[Showcase/ASW] Illusions.
Jun 7, 2017 12:40:54 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Rage (aka NoMercyMaster2001), and 2 more like this
Post by Doc on Jun 7, 2017 12:40:54 GMT -5
The scene opens up in an extravagant, Michelin star restaurant, a much different scene than we have become accustomed to in the recent exchanges between Doc and MGK. Champagne is poured in to crystal glasses on tables laid out with perfect symmetry, a buzz of chatter amongst the clientele vibrating around the wide, open-plan dining area. Transparent windows surround the tables from top to bottom, offering stunning panoramic views of the surrounding area, lit up against the night sky by the various shapes and sizes of the buildings in view. As the camera works its way around the crowded restaurant, a waiter immaculately dressed in a tuxedo, his black hair slicked to one side, smiles and nods to welcome us as he passes. As we work our way around the room we reach a small, secluded area of the open-plan flooring. A couple of steps lead up this area of privacy for only the most important, or financially endowed, of the restaurant’s guests.
It is here, as the camera mounts these steps, that we find none other than “The Boyhood Dream”, sitting in the corner of the room beside a beautiful young lady of mixed race. She grins and laughs every few seconds on cue as Doc whispers in her ear, slipping one arm under the table and rubbing on her thigh. Doc is dressed in a way we have not seen in many years, his muscular frame bulging out of a brand new Armani suit, with only the tie missing and the top collar undone to leave a hint of ‘casual’ about his classy appearance. His other arm is draped around the shoulder of his female companion, the gold strap of the Rolex on his arm reflecting off the glare of the lights and shining into the view of the camera. He doesn’t notice seem to notice us and continues laughing and canoodling with his lady friend, feeding her caviar from the spoon on her plate from time to time.
All of a sudden, the playful flirting comes to and end as a much larger, middle-aged man walks past the camera and approaches the table. From the back we cannot quite see who the man is, but Doc whispers something in his playmate’s ear and her expression suddenly changes as she excuses herself from the table. Clearly, she has received the message that business is about to be conducted, and the look on Doc’s face tell us the same. He cleans his mouth with a napkin as he stands, greeting the imposing figure with a handshake and motioning for him to sit down.
At this point, as both men relax in to their respective positions across the table, the camera gradually edges closer, revealing that the man joining Doc is none other than XHF Network Owner, Mongo the Destroyer. Mongo enters the inside pocket of his suit jacket, brandishing a thick brown envelope, its paper contorted in the shape of a brick around the stuffed nature of whatever it holds. He slides the envelope across the table, and Doc, with a smile and a nod of acknowledgement, receives the envelope in to the inside of his own suit jacket.
“Well, as I said at the time Doc, I’m not really sure how necessary any of this was to lure him in, but either way it looks like MGK took the bait.”
Doc laughs to himself a little, a smug grin coming across his lips. He doesn’t acknowledge with a verbal response, instead grabbing the glass bottle of still water from the table and re-filling his glass. He lifts the bottle and looks at Mongo, enquiring whether he would like his glass filled up.
“No thanks, I can’t stay long. Anyway, I just want to make it clear that I’m completely impartial as to what happens with this match, if anything I have plenty of reason to enjoy watching you both kill each other. But business is business.”
Again Doc laughs to himself a little as Mongo speaks, carefully re-applying the cork to the bottle and returning it to its place on the table. He takes a slow sip of his water, resting both arms over the back of the seat behind him, the left hand holding the glass while the Rolex on his right is just loose enough that it almost drips down on to the back of his hand, exposing the diamond-encrusted face further. He takes a moment before responding, clearly entirely relaxed and comfortable in his surroundings. If anything, Mongo appears a little unnerved, keen to conduct business and move on to the next thing he had planned.
“Of course Mongo, of course. You don’t even have to go there. Business is business, and ratings are good for business, right? Anyway, I appreciate you playing along. It’s kind of hard to believe that MGK would really think that I would give away 75% of my paycheque for this match.. but anyway, I have him right where I want him now. But before you go - you didn’t have to be quite so cutting – I mean what was all that ‘oh hey Doc, here’s a picture of AJ beating you for the title on my wall Doc, what a glorious moment in XHF history’ crap about?”
Both men laugh and Mongo shoots a wink across the table. It’s no secret that he enjoyed getting to mess with Doc, even if it was all a set-up. And truth be told, Doc enjoyed it too. He respects that Mongo is a man of principle, putting business before all else, even after several years of animosity.
“Just playing the part Doc, just playing the part.”
It’s true, he played the part to perfection, and the world bought every word. As Mongo utters the last phrase, the stunning figure that was sitting with Doc prior to his arrival returns to the table, taking a seat alongside Doc as she and Mongo exchange glances and smiles of acknowledgement.
“Alright, well, I guess that wraps up business for the evening. I know you’re a busy man.”
“Not as busy you by the looks of it.”
Again, Mongo shoots Doc a wink as both men laugh while rising to their feet and exchanging a firm handshake, never breaking eye contact as they do so.
“Well, pleasure doing business with you Doc. I guess all that’s left to say is good luck for Sunday.”
