The Repo Man by James Hanna
Gertie McDowell tells the whacky story of how her career as a professional female wrestler ended.
Hi, it's me again, Gertie McDowell, and I just had my twenty-ninth birthday. Ma phoned me from Turkey Roost, Kentucky, where she lives in a nursing home, and she said to me, "Gertie, how'd ya ever live long enough to be twenty-nine years old?" "I done it a day at a time," I said, and Ma snorted over the phone. She said, "Gertie, it's a wonder the devil didn't snatch you up long ago. What, with all the sinnin' you done and all the Commandments you broke, you oughta be sitting on burning coals and repentin' to the Lord."
See, Ma she don't approve of me being a professional female wrestler. She don't like it that I joined Women of Wrestling five years ago and that I tussle in scripted matches that are broadcast on Pluto TV. She don't even like it that I've become the Champion of the World and that I wear a spandex outfit that's got red-white-and blue stripes. She especially don't like it that Leo Hawke, the chairman of World Wrestling Productions, says I'm America's princess and that I like to kick Taliban ass, and that he took me to Afghanistan to entertain American troops. Ma says that wearing a tight spandex outfit don't make me no kind of princess and that I really ain't nothing but a hoochie-coochie girl.
Well, Ma she's probably right 'bout the fact that I oughta be sittin' on coals. If you read them two diaries I wrote, them books that James Hanna helped me edit, you'd know that being a hoochie-coochie girl ain't even my biggest sin. Shucks, I once starred on a foot fetish site, conned bets as a ping-pong hustler, and served time in prison 'cause I let this slickster, a fella who called himself Jean Valjean, fool me into muling powdered meth all over Kentucky and Tennessee. But them coals are gonna have to wait 'cause I've got something more to tell ya. I wanna tell ya how I got into a match where I hadda wrestle a man.
Well, this story ain't gonna make no sense unless I give ya a bit of background, so I'm gonna take a minute to tell ya what happened to me in Afghanistan. After World Wrestling Productions put on its show for the troops, a show where I wrestled this great big woman dressed up as a suicide bomber, the Taliban attacked the base and tossed me on a truck and drove me into the Hindu Kush so this chieftain could make me part of his harem. But the chieftain he turned out to be a kind and thoughtful man, and since the war was ending and American troops were going home, the chieftain apologized for kidnapping me and said I needed to get on the airlift, and he instructed the village doctor, a fella named Doctor Mohammed, to drive me to the Kandahar Airfield so I could get on a jet. He also told Sheeva she hadda go with me - Sheeva was his youngest wife, at the time, but she wanted to learn medicine, and the Taliban got no use for women who wanna get educated.
Well, Leo Hawke took a shine to Sheeva when we got ourselves to the base, and he got her a special immigration visa even though she can skunk him at chess. So, Sheeva and me flew to America on Leo Hawke's corporate jet, and Leo Hawke paid for Sheeva to attend Deerfield Academy. I don't hardly see Sheeva no more 'cause she stays in Massachusetts and I gotta live in Los Angeles so's to tussle on Pluto TV.
My new story begins in the summer of the year when Donald Trump got back in the White House. Ma she told me the country still needs him to save it from communists and crooks, so I didn't mention his pussy grabbin' 'cause I knew that would upset Ma. See, Ma she thinks that God's greatest tasks are best performed by sinners 'cause sinners are braver than ordinary folk and know how to get things done.
Well, I gotta say this 'bout Donald Trump - he sure is gettin' things done. Right now, there's ICE agents roaming all over the streets of Los Angeles, and they're jailing all them rapists and killers that snuck into the country. Ma says them agents are Christian soldiers 'cause they always act calm and polite even when mobs of folks spit on 'em and call 'em dirty names. She said Jesus heading for Calvary acted just as polite while an ill-bred mob was calling him names and throwin' stones at him. "Ya gotta forgive them mobs," Ma said. "They know not what they do. But that don't mean the Lord is gonna forgive you."
There's times when ICE agents recognize me 'cause I'm still America's princess. When that happens, they shout, "Hey, it's Lights Out Lizzie," 'cause that's my wrestling name, and then they stop me in the street and ask for my autograph. I always take time to chat with 'em and ask 'bout their families, and then I sign 'em autographs and thank 'em for doin' God's work.
Ya know, Ma don't call me Miss Jabber Jaws 'cause I know how to stay on a subject, so now I'm gonna get back to how I ended up wrestling a man. How it started was Sheeva and me was sittin' in this Starbucks near the Belasco Theater - that's where Women of Wrestling puts on most of its shows. Sheeva she was visitin' me 'cause she was takin' a break from school, and me and Sheeva was havin' a chat and sippin' pumpkin lattes. Sheeva she just turned eighteen and she's 'bout to graduate, but she told me she first hadda finish up writin' this book report. She said she was late with her book report 'cause the book was troubling her, but she hadda get it finished if she wanted to graduate.
"Miss Gertrude," she said - she still calls me Miss Gertrude even though we've been friends for four years. "Miss Gertrude, have you read The Great Gatsby? That's a very annoying book."
I told her I don't know nobody great who goes by the name of Gatsby, but that's probably 'cause I never read nothin' but Harlequin romances. Well, Sheeva she said that Gatsby fella didn't deserve to be great 'cause he was just a criminal living in the past. "Miss Gertrude," she said, "I have to write an essay of five thousand words. But why should I write about Mister Gatsby? - he is not a worthwhile man. All he did was throw noisy parties and try to relive his past."
I told Sheeva I couldn't fault no one for living in the past. See, when I was in Afghanistan, I fell in love with Doctor Mohammed. Doctor Mohammed looked after me when I was feeling poorly and he made sure me and Sheeva got to an airlift before the Taliban took over the country. Not a day goes by when I don't feel my heart aching for Doctor Mohammed. I even dream that Doctor Mohammed and me are gettin' married, and when I wake up and he's just a haunt, my heart breaks all over again. So, I said to Sheeva it ain't no crime to be livin' in the past - 'cause I'm missin' Doctor Mohammed so bad that I feel like a ghost myself. And I'm missin' that colorful village where Doctor Mohammed took care of me and I'm missin' them mountains that look like they was carved by the hand of God. I guess struttin' around in a spandex suit and hearin' the shouts of the crowd don't hardly compare to the shadows calling me back to Afghanistan.
Well, Sheeva said she weren't blaming me none for living in the past 'cause a princess deserves to live anywhere she wants. But she said that crooks like Mister Gatsby don't oughta live nowhere but jail 'cause Mister Gatsby he bootlegged liquor and got everyone drunk at his parties, and the Quran takes a very dim view of people gettin' drunk.
"Miss Gertrude," she added, "that horrible man even tried to fix the World Series."
