Post by Corey Black on Jul 5, 2015 16:38:38 GMT -5
Russia. WCF Slam is taking place in Russia. It's surprisingly mild there, 70 degrees, surprising because when isn't it cold in Russia? Corey Black is walking the streets of Moscow in front of the Olympisky Arena with Jeff Purse. Jeff is a bit frantic, not exactly calm but not exactly composed. He's wearing typical stuff, a gray shirt, jeans, fancy shoes. Corey Black has cargo camo shorts, a Metallica shirt, and black Chucks. Corey stops and looks over at Jeff.
Corey Black
It's a baby, not a bomb.
Jeff Purse
I KNOW but dude. Come on.
Corey Black
I agree, it's a big deal, but you'll provide for the kid and Kari just fine. You're home a lot more now, and as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person, you'll cruise through WCF.
Jeff Purse
Yeah, yeah. I'm sure everything will be fine but I need a drink. Like vodka. Clean. Now.
Corey Black
You what? You don't drink at all.
Jeff Purse
I'm a father, I can do what I want. There's a bar around the way.
Indeed there is, just around the corner of the arena is a small Russian bar. Jeff and Corey walk in and take in the scenery. Lots of vodka lines the wall behind the bar itself, there's a few patrons sitting at tables, and they're all scowling. Not because a couple of Americans walked in, but because they live in Moscow, Russia. Jeff and Corey sit down at the bar, Jeff with his head in his hands.
Jeff Purse
I'm over here freaking out about something that'll probably be just fine, and you're over there being all calm while you fight a mountain in a few hours. How do you do it?
Corey Black
Well, I mean, win or lose - I'm still better than him. Like, if I win, then it's clear. But if I lose, he's got thirteen years to get to my level - he won't even scrape the surface.
Jeff Purse
Yeah but TV Title, bro.
Corey Black
What about it?
Jeff Purse
Ultimate Showdown..
Corey Black
That's a pipe dream, Jeff. It isn't even confirmed when the winner will fight the champion.
Jeff Purse
I'm just saying, bro. It could be filled to the brim with Pantheon.
Corey sits back in his chair and contemplates the implications. Jeff isn't wrong, there's a decent chance Pantheon could have four men in the Showdown. Plus Jonny Fly. Speaking of that guy.
Corey Black
So, Jonny Fly.
Jeff Purse
Dude.
Corey Black
I told you it was a bad idea, man. You put up a good shot but..
Jeff Purse
But vodka. Barkeep!
The bartender walks over and takes Pantheon's order. Vodka for Purse. Just vodka in a glass. Corey takes the usual Diet Coke. As soon as the vodka hits the bar, it is gone and Jeff is asking for another.
Jeff Purse
Babies and Jonny Fly and Thomas Bates GOD COREY what are we doing?! This place needs mopped, too.
Corey Black
Dude, chill out. It isn't that bad. You didn't get into the Showdown, but the rest of us might. Literally, the rest of us around might be able to do this. It'll all turn out okay in the end dude, you don't need to worry.
Jeff is almost falling out of his chair now. His eyes are droopy, his arms dropped to his side, and he starts giggling.
Corey Black
You had two drinks!
Jeff Purse
Two triple drinks.
Corey Black
Why the fuck! I have to fight Bates soon, I can't babysit you Jeff!
Jeff Purse
You can call Kari. She'll come get me.
Corey Black
SHE IS HALF WAY ACROSS THE WORLD JEFF!
Jeff Purse
Omega has a time machine, duh.
Corey Black
A time machine won't teleport people. It only messes with time.
Jeff Purse
Go into the future and see if my baby is a boy. I hope it is a boy. I'll call him Corey Jr, Jr.
Corey Black
You're going to name your baby after a pet dinosaur? Pet dinosaur... Pantheon is weirder than ever.
Jeff Purse
He'll be weakened by powerbombs and naps.
Corey Black
Jeff, you're drunk. Not fun drunk, you're ridiculous drunk.
Jeff Purse
You'll think ridiculous drunk when Thomas Bates sends you on a one way trip to the fuckin' moon, bro. Say whats up to 2Pac and Biggie in space for me.
Corey is taken back. He's not mad, he's confused. The bar has started to notice Jeff's drunken stupor, most brush it off because it is Moscow, Russia.
Corey Black
Bro. Dude. I'm going to beat Bates, I'm going to beat Steve Orbit, and then I'm going to beat Jonny Fly. Don't worry about me. Worry about you and Kari.
Jeff Purse slams a $20 on the table and starts walking out the door. Across the street are a bunch of motorcycles lined up in front of a building. Purse zeroes in on it, but Corey grabs his shoulder as Jeff goes to kick one of the bikes.
Corey Black
Nah bro, I did this already. It isn't worth it.
Jeff Purse
I can beat Bates, fuck that guy. He's big and he's dumb. I'll boot his brains out.
Corey Black
Bates isn't in there dude, that's just a bunch of bikers. I let the other guy out and went ape shit in Minneapolis, it isn't going to help anything.
Jeff Purse
Alright find me a baby.
Corey Black
We aren't finding a baby either, we need to get to the arena.
Jeff Purse
How's your elbow?!
Corey, again, standing there on the sidewalk in Moscow, confused as can be. He looks at Jeff, then to his elbow, then back to Jeff.
Corey Black
I'll be fine.
Jeff punches Corey's elbow. Corey winces a bit and then hits Jeff back. People walking the street swing out wide to avoid contact.
Jeff Purse
OW dude you hit me!
Corey Black
You hit me first dummy!
Jeff Purse
It was a test, you passed.
Corey Black
Jesus Christ, let's get to the arena.
