Post by Drakz on Aug 29, 2016 19:26:37 GMT -5
The Snake Charmer
(A.K.A. A Little Manipulation Goes a Long Way)
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So once again it’s The Artist Formerly Known as THE GOOD GUY fighting his way through a pit of snakes. Now usually I’d be overflowing with confidence and running down each and every man, woman and child involved, but this time I’m not so sure. This time the odds seem so insurmountable that even my gonads of heroic proportions are shaking and shrivelling at a lightning pace.
I’m not scared. I just don’t like losing. I think I might actually be allergic to losing, so strong are my instincts to win every f*cking time. Who knows, the moment that referee’s hand hits the mat for a third time, whenever it eventually happens with my shoulders flat against it, my glands, face and tongue might just swell up and I’ll slip into anaphylactic shock and die. Die!
Losing is my bee sting, my peanut, my cat hair, all rolled into one horrifying ball of f*ck. Until now I’ve done a pretty damn good job of avoiding it at all costs but now I’ve got my epipen in my pocket just in case. Okay, okay, enough of the allergen references, but I think I got my point across, no?
Trace Demon, good old-buddy-old-pal that he is has booked me into quite the conundrum. I’m in a match with so many damn variables that it reads like a f*cking physics exam paper. There are friends who can’t decide if they’re really friends or not, there are friends who all want that coveted spot in the Superbrawl main event and now thanks to yet another Trace Demon about turn there are friends who stopped being friends a long time ago.
As if the Saviors of Salivation own circle jerk wasn’t messy enough, it’s now got a fluffing team forged out of the two members of The New Epoch not using a colostomy bag. Brennan’s not exactly made a beeline for me since he returned but it’s fair to say he’s also not the type for forgiving and forgetting, not that I ever really did anything to deserve such distain him. His reasons for taking me off the Brennan Christmas Newsletter starts and ends with my being better than him, if only by a margin, oh and perhaps a side dish of ‘getting f*cking bored of babysitting the drunk’. I tried folks, but I’m not a social worker, so if Dave has any kind of score to settle it’s a weak one at best. All the same though, wether his gripes are legitimate or not, Brennan’s a force, and not one I’ve ever enjoyed having in the other corner. He could stomp the woeful devil worship out of that p*ss stain of a partner he’s got, and Joshua Dean? Hmmmm. Could go either way really. Depends on the weather.
This isn’t about any of them though. Nope. As always the centre of attention, much to the chagrin of all other parties involved, is Sol Inviticus (it’s been a while since I’ve used that one). Drakz is the word. Everyone wants to know can Drakz keep his head above water when he’s got so much championship gold and so many milk drinkers weighing him down? Everyone wants to know how does the outcome of this match change Drakz’s momentum going into Superbrawl? Hell, everyone wants to know who will even be facing Drakz at Superbrawl?
There’s a lot more than just Tag Team Championships resting on this match. There’s a power shift of pretty grand proportions at play here, and I’m going to have to cover all bases before the bell rings to make sure I’m not swallowed by the sea of sh*t that stretches out for miles in every direction.
For too long the master of manipulation has relied solely on his in ring prowess. It’s time to see if I can still do what I turned into an art form. I need to blindly feel around amongst the writhing mass of serpents and grab that bansuri (that’s a flute like instrument you ignorant f*cks), put it to my lips, and become ‘The Snake Charmer’.
I know this has been pretty rife with homosexual imagery so far but if there’s not an LGBT porn star using that name then that community has really missed a trick.
Anywho, let the games begin!
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Stuck between a Stone & a Hard on
What the f*ck does he want?
A missed call from Dog. Well……it can stay missed. We’ve had little to no conversation in weeks now, perhaps it’s even edged into months. I’m past the point of counting or caring, although it is making my home life pretty awkward. Sharing a studio apartment with someone you aren’t talking to has a certain……..hang on did I say someone? He’s a dog. An animal. He isn’t a someone, he’s a something.
I slip my piece of sh*t phone back into my pocket. No multimedia to be found on this baby. That’s how they catch you. FBI tracking your phone’s location. Mind you I’m not a hard man to find. Two lumps of gold on my person most of the night and day, my face on posters with a time and place right beneath and that’s not to mention the fact I walk around in public holding conversation with what many would consider a pet. At the very least I’ve removed that last one from the equation though. Also why would the FBI want to talk to me? It’s not as if I’ve made a habit of beating the f*ck out of people and then killing their friends, family and coach. Shout out to Frank Lynn. Wut wuuuut.
#Ididn’tdoit.
In case you’re wondering, or need a clichéd intro to give you some point of reference, I’m walking down a hall way in the guts of the Chesapeake Energy Arena, which I would like to note is a f*cking abysmal name for a sports venue. How can we add to this? Erm it’s a dark and stormy night? I’m wearing…..what do you care what I’m wearing? This isn’t a smutty phone sex service.
Let me get to the point. I’d say about an hour ago a few things happened on live TV.
1. Josh, Cameron and Samael nearly had an orgy in the ring but then things got rough,
2. Trace booked a Tag Team Title match for the next show on this travelling circus’s tour.
3. I kneed Ahriman in the side of his head, looked cool as f*ck and then disappeared into the night like The Bat, or The Future, or one of the other cornbread egg suckers wearing their pants on the wrong side of their trousers.
Now I’m on the hunt to try and change the way the odds are weighted. As of right now I’m almost certain my time as a Tag Team Champion is up. Why so? Drakz. A crisis of confidence? It’s unheard of I know, but let me break it down for you. I’m defending them with my beloved partner and enemy Mr Dean which admittedly has worked surprisingly well up until now but you know as well as we do that we’ve been on thin ice since day one. Couple that whore of a waggon to the fact that my opponent, and current ally, Trace Demon (it still feels weird saying that) has the special guest referee in the palm of his hand aaaaaand the fact that the fourth participant is the very man I just put down for the night aaaaaand that both he and the referee, Cameron Stone are bosom buddies with my partner, and suddenly the air smells distinctly of collusion and conspiracy. It’s not just me is it? This whole thing screams of set up doesn’t it?
Well I for one want to check Stone’s privilege. The privilege of main eventing a Superbrawl with me that is. The Prince of Poutine needs to play ball.
*Knock Knock*
“Yeah?”
Rude.
“That’s no way to address your World Heavyweight Champion.”
The door swings open and Cameron Stone looms over me, filling the doorway like the big cuddly pile of sh*t that he is. He doesn’t look very pleased to see me. I melodramatically look down and check my trousers are buttoned.
“Sorry. I thought by the look on your face that I was maybe p*ssing on your shoes without realising. Lighten the f*ck up Hollywood, I bring good tidings.”
I push past him and he obviously wants to hear me out, otherwise I wouldn’t have made it into his locker room. Of course I’ve got the World Heavyweight and Tag Team Championship with me. Bringing props to your negotiations tends to help, as it makes you seem important enough to offer the other party something they want, of course in this case that isn’t just a mirage, more of a visual cue.
“Start talking. I was about to leave.”
“Why in such a hurry mate? You’ve not got anywhere else to be right now. They’ve not started filming on the next Twilight film yet have they?”
Is there going to be another one? I’ve no idea. Is Stone going to be in it? Two for two. Couldn’t give a f*ck. Once this schmuck walks out of the WFWF doors for good his life means nothing to me. Right now though everything he does plays a big part in where I’m going next.
“I thought I said start talking?”
“And I did.”
I sit myself down and adjust the Heavyweight Championship slung over my shoulder, wasting just a little more time. I’m the one in charge here. I can’t have a Z-list commentator calling the shots. Stone closes his eyes and sighs, I think now realising that the more he protests the more I’ll try to push his buttons.
“So. What happened earlier on?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly what I said. What happened earlier on?”
“I got screwed by Trace Demon……..again. I’m your special referee which I assume is what you’re here to talk about?”
“Astute my boy, but it wasn’t Trace who screwed you out there. It looked to me that there were a couple of so called friends letting their egos bend you over. I don’t remember seeing Trace Demon throw a punch at you after all?”
He knows I’m right, but he won’t admit it. United we stand, blah blah blah.
“A misunderstanding. Are we done here?”
“Sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Suit yourself. I find it easier to wax lyrical on future title shots when I’m sat down personally.”
His eyebrow raises.
“You’re right I’m here to talk about your very important role in my future, but depending on how that pans out you could be promoted substantially in the hierarchy of ‘people who can f*ck with the champ’. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“I’m not helping you win if that’s what you want. I didn’t go that far for Trace, and I won’t do it for you either.”
Noble ’til the end. He’s taken the bait though. Give him the impression I want something huge from him and then when I ask for a simple vow of neutrality he’ll jump on it, like Nikki Dean mounting any of a legion of hard c*cks.
“Come on Hollywood, I know what kind of a man you are. Do you really think I’d come here and ask you of all people to do something that might bring your high horse to it’s knees?”
Easy now Isaac. You’ve got to be nice to him, if only for 5 minutes.
“Sorry, what I mean to say is you’re a man who feels his value and his morals are intertwined. I know you’d never stoop to those levels. There is also the fact I don’t need any help to keep in mind as well. I won the Tag Team Titles on my own. People would do well to remember that, you included. Josh and I might have our………differences, but I still think he’s a damn sight better than Ahriman, and Trace? I’m 3 and 1 against that red haired f*cker. So no, it’s not an unfair advantage I’m after. What I want is a guarantee.”
“Nothing’s guaranteed. You know that as well as I do.”
“Ah but this is very much in your hands. The only way this guarantee voids is if you make it so.”
Give him the power. Shine up his apple.
“This could be your last chance at something big Cameron. I say ‘could’ because like you said there are no such things as guarantees. What I’m offering you is to forget whatever Trace Demon has whispered in your ear. He’s not the champion, I am.”
“Yeah but he’s the boss so I figure he’s got more say in it than you.”
“And who decides on whether I turn up or not? Who decides if I even get out of bed the morning of Superbrawl?”
Everyone thinks Trace Demon has his hand up my arse. The Puppet Champion they like to s
behind my back, but what they don’t realise is there’s only one f*cking man who gets into that ring and his name is…….well…..it’s me.
Stone chooses not to respond so I continue.