“Pleasure is all mine, boss. Pleasure is all mine. For the XHF.”
Both men continue shaking hands, but as Mongo goes to break and walk away from the table, Doc reaffirms his grip on Mongo’s arm, making him turn back with a slightly startled look on his face.
“And once I get done taking care of MGK, for the right price, I might even take care of that little Nude Dragon problem of yours.”
We can tell from Mongo’s face that he isn’t quite sure what to make of that last statement. He looks at Doc for a moment, trying to work out whether he is serious or up to something underhanded, but Doc continues making eye contact without so much as a blink, the look of intense drive and ambition that he was once known for plastered across his lips.
“Alright, well I’ll keep that in mind. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Finally Doc releases the handshake and Mongo turns and begins his swift exit out of the restaurant, looking over both shoulders as he walks, almost as if to make sure that he has not been noticed. Even after his departure, Doc remains standing, not breaking his gaze, not blinking, as if Mongo were still standing directly opposite him. His facial expression remains as serious and intense as it was before, making him seem almost possessed as he stares off in to the distance, his mind clearly preoccupied by something he cannot shake.
“You ok baby? Here, have some caviar.”
Doc’s companion lifts a spoon to try and return to favour from earlier and gestures at him to sit down. Instead, Doc turns his head sharply towards the woman and smacks the spoon out of her hand with such force that it goes flying out of the VIP section of the restaurant, landing in some business executive’s bowl of soup and causing a splashback and a yelp of pain as the burning liquid contacts his face.
“Shut the fuck up. You think I’ve got time to sit around here like some millionaire playboy and eat caviar? There’s a man out there who wants to see me dead. You think I’ve got time to waste?
Doc aggressively barges past the woman so as to exit the table, banging her on her legs as he passes hard enough leave a bruise. Her mouth lies ajar, clearly shocked and aghast at this sudden change in his demeanour. Elsewhere in the restaurant, the upper-class clientele murmur quietly amongst themselves in disbelief at the scene that has been caused, with two waiters attending to the business executive who is nursing the burn marks on his face. All eyes are on Doc has he storms out of the restaurant, but he doesn’t even seem aware that any scene has been caused, let alone care about it. As the camera zooms out so follow him while he walks off in to the distance, he pulls his cellphone from his pocket and brings it to his ear.
It’s time to call an old mentor and get back down to business.
Even with the top down on his sleek blue Mercedes, the summer sun feels like a furnace as it kisses Doc’s skin. He is driving through an open landscape in what appears to be the middle of nowhere, with dry mountains surrounding us on either side. In the distance, we can see a huge ranch fenced off from its surroundings, and Doc speeds up his approach as he seemingly comes within eyeshot of his destination. As he passes through its gates, out the corner of his eye, it almost looks for a second that there is a group of physically capable young men and women digging a ditch in the distance. What the hell would they be doing that for, out here in the unbearable heat? Unable to take his eyes off the road, he ignores it and continues towards the huge mansion at the centre of the ranch. Once we get there, we can see the figure of none other than XHF Legend, The Revolutionary Redneck himself, waiting for his guest to arrive in his usual business-like fashion.
Rage has a long history with Doc, being one of the very first former XHF Champions to work alongside him at the beginning of his time in the company and, in his own way, pass the torch to the younger man. Doc has never forgotten this, and Rage has remained a friend and mentor ever since – especially as he also shares the same calculated, deceitful, win-at-all-costs mentality that Doc embodies. If ever he needed someone with the experience and know-how of professional wrestling to call upon to go over a video analysis of his upcoming opponent and break down a strategy to win the match – this was the man.
As he gets out of the Mercedes, Rage approaches and the pair shake hands, cueing the famous sound of Rage clearing his throat before speaking.
“*AHEM* Welllllll it’s none other than an old long-time friend and colleague of this business, welcome to the Revolutionary Ranch Doc, it certainly struck my attention watching the cataclysmic catharsis of emotions expended between you and your great rival, that this undoubted, undisputed, undigestable match of-”
While Rage continues to speak, it appears that Doc zones out for a moment, sweltering in the dry heat of summer on the ranch. As he zones back in, he can see on his Rolex that a full minute has passed without Rage so much pausing for breath to start a new sentence.
“…this colossal collision of championship calibre challengers, this seismic shooting off of mouths of preposterous proportions between the Boyhood F’N Drea-“
“Rage, Rage, man, bro. I really appreciate you taking the time to help me and everything, but I mean, if you take up all of my air time, how am I going to win this match? Not that air time has got anything to do what actually happens in the wrestling ring of course, but you know, if it did. Hypothetically.”
Rage’s eyebrows drop as he shrugs his shoulders, clearly having no idea whatever the hell Doc is blabbering on about.
“Well why didn’t you just say so? Step inside son, let’s get to work.”
As both men make their respective ways inside to begin the video breakdown of MGK’s wrestling style, Doc turns his head back one last time to ensure he actually saw what he thought did when he entered. Indeed, still out in the distance are a group of muscular young men and women, digging a ditch in the middle of the Revolutionary Ranch. He shrugs his shoulders and follows his long-time friend and mentor, clearing the thought from his mind. No point in getting distracted from the task at hand – not this close to his date with destiny.
