Post by Drakz on Jul 28, 2014 5:54:01 GMT -5
Golden Child Abuse
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Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, transgenders of all ages, welcome to this weeks episode of………*drum roll*…………..'An Audience with Isaac'!
I am your host Isaac Cray but, like everyone else, you can call me Drakz………or Genghis Khan Jnr…………or The Infallible B*stard, or any of my other pseudonyms. It's really up to you, and there in lies the beauty of it.
So this week, as with tradition, we've got a lot to cover, so I won't waste any time. Let's jump straight into the newest section of our show, something I like to call:
'No it's not infringing on copyright laws, let's play it again…….Sam.'
I'll devise a catchier name for it in time. This is all simply raw ideas at the moment folks. This part is where we take a look back at what of note happened on the last televised WFWF show.
How about we skip the boring bits and drop the spotlight on the main event? A two out of three falls match featuring yours truly.
Cameron "as tough as letting blood from a" Stone took a lot of sh*t from me. He even had the gaul to use a couple of my own moves, but that's hardly new now is it? Imitation is the highest form of flattery and all of that.
What matters the most about this little chapter in my career is that he earned a pin fall over me. I can make excuses all day, say I even planned to let him take the first of three to give him a false sense of security, but I'm not in the bull sh*tting business. He caught me. He pulled the bear skin rug from under my feet and it was beautiful.
Why was it beautiful?
How am I able to say my own defeat is a beautiful thing? Because in that moment I gave Cameron Stone something worth while, something he'll never forget. When the referee's hand hit the mat for a third time I gave him the gift of going over on me.
He was THE man for that split second.
Phillip Schneider couldn't do it. Joshua Dean couldn't do it. Taken at face value that snap shot is worth more to Cameron Stone than any of the title belts he's never had. That climax, that orgasm was brief though. I hope the guy has a photographic memory because I made sure not to let him bask in this glory for too long. Mere seconds later he was tapping out to me, and a hop, skip and double stomp later he fell to me again. That is victory. One battle holds little importance in that kind of a war. It's a sweet little souvenir for him to take into retirement but when the dust had settled I was the winner……….again. The boy dun good though. I can't deny him that, and I didn't. Maybe I should have though, at least then I would have seen those chair shots coming………. I guess I can't blame Stone for that, although if he'd let me leave the ring when I originally tried I'd have been safe and sound instead of face down in my own dribble.
I guess that's what we call a segway folks, a segway that's set to crash right into the balls of Jason Garrett after his actions last week.
Ever since I was denied my shot at the Heavyweight Title on this upcoming Pay Per View I set about instead spreading the wiles and knowledge I've accumulated over the course of my 10 year career. Some have taken it onboard and I'm sure will be all the better for it, a la Joshua Dean, some however don't seem to like being told what's best for them. Some snotty, self entitled children don't like to hear the truth, because as they see it they know everything there is to know. It's a common characteristic of kids, no? One that runs right through to adolescence.
Most of us learn, as we climb the mountain of time, that we in fact know sweet f*ck all. Even I don't claim to be the bearer of all that is true. However I am aware that I have had the time and experience to learn things others are still not privy to. 'The Golden Boy' is proving himself to be one of the minority who refuses to grow up and accept the harsh reality that most of us have grown accustomed to. Jason Garrett is living with his head in the clouds, and those clouds are up his arse…………it's a bizarre thought I know. Perhaps methane clouds? Regardless, this boy not only chose to ignore my words, he shunned my attempts and ultimately beat me round the skull with them. This is a bold move by anyone's standards, more so when you're simply a worm with little or no proof otherwise. Garrett has leap frogged his way into my camp, which works for me, and if the internet is anything to go by, it works for the fans too.
I.P.Freely of Salt Lake City, Utah, had this to say: "Please don't waste a spot on the Pay Per View card with Drakz vs Jason Garrett. It's simply not a PPV calibre match. Drakz will destroy him."
Where as Mz Bratt from Washington D.C. said: "Why the f*ck isn't Drakz in the main event anyway? Instead he's going to face The Golden B*tch? WTF?!"
It seems the world wide audience feels I'd be selling myself short if I faced Garrett on the card for 'Battle at the Garden', and honestly, now I've given it some thought, I agree. After the biggest match of my life at Superbrawl, taking on this bottom feeder would be a huge step down and out of the lime light. Why waste all of my momentum on a match likely to finish before it's even started? Lila Sleater may not understand how to use me to make the most money but she at least realised that moving this match to a Televised broadcast was a far better business decision. Garrett can mock my age as much as he likes because this match will be tantamount to child abuse in my eyes. Who knows, after I walk through Garrett maybe she'll catch on to the fact that if she really doesn't want Trace Demon as champion, putting me in his way is the best chance she has of stopping him.
