Post by Jonny Fly on Jan 31, 2016 15:58:19 GMT -5
[Scene Begins]
It’s bleak, cold night in Denmark. They’re all bleak and cold. It’s Denmark. Our establishing shot is that of the picturesque castle inhabited by Corey Black. His international abode since 2012, the castle is as synonymous with Black as his accomplishments; the Hall of Fame, the five WCF World Titles, the numerous Television and Tag Title reigns, the one time he was pinned by Adam Young. You guys know the resume. As the wind whips through the trees surrounding the ancient property, we switch…
Our screen is now black. Sound is unaccounted for, save for a small tapping sound. Tap-Tap-Tap. From afar, the melody suggests a metallic object lightly percussing against stone. Another sound joins the fray, and this one is more distinguishable. A pair of footsteps descend a staircase, one at a time, ever so slowly. As the footsteps subside, we’re lead to the conclusion that the owner of these steps has taken a pause. We can hear said person breathing, slow and steady, unanxious about the darkened world surrounding him.
The tapping sound recommences. The footsteps follow suit. They move slowly in the direction of the sound. Our camera moves toward the sound as well, and the faint sounds become increasingly loud. Both the sound of the tapping and the accompanying footsteps seem to be right on top of us. The tapping stops. The footsteps stop. A lighter from the hands of our guest is flicked open, allowing us to ever-so-briefly see the face of Jonny Fly. The light also reveals a glint of silver in his hand. He’s sitting in a corner looking outward with two castle walls providing the backdrop. The lighter goes out.
Fly: They think this is a joke. That I won’t go through with it. What do you think?
A match is now struck. It’s held in the air, illuminating the face of Corey Black standing no more than ten feet away from where Jonny Fly is sitting. Black moves the match from the front of his face toward the wall, where he lights the wick of a hanging candle. Upon being lit, the candle brings an orange glow into our scene. This allows us to notice the familiar surroundings of his dungeon. Fly has taken a seated position on a stool in the back right corner of the dungeon. He wields a machete, tip facing the ground, in his right hand. It’s the source of the tapping sounds heard previously. Black stands in front of Fly wearing a winter jacket, jeans…and of course that glorious beard.
Black: I think you shouldn’t have come here.
Fly scoffs at the statement.
Fly: I see you didn’t keep any of my decorations.
Black: You mean that ‘home makeover’ you did for me where you purposely put a bunch of shit around my castle that you knew I would hate? Yeah, I was definitely going to keep all that.
Black says sarcastically, in case you couldn’t tell.
Fly: That’s sort of a microcosm of our relationship, is it not? I do nice things for you and you give nothing in return. I spent a lot of money dressing this shithole up. You should appreciate that.
Black: I don’t do dress-up.
Fly: Then why exactly were you wearing face paint for the month of December?
Black: I…uh…that wasn’t me. You know that. Everyone knows that.
Fly: You’re Corey Black again?
Black: Have you not been paying attention?
Fly: To you? Only moderately. Don’t be offended, that may still be more attention than I pay to anyone else. You just don’t do anything for me, CD. You’re nothing more than an empty body with one of those “Hello, My Name Is” name tag stuck on your emo fuckin’ shirt filled out with a name wrestling fans just happen to have heard before. There’s nothing more to you. When you enter the wrestling ring, nothing special happens. People don’t watch your performance in awe. There’s nobody in the crowd getting goosebumps. When your tired, shit music begins to play fans aren’t frantically grabbing their phones to text friends, “OMG OMG OMG, COREY BLACK IS HERE!” Your career is hollow. The insides of the Corey Black shell have rot and been eaten by every. single. wrestler. who’s faced you over the last several years. You may not be old in the sense of age, but you’re as substantive as a bag of bones anyway.
Fly’s piercing words echo off the stone walls. Black laughs under his breath.
Black: If true, how is that any different than you? I know you’re not so great at rational thought or conversation, but perhaps you could explain to me what differentiates the two of us in today’s WCF?
Fly has an immediate and acute answer.
Fly: Skill.
As he says the word, a stare down commences. Fly’s eyes pierce through Black. After a few moments, he bolsters his position on the matter.
Fly: I’m only on the outside because that’s where I choose to exist. I choose to be on the fringes. I choose to pick my spots. You don’t choose to be in the shadows. You’ve taken great care over the years to remind everyone that you’re always around, always in WCF, always willing to do whatever needs to be done. You don’t want to be on the outskirts, but that’s the only place where you can safely hide your mediocre skill. God forbid THE GREAT Corey Black wrestle every week and lose…every week…as would be the case. People can dislike me all they want, CD. But my skill is unquestioned. It is above reproach. It is as concrete as these walls.
Black: Considering the walls are stone, I agree with you.
The comment brings a smirk to Black’s face. Fly responds with a sly smile.
Fly: You know, I’m glad you’ve changed your persona back and you’re now one person again. Mostly because I didn’t know what is the plural form of nemesis. Nemesi? Nemeseses? Nemeseseses? It’s a god damn conundrum.
Black: What does that change? Everyone hates you. It’s not like I’m your only nemeses. There’s a lot of people who are ready to watch me get rid of you once and for all.
Fly: They’ll be severely disappointed.
Black: You’re completely out of touch. The aura of Jonny Fly is dead.
Fly: Let me give you another difference between the two of us, CD. I don’t need to change personas to find my violent side. It’s always there. It’s always ready. You want to talk about aura? What about you? The castle, the nicknames, the machete…
Fly pauses to look down at the blade he’s still wielding in his hand.
Fly: …but you have no killer instinct. That’s why you lose every big match. That’s why you could never hold onto a title to save your fuckin’ life. That’s why your biggest achievements are due to nothing more than longevity. Ironically, it’s going to be that lack of a killer instinct that ends a career that’d gone on about a decade too long. You’re a sham and a fraud, Corey Black. Today, you only dream of being the person that you outwardly present yourself to be. How am I supposed to respect that? With all that I’ve gone through, with all that I’ve done, how can I respect a fuckin’ hypocrite like you?
Black: You know what? Fuck it. Gloves off. You haven’t been thinking straight for months, maybe years. You want to talk about hypocrisy? You have this incredibly warped first-person view of the world. You do nothing but lie to yourself. You find fault where there is no fault. You make a huge deal over the smallest of slight or circumstance. That’s how you’ve programmed yourself to be – YOU LIKE IT. You are programmed to be violent, confrontational, and irrational. But no matter how many people tell you this, you just continue on this path of idiocy. You relish the turbulence brought by your behavior. You’re a fucking cancer, Jonny Fly. I’m the surgeon that’s going to cut you open and remove WCF’s biggest tumor.
