Post by Drakz on Oct 13, 2014 16:48:27 GMT -5
"An Audience with Isaac"
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The Pilot
October 11th 2014
Big Teeth Studios, Chicago
- 21:01 -
As the lights in the studio dim the final stragglers find their way to their seats and a dull murmur swaddles the in house crowd. The lucky few in attendance are blind as to what will unfold before them throughout the evening and the atmosphere is electric………not Superbrawl electric. More of a balloon rub on the head. F*ck it, everyone's excited.
"Ladies and gentlemen welcome to 'An Audience with Isaac'. Please welcome your host Isaac Craaaa…oh excuse me…..Draaaaakz."
*Applause. Yelling. Wolf Whistles*
A spotlight falls on the edge of the set, the set which looks unsettlingly similar to a a 1970s living room, with shag carpet, art deco furniture and wireless radio to match. At last the crowd's anticipation is broken as the brains behind this beast sets foot into the pool of light. The cheering from the crowd carries him across the room like the strings of scent from a hot, sill sat pie. There are few who hold themselves with such gravitas and grace, yet here we have in front of us the embodiment of the two combined. The man, the myth, the legend.
"Oh you beautiful people."
The crowd whoop and holler right back at him.
"We finally made it. We finally got our sh*t together, and he we all are. Give yourselves a round of applause."
Pandering to the crowd he wears his plastic smile with a casual air.
"Now, before we get started, I would like to remind the people at home that throughout the show we'll be running an opinion poll, for research purposes of course. If you'd like to make your opinion known then simply dial the number at the bottom of the screen and select option one or two when prompted. Calls are charged at your standard network rate plus………….a little bit more. Trust me it's no great figure. I don't need the money……….."
Drakz sheepishly looks from side to side before cracking his lips and showing those pearly whites again.
"I'm having you on. Calls are free from a land line. The question is as follows;
Over the course of the last two shows we have heard from two separate guest commentators, but which did you feel left you feeling the most satisfied? I'm talking leg quivering, short of breath satisfied.
Was it option 1. Drakz, or option 2. Trace Demon.
One quick thing I'd like to add is that the first chap didn't need to bring his entourage with him to help fill the dead air in between p*ss poor jokes."
He holds his hands out in front of him as though to dissipate any argument.
"It's simply an observation, don't let that sway your decision in anyway. We'll give the results at the end of the show.
But honestly now I think it's time we got into this. First of all I think I owe you, and the world, an apology for my recent down time. I've taken it easy the last couple of weeks but I made a concerted effort not to leave you all entirely at a loose end. My recent debut as the guest announcer is the first of many I assure you, so actually as far as my absence from the ring goes, you're welcome. I've opened a new chapter in your lives and it is entitled 'Sweet Nothings'.
It goes without saying that I can talk the talk, and for ages it seems my mouth has got me into as much trouble as it's gotten me out of, but a couple of weeks ago I cemented my claims. Claims that in the more educated minds never needed tending to. I have long since proven my worth in this industry and perhaps this most recent victory is more of a stamp of relevance on my already glistening resumé. When I hear the new bloods of the world calling me old, calling me past it, I now need not waste my breath."
Our 'humble' host now, in one smooth motion, grabs a small burgundy cloth and pulls it from above the faux mantlepiece as he falls back into the chesterfield arm chair behind him. The big reveal now leaves the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship on show, hung on the wall of the studio, to which the crowd erupts and Drakz turns to look up at it.
"6 years. 6 years of longing for one another's embrace. But now those cold winter nights are a thing of mere memory. We are reunited at last and that time apart has done us the world of good. Last time I called it off as I felt things were moving too fast. I had to focus on a new direction in my career and this beauty just didn't fit into that world, but now things are perfect. We're both travelling in the same direction. Which direction is that you might ask…………………..No really, I want you all to ask."
The audience attempt to speak in unison but fall into a staggered mess of noises.
"That was terrible, but it's the thought that counts, and since you asked………'Heaven, the treasury of everlasting joy'. I intend on defending this belt against the best of the best. No man shall stand before me and go undefeated. Enough about me though, for now at least. Let's get into our first segment of the show. Seeing as this is the pilot, I think it's only fair we discuss what's been going on around the (wrestling) world, in a segment I like to call……."
The voice over from earlier does the honours:
"Best 'Battle of the Garden' Fall Out Moments"
*Applause. Applause. Applause*
"Now it makes sense here to start with the happenings of a certain former 'champion', the very man who passed on this lovely belt to me. One Dexter Kingsley. This is a man who was admittedly dealt a God awful hand. I've gone on record countless times now to rip apart Shawn Malakai's mistake of making Dex champ for no good reason. He didn't just sh*t on the roster. He didn't just sh*t on the fans. He took a steaming dump right in the eyes and mouth of his apparent protégée. Nothing, and I repeat nothing, good came of that move. Dex was routinely targeted by the entire roster, be it verbally, physically or otherwise, and the ever lovely people of the world wide web ripped the poor kid apart. Add to that the loss of the title without ever being pinned and you've got a title reign that ended before it ever started, which it admittedly it didn't really do. Dex finally gets a chance to vent his frustrations in a match with the man who has called him out the most, Trace Demon, and what happens? He gets out numbered and beaten silly with a steel chair by yet another member of the company in Kyle Matthews. Things can only get better though surely?
Apparently not.
It seems this man is a black hole of sh*t, sucking in every terrible instance in his vicinity, as my good buddy Phillip Schneider mashed up his innards and sent him off for a lie down at home for a few months. Now that entire series of short comings all happened in a window of less than 6 months. Half a year ago Dex was the hot prospect of the company having beaten ZMaster in his 13th retirement match. Who'd have thought his sky rocket to stardom would nose dive so violently? It's a hard thing to witness I'm sure you'll agree but it's the luck of the draw and some of us just aren't that lucky. In summary Dexter I would like to offer my foreight. Rest up and come back when you're ready to work from the bottom up again. With any luck Malakai will have died by then and you can do things on your own terms."
The crowd sucks a breath of air at the risqué comment as Drakz rises from his chair and begins to pace the length of the room, back and forth, decanting his thoughts into the space around him without pause for breath himself.
