AGGRESSION 52: KOTC - Layne Winters vs. Michael Bastard
- Thread starter DBrunkGXW
- Start date
LQJT86C
Where's my money, Chad?
(FADEIN: Standing in front of an EPW backdrop is LAYNE WINTERS, wearing jeans and a "NO HOPE LEFT" t-shirt)
WINTERS: You know, call me old fashioned, but I'm the type of guy who, when he walks into Arby's to order some roast beef sandwiches, he wants those sandwiches to look just like they do in the picture. Stacked and loaded up on a little hamburger bun, mayonnaise slopped all over the top...all mouth watering and sh*t.
And call me naive, but when I order a championship boxing match billed as "fight of the decade," I expect to see the g*ddamn fight of the decade.
And when I take a woman back to my place, I expect not to see a giant dick fall out her pants when she drops 'em to the ground.
See, I'm a simple guy like that, Logan. So you could imagine what I'd expect from a man who runs around here calling himself Michael BASTARD. A man who YOU bill as some sick, twisted, sociopathic son of a b*tch. An ANIMAL, an AGGRESSIVE ANIMAL! Hell, he comes out to "Psycho Killer," he MUST be crazy, right?
(Winters shakes his head)
Nope. He ain't crazy. He ain't a bastard. He ain't even particularly aggressive.
There was one thing about him that DID hold up, Logan. 'Cause what I did was, I went over and logged my ass onto the EPW website, the one they ain't paying me to plug, and I clicked on that little link that said MIKE BASTARD. Boom, I'm there, I scroll down... "Aggressive" Nope. "Sociopath" Nope. "Relentless" Nope. "All Secrets Known" by Fake Alice in Chains. Wait, I thought it was "Psycho Killer"? The f*ck?
"Feared" NOPE.
"228" BULLSH*T I heard he weighed in at 227.
Then I get to the bottom. Says somethin' about his story unfolding at Aggression 50 and BINGO...there it is! Finally, something that ain't a giant load of crap. "Michael Bastard's story will unfold at Aggression 50." And it did, it really did. Now I've gotta be honest, I thought it was gonna be some stupid sh*t where it's revealed that Logan is really his father, he ain't really a Bastard, and the smoke monster comes out and we find out who shot J.R. and on and on. But that's not the story that unfolded. Instead, it went something like this...
Once upon a time, in a place called EPW, at a show called Aggression 50...
LAYNE WINTERS HIT A GUY CALLED BASTARD WITH A G*DDAMN FOLDING CHAIR, BEAT THE HELL OUT OF LOGAN WITH HIS OWN F*CKING CANE, BROKE IT, BEAT AARON DISHON WITH IT, SPIT ON HIM, SHOVED MY FOOT UP OMEGA'S ASS, WENT TO THE RING AND CHALLENGED HIM AND EVERYONE THE F*CK ELSE TO A GAUNTLET MATCH...TWO OF THEM SHOWED UP...NEITHER OF 'EM WERE NAMED 'BASTARD'...AND THEN I WON THE F*CKING MATCH!
(Takes a deep breath)
The end. That's your story, Mike. For all your pumped up bullsh*t hype, you're nothing but a cheap plastic toy that I p*ssed on and threw over the fence with no repercussions. Your credibility went out the window after Logan b*tched about Dan Ryan not punishing me for attacking you. And why the f*ck would he? This isn't profession KNITTING, it's professional WRESTLING. Logan's calling you the "Craziest Bastard in Professional Wrestling," and I've gotta say...you wouldn't EVEN be the craziest bastard in professional knitting.
You had your chance. You could've went after me, could've righted the wrong, could've shown me and everybody else just how tough you are...but instead, your daddy wrote a letter to the principal.
What, you think beating Stalker in his own match was IMPRESSIVE? Piss on that, it was jack SH*T. One guy pretending to be the craziest bastard in wrestling, versus another guy imitating the first guy pretending to be the craziest bastard in wrestling. I feel like...since both of you fought, the winner should take the loser's powers and the other should retire...because having one bullsh*t garbage wrestler trying to convince us how g*ddamn crazy he is was enough without adding another. We got Stalker 1 and Stalker 2, now Erik Black thinks he's Stalker 3, and before you know it...this place is nothing but Layne Winters, Sean Stevens and his personal tomato can from Salem, 4 Cameron Cruises, 3 Stalkers, 2 Shawn Harts (I'm looking at you Sean Edmunds!), an Heir of Wrestling, and Anarky...aww, F*CK, that makes FOUR Stalkers! AND FUSENSHOFF! Sh*t, 4.5 Stalkers. And that's just what we need here in EPW...4.5 people talking about how titles don't mean anything.
I may be the New School around here, but g*ddamn if I don't miss the old monikers like "Jericoholic Anonymous." I mean, God knows what the f*ck a Jericho is, but at least it's slightly an inch better than Stalker & Family. You guys are like those holiday decoration pieces, where you open up the father to reveal the mother, open up the mother to reveal the son, to reveal the daughter, etc until you've got a set of six. And the next one gets smaller and sh*tter than the last.