I said to Sheeva I didn't know the World Series needed fixin', and Sheeva she just sighed like a faucet and then she shook her head. "Miss Gertrude," she said, "how ever did you manage to become America's princess?"
"It weren't nothin' I planned on," I said, and Sheeva she rolled her eyes.
"Perhaps you should do more planning," she said, "and not live so much in the past. If you have not yet heard from Doctor Mohammed, the Taliban probably shot him."
While we was talkin', a coupla of them ICE agents walked into the Starbucks. Them fellas was on a mission 'cause they had handkerchiefs coverin' their faces, and they was wearin' them baseball caps that say, "Make America Great Again."
Well, them ICE agents came to our table and politely tipped their caps. Both of 'em had glossies of me doin' a blonde bombshell pose, and they wanted me to sign them glossies using my wrestling name. So, I set my pumpkin latte aside so I could sign them glossies, and I autographed 'em with this Sharpie that I keep tucked in my bra.
Sheeva she didn't look happy while I was scrawling them autographs - she just kept starin' down at the table and sippin' her coffee real slow. But since them fellas were Christians, I thanked 'em for keeping us safe. Shucks, there's no way a girl can get raped when there's Christian soldiers around.
When I was done signing them glossies, them fellas they spoke to Sheeva. They told her she needed to go with 'em to straighten out her visa. They told her there weren't no hurry and to finish her coffee first, and then they went and sat down at a table near the door.
Sheeva took 'bout twenty minutes to finish drinkin' her coffee. I guess she weren't too thirsty 'cause she was takin' tiny sips. And while she was sippin' her coffee, she said, "Miss Gertrude, please do me a favor. If you do not see me tomorrow, you must speak to Mister Hawke. Please tell him that I am stuck in detention and that I will need his help."
I said, "Just 'cause you're late with your book report don't mean you're gettin' detention."
Sheeva she rolled her eyes again and patted me on the wrist. "Miss Gertrude," she said again, "how on earth did you manage to become America's princess?"
When Sheeva had drunk all her coffee, them dudes walked her out of the Starbucks, and they cased the street as they opened the door 'cause they wanted to keep her safe. Sheeva she ain't that attractive 'cause she's skinnier than a crane, but that's no guarantee that she ain't gonna get raped. Ain't nobody safe when a country is fulla rapists and psychopaths.
The next afternoon, Women of Wrestling did a show in the Belasco Theater. I was scheduled to wrestle the Bride of Allah, but the woman that played her was sick, so that match got postponed and I hadda tussle with Svetlana the Slav instead. Before I stepped through the ropes, I looked around the theater to see if Sheeva was there. I hadn't seen her yet, so I was hopin' she'd come to the show. But Sheeva she weren't nowhere around and I'd promised to do her that favor, so I called Leo Hawke on my cell phone and left him a message 'bout Sheeva. I told him that Sheeva had gotten detention and wanted him to know.
Well, me and Svetlana, this woman all covered with hammer-and-sickle tattoos, had us a real exciting match that got the crowd worked up. After promisin' to bury America and make McDonald's sell nothin' but borscht, Svetlana broke a chair over my back, scissored my head with her legs, and sang "rockabye little baby" while I pretended to pass out. But since I was supposed to win the match, she left me to lie on the canvas and walked around the ring holding up a Russian flag. So, I tripped her with a leg sweep, bounced her offa the ropes, and we tussled for five or six minutes before I pinned her with a lateral press.
After Svetlana slunk outta the ring, hangin' her head like a dog, the sound system played "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue," and the crowd started singin' along. And this Fox reporter rushed up to me like a tick jumpin' on a hog, but he didn't ask me no questions 'bout motherhood or apple pie. Instead, he wanted to know what I thought 'bout Sheeva gettin' put in jail. The reporter said he was sittin' in Starbucks when them ICE fellas picked her up, and since Sheeva and me was sittin' together, I oughta have an opinion 'bout that.
I said, "I hope they don't keep her too long. She's gotta finish a book report."
Well, the crowd it didn't hear me 'cause the sound system was blarin' too loud, but later I found out that weren't a very smart thing to say.
That evening, Fox News did a story on me that got folks all riled up. This anchorwoman was tellin' the country that I oughta be banned from wrestling. In a voice that was thicker 'n ketchup, this anchorwoman kept repeating that I said the government oughta let a suicide bomber out of jail. After that, she quoted Judy Marsh, the head of the Justice Department, who said she was considerin' prosecuting me for coddling a terrorist. The anchorwoman even interviewed one of them agents that picked up Sheeva. The fella he held up the glossy that I'd autographed for him and said that he'd been bamboozled by his favorite fantasy.
Well, my phone got peppered with so many texts it was like ants comin' to a picnic. Folks said I don't oughta go to no Starbucks if I'm gonna be sittin' with spies. They accused me of cookin' shish kabob 'steada bakin' apple pies. And they said I been gulpin' them blue pills, but that didn't make no sense 'cause I don't swallow nothin' but aspirin now an' again.
Well, it weren't too long before Leo Hawke called me up on my cell phone. He said I shouldn't do no more shows until I changed my script. He said if I wrestled the Bride of Allah it weren't gonna look too good - 'cause both of us would probably get pelted with beer cans and shish kabob.
But Leo he weren't discouraged over my situation 'cause he said there oughta be a way to make money out of it. He said he was gonna meet with the producers of World Wrestling Productions and come up with an idea that was gonna fatten his bank account 'cause Leo owns most of the stock.
When Leo was done talkin', I asked him what he knew 'bout Sheeva gettin' detention. I told him I wanted to pay her a visit if she weren't gonna be let out soon. Leo said Sheeva had probably been flown to Colorado by now, which didn't make a bit of sense 'cause Sheeva don't know how to ski.
My match with the Bride of Allah got cancelled, and it weren't long after that when Leo Hawke made an announcement on Pluto TV. He said that since I'd robbed them ICE agents of their favorite fantasy, World Wrestling Productions was gonna give the government a chance to educate me. He said I was gonna wrestle an enforcement-type dude known as the Repo Man, a fella as big as a barn and as keen as a razorback hog. He said that dude was so macho he cleaned his teeth with a knife and that he used to be a button man before joining World Wrestling Productions.
Well, I didn't need no buttons and I told that to Leo Hawke, and Leo he chuckled and told me that I was missin' the point. He said the Repo Man was gonna win the match by taking two falls out of three, and then I was gonna see the light and repent my subversive ways. Leo said the video of the match would probably get ten million buyers, and World Wrestling Productions was gonna be laughin' all the way to the bank.
Well, I still wanted to know 'bout Sheeva, and Leo said not to worry 'bout her. He said if I put on a dazzling show and then repented my heresy, Judy Marsh was gonna turn Sheeva loose in exchange for his corporate jet.
