Post by Joey Flash on Jan 7, 2015 17:33:19 GMT -5
What's that name again, it's Doctor Flash!
Joey Flash was sat in his dressing room at the WCF HQ, he had trashed the place. The table was tipped over, wallpaper ripped from the wall and bottles broken on the floor. He hadn’t been able to sleep for the past week…it was just as bad as before…the only word that kept running through his thoughts was ‘Allegri’. It was making him think all kinds of things, how did they get in to his office to drug him? How did they know the codes, how did they get past the security? He felt his heartbeat resonating through his entire body. Don’t jump to conclusions Joseph, logic and rationale…logical and rationale meant fuck all when the thought that the woman you’re going to sleep with every night, the mother of your child might be involved in wanting you dead. He glanced down to the floor and then punched himself in disgust. He began to cry into his hands, getting up and punching the wall, he punched to bleeding point, his already brittle hands throbbing from the pain, but that wasn’t enough. It was…
There was a knock at the door, shit. Joey wiped his eyes and his bloody knuckles onto his pants. He gave a cough to clear his throat and assumed his smile.
Joey: Enter.
It was Hank Brown. He bumbled through the door, almost falling over the downed table.
Hank: What the hell happened here?
Joey: I had a party last night, haven’t got round to cleaning. Fuckin’ pigsty, no manners y’know.
Hank: Uhhmmm…
Joey: Oh, I forget myself, take a seat.
Hank looks about the room, finding nothing but trash and broken glass; he finds the tiniest portion of clean floor and squats down in it.
Joey: Comfortable?
Hank: Better than the hotel I was in last night, let me tell you there were lots of gays about and was even a body found in the pool and-
He looked Joey up and down.
Hank: How you feeling Joey?
Joey: Good thankya.
Hank: Well you really don’t look it, you look terrible in fact.
Joey: And you look like you got face fucked by a porcupine, but your concern is appreciated, but I’ve just had a lot of sleepless nights, y’know what that’s like?
Hank: Ahem. Well you better well be in much better condition come Slam when you take on…
Joey: Motherfucker slow down, I don’t care. How’s Seifer doing?
Hank gulps.
Hank: Well, he’s been put on the physically unable to perform list…you hurt him real bad Joe.
Joey: Yep, I did.
Hank: And that’s it?
Joey: What do you want me to do? Send the guy some flowers? ‘Get well soon, love every poor fucker who has been sacrificed at the top of some random Aztec temple!’ get a grip. If people don’t take you seriously, you have to provide assurance that in no uncertain terms shit is going to be fucked up, and shit is going to be fucked up soon. Seifer is nothing but a consequence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Hank: What was all that shit at Slam, someone’s acting a little self-entitled no?
Joey: Is the firstborn son of the king not entitled to the throne one day? It’s not a case of me not knowing my place, it’s the fact I KNOW my place here. It’s interesting Hank, I’m doing my best here. I’m painting a massive target on my back and hoping someone takes the chance, show some fucking gall. I’ve been offering an open challenge every single week and not one person has actively taken it up, is it so hard? You have a free chance at a title; I’m begging you people to do something about it. Rather than wait, I think I’m going to be proactive. It’s the only way these people understand.
Hank: Proactive?
Joey: Well, I was planning on being slow and methodical, take my time and give my targets that Occulo treatment, but there’s too big of an opportunity at Slam, a wise man would probably not take said opportunity but fuck it, I’m pushing all in.
Hank: What?
Joey: We’ll see what happens eh? Enough of that shit, you were saying?
Hank: Saying what?
Joey: ‘come Slam when you take on…’
Hank: Oh yes!
Joey: Who? Please tell me it’s some worth my time, please?
Hank: When you take on Oblivion.
Flash’s face drops at this and he looks annoyed at the news. Then he begins to laugh.
Joey: Haha Hank, I didn’t take you for a prankster, but you actually had me goin’ for a minute there. Come on, who’ve I got?
Hank: Yes, you are taking on Oblivion Joey, no joke.
Flash’s face returns to its dropped state.
Flash: Oh for… OBLIVION?!?! I could pull a better opponent out of my ass, and think I probably did this morning, that shit was nutty. It’s things like this that grate me. Seth you mother-
Just as Joey is about to finish there is a knock on the door of Flash’s locker room, Joey turns.
Joey: Enter.
Backing up into the room we see a man carrying a large leather couch, very psychologist’s office, helped on the other end by another man.
Joey: Motherfucker.
Man: Where ya want it boss?
Joey: Up Mr Lerch’s vagina please.
Man: He said you’d say that and just to leave it here.
Joey: Quite.
One of the men is hammering something into Joey’s door as the other man finishes adjusting the couch.
Man: Okay. We’re done chief.
Joey storms over to his door to see the sign of ‘Joey Flash – Pound for Pound #1’ being flanked below it with ‘Resident Psychotherapist – The Doctor is IN!’ Joey slumps onto the leather couch and reclines, Hank takes a position next to Joey and holds his clip board up.
Joey: I don’t understand Hank, I really don’t. Are the heavens really this unfair to me? I am forever blighted to repeat this circle, it’s like I’m stuck in a never ending circle, it’s like a Groundhog Day of having to fight shiteating mediocrity and put up with mind numbing interviews from the biggest prick in the company. If I just beat you to death right now would you re-spawn tomorrow morning with the same fucking mindless grin on your face and inane questions?
Hank: Uhhh-
Joey: Why Hank, why oh why would anybody want to watch Joey Flash fight Oblivion? He’s just a levelled up, fully evolved Ultimate Destroyer. Rotundo the Immense. What reasoning Hank?
