The Midnight News

Not writing for 3 weeks was a slight over sell - see how no one cares when you DON'T do your shit? They care when YOU DO.


Very profound, except that it was TWO weeks... two.... only felt like three when you were bored and missing me.

And if you don't think that I will be forgotten about 5 seconds after my final column... HA...

Thanks for caring, Larry... I always wonder about the people who keep a tally on my missing weeks... I would assume they have other things going on to keep them occupied. Must be a little mancrush. It's cool, partner. We won't be getting married or anything, but I'll be your soulmate. Just don't treat me like shit or you'll find out how cold I can be. DON'T PLAY WITH ME, LARRY!!! I DON'T NEED THIS!! AND MY HEADGAMES ARE PRETTY POTENT TOO!!

Little honesty, Larry... all I'm askin'. I don't trust you much these days... all those times you PROMISED your anus had "cobwebs" from lack of action... not the truth now was it? NO! ALL LIES!! Can't believe you no more, dude. Everything is a question mark.

But ME??? Oh nothing but honesty! Too much honesty. And to be SHAT ON for it... and not even an apology afterwards... how dare you, Larry. How dare you, sir! You will need to make-up for a lot of heartache that you created and that I didn't deserve... and I don't see you doing it... you broke my heart, sir. Shame on you.

Larry, Larry, Larry... you didn't even give me a chance. Didn't even try. Probably told your friends all about me and had a good laugh at my expense. That's the root of all my pain, right there. AND YOU DON'T CARE!!! What do you want from me? Want to chat about WRESTLING?? Is that ALL? Oh please... no... just... leave me alone then, damn you. You have ten million other suckers just DYING to make small talk with you... do it with them. You selfish gay bastard.

Oh God... I miss you Larry. I wish I could quit you. I'm trying so hard... ignored texts, unanswered e-mails, endlessly ringing phonecalls, then you appear out of NOWHERE and... and.... you callous gay bastard WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME??? TELL ME??? WHY DANGLE YOUR UN-COBWEBBY ASS IN FRONT OF ME!! WHAT FRESH HELL DO YOU HAVE PLANNED FOR ME NOW, LARRY??? HOW DO YOU PLAN ON DEMEANING ME AND MAKING ME FEEL LIKE A USELESS TOY NOW???

Okay, now that everyone's creeped out... and now that I've apparently gone fag... Hello Morons. I'm Chris and this is the Midnight News. Kind'a quiet around here news-wise... but I have stuff. Tons of stuff. I did good this week. It'll be a blast.

Off and running


Seven million.

If you know anything about movie demos (and you probably do), then you know that for an opening weekend... the ONLY thing that matters, seven million is an atrocious number... atrocious...


But then again... it's the time of the year between the big summer blockbusters and the serious Oscar-hunting releases... no one goes to the movies around this time. Seven million is respectable!


Why? for a few reasons...

1) Promotion: The WWE had invested as much time, money, and energy into promoting this movie as they have any given Wrestlemania. During any given hour of WWE programming, INCLUDING the pay per views, you got a either several plugs for The Marine or a full-blown production segment. You couldn't get away from The Marine for weeks. It was the Triple H of commericials. This was THE movie to put WWE Films on the map. Cena is THE cross-over star who wasn't going to pull a "Rock" and leave the company. All the eggs went into this basket.

2) Cena: He went EVERYWHERE. He talked to EVERYONE. He appeared on EVERY talk show who would have them. Early in the morning, mid-affternoon, late at night. No matter what, if you had an audience you could have John Cena.

And he said the right shit to every demographic. On "Regis and Kelly" he was polite and charming. On "Entertainment Tonight" he gave proper soundbites. On Howard Stern he talked about orgies and banging fat girls. He presented himself to get over with whatever audience was watching him, from old ladies to pre-pube boys to horny teenage girls to nerdy 20 something year old losers. He did not do promotion as if they were expecting a 7 million dollar opening. He promoted like he NEEDED this flick to break 20 million by Saturday.

3) The timing: This is one of those down periods in Hollywood film releases. It's after the big Summer blockbuster season and before the big Oscar Candidates season. There is virtually nothing strong to oppose this movie. Cena had the weekend all to himself, really.

No, I'm serious. The Marine had one true audience in mind, Boys ages 8-18. It's a popcorn movie with no blood. It's a wild action/adventure ride that was made so kids would go home afterwards and play The Marine in their backyards. 23 years ago, another movie like this opened... right around the same time, in fact... it was Rambo: First Blood Part 2 and after it was done me and my friends spent WEEKENDS in the woods killing the Gooks and the Russians!!


John Cena is no Sylvester Stallone. John Triton is no John Rambo.

There were no movies around to completely service young boys ages 8-18 who haven't had a decent action movie since the X-Men except for The Marine... and they didn't show up for it.

That's bad.