It is here, as the camera mounts these steps, that we find none other than “The Boyhood Dream”, sitting in the corner of the room beside a beautiful young lady of mixed race. She grins and laughs every few seconds on cue as Doc whispers in her ear, slipping one arm under the table and rubbing on her thigh. Doc is dressed in a way we have not seen in many years, his muscular frame bulging out of a brand new Armani suit, with only the tie missing and the top collar undone to leave a hint of ‘casual’ about his classy appearance. His other arm is draped around the shoulder of his female companion, the gold strap of the Rolex on his arm reflecting off the glare of the lights and shining into the view of the camera. He doesn’t notice seem to notice us and continues laughing and canoodling with his lady friend, feeding her caviar from the spoon on her plate from time to time.
All of a sudden, the playful flirting comes to and end as a much larger, middle-aged man walks past the camera and approaches the table. From the back we cannot quite see who the man is, but Doc whispers something in his playmate’s ear and her expression suddenly changes as she excuses herself from the table. Clearly, she has received the message that business is about to be conducted, and the look on Doc’s face tell us the same. He cleans his mouth with a napkin as he stands, greeting the imposing figure with a handshake and motioning for him to sit down.
At this point, as both men relax in to their respective positions across the table, the camera gradually edges closer, revealing that the man joining Doc is none other than XHF Network Owner, Mongo the Destroyer. Mongo enters the inside pocket of his suit jacket, brandishing a thick brown envelope, its paper contorted in the shape of a brick around the stuffed nature of whatever it holds. He slides the envelope across the table, and Doc, with a smile and a nod of acknowledgement, receives the envelope in to the inside of his own suit jacket.
“Well, as I said at the time Doc, I’m not really sure how necessary any of this was to lure him in, but either way it looks like MGK took the bait.”
Doc laughs to himself a little, a smug grin coming across his lips. He doesn’t acknowledge with a verbal response, instead grabbing the glass bottle of still water from the table and re-filling his glass. He lifts the bottle and looks at Mongo, enquiring whether he would like his glass filled up.
“No thanks, I can’t stay long. Anyway, I just want to make it clear that I’m completely impartial as to what happens with this match, if anything I have plenty of reason to enjoy watching you both kill each other. But business is business.”
Again Doc laughs to himself a little as Mongo speaks, carefully re-applying the cork to the bottle and returning it to its place on the table. He takes a slow sip of his water, resting both arms over the back of the seat behind him, the left hand holding the glass while the Rolex on his right is just loose enough that it almost drips down on to the back of his hand, exposing the diamond-encrusted face further. He takes a moment before responding, clearly entirely relaxed and comfortable in his surroundings. If anything, Mongo appears a little unnerved, keen to conduct business and move on to the next thing he had planned.
“Of course Mongo, of course. You don’t even have to go there. Business is business, and ratings are good for business, right? Anyway, I appreciate you playing along. It’s kind of hard to believe that MGK would really think that I would give away 75% of my paycheque for this match.. but anyway, I have him right where I want him now. But before you go - you didn’t have to be quite so cutting – I mean what was all that ‘oh hey Doc, here’s a picture of AJ beating you for the title on my wall Doc, what a glorious moment in XHF history’ crap about?”
Both men laugh and Mongo shoots a wink across the table. It’s no secret that he enjoyed getting to mess with Doc, even if it was all a set-up. And truth be told, Doc enjoyed it too. He respects that Mongo is a man of principle, putting business before all else, even after several years of animosity.
“Just playing the part Doc, just playing the part.”
It’s true, he played the part to perfection, and the world bought every word. As Mongo utters the last phrase, the stunning figure that was sitting with Doc prior to his arrival returns to the table, taking a seat alongside Doc as she and Mongo exchange glances and smiles of acknowledgement.
“Alright, well, I guess that wraps up business for the evening. I know you’re a busy man.”
“Not as busy you by the looks of it.”
Again, Mongo shoots Doc a wink as both men laugh while rising to their feet and exchanging a firm handshake, never breaking eye contact as they do so.
“Well, pleasure doing business with you Doc. I guess all that’s left to say is good luck for Sunday.”
“Pleasure is all mine, boss. Pleasure is all mine. For the XHF.”
Both men continue shaking hands, but as Mongo goes to break and walk away from the table, Doc reaffirms his grip on Mongo’s arm, making him turn back with a slightly startled look on his face.
“And once I get done taking care of MGK, for the right price, I might even take care of that little Nude Dragon problem of yours.”
We can tell from Mongo’s face that he isn’t quite sure what to make of that last statement. He looks at Doc for a moment, trying to work out whether he is serious or up to something underhanded, but Doc continues making eye contact without so much as a blink, the look of intense drive and ambition that he was once known for plastered across his lips.