“Well Joey, this is a former World Champion, he’ll pose the sternest test so far!”
The sternest test so far has been finding a question from Hank that didn’t make me want to punch myself in the nuts.
“It is always too good to see a contest between two guys with contrasting styles!!”
What, shit and not shit? Okay buddy.
“But Oblivion could really pose a danger…”
Let me stop you there and ask you a question, have you ever seen a wrestling match? If not then I would understand your almost childlike reasoning. However as anyone who has ever seen Joey Flash and Oblivion wrestle would tell you; this really is a mismatch of the highest proportions. This isn’t anything to do with size or experience; this is everything to do with talent. It’s not about who’s done what and who’s been here longest, it’s about the two men in the ring on the day who’s better? Oblivion is so out of his depth it is almost laughable.
You know, generally when a title match is signed it is because the challenger has earned his merit in the match, because he’s done something lately that really means he deserves the shot, because he’s taken personal issue with the champ and doggedly pursued it until the champ couldn’t ignore it any more, little hint motherfuckers, DO THE LATTER. I digress, all it takes here is to be a mentally unstable homicidal maniac it seems, who’s my next challenger? We gonna get Michael Myers stepping through the curtain, maybe Hannibal Lecter in a prison cell match? It seems like the WCF, in particular our brain dead commissioner have a different policy on this matter. It appears that getting utterly destroyed week upon week and running about interfering in random people’s matches gives you all the pull you need. Inmates running the asylum comes to mind here.
Oblivion, what can I really say to you what has not already been said? I could comment on your constant pathetic performances or your frequent unintelligible promos. However all of that is in retrospect. I would like to think that maybe, just maybe the constant embarrassments you suffer both in the ring and in real life you may find some pride in your usually worthless self and be able to come to the arena on Slam and be able to walk to the ring with your head held high. Look me in the eye and want to fight as equals. Unfortunately in order to fight your equal, I would say that you will have a hard time finding a human sized piece of whale shit that happens to have a meagre existence tapered onto it.
Hank: Strong words there Jo-
Joey: Fuck off Hank.
Hank lowers his head and slopes off out of the room. Joey sighs and relaxes backward on the couch only to be awoken by a knock at the door, Joey looks up to find a woman dithering near the door.
Woman: Doctor Flash, ah ah, ah Seth s-said that you could help, I’m seeing my dead mother wherever I go-
Joey: Fuck…sake.
Beep Beep Joey!
The rat nibbled at the broken leather of a long discarded Doc Marten boot, tearing at the tongue with a relentless fervour, this would be dinner tonight. It managed to salvage enough leather in its cheeks for the evening and scuttled off round the corner. It dodged and duked through several little holes, nooks and crannies like a kid playing a level of Sonic he’d played thousands of times. He discarded the munchings in his den then peeked to make sure nothing was coming and he could tuck in in peace.
Splash…splash….splash. Something WAS coming. The rat retreated back into his den to see a pair of white sneakers come trudging through the waste. After the thing had passed, the rat darted back out to get a better look. It was a man, wearing jeans and a grey hooded top, the hood thrown forward. The rat had never seen this human before, no humans for a while.
Joey was Oblivion hunting. He had seen nothing but shit, piss, vomit and vermin, like Manhattan on a Saturday night. He was pleased he had been smart enough to cover his mouth and nose with a bandana at least. It was minimal help. He ducked and entered a small cove from the sewer, huh. This was interesting; the remnants of a bedroll and a small fire remained. Joey knelt and examined the fire pit to find it still warm to the touch, lukewarm, but still that was a start. Joey pulled up a wooden box and sat.
Joey: They said IT lived here. They fucking lied, do you know what I’ve had to do? I’ve waded through human waste for about six hours and the only thing I found was a massive fuck off spider, what a pissing let down. Where are you Oblivion?
Hello Stephan, it’s been a while; you’ll like it down here. Come join us. Welcome to the slaughter, ace. It’s going to be beautiful, just how you like it. I get it now, I’m not here because Seth thinks I can help you, he thinks I can end you. You’re more than I thought. You’re a true to life monster, you’re no Ultimate Destroyer, and you’re no Seifer Black. You’re a dangerous psychopath. I’d let you roam about and I’d let you abide here if you were just a bit more…controlled. The fact that you’re so unpredictable doesn’t benefit me one little bit, I cannot in anyway risk something like you getting in the way of my goals here. So I’m going to use this opportunity to nip it in the bud on Sunday. You’re not one who I’ll be able to put away with just wrestling; I’m going to have to break your body to shards of bone and sinew and grind you to dust. My matches are usually won before my opponents even enter the ring, 99% of my fights are over before I even step through the ropes. But Oblivion you’re the 1%. Occupy Insanity. I can’t break what’s already been broken fifty times over already; every breath you take is another snapping of your connections to sanity, your humanity left you years ago and now you’re struggling to find any last grasp on reality.
You’re one of the people who interest me here, you have no real goals or no desires, and you just exist. It’s a shame the existence is one of pity and sadness.
Joey fidgets and rubs his hands in the remnants of the ever cooling fire for a bit more warmth.
Joey: Enough of the deep shit, let’s get it poppin. You fucking weird bastard, what am I supposed to say about you that’s not already been said? You get savaged week after week, on the microphone and in the ring; you provide little or no resistance to the people at the top of the federation. Funny you’re teamed up with the Dark Timekeeper when you’re the Large Gatekeeper. You’re the guy with his spear held across the entrance to the upper tiers of the WCF, blocking the path of the unworthy. Yeah back in the day you might have held some relevance against the top wrestlers, but you’ve now slipped back to where you belong, guard duty. I’m gonna pop two slugs in the guard’s head and step over his lifeless corpse to get where I want to go. I’m taking what I want, when I want from here on. This match will be your epitaph, we won’t even need an ambulance when we’re done, might as well call Ghostbusters to deal with you. Here lies deluded washed up mental patient.
