Post by Joey Flash on May 2, 2015 19:43:22 GMT -5
Domination
The echoes of the boos still rang through to the backstage of the The Air Canada Centre as Joey Flash strode through the curtain. The rush of euphoria and the buzz that ran through him made him feel like he’d just taken the biggest bump of the white stuff off the finest, thickest ass in the world. He swept his long hair from aside his face and embraced Buddy Roman.
Joey: Good shit ya fat motherfucker.
Buddy: Ye of little faith son.
Joey: I had faith that someone would fuck shit up-
He spots the rest of his Imperium brothers embracing and shaking hands, the most poignant moment coming from a long hug between Natural ICE Beckman and Bobby Cairo as the two men are discussing the match they had just so hotly contested under the highest scrutiny. Joey sees Kaz Mazy and Odin Balfore to one side laughing about the whole fucked up scenario.
Joey: Good shit guys, man oh man.
Joey in turn BROFISTS and hugs both members of his new team.
Kaz: I’d say the same to you but did you have to hit that fuckin’ hard? What happened to ‘I’ll go light’ got lost on you?
Odin: He got the job done.
Kaz: But still, fuck man.
Joey slaps Kaz round the head right where he smashed him earlier with a chair.
Joey: We gonna celebrate you bodying that faggot Occy or what?
Kaz smiles and throws the United States title over his shoulder.
Kaz: You already know what it is nigguh.
Joey turned toward Beckman and Cairo for a moment with only one thought on his mind, not the jaw dropping coup they had pulled off managing to collect six of the greatest individual talents that the WCF had to offer, not the fact that this moment was amazing in its surreal nature, but his gaze and his mind fell on only one thing in this whole room, The WCF World Championship. The whole world slowed to a crawl as Joey reached his hand out toward the gold, every inch toward it was a milestone in his mind. The smiling, laughing faces of Beckman and Cairo made Joey clench his teeth and ball his fist so tight it felt like his nails were about to break the skin of his palm. His hand reached just short of the gold and his hand fell on the shoulder of ICE.
Joey: Good job bro, fuck this was a close one, let’s celebrate, you motherfuckers earned it.
The Italian turned on his heels before so much as a word of reply could be uttered; Joey would not be celebrating with his new Imperium brothers tonight. With this one coup they had managed to collect the greatest group ever seen in the WCF, any other night and Joey being the mastermind behind the collusion and he would have LeBron’d the shit out things and held a welcome party, but seeing them laugh, seeing the gold flaunted so brazenly in front of his face, he had to leave, he had to hide the jealous fury building up inside him.
As amazing and euphoric feeling turned to a bile filled rage as he pushed the door to his locker room open. This was not a time to show any weakness, this was a time for love and rejoicing, for conquering and for domination, he lightly jabbed a left at the wall and shouted a loud ‘FUCK’.
Imperium was going to be the most unbelievably dominant group the WCF had ever seen, Joey would see to that himself. The other members were amazing in their own right, legends, Hall of Famers, champions and all round elites. In any federation in the world any of these men would be World Champion and yet here in WCF…this was the one place where ‘World Champion’ really meant something, where it was an accolade worthy of a statement, that you truly are the best wrestler in the world. Joey thought on the situation, Imperium are truly a group of elites, but no matter what the statistics said, no matter the accolades, no matter any metric you use if you simply watched the performances inside the squared circle the one wrestler that stands head and shoulders above any of the athletes in the stable was the person with the least wins, the least experience, the least accolades and with the least fanfare was himself.
What plan could Joseph Flash put into action to get what he was owed? He had the protection, he had the muscle and he had the stroke now to be able to manipulate his scenario easier than ever before. He had interfered in the Trilogy Cup on an angry whim and although it paid off in some respects it had failed miserably in others, still Joey Flash was title-less and still he sat in the background while the jesters played their games. The only plan that was in his head right now, the only avenue available for him was to use the World Champion’s talents and skills for his own benefit, Natural ICE Beckman was the top guy in the company right now, the crème de la crème. Joey smiled to himself, this is the way.
I’ll use you Beckman, I’ll abuse you Beckman, I will ride you all the way to the final, I will take what is mine… then by god I will fucking crush you.
Let's get ready to rumble
The lights scattered across the horizon of Sin City painted a pastel of gratuity, gregariousness and the grandiose that brought a smile across Joey Flash’s lips, he stared out of the window of his base for the weekend, a Skyloft apartment in the MGM Grand casino. This was his haven, his heaven, his god damn fuckin Eden, as a child the young Joseph Malignaggi would picture himself in the centre of the four roped squared circle standing over a fallen opponent and raising his hands in victory for the Undisputed Heavyweight Championship of the World. Those daydreams were nought but fleeting thoughts before sleep but he still felt butterflies in his stomach when he was here.
Fully unpacked, Joey stepped into an elevator to take him down to ground level, a wad of green in his back pocket ready for the night ahead and the weekend to follow. He always made it his business to try to attend as many boxing events as his schedule allowed, which had been becoming less and less the more travel he had to do for his WCF commitments. As a youngster Joey would be at as many of the small hall shows he could find, he absorbed everything about his burgeoning career like a bone dry sponge. He even had the honour of fighting in the theatre at MSG for the final of the NY Heavyweight Golden Gloves tournament. That was the first and last time Joey had experienced such a stage in his amateur boxing career. Now Joey was fighting in front of tens of thousands each week and he was thriving, still, it’s nice to be on the other side of the ropes for once Joey thought as the elevator pinged open and Joey stepped out into the spacious casino area.
The pinging of the slots, the screaming of elation for the winners and the curses spat by the losers filled the air as Joey walked through the luxurious high roller section. He stood by and watched the no limit poker table, the amount of wealth sat around this table made even Joey shrivel in comparison, he studied the faces of the men as they eyed their cards and studied each other intently. This was not a table Joey could compete at, he could not cope with the calm nor the money needed here, but each little movement of the men told a story. The smallest, quietest man had the most chips at the table, his thick horn rimmed glasses sat askew on a blank face, a large man threw his last chips into the centre of the table and Joey watched the glasses man as he without so much as a twitch in his face quietly said ‘Call.’
The fat man brushed past Joey Flash with a face the colour of boiled lobster.
Fat Man: Fucking cheater.
Joey watched as the smaller man spoke to the dealer.
Glasses Man: I want to cash out.
Dealer: But you’re doing so well!
Glasses man simply smiled and accepted the slip and a chip from the dealer before walking toward Flash.
Joey: Hey man good job.
Glasses Man: That? I guess so.
Joey: Why are ya leaving now, you could probably clean these fools out no problem, how much money you made there?
Glasses Man: $245,000, and I know when to quit. The man who stormed off would be back with more money shortly and I don’t want to bankrupt his bankroll, I want him to enjoy himself.
Joey: That’s rich, Good Samaritan right here. How long you been playing?
Glasses Man: Today?
Joey: No, like are you a professional or something?
Glasses Man: Heavens no.
He smiled at Flash.
Glasses Man: I’m just here to watch the big fight, same as you Mr Flash. Just remember-
He adjusted the glasses and stared a dead eyed look into Joey’s eyes.
Glasses Man: The house always wins in the end.
With that the man turned and left, heading the same way at the fat man had earlier. What in holy hell was that? Joey thought to follow the guy for a moment but didn’t want to get his day caught up with weird ass fans or whatever the fuck that guy was. Joey says relax.
He managed to get about another ten steps through the casino when he heard a familiar voice shout him. ‘IT’S JOEY FLASH!!!!’ He turned to see Hank Brown and his cameraman Lionel sat playing on some slot machines. He approached the two chumps.