Michael Bastard? No. You're not a bastard. I'm a bastard. I'm the one driving heads into the ground, not you. I'm the one who took a sh*t on the entire locker room and walked out to my car that night without looking over my shoulder. I'm the one who's rookie year in this company was the longest TV title reign in EPW history. And 365 days from now, they'll be talking about the World Heavyweight Champion, Layne Winters, and how it all started when he took the crown at King of the Cage. You'll be nothing but a little footnote that says you were my first match, and THAT will be your high water mark, Michael.
But don't let me talk you down. No need to answer a challenge, or prove your mettle backstage. The date's set, the cage is coming down, and you'll be locked in there with truly, TRULY the most dangerous man in EPW. The man who's proving it EVERY-DAY and counting. The man who WILL take the King's crown, and you know exactly who the f*ck I'm talking about. You wanna show people what a bad man you are? You're gonna do it against me.
Thank your stars you got me in the first round, Michael. If you didn't lose, you would've met me eventually and been eliminated. Getting beat first round may be humiliating, but at least I can save you some time.
(FADEOUT)
WINTERS: You know, call me old fashioned, but I'm the type of guy who, when he walks into Arby's to order some roast beef sandwiches, he wants those sandwiches to look just like they do in the picture. Stacked and loaded up on a little hamburger bun, mayonnaise slopped all over the top...all mouth watering and sh*t.
And call me naive, but when I order a championship boxing match billed as "fight of the decade," I expect to see the g*ddamn fight of the decade.
And when I take a woman back to my place, I expect not to see a giant dick fall out her pants when she drops 'em to the ground.
See, I'm a simple guy like that, Logan. So you could imagine what I'd expect from a man who runs around here calling himself Michael BASTARD. A man who YOU bill as some sick, twisted, sociopathic son of a b*tch. An ANIMAL, an AGGRESSIVE ANIMAL! Hell, he comes out to "Psycho Killer," he MUST be crazy, right?
(Winters shakes his head)
Nope. He ain't crazy. He ain't a bastard. He ain't even particularly aggressive.
There was one thing about him that DID hold up, Logan. 'Cause what I did was, I went over and logged my ass onto the EPW website, the one they ain't paying me to plug, and I clicked on that little link that said MIKE BASTARD. Boom, I'm there, I scroll down... "Aggressive" Nope. "Sociopath" Nope. "Relentless" Nope. "All Secrets Known" by Fake Alice in Chains. Wait, I thought it was "Psycho Killer"? The f*ck?
"Feared" NOPE.
"228" BULLSH*T I heard he weighed in at 227.
Then I get to the bottom. Says somethin' about his story unfolding at Aggression 50 and BINGO...there it is! Finally, something that ain't a giant load of crap. "Michael Bastard's story will unfold at Aggression 50." And it did, it really did. Now I've gotta be honest, I thought it was gonna be some stupid sh*t where it's revealed that Logan is really his father, he ain't really a Bastard, and the smoke monster comes out and we find out who shot J.R. and on and on. But that's not the story that unfolded. Instead, it went something like this...
Once upon a time, in a place called EPW, at a show called Aggression 50...
LAYNE WINTERS HIT A GUY CALLED BASTARD WITH A G*DDAMN FOLDING CHAIR, BEAT THE HELL OUT OF LOGAN WITH HIS OWN F*CKING CANE, BROKE IT, BEAT AARON DISHON WITH IT, SPIT ON HIM, SHOVED MY FOOT UP OMEGA'S ASS, WENT TO THE RING AND CHALLENGED HIM AND EVERYONE THE F*CK ELSE TO A GAUNTLET MATCH...TWO OF THEM SHOWED UP...NEITHER OF 'EM WERE NAMED 'BASTARD'...AND THEN I WON THE F*CKING MATCH!
(Takes a deep breath)
The end. That's your story, Mike. For all your pumped up bullsh*t hype, you're nothing but a cheap plastic toy that I p*ssed on and threw over the fence with no repercussions. Your credibility went out the window after Logan b*tched about Dan Ryan not punishing me for attacking you. And why the f*ck would he? This isn't profession KNITTING, it's professional WRESTLING. Logan's calling you the "Craziest Bastard in Professional Wrestling," and I've gotta say...you wouldn't EVEN be the craziest bastard in professional knitting.
You had your chance. You could've went after me, could've righted the wrong, could've shown me and everybody else just how tough you are...but instead, your daddy wrote a letter to the principal.
What, you think beating Stalker in his own match was IMPRESSIVE? Piss on that, it was jack SH*T. One guy pretending to be the craziest bastard in wrestling, versus another guy imitating the first guy pretending to be the craziest bastard in wrestling. I feel like...since both of you fought, the winner should take the loser's powers and the other should retire...because having one bullsh*t garbage wrestler trying to convince us how g*ddamn crazy he is was enough without adding another. We got Stalker 1 and Stalker 2, now Erik Black thinks he's Stalker 3, and before you know it...this place is nothing but Layne Winters, Sean Stevens and his personal tomato can from Salem, 4 Cameron Cruises, 3 Stalkers, 2 Shawn Harts (I'm looking at you Sean Edmunds!), an Heir of Wrestling, and Anarky...aww, F*CK, that makes FOUR Stalkers! AND FUSENSHOFF! Sh*t, 4.5 Stalkers. And that's just what we need here in EPW...4.5 people talking about how titles don't mean anything.
