AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Dirk Dickwood Presents v. The Dreamstealers
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Colin
The best handler ever since 2012: He is a gem
We find ourselves once again in the not-recently-fumigated offices of the Dirk Dickwood Agency. All your favourites are in the office, Dirk Dickwood himself, Cecilworth “C-Money” “C-Worth” “Farthington” Farthington and of course who could forget the loveable Hank! Also present in the office not exactly looking too pleased after having Hank crush them as he fell off the cage were Cecilworth's army of four trainers.
Cecilworth has his arms plunked down on Dirk's desk and is looking down at him in a rather less than pleased fashion.
Farthington: Dirkminister! Dirkman! Yah, I totes did not pay you all that mad wad of fat cash to go out of this little piddling tag team tournament of inbred Americas in the first damn round. I'm here to prove that the Farthington line is one of genetic superiority and you're letting me lose out to a goth and a rambling mad man who, from what I saw on the news yesterday, almost had an assault charge made against him from his mailman after he crushed a birthday card. These are the kind of men that the great Dirk Dickwood allows his finest clientèle to lose to? I knew I should've hired Agency Andrew or Management Mark instead. Those guys are totes amazeballs. Met them down the bully for some trumble if you know what I mean...
Dirk stands up... there isn't much noticeable difference from when he was sitting down. Dirk glares Cecilworth in the eye... well as best he can.
Dickwood: No, I have no fucking idea what you mean. What the hell is trumble?
Farthington: It's a bit like slipping round the corner of a wet goose...
Dickwood: Have you had a stroke or something.
Farthington: Man Dirk, me and the boys yah, we need to take you out for a good night of goose slipping. Me and some rude dudes were totes doing that just the other day...
Dirk begins to eye the bottle of whiskey that sit just within arms grasp on his desk.
Farthington: Dirk, listen to me. Listen to Farthy. What are you going to do to fix this mess? You promised me the world Dirk. You promised me the moon on a stick...
Dickwood: Why the hell would you want the moon on a stick? What would you even do with it? Some kind of moon based puppet show?
Farthington: It's just a phrase. One of 'em phrasal things, y'know dude?
Dirk sits back down, signalling for Cecil to follow his lead, which he wilfully does.
Dickwood: Look, C-Money, you have to trust me. I'm a font of fucking knowledge, right, get it? I fucking ejaculate knowledge all over the joint. Trust in Dirk. That is rule number one if you want yourself a happy little time here.
Farthington: How can I bloody well trust you? You let me tap out, you let a Farthington man surrender in the middle of the ring of a highly viewed television programme.
Dickwood: Yes, I admit, I let that happen. I didn't lift a finger to try and stop that in any way...
Farthington: Well then I think that brings our arrangement to an end then. Good day Mr. Dickwood.
Dirk grabs Cecilworth's arm, forcing him back into the chair. Hank bounds over and leans down on his
Dickwood: Sit down for a second you god damn inbred hoity toity loon. There was nothing I could do. There was no way in. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a gentleman of shorter stature and you were in a god damn cage. A cage, may I add that MY guy, the guy I have kindly loaned to you in this tag team endeavour, managed to escape.
Farthington: Only because his fat ass fell.
Dickwood: Oof, bad idea. You don't want to upset Hank. He's very sensitive. Now I think we should all just take a deep breath. Everybody together. Breathe in.
They all breathe in.
Dickwood: Annnnnd breathe out.
They all breathe out.
Dickwood: Feel a little less on edge Cecil?
Farthington: I have a sudden urge to go fox hunting.
Dickwood: O... kay?
Farthington: Do you know of any forthcoming fox hunting tournaments?
Dirk's hand seems to find itself ever closer to the big ole bottle of the finest single malt you could lay your mouth on.
Dickwood: Cecilworth, we need to focus here. The loss, that was a set-back. There's no bigger impact in the industry than coming in to a company and taking down their best and brightest. It was a risk, it was a fucking gamble, I know that but just think how close you were. Think of what would've happened if you got out of that cage, if you climbed just a little bit faster, if Cruise and First were a little bit slower.
Farthington: But they weren't. We're out of this thing and there's nothing else we can do about it.
Dickwood: Out of this thing? Out of this thing? Are you fucking kidding me? I spent an entire evening lobbying Dan god damn Ryan to get us back IN this thing and you weren't even aware of it. Did you even watch Aggression 69?
Farthington: I had a very important bondage key party.
Dickwood: You know, how about you give up those kind of parties until after you have a shitting tag team title belt around your waist. That sound good? If this relationship is going to work, it's a two way thing Cecil. Not one way, you don't just ram your cock up my arse, it's mutual...
Farthington: So we both...
