Post by Vodka Fizz on Dec 24, 2021 23:08:49 GMT -5
The scene opens in the usual room in Vodka’s workshop, where the giant stuffed alligator is still present, though now the imitation of Voddy’s hat and glasses has been replaced with a massive Santa hat and a big, bushy white beard. The golf cart parts are still present too, though they have been piled neatly in a corner, and appear to have multiplied in the interim. Otherwise the room has been dressed up for Christmas, and Vodka and his three closest cohorts are settled on various pieces of furniture, talking and laughing, as a fireplace crackles on the massive television.
Vodka: …And then the tiger bites a chunk out of my ass. So I ended up spending Christmas in a hospital in Phnom Penh. Still one of the better ones, though.
The laughter dies down, and the four men look solemn for a moment before Vodka claps his hands.
Vodka: Tough room. Anyway, since I got an early flight, we should get this party wrapping up, which means it’s time for presents.
Murdock, Community Manager Jared, and Slapp all produce colorfully-wrapped packages to place on the table in front of them. Vodka dashes off and returns a moment later with a hastily- adorned parcel of his own, tossing it onto the table.
Vodka: Alright, who wants to go first?
Murdock picks up his parcel.
Murdock: I’ll kick this shit off, bitch. I got my boy Slapp Tits. Here you go, bitch.
Murdock hands his parcel to Slapp, who accepts the parcel, and tears off the paper, revealing the contents to be a two-liter bottle purporting to be full of Faygo Eggnog. Slapp looks at the bottle, horrified, then looks back at Murdock who is positively beaming.
Slapp: I… don’t know what to say.
Murdock waves him off.
Murdock: Your face says enough, bitch. Only the best for my boy.
Slapp quirks a painted eyebrow at the erstwhile therapist, but smiles nonetheless.
Slapp: We might have a different idea of the best, but thanks, Murdock.
The two juggalos exchange a handshake and a brief hug.
Slapp: Guess that means I’m next, right?
There is a general sound of affirmation from those assembled, so Slapp hands his parcel to Community Manager Jared.
Slapp: Jared, we’re not really close so I wasn’t sure what to get you. But I hope you like it.
Community Manager Jared eyes Slapp for a moment, then opens the parcel, revealing that it contains an Apple Watch. Jared looks at it wide eyes, then at Slapp, then back at the watch before he tears up. He hugs Slapp, who looks uncomfortable, and then the impossibly lanky community manager looks pleadingly at Vodka.
Vodka: Yeah, down the hall. First door on the right.
Community Manager Jared opens his mouth to speak, but Vodka interrupts him.
Vodka: Take your time, we’ll continue without you.
Community Manager Jared nods and dashes off. Meanwhile, Vodka picks up his comparably ugly parcel and tosses it to Murdock.
Vodka: Merry Christmas, buddy. I hope you like it; I made it myself.
Murdock opens the package, revealing its contents to be an ugly Christmas sweater version of the juggalo’s basketball jersey. It’s clearly homemade, with some visible mistakes, but Murdock strips off his jersey and replaces it with the sweater.
Murdock: Yooooooo! This is dope, bitch! And you knitted it yourself? The other guys are gonna be jealous as fuck! Thanks bitch.
Murdock hugs Vodka, who returns the hug awkwardly. The only parcel left on the table is somewhat larger than the others, and marked as being for Vodka; Community Manager jared returns from the bathroom, still snuffling back tears, but he picks up the parcel and wordlessly hands it to Vodka.
Vodka: Awesome, I get the biggest one. Hm? You all put in on this?
All three men nod, and Vodka rolls his eyes with a grin.
Vodka: Kind of defeats the purpose of secret Santa, doesn’t it?
Nobody answers, but Vodka rips open the package anyway, revealing a custom Spark title belt. The plates have been blinged out with rhinestones and other gem accents, and the belt has been changed to match Vodka’s ring gear. He holds it in his hands, goggling at it for a moment before looking up at his cohorts.
Vodka: What… You guys, this is awesome!
Murdock and Slapp both grin, but it is Community Manager Jared who offers a fist bump to Vodka.
Vodka: You know it, bro. Man, I’m tearing up here.
Slapp offers a fist bump next.
Slapp: It was originally going to be a custom X*Crown, but we had the plates changed.
Vodka: This is wild, man! Gonna look great holding this above my head after I beat Felix and Donzig. The only shame is going to be when I trade it in for a shot at the World Title.