"Now where Dex may have failed there are others who seem to be succeeding through the same singular idea. Every few years we see trends arise and the current one seems to be rallying the troops. Just like all great trends this has come back around. It's not a new idea but as history would tell you it's usually effective. Groups of like minded people, striving toward a singular goal. Factions. Stables. Tried and tested. On the one hand you have nice folk, trying to do the right thing. On the other, arse holes, out for themselves. It's the perfect war, except that on the third hand of this inbred animal we have a midget, his monster and a maniac. Plenty of times have we seen the clash of two armies, but three? How does that work? Do we see alliances? Does it all just break down? Does anyone care unless I get involved? I kid. Of course I, just like all of you, will be watching how this all unfolds over the course of the next few months. More on this subject later in the show."
Drakz pauses for a moment and pours himself a short glass of malt. Doesn't every great television studio have a well stocked drinks cupboard? Clutching the glass in his right hand and waving it around as he continues to make his feelings known, Drakz becomes more animated as he finds his rhythm.
"And now we frantically return to a subject that DOES include me, if only in a supporting role. This coming week my main event status has been shunted to one side by a tag team match that honestly deserves the top spot. I do have a single qualm with one of the combatants though, and no it's nothing to do with Donnie.
Mr Stone.
Mr Cameron Stone.
This man is getting close to equalling the aforementioned big red guy's tally of 'final matches'. He seemingly stepped down on the first show P.S.B.
That's Post Superbrawl if you're wondering kids.
He then decides to take a punt with Ace Bennett and winds up breaking the guy's neck. Fair enough, no great loss there. You'd think he'd want to leave it at that but then he offers up an open challenge to yet another final match, and of course I couldn't help myself. Now Stone is no slouch but I have to think the victory I earned over him and the respect I showed him afterwards should have been enough to send him away for good this time, but instead he whores on his word again, and a few weeks later he's back, fighting the Dragon in an attempt to break whatever midget voodoo has been cast on his friend Samael Ahriman. Unfortunately that didn't work and Samael even came out and put his hands on Stone after proceedings. Once again we see an escalation of the situation and suddenly we're presented with the idea that Stone will again wrestle his last match for the fifth time here in the WFWF. Now, why should I care? I beat him. I haven't lost anything in his staying around after, so why should it get to me? I'm not angry or anything, just a little down trodden at the idea that Stone's grand finale, which I thought our match really was, has now been watered down and stretched beyond recognition. When you leave this place. When you finally really decide you're done, you need to consider the future. Not your future per say, but your legacy. How will people remember you, and what will they say? With a clean break everyone knows where they stand. They have that milestone. That single moment that captures history, but when you keep coming back for more, going against your word, you end up with a blur that frankly has far less value. Stone this isn't an attack on your character as a man. I just want you to know how disappointed I am that you're legacy is now second rate. You could have gone out with a bang but instead you've fizzled and, like a second rate fluffer on a porno set, you've let the most important man in the picture down……..me."
The enthusiasm with which Drakz has spoken has thrown the majority of his drink to the carpet and so, to break his verbal onslaught he moves back to refill. As he does though he places both hands on the cabinet top and seems to falter for a moment. His eye line moves from the cabinet up to the ceiling and then he turns back to face the audience.
"It's not all doom and gloom though. It really isn't. There are people who have piqued my interest for the right reasons, and in all honesty it's my favourite subject of conversation……….victory! Let's give it up for victory ladies and gentlemen!"
*Applause. Applause. Applause*
"There are few men in the WFWF who currently are considered undefeated. I don't mean they've necessarily never lost, I simply mean at this time they're on a roll that seems unstoppable. I will be the first to tell you that my career has been peppered with upsets, but that is all here-say in the face of my current run. I haven't been beaten since 2012 which, in a company that moves as fast as this, is a long time ago. But I'm not talking about me. Tugarin Zmey is another. He has lost a match but it wasn't he that fell and thus his intimidating mystique remains intact. But it's not him I'm talking about either. The man I speak of genuinely has yet to lose a single outing in his career. A short one it may be, but right now he has put his stamp on the mid-card and refuses to lay down for anyone. Of course I'm talking about the Child of Light, Daniel Kirkbride.
Here's a kid who within four matches has got people questioning Joe Bishop's position as the number one contender for International Championship. Now for a man simply exercising his rematch clause to be overshadowed by anyone's claim is pretty rare, but for it to be attributed to a complete new comer is unheard of. Kirkbride has so far managed to defeat former International Champion Joshua Dean, current International Champion Dave Demento and now this week has the chance at the number one contender for that very same strap. In my eyes if he bests Bishop this week then there is no question as to who the title shot should really be going to. The thing is though, from what I've seen, Kirkbride doesn't seem like the type to assert himself and make demands. Because of this I doubt he'll get the opportunity he deserves until the next big show comes around. Throw into the mix this rumour of his aligning himself with the Saviours of Salvation and I can feel that International Title shot slipping away. Right now the best thing that could happen to young Daniel is for his speculated team mate Demento to lose in London, otherwise I feel the pressures from the rest of the team will be enough to keep him from challenging for an accolade that should, by all sensical thought, already be his. Kirkbride, if by chance you're watching this be very sure that I in return am watching you."
Drakz glances up at the World Heavyweight Championship belt with a smirk on his face whilst sitting back down into his arm chair and taking a sip from his glass.
"So Kirkbride's possible SOS enrolment makes for a very promising future for the team as a whole. They now have some of the best talent on the roster at their disposal, but what of Princess Dean? The strongest National Champion we've seen in an age. Just as her momentum was building she now finds herself hospitalised with multiple breaks in her arm. This crushed me a little as I felt my tournament was instrumental in finding and inaugurating the First Lady of Salvation, and now she's been unceremoniously stripped of her belt and had it offered up to a pack of blood thirsty wolves. Deserving wolves I might add but they are wolves all the same. Nikki Dean I have no doubt will be back and gunning for that championship belt but for now she will have to watch from the sidelines as the beast moves on without her. My deepest condolences. Injury is a bitter suppository to pucker up, but it happens to the best of us. The very best of us."
Drakz looks down at his watchless wrist and his eyebrows raise.
"Lordy, I've been rambling a little too long. If we want to keep this stone a rolling we better cut to some messages from our sponsors. Don't go changing sh*t pigs."
The lights dim in the studio and the crowd cheer in appreciation before dashing towards the bar and toilets. The two seemingly go hand in hand. Drakz exits stage right and for the viewers at home the commercial musings of capitalism fill the void.
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+44
October 11th 2014
Big Teeth Studios, Chicago
- 21:28 -
I step out of the lights of the false reality and back into the world I know so well. The backstage. Behind the curtain. Surrounded by flight cases and fold out tables. Bottles of water and fruit platters. Technicians racing around making sure the cogs keep grinding along. I think this is going pretty well so far. We're only half way through the pilot and the crowd definitely seem on board. It's no great feat for me to create that relationship though. I've had hordes of thousands eating from my cupped hands for 10 years now. This is what I do, regardless of the presentation.