With that, Black reaches under his jacket and pulls out his own machete. He holds it in his left hand, facing down at the ground.
Fly: I bet you don’t even know how to use that.
Black: Try me.
Fly: You can’t scare me, CD. I’m impervious to something as inconsequential as fear. It does nothing for me, so I do not indulge in it.
Black: You’re the one in my dungeon with a weapon. So, you tell me who’s trying to scare whom?
Fly: Oh, this?
Fly’s eyes briefly look down at the machete.
Fly: That’s not what you should be scared of, not at all. This was just to get you to come down here so we could have this talk – one last talk. What should scare you is the fact that you’re ten feet away from the wickedest individual you’ll ever encounter. Worse, I am your superior in every way imaginable. Bigger…
Jonny Fly slowly rises to his feet and towers over Corey Black to accentuate his point.
Fly: Stronger…faster…smarter. This isn’t showmanship. I don’t need to wield machetes or wear face paint to induce fear. I_will_fucking_eradicate_you. I will feel no remorse because of it. I will move on with my life and never pay you another thought. That’s exactly what I’m going to do on Sunday. THAT’S what should scare you, Corey Black.
Black nods his head ‘no.’
Black: I know you, Fly. I know you as well as just about anyone. This entire month you’ve just been puffing out your chest to mask your own insecurities. When you go home, when all the cameras are off…you think, and you think a lot. Deep down, you know that you’ve really never beaten me. You know that all of our previous matches were a joke. You’re the first to stand up and try to shove them in my face…but when you’re alone, when you’re not trying to be JONNY FLY…you remember that I was on my way out of the company during our first World Title match. You know that your Wednesday Night win over me was perhaps the most laughable of matches between two legends in WCF history. It meant absolutely nothing. Lastly, and most importantly, you of all people are perfectly aware the struggle of teaming with Jayson Price. Your tag team win over us at One is even more irrelevant than the Wednesday Night match. You’ve never beaten me, Fly. Now you’ve found your way into a career versus career match. That’s made you think…what if…what if you’ve been wrong this whole time? What if I putting my career…my FIFTEEN FUCKING YEAR CAREER…on the line awakes the true Corey Black, the one that you DO fear exists…and is about to be unleashed.
Fly chuckles and rubs his chin before forming a response.
Fly: I HOPE there’s a true Corey Black that’s different than the one we’ve been seeing this whole time. I’m begging to see that motherfucker in the ring on Sunday. I don’t want this to be the walk in the park the other matches were. Bring it…bring everything. I want every ounce of your being focused on winning this match. It’s going to make it all the more sweeter when I destroy you. You await the fate that has fallen so many, CD. You will try…and try…and you will expect your best to be good enough. But it’s never good enough. Not against me. Jonny Fly always wins in the end.
As Fly’s words fill the air, a stare down once again commences between the two rivals. They’re standing no more than a few inches from one another now. Fly is the first one to break eye contact by looking down at his machete. He holds it up in front of Black’s face.
Fly: I’m keeping this. I’m going to mount it on my wall like a hunter. A trophy of my biggest kill.
Black: More like a remembrance to the man who ended your wrestling career.
Fly cracks a smile.
Fly: I sure hope you’re going to bring more to the table that a couple of sharp elbows this time.
With that, Fly brushes past Corey Black and walks the length of the dungeon back in the direction of the staircase. Black turns and watches him leave as the scene slowly fades to dark.
[Scene Ends]
[Scene Begins]
The sun is setting in Reading, Pennsylvania. A crowd of wrestling fans have encircled WCF headquarters in front of the main staircase that leads up to the front door. Each fan has come equipped with a shiny little candle. Many of the fans are holding tightly onto their loved ones. Some are out rightly crying. It’s a very sad scene. Like that one time when that one lion died in that one movie. That was sad. Probably not as sad as this though. You see, on this night a vigil has been called as the WCF faithful remember that little short dude who kept popping up on their television for like two decades. The black one. No, not like Orbit black. His name is black. Corey Black. I’m like Ron Burgundy. I can’t stop saying the word….black.
Black.
Behold, we’ve just noticed that a podium has been set-up on the landing at the top of the stairs. A quick scan of the sadness brigade (read: crowd) and you can see that they’re waiting patiently for someone to appear and comfort them in their time of sorrow. Could it be that Corey Black is going to take part in his own vigil? Has anyone ever showed up to their own candlelight memorial? That’d be some Corey Black shit, too. For 15 years that little douche has been trying to hog the spotlight from superhuman wrestlers like that one guy an insect for a last name. You know who I’m talking about. The guy that always eat hots fries and talks about banging hookers.
The doors of WCF headquarters swing open. Due to the low visibility provided by the dusk setting in this scene, we can’t immediately tell who is coming out to speak with us. The Vegas odds are still on Corey Black doing some self-fulfilling shit here. Alas, the silhouette of this person as he moves outside of the doorway appears way too skinny. Oh look, a Coheed and Cambria shirt. Skinny and Coheed? That’s motherfuckin’ Seth Danger Lerch. You can almost hear a groan from the crowd, clearly feeling that Lerch’s presence instead of CD’s is a setback…or maybe…Sethback. Regardless, Papa Lerch is beaming proudly as he walks to the podium and begins to make out with the microphone.
Seth: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here this evening to witness…
Seth stops suddenly. He looks around before clearing his throat.
Seth: Wait, why are you guys out here again?
Someone from crowd yells out “Corey Black Vigil.” Seth smacks his forehead to illustrate that he’s dumb.
Seth: Right, of course. I was wondering why all you idiots were holding candles. I forgot that was today. Full disclosure, I’ve been drinking some really strong wine spritzers since approximately noon. I’m a little out of sorts. Plus, I really didn’t want to do this but Fly made me. He said it wouldn’t proper ‘leadership’ to not pay tribute to someone who I’ve been paying to do nothing for the last decade.
Seth rolls his eyes, showing a bit of annoyance.
Seth: So, since we have to pay tribute, I’m going to need someone to volunteer. You’ll have the great honor of representing your city. We have a super-fast train ready to take you to The Dethfort, where you’ll battle to the death with other tributes. It’s not all that bad. Lenny Kravitz will make your clothes light on fire. Some drunk guy that’s not me will try to give you advice on how to survive. You might even get to see Elizabeth Banks in a hairstyle that magically dissolves her hotness. It’ll be great. So, who wants to be the tribute?
Nobody from the crowd raises their hand. In fact, they’re all quite confused about what is going on.
Seth: Hmm. I’m really not sure what I’m supposed to do now. I don’t have soldiers to snatch someone up and make them serve as tribute.
