[Showcase/ASW] Gladiators.
Jun 6, 2017 11:21:41 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Rage (aka NoMercyMaster2001), and 2 more like this
Post by Doc on Jun 6, 2017 11:21:41 GMT -5
“I will endure to be burned,
To be bound,
To be beaten,
And to be killed by the sword”
- Sacramentum Gladiatorium (The Gladiators’ Oath)
Ancient Rome
The scene opens up with Doc watching MGK's recent promo on his TV screen. MGK is at the tombstone of his dead ex-girlfriend, Carli, and we hear the following line:
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I couldn't be better for you. I couldn't be the person that you wanted me to be. Even at my worst, you believed in me like nobody else ever could, and I never understood why."
We could go on with more, but to save you throwing up in your mouth, we'll leave it there. All of a sudden Doc starts wailing with over the top crying sounds, such as "WAAH, WAAH, BOOOO HOO HOO" as he holds a tissue to his eye, wiping away fake tears.
Since you like to talk about all the things that disappoint you these days Mike, let me tell you what disappoints me.
What disappoints me is wasting a perfectly good tissue that I could have jacked off in to, listening to your heart-warming speech about some Saginaw call-girl who's probably in hell right now getting more anal action than a Caitlyn Jenner slumber party.
But if you're really so desperate to see her again, why didn't you say so?
Let me shoot Satan a text, tell him to book the Honeymoon Suite at the Holiday Inn in Hell for this Sunday night.
'Cause that's where I'm going to send you.
Glad you’re going to feel at home.
I've heard about the list of meds the doctor prescribes you, and I'm not quite sure what the cocktail of all that shit does to your head, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. All those drugs mixed with ten years of watching of episodes of The Ghost Whisperer and you seem to think you can talk to dead people. Well allow me to let you down gently. That trailer-trash groupie whore who spent long enough on this earth using up perfectly good oxygen can't hear you, she can't get all emotional listening to your pathetic monologues, and she sure as hell can't respond. So save yourself the heartache and focus on the man you're going to face this Sunday - because I can hear you, I will respond, and I could care less how guilty you feel about the fact you couldn't get it up long enough to keep her satisfied.
But don't worry bro, from what I hear, the boys in the back did more than enough to take care of her needs.
Michael Storm tells me she used to go wild for the black d- well, you get the picture.
But I'm glad we finally got down to business. Because no matter how much you wanted to keep up some kind of act when you first started to mention my name, it didn't take long to break out the real MGK, did it Mike? I mean why you so offended that I pointed out how fucking bipolar you are? It's nothing your psychiatrist hasn't been telling you all this time. One day you're good old retired Manhattan Mike, the XHF Legend who every so often ventures out from his penthouse for a hot dog and a Broadway show, sometimes even choosing to leave a tip for the waitress at the bar just to show how generous you've become. Then the next day, you're live on national television shrugging off the death of an innocent child and telling us you're the baddest man on the planet. Well first of all, last I checked, that privilege belongs to Mike Tyson. And second of all, you don't even know who you are any more. You're just a fucking empty vessel, a walking robot that wakes up in the morning and is whatever personality the doctor prescribed you to be that day. Not me though Mike, not me. I would never touch that prescription bullshit in the first place, but either way, I'm sober as a judge - and I can say with a clear mind and clear conscious that I hate you more than any other human being who's ever walked this earth. So yeah, I'm glad the charade is over Mike. We both know there aint no limits to this shit.
This is war. Plain and simple.
But here's what’s been puzzling me. If you're such a fucking badass, such a big tough guy who can destroy people's lives and ignore the rest of the world without losing a wink of sleep, what are you doing taking those pills anyway? You know what those pills are, Mike? They're a crutch. A crutch for feeble-minded idiots like you who try to play big boy games and then realize they aren't strong enough to deal with the consequences. Forty years ago they would have done us all a favour and given you so many electric shocks to that incapable little psyche of yours that you would be a fucking zombie, covering yourself in drool when you speak just like an early AJ Phoenix promo.
But hey! Great success man! It's 2017, and people much smarter than you or I have found a way to stuff you so full of chemicals that you're able to get on camera and call yourself an Undisputed Icon. But truth is Mike, without your crutch, you'd be just the same as anyone else with a disability.
