Post by Deleted on Dec 15, 2014 19:26:15 GMT -5
December 1st, 2014
vs. Joe Bishop in a Falls Count Anywhere match; defending the WFWF International championship
THE MORAL LAW
“The Moral Law causes the people to be in complete accord with their ruler, so that they will follow him regardless of their lives, undismayed by any danger.”
“Thou shalt have no other gods before me.”
The sound, emerging from the other room, wakes me up from my deep state of thinking. I rise to my feet, pondering to enter the next room, ultimately deciding to do so as I stand in front of Randel reciting lines from the Bible. He's lounged on the couch with his eyes placed firmly in the book, not knowing that I am in the same vicinity as him.
“When did you become religious?”
He's startled by my presence as he closes the book and takes his glasses of his head. He places the book of the Lord on the coffee table, before turning his attention to me. He clears his throat.
“I’ve always believed in God.”
“Yeah, but you never were the type of guy to sit down for a while just to read the Bible.”
I seem to have generally stumped him, as he is not replying to my observation. He squirms around in his seat, trying to get comfortable in this very uncomfortable situation.
“Sometimes you need to open a new chapter in your life.”
“And when would that be?”
“When the time calls for it.”
Another quick moment of complete silence engulfs the confines of my living room. To me, Randel is an open book of knowledge, but I know when he is uncomfortable he will not share anything that's trapped in that mind of his. I waltz my way to the armchair to the side of the couch and plop down beside my best friend.
“When you want to talk, let it out. Till then, you can keep reading your Bible.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
“I know, just needed to break this silence. Was getting a bit awkward.”
He grabs the book from the table once again and opens it back up to where he was. He is all firm and proper while sitting, while I swing my legs up onto the table to get comfy. There’s an old trick that I’ve mastered to disrupt somebody and get them to talk about what’s on their mind quicker. Works wonder when they are reading. I grab the television remote that sits next to me and I crank the volume up by two points.
“Finger slipped.”
Randel focuses his gaze back on his Bible studies, as I watch him read intensely. His eyes are maneuvering around the words with ease, as I secure my grip on the remote control. Another two taps of the volume button forces him to turn his head in my direction once more.
“You’re predictable, David.”
Randel lets out a quick laugh, that could only be described as a chuckle. He places the book on the table to fully focus his attention on me. I can sense his look scouring the area of air surrounding my face, as he does not seem to want to look me directly into my eyes. Knowing him, his mind stops wandering when he finds his choice of words as he shifts his eyes to focus directly into mine.
“I knew you were going to crank up the volume of the television as soon as I returned my focus to this Bible. I didn’t need to look at you to know you were going to try to shift my attention back to you. Now, did you think I was reading the Bible for fun?”
“If you were, you’re lying.”
“The Bible is often misinterpreted in a way that cults use it to portray a twisted message they want others to believe. You’ve experienced this first hand with Crow. However, that’s in the past and, quite frankly, didn’t last very long. Nowadays we have The Final Revolution running around this sport I love twisting this very testament in a malicious manner. In this, Trace Demon sees power to screw around with other’s minds and religions to gather them into his group of misfits and bandits.”
Randel lifts himself up to his feet as he walks to the door of the balcony. He opens the door slowly and turns around to my direction.
“Come join me out here.”
I oblige and get up from the chair to join Randel outside in the brisk Ontario air. Snow falls down from the rooftops as Randel leans against the fencing while observing the busy city of Toronto beneath him.
“Do you see what’s out there? What’s out there is hundreds of thousands of people who are ready to be influenced by the people like Trace Demon. Joe Bishop was one of those people. He’s an individual who wants the protection behind him and is willing to be a henchman for the person he chooses as his, based, God.”
I was once like that. Willing to drink from the kool-aid somebody else has brewed. I did it once with Solomon Crow, as did Joe Bishop. Now things are different, I don’t need anybody to control me and be my leader. I am my own leader alongside Josh Dean, Penny Shannon and Nikki Dean.
“You know what develops when somebody gives others the power to control them?”
“A God complex.”
“Exactly. A psychosis based in uncontrolled narcissism, inflated arrogance and a perceived need to subjugate and ridicule other individuals deemed to be inferior.”
“AKA Trace Demon.”
Randel lets out another quick chuckle as he returns inside the apartment and heads directly to the kitchenette. He puts on a pot of coffee as I follow him. I take down two mugs from the upper cupboard and hand one to him.
“Joe Bishop needs to be stopped if you want to take down Trace Demon and his God complex over the WFWF. If Joe Bishop never joined forces with the owner of the fed, we would not have this situation on our hands. Trace Demon would not have had his ego inflated by his cronies. If you eliminate Joe Bishop from the Demon, the control that Trace has crumbles.”