“Trace can book whatever title match he wants but if the champion doesn’t show then the match doesn’t happen.”
“He’d just strip you.”
Steady on.
“What? And give the title to you? Haha. Let’s say even if he did decide not to keep it for himself, which admittedly would be quite the betrayal of character, and let’s say instead of declaring open season for contenders he just plants the belt on whoever was supposed to face me, and for the sake of argument let’s say that that person was you……….then what? Your last moment in the sun goes on as normal? Bull cum. Gallons and f*cking gallons of it. Your special sendoff would fall flat as Dex’s crotch.”
“What?”
“It was a eunuch joke. Keep up Hollywood. That’s not the important part anyway, what’s important is the fact that you would be a total f*cking farce. Oh you held the World Heavyweight Championship? Who did you beat? F*cking nobody, that’s who. No one can seriously say, without a waver of a smile, that they’re the champion unless they beat ME. I’m the longest reigning champion in this company’s history. F*ck Thunder and his 519 days as International Chump. F*ck what the records say, Josh didn’t stop my number from totting up. By the time Superbrawl rolls around I will have been Heavyweight Champion for over 2 years. What I’m trying to say Cam is that if you really want a shot at the biggest prize, with the biggest payoff on the biggest stage, then you have to go through me. Not Trace Demon. Not Lila Sleater. Drakz.“
“You’ve been rambling for 10 minutes now and you still haven’t even told me what it is you want.”
Stone isn’t shy about the fact he wants me out of here, even if my presence benefits him.
“Absolute neutrality. No funny business. I don’t want you in cahoots with Ahriman. I don’t want you getting your own back on Josh for what happened earlier on. I don’t even want you to stick a middle finger in Trace’s face by screwing him over. Right down the middle. That’s all I ask.”
“So I do that and it’s Superbrawl all the way for us?”
“The whole 9 yards. Have the cake and eat it. Do the deal. You want any more reassurance? I’m a man of my word Cam and I need you to understand just how much these Tag Titles mean to me. I wouldn’t just offer this kind of thing to anyone either. Do you think I’d so much as look at Cam Nitta if he were the one calling the match? No, this comes from me because I know we can do something special at Superbrawl, and I need to know you’re willing to put on a clinic, not some mind game, cheap trick bull sh*t if I grant you that opportunity. After all, who’s the only man with a pin fall over me in 4 years?”
“Josh Dean?”
Sh*t I forgot about that.
“Who’s the only other man with a pin fall over me in 4 years?”
Stone smirks and I’m reminded that a bit of ego massaging goes a long way. Should I ask about his upcoming acting work is that just going to come off as gut churningly forced? Probably best not to overdo it.
“So we’re in agreement?”
“Hell, I never intended on calling this match anything but professionally anyway, but if you’re going to start throwing title matches around like you are then I’m hardly going to turn you down. I’m smart enough to know that this is my last chance. If I’m going to promise this though I need your guarantee that there’s no funny business on your end either. Trace has done nothing but use his offer as a way to f*ck with me and, let’s be honest, you’re more than capable and more than liable to do the same.”
I want to sarcastically act offended but I know at this point I just need to reassure the man that everything I’ve said is gospel.
“Trace enjoys playing war games more than I do. At this point in my career Cam I just want to put on a show. This offer stands regardless of what anyone else might say after the fact. I can put it in writing if you’d prefer?”
“It’s fine. I figure at this stage you’ve got more to lose by denying me. You’ve got enough people after that elusive British scalp as it is, without adding another to the list. I assume you want to walk out of Superbrawl as the champion?”
“A champion never fights to lose, so yeah I plan on continuing this record breaking reign well beyond our date at The Rose Bowl.”
“Then be sure you’re not lying to me, because if you are I’ll make history another way. I’ll cost you your match against which ever lucky son of a b*tch happens to make it into that main event.”
“Are you threatening me Hollywood?”
“Consider it more of a contingency. I can’t allow you to be the only one with leverage here.”
I chuckle at the apparent wiles of this old dog and yet I know there’s no reason for me to lie about any of this. My offer is a win/win for me. I get the assurance I need going into this Tag Team Title defence and then I get to destroy Cameron Stone in front of the world. The cameras will close out on the biggest wrestling spectacle of all time with me and my championships filling their lenses.
“You drive a hard bargain but you’ve got my word on this one Stone.”
Like the honest businessman that I am I offer my hand to Stone and he narrows his eyes before shaking it. There’s no way he trusts me but he’s made it clear that he won’t accept my going back on this and that seems to be enough for him.
“Well, weren’t you about to leave? I’ll leave you to attend to your urgent business.”
I stand up and as I walk past him I feign a slip on the tiles and drop the Heavyweight Championship. To no one’s surprise Stone catches it and I wait a moment, letting him get a good look at it before taking it back.
“Heavy, isn’t it?”
And with that I turn and walk out of the locker room, nefarious gasses jetting from my every pore. Stage one complete.
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Casa Dean
“What the f*ck do you want?”
Hardly the greeting I’d expected from my tag partner of over 9 months. I even brought my title belt to remind him of the ties that bind. You’d think that with all of the victories we’ve amassed that by now there’d be at least a hint of some form of symbiosis, but the intonation in his voice when he says ‘you’ is evidence enough that we’re still only doing this because we have to.
“Come now Josh, we’ve got strategy to discuss.”
I move to walk past him and into his family home, but he immediately puts up more resistance than Stone did. An open hand meets my chest and holds me at bay and there’s a real fire in Josh’s eyes when he asks me again:
“What the f*ck do you want?”
“I want to get a handle on how we’re going to defend our Tag Team Championships again in a few days time. Does there have to be more to it then that?”
“There doesn’t have to be no, but I’ve come to learn that with Isaac Cray there always is. Why are you at my house? This is where my wife lives. This is where my children live. You don’t bring your sh*t here. You got that?”
He takes a step back into this home he won’t stop banging on about, and I see the door come swinging toward me. I step forward and the toe of my boot stops the wood from fully entering the hole. Josh looks down at the blockage and then back up at me before pushing through the doorway and back into me. I stagger back a pace or two and he gets right up in my face. I like this new angry variant from the Josh Dean collection.
“Did I not make myself clear? You do not come here!”
Every word is punctuated by an index finger jamming into my sternum.
“I’m not stupid enough to beat the p*ss out of you when we’re off the clock but I will call the police if you don’t get back on your bike and pedal the f*ck out of here.”
Bike? I caught the bus. Normal citizen that I am.
“Josh. Buddy. Come now. I needed to find you on short notice and I figured this would be the place to look seeing as you weren’t at the office.”
“You went to the office?”
“You think I’d come and ruffle your feathers at home as a first choice?”
The king of sincerity is at it again.
“In case you hadn’t noticed I take our reign as Tag Team Champions very seriously.”
I adjust the tag title belt on my shoulder as I say it.
“I intend on setting more records before I up and keel over and there’s one mere inches from my grasp.”
“What’s that got to do with me, and more importantly why is it so urgent that it couldn’t wait?”
“375 days.”
“What is?”
“That’s how long Alex Sean & DGX held these championships for.”
“I’m sure you’ll get to the point soon.”
“Do you know what the date is today Josh?”
“Seriously?”
“Well?”
I can see his patience quickly thinning but like almost everyone he wants to know what I have to say, even if he acts to the contrary.
“August 26th.”
“Exactly! Which means we’re 2 days from tying that very record. Or at least…..I am. Can you believe that?”
“You came here to get all giddy about a three figure number?”
“I came because we’ve achieved this whilst at each other’s throats. We’ve very nearly eclipsed the longest Tag Team Championship reign in history and we’ve never even tried to actually be a team.”
I can see that fire burn brighter in his eyes again after he seemed to have calmed, if only a little.
“Are you crazy? I f*cking mean that. Are you actually suffering with some long ignored mental health issues? How can you even begin to expect us to ever work as a team, or did jumping off that cage erase everything you did in the last year?”
His lip has curled showing me just how hard his teeth are grit. This one isn’t going to be so easy.
“I know I’ve not been the most supportive….”
“HA! Supportive? Eat sh*t Drakz, even you can’t deny the lengths you went to, back at that pathetic award ceremony, to undermine and belittle me. You’ve done nothing but try and get under my skin since the moment my name was uttered in the same sentence as yours. I suppose I should respect you in some f*cked up kind of way, because whatever it is you’re doing it seems to have worked. You’re still the champion, but I’ve got a feeling your back is starting to edge against the wall.”
He’s calming down again. Maybe I should try to avoid talking too much? The sound of his own voice seems to have a sedative effect. I bet he jerks off in the mirror.
“Such a waste….”
“What?”
That you’d rather stare at your own abs than spray onto your wive’s.
“What I meant to say was, what gives you that impression?”
Smooth? His eyes narrow but he continues all the same.
“For one it’s hard for you to keep up this whole ‘lone wolf’ routine when you’re top and tailing with Trace Demon. Neither of you have ever played well with others and I figure you must both be feeling pretty desperate to change that now. I’m interested to see how the pair of you, with very different, self serving agendas, keep from collapsing in on yourselves. There’s no room for two at the top and you know it as well as I do that Trace isn’t willing to play second fiddle for long.”
Joshua laying down truth, but to the surprise of no one I’ve known all of this from the moment this raggedy alliance began. I’m doing what I have to do to keep my crown. Greasy though it may be.
“And you think that’s enough to warrant thinking I’m stuck in a corner? Surely you know I’m harder to pin down than that Joshua?”
Keep him from seizing up.
“If things were going well would you be at my house trying to hand me some limp, wilting olive branch? You’re scared aren’t you? You’re scared that maybe Trace is trying to pull something that you can’t work out.”
Scared? I wouldn’t go that far. I’m not a pimply kid asking Rebecca to the f*cking prom. I do have my……..concerns, but they’re pretty legitimate. I’ve got a throne to maintain and defend. You can’t fight battles on all sides and expect to win.
“Listen, we both know Trace isn’t the most trustworthy of Demons…..”
Josh laughs at my obvious understatement.
“But I don’t think he wants me to lose. It would make him look bad. He wants to pick the winning horse, even if he then plans on taking that horse to the knacker yard, after the race, and having it melted down into glue. If he’s going to break me down he’ll pick his shots.”