I make my way through the cross roads of staff members and find myself a quiet corner to call from. This isn't a call I've been looking forward to making but it must be done. I pull out my phone and dial the international code +44. The Queen's favourite number.
It's ringing. Please don't pick up.
"Hello?"
Bollocks.
"Bryan?"
"Speaking."
"Bryan it's Isaac."
There's a stunned silence on the line and I have to double check he hasn't just hung up on me.
"Bryan?"
"I'm still here. Is this really you?"
"Indeed. How are you Bryan?"
More silence, and I suddenly realise I'm now Isaac again. The younger me. The regular guy. For the first time in……..I can't remember, I feel truly vulnerable and human. I f*cking hate it. Ever since I got the news about Derek passing I've been slipping, but now I'm truly balls deep.
"What's wrong? I thought you'd be pleased to hear from me?"
"No. I am kidda. I'm just a little shell shocked."
He laughs nervously and I can tell he's being honest with me. It's nice to hear a Yorkshire accent that isn't dressed in animal hide. F*cking Game of Thrones, that programme has caused me no end of hassle. 'Go on say it! Say b*stard. Say winter is coming.' My accent's never been that strong, and it's faded ever further with my time in the US, but understandably I can turn it on when I want, and right now I can feel myself slipping back into it, brought on by the fact I'm talking to a fellow northerner.
"So then. How are you keeping?"
"Yeah. I'm good ta. I hope you don't think me rude, but………why are you calling? It's been years lad."
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
"Come on Bryan. You know why I never ring."
"That I do. But why are you talking to me right now?"
"I'm coming to England mate. For business. But I'm coming back. For the first time in a very long time."
Again that silence. A break in conversational flow that is filled only by the faint hum of an international line.
"I'm working in London but you know I don't want to spend my time there. I'm going to take a car and come up to see you……..and him."
"I……I don't know what to say lad. It would be brilliant to see you and I'm sure your Dad will be over the moon."
"Hmmmm"
Not that you'd notice. F*ck. Is this a good idea? Mortality has been a big issue for me ever since that letter arrived in New York. I should really be looking into that business with Derek's death, but with The Clash PPV on the horizon and my imminent return to the UK I knew this needed addressing first.
"Listen. Can you do me a favour?"
"Of course. What is it kid?"
"Don't tell anyone else I'm around. I didn't leave on the best of terms with most people and I imagine there will be a lot of people who'd like a pop at me. I can't afford that in my line of work."
"Sure thing lad, but don't you think people will know anyway? If you're on the tele. Surely people will know you're going to be back in the country?"
"They don't have to know I'm anywhere but London Bryan. If I choose to see any of the local lot I'll do it on my terms, and if I don't, well, then I don't."
The red light at the side of the curtain begins to flash and I know this is my cue to get back to it. I start to wind things up.
"Listen Bry. I've got to go mate, but I'll be seeing you very soon."
"Okay Isaac. Take care of yourself lad, and it really is great to hear your voice."
"And you. Look after yourself. Oh and Bryan……How is he? Has anything changed?"
"Same as it ever was kid. Same as it ever was."
I hang up the call and slip the phone back into my pocket before resting my head in my hands. Each elbow rests on an adjacent knee and I push the balls of my palms deep into my eyes. F*cking hell. This is going to be rough. Time for composure now though. Time for the show. Time for the champ.
I walk back to the curtain, take a deep breath and a swig of water and then duck my head to pass through into the blinding lights and the prompted applause.
Once again I am Drakz.
I will always be Drakz.
I'm not some kid from the estate, working down the local chippy.
I'm not married with kids and a mortgage.
I'm not saying hello to the same old dear behind the Post Office counter every day.
I'm the f*cking 'God' Slayer.
I'm the f*cking World Heavyweight Champion.
I'm the man the people pay to see.
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After the Ads
October 11th 2014
Big Teeth Studios, Chicago
- 21:35 -
Our ever attentive host for the evening stoops under the curtain, back into the lime light and the open arms of the crowd. He stops half way across the room and adjusts his tie before taking the last few steps to centre stage.
"Welcome back ladies and gentlemen. I can only hope you used your time constructively by filling your glasses and emptying your p*ss sacks."
A cheap pop, but what else can you expect from a man engrossed in this industry.
"When I left you we were discussing the distressing situation of Nikki Dean. Where does she fit into the Saviours of Salvation mould now that she can't compete? They don't strike me as the types to cut the dead weight loose (perhaps an error on their part?) and so I can only imagine she'll watch from the side lines as she mends. Where does that leave this group then? That's what I want to address for the remainder of the show as we take a look at……."
The ever ready voice over gratuitously fills the gap.
"S.O.S. - Behind the Beeps."
*Applause. Educated Chuckles. Applause.*
"Thank you, thank you. Now whilst I'm sure the Saviours are aware of the meaning behind the acronym I don't think for a minute they are crying for help, even with the swift departure of Nikki Dean from in ring action. By all accounts they are the strongest group in the WFWF today, with a well rounded selection of members all fighting towards one thing. But what is that thing? Like you, I know what they claim it is. They're fighting for the good of the fans, the future of the industry, but in reality what the f*ck does that mean? Over the years every faction seems to claim it's fighting for the future of the business, for better or for worse, but realistically how many of them have actually left a lasting impression on the WFWF? Even The New Epoch, in my opinion, left behind very little once the ripples had faded. These groups are frankly just moments in the careers of those involved in them. They serve a single purpose, and that is the elevation of the members to the forefront of the viewer's minds at that very moment. They are selfish vehicles driven by those involved in an attempt to right any previously made career decisions."
The crowd listens intently. All eyes are on the magician.
"This is by no means a direct attack on The Saviours of Salvation, nor is this particularly directed at The Final Revolution or even the KoKaine Konspiracy. This does however apply to them all, as it does every team waiting in the wings to take their place a year down the line when they've all inevitably dissipated. I see you all for what you are and that is merely a collection of singulars. United we stand? You are still individual problems, not a singular enemy, no matter how often you all might share the same bed. If I, as a lone man, wanted to single handedly remove each of these factions I know it is a simple game of tactics. I'd never win the numbers game, but if it's smarts you want then there are none better. To kill the giant you must hack him apart, piece by piece. Person by person.
