Fresh from Slaughtering Kittens by James Hanna

(An excerpt from Lights Out Lizzie)

Author’s Note

After joining Women of Wrestling, Gertie McDowell, a naïve Kentucky girl with a talent for misadventure, has been crowned the “champion of the world.” She acquired this title after taking on former “world champion,” Samoa Moa, and knocking her out with a head butt. Gertie did not do this out of malice but because Moa, a bitter behemoth of a woman, was wrestling too aggressively and has a history of injuring her opponents.

Leo Hawke, director and pitchman for World Wrestling Productions, is so impressed by Gertie’s “triumph” that he stages a rematch in Afghanistan for the entertainment of American troops. Prior to the match, Gertie and Moa are bunked in the women’s barracks where they attract new fans.

The morning after Leo’s corporate jet landed in Kandahar Airfield, me and Moa went to the mess hall where we had us some biscuits and sausage gravy. When we was done gobblin’ our breakfast, it was nearly time for our skit, so we returned to the women’s barracks to get ourselves dressed up. We opened our trunks and put on some costumes that fit our characters, and while we were getting dressed, them women soldiers kept filming us with iPhones. Moa put on this coal-black burqa so she’d look like a black widow suicide bomber, and me, I put on this white spandex suit with jagged red-and-blue stripes. Them women soldiers laughed like jackals while I struggled to get into that suit, and a Black girl said, “Gertie, I gotta say this. You ain’t making no fashion statement.” I also put on this itchy blonde wig that Leo Hawke gave me to wear, and that wig kept slippin’ over my eyes ’cause it was too big for my head.

After me and Moa was tucked into our togs, this woman lieutenant strode into the barracks. She said she was thrilled to meet us ’cause she’s seen us tusslin’ on Pluto TV and she offered to drive us to this ring where we was gonna do our show. So, we squeezed into this army jeep and got drove to this football field where a million soldiers were sittin’ on bleachers, waiting for us to arrive.

Leo Hawke was standing in the center of this ring that musta been raised overnight. He was wearing a referee shirt and he was holdin’ a mic to his mouth, and he was tellin’ them soldiers how honored he was to bring some Americana to them. Well, them soldiers they started cheering ’cause they was tickled to have a show, and when they saw me and Moa pulling up in the jeep, they hollered, “USA.”

Me and Moa squeezed out of the jeep like heifers on display, and then we climbed up into the ring and went to our opposite corners. And while we were stretchin’ our muscles, them soldiers clapped like seals, and Leo he asked them to hold their applause so he could introduce us.

First, he pointed at Moa and his voice got all gravelly and raw like maybe he’d bit into an onion and was tryin’ to spit it out. “In this corner,” he growled, “is a woman so mean she puts scorpions to shame. Her hobbies are planting IEDs and strapping suicide vests to orphans, and she says the war will never end as long as she’s around. I don’t like introducing her because she oughta be in Guantanamo Bay, but here she is, fresh from slaughtering kittens, Moa the Marauder.”

The soldiers they pretended to jeer and Moa she scowled for real, and she glared at me from across the ring like she was gonna rip out my hair. And all the time she was glarin’ at me, she kept pounding her palm with her fist, and her scowl was so deep that she mighta forgot we was just puttin’ on a show.

“And in this corner,” said Leo, jerking his thumb at me, “we have America’s darling—Gertrude Elizabeth McDowell better known as Lights Out Lizzie. Her pastimes are praising motherhood and baking apple pies, but there’s nothing she likes better than kicking Al Qaeda’s ass. So, let’s give the warmest of welcomes to the pride of all America—our piston-powered princess and a knockout in more ways than one. Lights Out Lizzie!”

Them soldiers drummed their bootheels on the bleachers and kept hollerin’ “USA,” so I gave ’em a wink and blew ’em some kisses ’cause I think that was expected of me. But I was glad I was wearin’ pancake makeup ’cause it kept ’em from seeing me blush. Shucks, I ain’t never honored my mother and I’ve never baked no pies, but I s’ppose ya gotta expect praise like that when you’re the champion of the world.

After the match got underway, Moa clamped a side headlock on me, and then she squeezed my neck like a python and whispered in my ear. “Gertie,” she hissed, “quit flirtin’ like that. It makes you look like a stripper. Just ’cause you’re America’s darling don’t mean ya gotta seduce the whole army.”

Well, I felt a flush creepin’ into my face ’cause Moa she’d gotten me riled. Shucks, blowing a coupla kisses don’t make me no hoochie-coochie girl. So, I windmilled my arm, breaking free of her hold, and then I slapped a full nelson on her. “Moa,” I whispered, “you ain’t my mother. Quit tellin’ me how to behave.”

Well, Moa she reached back over her shoulders, grabbing my neck with both hands, then flipped me over her head so smoothly I landed smack on my butt. Next thing I knew, she was sittin’ behind me, wrapping her legs ’round my waist, and then she growled in my ear just like a big ol’ mama bear. “If I wanted to be somebody’s mama,” she snarled, “It sure wouldn’t be someone who wears too much makeup and bats her eyes like a whore.”

Well, I don’t suppose Moa has ever forgiven me for the time I cold-cocked her, but that didn’t give her no right to be callin’ me no whore. So, I butted her tits with the back of my head and pried her ankles loose, and then I got to my knees and somersaulted out of her hold.

After that, me and Moa didn’t scrap like professional wrestlers no more. We scrapped like a coupla hussies who were having it out in a bar. We yanked each other’s ears and we kicked each other’s shins, and Leo finally pushed us apart and said, “Ladies, please get back on script.”

Well, I pushed Moa into a headscissors so I could pile drive her, but I kinda lost my footing ’cause Moa wouldn’t let me hoist her up. So, when I gave her a big ol’ heave, I heard my ankle pop, and it felt just like a bear trap was chewin’ on my foot. After that, I turned loose Moa’s head ’cause I couldn’t hardly walk, and when Moa saw me limpin’, she said, “Gertie, let’s wrap this up.” So, we got on opposite sides of the ring and we slingshotted ourselves off the ropes a few times, and then we collided in the middle of the ring like a coupla rams buttin’ heads.

Well, I saw lights flashin’ like lightning bugs even though the sun was high, and it took me a second to realize that I weren’t on my feet no more. So, I bunny crawled to the side of the ring and I hauled myself up by the ropes, but my ankle was howlin’ like a pup and I couldn’t put weight on it.

Moa was lying on her side like a drunk that was takin’ a nap, and the soldiers kept on hollerin’ but their voices seemed a mile off. I mighta had a concussion ’cause my ears were humming like hornets, and Leo’s voice sounded all broken up when I heard him coaching me. “Gertie,” he drawled, “you can’t win this match…unless you put Moa on her back.”

I couldn’t launch myself off my ankle, so I stood on one leg like a stork, and Moa she didn’t move neither ’cause it looked like she’d knocked herself out. So, Leo he declared the match a draw and I felt kinda relieved ’bout that ’cause champions who tussle like floozies don’t oughta be winnin’ no matches.

After Leo declared the match a tie, Moa lumbered to her feet, and when she saw how bad I was injured, she gave me a big ol’ hug. She then put my arm over her shoulder and helped me take a few steps, and the soldiers they applauded as she lifted me over the ropes.

“Watch your step, Gertie,” she said while lowering me to the ground.

I’d never seen Moa actin’ so nice. She even forgot to scowl. I guess that was ’cause she didn’t have no kittens left to kill.

James Hanna

Image – A wrestling ring waiting for the wrestlers. From Pixabay.com