Post by Kyzer on May 10, 2014 22:57:32 GMT -5
(Warning, vulgarity ahead. If you are offended, that is your problem. It is creative writing, get over it.)
Welcome of The KoKaine Konspiracy….
“Nothing is more satisfying than crushing some non-midget ass”
That’s the motto of The KoKaine Konspiracy…
Welcome to the world of The Midget….
Welcome to the world of The Original Gangster Midget…
Welcome to the world of The Midget with a horse cock…
Welcome to the world of The Midget who is going to f~ck up everything you know….
And with a horse cock, it will hurt…badly….
Donnie Monty Kent. Three names. Three names that sound pretty lame honestly. Anyone named Donnie or Monty; you just assume they would be a ****. That assumption will only lead you down a path full of pain and plain annoyance if you assume that Donnie Monty Kent is a ****. Don’t even assume it is his real name because it isn’t. It is a name of his own creation, a mash up of two of his favorite characters from two of his favorite movies. Who knew midgets liked Kevin Spacey and Steve Buscemi. It is widely known that Buscemi is a world class midget tosser.
Donnie Monty Kent…
What a stupid name…
DMK…
That is what his associates call him. No one has time to say three names when referring to someone. DMK, that is just so much easier and lazier. No one other than the dwarf himself knows what his birth name is. No one bothers to ask because they are aware of the temperamental nature he possesses, and his penchant for using bear mace on people followed by a pistol whipping. And no one wants to admit to being pistol whipped by a midget. That would be embarrassing to the point of driving someone to suicide.
I know what you are thinking, how can anyone be intimidated by a midget? With their oversized foreheads, sausage-like fingers and diminutive size, how can anyone find them threatening? Well, have you ever had one with a blade to your scrotum threatening to make you into a woman?
That’s the motherf~cker that is DMK….
He is the f~cking midget who will castrate you, smoke a blunt and while getting blown by your mom, sister and wife at the same time.
DMK is the f~cking man…
Let me repeat that for emphasis.
DMK is the f~cking man…
DMK IS the f~cking man…
DMK IS THE f~cking man…
DMK IS THE F~CKING man…
DMK IS THE F~CKING MAN….
Is my point made?
Donnie Monty Kent isn’t the typical little person. He doesn’t have his own reality show, he doesn’t go to LP conventions, and he doesn’t like midget ****.
Donnie Monty Kent is a hellish, drug-fueled nightmare wrapped in a three foot nine inch frame.
And now this dwarven nightmare is in the WFWF and he isn’t leashed by The King anymore…
The WFWF has a rabid pit bull that is fueled by cocaine and a major napoleon complex on their hands.
He isn’t alone either.
The King hasn’t returned Tolkien fans. But there are other terrifying ghouls out in the darkness, waiting, ready to hunt at the command of the shot caller, the shot caller being an insane midget with a short temper.
Not even Obo The Hobo has the skills of producing the bloodbath that is coming for the WFWF. The King is the modern day Grigori Rasputin and The Midget is his generation’s Charles Bronson, insane British prisoner Bronson. Deathwish Bronson was too much on the right side of the law.
The Midget is going to the be source of all of your nightmares. You will be haunted by those little fists and those angry eyes…so angry…
And this Midget flies on the back of a Dragon…
The Dragon was forged in a world beyond the comprehension for middle class WASP America. It isn’t a world that poor urban minorities would understand. He comes from a land that you don’t know. Whispers of Death Worms follow him as he bears the scars of growing up in a world that has been forgotten by time. But when you have three heads and breathe fire you become the Alpha predator of this world. What drove him to our world, only The Midget knows and that is something he is keeping close to the chest.
He is the one who holds the reigns of this creature of destruction. DMK is the one who tells him what to burn and when to destroy. He might as well have access to nuclear weapons. ..
