Post by 'The Shine' Brent Alpine on Jul 17, 2016 16:59:09 GMT -5
Kaleidoscopic light refracts off of silver wind chimes tied to a strong branch of an ancient oak tree. Its melodies reverberate around an expansive and picturesque garden. Intense sun bounces off a multi-coloured assortment of plants and freshly cut grass, lavished with nourishing dew. We tour along a pebbled path, along which the ever increasing magnitude of the garden's splendour becomes revealed. The path leads to steps which traverse down a steep hill. A stream runs adjacent to the steps and leads to a fresh water pond. At the bottom of the steps, the trail continues and threads through a pink rose adorned archway. Behind the arch, there's a showcase of impressive topiaries, with hedges accurately depicting a physical likeness of 'The Shine' Brent Alpine, TV Title atop his shoulder, and his devious micro pig companion Percy Micro.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the garden, their real life counterparts are relaxing over a rattan corner suite. They are given shade by a cream parasol. Percy Micro burrows between the cushions, perhaps seeking some left over food dropped there. Alpine meanwhile is seemingly oblivious to the animal's wild idiosyncrasies and has muscular arms stretched out in support of his head. His eyes are closed and he is a figure of utter serenity.
Percy Micro: Mr. Alpine, you have been exceedingly lazy today. You have an important match to prepare for.
Brent Alpine: Oh bonza! The conveyer belt of drongo jobbers continues...
Percy Micro: I would remind you that my boss has warned you to drop the Australian colloquialisms. As his valuable commodity, it's important that you do not sabotage your credibility with such imbecilic slang.
Brent Alpine: What colloquialisms?
Percy Micro: Drongo, dingo, fair dinkum, bonza, g'day, flamin' galah, no worries... do I need to continue?
Brent Alpine: Those aren't Australian colloquialisms. They are Alpineisms. It's not my fault the Australian people idolise me so much they copy my speech.
Percy Micro: Whatever they are, cease them immediately. Or my boss will tell the world the abomination that happened in Cairns.
Brent's eyes open wide and a look of terror washes over his face, as though he's face to face with a poltergeist.
Brent Alpine: OK, OK. I'm trying.
Percy Micro: You are not trying hard enough! My master has invested a lot into you. His time and interest is more valuable than you know and you are continually disrespecting the honour bestowed upon you! This is such a tragedy because he must see great potential in you to invest all these resources. Yet you continually waste your gifts and barely lose a drop of sweat in your labour.
Brent Alpine: I don't need to labour, Percy. My mastery doesn't need training. It just is. I just SHINE.
Percy Micro: I beg to differ... especially with the insurmountable task you face on Slam this week.
Brent Alpine: What jobber do I have to obliterate this week?
Percy Micro: Henry Spearman...
Brent Alpine: Again?! He won't have recovered from the last annihilation yet.
Percy Micro: ... and Captain WCF...
Alpine chuckles in mockery.
Percy Micro: ... and Mikey eXtreme.
The smirk gets momentarily wiped off Brent's lips.
Brent Alpine: So it's a handicapped match?
Percy Micro: Essentially, yes. However, you will be teami...
Alpine interrupts.
Brent Alpine: Actually, can we still say 'handicapped'? Maybe there's something more politically correct to call Spearman, Captain and Mikey. What's the current PC en vogue word for handicapped? It's retards, isn't it? I'm in a retard match.
Percy Micro: It's more complex than that...
Brent Alpine: What? Will I be blindfolded? My hands will be tied? Whatever it is, I will come out victorious as usual. The Television Title will still be mine at the end of the night and I'm going to Ultimate Showdown to take MY World Title.
Percy Micro: Sir, I fear there is a conspiracy at play to prevent that. The WCF wants to do all it can to remove you from that match. The odds this week are insurmountable.
Brent Alpine: Come on Percy, I can defeat those three losers in my sleep.
Percy Micro: I agree. This match would be simple... were it not for the fact that you'll be teaming with Stuart Slane and Nathan Chambers.
Alpine sits up and rubs his face contemplatively.
Brent Alpine: I see. The plot thickens. Having Slane and Chambers on my team is a handicap in itself. Or should I say retard?
He continues to ponder before his eyes light up in a satori moment.
Brent Alpine: But hang on, surely I can only lose my TV Title and Ultimate Showdown spot by being pinned myself? Which obviously won't happen.
Percy Micro: That's correct but do you realise that Stuart Slane and Nathan Chambers will be baying for your blood out there? It is in their interests that you are defeated so that they do not have to worry about you at Ultimate Showdown?
Brent Alpine: Hmm, you have a point. Slane has been jealous of me and threatened by me since the moment I walked through the door. And rightfully so. He's resorted to organising to kidnap you and trying to seduce Esther who I never had even the slightest feeling for. Of course he wants me out of the match at Ultimate Showdown because he will do anything to keep the World Title belt and delay my inevitable conquest. He's a slippery snake, a wolf in poorly designed sheep's clothing. Not to mention Nathan Chambers. Last week, I held out an olive branch but he tore it in half. Now, he's left me no choice but to hit him with the whole olive tree. What a foolish decision. He had the chance to be great. He could have been my sidekick and would have enjoyed my sloppy seconds. Now he's committed career suicide by daring to oppose me. These men are not suitable teammates.
Percy Micro: Yes Mr. Alpine. They will sabotage you at any opportunity like the vultures they are.