Corey grabs Jeff's shirt and drags him back across the street to the arena. They walk up to the back door where a couple fans hound CD and ask for an autograph, this might be the first time he's ever been in Russia. Who knows? I sure don't. He probably doesn't know either, everything looks the same inside the squared circle. He could be in Chicago or Mars, it looks the same. After writing his name a few times, Corey turns to get Purse into the arena, and he's gone. No Jeff Purse to be seen at all. Corey frantically looks aroundthe crowd, searching for his drunken friend, to no avail. A door slams behind Corey, he turns and sees where Jeff has gone. Corey pushes his way through the crowd to the door and enters into complete darkness. Feeling around, Corey finds a lightswitch and there's Jeff Purse. Well, Jeff Purse's hand sticking up from behind a box. Inside Father Terry Andrews, Jeff's old puppet.
Corey Black
What in God's name..
Father Terry Andrews is dressed differently, though. He's draped in a piece of leather. Jeff makes the puppet speak.
Father Terry Andrews
Welcome to the DRG Clubhouse, Mr. Black! HAHAHA! Bikes and Confederate flags, hahahaha!
Corey Black
Jeff, what the fuck are you doing...
Father Thomas Bates
C'mon over here Corey, I'm gonna make you an astronaut with my fuckin' Boot you tiny bug bitch! HAHAHAHA!
Corey Black
Dude doesn't even sound like that, Jeff.
Father Thomas Bates
I talk how-eva I wan', boy. Let's start this match right now!
From somewhere, probably behind the box, a bell rings. Apparently this match is underway. Corey just stands there, while Jeff tries to thrust his hand toward him. He's a good twelve feet away.
Corey Black
What the hell is this place, even? We're in a weird room with a box. What's in the box?
Father Thomas Bates
MY BOOT IS IN THE BOX! Come here and eat it!
Corey calmly walks over and high fives Jeff, which technically is a slap in the face of Father Thomas Bates.
Father Thomas Bates
You think that harms me?! HAHAHA!
Corey Black
Alright Jeff, I'm bored of this. I'm heading to the arena. I can send someone to get you if you want.
Father Thomas Bates
Run away you swine! Where's my bike?
Corey turns to walk away, muttering to himself about how annoyed he is. He opens the door and thankfully the crowd is gone, Corey walks toward the arena and enters through the back door. A bunch of stagehands are scrambling around trying to get things ready for Slam tonight, almost bumping into Corey as he makes his way down the long hallway toward the dressing rooms. He finally makes it to the Pantheon locker room and pushes the door open to find - nobody. Not Omega, not Crow, not Richards - not even Jayson Price's decaying comatose body inside the Pantheon locker room. The door is kicked open, Father Thomas Bates comes from the side of the door.
Corey Black
Seriously?
Father Thomas Bates
I'M PISSED ABOUT LOSING MY TITLE. I'M PISSED ABOUT DRG! I'M PISSED NOW! My t-shirt is too tight too, Billy!
Corey Black
Jeff, seriously. You're almost a dad.
Corey grabs the puppet off of Jeff's arm and throws it to the side. Jeff's bottom lip sticks out, sadness overwhelms his face. Corey grabs his shirt and tosses Jeff on the couch, as soon as Purse's head hits the couch he's sleeping. In walks Scarecrow, thankfully.
Corey Black
Crow, yes, fuck. Watch Jeff. If he wakes up, hold him down. He's a bit ... puppety.
Corey points to Father Thomas Bates laying on the floor. Crow facepalms and nods, giving his approval and confidence. Corey nods back, and heads out the door toward the ring area. Workers are still running cables and trying to put up lights, but the ring itself is set up, and Corey takes this time to get a little workout in. He slides inside the ring, does a stretch or two, and hits the ropes. His right arm is bring protected just a little bit, but Corey shakes his arm out and goes to the turnbuckle to unleash an elbow shot to the top buckle. He winces a bit but fires off another. Then a third, the wincing has stopped. For good measure Corey bounces off the middle rope and nails a backflip into the middle of the ring, he seems to be near one hundred percent. Corey pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, sets it up on one of the top turnbuckles, and begins recording himself.
Corey Black
The driving question for the last few weeks is just one word long. "Why?" It's obvious. I don't think Thomas Uriel Bates can get the job done without his merry band of nobodies by his side. It isn't that I want to take Thomas out to the woodshed and put him out of his misery. I just want to see for myself if he's all hype and zero ability. You're Ivan Drago, I'm Rocky Balboa. The giant verses the tiny veteran. I'm going to single handily end this Cold War between DRG and nobody in particular, because you're a bunch of pussies. Snuffing this shit out before it can even begin.
This man is almost seven feet tall. He's four hundred and thirty some-odd pounds of pure, unadulterated ass-kicking muscle. "The Impassible Mountain" is what he's called. "Short Stack" is what he was recently called.. hilarious. He's still tall as fuck and built to move planets. Yet he still surrounds himself with people because his daddy threw away his security blanket when he was thirteen. If I was as big and as badass as this guy, I wouldn't need Pantheon. Shit I wouldn't need WCF, I'd be living on an underwater base with a space laser pointed at the White House demanding sanctuary and cash. That's what I call 'living up to your potential.' Which is exactly why I asked for this match. I want to unlock Bates' true potential, to see for myself if I still have it. It isn't about stable wars, or even the TV Title - even though that is very enticing. I picked this biggest and baddest in hopes I have a true challenge in one on one competition. I've spent years outclassing people like Adam Young and Doc Henry, while sticking to tag matches for the actual challenges. I've been known for years as the best tag wrestler in WCF, it's about time these new guys see what I can do on my own. Thomas Bates, you're number one on that list. It continues to Steve Orbit at XIII, and hopefully Jonny Fly somewhere in between or shortly after.
