is there someplace we can talk?
it won't take much of your time.
i'm here because.
i came to make amends.
i'm supposed to talk to people i've hurt.
thank you. i'm sure you mean that.
i need to apologize.
for anything i've done or said over the years. all the anger at you.
like the last time i saw you.  i'm sorry for what i said.
do you even know what i said?
what did i say?
you have no idea.
no problemo.
same shit.
same old shit.
i'm in the middle of saying something important and you drop it for the fucking wrestling.
it's like i'm 10 all over again.
this what?
yeah. we're done.
what do you want?
now's really not a good time.
middlesex county community.
that's okay.
left at the second stop sign.
you gonna talk?
okay.
you are such an asshole.
now you wanna fix things. now that suddenly you're all scared and alone from your heart attack.
this is so fuckin' you. you only come around when you need something from somebody, when they can do something for you. selfish fuck. good. be alone.
what are you, stalking me?
sometimes.
oh. okay.
i see that. what's it for?
i do. it's.  shiny.
what am i doing?
we have an old favorite spot?
now's not the best time. i've got some things to do.
stuff.
no.
always was a glutton for punishment.
i totally don't remember.
thank you.
it was okay.
bye.
dinner?
i'm sorry. i don't think so.
wednesday would work better.
i know that.
please leave my house.
i can handle this.
i can handle this, jen.
you're such a fucking asshole.
i waited in that restaurant two hours. two fucking hours. just in case you showed up late. "maybe he got stuck in traffic. maybe i got the time wrong".
you didn't fuck up. you are a fuck- up. a walking, living, breathing fuck-up.
just please shut the fuck up. because i can't even stand the sound of your voice.
i thought about having a drink for the first time in 11 months last night. that's what you do to me.
fucking piece-of-shit asshole!
get off me!
get the fuck off me!
i hate you!
fucking hate you!
i don't mean it?
you're right. i don't.
i don't know why i got so hysterical. there's no reason. i don't hate you. i don't love you. i don't like you. i was stupid to think you could change.
i don't care.
doesn't matter. i don't care. i'm done.
i don't want to ever see you again. i don't wanna see you, i don't want to hear you.
actually, i don't care if you understand.
goodbye.
you can come home.
	67:
some chick.
holy shit.
did i need help?
i'm sorry.
not when they're going crazy for you.
you never seen it?
you been there. the ricky whipsaw memorial benefit.
that place?
randy "the ram" robinnnnsonnnnn!
yes, it's a chair.
really. i'm parked right by.
last week.
you see the flyer?
good. fine.
what's she into?
you should get her some clothes, some kinda clothes.  all girls like that.
and prepared salads.
it's like in "grease", where she turns into the hot rock `n' roll chick at the end. except backwards.
not really.
i'm not sure.
preppy? stoner?
the green.
this?
i got a kid at home.
it's a great area. way cheaper. and the schools are awesome.
i've danced to this plenty.
pour some sugar on me! in the name of love!
"ooh, look at me! i wear flannel! i'm all depressed!"
are you gonna be interacting with our valued shop-rite customers?
c'mon, give an old man a break.
the monster motel.
i'm sorry. truly.
good, good.
listen, you're gonna have to count me out for utica. i'm retiring.
good, good. listen.
i realize. i understand.
no more. i'm done. i'm retired.
positive. it's time to move on.
shopping.
i got it.
folks, we are ready to rumble.
just listen to this place!
1990. nashville coliseum, rage in the cage ii. i'm in the locker room shaving when behind me the stall door opens. i turn and there's chris columbo on the can taking a dump. he goes, "this is for petrov", fuckin' wipes his ass, takes the shit-covered toilet paper and rubs it in his armpit. five minutes later, he's in the ring with petrov in a headlock, poor petrov stuck there in cc's pit lookin' like he's gonna puke!
nope.
you asshole!
no more fixing it. it's broke. permanently. i'm cool with it. it's better that way.
done. you understand?
he's gone.
i wanna do it.
fanfest.
i know, but i want back in.
so call bob, get the match back on.
pay me? don't worry. just cover my expenses. and pay bob. make sure he's there.
i don't give a shit. i just wanna wrestle.
i'm going back to the ring. you were right about me. everything you said. anyway.  i just wanted you to know.
your daddy loves you.
that's all.
i'm not sure what time i'll be headed back yet. i'll keep you posted as i go.
the ayaaa-tooo-laaaaaah!
randy "the ram" robinnnnsonnnnn!
in 1982, the year i wrestled my first professional match, i was six- foot-one. by 1993, i was five-foot- eleven. three back surgeries in 11 years knocked two full inches off my height. i may be down to five- eleven, but performing in front of you people has always made me feel 10 feet tall. and that's the way it's always gonna be.