Nuclear Winter is Coming…
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The Midget and The Lawyer
Date: 4/29/14
Ty Hollis has been practicing law for over 20 years. In all that time never had he had a more aggravating client to deal with than Donnie Monty Kent. The diminutive man that currently sits across from him is the current source of Ty’s splitting headache. When Seth Xavier called him to tell him about referring Ty to a client of his, he had no idea that Seth was shouldering off the client altogether onto him. Ty was beginning to understand why the money wasn’t simply worth it to Seth. Even though DMK, as he insisted the lawyer to call him, was responsible for a good amount of billable hours, he was bordering on being too high maintenance. This was the fourth meeting with DMK in the last two weeks and he had recently started dropping by unannounced. Most of these meetings were just things that could be accomplished with a phone call or common sense as in the case with the current meeting.
DMK: What the f~ck do you mean I can’t use it? Why would anyone have the rights to some letters?
Now DMK has shown Ty that he has business savvy and he is a man with his hands in a lot of pots. DMK has proven he is a man who can make money through multiple avenues. The legality of some these business ventures didn’t matter to Ty. He had no moral compass when it comes to clients. That is probably why Seth referred Ty to DMK. But some of the decisions that DMK makes, some of the ideas that he proposes make Ty wonder if DMK is just some idiot savant in the business realm.
Ty: You are asking me why you can’t use the letters KKK?
Now DMK was known for his short fuse and high strung nature. When something he views as a simple thing runs into a roadblock, that fuse incinerates. And this was one of those times. He thought it would be a simple thing to come in here and talk to Ty about potential merchandising rights for some ideas he has in regards to his newest business venture, wrestling management. He had come up with a few ideas and wanted to get his ducks in a row, now finding out it won’t be as easy as he thought has caused the midget to have a conniption. DMK’s face doesn’t hide his emotions from Ty. It doesn’t help when he is pounding his tiny fist on the arm of the chair.
DMK: Yes, I am asking why I can’t use the f~cking letters.
Ty shakes his head.
Ty: You have heard of the Klu Klux Klan right? The white hate group?
DMK: Who? I didn’t know that the French had white hate groups. So they own the rights to the letters?
Ty: First off, the name is taken from a Greek word and it was started by Southern Americans. Haven’t you ever seen pictures of guys dressed in white robes attacking black people? I don’t know where you got French from. Second, it isn’t so much that they own the letters, as they are commonly referred to by the letters and they are a white hate group. So that doesn’t exactly inspire the majority of the world to look favorably on whatever use you will have for the letters. This is in regards to your wrestling venture right? Say you want to put it on a t-shirt, no parent with any sensibility will buy something that could be construed as racist. Our society frowns on that too much. And the parents are going to be the whales of that operation. The fans who might actually support some racist shirt aren’t going to buy it because they will be in the shirts they bought 15 years ago. Are you following what I am saying? It isn’t so much that you can’t, as you would be stupid to use them. And third, stop using profanity around here.
DMK hops out of his chair and stands before the desk, actually making him appear shorter.
DMK: I live in Seattle. We have skinheads attacking Asians. No one runs around in white robes. And if I am to understand what you are saying then is while the “Klu Klux Klan” uses the initials KKK it would be a bad business decision to use the letters also.
Ty doesn’t immediately respond, he is a little taken back by DMK seemingly understanding him. Normally it takes a lot more arguing to hammer home the common sense.
Ty: Yeah pretty much. You seem to get it.
DMK: Cool, then sue them for the rights.
Ty: …What?
DMK: Sue, bribe, extort do whatever. I want them to stop using the name so I can use the letters and have some value with them. I don’t want them calling themselves that anymore.
Ty: You want me to sue the Klu Klux Klan over their ability to refer to themselves as the “KKK”?
DMK: No, I want to own the name itself. I don’t want them using the name at all. As long as it is out there, the two can be easily connected. If they have to call themselves something else then that would solve my issue.
He doesn’t know how to respond to this request. It is quite possibly the most reaching one that he has had thrown at him by DMK.
Ty: You do know it will be next to impossible to accomplish this? You are asking me to get an organization that existed since 1865 to change its name so you can use the initials for something professional wrestling related. This does sound insane in your head right?
DMK: Look, you Jew lawyers can do anything. I don’t give a f~ck if it sounds insane to you. It doesn’t seem so impossible for you. You are the best that is why I hired you. Make it happen.
DMK turns to walk away.
Ty: Wait...there is something I need you to sign while you are here.
