Post by Drakz on Feb 23, 2020 16:21:14 GMT -5
”Frankie says Relax”
(A.K.A. Only one thing left to lose)
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Striding across the landscape on my glorious white steed, a black blood on my lance that shimmers in the moonlight.
I am he.
I am St George. Slayer of Dragons.
Slayer of mother f*cking Dragons.
Okay, fair enough, I’m not on horseback, nor do I have some outdated mele weapon spattered in Zmey’s innards. BUT I’m still Georgie Boy, because I stabbed that reptile clean through his watermelon sized heart.
What’s that? I won by count out?
Pah. You say potato, I say go f*ck yourself. Who’s the one holding the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship?
You can’t go toe to toe with someone who physically exceeds you. That’s the kind of sh*t I leave to idiots with pride. People without a mind for the game.
When the odds are stacked 7’1” against you, you use your wiles, and show the world that this dragon (note the lower case d) is nothing more than a damn lizard. And now? Now I have a scaled scalp to add to my collection. My methods aren’t up for debate here. Besides, where is he now? Huh?
Gone.
He’s left us.
His tail would no doubt be tucked between his legs if he hadn’t shed it in fear. Not having a tail anymore is probably best for him. Makes it easier to run back into the Mongolian wilderness. It’s less humiliating returning to the tribe that banished you than hang around these parts, with my face everywhere you look.
Tugarin Zmey is a coward.
A coward I’d do well to forget. I’ve got new enemies rising to fill the void, just as he filled it before them. The conveyer belt never stops.
Trace Demon
Philip Schneider
Josh Dean
Samael Ahriman
Cameron Stone
David Brennan
Penny Shannon
Michael Kyzer
Tugarin Zmey
All people I’ve beaten when gold was on their minds.
And now Frank Lynn.
The next fool who thinks he can end this. A man who claims to have surpassed his Gerry Anderson roots. A man who’s fallen in love with the word “constant”.
Why is he constantly slamming his nuts over these two syllables? I wonder if he shouts it every time he climaxes into his disappointed wife? All hunched over, shaking with the word.
Frank, the only constant in your life is the inability to rise beyond the mid card, and that belt you’ve always got slung over your shoulder is nothing but a neon sign, spelling that fact out for the less alert of us. Every time you come near me all I ever hear from you is how I’m forever underestimating you. Writing you off as a non-entity. Someone not worth my time. Well I’m still waiting to be proven wrong Frank. I’m still sitting here, wondering just how deluded you’ve become. Has breaking one record gone to your head? You need to settle down pal. If your aim is to surpass everything I’ve ever done then you’ve got a whole lot more records to smash. You’ll be a walking false grandiose by that time. Your head up in the clouds of your own ass.
Through the mist of your constructed reality though you have at least managed to nail down one truth.
“If something isn’t all about Drakz then it shouldn’t even exist at all.”
Church.
Glad to have provided at least a glimpse at the real world for you. A peephole to see out of your otherwise phoney f*cking existence.
You know me Frankie. Always happy to help.
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It’s always amazed me just how little you can see at night when you’re looking outside with the light on. I am a few meters away from Frank Lynn and his family and they have no idea. I’m not talking 15 meters, crouched behind a bush either. I’m quite literally stood right here in the garden, close enough to spit through the window if it was open. Shame.
They’re a picture of disgusting perfection……..in anyone’s eyes but mine. A laughing and content couple with a young child, just happy to be with one another. Happy to be spending time in each other’s company. I f*cking hate it.
Only the stupid can be happy. Those of us with active minds see far too much to be that damn oblivious. Urgh, Frank and his woman just fed each other. I can’t bear this.
Moving on.
I make my way around the corner of the house but seem to find myself drawn to another window, this time much too close. I’m practically pushed up against the glass gawping in. I’m looking at them side on now. A simple turn of the head from either of them and they’d see me. Thankfully they’re so caught up in their fairytale bull sh*t that they don’t know just how close I am. How close they are. How easy it would be for me to take it all away from them.
Heh.
I best keep moving.
I peel away from the main house and as the light dims behind me I find myself walking through long grass, keeping off of the main track and suddenly in a bizarre turn of events, singing to myself.
“So I’ll roam around on some other man’s ground,
I’ll take a fat ewe from his pack,
And with the aid of my knife,
I’ll shorten it’s life,
and I’ll carry it home on my back, my brave boys,
I will carry it home on my back.”
It’s not long before I’m approaching the barn, my eyes only starting now to adjust to the light. It’s silhouette looms out of the darkness and I make for the door. Needless to say these country f*cking hicks leave it unlocked. So confident are they that no one lives close by, so who could possibly be on their property?
A man who doesn’t mind a long walk, that’s who.
With the door closed behind me I turn on the flashlight and look around the place.
“A ring? Seriously?”
This clown is so unsure of himself behind that bullsh*t facade. What? He needs to train away from prying eyes? You know how often I train these days? I train when we’re live. I train when we’re under the lights. When you get to where I’m at, running drills and practising mat work just seems superfluous. That might seem brazen, but can my results really be denied? F*ck putting in work. Just exist as the best, and if you’re not…..well, then lose and be done with it. I’ve been doing this for too long to learn anything I don’t already know.
Mind you, maybe this is just where Frank comes to knock boots with Daphne away from prying eyes? If his wife walks in then a little sleight of hand can make reverse cowgirl look like a rear naked……if you catch my drift?
*Bzzzzzz Bzzzzzzzzz*
No one ever calls me. Who the f*ck is this?
“Hello?”
“Drakz?”
“Maybe. Who’s asking?”
“I’m not calling to be ambiguous. It’s Lila. Where are you?”
I take a look around, and find myself pointing the torch at a training class group photo in its frame on the wall.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? Where are you?”
Honesty is the best policy.
“If you really must know I’m creeping around Frank Lynn’s property. Is that alright with you?”