Dickwood: IT'S A METAPHOR.
Farthington: Right. I get you.
Dickwood: So go grab Hank, go grab your army of roided freaks you are no doubt vastly over-paying and get to some training. Oh yeah, take this tape of The Dreamstealers first match in King of the Cage with you. Then you'll thank me for letting you tap out. Honestly, you should see those guys. Actually, you will. WHEN YOU WATCH THE TAPE.
Farthington: Right, right. I'm going.
Cecilworth gathers up the troops and leaves the office, Dirk signals for the camera team to stay.
Dickwood: Just a quick second lads, I have a little message for my esteemed colleague, Mr. Jimmy Mylde.
Jimmy! I've got to say, I admire your work. You've grabbed two useless, talentless lugs and you've made something out of them but we both know that they just aren't quite good enough for a man of your high standards. I think you may say that they just aren't right. The Dreamstealers, they'd rather be a Cheap Trick cover band in some dive bar than they would be all conquering masters of the tag team division. They are, I think we can both admit, beneath you.
So Mr. Mylde, again, I would like to flex a little bit of the negotiation muscles I'm known for. Leave Steptoe and the Kid out to hang. We both know that if it wasn't for your prowess as a power broker that they'd have their tales tucked between their legs after a humiliating loss to a single man with a large slong. Those losers, they're only still there due to your in-depth knowledge of the rules and regulations of this industry of ours.
Look at your guys Jimmy, take a good long hard look at them. Didn't they disappoint you against a team that essentially exist purely as a puerile penis joke? I want to offer you a chance to work with a big ticket item. I want you aboard the Hank and Farthington express. My guys, they almost, almost took down EPW's biggest and brightest, they proved they belong with the best in this company in a single match. This express is getting ready to take off and I'm offering you a seat in first class.
What have the Dreamstealer's done for you? They've humiliated you. They've come close to ruining your standing in the community. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if there weren't calls to revoke your management license at the next General Meeting of Managers Conference if they keep up at the pace they're going at. It's time you thought about Jimmy, what's right for Jimmy and I know that some burnt out rockers couldn't possibly offer you the wheel barrow of cash money I can get Cecilworth to send your way.
Jump ship Jimmy, join us, join the future of EPW's tag division, wash away that stench of failure the Dreamstealers are washing over you. I'm giving you the chance to be the guiding light to two men who will be at the top of the card for years to come. I know that you'll make the right decision. The smart decision. The only decision. Give me a call, this bottle of Scotland's finest is just waiting to be popped open.
Dirk smiles and waves the bottle of malt in front of the camera as the scene fades to black.
Cecilworth has his arms plunked down on Dirk's desk and is looking down at him in a rather less than pleased fashion.
Farthington: Dirkminister! Dirkman! Yah, I totes did not pay you all that mad wad of fat cash to go out of this little piddling tag team tournament of inbred Americas in the first damn round. I'm here to prove that the Farthington line is one of genetic superiority and you're letting me lose out to a goth and a rambling mad man who, from what I saw on the news yesterday, almost had an assault charge made against him from his mailman after he crushed a birthday card. These are the kind of men that the great Dirk Dickwood allows his finest clientèle to lose to? I knew I should've hired Agency Andrew or Management Mark instead. Those guys are totes amazeballs. Met them down the bully for some trumble if you know what I mean...
Dirk stands up... there isn't much noticeable difference from when he was sitting down. Dirk glares Cecilworth in the eye... well as best he can.
Dickwood: No, I have no fucking idea what you mean. What the hell is trumble?
Farthington: It's a bit like slipping round the corner of a wet goose...
Dickwood: Have you had a stroke or something.
Farthington: Man Dirk, me and the boys yah, we need to take you out for a good night of goose slipping. Me and some rude dudes were totes doing that just the other day...
Dirk begins to eye the bottle of whiskey that sit just within arms grasp on his desk.
Farthington: Dirk, listen to me. Listen to Farthy. What are you going to do to fix this mess? You promised me the world Dirk. You promised me the moon on a stick...
Dickwood: Why the hell would you want the moon on a stick? What would you even do with it? Some kind of moon based puppet show?
Farthington: It's just a phrase. One of 'em phrasal things, y'know dude?
Dirk sits back down, signalling for Cecil to follow his lead, which he wilfully does.
Dickwood: Look, C-Money, you have to trust me. I'm a font of fucking knowledge, right, get it? I fucking ejaculate knowledge all over the joint. Trust in Dirk. That is rule number one if you want yourself a happy little time here.
Farthington: How can I bloody well trust you? You let me tap out, you let a Farthington man surrender in the middle of the ring of a highly viewed television programme.