DMK turns on the balls of his feet. Annoyed, all he wants to do is go back to the house and watch some Justified…maybe smoke some ganja. Ty is beyond annoyed. After being laden with another absurd request, all he wanted to do was punt this midget through some uprights.
Ty: Here are some papers that got left out of your contract with the WFWF. I also need a Tugarin Zmey to sign some things. Who is that?
DMK: He is my client there. I am bringing him with me as his manager. I am not sure if he would understand this stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if the dude can’t even read.
Ty: Well take them and “get a signature”. Why haven’t I seen a contact between the two of you? You need to make sure you are protected.
DMK: I have a verbal whatever you call it with him. I am good, don’t sweat that.
DMK grabs all the papers and turns. He walks all the way to the door and then stops.
DMK: I almost forgot…
He pulls two money clips from his back pocket. He looks it over and then tosses it to Ty behind the desk.
DMK: That should be about 15, maybe a little extra for all the bad words.
DMK laughs at whatever was perceived as a joke in what he said.
Ty: It never fails to amaze me that you refuse to use a bank with your money.
DMK: It isn’t all banks that I refuse to use; I just don’t like American ones. Not enough security, too many eyes. I have accounts in three countries, all with Jew bankers. Jew bankers and Jew lawyers will never steer you wrong.
Ty wondered, as DMK left, if he would ever tell his client that he wasn’t really Jewish. He never claimed to be, but for some reason, DMK took to the notion that Hollis was Jewish and he never corrected him on the notion. He sighed as he was finally alone in the room.
Ty: Is this little clown worth the money? Suing the Klu Klux Klan?
Ty picked up the cash and as he put one money clip in his pocket, he knew that as long as DMK kept throwing cash at him he would sue whoever the midget wanted.
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The Midget, The Dragon and A Junkie
Date: 5/3/14
DMK: So are you nervous?
The question caused Tugarin to glance in the midget’s direction from the passenger side of DMK’s custom Denali. He was lost in thought watching the rain fall from the grey sky and come down on the city. The perpetual overcast of the Seattle sky was the exact opposite from his youth. He came from a land of sunshine to a land of grey clouds. He always felt the farthest from home when he was here.
Tugarin: Never.
He never felt nervous anymore. The weight of his scars killed his nerves a long time ago.
DMK: I think it is going to be f~cking awesome. I can’t wait to go out there and see everyone cheer for me. The people chanting for the DMK. Then the **** will be flowing that night.
DMK weaves the Denali through the traffic to pull off into the parking lot of an apartment that looks only slightly better than a slum. Tugarin just watches the excitement on the little guy’s face. He envied him, to be happy.
DMK: We are here.
DMK hops out of the SUV as Tugarin does also. They are the odd couple in the land of wackadoodles. A midget and a giant in a metal mask, House of a 1000 Corpesesque.
DMK: Alright this mouthy bastard lives on the bottom floor here. Hopefully we can get in and out, but this guy likes to talk.
DMK fails to see the irony of him calling someone else “mouthy”.
Tugarin follows the small man straight to their destination. DMK pounds on the door with his fist with a grin on his face. The door opens and there is a sudden crash on the other side. DMK pushes the door the rest of the way open and finds a guy sitting on the ground next to pieces of the table he just went through.
DMK: You alright?
DMK asks while grinning ear to ear.
Junkie: The guy in the mask scared the sh~t out of me. I didn’t notice you down there.
The guy is stoned on something much stronger than the great herb, Mary Jane. He more than likely didn’t even feel the fall. That is proven when he stands up and casually pulls a piece of wood out of his hand causing blood to start pouring from the open wound.
Junkie: Well nuts. That is going to make a mess.
He looks around for something to wrap his hand. He finds a filthy shirt nearby and wraps his hand. He turns back towards DMK and Tugarin who have stepped inside by now.
Junkie: I guess come in and have a seat. Want some tea?
DMK: Like you have tea, you are a junkie.
Junkie: Why can’t I have tea?
DMK: Because junkies have no class and don’t have tea in their apartments.
Junkie: Isn’t it bad business to insult your clients?
DMK: Doesn’t matter. You will still buy. Junkies always buy. Watch The Wire. Get some religion. Now here you go.