Well, the match was scheduled at the Crypto Arena where the Los Angeles Lakers play, and Leo Hawke had a whole week to do the publicity. So, he announced on Pluto TV that the match was a battle for America's soul 'cause America's Princess was needin' a change of attitude. He said he hoped that the Repo Man would pound God back into me and that America would forgive me 'cause I know not what I do.
Well, Leo's announcement made me aware of how far I'd gone astray, so I thanked him for helpin' me realize the error of my ways. And while World Wrestling Productions was sellin' tickets to millions of wrestling fans, I did some serious ponderin' 'bout the Book of Genesis. I remembered how Jacob wrestled this angel from midnight until dawn. Jacob was fulla chicanery before the angel came along, but after their match the angel blessed him and gave him a brand-new name.
Well, I called up Ma in her nursing home and said I was gettin' saved, but Ma weren't too receptive when I told her the situation. She told me I'd just been suckered into another trashy prank and that nothin' but lewdness and blasphemy was gonna come of it. And she said that God don't waste no angels on hoochie-coochie girls and not to be callin' her up again when Frasier was on TV.
Well, a coupla days went by and I hadn't heard nothin' from Sheeva, so I went to see Leo Hawke in his office and he said again not to worry about her. And Leo Hawke he gave me some tips on how I oughta behave before I wrestled the Repo Man and managed to get myself saved. He said I hadda act all snotty and say that God is dead, and I hadda be sure that I always had a hijab on my head.
Well, I weren't too keen to be actin' like I was fulla heresy, but temptin' the devil would have to do if it got Sheeva out of jail. So, I stood in the ring on Pluto TV and announced that God was dead and acted all hoity-toity when the fans hollered for my head. Leo Hawke musta sold a million more tickets 'cause it weren't hard to see that them fans couldn't wait for the Repo Man to get his hands on me.
On the day of the match, Leo Hawke picked me up in this Thunderbird he drives and he took me to the staff entrance of the Crypto Arena. A pack of reporters was waitin' for me, and when I got out of the car, they came swarmin' around me like flies on a dead raccoon.
Well, them reporters had more questions than I had answers to give 'em, and I hadda pee so bad that I couldn't be standin' around anyhow. So, I followed Leo Hawke through the staff entrance and down a buncha hallways, and my stomach was doin' flip-flops when we got to this dressing room.
A stadium cop was keepin' watch beside the dressing room door, so I asked Leo Hawke if maybe we was takin' things too far. Leo he laughed and insisted this was just another show. He said my fans would forgive me once I repented my wicked ways 'cause their hearts were fulla Christian love and they wanted their princess back. He also reminded me to put on a real exciting show 'cause that would make us filthy rich when the videos went on sale.
Well, the dressing room felt like a closet, but I was glad of the privacy, and there was a toilet in it so I had myself a pee. And, after a minute, this usher brought me the outfit I hadda wear 'cause I weren't gonna be dressed up like a hero anymore. He gave me a spandex suit with a logo that said, "God is dead" and he gave me a blue hijab that looked as tight as a wig.
I could hear the roar of the stadium crowd as I put on them wrestling togs and I could hear "The Star-Spangled Banner" being sung by some country music star. And when the usher came back to my dressing room and said it was time to go, I followed him down a hallway like I was walkin' into a storm.
When I stepped into the arena, I couldn't see the crowd 'cause this torch light leapt offa the rafters and walloped me like a club. But I could hear millions of voices all clammerin' for my head and I could hear an announcer's voice speakin' like it was trying to survive the crowd.
Well, I told myself all this hullabaloo weren't nothin' but a show, but more stadium cops was waitin' for me and they was lookin' grim. So, I followed them cops to the wrestling ring with that torch light stabbin' my eyes and I heard Elvis Presley singin', "You're the devil in disguise," and I couldn't feel nothin' but misery and I couldn't do nothin' but cry 'cause I knew in the pit of my stomach there would be no turnin' back.
After I slipped through the ropes, I took a moment to dry my eyes, and then I saw the Repo Man riding a horse down the aisle. That fella was tall as a grandfather clock and his horse was whiter 'n snow and, although he was wearin' a Lone Ranger mask, his eyes were piercing and cold. He was lookin' at me as though I was somethin' he'd bargained for long ago, like maybe I'd signed a contract to let him have my soul. And the sound system was playin' this Dylan song called "Knocking on Heaven's Door," and the bass was so loud that it felt like a jackhammer diggin' a grave in my ears. I gotta admit it kinda felt like Judgement Day had come 'cause I ain't never seen nothin' scarier than the Repo Man.
The Repo Man he dismounted and his horse was led away, and then he stepped through the ropes and went to the corner opposite mine. His eyes kept sizing me up as Leo introduced us to the crowd, and Leo's voice was rawer 'n usual and cracked like a flag in the wind. "In this corner," he said, pointin' at me, "is a princess who gave up her crown. She doesn't bake apple pies anymore or praise God and motherhood. Instead, she's been wearing a burqa and shouting, 'Allah be praised,' and she's got a poster of Osama bin Laden hanging in her home. But let's take a minute of silence and pray for her wayward soul and remember how much we loved her before the devil turned her head."
Well, the stadium fell silent 'cept for a few folks saying "a-men," and Leo pretended to wipe his eyes before introducin' the Repo Man. "And in this corner," he said, "is a holy phantom that came out of heaven's door. I didn't know anything about him until God introduced him to me. 'Leo,' He said, 'behold a pale horse and its rider will set the land free because he will release the wrath of the Lord upon sin and harlotry.' And wham! This fellow rode out of the mist, and I heard the good Lord cry, 'Woe to the Whore of Babylon and woe to blasphemy.'"
Well, the arena went blacker 'n tar and this white light lit up the ring, and the sound system produced a recording of thunder and then the light fluttered off and on. And then the thunder faded and the main lights came back on, and Leo declared that God had just loosened his terrible sweet sword.
Ya know, if I was better at plannin', I'll bet I wouldn't be in no jam where no phantom was lookin' at me like Judgement Day had come. And I'll bet I wouldn't be hearing them Christians all hollerin' for my head. I'll bet I'd be sittin' in Starbucks, sippin' a Frappuccino instead.
After Leo was done announcin' us, he saluted the Repo Man, and the sound system played "Stand Up for Jesus," and Leo stepped outta the ring. And this referee fella hopped through the ropes and he was shakin' like a drunk - I guess 'cause he weren't ready to handle no match for America's soul. Shucks, that dude was so skinny it looked like a breeze could blow him away and when he shouted, "Let's get it on," his voice squeaked like a hinge needin' oil. I dunno if that fella expected a phantom to hear his commands 'cause the Repo Man looked like he didn't hear nothin' but God's demands.