Joey: What the fuck are you two doing here?
Hank: Well we DID get sent to try find you for an interview but we got side tracked.
Lionel: Hank has already lost last month’s pay cheque.
Hank: Shut it! I’ll get it back, don’t you worry.
Hank sticks another dollar in the machine and pulls the lever to the reward of more failure.
Hank: Fuck. Anyway Joey might as well get this shit done.
Joey: Might we? Where’s your camera?
Lionel and Hank looked at each other, Lionel turned to Flash.
Lionel: He pawned it.
Joey: You pawned it?
Hank: Look it’s only temporary, I’m gonna get it back I promise, it’s easy I’ve got it figured out see?
Hank pulls the lever…another loss.
Hank: Don’t you have like a phone to record on, we can do it that way can’t we?
Lionel: No, I don’t want you pawning that too.
Hank: I’m not going to pawn it just give me the pissing phone.
Lionel: I film, you talk.
Hank: Fine, okay, ready?
Lionel: Hang the fuck on, okay, ready.
Hank: Is my hair okay?
Lionel: I’m filming.
Hank: Ahhh, we are here in Las Vegas with Joey Flash who is taking in the sights and sounds ahead of the big fight May 2nd is that correct?
Joey: Look at you, little logic monster that you are. Yeah man, I’m fuckin stoked, this is only place to be on fight night. I’m gonna lay some action on the fight, get liquored up and watch Pacquiao and Mayweather from ringside, it’s exciting times Hank.
Hank: Who’s your pick?
Joey: Fuck man, I dunno, I mean shit Floyd is the best boxer in the world and he’s never lost but Pac, fuck he’s a beast too, I’ll be betting on the over 11.5 rounds and hoping for a good fuckin fight.
Hank: You were unbeaten too, and then things got a bit Grimy for you didn’t they?
Joey: Would you fuckin shut up with that shit?
Hank: Never! Anyway, we have to get to it; Aftermath saw the formation of Imperium, what the hell? Just…what the hell?
Joey smiles
Joey: I’m not a person who takes kindly to being ignored Hank, I have made statement after statement and all of which have fallen plainly to deaf ears. So this time it was for actions to speak much louder than any word that has even crossed my lips. Imperium is not a stable, not a collection of people because of some higher power or cause. Imperium is about one word, domination. It’s not about love or friendship, respect is tenuous at best but in this world you cannot survive and you cannot thrive alone. We are the greatest collection of wrestlers this company has ever, will ever see. We will sweep the federation clean and remove any of these mediocrities from view. This is the Imperium Era, I count no one in this world as my ‘friend’ but these people are the closest it will ever come, if you’re stepping onto the battlefield you need to be able to know the people to your sides can handle their shit, and with Beckman, Cairo, Kaz, Odin and ZMAC we have the best shit slingers in the whole fuckin world, spearheaded by Joseph Flash and shit there ain’t even anything to talk about.
Vapor Kings and Poondock Saints have ruled the WCF for the past year, so put these two forces together and you think anything the rest of the WCF has to offer stands a cunthair of a chance? I could kill the rest of the roster by my fuckin self.
Hank: Well…Vegas doesn’t agree Joseph.
Joey: Huh?
Hank: Well…ahh I better show you, follow me.
Hank takes the lead in front of Flash and the mobile phone wielding Lionel as they meander through the bleary eyed addicts toward a large odds board next to a betting counter. On it in large red chalk the words ‘WCF TRIOS CUP MONEYLINE ODDS’.
Joey: Oh shit fuck Mayweather Pacquiao I’m gonna lay some fuckin bank on this.
Joey scans the board to see the odds listed as such.
1,000,000/1 - Slime/Torgo/Dong-Wang Kim
999,999/1 - Big Train/Louis Bartkowski/Lazer Johnson
999,999/1 - Jimmy Wicked/BioWalker
999,998/1 – The New Freebirds
500/1 - Reginald Dampshaw III/Demis Polymeros/Spencer Adams
250/1 - Celeste/Snapz/Vulgar
150/1 - Logan/Katherine Phoenix/Mod Deuce
80/1 - Torture/Isaiah Chavis/Florian Stark
15/1 - Danny Anderson and Caraid
10/1 -Thomas Uriel Bates/Gemini Battle/Gonzo Murdock
8/1 – Johnny Reb/Marc Mayhem/Jay Omega
6/1 - Jayson Price/Scarecrow/Alex Richards
6/1 - Dune/Occulo/Howard Black
4/1 - ICE Beckman/Joey Flash/Zombie McMorris
3/1 - Bobby Cairo/Kaz Mazy/Odin Balfore
13/8 - Jonny Fly/Steve Orbit/Corey Black
Joey: What in holy fuck? Why?
Hank: Why what?
Joey: You know very fucking well what I’m talking about. Why pray tell, actually fuck it.
Joey approaches the counter and knocks on the window; a mousy woman is stood with a fake smile over her ugly mug.
Mouse: Can I help?
Joey: Yeah I think you’ve got something wrong with the odds for the WCF Trio’s cup, you seem to have mispriced the ‘Vapor Kings’ team, that 4/1 isn’t right surely?
The woman clicks about like a mong on her computer before answering.
Mouse: Nope, our researchers have done a lot of work, the wiseguys have been betting heavily on the Fly/Orbit/Black team over the past few days, but other smart money has been coming in on Cairo/Mazy/Balfore.
Joey: Oh is that so, well how about THIS for smart money.
Joey Flash removes the entirety of his bankroll from his pocket and slams it down on the counter. The large wad of cash overwhelms the woman.
Mouse: Oh my, I might have to get a manag-
Her surprise turns to annoyance as she notices the lack of large bills in the pile and realises there ain’t a note larger than a single lonely dollar; she angrily counts and counts and counts.
Mouse: So you’re going to bet $218 on ICE Beckman/Joey Flash/Zombie McMorris.
Joey: Damn fuckin right. COME ON VAPOR KINGS!!! They got this for sure.
Hank leans in toward the glass and removes some cash from his wallet.
Hank: She said it was smart money right? Wiseguys? I need this; I’m sorry Joey…500 dollars on Fly/Orbit/Black!!!!!!
Joey: What the fuck are you doing?
Hank: I’m going to win big.
Joey: You’re an idiot.
Hank is celebrating in his certainty of victory, Lionel plonks a fifty down.
Lionel: Sentinels.
Joey: What? Another fuckin idiot here, VA-POR KINGS, SAY IT WITH ME NOW! What is wrong with you people?
Hank: Hey man I’ve got a lot of respect for you but that Fly Orbit and Black team though-
Joey: Fuck them. Has beens, sell outs and fucking rejects. They’ll get killed before we even get to them. Why these fuckin rats decide to skulk back from whatever shithole they were hiding and think they can even breathe this air anymore? Shame we didn’t get the draw first round so I could enjoy welcoming these faggots back the right way by sending them straight to the hospital and out of this federation for good. I’ve got nothing to say on the subject so why am I even addressing this shit? It’s as simple as this, these people are of absolutely no worry or concern to me, they trouble me as much as an Adam Young led team would.
Hank: Or Grime.
Joey: Fucking shut up. Let’s not spend an age wasting everyone’s time discussing fights that aren’t ever going to happen, ain’t ever gonna be no fuckin dream match, ain’t ever gonna be Orbit vs the Vapor Kings, Joey Flash vs Jonny Fly, sorry folks. We’ll be there in the final, but those bitches? Enjoy that early retirement at the hands of whatever worthless team sends ya jobber asses straight back into exile, faggots.