Let's get to the one and only pertinent fact of your otherwise meaningless career.
Your first and last World Title reign came in 2010.
Joey slow claps.
Joey: Since you last won the World Title, I’ve been in prison, out of prison, started wrestling, gotten engaged, had a kid, been arrested, stopped wrestling, got off charges, made my first million, started wrestling again…fucking hell. Perspective indeed Oblivion, when does it end for you? When do you take off the mask, realise that it’s not a childish game any more and just walk away? Can you even do that any more? I think if you didn’t have wrestling your mind would finally pull free from your body and you’d become a shell of a man. The problem I have is since your last World Title you’ve been in and about the main event scene, that’s five whole fucking years of a barren wasteland. If I get a taste of such nectar I don’t leave that shit alone til I’ve tasted it, again and again. I think you’re the same, you thirst and you strive, but see the difference is I get that second taste, that third, I get as many as I fucking want. You get the leftovers thrown on the floor. Okay let’s make a deal right now, I’m talking to any and everybody affiliated with or knows me even remotely, if I win the World Championship, lose it again after two weeks and in five fucking years never get so much a sniff of winning it again someone please just shoot me in the face…or give me a mask to hide my fucking shame. Get out of your 'monster' playsuit Ace, and fight like a fucking man.
Another cocksucker with no pride, you, a former world champion, enters a tournament to win a lesser belt, not only do you no longer have the skill to get a shot directly, you have to jump through hoops for a chance at it, you flub your lines and fall yet again, the story of the past five years. So are we following now? You went from World Champion, to barely qualifying for a shot at the US Title, to finally trickling down the card and falling onto my dinner plate. You went from fighting Fly to Balfore to Slickie T to Gravedigger to Orbit to me? Either you’re lowering your standards or I’m a mothafuckin beast.
Before you get all giddy and happy that you can use me to springboard yaself back into contention let me just slap that silly notion out of your oversized head. You’re so out of touch with reality it’s sickening, why do you persist here? You and your hick friend getting all Bill and Ted on us, what the fuck are you doing? Who you gonna collect from history to join your little group? Tom Thumb and The Elephant Man? You pair of jokers; the butterfly effect becomes the cunt effect. I’m no physicist so don’t understand half the shit you two do or say, but I see everything that happens in the squared circle and what I see are two mediocre has beens living on their legacies of absolutely shit. All your titles and all your accolades mean nothing in the face of such a supreme athlete. Half the fucking company is doing the very same thing of living off their legacies, but you Oblivion are up there with the very best of them, you probably wear a name badge with with ‘MONSTER OBLIVION’ written on it with ‘Former WCF World Champion’ in bold print under it.
Let me add another little bit of tapestry for your record, a loss to the best wrestler in the company today. Ain’t a thing for me doing you this favour you fucking brute, you’re just part of the fresco I’m painting with the blood of every single one of WCF’s roster, don’t sweat IT big man, nothing you can do to stop this. Maybe you could get your pal the southern Dr Who over there to take you back to the day I was born and throttle me as mother popped me out, shit I’d probably wrap my umbilical cord round ya neck and choke you out to beat you as a newborn. Some things no matter how much you struggle or fight transcend time, I am a transcendent force, and you couldn’t beat me on my worst day. You will never be able to bridge the talent gap here, so why even bother? Still IT will come forward as IT knows how, IT will be smashed in the face and IT will lose, IT IT IT IT. Say it fast five times and it describes you perfectly you fucking tit. Fuckin hell, Ryan Blake with a mask and a steroid problem.
Joey stands up at the same time a homeless man, comes ambling through the cove’s entrance, his shaggy faded red hair flopping down the back of his neck, his oversized shoes plopping along in the waste toward Joey, he smiles a crooked grin at Joey and rubbed the snot from his red nose, he didn’t know whether it was intentional but this bastard looked like he’d just walked straight from the circus into the sewers.
Man: Ahh you found my little hideaway eh?
Joey stares at the man.
Man: Beep beep Joey.
Joey: What the fuck?
Man: Want a Balloon?
Joey notices a bright red balloon in his hand. He feels drawn to it and reaches his hand toward the clomeless man.
Joey: Y-yeah.
Man: Well Joey, you can float, they all float do-
Joey punches the clown/homeless man on the chin, who falls face first into the sewage, Joey catches the balloon.
Joey: So do homeless clowns apparently. My fucking balloon now. IT’s such a fucking pain down here, all these fuckin freaks. Oblivion you cocksucker, I would tell you to prepare that bodybag but I know I’d probably unzip it to find three dead children, half an eaten horse and all your lost self-respect inside. No body bags needed here, I’m going to eviscerate your very existence and cast you into the wind.
Joey leaves the clowntramp to his own devices and trudges out of the sewer, red balloon in his hand and a childish smile on his face.