I was all about this match until the last few weeks where some no-named assclown kicked out of the Bates Boot. All this talk about sending me to the moon with the boot of the Gods, yet here's this Abaddon, a no-name Street Fighter reject, absorbing that foot and nearly laughing it off. You know how many low-level nobodies have kicked out of the Burning Hammer? Or even an elbow flurry? I'm going with zero. None. That's because when I call my shots, I sure as hell come through with them. I might not be able to lift your tank-ass, but I sure as hell can get my elbow to your skull, Bates. Throw your leg up and kick me to the moon, I dare you. It'll just give me more elevation to drive my elbow through your brain. Fuckin' Abaddon, are you kidding me? I thought you were an Impassible Mountain, not a goddamn foothill. Now you're making me look bad for picking a fight with a guy that needed two Boots to put down a literal rookie. At least you're still the TV Champ, right?
Wrong. Bloody hell Bates, why? You barely beat Abaddon, and then you get totally outclassed by Howard Black? Thanks, Thomas. Way to make me look like a complete dumbass. I'd love to hear how you thinking you can beat me when you can't even defeat Howard 'Discount Corey' Black. It probably has a lot to do with Trios, how I don't have any partners now, how you grew up in the industry, and how your dad used to job to Logan in the 1940's. Well la-dee-fucking-da, Thomas, you want a graham cracker with that marshmallow fluff? Your past means just about as much as everyone thinks mine does. Difference is mine is well documented. The company you work for was built by my hands. Your entire existence is the wrestling business - mine is WCF. You're not going to kick down the door to my house and stomp around with your chest puffed out until you put me down to the mat for a three count.
This is me and you, one on one. You're either going to prove your worth to the reigning Icon in this piece, or you're gonna get decimated again and potentially fade into obscurity. I wish I could say I wan't putting my tongue firmly in my cheek earlier when I was talking about how big and bad you are, but clearly I was. You're a flash in the pan, Bates, a walking contradiction. DRG is a joke and you know it. You surround yourself with better wrestlers to look good in the end - I surround myself with better wrestlers because the future of this company needs guidance. For the second time, we're reaching out to people not even on this roster and giving them a shot at glory. What are you doing with your group? No, seriously, what are you guys doing, because I have absolutely no idea. Rumor is you're caught up in drugs and murder. You ever wonder why everyone under the sun makes Sons of Anarchy jokes? It's because you're the show incarnated. And I'm not talking about shitty bikers being douchebags, I mean the show is over, just like your hype, bitch.
Am I supposed to be impressed by the fact that your team beat my team for the Trios win? I would be, if anything came of it. As it stands, the win gained you and your team nothing but a bunch of ass kickings. The Dark Riders beat three guys that stomped the competition while fighting with each other the entire tournament - and got a title ceremony. That's it. Nobody got Tag belts, nobody got World, nothing happened. The entire thing is null and void, and frankly, you probably won't even defend that tournament victory. Oneor all of you three won't even be around to do it. I've seen your kind for years now, you come in and dominate the midcard, but as soon as you get a sniff of the main event scene - and you get decimated - you tuck your tail between your legs and jet on our of here for somewhere filled with talentless hacks that couldn't even lace up Rick Mad's boots. Where do you think Beckman and Cairo went? They knew they couldn't keep up with the up and coming crop of talent, so they hit the bricks and fucked off to who-cares-ville. DRG, the same fuckin' thing. Maybe Spencer will be around. Your youngboy will be the one that outlasts the entire gang. I said it during Trios and it still rings the same. You're not cut out for WCF. You never will be, no matter how much you think you will. You're a come and go crybaby boohoo whiner.
I see you on the internet, trying to convey the message about the Confederate flag and spouting about 'duders' like you know what it's like to be black - all while getting destroyed by Bubba fucking Jones. The flag is not a scapegoat, it is a symbol of a bullshit past and you know it. Over the last dozens of years, it has become a symbol of slavery and redneck douchebags. But you already knew that. You're just a shitty bigot like the rest of them. What's next, you don't think the gays should be able to marry because the bible says so? Guess what dude, the bible also says you SHOULDN'T OWN PEOPLE BECAUSE THEY'RE BLACK. Maybe not word for word but you get the Goddamn picture. Get the fuck out of here with that shit, G. Attach that flag to your bike and drive off a cliff. But make sure you break that awkward sexual tension you have going with Mikey eXtreme. It's okay, the entire country legalized it now. Maybe the stigma will wear off soon. Don't forget to get a midget to toss for your reception. I bet the rest of the DRG would appreciate the fun on your special day. Take your boyfriends out and buy some plastic balls to hang from the back of your bikes and trucks.
The more and more I talk about you, the more this turns from wanting to see if I have it against a big badass, to this becoming about you not knowing your place in WCF or life as a whole. I made it a point to mention how I was impressed that you're not on the internet talking shit to me. But here you are, talking shit about the views of some logical Americans. If you're willing to get into a words scuffle with them - and not me - only thing that can be certain is that you know I'll fucking eviscerate you. How about I elbow your monkey ass back to the 1880s when that flag means a fuck? Or how about 2004 so you can see Corey Black in his prime - and get jobbersmashed back to 2015 to see Corey Black IN HIS FUCKING PRIME. You're not fighting La Parka here, Bates, I'm a bonafide Hall of Fame ass crusher. You're a former TV Champion, leader of a stable so weak you're lower on the totem pole than broken ass Imperium. Am I supposed to be impressed? Your best attribute is dedication to looking like a bro. Go listen to Five Finger Death Punch and wear your tank tops somewhere else.
