The Scales I'm In [FML NoC Part 1]
Jul 25, 2023 11:30:14 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 4 more like this
Post by flo on Jul 25, 2023 11:30:14 GMT -5
Attempting the appearance of an alligator – the luchador’s mask has an embossed pattern that simulates the scales of a reptile. The mouth area has been built up, extended to resemble a toothy snout – though the dimensions make it impossible to tell which member of the Crocodylia order the visage actually represents. The end result is an ambiguous image that resembles Hanna-Barbera’s Wally Gator to some, and a 1967 Star Trek Gorn to others. Most troubling are the eyes – clearly set too far apart, with cartoon pupils fixed in directions that make meeting his vision physically uncomfortable. The toothy mouth suggests a constant state of menacing joy that is easy to assign its bearer, but when focusing on the upper half of the face – there is a grotesque blankness. Not unlike the eyes of a chicken, the mask’s expression is impossible to read. What is going on beneath the family friendly front? Nothing good.
It is this unsettling gaze with which Florida Man now stares down the camera in a tight close-up on his mug.
Florida Man:
Alright, alright, alright – XHF – we is coming up on Night of Champions, and your mother lovin' Florida Maaaaaaang somehow managed to sneak past Esmur at Overheated to join the X*Crown match. Not sure how I pulled that one off, but I should probably buy me a lottery ticket ‘cause my luck is through the diggity dang roof! For those of you just joining us, I is the Sunshine State Stud!
...I always feel that introductions are important at these here global events. A lot of new peepers on all of us, and the shows are basically samplers...
"Oh, you only follow Ultimate Wrestling? Makes sense. But check out this upcoming Network event, and you can see all the great UWO stars mix it up with other talents you might be interested in."
"Don’t you want to see how the UWO would handle the stars of WCW?"
"Funny you should say that, because Mantaur called Belial a Moo."
"He’s one of the WCW guys who is taking on your UWO heroes at the upcoming Network event."
"Solid points, but if you like what you see – maybe you’ll supplement your UWO viewing in the future with a WCW show."
"...You can’t miss him."
Yeah, there is always going to be some posturing, with feds wanting to one up each other - no doubt. ....But there is room for positive interactions. You don't have to be a Florida Man to know, that starts with actually trying to win over the other guy’s fans. Drop the dang assumption that everyone knows who you is and what you does...... instead put yourself out there for a brand spanking new audience. Like I’m sure that Takashi Shinobu is an amazing wrestler, but I have no idea who he is – because I don’t follow whatever federation Shinobu performs at. If Shinobu lets me know a little bit about himself... and... the Pride Fighter Wrestling affiliate, I’m guessing he's from? I’m way more likely to pull for him at Cruiserfest, and hire that hero.
I’m just siggity saying, seems like a good idea for me to let y’all know the basics about your friendly neighbourhood Flor-i-duh MANG. Just in case y'all don’t follow J-Rok, and are unfamiliar with my work. ...OR if you do follow J-RoK and are unfamiliar with my work... because I’m never there.
Looking at the five people in the main event, it’s rather difficult for the casual fan to get a grasp on the situation. You have our minimalist champ, Foxie – who has a million words for why his opponents are garbage, but doesn’t want to use many of them. Foxie doesn’t play well with others, primarily circling around his henchmen, to the point where I hear he’s up for honorary Guardian membership for most self-involved world build. On the other end of the effort spectrum you have the incredibly longwinded Awesome, who hopes that by taking up twice as much bandwidth with his verbal diarrhea, he will convince everyone he has a third crown in him. Older than dirt, Awesome has decades of history to pull from... never thought I’d need twenty guidebooks, ten codebooks, and a farmers almanac to figure out the plot to a Shit Storm flick – but here we is. BEEF is another old hand, that saw bears eating people back in GUNS, and thought “if no one watches GUNS, I can take this gimmick to DTF and rise above the opener” – dude literally wants to eat the rest of us. To figure out why, might I suggest diving a decade back in the old Network shows to last time he was relevant? Last, and certainly least, we got Sam Sawyer – who has nothing to say in the ring, so instead spends their interviews getting physical with no names like they might someday clue in. Coming to us from Tap Out, a federation that counts both Cross Recoba and PEONA amongst its ranks – it is no small feat that Sam Sawyer is more self-absorbed than the company they keep.
Most XHF fans will find themselves wondering - who are these four? Just awful, horrible people? They do speak for themselves. All I can tell you about is your boi...
A Florida native, this here gator that walks like a man spent a solid decade workin' the panhandle circuit, before I got around to plying my trade at the XHF. I made my Network spiggity splash at Cruiserfest 2021 – nah, this ain’t my two-year anniversary, the brass were less masochistic back then, and wisely ran it in September that year. I made a decent showing – had some nice exchanges with Greg Adkins, but it wasn’t the best venue to debut a new look – got lost in a sea of stunners care of Donzig, before Fox took the win. That was at the height of everyone thinking Bloodied Fox’s junior run was the New Coke, and that New Coke was somehow good. My child friendly antics weren’t on arrogant Foxie’s radar that night, but his strap was on mine. For those unfamiliar, the JHC tours the affiliates – new federation each month, which makes rematches or continued rivalries almost impossible... at least for the rest of the Network. Me? Quit is but one of the many words I don’t know the meaning of...
So for the subsequent months, wherever that belt went – your boi followed. Whether it was racing bicycles in CAR, or playing dang hockey in FIRESIDE, F-L-O-R-I-D-A was on the prowl, and finding loopholes to join in the fun. Despite the fact that I was clearly cold blooded and hot to trot, the untouchable Foxie looked past me as a comedy act. Some things never change. Only he wasn’t laughing when I ended his “legendary” run... but then, humour is subjective.
