Joey, the ascended.

[Joey Flash]

Joey Flash current itinerary.

David Sanchez
Corey Black
Get his dick sucked.
End the Jalaxatritkatusan’s for good
Jared Holmes.

Requiem for a Dream

Long live the king.

Then, pain.

Then, darkness.

Flickers of light.

“...walk again, he is-”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

A woman crying.

Clasping hands around his limp almost numb right hand.

“...please Joseph. I can’t do this alone.”

Then the dreams started. He was on Jalaxaritkatusa again. The small extraterrestrial form of Jim Thuggin was writhing in Joseph’s grasp. As his grip tightened around the neck of the squirming alien, the sky began to burn.

A cascading waterfall of burning death began to fall upon the alien dreamscape as meteorites began their bombardment of the planet's surface.


Ｂ ｅ ｒ ｅ ａ ｌ ｉ ｔ ｄ ｏ ｅ ｓ ｎ ＇ ｔ ｍ ａ ｔ ｔ ｅ ｒ ａ ｎ ｙ ｗ ａ ｙ.  ／ . ｙ ａ ｗ ｙ ｎ ａ ｒ ｅ ｔ ｔ ａ ｍ ｔ ＇ ｎ ｓ ｅ ｏ ｄ ｔ ｉ ｌ ａ ｅ ｒ ｅ Ｂ


The colours of the scene inverted as a large whirring hum began to fill the air. The cosmic artillery was hit by an unseen remote hitting the mute button as the whirring turned into a metronomic thrumming.

Jim Thuggin: Y-You...

Joey: Yes. Those are the eyes I want. The same eyes that I’ve had every night for the past two years because of what you and your fucking salvation project had in mind for me. You fucked with my family, my livelihood. You made a big, big mistake Jim.

Jim Thuggin: Please, there is still a chance-

Joey: No. Not anymore. I am coming Jim. You have no power anymore.

Flash held a hand to the sky and the barrage from the sky halted as if the same remote control had now just hit pause. He flicked his hair back and smiled at the creature.

Joey: No more games. I am coming for all of you.

Jim Thuggin: J-Jared…will...stop you.

Flash’s smile grew even wider.

Joey: Let him try.

Stop button. Total blackness encompassed the ethereal faux Jalaxaritkatusa and with that, Joey Flash awoke.



The Pesbyterian Princess

It had been three months since Alessandra Malignaggi had seen the wrestling move that had reduced her husband to an unmoving husk with only the beeping of machinery for company. As she made her daily pilgrimage through the New York-Pesbyterian Hospital, she gave a smile to the receptionist. A dumpy middle aged woman called Amanda who had taken to calling her the ‘Princess of the Pesbyterian’ - her one solace in the mornings of coming here was smiling to Amanda and imagining garotting the life out of that pudgy face.

After the first month of clopping down the hallways in Louboutins and clad in Versace, she found herself makeupless in yoga pants, a purple hoodie and sensible pumps. The paparazzi that were once a shroud outside the front of the hospital taking pictures of her dishevelled looks-

‘ALLEGRI HEIRESS LOOKING TIRED AND HAGGARD AS HER PRE-’

-was now down to a handful of non-press just looking for a photo opportunity. As she approached ‘Door 213 - Malignaggi’ her hand paused on the cold metal door handle. It had not been easy for her this year. Her best friend, Thursday Kerrigan had disappeared completely and then her strong, powerful husband had been reduced to breathing through a tube all while she had to continue running the family business. Having to pick up the fallen Joseph’s share along with it. She turned the handle. There was no whirring of the machines. There was no beeping. Her eyes immediately fell on the figure stood looking out of the window. Hospital gown flowing in the wind alongside the flowing raven hair, Joseph Malignaggi was awake.

Joey: Alessandra.

He turned toward her as the two Italians shared matching irrepressible grins. They also shared shock.

Alessandra: You’re awake.

Joey looked at her face, then down at her hands resting on her bulging stomach.

Joey: You’re pregnant.



I'm Creeping Death...

A backdrop of WCF logoed boarding stands behind the contrasting figure of Joseph Malignaggi as he stands in his trademark white suit, clean shaven and with his hair tied up in a delightful man-bun. He looks like a twat. He does not care. Flash bows his head and puts his hands together.