Nevermind the fact that your entire group of weirdos worship you like some kind of diety, but the fact that they suckle your teet like it is the last food on Earth makes me sick. All you guys do is play dress up and be fucking posers. It's almost like you go all Norman Bates and dress up like a woman to entice these jackasses to stay. You're a regular Bruce Jenner, Thomas, except he has more balls than you do. The last time you had something to say about me you didn't have an original thought in the whole spiel. This time will be no different, I assume, but let me lay this out nice and fucking clear for you. You're not better than me, Bates. Win or lose, deep down in the pit of your stomach you know goddamn well that everything I have said here today is right. You're a cult leader and it isn't even a fun cult, like Scientology. At least they have Tom Cruise. DRG has Thomas Bates, the towering mass. As the TMNT Security will surely tell you - the bigger they are ... the harder they fall. Your fall is epic so far, Thomas. One Black guy took you out, and a second is on the horizon. We could get Steve Orbit back here and make it a trifecta, but of course you'd just bitch and moan because he isn't washing your bike like a good little slave boy should. You could attack Isaiah Chavis because he prefers to put penis in his mouth instead of tits, because the bible said it's bad. Your close minded mentality will get you nothing but hatred, Thomas, no matter what 'good' you say your 'club' does. Sell your ideas to the rest of your little cult, ruin the promising lives of ... uh ... well okay none of those guys are promising at all, I guess, but the point stands. Your little group has got people killed. Don't fuck around, I hear stuff. You're not a good guy at all. Hell you're barely a decent wrestler. You might think my career is coming to an end, and yours is just taking off, but you've got another thing coming, homeboy. When I outlast your bitch ass in WCF, I'll come find you. Wherever you are. Whatever rathole will sign you. I'll find you, and I'll bring you a golden boot with ruby trimming. That way you'll know who your real daddy is. He sure as shit is a former World Champion, a Hall of Fame wrestler, and there's no doubt in my mind he could fist your mother's twat. No, not the one you're thinking of - Corey Black is your fuckin' daddy, Bates. WELCOME HOME!
Corey throws his arms out and walks around the WCF ring a little bit. That is his home, and he is going to welcome Thomas Bates to his house. Probably with an elbow. Corey stops the recording and drops down, rolling out of the ring. Back to the backstage area, into the Pantheon locker room, where most of the rest of the team has gathered. Jay Omega and Scarecrow are holding Alex Richards' foot high in the air, startling Corey Black as he walks in. Jeff Purse is awake and laughing his ass off.
Jeff Purse
That's what you have to look forward to, buddy! Haha! Where's my puppet?
Alex Richards
The Richards Boot is coming for you, Corey!
Omega, Crow and Alex all somehow shimmy toward Corey very slowly, all laughing. Corey Matrix limbo dodges out of the way, but somehow falls to the ground and rolls to the side. Pantheon Boot turns around and comes for another shot, but Corey tilts his head to the right just a little bit, the boot missing by about three inches. Jeff puts Father Thomas Bates on Richards' foot and they come back for a third pass. This time Corey lets the Puppet Bates Boot connect, and he pretends to launch into space. By space I mean he leaps on a table and starts moving very slowly.
Corey Black
Pantheon.. we have a problem.. Corey Black is floating around in space, Thomas Bates sent me into orbit.. somehow it is blacker than Steve Orbit out here..
Jay Omega
Should I send Tesla?
Corey Black
It isn't safe out here, Jay.. my only chance is rebuilding a colony here in space. No boots allowed, though. Nobody can wear shoes. I can't bare to see another shoe.
Pantheon begins pelting Corey Black with their shoes. He tries to cover or dodge but it's too much. That's like eight shoes, dude.
Corey Black
Oh god it is too much! I'm in an asteroid shower of shoes! AAAHHHHH!
Corey drops off the table and slowly floats to the couch where Purse passed out. Alex Richards lifts Corey up and onto his shoulder then begins spinning. Jeff watches intently and vomits into the garbage can. Alex puts Corey down and slaps him on the back.
Alex Richards
Now you know how it feels to be in actual orbit, Corey!
Scarecrow
You doofuses, dude has a gigantic match, and here we are playing games.
Corey Black
Well, to be fair, this is like Tuesday for me. I know I asked for it, but this guy is so far below me.
Scarecrow
So far below you that he's going to send you to the moon and get his TV Title back?
Corey Black
More power to him if he does. What do I really have to prove here? Everything I need is in this room. Your success is my success, if I happen to have a chance to put gold on my waist then cool. It isn't what I am after. I need this place to have a future if my legacy is to remain alive. You ever been outside WCF? Literally nobody gives a fuck. I can be a fifteen year veteran, a five time champion, and nothing matters because they don't know about it. You ask anyone outside this company and they'll scoff at the name Corey Black because they just don't know. I am WCF, WCF is me - as long as WCF is alive and thriving, I am alive and thriving. I don't think the DRG's mission is to take WCF down, but they're not good for this place. I want to cut the snake's head off, that's it. Take down Bates, they crumble along with him. He is exposed as nothing more than muscled up hype, the rest of the guys see he can't beat a fucking part-time wrestler that picks and chooses who he fights, they doubt their leader, and the DRG crumbles at our feet. It's simple as fuck. Any one of you guys could be in this spot, but it will sting that much more when I topple this mountain. With DRG out of the way, Imperium almost dead in the water, Sentinels doing their own thing - we're the best once again. We're the best now, but after the DRG goes down, there's nobody to challenge it and we can get back to doing what we do best. Proving the doubters wrong and making this roster our bitch. This day will be ours, gentlemen. Follow me into battle and reap the rewards. This day, this very night - the bell tolls for Thomas Bates and DRG as a whole.
Corey throws his fist into the air, followed by the rest of Pantheon following suit. Even Jeff Purse, who just finished barfing.
Corey Black
We fight alone, we fight as one, it doesn't matter - we are the best in this company. If I have to show that by risking my ass against men like Thomas Bates, Steve Orbit and Jonny Fly then so be it. You guys do it week in and week out, it is the least I can do after what happened with Trios and Jayson Price. Good luck tonight, gentleman. May the battle be glorious. May the rewards be many. First the DRG, then Ultimate Showdown, War, One, and the whole fucking world. WCF is ours for the taking, we are primed and ready to move this bitch into the next step. You men are ready to take the lead, the main event scene - the World Title - is yours for the taking. Step up. Take what is yours. My gift to you is the knowledge and the drive to succeed beyond your wildest dreams! And it begins tonight. With Thomas. Uriel. Bates.