I may be the New School around here, but g*ddamn if I don't miss the old monikers like "Jericoholic Anonymous." I mean, God knows what the f*ck a Jericho is, but at least it's slightly an inch better than Stalker & Family. You guys are like those holiday decoration pieces, where you open up the father to reveal the mother, open up the mother to reveal the son, to reveal the daughter, etc until you've got a set of six. And the next one gets smaller and sh*tter than the last.
Michael Bastard? No. You're not a bastard. I'm a bastard. I'm the one driving heads into the ground, not you. I'm the one who took a sh*t on the entire locker room and walked out to my car that night without looking over my shoulder. I'm the one who's rookie year in this company was the longest TV title reign in EPW history. And 365 days from now, they'll be talking about the World Heavyweight Champion, Layne Winters, and how it all started when he took the crown at King of the Cage. You'll be nothing but a little footnote that says you were my first match, and THAT will be your high water mark, Michael.
But don't let me talk you down. No need to answer a challenge, or prove your mettle backstage. The date's set, the cage is coming down, and you'll be locked in there with truly, TRULY the most dangerous man in EPW. The man who's proving it EVERY-DAY and counting. The man who WILL take the King's crown, and you know exactly who the f*ck I'm talking about. You wanna show people what a bad man you are? You're gonna do it against me.
Thank your stars you got me in the first round, Michael. If you didn't lose, you would've met me eventually and been eliminated. Getting beat first round may be humiliating, but at least I can save you some time.
(FADEOUT)
TH
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The scene is a darkened warehouse with one flickering lightbulb hanging overhead. In the foreground is The Amazing Logan, dressed in a tattered blazer, a faded Sonic Youth t-shirt and ripped jeans, wearing a top-hat and leaning on his cane. Behind him is Michael Bastard, in ring attire, saliva drooling out the corner of his lip.
TAL: I told all of you.
I told all of you that Michael Bastard, the NEW Craziest Bastard in Wrestling, the Man without Conscience, the Wrestler Your Favorite Wrestler Is Afraid of, would unleash a dawn of destruction and despair upon Empire Pro Wrestling at Black Dawn. There were doubters. There were those who thought that Stalker was too formidable. Those people were proven wrong when Michael spiked Stalker's head off the mat and buried his reputation as the company's hardcore icon with the subsequent count. Michael put the Empire on notice, and now, it's time for him to rise up the ladder. What better opportunity could have arisen than King of the Cage? The brutality, the violence, the potential for bloodshed...
Bastard licks his lips.
TAL: ...well, this tournament was TAILOR-MADE for Michael take the fast track to the top of this company. They say wrestling is all about paying dues, and it takes years for men to get to the pinnacle. Some men are poor in the currency that that it takes to pay this grappling Charon to get to the other side, so poor that it takes decades before they finish their debts if they're able to pay them at all. But with King of the Cage? The currency is the ability to inflict and absorb pain. Luckily for Michael, he's wealthy in that regard. He can pay years worth of dues in one tournament's time. He's also wealthy in luck, it seems, as the gods have blessed him with a chance at revenge at a transgression inflicted by a cowardly FORMER Champion now.
Layne Winters. I'd be reminding you of your cowardly act if you weren't so brazen and foolish to bring it up yourself. I'd ask sarcastically if you really were proud at waylaying a man with his back turned and then running away like the punk you are, but you've already and unironically answered that question for yourself. Such hubris from you, a man whose ego has disenfranchised you of any and all friends you might have had in this world. If you had pulled that stunt when Michael was looking at you instead of when we were between matches, not only would you not have run away from it with aplomb, but you'd be missing about half of your natural teeth in the process. Of course, your victory was shallow, as Michael got right back up, went out and fought Jonathan Marx in a sham of a mockery of an "MMA fight" right thereafter. Pretty impressive on your part though, if your aim was just to piss Michael off.
I know it doesn't mean much to you, since you've already crowned yourself World Champion. Of course, as bombastic and overblown as our World Champion is himself, you stand as nothing but a cheap imitation, one that isn't fit to shine his tattered shoes. Feh, you talk about Michael being a cheap imitation of Stalker, when you yourself model your whole persona after a dead junkie of a lead singer. Furthermore, you bluster and blabber on like you're Sean Stevens and yet you couldn't even hold onto a second-tier Championship for half as long as he had his World Championship. Pity. I admit, there are similarities between those who fight in the same style as Michael does, but hey, leave it to you, the pot, to call out this kettle. As if it mattered in the end.