On the merits of being a global champ, I picked up a contract with J-RoK, whose horniness for death matches appeals to my more violent tendencies, plus I’ve always wanted to work in the East. Only downside to having a dang ocean between the home office and where the rest of the action goes down? Very little administrative support. So the J-Rokers didn’t really have my back on tour, and I soon fell victim to the office antics of NLW. Yeah, I may have brought down Foxie – but in building his Babe Ruth myth, I became Roger Maris – the dude who everyone wanted to chop the dick off of for daring to beat the Babe. So I was hung out to dry for a very Next Level Feel Good Christmas, quick turnover for the strap. Certainly made it look like I just got lucky against Foxie...
Rolling with the punches, I formed the highly successful team of American Pussy with my boi, Charles. Charles is the mascot for Sky Force, and as their den mother was on sabbatical – I took those cat ladies under my wing. As the leader of Sky Force, I was instrumental in winning Charles the JHC championship, and also mentored Hayley Grimes to the coveted Visual Kei strap. Before Grimes met me, her posterior was not large enough to nonsensically defeat a vastly superior athlete in Dylan Black – but after I introduced her to out of this world moon waffles, the rest is history! Unfortunately the chicks of Sky Force were so incredibly needy, and helpless, that they held back my own singles accomplishments. Sure, I held the YTA championship for much of 2022 – the longest dang reign of any J-RoK belt holder that year, but part of me thinks that is just because dang management forgot the strap existed.
I felt more like a manager, driving Sky Force to greatness, but rarely getting opportunities to beat people up. As a result, I decided to try my luck at GUNS Fight Club. Turns out a have a pretty nasty right hook – unfortunately just as I was starting to prove that I wasn’t a fluke, wouldn’t you know it, I exposed Kira Izumi’s glass jaw. If I was having problems getting J-RoK matches BEFORE fight club, making the booker my bitch definitely didn’t help matters. The few times I was used, Kira stuck me with degrading stipulations involving putting fireworks in rectums. Kira lost that too, but I didn’t want to be there...
All it did was make me look like a joke.
Now, I don’t mind being a joke. I like jokes. Ain't nothing wrong with that. Jokes are funny. Making people laugh, entertaining folks? Great! End of the day, I’m just here to have a good time, and I hopes y’all are having one too.
Problem is... even if the audience is on my wavelength, the Network family as a whole – doesn’t seem to go in for my funny business. Shame that. Means that even though my time to make you smile is limited, my employers at J-RoK don’t choose to take advantage of it. Sawyer doesn’t bring TOW the crown? Their name will still be on the marquee the following month. Steve Awesome fails to take the X to Hardkore World? Pretty sure Hardkore World don’t know what the X is anyway, main reason they sent Steve. BEEF doesn’t get it for DTF? Congratulations, the dozen feds that have been around for more than a month won’t be sore about the training facility’s ascension! Nah, I’m the only participant in the main event, where if I don’t take home the goods – you never see me again. See Sky Force’s Nausicaä Suzuki came back from here little break, and was handed the keys to the company. Rather than thank me for keeping Sky Force in the air, she seems to resent all the accomplishments I got them, and is trying to make me disappear. No belt, and I might as well be the invisible man. ...And I want to be seen, they just no longer see any value in me.... if they ever did.
So my introduction became a history lesson. Why? Because I’ve been here for two years, and eighteen months of that have been crawling through the mud trying to be seen. Every indignity, every dang slight, weave a narrative that is coming to a head... it has all been building to Night of Champions – and the fact that Foxie is the guy I have to beat to turn it all around? That’s just gravy.
That is me. That is where I is at.
I know y’all see my name and just assume I’m a one dimensional jackass whose entire gimmick is based on mocking people from the great state of Florida who may have made headline news for embarrassing traumas... but I hope this conversation has shown you that I am more than that.
My name is a point of pride, not ridicule.
Those that still aren’t convinced, I will let my ring work finish this story. At Night of Champions, I look forward to showing y'all that I am more than a quirky underdog... but a legitimate contender.
With that promise, the gator snout nods, carrying itself with a certain dignity. Even though the wily luchador is an unreliable narrator, most viewers start to think that he might actually have multi-facets and be more than a mean joke. Having carved out this common ground for understanding, the image starts to fade out...
Florida Man:
...Also you may be wondering why I am naked.
Stop fade.
SMASH ZOOM! The camera pulls out of the close-up to find that other than his mask, Florida Man is wearing his birthday suit. God damn it, we thought he was taking this seriously but he tricked us! Just when he was starting to get relatable. It should be noted that the XHF Network censors out Florida Man’s junk with a picture of Copycat’s face. ...which actually makes it worse.
Florida Man:
It all started at the comic convention-
SMASH CUT! Footage switches to inside the convention hall on DINOSAUR BONES’ RIVER OF FEAR SHOW! Here a number of XHF personalities are participating in a Romulan Ale drinking contest.
Florida Man (flipping off Trekker while downing a pint):
Wanna see my bird of prey – YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO BUY ME DINNER FIRST!
Fiercely competitive, Florida Man and Paramount+’s Star Trekker see who can do more Romulan Ale keg flips.
OUT OF CONTROL DRUNKEN CIRCLE WIPE! The next morning.
The sun rises on the 7-Eleven located just before the i75 turnoff for Bonita Springs. This is the location that has a sad looking Ultimate Warrior chained to a bike rack just outside the window. Warrior’s little bell DINGS away with each snore. The store’s clerk, Nametag Melvin, wanders the parking lot sweeping up cigarette butts. The rest of the world appears to still be asleep, leaving the birds to chirp.
As Melvin collects some empties for the recycling bin, the camera pans up to the 7-Eleven’s roof. Amongst a mess of wires, vents, and discarded clothing, there is a tarp – which seems to cover a human form. As the material ruffles, the form rolls over – revealing the shapely figure to be the Star Trekker, who apparently spent the evening under the stars. Slowly waking up, she doesn’t appear to remember much after her twentieth Romulan Ale – and is quite taken aback when her eyes meet those of her rooftop companion. Both yell in shocked terror.
“NOOOOOOOO!!!”
Their unison scream startles the nearby wildlife, sending pigeon and rat alike scurrying to safer pastures. Trekker pulls the tarp tight avoiding nudity, while Florida Man maintains his dignity with a model Bird of Prey he picked up at the convention. Strange bedfellows, the revelation of their sleeping arrangement has the hated rivals seeing red.
