Post by King Richius on Jul 15, 2018 16:19:39 GMT -5
Prologue: In the Middle of the Night
Framingham, MA : July 9, 2018
The clock on the microwave shines like a beacon in the dimly lit kitchen, leaving no doubt that it is the middle of the f***ing night and I should be asleep.
Instead, I’m cradling our daughter Laura in my arms amazed by the fact that she is drinking warm milk from a bottle. Hopefully she goes on to much bigger and better achievements in her life but for now this is the best damn thing I’ve ever seen. I feel like the Grinch in that scene where his heart grows three sizes.
Minutes later, the baby has been fed, burped (without spitting up on daddy’s t-shirt - yay for small victories), and returned to her crib to go back to sleep.
I try to emulate her and crawl under the covers next to Sarah, who is fully awake and waiting for me.
This has to stop.
I’m pretty sure feeding the baby is something we have to do.
Heh. Funny. You know what I mean.
I do.
The baby is supposed to wake us up, not the other way around.
The dreams again. I had woken up with a yell in a cold sweat to find that I had disturbed the baby. My turn or not, I was the one who would deal with Laura while Sarah tried not to worry that the big dumb wrestler would drop the baby on her head.
Sorry.
Sorry won’t cut it. Deal with it. I don’t care how. Just figure it out.
That was it. Sarah rolled over and was out like a light. I just lay there doing stupid s*** like counting sheep in an attempt to get back to sleep.
WFWF Second to None RP
JUSTIFIED
featuring Frank Lynn
”Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.” - William Dement
Framingham, MA : June 25, 2018
Turn the Other Cheek
I owe somebody an apology.
Mesh.
The odd little girl with the odd little name.
I’m not blind. Just like everybody else, I see something special in you. I didn’t see just how special though before our match. Nobody, myself included, gave you a snowball’s chance in hell of winning.
All of us almost ending up eating s*** when you pushed me to my limits. Yes, you lost but damn girl! I asked you to come to the ring, put up a fight, and know when it was time to quit. You got two out of three but there is no quit in you. You weren’t giving up. I had to BEAT you… which I did.
I underestimated you. It won’t happen again, I can promise you that.
I’m not going to apologize for pinning you. It’s what we do. Judging from your reaction after the match, you get it. You know that sometimes looking good in a loss is better than looking bad in a win. Your stock is still on the rise.
I am going to apologize for the actions of my manager. Daphne was the only person who gave you a chance in our match. Whether it is because she saw more in you than the rest of us or she let paranoia get the better of her doesn’t matter. She saw you as a legitimate threat and that led to her making some bad decisions.
I’m sorry.
You deserved a clean match where the better wrestler won, not the better cheater. I hope I nipped Daphne's s*** in the bud and gave you the match you deserved.
Listen carefully to this next part: You won’t get many clean matches in the WFWF so enjoy them while you can.
You’ve already seen it happen twice before when your opponents said f*** the rules and beat your @$$ like a government mule. There will come a time when you have to ask yourself how long can you turn the other cheek.
It’s a problem that has been encountered countless times through the ages resulting in enough idioms to fill a book.
Fight fire with fire.
Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.
An eye for an eye.
I’ve had to cross the line before and will most assuredly have to cross it again. Sometimes survival trumps all.
No matter how necessary my indiscretions were, they always left a sour taste in my mouth. I didn’t want our match to leave a sour taste in my mouth. Daphne almost ruined both of our nights by going too far. You didn’t deserve it. You’re not Trace Demon or Ante Whitner or Michael Kyzer or Phillip Schneider…
…or Drakz!
Watch out for that one. He’s a dirty rotten bastard. He may be the king of the bastards based on his record breaking World Championship reign.
He’s unapologetic in his brutality. He’s already put me though some electrical equipment damn near killing me. He’s already beat me unconscious with a steel chair while I was handcuffed to a ring post. If he did it once, he’ll do it again.
Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
I won’t be fooled again.
I won’t be apologizing to Drakz after our match. I’m sure anything I do will be justified. Any sour after taste will surely be offset by the sweet taste of victory.
Boston, MA : July 12, 2018
In Dreams
TICK TICK TICK TICK
Relax Frank. Breath in rhythm to the metronome.
TICK TICK TICK TICK
Concentrate on your breathing… in perfect rhythm… clear your mind… you are going to sleep…
* * *
I wake suddenly, the sound of a clock beating into my head.
TICK TICK TICK TICK
I glance at the clock, the digital display flashing 3:16 am.
TICK TICK TICK TICK
Since when do digital clocks make ticking noises?
I turn over to see if Sarah is also awake so I can ask her but she’s not there. I fumble in the dark to turn on the lamp and glance around the bedroom. Doctor Claw isn’t on the bed in his usual spot either. Nor is Laura or her crib present.
What the hell is going on?
TICK TICK TICK TICK
I don’t have to search the house to know it’s completely empty. I can feel it in my bones. I have no idea where Sarah, Laura, and Doctor Claw are but it’s not here.
I’m alone. Just me and the damn digital clock that shouldn’t be ticking but is.
TICK TICK TICK TICK
I throw on yesterday’s clothes and make my way to the living room trying to get away from the incessant noise.
TICK TICK TICK THUMP
Thump? The clock, digital or not, definitely did not make that sound. I follow the thumping noise, ending up on the deck outside the back of the house.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
The full moon hanging in the crystal clear night sky bathes the yard in a soft light. The source of the thumping is obvious. Someone is sitting on top of the outhouse, back turned to me, legs kicking like a kid on a swing, feet kicking the outhouse in a repetitive pattern.
I storm over to the outhouse, circling around it ready to unleash my wrath on some neighborhood kid who decided to take a break from tipping cows to disturb my sleep.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
It’s the middle of the f***ing night so I’m only going to say this once: get out of my yard!
The figure, unfazed by my warning, looks down at me with an all too familiar cat that just ate the canary grin on his face.
Hello Frankie boy! Long time no see.
Mother f***ing Trace Demon. In my yard. Waking me up in the middle of the night. And he won’t stop kicking my outhouse!
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
What the f*** are YOU doing here?
Where else would the king of the s*** show be? Isn’t a s***house the perfect throne for me?
For once I agree with Trace. I just wish he had picked another outhouse to sit on instead of mine.
That’s not an answer.
Maybe I’m not here to answer your questions, Frankie. What am I, f***ing Google?