Well, the ring bell dinged three times, declarin' the start of the match, and the Repo Man snatched me up with both hands and lifted me over his head. The canvas looked a long way down 'cause the dude was a foot taller than me, and I felt 'bout as useless as a cat caught up in a tree. But then somethin' happened that I weren't expectin' in a match for America's soul. The Repo Man he spoke to me in a friendly tone of voice. "Relax, kid," he said, "the first one's yours," and then he twirled me around his head and the crowd it spun around me like I was on a tilt-a-whirl. And then that fella pretended to trip and fell flat on his back, and I was lying on top of him and the ref he started the count. After the ref slapped the canvas three times, a groan spilled out of the crowd and some of them folks was shoutin', "Don't let the Whore of Babylon win!"
Well, dern if I didn't get riled about what folks was callin' me. Shucks, just 'cause I'm a floozy don't make me the Whore of Babylon. So, I decided if Jacob could fight him an angel until the break of dawn, I was gonna try and hold off that creepy Repo Man.
When the ring bell announced the second round, it was like ice picks stabbin' my ears, and the Repo Man came lumberin' towards me like Godzilla mighta done. So, I bounced myself offa the ropes a few times then threw a flying drop kick at him, but that fella was so solid it was like crashin' into a house. Next thing I knew, I was being snatched up by a pair of giant hands, and I felt like my knees were busted and I couldn't see nothin' but stars. But when the media table crashed under me, my consciousness returned, and I realized that the Repo Man had tossed me outta the ring.
Well, I was hopin' to rest for a second 'cause I was needin' to gulp some air, but that fella had followed me outta the ring like a mongrel chasin' a hare. And he hoisted me up on his shoulders like a fireman woulda done and he said, "Kid, we need to pick up the pace," as he tossed me back in the ring.
After that, the fella allowed me to do a coupla wrestling moves. He allowed me to climb some turnbuckles and hurl myself onto him; he allowed me to get outta a bear hug by doin' a three-quarter roll; he even let me put a side headlock on him and crash his head into a post. But then that fella shook his head and said, "That's gonna do," and he stretched my arm between his legs and slowly straightened his back.
Dern, if it didn't feel like my arm was gettin' crucified, and the Repo Man said, "Kid, it's time to submit," and he eased up on the hold. So, I slapped the canvas with my free hand to let the ref understand that I was submittin' to the hold 'cause I wanted to keep my arm.
The thunder it started boomin' again and the crowd began to cheer, and then the sound system played "A Mighty Fortress is Our God." And that fella he got to his feet and he held up both his hands, and the ref announced that the second round had been won by the Repo Man.
Leo Hawke met me in my corner before the third round began. He handed me a bottle of water and rubbed some liniment on my arm, and he said I was doin' a real good job battlin' the Repo Man. But his voice was kinda hollow and his eyes were fulla pain, and when I asked him again 'bout Sheeva, Leo he broke down. He told me that Sheeva would soon be goin' back to Afghanistan 'cause Judy Marsh had inspected the jet he was gonna exchange for her. He said that Judy weren't happy 'cause the jet needed lots of repairs and that she'd told him he oughta be ashamed for tryin' to gift it to her.
Well, I took me a swig of water while Leo was bendin' my ear, and I guess that swig weren't enough to douse the orneriness in me. 'Cause when the ring bell jingled, announcin' the final round, I had plumb forgot how the match was supposed to end. I hardly heard the Repo Man when he said, "Kid, let's wrap this up," and I didn't pay no attention when Leo shouted, "Gertie, keep making us rich!" And after the Repo Man picked me up and crushed me to his chest, I barely heard the sound like a chestnut explodin' on a hearth.
What happened happened so quickly I didn't realize that I weren't acceptin' my punishment and was goin' straight to hell. I was hopin' that I was mistaken, but my hopin' didn't last when I saw the Repo Man lying beside me and he weren't movin' at all. His eyes had a faraway expression like he was starin' at heaven's door, and his nose was kinda pulpy where I'd butted him with my head. And then I heard a rappin' sound like the devil was buildin' my coffin, but it turned out to be that referee fella hammerin' out the count.
After the ref counted the Repo Man out, he didn't hang around. He shouted, "This ain't none a my doin'," and he swung himself through the ropes, and he sprinted down the aisle like ten bobcats was chasin' him. But Leo he helped me to my feet and tried to tame the crowd 'cause they was startin' to holler and throw bottles into the ring. Leo he shouted that God wouldn't always let the Whore of Babylon win and that there was gonna be a rematch and the tickets was gonna be cheap.
Well, I didn't want no rematch 'cause I already had me a ticket to hell. All I wanted to do was skedaddle before them Christian folk buried me. But my head it wouldn't stop spinnin' and my knees felt as stiff as two ears of corn, and I was 'bout as helpless as a pig come slaughterin' time. I knew for sure there weren't no way the Lord would rescue me 'cause Ma made it clear He don't send chariots for hoochie-coochie girls.
But, while I was waitin' for lightning to fry me, a pair of hands lifted me up. And it weren't no angel that done it - it was the Repo Man. And although the sound system was beltin' out "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," that fella he weren't lookin' towards heaven anymore.
"Kid," he said, "it's time to book. Ya need to get outta here quick." And the Repo Man he ducked through the ropes, holding me over his back, and he carried me out of the Crypto Arena like I was a road-killed buck.
Well, I ain't a professional wrestler no more, but that ain't no surprise. After spendin' a week in the hospital, gettin' my knees patched up, I went to see Leo Hawke and he told me my wrestling days were done. He said Women of Wrestling didn't want me no more even though I'd been a princess 'cause the show got no use for wrestlers who don't wanna follow scripts.
Well, I shoulda been upset at not being America's princess no more, but the crown I'd been wearin' was heavy and kept messin' up my hair. And, shucks, it wouldn't have hurt none if they'd changed my script now and then 'cause most times I felt like a cow in a paddock chewin' her cud all day long. Now, I ain't sayin' that God had decided to open a door for me, but if that Repo Man ain't an angel, I think he oughta be. He sure didn't act like no phantom, and when I butted his head, I ain't even convinced that I'd knocked him out that bad.
Before I finish this story, I wanna tell you a coupla things more. When I apologized to Leo Hawke for not helpin' him get rich, Leo he told me he'd still sold millions of videos of the match. He said them videos weren't purchased by God-fearin' Christian folk - they was bought by out-of-town agitators, communists and crooks. He said he was using the profits to make the repairs on his jet, so Judy Marsh had decided to let him gift it to her, after all.
So, Sheeva, she got released from this facility in Colorado, and she flew back to Los Angeles and met me in Starbucks for coffee. I guess Leo musta told her how I'd raised money to spruce up that jet 'cause, after Sheeva thanked me for helpin' her get out of jail, she bought me a pumpkin latte and a custard danish too. And then she asked me what my plans were since I weren't a princess no more, and I said I weren't sure 'bout my future but it was fun not knowin'.
