Poor, Poor Jerks

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Jeff Hardy

Poor, Poor Jerks

Post by Jeff Hardy »

Someone's late at the pier. But no matter. This was expected. She shrugged this off. He always seemed to be in his own little world anyway. Maybe he took his whole 'be your own creative self' bull-shit a little too seriously? Can't you create your ass to our date on time? Did she say 'date?' She didn't mean date. They weren't 'official.' It was more like a meeting. But not like a friendly meeting. Certainly, there would kissing -- and ... what have you -- as things progressed through the night. But, it certainly wasn't a 'date.' Or at least not a date-dat. She bit her lips and smiled. She knew that whatever you wanted to call it, she couldn't help but be excited to be seeing none other than Jeff Hardy. She giggled a bit, holding his identification in her hand. He'd somehow left it over her house on her nightstand. She sent him a playful text, ridiculing his inability to keep his identification from being lost. She knew he'd had some issue concerning identification prior to this date, so she became a bit worried after sending the text -- was he really a little tooooo off the hinges for a, well, 'date-date? Her heels clicked against the concrete as she waltzed out of pier and (apparently) onto a church grounds.

ELIZABETH
Oh -- oh my God! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to stumble upon you while you were ... Oh, Jesus Christ! You're ... you're not -- I mean, you don't look too bad, but there's definitely no way that you're ... Well, okay, I gather that you're -- and, I would definitely be generous and offer you some change, or maybe a gift card to a restaurant that's nearby, but I don't think that I have any of that stuff on me right now, so I think that I'll probably just have to -- well, probably, reject any offers to give you anything at all. And, I know that sounds a little harsh... But, I'm saving up for alot of things right now... You know? I'm trying to move this relationship to the next level with Jeff -- oh, well, I mean, you're just a -- so you won't -- well, it's not personal -- and, wow that's so impolite -- but, I just mean... You know, the tabloids. -- I mean, I know that came off REALLY badly, but you do have to keep the tabloids involved when you're getting mixed up with like... You know, people in the public eye or whatever. Because -- well, anyway, I'm trying to make something work with someone who's always flying across the freakin' country -- and, it just so happens that we're in the same town because of this family function on my dad's side of the -- anyway, I just can't go blowing my discretionary funds on -- oh, well, I mean ... I guess we are going on an expensive date --

His clothes were rancid. Disgusting. Horrible smelling. He could be detected from quite far away. She began to doubt how she could get so close to him without getting a whiff of his utter stench. She knew that he was -- she didn't have to say it. The discoloration on his clothing, face, and hairline made it all very clear. She cleared her throat finding herself unable to get herself out of the labyrinth she created. She began to double track herself, too. Could this homeless man sell the story to TMZ? Would they believe the homeless man? Could we play it off like it's the ramblings of a crazy old guy? Would this jeopardize Hardy's "big chance" he told her to not tell anyone about? And what even was this "big chance" he was talking about? He kept going on and on and on about how he was just one step away from making himself known at EBWF. He was just a few footsteps from making his glory known at the institution. He kept referring to his upcoming "big chance" as if it were the very entrance to a new realm -- a doorway to some form of elevation for him. She could tell, when she was reading his texts, that similar glimmer in his eye she'd always seen must've been there when he was typing out his responses. That glimmer was far away from this grisly scene, though, with Hardy nowhere to be seen on their upcoming date -- which, by the way, had officially started about 15 minutes ago. No, instead of the charismatic enigma, we had some destitute beggar presented before her. Somewhere at a nearby church to the pier they were at. His cracked voice intensified the unpleasantness of the entire situation.