A young man in a white tank top and a black and white spotted sarong saunters effeminately up the garden and approaches Brent and Percy. It is Dallas Culture and he is beaming in joy.
Brent Alpine: Speaking of Vultures. G'day Dallas, how ya goin'? I mean, hi Dallas. How are you?
Dallas Culture: Greetings divine ones. I have glorious news.
Brent Alpine: Don't tell me - you've found a woman willing to indulge your foot fetish?
Dallas Culture: It's not a fetish! It's a spiritual act of worship and connection. No, that's not my good news.
Brent Alpine: You've got a date with the Sow Reaper bitch?
Dallas Culture: She is not a bitch! No. No date yet.
Brent Alpine: You caught a Pokémon?
Percy Micro: Stop wasting precious time and tell us your good news.
Dallas Culture: Gladly. I have just received my Past Life Regression Therapy licence! I can start my practice immediately.
Brent Alpine: What are past lives?
Dallas Culture: Well Brent, we are all eternal souls on a karmic journey to achieve higher levels of consciousness and perfection in the laws of the Universe. For instance, my last life was as a camel named Orville because my soul needed to learn humility and selfless service. That's why I am so humble and selfless in this life.
Brent Alpine: So what's your karmic lesson now then?
Dallas Culture: I must learn to transcend the mind. I believe this is my final incarnation before I ascend to oneness with All That Is.
Brent Alpine: I don't have any past lives. Someone so uniquely awesome as I am an original creation and no karmic refinement is necessary because my soul is perfect as is.
Dallas Culture: That may well be the case but how about you let me give you a reading anyway?
Brent Alpine: Erm no.
Dallas Culture: What harm will it do? If you have had no past lives, you will simply not recall any. Nothing will be lost. Come on, I need to practice my craft.
Brent Alpine: Percy says I need to train for my match.
Percy Micro: Sir, I insist that you accept Dallas' offer. You can train later.
Alpine appears bamboozled.
Percy Micro: After all, anything that distracts Dallas from his rather disturbing obsession with female feet, should certainly be encouraged.
Brent Alpine: Fine.
Dallas Culure: Follow me.
You rejoin us in a dimly lit treatment room. Brent Alpine lies on a massage table of sorts with Dallas Culture standing over him in a prayerful pose. Meditative panpipe music plays. Lit candles circle the room on tables. Percy Micro is curled up in a ball on a chair, his pig body asleep but his microphone and camera still glowing with a red light. Culture bashes a gong which causes the pig to temporarily stir. Culture speaks rhythmically and with intoxicating calm.
Dallas Culture: As you... listen to my voice... you fall DEEPER and DEEPER into tranquillity.
Brent Alpine: Dal, this isn't working.
Dallas Culture: Still your mind. Your eternal soul is resonating with my words as you fall into the calm, the divine stillness. You are merging with the oneness of the Universe. Just listen and let yourself surrender to...
Brent Alpine: Am I supposed to be coming under a trance? I told you... I don't have any past li...
Suddenly, he descends into a loud snore. This morphs into a mess of tongues. Unknown words spit out of his mouth and his eyes open. His pupils roll into the back of his head.
Dallas Culture: Whoa. It worked. Brent, are you there?
Brent Alpine: This is not Brent. This is his eternal soul.
We hear mechanical laughter emerging from Percy Micro's voice box. Culture is flabbergasted that the hypnosis is actually working.
Dallas Culture: Where are you?
Brent Alpine: Crown Heights, Brooklyn. It's Labour Day Carnival.
Dallas Culture: Who are you?
Brent Alpine: My name... is Micky hArdcore.
The streets of Brooklyn are alive with colourful revellers. Most are of Caribbean origin and wearing all sorts of vibrant and occasionally provocative outfits. There is a lot of dancing and singing and smiles of liberation. Around the sides of the parade are numerous stalls and stands.
A long haired and bearded ruffian is conspicuous by his presence as he stalks like an outcast around the celebrations. He is scruffy and unkempt and the only thing appealing about him is a handsome face, which strikingly resembles that of 'The Shine' Brent Alpine. The delinquent slides along like a slug past food stands, fortune tellers, Caribbean gift shops and other attractions. The only thing that takes his interest is a stall that says 'Can you beat the Chess Champion?'
An older gentlemen, fully suited and booted, sits pristinely at a table with a chessboard in its centre. There is an empty chair opposite him. He is accompanied by a smartly dressed but rotund Jamaican lady who, in contrast to her fellow countrymen, bears a frown and a face of thunder. Interestingly, the faces of both the older gentleman and the Jamaican lady look like that of Brent Alpine also.
Jamaican Lady: Do you want to play?
Unkempt Man: Sure.
He goes to sit down opposite the older gentleman but the Jamaican Lady halts him with a coarse, large and decidedly unladylike hand around his shoulder.
Jamaican Lady: You need to sign in!
Unkempt Man: But I'm the only person here.
Jamaican Lady: No matter! We keep record.
The rough looking young man signs his name onto a sheet of paper next to the chess board. He writes 'Micky hArdcore' to the older chess professional's amusement.
Chess Champion: A capital 'A'? Should it not be a capital 'H', my dear boy?
Micky hArdcore: No way. We hArdcore people don't abide by rules of society such as capitalising the first letter of our surnames. I'm way too eXtreme for that. Anyway, A stands for America and this is my America..
Chess Champion: Charming. My name's Brenton Mountains, number 2 chess player in the world and I'm only in second place due to a technicality. Nice to meet you Micky. Have you ever played chess before?