“Then answer me this………why David Brennan? Why after setting up this match, splitting two groups of ‘friends’ and pitting them against each other, does he bow out and add Brennan into the mix? Something doesn’t add up.”
He’s right. I was already on this little pilgrimage around the WFWF roster before David was thrown into the mix, and now? Now I’m even less certain I know what’s going on.
“David’s in there because it makes for good TV. That’s all Trace cares about. You have to remember he’s the man in charge as well as the wrestler we know. He’s got ratings and cash flow to think about. Next to him in the match who else makes for a controversial opponent? He’s simply chosen the next man with a history that’s as tangled in my pubes as his is.”
Quite the metaphor.
“David’s a threat, no doubt, but he’s also prone to self medication, violent mood swings and a feeling of abhorrence for the self righteous. I can’t see he and Ahriman getting along too well, can you?”
“Do they need to? What was it you were just saying about 375 days?”
Again, he’s right. Both men are capable ring hands, but comparing them to us? Let’s not get carried away now. I’m the greatest mother f*cker this business has ever seen. There aren’t many parallels to be drawn between me, a two bit commentator with a penchant for toy swords and a pickled skin head.
“Do you know why else August 26th is significant Josh?”
“Should I?”
Everybody should.
“2 years ago, to the day, I won the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship. I beat Dex. I beat Jayson Garrett. I beat Trace Demon. All at the same time.”
Those flames flicker as I pour fuel on them. Will you walk into my parlour?
“2 years have passed since then and I am still the champion. No one has ever even come close to matching that kind of record.”
Tis the prettiest little parlour that you ever did spy……
“This isn’t some padded reign made up of hollow defences either. The show has featured an all star cast: Trace Demon……again, Phillip Schneider…….again, Samael Ahriman and………someone else. I swear there was another important one?”
Don’t over do it Isaac. He’s about to bite.
“You’re a f*cking piece of sh*t. You can’t even make it through one conversation, even one where you’re trying to vie for my cooperation, without trying to provoke me. Maybe you’re actually just simple? Everyone makes out as though you’re a savant but it seems to me you’re so wrapped up in this ego you’ve created that you can’t actually see past it. You’re on your own partner.”
Josh turns and goes back to his door only to quickly realise the yale has locked him outside. He takes a deep breath knowing he can’t escape me as quickly as he’d hoped before knocking and waiting for someone to come and let him back into his own home.
“You want to be the one to do it don’t you?”
He tries to ignore me and just stands, staring at the front door.
“Imagine being the one to finally knock the greatest champion of all time off his pedestal. Imagine how sweet that taste would be after everything I’ve put you through. Now multiply it ten fold because you did it on the biggest stage the world can offer you.
Imagine main eventing Superbrawl IX and winning……………”
Josh doesn’t turn to face me but he does respond.
“I suppose I wasn’t clear enough the first, or even the second time……….what do you want from me Drakz?”
“To get onto the same page as me.”
He begins to turn around just as we both hear the latch unlock. The door opens a crack and I make eye contact with Nikki Dean who freezes on seeing me on her front porch. Next is Drake leaning around his surrogate Father to see who the visitor is. He stands there, wide eyed. He knows exactly who I am. Josh puts his hands on Drake’s shoulders and, having now turned to face me, speaks over his shoulder to his wife.
“Nik, take Drake back inside will you? Just leave the latch off. I’ll let myself back in when I’m done out here.”
Nikki’s still looking right back at me, not moving or paying heed to any of her husband’s words.
“Nikki?”
The repetition of her name seems to break the trance and without saying another word she reaches down and takes Drake by the wrist, leading him back into the family home, the whole time he looks over his shoulder at me. The door closes and our privacy is restored.
“He’s growing up……”
“Don’t talk to me about him……..or her for that matter. They’re off limits to you and everyone else in that locker room now. Nikki left our business and as far as I’m concerned the moment she did she just became another civilian to you. Now, what were you saying about my title shot?”
Hook…..
“It’s nothing all that complicated Josh. If we win in our next foray as a team then I’ll give you that opportunity. The rest, as they say, is up to you.”
Line…..
“In that case I suppose I’ll see you at Superbrawl…….champ.”
And sinker.
“Don’t get cocky now Mr Dean, people might start thinking I’ve rubbed off on you.
Phrasing.
“We’ve got a formidable set of mountains to climb before we get that far. Not least of which is the one in a striped shirt. Your little lover’s tiff with Cameron hasn’t done us any favours. I know I’d be counting at two different speeds if I was in his position.”
“I’ll talk with him. Things got heated in that ring and we both made some poor choices, but Cam and I are good friends.”
I shouldn’t worry too much about his allegiances. My offer has that pinned in place. No doubt he won’t say a word about it to Josh though.
“Well, I guess I’ll get out of your hair then, let you get back to your family barbecue, or movie night, or whatever the f*ck functioning households do with their spare time.”
He smiles out of one side of his mouth.
“Have you ever considered it? Starting a family?”
“I’m not Father material…….or husband material for that matter. Not to mention I like w*nking on the sofa too much.”
Josh laughs and there’s a moment, albeit the briefest, where an outside perspective could have seen us as friends. Josh senses it though and throws his defence right back up in fear of making too great of a connection with someone like me. I can’t say that I blame him.
“You might want to talk to Ahriman as well. I’d hate for the pair of you to get into an argument over little old me. If you do see him, tell him I hear sticking to a low sodium diet should help with the swelling.”
Just like with Stone I make sure it’s me leaving, not the other way around and as I walk up the path I take my phone out to check the time. A missed call and a voicemail. From Dog. You’d think he’d take the hint after 3 weeks of my not answering his calls. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks but to be honest I don’t even know how old he is. Nor do I give any f*cks.
Message deleted.
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Into the Crowe's Nest
What the f*ck do they want? The terrible twosome have come to greet me as I enter the building, and honestly terrible doesn’t even come close to doing them justice. Speedwaggon and the soviet one come marching down the hallway toward me and I simply hold up both of my middle fingers for them.
“One for each of you.”
“Does the boss know you are with us?”
“I don’t listen to Springfield. I thought I’d made that public knowledge? Do they even have country c*ck rock in Russia?”
No answer, of course. I just walk right past the two of them. They’re small time. I’m big time. Big time doesn’t stop for small time. Everyone knows that.
“You can not just come in here like this.”
I stop and turn to face him. Speedwaggon just kind of existing in the peripheral, not wanting to engage.
“Listen Natasha, I’ve got business with Lucas, that’s enough. He’s a big boy, potty trained and everything and I don’t need to speak to his minder every time I feel the need to speak to him. F*ck your inane questions. F*ck Justin Tyme and his failure of a career. F*ck you and your sobaka like obedience. Anything else? No? Excellent, go and grab me a glass of water would you?”
He looks horrified, but what do I care? I leave them both in the corridor and head towards the sound of gloves on bag, the shots clearly being thrown by someone a damn sight bigger and stronger than me. Let’s hope he’s as receptive to persuasion as I think he is.
“What did that bag ever do to you champ?”
Crowe throws one more huge hook that sends the bag swinging before turning to me, panting heavily.
“Nice to see you training this hard for a throw away tag match.”
He smiles in between deep breaths and starts to undo the velcro on his MMA gloves.
“No such thing as throw away………when you’re not at the top.”
He’s got a workhorse ethic that I have to respect. He knows the only way to that top he just mentioned is through hard work. Well, it’s either that or relatively hard work and a lot of smarts. The gloves are off and he reaches one of those dinner plate like hands toward me.
“Nice to see you Lucas.”
We shake and he nods at me.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Straight to business. I suppose you can;t have learned that from Tyme. He’s a stickler for dancing around the point in the hope it’ll grease up the hole before he fists it.”
“Haha. Perhaps. I put it down to working the door at clubs for so long. Not much time for conversation when the queue’s ‘round the block.”
“Quite. I like a man who cuts to the root, perhaps because I’m so used to the absolute opposite, having worked in the business I do for so long. I won’t patronise you then. I’m here for one reason Crowe. I want you to stay out of my business at Horizon. I’m not implying you’re not helpful to have around. Not at all. It’s just that the King Kong deal, you carrying me out of the cage back at Black Hole Sun, has kind of made things a little…..difficult for me recently. I’ve gone from the eater of worlds to a bit of a joke based on how my last two title defences have gone. Don’t get me wrong, no one would f*cking dare say that to my face, and they’d be right to keep it to themselves, but I just feel as though it’s time I reminded the locker room, and the world, who I f*cking am.”
Crowe doesn’t look offended, which to me shows Tyme isn’t instilling as much of his character into his protégé as he’d like. The less Crowe acts like that washed up Scrooge McDuck the more I like the guy.
“I get it. I said about the same to those two hanging around out in the hallway. Unlike them though I’m able to take instruction. You mind if I ask you something though?”
“Please.”
“Why did Trace pick Brennan as his replacement instead of me?”
A silence follows that I scramble to fill, but what do I fill it with? I’ve as much idea as him. It would have made all the sense in the world to even the f*ckery out with another man on our wavelength, but instead we get Brennan, a man with no allegiances and a somewhat unpredictable temperament.
“I don’t know the reason he would give to you, but I’ve got a feeling I know the reason he’d keep to himself. Our working relationship is kind of agreed on a handshake. Nothing binding. If I’ve learnt anything about Trace over the years it’s that he wants what he wants, and he’ll do anything in his power to get it. Now that he’s the principal owner of the f*cking company that means that aforementioned power knows very little in the way of limits. What does he want? Well, what does he always want? To be WFWF World Heavyweight Champion, but he’s tried to do it the honest way and I shut him down. So now? Befriend me, quite forcibly, and then act as though he has my best interests at heart while systematically wearing me down to a nub. What better way to do that than, a few weeks before Superbrawl, putting me in a ring with 4 men who hate me? If he can’t beat me then he’ll work me until someone else can. Then he’ll just beat them instead. Hell, it could even be you he chooses!”
Trace can offer this man a lot more than I can, so who am I to expect his loyalty when my lynching comes?