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
I stand there looking up at the king of demons, arms crossed and my foot tapping… in rhythm to Trace’s feet kicking the outhouse over and over. Goddamnit! Stop that!
You look upset. That’s an interesting shade of red your face is turning. I apologize. I sometimes forget that what is obvious to me is completely missed by everyone else. It’s the downside to always being the smartest man in the room… or backyard as the case may be. I’m a master chess player in a world full of people failing at checkers.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
For the love of God would you stop with the f***ing speeches. There’s no audience here for you to impress. Let’s skip the “too long; didn’t read” crap and get to the f***ing point.
Somebody is Captain Grumpypants tonight. Not getting enough sleep? Oh my, is that smoke coming from your ears? Okay, simmer down tough guy. I’m not here to fight.
Maybe you’re as smart as you think you are. Fighting me never worked out well for you.
Touché. One point for Frankie. Or maybe just a half point. You didn’t finish the job, did you? That would be Draven.
Tyler Draven can go f*** himself. He finished off my sloppy seconds.
Trace stops kicking the outhouse long enough to clap for me, still with a perfect ticking clock rhythm.
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
Yes indeed, Frankie. You broke me. That’s how you put it, right? You broke the King of the S*** Show and ascended to the throne. Bravo!
Ridding the WFWF of a piece of s*** like you was a public service. And yes, it was a major step in getting to the top.
Trace drops to the ground, still clapping over and over, although now a more quiet golf clap. Annoying yes but not nearly as much as when he was kicking the outhouse walls.
And that is why I am here. To congratulate you.
I don’t need congratulations from the likes of you.
Are you sure? Look at how you did it. GM for a day… who used his power to steal not one but two titles. All within the rules but then again, when you are the one making the rules anything is possible. I call that reaching the top with style. It’s how I would have done it.
F*** you. I’m nothing like you.
Blind and stupid. *sigh* Don’t be fooled by the cheers of the sheep. You did exactly what I would do. You wanted a title so you took it. You manipulated everyone around you like an old pro, even the fans. Especially the fans.
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
This is my yard. I’m well within my rights to grab a shotgun and blow your head right off your shoulders.
YES! That’s the Frank Lynn I’m so proud of. The one who can do no wrong because he is justified. The one who hides behind rules just like he hides behind his manager.
What the hell does Daphne have to do with this?
Daphne is the one stroke of genius you came up with that I am jealous of. Oh what I could have done if I had my own personal scapegoat, someone to shunt the blame for every single devious tactic I ever used. She does the dirty work and you get the cheers. Simply brilliant!
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
A standing ovation this time. Do I really want a standing ovation from Trace Demon? HELL NO!
Is that the best you got? “You made me”? You tried this trick with Joe Bishop and it didn’t work then. It won’t work now.
F*** Joe Bishop. He failed me. Just like Tyler Draven is failing me. Just like all my students fail me. Except for you.
Draven did more damage than I thought to Trace’s brain. He’s clearly bats*** crazy.
WHAT?!?!
You are my greatest success Frank. Ironic considering I thought it was a mistake to even sign you to the WFWF. But here we are. You’re the International Champion and you did it my way. I’m a proud papa here to show my support.
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
Get. The. F***. Out. Of. My. Yard!
Did I say yard or head?
Don’t fight it Frankie. Accept it. It’s the only way you’ll stay on top. There are monsters in the WFWF.
Like you? I handled you without being a douchebag.
Trace rips his shirt open to show a scar along his chest, the result of our match when I cut him with a broken bat.
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
That was self defense.
Save the excuses for someone who cares. It was bloody, brutal, and necessary. It was what you needed to do. It was what I would have done. Don’t stop now. Embrace it.
No. I won’t be like that. I’m a wrestler, not a monster.
*sigh* You’ve come so far but you still have far to go. Time for another lesson.
Trace pushes me and I fall backwards onto the swing hanging from the tree. (When did we put a swing out here?) I grab the chains to keep myself from falling flat on my @$$. Trace walks back to the outhouse and starts knocking on the door.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
I try to get off the swing but the chains come to life, winding their way around my arms and chest to lift me higher into the air. The seat drops away but the chains grip me tightly and keep me from falling. Then I feel two pin pricks in my shoulders. The pain become progressively worse as I feel the chains digging into my flesh.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
Son of a bitch! I’m hanging from the tree just like I once hung over the ring after Phillip Schneider had his way with me!
The WFWF is full of monsters and they’re all coming for you Frankie! How will you stay on top?
Trace stops steps away from the outhouse door. The thumping noise continues, emanating from inside the outhouse and from the very ground itself.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
The door of the outhouse swings open and Phillip Schneider steps out, chunks of s*** mixing with blood oozing out of the open scars on his bare torso. His eyes are blank… no color, no pupil… just two empty white spots in the middle of his face. If the eyes really are the window to the soul, then Schneider is a soulless bastard.
I struggle against the chains holding me until something gives. It’s the muscle and skin of my back tearing away accompanied by a sound best left undescribed. I land on my feet, ignore the pain in my back, and charge at Schneider.
We fight. It goes back and forth for several minutes until I break his arm in a kimura lock. He keeps fighting. I kick his knee from the side, breaking it in the process. He keeps fighting. I grab his head and neck from behind and twist, breaking his neck. Not gonna’ lie. It felt good.
Schneider falls to the ground, head and limbs twisted at impossible angles but he keeps moving, slowly crawling in my direction.
Well done Frankie! That’s how you deal with a monster! But he isn’t alone…
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
I turn towards the outhouse to see a hand coming out of the seat. Another hand appears. They grab either side of the seat and push. Wood cracks, the seat shatters into splinters, a masked head appears followed by a torso the size of a barrel. Once he has fully emerged, he pushes against the walls of the outhouse until the small structure disintegrates. From outhouse to smelly hole in the ground in ten seconds. The mammoth masked man comes straight at me.
Meet Tugarin Zmey. By the way, he’s a dragon. What are you going to do?
I meet Zmey head on. We fight. My punches and kicks are useless. He feels no pain. He grabs me by the neck and throws me into the tree, the bark tearing new wounds into my back to join the already gaping, bleeding holes from the chains.
I try to fight Zmey but once again he lifts me into the air and then slams me into the dirt.
You can’t wrestle a monster Frankie. You have to fight. You have to kill!
I scramble to my feet and run. Tugarin is a seven foot four hundred plus pound monster, a pure force of destruction. I’m scared.