Micky hArdcore: Of course. I've played chess in steel cages, with exploding barbed wire, in bar room brawls. You could say that I'm an eXtreme chess player.
Brenton Mountains: Excellent. Let's play.
Within 2 or 3 moves, it's...
Brenton Mountains: Checkmate.
Micky hArdcore: Hey, no fair! You cheated.
Brenton Mountains: How?
Micky hArdcore: By being better than me. I demand a rematch!
Brenton Moutains: Happy to oblige.
The large Jamaican lady places her gargantuan arm in the way of the trouble.
Jamaican Lady: Dey nuh way, bloodclot. Game is dun.
Aggrieved, Micky walks away. Around the corner, he sees a shop with a variety of toupees and disguises. He picks up a big red curly wig and dons a false nose, fake moustache and comedy glasses. He paints his face with a container of black eyeliner on the side. The shop keeper protests, expecting payment, but Micky flees. He returns to the chess stand.
Jamaican Lady: Ya fink ya can fool mi? I know you are the last man.
Micky hArdcore: No, I am a different person. I promise.
Brenton Mountains: Relax Wakeisha, let the man play. God loves a trier and this guy is definitely persistent.
He sits back down.
Wakeisha: Sign in!
This time, he signs the name 'Nicky rAdical'.
Brenton Mountains: Hello Nicky rAdical. I think I just met your friend Micky hArdcore. Nice guy. Are you ready to play?
With determination, Nicky/Micky starts to move the chess pieces with a look of sheer concentration.
Nicky rAdical: OK, I must protect this King. Shut up Cock, there's no way to take out his Bishop there.
Brenton Mountains: Did you call me... 'Cock'?
Nicky rAdical: No, honestly! Cock is my adopted father. He lives inside my head and he just won't fucking shut up! He's telling me all the wrong moves.
Brenton Mountains: That makes perfect sense. You have an adopted father called Cock who talks to you in your own brain. That's actually quite common.
Nicky rAdical: I know, right?! People think I'm strange but I'm glad you know the truth.
Brenton Mountains: How did Cock end up in your head?
Nicky rAdical: Well he killed my adopted mother April May and then shot himself... so I guess Hell was fully booked that day so he ended up in here.
Nicky points to his head.
Brenton Moutains: So what happened to your real parents?
Nicky rAdical: Oh, it was horrible. Right in front of me. A crimson mess. So much blood.
Brenton Mountains: Someone murdered them in front of you?!
Nicky rAdical: No, way worse than that. Dad was licking Mom out while she was on her period.
Brenton Mountains: That's revolting.
Nicky rAdical: Absolutely. And it tasted even worse. I had to leave after that.
Brenton hovers a piece near to Nicky's King, with victory in his clutches. However, he looks with compassion on Nicky and makes a less harmful move instead.
Brenton Mountains: So do you have any friends?
Nicky rAdical: Of course I do. My best friend is Wraith McMaurice. He's a cool guy and so caring. I often spend hours sharing my innermost feelings and emotions but he always just tweets me with the same words - 'LOL FUCKBOI FGT'. It might seem insensitive but he really gets me, ya know?
Brenton Mountains: Anyone else?
Nicky rAdical: Yeah there's this guy called Sexshow who lives out in the woods. He's really great fun. We do lots of cool stuff like bowling, baseball, go karting, abusing and killing women, eating donuts, taking quiet walks down the beach, kicking the shit out of hospice patients and pretending clouds are funny creatures.
Brenton Mountains: Is there anyone a little more... normal?
Nicky rAdical: Oh sure. I used to be in a group called Dark Rider Gang of America. But they kicked me out for insisting we wear crotchless chaps and inventing a theme song. I thought it was catchy and intimidating but they didn't agree. It's fun to stay at the D-R-G-A! They have everything for you men to enjoy, You can hang out with all the boys!
Brenton Mountains: Nice song.
Nicky rAdical: I thought so too. Meanies.
Brenton Mountains: Do you have a girlfriend?
Nicky rAdical: I guess. I'd call her more of a sister but we do kinky stuff sometimes. Her name's Vaginia and I've manipulated her into being an emotionless killer.
Brenton Mountains: Why?
Nicky rAdical: Because anal got boring.
With a move of the chess pieces, Brenton claims the victory again.
Brenton Mountains: Checkmate!
Nicky begins to weep.
Brenton Mountains: Hey, what's wrong? It's only a game... and I am the second best in the world, remember? Technically number 1.
Nicky rAdical: Cock said I'm a perennial loser.
Brenton Mountains: You may be a loser but you're a good loser. A solid pro. A good hand. Never forget that. Even though you always lose, you keep showing up. I really admire your courage.
His tears dry and he perks up.
Nicky rAdical: Would you say that I'm the best loser you've met?
Brenton Mountains: Of course!
Nicky takes off his wig, glasses and false nose. He smudges off the eyeliner that was all over his face. He is back to his true Micky hArdcore persona.
Micky hArdcore: I'M FREE! I've been fighting so long but now I truly accept that I am a loser. I am a brilliant loser. I don't have to struggle for identity any longer.
Micky dances in the street with the rest of the carnival goers. He shakes his booty, unashamed.
Dallas Culture: Brent, are you there?
Back in the treatment room, Brent is still laying on the table in a state of trance. He shrieks.
Dallas Culture: Who are you now?
Brent Alpine: My name... is Craptain WCF!