Okay well that wraps up 'No it's not infringing on copyright laws, let's play it again…….Sam', so now onto my hands on look at this weeks must have WFWF accessory. This time I have before me some unofficial merchandise, sold exclusively through www.kkk.biz, funnily enough the .com domain was already spoken for by a group of angry white guys with a penchant for pillow cases. The slogan on this shirt is catchy, and is printed big enough to be read even from a distance:
"Drakz is my b*tch"
Not one you'll forget in a hurry and at just $15 it's a bargain really. It's decidedly let down by the quality of the stitching and print though. I wore mine only for a couple of days before I noticed the thread coming away around the hem, and the print itself is clearly just a heat transfer. Pulling it over my head was enough to crack the lettering, so actually I take back that previous statement. At $15 it's a big middle finger to the paying customer, but maybe that's the point?
Donnie Monty Kent is an unfortunate little man in that he's likely to have a heart attack and die before the year is out. I've never met a man so easily riled up and stupid. It amazed me before that Michael Kyzer humoured his idiocy, but it startles me now that he has somehow gained control on the reigns of this Dragon, Tugarin Zmey. Zmey is either brain dead behind that mask or in desperate need of money. I'd like to think neither were true but how else has he fallen into line behind the childling? Donnie has never been fond of me, mostly likely because Kyzer's wouldn't get his d*ck out when I was in the room, thus depriving DMK of the gag reflex he so loves to torment. This shirt however is a somewhat brash attempt at getting a rise out of me, but unlike Donnie it takes a little more than that for me to see red.
I know the power he wields sat atop of the Dragon's shoulders, and I know the time will come where I am forced to cut that beast loose, but for now I'm happy keeping my distance and observing his war path through the drones that inhabit the bottom of the card.
As for DMK, carry on with your little mission of finding Michael Kyzer. Bring him to me. We need to have words.
There's still more to come guys, never fear, but now a word from our sponsors……..
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The Pitch
Chicago, Illinois
July 22nd 2014
11:45
WCPX. That's where I'm heading on this horrifically hot day. WCPX, for those that don't know, is channel 38 in, and around, Chicago. It's not my first choice of broadcasters but they're the only one who replied to my barrage of letters. A horrifically hot day, for those who don't know, is one where you can smell the tar on the road softening and ruining your trainers. It's a day where the dog at your side has to trot, rather than walk, just to keep his four paws off the ground a little longer.
"You know dog, I can't thank you enough for being my moral support today."
I'm yet to name him. I don't really think it's my place. He's been alive a lot longer than I've known him so why should he fall in line at my call? He might even be called Dog for all I know. That's his business.
"It's not every day you get to pitch your own talk show to an inconsequential television station, and just having you here makes me well all the more confident that I'm going to nail the sh*t out of this."
No response. We're yet to bridge the language barrier, but I'm sure it will come in time.
We're approaching the studios now and as we draw closer I become more and more aware of how sh*tty the building looks. I realised this wasn't going to be the big time but I had at least hoped they'd have a window cleaner on the payroll. The paintwork flakes off of every corner and angle, and one of the satellite dishes, mounted on the wall, has slumped down so that it points at the ground. My hopes and dreams are somewhat put on hold for a moment.
The studio looms overhead now and we're presented with a somewhat overweight member of security sat on a fold out chair, you know like the ones we hit people with……….
His off white shirt is tucked into his blue black trousers, with his gut swelling over his belt as he slouches, half asleep in the mid day heat.
"Hola Senior."
He snorts himself back to the land of living and tries to pretend he was always on the ball, although in reality the ball's half way down the road by now.
"Not today Julio, Sandra's home."
Burrito banger.
"Keep your d*ck in your pants fat lad, I'm not Julio. I'm here to see a Mr Sheridan and Mr Cotham?"
"Hold up a second there sh*t stain."
Clearly he doesn't like being called fat lad. He should probably consider losing weight then.
"I'm a bit too tall for a sh*t stain. Come on I've got an appointment to make."
He rises out of his seat, his face level with my chest, and pushes a button on the two way radio strapped to his belt. He mutters into the mic of his headset, an artefact seemingly from 2001, and certainly not a space odyssey. It's closer to a Britney Spears accessory than anything Kubrick ever touched.
"I've got a Mr?……….."
"Cray."
"Cray out here who says he has an appointment to see Dave and Howard?"
There's a long pause and I can tell he doesn't know where to look, so instead he turns his back to me, a back that's mostly stuck to his shirt with moisture. I glance down at the dog and we seemingly exchange smirks, although I doubt for a second he has a clue what's going on.
He turns back around.
"Okay, they're ready to see you now."
I slap him on the right tit;
"Cheers big man."