Then I see it. The stump where I chop wood for the fireplace. (I chop wood? Since when?) I grab the axe leaning against the stump and turn just as Zmey closes in. One overhead swing later and the giant beast has an axe sticking out of his forehead.
My jaw drops as he grabs the axe and pulls it out, removing pieces of blood covered brain with it. He drops the axe to the ground and comes at me again. Apparently monsters don’t need brains.
I roll to the side, grab the axe, and get behind Zmey. He may be big but he is also slow. I swing the axe again. Zmey’s head separates from his body.
YES! Now you’re getting it! The only way to fight monsters is to become a monster. Embrace it!
Shut the f*** up!
Amazingly, Zmey’s body continues to stumble around blindly reaching out for me. Schneider’s broken body is also still crawling towards me, struggling to navigate around Zmey’s severed head.
Then it gets worse. More figures arise from the s***hole in the ground where the outhouse used to be. Some I recognize, some I don’t. There’s Tyler Draven with a bat wrapped in barbwire, chunks of skin and hair covered in dried blood stuck in the barbs. Ante Whitner, who somehow dragged a huge wooden cross with him out of the manhole size hole. Brennan and Kyzer appear, twisted together into one sick conjoined being of pure hate. Kenshin. Crowe. And more. So many more.
All of them have the same soulless white eyes. All of them come at me.
I can’t fight them all. I can’t win. I can’t even survive.
Don’t give up Frankie. You can do this. Let me give you a little help.
Trace is behind me, strapping something to my back and then putting a nozzle into my hand. A blue flame flickers at the end of the nozzle. I don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know what it is.
I face the approaching crowd of monsters and pull the trigger. A huge jet of flame sweeps across the yard engulfing my foes. They start to burn. They don’t scream, in fact don’t make a sounds except for the crackling noises of the fire. They keep coming at me. I discard the flame thrower. The only thing worse than facing an angry horde of monsters is facing an angry horde of burning monsters. I’m truly f***ed now.
Sorry, maybe the flame thrower wasn’t my best idea. Try this instead.
The Demon hands me a chain saw. I don’t hesitate. I fire it up and start swinging. I don’t stop until I am standing in the middle of a circle of smoldering limbs and heads and internal organs. Ash would be proud. I’m just tired.
Well done Frankie. You saw what had to be done and you did it! But you’re not done. There are always more monsters.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
Another figure emerges from the hole in the ground. This one doesn’t climb up so much as float. His eyes glow red. His teeth and fingernails are twice as long as normal and end in razor sharp points. He’s licking his lips with his snake-like forked tongue as he looks at me hungrily.
DRAKZ!
Like something straight out of Dragonball Z, Drakz leaps into the air and flies at me. The impact as his fist collides with my stomach sends me flying through the wall of the barn into the gym inside. He tosses me into the wrestling ring, then flies into the air and crashes down on top of me. He starts to pound on my head.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
No doubt where the thumping noise is coming from now as my skull reverberates with each blow.
I try to fight him off but he is too strong. He just keeps hitting me. In between punches I see Trace Demon’s face looking down at me from over Drakz’ shoulder, the smug grin back on his face.
It’s a cruel f***ing world Frankie. You have to be cruel to survive. Make me proud.
Drakz leans back and smiles, showing a shark like grin of razor sharp teeth. His jaws spread wide… wider… even wider… to impossible proportions until he could swallow a watermelon whole. He leans in close and his mouth envelopes my head.
So this is how it ends, with my face being bitten off by a bloodthirsty monster. F*** my life.
Drakz’ mouth blocks off all light. Laying there helpless on the mat I can think of only one thing left to do.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
* * *
TICK TICK TICK TICK
The ticking stops as the doc turns off the metronome. I don’t know why but it fills me with a sense of relief.
It’s okay Frank, we’re done.
I guess it didn’t work. Last thing I remember is the doc telling me to breathe in sync with the metronome. I must be one of those people who can’t be hypnotized.
We have a lot to talk about.
Uh oh…
Boston MA : July 16, 2018
The Elephant in the Room
I enter the Legacy facilities with more than a little trepidation. I’ve barely talked to Daphne much less trained with her in preparation for the match with Drakz. I have a legitimate excuse. Sarah and the baby. Major lifestyle change. New responsibilities and all that crap. It’s been keeping me busy.
But let’s be honest. If I didn’t have Sarah and the baby to deal with, I would have come up with some other excuse to avoid my manager. We’re going through rough patch, to put it mildly. She’s been pushing the limits of what I consider fair play. Her heart is the right place. She wants me to win and remain International Champion.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Hey Tiger. You ready to put in some work finally?
Frosty, as expected.
Yes but first, we need to talk.
Daphne follows me to my private locker room (being part owner of Legacy has its benefits).
The first words out of your mouth better be “I’m sorry”.
I hate to disappoint you but they aren’t. You stepped over the line against Mesh and Mak.
And you treated me like child… told me to sit in the corner on a timeout.
You deserved it.
Awkward silence. This is not going well. Daphne is looking at me the way I used to look at Trace Demon.
Let’s try this again. I still need you in my corner. You’ve been a wrestler for fifteen years, twelve more years than me. You have better instincts than I do when it comes to reading the mood of a company and navigating my way around successfully.
It’s working. Daphne’s hard expression is softening. Maybe we can work this out.
You saw that the WFWF is a far more violent and less honorable place than Legacy. You figured out that it isn’t going to change long before I did. You adapted while I stubbornly fought against the system.
I only want the best for you.
Left unsaid: Something she can’t have for herself right now because of her neck injury. She hasn’t stopped with the unspoken guilt trip. She’s riding it for all it’s worth.
I know the wrestler I want to be but you know the wrestler I need to be.
So you are sorry? I’m forgiven?
She wants her “I told you so” moment but I’m not willing to go that far. I’m the one fighting in the ring. I’m the one who has to be in charge of our partnership.
No. Not quite. I’m talking about a compromise.
Go on.
Now for the really hard part. Nobody likes change but Doc Jenkins thinks change is best for me. I adapt or spend the rest of my nights having nightmares that will eventually drive me over the edge. Give a little now so I don’t completely snap later.
It’s simple. You do your thing, but ONLY if my competition deserves it. When I’m in the ring with someone like Mak Cross or Mesh, let us settle it in the ring mano a mano. If I’m in there with someone like Drakz and he pull outs his bag of dirty tricks, you can do the same with my blessing.