Each member of Pantheon lets off a primal yell, supporting each other by way of their vocal chords. They all break off and charge out the door, all of them except Corey Black. Corey stays behind and walks over to his bag, pulling out the elbow webbing cast. Disgusted, Corey tosses the cast into the garbage and slams his left fist into his right elbow. The fight of Bates' life is a-fuckin'-foot.
Corey Black
It's a baby, not a bomb.
Jeff Purse
I KNOW but dude. Come on.
Corey Black
I agree, it's a big deal, but you'll provide for the kid and Kari just fine. You're home a lot more now, and as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person, you'll cruise through WCF.
Jeff Purse
Yeah, yeah. I'm sure everything will be fine but I need a drink. Like vodka. Clean. Now.
Corey Black
You what? You don't drink at all.
Jeff Purse
I'm a father, I can do what I want. There's a bar around the way.
Indeed there is, just around the corner of the arena is a small Russian bar. Jeff and Corey walk in and take in the scenery. Lots of vodka lines the wall behind the bar itself, there's a few patrons sitting at tables, and they're all scowling. Not because a couple of Americans walked in, but because they live in Moscow, Russia. Jeff and Corey sit down at the bar, Jeff with his head in his hands.
Jeff Purse
I'm over here freaking out about something that'll probably be just fine, and you're over there being all calm while you fight a mountain in a few hours. How do you do it?
Corey Black
Well, I mean, win or lose - I'm still better than him. Like, if I win, then it's clear. But if I lose, he's got thirteen years to get to my level - he won't even scrape the surface.
Jeff Purse
Yeah but TV Title, bro.
Corey Black
What about it?
Jeff Purse
Ultimate Showdown..
Corey Black
That's a pipe dream, Jeff. It isn't even confirmed when the winner will fight the champion.
Jeff Purse
I'm just saying, bro. It could be filled to the brim with Pantheon.
Corey sits back in his chair and contemplates the implications. Jeff isn't wrong, there's a decent chance Pantheon could have four men in the Showdown. Plus Jonny Fly. Speaking of that guy.
Corey Black
So, Jonny Fly.
Jeff Purse
Dude.
Corey Black
I told you it was a bad idea, man. You put up a good shot but..
Jeff Purse
But vodka. Barkeep!
The bartender walks over and takes Pantheon's order. Vodka for Purse. Just vodka in a glass. Corey takes the usual Diet Coke. As soon as the vodka hits the bar, it is gone and Jeff is asking for another.
Jeff Purse
Babies and Jonny Fly and Thomas Bates GOD COREY what are we doing?! This place needs mopped, too.
Corey Black
Dude, chill out. It isn't that bad. You didn't get into the Showdown, but the rest of us might. Literally, the rest of us around might be able to do this. It'll all turn out okay in the end dude, you don't need to worry.
Jeff is almost falling out of his chair now. His eyes are droopy, his arms dropped to his side, and he starts giggling.
Corey Black
You had two drinks!
Jeff Purse
Two triple drinks.
Corey Black
Why the fuck! I have to fight Bates soon, I can't babysit you Jeff!
Jeff Purse
You can call Kari. She'll come get me.
Corey Black
SHE IS HALF WAY ACROSS THE WORLD JEFF!
Jeff Purse
Omega has a time machine, duh.
Corey Black
A time machine won't teleport people. It only messes with time.
Jeff Purse
Go into the future and see if my baby is a boy. I hope it is a boy. I'll call him Corey Jr, Jr.
Corey Black
You're going to name your baby after a pet dinosaur? Pet dinosaur... Pantheon is weirder than ever.
Jeff Purse
He'll be weakened by powerbombs and naps.
Corey Black
Jeff, you're drunk. Not fun drunk, you're ridiculous drunk.
Jeff Purse
You'll think ridiculous drunk when Thomas Bates sends you on a one way trip to the fuckin' moon, bro. Say whats up to 2Pac and Biggie in space for me.
Corey is taken back. He's not mad, he's confused. The bar has started to notice Jeff's drunken stupor, most brush it off because it is Moscow, Russia.
Corey Black
Bro. Dude. I'm going to beat Bates, I'm going to beat Steve Orbit, and then I'm going to beat Jonny Fly. Don't worry about me. Worry about you and Kari.
Jeff Purse slams a $20 on the table and starts walking out the door. Across the street are a bunch of motorcycles lined up in front of a building. Purse zeroes in on it, but Corey grabs his shoulder as Jeff goes to kick one of the bikes.
Corey Black
Nah bro, I did this already. It isn't worth it.
Jeff Purse
I can beat Bates, fuck that guy. He's big and he's dumb. I'll boot his brains out.
Corey Black
Bates isn't in there dude, that's just a bunch of bikers. I let the other guy out and went ape shit in Minneapolis, it isn't going to help anything.
Jeff Purse
Alright find me a baby.
Corey Black
We aren't finding a baby either, we need to get to the arena.
Jeff Purse
How's your elbow?!
Corey, again, standing there on the sidewalk in Moscow, confused as can be. He looks at Jeff, then to his elbow, then back to Jeff.
Corey Black
I'll be fine.
Jeff punches Corey's elbow. Corey winces a bit and then hits Jeff back. People walking the street swing out wide to avoid contact.
Jeff Purse
OW dude you hit me!
Corey Black
You hit me first dummy!
Jeff Purse
It was a test, you passed.
Corey Black
Jesus Christ, let's get to the arena.
Corey grabs Jeff's shirt and drags him back across the street to the arena. They walk up to the back door where a couple fans hound CD and ask for an autograph, this might be the first time he's ever been in Russia. Who knows? I sure don't. He probably doesn't know either, everything looks the same inside the squared circle. He could be in Chicago or Mars, it looks the same. After writing his name a few times, Corey turns to get Purse into the arena, and he's gone. No Jeff Purse to be seen at all. Corey frantically looks aroundthe crowd, searching for his drunken friend, to no avail. A door slams behind Corey, he turns and sees where Jeff has gone. Corey pushes his way through the crowd to the door and enters into complete darkness. Feeling around, Corey finds a lightswitch and there's Jeff Purse. Well, Jeff Purse's hand sticking up from behind a box. Inside Father Terry Andrews, Jeff's old puppet.