The coffee pot shuts off as the pot finishes to brew. Randel takes our mugs and pours the warm liquid in each of them. He hands me my cup as I take a quick sip, before he returns to business talk.
“When you enter in London, you know what you will need to do to take another shot at The Final Revolution. You need to take out Joe Bishop for the greater good. If it means doing bad for the greater good, so be it. We need this federation to return to the respectful moral law. The moral law that Joe Bishop and The Final Revolution are trying to destroy.”
________________________________________
If there is anything I despise with all of my heart, it's airports. Rude and ignorant people, by the thousands, getting in your way while trying to catch your flight. Thankfully, I don't have to bear this airport alone as Randel sits next to me in this uncomfortable airport seat.
"How can you wait this long, man?"
Randel brings his mind out of his book, and if you're wondering it's not the Bible, as he looks up to me. His glasses sit on the tip of his nose, as if he was an old grandma of sorts, before he closes the book.
"David, you've been traveling for wrestling for close to ten years now. You should be accustomed to this. We've only got another hour before we board, you can sit still."
"There's just nothing to do."
"You can go get some food? There's a canteen around the corner."
Food doesn't fit my schedule right now, heavy diet plan. Big boy stuff. Randel looks to open his book again, until I interrupt him. I'm a good friend.
"What are you reading?"
"It's a collection of sorts, David. Multiple short stories I crafted into one booklet."
"Is that where all my printer ink went to? You know that sh*t is expensive."
"Language, there's children around here."
Yeah, parental instinct has never been my thing.
"And yes, I used your printer to print this. However, it's only the black cartridge. Anyway, this is H.P. Lovecraft. You may have heard of him before."
"Eh, a bit."
I think I overhead Reverend Shadow raving about him when Rev was active in the fed.
"Here, read this."
He hands me the book as he opens it up to 'The Call of Cthulhu'. I nod my head as my mind submerges in this different atmosphere of letters and words that paint a picture in the dark edges of the mind. The paintings of a wild octopus like beast mauling it's adversaries and proving why it is dominant. In a way, this 'Cthulhu' reminds me of myself, a beast that is ready to take care of everybody who stands in his path. I am the Cthulhu heading into London against Bishop. Take no prisoners, destroy the person who stands in my way, it's all in this piece of literature. I haven't read much since the concussion a few months ago, doctors orders not to read small print, and this is enjoyable.
"David, it's time for our flight."
I feel a tap on my shoulder as I look up to see Randel standing over me with his briefcase in his hand. I stand myself up and join him as we both head onto the plane and into our seats. I choose window seat, because who doesn't love a good window seat, as Randel plants himself down in the seat next to me.
"I've traveled the world, wrestling in every continent and I have never had first class seats like these. How did you manage this?"
"Lila paid for them. It's good having great connections."
"What is going on between you two?"
I don't understand why some people, mainly my fellow Saviors of Salvation, think Lila and I have a thing or a spark between us? She's my boss, and she's a good one too, but anything that has been discussed between us has strictly been business. She has a vision of the future of this sport that I love, and I will help her achieve that mission. There's nothing else to add to that, purely business.
"Strictly business."
He nods his head as the plane takes off. A seven hour flight awaits us as we hit the steady air. Randel, always the studier, has pulled out his tablet from his briefcase and has tapped into the wireless Internet on the plane, without paying might I add. I glance over to his screen to notice that he's watching Joe Bishop take on Jon O'Deeves on a old episode of Loaded. Naturally, I am intrigued to know what he's doing, so I ask.
"Why are you watching old tapes?"
"I'm dissecting the English style in Joe's wrestling. England has a long lineage of great technical wizards that usually take the match to the ground to inflict pain upon their opponent's extremities. See this finger on my hand? All mangled up in a bout with Davey Billington thirty years ago. The trick to the English style of wresting is to focus on one point of the body and exploit it throughout the match. Has anybody ever pushed your finger backwards?"
"Yeah, hurts like a bitc..."
I catch myself, maybe I'm learning to become a parent, even though my daughter probably doesn't want anything to do with me.
"Good catch, David. When you wrench the finger back, pain shoots up the arm as it triggers a reaction from the brain. If you look closely to this match here, you can see Joe Bishop absolutely stinks at the English style. He has no form or rhyme to his reason. He's an easy target to take down and pummel."
When he was describing this English style, I thought Randel was going to tell me Bishop was good at it. Yet, all Randel is doing is stating the obvious.
"Makes my job that much easier, Randel. This isn't the typical match, and it's not going to be the English style versus our Canadian style. It's going to be a good ole fashion as... butt kicking. Joe Bishop is going to feel the wrath of a warrior."
"That's the spirit. And David,"
Randel opens his briefcase back up and pulls out the Lovecraft booklet, passing it over to me.
"Take this, you seemed interested in it earlier. The whole 'Call of Cthulhu' seems to be your kind of literature. Unleash your wrath upon Bishop as the Cthulhu did."