Then I move to step through the spinning doors but he stops me with a palm in my stomach.
"The dog stays here though."
"But he's my business associate!"
He doesn't even reply to me. Instead he just points at a no dogs sign in the window.
"This is utter madness. I can't go in there without my agent. They might take advantage of little old me."
"No dogs."
"Fine. F*ck it."
I turn to the pooch.
"Stay here…………..or don't. It's up to you. Go find something horrible to sniff. You lot love that."
Here we go.
Well first impressions………second, first impressions………..it's not as sh*tty in here as it looks outside. The air pangs of mint air-fresheners, and the walls are a tropical shade of turquoise, but I'm a little dubious of the lack of hustle and bustle. I thought some one might at least meet me at the door? Even just a receptionist. It does lead me to question who that security gimp was talking to? I start to wander around the deserted lobby and as I pay closer attention I begin to realise I was wrong, the inside really is as slap dash as the exterior, it's just been spruced up. The TV on the wall isn't turned on which suggests perhaps it can't, the carpet seems to get paler in the corners of the room, perhaps they've cleaned the cum stains out of it with cheap bleach, and the clouded lamp shades on closer inspection aren't supposed to be cloudy.
"Mr Cray?"
A shout echoes from up a flight of stairs, followed by foot steps, clacking their way down to my level. Here comes the welcome party, assumedly later than they planned to be. If this were my hole I'd be sure to be at the door ready, engaging in my demeanour, so as to hide the wrinkles. This room probably looks great in your peripheral.
Here he is, approaching with hand outstretched.
"Hi I'm Dave Sheridan."
I take his hand and shake it, getting a good look at his brutally tanned face. His aftershave is so strong it drowns out the air-freshener and his suit is damn awful. It's Miami Vice on a shoe string budget. This should be easy.
"Isa……..Drakz."
Keep him on the right side of the defences.
"Please, let's go up to the office, Howard's waiting. We're really excited to hear what you've got for us."
The office isn't too hot either, but in all honesty Im tired of describing sh*tty upholstery. I'm invited to sit on a sofa that looks as though it smells bad…………this place really is a hole, and I quite like it.
"Hello. Hello. You've already met Dave. I'm Howard Cotham, it's a pleasure to meet you."
Another hand shake, this time with a sweating palm. His. Not mine.
"Let's cut to the chase boys. I have to deal with star f*ckers every day of my life and right now I'd like to discuss business if that's okay with you."
"Firm but fair."
"Straight to the point. I love him already."
"So as you're both aware I'm a household name already, so anything attached to me is bound to at least get some exposure, no matter how terrible it is."
Set the bar low.
"Now can you imagine the coverage we'll get if what ever I'm endorsing is actually fantastic?"
And leap straight over it.
"I'm offering you, at a great price, the chance to air MY show."
"And what is your show? That's what we've been so excited to hear about. A drama? A comedy?"
"Oh? I thought you understood when I said MY show, I literally meant a show with me in it. A talk show of sorts. A place for me to air my dirty laundry and connect with the people in a way that previously hasn't been available to me, or them."
Their bleached smiles quiver and somewhat sink.
"You mean this isn't a brain child of yours?"
"It's simply just you?"
"Isn't that enough?"
"We'd heard you were a creative genius. We figured you'd be coming here today to pitch us an idea for a ground breaking, genre defying series, not just another talk show."
"Just another talk show? My dear friends you misunderstand me, I said I'll be the host. Immediately that transforms this programme into a totally different beast. People already pay to see me every week in the ring. I'm giving you an already established product to work with here."
"We already have 3 different talk shows on the station. It's a very competitive market, and an over-saturated one."
"Exactly. So why not only show the best one? Cancel the other three and simply put mine on. Peak time. Advertising campaigns up the wazoo. Let's throw everything we've got at this."
"Have you ever watched any of our current talk shows? Wake up with Devon? Chi-town chat? Brett Overfield?"
"Why the f*ck would I waste my time watching any of those?"
"If you had spared a moment to research what we already put out there you'd know the demographic we appeal to."
"Go on……"
"You see………you simply don't fit the bill as a host. We'd love to have you on board behind the scenes, dreaming up the newest programming. On screen however you're not what we're looking for."
"Excuse me?"
Up I get from this sticky sofa and immediately the pair of queens do the same, taking a few steps back.
"What's not to like about this face? Tell me?! What is it you're looking for?"
"Hollywood."
"Traditional good looks."
"A gleaming smile and a perfect hair cut."
"A sharp dresser……"
"You're rambling boys. Don't wet the bed, I'm not angry enough to crack your heads. Let me get this straight…….…."
Out comes the photo of Jason Garrett. Why do I keep all of these photos of the roster on my person. It's borderline stalker. As I wave the photo in front of them I can practically hear their knees knocking together. P*ssies.