We are now located in misty hills in the heart of Japan's countryside. Craptain WCF, a pathetic masked figure (with a face that looks suspiciously like Brent Alpine), tentatively approaches an old, beautifully layered castle. He peers his head into a dark opening at the front.
Craptain WCF: Hellooooooo. Is this First Level Martial Law Dojo? I look for Master C-san. He train me for wrestle.
Suddenly, a figure appears behind Craptain out of a mighty poof of purple smoke. He is a tall and spindly old man with purple karate clothes and a long white beard. He surveys Craptain with a look of derision and flicks his beard as a sign of condemnation.
Purple Sensei: Who goes there? What are your credentials?
Craptain cowers in terror.
Craptain WCF: My name be Hyu Razuki. I win black belt in orgimai, fung shui and chicken teriyaki. I want get better at wrestling and you be the master.
Purple Sensei: Why you dressed like queer superhero?
Craptain WCF: I don't know. It accident. I get contract for WCF in a charity raffle and I know I look stupid like man off street. So I put on mask to hide my stupidness and I pretend be super hero for benefit of kids.
The Sensei floors Craptain with a chop to the shoulder. He quivers and trembles.
Purple Sensei: You pathetic worm. Me beat you into man, not worm.
Craptain WCF: But I am super worm.
We see a montage of Craptain in various forms of training. He carries water buckets up a hill, he punches through a wooden slab, he 'waxes on' and 'waxes off' on windows and he grows in strength and muscle mass. The Sensei's visage changes from totally irritated to begrudging respect.
The words 'A Year Later' pops up on the screen. We are back with Craptain WCF and the Sensei. They are standing on the edge of a snow capped mountain. Beautiful hills and trees lie over the edge but it appears overwhelmingly high.
Purple Sensei: Last year, you worm. Then you grow into man. Now you become... superhero!
Craptain WCF: I true superhero warrior. Kids will love me.
Purple Sensei: For final challenge, you complete ultimate task.
Craptain WCF: What is task?
The Sensei attempts to supress a smile.
Purple Sensei: There is one mark of superhero. Superhero fly. If you soar down mountain, then you superhero.
This visibly excites the young padawan.
Craptain WCF: Me fly. Me fly. Me fly.
With that, Craptain WCF holds out an outstretched arm and soars through the air off the edge of the mountainside. Except he doesn't. He drops like a stone.
Purple Sensei: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Stupid worm!
Back in Dallas' Past Life Regression room, Alpine's prone body convulses. Dallas rushes to his aid.
Percy Micro: Stop this, Dallas.
Dallas Culture: I can't. No one taught me how to get someone out of hypnosis.
Percy Micro: You insolent peon! Mr. Alpine has a TV Title match tomorrow!
Brent Alpine: It's OK, it's me. I'm here.
Culture looks closely at Alpine. His eyes are still shut but his body is more relaxed this time.
Dallas Culture: Brent, is that you?
Brent Alpine: No, it's Harry. Harry Spearswoman. The artist formerly known as Noforian.
We see a mother nursing a little baby. The baby has Brent Alpine's face but is otherwise young and barely developed. It cries as the attractive mother rocks it in comfort.
Mother: Hush little Harry. Why do you cry?
Harry Spearswoman: Because Brent Alpine beat me. I was undefeated until that big bully came along and now everyone knows what a pathetic little moron I am. I can't go on. This is worse than the time Tyler O'Connell and April Hightower had sex on top of me while insulting my little dick. This is the lowest I've ever been. I want to fade away and for the world to swallow me whole. I can never recover from this. He was just so infinitely superior to me. Now I've lost the TV Title and no one likes me. WAAAAAA!
Mother: Don't worry son. I'll make you feel better.
She unbuttons her blouse and pulls out a pert and ample boob. It droops alluringly in front of Harry's mouth. He sucks and sucks like he has never sucked before.
Mother: Mommy will get your TV Title back.
The infant Harry stops sucking. He looks up at her in intense confusion, with her breast milking coating his Brent Alpine looking lips.
Harry Spearswoman: There's only one problem with that, Mommy.
Mother: What's that?
Harry Spearswoman: You went to Hell.
Mother: Oh yeah.
She disappears into a puff of smoke. Baby Harry drops onto the floor which, incidentally, resembles a ring canvas. He cries and wails like only a baby can.
Back in the room, Alpine is also crying like a baby. The trance is still in full effect.
Percy Micro: Do something Dallas! You need to snap him out of this!
Despairingly, Dallas reaches in desperation towards the large gong. With a smash, Alpine is out of his trance. He immediately begins puking down the side of the massage table.
Percy Micro: What's happening to him?
Dallas Culture: It's sympathy pains. His soul temporarily merged with those entities in his past lives.
Alpine continues to cough and splutter. Culture passes him a glass of water.
Brent Alpine: What the hell was that?
Dallas Culture: That was a regression into your past lives.
Brent Alpine: No way. There's absolutely no way any past life of mine was that pathetic. What complete lowlifes.
Dallas Culture: You've clearly learnt a lot of positive karmic lessons, Brent.
Brent Alpine: No, no. That was a glimpse of hell, Dallas. How can people endure such mediocrity? Such darkness? How can people live without even a hint of Shine? Well, at least it served one purpose.
Dallas Culture: What's that?