Murdock offers a fist bump next.
Murdock: Now get out there and prove to us we didn’t waste the money, bitch. Put them motherfuckers in the mat, homie.
Vodka nods and fastens the belt around his waist, admiring it in a conveniently placed mirror. The trio share a toast, and the scene cuts to black.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Voice: And so, you’re thinking, so there he is. Stuck between a man who wants to be a monster and a monster who pretends to be a man.
There is a moment before a light clicks on, revealing a fairly empty room, and Vodka Fizz enters from behind the camera.
Vodka: I don’t think there are many of you out there who would consider my position enviable. Up until the last Inferno, this was supposed to be a match between me and Felix to make good on the match Donzig’s goon squad fucked up. And then, an incompetent referee and a dirty trick by Donzig turned this into a three-way dance. And it seems like there are a lot of people who think that I’d be unhappy with this development.
Vodka chuckles, steepling his hands in front of his face to cover a widening grin.
Vodka: I’m supposed to be afraid, right? I’m supposed to be concerned. I’m supposed to feel like the odds are stacked against me. I’m supposed to howl at the moon and lament that it’s unfair that I have to defend my title against two men instead of one. Most of all, I’m supposed to be afraid because one of those men has a demon inside of him and the other is desperate to try and make people believe that he does.
Vodka shakes his head, shaking a finger at the camera.
Vodka: Guess that’s unlucky for the demons and the wannabe monsters in the world, because all I feel going into Good Riddance is excitement.[/b] And yeah, maybe that’s cause I’m fucked up in the head. I think that’s been pretty well established thus far, what with the bad relationship with my family, and the desperate, dogged way I fought to become a wrestler because wrestling was the only thing that never let me down.
Vodka reaches off screen and comes back with the Spark title, which he drapes over his shoulder.
Vodka: Neither of you know what this really means to me. Sure people pretend. People assume. But people don’t know because those people aren’t me. You want to know what his belt means to me?
Vodka takes the belt off of his shoulder and looks at it. The light reflecting off the center plate lights up his face, and he looks mesmerized.
Vodka: This title, the Spark title, is the first that an industry that I love, an industry I have dedicated my entire adult life to chasing, an industry that means more to me than anything else has given back to me. I fought, and I fought, and I fought, and I clawed, and I scratched, and I bled, and I gave up everything else so I could be a part of this business. And I’ll be honest, even when Caffrey offered me a contract? I figured I was in for more of the same, tossed out in front of whatever schmuck that the bookers were hot on but I’d keep being the guy that was there to fail. Make the other guy look good, right? But keep on being trash. But at some point, that started to change. At some point, things started to go my way. I started to win. I had matches against the Fireside champion and the X*Crown champion. Somewhere in there I won the Spark championship. Somehow I’d gone from being the guy that was sacrificed to make other people look good to being the guy that other people were sacrificed to to make me look better. But in all that, what meaning did I find in being the Spark champion?
Vodka shakes his head, and he tosses the belt back toward the camera and, presumably, his gym bag.
Vodka: Nothing. The only thing that the Spark title gave me was a reason for everybody to come after me and tell me how much more they deserve it than I do. How they’re better than I am, and they’re going to prove it. How divine right or providence or whatever fuckin’ koolaid they’re drinking back stage has them convinced that they’re some kind of hypsersonic death god. Most recently it’s got me in a program with a wannabe warrior who’s possessed by a demon and a tin-foil wrapped dipshit who thinks he’s the boogeyman.
Vodka laughs again, stretching and beginning to pace.
Vodka: So we’ll start with the guy that was supposed to be my opponent. Felix. The guy I told he couldn’t beat me if he was afraid to be a monster. And that still holds just as true now. You think you’re doing something noble by holding back the monster. But all you’re doing is proving that you don’t take this shit seriously. You want me to look at you and think you’re a gladiator when you don’t want to lay everything out on the table? All that does is prove you’re a coward.
Vodka spits onto the floor, then grins at the camera.
Vodka: I’m not afraid of your yokai, Felix. I’m not afraid of you. You put up a good fight once.[/b] Thanks to our erstwhile opponent, we didn’t get to see how that turned out, but I think you and I both know that with all your fuss and bluster that you would have come up short. You and me still have a score to settle, though, and I’m going to take the opportunity at Good Riddance to once and for all prove to you that fifty percent of Felix isn’t enough to beat Vodka Fizz. It certainly wasn't enough to beat Donzig, was it? Even if he won by cheating, if you were as good as you like to pretend you are you woulda put him down, and you wouldn't have been left whining about how red mist doesn’t look like blood.