Trekker:
WHAT DID YOU DO?
Florida Man (incensed):
ME? I blacked out on Romulan Ale, which you seemed to be a little too familiar with for a federation officer. What did you slip me, lady?
Trekker:
You better not have implanted me with an egg!
Florida Man (holding head in agony):
Why on earth would I do that?
Trekker:
I know how you Gorns reproduce!
Florida Man:
FOR THE LAST TIME, I’M NOT A GORN!
Trekker:
YOU SURE LOOK LIKE ONE!
Florida Man (trying not to throw up):
Get over yourself! I’m the injured party here. This ain’t Mass Effect; I have a reputation as a gentleman to maintain you, you, – Kirk!
Trekker:
I’m not Kirk, if anyone here is a Kirk – it’s you!
Florida Man:
Me thinks the captain protests too muc-
Grabbing a fistful of blanket, Trekker yanks it to cover herself further – which also trips Florida Man. He reaches out to try to steady his balance, which she misinterprets as more sexual harassment. Using her phaser – like a purse – she hits the incredibly hung...over gator-faced luchador on the temple – sending him falling off the 711.
Florida Man:
NOTAGAAAAAAAAAAA-
Foot catching in some cables, Florida Man plummets twenty feet – only for the wires to pull tight right before his skull can shatter on the concrete. Though still sporting his gator mask, the luchador is otherwise in the buff – which makes the bungee cord bouncing slightly undignified. Fortunately the Network has a Copycat image on standby to obscure genitals, while making the proceedings infinitely more disturbing.
SMASH CUT. We return to the original image of Florida Man naked.
Florida Man:
Which brings us to now.
CAMERA FLIP! The image rolls over to reveal that Florida Man is still dangling upside down outside the entrance of the 711. The commotion has brought out the various drunken reprobates that Florida Man considers his entourage. Ultimate Warrior is the only helpful one, and he’s locked to the bike rack.
Nametag Melvin:
Are you alright Mister Man?
Florida Man:
I think I’m going to be sick.
Nametag Melvin:
Uh, one of those wires is actually dangerous. Hang on, I’m going to go up there and untangle you.
Before the clerk can leave, he stops.
Nametag Melvin:
Please don’t steal anything while I’m gone.
Florida Man:
We’re friends, Nametag Melvin – would I do you like that buddy?
Nametag Melvin:
Many times.
Florida Man (trying to punch him but too far away and upside down):
I can’t feel my dang foot!
A person is suffering! Extremely empathetic, and wanting to think the best of his fellow man, the clerk rushes off to help. The second Melvin is out of sight, the Sunshine State Stud spins around and whispers to his colleague Gazoo, the green painted dwarf...
Florida Man:
...Fireworks...
Nodding, Gazoo heads into the store to five-finger discount as many roman candles as he can get his hands on. As the automatic door swings open, Florida Man notices the store phone unattended.
Florida Man:
Might as well... I’m just hanging around...
Shifting his body from left to right, Florida Man uses the wires around his leg to swing back and forth – until he finally swings hard enough that he gets through the front door! Then swings away. The second swing in, FML actually catches the counter. Using the hard surface to pull himself further into the store, Florida Man is able to shift his body into an almost upright position – if still incredibly painful looking. Picking up the receiver... the gator-faced luchador punches a few dozen buttons.
Nametag Melvin (voice on roof):
Excuse me miss...
Florida Man (into phone):
Hello Charles, are you there? It’s your brother from hopefully another mother, FLORIDA MAAANG. Pick up if you can hear me, pal. I met this woman and I think she could be the one, but I need your advice...
Nametag Melvin (yelling down):
MISTER MAN – ARE YOU USING THE PHONE AGAIN?
Florida Man (yelling back):
JUST CALLING THE FIRE DEPARTMENT FOR HELP. (back) Sorry about that Charles, some people can’t respect boundaries – so anyway, she’s a little crazy, definitely has babies on the brain, keeps suggesting I’ve knocked her up... but in a come hither way. You know the type.
Nametag Melvin (yelling down):
AS LONG AS IT ISN’T TO THE ORIENT AGAIN, THE MANAGER TAKES THOSE CHARGES OUT OF MY PAY.
Florida Man (getting annoyed as he yells up):
THEN I GUESS YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO ASK FOR MORE HOURS, NAMETAG MELVIN! (back) Ugh, where was I Charles. Charles?
Ran out of time for the full message. Well, might as well continue with a second message. Maybe he’ll actually pick up this time? After punching in enough numbers to get to Japan, Florida Man waits on the receiver. Good at multitasking, FML pulls out some Gold Rush Limited Scratch-off tickets and starts going to town on them while he waits.
Florida Man:
Hello Charles?
Nametag Melvin (entering store just in time to hit his breaking point):
How could you!
How many hours of abuse did he put up with, just to give up his wages to cover phone bills? Finally losing his cool, Nametag Melvin pulls the cord – ending the call. We’ll never know if Florida Man finally got through to Charles this lucky thousandth time.
Florida Man:
Nametag Melvin, don’t be such a Melvin.
Nametag Melvin:
NO. You are the Melvin! You! I try so hard to be understanding! I tell myself it is not your fault, we just have cultural differences – but this is it!
Looking down at the counter, Florida Man’s cartoon eyes would light up if they weren’t sewn on decorations. Scanning the Gold Rush ticket, it seems your friendly neighbourhood humpin' Floridian just won a cool million on the scratch-off! Sadly, before he can pay for the ticket to claim his prize, Melvin has pried our hero free of the counter.
Florida Man:
WAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIITTTTTTT-
Cord around his ankle quite twisted, Florida Man is sent spinning as he swings back outside the doors.
Nametag Melvin:
You are banned!
Florida Man:
You can’t do this, I have diplomatic immuni- HA HA!
The gator can’t help but let out a hardy laugh as he begins to swing back into the door! Manifest destiny!
THUMP
...Only Melvin turns off the automation. Florida Man hits the closed doors HARD. The doors don't break, but the blow does little to help Flo's nausea. The swinging stops, but the spinning continues.