Now my ramblings here are perhaps indicative of my jealous nature. When I have to share the spotlight with anyone I can't help myself from picking holes and undermining perceived power, yet this time I have no real motive. Again the fastest rising entity in the WFWF right now is this GROUP of superstars. I am not worried about a power house fuelled by multiple members, as each, when caught alone, is no real problem for me. Plus one man stood under a spot light looks much nicer than four, jostling for position. It's simple aesthetic composition.
I have no real enemies right now, merely an ego and legend to feed, and because of the absence of hatred from my current arsenal I don't find myself going out of my way to destroy things for no good reason. The Saviours of Salvation are good for the competitive nature of this business and I for one am happy to see them grow. I have no intention of 'going after them' so to speak, I just seem to find myself across the ring from them from time to time. Each week we see, if not a step forward in their competition, then at least a new chapter in the strength of their union. They are making people anxious. They are letting people know they want, and expect, a high standard at any level on the card. Whether it's battling for the National Title in the show opener or bleeding within the confines of a steel cage. One thing they miss though, the one glaring hole in the group's representation across the board is real main event status. Not one of the members of the Saviours are truly ready for a shot at the big time, and before any pants get twisted I want to make it clear that I mean no offence. I'm not simply saying you're all sh*te. If every member really looked inside of themselves I'm sure each would agree that not one of them is ready to headline a Pay Per View fighting for this belt."
He points across his shoulder at the mounted gold, his face unrecognisably sincere.
"That my friends is something I hope to remedy. I need the challenge. I need to test my limits. The razor's edge is not sharpened without a stone. Of the group itself so far I have only faced Joshua Dean, the man who in my eyes seems to be the architect of the group. He is the glue that holds them together. Perhaps in time that won't be so obvious, but right now, in their infant stage, Dean is the Father of the movement, not necessarily the leader, but the creator.
Now Dean is no spring chicken. He's been around for longer than I knew, and yet he is still striving to reach the top of the mountain. It can not be ignored though that after our contest some weeks ago he has gone on to face top level talent, people many deem legends. At The Garden, Phillip Schneider. This week, Trace Demon. In London, Yukio Blaze. Okay perhaps I'm stretching things a little with mention of him, but you see where I'm going with this? To compete at the top you simply have to do just that, compete at the top. You'll never get better staying in your comfort zone, even if your win/loss record says otherwise. I don't give a sh*t about your credentials on paper, and neither does anyone else with my experience."
Drakz begins to pace the studio once again, his hands cupped behind his back.
"This week I find myself across the ring from the next champion down the ladder, and the muscle behind the S.O.S. Dave Demento. I called him out when he first returned, laughing at his p*ss poor record, however just as I mentioned not a moment ago, it isn't what's on paper that matters. This man has impressed me with his attitude to pushing the limits since his return, something that peaked in his injured victory over Joe Bishop at the Pay Per View. We share that moment Dave. Both you and I were crowned champions in Madison Square Garden that night. You fought, inside a cage, whilst bearing wounds from a previous attack. I respect that. I respect that you could have backed out and waited to recover before challenging for the belt. I respect the way you manipulated the media into creating a win/win outcome for yourself. I believe Bishop himself made note of it. You lose and it's because you weren't 100%. You win and it shows how much of a fighter you are. Really excellent stuff. It makes me wonder though wether that was intentional."
Drakz's profound show of mutuality comes to an abrupt end, juxtaposed by the return of his smile.
"I don't believe it was David. I don't think you have the capacity for such hijinks. Your a fighter, that's for sure, but you're no thinker, no matter what you might claim. Your a creature of circumstance and a champion as such. You live by the roll of the dice and simply accept the way it lands. A more manipulative man would weight his odds and carve his own path, never accepting things any other way than his own. I am that man Dave. I create the circumstances. The circumstances do not create me. This week you will be fighting to overcome the greatest challenge of your career so far. A perhaps insurmountable feat for a man so humble and straight laced. I may be a better man than I have been in the past, but I still have a reputation to protect. At Men & Monsters I will do my best to raise you up and help you realise your true potential, but don't confuse my confidence for arrogance. The moment that light bulb appears above your head, and the crowd accepts you as a contender, I will drive it into the mat and listen as the world counts to three. I do not underestimate men. I know exactly what you're capable of and I'll be making sure that by the end of the night so do you.
I feel at this point in the show I can just demand a round of applause. Put your hands together for no good reason people!"
*Applause. Applause. Applause.*
The intensity of the last speech is finally broken by this light hearted gesture and everyone suddenly remembers where they are. The lights, slowly dimming throughout the last few minutes for dramatic effect, spring back up to Hollywood level and we're back in TV world.
"How about we look into the results of the telephone vote?"
The crowd cheers and just like that the serious atmosphere has been replaced with celebration once more.
"Okay now, here we go. And would you look at that! What a surprise, it seems like a landslide victory for option 1 with an 83 to 17% majority over poor old option 2. Too bad Trace, it seems you should stick to the day job of being a mediocre wrestler. Well ladies and gentlef*cks that just about wraps things up for our pilot episode. I'd like to thank you all for coming and I know you'd like to offer me the same decency and I, of course, accept. It's been my pleasure. Make sure you join us, if not in person then sat on your arses in your living rooms, for the next instalment of 'An Audience with Isaac'. What else have you got to do, except get fat and wait for death?
Drop the confetti! Hoorah!"
A shower of silver snips of paper fall from the studio roof creating a blizzard through which Drakz can just about be seen waving and curtsying to the fans. The doors at the top of the tiered seating are opened and the audience begin to file out into the cold night air, all with smiles on their faces and all chattering amongst themselves about how sh*t hot that really was.
Did you ever expect any less?
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Now Dave I could have called you out on your failings as a Father live on air. I could have highlighted the sheer hypocrisy in the fact that whilst you fight for what's good and true it's taken you 14 years to even attempt to visit your daughter. I could go further than that and draw comparisons between the fact that I have recently arranged to visit my own Father for the first time in nearly a decade. Think of all of the ways I could have aggravated you and made you look like the bad guy. Think of how much doubt I could have planted in your head regarding what you're really fighting for.
The arguments between friends. The loss of camaraderie, all because of your hot temper. I could have asked why you, a supposed man of the people, show support for a political figure who has ties to underground narcotic gangs and even indulges in the horse himself. I'm not one to care about legalities or life styles, but I find your jovial arm wrestling with the man to be somewhat………confusing.
I could have talked about all of this.
I could really have gone to town on a number of subjects that I know rub you the wrong way.
I think I'll give it a miss though.
I keep telling you people, I'm the good guy now.