I can do that… if you promise to never scold me in front of the fans again. I”m your manager, not your child.
I promise. Scout’s honor.
Daphne relaxes, a look of relief and satisfaction on her face. She gets what she wanted even if it didn’t come with an apology.
Why the change in attitude?
You can thank my therapist. We’ve made some breakthroughs recently. I’ve got more of Mister Hyde in me than I would like to admit. The doc says I have to give him some breathing room before he explodes and takes over. For my sanity’s sake.
I’ll send him a card. So… Drakz… how far am I allowed to go with him?
Another awkward pause, this time because I have to think about it long and hard. No matter how important Doc Jenkins told me it was to acknowledge and accept my dark side, this is far from easy.
Bring the bat.
Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?
I said bring the damn bat. Wrap it in barbwire if that’ll make you happy. F*** Drakz.
Consider him f***ed. And not in the way most men would like to be f***ed by me.
Daphne smiles. It gives me chills. At least she is on my side.
Chicago, IL : July 19, 2018 : Second to None
Do Unto Others…
The almighty Drakz is back!
Hip Hip Hooray! Let’s throw a party!
I’m excited. Seriously, like wet my pants and not care who knows because this is awesome levels of excitement. I get the chance to, as the writers at WFWF.COM so eloquently put it, complete the trifecta over the former New Epoch. Kyzer - check. Brennan - check. Drakz - up next.
So how did it feel “champ”, sitting on the sidelines watching me rise to the top of the WFWF while you were on your knees begging Lila Sleater for one more chance from the parking lot or even better from a jail cell in Puerto Rico?
I don’t know how you changed her mind nor do I care. I welcome you back with open arms. Come get some bay bay!
Bit of a change from two years ago, isn’t it? Back then I arrived to a WFWF ruled by the unstoppable World Heavyweight and Tag Champion Drakz. Getting booked in match against you was a guaranteed loss.
Damn was I stupid.
History shows that you aren’t nearly as fearsome as I once believed. I’ve had time to study the history of the WFWF, you in particular. Drakz. The longest reigning world champion. Sounds impressive until you look a little deeper and realize that you did it AFTER your former New Epoch partners in crime took a powder. You could only run roughshod over the WFWF as long as Kyzer and Brennan were nowhere to be found.
Need proof? How about when you and Kyzer were supposed to challenge Raider and Bennett for the tag titles? Instead you faced, and to your credit, beat Raider and Sammy Ahriman. And then Kyzer fed you to the dogs in spectacular fashion almost ending your career. Guess we know who wore the pants in that tag team.
Then there was the tag championship match you had with Josh Dean against David Brennan and that Ahriman guy again, a match you lost! Looks like Brennan could do more with Sammy as partner than Raider could… or is it that you couldn’t get the job done without Kyzer to carry you?
And then there is the most spectacular failure of your career, the chamber match at SuperBrawl. You got rag dolled by everyone during the match and only won thanks to some timely interference from guess who… Kyzer! Who then proceeded to beat you down so bad that Billy Broom and his crew had to buy a giant novelty spatula to scrape you off the arena floor.
The bottom line is that of the three @$$hats in the New Epoch you were obviously the third wheel, the DUFF they let tag along because you amused them. As I already said, you only rose to the top after your former New Epoch butt buddies left for greener pastures.
I’m embarrassed that I didn’t see it sooner. No way should Mike Jette and I have gone into that tag title match with fear in our hearts. You talked a great game and we actually believed you could back it up which led to our defeat.
No such luck for you this time.
I’m a battle worn veteran now. There is no fear in my heart this time.
I owe you for what you did in that match. I owe you for slamming me through the electrical board. I owe you for handcuffing me to the ring post and beating me senseless with a steel chair.
I don’t forget.
I don’t forgive.
I get payback.
And that is why I’m salivating like a rabid dog right now. When Lila came out and presented you as my next opponent I was ready to throw down right then and there. As badly as you want to get your hands on Kyzer and Brennan to reclaim your top spot and resolve whatever f**ed up issues caused your little circle jerk to dissolve, I want to get my hands on you even more. I owe you a receipt and I will do whatever I have to at Second to None to collect.
You’ve been out of the game for over a year. You’re old. Your body is broken down. You think you’re gonna’ walk into the United Center like Michael Jordan returning from his baseball vacation and immediately return to the top? At my expense?
Hell no motherf***er!
This time I’m the reigning champion and you’re the wannabe. I’ve already scored wins over Kyzer and Brennan, the better two thirds of the New Epoch. I’m gonna’ beat you and complete my scalp collection, figuratively speaking of course.
The New Epoch has past its expiration date. The three of you need to stop obsessing over each other and look around. There is more to the WFWF than David f’n Brennan, Kyzer, and Drakz.
A new breed is rising. We won’t be denied. I will lead the way by example. I will beat the great Drakz in his hometown and ruin his highly anticipated return to action.
I’m coming to defend my title. I’m coming to put an exclamation point to my dominance of the New Epoch. Above all else, I’m coming for revenge.
You handed me the most embarrassing defeat in my career, one my partner had to carry my limp body out of the arena on his shoulders after the beating you gave me. I’m going to return the favor.
This time you’re not facing an awestruck rookie Thunderc***. You’re facing the Lethal Weapon. Maybe you haven’t noticed since you’ve been gone but the Lethal Weapon is not a stupid nickname like that laundry list of dumb@$$ monikers you’ve given yourself. Genghis Khan Jr? Mr. President? Really? To think I was once afraid of you. You’re a goddamn clown!
I know what the roles in the New epoch were: Kyzer was king, Brennan was the heir apparent, and you were the court f***ing jester. Juggle something for me while reciting a racy limerick you stupid s***. Entertain me or it’s off with your head!
Know this, Mr. Jester: I AM a lethal weapon. I can hurt you. If you’re not careful, I can break you… just like I broke Trace Demon.
I know what you are capable of. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. This time I’m the one who will bring it.
Do unto others before they can do unto you.
Not the most noble of sentiments but f*** it, I learned my lesson the first time we met. There will be no quarter given this time.
You think you’re coming for me. You’ve got it @$$ backwards. I’m coming for you.
In Chicago I will live up to the name of the show by being Second to None, not even a former World Champion and world class scumbag like you.
That’s the bad news. You’re going to lose. There is some good news though. You’re going to set another record at Second to None: shortest return in WFWF history.
