“God dammit, Cancer.”

[Fade up to Jeff Andrews’ face.  Well, his face, neck, the very tops of his shoulders, and most importantly the green and yellow John Deere trucker’s cap.  It’s bright out, wherever he is, with the brim of his hat casting a very dark shadow on his face.]

Jeff Andrews:
I’m ‘onna tell you what man, every time I think I couldn’t possibly hate you any more, you go and find a way to make it happen.  I got five points off you at least, but – man, all things considered that ain’t enough of a consolation prize for me to even care.

You got me so full of rage I can’t even think right, and then Ed White shows back up and it’s time for the fuckin’ Cancer and Eddie Spend Money and Act Like Dickbags variety show, and I seen enough of that man, enough of that to last me many years.  

So I decided to do what I like to do when I just desperately got to clear my mind and my soul, and I remembered having a little conversation with Ed about the very subject back in Def 1.0.  So I packed up my jeep, drove me out to West By God Virginia, and…

[Fade back.]

Andrews:
Decided I’d sit on my tractor for a while.

[Jeff Andrews is sitting in the driver’s seat of a tractor, his feet up on the dashboard in front of him.]

Andrews:
Course, since I wasn’t thinkin’ real hard I forgot that West Virginia’s caught in that drought that’s killing the Midwest, and it’s hot as fuck out here too.

[Jeff’s parked on the usual hill that he parks on when he goes to West Virginia.  The hillside behind him is, indeed, burnt to tan.  The gnarled cherry tree about halfway up is still green, but the leaves are developing a brown tint.]

Andrews:
And so while it’s relaxing in its way, because out here it’s so quiet that even I can hear myself think, it’s still too damn hot, and droughts piss me off.

But all things considered, droughts are the lesser of the two evils.  So I came out here and I been thinking, and I got myself an idea.  Hey, Ed…

D’you wanna be in War Games?

No sarcasm, man, I’m seriously asking, do you wanna be in War Games?

Cos it seems to me…

[Here, Andrews reaches down to somewhere off camera, and comes back up with a beer.  Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA.]

[That’s a serious goddamn beer for an unusually serious retarded drunken redneck.]

Andrews:
Seems to me like at this point man, so late in the tournament with you needing all the points you can get – cos let’s face it no one’s beating Christian Light or Claira St. Sure except for Claira St. Sure, Christian Light, or ME – seems to me like you might try and make that money work for you.  Buy a ref.  Buy Heritage League from Cito.  I’m sure once you start making offers in the ten digit range he’ll be all ears, and ten digits ain’t nothin’ to you, right?

Right?

[Andrews takes a long drink of beer.]

Andrews:
I do believe we’ve had a conversation about the value of money.  Now, me, I look at time AND effort as being a valuable commodity.  You’re rich enough you can spend megabucks on whims, so if you’re wanting this win man – I’m negotiable.  Negotiations start at five millions.

Hell, I’ll lay down for Cancer if you make it ten million.  I’m a proud man sometimes, but I’d still admit that’s a more than fair exchange.

[He grins, possibly at the thought.]

Andrews:
Speaking of you, cool Cancer… know what, words are not only not adequate to describe how much I hate you, they’re worse than nothing.  Cos, man, every interaction I have with you, everything that isn’t me punching you in your face – or pinning you cleanly with the Ultraglide – or pinning you with a backslide to win the Southern Heritage Title – it’s just, I want to punch you so badly, that not punching you feels like being punched to me.

So instead of just talking about me hating you, lemme ask you.

Why do you want to go to War Games?

You got enough of a lead on the points that you’re pretty much playoff bound.  And it’s not like you’re gonna catch Light and St. Sure either.  You already got your chance at Light, and you’re better off taking on easier opponents than counting on taking on St. Sure and trying for that bonus.  

Besides, man… you don’t fight unless you either got the deck stacked in your favor, or you got an easy out, or it don’t matter if you lose.  And War Games, ain’t none of those three things applicable.

[Andrews rubs his hand quickly across his forehead, then adjusts his hat.]

Andrews:
You got no reason to be in this match, man – you got no point or business in War Games, and now that I know he’s here, no Ed White to hit me from behind so you win.   

Me?  I wanna go to War Games.  I don’t like Goldman.  I don’t like anyone who’d voluntarily work for her.  Heidi’s the only person on EVO who’s doing it right.

I need the points, man, I need the edge, and I like the violence.

And unlike you… I can handle it.  I’m not a sneaking, cowardly little bitch.  

I’m the King of the Bittermen.

I’m that lemon that life serves up to you in a fastball special.  The one that breaks even the King of COOL’s cool cos it makes him cry like a little baby while he chokes it down.

Just lemme go to War Games, Jiles.  You do that, and I’monna give you a couple extra weeks to live, alright?

[End.]

More Propaganda | View Jeff Andrews's Biography