Seth takes a moment to scan the audience. He thinks of a new approach to try and engage the vigil patrons.
Seth: Let’s just put that aside for now. What if I told you guys some of my best Corey Black stories? People like stories at vigils, right? It makes you feel more connected to the person who we’re here to remember. I don’t think I’ve ever told this one. It was about six years ago. Corey Black was in his locker room with a tape measure. I walked in and he was like “Seth! My best friend in the whole world!” Then I was like, “HEY! WHOA! You’re not Logan! I mean Torture! I said Torture, dammit!” Let’s be perfectly honest, of all of the wrestlers that I’ve owned my favorites are in this order; Torture, Jonny Fly, Torture again, Logan, Steve Orbit, Gravedigger sometimes, and then every other wrestler ever, then that goat that Tommy Kain used to talk to, then Jayson Price, and then Corey Black.
Anyway, Black asks me to hold the tape measure. He said he thought he grew or some shit. Apparently, he’d been flipping around a lot and thought it’d stretched his spine out. So he stood against the wall, back straight, and asked me to measure him. So I did, and read off that he was five foot eight and half inches tall. You’d of thought that Logan just smacked him in the face with his dick. He was irate! He started kicking the wall, kicking the bench, kicking my shin. It was very unprofessional. Then he grabbed the tape measure out of my hand and threw it in the direction of the door. Low and behold, my poor, sweet, innocent, slightly slutty sister Shannan just happened to be walking in at that exact moment. The tape measure hit her right in the belly…and that’s the story of how she lost Price’s child.
There’s a collective gasp from the audience. Seth starts laughing out loud.
Seth: Just kidding. Man, wrestling fans are so gullible. But seriously, most of that happened. Corey Black has napoleon syndrome. We all know that. I’ll give you another example. It wasn’t all that long ago at about two or three in the morning when I got a text from him. Mistakenly I can only imagine. He asked if I was “DTF.” In fact, in that moment, I was. I was down to fuck…
GASP from the crowd.
Seth: …with him. Like, screw with him. You know?
More gasps.
Seth: Come on assholes! Get your minds out of the gutter! What I’m saying is that I knew he must be lonely in that giant castle and sad that he doesn’t have any friends anymore. I decided to take advantage of his state for my own amusement. I knew he was texting the wrong number, but I played along. I found some google images of titties and teasingly sent them to him, telling him that if he came over he could bury his beard in them. Shit like that. Anyways, apparently instead of getting the blood in his wiener flowing my sexting got the blood flowing back to his brain. Eventually he realized he was texting me, got pissed off, and flew all the way to Pennsylvania to my home and walked inside and elbowed me in the face. Then he left. He didn’t even cook me breakfast after fucking me like that! So rude.
The crowd doesn’t know what to do at this point. Seth is just basically going on drunken tangents about Corey Black.
Seth: So yeah, it’s safe to say that I’m not going to miss Corey Black that much. I mean, I’m not a huge fan of what’s going on because I don’t want to lose any wrestlers. For all his faults, Corey Black has been known to bring in a little coin every now and then. But certainly of the two, I’d rather see Black out of the company instead of Fly. That’s common sense, and if there’s one thing that Seth Lerch is known for, it’s having common sense. I really don’t have anything else to say. I have a wine spritzer inside that’s probably getting warm, so I better get back in there. I’m going to introduce someone else who would like to say a few words about Corey Black and how much he’s going to miss him. As we wait for him to come up here, I’d like to play Corey Black’s favorite song from his favorite artist. I think it’s appropriate for tonight’s proceedings. Please refrain from crying too much. Peace out, bitches.
Seth tries to drop the mic, but it’s connected to the podium so he ends up just making an idiot of himself. He walks away in shame as the beginning notes of “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” by Taylor Swift begins to play.
But wait!
Blue strobe lights hit. The beat from 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” begins to blast, playing over top of Swift’s shitty pop sound. A full scantily clad choreographed dance team bursts out from WCF’s front door. A spotlight hits and there in the middle of the bitches, microphone in hand, feather in his hat, is Steve Orbit. “The Mack” begins to jam. The bitches begin to dance in unison.
“I remember when we broke up with CD the first time
Saying, "This is it, I've had enough," 'cause like
You hadn’t won in a month
But you said we’re just being lame (What?)
Then you come around again and say
"Baby, I miss you and I swear I can win, trust me."
Remember how that lasted for a day?
I say, "We hate you," we break up, you call me, "I love you."
Ooh, we called it off again after last Sunday
But ooh, this time I'm telling you, I'm telling you
Fly, Orbit, and Black are never ever ever getting back together,
We are never ever ever getting back together,
You go talk to your friends, but not my friends, or me
Because we are never ever ever ever getting back together
Like, ever...
I'm really gonna miss you losing fights
And me screaming that you’ve proved us right
And you would hide away in your castle and act blind
With some midcard Flyjobbers saying that you’re fine
Ooh, you called me up again tonight
But ooh, this time I'm telling you, I'm telling you
We are never ever ever getting back together,
We are never ever ever getting back together,
You go talk to your friends, but not my friends, or me
Because we are never ever ever ever getting back together
Ooh, yeah, ooh yeah, ooh yeah
Oh oh oh
I used to think that we and Pantheon were forever ever
And I used to say, "Never say never..."
Uggg... so he calls me up on the celly and is like, "I still love you,"
And I'm like... "I just... I mean this is exhausting, you know, like,
Go fuck yourself, bitch.
We are never getting back together. Like, ever"
No!
The music drowns out. The dance team exits and with a wide smile on his face Steve Orbit steps up to the podium. He takes a minute to catch his breath.
Orbit: Yo, ya’ll didn’t know I could hit them notes like that, right? I be suprisin’ even myself with this shit. You ever heard such a good T. Swift cover? Them were the real damn words too. Don’t even look that up. Trust me. It’s no wonder Corey Black loved that damn song so much.
Orbit pauses briefly to laugh at his own comments.
Orbit: But seriously ya’ll, this is a sad fuckin’ occasion. We got this dude who been around here trying to hold down the castle for damn nearly as long as the latest round of bitches I just hired at Club Violet been alive. You know what I’m sayin’? To yours truly, this dude has been a friend, enemy, friendemy, the whole spectrum. But I gotta stay to true to my blood. Fly is right about this dude. It’s time for Corey Black to leave WCF wrestling and other than me, but of course I’m busy locking down World Title matches and shit, there ain’t no better man to get this job done than Jonny Fly.
