The Ridiculous World Of Phillip Baines

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{{My heart thumps in rhythmic fashion as I open my eyes. Oh splendiferous world, what do we have here? I find myself standing upon a lighted stage in what appears to be a theater. I have no recollection of how I arrived here or why I'm here for that matter, but all of that matters little. I am in my element here, an entertainer upon a stage before an audience of many.

I peer out to my audience and find several hundred faceless beings seated in a gallery, dressed in their most formal attire. With all of the tuxedos out there I would not be altogether surprised to see Donald "D-Day" Deruty in attendance, after all the WCF World Champion has his time and place. The realization quickly sets in that this is not D-Day's world. This is my world, the ridiculous world of Phillip Baines. What is Baines if not a teardrop on the fire, a fire whose flames have been fanned to stage an inferno? Oh but don't cry for me, WCF, for what I have wrought will bring you to your knees. You know this to be true.

I stumble a little as I push forward to engage my audience. I gaze upon my surroundings, though they offer little in the way of edification. Am I awake or dreaming? I strongly suspect the latter, but being the Baines that I am anything is possible. I've only ever killed a man while conscious, and even that may have been a beautiful dream in the mind of a comatose genius.

I gain my footing and kick away the banana peel that a careless stagehand must have left behind from the monkey show that took place here earlier. I stride with confidence to the podium and prepare to spew my vitriol to an eagerly anticipating audience. I clear my throat. Phlegm particles disperse, allowing me to spread my word unencumbered. I flail my arms about to accentuate these words.}}

Phillip Baines: "Who do the voodoo that you know who do well? Baines do that voodoo that you know do so well!"

{{The audience explodes with reaction. I pause to allow for a fifteen minute standing ovation. Yes. Fifteen minutes. During this time I take a solitary breath and hold it in while reveling in the adulation. Then it's time for me to continue my spoken word terrorism.}}

Phil: "Silence!"

{{I do not wish to appear unappreciative, but I am a man with a work schedule to keep. The audience members immediately take their seats and grant me the silence that I have commanded. I pound the podium with my clenched fist, exhibiting all the furor of the Führer.}}

Phil: "Bolivian! Oblivion! I beckon to you, oh Dark One, as I stand here at the crossroads of damnation! Perhaps you weren't paying attention during my last promo. I told you to fuck a duck, not walk a duck, not eat a duck... FUCK A DUCK!!"

{{Uproarious laughter emanates from those faceless and mouthless in the gallery.}}

Phil: "So you want to peel the skin from my body and serve it as jerky for your Children, do you? Take a number, fatso! You forget that I've already tamed you in front of the masses, Oblivion. I've walked with you through Hell and Salt Lake City. I did not cower nor did I fade. Quite the contrary. I discovered a noble truth. I discovered that I have the indomitable will to overcome anything that you throw at me! Your kind thrives by means of intimidation, yes? You're a bully and you play that role well on most nights, but you looked more the victim than the bully at Blast when I slingshotted you off the ring apron, planted you with the State of Emergency onto the cold, unforgiving concrete floor of the Delta Center, and pinned you for the three-count. How did it feel to fail in your quest for revenge?"

{{Oh goodness... revenge. An act so sweet as chocolate icing with cherries on top. To be denied that icing and cherries could drive even the maddest of madmen further past his breaking point. I know exactly what I've done to Oblivion. I know the game that I play for it is a killing game and I have killed.}}

Phil: "Amuse me, Oblivion. Confess to me. Confide in me your secrets. Tell me how I've harmed and disarmed you. For all of the ceaseless racket that you spout, you had no answers for the questions that I confronted you with at Blast. You failed in your attempt to avenge Greenfever's death at my hands. You failed in your attempt to reclaim the Hardcore Championship. You failed in your attempt to beat Phillip Baines, the greatest prize of them all. All along I told you that you would pay the price for your cowardice when you ambushed me on Slam some weeks ago. That infamous and ill-advised sneak attack was the only time that you've ever so much as appeared to hold the upper hand against Baines. In truth, and I'm being real with you when I say this right now, homie, it only happened because I allowed it to happen. I allowed you to believe that you were winning the game, Oblivion. I wanted you to believe that you were really something special. You were setting yourself up for your own demise, and I was so cunning and so cruel that I did not dare reveal this information to you. When the time for your judgment came to pass, and you found yourself bound to the floor of the Delta Center as a defeated man, then you understood some things. Above all else you understood that you had fucked up."

