American Wrestler in the Isle of Wight
Mar 21, 2015 18:21:42 GMT -5
Alex Richards, Kaz, and 4 more like this
Post by Joey Flash on Mar 21, 2015 18:21:42 GMT -5
Courtesy of the Dampshaws
Emerging from the luggage storage came Joey’s large red rucksack which his plucked from the belt and tossed onto his shoulder. He strode through the sparse denizens of the airport and toward the car park where he had been informed a driver would be waiting to pick him up. He smiled to himself as the automatic doors parted with a Jedi like hand movement, he was immediately shouted down by a man stood just in front.
Driver: FLASH! MISTER JOSEPH FLASH?!
The driver was a tall thin man with a shock of black hair on both his head and his upper lip; he was holding a cap in one hand and a sign that said FLASH with the words EX-TV CHAMP written in bold below it.
Joey: How cute.
Driver: FLASH! MISTER JOSEPH FLASH?!
Joey waved.
Joey: Yep, yep that’s me.
Driver: Master Dampshaw sends his regards, he told me to tell you he is sorry he couldn’t receive you in person but for me to make sure everything goes swimmingly for you here!
Joey: How very kind, what’s ya name?
Driver: Mr Allen. Dennis Allen.
Joey: Dennis Allen? Aight, well Dennis where the fuck are we going?
Dennis: Well, what better way to shake the cobwebs of a long plane flight than to sample the finest ales on the island!?
Joey: I was thinking more a stiff rum and a blowjob, but can’t trouble you for that ey Dennis?
Joey laughs.
Joey: So that’s like Guinness and shit yeah?
Dennis: Almost. Guinness is a stout
Joey: Ah you can’t fool me, that’s a little fuckin woodland critter!
Dennis: That’s a stoat.
Joey: How the fuck should I know?
Dennis: Not to worry Joseph. Any question you have about your new surroundings, be it flora, fauna or tavern, do not hesitate to ask!
Joey: Really though, what’s the deal with this? Where am I staying?
Dennis: Ah, you are staying in a place where many a tired foot and sleepy head retire for the night. Its popularity has always been something that is justified by its sheer simplicity and almost refreshing minimalism. It is a lodge for travelers such as yourself Joseph. It is called….the travelodge.
Joey: Fuckin A, and Reggie has paid for all this shit?
Dennis: Well of course. Although I must be honest in that he pays more for a golf ball sized truffle than what a month staying in the lodge costs.
Joey: Aight man, expensive taste havin mothafucka. Right drive on Dennis, time to down me some fuckin stoats!
Joey Flash, The Society and a man named Andy.
A thick fog has descended...well...more like the car has ascended into it as Dennis and Joey climb up the side of a hill, plunging them into near darkness. Although the hill was silent, thankfully a friendly looking stone building appeared like an oasis in the misty desert. Bright orange lights shone through the windows that could welcome even the most reclusive loner. The car trundled to a stop outside and Joey looked up through the car window at
Joey: Hey man, we’ve been going a long fuckin time, do you even know where we are?
Dennis: Master Reignald was very specific.
Joey: I don’t give a fuck how specific he was, did he say ‘Well Dennis Allen apple of my eye will you take Joey Flash on a merry go round tour of nothing but fields, rivers, fog and fucking sheep?!’
Dennis: We’re here.
Joey: Oh. Ah. Sorry.
Dennis Allen stepped out of his door and maneuvered around to where Joey sat, pulling his door open.
Joey: What a gentleman.
Dennis Allen smiled as Joey exited, closing the door behind him. Joey approached the door of the pub, he glanced at the signpost rattling in the wind above it, a picture of several well to do gentlemen sat around a table, each looking a tad like Reginald Dampshaw III, with ornate writing below naming the pub ‘The Society’.
Joey: Cute. Real cute.
Joey pushed the door open to the sound of another door closing shut, Joey span round to see Dennis Allen sat behind the wheel with a grin on his face revving the engine. The car quickly sprang into life and sped away from whence it came into the deepest of mist.
Joey: Fucks sake, every time, every fucking time.
Joey slapped himself upside the head and pushed the door of the pub open, if you’re lost and cold, might as well be fuckin hammered as well.
Joey was immediately slapped on the other side of the head by the immense warmth of the pub. This probably had something to do with the roaring and worryingly open fire which cremated logs thrown onto it by a rotund man with a scraggly beard. He coughed into his hands and wiped them down his dirty overalls. Joey grimaced at this and slowly stepped through the pub, he was receiving unwelcome glances like the stranger in a strange world he is. The interior walls were a grey stone, and very bland prints of the nearby countryside hung in random asymmetrical places opposite the bar which was very clean but the drip trays were full and probably hadn’t been emptied for a few weeks, as the smell suggested. Joey perched on a rickety bar stool and caught the attention of an extremely bored looking barmaid, who looked like a younger version, unfortunately, of Alessandra. She was wearing a black t-shirt and pants, and her long blonde hair was tied up at the back. The resemblance put Joey in a trance and this was broke by an interrogatory smile from the girl.
Barmaid: Can I get you something? Some eyelids to blink with maybe?
Joey blinked, and in one fell swoop the girl transformed in front of his eyes from being the spitting image of his missing fiancée to looking like she could be in a Katherine Phoenix lookalike contest, headband and all. Joey recoiled.
Joey: Uhh, that was a bad idea.
Barmaid: What was?
Joey: Nothing. Never mind.
Barmaid: Ooooh! You’re American!! Wow.
Joey: Yep, that’s me.
Barmaid: I’ve never met one before.
She prods him as if to test he is real
Barmaid: So reem.
Joey: Uh-
Barmaid: Oh, what can I get you Mister America?
Joey scanned the strangely named beers and chose.
Joey: Beckman’s Belt please.
Barmaid: Oh sorry, that one is out right now.
Joey: Okay fine, I’ll take the Occulo’s Courage.