“Fine, I see you’re not going to be straight with me. Not sure why I’m so surprised by that. Listen, I know you’re not booked for a match until Glasgow, but we could really do with you heading out to the UK ahead of time for press engagement.”
I continue wandering aimlessly around the room, eyeing up possibilities the whole time.
“Lila. You know how much I hate that island. I’d rather not be there for any longer than is really necessary.”
“I appreciate that but you’re the World Heavyweight Champion. OUR World Heavyweight Champion, and we’d look a bit foolish organising press conferences and the like without you. That’s before we even get to the fact that you’re from that damn island, and could help things run a lot smoother for us.”
I walk into the next room and seem to now be in a double garage, built onto the back of this sex dungeon-cum-training facility.
“Ooooh shiny!”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh. Nothing.”
This’ll do the trick. This’ll do the trick just fine.
“Lila?”
“Are you talking to me this time?”
“I’ll be your dancing bear. I’ll come to the UK ahead of schedule.”
“Brilliant. Thank you. Though I have to admit I’m a little concerned at how co-operative you’re being. Should I be worried?”
“Forget all that. I just need one thing from you in return for whoring me out.”
“I don’t appreciate the phrasing, but go on…..”
“Can you store and deliver a vehicle for me? It’s a deal breaker.”
There’s silence on the phone for a second, while she tries to work out my game.
“I don’t know what shady sh*t you’re up to Drakz, but I don’t want either myself or the company embroiled in it.”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I’m just going to need both my own vehicle and this one at the Minneapolis show next week.”
“Why in the hell do you need more than one car? At least tell me that.”
“That’s none of your concern.”
The actual reason is I’m living out of mine, so kind of need it around. Wherever I go, it goes at the moment.
“I’ll even drop the car off at head office. Literally all I need from you is a garage for the next 7 days and a driver. Do that and I’ll be your agreeable little media soldier. Sound good?”
More waiting around. We both know she’s going to say yes, so why the edging? Are we having phone sex right now?
“Fine. Get the car to the main offices tomorrow and I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
“Love ya Lila.”
And I hang up so I can get a better look at this thing.
It’s big, like all obnoxious American made cars, and given the fact it’s the centre piece of this entire space I’m assuming Frank bangs Daphne inside it as well. Either that or he just loves the damn thing. Whichever it is I reckon he’s pretty attached to it.
If I can’t easily kidnap his kid, then the least I can do is take this macho penis extension. That’ll teach him for being so f*cking smug about his home life.
Again I’m almost offended at the audacity of a family who leaves everything unlocked. The barn double doors to the outside as well as the car itself do exactly as they’re told. Oh and then the keys are tucked behind the sun visor………
Seriously? What f*cking planet are these people living on? It’s almost as if they want me to be doing this. Maybe I should be taking the child after all?
At this point I’ve stopped giving a f*ck about the authenticity of my Sam Fisher cosplay, and with the key in the ignition and the engine started, I rev the bollocks off the engine and then scream out of the building, the headlights like a beacon announcing “here I am sh*t heads!”, and yet I doubt they so much as stopped chewing their dinner. It’s only as I fly past the house itself that I’m pretty certain I’ve raised some kind of alarm inside. Surely?
Obviously I don’t stick around to see Frank leap into action, but if he didn’t hear, see and feel this motor ripping right past him then he needs to consult a physician.
“Next stop Minneapolis! Sort of. Well I suppose really it’s next stop WFWF HQ, but…….f*ck, it’s lost all of its impact now.”
Who the f*ck am I talking to?
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F*ck your old, dead boyfriend Frank.
By the sounds of it he had about as much going for him as a tin of spam, so he stole his entire schtick from a played out movie character? Are you for real? What kind of a man has to imitate someone else to make his way in life? Though I suppose that’s how you got your break isn’t it? As the d*ck sucking facsimile of Joe Bishop. How’s that revolution going anyway? Are you still doing that? Or did you shelve that in favour of some other buzz word? I’ve not been listening closely enough to know. Either way, stop hanging onto the words and teachings of a dead man. It didn’t save him did it? So what makes you think it’s going to save you? Don’t become the next Ahriman. Always making reference to someone long since buried and forgotten. When someone dies you let them go, because their memory isn’t worth sh*t.
You need to be your own man. For once in your life.
F*ck your boring wife Frank.
She only wants you for protection, and if you can’t provide that anymore than guess what? You’re redundant. Here’s your severance package. See ya! Besides if she really wanted to feel safe she didn’t vet her candidates too well did she? She saw the name “Lethal Weapon” on your dating profile and took you at your word. Basic b*tch.
Just like the aforementioned dead, you should let her go. She’s clearly a two faced scum bag if she’s laying a weight like that on you. She doesn’t love you. She loves the idea of what you could be. She loves the idea of a provider. Someone at the top. So what then? You lose this match and she’s just gone? I wonder how long it’ll be until she shows up in some other schmuck’s bed? Someone higher up the pecking order. Don’t worry yourself mate, she’s not my type.
I’m sure someone with no standards like Trace Demon would welcome her with open arms though. If he’s awake yet?
But maybe she’s just saying all of this to rile you? To get you laser focused on beating me? If that’s the case then she’s made a big mistake. We both know just how dangerous coming into a fight like this can be if you’re mad as hell. In your mind now I’m the reason you might lose your happy little home. You blame me for that, when in reality that’s 100% on her. I just took your car. She’s the one dishing out ultimatums.
And finally, f*ck your hopeless kid Frank.
That daughter of yours doesn’t stand a chance.
You’re only as good as your surroundings, and with the two of you teaching her the way of the world I can’t imagine she’s going to amount to much. The family Lynn. All soft in the head and weak in the guts.
I bet this has really got your piss boiling hasn’t it?
“Don’t you dare talk about my family!”
Beating your chest and pawing the ground. Itching to get your hands on me. Frankie, you need to relax.