“Alright, well I’ll keep that in mind. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Finally Doc releases the handshake and Mongo turns and begins his swift exit out of the restaurant, looking over both shoulders as he walks, almost as if to make sure that he has not been noticed. Even after his departure, Doc remains standing, not breaking his gaze, not blinking, as if Mongo were still standing directly opposite him. His facial expression remains as serious and intense as it was before, making him seem almost possessed as he stares off in to the distance, his mind clearly preoccupied by something he cannot shake.
“You ok baby? Here, have some caviar.”
Doc’s companion lifts a spoon to try and return to favour from earlier and gestures at him to sit down. Instead, Doc turns his head sharply towards the woman and smacks the spoon out of her hand with such force that it goes flying out of the VIP section of the restaurant, landing in some business executive’s bowl of soup and causing a splashback and a yelp of pain as the burning liquid contacts his face.
“Shut the fuck up. You think I’ve got time to sit around here like some millionaire playboy and eat caviar? There’s a man out there who wants to see me dead. You think I’ve got time to waste?
Doc aggressively barges past the woman so as to exit the table, banging her on her legs as he passes hard enough leave a bruise. Her mouth lies ajar, clearly shocked and aghast at this sudden change in his demeanour. Elsewhere in the restaurant, the upper-class clientele murmur quietly amongst themselves in disbelief at the scene that has been caused, with two waiters attending to the business executive who is nursing the burn marks on his face. All eyes are on Doc has he storms out of the restaurant, but he doesn’t even seem aware that any scene has been caused, let alone care about it. As the camera zooms out so follow him while he walks off in to the distance, he pulls his cellphone from his pocket and brings it to his ear.
It’s time to call an old mentor and get back down to business.
Sometimes Mike, your stupidity really baffles me.
You really think that I could take ten years out, almost die from an overdose, live in such poverty that I couldn't even afford a hot plate-
And still walk around with the body of a fucking Roman God?
Do me a favour. You think that this business took a toll on my psyche? That was I some pathetic sack of shit that needed pills to get through the day?
No offence.
That just doesn't make any sense Mike. Why the hell would I be some depressed douchecanoe when I came in to this business and kicked the ass of every great who walked through those doors? Why would I go home and sulk with all the good looks, the talent, the success that I'd achieved?
Fuck that.
Nah, when XHF closed its doors, I moved on to the next company that most of us ended up at and picked up right where from I left off - dominating the roster, and since it's the only thing you seem to care about - adding some more gold to the collection. I continued to prove, week in, week out, that The Boyhood Dream was the best wrestler on the planet. What the fuck have I got to be depressed about?
Everything you've seen this past week - it's all been an illusion Mike. The badly acted meeting with Mongo, the photoshopped pictures of me coming out of rehab, the promos in some dingy basement I wouldn't even take a piss in. It was all a rouse, a fucking setup with one sole intention.
To back you in to a corner you couldn't escape from.
You see Mike, I've waited all these years for your return. Every day I would turn on my TV set and pray that MGK would show up with a new promo, telling us all he's back and ready to take some names.
And yet the days.. the months.. the years went by and you were nowhere to be seen. You know how angry that used to make me feel Mike? That for all I achieved in this business, the one thing I wanted more than anything -
To end your pathetic existence once and for all.
That was the one thing that was outwith my reach. And so, when the XHF Network started up, I realized that someone was bound to make contact with you. And I knew the one thing that you couldn't ignore.
Making you think you had a chance in hell of beating me.
Not that you would be scared to face me at my best Mike, don't get me wrong. I think we've proven many times that's not the case. But I couldn't take the risk of seeing you slip my through my fingers one more time. So I did what I had to do, because after all, you're a predator.
And you can't ignore the smell of blood.
I don't blame you Mike - if anything, I'm doing exactly the same thing to you right now. When I saw you on air, all fucked up on your prescription pills, failing miserably to recreate the aura you once had - I knew it was time. I knew it was time to take your feeble minded ass in to the ring one last time, and put an end to you for good. There just isn't going to be a better opportunity than this. So I called Mongo - and of course, how could he turn down a business opportunity which made so much senes? To see the greatest icon in world wrestling, The Boyhood Dream, beat the once great MGK to a bloody pulp in the sold-out Long Beach Convention Centre? This is what ratings are made of Mike - of course he agreed to it. And I know your sitting on your ass somewhere watching this, probably in some hospital for the mentally weak, and asking yourself how? How could that cold-hearted, unforgiving son of a bitch forgive Mongo and actually cooperate with the man? Well, I could say that this was just business, but that would be too simple. See Mike, over the years, I actually came to respect Mongo. I mean, was he right to stop me getting my hands on the XHF Title?
Absolutely.
Why would he want some rash, impuslive kid to get his hands on the most prized belt in world wrestling with no idea what I was capable of from one day to the next? Nah, that would be bad for business. And that's what I learned from that evil genius Mike. To put my pride and my morals to the side, and do whatever suited me best. And that's exactly what I've done with you. Because now you're the one who's mentally unbalanced, rash, impulsive - and all it took was one promo with a few jokes about some dead slut to have you exactly where I want you. So even if you would have come back and agreed to this without all the prompting and prodding I've been doing this past week.
I'd have done it anyway.
Just to fuck with that medicated ball of mush inside your skull.