What seven million means is that the WWE has completely pissed away whatever mainstream audience it had left over. No one knows who John Cena is and even after WEEKS of ENDLESS promotion, no one wanted to find out either.

He can be a tough talking "rebel" all he wants... he still isn't Stone Cold

He can do the whole "You Can't See Me"/ Five Knuckle Shuffle sequence every match for the next 20 years... he still isn't the Rock

He can salute the "Chain Gang" and throw his shirt in the crowd and sign 10 billion autographs... he isn't Hulk Hogan.

He's a wrestler making a movie to an audience that gave up on wrestling a loooong time ago. And the wrestling fans who were subjected to the endless promotion full-time... well, some of us went (not me), but the rest of us... and everyone else... will just wait until it shows up on Cinemax next May... probably around midnight.

Seven million... a movie that had about 20 million dollars worth of explosions alone. There is no positive spin here. Impossible.

What just happened was the WWE fooled itself into thinking it had enough secret fans in the mainstream who would go see this movie and kickstart a new era of pop-cultural significance. Unfortunately, as with the case with Vince McMahon 24/7 (and even WWE 24/7 In Demand had plugs for this stupid movie), no one has the balls to tell the Emporer that he has no clothes.

Mainstream yawned to the tune of 7 million. Cena can't sell rap albums and can't open movies. He gets booed out of the building when the TV lights come on and not even his "STFU" finisher looks all that tough to get out of. When will his autobiography come out? Isn't that next on the list?

Well, at least he moves merchandise!

Maybe, instead of doing a whole bunch of things poorly, he should just focus on being the very best at one thing? Just an idea.

Anyway, here's the final tally for the weekend... something I used to do all the time called...


1) The Grudge 2: 22 million, opening weekend. A movie with a creepy little Jap kid and Buffy the Bulimic Lunch Puker and a plot that makes absolutely less sense then the Marine made 3 times as much money. Maybe they should have put that Jap kid in the Marine! Cena... I mean TRITON could have put him in the "STFU" and made those dumb faces he makes and the kid could have made those scary black eyed/mouth faces HE makes! That would've been an extra 2 mil right there!

2) The Departed: 18.7 million, 56.6 million total. Now THIS is a movie worth the $13 admission and $13 popcorn/soda/otherstuff to keep your asses nice and fat. God DAMN this is the sort of shit WORTH going to see. And Leo DiCaprio is the SHIT! Jack ain't bad either... although he clearly looks like he's about to drop dead.

And God Bless Alec Baldwin! The pudgy sumbitch went and found himself a career second wind!

In this movie, everyone dies except for Baldwin and Marky Mark... and I can't figure out why Marky Mark did what he did at the end...

3) Man of the Year: 12.6 million, opening weekend. So long as he keeps doing talk shows, Robin Williams will always be cool by me. When he gets going, there is no one funnier.

4) Open Season: 11 million, 59.2 million total. What is this? Some cartoon? Well, they always make an ungodly amount of money because they have some pale, creepy Koreans do all the animating for like 3 cents an hour.

5) Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning:: 7.8 million, 30.9 million total. R. LEE ERMEY DREW MORE PEOPLE IN HIS SECOND WEEK THEN JOHN CENA!!! DEAL WITH THAT FACT, HONCHO!!!

6) The Marine: 7 million, opening weekend. Soon we can rename this flick The Departed Too heh HAHAHAHAHAHA THE WIT IS BACK!!!

7) The Guardian: 5.8 million, 41.1 million total. Kevin Costner is another one who can reap a goldmine of second-wind career if he starts doing flicks where he plays a middle-aged dude who just gave up on looking impossibly handsome to 20 year old hotties. Ashton Kutcher can suck a cock, however.

8) Employee of the Month: 5.6 million, 19.9 million total. A: I don't find Dane Cook funny and lord knows I tried to watch him do his stand-up. B: I hope to God Trish Stratus follows Jessica Simpson's rules to staying married and does everything the same. Hyatte ain't gonna wait around forever.

9) One Night With the King: 4.3 million, opening weekend. What the hell did this movie come from? I think it's about Christ but in this one, he was nailed to the cross in Malibu. Damn Jews. Mel has your number!

10) Jackass 2: 3.3 million, 68.4 million total. First of all this is the greatest fucking movie of the last two years. Second of all I LOVE that Bam got the shit kicked out of him because he's always the babyface who never gets hurt. Third of all this movie broke the record for number of times someone said the word "dude" within the span of 90 minutes. Fourth of all the funniest bit of all time was when they dumped bees in the limo and THEN poured marbles on the ground so Ryna Dunn just wiped out after he got out. That's the difference between being assholes andf being fucking assholes and I LOVE IT!

So there you have it... and piss on the WWE for making such a DUMB movie too... nothing real about it... mindless junk... which is what they figure is all their audience (YOU, asshole) can handle.