We off that, let’s get a little bit more pertinent shall we? This week we take on the fuckin Dark Riders Gang. Well shit guys, congratufuckinlations for winning the short straw pulling championship of the world! Come on down guys take your winnings:
Behind Door #1: You taking a fuckin beating
Behind Door #2: You taking a fuckin beating
Behind Door #3: You taking a fuckin beating.
Or you can go for the mystery door! Oh sorry it’s you taking a fuckin beating. This is a match that needs absolutely no introduction, nor does it need any expert analysis to predict what the outcome of the match is going to be. As much as some of these teams have enjoyed getting as much as a bye for this week this isn’t how it works for The Vapor Kings, see as outmatched as you are in this match, you’re warm bodies and that’s more than can be said for some of these other fuckin matches. You are competent, this is good. We need a little warm up before shit really gets popping in this tournament. You are the starter before the main course, you are the opening band before the headliner, you’re the people there just to make us look good.
How does that feel guys? That no one is watching for you in this tournament? No one cares about the threat you pose, the personalities or the storylines. Every single word out of our mouth is plastered as a headline on WCF.com, storylines and narratives run rampant with every little action we do. ‘Joey Flash bought a paper today, what does this mean?’ I dunno guys; maybe I enjoy The Wall Street Journal okay! However it doesn’t change the fact you’re gonna get fuckin dismantled in this match. I wonder what you guys are thinking right now before such a massive opportunity for you, maybe you can land that lucky punch and be the ones to send us home in the first round on a loss, blot that Imperium copy book as quickly as it had been published. I dunno whatever lies Tommy B has been feeding the lot of you but this shit isn’t even fair about how outclassed you’re going to be here. This is borderline sickening right here, we’re going to make these warm bodied ‘tough first round opponents’ look like absolute bottom feeders. There is a chasm of difference in the talent level in this match and you’re gonna get dropped straight down said chasm on some Wile E. Coyote shit.
‘OOPS!’ more like ‘FUCK WHY DID I HAVE TO FACE THIS GOD FLASH!!!!!’
During Joey’s rant Hank and Lionel have wisely disappeared as to avoid any chance of them being removed for being disorderly. Flash sits down on the slot Hank was at and begins to play.
Joey: Caraid. Car(ry)Aid(s), fuckin faggots. What the fuck is up? Usually I try to be a little plodding and methodical with this shit, I like to build up steam and then really explode like I’m getting dome from one of Bobby’s fine Rican bitches, but this is such an easy target we have to deal with this shit first. Konstantin, hello comrade, do you understand the words that are comin out of my mouth ya Ruskie slimeball? I would probably have trouble understanding what you say but…oh wait, cat got ya tongue?
Joey smiles.
Joey: Konstantin Noskov, the Russian Agent 47 with all the personality of, uh, well a cunt with no fuckin tongue. Let’s assess your lifestyle path so far and question how the fuck you managed to make your way into this match.
Crack Baby > Rejected by mother for being an ugly little mongoloid > Became assassin > Cut out tongue > Became biker > Became wrestler
Well fuck me ain’t you just a little diverse commie fuck, what? Bitch try me if you want war, I’ve got everything you’re jealous of, success, money, loved ones, happiness, a tongue.
Well shit ‘Connor’ I wonder what your tongue would say if it could see you now, do you still have it? Do you keep it hidden away? Does it talk to you? What does it say? If it still existed it would be fucking begging you to finally tell that fucker Charlie to stop dragging you to each one of his ridiculous schemes that only leave you looking like the scapegoat and perennial loser that you’ve been your entire fuckin life. You’re a nothing in this world Konstantin; I’m not going to denigrate you by using the moniker these people put on you, you’re Russian, not Scottish, not Welsh, not fuckin Irish, LIVE THAT SHIT. Some fucker starts calling me ‘Jonny’ I fuckin slump the guy, why you let yourself get Americanized? Where’s the pride?
Let me ask you a serious question, man to man, you’re probably the toughest guy in your squad, no joke, you’re hardened, you’re experienced and you’re skilled, so why the fuck do you follow these guys around little a little lapdog? You’re the only one in your clique who’s really seen bodies, so why are you letting these pretenders act like they’re some fuckin tough guys, these guys talk tough but ain’t lived any of the shit, you at least have lived what you sa- ooooooh right, no tongue, right.
This ain’t even a question of your wrestling ability, this a question of character of which you are so heavily lacking. Are you the stray mutt that takes up with the first thing that shows it kindness or are you the scared little bitch who is too submissive to speak up and tell them what you really thi- ooooooh right, no tongue, right.
Joey smiles once more.
Joey: Your partner is the worst for it though, fuck Thomas Bates, this guy is the mastermind and leader behind this shit. Who is the one who has recruited the majority of people into ya little club Tommy, let’s discuss this, do you not find it a bit strange? See what this seems like to me is a classic case of blind leadership and a person slowly building the army for a successful mutiny. Who does Thomas Bates have covering his back when shit breaks down and gets messy?
Joey’s head darts from side to side dramatically.
Joey: Oh, what’s that? Fuckin nobody? Whereas who does your most trusted ally Charles Anderson have in his corner? You think his own flesh and blood is gonna turn against him? You think the Russian stray he found and nurtured is gonna turn against him? Son you got this fucked up royally. Is it only me seeing this for what it is? Shit maybe I’m just someone paranoid, or maybe I’m someone who’s had this happen to him so many times he can barely count that shit on his digits. I’m giving you fair warning not to help you quash any potential squabbles, but so when it happens to you I can fully give you that Nelson Muntz laugh you overgrown fat headed fuck.
Joey stands up and puts a hand to his chest.
O faggot of Scotland,
When will we see
Your like again,
That fought and died for that,
Trios Cup now,
And stood against him,
Proud Joey’s Army,
got fucked up and sent home,
to kill yaselves.
The bikes are trashed now,
And spring leaves
lie thick and still,
O'er the match that’s lost now,
Which those so dearly tried for,
And stood against him,
Proud Joey’s Army,
got fucked up and sent home,
to kill yaselves.
Those dreams of winning now,
are in the past,
so they must remain,
and we’ll fuck off now,
And be those faggots,
That stood against him,
Proud Joey’s Army,
got fucked up and sent home,
to kill yaselves.
It’s enough to bring a tear to my eye. We off that national pride shit, we on that wrestling pride shit. You’re a nobody in this business; you’re going to remain a nobody for as long as you live in another man’s shadow, I’m talking to you as a businessman not a wrestler. Deal with your shit, take care of this faggot Bates and everything will be good man. Don’t give me the excuse of loyalty or friendship, green is at stake and the chair of the king is waiting for you. But nah, you’re gonna be one of those loyalty over money type bitches, the type that remains at the bottom tier of life but is okay with thinking ‘At least I’m a good guy!’. A good guy broke with a retarded Russian lapdog and a retarded nephew.
Chuck, ya outta luck. This match is going to shut both you and your fuckin idiot partner up…oh right, the tongue thing. It’ll shut you up at least, I’m gonna wash you easy Chucky…this is Child’s Play.
Joey pulls on the slot machine once more, another loser.
Joey: So, we gonna get to this shit. Last but most definitely least, the guy who has achieved the least in all his team’s history we have Mr Daniel Anderson. Chucky’s fucked up nephew, a man who belongs more back on the streets than sharing the ring with the people he sharing the ring with on Sunday. Let’s get it straight, this is true BX vs every little false reppin, weak bitch trying to look for a niche in life, I run shit here, you run from shit here. You’re other two partners? All jokes. You? All quotes. I’m going heavy on you cocksucker, you’re running your mouth like you’ve achieved shit, this bitch really believes it, you’re 2-1, if I was ever 2-1 in this company I’d stab myself in the fuckin dick.