No, you see, where the similarities between Stalker and Michael, Omega and Michael, really, anyone else and Michael is that their ceilings? Not nearly as high as Michael's. See, they needed to hide their inadequacies by saying trite rubbish like "Oh, I don't care about titles! I care about inflicting pain!" As if the two were mutually exclusive. What I'm out to prove, what Michael is out to prove is that there's room in the soul for the desire to do both. I mean, what, do you think that because Michael likes to break people's bones for leisure that he doesn't want to be compensated for it? Layne, you silly bastard, way to generalize. Par for the course with you, but hey, at least I'll know what to expect so I can condition Michael to expect it as well. The other guys, well, I'm pretty sure deep down inside that they wanted to win gold too, but let's face it, they were inadequate to begin with. Always trying to latch onto someone else's coattails, content to be the minion and not the overlord. Michael is not content to be the minion, Layne. I know it's hard for a feeble-minded blowhard know-it-all such as yourself to comprehend, but I'm not pulling the strings here.
You read comics, right Layne? Well, even if you don't, you know the story of Galactus. Consumer of worlds, the size of Jupiter. Well, that's Michael. He's Galactus. The consumer of souls, dealer of destruction. Me? Just call me Uatu. I only speak for him. Sadly, you don't seem to have the moxie of a Ben Grimm, the brains of a Reed Richards or the quiet work ethic of a Sue Storm. No, you've just got Johnny Storm's cockiness without his ability to fly around in the air while on fire. That just makes you a target, Layne. A very big target. One that is suitable for a predator the likes of what Michael is.
In a way though, although Michael and I wanted payback for what you did to him at the Supershow, I'm not at all thankful that our date with destiny happened in the first round. You see, the higher the perch you were on, the closer you were to attaining that impossible goal you have, the sweeter it would have been to see you tumble to earth. You see, the wrestling world wouldn't see it as a humiliation if by some token of God's grace you defeated Michael despite it being in an environment that he feels at home in. No, they would see it as a rookie losing to one of the established stars of the Empire. However, you are right, there will be humiliation in this result, although that humiliation will soon turn into shock and horror after the crowds and the locker rooms see how badly Michael mauls you.
Layne, you've tempted fate. Now prepare to feel the wrath of vengeance and the scorching flame of desire, the desire not only to destroy you for your cowardice, but to attain the glory of Championship gold in a short, fleeting time. You've already opened the door, now peek your head in, embrace your Welcome into the Freakshow, Layne.
Because as God is my witness, your assimilation into it, your change forever, is inevitable.
MB: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
As Bastard lets out a primal scream, Logan takes a baseball swing at the camera, knocking it down and jarring the screen into static.
TAL: I told all of you.
I told all of you that Michael Bastard, the NEW Craziest Bastard in Wrestling, the Man without Conscience, the Wrestler Your Favorite Wrestler Is Afraid of, would unleash a dawn of destruction and despair upon Empire Pro Wrestling at Black Dawn. There were doubters. There were those who thought that Stalker was too formidable. Those people were proven wrong when Michael spiked Stalker's head off the mat and buried his reputation as the company's hardcore icon with the subsequent count. Michael put the Empire on notice, and now, it's time for him to rise up the ladder. What better opportunity could have arisen than King of the Cage? The brutality, the violence, the potential for bloodshed...
Bastard licks his lips.
TAL: ...well, this tournament was TAILOR-MADE for Michael take the fast track to the top of this company. They say wrestling is all about paying dues, and it takes years for men to get to the pinnacle. Some men are poor in the currency that that it takes to pay this grappling Charon to get to the other side, so poor that it takes decades before they finish their debts if they're able to pay them at all. But with King of the Cage? The currency is the ability to inflict and absorb pain. Luckily for Michael, he's wealthy in that regard. He can pay years worth of dues in one tournament's time. He's also wealthy in luck, it seems, as the gods have blessed him with a chance at revenge at a transgression inflicted by a cowardly FORMER Champion now.
Layne Winters. I'd be reminding you of your cowardly act if you weren't so brazen and foolish to bring it up yourself. I'd ask sarcastically if you really were proud at waylaying a man with his back turned and then running away like the punk you are, but you've already and unironically answered that question for yourself. Such hubris from you, a man whose ego has disenfranchised you of any and all friends you might have had in this world. If you had pulled that stunt when Michael was looking at you instead of when we were between matches, not only would you not have run away from it with aplomb, but you'd be missing about half of your natural teeth in the process. Of course, your victory was shallow, as Michael got right back up, went out and fought Jonathan Marx in a sham of a mockery of an "MMA fight" right thereafter. Pretty impressive on your part though, if your aim was just to piss Michael off.
I know it doesn't mean much to you, since you've already crowned yourself World Champion. Of course, as bombastic and overblown as our World Champion is himself, you stand as nothing but a cheap imitation, one that isn't fit to shine his tattered shoes. Feh, you talk about Michael being a cheap imitation of Stalker, when you yourself model your whole persona after a dead junkie of a lead singer. Furthermore, you bluster and blabber on like you're Sean Stevens and yet you couldn't even hold onto a second-tier Championship for half as long as he had his World Championship. Pity. I admit, there are similarities between those who fight in the same style as Michael does, but hey, leave it to you, the pot, to call out this kettle. As if it mattered in the end.