DMK tosses a brown bag to the guy who drops it clumsily. He picks it and eagerly looks in the bag. His face lights up at seeing the contents. He looks back at DMK.
Junkie: So there is something I need to tell you, I don’t have all of your mo….
He doesn’t finish the sentence as DMK takes off, comes at the junkie with a jumping kick straight to the ankle. The junkie crumbles to the ground grabbing his ankle and crying out. DMK swings and drills the junkie across the face with the butt of his glock. He then stomps on the hurt ankle multiple times while the guy screams out in pain. He finally stops and looks at the bloodied junkie with a smile on his face.
DMK: See if I learned something from Marlo it was that no matter what, you have to have the respect. You can’t let people get away with disrespecting you. Your reputation is everything in this world. When someone disrespects you, you have to retaliate. Always.
Junkie: Is the big guy here to kill me then?
DMK laughs.
DMK: He is just tagging along. How would you respect me if I didn’t beat your ass myself? But now there is another question you have to ask yourself, ‘is getting my ass kicked by a midget embarrassing enough to where I will have the money I owe by next week?’ If the answer is no, then you will just be the guy who was shot by a goddamn dwarf. So what is it?
DMK stands over the junkie with his gun in his hand and a smile on his face. If there was a time when someone was ever scared of a little person, this is it. The junkie is trembling as he looks up at the bald midget.
Junkie: I’ll…have your…money…
The words come out dripping with the fear he is experiencing.
DMK: That’s the smart answer.
DMK puts his gun away and turns towards his massive companion.
DMK: You see how f~cking gangster that was? That is how we need to work sh~t in the WFWF.
He begins walking to the door, but turns his head towards the junkie before he leaves.
DMK: Oh, bro you should check us out on television. We are bad ass wrestlers.
DMK grins widely at the proclamation and walks out. Tugarin looks down at the junkie still down on the floor in a crumbled mess.
Junkie: What? You want to get some punches in too?
Tugarin: No. You are simply a thrall like myself.
His words come out deep and booming from under the mask. The junkie’s response is rendered null and void when Tugarin walks out in the footsteps of DMK.
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The Dragon in the Mirror
Date: Day of Reborn
There used to be a time before Tugarin Zmey existed, before there was a man in a metal mask. There existed a mountain of a man, a man who was destined for a life in service of his people. It was a life that was laid out before he took his first breath. There was a time when he felt happiness… joy…friendship…purpose….
Tugarin: That was a long time ago….
His voice trails off. Sometimes when he stares at himself in the mirror without his mask, he can still see remnants of the man he used to be. The man he is not now, and will never be again. He turns on the faucet of the sink below the mirror. The cold water hits his face shaking him from the trip down memory lane.
Tugarin: I am Tugarin Zmey. That is who I am now. I am the three headed dragon….
He speaks to himself in the empty room, trying to reinforce his current identity….
Tugarin: I am the fire breathing dragon of lore. I am pure destruction….
Reminding himself of what his current purpose is….
Tugarin: The epitome of obliteration. He says that I am the epitome of obliteration. I am an instrument of violence….
But in truth he was an instrument of violence at birth…
Tugarin: I am fearless. I have no remorse, no conscience. I exist to destroy, maim, kill, conquer, fight, and pillage. I am the dragon. I will overcome all competition….
Tugarin hasn’t competed in a wrestling ring in a few years and never in the States. But his skills translate between existences. He grabs his mask and slips it on over the scarred visage. Almost immediately….
Tugarin: I will maim, brutalize, pummel and torture Kyle Matthews. He says that we need to make a statement. The statement being that we are the new pillars of the WFWF. I am the three headed dragon and he is nothing but an appetizer. Nothing else matters from this moment on but murdering the competition. This is what I have been told to do….
He can feel himself starting to believe what he is saying. He feels the confidence grow, he feels empowered.
Tugarin: I come from a world that only a few read of in books. I come from a land that forces children to grow up fast or perish. It is a land where you learn to fight or perish. You learn to hunt or perish…steal or perish…conquer or perish…kill or perish….
A knock on the door breaks him from his concentration.