Vodka grins and winks at the camera, flashing finger guns before they turn into a double-bird.
Vodka: And speaking of our erstwhile opponent, we get to Donzig. A man who has been as doggedly single-minded in his pursuit of getting me to acknowledge him as a threat with as much success as I had getting a job as a wrestler in my first decade posting videos on YouTube. You want to talk about a schmuck who’s caught up in their own hype? Man. We go from one dude who’s hiding from his demon to another who wishes so hard that he was the monster under my bed that I swear to christ I’m tempted to check, just in case.
Vodka snorts and shakes his head.
Vodka: So Donzig, here we are. You finally get your chance to prove that you can tear the respect out of me you seem to think you deserve. You get the chance to prove that you’re my better, that you can strip away something from me that you think you deserve more than I do. You want me to fear you, right? Like that tool Gavin Drake, whose raison d’etre has become proving he can exist without you when he’s obsessed with you? Or your clown car full of dipshits you sicced on me and Felix a couple of shows back in some misguided attempt to make me think you’re a threat?
Vodka walks away from the camera now, and he stretches before turning back.
Vodka: You think I haven’t been paying attention, Donzig? You think you’re proving something by threatening everyone other than me? You think you’re going to scare me by threatening me. Nuh-uh, fucko. All you have done in your infinite wisdom is get me pissed off. I said it before and I’ll say it again, Donnie. You wanna dress up in your cosplay armor and pretend you’re the boogeyman, that’s your business. But I’ve stood in that ring across from all kind of monsters and demons and as bad as you want to pretend you are in that same realm you are nothing more than a pale imitation. You’re a petulant child playing at being a badass, and you proved that the moment you threatened anyone other than me to try and get in my head.
Vodka chuckles again, stalking back toward the camera.
Vodka: You’re pathetic, Donzig. The really disappointing part is that if you stopped huffing your own fumes for a few minutes you might actually come off as a competent wrestler. Unfortunately, it seems like it’s too late for that. So let me reiterate one more time; I don’t fear you. I don’t respect you. I don’t like you. And I can state categorically that you’re not going to beat me at Good Riddance, because no matter how beaten, bloodied, and broken I am, you’re not man enough to finish the job. And I’ve got enough monster in me to keep going til I do.
Vodka flashed a middle finger at the camera again, then reaches over to shut it off.
Vodka: …And then the tiger bites a chunk out of my ass. So I ended up spending Christmas in a hospital in Phnom Penh. Still one of the better ones, though.
The laughter dies down, and the four men look solemn for a moment before Vodka claps his hands.
Vodka: Tough room. Anyway, since I got an early flight, we should get this party wrapping up, which means it’s time for presents.
Murdock, Community Manager Jared, and Slapp all produce colorfully-wrapped packages to place on the table in front of them. Vodka dashes off and returns a moment later with a hastily- adorned parcel of his own, tossing it onto the table.
Vodka: Alright, who wants to go first?
Murdock picks up his parcel.
Murdock: I’ll kick this shit off, bitch. I got my boy Slapp Tits. Here you go, bitch.
Murdock hands his parcel to Slapp, who accepts the parcel, and tears off the paper, revealing the contents to be a two-liter bottle purporting to be full of Faygo Eggnog. Slapp looks at the bottle, horrified, then looks back at Murdock who is positively beaming.
Slapp: I… don’t know what to say.
Murdock waves him off.
Murdock: Your face says enough, bitch. Only the best for my boy.
Slapp quirks a painted eyebrow at the erstwhile therapist, but smiles nonetheless.
Slapp: We might have a different idea of the best, but thanks, Murdock.
The two juggalos exchange a handshake and a brief hug.
Slapp: Guess that means I’m next, right?
There is a general sound of affirmation from those assembled, so Slapp hands his parcel to Community Manager Jared.
Slapp: Jared, we’re not really close so I wasn’t sure what to get you. But I hope you like it.
Community Manager Jared eyes Slapp for a moment, then opens the parcel, revealing that it contains an Apple Watch. Jared looks at it wide eyes, then at Slapp, then back at the watch before he tears up. He hugs Slapp, who looks uncomfortable, and then the impossibly lanky community manager looks pleadingly at Vodka.
Vodka: Yeah, down the hall. First door on the right.