No, you see, where the similarities between Stalker and Michael, Omega and Michael, really, anyone else and Michael is that their ceilings? Not nearly as high as Michael's. See, they needed to hide their inadequacies by saying trite rubbish like "Oh, I don't care about titles! I care about inflicting pain!" As if the two were mutually exclusive. What I'm out to prove, what Michael is out to prove is that there's room in the soul for the desire to do both. I mean, what, do you think that because Michael likes to break people's bones for leisure that he doesn't want to be compensated for it? Layne, you silly bastard, way to generalize. Par for the course with you, but hey, at least I'll know what to expect so I can condition Michael to expect it as well. The other guys, well, I'm pretty sure deep down inside that they wanted to win gold too, but let's face it, they were inadequate to begin with. Always trying to latch onto someone else's coattails, content to be the minion and not the overlord. Michael is not content to be the minion, Layne. I know it's hard for a feeble-minded blowhard know-it-all such as yourself to comprehend, but I'm not pulling the strings here.
You read comics, right Layne? Well, even if you don't, you know the story of Galactus. Consumer of worlds, the size of Jupiter. Well, that's Michael. He's Galactus. The consumer of souls, dealer of destruction. Me? Just call me Uatu. I only speak for him. Sadly, you don't seem to have the moxie of a Ben Grimm, the brains of a Reed Richards or the quiet work ethic of a Sue Storm. No, you've just got Johnny Storm's cockiness without his ability to fly around in the air while on fire. That just makes you a target, Layne. A very big target. One that is suitable for a predator the likes of what Michael is.
In a way though, although Michael and I wanted payback for what you did to him at the Supershow, I'm not at all thankful that our date with destiny happened in the first round. You see, the higher the perch you were on, the closer you were to attaining that impossible goal you have, the sweeter it would have been to see you tumble to earth. You see, the wrestling world wouldn't see it as a humiliation if by some token of God's grace you defeated Michael despite it being in an environment that he feels at home in. No, they would see it as a rookie losing to one of the established stars of the Empire. However, you are right, there will be humiliation in this result, although that humiliation will soon turn into shock and horror after the crowds and the locker rooms see how badly Michael mauls you.
Layne, you've tempted fate. Now prepare to feel the wrath of vengeance and the scorching flame of desire, the desire not only to destroy you for your cowardice, but to attain the glory of Championship gold in a short, fleeting time. You've already opened the door, now peek your head in, embrace your Welcome into the Freakshow, Layne.
Because as God is my witness, your assimilation into it, your change forever, is inevitable.
MB: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
As Bastard lets out a primal scream, Logan takes a baseball swing at the camera, knocking it down and jarring the screen into static.
LQJT86C
Where's my money, Chad?
(FADEIN: City Hall, Seattle. Camera cuts to the inside where LAYNE WINTERS is waiting, impatiently, in front of an office desk. A few seconds pass before a female secretary returns to her desk and hands Winters a print-out)
SECRETARY: Alright Mr. Winters, there's the info you requested.
WINTERS: Gimme that.
(He grabs the paper from her hands and reads it. Immediately, a smile grazes his face)
WINTERS: Well whaddya know. Here, get rid of this.
(Crumples up the paper and tosses it behind the desk. The secretary shoots him a dirty look before he ups and leaves, walking out of the office and towards the camera)
WINTERS: You know what that was, Logan? A little document from the Office of Records...says there's 492 Laynes living in Seattle TODAY. They all Layne Staley clones too? You piece of f*cking garbage...and you ain't the first guy to make that comparison either. THAT'S RIGHT- there are actually people out there equally as dumb as you. "Layne + Seattle equals RIPOFF OF LEAD SINGER ALSO NAMED LAYNE ALSO FROM SEATTLE!!!!" Now I didn't major in mathematics at MIT or anything, so I may be wrong on this, but I'm pretty damn sure 1 + 1 don't equal 3.
Modeled my persona after a junkie lead singer did I? Yeah, YOU GOT ME, Logan. That's Layne Winters in a nutshell: suicidal junkie rock star. I've really gotta stop shooting up dope in all my promos in between recording sessions. If only Copycat knew I had a rockstar alter-ego when he accused me of being "Plain Layne"... Of course, I'm also a "cheap imitation" of Sean Stevens, a self-proclaimed billionaire who jets around making movies and sleeping with other people's wives for cheap heat. Does that mean we're both wannabe junkie rockstars? Or just me? I'm confused again.
You think because I'm from Seattle I'm only happy when it rains? ... Ah SH*T, now you're gonna accuse me of ripping HIM off!
I'm starting to get a reputation around here for being an angry, bitter, hostile man, and the truth is... (smiles sarcastically) ...you're ALL WRONG. I love life, can't you tell? And what's not to love- I drew Michael Bastard first round. Which means the only thing standing between Layne Winters and a potential title shot right now...is a guy who stands in front of the camera screaming "AHHHHHHHH!" Sh*t, Michael- stop being so scary, will ya? You keep screaming like that, people are gonna start no-showing and you'll win all your matches by forfeit.