"Are you looking perhaps for a man like this? A man who ticks all of the generic boxes you can throw out. A man with so little charisma he's yet to hold an audience's attention for longer than 2 minutes."
Sheridan, seemingly entranced by the photo, his fear instantly gone, takes it from my hand and elbows his partner. They both start to examine the photo and chatter amongst themselves.
"He's perfect!"
"Look at those cheek bones."
Cotham looks to me;
"Can you get this man to work with you? Who is he?"
"Who is he? This is exactly what I was talking about. If you have to ask who he is then why is it worth getting him on board? You already knew who I was. You and the rest of the world. I've already done all of the leg work, you simply need to give me the air time."
"But this guy has everything we want."
"Then there's no hope for you. Mr Cotham. Mr Sheridan. Enjoy the remainder of your mediocre careers. You can keep the picture for your extracurricular activities, I'm sure Jason would love that."
And off I go.
It's more of a relief than a let down to be walking away empty handed if I'm honest with myself. I came close to being a wh*re in there for a second. I don't need to beg for this. It seems I was wrong about lowest common denominator, small budgeted, local television stations. They're simply not ready to push the limits just yet. Of course really I should have seen that coming.
As I walk back through the lobby I can see out of the door and the dog is still sat waiting for me. Loyal, and for no good reason…………other than that I feed him. I suppose that's reason enough.
Oh! A gift for master! He's taken a sh*t just inside the perimeter of the revolving doors. This lad is cunning. I push my way through the doors, spinning them anti-clockwise and smearing dog dirt in a smooth arch across the floor, and then I'm out onto the street, safe in the knowledge that me and this animal are on the same page.
"Come on dog. There's been a change of plan."
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Welcome back to 'An Audience with Isaac' folks. If you remember before the break we hit on topics such as why Jason Garrett is an irrelevance in both mine, and his own career. We also looked at Cameron Stone's farewell party, and a selection of sweat shop produce. Now how about we raise the tone and get into……………………"Ones to watch!"
This is where I highlight a match from the forthcoming show, a match that I feel has the goods to entertain and change the trajectories of it's combatants.
This week I'm taking the easy way out by choosing the match already booked as the main event. This is a match between the two top singles champions in the WFWF right now, although granted one of them was simply given his belt.
'The Paper Champion' Dex vs 'Second in command' Joe Bishop.
Now this has an interesting story behind it, in that the following week Dex will finally be defending that title of his against Trace Demon, a man who is essentially testing the water by having his protege of sorts fighting him. Now this match has the WFWF walking a knife edge. This match could very well rip the arse out of the PPV and lose the company a lot of money. Why you ask? Two of the hottest prospects in the company today going at it one on one. What's not to like? If the circumstances were different I'd agree, however they're not.
If Joe Bishop is able to beat Dex cleanly then where does that leave Dex? If he can't defend the most prestigious title in this business against a lesser, mid card champion, then why is he champion at all? What makes it worse for him is that Bishop is simply acting as a measuring stick for Trace Demon. If Bishop can flatten him then Trace will walk through him. Who wants to see that? Who wants to pay good money to see the bad guy decimate the good guy? I'd pay to see it but I'll be in attendance already. Dex absolutely HAS to win this match if he wants to be taken seriously. Trace Demon has aligned himself with Bishop for a reason, he believes he's a contender. He sees him as a future for this company and what better way to eventually leave this place than by replacing one d*ck with another? Joe Bishop will eventually be Trace Demon's legacy, so if Dex can get one over on him then he has leverage and momentum going into 'Battle at the Garden', momentum he so desperately needs if he wants to stand a chance against a veteran, former champion.
This match is one to watch because the outcome entirely dictates the hype surrounding our Pay per View's main event. Lila Sleater has taken a big risk with this booking and it should be interesting to see wether it works to perfection or burns to ashes in front of her.
As far as where I stand at the PPV, who knows? Sleater clearly has something planned otherwise she wouldn't have bumped this run in with Garrett a card early. I'm not worried though, there's always a spot for myself at the top of the card, no matter who gets thrown into the pit with me.
As of right now all I'm interested in is teaching Jason Garrett how to behave because, as of last week, his report card isn't looking too great.
'Assaulted teacher after class'.
That's grounds for expulsion Jason.
I'm no longer interested in teaching you about respect. I'm no longer in this to help prime you for the future. This match will be about me shutting you down and putting an end to a short lived moment in the spot light. After you fight me you'll be back where you belong, scraping for morsels at the bottom of the card.
This match will show you why arrogance isn't working for you. I was a young, arrogant man once, and look what it got me?
Everything.
The difference is though, I'm world class.
Are you?