The Last Supper
Joey breathed in deeply and sighed; he was home again, he had avoided Alessandra all evening, she had demanded on making him dinner, usually he had to beg for her to even order a takeaway let alone cook. Joey’s thoughts ran wild, was it true, was it really true? He was getting to the state of panic of wondering whether Alessandra would be slipping some cyanide into his meal. Was he going to be poisoned by the only person in the world he trusted? No, no that can’t be, that’s not it. He had ran through so many different scenarios, his immediate thoughts fell on her father, they had never met but Bernardo Allegri already hated him, backlash for Facchetti. He knew how big and how important Bernardo was in the home country, his fingers were in a lot of pies stateside and the biggest one was New York City. Still…how could he know Joey’s movements, how could he gain access, how could he slip something into a drink that no one else knew existed, the signs all pointed a hell of a lot closer to home than Joey ever wanted to think about. Did she hate him that much? Joey flushed the toilet and left the bathroom. The hall was as always wonderfully pristine; he paused halfway down to admire several paintings along the way. One painting of a large man and his two children always caught his eye, the boy and the girl were holding hands with the large man wrapping his arms around them both, Alessandra’s family he guessed, he had never met any of em, that time was coming soon, one way or another there would be a family gathering soon enough, Joey wondered if the dress code would be black and the celebration his demise. He could smell the sauce from here as he peeked into the dining room; Alessandra Allegri was hurriedly placing down utensils and condiments onto the table. He observed her for a while, nothing suspicious.
Joey: Hmmm, not ready yet?
His fiancée turned toward him and flashed a smile; she looked positively beautiful, tight red figure hugging dress…and the fluffy purple slippers.
Alessandra: Shortly, shortly... perfection takes time...
Joey sat himself down at the table and began to play with a knife, trying to navigate his fingers while stabbing the table. He was watching her like a hawk, ignoring the knife completely.
Joey: Yeah...
Alessandra turned around and gave him a look.
Alessandra: Stop that. You might hurt yourself.
Concern, it seems natural enough. Okay. He wanted to know if would be able to eat.
Joey: Oh, right I might damage your table.
He flipped the knife round and tried to catch it, missing completely as it clattered to the floor. He quickly retrieved it and put it back down. Alessandra sighed.
Alessandra: Put it in the sink, and get yourself a new one...
Joey: Nah, s'alright.
He reclined back in his seat and just observed Alessandra as she was beginning to dish the food up. One for her, one for him, one for her, one for him, it seemed okay.
Joey: It smells nice anyway, I question the taste however.
Alessandra: You haven't TRIED it yet...
Joey: I'm sure it will be wonderful, you cooked it after all.
He smiled at her and started scratching his leg with the fork, quickly replacing it after finishing. Alessandra finished dishing it up, before bringing the plates over in a pair of Prada oven gloves. Yes, such things exist.
Alessandra: Careful then. It's hot.
Joey twirled the pasta around on the plate, it seemed okay, and she wasn’t eating though. She was just staring at him, that smile still on her face. Joey gulped. What should he do?
Joey: You not having any? Cook should try first.
Alessandra: I just told you, it’s hot.
Hot eh? Fine. He made his decision, he trusted her. He truly trusted this woman, she had taken him in and loved him warts and all, she was the mother of his child. She loved him, right? She loved…He quickly grabbed his fork and jammed it into the pasta, immediately thrusting it into his mouth. He regretted it immediately. The food WAS too hot. The glob of pasta was quickly spat back onto the plate as Joey grabbed the newly opened bottle of wine and swigged from it.
Joey: You're right. Ahh.
Alessandra: As always. And please don't drink out of the bottle...
Joey: Sorry!
Alessandra: So... you never really told me what you got up to last week, you didn’t come home that night.
Joey looked up at her
Joey: Not much, I just learned quite a lot about myself.
Alessandra: Anything in particular? I always find you a fascinating subject.
Joey: Nah I was just at the club, you know how it can get.
Alessandra: Joey, don’t lie to me.
Joey thought for a moment
Joey: Look nothing bad, alright, no women, I promise. I just, just found out who I can be as a person, and it's no different from everything I have ever known, that's all.
Alessandra sighed.
Alessandra: Why are you always such a closed book?
Joey looked puzzled
Joey: Hmmm?
Alessandra: We used to talk a lot more... you're so closed these days. It's like you're hiding something.
Joey: I'm sorry if it's not good enough for you, but what do you want me to say?
Alessandra: I don't know... I just... you seem different.
Joey: Different?
Alessandra: Yes, different. Distant, as though your mind is somewhere else. You seem sad Joseph.
Joey looked at the food again and took another bite, it was now or never. He waited and he waited, gazing into the woman’s eyes. It was…delicious. Joey laughed to himself. He was a stupid man, there would be no poison, how ridiculous, but at least he admitted it to himself...but something just kept gnawing away at him, for now, it will wait. He remembered he needed to engage his voicebox.
Joey: Wouldn't anyone be driven to distraction in your presence?
Alessandra flushed a little. Great save Joey.
Alessandra: You’re changing the subject.
Joey: I'm thinking of skipping the meal and going straight to bed, to tell you the truth, I'm sure as nice as this food is, you will taste much sweeter.
She flushed even more.
Alessandra: I put in a lot of work, but... well... I'm sure it will microwave later.
Joey smiled: Come here. Besides, I’ve got a present for you.
Alessandra duly stood up, and "came here", reaching her arms out for him. Joey scooped her up into his arms, carrying her off her feet.
Joey: Shall we?
Alessandra: Don’t be ridiculous.
She kissed him as Joey carries Alessandra out of the dining room and up the stairs, he deposited her just outside the bedroom.
Joey: Wait there.
She waited as Joey darted into the bedroom. After about twenty seconds of Joey banging about a faint voice came through the door.
Joey: You can come in! Your surprise is ready.
Alessandra entered to a sight that killed her building appetite for both food, and sex.
Joey: I got THIS for you today!