Barmaid: Sorry the delivery driver for that said ‘he didn’t want to be associated’ with pubs so stopped delivering.
Joey: Oh I know, I see what you’re doing here. I bet if I ask for Joey’s Title you’re going to tell me ‘No sorry it’s been replaced by Grime’s Ride’ or some shit, right?
Barmaid: Not at all! It’s been replaced by Dampshaw’s Cock.
Joey stared at her blankly.
Joey: A pint of Dampshaw’s Cock please.
The barmaid begins pumping the beer into a glass.
Barmaid: Oh it’s a lovely beer, I don’t know why no one seems to want it. Dampshaw’s Cock has everything a girl could want; it’s got a full thick head and tastes so creamy and smooth.
Joey: Oh, you had a go?
Barmaid: Nah wouldn’t touch that with your mouth.
Joey is handed the ale and takes a sip.
Joey: Oddly I could grow to like this.
We hear from the back of the pub a loudmouth man in a green jacket, grey trousers and a flatcap with his buddies break out into song
Andy Capp: Yankee doodle went to town, riding on a pony, he put a feather in his hat and called it macaroni!
His friends burst into laughter
Hey, bloody eye-tye Yank over there. You lost mate?
Joey: Huh?
Barmaid: Oh leave off Andy he’s just having a drink!
Andy: Is he? Bet that’s the first time he’s had a proper drink. What you doing over here ya fat American? Eh Soph get him some pretzels or burgers or whatever shit they eat over there
Joey: Actually my favourite meal is loud mouth punks.
Joey turns round and stands up to face the man, who is stood with two of his friends, both bald headed, tall and bulky.
Andy: Grant, Phil, you know what to do, where the fuck is Minty?
Joey turns to the barmaid.
Joey: What the fuck is a ‘Minty’?
Sophie: That’s a Minty.
She points to an overweight gentleman playing on a games machine in the corner.
Minty: FUCKING CUNTING THING, that cost me fifty quid over the fuckin weekend, ere you need to get this fixed!!!
Andy: Fuck ya fifty quid, we’ve got a cheeky little yank with too big a mouth, coming in ‘ere as if it’s his fuckin home and generally stinking the place out with his foreign breath. Kick him back to his own fuckin country.
Joey sips his drink.
Joey: I must warn you that I’m a professional fighter, so please, just sit the fuck down.
The men erupt into laughter, Minty stands with a stern expression
Andy: Fuck me lads it’s Cassius Clay without the boot polish on his face! Professional fighter? You??
Minty: Yeah, yeah, I recognise him mate.
Andy: Give over, where fuckin from, Goodfellas?
Minty steps toward Joey and waves a finger in his face.
Minty: You’re that wrestler aren’t you... here lads…
Joey raises an eyebrow.
Joey: See he knows who I am! I’m not lying you know.
Minty: Yeh, my lad watches it, fake and shite like but he enjoys it, yeh you’re uh…
Jonny Fly.
Joey’s face drops, followed quickly by a right hand sending Minty tumbling backward through a table. Joey turns to Sophie and finishes his drink.
Joey: Put this on Dampshaw’s tab.
Andy: KICK HIS FUCKIN ‘ED IN!
Almost out of nowhere, Phil and Grant pull crowbars from under their table. It’s almost as if they were waiting every night to beat the living shit out of a poor passer-by. As they stand though, their intoxication immediately becomes apparent to them and they simply stumble forward, trip over chairs and pass out on the floor leaving Andy alone with Joey.
Andy: Ah ere mate, calm down ey? Lets have a fuckin brew together yeh?
Joey: Let’s not.
Joey decks the hapless Andy and smashes a barstool over his noggin, rendering the poor man unconscious. Joey sighs and turns to Sophie.
Joey: This happens a lot to me, don’t worry.
Sophie: Uh, okay. You’re still barred.
Joey: Barred?
Sophie: You’ve beaten up pretty much all my custom tonight, so yes, get the hell out!
She launches a tankard of Dampshaw’s Cock toward Joey, who deftly ducks out of the way and pushes the door open to come face to face with the fog once more. Well wasn’t this just lovely, all alone in the desolate darkness of the Isle of fucking Wight. Thanks a lot Reggie ya cocksucker.
Joey: Fucking fog.
Joey in the Mist
Time seemed to slow almost to a crawl as Joey traversed the sweeping countryside; he had spent what seemed like hours trudging through endlessly repeating fields, it felt like he was running through a Scooby Doo backdrop. The dew from the mist had covered Joey’s face with a lining of cold wet comfort and his hair fell slickly down to his back.
Joey: Helloooooooooooooooooooo?
Not that he expected anyone to hear it, nor to respond or acknowledge even if they did.
Joey: FUCK.
He suddenly felt better about himself.
Joey: CUNTLIPS.
This was peace, true solitude.
Joey: FUCK BARACK FUCKING OBAMA, I DIDN’T VOTE FOR HIM BECAUSE HE’S BLACK!
He could say whatever he wanted here, what would happen, a fucking cow would get offended? Joey giggled, the giggle turned into a laugh, he threw his head back and roared into eternity.
Joey: So how was that? How was that for an encore World Championship fucking Federation? How’d ya like it? Lil Joey Flash got punked by Grime and would bitch out, right, that’s how that shit is sposed to go down. So what happened?
Joey Flash vs Pantheon, what happened, where are the big mouths now? Where’s the smack talk, where is the ‘He can’t hack it’, where’s the ‘He’ll fold after a loss’ where’s the ‘Joey is gonna burn out’ talk now? I ain’t no candle you fuckin punks, I’m a fuckin supernova and I’m eviscerating everything in this federation. Big or small, old or young everyone’s getting smashed. It doesn’t matter. So I’ve already sonned half of fuckin Pantheon, what’s next? Seth, you don’t need Beckman at all for this, these guys will test me for their prides sake and get shut down one by one, or fuck, maybe three at a time eh? This iteration of a long worthless group of hacks is nothing different than ever before, it’s no different than anyone else in the federation. They’re just wrestler which by definition alone places them a solid tier below where Joey Flash sits in this business.