Framingham, MA : July 9, 2018
The clock on the microwave shines like a beacon in the dimly lit kitchen, leaving no doubt that it is the middle of the f***ing night and I should be asleep.
Instead, I’m cradling our daughter Laura in my arms amazed by the fact that she is drinking warm milk from a bottle. Hopefully she goes on to much bigger and better achievements in her life but for now this is the best damn thing I’ve ever seen. I feel like the Grinch in that scene where his heart grows three sizes.
Minutes later, the baby has been fed, burped (without spitting up on daddy’s t-shirt - yay for small victories), and returned to her crib to go back to sleep.
I try to emulate her and crawl under the covers next to Sarah, who is fully awake and waiting for me.
This has to stop.
I’m pretty sure feeding the baby is something we have to do.
Heh. Funny. You know what I mean.
I do.
The baby is supposed to wake us up, not the other way around.
The dreams again. I had woken up with a yell in a cold sweat to find that I had disturbed the baby. My turn or not, I was the one who would deal with Laura while Sarah tried not to worry that the big dumb wrestler would drop the baby on her head.
Sorry.
Sorry won’t cut it. Deal with it. I don’t care how. Just figure it out.
That was it. Sarah rolled over and was out like a light. I just lay there doing stupid s*** like counting sheep in an attempt to get back to sleep.
WFWF Second to None RP
JUSTIFIED
featuring Frank Lynn
”Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.” - William Dement
Framingham, MA : June 25, 2018
Turn the Other Cheek
I owe somebody an apology.
Mesh.
The odd little girl with the odd little name.
I’m not blind. Just like everybody else, I see something special in you. I didn’t see just how special though before our match. Nobody, myself included, gave you a snowball’s chance in hell of winning.
All of us almost ending up eating s*** when you pushed me to my limits. Yes, you lost but damn girl! I asked you to come to the ring, put up a fight, and know when it was time to quit. You got two out of three but there is no quit in you. You weren’t giving up. I had to BEAT you… which I did.
I underestimated you. It won’t happen again, I can promise you that.
I’m not going to apologize for pinning you. It’s what we do. Judging from your reaction after the match, you get it. You know that sometimes looking good in a loss is better than looking bad in a win. Your stock is still on the rise.
I am going to apologize for the actions of my manager. Daphne was the only person who gave you a chance in our match. Whether it is because she saw more in you than the rest of us or she let paranoia get the better of her doesn’t matter. She saw you as a legitimate threat and that led to her making some bad decisions.
I’m sorry.
You deserved a clean match where the better wrestler won, not the better cheater. I hope I nipped Daphne's s*** in the bud and gave you the match you deserved.
Listen carefully to this next part: You won’t get many clean matches in the WFWF so enjoy them while you can.
You’ve already seen it happen twice before when your opponents said f*** the rules and beat your @$$ like a government mule. There will come a time when you have to ask yourself how long can you turn the other cheek.
It’s a problem that has been encountered countless times through the ages resulting in enough idioms to fill a book.
Fight fire with fire.
Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.
An eye for an eye.
I’ve had to cross the line before and will most assuredly have to cross it again. Sometimes survival trumps all.
No matter how necessary my indiscretions were, they always left a sour taste in my mouth. I didn’t want our match to leave a sour taste in my mouth. Daphne almost ruined both of our nights by going too far. You didn’t deserve it. You’re not Trace Demon or Ante Whitner or Michael Kyzer or Phillip Schneider…
…or Drakz!
Watch out for that one. He’s a dirty rotten bastard. He may be the king of the bastards based on his record breaking World Championship reign.
He’s unapologetic in his brutality. He’s already put me though some electrical equipment damn near killing me. He’s already beat me unconscious with a steel chair while I was handcuffed to a ring post. If he did it once, he’ll do it again.
Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
I won’t be fooled again.
I won’t be apologizing to Drakz after our match. I’m sure anything I do will be justified. Any sour after taste will surely be offset by the sweet taste of victory.
Boston, MA : July 12, 2018
In Dreams
TICK TICK TICK TICK
Relax Frank. Breath in rhythm to the metronome.
TICK TICK TICK TICK
Concentrate on your breathing… in perfect rhythm… clear your mind… you are going to sleep…
* * *
I wake suddenly, the sound of a clock beating into my head.
TICK TICK TICK TICK
I glance at the clock, the digital display flashing 3:16 am.
TICK TICK TICK TICK
Since when do digital clocks make ticking noises?
I turn over to see if Sarah is also awake so I can ask her but she’s not there. I fumble in the dark to turn on the lamp and glance around the bedroom. Doctor Claw isn’t on the bed in his usual spot either. Nor is Laura or her crib present.
What the hell is going on?
TICK TICK TICK TICK
I don’t have to search the house to know it’s completely empty. I can feel it in my bones. I have no idea where Sarah, Laura, and Doctor Claw are but it’s not here.
I’m alone. Just me and the damn digital clock that shouldn’t be ticking but is.
TICK TICK TICK TICK
I throw on yesterday’s clothes and make my way to the living room trying to get away from the incessant noise.
TICK TICK TICK THUMP
Thump? The clock, digital or not, definitely did not make that sound. I follow the thumping noise, ending up on the deck outside the back of the house.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
The full moon hanging in the crystal clear night sky bathes the yard in a soft light. The source of the thumping is obvious. Someone is sitting on top of the outhouse, back turned to me, legs kicking like a kid on a swing, feet kicking the outhouse in a repetitive pattern.
I storm over to the outhouse, circling around it ready to unleash my wrath on some neighborhood kid who decided to take a break from tipping cows to disturb my sleep.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
It’s the middle of the f***ing night so I’m only going to say this once: get out of my yard!
The figure, unfazed by my warning, looks down at me with an all too familiar cat that just ate the canary grin on his face.
Hello Frankie boy! Long time no see.
Mother f***ing Trace Demon. In my yard. Waking me up in the middle of the night. And he won’t stop kicking my outhouse!
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
What the f*** are YOU doing here?
Where else would the king of the s*** show be? Isn’t a s***house the perfect throne for me?
For once I agree with Trace. I just wish he had picked another outhouse to sit on instead of mine.
That’s not an answer.
Maybe I’m not here to answer your questions, Frankie. What am I, f***ing Google?