And fall flat on your fucking face.
What disappoints me is wasting a perfectly good tissue that I could have jacked off in to, listening to your heart-warming speech about some Saginaw call-girl who's probably in hell right now getting more anal action than a Caitlyn Jenner slumber party.
But if you're really so desperate to see her again, why didn't you say so?
Let me shoot Satan a text, tell him to book the Honeymoon Suite at the Holiday Inn in Hell for this Sunday night.
'Cause that's where I'm going to send you.
Glad you’re going to feel at home.
I've heard about the list of meds the doctor prescribes you, and I'm not quite sure what the cocktail of all that shit does to your head, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. All those drugs mixed with ten years of watching of episodes of The Ghost Whisperer and you seem to think you can talk to dead people. Well allow me to let you down gently. That trailer-trash groupie whore who spent long enough on this earth using up perfectly good oxygen can't hear you, she can't get all emotional listening to your pathetic monologues, and she sure as hell can't respond. So save yourself the heartache and focus on the man you're going to face this Sunday - because I can hear you, I will respond, and I could care less how guilty you feel about the fact you couldn't get it up long enough to keep her satisfied.
But don't worry bro, from what I hear, the boys in the back did more than enough to take care of her needs.
Michael Storm tells me she used to go wild for the black d- well, you get the picture.
But I'm glad we finally got down to business. Because no matter how much you wanted to keep up some kind of act when you first started to mention my name, it didn't take long to break out the real MGK, did it Mike? I mean why you so offended that I pointed out how fucking bipolar you are? It's nothing your psychiatrist hasn't been telling you all this time. One day you're good old retired Manhattan Mike, the XHF Legend who every so often ventures out from his penthouse for a hot dog and a Broadway show, sometimes even choosing to leave a tip for the waitress at the bar just to show how generous you've become. Then the next day, you're live on national television shrugging off the death of an innocent child and telling us you're the baddest man on the planet. Well first of all, last I checked, that privilege belongs to Mike Tyson. And second of all, you don't even know who you are any more. You're just a fucking empty vessel, a walking robot that wakes up in the morning and is whatever personality the doctor prescribed you to be that day. Not me though Mike, not me. I would never touch that prescription bullshit in the first place, but either way, I'm sober as a judge - and I can say with a clear mind and clear conscious that I hate you more than any other human being who's ever walked this earth. So yeah, I'm glad the charade is over Mike. We both know there aint no limits to this shit.
This is war. Plain and simple.
But here's what’s been puzzling me. If you're such a fucking badass, such a big tough guy who can destroy people's lives and ignore the rest of the world without losing a wink of sleep, what are you doing taking those pills anyway? You know what those pills are, Mike? They're a crutch. A crutch for feeble-minded idiots like you who try to play big boy games and then realize they aren't strong enough to deal with the consequences. Forty years ago they would have done us all a favour and given you so many electric shocks to that incapable little psyche of yours that you would be a fucking zombie, covering yourself in drool when you speak just like an early AJ Phoenix promo.
But hey! Great success man! It's 2017, and people much smarter than you or I have found a way to stuff you so full of chemicals that you're able to get on camera and call yourself an Undisputed Icon. But truth is Mike, without your crutch, you'd be just the same as anyone else with a disability.
And fall flat on your fucking face.
The life of a Gladiator..
Glorious.. yet brutal.
Iconic.. yet enslaved.
Admired.. yet alone.
These men represent all that is most admired within the Empire. Vigour, strength, fearlessness – even in the face of their fate.
A reflection of fantasy, based on how the masses wish to see themselves.
And yet they are pawns. Bought and sold for money by their owners, living in solitude and separation, their humanity used as entertainment for the people.
But put yourself in the mind of the Gladiator.
He who comes from nothing, and rises from the dirt to be something.
He who faces a life of slavery and hard labour, but if able to reach the very top his craft, is given the chance to earn freedom.
He who – if willing to face a fate of almost certain death – is given the minute hope of echoing through eternity.
To the Gladiator, there is simply no other way.
Because in the words of Julius Caesar..
"It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience."
Since you want to talk about old memories, let me a share a couple of my own.