DMK: We’re next, let’s go.
Tugarin: It is not my time to perish….
Welcome of The KoKaine Konspiracy….
“Nothing is more satisfying than crushing some non-midget ass”
That’s the motto of The KoKaine Konspiracy…
Welcome to the world of The Midget….
Welcome to the world of The Original Gangster Midget…
Welcome to the world of The Midget with a horse cock…
Welcome to the world of The Midget who is going to f~ck up everything you know….
And with a horse cock, it will hurt…badly….
Donnie Monty Kent. Three names. Three names that sound pretty lame honestly. Anyone named Donnie or Monty; you just assume they would be a ****. That assumption will only lead you down a path full of pain and plain annoyance if you assume that Donnie Monty Kent is a ****. Don’t even assume it is his real name because it isn’t. It is a name of his own creation, a mash up of two of his favorite characters from two of his favorite movies. Who knew midgets liked Kevin Spacey and Steve Buscemi. It is widely known that Buscemi is a world class midget tosser.
Donnie Monty Kent…
What a stupid name…
DMK…
That is what his associates call him. No one has time to say three names when referring to someone. DMK, that is just so much easier and lazier. No one other than the dwarf himself knows what his birth name is. No one bothers to ask because they are aware of the temperamental nature he possesses, and his penchant for using bear mace on people followed by a pistol whipping. And no one wants to admit to being pistol whipped by a midget. That would be embarrassing to the point of driving someone to suicide.
I know what you are thinking, how can anyone be intimidated by a midget? With their oversized foreheads, sausage-like fingers and diminutive size, how can anyone find them threatening? Well, have you ever had one with a blade to your scrotum threatening to make you into a woman?
That’s the motherf~cker that is DMK….
He is the f~cking midget who will castrate you, smoke a blunt and while getting blown by your mom, sister and wife at the same time.
DMK is the f~cking man…
Let me repeat that for emphasis.
DMK is the f~cking man…
DMK IS the f~cking man…
DMK IS THE f~cking man…
DMK IS THE F~CKING man…
DMK IS THE F~CKING MAN….
Is my point made?
Donnie Monty Kent isn’t the typical little person. He doesn’t have his own reality show, he doesn’t go to LP conventions, and he doesn’t like midget ****.
Donnie Monty Kent is a hellish, drug-fueled nightmare wrapped in a three foot nine inch frame.
And now this dwarven nightmare is in the WFWF and he isn’t leashed by The King anymore…
The WFWF has a rabid pit bull that is fueled by cocaine and a major napoleon complex on their hands.
He isn’t alone either.
The King hasn’t returned Tolkien fans. But there are other terrifying ghouls out in the darkness, waiting, ready to hunt at the command of the shot caller, the shot caller being an insane midget with a short temper.
Not even Obo The Hobo has the skills of producing the bloodbath that is coming for the WFWF. The King is the modern day Grigori Rasputin and The Midget is his generation’s Charles Bronson, insane British prisoner Bronson. Deathwish Bronson was too much on the right side of the law.
The Midget is going to the be source of all of your nightmares. You will be haunted by those little fists and those angry eyes…so angry…
And this Midget flies on the back of a Dragon…
The Dragon was forged in a world beyond the comprehension for middle class WASP America. It isn’t a world that poor urban minorities would understand. He comes from a land that you don’t know. Whispers of Death Worms follow him as he bears the scars of growing up in a world that has been forgotten by time. But when you have three heads and breathe fire you become the Alpha predator of this world. What drove him to our world, only The Midget knows and that is something he is keeping close to the chest.
He is the one who holds the reigns of this creature of destruction. DMK is the one who tells him what to burn and when to destroy. He might as well have access to nuclear weapons. ..
Nuclear Winter is Coming…
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The Midget and The Lawyer
Date: 4/29/14
Ty Hollis has been practicing law for over 20 years. In all that time never had he had a more aggravating client to deal with than Donnie Monty Kent. The diminutive man that currently sits across from him is the current source of Ty’s splitting headache. When Seth Xavier called him to tell him about referring Ty to a client of his, he had no idea that Seth was shouldering off the client altogether onto him. Ty was beginning to understand why the money wasn’t simply worth it to Seth. Even though DMK, as he insisted the lawyer to call him, was responsible for a good amount of billable hours, he was bordering on being too high maintenance. This was the fourth meeting with DMK in the last two weeks and he had recently started dropping by unannounced. Most of these meetings were just things that could be accomplished with a phone call or common sense as in the case with the current meeting.