WOOO FUCK. So then two days later I beat one of the greatest veterans in the company today and one of the best newcomers, this isn’t rocket science at this time, this is just me showing you that I’m exactly, egg fucking zactly what I say I am. This shit is getting into territories so uncharted Nathan Drake would be quaking in his fuckin boots.
What’s next on the agenda for the greatest wrestling story ever told? Well apparently it’s an absolute cluster fuck of a match on Slam. Somehow I’ve been roped into a tag match with Reginald Dampshaw to take on an actual team in the Chrono Rippers, joy of joys. Well this is some interesting shit, so I’m here to ‘Experience how the better half live’ to try and get on the same page as Reginald, now an easier way would have been to meet over a fuckin latte but no this is how it went down, so I’m now seeing the better half live in fucking mist ridden fields with thug infested taverns. It’s like a mix between Eastenders and Baldurs fuckin Gate. So how are we going to work, future WCF Hall of Famer Joseph Flash and future bottom feeder Reginald Dampshaw III? Lemme lay this down, Reginald we’ve been in the ring together once and you flew over that top rope like there was tea and scones on the other fuckin side. That being said, you aren’t a bad wrestler, you’re not terrible, you could do a lot better if you showed half the effort in the fuckin ring as you do talking beforehand. Here’s how this is going to go down, you can sit there on the apron and watch a surgeon go to work first hand in the ring in front of you. If you don’t want to break a nail, fine, I don’t expect or need any help in this match. I’m going to do this all on my very lonesome. This is the level we’re at right now, one man wrecking crew shit, I’m going to crush the Chrono Rippers with or without Dampshaw, they drew the short straw to be match up with me, funny cos they’ll be using said straw to ingest their fuckin food for the next week.
Joey continues through the mist, hopping through the fields like a rabbit on speed.
Joey: How are you feeling Oblivion? Things ain’t been going so hot for you of late have they buddy? It seems to me that you were doing all okay when I first arrived here, then you got matched with me, dominated and zipped up in humiliating fashion and since then it’s been nothing but a downward spiral of disappointment followed by disappointment. You’ve done nothing but lower your stock and your brand in the past couple of months, lemme ask you something how would it feel if every nerdy teenager Jason came across beat the fuck out of him? How would it feel if Godzilla tried to stomp a building flat, and the building slapped him in the fuckin mouth? The films would be ridiculous right, the stories would be ridiculous? So how do you think it looks when you, Mr Ultimate Evil, Mr Unstoppable Monster gets routinely stopped every other fuckin week? It’s pathetic. You have turned from unbeatable Goliath into a running parody, from Scream to Scary Movie.
I struggle to picture this is the same man who used to be a World Champion here, I really do. Have you fallen this low? Did you used to be something more? Or is it simply the fact that like in every athletic endeavour the athletes nowadays are just that much better than those before them? Would Marc Mayhem be a 2x World Champion if he existed in the era that was apparently your ‘prime’? Cos I’m sorry man, I just don’t get this, I don’t get this at fuckin all.
You’re a special attraction that gets wheeled out every now and then in order to make people cringe when you appear on the television. WCF’s own ‘David Brent Monster’, you get back to back chances to win your way into massive matches. First you get crushed by Scarecrow, fuckin Scarecrow? Same weak ass mothafucka I sent into oblivion, this all being in a match that if you won you could get a shot at the World Title? Then you, the unstoppable monster, gets stopped by MARC FUCKING MAYHEM in a Hardcore title eliminator. It’s pathetic. You give me those same opportunities your wack ass has gotten? We’re looking at the double WCF World and Hardcore champion right now, it’s ridiculous. You fuckin gimp, what are you doing with your career? Where are you going? It’s straight down the drain you crawled out from ya masked mongoloid.
I understand your pain, the pain of not being able to let go. Well fuck, you let your sanity go a hell of a long time ago, why not follow it and just fade away? Your career is winding down and you are losing every bit of fear and respect that the fans have had for you over your time here. In five years you’ll be the sad clown at kids birthday parties with parents who say ‘Look Billy, we’ve hired a wrestler to perform!’ to which the kids disappointed little faces tell the story with a resounding ‘Who?’…granted that’s before said sad clown beheads the mother, throws the pet dog under a car and rapes little Billy while stuffing his face with little Billy’s Joey Flash themed cake, but still.
How am I gonna do you this Slam? Real fuckin dirty is the answer, get my knee smashed straight through ya mask, bone through ya nose like a witch doctor. You’re the only opponent I have ever faced in this place that I couldn’t put down with straight up skill and technique; it doesn’t work like that with you. I have to impose my heart and my will onto you, you can’t be beaten into submission, you have to be beaten into a fuckin coma. Well guess what I happen to be great at? So great it’s written at the bottom of my resume, ‘Excels at beating retarded mask wearing idiots into short dreamless coma’s’.
Dampshaw doesn’t have a chance against you that much is clear to me, dude can wrestle but dude sure as shit couldn’t fight the likes of you, it takes something that he doesn’t have and something I have in abundance, courage. On Slam I slay the demon once more and step through the void of talent known as ‘The Oblivion Gate’, it’s a much nicer world on the other side. Maybe you should visit it next time, when you wake from ya fuckin coma that is.
A sudden howling breaks the silence of the fog with all the subtlety of a building demolition, Joey freezes in his tracks. He scans a 360 around himself but is blocked in by the wall of white mist. He continues through the fog unperturbed, a second howl, louder this time comes from Joey’s right hand side, he turns and with a shrug of his shoulders heads in that very direction, he wondered if in a world with time traveling hillbillies and seven foot serial killers that Werewolves actually existed? His mind quickly jolted, reminding him…
Joey: Tyler is that you?!!