See I remember the day you started in this business Mike. The way you used to follow me around backstage with my balls in your mouth, praying that one day a pubic hair might fall down your throat and give a taste of what it's like to be half the man that I am. 'Cause that's what this is all about to you, right partner? This is what's been bugging you for the past ten years - the fact that you have the money, the belts, the records.. but that you still can't go down in history as the best who ever stepped foot in an XHF ring.
Not without beating me.
You see, it's true Mike, you do have the XHF Title reigns that I don't have. Not that they were much to brag about - I mean, both reigns added up probably only amounted to about three weeks total. But hey, you were still the champ, man! And we wont touch on the fact that I kicked your ass for the World Title at another XHF-owned federation, because that would ruin the story. Point is, looking at the title histories, there's very little that should put me in the same bracket as you, right? So I really don't blame you for the fact that you want to judge the sucess of someone's career on those grounds. It's just plain and simple, right Mike?
So I can only imagine how much it must eat away at you to know that popular opinion seems to look beyond the superficial facts that you are clearly so quick to highlight. Because we both know Mike, that for one reason or another, my reputation in this company wasn't built around title reigns or DVD sales. It was built on respect. Pure, uncut, respect. Because while you were enjoying a sixty minute reach-around session with the most overrated bag of trash in XHF history, Reckless Jack, I was doing what I do best. Stealing the show each and every month, racking up a win/loss record against the best of the best this company that nobody can surpass. So yeah, I can't lie. It would have been cool to add a couple more title reigns here and there. But that doesn't change the facts Mike.
That I'm the best who ever stepped foot in a god damn ring.
And how can you argue? I mean, you've had a half dozen attempts to prove that's not case already. Let me say that again, just to make sure you caught it right. A half dozen attempts. We're not talking about some one-off fluke victory here. Not some low-blow schoolboy roll up when the referee was distracted that I took and ran with. As you so elequently described yourself, every time we went toe to toe, neither of us left so much as an ounce of spit in reserve. So let me ask you this - how many tries do you need before you realize that you aren't on my level, Mike? How many coins in the slot machine before your finally realize it's game over and that The Boyhood Fucking Dream is, and always will be, the man who bowed out at the very pinnacle of this industry?
But they say God loves a trier - and you may just need to worry about his view on things when this match is said and done. I just think it's sad how such a great competitor can sink to what you are now, trying desperately to convince yourself that you can summon up just enough "Mr Tough Guy" to go through this one last time.
And tell me, do you think that not remembering my sister's name is going to impress people? I mean, shit man, that was some serious mic skills. Sure, she was a big deal around here in the past, just like your brother. What was his name again? O.M.G? F.C.C? W.T.F? J.F.A.K-47? It doesn't matter, because I kicked his ass the same way I kicked yours. Guess it runs in the family. Who knows, maybe I even just gave you enough common ground to reach out, give him a phone call, try to make amends with him?
Not sure it will be enough to convince him to join you for Thanksgiving dinner, but like you say, if he doesn't show up, you can always pay someone to help you polish off the turkey.
Because as you said Mike, it's true. You've got more than enough money to buy whatever you want. Right Mike? Anything you want, right Mike? You can pay for friends, pay for drugs, pay for sex. Not that you need any of those things, you made that perfectly clear. Maybe a little sex now and again would help get you off those mood stablizers, but hey, I'm no PhD student.
But we both know the one thing you really want, much more than any of that, is something your money never could and never will be able to buy.
And that's a victory over me.
So forget your money. Forget your titles, your penthouse suite, your lunch-hour Ouijie Boards and crystal ball sessions trying to contact Carli.
This is the last chance you're ever going to get Mike - Last Man Standing.
And I'm going to love every second of watching a legacy you took a lifetime to build..
Disappear in ten short seconds.
See I remember the day you started in this business Mike. The way you used to follow me around backstage with my balls in your mouth, praying that one day a pubic hair might fall down your throat and give a taste of what it's like to be half the man that I am. 'Cause that's what this is all about to you, right partner? This is what's been bugging you for the past ten years - the fact that you have the money, the belts, the records.. but that you still can't go down in history as the best who ever stepped foot in an XHF ring.
Not without beating me.