Corey Black
What in God's name..
Father Terry Andrews is dressed differently, though. He's draped in a piece of leather. Jeff makes the puppet speak.
Father Terry Andrews
Welcome to the DRG Clubhouse, Mr. Black! HAHAHA! Bikes and Confederate flags, hahahaha!
Corey Black
Jeff, what the fuck are you doing...
Father Thomas Bates
C'mon over here Corey, I'm gonna make you an astronaut with my fuckin' Boot you tiny bug bitch! HAHAHAHA!
Corey Black
Dude doesn't even sound like that, Jeff.
Father Thomas Bates
I talk how-eva I wan', boy. Let's start this match right now!
From somewhere, probably behind the box, a bell rings. Apparently this match is underway. Corey just stands there, while Jeff tries to thrust his hand toward him. He's a good twelve feet away.
Corey Black
What the hell is this place, even? We're in a weird room with a box. What's in the box?
Father Thomas Bates
MY BOOT IS IN THE BOX! Come here and eat it!
Corey calmly walks over and high fives Jeff, which technically is a slap in the face of Father Thomas Bates.
Father Thomas Bates
You think that harms me?! HAHAHA!
Corey Black
Alright Jeff, I'm bored of this. I'm heading to the arena. I can send someone to get you if you want.
Father Thomas Bates
Run away you swine! Where's my bike?
Corey turns to walk away, muttering to himself about how annoyed he is. He opens the door and thankfully the crowd is gone, Corey walks toward the arena and enters through the back door. A bunch of stagehands are scrambling around trying to get things ready for Slam tonight, almost bumping into Corey as he makes his way down the long hallway toward the dressing rooms. He finally makes it to the Pantheon locker room and pushes the door open to find - nobody. Not Omega, not Crow, not Richards - not even Jayson Price's decaying comatose body inside the Pantheon locker room. The door is kicked open, Father Thomas Bates comes from the side of the door.
Corey Black
Seriously?
Father Thomas Bates
I'M PISSED ABOUT LOSING MY TITLE. I'M PISSED ABOUT DRG! I'M PISSED NOW! My t-shirt is too tight too, Billy!
Corey Black
Jeff, seriously. You're almost a dad.
Corey grabs the puppet off of Jeff's arm and throws it to the side. Jeff's bottom lip sticks out, sadness overwhelms his face. Corey grabs his shirt and tosses Jeff on the couch, as soon as Purse's head hits the couch he's sleeping. In walks Scarecrow, thankfully.
Corey Black
Crow, yes, fuck. Watch Jeff. If he wakes up, hold him down. He's a bit ... puppety.
Corey points to Father Thomas Bates laying on the floor. Crow facepalms and nods, giving his approval and confidence. Corey nods back, and heads out the door toward the ring area. Workers are still running cables and trying to put up lights, but the ring itself is set up, and Corey takes this time to get a little workout in. He slides inside the ring, does a stretch or two, and hits the ropes. His right arm is bring protected just a little bit, but Corey shakes his arm out and goes to the turnbuckle to unleash an elbow shot to the top buckle. He winces a bit but fires off another. Then a third, the wincing has stopped. For good measure Corey bounces off the middle rope and nails a backflip into the middle of the ring, he seems to be near one hundred percent. Corey pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, sets it up on one of the top turnbuckles, and begins recording himself.
Corey Black
The driving question for the last few weeks is just one word long. "Why?" It's obvious. I don't think Thomas Uriel Bates can get the job done without his merry band of nobodies by his side. It isn't that I want to take Thomas out to the woodshed and put him out of his misery. I just want to see for myself if he's all hype and zero ability. You're Ivan Drago, I'm Rocky Balboa. The giant verses the tiny veteran. I'm going to single handily end this Cold War between DRG and nobody in particular, because you're a bunch of pussies. Snuffing this shit out before it can even begin.
This man is almost seven feet tall. He's four hundred and thirty some-odd pounds of pure, unadulterated ass-kicking muscle. "The Impassible Mountain" is what he's called. "Short Stack" is what he was recently called.. hilarious. He's still tall as fuck and built to move planets. Yet he still surrounds himself with people because his daddy threw away his security blanket when he was thirteen. If I was as big and as badass as this guy, I wouldn't need Pantheon. Shit I wouldn't need WCF, I'd be living on an underwater base with a space laser pointed at the White House demanding sanctuary and cash. That's what I call 'living up to your potential.' Which is exactly why I asked for this match. I want to unlock Bates' true potential, to see for myself if I still have it. It isn't about stable wars, or even the TV Title - even though that is very enticing. I picked this biggest and baddest in hopes I have a true challenge in one on one competition. I've spent years outclassing people like Adam Young and Doc Henry, while sticking to tag matches for the actual challenges. I've been known for years as the best tag wrestler in WCF, it's about time these new guys see what I can do on my own. Thomas Bates, you're number one on that list. It continues to Steve Orbit at XIII, and hopefully Jonny Fly somewhere in between or shortly after.
I was all about this match until the last few weeks where some no-named assclown kicked out of the Bates Boot. All this talk about sending me to the moon with the boot of the Gods, yet here's this Abaddon, a no-name Street Fighter reject, absorbing that foot and nearly laughing it off. You know how many low-level nobodies have kicked out of the Burning Hammer? Or even an elbow flurry? I'm going with zero. None. That's because when I call my shots, I sure as hell come through with them. I might not be able to lift your tank-ass, but I sure as hell can get my elbow to your skull, Bates. Throw your leg up and kick me to the moon, I dare you. It'll just give me more elevation to drive my elbow through your brain. Fuckin' Abaddon, are you kidding me? I thought you were an Impassible Mountain, not a goddamn foothill. Now you're making me look bad for picking a fight with a guy that needed two Boots to put down a literal rookie. At least you're still the TV Champ, right?
