Post by Joey Flash on Mar 31, 2015 10:49:23 GMT -5
Great job, good effort
Joey Flash watched from the outside of the ring as he saw the Chrono-Rippers converge on Reginald Dampshaw III, he could stay to watch the end, to see the moments that would hand him yet another defeat, but what’s the point? The match was decided as was his fate tonight. As the referee counted the three Joey had already turned his back and began trudging his walk of shame back to the locker rooms. The people who had jeered him and hated him with such bile inducing vitriol were now apathetic as the man who had been public enemy #1 for the past few months was now nothing but a man making up the numbers. No longer was Joey Flash a marquee name that people queued round the block to see. It had become patently apparent to Joey in the past few weeks, they never cared about him, they didn’t hate him, they hated what he represented…perfection. Now the hit to their insecurities about their life was no longer giving them a smirk and raising his gold above his head every week people just didn’t care. Children were even reaching their hands to touch Flash as he walked up the aisle; Joey reached his own out and began high fiving the people who were kind enough to give a damn.
His fall had been swift and it had been brutal, first Grime and now the Chrono-Rippers, this was a reality check and a half, the next Jonny Fly? You’re barely the next Sarah Twilight. Joey turned to see the audience jeering Oblivion and Reb in the ring, flashlights were going off all round the arena but not one lens would be focused on Joey Flash this evening. He disappeared from the staging area and back through the curtain toward backstage where an assistant was waiting with a towel.
Assistant: Great job, good effort! Nice try Mr Flash.
Joey looked at the man; he couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than Joey, a smile affixed to his clean cut face.
Joey: Nice try?
Joey grabbed the towel and draped it over his head, Joey of old would have thrown the guy through the wall, but that was a waste of energy now. How would that look? ‘Loser beats helpless assistant’. He made his way back toward his locker room.
‘Joey Flash Pound for Pound #1’
A thin smile crept across his face, hell of a dream you fucking loser. He ripped the piece of paper from the door and into tiny shreds on the floor. Stepping inside the room he let out a loud ‘Fuck’ and punched the wall. His air of invincibility had been truly shattered now, where was the talent and skill to take you through the tough times there Joseph? Where were the ‘godlike’ gifts in that match? What happened big guy weren’t you the guy that could win the tag belts by yourself?
Joey reached into the pocket of his jacket hung up next to the door and pulled out his phone; he swept his fingers across the screen and held the phone to his ear.
Joey: Doc? It’s Joseph Malignaggi here, I need to see you.
Mind chess...or some shit.
Charles Edwards raised his glasses and mulled over his reflection on Joseph Malignaggi’s last session with him. Charles was used to a challenge, and Joey was nothing he hadn’t handled before, but none of his past clientele were wrestlers and none of them had even a parking ticket of criminal history being dragged in with them. So this was one Charles was staying that extra hour in the office for. This was one that diminished guilt when scotch cracked ice in a glass he received as an item of gratitude from an executive with jealousy issues a few months back. He looked at his watch and swiveled around in his chair. It was show time in the ring of his office. The door opened and in stepped Joey. Amazing how much Charles could immediately analyse just in the client’s entrance into the room. He could write a thesis on it alone. Initial reflection over. Time for some therapeutic words.
Charles: Good afternoon Joseph
Joey Flash flopped to the chaise longue and leant forward to look at Charles.
Joey: Is it?
Charles: Well we are about to find out aren’t we? Although your immediate doubt suggests we are going to cut straight to the chase. Please, begin.
A click of Charles’s pen was like the pressing of a timer in a professional chess match, but both Joey and Charles were on the same side. Or so Charles hoped.
Joey: You tell me? You fucking tell me? I’ve had everything in my world-
Joey rubs his temples.
Joey: What do I have left? Actually, no, forget that, fuck that. How are you Doc?
Charles: Well you still possess a sense of discipline and personal organisation that got you here on time. You are clearly still driven despite apparently losing everything. But I am fine thank you for asking Joseph. Am I safe to assume you were unsuccessful in your last match? At least, on paper. What is success to Joey Flash compared to what success is as Joseph Malignaggi? This conflict is perhaps what is bringing you here.
Joey: And what if I was? Think that shit upsets me? You think a little loss in a sport I don’t even fuckin care about matters?
Charles: Would you object to us watching one of your promotional videos together?
Joey: Why, you a fan?
Charles: Whether I am or not doesn’t matter. It is whether Joseph Malignaggi is a fan of Joey Flash. What is Joey Flash using to tempt Malignaggi into the ring every week, when you persist on not caring about the sport?