A light bulb flashes over my head following Randel's last sentence. It's true. I'm coming to the Clash not as Dave Demento: The Wrestler. I'm coming to the Clash as Dave Demento: Wrestling Cthulhu that will rip Joe Bishop's f*cking head off!
________________________________________
"Have you heard from the other SOS guys?"
Randel sits next to me in the rental car as we make our way down the street, on the wrong side of the road I may add. Joe Bishop and this city are entirely ass backwards, and that's coming from a guy who's part French.
"No, I haven't. I'm pretty sure Penny is with Stone, getting stoned, and Josh and Nikki are flying out tonight."
"I love the dynamic you guys have. You don't need to communicate to know where the team as a whole stands. All of you know where the group is and where it needs to be taken in the future. Fighting your own battles by branching off and accomplishing the same ultimate goal."
"It's what brought us together. That goal."
"The goal of saving this business."
"Yeah."
That's who we are, the Saviors of Salvation. The four people who will save the wrestling industry. The Final Revolution, they are cancer. And what do you do when something has cancer? You either cut that cancer out and remove it or you sit there and watch the cancer kill what you love. Trace Demon, Joe Bishop, Kyle Matthews and Jason Anders are all cancer that we will cut out from this sport that we love before they can destroy it. We do not want to stand there and watch what we love crumble to its knees and take its final breath. The WFWF won't be a Shawn Malakai.
"I admire what you guys are doing. In fact, a lot of the veterans appreciate it."
"We're only defending what you guys built."
"It's this part of the next generation that lets me know that the future is in good hands. You have four youngsters, four people who are making their mark, coming together to defend their livelihood."
"I've told you it before, wrestling saved my life."
I'd probably be in the gutter, dead from an overdose of blow that would make DMK blush. If it weren't for Randel, impregnating my friend leaving her with the child would be just the beginning of the path I was heading down. I may not deserve any good parent awards, but Randel does deserve something for setting my ass straight.
"Do you know the best part of the Saviors?"
"We all have loads of talent?"
"You all have loads of talent that is combined into one. You use each other's strengths as a tool to better each other. Where Nikki and Penny lack in raw power, you are there. Where you and Josh lack in smaller technical spots, they are there. It's the exact same thing with you and Josh. If you two team together in the future, you'll do some nasty things in that division."
Whoever walks out of the WFWF Tag Team championships match between Hollywood Unhinged and the KoKaine Konspiracy will be painting huge targets on their backs. Whether it be 'Ratboy' Landon and 'Pop a HollyWoody' Garrett or 'I lost all my personality at the commentary booth' Samael and 'DMK's compensation for a small penis' Tugarin, you will be the next step of the Saviors.
"It's also respectable that you four have all decided not to name a leader. All four of you are loaded with talent, pushing somebody in the leader spot will only inflate their ego."
"We're four people looking to accomplish the same goal. For the people, by the people."
"That is where professional wrestling needs to evolve. Everybody working together to accomplish the same goal at hand. That goal is to continue to help the sport grow. Help expand what we love."
"That will never happen."
"A man can wish, can't he? In the end, when the dust settles, I know it will be you, Josh, Nikki and Penny all standing united together over whoever stands in your way."
When that times comes, we will stand united as one. Inseparable by death, bonded by the future and all around good people. The complete opposite of The Final Revolution. We won't sit there and play who's leader and who's lackey. We're equal and we will destroy those that dig their own graves by stepping in the ring with us.
"David, you have a huge advantage over Joe Bishop this Sunday. You have no leader."
"Bishop does, I know. He lives to complete the orders of Trace. He doesn't have his own agenda, he doesn't live his own life. He is just a weaker, stupider and just overall worst version of Trace. That doesn't cut it in the ring. You saw what I did to Joe the last time we met, I put him through hell. He doesn't have an original idea in his head. And I've seen so many Demon matches that I know exactly what Bishop will do before he even does it."
It was the exact same story when Joe joined forces with Solomon Crow. When Bishop accepted the invitation of The Nest, he emulated Crow's style in the ring. He became another Solomon Crow. Joe Bishop will never be the first Joe Bishop, he's too busy being the second *insert name here* because he doesn't have an original idea in that little brain of his.
"I've taught you well."
"Yes you have."
"Thanks, by the way."
"For what?"
"Taking me in, shaping me up to be the man I am today. You know as well as I do that without you, I'd have become another Joe Bishop. You brought me in and became the father I never had. You saved me, Randel. You set my ass straight when I needed it. If anybody asks me, you are my father."
"Thanks, David. It may have been a tough road to get here. You were a defiant one, but I am proud of the man you grew up to be. You have that gift and I saw it in you the moment I first laid eyes on you. You are special, a rare case of having the potential to be the face of this sport. You need to exploit that. And if anybody would ask me, you are my son."
