Post by Drakz on Sept 24, 2020 14:37:31 GMT -5
”F*ck Bill-ed Broomapus”
(A.K.A. Douchebags, Drunks and Daddys)
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So, fun fact attack. My next match marks the first time I’ve defended the International Championship in just over eight years. Eight whole years since Vegas, and the cucks in the back would have you believe I’ve held the title hostage that whole time, the way they bleat on about my inactivity. Well, look where that crying has gotten our friend Broom. Sure, he’s got himself a title shot, so maybe this b*tching and moaning schtick really does generate results? But let’s not forget he’s also got a match with me, the one man f*cking machine. I’m not sure the pros outweigh the cons, not when you’re going on 60, and have a penchant for beating on kids a damn sight smaller than you. Coming up against Drakz comes as a shock to the system when your preferred opponent is still waiting to graduate high school. I’m sure Billy will reiterate all this shortly after the fact, and I don’t want to steal his spotlight.
So, like I mentioned, I’m defending my International Championship. Not by choice mind you. I’d have picked a higher calibre of opponent, but I guess this is a Make A Wish type deal or something? That being said, for some f*cking reason, this monumental event, not seen since 2012, has failed to make it into the main event slot of the show?!
What in the actual sh*t?
For once, I even took the time to look further still down the card, and I see some other title I’ve never heard of is being defended on the night as well. (What the hell’s a “vanguard”?) So that’s two title matches, arguably one more prestigious than the other, taking place and yet there’s a non-title match closing the show?
EBR continues his tour of domestic abuse, putting his hands on a 2nd woman in as many shows, and for some reason that’s deemed a bigger deal than my involvement? Where the f*ck was he when I was carrying this place on my back? Skulking around in Japan, that’s where. Trying to hide his “head-drop” boner from the rest of the world.
And Penny? They’re happy to use my name to prop up her credibility in their write ups, the fact that I took my W back with authority not withstanding, but hey, sure, just stick her in the main event, first match back.
That’s what this is all about isn’t it? Two unreliables, back from f*ck knows where, and just the fact that they’ve come back is enough to overshadow those of us that have been putting the work in this entire time. The quick little spike in ratings they see when someone makes a heroic return is enough for them to think they can build a damn business around it. What’s the use though? When you can’t be sure they’ll stick around beyond next week? Then what? Oh, that’s right, you put me back up there, and hope I’m not too peeved about the transgression………
Eat a bag of baby d*cks.
So with that, I’m considering this match an exercise in reclamation. Because even though I’m the final boss in this sport, even though I have both (again, what's a Vanguard?) singles titles (maybe not physically but we’ll get to that), I’m still forever forced to fight as though I’ve got something to prove. But that’s nothing new. I’ve always had my doubters. When I last defended the International title they were banging on about how Michael Kyzer was the bonafide main eventer of our little band of merry men, sh*tting on me at every turn. And I’ll play devil’s advocate, maybe they didn’t know I’d already been WFWF World Heavyweight Champion by that point? Maybe they couldn’t recognise a man stepping aside for a friend? But in 2020? How can I have any doubters left? I mean come the f*ck on!?
Are peoples’ memories really so short? Claiming I shouldn’t be holding on to both bits of gold. That they want their taste.
Hey! Whose f*cking idea was it to hand this second strap to me? You might want to start taking up your woes with Frank. He’s the idiot who practically paid the bill for fitting my sideplates. If you’ve got a problem with the monopoly, then talk to the enablers. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200. Do not bother me with all this petty sh*te.
Because for me, this match isn’t about all that. This reclamation has nothing to do with the International Championship. Not as such.
This is a message. A message to Joshua, that I’m a fighting champion. No. I’m a decimating champion. This match is going to act as the smelling salts to wake Josh the hell up to what he’s gotten himself, and his family, into. He knows I’ll come for his family if I need to, and what do you know? This month’s punching bag, Mr Broom, he seems pretty precious about his nearest and dearest as well doesn’t he? How thematic.
This match is just a warm up for me taking my WFWF World Heavyweight Championship back from the rat that stole it. It’s ridiculous isn’t it? All this sh*t, just to get through Superbrawl and give Destroyer the title shot he actually earned! He won the Survival of the Fittest chamber match. What about you Josh? What about you Billy? What did either of you do to deserve the opportunities you’re being granted? Daylight robbery, and just being in catering at the right time? F*cking hell. Is that all it takes nowadays? It’s about time those who deserve it were given their due around here. Enough of these queue jumpers.
Get to the back of the line.
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Meetings with the new boss are always a riot. It’s an opportunity to mark your territory and spray a heady cocktail of p*ss around the room. This time is no different, as I find myself sat in the office of some jumped up kid, who I absolutely find too familiar from the get go.
“Do you take ice? Of course you do.”
“I don’t drink.”
Not anymore. I just thumb painkillers up my own poop chute. Something many deem less of a social activity than what he’s offering, but I say it depends on what circles you move in.
“Really? That’s cool bro, I can get down with that.”
I hate him already.
“Water? Juice?”
“It’s fine.”
“How about one of these cans of Kash Energy?”
“Nope.”
He’s already opened it and placed it down in front of me on the desk. That grim, medicinal stink rises from the freshly perforated top. What is that smell? All energy drinks have it. Is it taurine? Is taurine bull seamen? Didn’t people used to say that?
“So man, you caught any good films recently?”
He’s swilling his glass of whatever around in his hand, back in his chair now, feet up on the table. I’m sure in his mind he’s just oozing charisma and charm, but in my mind…….the one that matters……he’s a f*cking douche bag.
“What?”
“Or are you more of a TV guy? HBO?”
What the f*ck is going on? I’ve never so much as seen this guy before, and he’s here asking about my viewing habits seconds into a meeting that HE called.
“Listen………bro………can we just skip over all the pleasantries and get to it?”
He smiles, holding up his free hand.
“It’s cool, I get it. Busy guy. All business. That’s what I like about you.”
“I’m not busy. I just don’t want to be here.”
The boyish grin twitches a little, and I get the sense this chimp loves to be loved. He’s going to struggle in his new job position if he doesn’t get used to people telling him, in no uncertain terms, that he can f*ck off. That’s basically the primary role of whoever sits in that chair.
“My bad. I guess we’ve gotten off to a rocky start here. I didn’t so much as introduce myself. I’m Kris Kash, Kash Industries CEO, and now WFWF CEO as well. But I don’t want you to think of me as a boss…….”
I don’t.
“……More as an older brother who wants to help out.”
I’m almost certain I’ve got 10 years on this kid.
“So, how about it Drakz? Let’s make a lot of money together, yeah?”
“Okay, Chris was it?”
“Kris. With a K.”
You can hear the difference?
“Sure. So, Chris with a K, I don’t know how much attention you’ve been paying, either before or after you made your most recent acquisition, but I’m on my way out. Sure we can make my last few appearances lucrative, but I’m on borrowed time. Every time I defend that WFWF World Heavyweight Championship, my career is on the line with it. That’s not some metaphor, or a maybe, that’s legitimate. I’m done.”
“You’re still under contract……”
As those words leave his mouth I notice a sudden change in his demeanour. Gone is the pally pally grin, and his feet come off the desk.
“……And I run a tight ship. Things aren’t the same as they were a few weeks ago, and you’re not walking out on a legally binding agreement just because you feel like it.”
“Calm down Sally. Getting all hot isn’t going to help matters. What are you going to do? Force me into the ring?”
Heh. He wouldn’t be the first clean shirt that’s tried that.
“Seeing as you’re so enamoured with legalities, need I remind you that this contract you’re talking about expires a week before Superbrawl? Which ever genius drafted that up seemed to have my best interests at heart, as opposed to those of the company, don’t you think?”
His lip curls a little, no doubt p*ssed off that something out of his control now has him on the back foot.
“So if you want a main event at your biggest show, if you want THE main event, then maybe let’s talk like equals, instead of you trying to wave your spotty little d*ck in my face.”