Joey: That’s a stupid fuckin question.
Joey fidgets and sighs.
Joey: Okay look, I lost and it pissed me off, aight? I’m sure you lose at whatever fuckin sport you play sometimes, golf or whatever the fuck. Sure that angers you too. It’s part of the game.
Charles: I play squash, actually, and I play it without a persona that I bubblewrap myself around. I sometimes win, I sometimes lose. Let me ask you Joseph, when you lose do you feel this...shell that is Joey Flash start to crack, and you are terrified of everyone seeing what you were before you began this path to the recently deceased invincibility?
Joey: And what’s that? Huh? A thug? An addict? You know my shit. What? What label do you have for me, I’m intrigued.
Charles: I think you are floating between labels Joseph. You were well and truly latched on to whatever macho, champion and conqueror of whatever got in your way label you established yourself with as Joey Flash, but the recent winds of defeat strengthened these gusts of self doubt and you lost your grip, and now you are hanging on by a thread in my office. Am I correct?
Joey: I’m the best wrestler in the world, that hasn’t changed. Why are we even talking about this shit? What about my day, what about what I was dreaming about, what about my home life? Ask me something that counts.
Charles: I just need to know what has pushed you here. It’s clear though. Okay, forget Joey Flash. How are your loved ones? Have you been seeing them more often recently?
Joey: What pushed me here? Yes I lost, I lost a match I should have singlehandedly dominated, a match in which my talent and my ability is aeons beyond anyone else who stepped through the ropes with me Sunday night, a match that I had in the palm of my hand and I threw the fuck away. I’m scared for my life and I can hardly sleep at night, the ticking of the clock on the wall as I’m staring up at the shadows in the room feel like the grains of sand are falling from my fuckin hourglass of time I have left, I’m worried my child will grow up without a father, I’m worried...I’m fuckin worried that maybe if that happened he’d be better off. I’m worried about the things I’ve done and the people I’ve hurt, do you know what it feels like to have to sleep at night knowing that you’ve caused someone to never be able to wake up again? Huh? No of course not, have you been at the mercy of another, so much so you are willing to let all of your pride and honour go up in smoke for just an ounce of kindness and humanity from that man? Have you seen the one constant of happiness and warmth in your life turn into a stone heart rending vision before your very eyes, have you had your entire reality shattered and everything you’ve ever thought, fought for or believed in put to the test? So yeah, I’m sorry, I’m sorry if I’m not being completely fucking compliant right now, but fuck, would that push you here? Mister Charles Edwards? Doctor, sorry. Would that push you to the one place you vowed never to go to because of how pathetic and weak it would make you look, make you feel? Well fuck it, I feel pathetic, I look pathetic and I have little to fucking nothing left to give, so you tell me Doc? Oh great fucking sage, what can you possibly do to help?
Charles: I’m listening to you and I’m not judging you one bit. That is what I can do to help. Joseph I think your issue is you are surrounded by people who would be disappointed and let down if they saw even a fragment of the person you just explained to me. You lack a real, “friend” figure. If you had this figure in your life, would you be here?
Joey: A friend figure? Every person I’ve ever let close to me has either betrayed me or try to fucking kill me. Would you want a friend like that?
Charles: A friend embraces a man how he is with him regardless of the past. Joseph, are you pushing people away because you don’t trust yourself? I believe you can let a friend in. I mean, I do not feel even the slightest bit threatened or worried about my own safety. Not at the moment, not since our last meeting, and not about our next. You are able to embrace a kindred spirit in your life Joseph. A human one at that. Just, give them the opportunity.
Joey: Where is this magical bean you call a friend gonna come from? You got a friend to sell me? Will a golden goose do? Fuck outta here.
Charles: Perhaps you have already spoken with people who could be a friend of Joseph Malignaggi. You just didn’t realise it. How are you with your colleagues in your wrestling federation? What do they think of you? Do you make much effort, and likewise?
Joey: I don’t care what they think, it’s not like I’m there to make friends man, I’m there to, I dunno, let off some steam. I can’t imagine I’ve been the nicest guy to be around, but shit, what can I do?
Charles: Well, perhaps you are still attached to this cold ego that has been shoved down your throat by less than reputable characters from your past. Would your performance suffer if you dropped this distance you keep from the others?
Joey: How should I know? I spill my fuckin guts to you and your advice is to make a friend. What am I paying you for exactly?