You keep pimpin your win over Occy like you did something amazing, bitch in a heads up that faggot would fuck you up something crazy, I’ve killed Occy more times than I can even think about, what you think gonna happen here? Oh I get it, you’ve got my number, Thomas Bates holds a ‘Victory’ over Joey Flash like it’s some kind of prize…well guess what it IS a fucking prize, the guy couldn’t touch me in a 1v1, not even close, not even remotely close, but you man, you think you’re hot shit, you think you’ve got a chance in this match.
What all of you bitches don’t even probably grasp, it ain’t Zombie McMorris you’re fighting, it ain’t Natural ICE Beckman you’re fighting, it ain’t Joey Flash you’re fighting. It’s all three of us. Do you even understand what kinda task that is, do you fuckers even grasp the Herculean task that lays in front of you to stop you from being simply blown out?
Danny man, you were bullied at school…GOOD. Maybe I was one of the kids doing it, when I saw a sickly, weak looking punk foreign kid I always went for the kill and shit I guess old habits die hard. I’m gonna fuckin body you, you can give yaself all the self-masturbation that you think you need to succeed in this match, you can think you’re superior to Occy, and then to me, but this shit is like Danny is steering the Titanic straight into the iceberg. You don’t know how deep this shit is going to take you, this wormhole you’re opening to ya own fuckin death is gonna be something not even Omega could explain.
Let me lay it down for you in simple terms that maybe Uncle Chuck didn’t properly lay out for you here. Joey Flash is the best wrestler in the WCF, there is no other, there is no argument, there is no discussion about this shit, I’m going to routinely crush you, ICE will routinely crush you and ZMAC will routinely crush you. This is a fucking massacre, the fact you guys actually think that you can hit the ‘Upset’ button here makes me almost embarrassed for you.
You are one of the most arrogant guys in the game, no joke, you’re the type of guy who jumps head first into every challenge thinking ‘I can conquer this!’ without having any idea what he’s doing or where the fuck he is jumping to. You need to understand something before you head anywhere in this federation, it’s called:
‘THERE’S LEVELS TO THIS SHIT’
It’s a code I live by, and it ain’t steered me wrong since I joined the damn WCF. My level sky high, your level six feet below. You need a thousand years before you can think about seeing me in the centre of the ring, keep talking a good game on the net boards though. I heard it works sometimes!
You fuckers are gonna get murdered in this matchup. Fuck it, let’s bet on this shit right now. How are the DRG gonna die? We in Vegas so I’ve got some odds right here.
2/1 – Liver failure, drinking themselves to death cos of their failures
3/1 – Heart attack, standard
10/1 – Shot up by Charlie cos he grew a pair
20/1 – Shot up by Konstantin cos he was sick of being your little lapdog
30/1 – Killed by Bates cos he’s now certain you’re all soft
40/1 – Killed by Danny because he’s a jealous little conceited prick
50/1 – You have a stroke…of genius and kill yourselves
100/1 – You die happy content and with your life completely happy
1,000,000/1 – You die of shock cos you actually managed to beat The Vapor Kings.
This shit is brutal, this shit is one sided. Let me tell you what’s going to happen in the Trios Cup, The Vapor Kings are going to sweep the board, sweep it so convincingly we should be janitors. Dune, Occy, Howie? Bodybag. Cairo, Kaz, Odin? Sorry guys, bodybag. Fly, Orbit, Black? We’ll put ya bodybag in a bodybag.
I’m preaching to the fuckin choir here, ya’ll know what this tournament is. This is an Imperium showcase and every other team is a victim in its wake. I digress; handle my shit, that’s what I’ve been preaching right?
Danny Anderson, Caraid, the Dark Riders Gang. This was over the moment your name was pulled out of the hat alongside ours. Bodybags on deck for all of ya’ll.
You’re finished.
Offer you can't refuse
Joey pulls the slot machine once more and the sound of ringing bells makes him almost jump out of his seat. He looks around hoping no one else has heard the alarm bells ringing, when suddenly some fanfare music begins piping through the machine he is sat at.
Machine: WE HAVE A WINNER IN OUR MILLION DOLLAR SWEEPSTAKES!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Joey looks up with a confused glance, then around the casino as he sees a group of people gathering around him, a couple of scantily clad women appear with fake smiles on their face as a man in a suit comes striding through the small crowd, a large fake cheque in his hands.
Chequeman: We have a winner ladies and gentlemen; our jackpot has been claimed by the man sat at machine number 42! Give him a round of applause!
Joey looks incredulously round the room not knowing what to think.
Chequeman: Here you go sir, would you like to say a few words?
Joey: Uhhh, thank you to everyone who helped me get this far, praise be to god, thanks to my manager Buddy Roman, thanks to ICE Beckman, Zombie McMorris, and my new brothers Bobby Cairo, Odin Balfore and Kaz Mazy. Also Hank Brown for softening up the machine for me the stupid motherfucker!
Chequeman: W-What?!
Joey: Yes! Hank!
Suddenly a voice appears from the crowd.
Hank: NO! FUCK SAKE, IF I JUST KEPT PLAYING, LIONEL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!
Joey: I’m going to do this the right way Hank.
Joey grabs the cheque of $1,000,000 from the suited man and strolls over to the counter.
Joey: The Vapor Kings to win the Trios Cup…ONE MILLION DOLLARS!
Mouse: Okay.
Joey: YES!
Mouse: We don’t accept novelty fake cheques though.
Joey: Talk to this fucker.
He points to the suited man, turning to leave the casino. The uproar of the win is quickly dissipated in his mind as he headed back to the elevator to take him to his room. The weariness of the gambling and the degradation was close to wearing him out. As he stood waiting it dawned on him he had just pretty much given a million dollars away, Joey started to laugh to himself. Is this confidence, arrogance or the case of an addictive personality? Who knows. This tournament though? Joey Flash had everything to fight for, the World Champion was fighting by his side, the World Champion was his partner, his confidante…his prey. Everything was for this, DRG? A pebble in a sea they could never even hope to tread water in. The elevator dinged and stood staring him straight in the face was the horn rimmed glasses man from the poker table earlier, he smiled at Flash once more.
Glasses Man: I don’t think you’ll be enjoying the fight, Flash.
Joey stared the man straight in the eyes as their paths crossed and he stepped into the elevator. This was becoming more and more like something out of a cheesy mafia flick, as strange as it was these things tended to be scarily accurate. Joey couldn’t wait to get to the top of ride…3…2…1…ding. The doors opened and Joey hopped out of the elevator and strode with purpose toward his room, it took all of fifteen seconds to reach. He pulled the key from his pocket and turned the lock, pushing the door open he stepped inside and the sight that greeted him made his insides wanted to retch straight out of his body.
In the middle of the bed lay a naked young woman, her hands and feet tied to each corner of the bedpost like a roasting hog and her lifeblood was pooled next to her head. Joey didn’t even bother to take another step to understand the situation, the poor girl had died as a casualty of war here. They intended to set him up, both to Alessandra as a philanderer and for the murder of this woman, his room was paid for and he was due to check out tomorrow. There would be no fight being enjoyed here, you four eyed cunt. This was a message, one that Joey understood more than anything, ‘Sam’ huh? This shit ain’t dead, this shit ain’t dead at all. You want a war motherfucker? Fine.
