Death (And The Power It Holds)
Jan 3, 2016 15:03:31 GMT -5
occulo, God King Dune, and 3 more like this
Post by Joey Flash on Jan 3, 2016 15:03:31 GMT -5
Predator and Prey
The figure sat on top of the bridge cut such a dark desolate shadow through the twilight sky it was as if his very person was the event horizon sucking in all light that dare surround him. Joseph Malignaggi’s existence balanced on the precipice, this was the end of his world. If his person was the event horizon for light, his soul was the event horizon for happiness. He had dressed himself in his Sunday best, the all black three piece a mournful ménage a trois saved for only his closest friends being given their last rites. Might as well go out looking beautiful, right? He looked down at the concrete grave that was ready to welcome him with open arms.
Joseph: So now I’m so pathetic I can’t even die how I want?
He raised the liquid courage of his friend Tennessee Jack to his lips and took a deep long glug of warmth.
Joseph: Do you know how it feels to finally accept the end? To finally come to terms with your life, with the person you’ve been, what you’ve done and the person you are? To call out to the devil that you’re finally ready…and for there to be no reply. I had everything planned, I had everything prepared. The match against Dune was nothing but an aperitif to the main course I had laid out for One. I told everyone from the start what was going to happen, I told you people that I was willing to end everything to take him down with me, I waited and waited. The barbs, the flames, I endured it all, never once did I turn away from the pain. Every chair shot, every one of those clubbing shots around the back of the head, I took it all. I prepared the scene for our mutual termination. As Dune prepared to ‘finish me off’ I could see one…two…three weaknesses in his guard, his hubris was flowing from every pore, one more Sandstorm and that would have been it – for him.
I had run through countless scenarios, countless endings in my head and this was the only one with a 99% chance of success. A predator lets all its weak spots come to the fore when toying with a near dead meal; the impenetrable armour turns to soft weak flesh if only the prey had some fangs hidden for one last attack. My resolve was steel, my heart was cold and I was ready. Whatever happened to me that one last attack…his neck was mine. His life was mine.
Another drink of whiskey crosses his lips before Joey sends the bottle and its dregs to a shattering end some eighty feet down.
Joseph: But no, you couldn’t let that happen, could you John? Could you Howard? You think what? You did me a favour? You ‘saved me’? That you get to walk away from this feeling high and mighty that you are upholding the honours The Sentinels stand for, protect the weak, and protect the defenceless? You pair of utter cunts.
The anger in his voice is palpable, he stands on the precipice of the bridge…and takes his first step toward absolution as he begins stalking along the pavement. The traffic meandering across the bridge provides a welcome backing track to the building rage within Joey.
Joseph: In what universe am I weak? In what universe am I EVER defenceless? You cost me my one shot at ending this for good, you get to soldier on back to your loved ones and tell them how you saved the day and how loud the fans cheered. I’m sure little Joey Black cheered loudest of all seeing his hero save the day. Me? I have to lay in a hospital bed and have to explain to my wife why I wasn’t able to avenge our son. Now I have to keep on surviving in a world he still exists, he still walks, he still smiles. Yes Howard, I broke your arm, I don’t deny my culpability. But you, you broke my fucking spirit.
What’s next? You’re going to laugh in my face and tell me ‘you deserve everything you get’? Get off your high horse you condescending ignorant prick. If you as much as look at me wrong, I’m sending your arm back to your family separate to your comatose body next time.
Joey hawks a globule of spit up and deposits it on the sidewalk as he reaches the end of the bridge. He takes a left turn down a small side street and continues his vitriolic rant.
Joseph: John, I bet this has made your day. I bet this day has made your fucking year. You get to stand proud and strong while Joey Flash lays a broken man. You get to say you saved him. You were the one with the honour to turn the other cheek and protect my life. What do you think is going to happen now?
That Joey Flash, Howard Black and Occulo will somehow team up to take down the irresistible monster Dune? You’ve got this shit completely twisted. This is MY fight, this is MY war. This is MY kill to make. Even now the pair of you are babbling about saving your friend, about him finding redemption. Let me make this clear. I want nothing to do with either of you; I’m not going to come after you, but if you cross me in any way with this. If you interject yourselves into this in any way shape or form…
He pauses for a moment.
Joseph: …I will end you both.
His rant is brought to an abrupt end as we see his gaze fall on the window of a small shop. This seemed so out of place in the dank darkness of the alleyway. ‘Fortune favors the brave…’ read the sign, a handwritten piece of beautiful calligraphy across a large piece of cardboard. It seemed bizarre to say the least. Joey approached tentatively at first, then with more purpose. The scent emanating from within was the most potent of incense, the faint whiff of elderflower underpinned with harsher lavender tones.
Joseph: Fuck it.
He pushed the door open.
I told you once, but I will say it again, when you live the flesh, it's the beginning of the end.
A camera, a chair, a man. We need nothing else. Joseph Malignaggi regards the lenses eye. That grey hoodie Joey is about lay down some fine ether, he bites his lip and begins to speak.
Joseph: Well would you look at that. Would you look at how the fates worked? The Trio’s Titles are on the line at Slam, we finally get to see these belts defended once more in an epic main event. #BeachKrew vs The People’s Choice vs The Sentinels…and me.
A wry, thin smile crosses Joey’s lips.
Joseph: It’s almost as if I’m getting purposely tested here. On one hand you have Joseph Malignaggi, a wronged man who is going to be teaming with the two people in the match he wants to destroy while facing six others that he has absolutely no desire to even cross swords with...on the other hand we have the greatest Trios ‘Dream Team’ in the history of this company, Occulo, Howard Black and Joey Flash. What should I do here?
A) Cost my team the victory by savagely attacking Howie and John?
B) Absolutely eviscerate these substandard, mid-card jobbers we’re facing and show them where their true position in the company is. That for me to step from the throne into the land of the peasants is a rare sight indeed, and that the carnage is going to be beautiful in its bloody destruction.
The outcome of this match doesn’t depend on if The People’s Choice want to use all their great spirit, heart and teamwork to scratch and claw their way to victory. The outcome of this match doesn’t depend on #BeachKrew and their unorthodox winning formula of slightly above average talent and fanaticism toward a higher power. The outcome of this match lives and dies on my whim. All your efforts and plans, for all your hard work and for all your dreams it is this simple: If I want to win this match, we will win this match. Guess what guys?
Joey licks his lips and stares into the camera.
I want to win this match.
Joseph: I figure this is a good learning experience for me here. It’s a good measuring stick as to where the talent is at in the federation at the moment, I can learn a lot from facing the likes of Teo Del Sol (Bodied already, midcard bum), Spencer Adams (Bodied already, slightly more accomplished bum), Vic ‘Don’t make a pun about Venable sounding like Venereal’ Venable (Bum, no hoper, flake, costs his team the Tag Titles), Johnny Rabid (Never won a title) Kyle Kemp (Midcard Fodder) and OblivSEAon…fuck I just can’t do it anymore, I tried to be nice and humour you but in all honesty let’s lay it our hand on the table here….You people absolutely fucking suck.