You shouldn’t be listening to me ahead of fight night. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the master and commander when it comes to getting under folk’s skin. There’s a reason for it. I want to see you make mistakes. It’s fun for me to force your hand into a misstep. That red mist is the reason I love playing this game so much. So long as I keep my wits about me, side stepping a raging bull isn’t all that hard, and then the enjoyment in seeing you run headlong into a brick wall, well, that’s worth the risk.
And a man as bull headed as you? You’re bound to do it time and time again, ad-infinitum.
Realistically buddy, this match is Frank Lynn vs. Frank Lynn. And yet somehow Drakz, The Streak Destroyer, Destroyer, Destroyer is going to be the victor.
Funny how it always works out that way huh?
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If anyone ever tells you that sleeping half upright in a car somehow helps relieve the symptoms of spinal stenosis, give them a slap from me. I appreciate that’s quite a specific scenario, but I’m just trying to cover all bases here. Honestly I’m looking out for your best interests. In short, my back is not feeling great at the moment, but then that’s not really breaking news to anyone is it?
My only relief is that on this evening’s show I didn’t get physical beyond signing a contract, something I think even my fragile bones are up to. It certainly makes the nights a little easier, sleeping here without my body throbbing from a beating. And I know that’s pretty rich coming from a man who wrestles 3 or 4 times a year, but when I do? Well, I’m sure we can all agree that I don’t do things by halves? I haven’t wrestled a match outside of the main event scene since……well….probably since I last wrestled Frank. So I’m sure you’ll forgive my somewhat reduced schedule. I am firmly in my 38th time around the sun after all, and even though the very idea of it sends my gag reflex into overload, I’ve spent 16 of those years throwing myself around the WFWF.
Oh sh*t someone’s coming.
The esteemed Alecia Matthews walks out of the doors of the SSE Arena, out into the adjoining car park. I slouch down some more in the hope she doesn’t see me. Not that I feel shame…….I don’t think? But more so because people have a habit of pestering a man they see sleeping in a vehicle.
She seems to be making a beeline for me though, but I soon realise it’s because her car is parked right beside my own. Maybe she won’t see me in the dark? I suppose for the sake of habitual comfort she’s got herself a left hand drive, regardless of the change in road position that a trip to the UK necessitates, because she’s looming over me now, approaching the door with her keys out.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
F*ck, she looked down.
“Jesus f*cking christ!!!”
She’s backed up against her own vehicle, her keys instinctively slotted between her knuckles, ready to defend herself against the creep staring up at her from the shadows. I immediately have to mitigate, flicking the light on and rolling down my window.
“Hey, hey! Relax it’s me.”
“What in hell are you doing?! You scared the sh*t out of me!”
My hands are held up in front of me, still not certain that her wolverine claw of keys won’t swipe at me just to prove a point.
“I’m so sorry! I was hoping I’d just go unnoticed. I’m not some pervert.”
Not entirely true, and she of all people knows it.
“Look…..”
I thrust my crotch upward so she can see.
“Everything is where it should be. Nothing untoward is going on.”
“What are you doing here? I thought I was one of the last to leave? F*ck. My heart is racing.”
Insert joke about “the effect I have on women” here.
“Something to steady your nerves?”
I offer her the bottle of Irish blend sitting in the passenger’s seat.
“I’m literally about to get in my car and drive.”
“You’re also in Belfast. Practically everyone on the road right now has had a few of these.”
She concedes to my xenophobic stereotyping of an entire people and takes the bottle from my hand, swigging just a little before handing it back.
“If you must know, I’m trying to sleep.”
She swallows and replies.
“Here? In your car?"
A pause for thought.
"Is everything okay?”
I wish people would stop asking me that.
“Just wonderful.”
“Surely the office has booked you a hotel right?”
“Yeah, but there wasn’t on site parking, and….well…..all of my sh*t is in my car. And again, we are in Belfast after all.”
“Are you…..”
“Living out of my car? Yes. And what?”
This is why I was hoping to avoid her. I’ve had this conversation a few times now and it never gets any less tiresome. Can’t a guy have his life fall apart in peace?
“And what? And, that’s no way to live. It’s certainly not a lifestyle becoming of someone like you. Someone on your level.”
“And what level is that Alecia? I haven’t got sh*t. I’m a f*cking perpetual nothing with a gold belt.”
I shoot her a smile, hoping the mixed signals will move the conversation along and onto something a bit less……personal.
“But, this?”
She takes a good look through the window at the mess inside my makeshift home.
“What about this? It’s not as if I’m expecting visitors. “This” is just fine for me. And it is just that. Me. No one else. No friends. No family. No reason to make it nice.
No one, and nothing.”
F*cking hell, it actually kind of hurts saying it out loud like that.
The edge of her mouth pinches a little, and this look of sympathy p*sses me off.
“You’re clearly not okay.”
“Oh f*ck off. What even gives you the right to be here talking about any of this?”
That sympathy I mentioned? Yeah, that didn’t last.
“You think I actually give a sh*t about your lecherous ass? I’m just here trying to do the right thing for someone who looked like they might need help, but hey I guess you’ve got this right?”
“Then do the right thing and get out of my f*cking face.”
“Whatever. Have a good night a$$hole.”
She turns her back to me, opens the door to her SUV and steps up into it.
That was wholly unnecessary on my part. She was just trying to be nice to someone she used to actually give a damn about.
I reach out of my window and knock on the side of her door.
“Matthews! Hey, Alecia.”
Her tinted window rolls down, but she does not look impressed.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, okay? Honestly, that wasn’t fair of me. I get it. You were just looking out for another human being. I’m sorry.”
Her face softens, if only a little.
“Do you want to…..I dunno…..go somewhere? Grab some food or something? I need to get out of this car.”
“What makes you think I want to spend time with you?”
You used to.
“Come on Gata.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She used to love that name.
“My treat? I could really use the company.”
“That ship has sailed Isaac. I’m not looking to get into anything with you again.”
“Me neither.”
“Then lay off with the pet names. This isn’t happening. Not again.”