Wrong. Bloody hell Bates, why? You barely beat Abaddon, and then you get totally outclassed by Howard Black? Thanks, Thomas. Way to make me look like a complete dumbass. I'd love to hear how you thinking you can beat me when you can't even defeat Howard 'Discount Corey' Black. It probably has a lot to do with Trios, how I don't have any partners now, how you grew up in the industry, and how your dad used to job to Logan in the 1940's. Well la-dee-fucking-da, Thomas, you want a graham cracker with that marshmallow fluff? Your past means just about as much as everyone thinks mine does. Difference is mine is well documented. The company you work for was built by my hands. Your entire existence is the wrestling business - mine is WCF. You're not going to kick down the door to my house and stomp around with your chest puffed out until you put me down to the mat for a three count.
This is me and you, one on one. You're either going to prove your worth to the reigning Icon in this piece, or you're gonna get decimated again and potentially fade into obscurity. I wish I could say I wan't putting my tongue firmly in my cheek earlier when I was talking about how big and bad you are, but clearly I was. You're a flash in the pan, Bates, a walking contradiction. DRG is a joke and you know it. You surround yourself with better wrestlers to look good in the end - I surround myself with better wrestlers because the future of this company needs guidance. For the second time, we're reaching out to people not even on this roster and giving them a shot at glory. What are you doing with your group? No, seriously, what are you guys doing, because I have absolutely no idea. Rumor is you're caught up in drugs and murder. You ever wonder why everyone under the sun makes Sons of Anarchy jokes? It's because you're the show incarnated. And I'm not talking about shitty bikers being douchebags, I mean the show is over, just like your hype, bitch.
Am I supposed to be impressed by the fact that your team beat my team for the Trios win? I would be, if anything came of it. As it stands, the win gained you and your team nothing but a bunch of ass kickings. The Dark Riders beat three guys that stomped the competition while fighting with each other the entire tournament - and got a title ceremony. That's it. Nobody got Tag belts, nobody got World, nothing happened. The entire thing is null and void, and frankly, you probably won't even defend that tournament victory. Oneor all of you three won't even be around to do it. I've seen your kind for years now, you come in and dominate the midcard, but as soon as you get a sniff of the main event scene - and you get decimated - you tuck your tail between your legs and jet on our of here for somewhere filled with talentless hacks that couldn't even lace up Rick Mad's boots. Where do you think Beckman and Cairo went? They knew they couldn't keep up with the up and coming crop of talent, so they hit the bricks and fucked off to who-cares-ville. DRG, the same fuckin' thing. Maybe Spencer will be around. Your youngboy will be the one that outlasts the entire gang. I said it during Trios and it still rings the same. You're not cut out for WCF. You never will be, no matter how much you think you will. You're a come and go crybaby boohoo whiner.
I see you on the internet, trying to convey the message about the Confederate flag and spouting about 'duders' like you know what it's like to be black - all while getting destroyed by Bubba fucking Jones. The flag is not a scapegoat, it is a symbol of a bullshit past and you know it. Over the last dozens of years, it has become a symbol of slavery and redneck douchebags. But you already knew that. You're just a shitty bigot like the rest of them. What's next, you don't think the gays should be able to marry because the bible says so? Guess what dude, the bible also says you SHOULDN'T OWN PEOPLE BECAUSE THEY'RE BLACK. Maybe not word for word but you get the Goddamn picture. Get the fuck out of here with that shit, G. Attach that flag to your bike and drive off a cliff. But make sure you break that awkward sexual tension you have going with Mikey eXtreme. It's okay, the entire country legalized it now. Maybe the stigma will wear off soon. Don't forget to get a midget to toss for your reception. I bet the rest of the DRG would appreciate the fun on your special day. Take your boyfriends out and buy some plastic balls to hang from the back of your bikes and trucks.
The more and more I talk about you, the more this turns from wanting to see if I have it against a big badass, to this becoming about you not knowing your place in WCF or life as a whole. I made it a point to mention how I was impressed that you're not on the internet talking shit to me. But here you are, talking shit about the views of some logical Americans. If you're willing to get into a words scuffle with them - and not me - only thing that can be certain is that you know I'll fucking eviscerate you. How about I elbow your monkey ass back to the 1880s when that flag means a fuck? Or how about 2004 so you can see Corey Black in his prime - and get jobbersmashed back to 2015 to see Corey Black IN HIS FUCKING PRIME. You're not fighting La Parka here, Bates, I'm a bonafide Hall of Fame ass crusher. You're a former TV Champion, leader of a stable so weak you're lower on the totem pole than broken ass Imperium. Am I supposed to be impressed? Your best attribute is dedication to looking like a bro. Go listen to Five Finger Death Punch and wear your tank tops somewhere else.
