Campfire
::Marx is sitting by a camp fire in front of an orange 1969 Dodge Charger, dressed in his Armani suit in the woods in Conyers, Georgia with the “imaginary” Oswald, who is the spitting image of Manson, wearing overalls, dressed as a redneck with a piece of straw in his mouth::
JONATHAN MARX: Why on God’s green earth did you drag me out here in the middle of no where? My bloody shoes are getting all muddy.
OSWALD: How does a city boy expect to win against one of the greatest Southern heavyweight champion of alltime without getting to know a little bit of the culture that Melton has experience in his lifetime?
JONATHAN MARX: There isn’t a bigger fan of old school wrestling in this sport than myself and I love Southern wrestling… but I am Jonathan Marx, I’m a third generation wrestler who grew up in a mansion and excelled in both athletics and academics at Princeton against some of the finest Ivy League schools. I’m not going to sit by some fire and sign Dixieland in order to better understand my opponent history.
OSWALD: How about Old Suzanna?
JONATHAN MARX: No, no old Suzanna.
OSWALD: The South is the backbone of our country. America would have never reached the heights it did if it wasn’t for all the hard work the farmers around these parts did.
JONATHAN MARX: It isn’t that I do appreciate their effort, I just don’t want to be one of them driving around in my pickup, listening to Jeff Foxworthy on my CD player. I’m proud to be a Northerner and if you forget, we did win both the civil and wrestling war and the Yankees humbled the Braves bums repeatedly in the World Series.
OSWALD: You’ve been hanging around Doc Silver too much.
JONATHAN MARX: Don’t bring up his name, it is his fault that cage collapsed and 600 pounds of steel and flesh fell on my head and I started seeing you.
OSWALD: Sometimes I get the impression you don’t like my company.
JONATHAN MARX: Everyone in the wrestling world thinks I am an absolute loon because of you. Why can’t you simply go away and let me be to take care of business by myself?
OSWALD: How far did that get you? You need me Jon. You were the only sane man in Arkum Asylum. You need to be crazy, simply look at Melton.
JONATHAN MARX: Mister Melton has his issues, but everyone who is middle aged is crazy in this sport.
OSWALD: Hell, you have never even been drunk in your life let alone done any hard drugs. How do you expect to be someone like Felix Red when they are so coked out of their mind they can’t feel a thing?
JONATHAN MARX: I never said I wasn’t under a handicap being a gentleman, but that is the way I am and that is the way I want to win.
OSWALD: For someone as intelligent as you are, you certainly are naïve.
JONATHAN MARX: Call me idealistic if you will, but when you stop dreaming, you stop living. I’m not going to settle for being second rate and simply go through the motions. If I have to work twice as hard to be better than someone in UCW, NFW, or NEW, I’ll do it and I won’t do it by taking shortcuts.
OSWALD: Such a fool..
::Oswald gets up and walks over to the car, he pulls out an aliminum baseball bat and hands it to Marx::
JONATHAN MARX: What is this for?
OSWALD: I want you to bash my skull in and make the voices go away.
JONATHAN MARX: You want me to what?
OSWALD: Come on Stan Musial, take a swing. Silence the voices once and for all.
JONATHAN MARX: I’m not going to murder you.
OSWALD: But wait… I don’t exist, how can you murder someone who doesn’t exist?
::Marx takes the baseball bat and smashes the windsheild of the orange 1969 Ford Charger::
JONATHAN MARX: GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE BEFORE I DO YOU IN ONCE AND FOR ALL YOU SON OF A *****!
::Marx kicks in both headlights and then swings and puts a big dent in the hood of the car::
JONATHAN MARX: I’M SICK AND TIRED OF ALL YOUR BULL****!
::Marx looks around, but Oswald is gone::
JONATHAN MARX: WHERE ARE YOU OSWALD YOU YELLOW BELLYED COWARD?! I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME AND I’M GOING TO TAKE YOUR POUND OF FLESH OUT OF MELTON!
::Marx throws down the bat, glass is all over the place and Marx is covered with dirt and small shards of glass on his Armani suit::
JONATHAN MARX: Where are you Oswald?
FTB