(Snorts, hocks, spits on the ground)
Listen here, you two f*cking clowns. I've been working in this company for over a year and a half, putting off surgery after surgery, most of it spent defending a so-called "second-tier title" on every show, EVERY SHOW, without break. If I wasn't, I was involved some other way. You could call it my rookie year, or you could call it the longest TV title reign in EPW history- either way, you'd be CORRECT. The f*ck YOU been doing? Come on Logan, answer me, what's your man been doing, other than ducking me? You say he wants titles- he don't want SH*T. I handed him a shot on a silver platter, and neither of you had the juice to step to the plate. In this business, in this SPORT, when an opportunity comes knocking, you answer the door. "Craziest bastard in professional wrestling" but apparently all you gotta do is hit him with a chair, and he cracks like an eggshell. "Craziest bastard in he wrestling" and if you attack him backstage, beware, 'cause he'll get the Amazing Logan to yell at you!
Man, where does EPW find people like you? McDonald's? KOTC went ahead and served me up a Stalker McBastard value meal, with a side of Logan. I'm glad I already beat you half to death with your own cane, 'cause it saves me the trouble of having to do it at Agg 52. And that Diet Bastard of yours, he's got no business getting in that cage with me when he knows damn well he wants no part of that crown, OR the belt. See, to do something like that, it takes guts, it takes BALLS, and it takes a sh*tload of nerve, none of which he has.
You may think you want a shot at the champ, but what you really want is a chance to lose valiantly. Like so many other failed challengers, you give the champion too much respect, and what it does is DRAIN YOUR SAC til all you wanna do is go out there, "give it your best" and shake his hand after he beats you. Well in my world, that doesn't cut it. Sean Stevens has ONE THING I want, and that's a World Championship belt. The respect and the reverence, he can KEEP IT, 'cause as far as I'm concerned that and two quarters won't buy him breadsticks at the f*ckin' Olive Garden.
I can't walk five feet in EPW without hearing about the two year reign, the unbeaten since 2008, "defeated all challengers" Sean The Plumber horsesh*t. Every time I see somebody shake his hand in the ring, it makes me sick. That sorta thing might give the internet fanboy wrestling purists a woody when they're masturbating virgin Spidey webs all over a Class of '87 t-shirt in the privacy of their mom's computer room, but it don't do SH*T for me. I've said it once, said it twice, said it as many times as I beat Logan with a wood cane- I respect Sean Stevens like I respect the tart after-taste of a Lindsay Troy queef.
But unlike the rest of you tampons, I ain't here for the majesty of someone else's title reign. I'm here to take care of business and grab the crown the rest of you are too scared, too stupid, or too weak to grab for yourselves. I've already been inside a cage with him, beat his little head in when he tried pulling some sh*t with me...and his perennial number one contender, that birthday party facepaint wearing rodeo clown from Salem, well, he'll get his too...BELIEVE THAT.
Sooner or later, and I'm betting on sooner...this tournament's gonna lead our paths to cross, and when that time comes, somebody's getting hurt and hurt bad. Until then, I have to deal with you, Bastard. One way or another, I'm gonna beat ya. But how we can do this is, you can wrestle me until I decide I want you put down. OR...you can fight me. You can make this a war, to show everybody just how tough you are, and force me to hurt you like you were someone else. Of course I know which option you'll go with, but for your sake...when you make that decision, you remember that my name ain't Jonathan f*cking Marx. And if beating him was supposed to put some fear into me, you'd have been better off sticking with "AHHHHHHH!"
As for that comic book sh*t...nah, I never read them. My teenage years were occupied by competitive sports and getting my dick wet, two things that might've made Stalker McBastard a man way back when.
(FADEOUT)
SECRETARY: Alright Mr. Winters, there's the info you requested.
WINTERS: Gimme that.
(He grabs the paper from her hands and reads it. Immediately, a smile grazes his face)
WINTERS: Well whaddya know. Here, get rid of this.
(Crumples up the paper and tosses it behind the desk. The secretary shoots him a dirty look before he ups and leaves, walking out of the office and towards the camera)
WINTERS: You know what that was, Logan? A little document from the Office of Records...says there's 492 Laynes living in Seattle TODAY. They all Layne Staley clones too? You piece of f*cking garbage...and you ain't the first guy to make that comparison either. THAT'S RIGHT- there are actually people out there equally as dumb as you. "Layne + Seattle equals RIPOFF OF LEAD SINGER ALSO NAMED LAYNE ALSO FROM SEATTLE!!!!" Now I didn't major in mathematics at MIT or anything, so I may be wrong on this, but I'm pretty damn sure 1 + 1 don't equal 3.
Modeled my persona after a junkie lead singer did I? Yeah, YOU GOT ME, Logan. That's Layne Winters in a nutshell: suicidal junkie rock star. I've really gotta stop shooting up dope in all my promos in between recording sessions. If only Copycat knew I had a rockstar alter-ego when he accused me of being "Plain Layne"... Of course, I'm also a "cheap imitation" of Sean Stevens, a self-proclaimed billionaire who jets around making movies and sleeping with other people's wives for cheap heat. Does that mean we're both wannabe junkie rockstars? Or just me? I'm confused again.
You think because I'm from Seattle I'm only happy when it rains? ... Ah SH*T, now you're gonna accuse me of ripping HIM off!