{{I lick my lips and snare my nostrils in a bid to spare them from this stuffy theater air.}}

Phil: "How eager were you to commit suicide live on pay-per-view, Oblivion? How eager were you to burst forth into the trap that I had created especially for you? I was never concerned with the presence of Reckless Jack on that fateful night in Utah. It was only you that I cared about. I felt compelled to finish the job that I had started when I killed Greenfever at XIII. It seems to me that tag team partners should be united in death as they were united in life. That's only poetic, and what is life and death without poetry? I suppose that's one grand chasm that exists between you and I, Oblivion. I am an artist in what I do, while you merely seek to create havoc and chaos. There's no form, only childlike whims, and what a demented childlike man you are. You are a misrepresentation of a human being, a grotesque mutation of the human form. You are disharmonious, incongruous. You spew forth words of malice and degradation. You view the world through a veil of belligerence. Yours is a pitiful existence yet I do not pity you, Oblivion. Nor do I fear you, as so many others do. I grant you one concession and one concession alone and that is that I hold a limited amount of respect for you. I respect you because you are relentless and you are fearless, in your own right."

{{The audience gasps at this statement in a mixture of horror and bemusement. I understand their position. They view Baines as a Godlike figure, a supernatural being who can move Heaven and Earth with little more than the twinkle in his eye. Why should he concede respect to anyone, much less Oblivion? I am tempted to agree with them, but I know better than to lie to myself. There is only one God and his name is Tom Waits.}}

Phil: "Please, my fellow Americans, maintain your composure! Do not be alarmed! The basis for my respect toward Oblivion is also the basis for his downfall!"

{{A chorus of relieved sighs and exhales can be heard as the audience members, both male and female, now return to their senses. They sure are an emotive bunch for people with blank faces.}}

Phil: "As I stated moments ago, Oblivion is childlike in his worldview. He doesn't understand that regardless of how big, strong and scary he is, Baines is bigger, stronger and scarier. Oblivion doesn't comprehend that it's possible for someone to resist his mind games, rise above the fear-mongering and triumph in the face of utter insanity. Oblivion goes so far as to acknowledge the series of defeats that he's experienced in recent times, yet he dismisses these failures as little more than a run of bad luck. This is why the foolhardy are always among the first to die, because they fail to recognize the futility of their ways. Oblivion is honestly, please attempt to contain your laughter, ladies and gentlemen..."

{{The audience has already detected where I'm going with this and they can barely restrain their sides from splitting. Oh geez, a woman's torso just exploded back in the fourteenth row, covering those in the seats immediately around her with blood and internal organs. Strangely, that only appears to add to her fellow audience members' amusement. It's a real knee-slapper for one faceless Oklahoman of a man in particular, as he slaps his knee so hard that he squashes the dead woman's kidney under his meaty Oklahoman hand. I shake off the entirety of this horrific sight and continue on with my uproarious yet lethal line of dialog.}}