The People’s Choice! You guys sure have a funny, ironic sense of humour. Either that or you are the most unaware set of imbeciles I’ve seen since having the misfortune of sitting through a GOP debate. A collection of three wrestlers absolutely NO ONE would ever ‘choose’ to watch, could you picture Ash stood in front of an opponent with a stomping fire breathing beast of a Charizard, he shouts ‘I CHOOSE YOU SPENCER ADAMS!’ and here comes his saviour, fucking Metapod. What happened to you guys? You were on top of the tag team mountain for all of like…a week, Jonny and I had a better reign than you guys and we didn’t even have a fucking match. You were the Tag Team specialists, you had it all. Tag Titles, Trios Titles, everything was going swimmingly for you guys, so what happened? I can tell you what happened. Vic Venable happened. You picked a guy who is as reliable as Seth Lerch’s dick, he won a few unofficial awards this year, let’s celebrate.
‘Most likely for his apathy and lack of effort to cost his hard working team-mates their championships’
‘The ‘Don’t pick Vic’ Award – For the biggest disappointment to his friends this year’
This guy is the worst team mate I’ve ever fucking seen. In hide and seek he’d follow his friends into a really good spot and then five seconds later shout ‘SPENCER IS OVER HERE!!!’ costing you both the game. But no, every time you play you always let little Victor follow you in hope that maybe this time he’ll actually help and you can survive and win together. You’re like a battered wife, how many times does it have to happen before you actually walk away and cut ties with this guy? I’m going to lay it down in no uncertain terms about this match. You are a bigger threat than #BeachKrew, this is not up for debate. Yet the sole reason you will lose, the sole reason you are doomed to defeat is simple. You had faith in Vic Venable.
How does it feel Vic? How does it feel that you are the downfall of everything your team has achieved? You barely contributed, you barely helped to the success and now you’re dragging it all down with your apathy and blasé treatment of your friends. Metallica saw a cancer growing in their ranks, a man who for all his talent was time and time again costing them with his own issues. Metallica were willing to kick Dave Mustaine out of the band. Do you understand what that took? To kick one of the most innovative and talented musicians in the genre’s history out? Where did Metallica go from there? They went on to become one of the biggest and most successful bands in history. Dave didn’t too bad either. This is a situation that for Spencer and Teo, you guys need to show a bit of backbone, take that jelly spine the pair of you have and do what’s best for everyone. Cut your losses. The People’s Choice will only get stronger without the dead weight and Vic, well who knows, maybe Vic will flourish too…or, more likely he’ll end up dead in a ditch within thirty days.
Teo however, he’s a bad motherfucker. You thought Vic was the savage in this group, you’re wrong. Teo a beast, you cross this guy and you’ve had it. Doesn’t matter what you do to him, you could ring his doorbell and run away or rape his mother after dashing his father’s head against a fucking wall and the outcome will be exact the same. Teo will get brolic, straight up in your face and say:
‘I disagree with your actions.’
What the fuck? Are you even a real person? Whether you’re happy, angry, sad, you react exactly the fucking same. Someone knocks Teo’s drink out of his hand at the club and people whip out their phones ready for the chaos…only to have to upload it to World Star with the title ‘When Keeping it Real Goes Right’. Your patience is such Gandhi looks like Charles Bronson.
So far your biggest victory is over ‘Los Tiburones’. Well done. That’s like congratulating the Lakers for beating the fuckin Sixers this year. Even Howard Black could beat that guy…and he lost Promo of the Year to a Song. That says everything about the level you’re at. What’s your end goal here? What is your endgame? Are you content being a ‘Hero of the People’? Is that the be all and end all of your ambition? Well let me let you in on a secret, that’s not the endgame of Spencer Adams. You can tell can’t you? You can sense the darkness in your friend, the poison running through his veins is so palpable. What happens when Spencer’s ambitions cross with your morals? I digress; I’m not one for causing trouble.
He smiles.
Joseph: I don’t care Teo. I don’t care for your motives, I don’t care for your ideals, you can be anything and you can do anything you like with your career. One thing you will never do is defeat me in the middle of that ring. You won’t even come close. You spent your last couple of months going toe to toe with Kyle Kemp. I could end this part of the promo here and walk away with my point proven, that there are levels to this shit. That the level you’re at and the level I’m at is so vast it would take Mario with a feather to traverse the difference…but that’s not my point here. My point here is, in the match with Kemp…you cracked. The person you strive to be, the great hero, the man of the people who will always do the right thing…for once, you didn’t turn the other cheek. You won the match, you retained The People’s Championship, but at what cost? Was it worth the betrayal of your own morals, of your own values? A betrayal of the man you so badly want to be, to convince us you are, but maybe that little mask slipped and you showed the man you really are eh Teddy? With one fell swoop you destroyed the hope and dreams of the children watching and praying that their superhero wouldn’t do it…but no, you gave Kemp that Man of Steel Zod treatment and crushed thousands of fans hopes like a fucking twig. Their Superman, their hero, their idol, became just…a man.
Spencer Adams. You call yourself ‘The Antidote’.
Joey smiles.
Joseph: That never gets old. Unlike your bog standard, generic promos, your worthless lacklustre shoot and your even more tepid and dull ring work. What has changed since we last fought Spencer? What have you accomplished? What have you done to earn the right to step in the ring with me again? You are getting to the point in your career where you have to make a move in the next couple of months Spencer or you are going to forever be sealed off from the upper echelons of the WCF. This is not how the progression works. You do not go from solid mid-card wrestler to top tier because of ‘gradual progression’, you need a spark, you need…*something*. That something is something you will never possess. Your ambitions outstrip your talent. The World Title is something if I wanted, I could take it tomorrow, for you? Even the Television Title seems like a world away. This is where we are it.
You are not a Joey Flash, Spencer. You are not going to ever be close to me in any facet of the game. You are a Kaz Mazy, a squarely average in ring performer who progressed slowly, people could see him get better and better, he won the US Title but in the end, he stagnated in the Tag division. You have so many parallels it’s sickening. I might add yet another of ‘retired at the hands of Joey Flash’ at the end of this Slam. Where do you go when this is your only outcome? Kaz struggled and fought, but that was all he could ever become. It’s not like he could just snap his fingers, jump into a new body and suddenly become World Champion. He didn’t have that option and neither do you, there isn’t suddenly going to be a secondary character you can jump into the skin of and suddenly have the X-Factor you are lacking. This isn’t a game. This is real life, you were handed a shit hand at birth, you’ve maximised that shit, you’ve polished and you’ve shined but at the end of the day, your hand is still shit.
Your marquee feuds thus far have been Kyle Kemp (who you also whitewashed…we’ll get to that Kyle, don’t worry, things don’t look good for you so far though) and Adam fucking Young. I made Adam Young relevant, I brought him to main event status just from sharing a ring with me, and I made him mean enough in this federation for him to waste your time. I feel like a proud dad watching Yung Adam take you to school every day, it’s sickening. The sad part about this whole feud is that this is LEGITIMATELY your skill level. Adam Young, Kyle Kemp, Spencer Adams. You’d make a Trios Team BioWalker and Jimmy Wicked could be proud of. I don’t know where you think your career is heading here, I don’t think you know. You are caught in a maelstrom of minor success and mediocrity. I wonder where Spencer Adams will be in six months? Will he make me eat my words? Will the little train who could manage to make his way to the summit? Or will Spencer Adams follow in the footsteps of his pops and end up a down and out, drunken jailbird. I’ll drop twenty on the latter before I back any success for you in this world.