We are the lowest common denominator and Vince McMahon hates us. End of story. Total contempt. And now they have Kevin Federline showing up on Raw and Cena "FU"'s him... yup... great.

What a stupid fucking business.


This news story was touched upon a few weeks ago, but wasn't really covered. In fact, I can't find a trace of it ANYWHERE and wouldn't have thought anything of it if Flea didn't mention it and pointed something out.

A few weeks ago, during a Smackdown house show in Arkansas, King Booker was wrestling... umm... maybe Lashley... yeah, I think it was Lashley... and

Well, one second King Booker was doing what he does... in full character... and his Queen, Sharmell... Queen Sharmell was at ringside doing what she does... and the next second Lashley was spearing the living hell out of a King Booker after-image while Booker was out of the ring and in the FACE of a fan. Things got heated... Booker dropped kayfabe and that godawful (but funny) English Royal accent and was "OG"ing it up looking to pop a CAP in this fans ass! It took a few officials to break it up!

Apparently, the fan saiud something to Sharmell... she freaked, Booker heard her freak, went to her side, was told what happened... and was all like, "FUCK KAYFABE, SOME CRACKER'S GETTING WHUPPED!!" And Lashley was in the ring saying, "Umm, Book? HELLO!! Got some shit to do here!"

Not much of a story... happens all the time. Except consider the following...

Fact: Booker's a professional who's been doing this a looooong looong time. He can handle hecklers.

Fact: This is Arkansas

Fact: Arkansas is nothing but poor white people who think they be black.

Fact: No one in Arkansas has any idea how to cure cancer and they ain't bothering to learn how.

Fact: Arkansas isn't spawning the wittiest of people.

So in conclusion... what could a simple minded WHITE rube from Arkansas POSSIBLE say to Sharmell that would get her so upset that Booker T would stop the match, break character, and come within inches of beating the living shit out of this guy?

Heh... take a wild fucking guess... no, better yet... allow me to list some options:

1) "Hey ni**er!"

2) "HEY!! Ni**er!"

3) "Hey you! Ni**er!"

4) "Ni**er, Yeah you! HEY!


6) "Excuse me, ni**ger! HEY!"

7) "Hey, NNNNnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnI**ER!!!"

8) "Hey, Queen Ni**ger!!"

9) "Hey (CANADIAN)!"


Well no wonder he freaked.

Three places to stay out of... Detroit, Arkansas, and New Orleans.

In a HAPPIER note... it is now safe for whitey to walk the streets of Little Compton, Los Angeles. The gangs have realized that they can kill all the bloods and crips they want to... and no one will care... but when you kill a white man... then that's when 5-0 comes in DROVES... fastest way to get the MAN all up in yo shit is to grease a few white boys... ain't worth it. So we get free and safe passage... possibly a low-rider escort out of town limits too. Aces!


And now we talk about my old friend Dave Scherer.... again.

Here's the timetable... at the beginning of the year Dave opened "", which was designed to post all the bullshit that his main site couldn't post. Oh he was proud of it...

But the REAL reason he opened it up was so he had a forum to BLOG...

This is where I came in and pointed out that he only wanted to BLOG so he could FINALLY tell the WHOILE story about how he overcame INCREDIBLE ODDS and re-structured himself into a buffed... cut... SUPER-STRONG physical specimen! How he DEFIED TEMPTATION and dropped 300 pounds of ugly FAST and became the Randy Orton of the Internet Wrestling Community!

So he blogged once... the first one being a rant against Customer Service Phone Reps. He couldn't just JUMP right into how he became the living embodiment of a Greek GOD. That would be PATHETIC

Then, with the table being set, he blogged again... and he began his epic saga... he even had the balls to mention that he wasn't sure anyone wanted to hear this so please ask him and if enough people ask... he'll suck it up and write it.

Then, on a roll, he blogged a THIRD time and finished his tale of glory!

All of this I cheerfully dissected. Here's part 1 and Here's part 2

Not wanting to look like a MARK for himself, Dave eventually... months later, posted a FOURTH blog about how he went to Vegas and had to beat off the Hookers with a stick. Even professional tricks can't keep their hands off him. They were offering FREEBIES... Dave fought them OFF and stayed with the slots... dirty, filthy sluts... how DARE they attempt to seduce the mighty Scherer.

That was in April... Scherer hasn't blogged since. I told you so... I called this EXACTLY.

Meanwhile, my paid for membership to pwinsider dried up and the guy who bought it for me hasn't been seen since. So I had to go to the free site... and on SEVERAL OCCASIONS I had to shut DOWN my computer because something tried to upload itself into my hard drive no matter how many times I clicked X... it quickly became apparent that anyone... and I mean ANYONE who tries to visit PWInsider on a regular basis is in SERIOUS danger of getting some UGLY viral software jammed into their CPU... which neither Nortons nor Ad Aware can kill out. If you linger at PWInsider long enough you WILL be taking your computer to a store for a full blown memory wipe. If your shit isn't back-up, you lose it...

