Ken Kaze probably had been officially suffering from the worst day of his entire life. Sure, he was only twenty-eight years old with plenty of more days ahead in his life. And there was always the possibility he could suffer through a lot worse in the distant future. But right now, his distant future didn’t matter. He was more concerned about his recent future. Actually, he was more concerned about the present.
The now.
He was officially homeless with nowhere to go for what seemed like the thousandth time. He was used to sleeping on the streets, cradling George the trashcan as close to him as possible while providing shelter for the both them. The shelter usually contained anything and everything he could possibly find within his surroundings. Old, rotten banana peelings. Fecal-covered cat litter. Maggot-ridden garbage bags. You name it; he used it.
He was walking away from the brick-layered house, dragging the infamous cylindrical, aluminum trashcan behind him. His demeanor wasn’t that of the most ecstatic man alive. Melancholy invaded his system as he approached the white picketed fence. Pushing through the gate, a passing car drove through a puddle of water. With his amount of luck running throughout the day, the puddle happened to splash directly in his direction, soaking him wet from head to toe. He sighed, allowed his head to drop to his chest, and began the journey down the sidewalk.
As he came to a crosswalk, he noticed a napkin crumpled up near a trashcan. With a few furtive glances around, he knelt down to retrieve the napkin. At that moment, his stomach grumbled in pain, begging for food. There must have been something curious about this particular napkin as he lifted it to his nose to smell. He pulled it away and threw it back to the ground, next to the trashcan.
Within a blink of an eye, he dropped to the ground in a coma.
===
DRRING!
Approximately twelve hours prior, the infamous AOL Instant Messenger drone that signified you had received an Instant Message accompanied the fast-paced, scattering echoes of nimble fingers typing away at a keyboard.
uberLEEThaxor:
ALL RIGHT GUYS. LETS DO THIS. LLLLEEEEERRROOOOOOYYY!
AIMfxckinSUCKS:
JJJJJJEEEEEENNNNNNKKKKIIIINNNNNSSSSSS!
uberLEEThaxor:
gawd I luv that vid
AIMfxckinSUCKS:
Me too.
uberLEEThaxor:
guess whut man? george said I should get back into wrestlin
AIMfxckinSUCKS:
Um, dude. Weren’t you just in a promotion? Jolt, wasn’t it? You just left
the promotion a few days ago.
uberLEEThaxor:
yeah, I know. but this is different d00d! this is the infinet gantlet
AIMfxckinSUCKS:
You mean the Infinite Gauntlet? Isn’t that PTC’s latest special event that
they’re hosting?
uberLEEThaxor:
yeah man! do you know how kewl it would be to hold an immortal glove?
AIMfxckinSUCKS:
Immortal glove? WTF are you talking about?
uberLEEThaxor:
d00d, a gantlet is like this glove thing that knights used to wear back in the
day. And infinite means infitnity right? And doesnt that mean immortal or
somethin?
AIMfxckinSUCKS:
Um… dude…
uberLEEThaxor:
whut?
AIMfxckinSUCKS:
Um… never mind. Just… look. I g2g. I’ll TTYL. Good luck with that
“immortal glove” thing, eh?
uberLEEThaxor:
sweet, thanks Dave! you truly are asexual!
AIMfxckinSUCKS:
Huh?
uberLEEThaxor:
oops, typo, lol sorry im stoopid. i meant you’re excepshunal! later days man
AIMfxckinSUCKS:
See ya.
AIMfxckinSUCKS
signed off at 10:10:19 AM.
As
the sound of a door closing resonated from the computer’s speakers, a few clicks with
the mouse was heard as the computer inhabitant yawned. The computer occupant in
question swiveled around in his seat to face the opposite direction of the
computer monitor.
Rugged
face. Small stature. Scarred chest. He was former Ambassador Champion of Jolt
Wrestling, Ken Kaze. As he scanned the other half of his living room inside of
his three-roomed apartment, he seemed focused on an aluminum trashcan positioned
in a corner. However, this was no ordinary trashcan.
Coated
in several layers of barbed wire. Nails protruding at every angle from the round
circumference of this compost bucket. A dominant, painted smiley face shining
brightly. Suspended from the mouth of the smiley face was the classic smoking,
Cuban cigar. Yes, Cuban. It’s always Cuban. This garbage can was Kaze’s best
friend; his faithful companion. George the trashcan.
“Holy
shite, George!” yelled Kaze excitedly as he leaned back in the chair, clasping
his hands around his head. “It’s so cool to be an uber leet haxor of doom!
Speaking of leet, I wonder if Waldo’s on.”