The sad thing about this match, the sad thing about everything really, is this Trio; this group of absolutely no-hopers is actually the second best team in the match. Ever since I’ve been gone people have been hitting me up telling me about #BeachKrew, asking my opinion, wondering what I think of this new amazing force in the WCF, the most sweeping, dominant group who have managed to conquer the federation from top to bottom so rapidly.
Well ladies and gentlemen let me ready my response. What do I think of #BeachKrew?
*AHEM*
They’re shit.
- Fat neckbeard
- Random dude who appeared out of fucking nowhere to become ‘leader’
- Someone so shit he could be the black Spencer Adams
- A baseball player
- A faggot
- Worthless ugly frat boy loser who thinks he is a superior being, god of taking 6ix cocks at a time.
- Oblivion.
This is ACTUALLY what makes a successful stable here? What has happened in the time I’ve been gone? Am I missing something, have aliens appeared and taken over? Am I actually an alien? I don’t even fucking know anymore. This place has truly gone to shit while I’ve been away that this group of misfits can actually be considered a dominant group. Let me lay this shit down clearly: u fuccin suck LMFAO! Shit can go zero to sixty in a matter of seconds if that’s how you guys want to play it after the beat down I lay on your squad on Sunday I’m more than willing to dance with ya and stomp each and everyone one of you chumps into nothingness. It hurts my head just watching you guys, listening to your mind numbing promos, YES WE GET IT, SEA PUNS AND ‘SWAG’. What that has to do with a manic obese scientist with family issues, a British guy, a sportsman and fucking Oblivion is beyond me. You guys are like the Raggy Dolls of wrestlers, so broken and worthless that you all fall in a heap of shit together under the wing of two college students. Are you kidding me? What has this world become?
First things first, before we go any further. You have Oblivion in your team. End promo. Bodybags on deck.
Let’s assess this for a moment. You have…Oblivion…on your team? How did that conversation go Rabid? How did you and Jared come to this important decision?
Rabid: I know what we need.
Jared: What’s that fearless leader? I understand it’s your call no matter what. Given I’m not the leader.
Rabid: Well done, lesser human, indeed what we need is a worthless bulbous retard.
Jared: W-why do we need that I kinda question the logic of having someone who has lost their past like, twenty matches, who can’t even beat Bonnie Blue and Andre Jenson, someone who completely goes against our gimmick and tarnishes our brand offering nothing but an outlet of weakness, like bro, what if you get in a Trios Title match and end up having to team with him, don’t you understand what that mea-
Rabid: Simple. He asked us.
Jared: He…he asked?!
Rabid: Indeed, it seemed we were in the market for someone so utterly pitiful and worthless as a team mate. I had advertised ‘The Krillin Role’ for only a day when who pops their deluded, washed up self through the door? Oblivion. I told him straight up:
‘Obi old buddy, old pal, your description is thus: Help us lower the worth of the #BeachKrew brand, help us ensure that people don’t see us as a great united front of old friends and that we are also willing to show equal opportunities to the mentally handicapped, help us lower our combined win loss record at a rate even Yung Adam da gawd could manage, constantly remind everyone that you are by far the weakest member of the group and make people question why in holy fuck we allowed you to join…
As a job benefit, you get to use the name ‘OblivSEAon’…does that sound appealing to you?
Can you believe it? The guy said yes!
Oblivion, you fucking joke. You have been buried by everyone in every promo ever; you are getting buried by your own damn team at this point. You’re that guy who gets invited to the party with the sole intent of everyone else laughing at him, you’re dancing as everyone claps along all the while they’re on YouTube uploading:
‘FAT RETARDED GUY DOES THE NAE NAE’
It’s beyond a joke at this point. Why do you even bother? You have as much self-awareness as a fucking rock. Every time you step into the ring, our television screens are mired in mediocrity every damn step you take, every word that comes pouring out your mouth. The fact we have to put up with you every week is abominable. You are the weakest wrestler in the match; you are one of the worst wrestlers in the entire company. Your very existence in this match boggles the mind. This is where the very essence of this match comes to the fore. The best three wrestlers in the match are Joey Flash, Howard Black and Occulo. It is as simple as that. The outcome was pre-determined the moment this card was announced, #BeachKrew just signed their own lives away by pitying a lame limp duck because it used to be World Champion. How does it feel Rabid? How does it feel to have orchestrated your own failure in this match? Your oversight in recruitment has cost you the chance to finally join the mighty ranks of The People’s Choice as double Tag Champs.
I digress, we’ll get to you leader. It’s time to talk to the second worst wrestler in this match. The man who is ‘Better Than Oblivion!’ Kyle Kemp.
The mighty stable #BeachKrew, I find it bamboozling that you manage to find any level of success with people like this as cornerstones of your franchise. Kyle Kemp’s resume against people in this match:
Feuded with Spencer Adams – Got bodied.
Feuded with Teo del Sol – Got bodied.
That’s a resume worse than Johnny Rabid as a recruitment consultant. How is a guy with the catchphrase ‘…better than you’ Terrible at pretty much everything? Couldn’t make it as a ball player, can barely make it as a wrestler, struggles and loses every single important match in his entire career.
Here is the list of things Kyle Kemp is better than me at, ready? Prepare yourselves, it’s quite extensive:
Nothing.
You are a joke as a wrestler, it makes me laugh that you have somehow managed to worm your way into some success here in the WCF, how’ve you managed it my fellow #teamhandsome member? It can’t be your uglier than Joey Flash looks, it can’t be your subpar mic work and even worse mat skills, so how? Then it struck me Kemp, you little ragamuffin. You’re just…lucky. Never once have you managed to earn a belt on your own merit, never once have you had to struggle and work hard. You fluked The People’s Title win and managed to catch a team with Vic Venable’s wack sloppy performance on their worst day. Fuck, you probably wormed your way through the minor leagues giving yourself that Clemens treatment, and now you’re here piggybacking off of others success. At least with your baseball career it was you taking the swing, now you just leave it up to everyone else. A pinch hitter who never once makes it off the on deck circle but still earns a World Series ring, I don’t know whether to chastise you or praise you.
I mean Jesus; you were so bad that you somehow managed to suck in an era when Jose Canseco can still get a job. Now you're about to fucking fail at Professional Wrestling, not that you haven't been doing that since the moment Spencer Adams sent you back to the minors quicker than a Bill Cosby party. How often have you thought about ending it, Kyle? Maybe you can finally be better than me for once and throw yourself off a bridge? Actually, don't try. With the incompetence you've demonstrated, you'd probably be able to survive shooting yourself in the face and somehow end up killing Mikey eXtreme and winning the US Title in a random lottery for the belt.
I usually save the best til last in these clusterfuck promos, but instead I’ve decided to end on a sour note. With the sourest medicine of all, the self-proclaimed leader of #BeachKrew. I know what you wanted, you watched this entire promo, shit maybe you even skipped ahead to see what I had to say about you huh? That’s the type of person you strike me as. You are a narcissist of the highest calibre, you think everyone else is below you, that you somehow control every aspect of the WCF and everyone dances to your tune, you know you are a piece of shit when it’s ME telling this to you.
Joey smiles.
Joseph: I’ve held back this entire promo; I’ve given you just a taste. How about rather than letting things end on a damp squib like a Johnny Rabid sex tape, I give you a taste...just a small taste of the fucking supernova only I can provide?