Nametag Melvin (through glass):
BANNED!
Is this rock bottom?
So what if most of Melvin’s wages were going towards phone bills against his will? A small price to pay if it meant an American Pussy reunion. Not to mention the countless hours of mirth that Florida Man brought to the clerks’ life. Why Nametag Melvin should have been paying Florida Man! ...Melvin would see that. Any minute, those glass doors would swing back open, and the clerk would apologize for his uncool behaviour.
The doors slide open.
Florida Man:
I knew you couldn't stay mad at your boi-
Nametag Melvin (looking down):
You too. Banned!
With pants full of roman candles for a future scheme, Gazoo tries to threaten the clerk with one of his stolen fireworks. If only he hadn’t busted open a sparkler. Gazoo tries to write dirty words in the sparklers after glow, but they fade before their hateful nature can be revealed. F- U- S- H- C- O- C- U- K- E- R- gibberish.
Florida Man (reaching out at the winning scratch ticket on the counter):
At least let me-
The door slides shut again.
Florida Man (looking proudly at the clerk):
Our little man is finally standing up for himself.
Gazoo (nodding):
Touching. ...We should break his legs.
Florida Man (still rotating):
Planning too, just the minute I stop spinning.
A hand firmly grabs Florida Man’s shoulder, stopping his rotations, and then turns him around to see the vision of loveliness that is Walk of Shame Star Trekker.
Florida Man (trying to sound seductive like Barry White):
Why hellooooooo.
SMACK.
The slap leaves a red mark on Florida Man’s cheek, which should be physically impossible, since he’s wearing a green mask.
Trekker:
Kirk!
Having gotten the last word in on this intergalactic louse, Paramount+’s Star Trekker walks away from the 711 in a dignified manner. Part of her uniform might be on backwards. The force of the slap also sends Florida spinning in the opposite direction, his stomach is making sounds like a Gorn planted eggs in him.
Florida Man (trying to dismiss her as crazy):
Picard fans, amiright?
Gazoo and Ultimate Warrior exchange knowing looks.
Gazoo:
He's like the Pete Davidson of the XHF.
Ultimate Warrior:
Ding.
Florida Man (twirling away):
I think I’m gonna be si... WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
Gazoo dives out of the way, as the upside down spinning Florida Man throws up twenty gallons of Romulan Ale.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
A car pulls up in the middle of the horrific scene-
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
A well-dressed man hops out of the car with a large camera. Flash photography doesn’t help to ease Florida Man’s suffering.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
Photographer (handing Gazoo his card):
Bert Browns, photojournalist with the Tampa Bay Times. Your friend might be up for a Guinness World Record.
Gazoo (pointing at the river of sick):
That isn't Guinness.
Bert Browns:
Could have fooled me.
AAAAAAaaaaa...
As the last gallon slowly drops out of him, Florida Man looks dead. Taking another shot, Bert Browns checks the composition, before climbing back into his vehicle and taking off. The scene is so horrific that even the furious Melvin comes out to see if Florida Man is still alive.
Gazoo:
This is just like that scene in Stand By Me.
aaaaaaaaaaaa....
Nametag Melvin:
Oh, Gordie’s story with Lardass in the pie eating contest?
aaaaaaaaa...
Gazoo:
No, when they tell you River Phoenix died – but you forget its a character, and just think of the actor, and all the viewers just want to give up on life.
aaaah...
Ultimate Warrior:
DING.
When the vomiting finally ends, Florida Man just hangs there, motionless, not unlike a corpse. A violent effigy to be hung over the 711 as a stern reminder that Romulan ale isn't to be trifled with.
Ultimate Warrior:
DING?
After dangling there for a minute, Florida Man finally breathes.
Florida Man:
...huh... huh... was that a... photographer...
His friend’s silence is all he needs to know.
Florida Man:
Well... that... huh... will be... the cover... of the... Times... again...
Gazoo:
It might be a slow news day.
Florida Man (sighing):
FUCK! I’m trying to win the X*Crown to show J-RoK that I am the kind of athlete they can confidently BOOK on their shows and expect professional results. Fox’s strap is supposed to improve my dang image. HOW IN THE HELL AM I GOING TO WIN OVER THAT ICE QUEEN NAUSICAÄ AT J-ROK, WHEN I CAN’T EVEN CONVINCE THE REST OF THE NETWORK – WHO ARE NOT MY SKY FORCE LEADERSHIP RIVALS - THAT I CAN BE TRUSTED WITH THE CROWN?
Nametag Melvin:
If it was my crown, I’d be very concerned about it showing up on kijiji...
Florida Man:
YOU’D BE RIGHT TOO, NAMETAG MELVIN, BUT THAT OBSERVATION REALLY ISN’T HELPING RIGHT NOW! NO! THIS IS IT! NO MORE! THE FUN? I AM DONE BEING THE BUTT OF JOKES! THEY DON’T LIKE HUMOUR – WELL I’M NOT LAUGHING.
Gazoo:
What are we-
Florida Man:
I NEED TO CLEAN UP MY DANG BRAND. This is it! No more Florida Man antics on the front of the Tampa Bay Times. I need to show them that I can be a respectable champion. That Florida Man is a professional they can trust... I just don’t want to spend a lot of money.
Gazoo (thinks for a minute):
...I’m registered as a professional image consultant.
Col. Hannibal (figment of Florida Man’s wild imagination):
I love it when a plan comes together!
Florida Man (nodding):
Gaz, you’re beautiful!
And so, Florida Man has taken the bold first step to turning his image around, for respectability, love and the X*Crown-
SNAP.
The cords tear apart. Florida Man only drops four feet, and a pool of Romulan Ale spew breaks his fall.
...new image it is.
After a sufficient amount of time has elapsed to be concerned that he’s dead, Gazoo pokes the body with his sparkler.
Florida Man (not moving):
...I landed on my keys.
Nametag Melvin (checking pockets):
Those are my ke- (looking at the horrible sight) ...you can keep them.