The good guy with a hit TV show.
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The Pilot
October 11th 2014
Big Teeth Studios, Chicago
- 21:01 -
As the lights in the studio dim the final stragglers find their way to their seats and a dull murmur swaddles the in house crowd. The lucky few in attendance are blind as to what will unfold before them throughout the evening and the atmosphere is electric………not Superbrawl electric. More of a balloon rub on the head. F*ck it, everyone's excited.
"Ladies and gentlemen welcome to 'An Audience with Isaac'. Please welcome your host Isaac Craaaa…oh excuse me…..Draaaaakz."
*Applause. Yelling. Wolf Whistles*
A spotlight falls on the edge of the set, the set which looks unsettlingly similar to a a 1970s living room, with shag carpet, art deco furniture and wireless radio to match. At last the crowd's anticipation is broken as the brains behind this beast sets foot into the pool of light. The cheering from the crowd carries him across the room like the strings of scent from a hot, sill sat pie. There are few who hold themselves with such gravitas and grace, yet here we have in front of us the embodiment of the two combined. The man, the myth, the legend.
"Oh you beautiful people."
The crowd whoop and holler right back at him.
"We finally made it. We finally got our sh*t together, and he we all are. Give yourselves a round of applause."
Pandering to the crowd he wears his plastic smile with a casual air.
"Now, before we get started, I would like to remind the people at home that throughout the show we'll be running an opinion poll, for research purposes of course. If you'd like to make your opinion known then simply dial the number at the bottom of the screen and select option one or two when prompted. Calls are charged at your standard network rate plus………….a little bit more. Trust me it's no great figure. I don't need the money……….."
Drakz sheepishly looks from side to side before cracking his lips and showing those pearly whites again.
"I'm having you on. Calls are free from a land line. The question is as follows;
Over the course of the last two shows we have heard from two separate guest commentators, but which did you feel left you feeling the most satisfied? I'm talking leg quivering, short of breath satisfied.
Was it option 1. Drakz, or option 2. Trace Demon.
One quick thing I'd like to add is that the first chap didn't need to bring his entourage with him to help fill the dead air in between p*ss poor jokes."
He holds his hands out in front of him as though to dissipate any argument.
"It's simply an observation, don't let that sway your decision in anyway. We'll give the results at the end of the show.
But honestly now I think it's time we got into this. First of all I think I owe you, and the world, an apology for my recent down time. I've taken it easy the last couple of weeks but I made a concerted effort not to leave you all entirely at a loose end. My recent debut as the guest announcer is the first of many I assure you, so actually as far as my absence from the ring goes, you're welcome. I've opened a new chapter in your lives and it is entitled 'Sweet Nothings'.
It goes without saying that I can talk the talk, and for ages it seems my mouth has got me into as much trouble as it's gotten me out of, but a couple of weeks ago I cemented my claims. Claims that in the more educated minds never needed tending to. I have long since proven my worth in this industry and perhaps this most recent victory is more of a stamp of relevance on my already glistening resumé. When I hear the new bloods of the world calling me old, calling me past it, I now need not waste my breath."
Our 'humble' host now, in one smooth motion, grabs a small burgundy cloth and pulls it from above the faux mantlepiece as he falls back into the chesterfield arm chair behind him. The big reveal now leaves the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship on show, hung on the wall of the studio, to which the crowd erupts and Drakz turns to look up at it.
"6 years. 6 years of longing for one another's embrace. But now those cold winter nights are a thing of mere memory. We are reunited at last and that time apart has done us the world of good. Last time I called it off as I felt things were moving too fast. I had to focus on a new direction in my career and this beauty just didn't fit into that world, but now things are perfect. We're both travelling in the same direction. Which direction is that you might ask…………………..No really, I want you all to ask."
The audience attempt to speak in unison but fall into a staggered mess of noises.
"That was terrible, but it's the thought that counts, and since you asked………'Heaven, the treasury of everlasting joy'. I intend on defending this belt against the best of the best. No man shall stand before me and go undefeated. Enough about me though, for now at least. Let's get into our first segment of the show. Seeing as this is the pilot, I think it's only fair we discuss what's been going on around the (wrestling) world, in a segment I like to call……."
The voice over from earlier does the honours:
"Best 'Battle of the Garden' Fall Out Moments"
*Applause. Applause. Applause*
"Now it makes sense here to start with the happenings of a certain former 'champion', the very man who passed on this lovely belt to me. One Dexter Kingsley. This is a man who was admittedly dealt a God awful hand. I've gone on record countless times now to rip apart Shawn Malakai's mistake of making Dex champ for no good reason. He didn't just sh*t on the roster. He didn't just sh*t on the fans. He took a steaming dump right in the eyes and mouth of his apparent protégée. Nothing, and I repeat nothing, good came of that move. Dex was routinely targeted by the entire roster, be it verbally, physically or otherwise, and the ever lovely people of the world wide web ripped the poor kid apart. Add to that the loss of the title without ever being pinned and you've got a title reign that ended before it ever started, which it admittedly it didn't really do. Dex finally gets a chance to vent his frustrations in a match with the man who has called him out the most, Trace Demon, and what happens? He gets out numbered and beaten silly with a steel chair by yet another member of the company in Kyle Matthews. Things can only get better though surely?
Apparently not.
It seems this man is a black hole of sh*t, sucking in every terrible instance in his vicinity, as my good buddy Phillip Schneider mashed up his innards and sent him off for a lie down at home for a few months. Now that entire series of short comings all happened in a window of less than 6 months. Half a year ago Dex was the hot prospect of the company having beaten ZMaster in his 13th retirement match. Who'd have thought his sky rocket to stardom would nose dive so violently? It's a hard thing to witness I'm sure you'll agree but it's the luck of the draw and some of us just aren't that lucky. In summary Dexter I would like to offer my foreight. Rest up and come back when you're ready to work from the bottom up again. With any luck Malakai will have died by then and you can do things on your own terms."
The crowd sucks a breath of air at the risqué comment as Drakz rises from his chair and begins to pace the length of the room, back and forth, decanting his thoughts into the space around him without pause for breath himself.
"Now where Dex may have failed there are others who seem to be succeeding through the same singular idea. Every few years we see trends arise and the current one seems to be rallying the troops. Just like all great trends this has come back around. It's not a new idea but as history would tell you it's usually effective. Groups of like minded people, striving toward a singular goal. Factions. Stables. Tried and tested. On the one hand you have nice folk, trying to do the right thing. On the other, arse holes, out for themselves. It's the perfect war, except that on the third hand of this inbred animal we have a midget, his monster and a maniac. Plenty of times have we seen the clash of two armies, but three? How does that work? Do we see alliances? Does it all just break down? Does anyone care unless I get involved? I kid. Of course I, just like all of you, will be watching how this all unfolds over the course of the next few months. More on this subject later in the show."