Community Manager Jared opens his mouth to speak, but Vodka interrupts him.
Vodka: Take your time, we’ll continue without you.
Community Manager Jared nods and dashes off. Meanwhile, Vodka picks up his comparably ugly parcel and tosses it to Murdock.
Vodka: Merry Christmas, buddy. I hope you like it; I made it myself.
Murdock opens the package, revealing its contents to be an ugly Christmas sweater version of the juggalo’s basketball jersey. It’s clearly homemade, with some visible mistakes, but Murdock strips off his jersey and replaces it with the sweater.
Murdock: Yooooooo! This is dope, bitch! And you knitted it yourself? The other guys are gonna be jealous as fuck! Thanks bitch.
Murdock hugs Vodka, who returns the hug awkwardly. The only parcel left on the table is somewhat larger than the others, and marked as being for Vodka; Community Manager jared returns from the bathroom, still snuffling back tears, but he picks up the parcel and wordlessly hands it to Vodka.
Vodka: Awesome, I get the biggest one. Hm? You all put in on this?
All three men nod, and Vodka rolls his eyes with a grin.
Vodka: Kind of defeats the purpose of secret Santa, doesn’t it?
Nobody answers, but Vodka rips open the package anyway, revealing a custom Spark title belt. The plates have been blinged out with rhinestones and other gem accents, and the belt has been changed to match Vodka’s ring gear. He holds it in his hands, goggling at it for a moment before looking up at his cohorts.
Vodka: What… You guys, this is awesome!
Murdock and Slapp both grin, but it is Community Manager Jared who offers a fist bump to Vodka.
Vodka: You know it, bro. Man, I’m tearing up here.
Slapp offers a fist bump next.
Slapp: It was originally going to be a custom X*Crown, but we had the plates changed.
Vodka: This is wild, man! Gonna look great holding this above my head after I beat Felix and Donzig. The only shame is going to be when I trade it in for a shot at the World Title.
Murdock offers a fist bump next.
Murdock: Now get out there and prove to us we didn’t waste the money, bitch. Put them motherfuckers in the mat, homie.
Vodka nods and fastens the belt around his waist, admiring it in a conveniently placed mirror. The trio share a toast, and the scene cuts to black.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Voice: And so, you’re thinking, so there he is. Stuck between a man who wants to be a monster and a monster who pretends to be a man.
There is a moment before a light clicks on, revealing a fairly empty room, and Vodka Fizz enters from behind the camera.
Vodka: I don’t think there are many of you out there who would consider my position enviable. Up until the last Inferno, this was supposed to be a match between me and Felix to make good on the match Donzig’s goon squad fucked up. And then, an incompetent referee and a dirty trick by Donzig turned this into a three-way dance. And it seems like there are a lot of people who think that I’d be unhappy with this development.
Vodka chuckles, steepling his hands in front of his face to cover a widening grin.
Vodka: I’m supposed to be afraid, right? I’m supposed to be concerned. I’m supposed to feel like the odds are stacked against me. I’m supposed to howl at the moon and lament that it’s unfair that I have to defend my title against two men instead of one. Most of all, I’m supposed to be afraid because one of those men has a demon inside of him and the other is desperate to try and make people believe that he does.
Vodka shakes his head, shaking a finger at the camera.
Vodka: Guess that’s unlucky for the demons and the wannabe monsters in the world, because all I feel going into Good Riddance is excitement.[/b] And yeah, maybe that’s cause I’m fucked up in the head. I think that’s been pretty well established thus far, what with the bad relationship with my family, and the desperate, dogged way I fought to become a wrestler because wrestling was the only thing that never let me down.
Vodka reaches off screen and comes back with the Spark title, which he drapes over his shoulder.
Vodka: Neither of you know what this really means to me. Sure people pretend. People assume. But people don’t know because those people aren’t me. You want to know what his belt means to me?
Vodka takes the belt off of his shoulder and looks at it. The light reflecting off the center plate lights up his face, and he looks mesmerized.
Vodka: This title, the Spark title, is the first that an industry that I love, an industry I have dedicated my entire adult life to chasing, an industry that means more to me than anything else has given back to me. I fought, and I fought, and I fought, and I clawed, and I scratched, and I bled, and I gave up everything else so I could be a part of this business. And I’ll be honest, even when Caffrey offered me a contract? I figured I was in for more of the same, tossed out in front of whatever schmuck that the bookers were hot on but I’d keep being the guy that was there to fail. Make the other guy look good, right? But keep on being trash. But at some point, that started to change. At some point, things started to go my way. I started to win. I had matches against the Fireside champion and the X*Crown champion. Somewhere in there I won the Spark championship. Somehow I’d gone from being the guy that was sacrificed to make other people look good to being the guy that other people were sacrificed to to make me look better. But in all that, what meaning did I find in being the Spark champion?