There’s a very sudden change, again, in his mannerisms, and it’s not out of fear, or any intimidation on my part. Oh no. This guy’s a chameleon. A business lizard. He can see the stick was getting him nowhere, so my guess is he’s about to revert to the carrot.
“Let’s dial things back a little here my man. I know it’s in our nature, a couple of alpha males, to start beating our chest when things aren’t going our way…..”
F*cking hell I hate this guy.
“…..but let me tell ya. Game respects game.”
I’m sorry, what?
“I don’t listen to R&B mate, you’re going to have to rephrase that.”
He laughs. I still don’t like him though.
“I like you Isaac. Can I call you Isaac?”
No.
“No.”
He ignores that bit of denial.
“You’re sharp Isaac. It’s no wonder you’ve been on top here for so long. Nothing gets past you.”
Okay, this ass kissing is getting a little on the nose, and that doesn’t sound hygienic.
Always wipe from front to back girls.
I just sit there, waiting for him to reveal to me what it is he actually wants. I’ve not got much to say otherwise.
“Let’s get serious for a minute though….”
Right on cue. He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a paper folder.
“I’ve got a fresh contract right here for you. Much more lucrative than your current one. I’m honestly embarrassed at the current deal you’re signed to. It’s insulting.”
“And here I was thinking finances were in the toilet. Isn’t that what people keep saying?”
“You’ve gotta spend money to make money baby.”
If I don’t have an aneurism before this interview is through it will be a miracle.
“I’m not re-signing.”
It hangs in the air, and I notice his brain short circuit for a second as he tries to work out the best way to react. Instead I get in before him.
“Lila already knows this. Besides, what happened to her? How come she’s not here for this? I get that you’re the new wallet in town, but surely the General Manager should at least be present for contract negotiations? Attempts at it, anyway.”
His dead eyes flicker back into life as he senses something to latch onto.
“She’s gone.”
He laughs to himself a little. Have I missed something?
“I literally fired her on live TV. Maybe you’re not as sharp as I thought?”
“Or maybe I don’t sit, glued to a monitor when I’m not out in that ring? Unlike the great unwashed, I don’t watch this sh*t. I participate, then I pursue other interests.”
“Oh? Like what?”
F*ck. Wasn’t expecting that.
“All sorts.”
“I’m not calling your bluff bro, I’m genuinely just interested.”
He bloody well is calling my bluff.
“…………”
He sucks air through his nose and blinks his eyes a few times, clearly happy to wait for my bull sh*t response.
“……………..Big game fishing….”
The f*ck?
“Oh……wow. Wasn’t expecting that.”
I must have said it pretty convincingly because he genuinely looks impressed at my hobby. Well, not actually my hobby, but the first thing that came into my head, though I can’t say for certain why. I’ve never so much as held a fishing rod.
Thankfully he's no expert marlin angler and doesn't have any further probing questions. He just slides the paperwork toward me.
“About the contract. Just take it away with you, and give it a once over. You might have a change of heart. Besides I’m sure we can come to a compromise based on a reduced schedule, or whatever it is you need to stay active. I’d just hate to see you leaving money on the table.”
I’m not a prostitute. Do you see my head in a toilet, with drugs up my ass? Heh.
I’ve made a statement, and I’m sticking to it. This contract is as good as kindling for the fire from where I’m sitting. Got to keep this schmuck off my back though.
“Sure, whatever. Listen, while we’re on the subject of compromise, I need some assurances about this Joshua Dean situation.”
“Sure. What can I do? Just name it.”
A dangerous thing to say to a man like me.
“Well, first off, I want that championship belt returning to me. I feel like I shouldn’t even have to be saying this though.”
He nods.
“We’ll get it done. This is something that’s just slipped through the cracks during the change over in leadership, and for that I’m sorry my man.”
Slipped through the cracks? Your top prize has ‘slipped through the cracks’? Come on Isaac. Don’t dwell on it. Stay focused.
“Secondly, I want a security detail. I’m f*cking sick of being jumped from behind. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been hit in the back of the head over the course of the last 16 years?
I mean, here you are waving a new contract at me, but the amount of concussions I’ve suffered from snakes like Dean? You’ll be lucky if I so much as remember we had this meeting 30 minutes from now. That needs to stop. I need people watching my back. And not friends. They’re governed by emotions and circumstance. No. I’ve done that one before. I want people on a payroll. Nothing inspires loyalty quite like cold, hard cash.”
“If that’s something my champion needs to feel safe at work, then I’ll get it done. I already have my own team, so putting together another for yourself is as good as done. As the World Heavyweight Champion you’re my MVP. If we’re gonna right this ship’s course then I’ll do whatever it takes. This is more than just another investment for me.”
That was easy.
“I’m glad we’re starting to understand each other. But if I’m really as important to you, and your business, as you claim then it’s time you start making me priority numero uno. Look after me. I’ve been living in my f*cking car for months now. A guy who’s spinal column is held together with duct tape. I’m sure you can guess what that’s doing to my performance in the ring? If my retirement is really something you’d like to avoid then it’s simple………I just need to keep winning. I’m not saying I want your help to do get the job done every time I’m in the ring, but a bit of help in between wouldn’t go amiss now would it?”
He seems to be listening and I figure while I’ve got this moron’s ear I should milk it for all it’s worth.
“So, the back? What are we talking here?”
“I’m broken down, and drowning in medical bills, when in reality I should be getting shiatsu massages on the daily, and drowning in medical marijuana oil. This new contract you’re offering……I’ll read it, but all of this sh*t needs sorting out, on top of whatever deal you have in mind.”
“Like I said, we’ll compromise to make sure business is done right by the both of us.”
I don’t give two sh*ts if we do right by him. I’ve been just scraping by for too long. It’s about time I was treated like the f*cking royalty I am.
“And as far as things I don’t need, how the f*ck is Josh Dean seemingly able to turn up whenever he pleases, making your champion look vulnerable every time? How is he even getting close to me? NO ONE should be able to get close to me. Dean is barely even an employee, and yet he’s had the opportunity to put his hands on me time and time again.”
Kash is just nodding in agreement, stern faced, and his whole bro attitude is at least muted for now. He’s clearly starting to realise he's got his work cut out for him, ensuring I don’t just up and walk out on his newly acquired sinking ship.
“I’m not signing anything……..yet. But if you’re able to at least show me that you’re willing to go the extra mile for me, the biggest draw in the entire industry……YOUR biggest draw, then, and only then, can we make a lot of money together.”
Have I just talked myself into not retiring?
He stands up from his chair and reaches a hand towards me, evidently impressed with my balls out approach to parleying.
“I like to think this is the start of a mutually beneficial relationship.”
I rise, and take his hand in mine, but instead of shaking, pull him slightly toward me, the edge of the desk gouging into his crotch. I don’t want him getting too comfortable right?
“All this dialoguing is great, but it doesn’t mean sh*t to me if you’re not actively showing me that respect.”
There’s a fire stirring in me that’s been all but extinguished for some time now.
“Or are you telling me that I’m not your main event?”
He’s wincing, trying not to let on that his left nut is under some serious pressure.
“Why would I say that?”
“You don’t have to. You booked it that way. What the f*ck is with this EBR/Shannon match closing the next show? I’m defending one of my championships and you go and put those two on last? Maybe you’re not as sharp as I thought…….”
He’s sweating a little now as I release his hand and turn to leave the office, not letting him even begin to try explaining his decision making on the subject. F*ck it. If he wants to book “The Last Samurai vs Courtney Cocks” in an attempt to ‘send the crowd home happy’ then let him.
I’m just content in the fact that my stank is all over his damn room. Two alpha males? Give me a f*cking break.
Oh, and I made sure I knocked over that can of "Kash Energy" before leaving. That stuff is gonna be hell to clean up.
Sorry Billy.
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“Jesus. This is just plan sad.”
You know I mean it when I have to say it out loud to myself. I’m peering through the window and can see it’s a real war zone in there. Takeaway food lies half eaten on the floor, there’s a whole host of empty wine bottles all over the place, and clothes just dumped where ever. The whole thing is giving off that student chic vibe you’d expect to see in any 19 year old’s first bachelor pad, not the expensive home of a fully grown, formerly successful business woman.