With a smile, he continued in that direction.
Joey: With you comes your esteemed partner, three time, three time, three time WCF World Champion Johnny Reb! We begin once more with an interesting thing I gotta wonder Mr Reb sir, is this all you have? Is what you’re showing me the best you can do? Is this really someone who was once revered as being at the pinnacle of this federation? With Oblivion he at least only won the top strap once, so I can maybe even write that off as a fluke, but you, you Reb are no fluke. You are a three time World Champion, that’s a feat barely matched by anyone in the entire company. So I gotta wonder man, I am missing something with you, is everyone missing something with you? Did you like, go back in time, change the record books to make it look like you’ve won the World Title multiple times all the while you’ve been stuck at the bottom of the card with a smirk on your face. In the next year, I expect to see another two title reigns have randomly appeared at different points of WCF history, with everyone who watched at that period sat scratching their heads thinking ‘Huh, did I see that match?’
With Oblivion he’s at least putting in the work to keep himself relevant, to keep himself a name and a force, what about you Reb? What’s happened? You’ve slipped through time and slipped into obscurity. Mallory slid all the way from top tier to worthless in the space of a fuckin year. I know why, because while you’ve been hopping from world to world and time to time, guess what every other wrestler in this federation save for your partner has been doing? Wanna guess? It’s…wrestling.
The pair of you are too entranced with your own turmoil that you can’t even concentrate on this as a viable career anymore, you’ve fallen into a cycle of rinse and repeat escapades, what happens next on the Chrono Rippers show? Time hopping and getting beaten down in the ring. Your draw, your whole reason for your popularity came from what you did inside that ring, now you’re so caught up and concerned with the things happening outside that you’re not putting any thought or training onto who you’re facing in the ring from week to week.
It’s a sad time, who ever thought Doc Henry would turn out to be the more capable and focused wrestler of the pair of you? You’ve missed a trick here Reb, you’re not like Oblivion, and you’re not someone whose prime has come and gone, with a flick of a switch you could be the old Reb once again and actually try to fight your way back to the top. That’s not going to happen here though, hubris reigns with you. See you barely understand what is coming your way, you probably think Reggie and myself are walkovers for you and Obi to smash on your way to another failed Tag Title shot. The sad thing here for you is that this ridiculous makeshift team of me and Reggie would be an even money shot to dethrone Cairo and Kaz, whereas you two would be written off as a waste of time. Why? The simple reason and the simple difference between the two teams as simple as it is, is Joey Flash.
You Mr Reb are a relic, lemme tell you what, how about you hop in that machine of yours and head five years into the future. The WCF Hall of Fame will have its largest display featuring a statue of ‘Joey Flash, greatest champion in federation history’; with the Johnny Reb display being pushed away next to his fuckin partner in a shitter somewhere.
A third howl this time from right in front of Joey, he approached the source of the strange noise. Whatever it was, it was sat directly behind the small farm wall. With a swift jump Joey hopped the wall and landed softly on the grass to find sat directly in front of him was a cold shivering Husky puppy.
Joey: OH SHIT!
It was a pure white ball of fluff, tiny with piercing blue eyes. Joey reached a tentative hand toward it; the puppy backed away with a ‘yip’ but quickly softened and padded its little feet toward the outstretched hand. It gave a sniff, then a lick.
Joey: What up lil thing?
The pup hopped about and began following Joey as the two wandered through the mist together, the puppy gave another long howl, this one of happiness rather than sorrow.
Joey: Well ain’t that a motherfucker, Reggie, I take back any bad fuckin feelings I had for you. Sure you hired a cocksucker of a driver, dropped me off and left me in the middle of nowhere in the freezing fucking cold, almost got me beaten to death by drunken thugs, but this…
He looks at the pooch.
Joey: …this is all I could have ever wished for. Thank you Reggie, thank you. Okay, I’ve decided. I’m going to win this match, not for me, not to further my career, but I cannot let down the man who gave me a chance to meet this little ragamuffin, most of all I can’t lose for you little gir-
He leant down and picked the pup up to examine it.
Joey: Boy.
Joey smiled.
Joey: I almost lost myself in this mist, I almost fell back into the abyss where my mind was at, tranquillity and Zen is where we at now though guys.
I’m not trying to make you feel bad and I’m not trying to downplay what you’ve done here, I’m just trying to add a little thing called perspective to your outlook on the federation right now. You’re witnessing the ushering in of the Joey Flash era, it’s not something that can simply be squashed or put out, it’s happening like a tsunami sweeping across the coast. The best you can do is to prepare and simply sit back and watch it happen. This will be nothing but systematic annihilation. Just…go with the flow.
With that Joey and the puppy disappeared into the deepest of the mists.
Homeward Bound
Dennis Allen sat in the airport car park waiting for the return of Reginald Dampshaw III, Critchton had told him he had done a fine job of properly introducing him to the ‘hospitality’ of the Dampshaws. He was just about to recline for a snooze when he heard a tap at the window. He looked to find the same man he had left in the middle of nowhere staring back at him, oddly with a smile on his face. Dennis wound the window down.
Dennis: Ahh, hello.
Joey: Hello!
Dennis: H-how are you?
Joey: Motherfucker this was the best trip ever!
Dennis: R-really?
Joey: Man you have no idea, I made lots of new friends, I’ve fallen in love with Dampshaw’s Cock and guess what, you’ll never guess.
Dennis: I dunno.
Joey: C’mon guess!
Dennis: I don’t know, you were abducted by aliens?
Joey: Close! Look who I met!
Dennis looked down at Joey’s feet where sat happily was a tiny husky puppy.
Joey: Isn’t he amazing?. It’s cool Reggie is giving me his private jet so I can get this lil fella back home. I’ve decided on his name too.