Turning
back around to face the monitor once more, Kaze began typing furiously.
uberLEEThaxor:
hay waldo! Wassup bud?
Auto response from L33TD00D: LOL! Bill and I are in the midst of combining the Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh! trading card games with D&D.
“The fuck?” roared Kaze loudly, in obvious disbelief. “YOU AWAY BASTARD! RUAAHH~!”
In a fit of rage, Kaze immediately leapt to his feet. Grasping the monitor in his palms, he brought it high over his head before smashing it into the processor. Fragmented portions of both the monitor and processor dispersed in every direction.
“Something smells like chicken cooking,” said Kaze with his back now turned to the destruction. His chest was heaving violently. “I wonder what it could be…”
As he turned around, he noticed a small fire that resulted from the explosion of computer components.
“OH NOES!” he yelled in panic. “WHAT TO DO? WHAT TO DO?”
He began to run around in circles around the computer desk, screaming like a little schoolgirl.
“I know!” he said with authority. “Water! Duuhh. Everyone knows water can get put out fires! Help me, George.”
He grasped the rim of his best friend and departed from the room. Moments later, he returned to the fire with a trashcan-load of water. Pouring it onto the fire slowly, as to make sure he could spread the water all around, his body grew rigid and began to jolt involuntarily as if he were being electrocuted.
Electrocuted? How?
Duh. It was an electrical fire. The monitor was still plugged into the socket. Electricity was using both the water and the aluminum trashcan as conductors to reach his body. Water inside of a metal trashcan is the last thing you’d want to use to snuff an electrical fire. Scratch that: water isn’t even the last thing you’d want to use, as you wouldn’t want to use it at all!
Oblivion soon swept over Kaze’s body as darkness overwhelmed his vision and his mental state faded into nothingness. His motionless bodily form finally released its clutches from George as he slipped into a coma.
===
“CHRIST ON A CROSS! AYE’LL FECKIN’ KILL HIM, AYE WILL! LET ME GET T’ HIM, YE GOBSHITE!”
It was only a few hours later as the sirens aided Ken Kaze in streaming back to consciousness. As his eyelids peeled back, he found himself dead on his back, gazing into the Heavens above. He rolled over and pushed himself up to his feet from his former prone position. A quick investigation of his surroundings revealed a drastic change of environment.
He was no longer inside of his three-roomed apartment. He was outside of the housing complex in the middle of the street. Bright, swirling lights accompanied the sirens. Law enforcement officers and vehicles littered the scene, as passersby and onlookers alike marveled at the carnage. The once erect apartment building was now smoldering in a heap of ashes.
“KAZE! KAZE, AYE’LL FECKIN’ KILL YOU!” a heavy Irish accent shouted from across the distance.
Kaze performed an about face to see that it was Shitty Sheridan yelling at him. His Gaelic obscenities became muffled as policemen shoved him into the backseat of a police car, and wheeled off. Shitty Sheridan’s real name was Seamus Sheridan. He was the landlord of the housing complex. There were always two stories as to how exactly he obtained the “Shitty” moniker.
One story had it as: If anyone was ever late with their rental fee, he would leave them a nice, steaming pile of feces in their bed while they were gone throughout the day. At the end of a long, hard day at work, or perhaps after coming home from shooting some pool with some friends at the local bar, an unsuspecting victim would crawl into bed and roll into the fecal matter.
The second story was more believable, and in that case, probably more accurate. Sheridan, despite him being the size of a prepubescent twelve-year-old boy, was old and grouchy. He would constantly give tenants a hard time about the slightest thing that may have been “out of the ordinary.” Therefore, due to his “shitty” attitude, he was dubbed Sir Shitty Sheridan. Minus the “Sir” prefix, of course.
Kaze felt somewhat disheartened due to what had happened to Shitty Sheridan’s building. However, this was Shitty Sheridan we’re talking about. No one cares about him. That’s why there was emphasis on being somewhat disheartened. After reassessing the entire situation, Kaze came upon a realization.
“GEORGE! Oh my greatness, George is in there!” he bellowed.
“What?” was everyone’s response. They all gasped in horror as they came to the understanding that there could be someone trapped inside. But the fire marshals and police officers had made sure to account for everyone who resided in the building, even visitors. No one was still inside.
Still, Kaze made a beeline toward the wreckage, dodging law enforcement as they reached out to apprehend him. He hurtled over the yellow caution tape and ran straight into the inferno that hadn’t been completely subdued.
Witnesses gasped once more as the crazed moron who had entered the prohibited area emerged from the debris. Clasped in his hands, high over his head, was nothing more than a trashcan. It was George.