As fans, you need to embrace a WCF without Corey Black. It ain’t a bad thing. He’s not much of a wrestler these days. We gotta progress, you know? It’s like that motherfucker I’m gonna be facin’ on Sunday, Logan. These guys aren’t people to cheer. They just hangin’ around trying to get that paycheck, you feel me? You gotta understand that it’s ya’ll’s money that’s talkin’ when these dudes try to get into the ring any embarrass themselves. Seth is doing what you guys want. You and him both love them cheap nostalgia pops. But it’s not humane. Corey Black can’t wrestle anymore. Worse, he’s in denial of this fact. Ya’ll are killin’ this dude’s cred when you pay to watch him wrestle. Cause he can’t do it no more. I’m sorry, but the time has come to have a WCF without Corey Black. That’s exactly what we’re going to have in just a few short days.
Orbit pauses. He nods his head.
Orbit: Yeah, I ain’t got much else to add. Corey Black’s a bitch. Steve Orbit about to reign supreme on this motherfucker one again. That’s all I got to say. I think ya’ll ready now for the main event. Let’s bring out the man who’s the reason why we’re all here. Light your candles, motherfuckers. Jonny Fly about to deliver a eulogy up in this bitch.
The gathered mass does as it’s instructed. They light their candles and hold them in the air as Jonny Fly steps out from WCF headquarters and joins Steve Orbit at the podium. Orbit steps to the right, allowing Fly to step to the microphone.
Fly: Fellow WCF faithful, I thank you for your presence here this evening. I feel for all of you. I understand well your history with Corey Black. The many moments of joy and memories that he’s brought to our great fans. This Sunday I carry a heavy burden. A burden too much for any ordinary wrestler. The burden of stripping Corey Black from your lives…forever.
We can clearly hear a few boos from the group. Fly nods his head, understanding the reaction completely.
Fly: I take this matter very seriously. I understand that it may not be popular. However, I have to admit that popularity is not something that concerns me. You guys are looking at this matter with emotion. Emotion that is clouded your better judgement. I’ve cut emotion for Corey Black out of my life long ago. This is what’s best for WCF. This is what’s best for all of you, no matter if you can see it or not. In fact, this is even what’s best for Corey Black. The sand is the hourglass has fallen for him. Corey Black is ruining his own legacy every time he enters the ring. Worse, his mind hasn’t caught up with his body. He still thinks he’s ‘got it.’ This leads to embarrassment after embarrassment after embarrassment. Euthanasia is the only avenue here, people. For you own sake, I hope as you watch CD slide out of that ring on Sunday and make that last walk of shame to the back – you can understand this from my perspective. Regardless, it doesn’t change my duty.
Now, yes, a lot of this is personal. I won’t lie about that aspect. Like you, I once loved Corey Black. I enjoyed his company as I embarked upon an awe-inspiring run into WCF’s inner circle of elite wrestlers. Corey Black was a confidant and a friend, but he was never a mentor. I never needed a mentor. My World Title reigns began prior to my affiliation with Corey Black. Pantheon began before my affiliation with Corey Black. Yet, Corey Black has at times tried to take credit for both. He helped me become the legend you see before you, he said. He’s THE Pantheon, he says. These should serve as examples as to how we’ve come to this point.
Corey Black expects the world to revolve around him – because he’s Corey Black. He overstates his importance to this company’s past, present, and future. This is a mechanism he uses to brainwash more naïve wrestlers into respecting him. They appreciate him, and therefore are less critical of him or cognizant of his many shortcomings. I’ve been there. Steve has been there. When each of us tried to break free of him, CD turned on us. Openly criticized what we were doing. Downplayed who we were, and what we had done for him. It was in fact the exact opposite. It was us, who gave to him. In this host versus parasite relationship, Corey Black is the blood sucker. He tried to replace us with younger wrestlers who he could mold – or in other words, warp. It failed. He tried to go back to the Jayson Price well. It failed. Black is left on an island by himself. He has no more friends. They’ve all now seen through him. He enters his final battle alone. A position in which Corey Black has not been capable of having success with since 2011. Five long Jonny Fly filled years ago.
I should digress. These moments that have brought us to this point are the result of jealousy. Jealousy is a perfectly normal human behavior. I was Corey Black’s golden goose. He remains partly relevant TO_THIS_DAY because of the lifeline I gave him four years ago with the invitation to join me in Pantheon. Corey Black wanted to control me. He wanted me to act a certain way. To do things in a Corey Black approved manner. He suffocated the fly out of Jonny and he tried to change Steve’s orbit. I don’t need to be surrounded by wrestling’s equivalent of Mother Theresa. Especially not some fucking jobber version. Corey Black is not humanly capable of hiding or manipulating the fact that I am an infinitely better wrestler. Therefore, why in the fuck would I ever listen to him?
That’s not how this industry works. I respect people who can beat me. That’s why this man standing next to me I love dearly. Steve Orbit gets shit done. He doesn’t give a fuck about how I act, what I say, or ‘the cause.’ The fuckin’ cause it to win…always…and forever. Corey Black stopping winning a long time ago. He stopped winning, and started talking about how to win. He transitioned from doer into teacher. There’s a lot of highly successful individuals who have retired and now are adjunct professors at their local college. The trait that is similar in all of them? They can’t do their jobs anymore. So they teach instead. They continue to age and then eventually…they die.
Corey Black is at the end of his evolutionary cycle. He’s served his purpose. His usefulness had run its course. The students no longer want, nor need him. Who is Corey Black in the world of Dune, Joey Flash, Wade Moor, and so on? He’s nobody. He’s a statue. You gaze upon it, reflect upon the good ‘ole days, and then you move on with your life. WCF has moved on. It’s no longer Logan and Corey Black’s playhouse. It’s not even Pantheon’s WCF. It’s a completely new era and I’m going to give them the freshest of starts. One without the midget ghost of Corey Black haunting the hallways just looking for something to do to entertain himself.
I have absolutely no chance at losing this match. The match itself is a formality. Corey Black’s fate was sealed when he idiotically presented the terms of this match. A rare mishap from a man who’s tried for so long to insulate himself from extermination. I will not fail. On Sunday, I am taking one of the pillars that this company was built on…and replacing it. I’m replacing it with one that is much stronger and much taller. My own. I am your Corey Black. Your legend on the fringe. Your wrestling hero to worship. Let me say this, unlike my predecessor…it will never be easy to get rid of me. Jonny Fly will reign forever.
Fly flashes his trademark smirk before uttering a few last phrases.
Fly: Hold your candles high, my friends. Illuminate the sky. The black shall be no more. Not after Sunday.
With that, Jonny Fly steps back from the podium. He and Orbit share a brief fist bump. They each take a moment to stare down the steps at the crowd, each of whom may now be starting to wonder what exactly a Corey Black-less Wrestling Championship Federation would even look like.