Drakz pauses for a moment and pours himself a short glass of malt. Doesn't every great television studio have a well stocked drinks cupboard? Clutching the glass in his right hand and waving it around as he continues to make his feelings known, Drakz becomes more animated as he finds his rhythm.
"And now we frantically return to a subject that DOES include me, if only in a supporting role. This coming week my main event status has been shunted to one side by a tag team match that honestly deserves the top spot. I do have a single qualm with one of the combatants though, and no it's nothing to do with Donnie.
Mr Stone.
Mr Cameron Stone.
This man is getting close to equalling the aforementioned big red guy's tally of 'final matches'. He seemingly stepped down on the first show P.S.B.
That's Post Superbrawl if you're wondering kids.
He then decides to take a punt with Ace Bennett and winds up breaking the guy's neck. Fair enough, no great loss there. You'd think he'd want to leave it at that but then he offers up an open challenge to yet another final match, and of course I couldn't help myself. Now Stone is no slouch but I have to think the victory I earned over him and the respect I showed him afterwards should have been enough to send him away for good this time, but instead he whores on his word again, and a few weeks later he's back, fighting the Dragon in an attempt to break whatever midget voodoo has been cast on his friend Samael Ahriman. Unfortunately that didn't work and Samael even came out and put his hands on Stone after proceedings. Once again we see an escalation of the situation and suddenly we're presented with the idea that Stone will again wrestle his last match for the fifth time here in the WFWF. Now, why should I care? I beat him. I haven't lost anything in his staying around after, so why should it get to me? I'm not angry or anything, just a little down trodden at the idea that Stone's grand finale, which I thought our match really was, has now been watered down and stretched beyond recognition. When you leave this place. When you finally really decide you're done, you need to consider the future. Not your future per say, but your legacy. How will people remember you, and what will they say? With a clean break everyone knows where they stand. They have that milestone. That single moment that captures history, but when you keep coming back for more, going against your word, you end up with a blur that frankly has far less value. Stone this isn't an attack on your character as a man. I just want you to know how disappointed I am that you're legacy is now second rate. You could have gone out with a bang but instead you've fizzled and, like a second rate fluffer on a porno set, you've let the most important man in the picture down……..me."
The enthusiasm with which Drakz has spoken has thrown the majority of his drink to the carpet and so, to break his verbal onslaught he moves back to refill. As he does though he places both hands on the cabinet top and seems to falter for a moment. His eye line moves from the cabinet up to the ceiling and then he turns back to face the audience.
"It's not all doom and gloom though. It really isn't. There are people who have piqued my interest for the right reasons, and in all honesty it's my favourite subject of conversation……….victory! Let's give it up for victory ladies and gentlemen!"
*Applause. Applause. Applause*
"There are few men in the WFWF who currently are considered undefeated. I don't mean they've necessarily never lost, I simply mean at this time they're on a roll that seems unstoppable. I will be the first to tell you that my career has been peppered with upsets, but that is all here-say in the face of my current run. I haven't been beaten since 2012 which, in a company that moves as fast as this, is a long time ago. But I'm not talking about me. Tugarin Zmey is another. He has lost a match but it wasn't he that fell and thus his intimidating mystique remains intact. But it's not him I'm talking about either. The man I speak of genuinely has yet to lose a single outing in his career. A short one it may be, but right now he has put his stamp on the mid-card and refuses to lay down for anyone. Of course I'm talking about the Child of Light, Daniel Kirkbride.
Here's a kid who within four matches has got people questioning Joe Bishop's position as the number one contender for International Championship. Now for a man simply exercising his rematch clause to be overshadowed by anyone's claim is pretty rare, but for it to be attributed to a complete new comer is unheard of. Kirkbride has so far managed to defeat former International Champion Joshua Dean, current International Champion Dave Demento and now this week has the chance at the number one contender for that very same strap. In my eyes if he bests Bishop this week then there is no question as to who the title shot should really be going to. The thing is though, from what I've seen, Kirkbride doesn't seem like the type to assert himself and make demands. Because of this I doubt he'll get the opportunity he deserves until the next big show comes around. Throw into the mix this rumour of his aligning himself with the Saviours of Salvation and I can feel that International Title shot slipping away. Right now the best thing that could happen to young Daniel is for his speculated team mate Demento to lose in London, otherwise I feel the pressures from the rest of the team will be enough to keep him from challenging for an accolade that should, by all sensical thought, already be his. Kirkbride, if by chance you're watching this be very sure that I in return am watching you."
Drakz glances up at the World Heavyweight Championship belt with a smirk on his face whilst sitting back down into his arm chair and taking a sip from his glass.
"So Kirkbride's possible SOS enrolment makes for a very promising future for the team as a whole. They now have some of the best talent on the roster at their disposal, but what of Princess Dean? The strongest National Champion we've seen in an age. Just as her momentum was building she now finds herself hospitalised with multiple breaks in her arm. This crushed me a little as I felt my tournament was instrumental in finding and inaugurating the First Lady of Salvation, and now she's been unceremoniously stripped of her belt and had it offered up to a pack of blood thirsty wolves. Deserving wolves I might add but they are wolves all the same. Nikki Dean I have no doubt will be back and gunning for that championship belt but for now she will have to watch from the sidelines as the beast moves on without her. My deepest condolences. Injury is a bitter suppository to pucker up, but it happens to the best of us. The very best of us."
Drakz looks down at his watchless wrist and his eyebrows raise.
"Lordy, I've been rambling a little too long. If we want to keep this stone a rolling we better cut to some messages from our sponsors. Don't go changing sh*t pigs."
The lights dim in the studio and the crowd cheer in appreciation before dashing towards the bar and toilets. The two seemingly go hand in hand. Drakz exits stage right and for the viewers at home the commercial musings of capitalism fill the void.
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+44
October 11th 2014
Big Teeth Studios, Chicago
- 21:28 -
I step out of the lights of the false reality and back into the world I know so well. The backstage. Behind the curtain. Surrounded by flight cases and fold out tables. Bottles of water and fruit platters. Technicians racing around making sure the cogs keep grinding along. I think this is going pretty well so far. We're only half way through the pilot and the crowd definitely seem on board. It's no great feat for me to create that relationship though. I've had hordes of thousands eating from my cupped hands for 10 years now. This is what I do, regardless of the presentation.