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Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, transgenders of all ages, welcome to this weeks episode of………*drum roll*…………..'An Audience with Isaac'!
I am your host Isaac Cray but, like everyone else, you can call me Drakz………or Genghis Khan Jnr…………or The Infallible B*stard, or any of my other pseudonyms. It's really up to you, and there in lies the beauty of it.
So this week, as with tradition, we've got a lot to cover, so I won't waste any time. Let's jump straight into the newest section of our show, something I like to call:
'No it's not infringing on copyright laws, let's play it again…….Sam.'
I'll devise a catchier name for it in time. This is all simply raw ideas at the moment folks. This part is where we take a look back at what of note happened on the last televised WFWF show.
How about we skip the boring bits and drop the spotlight on the main event? A two out of three falls match featuring yours truly.
Cameron "as tough as letting blood from a" Stone took a lot of sh*t from me. He even had the gaul to use a couple of my own moves, but that's hardly new now is it? Imitation is the highest form of flattery and all of that.
What matters the most about this little chapter in my career is that he earned a pin fall over me. I can make excuses all day, say I even planned to let him take the first of three to give him a false sense of security, but I'm not in the bull sh*tting business. He caught me. He pulled the bear skin rug from under my feet and it was beautiful.
Why was it beautiful?
How am I able to say my own defeat is a beautiful thing? Because in that moment I gave Cameron Stone something worth while, something he'll never forget. When the referee's hand hit the mat for a third time I gave him the gift of going over on me.
He was THE man for that split second.
Phillip Schneider couldn't do it. Joshua Dean couldn't do it. Taken at face value that snap shot is worth more to Cameron Stone than any of the title belts he's never had. That climax, that orgasm was brief though. I hope the guy has a photographic memory because I made sure not to let him bask in this glory for too long. Mere seconds later he was tapping out to me, and a hop, skip and double stomp later he fell to me again. That is victory. One battle holds little importance in that kind of a war. It's a sweet little souvenir for him to take into retirement but when the dust had settled I was the winner……….again. The boy dun good though. I can't deny him that, and I didn't. Maybe I should have though, at least then I would have seen those chair shots coming………. I guess I can't blame Stone for that, although if he'd let me leave the ring when I originally tried I'd have been safe and sound instead of face down in my own dribble.
I guess that's what we call a segway folks, a segway that's set to crash right into the balls of Jason Garrett after his actions last week.
Ever since I was denied my shot at the Heavyweight Title on this upcoming Pay Per View I set about instead spreading the wiles and knowledge I've accumulated over the course of my 10 year career. Some have taken it onboard and I'm sure will be all the better for it, a la Joshua Dean, some however don't seem to like being told what's best for them. Some snotty, self entitled children don't like to hear the truth, because as they see it they know everything there is to know. It's a common characteristic of kids, no? One that runs right through to adolescence.
Most of us learn, as we climb the mountain of time, that we in fact know sweet f*ck all. Even I don't claim to be the bearer of all that is true. However I am aware that I have had the time and experience to learn things others are still not privy to. 'The Golden Boy' is proving himself to be one of the minority who refuses to grow up and accept the harsh reality that most of us have grown accustomed to. Jason Garrett is living with his head in the clouds, and those clouds are up his arse…………it's a bizarre thought I know. Perhaps methane clouds? Regardless, this boy not only chose to ignore my words, he shunned my attempts and ultimately beat me round the skull with them. This is a bold move by anyone's standards, more so when you're simply a worm with little or no proof otherwise. Garrett has leap frogged his way into my camp, which works for me, and if the internet is anything to go by, it works for the fans too.
I.P.Freely of Salt Lake City, Utah, had this to say: "Please don't waste a spot on the Pay Per View card with Drakz vs Jason Garrett. It's simply not a PPV calibre match. Drakz will destroy him."
Where as Mz Bratt from Washington D.C. said: "Why the f*ck isn't Drakz in the main event anyway? Instead he's going to face The Golden B*tch? WTF?!"
It seems the world wide audience feels I'd be selling myself short if I faced Garrett on the card for 'Battle at the Garden', and honestly, now I've given it some thought, I agree. After the biggest match of my life at Superbrawl, taking on this bottom feeder would be a huge step down and out of the lime light. Why waste all of my momentum on a match likely to finish before it's even started? Lila Sleater may not understand how to use me to make the most money but she at least realised that moving this match to a Televised broadcast was a far better business decision. Garrett can mock my age as much as he likes because this match will be tantamount to child abuse in my eyes. Who knows, after I walk through Garrett maybe she'll catch on to the fact that if she really doesn't want Trace Demon as champion, putting me in his way is the best chance she has of stopping him.