KENDRICK
I hate to bring you down to my level with my problems -- because, you're dressed so beautifully, and I'm sure you're on your way to just... Probably one of the best dates ever... Or whatever. But, I've just been kicked out of this church because they're currently... Well, they CLAIM that they're getting extermination for the next two weeks -- which is insane, because TWO weeks is a heckuva lot of time to just get a little utility work done on a church -- I mean, I guess it's a big church, so there's that -- but, the fact of the matter is that I can't stay in there for the next coupla days. So, I'm going to need to get some support. I'm going to need you to help me get out of his hole. And, I mean -- I know I look pathetic right now... And, I know that I look like I'm a fucking loser: you know, confessing my little sins to you... As if wanting to be someone great -- wanting to lead everyone into the promise land -- wanting to be the next poetic, the next wordsmith, the next bar-spitting master of all human kind, the BEST OF THEM ALL -- and, yet, instead of at the top of the best record selling music record company's skyrises, I'm sitting here on the cobbled stone of a shitty cathedral that's probably lying to me about how long it takes to get their little projet done. This is bullshit man, I need somewheree to lay this GENIUS head of mine -- so that I can begin my ASCENT... BACK TO THE PROMISE LAND. As one America's PRIME CUT rappers -- the one who's words will lead us from the side of the gate that leads us to misery and shame -- onto the other side of the gate that's utterly ... how else can I say it -- ?! ... But it always seems like something's ... something's holding me back.

She can't help but feel bad for this guy standing before her. But she also can't help but reminisce about when Hardy was doing this badly before signing onto WWE. She knew how it felt. To be an unrecognized artist. Someone who's talent was not being recognized. But something was holding her back from fully empathizing with the fellow before her. Even with the destitution showing on his face. HIs sat body upon the filthy street floor. His dirty face. HIs gray-turned shirt. She could feel revulsion, curiosity, and a little sympathy -- but empathy was lacking. Something was holding her back, too. Something was a bit off about this guy. Was he as talented as he let off? Was he as grandiose as the words he was using to describe himself? Or was he merely a hack... Someone hiding behind a facade? Of course, those fellows have their days, too... But the days that she was hoping for -- the days that she was yearning for... The days that she was looking for -- were the days when her ... um, ... whatever you want to call him -- walks through to the promise land at his next "big shot." A glimmer formed in her eye. She knew that she could find a way to feel bad for this guy even after all. He was a human being like the rest of us. She had something to share. Something to create. Something to contribute. There was nothing more than comraderie for this fellow on Hardy's side. And she was certainly on his side.

KENDRICK
I've got the skills -- please believe me.. I've got the GRIT. I've read the dictionary -- like the BIG ASS ONE in the library -- like fifty-three times, and I -- well, I'll be honest, I don't like that thesaurus mother fucker 'cause nobody knows any of those fuckin' words anyway... But, anyway, my point is -- I've got the SKILL. I've got the TALENT. I've got the ABILITY. I've got the STYLE. I can make this happen. I can make my dreams come true. My spitting. My bars. My ability to LEAD people... To make people BELIEVE. To make people listen. To make people bob their head. AND SUBMIT -- TO THE BEST PERSON ON EARTH. THE BEST RAPPER TO EVER LIVE. THE BEST POET. THE BEST ARTIST. THE BEST MOTHER FUCKER TO GRACE YOUR FUCKING EARLOBES -- if I can give fight -- and claw -- and SCRATCH my way to the top ... to the stages where these PEASANTS can see just how much BETTER I am than they are ... I can make my way to the promise land. I can take a step onto the other side. I can make myself glorious. I can show these people that this night is just a blip. A happenstance. A problem. Something I can blame on THEM. In fact, I'll dupe these fucking idiots with my rapping ability so hard that my FIRST HOT SELLING SINGLE will be a mockery of how PATHETIC they re for getting me in this spot... Letting them know how much SMARTER I am than they are. Letting them know the the SLIP OF MY TONGUE is enough to empty their pockets. Letting them know that I'm the KING around here -- and that I'm going to lead them, I'm going to tell them exactly -- I'm going to DIRECT THEIR EVERY ACTION with my bars ... With my TALENT. With MY GLORIOUS VOICE. I will secure my future. I will overcome what's holding me back. I WILL make the outer world succumb to my will. And you will all acquiese. And let the elevation of your new spiritual leader become as it should. Let my GLORIOUS rhymes lull you into a trance -- a trance where the world yields to my every need. My every whim. My every thought. I am your messiah. I am your rapper king. There will be no more obstructions.