"Now enough of this, let's get back to business. This Sunday, you're going to show Joe Bishop who is, I think this is what the kids call it nowadays, 'daddy' is."
Joe, if Randel has taught me anything in this sport, and he has taught me a lot more than you will ever understand, it's how to cut up your opponent with whatever materials you have with you. That forehead of yours won't be the same again after The Clash. Have you ever looked at Randel's forehead closely? Those are scars from wars that he dominated. I will cut you open, I will kick your ass, and I will force you to taste your own blood, you emo vampire looking Trace Demon wannabe.
________________________________________
Joe Bishop and I went to absolute war in the middle of Madison Square Garden. Caged inside four connecting twenty foot high walls, Bishop and myself gave it our all for one objective: to call ourselves the WFWF International champion. Only one man could have walked out of New York City with the championship belt around their waist and we both knew it.
We went in the cage as two mortal men. Two men looking to make their mark on this industry. Two men who went out to represent their views on society and the federation as a whole. Bishop went in the cage thinking that the WFWF is flawed, broken and needs to be fixed by his friend Trace Demon.
Whereas I went in that cage looking at the future. The future of this sport of professional wrestling. A concussion plagued my thoughts heading into the match, forcing me to switch up my game plan but when I was told by doctors to forfeit the match, you know what I told them? I told them to stick their clipboards where the sun don’t shine because I won’t stand there and let The Final Revolution destroy what I love.
The cold sensation of steel being rubbed against my face will always haunt my mind forever. Having Bishop drag my bloody head across that unforgiving mesh is a feeling that I still feel to this day.
However, knowing full well what my body went through that night, I can’t imagine what pain Joe felt the next day. I made a statement to his group of buddies that if they want to destroy this sport that I love, they will have to go through me. I have friends that will go on a path of destruction alongside me to burn The Final Revolution and pour the ashes of the stable over their burning carcasses.
My mind has been running for a few days, especially with the stipulation of this match. I defend my International championship against a man in his home country in a Falls Count Anywhere. If anybody has an advantage in this match, it would have to be Joe. He has the distinct advantage of knowing full well where he can go and what he can do in any place he will run to in London.
There is no doubt in my mind that you will run, Joe. You can run for a long time, sooner or later I will cut you down. This match means a hell of a lot in regards to the future of what I love. If you leave London as the WFWF International champion, that gives a lot more power to The Final Revolution.
I cannot let that happen, Joe. If you run, I will catch you and beat the sh*t out of you. If you hide, I will find you and beat the sh*t out of you. If you attack me with your buddies, I will kick them all in the face and then beat the sh*t out of you. You understand? No matter what happens, I will beat the living sh*t out of you and you will enjoy it.
This will be a nightmare for you Joe, and you won’t be able to wake from it.
You’re currently on dream street. You’ve impressed many in recent weeks with your win over Daniel Kirkbride. You took on the rookie on the rise. Kirkbride is a man who not only defeated me, but he also defeated two other members of the Saviors of Salvation. You were very lucky to accomplish that, a feat that is respectable.
Except I do not respect you. There is no chance in hell that I respect what a sick human being you are. Your luck will run out live in London, Bish. I will be the one who gives you this living nightmare and I will force your luck to run out. I will be the one who will stop you.
Your win was a call. A call to me. A call to the Cthulhu.
You want to know what really shows who you truly are Joe? The sneak attacks. You had to resort to dirty tactics to even get an edge in this rivalry. We went to war in a cage for over twenty minutes, putting our bodies on the line for the title that I currently hold, and then after you decide it’s all fine and dandy to come attack me from behind in the trainer’s room.
Here’s a number for you, you seem like the kind of goth who likes mathematics, twenty-one. Twenty-one stitches inserted in my forehead after that brutal steel cage match. Twenty-one stitches that you caused in that cage. But that wasn’t good enough for you, was it?
You just had to come in and attack me with a lead pipe. Are your own two hands not good enough to finish the job? I was at my most vulnerable, having lost litres of blood in the cage and after falling over twenty feet in the air when I executed the Orange Crush from the top of the cage, and you resort to use cheap tactics to try and finish me off?
You hide your true personality behind the gruesome and devastating personality of Trace Demon. You show us a false light in regards to who you truly are, something we both experienced with Solomon Crow. The actual light that is Joe Bishop and his personality is that of a cheap p*ssy. A cheap p*ssy that even DMK would touch.
We won’t tear the house down, we won’t blow the roof off the place and we won’t be having a five star classic. This will be a good ole fashion brawl. We will both walk into London as two men viewed as the future, and we will walk out broken, battered and scarred.
The Cthulhu versus The Revolutionary.
The Savior versus The “Savior”
Saviors of Salvation versus The Final Revolution.
