Post by Drakz on Jun 3, 2015 17:08:35 GMT -5
"Derek & Donnie"
(Spending time with the dead and the deadly)
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The game has ended.
The cat and mouse playground antics have finally stopped and are we all happier for it? Did we have fun during and/or after? I’m not really sure. I just feel kind of numb. I think there must have been coke on his thighs?
If it helps your state of mind I did cum, yes. A smoke? I don’t usually…….but since you’re offering.
In case you’re wondering, I am indeed talking about f*cking everyone’s favourite homeless Jew. Did I say f*cking? I meant retiring.
He hath gone and he shall rise no more.
If you would like to send me your thanks you can do so on the back of postcard. Just address it to WFWF HQ and I’ll be sure to pick it up. No need to send monetary congratulations. I’m doing fine. A photo of your daughter’s tits would go down a treat though.
My opinion on how it all happened?
As you are already aware I never considered Phillip the rightful number one contender to my title, I simply filled that slot with his face as a means to get rid of him. He offered me something that was too good to pass on, and, as promised, I delivered. I am the man that ended the career of the longest reigning WFWF World Heavyweight Champion in history. Am I proud of that fact?
I was.
Momentarily.
I am however proud to be the man to finally humble him. Forcing him to leave is one thing, but had he gone kicking and screaming, claiming it was a second fluke, a ripple from the original blip, I would have felt a little disheartened. I would have felt as though I had let the lad down, having taught him nothing. His actions of humility and dignity at Ascension though makes it all worth while. I have not failed the boy. He has finally become a man.
I’m like a proud teacher, watching as what could have been my greatest failure becomes my greatest achievement. It may have taken a severe amount of caning and kneeling on broom sticks to get this far but we did it Phillipe.
I can’t lie and say our match was forgettable. I can’t write off what happened in Phoenix as another day at the office. It does feel good walking out of that f*cking city though. The last time I was there I wasn’t so lucky. Gurney be damned!
And so what now? Where has that victory put me? For one it’s solidified my namesake.
That’s two title defences now and Sol Inviticus remains as undefeated as ever. The burning ball of gas engulfs yet another life bearing rock. Planet Schneider. I am now over 270 days into my championship reign and it’s looking pretty rosy at the moment. Sure I’m a little beaten up but what’s new?
I went into End Game in possibly the worst condition of my career and a leniently refereed match has hardly reset the clock on those injuries. I’m sore, but I’m the champion. I’m the WFWF World Heavyweight Champion, and champions fight.
So who do I fight now? It’s a tough question to answer and in all honesty I didn’t have an answer for it, and so I’ve decided I want to try my hand at something different. As such I threw my name into the Tag Team Tournament hat, and what a sh*tty hat it is. Full of names not worthy of holding my c*ck after it falls limp and drizzling out of their Mother. Wow. Sorry that wasn’t very good guy of me was it? It’s okay, I’ll hold her afterwards. I might even call her.
I’ve held the Tag Team Titles on one occasion. For less than 10 minutes realistically. Myself and Michael took those belts from the reigning champion in Raider, and Ace Bennett. No wait……Ace was too busy talking to himself to come and play, or something to that effect, and so my third favourite commentator stepped in to help. Such righteous resolve. The moral fibre of a saint, and yet all the punching power of a muscular sclerosis stricken child. Samael Ahriman did as much good as had Raider fought The New Epoch alone. We walked out of there as champions and left the whole world wondering:
“Now what?”
Now what indeed? We certainly got our answer didn’t we? A long wander off of a short stage. I’ve since stopped the cartwheels whilst walking. Kyzer can attest to that.
But why does the holder of the grandest prize in the business want to waste his time on a tournament clearly thrown together in an act of cheap and lazy booking? Why does a man with an undefeated streak of nearly three years want to risk that by allowing such a random pairing to occur? What if some bum costs me dearly?
I could have been paired up with anyone……….but I wasn’t. I wasn’t paired up with just anyone. I was given The Dragon.
So now I can’t help but laugh at this cruel irony. I’ve been given one of the best partners going and yet I have to wonder, at every moment, is he going to burn me to ash? Tugarin is an unknown quantity. One moment he’s kicking my head off, the next he’s holding the tag rope watching as I crawl toward him? I’m on shaky ground here, but it’s shaky ground, all be it paved with gold. He two is a former Tag Team Champion, and I have to believe that even through his own indifference to such accolades his mas’er sure as hell wants at least one of those belts back.
Donnie’s troop walked into End Game with three ‘golden faced snakes’ if you will, and how many of them left Phoenix around a KoKaine Konspiracy member’s waist? Some where around the zero mark. That’s got to have left a skid mark on the roof of Donnie’s mouth. A bitter taste that I know he wants rid of. Maybe we can come to an agreement?
HAHAHA!
F*ck! Who am I kidding? Is there any reasoning with ‘The Coke Badger’? That pimple d*cked little louse has wanted my head on a spike since the day we met. It’s going to take a whole of sway to get him on side. I’m going to need leverage. But maybe I’ve already got all of the leverage I need?
Maybe Michael has served it up to me on a plate? Was that his very intention? I’d like to think so. If he missed it then he’s slipping.
Michael Kyzer seems to have little allegiance to any of his friends. He’s done nothing but antagonise little Donnie since his return and something tells me DMK isn’t going to be happy about his foot soldier Ante Whitner being paired up with Mike. Mind you after losing his National Title in such fine style maybe Ante’s ready to be transferred to another team anyway, or at least sent out on loan? Perhaps Michael’s participation in the tournament is enough to tease some co-operation out of the KKK? Even if he doesn’t froth at the mouth on my initial broaching of the subject, Donnie’s not quite the criminal mastermind he pertains to be, and as such I’m pretty sure I can influence his decision making with a few choice words.
We.
Shall.
See.
On a side note I’d like to congratulate Trace Demon on managing to completely f*ck up his own revolution. I suppose Joey B should really take at least a smidgen of the glory, but when it’s all said and done Trace is once again on his own. I wonder how long it will take before he recruits yet another troops of sh*t flinging monkeys to do his dirty work? Here’s looking at you Trizzler Dizzler.
And now with the following collection of…….
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Derek
His head hangs out of the window. Ears and tongue flapping in the wind like raw meat. His lips quiver around his open, panting mouth and he looks happy. It’s nice to see. Happiness. At least in those you care for. I don’t just get off on people smiling. In fact most of the time seeing people enjoying themselves f*cks me off. Maybe that’s the British cynic in me?
Right now he may be the only kindness I know.
Dog.
He’s offered to chaperone me to Florida, as the drive from Chi Town is a f*cking drag on your own. I could fly. I can certainly afford it, but I like to take in the space between A and B. Call it the curse of curiosity. It’s a curse in as much as it’s a pain in my arse. It’s more of a curse than anything Phillip Schneider’s ever dreamt up. 20 hours of tarmac. At least I’ve got company this time though. There have been plenty of times in the past, times during my run with The Epoch, where I’ve driven for days on end. Usually drug fuelled. Not now though. Now I’ve just got business to attend to.