I'm starting to get a reputation around here for being an angry, bitter, hostile man, and the truth is... (smiles sarcastically) ...you're ALL WRONG. I love life, can't you tell? And what's not to love- I drew Michael Bastard first round. Which means the only thing standing between Layne Winters and a potential title shot right now...is a guy who stands in front of the camera screaming "AHHHHHHHH!" Sh*t, Michael- stop being so scary, will ya? You keep screaming like that, people are gonna start no-showing and you'll win all your matches by forfeit.
(Snorts, hocks, spits on the ground)
Listen here, you two f*cking clowns. I've been working in this company for over a year and a half, putting off surgery after surgery, most of it spent defending a so-called "second-tier title" on every show, EVERY SHOW, without break. If I wasn't, I was involved some other way. You could call it my rookie year, or you could call it the longest TV title reign in EPW history- either way, you'd be CORRECT. The f*ck YOU been doing? Come on Logan, answer me, what's your man been doing, other than ducking me? You say he wants titles- he don't want SH*T. I handed him a shot on a silver platter, and neither of you had the juice to step to the plate. In this business, in this SPORT, when an opportunity comes knocking, you answer the door. "Craziest bastard in professional wrestling" but apparently all you gotta do is hit him with a chair, and he cracks like an eggshell. "Craziest bastard in he wrestling" and if you attack him backstage, beware, 'cause he'll get the Amazing Logan to yell at you!
Man, where does EPW find people like you? McDonald's? KOTC went ahead and served me up a Stalker McBastard value meal, with a side of Logan. I'm glad I already beat you half to death with your own cane, 'cause it saves me the trouble of having to do it at Agg 52. And that Diet Bastard of yours, he's got no business getting in that cage with me when he knows damn well he wants no part of that crown, OR the belt. See, to do something like that, it takes guts, it takes BALLS, and it takes a sh*tload of nerve, none of which he has.
You may think you want a shot at the champ, but what you really want is a chance to lose valiantly. Like so many other failed challengers, you give the champion too much respect, and what it does is DRAIN YOUR SAC til all you wanna do is go out there, "give it your best" and shake his hand after he beats you. Well in my world, that doesn't cut it. Sean Stevens has ONE THING I want, and that's a World Championship belt. The respect and the reverence, he can KEEP IT, 'cause as far as I'm concerned that and two quarters won't buy him breadsticks at the f*ckin' Olive Garden.
I can't walk five feet in EPW without hearing about the two year reign, the unbeaten since 2008, "defeated all challengers" Sean The Plumber horsesh*t. Every time I see somebody shake his hand in the ring, it makes me sick. That sorta thing might give the internet fanboy wrestling purists a woody when they're masturbating virgin Spidey webs all over a Class of '87 t-shirt in the privacy of their mom's computer room, but it don't do SH*T for me. I've said it once, said it twice, said it as many times as I beat Logan with a wood cane- I respect Sean Stevens like I respect the tart after-taste of a Lindsay Troy queef.
But unlike the rest of you tampons, I ain't here for the majesty of someone else's title reign. I'm here to take care of business and grab the crown the rest of you are too scared, too stupid, or too weak to grab for yourselves. I've already been inside a cage with him, beat his little head in when he tried pulling some sh*t with me...and his perennial number one contender, that birthday party facepaint wearing rodeo clown from Salem, well, he'll get his too...BELIEVE THAT.
Sooner or later, and I'm betting on sooner...this tournament's gonna lead our paths to cross, and when that time comes, somebody's getting hurt and hurt bad. Until then, I have to deal with you, Bastard. One way or another, I'm gonna beat ya. But how we can do this is, you can wrestle me until I decide I want you put down. OR...you can fight me. You can make this a war, to show everybody just how tough you are, and force me to hurt you like you were someone else. Of course I know which option you'll go with, but for your sake...when you make that decision, you remember that my name ain't Jonathan f*cking Marx. And if beating him was supposed to put some fear into me, you'd have been better off sticking with "AHHHHHHH!"
As for that comic book sh*t...nah, I never read them. My teenage years were occupied by competitive sports and getting my dick wet, two things that might've made Stalker McBastard a man way back when.
(FADEOUT)
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LQJT86C
Where's my money, Chad?
(FADEIN: ESPN's AROUND THE HORN. Picture-in-Picture boxes feature the live feeds of the final two, WOODY PAIGE and EPW's own LAYNE WINTERS. In the middle is our host, Tony Reali)
REALI: Alright, we're down to Woody Paige and Layne Winters. The question is: is Michael Bastard good for EPW, and is he a future champion?
WOODY PAIGE: That's two questions, Tony, but I'll gladly answer 'em both. YES Michael Bastard is good for EPW, and YES, YES, YES he is a future champion.
WINTERS: Bullcrap, Woody. What do you, owe him money or something?
PAIGE: The only thing I and everyone else owes Mike Bastard is RESPECT after he proved how tough he was against the Stalker. This guy is no joke, and he's going to be a proud champion in the mold of Sean Stevens and Lindsay Troy. Sorry Layne, you're outclassed!