ELIZABETH
You know, when I was first growing up with Hardy -- and, please, if you're going to tell TMZ anything -- which you DEFINITELY SHOULDN'T -- let them know how long I've known him? Like I'm not some random floozy he met at a bar randomly while he was chilling in his hotel between matches... I'm like ... ANYWAY: when I was growing up with Jeff... He was always so critical about the way he presented himself. He always felt like he didn't quite make everything fit the way it ought to. He couldn't quite make everyone see him for who he was. He wanted to create this phenomenal image. This great IDEA of what it was to be Jeff Hardy. He wanted to make himself into THIS and THAT. And, somehow, he thought he could do it by just putting on some clothes. Just putting on a little swagger. Just saying a few words about himself -- just putting a nice, big, ATTENTION-GRABBING TAG on himself -- but, us ... His true friends. We knew it was all bullshit. We knew that the real Hardy didn't need any of those blandishments to make things go right. All that was wrong was the fact that he wouldn't accept himself. He wouldn't let his light shine through. He couldn't --

She began to cry. She loved Hardy. She couldn't help but honor him. She wanted the guy before her to know how much Hardy meant to her. He needed to know that he had it all wrong. He needed to know, through this story, that life wasn't about what was going on out here -- but about what was going in there. Even if Hardy hadn't quite gotten the recognition that he needed, he was still just moments away from letting it out. He was still the Hardy that we know and love today. He was still the Hardy she knew and loved before. But he was just making his way there. It was all about the journey, she meant to say -- but only tears managed to escape her body. The story's meaning certainly was shown on her body. But she wasn't sure if he understood what she meant by the end of her tearful intermission. She sniffed up a bit more, recognizing how much she loved Hardy. Was this a 'date'-date? Was something holding her back?

ELIZABETH
You just don't get it: you don't need like this big flashy little -- all these BIG HUGE .. All you need is ... I don't know how to say it! Like... Was Leonardpo DaVinci great BECAUSE we saw his paintings? Or was he great just like -- because ... I don't fucking know: HE WAS GREAT, or some shit? Isn't that enough?! Like, what if you create a bunch of shitty songs that have GREAT lines in them -- but, like, the songs THEMSELVES are shitty; so, we're all like "oooooh, you know, that guy's really good at songwriting, but I'm not going to any of his concerts" -- does that make you any less great? I mean, like, COME ON, man! You're a great rapper! You said so yourself! You don't need a an entire group of people shouting your name, and following your commands, and making sure that your every need is attended to for you to make sure that you're -- indeed -- a great artist. Just give us your contribution. Be yourself. Be who you are. Let your lyrics shine high. Make sure that we can hear what you have to say. You don't have to shove it down our throats. We don't need any more HEROES to stand above us and give us commands as if they are the 'Big Brother' of 1984 -- although, I suppose that kind of leader isn't one that would rap... Which, by the way, that's a really weird thing to be... Are you like the inverse of Kanye West, or something? Like this genius rapper who thinks he's like a demi-God, but -- and not to be insensitive, or to completely refute what I was just trying to argue there -- but, well, you know... You don't... I mean, you're sitting outside of a... I mean, come on --

KENDRICK
Okay, Miss Frazzle, I graduated Elementary School a while ago. And Middle School was a blast. High School -- well, maybe I should've elected to be home schooled at that time; but, hey, I say alls well that ends well... I mean, unless it ends with me dying hearing you go on and on and on and on about how artists are somehow INTRINSICALLY good -- even if they're not ACTUALLY good, as in: y'know, in the REAL WORLD. Like, come on, lady, your little "lesson" literally ended with you saying that I'm a Kanye West wanna be -- with an EMPHASIS on wanna be! Man, FUCK Kanye! That mother fucker thinks that he can rap?! I'll show him! And, he thinks that HE can be the first rapper to seriously run for president? Don't you even -- see, this is why I can't deal with being compared to other people... I don't want to be like any of these TALENTLESS rappers out here right now... I'm trying to completely REVOLUTIONIZE the way rap is done. I'm the fucking SPIRITUAL LEADER around this part, you hear? I don't need you blowing my head up with helium talkin' 'bout me sitting on my ass and jerkin' off to the IDEA of being a good artist. What I need you to do is to CONTRIBUTE TO THE FUND. I'm not staying here, lady. Something's holding me back, yeah, but I WILL accomplish my destiny in the end. I WILL conquer. I WILL achieve glory. And I will overcome whatever stands in my way. Even if it's some clunky ideology about 'INNER GREATNESS' -- instead of a nice chunk of change. Matter of fact, I'd rather be talentless and leading the people with shitty lyrics -- than be chock full of the talent I KNOW I have now and sitting here on the fuckin' street talking to your dumb ass.