Jonny Fly intends to show them.
[Scene Ends]
It’s bleak, cold night in Denmark. They’re all bleak and cold. It’s Denmark. Our establishing shot is that of the picturesque castle inhabited by Corey Black. His international abode since 2012, the castle is as synonymous with Black as his accomplishments; the Hall of Fame, the five WCF World Titles, the numerous Television and Tag Title reigns, the one time he was pinned by Adam Young. You guys know the resume. As the wind whips through the trees surrounding the ancient property, we switch…
Our screen is now black. Sound is unaccounted for, save for a small tapping sound. Tap-Tap-Tap. From afar, the melody suggests a metallic object lightly percussing against stone. Another sound joins the fray, and this one is more distinguishable. A pair of footsteps descend a staircase, one at a time, ever so slowly. As the footsteps subside, we’re lead to the conclusion that the owner of these steps has taken a pause. We can hear said person breathing, slow and steady, unanxious about the darkened world surrounding him.
The tapping sound recommences. The footsteps follow suit. They move slowly in the direction of the sound. Our camera moves toward the sound as well, and the faint sounds become increasingly loud. Both the sound of the tapping and the accompanying footsteps seem to be right on top of us. The tapping stops. The footsteps stop. A lighter from the hands of our guest is flicked open, allowing us to ever-so-briefly see the face of Jonny Fly. The light also reveals a glint of silver in his hand. He’s sitting in a corner looking outward with two castle walls providing the backdrop. The lighter goes out.
Fly: They think this is a joke. That I won’t go through with it. What do you think?
A match is now struck. It’s held in the air, illuminating the face of Corey Black standing no more than ten feet away from where Jonny Fly is sitting. Black moves the match from the front of his face toward the wall, where he lights the wick of a hanging candle. Upon being lit, the candle brings an orange glow into our scene. This allows us to notice the familiar surroundings of his dungeon. Fly has taken a seated position on a stool in the back right corner of the dungeon. He wields a machete, tip facing the ground, in his right hand. It’s the source of the tapping sounds heard previously. Black stands in front of Fly wearing a winter jacket, jeans…and of course that glorious beard.
Black: I think you shouldn’t have come here.
Fly scoffs at the statement.
Fly: I see you didn’t keep any of my decorations.
Black: You mean that ‘home makeover’ you did for me where you purposely put a bunch of shit around my castle that you knew I would hate? Yeah, I was definitely going to keep all that.
Black says sarcastically, in case you couldn’t tell.
Fly: That’s sort of a microcosm of our relationship, is it not? I do nice things for you and you give nothing in return. I spent a lot of money dressing this shithole up. You should appreciate that.
Black: I don’t do dress-up.
Fly: Then why exactly were you wearing face paint for the month of December?
Black: I…uh…that wasn’t me. You know that. Everyone knows that.
Fly: You’re Corey Black again?
Black: Have you not been paying attention?
Fly: To you? Only moderately. Don’t be offended, that may still be more attention than I pay to anyone else. You just don’t do anything for me, CD. You’re nothing more than an empty body with one of those “Hello, My Name Is” name tag stuck on your emo fuckin’ shirt filled out with a name wrestling fans just happen to have heard before. There’s nothing more to you. When you enter the wrestling ring, nothing special happens. People don’t watch your performance in awe. There’s nobody in the crowd getting goosebumps. When your tired, shit music begins to play fans aren’t frantically grabbing their phones to text friends, “OMG OMG OMG, COREY BLACK IS HERE!” Your career is hollow. The insides of the Corey Black shell have rot and been eaten by every. single. wrestler. who’s faced you over the last several years. You may not be old in the sense of age, but you’re as substantive as a bag of bones anyway.
Fly’s piercing words echo off the stone walls. Black laughs under his breath.
Black: If true, how is that any different than you? I know you’re not so great at rational thought or conversation, but perhaps you could explain to me what differentiates the two of us in today’s WCF?
Fly has an immediate and acute answer.
Fly: Skill.
As he says the word, a stare down commences. Fly’s eyes pierce through Black. After a few moments, he bolsters his position on the matter.
Fly: I’m only on the outside because that’s where I choose to exist. I choose to be on the fringes. I choose to pick my spots. You don’t choose to be in the shadows. You’ve taken great care over the years to remind everyone that you’re always around, always in WCF, always willing to do whatever needs to be done. You don’t want to be on the outskirts, but that’s the only place where you can safely hide your mediocre skill. God forbid THE GREAT Corey Black wrestle every week and lose…every week…as would be the case. People can dislike me all they want, CD. But my skill is unquestioned. It is above reproach. It is as concrete as these walls.
Black: Considering the walls are stone, I agree with you.
The comment brings a smirk to Black’s face. Fly responds with a sly smile.
Fly: You know, I’m glad you’ve changed your persona back and you’re now one person again. Mostly because I didn’t know what is the plural form of nemesis. Nemesi? Nemeseses? Nemeseseses? It’s a god damn conundrum.
Black: What does that change? Everyone hates you. It’s not like I’m your only nemeses. There’s a lot of people who are ready to watch me get rid of you once and for all.
Fly: They’ll be severely disappointed.
Black: You’re completely out of touch. The aura of Jonny Fly is dead.
Fly: Let me give you another difference between the two of us, CD. I don’t need to change personas to find my violent side. It’s always there. It’s always ready. You want to talk about aura? What about you? The castle, the nicknames, the machete…
Fly pauses to look down at the blade he’s still wielding in his hand.
Fly: …but you have no killer instinct. That’s why you lose every big match. That’s why you could never hold onto a title to save your fuckin’ life. That’s why your biggest achievements are due to nothing more than longevity. Ironically, it’s going to be that lack of a killer instinct that ends a career that’d gone on about a decade too long. You’re a sham and a fraud, Corey Black. Today, you only dream of being the person that you outwardly present yourself to be. How am I supposed to respect that? With all that I’ve gone through, with all that I’ve done, how can I respect a fuckin’ hypocrite like you?
Black: You know what? Fuck it. Gloves off. You haven’t been thinking straight for months, maybe years. You want to talk about hypocrisy? You have this incredibly warped first-person view of the world. You do nothing but lie to yourself. You find fault where there is no fault. You make a huge deal over the smallest of slight or circumstance. That’s how you’ve programmed yourself to be – YOU LIKE IT. You are programmed to be violent, confrontational, and irrational. But no matter how many people tell you this, you just continue on this path of idiocy. You relish the turbulence brought by your behavior. You’re a fucking cancer, Jonny Fly. I’m the surgeon that’s going to cut you open and remove WCF’s biggest tumor.