Joey Flash sat naked on the bed with a beaming smile on his face, holding a red balloon.
END
Joey Flash was sat in his dressing room at the WCF HQ, he had trashed the place. The table was tipped over, wallpaper ripped from the wall and bottles broken on the floor. He hadn’t been able to sleep for the past week…it was just as bad as before…the only word that kept running through his thoughts was ‘Allegri’. It was making him think all kinds of things, how did they get in to his office to drug him? How did they know the codes, how did they get past the security? He felt his heartbeat resonating through his entire body. Don’t jump to conclusions Joseph, logic and rationale…logical and rationale meant fuck all when the thought that the woman you’re going to sleep with every night, the mother of your child might be involved in wanting you dead. He glanced down to the floor and then punched himself in disgust. He began to cry into his hands, getting up and punching the wall, he punched to bleeding point, his already brittle hands throbbing from the pain, but that wasn’t enough. It was…
There was a knock at the door, shit. Joey wiped his eyes and his bloody knuckles onto his pants. He gave a cough to clear his throat and assumed his smile.
Joey: Enter.
It was Hank Brown. He bumbled through the door, almost falling over the downed table.
Hank: What the hell happened here?
Joey: I had a party last night, haven’t got round to cleaning. Fuckin’ pigsty, no manners y’know.
Hank: Uhhmmm…
Joey: Oh, I forget myself, take a seat.
Hank looks about the room, finding nothing but trash and broken glass; he finds the tiniest portion of clean floor and squats down in it.
Joey: Comfortable?
Hank: Better than the hotel I was in last night, let me tell you there were lots of gays about and was even a body found in the pool and-
He looked Joey up and down.
Hank: How you feeling Joey?
Joey: Good thankya.
Hank: Well you really don’t look it, you look terrible in fact.
Joey: And you look like you got face fucked by a porcupine, but your concern is appreciated, but I’ve just had a lot of sleepless nights, y’know what that’s like?
Hank: Ahem. Well you better well be in much better condition come Slam when you take on…
Joey: Motherfucker slow down, I don’t care. How’s Seifer doing?
Hank gulps.
Hank: Well, he’s been put on the physically unable to perform list…you hurt him real bad Joe.
Joey: Yep, I did.
Hank: And that’s it?
Joey: What do you want me to do? Send the guy some flowers? ‘Get well soon, love every poor fucker who has been sacrificed at the top of some random Aztec temple!’ get a grip. If people don’t take you seriously, you have to provide assurance that in no uncertain terms shit is going to be fucked up, and shit is going to be fucked up soon. Seifer is nothing but a consequence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Hank: What was all that shit at Slam, someone’s acting a little self-entitled no?
Joey: Is the firstborn son of the king not entitled to the throne one day? It’s not a case of me not knowing my place, it’s the fact I KNOW my place here. It’s interesting Hank, I’m doing my best here. I’m painting a massive target on my back and hoping someone takes the chance, show some fucking gall. I’ve been offering an open challenge every single week and not one person has actively taken it up, is it so hard? You have a free chance at a title; I’m begging you people to do something about it. Rather than wait, I think I’m going to be proactive. It’s the only way these people understand.
Hank: Proactive?
Joey: Well, I was planning on being slow and methodical, take my time and give my targets that Occulo treatment, but there’s too big of an opportunity at Slam, a wise man would probably not take said opportunity but fuck it, I’m pushing all in.
Hank: What?
Joey: We’ll see what happens eh? Enough of that shit, you were saying?
Hank: Saying what?
Joey: ‘come Slam when you take on…’
Hank: Oh yes!
Joey: Who? Please tell me it’s some worth my time, please?
Hank: When you take on Oblivion.
Flash’s face drops at this and he looks annoyed at the news. Then he begins to laugh.
Joey: Haha Hank, I didn’t take you for a prankster, but you actually had me goin’ for a minute there. Come on, who’ve I got?
Hank: Yes, you are taking on Oblivion Joey, no joke.
Flash’s face returns to its dropped state.
Flash: Oh for… OBLIVION?!?! I could pull a better opponent out of my ass, and think I probably did this morning, that shit was nutty. It’s things like this that grate me. Seth you mother-
Just as Joey is about to finish there is a knock on the door of Flash’s locker room, Joey turns.
Joey: Enter.
Backing up into the room we see a man carrying a large leather couch, very psychologist’s office, helped on the other end by another man.
Joey: Motherfucker.
Man: Where ya want it boss?
Joey: Up Mr Lerch’s vagina please.
Man: He said you’d say that and just to leave it here.
Joey: Quite.
One of the men is hammering something into Joey’s door as the other man finishes adjusting the couch.
Man: Okay. We’re done chief.
Joey storms over to his door to see the sign of ‘Joey Flash – Pound for Pound #1’ being flanked below it with ‘Resident Psychotherapist – The Doctor is IN!’ Joey slumps onto the leather couch and reclines, Hank takes a position next to Joey and holds his clip board up.
Joey: I don’t understand Hank, I really don’t. Are the heavens really this unfair to me? I am forever blighted to repeat this circle, it’s like I’m stuck in a never ending circle, it’s like a Groundhog Day of having to fight shiteating mediocrity and put up with mind numbing interviews from the biggest prick in the company. If I just beat you to death right now would you re-spawn tomorrow morning with the same fucking mindless grin on your face and inane questions?
Hank: Uhhh-
Joey: Why Hank, why oh why would anybody want to watch Joey Flash fight Oblivion? He’s just a levelled up, fully evolved Ultimate Destroyer. Rotundo the Immense. What reasoning Hank?