In a way, I'm amazed it's all been this easy. Ten long years, waiting for this chance to finish this, and now here we are. But I guess it's true what they say Mike.
All you have to do is lay the trap and leave the cheese - and sooner or later..
The rat will always show.
You really think that I could take ten years out, almost die from an overdose, live in such poverty that I couldn't even afford a hot plate-
And still walk around with the body of a fucking Roman God?
Do me a favour. You think that this business took a toll on my psyche? That was I some pathetic sack of shit that needed pills to get through the day?
No offence.
That just doesn't make any sense Mike. Why the hell would I be some depressed douchecanoe when I came in to this business and kicked the ass of every great who walked through those doors? Why would I go home and sulk with all the good looks, the talent, the success that I'd achieved?
Fuck that.
Nah, when XHF closed its doors, I moved on to the next company that most of us ended up at and picked up right where from I left off - dominating the roster, and since it's the only thing you seem to care about - adding some more gold to the collection. I continued to prove, week in, week out, that The Boyhood Dream was the best wrestler on the planet. What the fuck have I got to be depressed about?
Everything you've seen this past week - it's all been an illusion Mike. The badly acted meeting with Mongo, the photoshopped pictures of me coming out of rehab, the promos in some dingy basement I wouldn't even take a piss in. It was all a rouse, a fucking setup with one sole intention.
To back you in to a corner you couldn't escape from.
You see Mike, I've waited all these years for your return. Every day I would turn on my TV set and pray that MGK would show up with a new promo, telling us all he's back and ready to take some names.
And yet the days.. the months.. the years went by and you were nowhere to be seen. You know how angry that used to make me feel Mike? That for all I achieved in this business, the one thing I wanted more than anything -
To end your pathetic existence once and for all.
That was the one thing that was outwith my reach. And so, when the XHF Network started up, I realized that someone was bound to make contact with you. And I knew the one thing that you couldn't ignore.
Making you think you had a chance in hell of beating me.
Not that you would be scared to face me at my best Mike, don't get me wrong. I think we've proven many times that's not the case. But I couldn't take the risk of seeing you slip my through my fingers one more time. So I did what I had to do, because after all, you're a predator.
And you can't ignore the smell of blood.
I don't blame you Mike - if anything, I'm doing exactly the same thing to you right now. When I saw you on air, all fucked up on your prescription pills, failing miserably to recreate the aura you once had - I knew it was time. I knew it was time to take your feeble minded ass in to the ring one last time, and put an end to you for good. There just isn't going to be a better opportunity than this. So I called Mongo - and of course, how could he turn down a business opportunity which made so much senes? To see the greatest icon in world wrestling, The Boyhood Dream, beat the once great MGK to a bloody pulp in the sold-out Long Beach Convention Centre? This is what ratings are made of Mike - of course he agreed to it. And I know your sitting on your ass somewhere watching this, probably in some hospital for the mentally weak, and asking yourself how? How could that cold-hearted, unforgiving son of a bitch forgive Mongo and actually cooperate with the man? Well, I could say that this was just business, but that would be too simple. See Mike, over the years, I actually came to respect Mongo. I mean, was he right to stop me getting my hands on the XHF Title?
Absolutely.
Why would he want some rash, impuslive kid to get his hands on the most prized belt in world wrestling with no idea what I was capable of from one day to the next? Nah, that would be bad for business. And that's what I learned from that evil genius Mike. To put my pride and my morals to the side, and do whatever suited me best. And that's exactly what I've done with you. Because now you're the one who's mentally unbalanced, rash, impulsive - and all it took was one promo with a few jokes about some dead slut to have you exactly where I want you. So even if you would have come back and agreed to this without all the prompting and prodding I've been doing this past week.
I'd have done it anyway.
Just to fuck with that medicated ball of mush inside your skull.
In a way, I'm amazed it's all been this easy. Ten long years, waiting for this chance to finish this, and now here we are. But I guess it's true what they say Mike.
All you have to do is lay the trap and leave the cheese - and sooner or later..
The rat will always show.
Even with the top down on his sleek blue Mercedes, the summer sun feels like a furnace as it kisses Doc’s skin. He is driving through an open landscape in what appears to be the middle of nowhere, with dry mountains surrounding us on either side. In the distance, we can see a huge ranch fenced off from its surroundings, and Doc speeds up his approach as he seemingly comes within eyeshot of his destination. As he passes through its gates, out the corner of his eye, it almost looks for a second that there is a group of physically capable young men and women digging a ditch in the distance. What the hell would they be doing that for, out here in the unbearable heat? Unable to take his eyes off the road, he ignores it and continues towards the huge mansion at the centre of the ranch. Once we get there, we can see the figure of none other than XHF Legend, The Revolutionary Redneck himself, waiting for his guest to arrive in his usual business-like fashion.
Rage has a long history with Doc, being one of the very first former XHF Champions to work alongside him at the beginning of his time in the company and, in his own way, pass the torch to the younger man. Doc has never forgotten this, and Rage has remained a friend and mentor ever since – especially as he also shares the same calculated, deceitful, win-at-all-costs mentality that Doc embodies. If ever he needed someone with the experience and know-how of professional wrestling to call upon to go over a video analysis of his upcoming opponent and break down a strategy to win the match – this was the man.