Brent Alpine: It helped me to empathise with my teammates this week. How can I even hope to be on the same page as Slane and Chambers when I have no concept of the sheer limitation and poverty of spirit that is their daily existence? I have had a taster of their nightmare existences. I am so blessed to Shine the way I radiate. It must be so terrible for them to even breathe another breath while leading so insignificant and flawed lives. I think I have grown in compassion for them. We can work together and perhaps I can bring a relief, a temporary glow into their miserable lives. WE will retain my TV Title. WE are going to Ultimate Showdown.
Fade to black.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the garden, their real life counterparts are relaxing over a rattan corner suite. They are given shade by a cream parasol. Percy Micro burrows between the cushions, perhaps seeking some left over food dropped there. Alpine meanwhile is seemingly oblivious to the animal's wild idiosyncrasies and has muscular arms stretched out in support of his head. His eyes are closed and he is a figure of utter serenity.
Percy Micro: Mr. Alpine, you have been exceedingly lazy today. You have an important match to prepare for.
Brent Alpine: Oh bonza! The conveyer belt of drongo jobbers continues...
Percy Micro: I would remind you that my boss has warned you to drop the Australian colloquialisms. As his valuable commodity, it's important that you do not sabotage your credibility with such imbecilic slang.
Brent Alpine: What colloquialisms?
Percy Micro: Drongo, dingo, fair dinkum, bonza, g'day, flamin' galah, no worries... do I need to continue?
Brent Alpine: Those aren't Australian colloquialisms. They are Alpineisms. It's not my fault the Australian people idolise me so much they copy my speech.
Percy Micro: Whatever they are, cease them immediately. Or my boss will tell the world the abomination that happened in Cairns.
Brent's eyes open wide and a look of terror washes over his face, as though he's face to face with a poltergeist.
Brent Alpine: OK, OK. I'm trying.
Percy Micro: You are not trying hard enough! My master has invested a lot into you. His time and interest is more valuable than you know and you are continually disrespecting the honour bestowed upon you! This is such a tragedy because he must see great potential in you to invest all these resources. Yet you continually waste your gifts and barely lose a drop of sweat in your labour.
Brent Alpine: I don't need to labour, Percy. My mastery doesn't need training. It just is. I just SHINE.
Percy Micro: I beg to differ... especially with the insurmountable task you face on Slam this week.
Brent Alpine: What jobber do I have to obliterate this week?
Percy Micro: Henry Spearman...
Brent Alpine: Again?! He won't have recovered from the last annihilation yet.
Percy Micro: ... and Captain WCF...
Alpine chuckles in mockery.
Percy Micro: ... and Mikey eXtreme.
The smirk gets momentarily wiped off Brent's lips.
Brent Alpine: So it's a handicapped match?
Percy Micro: Essentially, yes. However, you will be teami...
Alpine interrupts.
Brent Alpine: Actually, can we still say 'handicapped'? Maybe there's something more politically correct to call Spearman, Captain and Mikey. What's the current PC en vogue word for handicapped? It's retards, isn't it? I'm in a retard match.
Percy Micro: It's more complex than that...
Brent Alpine: What? Will I be blindfolded? My hands will be tied? Whatever it is, I will come out victorious as usual. The Television Title will still be mine at the end of the night and I'm going to Ultimate Showdown to take MY World Title.
Percy Micro: Sir, I fear there is a conspiracy at play to prevent that. The WCF wants to do all it can to remove you from that match. The odds this week are insurmountable.
Brent Alpine: Come on Percy, I can defeat those three losers in my sleep.
Percy Micro: I agree. This match would be simple... were it not for the fact that you'll be teaming with Stuart Slane and Nathan Chambers.
Alpine sits up and rubs his face contemplatively.
Brent Alpine: I see. The plot thickens. Having Slane and Chambers on my team is a handicap in itself. Or should I say retard?
He continues to ponder before his eyes light up in a satori moment.
Brent Alpine: But hang on, surely I can only lose my TV Title and Ultimate Showdown spot by being pinned myself? Which obviously won't happen.
Percy Micro: That's correct but do you realise that Stuart Slane and Nathan Chambers will be baying for your blood out there? It is in their interests that you are defeated so that they do not have to worry about you at Ultimate Showdown?
Brent Alpine: Hmm, you have a point. Slane has been jealous of me and threatened by me since the moment I walked through the door. And rightfully so. He's resorted to organising to kidnap you and trying to seduce Esther who I never had even the slightest feeling for. Of course he wants me out of the match at Ultimate Showdown because he will do anything to keep the World Title belt and delay my inevitable conquest. He's a slippery snake, a wolf in poorly designed sheep's clothing. Not to mention Nathan Chambers. Last week, I held out an olive branch but he tore it in half. Now, he's left me no choice but to hit him with the whole olive tree. What a foolish decision. He had the chance to be great. He could have been my sidekick and would have enjoyed my sloppy seconds. Now he's committed career suicide by daring to oppose me. These men are not suitable teammates.
Percy Micro: Yes Mr. Alpine. They will sabotage you at any opportunity like the vultures they are.
A young man in a white tank top and a black and white spotted sarong saunters effeminately up the garden and approaches Brent and Percy. It is Dallas Culture and he is beaming in joy.
Brent Alpine: Speaking of Vultures. G'day Dallas, how ya goin'? I mean, hi Dallas. How are you?
Dallas Culture: Greetings divine ones. I have glorious news.
Brent Alpine: Don't tell me - you've found a woman willing to indulge your foot fetish?