Her shoulders slunk. He wasn't hearing any of it. He wasn't going to allow his ears to hear what she was saying. This was infuriating. She knew she was right. She knew Hardy was right. She knew sh needed to share the 'good word' with him. And, she hated to sound like such a preacher -- such a ... well, exactly what this guy wanted to be, a 'spiritual leader;' but, she could feel it pumping in her blood. She could feel it nagging in her skin. She could feel the fire light up right beneath her butt and before she could even think another thought, furious thoughts burst out of her hungry mouth. She could feel her tongue spank up against her teeth and lips, her jaw opening wide for clear and loud pronunciation. She knew that alot was at stake. Not only did she need to convince this dying, confused artist sitting right at her feet begging for change, she needed to convince herself. Something was holding her back from believing in Hardy. Was it that this man reminded her of him when he was failing? Before he got his 'big turn?' Would she really let such blips in time hold her back from realizing what's really at stake? Would she really let the sight of an arrogant, failing artist stump her from believing in someone who she felt close to? Especially when he was standing right at the gate? Would she really let something so silly hold her back? Would she really risk entertaining such thoughts in such a way that it would hold Hardy back? Only time would tell. Images of Hardy's losses, drug addictions, suspensions, weaknesses, and injuries flooded her mind. She couldn't give up though. She had to bulldoze through. She had to make it happen. The realities set in. But she was set in straight from the start.

ELIZABETH
I'm so, SO sorry about the comparison -- you are your own, UNIQUE person. Which, if I'm being honest -- is our WHOLE POINT. You don't need a whole fuckin' regime of people backing you up -- a bunch of people chanting your lyrics, and screaming your name. You don't need a bunch of scalpers selling your tickets at sky-rocket prices. You've already got everything that you need. LET IT OUT. PLEASE. Don't let "the man" keep that inner fire down and out. You must keep it ignited -- GOD:! I sound JUST LIKE Jeff. I mean, we always used to make fun of him -- he'd go on all these super duper long tirades about how we needed to live our lives to the fullest -- and how we needed to let out inner freak out and let ourselves 'find' ourselves. I swear, this guy was like your regular ole' backyard Timothy Leary. It was fuckin' incredible -- this guy was flunking out of all of his classes, he had no extracurriculars, and he very infrequently underwent any serious study or practical exploration. Instead, this guy just ... knew. He just ... he fuckin' KNEW. He had some fucking connetion with something -- and, I swear...

KENDRICK
FUCK Jeff Hardy! I know he's got his upcoming match with EBWF at their upcoming -- whatever the fuck... Because the fuckin' head guy here loves that shit. I can't stand watching him fly around like he's fuckin' Peter Pan on Molly. Like, sit the fuck down -- the '90's Grunge era ended AGES ago bro. Honestly, you going on and on and on about some HASBEEN wrestler trying to make his return is actually bumming me out even more. I swear, it's like there's always a fuckin' black cloud following me everywhere. I find a church to crash at while I write my next hit record, and they have to exterminate for two weeks. I find some nice lady, who clearly has enough money to blow at the fuckin' PIER -- for God's sake -- but she's a goddamn KAREN who thinks I need her little proselytizing bullshit instead of food to wipe my ass and fill up my hungry stomach. Listen, either drop a coin in my tin or 'swanton bomb' your ass away from me, freak. I'm sick of letting things hold me back from chasing my dreams. I will become the rapper god of this century. I will lead the people to their promise land. I will make my way through the gate. I will reach my glorious destination. I will. I will. I must. You cannot stop me. GET OUT OF MY WAY --

