STRAWKUZA: Like a Douchebag (Part B - Resolve)

ARRIGHT, GANG, LISTEN UP…

It’s been a long time since y’all have heard anything outta this ol’ Dopesmoker, but for ONE NIGHT ONLY, I’m happy to say your friendly GOAT BASTARD is here to grace y’all with his incomparable presence of POT, PISS, and PUNK ROCK!

“hEy, WaIt A sEc?!” you’re prolly sayin’ to yourself right now, in absolute normie-minded bewilderment. “eYe ThOt RaIzUn WuZ s’PoSeD tOo bEe SOOoOOoBEeR nAoW!?”

And yes, while this may woefully be the case for my physical form, I am pleased to report that my STONERSOUL remains intact on board the alien mothership currently in Earth’s orbit!

SEE??

Perfectly logical explanation…

So…CULTURE SHOCK!

An event that, I’m sad to say, still brings me bad memories from a coupla years ago.

But this brings us to the MANHUNT… an event of CHAOTIC PROPORTIONS!

One that’s bound to create a few MORE bad memories for a whole lotta other rubes caught up in this crazy rat race for a shot at that precious Looney Uni strap!

But I hate to break it to ya, gang, because… I have it on good word that y’all are fucked this year.

Y’all are lambs leadin’ yourself to a slaughter. Grains in the field, waitin’ to be harvested.

And when I get done tellin’ ya this story, gang, y’all are gonna see that KURRY KURRAYAMMA is the FACE of the REAPER!

So peep the scene here…

The two of us posted up in a room in a karaoke club off Kabukicho Ichiban.

“I CAN AWL-MOST SEEEE IIIIT… “THAT DREAM ‘M DREEAAMIIIIN’, but… “THURR’S A VOICE ‘N-SIDE MY HEAD GOIN’: “BITCH, YOO’LL NEVVER REEAASSH IIIT!”

The “lovely” voice butcherin’ old-school Miley belongs to the hero of our grand story.

“ERRY STEP I’M TAAAKIIIIN’... “ERRY MOVE I’M MAAAAKIIIIN’, S’ALL… “LOST WIFF NO D’R-ECKSHUN… “MY ASS IS SHAAAKIIIIN!”

So, lemme paint the scene for ya here…

Kurry is standin’ on the table in the center of the room, beltin’ it out into this mic.

He is drunk. He is shirtless. And, he is slathered in a fine coat of sweat, spit, blood, and several varieties of Japanese whisky.

“BUT EEEYYYEEE… “I GOTTA KEEP TRYYYIIIN’... “GOTTA KEEEEP MAAAAH HEEEAAD HEEELLDD HAAIIIIGGH!!”

This is the kinda freaky fucked-upped-ed-ness I can only accurately describe as “cut off at Applebee’s” levels of drunk.

A state of bein’, that is oftentimes sad to witness. But Kurry?

He’s got this mighty Taurus by the HORNS, and RIDIN’ with the fuggin’ wind. I’ve hearda fallin’ off the wagon, but THIS MAN never even touched the goddamb ground.

“THURR’S-AWL-WAYS-GON-NA-BE-AN UU-THERR MOUUN-TAWN!! “‘M-AWL-WAYS-GON-NA-WAN-NA MAAKE (hic) MOOOVE!! “AWL-WAYS-GON-NA-BE-AN UUP-HIILL BAAAD-DUHL!! “STUP-ID-FUG-GERS-GOT-TA MAAKE MEE LOOOOSE!!”

As for me -- or the lame version of my, how -- I’m sittin’ on the couch, lost in a thousand yard stare.

Recent events have left my asshole puckered tighter than a snaredrum, and I’m thinkin’ to myself this might be my last night alive.

Then Kurry is there, inches away from my face.

“AIN’-AH-BOUT HOW FAAST EEYYE GITT THURR!! “AIN’-AH-BOUT WHUT’S WAITIN’ ON T’ UUH-THURR SIIIIIIIIIIEEIIIEEIIII-IIIIIDE!!”

He leans in close enough that the tips of our noses touch.

His breath reeks of whisky. His eyes are WIDE and INSANE.

“IT’S… TH’ CLIMB.”

Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this PUNK ROCK before.

But strawbviously, I ain’t feelin’ it, so I’m like, “Kerry, we need to talk about what just happened…”

“YES, I KNOW,” he booms down at me. “Whut we NEEED to TALLK ABOUT iz gettin’ YER ASS UP HERE for the DOO-ET!! I’m feelin’ Hall an’ Oates… HOW’ BOUT YOU??”