Dennis: Oh, uh…
Joey waved a goodbye toward Dennis as he wandered inside the airport.
Joey: Come on, homeward bound John Mullins III!
END!
Emerging from the luggage storage came Joey’s large red rucksack which his plucked from the belt and tossed onto his shoulder. He strode through the sparse denizens of the airport and toward the car park where he had been informed a driver would be waiting to pick him up. He smiled to himself as the automatic doors parted with a Jedi like hand movement, he was immediately shouted down by a man stood just in front.
Driver: FLASH! MISTER JOSEPH FLASH?!
The driver was a tall thin man with a shock of black hair on both his head and his upper lip; he was holding a cap in one hand and a sign that said FLASH with the words EX-TV CHAMP written in bold below it.
Joey: How cute.
Driver: FLASH! MISTER JOSEPH FLASH?!
Joey waved.
Joey: Yep, yep that’s me.
Driver: Master Dampshaw sends his regards, he told me to tell you he is sorry he couldn’t receive you in person but for me to make sure everything goes swimmingly for you here!
Joey: How very kind, what’s ya name?
Driver: Mr Allen. Dennis Allen.
Joey: Dennis Allen? Aight, well Dennis where the fuck are we going?
Dennis: Well, what better way to shake the cobwebs of a long plane flight than to sample the finest ales on the island!?
Joey: I was thinking more a stiff rum and a blowjob, but can’t trouble you for that ey Dennis?
Joey laughs.
Joey: So that’s like Guinness and shit yeah?
Dennis: Almost. Guinness is a stout
Joey: Ah you can’t fool me, that’s a little fuckin woodland critter!
Dennis: That’s a stoat.
Joey: How the fuck should I know?
Dennis: Not to worry Joseph. Any question you have about your new surroundings, be it flora, fauna or tavern, do not hesitate to ask!
Joey: Really though, what’s the deal with this? Where am I staying?
Dennis: Ah, you are staying in a place where many a tired foot and sleepy head retire for the night. Its popularity has always been something that is justified by its sheer simplicity and almost refreshing minimalism. It is a lodge for travelers such as yourself Joseph. It is called….the travelodge.
Joey: Fuckin A, and Reggie has paid for all this shit?
Dennis: Well of course. Although I must be honest in that he pays more for a golf ball sized truffle than what a month staying in the lodge costs.
Joey: Aight man, expensive taste havin mothafucka. Right drive on Dennis, time to down me some fuckin stoats!
Joey Flash, The Society and a man named Andy.
A thick fog has descended...well...more like the car has ascended into it as Dennis and Joey climb up the side of a hill, plunging them into near darkness. Although the hill was silent, thankfully a friendly looking stone building appeared like an oasis in the misty desert. Bright orange lights shone through the windows that could welcome even the most reclusive loner. The car trundled to a stop outside and Joey looked up through the car window at
Joey: Hey man, we’ve been going a long fuckin time, do you even know where we are?
Dennis: Master Reignald was very specific.
Joey: I don’t give a fuck how specific he was, did he say ‘Well Dennis Allen apple of my eye will you take Joey Flash on a merry go round tour of nothing but fields, rivers, fog and fucking sheep?!’
Dennis: We’re here.
Joey: Oh. Ah. Sorry.
Dennis Allen stepped out of his door and maneuvered around to where Joey sat, pulling his door open.
Joey: What a gentleman.
Dennis Allen smiled as Joey exited, closing the door behind him. Joey approached the door of the pub, he glanced at the signpost rattling in the wind above it, a picture of several well to do gentlemen sat around a table, each looking a tad like Reginald Dampshaw III, with ornate writing below naming the pub ‘The Society’.
Joey: Cute. Real cute.
Joey pushed the door open to the sound of another door closing shut, Joey span round to see Dennis Allen sat behind the wheel with a grin on his face revving the engine. The car quickly sprang into life and sped away from whence it came into the deepest of mist.
Joey: Fucks sake, every time, every fucking time.
Joey slapped himself upside the head and pushed the door of the pub open, if you’re lost and cold, might as well be fuckin hammered as well.
Joey was immediately slapped on the other side of the head by the immense warmth of the pub. This probably had something to do with the roaring and worryingly open fire which cremated logs thrown onto it by a rotund man with a scraggly beard. He coughed into his hands and wiped them down his dirty overalls. Joey grimaced at this and slowly stepped through the pub, he was receiving unwelcome glances like the stranger in a strange world he is. The interior walls were a grey stone, and very bland prints of the nearby countryside hung in random asymmetrical places opposite the bar which was very clean but the drip trays were full and probably hadn’t been emptied for a few weeks, as the smell suggested. Joey perched on a rickety bar stool and caught the attention of an extremely bored looking barmaid, who looked like a younger version, unfortunately, of Alessandra. She was wearing a black t-shirt and pants, and her long blonde hair was tied up at the back. The resemblance put Joey in a trance and this was broke by an interrogatory smile from the girl.
Barmaid: Can I get you something? Some eyelids to blink with maybe?
Joey blinked, and in one fell swoop the girl transformed in front of his eyes from being the spitting image of his missing fiancée to looking like she could be in a Katherine Phoenix lookalike contest, headband and all. Joey recoiled.
Joey: Uhh, that was a bad idea.
Barmaid: What was?
Joey: Nothing. Never mind.
Barmaid: Ooooh! You’re American!! Wow.
Joey: Yep, that’s me.
Barmaid: I’ve never met one before.
She prods him as if to test he is real
Barmaid: So reem.
Joey: Uh-
Barmaid: Oh, what can I get you Mister America?
Joey scanned the strangely named beers and chose.
Joey: Beckman’s Belt please.
Barmaid: Oh sorry, that one is out right now.
Joey: Okay fine, I’ll take the Occulo’s Courage.
Barmaid: Sorry the delivery driver for that said ‘he didn’t want to be associated’ with pubs so stopped delivering.