“Heh, maybe it will, but for now I’m your hired gun to point at whoever you want. I’ve got reason to soften Brennan up already, I could always ensure sure he never makes it to Horizon?”
“Like I said, I want to run this solo. Win, lose or draw. After that final bell though you’re free to do what you want. Once Christa Adina chimes in with the winner’s names our agreement is done. You’re off the leash, so to speak.”
“Lucas……”
We both glance over at the doorway to the gym and the Russian is standing there looking a little perplexed.
“A sobaka has just wandered in. Sorry, I forget the American word. It has four legs and a tail.”
F*ck sake I know who he’s talking about.
“A cat?”
“A dog.”
“Yes, a dog. Shall I kill it?”
“Kill it? What the f*ck man?”
I address the International Champion.
“I’m pretty sure I know which dog he’s talking about. Excuse me. It’s been a pleasure as always Lucas.”
I shake his hand again as I move to head on out.
“Don’t worry about our conversation either. I’ll keep myself to myself, regardless of what anyone else tells me.”
I wink at him and feel as though he’s being really genuine. I’ve got a lot of time for this man. He knows when to just shut up and listen. A lot of people in the WFWF could learn a thing or two from him.
Now, on to what I can only imagine is going to be a f*cking awkward conversation.
Just as expected Dog is waiting, pacing up and down in the hallway with Speedwaggon watching him like a hawk.
“There’s some bad juju going on with this one.”
He’s not wrong there.
“Take a tea break Reo. This one’s more than you can handle.”
I walk past Dog and he knows to just follow as I head for the exit. I’m not standing in front of any of this lot and holding a conversation with a mongrel. That’s the weirdest part about my relationship with Dog. I talk to him and he talks back and yet I’m still very much aware of the fact that to anyone else I must look completely f*cking insane. It’s an unsettling juxtaposition of down the rabbit hole madness and complete objectivity. I’m a complicated guy alright?
“You’ve not returned my calls.”
What am I, his f*cking boy friend?
“Did it not occur to you that perhaps there’s a reason for that?”
We keep walking away from the annex of the Tyme complex, back down the driveway toward the security guard I anaesthetised.
“I need your help.”
“I’m sure, but I’m not feeling all that generous these days.”
“I need advice. Who the f*ck else can I ask?”
I imagine he should have thought about his lack of capable homo-sapien friends before he p*ssed this one off so royally.
“Can’t you ask your girl friend? Whatever the f*ck she was called? Urgh.”
“She’s part of the problem.”
“I’m sure she is. She’s f*cking bat sh*t crazy. I thought you’d have established that the moment she let you put your d*ck in her mouth. Most normal people just aren’t that hungry mate.”
“Daphne’s pregnant…….”
HO-LEE- F*CK!
“F*uuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”
“The word creaks out of me like an iceberg on the brink of collapse and I’m stunned to a stand still. This is almost the most messed up thing anyone’s ever told me. Almost.”
“I know right?”
‘I mean…….sh*t…….wow…….I don’t even know where to begin with that one. That is beyond even my level of comprehension, and I f*cked my own half sister.“
Wow, I must be shocked. I’ve never made light of that one out in the open before.
“I need your help Isaac. I know I’ve been a c*nt recently but a man does stupid things when he’s in love.”
A dog. You’re a f*cking dog, not a man.
“I don’t know what advice I could honestly give other than kill it……now. How far along is she?”
“The longest it could possibly be is 20 weeks, which means I’ve got 2 weeks until my only option is a nasty fall.”
“So why are we even having this conversation? F*cking go man!”
He falls quiet and I can see the desperation in his eyes.
“Oh sh*t. No? Surely not?”
“She wants to keep it.”
Okay this has now successfully leapfrogged into pole position in the ‘most f*cked up’ stakes.
“So, what? You want me to talk her round to the idea? Mate, she’s clearly got serious mental health issues. I mean, you must know that? I’m not trying to insult you here, I’m just looking at the facts I’m presented with. She wants to go ahead with birthing a human-canine hybrid that will no doubt, 100%, spoiler alert, come out dead to the f*cking world. Hell, in that case cut that b*tch off and let her do it. They’ll lock her up…….I think? Is it illegal? I mean, surely it’s illegal right?”
“It depends on the state.”
“Then send her to one that will lock her up, problem solved.”
“What if it’s not stillborn though? What if she actually keeps my living, breathing child?”
“You’re f*cking kidding me right? What? Are you worried she’ll come after you for child support money? It’s a done deal mate, there is 0 chance of that DNA clusterf*ck coming to anything but a strung out hairy mess that will probably get stored in formaldehyde and displayed in a medical museum so that no nut jobs make the same mistake again.”
“But what if you’re wrong? Please Isaac, just come with me and try and talk some sense into her. Maybe another opinion on the matter will help sway her decision? I need this!”
Well, today just got a whole lot more interesting to say the least.
“F*ck man. Okay, whatever. Did you bring the car?”
“Oh my God, thank you! Yeah of course, it’s just parked on the next street along.”
We walk past the security cabin at the open gate and I toss a balled up $20 through the window onto the unconscious guard. He’ll need that once Justin Tyme fires him. It’s the least I can do.
“I was worried you’d say no. I’ve been at my wits end. I’m not equipped to deal with this kind of thing.”
“I mean family planning’s not really my forte, crazies on the other hand, I’ve had more than enough experience with them. They can be stubborn, but a little manipulation goes a long way.”
Story of my life this past week.
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Well short of hypnosis I’ve done everything within my capacity to stop the battlefield from resembling the Hawkmen’s battle platform thing in the Flash Gordon movie. That is to say that, metaphorically, the ground isn’t moving, nor are there spikes thrusting from it.
I’ve spoken to every moving part that stood a chance of listening. There’s no point in trying to reason with my opponents because, let’s face it, they want to beat me. The rest of the gang though just needed setting straight. Now notice that I haven’t tried to skew things in my favour. I haven’t bribed the referee into favouring me. I haven’t asked my mercenary to intervene. Quite the opposite. I never wanted this to be an easy ride. I was telling the absolute truth when I said to Crowe I want this match to serve as a reminder to those that have forgotten what I’m capable of. I merely did the rounds to make sure I wasn’t fighting this whole thing with my left hand, and sure I made a couple of offers that might end up contradicting one another but I’ll f*ck that bridge when I come to it.
So now for a quick look at the remaining, more capricious, elements in my upcoming match.
The more interesting of the two men is of course my former running buddy, one David Brennan. Here’s a man who, for no rhyme or reason, has decided he’s had enough of playing with Daddy’s money, or was it following around a Christian missionary? Either way he’s decided his true calling is putting the boots to those that need it most, and this week? That’s me. This isn’t the first, nor will it be the last time me and Dave lock horns, but his teaming with Ahriman will probably fall under both of those narratives. They lose and everything carries on as before. He drifts ever closer to Superbrawl and his match with Crowe, while Ahriman disappears from the collective mind and eventually the WFWF, finally appreciated as the anti-climax he’s always worked so hard to be. They win? We’ve got new champions. Hoorah! Then what? Can you really see Brennan lacing up each week and going out there with Samael f*cking Ahriman? I mean I know me and Josh don’t see eye to eye but Brennan? He’s a total liability when it comes to attendance or punctuality. Ahriman would have a string of handicap defences, if he even made it through the first, and then we’re back to the previous outcome. Brennan continues doing whatever it is he’s come back here to do, whilst Ahriman drifts off.
Now I’ve said it aloud Brennan doesn’t actually sound that interesting at all does he?
I’d always had such high hopes for the boy and yet here we are, 4 years removed from the dissolution of The New Epoch and he’s still not got a title to his name. Me? Since going it alone? Come on, really? I talk about it enough. Let’s not get into that now. It’s funny to me that now, Brennan’s first real shot at gold in quite some time, comes at my expense. Even if some weird residue of companionship still resides within me from that bygone era, for me to see Brennan finally succeed I have to be willing to fall myself, and there’s not enough antihistamines in the world to help me back up again.
I know that every time I go out there with Josh as my partner I’m running the risk of defeat. A tag team match has so much more room for the unexpected, especially with a dynamic like ours. You’d think I’d have to put a lot of faith into my partner to be willing to go out there and put my 22 strong streak of victories on the line but you’d only be half right. I have to put a sh*t tonne of faith in myself, no one else, that I can get the job done, no matter what happens out there. Josh walks out on me, I still have to win. Josh looks about to give up, I still have to win. Somehow, some way Drakz, The Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer, HAS to pull it off, and guess what? I always do. No matter the odds. No matter the opponents. I always scrape through.
Isn’t that right Sam? This time is going to be different for us though. At Black Hole Sun I tried to cripple you, and I came within a hair’s breadth of following through on that M.O. This time around I won’t get so excitable. No room for error. Not with so much at stake. I plan on having my name on that ‘longest title reign’ board twice over, but equally I’m not passing on another opportunity to close your sh*t spewing mouth. I’ll show you why no one is my ‘puppet master’. I’ll show you I’m no one’s bitch, regardless of how many times you repeat it. You’re not safe behind your commentary desk any more and as a result anything you say you can be held accountable for in that ring. I’m going to tie you in f*cking knots Samwise and make you scream ‘uncle’. It’s time I got my apology.
As for Trace Demon? F*ck knows what he’s got in store for me next, but we’ll be having words very soon. I’ve had about enough of his smile to my face and then book me into a corner routine. He might be my boss, but the power lies in the money he makes, and let’s face it his company loses a f*cking lot of drawing power if I jump ship. Does he really think all these goody goodies can carry the company as far as I have? The last 2 year cycle, from Superbrawl to Superbrawl, has been the highest grossing this company has ever seen. Coincidence that I returned to the ring on that exact date? I think f*cking not. I don’t call myself The Man the People Paid to See just to bolster my insecurities. It’s a financially backed fact. Everything I’ve said up until this point has been backed up by irrefutable evidence so believe me when I say that no matter how dire things looked when this match was first announced, with a little work on my part I’m now confident that I’ll be walking into Superbrawl with both shoulders still adorned.
Now I’ve got to try and talk a woman down from trying to birth a f*cking werewolf.
I should consider a change in career. Hostage negotiations seem like a f*cking breeze compared to the two weeks I’ve had.