We’re heading down interstate 95, along the east coast, and with each passing junction I can tell we’re getting closer.
Cape Canaveral.
Palm Bay.
Sebastian.
We’re nearly there Derek. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get my gumshoes on.
I turn to the Dog and ask him;
“What do I do if this kid proves to be as much of a piece of sh*t as Derek made out?”
Pulling himself back into the car, slobber strewn up the sides of his head, he answers;
“What do you mean?”
“What if I just hit him with this car?”
“Come now Isaac, we’re better than that. We both know you’re capable of making decisions routed in logic and mindfulness, rather than passion and idiocy. It’s no good getting locked up for driving misdemeanors now is it?”
He’s got a point. I am a damn sight smarter than David Demento. F*ck. Imagine being tarred with the same brush as that moron. That’s how it would happen as well. Two WFWF superstars sent down for vehicular based crimes in the space of two weeks. The media would eat it up. Dog’s right. I’m better than that.
“You’re right. Sorry, that was the old Isaac talking. Rash decisions were left to rot in the toilet bowl of my Amazonian homestay.”
Dave, my third eye weeps for you and the child shaped hole in your vagina. Hurry back.
We’ve just passed the welcome sign for INSERT TOWN NAME HERE and my grip on the steering wheel tightens, my breathing deepens and my d*ck stiffens. It’s nearly time to ruin some schmuck’s life. It’s been a while since I’ve wielded that power………I can’t pretend I don’t like it.
Schneider doesn’t count.
He offered me his life.
I like this predatory crawl through the elephant grass. Eyes wide and toes curled. This is a hunt. Phil was a mercy killing.
The junction for Fort Pierce approaches and as we make the turn I become aware that I’m taking a step into Derek’s life. Even in his death I feel as though I’m intruding. Granted I had to be down here on business anyway, but I still have the feeling as though I’m stepping on toes, even if it is for a little closure.
We spend the final moments of the journey in silence, something both Dog and I enjoy when in one another’s company. There’s no need for senseless noise at all hours of the day after all. Some people would do well to learn from that.
We’re here.
I stop the car and look out the window at a nice white, wooden home. The typical vision of America. The sea can be heard around the back and there’s even someone trimming the lawn.
“You think that’s the son?”
Dog glances over and says nothing. How could he possibly know? A stupid question in retrospect.
I step out of the car and approach the gardener. He’s got the heavy tan of someone who works outside. This isn’t his house. He must be in the employ of the Derek’s boy.
“Excuse me mate!”
The garden gnome shuts off the mower, peeling back his ear defenders.
“Everything alright?”
“I’m an old friend of Derek Haines. Is this his house?”
“Derek who?”
“Derek Haines? Old guy. Swore a lot.”
I’m given a blank look and a shrug.
“Sorry buddy, I don’t know anyone by that name.”
He moves to return to his labour. Am I at the wrong address?
“One second.”
I fish in my pocket for the piece of paper, unfold it and read out the address to the work hand.
“1237 South Indian River Drive?”
“That’s here alright. No one by the name of Haines here though. This is Mr. Sterling’s place.”
What? This is the address I was given in that letter. Why would Bert send me the wrong address? Is this guy f*cking with me? Maybe he’s covering for the son?
“What about his son?”
”I told you man. Nobody by the name of Haines. Father. Son. Sister. Cousin. This house belongs to Mr Sterling. Sorry I can’t help you any more than that.”
This makes no sense. Is this whole thing a joke at my expense?
“Erm. I’m sorry to have bothered you………Thanks.”
I head back to the car and the mower starts up again. Behind the wheel I check the address one more time. Did I read it correctly to him? Did I copy it down wrong?
“Everything alright?”
I don’t really know.
“Yeah. F*ck it. Let’s push on to Miami.”
The game is afoot.
I think.
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Who’s odds on favourite to win this Tag Team Tournament then? I’m not much of a betting man, so my knowledge on odds is limited to common sense, but even so I’m fairly confident I know the answer. That’s why I’m exhilerated to welcome you to…………………..
“An Audience with Isaac - Sports Edition.”
That’s right folks, you are witnessing history here as this stand alone, one shot, special edition, no take backs episode of “Isaac” debuts directly into your eye brains.
So, it’s happened. It’s been announced that Joshua Dean and *HE WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED FOR COMPANY P.R. REASONS* have been stripped of the WFWF World Tag Team Championships. Tough break for Josh, but great for the sake of this tournament. What was originally conceived as a throw away, diluted and somewhat over complicated way to find the number one contenders has become a tooth and claw battle for supremacy between teams with little to no chemistry and/or trust in one another. It writes itself really, as good TV should.
Let’s have a look, and of course rip to shreds, all of the couples involved.
First out of the gate we have the debuting team of motorcycle monkeys, Lucas Crowe and Johnny Hess. There’s of course little for me to say about these men as, well, I’ve not seen much of either of them. We did get a sneak preview of Lucas at Ascension when he ripped through essentially everyone in the ring. He looks good, I can’t deny that. He’s a big lad. He’s got a soft c*ck for a partner though, so he’s essentially going to be at war with his own army. Hardly a recipe for success. Hess did little to impress me, or anyone for that matter, spending most of his first WFWF outing face down on the mat. It’s hard to flex your muscles when your nose is bent against the ground. Who knows maybe he’ll step up in his next match? It’s impossible to say with so little exposure, but what remains clear as tears is the fact that Lucas Crowe won that match, and Lucas Crowe has gotten both men to the Semi Finals of this tourney. The question is how far can he drag that dead weight?
We may as well move on to their opponents from last show in Axel “Crazy as a Bag of Spanners, Monkey Nuts and Rocking Horse Sh*t” Thornstowe and Jon “Jelly Arms” Gotch. An unlikely pairing. Both still fairly fresh to this game, Gotch much more so than Thornstowe, but they did look like more of a team out there than Crowe and Hess. Regardless of the sexual tension though, they lost. The big man laid them both out and by my estimations they’re not going to make it through the eliminator for that final spot in the semis. Why I hear you cry? Here’s why:
Our next two teams make up the the quarter final that runs along side my own participation in the tournament. These teams in my professional opinion are the ones to keep an eye on after the dust has settled from my own match.
Ante Whitner & Michael Kyzer
&
Trace Demon & Nikki Dean
Both teams may seem like outside bets to the casual viewer, and to a point they’d be right. They’re unorthodox. They’re both thrown together with contrasting styles and contrasting personalities, but let us not forget who these people are.
Ante Whitner - The Longest Reigning WFWF National Champion of all time and a man with the backing of the KoKaine Konspiracy.
Nikki Dean - A two time and CURRENT WFWF National Champion. A woman who came back from a serious arm injury by throwing herself into a gruelling ladder match. The Queen Bee of the somewhat disbanded Saviors of Salvation.