“That idiot ran back in there to rescue a… a… a trashcan?” an observer queried rather loudly, as if trashcan rescuing was the stupidest thing he had ever seen or heard.
Soon after, to the amazement of everyone, Kaze reemerged from the rubble with George in hand. After consenting to answering some questions with the police investigators, he soon found himself meandering down the sidewalk, thinking about how he could improve his current situation.
===
Click.
Clack.
Click.
Clack.
Stranded within the boundaries of the small city of Goldsboro, Ken Kaze found himself formulating ideas of places to go. It wasn’t like he could venture to his parents’ doorstep out of the blue and expect a warm welcome with open arms, as opposed to the famous cliché of the perfect family. Truth be known, he had no “parents,” only a single parent. Actually, he had never known his father and hadn’t a clue as to where his mother could be. For all he knew, she could’ve been dead by now. Of course this thought bothered him, but not so much because he had hope she was alive wherever she could find refuge.
The greatest idea imaginable had come to mind: Krystal. She was his ex-girlfriend from five years ago. They grew up together, playing with one another in the park with the rest of the kids, attending the same public schools, and graduated from the local community college together. They had kept in contact occasionally, informing each other of their whereabouts and accomplishments in life. They were good friends, at best.
However, over the past year, they drifted further apart. He had no time for communication in part to his busy schedule with Jolt Wrestling. He had been the Ambassador Champion shortly before he resigned, thus he was called on to participate in every event. No phone calls. No letters. Nothing. He was unsure of her reaction to find him on her doorstep at 2:30 A.M.
He decided he’d venture to Krystal’s house.
Knock, knock. He was standing on her floor mat.
“Who’s home?” asked Kaze jokingly, making light of the situation.
A stream of light poured through the crack of the door.
“What’s wrong George?” he queried, looking down at his trashcan companion. “Not talking to me, eh?”
The door opened. Standing in the doorway was the most beautiful woman to have ever graced the Earth. Her brunette hair added extreme emphasis to her luscious brown eyes and her creamy caramel skin.
“Ken?” asked Krystal, confused. “What -- What are you doing here? Especially at two-thirty in the morning? Well, I somewhat expected it, as someone had told me you’d be coming here earlier. I assumed it was a friend of yours. But nonetheless, why are you here so late?”
“Hey Krys,” replied Kaze in his best attempt to mask his anxiety. “Well, um... you see, here -- wait, who did you say told you I was coming here?”
“I didn’t say.”
“Oh. Well, what did he look like?”
“I dunno. It was dark out.”
He pondered on how anyone could have possibly known he would be visiting Krystal tonight. This little visit wasn’t premeditated. He never had any intentions whatsoever to visit Krystal on this specific night. It was almost as if the events that had transpired earlier throughout the day were setup to occur during his unfortunate presence, placing him at the scene of the crime. But that was outrageous. What had occurred earlier couldn’t have been setup by someone to where he would get blamed for it. He decided to give up on his thought process.
“Anyway, I’m in a bit of... I mean, I’m in a bind at the moment... er, Krys--”
“What did you do now, Ken?” she interrupted immediately.
“Okay... okay. George and I,” he said, pointing down at George, “got into a little bit of trouble earlier today.”
“Wait a sec. You’re still carrying around that stupid trashcan? When do you plan on growing up, Ken? You’re twenty-seven...”
Interjecting, he corrected her with, “Twenty-eight, actually. My birthday was last month.”
“Twenty-eight, whatever! It’s time you grew up, you know? That’s why you and I couldn’t see eye to eye five years ago. That’s why we stumbled into some problems and had to split up.”
“What’s that?” he asked, genuinely befuddled.
“Your immaturity.”
A knife pierced his flesh deep into the cavernous home of his inner self; his core; his heart. His immaturity? He wasn’t immature... was he? George never seemed to mind his childish ways. At least, he never spoke up on it. Was he really immature?
Streaming back to reality, he responded, “Well, guess what, Krystal? I’ve decided to finally advance my life.”
A quizzical look overwhelmed her face. “Really?” she said, with the slightest hint of intrigue. “So, you’ve given up that wrestling crap, then?”
He burst out into laughter. “HA HAAA! Good one, Krys. That’s what I loved about you the most; your humor.”