What a fall from grace. Well, what a trip into the ditch you’ve been teetering next to for ages. I should be more surprised by what I’m seeing, but then I’ve not got a very high opinion of most people. Set your expectations low and you’ll never be disappointed.
F*ck. I wonder if she’s even alive still? She could easily have died in there a couple of days back and no one would even know. Am I the one who gets to find her? I’m sure she’d be ambivalent about that. Partly happy I cared enough to visit, but royally f*cked off that no one else arrived before me.
Ooh. The door’s opening.
“Well at least you’re not dead.”
On her seeing it’s me, I realise my guess of mixed emotions was a little off the mark. Optimistic shall we say.
“I thought there was some homeless would-be rapist lingering outside. Turns out I was right.”
“So you opened the door?!?!”
Things must be even more desperate than I’d imagined.
“Not before grabbing this….”
She flashes a firearm at me, and it’s only now I realise that her other hand is nursing an open beer bottle. Not the safest one-two punch in the world. Booze and bullets. God bless America, am I right?
“Are you going to let me in?”
“Why the f*ck would I do that?”
She’s right I suppose.
“See ya!”
She goes to close the door but I wedge my foot against the frame, immediately triggering flash backs to the time I showed up unannounced, and uninvited at Brennan’s place, greeted by his good lady. I seem to have made quite a habit of home invasion over the years, but always with the best of intentions (for me at least).
“What the f*ck are you doing? You know I have a gun.”
“Lila, come on. Get a grip. You’re not going to shoot me.”
She probably would.
“Why don’t you let me in and we can talk?”
She pauses for thought, and I notice a light glaze to her eyes. She’s not wasted, not yet anyway, but she’s definitely had a few. Enough to lose her inhibitions. Hopefully not enough to shoot me.
I spoke too soon.
She lifts the pistol up and points it right at me, totally deadpan.
“I’m not going to shoot you huh?”
My arsehole is twitching right now. Not going to lie. I’m also not going to let on to her that I’m a little nervous.
“You’re probably right. But probably isn’t a dead cert is it?”
Her arm drops to her side and she starts laughing.
What the f*ck has been going on recently? Why are all these clowns saddling me up like a damn rodeo bull? Joshua Dean and now Lila Sleater? This pattern better not continue into my match with old Broomeo.
“F*ck it. Come in. Just mind where you sit.”
It’s only as she limps away from the doorway that I notice her leg is all strapped up. Drunken accident?
I follow her inside.
“What’s with the bionic leg?”
She doesn’t answer, and instead keeps on into her front room, yes the sh*t hole I was surveying moments ago. She tosses the pistol onto the sofa and I tense up, waiting for one of us to end up on the local news.
‘firearm accident costs life of homeless rapist and/or rapee’
Thankfully it lands without a hitch, and now Lila Sleater throws herself onto the sofa as well, some of the contents of her bottle erupting up and out, onto her trousers. She doesn’t even seem to notice.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“What did you do to your leg?”
“What did I do?”
She doesn’t look best pleased at this line of questioning, but now I’m curious.
“Okay, let me rephrase it. Why’s your leg busted?”
Her eyebrow raises, trying to work me out. I’m just asking a simple question, I don’t see what all the hostility is for.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
I’m yet to sit down, as following her advice of ‘mind where you sit’ is proving more of an ordeal than you’d expect. F*ck it. I’ll stand.
“This…..”
She lifts the injured leg as though it needed highlighting.
“Is the work of your new boss.”
“That soft c*ck sk8r boy did that?”
Now my eyebrow raises, as I find it hard to believe he’d be capable of doing much of anything physical.
“Well, he ordered his gorillas to do it for him. He fired me on live f*cking TV! Can you believe that sh*t?! Then they ejected me from the ring. Just tossed me like so much garbage.“
What the actual f*ck? Not content with humiliating Lila, Kash actually had his goons put their hands on her? I’m a piece of sh*t. Everyone knows that, but it’s pretty rare that I beat on innocent folk……….is that true? I don’t know. I can’t remember any more. Either way I’m pretty p*ssed off about this. Why is that? It’s not like me and Lila are close. Is this……..empathy? Insert manga butterfly meme. Urgh, I make myself sick.
“So here we are….”
She gestures at the pig sty we’re sat in.
“…..speaking of which. Why are you here? And how did you find me?”
“I followed the trail of slime.”
Whoops. Couldn’t help getting the digs in, even when she’s at her lowest. She takes it in good spirit though, either that or she just doesn’t care any more. A laugh, followed by the draining of her brewski.
“But why? I can’t give you anything now.”
She’s right. I stand to gain absolutely nothing from talking to an ex-General Manager, and yet Im here.
“Honestly? I just wanted to check in. As you probably gleaned from my ignorance on the manner in which you were……..released……I actually only just found out you’d even gone, after a make out session with Kris Kash. That guy really wants to get to 3rd, 4th and 5th base with me.”
“Well he sure didn’t seem to like me.”
“That’s a good thing. He’s a creep. If you were a reptile, he’s a damn mollusc.”
“Were? I thought I’m the Queen b*tch, the way everyone always talks about me?”
“Losers generally need a scapegoat when they hit their glass ceiling. I guess you’re an easy target.”
“I guess so.”
She’s already opening another bottle. She waves it toward me but I hold up a hand to refuse. Unperturbed she just swigs it herself.
“But yes, well noticed. I was using the past tense because, whilst you’re still pretty gross, I’m kind of enjoying the gives no f*cks, jobless Sleater so far. Surely you want someone to vent with? Go on, tell me what it was like working closely with that man-child before he dumped you……”
“He really is a 13 year old try hard isn’t he?”
She cracks up laughing and I start to wonder if this is the first time we’ve ever seen eye to eye. Not that I was one of her biggest detractors or anything, more of a general pain in the arse for her, but still I don’t remember ever sharing a laugh.
“Where the f*ck did he even come from? What is this whole ‘Kash Brand’ I keep hearing about? Is he genuinely successful? I guess he’s doing alright if he bought the company outright?”
“Something to do with his family I think.”
“Course. Isn’t it always?”
“You know, I can’t even be bothered to blow off steam about him. It’s done. I’m gone. F*ck it. I thought I knew my place in that company, but it turns out I was wrong. I’m just as disposable as anyone else.”
Anyone? Don’t be so f*cking dramatic Lila. I’m right here, standing in the same room as you.
“Where did you think that place was?”
The toilet? I’m so bad.
“I dunno. Somewhere valued at least.”
“Isn’t the company balls deep in the red right now? And isn’t that your fault?”
She’s looking right through me.
“Hey.”
I click my fingers in front of her face.
“Enough of this woe is me sh*t. You thought you were untouchable, you were wrong. Very wrong in fact. From what I can make out you managed to nearly bankrupt the fed. That’s pretty good going in my eyes.”
She drinks.
Why do I always hang around with such pathetic, booze hounds?
“Are we in competition to ruin that place or something?”
“Oh you win by a landslide, I’m big enough to admit defeat there.”
“Pshhh. Always with the jokes. Besides, what do you think about your position? Where do you fit into the WFWF in 2020? Aren’t you worried people see the pack leader is starting to get grey around the muzzle?”
Even when I’m a geriatric, I’ll still be the one killing every pup that doesn’t share my genes. King of the f*cking Universe. Do I have to say it out loud?
“Didn’t I already tell you Kash is trying to deepthroat me into signing a new contract? What’s my place? Same as it’s always been. The King of the Universe.
I said it out loud. Happy?
You want to talk about untouchable? I f*cking invented it.”
“Heh. You think? There’s stuff you don’t see, you know.”
Hello. What’s this? A little unexpected tidbit?
“Like all this sh*t with Joshua Dean. You think he’s got at you on his own?”
Excuse me?
“And what do you mean by that?”
