Post by Ben Everest on Nov 28, 2020 3:22:59 GMT
“Jersey Jim? Didn’t he kill himself ten years ago?”
Ben looks frustrated, anyone with a big family during this time knows his feelings.
The anxiety that comes with seeing family members that you normally avoid at all costs. And now, in the COVID-19 era things just become more complicated.
So, as Ben sits there in an undersized dress shirt, he watches as the “smaller than usual” family gathering all take their turns talking about Jersey legend, Jim Luzzatto.
“Nah, ya fuckin’ moron he didn’t die! He retired, I think.” His drunk uncle proclaims from the kitchen. His other uncle waves the comment off, going back to his discussion with Ben’s grandmother.
Ben sighs.
“Why’d you ask us anyway? You got something against Jersey Jim?” His uncle asks.
“Ben LOVES Jersey Jim, that’s why you got into that wrestling thing, right honey?” His mother proudly proclaims. Ben shakes his head.
“No. I don’t like him.”
Ben doesn’t have much to say, in between mouthfuls of ham and mashed potatoes. His plate is clean, it anything he was able to get his macros in for the day. A solemn runner-up prize.
“Who da fuck doesn’t like Jersey Jim?” Another uncle pipes up. “I watched him tangle with The Russian Bear in Newark back in the eighties. That shit was class.”
Ben throws his cutlery down onto his plate, breaking the conversation into two.
“I’m sick of this, I just wanted to film some filler while you were all here. Now I got to hear about this shit.”
Ben’s family looks in his direction, the mountain of a man gets up from the old sofa as the camera keeps on him.
His uncles all look on, as Ben walks up to the dining table.
“Say it.” Ben says, pointing his finger at his Uncle Bobby. Bobby was the oldest, and he always talked the most shit.
“Say what?” Bobby says, incredulously.
“Tell me that you think I can’t beat that old piece of shit up. Tell me you don’t think that I can’t out arm-wrestle that relic.” Ben states emphatically, as the rest of the family looks on.
They don’t say anything.
“I thought so. I didn’t come here to listen to all of youse talk about some carny fossil. Fuck Jersey Jim, fuck him right in his stupid ass.” Grandma covers her ears, as Ben stares down his uncles.
Nobody says a thing, Thanksgiving is ruined for sure.
Ben paces back and forth, like a caged animal. For the camera he untucks his shirt, flexing just enough to rip the seams.
“Let’s see him do this shit.” Ben says as he flexes his biceps, the long sleeve tearing in a ridiculous fashion.
He basically looks like the Hulk.
“I never scammed no kids out of no money, and I damn sure didn’t get into this business to squeeze out every nickel and dime that I could. I love pro-wrestling with all of my heart, and I won’t stand by and let you guys talk about him like he’s some kind of messiah.”
“Well, c’mon Ben-“
Ben slams his palm flat on the table, nearly breaking it. Dishes and food are disrupted, ruining the night even more.
“No more. Not another fuckin’ word about that cocksucker, you understand me?!” Ben’s grandmother rushes away from the table, leaving Ben to deal with his uncles.
“You’re out of control, Ben.” His uncle Anthony speaks up.
“Don’t you got another DUI to get to? You’re about ten drinks in, you better hurry up.” Ben snaps back.
The room grows silent again, Ben nods his head.
“That’s better. You guys can all come down and watch me beat this fuck in an arm-wrestling contest. I’ll show you what a real Jersey legend looks like.”
Ben looks at the camera, and the cameraman, nodding towards the door. The mood is sour, and dinner is ruined.
Ben grabs a turkey leg, leaving with one last thing to say. “Happy fuckin’ Thanksgiving, you miserable cucks.”
Ben looks frustrated, anyone with a big family during this time knows his feelings.
The anxiety that comes with seeing family members that you normally avoid at all costs. And now, in the COVID-19 era things just become more complicated.
So, as Ben sits there in an undersized dress shirt, he watches as the “smaller than usual” family gathering all take their turns talking about Jersey legend, Jim Luzzatto.
“Nah, ya fuckin’ moron he didn’t die! He retired, I think.” His drunk uncle proclaims from the kitchen. His other uncle waves the comment off, going back to his discussion with Ben’s grandmother.
Ben sighs.
“Why’d you ask us anyway? You got something against Jersey Jim?” His uncle asks.
“Ben LOVES Jersey Jim, that’s why you got into that wrestling thing, right honey?” His mother proudly proclaims. Ben shakes his head.
“No. I don’t like him.”
Ben doesn’t have much to say, in between mouthfuls of ham and mashed potatoes. His plate is clean, it anything he was able to get his macros in for the day. A solemn runner-up prize.
“Who da fuck doesn’t like Jersey Jim?” Another uncle pipes up. “I watched him tangle with The Russian Bear in Newark back in the eighties. That shit was class.”
Ben throws his cutlery down onto his plate, breaking the conversation into two.
“I’m sick of this, I just wanted to film some filler while you were all here. Now I got to hear about this shit.”
Ben’s family looks in his direction, the mountain of a man gets up from the old sofa as the camera keeps on him.
His uncles all look on, as Ben walks up to the dining table.
“Say it.” Ben says, pointing his finger at his Uncle Bobby. Bobby was the oldest, and he always talked the most shit.
“Say what?” Bobby says, incredulously.
“Tell me that you think I can’t beat that old piece of shit up. Tell me you don’t think that I can’t out arm-wrestle that relic.” Ben states emphatically, as the rest of the family looks on.
They don’t say anything.
“I thought so. I didn’t come here to listen to all of youse talk about some carny fossil. Fuck Jersey Jim, fuck him right in his stupid ass.” Grandma covers her ears, as Ben stares down his uncles.
Nobody says a thing, Thanksgiving is ruined for sure.
Ben paces back and forth, like a caged animal. For the camera he untucks his shirt, flexing just enough to rip the seams.
“Let’s see him do this shit.” Ben says as he flexes his biceps, the long sleeve tearing in a ridiculous fashion.
He basically looks like the Hulk.
“I never scammed no kids out of no money, and I damn sure didn’t get into this business to squeeze out every nickel and dime that I could. I love pro-wrestling with all of my heart, and I won’t stand by and let you guys talk about him like he’s some kind of messiah.”
“Well, c’mon Ben-“
Ben slams his palm flat on the table, nearly breaking it. Dishes and food are disrupted, ruining the night even more.
“No more. Not another fuckin’ word about that cocksucker, you understand me?!” Ben’s grandmother rushes away from the table, leaving Ben to deal with his uncles.
“You’re out of control, Ben.” His uncle Anthony speaks up.
“Don’t you got another DUI to get to? You’re about ten drinks in, you better hurry up.” Ben snaps back.
The room grows silent again, Ben nods his head.
“That’s better. You guys can all come down and watch me beat this fuck in an arm-wrestling contest. I’ll show you what a real Jersey legend looks like.”
Ben looks at the camera, and the cameraman, nodding towards the door. The mood is sour, and dinner is ruined.
Ben grabs a turkey leg, leaving with one last thing to say. “Happy fuckin’ Thanksgiving, you miserable cucks.”