“And you won’t even come as a friend?”
“We’re not friends. I only stopped here as long as this to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. You’re alive. You might not be doing so well, but you’re alive. My work here is done.”
She starts to roll her window back up as her engine starts.
“”So you’re just going to leave me here then?
“Yup.”
And with that she flicks her headlights on and pulls away, as my anger boils over again.
“F*cking doe-eyed perra!”
I start bashing my fists off of the dashboard and steering wheel. I’m f*cked off. Sick of being cast aside, but more sick of making it so easy for them.
My fists pound the wheel as I shout more obscenities into the empty carpark. This is what has become of the living legend. The man the people pay to see has quickly become the man the people won’t even get paid to eat with.
I’m done with it.
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"You might as well have sh*t on my face.”
I don’t even know what to say to that Frankie. You’ve really outdone yourself there. Take a bow for making me laugh though.
So why did I sh*t on your face? Sorry. Why did I steal your cherished Impala? The answer is, I’m always thinking ahead. I’m always looking beyond the immediate. Zmey was in my sights but I knew, with the way things were going, that you’d come a knockin’ soon enough.
I hate how happy you are. I hate how perfect your little life is away from our business. So I felt like taking something from you. Granted I didn’t know what until I arrived on your property, and I sure didn’t know it would effect you the way it did. That was down to sheer luck of the draw, though I wish I could claim it was some Machiavellian plan of mine from the start. The fact that the spoils of my visit to Chez Lynn also doubled as a weapon was merely a bonus. Ramming that motor into Tugarin Zmey felt about as good as taking it in the first place, and I suppose the outcome only goes to show how much of a pile of cr*p it was anyway. Even in its suicidal headbutt of the Dragon it failed to get the job done. Now it’s only good for scrap, and I had to finish Zmey myself.
So you see Frank, keeping one eye on those coming up behind me has proven fruitful yet again. I knew you’d be gunning for me soon enough, so I started things early. And now look at us? We’re destined to collide and I’ve managed to get your back up. You’re chomping at the bit and it’s just lovely to see.
I can’t say I’ve enjoyed what it’s brought out of you though. It seems anger only serves to blinker your creativity even further than normal. You’re a walking cliché soft c*ck. Everything you’ve ever done and said has been done and said a million times before, by some other hyped up flavour of the month. I thought that “don’t sing it, bring it” was set to be your magnum opus of utter toss, but then here you are doing the “lighting matches while talking all moody in the darkness” routine. I think if I remember correctly that’s promo 12-38 from “The Big Book of Talkies for Dummies”. Not your best work, but then I suppose we don’t win matches by talking about each other now, do we?
And yet I still take occasion to pick your nonsense apart, when you say sh*t like “we all know I’m the better man”. What the f*ck does that even mean?
You’re no better than anyone else Frank. You’re one of many men. None of you close to matching me, let alone besting me. You, like them, are everything I hate about this business. All talk, and it’s not even your own. You’re rotating soundbites, spewing the same old sh*t and then failing to back it up. Oh, but you’re a champion aren’t you? Surely that proves you’re capable? Do you honestly think that bit of tin foil you’re carrying around means you can dance? The longest reigning International Champion of AAAALL time huh? Congratulations. You managed to topple Thunder. A real bastion of brilliance. I applaud your mediocrity. Really, I do.
And yet I know how much that pointless sh*t matters to you, which is why I’m going to have that title as well. I might as well continue my new found hobby of taking your stuff. Inanimate objects that you’ve senselessly attached a world of meaning to. Do you honestly think you’ve defined anything? You’re a footnote at best Frank. You’re still new to all this, no matter how grizzled you’ve come to think of yourself. Your career is still in its infancy compared to someone like me, and that International Championship that you claim to have made relevant used to just be considered a stepping stone, nothing more. If that’s the kind of thing you want to be remembered for then more power to you buddy. But the fact you think that my title defines me? You’re a hypocrite. What makes you think your run is even a pale imitation of mine? How have you even come close to elevating that strap in the way I’ve lifted mine? When people think of the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship they think of no one but Drakz.
That’s it.
Just me.
I’ve held this thing for so long during my career that it’s hard to imagine me without it, and yet the idea that it defines me? Pah. What you fail to realise in the present day Mr Lynn, is that I couldn’t give a f*ck about that title. I don’t care about ANY titles anymore. I don’t care about wins and losses anymore. I have reached a point where none of this means a damn thing to me. I just want someone to end it. Someone to send me off on my shield, into the sunset. That’s why my career is constantly on the line these days. I’m not running away, I’m just waiting for the right person to take my place, and we both know that’s not you. You’re the little train who couldn’t. Sure you’ll probably give it a damn good try, but cats like you, that’s all you can do.
Try.
Manchester isn’t where you're set for coronation. Afraid not. It’s the place you’ll remember being knocked back down into the mire. Back into the relentless maelstrom of “pick me! pick me!”. And the best thing about all of this? I get to take something from the challenger for once. It’s usually only me with anything to lose, something I’ve for the longest time deemed unfair. But not this time. I thank you for that. This time my victory means I swipe both your International Championship and now apparently your family to boot! Not that I want them, but I’d rather have them then let them stay with you. I’m a jealous child like that.
You can just call me “The Home Wrecker” from now on folks.
So, you think this is just the beginning for you? That’s what you said isn’t it? Winning my championship and dethroning me is just the beginning of a longer journey to eclipse my achievements? I agree with you…..to a point. This is the beginning for you. This match is the start of your downward spiral. Let’s see if you fare any better than me when you lose it all. When you wake up every day to the knowledge that you’ve got nothing but the sh*t people see on TV.
Hey, here’s an idea! Maybe we can park our cars next to each other for company while we sleep?
Doesn’t that sound fun? You could keep mine clean for me and I’ll give you visiting rights to your International Championship. Wednesdays and every other weekend sound good?
I’m sorry to do this to you Frank, but I can’t go leaving this place in your hands.