It got so bad I wrote an Open Letter to Mike Johnson in this column, BEGGING him to do something about this... on behalf of his fellow fans everywhere.

The fat fucking piece of greasy shit ignored me. Things kept going over at PWDave as usual... fuck the readers, if they can't pop for the pay site, they can pop for a new computer.

What a fucking genius.

And now Dave got himself in trouble. Because he's so fucking low-rent... because he thinks he's a genius... because he never thinks beyond two-dimensions... and because he's such a work-out FIEND and overblown MARK for himself... he kept the bullshit cancerous advertisers in place and someone got fucked for it...

The following is a message from Dave Scherer to his loyal fans. I'll dissect it so you'll know EXACTLY what I'm talking about here...


by Dave Scherer @ 4:07:00 PM on 10/13/2006

Hi everyone (Hyatte: Hello marks. Good ol' Dave here) I wanted to take a second to bring you up to day about the status of the free section of this website. (Hyatte: And it'll only cost you about 5 minutes of pop-up deleting before you can read this. Serves you right!) Of late, two problems have been brought to our attention where ads are concerned and I wanted to address them here in a posting. (Hyatte: I got a legal letter from someone's lawyer)

The two problems are ads hijacking the page by taking the reader to a different website and inappropriate images being displayed in ad code. I want to say, for the record, that we do not endorse either of those things. (Hyatte: We only keep them running unchecked and take money for doing so.) If either of them happen to you, please email us and tell us as much as you can about the problem. (Hyatte: Please don't call a lawyer, complain to us alone so I can ignore you)

We often get emails from people asking, "Why don't you just pull that ad code and the problem won't ever happen?" (Hyatte: HAHAHA Because this is a business and I'm a business man who never finished college!) I wanted to share with you why we can't and tell you about the very real problems facing sites like this one, sites that aren't part of a large media company. (Hyatte: Here comes the "I'm just common folk, like you!" riff)

To start off with, the state of online advertising via ad companies has downright dismal for a while now. (Hyatte: I almost can't pay my gym fees) When you add in that we are a wrestling site, it's even worse, much like WWE only gets about 25% of the ad rate that their ratings deserve due to what they produce on TV. (Hyatte: Blame WWE Creative for treating the fans like trash.) Online advertising companies look at sites like this one the same way. (Hyatte: I'm dumbing down the techno-babble for you all) Since July of this year, it's gotten even worse, with all of our companies seeing marked decreases in the payouts that they deliver. (Hyatte: The rich get richer and the poor suffer for it) This loss of revenue forced us to ad the pop over ad that appears on every page. It now generates more than half of the ad money that we make from the advertising companies.(Hyatte: I refuse to go back to delivering soda) Unfortunately, it's also the ad causes the problems mentioned above. If we pull it, for any length of time, it causes us a real hardship. (Hyatte: I'm sorry your computer was eaten alive. I will NOT pay for the repairs DESPITE what your lawyer threatened. And I will NOT go back to regular work! I am NEW MEDIA! I MUST POST!) With three full time salaries to pay, it puts us between a rock and a hard place. (Hyatte: I haven't given myself a raise in YEARS)

Our options are:

1) Keep the site going as is.
(Hyatte: Which is what I'm going to do. Fuck you.)

2) Pull that ad and move as much as 90% of our now free content to pay-only status. (Hyatte: Which none of you cheap assholes are buying, and which finds itself on free cut and paste "Hotnewz" sites three minutes after we post it, so blame THEM!)

The last thing in the world that I want to do is the second option. (Hyatte: I'd lose all of my fans) I take great pride in the fact that no other wrestling news site in the world gives its readers as much totally free and original content as we do. (Hyatte: It's not free if your computer is at SERIOUS risk for malignant, aggressive virus you stupid, lying piece of SHIT ) I want to keep doing that as long as humanly possible but I also have three full time salaries to pay (Hyatte: I'm repeating this because I want you to FEEL FOR ME... people's LIVES DEPEND ON ME), so it makes the ad that generates more than half of our ad company money (and also the problems) a complete necessity to continue doing so. (Hyatte: I don't know how OTHER sites gets to pay its employees without doing this. My wife used that chapter of "Internet Businesses for Dummies" as toilet paper) I will fight taking much or most of the content Elite-only as long as I can. (Hyatte: I will FIGHT FOR YOU... fight WWE Creative... fight carbohydrates... fight for ALL THAT'S GOOD AND RIGHT IN THE WORLD FOR YOU!) Unfortunately, that will mean occasional problems with the ad code. (Hyatte: If you can't chip in for the pay site, then you are no good to me)