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
I stand there looking up at the king of demons, arms crossed and my foot tapping… in rhythm to Trace’s feet kicking the outhouse over and over. Goddamnit! Stop that!
You look upset. That’s an interesting shade of red your face is turning. I apologize. I sometimes forget that what is obvious to me is completely missed by everyone else. It’s the downside to always being the smartest man in the room… or backyard as the case may be. I’m a master chess player in a world full of people failing at checkers.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
For the love of God would you stop with the f***ing speeches. There’s no audience here for you to impress. Let’s skip the “too long; didn’t read” crap and get to the f***ing point.
Somebody is Captain Grumpypants tonight. Not getting enough sleep? Oh my, is that smoke coming from your ears? Okay, simmer down tough guy. I’m not here to fight.
Maybe you’re as smart as you think you are. Fighting me never worked out well for you.
Touché. One point for Frankie. Or maybe just a half point. You didn’t finish the job, did you? That would be Draven.
Tyler Draven can go f*** himself. He finished off my sloppy seconds.
Trace stops kicking the outhouse long enough to clap for me, still with a perfect ticking clock rhythm.
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
Yes indeed, Frankie. You broke me. That’s how you put it, right? You broke the King of the S*** Show and ascended to the throne. Bravo!
Ridding the WFWF of a piece of s*** like you was a public service. And yes, it was a major step in getting to the top.
Trace drops to the ground, still clapping over and over, although now a more quiet golf clap. Annoying yes but not nearly as much as when he was kicking the outhouse walls.
And that is why I am here. To congratulate you.
I don’t need congratulations from the likes of you.
Are you sure? Look at how you did it. GM for a day… who used his power to steal not one but two titles. All within the rules but then again, when you are the one making the rules anything is possible. I call that reaching the top with style. It’s how I would have done it.
F*** you. I’m nothing like you.
Blind and stupid. *sigh* Don’t be fooled by the cheers of the sheep. You did exactly what I would do. You wanted a title so you took it. You manipulated everyone around you like an old pro, even the fans. Especially the fans.
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
This is my yard. I’m well within my rights to grab a shotgun and blow your head right off your shoulders.
YES! That’s the Frank Lynn I’m so proud of. The one who can do no wrong because he is justified. The one who hides behind rules just like he hides behind his manager.
What the hell does Daphne have to do with this?
Daphne is the one stroke of genius you came up with that I am jealous of. Oh what I could have done if I had my own personal scapegoat, someone to shunt the blame for every single devious tactic I ever used. She does the dirty work and you get the cheers. Simply brilliant!
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
A standing ovation this time. Do I really want a standing ovation from Trace Demon? HELL NO!
Is that the best you got? “You made me”? You tried this trick with Joe Bishop and it didn’t work then. It won’t work now.
F*** Joe Bishop. He failed me. Just like Tyler Draven is failing me. Just like all my students fail me. Except for you.
Draven did more damage than I thought to Trace’s brain. He’s clearly bats*** crazy.
WHAT?!?!
You are my greatest success Frank. Ironic considering I thought it was a mistake to even sign you to the WFWF. But here we are. You’re the International Champion and you did it my way. I’m a proud papa here to show my support.
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
Get. The. F***. Out. Of. My. Yard!
Did I say yard or head?
Don’t fight it Frankie. Accept it. It’s the only way you’ll stay on top. There are monsters in the WFWF.
Like you? I handled you without being a douchebag.
Trace rips his shirt open to show a scar along his chest, the result of our match when I cut him with a broken bat.
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
That was self defense.
Save the excuses for someone who cares. It was bloody, brutal, and necessary. It was what you needed to do. It was what I would have done. Don’t stop now. Embrace it.
No. I won’t be like that. I’m a wrestler, not a monster.
*sigh* You’ve come so far but you still have far to go. Time for another lesson.
Trace pushes me and I fall backwards onto the swing hanging from the tree. (When did we put a swing out here?) I grab the chains to keep myself from falling flat on my @$$. Trace walks back to the outhouse and starts knocking on the door.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
I try to get off the swing but the chains come to life, winding their way around my arms and chest to lift me higher into the air. The seat drops away but the chains grip me tightly and keep me from falling. Then I feel two pin pricks in my shoulders. The pain become progressively worse as I feel the chains digging into my flesh.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
Son of a bitch! I’m hanging from the tree just like I once hung over the ring after Phillip Schneider had his way with me!
The WFWF is full of monsters and they’re all coming for you Frankie! How will you stay on top?
Trace stops steps away from the outhouse door. The thumping noise continues, emanating from inside the outhouse and from the very ground itself.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
The door of the outhouse swings open and Phillip Schneider steps out, chunks of s*** mixing with blood oozing out of the open scars on his bare torso. His eyes are blank… no color, no pupil… just two empty white spots in the middle of his face. If the eyes really are the window to the soul, then Schneider is a soulless bastard.
I struggle against the chains holding me until something gives. It’s the muscle and skin of my back tearing away accompanied by a sound best left undescribed. I land on my feet, ignore the pain in my back, and charge at Schneider.
We fight. It goes back and forth for several minutes until I break his arm in a kimura lock. He keeps fighting. I kick his knee from the side, breaking it in the process. He keeps fighting. I grab his head and neck from behind and twist, breaking his neck. Not gonna’ lie. It felt good.
Schneider falls to the ground, head and limbs twisted at impossible angles but he keeps moving, slowly crawling in my direction.
Well done Frankie! That’s how you deal with a monster! But he isn’t alone…
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
I turn towards the outhouse to see a hand coming out of the seat. Another hand appears. They grab either side of the seat and push. Wood cracks, the seat shatters into splinters, a masked head appears followed by a torso the size of a barrel. Once he has fully emerged, he pushes against the walls of the outhouse until the small structure disintegrates. From outhouse to smelly hole in the ground in ten seconds. The mammoth masked man comes straight at me.
Meet Tugarin Zmey. By the way, he’s a dragon. What are you going to do?
I meet Zmey head on. We fight. My punches and kicks are useless. He feels no pain. He grabs me by the neck and throws me into the tree, the bark tearing new wounds into my back to join the already gaping, bleeding holes from the chains.
I try to fight Zmey but once again he lifts me into the air and then slams me into the dirt.
You can’t wrestle a monster Frankie. You have to fight. You have to kill!
I scramble to my feet and run. Tugarin is a seven foot four hundred plus pound monster, a pure force of destruction. I’m scared.