Vodka shakes his head, and he tosses the belt back toward the camera and, presumably, his gym bag.
Vodka: Nothing. The only thing that the Spark title gave me was a reason for everybody to come after me and tell me how much more they deserve it than I do. How they’re better than I am, and they’re going to prove it. How divine right or providence or whatever fuckin’ koolaid they’re drinking back stage has them convinced that they’re some kind of hypsersonic death god. Most recently it’s got me in a program with a wannabe warrior who’s possessed by a demon and a tin-foil wrapped dipshit who thinks he’s the boogeyman.
Vodka laughs again, stretching and beginning to pace.
Vodka: So we’ll start with the guy that was supposed to be my opponent. Felix. The guy I told he couldn’t beat me if he was afraid to be a monster. And that still holds just as true now. You think you’re doing something noble by holding back the monster. But all you’re doing is proving that you don’t take this shit seriously. You want me to look at you and think you’re a gladiator when you don’t want to lay everything out on the table? All that does is prove you’re a coward.
Vodka spits onto the floor, then grins at the camera.
Vodka: I’m not afraid of your yokai, Felix. I’m not afraid of you. You put up a good fight once.[/b] Thanks to our erstwhile opponent, we didn’t get to see how that turned out, but I think you and I both know that with all your fuss and bluster that you would have come up short. You and me still have a score to settle, though, and I’m going to take the opportunity at Good Riddance to once and for all prove to you that fifty percent of Felix isn’t enough to beat Vodka Fizz. It certainly wasn't enough to beat Donzig, was it? Even if he won by cheating, if you were as good as you like to pretend you are you woulda put him down, and you wouldn't have been left whining about how red mist doesn’t look like blood.
Vodka grins and winks at the camera, flashing finger guns before they turn into a double-bird.
Vodka: And speaking of our erstwhile opponent, we get to Donzig. A man who has been as doggedly single-minded in his pursuit of getting me to acknowledge him as a threat with as much success as I had getting a job as a wrestler in my first decade posting videos on YouTube. You want to talk about a schmuck who’s caught up in their own hype? Man. We go from one dude who’s hiding from his demon to another who wishes so hard that he was the monster under my bed that I swear to christ I’m tempted to check, just in case.
Vodka snorts and shakes his head.
Vodka: So Donzig, here we are. You finally get your chance to prove that you can tear the respect out of me you seem to think you deserve. You get the chance to prove that you’re my better, that you can strip away something from me that you think you deserve more than I do. You want me to fear you, right? Like that tool Gavin Drake, whose raison d’etre has become proving he can exist without you when he’s obsessed with you? Or your clown car full of dipshits you sicced on me and Felix a couple of shows back in some misguided attempt to make me think you’re a threat?
Vodka walks away from the camera now, and he stretches before turning back.
Vodka: You think I haven’t been paying attention, Donzig? You think you’re proving something by threatening everyone other than me? You think you’re going to scare me by threatening me. Nuh-uh, fucko. All you have done in your infinite wisdom is get me pissed off. I said it before and I’ll say it again, Donnie. You wanna dress up in your cosplay armor and pretend you’re the boogeyman, that’s your business. But I’ve stood in that ring across from all kind of monsters and demons and as bad as you want to pretend you are in that same realm you are nothing more than a pale imitation. You’re a petulant child playing at being a badass, and you proved that the moment you threatened anyone other than me to try and get in my head.
Vodka chuckles again, stalking back toward the camera.
Vodka: You’re pathetic, Donzig. The really disappointing part is that if you stopped huffing your own fumes for a few minutes you might actually come off as a competent wrestler. Unfortunately, it seems like it’s too late for that. So let me reiterate one more time; I don’t fear you. I don’t respect you. I don’t like you. And I can state categorically that you’re not going to beat me at Good Riddance, because no matter how beaten, bloodied, and broken I am, you’re not man enough to finish the job. And I’ve got enough monster in me to keep going til I do.
Vodka flashed a middle finger at the camera again, then reaches over to shut it off.