You’re just not championship material.
(A.K.A. Only one thing left to lose)
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Striding across the landscape on my glorious white steed, a black blood on my lance that shimmers in the moonlight.
I am he.
I am St George. Slayer of Dragons.
Slayer of mother f*cking Dragons.
Okay, fair enough, I’m not on horseback, nor do I have some outdated mele weapon spattered in Zmey’s innards. BUT I’m still Georgie Boy, because I stabbed that reptile clean through his watermelon sized heart.
What’s that? I won by count out?
Pah. You say potato, I say go f*ck yourself. Who’s the one holding the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship?
You can’t go toe to toe with someone who physically exceeds you. That’s the kind of sh*t I leave to idiots with pride. People without a mind for the game.
When the odds are stacked 7’1” against you, you use your wiles, and show the world that this dragon (note the lower case d) is nothing more than a damn lizard. And now? Now I have a scaled scalp to add to my collection. My methods aren’t up for debate here. Besides, where is he now? Huh?
Gone.
He’s left us.
His tail would no doubt be tucked between his legs if he hadn’t shed it in fear. Not having a tail anymore is probably best for him. Makes it easier to run back into the Mongolian wilderness. It’s less humiliating returning to the tribe that banished you than hang around these parts, with my face everywhere you look.
Tugarin Zmey is a coward.
A coward I’d do well to forget. I’ve got new enemies rising to fill the void, just as he filled it before them. The conveyer belt never stops.
Trace Demon
Philip Schneider
Josh Dean
Samael Ahriman
Cameron Stone
David Brennan
Penny Shannon
Michael Kyzer
Tugarin Zmey
All people I’ve beaten when gold was on their minds.
And now Frank Lynn.
The next fool who thinks he can end this. A man who claims to have surpassed his Gerry Anderson roots. A man who’s fallen in love with the word “constant”.
Why is he constantly slamming his nuts over these two syllables? I wonder if he shouts it every time he climaxes into his disappointed wife? All hunched over, shaking with the word.
Frank, the only constant in your life is the inability to rise beyond the mid card, and that belt you’ve always got slung over your shoulder is nothing but a neon sign, spelling that fact out for the less alert of us. Every time you come near me all I ever hear from you is how I’m forever underestimating you. Writing you off as a non-entity. Someone not worth my time. Well I’m still waiting to be proven wrong Frank. I’m still sitting here, wondering just how deluded you’ve become. Has breaking one record gone to your head? You need to settle down pal. If your aim is to surpass everything I’ve ever done then you’ve got a whole lot more records to smash. You’ll be a walking false grandiose by that time. Your head up in the clouds of your own ass.
Through the mist of your constructed reality though you have at least managed to nail down one truth.
“If something isn’t all about Drakz then it shouldn’t even exist at all.”
Church.
Glad to have provided at least a glimpse at the real world for you. A peephole to see out of your otherwise phoney f*cking existence.
You know me Frankie. Always happy to help.
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It’s always amazed me just how little you can see at night when you’re looking outside with the light on. I am a few meters away from Frank Lynn and his family and they have no idea. I’m not talking 15 meters, crouched behind a bush either. I’m quite literally stood right here in the garden, close enough to spit through the window if it was open. Shame.
They’re a picture of disgusting perfection……..in anyone’s eyes but mine. A laughing and content couple with a young child, just happy to be with one another. Happy to be spending time in each other’s company. I f*cking hate it.
Only the stupid can be happy. Those of us with active minds see far too much to be that damn oblivious. Urgh, Frank and his woman just fed each other. I can’t bear this.
Moving on.
I make my way around the corner of the house but seem to find myself drawn to another window, this time much too close. I’m practically pushed up against the glass gawping in. I’m looking at them side on now. A simple turn of the head from either of them and they’d see me. Thankfully they’re so caught up in their fairytale bull sh*t that they don’t know just how close I am. How close they are. How easy it would be for me to take it all away from them.
Heh.
I best keep moving.
I peel away from the main house and as the light dims behind me I find myself walking through long grass, keeping off of the main track and suddenly in a bizarre turn of events, singing to myself.
“So I’ll roam around on some other man’s ground,
I’ll take a fat ewe from his pack,
And with the aid of my knife,
I’ll shorten it’s life,
and I’ll carry it home on my back, my brave boys,
I will carry it home on my back.”
It’s not long before I’m approaching the barn, my eyes only starting now to adjust to the light. It’s silhouette looms out of the darkness and I make for the door. Needless to say these country f*cking hicks leave it unlocked. So confident are they that no one lives close by, so who could possibly be on their property?
A man who doesn’t mind a long walk, that’s who.
With the door closed behind me I turn on the flashlight and look around the place.
“A ring? Seriously?”
This clown is so unsure of himself behind that bullsh*t facade. What? He needs to train away from prying eyes? You know how often I train these days? I train when we’re live. I train when we’re under the lights. When you get to where I’m at, running drills and practising mat work just seems superfluous. That might seem brazen, but can my results really be denied? F*ck putting in work. Just exist as the best, and if you’re not…..well, then lose and be done with it. I’ve been doing this for too long to learn anything I don’t already know.
Mind you, maybe this is just where Frank comes to knock boots with Daphne away from prying eyes? If his wife walks in then a little sleight of hand can make reverse cowgirl look like a rear naked……if you catch my drift?
*Bzzzzzz Bzzzzzzzzz*
No one ever calls me. Who the f*ck is this?
“Hello?”
“Drakz?”
“Maybe. Who’s asking?”
“I’m not calling to be ambiguous. It’s Lila. Where are you?”
I take a look around, and find myself pointing the torch at a training class group photo in its frame on the wall.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? Where are you?”
Honesty is the best policy.
“If you really must know I’m creeping around Frank Lynn’s property. Is that alright with you?”
“Fine, I see you’re not going to be straight with me. Not sure why I’m so surprised by that. Listen, I know you’re not booked for a match until Glasgow, but we could really do with you heading out to the UK ahead of time for press engagement.”