Dave Demento versus Joe Bishop II
You can call it anything you want to, but in the end this will be a war.
A war where only one man can survive, Joe.
And that survivor will be the International champion. That survivor will be me.
________________________________________
In no way shape or form,
Are you better than me,
That is guaranteed,
Can't you see?
For I am strong,
Mighty,
And mean.
While you are weak,
Sleazy,
And your strings can be seen.
You're a puppet,
A side show,
A child's game,
Not even worth the amount of DMK's blow.
You're a weak excuse of a man,
A pale vamp looking for a tan,
You make me sick,
You f*cking prick.
I don't like you,
Never have,
Never will.
The war is brewing,
Can you feel it?
Dave Demento versus Joe Bishop,
Two men on a mission.
Give it your all,
You'll need it.
You're as smart as Fred Flinstone,
You yabba dabba bitch.
This is a verbal attack,
With all my friends in tow,
You can't touch me,
Even with your camel toe.
You offended yet?
Good.
Get your balls out of your purse,
Just like Trace Demon should.
Round two coming up,
Better get ready,
When you drink after your loss,
Just remember,
Bottom's up.
________________________________________HEAVEN
"Heaven signifies night and day, cold and heat, times and seasons."
________________________________________It crushed me. It f*cking crushed me. That warm fuzzy feeling that had built up inside of my body was taken forcefully out of my heart as I stood there and watch it take it last beat. I stood there and watched what I had built up being taken away from me.
That day in Calgary was a dark, dark day for me. I made the trip alongside Penny to finally meet my daughter. I wanted to be her knight in shining armor, the man who can pick up the pieces of her ruined world and solve the puzzle of her happiness.
Little did I know that on my quest to bring her to happiness, I was destroying my own.
It's Christmas time, a time of joy, love and family. The lights glisten in the night, the trees erected with beautiful bulbs on them as families are in the spirit of giving. I cannot bring myself to be happy, whatever I try to do.
My imagination has been running rampant as I sit here in this room and look out the window to view the sea of Christmas lights beneath me. I can picture it as clear as day, waking up at seven in the morning and brewing a nice cup of coffee as she comes waltzing down the hallway to sit in front of the tree in the living room.
"Good morning Daddy!" she would say.
"Good morning, sweetheart." I would reply back with glee.
She would be the most wonderful and sweetest girl in the whole neighborhood, scratch that, the whole country. Her eyes would open wide as she opens her first gift from under the tree. The wrapping would fly backwards as a beautiful handmade doll would be embraced to her chest as she smiles.
"I love it, daddy!" she would say with joy.
And then she would continue to grab the gifts from under the tree and rip them open without a care in the world. After each unveiling, she would look at me with a huge smile on her face. Once she finishes opening the gifts I gave her, she would proceed to stand up and grab a wrapped gift from her bedroom.
She would walk back down the hallway with the box in her little arms and a gigantic smile of pride plastered on her face.
"Here daddy, I made it for you. Merry Christmas!" she would say as he places the gift on my lap and give me a kiss on the cheek.
I would open the gift and bring it up in the air to read it. I would open it and lay my eyes on upon her writing on the inside flap of the card, next to a beautifully drawn picture of me, her and Olaf all posing together in the snow. Smiles on all of our faces.
"Dear daddy,
I love you with all of my heart.
You make me smile.
I couldn't ask for a better daddy.
You are awesome!
I love you."
She would smile and give me a giant hug that would warm my insides. I would give her a kiss on the forehead as she plops down on the floor to play with her dolls and her action figurines. Later on that day, we would head down to the park as she would go down to kneel in the snow and pack a ball in her cute little purple gloves.
"Do you want to build a snowman?" she would sing as I walk over and join her in the snow. We would take the ball and roll it up to a perfect ball for a base. And then we would form the second one and I would pick the heavy snowball up and place it upon the other one. After that, she would roll another one and I would pick her up in the air as she places it on top.
Our own little Frosty would be complete as we would both put the top hat on the head to top it all off. She would huff and puff from her hard work as she would grab my hand and pull me to the snowman.
"It's beautiful, daddy!" she would say with a smile as she would adore that snowman of hers.
I can't believe I let her slip out of my grasp. If I could go back and tell the old me not to leave that scene and stay there and raise that child, I would. If it meant dealing with the loads of blow, the gallons of booze swimming down my throat and the scent of weed staining all of my cloths, I would do it.
I've f*cked up my personal life to the point of no return. I ultimately made that decision myself. But I am not going to do it again. As a matter of fact, Pro Wrestling is Dave Demento. That is who I am now and forever will be.
I will not let you destroy my life, Bishop. You will not end me. I will fight and claw for my own survival. My survival of salvation. This is my life, and I will do whatever it takes to protect it Joe.
You're going to fight for your own survival and I'm going to fight for my own. Survival of the sickest, bitch!