I realize it can be frustrating on your end to deal with those issues. (Hyatte: Not really, we can just read wht you write 3 minutes later on a free site. THAT'S THE REAL HARDSHIP, AIN'T IT... SCUMBAG!) It's frustrating for us to know that they are happening but as I said, we really don't have another option right now that will keep things going as is. (Hyatte: I'm a prisoner of my own website. I've created a monster and can't control it) I wanted you all to know that we are aware of the issues and will address them as we are told about them by you. (Hyatte: I'll post bullshit like this from time to time then ignore it)

Thank you for reading (Hyatte: Now shut the fuck up)

Dave Scherer (Hyatte: Goodbye marks. Good ol' Dave signing off)

So what happened is someone had to spend big money to clean his computer out just for visiting this site. He complained. He was ignored. he threatened legal action. Dave responded with this doubletalk. All those words just to say "nothing will change and its not my fault you can't pay for the sort of news Meltzer will mail to you every week for LESS MONEY"

He's a self-deluded, nickel & dime, Mom & Pop Dime store dullard. He's the worse kind of "businessman" - one who thinks he's smarter than he really is. He thinks he knows what he's doing. He thinks he knows how to handle his frustrated audience. He thinks he's a success.

Meanwhile, Bob Ryder just took away ALL the pop-ups from He decided to earn the audience's money the old fashioned way, through hard work and respect. It'll probably fail, but at least no one's computer will get fried in the process.

Dave Scherer is more than just a cheap, low-rent con man. He's a cheap human being who just wants to get over as a force in wrestling reporting.

He's the lowest of the low and I hope one day he gets sued into bankruptcy. Then I hope he drops dead from a stroke while on the treadmill. Then I hope his barbell crashes on his face and all the girls in the gym laugh at him.

Mike Johnson can get run over by a UPS truck too.

Buck Woodward can die a virgin. I understand he's well on his way there anyway.



Whenever we talk, I can always count on Flea to give his opinions on just about anything.

So, I decided to grab a pen and paper and start jotting down his thoughts. Everyone likes Flea.

The following is 100% true... more or less:



Aw they're alright. Lot of downtime, though. Plenty of time to sit back and wonder if you went with the right choice. Then you go look for my column. I ain't there. So you look for Hyatte's column. He's off being an lazy asshole. Then you get mad at us for not being around and get back to fucking your brains out.

Flea: Wears a disguise to airports because he doesn't want Dennis Quaid recognizing him.

Not sure he thinks he should insert HIMSELF into this theory... but okay

At this point, I'm only doing these segments to amuse myself and.... maybe two other people.


*All the swans in England are property of the Queen*

And just like that, you're smarter than you were three seconds ago

Hyatte LIVES to inform.


Since day one, Kevin Nash has been shat on by Internet marks everywhere. Well.... enough is ENOUGH!

This isn't going to change a damn thing, but I'm doing it anyway. Someone has to point out the obvious, SOMEONE has to defend the big guy, SOMEONE has to show the WRESTLING WORLD that Kevin Nash... maybe the greediest, laziest, sneakiest wrestler who ever lived, deserves a HEARTY round of applause... not for thumbing his nose at those who actually WORKED in the ring, but for doing it and getting rich at the same time. He IS the American dream... all 7 feet of him.

But is he better than YOU, John Q. Workrate? Bet'cha ASS he is... Why?

Kevin Nash Is Better Than You Because...

a few years ago he got drunk, showed up at the Melanie Pillman "Save My House cuz my Husband Died" fundraiser, promised $20'000 to her. Woke up the next morning, realized what he did, and STOPPED PAYMENT!!!




Oh this can wait. I've got something MUCH better... I think.


Chapter 1: The Calm Before the Storm

Summer was breathing it's last, the warm, cheerful fog of summer steam was battling with the crisp chill of an early autumn night. It was hot enough to sweat, but cool enough to breathe. All was well in my world.

I had pulled into my driveway just about the time when the local police started watching traffic carefully for swerving. I myself was two out of three sheets to the wind already, and had a healthy bottle of Pinot nestled comfortably under my arm. It was Saturday evening. I had found a young Portuguese man at the bus depot with enough missing teeth to make for a thrilling ten minutes. I paid him in crumbled up dollar bills. He mucho graciased me very eagerly. He even swallowed the condom. God bless crackheads. The rest of my evening was going to be nothing but wine, Cool Ranch Fritos, my sofa, and Vivid Porn DVDs. The plan was to get drunk enough so that many of the girls would look like HER. The plan was to fall asleep without shedding any more tears. This time, the plan would work. I felt it.

I looked up at my apartment, shrouded in darkness and felt a chill. I had no lights available in my main parlor, save for the numbing light of the television screen. My parrot, Jake, would no doubt be sleeping, having spent the day alone and miserable. Like people, parrots are highly sociable creatures. They like company. They like to feel loved. During the hours when I am out, Jake must deal with the horrible truth that is loneliness and betrayal and abandonedment. I smiled. We should I be the only one?