“Well Joey, this is a former World Champion, he’ll pose the sternest test so far!”
The sternest test so far has been finding a question from Hank that didn’t make me want to punch myself in the nuts.
“It is always too good to see a contest between two guys with contrasting styles!!”
What, shit and not shit? Okay buddy.
“But Oblivion could really pose a danger…”
Let me stop you there and ask you a question, have you ever seen a wrestling match? If not then I would understand your almost childlike reasoning. However as anyone who has ever seen Joey Flash and Oblivion wrestle would tell you; this really is a mismatch of the highest proportions. This isn’t anything to do with size or experience; this is everything to do with talent. It’s not about who’s done what and who’s been here longest, it’s about the two men in the ring on the day who’s better? Oblivion is so out of his depth it is almost laughable.
You know, generally when a title match is signed it is because the challenger has earned his merit in the match, because he’s done something lately that really means he deserves the shot, because he’s taken personal issue with the champ and doggedly pursued it until the champ couldn’t ignore it any more, little hint motherfuckers, DO THE LATTER. I digress, all it takes here is to be a mentally unstable homicidal maniac it seems, who’s my next challenger? We gonna get Michael Myers stepping through the curtain, maybe Hannibal Lecter in a prison cell match? It seems like the WCF, in particular our brain dead commissioner have a different policy on this matter. It appears that getting utterly destroyed week upon week and running about interfering in random people’s matches gives you all the pull you need. Inmates running the asylum comes to mind here.
Oblivion, what can I really say to you what has not already been said? I could comment on your constant pathetic performances or your frequent unintelligible promos. However all of that is in retrospect. I would like to think that maybe, just maybe the constant embarrassments you suffer both in the ring and in real life you may find some pride in your usually worthless self and be able to come to the arena on Slam and be able to walk to the ring with your head held high. Look me in the eye and want to fight as equals. Unfortunately in order to fight your equal, I would say that you will have a hard time finding a human sized piece of whale shit that happens to have a meagre existence tapered onto it.
Hank: Strong words there Jo-
Joey: Fuck off Hank.
Hank lowers his head and slopes off out of the room. Joey sighs and relaxes backward on the couch only to be awoken by a knock at the door, Joey looks up to find a woman dithering near the door.
Woman: Doctor Flash, ah ah, ah Seth s-said that you could help, I’m seeing my dead mother wherever I go-
Joey: Fuck…sake.
Beep Beep Joey!
The rat nibbled at the broken leather of a long discarded Doc Marten boot, tearing at the tongue with a relentless fervour, this would be dinner tonight. It managed to salvage enough leather in its cheeks for the evening and scuttled off round the corner. It dodged and duked through several little holes, nooks and crannies like a kid playing a level of Sonic he’d played thousands of times. He discarded the munchings in his den then peeked to make sure nothing was coming and he could tuck in in peace.
Splash…splash….splash. Something WAS coming. The rat retreated back into his den to see a pair of white sneakers come trudging through the waste. After the thing had passed, the rat darted back out to get a better look. It was a man, wearing jeans and a grey hooded top, the hood thrown forward. The rat had never seen this human before, no humans for a while.
Joey was Oblivion hunting. He had seen nothing but shit, piss, vomit and vermin, like Manhattan on a Saturday night. He was pleased he had been smart enough to cover his mouth and nose with a bandana at least. It was minimal help. He ducked and entered a small cove from the sewer, huh. This was interesting; the remnants of a bedroll and a small fire remained. Joey knelt and examined the fire pit to find it still warm to the touch, lukewarm, but still that was a start. Joey pulled up a wooden box and sat.
Joey: They said IT lived here. They fucking lied, do you know what I’ve had to do? I’ve waded through human waste for about six hours and the only thing I found was a massive fuck off spider, what a pissing let down. Where are you Oblivion?
Hello Stephan, it’s been a while; you’ll like it down here. Come join us. Welcome to the slaughter, ace. It’s going to be beautiful, just how you like it. I get it now, I’m not here because Seth thinks I can help you, he thinks I can end you. You’re more than I thought. You’re a true to life monster, you’re no Ultimate Destroyer, and you’re no Seifer Black. You’re a dangerous psychopath. I’d let you roam about and I’d let you abide here if you were just a bit more…controlled. The fact that you’re so unpredictable doesn’t benefit me one little bit, I cannot in anyway risk something like you getting in the way of my goals here. So I’m going to use this opportunity to nip it in the bud on Sunday. You’re not one who I’ll be able to put away with just wrestling; I’m going to have to break your body to shards of bone and sinew and grind you to dust. My matches are usually won before my opponents even enter the ring, 99% of my fights are over before I even step through the ropes. But Oblivion you’re the 1%. Occupy Insanity. I can’t break what’s already been broken fifty times over already; every breath you take is another snapping of your connections to sanity, your humanity left you years ago and now you’re struggling to find any last grasp on reality.
You’re one of the people who interest me here, you have no real goals or no desires, and you just exist. It’s a shame the existence is one of pity and sadness.
Joey fidgets and rubs his hands in the remnants of the ever cooling fire for a bit more warmth.
Joey: Enough of the deep shit, let’s get it poppin. You fucking weird bastard, what am I supposed to say about you that’s not already been said? You get savaged week after week, on the microphone and in the ring; you provide little or no resistance to the people at the top of the federation. Funny you’re teamed up with the Dark Timekeeper when you’re the Large Gatekeeper. You’re the guy with his spear held across the entrance to the upper tiers of the WCF, blocking the path of the unworthy. Yeah back in the day you might have held some relevance against the top wrestlers, but you’ve now slipped back to where you belong, guard duty. I’m gonna pop two slugs in the guard’s head and step over his lifeless corpse to get where I want to go. I’m taking what I want, when I want from here on. This match will be your epitaph, we won’t even need an ambulance when we’re done, might as well call Ghostbusters to deal with you. Here lies deluded washed up mental patient.