Trace Demon - The only man to hold a victory over myself in years, and I mean years, a former two time WFWF World Heavyweight Champion, a former International Champion, a former National Champion, a former Tag Team Champion and the current owner of this entire company. Need I say more about this man?
Michael Kyzer - The man that doesn’t lose.
It’s a pretty healthy talent pool. This is the reason I can’t see ThornGotch making it through the eliminator match. Can they really pull out the stops and beat either of those teams?
So that leaves, besides myself and The Dragon of course, only one more team. A team that many deem as the favourites for the sole reason that they are an existing team.
Hollywood Unhinged 2.0
Jayson Garrett & Diamond Jack Sabbath.
They undoubtedly have the most in ring tag experience and therefore chemistry of the tournament. What people seem to forget though is that they’ve not been teaming for all that long. Here is a team comprised of two ever growing egos who seem to be playing nice thus far, but how will they react to losing in the quarter finals of a tournament built around their supposed speciality?
I see cracks creeping.
I smell anarchy looming.
With DJS holding that National Championship title shot in his back pocket I think he’s got a Plan B. I think Sabbath’s head isn’t going to be as firmly rooted in proceedings as it should be. Jayson is looking to reinstate himself as a Tag Team Champion but I think the gleam of the gold may be blinding him to his own position. He’s stepping out with a man who may not have his partner’s best intentions at heart. He’s entering into a high stakes tournament on little more than a handshake.
It’s unstable ground, but perhaps that’s where Garrett has chosen to build his house? It seems my past beatings taught him nothing about the sinking sands.
That’s a fairly valid line of questioning really. What has changed in Jayson Garrett’s mind that makes him feel he stands even the slightest chance of beating me? I offered my advice and knowledge way back when, and instead of heeding it and growing, he decided to spit on me and take his chances toe to toe. How did that wind up?
Two losses.
Two pin falls.
Both with me on top.
No reverse cow girl.
No WFWF World Heavyweight Championship.
I understand this territory may be deemed as Garrett’s, teaming with someone to complete your character, but in my books he’s held those belts as many times as me, and with as many successful defences. Soak that up. Really waft the smell of that statement. Hollywood Unhinged 2.0 is founded on the joke that Jayson Garrett is considered one half of the longest reigning WFWF Tag Team Champions of all time. What makes he and Jack think this time around things will be any less funny?
So the odds on favourite?
Who do you f*cking think?
The WFWF World Heavyweight Champion and whoever the f*ck he’s been teamed with.
And who has he been teamed with? Who is his bed fellow?
Oh, it’s the scariest f*cker on the planet? A man who eats virgins in between meals you say? A fire breathing menace?
Then why the hell are we even having this conversation.
All bets are off.
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Donnie
I honestly never thought I’d be taking my own time, of my own accord, to spend even a minute in little Donnie Monty Kent’s presence. We’ve had a tumultuous relationship at best. Ever the rocking boat. The sea of piss lapping over the sides.
He’s pulled knives on me. He’s drawn guns on me. He’s threatened my life on a number of occasions and yet I’ve never been able to control my laughter. It’s a razor’s edge to walk and so I chose not to walk it a long time ago. The guy’s a liability. A liability that Michael seemed to enjoy keeping the company of. My reaction? Avoid spending time with Mike. Maybe that’s what lead to the drift between us? Maybe the Dwarven Midget Kunt is to blame for my back?
Maybe I’m clutching at straws?
The bottom line is I’m not fond of Donnie and Donnie f*cking hates me. He strikes me as the jealous type, and it seems, like a young girl with her Daddy, he didn’t like sharing Michael with me. Now though there’s somewhat of a rift appearing.
This apparent fissure in their relationship, though seemingly minor at the moment, may be just what I need to make my teaming with Zmey work.
And so here I am.
The Bada Bing II.
I won’t bore you with the nonsense I’ve had to go through to enter this building’s inner workings. Too many midgets and not enough freebase to go around. This the reason a shaking hand is holding a blade in the small of my back as I walk the corridor to what I can only assume is Donnie’s office.
“You don’t need to keep me on a leash you know.”
I get no answer from my jonesing escort. Just a series of mumbles that no doubt have nothing to do with me. As we approach the door at the end of the hall it opens to an absolute darkness. A solid wall of nothing. A nothing that moves without warning.
This solid mass that fills the doorway wears a mask and, on seeing my likeness steps aside. Tugarin.
Entering the room I’m welcomed by some sh*t head short stack in what can only be described as a child’s dress up security uniform. He extends his miniature hand and I just look at it.
“What do you want me to do with that?”
He withdraws, a little awkwardly. He’s probably used to walking on eggshells if he’s in Donnie’s employ.
“Devon Curlich. I’m the head of the team that looks after DMK.”
“That must keep you busy.”
“A lot of people want a piece of the king.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
A knowing smile. He understands. He’s f*cking terrified of Zmey though. An understandable and forgivable weakness.
“Where’s the big man? If you’ll excuse my choice of words.”
“He’ll be with you shortly. He’s a very busy man.”
I grunt in acknowledgement, turning my attention from this Curlich fellow to the literal elephant in the room. I look Zmey up and down, his eye line staying straight over the top of my head.
“Dragon.”
Nothing.
“Dragon?”
Still nothing.
“What goes on in there?”
I turn and back up, placing myself next to Zmey, looking up at him. Sizing him up compared to my own stature.
“Are you ready to get that gold back then?”
A stoic numbness smothers the room. I’m not getting anything from him today.
Just as this thought enters my mind though the door on the opposite end of the office flies open and a pack of rabid crack midgets spills into the room, surrounding their heir apparent.
“Isn’t this f*cking lovely? To what do I owe the pleasure of such a strung out whore?”
The crack team of midgets…….see what I did there?……….part to let Donnie through, his legs doing that weird no knee bend thing that vertically challenged folk do when they walk.
“Nice to see you Donnie.”
He laughs. He doesn’t usually laugh?
“Suck my d*ck f*ggot. I haven’t got time to pretend to like you. Let’s cut to the chase shall we? I know why you’re here.”
“Because you invited me?”
“And like a good little dog you answered the call. Now why do you think I summoned you?”
“I thought we were cutting to the chase?”
The unsettling smile leaves his face as I disrespect him. I don’t give a f*ck. There’s only Zmey in here to worry about and I can run faster than him.
“You’re here because we have been forced into sharing a mutual goal. For the first time in my life I’m going to HAVE to consider working with you.”
“It’s nice to know you’re at least considering it Donnie. Part of me thought you might just pull out.”
“We’re the KKK, we never pull out. We don’t wear a f*cking rubber either. Durex is for fags. Are you calling me a f*cking fag?”
How on earth did he get that from what I just said?
“No. I just thought you’d rather focus your attention on just about anything else, so long as it didn’t include me.”
“Oh my attention is always pretty locked onto you champ. My Dragon is going to take that f*cking belt from you one day.”
I turn and smile at Zmey who has now at least lowered his eyes to meet mine. I raise a hand and address him in a faux yank accent.