As he gets out of the Mercedes, Rage approaches and the pair shake hands, cueing the famous sound of Rage clearing his throat before speaking.
“*AHEM* Welllllll it’s none other than an old long-time friend and colleague of this business, welcome to the Revolutionary Ranch Doc, it certainly struck my attention watching the cataclysmic catharsis of emotions expended between you and your great rival, that this undoubted, undisputed, undigestable match of-”
While Rage continues to speak, it appears that Doc zones out for a moment, sweltering in the dry heat of summer on the ranch. As he zones back in, he can see on his Rolex that a full minute has passed without Rage so much pausing for breath to start a new sentence.
“…this colossal collision of championship calibre challengers, this seismic shooting off of mouths of preposterous proportions between the Boyhood F’N Drea-“
“Rage, Rage, man, bro. I really appreciate you taking the time to help me and everything, but I mean, if you take up all of my air time, how am I going to win this match? Not that air time has got anything to do what actually happens in the wrestling ring of course, but you know, if it did. Hypothetically.”
Rage’s eyebrows drop as he shrugs his shoulders, clearly having no idea whatever the hell Doc is blabbering on about.
“Well why didn’t you just say so? Step inside son, let’s get to work.”
As both men make their respective ways inside to begin the video breakdown of MGK’s wrestling style, Doc turns his head back one last time to ensure he actually saw what he thought did when he entered. Indeed, still out in the distance are a group of muscular young men and women, digging a ditch in the middle of the Revolutionary Ranch. He shrugs his shoulders and follows his long-time friend and mentor, clearing the thought from his mind. No point in getting distracted from the task at hand – not this close to his date with destiny.
So earlier this afternoon, I took a trip out to the ranch of an XHF Legend. And you know, you wont believe what I saw. You know what Rage is doing out there, Mike?
He's hiring men and women to wrestle in a pit in his back yard - for his own entertainment. Look for yourself.
Doc loads up the appropriate picture on his phone and holds it to the camera:
Do you see what this business means, Mike? That a man whose body just isn't at the level it needs to be to make the comeback he'd love to make, misses the business that much, that he will do anything just to be around the competition, the violence, the smell of victory - even when it's not his own? But he doesn't just throw these guys in and watch them fight Mike - he feeds, he trains, he motivates. And it made me think about something you've been saying over and over this past week, about respect. You make it sound like I don't respect anyone, not even myself. But you seem to be missing the whole point Mike. It's not that I'm incapable of respect.
It's just that I don't respect you.
But Reeshi? Destruction? Venom? All the way down to Mongo and Rage himself - those are the guys who built this company from scratch before the world even knew you existed.
And for that, they get my respect.
Because we stand here today Mike, not just with a responsibility for our own personal vendettas. We're here for the young men and women like the those I saw training with Rage in 40-degree heat, those fearless competitors who dream of one day coming from nothing and making something of their lives, just as we did. And to do that, they need opportunity, Mike. You see, everything you've ever had in your pathetic existence, right down to that Manhattan Penthouse, is thanks to the legends who paved the way for all that was to come. Without them, the XHF would just have been another regional, backyard wrestling organization with a group of guys taking insane bumps for minimum wage and a band-aid. And now we face a new dawn in professional wrestling - yeah, the Network is still XHF by name, but not the XHF we knew. Not the XHF that sold out 80,000 seater stadiums and toured the globe. It's a different era - and now it's time for All State Pro Wrestling to rise and be recognized as the elite organization in sports entertainment. So in the same way that my legacy was made possible by the men that I respect, knowing that buyrates are through the roof for only the second Showcase in history.. this is about putting ASW and the Network on the map and paving the way for all that's to come.
With you as the sacrificial lamb.
But instead of worrying about that Mike, you seem to have something else on your mind. You seem to be more interested in playing a game of "let's call bullshit". Really? That's the road you want to go down?
Fine by me.
I'm sorry that you took such umbridge to the fact that I joked about your two XHF Title reigns only being about three weeks long. Clearly you've been skipping doses of your happy pills and the art of sarcasm has gone just a tad over your head. The point I was trying to get across was that your reigns aren't respected with any credibility, but anyway, let's ignore all that and examine the point you were so determined to ram down our throats - that both your title reigns added up to six months total. Hmm. Alright, not sure that's the case, but like you say. All the records are right there, right Mike? And since you're quite right to point out my inability to read properly, I also admit I'm no mathematician. So let's check out the archives, and you can add it up for me.
Doc fiddles around on his phone again, holding up the XHF Archives page to the camera:
Hmm.. now, like I said, I'm no mathematician. And I just don't think there's any way you would possibly make that much of an ass of yourself by spending half your promo yacking about how your title reigns were six months long and not three weeks, if in fact they turned out to not actually be six months long at all. Especially knowing, as you said yourself, that you just went back and checked the archives recently. I mean if you did make an ass of yourself like that, that would be pretty embarrassing bro.