EARTH
"Earth comprises distances, great and small; danger and security; open ground and narrow passes; the chances of life and death."
If there is anything I despise with all of my heart, it's airports. Rude and ignorant people, by the thousands, getting in your way while trying to catch your flight. Thankfully, I don't have to bear this airport alone as Randel sits next to me in this uncomfortable airport seat.
"How can you wait this long, man?"
Randel brings his mind out of his book, and if you're wondering it's not the Bible, as he looks up to me. His glasses sit on the tip of his nose, as if he was an old grandma of sorts, before he closes the book.
"David, you've been traveling for wrestling for close to ten years now. You should be accustomed to this. We've only got another hour before we board, you can sit still."
"There's just nothing to do."
"You can go get some food? There's a canteen around the corner."
Food doesn't fit my schedule right now, heavy diet plan. Big boy stuff. Randel looks to open his book again, until I interrupt him. I'm a good friend.
"What are you reading?"
"It's a collection of sorts, David. Multiple short stories I crafted into one booklet."
"Is that where all my printer ink went to? You know that sh*t is expensive."
"Language, there's children around here."
Yeah, parental instinct has never been my thing.
"And yes, I used your printer to print this. However, it's only the black cartridge. Anyway, this is H.P. Lovecraft. You may have heard of him before."
"Eh, a bit."
I think I overhead Reverend Shadow raving about him when Rev was active in the fed.
"Here, read this."
He hands me the book as he opens it up to 'The Call of Cthulhu'. I nod my head as my mind submerges in this different atmosphere of letters and words that paint a picture in the dark edges of the mind. The paintings of a wild octopus like beast mauling it's adversaries and proving why it is dominant. In a way, this 'Cthulhu' reminds me of myself, a beast that is ready to take care of everybody who stands in his path. I am the Cthulhu heading into London against Bishop. Take no prisoners, destroy the person who stands in my way, it's all in this piece of literature. I haven't read much since the concussion a few months ago, doctors orders not to read small print, and this is enjoyable.
"David, it's time for our flight."
I feel a tap on my shoulder as I look up to see Randel standing over me with his briefcase in his hand. I stand myself up and join him as we both head onto the plane and into our seats. I choose window seat, because who doesn't love a good window seat, as Randel plants himself down in the seat next to me.
"I've traveled the world, wrestling in every continent and I have never had first class seats like these. How did you manage this?"
"Lila paid for them. It's good having great connections."
"What is going on between you two?"
I don't understand why some people, mainly my fellow Saviors of Salvation, think Lila and I have a thing or a spark between us? She's my boss, and she's a good one too, but anything that has been discussed between us has strictly been business. She has a vision of the future of this sport that I love, and I will help her achieve that mission. There's nothing else to add to that, purely business.
"Strictly business."
He nods his head as the plane takes off. A seven hour flight awaits us as we hit the steady air. Randel, always the studier, has pulled out his tablet from his briefcase and has tapped into the wireless Internet on the plane, without paying might I add. I glance over to his screen to notice that he's watching Joe Bishop take on Jon O'Deeves on a old episode of Loaded. Naturally, I am intrigued to know what he's doing, so I ask.
"Why are you watching old tapes?"
"I'm dissecting the English style in Joe's wrestling. England has a long lineage of great technical wizards that usually take the match to the ground to inflict pain upon their opponent's extremities. See this finger on my hand? All mangled up in a bout with Davey Billington thirty years ago. The trick to the English style of wresting is to focus on one point of the body and exploit it throughout the match. Has anybody ever pushed your finger backwards?"
"Yeah, hurts like a bitc..."
I catch myself, maybe I'm learning to become a parent, even though my daughter probably doesn't want anything to do with me.
"Good catch, David. When you wrench the finger back, pain shoots up the arm as it triggers a reaction from the brain. If you look closely to this match here, you can see Joe Bishop absolutely stinks at the English style. He has no form or rhyme to his reason. He's an easy target to take down and pummel."
When he was describing this English style, I thought Randel was going to tell me Bishop was good at it. Yet, all Randel is doing is stating the obvious.
"Makes my job that much easier, Randel. This isn't the typical match, and it's not going to be the English style versus our Canadian style. It's going to be a good ole fashion as... butt kicking. Joe Bishop is going to feel the wrath of a warrior."
"That's the spirit. And David,"
Randel opens his briefcase back up and pulls out the Lovecraft booklet, passing it over to me.
"Take this, you seemed interested in it earlier. The whole 'Call of Cthulhu' seems to be your kind of literature. Unleash your wrath upon Bishop as the Cthulhu did."
A light bulb flashes over my head following Randel's last sentence. It's true. I'm coming to the Clash not as Dave Demento: The Wrestler. I'm coming to the Clash as Dave Demento: Wrestling Cthulhu that will rip Joe Bishop's f*cking head off!