Dallas Culture: It's not a fetish! It's a spiritual act of worship and connection. No, that's not my good news.
Brent Alpine: You've got a date with the Sow Reaper bitch?
Dallas Culture: She is not a bitch! No. No date yet.
Brent Alpine: You caught a Pokémon?
Percy Micro: Stop wasting precious time and tell us your good news.
Dallas Culture: Gladly. I have just received my Past Life Regression Therapy licence! I can start my practice immediately.
Brent Alpine: What are past lives?
Dallas Culture: Well Brent, we are all eternal souls on a karmic journey to achieve higher levels of consciousness and perfection in the laws of the Universe. For instance, my last life was as a camel named Orville because my soul needed to learn humility and selfless service. That's why I am so humble and selfless in this life.
Brent Alpine: So what's your karmic lesson now then?
Dallas Culture: I must learn to transcend the mind. I believe this is my final incarnation before I ascend to oneness with All That Is.
Brent Alpine: I don't have any past lives. Someone so uniquely awesome as I am an original creation and no karmic refinement is necessary because my soul is perfect as is.
Dallas Culture: That may well be the case but how about you let me give you a reading anyway?
Brent Alpine: Erm no.
Dallas Culture: What harm will it do? If you have had no past lives, you will simply not recall any. Nothing will be lost. Come on, I need to practice my craft.
Brent Alpine: Percy says I need to train for my match.
Percy Micro: Sir, I insist that you accept Dallas' offer. You can train later.
Alpine appears bamboozled.
Percy Micro: After all, anything that distracts Dallas from his rather disturbing obsession with female feet, should certainly be encouraged.
Brent Alpine: Fine.
Dallas Culure: Follow me.
You rejoin us in a dimly lit treatment room. Brent Alpine lies on a massage table of sorts with Dallas Culture standing over him in a prayerful pose. Meditative panpipe music plays. Lit candles circle the room on tables. Percy Micro is curled up in a ball on a chair, his pig body asleep but his microphone and camera still glowing with a red light. Culture bashes a gong which causes the pig to temporarily stir. Culture speaks rhythmically and with intoxicating calm.
Dallas Culture: As you... listen to my voice... you fall DEEPER and DEEPER into tranquillity.
Brent Alpine: Dal, this isn't working.
Dallas Culture: Still your mind. Your eternal soul is resonating with my words as you fall into the calm, the divine stillness. You are merging with the oneness of the Universe. Just listen and let yourself surrender to...
Brent Alpine: Am I supposed to be coming under a trance? I told you... I don't have any past li...
Suddenly, he descends into a loud snore. This morphs into a mess of tongues. Unknown words spit out of his mouth and his eyes open. His pupils roll into the back of his head.
Dallas Culture: Whoa. It worked. Brent, are you there?
Brent Alpine: This is not Brent. This is his eternal soul.
We hear mechanical laughter emerging from Percy Micro's voice box. Culture is flabbergasted that the hypnosis is actually working.
Dallas Culture: Where are you?
Brent Alpine: Crown Heights, Brooklyn. It's Labour Day Carnival.
Dallas Culture: Who are you?
Brent Alpine: My name... is Micky hArdcore.
The streets of Brooklyn are alive with colourful revellers. Most are of Caribbean origin and wearing all sorts of vibrant and occasionally provocative outfits. There is a lot of dancing and singing and smiles of liberation. Around the sides of the parade are numerous stalls and stands.
A long haired and bearded ruffian is conspicuous by his presence as he stalks like an outcast around the celebrations. He is scruffy and unkempt and the only thing appealing about him is a handsome face, which strikingly resembles that of 'The Shine' Brent Alpine. The delinquent slides along like a slug past food stands, fortune tellers, Caribbean gift shops and other attractions. The only thing that takes his interest is a stall that says 'Can you beat the Chess Champion?'
An older gentlemen, fully suited and booted, sits pristinely at a table with a chessboard in its centre. There is an empty chair opposite him. He is accompanied by a smartly dressed but rotund Jamaican lady who, in contrast to her fellow countrymen, bears a frown and a face of thunder. Interestingly, the faces of both the older gentleman and the Jamaican lady look like that of Brent Alpine also.
Jamaican Lady: Do you want to play?
Unkempt Man: Sure.
He goes to sit down opposite the older gentleman but the Jamaican Lady halts him with a coarse, large and decidedly unladylike hand around his shoulder.
Jamaican Lady: You need to sign in!
Unkempt Man: But I'm the only person here.
Jamaican Lady: No matter! We keep record.
The rough looking young man signs his name onto a sheet of paper next to the chess board. He writes 'Micky hArdcore' to the older chess professional's amusement.
Chess Champion: A capital 'A'? Should it not be a capital 'H', my dear boy?
Micky hArdcore: No way. We hArdcore people don't abide by rules of society such as capitalising the first letter of our surnames. I'm way too eXtreme for that. Anyway, A stands for America and this is my America..
Chess Champion: Charming. My name's Brenton Mountains, number 2 chess player in the world and I'm only in second place due to a technicality. Nice to meet you Micky. Have you ever played chess before?
Micky hArdcore: Of course. I've played chess in steel cages, with exploding barbed wire, in bar room brawls. You could say that I'm an eXtreme chess player.
Brenton Mountains: Excellent. Let's play.
Within 2 or 3 moves, it's...
Brenton Mountains: Checkmate.
Micky hArdcore: Hey, no fair! You cheated.
Brenton Mountains: How?