DMK: What the f~ck do you mean I can’t use it? Why would anyone have the rights to some letters?
Now DMK has shown Ty that he has business savvy and he is a man with his hands in a lot of pots. DMK has proven he is a man who can make money through multiple avenues. The legality of some these business ventures didn’t matter to Ty. He had no moral compass when it comes to clients. That is probably why Seth referred Ty to DMK. But some of the decisions that DMK makes, some of the ideas that he proposes make Ty wonder if DMK is just some idiot savant in the business realm.
Ty: You are asking me why you can’t use the letters KKK?
Now DMK was known for his short fuse and high strung nature. When something he views as a simple thing runs into a roadblock, that fuse incinerates. And this was one of those times. He thought it would be a simple thing to come in here and talk to Ty about potential merchandising rights for some ideas he has in regards to his newest business venture, wrestling management. He had come up with a few ideas and wanted to get his ducks in a row, now finding out it won’t be as easy as he thought has caused the midget to have a conniption. DMK’s face doesn’t hide his emotions from Ty. It doesn’t help when he is pounding his tiny fist on the arm of the chair.
DMK: Yes, I am asking why I can’t use the f~cking letters.
Ty shakes his head.
Ty: You have heard of the Klu Klux Klan right? The white hate group?
DMK: Who? I didn’t know that the French had white hate groups. So they own the rights to the letters?
Ty: First off, the name is taken from a Greek word and it was started by Southern Americans. Haven’t you ever seen pictures of guys dressed in white robes attacking black people? I don’t know where you got French from. Second, it isn’t so much that they own the letters, as they are commonly referred to by the letters and they are a white hate group. So that doesn’t exactly inspire the majority of the world to look favorably on whatever use you will have for the letters. This is in regards to your wrestling venture right? Say you want to put it on a t-shirt, no parent with any sensibility will buy something that could be construed as racist. Our society frowns on that too much. And the parents are going to be the whales of that operation. The fans who might actually support some racist shirt aren’t going to buy it because they will be in the shirts they bought 15 years ago. Are you following what I am saying? It isn’t so much that you can’t, as you would be stupid to use them. And third, stop using profanity around here.
DMK hops out of his chair and stands before the desk, actually making him appear shorter.
DMK: I live in Seattle. We have skinheads attacking Asians. No one runs around in white robes. And if I am to understand what you are saying then is while the “Klu Klux Klan” uses the initials KKK it would be a bad business decision to use the letters also.
Ty doesn’t immediately respond, he is a little taken back by DMK seemingly understanding him. Normally it takes a lot more arguing to hammer home the common sense.
Ty: Yeah pretty much. You seem to get it.
DMK: Cool, then sue them for the rights.
Ty: …What?
DMK: Sue, bribe, extort do whatever. I want them to stop using the name so I can use the letters and have some value with them. I don’t want them calling themselves that anymore.
Ty: You want me to sue the Klu Klux Klan over their ability to refer to themselves as the “KKK”?
DMK: No, I want to own the name itself. I don’t want them using the name at all. As long as it is out there, the two can be easily connected. If they have to call themselves something else then that would solve my issue.
He doesn’t know how to respond to this request. It is quite possibly the most reaching one that he has had thrown at him by DMK.
Ty: You do know it will be next to impossible to accomplish this? You are asking me to get an organization that existed since 1865 to change its name so you can use the initials for something professional wrestling related. This does sound insane in your head right?
DMK: Look, you Jew lawyers can do anything. I don’t give a f~ck if it sounds insane to you. It doesn’t seem so impossible for you. You are the best that is why I hired you. Make it happen.
DMK turns to walk away.
Ty: Wait...there is something I need you to sign while you are here.