He begins fumbling with the remote, scrolling through random selections on the video screen.

Then he’s like, “I’m thinkin’ MANEATER! Only we change it to MANHUNTER! And the chorus can go like, ‘Whoa-oh, hurr he comes! Watsch out, boi, he’ll FUCK YOUR NECK UP!’”

I start shakin’ my head, not sure how to break through this man who has tapped into his every animal instinct.

In case y’all ain’t up to speed, the “what just happened” I was referrin’ to relates to some recent events we just happened to walk away from. Long story short, Kurry met his long lost Uncle Yakuza Boss a coupla hours ago, and things gotta lil’ punchy.

I, woefully entrenched in my currently sobrietous state, am not doin’ well with this turn of events. My brain is grindin’ and overworkin’ and gettin’ overheated like some diesel-powered supercomputer that’s sorely missin’ some of that leafy lubricant.

So I’m like, “Kerry, you punched out a Yakuza boss!”

Then he’s like, “You’re DAMB RIGHT I did! Son’v’abish insulted MY GRANNY!”

And then I’m like, “NO, Kurry! In this city, something like that comes with SERIOUS CONSEQUENCES!”

And then Kurry starts throwin’ jabs through the air, and goes, “Fuggit, let ‘em come! I’ll GET SURRIOUS on all ‘em CONSEQUENCES! THAT, and bein’ a MARKED MAN gonna come in handy for this MANHUNT deal, don’t ya think?”

I’m shakin’ my head again, thinkin’ this is pointless. He’s too far gone at this point. And while I’ve invested far too much in him to just walk away, I feel he’s brought himself to a state beyond repair by this point.

So by now I’m just like, “Okay, that’s it, I’m out!”

And then I’m headin’ for the door, because it’s clear I ain’t gettin’ nowhere with this guy, and I’m thinkin’ I really need to hop a flight outta this country before dawn.

I’m outta the room and down the hallway when I hear THAT VOICE callin’ after me…

“ERIK…”

I look back, and Kurry’s standin’ there in the doorway, and he’s starin’ at me.

And gang, I’m tellin’ ya, he is STARIN’!

It’s like that crazy Nic Cage look, where he tilts his head back and ya see the whites of the eyes over the irises, like ya suddenly think, “Holy shit, that guy is gonna grab me by the nutstack and hold me over the ledge of a buildlin’ by ‘em!”

And then, all gravelly and sinister, he’s like, “We still have thirty minutes left on the room…”

So I run!

I’m down the stairs! I’m past the counter! I’m out the door!

“HELP!” I say! “THIS CRAZY MOTHERFRICKER IS TRYING TO KILL ME!”

But of course, as my ass is scramblin’ down the block for dear life, my bish-like please for aid go unanswered. Foreigners stand there and gawk like stupid muthafuggers watchin’ a move play out in real time, and locals just kinda shake their heads and think, “goddamb tourists…”

Runnin’ ain’t anything I ain’t arready accustomed to, but lemme tell ya, gang, it’s a BISH trynna get away from someone with a neck brace preventin’ your ability to look behind ya.

So I cut down an alley, turn a corner, and stop, thinkin’ maybe I lost him. I’m standin’ there trynna catch my breath, when--

“EEERRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCKKKK…”

--that CRAZY MUTHAFUGGER comes DIVIN’ OFFA DUMPSTER like some DRUNK and INSANE BATMAN!

So naturally, I’m like, “AAAHH!!”

And then he tackles me to the ground, and we tussle through the trash, and when we get to our feet, he’s got me pressed against the wall by the collar of my suit, and that look in his eye has only gotten CRAZIER!

“The night is YOUNG, Raisin!” he says. “And WE’VE ONLY JUST BEGUN!”

Thus began the Great Kabukicho Rampage of ‘25.

A sequence of events that I can only properly describe to ya as imagined as a smash cut montage put to some

…aww, fuck it. Why not, for old times sake?

Your recommended auditory companion is “It’s Gonna Be a Long Night” by FUCKIN’ WEEN!

We’re in Piss Alley, and Kurry is steamrollin’ over every poor motherfugger in his path while holdin’ no less than a dozen goddamb skewers of yakitori over his head, all the while pullin’ my ragdollin’ ass after him, and we’re screamin’.

“AAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

We’re in Golden Gai, and Kurry is layin’ waste to some poor mama-san’s tiny lil’ izakaya pub, poundin’ down Suntory with the fortitude and gravitas of a Hachiman, and we’re screamin’.

“AAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

We’re at a crosswalk, and Kurry’s bustin’ up a bunch of thugs that made the mistake of intentionally bumpin’ into him and thinkin’ they could shake him down for an payment, and with me hidin’ under an overturned trash can, we’re screamin’.

“AAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

We’re rippin’ down the expressway on a Kawasaki what once belonged to a bōsōzoku gang, who are currently in chase, and Kurry is drivin’, and I’m hangin’ onto his back for dear life, and we’re screamin’.

“AAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

We’re in a tattoo parlor, and Kurry’s gettin’ his debonair dragon and I’m gettin’ my grisly goat-head touched up by a pair of irezumi artists, and we’re screamin’.

“AAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

We’re at the indoor RC car park, crankin’ knobs on our remotes while our micro-racers scorch across a twisted plastic track, and we’re screamin’.

“AAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

We’re at the Hanazono shrine, bowin’ our heads in prayer, and we’re…

…actually, we’re pretty quiet and respectful while there, because that place has cool vibes.

BUT THEN we’ve stumbled across the underground fightin’ arena, and Kurry is turnin’ some poor three-hundred pound sum’bish into hamburger, and I’m on the other side of the cage wall with handfuls of yen, jumpin’ up and down, and yeah, we’re back to screamin’!

“AAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

And finally, when all is said and done, we’re ridin’ the four-thirty train outta Shinjuku Station, headin’ back to the hotel.

The screamin’, thankfully, has stopped.

My overwhelming feelin’ of anxiety, sadly, has not.

Then up and outta the blue, he says, “Just admit it, man…”

I look at him like, waitin’ for him to elaborate.

“When you won the Universal Championship…” he says. “It was a mistake.”

Damb, bruh.

He has to hit me with THAT?

So I sigh, and I shake my head, and I say, “Honestly, the only mistake I made was making myself believe I didn’t deserve it.”

And ya know, honestly, that’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to say to somebuddy for a long time now.

Never woulda suspected Kurry would be the one to hear it.

But I go on, “Winning that title was the greatest thing that ever happened to me… and somehow, also the worst. A wake-up call at the worst possible time. Suddenly, I’m in the spotlight, and the whole world is looking at me. And that causes ME to look at myself for the first, and suddenly I realize how ashamed I am to be holding this thing. And then…”

I shrug my shoulders, rememberin’ the defeat I felt two years ago. An event that, like all things in this sport, has become forgotten in the modern zeitgeist of our wrestlin’ world.

The pain never goes away for me, though.

“...then it all fell apart.”

Replayin’ these events in my heads gets me to reflectin’. Gets me to realizin’. Gets me to understandin’.

“Guess that’s why I decided to go sober and get my act together,” I say to him. “Guess I wanted to do better for myself.”

I look that crazy, drunk sum’bish in the eye, and say something else I’ve been meanin’ to say for a while.

“Guess I wanted to be more like you,” I say. “Someone who was meant to be a champion.”

He looks back at me, though his eyes are unfocused and drifting around in wild directions.

“Yer a damb idiot, Raisin,” he says with a belch. “Didn’ ya hear my uncle earlier? I ain’t ever been ‘meant’ for SHIT.”

By the time the train arrives at the station, I roll out onto the platform and practically kiss the ground.

The hotel is only a block up the road from here, but as we’re rollin’ up… three dudes in black are waitin’ for us.

Kurry raises his fists, and he’s like, “Arright, fuckers, looks like it’s time for round two!”

So the guy in charge steps up, and in English, he’s like, “Our oyabun has a message for you.”

Kurry’s still standin’ there with his fists up, ready to box in a moment’s notice, and like, “Guess he ain’t quite got MY message then!”

This guy kinda curls his nose and shakes his head like he’s thinkin’, dude, get help, but he continues on, and he’s like, “While Kuroyama-sama is greatly angered by your actions… upon reflection, he has come to admire your fighting spirit.”

Now Kurry’s hands come down, and he makes a confused “HWHA?” sound, that could either be “HUH” or “WHAT” or maybe even “HA”, or somethin’ stuck between all that shit.

The guy goes on, “Our oyabun is willing to forgive this offense, on the condition the two of you leave Nihon immediately after your business here has concluded.”

Kurry pumps the air like the just up and won the damb superbowl.

“FUCK YEAH!!” he cheers. “SEE, Raisin?! We’re gettin’ let OFF THE HOOK for bein’ TOO BADASS!”

“Additionally, for arranging this meeting…” this guy continues, while pointin’ at ME. “The ugly one must compensate our organization with seventy-five million yen.”

I groan at this news, realizin’ I’m gonna have to sell a LOT of time shares to cover that kinda overhead.