Nevermind the fact that your entire group of weirdos worship you like some kind of diety, but the fact that they suckle your teet like it is the last food on Earth makes me sick. All you guys do is play dress up and be fucking posers. It's almost like you go all Norman Bates and dress up like a woman to entice these jackasses to stay. You're a regular Bruce Jenner, Thomas, except he has more balls than you do. The last time you had something to say about me you didn't have an original thought in the whole spiel. This time will be no different, I assume, but let me lay this out nice and fucking clear for you. You're not better than me, Bates. Win or lose, deep down in the pit of your stomach you know goddamn well that everything I have said here today is right. You're a cult leader and it isn't even a fun cult, like Scientology. At least they have Tom Cruise. DRG has Thomas Bates, the towering mass. As the TMNT Security will surely tell you - the bigger they are ... the harder they fall. Your fall is epic so far, Thomas. One Black guy took you out, and a second is on the horizon. We could get Steve Orbit back here and make it a trifecta, but of course you'd just bitch and moan because he isn't washing your bike like a good little slave boy should. You could attack Isaiah Chavis because he prefers to put penis in his mouth instead of tits, because the bible said it's bad. Your close minded mentality will get you nothing but hatred, Thomas, no matter what 'good' you say your 'club' does. Sell your ideas to the rest of your little cult, ruin the promising lives of ... uh ... well okay none of those guys are promising at all, I guess, but the point stands. Your little group has got people killed. Don't fuck around, I hear stuff. You're not a good guy at all. Hell you're barely a decent wrestler. You might think my career is coming to an end, and yours is just taking off, but you've got another thing coming, homeboy. When I outlast your bitch ass in WCF, I'll come find you. Wherever you are. Whatever rathole will sign you. I'll find you, and I'll bring you a golden boot with ruby trimming. That way you'll know who your real daddy is. He sure as shit is a former World Champion, a Hall of Fame wrestler, and there's no doubt in my mind he could fist your mother's twat. No, not the one you're thinking of - Corey Black is your fuckin' daddy, Bates. WELCOME HOME!
Corey throws his arms out and walks around the WCF ring a little bit. That is his home, and he is going to welcome Thomas Bates to his house. Probably with an elbow. Corey stops the recording and drops down, rolling out of the ring. Back to the backstage area, into the Pantheon locker room, where most of the rest of the team has gathered. Jay Omega and Scarecrow are holding Alex Richards' foot high in the air, startling Corey Black as he walks in. Jeff Purse is awake and laughing his ass off.
Jeff Purse
That's what you have to look forward to, buddy! Haha! Where's my puppet?
Alex Richards
The Richards Boot is coming for you, Corey!
Omega, Crow and Alex all somehow shimmy toward Corey very slowly, all laughing. Corey Matrix limbo dodges out of the way, but somehow falls to the ground and rolls to the side. Pantheon Boot turns around and comes for another shot, but Corey tilts his head to the right just a little bit, the boot missing by about three inches. Jeff puts Father Thomas Bates on Richards' foot and they come back for a third pass. This time Corey lets the Puppet Bates Boot connect, and he pretends to launch into space. By space I mean he leaps on a table and starts moving very slowly.
Corey Black
Pantheon.. we have a problem.. Corey Black is floating around in space, Thomas Bates sent me into orbit.. somehow it is blacker than Steve Orbit out here..
Jay Omega
Should I send Tesla?
Corey Black
It isn't safe out here, Jay.. my only chance is rebuilding a colony here in space. No boots allowed, though. Nobody can wear shoes. I can't bare to see another shoe.
Pantheon begins pelting Corey Black with their shoes. He tries to cover or dodge but it's too much. That's like eight shoes, dude.
Corey Black
Oh god it is too much! I'm in an asteroid shower of shoes! AAAHHHHH!
Corey drops off the table and slowly floats to the couch where Purse passed out. Alex Richards lifts Corey up and onto his shoulder then begins spinning. Jeff watches intently and vomits into the garbage can. Alex puts Corey down and slaps him on the back.
Alex Richards
Now you know how it feels to be in actual orbit, Corey!
Scarecrow
You doofuses, dude has a gigantic match, and here we are playing games.
Corey Black
Well, to be fair, this is like Tuesday for me. I know I asked for it, but this guy is so far below me.
Scarecrow
So far below you that he's going to send you to the moon and get his TV Title back?
Corey Black
More power to him if he does. What do I really have to prove here? Everything I need is in this room. Your success is my success, if I happen to have a chance to put gold on my waist then cool. It isn't what I am after. I need this place to have a future if my legacy is to remain alive. You ever been outside WCF? Literally nobody gives a fuck. I can be a fifteen year veteran, a five time champion, and nothing matters because they don't know about it. You ask anyone outside this company and they'll scoff at the name Corey Black because they just don't know. I am WCF, WCF is me - as long as WCF is alive and thriving, I am alive and thriving. I don't think the DRG's mission is to take WCF down, but they're not good for this place. I want to cut the snake's head off, that's it. Take down Bates, they crumble along with him. He is exposed as nothing more than muscled up hype, the rest of the guys see he can't beat a fucking part-time wrestler that picks and chooses who he fights, they doubt their leader, and the DRG crumbles at our feet. It's simple as fuck. Any one of you guys could be in this spot, but it will sting that much more when I topple this mountain. With DRG out of the way, Imperium almost dead in the water, Sentinels doing their own thing - we're the best once again. We're the best now, but after the DRG goes down, there's nobody to challenge it and we can get back to doing what we do best. Proving the doubters wrong and making this roster our bitch. This day will be ours, gentlemen. Follow me into battle and reap the rewards. This day, this very night - the bell tolls for Thomas Bates and DRG as a whole.
Corey throws his fist into the air, followed by the rest of Pantheon following suit. Even Jeff Purse, who just finished barfing.
Corey Black
We fight alone, we fight as one, it doesn't matter - we are the best in this company. If I have to show that by risking my ass against men like Thomas Bates, Steve Orbit and Jonny Fly then so be it. You guys do it week in and week out, it is the least I can do after what happened with Trios and Jayson Price. Good luck tonight, gentleman. May the battle be glorious. May the rewards be many. First the DRG, then Ultimate Showdown, War, One, and the whole fucking world. WCF is ours for the taking, we are primed and ready to move this bitch into the next step. You men are ready to take the lead, the main event scene - the World Title - is yours for the taking. Step up. Take what is yours. My gift to you is the knowledge and the drive to succeed beyond your wildest dreams! And it begins tonight. With Thomas. Uriel. Bates.
Each member of Pantheon lets off a primal yell, supporting each other by way of their vocal chords. They all break off and charge out the door, all of them except Corey Black. Corey stays behind and walks over to his bag, pulling out the elbow webbing cast. Disgusted, Corey tosses the cast into the garbage and slams his left fist into his right elbow. The fight of Bates' life is a-fuckin'-foot.