You’ve got a war.
The echoes of the boos still rang through to the backstage of the The Air Canada Centre as Joey Flash strode through the curtain. The rush of euphoria and the buzz that ran through him made him feel like he’d just taken the biggest bump of the white stuff off the finest, thickest ass in the world. He swept his long hair from aside his face and embraced Buddy Roman.
Joey: Good shit ya fat motherfucker.
Buddy: Ye of little faith son.
Joey: I had faith that someone would fuck shit up-
He spots the rest of his Imperium brothers embracing and shaking hands, the most poignant moment coming from a long hug between Natural ICE Beckman and Bobby Cairo as the two men are discussing the match they had just so hotly contested under the highest scrutiny. Joey sees Kaz Mazy and Odin Balfore to one side laughing about the whole fucked up scenario.
Joey: Good shit guys, man oh man.
Joey in turn BROFISTS and hugs both members of his new team.
Kaz: I’d say the same to you but did you have to hit that fuckin’ hard? What happened to ‘I’ll go light’ got lost on you?
Odin: He got the job done.
Kaz: But still, fuck man.
Joey slaps Kaz round the head right where he smashed him earlier with a chair.
Joey: We gonna celebrate you bodying that faggot Occy or what?
Kaz smiles and throws the United States title over his shoulder.
Kaz: You already know what it is nigguh.
Joey turned toward Beckman and Cairo for a moment with only one thought on his mind, not the jaw dropping coup they had pulled off managing to collect six of the greatest individual talents that the WCF had to offer, not the fact that this moment was amazing in its surreal nature, but his gaze and his mind fell on only one thing in this whole room, The WCF World Championship. The whole world slowed to a crawl as Joey reached his hand out toward the gold, every inch toward it was a milestone in his mind. The smiling, laughing faces of Beckman and Cairo made Joey clench his teeth and ball his fist so tight it felt like his nails were about to break the skin of his palm. His hand reached just short of the gold and his hand fell on the shoulder of ICE.
Joey: Good job bro, fuck this was a close one, let’s celebrate, you motherfuckers earned it.
The Italian turned on his heels before so much as a word of reply could be uttered; Joey would not be celebrating with his new Imperium brothers tonight. With this one coup they had managed to collect the greatest group ever seen in the WCF, any other night and Joey being the mastermind behind the collusion and he would have LeBron’d the shit out things and held a welcome party, but seeing them laugh, seeing the gold flaunted so brazenly in front of his face, he had to leave, he had to hide the jealous fury building up inside him.
As amazing and euphoric feeling turned to a bile filled rage as he pushed the door to his locker room open. This was not a time to show any weakness, this was a time for love and rejoicing, for conquering and for domination, he lightly jabbed a left at the wall and shouted a loud ‘FUCK’.
Imperium was going to be the most unbelievably dominant group the WCF had ever seen, Joey would see to that himself. The other members were amazing in their own right, legends, Hall of Famers, champions and all round elites. In any federation in the world any of these men would be World Champion and yet here in WCF…this was the one place where ‘World Champion’ really meant something, where it was an accolade worthy of a statement, that you truly are the best wrestler in the world. Joey thought on the situation, Imperium are truly a group of elites, but no matter what the statistics said, no matter the accolades, no matter any metric you use if you simply watched the performances inside the squared circle the one wrestler that stands head and shoulders above any of the athletes in the stable was the person with the least wins, the least experience, the least accolades and with the least fanfare was himself.
What plan could Joseph Flash put into action to get what he was owed? He had the protection, he had the muscle and he had the stroke now to be able to manipulate his scenario easier than ever before. He had interfered in the Trilogy Cup on an angry whim and although it paid off in some respects it had failed miserably in others, still Joey Flash was title-less and still he sat in the background while the jesters played their games. The only plan that was in his head right now, the only avenue available for him was to use the World Champion’s talents and skills for his own benefit, Natural ICE Beckman was the top guy in the company right now, the crème de la crème. Joey smiled to himself, this is the way.
I’ll use you Beckman, I’ll abuse you Beckman, I will ride you all the way to the final, I will take what is mine… then by god I will fucking crush you.
Let's get ready to rumble
The lights scattered across the horizon of Sin City painted a pastel of gratuity, gregariousness and the grandiose that brought a smile across Joey Flash’s lips, he stared out of the window of his base for the weekend, a Skyloft apartment in the MGM Grand casino. This was his haven, his heaven, his god damn fuckin Eden, as a child the young Joseph Malignaggi would picture himself in the centre of the four roped squared circle standing over a fallen opponent and raising his hands in victory for the Undisputed Heavyweight Championship of the World. Those daydreams were nought but fleeting thoughts before sleep but he still felt butterflies in his stomach when he was here.
Fully unpacked, Joey stepped into an elevator to take him down to ground level, a wad of green in his back pocket ready for the night ahead and the weekend to follow. He always made it his business to try to attend as many boxing events as his schedule allowed, which had been becoming less and less the more travel he had to do for his WCF commitments. As a youngster Joey would be at as many of the small hall shows he could find, he absorbed everything about his burgeoning career like a bone dry sponge. He even had the honour of fighting in the theatre at MSG for the final of the NY Heavyweight Golden Gloves tournament. That was the first and last time Joey had experienced such a stage in his amateur boxing career. Now Joey was fighting in front of tens of thousands each week and he was thriving, still, it’s nice to be on the other side of the ropes for once Joey thought as the elevator pinged open and Joey stepped out into the spacious casino area.
The pinging of the slots, the screaming of elation for the winners and the curses spat by the losers filled the air as Joey walked through the luxurious high roller section. He stood by and watched the no limit poker table, the amount of wealth sat around this table made even Joey shrivel in comparison, he studied the faces of the men as they eyed their cards and studied each other intently. This was not a table Joey could compete at, he could not cope with the calm nor the money needed here, but each little movement of the men told a story. The smallest, quietest man had the most chips at the table, his thick horn rimmed glasses sat askew on a blank face, a large man threw his last chips into the centre of the table and Joey watched the glasses man as he without so much as a twitch in his face quietly said ‘Call.’
The fat man brushed past Joey Flash with a face the colour of boiled lobster.
Fat Man: Fucking cheater.
Joey watched as the smaller man spoke to the dealer.
Glasses Man: I want to cash out.
Dealer: But you’re doing so well!
Glasses man simply smiled and accepted the slip and a chip from the dealer before walking toward Flash.
Joey: Hey man good job.
Glasses Man: That? I guess so.
Joey: Why are ya leaving now, you could probably clean these fools out no problem, how much money you made there?
Glasses Man: $245,000, and I know when to quit. The man who stormed off would be back with more money shortly and I don’t want to bankrupt his bankroll, I want him to enjoy himself.
Joey: That’s rich, Good Samaritan right here. How long you been playing?
Glasses Man: Today?
Joey: No, like are you a professional or something?
Glasses Man: Heavens no.
He smiled at Flash.
Glasses Man: I’m just here to watch the big fight, same as you Mr Flash. Just remember-
He adjusted the glasses and stared a dead eyed look into Joey’s eyes.
Glasses Man: The house always wins in the end.
With that the man turned and left, heading the same way at the fat man had earlier. What in holy hell was that? Joey thought to follow the guy for a moment but didn’t want to get his day caught up with weird ass fans or whatever the fuck that guy was. Joey says relax.
He managed to get about another ten steps through the casino when he heard a familiar voice shout him. ‘IT’S JOEY FLASH!!!!’ He turned to see Hank Brown and his cameraman Lionel sat playing on some slot machines. He approached the two chumps.