I continue wandering aimlessly around the room, eyeing up possibilities the whole time.
“Lila. You know how much I hate that island. I’d rather not be there for any longer than is really necessary.”
“I appreciate that but you’re the World Heavyweight Champion. OUR World Heavyweight Champion, and we’d look a bit foolish organising press conferences and the like without you. That’s before we even get to the fact that you’re from that damn island, and could help things run a lot smoother for us.”
I walk into the next room and seem to now be in a double garage, built onto the back of this sex dungeon-cum-training facility.
“Ooooh shiny!”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh. Nothing.”
This’ll do the trick. This’ll do the trick just fine.
“Lila?”
“Are you talking to me this time?”
“I’ll be your dancing bear. I’ll come to the UK ahead of schedule.”
“Brilliant. Thank you. Though I have to admit I’m a little concerned at how co-operative you’re being. Should I be worried?”
“Forget all that. I just need one thing from you in return for whoring me out.”
“I don’t appreciate the phrasing, but go on…..”
“Can you store and deliver a vehicle for me? It’s a deal breaker.”
There’s silence on the phone for a second, while she tries to work out my game.
“I don’t know what shady sh*t you’re up to Drakz, but I don’t want either myself or the company embroiled in it.”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I’m just going to need both my own vehicle and this one at the Minneapolis show next week.”
“Why in the hell do you need more than one car? At least tell me that.”
“That’s none of your concern.”
The actual reason is I’m living out of mine, so kind of need it around. Wherever I go, it goes at the moment.
“I’ll even drop the car off at head office. Literally all I need from you is a garage for the next 7 days and a driver. Do that and I’ll be your agreeable little media soldier. Sound good?”
More waiting around. We both know she’s going to say yes, so why the edging? Are we having phone sex right now?
“Fine. Get the car to the main offices tomorrow and I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
“Love ya Lila.”
And I hang up so I can get a better look at this thing.
It’s big, like all obnoxious American made cars, and given the fact it’s the centre piece of this entire space I’m assuming Frank bangs Daphne inside it as well. Either that or he just loves the damn thing. Whichever it is I reckon he’s pretty attached to it.
If I can’t easily kidnap his kid, then the least I can do is take this macho penis extension. That’ll teach him for being so f*cking smug about his home life.
Again I’m almost offended at the audacity of a family who leaves everything unlocked. The barn double doors to the outside as well as the car itself do exactly as they’re told. Oh and then the keys are tucked behind the sun visor………
Seriously? What f*cking planet are these people living on? It’s almost as if they want me to be doing this. Maybe I should be taking the child after all?
At this point I’ve stopped giving a f*ck about the authenticity of my Sam Fisher cosplay, and with the key in the ignition and the engine started, I rev the bollocks off the engine and then scream out of the building, the headlights like a beacon announcing “here I am sh*t heads!”, and yet I doubt they so much as stopped chewing their dinner. It’s only as I fly past the house itself that I’m pretty certain I’ve raised some kind of alarm inside. Surely?
Obviously I don’t stick around to see Frank leap into action, but if he didn’t hear, see and feel this motor ripping right past him then he needs to consult a physician.
“Next stop Minneapolis! Sort of. Well I suppose really it’s next stop WFWF HQ, but…….f*ck, it’s lost all of its impact now.”
Who the f*ck am I talking to?
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F*ck your old, dead boyfriend Frank.
By the sounds of it he had about as much going for him as a tin of spam, so he stole his entire schtick from a played out movie character? Are you for real? What kind of a man has to imitate someone else to make his way in life? Though I suppose that’s how you got your break isn’t it? As the d*ck sucking facsimile of Joe Bishop. How’s that revolution going anyway? Are you still doing that? Or did you shelve that in favour of some other buzz word? I’ve not been listening closely enough to know. Either way, stop hanging onto the words and teachings of a dead man. It didn’t save him did it? So what makes you think it’s going to save you? Don’t become the next Ahriman. Always making reference to someone long since buried and forgotten. When someone dies you let them go, because their memory isn’t worth sh*t.
You need to be your own man. For once in your life.
F*ck your boring wife Frank.
She only wants you for protection, and if you can’t provide that anymore than guess what? You’re redundant. Here’s your severance package. See ya! Besides if she really wanted to feel safe she didn’t vet her candidates too well did she? She saw the name “Lethal Weapon” on your dating profile and took you at your word. Basic b*tch.
Just like the aforementioned dead, you should let her go. She’s clearly a two faced scum bag if she’s laying a weight like that on you. She doesn’t love you. She loves the idea of what you could be. She loves the idea of a provider. Someone at the top. So what then? You lose this match and she’s just gone? I wonder how long it’ll be until she shows up in some other schmuck’s bed? Someone higher up the pecking order. Don’t worry yourself mate, she’s not my type.
I’m sure someone with no standards like Trace Demon would welcome her with open arms though. If he’s awake yet?
But maybe she’s just saying all of this to rile you? To get you laser focused on beating me? If that’s the case then she’s made a big mistake. We both know just how dangerous coming into a fight like this can be if you’re mad as hell. In your mind now I’m the reason you might lose your happy little home. You blame me for that, when in reality that’s 100% on her. I just took your car. She’s the one dishing out ultimatums.
And finally, f*ck your hopeless kid Frank.
That daughter of yours doesn’t stand a chance.
You’re only as good as your surroundings, and with the two of you teaching her the way of the world I can’t imagine she’s going to amount to much. The family Lynn. All soft in the head and weak in the guts.
I bet this has really got your piss boiling hasn’t it?
“Don’t you dare talk about my family!”
Beating your chest and pawing the ground. Itching to get your hands on me. Frankie, you need to relax.