Charles: If you had a good friend you wouldn’t have to pay anyone anything. That is all I am saying. I’m sorry Joseph. What is the one burning question you want me to answer? From the deepest darkest shadows of your mind. Drop your ego and ask away.
Joey stared at Doctor Edwards for a moment.
Joey: ...how can I finally be happy again?
Lionel, messy.
Joey Flash was not happy. Joey Flash was a depressed, anxiety ridden mess of humanity as he wiped the drool from the side of his mouth. It was time to face the lens again, Joey sat up and rose from his chair in the locker room, he pushed his door open and found himself face to a cameraman with a large WCF branded camera. Joey smiled.
Joey: Fire walk with me.
The cameraman shrugged, but followed all the same.
Joey: What you would usually get is a shit tonne of excuses, what you are going to get from me is straight up honesty, I’m a letdown. This is not how things were supposed to go for me; I was supposed to be unbeaten, enter the Trilogy Cup, win that and then dethrone whoever is champion at the time. It was the way this story was supposed to go, there shouldn’t have been any twists or turns, the hero of this story was not supposed to go on a journey. The hero of this story is the champion and the king of all he surveys. So what’s happening with me now? I’m stuck in mediocrity in the middle of the card whereas we have Occy and Scarecrow in the biggest matches of their lives, me? What do I have to show for everything? I have a match against, no offense guys, but complete midcard fodder. Is this what I’ve become now? Joey Flash is no main event talent; Joey Flash can barely make it out of the ring with the Chrono-Rippers. Well if that’s my lot in life, I can deal. So give me whatever hand you feel I deserve life, I’ll deal, and I’ll deal real fuckin good.
I’ve not had a straight up singles match for weeks, fuck I lost the last time I had one of those too, go figure. So once again it’s a triple threat and I get no let up. This match is meaningless, it doesn’t matter who wins or loses, the three of us will gain no push depending on how we do here, and it’s a sad fact that we’re here just to make up the numbers. I’ve already beaten Gemini Battle and as far as Bates goes; well this’ll be an experience.
Gemini, you’re a good wrestler, you fight because you love this shit. It’s clear to me that every time you step through the ropes that you’re doing something in your life that actually makes you feel alive. Money, fast cars and women only go so far in life, what a man also needs is the chance to assert simple physical dominance. There is a reason why we’re wrestlers, your biggest problem is that as much as you love it, as much fun as you’re having, you will never be able to as much as touch me between those ropes. The reasons are many; the simplest of such is that there is a talent level you can’t avoid. The most telling reason though Mister Battle is our path it took to share the ring together.
You fight for simple pleasures, you fight for some kind of accomplishment, you want to hear the crowd chant your name and earn some trinket as value of your worth here. That’s nice, that’s real nice. You wrestle because you want; I wrestle because I have to. I’ve been at the bottom rung of the ladder in life, you’ve been at the top your whole life, it makes me sick, someone who has actually struggled for everything he has in life and then there you are treating my profession and my livelihood like a fuckin hobby. You wrestle for yourself; I wrestle for everyone I love. I wrestle to give them a good life, if anyone is trying to jeopardise that I am willing to do life.
You even go so far as siding with Jonah Worth and want to take the hard work of everyone in the federation off the air. Cute. Where’s your pride as a competitor? You should want to see everyone thrive, fuck man, the blood spilled in that ring is because these wrestlers care enough to do so, you would probably tap out if you broke a nail. You’re weak as shit, throw a fist and you’d break ya wrist. So Mr FCC, I won’t let you be. I’m sick of bullshit like this, you’re making a big mistake with this. It aint’ causing anyone to come after you, you’re not some kind of marked man for it. All that’s happening here is it’s revealing your true character as a coward and a snitch, where I come from snitches get stitches, but I think for you a solid fuckin beatdown is in order. Let’s see them try to censor what happens to you at Explosion, the liveleak video of me turning your face into mush will go more viral than ya mothers twat.
This is the heart of a lion vs the heart of a lamb, I’ll punch through ya chest and hold your heart in the palm of my hand. You’ve lost to both fighters in this match Battleman, how does that prepare you for competition here? Does it make you more motivated to do your best and finally conquer your conquerors? I think you’ll shrivel up and disappear once more when you have to step up to the plate and face quality competition. This is your spot on the card, this is where you will forever be and I’m damn sure gonna make sure you stay there. Joey Flash, reigning MidCard champion will vanquish another contender. I’ll be right back with some more for you, but let’s have a little interlude; I gotta take care of business and air a punk out right quick.