Joey: Oh I know, I see what you’re doing here. I bet if I ask for Joey’s Title you’re going to tell me ‘No sorry it’s been replaced by Grime’s Ride’ or some shit, right?
Barmaid: Not at all! It’s been replaced by Dampshaw’s Cock.
Joey stared at her blankly.
Joey: A pint of Dampshaw’s Cock please.
The barmaid begins pumping the beer into a glass.
Barmaid: Oh it’s a lovely beer, I don’t know why no one seems to want it. Dampshaw’s Cock has everything a girl could want; it’s got a full thick head and tastes so creamy and smooth.
Joey: Oh, you had a go?
Barmaid: Nah wouldn’t touch that with your mouth.
Joey is handed the ale and takes a sip.
Joey: Oddly I could grow to like this.
We hear from the back of the pub a loudmouth man in a green jacket, grey trousers and a flatcap with his buddies break out into song
Andy Capp: Yankee doodle went to town, riding on a pony, he put a feather in his hat and called it macaroni!
His friends burst into laughter
Hey, bloody eye-tye Yank over there. You lost mate?
Joey: Huh?
Barmaid: Oh leave off Andy he’s just having a drink!
Andy: Is he? Bet that’s the first time he’s had a proper drink. What you doing over here ya fat American? Eh Soph get him some pretzels or burgers or whatever shit they eat over there
Joey: Actually my favourite meal is loud mouth punks.
Joey turns round and stands up to face the man, who is stood with two of his friends, both bald headed, tall and bulky.
Andy: Grant, Phil, you know what to do, where the fuck is Minty?
Joey turns to the barmaid.
Joey: What the fuck is a ‘Minty’?
Sophie: That’s a Minty.
She points to an overweight gentleman playing on a games machine in the corner.
Minty: FUCKING CUNTING THING, that cost me fifty quid over the fuckin weekend, ere you need to get this fixed!!!
Andy: Fuck ya fifty quid, we’ve got a cheeky little yank with too big a mouth, coming in ‘ere as if it’s his fuckin home and generally stinking the place out with his foreign breath. Kick him back to his own fuckin country.
Joey sips his drink.
Joey: I must warn you that I’m a professional fighter, so please, just sit the fuck down.
The men erupt into laughter, Minty stands with a stern expression
Andy: Fuck me lads it’s Cassius Clay without the boot polish on his face! Professional fighter? You??
Minty: Yeah, yeah, I recognise him mate.
Andy: Give over, where fuckin from, Goodfellas?
Minty steps toward Joey and waves a finger in his face.
Minty: You’re that wrestler aren’t you... here lads…
Joey raises an eyebrow.
Joey: See he knows who I am! I’m not lying you know.
Minty: Yeh, my lad watches it, fake and shite like but he enjoys it, yeh you’re uh…
Jonny Fly.
Joey’s face drops, followed quickly by a right hand sending Minty tumbling backward through a table. Joey turns to Sophie and finishes his drink.
Joey: Put this on Dampshaw’s tab.
Andy: KICK HIS FUCKIN ‘ED IN!
Almost out of nowhere, Phil and Grant pull crowbars from under their table. It’s almost as if they were waiting every night to beat the living shit out of a poor passer-by. As they stand though, their intoxication immediately becomes apparent to them and they simply stumble forward, trip over chairs and pass out on the floor leaving Andy alone with Joey.
Andy: Ah ere mate, calm down ey? Lets have a fuckin brew together yeh?
Joey: Let’s not.
Joey decks the hapless Andy and smashes a barstool over his noggin, rendering the poor man unconscious. Joey sighs and turns to Sophie.
Joey: This happens a lot to me, don’t worry.
Sophie: Uh, okay. You’re still barred.
Joey: Barred?
Sophie: You’ve beaten up pretty much all my custom tonight, so yes, get the hell out!
She launches a tankard of Dampshaw’s Cock toward Joey, who deftly ducks out of the way and pushes the door open to come face to face with the fog once more. Well wasn’t this just lovely, all alone in the desolate darkness of the Isle of fucking Wight. Thanks a lot Reggie ya cocksucker.
Joey: Fucking fog.
Joey in the Mist
Time seemed to slow almost to a crawl as Joey traversed the sweeping countryside; he had spent what seemed like hours trudging through endlessly repeating fields, it felt like he was running through a Scooby Doo backdrop. The dew from the mist had covered Joey’s face with a lining of cold wet comfort and his hair fell slickly down to his back.
Joey: Helloooooooooooooooooooo?
Not that he expected anyone to hear it, nor to respond or acknowledge even if they did.
Joey: FUCK.
He suddenly felt better about himself.
Joey: CUNTLIPS.
This was peace, true solitude.
Joey: FUCK BARACK FUCKING OBAMA, I DIDN’T VOTE FOR HIM BECAUSE HE’S BLACK!
He could say whatever he wanted here, what would happen, a fucking cow would get offended? Joey giggled, the giggle turned into a laugh, he threw his head back and roared into eternity.
Joey: So how was that? How was that for an encore World Championship fucking Federation? How’d ya like it? Lil Joey Flash got punked by Grime and would bitch out, right, that’s how that shit is sposed to go down. So what happened?
Joey Flash vs Pantheon, what happened, where are the big mouths now? Where’s the smack talk, where is the ‘He can’t hack it’, where’s the ‘He’ll fold after a loss’ where’s the ‘Joey is gonna burn out’ talk now? I ain’t no candle you fuckin punks, I’m a fuckin supernova and I’m eviscerating everything in this federation. Big or small, old or young everyone’s getting smashed. It doesn’t matter. So I’ve already sonned half of fuckin Pantheon, what’s next? Seth, you don’t need Beckman at all for this, these guys will test me for their prides sake and get shut down one by one, or fuck, maybe three at a time eh? This iteration of a long worthless group of hacks is nothing different than ever before, it’s no different than anyone else in the federation. They’re just wrestler which by definition alone places them a solid tier below where Joey Flash sits in this business.