With that, Black reaches under his jacket and pulls out his own machete. He holds it in his left hand, facing down at the ground.
Fly: I bet you don’t even know how to use that.
Black: Try me.
Fly: You can’t scare me, CD. I’m impervious to something as inconsequential as fear. It does nothing for me, so I do not indulge in it.
Black: You’re the one in my dungeon with a weapon. So, you tell me who’s trying to scare whom?
Fly: Oh, this?
Fly’s eyes briefly look down at the machete.
Fly: That’s not what you should be scared of, not at all. This was just to get you to come down here so we could have this talk – one last talk. What should scare you is the fact that you’re ten feet away from the wickedest individual you’ll ever encounter. Worse, I am your superior in every way imaginable. Bigger…
Jonny Fly slowly rises to his feet and towers over Corey Black to accentuate his point.
Fly: Stronger…faster…smarter. This isn’t showmanship. I don’t need to wield machetes or wear face paint to induce fear. I_will_fucking_eradicate_you. I will feel no remorse because of it. I will move on with my life and never pay you another thought. That’s exactly what I’m going to do on Sunday. THAT’S what should scare you, Corey Black.
Black nods his head ‘no.’
Black: I know you, Fly. I know you as well as just about anyone. This entire month you’ve just been puffing out your chest to mask your own insecurities. When you go home, when all the cameras are off…you think, and you think a lot. Deep down, you know that you’ve really never beaten me. You know that all of our previous matches were a joke. You’re the first to stand up and try to shove them in my face…but when you’re alone, when you’re not trying to be JONNY FLY…you remember that I was on my way out of the company during our first World Title match. You know that your Wednesday Night win over me was perhaps the most laughable of matches between two legends in WCF history. It meant absolutely nothing. Lastly, and most importantly, you of all people are perfectly aware the struggle of teaming with Jayson Price. Your tag team win over us at One is even more irrelevant than the Wednesday Night match. You’ve never beaten me, Fly. Now you’ve found your way into a career versus career match. That’s made you think…what if…what if you’ve been wrong this whole time? What if I putting my career…my FIFTEEN FUCKING YEAR CAREER…on the line awakes the true Corey Black, the one that you DO fear exists…and is about to be unleashed.
Fly chuckles and rubs his chin before forming a response.
Fly: I HOPE there’s a true Corey Black that’s different than the one we’ve been seeing this whole time. I’m begging to see that motherfucker in the ring on Sunday. I don’t want this to be the walk in the park the other matches were. Bring it…bring everything. I want every ounce of your being focused on winning this match. It’s going to make it all the more sweeter when I destroy you. You await the fate that has fallen so many, CD. You will try…and try…and you will expect your best to be good enough. But it’s never good enough. Not against me. Jonny Fly always wins in the end.
As Fly’s words fill the air, a stare down once again commences between the two rivals. They’re standing no more than a few inches from one another now. Fly is the first one to break eye contact by looking down at his machete. He holds it up in front of Black’s face.
Fly: I’m keeping this. I’m going to mount it on my wall like a hunter. A trophy of my biggest kill.
Black: More like a remembrance to the man who ended your wrestling career.
Fly cracks a smile.
Fly: I sure hope you’re going to bring more to the table that a couple of sharp elbows this time.
With that, Fly brushes past Corey Black and walks the length of the dungeon back in the direction of the staircase. Black turns and watches him leave as the scene slowly fades to dark.
[Scene Ends]
[Scene Begins]
The sun is setting in Reading, Pennsylvania. A crowd of wrestling fans have encircled WCF headquarters in front of the main staircase that leads up to the front door. Each fan has come equipped with a shiny little candle. Many of the fans are holding tightly onto their loved ones. Some are out rightly crying. It’s a very sad scene. Like that one time when that one lion died in that one movie. That was sad. Probably not as sad as this though. You see, on this night a vigil has been called as the WCF faithful remember that little short dude who kept popping up on their television for like two decades. The black one. No, not like Orbit black. His name is black. Corey Black. I’m like Ron Burgundy. I can’t stop saying the word….black.
Black.
Behold, we’ve just noticed that a podium has been set-up on the landing at the top of the stairs. A quick scan of the sadness brigade (read: crowd) and you can see that they’re waiting patiently for someone to appear and comfort them in their time of sorrow. Could it be that Corey Black is going to take part in his own vigil? Has anyone ever showed up to their own candlelight memorial? That’d be some Corey Black shit, too. For 15 years that little douche has been trying to hog the spotlight from superhuman wrestlers like that one guy an insect for a last name. You know who I’m talking about. The guy that always eat hots fries and talks about banging hookers.
The doors of WCF headquarters swing open. Due to the low visibility provided by the dusk setting in this scene, we can’t immediately tell who is coming out to speak with us. The Vegas odds are still on Corey Black doing some self-fulfilling shit here. Alas, the silhouette of this person as he moves outside of the doorway appears way too skinny. Oh look, a Coheed and Cambria shirt. Skinny and Coheed? That’s motherfuckin’ Seth Danger Lerch. You can almost hear a groan from the crowd, clearly feeling that Lerch’s presence instead of CD’s is a setback…or maybe…Sethback. Regardless, Papa Lerch is beaming proudly as he walks to the podium and begins to make out with the microphone.
Seth: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here this evening to witness…
Seth stops suddenly. He looks around before clearing his throat.
Seth: Wait, why are you guys out here again?
Someone from crowd yells out “Corey Black Vigil.” Seth smacks his forehead to illustrate that he’s dumb.
Seth: Right, of course. I was wondering why all you idiots were holding candles. I forgot that was today. Full disclosure, I’ve been drinking some really strong wine spritzers since approximately noon. I’m a little out of sorts. Plus, I really didn’t want to do this but Fly made me. He said it wouldn’t proper ‘leadership’ to not pay tribute to someone who I’ve been paying to do nothing for the last decade.
Seth rolls his eyes, showing a bit of annoyance.
Seth: So, since we have to pay tribute, I’m going to need someone to volunteer. You’ll have the great honor of representing your city. We have a super-fast train ready to take you to The Dethfort, where you’ll battle to the death with other tributes. It’s not all that bad. Lenny Kravitz will make your clothes light on fire. Some drunk guy that’s not me will try to give you advice on how to survive. You might even get to see Elizabeth Banks in a hairstyle that magically dissolves her hotness. It’ll be great. So, who wants to be the tribute?
Nobody from the crowd raises their hand. In fact, they’re all quite confused about what is going on.
Seth: Hmm. I’m really not sure what I’m supposed to do now. I don’t have soldiers to snatch someone up and make them serve as tribute.
Seth takes a moment to scan the audience. He thinks of a new approach to try and engage the vigil patrons.