Micky hArdcore: By being better than me. I demand a rematch!
Brenton Moutains: Happy to oblige.
The large Jamaican lady places her gargantuan arm in the way of the trouble.
Jamaican Lady: Dey nuh way, bloodclot. Game is dun.
Aggrieved, Micky walks away. Around the corner, he sees a shop with a variety of toupees and disguises. He picks up a big red curly wig and dons a false nose, fake moustache and comedy glasses. He paints his face with a container of black eyeliner on the side. The shop keeper protests, expecting payment, but Micky flees. He returns to the chess stand.
Jamaican Lady: Ya fink ya can fool mi? I know you are the last man.
Micky hArdcore: No, I am a different person. I promise.
Brenton Mountains: Relax Wakeisha, let the man play. God loves a trier and this guy is definitely persistent.
He sits back down.
Wakeisha: Sign in!
This time, he signs the name 'Nicky rAdical'.
Brenton Mountains: Hello Nicky rAdical. I think I just met your friend Micky hArdcore. Nice guy. Are you ready to play?
With determination, Nicky/Micky starts to move the chess pieces with a look of sheer concentration.
Nicky rAdical: OK, I must protect this King. Shut up Cock, there's no way to take out his Bishop there.
Brenton Mountains: Did you call me... 'Cock'?
Nicky rAdical: No, honestly! Cock is my adopted father. He lives inside my head and he just won't fucking shut up! He's telling me all the wrong moves.
Brenton Mountains: That makes perfect sense. You have an adopted father called Cock who talks to you in your own brain. That's actually quite common.
Nicky rAdical: I know, right?! People think I'm strange but I'm glad you know the truth.
Brenton Mountains: How did Cock end up in your head?
Nicky rAdical: Well he killed my adopted mother April May and then shot himself... so I guess Hell was fully booked that day so he ended up in here.
Nicky points to his head.
Brenton Moutains: So what happened to your real parents?
Nicky rAdical: Oh, it was horrible. Right in front of me. A crimson mess. So much blood.
Brenton Mountains: Someone murdered them in front of you?!
Nicky rAdical: No, way worse than that. Dad was licking Mom out while she was on her period.
Brenton Mountains: That's revolting.
Nicky rAdical: Absolutely. And it tasted even worse. I had to leave after that.
Brenton hovers a piece near to Nicky's King, with victory in his clutches. However, he looks with compassion on Nicky and makes a less harmful move instead.
Brenton Mountains: So do you have any friends?
Nicky rAdical: Of course I do. My best friend is Wraith McMaurice. He's a cool guy and so caring. I often spend hours sharing my innermost feelings and emotions but he always just tweets me with the same words - 'LOL FUCKBOI FGT'. It might seem insensitive but he really gets me, ya know?
Brenton Mountains: Anyone else?
Nicky rAdical: Yeah there's this guy called Sexshow who lives out in the woods. He's really great fun. We do lots of cool stuff like bowling, baseball, go karting, abusing and killing women, eating donuts, taking quiet walks down the beach, kicking the shit out of hospice patients and pretending clouds are funny creatures.
Brenton Mountains: Is there anyone a little more... normal?
Nicky rAdical: Oh sure. I used to be in a group called Dark Rider Gang of America. But they kicked me out for insisting we wear crotchless chaps and inventing a theme song. I thought it was catchy and intimidating but they didn't agree. It's fun to stay at the D-R-G-A! They have everything for you men to enjoy, You can hang out with all the boys!
Brenton Mountains: Nice song.
Nicky rAdical: I thought so too. Meanies.
Brenton Mountains: Do you have a girlfriend?
Nicky rAdical: I guess. I'd call her more of a sister but we do kinky stuff sometimes. Her name's Vaginia and I've manipulated her into being an emotionless killer.
Brenton Mountains: Why?
Nicky rAdical: Because anal got boring.
With a move of the chess pieces, Brenton claims the victory again.
Brenton Mountains: Checkmate!
Nicky begins to weep.
Brenton Mountains: Hey, what's wrong? It's only a game... and I am the second best in the world, remember? Technically number 1.
Nicky rAdical: Cock said I'm a perennial loser.
Brenton Mountains: You may be a loser but you're a good loser. A solid pro. A good hand. Never forget that. Even though you always lose, you keep showing up. I really admire your courage.
His tears dry and he perks up.
Nicky rAdical: Would you say that I'm the best loser you've met?
Brenton Mountains: Of course!
Nicky takes off his wig, glasses and false nose. He smudges off the eyeliner that was all over his face. He is back to his true Micky hArdcore persona.
Micky hArdcore: I'M FREE! I've been fighting so long but now I truly accept that I am a loser. I am a brilliant loser. I don't have to struggle for identity any longer.
Micky dances in the street with the rest of the carnival goers. He shakes his booty, unashamed.
Dallas Culture: Brent, are you there?
Back in the treatment room, Brent is still laying on the table in a state of trance. He shrieks.
Dallas Culture: Who are you now?
Brent Alpine: My name... is Craptain WCF!
We are now located in misty hills in the heart of Japan's countryside. Craptain WCF, a pathetic masked figure (with a face that looks suspiciously like Brent Alpine), tentatively approaches an old, beautifully layered castle. He peers his head into a dark opening at the front.
Craptain WCF: Hellooooooo. Is this First Level Martial Law Dojo? I look for Master C-san. He train me for wrestle.