As it turned out, Jake wasn't alone on that night. As it turned out, he had an imp of Satan to keep him company.

Little did I know, as I slipped the key into my door, that I was about to enter Hell.

Chapter 2: The Parrot and the Pinot

A pale light flooded my kitchen as I entered. Ever mindful of the broken glass and rusty pizza remains, I tip-toed around towards the parlor. First order of business was to get the parrot, to reassure him, to cradle him in my arms and tell him that I won't leave him for another bird. It was the least I could do. It made me a better person than most.

Then I remembered my Pinot. Suddenly, the bird was my second order of business. The first was getting the wine in a glass and then in me... fast. I considered a fast whack-off but my bus depot Portuguese friend knew what he was doing. I would be limp for another good hour.

Wine opened, poured, and in hand, I realized that Jake would be the third order of business, and took a very itchy leak. This was followed by a ten minute ball-scratch session that did nothing to ease the curious burning sensation that began to nibble on my pecker. I considered scraping it down with a kitchen knife but decided against. The burning sensation made me feel alive, vibrant, all too human. I chose to ride it out, and perhaps share it with a friend or two. But not tonight. Tonight was wine and Briana Banks, and no crying.

Out of the bathroom I walked over to the bird cage. I gently lifted Jake from his sleepy perch and carried him into my room. That was when I felt it. A brief, small flutter of wind against my neck. A sinister breath of evil brushing on my skin. I was about to turn when my foot landed on a glob of Jake poop on the rug. I cursed at Jake and punched him in the face for this mess. He squawked. I sipped my wine. The flutter was all but forgotten.

I took Jake and my wine to my computer room. Then placed Jake on his mobile perch and refilled my glass. Letting red wine breathe is a fool's game. It can breathe all it wants while in my belly and getting me drunk. I came back with the re-filled glass and checked my e-mail. Nothing from HER... the evil, evil diva. She has forgotten me. I am nothing to her. I gulped wine.

Behind me, a scratching noice against my closed door. Scritch, scritch, scritch. Something was trying to get in. Before this could register to me, Jake decided to grab onto my shoulder and walk down my arm. I smiled. He missed me. At least SOMETHING in this god forsaken world did.

But Jake didn't miss me, he missed his wine.

Chapter 3: The Alcoholic Macaw

As with young children, Jake at first hated wine. The first time he crawled down my arm to investigate the glorious red liquid that solves problems, he took a quick sip and then blinked several times, shook his head in dismay, and tried to peck my eyeballs out. I rewarded him by sticking him in my microwave and letting him roast in Hell for ten seconds. He never tried to attack me again.

But over time, he kept sampling the wine, and grew a taste for it. He would dip his head in, take in a few gulps, then lift his head up in victory and swallow it down. He would do this five or six times. It became a game as I switched the glass from hand to hand and watch him slowly, diligently walk all the way to my other hand, to the liquid heaven that chases the sadness away. Just as he would start to dip into the glass, I would change hands. This could go on for an hour. He was unstoppable. He was single-minded.

He was drunk. I'd giggle as he teetered and tottered and waddle in a stupified stumble across me. Losing his balance. Slurring his worlds. "Heyyyyy Budshy" he would say.

And he is not a good drunk either. His bites get harder, more forceful. He defies me when I threaten him with a fist... or the almighty broom. he would unload a day's worth of Jake shit on my leg, my lap, my arm. He would laugh. He would mock me. I would try to stuff him into the microwave again but he would fly off, smashing into a wall and bouncing to the ground. I would pick him up and pet him. I am not an evil man, I love my bird. Sometimes I would finger him.

Then, as always and after the festivities. He would fumble his way to a dark corner of my couch and fall fast asleep. After a few more bottles, his owner would follow suit.

And so it went on this dark night. Jake dipped his head into my glass and drink the Pinot deep and desperately. I would pet his green head and he would viciously snap at me. He must have his wine. He must escape his own demons. Being the caring owner in charge of this beautful pet, I allowed him his moment of joy. How could I deny him?

While contemplating yanking off a tail feather and tickling my Darling Dolly Blow-Up Doll with it, the scritching at my door continued. At that moment SHE appeared online. I had a few minutes to kill as I waited for her to send me a hello message (always a waiting game with HER) so I decided to see what was on the other side. I put my wine down. Jake mounted the glass and continued his drinking. SHE stayed quiet. The game had begun and I would NOT blink first. I opened the door.