“Hey, how are ya?”
Nothing.
“Right now though we’ve got another title to reclaim. A title the KKK was never pinned for.”
“Quite. It does make me wonder though, why isn’t Samael fighting along side his partner? Why was Zmey instead thrown into the lottery draw?”
Because he’s a f*cking snake, out for himself? Because he’s tired of sharing the glory? Because he’s crossed that title off of his list?
“Skywalker has some business to attend to. In his absence I figured it doesn’t f*cking matter who Zmey is teamed with because he’ll carry them to the belts anyway.”
“Why not Whitner?“
“You wouldn’t understand my genius. Your bells and brains would explode if I even tried to explain it to you, you limey f*ck.”
Such a foul mouth.
“Well, whatever your reasoning, you ended up with me. A pretty ironic yet beneficial coincidence.”
“For who? You get carried to Tag Team gold. I on the other hand have to listen to your stupid f*cking Sean Bean voice far more than usual. That doesn’t sound too balanced to me?”
Winter is cumming.
“Donnie. Like it or not I’m the best wrestler in the entire world. You may claim otherwise. You may laugh at that statement but I have the championship belt to prove it. I am the f*cking man. You got a pretty lucky pick if you ask me. Your Dragon is an unstoppable force, there’s no denying that, however if he’d been paired up with a rookie? It only takes one mistake on their part on your man would be out of the race. You may not like me, but you can rely on me to get results.”
Donnie has actually gone quiet. I can see the vein on his head pulsing as he thinks to himself.
“DMK if I may?”
“Shut the f*ck up, I’m thinking. Jesus, a man can’t f*cking operate with this many clowns around him.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that you may actually be the perfect choice.”
That’s somewhat out of character of him to be offering me any kind of praise.
“I’m thinking that if I’m going to show Mike that I’m the f*cking big dog around these parts now, that having you on board might get under his skin that little bit more.”
“And if working with you means I get a chance to slap the taste out of Kyzer’s mouth then I’m all in.”
“Don’t get too hard on me here. One thing you need to remember is that Mike is still my boy. You are not. If I happen to change my mind at any point during this tournament Tugarin will take your f*cking head off.”
Is it worth it?
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. If…..sorry, when Tugarin and me win the Tag Team Titles I will become something no one else has come close to becoming.”
“Cut the legend of Zelda bull sh*t nancy boy. If you two win those belts I want something from you. Tugarin gets a title shot wherever and whenever I choose. It could be the next night. It could be in a years time. Depends what mood I’m in.”
Is it worth it?
“I’ll have to clear it with Sleater but as far as I’m concerned you’ve got my word. Don’t you f*ck me Donnie. We can make this work if you choose to let it play out that way.”
Massage his ego.
“This entire thing is in your hands.”
Your stubby fingered, baby man hands.
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So the table has been set for The Dragon to eat from, but let’s be honest, he doesn’t seem like the type that uses a knife and fork does he? We’re out on our first date in Miami, Florida and I there are two ways the night can end.
One.
We hit it off. He clears his plate. He eats all the gold he can stomach followed by a desert made entirely of diamonds. We say goodnight and agree to do this again Cincinnati.
Two.
He beats the sh*t out of me.
I know which I’d prefer.
I didn’t choose to work with Tugarin Zmey, and I certainly didn’t choose to work with DMK, however that is the way things have turned out, and instead of cowering from the almost inevitable back stab ending I’ve decided to make the most of a sh*tty situation.
I have the chance to become one half of the Tag Team Champions.
I may be wrong about this but I think that would make me the first ever person to hold both the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship and a WFWF Tag Team Championship concurrently.
Winning those Tag Team Titles would also make me the first double Grand Slam Champion of all time.
Winning this tournament gives me the opportunity to force Michael Kyzer into a match with me…………if he’s good enough to make it that far.
To say I’m determined to succeed is somewhat of an understatement, but it hasn’t left me ignorant of the fact that at any moment my hopes of cementing these records could be cast to dust. One word from Donnie Monty Kent and I’ve lost. I’ve been forced to play a high stakes game that one way or the other will decide my direction for the remainder of my career. Throw into this the double edged sword of our victory. If we win I’ve promised a shot, not to Zmey, but to Donnie, at my WFWF World Heavyweight Championship. Donnie picks the shot. Zmey doesn’t just hit it out of the park, he sends it into orbit.
For the sake of argument though, let’s say everything is just peachy on my side of the ring. Let’s assume we’re going to get along just fine. What have we got in store?
I return my focus to Hollywood Unhinged 2.0.
“Diamond” Jack Sabbath. We’re yet to cross swords brother, but I know who you are. I know what you’re capable of, but I’ve not seen much of it so far in my territory. It’s all well and good being the best elsewhere, but if you can’t cut it here? Well, that’s when my previously peaked interest falls somewhat flaccid.
You’ve got yourself a formulated approach. You have a National Championship match down the road. You’re shooting for the Tag Team Titles with your new found friend. You have a nice woman on your arm………for now. The stars seem to be aligning for your meteoric rise to the top of the card. One thing you have to keep in mind though mate is that waiting for you at the summit is the greatest export your country has ever provided.
Me.
Tear through the mid card as fast as you like. Show the world that you’re a superstar in the making. Tick off all of the things from your bucket list on your way up here, because once you reach this altitude, that’s when things go awry. Just ask Jayson.
Jayson was like you. Showed promise. Got the people talking.
Then he met me.
At New Dawn you get a chance to see “The Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer” in action at close proximity. You’ll be given the chance to litmus test yourself against the calibre of fighter you’ll find at the top of your long, hard climb, and a chance to decide if this game is really for you.
Garret on the other hand already knows what to expect. He knows he can’t beat Tugarin Zmey on a level playing field. He knows he can’t beat me on any f*cking playing field. I have to wonder what’s going through his mind in the lead up to his first match in this tournament. He’s got to be nervous. Terrified even. Imagine the depths to which his stomach dropped when he saw the brackets go up. Seeing his first set of opponents and knowing he may well fail to even make it through the opening round. He’ll get a second shot in the eliminator, but like I said before I don’t fancy his chances any more than ThornGotch’s.
His mind has to be plagued with doubt and distraction, wrestling for these stakes only a week or so removed from the death of his former partner. He might have played the cold shoulder on TV but you have to believe his inability to stop the inevitable must be weighing on his mind. Distraction is something neither of these men can afford when they step into the ring at New Dawn, and yet neither is going to be fully living in the moment. Thoughts of fights down the line. Thoughts of fallen comrades behind you. It’s all too much to bear isn’t it?
This tournament is looking pretty rosy from where I’m standing. I don’t think H.U.2 could do the dirty even if they were focused, so what chance do they stand at this point in time?
I want to hear it from you boys. I want to know if I’ve got your number to the fourth decimal place, or if I’ve totally misjudged the situation.
I want you to tell me how you’re going to pull this off.
The grandest upset of your careers.