Gazoo:
Could be worse, Flo – at least you’re not the one stuck mopping this up.
The Epcot Mafia laughs.
Everyone but Melvin.
At least it ends on a happy note for everyone other than the long suffering clerk... that is until the reporter drives past again, taking another snap shot.
Florida Man (still not moving):
...Damn it.
It is this unsettling gaze with which Florida Man now stares down the camera in a tight close-up on his mug.
Florida Man:
Alright, alright, alright – XHF – we is coming up on Night of Champions, and your mother lovin' Florida Maaaaaaang somehow managed to sneak past Esmur at Overheated to join the X*Crown match. Not sure how I pulled that one off, but I should probably buy me a lottery ticket ‘cause my luck is through the diggity dang roof! For those of you just joining us, I is the Sunshine State Stud!
...I always feel that introductions are important at these here global events. A lot of new peepers on all of us, and the shows are basically samplers...
"Oh, you only follow Ultimate Wrestling? Makes sense. But check out this upcoming Network event, and you can see all the great UWO stars mix it up with other talents you might be interested in."
"That’s cool."
"Don’t you want to see how the UWO would handle the stars of WCW?"
"Sure would, I think they’d kick their asses."
"Funny you should say that, because Mantaur called Belial a Moo."
"Belial's not a moo, HE's the moo! What the hell is a Mantaur?"
"He’s one of the WCW guys who is taking on your UWO heroes at the upcoming Network event."
"Oh, well for talking trash about Belial, I think that manwhatever is a douche, probably has mad cow disease – and UWO will kick his ass!"
"Solid points, but if you like what you see – maybe you’ll supplement your UWO viewing in the future with a WCW show."
"With that dick Mantaur, I doubt it! ...Which one is he again?"
"...You can’t miss him."
Yeah, there is always going to be some posturing, with feds wanting to one up each other - no doubt. ....But there is room for positive interactions. You don't have to be a Florida Man to know, that starts with actually trying to win over the other guy’s fans. Drop the dang assumption that everyone knows who you is and what you does...... instead put yourself out there for a brand spanking new audience. Like I’m sure that Takashi Shinobu is an amazing wrestler, but I have no idea who he is – because I don’t follow whatever federation Shinobu performs at. If Shinobu lets me know a little bit about himself... and... the Pride Fighter Wrestling affiliate, I’m guessing he's from? I’m way more likely to pull for him at Cruiserfest, and hire that hero.
I’m just siggity saying, seems like a good idea for me to let y’all know the basics about your friendly neighbourhood Flor-i-duh MANG. Just in case y'all don’t follow J-Rok, and are unfamiliar with my work. ...OR if you do follow J-RoK and are unfamiliar with my work... because I’m never there.
Looking at the five people in the main event, it’s rather difficult for the casual fan to get a grasp on the situation. You have our minimalist champ, Foxie – who has a million words for why his opponents are garbage, but doesn’t want to use many of them. Foxie doesn’t play well with others, primarily circling around his henchmen, to the point where I hear he’s up for honorary Guardian membership for most self-involved world build. On the other end of the effort spectrum you have the incredibly longwinded Awesome, who hopes that by taking up twice as much bandwidth with his verbal diarrhea, he will convince everyone he has a third crown in him. Older than dirt, Awesome has decades of history to pull from... never thought I’d need twenty guidebooks, ten codebooks, and a farmers almanac to figure out the plot to a Shit Storm flick – but here we is. BEEF is another old hand, that saw bears eating people back in GUNS, and thought “if no one watches GUNS, I can take this gimmick to DTF and rise above the opener” – dude literally wants to eat the rest of us. To figure out why, might I suggest diving a decade back in the old Network shows to last time he was relevant? Last, and certainly least, we got Sam Sawyer – who has nothing to say in the ring, so instead spends their interviews getting physical with no names like they might someday clue in. Coming to us from Tap Out, a federation that counts both Cross Recoba and PEONA amongst its ranks – it is no small feat that Sam Sawyer is more self-absorbed than the company they keep.
Most XHF fans will find themselves wondering - who are these four? Just awful, horrible people? They do speak for themselves. All I can tell you about is your boi...
A Florida native, this here gator that walks like a man spent a solid decade workin' the panhandle circuit, before I got around to plying my trade at the XHF. I made my Network spiggity splash at Cruiserfest 2021 – nah, this ain’t my two-year anniversary, the brass were less masochistic back then, and wisely ran it in September that year. I made a decent showing – had some nice exchanges with Greg Adkins, but it wasn’t the best venue to debut a new look – got lost in a sea of stunners care of Donzig, before Fox took the win. That was at the height of everyone thinking Bloodied Fox’s junior run was the New Coke, and that New Coke was somehow good. My child friendly antics weren’t on arrogant Foxie’s radar that night, but his strap was on mine. For those unfamiliar, the JHC tours the affiliates – new federation each month, which makes rematches or continued rivalries almost impossible... at least for the rest of the Network. Me? Quit is but one of the many words I don’t know the meaning of...
So for the subsequent months, wherever that belt went – your boi followed. Whether it was racing bicycles in CAR, or playing dang hockey in FIRESIDE, F-L-O-R-I-D-A was on the prowl, and finding loopholes to join in the fun. Despite the fact that I was clearly cold blooded and hot to trot, the untouchable Foxie looked past me as a comedy act. Some things never change. Only he wasn’t laughing when I ended his “legendary” run... but then, humour is subjective.
On the merits of being a global champ, I picked up a contract with J-RoK, whose horniness for death matches appeals to my more violent tendencies, plus I’ve always wanted to work in the East. Only downside to having a dang ocean between the home office and where the rest of the action goes down? Very little administrative support. So the J-Rokers didn’t really have my back on tour, and I soon fell victim to the office antics of NLW. Yeah, I may have brought down Foxie – but in building his Babe Ruth myth, I became Roger Maris – the dude who everyone wanted to chop the dick off of for daring to beat the Babe. So I was hung out to dry for a very Next Level Feel Good Christmas, quick turnover for the strap. Certainly made it look like I just got lucky against Foxie...