Joey: What the fuck are you two doing here?
Hank: Well we DID get sent to try find you for an interview but we got side tracked.
Lionel: Hank has already lost last month’s pay cheque.
Hank: Shut it! I’ll get it back, don’t you worry.
Hank sticks another dollar in the machine and pulls the lever to the reward of more failure.
Hank: Fuck. Anyway Joey might as well get this shit done.
Joey: Might we? Where’s your camera?
Lionel and Hank looked at each other, Lionel turned to Flash.
Lionel: He pawned it.
Joey: You pawned it?
Hank: Look it’s only temporary, I’m gonna get it back I promise, it’s easy I’ve got it figured out see?
Hank pulls the lever…another loss.
Hank: Don’t you have like a phone to record on, we can do it that way can’t we?
Lionel: No, I don’t want you pawning that too.
Hank: I’m not going to pawn it just give me the pissing phone.
Lionel: I film, you talk.
Hank: Fine, okay, ready?
Lionel: Hang the fuck on, okay, ready.
Hank: Is my hair okay?
Lionel: I’m filming.
Hank: Ahhh, we are here in Las Vegas with Joey Flash who is taking in the sights and sounds ahead of the big fight May 2nd is that correct?
Joey: Look at you, little logic monster that you are. Yeah man, I’m fuckin stoked, this is only place to be on fight night. I’m gonna lay some action on the fight, get liquored up and watch Pacquiao and Mayweather from ringside, it’s exciting times Hank.
Hank: Who’s your pick?
Joey: Fuck man, I dunno, I mean shit Floyd is the best boxer in the world and he’s never lost but Pac, fuck he’s a beast too, I’ll be betting on the over 11.5 rounds and hoping for a good fuckin fight.
Hank: You were unbeaten too, and then things got a bit Grimy for you didn’t they?
Joey: Would you fuckin shut up with that shit?
Hank: Never! Anyway, we have to get to it; Aftermath saw the formation of Imperium, what the hell? Just…what the hell?
Joey smiles
Joey: I’m not a person who takes kindly to being ignored Hank, I have made statement after statement and all of which have fallen plainly to deaf ears. So this time it was for actions to speak much louder than any word that has even crossed my lips. Imperium is not a stable, not a collection of people because of some higher power or cause. Imperium is about one word, domination. It’s not about love or friendship, respect is tenuous at best but in this world you cannot survive and you cannot thrive alone. We are the greatest collection of wrestlers this company has ever, will ever see. We will sweep the federation clean and remove any of these mediocrities from view. This is the Imperium Era, I count no one in this world as my ‘friend’ but these people are the closest it will ever come, if you’re stepping onto the battlefield you need to be able to know the people to your sides can handle their shit, and with Beckman, Cairo, Kaz, Odin and ZMAC we have the best shit slingers in the whole fuckin world, spearheaded by Joseph Flash and shit there ain’t even anything to talk about.
Vapor Kings and Poondock Saints have ruled the WCF for the past year, so put these two forces together and you think anything the rest of the WCF has to offer stands a cunthair of a chance? I could kill the rest of the roster by my fuckin self.
Hank: Well…Vegas doesn’t agree Joseph.
Joey: Huh?
Hank: Well…ahh I better show you, follow me.
Hank takes the lead in front of Flash and the mobile phone wielding Lionel as they meander through the bleary eyed addicts toward a large odds board next to a betting counter. On it in large red chalk the words ‘WCF TRIOS CUP MONEYLINE ODDS’.
Joey: Oh shit fuck Mayweather Pacquiao I’m gonna lay some fuckin bank on this.
Joey scans the board to see the odds listed as such.
1,000,000/1 - Slime/Torgo/Dong-Wang Kim
999,999/1 - Big Train/Louis Bartkowski/Lazer Johnson
999,999/1 - Jimmy Wicked/BioWalker
999,998/1 – The New Freebirds
500/1 - Reginald Dampshaw III/Demis Polymeros/Spencer Adams
250/1 - Celeste/Snapz/Vulgar
150/1 - Logan/Katherine Phoenix/Mod Deuce
80/1 - Torture/Isaiah Chavis/Florian Stark
15/1 - Danny Anderson and Caraid
10/1 -Thomas Uriel Bates/Gemini Battle/Gonzo Murdock
8/1 – Johnny Reb/Marc Mayhem/Jay Omega
6/1 - Jayson Price/Scarecrow/Alex Richards
6/1 - Dune/Occulo/Howard Black
4/1 - ICE Beckman/Joey Flash/Zombie McMorris
3/1 - Bobby Cairo/Kaz Mazy/Odin Balfore
13/8 - Jonny Fly/Steve Orbit/Corey Black
Joey: What in holy fuck? Why?
Hank: Why what?
Joey: You know very fucking well what I’m talking about. Why pray tell, actually fuck it.
Joey approaches the counter and knocks on the window; a mousy woman is stood with a fake smile over her ugly mug.
Mouse: Can I help?
Joey: Yeah I think you’ve got something wrong with the odds for the WCF Trio’s cup, you seem to have mispriced the ‘Vapor Kings’ team, that 4/1 isn’t right surely?
The woman clicks about like a mong on her computer before answering.
Mouse: Nope, our researchers have done a lot of work, the wiseguys have been betting heavily on the Fly/Orbit/Black team over the past few days, but other smart money has been coming in on Cairo/Mazy/Balfore.
Joey: Oh is that so, well how about THIS for smart money.
Joey Flash removes the entirety of his bankroll from his pocket and slams it down on the counter. The large wad of cash overwhelms the woman.
Mouse: Oh my, I might have to get a manag-
Her surprise turns to annoyance as she notices the lack of large bills in the pile and realises there ain’t a note larger than a single lonely dollar; she angrily counts and counts and counts.
Mouse: So you’re going to bet $218 on ICE Beckman/Joey Flash/Zombie McMorris.
Joey: Damn fuckin right. COME ON VAPOR KINGS!!! They got this for sure.
Hank leans in toward the glass and removes some cash from his wallet.
Hank: She said it was smart money right? Wiseguys? I need this; I’m sorry Joey…500 dollars on Fly/Orbit/Black!!!!!!
Joey: What the fuck are you doing?
Hank: I’m going to win big.
Joey: You’re an idiot.
Hank is celebrating in his certainty of victory, Lionel plonks a fifty down.
Lionel: Sentinels.
Joey: What? Another fuckin idiot here, VA-POR KINGS, SAY IT WITH ME NOW! What is wrong with you people?
Hank: Hey man I’ve got a lot of respect for you but that Fly Orbit and Black team though-
Joey: Fuck them. Has beens, sell outs and fucking rejects. They’ll get killed before we even get to them. Why these fuckin rats decide to skulk back from whatever shithole they were hiding and think they can even breathe this air anymore? Shame we didn’t get the draw first round so I could enjoy welcoming these faggots back the right way by sending them straight to the hospital and out of this federation for good. I’ve got nothing to say on the subject so why am I even addressing this shit? It’s as simple as this, these people are of absolutely no worry or concern to me, they trouble me as much as an Adam Young led team would.
Hank: Or Grime.
Joey: Fucking shut up. Let’s not spend an age wasting everyone’s time discussing fights that aren’t ever going to happen, ain’t ever gonna be no fuckin dream match, ain’t ever gonna be Orbit vs the Vapor Kings, Joey Flash vs Jonny Fly, sorry folks. We’ll be there in the final, but those bitches? Enjoy that early retirement at the hands of whatever worthless team sends ya jobber asses straight back into exile, faggots.