Grime, you fucking cunt. See this shit is where things get messy, for months I defended that belt with everything I had, I put my heart and my body on the line every fuckin week, I faced all types of wrestlers and I did with a complete authority. Then in rides this fuckin reject and lil Joey is caught sleeping and is made to fade into unconsciousness, aight cool. So we get a new champion, one who dethroned the greatest TV champion in history, where does he go from here? What will his winning streak be? So what does Grime, the man who was first to claim my scalp and take that prestigious belt from my trophy cabinet do?
He vacates. He fucking vacates. That is not how it works you cocksucker; you don’t get to do that. At least stay and get bodied by Fenix or Mikey and drop the title like a man not a mouse. I told you from the start that you better do the title proud, and what did you do? The exact fucking opposite, so here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to lose 1…2…3 in the middle of the ring at Explosion and have no excuses, then I think I might just do something a little kooky like beat the fuck out of you. Watch yourself, punk.
Back to scheduled programming. So yeah man, Gemini, it may seem like I’m getting at you for lacking heart and courage…oh yeah, because I fuckin am. Nominative determinism is the exact fuckin opposite for you ‘Battle’. You either run from or lose every battle ever had, you ran away from a battle with opening a jar of coffee, you lost a battle with ‘Being a good wrestler’, you ran from a battle with a fly, you’ll probably lose one to fuckin cancer. Me? I battle fuckin everything.
I battle with enemies
I battle with friends
I battle with my family
I also battle alcoholism, drug addiction and severe anxiety and depression, but that’s another story.
Joey takes a step toward the cameraman.
Joey: Hey you, what’s your name.
Camerman: Lionel.
Joey: I battle with Lionel!
Joey punches Lionel in the gut who sinks to one knee all the while still filming Joey.
Joey: Sorry Lionel, needed to prove a point.
Lionel: Thank you very much.
Joey: I don’t care what you bring to this match Gemini, it really doesn’t matter. This match won’t be decided by what strategies we bring, what wrestling skillset we have. This match will be decided-
Joey hits his chest…
Joey: By what’s in here-
…Then grabs his crotch.
Joey: and what’s down here.
You have nothing for me here; you’re going to be the worst wrestler in the ring on Sunday. Maybe against Thomas Bates you’d have stood a chance, that match is one I want to see happen, why I have to be thrown into what would have been a potential great match and reduce it to a walkover is beyond me. Shit, well you can’t win em all can you? Unless ya name is Joseph fuckin Flash. So fuck it, my confidence might be a bit shook, maybe I’m even doubting myself but the one thing that never ever gets shook is my wrestling ability and my desire to win. I’m going to take this match like I do every other, I don’t care that the outcome leads to nothing, I don’t care it’s in the middle of the card. I am here for one reason, domination, and the pair of you are smack bang in the middle. Good luck and have fun, see you at the battle.
Then, for absolutely no reason at all Joey punches Lionel once more as the camera feed cuts.
Man in the Mirror
Joey felt awful. The mirror told him that he looked just about as bad as he felt, hair all over the place, grown in stubble and heavily dilated pupils. Last night came to him only in spots. Fuck. Joey downed a couple of aspirin, not that it would do any good he thought. He stared at himself in the mirror; he saw the bags under his eyes and the whites bloodshot.
“Disgusting” he whispered.
“FUCKING DISGUSTING” he slapped his hand against the mirror and rested his forehead against it, before slowly thudding his head against it. Again. Again. There was no pain anymore. Joey stared into his own eyes. “Every fucking time”.
His blood dotted the mirror with each hit, before finally creating a great lightning bolt shaped crack down the middle. He brushed the hair back from his face, a strand of the black greasy mop stuck with the adhesion of his blood. He barely recognised the man stood in front of him. As much of a front as he had been trying to put on the past few weeks it wasn’t working. It wasn’t working for him and people had begun seeing through his bravado and happiness. He felt broken and crushed; the weight of the world weighed that much heavier when you had no one around you to help take the strain. He turned to look at the little boy in the bed in the room next to him. This was his salvation; this was all Joseph has left in this world. He wasn’t ready for this; he wasn’t ready for any of it. Now he had to take the strain for himself and the little kid all alone.
Lost your title.
Lost your pride.
Lost your money.
Lost your fame.
Lost your health.
Lost your friends.
Lost your family.
He sat on the cold floor of the bathroom and wrapped a towel round his bicep, slapping his arm to prepare the vein; he fumbled for the needle on the sink and stared at his son for a moment. What would he think if he could see daddy now? Joey didn’t give a fuck, Joey injected and Joey felt a whole lot fucking better.