You shouldn’t be listening to me ahead of fight night. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the master and commander when it comes to getting under folk’s skin. There’s a reason for it. I want to see you make mistakes. It’s fun for me to force your hand into a misstep. That red mist is the reason I love playing this game so much. So long as I keep my wits about me, side stepping a raging bull isn’t all that hard, and then the enjoyment in seeing you run headlong into a brick wall, well, that’s worth the risk.
And a man as bull headed as you? You’re bound to do it time and time again, ad-infinitum.
Realistically buddy, this match is Frank Lynn vs. Frank Lynn. And yet somehow Drakz, The Streak Destroyer, Destroyer, Destroyer is going to be the victor.
Funny how it always works out that way huh?
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If anyone ever tells you that sleeping half upright in a car somehow helps relieve the symptoms of spinal stenosis, give them a slap from me. I appreciate that’s quite a specific scenario, but I’m just trying to cover all bases here. Honestly I’m looking out for your best interests. In short, my back is not feeling great at the moment, but then that’s not really breaking news to anyone is it?
My only relief is that on this evening’s show I didn’t get physical beyond signing a contract, something I think even my fragile bones are up to. It certainly makes the nights a little easier, sleeping here without my body throbbing from a beating. And I know that’s pretty rich coming from a man who wrestles 3 or 4 times a year, but when I do? Well, I’m sure we can all agree that I don’t do things by halves? I haven’t wrestled a match outside of the main event scene since……well….probably since I last wrestled Frank. So I’m sure you’ll forgive my somewhat reduced schedule. I am firmly in my 38th time around the sun after all, and even though the very idea of it sends my gag reflex into overload, I’ve spent 16 of those years throwing myself around the WFWF.
Oh sh*t someone’s coming.
The esteemed Alecia Matthews walks out of the doors of the SSE Arena, out into the adjoining car park. I slouch down some more in the hope she doesn’t see me. Not that I feel shame…….I don’t think? But more so because people have a habit of pestering a man they see sleeping in a vehicle.
She seems to be making a beeline for me though, but I soon realise it’s because her car is parked right beside my own. Maybe she won’t see me in the dark? I suppose for the sake of habitual comfort she’s got herself a left hand drive, regardless of the change in road position that a trip to the UK necessitates, because she’s looming over me now, approaching the door with her keys out.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
F*ck, she looked down.
“Jesus f*cking christ!!!”
She’s backed up against her own vehicle, her keys instinctively slotted between her knuckles, ready to defend herself against the creep staring up at her from the shadows. I immediately have to mitigate, flicking the light on and rolling down my window.
“Hey, hey! Relax it’s me.”
“What in hell are you doing?! You scared the sh*t out of me!”
My hands are held up in front of me, still not certain that her wolverine claw of keys won’t swipe at me just to prove a point.
“I’m so sorry! I was hoping I’d just go unnoticed. I’m not some pervert.”
Not entirely true, and she of all people knows it.
“Look…..”
I thrust my crotch upward so she can see.
“Everything is where it should be. Nothing untoward is going on.”
“What are you doing here? I thought I was one of the last to leave? F*ck. My heart is racing.”
Insert joke about “the effect I have on women” here.
“Something to steady your nerves?”
I offer her the bottle of Irish blend sitting in the passenger’s seat.
“I’m literally about to get in my car and drive.”
“You’re also in Belfast. Practically everyone on the road right now has had a few of these.”
She concedes to my xenophobic stereotyping of an entire people and takes the bottle from my hand, swigging just a little before handing it back.
“If you must know, I’m trying to sleep.”
She swallows and replies.
“Here? In your car?"
A pause for thought.
"Is everything okay?”
I wish people would stop asking me that.
“Just wonderful.”
“Surely the office has booked you a hotel right?”
“Yeah, but there wasn’t on site parking, and….well…..all of my sh*t is in my car. And again, we are in Belfast after all.”
“Are you…..”
“Living out of my car? Yes. And what?”
This is why I was hoping to avoid her. I’ve had this conversation a few times now and it never gets any less tiresome. Can’t a guy have his life fall apart in peace?
“And what? And, that’s no way to live. It’s certainly not a lifestyle becoming of someone like you. Someone on your level.”
“And what level is that Alecia? I haven’t got sh*t. I’m a f*cking perpetual nothing with a gold belt.”
I shoot her a smile, hoping the mixed signals will move the conversation along and onto something a bit less……personal.
“But, this?”
She takes a good look through the window at the mess inside my makeshift home.
“What about this? It’s not as if I’m expecting visitors. “This” is just fine for me. And it is just that. Me. No one else. No friends. No family. No reason to make it nice.
No one, and nothing.”
F*cking hell, it actually kind of hurts saying it out loud like that.
The edge of her mouth pinches a little, and this look of sympathy p*sses me off.
“You’re clearly not okay.”
“Oh f*ck off. What even gives you the right to be here talking about any of this?”
That sympathy I mentioned? Yeah, that didn’t last.
“You think I actually give a sh*t about your lecherous ass? I’m just here trying to do the right thing for someone who looked like they might need help, but hey I guess you’ve got this right?”
“Then do the right thing and get out of my f*cking face.”
“Whatever. Have a good night a$$hole.”
She turns her back to me, opens the door to her SUV and steps up into it.
That was wholly unnecessary on my part. She was just trying to be nice to someone she used to actually give a damn about.
I reach out of my window and knock on the side of her door.
“Matthews! Hey, Alecia.”
Her tinted window rolls down, but she does not look impressed.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, okay? Honestly, that wasn’t fair of me. I get it. You were just looking out for another human being. I’m sorry.”
Her face softens, if only a little.
“Do you want to…..I dunno…..go somewhere? Grab some food or something? I need to get out of this car.”
“What makes you think I want to spend time with you?”
You used to.
“Come on Gata.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She used to love that name.
“My treat? I could really use the company.”
“That ship has sailed Isaac. I’m not looking to get into anything with you again.”
“Me neither.”
“Then lay off with the pet names. This isn’t happening. Not again.”
“And you won’t even come as a friend?”