Phil: "As I was saying, Oblivion is honestly operating under the misguided impression that IT has a great chance to recapture the WCF World Championship at Ultimate Showdown! This is the same man who couldn't beat Johnny Reb at Timebomb. Couldn't beat Jay Williams at XIII. Couldn't beat Phil "Young Lion/Slave To No Man" Baines at Blast. Yet Oblivion believes himself to be in a great position to once again wear the WCF World Championship at Ultimate Showdown? Do you now understand the idiocy that I have to put up with at my workplace? Do you understand the absurdity of being a WCF employee? Why am I even booked to wrestle Oblivion again on Monday night? What more do I have to do to this man? How badly do I have to beat him? Does Creeping Death want me to kill Oblivion? That was the inclination that I had at Blast. I strongly considered it, but I thought that this time around the authorities might not give me a free pass since homicide wasn't part of the match stipulation. I'm warning Oblivion right here and right now: Oblivion, you better stay far away from me on Monday night. All bets are off this time. I'm tired of you, mentally and physically. I want to wash my hands of you once and for all. If you come near me, I will hurt you. If you try to hurt me, I will kill you. Self-defense, motherfucker."

{{A raven-haired mother figure approaches me onstage. She attempts to soothe my ravaged nerves with baby talk and allusions to breastfeeding, but I shoo her away. Now is neither the time nor the place for weakness in any form. If I have mommy issues they will stay tucked deep the fuck inside where Oblivion cannot find them. I cast the raven-haired mother figure into a far, FAR away land, somewhere in the vicinity of Normandy.}}

Phil: "Alright, maybe I'm just a little frustrated. I keep feeling like the entire world is out to get me. I work so hard. I try to provide a positive example for the kids, for the fans, for the people who want a better life for their family, yet time and time again I'm told that it's not enough. I'm told that once again Baines must step into the line of fire against a man who wants him dead. Greenfever hated me because I beat him for the Hardcore Championship. FPV hated me because I win wrestling matches and have sex with a beautiful woman. Chris Avery hated me because I'm not black. Oblivion hates me because I killed Greenfever, and because I beat him at Blast. At some point I have to start hating you assholes back. I've come to the realization that if I'm not going to be World Champion right now, which is entirely my decision, then I have to find another way to make a statement. I have to start cleaning out some of the bottom-feeding, sewer-dwelling vermin that reside in the WCF locker room. This isn't about being Joe Vigilante, mind you, this is about Baines getting hisself peace of mind. For as long as the Oblivion's of the world are occupying the same workspace as Baines, then Baines has to worry about the target on his back."

{{I stick my pinky finger into my nose, dig around for a moment, and remove a troublesome booger of decent proportion. I flick the booger aside and pay it no further mind.}}

Phil: "This is just a suggestion, and keep in mind that I don't know the man, monster, IT personally, but maybe if Oblivion got laid once in awhile then he wouldn't be so damn aggressive all the time. Just a thought. I know that Kaylyn James Evans, our reigning Television Champion, has been going door-to-door, so maybe--"

{{Before I can finish my sentence I'm cut off by a horrible, screeching cacophony of noise. I crane my head upwards in the direction of the noise to find that the roof of the theater is being ripped from the rest of the building in a surprisingly steady motion, similar to a Band-Aid being slowly peeled from one's skin. Rubble and debris from the dismantled roof are sent hurtling to the floor of the theater, sending audience members scurrying toward various exits while screaming their faceless heads off for all that they're worth. I instinctively posture up, hoping to throw down with the calamitous force that has interrupted my speech and destroyed this fine venue. As I glare toward the summer sky I see an ominous form take shape in the clouds: The masked face of Oblivion! I stagger backwards, in shock not fear. I take a moment to regain my faculties before confronting the masked madman in the clouds.}}

Phil: "What the hell do you think you're doing, Oblivion? I told you to stay the hell away from me! You don't listen too good do you, asshole?!"

{{Oblivion's large, cloud-shrouded face smiles at me. Not an evil smile, mind you, just a smile. Oblivion opens his mouth as if preparing to speak, but instead of words...}}

CRRAAASSSHHH!!!!!!

{{I am jolted awake by the sound of a thunderclap. I open my eyes to find the eyes of my brown-eyed lover Gina staring back at me. We are in bed, cuddling. The ridiculous world of Phillip Baines is suddenly at ease.}}