Joey: Let us pray.

Here lies the career of Corey Black, this match is one heck of a bash
As he got killed by Joey-

GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE WITH THIS BULLSHIT.

Flash opens his arms wide and grins.

Joey: There are going to be no gimmicks in this promo Corey, I’m not going to sing to you - though I thought about doing a shit Creeping Death cover with cringe worthy lyrics that I would want no one else in the world to ever hear except people in the IWC of Wrestling Championship Federation. I’m not reciting any poetry, nor am I going to perform a monosyllabic rap toward your integrity. I’m not doing a reaction video, I’m not even going to bring any cute fancy graphics to enhance production values. This match, me versus you? It don’t need shit.

I need only one camera and one microphone to rip your fucking head off.

So we are finally here. Joey Flash vs Corey Black - one on one. Who can believe this match is actually happening? Not because it was particularly hard to make, not because one of us is running for the hills and forcing themselves to get arrested rather than taking a one sided shitstomping but for the simple reason is while I was around you were midcard fodder at best. A Joey Flash and Corey Black matchup was, and always has been a fucking joke. To the rest of the roster you are a God. The King of All Wrestlers, the most decorated, the most consistent, most dedicated wrestler in the history of this business.

Clap. Applause.

In front of Joey Flash? You are another set of shoulders on the mat and another three count. I already know the outcome of the match, I mean shit - you’ve wrestled long enough, you’ve watched enough talent come and go in this place that I think you have a pretty good idea what this match is about. You know the odds that you are up against here. Everyone else might have us pegged as even money, shit in some books maybe you’re even favoured. This is a work, Corey. This is the epoch of your self aggrandising retirement tour, this is your biggest challenge and is going to be the biggest beating of your whole career.

This is Mayweather vs McGregor. I’ll let the paying fans get their money’s worth, you can get your shots in and everyone get excited ‘FUCK HIM UP COREY!’ ‘YEEEEEEEES’ ‘WOW HE’S DOING SO WELL’...then I stop playing and knock you the fuck out while walking out with a huge payday for the fun of it. You want to know where my confidence level is for this match?

I’m facing you in your home town; with Nikki Venus on commentary; with Taylor Swift announcing; in a match type I absolutely despise; on your OWN fucking show.

I’ve given you every possible advantage and yet, still...I’m going to make it look like a handicap. On this note, how abrasively full of self mastabatory bullshit are you? You’re the only twat in the world that would put themselves as the main event over the fucking World Championship, not only that but you’ve done it two nights in a row. I do not give two shits and a monkey’s asshole whether you want treat this like a ‘celebratory weekend of fun and delights where Corey faces two great opponents and has a grand old time!’ - that is not how you do business.

I did the job to O’Neal, it’s about time you do the same to your next opponent ‘retirement.’

You’re the type of twat who would announce their retirement at the start of the upcoming season to get standing ovations and gifts from the fans and teams around the league rather than going all in for one last run before finally saying enough was enough. You get absolutely no respect from me for this shit, you are handpicking people to try and get a couple of wins that you’re lacking on your resume. Let me tell you point blank: you ain’t getting this one. You are getting a lesson in humility and class...and to have that coming from me? You need to sort your shit out. I am not, I never have been, never will be about shameless self promotion: that’s your shtick. My record, my abilities in the ring speak louder than any gruff ranting garbled ‘incisive’ promo your dumbass could ever do. I don’t care about my position on the card, I don’t care on what event. Give me an elite opponent and a date and I’m there, it’s as simple as that. I thrash said opponent and move on. Feast and move on. Feast and move on. (#yunggalactus)

Yet, people don’t seem to notice. Corey has been a part time midcard bullshit artist masquerading as a top guy ever since I signed my first contract here. Your record sits at about .500 since 2014 - idiotic. You have everyone fooled with your nonsensical over the top cartoony comic book bullshit into thinking you are a saviour, WCF’s very own superhero. They love you. Me? I get none of that. I’m disliked, hated, vilified. After all, no one roots for Goliath.

You’ve built an aura from respect. I’ve built one from fear...and I don’t respect you one fucking bit.