Then I see it. The stump where I chop wood for the fireplace. (I chop wood? Since when?) I grab the axe leaning against the stump and turn just as Zmey closes in. One overhead swing later and the giant beast has an axe sticking out of his forehead.
My jaw drops as he grabs the axe and pulls it out, removing pieces of blood covered brain with it. He drops the axe to the ground and comes at me again. Apparently monsters don’t need brains.
I roll to the side, grab the axe, and get behind Zmey. He may be big but he is also slow. I swing the axe again. Zmey’s head separates from his body.
YES! Now you’re getting it! The only way to fight monsters is to become a monster. Embrace it!
Shut the f*** up!
Amazingly, Zmey’s body continues to stumble around blindly reaching out for me. Schneider’s broken body is also still crawling towards me, struggling to navigate around Zmey’s severed head.
Then it gets worse. More figures arise from the s***hole in the ground where the outhouse used to be. Some I recognize, some I don’t. There’s Tyler Draven with a bat wrapped in barbwire, chunks of skin and hair covered in dried blood stuck in the barbs. Ante Whitner, who somehow dragged a huge wooden cross with him out of the manhole size hole. Brennan and Kyzer appear, twisted together into one sick conjoined being of pure hate. Kenshin. Crowe. And more. So many more.
All of them have the same soulless white eyes. All of them come at me.
I can’t fight them all. I can’t win. I can’t even survive.
Don’t give up Frankie. You can do this. Let me give you a little help.
Trace is behind me, strapping something to my back and then putting a nozzle into my hand. A blue flame flickers at the end of the nozzle. I don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know what it is.
I face the approaching crowd of monsters and pull the trigger. A huge jet of flame sweeps across the yard engulfing my foes. They start to burn. They don’t scream, in fact don’t make a sounds except for the crackling noises of the fire. They keep coming at me. I discard the flame thrower. The only thing worse than facing an angry horde of monsters is facing an angry horde of burning monsters. I’m truly f***ed now.
Sorry, maybe the flame thrower wasn’t my best idea. Try this instead.
The Demon hands me a chain saw. I don’t hesitate. I fire it up and start swinging. I don’t stop until I am standing in the middle of a circle of smoldering limbs and heads and internal organs. Ash would be proud. I’m just tired.
Well done Frankie. You saw what had to be done and you did it! But you’re not done. There are always more monsters.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
Another figure emerges from the hole in the ground. This one doesn’t climb up so much as float. His eyes glow red. His teeth and fingernails are twice as long as normal and end in razor sharp points. He’s licking his lips with his snake-like forked tongue as he looks at me hungrily.
DRAKZ!
Like something straight out of Dragonball Z, Drakz leaps into the air and flies at me. The impact as his fist collides with my stomach sends me flying through the wall of the barn into the gym inside. He tosses me into the wrestling ring, then flies into the air and crashes down on top of me. He starts to pound on my head.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
No doubt where the thumping noise is coming from now as my skull reverberates with each blow.
I try to fight him off but he is too strong. He just keeps hitting me. In between punches I see Trace Demon’s face looking down at me from over Drakz’ shoulder, the smug grin back on his face.
It’s a cruel f***ing world Frankie. You have to be cruel to survive. Make me proud.
Drakz leans back and smiles, showing a shark like grin of razor sharp teeth. His jaws spread wide… wider… even wider… to impossible proportions until he could swallow a watermelon whole. He leans in close and his mouth envelopes my head.
So this is how it ends, with my face being bitten off by a bloodthirsty monster. F*** my life.
Drakz’ mouth blocks off all light. Laying there helpless on the mat I can think of only one thing left to do.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
* * *
TICK TICK TICK TICK
The ticking stops as the doc turns off the metronome. I don’t know why but it fills me with a sense of relief.
It’s okay Frank, we’re done.
I guess it didn’t work. Last thing I remember is the doc telling me to breathe in sync with the metronome. I must be one of those people who can’t be hypnotized.
We have a lot to talk about.
Uh oh…
Boston MA : July 16, 2018
The Elephant in the Room
I enter the Legacy facilities with more than a little trepidation. I’ve barely talked to Daphne much less trained with her in preparation for the match with Drakz. I have a legitimate excuse. Sarah and the baby. Major lifestyle change. New responsibilities and all that crap. It’s been keeping me busy.
But let’s be honest. If I didn’t have Sarah and the baby to deal with, I would have come up with some other excuse to avoid my manager. We’re going through rough patch, to put it mildly. She’s been pushing the limits of what I consider fair play. Her heart is the right place. She wants me to win and remain International Champion.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Hey Tiger. You ready to put in some work finally?
Frosty, as expected.
Yes but first, we need to talk.
Daphne follows me to my private locker room (being part owner of Legacy has its benefits).
The first words out of your mouth better be “I’m sorry”.
I hate to disappoint you but they aren’t. You stepped over the line against Mesh and Mak.
And you treated me like child… told me to sit in the corner on a timeout.
You deserved it.
Awkward silence. This is not going well. Daphne is looking at me the way I used to look at Trace Demon.
Let’s try this again. I still need you in my corner. You’ve been a wrestler for fifteen years, twelve more years than me. You have better instincts than I do when it comes to reading the mood of a company and navigating my way around successfully.
It’s working. Daphne’s hard expression is softening. Maybe we can work this out.
You saw that the WFWF is a far more violent and less honorable place than Legacy. You figured out that it isn’t going to change long before I did. You adapted while I stubbornly fought against the system.
I only want the best for you.
Left unsaid: Something she can’t have for herself right now because of her neck injury. She hasn’t stopped with the unspoken guilt trip. She’s riding it for all it’s worth.
I know the wrestler I want to be but you know the wrestler I need to be.
So you are sorry? I’m forgiven?
She wants her “I told you so” moment but I’m not willing to go that far. I’m the one fighting in the ring. I’m the one who has to be in charge of our partnership.
No. Not quite. I’m talking about a compromise.
Go on.
Now for the really hard part. Nobody likes change but Doc Jenkins thinks change is best for me. I adapt or spend the rest of my nights having nightmares that will eventually drive me over the edge. Give a little now so I don’t completely snap later.
It’s simple. You do your thing, but ONLY if my competition deserves it. When I’m in the ring with someone like Mak Cross or Mesh, let us settle it in the ring mano a mano. If I’m in there with someone like Drakz and he pull outs his bag of dirty tricks, you can do the same with my blessing.