Rolling with the punches, I formed the highly successful team of American Pussy with my boi, Charles. Charles is the mascot for Sky Force, and as their den mother was on sabbatical – I took those cat ladies under my wing. As the leader of Sky Force, I was instrumental in winning Charles the JHC championship, and also mentored Hayley Grimes to the coveted Visual Kei strap. Before Grimes met me, her posterior was not large enough to nonsensically defeat a vastly superior athlete in Dylan Black – but after I introduced her to out of this world moon waffles, the rest is history! Unfortunately the chicks of Sky Force were so incredibly needy, and helpless, that they held back my own singles accomplishments. Sure, I held the YTA championship for much of 2022 – the longest dang reign of any J-RoK belt holder that year, but part of me thinks that is just because dang management forgot the strap existed.
I felt more like a manager, driving Sky Force to greatness, but rarely getting opportunities to beat people up. As a result, I decided to try my luck at GUNS Fight Club. Turns out a have a pretty nasty right hook – unfortunately just as I was starting to prove that I wasn’t a fluke, wouldn’t you know it, I exposed Kira Izumi’s glass jaw. If I was having problems getting J-RoK matches BEFORE fight club, making the booker my bitch definitely didn’t help matters. The few times I was used, Kira stuck me with degrading stipulations involving putting fireworks in rectums. Kira lost that too, but I didn’t want to be there...
All it did was make me look like a joke.
Now, I don’t mind being a joke. I like jokes. Ain't nothing wrong with that. Jokes are funny. Making people laugh, entertaining folks? Great! End of the day, I’m just here to have a good time, and I hopes y’all are having one too.
Problem is... even if the audience is on my wavelength, the Network family as a whole – doesn’t seem to go in for my funny business. Shame that. Means that even though my time to make you smile is limited, my employers at J-RoK don’t choose to take advantage of it. Sawyer doesn’t bring TOW the crown? Their name will still be on the marquee the following month. Steve Awesome fails to take the X to Hardkore World? Pretty sure Hardkore World don’t know what the X is anyway, main reason they sent Steve. BEEF doesn’t get it for DTF? Congratulations, the dozen feds that have been around for more than a month won’t be sore about the training facility’s ascension! Nah, I’m the only participant in the main event, where if I don’t take home the goods – you never see me again. See Sky Force’s Nausicaä Suzuki came back from here little break, and was handed the keys to the company. Rather than thank me for keeping Sky Force in the air, she seems to resent all the accomplishments I got them, and is trying to make me disappear. No belt, and I might as well be the invisible man. ...And I want to be seen, they just no longer see any value in me.... if they ever did.
So my introduction became a history lesson. Why? Because I’ve been here for two years, and eighteen months of that have been crawling through the mud trying to be seen. Every indignity, every dang slight, weave a narrative that is coming to a head... it has all been building to Night of Champions – and the fact that Foxie is the guy I have to beat to turn it all around? That’s just gravy.
That is me. That is where I is at.
I know y’all see my name and just assume I’m a one dimensional jackass whose entire gimmick is based on mocking people from the great state of Florida who may have made headline news for embarrassing traumas... but I hope this conversation has shown you that I am more than that.
My name is a point of pride, not ridicule.
Those that still aren’t convinced, I will let my ring work finish this story. At Night of Champions, I look forward to showing y'all that I am more than a quirky underdog... but a legitimate contender.
With that promise, the gator snout nods, carrying itself with a certain dignity. Even though the wily luchador is an unreliable narrator, most viewers start to think that he might actually have multi-facets and be more than a mean joke. Having carved out this common ground for understanding, the image starts to fade out...
Florida Man:
...Also you may be wondering why I am naked.
Stop fade.
SMASH ZOOM! The camera pulls out of the close-up to find that other than his mask, Florida Man is wearing his birthday suit. God damn it, we thought he was taking this seriously but he tricked us! Just when he was starting to get relatable. It should be noted that the XHF Network censors out Florida Man’s junk with a picture of Copycat’s face. ...which actually makes it worse.
Florida Man:
It all started at the comic convention-
SMASH CUT! Footage switches to inside the convention hall on DINOSAUR BONES’ RIVER OF FEAR SHOW! Here a number of XHF personalities are participating in a Romulan Ale drinking contest.
Florida Man (flipping off Trekker while downing a pint):
Wanna see my bird of prey – YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO BUY ME DINNER FIRST!
Fiercely competitive, Florida Man and Paramount+’s Star Trekker see who can do more Romulan Ale keg flips.
OUT OF CONTROL DRUNKEN CIRCLE WIPE! The next morning.
The sun rises on the 7-Eleven located just before the i75 turnoff for Bonita Springs. This is the location that has a sad looking Ultimate Warrior chained to a bike rack just outside the window. Warrior’s little bell DINGS away with each snore. The store’s clerk, Nametag Melvin, wanders the parking lot sweeping up cigarette butts. The rest of the world appears to still be asleep, leaving the birds to chirp.
As Melvin collects some empties for the recycling bin, the camera pans up to the 7-Eleven’s roof. Amongst a mess of wires, vents, and discarded clothing, there is a tarp – which seems to cover a human form. As the material ruffles, the form rolls over – revealing the shapely figure to be the Star Trekker, who apparently spent the evening under the stars. Slowly waking up, she doesn’t appear to remember much after her twentieth Romulan Ale – and is quite taken aback when her eyes meet those of her rooftop companion. Both yell in shocked terror.
“NOOOOOOOO!!!”
Their unison scream startles the nearby wildlife, sending pigeon and rat alike scurrying to safer pastures. Trekker pulls the tarp tight avoiding nudity, while Florida Man maintains his dignity with a model Bird of Prey he picked up at the convention. Strange bedfellows, the revelation of their sleeping arrangement has the hated rivals seeing red.
Trekker:
WHAT DID YOU DO?
Florida Man (incensed):
ME? I blacked out on Romulan Ale, which you seemed to be a little too familiar with for a federation officer. What did you slip me, lady?
Trekker:
You better not have implanted me with an egg!