Okay well that wraps up 'No it's not infringing on copyright laws, let's play it again…….Sam', so now onto my hands on look at this weeks must have WFWF accessory. This time I have before me some unofficial merchandise, sold exclusively through www.kkk.biz, funnily enough the .com domain was already spoken for by a group of angry white guys with a penchant for pillow cases. The slogan on this shirt is catchy, and is printed big enough to be read even from a distance:
"Drakz is my b*tch"
Not one you'll forget in a hurry and at just $15 it's a bargain really. It's decidedly let down by the quality of the stitching and print though. I wore mine only for a couple of days before I noticed the thread coming away around the hem, and the print itself is clearly just a heat transfer. Pulling it over my head was enough to crack the lettering, so actually I take back that previous statement. At $15 it's a big middle finger to the paying customer, but maybe that's the point?
Donnie Monty Kent is an unfortunate little man in that he's likely to have a heart attack and die before the year is out. I've never met a man so easily riled up and stupid. It amazed me before that Michael Kyzer humoured his idiocy, but it startles me now that he has somehow gained control on the reigns of this Dragon, Tugarin Zmey. Zmey is either brain dead behind that mask or in desperate need of money. I'd like to think neither were true but how else has he fallen into line behind the childling? Donnie has never been fond of me, mostly likely because Kyzer's wouldn't get his d*ck out when I was in the room, thus depriving DMK of the gag reflex he so loves to torment. This shirt however is a somewhat brash attempt at getting a rise out of me, but unlike Donnie it takes a little more than that for me to see red.
I know the power he wields sat atop of the Dragon's shoulders, and I know the time will come where I am forced to cut that beast loose, but for now I'm happy keeping my distance and observing his war path through the drones that inhabit the bottom of the card.
As for DMK, carry on with your little mission of finding Michael Kyzer. Bring him to me. We need to have words.
There's still more to come guys, never fear, but now a word from our sponsors……..
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The Pitch
Chicago, Illinois
July 22nd 2014
11:45
WCPX. That's where I'm heading on this horrifically hot day. WCPX, for those that don't know, is channel 38 in, and around, Chicago. It's not my first choice of broadcasters but they're the only one who replied to my barrage of letters. A horrifically hot day, for those who don't know, is one where you can smell the tar on the road softening and ruining your trainers. It's a day where the dog at your side has to trot, rather than walk, just to keep his four paws off the ground a little longer.
"You know dog, I can't thank you enough for being my moral support today."
I'm yet to name him. I don't really think it's my place. He's been alive a lot longer than I've known him so why should he fall in line at my call? He might even be called Dog for all I know. That's his business.
"It's not every day you get to pitch your own talk show to an inconsequential television station, and just having you here makes me well all the more confident that I'm going to nail the sh*t out of this."
No response. We're yet to bridge the language barrier, but I'm sure it will come in time.
We're approaching the studios now and as we draw closer I become more and more aware of how sh*tty the building looks. I realised this wasn't going to be the big time but I had at least hoped they'd have a window cleaner on the payroll. The paintwork flakes off of every corner and angle, and one of the satellite dishes, mounted on the wall, has slumped down so that it points at the ground. My hopes and dreams are somewhat put on hold for a moment.
The studio looms overhead now and we're presented with a somewhat overweight member of security sat on a fold out chair, you know like the ones we hit people with……….
His off white shirt is tucked into his blue black trousers, with his gut swelling over his belt as he slouches, half asleep in the mid day heat.
"Hola Senior."
He snorts himself back to the land of living and tries to pretend he was always on the ball, although in reality the ball's half way down the road by now.
"Not today Julio, Sandra's home."
Burrito banger.
"Keep your d*ck in your pants fat lad, I'm not Julio. I'm here to see a Mr Sheridan and Mr Cotham?"
"Hold up a second there sh*t stain."
Clearly he doesn't like being called fat lad. He should probably consider losing weight then.
"I'm a bit too tall for a sh*t stain. Come on I've got an appointment to make."
He rises out of his seat, his face level with my chest, and pushes a button on the two way radio strapped to his belt. He mutters into the mic of his headset, an artefact seemingly from 2001, and certainly not a space odyssey. It's closer to a Britney Spears accessory than anything Kubrick ever touched.
"I've got a Mr?……….."
"Cray."
"Cray out here who says he has an appointment to see Dave and Howard?"
There's a long pause and I can tell he doesn't know where to look, so instead he turns his back to me, a back that's mostly stuck to his shirt with moisture. I glance down at the dog and we seemingly exchange smirks, although I doubt for a second he has a clue what's going on.
He turns back around.
"Okay, they're ready to see you now."
I slap him on the right tit;
"Cheers big man."
Then I move to step through the spinning doors but he stops me with a palm in my stomach.
"The dog stays here though."
"But he's my business associate!"
He doesn't even reply to me. Instead he just points at a no dogs sign in the window.