DMK turns on the balls of his feet. Annoyed, all he wants to do is go back to the house and watch some Justified…maybe smoke some ganja. Ty is beyond annoyed. After being laden with another absurd request, all he wanted to do was punt this midget through some uprights.
Ty: Here are some papers that got left out of your contract with the WFWF. I also need a Tugarin Zmey to sign some things. Who is that?
DMK: He is my client there. I am bringing him with me as his manager. I am not sure if he would understand this stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if the dude can’t even read.
Ty: Well take them and “get a signature”. Why haven’t I seen a contact between the two of you? You need to make sure you are protected.
DMK: I have a verbal whatever you call it with him. I am good, don’t sweat that.
DMK grabs all the papers and turns. He walks all the way to the door and then stops.
DMK: I almost forgot…
He pulls two money clips from his back pocket. He looks it over and then tosses it to Ty behind the desk.
DMK: That should be about 15, maybe a little extra for all the bad words.
DMK laughs at whatever was perceived as a joke in what he said.
Ty: It never fails to amaze me that you refuse to use a bank with your money.
DMK: It isn’t all banks that I refuse to use; I just don’t like American ones. Not enough security, too many eyes. I have accounts in three countries, all with Jew bankers. Jew bankers and Jew lawyers will never steer you wrong.
Ty wondered, as DMK left, if he would ever tell his client that he wasn’t really Jewish. He never claimed to be, but for some reason, DMK took to the notion that Hollis was Jewish and he never corrected him on the notion. He sighed as he was finally alone in the room.
Ty: Is this little clown worth the money? Suing the Klu Klux Klan?
Ty picked up the cash and as he put one money clip in his pocket, he knew that as long as DMK kept throwing cash at him he would sue whoever the midget wanted.
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The Midget, The Dragon and A Junkie
Date: 5/3/14
DMK: So are you nervous?
The question caused Tugarin to glance in the midget’s direction from the passenger side of DMK’s custom Denali. He was lost in thought watching the rain fall from the grey sky and come down on the city. The perpetual overcast of the Seattle sky was the exact opposite from his youth. He came from a land of sunshine to a land of grey clouds. He always felt the farthest from home when he was here.
Tugarin: Never.
He never felt nervous anymore. The weight of his scars killed his nerves a long time ago.
DMK: I think it is going to be f~cking awesome. I can’t wait to go out there and see everyone cheer for me. The people chanting for the DMK. Then the **** will be flowing that night.
DMK weaves the Denali through the traffic to pull off into the parking lot of an apartment that looks only slightly better than a slum. Tugarin just watches the excitement on the little guy’s face. He envied him, to be happy.
DMK: We are here.
DMK hops out of the SUV as Tugarin does also. They are the odd couple in the land of wackadoodles. A midget and a giant in a metal mask, House of a 1000 Corpesesque.
DMK: Alright this mouthy bastard lives on the bottom floor here. Hopefully we can get in and out, but this guy likes to talk.
DMK fails to see the irony of him calling someone else “mouthy”.
Tugarin follows the small man straight to their destination. DMK pounds on the door with his fist with a grin on his face. The door opens and there is a sudden crash on the other side. DMK pushes the door the rest of the way open and finds a guy sitting on the ground next to pieces of the table he just went through.
DMK: You alright?
DMK asks while grinning ear to ear.
Junkie: The guy in the mask scared the sh~t out of me. I didn’t notice you down there.
The guy is stoned on something much stronger than the great herb, Mary Jane. He more than likely didn’t even feel the fall. That is proven when he stands up and casually pulls a piece of wood out of his hand causing blood to start pouring from the open wound.
Junkie: Well nuts. That is going to make a mess.
He looks around for something to wrap his hand. He finds a filthy shirt nearby and wraps his hand. He turns back towards DMK and Tugarin who have stepped inside by now.
Junkie: I guess come in and have a seat. Want some tea?
DMK: Like you have tea, you are a junkie.
Junkie: Why can’t I have tea?
DMK: Because junkies have no class and don’t have tea in their apartments.
Junkie: Isn’t it bad business to insult your clients?
DMK: Doesn’t matter. You will still buy. Junkies always buy. Watch The Wire. Get some religion. Now here you go.