People talk about a Mount Rushmore of WCF and you’re the first one to be carved.

Corey Black. Torture. Gravedigger. Fuckin...Logan?

Let’s be real here. All of you nerds fucking suck, I’ve beaten three of you faggots without so much as a scratch and I’ll happily push Torture’s shit in just to complete the full house. The rose tinted nostalgic glasses are a beautiful hue right now. I spearheaded and ushered in the greatest generation in WCF history, these are your Mount Rushmore.

Joey Flash. Dune. Jared Holmes. John Rabid.

This match is going to be this argument in a microcosm. There is a difference between perceived talent and true brilliance. There is a reason that so many rule changes have had to be established...ain’t because of you buddy. The match time limit is all because of how relentless, how much passion we had for the business. It’s simple. You couldn’t hang anymore so like the coward you are you changed the rules. I bet the Falcons wish they could have stopped playing at half time too.

I’m not playing with you. I’m not going to bring Kate Winslet in on this promo, warble on about nonsense that no one cares about from five years ago or destroy your house. I’m going to really hurt you Corey. Say goodbye to your porcelain resume and your fragile ego.

You twice ended the career of that guy I’m not going to mention (but you will, won’t you. Go you, you innovative trooper!) and your masterstroke to hurt him in the buildup was to unearth some bullshit about him twatting about in goggles with shit hair. Wow. I think I did that at a rave last fucking week. You gonna drag that shit up and think of it as a body blow? Do all the digging you want Clouseau, you find any skeletons in my closet that just shows you how long it’s had bodies in it.



Joey x Alessandra

Joseph and Alessandra sat on the hospital bed as she ran her fingers along his arms deftly plucking the remaining measuring devices and tubes from him. This day had turned out...differently. Joey couldn’t help suppressing a gleeful smile every time he made eye contact with her. Neither could she.

Joey: Stupid question but uh...what’s the date?

Alessandra: It’s not a stupid question.

She glanced at her watch.

Alessandra: August 15th.

Joey: Fuck.

Alessandra’s trail ran her hand toward his bicep, she gave a squeeze.

Alessandra: You haven’t lost any muscle mass, if that’s any consolation.

Joey shrugged.

Joey: Well yeah, but I would have preferred to be around to see my wife and uhh…

Alessandra: ...your unborn child.

Joey: Is it?

Alessandra: An unborn child? Well, I don’t hear it screaming right now.

Joey: No. Is it mine?

His wife’s stone mask of emotion broke into hurt for a moment.

Alessandra: Yes, of course it’s yours. I-

Joey: You are forgiven for when I wasn’t around. Fuck I dunno, I was dead for all intents and purposes before. So, it’s…

Alessandra: It’s not okay. Joseph. It’s yours. Do you think I would allow another lesser man’s sperm to quicken in my womb?

She said it with such deadpan truthfulness that it made Joey break out in a laugh.

Joey: You sure have a way with words. So like, how long are you, do you know what it is, do you-

Alessandra: I’m around five months. I was going to tell you before...what happened to you, after Christian I guess...I guess I just want to be an actual family. I need you Joseph. I need you more than I ever have. I fucking love you.

A ‘fucking’ from Alessandra. That was an exclamation mark and a half. He would take it.

Joey: I know. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.

Alessandra: You say that, but how do you know? It’s like you just draw danger and death to you. I get worried all the time.

Joey: I drew you didn’t I? Some good came from it. Killed anyone lately?

Alessandra regarded him for a moment.

Alessandra: Sweet...and do you actually want to know? Does he answer change anything about this conversation?
That’s a ‘yes’ then.

Joey: I guess not.

Alessandra beamed.

Alessandra: Good! Also, I don’t know it’s a boy or a girl yet. I like to roll the dice, y’know?

Joey: Alessandra…

...I fucking love you too.

Alessandra took her hand in his.

Alessandra: Now. Let’s talk revenge.

He felt his dick twitch.

Alessandra: Let’s put an end to all these threats once and for all Joseph. We begin with the man who put you out of action. The man who has eaten dinner at my table, the man who I should have shoved a kitchen knife through. We end David Sanchez.

Joey: Please. What do you take me for? That’s the first thing I intend to deal with when I get back fit.