WINTERS: Outclassed? Look, the only Sean Stevens "mold" in EPW is the moldy turd he's been draggin' across the main event for the last two years. And frankly, if that's what Michael Bastard aspires to, one big festering self-aggrandizing turd, then I say GODSPEED. Good luck with that, Michael. But it ain't gonna happen while I'm here, NO CHANCE, NOT THIS WEEK, NOT THIS MONTH, NOT THIS TOURNAMENT, NOT THIS YEAR! And as for the Lindsay Troy mold, I heard it's true to life, true to size, big and purple, and it's sitting right on Dan Ryan's nightstand next to his keys to Doc Brown's Delorian. See what EPW needs to do, is they need to take that sh*t back to the future, out of five years ago, and realize that what they got in front of them is THE TRUTH, the REAL DEAL...LAYNE WINTERS, the next King of the Cage and THE NEXT EPW World Heavyweight Champion!
REALI: Ooooh, I'm sorry Woody Paige! Layne Winters is on fire! Thirty seconds face-time, GO!
WINTERS: You're damn right it's facetime. MY face, all over every f*ckin' billboard with the EPW logo next to it, because that's exactly what the future holds for this company when the tournament is said and done. Michael Bastard...ha, that's real funny, BASTARD. He thinks he's a Bastard. But see me, I don't give a flying bat sh*t if he thinks his name is Bastard, Stalker McBastard, or Kunta Kinte. When I'm whipping him half to death in that cage, his name's gonna be f*ckin' TOBY, and I'm gonna make him say it like the lost episode of ROOTS.
REALI: Ouch.
WINTERS: That's right, Tony. This sh*t just got taken to another level, 'cause I'm fired up for this thing, KING OF THE CAGE, a NEW reign, a chance for me to put to rest all these mealy mouthed pieces of dogsh*t running around here calling themselves "wrestlers." No, I'M a f*cking wrestler, the rest of you are just filler, just noise in the background, a bunch of zuzuvella, vuvuzellas, whatever the f*ck you call those things, THAT'S WHAT THEY ARE, and I AM the only real thing going in this company TO-DAY, bet your ass I am. Alright, I got three seconds but I'm done. That's all I got to say.
(Rips off the mic, leaves)
REALI: Alright then, you heard it! We've got to take a commercial break, but we'll be right back. Stay tuned, this is AROUND THE HORN.
(FADEOUT)
REALI: Alright, we're down to Woody Paige and Layne Winters. The question is: is Michael Bastard good for EPW, and is he a future champion?
WOODY PAIGE: That's two questions, Tony, but I'll gladly answer 'em both. YES Michael Bastard is good for EPW, and YES, YES, YES he is a future champion.
WINTERS: Bullcrap, Woody. What do you, owe him money or something?
PAIGE: The only thing I and everyone else owes Mike Bastard is RESPECT after he proved how tough he was against the Stalker. This guy is no joke, and he's going to be a proud champion in the mold of Sean Stevens and Lindsay Troy. Sorry Layne, you're outclassed!
WINTERS: Outclassed? Look, the only Sean Stevens "mold" in EPW is the moldy turd he's been draggin' across the main event for the last two years. And frankly, if that's what Michael Bastard aspires to, one big festering self-aggrandizing turd, then I say GODSPEED. Good luck with that, Michael. But it ain't gonna happen while I'm here, NO CHANCE, NOT THIS WEEK, NOT THIS MONTH, NOT THIS TOURNAMENT, NOT THIS YEAR! And as for the Lindsay Troy mold, I heard it's true to life, true to size, big and purple, and it's sitting right on Dan Ryan's nightstand next to his keys to Doc Brown's Delorian. See what EPW needs to do, is they need to take that sh*t back to the future, out of five years ago, and realize that what they got in front of them is THE TRUTH, the REAL DEAL...LAYNE WINTERS, the next King of the Cage and THE NEXT EPW World Heavyweight Champion!
REALI: Ooooh, I'm sorry Woody Paige! Layne Winters is on fire! Thirty seconds face-time, GO!
WINTERS: You're damn right it's facetime. MY face, all over every f*ckin' billboard with the EPW logo next to it, because that's exactly what the future holds for this company when the tournament is said and done. Michael Bastard...ha, that's real funny, BASTARD. He thinks he's a Bastard. But see me, I don't give a flying bat sh*t if he thinks his name is Bastard, Stalker McBastard, or Kunta Kinte. When I'm whipping him half to death in that cage, his name's gonna be f*ckin' TOBY, and I'm gonna make him say it like the lost episode of ROOTS.
REALI: Ouch.
WINTERS: That's right, Tony. This sh*t just got taken to another level, 'cause I'm fired up for this thing, KING OF THE CAGE, a NEW reign, a chance for me to put to rest all these mealy mouthed pieces of dogsh*t running around here calling themselves "wrestlers." No, I'M a f*cking wrestler, the rest of you are just filler, just noise in the background, a bunch of zuzuvella, vuvuzellas, whatever the f*ck you call those things, THAT'S WHAT THEY ARE, and I AM the only real thing going in this company TO-DAY, bet your ass I am. Alright, I got three seconds but I'm done. That's all I got to say.
(Rips off the mic, leaves)
REALI: Alright then, you heard it! We've got to take a commercial break, but we'll be right back. Stay tuned, this is AROUND THE HORN.
(FADEOUT)