What up Johnny? How is being an under performing, over hyped, over promoted piece of shit? You should know. You share that accolade with the man holding my belt, Wade Moor. Let’s not get this twisted. I am not using this match as a chance to ‘get another win on the board’ after One, I am not using this match to try and win the Trios Titles, I am using this match to let #BeachKrew know in no uncertain terms where the true power belongs in this federation. You ruled well, you ruled strong, but now I’m back, and it’s time for you to disappear. What better place to start with the head? Time to give you that Ichabod treatment and end this shit before I even give it chance to get started.
The fact that you think yourself some kind of visionary, some kind of great leader by what?
You’ve swept through all competition? Nope.
You’ve won countless championships? Nope.
You’ve displayed great vision with talent spotting? Motherfucker you ‘spotted’ Oblivion.
Nope, ladies and gentlemen do you want to know what this great creative leader has managed to cook up, the next great venture to push #BeachKrew to great heights? You allied yourself with Seth Lerch. Wow. That one hasn’t been done before.
Joey shapes his hand into a gun and gives a *pow* as he blasts himself into death….before snapping back up with a look of boredom across his handsome features.
Joseph: You are not Torture. You are not Jonny Fly. You are not Joey Flash. You don't even register as a blip on the radar at this point yet want to follow in the path of legends in the game by getting below average support, help and benefits from the owner of the company. The sheer audacity is sickening. Where exactly do you think you place in the grand scheme of things Rabid? Do you think yourself mighty enough to bear your fangs toward me? The sad part is the answer is yes.
So far your achievements amount to absolute dick, why? Because you fucking suck. There is no great mystic reason, there is no great plan going on. You are not working everyone with some amazing bait and switch, you are a knock off of every other cheesy, malevolent, scheming villain in history. You offer absolutely nothing fresh and nothing new to this federation, you offer nothing new in the ring, you are a knock off of a knock off. You are everything everyone hates, from you stealing the name 'Jo(h)nny' to your palling up with Lerch, it's a slap in the face to everyone who has paved the way for everything you want to mimic. You are a clone of a clone. I see everyone else's mannerisms in your style it's like someone looked at a 'Create the Perfect WCF Wrestler' forum post and picked and chose from everything that was successful at the time. I bet a year ago you'd be front and centre churning out vapid pictures on paint. You will never succeed in this business, you are nothing fresh. You are stable and stagnant.
Where is your originality, where is your uniqueness? Where is the thing that makes me look at Johnny Rabid and think 'He's a future superstar'? It doesn't exist, because everything you try to do has already been done by those five times your superior. Know this Rabid, I am going light on you. I am going super light on you. I am letting you off with your life with this, I could rend your very existence away if I so desired...but where is the fun in that? You'll be beaten, you'll be humiliated on Slam. You will scream bloody murder. Just know, if you were to ever try to face me in singles competition. It would be worse. It would be much, much worse.
Time to put Rabid down, goodbye Ol' Yeller.
Portend of the end.
The room was wall to wall in dark reds in different patterns, and the only way in was through columns of transparent beads of violet and darker purple, that clattered together when stepped through. It was a small room, very much bespoke to purpose, with a sofa overloaded with cushions, each one a different size. A tall man would certainly need to duck his head before he sat down, however a “Watch Your Head” sign would be far too crude a telling of ill-fortune here. In the centre of the room was a circular mahogany table with a light blue table cloth with golden tassles at each corner, which lay on the table at an angle. The centrepiece of the table was a glass sphere on a golden base, however whether this was an actual tool of the fortune teller, or just a object of effect was unclear. The teller herself wore clothes as if she had the wardrobe of a gypsy just poured on top of her. She was in her 50s, and her hair was long and braided, the tips bobbled with beads that looked the same as those hanging from the door to the room. Her eyes, which had “seen” the fates of many that had passed through the beady gate, were a brown/hazel colour, and were already flanked by wrinkles. Her thin lips smiled as she bent down to tidy her cushions. She didn’t need to bend down far mind, as she barely breached 5ft. She reached optimum tidiness and spread her arms slightly, her purple and red floral scarf sat loosely on her shoulders like a cape. She turned around and clapped her eyes on Joseph.
Teller: Good day, can I help you?
Joseph: Uh, not really, just looking.
Teller: I see, yes, yes, well, I am here, should you need me, okay?
Joseph: Well, I think it’s time for me to go. Thanks-
Teller: Oh Joseph, you are no fun at all.
Joseph: ...what?
Teller: This is how these scenes in any book/television show/film always begin, you enter looking sceptical and bemused, I say something cryptic and you then scoff at it before I reveal some strange detail about your life and you wonder ‘How could she have known?’ The fact that you are a world famous wrestler has nothing to do with the fact I know your name. My son has your picture on his wall for goodness sake.
Joseph: Oh.
Teller: So, how can I help you Joseph?
Joseph: Is this like, legit?
Teller: You’re asking this now?
Joseph: Do I have to pay?
Teller: Of course, but I know your PIN number so I take as good as blank cheques. Is money a real object for you at the moment?
Joseph: Touche. Okay tell me this. What am I thinking right now?
Teller: You’re having inappropriate thoughts about Sarah Black, wife of Howard, fellating you while he watches.
Joseph: ...what?
Teller: Am I wrong?
Joseph: Yes...he was filming.
She smiles and holds out a bony hand. Joseph tentatively places his hand in hers, she slaps it away.
Teller: Money, fool.
Joseph recoils and pulls a couple of fifties from his wallet, depositing it in her palm.
Joseph: Good enough?.
Teller: Sure. For five minutes. You know I spend a fifty each on these cushions. Fucking IKEA. You could say they….cost a fortune. Please sit on the right hand side. Do you want me to write that down for you?
Joseph: Expensive cushions. I know which side right is.
He goes to sit down.
Teller: That’s left.
Joseph takes pause and slinks to the right, sitting himself down.
Teller: So, Joseph…
She gazes into his eyes, her head tilting ever so slowly as she does.
Teller: Interesting. Very interesting.
Joseph: What?
Teller: I see...three….yes three events in your future Joseph...
“A slate that ran clean was tainted with the blemish of grime, and so the face did run red”
Joseph: Are you fucking kidding me? You wrinkly old bitch, in what world is that ‘the future’, I’m of a mind to backhand you right now and-
Teller: Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho.
She laughed like a crone with a stutter.
Teller: Ssssh….listen...
First: From the flames walks a husk wearing the mask of a man, Thrice will you War, thrice will you fall, never once your splendour dull
Second: An enemy hidden in plain sight stalks the two,
Live together, or die alone
Third: Beware the man with two faces, for he is the worst of all your enemies, a smile hides the dagger in the dark, he sits, he waits, the child of prophecy will rise, as lightning falls, he ascends.
I believe...they ring a greater resonance with you Joseph…
Joseph was silent as he pushes awkwardly past her.
Teller: I am pleased
Joseph smiles uncomfortably and leaves the room, the teller simply watching on as he leaves. He hears the rumble of thunder on the street outside, and as he opens the door another flash of lightning strikes a building in the distance. A colossal downpour hammers down on the asphalt. Joseph turns around one more time and is startled to find the teller standing but an inch away from him, her eyes piercing his. He steps out into the downpour and makes his way up the street.
Teller: Did I do well...Jim?