And then came the Fury

Chapter 4: The Fury

I only had time to see it's teeth. Yellow, jagged, shark-like, as it flew right at me. I screamed, loudly and collapsed on the floor. Curling myself into a fetal position. From the corner of my squinting eye I saw it circle around me, like a vulture waiting for it's dinner to die. It flapped about, demonic red eyes on me. It was smiling, as God as my witness it was smiling at me. I screamed at it. It chittered back. Jake lifted his head from his Pinto and laughed at me. On this day, humanity lost a step on the evolutionary ladder. I was not the alpha - I was the beta. I was the prey. I was the bitch.

To further claim its place. The bat, a giant brown thing, swooped over my, just a foot from my head, and left its mark. A small drop of bat shit landed on my lip, where half of it drooped into my mouth. I couldn't close it in time. I was gaping in terror.

Then the bat flew out of the room. it had marked its territory. It had claimed its prize. It had established dominance. It was now the owner of the house.

And I was its pet.

I pissed myself.

Then SHE immed me.

Chapter 5: The Lap Dog of the DAMNED

As fast as my paralyzed-from-terror body could move I slammed the door shut and went for the wine. I needed it more then ever before. Jake had other ideas and quickly grabbed a hunk of thumb and sank it's bony beak in deeply. I swatted him away. He bounced against the wall and twice on the floor. Had I been watching, I would've seen him drunkenly waddle over to my foot and begin the process of climbing... climbing ever so patiently back to my arm, back to his wine. I was but an obstacle. No more. But my attention was focused on HER: Miss Thing, Miss Perfection, Miss Goddess.

She had typed Hi. I typed Hi back. She asked what's up. I said nothing much. She asked how I was. I typed ACES, BABY . She LOL'ed. I asked how she was. I was prepared to pour out my heart. To unload my very SOUL to her. To channel every inch of my BEING into tellinger her how I feel.

The scritching was back. The bat was ready to make me braid it's hair. I was its beecher. It's prag. it was not yet done with me. But everything I am was channeled into this chat with her. The light of my heart.

Problem is, she wasn't responding. She was there. I studied every inch of her screen name. So beautiful, so exotic.

She logged off without saying goodbye, after making me stare at her for 15 minutes without a response. It would be weeks before I would see her again. I couldn't even contemplate that she blocked me. My 16 other screen names assured me that she was gone.

And suddenly, the scritches became louder. The bat would not be denied. It wanted to play with its new pet some more. Perhaps drink some wine with jake as they mocked me.

And then I reached my boiling point. And decided right then and there. It was time to take back the house.

It was time to fight back. She was going to pay.

Chapter 6: Cry Havoc

I needed a weapon. I needed my broom. It was in the parlor. Always ready for a game of Jake baseball. (I was like Barry Bonds when it came to blasting Jake out of the room). I would have confront the bat, the BEAST and somehow get past it in order to wage war. I breathed deeply and opened the door.

Teeth and claws came at me, but the claws were filled with some sort of foamy substance. I recognized the foam immediately. It came from my pillow.

It had claimed my bed as its own.

Then I noticed shreds of fleshy plastic hanging from its vile teeth. I groaned.

It had gotten to Darling Dolly.

It had ravaged my blow-up doll.

The fucker. I ducked low and charaged out of the room. I felt it swing around and follow. Chittering away. Evil jaws snapping. Ready to devour me. I forgot about stealth and blundered across my kitchen, smashing into chairs and walking through pizza remains and broken glass. Sharp pain drove up my leg. I howled. Jake said, "Shyheeey Bushidy". I heard a glass break. Jake had fallen off the glass and it tumbled to the floor. Wine was everywhere. I didn't care. The beast was coming to take me to Hell. I wasn't going to let it.

I finally reached the broom and swung wildly behind me. There was nothing there.

It was gone.

I heards the AIM door open on my computer. Maybe SHE had returned. Maybe the bat knew this. Maybe the bat would start chatting with her as me. maybe the bat would win her over. Maybe the bat would get to fuck her and laugh at me like everyone else does because no one believes me. I started to cry.

I lost everything. I was a beaten man.

It was over.

Chapter 7: This one was for pride

Once I realized that bats can't type, spell, read, or communicate, nor could they handle the light from a computer screen, I gathered myself together and prepared for battle. With broom in hand and lurched into the kitchen, ready to fight. It was empty. I charged into my computer room, ready to hit anything that fluttered. There was only Jake, peacefully on the floor slurping up the remains of my spilled Pinot. He glanced up at me, issued me a friendly "Fuck you" and went back to its business. I thanked him for not helping me in any way, shape, or form by kicking him across the room. he laughed at me. he still thoiught the bat now ran this household and he was happily on its bandwagon. He would have to be dealt with firmly.

But first I had another matter at hand.

And SHE hadn't returned online anyway. So take that, bat.

I returned to the kitchen, and faced the dark, the BLACK parlor. I was convinced it would enter through here. It would confront me head on. At last, the battle would be at hand. At last, Hell would face Hell.