‘Joey Flash’...what a man you are.
Joey Flash watched from the outside of the ring as he saw the Chrono-Rippers converge on Reginald Dampshaw III, he could stay to watch the end, to see the moments that would hand him yet another defeat, but what’s the point? The match was decided as was his fate tonight. As the referee counted the three Joey had already turned his back and began trudging his walk of shame back to the locker rooms. The people who had jeered him and hated him with such bile inducing vitriol were now apathetic as the man who had been public enemy #1 for the past few months was now nothing but a man making up the numbers. No longer was Joey Flash a marquee name that people queued round the block to see. It had become patently apparent to Joey in the past few weeks, they never cared about him, they didn’t hate him, they hated what he represented…perfection. Now the hit to their insecurities about their life was no longer giving them a smirk and raising his gold above his head every week people just didn’t care. Children were even reaching their hands to touch Flash as he walked up the aisle; Joey reached his own out and began high fiving the people who were kind enough to give a damn.
His fall had been swift and it had been brutal, first Grime and now the Chrono-Rippers, this was a reality check and a half, the next Jonny Fly? You’re barely the next Sarah Twilight. Joey turned to see the audience jeering Oblivion and Reb in the ring, flashlights were going off all round the arena but not one lens would be focused on Joey Flash this evening. He disappeared from the staging area and back through the curtain toward backstage where an assistant was waiting with a towel.
Assistant: Great job, good effort! Nice try Mr Flash.
Joey looked at the man; he couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than Joey, a smile affixed to his clean cut face.
Joey: Nice try?
Joey grabbed the towel and draped it over his head, Joey of old would have thrown the guy through the wall, but that was a waste of energy now. How would that look? ‘Loser beats helpless assistant’. He made his way back toward his locker room.
‘Joey Flash Pound for Pound #1’
A thin smile crept across his face, hell of a dream you fucking loser. He ripped the piece of paper from the door and into tiny shreds on the floor. Stepping inside the room he let out a loud ‘Fuck’ and punched the wall. His air of invincibility had been truly shattered now, where was the talent and skill to take you through the tough times there Joseph? Where were the ‘godlike’ gifts in that match? What happened big guy weren’t you the guy that could win the tag belts by yourself?
Joey reached into the pocket of his jacket hung up next to the door and pulled out his phone; he swept his fingers across the screen and held the phone to his ear.
Joey: Doc? It’s Joseph Malignaggi here, I need to see you.
Mind chess...or some shit.
Charles Edwards raised his glasses and mulled over his reflection on Joseph Malignaggi’s last session with him. Charles was used to a challenge, and Joey was nothing he hadn’t handled before, but none of his past clientele were wrestlers and none of them had even a parking ticket of criminal history being dragged in with them. So this was one Charles was staying that extra hour in the office for. This was one that diminished guilt when scotch cracked ice in a glass he received as an item of gratitude from an executive with jealousy issues a few months back. He looked at his watch and swiveled around in his chair. It was show time in the ring of his office. The door opened and in stepped Joey. Amazing how much Charles could immediately analyse just in the client’s entrance into the room. He could write a thesis on it alone. Initial reflection over. Time for some therapeutic words.
Charles: Good afternoon Joseph
Joey Flash flopped to the chaise longue and leant forward to look at Charles.
Joey: Is it?
Charles: Well we are about to find out aren’t we? Although your immediate doubt suggests we are going to cut straight to the chase. Please, begin.
A click of Charles’s pen was like the pressing of a timer in a professional chess match, but both Joey and Charles were on the same side. Or so Charles hoped.
Joey: You tell me? You fucking tell me? I’ve had everything in my world-
Joey rubs his temples.
Joey: What do I have left? Actually, no, forget that, fuck that. How are you Doc?
Charles: Well you still possess a sense of discipline and personal organisation that got you here on time. You are clearly still driven despite apparently losing everything. But I am fine thank you for asking Joseph. Am I safe to assume you were unsuccessful in your last match? At least, on paper. What is success to Joey Flash compared to what success is as Joseph Malignaggi? This conflict is perhaps what is bringing you here.
Joey: And what if I was? Think that shit upsets me? You think a little loss in a sport I don’t even fuckin care about matters?
Charles: Would you object to us watching one of your promotional videos together?
Joey: Why, you a fan?
Charles: Whether I am or not doesn’t matter. It is whether Joseph Malignaggi is a fan of Joey Flash. What is Joey Flash using to tempt Malignaggi into the ring every week, when you persist on not caring about the sport?