How can you possibly beat The Dragon & The God Slayer?
(Spending time with the dead and the deadly)
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The game has ended.
The cat and mouse playground antics have finally stopped and are we all happier for it? Did we have fun during and/or after? I’m not really sure. I just feel kind of numb. I think there must have been coke on his thighs?
If it helps your state of mind I did cum, yes. A smoke? I don’t usually…….but since you’re offering.
In case you’re wondering, I am indeed talking about f*cking everyone’s favourite homeless Jew. Did I say f*cking? I meant retiring.
He hath gone and he shall rise no more.
If you would like to send me your thanks you can do so on the back of postcard. Just address it to WFWF HQ and I’ll be sure to pick it up. No need to send monetary congratulations. I’m doing fine. A photo of your daughter’s tits would go down a treat though.
My opinion on how it all happened?
As you are already aware I never considered Phillip the rightful number one contender to my title, I simply filled that slot with his face as a means to get rid of him. He offered me something that was too good to pass on, and, as promised, I delivered. I am the man that ended the career of the longest reigning WFWF World Heavyweight Champion in history. Am I proud of that fact?
I was.
Momentarily.
I am however proud to be the man to finally humble him. Forcing him to leave is one thing, but had he gone kicking and screaming, claiming it was a second fluke, a ripple from the original blip, I would have felt a little disheartened. I would have felt as though I had let the lad down, having taught him nothing. His actions of humility and dignity at Ascension though makes it all worth while. I have not failed the boy. He has finally become a man.
I’m like a proud teacher, watching as what could have been my greatest failure becomes my greatest achievement. It may have taken a severe amount of caning and kneeling on broom sticks to get this far but we did it Phillipe.
I can’t lie and say our match was forgettable. I can’t write off what happened in Phoenix as another day at the office. It does feel good walking out of that f*cking city though. The last time I was there I wasn’t so lucky. Gurney be damned!
And so what now? Where has that victory put me? For one it’s solidified my namesake.
That’s two title defences now and Sol Inviticus remains as undefeated as ever. The burning ball of gas engulfs yet another life bearing rock. Planet Schneider. I am now over 270 days into my championship reign and it’s looking pretty rosy at the moment. Sure I’m a little beaten up but what’s new?
I went into End Game in possibly the worst condition of my career and a leniently refereed match has hardly reset the clock on those injuries. I’m sore, but I’m the champion. I’m the WFWF World Heavyweight Champion, and champions fight.
So who do I fight now? It’s a tough question to answer and in all honesty I didn’t have an answer for it, and so I’ve decided I want to try my hand at something different. As such I threw my name into the Tag Team Tournament hat, and what a sh*tty hat it is. Full of names not worthy of holding my c*ck after it falls limp and drizzling out of their Mother. Wow. Sorry that wasn’t very good guy of me was it? It’s okay, I’ll hold her afterwards. I might even call her.
I’ve held the Tag Team Titles on one occasion. For less than 10 minutes realistically. Myself and Michael took those belts from the reigning champion in Raider, and Ace Bennett. No wait……Ace was too busy talking to himself to come and play, or something to that effect, and so my third favourite commentator stepped in to help. Such righteous resolve. The moral fibre of a saint, and yet all the punching power of a muscular sclerosis stricken child. Samael Ahriman did as much good as had Raider fought The New Epoch alone. We walked out of there as champions and left the whole world wondering:
“Now what?”
Now what indeed? We certainly got our answer didn’t we? A long wander off of a short stage. I’ve since stopped the cartwheels whilst walking. Kyzer can attest to that.
But why does the holder of the grandest prize in the business want to waste his time on a tournament clearly thrown together in an act of cheap and lazy booking? Why does a man with an undefeated streak of nearly three years want to risk that by allowing such a random pairing to occur? What if some bum costs me dearly?
I could have been paired up with anyone……….but I wasn’t. I wasn’t paired up with just anyone. I was given The Dragon.
So now I can’t help but laugh at this cruel irony. I’ve been given one of the best partners going and yet I have to wonder, at every moment, is he going to burn me to ash? Tugarin is an unknown quantity. One moment he’s kicking my head off, the next he’s holding the tag rope watching as I crawl toward him? I’m on shaky ground here, but it’s shaky ground, all be it paved with gold. He two is a former Tag Team Champion, and I have to believe that even through his own indifference to such accolades his mas’er sure as hell wants at least one of those belts back.
Donnie’s troop walked into End Game with three ‘golden faced snakes’ if you will, and how many of them left Phoenix around a KoKaine Konspiracy member’s waist? Some where around the zero mark. That’s got to have left a skid mark on the roof of Donnie’s mouth. A bitter taste that I know he wants rid of. Maybe we can come to an agreement?
HAHAHA!
F*ck! Who am I kidding? Is there any reasoning with ‘The Coke Badger’? That pimple d*cked little louse has wanted my head on a spike since the day we met. It’s going to take a whole of sway to get him on side. I’m going to need leverage. But maybe I’ve already got all of the leverage I need?
Maybe Michael has served it up to me on a plate? Was that his very intention? I’d like to think so. If he missed it then he’s slipping.
Michael Kyzer seems to have little allegiance to any of his friends. He’s done nothing but antagonise little Donnie since his return and something tells me DMK isn’t going to be happy about his foot soldier Ante Whitner being paired up with Mike. Mind you after losing his National Title in such fine style maybe Ante’s ready to be transferred to another team anyway, or at least sent out on loan? Perhaps Michael’s participation in the tournament is enough to tease some co-operation out of the KKK? Even if he doesn’t froth at the mouth on my initial broaching of the subject, Donnie’s not quite the criminal mastermind he pertains to be, and as such I’m pretty sure I can influence his decision making with a few choice words.
We.
Shall.
See.
On a side note I’d like to congratulate Trace Demon on managing to completely f*ck up his own revolution. I suppose Joey B should really take at least a smidgen of the glory, but when it’s all said and done Trace is once again on his own. I wonder how long it will take before he recruits yet another troops of sh*t flinging monkeys to do his dirty work? Here’s looking at you Trizzler Dizzler.
And now with the following collection of…….
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Derek
His head hangs out of the window. Ears and tongue flapping in the wind like raw meat. His lips quiver around his open, panting mouth and he looks happy. It’s nice to see. Happiness. At least in those you care for. I don’t just get off on people smiling. In fact most of the time seeing people enjoying themselves f*cks me off. Maybe that’s the British cynic in me?
Right now he may be the only kindness I know.
Dog.
He’s offered to chaperone me to Florida, as the drive from Chi Town is a f*cking drag on your own. I could fly. I can certainly afford it, but I like to take in the space between A and B. Call it the curse of curiosity. It’s a curse in as much as it’s a pain in my arse. It’s more of a curse than anything Phillip Schneider’s ever dreamt up. 20 hours of tarmac. At least I’ve got company this time though. There have been plenty of times in the past, times during my run with The Epoch, where I’ve driven for days on end. Usually drug fuelled. Not now though. Now I’ve just got business to attend to.