“Kris might have been giving you the big doe eyes while you were in his office, but you’ve gotta believe he’s made sure Josh had no problem entering those arenas, jumping the guard rail and getting the drop on you. He’s good, and he wants to make money. He’s a f*cking bunghole, but he’s got a mind for hooking an audience.”
“So you’re telling me he’s not being straight with me?”
Is that really a 3rd rodeo rider, digging their spurs into me without me even realising? I need to sharpen up. Drink some matcha or something.
“I’m telling you, you’re just a piece of someone else’s puzzle.”
I am the f*cking puzzle!
“So all of this is just to boost ratings? I could have f*cking told you that! That’s all it’s ever been about. Though I’m not so sure he’s as clued up as even you think he is.”
“Why? Didn’t I just tell you he’s playing you?”
“Well if his idea of putting butts in seats is me absolutely smashing in a man approaching retirement age, then I have to question his business acumen.”
“What? That sounds like a freak show, and they used to do pretty well right?”
“There’s a big difference between a bearded lady, and me dropping a member of the housekeeping staff on his head.”
“Why would you be……oh. Billy.”
“Yeah. Billy.”
F*cking Billy.
“It sounds like you’re none too happy about facing him?”
That’s an understatement.
“It’s less to do with who and more to do with why. You know I’ll fight anyone, but I don’t see how this bum has earned himself a title shot…..”
Her face lights up a little. She clearly has a soft spot for the guy.
“He’s getting a World Heavyweight Title match?! That’s amazing!”
Ha…..haha…..hahahahah.
This mental laughter becomes physical, and I find myself bent double, howling at her excitement.
“Hell no. Hahahaha.”
“I don’t see why that’s so hilarious.”
I’m still laughing, so it takes a moment to respond.
“You don’t? Billy Broom? In contention for the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship? Get the f*ck out of here. He’s lucky to be getting an International Championship opportunity, and when I say lucky I mean fallen into a barrel of d*cks and come out sucking a tit lucky. You’re right on the freak show part. This is a mismatch, and I guess that’s what makes it exciting. People like to see an upset, or at least the idea that it’s a possibility. The only problem there is that I’m not the type to take anyone lightly these days. I’ve made that mistake before, and I’ve seen others do the same, and it winds up costing them. Ante Whitner beating Michael Kyzer, hell Billy f*cking Broom himself beating Tugarin Zmey? With a little help from yours truly of course, but all the same, who’s to say it couldn’t happen again?”
Who indeed?
“Let me save you the energy. Me. I say.”
“It’s starting to sound like you’re going to go out there and try to prove a point. Please don’t do anything excessive. Billy’s one of the good ones. Well, he was at least. His attitude started to nosedive last year.”
“Well fingers crossed this public degradation will help him pull out of it before he hits the Andes. I’m not going to kill him. I’m not Phillip Schneider. It takes more than just getting booked in a match with me to warrant an execution.”
That f*cking moron literally brought a gun on TV. Anything to pop the ratings I guess? And based on what Sleater’s saying, whichever sh*t louse was in charge back then probably knew about it, and let it happen.
“I still have no idea how that jury found him not guilty.”
“Schneider? For what? The kiddie films?”
“No! Billy.”
“Oh. Yeah, it’s almost like someone paid off that jury…….”
“I don’t appreciate that insinuation.”
Obviously I don’t think Lila Sleater has ever had the sway, or indeed the cajones, to pull something like that, but it’s fun to wind her up.
“I mean, it would explain the empty company account……”
“F*ck you.”
She’s still a slug woman, but I’ve certainly warmed up to that idea since learning she got fired. Funny how that works out.
“I’m kidding. Jeez. Anyway what’s next then? Or are you just going to sit here, stinking yourself into oblivion forever?”
“Who gives a sh*t?”
The more self deprecating and pessimistic she gets, the more I like her. You know, this gives me an idea.
“Well, you’re right there. Literally no one. However, leave it with me. I reckon we can change that.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t choke on your own vomit before I next come around yeah?”
“I’m not making any promises.”
Neither am I.
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So…….William. Bill-tong. Bilbo. Billyonaire.
Answer me this.
What do you think your place in the company is? It’s rhetorical, I don’t expect you to answer, because of course I’m going to tell you. You’re enhancement talent. You’re a guy people beat to boost their middling success, and every know and again you pick up a flash victory that keeps you from returning to your previous pastime of pulling body hair from the shower drain. You’re a guy I guess people can rally behind because you’re just like them. A f*cking nobody. A run of the mill sh*t head who somehow has found himself in a wrestling ring, across from seasoned professionals. And this time? This time you find yourself in a ring with a titan. I’m a big game fisherman these days mate. Little tiddlers just get cut open and thrown back out as chum, to attract bigger foes.
What’s important here Bill, is to not let your emotions rule your decision making abilities. I know as a man in the autumn of his life, who not so long ago was a damn cleaner, your decisions in life aren’t really that up to snuff, but what little you have? Don’t let them get clouded by the idea that you want to destroy me for putting your daughter’s name in my mouth. Be sensible, and use this moment to further your career, not shorten it. I’ll give you a fair shake in Cardiff, so long as you show me some respect and don’t just come out like a bull, thirsty for red rag. You’ve got to know that if you start off hot, I’m only going to turn up that heat until you boil over.
I’ve done some reading up on you, if you can believe that? I legitimately spent some of my time looking into what you get up to. Your extra curricular activities. It turns out you’re not the straight up guy I thought you were. I guess I just haven’t been paying attention, though I’m sure you can believe that. It’s a bit more......me, isn’t it?
Parole violations, attacking civilians, smashing up kids’ cars, hell, smashing up kids!? And people have the nerve to say I’m the bad guy? Jesus. I never got physical with anyone under age……never say never though, right?
You know, I used to be good friends with a drunk, in fact I might be becoming friends with another at the moment. He wasn’t always an active drunk. A reformed drunk at times, but always a drunk at heart. You can’t get that monkey off your back. You can put a muzzle and shackles on it, stop it from throwing its sh*t around the place, but it’s always going to be there. Even if you actually get the job done……killing yourself I mean…..rather than that faux, cry for help sh*t, that monkey will be sat, perched on your limp body. Outlasting you. Your drunken exploits remembered far beyond your life’s end. It’s nice to know that even you, Billy Broom, the apparent everyman of the WFWF is as much a piece of sh*t as the rest. A testament to the human condition I suppose? Deep down, we’re all awful. Some of us just have an easier time than others embracing it.
Remember Billy, you owe me for your most recent rise in stock. That win over Tugarin that you like to harp on about so much? That the commentators like to play up every time you’re on screen? Don’t forget who handed that to you. You’re no Dragon Slayer. You’re just an opportunist. The right warm body, at the right time. Don’t get me wrong, that deserves respect as well. You’ve got to give credit to those that see those glimmers of hope and grab onto them with both hands, instead of letting them pass on by. But this time opportunity knocks, and you should just ignore it. Let someone else get the door, because unlike Zmey, I’m not so easily distracted. You’ll have my undivided attention, and whilst you might think that’s what you deserve, I’m warning you, when I get my teeth in, I don’t let go. I’ll pin you to the ground by the scruff of your neck and f*ck you in that ring if the moment takes me, and all of your navy seal, spec ops bull sh*t will be like dust in the wind. You’ll just be a scared old man, getting split open like a coconut.
Speaking of which, maybe leave your daughter at home? I wouldn’t want you getting upset again.
“Oh Grandad’s had another of his turns.”
Just cut your losses and send her off to the cinema or something. I hear you don’t like being embarrassed in front of her? And this, if you choose for it to be, could wind up very embarrassing indeed for you.
The choice is yours mate. Have a good, old fashioned wrasslin’ match with me, or appeal to my more carnal instincts and swing for the fences, spit in my eye, whatever you think will reclaim Jenny's honour. That’s when I’ll take off the kid gloves, and use you as the message for Joshua Dean. Josh doesn’t really need telling. He knows. He pretends he doesn’t, but he knows.