“I wasn’t joking,” she replied, sounding matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” was his simple response. “In that case: No, I have not given up wrestling. Matter of fact, wrestling is the key to my advancement in life! And to destroy my immaturity, while I’m at it. I’ve decided to get out of the federations where you’re confined to the same brand name day in and day out. I’m officially a free agent now. I can go anywhere I want, when I want, and do anything I want. And, I can wrestle on the side. My first step of accomplishing this process: The Infinite Gauntlet. It’s practically this tournament where you must travel the world to find this so-called ‘Infinite Gauntlet.’ It’s a glove, you know? The ‘Glove of the Immortals,’ I like to refer to it as. Isn’t that so cool? K - E - W - L spells ‘cool,’ WHOOOO!”
“Shhhh! Shut up, loudmouth! You’ll wake everyone.”
“S-Sorry,” he stuttered.
“First of all, wrestling will get you nowhere in life, besides a quick trip to the morgue after you break your neck! Second of all, this Infinite Gauntlet thing. A treasure hunt for a glove? You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you sure they just aren’t talking about the usual gauntlet of continuous competitors? That would make a lot more sense in the wrestling world. And third of all, K - E - W - L does not spell ‘cool’!”
“Well, well, well, Miss Priss. Who left a humungous pile of shite in your bed this morning? Is it that time of month, Krystal? Are you raggin’ it? If so, can I get a hold of your used tampons! I used to love licking them when they came fresh out of your cooter!”
Obviously, she was repulsive. “What?! OH -- MY -- GOD! You are the most disgusting, savage human being to ever walk on this planet. Just... just tell me what it is you need at this time of night so you can go ahead and leave already!”
Not exactly sure what she had just said, he simply shook his head to rid himself of those complicated words she had just uttered.
“Oh, well... George and I need -- did you watch the news tonight by chance?” he interjected abruptly.
“Uh... yeah. Yes, I did. Why?”
“Did you catch the news story at seven about the apartment complex that burned down in town?”
“Oh my God. No, you didn’t... did you?”
“Well... um... not p-p-purposely,” he stuttered as usual.
“Get out, Ken! Now! You are not sleeping in my home tonight. Everywhere you go, you tend to fuck things up. No more will you fuck things up that involve me. Get outta here, Ken, or I’m calling the police. And don’t think I’ll hesitate to do it, because I will.”
SLAM.
Krystal had slammed the door shut in his face. It was expected, really. No communication between them over the past year. Kaze and his good friend “trouble” just around the corner. They were friends, yes, but not good friends as he had suspected... more so, hoped.
Click.
Clack.
Click.
Clack.
The two monotonous sounds accompanied each other, signaling their arrival just as the other departed. At first they had sounded so cheerful together, embracing each other with loving arms. A young, passionate couple, crazy in love. Finding each other irresistible. It seemed as if one had entered the door, the other wasn’t too far behind, and entered shortly after. Now, the rhythm of the heels had a more depressing feel to them. It was almost as if they were trying to avoid each other: As one would enter, the other was shortly departing, avoiding confrontation as best as they could. The rhythm definitely had reflected his feelings at the moment.
As he emerged from the doorstep and exited through the white picketed fence’s gate, a car passed. As the car passed, it drove through a water puddle, which inevitably soaked him from head to toe. This only added to the list of “Things that Could Possibly Go Wrong in One Day,” just beneath “Being Anally Raped by a Razor Covered in Barbed Wire.”
He ventured away from the house to the nearest intersection. With his eyes already fixated on his feet, he noticed a used napkin just next to a trashcan. He knelt down to retrieve the napkin and lifted back up to his feet.
“Hmm,” he wondered aloud. “I wonder who would do such a thing and throw this down beside a trashcan? You such become a civil rights activist, George, and demand that you trashcans be granted fair rights. Everyone should recognize trashcans as their proper selves. And that is to rid this earth of waste products!”
As a smile crept onto his face for the first time throughout the day, he patted George on the side, careful not to prick his finger on any of the barbed wire or nails that covered George.
“What do you mean I was stereotyping his kind, Sir Napkin?” he demanded rather loudly. “I would never commit such a despicable act against my best friend! You know what, you can shut the fuck up and die! You know what I smell from you?” He brought the napkin forth towards his nose before throwing it back to the ground. “BULLSHIT! NOW DIE, YOU EVIL FIEND! DI--”
And just like that, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed onto the pavement. Apparently the napkin had a defense mechanism, ready to utilize at any given time. The foul agent that was chloroform had swept through his body, using both his nostrils and esophagus as entrances into his body. He was rendered unconscious.
The trap had been set for him to wander into aimlessly and to take advantage of his idiocy.. And it had worked to perfection. The swell, cloaked individual swept into action instantly, dragging the resident moron’s body into the bushes.
Ken Kaze probably had been officially suffering from the worst day of his entire life. Scratch that, as it became evident there was no probability anymore. He had officially experienced the worst day of his entire life.