(A.K.A. A Little Manipulation Goes a Long Way)
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So once again it’s The Artist Formerly Known as THE GOOD GUY fighting his way through a pit of snakes. Now usually I’d be overflowing with confidence and running down each and every man, woman and child involved, but this time I’m not so sure. This time the odds seem so insurmountable that even my gonads of heroic proportions are shaking and shrivelling at a lightning pace.
I’m not scared. I just don’t like losing. I think I might actually be allergic to losing, so strong are my instincts to win every f*cking time. Who knows, the moment that referee’s hand hits the mat for a third time, whenever it eventually happens with my shoulders flat against it, my glands, face and tongue might just swell up and I’ll slip into anaphylactic shock and die. Die!
Losing is my bee sting, my peanut, my cat hair, all rolled into one horrifying ball of f*ck. Until now I’ve done a pretty damn good job of avoiding it at all costs but now I’ve got my epipen in my pocket just in case. Okay, okay, enough of the allergen references, but I think I got my point across, no?
Trace Demon, good old-buddy-old-pal that he is has booked me into quite the conundrum. I’m in a match with so many damn variables that it reads like a f*cking physics exam paper. There are friends who can’t decide if they’re really friends or not, there are friends who all want that coveted spot in the Superbrawl main event and now thanks to yet another Trace Demon about turn there are friends who stopped being friends a long time ago.
As if the Saviors of Salivation own circle jerk wasn’t messy enough, it’s now got a fluffing team forged out of the two members of The New Epoch not using a colostomy bag. Brennan’s not exactly made a beeline for me since he returned but it’s fair to say he’s also not the type for forgiving and forgetting, not that I ever really did anything to deserve such distain him. His reasons for taking me off the Brennan Christmas Newsletter starts and ends with my being better than him, if only by a margin, oh and perhaps a side dish of ‘getting f*cking bored of babysitting the drunk’. I tried folks, but I’m not a social worker, so if Dave has any kind of score to settle it’s a weak one at best. All the same though, wether his gripes are legitimate or not, Brennan’s a force, and not one I’ve ever enjoyed having in the other corner. He could stomp the woeful devil worship out of that p*ss stain of a partner he’s got, and Joshua Dean? Hmmmm. Could go either way really. Depends on the weather.
This isn’t about any of them though. Nope. As always the centre of attention, much to the chagrin of all other parties involved, is Sol Inviticus (it’s been a while since I’ve used that one). Drakz is the word. Everyone wants to know can Drakz keep his head above water when he’s got so much championship gold and so many milk drinkers weighing him down? Everyone wants to know how does the outcome of this match change Drakz’s momentum going into Superbrawl? Hell, everyone wants to know who will even be facing Drakz at Superbrawl?
There’s a lot more than just Tag Team Championships resting on this match. There’s a power shift of pretty grand proportions at play here, and I’m going to have to cover all bases before the bell rings to make sure I’m not swallowed by the sea of sh*t that stretches out for miles in every direction.
For too long the master of manipulation has relied solely on his in ring prowess. It’s time to see if I can still do what I turned into an art form. I need to blindly feel around amongst the writhing mass of serpents and grab that bansuri (that’s a flute like instrument you ignorant f*cks), put it to my lips, and become ‘The Snake Charmer’.
I know this has been pretty rife with homosexual imagery so far but if there’s not an LGBT porn star using that name then that community has really missed a trick.
Anywho, let the games begin!
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Stuck between a Stone & a Hard on
What the f*ck does he want?
A missed call from Dog. Well……it can stay missed. We’ve had little to no conversation in weeks now, perhaps it’s even edged into months. I’m past the point of counting or caring, although it is making my home life pretty awkward. Sharing a studio apartment with someone you aren’t talking to has a certain……..hang on did I say someone? He’s a dog. An animal. He isn’t a someone, he’s a something.
I slip my piece of sh*t phone back into my pocket. No multimedia to be found on this baby. That’s how they catch you. FBI tracking your phone’s location. Mind you I’m not a hard man to find. Two lumps of gold on my person most of the night and day, my face on posters with a time and place right beneath and that’s not to mention the fact I walk around in public holding conversation with what many would consider a pet. At the very least I’ve removed that last one from the equation though. Also why would the FBI want to talk to me? It’s not as if I’ve made a habit of beating the f*ck out of people and then killing their friends, family and coach. Shout out to Frank Lynn. Wut wuuuut.
#Ididn’tdoit.
In case you’re wondering, or need a clichéd intro to give you some point of reference, I’m walking down a hall way in the guts of the Chesapeake Energy Arena, which I would like to note is a f*cking abysmal name for a sports venue. How can we add to this? Erm it’s a dark and stormy night? I’m wearing…..what do you care what I’m wearing? This isn’t a smutty phone sex service.
Let me get to the point. I’d say about an hour ago a few things happened on live TV.
1. Josh, Cameron and Samael nearly had an orgy in the ring but then things got rough,
2. Trace booked a Tag Team Title match for the next show on this travelling circus’s tour.
3. I kneed Ahriman in the side of his head, looked cool as f*ck and then disappeared into the night like The Bat, or The Future, or one of the other cornbread egg suckers wearing their pants on the wrong side of their trousers.
Now I’m on the hunt to try and change the way the odds are weighted. As of right now I’m almost certain my time as a Tag Team Champion is up. Why so? Drakz. A crisis of confidence? It’s unheard of I know, but let me break it down for you. I’m defending them with my beloved partner and enemy Mr Dean which admittedly has worked surprisingly well up until now but you know as well as we do that we’ve been on thin ice since day one. Couple that whore of a waggon to the fact that my opponent, and current ally, Trace Demon (it still feels weird saying that) has the special guest referee in the palm of his hand aaaaaand the fact that the fourth participant is the very man I just put down for the night aaaaaand that both he and the referee, Cameron Stone are bosom buddies with my partner, and suddenly the air smells distinctly of collusion and conspiracy. It’s not just me is it? This whole thing screams of set up doesn’t it?
Well I for one want to check Stone’s privilege. The privilege of main eventing a Superbrawl with me that is. The Prince of Poutine needs to play ball.
*Knock Knock*
“Yeah?”
Rude.
“That’s no way to address your World Heavyweight Champion.”
The door swings open and Cameron Stone looms over me, filling the doorway like the big cuddly pile of sh*t that he is. He doesn’t look very pleased to see me. I melodramatically look down and check my trousers are buttoned.
“Sorry. I thought by the look on your face that I was maybe p*ssing on your shoes without realising. Lighten the f*ck up Hollywood, I bring good tidings.”
I push past him and he obviously wants to hear me out, otherwise I wouldn’t have made it into his locker room. Of course I’ve got the World Heavyweight and Tag Team Championship with me. Bringing props to your negotiations tends to help, as it makes you seem important enough to offer the other party something they want, of course in this case that isn’t just a mirage, more of a visual cue.
“Start talking. I was about to leave.”
“Why in such a hurry mate? You’ve not got anywhere else to be right now. They’ve not started filming on the next Twilight film yet have they?”
Is there going to be another one? I’ve no idea. Is Stone going to be in it? Two for two. Couldn’t give a f*ck. Once this schmuck walks out of the WFWF doors for good his life means nothing to me. Right now though everything he does plays a big part in where I’m going next.
“I thought I said start talking?”
“And I did.”
I sit myself down and adjust the Heavyweight Championship slung over my shoulder, wasting just a little more time. I’m the one in charge here. I can’t have a Z-list commentator calling the shots. Stone closes his eyes and sighs, I think now realising that the more he protests the more I’ll try to push his buttons.
“So. What happened earlier on?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly what I said. What happened earlier on?”
“I got screwed by Trace Demon……..again. I’m your special referee which I assume is what you’re here to talk about?”
“Astute my boy, but it wasn’t Trace who screwed you out there. It looked to me that there were a couple of so called friends letting their egos bend you over. I don’t remember seeing Trace Demon throw a punch at you after all?”
He knows I’m right, but he won’t admit it. United we stand, blah blah blah.
“A misunderstanding. Are we done here?”
“Sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Suit yourself. I find it easier to wax lyrical on future title shots when I’m sat down personally.”
His eyebrow raises.
“You’re right I’m here to talk about your very important role in my future, but depending on how that pans out you could be promoted substantially in the hierarchy of ‘people who can f*ck with the champ’. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“I’m not helping you win if that’s what you want. I didn’t go that far for Trace, and I won’t do it for you either.”
Noble ’til the end. He’s taken the bait though. Give him the impression I want something huge from him and then when I ask for a simple vow of neutrality he’ll jump on it, like Nikki Dean mounting any of a legion of hard c*cks.
“Come on Hollywood, I know what kind of a man you are. Do you really think I’d come here and ask you of all people to do something that might bring your high horse to it’s knees?”
Easy now Isaac. You’ve got to be nice to him, if only for 5 minutes.
“Sorry, what I mean to say is you’re a man who feels his value and his morals are intertwined. I know you’d never stoop to those levels. There is also the fact I don’t need any help to keep in mind as well. I won the Tag Team Titles on my own. People would do well to remember that, you included. Josh and I might have our………differences, but I still think he’s a damn sight better than Ahriman, and Trace? I’m 3 and 1 against that red haired f*cker. So no, it’s not an unfair advantage I’m after. What I want is a guarantee.”
“Nothing’s guaranteed. You know that as well as I do.”
“Ah but this is very much in your hands. The only way this guarantee voids is if you make it so.”
Give him the power. Shine up his apple.
“This could be your last chance at something big Cameron. I say ‘could’ because like you said there are no such things as guarantees. What I’m offering you is to forget whatever Trace Demon has whispered in your ear. He’s not the champion, I am.”
“Yeah but he’s the boss so I figure he’s got more say in it than you.”
“And who decides on whether I turn up or not? Who decides if I even get out of bed the morning of Superbrawl?”
Everyone thinks Trace Demon has his hand up my arse. The Puppet Champion they like to s
behind my back, but what they don’t realise is there’s only one f*cking man who gets into that ring and his name is…….well…..it’s me.Stone chooses not to respond so I continue.