Joey: That’s a stupid fuckin question.
Joey fidgets and sighs.
Joey: Okay look, I lost and it pissed me off, aight? I’m sure you lose at whatever fuckin sport you play sometimes, golf or whatever the fuck. Sure that angers you too. It’s part of the game.
Charles: I play squash, actually, and I play it without a persona that I bubblewrap myself around. I sometimes win, I sometimes lose. Let me ask you Joseph, when you lose do you feel this...shell that is Joey Flash start to crack, and you are terrified of everyone seeing what you were before you began this path to the recently deceased invincibility?
Joey: And what’s that? Huh? A thug? An addict? You know my shit. What? What label do you have for me, I’m intrigued.
Charles: I think you are floating between labels Joseph. You were well and truly latched on to whatever macho, champion and conqueror of whatever got in your way label you established yourself with as Joey Flash, but the recent winds of defeat strengthened these gusts of self doubt and you lost your grip, and now you are hanging on by a thread in my office. Am I correct?
Joey: I’m the best wrestler in the world, that hasn’t changed. Why are we even talking about this shit? What about my day, what about what I was dreaming about, what about my home life? Ask me something that counts.
Charles: I just need to know what has pushed you here. It’s clear though. Okay, forget Joey Flash. How are your loved ones? Have you been seeing them more often recently?
Joey: What pushed me here? Yes I lost, I lost a match I should have singlehandedly dominated, a match in which my talent and my ability is aeons beyond anyone else who stepped through the ropes with me Sunday night, a match that I had in the palm of my hand and I threw the fuck away. I’m scared for my life and I can hardly sleep at night, the ticking of the clock on the wall as I’m staring up at the shadows in the room feel like the grains of sand are falling from my fuckin hourglass of time I have left, I’m worried my child will grow up without a father, I’m worried...I’m fuckin worried that maybe if that happened he’d be better off. I’m worried about the things I’ve done and the people I’ve hurt, do you know what it feels like to have to sleep at night knowing that you’ve caused someone to never be able to wake up again? Huh? No of course not, have you been at the mercy of another, so much so you are willing to let all of your pride and honour go up in smoke for just an ounce of kindness and humanity from that man? Have you seen the one constant of happiness and warmth in your life turn into a stone heart rending vision before your very eyes, have you had your entire reality shattered and everything you’ve ever thought, fought for or believed in put to the test? So yeah, I’m sorry, I’m sorry if I’m not being completely fucking compliant right now, but fuck, would that push you here? Mister Charles Edwards? Doctor, sorry. Would that push you to the one place you vowed never to go to because of how pathetic and weak it would make you look, make you feel? Well fuck it, I feel pathetic, I look pathetic and I have little to fucking nothing left to give, so you tell me Doc? Oh great fucking sage, what can you possibly do to help?
Charles: I’m listening to you and I’m not judging you one bit. That is what I can do to help. Joseph I think your issue is you are surrounded by people who would be disappointed and let down if they saw even a fragment of the person you just explained to me. You lack a real, “friend” figure. If you had this figure in your life, would you be here?
Joey: A friend figure? Every person I’ve ever let close to me has either betrayed me or try to fucking kill me. Would you want a friend like that?
Charles: A friend embraces a man how he is with him regardless of the past. Joseph, are you pushing people away because you don’t trust yourself? I believe you can let a friend in. I mean, I do not feel even the slightest bit threatened or worried about my own safety. Not at the moment, not since our last meeting, and not about our next. You are able to embrace a kindred spirit in your life Joseph. A human one at that. Just, give them the opportunity.
Joey: Where is this magical bean you call a friend gonna come from? You got a friend to sell me? Will a golden goose do? Fuck outta here.
Charles: Perhaps you have already spoken with people who could be a friend of Joseph Malignaggi. You just didn’t realise it. How are you with your colleagues in your wrestling federation? What do they think of you? Do you make much effort, and likewise?
Joey: I don’t care what they think, it’s not like I’m there to make friends man, I’m there to, I dunno, let off some steam. I can’t imagine I’ve been the nicest guy to be around, but shit, what can I do?
Charles: Well, perhaps you are still attached to this cold ego that has been shoved down your throat by less than reputable characters from your past. Would your performance suffer if you dropped this distance you keep from the others?
Joey: How should I know? I spill my fuckin guts to you and your advice is to make a friend. What am I paying you for exactly?
Charles: If you had a good friend you wouldn’t have to pay anyone anything. That is all I am saying. I’m sorry Joseph. What is the one burning question you want me to answer? From the deepest darkest shadows of your mind. Drop your ego and ask away.