Alessandra: Then we deal with the one you’ve needed to sort from the moment he arrived in your life.

Joey: Al-

Alessandra: I think he killed my best friend. He betrayed you, the way he looks at you, the things he does…

Joey: Do you trust me?

Alessandra: Yes.

He placed a kiss on her forehead.

Joey: We are going to have a fucking beautiful Christmas…

Then whispered into her ear.

...and I’m going to kill Jared Holmes in the middle of the ring.



...time to Ride the Lightning.

We open on Flash once more.

Joey: But I’ll play your game for a little while, why not eh? Fuck it.

Flash fumbles in his pocket for a piece of ripped up paper, he squints trying to read his own writing.

Joey: AHEM!


March 13th 2015 - XIII

Our one and only fight so far in my three years here. I’m six months into my tenure, I’ve just been beaten for the first time in my career and I’m due to face Corey Black, Scarecrow and Jeff Purse.

Corey:

“Joey Flash. Former Television Champion, highly touted as one of the best of the new crop - yet somehow didn't meet the criteria to be asked to join Pantheon.”

“I don't believe for one second that Joey Flash can continue on beating everyone placed in his way for what will end up being a short run in WCF. The candle that shines brightest burns fastest. This is Joey Flash in a nutshell.”

“There's always a guy that comes in with a chip on their shoulder because they can go on hour-long tirades about nothing in general and they can lay waste to the Doc Henrys of the world and as soon as a real challenge pops up in their face they freeze and fumble. Their star takes one big hit and slowly begins fading away.

I just described Joey Flash.”

Four losses, fourty wins and three World titles later...here we are. Have you realised yet? Ain’t no candle here. This is a fucking supernova. This is nothing this federation has ever seen before. It’s okay. You didn’t understand then, you don’t understand now - that’s why you’ve taken this match, that’s why you think you’re going to win. It’s pretty ironic really. When we step in the ring face to face you will freeze, you will fumble and you will feel what it is like to be truly face to face with the best wrestler in the history of the business. Doc Henry, Adam Young, Corey Black...these are just blank canvasses to me to perform my art. There was nothing you could do to stop me three years ago, there is nothing you can do to stop me now.

Pantheon was a piece of shit then, it’s a piece of shit now. You taint it with your very association. I decided to bring the dead name from the ashes as a statement of authority against the uprising that spastic Bates was attempting. There was no asking to join. I was in control the moment I snapped my fingers and you came along for the ride. I ruled with imperious superiority, I upheld the morals and the gentleman’s code that the name and the legacy claimed to represent and yet the moment I’m out of the picture? I watched as your ideals and legacy got cucked and usurped by a bunch of frat boy faggots who allowed Dag Riddik into their stable. Kill yourself. They legitimately literally turned 'Pantheon' into #beachkrew while you stood there and stroked your flaccid cock trying to look away and pretend nothing was happening.

But who cares right? You were still backing the winners. Jared, Rabid. Both World Champions under your faithful guidance! Let’s get shit straight. You didn't form Pantheon in the first place, you begged just to get in. You couldn't save the WCF, you begged me to rescue it from the unstoppable Bates (who you somehow fucking lost to, kill yourself) - and I did. Everything you've ever done Corey has been a plea bargain. You don't know how to wrestle unless you're on your knees hiding behind talent egging them on. You spend half of your time playing cheerleader and the other half telling people how you 'led' those people to success. Do you have no shame? One minute you're putting Jared Holmes through a burning table on XIII because he fred you from the WCF. The next, you're jumping on his dick begging for him to join Pantheon. When David Sanchez took me out, you stood by and watched. Because loyalty doesn't get you the next flavor of the month on your side.

Essentially the Corey Black method for success: Ride whoevers dick is hardest at the time. If I have to hear one more word about the talent you’ve ‘cultivated’ I’m going to stab you.

More than anything else though, fuck the wrestling. You’re just a fucking weirdo. I don’t even understand who you are. You look like the type of guy who cried when Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington killed themselves. You probably created a fan vid on YouTube to the strains of ‘In the End’ showing a collage of their pictures together. Listen you prick: nu-metal was a shit genre, and the years 80-00 were the worst era of metal. You look like Monster Mayhem Festival fucked Ozzfest and out popped you with your shitty Machine Head looking beard and scraggly greasy hair. Let freedom ring with a shotgun blast, and put yourself out of your misery.