She turns to find the tall bipedal white extraterrestrial figure illuminated with another flash of lightning, it stretches its unearthly spindly fingers toward her.
Jim: You did perfectly.
The figure sat on top of the bridge cut such a dark desolate shadow through the twilight sky it was as if his very person was the event horizon sucking in all light that dare surround him. Joseph Malignaggi’s existence balanced on the precipice, this was the end of his world. If his person was the event horizon for light, his soul was the event horizon for happiness. He had dressed himself in his Sunday best, the all black three piece a mournful ménage a trois saved for only his closest friends being given their last rites. Might as well go out looking beautiful, right? He looked down at the concrete grave that was ready to welcome him with open arms.
Joseph: So now I’m so pathetic I can’t even die how I want?
He raised the liquid courage of his friend Tennessee Jack to his lips and took a deep long glug of warmth.
Joseph: Do you know how it feels to finally accept the end? To finally come to terms with your life, with the person you’ve been, what you’ve done and the person you are? To call out to the devil that you’re finally ready…and for there to be no reply. I had everything planned, I had everything prepared. The match against Dune was nothing but an aperitif to the main course I had laid out for One. I told everyone from the start what was going to happen, I told you people that I was willing to end everything to take him down with me, I waited and waited. The barbs, the flames, I endured it all, never once did I turn away from the pain. Every chair shot, every one of those clubbing shots around the back of the head, I took it all. I prepared the scene for our mutual termination. As Dune prepared to ‘finish me off’ I could see one…two…three weaknesses in his guard, his hubris was flowing from every pore, one more Sandstorm and that would have been it – for him.
I had run through countless scenarios, countless endings in my head and this was the only one with a 99% chance of success. A predator lets all its weak spots come to the fore when toying with a near dead meal; the impenetrable armour turns to soft weak flesh if only the prey had some fangs hidden for one last attack. My resolve was steel, my heart was cold and I was ready. Whatever happened to me that one last attack…his neck was mine. His life was mine.
Another drink of whiskey crosses his lips before Joey sends the bottle and its dregs to a shattering end some eighty feet down.
Joseph: But no, you couldn’t let that happen, could you John? Could you Howard? You think what? You did me a favour? You ‘saved me’? That you get to walk away from this feeling high and mighty that you are upholding the honours The Sentinels stand for, protect the weak, and protect the defenceless? You pair of utter cunts.
The anger in his voice is palpable, he stands on the precipice of the bridge…and takes his first step toward absolution as he begins stalking along the pavement. The traffic meandering across the bridge provides a welcome backing track to the building rage within Joey.
Joseph: In what universe am I weak? In what universe am I EVER defenceless? You cost me my one shot at ending this for good, you get to soldier on back to your loved ones and tell them how you saved the day and how loud the fans cheered. I’m sure little Joey Black cheered loudest of all seeing his hero save the day. Me? I have to lay in a hospital bed and have to explain to my wife why I wasn’t able to avenge our son. Now I have to keep on surviving in a world he still exists, he still walks, he still smiles. Yes Howard, I broke your arm, I don’t deny my culpability. But you, you broke my fucking spirit.
What’s next? You’re going to laugh in my face and tell me ‘you deserve everything you get’? Get off your high horse you condescending ignorant prick. If you as much as look at me wrong, I’m sending your arm back to your family separate to your comatose body next time.
Joey hawks a globule of spit up and deposits it on the sidewalk as he reaches the end of the bridge. He takes a left turn down a small side street and continues his vitriolic rant.
Joseph: John, I bet this has made your day. I bet this day has made your fucking year. You get to stand proud and strong while Joey Flash lays a broken man. You get to say you saved him. You were the one with the honour to turn the other cheek and protect my life. What do you think is going to happen now?
That Joey Flash, Howard Black and Occulo will somehow team up to take down the irresistible monster Dune? You’ve got this shit completely twisted. This is MY fight, this is MY war. This is MY kill to make. Even now the pair of you are babbling about saving your friend, about him finding redemption. Let me make this clear. I want nothing to do with either of you; I’m not going to come after you, but if you cross me in any way with this. If you interject yourselves into this in any way shape or form…
He pauses for a moment.
Joseph: …I will end you both.
His rant is brought to an abrupt end as we see his gaze fall on the window of a small shop. This seemed so out of place in the dank darkness of the alleyway. ‘Fortune favors the brave…’ read the sign, a handwritten piece of beautiful calligraphy across a large piece of cardboard. It seemed bizarre to say the least. Joey approached tentatively at first, then with more purpose. The scent emanating from within was the most potent of incense, the faint whiff of elderflower underpinned with harsher lavender tones.
Joseph: Fuck it.
He pushed the door open.
I told you once, but I will say it again, when you live the flesh, it's the beginning of the end.
A camera, a chair, a man. We need nothing else. Joseph Malignaggi regards the lenses eye. That grey hoodie Joey is about lay down some fine ether, he bites his lip and begins to speak.
Joseph: Well would you look at that. Would you look at how the fates worked? The Trio’s Titles are on the line at Slam, we finally get to see these belts defended once more in an epic main event. #BeachKrew vs The People’s Choice vs The Sentinels…and me.
A wry, thin smile crosses Joey’s lips.
Joseph: It’s almost as if I’m getting purposely tested here. On one hand you have Joseph Malignaggi, a wronged man who is going to be teaming with the two people in the match he wants to destroy while facing six others that he has absolutely no desire to even cross swords with...on the other hand we have the greatest Trios ‘Dream Team’ in the history of this company, Occulo, Howard Black and Joey Flash. What should I do here?
A) Cost my team the victory by savagely attacking Howie and John?
B) Absolutely eviscerate these substandard, mid-card jobbers we’re facing and show them where their true position in the company is. That for me to step from the throne into the land of the peasants is a rare sight indeed, and that the carnage is going to be beautiful in its bloody destruction.
The outcome of this match doesn’t depend on if The People’s Choice want to use all their great spirit, heart and teamwork to scratch and claw their way to victory. The outcome of this match doesn’t depend on #BeachKrew and their unorthodox winning formula of slightly above average talent and fanaticism toward a higher power. The outcome of this match lives and dies on my whim. All your efforts and plans, for all your hard work and for all your dreams it is this simple: If I want to win this match, we will win this match. Guess what guys?
Joey licks his lips and stares into the camera.
I want to win this match.
Joseph: I figure this is a good learning experience for me here. It’s a good measuring stick as to where the talent is at in the federation at the moment, I can learn a lot from facing the likes of Teo Del Sol (Bodied already, midcard bum), Spencer Adams (Bodied already, slightly more accomplished bum), Vic ‘Don’t make a pun about Venable sounding like Venereal’ Venable (Bum, no hoper, flake, costs his team the Tag Titles), Johnny Rabid (Never won a title) Kyle Kemp (Midcard Fodder) and OblivSEAon…fuck I just can’t do it anymore, I tried to be nice and humour you but in all honesty let’s lay it our hand on the table here….You people absolutely fucking suck.