She can't help but mourn for Hardy. This man before her was just the opposite of him: somehow devoid of spirit, generosity, and unrecognized for his ability to create. She didn't want him to express himself any more -- it was hurting her heart. She could tell that her chest was collapsing. She could tell that her eyes were welling up. She wanted to do everything she could to keep things back on track. She wanted to make sure that she could find faith in her understanding of self-identity and self-expression that she could walk into the pay-per-view with her head held high. She still didn't know whether she wanted to attend. She still couldn't decide if she wanted to sit and watch from home. But she knew that once she woke up on that day she wouldn't be able to think of anything else. She wouldn't be able to make sure of anything but that her thoughts and vibes towards Hardy were pure and positive. She didn't want to jeopardize anything. She didn't want anything to stand in Hardy's way. She didn't want to risk losing Hardy's chance to regain his glory. To make his way to the other side. To find his way to the promise land. Her love of Jeff Hardy overpowered his distaste for life and twisted understanding of the 'greater good.' She shook her head. She knew better than that.

ELIZABETH
One thing that Jeff Hardy has -- is everything that you don't. And, I honestly don't think that there's anything wrong with that. he's got the big names. He's even got some big NICKnames. He's got the accomplishments. The titles. The epic matches. The 'big bumps.' ALLL THAT. You name it? He's got it. But, guess what? It hasn't changed him one bit. He's been put into many roles that give him power to steer the masses in directions that no other man could -- and he's chosen to steer them corretctly. He doesn't let his ego get in the way of his spiritualism. When he aims to do something for the 'greater good;' by God, it was TRULY for the greater good... Because, let me tell you something, none of those glorious things -- none of those things you keep going on and on and on about -- being a rap god -- being the 'boss' of everyone through your like... I don't know toxic rap lyrics -- none of that shit MATTERS. Jeff Hardy embodies exactly what you're not: someone to look up to. someone who empresses themselves -- and is, themselves, ... well -- actually ... GREAT.And, you sir, even if we did discover that your little skills in self-expression are 'great' -- you're ... you -- you're ...

KENDRICK
Fucking fantastic. Those names and titles and hit records won't change me either. I AM the shit, baby! I don't need any of you fucking PEASANTS around letting me know how fucking AMAZING I am at slicking my tongue 'round your ear like a snake. My rhymes are so smooth they'll have you thinking you just took a shot of tequila or some shit. I don't need y'all... Y'all -- need -- ME. I'm the fucking SPIRITUAL LEADER -- I'm the person with the bars that can save us from all of the trouble that coming for us. I'm here to protect the greater good and put my stamp on the world as the MOST EXCELLENT RAPPER ALIVE. This isn't about me. This isn't about you. This isn't about us, baby. It's bigger than us. It's bigger than me. It's bigger than this whole roach-infested church. It's all about the music, baby. It's about spreading the message. And the message does not get sent sitting on the side of the church, you know? So, again, drop a dime -- get out the way -- and let me take my deserved steps into the ... Goddamnit, this shit is so fucking meaningless! Every fucking step of the way there's some fuckin' jerk preaching on and on about the importance of what I'm doing without offering any goddamn ASSISSTANCE -- why don't you take your head-up-my-own-assery and PUT IT UP YOUR ASS, where it belongs? Nobody wanst to hear that bullshit! I don't need anyone's validation -- I need OBEYANCE. I am the spiritual master. I am the rap god. Bow down to me. Do not think another thought unless it has been prescribed in my razor-like stanzas. Turn off your brain and ramp up your volume. There is no need to fight. Your rhymin' mensch is here.

Elizabeth thought this was trite and boring. She wanted to punch him in the face the entire time. She couldn't stand this bullshit. It was so unnecessary. There was no glory waiting for him. There was no last gate for him to walk through. He was just an asshole. Who cared how fucking good he was at what he did. Who cared how fucking happy he was to live out his spiritual mission -- THROUGH us? She wanted to kick his teeth in. But, she knew that everyone had their own identity. She respected that. She respected that his expression of his identity was so raw, so authentic -- but she knew that he was misguided. And she wanted to put him back o the right track. But, given that she was standing right outside of a church window, she couldn't help but feel like a missionary. she thumped a book in her head and chuckled before proceeding. She didn't care what this looked like. What this sounded like. She needed to share a message. She needed to remove the block that was keeping this guy from walking through to the land of glory. What was truly keeping his gate locked shut and closed.