________________________________________
THE COMMANDER
"The Commander stands for the virtues of wisdom, sincerely, benevolence, courage and strictness."
"Have you heard from the other SOS guys?"
Randel sits next to me in the rental car as we make our way down the street, on the wrong side of the road I may add. Joe Bishop and this city are entirely ass backwards, and that's coming from a guy who's part French.
"No, I haven't. I'm pretty sure Penny is with Stone, getting stoned, and Josh and Nikki are flying out tonight."
"I love the dynamic you guys have. You don't need to communicate to know where the team as a whole stands. All of you know where the group is and where it needs to be taken in the future. Fighting your own battles by branching off and accomplishing the same ultimate goal."
"It's what brought us together. That goal."
"The goal of saving this business."
"Yeah."
That's who we are, the Saviors of Salvation. The four people who will save the wrestling industry. The Final Revolution, they are cancer. And what do you do when something has cancer? You either cut that cancer out and remove it or you sit there and watch the cancer kill what you love. Trace Demon, Joe Bishop, Kyle Matthews and Jason Anders are all cancer that we will cut out from this sport that we love before they can destroy it. We do not want to stand there and watch what we love crumble to its knees and take its final breath. The WFWF won't be a Shawn Malakai.
"I admire what you guys are doing. In fact, a lot of the veterans appreciate it."
"We're only defending what you guys built."
"It's this part of the next generation that lets me know that the future is in good hands. You have four youngsters, four people who are making their mark, coming together to defend their livelihood."
"I've told you it before, wrestling saved my life."
I'd probably be in the gutter, dead from an overdose of blow that would make DMK blush. If it weren't for Randel, impregnating my friend leaving her with the child would be just the beginning of the path I was heading down. I may not deserve any good parent awards, but Randel does deserve something for setting my ass straight.
"Do you know the best part of the Saviors?"
"We all have loads of talent?"
"You all have loads of talent that is combined into one. You use each other's strengths as a tool to better each other. Where Nikki and Penny lack in raw power, you are there. Where you and Josh lack in smaller technical spots, they are there. It's the exact same thing with you and Josh. If you two team together in the future, you'll do some nasty things in that division."
Whoever walks out of the WFWF Tag Team championships match between Hollywood Unhinged and the KoKaine Konspiracy will be painting huge targets on their backs. Whether it be 'Ratboy' Landon and 'Pop a HollyWoody' Garrett or 'I lost all my personality at the commentary booth' Samael and 'DMK's compensation for a small penis' Tugarin, you will be the next step of the Saviors.
"It's also respectable that you four have all decided not to name a leader. All four of you are loaded with talent, pushing somebody in the leader spot will only inflate their ego."
"We're four people looking to accomplish the same goal. For the people, by the people."
"That is where professional wrestling needs to evolve. Everybody working together to accomplish the same goal at hand. That goal is to continue to help the sport grow. Help expand what we love."
"That will never happen."
"A man can wish, can't he? In the end, when the dust settles, I know it will be you, Josh, Nikki and Penny all standing united together over whoever stands in your way."
When that times comes, we will stand united as one. Inseparable by death, bonded by the future and all around good people. The complete opposite of The Final Revolution. We won't sit there and play who's leader and who's lackey. We're equal and we will destroy those that dig their own graves by stepping in the ring with us.
"David, you have a huge advantage over Joe Bishop this Sunday. You have no leader."
"Bishop does, I know. He lives to complete the orders of Trace. He doesn't have his own agenda, he doesn't live his own life. He is just a weaker, stupider and just overall worst version of Trace. That doesn't cut it in the ring. You saw what I did to Joe the last time we met, I put him through hell. He doesn't have an original idea in his head. And I've seen so many Demon matches that I know exactly what Bishop will do before he even does it."
It was the exact same story when Joe joined forces with Solomon Crow. When Bishop accepted the invitation of The Nest, he emulated Crow's style in the ring. He became another Solomon Crow. Joe Bishop will never be the first Joe Bishop, he's too busy being the second *insert name here* because he doesn't have an original idea in that little brain of his.
"I've taught you well."
"Yes you have."
"Thanks, by the way."
"For what?"
"Taking me in, shaping me up to be the man I am today. You know as well as I do that without you, I'd have become another Joe Bishop. You brought me in and became the father I never had. You saved me, Randel. You set my ass straight when I needed it. If anybody asks me, you are my father."
"Thanks, David. It may have been a tough road to get here. You were a defiant one, but I am proud of the man you grew up to be. You have that gift and I saw it in you the moment I first laid eyes on you. You are special, a rare case of having the potential to be the face of this sport. You need to exploit that. And if anybody would ask me, you are my son."
"Now enough of this, let's get back to business. This Sunday, you're going to show Joe Bishop who is, I think this is what the kids call it nowadays, 'daddy' is."