The People’s Choice! You guys sure have a funny, ironic sense of humour. Either that or you are the most unaware set of imbeciles I’ve seen since having the misfortune of sitting through a GOP debate. A collection of three wrestlers absolutely NO ONE would ever ‘choose’ to watch, could you picture Ash stood in front of an opponent with a stomping fire breathing beast of a Charizard, he shouts ‘I CHOOSE YOU SPENCER ADAMS!’ and here comes his saviour, fucking Metapod. What happened to you guys? You were on top of the tag team mountain for all of like…a week, Jonny and I had a better reign than you guys and we didn’t even have a fucking match. You were the Tag Team specialists, you had it all. Tag Titles, Trios Titles, everything was going swimmingly for you guys, so what happened? I can tell you what happened. Vic Venable happened. You picked a guy who is as reliable as Seth Lerch’s dick, he won a few unofficial awards this year, let’s celebrate.
‘Most likely for his apathy and lack of effort to cost his hard working team-mates their championships’
‘The ‘Don’t pick Vic’ Award – For the biggest disappointment to his friends this year’
This guy is the worst team mate I’ve ever fucking seen. In hide and seek he’d follow his friends into a really good spot and then five seconds later shout ‘SPENCER IS OVER HERE!!!’ costing you both the game. But no, every time you play you always let little Victor follow you in hope that maybe this time he’ll actually help and you can survive and win together. You’re like a battered wife, how many times does it have to happen before you actually walk away and cut ties with this guy? I’m going to lay it down in no uncertain terms about this match. You are a bigger threat than #BeachKrew, this is not up for debate. Yet the sole reason you will lose, the sole reason you are doomed to defeat is simple. You had faith in Vic Venable.
How does it feel Vic? How does it feel that you are the downfall of everything your team has achieved? You barely contributed, you barely helped to the success and now you’re dragging it all down with your apathy and blasé treatment of your friends. Metallica saw a cancer growing in their ranks, a man who for all his talent was time and time again costing them with his own issues. Metallica were willing to kick Dave Mustaine out of the band. Do you understand what that took? To kick one of the most innovative and talented musicians in the genre’s history out? Where did Metallica go from there? They went on to become one of the biggest and most successful bands in history. Dave didn’t too bad either. This is a situation that for Spencer and Teo, you guys need to show a bit of backbone, take that jelly spine the pair of you have and do what’s best for everyone. Cut your losses. The People’s Choice will only get stronger without the dead weight and Vic, well who knows, maybe Vic will flourish too…or, more likely he’ll end up dead in a ditch within thirty days.
Teo however, he’s a bad motherfucker. You thought Vic was the savage in this group, you’re wrong. Teo a beast, you cross this guy and you’ve had it. Doesn’t matter what you do to him, you could ring his doorbell and run away or rape his mother after dashing his father’s head against a fucking wall and the outcome will be exact the same. Teo will get brolic, straight up in your face and say:
‘I disagree with your actions.’
What the fuck? Are you even a real person? Whether you’re happy, angry, sad, you react exactly the fucking same. Someone knocks Teo’s drink out of his hand at the club and people whip out their phones ready for the chaos…only to have to upload it to World Star with the title ‘When Keeping it Real Goes Right’. Your patience is such Gandhi looks like Charles Bronson.
So far your biggest victory is over ‘Los Tiburones’. Well done. That’s like congratulating the Lakers for beating the fuckin Sixers this year. Even Howard Black could beat that guy…and he lost Promo of the Year to a Song. That says everything about the level you’re at. What’s your end goal here? What is your endgame? Are you content being a ‘Hero of the People’? Is that the be all and end all of your ambition? Well let me let you in on a secret, that’s not the endgame of Spencer Adams. You can tell can’t you? You can sense the darkness in your friend, the poison running through his veins is so palpable. What happens when Spencer’s ambitions cross with your morals? I digress; I’m not one for causing trouble.
He smiles.
Joseph: I don’t care Teo. I don’t care for your motives, I don’t care for your ideals, you can be anything and you can do anything you like with your career. One thing you will never do is defeat me in the middle of that ring. You won’t even come close. You spent your last couple of months going toe to toe with Kyle Kemp. I could end this part of the promo here and walk away with my point proven, that there are levels to this shit. That the level you’re at and the level I’m at is so vast it would take Mario with a feather to traverse the difference…but that’s not my point here. My point here is, in the match with Kemp…you cracked. The person you strive to be, the great hero, the man of the people who will always do the right thing…for once, you didn’t turn the other cheek. You won the match, you retained The People’s Championship, but at what cost? Was it worth the betrayal of your own morals, of your own values? A betrayal of the man you so badly want to be, to convince us you are, but maybe that little mask slipped and you showed the man you really are eh Teddy? With one fell swoop you destroyed the hope and dreams of the children watching and praying that their superhero wouldn’t do it…but no, you gave Kemp that Man of Steel Zod treatment and crushed thousands of fans hopes like a fucking twig. Their Superman, their hero, their idol, became just…a man.
Spencer Adams. You call yourself ‘The Antidote’.
Joey smiles.
Joseph: That never gets old. Unlike your bog standard, generic promos, your worthless lacklustre shoot and your even more tepid and dull ring work. What has changed since we last fought Spencer? What have you accomplished? What have you done to earn the right to step in the ring with me again? You are getting to the point in your career where you have to make a move in the next couple of months Spencer or you are going to forever be sealed off from the upper echelons of the WCF. This is not how the progression works. You do not go from solid mid-card wrestler to top tier because of ‘gradual progression’, you need a spark, you need…*something*. That something is something you will never possess. Your ambitions outstrip your talent. The World Title is something if I wanted, I could take it tomorrow, for you? Even the Television Title seems like a world away. This is where we are it.
You are not a Joey Flash, Spencer. You are not going to ever be close to me in any facet of the game. You are a Kaz Mazy, a squarely average in ring performer who progressed slowly, people could see him get better and better, he won the US Title but in the end, he stagnated in the Tag division. You have so many parallels it’s sickening. I might add yet another of ‘retired at the hands of Joey Flash’ at the end of this Slam. Where do you go when this is your only outcome? Kaz struggled and fought, but that was all he could ever become. It’s not like he could just snap his fingers, jump into a new body and suddenly become World Champion. He didn’t have that option and neither do you, there isn’t suddenly going to be a secondary character you can jump into the skin of and suddenly have the X-Factor you are lacking. This isn’t a game. This is real life, you were handed a shit hand at birth, you’ve maximised that shit, you’ve polished and you’ve shined but at the end of the day, your hand is still shit.
Your marquee feuds thus far have been Kyle Kemp (who you also whitewashed…we’ll get to that Kyle, don’t worry, things don’t look good for you so far though) and Adam fucking Young. I made Adam Young relevant, I brought him to main event status just from sharing a ring with me, and I made him mean enough in this federation for him to waste your time. I feel like a proud dad watching Yung Adam take you to school every day, it’s sickening. The sad part about this whole feud is that this is LEGITIMATELY your skill level. Adam Young, Kyle Kemp, Spencer Adams. You’d make a Trios Team BioWalker and Jimmy Wicked could be proud of. I don’t know where you think your career is heading here, I don’t think you know. You are caught in a maelstrom of minor success and mediocrity. I wonder where Spencer Adams will be in six months? Will he make me eat my words? Will the little train who could manage to make his way to the summit? Or will Spencer Adams follow in the footsteps of his pops and end up a down and out, drunken jailbird. I’ll drop twenty on the latter before I back any success for you in this world.
The sad thing about this match, the sad thing about everything really, is this Trio; this group of absolutely no-hopers is actually the second best team in the match. Ever since I’ve been gone people have been hitting me up telling me about #BeachKrew, asking my opinion, wondering what I think of this new amazing force in the WCF, the most sweeping, dominant group who have managed to conquer the federation from top to bottom so rapidly.