“Trace can book whatever title match he wants but if the champion doesn’t show then the match doesn’t happen.”
“He’d just strip you.”
Steady on.
“What? And give the title to you? Haha. Let’s say even if he did decide not to keep it for himself, which admittedly would be quite the betrayal of character, and let’s say instead of declaring open season for contenders he just plants the belt on whoever was supposed to face me, and for the sake of argument let’s say that that person was you……….then what? Your last moment in the sun goes on as normal? Bull cum. Gallons and f*cking gallons of it. Your special sendoff would fall flat as Dex’s crotch.”
“What?”
“It was a eunuch joke. Keep up Hollywood. That’s not the important part anyway, what’s important is the fact that you would be a total f*cking farce. Oh you held the World Heavyweight Championship? Who did you beat? F*cking nobody, that’s who. No one can seriously say, without a waver of a smile, that they’re the champion unless they beat ME. I’m the longest reigning champion in this company’s history. F*ck Thunder and his 519 days as International Chump. F*ck what the records say, Josh didn’t stop my number from totting up. By the time Superbrawl rolls around I will have been Heavyweight Champion for over 2 years. What I’m trying to say Cam is that if you really want a shot at the biggest prize, with the biggest payoff on the biggest stage, then you have to go through me. Not Trace Demon. Not Lila Sleater. Drakz.“
“You’ve been rambling for 10 minutes now and you still haven’t even told me what it is you want.”
Stone isn’t shy about the fact he wants me out of here, even if my presence benefits him.
“Absolute neutrality. No funny business. I don’t want you in cahoots with Ahriman. I don’t want you getting your own back on Josh for what happened earlier on. I don’t even want you to stick a middle finger in Trace’s face by screwing him over. Right down the middle. That’s all I ask.”
“So I do that and it’s Superbrawl all the way for us?”
“The whole 9 yards. Have the cake and eat it. Do the deal. You want any more reassurance? I’m a man of my word Cam and I need you to understand just how much these Tag Titles mean to me. I wouldn’t just offer this kind of thing to anyone either. Do you think I’d so much as look at Cam Nitta if he were the one calling the match? No, this comes from me because I know we can do something special at Superbrawl, and I need to know you’re willing to put on a clinic, not some mind game, cheap trick bull sh*t if I grant you that opportunity. After all, who’s the only man with a pin fall over me in 4 years?”
“Josh Dean?”
Sh*t I forgot about that.
“Who’s the only other man with a pin fall over me in 4 years?”
Stone smirks and I’m reminded that a bit of ego massaging goes a long way. Should I ask about his upcoming acting work is that just going to come off as gut churningly forced? Probably best not to overdo it.
“So we’re in agreement?”
“Hell, I never intended on calling this match anything but professionally anyway, but if you’re going to start throwing title matches around like you are then I’m hardly going to turn you down. I’m smart enough to know that this is my last chance. If I’m going to promise this though I need your guarantee that there’s no funny business on your end either. Trace has done nothing but use his offer as a way to f*ck with me and, let’s be honest, you’re more than capable and more than liable to do the same.”
I want to sarcastically act offended but I know at this point I just need to reassure the man that everything I’ve said is gospel.
“Trace enjoys playing war games more than I do. At this point in my career Cam I just want to put on a show. This offer stands regardless of what anyone else might say after the fact. I can put it in writing if you’d prefer?”
“It’s fine. I figure at this stage you’ve got more to lose by denying me. You’ve got enough people after that elusive British scalp as it is, without adding another to the list. I assume you want to walk out of Superbrawl as the champion?”
“A champion never fights to lose, so yeah I plan on continuing this record breaking reign well beyond our date at The Rose Bowl.”
“Then be sure you’re not lying to me, because if you are I’ll make history another way. I’ll cost you your match against which ever lucky son of a b*tch happens to make it into that main event.”
“Are you threatening me Hollywood?”
“Consider it more of a contingency. I can’t allow you to be the only one with leverage here.”
I chuckle at the apparent wiles of this old dog and yet I know there’s no reason for me to lie about any of this. My offer is a win/win for me. I get the assurance I need going into this Tag Team Title defence and then I get to destroy Cameron Stone in front of the world. The cameras will close out on the biggest wrestling spectacle of all time with me and my championships filling their lenses.
“You drive a hard bargain but you’ve got my word on this one Stone.”
Like the honest businessman that I am I offer my hand to Stone and he narrows his eyes before shaking it. There’s no way he trusts me but he’s made it clear that he won’t accept my going back on this and that seems to be enough for him.
“Well, weren’t you about to leave? I’ll leave you to attend to your urgent business.”
I stand up and as I walk past him I feign a slip on the tiles and drop the Heavyweight Championship. To no one’s surprise Stone catches it and I wait a moment, letting him get a good look at it before taking it back.
“Heavy, isn’t it?”
And with that I turn and walk out of the locker room, nefarious gasses jetting from my every pore. Stage one complete.
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Casa Dean
“What the f*ck do you want?”
Hardly the greeting I’d expected from my tag partner of over 9 months. I even brought my title belt to remind him of the ties that bind. You’d think that with all of the victories we’ve amassed that by now there’d be at least a hint of some form of symbiosis, but the intonation in his voice when he says ‘you’ is evidence enough that we’re still only doing this because we have to.
“Come now Josh, we’ve got strategy to discuss.”
I move to walk past him and into his family home, but he immediately puts up more resistance than Stone did. An open hand meets my chest and holds me at bay and there’s a real fire in Josh’s eyes when he asks me again:
“What the f*ck do you want?”
“I want to get a handle on how we’re going to defend our Tag Team Championships again in a few days time. Does there have to be more to it then that?”
“There doesn’t have to be no, but I’ve come to learn that with Isaac Cray there always is. Why are you at my house? This is where my wife lives. This is where my children live. You don’t bring your sh*t here. You got that?”
He takes a step back into this home he won’t stop banging on about, and I see the door come swinging toward me. I step forward and the toe of my boot stops the wood from fully entering the hole. Josh looks down at the blockage and then back up at me before pushing through the doorway and back into me. I stagger back a pace or two and he gets right up in my face. I like this new angry variant from the Josh Dean collection.
“Did I not make myself clear? You do not come here!”
Every word is punctuated by an index finger jamming into my sternum.
“I’m not stupid enough to beat the p*ss out of you when we’re off the clock but I will call the police if you don’t get back on your bike and pedal the f*ck out of here.”
Bike? I caught the bus. Normal citizen that I am.
“Josh. Buddy. Come now. I needed to find you on short notice and I figured this would be the place to look seeing as you weren’t at the office.”
“You went to the office?”
“You think I’d come and ruffle your feathers at home as a first choice?”
The king of sincerity is at it again.
“In case you hadn’t noticed I take our reign as Tag Team Champions very seriously.”
I adjust the tag title belt on my shoulder as I say it.
“I intend on setting more records before I up and keel over and there’s one mere inches from my grasp.”
“What’s that got to do with me, and more importantly why is it so urgent that it couldn’t wait?”
“375 days.”
“What is?”
“That’s how long Alex Sean & DGX held these championships for.”
“I’m sure you’ll get to the point soon.”
“Do you know what the date is today Josh?”
“Seriously?”
“Well?”
I can see his patience quickly thinning but like almost everyone he wants to know what I have to say, even if he acts to the contrary.
“August 26th.”
“Exactly! Which means we’re 2 days from tying that very record. Or at least…..I am. Can you believe that?”
“You came here to get all giddy about a three figure number?”
“I came because we’ve achieved this whilst at each other’s throats. We’ve very nearly eclipsed the longest Tag Team Championship reign in history and we’ve never even tried to actually be a team.”
I can see that fire burn brighter in his eyes again after he seemed to have calmed, if only a little.
“Are you crazy? I f*cking mean that. Are you actually suffering with some long ignored mental health issues? How can you even begin to expect us to ever work as a team, or did jumping off that cage erase everything you did in the last year?”
His lip has curled showing me just how hard his teeth are grit. This one isn’t going to be so easy.
“I know I’ve not been the most supportive….”
“HA! Supportive? Eat sh*t Drakz, even you can’t deny the lengths you went to, back at that pathetic award ceremony, to undermine and belittle me. You’ve done nothing but try and get under my skin since the moment my name was uttered in the same sentence as yours. I suppose I should respect you in some f*cked up kind of way, because whatever it is you’re doing it seems to have worked. You’re still the champion, but I’ve got a feeling your back is starting to edge against the wall.”
He’s calming down again. Maybe I should try to avoid talking too much? The sound of his own voice seems to have a sedative effect. I bet he jerks off in the mirror.
“Such a waste….”
“What?”
That you’d rather stare at your own abs than spray onto your wive’s.
“What I meant to say was, what gives you that impression?”
Smooth? His eyes narrow but he continues all the same.
“For one it’s hard for you to keep up this whole ‘lone wolf’ routine when you’re top and tailing with Trace Demon. Neither of you have ever played well with others and I figure you must both be feeling pretty desperate to change that now. I’m interested to see how the pair of you, with very different, self serving agendas, keep from collapsing in on yourselves. There’s no room for two at the top and you know it as well as I do that Trace isn’t willing to play second fiddle for long.”
Joshua laying down truth, but to the surprise of no one I’ve known all of this from the moment this raggedy alliance began. I’m doing what I have to do to keep my crown. Greasy though it may be.
“And you think that’s enough to warrant thinking I’m stuck in a corner? Surely you know I’m harder to pin down than that Joshua?”
Keep him from seizing up.
“If things were going well would you be at my house trying to hand me some limp, wilting olive branch? You’re scared aren’t you? You’re scared that maybe Trace is trying to pull something that you can’t work out.”
Scared? I wouldn’t go that far. I’m not a pimply kid asking Rebecca to the f*cking prom. I do have my……..concerns, but they’re pretty legitimate. I’ve got a throne to maintain and defend. You can’t fight battles on all sides and expect to win.
“Listen, we both know Trace isn’t the most trustworthy of Demons…..”
Josh laughs at my obvious understatement.
“But I don’t think he wants me to lose. It would make him look bad. He wants to pick the winning horse, even if he then plans on taking that horse to the knacker yard, after the race, and having it melted down into glue. If he’s going to break me down he’ll pick his shots.”