We off that, let’s get a little bit more pertinent shall we? This week we take on the fuckin Dark Riders Gang. Well shit guys, congratufuckinlations for winning the short straw pulling championship of the world! Come on down guys take your winnings:
Behind Door #1: You taking a fuckin beating
Behind Door #2: You taking a fuckin beating
Behind Door #3: You taking a fuckin beating.
Or you can go for the mystery door! Oh sorry it’s you taking a fuckin beating. This is a match that needs absolutely no introduction, nor does it need any expert analysis to predict what the outcome of the match is going to be. As much as some of these teams have enjoyed getting as much as a bye for this week this isn’t how it works for The Vapor Kings, see as outmatched as you are in this match, you’re warm bodies and that’s more than can be said for some of these other fuckin matches. You are competent, this is good. We need a little warm up before shit really gets popping in this tournament. You are the starter before the main course, you are the opening band before the headliner, you’re the people there just to make us look good.
How does that feel guys? That no one is watching for you in this tournament? No one cares about the threat you pose, the personalities or the storylines. Every single word out of our mouth is plastered as a headline on WCF.com, storylines and narratives run rampant with every little action we do. ‘Joey Flash bought a paper today, what does this mean?’ I dunno guys; maybe I enjoy The Wall Street Journal okay! However it doesn’t change the fact you’re gonna get fuckin dismantled in this match. I wonder what you guys are thinking right now before such a massive opportunity for you, maybe you can land that lucky punch and be the ones to send us home in the first round on a loss, blot that Imperium copy book as quickly as it had been published. I dunno whatever lies Tommy B has been feeding the lot of you but this shit isn’t even fair about how outclassed you’re going to be here. This is borderline sickening right here, we’re going to make these warm bodied ‘tough first round opponents’ look like absolute bottom feeders. There is a chasm of difference in the talent level in this match and you’re gonna get dropped straight down said chasm on some Wile E. Coyote shit.
‘OOPS!’ more like ‘FUCK WHY DID I HAVE TO FACE THIS GOD FLASH!!!!!’
During Joey’s rant Hank and Lionel have wisely disappeared as to avoid any chance of them being removed for being disorderly. Flash sits down on the slot Hank was at and begins to play.
Joey: Caraid. Car(ry)Aid(s), fuckin faggots. What the fuck is up? Usually I try to be a little plodding and methodical with this shit, I like to build up steam and then really explode like I’m getting dome from one of Bobby’s fine Rican bitches, but this is such an easy target we have to deal with this shit first. Konstantin, hello comrade, do you understand the words that are comin out of my mouth ya Ruskie slimeball? I would probably have trouble understanding what you say but…oh wait, cat got ya tongue?
Joey smiles.
Joey: Konstantin Noskov, the Russian Agent 47 with all the personality of, uh, well a cunt with no fuckin tongue. Let’s assess your lifestyle path so far and question how the fuck you managed to make your way into this match.
Crack Baby > Rejected by mother for being an ugly little mongoloid > Became assassin > Cut out tongue > Became biker > Became wrestler
Well fuck me ain’t you just a little diverse commie fuck, what? Bitch try me if you want war, I’ve got everything you’re jealous of, success, money, loved ones, happiness, a tongue.
Well shit ‘Connor’ I wonder what your tongue would say if it could see you now, do you still have it? Do you keep it hidden away? Does it talk to you? What does it say? If it still existed it would be fucking begging you to finally tell that fucker Charlie to stop dragging you to each one of his ridiculous schemes that only leave you looking like the scapegoat and perennial loser that you’ve been your entire fuckin life. You’re a nothing in this world Konstantin; I’m not going to denigrate you by using the moniker these people put on you, you’re Russian, not Scottish, not Welsh, not fuckin Irish, LIVE THAT SHIT. Some fucker starts calling me ‘Jonny’ I fuckin slump the guy, why you let yourself get Americanized? Where’s the pride?
Let me ask you a serious question, man to man, you’re probably the toughest guy in your squad, no joke, you’re hardened, you’re experienced and you’re skilled, so why the fuck do you follow these guys around little a little lapdog? You’re the only one in your clique who’s really seen bodies, so why are you letting these pretenders act like they’re some fuckin tough guys, these guys talk tough but ain’t lived any of the shit, you at least have lived what you sa- ooooooh right, no tongue, right.
This ain’t even a question of your wrestling ability, this a question of character of which you are so heavily lacking. Are you the stray mutt that takes up with the first thing that shows it kindness or are you the scared little bitch who is too submissive to speak up and tell them what you really thi- ooooooh right, no tongue, right.
Joey smiles once more.
Joey: Your partner is the worst for it though, fuck Thomas Bates, this guy is the mastermind and leader behind this shit. Who is the one who has recruited the majority of people into ya little club Tommy, let’s discuss this, do you not find it a bit strange? See what this seems like to me is a classic case of blind leadership and a person slowly building the army for a successful mutiny. Who does Thomas Bates have covering his back when shit breaks down and gets messy?
Joey’s head darts from side to side dramatically.
Joey: Oh, what’s that? Fuckin nobody? Whereas who does your most trusted ally Charles Anderson have in his corner? You think his own flesh and blood is gonna turn against him? You think the Russian stray he found and nurtured is gonna turn against him? Son you got this fucked up royally. Is it only me seeing this for what it is? Shit maybe I’m just someone paranoid, or maybe I’m someone who’s had this happen to him so many times he can barely count that shit on his digits. I’m giving you fair warning not to help you quash any potential squabbles, but so when it happens to you I can fully give you that Nelson Muntz laugh you overgrown fat headed fuck.
Joey stands up and puts a hand to his chest.
O faggot of Scotland,
When will we see
Your like again,
That fought and died for that,
Trios Cup now,
And stood against him,
Proud Joey’s Army,
got fucked up and sent home,
to kill yaselves.
The bikes are trashed now,
And spring leaves
lie thick and still,
O'er the match that’s lost now,
Which those so dearly tried for,
And stood against him,
Proud Joey’s Army,
got fucked up and sent home,
to kill yaselves.
Those dreams of winning now,
are in the past,
so they must remain,
and we’ll fuck off now,
And be those faggots,
That stood against him,
Proud Joey’s Army,
got fucked up and sent home,
to kill yaselves.
It’s enough to bring a tear to my eye. We off that national pride shit, we on that wrestling pride shit. You’re a nobody in this business; you’re going to remain a nobody for as long as you live in another man’s shadow, I’m talking to you as a businessman not a wrestler. Deal with your shit, take care of this faggot Bates and everything will be good man. Don’t give me the excuse of loyalty or friendship, green is at stake and the chair of the king is waiting for you. But nah, you’re gonna be one of those loyalty over money type bitches, the type that remains at the bottom tier of life but is okay with thinking ‘At least I’m a good guy!’. A good guy broke with a retarded Russian lapdog and a retarded nephew.
Chuck, ya outta luck. This match is going to shut both you and your fuckin idiot partner up…oh right, the tongue thing. It’ll shut you up at least, I’m gonna wash you easy Chucky…this is Child’s Play.
Joey pulls on the slot machine once more, another loser.
Joey: So, we gonna get to this shit. Last but most definitely least, the guy who has achieved the least in all his team’s history we have Mr Daniel Anderson. Chucky’s fucked up nephew, a man who belongs more back on the streets than sharing the ring with the people he sharing the ring with on Sunday. Let’s get it straight, this is true BX vs every little false reppin, weak bitch trying to look for a niche in life, I run shit here, you run from shit here. You’re other two partners? All jokes. You? All quotes. I’m going heavy on you cocksucker, you’re running your mouth like you’ve achieved shit, this bitch really believes it, you’re 2-1, if I was ever 2-1 in this company I’d stab myself in the fuckin dick.