ELIZABETH
You know, all of your thoughts on how fuckin' GREAT you are -- and all of your rambunctious rationalizations about how the satisfactions of your deepest ego-needs are somehow satisfactory to the entire human race -- all of this ... magnificent bullshit is just ... You should write it all down and put it in an album instead of trying to shove it down my throat. It's so rotten that it's got you doing this to someone who could help you. You're literally sitting on the side of the street like a dead carcass. You're not pursuing your dream. You're not rapping right now. You're not writing any new bars. You're not crafting your future. You're just sitting around begging for money and hoping that people will feel sorry for someone who thinks that they're a GOD -- especially after GOD THREW YOU OUW. I would just shut my mouth up and start getting to what I keep saying that I'm going to get to. Honestly, I don't doubt that you're a great rapper. I think that you're probably going to whip quite a few audiences into the rafters with that mouth of your's... But I don't think you're going to get very far with that attitude... In fact, I think that's exactly what got you here... don't you think? I mean, you call yourself a rap god; but... I mean, look at you...

KENDRICK
Mince all this bullshit up real nice and shove it up your dumpy ass. Hardy isn't that great. I don't care about his ideology. You can shove that up your cliff-hanger rear-end, too. This isn't about Hardy and his trippy bullshit about how we should all sing Kumbaya and get high... This is about the fact that MY artistic brilliance is meant to overwhelm this planet in the most arcane of ways... You are merely a pawn. Merely a step. Merely one of the stones I will need to step on before I can reach where I need to be. There is always something standing in my way. But, it's not this. I don't give a fuck about this. I'm PISSED about this -- but, this ain't shit. I know who I am. I know what I have to offer. And, Hardy -- 'Ye -- those fucking dimwits can't even raise a glass to me. They have nothing on me. They can sit their raggedy asses down and bow down to MY power to lead these idiots and rap their fuckin' ears off. Don't you be fooled by how I look -- this is mere appearances. Hardy is nothing but a fucking paper bag in the wind. Me, on the other hand? -- Just, ... Just GIVE ME SOME FUCKING CHANGE, BITCH --

She could feel her heart break. Her hands and shoulders slouched. She could feel her whipping tongue and cave of a mouth suddenly shut off. She did not like this feeling. Her fire was gone. She was heatless. She was cold as ice. She could tell that nothing was going to get through to him. His gate was locked shut. His ability to understand where she was coming from was far too many lightyears away from what her time allotted. Although she did not receive a text from Jeff about his ETA, she knew that she needed to tend to getting to that -- otherwise she'd never see him all night. And she'd spend her time only merely getting through the tip of the iceberg with this hard case. She sighed. She perked herself up, though, with visions of the future. Her shoulders restationed. Her eyes glimmered with hope. Her hands restabilized and her whipping tongue took on a bit of panache. She smiled before patting him on the shoulder and kissing his forehead. Against her better judgement, she dropped a few dollars in his tin... Her heels clicked against the sidewalk as she strutted away from him, her hands digging in her pocket for her phone. Before she would make a clean break, though, she almost managed to utter something really quickly -- instead, she exhaled and turned back to him. She could see sights of Jeff Hardy succeeding. She could hear what Jeff would say to this guy. She knew just how enriching this point of view was -- even if it were inscrutable. Even if you couldn't measure it. Even if it led to Jeff Hardy being in this guy's situation and this guy being in Jeff's situation. The fact that Jeff was flying high and was set to make his way through the gate of his dreams, while this guy only had glory coming out of his mouth was enough for her. But, she couldn't help but feel empathy for someone so caught up in his dreams that real human lives failed to matter to him any more. She huffed and puffed before offering him something far more nourishing than what was left in the tin. Although he didn't hear it, it was left in the universe. She squeezed Jeff Hardy's ID as she let it out. He knew he would understand. He knew she knew what he meant. And she knew that he'd apply that next week. He'd be his authentic self. He'd show off his skills... Thrill us. Give something to see. But, then still go home and be who he truly was. The bittersweetness of this moment was heard quite clearly in her earthy tone. The light of Jeff's future successes illuminated her skull. Her mouth opened like the gates of glory:

ELIZABETH
Nothing's holding you back but yourself, buddy...