“We’re not friends. I only stopped here as long as this to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. You’re alive. You might not be doing so well, but you’re alive. My work here is done.”
She starts to roll her window back up as her engine starts.
“”So you’re just going to leave me here then?
“Yup.”
And with that she flicks her headlights on and pulls away, as my anger boils over again.
“F*cking doe-eyed perra!”
I start bashing my fists off of the dashboard and steering wheel. I’m f*cked off. Sick of being cast aside, but more sick of making it so easy for them.
My fists pound the wheel as I shout more obscenities into the empty carpark. This is what has become of the living legend. The man the people pay to see has quickly become the man the people won’t even get paid to eat with.
I’m done with it.
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"You might as well have sh*t on my face.”
I don’t even know what to say to that Frankie. You’ve really outdone yourself there. Take a bow for making me laugh though.
So why did I sh*t on your face? Sorry. Why did I steal your cherished Impala? The answer is, I’m always thinking ahead. I’m always looking beyond the immediate. Zmey was in my sights but I knew, with the way things were going, that you’d come a knockin’ soon enough.
I hate how happy you are. I hate how perfect your little life is away from our business. So I felt like taking something from you. Granted I didn’t know what until I arrived on your property, and I sure didn’t know it would effect you the way it did. That was down to sheer luck of the draw, though I wish I could claim it was some Machiavellian plan of mine from the start. The fact that the spoils of my visit to Chez Lynn also doubled as a weapon was merely a bonus. Ramming that motor into Tugarin Zmey felt about as good as taking it in the first place, and I suppose the outcome only goes to show how much of a pile of cr*p it was anyway. Even in its suicidal headbutt of the Dragon it failed to get the job done. Now it’s only good for scrap, and I had to finish Zmey myself.
So you see Frank, keeping one eye on those coming up behind me has proven fruitful yet again. I knew you’d be gunning for me soon enough, so I started things early. And now look at us? We’re destined to collide and I’ve managed to get your back up. You’re chomping at the bit and it’s just lovely to see.
I can’t say I’ve enjoyed what it’s brought out of you though. It seems anger only serves to blinker your creativity even further than normal. You’re a walking cliché soft c*ck. Everything you’ve ever done and said has been done and said a million times before, by some other hyped up flavour of the month. I thought that “don’t sing it, bring it” was set to be your magnum opus of utter toss, but then here you are doing the “lighting matches while talking all moody in the darkness” routine. I think if I remember correctly that’s promo 12-38 from “The Big Book of Talkies for Dummies”. Not your best work, but then I suppose we don’t win matches by talking about each other now, do we?
And yet I still take occasion to pick your nonsense apart, when you say sh*t like “we all know I’m the better man”. What the f*ck does that even mean?
You’re no better than anyone else Frank. You’re one of many men. None of you close to matching me, let alone besting me. You, like them, are everything I hate about this business. All talk, and it’s not even your own. You’re rotating soundbites, spewing the same old sh*t and then failing to back it up. Oh, but you’re a champion aren’t you? Surely that proves you’re capable? Do you honestly think that bit of tin foil you’re carrying around means you can dance? The longest reigning International Champion of AAAALL time huh? Congratulations. You managed to topple Thunder. A real bastion of brilliance. I applaud your mediocrity. Really, I do.
And yet I know how much that pointless sh*t matters to you, which is why I’m going to have that title as well. I might as well continue my new found hobby of taking your stuff. Inanimate objects that you’ve senselessly attached a world of meaning to. Do you honestly think you’ve defined anything? You’re a footnote at best Frank. You’re still new to all this, no matter how grizzled you’ve come to think of yourself. Your career is still in its infancy compared to someone like me, and that International Championship that you claim to have made relevant used to just be considered a stepping stone, nothing more. If that’s the kind of thing you want to be remembered for then more power to you buddy. But the fact you think that my title defines me? You’re a hypocrite. What makes you think your run is even a pale imitation of mine? How have you even come close to elevating that strap in the way I’ve lifted mine? When people think of the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship they think of no one but Drakz.
That’s it.
Just me.
I’ve held this thing for so long during my career that it’s hard to imagine me without it, and yet the idea that it defines me? Pah. What you fail to realise in the present day Mr Lynn, is that I couldn’t give a f*ck about that title. I don’t care about ANY titles anymore. I don’t care about wins and losses anymore. I have reached a point where none of this means a damn thing to me. I just want someone to end it. Someone to send me off on my shield, into the sunset. That’s why my career is constantly on the line these days. I’m not running away, I’m just waiting for the right person to take my place, and we both know that’s not you. You’re the little train who couldn’t. Sure you’ll probably give it a damn good try, but cats like you, that’s all you can do.
Try.
Manchester isn’t where you're set for coronation. Afraid not. It’s the place you’ll remember being knocked back down into the mire. Back into the relentless maelstrom of “pick me! pick me!”. And the best thing about all of this? I get to take something from the challenger for once. It’s usually only me with anything to lose, something I’ve for the longest time deemed unfair. But not this time. I thank you for that. This time my victory means I swipe both your International Championship and now apparently your family to boot! Not that I want them, but I’d rather have them then let them stay with you. I’m a jealous child like that.
You can just call me “The Home Wrecker” from now on folks.
So, you think this is just the beginning for you? That’s what you said isn’t it? Winning my championship and dethroning me is just the beginning of a longer journey to eclipse my achievements? I agree with you…..to a point. This is the beginning for you. This match is the start of your downward spiral. Let’s see if you fare any better than me when you lose it all. When you wake up every day to the knowledge that you’ve got nothing but the sh*t people see on TV.
Hey, here’s an idea! Maybe we can park our cars next to each other for company while we sleep?
Doesn’t that sound fun? You could keep mine clean for me and I’ll give you visiting rights to your International Championship. Wednesdays and every other weekend sound good?
I’m sorry to do this to you Frank, but I can’t go leaving this place in your hands.
You’re just not championship material.