You keep pimpin your win over Occy like you did something amazing, bitch in a heads up that faggot would fuck you up something crazy, I’ve killed Occy more times than I can even think about, what you think gonna happen here? Oh I get it, you’ve got my number, Thomas Bates holds a ‘Victory’ over Joey Flash like it’s some kind of prize…well guess what it IS a fucking prize, the guy couldn’t touch me in a 1v1, not even close, not even remotely close, but you man, you think you’re hot shit, you think you’ve got a chance in this match.
What all of you bitches don’t even probably grasp, it ain’t Zombie McMorris you’re fighting, it ain’t Natural ICE Beckman you’re fighting, it ain’t Joey Flash you’re fighting. It’s all three of us. Do you even understand what kinda task that is, do you fuckers even grasp the Herculean task that lays in front of you to stop you from being simply blown out?
Danny man, you were bullied at school…GOOD. Maybe I was one of the kids doing it, when I saw a sickly, weak looking punk foreign kid I always went for the kill and shit I guess old habits die hard. I’m gonna fuckin body you, you can give yaself all the self-masturbation that you think you need to succeed in this match, you can think you’re superior to Occy, and then to me, but this shit is like Danny is steering the Titanic straight into the iceberg. You don’t know how deep this shit is going to take you, this wormhole you’re opening to ya own fuckin death is gonna be something not even Omega could explain.
Let me lay it down for you in simple terms that maybe Uncle Chuck didn’t properly lay out for you here. Joey Flash is the best wrestler in the WCF, there is no other, there is no argument, there is no discussion about this shit, I’m going to routinely crush you, ICE will routinely crush you and ZMAC will routinely crush you. This is a fucking massacre, the fact you guys actually think that you can hit the ‘Upset’ button here makes me almost embarrassed for you.
You are one of the most arrogant guys in the game, no joke, you’re the type of guy who jumps head first into every challenge thinking ‘I can conquer this!’ without having any idea what he’s doing or where the fuck he is jumping to. You need to understand something before you head anywhere in this federation, it’s called:
‘THERE’S LEVELS TO THIS SHIT’
It’s a code I live by, and it ain’t steered me wrong since I joined the damn WCF. My level sky high, your level six feet below. You need a thousand years before you can think about seeing me in the centre of the ring, keep talking a good game on the net boards though. I heard it works sometimes!
You fuckers are gonna get murdered in this matchup. Fuck it, let’s bet on this shit right now. How are the DRG gonna die? We in Vegas so I’ve got some odds right here.
2/1 – Liver failure, drinking themselves to death cos of their failures
3/1 – Heart attack, standard
10/1 – Shot up by Charlie cos he grew a pair
20/1 – Shot up by Konstantin cos he was sick of being your little lapdog
30/1 – Killed by Bates cos he’s now certain you’re all soft
40/1 – Killed by Danny because he’s a jealous little conceited prick
50/1 – You have a stroke…of genius and kill yourselves
100/1 – You die happy content and with your life completely happy
1,000,000/1 – You die of shock cos you actually managed to beat The Vapor Kings.
This shit is brutal, this shit is one sided. Let me tell you what’s going to happen in the Trios Cup, The Vapor Kings are going to sweep the board, sweep it so convincingly we should be janitors. Dune, Occy, Howie? Bodybag. Cairo, Kaz, Odin? Sorry guys, bodybag. Fly, Orbit, Black? We’ll put ya bodybag in a bodybag.
I’m preaching to the fuckin choir here, ya’ll know what this tournament is. This is an Imperium showcase and every other team is a victim in its wake. I digress; handle my shit, that’s what I’ve been preaching right?
Danny Anderson, Caraid, the Dark Riders Gang. This was over the moment your name was pulled out of the hat alongside ours. Bodybags on deck for all of ya’ll.
You’re finished.
Offer you can't refuse
Joey pulls the slot machine once more and the sound of ringing bells makes him almost jump out of his seat. He looks around hoping no one else has heard the alarm bells ringing, when suddenly some fanfare music begins piping through the machine he is sat at.
Machine: WE HAVE A WINNER IN OUR MILLION DOLLAR SWEEPSTAKES!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Joey looks up with a confused glance, then around the casino as he sees a group of people gathering around him, a couple of scantily clad women appear with fake smiles on their face as a man in a suit comes striding through the small crowd, a large fake cheque in his hands.
Chequeman: We have a winner ladies and gentlemen; our jackpot has been claimed by the man sat at machine number 42! Give him a round of applause!
Joey looks incredulously round the room not knowing what to think.
Chequeman: Here you go sir, would you like to say a few words?
Joey: Uhhh, thank you to everyone who helped me get this far, praise be to god, thanks to my manager Buddy Roman, thanks to ICE Beckman, Zombie McMorris, and my new brothers Bobby Cairo, Odin Balfore and Kaz Mazy. Also Hank Brown for softening up the machine for me the stupid motherfucker!
Chequeman: W-What?!
Joey: Yes! Hank!
Suddenly a voice appears from the crowd.
Hank: NO! FUCK SAKE, IF I JUST KEPT PLAYING, LIONEL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!
Joey: I’m going to do this the right way Hank.
Joey grabs the cheque of $1,000,000 from the suited man and strolls over to the counter.
Joey: The Vapor Kings to win the Trios Cup…ONE MILLION DOLLARS!
Mouse: Okay.
Joey: YES!
Mouse: We don’t accept novelty fake cheques though.
Joey: Talk to this fucker.
He points to the suited man, turning to leave the casino. The uproar of the win is quickly dissipated in his mind as he headed back to the elevator to take him to his room. The weariness of the gambling and the degradation was close to wearing him out. As he stood waiting it dawned on him he had just pretty much given a million dollars away, Joey started to laugh to himself. Is this confidence, arrogance or the case of an addictive personality? Who knows. This tournament though? Joey Flash had everything to fight for, the World Champion was fighting by his side, the World Champion was his partner, his confidante…his prey. Everything was for this, DRG? A pebble in a sea they could never even hope to tread water in. The elevator dinged and stood staring him straight in the face was the horn rimmed glasses man from the poker table earlier, he smiled at Flash once more.
Glasses Man: I don’t think you’ll be enjoying the fight, Flash.
Joey stared the man straight in the eyes as their paths crossed and he stepped into the elevator. This was becoming more and more like something out of a cheesy mafia flick, as strange as it was these things tended to be scarily accurate. Joey couldn’t wait to get to the top of ride…3…2…1…ding. The doors opened and Joey hopped out of the elevator and strode with purpose toward his room, it took all of fifteen seconds to reach. He pulled the key from his pocket and turned the lock, pushing the door open he stepped inside and the sight that greeted him made his insides wanted to retch straight out of his body.
In the middle of the bed lay a naked young woman, her hands and feet tied to each corner of the bedpost like a roasting hog and her lifeblood was pooled next to her head. Joey didn’t even bother to take another step to understand the situation, the poor girl had died as a casualty of war here. They intended to set him up, both to Alessandra as a philanderer and for the murder of this woman, his room was paid for and he was due to check out tomorrow. There would be no fight being enjoyed here, you four eyed cunt. This was a message, one that Joey understood more than anything, ‘Sam’ huh? This shit ain’t dead, this shit ain’t dead at all. You want a war motherfucker? Fine.
You’ve got a war.