I can do that… if you promise to never scold me in front of the fans again. I”m your manager, not your child.
I promise. Scout’s honor.
Daphne relaxes, a look of relief and satisfaction on her face. She gets what she wanted even if it didn’t come with an apology.
Why the change in attitude?
You can thank my therapist. We’ve made some breakthroughs recently. I’ve got more of Mister Hyde in me than I would like to admit. The doc says I have to give him some breathing room before he explodes and takes over. For my sanity’s sake.
I’ll send him a card. So… Drakz… how far am I allowed to go with him?
Another awkward pause, this time because I have to think about it long and hard. No matter how important Doc Jenkins told me it was to acknowledge and accept my dark side, this is far from easy.
Bring the bat.
Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?
I said bring the damn bat. Wrap it in barbwire if that’ll make you happy. F*** Drakz.
Consider him f***ed. And not in the way most men would like to be f***ed by me.
Daphne smiles. It gives me chills. At least she is on my side.
Chicago, IL : July 19, 2018 : Second to None
Do Unto Others…
The almighty Drakz is back!
Hip Hip Hooray! Let’s throw a party!
I’m excited. Seriously, like wet my pants and not care who knows because this is awesome levels of excitement. I get the chance to, as the writers at WFWF.COM so eloquently put it, complete the trifecta over the former New Epoch. Kyzer - check. Brennan - check. Drakz - up next.
So how did it feel “champ”, sitting on the sidelines watching me rise to the top of the WFWF while you were on your knees begging Lila Sleater for one more chance from the parking lot or even better from a jail cell in Puerto Rico?
I don’t know how you changed her mind nor do I care. I welcome you back with open arms. Come get some bay bay!
Bit of a change from two years ago, isn’t it? Back then I arrived to a WFWF ruled by the unstoppable World Heavyweight and Tag Champion Drakz. Getting booked in match against you was a guaranteed loss.
Damn was I stupid.
History shows that you aren’t nearly as fearsome as I once believed. I’ve had time to study the history of the WFWF, you in particular. Drakz. The longest reigning world champion. Sounds impressive until you look a little deeper and realize that you did it AFTER your former New Epoch partners in crime took a powder. You could only run roughshod over the WFWF as long as Kyzer and Brennan were nowhere to be found.
Need proof? How about when you and Kyzer were supposed to challenge Raider and Bennett for the tag titles? Instead you faced, and to your credit, beat Raider and Sammy Ahriman. And then Kyzer fed you to the dogs in spectacular fashion almost ending your career. Guess we know who wore the pants in that tag team.
Then there was the tag championship match you had with Josh Dean against David Brennan and that Ahriman guy again, a match you lost! Looks like Brennan could do more with Sammy as partner than Raider could… or is it that you couldn’t get the job done without Kyzer to carry you?
And then there is the most spectacular failure of your career, the chamber match at SuperBrawl. You got rag dolled by everyone during the match and only won thanks to some timely interference from guess who… Kyzer! Who then proceeded to beat you down so bad that Billy Broom and his crew had to buy a giant novelty spatula to scrape you off the arena floor.
The bottom line is that of the three @$$hats in the New Epoch you were obviously the third wheel, the DUFF they let tag along because you amused them. As I already said, you only rose to the top after your former New Epoch butt buddies left for greener pastures.
I’m embarrassed that I didn’t see it sooner. No way should Mike Jette and I have gone into that tag title match with fear in our hearts. You talked a great game and we actually believed you could back it up which led to our defeat.
No such luck for you this time.
I’m a battle worn veteran now. There is no fear in my heart this time.
I owe you for what you did in that match. I owe you for slamming me through the electrical board. I owe you for handcuffing me to the ring post and beating me senseless with a steel chair.
I don’t forget.
I don’t forgive.
I get payback.
And that is why I’m salivating like a rabid dog right now. When Lila came out and presented you as my next opponent I was ready to throw down right then and there. As badly as you want to get your hands on Kyzer and Brennan to reclaim your top spot and resolve whatever f**ed up issues caused your little circle jerk to dissolve, I want to get my hands on you even more. I owe you a receipt and I will do whatever I have to at Second to None to collect.
You’ve been out of the game for over a year. You’re old. Your body is broken down. You think you’re gonna’ walk into the United Center like Michael Jordan returning from his baseball vacation and immediately return to the top? At my expense?
Hell no motherf***er!
This time I’m the reigning champion and you’re the wannabe. I’ve already scored wins over Kyzer and Brennan, the better two thirds of the New Epoch. I’m gonna’ beat you and complete my scalp collection, figuratively speaking of course.
The New Epoch has past its expiration date. The three of you need to stop obsessing over each other and look around. There is more to the WFWF than David f’n Brennan, Kyzer, and Drakz.
A new breed is rising. We won’t be denied. I will lead the way by example. I will beat the great Drakz in his hometown and ruin his highly anticipated return to action.
I’m coming to defend my title. I’m coming to put an exclamation point to my dominance of the New Epoch. Above all else, I’m coming for revenge.
You handed me the most embarrassing defeat in my career, one my partner had to carry my limp body out of the arena on his shoulders after the beating you gave me. I’m going to return the favor.
This time you’re not facing an awestruck rookie Thunderc***. You’re facing the Lethal Weapon. Maybe you haven’t noticed since you’ve been gone but the Lethal Weapon is not a stupid nickname like that laundry list of dumb@$$ monikers you’ve given yourself. Genghis Khan Jr? Mr. President? Really? To think I was once afraid of you. You’re a goddamn clown!
I know what the roles in the New epoch were: Kyzer was king, Brennan was the heir apparent, and you were the court f***ing jester. Juggle something for me while reciting a racy limerick you stupid s***. Entertain me or it’s off with your head!
Know this, Mr. Jester: I AM a lethal weapon. I can hurt you. If you’re not careful, I can break you… just like I broke Trace Demon.
I know what you are capable of. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. This time I’m the one who will bring it.
Do unto others before they can do unto you.
Not the most noble of sentiments but f*** it, I learned my lesson the first time we met. There will be no quarter given this time.
You think you’re coming for me. You’ve got it @$$ backwards. I’m coming for you.
In Chicago I will live up to the name of the show by being Second to None, not even a former World Champion and world class scumbag like you.
That’s the bad news. You’re going to lose. There is some good news though. You’re going to set another record at Second to None: shortest return in WFWF history.