I make my way through the cross roads of staff members and find myself a quiet corner to call from. This isn't a call I've been looking forward to making but it must be done. I pull out my phone and dial the international code +44. The Queen's favourite number.
It's ringing. Please don't pick up.
"Hello?"
Bollocks.
"Bryan?"
"Speaking."
"Bryan it's Isaac."
There's a stunned silence on the line and I have to double check he hasn't just hung up on me.
"Bryan?"
"I'm still here. Is this really you?"
"Indeed. How are you Bryan?"
More silence, and I suddenly realise I'm now Isaac again. The younger me. The regular guy. For the first time in……..I can't remember, I feel truly vulnerable and human. I f*cking hate it. Ever since I got the news about Derek passing I've been slipping, but now I'm truly balls deep.
"What's wrong? I thought you'd be pleased to hear from me?"
"No. I am kidda. I'm just a little shell shocked."
He laughs nervously and I can tell he's being honest with me. It's nice to hear a Yorkshire accent that isn't dressed in animal hide. F*cking Game of Thrones, that programme has caused me no end of hassle. 'Go on say it! Say b*stard. Say winter is coming.' My accent's never been that strong, and it's faded ever further with my time in the US, but understandably I can turn it on when I want, and right now I can feel myself slipping back into it, brought on by the fact I'm talking to a fellow northerner.
"So then. How are you keeping?"
"Yeah. I'm good ta. I hope you don't think me rude, but………why are you calling? It's been years lad."
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
"Come on Bryan. You know why I never ring."
"That I do. But why are you talking to me right now?"
"I'm coming to England mate. For business. But I'm coming back. For the first time in a very long time."
Again that silence. A break in conversational flow that is filled only by the faint hum of an international line.
"I'm working in London but you know I don't want to spend my time there. I'm going to take a car and come up to see you……..and him."
"I……I don't know what to say lad. It would be brilliant to see you and I'm sure your Dad will be over the moon."
"Hmmmm"
Not that you'd notice. F*ck. Is this a good idea? Mortality has been a big issue for me ever since that letter arrived in New York. I should really be looking into that business with Derek's death, but with The Clash PPV on the horizon and my imminent return to the UK I knew this needed addressing first.
"Listen. Can you do me a favour?"
"Of course. What is it kid?"
"Don't tell anyone else I'm around. I didn't leave on the best of terms with most people and I imagine there will be a lot of people who'd like a pop at me. I can't afford that in my line of work."
"Sure thing lad, but don't you think people will know anyway? If you're on the tele. Surely people will know you're going to be back in the country?"
"They don't have to know I'm anywhere but London Bryan. If I choose to see any of the local lot I'll do it on my terms, and if I don't, well, then I don't."
The red light at the side of the curtain begins to flash and I know this is my cue to get back to it. I start to wind things up.
"Listen Bry. I've got to go mate, but I'll be seeing you very soon."
"Okay Isaac. Take care of yourself lad, and it really is great to hear your voice."
"And you. Look after yourself. Oh and Bryan……How is he? Has anything changed?"
"Same as it ever was kid. Same as it ever was."
I hang up the call and slip the phone back into my pocket before resting my head in my hands. Each elbow rests on an adjacent knee and I push the balls of my palms deep into my eyes. F*cking hell. This is going to be rough. Time for composure now though. Time for the show. Time for the champ.
I walk back to the curtain, take a deep breath and a swig of water and then duck my head to pass through into the blinding lights and the prompted applause.
Once again I am Drakz.
I will always be Drakz.
I'm not some kid from the estate, working down the local chippy.
I'm not married with kids and a mortgage.
I'm not saying hello to the same old dear behind the Post Office counter every day.
I'm the f*cking 'God' Slayer.
I'm the f*cking World Heavyweight Champion.
I'm the man the people pay to see.
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After the Ads
October 11th 2014
Big Teeth Studios, Chicago
- 21:35 -
Our ever attentive host for the evening stoops under the curtain, back into the lime light and the open arms of the crowd. He stops half way across the room and adjusts his tie before taking the last few steps to centre stage.
"Welcome back ladies and gentlemen. I can only hope you used your time constructively by filling your glasses and emptying your p*ss sacks."
A cheap pop, but what else can you expect from a man engrossed in this industry.
"When I left you we were discussing the distressing situation of Nikki Dean. Where does she fit into the Saviours of Salvation mould now that she can't compete? They don't strike me as the types to cut the dead weight loose (perhaps an error on their part?) and so I can only imagine she'll watch from the side lines as she mends. Where does that leave this group then? That's what I want to address for the remainder of the show as we take a look at……."
The ever ready voice over gratuitously fills the gap.
"S.O.S. - Behind the Beeps."
*Applause. Educated Chuckles. Applause.*
"Thank you, thank you. Now whilst I'm sure the Saviours are aware of the meaning behind the acronym I don't think for a minute they are crying for help, even with the swift departure of Nikki Dean from in ring action. By all accounts they are the strongest group in the WFWF today, with a well rounded selection of members all fighting towards one thing. But what is that thing? Like you, I know what they claim it is. They're fighting for the good of the fans, the future of the industry, but in reality what the f*ck does that mean? Over the years every faction seems to claim it's fighting for the future of the business, for better or for worse, but realistically how many of them have actually left a lasting impression on the WFWF? Even The New Epoch, in my opinion, left behind very little once the ripples had faded. These groups are frankly just moments in the careers of those involved in them. They serve a single purpose, and that is the elevation of the members to the forefront of the viewer's minds at that very moment. They are selfish vehicles driven by those involved in an attempt to right any previously made career decisions."
The crowd listens intently. All eyes are on the magician.
"This is by no means a direct attack on The Saviours of Salvation, nor is this particularly directed at The Final Revolution or even the KoKaine Konspiracy. This does however apply to them all, as it does every team waiting in the wings to take their place a year down the line when they've all inevitably dissipated. I see you all for what you are and that is merely a collection of singulars. United we stand? You are still individual problems, not a singular enemy, no matter how often you all might share the same bed. If I, as a lone man, wanted to single handedly remove each of these factions I know it is a simple game of tactics. I'd never win the numbers game, but if it's smarts you want then there are none better. To kill the giant you must hack him apart, piece by piece. Person by person.