Your obsession with Taylor Swift is fucking weird. There's nothing that says 'I question my gender identity' than your bombastic masculinity combined with a gushing love of banal country pop intended for 14-year-old girls. Or maybe it's a symptom of white nationalism. You are a dichotomy of a person.

Your on again/off again feud and lovefest with Jayson Price borders on terrible Yaoi fanfiction. Just fuck already, or even better - fuck off the pair of you. I can’t wait for One, not just so I can finally end Jared Holmes but so I don’t have to put up with the shittest love story since Harvey Weinstein x Hollywood.

You are also a demon/Viking/superhero. This is getting absolutely ridiculous now...and this is coming from a guy who is a gangster and also happens to be a cosmic god in a feud with aliens. You run around calling yourself ‘The Avenger’ - what the fuck? Are we going to have a guy called ‘The Justice’ popping up to team with you soon? Even your own alter ego Creeping Death has fucked off, happily trapped in witness protection that is Kevin Bishops mind where the public will never have to put up with that bullshit again.

Are the Family Guy joke/#beachkrew creating manatees helping with your gimmick?

Clause one: ‘A superhero’

Clause two: ‘Who is obsessed by Taylor Swift’

Clause three: ‘Also has a demon trapped inside him and fights to get free!’

What’s the matter Corey? Things getting bad for you huh. It’s okay, go hide out in Old School Wrestling and hope no one will notice. Oh you did that? Good job Corey, nobody did. For someone as self promotingly “Mr WCF” you seem to be anything but the loyal soldier you paint yourself as. At this very moment you are even slogging away week by week trying to continue your relevance in UCI, hows that watered down talent pool treating you? Congratulations on the World Champions- oh...nevermind.

Even in shitty second rate companies you can’t do shit. Notice I didn’t say ‘anymore’ - that seems to be the plan of attack people often use against you. You’re not an old man, you’re not over the hill - your talent level just isn’t good enough for what is out there any more. You are retiring not because your body is failing you and you can’t hang physically it’s because you are seeing the standards and you can’t pass the muster on even your best day. Even in this retirement tour you’ve been getting slapped around by no marks and bums while slithering your way through mediocrity. What do you want me to say? Do you expect praise for this shit, to be raised on a pedestal of greatness for ‘giving over ten years to the business’. I’ll take five minutes of brilliance over the ten years of turgid crap you’ve been shoving down our throats this whole time.

When you announced you were doing this people were lining up to take a shot. To finally get the chance to go one on one with Corey Black. What an honour! What a load of horse shit. I’m doing this to show the world the simple fact: Joey Flash is the best wrestler in the history of this company. It’s barely even debatable at this point, tonight will be the final layer of cement on my legacy at the top of the mountain. What’s your record in the past three years? What’s mine? It’s a privilege you are even getting this opportunity Corey.

Whereas people line up to fight you, people do the exact opposite when given a chance to face me.

You put out an open challenge:



I put out an open challenge:




You accepted this out of blind hubris. By the end of XIII you will be regretting every ink stroke that signed your name onto the contract for this.

In a decade when they are running Legendary Nights: Flash vs Black and people are looking back on what transpires tonight the narrative and tone is going to change completely from the one we have heading into this match. This is a deep, intense match between two of the best ever to lace up boots. That’s the narrative. When the dust has settled on this match and the tragedy that occurs, the whole wrestling fandom will watch this episode and tears will begin to well up when we transition from a successful, Hall of Fame Joseph Malignaggi sunning himself in the Caribbean to Corey Black, no more success, no more Taylor Swift; just a broken man in a wheelchair with so much brain damage it’s a success when in the interview he is able to say ‘i-i-it tolls f-fuh-fuh you’.

I mean fuck it. That could well be you now right? Your shoot formula is just about as basic as it gets.

- Talk about opponent and match getting set up.
- Talks about own legacy in comparison.
- Praises people he has ‘moulded’.
- Response/counter/history shoot.
- Stupid cliche bullshit to end.