Seth: Let’s just put that aside for now. What if I told you guys some of my best Corey Black stories? People like stories at vigils, right? It makes you feel more connected to the person who we’re here to remember. I don’t think I’ve ever told this one. It was about six years ago. Corey Black was in his locker room with a tape measure. I walked in and he was like “Seth! My best friend in the whole world!” Then I was like, “HEY! WHOA! You’re not Logan! I mean Torture! I said Torture, dammit!” Let’s be perfectly honest, of all of the wrestlers that I’ve owned my favorites are in this order; Torture, Jonny Fly, Torture again, Logan, Steve Orbit, Gravedigger sometimes, and then every other wrestler ever, then that goat that Tommy Kain used to talk to, then Jayson Price, and then Corey Black.
Anyway, Black asks me to hold the tape measure. He said he thought he grew or some shit. Apparently, he’d been flipping around a lot and thought it’d stretched his spine out. So he stood against the wall, back straight, and asked me to measure him. So I did, and read off that he was five foot eight and half inches tall. You’d of thought that Logan just smacked him in the face with his dick. He was irate! He started kicking the wall, kicking the bench, kicking my shin. It was very unprofessional. Then he grabbed the tape measure out of my hand and threw it in the direction of the door. Low and behold, my poor, sweet, innocent, slightly slutty sister Shannan just happened to be walking in at that exact moment. The tape measure hit her right in the belly…and that’s the story of how she lost Price’s child.
There’s a collective gasp from the audience. Seth starts laughing out loud.
Seth: Just kidding. Man, wrestling fans are so gullible. But seriously, most of that happened. Corey Black has napoleon syndrome. We all know that. I’ll give you another example. It wasn’t all that long ago at about two or three in the morning when I got a text from him. Mistakenly I can only imagine. He asked if I was “DTF.” In fact, in that moment, I was. I was down to fuck…
GASP from the crowd.
Seth: …with him. Like, screw with him. You know?
More gasps.
Seth: Come on assholes! Get your minds out of the gutter! What I’m saying is that I knew he must be lonely in that giant castle and sad that he doesn’t have any friends anymore. I decided to take advantage of his state for my own amusement. I knew he was texting the wrong number, but I played along. I found some google images of titties and teasingly sent them to him, telling him that if he came over he could bury his beard in them. Shit like that. Anyways, apparently instead of getting the blood in his wiener flowing my sexting got the blood flowing back to his brain. Eventually he realized he was texting me, got pissed off, and flew all the way to Pennsylvania to my home and walked inside and elbowed me in the face. Then he left. He didn’t even cook me breakfast after fucking me like that! So rude.
The crowd doesn’t know what to do at this point. Seth is just basically going on drunken tangents about Corey Black.
Seth: So yeah, it’s safe to say that I’m not going to miss Corey Black that much. I mean, I’m not a huge fan of what’s going on because I don’t want to lose any wrestlers. For all his faults, Corey Black has been known to bring in a little coin every now and then. But certainly of the two, I’d rather see Black out of the company instead of Fly. That’s common sense, and if there’s one thing that Seth Lerch is known for, it’s having common sense. I really don’t have anything else to say. I have a wine spritzer inside that’s probably getting warm, so I better get back in there. I’m going to introduce someone else who would like to say a few words about Corey Black and how much he’s going to miss him. As we wait for him to come up here, I’d like to play Corey Black’s favorite song from his favorite artist. I think it’s appropriate for tonight’s proceedings. Please refrain from crying too much. Peace out, bitches.
Seth tries to drop the mic, but it’s connected to the podium so he ends up just making an idiot of himself. He walks away in shame as the beginning notes of “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” by Taylor Swift begins to play.
But wait!
Blue strobe lights hit. The beat from 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” begins to blast, playing over top of Swift’s shitty pop sound. A full scantily clad choreographed dance team bursts out from WCF’s front door. A spotlight hits and there in the middle of the bitches, microphone in hand, feather in his hat, is Steve Orbit. “The Mack” begins to jam. The bitches begin to dance in unison.
“I remember when we broke up with CD the first time
Saying, "This is it, I've had enough," 'cause like
You hadn’t won in a month
But you said we’re just being lame (What?)
Then you come around again and say
"Baby, I miss you and I swear I can win, trust me."
Remember how that lasted for a day?
I say, "We hate you," we break up, you call me, "I love you."
Ooh, we called it off again after last Sunday
But ooh, this time I'm telling you, I'm telling you
Fly, Orbit, and Black are never ever ever getting back together,
We are never ever ever getting back together,
You go talk to your friends, but not my friends, or me
Because we are never ever ever ever getting back together
Like, ever...
I'm really gonna miss you losing fights
And me screaming that you’ve proved us right
And you would hide away in your castle and act blind
With some midcard Flyjobbers saying that you’re fine
Ooh, you called me up again tonight
But ooh, this time I'm telling you, I'm telling you
We are never ever ever getting back together,
We are never ever ever getting back together,
You go talk to your friends, but not my friends, or me
Because we are never ever ever ever getting back together
Ooh, yeah, ooh yeah, ooh yeah
Oh oh oh
I used to think that we and Pantheon were forever ever
And I used to say, "Never say never..."
Uggg... so he calls me up on the celly and is like, "I still love you,"
And I'm like... "I just... I mean this is exhausting, you know, like,
Go fuck yourself, bitch.
We are never getting back together. Like, ever"
No!
The music drowns out. The dance team exits and with a wide smile on his face Steve Orbit steps up to the podium. He takes a minute to catch his breath.
Orbit: Yo, ya’ll didn’t know I could hit them notes like that, right? I be suprisin’ even myself with this shit. You ever heard such a good T. Swift cover? Them were the real damn words too. Don’t even look that up. Trust me. It’s no wonder Corey Black loved that damn song so much.
Orbit pauses briefly to laugh at his own comments.
Orbit: But seriously ya’ll, this is a sad fuckin’ occasion. We got this dude who been around here trying to hold down the castle for damn nearly as long as the latest round of bitches I just hired at Club Violet been alive. You know what I’m sayin’? To yours truly, this dude has been a friend, enemy, friendemy, the whole spectrum. But I gotta stay to true to my blood. Fly is right about this dude. It’s time for Corey Black to leave WCF wrestling and other than me, but of course I’m busy locking down World Title matches and shit, there ain’t no better man to get this job done than Jonny Fly.