WOOO FUCK. So then two days later I beat one of the greatest veterans in the company today and one of the best newcomers, this isn’t rocket science at this time, this is just me showing you that I’m exactly, egg fucking zactly what I say I am. This shit is getting into territories so uncharted Nathan Drake would be quaking in his fuckin boots.
What’s next on the agenda for the greatest wrestling story ever told? Well apparently it’s an absolute cluster fuck of a match on Slam. Somehow I’ve been roped into a tag match with Reginald Dampshaw to take on an actual team in the Chrono Rippers, joy of joys. Well this is some interesting shit, so I’m here to ‘Experience how the better half live’ to try and get on the same page as Reginald, now an easier way would have been to meet over a fuckin latte but no this is how it went down, so I’m now seeing the better half live in fucking mist ridden fields with thug infested taverns. It’s like a mix between Eastenders and Baldurs fuckin Gate. So how are we going to work, future WCF Hall of Famer Joseph Flash and future bottom feeder Reginald Dampshaw III? Lemme lay this down, Reginald we’ve been in the ring together once and you flew over that top rope like there was tea and scones on the other fuckin side. That being said, you aren’t a bad wrestler, you’re not terrible, you could do a lot better if you showed half the effort in the fuckin ring as you do talking beforehand. Here’s how this is going to go down, you can sit there on the apron and watch a surgeon go to work first hand in the ring in front of you. If you don’t want to break a nail, fine, I don’t expect or need any help in this match. I’m going to do this all on my very lonesome. This is the level we’re at right now, one man wrecking crew shit, I’m going to crush the Chrono Rippers with or without Dampshaw, they drew the short straw to be match up with me, funny cos they’ll be using said straw to ingest their fuckin food for the next week.
Joey continues through the mist, hopping through the fields like a rabbit on speed.
Joey: How are you feeling Oblivion? Things ain’t been going so hot for you of late have they buddy? It seems to me that you were doing all okay when I first arrived here, then you got matched with me, dominated and zipped up in humiliating fashion and since then it’s been nothing but a downward spiral of disappointment followed by disappointment. You’ve done nothing but lower your stock and your brand in the past couple of months, lemme ask you something how would it feel if every nerdy teenager Jason came across beat the fuck out of him? How would it feel if Godzilla tried to stomp a building flat, and the building slapped him in the fuckin mouth? The films would be ridiculous right, the stories would be ridiculous? So how do you think it looks when you, Mr Ultimate Evil, Mr Unstoppable Monster gets routinely stopped every other fuckin week? It’s pathetic. You have turned from unbeatable Goliath into a running parody, from Scream to Scary Movie.
I struggle to picture this is the same man who used to be a World Champion here, I really do. Have you fallen this low? Did you used to be something more? Or is it simply the fact that like in every athletic endeavour the athletes nowadays are just that much better than those before them? Would Marc Mayhem be a 2x World Champion if he existed in the era that was apparently your ‘prime’? Cos I’m sorry man, I just don’t get this, I don’t get this at fuckin all.
You’re a special attraction that gets wheeled out every now and then in order to make people cringe when you appear on the television. WCF’s own ‘David Brent Monster’, you get back to back chances to win your way into massive matches. First you get crushed by Scarecrow, fuckin Scarecrow? Same weak ass mothafucka I sent into oblivion, this all being in a match that if you won you could get a shot at the World Title? Then you, the unstoppable monster, gets stopped by MARC FUCKING MAYHEM in a Hardcore title eliminator. It’s pathetic. You give me those same opportunities your wack ass has gotten? We’re looking at the double WCF World and Hardcore champion right now, it’s ridiculous. You fuckin gimp, what are you doing with your career? Where are you going? It’s straight down the drain you crawled out from ya masked mongoloid.
I understand your pain, the pain of not being able to let go. Well fuck, you let your sanity go a hell of a long time ago, why not follow it and just fade away? Your career is winding down and you are losing every bit of fear and respect that the fans have had for you over your time here. In five years you’ll be the sad clown at kids birthday parties with parents who say ‘Look Billy, we’ve hired a wrestler to perform!’ to which the kids disappointed little faces tell the story with a resounding ‘Who?’…granted that’s before said sad clown beheads the mother, throws the pet dog under a car and rapes little Billy while stuffing his face with little Billy’s Joey Flash themed cake, but still.
How am I gonna do you this Slam? Real fuckin dirty is the answer, get my knee smashed straight through ya mask, bone through ya nose like a witch doctor. You’re the only opponent I have ever faced in this place that I couldn’t put down with straight up skill and technique; it doesn’t work like that with you. I have to impose my heart and my will onto you, you can’t be beaten into submission, you have to be beaten into a fuckin coma. Well guess what I happen to be great at? So great it’s written at the bottom of my resume, ‘Excels at beating retarded mask wearing idiots into short dreamless coma’s’.
Dampshaw doesn’t have a chance against you that much is clear to me, dude can wrestle but dude sure as shit couldn’t fight the likes of you, it takes something that he doesn’t have and something I have in abundance, courage. On Slam I slay the demon once more and step through the void of talent known as ‘The Oblivion Gate’, it’s a much nicer world on the other side. Maybe you should visit it next time, when you wake from ya fuckin coma that is.
A sudden howling breaks the silence of the fog with all the subtlety of a building demolition, Joey freezes in his tracks. He scans a 360 around himself but is blocked in by the wall of white mist. He continues through the fog unperturbed, a second howl, louder this time comes from Joey’s right hand side, he turns and with a shrug of his shoulders heads in that very direction, he wondered if in a world with time traveling hillbillies and seven foot serial killers that Werewolves actually existed? His mind quickly jolted, reminding him…
Joey: Tyler is that you?!!
With a smile, he continued in that direction.