I might tell him anyway though......
I’ll leave that up to you.
(A.K.A. Douchebags, Drunks and Daddys)
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So, fun fact attack. My next match marks the first time I’ve defended the International Championship in just over eight years. Eight whole years since Vegas, and the cucks in the back would have you believe I’ve held the title hostage that whole time, the way they bleat on about my inactivity. Well, look where that crying has gotten our friend Broom. Sure, he’s got himself a title shot, so maybe this b*tching and moaning schtick really does generate results? But let’s not forget he’s also got a match with me, the one man f*cking machine. I’m not sure the pros outweigh the cons, not when you’re going on 60, and have a penchant for beating on kids a damn sight smaller than you. Coming up against Drakz comes as a shock to the system when your preferred opponent is still waiting to graduate high school. I’m sure Billy will reiterate all this shortly after the fact, and I don’t want to steal his spotlight.
So, like I mentioned, I’m defending my International Championship. Not by choice mind you. I’d have picked a higher calibre of opponent, but I guess this is a Make A Wish type deal or something? That being said, for some f*cking reason, this monumental event, not seen since 2012, has failed to make it into the main event slot of the show?!
What in the actual sh*t?
For once, I even took the time to look further still down the card, and I see some other title I’ve never heard of is being defended on the night as well. (What the hell’s a “vanguard”?) So that’s two title matches, arguably one more prestigious than the other, taking place and yet there’s a non-title match closing the show?
EBR continues his tour of domestic abuse, putting his hands on a 2nd woman in as many shows, and for some reason that’s deemed a bigger deal than my involvement? Where the f*ck was he when I was carrying this place on my back? Skulking around in Japan, that’s where. Trying to hide his “head-drop” boner from the rest of the world.
And Penny? They’re happy to use my name to prop up her credibility in their write ups, the fact that I took my W back with authority not withstanding, but hey, sure, just stick her in the main event, first match back.
That’s what this is all about isn’t it? Two unreliables, back from f*ck knows where, and just the fact that they’ve come back is enough to overshadow those of us that have been putting the work in this entire time. The quick little spike in ratings they see when someone makes a heroic return is enough for them to think they can build a damn business around it. What’s the use though? When you can’t be sure they’ll stick around beyond next week? Then what? Oh, that’s right, you put me back up there, and hope I’m not too peeved about the transgression………
Eat a bag of baby d*cks.
So with that, I’m considering this match an exercise in reclamation. Because even though I’m the final boss in this sport, even though I have both (again, what's a Vanguard?) singles titles (maybe not physically but we’ll get to that), I’m still forever forced to fight as though I’ve got something to prove. But that’s nothing new. I’ve always had my doubters. When I last defended the International title they were banging on about how Michael Kyzer was the bonafide main eventer of our little band of merry men, sh*tting on me at every turn. And I’ll play devil’s advocate, maybe they didn’t know I’d already been WFWF World Heavyweight Champion by that point? Maybe they couldn’t recognise a man stepping aside for a friend? But in 2020? How can I have any doubters left? I mean come the f*ck on!?
Are peoples’ memories really so short? Claiming I shouldn’t be holding on to both bits of gold. That they want their taste.
Hey! Whose f*cking idea was it to hand this second strap to me? You might want to start taking up your woes with Frank. He’s the idiot who practically paid the bill for fitting my sideplates. If you’ve got a problem with the monopoly, then talk to the enablers. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200. Do not bother me with all this petty sh*te.
Because for me, this match isn’t about all that. This reclamation has nothing to do with the International Championship. Not as such.
This is a message. A message to Joshua, that I’m a fighting champion. No. I’m a decimating champion. This match is going to act as the smelling salts to wake Josh the hell up to what he’s gotten himself, and his family, into. He knows I’ll come for his family if I need to, and what do you know? This month’s punching bag, Mr Broom, he seems pretty precious about his nearest and dearest as well doesn’t he? How thematic.
This match is just a warm up for me taking my WFWF World Heavyweight Championship back from the rat that stole it. It’s ridiculous isn’t it? All this sh*t, just to get through Superbrawl and give Destroyer the title shot he actually earned! He won the Survival of the Fittest chamber match. What about you Josh? What about you Billy? What did either of you do to deserve the opportunities you’re being granted? Daylight robbery, and just being in catering at the right time? F*cking hell. Is that all it takes nowadays? It’s about time those who deserve it were given their due around here. Enough of these queue jumpers.
Get to the back of the line.
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Meetings with the new boss are always a riot. It’s an opportunity to mark your territory and spray a heady cocktail of p*ss around the room. This time is no different, as I find myself sat in the office of some jumped up kid, who I absolutely find too familiar from the get go.
“Do you take ice? Of course you do.”
“I don’t drink.”
Not anymore. I just thumb painkillers up my own poop chute. Something many deem less of a social activity than what he’s offering, but I say it depends on what circles you move in.
“Really? That’s cool bro, I can get down with that.”
I hate him already.
“Water? Juice?”
“It’s fine.”
“How about one of these cans of Kash Energy?”
“Nope.”
He’s already opened it and placed it down in front of me on the desk. That grim, medicinal stink rises from the freshly perforated top. What is that smell? All energy drinks have it. Is it taurine? Is taurine bull seamen? Didn’t people used to say that?
“So man, you caught any good films recently?”
He’s swilling his glass of whatever around in his hand, back in his chair now, feet up on the table. I’m sure in his mind he’s just oozing charisma and charm, but in my mind…….the one that matters……he’s a f*cking douche bag.
“What?”
“Or are you more of a TV guy? HBO?”
What the f*ck is going on? I’ve never so much as seen this guy before, and he’s here asking about my viewing habits seconds into a meeting that HE called.
“Listen………bro………can we just skip over all the pleasantries and get to it?”
He smiles, holding up his free hand.
“It’s cool, I get it. Busy guy. All business. That’s what I like about you.”
“I’m not busy. I just don’t want to be here.”
The boyish grin twitches a little, and I get the sense this chimp loves to be loved. He’s going to struggle in his new job position if he doesn’t get used to people telling him, in no uncertain terms, that he can f*ck off. That’s basically the primary role of whoever sits in that chair.
“My bad. I guess we’ve gotten off to a rocky start here. I didn’t so much as introduce myself. I’m Kris Kash, Kash Industries CEO, and now WFWF CEO as well. But I don’t want you to think of me as a boss…….”
I don’t.
“……More as an older brother who wants to help out.”
I’m almost certain I’ve got 10 years on this kid.
“So, how about it Drakz? Let’s make a lot of money together, yeah?”
“Okay, Chris was it?”
“Kris. With a K.”
You can hear the difference?
“Sure. So, Chris with a K, I don’t know how much attention you’ve been paying, either before or after you made your most recent acquisition, but I’m on my way out. Sure we can make my last few appearances lucrative, but I’m on borrowed time. Every time I defend that WFWF World Heavyweight Championship, my career is on the line with it. That’s not some metaphor, or a maybe, that’s legitimate. I’m done.”
“You’re still under contract……”
As those words leave his mouth I notice a sudden change in his demeanour. Gone is the pally pally grin, and his feet come off the desk.
“……And I run a tight ship. Things aren’t the same as they were a few weeks ago, and you’re not walking out on a legally binding agreement just because you feel like it.”
“Calm down Sally. Getting all hot isn’t going to help matters. What are you going to do? Force me into the ring?”
Heh. He wouldn’t be the first clean shirt that’s tried that.
“Seeing as you’re so enamoured with legalities, need I remind you that this contract you’re talking about expires a week before Superbrawl? Which ever genius drafted that up seemed to have my best interests at heart, as opposed to those of the company, don’t you think?”
His lip curls a little, no doubt p*ssed off that something out of his control now has him on the back foot.
“So if you want a main event at your biggest show, if you want THE main event, then maybe let’s talk like equals, instead of you trying to wave your spotty little d*ck in my face.”