Now, Sheeva, she's sorta strict with herself and don't show much emotion. But she took my hands in hers and she wished me all the best, and she said that she's never had a better friend than me. But we couldn't sit around jawin' too long 'cause I had some plannin' to do, and Sheeva she hadda get back to school and finish her book report.
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See, Ma she don't approve of me being a professional female wrestler. She don't like it that I joined Women of Wrestling five years ago and that I tussle in scripted matches that are broadcast on Pluto TV. She don't even like it that I've become the Champion of the World and that I wear a spandex outfit that's got red-white-and blue stripes. She especially don't like it that Leo Hawke, the chairman of World Wrestling Productions, says I'm America's princess and that I like to kick Taliban ass, and that he took me to Afghanistan to entertain American troops. Ma says that wearing a tight spandex outfit don't make me no kind of princess and that I really ain't nothing but a hoochie-coochie girl.
Well, Ma she's probably right 'bout the fact that I oughta be sittin' on coals. If you read them two diaries I wrote, them books that James Hanna helped me edit, you'd know that being a hoochie-coochie girl ain't even my biggest sin. Shucks, I once starred on a foot fetish site, conned bets as a ping-pong hustler, and served time in prison 'cause I let this slickster, a fella who called himself Jean Valjean, fool me into muling powdered meth all over Kentucky and Tennessee. But them coals are gonna have to wait 'cause I've got something more to tell ya. I wanna tell ya how I got into a match where I hadda wrestle a man.
Well, this story ain't gonna make no sense unless I give ya a bit of background, so I'm gonna take a minute to tell ya what happened to me in Afghanistan. After World Wrestling Productions put on its show for the troops, a show where I wrestled this great big woman dressed up as a suicide bomber, the Taliban attacked the base and tossed me on a truck and drove me into the Hindu Kush so this chieftain could make me part of his harem. But the chieftain he turned out to be a kind and thoughtful man, and since the war was ending and American troops were going home, the chieftain apologized for kidnapping me and said I needed to get on the airlift, and he instructed the village doctor, a fella named Doctor Mohammed, to drive me to the Kandahar Airfield so I could get on a jet. He also told Sheeva she hadda go with me - Sheeva was his youngest wife, at the time, but she wanted to learn medicine, and the Taliban got no use for women who wanna get educated.
Well, Leo Hawke took a shine to Sheeva when we got ourselves to the base, and he got her a special immigration visa even though she can skunk him at chess. So, Sheeva and me flew to America on Leo Hawke's corporate jet, and Leo Hawke paid for Sheeva to attend Deerfield Academy. I don't hardly see Sheeva no more 'cause she stays in Massachusetts and I gotta live in Los Angeles so's to tussle on Pluto TV.
My new story begins in the summer of the year when Donald Trump got back in the White House. Ma she told me the country still needs him to save it from communists and crooks, so I didn't mention his pussy grabbin' 'cause I knew that would upset Ma. See, Ma she thinks that God's greatest tasks are best performed by sinners 'cause sinners are braver than ordinary folk and know how to get things done.
Well, I gotta say this 'bout Donald Trump - he sure is gettin' things done. Right now, there's ICE agents roaming all over the streets of Los Angeles, and they're jailing all them rapists and killers that snuck into the country. Ma says them agents are Christian soldiers 'cause they always act calm and polite even when mobs of folks spit on 'em and call 'em dirty names. She said Jesus heading for Calvary acted just as polite while an ill-bred mob was calling him names and throwin' stones at him. "Ya gotta forgive them mobs," Ma said. "They know not what they do. But that don't mean the Lord is gonna forgive you."
There's times when ICE agents recognize me 'cause I'm still America's princess. When that happens, they shout, "Hey, it's Lights Out Lizzie," 'cause that's my wrestling name, and then they stop me in the street and ask for my autograph. I always take time to chat with 'em and ask 'bout their families, and then I sign 'em autographs and thank 'em for doin' God's work.
Ya know, Ma don't call me Miss Jabber Jaws 'cause I know how to stay on a subject, so now I'm gonna get back to how I ended up wrestling a man. How it started was Sheeva and me was sittin' in this Starbucks near the Belasco Theater - that's where Women of Wrestling puts on most of its shows. Sheeva she was visitin' me 'cause she was takin' a break from school, and me and Sheeva was havin' a chat and sippin' pumpkin lattes. Sheeva she just turned eighteen and she's 'bout to graduate, but she told me she first hadda finish up writin' this book report. She said she was late with her book report 'cause the book was troubling her, but she hadda get it finished if she wanted to graduate.
"Miss Gertrude," she said - she still calls me Miss Gertrude even though we've been friends for four years. "Miss Gertrude, have you read The Great Gatsby? That's a very annoying book."
I told her I don't know nobody great who goes by the name of Gatsby, but that's probably 'cause I never read nothin' but Harlequin romances. Well, Sheeva she said that Gatsby fella didn't deserve to be great 'cause he was just a criminal living in the past. "Miss Gertrude," she said, "I have to write an essay of five thousand words. But why should I write about Mister Gatsby? - he is not a worthwhile man. All he did was throw noisy parties and try to relive his past."
I told Sheeva I couldn't fault no one for living in the past. See, when I was in Afghanistan, I fell in love with Doctor Mohammed. Doctor Mohammed looked after me when I was feeling poorly and he made sure me and Sheeva got to an airlift before the Taliban took over the country. Not a day goes by when I don't feel my heart aching for Doctor Mohammed. I even dream that Doctor Mohammed and me are gettin' married, and when I wake up and he's just a haunt, my heart breaks all over again. So, I said to Sheeva it ain't no crime to be livin' in the past - 'cause I'm missin' Doctor Mohammed so bad that I feel like a ghost myself. And I'm missin' that colorful village where Doctor Mohammed took care of me and I'm missin' them mountains that look like they was carved by the hand of God. I guess struttin' around in a spandex suit and hearin' the shouts of the crowd don't hardly compare to the shadows calling me back to Afghanistan.
Well, Sheeva said she weren't blaming me none for living in the past 'cause a princess deserves to live anywhere she wants. But she said that crooks like Mister Gatsby don't oughta live nowhere but jail 'cause Mister Gatsby he bootlegged liquor and got everyone drunk at his parties, and the Quran takes a very dim view of people gettin' drunk.
"Miss Gertrude," she added, "that horrible man even tried to fix the World Series."
I said to Sheeva I didn't know the World Series needed fixin', and Sheeva she just sighed like a faucet and then she shook her head. "Miss Gertrude," she said, "how ever did you manage to become America's princess?"
"It weren't nothin' I planned on," I said, and Sheeva she rolled her eyes.
"Perhaps you should do more planning," she said, "and not live so much in the past. If you have not yet heard from Doctor Mohammed, the Taliban probably shot him."