Joey: With you comes your esteemed partner, three time, three time, three time WCF World Champion Johnny Reb! We begin once more with an interesting thing I gotta wonder Mr Reb sir, is this all you have? Is what you’re showing me the best you can do? Is this really someone who was once revered as being at the pinnacle of this federation? With Oblivion he at least only won the top strap once, so I can maybe even write that off as a fluke, but you, you Reb are no fluke. You are a three time World Champion, that’s a feat barely matched by anyone in the entire company. So I gotta wonder man, I am missing something with you, is everyone missing something with you? Did you like, go back in time, change the record books to make it look like you’ve won the World Title multiple times all the while you’ve been stuck at the bottom of the card with a smirk on your face. In the next year, I expect to see another two title reigns have randomly appeared at different points of WCF history, with everyone who watched at that period sat scratching their heads thinking ‘Huh, did I see that match?’
With Oblivion he’s at least putting in the work to keep himself relevant, to keep himself a name and a force, what about you Reb? What’s happened? You’ve slipped through time and slipped into obscurity. Mallory slid all the way from top tier to worthless in the space of a fuckin year. I know why, because while you’ve been hopping from world to world and time to time, guess what every other wrestler in this federation save for your partner has been doing? Wanna guess? It’s…wrestling.
The pair of you are too entranced with your own turmoil that you can’t even concentrate on this as a viable career anymore, you’ve fallen into a cycle of rinse and repeat escapades, what happens next on the Chrono Rippers show? Time hopping and getting beaten down in the ring. Your draw, your whole reason for your popularity came from what you did inside that ring, now you’re so caught up and concerned with the things happening outside that you’re not putting any thought or training onto who you’re facing in the ring from week to week.
It’s a sad time, who ever thought Doc Henry would turn out to be the more capable and focused wrestler of the pair of you? You’ve missed a trick here Reb, you’re not like Oblivion, and you’re not someone whose prime has come and gone, with a flick of a switch you could be the old Reb once again and actually try to fight your way back to the top. That’s not going to happen here though, hubris reigns with you. See you barely understand what is coming your way, you probably think Reggie and myself are walkovers for you and Obi to smash on your way to another failed Tag Title shot. The sad thing here for you is that this ridiculous makeshift team of me and Reggie would be an even money shot to dethrone Cairo and Kaz, whereas you two would be written off as a waste of time. Why? The simple reason and the simple difference between the two teams as simple as it is, is Joey Flash.
You Mr Reb are a relic, lemme tell you what, how about you hop in that machine of yours and head five years into the future. The WCF Hall of Fame will have its largest display featuring a statue of ‘Joey Flash, greatest champion in federation history’; with the Johnny Reb display being pushed away next to his fuckin partner in a shitter somewhere.
A third howl this time from right in front of Joey, he approached the source of the strange noise. Whatever it was, it was sat directly behind the small farm wall. With a swift jump Joey hopped the wall and landed softly on the grass to find sat directly in front of him was a cold shivering Husky puppy.
Joey: OH SHIT!
It was a pure white ball of fluff, tiny with piercing blue eyes. Joey reached a tentative hand toward it; the puppy backed away with a ‘yip’ but quickly softened and padded its little feet toward the outstretched hand. It gave a sniff, then a lick.
Joey: What up lil thing?
The pup hopped about and began following Joey as the two wandered through the mist together, the puppy gave another long howl, this one of happiness rather than sorrow.
Joey: Well ain’t that a motherfucker, Reggie, I take back any bad fuckin feelings I had for you. Sure you hired a cocksucker of a driver, dropped me off and left me in the middle of nowhere in the freezing fucking cold, almost got me beaten to death by drunken thugs, but this…
He looks at the pooch.
Joey: …this is all I could have ever wished for. Thank you Reggie, thank you. Okay, I’ve decided. I’m going to win this match, not for me, not to further my career, but I cannot let down the man who gave me a chance to meet this little ragamuffin, most of all I can’t lose for you little gir-
He leant down and picked the pup up to examine it.
Joey: Boy.
Joey smiled.
Joey: I almost lost myself in this mist, I almost fell back into the abyss where my mind was at, tranquillity and Zen is where we at now though guys.
I’m not trying to make you feel bad and I’m not trying to downplay what you’ve done here, I’m just trying to add a little thing called perspective to your outlook on the federation right now. You’re witnessing the ushering in of the Joey Flash era, it’s not something that can simply be squashed or put out, it’s happening like a tsunami sweeping across the coast. The best you can do is to prepare and simply sit back and watch it happen. This will be nothing but systematic annihilation. Just…go with the flow.
With that Joey and the puppy disappeared into the deepest of the mists.
Homeward Bound
Dennis Allen sat in the airport car park waiting for the return of Reginald Dampshaw III, Critchton had told him he had done a fine job of properly introducing him to the ‘hospitality’ of the Dampshaws. He was just about to recline for a snooze when he heard a tap at the window. He looked to find the same man he had left in the middle of nowhere staring back at him, oddly with a smile on his face. Dennis wound the window down.
Dennis: Ahh, hello.
Joey: Hello!
Dennis: H-how are you?
Joey: Motherfucker this was the best trip ever!
Dennis: R-really?
Joey: Man you have no idea, I made lots of new friends, I’ve fallen in love with Dampshaw’s Cock and guess what, you’ll never guess.
Dennis: I dunno.
Joey: C’mon guess!
Dennis: I don’t know, you were abducted by aliens?
Joey: Close! Look who I met!
Dennis looked down at Joey’s feet where sat happily was a tiny husky puppy.
Joey: Isn’t he amazing?. It’s cool Reggie is giving me his private jet so I can get this lil fella back home. I’ve decided on his name too.
Dennis: Oh, uh…
Joey waved a goodbye toward Dennis as he wandered inside the airport.
Joey: Come on, homeward bound John Mullins III!
END!