Let's get to the one and only pertinent fact of your otherwise meaningless career.
Your first and last World Title reign came in 2010.
Joey slow claps.
Joey: Since you last won the World Title, I’ve been in prison, out of prison, started wrestling, gotten engaged, had a kid, been arrested, stopped wrestling, got off charges, made my first million, started wrestling again…fucking hell. Perspective indeed Oblivion, when does it end for you? When do you take off the mask, realise that it’s not a childish game any more and just walk away? Can you even do that any more? I think if you didn’t have wrestling your mind would finally pull free from your body and you’d become a shell of a man. The problem I have is since your last World Title you’ve been in and about the main event scene, that’s five whole fucking years of a barren wasteland. If I get a taste of such nectar I don’t leave that shit alone til I’ve tasted it, again and again. I think you’re the same, you thirst and you strive, but see the difference is I get that second taste, that third, I get as many as I fucking want. You get the leftovers thrown on the floor. Okay let’s make a deal right now, I’m talking to any and everybody affiliated with or knows me even remotely, if I win the World Championship, lose it again after two weeks and in five fucking years never get so much a sniff of winning it again someone please just shoot me in the face…or give me a mask to hide my fucking shame. Get out of your 'monster' playsuit Ace, and fight like a fucking man.
Another cocksucker with no pride, you, a former world champion, enters a tournament to win a lesser belt, not only do you no longer have the skill to get a shot directly, you have to jump through hoops for a chance at it, you flub your lines and fall yet again, the story of the past five years. So are we following now? You went from World Champion, to barely qualifying for a shot at the US Title, to finally trickling down the card and falling onto my dinner plate. You went from fighting Fly to Balfore to Slickie T to Gravedigger to Orbit to me? Either you’re lowering your standards or I’m a mothafuckin beast.
Before you get all giddy and happy that you can use me to springboard yaself back into contention let me just slap that silly notion out of your oversized head. You’re so out of touch with reality it’s sickening, why do you persist here? You and your hick friend getting all Bill and Ted on us, what the fuck are you doing? Who you gonna collect from history to join your little group? Tom Thumb and The Elephant Man? You pair of jokers; the butterfly effect becomes the cunt effect. I’m no physicist so don’t understand half the shit you two do or say, but I see everything that happens in the squared circle and what I see are two mediocre has beens living on their legacies of absolutely shit. All your titles and all your accolades mean nothing in the face of such a supreme athlete. Half the fucking company is doing the very same thing of living off their legacies, but you Oblivion are up there with the very best of them, you probably wear a name badge with with ‘MONSTER OBLIVION’ written on it with ‘Former WCF World Champion’ in bold print under it.
Let me add another little bit of tapestry for your record, a loss to the best wrestler in the company today. Ain’t a thing for me doing you this favour you fucking brute, you’re just part of the fresco I’m painting with the blood of every single one of WCF’s roster, don’t sweat IT big man, nothing you can do to stop this. Maybe you could get your pal the southern Dr Who over there to take you back to the day I was born and throttle me as mother popped me out, shit I’d probably wrap my umbilical cord round ya neck and choke you out to beat you as a newborn. Some things no matter how much you struggle or fight transcend time, I am a transcendent force, and you couldn’t beat me on my worst day. You will never be able to bridge the talent gap here, so why even bother? Still IT will come forward as IT knows how, IT will be smashed in the face and IT will lose, IT IT IT IT. Say it fast five times and it describes you perfectly you fucking tit. Fuckin hell, Ryan Blake with a mask and a steroid problem.
Joey stands up at the same time a homeless man, comes ambling through the cove’s entrance, his shaggy faded red hair flopping down the back of his neck, his oversized shoes plopping along in the waste toward Joey, he smiles a crooked grin at Joey and rubbed the snot from his red nose, he didn’t know whether it was intentional but this bastard looked like he’d just walked straight from the circus into the sewers.
Man: Ahh you found my little hideaway eh?
Joey stares at the man.
Man: Beep beep Joey.
Joey: What the fuck?
Man: Want a Balloon?
Joey notices a bright red balloon in his hand. He feels drawn to it and reaches his hand toward the clomeless man.
Joey: Y-yeah.
Man: Well Joey, you can float, they all float do-
Joey punches the clown/homeless man on the chin, who falls face first into the sewage, Joey catches the balloon.
Joey: So do homeless clowns apparently. My fucking balloon now. IT’s such a fucking pain down here, all these fuckin freaks. Oblivion you cocksucker, I would tell you to prepare that bodybag but I know I’d probably unzip it to find three dead children, half an eaten horse and all your lost self-respect inside. No body bags needed here, I’m going to eviscerate your very existence and cast you into the wind.
Joey leaves the clowntramp to his own devices and trudges out of the sewer, red balloon in his hand and a childish smile on his face.