There’s a very sudden change, again, in his mannerisms, and it’s not out of fear, or any intimidation on my part. Oh no. This guy’s a chameleon. A business lizard. He can see the stick was getting him nowhere, so my guess is he’s about to revert to the carrot.
“Let’s dial things back a little here my man. I know it’s in our nature, a couple of alpha males, to start beating our chest when things aren’t going our way…..”
F*cking hell I hate this guy.
“…..but let me tell ya. Game respects game.”
I’m sorry, what?
“I don’t listen to R&B mate, you’re going to have to rephrase that.”
He laughs. I still don’t like him though.
“I like you Isaac. Can I call you Isaac?”
No.
“No.”
He ignores that bit of denial.
“You’re sharp Isaac. It’s no wonder you’ve been on top here for so long. Nothing gets past you.”
Okay, this ass kissing is getting a little on the nose, and that doesn’t sound hygienic.
Always wipe from front to back girls.
I just sit there, waiting for him to reveal to me what it is he actually wants. I’ve not got much to say otherwise.
“Let’s get serious for a minute though….”
Right on cue. He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a paper folder.
“I’ve got a fresh contract right here for you. Much more lucrative than your current one. I’m honestly embarrassed at the current deal you’re signed to. It’s insulting.”
“And here I was thinking finances were in the toilet. Isn’t that what people keep saying?”
“You’ve gotta spend money to make money baby.”
If I don’t have an aneurism before this interview is through it will be a miracle.
“I’m not re-signing.”
It hangs in the air, and I notice his brain short circuit for a second as he tries to work out the best way to react. Instead I get in before him.
“Lila already knows this. Besides, what happened to her? How come she’s not here for this? I get that you’re the new wallet in town, but surely the General Manager should at least be present for contract negotiations? Attempts at it, anyway.”
His dead eyes flicker back into life as he senses something to latch onto.
“She’s gone.”
He laughs to himself a little. Have I missed something?
“I literally fired her on live TV. Maybe you’re not as sharp as I thought?”
“Or maybe I don’t sit, glued to a monitor when I’m not out in that ring? Unlike the great unwashed, I don’t watch this sh*t. I participate, then I pursue other interests.”
“Oh? Like what?”
F*ck. Wasn’t expecting that.
“All sorts.”
“I’m not calling your bluff bro, I’m genuinely just interested.”
He bloody well is calling my bluff.
“…………”
He sucks air through his nose and blinks his eyes a few times, clearly happy to wait for my bull sh*t response.
“……………..Big game fishing….”
The f*ck?
“Oh……wow. Wasn’t expecting that.”
I must have said it pretty convincingly because he genuinely looks impressed at my hobby. Well, not actually my hobby, but the first thing that came into my head, though I can’t say for certain why. I’ve never so much as held a fishing rod.
Thankfully he's no expert marlin angler and doesn't have any further probing questions. He just slides the paperwork toward me.
“About the contract. Just take it away with you, and give it a once over. You might have a change of heart. Besides I’m sure we can come to a compromise based on a reduced schedule, or whatever it is you need to stay active. I’d just hate to see you leaving money on the table.”
I’m not a prostitute. Do you see my head in a toilet, with drugs up my ass? Heh.
I’ve made a statement, and I’m sticking to it. This contract is as good as kindling for the fire from where I’m sitting. Got to keep this schmuck off my back though.
“Sure, whatever. Listen, while we’re on the subject of compromise, I need some assurances about this Joshua Dean situation.”
“Sure. What can I do? Just name it.”
A dangerous thing to say to a man like me.
“Well, first off, I want that championship belt returning to me. I feel like I shouldn’t even have to be saying this though.”
He nods.
“We’ll get it done. This is something that’s just slipped through the cracks during the change over in leadership, and for that I’m sorry my man.”
Slipped through the cracks? Your top prize has ‘slipped through the cracks’? Come on Isaac. Don’t dwell on it. Stay focused.
“Secondly, I want a security detail. I’m f*cking sick of being jumped from behind. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been hit in the back of the head over the course of the last 16 years?
I mean, here you are waving a new contract at me, but the amount of concussions I’ve suffered from snakes like Dean? You’ll be lucky if I so much as remember we had this meeting 30 minutes from now. That needs to stop. I need people watching my back. And not friends. They’re governed by emotions and circumstance. No. I’ve done that one before. I want people on a payroll. Nothing inspires loyalty quite like cold, hard cash.”
“If that’s something my champion needs to feel safe at work, then I’ll get it done. I already have my own team, so putting together another for yourself is as good as done. As the World Heavyweight Champion you’re my MVP. If we’re gonna right this ship’s course then I’ll do whatever it takes. This is more than just another investment for me.”
That was easy.
“I’m glad we’re starting to understand each other. But if I’m really as important to you, and your business, as you claim then it’s time you start making me priority numero uno. Look after me. I’ve been living in my f*cking car for months now. A guy who’s spinal column is held together with duct tape. I’m sure you can guess what that’s doing to my performance in the ring? If my retirement is really something you’d like to avoid then it’s simple………I just need to keep winning. I’m not saying I want your help to do get the job done every time I’m in the ring, but a bit of help in between wouldn’t go amiss now would it?”
He seems to be listening and I figure while I’ve got this moron’s ear I should milk it for all it’s worth.
“So, the back? What are we talking here?”
“I’m broken down, and drowning in medical bills, when in reality I should be getting shiatsu massages on the daily, and drowning in medical marijuana oil. This new contract you’re offering……I’ll read it, but all of this sh*t needs sorting out, on top of whatever deal you have in mind.”
“Like I said, we’ll compromise to make sure business is done right by the both of us.”
I don’t give two sh*ts if we do right by him. I’ve been just scraping by for too long. It’s about time I was treated like the f*cking royalty I am.
“And as far as things I don’t need, how the f*ck is Josh Dean seemingly able to turn up whenever he pleases, making your champion look vulnerable every time? How is he even getting close to me? NO ONE should be able to get close to me. Dean is barely even an employee, and yet he’s had the opportunity to put his hands on me time and time again.”
Kash is just nodding in agreement, stern faced, and his whole bro attitude is at least muted for now. He’s clearly starting to realise he's got his work cut out for him, ensuring I don’t just up and walk out on his newly acquired sinking ship.
“I’m not signing anything……..yet. But if you’re able to at least show me that you’re willing to go the extra mile for me, the biggest draw in the entire industry……YOUR biggest draw, then, and only then, can we make a lot of money together.”
Have I just talked myself into not retiring?
He stands up from his chair and reaches a hand towards me, evidently impressed with my balls out approach to parleying.
“I like to think this is the start of a mutually beneficial relationship.”
I rise, and take his hand in mine, but instead of shaking, pull him slightly toward me, the edge of the desk gouging into his crotch. I don’t want him getting too comfortable right?
“All this dialoguing is great, but it doesn’t mean sh*t to me if you’re not actively showing me that respect.”
There’s a fire stirring in me that’s been all but extinguished for some time now.
“Or are you telling me that I’m not your main event?”
He’s wincing, trying not to let on that his left nut is under some serious pressure.
“Why would I say that?”
“You don’t have to. You booked it that way. What the f*ck is with this EBR/Shannon match closing the next show? I’m defending one of my championships and you go and put those two on last? Maybe you’re not as sharp as I thought…….”
He’s sweating a little now as I release his hand and turn to leave the office, not letting him even begin to try explaining his decision making on the subject. F*ck it. If he wants to book “The Last Samurai vs Courtney Cocks” in an attempt to ‘send the crowd home happy’ then let him.
I’m just content in the fact that my stank is all over his damn room. Two alpha males? Give me a f*cking break.
Oh, and I made sure I knocked over that can of "Kash Energy" before leaving. That stuff is gonna be hell to clean up.
Sorry Billy.
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“Jesus. This is just plan sad.”
You know I mean it when I have to say it out loud to myself. I’m peering through the window and can see it’s a real war zone in there. Takeaway food lies half eaten on the floor, there’s a whole host of empty wine bottles all over the place, and clothes just dumped where ever. The whole thing is giving off that student chic vibe you’d expect to see in any 19 year old’s first bachelor pad, not the expensive home of a fully grown, formerly successful business woman.