We’re heading down interstate 95, along the east coast, and with each passing junction I can tell we’re getting closer.
Cape Canaveral.
Palm Bay.
Sebastian.
We’re nearly there Derek. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get my gumshoes on.
I turn to the Dog and ask him;
“What do I do if this kid proves to be as much of a piece of sh*t as Derek made out?”
Pulling himself back into the car, slobber strewn up the sides of his head, he answers;
“What do you mean?”
“What if I just hit him with this car?”
“Come now Isaac, we’re better than that. We both know you’re capable of making decisions routed in logic and mindfulness, rather than passion and idiocy. It’s no good getting locked up for driving misdemeanors now is it?”
He’s got a point. I am a damn sight smarter than David Demento. F*ck. Imagine being tarred with the same brush as that moron. That’s how it would happen as well. Two WFWF superstars sent down for vehicular based crimes in the space of two weeks. The media would eat it up. Dog’s right. I’m better than that.
“You’re right. Sorry, that was the old Isaac talking. Rash decisions were left to rot in the toilet bowl of my Amazonian homestay.”
Dave, my third eye weeps for you and the child shaped hole in your vagina. Hurry back.
We’ve just passed the welcome sign for INSERT TOWN NAME HERE and my grip on the steering wheel tightens, my breathing deepens and my d*ck stiffens. It’s nearly time to ruin some schmuck’s life. It’s been a while since I’ve wielded that power………I can’t pretend I don’t like it.
Schneider doesn’t count.
He offered me his life.
I like this predatory crawl through the elephant grass. Eyes wide and toes curled. This is a hunt. Phil was a mercy killing.
The junction for Fort Pierce approaches and as we make the turn I become aware that I’m taking a step into Derek’s life. Even in his death I feel as though I’m intruding. Granted I had to be down here on business anyway, but I still have the feeling as though I’m stepping on toes, even if it is for a little closure.
We spend the final moments of the journey in silence, something both Dog and I enjoy when in one another’s company. There’s no need for senseless noise at all hours of the day after all. Some people would do well to learn from that.
We’re here.
I stop the car and look out the window at a nice white, wooden home. The typical vision of America. The sea can be heard around the back and there’s even someone trimming the lawn.
“You think that’s the son?”
Dog glances over and says nothing. How could he possibly know? A stupid question in retrospect.
I step out of the car and approach the gardener. He’s got the heavy tan of someone who works outside. This isn’t his house. He must be in the employ of the Derek’s boy.
“Excuse me mate!”
The garden gnome shuts off the mower, peeling back his ear defenders.
“Everything alright?”
“I’m an old friend of Derek Haines. Is this his house?”
“Derek who?”
“Derek Haines? Old guy. Swore a lot.”
I’m given a blank look and a shrug.
“Sorry buddy, I don’t know anyone by that name.”
He moves to return to his labour. Am I at the wrong address?
“One second.”
I fish in my pocket for the piece of paper, unfold it and read out the address to the work hand.
“1237 South Indian River Drive?”
“That’s here alright. No one by the name of Haines here though. This is Mr. Sterling’s place.”
What? This is the address I was given in that letter. Why would Bert send me the wrong address? Is this guy f*cking with me? Maybe he’s covering for the son?
“What about his son?”
”I told you man. Nobody by the name of Haines. Father. Son. Sister. Cousin. This house belongs to Mr Sterling. Sorry I can’t help you any more than that.”
This makes no sense. Is this whole thing a joke at my expense?
“Erm. I’m sorry to have bothered you………Thanks.”
I head back to the car and the mower starts up again. Behind the wheel I check the address one more time. Did I read it correctly to him? Did I copy it down wrong?
“Everything alright?”
I don’t really know.
“Yeah. F*ck it. Let’s push on to Miami.”
The game is afoot.
I think.
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Who’s odds on favourite to win this Tag Team Tournament then? I’m not much of a betting man, so my knowledge on odds is limited to common sense, but even so I’m fairly confident I know the answer. That’s why I’m exhilerated to welcome you to…………………..
“An Audience with Isaac - Sports Edition.”
That’s right folks, you are witnessing history here as this stand alone, one shot, special edition, no take backs episode of “Isaac” debuts directly into your eye brains.
So, it’s happened. It’s been announced that Joshua Dean and *HE WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED FOR COMPANY P.R. REASONS* have been stripped of the WFWF World Tag Team Championships. Tough break for Josh, but great for the sake of this tournament. What was originally conceived as a throw away, diluted and somewhat over complicated way to find the number one contenders has become a tooth and claw battle for supremacy between teams with little to no chemistry and/or trust in one another. It writes itself really, as good TV should.
Let’s have a look, and of course rip to shreds, all of the couples involved.
First out of the gate we have the debuting team of motorcycle monkeys, Lucas Crowe and Johnny Hess. There’s of course little for me to say about these men as, well, I’ve not seen much of either of them. We did get a sneak preview of Lucas at Ascension when he ripped through essentially everyone in the ring. He looks good, I can’t deny that. He’s a big lad. He’s got a soft c*ck for a partner though, so he’s essentially going to be at war with his own army. Hardly a recipe for success. Hess did little to impress me, or anyone for that matter, spending most of his first WFWF outing face down on the mat. It’s hard to flex your muscles when your nose is bent against the ground. Who knows maybe he’ll step up in his next match? It’s impossible to say with so little exposure, but what remains clear as tears is the fact that Lucas Crowe won that match, and Lucas Crowe has gotten both men to the Semi Finals of this tourney. The question is how far can he drag that dead weight?
We may as well move on to their opponents from last show in Axel “Crazy as a Bag of Spanners, Monkey Nuts and Rocking Horse Sh*t” Thornstowe and Jon “Jelly Arms” Gotch. An unlikely pairing. Both still fairly fresh to this game, Gotch much more so than Thornstowe, but they did look like more of a team out there than Crowe and Hess. Regardless of the sexual tension though, they lost. The big man laid them both out and by my estimations they’re not going to make it through the eliminator for that final spot in the semis. Why I hear you cry? Here’s why:
Our next two teams make up the the quarter final that runs along side my own participation in the tournament. These teams in my professional opinion are the ones to keep an eye on after the dust has settled from my own match.
Ante Whitner & Michael Kyzer
&
Trace Demon & Nikki Dean
Both teams may seem like outside bets to the casual viewer, and to a point they’d be right. They’re unorthodox. They’re both thrown together with contrasting styles and contrasting personalities, but let us not forget who these people are.
Ante Whitner - The Longest Reigning WFWF National Champion of all time and a man with the backing of the KoKaine Konspiracy.
Nikki Dean - A two time and CURRENT WFWF National Champion. A woman who came back from a serious arm injury by throwing herself into a gruelling ladder match. The Queen Bee of the somewhat disbanded Saviors of Salvation.