“Then answer me this………why David Brennan? Why after setting up this match, splitting two groups of ‘friends’ and pitting them against each other, does he bow out and add Brennan into the mix? Something doesn’t add up.”
He’s right. I was already on this little pilgrimage around the WFWF roster before David was thrown into the mix, and now? Now I’m even less certain I know what’s going on.
“David’s in there because it makes for good TV. That’s all Trace cares about. You have to remember he’s the man in charge as well as the wrestler we know. He’s got ratings and cash flow to think about. Next to him in the match who else makes for a controversial opponent? He’s simply chosen the next man with a history that’s as tangled in my pubes as his is.”
Quite the metaphor.
“David’s a threat, no doubt, but he’s also prone to self medication, violent mood swings and a feeling of abhorrence for the self righteous. I can’t see he and Ahriman getting along too well, can you?”
“Do they need to? What was it you were just saying about 375 days?”
Again, he’s right. Both men are capable ring hands, but comparing them to us? Let’s not get carried away now. I’m the greatest mother f*cker this business has ever seen. There aren’t many parallels to be drawn between me, a two bit commentator with a penchant for toy swords and a pickled skin head.
“Do you know why else August 26th is significant Josh?”
“Should I?”
Everybody should.
“2 years ago, to the day, I won the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship. I beat Dex. I beat Jayson Garrett. I beat Trace Demon. All at the same time.”
Those flames flicker as I pour fuel on them. Will you walk into my parlour?
“2 years have passed since then and I am still the champion. No one has ever even come close to matching that kind of record.”
Tis the prettiest little parlour that you ever did spy……
“This isn’t some padded reign made up of hollow defences either. The show has featured an all star cast: Trace Demon……again, Phillip Schneider…….again, Samael Ahriman and………someone else. I swear there was another important one?”
Don’t over do it Isaac. He’s about to bite.
“You’re a f*cking piece of sh*t. You can’t even make it through one conversation, even one where you’re trying to vie for my cooperation, without trying to provoke me. Maybe you’re actually just simple? Everyone makes out as though you’re a savant but it seems to me you’re so wrapped up in this ego you’ve created that you can’t actually see past it. You’re on your own partner.”
Josh turns and goes back to his door only to quickly realise the yale has locked him outside. He takes a deep breath knowing he can’t escape me as quickly as he’d hoped before knocking and waiting for someone to come and let him back into his own home.
“You want to be the one to do it don’t you?”
He tries to ignore me and just stands, staring at the front door.
“Imagine being the one to finally knock the greatest champion of all time off his pedestal. Imagine how sweet that taste would be after everything I’ve put you through. Now multiply it ten fold because you did it on the biggest stage the world can offer you.
Imagine main eventing Superbrawl IX and winning……………”
Josh doesn’t turn to face me but he does respond.
“I suppose I wasn’t clear enough the first, or even the second time……….what do you want from me Drakz?”
“To get onto the same page as me.”
He begins to turn around just as we both hear the latch unlock. The door opens a crack and I make eye contact with Nikki Dean who freezes on seeing me on her front porch. Next is Drake leaning around his surrogate Father to see who the visitor is. He stands there, wide eyed. He knows exactly who I am. Josh puts his hands on Drake’s shoulders and, having now turned to face me, speaks over his shoulder to his wife.
“Nik, take Drake back inside will you? Just leave the latch off. I’ll let myself back in when I’m done out here.”
Nikki’s still looking right back at me, not moving or paying heed to any of her husband’s words.
“Nikki?”
The repetition of her name seems to break the trance and without saying another word she reaches down and takes Drake by the wrist, leading him back into the family home, the whole time he looks over his shoulder at me. The door closes and our privacy is restored.
“He’s growing up……”
“Don’t talk to me about him……..or her for that matter. They’re off limits to you and everyone else in that locker room now. Nikki left our business and as far as I’m concerned the moment she did she just became another civilian to you. Now, what were you saying about my title shot?”
Hook…..
“It’s nothing all that complicated Josh. If we win in our next foray as a team then I’ll give you that opportunity. The rest, as they say, is up to you.”
Line…..
“In that case I suppose I’ll see you at Superbrawl…….champ.”
And sinker.
“Don’t get cocky now Mr Dean, people might start thinking I’ve rubbed off on you.
Phrasing.
“We’ve got a formidable set of mountains to climb before we get that far. Not least of which is the one in a striped shirt. Your little lover’s tiff with Cameron hasn’t done us any favours. I know I’d be counting at two different speeds if I was in his position.”
“I’ll talk with him. Things got heated in that ring and we both made some poor choices, but Cam and I are good friends.”
I shouldn’t worry too much about his allegiances. My offer has that pinned in place. No doubt he won’t say a word about it to Josh though.
“Well, I guess I’ll get out of your hair then, let you get back to your family barbecue, or movie night, or whatever the f*ck functioning households do with their spare time.”
He smiles out of one side of his mouth.
“Have you ever considered it? Starting a family?”
“I’m not Father material…….or husband material for that matter. Not to mention I like w*nking on the sofa too much.”
Josh laughs and there’s a moment, albeit the briefest, where an outside perspective could have seen us as friends. Josh senses it though and throws his defence right back up in fear of making too great of a connection with someone like me. I can’t say that I blame him.
“You might want to talk to Ahriman as well. I’d hate for the pair of you to get into an argument over little old me. If you do see him, tell him I hear sticking to a low sodium diet should help with the swelling.”
Just like with Stone I make sure it’s me leaving, not the other way around and as I walk up the path I take my phone out to check the time. A missed call and a voicemail. From Dog. You’d think he’d take the hint after 3 weeks of my not answering his calls. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks but to be honest I don’t even know how old he is. Nor do I give any f*cks.
Message deleted.
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Into the Crowe's Nest
What the f*ck do they want? The terrible twosome have come to greet me as I enter the building, and honestly terrible doesn’t even come close to doing them justice. Speedwaggon and the soviet one come marching down the hallway toward me and I simply hold up both of my middle fingers for them.
“One for each of you.”
“Does the boss know you are with us?”
“I don’t listen to Springfield. I thought I’d made that public knowledge? Do they even have country c*ck rock in Russia?”
No answer, of course. I just walk right past the two of them. They’re small time. I’m big time. Big time doesn’t stop for small time. Everyone knows that.
“You can not just come in here like this.”
I stop and turn to face him. Speedwaggon just kind of existing in the peripheral, not wanting to engage.
“Listen Natasha, I’ve got business with Lucas, that’s enough. He’s a big boy, potty trained and everything and I don’t need to speak to his minder every time I feel the need to speak to him. F*ck your inane questions. F*ck Justin Tyme and his failure of a career. F*ck you and your sobaka like obedience. Anything else? No? Excellent, go and grab me a glass of water would you?”
He looks horrified, but what do I care? I leave them both in the corridor and head towards the sound of gloves on bag, the shots clearly being thrown by someone a damn sight bigger and stronger than me. Let’s hope he’s as receptive to persuasion as I think he is.
“What did that bag ever do to you champ?”
Crowe throws one more huge hook that sends the bag swinging before turning to me, panting heavily.
“Nice to see you training this hard for a throw away tag match.”
He smiles in between deep breaths and starts to undo the velcro on his MMA gloves.
“No such thing as throw away………when you’re not at the top.”
He’s got a workhorse ethic that I have to respect. He knows the only way to that top he just mentioned is through hard work. Well, it’s either that or relatively hard work and a lot of smarts. The gloves are off and he reaches one of those dinner plate like hands toward me.
“Nice to see you Lucas.”
We shake and he nods at me.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Straight to business. I suppose you can;t have learned that from Tyme. He’s a stickler for dancing around the point in the hope it’ll grease up the hole before he fists it.”
“Haha. Perhaps. I put it down to working the door at clubs for so long. Not much time for conversation when the queue’s ‘round the block.”
“Quite. I like a man who cuts to the root, perhaps because I’m so used to the absolute opposite, having worked in the business I do for so long. I won’t patronise you then. I’m here for one reason Crowe. I want you to stay out of my business at Horizon. I’m not implying you’re not helpful to have around. Not at all. It’s just that the King Kong deal, you carrying me out of the cage back at Black Hole Sun, has kind of made things a little…..difficult for me recently. I’ve gone from the eater of worlds to a bit of a joke based on how my last two title defences have gone. Don’t get me wrong, no one would f*cking dare say that to my face, and they’d be right to keep it to themselves, but I just feel as though it’s time I reminded the locker room, and the world, who I f*cking am.”
Crowe doesn’t look offended, which to me shows Tyme isn’t instilling as much of his character into his protégé as he’d like. The less Crowe acts like that washed up Scrooge McDuck the more I like the guy.
“I get it. I said about the same to those two hanging around out in the hallway. Unlike them though I’m able to take instruction. You mind if I ask you something though?”
“Please.”
“Why did Trace pick Brennan as his replacement instead of me?”
A silence follows that I scramble to fill, but what do I fill it with? I’ve as much idea as him. It would have made all the sense in the world to even the f*ckery out with another man on our wavelength, but instead we get Brennan, a man with no allegiances and a somewhat unpredictable temperament.
“I don’t know the reason he would give to you, but I’ve got a feeling I know the reason he’d keep to himself. Our working relationship is kind of agreed on a handshake. Nothing binding. If I’ve learnt anything about Trace over the years it’s that he wants what he wants, and he’ll do anything in his power to get it. Now that he’s the principal owner of the f*cking company that means that aforementioned power knows very little in the way of limits. What does he want? Well, what does he always want? To be WFWF World Heavyweight Champion, but he’s tried to do it the honest way and I shut him down. So now? Befriend me, quite forcibly, and then act as though he has my best interests at heart while systematically wearing me down to a nub. What better way to do that than, a few weeks before Superbrawl, putting me in a ring with 4 men who hate me? If he can’t beat me then he’ll work me until someone else can. Then he’ll just beat them instead. Hell, it could even be you he chooses!”
Trace can offer this man a lot more than I can, so who am I to expect his loyalty when my lynching comes?