Well ladies and gentlemen let me ready my response. What do I think of #BeachKrew?
*AHEM*
They’re shit.
- Fat neckbeard
- Random dude who appeared out of fucking nowhere to become ‘leader’
- Someone so shit he could be the black Spencer Adams
- A baseball player
- A faggot
- Worthless ugly frat boy loser who thinks he is a superior being, god of taking 6ix cocks at a time.
- Oblivion.
This is ACTUALLY what makes a successful stable here? What has happened in the time I’ve been gone? Am I missing something, have aliens appeared and taken over? Am I actually an alien? I don’t even fucking know anymore. This place has truly gone to shit while I’ve been away that this group of misfits can actually be considered a dominant group. Let me lay this shit down clearly: u fuccin suck LMFAO! Shit can go zero to sixty in a matter of seconds if that’s how you guys want to play it after the beat down I lay on your squad on Sunday I’m more than willing to dance with ya and stomp each and everyone one of you chumps into nothingness. It hurts my head just watching you guys, listening to your mind numbing promos, YES WE GET IT, SEA PUNS AND ‘SWAG’. What that has to do with a manic obese scientist with family issues, a British guy, a sportsman and fucking Oblivion is beyond me. You guys are like the Raggy Dolls of wrestlers, so broken and worthless that you all fall in a heap of shit together under the wing of two college students. Are you kidding me? What has this world become?
First things first, before we go any further. You have Oblivion in your team. End promo. Bodybags on deck.
Let’s assess this for a moment. You have…Oblivion…on your team? How did that conversation go Rabid? How did you and Jared come to this important decision?
Rabid: I know what we need.
Jared: What’s that fearless leader? I understand it’s your call no matter what. Given I’m not the leader.
Rabid: Well done, lesser human, indeed what we need is a worthless bulbous retard.
Jared: W-why do we need that I kinda question the logic of having someone who has lost their past like, twenty matches, who can’t even beat Bonnie Blue and Andre Jenson, someone who completely goes against our gimmick and tarnishes our brand offering nothing but an outlet of weakness, like bro, what if you get in a Trios Title match and end up having to team with him, don’t you understand what that mea-
Rabid: Simple. He asked us.
Jared: He…he asked?!
Rabid: Indeed, it seemed we were in the market for someone so utterly pitiful and worthless as a team mate. I had advertised ‘The Krillin Role’ for only a day when who pops their deluded, washed up self through the door? Oblivion. I told him straight up:
‘Obi old buddy, old pal, your description is thus: Help us lower the worth of the #BeachKrew brand, help us ensure that people don’t see us as a great united front of old friends and that we are also willing to show equal opportunities to the mentally handicapped, help us lower our combined win loss record at a rate even Yung Adam da gawd could manage, constantly remind everyone that you are by far the weakest member of the group and make people question why in holy fuck we allowed you to join…
As a job benefit, you get to use the name ‘OblivSEAon’…does that sound appealing to you?
Can you believe it? The guy said yes!
Oblivion, you fucking joke. You have been buried by everyone in every promo ever; you are getting buried by your own damn team at this point. You’re that guy who gets invited to the party with the sole intent of everyone else laughing at him, you’re dancing as everyone claps along all the while they’re on YouTube uploading:
‘FAT RETARDED GUY DOES THE NAE NAE’
It’s beyond a joke at this point. Why do you even bother? You have as much self-awareness as a fucking rock. Every time you step into the ring, our television screens are mired in mediocrity every damn step you take, every word that comes pouring out your mouth. The fact we have to put up with you every week is abominable. You are the weakest wrestler in the match; you are one of the worst wrestlers in the entire company. Your very existence in this match boggles the mind. This is where the very essence of this match comes to the fore. The best three wrestlers in the match are Joey Flash, Howard Black and Occulo. It is as simple as that. The outcome was pre-determined the moment this card was announced, #BeachKrew just signed their own lives away by pitying a lame limp duck because it used to be World Champion. How does it feel Rabid? How does it feel to have orchestrated your own failure in this match? Your oversight in recruitment has cost you the chance to finally join the mighty ranks of The People’s Choice as double Tag Champs.
I digress, we’ll get to you leader. It’s time to talk to the second worst wrestler in this match. The man who is ‘Better Than Oblivion!’ Kyle Kemp.
The mighty stable #BeachKrew, I find it bamboozling that you manage to find any level of success with people like this as cornerstones of your franchise. Kyle Kemp’s resume against people in this match:
Feuded with Spencer Adams – Got bodied.
Feuded with Teo del Sol – Got bodied.
That’s a resume worse than Johnny Rabid as a recruitment consultant. How is a guy with the catchphrase ‘…better than you’ Terrible at pretty much everything? Couldn’t make it as a ball player, can barely make it as a wrestler, struggles and loses every single important match in his entire career.
Here is the list of things Kyle Kemp is better than me at, ready? Prepare yourselves, it’s quite extensive:
Nothing.
You are a joke as a wrestler, it makes me laugh that you have somehow managed to worm your way into some success here in the WCF, how’ve you managed it my fellow #teamhandsome member? It can’t be your uglier than Joey Flash looks, it can’t be your subpar mic work and even worse mat skills, so how? Then it struck me Kemp, you little ragamuffin. You’re just…lucky. Never once have you managed to earn a belt on your own merit, never once have you had to struggle and work hard. You fluked The People’s Title win and managed to catch a team with Vic Venable’s wack sloppy performance on their worst day. Fuck, you probably wormed your way through the minor leagues giving yourself that Clemens treatment, and now you’re here piggybacking off of others success. At least with your baseball career it was you taking the swing, now you just leave it up to everyone else. A pinch hitter who never once makes it off the on deck circle but still earns a World Series ring, I don’t know whether to chastise you or praise you.
I mean Jesus; you were so bad that you somehow managed to suck in an era when Jose Canseco can still get a job. Now you're about to fucking fail at Professional Wrestling, not that you haven't been doing that since the moment Spencer Adams sent you back to the minors quicker than a Bill Cosby party. How often have you thought about ending it, Kyle? Maybe you can finally be better than me for once and throw yourself off a bridge? Actually, don't try. With the incompetence you've demonstrated, you'd probably be able to survive shooting yourself in the face and somehow end up killing Mikey eXtreme and winning the US Title in a random lottery for the belt.
I usually save the best til last in these clusterfuck promos, but instead I’ve decided to end on a sour note. With the sourest medicine of all, the self-proclaimed leader of #BeachKrew. I know what you wanted, you watched this entire promo, shit maybe you even skipped ahead to see what I had to say about you huh? That’s the type of person you strike me as. You are a narcissist of the highest calibre, you think everyone else is below you, that you somehow control every aspect of the WCF and everyone dances to your tune, you know you are a piece of shit when it’s ME telling this to you.
Joey smiles.
Joseph: I’ve held back this entire promo; I’ve given you just a taste. How about rather than letting things end on a damp squib like a Johnny Rabid sex tape, I give you a taste...just a small taste of the fucking supernova only I can provide?