Anyway, if I respected you, which I don't, I might leave it there. Let you retain some sort of credibility. But nah, you just seemed so determined to show the world that you're the man who remembers all the facts as they are, and that I'm just making up nasty, untrue things to say. Well, in the interest of fairness, why don't we go back and roll a tape of one of my favourite MGK promos from April 24th, 2009, live on XHF Television.
Oops, wrong part of the promo. Though I must admit I love that part too. You know, the part about Carli cheating on you. Anyway, sorry, let me fast-forward.
Hmm, what could you possibly be referring to there? Ahh yes, that's right Mike, that's right. Since you wanted to get all the bullshit out in the open and talk about the facts, allow me to oblige. See Mike, not only did you make a giant ass of yourself by talking about how you beat up Tara and caused her to have a miscarriage these last few days - when in fact it was Jennie, my other sister who was pregnant and miscarried. You also seemed to miss out one little thing.
That she was pregnant with your child, you stupid fuck.
So yeah man, I'm sure as hell glad the doctor has you on some pretty strong stuff, because it's reasonably clear you have all the brain cells left of a fucking Alzheimer’s patient. All that time you spent laughing and joking about the fact that you exercised some "population control" so as not to further "pollute the gene pool", and hey, as fate would have it, you were actually right for a change! You did stop the gene pool being polluted further!
Just a shame you didn't realize you were talking about your own fucking genes.
You see Mike, this is what you've become. While you babble on in a new promo each and every day about what your going to do to me, you're too far gone on your meds to realize one thing.
That the whole world is laughing at you.
All I had to do was set the trap. All I had to do was poke and prod you with a little bit of bait and wait as you came on live television like the angry, pathetic old man that you are and embarrassed yourself. And you know, if I had any remorse at all, I might actually feel sorry for you. But I don't.
Not one iota.
On the contrary Mike, I couldn't be happier. I'm fucking revelling in seeing what you've become. And here's the kicker. Those few remaining brain cells you have left?
I'm going to get rid of them too.
Just remember kid, when I'm standing over you this Sunday, beating your ass like the stand-in daddy you never had.. you caused this. Fifteen years ago, when you first came after me and my X*Crown Title, you started something that has spanned the test of a time. A rivalry that has won feud of the year, main evented three separate federations, and outlived your ex girlfriend and unborn child. And this Sunday, it finishes for good. Because keeping you down for the ten-count, Mike? That's child's play, just part and parcel of winning the match. But when the referee raises my hand in victory, ushering in a new era for ASW and the Xtreme Hardcore Federation? I'm not going to stop.
Not until every breath is gone from your lifeless body.
He's hiring men and women to wrestle in a pit in his back yard - for his own entertainment. Look for yourself.
Doc loads up the appropriate picture on his phone and holds it to the camera:
Do you see what this business means, Mike? That a man whose body just isn't at the level it needs to be to make the comeback he'd love to make, misses the business that much, that he will do anything just to be around the competition, the violence, the smell of victory - even when it's not his own? But he doesn't just throw these guys in and watch them fight Mike - he feeds, he trains, he motivates. And it made me think about something you've been saying over and over this past week, about respect. You make it sound like I don't respect anyone, not even myself. But you seem to be missing the whole point Mike. It's not that I'm incapable of respect.
It's just that I don't respect you.
But Reeshi? Destruction? Venom? All the way down to Mongo and Rage himself - those are the guys who built this company from scratch before the world even knew you existed.
And for that, they get my respect.
Because we stand here today Mike, not just with a responsibility for our own personal vendettas. We're here for the young men and women like the those I saw training with Rage in 40-degree heat, those fearless competitors who dream of one day coming from nothing and making something of their lives, just as we did. And to do that, they need opportunity, Mike. You see, everything you've ever had in your pathetic existence, right down to that Manhattan Penthouse, is thanks to the legends who paved the way for all that was to come. Without them, the XHF would just have been another regional, backyard wrestling organization with a group of guys taking insane bumps for minimum wage and a band-aid. And now we face a new dawn in professional wrestling - yeah, the Network is still XHF by name, but not the XHF we knew. Not the XHF that sold out 80,000 seater stadiums and toured the globe. It's a different era - and now it's time for All State Pro Wrestling to rise and be recognized as the elite organization in sports entertainment. So in the same way that my legacy was made possible by the men that I respect, knowing that buyrates are through the roof for only the second Showcase in history.. this is about putting ASW and the Network on the map and paving the way for all that's to come.
With you as the sacrificial lamb.
But instead of worrying about that Mike, you seem to have something else on your mind. You seem to be more interested in playing a game of "let's call bullshit". Really? That's the road you want to go down?
Fine by me.
I'm sorry that you took such umbridge to the fact that I joked about your two XHF Title reigns only being about three weeks long. Clearly you've been skipping doses of your happy pills and the art of sarcasm has gone just a tad over your head. The point I was trying to get across was that your reigns aren't respected with any credibility, but anyway, let's ignore all that and examine the point you were so determined to ram down our throats - that both your title reigns added up to six months total. Hmm. Alright, not sure that's the case, but like you say. All the records are right there, right Mike? And since you're quite right to point out my inability to read properly, I also admit I'm no mathematician. So let's check out the archives, and you can add it up for me.