As fans, you need to embrace a WCF without Corey Black. It ain’t a bad thing. He’s not much of a wrestler these days. We gotta progress, you know? It’s like that motherfucker I’m gonna be facin’ on Sunday, Logan. These guys aren’t people to cheer. They just hangin’ around trying to get that paycheck, you feel me? You gotta understand that it’s ya’ll’s money that’s talkin’ when these dudes try to get into the ring any embarrass themselves. Seth is doing what you guys want. You and him both love them cheap nostalgia pops. But it’s not humane. Corey Black can’t wrestle anymore. Worse, he’s in denial of this fact. Ya’ll are killin’ this dude’s cred when you pay to watch him wrestle. Cause he can’t do it no more. I’m sorry, but the time has come to have a WCF without Corey Black. That’s exactly what we’re going to have in just a few short days.
Orbit pauses. He nods his head.
Orbit: Yeah, I ain’t got much else to add. Corey Black’s a bitch. Steve Orbit about to reign supreme on this motherfucker one again. That’s all I got to say. I think ya’ll ready now for the main event. Let’s bring out the man who’s the reason why we’re all here. Light your candles, motherfuckers. Jonny Fly about to deliver a eulogy up in this bitch.
The gathered mass does as it’s instructed. They light their candles and hold them in the air as Jonny Fly steps out from WCF headquarters and joins Steve Orbit at the podium. Orbit steps to the right, allowing Fly to step to the microphone.
Fly: Fellow WCF faithful, I thank you for your presence here this evening. I feel for all of you. I understand well your history with Corey Black. The many moments of joy and memories that he’s brought to our great fans. This Sunday I carry a heavy burden. A burden too much for any ordinary wrestler. The burden of stripping Corey Black from your lives…forever.
We can clearly hear a few boos from the group. Fly nods his head, understanding the reaction completely.
Fly: I take this matter very seriously. I understand that it may not be popular. However, I have to admit that popularity is not something that concerns me. You guys are looking at this matter with emotion. Emotion that is clouded your better judgement. I’ve cut emotion for Corey Black out of my life long ago. This is what’s best for WCF. This is what’s best for all of you, no matter if you can see it or not. In fact, this is even what’s best for Corey Black. The sand is the hourglass has fallen for him. Corey Black is ruining his own legacy every time he enters the ring. Worse, his mind hasn’t caught up with his body. He still thinks he’s ‘got it.’ This leads to embarrassment after embarrassment after embarrassment. Euthanasia is the only avenue here, people. For you own sake, I hope as you watch CD slide out of that ring on Sunday and make that last walk of shame to the back – you can understand this from my perspective. Regardless, it doesn’t change my duty.
Now, yes, a lot of this is personal. I won’t lie about that aspect. Like you, I once loved Corey Black. I enjoyed his company as I embarked upon an awe-inspiring run into WCF’s inner circle of elite wrestlers. Corey Black was a confidant and a friend, but he was never a mentor. I never needed a mentor. My World Title reigns began prior to my affiliation with Corey Black. Pantheon began before my affiliation with Corey Black. Yet, Corey Black has at times tried to take credit for both. He helped me become the legend you see before you, he said. He’s THE Pantheon, he says. These should serve as examples as to how we’ve come to this point.
Corey Black expects the world to revolve around him – because he’s Corey Black. He overstates his importance to this company’s past, present, and future. This is a mechanism he uses to brainwash more naïve wrestlers into respecting him. They appreciate him, and therefore are less critical of him or cognizant of his many shortcomings. I’ve been there. Steve has been there. When each of us tried to break free of him, CD turned on us. Openly criticized what we were doing. Downplayed who we were, and what we had done for him. It was in fact the exact opposite. It was us, who gave to him. In this host versus parasite relationship, Corey Black is the blood sucker. He tried to replace us with younger wrestlers who he could mold – or in other words, warp. It failed. He tried to go back to the Jayson Price well. It failed. Black is left on an island by himself. He has no more friends. They’ve all now seen through him. He enters his final battle alone. A position in which Corey Black has not been capable of having success with since 2011. Five long Jonny Fly filled years ago.
I should digress. These moments that have brought us to this point are the result of jealousy. Jealousy is a perfectly normal human behavior. I was Corey Black’s golden goose. He remains partly relevant TO_THIS_DAY because of the lifeline I gave him four years ago with the invitation to join me in Pantheon. Corey Black wanted to control me. He wanted me to act a certain way. To do things in a Corey Black approved manner. He suffocated the fly out of Jonny and he tried to change Steve’s orbit. I don’t need to be surrounded by wrestling’s equivalent of Mother Theresa. Especially not some fucking jobber version. Corey Black is not humanly capable of hiding or manipulating the fact that I am an infinitely better wrestler. Therefore, why in the fuck would I ever listen to him?
That’s not how this industry works. I respect people who can beat me. That’s why this man standing next to me I love dearly. Steve Orbit gets shit done. He doesn’t give a fuck about how I act, what I say, or ‘the cause.’ The fuckin’ cause it to win…always…and forever. Corey Black stopping winning a long time ago. He stopped winning, and started talking about how to win. He transitioned from doer into teacher. There’s a lot of highly successful individuals who have retired and now are adjunct professors at their local college. The trait that is similar in all of them? They can’t do their jobs anymore. So they teach instead. They continue to age and then eventually…they die.
Corey Black is at the end of his evolutionary cycle. He’s served his purpose. His usefulness had run its course. The students no longer want, nor need him. Who is Corey Black in the world of Dune, Joey Flash, Wade Moor, and so on? He’s nobody. He’s a statue. You gaze upon it, reflect upon the good ‘ole days, and then you move on with your life. WCF has moved on. It’s no longer Logan and Corey Black’s playhouse. It’s not even Pantheon’s WCF. It’s a completely new era and I’m going to give them the freshest of starts. One without the midget ghost of Corey Black haunting the hallways just looking for something to do to entertain himself.
I have absolutely no chance at losing this match. The match itself is a formality. Corey Black’s fate was sealed when he idiotically presented the terms of this match. A rare mishap from a man who’s tried for so long to insulate himself from extermination. I will not fail. On Sunday, I am taking one of the pillars that this company was built on…and replacing it. I’m replacing it with one that is much stronger and much taller. My own. I am your Corey Black. Your legend on the fringe. Your wrestling hero to worship. Let me say this, unlike my predecessor…it will never be easy to get rid of me. Jonny Fly will reign forever.
Fly flashes his trademark smirk before uttering a few last phrases.
Fly: Hold your candles high, my friends. Illuminate the sky. The black shall be no more. Not after Sunday.
With that, Jonny Fly steps back from the podium. He and Orbit share a brief fist bump. They each take a moment to stare down the steps at the crowd, each of whom may now be starting to wonder what exactly a Corey Black-less Wrestling Championship Federation would even look like.
Jonny Fly intends to show them.
[Scene Ends]