It attacked me from behind. Smashing into my neck with all the rage of a thousand demons. Tiny barbs of agony sank into my skin. I whipped around and howled. I tried to beat it with my broom and succeeded in knocking myself on my head. I collapsed for the second time. It had let go and flew around the kitchen in sickening victory. All was lost. Hope was lost. I was to die alone. SHE would have the last laugh.

Then from the computer room, with a mighty squawk, salvation.

Jake flew into the kitchen.

Chapter 8: Jake joins the fight

And flew into the refrigerator, bounced off, flew into the pantry closet, bounced to the floor, slowly got up, and walked towards his cage. He was done for the night. I was on my own.

The motherfucker.

Chapter 9: The Shadow Battle

And in an moment of recoil. It all came back to me. The rejection, the rage, the mockery, the betrayal, the bat shit in my mouth, the spilled wine, the drunk parrot, the fact that I am a semi-old man doing this useless fucking column. And now the bat has claimed me as its property. It was enough. It was all enough. I didn't care if it infected me with every known disease this side of the Northern and Southern Hemisphere. Something was going to die tonight, and if it was to be me, so be it.

It had flown into my spare bedroom, which had a burnt out lightbulb that I never got around to changing. The final battle would be held in darkness. On its terms. In its environment. So be it.

With a scream that came from my bowels, I charged forward and promptly swung away. And again, it was gone.

But this time, there was only one way out. It was hiding. It was lurking. It was watching from some small black shadow. Biding its time, waiting for the moment to catch me off-guard and finish the job.

Except I knew where it was. It was in the only place that it could possible be. It was nestled in the curtains. I felt it in my bones. I looked into the abyss and the abyss looked back. I thought like the bat, felt like the bat. For one bright, insipid moment, the bat and I were one.

I swung at my curtains. It flew out! Success!

With the fury of every bitter, lonely loser in the world, I hacked at it. It deftly dodged my long swoops and danced toward me. Its horrible red eyes bore bright holes into me.

Then the AIM door opened again. Both the bat and I paused. We both thought the same thing. Was it HER? Had SHE come back. The bat stopped and looked at me. It winked at me and turned to the computer room. It had taken my manhood now it was to take my woman, (who really isn't my woman but why quibble). It had broken my spirit and now it would seduce HER over.

And I lost it.

And I swung with all I had.

The bat felt the full force of my broom and crashed onto the floor. Where it laid stunned.

And I pounded it five times with my broom. My eyes had gone their own shade of red. I started to drool. I started to chatter unintelligibly. I had become a savage. I had become a brutal thing.

Anf threw the broom down and snak to my knees. With my bare hands and picked up the bat and tore its wings off. With the madness of a barbarian I closed my fist around it's gnarled, rancorous body and squeezed. Tiny, spiteful bones crackled under my raw furious haze. I took its maleficent head between my thumb and forefinger and popped it. Grotesque matter mixxed with black blood dribbled on my hand. I laughed. I bellowed. Standing up, I carried its undead remains to the bathroom. I threw it into the toilet. It began to float and then...

And then it moved. It's tiny claws folded against the water. With a smashed head and torn wings, it still lived. It still wasn't through with me. This... this bitch from the deepest crevices of HELL refused to die.

I flushed the toilet. As it swirled around I watched it's lone red eye, smooshed into the center of it's caved-in skull stare at me. Just before it vanished into the pipes of vindication, I shouted, "I would've moved to Canada for you, damn it."

And then it was gone.

And then I puked. Much of it splashed back at me.

And from my parlor, Jake slurred, "Fuckin' loosher"

Chapter 10: Requiem for a Douchebag

Weeks have passed since I reclaimed my soul. I have slowly weaned Jake off the wine by introducing him to second-hand pot smoke. Other than getting the munchies on my furniture and pretty much chewing holes into everything, all is well.

He only gets to drink whenever I bring dates over and show them what a drunk bird looks like. They laugh and applaud and then reward me by putting things in their mouth that make me almost forget HER.

As for renewed attacks. There haven't been any. I believe things, deadly, malevolent things were watching that vicious battle in the shadows on that fateful night. I believe I have earned my peace. It only cost me everything I was.

And I don't think I got it all back.

Now, whenever I hear that AIM door open I think of that obscene night. I feel a small gust of dead air run across my neck. I think of those teeth, those red eyes, the chittering.

And it arouses me.

One day I will take a journey. Into the heart of nothingness. And finish the battle with that still living beast that I sent down into the sewers, on its way back to Hell. Probably will wait until the summer.

Toronto gets mighty cold in the winter time.

The end.

.... well then. Right.

I'll tell ya, I never know how anything I write will turn out until its done. And I'm usually pretty stunned,

Issues... I've got 'em.

Next week... I dunno... something. I mean... I guess I SHOULD be more prepared but... well hell, it's not like I have limited number of columns left to go or anything.


This is Hyatte