What a fall from grace. Well, what a trip into the ditch you’ve been teetering next to for ages. I should be more surprised by what I’m seeing, but then I’ve not got a very high opinion of most people. Set your expectations low and you’ll never be disappointed.
F*ck. I wonder if she’s even alive still? She could easily have died in there a couple of days back and no one would even know. Am I the one who gets to find her? I’m sure she’d be ambivalent about that. Partly happy I cared enough to visit, but royally f*cked off that no one else arrived before me.
Ooh. The door’s opening.
“Well at least you’re not dead.”
On her seeing it’s me, I realise my guess of mixed emotions was a little off the mark. Optimistic shall we say.
“I thought there was some homeless would-be rapist lingering outside. Turns out I was right.”
“So you opened the door?!?!”
Things must be even more desperate than I’d imagined.
“Not before grabbing this….”
She flashes a firearm at me, and it’s only now I realise that her other hand is nursing an open beer bottle. Not the safest one-two punch in the world. Booze and bullets. God bless America, am I right?
“Are you going to let me in?”
“Why the f*ck would I do that?”
She’s right I suppose.
“See ya!”
She goes to close the door but I wedge my foot against the frame, immediately triggering flash backs to the time I showed up unannounced, and uninvited at Brennan’s place, greeted by his good lady. I seem to have made quite a habit of home invasion over the years, but always with the best of intentions (for me at least).
“What the f*ck are you doing? You know I have a gun.”
“Lila, come on. Get a grip. You’re not going to shoot me.”
She probably would.
“Why don’t you let me in and we can talk?”
She pauses for thought, and I notice a light glaze to her eyes. She’s not wasted, not yet anyway, but she’s definitely had a few. Enough to lose her inhibitions. Hopefully not enough to shoot me.
I spoke too soon.
She lifts the pistol up and points it right at me, totally deadpan.
“I’m not going to shoot you huh?”
My arsehole is twitching right now. Not going to lie. I’m also not going to let on to her that I’m a little nervous.
“You’re probably right. But probably isn’t a dead cert is it?”
Her arm drops to her side and she starts laughing.
What the f*ck has been going on recently? Why are all these clowns saddling me up like a damn rodeo bull? Joshua Dean and now Lila Sleater? This pattern better not continue into my match with old Broomeo.
“F*ck it. Come in. Just mind where you sit.”
It’s only as she limps away from the doorway that I notice her leg is all strapped up. Drunken accident?
I follow her inside.
“What’s with the bionic leg?”
She doesn’t answer, and instead keeps on into her front room, yes the sh*t hole I was surveying moments ago. She tosses the pistol onto the sofa and I tense up, waiting for one of us to end up on the local news.
‘firearm accident costs life of homeless rapist and/or rapee’
Thankfully it lands without a hitch, and now Lila Sleater throws herself onto the sofa as well, some of the contents of her bottle erupting up and out, onto her trousers. She doesn’t even seem to notice.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“What did you do to your leg?”
“What did I do?”
She doesn’t look best pleased at this line of questioning, but now I’m curious.
“Okay, let me rephrase it. Why’s your leg busted?”
Her eyebrow raises, trying to work me out. I’m just asking a simple question, I don’t see what all the hostility is for.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
I’m yet to sit down, as following her advice of ‘mind where you sit’ is proving more of an ordeal than you’d expect. F*ck it. I’ll stand.
“This…..”
She lifts the injured leg as though it needed highlighting.
“Is the work of your new boss.”
“That soft c*ck sk8r boy did that?”
Now my eyebrow raises, as I find it hard to believe he’d be capable of doing much of anything physical.
“Well, he ordered his gorillas to do it for him. He fired me on live f*cking TV! Can you believe that sh*t?! Then they ejected me from the ring. Just tossed me like so much garbage.“
What the actual f*ck? Not content with humiliating Lila, Kash actually had his goons put their hands on her? I’m a piece of sh*t. Everyone knows that, but it’s pretty rare that I beat on innocent folk……….is that true? I don’t know. I can’t remember any more. Either way I’m pretty p*ssed off about this. Why is that? It’s not like me and Lila are close. Is this……..empathy? Insert manga butterfly meme. Urgh, I make myself sick.
“So here we are….”
She gestures at the pig sty we’re sat in.
“…..speaking of which. Why are you here? And how did you find me?”
“I followed the trail of slime.”
Whoops. Couldn’t help getting the digs in, even when she’s at her lowest. She takes it in good spirit though, either that or she just doesn’t care any more. A laugh, followed by the draining of her brewski.
“But why? I can’t give you anything now.”
She’s right. I stand to gain absolutely nothing from talking to an ex-General Manager, and yet Im here.
“Honestly? I just wanted to check in. As you probably gleaned from my ignorance on the manner in which you were……..released……I actually only just found out you’d even gone, after a make out session with Kris Kash. That guy really wants to get to 3rd, 4th and 5th base with me.”
“Well he sure didn’t seem to like me.”
“That’s a good thing. He’s a creep. If you were a reptile, he’s a damn mollusc.”
“Were? I thought I’m the Queen b*tch, the way everyone always talks about me?”
“Losers generally need a scapegoat when they hit their glass ceiling. I guess you’re an easy target.”
“I guess so.”
She’s already opening another bottle. She waves it toward me but I hold up a hand to refuse. Unperturbed she just swigs it herself.
“But yes, well noticed. I was using the past tense because, whilst you’re still pretty gross, I’m kind of enjoying the gives no f*cks, jobless Sleater so far. Surely you want someone to vent with? Go on, tell me what it was like working closely with that man-child before he dumped you……”
“He really is a 13 year old try hard isn’t he?”
She cracks up laughing and I start to wonder if this is the first time we’ve ever seen eye to eye. Not that I was one of her biggest detractors or anything, more of a general pain in the arse for her, but still I don’t remember ever sharing a laugh.
“Where the f*ck did he even come from? What is this whole ‘Kash Brand’ I keep hearing about? Is he genuinely successful? I guess he’s doing alright if he bought the company outright?”
“Something to do with his family I think.”
“Course. Isn’t it always?”
“You know, I can’t even be bothered to blow off steam about him. It’s done. I’m gone. F*ck it. I thought I knew my place in that company, but it turns out I was wrong. I’m just as disposable as anyone else.”
Anyone? Don’t be so f*cking dramatic Lila. I’m right here, standing in the same room as you.
“Where did you think that place was?”
The toilet? I’m so bad.
“I dunno. Somewhere valued at least.”
“Isn’t the company balls deep in the red right now? And isn’t that your fault?”
She’s looking right through me.
“Hey.”
I click my fingers in front of her face.
“Enough of this woe is me sh*t. You thought you were untouchable, you were wrong. Very wrong in fact. From what I can make out you managed to nearly bankrupt the fed. That’s pretty good going in my eyes.”
She drinks.
Why do I always hang around with such pathetic, booze hounds?
“Are we in competition to ruin that place or something?”
“Oh you win by a landslide, I’m big enough to admit defeat there.”
“Pshhh. Always with the jokes. Besides, what do you think about your position? Where do you fit into the WFWF in 2020? Aren’t you worried people see the pack leader is starting to get grey around the muzzle?”
Even when I’m a geriatric, I’ll still be the one killing every pup that doesn’t share my genes. King of the f*cking Universe. Do I have to say it out loud?
“Didn’t I already tell you Kash is trying to deepthroat me into signing a new contract? What’s my place? Same as it’s always been. The King of the Universe.
I said it out loud. Happy?
You want to talk about untouchable? I f*cking invented it.”
“Heh. You think? There’s stuff you don’t see, you know.”
Hello. What’s this? A little unexpected tidbit?
“Like all this sh*t with Joshua Dean. You think he’s got at you on his own?”
Excuse me?
“And what do you mean by that?”