The Last Supper
Joey breathed in deeply and sighed; he was home again, he had avoided Alessandra all evening, she had demanded on making him dinner, usually he had to beg for her to even order a takeaway let alone cook. Joey’s thoughts ran wild, was it true, was it really true? He was getting to the state of panic of wondering whether Alessandra would be slipping some cyanide into his meal. Was he going to be poisoned by the only person in the world he trusted? No, no that can’t be, that’s not it. He had ran through so many different scenarios, his immediate thoughts fell on her father, they had never met but Bernardo Allegri already hated him, backlash for Facchetti. He knew how big and how important Bernardo was in the home country, his fingers were in a lot of pies stateside and the biggest one was New York City. Still…how could he know Joey’s movements, how could he gain access, how could he slip something into a drink that no one else knew existed, the signs all pointed a hell of a lot closer to home than Joey ever wanted to think about. Did she hate him that much? Joey flushed the toilet and left the bathroom. The hall was as always wonderfully pristine; he paused halfway down to admire several paintings along the way. One painting of a large man and his two children always caught his eye, the boy and the girl were holding hands with the large man wrapping his arms around them both, Alessandra’s family he guessed, he had never met any of em, that time was coming soon, one way or another there would be a family gathering soon enough, Joey wondered if the dress code would be black and the celebration his demise. He could smell the sauce from here as he peeked into the dining room; Alessandra Allegri was hurriedly placing down utensils and condiments onto the table. He observed her for a while, nothing suspicious.
Joey: Hmmm, not ready yet?
His fiancée turned toward him and flashed a smile; she looked positively beautiful, tight red figure hugging dress…and the fluffy purple slippers.
Alessandra: Shortly, shortly... perfection takes time...
Joey sat himself down at the table and began to play with a knife, trying to navigate his fingers while stabbing the table. He was watching her like a hawk, ignoring the knife completely.
Joey: Yeah...
Alessandra turned around and gave him a look.
Alessandra: Stop that. You might hurt yourself.
Concern, it seems natural enough. Okay. He wanted to know if would be able to eat.
Joey: Oh, right I might damage your table.
He flipped the knife round and tried to catch it, missing completely as it clattered to the floor. He quickly retrieved it and put it back down. Alessandra sighed.
Alessandra: Put it in the sink, and get yourself a new one...
Joey: Nah, s'alright.
He reclined back in his seat and just observed Alessandra as she was beginning to dish the food up. One for her, one for him, one for her, one for him, it seemed okay.
Joey: It smells nice anyway, I question the taste however.
Alessandra: You haven't TRIED it yet...
Joey: I'm sure it will be wonderful, you cooked it after all.
He smiled at her and started scratching his leg with the fork, quickly replacing it after finishing. Alessandra finished dishing it up, before bringing the plates over in a pair of Prada oven gloves. Yes, such things exist.
Alessandra: Careful then. It's hot.
Joey twirled the pasta around on the plate, it seemed okay, and she wasn’t eating though. She was just staring at him, that smile still on her face. Joey gulped. What should he do?
Joey: You not having any? Cook should try first.
Alessandra: I just told you, it’s hot.
Hot eh? Fine. He made his decision, he trusted her. He truly trusted this woman, she had taken him in and loved him warts and all, she was the mother of his child. She loved him, right? She loved…He quickly grabbed his fork and jammed it into the pasta, immediately thrusting it into his mouth. He regretted it immediately. The food WAS too hot. The glob of pasta was quickly spat back onto the plate as Joey grabbed the newly opened bottle of wine and swigged from it.
Joey: You're right. Ahh.
Alessandra: As always. And please don't drink out of the bottle...
Joey: Sorry!
Alessandra: So... you never really told me what you got up to last week, you didn’t come home that night.
Joey looked up at her
Joey: Not much, I just learned quite a lot about myself.
Alessandra: Anything in particular? I always find you a fascinating subject.
Joey: Nah I was just at the club, you know how it can get.
Alessandra: Joey, don’t lie to me.
Joey thought for a moment
Joey: Look nothing bad, alright, no women, I promise. I just, just found out who I can be as a person, and it's no different from everything I have ever known, that's all.
Alessandra sighed.
Alessandra: Why are you always such a closed book?
Joey looked puzzled
Joey: Hmmm?
Alessandra: We used to talk a lot more... you're so closed these days. It's like you're hiding something.
Joey: I'm sorry if it's not good enough for you, but what do you want me to say?
Alessandra: I don't know... I just... you seem different.
Joey: Different?
Alessandra: Yes, different. Distant, as though your mind is somewhere else. You seem sad Joseph.
Joey looked at the food again and took another bite, it was now or never. He waited and he waited, gazing into the woman’s eyes. It was…delicious. Joey laughed to himself. He was a stupid man, there would be no poison, how ridiculous, but at least he admitted it to himself...but something just kept gnawing away at him, for now, it will wait. He remembered he needed to engage his voicebox.
Joey: Wouldn't anyone be driven to distraction in your presence?
Alessandra flushed a little. Great save Joey.
Alessandra: You’re changing the subject.
Joey: I'm thinking of skipping the meal and going straight to bed, to tell you the truth, I'm sure as nice as this food is, you will taste much sweeter.
She flushed even more.
Alessandra: I put in a lot of work, but... well... I'm sure it will microwave later.
Joey smiled: Come here. Besides, I’ve got a present for you.
Alessandra duly stood up, and "came here", reaching her arms out for him. Joey scooped her up into his arms, carrying her off her feet.
Joey: Shall we?
Alessandra: Don’t be ridiculous.
She kissed him as Joey carries Alessandra out of the dining room and up the stairs, he deposited her just outside the bedroom.
Joey: Wait there.
She waited as Joey darted into the bedroom. After about twenty seconds of Joey banging about a faint voice came through the door.
Joey: You can come in! Your surprise is ready.
Alessandra entered to a sight that killed her building appetite for both food, and sex.
Joey: I got THIS for you today!
Joey Flash sat naked on the bed with a beaming smile on his face, holding a red balloon.
END