DMK tosses a brown bag to the guy who drops it clumsily. He picks it and eagerly looks in the bag. His face lights up at seeing the contents. He looks back at DMK.
Junkie: So there is something I need to tell you, I don’t have all of your mo….
He doesn’t finish the sentence as DMK takes off, comes at the junkie with a jumping kick straight to the ankle. The junkie crumbles to the ground grabbing his ankle and crying out. DMK swings and drills the junkie across the face with the butt of his glock. He then stomps on the hurt ankle multiple times while the guy screams out in pain. He finally stops and looks at the bloodied junkie with a smile on his face.
DMK: See if I learned something from Marlo it was that no matter what, you have to have the respect. You can’t let people get away with disrespecting you. Your reputation is everything in this world. When someone disrespects you, you have to retaliate. Always.
Junkie: Is the big guy here to kill me then?
DMK laughs.
DMK: He is just tagging along. How would you respect me if I didn’t beat your ass myself? But now there is another question you have to ask yourself, ‘is getting my ass kicked by a midget embarrassing enough to where I will have the money I owe by next week?’ If the answer is no, then you will just be the guy who was shot by a goddamn dwarf. So what is it?
DMK stands over the junkie with his gun in his hand and a smile on his face. If there was a time when someone was ever scared of a little person, this is it. The junkie is trembling as he looks up at the bald midget.
Junkie: I’ll…have your…money…
The words come out dripping with the fear he is experiencing.
DMK: That’s the smart answer.
DMK puts his gun away and turns towards his massive companion.
DMK: You see how f~cking gangster that was? That is how we need to work sh~t in the WFWF.
He begins walking to the door, but turns his head towards the junkie before he leaves.
DMK: Oh, bro you should check us out on television. We are bad ass wrestlers.
DMK grins widely at the proclamation and walks out. Tugarin looks down at the junkie still down on the floor in a crumbled mess.
Junkie: What? You want to get some punches in too?
Tugarin: No. You are simply a thrall like myself.
His words come out deep and booming from under the mask. The junkie’s response is rendered null and void when Tugarin walks out in the footsteps of DMK.
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The Dragon in the Mirror
Date: Day of Reborn
There used to be a time before Tugarin Zmey existed, before there was a man in a metal mask. There existed a mountain of a man, a man who was destined for a life in service of his people. It was a life that was laid out before he took his first breath. There was a time when he felt happiness… joy…friendship…purpose….
Tugarin: That was a long time ago….
His voice trails off. Sometimes when he stares at himself in the mirror without his mask, he can still see remnants of the man he used to be. The man he is not now, and will never be again. He turns on the faucet of the sink below the mirror. The cold water hits his face shaking him from the trip down memory lane.
Tugarin: I am Tugarin Zmey. That is who I am now. I am the three headed dragon….
He speaks to himself in the empty room, trying to reinforce his current identity….
Tugarin: I am the fire breathing dragon of lore. I am pure destruction….
Reminding himself of what his current purpose is….
Tugarin: The epitome of obliteration. He says that I am the epitome of obliteration. I am an instrument of violence….
But in truth he was an instrument of violence at birth…
Tugarin: I am fearless. I have no remorse, no conscience. I exist to destroy, maim, kill, conquer, fight, and pillage. I am the dragon. I will overcome all competition….
Tugarin hasn’t competed in a wrestling ring in a few years and never in the States. But his skills translate between existences. He grabs his mask and slips it on over the scarred visage. Almost immediately….
Tugarin: I will maim, brutalize, pummel and torture Kyle Matthews. He says that we need to make a statement. The statement being that we are the new pillars of the WFWF. I am the three headed dragon and he is nothing but an appetizer. Nothing else matters from this moment on but murdering the competition. This is what I have been told to do….
He can feel himself starting to believe what he is saying. He feels the confidence grow, he feels empowered.
Tugarin: I come from a world that only a few read of in books. I come from a land that forces children to grow up fast or perish. It is a land where you learn to fight or perish. You learn to hunt or perish…steal or perish…conquer or perish…kill or perish….
A knock on the door breaks him from his concentration.
DMK: We’re next, let’s go.
Tugarin: It is not my time to perish….
I dont know good luck