"This is utter madness. I can't go in there without my agent. They might take advantage of little old me."
"No dogs."
"Fine. F*ck it."
I turn to the pooch.
"Stay here…………..or don't. It's up to you. Go find something horrible to sniff. You lot love that."
Here we go.
Well first impressions………second, first impressions………..it's not as sh*tty in here as it looks outside. The air pangs of mint air-fresheners, and the walls are a tropical shade of turquoise, but I'm a little dubious of the lack of hustle and bustle. I thought some one might at least meet me at the door? Even just a receptionist. It does lead me to question who that security gimp was talking to? I start to wander around the deserted lobby and as I pay closer attention I begin to realise I was wrong, the inside really is as slap dash as the exterior, it's just been spruced up. The TV on the wall isn't turned on which suggests perhaps it can't, the carpet seems to get paler in the corners of the room, perhaps they've cleaned the cum stains out of it with cheap bleach, and the clouded lamp shades on closer inspection aren't supposed to be cloudy.
"Mr Cray?"
A shout echoes from up a flight of stairs, followed by foot steps, clacking their way down to my level. Here comes the welcome party, assumedly later than they planned to be. If this were my hole I'd be sure to be at the door ready, engaging in my demeanour, so as to hide the wrinkles. This room probably looks great in your peripheral.
Here he is, approaching with hand outstretched.
"Hi I'm Dave Sheridan."
I take his hand and shake it, getting a good look at his brutally tanned face. His aftershave is so strong it drowns out the air-freshener and his suit is damn awful. It's Miami Vice on a shoe string budget. This should be easy.
"Isa……..Drakz."
Keep him on the right side of the defences.
"Please, let's go up to the office, Howard's waiting. We're really excited to hear what you've got for us."
The office isn't too hot either, but in all honesty Im tired of describing sh*tty upholstery. I'm invited to sit on a sofa that looks as though it smells bad…………this place really is a hole, and I quite like it.
"Hello. Hello. You've already met Dave. I'm Howard Cotham, it's a pleasure to meet you."
Another hand shake, this time with a sweating palm. His. Not mine.
"Let's cut to the chase boys. I have to deal with star f*ckers every day of my life and right now I'd like to discuss business if that's okay with you."
"Firm but fair."
"Straight to the point. I love him already."
"So as you're both aware I'm a household name already, so anything attached to me is bound to at least get some exposure, no matter how terrible it is."
Set the bar low.
"Now can you imagine the coverage we'll get if what ever I'm endorsing is actually fantastic?"
And leap straight over it.
"I'm offering you, at a great price, the chance to air MY show."
"And what is your show? That's what we've been so excited to hear about. A drama? A comedy?"
"Oh? I thought you understood when I said MY show, I literally meant a show with me in it. A talk show of sorts. A place for me to air my dirty laundry and connect with the people in a way that previously hasn't been available to me, or them."
Their bleached smiles quiver and somewhat sink.
"You mean this isn't a brain child of yours?"
"It's simply just you?"
"Isn't that enough?"
"We'd heard you were a creative genius. We figured you'd be coming here today to pitch us an idea for a ground breaking, genre defying series, not just another talk show."
"Just another talk show? My dear friends you misunderstand me, I said I'll be the host. Immediately that transforms this programme into a totally different beast. People already pay to see me every week in the ring. I'm giving you an already established product to work with here."
"We already have 3 different talk shows on the station. It's a very competitive market, and an over-saturated one."
"Exactly. So why not only show the best one? Cancel the other three and simply put mine on. Peak time. Advertising campaigns up the wazoo. Let's throw everything we've got at this."
"Have you ever watched any of our current talk shows? Wake up with Devon? Chi-town chat? Brett Overfield?"
"Why the f*ck would I waste my time watching any of those?"
"If you had spared a moment to research what we already put out there you'd know the demographic we appeal to."
"Go on……"
"You see………you simply don't fit the bill as a host. We'd love to have you on board behind the scenes, dreaming up the newest programming. On screen however you're not what we're looking for."
"Excuse me?"
Up I get from this sticky sofa and immediately the pair of queens do the same, taking a few steps back.
"What's not to like about this face? Tell me?! What is it you're looking for?"
"Hollywood."
"Traditional good looks."
"A gleaming smile and a perfect hair cut."
"A sharp dresser……"
"You're rambling boys. Don't wet the bed, I'm not angry enough to crack your heads. Let me get this straight…….…."
Out comes the photo of Jason Garrett. Why do I keep all of these photos of the roster on my person. It's borderline stalker. As I wave the photo in front of them I can practically hear their knees knocking together. P*ssies.
"Are you looking perhaps for a man like this? A man who ticks all of the generic boxes you can throw out. A man with so little charisma he's yet to hold an audience's attention for longer than 2 minutes."