You see, it's true Mike, you do have the XHF Title reigns that I don't have. Not that they were much to brag about - I mean, both reigns added up probably only amounted to about three weeks total. But hey, you were still the champ, man! And we wont touch on the fact that I kicked your ass for the World Title at another XHF-owned federation, because that would ruin the story. Point is, looking at the title histories, there's very little that should put me in the same bracket as you, right? So I really don't blame you for the fact that you want to judge the sucess of someone's career on those grounds. It's just plain and simple, right Mike?
So I can only imagine how much it must eat away at you to know that popular opinion seems to look beyond the superficial facts that you are clearly so quick to highlight. Because we both know Mike, that for one reason or another, my reputation in this company wasn't built around title reigns or DVD sales. It was built on respect. Pure, uncut, respect. Because while you were enjoying a sixty minute reach-around session with the most overrated bag of trash in XHF history, Reckless Jack, I was doing what I do best. Stealing the show each and every month, racking up a win/loss record against the best of the best this company that nobody can surpass. So yeah, I can't lie. It would have been cool to add a couple more title reigns here and there. But that doesn't change the facts Mike.
That I'm the best who ever stepped foot in a god damn ring.
And how can you argue? I mean, you've had a half dozen attempts to prove that's not case already. Let me say that again, just to make sure you caught it right. A half dozen attempts. We're not talking about some one-off fluke victory here. Not some low-blow schoolboy roll up when the referee was distracted that I took and ran with. As you so elequently described yourself, every time we went toe to toe, neither of us left so much as an ounce of spit in reserve. So let me ask you this - how many tries do you need before you realize that you aren't on my level, Mike? How many coins in the slot machine before your finally realize it's game over and that The Boyhood Fucking Dream is, and always will be, the man who bowed out at the very pinnacle of this industry?
But they say God loves a trier - and you may just need to worry about his view on things when this match is said and done. I just think it's sad how such a great competitor can sink to what you are now, trying desperately to convince yourself that you can summon up just enough "Mr Tough Guy" to go through this one last time.
And tell me, do you think that not remembering my sister's name is going to impress people? I mean, shit man, that was some serious mic skills. Sure, she was a big deal around here in the past, just like your brother. What was his name again? O.M.G? F.C.C? W.T.F? J.F.A.K-47? It doesn't matter, because I kicked his ass the same way I kicked yours. Guess it runs in the family. Who knows, maybe I even just gave you enough common ground to reach out, give him a phone call, try to make amends with him?
Not sure it will be enough to convince him to join you for Thanksgiving dinner, but like you say, if he doesn't show up, you can always pay someone to help you polish off the turkey.
Because as you said Mike, it's true. You've got more than enough money to buy whatever you want. Right Mike? Anything you want, right Mike? You can pay for friends, pay for drugs, pay for sex. Not that you need any of those things, you made that perfectly clear. Maybe a little sex now and again would help get you off those mood stablizers, but hey, I'm no PhD student.
But we both know the one thing you really want, much more than any of that, is something your money never could and never will be able to buy.
And that's a victory over me.
So forget your money. Forget your titles, your penthouse suite, your lunch-hour Ouijie Boards and crystal ball sessions trying to contact Carli.
This is the last chance you're ever going to get Mike - Last Man Standing.
And I'm going to love every second of watching a legacy you took a lifetime to build..
Disappear in ten short seconds.
You could say that these are two men born in the wrong era.
Two Gladiators, with a willingness to fight to the death that is either seen as insanity, or the highest form of honour, depending on what lens you look through.
Many Gladiators fight to leave behind a life of slavery, in this case symbolized by the shackles of the mental trauma that enslaves them, and attempt to win their freedom.
Many fight for the pride, the honour, the thrill of hearing the people chanting their name as they stand victorious.
Or in the case of Maximus Decimus Meridius, some fight for vengeance.. hoping to die with honour in the process, and once again see their loved ones that have long since left this earth.
It’s not certain exactly which of these reasons best symbolizes the motivations of the either of these men.
But what is certain, is that they are both ready to step in to the Coliseum this Sunday, knowing that one of them is not going be leaving of their own accord.
And that all of the sacrifice.. the violence.. the bloodshed..
It’s all for the Glory of the Empire…
…The Empire that is the Xtreme…
…Hardcore...
…Federation.
…Hardcore...
…Federation.