Suddenly, a figure appears behind Craptain out of a mighty poof of purple smoke. He is a tall and spindly old man with purple karate clothes and a long white beard. He surveys Craptain with a look of derision and flicks his beard as a sign of condemnation.
Purple Sensei: Who goes there? What are your credentials?
Craptain cowers in terror.
Craptain WCF: My name be Hyu Razuki. I win black belt in orgimai, fung shui and chicken teriyaki. I want get better at wrestling and you be the master.
Purple Sensei: Why you dressed like queer superhero?
Craptain WCF: I don't know. It accident. I get contract for WCF in a charity raffle and I know I look stupid like man off street. So I put on mask to hide my stupidness and I pretend be super hero for benefit of kids.
The Sensei floors Craptain with a chop to the shoulder. He quivers and trembles.
Purple Sensei: You pathetic worm. Me beat you into man, not worm.
Craptain WCF: But I am super worm.
We see a montage of Craptain in various forms of training. He carries water buckets up a hill, he punches through a wooden slab, he 'waxes on' and 'waxes off' on windows and he grows in strength and muscle mass. The Sensei's visage changes from totally irritated to begrudging respect.
The words 'A Year Later' pops up on the screen. We are back with Craptain WCF and the Sensei. They are standing on the edge of a snow capped mountain. Beautiful hills and trees lie over the edge but it appears overwhelmingly high.
Purple Sensei: Last year, you worm. Then you grow into man. Now you become... superhero!
Craptain WCF: I true superhero warrior. Kids will love me.
Purple Sensei: For final challenge, you complete ultimate task.
Craptain WCF: What is task?
The Sensei attempts to supress a smile.
Purple Sensei: There is one mark of superhero. Superhero fly. If you soar down mountain, then you superhero.
This visibly excites the young padawan.
Craptain WCF: Me fly. Me fly. Me fly.
With that, Craptain WCF holds out an outstretched arm and soars through the air off the edge of the mountainside. Except he doesn't. He drops like a stone.
Purple Sensei: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Stupid worm!
Back in Dallas' Past Life Regression room, Alpine's prone body convulses. Dallas rushes to his aid.
Percy Micro: Stop this, Dallas.
Dallas Culture: I can't. No one taught me how to get someone out of hypnosis.
Percy Micro: You insolent peon! Mr. Alpine has a TV Title match tomorrow!
Brent Alpine: It's OK, it's me. I'm here.
Culture looks closely at Alpine. His eyes are still shut but his body is more relaxed this time.
Dallas Culture: Brent, is that you?
Brent Alpine: No, it's Harry. Harry Spearswoman. The artist formerly known as Noforian.
We see a mother nursing a little baby. The baby has Brent Alpine's face but is otherwise young and barely developed. It cries as the attractive mother rocks it in comfort.
Mother: Hush little Harry. Why do you cry?
Harry Spearswoman: Because Brent Alpine beat me. I was undefeated until that big bully came along and now everyone knows what a pathetic little moron I am. I can't go on. This is worse than the time Tyler O'Connell and April Hightower had sex on top of me while insulting my little dick. This is the lowest I've ever been. I want to fade away and for the world to swallow me whole. I can never recover from this. He was just so infinitely superior to me. Now I've lost the TV Title and no one likes me. WAAAAAA!
Mother: Don't worry son. I'll make you feel better.
She unbuttons her blouse and pulls out a pert and ample boob. It droops alluringly in front of Harry's mouth. He sucks and sucks like he has never sucked before.
Mother: Mommy will get your TV Title back.
The infant Harry stops sucking. He looks up at her in intense confusion, with her breast milking coating his Brent Alpine looking lips.
Harry Spearswoman: There's only one problem with that, Mommy.
Mother: What's that?
Harry Spearswoman: You went to Hell.
Mother: Oh yeah.
She disappears into a puff of smoke. Baby Harry drops onto the floor which, incidentally, resembles a ring canvas. He cries and wails like only a baby can.
Back in the room, Alpine is also crying like a baby. The trance is still in full effect.
Percy Micro: Do something Dallas! You need to snap him out of this!
Despairingly, Dallas reaches in desperation towards the large gong. With a smash, Alpine is out of his trance. He immediately begins puking down the side of the massage table.
Percy Micro: What's happening to him?
Dallas Culture: It's sympathy pains. His soul temporarily merged with those entities in his past lives.
Alpine continues to cough and splutter. Culture passes him a glass of water.
Brent Alpine: What the hell was that?
Dallas Culture: That was a regression into your past lives.
Brent Alpine: No way. There's absolutely no way any past life of mine was that pathetic. What complete lowlifes.
Dallas Culture: You've clearly learnt a lot of positive karmic lessons, Brent.
Brent Alpine: No, no. That was a glimpse of hell, Dallas. How can people endure such mediocrity? Such darkness? How can people live without even a hint of Shine? Well, at least it served one purpose.
Dallas Culture: What's that?
Brent Alpine: It helped me to empathise with my teammates this week. How can I even hope to be on the same page as Slane and Chambers when I have no concept of the sheer limitation and poverty of spirit that is their daily existence? I have had a taster of their nightmare existences. I am so blessed to Shine the way I radiate. It must be so terrible for them to even breathe another breath while leading so insignificant and flawed lives. I think I have grown in compassion for them. We can work together and perhaps I can bring a relief, a temporary glow into their miserable lives. WE will retain my TV Title. WE are going to Ultimate Showdown.
Fade to black.
