs more than your whole house."

"Fuck off."

"No, you."

Elliot pulled out into the flow of traffic, but not before taking one last glimpse at his biggest what-if in the rear-view mirror.

---

March 2018 - Present

By March of 2018, Elliot Bowman IV and Max had been rejected by several promotions, mainly because of Elliot's attitude. Their worst rejection came when Elliot insisted that they tried their luck with the Extreme Wrestling Corporation.

"We've been wasting our time tryna get into those rinky-dink promotions. The EWC is where it's at, bro. Go big or stay home."

Well, they should've stayed home.

To be fair though, the EWC WAS interested... in one of them. But they were in it together: "you sign both of us or you get neither."

Max could've dumped Elliot on his ass and gone pro right then and there, but--perhaps being a tad bit unlike his buddy--friendship actually meant more to Max than any amount of money he got offered. Aside from that, Max was only training with Elliot so the latter would have some backup should things go south. A touching story, is it not?

While still hitting up the Bowman Gym and working on becoming a professional wrestler, Elliot tried his hand at boxing, but one fight in and he got kicked out. His opponent broke Elliot's nose with a single punch, so Elliot got heated and went all kung-fu on the guy. Another lost opportunity, all because Elliot had been too busy posing for the 14 or so fans instead of protecting his face.

In the summer of 2018, Elliot finally got an offer. The UFC was interested in having him join their brand. Can you guess how that turned out?

So back to the drawing board they went...

Two years would go by without a single meaningful job offer. He was lucky if he got booked in any of those "rinky-dink promotions," as he so fondly referred to them. But he did get a few bites up and down the East Coast, mostly wrestling in high school gyms and the equivalent.

But Elliot refused to give up. What started off as an attempt to scam people out of their money turned into Elliot wanting nothing more than to actually succeed. He'd never tried this hard doing anything before, so it had to mean something! Three years! Three freakin' years he put in. Forget the money, Elliot wanted Championships. Recognition. To get back at the people who doubted him or turned him down...

Except Elliot was becoming a different person. He was starting to see that it was him he'd have to prove himself to. Not the EWC or any other major outfit; he had to prove to himself that he could put himself out there, give it his best shot, and accept the consequences.

Sensing this newfound personality change (as opposed to the blatant arrogance he showed the EWC execs during his first interview) the Extreme Wrestling Corporation finally agreed to take him on board...

... as long as Max agreed to come, too.

"We need more tag teams and you two are obviously close," said one of the men in charge of hiring. "What do you say, will you agree to do a tag match every now and again?"

"This is more his thing than mine," Max answered. "I'm just here to back him up."

"I'll be honest with you guys. While I agree Elliot's ready to join our ranks, I'd really hate to see wasted potential."

The interviewer was looking right at Max when he said those last two words: Wasted Potential. That, of course, made Elliot chuckle.

"Dude, I think he knows you smoked that blunt before we got here."

"You smoked most of it!"

Before their bickering could turn into a full-blown back and forth exchange, the interviewer laughed. Elliot and Max turned their attention back to him.

"Guys, guys. I don't care if you smoke pot, just try not to show up stoned out of your minds when we book you. Now, having said that, you two just proved that you work well together. Today you tag teamed a blunt, tomorrow you two might tag team the title belts. Obviously not tomorrow as in literally tomorrow, but someday soon, perhaps."

"Sounds to me like this guy's been smokin' a little reefer, too," Elliot whispered to Max.

"Between the three of us," the interviewer lowered his voice, now leaning over his desk to get closer to Elliot and Max who sat on the opposite side. "I'm pretty sure the EWC is loaded with a bunch of potheads. But who could blame 'em, am I right?"

Wink, wink.

The three of them laughed and continued to talk shop for the next 45 or so minutes. Max finally agreed he'd compete alongside Elliot in the occasional tag team match, contracts were filled out and signed, and the rest remains to be seen...

As Elliot and Max left the EWC Headquarters, Elliot pulled out his cell phone, hit 1 on speed dial, and when the man on the other end picked up, Elliot nearly exploded with excitement.

"I got the job! Are you happy for me, gramps?! I'm not a bum anymore!"

Fin.