Trace Demon - The only man to hold a victory over myself in years, and I mean years, a former two time WFWF World Heavyweight Champion, a former International Champion, a former National Champion, a former Tag Team Champion and the current owner of this entire company. Need I say more about this man?
Michael Kyzer - The man that doesn’t lose.
It’s a pretty healthy talent pool. This is the reason I can’t see ThornGotch making it through the eliminator match. Can they really pull out the stops and beat either of those teams?
So that leaves, besides myself and The Dragon of course, only one more team. A team that many deem as the favourites for the sole reason that they are an existing team.
Hollywood Unhinged 2.0
Jayson Garrett & Diamond Jack Sabbath.
They undoubtedly have the most in ring tag experience and therefore chemistry of the tournament. What people seem to forget though is that they’ve not been teaming for all that long. Here is a team comprised of two ever growing egos who seem to be playing nice thus far, but how will they react to losing in the quarter finals of a tournament built around their supposed speciality?
I see cracks creeping.
I smell anarchy looming.
With DJS holding that National Championship title shot in his back pocket I think he’s got a Plan B. I think Sabbath’s head isn’t going to be as firmly rooted in proceedings as it should be. Jayson is looking to reinstate himself as a Tag Team Champion but I think the gleam of the gold may be blinding him to his own position. He’s stepping out with a man who may not have his partner’s best intentions at heart. He’s entering into a high stakes tournament on little more than a handshake.
It’s unstable ground, but perhaps that’s where Garrett has chosen to build his house? It seems my past beatings taught him nothing about the sinking sands.
That’s a fairly valid line of questioning really. What has changed in Jayson Garrett’s mind that makes him feel he stands even the slightest chance of beating me? I offered my advice and knowledge way back when, and instead of heeding it and growing, he decided to spit on me and take his chances toe to toe. How did that wind up?
Two losses.
Two pin falls.
Both with me on top.
No reverse cow girl.
No WFWF World Heavyweight Championship.
I understand this territory may be deemed as Garrett’s, teaming with someone to complete your character, but in my books he’s held those belts as many times as me, and with as many successful defences. Soak that up. Really waft the smell of that statement. Hollywood Unhinged 2.0 is founded on the joke that Jayson Garrett is considered one half of the longest reigning WFWF Tag Team Champions of all time. What makes he and Jack think this time around things will be any less funny?
So the odds on favourite?
Who do you f*cking think?
The WFWF World Heavyweight Champion and whoever the f*ck he’s been teamed with.
And who has he been teamed with? Who is his bed fellow?
Oh, it’s the scariest f*cker on the planet? A man who eats virgins in between meals you say? A fire breathing menace?
Then why the hell are we even having this conversation.
All bets are off.
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Donnie
I honestly never thought I’d be taking my own time, of my own accord, to spend even a minute in little Donnie Monty Kent’s presence. We’ve had a tumultuous relationship at best. Ever the rocking boat. The sea of piss lapping over the sides.
He’s pulled knives on me. He’s drawn guns on me. He’s threatened my life on a number of occasions and yet I’ve never been able to control my laughter. It’s a razor’s edge to walk and so I chose not to walk it a long time ago. The guy’s a liability. A liability that Michael seemed to enjoy keeping the company of. My reaction? Avoid spending time with Mike. Maybe that’s what lead to the drift between us? Maybe the Dwarven Midget Kunt is to blame for my back?
Maybe I’m clutching at straws?
The bottom line is I’m not fond of Donnie and Donnie f*cking hates me. He strikes me as the jealous type, and it seems, like a young girl with her Daddy, he didn’t like sharing Michael with me. Now though there’s somewhat of a rift appearing.
This apparent fissure in their relationship, though seemingly minor at the moment, may be just what I need to make my teaming with Zmey work.
And so here I am.
The Bada Bing II.
I won’t bore you with the nonsense I’ve had to go through to enter this building’s inner workings. Too many midgets and not enough freebase to go around. This the reason a shaking hand is holding a blade in the small of my back as I walk the corridor to what I can only assume is Donnie’s office.
“You don’t need to keep me on a leash you know.”
I get no answer from my jonesing escort. Just a series of mumbles that no doubt have nothing to do with me. As we approach the door at the end of the hall it opens to an absolute darkness. A solid wall of nothing. A nothing that moves without warning.
This solid mass that fills the doorway wears a mask and, on seeing my likeness steps aside. Tugarin.
Entering the room I’m welcomed by some sh*t head short stack in what can only be described as a child’s dress up security uniform. He extends his miniature hand and I just look at it.
“What do you want me to do with that?”
He withdraws, a little awkwardly. He’s probably used to walking on eggshells if he’s in Donnie’s employ.
“Devon Curlich. I’m the head of the team that looks after DMK.”
“That must keep you busy.”
“A lot of people want a piece of the king.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
A knowing smile. He understands. He’s f*cking terrified of Zmey though. An understandable and forgivable weakness.
“Where’s the big man? If you’ll excuse my choice of words.”
“He’ll be with you shortly. He’s a very busy man.”
I grunt in acknowledgement, turning my attention from this Curlich fellow to the literal elephant in the room. I look Zmey up and down, his eye line staying straight over the top of my head.
“Dragon.”
Nothing.
“Dragon?”
Still nothing.
“What goes on in there?”
I turn and back up, placing myself next to Zmey, looking up at him. Sizing him up compared to my own stature.
“Are you ready to get that gold back then?”
A stoic numbness smothers the room. I’m not getting anything from him today.
Just as this thought enters my mind though the door on the opposite end of the office flies open and a pack of rabid crack midgets spills into the room, surrounding their heir apparent.
“Isn’t this f*cking lovely? To what do I owe the pleasure of such a strung out whore?”
The crack team of midgets…….see what I did there?……….part to let Donnie through, his legs doing that weird no knee bend thing that vertically challenged folk do when they walk.
“Nice to see you Donnie.”
He laughs. He doesn’t usually laugh?
“Suck my d*ck f*ggot. I haven’t got time to pretend to like you. Let’s cut to the chase shall we? I know why you’re here.”
“Because you invited me?”
“And like a good little dog you answered the call. Now why do you think I summoned you?”
“I thought we were cutting to the chase?”
The unsettling smile leaves his face as I disrespect him. I don’t give a f*ck. There’s only Zmey in here to worry about and I can run faster than him.
“You’re here because we have been forced into sharing a mutual goal. For the first time in my life I’m going to HAVE to consider working with you.”
“It’s nice to know you’re at least considering it Donnie. Part of me thought you might just pull out.”
“We’re the KKK, we never pull out. We don’t wear a f*cking rubber either. Durex is for fags. Are you calling me a f*cking fag?”
How on earth did he get that from what I just said?
“No. I just thought you’d rather focus your attention on just about anything else, so long as it didn’t include me.”
“Oh my attention is always pretty locked onto you champ. My Dragon is going to take that f*cking belt from you one day.”
I turn and smile at Zmey who has now at least lowered his eyes to meet mine. I raise a hand and address him in a faux yank accent.