Dickwood: Yes, I admit, I let that happen. I didn't lift a finger to try and stop that in any way...
Farthington: Well then I think that brings our arrangement to an end then. Good day Mr. Dickwood.
Dirk grabs Cecilworth's arm, forcing him back into the chair. Hank bounds over and leans down on his
Dickwood: Sit down for a second you god damn inbred hoity toity loon. There was nothing I could do. There was no way in. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a gentleman of shorter stature and you were in a god damn cage. A cage, may I add that MY guy, the guy I have kindly loaned to you in this tag team endeavour, managed to escape.
Farthington: Only because his fat ass fell.
Dickwood: Oof, bad idea. You don't want to upset Hank. He's very sensitive. Now I think we should all just take a deep breath. Everybody together. Breathe in.
They all breathe in.
Dickwood: Annnnnd breathe out.
They all breathe out.
Dickwood: Feel a little less on edge Cecil?
Farthington: I have a sudden urge to go fox hunting.
Dickwood: O... kay?
Farthington: Do you know of any forthcoming fox hunting tournaments?
Dirk's hand seems to find itself ever closer to the big ole bottle of the finest single malt you could lay your mouth on.
Dickwood: Cecilworth, we need to focus here. The loss, that was a set-back. There's no bigger impact in the industry than coming in to a company and taking down their best and brightest. It was a risk, it was a fucking gamble, I know that but just think how close you were. Think of what would've happened if you got out of that cage, if you climbed just a little bit faster, if Cruise and First were a little bit slower.
Farthington: But they weren't. We're out of this thing and there's nothing else we can do about it.
Dickwood: Out of this thing? Out of this thing? Are you fucking kidding me? I spent an entire evening lobbying Dan god damn Ryan to get us back IN this thing and you weren't even aware of it. Did you even watch Aggression 69?
Farthington: I had a very important bondage key party.
Dickwood: You know, how about you give up those kind of parties until after you have a shitting tag team title belt around your waist. That sound good? If this relationship is going to work, it's a two way thing Cecil. Not one way, you don't just ram your cock up my arse, it's mutual...
Farthington: So we both...
Dickwood: IT'S A METAPHOR.
Farthington: Right. I get you.
Dickwood: So go grab Hank, go grab your army of roided freaks you are no doubt vastly over-paying and get to some training. Oh yeah, take this tape of The Dreamstealers first match in King of the Cage with you. Then you'll thank me for letting you tap out. Honestly, you should see those guys. Actually, you will. WHEN YOU WATCH THE TAPE.
Farthington: Right, right. I'm going.
Cecilworth gathers up the troops and leaves the office, Dirk signals for the camera team to stay.
Dickwood: Just a quick second lads, I have a little message for my esteemed colleague, Mr. Jimmy Mylde.
Jimmy! I've got to say, I admire your work. You've grabbed two useless, talentless lugs and you've made something out of them but we both know that they just aren't quite good enough for a man of your high standards. I think you may say that they just aren't right. The Dreamstealers, they'd rather be a Cheap Trick cover band in some dive bar than they would be all conquering masters of the tag team division. They are, I think we can both admit, beneath you.
So Mr. Mylde, again, I would like to flex a little bit of the negotiation muscles I'm known for. Leave Steptoe and the Kid out to hang. We both know that if it wasn't for your prowess as a power broker that they'd have their tales tucked between their legs after a humiliating loss to a single man with a large slong. Those losers, they're only still there due to your in-depth knowledge of the rules and regulations of this industry of ours.
Look at your guys Jimmy, take a good long hard look at them. Didn't they disappoint you against a team that essentially exist purely as a puerile penis joke? I want to offer you a chance to work with a big ticket item. I want you aboard the Hank and Farthington express. My guys, they almost, almost took down EPW's biggest and brightest, they proved they belong with the best in this company in a single match. This express is getting ready to take off and I'm offering you a seat in first class.
What have the Dreamstealer's done for you? They've humiliated you. They've come close to ruining your standing in the community. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if there weren't calls to revoke your management license at the next General Meeting of Managers Conference if they keep up at the pace they're going at. It's time you thought about Jimmy, what's right for Jimmy and I know that some burnt out rockers couldn't possibly offer you the wheel barrow of cash money I can get Cecilworth to send your way.
Jump ship Jimmy, join us, join the future of EPW's tag division, wash away that stench of failure the Dreamstealers are washing over you. I'm giving you the chance to be the guiding light to two men who will be at the top of the card for years to come. I know that you'll make the right decision. The smart decision. The only decision. Give me a call, this bottle of Scotland's finest is just waiting to be popped open.
Dirk smiles and waves the bottle of malt in front of the camera as the scene fades to black.