“Heh, maybe it will, but for now I’m your hired gun to point at whoever you want. I’ve got reason to soften Brennan up already, I could always ensure sure he never makes it to Horizon?”
“Like I said, I want to run this solo. Win, lose or draw. After that final bell though you’re free to do what you want. Once Christa Adina chimes in with the winner’s names our agreement is done. You’re off the leash, so to speak.”
“Lucas……”
We both glance over at the doorway to the gym and the Russian is standing there looking a little perplexed.
“A sobaka has just wandered in. Sorry, I forget the American word. It has four legs and a tail.”
F*ck sake I know who he’s talking about.
“A cat?”
“A dog.”
“Yes, a dog. Shall I kill it?”
“Kill it? What the f*ck man?”
I address the International Champion.
“I’m pretty sure I know which dog he’s talking about. Excuse me. It’s been a pleasure as always Lucas.”
I shake his hand again as I move to head on out.
“Don’t worry about our conversation either. I’ll keep myself to myself, regardless of what anyone else tells me.”
I wink at him and feel as though he’s being really genuine. I’ve got a lot of time for this man. He knows when to just shut up and listen. A lot of people in the WFWF could learn a thing or two from him.
Now, on to what I can only imagine is going to be a f*cking awkward conversation.
Just as expected Dog is waiting, pacing up and down in the hallway with Speedwaggon watching him like a hawk.
“There’s some bad juju going on with this one.”
He’s not wrong there.
“Take a tea break Reo. This one’s more than you can handle.”
I walk past Dog and he knows to just follow as I head for the exit. I’m not standing in front of any of this lot and holding a conversation with a mongrel. That’s the weirdest part about my relationship with Dog. I talk to him and he talks back and yet I’m still very much aware of the fact that to anyone else I must look completely f*cking insane. It’s an unsettling juxtaposition of down the rabbit hole madness and complete objectivity. I’m a complicated guy alright?
“You’ve not returned my calls.”
What am I, his f*cking boy friend?
“Did it not occur to you that perhaps there’s a reason for that?”
We keep walking away from the annex of the Tyme complex, back down the driveway toward the security guard I anaesthetised.
“I need your help.”
“I’m sure, but I’m not feeling all that generous these days.”
“I need advice. Who the f*ck else can I ask?”
I imagine he should have thought about his lack of capable homo-sapien friends before he p*ssed this one off so royally.
“Can’t you ask your girl friend? Whatever the f*ck she was called? Urgh.”
“She’s part of the problem.”
“I’m sure she is. She’s f*cking bat sh*t crazy. I thought you’d have established that the moment she let you put your d*ck in her mouth. Most normal people just aren’t that hungry mate.”
“Daphne’s pregnant…….”
HO-LEE- F*CK!
“F*uuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”
“The word creaks out of me like an iceberg on the brink of collapse and I’m stunned to a stand still. This is almost the most messed up thing anyone’s ever told me. Almost.”
“I know right?”
‘I mean…….sh*t…….wow…….I don’t even know where to begin with that one. That is beyond even my level of comprehension, and I f*cked my own half sister.“
Wow, I must be shocked. I’ve never made light of that one out in the open before.
“I need your help Isaac. I know I’ve been a c*nt recently but a man does stupid things when he’s in love.”
A dog. You’re a f*cking dog, not a man.
“I don’t know what advice I could honestly give other than kill it……now. How far along is she?”
“The longest it could possibly be is 20 weeks, which means I’ve got 2 weeks until my only option is a nasty fall.”
“So why are we even having this conversation? F*cking go man!”
He falls quiet and I can see the desperation in his eyes.
“Oh sh*t. No? Surely not?”
“She wants to keep it.”
Okay this has now successfully leapfrogged into pole position in the ‘most f*cked up’ stakes.
“So, what? You want me to talk her round to the idea? Mate, she’s clearly got serious mental health issues. I mean, you must know that? I’m not trying to insult you here, I’m just looking at the facts I’m presented with. She wants to go ahead with birthing a human-canine hybrid that will no doubt, 100%, spoiler alert, come out dead to the f*cking world. Hell, in that case cut that b*tch off and let her do it. They’ll lock her up…….I think? Is it illegal? I mean, surely it’s illegal right?”
“It depends on the state.”
“Then send her to one that will lock her up, problem solved.”
“What if it’s not stillborn though? What if she actually keeps my living, breathing child?”
“You’re f*cking kidding me right? What? Are you worried she’ll come after you for child support money? It’s a done deal mate, there is 0 chance of that DNA clusterf*ck coming to anything but a strung out hairy mess that will probably get stored in formaldehyde and displayed in a medical museum so that no nut jobs make the same mistake again.”
“But what if you’re wrong? Please Isaac, just come with me and try and talk some sense into her. Maybe another opinion on the matter will help sway her decision? I need this!”
Well, today just got a whole lot more interesting to say the least.
“F*ck man. Okay, whatever. Did you bring the car?”
“Oh my God, thank you! Yeah of course, it’s just parked on the next street along.”
We walk past the security cabin at the open gate and I toss a balled up $20 through the window onto the unconscious guard. He’ll need that once Justin Tyme fires him. It’s the least I can do.
“I was worried you’d say no. I’ve been at my wits end. I’m not equipped to deal with this kind of thing.”
“I mean family planning’s not really my forte, crazies on the other hand, I’ve had more than enough experience with them. They can be stubborn, but a little manipulation goes a long way.”
Story of my life this past week.
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Well short of hypnosis I’ve done everything within my capacity to stop the battlefield from resembling the Hawkmen’s battle platform thing in the Flash Gordon movie. That is to say that, metaphorically, the ground isn’t moving, nor are there spikes thrusting from it.
I’ve spoken to every moving part that stood a chance of listening. There’s no point in trying to reason with my opponents because, let’s face it, they want to beat me. The rest of the gang though just needed setting straight. Now notice that I haven’t tried to skew things in my favour. I haven’t bribed the referee into favouring me. I haven’t asked my mercenary to intervene. Quite the opposite. I never wanted this to be an easy ride. I was telling the absolute truth when I said to Crowe I want this match to serve as a reminder to those that have forgotten what I’m capable of. I merely did the rounds to make sure I wasn’t fighting this whole thing with my left hand, and sure I made a couple of offers that might end up contradicting one another but I’ll f*ck that bridge when I come to it.
So now for a quick look at the remaining, more capricious, elements in my upcoming match.
The more interesting of the two men is of course my former running buddy, one David Brennan. Here’s a man who, for no rhyme or reason, has decided he’s had enough of playing with Daddy’s money, or was it following around a Christian missionary? Either way he’s decided his true calling is putting the boots to those that need it most, and this week? That’s me. This isn’t the first, nor will it be the last time me and Dave lock horns, but his teaming with Ahriman will probably fall under both of those narratives. They lose and everything carries on as before. He drifts ever closer to Superbrawl and his match with Crowe, while Ahriman disappears from the collective mind and eventually the WFWF, finally appreciated as the anti-climax he’s always worked so hard to be. They win? We’ve got new champions. Hoorah! Then what? Can you really see Brennan lacing up each week and going out there with Samael f*cking Ahriman? I mean I know me and Josh don’t see eye to eye but Brennan? He’s a total liability when it comes to attendance or punctuality. Ahriman would have a string of handicap defences, if he even made it through the first, and then we’re back to the previous outcome. Brennan continues doing whatever it is he’s come back here to do, whilst Ahriman drifts off.
Now I’ve said it aloud Brennan doesn’t actually sound that interesting at all does he?
I’d always had such high hopes for the boy and yet here we are, 4 years removed from the dissolution of The New Epoch and he’s still not got a title to his name. Me? Since going it alone? Come on, really? I talk about it enough. Let’s not get into that now. It’s funny to me that now, Brennan’s first real shot at gold in quite some time, comes at my expense. Even if some weird residue of companionship still resides within me from that bygone era, for me to see Brennan finally succeed I have to be willing to fall myself, and there’s not enough antihistamines in the world to help me back up again.
I know that every time I go out there with Josh as my partner I’m running the risk of defeat. A tag team match has so much more room for the unexpected, especially with a dynamic like ours. You’d think I’d have to put a lot of faith into my partner to be willing to go out there and put my 22 strong streak of victories on the line but you’d only be half right. I have to put a sh*t tonne of faith in myself, no one else, that I can get the job done, no matter what happens out there. Josh walks out on me, I still have to win. Josh looks about to give up, I still have to win. Somehow, some way Drakz, The Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer, HAS to pull it off, and guess what? I always do. No matter the odds. No matter the opponents. I always scrape through.
Isn’t that right Sam? This time is going to be different for us though. At Black Hole Sun I tried to cripple you, and I came within a hair’s breadth of following through on that M.O. This time around I won’t get so excitable. No room for error. Not with so much at stake. I plan on having my name on that ‘longest title reign’ board twice over, but equally I’m not passing on another opportunity to close your sh*t spewing mouth. I’ll show you why no one is my ‘puppet master’. I’ll show you I’m no one’s bitch, regardless of how many times you repeat it. You’re not safe behind your commentary desk any more and as a result anything you say you can be held accountable for in that ring. I’m going to tie you in f*cking knots Samwise and make you scream ‘uncle’. It’s time I got my apology.
As for Trace Demon? F*ck knows what he’s got in store for me next, but we’ll be having words very soon. I’ve had about enough of his smile to my face and then book me into a corner routine. He might be my boss, but the power lies in the money he makes, and let’s face it his company loses a f*cking lot of drawing power if I jump ship. Does he really think all these goody goodies can carry the company as far as I have? The last 2 year cycle, from Superbrawl to Superbrawl, has been the highest grossing this company has ever seen. Coincidence that I returned to the ring on that exact date? I think f*cking not. I don’t call myself The Man the People Paid to See just to bolster my insecurities. It’s a financially backed fact. Everything I’ve said up until this point has been backed up by irrefutable evidence so believe me when I say that no matter how dire things looked when this match was first announced, with a little work on my part I’m now confident that I’ll be walking into Superbrawl with both shoulders still adorned.
Now I’ve got to try and talk a woman down from trying to birth a f*cking werewolf.
I should consider a change in career. Hostage negotiations seem like a f*cking breeze compared to the two weeks I’ve had.