Joe, if Randel has taught me anything in this sport, and he has taught me a lot more than you will ever understand, it's how to cut up your opponent with whatever materials you have with you. That forehead of yours won't be the same again after The Clash. Have you ever looked at Randel's forehead closely? Those are scars from wars that he dominated. I will cut you open, I will kick your ass, and I will force you to taste your own blood, you emo vampire looking Trace Demon wannabe.
________________________________________
Joe Bishop and I went to absolute war in the middle of Madison Square Garden. Caged inside four connecting twenty foot high walls, Bishop and myself gave it our all for one objective: to call ourselves the WFWF International champion. Only one man could have walked out of New York City with the championship belt around their waist and we both knew it.
We went in the cage as two mortal men. Two men looking to make their mark on this industry. Two men who went out to represent their views on society and the federation as a whole. Bishop went in the cage thinking that the WFWF is flawed, broken and needs to be fixed by his friend Trace Demon.
Whereas I went in that cage looking at the future. The future of this sport of professional wrestling. A concussion plagued my thoughts heading into the match, forcing me to switch up my game plan but when I was told by doctors to forfeit the match, you know what I told them? I told them to stick their clipboards where the sun don’t shine because I won’t stand there and let The Final Revolution destroy what I love.
The cold sensation of steel being rubbed against my face will always haunt my mind forever. Having Bishop drag my bloody head across that unforgiving mesh is a feeling that I still feel to this day.
However, knowing full well what my body went through that night, I can’t imagine what pain Joe felt the next day. I made a statement to his group of buddies that if they want to destroy this sport that I love, they will have to go through me. I have friends that will go on a path of destruction alongside me to burn The Final Revolution and pour the ashes of the stable over their burning carcasses.
My mind has been running for a few days, especially with the stipulation of this match. I defend my International championship against a man in his home country in a Falls Count Anywhere. If anybody has an advantage in this match, it would have to be Joe. He has the distinct advantage of knowing full well where he can go and what he can do in any place he will run to in London.
There is no doubt in my mind that you will run, Joe. You can run for a long time, sooner or later I will cut you down. This match means a hell of a lot in regards to the future of what I love. If you leave London as the WFWF International champion, that gives a lot more power to The Final Revolution.
I cannot let that happen, Joe. If you run, I will catch you and beat the sh*t out of you. If you hide, I will find you and beat the sh*t out of you. If you attack me with your buddies, I will kick them all in the face and then beat the sh*t out of you. You understand? No matter what happens, I will beat the living sh*t out of you and you will enjoy it.
This will be a nightmare for you Joe, and you won’t be able to wake from it.
You’re currently on dream street. You’ve impressed many in recent weeks with your win over Daniel Kirkbride. You took on the rookie on the rise. Kirkbride is a man who not only defeated me, but he also defeated two other members of the Saviors of Salvation. You were very lucky to accomplish that, a feat that is respectable.
Except I do not respect you. There is no chance in hell that I respect what a sick human being you are. Your luck will run out live in London, Bish. I will be the one who gives you this living nightmare and I will force your luck to run out. I will be the one who will stop you.
Your win was a call. A call to me. A call to the Cthulhu.
You want to know what really shows who you truly are Joe? The sneak attacks. You had to resort to dirty tactics to even get an edge in this rivalry. We went to war in a cage for over twenty minutes, putting our bodies on the line for the title that I currently hold, and then after you decide it’s all fine and dandy to come attack me from behind in the trainer’s room.
Here’s a number for you, you seem like the kind of goth who likes mathematics, twenty-one. Twenty-one stitches inserted in my forehead after that brutal steel cage match. Twenty-one stitches that you caused in that cage. But that wasn’t good enough for you, was it?
You just had to come in and attack me with a lead pipe. Are your own two hands not good enough to finish the job? I was at my most vulnerable, having lost litres of blood in the cage and after falling over twenty feet in the air when I executed the Orange Crush from the top of the cage, and you resort to use cheap tactics to try and finish me off?
You hide your true personality behind the gruesome and devastating personality of Trace Demon. You show us a false light in regards to who you truly are, something we both experienced with Solomon Crow. The actual light that is Joe Bishop and his personality is that of a cheap p*ssy. A cheap p*ssy that even DMK would touch.
We won’t tear the house down, we won’t blow the roof off the place and we won’t be having a five star classic. This will be a good ole fashion brawl. We will both walk into London as two men viewed as the future, and we will walk out broken, battered and scarred.
The Cthulhu versus The Revolutionary.
The Savior versus The “Savior”
Saviors of Salvation versus The Final Revolution.
Dave Demento versus Joe Bishop II
You can call it anything you want to, but in the end this will be a war.
A war where only one man can survive, Joe.
And that survivor will be the International champion. That survivor will be me.