Joey stared at Doctor Edwards for a moment.
Joey: ...how can I finally be happy again?
Lionel, messy.
Joey Flash was not happy. Joey Flash was a depressed, anxiety ridden mess of humanity as he wiped the drool from the side of his mouth. It was time to face the lens again, Joey sat up and rose from his chair in the locker room, he pushed his door open and found himself face to a cameraman with a large WCF branded camera. Joey smiled.
Joey: Fire walk with me.
The cameraman shrugged, but followed all the same.
Joey: What you would usually get is a shit tonne of excuses, what you are going to get from me is straight up honesty, I’m a letdown. This is not how things were supposed to go for me; I was supposed to be unbeaten, enter the Trilogy Cup, win that and then dethrone whoever is champion at the time. It was the way this story was supposed to go, there shouldn’t have been any twists or turns, the hero of this story was not supposed to go on a journey. The hero of this story is the champion and the king of all he surveys. So what’s happening with me now? I’m stuck in mediocrity in the middle of the card whereas we have Occy and Scarecrow in the biggest matches of their lives, me? What do I have to show for everything? I have a match against, no offense guys, but complete midcard fodder. Is this what I’ve become now? Joey Flash is no main event talent; Joey Flash can barely make it out of the ring with the Chrono-Rippers. Well if that’s my lot in life, I can deal. So give me whatever hand you feel I deserve life, I’ll deal, and I’ll deal real fuckin good.
I’ve not had a straight up singles match for weeks, fuck I lost the last time I had one of those too, go figure. So once again it’s a triple threat and I get no let up. This match is meaningless, it doesn’t matter who wins or loses, the three of us will gain no push depending on how we do here, and it’s a sad fact that we’re here just to make up the numbers. I’ve already beaten Gemini Battle and as far as Bates goes; well this’ll be an experience.
Gemini, you’re a good wrestler, you fight because you love this shit. It’s clear to me that every time you step through the ropes that you’re doing something in your life that actually makes you feel alive. Money, fast cars and women only go so far in life, what a man also needs is the chance to assert simple physical dominance. There is a reason why we’re wrestlers, your biggest problem is that as much as you love it, as much fun as you’re having, you will never be able to as much as touch me between those ropes. The reasons are many; the simplest of such is that there is a talent level you can’t avoid. The most telling reason though Mister Battle is our path it took to share the ring together.
You fight for simple pleasures, you fight for some kind of accomplishment, you want to hear the crowd chant your name and earn some trinket as value of your worth here. That’s nice, that’s real nice. You wrestle because you want; I wrestle because I have to. I’ve been at the bottom rung of the ladder in life, you’ve been at the top your whole life, it makes me sick, someone who has actually struggled for everything he has in life and then there you are treating my profession and my livelihood like a fuckin hobby. You wrestle for yourself; I wrestle for everyone I love. I wrestle to give them a good life, if anyone is trying to jeopardise that I am willing to do life.
You even go so far as siding with Jonah Worth and want to take the hard work of everyone in the federation off the air. Cute. Where’s your pride as a competitor? You should want to see everyone thrive, fuck man, the blood spilled in that ring is because these wrestlers care enough to do so, you would probably tap out if you broke a nail. You’re weak as shit, throw a fist and you’d break ya wrist. So Mr FCC, I won’t let you be. I’m sick of bullshit like this, you’re making a big mistake with this. It aint’ causing anyone to come after you, you’re not some kind of marked man for it. All that’s happening here is it’s revealing your true character as a coward and a snitch, where I come from snitches get stitches, but I think for you a solid fuckin beatdown is in order. Let’s see them try to censor what happens to you at Explosion, the liveleak video of me turning your face into mush will go more viral than ya mothers twat.
This is the heart of a lion vs the heart of a lamb, I’ll punch through ya chest and hold your heart in the palm of my hand. You’ve lost to both fighters in this match Battleman, how does that prepare you for competition here? Does it make you more motivated to do your best and finally conquer your conquerors? I think you’ll shrivel up and disappear once more when you have to step up to the plate and face quality competition. This is your spot on the card, this is where you will forever be and I’m damn sure gonna make sure you stay there. Joey Flash, reigning MidCard champion will vanquish another contender. I’ll be right back with some more for you, but let’s have a little interlude; I gotta take care of business and air a punk out right quick.