Now my ramblings here are perhaps indicative of my jealous nature. When I have to share the spotlight with anyone I can't help myself from picking holes and undermining perceived power, yet this time I have no real motive. Again the fastest rising entity in the WFWF right now is this GROUP of superstars. I am not worried about a power house fuelled by multiple members, as each, when caught alone, is no real problem for me. Plus one man stood under a spot light looks much nicer than four, jostling for position. It's simple aesthetic composition.
I have no real enemies right now, merely an ego and legend to feed, and because of the absence of hatred from my current arsenal I don't find myself going out of my way to destroy things for no good reason. The Saviours of Salvation are good for the competitive nature of this business and I for one am happy to see them grow. I have no intention of 'going after them' so to speak, I just seem to find myself across the ring from them from time to time. Each week we see, if not a step forward in their competition, then at least a new chapter in the strength of their union. They are making people anxious. They are letting people know they want, and expect, a high standard at any level on the card. Whether it's battling for the National Title in the show opener or bleeding within the confines of a steel cage. One thing they miss though, the one glaring hole in the group's representation across the board is real main event status. Not one of the members of the Saviours are truly ready for a shot at the big time, and before any pants get twisted I want to make it clear that I mean no offence. I'm not simply saying you're all sh*te. If every member really looked inside of themselves I'm sure each would agree that not one of them is ready to headline a Pay Per View fighting for this belt."
He points across his shoulder at the mounted gold, his face unrecognisably sincere.
"That my friends is something I hope to remedy. I need the challenge. I need to test my limits. The razor's edge is not sharpened without a stone. Of the group itself so far I have only faced Joshua Dean, the man who in my eyes seems to be the architect of the group. He is the glue that holds them together. Perhaps in time that won't be so obvious, but right now, in their infant stage, Dean is the Father of the movement, not necessarily the leader, but the creator.
Now Dean is no spring chicken. He's been around for longer than I knew, and yet he is still striving to reach the top of the mountain. It can not be ignored though that after our contest some weeks ago he has gone on to face top level talent, people many deem legends. At The Garden, Phillip Schneider. This week, Trace Demon. In London, Yukio Blaze. Okay perhaps I'm stretching things a little with mention of him, but you see where I'm going with this? To compete at the top you simply have to do just that, compete at the top. You'll never get better staying in your comfort zone, even if your win/loss record says otherwise. I don't give a sh*t about your credentials on paper, and neither does anyone else with my experience."
Drakz begins to pace the studio once again, his hands cupped behind his back.
"This week I find myself across the ring from the next champion down the ladder, and the muscle behind the S.O.S. Dave Demento. I called him out when he first returned, laughing at his p*ss poor record, however just as I mentioned not a moment ago, it isn't what's on paper that matters. This man has impressed me with his attitude to pushing the limits since his return, something that peaked in his injured victory over Joe Bishop at the Pay Per View. We share that moment Dave. Both you and I were crowned champions in Madison Square Garden that night. You fought, inside a cage, whilst bearing wounds from a previous attack. I respect that. I respect that you could have backed out and waited to recover before challenging for the belt. I respect the way you manipulated the media into creating a win/win outcome for yourself. I believe Bishop himself made note of it. You lose and it's because you weren't 100%. You win and it shows how much of a fighter you are. Really excellent stuff. It makes me wonder though wether that was intentional."
Drakz's profound show of mutuality comes to an abrupt end, juxtaposed by the return of his smile.
"I don't believe it was David. I don't think you have the capacity for such hijinks. Your a fighter, that's for sure, but you're no thinker, no matter what you might claim. Your a creature of circumstance and a champion as such. You live by the roll of the dice and simply accept the way it lands. A more manipulative man would weight his odds and carve his own path, never accepting things any other way than his own. I am that man Dave. I create the circumstances. The circumstances do not create me. This week you will be fighting to overcome the greatest challenge of your career so far. A perhaps insurmountable feat for a man so humble and straight laced. I may be a better man than I have been in the past, but I still have a reputation to protect. At Men & Monsters I will do my best to raise you up and help you realise your true potential, but don't confuse my confidence for arrogance. The moment that light bulb appears above your head, and the crowd accepts you as a contender, I will drive it into the mat and listen as the world counts to three. I do not underestimate men. I know exactly what you're capable of and I'll be making sure that by the end of the night so do you.
I feel at this point in the show I can just demand a round of applause. Put your hands together for no good reason people!"
*Applause. Applause. Applause.*
The intensity of the last speech is finally broken by this light hearted gesture and everyone suddenly remembers where they are. The lights, slowly dimming throughout the last few minutes for dramatic effect, spring back up to Hollywood level and we're back in TV world.
"How about we look into the results of the telephone vote?"
The crowd cheers and just like that the serious atmosphere has been replaced with celebration once more.
"Okay now, here we go. And would you look at that! What a surprise, it seems like a landslide victory for option 1 with an 83 to 17% majority over poor old option 2. Too bad Trace, it seems you should stick to the day job of being a mediocre wrestler. Well ladies and gentlef*cks that just about wraps things up for our pilot episode. I'd like to thank you all for coming and I know you'd like to offer me the same decency and I, of course, accept. It's been my pleasure. Make sure you join us, if not in person then sat on your arses in your living rooms, for the next instalment of 'An Audience with Isaac'. What else have you got to do, except get fat and wait for death?
Drop the confetti! Hoorah!"
A shower of silver snips of paper fall from the studio roof creating a blizzard through which Drakz can just about be seen waving and curtsying to the fans. The doors at the top of the tiered seating are opened and the audience begin to file out into the cold night air, all with smiles on their faces and all chattering amongst themselves about how sh*t hot that really was.
Did you ever expect any less?
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Now Dave I could have called you out on your failings as a Father live on air. I could have highlighted the sheer hypocrisy in the fact that whilst you fight for what's good and true it's taken you 14 years to even attempt to visit your daughter. I could go further than that and draw comparisons between the fact that I have recently arranged to visit my own Father for the first time in nearly a decade. Think of all of the ways I could have aggravated you and made you look like the bad guy. Think of how much doubt I could have planted in your head regarding what you're really fighting for.
The arguments between friends. The loss of camaraderie, all because of your hot temper. I could have asked why you, a supposed man of the people, show support for a political figure who has ties to underground narcotic gangs and even indulges in the horse himself. I'm not one to care about legalities or life styles, but I find your jovial arm wrestling with the man to be somewhat………confusing.
I could have talked about all of this.
I could really have gone to town on a number of subjects that I know rub you the wrong way.
I think I'll give it a miss though.
I keep telling you people, I'm the good guy now.
The good guy with a hit TV show.