While we was talkin', a coupla of them ICE agents walked into the Starbucks. Them fellas was on a mission 'cause they had handkerchiefs coverin' their faces, and they was wearin' them baseball caps that say, "Make America Great Again."
Well, them ICE agents came to our table and politely tipped their caps. Both of 'em had glossies of me doin' a blonde bombshell pose, and they wanted me to sign them glossies using my wrestling name. So, I set my pumpkin latte aside so I could sign them glossies, and I autographed 'em with this Sharpie that I keep tucked in my bra.
Sheeva she didn't look happy while I was scrawling them autographs - she just kept starin' down at the table and sippin' her coffee real slow. But since them fellas were Christians, I thanked 'em for keeping us safe. Shucks, there's no way a girl can get raped when there's Christian soldiers around.
When I was done signing them glossies, them fellas they spoke to Sheeva. They told her she needed to go with 'em to straighten out her visa. They told her there weren't no hurry and to finish her coffee first, and then they went and sat down at a table near the door.
Sheeva took 'bout twenty minutes to finish drinkin' her coffee. I guess she weren't too thirsty 'cause she was takin' tiny sips. And while she was sippin' her coffee, she said, "Miss Gertrude, please do me a favor. If you do not see me tomorrow, you must speak to Mister Hawke. Please tell him that I am stuck in detention and that I will need his help."
I said, "Just 'cause you're late with your book report don't mean you're gettin' detention."
Sheeva she rolled her eyes again and patted me on the wrist. "Miss Gertrude," she said again, "how on earth did you manage to become America's princess?"
When Sheeva had drunk all her coffee, them dudes walked her out of the Starbucks, and they cased the street as they opened the door 'cause they wanted to keep her safe. Sheeva she ain't that attractive 'cause she's skinnier than a crane, but that's no guarantee that she ain't gonna get raped. Ain't nobody safe when a country is fulla rapists and psychopaths.
The next afternoon, Women of Wrestling did a show in the Belasco Theater. I was scheduled to wrestle the Bride of Allah, but the woman that played her was sick, so that match got postponed and I hadda tussle with Svetlana the Slav instead. Before I stepped through the ropes, I looked around the theater to see if Sheeva was there. I hadn't seen her yet, so I was hopin' she'd come to the show. But Sheeva she weren't nowhere around and I'd promised to do her that favor, so I called Leo Hawke on my cell phone and left him a message 'bout Sheeva. I told him that Sheeva had gotten detention and wanted him to know.
Well, me and Svetlana, this woman all covered with hammer-and-sickle tattoos, had us a real exciting match that got the crowd worked up. After promisin' to bury America and make McDonald's sell nothin' but borscht, Svetlana broke a chair over my back, scissored my head with her legs, and sang "rockabye little baby" while I pretended to pass out. But since I was supposed to win the match, she left me to lie on the canvas and walked around the ring holding up a Russian flag. So, I tripped her with a leg sweep, bounced her offa the ropes, and we tussled for five or six minutes before I pinned her with a lateral press.
After Svetlana slunk outta the ring, hangin' her head like a dog, the sound system played "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue," and the crowd started singin' along. And this Fox reporter rushed up to me like a tick jumpin' on a hog, but he didn't ask me no questions 'bout motherhood or apple pie. Instead, he wanted to know what I thought 'bout Sheeva gettin' put in jail. The reporter said he was sittin' in Starbucks when them ICE fellas picked her up, and since Sheeva and me was sittin' together, I oughta have an opinion 'bout that.
I said, "I hope they don't keep her too long. She's gotta finish a book report."
Well, the crowd it didn't hear me 'cause the sound system was blarin' too loud, but later I found out that weren't a very smart thing to say.
That evening, Fox News did a story on me that got folks all riled up. This anchorwoman was tellin' the country that I oughta be banned from wrestling. In a voice that was thicker 'n ketchup, this anchorwoman kept repeating that I said the government oughta let a suicide bomber out of jail. After that, she quoted Judy Marsh, the head of the Justice Department, who said she was considerin' prosecuting me for coddling a terrorist. The anchorwoman even interviewed one of them agents that picked up Sheeva. The fella he held up the glossy that I'd autographed for him and said that he'd been bamboozled by his favorite fantasy.
Well, my phone got peppered with so many texts it was like ants comin' to a picnic. Folks said I don't oughta go to no Starbucks if I'm gonna be sittin' with spies. They accused me of cookin' shish kabob 'steada bakin' apple pies. And they said I been gulpin' them blue pills, but that didn't make no sense 'cause I don't swallow nothin' but aspirin now an' again.
Well, it weren't too long before Leo Hawke called me up on my cell phone. He said I shouldn't do no more shows until I changed my script. He said if I wrestled the Bride of Allah it weren't gonna look too good - 'cause both of us would probably get pelted with beer cans and shish kabob.
But Leo he weren't discouraged over my situation 'cause he said there oughta be a way to make money out of it. He said he was gonna meet with the producers of World Wrestling Productions and come up with an idea that was gonna fatten his bank account 'cause Leo owns most of the stock.
When Leo was done talkin', I asked him what he knew 'bout Sheeva gettin' detention. I told him I wanted to pay her a visit if she weren't gonna be let out soon. Leo said Sheeva had probably been flown to Colorado by now, which didn't make a bit of sense 'cause Sheeva don't know how to ski.
My match with the Bride of Allah got cancelled, and it weren't long after that when Leo Hawke made an announcement on Pluto TV. He said that since I'd robbed them ICE agents of their favorite fantasy, World Wrestling Productions was gonna give the government a chance to educate me. He said I was gonna wrestle an enforcement-type dude known as the Repo Man, a fella as big as a barn and as keen as a razorback hog. He said that dude was so macho he cleaned his teeth with a knife and that he used to be a button man before joining World Wrestling Productions.
Well, I didn't need no buttons and I told that to Leo Hawke, and Leo he chuckled and told me that I was missin' the point. He said the Repo Man was gonna win the match by taking two falls out of three, and then I was gonna see the light and repent my subversive ways. Leo said the video of the match would probably get ten million buyers, and World Wrestling Productions was gonna be laughin' all the way to the bank.
Well, I still wanted to know 'bout Sheeva, and Leo said not to worry 'bout her. He said if I put on a dazzling show and then repented my heresy, Judy Marsh was gonna turn Sheeva loose in exchange for his corporate jet.
Well, the match was scheduled at the Crypto Arena where the Los Angeles Lakers play, and Leo Hawke had a whole week to do the publicity. So, he announced on Pluto TV that the match was a battle for America's soul 'cause America's Princess was needin' a change of attitude. He said he hoped that the Repo Man would pound God back into me and that America would forgive me 'cause I know not what I do.