“Kris might have been giving you the big doe eyes while you were in his office, but you’ve gotta believe he’s made sure Josh had no problem entering those arenas, jumping the guard rail and getting the drop on you. He’s good, and he wants to make money. He’s a f*cking bunghole, but he’s got a mind for hooking an audience.”
“So you’re telling me he’s not being straight with me?”
Is that really a 3rd rodeo rider, digging their spurs into me without me even realising? I need to sharpen up. Drink some matcha or something.
“I’m telling you, you’re just a piece of someone else’s puzzle.”
I am the f*cking puzzle!
“So all of this is just to boost ratings? I could have f*cking told you that! That’s all it’s ever been about. Though I’m not so sure he’s as clued up as even you think he is.”
“Why? Didn’t I just tell you he’s playing you?”
“Well if his idea of putting butts in seats is me absolutely smashing in a man approaching retirement age, then I have to question his business acumen.”
“What? That sounds like a freak show, and they used to do pretty well right?”
“There’s a big difference between a bearded lady, and me dropping a member of the housekeeping staff on his head.”
“Why would you be……oh. Billy.”
“Yeah. Billy.”
F*cking Billy.
“It sounds like you’re none too happy about facing him?”
That’s an understatement.
“It’s less to do with who and more to do with why. You know I’ll fight anyone, but I don’t see how this bum has earned himself a title shot…..”
Her face lights up a little. She clearly has a soft spot for the guy.
“He’s getting a World Heavyweight Title match?! That’s amazing!”
Ha…..haha…..hahahahah.
This mental laughter becomes physical, and I find myself bent double, howling at her excitement.
“Hell no. Hahahaha.”
“I don’t see why that’s so hilarious.”
I’m still laughing, so it takes a moment to respond.
“You don’t? Billy Broom? In contention for the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship? Get the f*ck out of here. He’s lucky to be getting an International Championship opportunity, and when I say lucky I mean fallen into a barrel of d*cks and come out sucking a tit lucky. You’re right on the freak show part. This is a mismatch, and I guess that’s what makes it exciting. People like to see an upset, or at least the idea that it’s a possibility. The only problem there is that I’m not the type to take anyone lightly these days. I’ve made that mistake before, and I’ve seen others do the same, and it winds up costing them. Ante Whitner beating Michael Kyzer, hell Billy f*cking Broom himself beating Tugarin Zmey? With a little help from yours truly of course, but all the same, who’s to say it couldn’t happen again?”
Who indeed?
“Let me save you the energy. Me. I say.”
“It’s starting to sound like you’re going to go out there and try to prove a point. Please don’t do anything excessive. Billy’s one of the good ones. Well, he was at least. His attitude started to nosedive last year.”
“Well fingers crossed this public degradation will help him pull out of it before he hits the Andes. I’m not going to kill him. I’m not Phillip Schneider. It takes more than just getting booked in a match with me to warrant an execution.”
That f*cking moron literally brought a gun on TV. Anything to pop the ratings I guess? And based on what Sleater’s saying, whichever sh*t louse was in charge back then probably knew about it, and let it happen.
“I still have no idea how that jury found him not guilty.”
“Schneider? For what? The kiddie films?”
“No! Billy.”
“Oh. Yeah, it’s almost like someone paid off that jury…….”
“I don’t appreciate that insinuation.”
Obviously I don’t think Lila Sleater has ever had the sway, or indeed the cajones, to pull something like that, but it’s fun to wind her up.
“I mean, it would explain the empty company account……”
“F*ck you.”
She’s still a slug woman, but I’ve certainly warmed up to that idea since learning she got fired. Funny how that works out.
“I’m kidding. Jeez. Anyway what’s next then? Or are you just going to sit here, stinking yourself into oblivion forever?”
“Who gives a sh*t?”
The more self deprecating and pessimistic she gets, the more I like her. You know, this gives me an idea.
“Well, you’re right there. Literally no one. However, leave it with me. I reckon we can change that.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t choke on your own vomit before I next come around yeah?”
“I’m not making any promises.”
Neither am I.
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So…….William. Bill-tong. Bilbo. Billyonaire.
Answer me this.
What do you think your place in the company is? It’s rhetorical, I don’t expect you to answer, because of course I’m going to tell you. You’re enhancement talent. You’re a guy people beat to boost their middling success, and every know and again you pick up a flash victory that keeps you from returning to your previous pastime of pulling body hair from the shower drain. You’re a guy I guess people can rally behind because you’re just like them. A f*cking nobody. A run of the mill sh*t head who somehow has found himself in a wrestling ring, across from seasoned professionals. And this time? This time you find yourself in a ring with a titan. I’m a big game fisherman these days mate. Little tiddlers just get cut open and thrown back out as chum, to attract bigger foes.
What’s important here Bill, is to not let your emotions rule your decision making abilities. I know as a man in the autumn of his life, who not so long ago was a damn cleaner, your decisions in life aren’t really that up to snuff, but what little you have? Don’t let them get clouded by the idea that you want to destroy me for putting your daughter’s name in my mouth. Be sensible, and use this moment to further your career, not shorten it. I’ll give you a fair shake in Cardiff, so long as you show me some respect and don’t just come out like a bull, thirsty for red rag. You’ve got to know that if you start off hot, I’m only going to turn up that heat until you boil over.
I’ve done some reading up on you, if you can believe that? I legitimately spent some of my time looking into what you get up to. Your extra curricular activities. It turns out you’re not the straight up guy I thought you were. I guess I just haven’t been paying attention, though I’m sure you can believe that. It’s a bit more......me, isn’t it?
Parole violations, attacking civilians, smashing up kids’ cars, hell, smashing up kids!? And people have the nerve to say I’m the bad guy? Jesus. I never got physical with anyone under age……never say never though, right?
You know, I used to be good friends with a drunk, in fact I might be becoming friends with another at the moment. He wasn’t always an active drunk. A reformed drunk at times, but always a drunk at heart. You can’t get that monkey off your back. You can put a muzzle and shackles on it, stop it from throwing its sh*t around the place, but it’s always going to be there. Even if you actually get the job done……killing yourself I mean…..rather than that faux, cry for help sh*t, that monkey will be sat, perched on your limp body. Outlasting you. Your drunken exploits remembered far beyond your life’s end. It’s nice to know that even you, Billy Broom, the apparent everyman of the WFWF is as much a piece of sh*t as the rest. A testament to the human condition I suppose? Deep down, we’re all awful. Some of us just have an easier time than others embracing it.
Remember Billy, you owe me for your most recent rise in stock. That win over Tugarin that you like to harp on about so much? That the commentators like to play up every time you’re on screen? Don’t forget who handed that to you. You’re no Dragon Slayer. You’re just an opportunist. The right warm body, at the right time. Don’t get me wrong, that deserves respect as well. You’ve got to give credit to those that see those glimmers of hope and grab onto them with both hands, instead of letting them pass on by. But this time opportunity knocks, and you should just ignore it. Let someone else get the door, because unlike Zmey, I’m not so easily distracted. You’ll have my undivided attention, and whilst you might think that’s what you deserve, I’m warning you, when I get my teeth in, I don’t let go. I’ll pin you to the ground by the scruff of your neck and f*ck you in that ring if the moment takes me, and all of your navy seal, spec ops bull sh*t will be like dust in the wind. You’ll just be a scared old man, getting split open like a coconut.
Speaking of which, maybe leave your daughter at home? I wouldn’t want you getting upset again.
“Oh Grandad’s had another of his turns.”
Just cut your losses and send her off to the cinema or something. I hear you don’t like being embarrassed in front of her? And this, if you choose for it to be, could wind up very embarrassing indeed for you.
The choice is yours mate. Have a good, old fashioned wrasslin’ match with me, or appeal to my more carnal instincts and swing for the fences, spit in my eye, whatever you think will reclaim Jenny's honour. That’s when I’ll take off the kid gloves, and use you as the message for Joshua Dean. Josh doesn’t really need telling. He knows. He pretends he doesn’t, but he knows.
I might tell him anyway though......
I’ll leave that up to you.