Doc fiddles around on his phone again, holding up the XHF Archives page to the camera:
25--"The Undisputed Icon" MGK d. Chris "MVP" Kanyon at Pyro, 10/2/06
26--"The True Innovator" Rob Arnold d. MGK, Reckless Jack, Congo the Destroyer, Tara Fenix, Dave Holland, Snake and Chris Kanyon in the second fall in the Annihilation Complex at XHF Xtreme Xmas, 12/31/06
27--"The Undisputed Icon" MGK (2) d. Rob Arnold in a Steel Cage match on XHF Shockwave, 2/21/07
28--Reckless Jack d. "The Undisputed Icon" MGK in a 60-Minute Iron Match (4-3) at XHF Night of Champions VI, 3/25/07
26--"The True Innovator" Rob Arnold d. MGK, Reckless Jack, Congo the Destroyer, Tara Fenix, Dave Holland, Snake and Chris Kanyon in the second fall in the Annihilation Complex at XHF Xtreme Xmas, 12/31/06
27--"The Undisputed Icon" MGK (2) d. Rob Arnold in a Steel Cage match on XHF Shockwave, 2/21/07
28--Reckless Jack d. "The Undisputed Icon" MGK in a 60-Minute Iron Match (4-3) at XHF Night of Champions VI, 3/25/07
Hmm.. now, like I said, I'm no mathematician. And I just don't think there's any way you would possibly make that much of an ass of yourself by spending half your promo yacking about how your title reigns were six months long and not three weeks, if in fact they turned out to not actually be six months long at all. Especially knowing, as you said yourself, that you just went back and checked the archives recently. I mean if you did make an ass of yourself like that, that would be pretty embarrassing bro.
Anyway, if I respected you, which I don't, I might leave it there. Let you retain some sort of credibility. But nah, you just seemed so determined to show the world that you're the man who remembers all the facts as they are, and that I'm just making up nasty, untrue things to say. Well, in the interest of fairness, why don't we go back and roll a tape of one of my favourite MGK promos from April 24th, 2009, live on XHF Television.
"I was unfaithful to her for one night, and since you have no problem spilling my secrets and personal life out to the entire world I might as well mention that Carli was unfaithful to me too."
Oops, wrong part of the promo. Though I must admit I love that part too. You know, the part about Carli cheating on you. Anyway, sorry, let me fast-forward.
“You’re so conceited Doc, that you truly see my actions as the murder of a member of your family. It was my child Doc, and no matter what you say or do, you will never feel what I feel, what I’ll probably feel for the rest of my life. Any weaker man would have killed himself from the despair, from the pain, from the remorse. Instead I turn my back on those feelings, because they simply do not suit me. It’s true, if that baby had been born it would have probably been more family to you than me, simply because I can’t even fathom having to call you brother in-law, much less could I imagine being attached to your sister for the rest of my life. I already had a family, but now even that is gone. What do I have left, then?”
Hmm, what could you possibly be referring to there? Ahh yes, that's right Mike, that's right. Since you wanted to get all the bullshit out in the open and talk about the facts, allow me to oblige. See Mike, not only did you make a giant ass of yourself by talking about how you beat up Tara and caused her to have a miscarriage these last few days - when in fact it was Jennie, my other sister who was pregnant and miscarried. You also seemed to miss out one little thing.
That she was pregnant with your child, you stupid fuck.
So yeah man, I'm sure as hell glad the doctor has you on some pretty strong stuff, because it's reasonably clear you have all the brain cells left of a fucking Alzheimer’s patient. All that time you spent laughing and joking about the fact that you exercised some "population control" so as not to further "pollute the gene pool", and hey, as fate would have it, you were actually right for a change! You did stop the gene pool being polluted further!
Just a shame you didn't realize you were talking about your own fucking genes.
You see Mike, this is what you've become. While you babble on in a new promo each and every day about what your going to do to me, you're too far gone on your meds to realize one thing.
That the whole world is laughing at you.
All I had to do was set the trap. All I had to do was poke and prod you with a little bit of bait and wait as you came on live television like the angry, pathetic old man that you are and embarrassed yourself. And you know, if I had any remorse at all, I might actually feel sorry for you. But I don't.
Not one iota.
On the contrary Mike, I couldn't be happier. I'm fucking revelling in seeing what you've become. And here's the kicker. Those few remaining brain cells you have left?
I'm going to get rid of them too.
Just remember kid, when I'm standing over you this Sunday, beating your ass like the stand-in daddy you never had.. you caused this. Fifteen years ago, when you first came after me and my X*Crown Title, you started something that has spanned the test of a time. A rivalry that has won feud of the year, main evented three separate federations, and outlived your ex girlfriend and unborn child. And this Sunday, it finishes for good. Because keeping you down for the ten-count, Mike? That's child's play, just part and parcel of winning the match. But when the referee raises my hand in victory, ushering in a new era for ASW and the Xtreme Hardcore Federation? I'm not going to stop.
Not until every breath is gone from your lifeless body.