Well, Leo's announcement made me aware of how far I'd gone astray, so I thanked him for helpin' me realize the error of my ways. And while World Wrestling Productions was sellin' tickets to millions of wrestling fans, I did some serious ponderin' 'bout the Book of Genesis. I remembered how Jacob wrestled this angel from midnight until dawn. Jacob was fulla chicanery before the angel came along, but after their match the angel blessed him and gave him a brand-new name.
Well, I called up Ma in her nursing home and said I was gettin' saved, but Ma weren't too receptive when I told her the situation. She told me I'd just been suckered into another trashy prank and that nothin' but lewdness and blasphemy was gonna come of it. And she said that God don't waste no angels on hoochie-coochie girls and not to be callin' her up again when Frasier was on TV.
Well, a coupla days went by and I hadn't heard nothin' from Sheeva, so I went to see Leo Hawke in his office and he said again not to worry about her. And Leo Hawke he gave me some tips on how I oughta behave before I wrestled the Repo Man and managed to get myself saved. He said I hadda act all snotty and say that God is dead, and I hadda be sure that I always had a hijab on my head.
Well, I weren't too keen to be actin' like I was fulla heresy, but temptin' the devil would have to do if it got Sheeva out of jail. So, I stood in the ring on Pluto TV and announced that God was dead and acted all hoity-toity when the fans hollered for my head. Leo Hawke musta sold a million more tickets 'cause it weren't hard to see that them fans couldn't wait for the Repo Man to get his hands on me.
On the day of the match, Leo Hawke picked me up in this Thunderbird he drives and he took me to the staff entrance of the Crypto Arena. A pack of reporters was waitin' for me, and when I got out of the car, they came swarmin' around me like flies on a dead raccoon.
Well, them reporters had more questions than I had answers to give 'em, and I hadda pee so bad that I couldn't be standin' around anyhow. So, I followed Leo Hawke through the staff entrance and down a buncha hallways, and my stomach was doin' flip-flops when we got to this dressing room.
A stadium cop was keepin' watch beside the dressing room door, so I asked Leo Hawke if maybe we was takin' things too far. Leo he laughed and insisted this was just another show. He said my fans would forgive me once I repented my wicked ways 'cause their hearts were fulla Christian love and they wanted their princess back. He also reminded me to put on a real exciting show 'cause that would make us filthy rich when the videos went on sale.
Well, the dressing room felt like a closet, but I was glad of the privacy, and there was a toilet in it so I had myself a pee. And, after a minute, this usher brought me the outfit I hadda wear 'cause I weren't gonna be dressed up like a hero anymore. He gave me a spandex suit with a logo that said, "God is dead" and he gave me a blue hijab that looked as tight as a wig.
I could hear the roar of the stadium crowd as I put on them wrestling togs and I could hear "The Star-Spangled Banner" being sung by some country music star. And when the usher came back to my dressing room and said it was time to go, I followed him down a hallway like I was walkin' into a storm.
When I stepped into the arena, I couldn't see the crowd 'cause this torch light leapt offa the rafters and walloped me like a club. But I could hear millions of voices all clammerin' for my head and I could hear an announcer's voice speakin' like it was trying to survive the crowd.
Well, I told myself all this hullabaloo weren't nothin' but a show, but more stadium cops was waitin' for me and they was lookin' grim. So, I followed them cops to the wrestling ring with that torch light stabbin' my eyes and I heard Elvis Presley singin', "You're the devil in disguise," and I couldn't feel nothin' but misery and I couldn't do nothin' but cry 'cause I knew in the pit of my stomach there would be no turnin' back.
After I slipped through the ropes, I took a moment to dry my eyes, and then I saw the Repo Man riding a horse down the aisle. That fella was tall as a grandfather clock and his horse was whiter 'n snow and, although he was wearin' a Lone Ranger mask, his eyes were piercing and cold. He was lookin' at me as though I was somethin' he'd bargained for long ago, like maybe I'd signed a contract to let him have my soul. And the sound system was playin' this Dylan song called "Knocking on Heaven's Door," and the bass was so loud that it felt like a jackhammer diggin' a grave in my ears. I gotta admit it kinda felt like Judgement Day had come 'cause I ain't never seen nothin' scarier than the Repo Man.
The Repo Man he dismounted and his horse was led away, and then he stepped through the ropes and went to the corner opposite mine. His eyes kept sizing me up as Leo introduced us to the crowd, and Leo's voice was rawer 'n usual and cracked like a flag in the wind. "In this corner," he said, pointin' at me, "is a princess who gave up her crown. She doesn't bake apple pies anymore or praise God and motherhood. Instead, she's been wearing a burqa and shouting, 'Allah be praised,' and she's got a poster of Osama bin Laden hanging in her home. But let's take a minute of silence and pray for her wayward soul and remember how much we loved her before the devil turned her head."
Well, the stadium fell silent 'cept for a few folks saying "a-men," and Leo pretended to wipe his eyes before introducin' the Repo Man. "And in this corner," he said, "is a holy phantom that came out of heaven's door. I didn't know anything about him until God introduced him to me. 'Leo,' He said, 'behold a pale horse and its rider will set the land free because he will release the wrath of the Lord upon sin and harlotry.' And wham! This fellow rode out of the mist, and I heard the good Lord cry, 'Woe to the Whore of Babylon and woe to blasphemy.'"
Well, the arena went blacker 'n tar and this white light lit up the ring, and the sound system produced a recording of thunder and then the light fluttered off and on. And then the thunder faded and the main lights came back on, and Leo declared that God had just loosened his terrible sweet sword.
Ya know, if I was better at plannin', I'll bet I wouldn't be in no jam where no phantom was lookin' at me like Judgement Day had come. And I'll bet I wouldn't be hearing them Christians all hollerin' for my head. I'll bet I'd be sittin' in Starbucks, sippin' a Frappuccino instead.
After Leo was done announcin' us, he saluted the Repo Man, and the sound system played "Stand Up for Jesus," and Leo stepped outta the ring. And this referee fella hopped through the ropes and he was shakin' like a drunk - I guess 'cause he weren't ready to handle no match for America's soul. Shucks, that dude was so skinny it looked like a breeze could blow him away and when he shouted, "Let's get it on," his voice squeaked like a hinge needin' oil. I dunno if that fella expected a phantom to hear his commands 'cause the Repo Man looked like he didn't hear nothin' but God's demands.
Well, the ring bell dinged three times, declarin' the start of the match, and the Repo Man snatched me up with both hands and lifted me over his head. The canvas looked a long way down 'cause the dude was a foot taller than me, and I felt 'bout as useless as a cat caught up in a tree. But then somethin' happened that I weren't expectin' in a match for America's soul. The Repo Man he spoke to me in a friendly tone of voice. "Relax, kid," he said, "the first one's yours," and then he twirled me around his head and the crowd it spun around me like I was on a tilt-a-whirl. And then that fella pretended to trip and fell flat on his back, and I was lying on top of him and the ref he started the count. After the ref slapped the canvas three times, a groan spilled out of the crowd and some of them folks was shoutin', "Don't let the Whore of Babylon win!"