Florida Man (holding head in agony):
Why on earth would I do that?
Trekker:
I know how you Gorns reproduce!
Florida Man:
FOR THE LAST TIME, I’M NOT A GORN!
Trekker:
YOU SURE LOOK LIKE ONE!
Florida Man (trying not to throw up):
Get over yourself! I’m the injured party here. This ain’t Mass Effect; I have a reputation as a gentleman to maintain you, you, – Kirk!
Trekker:
I’m not Kirk, if anyone here is a Kirk – it’s you!
Florida Man:
Me thinks the captain protests too muc-
Grabbing a fistful of blanket, Trekker yanks it to cover herself further – which also trips Florida Man. He reaches out to try to steady his balance, which she misinterprets as more sexual harassment. Using her phaser – like a purse – she hits the incredibly hung...over gator-faced luchador on the temple – sending him falling off the 711.
Florida Man:
NOTAGAAAAAAAAAAA-
Foot catching in some cables, Florida Man plummets twenty feet – only for the wires to pull tight right before his skull can shatter on the concrete. Though still sporting his gator mask, the luchador is otherwise in the buff – which makes the bungee cord bouncing slightly undignified. Fortunately the Network has a Copycat image on standby to obscure genitals, while making the proceedings infinitely more disturbing.
SMASH CUT. We return to the original image of Florida Man naked.
Florida Man:
Which brings us to now.
CAMERA FLIP! The image rolls over to reveal that Florida Man is still dangling upside down outside the entrance of the 711. The commotion has brought out the various drunken reprobates that Florida Man considers his entourage. Ultimate Warrior is the only helpful one, and he’s locked to the bike rack.
Nametag Melvin:
Are you alright Mister Man?
Florida Man:
I think I’m going to be sick.
Nametag Melvin:
Uh, one of those wires is actually dangerous. Hang on, I’m going to go up there and untangle you.
Before the clerk can leave, he stops.
Nametag Melvin:
Please don’t steal anything while I’m gone.
Florida Man:
We’re friends, Nametag Melvin – would I do you like that buddy?
Nametag Melvin:
Many times.
Florida Man (trying to punch him but too far away and upside down):
I can’t feel my dang foot!
A person is suffering! Extremely empathetic, and wanting to think the best of his fellow man, the clerk rushes off to help. The second Melvin is out of sight, the Sunshine State Stud spins around and whispers to his colleague Gazoo, the green painted dwarf...
Florida Man:
...Fireworks...
Nodding, Gazoo heads into the store to five-finger discount as many roman candles as he can get his hands on. As the automatic door swings open, Florida Man notices the store phone unattended.
Florida Man:
Might as well... I’m just hanging around...
Shifting his body from left to right, Florida Man uses the wires around his leg to swing back and forth – until he finally swings hard enough that he gets through the front door! Then swings away. The second swing in, FML actually catches the counter. Using the hard surface to pull himself further into the store, Florida Man is able to shift his body into an almost upright position – if still incredibly painful looking. Picking up the receiver... the gator-faced luchador punches a few dozen buttons.
Nametag Melvin (voice on roof):
Excuse me miss...
Florida Man (into phone):
Hello Charles, are you there? It’s your brother from hopefully another mother, FLORIDA MAAANG. Pick up if you can hear me, pal. I met this woman and I think she could be the one, but I need your advice...
Nametag Melvin (yelling down):
MISTER MAN – ARE YOU USING THE PHONE AGAIN?
Florida Man (yelling back):
JUST CALLING THE FIRE DEPARTMENT FOR HELP. (back) Sorry about that Charles, some people can’t respect boundaries – so anyway, she’s a little crazy, definitely has babies on the brain, keeps suggesting I’ve knocked her up... but in a come hither way. You know the type.
Nametag Melvin (yelling down):
AS LONG AS IT ISN’T TO THE ORIENT AGAIN, THE MANAGER TAKES THOSE CHARGES OUT OF MY PAY.
Florida Man (getting annoyed as he yells up):
THEN I GUESS YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO ASK FOR MORE HOURS, NAMETAG MELVIN! (back) Ugh, where was I Charles. Charles?
Ran out of time for the full message. Well, might as well continue with a second message. Maybe he’ll actually pick up this time? After punching in enough numbers to get to Japan, Florida Man waits on the receiver. Good at multitasking, FML pulls out some Gold Rush Limited Scratch-off tickets and starts going to town on them while he waits.
Florida Man:
Hello Charles?
Nametag Melvin (entering store just in time to hit his breaking point):
How could you!
How many hours of abuse did he put up with, just to give up his wages to cover phone bills? Finally losing his cool, Nametag Melvin pulls the cord – ending the call. We’ll never know if Florida Man finally got through to Charles this lucky thousandth time.
Florida Man:
Nametag Melvin, don’t be such a Melvin.
Nametag Melvin:
NO. You are the Melvin! You! I try so hard to be understanding! I tell myself it is not your fault, we just have cultural differences – but this is it!
Looking down at the counter, Florida Man’s cartoon eyes would light up if they weren’t sewn on decorations. Scanning the Gold Rush ticket, it seems your friendly neighbourhood humpin' Floridian just won a cool million on the scratch-off! Sadly, before he can pay for the ticket to claim his prize, Melvin has pried our hero free of the counter.
Florida Man:
WAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIITTTTTTT-
Cord around his ankle quite twisted, Florida Man is sent spinning as he swings back outside the doors.
Nametag Melvin:
You are banned!
Florida Man:
You can’t do this, I have diplomatic immuni- HA HA!
The gator can’t help but let out a hardy laugh as he begins to swing back into the door! Manifest destiny!
THUMP
...Only Melvin turns off the automation. Florida Man hits the closed doors HARD. The doors don't break, but the blow does little to help Flo's nausea. The swinging stops, but the spinning continues.
Nametag Melvin (through glass):
BANNED!
Is this rock bottom?