Hey dickhead, do you even know what ‘creativity’ means? I facepalm every time I see you on screen. You’ve been doing the exact same formula with slight tweaks for like fifteen years. Assess your life choices. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry watching you half the time. You are the most out of touch bastard I’ve ever seen. Nothing you say or does resonates with anyone anymore. Your pop culture references are trash, your slang is pulled from the same place that makes Freddie ‘WHOA’ seem relevant, your wrestling skill belongs in a Giant Haystacks compilation. Essentially Corey what I am telling you is this:

The WCF is the greatest wrestling federation in the history of this sport we compete in. If we had a match tomorrow where we put the best wrestlers we ever had against the best of every other federation? You’d be in the All-WCF Third Team. I would be the first name in permanent black marker. I perform every single time I step through the ropes. I am the best on the microphone, I am the best promotion wise, I am the best in the ring. I have raised the bar through every performance I have ever had. I’ve spawned an entire generation, I’ve fathered a whole style. Name me a successful champion after me I haven’t influenced?

You though? You’re another two bit run of the mill bum who happened upon a federation when it was weak and sunk its claws in early. I kicked the door in at its most defended and at its strongest. I sat its head table and and I drunk its wine. I took whatever I wanted, when I wanted. No one could stop me. The most dominant champion in modern history Dune couldn’t stop it. You certainly weren’t rushing to the front of the line trying to test me. These are the final dying escaping last breaths of a legend that has been build on a foundation of bullshit and misdirection.

You are not the ‘King of Wrestling’. You are a peasant who is dancing across my court in a jester hat and globules of drool dripping from his mongoloid mouth while pretending to be much more than he is. The crowd clap and cheer out of placation and mirth rather than true support and belief.

Tonight you are stepping in the ring with Joey Flash. Damn, I bet you never thought those words would be said. Bullshit right? I’m finally going to get the opportunity to end your charade of childish impotence that seems to be affecting everyone to this day. You are a shit wrestler, you are a terrible promo, you look like a Rob Zombie mastabatory hallucination and I’m going to enjoy taking my time to beat the ever loving shit out of you.

Minnesota? XIII? Corey Black?

None of it matters.

Joey Flash is in the corner across from you, it’s okay Corey - it’s only normal; for the first time in your professional wrestling career, you are going to know fear.

Bodybags on deck. You’re finish.

One Sudden Flash.

The bell ain’t tolling for me Corey. Time for you to ride the lightning.



Destroyer x Chosen One

A picture of Joseph Malignaggi stood looking out of the window from his hospital room. His face one of serenity and freedom. A gloved hand traced the jawline of the picture. It was a disgusting look.

A voice.

Voice: Are you ready?

A picture crumpled and pocketed. A billow of smoke surrounded the form of the man who had just entered the palatial Los Angeles office space. The wizen, skin withered old ‘Slovenian’ form of Hacksaw Jim Thuggin strode across the cream carpet. He was looking weaker, slower, more pitiful than usual as he approached. A man smiled.

I am Jared’s placating smile.

Jim Thuggin: I asked you a question Earth Child. Are you ready to finally finish the Galactic Prophecy?

I am Jared’s growing hunger.

A man with sandy blonde hair and sunken eyes smiled another smile.

Jared Holmes: Am I ready to finish? What a stupid question Jim. Everything is...perfect. We even have a date set you know. It’s around Christmas. Isn’t that magical? Isn’t that so beautiful? I couldn’t have written it better! Oh god I hope it snows.

Jim Thuggin: He is fully recovered, his power is...even more substantial than we had originally thou-

Jim’s musings were stopped mid sentence as Jared had him constricted around the throat.

Jared Holmes: Do not talk about him. He is mine. Do you understand?

Thuggin remained silent.

Jared Holmes: Yes. You understand. He is powerful, but...what exactly do you think I’ve been doing for the past six months? We are going to have our first dance in front of thousands of people. I hope they get my good side. I’m going to show him. I’m going to show him everything. Oh Joseph. The monster inside me has grown so big.

Munch-munch, chomp-chomp, gobble-gobble, gulp.

I am Jared Holmes...and I am going to devour you.