Grime, you fucking cunt. See this shit is where things get messy, for months I defended that belt with everything I had, I put my heart and my body on the line every fuckin week, I faced all types of wrestlers and I did with a complete authority. Then in rides this fuckin reject and lil Joey is caught sleeping and is made to fade into unconsciousness, aight cool. So we get a new champion, one who dethroned the greatest TV champion in history, where does he go from here? What will his winning streak be? So what does Grime, the man who was first to claim my scalp and take that prestigious belt from my trophy cabinet do?
He vacates. He fucking vacates. That is not how it works you cocksucker; you don’t get to do that. At least stay and get bodied by Fenix or Mikey and drop the title like a man not a mouse. I told you from the start that you better do the title proud, and what did you do? The exact fucking opposite, so here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to lose 1…2…3 in the middle of the ring at Explosion and have no excuses, then I think I might just do something a little kooky like beat the fuck out of you. Watch yourself, punk.
Back to scheduled programming. So yeah man, Gemini, it may seem like I’m getting at you for lacking heart and courage…oh yeah, because I fuckin am. Nominative determinism is the exact fuckin opposite for you ‘Battle’. You either run from or lose every battle ever had, you ran away from a battle with opening a jar of coffee, you lost a battle with ‘Being a good wrestler’, you ran from a battle with a fly, you’ll probably lose one to fuckin cancer. Me? I battle fuckin everything.
I battle with enemies
I battle with friends
I battle with my family
I also battle alcoholism, drug addiction and severe anxiety and depression, but that’s another story.
Joey takes a step toward the cameraman.
Joey: Hey you, what’s your name.
Camerman: Lionel.
Joey: I battle with Lionel!
Joey punches Lionel in the gut who sinks to one knee all the while still filming Joey.
Joey: Sorry Lionel, needed to prove a point.
Lionel: Thank you very much.
Joey: I don’t care what you bring to this match Gemini, it really doesn’t matter. This match won’t be decided by what strategies we bring, what wrestling skillset we have. This match will be decided-
Joey hits his chest…
Joey: By what’s in here-
…Then grabs his crotch.
Joey: and what’s down here.
You have nothing for me here; you’re going to be the worst wrestler in the ring on Sunday. Maybe against Thomas Bates you’d have stood a chance, that match is one I want to see happen, why I have to be thrown into what would have been a potential great match and reduce it to a walkover is beyond me. Shit, well you can’t win em all can you? Unless ya name is Joseph fuckin Flash. So fuck it, my confidence might be a bit shook, maybe I’m even doubting myself but the one thing that never ever gets shook is my wrestling ability and my desire to win. I’m going to take this match like I do every other, I don’t care that the outcome leads to nothing, I don’t care it’s in the middle of the card. I am here for one reason, domination, and the pair of you are smack bang in the middle. Good luck and have fun, see you at the battle.
Then, for absolutely no reason at all Joey punches Lionel once more as the camera feed cuts.
Man in the Mirror
Joey felt awful. The mirror told him that he looked just about as bad as he felt, hair all over the place, grown in stubble and heavily dilated pupils. Last night came to him only in spots. Fuck. Joey downed a couple of aspirin, not that it would do any good he thought. He stared at himself in the mirror; he saw the bags under his eyes and the whites bloodshot.
“Disgusting” he whispered.
“FUCKING DISGUSTING” he slapped his hand against the mirror and rested his forehead against it, before slowly thudding his head against it. Again. Again. There was no pain anymore. Joey stared into his own eyes. “Every fucking time”.
His blood dotted the mirror with each hit, before finally creating a great lightning bolt shaped crack down the middle. He brushed the hair back from his face, a strand of the black greasy mop stuck with the adhesion of his blood. He barely recognised the man stood in front of him. As much of a front as he had been trying to put on the past few weeks it wasn’t working. It wasn’t working for him and people had begun seeing through his bravado and happiness. He felt broken and crushed; the weight of the world weighed that much heavier when you had no one around you to help take the strain. He turned to look at the little boy in the bed in the room next to him. This was his salvation; this was all Joseph has left in this world. He wasn’t ready for this; he wasn’t ready for any of it. Now he had to take the strain for himself and the little kid all alone.
Lost your title.
Lost your pride.
Lost your money.
Lost your fame.
Lost your health.
Lost your friends.
Lost your family.
He sat on the cold floor of the bathroom and wrapped a towel round his bicep, slapping his arm to prepare the vein; he fumbled for the needle on the sink and stared at his son for a moment. What would he think if he could see daddy now? Joey didn’t give a fuck, Joey injected and Joey felt a whole lot fucking better.
‘Joey Flash’...what a man you are.