What up Johnny? How is being an under performing, over hyped, over promoted piece of shit? You should know. You share that accolade with the man holding my belt, Wade Moor. Let’s not get this twisted. I am not using this match as a chance to ‘get another win on the board’ after One, I am not using this match to try and win the Trios Titles, I am using this match to let #BeachKrew know in no uncertain terms where the true power belongs in this federation. You ruled well, you ruled strong, but now I’m back, and it’s time for you to disappear. What better place to start with the head? Time to give you that Ichabod treatment and end this shit before I even give it chance to get started.
The fact that you think yourself some kind of visionary, some kind of great leader by what?
You’ve swept through all competition? Nope.
You’ve won countless championships? Nope.
You’ve displayed great vision with talent spotting? Motherfucker you ‘spotted’ Oblivion.
Nope, ladies and gentlemen do you want to know what this great creative leader has managed to cook up, the next great venture to push #BeachKrew to great heights? You allied yourself with Seth Lerch. Wow. That one hasn’t been done before.
Joey shapes his hand into a gun and gives a *pow* as he blasts himself into death….before snapping back up with a look of boredom across his handsome features.
Joseph: You are not Torture. You are not Jonny Fly. You are not Joey Flash. You don't even register as a blip on the radar at this point yet want to follow in the path of legends in the game by getting below average support, help and benefits from the owner of the company. The sheer audacity is sickening. Where exactly do you think you place in the grand scheme of things Rabid? Do you think yourself mighty enough to bear your fangs toward me? The sad part is the answer is yes.
So far your achievements amount to absolute dick, why? Because you fucking suck. There is no great mystic reason, there is no great plan going on. You are not working everyone with some amazing bait and switch, you are a knock off of every other cheesy, malevolent, scheming villain in history. You offer absolutely nothing fresh and nothing new to this federation, you offer nothing new in the ring, you are a knock off of a knock off. You are everything everyone hates, from you stealing the name 'Jo(h)nny' to your palling up with Lerch, it's a slap in the face to everyone who has paved the way for everything you want to mimic. You are a clone of a clone. I see everyone else's mannerisms in your style it's like someone looked at a 'Create the Perfect WCF Wrestler' forum post and picked and chose from everything that was successful at the time. I bet a year ago you'd be front and centre churning out vapid pictures on paint. You will never succeed in this business, you are nothing fresh. You are stable and stagnant.
Where is your originality, where is your uniqueness? Where is the thing that makes me look at Johnny Rabid and think 'He's a future superstar'? It doesn't exist, because everything you try to do has already been done by those five times your superior. Know this Rabid, I am going light on you. I am going super light on you. I am letting you off with your life with this, I could rend your very existence away if I so desired...but where is the fun in that? You'll be beaten, you'll be humiliated on Slam. You will scream bloody murder. Just know, if you were to ever try to face me in singles competition. It would be worse. It would be much, much worse.
Time to put Rabid down, goodbye Ol' Yeller.
Portend of the end.
The room was wall to wall in dark reds in different patterns, and the only way in was through columns of transparent beads of violet and darker purple, that clattered together when stepped through. It was a small room, very much bespoke to purpose, with a sofa overloaded with cushions, each one a different size. A tall man would certainly need to duck his head before he sat down, however a “Watch Your Head” sign would be far too crude a telling of ill-fortune here. In the centre of the room was a circular mahogany table with a light blue table cloth with golden tassles at each corner, which lay on the table at an angle. The centrepiece of the table was a glass sphere on a golden base, however whether this was an actual tool of the fortune teller, or just a object of effect was unclear. The teller herself wore clothes as if she had the wardrobe of a gypsy just poured on top of her. She was in her 50s, and her hair was long and braided, the tips bobbled with beads that looked the same as those hanging from the door to the room. Her eyes, which had “seen” the fates of many that had passed through the beady gate, were a brown/hazel colour, and were already flanked by wrinkles. Her thin lips smiled as she bent down to tidy her cushions. She didn’t need to bend down far mind, as she barely breached 5ft. She reached optimum tidiness and spread her arms slightly, her purple and red floral scarf sat loosely on her shoulders like a cape. She turned around and clapped her eyes on Joseph.
Teller: Good day, can I help you?
Joseph: Uh, not really, just looking.
Teller: I see, yes, yes, well, I am here, should you need me, okay?
Joseph: Well, I think it’s time for me to go. Thanks-
Teller: Oh Joseph, you are no fun at all.
Joseph: ...what?
Teller: This is how these scenes in any book/television show/film always begin, you enter looking sceptical and bemused, I say something cryptic and you then scoff at it before I reveal some strange detail about your life and you wonder ‘How could she have known?’ The fact that you are a world famous wrestler has nothing to do with the fact I know your name. My son has your picture on his wall for goodness sake.
Joseph: Oh.
Teller: So, how can I help you Joseph?
Joseph: Is this like, legit?
Teller: You’re asking this now?
Joseph: Do I have to pay?
Teller: Of course, but I know your PIN number so I take as good as blank cheques. Is money a real object for you at the moment?
Joseph: Touche. Okay tell me this. What am I thinking right now?
Teller: You’re having inappropriate thoughts about Sarah Black, wife of Howard, fellating you while he watches.
Joseph: ...what?
Teller: Am I wrong?
Joseph: Yes...he was filming.
She smiles and holds out a bony hand. Joseph tentatively places his hand in hers, she slaps it away.
Teller: Money, fool.
Joseph recoils and pulls a couple of fifties from his wallet, depositing it in her palm.
Joseph: Good enough?.
Teller: Sure. For five minutes. You know I spend a fifty each on these cushions. Fucking IKEA. You could say they….cost a fortune. Please sit on the right hand side. Do you want me to write that down for you?
Joseph: Expensive cushions. I know which side right is.
He goes to sit down.
Teller: That’s left.
Joseph takes pause and slinks to the right, sitting himself down.
Teller: So, Joseph…
She gazes into his eyes, her head tilting ever so slowly as she does.
Teller: Interesting. Very interesting.
Joseph: What?
Teller: I see...three….yes three events in your future Joseph...
“A slate that ran clean was tainted with the blemish of grime, and so the face did run red”
Joseph: Are you fucking kidding me? You wrinkly old bitch, in what world is that ‘the future’, I’m of a mind to backhand you right now and-
Teller: Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho.
She laughed like a crone with a stutter.
Teller: Ssssh….listen...
First: From the flames walks a husk wearing the mask of a man, Thrice will you War, thrice will you fall, never once your splendour dull
Second: An enemy hidden in plain sight stalks the two,
Live together, or die alone
Third: Beware the man with two faces, for he is the worst of all your enemies, a smile hides the dagger in the dark, he sits, he waits, the child of prophecy will rise, as lightning falls, he ascends.
I believe...they ring a greater resonance with you Joseph…
Joseph was silent as he pushes awkwardly past her.
Teller: I am pleased
Joseph smiles uncomfortably and leaves the room, the teller simply watching on as he leaves. He hears the rumble of thunder on the street outside, and as he opens the door another flash of lightning strikes a building in the distance. A colossal downpour hammers down on the asphalt. Joseph turns around one more time and is startled to find the teller standing but an inch away from him, her eyes piercing his. He steps out into the downpour and makes his way up the street.
Teller: Did I do well...Jim?
She turns to find the tall bipedal white extraterrestrial figure illuminated with another flash of lightning, it stretches its unearthly spindly fingers toward her.
Jim: You did perfectly.