Well, dern if I didn't get riled about what folks was callin' me. Shucks, just 'cause I'm a floozy don't make me the Whore of Babylon. So, I decided if Jacob could fight him an angel until the break of dawn, I was gonna try and hold off that creepy Repo Man.
When the ring bell announced the second round, it was like ice picks stabbin' my ears, and the Repo Man came lumberin' towards me like Godzilla mighta done. So, I bounced myself offa the ropes a few times then threw a flying drop kick at him, but that fella was so solid it was like crashin' into a house. Next thing I knew, I was being snatched up by a pair of giant hands, and I felt like my knees were busted and I couldn't see nothin' but stars. But when the media table crashed under me, my consciousness returned, and I realized that the Repo Man had tossed me outta the ring.
Well, I was hopin' to rest for a second 'cause I was needin' to gulp some air, but that fella had followed me outta the ring like a mongrel chasin' a hare. And he hoisted me up on his shoulders like a fireman woulda done and he said, "Kid, we need to pick up the pace," as he tossed me back in the ring.
After that, the fella allowed me to do a coupla wrestling moves. He allowed me to climb some turnbuckles and hurl myself onto him; he allowed me to get outta a bear hug by doin' a three-quarter roll; he even let me put a side headlock on him and crash his head into a post. But then that fella shook his head and said, "That's gonna do," and he stretched my arm between his legs and slowly straightened his back.
Dern, if it didn't feel like my arm was gettin' crucified, and the Repo Man said, "Kid, it's time to submit," and he eased up on the hold. So, I slapped the canvas with my free hand to let the ref understand that I was submittin' to the hold 'cause I wanted to keep my arm.
The thunder it started boomin' again and the crowd began to cheer, and then the sound system played "A Mighty Fortress is Our God." And that fella he got to his feet and he held up both his hands, and the ref announced that the second round had been won by the Repo Man.
Leo Hawke met me in my corner before the third round began. He handed me a bottle of water and rubbed some liniment on my arm, and he said I was doin' a real good job battlin' the Repo Man. But his voice was kinda hollow and his eyes were fulla pain, and when I asked him again 'bout Sheeva, Leo he broke down. He told me that Sheeva would soon be goin' back to Afghanistan 'cause Judy Marsh had inspected the jet he was gonna exchange for her. He said that Judy weren't happy 'cause the jet needed lots of repairs and that she'd told him he oughta be ashamed for tryin' to gift it to her.
Well, I took me a swig of water while Leo was bendin' my ear, and I guess that swig weren't enough to douse the orneriness in me. 'Cause when the ring bell jingled, announcin' the final round, I had plumb forgot how the match was supposed to end. I hardly heard the Repo Man when he said, "Kid, let's wrap this up," and I didn't pay no attention when Leo shouted, "Gertie, keep making us rich!" And after the Repo Man picked me up and crushed me to his chest, I barely heard the sound like a chestnut explodin' on a hearth.
What happened happened so quickly I didn't realize that I weren't acceptin' my punishment and was goin' straight to hell. I was hopin' that I was mistaken, but my hopin' didn't last when I saw the Repo Man lying beside me and he weren't movin' at all. His eyes had a faraway expression like he was starin' at heaven's door, and his nose was kinda pulpy where I'd butted him with my head. And then I heard a rappin' sound like the devil was buildin' my coffin, but it turned out to be that referee fella hammerin' out the count.
After the ref counted the Repo Man out, he didn't hang around. He shouted, "This ain't none a my doin'," and he swung himself through the ropes, and he sprinted down the aisle like ten bobcats was chasin' him. But Leo he helped me to my feet and tried to tame the crowd 'cause they was startin' to holler and throw bottles into the ring. Leo he shouted that God wouldn't always let the Whore of Babylon win and that there was gonna be a rematch and the tickets was gonna be cheap.
Well, I didn't want no rematch 'cause I already had me a ticket to hell. All I wanted to do was skedaddle before them Christian folk buried me. But my head it wouldn't stop spinnin' and my knees felt as stiff as two ears of corn, and I was 'bout as helpless as a pig come slaughterin' time. I knew for sure there weren't no way the Lord would rescue me 'cause Ma made it clear He don't send chariots for hoochie-coochie girls.
But, while I was waitin' for lightning to fry me, a pair of hands lifted me up. And it weren't no angel that done it - it was the Repo Man. And although the sound system was beltin' out "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," that fella he weren't lookin' towards heaven anymore.
"Kid," he said, "it's time to book. Ya need to get outta here quick." And the Repo Man he ducked through the ropes, holding me over his back, and he carried me out of the Crypto Arena like I was a road-killed buck.
Well, I ain't a professional wrestler no more, but that ain't no surprise. After spendin' a week in the hospital, gettin' my knees patched up, I went to see Leo Hawke and he told me my wrestling days were done. He said Women of Wrestling didn't want me no more even though I'd been a princess 'cause the show got no use for wrestlers who don't wanna follow scripts.
Well, I shoulda been upset at not being America's princess no more, but the crown I'd been wearin' was heavy and kept messin' up my hair. And, shucks, it wouldn't have hurt none if they'd changed my script now and then 'cause most times I felt like a cow in a paddock chewin' her cud all day long. Now, I ain't sayin' that God had decided to open a door for me, but if that Repo Man ain't an angel, I think he oughta be. He sure didn't act like no phantom, and when I butted his head, I ain't even convinced that I'd knocked him out that bad.
Before I finish this story, I wanna tell you a coupla things more. When I apologized to Leo Hawke for not helpin' him get rich, Leo he told me he'd still sold millions of videos of the match. He said them videos weren't purchased by God-fearin' Christian folk - they was bought by out-of-town agitators, communists and crooks. He said he was using the profits to make the repairs on his jet, so Judy Marsh had decided to let him gift it to her, after all.
So, Sheeva, she got released from this facility in Colorado, and she flew back to Los Angeles and met me in Starbucks for coffee. I guess Leo musta told her how I'd raised money to spruce up that jet 'cause, after Sheeva thanked me for helpin' her get out of jail, she bought me a pumpkin latte and a custard danish too. And then she asked me what my plans were since I weren't a princess no more, and I said I weren't sure 'bout my future but it was fun not knowin'.
Now, Sheeva, she's sorta strict with herself and don't show much emotion. But she took my hands in hers and she wished me all the best, and she said that she's never had a better friend than me. But we couldn't sit around jawin' too long 'cause I had some plannin' to do, and Sheeva she hadda get back to school and finish her book report.
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