So what if most of Melvin’s wages were going towards phone bills against his will? A small price to pay if it meant an American Pussy reunion. Not to mention the countless hours of mirth that Florida Man brought to the clerks’ life. Why Nametag Melvin should have been paying Florida Man! ...Melvin would see that. Any minute, those glass doors would swing back open, and the clerk would apologize for his uncool behaviour.
The doors slide open.
Florida Man:
I knew you couldn't stay mad at your boi-
Nametag Melvin (looking down):
You too. Banned!
With pants full of roman candles for a future scheme, Gazoo tries to threaten the clerk with one of his stolen fireworks. If only he hadn’t busted open a sparkler. Gazoo tries to write dirty words in the sparklers after glow, but they fade before their hateful nature can be revealed. F- U- S- H- C- O- C- U- K- E- R- gibberish.
Florida Man (reaching out at the winning scratch ticket on the counter):
At least let me-
The door slides shut again.
Florida Man (looking proudly at the clerk):
Our little man is finally standing up for himself.
Gazoo (nodding):
Touching. ...We should break his legs.
Florida Man (still rotating):
Planning too, just the minute I stop spinning.
A hand firmly grabs Florida Man’s shoulder, stopping his rotations, and then turns him around to see the vision of loveliness that is Walk of Shame Star Trekker.
Florida Man (trying to sound seductive like Barry White):
Why hellooooooo.
SMACK.
The slap leaves a red mark on Florida Man’s cheek, which should be physically impossible, since he’s wearing a green mask.
Trekker:
Kirk!
Having gotten the last word in on this intergalactic louse, Paramount+’s Star Trekker walks away from the 711 in a dignified manner. Part of her uniform might be on backwards. The force of the slap also sends Florida spinning in the opposite direction, his stomach is making sounds like a Gorn planted eggs in him.
Florida Man (trying to dismiss her as crazy):
Picard fans, amiright?
Gazoo and Ultimate Warrior exchange knowing looks.
Gazoo:
He's like the Pete Davidson of the XHF.
Ultimate Warrior:
Ding.
Florida Man (twirling away):
I think I’m gonna be si... WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
Gazoo dives out of the way, as the upside down spinning Florida Man throws up twenty gallons of Romulan Ale.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
A car pulls up in the middle of the horrific scene-
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
A well-dressed man hops out of the car with a large camera. Flash photography doesn’t help to ease Florida Man’s suffering.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
Photographer (handing Gazoo his card):
Bert Browns, photojournalist with the Tampa Bay Times. Your friend might be up for a Guinness World Record.
Gazoo (pointing at the river of sick):
That isn't Guinness.
Bert Browns:
Could have fooled me.
AAAAAAaaaaa...
As the last gallon slowly drops out of him, Florida Man looks dead. Taking another shot, Bert Browns checks the composition, before climbing back into his vehicle and taking off. The scene is so horrific that even the furious Melvin comes out to see if Florida Man is still alive.
Gazoo:
This is just like that scene in Stand By Me.
aaaaaaaaaaaa....
Nametag Melvin:
Oh, Gordie’s story with Lardass in the pie eating contest?
aaaaaaaaa...
Gazoo:
No, when they tell you River Phoenix died – but you forget its a character, and just think of the actor, and all the viewers just want to give up on life.
aaaah...
Ultimate Warrior:
DING.
When the vomiting finally ends, Florida Man just hangs there, motionless, not unlike a corpse. A violent effigy to be hung over the 711 as a stern reminder that Romulan ale isn't to be trifled with.
Ultimate Warrior:
DING?
After dangling there for a minute, Florida Man finally breathes.
Florida Man:
...huh... huh... was that a... photographer...
His friend’s silence is all he needs to know.
Florida Man:
Well... that... huh... will be... the cover... of the... Times... again...
Gazoo:
It might be a slow news day.
Florida Man (sighing):
FUCK! I’m trying to win the X*Crown to show J-RoK that I am the kind of athlete they can confidently BOOK on their shows and expect professional results. Fox’s strap is supposed to improve my dang image. HOW IN THE HELL AM I GOING TO WIN OVER THAT ICE QUEEN NAUSICAÄ AT J-ROK, WHEN I CAN’T EVEN CONVINCE THE REST OF THE NETWORK – WHO ARE NOT MY SKY FORCE LEADERSHIP RIVALS - THAT I CAN BE TRUSTED WITH THE CROWN?
Nametag Melvin:
If it was my crown, I’d be very concerned about it showing up on kijiji...
Florida Man:
YOU’D BE RIGHT TOO, NAMETAG MELVIN, BUT THAT OBSERVATION REALLY ISN’T HELPING RIGHT NOW! NO! THIS IS IT! NO MORE! THE FUN? I AM DONE BEING THE BUTT OF JOKES! THEY DON’T LIKE HUMOUR – WELL I’M NOT LAUGHING.
Gazoo:
What are we-
Florida Man:
I NEED TO CLEAN UP MY DANG BRAND. This is it! No more Florida Man antics on the front of the Tampa Bay Times. I need to show them that I can be a respectable champion. That Florida Man is a professional they can trust... I just don’t want to spend a lot of money.
Gazoo (thinks for a minute):
...I’m registered as a professional image consultant.
Col. Hannibal (figment of Florida Man’s wild imagination):
I love it when a plan comes together!
Florida Man (nodding):
Gaz, you’re beautiful!
And so, Florida Man has taken the bold first step to turning his image around, for respectability, love and the X*Crown-
SNAP.
The cords tear apart. Florida Man only drops four feet, and a pool of Romulan Ale spew breaks his fall.
...new image it is.
After a sufficient amount of time has elapsed to be concerned that he’s dead, Gazoo pokes the body with his sparkler.
Florida Man (not moving):
...I landed on my keys.
Nametag Melvin (checking pockets):
Those are my ke- (looking at the horrible sight) ...you can keep them.
Gazoo:
Could be worse, Flo – at least you’re not the one stuck mopping this up.
The Epcot Mafia laughs.
Everyone but Melvin.
At least it ends on a happy note for everyone other than the long suffering clerk... that is until the reporter drives past again, taking another snap shot.
Florida Man (still not moving):
...Damn it.