Sheridan, seemingly entranced by the photo, his fear instantly gone, takes it from my hand and elbows his partner. They both start to examine the photo and chatter amongst themselves.
"He's perfect!"
"Look at those cheek bones."
Cotham looks to me;
"Can you get this man to work with you? Who is he?"
"Who is he? This is exactly what I was talking about. If you have to ask who he is then why is it worth getting him on board? You already knew who I was. You and the rest of the world. I've already done all of the leg work, you simply need to give me the air time."
"But this guy has everything we want."
"Then there's no hope for you. Mr Cotham. Mr Sheridan. Enjoy the remainder of your mediocre careers. You can keep the picture for your extracurricular activities, I'm sure Jason would love that."
And off I go.
It's more of a relief than a let down to be walking away empty handed if I'm honest with myself. I came close to being a wh*re in there for a second. I don't need to beg for this. It seems I was wrong about lowest common denominator, small budgeted, local television stations. They're simply not ready to push the limits just yet. Of course really I should have seen that coming.
As I walk back through the lobby I can see out of the door and the dog is still sat waiting for me. Loyal, and for no good reason…………other than that I feed him. I suppose that's reason enough.
Oh! A gift for master! He's taken a sh*t just inside the perimeter of the revolving doors. This lad is cunning. I push my way through the doors, spinning them anti-clockwise and smearing dog dirt in a smooth arch across the floor, and then I'm out onto the street, safe in the knowledge that me and this animal are on the same page.
"Come on dog. There's been a change of plan."
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Welcome back to 'An Audience with Isaac' folks. If you remember before the break we hit on topics such as why Jason Garrett is an irrelevance in both mine, and his own career. We also looked at Cameron Stone's farewell party, and a selection of sweat shop produce. Now how about we raise the tone and get into……………………"Ones to watch!"
This is where I highlight a match from the forthcoming show, a match that I feel has the goods to entertain and change the trajectories of it's combatants.
This week I'm taking the easy way out by choosing the match already booked as the main event. This is a match between the two top singles champions in the WFWF right now, although granted one of them was simply given his belt.
'The Paper Champion' Dex vs 'Second in command' Joe Bishop.
Now this has an interesting story behind it, in that the following week Dex will finally be defending that title of his against Trace Demon, a man who is essentially testing the water by having his protege of sorts fighting him. Now this match has the WFWF walking a knife edge. This match could very well rip the arse out of the PPV and lose the company a lot of money. Why you ask? Two of the hottest prospects in the company today going at it one on one. What's not to like? If the circumstances were different I'd agree, however they're not.
If Joe Bishop is able to beat Dex cleanly then where does that leave Dex? If he can't defend the most prestigious title in this business against a lesser, mid card champion, then why is he champion at all? What makes it worse for him is that Bishop is simply acting as a measuring stick for Trace Demon. If Bishop can flatten him then Trace will walk through him. Who wants to see that? Who wants to pay good money to see the bad guy decimate the good guy? I'd pay to see it but I'll be in attendance already. Dex absolutely HAS to win this match if he wants to be taken seriously. Trace Demon has aligned himself with Bishop for a reason, he believes he's a contender. He sees him as a future for this company and what better way to eventually leave this place than by replacing one d*ck with another? Joe Bishop will eventually be Trace Demon's legacy, so if Dex can get one over on him then he has leverage and momentum going into 'Battle at the Garden', momentum he so desperately needs if he wants to stand a chance against a veteran, former champion.
This match is one to watch because the outcome entirely dictates the hype surrounding our Pay per View's main event. Lila Sleater has taken a big risk with this booking and it should be interesting to see wether it works to perfection or burns to ashes in front of her.
As far as where I stand at the PPV, who knows? Sleater clearly has something planned otherwise she wouldn't have bumped this run in with Garrett a card early. I'm not worried though, there's always a spot for myself at the top of the card, no matter who gets thrown into the pit with me.
As of right now all I'm interested in is teaching Jason Garrett how to behave because, as of last week, his report card isn't looking too great.
'Assaulted teacher after class'.
That's grounds for expulsion Jason.
I'm no longer interested in teaching you about respect. I'm no longer in this to help prime you for the future. This match will be about me shutting you down and putting an end to a short lived moment in the spot light. After you fight me you'll be back where you belong, scraping for morsels at the bottom of the card.
This match will show you why arrogance isn't working for you. I was a young, arrogant man once, and look what it got me?
Everything.
The difference is though, I'm world class.
Are you?
Even being rushed it was still very good. The closing monologue really stuck with me as being good. The reason I don't reply to most RPs is just that I'm bad at it but I did enjoy reading it. Good luck to you too sir! 
I dont know good luck 