“Hey, how are ya?”
Nothing.
“Right now though we’ve got another title to reclaim. A title the KKK was never pinned for.”
“Quite. It does make me wonder though, why isn’t Samael fighting along side his partner? Why was Zmey instead thrown into the lottery draw?”
Because he’s a f*cking snake, out for himself? Because he’s tired of sharing the glory? Because he’s crossed that title off of his list?
“Skywalker has some business to attend to. In his absence I figured it doesn’t f*cking matter who Zmey is teamed with because he’ll carry them to the belts anyway.”
“Why not Whitner?“
“You wouldn’t understand my genius. Your bells and brains would explode if I even tried to explain it to you, you limey f*ck.”
Such a foul mouth.
“Well, whatever your reasoning, you ended up with me. A pretty ironic yet beneficial coincidence.”
“For who? You get carried to Tag Team gold. I on the other hand have to listen to your stupid f*cking Sean Bean voice far more than usual. That doesn’t sound too balanced to me?”
Winter is cumming.
“Donnie. Like it or not I’m the best wrestler in the entire world. You may claim otherwise. You may laugh at that statement but I have the championship belt to prove it. I am the f*cking man. You got a pretty lucky pick if you ask me. Your Dragon is an unstoppable force, there’s no denying that, however if he’d been paired up with a rookie? It only takes one mistake on their part on your man would be out of the race. You may not like me, but you can rely on me to get results.”
Donnie has actually gone quiet. I can see the vein on his head pulsing as he thinks to himself.
“DMK if I may?”
“Shut the f*ck up, I’m thinking. Jesus, a man can’t f*cking operate with this many clowns around him.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that you may actually be the perfect choice.”
That’s somewhat out of character of him to be offering me any kind of praise.
“I’m thinking that if I’m going to show Mike that I’m the f*cking big dog around these parts now, that having you on board might get under his skin that little bit more.”
“And if working with you means I get a chance to slap the taste out of Kyzer’s mouth then I’m all in.”
“Don’t get too hard on me here. One thing you need to remember is that Mike is still my boy. You are not. If I happen to change my mind at any point during this tournament Tugarin will take your f*cking head off.”
Is it worth it?
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. If…..sorry, when Tugarin and me win the Tag Team Titles I will become something no one else has come close to becoming.”
“Cut the legend of Zelda bull sh*t nancy boy. If you two win those belts I want something from you. Tugarin gets a title shot wherever and whenever I choose. It could be the next night. It could be in a years time. Depends what mood I’m in.”
Is it worth it?
“I’ll have to clear it with Sleater but as far as I’m concerned you’ve got my word. Don’t you f*ck me Donnie. We can make this work if you choose to let it play out that way.”
Massage his ego.
“This entire thing is in your hands.”
Your stubby fingered, baby man hands.
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So the table has been set for The Dragon to eat from, but let’s be honest, he doesn’t seem like the type that uses a knife and fork does he? We’re out on our first date in Miami, Florida and I there are two ways the night can end.
One.
We hit it off. He clears his plate. He eats all the gold he can stomach followed by a desert made entirely of diamonds. We say goodnight and agree to do this again Cincinnati.
Two.
He beats the sh*t out of me.
I know which I’d prefer.
I didn’t choose to work with Tugarin Zmey, and I certainly didn’t choose to work with DMK, however that is the way things have turned out, and instead of cowering from the almost inevitable back stab ending I’ve decided to make the most of a sh*tty situation.
I have the chance to become one half of the Tag Team Champions.
I may be wrong about this but I think that would make me the first ever person to hold both the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship and a WFWF Tag Team Championship concurrently.
Winning those Tag Team Titles would also make me the first double Grand Slam Champion of all time.
Winning this tournament gives me the opportunity to force Michael Kyzer into a match with me…………if he’s good enough to make it that far.
To say I’m determined to succeed is somewhat of an understatement, but it hasn’t left me ignorant of the fact that at any moment my hopes of cementing these records could be cast to dust. One word from Donnie Monty Kent and I’ve lost. I’ve been forced to play a high stakes game that one way or the other will decide my direction for the remainder of my career. Throw into this the double edged sword of our victory. If we win I’ve promised a shot, not to Zmey, but to Donnie, at my WFWF World Heavyweight Championship. Donnie picks the shot. Zmey doesn’t just hit it out of the park, he sends it into orbit.
For the sake of argument though, let’s say everything is just peachy on my side of the ring. Let’s assume we’re going to get along just fine. What have we got in store?
I return my focus to Hollywood Unhinged 2.0.
“Diamond” Jack Sabbath. We’re yet to cross swords brother, but I know who you are. I know what you’re capable of, but I’ve not seen much of it so far in my territory. It’s all well and good being the best elsewhere, but if you can’t cut it here? Well, that’s when my previously peaked interest falls somewhat flaccid.
You’ve got yourself a formulated approach. You have a National Championship match down the road. You’re shooting for the Tag Team Titles with your new found friend. You have a nice woman on your arm………for now. The stars seem to be aligning for your meteoric rise to the top of the card. One thing you have to keep in mind though mate is that waiting for you at the summit is the greatest export your country has ever provided.
Me.
Tear through the mid card as fast as you like. Show the world that you’re a superstar in the making. Tick off all of the things from your bucket list on your way up here, because once you reach this altitude, that’s when things go awry. Just ask Jayson.
Jayson was like you. Showed promise. Got the people talking.
Then he met me.
At New Dawn you get a chance to see “The Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer” in action at close proximity. You’ll be given the chance to litmus test yourself against the calibre of fighter you’ll find at the top of your long, hard climb, and a chance to decide if this game is really for you.
Garret on the other hand already knows what to expect. He knows he can’t beat Tugarin Zmey on a level playing field. He knows he can’t beat me on any f*cking playing field. I have to wonder what’s going through his mind in the lead up to his first match in this tournament. He’s got to be nervous. Terrified even. Imagine the depths to which his stomach dropped when he saw the brackets go up. Seeing his first set of opponents and knowing he may well fail to even make it through the opening round. He’ll get a second shot in the eliminator, but like I said before I don’t fancy his chances any more than ThornGotch’s.
His mind has to be plagued with doubt and distraction, wrestling for these stakes only a week or so removed from the death of his former partner. He might have played the cold shoulder on TV but you have to believe his inability to stop the inevitable must be weighing on his mind. Distraction is something neither of these men can afford when they step into the ring at New Dawn, and yet neither is going to be fully living in the moment. Thoughts of fights down the line. Thoughts of fallen comrades behind you. It’s all too much to bear isn’t it?
This tournament is looking pretty rosy from where I’m standing. I don’t think H.U.2 could do the dirty even if they were focused, so what chance do they stand at this point in time?
I want to hear it from you boys. I want to know if I’ve got your number to the fourth decimal place, or if I’ve totally misjudged the situation.
I want you to tell me how you’re going to pull this off.
The grandest upset of your careers.
How can you possibly beat The Dragon & The God Slayer?
